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WHEN MISS Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men They rose when she entered--a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain. WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a They rose when she entered--a small, fat woman in black, with a thin. Feb 9, A Rose for Emily is a short story by American author William Faulkner first published in the April 30, issue of Forum. The story takes place.


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WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the. Oct 31, Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project The White Rose of Langley by Emily Sarah Holt. No cover Download; Bibrec. Dec 18, Free kindle book and epub digitized and proofread by Project Gutenberg. Red and White: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses by Emily Sarah Holt. Book Cover. Download; Bibrec Download This eBook.

It was a big, squarish frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been our most select street. But garages and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of that neighborhood; only Miss Emily's house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps-an eyesore among eyesores. And now Miss Emily had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson. Alive, Miss Emily had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor--he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron-remitted her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that Miss Emily would have accepted charity.

That was when people had begun to feel really sorry for her. People in our town, remembering how old lady Wyatt, her great-aunt, had gone completely crazy at last, believed that the Griersons held themselves a little too high for what they really were.

None of the young men were quite good enough for Miss Emily and such. We had long thought of them as a tableau, Miss Emily a slender figure in white in the background, her father a spraddled silhouette in the foreground, his back to her and clutching a horsewhip, the two of them framed by the back-flung front door.

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So when she got to be thirty and was still single, we were not pleased exactly, but vindicated; even with insanity in the family she wouldn't have turned down all of her chances if they had really materialized. When her father died, it got about that the house was all that was left to her; and in a way, people were glad. At last they could pity Miss Emily. Being left alone, and a pauper, she had become humanized. Now she too would know the old thrill and the old despair of a penny more or less.

The day after his death all the ladies prepared to call at the house and offer condolence and aid, as is our custom Miss Emily met them at the door, dressed as usual and with no trace of grief on her face.

She told them that her father was not dead.

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She did that for three days, with the ministers calling on her, and the doctors, trying to persuade her to let them dispose of the body. Just as they were about to resort to law and force, she broke down, and they buried her father quickly.

We did not say she was crazy then. We believed she had to do that. We remembered all the young men her father had driven away, and we knew that with nothing left, she would have to cling to that which had robbed her, as people will. When we saw her again, her hair was cut short, making her look like a girl, with a vague resemblance to those angels in colored church windows--sort of tragic and serene.

The town had just let the contracts for paving the sidewalks, and in the summer after her father's death they began the work. The construction company came with niggers and mules and machinery, and a foreman named Homer Barron, a Yankee--a big, dark, ready man, with a big voice and eyes lighter than his face.

The little boys would follow in groups to hear him cuss the niggers, and the niggers singing in time to the rise and fall of picks. Pretty soon he knew everybody in town. Whenever you heard a lot of laughing anywhere about the square, Homer Barron would be in the center of the group.

Presently we began to see him and Miss Emily on Sunday afternoons driving in the yellow-wheeled buggy and the matched team of bays from the livery stable. At first we were glad that Miss Emily would have an interest, because the ladies all said, "Of course a Grierson would not think seriously of a Northerner, a day laborer.

The White Rose of Langley by Emily Sarah Holt

And as soon as the old people said, "Poor Emily," the whispering began. What else could.

She carried her head high enough--even when we believed that she was fallen. It was as if she demanded more than ever the recognition of her dignity as the last Grierson; as if it had wanted that touch of earthiness to reaffirm her imperviousness.

Like when she bought the rat poison, the arsenic. That was over a year after they had begun to say "Poor Emily," and while the two female cousins were visiting her. She was over thirty then, still a slight woman, though thinner than usual, with cold, haughty black eyes in a face the flesh of which was strained across the temples and about the eyesockets as you imagine a lighthouse-keeper's face ought to look.

The druggist looked down at her. She looked back at him, erect, her face like a strained flag. But the law requires you to tell what you are going to use it for.

Miss Emily just stared at him, her head tilted back in order to look him eye for eye, until he looked away and went and got the arsenic and wrapped it up. The Negro delivery boy brought her the package; the druggist didn't come back. When she opened the package at home there was written on the box, under the skull and bones: When she had first begun to be seen with Homer Barron, we had said, "She will marry him.

