The Woman Question Reconsidered: Gender, Race, and Class in the Work of

Kate Chopin and Frances Harper

By
Melissa Adams
Knox College

McNair Summer Research 1999

Mentor: Audrey Petty, Asst. Professor of English, Knox College

The label “New Woman,” formulated by Ouida in 1894, describes a political ideology of

radical feminism as much as it refers to the actual supporters of the 19th century’s gender

revolution (Ardis10). Side stepping the issue of race, New Woman advocates focused on gender
and class struggles. They were upper, middle, and lower class white women and gender radicals of

both sexes. Developed in the last two decades of the 19th century, New Woman politics challenged

the strict Victorian social order by advocating “free love,” female employment, economic

independence, and the destruction of class distinctions. In particular, the ideology rejected the

middle class emphasis on marriage, motherhood, male “protection,” and female sexual

“passionlessness.” Broader than the women’s suffrage movement, the New Woman movement

embodied an assault on the very crux of 19th century Western society.

The Victorian doctrine of separate spheres encapsulates much of the New Woman’s

frustration. This postulate holds that men’s and women’s lives are distinct and divided. Men live

in the public sphere of politics and labor while women live in the domestic sphere of household and

familial responsibilities. The New Woman sought to destroy this philosophy while envisioning the

unrestricted freedom of self-determination. The seemingly radical demand for self-actualization

appears radical only because it had not been previously met. Yet, this was not the opinion of most

of her contemporaries. Critics took the opportunity to turn the economically and sexually

independent New Woman into a myth. Due to the small number of women actually carrying out

this political view, the New Woman was easily marginalized as a fictional character from the world

of literature. A reviewer of the Athenaeum argues that “the New Woman is a product oftener met

with in the novels of the day than in ordinary life, where fortunately, she remains so rare as to be

seldom seen in the flesh at all” (Ardis 12-13). These same critics went on to parody the New

Woman as a social deviant and/or lesbian, thus, permitting the conservative Victorian population to

dismiss her and her political agenda. With the stereotype at hand, any author attempting to treat

the New Woman seriously was subject to ridicule and stigmatization. Attacks on the New

Woman’s actual existence and on her moral character demonstrate the critics’ desperate attempt to

limit the demand for gender revolution to the (nonliterary) public sphere, of course, off limits to

women. By silencing feminist power from writing, these critics destroyed the New Woman’s most

effective tool for social change.

 Most nineteenth century American women were socialized to eagerly await marriage, the

event that would transform and complete them. It was this finality, this expectation of submission,

that provoked the New Woman to reject marriage as an institution little better than slavery. In

many ways, Kate Chopin (1850-1904), a noted author of Southern local color stories, agrees. In

“The Story of an Hour,” Mrs. Mallard receives the news of her husband’s unexpected death at first

with outbursts of grief; yet within minutes she realizes the unexpected gift of freedom widowhood

will bring. She thinks, “There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence

with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-

creature” (Chopin 214-15). With her husband gone, Mrs. Mallard will live her life for herself:

“Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all

sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was

only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long” (215). This passage,

perhaps Chopin’s strongest anti-marriage statement, clearly demonstrates her belief that marriage

destroys a woman’s capacity for self-realization.

In contrast, Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (1825-1911), a Northern black orator and

writer for the abolition movement, praises a suitable match where interests align and love reigns.

In Iola Leroy, Harper ends Iola’s story in blissful matrimony. Devoted to the black community, to

“bettering the race,” and to one another, Iola and Dr. Latimer are Harper’s ideal couple. Marriage,

then, is not the problem for Harper. In “The Two Offers,” Harper shows her readers that

irresponsible choices result in unhappiness. Laura, an indulgent young woman, has had two offers

of marriage and can not decide which to accept. Her sensible friend Janette advises that she reject

both if she does not love either enough to have a preference. She says, “I think a woman who is

undecided between two offers, has not love enough for either to make a choice; and in that very

hesitation, indecision, she has reason to pause and seriously reflect, lest her marriage instead of

being an affinity of souls or union of hearts, should be a mere matter of bargain and sale, or an

affair of convenience and selfish interest” (Harper 106). Laura ignores this advice and goes on to

marry a miserable drunkard and die an early death from lack of love. Harper’s message is clear:
marriage is a weighty decision not to be taken lightly. Harper gives Janette a radical stance: she

encourages her friend not to marry. Still, marriage itself is never called into question. For Harper,

it is simply a matter of making the right choice, one in which love is key.

Historically, we must remember the differences in these two author’s perspectives. Iola

Leroy was published in 1892, not even thirty years since the Emancipation Proclamation freed

American slaves allowing them for the first time to be legally married. Thirty years is hardly time

enough for African Americans to consider marriage an oppressive institution. At the publishing of

The Awakening in 1899, it had been approximately one hundred years since Mary Wollstonecraft

spoke out for upper and middle class white women in her groundbreaking feminist text,

Vindication of the Rights of Women. The chasm between these women’s experiences and

expectations for the future is as wide as their views on marriage.

When examining marriage from a woman’s perspective, it seems most appropriate to

establish the power dynamic between the sexes as it exists within the woman’s specific culture, her

family, and her relationship with her spouse. In Chopin’s The Awakening, the reader learns that in

19th century white America, men held authority over their wives and children; husbands were the

undisputed sovereigns of their homes. With the public endorsement of the doctrine of separate

spheres and the strong male presence of their own fathers throughout childhood, most women

accepted and even expected this despotism. In a conversation with her married friend, Adelle, Edna

remembers the childish desire to escape her father’s strict Protestant influence. She says, “Likely

as not it was Sunday…and I was running away from prayers, from the Presbyterian service, read

in the a spirit of gloom by my father that chills me yet to think of” (Chopin 60). In a later visit to

New Orleans, Edna’s father is described as a military man who enjoys strong drinks, racing horses,

and dictating to others. When Edna refuses to attend her sister’s wedding, the Colonel tells her

husband, Leonce, “You are too lenient, too lenient by far…Authority, coercion are what is needed.

