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A Closer Look at “Elizabeth Bennet’s Deception: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary”

Posted on March 21, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

Although I have written nearly two dozen Austen-inspired retellings, sequels, and mysteries, Elizabeth Bennet’s Deception was my first attempt at what is known as a “variation” in the JAFF (Jane Austen Fan Fiction) community. In a variation, the author changes one of the events in the original Austen story line and creates a new and intriguing twist.

In this first attempt at a vagary, I was my usual writer self: I added lots of angst and many twists and turns. The book begins with Darcy’s return to Pemberley while Elizabeth and the Gardiners are visiting, but instead of his approaching her, he skitters off to his rooms rather than to speak to her. However, the next day, when Bingley is escorting Georgiana Darcy to Pemberley, he spots Elizabeth in Lambton. That evening he calls on her and her family. During the general course of the conversation, Mrs. Gardiner “casually” tells Mr. Bingley how Jane had been in London for three months and how Bingley’s sister provided Jane a direct cut by not returning a social call. Bingley is furious. He returns to Pemberley. Darcy confesses his part in separating Bingley from Jane.

The next day, Elizabeth receives the letter from Jane that describes Lydia’s elopement with Mr. Wickham. While Mr. Gardiner rides ahead to meet up with Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth takes it on herself to call on Darcy. She asks his help in finding Wickham. He makes the natural assumption that Wickham has seduced Elizabeth, and she is with child. Saddened by the possibility, Darcy refuses, but Bingley says that if Darcy expects for Bingley to forgive him, he will assist Elizabeth. Along with Mrs. Gardiner, Darcy and Elizabeth set off for London. Obviously, I do not make their journey an easy one. I toss in the hunt for Wickham, a measle outbreak, another major misunderstanding, a secret betrothal, and Darcy’s humbling himself before Meryton’s populace before our dear couple reach their Happily Ever After (HEA). The idea is to have both Darcy and Elizabeth go through some sort of transformation, just as they did in the original tale before bringing them together.

Elizabeth Bennet’s Deception: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

What if Fitzwilliam Darcy refused to approach Elizabeth Bennet when he spots her upon the grounds of Pemberley? What if Elizabeth permits Mr. Darcy to think her the one ruined by Mr. Wickham? What if love is not enough to bring these two souls together?

FITZWILLIAM DARCY’s pride makes the natural leap to ELIZABETH BENNET’s ruination when she appears, without notice, upon Pemberley’s threshold to plead for his assistance in locating Darcy’s long time enemy, George Wickham. Initially, Darcy refuses, but when Charles Bingley demands that Darcy act with honor, Darcy agrees. The idea of delivering Miss Elizabeth into the hands of Mr. Wickham rubs Darcy’s raw. Even so, he does his best to bring Wickham to marry Elizabeth Bennet; but it is not long before Darcy realizes Elizabeth practices a deception, one he permits to continue so he might remain at her side.

Their adventure takes more twists and turns than does the original Pride and Prejudice, but the reader will enjoy the devotion displayed by both Darcy and Elizabeth as they not only bring Wickham to toe the line in Lydia’s defense, but they work their way through new misconstructions. Darcy’s finally wooing of Elizabeth brings them both to a public declaration of their love.

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Excerpt from Chapter One

Darcy froze in his steps.

“It could not be,” he whispered to his foolish heart. He had returned to Pemberley a day early in order to make the final arrangements for the surprise he meant for his sister. He had left Georgiana in the care of his friend, Charles Bingley, and Bingley’s sisters. More than once, while he had ridden to Pemberley, he had experienced a twinge of guilt at his expecting Georgiana to contend with Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst, but Miss Bingley’s effusions had sorely worn on Darcy’s patience, and so he had made his excuses.

Arriving upon the estate grounds, he had cut across Pemberley’s parkland to come forward from the road, which led behind it to the stables. Upon his approach to the manor house, Darcy had noted an unmarked carriage before the front entrance. Recognizing the possibility of visitors in the common rooms, he remained in the shadows, meaning to enter the private quarters through the back entrance; yet, the appearance of a young woman upon the rise leading to the river had brought him to a stumbling halt. From a distance, the woman had the look of Elizabeth Bennet, but he did not approach, but his head denied the possibility that his heart screamed to be true. He had acted the fool previously and refused to be found wanting again.

Perhaps it was a month or so after his disastrous proposal to Miss Elizabeth at Hunsford Cottage, that he had spotted a young lady entering Hatchard’s Books, and without thinking, he had followed her. “Miss Elizabeth,” he said as he came up behind her, but when the woman spun around to greet him, the lady was not the woman whose existence had haunted Darcy’s thoughts for almost a year.

The girl’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “Pardon me, sir. Do we hold an acquaintance?”

Darcy bowed stiffly. “It is I, miss, who begs your pardon. From behind, I thought you a long-standing acquaintance.” He stepped back to widen the distance between them. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

The girl’s frown line deepened. “Yet, you called me by my Christian name.” The tone of the girl’s voice spoke of her suspicions.

Darcy swallowed the blush of embarrassment rushing to his cheeks. “If you are also an ‘Elizabeth,’ it is purely a coincidence,” he insisted.

“I am.”

Darcy rushed his apologies when he spied a matron marching to the young woman’s rescue. “Then I am doubly apologetic. My actions placed you in an awkward position. Please forgive me.” He held enough experience with Society mamas to know when to make a speedy exit.

During his return to Darcy House that day, he had silently cursed his inanity for stumbling into what was another humiliating situation. Later, in his study, he had admitted to the empty room, if not to himself, that he had missed looking upon Elizabeth Bennet’s animated countenance. “If it were she,” Darcy warned his conscience, “Miss Elizabeth would have, in all probability, presented me the direct cut. The lady spoke quite elegantly upon her disdain, and you are imprudent to think your letter would have changed Miss Elizabeth’s mind. Accept the fact the woman is not for you.”

And so when Darcy noted another possessing Elizabeth’s likeness upon the streets in the warehouse district of Cheapside a fortnight later, he had turned away with the knowledge that as a gentleman’s daughter, Miss Elizabeth would not be found in Cheapside. He strove to convince himself that he would soon replace Elizabeth Bennet’s charms with that of another.

Belatedly, realizing he studied the woman standing upon the rise longer than was proper, Darcy slipped through an open patio door to escape the vision of Elizabeth Bennet at Pemberley, a thought which so often followed him about as he completed a variety of tasks upon the estate. It was deuced frustrating to look for the woman wherever his steps took him.

“Leave it be,” Darcy chastised as he crossed the drawing room only to be brought up short a second time by the appearance of his housekeeper.

Mrs. Reynolds caught at her chest in obvious surprise. “Mr. Darcy,” she gasped. “I did not realize you had returned, sir.”

Darcy caught her elbow to steady the stance of his long-time servant. Mrs. Reynolds had come to Pemberley when he was but three. She, Mr. Nathan, his butler, and Mr. Sheffield, his valet, all had known the Darcy family’s employ for over twenty years. “I noted visitors, and as I was not dressed properly, I thought to avoid the necessary greetings,” he explained.

“I have just this minute turned them over to the gardener,” Mrs. Reynolds assured.

Darcy swallowed the question rushing to his lips. He would not ask of the nature of those who called upon his house. “Very well. Then I am free to seek the privacy of my quarters.”

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Reynolds glanced toward the entrance hall. “Should I have a footman bring up bath water, sir?”

Darcy nodded his agreement. Again, he fought the urge to ask of the estate’s visitors, choosing not to punish his pride with false hopes. Instead, he asked, “Has Miss Darcy’s gift arrived?”

“Yes, sir. As you instructed I had the instrument placed in Miss Darcy’s sitting room. It fits perfectly. Miss Georgiana will know such joy.”

He smiled with the woman’s kindness. “My sister deserves a bit of happiness. After my ablutions, I mean to view the arrangement personally.”

“Very good, sir.” Mrs. Reynolds started away to do his bidding. Yet, despite his best efforts, Darcy called out to her. “Yes, Master William. Is there something more?”

Darcy’s eyes searched the staircase where he often imagined Elizabeth Bennet standing. Such yearning swelled his chest that he experienced difficulty breathing. It is best not to know, he cautioned his wayward thoughts.

“Would you tell the footman I will require his assistance in dressing. Mr. Sheffield and my coach will arrive later this evening.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“And you and I should speak before Mr. Bingley’s family arrives. Miss Bingley did not enjoy the vista from her guest room when last the Bingleys were here.”

A scowl of disapproval crossed his housekeeper’s features. Darcy knew many of his servants prayed he would not take up with Caroline Bingley. He expected if he were to act so foolish, he would receive a large number of notices of withdrawal from his staff.
“Perhaps before supper, sir,” Mrs. Reynolds said stiffly.

Darcy nodded his approval, and the lady strode away; yet, he whispered to her retreating form. “Have no fear. Only one woman knows my approval as the Mistress of Pemberley.” Darcy chuckled in irony. “And it remains unfortunate that even Pemberley’s grandeur could not entice the lady to overlook its master’s shortcomings.”

* * *

Mr. Darcy’s housekeeper consigned Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle over to the gardener, who met them at the hall door. As they followed the man toward the river, Elizabeth turned to look upon the gentleman’s home. For very selfish reasons, she had opposed her aunt’s suggestion of the tour of Mr. Darcy’s estate, but Elizabeth was glad she had come, nevertheless. In her future daydreams, she would picture the gentleman standing upon the grand staircase.

If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter he wrote in clarification of his actions, did not expect it to contain a renewal of his offers, she formed no expectation at all of its contents. But such as they were, it might well be supposed how eagerly she went through them and what a contrariety of emotions they had excited. No one observing her progress could have given voice to her feelings. With amazement did she first understand that Mr. Darcy believed any apology to be in his power; and she steadfastly denied that he could possess an explanation, which a just sense of shame would not conceal.

With a strong prejudice against everything he might say, she had examined his account of what occurred at Netherfield. She read with an eagerness, which hardly left her power of comprehension, as well as from an impatience of knowing what the next sentence might bring, so much so she could not attend to the sense of the written lines before her eyes. Mr. Darcy’s belief of Jane’s insensibility Elizabeth instantly resolved to be false, and his account of his real objections to the match brought such anger that she could not declare his actions just. The gentleman expressed no regret for acting upon his beliefs, at least none, which had satisfied her at the time. Elizabeth declared his style lacking in penitence, instead of naming it haughty and prideful and insolence.

But Mr. Darcy’s account of his relationship with Mr. Wickham bore so alarming an affinity to Mr. Wickham’s own narration of the events that astonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. Elizabeth had wished to discredit it, but every line had proven that the affair, which she believed beyond the pale, could name the Derbyshire gentleman entirely blameless throughout the whole.

In hindsight, Elizabeth had grown absolutely ashamed of her accusations. Of neither Mr. Darcy nor Mr. Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, and absurd. “I acted the harpy,” Elizabeth whispered as she implanted the image of Pemberley upon her mind.

When her relatives had insisted upon touring the estate, Elizabeth had convinced herself that viewing Mr. Darcy’s property would prove just punishment for the pain she had caused the gentleman.

“Of all this, I might be mistress,” she reminded herself with each new discovery of how easily she and Mr. Darcy could suit. They held similar tastes in architecture and décor. “So different from his aunt’s ornate presentation at Rosings.”

And so, although Pemberley’s gallery sported many fine portraits of the Darcy family, Elizabeth had searched for the one face whose features she wished to look upon again. At last, it arrested her, and Elizabeth beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Darcy, with such a smile upon his lips as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked upon her. The viewing brought her instant regret for she recognized the honor of Mr. Darcy, which led her to consider his regard for her with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than she had ever admitted, even to herself.

Elizabeth wished she could tell Mr. Darcy that she found Pemberley “delightful” and “charming,” but she quickly deduced the gentleman would have assumed her opinions mischievously construed: Mr. Darcy would think her praise of Pemberley a device to elicit a renewal of his proposal.

