Mrs. Dalloway Virginia Woolf Harvest

Mrs. Dalloway's Release

Hard to believe it had been a whole year; the party seemed just yesterday and yet, so long ago; she was new person since then; well, not so very different; only in some ways, of course; she was less dependant than she had been, more easy with only herself to consult; when she woke in the morning the day didn't loom quite so dangerously. She did miss him, despite all the space he had given her, much more than she imagined possible; oh, she had cried at first, of course, the initial shock was so jarring and it was all so unexpected.

He was fine the night before at the party, but the next day he declared himself indisposed; how was she to know it was something serious? Sensible Richard, always so careful of his health, always so moderate in all his habits; so dull and pleasant; who would dream it could happen? Every year there were heart attacks, of course, like Mrs. Chandler down the block when Clarissa was a child -- left with two children to raise alone, and her husband only 38. All the women in the neighborhood had nagged for more life insurance, she remembered that.

At first, she wanted not to think about what had happened; the whole thing told over and over again hadn't helped at all; how she had gone for a long walk downtown just to mull over the events of the day before, the party and Peter; oh, Peter -- it was so long ago! She looked in all the windows of the shops and stopped in the tea room for a sip of strong tea and a biscuit. The tea room's owner told her about her daughter who was awarded a scholarship for college; then, Clarissa had hurried home because the air had turned suddenly heavy and close, the sky purple with low lying clouds, and she without her umbrella. The house had a strange air about it; something about the look as she approached that made her think -- well, that somehow, something was up. The maid opened the door silently. When she came indoors and gave her yellow feathered hat to Lucy, she shook her hair of the light mist that had already begun to fall and lay her purse and gloves on the hall table; a feeling of disquiet in the air; the cook was not whistling in the kitchen; the servants unusually silent and tense; the sound of Big Ben striking the half hour. The butler had rung up for a physician who came even as he told her what he had done; how he had found Mr. Dalloway in the library after his tea. Did it happen, she wondered, when she was hearing about the daughter and the scholarship; as she was dunking oatmeal shortbread in her tea, smiling and rejoicing with the tearoom's owner?

Afterwards, Elizabeth came (alone, thank God) and stayed through the whole ghastly three days standing in front of the open casket; receiving people; endlessly thanking people for their sympathy and condolences; allowing Milicent Bruton, openly weeping, to kiss her and Lady Bexborough to brush her cheek; saying to herself over and over again, "Richard is dead. He's dead;" as though to make it real; and Elizabeth, her darling Elizabeth, oddly serene and beside her the whole time like an angel. Elizabeth wanted her to pray, and finally she had consented -- just to end the dreary argument -- still she did not believe for a moment in God. Afterwards, the ordeal of solicitors and understanding her financial situation, which really wasn't all that bad; Richard had sensibly provided for her; dear Richard.

Wasn't it amazing how life goes on; the routine of her days remained so much the same, except that now Richard didn't come home; the obligatory mourning period rather a relief not to socialize; one day when she awoke she thought I'm all right, I really am all right; and wonder of wonders, she looked good in black; and no older at all; she continued to wear it after the mourning was over; and oddly, began to feel herself fill the room again when she came downstairs and gave instructions to the servants.