Put your foot down good and hard; the only way to manage a wife.” (125). In turn, Leonce thinks,

“The Colonel was perhaps unaware that he had coerced his own wife into her grave” (125).

Though the reader finds no clear evidence of exactly how the Colonel “coerced” his wife to death,
it can be inferred that he must have dominated her until she no longer had a will of her own. Even

in rebellion, Edna cannot escape her father’s patriarchal influence. Her decision to marry Leonce

Pontellier is only augmented by her father’s “violent opposition” to her marriage with a Catholic.

This early rebellion foreshadows Edna’s later behavior in reaction to her husband’s singular

authority. After an evening at the club, Leonce returns home late and informs his sleeping wife that

their son has a high fever that requires attention. Edna knows her children are healthy, yet Leonce

“reproached his wife with her inattention, her habitual neglect of the children. If it was not a

mother’s place to look after the children, whose on earth was it? He himself had his hands full with

his brokerage business. He could not be in two places at once; making a living for his family on

the street, and staying at home to see that no harm befell them” (48). Such a speech confirms the

reader’s suspicions: Edna has married a gender-conservative, insensitive man. Born into a male

dominated culture, raised by a patriarchal father, and married to an authoritative husband, Edna

finds no outlet for her own individuality.

In Iola Leroy, Harper presents the reader with an idealistic interpretation of the power

dynamic within Iola’s specifically African American culture, family, and marriage relationship.

Achieving an autonomous and unified family within the confines of slavery was nearly impossible.

Fathers were often missing, unidentified, or the white “masters.” Mothers, then, became the

cohesive forces holding black families together. Sold or separated from their mothers during

slavery, many African Americans began to search for their missing mothers after the Civil War.

This drive to relocate the mother, thus reuniting the separated slave family, pulls Iola, Harry, and

their uncle, Robert, together in a quest for the mothers they have lost. When Robert finds his

mother, Iola gains a grandmother and the family begins to pull together. When Iola finds her

mother, the female line, from grandmother to granddaughter, is once again connected and the story

can progress. Harper argues that without a strong matricentric tie to the past, Iola and her family

can have no future. Unlike Edna, Iola has no strong male presence to maintain patriarchy. She

goes on to find a husband who is worthy, honest, respectful, understanding, who encourages her

desire to help her race. Instead of denying her the right to self-expression, Dr. Latimer joins Iola in
a partnership to better the black community. He says, “ I think, Miss Leroy, that the world’s work,

if shared, is better done than when it is performed alone. Don’t you think your life-work will be

better done if someone shares it with you?” (Harper 242). For Frank and Iola, marriage is not a

static conclusion, but rather, the beginning of a partnership dedicated to serving others. It is no

surprise that Dr. Latimer is a trusting, egalitarian husband. Black men, Frank among them, were

forced to recognize the physical, emotional, and intellectual strength of black women; women who

had worked side by side with them in the fields, who had survived the endless indignities of slavery,

and who continued to fight racism after the Civil War. In a literal sense, the doctrine of separate

spheres could not apply to black women because of the unique cultural experience of American

slavery. Thus, women’s cultural attitudes, family experiences, and marital relationships

significantly influence their capacity for self-realization and equality within marriage.

While the length of time these two couples have been married is an important consideration

in establishing the power dynamic of the marriage, it is perhaps more valid to demonstrate the

variance in each couple’s goals. The Awakening begins several years into marriage, when Edna

and Leonce have grown accustomed to one another and to their roles as husband and wife. At the

end of Iola Leroy, Iola and Frank are still flushed with newlywed pleasure. Iola’s brother Harry

says, “I don’t believe that there is a subject I could name him, from spinning a top to circumventing

the globe, that he wouldn’t somehow try to bring Iola in. And I don’t believe you could talk ten

minutes to Iola on any subject, from dressing a doll to the latest discovery in science, that she

wouldn’t manage to lug in Frank” (Harper 277). Compare this infatuation with Edna and Leonce’s

relationship: “Looking at [her hands] reminded her of her rings, which she had given to her

husband before leaving for the beach. She silently reached out to him, and he, understanding, took

the rings from his vest pocket and dropped them into her open palm” (Chopin 45). The differences

in communication style and content serve as indicators of the progression of the marriage

relationship while also marking the uniqueness of each couple’s goals. For Frank and Iola,

communication and consideration function as the basis of their relatively equal partnership. The

above quote from The Awakening illustrates the significance of ownership and control in Edna and
Leonce’s relationship. Leonce is master and Edna’s rings symbolize his claim over her.

Consequently, differing goals prove more influential to the power dynamic of these two couples

than the length of their marriages.

Harper promotes Iola’s marriage to Dr. Latimer, not, as many critics claim, to convey a

conventional romance plot, but rather to promote the necessity of equality for a felicitous marital

relationship. Claudia Tate points to the allegorical nature of the novel, claiming that Iola’s happy

marriage is symbolic of the success and prosperity of the black community. Upon closer

examination, the reader understands that marriage is not the conclusion for Iola; marriage will not

complete her. This partnership is only the beginning of a life dedicated to serving others. Iola’s

plans for the future do not end here, nor do the aspirations of the black community. Frank and Iola

have a freedom not to be found within white marriage. With the relative newness of the

Emancipation Proclamation, many black couples have had little time to develop strict gender roles

within a “legal” marriage. The power dynamic between black men and women, especially between

former slaves, was not comparable to that between white men and women. Black women worked

in the fields alongside men, proving their strength and independence on a daily basis. When Iola’s

husband encourages her to find some way to help her race, he is acknowledging Iola’s capabilities.

