The Story of an Hour
Kate Choplin
They knew that Louise Mallard had a weak heart.So they broke the bad news softly. Her husband, Brently, was dead.
“There was a train accident, Louise,” said her sister Josephine. Richards brought the news, but Josephine told the story. She spoke in broken sentences.
“Richards... was at the newspaper office. News of the accident came. Louise...Louise, Brently’s name was on the list. Brently was killed, Louise.”
Louise did not hear the story coldly, as some women would. She could not close her mind or her heart to the news. Like a sudden storm, her tears broke out. She cried loudly in her sister’s arms. Then, just as suddenly, the tears stopped. She went to her room alone. She wanted no one with her.
In front of the window stood an empty chair. She sat down and looked out the window. She was tired after her tears. Her body felt cold, her mind and heart were empty.
Outside her window she could see the trees. The air smelled like spring rain. She could hear someone singing far away. Birds sang near the house. Blue sky showed between the clouds. She rested.
She sat quietly, but a few weak tears still fell. She had a young, strong face. But now her eyes showed nothing. She looked out the window at the blue sky. She was not thinking, or seeing. She was waiting.
There was something coming to her. She was waiting for it with fear. What was it？ She did not know; she could not give it a name. But she felt it coming out from the sky. It reached her through the sound, the smell, the color of the air.
Slowly she became excited. Her breath came fast, her heart beat faster. She began to see this thing. It wanted to find her and take her. She tried to fight against it. But she could not. Her mind was as weak as her two small white hands. Then she stopped fighting against it. A little word broke from her lips.
“Free,” she said, “Free, free, free！” The emptiness and fear left her. Her eyes showed her excitement. Her heart beat fast, and the blood warmed her body. A sudden feeling of joy excited her.
She did not stop to ask if her joy was wrong. She saw her freedom clearly. She could not stop to think of smaller things.
She knew the tears would come again when she saw her husband’s body. The kind hands, now dead and still. The loving face, now still and gray. But she looked into the future. She saw many long years to come that would belong to her alone. And now she opened her arms to those years in welcome.
There would be no one else to live for during hose years. She would live for herself alone. There would be no strong mind above hers. Men and women always believe they can tell others what to do and how to think. Suddenly Louise understood hat this was wrong. She could break away and be free of it.
And yet, she loved him—sometimes. Often she did not. What did love mean now？ Now she understood that freedom is stronger than love.
“Free！ Body and mind free！”she said again.
Her sister Josephine was waiting outside the door.
“Please open the door,” Josephine cried, “You will make yourself sick. What are you doing there, Louise？ Please, please, let me in！”
“Go away. I am not sick.” No, she was drinking in life through that open window.
She thought joyfully of all those days before her. Spring days, summer days. All kinds of days that would be her own. She began to hope life would be long. And just yesterday, life seemed so long！
After a while she got up and opened the door.
Her eyes were bright, her cheeks were red. She didn’t know how strong and well she looked—so full of joy. They went downstairs, where Richards was waiting.
A man was opening the door. It was Brenfiy.He was dirty, and tired. He carried a suitcase and an umbrella. He was not killed in the train accident. He didn’t even know there was an accident. He was surprised at Josephine’s sudden cry. He didn’t understand why Richards moved suddenly between them, to hide Louise from her husband.
But Richard was too late.
When the doctors came, they said it was her weak bad heart. They said she died of joy—of joy that kills.
