Mrs. Elton Sez: Deplorable Table Manners Repulses Groom-elect!

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I am writing to you in the strictest confidence. While my name is of no consequence to you (and would be of no value to your readers), I solicit your advice. I am about to be engaged to a woman I do not wish to marry. Although she is respectable enough in looks and possesses a spectacular fortune, she laughs like a neighing horse, speaks in a volume that would still a crowd, and eats while talking. One can see the bread crumbs flying from her mouth and liquids dribbling on her fine satins. After a meal one can discern which dishes she ate by merely staring at her bodice. I understand that when the old and infirm are taken to exhibiting such manners they are forgiven, but the young lady in question is barely nineteen.

How could I possibly dine with her for the rest of my life? Please do not ask me to approach her parents about her table manners, for they are equally lacking in decorum. My father, you see, owes this young lady’s father an almost insurmountable debt, which shall be erased on the day of our nuptials. Adding to my dilemma, I am in love with another – the daintiest and sweetest of creatures, who would not for the life of her ever allow a morsel or a crumb to fall waywardly from her cherry red lips.

If I elope with my beloved, my father will disinherit me. If I marry the heiress, I shall never forgive myself. As you can see, I am in sore need of your words of wisdom.

Sincerely,

Miserable and in love.


My dear Miserable,

You need not dissemble. I can see through you; your secrets are visible to me. La! I have often prided myself on being cautious as a minister of state, to be sure, but the single quality most to be celebrated in me, I think, is my Penetration. Do not be alarmed; I do not know precisely who you may be (though I have a pretty good guess), and any way the secrets of the confessional, you know, are secret.

Your description of your unpleasing bride-elect, however, is far too exact to be mistaken. The neighing horse, the dribbling liquids down sattin, are unmistakeable. There is only one woman in England with the courage and the importance to allow herself to behave in that way, and it is the Princess Charlotte.

So! You aspire to marry the Princess, do you? Let me tell you then, in no uncertain terms, that would be a very bad course, and her manners, if not the least of it, form only a part of my objections. In the first place, you are, I shrewdly collect, a handsome young blade now, who enjoys life. How much would you enjoy, pray, when you are Prince or King Consort, and doomed to watching the bread crumbling down her chin, and all England watching? Life would not seem such a merry jest to you then, would it, Sir?

I know two other things against the Princess, which, good-humoured and amiable girl though I believe her to be, must be taken very seriously when considering her as a wife. First, she admires Miss Austen's Sense and Sensibility, as indeed she ought to do, but only because she feels that the character of Marianne is exactly like her, only better! Really, now, sir, Marianne as a wife - that mixture of hysteria and self-absorption - would you, or any prudent man, want to be married to such? And Marianne, to do her justice, had excellent table manners. But that is not all that I know against Princess Charlotte. Now mark what I say, though I am surprised you need to hear it from me as it was common London gossip, and you move in circles that should scarcely be ignorant of this sort of thing. It is said, however, that she exclaimed in wonder at a lady friend who had been married to her husband for many years, "Law! Lady ___, do you not get tired of just Sir John in bed?" For it is well known that she leaves a passage open from her bedchamber door to the street, and slips downstairs at odd hours to bring up any random gentleman for some bed sport - which she considers to be "the healthiest thing in the world."

Princess or not, I conclude, she is perfectly unfitted for a wife, and as you have not actually committed yourself to an engagement, you will be quite justified in ceasing to call at Windsor and Carlton House. I understand your wish to do away with your father's debt, but is it likely? Would the Prince Regent countenance it? I think not. You did not incur your father's debts and cannot clear them. With a clear conscience, you may propose for your own true love, and marry her, if, that is, she has a proper dowry of her own. As Miss Austen herself said, it is needful for a couple to have one independent fortune between them; so if she has one, it will do very well.

Faithfully yours,

Mrs. Philip Elton


Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Grandson Stalked by Groupie

Dear Mrs. Elton

I put pen to paper to you today under much duress kind lady, and entreat you urgently for your assistance. I currently reside in London with my dear husband Robert Birchall, who is by trade a dealer in musical instruments and music publisher of some repute on New Bond Street. We have been happily married these forty years and blessed with many children and grandchildren. It is with great alacrity that I write to you concerning my grandson James, a young and aspiring musician who is currently residing with us while he studies at the Conservatory.

