{"id":105,"date":"2021-05-18T11:04:28","date_gmt":"2021-05-18T15:04:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/awakening\/?post_type=chapter&p=105"},"modified":"2022-02-01T11:18:43","modified_gmt":"2022-02-01T16:18:43","slug":"21","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/chapter\/21\/","title":{"raw":"Chapter XXI","rendered":"Chapter XXI"},"content":{"raw":"Some people contended that the reason Mademoiselle Reisz always chose apartments up under the roof was to discourage the approach of beggars, peddlars and callers. There were plenty of windows in her little front room. They were for the most part dingy, but as they were nearly always open it did not make so much difference. They often admitted into the room a good deal of smoke and soot; but at the same time all the light and air that there was came through them. From her windows could be seen the crescent of the river, the masts of ships and the big chimneys of the Mississippi steamers. A magnificent piano crowded the apartment. In the next room she slept, and in the third and last she harbored a gasoline stove on which she cooked her meals when disinclined to descend to the neighboring restaurant. It was there also that she ate, keeping her belongings in a rare old buffet, dingy and battered from a hundred years of use.\r\n\r\nWhen Edna knocked at Mademoiselle Reisz\u2019s front room door and entered, she discovered that person standing beside the window, engaged in mending or patching an old prunella gaiter. The little musician laughed all over when she saw Edna. Her laugh consisted of a contortion of the face and all the muscles of the body. She seemed strikingly homely, standing there in the afternoon light. She still wore the shabby lace and the artificial bunch of violets on the side of her head.\r\n\r\n\u201cSo you remembered me at last,\u201d said Mademoiselle. \u201cI had said to myself, \u2018Ah, bah! she will never come.\u2019\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDid you want me to come?\u201d asked Edna with a smile.\r\n\r\n\u201cI had not thought much about it,\u201d answered Mademoiselle. The two had seated themselves on a little bumpy sofa which stood against the wall. \u201cI am glad, however, that you came. I have the water boiling back there, and was just about to make some coffee. You will drink a cup with me. And how is la belle dame?<\/i> Always handsome! always healthy! always contented!\u201d She took Edna\u2019s hand between her strong wiry fingers, holding it loosely without warmth, and executing a sort of double theme upon the back and palm.\r\n\r\n\u201cYes,\u201d she went on; \u201cI sometimes thought: \u2018She will never come. She promised as those women in society always do, without meaning it. She will not come.\u2019 For I really don\u2019t believe you like me, Mrs. Pontellier.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI don\u2019t know whether I like you or not,\u201d replied Edna, gazing down at the little woman with a quizzical look.\r\n\r\nThe candor of Mrs. Pontellier\u2019s admission greatly pleased Mademoiselle Reisz. She expressed her gratification by repairing forthwith to the region of the gasoline stove and rewarding her guest with the promised cup of coffee. The coffee and the biscuit accompanying it proved very acceptable to Edna, who had declined refreshment at Madame Lebrun\u2019s and was now beginning to feel hungry. Mademoiselle set the tray which she brought in upon a small table near at hand, and seated herself once again on the lumpy sofa.\r\n\r\n\u201cI have had a letter from your friend,\u201d she remarked, as she poured a little cream into Edna\u2019s cup and handed it to her.\r\n\r\n\u201cMy friend?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYes, your friend Robert. He wrote to me from the City of Mexico.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWrote to you<\/i>?\u201d repeated Edna in amazement, stirring her coffee absently.\r\n\r\n\u201cYes, to me. Why not? Don\u2019t stir all the warmth out of your coffee; drink it. Though the letter might as well have been sent to you; it was nothing but Mrs. Pontellier from beginning to end.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cLet me see it,\u201d requested the young woman, entreatingly.\r\n\r\n\u201cNo; a letter concerns no one but the person who writes it and the one to whom it is written.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHaven\u2019t you just said it concerned me from beginning to end?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIt was written about you, not to you. \u2018Have you seen Mrs. Pontellier? How is she looking?\u2019 he asks. \u2018As Mrs. Pontellier says,\u2019 or \u2018as Mrs. Pontellier once said.\u2019 \u2018If Mrs. Pontellier should call upon you, play for her that Impromptu of Chopin\u2019s, my favorite. I heard it here a day or two ago, but not as you play it. I should like to know how it affects her,\u2019 and so on, as if he supposed we were constantly in each other\u2019s society.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cLet me see the letter.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, no.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHave you answered it?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cNo.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cLet me see the letter.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cNo, and again, no.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThen play the Impromptu for me.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIt is growing late; what time do you have to be home?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cTime doesn\u2019t concern me. Your question seems a little rude. Play the Impromptu.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cBut you have told me nothing of yourself. What are you doing?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cPainting!\u201d laughed Edna. \u201cI am becoming an artist. Think of it!\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cAh! an artist! You have pretensions, Madame.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhy pretensions? Do you think I could not become an artist?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI do not know you well enough to say. I do not know your talent or your temperament. To be an artist includes much; one must possess many gifts\u2014absolute gifts\u2014which have not been acquired by one\u2019s own effort. And, moreover, to succeed, the artist must possess the courageous soul.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat do you mean by the courageous soul?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cCourageous, ma foi!<\/i> The brave soul. The soul that dares and defies.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cShow me the letter and play for me the Impromptu. You see that I have persistence. Does that quality count for anything in art?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIt counts with a foolish old woman whom you have captivated,\u201d replied Mademoiselle, with her wriggling laugh.\r\n\r\nThe letter was right there at hand in the drawer of the little table upon which Edna had just placed her coffee cup. Mademoiselle opened the drawer and drew forth the letter, the topmost one. She placed it in Edna\u2019s hands, and without further comment arose and went to the piano.\r\n\r\nMademoiselle played a soft interlude. It was an improvisation. She sat low at the instrument, and the lines of her body settled into ungraceful curves and angles that gave it an appearance of deformity. Gradually and imperceptibly the interlude melted into the soft opening minor chords of the Chopin Impromptu.\r\n\r\nEdna did not know when the Impromptu began or ended. She sat in the sofa corner reading Robert\u2019s letter by the fading light. Mademoiselle had glided from the Chopin into the quivering love notes of Isolde\u2019s song, and back again to the Impromptu with its soulful and poignant longing.\r\n\r\nThe shadows deepened in the little room. The music grew strange and fantastic\u2014turbulent, insistent, plaintive and soft with entreaty. The shadows grew deeper. The music filled the room. It floated out upon the night, over the housetops, the crescent of the river, losing itself in the silence of the upper air.\r\n\r\nEdna was sobbing, just as she had wept one midnight at Grand Isle when strange, new voices awoke in her. She arose in some agitation to take her departure. \u201cMay I come again, Mademoiselle?\u201d she asked at the threshold.\r\n\r\n\u201cCome whenever you feel like it. Be careful; the stairs and landings are dark; don\u2019t stumble.\u201d\r\n\r\nMademoiselle reentered and lit a candle. Robert\u2019s letter was on the floor. She stooped and picked it up. It was crumpled and damp with tears. Mademoiselle smoothed the letter out, restored it to the envelope, and replaced it in the table drawer.","rendered":"

