Regret
by Kate Chopin
This story was first published in 1897 when it appeared in Chopin's short story collection A Night in Acadia.
MAMZELLE AURLIE possessed a good strong figure, ruddy cheeks, hair that was changing from brown to gray, and a determined eye. She wore a man's hat about the farm, and an old blue army overcoat when it was cold, and sometimes top-boots.
Mamzelle Aurlie 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.
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.
One morning Mamzelle Aurlie 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.
The young woman had appeared but five minutes before, accompanied by these four children. In her arms she carried little Lodie; she dragged Ti Nomme by an unwilling hand; while Marcline and Marclette followed with irresolute steps.
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 — it seemed to her a million miles away; and Valsin was waiting with the mule-cart to drive her to the station.
“It's no question, Mamzelle Aurlie; you jus' got to keep those youngsters fo' me tell I come back. Dieu sait, I wouldn' botha you with 'em if it was any otha way to do! Make 'em mine you, Mamzelle Aurlie; don' spare 'em. Me, there, I'm half crazy between the chil'ren, an' Lon not home, an' maybe not even to fine po' maman alive encore!” — a harrowing possibility which drove Odile to take a final hasty and convulsive leave of her disconsolate family.
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' laughter was coming across the flowering cotton-field.
Mamzelle Aurlie stood contemplating the children. She looked with a critical eye upon Marcline, who had been left staggering beneath the weight of the chubby Lodie. She surveyed with the same calculating air Marclette 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.
If Mamzelle Aurlie's 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 Aurlie, and which she was ill prepared to give.
She was, indeed, very inapt in her management of Odile's children during the first few days. How could she know that Marclette always wept when spoken to in a loud and commanding tone of voice? It was a peculiarity of Marclette's. She became acquainted with Ti Nomme's passion for flowers only when he had plucked all the choicest gardenias and pinks for the apparent purpose of critically studying their botanical construction.
“'T ain't enough to tell 'im, Mamzelle Aurlie,” Marcline instructed her; “you got to tie 'im in a chair. It's w'at maman all time do w'en he's bad: she tie 'im in a chair.” The chair in which Mamzelle Aurlie tied Ti Nomme was roomy and comfortable, and he seized the opportunity to take a nap in it, the afternoon being warm.
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, sun-browned feet had every one to be washed sweet and clean? And it made Marcline and Marclette laugh merrily — the idea that Mamzelle Aurlie should for a moment have believed that Ti Nomme could fall asleep without being told the story of Croque-mitaine or Loup-garou, or both; or that lodie could fall asleep at all without being rocked and sung to.
“I tell you, Aunt Ruby,” Mamzelle Aurlie informed her cook in confidence; “me, I'd rather manage a dozen plantation' than fo' chil'ren. It's terrassent! Bont! don't talk to me about chil'ren!”
“T ain' ispected sich as you would know airy thing 'bout 'em, Mamzelle Aurlie. I see dat plainly yistiddy w'en I spy dat li'le chile playin' wid yo' baskit o' keys. You don' know dat makes chillun grow up hard-headed, to play wid keys? Des like it make 'em teeth hard to look in a lookin'-glass. Them's the things you got to know in the raisin' an' manigement o' chillun.”
Mamzelle Aurlie certainly did not pretend or aspire to such subtle and far-reaching knowledge on the subject as Aunt Ruby possessed, who had “raised five an' buried six” in her day. She was glad enough to learn a few little mother-tricks to serve the moment's need.
Ti Nomme's 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 — 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 Lodie's hot, plump body pressed close against her, and the little one's warm breath beating her cheek like the fanning of a bird's wing.
But at the end of two weeks Mamzelle Aurlie had grown quite used to these things, and she no longer complained.
It was also at the end of two weeks that Mamzelle Aurlie, one evening, looking away toward the crib where the cattle were being fed, saw Valsin's blue cart turning the bend of the road. Odile sat beside the mulatto, upright and alert. As they drew near, the young woman's beaming face indicated that her home-coming was a happy one.
But this coming, unannounced and unexpected, threw Mamzelle Aurlie 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 Marcline and Marclette? Cutting and fashioning doll-rags in the corner of the gallery. As for Lodie, she was safe enough in Mamzelle Aurlie's arms; and she had screamed with delight at sight of the familiar blue cart which was bringing her mother back to her.
THE excitement was all over, and they were gone. How still it was when they were gone! Mamzelle Aurlie 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.
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 Aurlie 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.
Frequently Asked Questions about Regret
What is "Regret" by Kate Chopin about?
Regret tells the story of Mamzelle Aurélie, a fifty-year-old unmarried woman who has never thought of marrying and never been in love. She lives alone on her farm with her dog Ponto, her gun, her workers, and her religion. When her neighbor Odile is called away to tend to her dying mother, she leaves her four young children — Marcéline, Marcélette, Ti Nomme, and baby Lodie — in Mamzelle's care. Over two weeks, Mamzelle is transformed by the demands and joys of caring for them. When Odile returns and takes the children home, Mamzelle sits alone in the deepening shadows and cries — "not softly, as women often do. She cried like a man, with sobs that seemed to tear her very soul."
What are the main themes of "Regret" by Kate Chopin?
