Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snewscast.com and if you enjoy our show, please share us with a friend. This episode is dedicated to Olivia and brought to you by Crystal Candelabra. Tonight, we'll read the short story, Mam Pelagy written by Kate Chopin. Chopin was an American author of short stories and novels based in Louisiana. Her major works were two short story collections of which this story is found and two novels. One of those novels, The Wakinging, is what she is best known for today. Snues cast Red and excerpt back in 2019, but it has been much too long since we have read any more from this author. Kate Chopin lived in a variety of locations based on different economies and societies. These were sources of insights and observations from what she analyzed and expressed her ideas about late 19th century Southern American society. She based many of her stories and sketches on her life in Louisiana. They expressed her unusual portrayals for the time of women as individuals with

separate wants and needs.

Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. One, when the war began, there stood on Cote Joyuz, an imposing mansion of red brick, shaped like the Pantheon. A grove of majestic live oaks surrounded it. 30 years later, only the thick walls were standing, with the dull red brick showing here and there through a mounted growth of clinging vines. The huge round pillars were intact, so to some extent was the stone flagging of hall and portico. There had been no homes so stately along the whole stretch of coat-choice. knew that as they knew it had cost Philippe Vellmet, $60,000 to build. A way back in 1840. No one was in danger of forgetting that fact so long as his daughter,, Pellejee survived. She was a queenly, white-haired woman of 50. Mem Pellejee, they called her, though she was unmarried, as was her sister Pauline, a child in Mem Pellejee's eyes, a child of 35. The two lived alone in a three-roomed cabin, almost within the shadow of the ruin. They lived for a dream, for Ma'am Pelagese's dream, which was to rebuild the old home, it would be pitiful to tell how their days were spent to accomplish this end, how the dollars had been saved for 30 years and the piccayoon's hoarded. And yet, not half enough gathered.

But men paleoies felt sure of 20 years of life before her and counted upon as many more for her sister. And what could not come to pass in 20 and 40 years. Often, of pleasant afternoons, the two would drink their black coffee. Seated upon the stone-flagged portico, whose canopy was the blue sky of Louisiana. They loved to sit there in the silence, with only each other and the sheenie-prying lizards for company, talking of the old times and planning for the new, while light breezes stirred the tattered finds high up among the columns, where owls nested. We could never hope to have all just as it was, Pauline. Ma'am Pilegy would say. Perhaps the marble pillars of the salon will have to be replaced by wooden ones, and the crystal candelabra left out. Should you be willing, Pauline? Oh yes, Sissor. I shall be willing. It was always yes, Sissor, or no, Sissor. Just as you please, Sissor, with poor little Mamzel, Pauline. For what did she remember of that old life and that old splendor? Only a faint gleam here and there, the half-consciousness of a young uneventful existence, and then a great crash. That meant the nearness of war, the revolt, confusion, being carried to the log cabin which was still their home. Their brother, Leandra, had known more of it all than Pauline, and not so much as Pallaget. He had left the management of the big plantation with all its memories and traditions to his older sister and had gone away to dwell in cities. That was many years ago. Now, Leandra's business called him frequently and upon long journeys from home, and his motherless daughter was coming to stay with her aunts at Cote Julius. They talked about it, sipping their coffee on the ruined portico. Mamzel Pauline was terribly excited. The flush that throbbed into her pale, nervous face showed it. And she locked her thin fingers in and out, incessantly. But what shall we do with Lapa Teed, Sisar? Where shall we put her? How shall we amuse her? She will sleep upon a cot in the room next to ours, responded man-piligie, and live as we do. She knows how we live, and why we live. Her father has told her, she knows we have money and could squander it if we chose. Do not fret Pauline. Let us hope L Petite is a true felmet. Then Mempelligie rose with stately deliberation and went to saddle her horse. For she had yet to make her last daily round through the fields. And Mamzel Polly enthretted her way slowly among the tangled grasses toward the cabin. The coming of Lappati, bringing with her as she did the pungent atmosphere of an outside and dimly known world was a shock to these two living their dream life. The girl was quite as tall as her aunt Pelaji with dark eyes that reflected joy as a still pool reflects the light of stars, and her rounded cheek was tinged like the pink grape-mertle. Memezel Pauline kissed her and trembled. Meme Palagie looked into her eyes with a searching gaze, which seemed to seek a likeness of the past in the living present.

