Sir: Many people like myself, who still remember Nancy Mitford
primarily for Love in a Cold Climate—that paean in praise of youth and freshness, that lively assault on the stuffiness of the wealthy bourgeoisie—must have been saddened by her Diary of the French Revolution. She seems to have gone over com- pletely to the Enemy and become a Horrible Counter-Hon. Why could she not have put on a scarf, like her friend, and gone out and met some of the students, instead of glowering at them on TV and despising them? If imagina- tive women like herself cannot make the effort to bridge the gap between generations and classes, what hope is there for Europe?
Incidentally, would she please ask her Bert- rand to reread Lovelace's poem? I would not have expected a semi-literate misquotation such as 'iron bars do not a prison make' ever to occur in the superlatively cultured circles in which Miss Mitford's writings baVe led me to believe that she moves.
Jack Dixon Hotel Le Faubourg, 9 Rue des Drapiers, Bruxelles
Previous page
