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(solution) A Rose for Emily (1930) by William Faulkner 1 2 3 4 5 I When

assignment explained in the assignment sheet. I just need a response paper on this particular story ( a rose for Emily) . I attached two examples ( ritchie and lisonbonee ) of previous papers that I want mine to look like. I need at least 3 quotes from one of the sources the students used. MLA style please please please I want the style to match the papers If not I wont be able to turn it in. It is 3 pages long the third page will be the works cited page , at least 500 words. I also attached my previous paper with the professor comments on it so you wont make the same mistakes.

A Rose for Emily (1930)


by William Faulkner




1 2 3 4 5 I When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a


sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see


the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant?a combined gardener and


cook?had seen in at least ten years.


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 1894 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. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale


to the effect that Miss Emily's father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a


matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris?


generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.


When the next generation, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen,


this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction. On the first of the year they mailed her a


tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her


to call at the sheriff's office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself,


offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic


shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at


all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.


They called a special meeting of the Board of Aldermen. A deputation waited upon her,


knocked at the door through which no visitor had passed since she ceased giving chinapainting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by the old Negro into a dim


hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disuse?a


close, dank smell. The Negro led them into the parlor. It was furnished in heavy, leathercovered furniture. When the Negro opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the


leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs,


spinning with slow motes in the single sun-ray. On a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace 6 7 8












14 stood a crayon portrait of Miss Emily?s father.


They rose when she entered?a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain


descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a


tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would


have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated, like a body


long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in the fatty ridges


of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of dough as they moved


from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand.


She did not ask them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the


spokesman came to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at the


end of the gold chain.


Her voice was dry and cold. ?I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it


to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves.?


?But we have. We are the city authorities, Miss Emily. Didn?t you get a notice from the


sheriff, signed by him??


?I received a paper, yes," Miss Emily said. "Perhaps he considers himself the sheriff . . .


I have no taxes in Jefferson.?


?But there is nothing on the books to show that, you see. We must go by the??


?See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson.?


?But, Miss Emily??


?See Colonel Sartoris.? (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) ?I have no


taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!? The Negro appeared. ?Show these gentlemen out.? II


15 16 17








21 So she vanquished them, horse and foot, just as she had vanquished their fathers thirty


years before about the smell. That was two years after her father?s death and a short time


after her sweetheart?the one we believed would marry her?had deserted her. After her


father?s death she went out very little; after her sweetheart went away, people hardly saw her


at all. A few of the ladies had the temerity to call, but were not received, and the only sign of


life about the place was the Negro man?a young man then?going in and out with a market




?Just as if a man?any man?could keep a kitchen properly,? the ladies said; so they


were not surprised when the smell developed. It was another link between the gross,


teeming world and the high and mighty Griersons.


A neighbor, a woman, complained to the mayor, Judge Stevens, eighty years old.


?But what will you have me do about it, madam?? he said.


?Why, send her word to stop it,? the woman said. ?Isn't there a law??


?I'm sure that won?t be necessary,? Judge Stevens said. ?It's probably just a snake or a


rat that nigger of hers killed in the yard. I'll speak to him about it.?


The next day he received two more complaints, one from a man who came in diffident


deprecation. ?We really must do something about it, Judge. I'd be the last one in the world to 22




24 25 26 27 28 bother Miss Emily, but we?ve got to do something.? That night the Board of Aldermen met-three graybeards and one younger man, a member of the rising generation.


?It?s simple enough,? he said. ?Send her word to have her place cleaned up. Give her a


certain time to do it in, and if she don?t . . .?


?Dammit, sir,? Judge Stevens said, ?will you accuse a lady to her face of smelling




So the next night, after midnight, four men crossed Miss Emily's lawn and slunk about


the house like burglars, sniffing along the base of the brickwork and at the cellar openings


while one of them performed a regular sowing motion with his hand out of a sack slung


from his shoulder. They broke open the cellar door and sprinkled lime there, and in all the


outbuildings. As they recrossed the lawn, a window that had been dark was lighted and Miss


Emily sat in it, the light behind her, and her upright torso motionless as that of an idol. They


crept quietly across the lawn and into the shadow of the locusts that lined the street. After a


week or two the smell went away.


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. 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. 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. III


29 She was sick for a long time. 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? 30 31 32 33 34 35












41 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 riggers 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 riggers, and the riggers 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.? But


there were still others, older people, who said that even grief could not cause a real lady to


forget noblesse oblige?without calling it noblesse oblige. They just said, ?Poor Emily. Her


kinsfolk should come to her.? She had some kin in Alabama; but years ago her father had


fallen out with them over the estate of old lady Wyatt, the crazy woman, and there was no


communication between the two families. They had not even been represented at the




And as soon as the old people said, ?Poor Emily,? the whispering began. ?Do you


suppose it?s really so?? they said to one another. ?Of course it is. What else could . . .? This


behind their hands; rustling of craned silk and satin behind jalousies closed upon the sun of


Sunday afternoon as the thin, swift clop-clop-clop of the matched team passed: ?Poor




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.