Thus, Iola and Lucille find male support for their interest in the public realm, while Edna stands on

a pedestal out of reach of her desires. Race and class are often inseparable in the work of Chopin

and Harper, especially when comparing Iola and Edna. Though both start out as privileged white

females, Iola’s circumstances change dramatically. Once labeled a “Negro,” she becomes less

than human when auctioned off by her white uncle. Even after the war, Iola remains a second-class

citizen despite her middle class aspirations. For Edna, the pedestal of upper class white

womanhood is simply unfulfilling. She seeks a wider avenue of sensuality and sexuality which was

at this time usually available only to women of different ethnic or class backgrounds. Women of

Edna’s class succumbed to the limitations of society’s demand for moral and sexual virtue.

Through close examination the reader finds that race, class, cultural norms, and family background

impact women’s experiences of marriage in profound and unique ways.

 An important consideration when comparing Chopin and Harper is the effect of style in

each author’s work. Chopin writes with the description of a realist, portraying her characters’

inner psychological and emotional landscape in an open, unapologetic manner. Peter Seyersted, a

leading Chopin expert and biographer, argues that The Awakening goes further in its “truthful

treatment of material,” (206) especially the treatment of sexuality, than the works of Dreiser,

Crane, Norris, and other American Realists of the time. Harper writes in a utopian vein, detailing

her vision of racial and gender equality by conveying a character’s actions and words. Here, what

a character says or does is more important than what he thinks or feels. The reader may begin to

question whether the variance seen in Chopin and Harper’s views on marriage, sexuality,

motherhood, and economic independence is related to stylistic concerns rather than race and class.

To draw out the point, the reader should examine the views of Frank Latimer and Leonce Pontellier

in connection with their wives involvement in the public sphere. Harper’s character, Frank,

encourages Iola’s interest in helping her race. He suggests,

Why not…write a good, strong book which would be helpful to [the black

community]?…Miss Leroy, you have a large and rich experience; you possess a

vivid imagination and glowing fancy. Write, out of the fullness of your heart, a

book to inspire men and women with a deeper sense of justice and humanity.

(Harper 262).

Again, the reader notices the emphasis on action and word; Harper’s style evokes a desire for

social change. Compare this supportive statement to Leonce’s reaction to Edna’s decision to move

to the “pigeon” house:

When Mr. Pontellier learned of his wife’s intention to abandon her home and take up her

residence elsewhere, he immediately wrote her a letter of unqualified disapproval and

remonstrance…He was not dreaming of scandal…He was simply thinking of his financial

integrity…But remembering Edna’s whimsical turn of mind lately…he grasped the

situation with his usual promptness and handled it with his well-known business tact and

cleverness…Mr. Pontellier had saved appearances!” (Chopin 150-51).

Here, Chopin describes Leonce’s actions and the internal thought process that motivated him. As

Frank encourages Iola, demonstrating faith in her innate abilities, Leonce describes Edna as

“whimsical” and “rash.” Chopin presents Mr. Pontellier at his best and worst, while Harper makes

Dr. Latimer a saint with no possible faults. Though these male characters reflect their authors’

stylistic achievements, they also illuminate race and class considerations. In the example above,

Leonce is concerned with the threat of rumors of financial misfortune (which a move to a smaller

house might warrant) thus, harming his business investments. These are the concerns of an upper

class white businessman. On the other hand, Dr. Latimer’s reputation would only be enhanced in

the black community if his future wife authored a book, or became a philanthropist or Sunday-

school teacher. His standing is not based on appearances, but on his service to the community. In

The Awakening and Iola Leroy, discussion of marriage reflects not only the authors’ beliefs on the

subject but also their writing style and understanding of race and class.

Marriage brings the expectation of sexuality, a topic that fascinated both Chopin and

Harper. The taboos, secrets, and sexual restrictions of the Victorian period are well known to our

modern sex-filled society. What the reader does not expect are Victorian women breaking the code

of silence surrounding sex. Many New Woman supporters advocated free love, that is, sex outside

of marriage. Others fought to end the sexual double standard that permitted men the sexual

freedom to patronize prostitutes, keep mistresses, and sexually assault black women. Both Chopin

and Harper were outspoken on the subject of sexuality, and though their techniques and opinions

differed, their writing remains fresh and relevant today.

In her book, Women on the Color Line, Anna Elfenbein describes how Chopin uses

existing stereotypes about the sexual promiscuity of women of color to explore topics off-limits to

“chaste” white women. Chopin’s stories, she explains, exploit an iconographic convention that

assimilates the presumed sexual ardency of the black woman to the sexuality of the white woman

by juxtaposing them. Thus, although Chopin makes free with the racist assumptions prevalent in

her day to depict realistically those women already stigmatized by imputations of hypersexuality,

she creates women characters on both sides of the chasm of color who are motivated by romantic
dreams but react in similar ways to sexual urges. Stressing the similarity of her women characters,

Chopin exploits the blurred racial categories of the milieu she describes (Elfenbein 119-20).

In her most sexually overt story, “The Storm,” Chopin creates an explosive scene of

adulterous passion between Calixta and Alcee, characters from a previous story “The ‘Cadian

Ball.” In the earlier story, Chopin describes Calixta as a lower-middle class “Spanish vixen” with

brown skin and “hair that kinked worse than a mulatto’s” and a voice “with cadences in it that

must have been taught by Satan, for there was no one else to teach her tricks on that ‘Cadian

prairie” (Chopin 179). The narrator explains, “Calixta’s slender foot had never touched Cuban

soil; but her mother’s had, and the Spanish was in her blood all the same. For that reason the

prairie people forgave her much that they would not have overlooked in their own daughters or

sisters” (179). Alcee Labelliere is a prosperous upper-class white plantation owner with a

reputation for being a lady’s man. Before marrying their respective spouses, Calixta and Alcee had

a history of flirtation and kissing. When a storm leaves Calixta alone in the house and Alcee stops

by to take shelter, the situation revives their old attraction and leads to a steamy sexual encounter.

