There's No Place Like Home

I have moved many times in my life, giving me ample opportunity to contemplate what it is that makes a house a home, not just some place you are currently residing. As I embark on the last move I intend to make for several years, into what I am already calling home (though I have only been inside the structure twice), it occurs to me that Austen covers the subject in some depth. She too knew the simultaneous pain of being uprooted from one home and surprising comfort of finding oneself suddenly again at home, now in a new place never before imagined. My husband and I looked at close to two hundred properties in 2009, trying to find the right house. So how can one tell if a house might suit them? Elizabeth Bennet wasn't exactly shopping around when she visited Pemberley, but still she knew the house, despite all its impressive grandeur, would fit her nicely. Easily, she can envision herself at home:

The housekeeper came; a respectable-looking, elderly woman, much less fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of finding her. They followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned room, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, from which they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene -- the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it -- with delight. As they passed into other rooms, these objects were taking different positions; but from every window there were beauties to be seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine; with less of splendor, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.

"And of this place," thought she, "I might have been mistress! With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt. -- But no," -- recollecting herself, -- "that could never be: my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me: I should not have been allowed to invite them." This was a lucky recollection -- it saved her from something like regret.

Emma too has opportunity to view her future home, though with little notion that Donwell will someday be hers. Though she has no eye for future proprietorship, the reader clearly perceives how comfortable she would be there. Rambling and unfashionable the Abbey might be, but it also undeniably a comfortable and well-loved home:

It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that as soon as she was satisfied of her father's comfort, she was glad to leave him, and look around her; eager to refresh and correct her memory with more particular observation, more exact understanding of a house and grounds which must ever be so interesting to her and all her family.

She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her alliance with the present and future proprietor could fairly warrant, as she viewed the respectable size and style of the building, its suitable, becoming, characteristic situation, low and sheltered--its ample gardens stretching down to meadows washed by a stream, of which the Abbey, with all the old neglect of prospect, had scarcely a sight--and its abundance of timber in rows and avenues, which neither fashion nor extravagance had rooted up.--The house was larger than Hartfield, and totally unlike it, covering a good deal of ground, rambling and irregular, with many comfortable, and one or two handsome rooms.--It was just what it ought to be, and it looked what it was--and Emma felt an increasing respect for it, as the residence of a family of such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding.--Some faults of temper John Knightley had; but Isabella had connected herself unexceptionably. She had given them neither men, nor names, nor places, that could raise a blush. These were pleasant feelings, and she walked about and indulged them till it was necessary to do as the others did, and collect round the strawberry-beds.

I wish our new home had strawberry beds, but I'm afraid the grounds are not so extensive as to accommodate any kind of fruit cultivation, let alone Mrs. Elton's donkey! But large pleasure grounds do not make or break a home. A home is not just a structure and its environs: it is a place so chock full of memories that it feels a part of oneself. To leave a home is incredibly painful, a fact to which Marianne Dashwood can attest:

Many were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a place so much beloved. "Dear, dear Norland!" said Marianne, as she wandered alone before the house, on the last evening of their being there; "when shall I cease to regret you!--when learn to feel a home elsewhere!--Oh! happy house, could you know what I suffer in now viewing you from this spot, from whence perhaps I may view you no more!--And you, ye well-known trees!--but you will continue the same.--No leaf will decay because we are removed, nor any branch become motionless although we can observe you no longer!--No; you will continue the same; unconscious of the pleasure or the regret you occasion, and insensible of any change in those who walk under your shade!--But who will remain to enjoy you?"

Anne Elliot experiences similar, if less effusive, pain when the Crofts take possession of Kellynch:

So passed the first three weeks. Michaelmas came; and now Anne's heart must be in Kellynch again. A beloved home made over to others; all the precious rooms and furniture, groves, and prospects, beginning to own other eyes and other limbs! She could not think of much else on the 29th of September; and she had this sympathetic touch in the evening from Mary, who, on having occasion to note down the day of the month, exclaimed, "Dear me, is not this the day the Crofts were to come to Kellynch? I am glad I did not think of it before. How low it makes me!"

Sometime we do not realize a house is a home until we are called upon to leave it, as Fanny Price sadly discovers when exiled to Portsmouth:

Her eagerness, her impatience, her longings to be with them, were such as to bring a line or two of Cowper's Tirocinium for ever before her. "With what intense desire she wants her home," was continually on her tongue, as the truest description of a yearning which she could not suppose any schoolboy's bosom to feel more keenly.

