Jane Austen and Prenatal Yoga

How's that for a bizarre post title? It was inspired by a new prenatal yoga workout I have just discovered this week. I do a lot of yoga, generally, so as soon as I found out I was pregnant I rushed to find the prenatal workouts produced by my favorite yoga instructors, as both a way to stay in shape during my pregnancy and as a means for staying calm and reducing nervousness (which I admit to feeling a lot of, especially after the two miscarriages I had last year). Although I have long enjoyed the workouts by Gurmurk, which are Kundalini focused, I didn't think to look for a prenatal workout of this kind, assuming that yoga during pregnancy needed to be calmer and less energetic. It was by accident that I found The New Method: Baby and Mom Prenatal Yoga workout on Netflix and decided to give it a try after reading in the description that Gurmurk was the instructor. Wow! This is exactly like her other workouts, incorporating far more movement than the other prenatal yoga workouts I have found, but with such an incredible internal focus on the changes the body is experiencing and preparing for. I imagine it wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea, as there is a lot of chanting and spirituality incorporated, but I just adore it. I am ordering my own copy today.

So what on Earth does this have to do with Miss Austen? Just the associations I make between almost everything and her books. In this case, during shavasana (the final relaxation, for those unfamiliar with yoga, that every yoga session should end with), Gurmurk speaks about the importance of relaxing the tongue. She says, "If our tongue stays relaxed, our whole body is relaxed. When our tongue is tight, we usually make not great food choices, and we often talk about people." Now this may seem like new age mumbo jumbo to many, but it brought to my mind Mrs. Bennet, followed by the many other gossips in Jane Austen's novels: her sister Mrs. Philips, Caroline Bingley, Mrs. Norris, and Miss Bates. It made me feel so sorry for these women (yes, even Miss Bingley and Aunt Norris), for when you consider Gurmurk's words, you have to reflect on the sad mental and emotional state a person must be in to malign others. I can't say much about Mrs. Philips, as she is not developed enough to fully reflect upon, but the rest of these women all suffer enormously. Mrs. Bennet is subject to her own worries about the entail and guilt at not having produced an heir, as well as Mr. Bennet's undermining and dismissive attitude towards her. Caroline Bingley is the product of her family's ambition and her failure, despite the best schools and opportunities, to secure a socially elevating husband. Mrs. Norris is a complete basket case. We can suppose her marriage to have been unfulfilling, and her lack of children has left her without an outlet for her massive energies. I also often imagine that she was rather jealous, in a way, of her youngest sister, as she married for love, and took a very painful form of glee in that union proving so miserable, hence her viciousness towards Fanny. As for Miss Bates, by far the most endearing of the ladies mentioned, she lives a lonely life - unmarried, the caretaker of an aging mother - but it is Mr. Knightley who describes her trials best: "She is poor; she has sunk from the comforts she was born to; and, if she live to old age, must probably sink more." Subject to the insecurities resulting form financial instability, it is really a wonder that Miss Bates is so very pleasant a lady, and the tongue that endlessly wags in her mouth is a comfort we can easily forgive her for indulging in. It is also telling that when Emma mocks poor Miss Bates on Box Hill, it is under the tension of that gathering, when both she and Frank Churchill are so obviously indulging in fits of nervous energy. Sometimes an outside, totally unrelated source, like Gurmurk, allows me to contemplate and shine clarity on a new aspect of Austen's work, that I have some how failed to consider despite countless readings. Such insights allow me to not only understand Austen better, but also leverage the knowledge I gain from her to help me be a better person. I just felt the need to share with you this most recent revelation.   

The Talisman Ring by Georgette Heyer

With this review I have officially caught up with all the Georgette Heyer rereads my husband and I indulged in over the holidays, and what a note to end on! The Talisman Ring is definitely one of my favorite Heyer novels. I don't think I fully appreciated it the first time through. The plot revolves around the grandchildren and nephews of Sylvester, Baron of Lavenham, who is on his death bed as the book begins. His grandson and heir, Ludovic Lavenham, has not been heard from for two years, as he was forced to flee the country following an incident in which he was believed to murder the man whom had won from him his familial heirloom: the valuable talisman ring. In his place Sylvester's nephew, the dandified Beau Lavenham, stands to inherit the fortune, though not the title. Sylvester also has a granddaughter on his hands, the charming and impetuous Eustacie de Vauban (who reminds me greatly of Leonie of These Old Shades, read my review here), rescued from France on the eve of the Revolution. The story opens with the arrival of Sir Tristram Shield to Lavenham Court, another nephew, who has been summoned forth by Sylvester and promptly ordered to marry Eustacie. Both comply, but when Sylvester dies before the deed can take place, Eustacie flees the Court, not finding Shield romantic enough to fulfill her ambitions for a husband, but she doesn't get very far. Quickly she falls in with a band of smugglers lead by none other than her cousin Ludovic, and when he is shot by pursuing Excisemen they take shelter at a local inn, run by the sympathetic Mr. Nye. There they fall in with Miss Sarah Thane, one of Heyer's older and highly resourceful heroines (with a mischievous streak), and her brother, the highly amusing and somewhat muddle-brained Sir Hugo, thereby establishing our locale and our cast of characters. The remainder of the book focuses on creating the appropriate romantic alliances, recovering the talisman ring, and clearing Ludovic's name.