Without judgment, Chopin alleviates the shock of this sexual encounter by reminding her readers of

Calixta’s lower-middle class origins and her Spanish blood. Compare Calixta “sewing furiously at

the sewing machine” (281) to Madame LeBrun from The Awakening who hires a young black girl

to run the sewing machine: “The Creole woman does not take any chances which may be avoided

of imperiling her health” (66). Chopin reminds the reader of Calixta’s class when she gives her a

Southern dialect while Alcee speaks in grammatically perfect English. Finally, the reader

remembers Calixta’s Spanish origin in the subtle comment about her vivacity and the hair that

“kinked more stubbornly than ever” (282). Her overflowing sexuality then, is linked to her race

and class. Calixta cannot marry Alcee, though they are well suited for one another, because of her

background. Instead, she must marry the bumbling Bobinot, a man of her own class, who

significantly, is never referred to by his last name. The lack of a surname indicates that Bobinot is

not a prosperous landowner. He cannot compete with the Labelliere name, nor can he offer Calixta

the fineries that Alcee can.

 Despite her sexual attractions, Calixta proves no temptation to Alcee when Clarisse enters

the picture. Besides being virtuous and hard to get, Clarisse is of the same social class and

ethnicity as Alcee. She would provide Alcee with the respectable marriage his station requires. At

the end of “The Storm,” the reader sees that though Chopin has allowed Calixta to experience

adulterous sexual fulfillment, Clarisse maintains the frigidity expected of an upper class white

woman. The narrator explains her sexual distance in the following passage: “And the first free

breath since her marriage seemed to restore the pleasant liberty of her maiden days. Devoted as

she was to her husband, their intimate conjugal life was something which she was more than

willing to forego for a while” (Chopin 286). Though Chopin attempts to tackle the controversial

topic of women’s sexual fulfillment, she confines her investigation to stereotypes of promiscuity

surrounding women of color.

In The Awakening, Chopin finally creates a white woman character with the remorseless

sexuality previously limited to women of color. Edna’s transformation from virtuous to sensuous

can be best illustrated by a close examination of her relationship with Mariequita. A passenger on

the ferry taking Edna and Robert to Grand Isle, Mariequita is described as “ a young barefooted

Spanish girl, with a …round, sly, piquant face and pretty black eyes…her feet were broad and

course. She did not strive to hide them. Edna looked at her feet, and noticed the sand and slime

between her brown toes” (Chopin 80). Mariequita represents a free and easy sexuality. Self-

confident, flirtatious, and unashamed of her body, she becomes the unconscious model on which

Edna moulds her awakening sexuality. At Grand Isle, Edna revels in the autoerotic quality of her

own body. Later, she learns sexual fulfillment in her affair with Alcee. In the final scene before

she swims to her death, “she cast the unpleasant, pricking garments from her, and for the first time

in her life she stood naked in the open air…How strange and awful it seemed to stand naked under

the sky! How delicious!” (175). Toes in the sand, naked to the world, Edna’s transformation is

complete.

In “Desiree’s Baby,” Chopin draws strong parallels between the relative powerlessness of

white women and black women under the oppressive hand of white male authority (Peel 226).
Early feminists often compared the white female experience of marriage to slavery. Though

dramatic, this metaphor proved compelling for Chopin. Whether white or black, Desiree’s options

are unsatisfactory. Elfenbein reminds the reader that as a white woman, Desiree could easily be

divorced for infidelity, yet has no power to divorce her husband on these charges. If proven black,

she and her child could be relegated to the status of a slave. Still worse, “If Armand is black,

Desiree may be vindicated by the discovery that she is not responsible for the racial characteristics

of their child, but she will be forever stigmatized socially by the fact that she has been possessed by

a black man and has borne his son” (127). The relationship between Desiree and La Blanche

underscores Chopin’s understanding of a shared oppression between these two women: Armand

Aubigny is the master of both women.

In her article, “Semiotic Subversion in ‘Desiree’s Baby,’” Ellen Peel points to the subtle

doubling of these characters’ names. The name Desiree “merely reflects others’ ‘desires’” (Peel

225). Symbolically, Desiree has been stamped with the desires of others, leaving her blank to her

own identity and interests. La Blanche literally means “white,” referring to the whiteness of her

skin, but “blanche can also mean ‘pure’ or ‘blank,’ recalling Desiree’s blankness” (Peel 226).

Another parallel appears when Desiree finally notices her child’s biracial heritage as she

subconsciously compares La Blanche’s son to her own. Ironically, Chopin alludes to a sexual

union between Armand and La Blanche, indicating that La Blanche’s son was fathered by Armand.

Not only do their sons share a father; these two women share one lover. Their sexual positions are

identical, yet the respectability of whiteness keeps Desiree from understanding her connection to La

Blanche. Armand himself acknowledges the similarity of their positions when Desiree demands

that her skin is whiter than Armand’s and he retorts, “As white as La Blanche’s” (Chopin 193).