Last month he had his first salon recital on pianoforte at the home of his distinguished patroness (who shall remain nameless) meeting with great success. Since that eventful night, his world has changed so considerably that I do not know where or how to reveal all the particulars without exciting a fit of my nerves. One of the attendees was Lady Blessington, whose intimate friend Mrs. Penelope Paget a woman of a respectable middle age, has taken an intense interest to my young, handsome and talented grandson. After their introduction, she has forced her friendship upon him and followed him about town. She appears at the most inopportune moments startling and embarrassing him greatly in front of his family, friends and professional connections. This has continued unabated every day since his premiere, taking a tremendous toll on his health and happiness.

My dear husband Mr. Birchall has attempted polite intervention, but to no avail. We are so taxed and distressed by her continued unwelcomed advances; yet do not want to offend anyone who might be in the position to advance his career. Yesterday, a most alarming discovery has pushed us into despair then it was revealed that she has taken up the townhouse across our street and staked out surveillance from the front balcony with a spyglass.

Dear Mrs. Elton. We known not how to resolve this dilemma without offending the lady or her important friends, and entreat your honoured advice urgently. We await your reply most anxiously.

Your most humble and obedient servant,

Mrs. Robert Birchall


My dear Mrs. Birchall,

That is an excessively interesting letter, for a number of reasons: almost too interesting. First, I never heard it said that Lady Blessington was musical, more literary I would have thought; and then who is this Mrs. Penelope Paget, exactly? Who was she before her marriage? Who is her husband? for it is he who ought to intercede with her, surely, and an appeal direct to Mr. Paget would seem to be in order. You do not name him, however, and the style in which her name is given seems to indicate that she has been divorced. If so, then how is it that she is admitted into society? There is more than meets the eye here, that much is plain.

Mrs. Birchall, I do not pretend to move among the aristocracy myself. The Hawkins were a very old family in Bristol - I know we have lived there since my grandfather's time at least - and yet we are not of the metropolis, and do not affect to move in Court circles, only in the well-bred, but unpretending ones that are the most elegant of all. Therefore you cannot expect me to be au fait with all the modes and manners in aristocratic London. That kind of society in which divorces, and mistresses, and all kinds of unsavory doings prevail, is not the milieu in which you will find a respectable clergyman's wife, of good family.

Even so, I have seen a good deal of the world; and in my quiet way, have observed people of all stations, with uncommon acuteness, which no one, I think, will deny. And it is on this authority that I may say that there are only three possibilities in the present case: Mrs. Paget is mad; or she is passionately in love with your grandson and has forgotten herself; or she and he are lovers and his reluctance to reveal this state of affairs to you, causes him to prevaricate. If the first conjecture is correct, and this is a case of madness, your course is clear: in simple charity to the poor lady, you must find out who are her people, who is responsible for her. If they will not place her in the country with a stout woman to check her movements, then you must call upon the local constabulary and have her bound hand and foot. I am sure her relations would prefer the former course to out-and-out disgrace; and if you are in need of a reputable woman to act as guard and companion, I am sure that, with my resources, I can find one for you in a twinkling.

In the second instance, if Mrs. Paget is sane, but acting out of an excess of stirred passions, perhaps stemming from her unfortunate time of life, then as before, compassion is called for. She may be considered as temporarily insane, and she must therefore be told in the strongest terms that if she does not control herself, you will use legal means to have her placed in a situation of confinement where she cannot disturb your grandson's peace.

However, on mature thought, in this instance I believe myself to be writing about situations which have no reality. My strongest suspicion is that the last example I gave for Mrs. Paget's behavior, is the true one. I reluctantly conclude that it is by far most likely that this lady, whose morals must be suspect (as she is in all probability a divorced person, and by your own statement a frequenter of Lady Blessington's raffish set), this woman then, is regrettably, the mistress of your grandson. This being the case, it is not the place of a grandmother to remonstrate with the young man as to his morals; even if you could do such a thing without mortification, the time for his moral instruction is past. Indeed, he is not acting entirely without compunction, in throwing up a skreen to hide the real truth from you, thus showing that he is not entirely dead to decency; but this is a case for the gentlemen to resolve. Your husband, or the young man's father, must interview him, and find out what are the extent of his debts (for it is impossible he can be supporting a mistress on nothing-a-year), and if he has been injured by the malaise and other ailments that are too often the sad, life-long result of such immoral behavior, then he must take a course of treatment at once. Even my own resources do not stretch to a knowledge of the best doctors to consult in such a delicate case as this, but I can take advice of my husband, who in his work as a clergyman, has at times had to deal with some very low and sordid matters, though of course he does not tell me exactly what they are.

