Do You Remember? Ingrid Bergman’s Fall from Movie Royalty

Posted on April 14, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

This is second installment of my new series: Do You Remember? Tell me, do you recall the extramarital affair with nearly destroyed Ingrid Bergman’s career? What do you think of how this affair shook out? Does it change how you feel about the actress? Leave your comments below.

Bergman had once played the role of “Joan of Arc,” and in the court of public opinion she was “burned at the stake” for the scandal of her infidelity: Ingrid Bergman, wife and mother and beloved movie star, had begun an affair with the Italian avant-garde film director Roberto Rossellini, who was also married at the time.

The Players: Lindstrom, Bergman, and Rossellini

Swedish-born Bergman had a married Petter Lindstrom, a much older dentist-turned-neurosurgeon, and had had a child, a daughter named Pia. She had attracted notice in several Swedish films, and David O. Selznick, the producer of Gone with the Wind, had flown to Sweden to bring Bergman to Hollywood to co-star with Leslie Howard in Intermezzo. (The Hairpin) Selznick assumed control of Bergman’s career, casting her in a series of box-office hits: Casablanca (1942); For Whom the Bells Toll (1943); Gaslight (1944), for which she won an Oscar; and Spellbound and The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945). In America, through her films, Bergman earned the reputation of the “virginal, good girl.”

After seeing Open City and prompted by Irene Selznick, “in the late ’40s, Bergman wrote an adorable letter to Italian Neo-Realist director Roberto Rossellini – a man known for womanizing…and wearing sunglasses when most people in America were still squinting into the sun.

Dear Roberto, I saw your films Open City and Paisan, and enjoyed them very much. If you need a Swedish actress who speaks English very well, who has not forgotten her German, who is not very understandable in French, and who in Italian knows only “ti amo,” I am read to come and make a film with you. – Ingrid Bergman” (The Hairpin)

Rossellini cabled her: “I just received with great emotion your letter which happens to arrive on the anniversary of my birthday as the most precious gift. It is absolutely true that I dreamed to make a film with you…” (Memories, February/March 1989) Bergman and Rossellini met in Paris in 1948 to speak on her starring in Stromboli, the first of seven ill-fated films the pair would make together.

All seemed fine whe Rossellini, Bergman, and Lindstrom came together for the 1948 screening of the film. When Rossellini called upon the Lindstroms, Bergman put down a 30 foot red carpet before her house to welcome the director.

Immediately, Rossellini replaced his previous lover, Anna Magnani, with Bergman for the lead role in his next film Stromboli. Rumors say Rossellini had made a bet with a friend he could bed Bergman within two weeks. There are also reports that the affair started when Rossellini stayed with the Lindstroms in Hollywood, but the affair became more obvious once the pair was on set in Italy.

Bergman denied the rumors of a pregnancy to gossip columnist of the day, Hedda Hopper. Less than a week later, Hopper’s rival Louella Parsons confirmed the pregnancy. Hopper was so angry about being scooped by her arch rival that she lambasted Bergman often and most thoroughly in her columns. Ed Sullivan, who produced and hosted the biggest show on television during this time, refused to permit Bergman on his show. Denunciations came from the Vatican. The actress was also denounced on the floor of the U. S. Senate by Senator Edwin C. Johnson of Colorado as a “powerful influence for evil.” He continued by saying, “If out of the degradation associated with Stromboli, decency and common sense can be established in Hollywood, Ingrid Bergman will not have destroyed her career for naught. Out of her ashes may come a better Hollywood.” (The Hairpin) Once the affair became public knowledge, Bergman was shunned by Hollywood and was “forced” to leave the United States. She also lost the rights to her only child, 10-year-old Pia. The international press followed Bergman and Rossellini everywhere, reporting of their “vacation” on a remote island off the Italian coast only two weeks after her arrival in Italy for filming. The contrast between Bergman’s husband Lindstrom, who was described as plain spoken, strict and religious, to the flamboyant, poised and charming Rossellini was the text of any good romantic affair.

Bergman and Rossellini

The 2 May 1949 issue of Life magazine ran a photo of the pair holding hands and the headline “Stombolian Idyl.” The Motion Picture Association of America reportedly cabled Bergman to warn her that her behavior would destroy her acting career. Instead of taking the caution to heart, Bergman and Rossellini flaunted their affair during the summer’s filming schedule. Lindstrom had no means of contacting his wife because of the lack of phones on the island. He learned of the affair in the newsprint. Lindstrom wrote his wife and begged her to show discretion, but she answered with words of finally discovering her love and her people. Years later, Bergman claimed her marriage was already in tatters before the affair began.

“As the attacks in the press and in Hollywood mounted, she concluded that she had to abandon her career, as well as her husband. At a press conference in Rome on 5 August, she released a statement: ‘Persistent malicious gossip that has even reached the point where I am made to appear as a prisoner has obliged me to break my silence and demonstrate my free will. I have instructed my lawyer to start divorce proceedings immediately. Also, with the conclusion of the picture it is my intention to retire from private life.” (Memories)

Unable to marry in Italy after her Mexican divorce, she and Rossellini married by proxy in Mexico on 24 May 1950, three months after Robertino had been born. Two years later, Bergman bore Rossellini their twin girls, Isabella and Ingrid. Between the two pregnancies, Stromboli was released to poor reviews and poor attendance. Rossellini would not permit her to take roles in the films of other directors, and so a string of forgettable flicks were produced. Bergman said of the period, “The world hated the Rossellini version of me, so nothing worked. It was something we did not talk about. But the silences between us grew longer.” (Brunette, Peter. Roberto Rossellini. Berkeley: University of California Press, c1996 1996. http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft709nb48d/)

Their marriage was annulled in 1956. Bergman then traveled to England to make Anastasia, a role which won her her second Oscar. In 1957, she won acclaim for her role in the Paris version of Tea and Sympathy. Bergman’s career was rekindled from the ashes. In 1958, she married Swedish producer Lars Schmidt. At this time, she permitted her children from Rossellini to return to their father in Rome. She won her third Oscar for best supporting actress in 1974’s Murder on the Orient Express. Bergman fought a courageous battle with breast cancer for eight years. She died on her 67th birthday on 29 August 1982.

Posted in acting, film, Pop Culture, real life tales | Tagged Hollywood, Ingrid Bergman, Petter Lindstrom, Roberto Rossellini | 6 Comments

Literary References in Jane Austen’s “Persuasion”

Posted on April 11, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Literary References in Persuasion

Henry Austen in “A Biographical Notice of the Author,” said of his sister, “Short and easy will be the task of the mere biographer. A life of usefulness, literature, and religion, was not by any means a life of event.”

Jane Austen’s last novel is less “light” than her earlier efforts. Anne Elliot is more unhappy and constrained than the likes of Elizabeth Bennet or the Dashwood sisters. Anne certainly is no Cinderella figure. She is too rich and too well placed in Society to be a sympathetic figure, but somehow Austen creates just such a character.

Anne is reminiscent of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, except that Anne lacks Miss Eyre’s sharp tongue. Anne’s personality is visible only to Austen’s readers, those who share Anne’s literary mind and understand the references in the story. Persuasion reflects Jane Austen’s very “typical education.” She had improved her mind by extensive reading. Her audience would also have been aware of her references, but modern audiences are less likely to do so. Below are some of the those points of greatness found in Austen’s last novel.

In reading Persuasion, an Austen fan must have a background in the literature of the time period. For example, the story begins with a reference to John Debrett’s Baronetage of England, which was published in 1808. That is quickly followed by a reference to Sir William Dugdale’s catalogue of Seventeenth Century nobility. Both mentions set the stage for Sir Walter’s vanity.

In Volume 1, Chapter 11, Austen says, “… the woody varieties of the cheerful village of Up Lyme, and above all, Pinny, wiht its green chasms between romantic rocks ….” Likely, Austen was “borrowing” from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan,” in which the Romantic Period poet spoke of “deep romantic chasm” (1. 12) and “dancing rocks” (1. 23). At the end of the same chapter, Anne and Captain Benwick discuss his poetry choices. There are references to Sir Walter Scott’s “Marmion: A Tale of Flooden Field” (1808) and “The Lady of the Lake: A Poem” (1810). George Gordon’s (Lord Byron) receives a mention for “The Giaour: A Fragment of a Turkish Tale” (1813) and “The Bride of Abydos: A Turkish Tale” (1813). Bryon’s works were much talked about at the time of Austen’s writing her novel .

In Volume 1, Chapter 12, there is another Byron reference. “Lord Byron’s ‘dark blue seas’ could not fail of being brought forward ….” This is a reference to Bryon’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,” Canto 2, Stanza 17 (1812). At the end of Chapter 12, one finds an allusion to Matthew Prior’s poem “Henry and Emma.” Austen says, “Without emulating the feelings of an Emma towards her Henry, she would have attended on Louisa ….” Prior’s poem is based on the traditional ballad “The Nut-Brown Maid.” The poem “Henry and Emma” tells the story of a girl who proves her selfless love by extending her devotion to the woman she considers to be her rival.

From Volume 2, Chapter 3, one finds the quote, “The elegant little clock on the mantle-piece had struck ‘eleven with its silver sounds,’” to describe Mr. Elliot’s late visit to Camden-place. This is likely a reference to Alexander Pope’s “The Rape of the Lock,” canto 1, line 18 (1714).

In Volume 2, Chapter 8, Austen adds to the story line with a mention of a character from Fanny Burney’s Cecilia. “She could not do so, without comparing herself with Miss Larolles, the inimitable Miss Larolles ….” In the 1782 novel, the character seats herself at theatrical performances in a manner where she might “cultivate” those in her vicinity.

Finally, in the opening paragraph of Volume 2, Chapter 11, Austen makes a reference to The Arabian Nights or The Thousand and One Nights. “Her faith was plighted, and Mr. Elliot’s character, like the Sultaness Scheherazade’s head, must live another day.” Scheherazade kept her head by telling the legendary king of Samarkand a new tale every night.

Posted in book excerpts, British history, George IV, Great Britain, Jane Austen, language choices, Living in the Regency, real life tales, Regency era, Regency personalities, word play, writing | Tagged Jane Austen, literary references, Persuasion | 8 Comments

The Lovely World of the English Language ~ Why Do People Speak as They Do?

Posted on April 10, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

In late February, I included a post on idioms and word play. It was a huge success, so I thought to revisit the format.

“Aboveboard” – No, this one has nothing to do with ships or sailing. Actually, it comes to us from those who attempt to fleece others with their skills of dexterity with cards or magic tricks. Those who practice to deceive place their hands “Under” the table (or “board”) to prepare their tricks. Therefore, “aboveboard” has come to mean to be without guise.

“To bone up,” as with one’s studies comes to us from the publishing of “trots” from the publishing firm known as Bohn. The “trots” were to assist students in passing their Greek and Latin courses. Therefore, to “Bohn up” was to study. Naturally, the word was changed to “bone.”

“Exchequer” comes into the English language from the Old French word (eschequier) for a chess board. During the reign of Edward I of England, the King’s revenues were collected and overseen by a special court. This court used a checkered table cloth to cover the table upon which the revenues were displayed. Therefore, the court was to be called the “exchequer.”

“Mother Earth” comes to us from a legend retold from the time of the Romans. Supposedly Tarquinius’s two sons, along with Junius Brutus asked the Delphic Oracle which of them would succeed to the Roman throne. The oracle responded as oracles always do, with a riddle: He who shall first kiss his mother. Tarquinius’s two sons raced home to place a kiss upon their mother, but Junius Brutus fell to his knees and kissed the ground upon which he walked. “Thus I kiss thee, oh Earth, great mother of all.” Needless to say, which of the three became the king.

“Damask or Damascene” – In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the weavers of Damascus brought the production of silken textiles to the pinnacle of rich designs. With colors woven into the pattern, these fabrics became the choice of nobles. English weavers called the fabrics damask after the city of origin of the cloth. There was also a blush-colored rose from Damascus which bore the name of damask. Shakespeare and others spoke of “fair ladies with damask cheeks.”

“Foyer” – In what were often less than pristine theatres of a century and a half prior, the audience was often met with “bitter cold.” Therefore, between acts, they rose and walked about to warm up. In the entrance hall of the theatre, one could also find a fire in the hearth. The actors congregated around a similar hearth in what is known as the greenroom. In French, the word for hearth is foyer. Eventually, the word included the hall in which the hearth was located.

“Maudlin”– The origin of this word is found in the miracle plays of the late 13th to 16th centuries in England. The plays were based on a Biblical miracle story line or a story based on the life of a saint. They were initially produced by English religious houses, but eventually became the product of the various guild halls. Many of the favorite story lines dealt with the life of Christ, and Mary Magdalen was one of the chief characters of the tales. The French name, Madelaine, became the English “Magdalen,” which was pronounced (and often spelled) as “Maudlin.” Magdalen College, Oxford, and Magdalen College, Cambridge, are pronounced thusly. Therefore, maudlin came to mean a state of tears.