When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she had loved to call it her home, had been fond of saying that she was going home; the word had been very dear to her, and so it still was, but it must be applied to Mansfield. That was now the home. Portsmouth was Portsmouth; Mansfield was home. They had been long so arranged in the indulgence of her secret meditations, and nothing was more consolatory to her than to find her aunt using the same language: "I cannot but say I much regret your being from home at this distressing time, so very trying to my spirits. I trust and hope, and sincerely wish you may never be absent from home so long again," were most delightful sentences to her. Still, however, it was her private regale. Delicacy to her parents made her careful not to betray such a preference of her uncle's house. It was always: "When I go back into Northamptonshire, or when I return to Mansfield, I shall do so and so." For a great while it was so, but at last the longing grew stronger, it overthrew caution, and she found herself talking of what she should do when she went home before she was aware. She reproached herself, coloured, and looked fearfully towards her father and mother. She need not have been uneasy. There was no sign of displeasure, or even of hearing her. They were perfectly free from any jealousy of Mansfield. She was as welcome to wish herself there as to be there.

But the most important aspect of any home, what clearly distinguishes it from just a plain old house, are the people who inhabit it. This is so well demonstrated towards the end of Northanger Abbey, when Catherine Morland receives such a warm welcome from her family after receiving her harrowing dismissal from General Tilney:

But, whatever might be the distress of Catherine's mind, as she thus advanced towards the Parsonage, and whatever the humiliation of her biographer in relating it, she was preparing enjoyment of no every-day nature for those to whom she went; first, in the appearance of her carriage -- and secondly, in herself. The chaise of a traveller being a rare sight in Fullerton, the whole family were immediately at the window; and to have it stop at the sweep-gate was a pleasure to brighten every eye and occupy every fancy -- a pleasure quite unlooked for by all but the two youngest children, a boy and girl of six and four years old, who expected a brother or sister in every carriage. Happy the glance that first distinguished Catherine! -- Happy the voice that proclaimed the discovery! -- But whether such happiness were the lawful property of George or Harriet could never be exactly understood.

Her father, mother, Sarah, George, and Harriet, all assembled at the door to welcome her with affectionate eagerness, was a sight to awaken the best feelings of Catherine's heart; and in the embrace of each, as she stepped from the carriage, she found herself soothed beyond anything that she had believed possible. So surrounded, so caressed, she was even happy! In the joyfulness of family love everything for a short time was subdued, and the pleasure of seeing her, leaving them at first little leisure for calm curiosity, they were all seated round the tea-table, which Mrs. Morland had hurried for the comfort of the poor traveller, whose pale and jaded looks soon caught her notice, before any inquiry so direct as to demand a positive answer was addressed to her.

Though we do not yet live there, I know our new house will be the happiest home I have yet inhabited, complete as it will be when filled with my husband and cats. I shall miss it when away and relish each homecoming. We will fill it with our things, old and new, until our personalities sing out from the walls, just as the interiors of Pemberley and Donwell echo their owners. Someday we will leave for a new home and the memories will wash over us with their accompanying pains and joys, making our hearts weep for the past, but then the process will begin all over again and we will forge new experiences, creating fresh reminiscences in a place I have never yet beheld. In the meantime, I intend to make the most of our life in the first house we picked out as a home. Each trial and triumph will surely add to its glory. Isn't life wonderful!

2010

Through snow and wind we drove the seven hundred miles home from my in-laws yesterday. I have unpacked, enjoying the rummage through all the Christmas booty. I received a couple of Austen themed gifts: one kind friend gave me the BBC's Jane Austen Collection, including all the old adaptations from the 70's and 80's (I have long avoided the '86 Northanger Abbey and it is with great trepidation that I anticipate watching it - certainly I will have more to say about all these films as I work my way through the collection), while my mother was so thoughtful as to purchase for me the Jane Austen 2010 Brock Wall Calender from The Pemberley Shoppe. It is already hanging right next to my desk, reminding me that January is the sad month in which Marianne is cast aside by Willoughby and Fanny is exiled to dreary Portsmouth, but even such sorry reminiscences as these cannot damper my enthusiasm and optimism for the new year. Not only will the next few months see my first book in print, which is exciting enough, but on New Year's Eve my husband and I finally concluded negotiations on our first house. We move in May and are working on getting the contracts signed this week. There is so much to be thankful for in my life right now that I can sincerely join Jane Bennet in declaring, "'Tis too much!... by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh! why is not every body as happy?" I hope everyone's holidays were as lovely as mine and that we all have wonderful things to look forward to in this nascent year. Tomorrow I will settle back into routine, but today I want to hold on to the fading seasonal cheer just a little longer, sending out one last, sincere wish for everyone's comfort and joy. Welcome 2010. I plan to relish each of your days.