“Better this way,” Elizabeth whispered as she turned to follow her aunt and uncle further into the woods. “I have memories of Pemberley, and no one else is the wiser of my presence under Mr. Darcy’s roof.”

* * *

Unable to quash his curiosity any longer, after supper, Darcy sent for Mrs. Reynolds.
“Yes, sir?” The lady curtsied from her position inside the open door to his study.
Darcy motioned her forward.

“Would you see that there is a vase of yellow roses placed upon the new instrument in Miss Darcy’s quarters.”

Mrs. Reynolds’ countenance relaxed. “I asked Mr. Brownley for fresh cuttings previously, sir.”

Darcy nodded his approval. “I should not think to instruct you on providing for Georgiana’s pleasure. You have been an exemplary member of Pemberley’s staff for longer than I can remember.”

The woman blushed at Darcy’s kindness, but she kept a business-like tone. “I also aired out the green bedchamber for Miss Bingley’s use. I pray that will serve the lady’s purpose.”

Darcy understood Mrs. Reynolds’ poorly disguised question. “You may inform the staff I hold no intention of seeing Miss Bingley in the family quarters. The green chamber is close enough.”

Mrs. Reynolds closed her eyes in what appeared to be a silent prayer of thanksgiving.
“Will that be all, sir?”

Darcy’s heart raced, but he managed to pronounce the necessary words. “Did we have more than one set of visitors today? Thanks to your efficiency, I so rarely encounter the estate guests, but I would not have you beset upon. Your first duty is to the running of Pemberley.”

“No, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were the only ones we accepted in well over a week. It is no bother: I am proud of Pemberley.”

“Mrs. Gardiner,” Darcy’s mind caught the name and rolled it through his body like a tidal wave striking a ship. If the lady he observed was Elizabeth, had she married? Had she thought to compare what she earned to what she lost? Darcy’s mind retreated from the possibilities, but he could not quite quash his fears. “A young couple then? Perhaps on a holiday?”

Mrs. Reynolds shook her head in denial. “Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner would be the age of your late parents. I overheard Mrs. Gardiner tell her niece a tale of the village oak. It sounded as if the lady spent part of her childhood on the London side of Lambton.”

“Her niece?” Darcy’s mind latched onto the one word in his housekeeper’s tale that rang with hope.

“Yes, sir. A fine young lady. Very kind to her aunt, offering her arm to Mrs. Gardiner’s support. I believe the lady held an acquaintance with you. She and her aunt had a private conversation when they spotted the miniature of Mr. Wickham on your father’s mantelpiece.” Mrs. Reynolds’ shoulders stiffened. “I am sorry to report, sir, I could not give Mrs. Gardiner a civil account when she asked her niece how the young lady liked it. In truth, I quickly turned the conversation to your miniature.”

“I appreciate your loyalty,” Darcy said with a wry smile.

“My respect for the girl increased when she admitted she knew you ‘a little’ and that she found you ‘very handsome,’” Mrs. Reynolds continued.

Darcy’s eyebrow rose with curiosity. He hoped perhaps Mrs. Reynolds described Elizabeth Bennet, but he could not imagine Miss Elizabeth’s declaring him handsome: The woman abhorred him.

“And how did this conversation come about?”

Mrs. Reynolds blushed, but she did not avoid his unspoken accusation, a sign of her long-standing position in his household. “Do not look to place blame, Master William. I respect the late master’s kind heart and his benevolence toward his godson, but I see no reason to display George Wickham’s image in this house. Even the late Mr. Darcy could stare down from Heaven and see Mr. Wickham has turned out very wild.”

“We will discuss the future of Mr. Wickham’s likeness upon another occasion. Speak to me of your conversation with the young lady.”

It was Mrs. Reynolds’ turn to raise an eyebrow in interest; however, she rightly swallowed her questions. “Mrs. Gardiner remarked of your fine countenance when she looked upon the miniature, and then the lady asked her niece whether it was an accurate likeness. I then inquired if the young lady held an acquaintance with you. When she admitted as such, I asked if she found you a handsome man.”

“Then, it was Mrs. Gardiner and you who placed words in the lady’s mouth,” he reasoned. Darcy felt the female likely agreed only to be rid of the conversation.

Mrs. Reynolds blustered. “The girl’s aunt and I stated the obvious,” she declared with a tone commonly found among upper servants. “But neither Mrs. Gardiner nor I instructed the young lady to search out your portrait in the gallery nor did we lead her to it again and again.”

Darcy’s heart hitched higher. “I count no one named Gardiner among my acquaintances. Did you overhear the young lady’s name?”

“Her aunt called her ‘Lizzy’ several times so I would assume it is Miss Elizabeth or Lady Elizabeth.”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy corrected. Remorse at not having met her today filled his chest. A glance to his housekeeper said Mrs. Reynolds wished an explanation. “The young lady’s parents are neighbors of Mr. Bingley’s estate in Hertfordshire. If it is truly Miss Elizabeth, we met upon several occasions. I believe I stood up with her at the Netherfield’s ball.”

“Then perhaps you might renew the acquaintance,” Mrs. Reynolds suggested. “Mrs. Gardiner was to dine with friends before the family moved on to Matlock. I am certain Mr. Bingley would wish to behold Miss Elizabeth again.”

An invisible hand squeezed Darcy’s heart. Should he risk an encounter with Elizabeth Bennet? Had his letter softened the lady’s disdain for him? “Miss Bingley took a dislike for the Bennets,” Darcy offered in explanation. “Mr. Bingley developed a regard for Miss Bennet. His leaving Netherfield was poorly done.”

“I am sad to hear it, sir, but your confidence explains the halfhearted air, which follows Mr. Bingley about.”

Darcy nodded his acceptance: His housekeeper had given voice to what Darcy’s pride denied. Darcy sorely wounded his friend by acting in partnership with Miss Bingley in separating Bingley from Miss Bennet. With a second nod, he excused his servant. For several long minutes, Darcy stared off into the emptiness, which marked his life.

“I cannot seek out Miss Elizabeth,” he told the rise of expectation climbing up his chest. “Even if the lady might offer her forgiveness, Miss Elizabeth holds no interest in renewing our acquaintance. Furthermore, I do not deserve happiness when I robbed my friend of an opportunity to know it.”

* * *

“You are very quiet this evening, Lizzy.” Her aunt’s friends had invited them to dine in the evening, but once they had returned to their let rooms, Elizabeth preferred to spend time alone with her thoughts of Mr. Darcy.

“Just a bit fatigued.” Elizabeth made herself smile at her dearest aunt.

“Then you should retire early,” her Uncle Edward declared.

Her aunt ignored her husband’s lack of intuitiveness. “Are you certain what the Pemberley housekeeper said of Mr. Wickham did not upset you? I would venture the woman’s loyalty to the Master of Pemberley colored her opinions.”

Elizabeth had expected her aunt to ask of Mr. Darcy, not of Mr. Wickham. “Not in the least,” Elizabeth assured. “While in Kent, I learned more of what actually occurred between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham, enough so to acquit the former of any ill doing.”

Aunt Gardiner’s interest piqued. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“I promised my source secrecy.” Elizabeth would like to confide in her aunt and uncle for she wished someone would give her permission to beg Mr. Darcy’s forgiveness, but she had dug the pit of regret in which she now wallowed. “As I explained in my letter before I departed for Kent, Mr. Wickham bestowed his affections upon Miss King, and I held no loyalty for the man when I arrived on Charlotte’s threshold; therefore, I was free to accept other versions of the events.” Hers was an exaggeration of what had occurred, but it held some truth. “Although I still believe handsome young men must have something to live on, I pity whoever accepts Mr. Wickham’s hand.” If only I did not previously express my opinions to the contrary,” Elizabeth thought.

“That is quite a transformation,” her uncle observed.

“I am only aggrieved that I behaved with foolish disregard for Mr. Darcy. I treated the gentleman poorly.”

Her aunt’s question came quickly. “Is this revelation the source of your reluctance in viewing Mr. Darcy’s home?”

Elizabeth swallowed the bile rushing to her throat. “I rejoiced today when Mr. Darcy’s housekeeper informed us that we missed his return to Derbyshire by a day. I would not wish to encounter the gentleman. Our last exchange of words was far from pleasant.”

“If I had known…” her uncle began.

Elizabeth shook off his regrets. “I asked the inn’s staff of Mr. Darcy’s being at Pemberley before we came to the place.”

“We should be on to Matlock the day after tomorrow,” her aunt declared. “Even with Mr. Darcy’s presence at Pemberley we are not likely to encounter him. My friends do not travel in the same circles as Mr. Darcy. We shall be gone soon, and the gentleman will know nothing of our coming into his part of the shire.”

Posted in book excerpts, book release, books, British history, eBooks, George Wickham, historical fiction, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, marriage, Pride and Prejudice, Regency era, Regency romance, Vagary, writing | Tagged Elizabeth Bennet's Deception, historical fiction, JAFF, Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Regency romance, Vagary | 4 Comments

Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management, a Guest Post from Gianna Thomas

Posted on March 20, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

This post originally appeared on Austen Authors on October 30, 2017. Enjoy!

Bless Sharon Lathan. She did a series of blogs about servants of the 18th and 19th centuries and had a reference to Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management. I’m always looking for information about these two centuries mainly for my books: Regency romance and Pride and Prejudice variations. I love knowing a little more about the servants and how they functioned in the households of those time periods as I never know when I might like to incorporate some of that information in my writings.

I found Mrs. Beeton’s original book rather fascinating. Although the latest book contains more than her original, her first writings led the way to a more extensive book later on. As it turned out, the book is more than just a recipe book. It contains information about the servants such as the butler, housekeeper, maids, footman, coachman, groom, stable boy, valet, and lady’s maid.

But it all began with the Mistress of the household much as it does today. She was encouraged not only to set a good example for the servants but also to treat them with dignity. A number of things are mentioned in regard to the hiring and treatment of servants in order to have the household run smoothly and peacefully. In fact, it was recognized that the tone of a household began with its mistress. Whether the household activities ran smoothly, there was peace among the family members as well as the servants, and the house was well maintained all began with the lady of the house. Her duties were not a few and encompassed many aspects of household management and some activities outside the family’s domicile that also included society and social settings. The chapter on the Mistress is quite extensive.

Although Mrs. Beeton’s Book is quite lengthy, only three of the forty-four chapters are concerning the Mistress and servants. The rest of the book covers care of the kitchen and cooking utensils, the various types of food, how to cook them, dinner menus, and numerous recipes. So, there is something for researchers of historical fiction or non-fiction or for readers who just like to cook. 🙂

In fact, the book covers everything from soup, meats, fruits, vegetables, desserts and even beverages going into great detail as to the different types of foods, where they came from, and how to cook them.

I was pleased to note that the entire original book of forty-four chapters is found at Mrs. Beeton’s Book. However, it is not a single download. All the chapters are listed separately so you will have multiple downloads. What I did was open each chapter and then save each as a Word PDF. If you just want the research for the servants, simply save those three chapters. But if you want the recipes, you’ll need to save the remaining chapters.

All in all, it’s an interesting book, and I look forward to looking at its contents more closely. In the meantime, I hope you will have fun perusing the various chapters as well. Enjoy!

Sorry, if this made any of you hungry. 🙂

NOTE: Later versions of Mrs. Beeton’s book have added chapters so that they now total seventy-four.

References:

Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management

Wikipedia.org

Posted in Austen Authors, British history, buildings and structures, customs and tradiitons, fashion, food, food and drink, Georgian England, Guest Post, herbs, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Living in the UK | Tagged Austen Authors, British history, food, food and drink, guest post, Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management, Publishing | 2 Comments

“Prejudice” Is Not So Predominant in Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” as One Might Think

Posted on March 19, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

Most who have read Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” assume that Mr. Darcy is the l character and Elizabeth is the one displaying prejudice. However, from the examples below, you will see that is not completely true.

