our village-第1部分

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Our　Village

by　Mary　Russell　Mitford




CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION
COUNTRY　PICTURES
WALKS　IN　THE　COUNTRY
THE　FIRST　PRIMROSE
VIOLETING
THE　COPSE
THE　WOOD
THE　DELL
THE　COWSLIP…BALL
THE　OLD　HOUSE　AT　ABERLEIGH
THE　HARD　SUMMER
THE　SHAW
NUTTING
THE　VISIT
HANNAH　BINT
THE　FALL　OF　THE　LEAF



Introduction　by　Anne　Thackeray　Ritchie

I。

There　is　a　great　deal　of　admirable　literature　concerning　Miss　Mitford；　so　much　of　it　indeed；　that　the　writer　of　this　little　notice　feels　as　if　she　almost　owed　an　apology　to　those　who　remember；　for　having　ventured　to　write；　on　hearsay　only；　and　without　having　ever　known　or　ever　seen　the　author　of　'Our　Village。'　　And　yet；　so　vivid　is　the　homely　friendly　presence；　so　clear　the　sound　of　that　voice　'like　a　chime　of　bells；'　with　its　hospitable　cheery　greeting；　that　she　can　scarcely　realise　that　this　acquaintance　exists　only　in　the　world　of　the　might…have…beens。

For　people　who　are　beginning　to　remember；　rather　than　looking　forward　any　more；　there　certainly　exists　no　more　delightful　reading　than　the　memoirs　and　stories　of　heroes　and　heroines；　many　of　whom　we　ourselves　may　have　seen；　and　to　whom　we　may　have　spoken。　　As　we　read　on　we　are　led　into　some　happy　bygone　region；such　as　that　one　described　by　Mr。　du　Maurier　in　'Peter　Ibbetson；'a　region　in　which　we　ourselves；　together　with　all　our　friends　and　acquaintances；　grow　young　again；very　young；　very　brisk；　very　hopeful。　　The　people　we　love　are　there；　along　with　the　people　we　remember。　　Music　begins　to　play；　we　are　dancing；　laughing；　scampering　over　the　country　once　more；　our　parents　too　are　young　and　laughing　cheerily。　　Every　now　and　then　perhaps　some　old　friend；　also　vigorous　and　hopeful；　bursts　into　the　book；　and　begins　to　talk　or　to　write　a　letter；　early　sights　and　sounds　return　to　us；　we　have　NOW；　and　we　have　THEN；　in　a　pleasant　harmony。　　To　those　of　a　certain　literary　generation　who　read　Miss　Mitford's　memoirs；　how　many　such　familiar　presences　and　names　must　appear　and　reappear。　　Not　least　among　them　that　of　her　biographer；　Mr。　Harness　himself；　who　was　so　valued　by　his　friends。　Mrs。　Kemble；　Mrs。　Sartoris；　Charles　Allston　Collins；　always　talked　of　him　with　a　great　respect　and　tenderness。　　I　used　to　think　they　had　a　special　voice　with　which　to　speak　his　name。　　He　was　never　among　our　intimate　friends；　but　how　familiar　to　my　recollection　are　the　two　figures；　that　of　Mr。　Harness　and　Miss　Harness；　his　sister　and　housekeeper；　coming　together　along　the　busy　Kensington　roadway。　The　brother　and　sister　were　like　characters　out　of　some　book；　with　their　kind　faces；　their　simple　spiritual　ways；　in　touch　with　so　much　that　was　interesting　and　romantic；　and　in　heart　with　so　much　that　suffered。　　I　remember　him　with　grey　hair　and　a　smile。　　He　was　not　tall；　he　walked　rather　lame；　Miss　Harness　too　was　little；　looking　up　at　all　the　rest　of　the　world　with　a　kind　round　face　and　sparkling　eyes　fringed　with　thick　lashes。　　Mary　Mitford　was　indeed　happy　in　her　friends；　as　happy　as　she　was　unfortunate　in　her　nearer　relations。