“On Velvet” – It is stated in the Wardrobe Accounts of Edward II that the British King had a kerchief of velvet (l courerchief de veluett). From the 1300s of Edward II’s time through the late 1500s, velvet was an expensive fabric. Therefore, to possess any fabric of velvet was a sign of prosperity. Edmund Burke, as Premier, in 1769, stated “who is always on velvet” lacks knowledge of difficulties.

“In One Ear and Out the Other” – The earliest English language reference come from a John Calvin sermon “upon Deuteronomie.” An English translator, Arthur Golding (who translated 30 works from Latin to English), gave us the following translation of Calvin’s work: “goes in one eare and out at the other.”

“Here’s Mud in Your Eye” – This one is not a toast to good health. In truth, its origins can be found in horse racing. If the track is muddy, the losing rider is likely to be covered in the mud of all those ahead of him. The phrase means: “I hope I win over you.”

“To Be a Piker” – Nowadays, the phrase means to be a gambler and a poor loser. This is an American term dating back about 150 years. Likely, it comes from the War of 1812 and Colonel Zebulon M. Pike. Pike’s regiment, ironically, often drilled with a pike in hand instead of a bayonet. A second source could be from Pike County, Missouri. Supposedly, those from the area who were lazy and uninspiring were referred to as Pikes or pikers.

Posted in word play, writing | Tagged idioms, word origins, word play | 4 Comments

Jonathan Wild, Underworld Figure During the Reign of Queen Anne

Posted on April 9, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Jonathan Wild (1682/3 – 24 May 1725) was a London underworld figure, notable for operating on both sides of the law, posing as a public-spirited crimefighter, titled ‘Thief Taker General.’

Wild was exploiting a strong public demand for action during a major London crime wave in the absence of any effective police force. As a powerful gang-leader himself, he became a master manipulator of legal systems, collecting the rewards offered for valuables he had stolen himself, bribing prison-guards to release his colleagues, and blackmailing any who crossed him. He was responsible for the arrest and execution of his chief rival, Jack Sheppard. But his duplicity was becoming known, and his men began to give evidence against him. After a failed suicide attempt, he was hanged at Tyburn before a massive crowd.
He was featured in novels, poems and plays, some of them noting parallels between Wild and the contemporary Prime Minister Walpole, known as The Great Corrupter.

Early Life
Though his exact birth date is unknown, Wild was born in Wolverhampton in either 1682 or 1683 as the first of five children in a poor family. He was baptised at St. Peter’s Collegiate Church, Wolverhampton. His father, John Wild, was a carpenter, and his mother sold herbs and fruits in the local market. At that time, Wolverhampton was the second-largest city in Staffordshire, with a population of around 6,000, many involved in iron-working and related trades.

Wild attended the Free School in St John’s Lane, and was apprenticed to a local buckle-maker. He married and had a son, but came to London in 1704 as a servant. After being dismissed by his master, he returned to Wolverhampton, before coming back to London in 1708. London was by far the largest city in England, with a population of around 600,000, of whom around 70,000 lived within the ancient city walls of the City of London.

Little is known of Wild’s first two years in London, but he was arrested for debt in March 1710, and sent to Wood Street Counter, one of the debtor’s prisons in the City of London. The prisons were notoriously corrupt, with gaolers demanding a bribe, or “garnish,” for any minor comfort. Wild became popular, running errands for the gaolers and eventually earning enough to repay his original debts and the cost of being imprisoned, and even lend money to other prisoners. He received “the liberty of the gate,” meaning that he was allowed out at night to aid in the arrest of thieves.

There, he met one Mary Milliner (or Mary Mollineaux), a prostitute who began to teach Wild criminal ways and, according to Daniel Defoe, “brought him into her own gang, whether of thieves or whores, or of both, is not much material.” He was also introduced to a wide range of London’s criminal underclass. With his new skills and contacts, Wild was released in 1712 under an Act of Parliament passed earlier that year for the relief of insolvent debtors.

Upon release, Wild began to live with Mary Milliner as her husband in Lewkenor’s Land (now Macklin Street) in Covent Garden, despite both of them having prior marriages. Wild apparently served as Milliner’s tough when she went night-walking. Soon Wild was thoroughly acquainted with the underworld, both with its methods and its inhabitants. At some point during this period, Milliner had begun to act as something of a madam to other prostitutes, and Wild as a fence, or receiver of stolen goods. Wild began, slowly at first, to dispose of stolen goods and to pay bribes to get thieves out of prison.

He later parted with Milliner, cutting off her ear to mark her as a prostitute.

Coming Into His Own
Crime had risen dramatically in London beginning in 1680, and property crime, in particular, rose sharply as London grew in importance as a commercial hub. In 1712 Charles Hitchen, Wild’s forerunner and future rival as thief-taker, said that he personally knew 2,000 people in London who made their living solely by theft. In 1711 Hitchen had obtained public office as the City’s Under Marshal, effectively its top policeman, paying £700 for the appointment. He abused his office, however, by practising extortion on an extravagant scale, both from thieves and from their potential victims. Hitchen would accept bribes to let thieves out of jail, selectively arrest criminals, and coerce sexual services from molly houses. His testimony about the rise of crime was given during an investigation of these activities by the London Board of Aldermen, who suspended him from the Under Marshal position in 1713.

In around 1713, Wild was approached by Hitchen to become one of his assistants in thief-taking, a profitable activity on account of the £40 reward paid by the government for catching a felon. Wild may have become known to Hitchen’s associates, known as his “Mathematicians,” during his lengthy stay in Wood Street Compter; certainly one, William Field, later worked for Wild.

The advent of daily newspapers had led to a rising interest in crime and criminals. As the papers reported notable crimes and ingenious attacks, the public worried more and more about property crime and grew more and more interested in the issues of criminals and policing. London depended entirely upon localized policing and had no city-wide police force. Unease with crime was at a feverish high. The public was eager to embrace both colourful criminals (e.g. Jack Sheppard and the entirely upper-class gang called the “Mohocks” in 1712) and valiant crime-fighters. The city’s population had more than doubled, and there was no effective means of controlling crime. London saw a rise not only in thievery, but in organized crime during the period.

The ending of the War of the Spanish Succession meant a further increase in crime as demobilized soldiers were on the streets. By this time, 1714, Hitchen was restored to his office, but Wild went his own way, and he opened a small office in the Blue Boar tavern, run by Mrs Seagoe in Little Old Bailey. He continued to call himself Hitchen’s “Deputy,” entirely without any official standing, and took to carrying a sword as a mark of his supposed authority, also alluding to pretensions of gentility.

Wild’s Public Career as “Thief-Taker General”
Wild’s method of illegally amassing riches while appearing to be on the side of the law was ingenious. He ran a gang of thieves, kept the stolen goods, and waited for the crime and theft to be announced in the newspapers. At this point, he would claim that his “thief taking agents” (police) had “found” the stolen merchandise, and he would return it to its rightful owners for a reward (to cover the expenses of running his agents). In some cases, if the stolen items or circumstances allowed for blackmail, he did not wait for the theft to be announced. As well as “recovering” these stolen goods, he would offer the police aid in finding the thieves. The thieves that Wild would help to “discover,” however, were rivals or members of his own gang who had refused to cooperate with his taking the majority of the money.

Wild’s ability to hold his gang together, and indeed the majority of his scheme, relied upon the fear of theft and the nation’s reaction to theft. The crime of selling stolen goods became increasingly dangerous in the period from 1700 to 1720. Low-level thieves ran a great risk in fencing their goods. Wild avoided this danger and exploited it simultaneously by having his gang steal, either through pickpocketing or, more often, mugging, and then by “recovering” the goods. He never sold the goods back, explicitly, nor ever pretended that they were not stolen. He claimed at all times that he found the goods by policing and avowed hatred of thieves. That very penalty for selling stolen goods, however, allowed Wild to control his gang very effectively, for he could turn in any of his thieves to the authorities at any time. By giving the goods to him for a cut of the profits, Wild’s thieves were selling stolen goods. If they did not give their take to him, Wild would simply apprehend them as thieves. However, what Wild chiefly did was use his thieves and ruffians to “apprehend” rival gangs.

Jonathan Wild was not the first thief-taker who was actually a thief himself. Charles Hitchen had used his position as Under-Marshal to practice extortion. He had pressured brothels and pickpockets to pay him off or give him the stolen goods since purchasing the position in 1712, and the extortion was already an established practice at that time. When Hitchen was suspended from his duties for corruption in that year, he engaged Jonathan Wild to keep his business of extortion going in his absence. Hitchen was re-instated in 1714, and found that Wild was now a rival, and one of Wild’s first acts of gang warfare was to eliminate as many of the thieves in Hitchen’s control as he could. In 1718, Hitchen attempted to expose Wild with his A True Discovery of the Conduct of Receivers and Thief-Takers in and about the City of London. There he named Wild as a manager and source of crime. Wild replied with An Answer to a Late Insolent Libel and there explained that Hitchen was a homosexual who visited “molly houses.”

Hitchen attempted to further combat Wild with a pamphlet entitled The Regulator, which was his characterization of Wild, but Hitchen’s prior suspensions from duties and the shocking charge of homosexuality virtually eliminated him as a threat to Wild.

Wild held a virtual monopoly on crime in London. Legends arose surrounding his management of his “empire.” One held that he kept records of all thieves in his employ, and when they had outlived their usefulness, Wild sold them to the gallows for the £40 reward. This supposed system inspired a fake or folk etymology of the phrase “double cross.” It is alleged that, when a thief vexed Wild in some way, he put a cross by the thief’s name; a second cross condemned the man to be sold to the Crown for hanging. (This fabulous story is contradicted by the fact that the noun “double cross” did not enter English usage until 1834.)

In public, Wild presented an heroic face. He was the man who returned stolen goods. He was the man who caught criminals. In 1718, Wild called himself “Thief Taker General of Great Britain and Ireland.” By his testimony, over sixty thieves were sent to the gallows. His “finding” of lost merchandise was private, but his efforts at finding thieves were public. Wild’s office in the Old Bailey was a busy spot. Victims of crime would come by, even before announcing their losses, and discover that Wild’s agents had “found” the missing items, and Wild would offer to help find the criminals for an extra fee. However, while fictional treatments made use of the device, it is not known whether or not Wild ever actually turned in one of his own gang for a private fee.

In 1720, Wild’s fame was such that the Privy Council consulted with him on methods of controlling crime. Wild’s recommendation was, unsurprisingly, that the rewards for evidence against thieves be raised. Indeed, the reward for capturing a thief went from forty pounds to one hundred and forty pounds within the year. This amounted to a significant pay increase for Wild. There is some evidence that Wild was favoured, or at least ignored, by the Whig politicians and opposed by the Tory politicians. In 1718, a Tory group had succeeded in having the laws against receiving stolen property tightened, primarily with Wild’s activities in mind. Ironically, this strengthened Wild’s hand, rather than weakening it, for it made it more difficult for thieves to fence their goods except through Wild.

Wild’s battles with thieves made excellent press. Wild himself would approach the papers with accounts of his derring-do, and the papers passed these on to a concerned public. Thus, in July to August 1724, the papers carried accounts of Wild’s heroic efforts in collecting twenty-one members of the Carrick Gang (with an £800 reward—approximately £25,000 in the year 2000). When one of the members of the gang was released, Wild pursued him and had him arrested on “further information.” To the public, this seemed like a relentless defence of order. In reality, it was a gang warfare disguised as national service.

When Wild solicited for a finder’s fee, he usually held all the power in the transaction. For example, David Nokes quotes (based on Howson) the following advertisement from the Daily Post in 1724 in his edition of Henry Fielding’s The Life and Death of Jonathan Wild, the Great:

“Lost, the 1st of October, a black shagreen Pocket-Book, edged with
Silver, with some Notes of Hand. The said Book was lost in the
Strand, near Fountain Tavern, about 7 or 8 o’clock at Night. If
any Person will bring aforementioned Book to Mr Jonathan Wild,
in the Old Bailey, he shall have a Guinea reward.”

The advert is extortion. The “notes of hand” (agreements of debt) mean signatures, so Wild already knows the name of the book’s owner. Furthermore, Wild tells the owner through the ad that he knows what its owner was doing at the time, since the Fountain Tavern was a brothel. The real purpose of the ad is to threaten the notebook’s owner with announcing his visit to a bordello, either to the debtors or the public, and it even names a price for silence (a guinea, or one pound and one shilling).