May I say that I am particularly sorry to hear this sad story, as the lady with whom I am closely associated, Mrs. Peter Birchall (though to be sure we are bosom friends, and call each other by our first names, "Augusta" and "Diana"), is distantly descended from your husband, Mr. Robert Birchall, by marriage. She will be very concerned indeed to hear of her husband's great, great, great, great, grandfather's immorality, but I conclude that I must tell her, as is my duty.

Yours,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Entrenched Dowager Displaces New Mistress

Dear Mrs. Elton,

This letter describes a matter of utmost delicacy. Last year I was married to a most respectable man. I have known Mr. Weakpeace all my life and have been told since my days in the schoolroom that we were destined to be married. His father’s property and my father’s lands march side by side, and there was no question but that our union would be proper and right.

Just before our wedding, my fiance’s father died. This most unfortunate event not only put a pall on our engagement (we delayed the nuptials for two years at his mother's insistence) but it placed me in the most untenable position. I am mistress of the mansion in name and by law, but not according to my mother-in-law. Since our marriage a year ago, she has refused to remove herself to the dowager house. Indeed, she still presides at the lower end of the table, opposite my husband who sits at its head! She also consults with Cook as to the menu and with Mrs. Strong, our housekeeper, about the servants. I have been forced to relinquish my rights as mistress of the house. Worse, my husband fully supports his mama! As a consequence the servant treat me with barely concealed contempt.

My mother is incensed, for I am increasing and she feels I must fight for my rights before my lying in. However, my physician has cautioned me from becoming too excited, saying such humours cannot but bode ill for the child. Pray, what shall I do? What steps would you take if you found yourself in my unfortunate situation?

I await your reply most impatiently. Sincerely yours,

Mrs. George Weakpeace




My dear Mrs. Weakpeace,

What steps would I take? What would I do? Why nothing at all, Mrs. Weakpeace, because such a thing could never happen to Mrs. Elton. Can you conceive of a mother-in-law trying to take place of me? Or my caro sposo allowing such a thing to happen? Certainly not. Very fortunately, my husband's mother is dead, so it cannot be put to the trial; but in the event I do not approve of the older generation living with the younger. Do not you remember Miss Jane Austen quoting me in Emma, as saying, "Shocking plan, living together. It would never do. She knew a family near Maple Grove who had tried it, and been obliged to separate before the end of the first quarter." Yes, I did say that; I have always been famous for that sort of wisdom, and I still believe in it. You, I am sure, will not be the one to disagree with me, after your trying experiences of the last few years.

It is all very well using hindsight, but you ought to have known something was amiss when your future mother-in-law insisted on putting off the wedding for two years in deference to her dead husband. Two years! It should not have been two months. That should have warned you of trouble ahead, and certain sure, trouble came. But the worst sign, to my mind, is that never once in your letter do you declare that you love your husband, or that he loves you. You describe yourself only as biddable - you were told since your days in the schoolroom that you were destined to be wed. What girl of spirit in these modern times weds where she is told? Perhaps it was very right that you should marry; but where is the love in all this? The only love I see is your husband's mutual love with his mother, and not theirs for you.

You are in the unenviable situation of a loveless wife, tyrannized over by a triumphant mother-in-law. You cannot now win their love, as they are united in a formidable front against you. Gentleness and sweetness will avail you nothing; they will only persist in their present course. Fury and storming would be still worse, as you are bound to obey your husband; the only result of such unbecoming, unladylike, unwifely behavior would be the possible loss of your child - the child that is your only weapon.