New Year's Resolutions

I'm slowly plowing my way through A Truth Universally Acknowledged: 33 Writers on Why We Read Jane Austen, reading an essay or two a week. Of course, it begs the question: why do I read Jane Austen? There are too many reasons to enumerate here (I'm squeezing this post in between the constant travel and parties that have filled my life for the last week -I know, poor me) but the most obvious is that Austen's heroine's have, since I was a teenager, provided me with both a model for my own behavior and a code of morality to follow. Austen has taught me much but there is still so much more to learn. If I ever want to even approach the perfection that is Anne Elliot, I must continue to take these strictures to heart. Therefore, my New Year's resolution is to internalize a lesson from each of Jane Austen's heroines. I like to keep me resolutions attainable, so these are small goals whose significance is certainly lost on anyone who isn't a Austenite. Some will diet and exercise while others quit smoking or drinking, but in 2010 I plan on ...

" ... always judging and acting in future with the greatest good sense," and when that fails, "to forgive [myself] and be happier than ever ... ", just like Catherine Moreland.

... being a bit more like the Dashwood sisters, though my "feelings [are] strong" I shall endeavor "to govern them." To that end, "I have laid down my plan, and if I am capable of adhering to it--my feelings shall be governed and my temper improved. They shall no longer worry others, nor torture myself."

... invoking Elizabeth Bennet's spirit when "frightened at the will of others." I shall hope that my "courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."

... cultivating Fanny Price's sense of the sublime and hopes for mankind: "When I look out on such a night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world; and there certainly would be less of both if the sublimity of Nature were more attended to, and people were carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene."

... being thoroughly contrite and intent on setting things right when I do err, like Emma Woodhouse: "She had been often remiss, her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than fact; scornful, ungracious. But it should be so no more."

... fully appreciating and relishing both "the happiness of such misery, or the misery of such happiness" that life brings my way, just like my dearest Anne Elliot.

Happy New Year everybody! May all your hopes and desires for the future come to fruition.

(The above illustration, borrowed from Mollands Circulating Library, is by C.E. Brock and depicts Catherine Moreland and Isabella Tilney strolling the streets of Bath)

The Honest Scrap Award

I hope everyone had a marvelous Christmas. Though I remain at my in-laws, immersed in familial gaiety, I am taking time out from the festivities to thank Meredith of Austenesque Reviews for providing me with The Honest Scrap Award, given to bloggers who write from their hearts. With the reception of this award I have the option to pass it along to seven other deserving bloggers and/or share ten honest things about myself. I am going to pass on the former, not because I don't know of many bloggers who more than fulfill this qualification but because I am such a novice at blogging that it feels presumptuous, but I will share some honest truths about myself which are, hopefully, laugh worthy. Enjoy your holidays - the party is not over yet!

1. I was run over by a llama when I was four. No permanent injuries were incurred but I do have a lasting aversion to the creatures as a result.

2. Most ladies love shoes, but do their fathers? Mine has more than 300 pairs, far more than I do, though I still have a large enough collection that my husband insured it.

3. My favorite book of all time is not Persuasion but The Little Princess by Francis Hogson Burnett. I have read it once a year since I was six.

4. According to my mother-in-law (and to her infinite satisfaction) I have the appetite of a truck driver.

5. I am a huge klutz and my hands bear the scars of the many attempts I've made to dismember my fingers in the kitchen. I end up in the ER about once every two years, needing to be stitched back together.

6. Since I was 18, I have desired a collection of antique, silver, chamber candlesticks (you know, the ones with the loop handles) but have yet to purchase a single one. They are both hard to find and expensive, but I have great hope that at some point I will have a respectable assortment.

7. My sister and I once had a cheese fight, which is exactly what it sounds like. Kraft singles were the weapon of choice.

