ISU
In the year 1899 middles class women were not able to make their own choices and live their lives the way they wanted to, instead of the reality; how society wanted them to. Their only roles were as wives, mothers and women of society. They were to honour, respect and obey their husbands. The stories of those women from that time are what I believe Kate Chopin was trying to portray through the character of Edna Pontellier, in her novel The Awakening. This proto-feminist novel has endured a lot of criticism over the years, due to its treatment of women’s issues; it has gone from being condemned to being praised by the public. Society was not quite ready for its content when it first came out in 1899, this harsh backlash towards the novel led to publication ending after only a single edition. It took 70 years, for the public to appreciate the novel for its honest truth towards women issues. In 1969, society was more knowledgeable and open minded towards feminist ideas and the reality that it was, which is why the second edition was released. The lies, a lot of women from that time lived are much like those of Edna Pontellier. Until her awakening, she was living an unhappy and un-fulfilling life; she had no choices, before she was even born her whole life had already been decided and planned out. Much like most women, she was to be married and have kids, those were the sole reasons for her existence and her contributions to society. But her husband treated her with inequality instead of equality, Robert, who could have possibly saved her, but instead left her and the emptiness she felt when she could not finally be “awoken”, were really the last few straws. She felt stuck and unhappy, so she tried to rebel, but in the end she just could not win the battle against society and its harsh views and opinions of the lives of middle class women, and in a final attempt to escape this gruelling truth, she made the only choice she had left, and she committed suicide.
Mr. Pontellier was a good husband by definition; he loved his wife, he supported his family financially, he made sure there was a roof over their heads and food on the table, but there was something missing. There was no passion in their marriage; there was no substance. He didn’t truly care for his wife, it made no difference to him whether she was truly happy or not, as long as he was, that was all that mattered. He never asked her how her day had been; he just began telling her all about his. For example, when he returned home at eleven o’clock at night, and began to tell her about his evening, even though she was already fast asleep, he didn’t mind waking her, and when she showed little interest in what he was saying, “He thought it very discouraging that his wife, who was the sole object of his existence, evinced so little interest in things which concerned him, and valued so little his conversation.” (Chopin, 11) He thought that in making him happy, she would be making herself happy.
Not only that but he treated her as an object in his possession; “You are burnt beyond recognition,” he added, looking at his wife as one looks at a valuable piece of personal property which has suffered some damage.” (Chopin, 4) She was his to control, his own personal chew toy, she must do what he wished of her, whether it was checking on the children, making a meal, or staying home every Tuesday to greet guests.
“What are you doing out here, Edna? I thought I should find you in bed,” said her husband, when he discovered her lying there. He had walked up with Madame Lebrun and left her at the house. His wife did not reply. ”Are you asleep?” he asked, bending down close to look at her. “No.” Her eyes gleamed bright and intense, with no sleepy shadows, as they looked into his. “Do you know it is past one o’clock? Come on,” and he mounted the steps and went into their room. ”Edna!” called Mr. Pontellier from within, after a few moments had gone by. ”Don’t wait for me,” she answered. He thrust his head through the door. “You will take cold out there,” he said, irritably. “What folly is this? Why don’t you come in?” “It isn’t cold; I have my shawl.” ”The mosquitoes will devour you.” ”There are no mosquitoes.” She heard him moving about the room; every sound indicating impatience and irritation. Another time she would have gone in at his request. She would, through habit, have yielded to his desire; not with any sense of submission or obedience to his compelling wishes, but unthinkingly, as we walk, move, sit, stand, go through the daily treadmill of the life which has been portioned out to us. ”Edna, dear, are you not coming in soon?” he asked again, this time fondly, with a note of entreaty. ”No; I am going to stay out here.” “This is more than folly,” he blurted out. “I can’t permit you to stay out there all night. You must come in the house instantly.” With a writhing motion she settled herself more securely in the hammock. She perceived that her will had blazed up, stubborn and resistant. She could not at that moment have done other than denied and resisted. She wondered if her husband had ever spoken to her like that before, and if she had submitted to his command. Of course she had; she remembered that she had. But she could not realize why or how she should have yielded, feeling as she then did. “Léonce, go to bed, ” she said I mean to stay out here. I don’t wish to go in, and I don’t intend to. Don’t speak to me like that again; I shall not answer you.”(Chopin, 79-81)
Robert, another man in Edna’s life, had a great influence on her, he gave her “awakening” just the push it needed to start rolling out of control, and start a whirling wind of thoughts, emotions and unanswered questions within her. These emotions that she had never felt before, this overwhelming sense of purpose, independence, self-fulfillment and that happiness that she had been yearning for all her life, but as quick as they would come they would vanished, even quicker, just making her want it more and more as she continued to push herself further and further from her own life and the reality of it. He also taught her how to swim, giving her those first feelings of purpose, of happiness, and the eagerness to want more.