一小时的故事
[美国] 凯特·肖邦
凯特·肖邦（1851-1904），美国作家，生于密苏里州的圣路易斯。她从1882年起，开始从事写作，其作品包括诗歌、小说、文学评论。她快四十岁时出版了第一本小说《故障》，代表作有《阿卡迪一夜》《觉醒》等。她的后期作品，如本文《一小时的故事》，题材开始侧重于女性对独立和自由的渴望。
他们都知道路易丝·马拉德的心脏不好，所以尽量语气委婉地把这个不幸的消息告诉她。她的丈夫，布伦特里，死了。
“路易丝，刚才有列火车出事故了。”姐姐约瑟芬说道。理查兹带来了这个不幸的消息，但还得约瑟芬告诉她，只是她的话语不那么连贯。
“理查兹……在报社工作，有消息说出车祸了。路易丝……路易丝，遇难者的名单里有布伦特里的名字。布伦特里……死了，路易丝。”
听说丈夫死了，路易丝表现得不像其他女人那样冷静。面对悲伤，心中的积郁自然无法掩饰，如同暴雨突袭，泪水夺眶而出。她倒在姐姐怀里号啕大哭起来。然后，又突然地雨过天晴，她独自回到房间，要单独待会儿。
窗前摆着一把椅子，她坐下来，望着窗外。痛哭过后，她累极了，全身冰凉，神经麻木。
窗外的绿树，映入她的眼帘。空气如春雨般清新，远处的歌声飘至耳畔。房子周围，鸟儿轻吟，白云映着蓝天，她安静下来。
她静静地坐着，眼里仍有几滴软弱的泪落下。她年轻而又坚强，但此时，她的眼睛毫无神采。她望着蓝天，万念俱灰，只是静静地等待着。
有东西正靠近她，她恐惧地等待着，是什么呢？无从知晓，也无以言说。但她似乎觉得它正从空中走来，她觉察到它的声音、气味，还有空气的颜色，这使她觉得它正向她靠近。
她慢慢地兴奋起来，呼吸加快、心跳加速。渐渐地，她看清了。它要找到她，并带走她。她挣扎着，要摆脱它，但她不能。她意念薄弱，如同她那双苍白无力的小手一样。于是，她停止了挣扎，一个简短的词语夺口而出。
“自由，”她说,“自由，自由，自由！”空虚和恐惧全无，她神色激动、心跳加快、血压上升。突如其来的愉悦使她异常兴奋。
她没有静下心来自问这快乐究竟是对还是错，她清晰地看到了自由之国。她无法停下来去思考那些更为琐碎的事情。
她知道，当看到丈夫遗体时，她会再次流泪。那双手，曾经是那样温柔，如今已变得冰冷而僵硬；那张脸，曾经满含深情，如今已变得呆板灰暗。但她看到了未来，她看到未来的岁月将是她一人的。现在，她要敞开胸怀，迎接未来。
以后的岁月里，她活着不再为他人，而为自己，再也不会有人把意志强加于她。夫妻双方总以为能彼此告诉对方该做什么，该如何思考。路易丝忽然明白了，这只是自己的想法，而且是错上加错。她可以摆脱它，再也不受控于它。
但是，至少，她爱他——只是有时。但大部分时间里，她并不爱他。爱究竟是什么呢？现在她明白，自由比爱更伟大。
“自由，精神上和肉体上的自由！”她再次说道。
这时，姐姐约瑟芬在房间门口等着。
“开门，”约瑟芬喊道，“你会把自己折腾出病的。路易丝，你想干什么？求求你，给我开门！”
“走开，我没病。”是的，此时，她正透过那扇敞开的窗户，深吸着生命之气。
她畅想着未来的日子，内心无比快乐。春花，秋月……所有的日子都将是自己的了。她开始盼望生命变长，而昨天，生命似乎还是那样悠长。
过了一会儿，她起身打开房门。只见她目光炯炯有神，面颊红润。至于自己看起来是如何坚定有力，神采飞扬——快乐充溢着她，她不知道。她和约瑟芬走下楼，理查兹正在楼下等她们。
一个男人打开了门，是布伦特里。他手拿手提箱和雨伞，一副风尘仆仆，筋疲力尽的样子。他没有在车祸中遇难，甚至，他根本不知道有一列火车出事了。约瑟芬突然大叫起来，这让他感到很意外。他更不明白的是，理查兹为什么会迅速地把他和路易丝隔开，不让她看到自己。
然而，太晚了。
医生们来了，他们说路易丝死于极其衰弱的心脏，死因是兴奋过度。
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