The central theme is the belated recognition of what one has missed in life. Mamzelle Aurélie has lived fifty years without regretting her decision to refuse a proposal at age twenty. It takes the temporary presence of four children to reveal the depth of her solitude and the maternal capacity she never exercised. A second theme is the tension between independence and connection: Mamzelle's self-sufficient, almost masculine life on the farm is portrayed as complete, yet the children expose an emotional void she had not acknowledged. also explores the transformative power of love — not romantic love, but the messy, exhausting, physical love demanded by small children, which rewires Mamzelle's habits and softens her defenses in just two weeks.
What happens at the end of "Regret" and what does the ending mean?
When Odile returns unexpectedly and gathers her children, the house falls silent. Mamzelle Aurélie seats herself at the table, looks around at the empty room filling with evening shadows, lets her head fall on her arm, and begins to cry — "not softly, as women often do. She cried like a man, with sobs that seemed to tear her very soul." The ending means that Mamzelle is mourning not just the departure of these particular children but the entire unlived life she now recognizes she has missed. The "evening shadows creeping and deepening around her solitary figure" symbolize the approaching twilight of her life, which she will spend alone. Her dog Ponto licks her hand, but she does not notice — the only comfort available to her is the one she has always had, and it is no longer enough.
Who is Mamzelle Aurélie in "Regret"?
Mamzelle Aurélie is the story's protagonist — a sturdy, ruddy-cheeked woman of fifty who runs her own farm. She wears a man's hat, an old blue army overcoat, and sometimes top-boots. She has never married, never been in love, and promptly declined the one proposal she received at age twenty. She is competent, decisive, and self-contained — "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, and her religion." Her character arc — from confident independence to helpless grief — is compressed into just two weeks and conveyed almost entirely through physical detail rather than interior monologue.
What literary devices does Kate Chopin use in "Regret"?
uses symbolism extensively: Mamzelle's man's hat and army overcoat represent her masculine self-sufficiency, while the white aprons and sewing basket she takes out for the children signal her emerging maternal side. The evening shadows in the final scene symbolize the approaching end of her life. Irony runs through the premise: the woman who "had not yet lived to regret" her refusal of marriage experiences thirty years of suppressed regret in a single moment. Chopin's spare, precise prose is itself a device — the final paragraph delivers the emotional climax in just a few sentences, with the simile "she cried like a man" subverting gender expectations one last time. The story also uses contrast between Mamzelle's opening description (confident, gun-toting) and her closing image (head on arm, weeping) to measure the distance the character has traveled.
When was "Regret" by Kate Chopin published?
wrote Regret in 1894, and it was published in her second story collection, A Night in Acadie, in 1897. The story is set in rural Louisiana among Chopin's characteristic Cajun and Creole communities. It is one of her most widely anthologized and studied stories, frequently read alongside The Story of an Hour and Desiree's Baby as an example of Chopin's ability to compress profound emotional revelation into a brief narrative.
What is the significance of Mamzelle crying "like a man"?
The simile "she cried like a man, with sobs that seemed to tear her very soul" is the story's most discussed phrase. It operates on multiple levels. On the surface, it suggests the intensity and rawness of her grief — not the polite weeping society expects of women, but deep, convulsive sobs. It also reinforces the characterization of Mamzelle as someone who has lived her life in a conventionally masculine way — even her grief is expressed in masculine terms. Most pointedly, it subverts expectations: the woman who wore a man's hat and army coat and seemed to need no one is revealed to be capable of the deepest human vulnerability. suggests that self-sufficiency and emotional depth are not mutually exclusive — that the strongest exterior can conceal the most acute longing.
How do the children change Mamzelle Aurélie's life?
The children transform every aspect of Mamzelle's routine. She must learn to bathe small feet, shake out nightgowns, tell bedtime stories, and tolerate Ti Nomme's sticky kisses. She unearths white aprons she has not worn in years and retrieves her neglected sewing basket. She learns that little children "are not little pigs" and cannot be managed like livestock. Her cook Aunt Ruby teaches her "mother-tricks," and gradually the noise, laughter, and crying that fill her house become not just tolerable but normal. By the end of two weeks, she "no longer complained" — and when they leave, the silence is devastating. The children have shown her what she has been missing without knowing it, and the knowledge cannot be un-learned.
How does "Regret" connect to Kate Chopin's other works?
Regret inverts the pattern of many of Chopin's stories. Where The Story of an Hour shows a woman discovering freedom from marriage, and A Pair of Silk Stockings depicts a mother briefly escaping domestic duty, Regret shows a woman discovering that she wanted the domestic life she avoided. Together, these stories resist any single prescription for women's happiness — suggests that both the choice to embrace domesticity and the choice to reject it carry their own costs.
Who are the children in "Regret" and what are they like?
Odile's four children are Marcéline (the eldest, responsible and instructive), Marcélette (who cries when spoken to loudly), Ti Nomme (a mischievous boy who plucks all the best flowers and needs to be tied in a chair), and Lodie (the baby, who must be rocked and sung to sleep and whose "hot, plump body" Mamzelle eventually grows accustomed to having pressed against her at night). Each child teaches Mamzelle something different about the demands of caregiving, and together they dismantle her orderly, solitary world piece by piece.
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