The Jack Sheppard Struggle and Downfall
By 1724, London political life was experiencing a crisis of public confidence. In 1720, the South Sea Bubble had burst, and the public was growing restive about corruption. Authority figures were beginning to be viewed with scepticism.

In late April 1724, the most famous housebreaker of the era, Jack Sheppard, was apprehended by one of Wild’s men, James “Hell-and-Fury” Sykes, for a burglary Sheppard had committed in Clare Market on 5 February. Sheppard had worked with Wild in the past, though he had struck out on his own. Consequently, as with other arrests, Wild’s interests in saving the public from Sheppard were personal.

Sheppard was imprisoned in St Giles’s Roundhouse, but escaped within three hours. On 19 May, Wild again had Sheppard arrested for pickpocketing, and this time he was put in St. Ann’s Roundhouse in Soho, where he was visited by Elizabeth “Edgworth Bess” Lyon the next day; she too was locked up with him, and, being recognized as man and wife, they were sent to the New Prison at Clerkenwell. They both escaped on 25 May. In July, Field informed Wild about Sheppard, so Wild sought for Lyon on 22 July and plied her with drinks at Temple Bar until she betrayed Sheppard.

The following day, Wild sent another one of his men, Quilt Arnold, and had Sheppard arrested a third time and put into Newgate Prison to await trial. On 13 August he was tried on three charges of burglary, but was acquitted of the first two due to lack of evidence. However, Wild, along with Field and William Kneebone, Sheppard’s former master, presented evidence against him on the final charge of the burglary of Kneebone’s house on 12 July; and Sheppard was convicted, sentenced to death, and put in the condemned hold of Newgate Prison.

On the night that the death warrant arrived, 31 August, Sheppard, once again, escaped. By this point, Sheppard was a working class hero for apprentices (being a cockney apprentice in love, non-violent, and handsome). On 9 September, Sheppard avoided capture by Wild’s men, but he was caught for a fourth time by a posse from Newgate as he hid out on Finchley Common, and Sheppard was placed in the most secure room of Newgate. Further, Sheppard was put in shackles and chained to the floor.

Meanwhile, on 9 October, Wild and his men arrested Joseph “Blueskin” Blake, a highwayman and Sheppard’s partner-in-crime. On 15 October Blueskin was tried for the same act of burglary committed on 12 July, with Wild, Field, and his men giving evidence. Their accounts were not consistent with the evidence given at Sheppard’s trial, but Blueskin was convicted and sentenced to death anyway. After the trial, Blueskin pleaded with Wild in the courtroom to have his sentence commuted from hanging to transportation (since he had worked with Wild before), but Wild refused. Enraged, Blueskin attempted to murder Wild, slashing his throat in the process and causing an uproar, and Wild collapsed and was taken to a surgeon for treatment.

Taking advantage of the disturbance that spread to Newgate next door and continued into the night, Sheppard escaped yet again in early 16 October. Sheppard had broken the chains, padlocks, and six iron-barred doors. This escape astonished everyone, and Daniel Defoe, working as a journalist, wrote an account. In the early morning on 1 November, Sheppard was found for a fifth and final time by a constable and arrested. This time, Sheppard was placed in the centre of Newgate, where he could be observed at all times, and loaded with three hundred pounds of iron weights. He was so celebrated that the gaolers charged high society visitors to see him, and James Thornhill painted his portrait.

On 11 November, Blueskin was hanged. Five days later Sheppard was similarly executed at Tyburn. Wild missed out on the execution while he was confined to his bed for several weeks and his throat was recovering.

During the pursuit of Sheppard, Wild appeared as much to disadvantage in the press as Sheppard did to advantage. Wild was now despised. When, after his recovery, Wild used violence to perform a jail break for one of his gang members, he was being sought out and went into hiding for several weeks, and returned to business when he thought the affair had blown over. On 6 February 1725, he was summoned to Leicester house, where he failed to recover a gold watch for one of his attendants because of the jail break and the incident with Blueskin at the Old Bailey.

It has been reported that Wild had numerous caches of treasure secreted around London at the time of his death, and that many years later people would unexpectedly discover one of these caches, i.e., in the process of tearing down or rebuilding a house, et al.

Arrest, Trial and Execution

: A gallows ticket to view the hanging of Jonathan Wild.

On 15 February Wild and Quilt Arnold were arrested for helping one of his men in a jailbreak. Wild was placed in Newgate, where he continued to attempt to run his business. In the illustration from the True Effigy (top of page), Wild is pictured in Newgate, still with notebook in hand to account for goods coming in and going out of his office. Evidence was presented against Wild for the violent jailbreak and for having stolen jewels during the previous August’s installation of Knights of the Garter.

The public’s mood had shifted; they supported the average man and resented authority figures. Wild’s trial occurred at the same time as that of the Lord Chancellor, Lord Thomas Parker, 1st Earl of Macclesfield, for taking £100,000 in bribes. With the changing tide, it appeared at last to Wild’s gang that their leader would not escape, and they began to come forward. Slowly, gang members began to turn evidence on him, until all of his activities, including his grand scheme of running and then hanging thieves, became known. Additionally, evidence was offered as to Wild’s frequent bribery of public officers.

Wild’s final trial occurred at the Old Bailey on 15 May. He was tried on two indictments of privately stealing 50 yards (46 m) of lace from Catherine Statham (a lace-seller who had visited him in prison on 10 March) at Holborn on 22 January. He was acquitted of the first charge, but with Statham’s evidence presented against him on the second charge, he was convicted and sentenced to death. Terrified, Wild asked for a reprieve but was refused. He could not eat or go to church, and suffered from insanity and gout. On the morning of his execution, in fear of death, he attempted suicide by drinking a large dose of laudanum, but because he was weakened by fasting, he vomited violently and sank into a coma from which he would not awaken.

When Wild was taken to the gallows at Tyburn on 24 May 1725, Daniel Defoe said that the crowd was far larger than any they had seen before and that, instead of any celebration or commiseration with the condemned,
“wherever he came, there was nothing but hollowing and huzzas,
as if it had been upon a triumph.”

Wild’s hanging was a great event, and tickets were sold in advance for the best vantage points (see the reproduction of the gallows ticket). Even in a year with a great many macabre spectacles, Wild drew an especially large and boisterous crowd. Eighteen-year-old Henry Fielding was in attendance. Wild was accompanied by William Sperry and the two Roberts Sanford and Harpham, three of the four prisoners who had been condemned to die with Wild a few days before. Because he was heavily drugged, he was the last to die after the three of them, without any difficulty that had happened at Sheppard’s execution. The hangman, Richard Arnet, had been a guest at Wild’s wedding.

In the dead of night, Wild’s body was buried in secret at the churchyard of St Pancras Old Church next to Elizabeth Mann, his third wife and one of his many lovers (who had died in about 1718), as he had wished. His burial was only temporary. In the 18th century, autopsies and dissections were performed on the most notorious criminals, and consequently Wild’s body was exhumed and sold to the Royal College of Surgeons for dissection. His skeleton remains on public display in the Royal College’s Hunterian Museum in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

Literary Treatments
Jonathan Wild is famous today not so much for setting the example for organized crime as for the uses satirists made of his story.

When Wild was hanged, the papers were filled with accounts of his life, collections of his sayings, farewell speeches, and the like. Daniel Defoe wrote one narrative for Applebee’s Journal in May and then had published True and Genuine Account of the Life and Actions of the Late Jonathan Wild in June 1725. This work competed with another that claimed to have excerpts from Wild’s diaries. The illustration above is from the frontispiece to the “True Effigy of Mr. Jonathan Wild,” a companion piece to one of the pamphlets purporting to offer the thief-taker’s biography.

Criminal biography was a genre. These works offered a touching account of need, a fall from innocence, sex, violence and then repentance or a tearful end. Public fascination with the dark side of human nature and with the causes of evil, has never waned and the market for mass-produced accounts was large.

By 1701, there had been a Lives of the Gamesters (often appended to Charles Cotton’s The Compleat Gamester), about notorious gamblers. In 1714 Captain Alexander Smith had written the best-selling Complete Lives of the Most Notorious Highwaymen. Defoe himself was no stranger to this market: his Moll Flanders was published in 1722. By 1725, Defoe had written a History and a Narrative of the life of Jack Sheppard. Moll Flanders may be based on the life of one Moll King, who lived with Mary Mollineaux/Milliner, Wild’s first mistress.

What differs about the case of Jonathan Wild is that it was not simply a crime story. Parallels between Wild and Robert Walpole were instantly drawn, especially by the Tory authors of the day. Mist’s Weekly Journal (one of the more rough-speaking Tory journals) drew a parallel between the figures in May 1725, when the hanging was still in the news.

The parallel is most important for John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera in 1728. The main story of the Beggar’s Opera focuses on the episodes between Wild and Sheppard. In the opera, the character of Peachum stands in for Wild (who stands in for Walpole), while the figure of Macheath stands in for Sheppard (who stands in for Wild and/or the chief officers of the South Sea Company). Robert Walpole himself saw and enjoyed Beggar’s Opera without realizing that he was its intended target. Once he did realize it, he banned the sequel opera, Polly, without staging. This prompted Gay to write to a friend, “For writing in the cause of virtue and against the fashionable vices, I have become the most hated man in England almost.”‘

In 1742, Robert Walpole lost his position of power in the British House of Commons. He was created a peer and moved to the House of Lords, from where he still directed the Whig majority in Commons for years. In 1743, Henry Fielding’s The Life and Death of Jonathan Wild, the Great appeared in the third volume of Miscellanies.

Fielding is merciless in his attack on Walpole. In his work, Wild stands in for Walpole directly, and, in particular, he invokes the Walpolean language of the “Great Man”. Walpole had come to be described by both the Whig and then, satirically, by the Tory political writers as the “Great Man,” and Fielding has his Wild constantly striving, with stupid violence, to be “Great.” “Greatness,” according to Fielding, is only attained by mounting to the top stair (of the gallows). Fielding’s satire also consistently attacks the Whig party by having Wild choose, among all the thieves cant terms (several lexicons of which were printed with the Lives of Wild in 1725), “prig” to refer to the profession of burglary. Fielding suggests that Wild becoming a Great Prig was the same as Walpole becoming a Great Whig: theft and the Whig party were never so directly linked.

The figures of Peachum and Macheath were picked up by Bertolt Brecht for his updating of Gay’s opera as The Threepenny Opera. The Sheppard character, Macheath, is the “hero” of the song Mack the Knife.

In Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes novel, The Valley of Fear, the arch-villain Professor Moriarty is referred to as a latter-day Jonathan Wild by Holmes:

“Everything comes in circles—even Professor Moriarty. Jonathan Wild was the hidden force of the London criminals, to whom he sold his brains and his organization on a fifteen per cent. commission. The old wheel turns, and the same spoke comes up.”

In 1969, James Clavell’s screenplay for the film “Where’s Jack?” told the story of Jack Shepherd (played in the film by the pop singer Tommy Steele) with Wild (played by Stanley Baker) as a suave and sinister criminal mastermind.

More recently, Jonathan Wild appeared as a character in the David Liss novel A Conspiracy of Paper, ISBN 0-8041-1912-0. Jonathan Wild is also the title character in the 2005–2006 Phantom stories “Jonathan Wild: King of Thieves” and “Jonathan Wild: Double Cross.”

Posted in British history, Georgian Era, Great Britain, Living in the UK, real life tales | Tagged Charles Hitchen, Jack Sheppard, Jonathan Wild, Wood Street Counter | Comments Off

Jack Sheppard, Inspiration for John Gay’s “The Beggar’s Opera”

Posted on April 8, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Jack Sheppard or known as John Sheppard (4 March 1702 – 16 November 1724) was a notorious English robber, burglar and thief of early 18th-century London. Born into a poor family, he was apprenticed as a carpenter but took to theft and burglary in 1723, with little more than a year of his training yet to complete. He was arrested and imprisoned five times in 1724, but escaped four times from prison, making him a notorious public figure, and wildly popular with the poorer classes.

Ultimately, he was caught, convicted, and hanged at Tyburn, ending his brief criminal career after less than two years. The inability of the notorious “Thief-Taker General” Jonathan Wild to control Sheppard, and injuries suffered by Wild at the hands of Sheppard’s colleague, Joseph “Blueskin” Blake, led to Wild’s downfall.

Sheppard was as renowned for his attempts to escape imprisonment as he was for his crimes. An autobiographical “Narrative,” thought to have been ghostwritten by Daniel Defoe, was sold at his execution, quickly followed by popular plays. The character of Macheath in John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera (1728) was based on Sheppard, keeping him in the limelight for over 100 years. He returned to the public consciousness around 1840, when William Harrison Ainsworth wrote a novel entitled Jack Sheppard, with illustrations by George Cruikshank. The popularity of his tale, and the fear that others would be drawn to emulate his behaviour, led the authorities to refuse to license any plays in London with “Jack Sheppard” in the title for forty years.