Some people contended that the reason Mademoiselle Reisz always chose apartments up under the roof was to discourage the approach of beggars, peddlars and callers. There were plenty of windows in her little front room. They were for the most part dingy, but as they were nearly always open it did not make so much difference. They often admitted into the room a good deal of smoke and soot; but at the same time all the light and air that there was came through them. From her windows could be seen the crescent of the river, the masts of ships and the big chimneys of the Mississippi steamers. A magnificent piano crowded the apartment. In the next room she slept, and in the third and last she harbored a gasoline stove on which she cooked her meals when disinclined to descend to the neighboring restaurant. It was there also that she ate, keeping her belongings in a rare old buffet, dingy and battered from a hundred years of use.<\/p>\n

When Edna knocked at Mademoiselle Reisz\u2019s front room door and entered, she discovered that person standing beside the window, engaged in mending or patching an old prunella gaiter. The little musician laughed all over when she saw Edna. Her laugh consisted of a contortion of the face and all the muscles of the body. She seemed strikingly homely, standing there in the afternoon light. She still wore the shabby lace and the artificial bunch of violets on the side of her head.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you remembered me at last,\u201d said Mademoiselle. \u201cI had said to myself, \u2018Ah, bah! she will never come.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you want me to come?\u201d asked Edna with a smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had not thought much about it,\u201d answered Mademoiselle. The two had seated themselves on a little bumpy sofa which stood against the wall. \u201cI am glad, however, that you came. I have the water boiling back there, and was just about to make some coffee. You will drink a cup with me. And how is la belle dame?<\/i> Always handsome! always healthy! always contented!\u201d She took Edna\u2019s hand between her strong wiry fingers, holding it loosely without warmth, and executing a sort of double theme upon the back and palm.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she went on; \u201cI sometimes thought: \u2018She will never come. She promised as those women in society always do, without meaning it. She will not come.\u2019 For I really don\u2019t believe you like me, Mrs. Pontellier.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know whether I like you or not,\u201d replied Edna, gazing down at the little woman with a quizzical look.<\/p>\n