8. My husband was my college roommate, and my best friend, before we started dating. We were originally drawn together because we are both confirmed Rennies (a.k.a. those geeky people who show up at Renaissance Festivals in costume).

9. At a family reunion when I was 14, my father took us to see the house in which he grew up. Finding an open window he stuck my brother through it and instructed him to open the front door, allowing all of us - grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins - to break in. We have a picture of us assembled on the porch together in which I look completely mortified by such shenanigans.

10. I am not insane (I promise!) but I do speak to Anne Elliot in my head. She finds our modern world rather fascinating, if somewhat vulgar, and sends her warmest wishes for a happy New Year.

Searching for Pemberley by Mary Lydon Simonsen

I first became familiar with Mary Simonsen when she published Pemberley Remembered in 2007. Now that book has been republished in expanded form by Sourcebooks under the title Searching for Pemberley. My husband and I read this book aloud to each other, which proved a great way to weather the enormous snow storm we had over the weekend. It is the story of an American, Maggie Joyce, who while working in post-World War II London becomes intimate with a family, the Crowells, who are the direct descendants of the Laceys, the historic counterparts of the fictional Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. What is most striking about the book is the juxtaposition between England in the Regency period and England in the post-war era, achieved through the Lacey family's surviving letters and diaries, which provide a slightly altered account of the Pride and Prejudice plot, and bleak accounts like the following:

"If you are thinking about going to Canterbury, I should tell you that the city was bombed heavily during the Baedeker raids. The cathedral had some damage, but the chapter library and many of the buildings near the cathedral were completely destroyed." Neither Rob nor I had ever heard of the Baedeker raids, so I asked Mrs. Ives if they were a part of the Blitz.

"No, the Blitz was in 1940-41," Mrs. Ives replied. "According to Lord Haw Haw, the British traitor used by the Nazis for their radio broadcasts, the Baedeker raids were in retaliation for the RAF bombing of German cities. Using Baedeker's Guide to Great Britain, cities that received three stars in the tourist guide because of their historical importance were bombed by the Luftwaffe. Before Canterbury was bombed in June 1942, Exeter, Bath, and York were also bombed."

For anyone who loves English literature, who has traveled to Canterbury with Chaucer, to Bath with Jane Austen, and has wandered along the Arno with Forster's Lucy Honeychurch, Baedeker in hand, this passage must evoke heartache. The stoicism with which the British people endured such destruction continually impresses the reader of this book.

Searching for Pemberley portrays an England humbled. There are still parties and balls amongst the upper crust, reminiscent of those their ancestors attended but for the understandable limitations of banqueting on rations and the patched clothing of the attendees. Also, the Derbyshire of the late 1940's is a far more egalitarian place than that Austen depicted and those who used to live below stairs are now invited to dine side by side with the heirs. The old social order that hindered Elizabeth and Darcy's relationship has been decimated by the two World Wars; while decaying Georgian mansions dot the country side, a reminder of past glory, England is now a strikingly different place. Yet despite all the deprivation, great love can still blossom and flourish just a successfully as it did in Austen's time, perhaps more so. Gone are the stringent moral strictures, though hint of them remains in characters like Mrs. Dawkins, with whom Maggie boards. The characters are free to explore each other in ways which would have led the Bennet ladies to utter ruin, as by the 1940's "loss of virtue in a female" isn't quite so irretrievable. There is no graphic sexual content in this book but sex is present in a way that it is not in Austen's work, understandable when taking into consideration what is emphasized in this novel: the difference 150 years can (and cannot) make.

I greatly enjoyed the new part of the book, which brings Maggie back to her small, Eastern Pennsylvanian, coal mining hometown. It is the most humorous part of the story, though depressed coal country isn't a much more uplifting setting then war worn England. I especially enjoyed the character of Maggie's grandfather, a caricature of the cantankerous old man very reminiscent of Austen in his universal familiarity. Most of Ms. Simonsen's characterizations have a hint of Austen to them: they are the inhabitants of small towns, revealing themselves through their actions, and are archetypal. The only one who I never managed to establish much sympathy with is our heroine, Maggie. I found her somewhat frustrating and kept mentally invoking Anne Elliot's silent censure as I read: "... she had a delicacy which must be pained by any lightness of conduct in a well-meaning young woman, and a heart to sympathize in any of the sufferings it occasioned ...." As I do not wish to spoil the story for those who have not read it, I shall say no more of the matter.