We encounter Austen’s first use of the word “prejudice” in Chapter 18 (did you think it was before then), Elizabeth accuses Mr. Darcy of being prejudiced. So, is Elizabeth projecting her prejudice upon the gentleman? I will leave it to you to decide.

“Yes, always,” she replied, without knowing what she said, for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, “I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that you resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created.”

“I am,” said he, with a firm voice.

“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”

“I hope not.”

The word is not used again until Chapter 36, when Elizabeth reads Mr. Darcy’s letter of explanation with a bit of prejudice.

“If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to contain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation at all of its contents. But such as they were, it may well be supposed how eagerly she went through them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited. Her feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. With amazement did she first understand that he believed any apology to be in his power; and steadfastly was she persuaded, that he could have no explanation to give, which a just sense of shame would not conceal. With a strong prejudice against everything he might say, she began his account of what had happened at Netherfield.”

Also in Chapter 36, after reading Mr. Darcy’s letter multiple times, she realizes how poorly she has treated him. Her feelings are directed inward.

“She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.”

In Chapter 40, Elizabeth explains what she learned of Wickham to Jane.

“Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is one point on which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in general understand Wickham’s character.”

Miss Bennet paused a little, and then replied, “Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your opinion?”

“That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not authorised me to make his communication public. On the contrary, every particular relative to his sister was meant to be kept as much as possible to myself; and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that it would be the death of half the good people in Meryton to attempt to place him in an amiable light. I am not equal to it. Wickham will soon be gone; and therefore it will not signify to anyone here what he really is. Some time hence it will be all found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before. At present I will say nothing about it.”

In Chapter 43, Elizabeth wishes to learn more of Darcy from Mrs. Reynolds. In this example, Mr. Gardiner believes Mrs. Reynolds displays prejudice in her accolades of Darcy.

“Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more. Mrs. Reynolds could interest her on no other point. She related the subjects of the pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the price of the furniture, in vain, Mr. Gardiner, highly amused by the kind of family prejudice to which he attributed her excessive commendation of her master, soon led again to the subject; and she dwelt with energy on his many merits as they proceeded together up the great staircase.”

In Chapter 55, Bingley has proposed to Jane. Again, Elizabeth admits to a bit of prejudice, this time directed at Mr. Bingley, for the man was too easily swayed in his opinions. Bingley’s initial abandonment of Jane will have Elizabeth a long time in trusting him again.

“Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November, he really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent would have prevented his coming down again!”

“He made a little mistake to be sure; but it is to the credit of his modesty.”

This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and the little value he put on his own good qualities. Elizabeth was pleased to find that he had not betrayed the interference of his friend; for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice her against him.

In Chapter 58, Darcy has proposed to Elizabeth. They reflect on all that proceeded their happiness.

“Darcy mentioned his letter. ‘Did it,’ said he, ‘did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?’

She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.”

That is it. Only 8 times is the word “prejudice” used in the entire novel. Not many examples for a book entitled “Pride and Prejudice,” is it? Especially, when we consider that “pride” and “proud” and “prideful” are used 47 times.

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Silhouettes: An Alternative Portraiture with a Dark History (pun intended), a Guest Post from Sharon Lathan

Posted on March 13, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

This post originally appeared on Austen Authors on November 28, 2017. Enjoy!

For hundreds of years, until the invention of the camera, the only way to quickly and cheaply immortalize a loved one was through a shade, also referred to as a shadow portrait. As opposed to more decorative and expensive forms of portraiture like painting or sculpture, a shade was a simple and inexpensive alternative.

Early artisans could copy a person’s profile using no more than scissors on paper and their two eyes, creating within minutes a freehand miniature in startling accuracy. Or they might paint with soot or lamp black onto plaster or glass. Casting shadows onto paper with lights was another technique utilized. The artist traced the shadow and depending on his talent and the financial offering of the client, would cut from fine materials or add elaborate details.

Being an inexpensive artistry did not halt tracing shadow profiles from becoming all the rage in early 1700’s Europe. In France, the aristocracy embraced the amusement. Featured artists would attend extravagant balls and cut out the distinguished profiles of the Lords and Ladies capturing the latest fashions and elaborate wigs. In a strange twist of irony, it was this thrifty art form taken to incredible extremes by the pre-Revolutionary French noblemen and women that would later give the tracing of shades it’s perpetual name.

While the aristocrats were having their profiles cut out and eating like kings, much of Europe was starving. In the 1760s the Finance Minister of Louis XV, Etienne de Silhouette, had crippled the French people with his merciless tax policies. Oblivious to his people’s plight, Etienne was much more interested in his hobby of cutting out paper profiles. He was so despised by the people of France that in protest, the peasants wore only black mimicking his black paper cutouts. The saying went all over France, “We are dressing a la Silhouette. We are shadows, too poor to wear color. We are Silhouettes!”

The name “silhouette” in relation to shades would not be used for another forty years, but the art of profiling in shadow would proliferate. Thankfully the negative connotation did not last. Nor did the plain, unadorned black sketches. Clients wanted novelty and artists needed to stand out from competitors. This soon led to elaborate variations on the simple cut profile. By the 1790s, many profiles were painted – on paper, ivory, plaster, or even glass. Elaborate embellishments became prominent, depicting jewelry, lace collars, and elaborate hairstyles. Bronzing, or the process of adding fine brushes of gold paint to the hair or clothing, became very popular after 1800.

Inevitably prices increased as the materials became more expensive. Yet, the simple truth is that it is the black face which allows the work to be termed a silhouette. Any extra detail on the face would have made it a portrait, not a shade!

While some shades were life-sized, or nearly so, most were very tiny. Placing the shadowy profile of a loved one onto a brooch or necklace required a skill of astounding proportions. Two of those most gifted were Englishmen John Field and John Miers. The plumed woman to the left is one of Miers’s masterpieces. Miers opened a London business in 1788, attained a high level of success and fame including the honor of painting King George III and Queen Charlotte.

The art of silhouette cutting reached its “golden age” in the 1800s. Many eighteenth-century silhouettists were, in fact, aspiring portrait artists or miniaturists. Some of them turned to creating silhouettes to tide themselves over when business was slack. Others found they developed a name for their work in this genre and quickly developed a market for it. Often unpretentious, they gave their public what they wanted without aspiring to artistic greatness, therefore reflecting with great clarity the pre-occupations and sensibilities of their time.

The most famous silhouettist of the Regency Era was Auguste Edouart. He resisted the fancier flourishes, insisting on the traditional black outline, although his lithographed backgrounds are legendary for their beauty. It was also he who first used the term “silhouette” formally, believing it had a magnificence to elevate the art form. He traveled up and down the English coast plying his artistry and became very wealthy in the process. By the end of his life, it is estimated that he amassed a collection of over 100,000 portraits! Tragically, a shipwreck off the coast of Jersey would lead to the vast bulk of his portfolio being lost at the bottom of the sea, where they presumably still remain. Edouart escaped death but was so grief-stricken at the loss that he never again cut a profile.

With the advent of the camera and the increased availability of reasonably priced paints, silhouette as a unique art form waned. By the 20th century, there were few artisans who maintained the professional attitude, and they were generally found at carnivals and seaside resorts. That is not to say, however, that the craft of silhouette died completely.

Eduart silhouette of a magic lantern show, the silhouettes positioned against a lithographed background.

Posted in Austen Authors, British history, fashion, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Guest Post, Jane Austen, research | Tagged art, guest post, lithograph, silhouette | Comments Off

Between the Lines: Sisterhood and Serendipitous Elusiveness, a Guest Post by Gabrielle Mullarkey

Posted on March 8, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

BETWEEN THE LINES

Sisterhood and serendipitous elusiveness

Jane Austen, like many great artists, reaches out to us across time as both a living presence glimpsed between the lines of her own words and as an image orchestrated and reconstructed endlessly by others – including the woman regarded traditionally as iconographer-in-chief, her elder sister, Cassandra.

Conspiracy theories abound as to the ‘true’ nature of the relationship between Jane and Cassandra. Consider this famous extract from Cassandra’s letter to niece Fanny Knight, written in the wake of Jane’s death in July, 1817:

I have lost a treasure, such a sister, such a friend as never can have been surpassed. She was the sun of my life, the gilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow; I had not a thought concealed from her, and it is as if I had lost a part of myself. I loved her only too well — not better than she deserved, but I am conscious that my affection for her made me sometimes unjust to and negligent of others; and I can acknowledge, more than as a general principle, the justice of the Hand which has struck this blow.

You know me too well to be at all afraid that I should suffer materially from my feelings; I am perfectly conscious of the extent of my irreparable loss, but I am not at all overpowered and very little indisposed, nothing but what a short time, with rest and change of air, will remove. I thank God that I was enabled to attend her to the last, and amongst my many causes of self-reproach, I have not to add any wilful neglect of her comfort.

At first glance, there’s a lot of ‘I’ going on, plus a hint of arch self-regard in my affection for her made me sometimes unjust to and negligent of others; and I can acknowledge, more than as a general principle, the justice of the Hand which has struck this blow.

This seems to recast Jane’s death as a divine reproach to Cassandra’s failings. Taken with Cassandra’s incendiary disposal of so many of Jane’s letters, she’s long been ripe for reappraisal as the patient and supportive foil to her brilliant younger sister.

CASSANDRA THE CRIME QUEEN?

I’m not one for wholesale dismissal of conspiracy theories, since they intrigue and spark the imagination. For example, ‘literary sleuth’ Arnie Perlstein (@JaneAustenCode on Twitter) sees, in Cassandra’s words I loved her only too well — not better than she deserved, an echo of Othello’s when he calls himself ‘one that lov’d not wisely, but too well’ after murdering Desdemona.

The outlandish notion that Cassandra may have murdered Jane fits into a canon of speculation that Jane was poisoned by arsenic, typified by Lindsay Ashford’s 2011 novel, The Mysterious Death of Miss Austen.

As lately as 2017, an examination of Jane’s spectacles concluded that she had very poor eyesight at the time of death, a possible side-effect of medicine she might have taken for rheumatism, which may have contained arsenic.

Notwithstanding the ‘possibles,’ ‘mays’ and ‘might haves,’ amateur detectives speculate that Jane could have been offed by arsenic cloaked in a medical application, suspects ranging from Cassandra to Jane’s brother Henry and even household cook Margaret Bigeon, all after Jane’s £800 nest egg.

Who doesn’t love such intrigue? I tapped into dramatic possibilities myself to formulate dastardly crimes in my novel Four Riddles for Jane Austen and her artful maid Tilly.

But it seems to me that the more distant, elusive and reified the ‘victim’, the more such theories gain traction. We saw it as recently as 1997 in claims that Princess Diana – an image that many people projected onto rather than a person they knew – had been murdered, supported by plausibly intricate research.

Jane Austen’s elusiveness was intensified when Cassandra destroyed letters that might have enabled us to glimpse the ‘real people’ behind the screen – both herself and Jane. But should that matter?

snail detail on Jane Austen bench

SISTERLY DYNAMICS

In Lizzie and Jane Bennet, Marianne and Elinor Dashwood, it’s tempting to see hints of Jane and Cassandra, the latter reflected in the more stolid qualities of Jane or Elinor. As readers and admirers, we prefer to imagine Jane Austen as high-spirited Lizzie standing her ground, or as passionate Marianne flouting convention to pursue her heart.

But the ‘true’ nature of the Jane-Cassandra dynamic is bound to remain as elusive as the women themselves. Siblings who grow up co-dependently often become adept at hiding deep feelings from the outside world, from each other and even from themselves. As if to confirm that, in her letter to Fanny Knight, Cassandra writes selfeffacingly, You know me too well to be at all afraid that I should suffer materially from my feelings.

