Katherine Mansfield

[1] Although it was so brilliantly fine — the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques — Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur.The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting — from nowhere, from the sky.Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur.Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again.She had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes.“What has been happening to me?”said the sad little eyes.Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown! ...But the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn’t at all firm.It must have had a knock, somehow.Never mind — a little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came — when it was absolutely necessary...Little rogue! Yes, she really felt like that about it.Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear.She could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it.She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she supposed.And when she breathed, something light and sad— no, not sad, exactly — something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.

[2] There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than last Sunday.And the band sounded louder and gayer.That was because the Season had begun.For although the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it was never the same.It was like someone playing with only the family to listen; it didn’t care how it played if there weren’t any strangers present.Wasn’t the conductor wearing a new coat, too? She was sure it was new.He scraped with his foot and flapped his arms like a rooster about to crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out their cheeks and glared at the music.Now there came a little “flutey” bit — very pretty! — a little chain of bright drops.She was sure it would be repeated.It was; she lifted her head and smiled.

[3] Only two people shared her “special” seat: a fine old man in a velvet coat, his hands clasped over a huge carved walking-stick, and a big old woman, sitting upright, with a roll of knitting on her embroidered apron.They did not speak.This was disappointing, for Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation.She had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she didn’t listen, at sitting in other people’s lives just for a minute while they talked round her.

[4] She glanced, sideways, at the old couple.Perhaps they would go soon.Last Sunday, too, hadn’t been as interesting as usual.An Englishman and his wife, he wearing a dreadful Panama hat and she button boots.And she’d gone on the whole time about how she ought to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was no good getting any; they’d be sure to break and they’d never keep on.And he’d been so patient.He’d suggested everything — gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears, little pads inside the bridge.No, nothing would please her.“They’ll always be sliding down my nose!” Miss Brill had wanted to shake her.

[5] The old people sat on the bench, still as statues.Never mind, there was always the crowd to watch.To and fro, in front of the flowerbeds and the band rotunda, the couples and groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of flowers from the old beggar who had his tray fixed to the railings.Little children ran among them, swooping and laughing; little boys with big white silk bows under their chins, little girls, little French dolls, dressed up in velvet and lace.And sometimes a tiny staggerer came suddenly rocking into the open from under the trees, stopped, stared, as suddenly sat down“flop”, until its small high-stepping mother, like a young hen, rushed scolding to its rescue.Other people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly always the same, Sunday after Sunday, and — Miss Brill had often noticed — there was something funny about nearly all of them.They were odd, silent, nearly all old, and from the way they stared they looked as though they’d just come from dark little rooms or even — even cupboards!

[6] Behind the rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down drooping, and through them just a line of sea, and beyond the blue sky with gold-veined clouds.

[7] Tum-tum-tum tiddle-um! tiddle-um! tum tiddley-um tum ta! Blew the band.

[8] Two young girls in red came by and two young soldiers in blue met them, and they laughed and paired and went off arm-in-arm.Two peasant women with funny straw hats passed, gravely, leading beautiful smoke-coloured donkeys.A cold, pale nun hurried by.A beautiful woman came along and dropped her bunch of violets, and a little boy ran after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them away as if they’d been poisoned.Dear me! Miss Brill didn’t know whether to admire that or not! And now an ermine toque and a gentleman in grey met just in front of her.He was tall, stiff, dignified, and she was wearing the ermine toque she’d bought when her hair was yellow.Now everything, her hair, her face, even her eyes, was the same colour as the shabby ermine, and her hand, in its cleaned glove, lifted to dab her lips, was a tiny yellowish paw.Oh, she was so pleased to see him —delighted! She rather thought they were going to meet that afternoon.She described where she’d been — everywhere, here, there, along by the sea.The day was so charming — didn’t he agree? And wouldn’t he, perhaps? ...But he shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep puff into her face, and even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked the match away and walked on.The ermine toque was alone; she smiled more brightly than ever.But even the band seemed to know what she was feeling and played more softly, played tenderly, and the drum beat, “The Brute! The Brute!” over and over.What would she do? What was going to happen now? But as Miss Brill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised her hand as though she’d seen someone else, much nicer, just over there, and pattered away.And the band changed again and played more quickly, more gayly than ever, and the old couple on Miss Brill’s seat got up and marched away, and such a funny old man with long whiskers hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over by four girls walking abreast.