With　much　that　is　sad；　there　is　a　great　deal　of　beauty　and　enjoyment　in　Miss　Mitford's　life。　　For　her　the　absence　of　material　happiness　was　made　up　for　by　the　presence　of　warm…hearted　sensibility；　of　enthusiasm；　by　her　devotion　to　her　parents。　Her　long　endurance　and　filial　piety　are　very　remarkable；　her　loving　heart　carried　her　safely　to　the　end；　and　she　found　comfort　in　her　unreasoning　life's　devotion。　She　had　none　of　the　restlessness　which　is　so　apt　to　spoil　much　that　might　be　harmonious；　all　the　charm　of　a　certain　unity　and　simplicity　of　motive　is　hers；　'the　single　eye；'　of　which　Charles　Kingsley　wrote　so　sweetly。　　She　loved　her　home；　her　trees；　her　surrounding　lanes　and　commons。　　She　loved　her　friends。　　Her　books　and　flowers　are　real　and　important　events　in　her　life；　soothing　and　distracting　her　from　the　contemplation　of　its　constant　anxieties。　'I　may　truly　say；'　she　once　writes　to　Miss　Barrett；　'that　ever　since　I　was　a　very　young　girl；　I　have　never　（although　for　some　years　living　apparently　in　affluence）　been　without　pecuniary　care；the　care　that　pressed　upon　my　thoughts　the　last　thing　at　night；　and　woke　in　the　morning　with　a　dreary　sense　of　pain　and　pressure；　of　something　which　weighed　me　to　the　earth。'

Mary　Russell　Mitford　was　born　on　the　16th　of　December　1787。　　She　was　the　only　child　of　her　parents；　who　were　well　connected；　her　mother　was　an　heiress。　　Her　father　belonged　to　the　Mitfords　of　the　North。　She　describes　herself　as　'a　puny　child；　with　an　affluence　of　curls　which　made　her　look　as　if　she　were　twin　sister　to　her　own　great　doll。'　　She　could　read　at　three　years　old；　she　learnt　the　Percy　ballads　by　heart　almost　before　she　could　read。　　Long　after；　she　used　to　describe　how　she　first　studied　her　beloved　ballads　in　the　breakfast…room　lined　with　books；　warmly　spread　with　its　Turkey　carpet；　with　its　bright　fire；　easy　chairs；　and　the　windows　opening　to　a　garden　full　of　flowers；stocks；　honeysuckles；　and　pinks。　　It　is　touching　to　note　how；　all　through　her　difficult　life；　her　path　was　（literally）　lined　with　flowers；　and　how　the　love　of　them　comforted　and　cheered　her　from　the　first　to　the　very　last。　　In　her　saddest　hours；　the　passing　fragrance　and　beauty　of　her　favourite　geraniums　cheered　and　revived　her。　　Even　when　her　mother　died　she　found　comfort　in　the　plants　they　had　tended　together；　and　at　the　very　last　breaks　into　delighted　descriptions　of　them。

She　was　sent　to　school　in　the　year　1798　to　No。　22　Hans　Place；　to　a　Mrs。　St。　Quintin's。　　It　seems　to　have　been　an　excellent　establishment。　　Mary　learnt　the　harp　and　astronomy；　her　taste　for　literature　was　encouraged。　　The　young　ladies；　attired　as　shepherdesses；　were　also　taught　to　skip　through　many　mazy　movements；　but　she　never　distinguished　herself　as　a　shepherdess。　　She　had　greater　success　in　her　literary　efforts；　and　her　composition　'on　balloons'　was　much　applauded。　　She　returned　to　her　home　in　18O2。　'Plain　in　figure　and　in　face；　she　was　never　common…looking；'　says　Mr。　Harness。　　He　gives　a　pretty　description　of　her　as　'no　ordinary　child；　her　sweet　smiles；　her　animated　conversation；　her　keen　enjoyment　of　life；　and　her　gentle　voice　won　the　love　and　admiration　of　her　friends；　whether　young　or　old。'　　Mr。　Harness　has　chiefly　told　Miss　Mitford's　story　in　her　own　words　by　quotations　from　her　letters；　and；　as　one　reads；　one　can　almost　follow　her　moods　as　they　succeed　each　other；　and　these　moods　are　her　real　history。　　The　assiduity　of　childhood；　the　bright　enthusiasm　and　gaiety　of　her　early　days；　the　growing　anxiety　of　her　later　life；　the　maturer　judgments；　the　occasional　despairing　terrors　which　came　to　try　her　bright　nature；　but　along　with　it　all；　that　innocent　and　enduring　hopefulness　which　never　really　deserted　her。　　Her　elastic　spirit　she　owed　to　her　father；　that　incorrigible　old　Skimpole。　　'I　am　generally　happy　everywhere；'　she　writes　in　her　youthand　then　later　on：　　'It　is　a　great　pleasure　to　me　to　love　and　to　admire；　this　is　a　faculty　which　has　survived　many　frosts　and　storms。'　　It　is　true　that　she　adds　a　query　somewhere　else；　'Did　you　ever　remark　how　superior　old　gaiety　is　to　new？'　she　asks。