This story is a blast! So much humor, endless adventure, and we could barely put it down (even though we both knew exactly what happened). As usual in my Heyer reviews, I find she can speak for herself better than I can on her behalf, and so I will quote the scene in which Eustacie unfolds her situation before Miss Thane, when they first meet, as if not only establishes the plot and the characters' traits, but also beautifully sets the tone of the novel. It is lengthy, but very worth reading, as is the entire novel. I consider it one of Heyer's best.

Ten minutes later Eustacie was ensconced in a chair by the fire in Miss Thane's bedchamber, gratefully sipping a cup of hot milk. Miss Thane sat down beside her, and said with her friendly smile: "I hope you mean to tell me all about it, for I'm dying of curiosity, and I don't even know your name."


Eustacie considered her for a moment. "Well, I think I will tell you," she decided. "I am Eustacie de Vauban, and my cousin Ludovic is Lord Lavenham of Lavenham Court. He is the tenth Baron."


Miss Thane shook her head. "It just shows how easily one may be mistaken," she said. "I thought he was a smuggler."


"He prefers," said Eustacie, with dignity, "that one should call him a free-trader."


"I'm sorry," apologized Miss Thane. "Of course, it is a much better title. I should have known. What made him take to s- free trading? It seems a trifle unusual."


"I see that I must explain to you the talisman ring," said Eustacie, and drew a deep breath.


Miss Thane, a sympathetic listener, followed the story of the talisman ring with keen interest, only interpolating a question when the tale became too involved to be intelligible. She accepted Ludovic's innocence without the smallest hesitation, and said at the end of the recital that nothing would give her greater pleasure than to assist in unmasking the real culprit.


"Yes," said Eustacie, "and me, I think that it was perhaps my cousin Tristram, for he has a collection of jewellery, and, besides, he is a person who might murder people - except that he is not at all romantic," she added.


"He sounds very disagreeable," said Miss Thane.


"He is - very! And, do you know, I have suddenly thought that perhaps I had better marry him, because then he would have to show me his collection, and if I found the talisman ring it would make everything right for Ludovic."

Miss Thane bent down to poke the fire. She said with a slight tremor in her voice: "But then if you did not find the ring it would be tiresome to have married him all to no purpose. And one has to consider that he might not wish to marry you."

"Oh, but he does!" said Eustacie. "In fact, we are betrothed. That is why I ran away. He has no conversation. Moreover, he said that if I went to London, I should not find myself in any way remarkable."

"He was wrong," said Miss Thane with conviction.

"Yes, I think he was wrong, but you see he is not sympathique, and he does not like w9omen."

Miss Thane blinked at her. "Are you sure?" she said. "I mean, if he wants to marry you -"

"But he does not want to marry me! It is just that he must have an heir, and because Grandpere made for us a mariage de convenance. Only Grandpere is dead now, and I am not going to marry a person who says he would not care if I went to the guillotine in a tumbril!"

"Did he really say that?" inquired Miss Thane. "He must be a positive Monster!"

"Well, no, he did not say exactly that," admitted Eustacie. "But when I asked him if he would not be sorry to see me, a jeune fille, in a tumbril, and dressed all in white, he said he would be sorry for anyone in a tumbril, 'whatever their age or - or apparel'!"

"You need say no more; I can see that he is a person of no sensibility," said Miss Thane. "I am not surprised that you ran away from him to join your cousin Ludovic."

"Oh, I didn't!" replied Eustacie. "I mean, I never knew I was going to meet Ludovic. I ran away to become a governess."

"Forgive me," said Miss Thane, "but have you then just met your cousin Ludovic by chance, and for the first time?"

"But yes, I have told you! And he said I should not do for a governess." She sighed. "I wish I could think of something to be which is exciting! If only I were a man!"

"Yes," agreed Miss Thane. "I feel very strongly that you should have been a man and gone smuggling with your cousin."

Eustacie threw her a glowing look. "This is just what I should have liked! But Ludovic says they never take females with them."

"How wretchedly selfish!" said Miss Thane in accents of disgust.

"Yes, but I think it is not perhaps exactly Ludovic's fault, for he said he liked to have me with him. But the others did not like it at all, in particular Ned, who wanted to hit me on the head."

"Is Ned a s- free-trader too?"