Early Life

An engraving of Wych Street, from about 1870

Sheppard was born in White’s Row, in London’s Spitalfields. He was baptised on 5 March, the day after he was born, at St Dunstan’s, Stepney, suggesting a fear of infant mortality by his parents, perhaps because the newborn was weak or sickly. His parents named him after an older brother, John, who had died before his birth. In life, he was better known as Jack, or even “Gentleman Jack” or “Jack the Lad.” He had a second brother, Thomas, and a younger sister, Mary. Their father, a carpenter, died while Sheppard was young, and his sister died two years later.

Unable to support her family without her husband’s income, Jack’s mother sent him to Mr Garrett’s School, a workhouse near St Helen’s Bishopsgate, when he was six years old. Sheppard was sent out as a parish apprentice to a cane-chair maker, taking a settlement of 20 shillings, but his new master soon died. He was sent out to a second cane-chair maker, but Sheppard was treated badly. Finally, when Sheppard was 10, he went to work as a shop-boy for William Kneebone, a wool draper with a shop on the Strand. Sheppard’s mother had been working for Kneebone since her husband’s death. Kneebone taught Sheppard to read and write and apprenticed him to a carpenter, Owen Wood, in Wych Street, off Drury Lane in Covent Garden. Sheppard signed his seven-year indenture on 2 April 1717.

By 1722, Sheppard was showing great promise as a carpenter. Aged 20, he was a small man, only 5’4″ (1.63 m) and lightly built, but deceptively strong. He had a pale face with large, dark eyes, a wide mouth and a quick smile. Despite a slight stutter, his wit made him popular in the taverns of Drury Lane. He served five unblemished years of his apprenticeship but then began to be led into crime.

Joseph Hayne, a button-moulder who owned a shop nearby, also ran a tavern named the Black Lion off Drury Lane, which he encouraged the local apprentices to frequent. The Black Lion was visited by criminals such as Joseph “Blueskin” Blake, Sheppard’s future partner in crime, and self-proclaimed “Thief-Taker General” Jonathan Wild, secretly the linchpin of a criminal empire across London and later Sheppard’s implacable enemy.

According to Sheppard’s “autobiography,” he had been an innocent until going to Hayne’s tavern, but there began an attachment to strong drink and the affections of Elizabeth Lyon, a prostitute also known as Edgworth Bess (or Edgeworth Bess) from her place of birth at Edgeworth in Middlesex. In his History, Defoe records that Bess was “a main lodestone in attracting of him up to this Eminence of Guilt.”

Such, Sheppard claimed, was the source of his later ruin. Peter Linebaugh offers a different view: that Sheppard’s sudden transformation was a liberation from the dull drudgery of indentured labour and, he progressed from pious servitude to self-confident rebellion and Levelling.

Criminal Career
Sheppard threw himself into a hedonistic whirl of drinking and whoring. Inevitably, his carpentry suffered, and he became disobedient to his master. With Lyon’s encouragement, Sheppard took to crime in order to complement his legitimate wages. His first recorded theft was in Spring 1723, when he engaged in petty shoplifting, stealing two silver spoons while on an errand for his master to Rummer Tavern in Charing Cross.

Sheppard’s misdeeds went undetected, and he moved on to larger crimes, often stealing goods from the houses where he was working. Finally, he quit the employ of his master on 2 August 1723, with less than 2 years of his apprenticeship left, although he continued to work as a journeyman carpenter. He was not suspected of the crimes, and progressed to burglary, falling in with criminals in Jonathan Wild’s gang.

Jack used a rope of knotted bedclothes to lower Bess during their escape from the New Prison in Clerkenwell.

He moved to Fulham, living as man and wife with Lyon at Parsons Green, before moving to Piccadilly. When Lyon was arrested and imprisoned at St Giles’s Roundhouse, the beadle, a Mr Brown, refused to let Sheppard visit, so he broke in and took her away.

Arrested and Escaped Twice
Sheppard was first arrested after a burglary he committed with his brother, Tom, and his mistress, Lyon, in Clare Market on 5 February 1724. Tom, also a carpenter, had already been convicted once for stealing tools from his master the previous autumn and burned in the hand. Tom was arrested again on 24 April 1724. Afraid that he would be hanged this time, Tom informed on Jack, and a warrant was issued for Jack’s arrest.

Jonathan Wild was aware of Sheppard’s thefts, as Sheppard had fenced some stolen goods through one of Wild’s men, William Field. Wild asked another of his men, James Sykes (known as “Hell and Fury”) to challenge Sheppard to a game of skittles at Redgate’s public house near Seven Dials. Sykes betrayed Sheppard to a Mr Price, a constable from the parish of St Giles, to gather the usual £40 reward for giving information leading to the conviction of a felon. The magistrate, Justice Parry, had Sheppard imprisoned overnight on the top floor of St Giles’s Roundhouse pending further questioning, but Sheppard escaped within three hours by breaking through the timber ceiling and lowering himself to the ground with a rope fashioned from bedclothes. Still wearing irons, Sheppard coolly joined the crowd that had been attracted by the sounds of him breaking out. He distracted their attention by pointing to the shadows on the roof and shouting that he could see the escapee, and then swiftly departed.

On 19 May 1724, Sheppard was arrested for a second time, caught in the act of picking a pocket in Leicester Fields (near present-day Leicester Square). He was detained overnight in St Ann’s Roundhouse in Soho and visited there the next day by Lyon; she was recognised as his wife and locked in a cell with him. They appeared before Justice Walters, who sent them to the New Prison in Clerkenwell, but they escaped from their cell, known as the Newgate Ward, within a matter of days. By 25 May, Whitsun Monday, Sheppard and Lyon had filed through their manacles; they removed a bar from the window and used their knotted bed-clothes to descend to ground level. Finding themselves in the yard of the neighbouring bridewell, they clambered over the 22-foot-high (6.7 m) prison gate to freedom. This feat was widely publicised, not least because Sheppard was only a small man, and Lyon was a large, buxom woman.

Third Arrest, Trial, and Third Escape
Sheppard’s thieving abilities were admired by Jonathan Wild. Wild demanded that Sheppard surrender his stolen goods for Wild to fence, and so take the greater profits, but Sheppard had refused. He began to work with Joseph “Blueskin” Blake, and they burgled Sheppard’s former master, William Kneebone, on Sunday, 12 July 1724. Wild could not permit Sheppard to continue outside his control and began to seek Sheppard’s arrest. Unfortunately for Sheppard, his fence, William Field, was one of Wild’s men. After Sheppard had a brief foray with Blueskin as highwaymen on the Hampstead Road on Sunday 19 July and Monday 20 July, Field informed on Sheppard to Wild. Wild believed Lyon would know Sheppard’s whereabouts, so he plied her with drinks at a brandy shop near Temple Bar until she betrayed him. Sheppard was arrested a third time at Blueskin’s mother’s brandy shop in Rosemary Lane, east of the Tower of London (later renamed Royal Mint Street), on 23 July by Wild’s henchman, Quilt Arnold.

Sheppard was imprisoned in Newgate Prison pending his trial at the next Assize of oyer and terminer. He was prosecuted on three charges of theft at the Old Bailey, but was acquitted on the first two due to lack of evidence. Kneebone, Wild and Field gave evidence against him on the third charge, the burglary of Kneebone’s house. He was convicted on 12 August, the case “being plainly prov’d,” and sentenced to death. On Monday 31 August, the very day when the death warrant arrived from the court in Windsor setting Friday, 4 September as the date for his execution, Sheppard escaped. Having loosened an iron bar in a window used when talking to visitors, he was visited by Lyon and Poll Maggott, who distracted the guards while he removed the bar.

His slight build had enabled him to climb through the resulting gap in the grille, and he was smuggled out of Newgate in women’s clothing that his visitors had brought him. He took a coach to Blackfriars Stairs, a boat up the River Thames to the horse ferry in Westminster, near the warehouse where he hid his stolen goods, and made good his escape.

Fourth Arrest and Final Escape
By this point, Sheppard was a working class hero (being a cockney, non-violent, and handsome, and seemingly able to escape punishment for his crimes at will). He spent a few days out of London, visiting a friend’s family in Chipping Warden in Northamptonshire, but was soon back in Town. He evaded capture by Wild and his men but was arrested again on 9 September by a posse from Newgate as he hid out on Finchley Common, and was returned to the condemned cell at Newgate.

His fame had increased with each escape, and he was visited in prison by the great, the good and the curious. His plans to escape in September were thwarted twice when the guards found files and other tools in his cell, and he was transferred to a strong-room in Newgate known as the “Castle,” clapped in leg irons, and chained to two metal staples in the floor to prevent further escape attempts.

After demonstrating to his gaolers that these measures were insufficient, by showing them how he could use a small nail to unlock the horse padlock at will, he was bound more tightly and handcuffed. In his History, Defoe reports that Sheppard made light of his predicament, joking that “I am the Sheppard, and all the Gaolers in the Town are my Flock, and I cannot stir into the Country, but they are all at my Heels Baughing after me.”

Meanwhile, “Blueskin” Blake was arrested by Wild and his men on Friday, 9 October, and Tom, Jack’s brother, was transported for robbery on Saturday, 10 October 1724. New court sessions began on Wednesday 14 October, and Blueskin was tried on Thursday 15 October, with Field and Wild again giving evidence. Their accounts were not consistent with the evidence that they gave at Sheppard’s trial, but Blueskin was convicted anyway. Enraged, Blueskin attacked Wild in the courtroom, slashing his throat with a pocket-knife and causing an uproar. Wild was lucky to survive, and his grip over his criminal empire started to slip while he recuperated.

Jack Sheppard in Newgate Prison before his fourth escape, from the frontispiece of the “Narrative” of his life, published by John Applebee in 1724. The label “A” marks the hole he made in the chimney during his escape.

Taking advantage of the disturbance, which spread to Newgate Prison next door and continued into the night, Sheppard escaped for the fourth time. He unlocked his handcuffs and removed the chains. Still encumbered by his leg irons, he attempted to climb up the chimney, but his path was blocked by an iron bar set into the brickwork. He removed the bar and used it to break through the ceiling into the “Red Room” above the “Castle,” a room which had last been used some seven years before to confine aristocratic Jacobite prisoners after the Battle of Preston. Still wearing his leg irons as night fell, he then broke through six barred doors into the prison chapel, then to the roof of Newgate, 60 feet (20 m) above the ground. He went back down to his cell to get a blanket, then back to the roof of the prison, and used the blanket to reach the roof of an adjacent house, owned by William Bird, a turner.

He broke into Bird’s house, and went down the stairs and out into the street at around midnight without disturbing the occupants. Escaping through the streets to the north and west, Sheppard hid in a cowshed in Tottenham (near modern Tottenham Court Road). Spotted by the barn’s owner, Sheppard told him that he had escaped from Bridewell Prison, having been imprisoned there for failing to support a (nonexistent) bastard son. His leg irons remained in place for several days until he persuaded a passing shoemaker to accept the considerable sum of 20 shillings to bring a blacksmith’s tools and help him remove them, telling him the same tale.

His manacles and leg irons were later recovered in the rooms of Kate Cook, one of Sheppard’s mistresses. This escape astonished everyone. Daniel Defoe, working as a journalist, wrote an account for John Applebee, The History of the Remarkable Life of John Sheppard. In his History, Defoe reports the belief in Newgate that the Devil came in person to assist Sheppard’s escape.

Final Capture

Jack Sheppard, in Newgate Prison awaiting execution, in an engraving by George White from 1728, based on a painting by James Thornhill which has not survived. Note that Sheppard’s hair is cropped and that he points toward the door.

Sheppard’s final period of liberty lasted just two weeks. He disguised himself as a beggar and returned to the City. He broke into the Rawlins brothers’ pawnbroker’s shop in Drury Lane on the night of 29 October 1724, taking a black silk suit, a silver sword, rings, watches, a wig, and other items. He dressed himself as a dandy gentleman and used the proceeds to spend a day and the following evening on the tiles with two mistresses. He was arrested a final time in the early morning on 1 November, blind drunk, “in a handsome Suit of Black, with a Diamond Ring and a Cornelian ring on his Finger, and a fine Light Tye Peruke.”

This time, Sheppard was placed in the Middle Stone Room, in the centre of Newgate next to the “Castle,” where he could be observed at all times. He was also loaded with three hundred pounds of iron weights. He was so celebrated that the gaolers charged high society visitors four shillings to see him, and the King’s painter James Thornhill painted his portrait. Several prominent people sent a petition to King George I, begging for his sentence of death to be commuted to transportation. “The Concourse of People of tolerable Fashion to see him was exceeding Great, he was always Chearful and Pleasant to a Degree, as turning almost everything as was said onto a Jest and Banter.” To a Reverend Wagstaffe who visited him, he said, according to Defoe, “One file’s worth all the Bibles in the World.”