While Cassandra was probably reassuring Fanny that she hadn’t succumbed to physical malady brought on by grief, a gentleman’s daughter in 1817 was not at liberty to rend her garments, beat her breast or declaim loudly, ‘why did she have to die?’ Or even (to acknowledge conspiracy theorists), ‘why did I have to be the unobtrusive helpmeet to the feted writer?’

Besides, the very idea of unrestrained emotion would have struck Cassandra as self-indulgent and improper. We can muse a great deal on how 18^th and 19^th century propriety imposed restraint on self-expression, but to assume that women such as Cassandra chafed against decorum is to apply a postmodernist sense of individualism retrospectively; even Marianne Dashwood had a keen sense of propriety; compare her artless conduct to Mary Crawford’s ‘blunted delicacy and… corrupted, vitiated mind’ – Mansfield Park, Ch. XLVII). Nor should we dismiss Cassandra’s self-effacement as insincere.

Jane Austen bench, Winchester, UK

Finally, since maintaining respectability and protecting carefully fostered reputation were paramount social expectations, we shouldn’t be surprised – or censorious – that Cassandra destroyed a cache of Jane’s letters, however benign their contents might have struck modern sensibilities. Glimpses aplenty remain of Jane’s naturalism and dry wit in her surviving correspondence, eg:

I find, on looking into my affairs, that instead of being very rich I am likely to be very poor… as we are to meet in Canterbury I need not have mentioned this. It is as well, however, to prepare you for the sight of a sister sunk in poverty, that it may not overcome your spirits.

Letter to Cassandra, June 20, 1808

However, Cassandra’s actions, whatever their motivation, went beyond maintaining an image of Jane, to creating one. The very act of destroying the letters forged an abiding interest in their imagined content, feeding the mythology of ‘who’ Jane Austen ‘really’ was, and prompting the writers carrying her train to expand the possibilities exponentially. The really intriguing question is – was this done unwittingly or with a shrewd eye to wrapping Jane Austen in mystery, inside her own enigma?

BEHIND THE LINES

The author’s persona is as much a construct as the characters they create, and it is perfectly possible that both Cassandra and Jane were aware of this. As inveterate correspondents, they had an established rhythm and frame of reference, and may well have shared coded acknowledgement of who and what to omit from their letters, Cassandra exercising the privilege of confidentiality still further after her sister’s death.

In so doing, she may (that word again!) have been keenly aware of conflating author with sister and ‘real person’, generations of Janeites ever since rushing to fill the gap and supplement known facts with their own visions of the author and interpretation of her character.

But it is reading between and behind the lines that Jane Austen wrote, as well as the ones we can only imagine, that, paradoxically, bring her to life.

Every reader who encounters a great writer for the first time invents them afresh in their mind’s eye, just as every active imagination is constantly mining the gaps and seeing into the white spaces on the printed page, suddenly finding themselves looking at a wholly realised world – and themselves – in new and unexpected ways.

WRITER’S BIOGRAPHY

For the past 25 years, Gabrielle Mullarkey has worked as a journalist in the UK on everything from Cosmopolitan to women’s weeklies, while also contributing over 1.300 short stories to magazines.

Having published two novels (commercial fiction) with Simon & Schuster, her 2017 novel reimagining Jane Austen as a quick-witted sleuth was borne of her abiding passion for all things Austenite.

Since gaining her MSc in creative writing for therapeutic purposes in 2014 from Middlesex University, Gabrielle balances writing for publication with work as a creative writing tutor for adult learning and mental heath groups, and writes with and for patients at local hospices.

She lives in Oxfordshire and eats too much chocolate.

Four Riddles for Jane Austen (and her artful maid Tilly) is published by Corazon Books.

Available from:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B073WXQ796

Visit www.gabriellemullarkey.co.uk

@authorgabrielle

Photos: JA bench, Winchester & snail detail, JA bench – this carved wooden bench is opposite 8 College Street, the house where Jane died in Winchester in July 1817. The bench was created in the Regency style by local sculptor Nicola Henshaw. Nicola worked with fellow artist Eileen White to develop ideas for the design with local schoolchildren, using Jane’s words, “to sit in the shade on a fine day and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment,” as inspiration.

I was intrigued by the addition of snails to the bench’s natural imagery. They struck me as a possible metaphor for the Jane-Cassandra sisterhood: long, patient years of quietly mutual support. When I asked artist Nicola about the snails’ inclusion, she explained: “The position of the snails was to signify their love, tenderness and affection for each other. The reason they’re present is because I brought “verdure” from my garden into the school for a drawing and paper-cutting workshop with the children. In amongst the greenery were tiny, tiny snails, which the children loved. I felt that I had to include them in the work!”

Photo: Jane statue, Basingstoke – a life-size statue of Jane by sculptor Adam Roud was unveiled in the Hampshire town of Basingstoke in summer 2017 to mark the 200^th anniversary of her death, Jane Austen biographer Claire Tomalin commenting: “Nothing could be better than a statue of Jane Austen hurrying across Market Square to collect library books, do a little shopping or pick up her mother from Dr Lyford’s house.” Jane knew Basingstoke well and attended social gatherings at the Assembly Rooms in Market Square, often visiting family friends at The Vyne, Oakley Hall and Ashe House.

Posted in Austen Authors, British history, customs and tradiitons, family, Georgian England, Georgian Era, Guest Post, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Pride and Prejudice, reading habits, real life tales, Regency era, Regency personalities, suspense, writing | Tagged arsenic, Austen Authors, Austen's death, Cassandra Austen, conspiracy theories, family, Gabrielle Mullarkey, guest post, Jane Austen, real-life, Regency England | Comments Off

Discovering “Pride” in Pride and Prejudice

Posted on March 7, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

The word “pride” finds its origin before the year 1000; Middle English (noun); Old English prȳde(cognate with Old Norse prȳthi bravery, pomp),derivative of prūd. In Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, we generally think of the word meaning “a high or inordinate opinion of one’s own dignity,importance, merit, or superiority, whether as cherished in the mind or as displayed in bearing,conduct, etc.” (Dictionary.com) “Pride is an inwardly directed emotion that carries two antithetical meanings. With a negative connotation pride refers to a foolishly and irrationally corrupt sense of one’s personal value, status or accomplishments, used synonymously with hubris. With a positive connotation, pride refers to a humble and content sense of attachment toward one’s own or another’s choices and actions, or toward a whole group of people, and is a product of praise, independent self-reflection, and a fulfilled feeling of belonging.” (Pride)

Let us look at where the word “pride” appears in the novel.

From Chapter 5, we find, ““I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise.”

Also from Chapter 5, we have, “His pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud.”

The conversation continues with “That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”

“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

In Chapter 8, the Bingley sisters think Elizabeth displays pride. “When dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same.”

In Chapter 11, after her walk about the room with Miss Bingley, Elizabeth accuses Darcy of being prideful. “Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”
“Such as vanity and pride.”
“Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride — where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.”

In Chapter 15, Elizabeth considers pride as one of Mr. Collins’ characteristic. “A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he felt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his right as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.”

In Chapter 16, Elizabeth speaks of Darcy’s pride to Wickham. “Upon my word, I say no more here than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by anyone.”

Later in Chapter 16, Wickham spreads his lies of Darcy. “How strange!” cried Elizabeth. “How abominable! I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you! If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest — for dishonesty I must call it.”

“It is wonderful,” replied Wickham, “for almost all his actions may be traced to pride; and pride had often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me there were stronger impulses even than pride.”

“Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?”

“Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the poor. Family pride, and filial pride — for he is very proud of what his father was — have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also brotherly pride, which, with some brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister, and you will hear him generally cried up as the most attentive and best of brothers.”

Later in Chapter 16, Wickham plants doubts of Darcy’s character. “Probably not; but Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but with the rich he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable — allowing something for fortune and figure.”

Then Wickham describes Lady Catherine to Elizabeth. “I believe her to be both in a great degree,” replied Wickham; “I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever; but I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride for her nephew, who chooses that everyone connected with him should have an understanding of the first class.”

In Chapter 20, Elizabeth reflects upon Mr. Collins’ feelings after she refuses his proposal. “Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed. He thought too well of himself to comprehend on what motives his cousin could refuse him; and though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no other way. His regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility of her deserving her mother’s reproach prevented his feeling any regret.”

In Chapter 21, both Mrs. Bennet and Mr. Collins are upset with her refusal of Collins’ proposal. “The morrow produced no abatement of Mrs. Bennet’s ill-humour or ill health. Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride. Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but his plan did not appear in the least affected by it. He was always to have gone on Saturday, and to Saturday he meant to stay.”

In Chapter 24, Elizabeth and Jane discuss the reasons Miss Bingley expresses in her letter for convincing Bingley to leave Netherfield. “Your first position is false. They may wish many things besides his happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and consequence; they may wish him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money, great connections, and pride.”

In Chapter 33, Elizabeth is angry with Darcy after she learns from Colonel Fitzwilliam that he separated Jane from Bingley. “This was spoken jestingly; but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer, and therefore, abruptly changing the conversation talked on indifferent matters until they reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room, as soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption of all that she had heard. It was not to be supposed that any other people could be meant than those with whom she was connected. There could not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the measures taken to separate Bingley and Jane she had never doubted; but she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him, he was the cause, his pride and caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.”

Later in Chapter 33, Elizabeth ruminates in her room at Hunsford Cottage. She wonders upon Mr. Darcy’s criticisms of her family. “To Jane herself,” she exclaimed, “there could be no possibility of objection; all loveliness and goodness as she is! — her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability which he will probably never each. When she thought of her mother, her confidence gave way a little; but she would not allow that any objections there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend’s connections, than from their want of sense; and she was quite decided, at last, that he had been partly governed by this worst kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.

Chapter 34 brings the reader Elizabeth’s opinion of Mr. Darcy’s proposal. “Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed. He spoke well; but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed; and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority — of its being a degradation — of the family obstacles which had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.”

In the same chapter, Darcy is angry with her refusal and claims Elizabeth of possessing too much pride. “And this,” cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, “is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,” added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards her, “these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? — to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?”

At the end of Chapter 34, Elizabeth reflects upon what occurred between her and Darcy. “Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed, was increased by every review of it. That she should receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! That he should have been in love with her for so many months! So much in love as to wish to marry her in spite of all the objections which had made him prevent his friend’s marrying her sister, and which must appear at least with equal force in his own case — was almost incredible! It was gratifying to have inspired unconsciously so strong an affection. But his pride, his abominable pride — his shameless avowal of what he had done with respect to Jane — his unpardonable assurance in acknowledging, though he could not justify it, and the unfeeling manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham, his cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny, soon overcame the pity which the consideration of his attachment had for a moment excited.”

In Chapter 36, Elizabeth reads Mr. Darcy’s letter, but determines him as acting with pride. “She read with an eagerness which hardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing what the next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the sense of the one before her eyes. His belief of her sister’s insensibility she instantly resolved to be false; and his account of the real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing him justice. He expressed no regret for what he had done which satisfied her; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.”

At the end of Chapter 36, Elizabeth realizes she has acted foolishly. “How despicably I have acted!” she cried; “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who have often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! How humiliating is this discovery!”

In Chapter 41, Elizabeth again encounters Wickham. The man continues to malign Darcy. “You, who so well know my feeling towards Mr. Darcy, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume even the appearance of what is right. His pride, in that direction, may be of service, if not to himself, to many others, for it must only deter him from such foul misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion and judgement he stands much in awe. His fear of her has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss de Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much at heart.”

In Chapter 43, Mrs. Reynolds takes pride in her position at Pemberley. “And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?” said Mrs. Gardiner.
“Oh! yes — the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so accomplished! — She plays and sings all day long. In the next room is a new instrument just come down for her — a present from my master; she comes here to-morrow with him.”
Mr. Gardiner, whose manners were very easy and pleasant, encouraged her communicativeness by his questions and remarks; Mrs. Reynolds, either by pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in talking of her master and his sister.