"Yes, and Abel. But they are not precisely free-traders, but only land-smugglers, which is, I think, a thing inferior."

"It sounds quite inferior," said Miss Thane. "Did you meet your cousin Ludovic, and Ned, and Abel on your way here?"

"Yes, and when he seized me of course I thought Ludovic was the Headless Horseman!"

Miss Thane was regarding her as one entranced. "Of course!" she echoed. "I suppose you were expecting to meet a headless horseman?"

"Well," replied Eustacie judicially, "my maid told me that he rides the Forest, and that one finds him up on the crupper behind one, but my cousin Tristram said that it was only a legend."

"The more I hear about your cousin Tristram," said Miss Thane, "the more I am convinced he is not the husband for you."

"No, and what is more he is thirty-one years old, and he does not frequent gaming-hells or cock-pits, and when I asked him if he would ride ventre a terre to come to my death-bed, he said 'Certainly not'!"

"This is more shocking than all the rest!" declared Miss Thane. "He must be quite heartless!"


"Yes," said Eustacie bitterly. "He says I am not in the least likely to die."


"A man like that," pronounced Miss Thane, "would be bound to say the Headless Horseman was only a legend."


"That it what I thought, but my cousin Ludovic was not after all the Headless Horseman, and I must admit that I have not yet seen him - or the Dragon which was once in the Forest."


"Realyy, you have had a very dull ride when one comes to think of it."


"Yes, until I met my cousin Ludovic, and after that it was not dull, because when he discovered who I was Ludovic said I must go with him, and I helped to lead the Exciseman into the Forest. He mounted behind me on Rufus, you see. That was when I lost the other bandbox."


"Oh, you had a bandbox?"


"But yes, I had two, for one must be practical, you understand. But one I dropped just before I met Ludovic, and I forgot about that one. We threw the other away."


Miss Thane bent over the fire again rather hastily. "I expect it was the right thing to do," she said in an unsteady voice."


"Well, it was in the way," explained Eustacie. "But I must say it now becomes awkward a little because all my things were in it."


"Don't let a miserable circumstance like that worry you!" said Miss Thane. "I will lend you a nightdress, and to-morrow we will decide whether to go and look for the bandboxes ( though I feel that it would be a spiritless thing to do) or whether to break into your home at the dead of night and steal some more clothes for you."

And on that note, I say goodbye, at least temporarily, to Georgette Heyer. If I didn't consider it blasphemous, I would perhaps admit that a return to Miss Austen sounds almost dull after the antics with which I have recently been regaling myself, but such notions are, of course, inadmissible.

Frederica by Georgette Heyer

This book had to be reread as soon as my husband and I got through the first chapter of The Corinthian (read my review here) and both remarked that it was very similar to the manner in which Frederica commences. However, that is where the similarities end. Instead of being importuned by relatives to marry at the start of this book, as our hero of The Corinthian is, this novel finds the Marquis of Alverstoke set upon by female relatives determined that he shall throw a ball for their daughters as they embark on their first season (his sisters are, however, rather unhappy that a cousin, Endymion Dauntry, stands as heir to his great fortune, and would be very happy to see the young man cut out by an appropriate marriage). Not being one to put himself out for anybody, Alverstoke promptly rejects any such notion, that is until he meets the Merrivilles, a family of distant cousins, of respectable but not large fortune, who come to London. The eldest sister, Frederica, requests Alvertoke's assistance in launching her sister into society, a favor he has little interest in bestowing until seeing said sister, Charis, who is "a diamond of the first water". It then occurs to him that a ball at Alverstoke house in honor of his niece and cousin would be precisely the place for Charis to make her debut as well, and that having to support such a beautiful girl would be exactly the scenario to most infuriate his grasping female relatives. Little does he know, however, that he will soon be irrevocably embroiled in the Merrivilles affairs and called upon to bail them out of repeated scrapes, which the two youngest boys, Jessamy and Felix, prove particularly adapt at falling into.

As the name of the book is Frederica, it can be no surprise which of the Merriville ladies captures the cold Marquis' heart (despite the fact that, at 24, she considers herself quite off the shelf and practically an old maid). While Frederica proves to be precisely the intelligent and endearing lady that Alverstoke never thought existed - on who never bores him - I think the true star of the show is Felix, an imperturbably curious and infinitely charming young boy who very soon has the Marquis wrapped around his finger. He wastes no time in requesting the most outlandish favors from Alverstoke, as demonstrated in this scene in which they are first introduced:

His lordship, acknowledging thier bows, found he was being surveyed: by Jessamy, whom he judged to be about sixteen years of age, measuringly; by Felix, three or four years younger, with the unwavering yet incurious gaze of childhood. He was quite unaccustomed to being weighed up; and there was a decided twinkle in his eyes as he looked the boys over.