I am very pleased to say that Ms. Simonsen is a follower of this blog and has kindly offered to do an interview with me about her work on January 11th. I have never done anything of the sort before so please indulge me with your patience, as I will surely stumble my way through the endeavor. I am particularly interested in learning more about her experience with the publishing industry (as she has achieved what I hope to), her relationship with Austen's novels, and her foray in to the paranormal with Mr. Darcy on the Eve of All Saints' Day. Please stop by and check it out!

Jane Austen at Christmas

"I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings ..." - Pride & Prejudice

Austen tells us very little about Christmas. The celebration did not reach its modern popularity until the Victorians got their hands on it, but we know from her letters that Christmas at Steventon was a rather festive occasion, complete with elaborate theatrics. Yet the only glimpses we get of Christmas in her novels are vague. Emma goes off to a dinner party at Randell's, just like any other dinner party except for Mr. Woodhouse's company and the unfortunate attention she suffers from Mr. Elton. Anne gets a glimpse of the Christmas chaos at Uppercross but, as usual, she is rather more an observer than a participant in the children's bustle. There is also a slight hint from Mrs. Norris, Scrooge herself, that the ball held at Mansfield coincides with the holiday season (it is also when Edmund takes orders). Too, we learn that Tom Bertram was frequently called upon to recite My Name is Norval one Christmas holiday, not exactly light or festive material. In Austen, Christmas, along with Michaelmas, mostly serves as a way of referencing the time: a marking of the quarter days. It is a convenient time for visits to either begin or end, or perhaps for an entertainment or two to take place, but from such common occurrences we derive little Christmas cheer. This Christmas void, by our modern standards, has been amply filled by Austen's fans, who have imagined a multitude of Christmases for her characters to enjoy, especially Elizabeth and Darcy. Here are four excerpts from works of Pride and Prejudice fan fiction that give us visions of what Christmas as a Darcy might have been like.

Note: I have been careful to avoid any significant spoilers so that you may read the following without anxiety.

This first scene comes from Illusions and Ignorance: Mary Bennet's Story by Eucharista Ward (now A Match for Mary Bennet). Theatrics, including pantomime, charades, and pageantry have long been part of the Christmas celebrations in England. Many great homes had extensive collections of costuming available for use on such occasions.

Georgiana enthusiastically spoke of old costumes used for Christmas pageants when she came home from school as a child. "We had theatricals then-and do you know, even Miss Anne de Bourgh took part once! I am sure my brother remembers." Georgiana led them to an upper room full of trunks and old furniture, where she extracted from one very large trunk many relics of old Christmas pageants. She held up a long white gown. "Won't this even be long enough for Miss Langley?" She pulled out yet another. "This is about right for Dorothea Dixon, do you not agree?" Mary nodded her agreement as Georgiana held it against herself. "I wore this one when I was ten."

By the time their candles burned to stubs and the hems of their gowns had swept up trails of dust from the floor of the little-used room, they had assembled simple costumes for several shepherds and as many angels, and they folded each again carefully and put it into a box for servants to bring down later for brushing and airing.

This amusing anecdote comes from Duty and Desire: A Novel of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman by Pamela Aiden. Being from Philadelphia, I have more experience with the notion of Mummers than most Americans, though ours are a far cry from those with which Austen would have been familiar.

The sounds of feminine laughter and a masculine chuckle broke through his thoughts, and bidding fancy away for a moment, Darcy rounded the corner of the door and joined his relatives. D'Arcy was whispering something in Georgiana's ear that sent her into renewed giggles, while Lady Matlock looked on in approbation.

"No! You cannot be telling the absolute truth, Alex!"

"Ask my father if you doubt me, Cousin," D'Arcy replied with a knowing smile, "for your brother will never admit to it."

"Admit to what, Alex?" Darcy poured himself a glass of wine.

"To running off one Christmas Eve to join the Derbyshire Mummers just before their performance in Lambton." Darcy winced. "You were ten, I believe, and we were all at St. Lawrence's for the service when you turned up missing."

"Brother, it cannot be true!" Georgiana looked at him in wonder.

Darcy nodded slowly as the wine gently awoke his palate. "It is true, but I was only ten; and you may believe that our father impressed upon me the indecorum of such an adventure."

"But our uncle...?"

