Trifles monologue Essay Example For Students

Trifles monologue Essay A monologue from the play by Susan Glaspell NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from Trifles. Susan Glaspell. New York: Frank Shay, 1916. HALE: Harry and I had started to town with a load of potatoes. We came along the road from my place and as I got here I said, I\m going to see if I can\t get John Wright to go in with me on a party telephone.\ I spoke to Wright about it once before and he put me off, saying folks talked too much anyway, and all he asked was peace and quiet—I guess you know about how much he talked himself; but I thought maybe if I went to the house and talked about it before his wife, though I said to Harry that I didn\t know as what his wife wanted made much difference to John— I didn\t hear or see anything; I knocked at the door, and still it was all quiet inside. I knew they must be up, it was past eight o\clock. So I knocked again, and I thought I heard somebody say, \Come in.\ I wasn\t sure, I\m not sure yet, but I opened the door—this door (indicating the door) and there in that rocker—(pointing to it) sat Mrs Wright. (They all look at the rocker.) She was rockin\ ba ck and forth. She had her apron in her hand and was kind of—pleating it. She looked queer, as if she didn\t know what she was going to do next. And kind of done up. I said, \How do, Mrs Wrightit\s cold, ain\t it?\ And she said, \Is it?\—and went on kind of pleating at her apron. Well, I was surprised; she didn\t ask me to come up to the stove, or to set down, but just sat there, not even looking at me, so I said, \I want to see John.\ And then she—laughed. I guess you would call it a laugh. I thought of Harry and the team outside, so I said a little sharp: \Can\t I see John?\ \No\, she says, kind o\ dull like. \Ain\t he home?\ says I. \Yes\, says she, \he\s home\. \Then why can\t I see him?\ I asked her, out of patience. \\Cause he\s dead\, says she. \Dead?\ says I. She just nodded her head, not getting a bit excited, but rockin\ back and forth. \Why—where is he?\ says I, not knowing what to say. She just pointed upstairs—like that (himself pointin g to the room above) I got up, with the idea of going up there. I walked from there to here—then I says, \Why, what did he die of?\ \He died of a rope round his neck\, says she, and just went on pleatin\ at her apron. Well, I went out and called Harry. I thought I might—need help. We went upstairs and there he was lyin\— Well, my first thought was to get that rope off. It looked (stops, his face twitches) but Harry, he went up to him, and he said, \No, he\s dead all right, and we\d better not touch anything.\ So we went back down stairs. She was still sitting that same way. \Has anybody been notified?\ I asked. \No\, says she unconcerned. \Who did this, Mrs Wright?\ said Harry. He said it business-like—and she stopped pleatin\ of her apron. \I don\t know\, she says. \You don\t know?\ says Harry. \No\, says she. \Weren\t you sleepin\ in the bed with him?\ says Harry. \Yes\, says she, \but I was on the inside\. \Somebody slipped a rope round his neck and strangled him and you didn\t wake up?\ says Harry. \I didn\t wake up\, she said after him. We must \a looked as if we didn\t see how that could be, for after a minute she said, \I sleep sound\. Harry was going to ask her more questions but I said maybe we ought to let her tell her story first to the coroner, or the sheriff, so Harry went fast as he could to Rivers\ place, where there\s a telephone. She moved from that chair to this one over here (pointing to a small chair in the corner) and just sat there with her hands held together and looking down. I got a feeling that I ought to make some conversation, so I said I had come in to see if John wanted to put in a telephone, and at that she started to laugh, and then she stopped and looked at me—scared I dunno, maybe it wasn\t scared. I wouldn\t like to say it was. Soon Harry got back, and then Dr Lloyd came, and you, Mr Peters, and so I guess that\s all I know that you don\t. .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 , .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 .postImageUrl , .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 , .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998:hover , .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998:visited , .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998:active { border:0!important; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998:active , .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998 .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .u92459d5ffc74ef1577300b5e0107f998:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Trifles and A Jury of Her Peers by Susan Glaspell Essay