When Death Unlocks Life's Cage

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Ron quietly reads Kate Chopin's revolutionary short story "The Story of an Hour," a tale about a woman who discovers a sense of freedom after learning of her husband's supposed death. The story unfolds with a shocking twist ending that reveals profound truths about marriage, autonomy, and the complex nature of human emotions in the late 19th century.

• Mrs. Mallard, a woman with heart trouble, learns her husband has died in a railroad accident
• After initial grief, she experiences an unexpected sense of freedom when alone in her room
• She whispers "free, free, free" as she contemplates a future belonging solely to herself
• Mrs. Mallard acknowledges that while she loved her husband sometimes, she values her newfound independence
• The story ends with a devastating twist when her husband appears alive, causing Mrs. Mallard to die from shock
• Doctors misdiagnose her death as being caused by "the joy that kills"

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:02):
Hello, are you tired?
You will be.
This is Ron Reads.
I'm reading a book.
It's called the Story of anHour.

(00:28):
It's by Kate Chopin or Chopin,I'm not sure but I'm going to
read it to you very quietly.
For some reason, that's what Ithink when I read this story.

(00:50):
This is what it says the Storyof an Hour by Kate Chopin.
By Kate Chopin.

(01:11):
Knowing that Miss Mallard wasafflicted with a heart trouble,
great care was taken to break itto 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 thatrevealed, in half concealing,
her husband's friend Richardswas there too, near her.

(01:32):
It was he who had been in thenewspaper office when
intelligence of the railroaddisaster was received, with
Brantley Mallard's name leadingthe list of the killed.
With Brantley Mallard's nameleading the list of the killed.
He had only taken time toassure himself of its truth by a
second telegram and hadhastened to forestall any less

(01:53):
careful, less tender friend inbearing the sad message.
She did not hear the story, asmany women have heard the same,
with a paralyzed inability toaccept its significance.
She wept at once, with sudden,wild abandonment in her sister's
arms.
When the storm of grief hadspent itself, she went away to

(02:15):
her room alone.
She would have no one followher.
There stood, facing the openwindow, a comfortable, roomy
chair, and to this she sank,pressed down by a physical
exhaustion that haunted her bodyand seemed to reach into her
soul.
She could see, in the opensquare before her house, the

(02:39):
tops of trees that were allaquiver with the new spring life
.
The delicious breath of therain was in the air.
In the street, below, a peddlerwas crying his wares, the notes
of a distant song which someone was singing, reached her

(03:00):
faintly, and countless sparrowswere twittering.
In the caves, there werepatches of blue sky showing here
and there, through the clouds,rather, 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 thechair, quite motionless, except

(03:25):
when a sob came up into herthroat and shook her, as a child
who has cried itself to sleepcontinues to sob in his dreams.
She was young, with a fair, calmface, whose lines bespoke
repression and even a certainstrength, but now there was a
dull stare in her eyes, whosegaze was fixed away off yonder

(03:48):
on one of those patches of bluesky.
She was not a glance ofreflection, but rather indicated
a suspicion of intelligentthought.
There was something coming toher and she was waiting for it
fearfully.
What was it?
She didn't know, it was toosubtle and elusive to name, but

(04:09):
she felt it creeping out of thesky, reaching towards her
through the sounds, the scents,the color that filled the air.
Now her bosom rose and felltumultuously.
She was beginning to recognizethis thing that was approaching
to possess her, and she wasstriving to beat it back with
her will, as powerless as hertwo white, slender hands would

(04:31):
have been.
When she abandoned herself, alittle whispered word escaped
her slightly parted lips.
She said it over and over underher breath free, free, free.
The vacant stare and the lookof terror that had followed it

(04:57):
went from her eyes.
They stayed keen and bright.
Her pulses beat fast and thecoursing blood warmed and
relaxed every inch of her body.
She did not stop to ask if itwere not a monstrous joy that
held her.
A clear and exalted perceptionenabled her to dismiss the

(05:18):
suggestion as trivial.
She knew that she would weepagain when she saw the kind,
tender hands folded in death,the face that had never looked,
save with love, upon her, fixedin gray and dead.

(05:40):
But she saw, beyond that bittermoment, a long procession of
years to come that would belongto her absolutely, and she
opened and spread her arms outto them and welcome.
There would be no one to livefor her during those coming
years.
She would live for herself.
There would be no powerful willbending hers.

(06:00):
In that blind persistence withwhich men and women believe they
have a right to impose aprivate will upon a fellow
creature, a kind intention or acruel intention made the act
seem no less a crime as shelooked upon it in that brief
moment of illumination.
And yet she had loved him.

(06:23):
Sometimes, often she had not.
What did it matter?
What could love, the unsolvedmystery, count for?
In the face of this possessionof self-assertion, which she
suddenly recognized as thestrongest impulse of her being

(06:44):
Free, body and soul free, shekept whispering.
Josephine was kneeling beforethe closed door with her lips to
the keyhole, imploring foradmission.
Louise, open the door.
I beg, open the door.

(07:07):
You will make yourself ill.
What are you doing, louise, forheaven's sake?
Open the door.
You will make yourself ill.
What are you doing, louise, forheaven's sake?
Open the door, go away, I'm notmaking myself ill.
No, she was drinking in everyelixir of life through that open
window.
Her fancy was running riotalong those days ahead of her

(07:31):
Spring days, summer days and allsorts of days that would be her
own she breathed a quick prayerthat life might be long.
It was only yesterday she hadthought with a shudder that life
might be long.
She arose at length and openedthe door to her sister's

(07:52):
importunities.
There was a feverish triumph inher eyes and she carried
herself unwittingly like agoddess of victory.
She clasped her sister's waistand together they descended the
stairs.
Richard stood waiting for themat the bottom.
Someone was opening the frontdoor with a latch key.
It was Brantley Mallard whoentered, a little travel-stained

(08:17):
, composedly, carrying hisgrip-sacking umbrella.
He had been far from the sceneof the accident and did not even
know there had been one.
He stood amazed at Josephine'spiercing cry, at Richard's quick
motion to screen him from theview of his wife.
But Richard's was too late.

(08:37):
When the doctors came they saidshe had died of heart disease,
of the joy that kills.
You've been listening to RonReads the Story of an Hour by

(08:58):
Kate Chopin.
Please give me a five starrating.
Leave a glowing review andshare this immensely boring

(09:19):
podcast with someone that youmay or may not love.
Goodbye.