"Oh, your father was forced to call upon mine to help extricate your brother from an altercation with some of the younger mummers in which he was rather outnumbered," D'Arcy supplied happily.

"Alex!" Darcy frowned at his cousin. "This is hardly fit conversation..."

"But it is very interesting!" came Fitzwilliam's voice from the doorway. "I can remember the occasion quite well and cheering you on from the carriage window. Oh, it was a lovely brawl, sir, a lovely brawl!" He raised his glass to Darcy, D'Arcy and His Lordship following suit. "Never let it be said you were not pluck to the bone, Fitz! One against three, wasn't it?"

Darcy inclined his head. "It was four-and I admit it only for the sake of accuracy." He turned to Georgiana. "It was an exceedingly foolish thing to do, and I was proud of it only for a very few minutes before Father caused me to see reason."

"Caused his backside to see reason!" crowed Fitzwilliam. "I distinctly remember you standing for Christmas dinner that year and being devoutly thankful I wasn't you."

In Mr. Darcy Presents His Bride: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice , Helen Halstead takes the Darcys into the world of the haut ton. Here is how she imagines a Twelfth Night celebration amongst London's elite:

As supper ended, the Twelfth Night entertainments began. To the sound of flute and drum the "attendants" of the court ran in and assembled on the platform at the end of the room. The "Twelfth Cake" was carried in. The sides of this massive concoction were sculptured like desert dunes, and on the top rode a miniature procession of figures representing the three Magi and their camels. A drumming brought silence and a boy unrolled a scroll and read aloud:

"Now the revelry comes.
For in this cake of plums
Is the coin for the King.
For his Queen the ring.
They'll reign over us here,
Both commoner and peer."

The cake was carried around in procession, before returning to the dais to be cut.

"Have you ever been King?" Elizabeth asked Darcy.

"Fortunately not. Rumor has it that aspiring kings bribe Lord Misrule for a chance at the coin."

"Who plays his part?"

"Except for the King and Queen, they are all actors."

The herald went on:

"So that justice may be,
Let Lord Misrule oversee!"

Through the door by the dais, leapt Lord Misrule. From his noisy welcome, it was clear that not much was expected in the way of justice. A team of footmen served cake first to the ladies, then replenished their trays to serve the gentlemen. Elizabeth noted how many eyes at the table watched the gentlemen pick through their sweet, in hope, or fear, of finding the coin.

This last picture of Regency Christmas comes from the first volume ofThe Pemberley Chronicles: A Companion Volume to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice by Rebecca Ann Collins (the seventh volume is on my desk now, waiting to be read). It depicts Elizabeth's first Christmas at Pemberley and she has already made her mark on the celebration. The most satisfying thing about this epic series is following the growth of these traditions through the generations.

Christmas Eve dawned cold and bright.

After breakfast, everyone who wanted to got rugged up and went into the woods to collect boughs of fir, pine cones, and holly for decorating the rooms and the stage. The younger members of the family enjoyed this part of the preparations most and spent all afternoon making garlands to hang across the windows.

Shortly before lunch, a carriage arrived, bringing Dr Grantley, who apologized for being late but assured everyone he was willing and ready to help, "I'll do anything," he offered, and Lizzy, seeing poor Jane and Georgiana working so very hard in the music room, sent him along to help them. With everyone pressed into service, the house hummed. Bingley and Darcy wandered in and out of the rooms, amazed at the activity. Darcy swore he could not recall an occasion when there was so much going on at Pemberley.

By late afternoon, everything was in readiness. The children had all been fetched and costumed like little choristers. The fires burned brightly and burnished all the dark oak and copper as well as the glowing red berried garlands around the walls and over the windows.

By six o'clock, the room had filled with guests and neighbours, and when the children walked in carrying their candles, there were gasps of surprise. Their glowing faces and sparkling eyes told of their excitement.