With the buffer of whiteness removed, Desiree’s sexuality is unsanctioned; she has lost the respect

and protection of white femininity. Clearly, Chopin is pointing out the powerlessness of female

sexuality, black or white. When one human being has control over and access to another’s body,

pleasure, and reproductive capacity, life becomes limited and dependent. While “The Storm” tells

the story of a minority woman’s capacity for sexual pleasure, “Desiree’s Baby” speaks of the
universal oppression of women. Unfortunately, Chopin’s women characters never outgrow the

individualism that prevents them from uniting against the stereotypes, limitations on passion, and

oppression that confine their freedom and self-realization. Chopin’s treatment of sexuality, though

perceptive and often radical, is neither empowering nor uninhibiting.

Confronting and negating stereotypes about black female sexuality becomes a primary

goal in Harper’s novel, Iola Leroy. Upon discovery that she is biracial and will be sold into

slavery, Iola, like Chopin’s Desiree, loses all the virtue and sexual protection she had as a white

female. Still, Harper contrives to allow Iola to maintain her virginity despite the attempts of

several white masters to initiate sexual contact. Though unrealistic, Harper intends for Iola’s intact

virginity to be a sign of empowerment. Still, the relationship between strength and virtue is

complex. Virginity was something to be protected and treasured. That Iola managed this feat

alone in the face of such temptation and hardship, is, for Harper, a sign of Iola’s strength and

excellent moral character. Ironically, at the same time that she is praised as a “reg’lar spitfire,”

she is spoken of as powerless “to protect herself from the highest insults that lawless brutality

could inflict upon innocent and defenseless womanhood” (Harper 39). Her virginity is inherently a

sign of vulnerability, a signal for chivalrous men to take action. Tom Anderson, a fellow slave at

the Anderson plantation, appeals to the Commander of his Northern post to protect Iola and set her

free: “The next day Tom had the satisfaction of knowing that Iola Leroy had been taken as a

trembling dove from the gory vulture’s nest and given a place of security” (Harper 39). Harper is

caught in her own web. Iola may be strong enough to defend herself, yet she must be delicate and

in need of rescue to meet white middle class definitions of womanhood.

In several instances, Iola refuses sexual advances or marriage proposals by referring to her

highly spiritual ideals or her devotion to her race. In Frank Latimer, Iola finds a dedicated black

man with similar intellectual, spiritual, and race-related pursuits. In the scene where Dr. Latimer

proposes, the reader, instead of finding romance and passion, hears only of the couple’s dedication

to their race: “His words were more than a tender strain wooing her to love and happiness, they

were a clarion call to a life of high and holy worth” (271). Against the myth of black female
hypersexuality, Iola loses nearly all sensuality, a sacrifice her lofty spirit does not seem to miss. In

trying to disprove stereotypes, Harper commits a double wrong by conforming to white male

sexual standards. First, she plays into the oppressor’s hand by accepting his sexual standards.

Second, she denies black women the right to acknowledge the assault and abuse from white men,

the right to claim their desire and passion, and the right to express that desire outside of white male

standards. Perhaps it is too much to ask Harper and other black women of the time to risk

personal safety by defying white rule to reclaim their sexuality. We must give credit to Harper’s

achievement: recognizing and disproving this long-standing stereotype.

In her poem, “A Double Standard,” Harper disapproves of the sexual double standard that

condemns a woman as “fallen,” yet allows a man to walk away from sexual sin. Though it

promotes a radical revision of sexual standards, Harper’s poem buys into the white middle class

belief that previous sexual experience is negative, a belief that would have been impractical and

unrealistic for the thousands of black women who had been raped, abused, and coerced into

unwanted sexual contact. Clearly, these women lived outside of white America’s sexual standards.

The difficulty of living in a culture that ignored, misinterpreted, and erased one’s specific historical

perspective must have been enormous. For Harper, the choice of alliances would have been

precarious. To continue receiving the support of wealthy white patrons, her writing must be

accessible to a white audience, yet her work was centered around “uplifting” black communities.

For many black Americans, the logical solution to this dilemma was to try to “fit in” with

normative white middle class attitudes. Thus, the black “uplift” movement touted assimilation and

conservatism, while the New Woman sought ways to break free from the rules and restraints of the

American middle class. Both Chopin and Harper spoke out against negative views of female

sexuality, but by conforming to preexisting stereotypes or sexual standards, both authors limited

their arguments.

Before the advent of birth control, marriage and sexuality brought with it the possibility of

pregnancy and motherhood. For mainstream Victorian society, motherhood was a woman’s

crowning glory. It was believed that a lifetime of love and devotion to one’s children should be
enough to fulfill any woman. Once again, the New Woman disagreed. She questioned why women

were expected to give up their future goals and dreams to become mothers, why motherhood was

compulsory to success as an adult woman. These questions are familiar to readers of Chopin’s

The Awakening. For Edna, motherhood felt unnatural and burdensome; thoughts of the children

came only sporadically. Marriage and motherhood held her back from a discovery of her true self,

the self she was expected to sacrifice to the needs of others upon marriage. Edna explains to her

married friend Adelle, “ that she would never sacrifice herself for her children, or anyone. ‘I would

give up the unessential; I would give up my money, I would give up my life for my children; but I

wouldn’t give myself” (Chopin 97). Later, as Edna makes her final suicidal swim, she thinks of

her husband and children: “they need not have thought they could possess her body and soul”

(176).

In Harper’s essay, “Enlightened Motherhood,” she calls on black mothers to teach their

children to become good, strong citizens. She says, “The work of the mothers of our race is

grandly constructive. It is for us to build above the wreck and ruin of the past more stately temples

of thought and action…We need mothers who are capable of being character builders, patient,

loving, strong, and true, whose homes will be an uplifting power in the race” (Harper 292). Here,

motherhood is a virtue, a much-needed skill in the effort to make the world a better place. This

very faith in the progress of the race (and the world) gives black women a hope and goal that Edna

and others like her did not have. After the horrors of slavery, progress seemed inevitable for

African Americans. Still for Chopin and other white women, progress was harder to envision.

