Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard | Page 3

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Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard
by Eleanor Farjeon
FOREWORD
I have been asked to introduce Miss Farjeon to the American public,
and although I believe that introductions of this kind often do more

harm than good, I have consented in this case because the instance is
rare enough to justify an exception. If Miss Farjeon had been a
promising young novelist either of the realistic or the romantic school, I
should not have dared to express an opinion on her work, even if I had
believed that she had greater gifts than the
ninety-nine other
promising young novelists who appear in the course of each decade.
But she has a far rarer gift than any of those that go to the making of a
successful novelist. She is one of the few who can conceive and tell a
fairy-tale; the only one to my
knowledge--with the just possible
exceptions of James Stephens and Walter de la Mare--in my own
generation. She has, in fact, the true gift of fancy. It has already been
displayed in her verse--a form in which it is far commoner than in
prose--but Martin Pippin is her first book in this kind.
I am afraid to say too much about it for fear of prejudicing both the
reviewers and the general public. My taste may not be theirs and in this
matter there is no opportunity for argument. Let me, therefore, do no
more than tell the story of how the manuscript affected me. I was a
little overworked. I had been reading a great number of manuscripts in
the preceding weeks, and the mere sight of typescript was a burden to
me. But before I had read five pages of Martin Pippin, I had forgotten
that it was a manuscript submitted for my judgment. I had forgotten
who I was and where I lived. I was transported into a world of sunlight,
of gay inconsequence, of emotional surprise, a world of poetry, delight,
and humor. And I lived and took my joy in that rare world, until all too
soon my reading was done.
My most earnest wish is that there may be many minds and

imaginations among the American people who will be able to share that
pleasure with me. For every one who finds delight in this book I can
claim as a kindred spirit.
J. D. Beresford.
CONTENTS
Foreword
Introduction
Prologue--Part I
Part II
Part III
Prelude to the First Tale
The First Tale: The King's

Barn
First Interlude
The Second Tale: Young Gerard
Second
Interlude
The Third Tale: The Mill of Dreams
Third Interlude
The
Fourth Tale: Open Winkins
Fourth Interlude
The Fifth Tale: Proud
Rosalind and the Hart-Royal
Fifth Interlude
The Sixth Tale: The
Imprisoned Princess
Postlude--Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Epilogue
Conclusion
INTRODUCTION
In Adversane in Sussex they still sing the song of The Spring-Green
Lady; any fine evening, in the streets or in the meadows, you may
come upon a band of children playing the old game that is their
heritage, though few of them know its origin, or even that it had one. It
is to them as the daisies in the grass and the stars in the sky. Of these
things, and such as these, they ask no questions. But there you will still
find one child who takes the part of the Emperor's Daughter, and
another who is the Wandering Singer, and the remaining group (there
should be no more than six in it) becomes