第12章 一个小时的故事 (1)
The Story of an Hour
《一个小时的故事》精炼地概述了在一个小时里，
玛拉德夫人对一偶发事件的反应。故事的主人公玛拉
德夫人患有心脏病，当她听到丈夫在一场车祸中丧生
之后，先是痛不欲生，失声痛哭，但独自回到房间后，
她竟很快从悲痛中恢复了过来，有了“自由”的喜悦。
等她再从房间里走出来的时候，她感受到了新生。但
此时，逃过一劫的玛拉德先生出现在门口，玛拉德夫
人心脏病突发，倒地猝死。
[ 美] 凯特·肖邦（Kate Chopin）
一个小时的故事
Knowing that Mrs.Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble，
great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the
news of her husband’s death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her，in broken
sentences ；veiled hints that revealed in half concealing.
Her husband’s friend Richards was there，too，near her. It
was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence
of the railroad disaster was received ；with Brently Maitard’s
name leading the list of“ killed”. He had only taken the time
to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram，and had
hastened to forestall any less careful，less tender friend in bearing
the sad message.
She did not hear the story as many women have heard the
same，with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She
wept at once，with sudden，wild abandonment，in her sister’s
arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to
her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
There stood，facing the open window，a comfortable，roomy
armchair. Into this she sank，pressed down by a physical exhaustion
that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the
tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The
delicious breath of rain was in the air.
In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The
notes of a distant song which someone was singing reached her
faintly，and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.
There were patches of blue sky showing here and there
through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in
the west facing her window.
She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of
the chair，quite motionless，except when a sob came up into
her throat and shook her，as a child who has cried itself to sleep
continues to sob in its dreams.
She was young，with a fair，calm face，whose lines bespoke
repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull
stare in her eyes，whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one
of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection，but
rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.
There was something coming to her and she was waiting
for it，fearfully. What was it？ She did not know ；it was too subtle
and elusive to name. But she felt it，creeping out of the sky，reaching
toward her through the sounds，the scents，the color that filled
the air.
Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was
beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess
her，and she was striving to beat it back with her will— as
powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.
When she abandoned herself，a little whispered word
escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under
her breath：“ free，free，free！”The vacant stare and the look of
terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen
and bright. Her pulses beat fast，and the coursing blood warmed
and relaxed every inch of her body.
She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous
Joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to
dismiss the suggestion as trivial.
She knew that she would weep again when she saw the
kind，tender hands folded in death ；the face that had never
looked save with love upon her，fixed and gray and dead. But she
saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to
come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and
spread her arms out to them in welcome.
There would be no one to live for her during those coming
years ；she would live for herself. There would be no powerful
will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and
women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a
fellow creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act
seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment
of illumination.
And yet she had loved him — sometimes. Often she had not.
What did it matter！ What could love，the unsolved mystery，