In Chapter 43, Elizabeth expects Darcy’s pride to be evident when she introduces him to her aunt and uncle. “Mrs. Gardiner was standing a little behind; and on her pausing, he asked her if she would do him the honour of introducing him to her friends. This was a stroke of civility for which she was quite unprepared; and she could hardly suppress a smile at his being now seeking the acquaintance of some of those very people against whom his pride had revolted in his offer to herself. ‘What will be his surprise,’ thought she, ‘when he knows who they are? He takes them now for people of fashion.’”

In Chapter 44, the Gardiners draw their own conclusions of Mr. Darcy. “Of Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think well; and, as far as their acquaintance reached, there was no fault to find. They could not be untouched by his politeness; and had they drawn his character from their own feelings and his servant’s report, without any reference to any other account, the circle in Hertfordshire to which he was known would not have recognized it for Mr. Darcy. There was now an interest, however, in believing the housekeeper; and they soon became sensible that the authority of a servant who had known him since he was four years old, and whose own manners indicated respectability, was not to be hastily rejected. Neither had anything occurred in the intelligence of their Lambton friends that could materially lessen its weight. They had nothing to accuse him of but pride; pride he probably had, and if not, it would certainly be imputed by the inhabitants of a small market-town where the family did not visit. It was acknowledged, however, that he was a liberal man, and did much good among the poor.”

At the end of Chapter 44, Elizabeth knows gratitude that Darcy once loved her. “As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more than the last; and the evening, though as it passed it seemed long, was not long enough to determine her feelings towards one in that mansion; and she lay awake two whole hours endeavouring to make them out. She certainly did not hate him. No; hatred had vanished long ago, and she had almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against him, that could be so called. The respect created by the conviction of his valuable qualities, though at first unwillingly admitted, had for some time ceased to be repugnant to her feeling; and it was now heightened into somewhat of a friendlier nature, by the testimony so highly in his favour, and bringing forward his disposition in so amiable a light, which yesterday had produced. But above all, above respect and esteem, there was a motive within her of goodwill which could not be overlooked. It was gratitude; gratitude, not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still well enough to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her manner in rejecting him, and all the unjust accusations accompanying her rejection. He who, she had been persuaded, would avoid her as his greatest enemy, seemed, on this accidental meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance, and without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where their two selves only were concerned, was soliciting the good opinion of her friends, and bent on making her known to his sister. Such a change in a man of so much pride exciting not only astonishment but gratitude — for to love, ardent love, it must be attributed; and as such its impression on her was of a sort to be encouraged, as by no means unpleasing, though it could not be exactly defined. She respected, she esteemed, she was grateful to him, she felt a real interest in his welfare; and she only wanted to know how far she wished that welfare to depend upon herself, and how far it would be for the happiness of both that she should employ the power, which her fancy told her she still possessed, of bringing on her the renewal of his addresses.”

At the end of Chapter 50, Mr. Gardiner writes of the arrangements made for Wickham and Lydia. “Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham’s removal from the —— shire as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. But Mrs. Bennet was not so well pleased with it. Lydia’s being settled in the North, just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her company, for she had by no means given up her plan of their residing in Hertfordshire, was a severe disappointment; and, besides, it was such a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted with everybody, and had so many favorites.”

In Chapter 52, Mrs. Gardiner writes of Darcy’s involvement in the marriage of Wickham and Lydia. ” From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day after ourselves, and came to town with the resolution of hunting for them. The motive professed was his conviction of its being owing to himself that Wickham’s worthlessness had not been so well known as to make it impossible for any young woman of character to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath him to lay his private actions open to the world. His character was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brought on by himself.”

In Chapter 52, after reading her aunt’s letter, Elizabeth is in a flutter of spirits. “It was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister’s match, which she had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her — for a woman who had already refused him — as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection.”

At the end of Chapter 53, Mrs. Bennet plans on keeping Bingley’s interest in Jane. “Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine there that day; but, though she always kept a very good table, she did not think anything less than two courses could be good enough for a man on whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and pride of one who had ten thousand a year.”

In Chapter 58, Darcy describes his upbringing. “As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own.”

In Chapter 59, Elizabeth defends Darcy to her father. “I do, I do like him,” she replied, with tears in her eyes, “I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms.”

In Chapter 61, Mrs. Bennet looks upon her “handiwork” with pride. “Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley, and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may be guessed. “

Posted in book excerpts, Georgian England, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Pride and Prejudice, Regency era, romance | Tagged book excerpts, Jane Austen, pride, Pride and Prejudice, quotes | Comments Off

The Hidden Key, a Guest Post from Sophie Turner

Posted on March 6, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

This post originally appeared on Austen Authors on December 22, 2017. Enjoy!

It was difficult to write about the public entertainments of Bath and other spa and seaside resorts in my last post without delving into architecture, because so much of public entertainments are about public spaces. I think that’s one of the things that fascinates me about architecture – it’s really where art and life intersect.

People entering Bath usually stayed for a few days at a coaching inn such as the famous White Hart for a few days, while they found lodgings within the city. In Northanger Abbey, this is what Henry Tilney is doing for the rest of his family, while in Persuasion, the newly arrived Musgroves are staying at the White Hart.

Lodgings, at one of Bath’s beautiful stone townhouses, would then be let. I had a chance to do a lovely one-two of visits (they offer a combined ticket) at the Museum of Bath Architecture and then Number One Royal Crescent, a townhouse restored to the Georgian era. They work exceedingly well together because the architecture museum gives you a sense of how Bath was built as a whole, and also how these townhouses are structured and how the interiors are finished, featuring mesmerizing little details such as videos of people doing decorative plaster (seriously, I could watch that all day). Then Number One gives you a chance to see how it all comes together into a single house.

Model of Queen Square in the Museum of Bath Architecture.

Model showing a cross-section of a terrace house in the Museum of Bath Architecture.

Dining room at Number One Royal Crescent.

Drawing Room at Number One Royal Crescent.

Housekeeper’s room at Number One Royal Crescent. I really liked that they had historically accurate service areas in addition to the usual finer rooms.

Kitchen at Number One Royal Crescent, including a wheel where a dog would have walked to turn the spit.

Number One Royal Crescent is part of Bath’s landmark Royal Crescent, the masterpiece of architect John Wood the Younger. It was his father, John Wood the Elder, who truly ushered in the style of building in Bath that makes it so notable for its architecture today – giant blocks of terraced houses, designed to look like one large home. People could then leave their country estates and live in a smaller portion of something that looked equally grand, while they holidayed in Bath.

The Royal Crescent set off a building boom of crescents in spa towns, including the beautiful Lansdown Crescent in Bath.

The Woods were not alone, in this building of Bath. Beau Nash, as indicated in my last post, prompted a lot of the major public buildings so that people had spaces appropriate for the quality of entertainment he planned. And local business magnate Ralph Allen grew rich off of the stone quarries providing the stone that helped make the city look so cohesive; Allen was also actively involved with these other men in shaping the city.

Ralph Allen’s magnificent home, Prior Park, just outside the main town. The house is a school now but the landscape gardens with their magnificent Palladian bridge are run by the National Trust.

I suppose you may be wondering what the title of this post has at all to do with architecture and building Bath, and it is that there is actually a key hidden within the city streets. I learned about this during my tour of the Old Theatre, which I wrote about in my previous post; the theatre, now a Masonic Lodge, has tours led by masons from the lodge. Our guide gave us a very thorough overview of the Freemasons, including how they’re organized, and that in medieval times they were among the few people who were not serfs and therefore had freedom to move around from project to project. Their major projects were the building of great abbeys and cathedrals, which in Henry VIII’s time of course suffered a significant reduction in demand. However, the building of the great country houses, also generally made of stone, was rising, and so the masons moved on to working on these. In so doing, the masters of these houses came to respect the intelligence of the masons and the organization of their society, and in a rather shrewd stroke, the masons began to invite these great men to be part of their society as honorary members. This is how you ended up with so many notable people (including so many of our founding fathers, for those of us from the USA) who were Freemasons, but had no family history of stonemasonry.

Our guide also explained that one of the symbols of the society is a key. John Wood the Younger gave us the famous Royal Crescent, but his father, a Freemason, was the mastermind behind the Circus.

Draw a rudimentary picture of an old skeleton key, and your drawing will likely include a circle. And that is how there is a key hidden in Bath:

If that’s enough to freak you out, as it was for me, allow me to double down on it before I return to the building of Bath. Our guide explained that there were three orders of Freemasonry, which correspond to three major orders of architecture: Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian. And wouldn’t you know that when I went back to the Circus later in my trip, I noticed that it does something rather unique in architecture, and uses columns of all three orders.

A portion of the Circus facade showing the Ionic and Corinthian columns.

Aaaagh, goosebumps! Let’s move on. Part of being able to build a spa town like Bath was in being able to accurately speculate on the pace of building that was needed. Phyllis Hembry’s The English Spa 1560-1815 A Social History, is filled with examples of spa towns that grew too slowly because they did not grow available housing quickly enough. On the flip side, economic slumps or poor estimation of demand often led to building booms that went bust, which we can see quite clearly in Austen’s fragment of Sanditon.

Among the infrastructure a growing spa town needed: mews for the stabling of horses and carriages. Note that these “hidden” buildings did not use the same cut and quality of stone as the facades of the grand terraces.

It was also necessary to have other public services. The entertainments were of course key, but a growing town also had to have ample shops for its populace (Bath became famed for its shops), and regular markets or other places to purchase grocery, for in Bath most people took their lodgings without board, and so would have to provide their own meals (although of course servants handled most of this, and indeed Hembry writes that Bath often served as a “nursery” for cooks, so much so that many employers took their cook home with them after the season).

In Bath and most of the southern spa towns, it was the case that lodgings, meals, and entertainments were handled separately. However, Hembry writes that in the northern spas, things were done quite differently. There, inns provided lodging, meals, and entertainments all in one, and although the entertainments could not be on the same scale or same degree of opulence as those in towns like Bath, they seem to have been fully sufficient for a nice holiday, as people would have experienced in Malvern:

In 1757 Abbey House was so full that Benjamin Stillingfleet got a place with difficulty, for Lugard organized some social life in his assembly-room: a public breakfast at 10 a.m. every Wednesday during the season at 1s. 6d. per person, followed by a gambling game, The Shepherd’s Lottery, music for dancing or a concert, and a public meal at a fixed price on a fixed day, Abbey House was described as ‘a good hotel’ in 1796, and apart from the balls on Wednesday there was card-playing on Monday.

This more centralized model was adopted by some seaside resorts, the most notable of which was Brighton. Brighton, of course, with the Prince Regent holding much of the events that the cream of society would have attended at his Marine House (later transformed into the Royal Pavilion…more on that in a future post), had less necessity for separate glittering public rooms. So it was instead the inns that housed assembly rooms, and during my own visit there, I learned that the nice folks at the Old Ship Hotel will show you their still-intact assembly rooms if you ask.

I presume this was the entrance to the assembly rooms in Regency days.

It is perhaps appropriate that I close this post with Brighton, for all of its beautiful buildings were not enough to save Bath and other spa towns from the encroachment of that increasingly popular trend: sea-bathing. Would a little sea-bathing set me up forever? That will have to wait for my next post!

Posted in architecture, Austen Authors, British history, buildings and structures, England, Georgian England, Guest Post, Jane Austen, Living in the Regency, Regency era | Tagged architecture, assembly rooms, Austen Authors, Bath, Brighton, British history, buildings and structures, guest post, Jane Austen, Old Ship Hotel | Comments Off

Hitting the Books While Writing, a Guest Post from Don Jacobson

Posted on February 28, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

This post originally appeared on Austen Authors on December 23, 2017. Enjoy!