Jessamy, he thought, was an exaggerated copy of his sister: his hair was darker than hers, his nose more aquiline, and his mouth and chin determined to the point of obstinacy. Felix still retained the snub-nose and the chubbiness of extreme youth, but he had the same firm chin and direct gaze which characterized his seniors, and even less shyness. It was he who broke the silence, blurting out: "Sir! Do you know about the Catch-me-who can?"

"Of course he doesn't! Don't be so rag-mannered!" his brother admonished him. "I beg your pardon, sir: he has windmills in his head!"

"Not windmills: railway locomotives," replied Alverstoke. He looked down at Felix. "Isn't that it? Some sort of steam-locomotive?"

"Yes, that's it!" said Felix eagerly. "Trevithick's, sir. I don't mean the Puffing Devil: that ran on the road, but it caught fire, and was burnt."


"Ay! and a very good thing too!" interjected Jessamy. "Steam-engines on the roads! Why, they would send every horse mad with terror!"


"Oh, pooh! I daresay they would soon grow used to them. Besides, I'm not talking of that one. The one I mean runs on rails - at fifteen miles an hour, and very likely more!" He turned his attention to Alverstoke again. "I know it was brought to London, because Mr Rushbury - my godfather - told me so, and how you could ride in it for a shilling. He said it was north of the New Road, and not far, he thought, from Montague House."


"I believe it was," said Alverstoke. "From some cause or another I never visited it, but I do seem to recall that the inventor - what did you say his name is?"


"Trevithick! The first locamotive he made has five wagons, and it can carry ten tons of iron and seventy men, but only at five miles an hour. It's in Wales - I forget the name of the place - but the one here has one carriage, and -"


"Will you bite your tongue, you abominable little bagpipe?" interrupted Jessamy. "Anyone would take you for a regular shabster, rattling on like that, and not allowing Lord Alverstoke to edge in a word!"


Abashed by this rebuke, Felix hastily begged his lordship's pardon; but Alverstoke, amused by him, said: "Nonsense! I can always edge in a word - when I wish to! There was such a locomotive, Felix, but I am afraid it's a thing of the past. I rather think that Trevithick hired some ground, near Fitzroy Square, fenced it in, and laid down a circular track. As I recall, it created quite a stir, but although a great many people went to see it, few could be persuaded to ride in it - and none at all after a rail broke, and the engine overturned! So it had to be abandoned. It must have been quite ten years ago." He smiled, seeing the look of disappointment on Felix's countenance. "I'm aorry! Are you interested in locomotives?"


"Yes - no - in engines!" stammered Felix. "Steampower - c-compressed air - ! Sir, have you seen the pneumatic lift at the foundry in Soho?"


"No," said his lordship. "Have you?"


"They wouldn't let me," replied Felix sadly. A thought occured to him; and, fixing his ardent eyes on Alverstoke's face, he asked, with pent breath: "If you wished to see it - could you?"


Frederica, who had resumed her seat, said: "No, no, Felix! Lord Alverstoke does not wish to! You mustn't plague him to take you there!"


She was right: Alverstoke had not the remotest desire to inspect a pneumatic lift, but he found himself unable to resist the pleading look in the eyes raised so hopefully to his. He sat down again, smiling a little ruefully, and replied: "I expect I could. But you must tell me more about it!"

Needless to say, when Alverstoke's associates spot him strolling down the street with a boy bound for a foundry, they are literally floored. This is man who doesn't know the names of his own nieces and nephews, but for the Merrivilles he finds himself bending over backwards.

This is such a charming story. It is a classic Heyer Regency, filled with romping antics and enchanting characters. Frederica is a must read for the Heyer fan. If the indifferent Lord Alverstoke can't resist Felix's pleading eyes, how can you?

Gaskell Reading Challenge

After much soul searching, I am finally ready to commit to the Gaskell Reading Challenge hosted by GaskellBlog.com. I have never quite developed a passion for Gaskell, probably due to the fact that my first exposure to her was The Life of Charlotte Bronte, which bored me to tears when I read it as a teenager. Nevertheless, being, at the time, determined to conquer the Victorian canon, I went on to read Wives and Daughters, Ruth, and Cranford, none of which captured my imagination the way the Brontes, Dickens, or (particularly) Elliott did, and, quite frankly, I pretty much forgot about these books until I began blogging and discovered the huge interest in Gaskell amongst Janeites. So perhaps I missed something as a teenager? Very likely. I am already partway through a reread of Cranford, which I have found very amusing, if a bit scattered, and as the commitment for this challenge is "a minimum of two works", I figured it behooved me to give Gaskell another go. I do not know if I will manage more than the minimum, as I'm already feeling overextended in this pre-baby half of the year, but if I become enthralled there is no saying what may happen. The big question is, after Cranford, what shall I read nest? Suggestions are not only welcome but encouraged. What is your favorite Gaskell novel?

