{"id":22071,"date":"2025-05-15T11:26:22","date_gmt":"2025-05-15T15:26:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=22071"},"modified":"2025-05-15T11:26:25","modified_gmt":"2025-05-15T15:26:25","slug":"kate-chopin-regret","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/kate-chopin-regret\/22071\/","title":{"rendered":"Kate Chopin: Regret"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis:<\/strong> “Regret<\/em>” is a short story by Kate Chopin, published in May 1895 in Century<\/em> magazine and later collected in the book A Night in Acadie<\/em> (1897). The story centers on Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie, a strong-willed country woman who has never married and has no desire to do so. One day, her quiet routine is disrupted when she must care for her neighbor’s four young children. With no experience with children and reluctance to show affection, Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie begins a forced coexistence that tests her customs, patience, and deepest convictions.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Kate<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Regret<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Kate Chopin
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie possessed a good strong figure, ruddy cheeks, hair that was changing from brown to gray, and a determined eye. She wore a man\u2019s hat about the farm, and an old blue army overcoat when it was cold, and sometimes topboots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie had never thought of marrying. She had never been in love. At the age of twenty she had received a proposal, which she had promptly declined, and at the age of fifty she had not yet lived to regret it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So she was quite alone in the world, except for her dog Ponto, and the negroes who lived in her cabins and worked her crops, and the fowls, a few cows, a couple of mules, her gun (with which she shot chicken-hawks), and her religion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One morning Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie stood upon her gallery, contemplating, with arms akimbo, a small band of very small children who, to all intents and purposes, might have fallen from the clouds, so unexpected and bewildering was their coming, and so unwelcome. They were the children of her nearest neighbor, Odile, who was not such a near neighbor, after all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The young woman had appeared but five minutes before, accompanied by these four children. In her arms she carried little Elodie; she dragged Ti Nomme by an unwilling hand; while Marc\u00e9line and Marc\u00e9lette followed with irresolute steps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her face was red and disfigured from tears and excitement. She had been summoned to a neighboring parish by the dangerous illness of her mother; her husband was away in Texas \u2014 it seemed to her a million miles away; and Valsin was waiting with the mule-cart to drive her to the station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s no question, Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie; you jus\u2019 got to keep those youngsters fo\u2019 me tell I come back. Dieu sait, I would n\u2019 botha you with \u2018em if it was any otha way to do! Make \u2018em mine you, Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie; don\u2019 spare \u2018em. Me, there, I\u2019m half crazy between the chil\u2019ren, an\u2019 L\u00e9on not home, an\u2019 maybe not even to fine po\u2019 maman alive encore!\u201d \u2014 a harrowing possibility which drove Odile to take a final hasty and convulsive leave of her disconsolate family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She left them crowded into the narrow strip of shade on the porch of the long, low house; the white sunlight was beating in on the white old boards; some chickens were scratching in the grass at the foot of the steps, and one had boldly mounted, and was stepping heavily, solemnly, and aimlessly across the gallery. There was a pleasant odor of pinks in the air, and the sound of negroes\u2019 laughter was coming across the flowering cotton-field.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie stood contemplating the children. She looked with a critical eye upon Marc\u00e9line, who had been left staggering beneath the weight of the chubby Elodie. She surveyed with the same calculating air Marc\u00e9lette mingling her silent tears with the audible grief and rebellion of Ti Nomme. During those few contemplative moments she was collecting herself, determining upon a line of action which should be identical with a line of duty. She began by feeding them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie\u2019s responsibilities might have begun and ended there, they could easily have been dismissed; for her larder was amply provided against an emergency of this nature. But little children are not little pigs; they require and demand attentions which were wholly unexpected by Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie, and which she was ill prepared to give.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was, indeed, very inapt in her management of Odile\u2019s children during the first few days. How could she know that Marc\u00e9lette always wept when spoken to in a loud and commanding tone of voice? It was a peculiarity of Marc\u00e9lette\u2019s. She became acquainted with Ti Nomme\u2019s passion for flowers only when he had plucked all the choicest gardenias and pinks for the apparent purpose of critically studying their botanical construction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Tain\u2019t enough to tell \u2018im, Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie,\u201d Marc\u00e9line instructed her; \u201cyou got to tie \u2018im in a chair. It\u2019s w\u2019at maman all time do w\u2019en he\u2019s bad: she tie \u2018im in a chair.\u201d The chair in which Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie tied Ti Nomme was roomy and comfortable, and he seized the opportunity to take a nap in it, the afternoon being warm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At night, when she ordered them one and all to bed as she would have shooed the chickens into the hen-house, they stayed uncomprehending before her. What about the little white nightgowns that had to be taken from the pillow-slip in which they were brought over, and shaken by some strong hand till they snapped like ox-whips? What about the tub of water which had to be brought and set in the middle of the floor, in which the little tired, dusty, sunbrowned feet had every one to be washed sweet and clean? And it made Marc\u00e9line and Marc\u00e9lette laugh merrily \u2014 the idea that Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie should for a moment have believed that Ti Nomme could fall asleep without being told the story of Croque-mitaine<\/em> or Loup-garou<\/em>, or both; or that Elodie could fall asleep at all without being rocked and sung to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI tell you, Aunt Ruby,\u201d Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie informed her cook in confidence; \u201cme, I\u2019d rather manage a dozen plantation\u2019 than fo\u2019 chil\u2019ren. It\u2019s terrassent! Bont\u00e9! Don\u2019t talk to me about chil\u2019ren!