Later we said, "Poor Emily" behind the jalousies as they passed on Sunday afternoon in the glittering buggy, Miss Emily with her head high and Homer Barron with his hat cocked and a cigar in his teeth, reins and whip in a yellow glove. Then some of the ladies began to say that it was a disgrace to the town and a bad example to the young people.

The men did not want to interfere, but at last the ladies forced the Baptist minister--Miss Emily's people were Episcopal-- to call upon her. He would never divulge what happened during that interview, but he refused to go back again. The next Sunday they again drove about the streets, and the following day the minister's wife wrote to Miss Emily's relations in Alabama.

A Rose for Emily , Livivng in the Past - words | Study Guides and Book Summaries

So she had blood-kin under her roof again and we sat back to watch developments. At first nothing happened. Then we were sure that they were to be married.

We learned that Miss Emily had been to the jeweler's and ordered a man's toilet set in silver, with the letters H. Two days later we learned that she had bought a complete outfit of men's clothing, including a nightshirt, and we said, "They are married. We were glad because the two female cousins were even more Grierson than Miss Emily had ever been.

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So we were not surprised when Homer Barron--the streets had been finished some time since--was gone. We were a little disappointed that there was not a public blowing-off, but we believed that he had gone on to prepare for Miss Emily's coming, or to give her a chance to get rid of the cousins. By that time it was a cabal, and we were all Miss Emily's allies to help circumvent the cousins.

Sure enough, after another week they departed. And, as we had expected all along, within three days Homer Barron was back in town. A neighbor saw the Negro man admit him at the kitchen door at dusk one evening. And that was the last we saw of Homer Barron. And of Miss Emily for some time. The Negro man went in and out with the market basket, but the front door remained closed. Now and then we would see her at a window for a moment, as the men did that night when they sprinkled the lime, but for almost six months she did not appear on the streets.

Then we knew that this was to be expected too; as if that quality of her father which had thwarted her woman's life so many times had been too virulent and too furious to die. When we next saw Miss Emily, she had grown fat and her hair was turning gray.

During the next few years it grew grayer and grayer until it attained an even pepper-and-salt iron-gray, when it ceased turning. Up to the day of her death at seventy-four it was still that vigorous iron-gray, like the hair of an active man. From that time on her front door remained closed, save for a period of six or seven years, when she was about forty, during which she gave lessons in china-painting.

She fitted up a studio in one of the downstairs rooms, where the daughters and granddaughters of Colonel Sartoris' contemporaries were sent to her with the same regularity and in the same spirit that they were sent to church on Sundays with a twenty-five-cent piece for the collection plate. Meanwhile her taxes had been remitted. Then the newer generation became the backbone and the spirit of the town, and the painting pupils grew up and fell away and did not send their children to her with boxes of color and tedious brushes and pictures cut from the ladies' magazines.

The front door closed upon the last one and remained closed for good. When the town got free postal delivery, Miss Emily alone refused to let them fasten the metal numbers above her door and attach a mailbox to it. She would not listen to them. Daily, monthly, yearly we watched the Negro grow grayer and more stooped, going in and out with the market basket. It took me back in time while reading these words, which is exactly what Emily is. Tradition controls the actions of both the town and Emily herself.

The Civil War was an issue of lifestyle. Southerners hung to the lifestyle they had, with the slaves. Her father was aristocracy and paid no taxes , therefore , Emily refused.

When the slavery era passed, the South fell, the lifestyle was torn apart and the economy changed.

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Carpetbaggers penetrated the area, and the native Southerners felt overrun. Because they could do so little, they clung to their standards of behavior. They were ashamed that emily was with someone who was not on her level and felt that she was betraying the town as a whole.

It was also tradition that southern women were supposed to get married. Emily could have eventually married and been all right, but when the love of her life , Homer Barron comes into the picture, things change. So the loss of her father is what creates who she is and affects her decisions, to kill Barron. She poisons Homer so that he could be with her forever, and sleeps with his body at night.

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By clinging to tradition, Emily was unable to move on, which kept her living in the past. The first and last rose she ever got was on her casket, unfortunately. Downloading text is forbidden on this website.

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