Jane, Elizabeth, and Georgiana shepherded them into place, and then, Dr Grantley read the story of Christmas from the Bible. It was the perfect touch, suggested by Georgiana and gladly carried out by Dr Grantley. When the singers began, a little nervously at first, but stronger and sweeter by the minute, the tears in the eyes and the smiles on the faces of the audience told the story. The parents of the children of the estate ranged from yeoman farmers to grooms, maids, and gardeners. Never before had they seen their children afforded such an opportunity as this to participate in the festivities at Pemberley. When it was known, mainly through Jenny and Mrs Reynolds, that it was all Mrs Darcy's doing, her popularity among them soared. When they broke for an intermission, to allow the little voices some rest, Elizabeth came over to Darcy who was sitting with the Gardiners. She had wanted reassurance that it was proceeding well; what she got was adulation from everyone around her. Elizabeth glowed, and Mr Darcy could barely contain his joy. If Mrs Gardiner needed any proof of the success of this match, for which she and her husband felt partly responsible, she had it there in front of her as Darcy reached across and too Elizabeth's hand and said, "I cannot honestly remember a happier Christmas, since I was a boy."

Doesn't that just sound lovely? I will be attending a Christmas concert this year, to hear my mother-in-law perform, but this will be the extent of the theatrics I shall enjoy. Usually we at least go to the theater but as tickets are dear we shall not indulge ourselves so much this year. Perhaps, if I am really persuasive, I can convince my family to put on a small entertainment of our own. I'll be the first to admit that it seems highly unlikely.

First Impressions: Chapter Two

Happy birthday Miss Austen! It's been 234 years since the world was blessed with your entrance into it.

Added 12/16 - I'm so terribly scatterbrained lately! I could have sworn yesterday was the 16th! I guess I was so excited to celebrate that I jumped the gun a bit. Very typical of me.

*Read chapter one

Chapter Two

“Now what do you make of this?” that lady exclaimed triumphantly to an ever-patient Lady Lucas. “I must say I always knew Jane's beauty would attract a wealthy man, if one should be so fortunate as to fall in her path, but I certainly never harbored such hopes for Lizzy! Not that I'm complaining, mind you. If Mr. Darcy should take it into his head to fall in love with my daughter it would be very fortunate indeed. I just hope Lizzy minds what she says. No need scaring him off with that tongue of hers. She can be entirely too much like Mr. Bennet sometimes and I can assure you, my dear, that a particularly becoming young lady he would not make!”

“Calm now, Mrs. Bennet. Miss Eliza has charming manners; a witty word of hers has never trespassed decorum. Surely you have nothing to fear - Mr. Darcy seems quite taken.” As these words were spoken, Lady Lucas' eyes were fixed across the room where the two youngest Bennet girls, Catherine (Kitty as all called her) and Lydia, were predictably dancing raucously with their partners. “No,” she thought, “Lizzy will not be the Bennet who frightens away potential suitors. Someone, I know not who, should take those girls in hand.”

Of course Mrs. Bennet and Lady Lucas were not the only ones whose attention was drawn to the elegant couple at the top of the line. The seemingly haughty Mr. Darcy's favoring of a much-beloved local lady easily rendered this the most exciting assembly of the season. Even Mrs. Long scaled down her previous assessment of his manners: when she had attempted to speak with him earlier, she believed he deliberately snubbed her, but now she was convinced that the man must be hard of hearing on the right, a sad ailment for one so young, “Miss Elizabeth best think twice of an alliance with such a prematurely deteriorating man, ten thousand a year not withstanding. He seems hale enough now but one never knows what the future might bring. She may well find herself tied for years to the sickbed. I knew of a young lady who found herself in just such a predicament; she thought she was very well married but not a year into the match her husband fell ill. She spent years nursing him, wasting her youth, and when the unfortunate man finally died found herself right back where she began, with nothing but her dowry to live on as everything went to his younger brother!” The entire neighborhood was suddenly highly interested in the expectations of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

“Kitty!” Lydia called out as they passed each other in the dance “Do look at Lizzy! She is dancing with that handsome Mr. Darcy.”

Kitty, to her great chagrin, missed a step as she surveyed the line, but any embarrassment she felt was swept away with elation for her sister. “Oh, my how exciting! Mrs. Long told me he has twice Mr. Bingley's income. I do hope he falls in love with Lizzy!” Silently she wondered if she might ever be so distinguished, her heart slightly aflutter with the notion.

Despite such rampant general interest, perhaps only one person in the room could be deemed as concerned as Mrs. Bennet with this surprising development. For Caroline Bingley, the sight of Mr. Darcy, a man who professed to deplore a ball, dancing with one of the local girls was disturbing enough to cause her face to flush with consternation. The effect was not becoming. Upon first perceiving the pair she hurried to her sister's side, ignored the appearance of her next dance partner on her right, and proceeded to interrogate her sister, Mrs. Hurst, regarding the identity of her favorite's partner.