The Beautifull Cassandra

With all the Heyer I've been immersed in (and I'm not done yet!), I thought it appropriate to take a break for the main lady herself, Miss Jane Austen. I recently flipped through some of my favorite of her Juvenalia, and upon looking for a post topic that pays honors to my muse, it seemed appropriate to settle upon The Beautifull Cassandra, in no little part because it is short enough for me to transcribe the whole here, in case any of my readers haven't had the delightful experience of reading it themselves. Short and sweet, this piece always makes me laugh, no matter how many times I turn to it. The tale is excellently derisive of that type of silly, ignorant, and selfish young woman who appears so often in Austen's earliest work. Being a teenager herself when she wrote the piece (somewhere between 1787 and 1790), we can marvel at the maturity she displayed in being able to reflect so critically on the antics of her age group while still a part of it, a thing I certainly would not have been able to do at such a time of life. It also demonstrates the young Jane's strong appreciation for the ridiculous, as well as her developing satiric prowess. As suggested by the title, the story was written for Jane's older sister, Cassandra, who we can be certain never behaved so ridiculously. I will save all further thought on it until after the text, when I can comment with impunity.

The Beautifull Cassandra

a novel in twelve Chapters

dedicated by permission to Miss Austen

Dedication.

Madam, 

     You are a Phoenix. Your taste is refined, your Sentiments are noble, and your Virtues innumerable.  Your Passion is lovely, you Figure, elegant, and your Form, magestic. Your Manners are polished, your Conversation is rational and your appearance singular. If therefore the following Tale will afford one moment's amusement to you, every wish will be gratified of

Your most obedient

humble servant

The Author

Chapter the First

Cassandra was the Daughter and the only Daughter of a celebrated Millener in Bond Street. Her father was of noble Birth, being the near relation of the Dutchess of -----'s Butler.

Chapter the 2d

When Cassandra had attained her 16th year, she was lovely and amiable and chancing to fall in love with an elegant Bonnet, her Mother had just compleated bespoke by the Countess of ----- she placed it on her gentle Head and walked from her Mother's shop to make her Fortune.

Chapter the 3d

The first person she met, was the Viscount of ----- a young man, no less celebrated for his Accomplishments and Virtues, than for his Elegance and Beauty. She curtseyed and walked on.

Chapter the 4th

She then proceeded to a Pastry-cooks where she devoured six ices, refused to pay for them, knocked down the Pastry Cook and walked away.

Chapter the 5th

She next ascended a Hackney Coach and ordered it to Hampstead, where she was no sooner arrived than she ordered the Coachman to turn round and drive her back again.

Chapter the 6th

Being returned to the same spot of the same of the same Street she had sate out from, the Coachman demanded his Pay.

Chapter the 7th

She searched her pockets over again and again; but every search was unsuccessfull. No money could she find. The man grew peremptory. She placed her bonnet on his head and ran away.

Chapter the 8th

Thro' many a street she then proceeded and met in none the least Adventure till on turning a Corner of Bloomsbury Square, she met Maria.

Capter the 9th

Cassandra started and Maria seemed surprised; they trembled, blushed, turned pale and passed each other in a mutual silence.

Chapter the 10th

Cassandra was next accosted by her friend the Widow, who squeezing out her little Head thro' her less window, asked how she did? Casandra curtseyed and went on.

Chapter the 11th

A quarter of a mile brought her to her paternal roof in Bond Street from which she had now been absent nearly 7 hours.

Chapter the 12th

She entered it and was pressed to her Mother's bosom by that worthy Woman. Cassandra smiled and whispered to herself 'This is a day well spent.'

Finis

This short "novel" is a lesson in a tendency Austen maintains throughout her writing career: not to believe a word stated about a character unless his or her actions support it. Cassandra is neither "amiable" nor is her day "well spent", and one has to wonder, especially in light of the many virtues attributed to Cassandra Austen in the dedication, if Jane wasn't angry or frustrated with her sister in some way to write such a piece in her honor, especially as this outrageous heroine is named for her. That we can only speculate upon. What is certain is that the fictional Cassandra is a hoyden and a thief (bonnet, ices, cab fare), engaged in antics that landed many a more honest person (including Austen's own aunt, Mrs. Leigh-Perrot) in the goal, or worse.

I must bring particular attention to the first chapter, as I think the second line of it is the most hilarious of the entire tale, and because it is unusual for Austen to write about the merchant class. Perhaps this is why young Cassandra can wander all about London unchaperoned without sacrificing her purity, or can she? She certainly should not have brought herself to the attention of the Viscount, and the discomfort displayed by both Maria and herself upon meeting in fashionable Bloomsbury Square indicates that both are completely aware that they had no business being there, especially alone. Certainly any mother would be relieved at having her only daughter returned after a whole days absence, but if the woman is as "worthy" as Austen claims, we must assume that Cassandra's smile will not long adorn her lips as relief is replaced by outrage, which is certainly only to increase when the complaints pour in from the pastry cook, the Countess, the widow, and, if he can trace her, the hackney driver.