Sheppard came before Mr Justice Powis in the Court of King’s Bench at Westminster Hall on 10 November. He was offered the chance to have his sentence reduced by informing on his associates, but he scorned the offer, and the death sentence was confirmed. The next day, Blueskin was hanged, and Sheppard was moved to the condemned cell.

Execution
The following Monday, 16 November, Sheppard was taken to the gallows at Tyburn to be hanged. He planned one more escape, but his pen-knife, intended to cut the ropes binding him on the way to the gallows, was found by a prison warder shortly before he left Newgate for the last time.

A joyous procession passed through the streets of London, with Sheppard’s cart drawn along Holborn and Oxford Street accompanied by a mounted City Marshal and liveried Javelin Men. The occasion was as much as anything a celebration of Sheppard’s life, attended by crowds of up to 200,000 (one third of London’s population). The procession halted at the City of Oxford tavern on Oxford Street, where Sheppard drank a pint of sack. A carnival atmosphere pervaded Tyburn, where his “official” autobiography, published by Applebee and probably ghostwritten by Defoe, was on sale. Sheppard handed “a paper to someone as he mounted the scaffold,” perhaps as a symbolic endorsement of the account in the “Narrative.” His slight build had aided his previous prison escapes, but it condemned him to a slow death by strangulation by the hangman’s noose. After hanging for the prescribed 15 minutes, his body was cut down. The crowd pressed forward to stop his body from being removed, fearing dissection; their actions inadvertently prevented Sheppard’s friends from implementing a plan to take his body to a doctor in an attempt to revive him. His badly mauled remains were recovered later and buried in the churchyard of St Martin’s-in-the-Fields that evening.

Legacy
There was a spectacular public reaction to Sheppard’s deeds. He was even cited (favourably) as an example in newspapers, pamphlets, broadsheets, and ballads were all devoted to his amazing exploits, and his story was adapted for the stage almost immediately. Harlequin Sheppard, a pantomime by one John Thurmond (subtitled “A night scene in grotesque characters”), opened at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane on Saturday, 28 November, only two weeks after Sheppard’s hanging. In a famous contemporary sermon, a London preacher drew on Sheppard’s popular escapes as a way of holding his congregation’s attention:

“Let me exhort ye, then, to open the locks of your hearts with the nail of repentance! Burst asunder the fetters of your beloved lusts! – mount the chimney of hope! – take from thence the bar of good resolution! – break through the stone wall of despair!”

The account of his life remained well-known through the Newgate Calendar, and a three-act farce was published but never produced, but, mixed with songs, it became The Quaker’s Opera, later performed at Bartholomew Fair. An imagined dialogue between Jack Sheppard and Julius Caesar was published in the British Journal on 4 December 1724, in which Sheppard favourably compares his virtues and exploits to those of Caesar.

Perhaps the most prominent play based on Sheppard’s life is John Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera (1728). Sheppard was the inspiration for the figure of Macheath; his nemesis, Peachum, is based on Jonathan Wild. The play was spectacularly popular, restoring the fortune that Gay had lost in the South Sea Bubble, and was produced regularly for over 100 years. An unperformed but published play The Prison-Breaker was turned into The Quaker’s Opera (in imitation of The Beggar’s Opera) and performed at Bartholomew Fair in 1725 and 1728. Two centuries later The Beggar’s Opera was the basis for The Threepenny Opera of Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill (1928).

Sheppard’s tale may have been an inspiration for William Hogarth’s 1747 series of 12 engravings, Industry and Idleness, which shows the parallel descent of an apprentice, Tom Idle, into crime and eventually to the gallows, beside the rise of his fellow apprentice, Francis Goodchild, who marries his master’s daughter and takes over his business, becoming wealthy as a result, eventually emulating Dick Whittington to become Lord Mayor of London.

“The Last Scene” engraved by George Cruikshank in 1839 to illustrate William Harrison Ainsworth’s serialised novel, Jack Sheppard. The captions read: “Jack Sheppard’s Farewell to Mr Wood”, “Blueskin cutting down Jack Sheppard”, and “The body of Jack Sheppard carried off by the mob.”

Sheppard’s tale was revived in the first half of the 19th century. A melodrama, Jack Sheppard, The Housebreaker, or London in 1724, by W.T. Moncrieff was published in 1825. More successful was William Harrison Ainsworth’s third novel, entitled Jack Sheppard, which was originally published in Bentley’s Miscellany from January 1839 with illustrations by George Cruikshank, overlapping with the final episodes of Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist.

An archetypal Newgate novel, it generally remains close to the facts of Sheppard’s life, but portrays him as a swashbuckling hero. Like Hogarth’s prints, the novel pairs the descent of the “idle” apprentice into crime with the rise of a typical melodramatic character, Thames Darrell, a foundling of aristocratic birth who defeats his evil uncle to recover his fortune. Cruikshank’s images perfectly complemented Ainsworth’s tale—Thackeray wrote that “…Mr Cruickshank really created the tale, and that Mr Ainsworth, as it were, only put words to it.” The novel quickly became very popular: it was published in book form later that year, before the serialised version was completed, and even outsold early editions of Oliver Twist.

Ainsworth’s novel was adapted into a successful play by John Buckstone in October 1839 at the Adelphi Theatre starring (strangely enough) Mary Anne Keeley; indeed, it seems likely that Cruikshank’s illustrations were deliberately created in a form that were informed by, and would be easy to repeat as, tableaux on stage. It has been described as the “exemplary climax” of “the pictorial novel dramatized pictorially.”

The story generated a form of cultural mania, embellished by pamphlets, prints, cartoons, plays and souvenirs, not repeated until George du Maurier’s Trilby in 1895. By early 1840, a cant song from Buckstone’s play, “Nix My Dolly, Pals, Fake Away” was reported to be “deafening us in the streets.” Public alarm at the possibility that young people would emulate Sheppard’s behaviour led the Lord Chamberlain to ban, at least in London, the licensing of any plays with “Jack Sheppard” in the title for forty years. The fear may not have been entirely unfounded: Courvousier, the valet of Lord William Russell, claimed in one of his several confessions that the book had inspired him to murder his master. Frank and Jesse James wrote letters to the Kansas City Star signed “Jack Sheppard.”

Nevertheless, a number of burlesques of the story were written after the ban was lifted, including a popular Gaiety Theatre, London piece called Little Jack Sheppard (1885-86) by Henry Pottinger Stephens and W. Yardley, with music by Meyer Lutz and others.

The Sheppard story has been revived several times in the 20th century, including three silent movies, The Hairbreadth Escape of Jack Sheppard (1900), Robbery of the Mail Coach (1903) and Jack Sheppard (1923); a book, The Road to Tyburn, by Christopher Hibbert (1957); a British costume drama, Where’s Jack?, directed by James Clavell, with Tommy Steele in the title role (1969); an unrealised film project of FilmFour Productions in 2000, Jack Sheppard and Jonathan Wild, for which Benjamin Ross, who would have been director, co-wrote the screenplay with John Preston, with Tobey Maguire and Harvey Keitel slated for the main parts; a 2002 television drama, Invitation to a Hanging; and a series of novels by Neal Stephenson collectively known as, The Baroque Cycle (2003, 2004), in which the character Jack Shaftoe was partly inspired by events from the life of Jack Sheppard.

Bram Stoker references Jack Sheppard in “Dracula” when referring to the patient Renfield.

“He is safe now, at any rate. Jack Sheppard himself couldn’t get free from the strait waistcoat that keeps him restrained, and he’s chained to the wall in the padded room.”

The reasons for the lasting legacy of Jack Sheppard’s exploits in the popular imagination have been addressed by Peter Linebaugh, who suggests that Sheppard’s legend was rooted in the prospect of excarceration, of escape from what Michel Foucault in Folie et déraison called the grand renfermement (Great Confinement), in which “unreasonable” members of the population were locked away and institutionalised. The laws levelled at Sheppard and similar working class criminals were a means of disciplining a potentially rebellious multitude into accepting increasingly harsh property laws. A nineteenth-century view on the Jack Sheppard phenomenon was offered by Charles Mackay in Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds:

“Whether it be that the multitude, feeling the pangs of poverty, sympathise with the daring and ingenious depredators who take away the rich man’s superfluity, or whether it be the interest that mankind in general feel for the records of perilous adventure, it is certain that the populace of all countries look with admiration upon great and successful thieves.”

Posted in British history, buildings and structures, Georgian Era, Great Britain, Living in the UK, political stance, real life tales | Tagged Jack Sheppard, John Wild, Spitafields, St Helen's Bishopgate, The Beggars Opera | Comments Off

The New Prison in the Regency Era

Posted on April 7, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

New Prison plays a part in my current Work in Progress. I thought I might share a bit of information. Unlike the more widely known, Newgate Prison, the New Prison had a less stellar past.

The New Prison was a prison located in the Clerkenwell area of central London between c.1617 and 1877 (it should not be confused with the New Gaol, another name sometimes applied to Horsemonger Lane Gaol in Southwark, south London).

The New Prison was used to house prisoners committed for examination before the police magistrates, for trial at the sessions, for want of bail, and occasionally on summary conviction.

It was rebuilt three times: in 1773, 1818 (after being burnt down in the Gordon Riots of 1780), and in 1847. At this time it was renamed the Clerkenwell House of Detention, also known as Clerkenwell Prison.

Next-door was another prison, the Clerkenwell Bridewell for convicted criminals, built in around 1615. This closed in 1794, being superseded by nearby Coldbath Fields Prison.

Modern Use of Building Remnants
During the Second World War part of the basement was altered to form a bomb shelter.

Today, the site of the New Prison and the Clerkenwell Bridewell is occupied by the former Hugh Myddleton School (1893-c.1960), in Bowling Green Lane. A number of the original underground spaces and cells remain and are used for office space or storage. A 2007 adaptation of Oliver Twist used these spaces for filming in the July 2007.

In 2009, the site was being redeveloped by developer Sans Walk, and the vaults of the building (formerly used for the reception of prisoners, medical examination and baths as well as kitchens) were accessed by members of the IStructE History Study Group.

Famous Inmates
Jack Sheppard – Jack Sheppard or known as John Sheppard (4 March 1702 – 16 November 1724) was a notorious English robber, burglar and thief of early 18th-century London.

Posted in British history, buildings and structures, George IV, Georgian Era, Great Britain, Living in the Regency, Living in the UK, real life tales, William IV | Tagged central London, Clerkenwell, Jack Sheppard, New Prison, Newgate Prison | 2 Comments

Re-Release of “Captain Frederick Wentworth’s Persuasion: Jane Austen’s Persuasion Retold Through His Eyes”

Posted on April 4, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Of late, I have taken on the daunting task of revisiting some of my earlier works. The act had come as a response to several of my loyal followers, who either wished to revisit an earlier piece or had asked if I would place a particular piece on sale. When a traditional publisher releases a book, that publisher has control of the price, when or if the book is placed on sale, and how the book will be promoted. The only time we hold control as authors is if the book is an independent project. Once a traditionally published book is more than six months old, the publisher rarely spends time in promoting it. A book can, literally, set upon a shelf with no notice for years upon end.

As my first book, Darcy’s Passions, was originally a self-published book, there is a clause in my contract, which says I may self publish that title. I simply cannot sell the manuscript to another traditionally published group. That self-published clause has reappeared in each of my contracts. Therefore, I plan to re-release several of them as independent titles. Captain Frederick Wentworth’s Persuasion: Jane Austen’s Classic Retold Through His Eyes will be the first of those. I chose to begin with CFWP because I plan a sequel to the book, and I wished to introduce it to new readers. Although I adored having a Joshua Reynolds’s painting on the original cover, the book has a new cover. I have reworked some of the scenes, but nothing major has changed in the book. If you do not already own this book, it is an excellent time to pick it up in print or eBook form. If you have the title, anticipate the sequel in about six – eight months.

Below, I hope you will enjoy the “love letter” scene from Austen’s Persuasion retold from Captain Wentworth’s POV instead of that of Anne Elliot.

BOOK BLURB:

The love affair behind Jane Austen’s classic, Persuasion, rests at the heart of this retelling from Captain Frederick Wentworth’s point of view.

He has loved her from the moment their eyes met some eight years prior, but Frederick Wentworth is determined to prove to Anne Elliot that she has made a mistake by refusing him. Persuaded by her family and friends of his lack of a future, Anne had sent him away, but now he is back, and it is Anne whose circumstances have brought her low. Frederick means to name another to replace her, but whenever he looks upon Anne’s perfect countenance, his resolve wavers, and he finds himself lost once again to his desire for her. Return to the Regency and Austen’s most compelling love story. Jeffers turns the tale upon its head while maintaining Jane Austen’s tale of love and devotion.