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c \u2018Tain\u2019 ispected sich as you would know airy thing \u2018bout \u2018em, Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie. I see dat plainly yistiddy w\u2019en I spy dat li\u2019le chile playin\u2019 wid yo\u2019 baskit o\u2019 keys. You don\u2019 know dat makes chillun grow up hard-headed, to play wid keys? Des like it make \u2018em teeth hard to look in a lookin\u2019-glass. Them\u2019s the things you got to know in the raisin\u2019 an\u2019 manige-ment o\u2019 chillun.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie certainly did not pretend or aspire to such subtle and far-reaching knowledge on the subject as Aunt Ruby possessed, who had \u201craised five an\u2019 bared (buried) six\u201d in her day. She was glad enough to learn a few little mother-tricks to serve the moment\u2019s need.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ti Nomme\u2019s sticky fingers compelled her to unearth white aprons that she had not worn for years, and she had to accustom herself to his moist kisses \u2014 the expressions of an affectionate and exuberant nature. She got down her sewing-basket, which she seldom used, from the top shelf of the armoire, and placed it within the ready and easy reach which torn slips and buttonless waists demanded. It took her some days to become accustomed to the laughing, the crying, the chattering that echoed through the house and around it all day long. And it was not the first or the second night that she could sleep comfortably with little Elodie\u2019s hot, plump body pressed close against her, and the little one\u2019s warm breath beating her cheek like the fanning of a bird\u2019s wing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But at the end of two weeks Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie had grown quite used to these things, and she no longer complained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was also at the end of two weeks that Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie, one evening, looking away toward the crib where the cattle were being fed, saw Valsin\u2019s blue cart turning the bend of the road. Odile sat beside the mulatto, upright and alert. As they drew near, the young woman\u2019s beaming face indicated that her homecoming was a happy one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But this coming, unannounced and unexpected, threw Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie into a flutter that was almost agitation. The children had to be gathered. Where was Ti Nomme? Yonder in the shed, putting an edge on his knife at the grindstone. And Marc\u00e9line and Marc\u00e9lette? Cutting and fashioning doll-rags in the corner of the gallery. As for Elodie, she was safe enough in Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie\u2019s arms; and she had screamed with delight at sight of the familiar blue cart which was bringing her mother back to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The excitement was all over, and they were gone. How still it was when they were gone! Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie stood upon the gallery, looking and listening. She could no longer see the cart; the red sunset and the blue-gray twilight had together flung a purple mist across the fields and road that hid it from her view. She could no longer hear the wheezing and creaking of its wheels. But she could still faintly hear the shrill, glad voices of the children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She turned into the house. There was much work awaiting her, for the children had left a sad disorder behind them; but she did not at once set about the task of righting it. Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie seated herself beside the table. She gave one slow glance through the room, into which the evening shadows were creeping and deepening around her solitary figure. She let her head fall down upon her bended arm, and began to cry. Oh, but she cried! Not softly, as women often do. She cried like a man, with sobs that seemed to tear her very soul. She did not notice Ponto licking her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“Regret” is a short story by Kate Chopin, published in May 1895 in Century magazine and later collected in the book A Night in Acadie (1897). The story centers on Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie, a strong-willed country woman who has never married and has no desire to do so. One day, her quiet routine is disrupted when she must care for her neighbor’s four young children. With no experience with children and reluctance to show affection, Mamzelle Aur\u00e9lie begins a forced coexistence that tests her customs, patience, and deepest convictions.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":22051,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[636,630,570],"class_list":["post-22071","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-kate-chopin-en","tag-realism","tag-united-states","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":636,"label":"Kate Chopin"},{"value":630,"label":"Realism"},{"value":570,"label":"United States"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/05\/Kate-Chopin-Arrepentimiento.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":419,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":419,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":636,"name":"Kate Chopin","slug":"kate-chopin-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":636,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":5,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":630,"name":"Realism","slug":"realism","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":630,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":52,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":570,"name":"United States","slug":"united-states","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":570,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":294,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22071","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=22071"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/22071\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/22051"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=22071"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=22071"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=22071"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}