There is so much subtly embedded in these very few lines that it is easy to recognize emerging literary greatness in them. In such sparse space Austen makes us laugh, worry, disapprove, and marvel. Have you long read and enjoyed this piece, or is it your first time encountering it? Either way, please share your thoughts. It is ripe for discussion.    

The King's Speech - 2010

I finally, after repeated failed attempts, saw this film yesterday. First there was the countdown for the movie to be released, followed by my disappointment that it was only available in New York and LA. Then when it was finally available in a theater near me, each time I tried to see it it had already sold out. Now I know that in the little corner of the internet I inhabit, period films are big news, but let's face it: a movie such as The King's Speech being sold out, during a season when action and special effects packed blockbusters abound, is no small occurrence. And I do not think the movie's popularity can be attributed to the supreme sensibilities and elevated taste of the Wilmington area. It is an anomaly, and while I am, on the one hand, ecstatic to see a film of its ilk receiving such attention, I kind of also resented having to cope with large crowds and less than stellar seats to see it.

But let's discuss the film itself (I do not fear spoilers, as the plot is perfectly well-known). It is a charming story about the extreme difficulties of being a royal. Perhaps my favorite line (indeed, the entire scene was remarkable) was spoken during an argument between Edward VIII, who, having recently succeeded to throne, was not taking his duties very seriously, and the future the George VI (Bertie to his family and speech therapist, making it the most accessible name for me to employ here) who attempts to admonish him over his choice of life partner (the once divorced and still married Mrs. Simpson). I am not going to quote this perfectly accurately, I am sure, but it was something like this:

Edward: I am the King. Does that not come with any rights?


Bertie: It carries a great deal of privilege.

The scene ends with Edward accusing Bertie of attempting to steal his thrown and mocking his stammer, which leaves his younger brother, who had been making a quite forceful arguement, entirely unable to enunciate a single word in his own defense.

The story is rather fascinating, and I returned home anxious to find more information on the nature of the abuse this generation of royals suffered through as children. I did not learn much, except that all the children suffered at the hands of their nanny, Mary Peters. The film makes it appear that Bertie was her main victim. I suppose this isn't the kind of information the royal family is overly anxious to impart to the public. The main accusation leveled against her in the film by Bertie is that she didn't feed him, but even that detail the online sources failed to corroborate. However, though it is a moving story (and not all serious - there is a great deal of comic relief incorporated into the tale), the real strength of the film lies in the stunningly masterful performances of Colin Firth as George VI and Geoffrey Rush as Lionel Logue, the unconventional speech therapist. Both were phenomenal. At one point Bertie comments to Lionel that he often thinks about who the common man is when he sees them waving from his car window, but that he doesn't actually know. The great secondary plot of this tale is the friendship created across class lines, and the universal humanity of all people that it highlights, be they elevated or obscure.

When we think of physically challenging performances, we usually picture actors and actresses violently altering their bodies in preparation for a role, but I think Firth must have suffered agonizingly for this film. The tension so perceptible in his throat as he struggles to omit words was stunning to watch. The two actors interact together beautifully, capturing the kind of charisma usually reserved for romantic counterparts. That is not to say the the relationship between Firth and Helena Bonham-Carter, as Elizabeth, (whose hats made me drool) was not sparkling in itself. They painted a touching picture of a couple deeply in love, prepared to stand by each other through the seemingly most insurmountable challenges imaginable.  

Though the story was highly engaging, its the performances that make this movie the masterpiece that it is. Those of us who have for so long lauded Firth's remarkable abilities can take great satisfaction that this is the film that is likely to finally bring him the Academy Award he has so long deserved. As my husband and I left the theater, there were two women discussing him in front of us in the parking lot. They were attempting to recall what else he has been in, mentioning one or two of his most recent films, and I couldn't help myself but to call out, "He was in Pride and Prejudice!" One of them looked at me in confusion for a moment, and then a look of recognition seemed to dawn upon her face, and she said, "That's right. So he was." No matter how wonderful this role is, he will always be, first and foremost, Mr. Darcy to me.

One last, thought - Firth is not the only Austen performer to grace the screen in this film. Jennifer Ehle, Elizabeth Bennet herself, played Mrs. Myrtle Logue (the other unconditionally supportive wife of the piece), and Michael Gambon (may I say Dumbledore himself?), who was Mr. Woodhouse in the most recent production of Emma, is George V. 

Note: I should have also included David Bamber (thanks Vic!), in the small role as theater director, who is another 1995 Pride and Prejudice veteran, having nailed the role of Mr. Collins.What a reunion!