EXCERPT:

From the corner of his eye, Frederick noted how outwardly composed Anne had appeared, and he wondered how he must appear to the others. The moment she had walked into the room, he had felt himself plunged at once into all the agitations, which he had merely anticipated tasting a little before the morning had closed. There was no delay—no waste of time. He was instantly deep in the happiness of such misery or the misery of such happiness.

Clearing his throat and attempted to sound disinterested, Frederick spoke to his friend: “I will write the letter of which we spoke earlier, Harville, if you will hand me the materials.”

“They are on the side table.” Thomas gestured to a small table to Frederick’s left. With the miniature and Benwick’s request in hand, Frederick went to it. Turning his back on the gathered party, He attempted to appear engrossed by writing.

His sister, Sophia, spoke to Mrs. Musgrove, and he listened carefully to their conversation, in tune for any words spoken by Anne. Mrs. Musgrove had informed Sophia about the changes having taken place at Uppercross, and his sister heartily agreed how young people should not dwell in long engagements. Frederick found himself agreeing in principle with Sophia’s sentiments. He knew she had spoken from experience for she and the Admiral had married a little more than a month after their meeting, and if his hopes were fulfilled, he would wish to marry Anne as quickly as possible. Pretending to draft the letter, which he had composed in his head the night before, Frederick thought about how quickly he could marry Anne after she accepted him. He would not be willing to wait any longer than the necessary calling of the banns.

Sophia declared, “To begin without knowing that at such a time there will be the means of marrying, I hold to be very unsafe and unwise. Yet, generally, couples should not delay their coming together.”

His pen ceased to move, and as if he was compelled to do so, his head raised; he paused to listen, and he turned round the next instant to give a look—one conscious look to Anne. She flushed with the recognition, but neither of them turned from the other’s gaze. The two ladies continued to talk—to urge again the same admitted truths and enforced them with such examples of the ill effect of long engagements as had fallen within their observations, but Frederick heard nothing distinctly; it was only a buzz of words in his ears, and his mind felt the confusion. Finally, Anne looked away at Thomas Harville, who motioned her to join him by the window. The moment of understanding broken, Frederick pushed the longing down and returned to the task at hand. He wrote the letter in earnest.

Scratching out the order for the artist he would commission, Frederick heard Thomas speak to Anne about the miniature. His friend explained to her why Frederick had taken up the charge of the letter. He thought it ironic Thomas spoke so openly to Anne when his friend had refused to share his frustration with anyone in the party other than Frederick. When their words turned to a light-hearted debate on which sex loved better, Frederick heard only their musings; his sister’s conversation no longer existed. Every nerve in his body remained attuned to Anne—only she existed in his world, and he must know how she felt.

“It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved,” she protested against Harville’s assertion that, unlike a female, a man never forsook a woman he loved. Frederick would never forsake Anne—of that he was certain.

Her soft voice brought him back. “Yes, we certainly do not forget you so soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey on us. You are forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions.”

Frederick stopped breathing for a moment. Was that how it had seemed to Anne? Did she believe I did not suffer from our separation? She must believe as such because I threw myself into my work, I forgot her—that I did not leave my heart behind in Somerset. I must tell her; only her love has ever given me comfort.

Needing to respond immediately, he took another sheet of foolscap from the desk drawer and addressed her passionately:

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul! I am half agony—half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.

Anne’s voice now spoke with eagerness, and Frederick jerked his head up and clumsily knocked over the blotting jar, sending it scattering dust across the carpet. His pen followed. He quickly retrieved the items, embarrassed at being so obvious in his intent.

“Have you finished your letter?” called Captain Harville.

Frederick stammered, “Not…not quite, a few lines more. I shall have done in five minutes.”

Harville smiled at Anne. Frederick should have known Anne would win Thomas’s loyalty; he and Harville both understood the qualities of a fine woman. “There is no hurry on my side,” his friend shared. “I am only ready whenever you are.—I am in very good anchorage here—well supplied and wanting for nothing.—No hurry for a signal at all.”

As Frederick rearranged the items on the desk, he heard Harville lower his voice to speak to Anne further. They talked of inconstancy, and Frederick’s heart went out to his friend as Thomas spoke with compassion and with insight into how a sailor feels about the woman he loves. “I speak, you know, only of such men as have hearts!”

“Oh!” cried Anne eagerly; “I hope I do justice to all that is felt by you and by those who resemble you.” She offered his friend empathy, and Frederick smiled, knowing it to be her true nature. “I believe you capable of everything equal and good in your married lives. I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long as—if I may be allowed the expression, so long as you have an object.” Frederick leaned forward, hanging on Anne’s every word. “I mean, while the woman you love lives and lives for you. All the privilege I claim for my own sex is of loving longest when existence or when hope is gone.”

From the corner of his eye, Frederick watched as Thomas put his hand on her arm quite affectionately. The gesture drove Frederick to return to his letter; it was important to speak to Anne of his feelings and of the uncommon possession, which remained between them.

Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone brought me to Bath. For you alone I think and plan.—Have you not seen this? Can you fail to understand my wishes?—I had not waited even these ten days, could I read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice, when they would be lost on others.—Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice indeed. You do believe there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in

“Here, Frederick you and I part company, I believe,” Sophia spoke loudly enough to recall him from his task. “I am going home, and you have an engagement with your friend.—Tonight we may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party.” She directed her last thought to Anne. “We had your sister’s card yesterday, and I understand Frederick had a card, too, though I did not see it—and you are disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?”

As she spoke, Frederick scratched out his postscript:

I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look will be enough to decide whether I enter your father’s house this evening, or never.

He managed to answer his sister, although a bit incoherently. “Yes, very true; here we separate, but Harville and I shall soon be after you, that is, Harville, if you are prepared, I am in half a minute. I know you will not be sorry to be off. I shall be at your service in half a minute.

Sophia nodded her farewell to each of them, and Thomas retrieved his hat and gloves. Frederick sealed his letter with great rapidity. Having made the decision to write it, he wanted the words in Anne’s hands; Frederick needed to be finished with this part and to begin his life with Anne—if she would have him.

He slid Anne’s letter under the blotter pad, having sealed it and marked it with her initials. “Let us be off, Harville,” he encouraged. Frederick picked up his gloves—laying them purposely to the side of the desk—and then his hat before walking to the door. He could not speak to Anne—nor even look at her. His impatience to be gone created a hurried air as he exited the room.

Frederick heard Thomas offer a kind “Good morning. God bless you,” to Anne.

He regretted not being able to speak his farewells–the agitation too great, but if Anne was to refuse him, he wanted no pity from those who marked his departure.

He and Thomas made it to the outside door before Frederick spoke again. “Harville, wait for me a moment; I seemed to have left my gloves in the Musgroves’ quarters.”

“It is of no matter—I shall remain here.” Harville shifted his weight, allowing the cane to support him.

Making his unexpected return, Frederick said, “I apologize, Mrs. Musgrove,” as he crossed the room, “I left my gloves behind.”

Mrs. Musgrove stood by the window, looking out for the rest of their party. “It is quite all right, Captain Wentworth.” The woman did not even turn around.

However, Anne stood close by, and she watched his every move. Stepping beside the desk, Frederick purposefully slid his fingers along the edge of the blotter paper. He locked eyes with Anne and then he drew out the letter and placed it on the desk. With the slightest of nods, he hastily collected his gloves and was again from the room—the work of an instant!

His future was now in her hands. Frederick found Harville where he had left him, and they started toward the portrait studio to meet with the artist. They walked two blocks in complete silence—Frederick’s vexation clearly evident.

“Do you wish to tell me who will receive the second letter?” Thomas asked softly, never looking at Frederick.

He hesitated. “You noted my ploy?”

“Obviously,” Thomas taunted. “Was it a love letter for Miss Anne?” Then he guffawed at his own joke. His friend chuckled some more at seeing Frederick flinch, but when Frederick did not answer, Harville gasped a little too loudly, “It was a love letter for Miss Anne!”

Barely audible, Frederick acknowledged, “Yes—yes, it was for Anne.”

“Anne?” Thomas responded with disbelief. “How long has she been Anne?”

“From the first day I laid eyes on her—”

“In Somerset more than eight years prior,” Thomas finished the sentence. “I knew it, you sly fox!” He slapped Frederick on the shoulder.

Obviously distressed, Frederick countered, “Do not congratulate me, Thomas; I know not my fate. The letter professes my love, but will Anne accept a renewal of my regard?”

Thomas took pity on him. “May I ask why you are with me? Hand me the miniature and the letter; I can well do this without you.” Frederick protested, but a wave of Thomas’s hand stopped him short. “Go—go back to the White Hart and win the woman you love. Do not leave there until she is yours!”

“Dare I risk it?” Frederick looked longingly toward the way they had come, uncertain what to do.

Thomas grinned. “Do you truly love this woman?”

“Most wholeheartedly,” Frederick insisted.

“I have never known you to permit anything to keep you from what you most desired. If you delay, it will be a first.”

“No.” Frederick shook his head. “It will not be a first.” His anxiety increased as he looked away once more. “I must go—I apologize, Harville, but I must go!” As he strode away, he heard Thomas chuckling. Turning the corner at Bath Street, he noted Anne and Charles Musgrove had crossed to Union. He quickened his step to overtake them, but when Frederick reached the pair, he paused. Knowing within a few minutes he would speak what was in his heart, he froze—irresolute whether to join them or to pass on, saying nothing at all. He stared at Anne, wondering what to do, each heartbeat infinitely long. Then she, sensing his approach, had turned suddenly; Anne blushed—her cheeks, which were pale, now glowed, and the movement, which first hesitated, was decided. Frederick stepped beside her, and they were lost to each other. Eyes danced in happiness, and they were as before–united–hearts interlocked, requiring no words to declare their continued love.

“Say, Wentworth,” Charles implored him. “Which way are you going? Only to Gay Street or farther up the town?” Charles appeared most anxious to leave his responsibility to Anne.

Frederick did not remove his eyes from Anne’s countenance. “I hardly know,” he replied.

Charles continued, oblivious to the moment swirling between Frederick and Anne. “Are you going as high as Belmont? Are you going near Camden Place? Because if you are, I shall have no scruple in asking you to take my place and give Anne your arm to her father’s door. She is rather done for this morning and must not go so far without assistance. And I ought to be at that fellow’s in the marketplace. He promised me the sight of a capital gun he is just going to send off; said he would keep it unpacked to the last possible moment, that I might see it; and if I do not turn back now, I will have no opportunity. By his description, a good deal like the second-sized double barrel of mine, which you shot with one day, round Winthrop. What do you say, Wentworth?”

Frederick attempted to wipe the smile from his lips, but he forsook the effort when he noted a like smile on Anne’s countenance. “It is fine, Musgrove. Go see the gun. I will be most honored to escort Miss Anne home; she will be safe with me.”

“That is superb news! I am in your debt,” Musgrove added quickly. Then he disappeared, hurrying along Union Street. “Which way, Miss Anne?” Frederick’s voice remained husky with emotion.

“Some place quiet, Captain—you may choose.” Anne placed her hand on his proffered arm, and Frederick pulled her close to his side. Relief rushed through him as they turned away from the crowd.

As they entered the park, Frederick led her to a nearby bench. “May we sit for a time?” They had spoken little as they had walked Bath’s streets, each lost in the splendor of the moment. When he properly seated her beside him, Frederick caught her hand in his, clutching it to his chest. “Anne,” he whispered, “my heart beats again because of you—with the hope you will receive me—that you understand how ardently I adore you.” He brought her palm to his lips and planted a kiss on the inside of her wrist. “Please say I am not too late.”

Anne released her hand from his, but she did so to trace the outline of his lips. It was an exquisite familiarity, which spoke of her quiet acceptance. “Yours is the countenance I see every time I close my eyes. It has been so for eight years—nothing you could say or do would ever change that.”

Frederick suddenly felt quite warm: the fire between them remained. “May I be so forward as to presume there is hope for us?”

“There is more than hope, Frederick. I give you my assurance.” She did not look away, but he noted the hitch in her breath. “I am no longer that foolish green girl; I am not so persuadable. If God provides a means for us to possess another opportunity at love, I will never turn from you. If it is truly your desire, you will be my life.” She raised her chin to look him directly in the eyes. “I love you, Frederick Wentworth; I have loved none but you.”

