" Yes," said Mrs. Wilkins, still as though she were afraid of being overheard. "Not just sit here and say How wonderful, and then go home to Hampstead without having put out a finger - go home just as usual and see about the dinner and the fish just as we've been doing for years and years. In fact," said Mrs. Wilkins, flushing to the roots of her hair(...), "I see no end to it. There is no end to it. So that there ought to be a break, there ought to be intervals - in everybody's interest. Why, it would really be being unselfish to go away and be happy for a little, because we would come back so much nicer. You see, after a bit everybody needs a holiday."
"But - how do you mean, get it?" asked Mrs. Arbuthnot.
"Take it," said Mrs. Wilkins.
"Take it?"
"Rent it. Hire it. Have it."
(......)
"She shouldn't say things like that," thought Mrs. Arbuthnot. "The vicar ---" Yet she felt strangely stirred. (...)
Habit, however, steadied her again; and years of intercourse with the poor made her say, with the slight though sympathetic superiority of the explainer, "But then, you see, heaven isn't somewhere else. It is here and now. We are told so."
She became very earnest, just as she did when trying patiently to help and enlighten the poor. "Heaven is within us," she said in her gentle low voice. "We are told that on the very highest authority. And you know the lines about the kindred points, don't you ------"
"Oh yes, I know them," interrupted Mrs. Wilkinson impatiently.
"The kindred points of heaven and home," continued Mrs. Arbuthnot, who was used to finishing her sentences. "Heaven is in our home."
"It isn't," said Mrs. Wilkinson, again surprisingly.
Mrs. Arbuthnot was taken aback. Then she said gently, "Oh, but it is. It is there if we choose, if we make it."
"I do choose, and I do make it, and it isn't," said Mrs. Wilkinson.
Britta says: Every year in April, I read "The Enchanted April", or at least watch the beautiful DVD. Elizabeth von Arnim is one of my favourite authors: she has such fine irony and draws her characters deadly with the stroke of a fine brush.
E.g:
"Mr. Wilkinson, a solicitor, encouraged thrift, except that branch of it which got into his food. He did not call that thrift, he called it bad housekeeping. But for the thrift which, like moth, penetrated into Mrs. Wilkins's clothes and spoil them, he had much praise. (...)"
"Mrs. Fisher was unable to come to the club because, she explained by letter, she could not walk without a stick (...)
Her father had been an eminent critic, and in his house she had seen practically everybody who was anybody in letters and art. Carlyle had scowled at her; Matthew Arnold had held her on his knees; Tennyson had sonorously rallied her on the length of her pig-tail. (...)
" Who lived at Box Hill?" interrupted Mrs. Wilkins (...)
Mrs. Fisher looked at her over the top of her glasses in some surprise. (...)
"Meredith of course," said Mrs. Fisher rather shortly. "I remember a particular week-end" - she continued. (...)
"Did you know Keats?" eagerly interrupted Mrs. Wilkins.
Mrs. Fisher, after a pause, said with sub-acid reserve that she had been unacquainted with both Keats and Shakespeare."
Britta knows some - most often elderly - people who use the excuse of their "stick" often - even if they don't own one - as Mrs. Fisher who likes to be served upon...
My dear Britta,
AntwortenLöschenFirst of all, thank you so much for your kind comment on my blog. Your warm note of condolences touched a deeper place in my heart. Thank you for thinking of me with such kindness.
How delighted I was to discover your new blog, Morsels of Literature. It seems such a natural and beautiful extension of your literary spirit, and I especially admire your bringing German and English literature into conversation through your translations and reflections. I think it's very generous to share one’s reading life in that way.
Like you, I have a great affection for Elizabeth von Arnim, and though I cannot confidently choose a favourite among her books, "The Enchanted April" remains very dear to me. How wonderful that you revisit it every April, almost as one returns to a cherished place or an old and understanding friend. Von Arnim had such an extraordinary eye for human character. Her irony is delicate, never heavy handed, and she had that rare gift of rendering even sadness with such elegant prose and wit that one finds oneself smiling in spite of oneself.
I've always loved, too, her recurring theme of escape, of seeking refuge from the constrictions of domestic duty, society, or simply the wearying machinery of ordinary life. Her characters long, often desperately, for some glimpse of paradise, some breathing space far from the madding crowd. Yet, with her unfailing instinct for human complication, she allows interruption to enter the idyll, usually in the form of an unwelcome arrival or an inconvenient truth. And still, she guides her stories towards resolution with such tenderness, understanding, and compassion that one closes the book feeling not merely entertained, but miraculously restored.
At times, I have thought there is something in her cadence that faintly recalls Katherine Mansfield, who was indeed related to her by marriage, if I'm not mistaken, though to my mind von Arnim possesses a warmer, more reassuring quality, rather like the companionship of a wise and slightly mischievous friend. Paradise, refuge, heaven found or sought, seem to run like an undercurrent through much of her work.
The only von Arnim book that truly moved me to tears was "Christine", published under the name Alice Cholmondeley. There is such poignancy in that novel esp. the relationship between the mother and the daughter and the intimacy of the epistolary form...There is something especially affecting in the intimacy of the epistolary form, as though one were being entrusted not merely with a story, but with the private movements of a soul. Elizabeth von Arnim is, to my mind, a true master of this form of writing. Few writers can sustain such immediacy, delicacy, and emotional truth through letters alone, yet she does so with a natural grace that makes the inner lives of her characters unfold as intimately as conversation itself.
I have a feeling you might also greatly enjoy Edith de Born....if you haven't come across her writing already. Her prose has a refinement and emotional intelligence that I think would speak to your sensibilities. Her works have become increasingly difficult to find here in the UK, but if memory serves, German editions are more readily available. Since you read German, I would recommend seeking her out.
Thank you again, dear Britta, for your kindness, your thoughtful messages, and for being such a kindred spirit, a fellow admirer of von Arnim, and a companion in the enduring pleasures of literature.
I hope you are well and having a lovely spring.
With warmest wishes,
ASD