The candor of Mrs. Pontellier\u2019s admission greatly pleased Mademoiselle Reisz. She expressed her gratification by repairing forthwith to the region of the gasoline stove and rewarding her guest with the promised cup of coffee. The coffee and the biscuit accompanying it proved very acceptable to Edna, who had declined refreshment at Madame Lebrun\u2019s and was now beginning to feel hungry. Mademoiselle set the tray which she brought in upon a small table near at hand, and seated herself once again on the lumpy sofa.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have had a letter from your friend,\u201d she remarked, as she poured a little cream into Edna\u2019s cup and handed it to her.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy friend?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, your friend Robert. He wrote to me from the City of Mexico.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWrote to you<\/i>?\u201d repeated Edna in amazement, stirring her coffee absently.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, to me. Why not? Don\u2019t stir all the warmth out of your coffee; drink it. Though the letter might as well have been sent to you; it was nothing but Mrs. Pontellier from beginning to end.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me see it,\u201d requested the young woman, entreatingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo; a letter concerns no one but the person who writes it and the one to whom it is written.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHaven\u2019t you just said it concerned me from beginning to end?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was written about you, not to you. \u2018Have you seen Mrs. Pontellier? How is she looking?\u2019 he asks. \u2018As Mrs. Pontellier says,\u2019 or \u2018as Mrs. Pontellier once said.\u2019 \u2018If Mrs. Pontellier should call upon you, play for her that Impromptu of Chopin\u2019s, my favorite. I heard it here a day or two ago, but not as you play it. I should like to know how it affects her,\u2019 and so on, as if he supposed we were constantly in each other\u2019s society.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me see the letter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, no.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you answered it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me see the letter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, and again, no.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen play the Impromptu for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is growing late; what time do you have to be home?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTime doesn\u2019t concern me. Your question seems a little rude. Play the Impromptu.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you have told me nothing of yourself. What are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPainting!\u201d laughed Edna. \u201cI am becoming an artist. Think of it!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAh! an artist! You have pretensions, Madame.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy pretensions? Do you think I could not become an artist?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not know you well enough to say. I do not know your talent or your temperament. To be an artist includes much; one must possess many gifts\u2014absolute gifts\u2014which have not been acquired by one\u2019s own effort. And, moreover, to succeed, the artist must possess the courageous soul.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean by the courageous soul?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCourageous, ma foi!<\/i> The brave soul. The soul that dares and defies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShow me the letter and play for me the Impromptu. You see that I have persistence. Does that quality count for anything in art?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt counts with a foolish old woman whom you have captivated,\u201d replied Mademoiselle, with her wriggling laugh.<\/p>\n

The letter was right there at hand in the drawer of the little table upon which Edna had just placed her coffee cup. Mademoiselle opened the drawer and drew forth the letter, the topmost one. She placed it in Edna\u2019s hands, and without further comment arose and went to the piano.<\/p>\n

Mademoiselle played a soft interlude. It was an improvisation. She sat low at the instrument, and the lines of her body settled into ungraceful curves and angles that gave it an appearance of deformity. Gradually and imperceptibly the interlude melted into the soft opening minor chords of the Chopin Impromptu.<\/p>\n

Edna did not know when the Impromptu began or ended. She sat in the sofa corner reading Robert\u2019s letter by the fading light. Mademoiselle had glided from the Chopin into the quivering love notes of Isolde\u2019s song, and back again to the Impromptu with its soulful and poignant longing.<\/p>\n

The shadows deepened in the little room. The music grew strange and fantastic\u2014turbulent, insistent, plaintive and soft with entreaty. The shadows grew deeper. The music filled the room. It floated out upon the night, over the housetops, the crescent of the river, losing itself in the silence of the upper air.<\/p>\n

Edna was sobbing, just as she had wept one midnight at Grand Isle when strange, new voices awoke in her. She arose in some agitation to take her departure. \u201cMay I come again, Mademoiselle?\u201d she asked at the threshold.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome whenever you feel like it. Be careful; the stairs and landings are dark; don\u2019t stumble.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mademoiselle reentered and lit a candle. Robert\u2019s letter was on the floor. She stooped and picked it up. It was crumpled and damp with tears. Mademoiselle smoothed the letter out, restored it to the envelope, and replaced it in the table drawer.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":251,"menu_order":21,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-105","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/105","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/251"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/105\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":217,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/105\/revisions\/217"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/105\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=105"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=105"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=105"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/awakening\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=105"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}