PURCHASE LINKS:

Kindle http://www.amazon.com/Captain-Frederick-Wentworths-Persuasion-Austens-ebook/dp/B00IJZOR20/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1393978188&sr=8-1&keywords=captain+frederick+wentworth%27s+persuasion

Kobo http://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Query=captain+frederick+wentworth%27s+persuasion

Nook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/captain-frederick-wentworths-persuasion-regina-jeffers/1118865260?ean=2940149507061

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Captain-Frederick-Wentworths-Persuasion-Austens/dp/1495463206/ref=sr_1_1_bnp_1_pap?ie=UTF8&qid=1393978243&sr=8-1&keywords=captain+frederick+wentworth%27s+persuasion

Create Space https://www.createspace.com/4657736

Original Cover

Posted in book excerpts, excerpt, Great Britain, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Living in the UK, Napoleonic Wars, Regency era, Regency personalities, White Soup Press | Tagged Anne Elliot, Captain Frederick Wentworth, Jane Austen, Persuasion | Comments Off

Movie Discussion – Becoming Jane

Posted on April 3, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

em>Becoming Jane is an imaginative, romantic tale that captures Jane Austen’s spirit, while playing with the truth. Many of authors have written their own “what if” stories, and so, maybe, we might be able to suspend reality and accept the witty, enchanting romance as all good storytelling. This film takes some well known facts from Austen’s life and spins them into an ingenious tale of lost love.

The film opens in the year 1795 and explores the feisty beginnings of an emerging 20-year-old writer, who wishes to live beyond what is expected of her – to actually marry for love. Anne Hathaway portrays Jane Austen, and James McAvoy plays the non-aristocratic Tom Lefroy, whose intellect and arrogance first raises young Jane’s ire and then captivates her heart. Juliann Jarrold, the film’s director says “A couple of recent biographies have sort of honed in on this romance with Tom Lefroy, because it’s the older bios that tend to say she [Austen] didn’t have this romance; that somehow, out of her imagination, she was able to portray these amazing characters. Straight after [the alleged romance], she started writing First Impressions – and then Sense and Sensibility, and Northanger Abbey.” (BTW, do you not love the facial similarities between the real Tom Lefroy and James McAvoy in these two pictures?)

The film is known for taking the truth and making it a reality. For example, there is some evidence that Ann Radcliffe influenced Jane Austen; however, the film creates a meeting between the two. During this encounter, Radcliffe asks Austen of what she will write.

Radcliffe: Of what do you wish to write?
Jane: The heart.
Radcliffe: Do you know it?
Jane: Not all of it.
Radcliffe: In time you will. If not…well, that situation is what imagination is for.

The film also provides us with plenty of “Jane” talk. For example, we hear part of the story/poem that Jane has created as a tribute to her sister Cassandra’s engagement.

The boundaries of propriety were vigorously assaulted, as was only right, but not quite breached, as was also right. Nevertheless, she was not pleased.
When others question Jane’s ambitions to become a novelist, she responds,
Novels are poor insipid things, read by mere women, even, God forbid, written by women.

But beyond the plot’s twists and turns, Becoming Jane playfully references Austen’s themes, characters, and story lines. So my question is how many such references can you name? Here are some (but not all) that I noted.

From Pride and Prejudice, we find…
**Jane’s character resembles a cross between the flirtatious Lydia Bennet, who loves to dance, and Elizabeth Bennet, whose verbal swordplay with Mr. Darcy is enticing. Mr. Warren is the klutzy clergyman whose proposal reminds us all of Mr. Collins. (He also is a bit like Mr. Elton in Emma.)
**Lady Gresham (Maggie Smith) is so Lady Catherine De Bourgh. She does not want Wisley to consider Jane as a mate, and I love the scene where she mentions “a little wilderness.”
**Lefroy’s character reminds of us the “worthless” activities of George Wickham early on in the film. Like Wickham, Lefroy studies law, but with not much success. Later he is very much Darcy in his judgment of “country” life.

From Sense and Sensibility, we find…
**Like Marianne Dashwood, Jane’s decisions are not based on “sense,” but on her “sensibility” (emotional response).
**Jane’s situation, if she does not marry Wisley, will be very much like the Dashwood sisters after losing their home.

From Northanger Abbey, we find…
**Jane plays cricket, very much as did Catherine Morland.
**Jane defends her desire to write novels.
**The scene in Uncle Benjamin’s house between Jane and Lefroy reminds one of the staircase scene between Henry Tilney and Catherine Morland.
**References to Ann Radcliffe’s (as well as other Gothic novels) are made in the novel. In the film, Jane visits Radcliffe.

From Mansfield Park, we find…
**Lady Gresham’s line to Jane about her duty to marry well reminds us of those spoken by Lady Bertram to Fanny Price.
**Lady Bertram spends her days with her pug dog, as does Countess Eliza, Jane’s cousin.

From Persuasion, we find…
**Although she loves him, Jane breaks an engagement with Lefroy so that he has a chance for a better future. This is similar to what happens between Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth.
**In the novel, Anne meets Wentworth at a concert, where she must translate the opera for her cousin. She recognizes their love still exists, but she can say nothing. “How was the truth to reach him?” In the film, Jane meets Lefory many years after their separation at a concert. He has married and has a daughter named “Jane.”

Posted in film, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency | Tagged Becoming Jane, Jane Austen, Tom Lefroy | Comments Off

Do You Remember? The Day the Music Died…the Death of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper

Posted on April 2, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

I have started a new series on this blog, one designed to have a look back at events that marked our world in popular culture and in literature. Today, I begin with the “Day the Music Died.” Do you recall the event that killed Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper? If so, sound off below.

the Big Bopper, Ritchie Valens, and Buddy Holly

On 3 February 1959, rock ‘n’ roll’s knew its first great loss: A plane carrying the current stars, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J. P. Richardson (known as the Big Bopper) went down outside Clear Lake, Iowa.

A group of men view of the wreckage of a Beechcraft Bonanza airplane in a snowy field outside of Clear Lake, Iowa, early February 1959. The crash, on February 3, claimed the lives of American rock and roll musicians Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J. P. ‘The Big Bopper’ Richardson. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

The three stars had been part of the Winter Dance Party Tour, which was to play 24 cities in 24 days throughout the Midwest. Holly was the premiere attraction on the tour for he had previously garnered two appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show. Unfortunately, the bus transporting the musicians had heating problems, and many in the groups took ill with the flu. It was so bad that Holly’s drummer Carl Bunch was hospitalized with frostbite.

The night of the Clear Lake show found the Surf Ballroom packed with 1500 teens, most accompanied by their parents. Frankie Sardo opened the show with his hit “Take Out.” The Big Bopper was next on the program. Richardson wore a leopard jacket and carried a toy telephone. When he said, “Hellloooo baaaaaaby, this is the Big Bopper speakin’” the audience came to their feet. He continued with several mashups, including “The Big Bopper Wedding,” “Little Red Riding Hood,” and “The Purple People Eater Meets the Witch Doctor,” which was the novelty song on the flip side of his hit “Chantilly Lace.” (Memories, February/March 1989)

Valens was up next. He wowed the crowd with “La Bamba,” “Donna,” and “Come On, Let’s Go.” After the intermission, Dion and the Belmonts took the stage. With Bunch’s illness, Buddy had agreed to play drums for Dion, but he set up the drum set in the shadows of the stage’s lighting so as not to distract from the Belmonts’ performance.

When Holly took the stage, he gave the performance of his life, beginning with Billy Grammer’s “Gotta Travel On,” which was followed “That’ll Be the Day,” “Maybe Baby,” “Well…All Right.” He had obvious fun with “Bo Diddley” and with “Peggy Sue.” He finished with “Brown-Eyed Handsome Man,” which was performed twice–once alone and then with the whole touring troupe.

The conditions had driven Holly to charter a plane from nearby Mason City to Fargo, North Dakota, which was across the state line from Moorhead, Minnesota, the site of their next performance. The plane departed at 12:55 A.M., but it covered only a few miles before crashing, killing all four men instantly, in a snowstorm with high winds.

The plane had only enough room for Holly and his band and the pilot, Roger Peterson. Waylon Jennings, who became a legend in country music and who was Holly’s bass player at the time, relinquished his seat to J. P. Richardson, who was ill with a high fever. “According to Jennings’ autobiography, Holly teased his bass player by saying, ‘Well, I hope your ol’ bus freezes up.’ To which Jennings responded, ‘Well, I hope your ol’ plane crashes.’” (Ultimate Classic Rock)

“There are conflicting stories as to how Valens wound up in the third seat. Tommy Allsup, Holly’s guitarist, claimed that he lost a coin flip to Valens in the dressing room. In 2010, Dion Mimucci [the former lead singer of the popular 50s group Dion and the Belmonts], who had been silent about that night for 51 years, claimed that he, not Allsup, was slated for the third seat because he was one of the headliners. But after winning the coin toss, he balked at paying $36 for the flight–the amount his parents paid in monthly rent for the apartment where he grew up–and gave Valens the seat. Local DJ Bob Hale, who ws the MC for the concert, agrees that it was between Allsup and Valens, but that he, not Allsup, flipped the coin.” (Ultimate Classic Rock)

Most experts believe Peterson’s lack of experience in the storm conditions and the plane’s instrument panel contributed to the crash. Holly’s wife of only six months had a miscarriage when she heard the news.

“In March 1980, a long-missing piece of the plane crash was discovered. Holly’s signature black-rimmed glasses had landed in a snow bank and were discovered in the spring of 1959 [buried in the snow]. They were brought to the Cerro Gordo County Sheriff’s office, sealed in a manila envelope and forgotten about for 21 years. Upon discovery, the glasses were returned to his widow [Maria Elena Santiago] and are currently on permanent display at the Buddy Holly Center in his hometown of Lubbock, Texas.” (Ultimate Classic Rock)

(See “The Day the Music Died: Crash Site Photo Archive” for more images of the crash. )

Posted in Do You Remember?, music, Pop Culture | Tagged Buddy Holly, Dion and the Belmonts, Ritchie Valens, rock 'n' roll, the Big Bopper, Waylon Jennings | 8 Comments

Exquisite Excerpt from “Captain Wentworth’s Persuasion”

Posted on March 31, 2014 by Regina Jeffers

Exquisite Excerpt – Captain Wentworth’s Persuasion: Austen’s Classic Retold Through His Eyes

This excerpt comes from one of my earliest titles: Captain Wentworth’s Persuasion. It is told from the Wentworth’s point of view and uses flashbacks to set the story. In the beginning, Anne Elliot and Frederick Wentworth have married. They are aboard his ship, The Resolve, and he is leading his men in pursuit of a French ketch. The book’s cover is a Joshua Reynolds’ painting, entitled “Captain Robert Orme.” As I have recently rereleased this title in both eBook and print format, I thought I might pique your interest. I will share another excerpt from the re-release later this week.

Chapter 1

By day or night, in weal or woe,

That heart, no longer free,

Must bear the love it cannot show,

And silent ache for thee.

Lord Byron,“On Parting”

“I have you, Captain!” the midshipman cried. “I require assistance over here!” the youth screamed over the turmoil on the deck, as he attempted to support the weight of the slumped-over officer, who clung to his exhausted frame.

Captain Frederick Wentworth had recognized the danger of pursuing the retreating French sloop, but he had also recognized the urgency of keeping the French from reaching reinforcements and from taking English secrets straight to Bonaparte’s pocket. He made the decision to take the French vessel despite the facthis wife traveled aboard ‘The Resolve’ with him and his crew. He had ordered his men to seize the enemy craft. “Above all else, her crew cannot escape,” he instructed; the British had no reason to permit the French to live. The countries, after all, were at war.

For two days, Wentworth’s ship chased the French craft. In truth, he admired how the smaller French ship skimmed the water, attempting to evade his best efforts to overtake the ketch. Frederick initiated his favorite maneuver in stopping his enemy-full broadsides, a lesson he learned from the tales of the infamous Blackbeard. ‘The Resolve’ caught the French ship during the night, and dawn brought his enemy the knowledge it faced the full force of the British Navy, one of the finest to sail the seas.

* * *

Anne Wentworth smiled lovingly at her husband as he ordered her below deck. He meant to protect her from the worst of the battle. Frederick Wentworth possessed a natural charisma; his men had sworn to follow him anywhere, and she knew the truth of those declarations. A strong, formidable man, his intense eyes told the world he would tolerate nothing less than success. He made few errors in his choices, reasoning things out carefully before he made a decision. He lived for the adventure of the sea, but he was her Frederick, a practical man who had accomplished his dreams by organizing the chaos of his mind. She touched the weathered lines of his face with her fingertips before lightly brushing his lips with hers.

“You will be safe, my Love,” he said as he cupped her chin in the palm of one large hand.