And they made room between them for this young life. 2. La Petite had determined upon trying to fit herself to the strange narrow existence, which she knew awaited her at court-jeuuse. It went well enough at first. Sometimes she followed mempélagy into the fields to note how the cotton was ripening, open and white, or to count the ears of corn upon the hardy stalks. But oftener she was with her aunt Pauline, assisting in household offices, chattering of her brief past, or walking with the older woman arm and arm under the trailing moss of the giant oaks. Memzel, Pauline, steps grew very buoyant that summer, and her eyes were sometimes as bright as a bird's, unless La Petite were away from her side when they would lose all other light but one of expectancy. The girl seemed to love her well in return and called her her endearingly tunt-tunt. But as the time went by, Lumpity became very quiet, not listless, but thoughtful, and slow in her movements. When her cheeks began to pale, till they were tinged like the creamy plumes of the white

crepe myrtle that grew in the ruin.

One day, when she sat within its shadow, between her aunts, holding a hand of each, she

said, Tont-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p- I love you both. Please remember that I love you both, but I must go away from you. I can't live any longer here at Cochulius. A spasm passed through M.Cell Pauline's delicate frame. La Petite could feel the twitch of it in the wierry fingers that were intertwined with her own. imppilogy remained unchanged and motionless. No human eye could penetrate so deep as to see the satisfaction which her soul felt. She said, What do you mean, Petit? Your father has sent you to us, and I am sure it is his wish that you remain. My father loves me, taunt Palligi, and such will not be his wish when he knows. Oh, she continued with a restless movement. It is as though a weight were pressing me backward here.

I must live another life, the life I lived before. I want to know things that are happening from day to day over the world and hear them talked about. I want my music, my books, my companions. If I had known no other life but this one of privation, I suppose it would be different. If I had to live this life, I should make the best of it. But I do not have to. And you know, Tond Pelaigie, you do not need to. It seems to me she added in a whisper that it is a sin against myself. Oh, tontante, what is the matter with tontante? It was nothing, only a slight feeling of faintness that would soon pass. He entreated them to take no notice, but they brought her some water and fanned her with a palm-metal leaf. But that night, in the stillness of the room, Mamzel, Pauline, sobbed and would not be comforted. Mem, Pelajie, took her in her arms. Pauline, my little sister, Pauline. She intrigued it. I never have seen you like this before. Have we not been happy together, you and I? Oh yes, Sissor. Is it because Lapati is going away? Yes, Sissor. Then she is dear to you than I. Spoke man payla-ji with resentment. Then I, who held you and warmed you in my arms the day you were born, then I, your mother, father, sister, everything that could cherish you. Pauline, don't tell me that. Mamsel Pauline tried to talk. I can't explain it to you, sisal. I don't understand it myself. I love you as I've always loved you next to God. But if Lappati goes away, I can't understand. Help me, Sissor. She seems like a savior, like one who had come and taken me by the hand and was leading me somewhere. Somewhere I want to go. Ma'am Pela G had been sitting beside the bed in her slippers. She held the hand of her sister who lay there and smoothed down the woman's

soft brown hair. She said not a word, and the silence was broken only by Mamzel Pauline's Sobs.

Once, Mampelejia rose to mix a drink of orange flower water,

which she gave to her sister, as she would have offered it to a nervous, fretful child. Almost an hour passed before Mam Pelajia spoke again, Then she said, Pauline, you must cease that sobbing now and sleep. You will make yourself ill. The petite will not go away. Do you hear me? Do you understand? She will stay. I promise you." Memzel Pauline could not clearly comprehend, but she had great faith in the word of her sister and soothed by the promise and the touch of Mem, Pelajie's strong, gentle hand. She fell asleep. Three. Mempelajie, when she saw that her sister slapped, arose noiselessly and stepped outside upon the low-roofed narrow gallery. She did not linger there,

but with a step that was hurried, she crossed the distance that divided her cabin from the ruin. The night was not a dark one, for the sky was clear, and the moon resplendent. But light or dark would have made no difference to Mampalagi. It was not the first time she had stolen away to the ruin at night time when the whole plantation slept, but she never before had been there with the heart so nearly broken. She was going there for the last time to dream her dreams, to see the visions that hid there too had crowded her days and nights,

and to bid them farewell.

There was the first of them, awaiting her upon the very portal,

a robust old white-haired man,

chiding her for returning home so late.

