Miss Brill
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.
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 some one 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.
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.
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.
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 flower-beds 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!
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.
Tum-tum-tum tiddle-um! tiddle-um! tum tiddley-um tum ta! blew the band.
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 some one 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.
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 solemn 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."
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.
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.
"No, not now," said the girl. "Not here, I can't."
"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?"
"It's her fu-ur which is so funny," giggled the girl. "It's exactly like a fried whiting."
"Ah, be off with you!" said the boy in an angry whisper. Then: "Tell me, ma petite chere--"
"No, not here," said the girl. "Not yet."
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.
But to-day 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.
Comments
Mansfield at her lyrical best. She quickly involves you in..
Mansfield at her lyrical best. She quickly involves you in her characters life. A pale pink story tinged with blue.
So sad I could hardly stand it. But beautiful.
So sad I could hardly stand it. But beautiful.
Oh, such exciting language - so full of colour and scent at..
Oh, such exciting language - so full of colour and scent at the same time (you can tell I adored the smoke-coloured donkey)
A good story. If there is a lesson in this story, it just..
A good story. If there is a lesson in this story, it just might be Avoid the Teenagers
i think that there are many lessons in life and this is one..
i think that there are many lessons in life and this is one of them
Details of Physical Appearance
Details of Physical Appearance
This atrocity is an exceptionally painful read with..
This atrocity is an exceptionally painful read with ridiculous amounts of over description used in such a context to make the story tacky. I was hoping this story was a joke when i started reading it....... Painful just painful
The use of evocative detail is the whole point of the..
The use of evocative detail is the whole point of the story....Its supposed to make you understand what type of person Miss Brill is......I think Katherine Mansfield is a very talented writer and is well known for this reason......short stories are ment to focus on a splice of life, as Katherine Mansfield does it effortlessly, which is aimed to reveal character and human responses to certain situations not plot...if you want plot go and read a novel
YO
YO
Miss Brill is a well writen story, though language is more..
Miss Brill is a well writen story, though language is more prominent then plot in this story. An excellent read.
An interesting and well written story, although it seemed..
An interesting and well written story, although it seemed slightly rushed, particularly at the end which was disappointing. The discriptions were exceptionally well written.
What is she trying to say, with this essay? !!!!!!!
What is she trying to say, with this essay? !!!!!!!
This is a great short story. That makes us try to..
This is a great short story. That makes us try to understand how an old and lonely person might feel. It is a sad, but very valuable in a sense of teaching, story.
A short story should be something you remember and want to..
A short story should be something you remember and want to tell to others. Noone will want to remember or tell this one.
I thought this was a uplifting story. The message here was..
I thought this was a uplifting story. The message here was not to think too highly of yourself, and put others down. Miss Brill was taught not to that by a couple of kids.
ÌäÇä
ÌäÇä
I am a teenager doing this story for my english class and I..
I am a teenager doing this story for my english class and I just dont get, but it does not mean to avoid teenagers, they are not all bad.
A reader wrote that a short story should be something you..
A reader wrote that a short story should be something you remember and want to share with someone else, but that he/she would never feel this way about "Miss Brill." My experience is contrary to that writers. I was assigned to write a critique of "Miss Brill" when I was a senior in high school in 1964. Ive been trying to find the story again for years.
well written story. im doing a study of Miss Brill for my..
well written story. im doing a study of Miss Brill for my english 30 class. appreciate the beauty and value
I think it is a story about life of the lonely, but with so..
I think it is a story about life of the lonely, but with so many people in this world how can someone become lonely.
this was the stupidest story ever! I dont care about some..
this was the stupidest story ever! I dont care about some old ladies life, this story sucked. waste of precious time
I may not completely understand this story, but I do know..
I may not completely understand this story, but I do know that a great writer like Katherine would not go through the trouble of crafing such an elaborate and beautiful peice of art just to criticize teenagers. I believe the truely mature reader can see beyond this trivial message to something deeper.