[9] Oh, how fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved sitting here, watching it all! It was like a play.It was exactly like a play.Who could believe the sky at the back wasn’t painted? But it wasn’t till a little brown dog trotted on solemnly and then slowly trotted off, like a little “theatre dog”, a little dog that had been drugged, that Miss Brill discovered what it was that made it so exciting.They were all on the stage.They weren’t only the audience, not only looking on; they were acting.Even she had a part and came every Sunday.No doubt somebody would have noticed if she hadn’t been there; she was part of the performance after all.How strange she’d never thought of it like that before! And yet it explained why she made such a point of starting from home at just the same time each week — so as not to be late for the performance — and it also explained why she had quite a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils how she spent her Sunday afternoons.No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out loud.She was on the stage.She thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom she read the newspaper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden.She had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow, the hollowed eyes, the open mouth and the high pinched nose.If he’d been dead she mightn’t have noticed for weeks; she wouldn’t have minded.But suddenly he knew he was having the paper read to him by an actress! “An actress!” The old head lifted; two points of light quivered in the old eyes.“An actress — are ye?” And Miss Brill smoothed the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said gently; “Yes, I have been an actress for a long time.”

[10] The band had been having a rest.Now they started again.And what they played was warm, sunny, yet there was just a faint chill — a something, what was it? — not sadness —no, not sadness — a something that made you want to sing.The tune lifted, lifted, the light shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in another moment all of them, all the whole company, would begin singing.The young ones, the laughing ones who were moving together, they would begin, and the men’s voices, very resolute and brave, would join them.And then she too, she too, and the others on the benches — they would come in with a kind of accompaniment — something low, that scarcely rose or fell, something so beautiful —moving...And Miss Brill’s eyes filled with tears and she looked smiling at all the other members of the company.Yes, we understand, we understand, she thought — though what they understood she didn’t know.

[11] Just at that moment a boy and girl came and sat down where the old couple had been.They were beautifully dressed; they were in love.The hero and heroine, of course, just arrived from his father’s yacht.And still soundlessly singing, still with that trembling smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen.

[12] “No, not now”, said the girl.“Not here, I can’t.”

[13] “But why? Because of that stupid old thing at the end there?” asked the boy.“Why does she come here at all — who wants her? Why doesn’t she keep her silly old mug at home?”

[14] “It’s her fu-ur which is so funny”, giggled the girl.“It’s exactly like a fried whiting.”

[15] “Ah, be off with you!” said the boy in an angry whisper.Then: “Tell me, ma petite chere — ”

[16] “No, not here”, said the girl.“Not yet.”

[17] ...On her way home she usually bought a slice of honey-cake at the baker’s.It was her Sunday treat.Sometimes there was an almond in her slice, sometimes not.It made a great difference.If there was an almond it was like carrying home a tiny present — a surprise —something that might very well not have been there.She hurried on the almond Sundays and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way.

[18] But today she passed the baker’s by, climbed the stairs, went into the little dark room — her room like a cupboard — and sat down on the red eiderdown.She sat there for a long time.The box that the fur came out of was on the bed.She unclasped the necklet quickly; quickly, without looking, laid it inside.But when she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying.

Notes

1. Katherine Mansfield Beauchamp Murry (1888 - 1923): She was a prominent modernist writer of short fiction who was born and brought up in colonial New Zealand and wrote under the pen name of Katherine Mansfield.She is widely considered one of the best short story writers of her period.A number of her works, including Miss Brill, Prelude, The Garden Party, The Doll’s House and The Fly, are frequently collected in short story anthologies.Mansfield also proved ahead of her time in her adoration of Russian playwright and short story writer Anton Chekhov, and incorporated some of his themes and techniques into her writing.

2. The Jardins Publiques: 法语，“公共花园”之意。

3. the Season: 指文娱、社交、商业等的活跃季节。

4. ma petite chere: 法语，“我的小心肝”之意。

After You Read

Knowledge Focus

1.Discuss the following questions with your partner.

1) Who is Miss Brill? How old is she? Does she have a family? Does she have friends?

2) Where and when does the story happen? Does the author reveal the setting of story in a direct way?

3) What is the significance of her name “Miss Brill”?

4) How does Miss Brill see herself? What is her self-image? What are some details in the story that help you see how she sees herself?

5) How does the teenage couple in the park see Miss Brill?

6) “When she put the lid on she thought she heard something crying.” Who was crying? What was the crying about?

7) What would be the adjective to describe Miss Brill?

8) What is your personal response to “Miss Brill”?What do you think is the theme of the story?

2.Discuss the following topic with your partner.

Please discuss the characterization of Miss Brill with your partner.What kind of woman is Miss Brill? What details in the story reveal her characters? Please make a character sketch of Miss Brill.

3.Learn literary devices together with your partner.

Symbolism is the practice of employing symbols, which suggest a connection between the ordinary sense of reality and a moral or spiritual order.For example, a red rose can be a symbol of love or beauty.