?I want some poison,? she said to the druggist. 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 eye-sockets as you imagine a lighthousekeeper?s face ought to look. ?I want some poison,? she said.


?Yes, Miss Emily. What kind? For rats and such? I'd recom??


?I want the best you have. I don't care what kind.?


The druggist named several. ?They'll kill anything up to an elephant. But what you


want is??


?Arsenic,? Miss Emily said. ?Is that a good one??


?Is . . . arsenic? Yes, ma?am. But what you want??


?I want arsenic.?


The druggist looked down at her. She looked back at him, erect, her face like a strained


flag. ?Why, of course,? the druggist said. ?If that?s what you want. But the law requires you


to tell what you are going to use it for.? 42 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: ?For rats.? IV


43 44 45 46 47 So the next day we all said, ?She will kill herself?; and we said it would be the best


thing. When she had first begun to be seen with Homer Barron, we had said, ?She will


marry him.? Then we said, ?She will persuade him yet,? because Homer himself had


remarked?he liked men, and it was known that he drank with the younger men in the Elks?


Club?that he was not a marrying man. 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.


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. B. on each piece. 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 really


glad. We were glad because the two female cousins were even more Grierson than Miss


Emily had ever been.


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 blowingoff, 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. 48 49 50 51 52 53 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-andsalt 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. Each December we sent her a tax notice, which would be


returned by the post office a week later, unclaimed. Now and then we would see her in one


of the downstairs windows?she had evidently shut up the top floor of the house?like the


carven torso of an idol in a niche, looking or not looking at us, we could never tell which.


Thus she passed from generation to generation?dear, inescapable, impervious, tranquil,


and perverse.


And so she died. Fell ill in the house filled with dust and shadows, with only a


doddering Negro man to wait on her. We did not even know she was sick; we had long


since given up trying to get any information from the Negro. He talked to no one, probably


not even to her, for his voice had grown harsh and rusty, as if from disuse.


She died in one of the downstairs rooms, in a heavy walnut bed with a curtain, her


gray head propped on a pillow yellow and moldy with age and lack of sunlight. V


54 55 The Negro met the first of the ladies at the front door and let them in, with their


hushed, sibilant voices and their quick, curious glances, and then he disappeared. He


walked right through the house and out the back and was not seen again.


The two female cousins came at once. They held the funeral on the second day, with


the town coming to look at Miss Emily beneath a mass of bought flowers, with the crayon


face of her father musing profoundly above the bier and the ladies sibilant and macabre;


and the very old men?some in their brushed Confederate uniforms?on the porch and the


lawn, talking of Miss Emily as if she had been a contemporary of theirs, believing that they 56 57 58


59 60 had danced with her and courted her perhaps, confusing time with its mathematical


progression, as the old do, to whom all the past is not a diminishing road but, instead, a


huge meadow which no winter ever quite touches, divided from them now by the narrow


bottle-neck of the most recent decade of years.


Already we knew that there was one room in that region above stairs which no one


had seen in forty years, and which would have to be forced. They waited until Miss Emily


was decently in the ground before they opened it.


The violence of breaking down the door seemed to fill this room with pervading dust.


A thin, acrid pall as of the tomb seemed to lie everywhere upon this room decked and


furnished as for a bridal: upon the valance curtains of faded rose color, upon the roseshaded lights, upon the dressing table, upon the delicate array of crystal and the man?s


toilet things backed with tarnished silver, silver so tarnished that the monogram was


obscured. Among them lay a collar and tie, as if they had just been removed, which, lifted,


left upon the surface a pale crescent in the dust. Upon a chair hung the suit, carefully


folded; beneath it the two mute shoes and the discarded socks.


The man himself lay in the bed.


For a long while we just stood there, looking down at the profound and fleshless grin.


The body had apparently once lain in the attitude of an embrace, but now the long sleep that


outlasts love, that conquers even the grimace of love, had cuckolded him. What was left of


him, rotted beneath what was left of the nightshirt, had become inextricable from the bed in


which he lay; and upon him and upon the pillow beside him lay that even coating of the


patient and biding dust.


Then we noticed that in the second pillow was the indentation of a head. One of us


lifted something from it, and leaning forward, that faint and invisible dust dry and acrid in


the nostrils, we saw a long strand of iron-gray hair. ?? Kennedy, X. J., and Gioia, Dana, eds. _Literature: An Introduction to Fiction, Poetry, and


Drama_. 6 ed. New York: Harper Collins, 1995.


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