In her introduction to A Brighter Coming Day, Frances Smith Foster raises important

questions in connection with Harper’s origins. She notes that nearly all biographies mention that

Harper was born September 24, 1825, yet no where is there a record of her parents’ names (Foster

5). Scholars agree that her mother died early, leaving Harper an orphan at the age of three. This

early loss left her in the care and tutelage of her aunt, Henrietta, and her uncle, Reverend William

Watkins, founder of the Watkins Academy. Harper attended the academy until the age of thirteen,

when she left to earn her own living. Foster argues:

 Given the invisibility of women in most public records…it is not surprising that

[Harper’s] mother is not identified. However, given the prominence of the Watkins family

in Baltimore at that time, it is intriguing that biographers do not identify or speculate about

the identity of her father. This may be a conscious attempt to avoid any…challenge[s] by

white bourgeois audiences, because it is quite possible that Frances Watkins [Harper], like

many African-Americans, was fathered by a white man (6).

Not surprisingly, Harper’s own experience as an orphan helped her write about a people without

roots. In Iola Leroy, the period just after the Civil War was specifically focused on reunifying

families and forming attachments within the black community. For Iola and her uncle, finding a

mother was central to this healing process. The mother, then, becomes a way to connect with the

past and, in the process, connect with others. The widespread loss of ties to family, community,

and history actually functions to unite a drifting and disoriented people in a common experience.

Ironically, just as Harper was creating a bond between her fictional characters and their past, she

failed to leave an accurate record of her own origins and childhood. Historically, biographers

know little of Harper outside of her writing and letters. Today, no one knows the names of her

parents, yet she spoke of their absence in her lifetime: “Have I yearned for a mother’s love? The

grave was my robber. Before three years had scattered their blight around my path, death had won

my mother from me. Would the strong arm of a brother have been welcome? I was my mother’s

only child” (Still 784). Harper’s uncertain origins may also help explain the confusion in her

choice to support white middle-class standards, what some would call assimilation politics. For

instance, the unrealistic sexual standards of white America championed in “A Double Standard”

can be compared to the highly moral tone of “Vashti.” Here, Harper suggests that retaining

feminine virtue is more important than agreeing with the authority figure. Thus, at the same time

that she is defending white sexual standards, she rebels against the absolute power of the ruling

(white) class. The shortsightedness of Harper’s attack is ultimately weakened by the inability to

see the paradox that surrounds her argument.

 Chopin also has an interesting personal history when examined in connection with her

writing. She grew up surrounded by strong, successful, and independent females. According to

Chopin’s biographer, Emily Toth, the author’s father died in a train accident when she was only

five. The loss of this domineering and patriarchal figure enabled Chopin’s mother to gain access to

an independence and freedom for which few married women could have hoped. After her father’s

death, Chopin’s grandmother, also a widow, moved into the house. She told her young

granddaughter stories of their women ancestors surviving and thriving in the rugged west. In fact,

Chopin’s great-grandmother was the first woman to divorce her husband in the state of Missouri.

Surrounded by generations of forceful women, Chopin gained further examples of women’s

strength while schooled at the Academy of the Sacred Heart. It was through the examples of the

nuns that she learned of women’s capacity for spiritual and intellectual fervor. Although her

childhood was filled with powerful women, most of Chopin’s women characters are weak and

trapped by the oppressive forces around them. One might conclude that her personal experience

with women’s independence made her especially sensitive to the oppression of other women.

Knowing that women can and do survive without male “protection” undoubtedly changed her

vision of Victorian gender constructs and enabled her to record the injustice she saw in her fictional

writing.

Despite her own female centered background, Chopin creates no strong mother daughter

relationships in The Awakening. In fact, the only mention of a mother and daughter interacting

takes place at a recital on Grand Isle: “ A little girl performed a skirt dance in the center of the

floor. The mother played her accompaniments and at the same time watched her daughter with

greedy admiration and nervous apprehension. She need have had no apprehension. The child was

mistress of the situation” (Chopin 69). In this short description, the reader finds that mothers

instruct their daughters on the proper behavior, attire, and posture with which to construct an

outward image pleasing to the audience of onlookers. This early performance is merely a fantastic

training session in the elaborate process of becoming an enticing Victorian woman. The daughter’s

success will be measured in her ability to capture a desirable husband, and this achievement will be
a representation of the mother’s skillful instruction. Underlying the concern with outward

appearance, there is little focus on self-understanding, self-realization, or negotiating a successful

relationship with one’s husband. Edna’s frustration with the responsibilities of marriage and

motherhood is, in part, a reflection of her own mother’s early death. She has had little preparation

for filling her role as wife and mother. The narrator concludes, “It would have been a difficult

matter for Mr. Pontellier to define to his own satisfaction or any one else’s wherein his wife failed

in her duty toward their children. It was something he felt rather than perceived …In short, Mrs.

Pontellier was not a mother-woman” (51). Edna has had even less encouragement to discover her

own wishes and desires or attempt to understand her own identity, and yet “Mrs. Pontellier was

beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her relations as

an individual to the world within and about her” (57). Edna’s disconnection from mother-daughter

relationships also works to enforce her sense of isolation in a patriarchal world. The narrator

comments that Edna “ was not a woman given to confidences, a characteristic hitherto contrary to

her nature. Even as a child she had lived her own small life all within herself” (57). With no

intimate childhood girlfriends, Edna has learned to undervalue female friendships and,

consequently, to fill up her youth with romantic fantasies of older men. Her fascination with the

male sex and her romantic tendencies foreshadow Edna’s dissatisfaction with the everyday realities

of marriage, eventually leading her to adultery. Her lack of female connection also prevents Edna

from finding a realistic role model in her search for self-realization. Clearly, Edna is neither a

“mother-woman,” nor a celibate intellectual and artist like Mademoiselle Reisz. When Adelle asks

Robert to stop flirting with Edna, she remarks, “Let Mrs. Pontellier alone…She is not one of us;

she is not like us. She might make the unfortunate blunder of taking you seriously” (64). Adelle

understands that Edna is not a Creole either. She is an outsider looking in, desperately seeking her

own identity.

