Name: Class:

Miss Brill
By Katherine Mansfield
1920

Katherine Mansfield (1888-1923) was a prominent Modernist writer of short fiction, born and
raised in colonial New Zealand. In the following short story, a woman's day in the park has
unexpected emotional consequences. The story begins as she decides to wear her fur. As you
read, take notes on how Mansfield’s use of imagery and symbolism contributes to the story's
theme.

[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
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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
"Untitled" by Artsy Vibes is licensed under CC0.
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!2 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 someone

1. French for “public gardens”

2. a playfully mischievous individual

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 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.

[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 flower-beds and the band rotunda,3 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

3. a building with a circular ground plan that is covered by a dome

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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 toque4 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.

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,5 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

4. a type of small hat decorated with fur

5. strange or odd

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 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.

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 mug6 at home?”

“It’s her fu-ur which is so funny,” giggled the girl. “It’s exactly like a fried whiting.”7

[15] “Ah, be off with you!” said the boy in an angry whisper. Then: “Tell me, ma petite chère — ”8

“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 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.

6. referring to a person's face, usually in a derogatory manner

7. a type of fish
8. French for "my little darling"

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 "Miss Brill" by Katherine Mansfield (1920) is in the public domain.

Unless otherwise noted, this content is licensed under the CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 license

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 Text-Dependent Questions
Directions: For the following questions, choose the best answer or respond in complete
sentences.

1. PART A: Which of the following describes the theme of the short story?
A. Despite our desire to feel a connection with others, we often are alone.
B. It is difficult to connect with others, as many people wish to be alone.
C. It's important not to let the opinions or judgments of others have an effect
on you.
D. The close relationships that people rely on are often more shallow than
they realize.

2. PART B: Which TWO quotes from the text best support the answer to Part A?
A. "Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was
nice to feel it again." (Paragraph 1)
B. "She glanced, sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go soon.
Last Sunday, too, hadn't been as interesting as usual." (Paragraph 4)
C. "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." (Paragraph 9)
D. "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.'"
(Paragraph 9)
E. "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."
(Paragraph 11)
F. "'Why does she come here at all — who wants her? Why doesn't she keep
her silly old mug at home?'" (Paragraph 13)

3. How does the author most develop Miss Brill's character over the course of the
story?
A. The author develops Miss Brill's character through her interactions and
conversations with the people in the park.
B. The author develops Miss Brill's character through other characters'
observations and commentary on her.
C. The author develops Miss Brill's character by contrasting what she thinks
about people with what she says to them.
D. The author develops Miss Brill's character by revealing her internal
thoughts and reflections on the other people in the park.

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4. How are the details of Miss Brill's thoughts important to the development of the
story's theme?
A. They emphasize how alone Miss Brill often feels at the park.
B. They reveal how Miss Brill feels connected to everyone at the park.
C. They show how hard it is for Miss Brill to make friends with others.
D. They stress how positively Miss Brill views everyone at the park.

5. How does hearing the conversation between the boy and girl affect Miss Brill
(Paragraphs 11-16)?
A. Their conversation causes Miss Brill to feel like her presence is unwanted
at the park.
B. Their conversation makes Miss Brill realize that she has a high opinion of
herself.
C. Their conversation leads Miss Brill to feel unattractive and self-conscious.
D. Their conversation makes Miss Brill sad that she doesn't have a romantic
partner.

6. How does the fur contribute to the theme of the story?

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 Discussion Questions
Directions: Brainstorm your answers to the following questions in the space provided. Be
prepared to share your original ideas in a class discussion.

1. In the context of this story, what does it mean to feel alone? How do people deal with
loneliness? Cite evidence from this text, your own experience, and other literature or
art in your answer.

2. How does Miss Brill depict older and/or elderly people in the text? Is this a positive,
negative, or typical view? How does it compare to the words of the "hero and
heroine" about her?

3. Why should we value our youth? Do we value youth over old age and why? Cite
evidence from this text, your own experience, and other literature, art, or history in
your answer.