A formidable weapon indeed, especially if that child should prove to be a son. For the numbers of opponents will then become more even. You and your son against your husband and your mother, is a far fairer fight than what you wage at present. Your son will be but a powerless child, you protest, and yet I tell you that every one, servants included, will bow to the rising, rather than to the setting, sun. Your position will immediately assume more importance upon your son's birth, and as sons generally love their mothers, you will have his protection and fealty as he grows older. My advice to you is to give the best possible attention to your health now; ignore the ill judging behavior of your husband, and the ill bred behavior of his mother, as if it does not exist; lie upon the sofa as much as ever you can, drink new milk, small eggs, and a very smooth gruel, as poor old Mr. Woodhouse always used to advise; and be a luxurious creature in every particular. If your mother-in-law wishes to be a bustling do-all sort of body, let her. You play a lady of leisure, read novels, and turn your mind to your children. You will find yourself respected, in the long run; and time is on your side, as your mother-in-law will die, and your household will be rid of its incubus at last. Depend upon it, her displacement is what she fears, but it is inevitable. If you have not the dignified bearing that would turn away insult, then practice
patience, and the worm will turn.

Your esteemed friend and well-wisher,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Dancing Demon Wants to Ditch Sisters!

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I am fifteen years old and am appealing to you to intercede on my behalf. My two older sisters, Emily, who is eighteen, and Octavia, who is seventeen, have come OUT and are attending balls, soirees, and parties. In a few months they will be traveling to Town for the season, while my parents have decreed that I must remain in the nursery with my younger sister, who is ten, and my twin brothers, who are two years old. This situation is unfair! I would be forever grateful if you would consider writing to my father and advising him that I am mature enough to join my older sisters. He has a high regard for Mr. Elton's sermons, so I am certain your thoughts would be most welcome.

Sincerely yours,

Miss Cordelia Compton




My dear Miss Cordelia,

You write like a young lady who has the insatiable taste for dancing that comes to us all at fifteen. But it will never do for a younger sister to be married before her two elder ones, and judging by the liveliness and eagerness of your letter, you will be snatched up for marriage in your first season, very likely ahead of Miss Emily and Octavia. Imagine their fury! They will be your sisters for the rest of your lives; do you wish to disappoint and alienate them so that a positive hatred for you stirs in their breasts? Surely not. I know it would be a very fine thing to walk before them into all the drawing-rooms of the country, as Mrs. So-and-So, or better yet, Lady So-and-So, which will happen if you are the first to marry; but I appeal to your sense of fairness. You are young enough to wait a little, and to give your elders a chance. Only think, if they have a season themselves, they will be all the better placed to introduce you to all manner of beaux when you come out. Whereas if you all entered society at the same time, you would be in danger of being thought as elderly as they! No, no, depend upon it, you will come out with far more eclat if you wait, if only for a twelvemonth. I give you my word, if your papa and mamma do not consent to your being presented at sixteen,
I will mention the matter to them myself, or perhaps beg Mr. Elton to intercede on your behalf. In the meanwhile, practice your music and drawing assiduously; make good use of the back-board, and be most careful of your Complexion. Grow older and prettier, my dear Cordelia, and you will, with certitude, have your reward.


Faithfully, if a bit wearily,


Mrs. Elton


Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Modesty? Ladyhood? As if!

Gentle readers, last week Mrs. Elton received a letter from a young lady who is clueless in Beverley Hills entreating her for advice with a young man named Elton. Suffice it to say, Mrs. Elton's advice was not quite what she was expecting.

Hey Mrs. E.

Modesty? Ladyhood? Anglican? As if! Are you from Pasadena Mrs. Elton? Cuz my best Dione has a cousin Sally from Pasadena. She’s totally a dweeb and full of cake. Thinks she’s Sandra Dee or somethin’. Sits at home on Saturday nights watchin’ Stone Age flicks with her mom like Gidget Goes Hawaiian or Beach Blanket Bongo. Gag. Don’t they know dancing on the beach is so yesterday? Oh I could just ralph. Modesty? Oh yeah. Wasn’t that a fashion craze from London in the 60’s? I think that’s when my Gramma wore her stylin’ white go-go boots. Those were way cool. Anyway, why would you want me to be in that gross street gang Ladyhood? Ew! Their clothes are like so growdy and they need like better colors in their tattoos. Fur sure.

So I give one snap for effort Mrs. E., but give me somethin’ to work with here. That boy Elton is a total Bladwin, but he doesn’t even notice me.