Her　handsome　father；　her　plain　and　long…enduring　mother；　are　both　unconsciously　described　in　her　correspondence。　　'The　Doctor's　manners　were　easy；　natural；　cordial；　and　apparently　extremely　frank；'　says　Mr。　Harness；　'but　he　nevertheless　met　the　world　on　its　own　terms；　and　was　prepared　to　allow　himself　any　insincerity　which　seemed　expedient。　　He　was　not　only　recklessly　extravagant；　but　addicted　to　high　play。　　His　wife's　large　fortune；　his　daughter's；　his　own　patrimony；　all　passed　through　his　hands　in　an　incredibly　short　space　of　time；　but　his　wife　and　daughter　were　never　heard　to　complain　of　his　conduct；　nor　appeared　to　admire　him　less。'

The　story　of　Miss　Mitford's　2O；OOO　pounds　is　unique　among　the　adventures　of　authoresses。　　Dr。　Mitford；　having　spent　all　his　wife's　fortune；　and　having　brought　his　family　from　a　comfortable　home；　with　flowers　and　a　Turkey　carpet；　to　a　small　lodging　near　Blackfriars　Bridge；　determined　to　present　his　daughter　with　an　expensive　lottery　ticket　on　the　occasion　of　her　tenth　birthday。　　She　had　a　fancy　for　No。　2224；　of　which　the　added　numbers　came　to　10。　　This　number　actually　came　out　the　first　prize　of　2O；OOO　pounds；　which　money　started　the　family　once　more　in　comparative　affluence。　　Dr。　Mitford　immediately　built　a　new　square　house；　which　he　calls　Bertram　House；　on　the　site　of　a　pretty　old　farmhouse　which　he　causes　to　be　pulled　down。　　He　also　orders　a　dessert…service　painted　with　the　Mitford　arms；　Mrs。　Mitford　is　supplied　with　a　carriage；　and　she　subscribes　to　a　circulating　library。

A　list　still　exists　of　the　books　taken　out　by　her　for　her　daughter's　use；　some　fifty…five　volumes　a　month；　chiefly　trash：　　'Vicenza；'　'A　Sailor's　Friendship　and　Soldier's　Love；'　'Clarentina；'　'Robert　and　Adela；'　'The　Count　de　Valmont；'　'The　Three　Spaniards；'　'De　Clifford'　（in　four　volumes）　and　so　on。

The　next　two　or　three　years　were　brilliant　enough；　for　the　family　must　have　lived　at　the　rate　of　three　or　four　thousand　a　year。　　Their　hospitality　was　profuse；　they　had　servants；　carriages；　they　bought　pictures　and　furniture；　they　entertained。　　Cobbett　was　among　their　intimate　friends。　　The　Doctor　naturally　enough　invested　in　a　good　many　more　lottery　tickets；　but　without　any　further　return。

The　ladies　seem　to　take　it　as　a　matter　of　course　that　he　should　speculate　and　gamble　at　cards；　and　indeed　do　anything　and　everything　he　fancied；　but　they　beg　him　at　least　to　keep　to　respectable　clubs。　He　is　constantly　away。　　His　daughter　tries　to　tempt　him　home　with　the　bloom　of　her　hyacinths。　　'How　they　long　to　see　him　again！'　she　says；　'how　greatly　have　they　been　disappointed；　when；　every　day；　the　journey　to　Reading　has　been　fruitless。　　The　driver　of　the　Reading　coach　is　quite　accustomed　to　being　waylaid　by　their　carriage。'　　Then　she　tells　him　about　the　primroses；　but　neither　hyacinths　nor　primroses　bring　the　Doctor　away　from　his　cards。　　Finally；　the　rhododendrons　and　the　azaleas　are　in　bloom；　but　these　also　fail　to　attract　him。

Miss　Mitford　herself　as　she　grows　up　is　sent　to　London　more　than　once；　to　the　St。　　Quintin's　and　elsewhere。　　She　goes　to　the　play　and　to　Westminster　Hall；　she　sees　her　hero