With the advent of the Industrial Revolution, more women left their homes to seek

employment. In response, conservatives once again used the doctrine of separate spheres to remind

women of their place in the home. New Woman supporters encouraged women to seek higher
education and to pursue their own careers. Although faced with prejudice at school, on the job, and

in the amount of pay received, they believed that a career or outside interest gave women

opportunities for self-realization that marriage and motherhood could not. In The Awakening,

Chopin’s character Edna aspires to be an artist. Art brings her “satisfaction of a kind which no

other employment afforded her” (Chopin 55). The creative act, the ability to see the end product of

her skill and imagination, provides Edna with a sense of meaning. The label of artist gives

direction to her listless energies. Without the opportunity to define herself through work, Edna

feels dissatisfied. In Iola Leroy, our heroine seeks employment at a department store, not because

she needs the money, but because “I have a theory that every woman ought to know how to earn

her own living.” The choices available for Edna and Iola demonstrate the differences in their race

and class. Art is intensely introspective and requires not only time, but also a great amount of

money. Edna’s desire to become an artist suits her introspective nature, and is simultaneously,

being one of the few occupations available for a respectable woman of her class. Iola’s choice to

work at a department store is rather daring: in those days, counter work was reserved for white

women. The public confrontations and descriptions of overt racism give Iola the strength and

determination she needs to help her people in the transition from slavery to freedom.

Though each character’s choice of work proves beneficial in some way, race and class

limitations impact the connection and meaning these characters draw from their work. For Iola, the

problem is more than just a desire to work; she must also face the racism of her white employers

and coworkers. When her coworkers discover her ethnicity, she is immediately ostracized and

quickly resigns. Iola’s opportunity to define herself through her work is limited by her coworkers’

definition of who should work in a department store (obviously, not minority women). Yet, by

barring Iola because of her race, these white female coworkers are playing into the system of white

male power. The same oppressor that forces black women into menial domestic work prevents

white women from obtaining high paying careers or moving into traditionally male-dominated

fields. Edna must also face others’ definitions and limitations for female artists. When Leonce

chastises Edna for putting her painting ahead of her family obligations, he says, “It seems to me the
utmost folly for a woman at the head of a household, and the mother of children, to spend in an

atelier days which would be better employed contriving for the comfort of her family…in God’s

name paint! but don’t let the family go to the devil” (Chopin 108). A closer examination proves

that both Chopin and Harper recognize the limitations Edna and Iola face in their quest for

meaningful employment.

In each case, Chopin and Harper agree that an outside occupation or talent can provide

women with the chance to find meaning in life or to attain some sort of self-realization. Why is it

that when it comes to economic independence, there is unanimous support? For Chopin, writing

provided the meaning she sought in life. It also opened her eyes to the sexism within the worlds of

art and literature. Harper, too, felt a sense of accomplishment at being able to support herself

through her lectures and writing. In her essay, “Colored Women of America,” she proudly

describes the success of hard working Southern black women:

The women as a class are quite equal to the men in energy and executive ability…In the

field the women receive the same wages as the men, and are often preferred…In different

departments of business, colored women have not only been enabled to keep the wolf from

the door, but also to acquire property…[and in some cases, be] the mainstay of the family”

(Harper 271-72).

Despite race or class, women gained a sense of pride in their accomplishments and in their inherent

skills through working. In a world where women were told to be self-sacrificing, work provided a

valuable sense of self-worth.

Interestingly, both Chopin and Harper use the presence of the “other” to convey a heroine’s

oppression to the reader and at times to the heroine herself. The “other” also functions to connect

the multiple forms of oppression through race, class, and gender in the reader’s mind. In The

Awakening, Edna has several encounters with women of different class and ethnic backgrounds. In

one of the most direct encounters with the “other,” Edna must face the forces that keep her in

check. Feeling the weight of her marriage bond, Edna symbolically attempts to break the ties that

hold her to Leonce: “and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet…she stamped her
heel upon it…but her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the little

glittering circlet” (Chopin 103). Hearing the commotion, the maid enters the room, cleans up the

remnants of Edna’s tantrum, and returns her ring. With this small action, the maid reminds Edna

of her place as Mrs. Pontellier, a respectable and well-behaved upper class white woman. Literary

critic, Anna Elfenbein argues, “Caring for Edna as she cares for the other possessions in Leonce

Pontellier’s household, the maid extends the reach of Leonce’s power by reenacting his [earlier]

gesture with Edna's wedding ring. Edna’s response to the maid signals once more her blind

resignation to the relationships that perpetuate her husband’s power over her” (151). This scene

proves compelling because the tensions surrounding and between these two very different women is

rooted not only in class distinctions, but also in their connection to Leonce Pontellier. One wonders

if the maid realizes Edna’s frustration and isolation and conversely, if Edna sees the maid’s

oppression.

Though Edna’s vision may be obstructed, Chopin’s narrator oversteps these limitations to

comment on the women of color enabling Edna and her friends to continue her privileged existence.

