JOURNAL OF SMALL THINGS
Other Books by Helen Mackay
Accidentals
Stories for Pictures
The Cobweb Cloak
Half Loaves
Houses of Glass
London one November
JOURNAL OF SMALL THINGS
BY
HELEN MACKAY
New York
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY
1917
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY
MARGARET
PREFACE
Those who have read Mrs. Mackay's book,which she entitled Accidentals, will knowexactly what to expect from her new book,Journal of Small Things. Like the earlyone it consists of a series of little sketches moreor less in the form of a diary, vignettes takenfrom a very individual angle of vision, picturesin which the hand of the painter moves withexquisite fineness. They are singularly graceful,very delicate and also very pathetic, theserandom memories of a sympathetic friend ofFrance, who describes what she saw duringthe opening stages of the war in Paris and inprovincial towns. The precise quality of themis that they are extremely individual and intimatelyconcerned with little things—episodes halfobserved, half forgotten, which cluster round abig tragedy. The author's mind is bent on therecord of such little things as might escape someobserver's notice, but which to her give all thesalt and savour to her experiences.
Listen to this. "I want to make notes ofthings, not of the great things that are happening,but of the little things. I want to feel especiallyall the little everyday dear accustomed things,to take hold of the moods of them, and gather uptheir memories, to be put away and kept, andturned back to from always afterwards. It is asif they were things soon to be gone away out ofthe world and never to be again."
Wherever she moves, Mrs. Mackay carries withher this exquisite sensitiveness to things whichwe might rashly call insignificant or unessential,and it adds immensely to the poignancy of hersketches and to the truth of her record. Howvaluable is her method we can judge from anotherextract concerned with "The River." "I knowwhy the river goes so slowly, lingering as muchas ever she can, and a little sadly. It is becausejust here she leaves behind her youth and wildnessof great mountains, her mood of snows and rocks,cascade and woods and high rough pastures,cow-bells and mountain-horn. Going down intothe classic countries, infinitely old, those deep,rich countries, she pauses here, between the highclear lift and lilt and thrill of mountain musicand the cadenced melody of Provence."
The figures of the narrative are for the mostpart only outlined against this background ofvividly remembered things. But however faintthe tracery, the character clearly emerges.Whether it be Madame Marthe, or the apachegirl Alice, or Claire, or the old Curé who wasgoing to preach a fierce sermon until his eyesfell upon the pathetic upward look of his congregation,and especially of Madelon, and then forgotall his harsh words—from beginning to end thevarious figures live and move before our eyes.The record is s