I have a problem.

I possess what might be called a “flypaper mind.” Stuff goes in and then gets stuck. My memory is in no way eidetic, but rather is loosely associative…meaning that I tend to cascade information in an inverse pyramid. You hit me with a general topic—or even something specific—and then I will barf out all sorts of things. There is a lot of information inside, not much of which is correlated with anything else—except when I write.

Then it gets a little weird.

For instance…in The Maid and the Footman, I decided to create a “proposal without words” where Henry Wilson asked for Annie Reynolds’ hand. She is seated at the pianoforte in Burghley House’s Blue Parlor, having been sent there by Kitty Bennet in a “plot” with General Fitzwilliam to set her up for the proposal. While Miss Reynolds waited, she began to play the instrument. Henry slipped in.

“Annie softly exhaled as she ended the melody. Not shifting in her seat, she reached up with her unadorned left hand and gently clasped his right where it rested on her collarbone. Her eyes remained closed so as not to break the trance.

Henry dropped to his knees and carefully—so carefully—grasped hers where they were under the pianoforte. He turned her body on the bench to face him.

Her face, rosy in the room’s firelight, was turned down to his. Her eyes slowly opened as she beheld her world. The golden brown pools glistened with hope and joy.

He gripped her hands in his, holding them prayerfully. Here was his Westminster. His love echoed through the spires, rising like the great buttresses holding the walls of the mighty cathedral to join with the bells tolling a full peal[i]. His Annie…his love…his life.”

And there, in the last paragraph is one of those “things.” Somehow, I recalled that a royal marriage, coronation, or other great national event would be celebrated with a “full peal” of the bells at Westminster Abbey. Now, however, the historian in me took over because I could not, I was constitutionally unable to, simply drop such an interesting tidbit into the middle of Annie and Henry’s story.

So, I checked it out. And, at the bottom of this post (all the way after the excerpt) you will find the reference. The fine folks at the Abbey itself advise that a full peal is over 5,000 changes and takes nearly 3 hours to complete. Gentlemen in the audience: I do not know about you, but when my wife of 41 years said, “My Mom thinks we ought to get married. What do you think?” I nearly shouted back “That’s what I have been saying for five years!” Think every bell at Holy Name Cathedral, St. James and Fourth Presbyterian (all Chicago) let loose all at once? You bet!

As an historian, I have been trained to always—always—cite my sources. Obviously, doing so adds heft to the evidence I am assembling, but it also illustrates that I am being rigorous and not making it up as I go. I could no more stop footnoting than I could voluntarily cease breathing.

That has put me lightly crosswise with a few readers who do offer the valid criticism that excessive endnotes tend to detract from their reading experience. Endnotes (which I use in literature rather than the more common footnote found in academic writing) do not disturb the pagination and layout of either print or e-books. A reader can move past the Roman notation if they desire or, in print, flip to the back of the book which represents a true departure from the narrative. In the e-book, an interested reader simply highlights the note in text to get a full reference.

Many folks tend to think notes are truly boring. However, I see several uses for notes: they answer the questions “Why/What;” they offer backstory and context; or they respond to the author’s desire to interact with the reader outside of the actual story.

Why/What Notes

In The Keeper: Mary Bennet’s Extraordinary Journey, Mr. Benet receives a note from someone. The note is in an envelope that is sealed. But, wait a moment. Thomas Bennet is sitting in his bookroom in January 1812. Were envelopes even around? Time to look it up.

I learned that

“The machine to apply adhesive to the seams and flap of machine-made envelopes was not fully developed until the 1880s.”

Not common knowledge to anyone. If I had let it flow by, I would justifiably been pilloried by astute readers. Having an envelope in 1812 was just as much a sin as having (I kid you not) Darcy receiving a telegram from an investigator looking for Wickham.

In the aforementioned missive opened by Mr. Bennet, I have the writer using the word “closure.” This was very intentional on my part as 1) The writer had undergone years of psychoanalysis and 2) she was writing with a vocabulary of a person living in 1932 (see The Keeper and The Exile Pt. 1). As I have a word maven as one of my beta readers (yes Carol…no teenagers, only adolescents!), I knew I had to explain that I knew what I was doing.

In the modern sense… Sense of “tendency to create ordered and satisfying wholes” is 1924, from Gestalt psychology. http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=closure

Context Notes

Sometimes an explanation is necessary to establish a very clear context for a set of actions undertaken by a character.

In The Exile: Kitty Bennet and the Belle Époque, I was curious how large Kitty’s fortune would grown to in 75 years. Why? First, I wanted to know how wealthy she would have been (an interesting conundrum for a young lady who had been raised in the knowledge that her family was one fall from horseback away from poverty). But, her wealth was an important plot motivator for the villain in the story: Lord Junius Winters.

I felt that it was necessary for me to justify the figure at which I arrived (somewhat north of £200,00) for her holdings when she arrived in 1886. I did not want an error detracting from the overwhelming impact of that figure.

Kitty’s £10,000 dowry from Darcy and Bingley along with her £1,000 share of her mother’s dowry calculated at 4% compound interest (annual) would be £208,398 in 1886 after 75 years of investment. Her annual income off of that principal at 4% is about £8,300. That £8,300 would be the 2016 equivalent of £980,000 per year. See http://www.in2013dollars.com/1886-GBP-in-2016

Think Winters’ efforts to get his hands on Kitty’s trust fund was worth it? For my American readers, that £980,000 is about $1.5 to $2 MILLION! A Year!

However, my favorite Context note is the manner in which Colonel Fitzwilliam’s sword is referenced. JAFF writers have often credited the good Colonel with offering that he “should have run that (pick your epithet) through with my sword. I immediately wanted to ask…and what was that sword? Describe it.

There is a psychological reason behind that, I think. I will answer with a question: “While a steak knife is as deadly as a sword, which freaks you out more?” The sword, of course, is the most common response. Why? Because it is a brutal weapon, hacking, amputating, capable of splitting you from (as Sir Thomas Malory wrote) “from guzzle to gatch,” and inflicting such heinous damage that you would run from the field.

Would General Sir Richard Fitzwilliam have fought with a gentleman’s rapier? I think not and put those thoughts into the mouth of Mary Bennet in The Keeper as she dressed down three militia officers who had the temerity to harass her, Maria Lucas, and Georgiana Darcy on the streets of Meryton. She was telling them that Fitzwilliam was protecting all those who lived in Meryton, but particularly the Bennets and Darcys.

“I have seen his working sword. It is not shiny and bright like that little toad-sticker you wear. His is a man’s weapon, heavy to cut through bone and gristle, hued like pewter and with a blade longer than your arm. It is nicked and scarred and so worn from constant sharpening that it is more rapier than saber.”

But, what sword would the General carry? His daily weapon with which, as Mary put it, “dispatched more of Napoleon’s horde to Hades than you can imagine,” was likely the Pattern 1796 Heavy Cavalry Sword. In today’s parlance about hacking (electronic not martial), this is a blade which uses “brute force” to be effective. See the note:

“The trooper’s sword, and the officer’s undress sword, was a dedicated cutting weapon with a broad heavy blade and was renowned as being completely unfit for delicate swordsmanship.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1796_Heavy_Cavalry_Sword

Dialogue Notes

In The Exile, a character in 1886 comments that new legal protections protected young Kitty Bennet, unlike Miss Darcy in 1810, from fortune hunters. The danger to Georgie was the practice known as coverture. That word was never used in the body of the book. More needed to be said, and I took that opportunity in the note.

Coverture was a practice based upon the legal fiction that upon marriage a man and a woman became one in the eyes of the law. Thus all of a woman’s property became her husband’s to do with as he pleased. Hence Wickham’s search for an heiress—or for that matter, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s. Darcy and Bingley’s ability to “marry for love” was, sadly, based upon their income. The woman could only regain direct use of and title to her remaining pre-marital property if she outlived her husband. The Married Woman’s Property Acts of 1870, 82, 84 and 93 gave women rights to their property even within the confines of her marriage.

I did refrain from editorializing here…in spite of my distaste at coverture.

Of course, one can have fun in the notes. Consider the name of Maggie Smalls’ abuser in The Exile—Charlie Watts. My note:

Sorry Stones’ fans…I needed a “w.”

Then there is my fascination with not necessarily useful information as when referring to Lord Henry Fitzwilliam’s 1907 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. My wife’s great uncle was Art Souter, so I loved the idea of getting him into my book. Mr. Souter was the “Chief Mechanic” for Rolls-Royce in the United States when the company manufacturer R-R chassis in Springfield, MA.

Rolls-Royce manufactured the chassis and drive train components. Those who purchased an automobile from R-R would then order a body from a coach-maker. An excellent reference on classic Rolls-Royce motorcars is Arthur Souter, The American Rolls-Royce, Mowbray Co., 1976

Finally, when Mary awakens on December 12, 1811, her first day as Miss Bennet, she recalled the dreams she had been having and referenced Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The front end of the note is straight-forward, but I did have fun with the last sentence.

Coleridge composed “Kubla Khan: Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment” in 1796 after dreaming that he had been composing a poem. He awoke and raced to write down all he could recall as his senses returned. Some argue that he had been under the influence of Mrs. Bennet’s favorite nerve restorative, a tincture of morphine known as laudanum.

Thus, dear readers, the notes, for me, form an integral part of the work…much as Janet Taylor’s covers do or the text itself…and do, I hope, offer an ultimately rewarding reading experience.

I am deep in the last portions of Part 2 of The Exile: The Countess Visits Longbourn.

Please enjoy this excerpt.

This excerpt is from a work in progress. ©2017. No reproduction either through mechanical or digital means is permitted without the express written consent of the holder of this copyright. Published in the United States of America.

Chapter XXV

Wilson and Hunters, Lincoln’s Inn January 2, 1812

Kitty was surprised at how different Frederick Hunters’ office appeared in the tepid winter afternoon sunlight. Her only previous experience with the sepulchral master of the firm had been well after sunset. Deep shadows had reached out to envelope all but the golden pools cast by the desk’s whale oil lantern and beeswax candle wall sconces employed against the night. Today, however, the southwest facing coal grime-smudged windows behind his desk admitted enough watery daylight to surround his bald pate with a modern age halo.

She nodded in recognition of his foreshortened bow as he had remained seated rather than struggle into a standing position, and then passed a few minutes making small talk as they awaited the signal indicating that their guests had arrived. The Countess had draped her frame in an antiquated black bombazine gown coupled with a veil that served as more of a shroud, so as to defy any of Mrs. Wickham’s attempts to clearly identify her. While Lady Fitzwilliam doubted that Lydia would be able to see past her selfish fascination with the attractions of the metropolis she preferred to remain in complete control of her alias as the Countess of Deauville.

Yet, forewarned is forearmed. The veil will prevent her from seeing my eyes or my face, even though I am so much older than that which she would recall. However, Lydia is no fool. She possesses her own measure of Bennet cleverness. One slip could upset the applecart. Best I should use Henry’s old trick and put myself between the windows and her eyes. Oh, I ought to deepen my cross-Channel back tone, too.

The tinkling of a small bell told them that Mrs. Wickham had crossed the threshold into the confines of Wilson and Hunters. When Hunters rose from his chair, Kitty did the same from hers, but slid around the desk to fill his empty place. Hunters glanced back at her shifting. For a moment, the Countess did not move a muscle. Then she nodded indicating that the room was now arranged to her satisfaction.

At Hunters assent, the staid knock upon the door swiftly moved to an opening and the introduction of the young lady. A blushing Miss Jenkinson was arrested in her attempt to follow Lydia into the sanctum by Hunters’ lifted paw.

At her questioning look, Hunters offered little explanation except to say, “I can assure you, Miss Jenkinson, that there are no dangers for Mrs. Wickham beyond this door. At my advanced age, I doubt if I am a threat, and besides, the Countess of Deauville will be undertaking the interview. Her presence will ensure that the strictures of propriety will be observed.