Even more clueless in Beverly Hills

Cher Horowitz



My dear Miss Horowitz,

Your letter concerns me greatly. It is so badly written, with such poor mode of expression, appalling use of gutter patois, and no attention to stops. When first I had the honour of hearing from you, you will recollect that I even thought you were Irish. I have been disabused on that point; but how extraordinary it is that the daughter of a rich man should express herself like the merest guttersnipe, so as to give rise to the impression that she is, at best, of the servant class, and newly arrived in a situation. It is the mingling of classes that does this sort of mischief, I am convinced. The divisions of society ought always to be respected; every one should know his place. Do not you remember the verse, "The rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate, God made them high and lowly, and ordered their estate"? Surely you have heard that in Church on innumerable Sundays...unless, can it be? Mr. Horowitz has not done his duty and made you acquainted with the precepts and duties of your Religion. But that can scarcely be possible. I would not believe it, even of him.

You are a Christian, are you not, Miss Horowitz? Yet I cannot account for your writing like the merest Cockney, like a girl who has not been gently bred. I do perceive from your letter, however little I comprehend its language, that you have a value for Fashion. That being the case, do you imagine that any of the most fashionable ladies in the kingdom speak or comport themselves as you do? Surely you know better. I conclude, however, that you are deaf to appeals to your better nature, to your Religion, and even to the trammels of Fashion. To what then can I speak? Only to your love of the young Mr. Elton, which would be perfectly apparent, even if you were writing in Greek.

A young lady who loves a young man (though no girl should fall in love until actually assured of the affection of the object in question) must study to see what will please him, and practice allurements and blandishments that will inevitably win him. Miss Horowitz, your money may be some inducement; your appearance is altogether well and even handsome, and may be another attraction. But young Mr. Elton is a gentleman, and none but a lady will ever succeed with him. You must rid your vocabulary of its coarseness, and learn to comport yourself as a modest young woman, as to be sure I have told you before, but you do not seem to have heard.

Miss Horowitz, I am patient beyond all reason, and will try to make myself clear once again. You are in the most urgent need of tuition. Your father has been so much occupied making money, it is very evident that he has neglected his duty by his daughter, and your manners have been formed in a very bad school. Who, then, is to teach you? Upon whom are you to model yourself as a lady? Out of respect to your family, I will venture to make a suggestion. If you would like to come to the Vicarage at Highbury for an extended visit of two or three months, I will do what I can in the way of tutelage. It is not to be expected, in the midst of my multifarous activities, that I will have much time for instruction; but by watching a clergyman's lady wife in her round of activities, you will have before you a Living Rule of Ladyhood, and the result should be that your manners and speech will be very much improved. Let me know if you wish to take up this invitation; Mr. E's coach can meet you halfway. I am sure I should find you of very valuable use with the younger children, and it may be that young Mr. Elton may even pay a visit to his old home. I make no doubt he will, if informed of your presence; but you must be thoroughly prepared for such a circumstance, and cease your foolish talk about white boots. They would be most extravagant and unsuitable in our muddy lanes.

Your sincere friend and well-wisher,

Mrs. Elton


Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Mrs. Elton Sez: Borrowed Family Jewels Mere Trumpery?

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I am writing to you about a sensitive situation. My best friend, Arabella, lent me her semi-precious earrings for a ball. They were quite lovely but rather delicate, as they had been in the family for years. During the course of the evening, I lost one of the earrings. I searched for days, making one discreet inquiry after another, but then had to give up. I took the remaining earring to a jeweller and asked him to make an exact copy. Imagine my astonishment when he said that the jewels were fake! What am I to do? Arabella firmly believes she lent me her family heirlooms. Should I tell her about this new development (she is already quite upset about the loss), or should I ask the jeweller to match the fake earring and not say a word?

Sincerely,

Miss Felicity Turner




Mrs. Elton's reply

(Faintly) Semi-precious! fake jewels! mere paste! My dear Felicity, have you lost your senses? No young lady ought to wear jewelry before her marriage - a simple cross on a ribbon or plain chain round the neck is as far as you ought possibly to go. When you are a married woman, like me, then you may graduate to pearls. But paste! - Heaven and earth, Felicity, of what are you thinking? I feel quite ill.