Edna began to feel like one who awakens gradually out of a dream, a delicious, grotesque, impossible dream, to feel again the realities pressing into her soul. The physical need for sleep began to overtake her; the exuberance which had sustained and exalted her spirit left her helpless and yielding to the conditions which crowded her in.” (Chopin, 82)
The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation. The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace. (Chopin, 34-35)
Edna had attempted all summer to learn to swim. She had received instructions from both the men and women; in some instances from the children. Robert had pursued a system of lessons almost daily; and he was nearly at the point of discouragement in realizing the futility of his efforts. A certain ungovernable dread hung about her when in the water, unless there was a hand near by that might reach out and reassure her. But that night she was like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child, who all of a sudden realizes its powers, and walks for the first time alone, boldly and with over-confidence. She could have shouted for joy. She did shout for joy, as with a sweeping stroke or two she lifted her body to the surface of the water. A feeling of exultation overtook her, as if some power of significant import had been given her to control the working of her body and her soul. She grew daring and reckless, overestimating her strength. She wanted to swim far out, where no woman had swum before. Her unlooked-for achievement was the subject of wonder, applause, and admiration. Each one congratulated himself that his special teachings had accomplished this desired end. ”How easy it is!” she thought. “It is nothing,” she said aloud; “why did I not discover before that it was nothing. Think of the time I have lost splashing about like a baby!” She would not join the groups in their sports and bouts, but intoxicated with her newly conquered power, she swam out alone. She turned her face seaward to gather in an impression of space and solitude, which the vast expanse of water, meeting and melting with the moonlit sky, conveyed to her excited fancy. As she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which to lose herself. Once she turned and looked toward the shore, toward the people she had left there. She had not gone any great distance that is, what would have been a great distance or an experienced swimmer. But to her unaccustomed vision the stretch of water behind her assumed the aspect of a barrier which her unaided strength would never be able to overcome. A quick vision of death smote her soul, and for a second of time appalled and enfeebled her senses. But by an effort she rallied her staggering faculties and managed to regain the land. “(Chopin, 71-73)
Robert made well over one mistake regarding Edna; first he launched her “awakening”, then he fell in love with her, he let her believe that there was more out there for her and that she should be searching for it. But at the same time he set her up for disappointments, first he disappeared to Mexico without even saying goodbye to her or even telling her that he was leaving. Then once he returned, he let her think that they were free to be together, and then he left again. He did more damage on Edna then anyone could have ever believed. He had such a great impact her, but the problem was, his impact on her was changing her so much as a person and as a women, it was a very dangerous impact, after all she ended up dead. He showed her what it felt like to be truly in love and care for someone, but only to leave her feeling lonelier than ever.