Just as characterization and dialogue and plot work on the surface to move the story along, symbolism works under the surface to tie the story’s external action to the theme.Discuss with your partner the symbolic meanings of the following objects in the story.

? the fur

? the season

? the playing of the band

? the drifting leaf

Language Focus

1.Explain the following expressions to your classmates and try to translate them into proper Chinese.

2.Discuss the subtle difference of the words in the following group and fill in the blanks with the right word.

hobble trot stagger

1) She left her purse on the counter, so I had to _____ down the street after her.

2) His left leg was hurt in a car accident, so he could only manage to _____ over the finishing line.

3) The drunker lost his balance and ______ to the phone and called for help.

3.Please fill in the following table with as many specific words as you know.

4.Fill in the blanks with the right form of the given word.

1) All these were staged in Europe with far more _______ (brilliant) and intellectual weight.

2) The horse lay _______ (motion) on the ground, as if dead.

3) The news report was so _______ (dread) that I just had to switch it off.

4) I’m not even going to _______ (dignity) that stupid question with an answer.

5) The ropes were entangled so I was not able to _______ (tie) the parcel.

6) That article was based on pure _______ (suppose).

7) I didn’t know anybody at the party, but the hostess came to my _______ (rescue) by introducing me to a few people.

8) White wine provided the perfect _______ (accompany) to the meal.

5.Read the following sentences and summarize the grammatical function of the italicized parts.

1) That she is still alive is her luck.

2) Where the English evening will be held has not yet been announced.

3) It is known to us how he became a writer.

4) He has told me that he will go to Shanghai tomorrow.

5) She will give whoever needs help a warm support.

6) Everything depends on whether we have enough money.

7) The fact is that we have lost the game.

8) That is why he didn’t come to the meeting.

9) The news that we won the game is exciting.

10) I have no idea when he will come back home.

11) The thought came to him that Mary had probably fallen ill.

6.Complete each sentence with that, what, whether, or who.

1) _____ they are badly in need of help is quite clear.

2) It is believed _____ at least a score of buildings were damaged or destroyed.

3) _____ Mary really heard him is really doubtful.

4) _____ made the school proud was that more than 90% of the students had been admitted to key universities.

5) ________ leaves the room last ought to turn off the lights.

6) I wondered _____ he could make such rapid progress in his study of French.

7) She told her students _____ the English Channel was officially opened on March 7, 1994.

8) We think it important _____we apply the theory into practice.

9) Although Annie is happy with her success, she wonders ____ will happen to her personal life.

10) We agree to accept ____ they thought was the best tourist guide.

Comprehensive Work

1.Pair work.

Give a character sketch to Miss Brill by using the key words and phrases in Text A.

2.Group work: Dramatization.

Try to rewrite the story into a play.Choose some important and significant scenes and connect them naturally together without changing the theme and the author’s intention.

Role play it in groups.

3.Pair work.

Read the following poem and discuss the questions that follow.

Getting Old Is Not Amusing

Failing eyes and fallen arches,

No more hikes and no more marches.

Taste buds dulled, my ears are muted,

Signs of age can’t be refuted.

Once I heard the bluebirds singing —

What you say? My ears are ringing!

Aging skin with sagging wrinkles,

Lost my sparkle, lost my twinkle.

More gray hairs and bald spots showing,

Yet in places hairs are growing!

All the ways my body’s losing —

Getting old is not amusing.

Now I face my mirror knowing.

Youth is fleeting — Yes, it’s going!

Each new day brings creaks and twinges,

To my body’s rusty hinges.

Then there are the senior lapses

When my old brain’s tired synapses

Don’t fire at all, or fire askew.

(Who is that guy? And who are you? )

There’s no way that I can soften,

Senior moments coming often.

My body, brain and mind are losing,

Getting old is not amusing!

You may laugh while I am crying,

But you’ll see as time goes flying,

Old age creeps up unrelenting

Then it’s you who’ll be lamenting,

“Was I not young just yesterday?

Without a sign of sag or gray?”

Soon you’ll find, despite your raging.

Wrinkles, lines and signs of aging!

Then amid the ringing, buzzing,

When your brain’s misfiring, fuzzing,

When dis-functions start appearing,

(No, it’s not just sight and hearing!)

When your sprightly step is slowing

When your body parts are going

When it’s YOU who’s losing, losing,

Will you find old age amusing?

Questions for discussion.

1) What is the poem about?

2) What are the symptoms of getting old?

3) What’s the author’s attitude towards getting old?

4) Do you agree with the author? What is your attitude towards getting old?

4.Writing.

Have you ever imagined a life when you are old? Describe a life you dream of after you retire from work.

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