Some years ago, when I was presenting Radio Four’s Poetry Please, a listener left a message at the BBC with a question for James Fenton as to the meaning of one of his poems. I telephoned Mr. Fenton and he answered, “Don’t ask the poet, ask the poem.” Therefore - go thou and do likewise with Beatrix Potter, and you will find – to take some examples - a self-containment brought on by nursery loneliness; see the inner space in her work: note the predominance of interiors. Her gallantly perfect language demonstrates the unwavering control with which she presented herself; “In the time of swords and periwigs and full-skirted coats with flowered lappets – when gentlemen wore ruffles, and gold-laced waistcoats of paduasoy and taffeta – there lived a tailor in Gloucester.” (In respectful observance of her constant mission to explain let’s note that “paduasoy” comes from peau de soie, literally “skin of silk,” and is a French medieval grosgrain fabric.) Hail her superb drawing of flora and fauna; note, however, that she had lesser skill drawing humans.