“Of course, I am safe,” Anne insisted, realizing he feared for her comfort. “You are the captain of ‘The Resolve’; we are all safe under your command.” She captured his large hand in her two smaller ones and kissed his the before releasing him. “Now, do what you must do, Frederick. I will be well.” With that, she left him. Only when she was certain that he could no longer see her did she look back. He had turned away to load his gun. Knowing the strong possibility of hand-to-hand combat when the British boarded the sloop, Anne fought the shiver of dread simmering down her spine.

* * *

Wentworth glanced at her retreating form as she headed for the protection of the lower levels of the ship. He had loved her from the first time he had looked upon her countenance; only her beautiful expression brought him peace. In that moment long ago, he had set his sights on his Anne. Although it had taken nearly nine years for him to win her, he could say he regretted the wait. Anne Elliot Wentworth epitomized the things to which Frederick Wentworth aspired: acceptance and love. His lovely wife had overlooked his common origins; she had seen the man he was, and he had sworn to prove to her aristocratic world she had not taken a step down with her choice of a husband. Anne Wentworth symbolized why he fought this war against the French emperor.

Some day, he hoped to purchase an estate close to the shoreline, especially for her. They would live there when he finally cashed in his commission from the service or at the end of the war. Anne, the daughter of a baronet, deserved the best he could provide her. Frederick had lost her once, when youth demanded they make decisions not their own. Anne belonged to him now, and he loved her beyond reason. Soon they would take their place in society and start a family. He smiled as the image played before him, and he enjoyed the dream of family before he reluctantly turned his attention to the other ship and prepared to strike at his country’s enemy.

Wentworth felt the distant vibration as ‘The Resolve’ ran out its guns. The ship readied itself for an assault. When he placed a spyglass to his eye, he saw the French scrambling to respond to the surprise encounter. Older seamen shouted orders, but Frederick recognized the confusion and the dismay upon the younger sailors’ faces. His men, on the other hand, stood their positions on the deck, awaiting the inevitable. His crew had kept a determined silent vigil throughout the night, using the darkness to overtake the French.

With a nod of his head, Wentworth ordered his men to their stations. The gun ports were all pointed directly at the French warship, and shots rang out. He watched with satisfaction as the enemy’s sails crashed to the deck. As the smoke cleared, he could readily see the gaping hole in the enemy’s starboard tack. But the French powder magazines did not explode. “What the devil?” he muttered. The sloop’s mizzenmast lay in multiple pieces on the deck. With the longboats in the water, Wentworth knew the French would fight, but he also knew he had managed another capture. Along with it would come the financial reward that would secure his future with Anne. Everything he had ever wanted was within his grasp, but first he must weather the chaos of the battle.

Beside him, a sailor called to his partner, “We’ll not be waiting!”

“They’ll not surrender peacefully,” a lieutenant cautioned his men.

“They’re daft!” a man with a knife held tightly between his teeth hissed to the others gathering on the deck. A fierce curse sounded from the crow’s nest above his head as Wentworth placed a rolled-up map in his assistant’s hand.

He maneuvered ‘The Resolve’ alongside the captured ship, readying to board her officially and claim her in the name of the Crown. Then, the unexpected, the unthinkable arrived in the form of a red hot strike. A single shot rang out, and the heat seared through his side. Surprised, he examined the bloody opening in his jacket. How? he wondered as he slumped forward into the arms of the nearest midshipman. He was not close enough to the French ship for a French sailor to deliver such a blow. Instinctively, he raised his eyes to his attacker. The man, wearing a leather-fringed jacket and a floppy-brimmed hat, held a long rifle. Frederick recognized it as one American privateers used often to fight off personal attack. It was a superior weapon to the Baker rifle used by Wellington’s men in the rifle units. It had the distance the single-shot .60 musket, known as the Brown Bess, that the British carried did not. “Give that to your good King George!” he heard the man’s voice exclaim before British sailors surrounded him.

Frederick’s pain came not from his French enemy but from an American assisting Bonaparte’s Navy. He could hear the air gurgle in his throat as he sank to his knees. The pain and the fire radiated throughout his chest as he sprawled upon his back, allowing his eyes to search the thin, smoky air for the blue sky with streaks of sunlight opening a new day. “Anne,” he murmured as another midshipman cradled his head.

“Assistance is on its way, Captain. Just stay with us,” the man gasped through clenched teeth. Frederick could feel the man’s fear, and it enflamed his own.

Shipmates rushed to lift his frame onto a net stretcher before carrying him to his quarters. As they settled him on the bed, Laraby, the surgeon assigned to the ship, rushed in, hustling various sailors from the room. “Get me plenty of rum!” the doctor demanded.

“Yes, Sir,” one of the lieutenants snapped as he darted from the room.

Wentworth groaned deeply as another officer assisted the surgeon in removing Frederick’s jacket. Throughout, he told himself he could not die. He told himself he had waited for Anne, and he would not leave her behind. The physician cut the shirt away from the wound and began to clear away the seeping blood. “Easy, Captain,” the surgeon cautioned him. “Allow me to see what we have here.”

His eyes searched Laraby’s countenance for evidence of the severity of his wound. “The bullet tore a zigzag path through part of your lower abdomen, Sir. There is quite a bit of damage. The good news is the bullet exited out your side. I must sew you up, but you will not require surgery.”

Frederick nodded his understanding. “Where is my wife?” Seeing Anne would be the only medicine he required.

“I will retrieve her, Captain,” one of the junior officers said. His pale countenance said he sight of all the blood had taken its toll on the man.

“I am giving you some laudanum.” The surgeon assisted the first officer to ease Wentworth to a resting position onto the bed.

“Might I have some rum?” Wentworth’s mouth had gone dry.

The surgeon mouth turned up in a “I knew it to be so” grin. “That is the reason I ordered it.” He supported Frederick’s head as he sipped the heady brew.

Just as the surgeon set the glass upon the table, Anne rushed into the room, shoving those standing about from her way. “Frederick,” she said, whispering his name close to his ear as she brushed the hair from his eyes. “I am here, my Love.” She interlaced her fingers with his.

With an effort, he squeezed her hand and opened his eyes to hers. “I require an angel watching over me,” he whispered as she lowered her mouth to brush his lips lightly with hers.

“Nothing can keep us apart-nothing ever again. I am here, Frederick. Allow the surgeon to do his work. ‘In sickness and in health,’” she murmured before kissing his temple.

Their eyes held. He felt the laudanum take effect. His lids closed, but Anne’s image remained with him.

* * *

Commander Frederick Wentworth made his way across Somerset. The sway of the public carriage along the uneven roadway reminded him of the rolling motion of the sea; at least, it did as long as he kept his eyes closed. When he had opened them an hour or so earlier, the grandmotherly woman sitting across the way had questioned him about the war and about his prospects. He assumed she had an eligible female somewhere in her family, but Frederick had no intention of pursuing the subject. When he chose a wife, it would be a woman with whom he could share his hopes and dreams, one who would recognize his potential. So he had closed his eyes again, feigning sleep and imagining he strode the decks of his own ship.

Passing through Uppercross, he finally allowed himself the pleasure of looking at the rolling countryside, which was peppered with herds of sheep and Brinny cattle grazing in the fields. His brother, Edward, resided as the curate at Monkford, and Frederick planned to spend part of his leave with his family. Quiet time was a pleasant prospect after the action he had seen of late. Although he had not been with his sister’s husband, Benjamin Croft, and with Nelson as they defeated Admiral Vileneuve at Trafalgar, Frederick had seen his share of battles and had won his share of the prize money. Like Benjamin, he expected to use the war with the French emperor to make his fortune. Thoughts of his sister brought Frederick a pang of loneliness; Sophia and Benjamin shared a rare love. “Someday,” he silently whispered. “Someday, I will turn my head…”

The slowing of the horses interrupted his thoughts. “Uppercross!” the driver shouted. “Changing horses!”

Frederick disembarked from the carriage and looked around. People hurried forth and back at the posting inn. Knowing he had had not much farther to go, he chose only to stretch his legs in the inn yard rather than spend his hard-earned money on libation inside the crowded tavern.

“How much time?” he inquired of the groom as the man unhitched the horses.

“More than a quarter hour…less than a half hour,” the man responded. The driver leaned over the edge to accept the mail pouch from the innkeeper.

Frederick looked at the village, which was a smattering of houses and shops. “I will take a short walk. Stretch my legs,” he told the driver as he started away toward the village.

The driver called to his retreating form, “We will not wait!”

Frederick did not turn his head in response. He just raised his hand to let the man know he had heard the warning. Uppercross, a moderate-sized village, was designed in the old English style. He passed a gate, which led to a house, substantial and unmodernized, of superior appearance, especially when compared to those of the yeomen and laborers. With its high walls, great gates, and old trees, Frederick envisioned a veranda, French windows, and other prettiness, quite likely to catch the traveler’s eye.

Strolling along the wooden walkways, he paused only to look in some of the shop windows. Seeing a fan on display, which he knew Sophia would love, he smiled. On impulse, he entered the shop; he would purchase the fan as a surprise for his sister. He would leave it with Edward to mail to her for her birthday. It would surprise the highly critical Sophia to know her seafarer brother had planned for her birthday long before the actual event.

Frederick chose the item and then, having paid for it, turned to leave; but he could not depart, for the shop’s door swung open suddenly, and two ladies swept into the room. The first, a very handsome woman, dominated the space. A strong French perfume wafted over him as he allowed his eyes to assay her beauty. Her hair was nearly black, her eyes were brown, and her long nose had a distinctly aristocratic slant. Belatedly, Frederick offered her a polite bow as she brushed past him, barely acknowledging his presence. “Miss Elliot!” he heard the shopkeeper say, his voice suddenly very alert.

Frederick had seen the type before. Usually, he preferred to avoid women of high Society, finding most of them too consumed with their petty interests to be worth his time. Let them spend their days gossiping and shopping; he preferred a woman with an elegance of mind, a woman with a sweetness of character.

He stepped away from the domineering Miss Elliot and turned toward the door; his carriage would be leaving soon. The second woman remained by the entry, and he started to move around her; but she raised her eyes to his. Frederick froze. Her delicate features and mild, dark eyes mesmerized him in an instant. For some reason, she did not look away, and neither did he. Instead, he stood before her, gazing down into her doe like eyes, watching them darken and sparkle and wondering if she could feel the fire burning in him. She flushed and raised her slim, slightly square jaw a bit; her ramrod-straight back made her appear taller than she was. In fact, she barely reached his shoulder. She said nothing, simply continued to look deeply into his eyes. Frederick found himself unexpectedly amused by the situation, and one eyebrow shot up.

“Come, Anne,” the other woman demanded, and Frederick saw a flash of embarrassment played across the stranger’s cheeks. She ducked her head, allowing her bonnet to shadow her features once again.

“Pardon me,” he said, choking out the words; his throat suddenly very dry. He desperately wanted to say more to her, but she had slipped away to her companion, who was perusing the latest fashion plates.

Frederick opened the door to depart, but he could not resist the urge to look upon the woman one more time. His heart skipped a beat as she raised her head. She presented him with a quick smile before turning her attention to folds of fabric. Frederick paused; the faint smell of lavender surrounded him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Closing the shop’s door and returning to the walkway, he murmured, “Beautiful.” It was a singular moment, one he would not soon forget.

Posted in book excerpts, British history, Great Britain, Industry News/Publishing, Jane Austen, Napoleonic Wars, Regency era, Ulysses Press, White Soup Press | Tagged Anne Elliot, Frederick Wentworth, Jane Austen, Persuasion, point of view, Ulysses Press, White Soup Press | 2 Comments

	Regina Jeffers on Kissing a Woman’s Hand,…
	Jennifer Redlarczyk on Kissing a Woman’s Hand,…
	Regina Jeffers on Courtesy Title or Not
	Regina Jeffers on Happy Release Day!!! Love Her…
	Regina Jeffers on Can Courtesy Titles Be Be…

Every Woman Dreams…

Do You Remember? Ingrid Bergman’s Fall from Movie Royalty

Literary References in Jane Austen’s “Persuasion”

Literary References in Persuasion

The Lovely World of the English Language ~ Why Do People Speak as They Do?

Jonathan Wild, Underworld Figure During the Reign of Queen Anne

Jack Sheppard, Inspiration for John Gay’s “The Beggar’s Opera”

The New Prison in the Regency Era

Re-Release of “Captain Frederick Wentworth’s Persuasion: Jane Austen’s Persuasion Retold Through His Eyes”

Movie Discussion – Becoming Jane

Do You Remember? The Day the Music Died…the Death of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper

Exquisite Excerpt from “Captain Wentworth’s Persuasion”

Exquisite Excerpt – Captain Wentworth’s Persuasion: Austen’s Classic Retold Through His Eyes

Follow Me!

Recent Posts

Recent Comments

Archives

Categories

Meta