There. I have made the servant fetch me some smelling salts. I feel a bit stronger now. Felicity, you are for ever being taken in, I can perceive that you are that sort of a girl. Your genuine warmth of heart, and candour of nature, will cause you more trouble even than this in the future, if you do not take hold of things and allow your own good sense, which you have in abundance, to rule your heart. Now only think for a moment. You are a young lady of good birth, as yet unmarried. How then can you conceive it proper to be parading round the neighbourhood in tinsel and fake jewellery? That they are borrowed does not make the situation better, for it only means that there are two young ladies, you and Miss Arabella, who are so distressingly in error. Arabella, I will concede, has at least been imposed upon. It may seem sad that her family jewels should turn out to be mere trumpery; but we must consider that we may not know the whole story. The real jewels may exist in a vault somewhere, and Arabella may have been given the copies, to wear as a young girl, so there need be no fear of her losing them in her flightiness and thoughtlessness. The proof that she has such qualities, is that she would lend family heirlooms that she thought valuable, to a mere friend, and not even a sister.

But you are asking me what you ought to do. She already knows that the jewels are lost. Tell her that your father is writing to her father about making restitution. Inform your father of the story, and beg him to write to her father, offering to reimburse him for the full cost of the jewels. If he is an honest man he will admit that they are worthless, and that will be the end of the matter. If he tries to dun your father for a thousand pounds, you will show him the jeweler's report. None of this need come to Arabella's knowledge, unless her own father wishes it, and to humiliate her must be very far from his desire. Nor should this sorry episode disturb your friendship. You will of course apologize for losing the jewels, and if she is as ladylike a girl as you think her, she will accept your apology graciously. But as for making copies of the fakes - Pah! Have you never heard the word of the poet, "Oh! What a tangled web we weave/ When first we practice to deceive"? No good can ever come of such a course.

Faithfully yours,

Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

The Darcys and the Bingleys: Available in September

Gentle Readers; September guarantees to be a good month for Austenesque releases. We've already reviewed Jane Eyre's Daughter, coming from SourceBooks, and have told you about Diana Birchall's book, Mrs. Elton in America. The Darcys and the Bingleys promises to provide hours of fun. I'm already reading it, and I can attest to the fact that Marsha Altman, the author, sets our familiar characters up in situations that will have you chuckling with laughter. The following words are from Marsha. We will post a review of the book soon, as well as an interview with the author, and a contest with two book giveaways! If you leave question about this book on our blog, Marsha will respond to them. (Please note: I added the images, not Marsha)

Hi! I’m Marsha Altman and the author of The Darcys and the Bingleys.

I imagine there will be a segment of blog readers who will respond to the idea of an Austen sequel with immediate derision. After all, Austen is sacred. Her work is untouchable, immortal, and no one is allowed to make a buck off her except every publishing company that puts out another overpriced edition of her work and every production company that makes an adaptation. And that person who made Pride and Prejudice tarot cards.

Yes, Anne Rice can write fan fiction about Jesus with nary a complaint, but an Austen sequel? I never! I was once at a gift shop at a prominent Austen pilgrimage site in Britain that refused to sell Austen fiction unless it was retellings from Darcy’s perspective (which they called “parallels”). No sequels, no rewrites, just Darcy’s perspective as the line in the sand. I decided not to enlighten the shopkeep that one of the “parallels” had an orgy scene with Byron, which we all know would be keeping in the spirit of Austen.

There is no way to keep in the spirit of Austen. We can try, in pale imitations, but we can’t recreate Regency period contemporary fiction, much less written by one of the world’s greatest novelists. Fan fiction (which my book originally was, and still is, albeit in a bound format) is not that and never was. It’s our mental break from the pain of separation from the characters when the book ends. The story is over. The characters, having taken on a life of their own, go on.

I never tried to imitate Austen’s style. Not only can it not be done, but I figured I wasn’t very good at it. I’m not big on descriptions, too dialogue-heavy, and my initial foray into Regency fiction was haphazard at best. Thank goodness for revision. Nonetheless I strove forward because writing dialogue of Darcy and Bingley bickering was a fun thing to do, and readers seemed to enjoy it, so everybody won. It wasn’t later that I tried to tell a larger story, dealing with other characters and new situations, and that went well enough that someone suggested I should try to publish it. The rest is both proverbial and literal history.

I wanted to tell a story about the characters. It’s not really much more complicated than that. My initial attraction to Bingley was how I felt he was side-stepped in Pride and Prejudice after the plot enviably swung towards the greatest romantic hero of all time, Darcy. Being Darcy’s best friend means you deserve a little more ink on the page, especially if you’re a good dramatic foil to him. That is not to say my book isn’t also about Elizabeth, Jane, the Bennets, the other Bingleys, the Hursts, the Collins, and even a few new characters. The focus shifts when it needs to, or when I found it interesting, but mostly when I found it funny. If I was asked if there was one thing I wanted fans to take away from the book, it would be at least one good laugh, probably at Darcy’s expense. It’s a pretty easy endeavor; Darcy’s high-horse is very high.