Image: http://www.starpulse.com/news/Two_Jews_On_Film/2010/21/review_the_kings_speech_two_jews_on_fi

 

The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer

I love this book! I think The Grand Sophy only improved with a second reading, firmly establishing Sophy Stanton-Lacy in my mind as Heyer's most admirable female character. While Heyer created many intelligent heroines, Sophy quite casts them all in the shade, being endowed with a degree of understanding usually reserved for the heroes of these books, and then only the most exceptional. Having spent most of her life on the continent in diplomatic circles, Sophy enters her aunt's household in Berkeley Square while her father, Sir Horace Stanton-Lacy, attends a mission in the Americas. In little or no time this remarkably self-possessed young lady has not only all her cousin's dancing on her strings, but a large swath of the London Ton as well. The most remarkable aspect of her maneuvers is that she never makes a misstep, quite in the style of the Duke of Avon (read all about him in my review of These Old Shades), but with completely benevolent intentions, even if her methods are the most audacious imaginable.

Now a terribly clever lady would not be so very charming if she failed to possess a devilishly biting wit, and Sophy uses her's to infuriate when the ends justify the means. I love this early encounter with her cousin, Charles Rivenhall, who has long acted as the patriarch of the family (his father having failed in this light), and, as result, has developed rather tyrannical habits which Sophy is determined to correct:

"I must buy a carriage, and don't know whether to choose a curricle or a high-perch phaeton. Which do you recommend, cousin?"


"Neither," he replied, steadying his horses round a bend in the street.


"Oh?" said Sophy, rather surprised. "What, then?"


He glanced down at her. "You are not serious, are you?"


"Not serious? Of course I am serious!"


"If you wish to drive, I will take you in the Park one day," he said. "I expect I can find a horse - or even a pair - in the stables quiet enough for a lady to drive."


"Oh, I fear that would never do!" said Sophy, shaking her head.


"Indeed? Why not?"


"I might excite the horse," said Sophy dulcetly.


He was momentarily taken aback. Then he laughed, and said: "I beg your pardon: I had no intention of offending you! But you cannot need a carriage in London. You will no doubt drive out with my mother, and if you should wish to go on some particular errand you may always order one of the carriages to be sent round to the house for your use."


"That," said Sophy," is very obliging of you, but will not suit me quite so well. Where does one buy carriages in London?"


"You will scarcely drive yourself about the town in a curricle!" he said. "Nor do I consider a high-perch phaeton at all a suitable vehicle for a lady to drive. I should not care to see any of my sisters making the attempt."


"You must remember to tell them so," said Sophy affably. "Do they mind what you say to them? I never had a brother myself, so I can't know."


There was a slight pause, while Mr Rivenhall, unaccustomed to sudden attacks, recovered his presence of mind. It did not take him very long. "It might have been better for you if you had, cousin!" he said grimly.


"I don't think so," said Sophy, quite unruffled. "The little I have seen of brothers makes me glad that Sir Horace never burdened me with any."


"Thank you! I know how I may take that, I suppose!"


"Well, I imagine you might, for although you have a great many antiquated notions I don't think you stupid, precisely."


"Much obliged! Have you any other criticisms you would care to make?"


"Yes, never fly into a miff when you are driving a high-couraged pair! You took that last corner much too fast."

Needless to say, Sophy gets her high-perch phaeton and pair and proves herself quite the whip. Many people in this book try to curb Sophy's behavior and provide direction she is entirely without need of, in particular Mr. Rivenhall's prim and sour fiancee, Miss Eugenia Wraxton. As I often seem to be unable to resist quoting large swaths of Heyer (her dialogue is just too funny!), allow me to cite the first of many moments in which Sophy puts Miss Wraxton firmly in her place:

"I am persuaded that you must find our London ways strange at first."


"Why, I imagine that cannot differ greatly from those of Paris, or Vienna, or even Lisbon!" said Sophy.


"I have never visted those cities, but I believe - indeed I am sure! - that the tone of London is vastly superior," said Miss Wraxton.


Her air of calm certainty struck Sophy as being so funny that she went into a peal of laughter. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" she gasped. "But it is so ridiculous, you know!"


"I expect it must seem so to you," agreed Miss Wraxton, her calm quite unimpaired. "I understand that a great deal of licence is permitted on the Continent to females. Here it is not so. Quite the recerse! To be thought bad ton, dear Miss Stanton-Lacy, would be very dreadful. I know that you will not take it amiss if I give you a hint. You will of course wish to attend the Assemblies at Almack's, for instance. I assure you, the veriest breath of criticism to reach the ears of the patronesses, and you may say farewell to any hope of obtaining a voucher from them. Tickets may not be purchased, you know. It is most exclusive! The riles, too, are very strict, and must not be contravened by a hairsbreadth."