I think this story is boring and there is no purpose from..
I think this story is boring and there is no purpose from this story . sorrrrrry this is my point view.
i think this story is not to criticize teenager, me being..
i think this story is not to criticize teenager, me being one, i think there is a much deeper meaning to it. it is about a person who has now become a total stranger to her own life, most pobably a very miserable one fron Miss Brills point of view. it is her own choice, it seems.
I may be wrong, but I think that when she wears the fur she..
I may be wrong, but I think that when she wears the fur she feels young again, the teenagers impose upon this illusion of hers. That is why there is so much amphasis on the young and old in the story. The symbolism of her wearing the fur is to experience being young again. I dont know . . . What do you think?
It is the epitome of lonliness. It was written with a quiet..
It is the epitome of lonliness. It was written with a quiet understanding of the emotion. Very touching story.
I am doing this story for my college Eng. 1102 class, and..
I am doing this story for my college Eng. 1102 class, and it sucks. I cant believe how in depth they go into describing things. Why not just say there were clouds in the sky? Why does the author have to describe it to wine and all these other things? She wasted my time as well as anyone elses. I am sure the STORY itself is good, but it is too overdescriptive; so much in fact that I decided not to read it all.
If u read a book expect there to be description. Unlike in..
If u read a book expect there to be description. Unlike in a movie it is up to the reader to create their own image of what is happening within the story. Katherine Mansfield is talented in the respect that through words she can construct a vivid image for the reader- appreciate it.
I have to keep a journal outline for this short story. The..
I have to keep a journal outline for this short story. The first time I read it, it made absolutely no sense and I despised the story. I just finished reading it again and I think I got the moral of the story. Still I did not care for the story.
this was the most moving story i have ever read!i loved it..
this was the most moving story i have ever read!i loved it so much that i had to fight back the tears so my boyfriend wouldnt call me a wooss! hes so mean to me all the time and always tells me im fat! does anyone wana be my boyfriend instead?
I am doing this story for my ENG 101 class. It has taken me..
I am doing this story for my ENG 101 class. It has taken me 3 times reading this story to even come close to understanding it. I believe she loved her fur because, like her, it was kept in a box; a cage and was forever silent. I dont believe this story is about teens. I think it is about a lonely lady whos only friend is her fur.
Initially i felt Miss Brill was cold-hearted and overly..
Initially i felt Miss Brill was cold-hearted and overly critical especially in her judgements of the female "ermine toque" character. Her emotions seem to rise when she watches young couples which makes me feel as if she has been jilted at some point or another. If she was jilted earlier in her life, it may explain why she seems slightly bitter. After reading the story several times, now I am not certain I have interpreted the character right at all because Miss Brill seems so lonely to everyone but herself until she overhears the young couples comments. Eleanor Rigby played through my head as I read the story for the third time, and we all know what a sad creature Eleanor was. This is a story I will continue to turn over in my head for some time because I need to figure out how I feel about Miss Brill. I also want to figure out how she felt about herself after that day in the park.
Brilliant and magnificent story filled with heart-felt..
Brilliant and magnificent story filled with heart-felt emaotions. Which brings no offense toward the teens. 13PS
I am reading this story for a class, and I must write a..
I am reading this story for a class, and I must write a paper dealing with irony, theme, and characterization. I feel that this story is one to be looked into. It is deep, and only a mature reader can truely understand the moral of the story. I am still trying to find all the meaning this piece brings out.
This is a wonderfullly written story, but the theme of it..
This is a wonderfullly written story, but the theme of it seems a little bit dim. The old lady can go out to talk to others, instead of staying lonely.Anyway the language is beatiful.
So one reader states: "A short story should be something..
So one reader states: "A short story should be something you remember and want to tell to others. Noone will want to remember or tell this one. " Now that is a classic case of a personal flame against the writer. What they really wanted to say is: Youre story was good, but for me personally it lacked a few things.but good job! :) Myself? I liked it although the ending had me thinking..huh? but thats just me.