“Louisa, you must know the name of that lady dancing with poor Mr. Darcy! How ever did she inveigle him into such an unpleasant predicament?”

Mrs. Hurst surveyed her sister carefully, taking in the jealous glint in her eyes, before gazing towards the lady in question, “I believe she is one of the Bennet girls and that Charles made the introduction. As you can surely see as well as I can Caroline, Mr. Darcy does not appear to be distressed.” In fact she could not say she had ever before seen him so at ease in public.

“Oh no Louisa, you are most certainly mistaken! He looks distinctly uncomfortable. And is not Bennet the name of that vulgar woman, the one thrusting daughters at Charles? In such unrefined company, Mr. Darcy must be suffering! Look, there she is now, standing by and ready to pounce on the poor man. Surely we must endeavor to relieve him from such an encroachment?”

“He is his own man, Caroline. We must trust him to fend for himself.” So disconcerted was Miss Bingley that she failed to notice as her would-be dance partner inconspicuously backed away, anxious no longer to dance with the neighborhood's new heiress but to share his marvel that the fashionable Miss Bingley was so undone by Meryton's own Lizzy Bennet instead!

To all this Darcy remained oblivious; for perhaps the first time in his life, he was blissfully ignorant of the scrutiny of others. Even he was surprised by his transformative reaction to Elizabeth's simple courtesy: never had a young lady, other than his sister of course, not treated him as some stellar prize to be won. Darcy looked down into his partner's face as they came together at the end of the set and bestowed a smile of sincere gratitude. Elizabeth smiled back, the honest pleasure she betrayed causing his to broaden. He led her to the side of the floor, fortunately choosing that opposite from Mrs. Bennet, where they were met by Elizabeth's next partner. They thanked each other for the pleasure and parted, Mr. Darcy feeling immensely gratified with the evening and even contemplating, fleetingly, the notion of offering his hand to another Hertfordshire maid.

Elizabeth watched him retreat with a sense of relief for, at that timely moment, her mother made her descent, snatching her away from Mr. Lucas (who was, coincidently, the same patient partner who had been engaged to Miss Bingley for the last) before they could take their place on the floor.

“Oh my dear, dear Lizzy! Mr. Darcy is such a charming man! So handsome and tall! Ten thousand a year I'm told, plus probably more! Oh I do hope you endeavored to please him my dear. Just think, if he should marry you, how grand you would be!”

Elizabeth looked wearily at her mother as she erupted with excitement. “It was only a dance, Mama, and not even a very lively one at that. Mr. Darcy seems gentlemanly and agreeable but he certainly displayed no signs of being smitten.”

“This is no time to vex me child! It is up to you to make him smitten of course! You must put yourself forward and perhaps he will ask for a second dance.”

“You must excuse me, ma'am, but this dance is already promised.”

Mr. Darcy had returned to his former station and resumed his survey of the assembly, now casting a visibly more amiable mien on the room. The dance had been most agreeable, far beyond his expectations which, you will easily recall, were decidedly negative and he felt himself more generous in his estimation of the assembly as a whole. Knowing that the neighborhood could boast of some pleasant and sophisticated companionship relieved the entire company of much of its tedium.

Miss Elizabeth had proved to be a most pleasant partner indeed. He watched her as she moved down the dance – though his critical eye was forced to acknowledge more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, her figure was light and pleasing. He wished to know more of her and determined to further the acquaintance. As Bingley was blatantly enraptured with the eldest Miss Bennet (he was, at that moment, soliciting her hand for a second dance), Darcy perceived it would be an easy resolution to which to adhere.

“I must thank you for introducing Darcy to your sister," Bingley said to Jane as they took their places on the floor. “Never have I seen him enjoy a dance more.”

“I am pleased to have been of service, Mr. Bingley. Lizzy has always excelled at putting people at ease.”

“I wish more people shared her talent. Sadly, while Darcy always receives a great deal of notice wherever he goes, he would much rather go unobserved. In small, intimate groups he fares much better and is exceedingly charming, but in large gatherings he always seems to recede into himself.”

Jane Bennet smiled happily at the handsome man, charmed by the affection and care he displayed for his friend, the honor of his attention, and the excitement of that bestowed on her favorite sister. Never had she so thoroughly enjoyed an assembly.