Posted by Vic, Jane Austen's World

Mrs. Elton Sez: Vulgar is As Vulgar Does

Dear Mrs. Elton,

I do hope that the quarrelsome Mr. Arden has not deterred you from giving your sound advice, as you have been wont to do on occasion. My problem is a small one. Nevertheless, it is vexing enough to prompt me to seek your council. You may simply tell me to mind my own business, but I hope to elicit a more elaborate reply, one that I may use as a guide as I escort my motherless niece during her first London Season.

My niece Mary is my youngest brother's eldest daughter. She is a taking little thing, I suppose, if one is predisposed to like an abundance of curves. Her disposition is sweet and she is most obligingly malleable except in one crucial area - her manner of dress. To put it mildly, the Prince Regent's light o' loves display less flesh at three in the morning than Mary reveals at breakfast. I must add that Mary's endowments cannot be ignored or denied. She is brazenly proud of her attributes, calling them her "twin sisters in courtship."

I am near my wit's end trying to cover the girl up. These new revealing fashions made with thin muslins and inspired by those Grecian PAGANS aren't helping the situation at all. Oh, how I long for the days of brocade! I have given Mary a variety of scarves, fichus, and high necked chemises, but she calls them old-fashioned and dislikes their "restriction." Aside from locking my niece up during the daytime (for, to give Mary her due, she does look appropriate for the evening), what is a blushing aunt to do?

Sincerely,
Miss Anne B. Goode

La! My dear Miss B. Goode, there are some, no doubt, who would stand amazed to hear of your niece, and scarcely conceive that one so young could be so bold; but to me it is no matter of astonishment in the least. I can see instantly from whence the error has arisen. It is all the fault of education. If a girl has not been taught good principles, as poor Miss Mary plainly has not, you see the result. Whether the bad instruction, and example, are to be laid at the door of your brother, your late sister-in-law, or yourself, is not for me to presume to answer. Yet a little reflection shows me that the girl’s mother is not likely to be very much to blame; and at any rate we must give her the benefit of the doubt, being dead. If she at all resembled the ordinary run of mothers, however, her dearest wish must have been to guard her daughter from falling into unwisdom’s ways, and when she died and left her most precious treasure in your hands, how have you fulfilled your trust?

You are older than your brother, and it is in the way of human nature for him to look to you still, at least as a directrice in female matters. I make no doubt that he depends upon you to instruct his daughter, and to provide an example of right feminine behavior which his own dear wife, having left the world, is no longer able to do. Yet see how you have failed him! Here you have written a letter full of improper expressions (actually referring to the Prince’s mistress, in a polite letter to a stranger! Only fancy!), and going so far as to repeat this poor girl’s own coarse speeches. I will not revive them here. You know what they are.

If you, yourself, cannot obey the ordinary conventions of intercourse in speech, how can you feel surprise when the young girl under your care imitates you in vulgarity? She can have no compunction against using the loosest of language, nor can she have any exampled modesty before her. To be sure, the fashions of the age are rather against modesty, but a young woman’s innate circumspection would keep her from following London fashions, unless her natural instincts have been harmed and corrupted. And here is Miss Mary, having lost her mother, entrusted to her own aunt – a woman who writes a letter filled with coarse expressions, and without having the least conception of the true evil of her niece’s situation: the loss of distinction of the chasm that lies between the states of being In or Out. Do you not realize that you have described your niece going about in a condition of half-undress when she is not yet even Out? How then can you affect concern about what will happen when she goes to London, where such an immodest ensemble would attract little attention among the ton, while here she has been breaking every law of good country society? Yet she has been in company, improperly dressed, when not yet Out, and more than once!

It is clear that this poor girl’s education has been sadly neglected. Her father would be justified in locking her up for the next year and not allowing her to go to London until she has grown more sober, and learnt to think. And you, madam, would do very much better to go to London without cumbering yourself by attempting to chaperone such a charge. You will never catch a husband with a great grown girl in your train. Of what are you thinking? Have you never heard the expression of how mutton looks, standing next to lamb? No, no, go to London yourself, under the protection of a married woman friend perhaps; and let Miss Mary remain to cool her heels in the schoolroom for another season.