“I would ask that you retire to the waiting area through which you passed just moments ago where you will find the Countess’ footman.”

Having said his piece, the gentleman firmly closed the door to his office leaving the companion to find her way back along the dimly lit passageway. She softly entered the area happily organized with two comfortable chairs facing a fireplace snapping loudly with a freshly stoked coal fire. Only one chair was available for her as a man with nearly white shortcut blond hair and ice blue eyes occupied the other. He hauled himself to his feet, towering over her in the process, and dipped his head in recognition of her entry.

&&&&

He even smells old, or so Lydia Wickham thought as Hunters guided her toward the armchair facing his desk. The young lady had had little experience with geriatrics even though she did consider her father to be ancient beyond belief even though he had yet to celebrate his fiftieth birthday. On the other hand, Hunters was of an age with Lydia’s long-deceased Grandfather Samuel Bennet, now in his seventy-seventh year.

Lydia’s habitual stream of consciousness behavior, now diverted from her libidinous observations of the Countess’ footman when she had passed by him in the seating area near Hunters’ office, now focused on the third figure in the room. Her observations used M. Descartes’ deductive methodology—or so Lizzy had explained it to her: reasoning from the general to the specific to arrive at the greater truth.

A woman from form and scent—roses over cut grass.

A woman draped in total mourning.

A woman, older, in full mourning regalia, yet in a lawyer’s office.

Not a woman…but rather a lady given the blue diamond twinkling on her gloved RIGHT ring finger—so a widow in reality.

A lady…and I would imagine a titled one…for her bearing even when seated is impressive—that of someone used to commanding and being obeyed. I think she will thump that silver-headed walking stick resting by her left hand with authority.

So, a lady, but violating propriety by breaking mourning to travel to a place of business.

T’is more likely that she is using mourning as a disguise, otherwise she could have had me and Miss Jenkinson meet her and Mr. Hunters at her residence.

A lady, not wishing me to apprehend her identity, who has gone to great lengths to conceal much…yet, in so doing, she reveals more that she imagines.

Curious!

Lydia firmly planted both feet on the floor in front of her chair and folded both hands in her lap. She neither removed her gloves nor her fur-lined cloak. She schooled her features into a pleasant, but impassive, curiosity, reminding herself how the Majors’ wives had counseled her to behave during her first meeting with the Colonel’s lady.

Then a silent contest of wills ensued with neither the lady nor Lydia giving way.

Eventually—after perhaps two minutes during which she could not penetrate the opaque umbra rendering the lady’s features indistinguishable—Lydia bowed to convention…to an extent. She cleared her throat without changing her expression.

At that sound, the lady raised her left forefinger acknowledging her victory in the battle of societal wills and giving Lydia permission to speak first.

Lydia introduced herself in her clear soprano, still redolent of Hertfordshire with her ‘r’s rolling richly from the upper reaches of her throat. The sound opened great cracks in Kitty’s reserve, fragments of which crashed to the floor of her heart. Tears pricked the corners of her china blue orbs.

I am such a watering pot! T’is well in excess of forty-six years since I have listened to my beloved sister speak. Yet, it is naught but a moment, a blink of the Universe’s eye, yet a cherished entry in my memories hoard.[ii] The shroud was an excellent idea, for if I identified her emerald green eyes when I beheld them as she lay upon her deathbed in her nineties, she will certainly suss me out, watching tears fill my own Bennet eyes, but two-and-sixty years old.[iii]

Lydia continued on, “…I find that I am in your debt, madam, without knowing who you are or why you have decided to turn your eyes in my direction.

“While my elder sister Elizabeth may be called impertinent, I promise you that I will not be gainsaid when I demand something. In this case, I will moderate my language to erase that strident word and substitute ‘strongly desire’ in its place.

“Thus, my lady, I do strongly desire to know who you may be and why you have taken an interest in a lowly lieutenant’s wife.”

Kitty leaned back in her seat, surprised at how well spoken her younger sister had become. She reflected that, perhaps, when she had been a youngster, she had ignored the style and nuance of Lydia’s speech so overcome she had been by their tenor of their content.

There was always a lascivious subtext whenever Lydia took Mama’s exhortations about men in red coats to the next stage. My adolescent brain locked up when it tried to consider why an older man—uniformed or not—would find a fresh-faced young lady attractive. Now, of course, I know…as does Lydie!

However, she speaks today as one would expect a gentleman’s daughter. How much I have missed that voice; how much I misjudged her mentalité.

Seeking to control the pace of the discourse, Kitty paused, channeling her inner British landed aristocratic snobbery. Then, to fully disguise herself, she replied in English tinged not only with her regular Breton tonality, but also blended with some of Jacques’ potent Alsatian, almost Walloon, cant, “Child, you have cut to the heart of the matter. Normally I would never condescend to recognize you even in a polite setting, much less speak with you.

“Perhaps, in recognition of a hostess, who saw fit to invite both you and I to the same event—although I cannot imagine such a curious circumstance—I would nod your way and then proceed to ignore you for the balance of the call.

“This preface does not offer you any intelligence about who I am or why I have taken your part. You will have to be satisfied with that which I provide you.

“I am Lady Katerina Robard, the Dowager Countess of Deauville. I have recently returned to England from the Western Hemisphere, not the Sugar Islands, but rather that now-American territory known as Louisiana. My husband, the Compte passed away these two years past, estranged from our estates and native land. I reside at Madras House here in Town.

“That accommodates the first half of your strong desire.”

Lydia noticed the Countess’ nervous habit of using her right thumb to spin the diamond solitaire around her right ring finger.

Her voice may sound authoritative and settled, but her ‘tic’ tells me otherwise.

“As for the reason I choose to sponsor you this Twelfth Night, let it suffice to say that I owe your family a great debt, something which I can never repay…and something which, if my involvement became known, would place all of you in great danger,” she added allowing Lydia’s facile imagination, steeped in Napoleonic intrigue, to fill in intentionally vacant blanks.

There may be others who will anticipate Moriarty over the next eight decades. Even though Papa is today’s Keeper, he is in no position to fight a mastermind willing to go to the ends of the Earth to control the Wardrobe. Imagine what horrors Napoleon could unleash if he had a venal Bennet willing to do his bidding!

Lydia gulped back in turn, on tenterhooks awaiting more information, “Oh, I assure you, my Lady, I would never breathe a word of this. We know that the Tyrant has agents everywhere. Why, my husband has ordered men in his file to be given two dozen at the crosstrees for babbling about anything to do with the regiment.”

“As well he should. The lower classes have no idea how to keep quiet. They seem intent on bringing Madame Guillotine’s bloody excesses to this peaceful shore,” the lady imperiously snorted.

Lydia relaxed, becoming more comfortable in her conversation, and, thus, igniting her tendency to run on, “Oh, my Lady, my dear Wickham—that is what I call him—is nothing if not the best gentleman soldier you have ever seen. Such a figure he cuts in his regimentals! You know that he is in the 33^rd Buffs! They are called Wellesley’s Own because he commanded them in India when he was but a colonel.

“George is away on detached duty, especially sent by our Colonel himself who said that no other but my dear Wickham would do!”

Oh, how I have missed you, sister! That is the sound of my childhood—my beloved nursery mate unleashing a fire hose of talk, beating the neighborhood into submission. But, I needs must keep you under control, or we will never conclude this interview!

The Countess moved like a cobra striking: with blinding speed. The walking stick crashed down lengthwise upon the ancient wooden desktop. Hunters flinched at the violation of his sacred space. The raw sound slammed Lydia back into her chair, cutting the flow of her tongue mid-thought.

Kitty dismissively snapped, “Enough Mrs. Wickham! Your constant chattering wears upon my nerves—famous or not. Yes, I am sure you believe your husband to be the most essential officer in the regiment. But, that fact does not contribute one jot to your understanding of my plans. Now, if you please, allow me to continue.”

[i] Significant events and anniversaries whether royal, national or Abbey related are marked by the ringing of a full peal [at Westminster Abbey]. This comprises a minimum of 5000 different changes (or sequences) and is performed without a break. A peal takes over three hours to complete… from http://www.westminster-abbey.org/our-history/abbey-bells accessed on 11/12/16.

[ii] Graeme Edge, lyric from Departure on the album In Search of the Lost Chord, The Moody Blues, Deram Records, London, 1968.

[iii] Please see the Prologue to The Exile (Pt. 1): Kitty Bennet and the Belle Époque.

Posted in British history, Georgian England, Guest Post, Jane Austen, literature, Napoleonic Wars, publishing, Regency romance, research, Uncategorized | Tagged British history, Don Jacobson, JAFF, Jane Austen, literary reference, Publishing, research | Comments Off

Double Your Pleasure with Austen-Inspired Actors and Actresses

Posted on February 26, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a film buff, especially period dramas. For many years, I taught media literacy, and I love to look for “unique” facts. One of my favorites is a list of actors who regularly appear in period dramas. I have many on my list, but the ones below are those specific to film adaptations of Jane Austen novels.These fabulous actors have appeared in more than one Austen film adaptation. That makes them “doubly” loved by Austen fans.

Kate Beckinsale has portrayed the foolishly immature Emma Woodhouse in 1996’s TV version of Emma, and most recently she appeared as the amoral Lady Susan Vernon in Love and Friendship.

Leo Bill played the roles of Robert Ferris in 2008’s Sense and Sensibility and that of John Warren in Becoming Jane.

Samantha Bond was Maria Bertram in 1983’s Mansfield Park, as well as Mrs. Weston in 1996’s Emma.

Hugh Bonneville has taken on three Austen roles. He was Mr. Rushworth in 1999’s Mansfield Park, the Reverend Brook Bridges in Miss Austen Regrets, and Mr. Bennet in Lost in Austen.

Jim Broadbent has played the role of Bridget’s father in Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bridget Jones: The Age of Reason and Bridget Jones’s Baby.

James Callis has appeared as Tom in Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, as well as Colonel Andrews in Austenland.

Anna Chancellor played Caroline Bingley in 1995’s Pride and Prejudice. She also served as the voice over narrator for The Real Jane Austen.

Morfydd Clark has appeared in two recent films. She was Georgiana Darcy in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, as well as Frederica Vernon in Love and Friendship.

Lucy Cohu appeared as Cassandra Austen in The Real Jane Austen. Later she was Eliza de Feuillide Austen in Becoming Jane.

Christina Cole was Mrs. Elton in 2009’s Emma, as well as Caroline Bingley in Lost in Austen.

Joanna David first appeared as Elinor Dashwood in 1971’s Sense and Sensibility and then later as Mrs. Gardiner in 1995’s Pride and Prejudice.

Embeth Davidtz has appeared as Mary Crawford in 1999’s Mansfield Park, as well as Natasha in Bridget Jones’s Diary.

Lindsay Duncan portrayed Mrs. Price/Lady Bertram in 1999’s Mansfield Park and Lady Catherine De Bourgh in Lost in Austen.

Nicholas Farrell was Edmund Bertram in 1983’s Mansfield Park and Mr. Musgrove in 2007’s Persuasion.

James Fleet has appeared in three Austen films. He was John Dashwood in 1995’s Sense and Sensibility, Mr. Bennet in Death Comes to Pemberley, and Sir Reginald DeCourcy in Love and Friendship.

Jj Feild first appeared as Henry Tilney in 2007’s Northanger Abbey and later as Mr. Henry Nobley in Austenland.

Colin Firth has been the delicious Fitzwilliam Darcy in 1995’s Pride and Prejudice, as well as the modern Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bridget Jones: The Age of Reason, and Bridget Jones’s Baby.

Hugh Grant as Daniel Cleaver, the Wickham character in Bridget Jones’s Diary and Bridget Jones: The Age of Reason, as well as Edward Ferrars in 1995’s Sense and Sensibility.