In AP English we read this story. The theme (not moral, as..
In AP English we read this story. The theme (not moral, as Ive learned) is basically that people who live alone tend to form their own fantasy worlds. It just so happens that teenagers were the ones that shattered Miss Brills. I believe the fur is a symbol of herself.
This was a well written story with a lot flavor. Even..
This was a well written story with a lot flavor. Even though I am not religious I would have to say Miss Brill is a religious figure. I say this because of little clues "a play", "a nun", her simply watching in on other peoples lives even for a moment. This is not a story to bash teens, because I am a teen myself and I did not take offense. I read this story for an Eng 1B class and I have to write an essay. Wish me luck ^-^;;
I had to read this story a few times for it to make sense..
I had to read this story a few times for it to make sense to me. But also reading the posted comments really helped out. I would have to agree with others about it being a little bit too descriptive. But interesting. Kinda sad how Miss Brill was cut down in the end.
Miss Brill is a complex character that has many levels of..
Miss Brill is a complex character that has many levels of emotion.I think that the descriptions are so elaborate because that is really how she saw and interpreted people and events. She is very lonely, very lost. K. Mansfield reminds me of an ealy Alice Walker.-I.W.T Greenwich CT
The story is descriptive but there is a reason behind the..
The story is descriptive but there is a reason behind the madness. The story revolves around Miss Brill and so shouldnt everything be described as if it were her descriptions. Miss Brill is an English teacher herself, dont English teachers like for their students to describe everything in detail? I think Katherine Mansfield did a wonderful job in the creation of Miss Brill and the world around her.
I am doing this for my eglish exam, and dont really..
I am doing this for my eglish exam, and dont really understand what point shes trying to put across?
Heart wrenching. The fur stole is a metaphor for herself...
Heart wrenching. The fur stole is a metaphor for herself. The fur’s cry is Ms Brill’s. She’s putting the fur in it’s box as she has returned to her own (from whence she came).
Shattered optimism. As she sits in her favourite place she..
Shattered optimism. As she sits in her favourite place she starts to believe she is surrounded by friends and she is important to them. Her hero and herione bring her back to reality with a thud! Shes not living through a scene in Seven Wives for Seven Brothers but in the real world. We all enter this world alone and we all leave it alone.
I am doing this for the final exam.three times I have read..
I am doing this for the final exam.three times I have read the story.Ive come to understand the relation between Miss Bill and her fur.
Miss Brill is a story of a woman who is old and living in..
Miss Brill is a story of a woman who is old and living in her own little world. She uses her observation and imagination to create a sense of belonging and identity among the crowd. She does not consider herself to be one of the other "old people" until the antagonists, the young boy and girl, regard her as such. Her self-identity is then shattered.
Miss Brills life seems to be a mirror of many modern..
Miss Brills life seems to be a mirror of many modern womens. so sad...:(
The story of an old woman who wanted to feel like she..
The story of an old woman who wanted to feel like she still fit somehow in a world that ignored her, even letting someone know she was an "actress" in the play of life. The youths finally burst her bubble. Sadly, the thing she heard crying probably came from her own mouth. There is no moral; only a truth that perhaps life is how we want to see it, through our simple human eyes, until its cruelties are made manifest. Great work. -Bill H.
"Hey Folks..", Ms. Brill is a story that paints a picture..
"Hey Folks..", Ms. Brill is a story that paints a picture of life for a sometimes lonely woman. She obviously avoids isolaitng herself in order to feel needed and to me this is very smart on her part. In life we have to deal with emotions and feelings at deffernt stages in life and at her stage lonliness is all to common. But at least she found a hobby if you will to counteeract those probably recurring feelings of lonliness. Maybe she had no faimly and couldnt surround herself with them, so she chose to regulary go to public shows like the on in the story in order to busy herself if you will. Smart woman and those teens are obiviously to young to appreciate old age and more importantly dont "respect" it.
beautifully written story, sad ending
beautifully written story, sad ending
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