There are guests to be entertained. Does she not know it? Guests from the city and from the near plantations. Yes, she knows it is late. She had been abroad with Philex. And they did not know how the time was speeding. Feliks is there, he will explain it all. He is there beside her, but she does not want to hear what he will tell her father. Memphiligie had sunk onto the bench where she and her sister so often came to sit. Turning, she gazed in through the gaping chasm of the window at her side. The interior of the ruin is ablaze. with with the moonlight, for that is faint beside the other one, the sparkle from the crystal candelabra, moving noiselessly, twinkling, how the gleam of them reflects and glances from the polished marble pillars. The room holds a number of guests. There is old Mizir Lucien Santien leaning against one of the pillars and laughing at something which Mizir Lefim is telling him, till his fat shoulder shake, his son is with him jewels who wants to marry her, she laughs. She wonders if Faelix has told her father yet. There is young Jerome LeFarm, playing at checkers upon the sofa with Leandra. Little Pauline stands annoying them in disturbing the game. Leandra approves her. She begins to cry, and old Clementine, her nurse, who is not far off, limps across the room to pick her up and carry her away. How sensitive the little one is. But she trots about and takes care of herself better than she did a year or two ago, when she fell upon the stone- hall floor and raised a great booboo on her forehead. Pala Gee was hurt and angry enough about it, and she ordered rugs and buffalo robes to be brought and laid thick upon the tiles, till the little one steps were sure. She gazes beyond the salon, back into the big dining hall, where the white, crepe myrtle grows. Ha! How low that bat has circled. It has struck Mampela G. full on the breast. She does not know it. She is beyond there in the dining hall, where her father sits with a group of friends over their wine. As usual, they are talking politics. How tiresome. She has heard them say, La guerre, oftener than once. La guerre, ba. She and Felix have something pleasant her to talk about, out under the oaks, or back in the shade of the Olianders. But they were right, the sound of a cannon has rolled across the southern states, and its echo is heard along the whole stretch of coat, Shulius. Yet pillagie does not believe it. Not till Philex comes to her in the chamber above the dining hall, there where that trumpet vine hangs, comes to say goodbye to her. The hurt which the big brass buttons of his new grey uniform pressed into the tender flash of her bosom has never left it. She sits upon the sofa, and he beside her, both speechless. That room would never have been altered. Even the sofa would have been there in the same spot, and Mempiligie had meant all along for 30 years all along to lie there upon it someday when the time came. The night was nearly spent. Mempiligie had glided from the bench upon which she had rested, and for hours lay prone upon the stone flagging, motionless. When she came to her feet, it was to walk like one in a dream about the great solemn pillars, one after the other. She reached her arms and pressed her cheek and her lips upon the senseless brick. I do, I do whispered mempiligie. There was no longer the moon to guide her steps across the familiar pathway to the cabin. The brightest light in the sky was Venus, this one low in the east. of bats had ceased to beat their wings about the ruin. Even the mockingbird that had warbled for hours in the old mulberry tree had sung himself a sleep. asleep. That darkest hour before the day was man-telling the earth.

Mempiligie hurried through the wet, clinging grass, beating aside the heavy moss that swept across her face, walking on toward the cabin, toward Pauline. Not once did she look back upon the ruin. Four Little more than a year later, the transformation which the old Velmet place had undergone was the talk and wonder of Cote Jouyous. One would have looked in vain for the ruin, it was no longer there. Neither was the log cabin. out in the open where the sun shone upon it, and the breezes blew about it, was a shapely structure fashioned from woods that the forests of the state had furnished. It rested upon a solid foundation of brick. Upon a corner of the pleasant gallery, Sat Leandra smoking his afternoon cigar, and chatting with neighbors who had called. This was to be his PA de Terre, or little apartment now. The home where his sisters and his daughter dwelt. The laughter of young people was heard out under the trees, and within the house where love petite was playing upon the piano. With the enthusiasm of a young artist, she drew from the keyest strains that seemed marvelously beautiful to Mamzel Pauline, who stood in rapture near her. Mamzel Pauline had been touched by the recreation of Elmet. Her cheek was as full and almost as flushed as lapatites. The years were falling away from her. Mem Pellejie had been conversing with her brother and his friends. Then she turned and walked away, stopping to listen a while to the music which Lapiti was making. But it was only for a moment. She went on around the curve of the veranda where she found herself alone. She stayed there, erect, holding to the banister rail and looking out calmly in the distance across the fields. She was dressed in black with the white curchef she always wore folded across her bosom. Her thick, glossy hair rose like a silver diadem from her brow.

In her deep, dark eyes smoldered the light of fires that would never flame.

Years instead of months seemed to have passed over her since the night she bade farewell to her visions. How could it be different for Mempiligie? While the outward pressure of a young and joyous existence had forced her footsteps into the light her soul had stayed in the shadow

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