“Do me a favor, Robert,” spoke the pretty woman at his side, almost as soon as she and Robert had started their slow, homeward way. She looked up in his face, leaning on his arm beneath the encircling shadow of the umbrella which he had lifted. ”Granted; as many as you like,” he returned, glancing down into her eyes that were full of thoughtfulness and some speculation. “I only ask for one; let Mrs. Pontellier alone.” “Tiens!”he exclaimed, with a sudden, boyish laugh. “Voila que Madame Ratignolle est jalouse!” ”Nonsense! I’m in earnest; I mean what I say. Let Mrs. Pontellier alone.” ”Why?” he asked; himself growing serious at his companion’s solicitation. “She is not one of us; she is not like us. She might make the unfortunate blunder of taking you seriously.” His face flushed with annoyance, and taking off his soft hat he began to beat it impatiently against his leg as he walked. “Why shouldn’t she take me seriously?” he demanded sharply. “Am I a comedian, a clown, a jack-in-the-box? Why shouldn’t she? You Creoles! I have no patience with you! Am I always to be regarded as a feature of an amusing programme? I hope Mrs. Pontellier does take me seriously. I hope she has discernment enough to find in me something besides the blagueur. If I thought there was any doubt — “(Chopin, 50-51)
Middle class women in that time were not free to be their own person, to express themselves individually. A women’s job was to please her husband, and in doing so would be pleasing herself. It was not socially acceptable at the time to find self fulfillment, be an individual, or be your own person unlike anyone else. Women were wives and mothers, nothing else. Edna was forced into marriage, in the sense that, it was her path, just like it was every other woman’s path, they could not decide their own path, choose it or change it, they were all to be married and have children. It would be their duty to be a mother and a wife, they were to obey and please their husband.
“In short, Mrs. Pontellier was not a mother-woman. The mother-women seemed to prevail that summer at Grand Isle. It was easy to know them, fluttering about with extended, protecting wings when any harm, real or imaginary, threatened their precious brood. They were women who idolized their children, worshiped their husbands, and esteemed it a holy privilege to efface themselves as individuals and grow wings as ministering angels.” (Chopin, 19)
Living in that society, Edna would have never been able to find true happiness. Because the life she yearned for, is the kind of life that women are free to live today, in this time, in this society. Not then. In that time you did not see any women running for president, or being police, or firefighters, not even being in the office instead of at home. Any woman trying to realize her dreams, would not have been accepted socially.
Her marriage to Léonce Pontellier was purely an accident, in this respect resembling many other marriages which masquerade as the decrees of Fate. It was in the midst of her secret great passion that she met him. He fell in love, as men are in the habit of doing, and pressed his suit with an earnestness and an ardor which left nothing to be desired. He pleased her; his absolute devotion flattered her. She fancied there was a sympathy of thought and taste between them, in which fancy she was mistaken. Add to this the violent opposition of her father and her sister Margaret to her marriage with a Catholic, and we need seek no further for the motives which led her to accept Monsieur Pontellier, for her husband. The acme. of bliss, which would have been a marriage with the tragedian, was not for her in this world. As the devoted wife of a man who worshiped her, she felt she would take her place with a certain dignity in the world of reality, closing the portals forever behind her upon the realm of romance and dreams. But it was not long before the tragedian had gone to join the cavalry officer and the engaged young man and a few others; and Edna found herself face to face with the realities. She grew fond of her husband, realizing with some unaccountable satisfaction that no trace of passion or excessive and fictitious warmth colored her affection, thereby threatening its dissolution. She was fond of her children in an uneven, impulsive way. She would sometimes gather them passionately to her heart; she would sometimes forget them. The year before they had spent part of the summer with their grandmother Pontellier in Iberville. Feeling secure regarding their happiness and welfare, she did not miss them except with an occasional intense longing. Their absence was a sort of relief, though she did not admit this, even to herself. It seemed to free her of a responsibility which she had blindly assumed and for which Fate had not fitted her.” (Chopin, 47-49)
If her husband had treated her as an equal, and as a human instead of another one of his possessions, then she wouldn’t have fell for Robert; which means she would have been like any of the other women from previous summers that he had spent his time admiring, then she wouldn’t have learned how to swim, or have experienced any of her “awakenings”, she wouldn’t have been left feeling alone, empty and with no purpose to fulfil, so she would have never ended up swimming out into the sea to never return again. If her husband had treated her better, if Robert hadn’t launched her “awakening”, if she was able to be more than just a mother and wife, then maybe her life would never have come to such a brutal stop so soon, at only the age of twenty-eight years.
References:
Chopin, K. (1899) Herbert S Stone and Company. Chicago.
