Katherine Mansfield, The Woman Behind The Books (Including Letters, Journals, Essays & Articles). Katherine Mansfield
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was thoughtful and her hands trembled per- ceptibly. Suddenly she bent forward and stared at her reflection…. Her face was square in outline, and her skin very white. The impression which it gave was not by any means strictly beautiful. When in repose it conveyed an idea of extreme thoughtfulness; her mouth dropped slightly at the corners; her eyes were shadowed — but her expression was magnetic — her personality charged with vitality. She looked a dreamer — but her dreams were big with life.
“But Juliet noticed none of these characteristics. Since her very early days she had cultivated the habit of conversing very intimately with the Mirror face.
“Her childhood had been lonely — the dream face her only confidant. She was the second in a family of four. The eldest girl, Margaret, was now seventeen. Juliet was fourteen — and then two babies, Mary and Henry, aged seven and six, respectively. The mother was a slight, pale little woman. She had been delicate and ailing before her marriage and she never could forget it.
“Margaret and she looked after the babies and Mr. Wilberforce, a tall, grey-bearded man with prominent blue eyes — large, ungainly hands, and inclined to stoutness, was a general merchant, director of several companies, chairman of several societies, thoroughly commonplace and commercial. The great part of his life had been spent in New Zealand, and all the children had been born there.
“Juliet was the odd moment of the family — the ugly duckling. She had lived in a world of her own — created her own people — read anything and everything which came to hand — was possessed with a violent temper, and completely lacked placidity. She was dominated by her moods which swept through her and in number were legion. She had been, as yet, utterly idle at school — drifted through her classes, picked up a quantity of heterogeneous knowledge and all the pleadings and protestations of her teachers could not induce her to learn that which did not appeal to her. She absorbed everybody and everything with which she came in contact, and wrapped herself in a fierce white reserve. I have four passions,’ she wrote in an old diary—’ Nature, people, mystery, and, the fourth no man can number.’ Of late she had quarrelled frequently with the entire family through lack of anything definite to occupy her thoughts. She had no defined path, no goal to reach. She felt compelled to vent her energy upon somebody, and that somebody was her family.
“The large bedroom where she slept looked very dim and dark. There was a small fire in the grate, and a big rocking chair before it, but these were the two positive luxuries the room boasted of. Pictures were conspicuous by their absence, and all those little familiar things which marked the sum total of so many girls’ bedrooms found no place here. The long, unvarnished bookshelf was nailed above the bed, and a most miscellaneous collection of volumes found a resting place there. A glass of red roses stood on the dressing-table, and all her party clothes were carefully laid out on a chair. She dressed very deliberately in her white muslin frock — open at the neck — showing her full, round throat — and tied her broad silk sash. Her hair hung in two great braids, unadorned with combs or ribbon. She put up her hands and patted its smooth, heavy folds. Juliet’s hands were as distinctive as any part of her. They were large and exquisitely modelled. Her fingers were not very long — and blunted at the tops, but no amount of work could change their beauty. She gesticulated a great deal, and had a habit of sitting always nursing one knee — her fingers inter-locked.
“Before leaving her room, she crossed over to the window. Outside a great pine tree was outlined against the night sky — and the sea, stretching far in the distance — called to her— ‘Juliet — Juliet.’
“‘O night,’ she cried — leaning far out and turning her face up to the stars. ‘O adorable night.’ …
“Then she picked up her long cloak and ran lightly downstairs. In the hall her Mother and Father were waiting. Mr. Wilberforce, wrapping up his throat in a great silk handkerchief, with all that care and precision so common to perfectly healthy men who imagine they wrestle with weak constitutions.
“‘We shall drop you at Mrs. Cecil’s on the way, Juliet,’ said her mother, carefully drawing on her long evening gloves, ‘and then at ten o’clock you can call for us at Mrs. Black’s, and we shall come back together. You can wait in the hall if we’re not ready. It’s only a musical party.’
“The girl replied, and they walked out of the house, down the broad stone steps, and up the long moonlit road. In the presence of so many stars and so many trees, Juliet utterly forgot all the petty grievances of the day. She walked along beside her parents and ‘let it all sink in.’
“‘Do be careful of your clothes, child,’ the mother said, as Mr. Wilberforce held the gate open for her, ‘and don’t be late.’ … In front of her was the brilliantly lighted house; sounds of merriment came to her — uproarious laughter, shrieks of excitement. And for two hours she played as vigorously as the rest; then — inwardly rebelling and very satisfied when the clock pointed to five minutes to ten. The ‘party’ stood and watched her from the door — cried to her not to be afraid — to remember ‘ghosts in the garden,’ but she laughed, and holding her coat tightly around her, ran the whole length of the way.
“On the doorstep of Mrs. Black’s, she paused to recover breath, and a faint, a very faint wave of music was wafted to her.
“The drawing-room seemed extraordinarily bright after the night outside. She was a little confused at first. The maid had said that they were all at supper, and she was to wait there. She went over to a table, and bent over a bowl of flowers, but the sound of a chair being pushed back in a corner caused her to look up, startled. A boy of very much her own age was watching her curiously. He stood beside a great lamp, and the light fell full on his face and his profusion of red-brown hair. Very pale he was, with a dreamy, exquisite face, and a striking suggestion of confidence and power in every feature.
“Juliet felt a great wave of colour spread over her face and neck. They stood staring into each other’s eyes; then he walked up to the table where she stood, a faint smile playing around his lips.
“‘If you are fond of flowers, there are roses just outside the window,’ he said, ‘and you can reach out your hands and touch them; the scent is perfect. Come and see.’
“Side by side they crossed over to the great open window. Both leaned out. O the late roses below them — thousands, there seemed to Juliet….
“‘Will you tell me your name?’
“‘Juliet — and yours?’
“‘David. I am a musician. I have been playing to-night — a’cellist you know. I am going to Europe next year.’
“‘I, too, but not for music — to complete my education.’
“‘Do you want to go away?’
“‘Yes — and no. I long for fresh experiences — new places — but I shall miss the things that I love here.’
“‘Do you like nights, Juliet?’
“‘I feel like a chrysalis in the daytime — compared to my feelings after sunset …’ said Juliet sadly. ‘There are few opportunities … and a’cello; I have never heard a’cello.’
“… ‘Then I shall be the first to show you what can be,’ he said.
“… The walk home was silent. Margaret was awaiting their arrival, and immediately began telling Mrs. Wilberforce how ‘used up’ the babies seemed. Henry had certainly a beastly little cough, and Mary looked so pasty.
“‘We shall leave town in a couple of days,’ Mrs. Wilberforce said. ‘To-morrow that young boy is coming here to play, and father has asked a few men.’
“Juliet bade them goodnight and fled up to her room. Her heart was beating furiously. She could hardly repress a feeling of the most intense joy that bade her cry out. She sat on the side of the bed, staring at the darkness, her breath coming quickly. Sleep was impossible. The world had changed, and he was coming again to-morrow and she should hear him play. She crept into bed and lay still thinking. A curious