"You terrify me," said Sophy. "Do you think I shall be blackballed?"


Miss Wraxton smiled. "Hardly, since you will make your debut under Lady Ombersley's aegis! She will no doubt tell you just how you should conduct yourself, if her health permits her to take you there. It is unfortunate that circumstances have prevented me from occupying that position which would have enabled me to have relieved her of such duties."


"Forgive me!" interrupted Sophy, whose attention had been wandering, "but I think Madam de Lievan is waving to me, and it would be very uncivil not to notice her!"


She rode off as she spoke, to where a smart barouche was drawn up beside the track, and leaned down from her saddle to shake the languid hand held up to her.


"Sophie!" pronounced the Countess. "Sir Horace told me I should meet you here. You were galloping ventre a terre; never do so again! Ah, Mrs Burrell, permit me to present to you Miss Stanton-Lacy!"


The lady seated beside the Ambassador's wife bowed slightly, and allowed her lips to relax into an infinitesimal smile. This expanded a little when she observed Miss Wraxton, following in Sophy's wake, and she inclined her head, a great mark of condescension.


Countess Lieven nodded to Miss Wraxton, but went on talking to Sophy. "You are staying with Lady Ombersley. I am a little acquainted with her, and I shall call. She will spare you to me perhaps one evening. You have not seen Princess Esterhazy yet, or Lady Jersey? I shall tell them I have met you, and they will want to hear how Sir Horace does. What did I promise Sir Horace I would do? Ah, but of course! Almack's! I will send you a voucher ma chere Sophie, but do not gallop in Hyde Park." She then told her coachman to drive on, included the whole of Sophy's party in her light, valedictory smile, and turned to continue her interrupted conversation with Mrs Drummond Burrell.


"I was not aware that you were acquianted with the Countess Lieven," said Miss Wraxton.


"Do you dislike her?" Sophy asked, aware of the coldness in Miss Wraxton's voice. "Many people do, I know. Sir Horace calls her the greatest intriguante, but she is clever, and can be very amusing. She has a tendre for him, as I daresay you have guessed. I like Princess Esterhazy better myself, I own, and Lady Jersey better than either of them, because she is so much more sincere, in spite of that restless manner of hers."


"Dreadful woman!" said Charles. "She never stops talking! She is known as Silence, in London."


"Is she? Well, I am sure, if she knows it, she does not care a bit, for she dearly loves a joke."


"You are fortunate in knowing so many of the Patronesses of Almack's," observed Miss Wraxton.


Sophy gave her irrepressible chuckle. "To be honest, I think my good fortune lies in having an accomplished flirt for a father!"

If any of you, dear readers, happen to be so uninitiated as to be quite in the dark regarding who the illustrious historical figures mentioned in the passage above are, let me urge you to both read this article on RomanceWiki and look at the wonderful images supplied of the exclusive club's most memorable patronesses at The Romantic Query Letter and The Happy-Ever-After blog posthaste.

I am afraid I cannot complete a review of this book without touching on a sensitive topic. As many readers of this blog have probably deciphered, I am Jewish, and there is a scene in this novel where Sophy visits about the most disreputable member of those money-lenders referred to at the time as "the Jews" imaginable. I did not think much of it, or take the slightest offense, when I first read the book - no more than I did upon reading The Merchant of Venice or Oliver Twist - but shortly afterward I read a very interesting review of the book by a fellow blogger, for whom I have the utmost respect, in which she expressed extreme and legitimate discomfort with Heyer's portrayal. We engaged in a bit of healthy debate over the issue, which I do not believe resulted in either of us changing our mind's on the subject, but in light of the recent controversy raging over Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn, and I feel the need to reiterate my perspective on this subject. Political correctness is a very modern notion, and while it does indeed help to foster a more civil discourse, I feel it often inhibits our ability to discuss the very real racism that continues to flourish in our society and to understand both the present and historical consequences of such intolerance. I urge readers to not allow this episode of The Grand Sophy to undermine their enjoyment of this otherwise delightful novel, but to use it as a means of understanding a very real aspect of 19th century society. The reason Jews historically functioned as money-lenders was because of ancient religious prohibitions against Christians acting in this capacity. Money-lending allowed a marginalized sect to carve a useful place for themselves inside a hostile society, and, as in any profession, there were those who abused their position. Heyer depicts the very worst of these, and I admit to thinking that her feelings on Jews were probably not what most of us would deem acceptable, but it does not change the fact that she was a marvelous and extremely historically accurate writer, and by expressing her own, relatively modern prejudices (this book was first published in 1950), she has inadvertently provided us with an opportunity to understand hatred and intolerance. Not reading this book because of this scene is like removing a very offensive word from a masterpiece of American literature because we are too timid to confront the reality it highlights, and on that note, I will bring an end to both my rant and to this post. Enjoy the remains of the weekend everyone!