Mark Dunn - Under the Harrow

“ Leave ?” The look of surprise upon the face of the recipient of this harsh interrogatory gave one to wonder if she had ever been asked such a pointed question in all of her life.

“I do not wish to offend, Antonia,” the beaming Miss Milvey continued, giving all teeth and no small view of gums, “but the plash of brandy with which I’ve supplemented my tea when no one was looking in my direction (and it is quite often that eyes are averted from mine for there really isn’t much vivacity in my gaze to engage one, now is there?), well, my dear, it has made me bold, and so I will make further bold to put to you the following with regard to my previous enquiry: Do you never find yourself illequipped to live in such a parochial place as Dingley Dell — a place in which mindless gossip stands for serious discourse as a rule and those of us who are not barely getting by are too busy raising themselves upon pedestals of importance and privilege to concern themselves with anything of true and lasting worth? Can we not simply agree, my dear Antonia, that we live in a state of veritable constipation of one sort or another, and perhaps someone such as yourself who values her own opinion above all others, who forges her own career over every other office and occupation, is the odd quacking duck in all of this, and that all of us should join hands in that solemn stipulation and put an embargo on the topic from this day forward?”

Antonia Bocker stared at the woman who had been her friend for years (though the two had never been close) and who, it could be said from her expression, did not presently know just what to think — stared at her with a gaping mouth. Then quickly this puzzled, assertive woman recovered herself and composed herself and responded thusly: “My good Lord, Georgianna, what a tongue you have acquired for yourself! And what a beautiful brain you have been hiding under a bushel! I commend you for making a solid contribution to our collective discourse beyond ‘Hand me a biscuit, if you please, and if it isn’t too much trouble, I shall sit here quietly and nip it like a mouse in a corner.’ In answer to your charges, I shall say this: that I have done quite well for myself here in the Dell, as you can see, but I still maintain the right to decry everything about this stifling, costive place that wants improvement and correction and airing . I believe that every woman here has the right — nay, my dear madam, the duty— to speak her mind whensoever and wheresoever she pleases, without any conversational embargo whatsoever.”

“But Antonia,” pursued Georgianna Milvey after a blatant, fortifying swallow of brandy directly from her previously secreted flask, “you contend, as my ears perceive it, that there is nothing about the Dell that does not want improvement and correction, and I must beg to differ. I, for one, am quite pleased to live a life of simplicity and quietude upon the small stipend left to me by my father’s passing, and though I have no children or grandchildren to brighten my final days, I anticipate that those days should be incandesced quite sufficiently by the amiable ministrations of a goodly circle of friends and neighbours. And I have my fresh garden greens in the summer, and my peonies and my gillyflowers, and my hydrangeas, which will never be pink owing to too much iron in our soil, but it hardly discommodes me. I am really quite content. I know others who are equally content. Life outside the Dell, however different it should be from life inside the Dell, cannot be any better than what we have here. Now where is there reason for anyone to want more than what we already have? May we not laugh and shake our heads at the ridiculousness of those who wish to sit within the Petit-Parliament and play at demigodliness and—”

“You will kindly stop right there!”commanded the offended Miss Bocker.

“No, I will stop you both,” interposed Mrs. Potterson.

“Not before I am given leave to respond to this specious claim of Georgianna’s that every woman — nay, every woman and man in Dingley Dell should be content to live with a simpleton’s form of contentment.”

“Is that how you think we all live?” asked Mrs. Venus, with no stomping of the legs this time. “In a valley of fools? Though there be things here, as Georgianna says, things that make us happy? That give us peace and comfort? You wish for something more, Antonia, because you strive for something more within yourself. I, however, am content. The rest of us are content — relatively speaking. I know nothing of what lives beyond the ridges and the woods, nor do I wish to. Do not call this blissful ignorance; I will not allow it. Where does the universe end, my darling woman? When did time begin and when will it end? Life is full of unanswered questions. I shall not spend the short span of my few remaining years asking such questions only to receive the answer that such is not for any of us at this time to know. You are different. No doubt, Frederick here will take your side as well.”

All eyes were now upon me. “I cannot deny,” I faultered, “that my mind runs more to learning all that it is possible to know, all that—” I stopped, finding no way at that moment to make my own case which would not raise hackles.

Antonia Bocker finished for me: “All that circumstances permit you to know, even though there be a great deal rudely withheld from our ken. Trimmers and I abhor the status quo when it shrouds and conceals, do we not, sir?”

I didn’t answer. I had already displayed enough ill behaviour for one morning.

“Of course he agrees,” resumed Antonia, answering her own question. “I dare say that even Malvina will admit that there are times in which one simply cannot sit idly by like the fool in his proverbial paradise and is compelled to go and probe and poke, and teaze out what there is to know about a thing. Why else did she advocate for Trimmers’ going to the hospital this very morning to find out more about Mrs. Pyegrave’s abominable treatment? It is because she knows what every one of us should know— even you , Sophronia, and that is this: that ignorance isn’t bliss at all. And whether each of you admits this fact to yourself or no, we must all grow weary at times from squinting too tightly in the darkness.

“Now let us have our requisite tea-lubricated chin-chin about Trimmers’ poor dead mother before the morning has fled. It is the pretext for why we are here and why we have donned black on such a warm morning. And then, Trimmers, you and I will go to Milltown Respectable and ask a few questions. It is never wrong to ask questions, my dears. It is a most healthful and enlightening occupation.”

Rose Fagin smiled. Perhaps there was good reason that she had not objected when her jewellry shop had been disparaged. Because, I would imagine, Rose Fagin rather liked and respected Antonia Bocker and nearly everything for which the woman stood.

I recall that my mother had admired her, too.

— NOTES—

HARMONICA, also musical glasses, a musical instrument consisting of a variable number of glass goblets, each tuned to a different pitch as determined by the amount of water poured therein, and played by running moistened fingers along the rim of each, singly or in concert.

BUREAU OF APPELLATIONS,office by which Christian names are acquired and surnames legally changed. Upon attaining the age of twelve, children of the Dell may, if their “nursery name” is not of Dickensian origin, select a name for themselves from amongst the Dickens Dramatis Personae. Surnames may be changed, as well, provided the applicant gives good reason and a formal filing be made with the Bureau. The latter name change occurs less frequently than the former, and generally takes place when originally-acquired family names fail to rid themselves of villainous or otherwise disagreeable connotations, although there are certainly exceptional examples in which names of clearly disreputable and unpalatable Dickensian provenance such as Sikes, Fagin, Pecksniff, Gamp, and Quilp have succeeded to a level of respectability that negates their obumbrate literary origins.