Victoria Hamilton was a three-peat. She can be found at Henrietta Musgrave in 1995’s Persuasion, Mrs. Forster in 1995’s Pride and Prejudice, and Maria Bertram in 1999’s Mansfield Park.

Robert Hardy took on the role of General Tilney in 1986’s Northanger Abbey as part of the Screen Two TV series. Later he was Sir John Middleton in 1995’s Sense and Sensibility.

Shirley Henderson has played Jude in Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bridget Jones: The Age of Reason, and Bridget Jones’s Baby.

Guy Henry has been both John Knightley in 1996’s TV version of Emma and Mr. Collins in Lost in Austen.

Bernard Hepton appeared as Sir Thomas Bertram in 1983’s Mansfield Park and was Mr. Woodhouse in the 1996 TV version of Emma.

Gemma Jones played the role of Mrs. Dashwood in 1995’s Sense and Sensibility, as well as Bridget’s “Mum” in Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bridget Jones: The Age of Reason, and Bridget Jones’s Baby.

Phyllida Law appeared as Mrs. Bates in 1996’s Emma and as Mrs. Austen in Miss Austen Regrets.

Sylvestra Le Touzel played the roles of Fanny Price in 1983’s Mansfield Park and Mrs. Allen in 2007’s Northanger Abbey.

Anna Maxwell Martin took on the role of Cassandra Austen in Becoming Jane. Later, she was cast as Elizabeth Bennet Darcy in Death Comes to Pemberley.

Jonny Lee Miller has made three appearances in Austen-inspired films. Back in 1983, he was a young Charles Price in Mansfield Park. Later, he was Edmund Bertram in 1999’s Mansfield Park. Finally, he took on the role of Mr. Knightly in 2009’s Emma.

Carey Mulligan has been both Isabella Thorpe in 2007’s Northanger Abbey and Kitty Bennet in 2005’s Pride and Prejudice.

Aishwarya Rai Bachchan was Meenakshi (the Marianne Dashwood character) in Kandukodain Kandukondain (“I Have Found It”), the Bollywood version of Sense and Sensibility, as well as Lalita Bakshi (the Elizabeth Bennet character) in Bride and Prejudice.

Jemma Redgrave portrayed Lady Bertram in 2007’s Mansfield Park, as well as Lady DeCourcy in Love and Friendship.

Irene Richard was Charlotte Lucas in 1980’s Pride and Prejudice and Elinor Dashwood in 1981’s Sense and Sensibility.

Blake Ritson took on the roles of Edmund Bertram in 2007’s Mansfield Park and Mr. Elton in 2009’s Emma.

Lucy Robinson was Mrs. Hurst in 1995’s Pride and Prejudice, Mrs. Elton in the 1996 TV version of Emma, and Janey in Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason.

Greta Scacchi was Mrs. Weston in 1996’s Emma, as well as Cassandra Austen in Miss Austen Regrets.

David Savile first appeared as Charles Bingley in 1967’s Pride and Prejudice and later as Mr. Elliot in 1971’s Persuasion.

Daphne Slater made an appearance as Elizabeth Bennet in 1952’s Pride and Prejudice and later took on the role of Anne Elliot in 1960’s Persuasion.

Emma Thompson played Elinor Dashwood in 1995’s Sense and Sensibility, as well as Doctor Rawling in Bridget Jones’s Baby.

Sophie Thompson took on the roles of Miss Bates in 1996’s Emma, as well as that of Mary Elliot Musgrove in 1995’s Persuasion.

Sophy Vavasseur was Anne Thorpe in 2007’s Northanger Abbey and Jane Lefroy in Becoming Jane.

Tom Ward was a mere milita officer, Lieutenant Chamberlayne, in 1995’s Pride and Prejudice, but in Death Comes to Pemberley, he portrayed Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Peter Wight was Mr. Gardiner in 2005’s Pride and Prejudice, as well as Admiral Croft in 2007’s Persuasion.

Olivia Williams has been two “Janes.” She was Jane Fairfax in 1996’s TV version of Emma and Jane Austen in Miss Austen Regrets.

Renée Zellweger has played the same character, that of Bridget Jones in Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bridget Jones: The Age of Reason, and Bridget Jones’s Baby.

Okay, I known there are likely others to add to this list, especially, as I constructed it some two years prior. If you know of others that have been in at least two Austen-inspired films, add the information to the comments below. I also welcome your comments on memorable performances or on Austen films you have yet to view, etc.

Posted in acting, Austen actors, drama, film, film adaptations, Jane Austen | Tagged Aishwarya Rai Bachchan, Anna Chancellor, Anna Maxwell Martin, Austen actors, Bernard Hepton, Blake Ritson, Carey Mulligan, Christina Cole, Colin Firth, Daphne Slater, David Savile, Embeth Davidtz, Emma Thompson, film adaptations, film adaptations of novels, Gemma Jones, Greta Scacchi, Guy Henry, Hugh Bonneville, Irene Richard, James Callis, James Fleet, Jane Austen, Jemma Redgrave, Jim Broadbent, JJ Feild, Joanna David, Jonny Lee Miller, Kate Beckinsale, Leo Bill, Lindsay Duncan, Lucy Cohu, Lucy Robinson, Morfydd Clark, Nicholas Farrell, Olivia Williams, Peter Wight, Phyllida Law, Reneé Zellwegger, Robert Hardy, Samantha Bond, Shirley Henderson, Sophie Thompson, Sophy Vavasseur, Sylvestra Le Touzel, Tom Ward, Victoria Hamilton | 5 Comments

Jane Austen and Babies, a Guest Post from Alexa Adams

Posted on February 22, 2018 by Regina Jeffers

This post originally appeared on Austen Authors on December 29, 2017. In it, Ms. Adams reflects on parenthood and children, as she has just delivered her second child two days prior to the post going live. Enjoy what she says of children and Jane Austen.

I’m writing this in advance, but if all goes as planned, my new son will have been born two days ago (at 8:13 AM on the 27th, a healthy 22 inches long and nearly 9 and a half pounds!). As I prepare to welcome the newest member of the family, our very own Baby New Year, my mind inevitably turns to what Jane Austen had to say on the subject. Though not a mother herself, she is known to have doted on her many nieces and nephews, and the sentiments expressed in her novels regarding babies are very touching, though tinged with her typical razor sharp analysis of human behavior. While she might have some fun at the expense of those of us obsessed with our offspring, had she ever become a mother, one must suppose that she would have been an adoring one.

Emma has the most references to babies of the six novels, and it is the only one in which the babies (two of them) are fully realized creations rather than just props. They even have names! First we meet “Little Emma,” Isabella’s youngest, who acts a peacemaker between Mr. Knightley and “Big Emma” (no one tell her I called her that!). I think this scene illustrates how young children can put things in perspective, allowing us to overlook our grievances and irritations to concentrate on important things. They can even, as in the case of “Big Emma,” inspire an unaccustomed degree of humility and self-awareness:

She hoped they might now become friends again. She thought it was time to make up. Making-up indeed would not do. She certainly had not been in the wrong, and he would never own that he had. Concession must be out of the question; but it was time to appear to forget that they had ever quarrelled; and she hoped it might rather assist the restoration of friendship, that when he came into the room she had one of the children with her—the youngest, a nice little girl about eight months old, who was now making her first visit to Hartfield, and very happy to be danced about in her aunt’s arms. It did assist; for though he began with grave looks and short questions, he was soon led on to talk of them all in the usual way, and to take the child out of her arms with all the unceremoniousness of perfect amity. Emma felt they were friends again; and the conviction giving her at first great satisfaction, and then a little sauciness, she could not help saying, as he was admiring the baby,

“What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our nephews and nieces. As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different; but with regard to these children, I observe we never disagree.”

“If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of men and women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in your dealings with them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always think alike.”

“To be sure—our discordancies must always arise from my being in the wrong.”

“Yes,” said he, smiling—”and reason good. I was sixteen years old when you were born.”

“A material difference then,” she replied—”and no doubt you were much my superior in judgment at that period of our lives; but does not the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings a good deal nearer?”

“Yes—a good deal nearer.”

“But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being right, if we think differently.”

“I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years’ experience, and by not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends, and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now.”

“That’s true,” she cried—”very true. Little Emma, grow up a better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer and not half so conceited.

Anna Weston is perhaps the more interesting child, because it is through her that we learn a bit more about Austen’s perspective on children. She says:

Mrs. Weston’s friends were all made happy by her safety; and if the satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to Emma, it was by knowing her to be the mother of a little girl. She had been decided in wishing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that it was with any view of making a match for her, hereafter, with either of Isabella’s sons; but she was convinced that a daughter would suit both father and mother best. It would be a great comfort to Mr. Weston, as he grew older–and even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years hence–to have his fireside enlivened by the sports and the nonsense, the freaks and the fancies of a child never banished from home; and Mrs. Weston–no one could doubt that a daughter would be most to her; and it would be quite a pity that any one who so well knew how to teach, should not have their powers in exercise again.

In a society that generally valued boys more than girls, this is a strong argument in favor of the latter. Boys would, in time, be sent off to school or to learn a career, but a daughter belonged in the family home until she married. It is Mr. Woodhouse, however, through whom we receive a more timeless perspective on parenting. I can’t read the following without laughing, as it so clearly brings to mind the many alarms and terrors of being a first-time parent:

The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the evening before, from the infant’s appearing not quite well. She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her, and she had been within half a minute of sending for Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.–In ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well again. This was her history; and particularly interesting it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that she had not done it. “She should always send for Perry, if the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed well now, very well considering, it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it.”

I remember my pediatrician assuring me on my third pointless visit to his office that there really was no need to be alarmed by a stuffed up nose. How much time do you think poor Mr. Perry spends reassuring Mr. Woodhouse on any number of his many health alarms?

More than anything, Mrs. Weston as a new mother presents a picture of perfect domestic contentment. It is how I hope to feel (and not just appear) in the coming weeks, but if my previous child is any indication, I expect to have a more frazzled presence. I think I can trust, however, to be just as absorbed in my Jack as she is in her Anna, with very little attention for anything else:

Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections as these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If any thing could increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have outgrown its first set of caps.

The other prominently placed baby in Austen is that of Mr. and Mrs. Palmer in Sense and Sensibility. Unfortunately, these two are not models of domestic harmony. The baby is less a viable character and more a prop to illustrate the couple’s incongruity:

Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at different times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the world.

However, no matter how silly the wife or dismissive the father, when it comes to that universal fear new parents have for the safety of their offspring, they have the common reaction:

He came, examined his patient, and though encouraging Miss Dashwood to expect that a very few days would restore her sister to health, yet, by pronouncing her disorder to have a putrid tendency, and allowing the word “infection” to pass his lips, gave instant alarm to Mrs. Palmer, on her baby’s account.

Call Mr. Perry!

I hope that now I have weathered six and a half years of parenthood I will not be quite such an alarmist as I was when my daughter was born. After all, I now know what to do for even the most dire sounding coughs, those terrifying head bumps, and can even handle projectile vomiting with aplomb. At least, I think I can. The number one parenting lesson I have learned is never to say never. So maybe I will find myself, once again, running to the doctors just to be assured that the horrifying symptom is perfectly normal and nothing to fear. Nothing like a newborn to turn us all into Charlotte Palmers.

Happy New Year, Janeites! It’s sure to be a memorable one in my house. Good fortune to us all in 2018!

Posted in Austen Authors, Guest Post, historical fiction, Jane Austen, literature | Tagged Austen Authors, babies, Emma, guest post, Jane Austen, literary references | Comments Off

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The Hidden Key, a Guest Post from Sophie Turner

Hitting the Books While Writing, a Guest Post from Don Jacobson

Double Your Pleasure with Austen-Inspired Actors and Actresses

Jane Austen and Babies, a Guest Post from Alexa Adams

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