Perhaps Chopin’s most satiric commentary on the mistreatment of the “other” comes in the scene

when Edna visits the LeBruns in New Orleans. As she waits at the gate, Edna overhears Victor

arguing with the maid about who should open the gate. Later he explains that, “the black woman’s

offensive conduct was all due to imperfect training, as he was not there to take her in hand,”

(Chopin 111). By continually casting him in a bad light, the narrator reproves Victor and his

mistreatment of the servants. The narrator’s subtle observations and wry commentary on the plight

of the “other” illuminate Chopin’s awareness of the oppression surrounding her. Elfenbein

comments: “Striving for individual transcendence, Edna discovers the bounds of her prison,

coterminous with those confining other women. But because her thinking, including a negative

view of her own sex, is grounded in convention, her solitary insights are unfocused” (143).

Although Edna is not always aware of her privileged existence, the narrator’s subtle irony reveals

Chopin’s determination to convey the oppression surrounding her.

 In the final scene when Edna arrives at Grand Isle, she again confronts the “other,” this

time in the form of Mariequita. Filled with Victor’s stories and exaggerations of Edna’s party,

Mariequita’s vision of this upper class white woman has been skewed: “She contemplated with the

greatest interest this woman who gave the most sumptuous dinners in America, and who had all the

men in New Orleans at her feet” (Chopin 174). The young Spanish woman, who had been

chatting comfortably with Victor, is immediately restored to her lower rank upon Edna’s

unexpected arrival. Victor says, “You may go to my room to brush up and rest yourself.

Mariequita will show you” and again, “‘Run and find Philomel’s mother,’ Victor instructed the girl.

‘I’ll go the kitchen and see what to do. By Gimminy! Women have no consideration! She might

have sent me word.” Here, Edna’s upper class insensitivity makes her unable to consider the

trouble she has caused for these “others.” While Edna is swimming out to her death, Mariequita

and Victor will be hurriedly arranging suitable accommodations for her. Elfenbein sums up

Mariequita’s role as the

dark woman [Edna] needs to provide a plausible story of her accidental drowning.

Mariequita will provide that story, for she believes in the mythic Edna [of] Victor’s

construct…[her] belief in the mythic Edna reconfirms the potency and prevalence of the

romantic illusions that divide women from each other. A final contrast to Edna, who

detaches herself from story-making and story hearing by committing suicide, Mariequita

survives untouched by Edna’s awakening (157).

Here, Chopin forces a direct encounter between the privileged and the other in a moment of crisis.

By simply commenting on Mariequita’s role in Edna’s final moments, Chopin directs our attention

to the plight of the “other.”

In Chopin’s short story, “La Belle Zoraide,” Manna-Loulou tells her mistress, Madame

Delisle, a bedtime story of desperate lovers and madness. Set in the antebellum era, Manna-

Loulou’s story is about La Belle Zoraide, a beautiful slave, who falls in love with an inappropriate

man. When Zoraide gives birth, her mistress sells the father and tells Zoraide that her infant is

dead. Misery piles higher as Zoraide goes insane and becomes a useless slave. What strikes the
reader about this story is Manna-Loulou’s creative power. When Madame Delisle asks Manna-

Loulou for a true story, she turns over her own reality for the interpretations from the “other.”

Manna-Loulou’s ability to connect Zoraide’s powerlessness as a black woman with Madame

Delisle’s own passivity as a Southern “lady” listener escaping her reality through the stories of

“others” is incredible. Yet, Madame Delisle fails to “see the connection between Zoraide’s escape

into madness and her own escape into a world of fantasy” (Elfenbein 134). Chopin brilliantly

weaves together the lives of these characters and illustrates the interdependence race and class have

on her character’s existence.

While Chopin’s characters often miss the relevance of the “other” in their need to retreat

from the reality of their own lives, Harper’s characters--on the receiving end of racism and

sexism--generally seem to grasp the perspective of the “other,” in this case, the white majority, with

ease. When Iola speaks to her uncle about working at a department store, he speaks from the white

storeowner ’s perspective: “When [the owner] advertises for help he means white women…He

doesn’t expect any colored girl to apply” (Harper 205). Still, understanding that racism exists does

not prevent the Leroy family and their friends from trying to improve society and defy white

prejudices. Living with the multiple layers of oppression everyday, Harper’s characters relate to

the presence of the “other” by disproving white stereotypes and demonstrating their own

worthiness. Iola’s uncle, Robert, is an excellent example of Harper’s ability to navigate through

the omnipresent, yet, often missing, white presence. Harper opens the novel with Robert as the

information connection between the slaves and news of the war. Highly educated for a black slave,

Robert secretly reads the newspapers and spreads word of the fight for freedom. When he runs

away to join the Union army, Robert quickly becomes an officer of the black regiment. Again, he

is a link between the upper echelon of white command and the black soldiers fighting for every

slave’s freedom. Though many black characters are portrayed with a dialect, Robert speaks

perfect English. After the war, Robert reunites the Leroy family and moves North to start his own

successful hardware store. Despite Northern prejudices, Robert is a financial and social success.

He is able to provide for his new family and enter the new black intelligentsia. The reader finds
that Harper sets Robert as a model of success to enrich the hopes of her black audience, yet like

Chopin’s Manna-Loulou, she also uses him as a bridge between black and white culture.

For the modern reader, Chopin and Harper offer a glimpse at the past through a specific

gender, race, and class view. We learn of women fighting to change limitations on their freedom,

we learn of women breaking free of class and race restrictions, we learn of women fighting

stereotypes and creating new forms of self-expression. We also see how gender, race, and class

assumptions bound these two authors into certain limited ways of thinking and expressing

themselves. Comparing Chopin and Harper to the gender radical New Woman also provides the

modern reader with a deeper comprehension of the varying critiques of contemporary Victorian

political and social values. Radically ahead of their time, Chopin and Harper continue to offer us a

modern examination of the multiple layers of oppression in nineteenth century American culture.

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