Your sincere well-wisher,
Mrs. Elton

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects. Laurel Ann and Vic admit to channeling their Regency doppelgängers as they take turns writing the letters. They are usually surprised by Mrs. Elton's responses, whose mind is as unpredictable and lively as her tongue.

Curious to read more of Mrs. Elton's advice? Click here to enter the archives.

Image detail: Cruikshank, 1799, Parisien Ladies

In Defense of Mrs. Elton now available at JASNA online!

"Knightley!" continued Mrs. Elton; -- "Knightley himself! Was not it lucky? For, not being within when he called the other day, I had never seen him before; and of course, as so particular a friend of Mr. E.'s, I had a great curiosity. 'My friend Knightley' had been so often mentioned, that I was really impatient to see him; and I must do my caro sposo the justice to say that he need not be ashamed of his friend. Knightley is quite the gentleman. I like him very much. Decidedly, I think, a very gentleman-like man." Mrs. Elton, Emma, Chapter 32

Our regular readers of the advice column Mrs. Elton Sez (and of course the community at large) will be interested to read about the origins of author Diana Birchall’s discovery of her affinity to Jane Austen’s character Mrs. Augusta Elton and read about her first adventure writing as the character in the pastiche In Defense of Mrs. Elton which has just been posted online at the JASNA website.

Originally written as an internet serial told on the Janeites online literary list to defend Mrs. E. against some serious bashing, it was an immediate sensation to the Jane Austen community. The Jane Austen Society of America saw its brilliance and paired it with Austen scholar Juliet McMaster’s charming illustrations publishing it as a gift to attendees of the 1999 annual conference in Colorado Springs. In addition to reading In Defense of Mrs. Elton online, readers can own there own copy of it as part of the recently re-released book Mrs. Elton in American: The Compleat Mrs. Elton which includes a trilogy of stories; In Defense of Mrs. Elton, The Courtship of Mrs. Elton and Mrs. Elton in America. Happily, the new edition by Sourcebook has a beautiful new cover and is available at Amazon.com.

Posted by Laurel Ann, Austenprose

Mrs. Elton Sez: Firestorm over Mrs. Elton's Reply Pulls Knightley Into the Fray

Gentle Readers, Little did Miss Eleanor Pritchard realize when she wrote Mrs. Elton for advice that she would unleash a firestorm of controversy that would precipitate her admirer to admonish Mrs. Elton, sparking Mr. Elton's ire and involving that most estimable of gentlemen, Mr. Knightley. For a review of all the goings on between Houghton House and Highbury, please click on this link.

The Right Honble. James Glover Arden
Houghton House

To: Mr. George Knightley
Hartfield, Highbury

Dear Mr. Knightley,

Pray excuse my writing to you on a most absurd, even an embarrassing subject; but a matter of some delicacy regarding the vicar of your parish has arisen, and I dare to approach you not only because this vicar, Mr. Elton, has mentioned your name, but because I am aware that you have been known to my family in other days, through having gone to school with my older brother. The memory of the happy friendship of past times is still dear to him, and his description of you as a most sensible and humane person, as well as your reputation as a Magistrate, which has spread far beyond Surrey I can assure you, have emboldened me to venture upon this approach.

I attach a fair copy of the letter which I have lately received from this Mr. Elton. Farther comment is hardly necessary. Is the man mad? Have you ever heard before, in this the nineteenth century, of a respectable clergyman actually challenging a gentleman to a duel? I presume upon your patience to the farthest extent, by also attaching a copy of my own letter, which drove this maddened clergyman to such an extremity. I do not perceive that there is anything shameful in it; I merely strove to correct a factual error, and some presumptuous remarks, of his wife, who sounds rather a vain and foolish woman.

There seems little I can do but to entrust the matter into your hands, not only for my own sake, so that I will not be required to hazard my entire future existence by being taken up on charges of murder for shooting this eccentric cleric, but in common charity, for his own sake as well. If the story gets out, it could ruin his entire standing in the Church. Whether you would wish to have him placed somewhere as far away from Highbury as possible, is not for me to presume to suspect; but I do know that in confiding the matter to you, I am safe, in its being handled in a discreet and proper fashion.

Very gratefully yours,
James Glover Arden, Esq.


To: The Right Honble. James Glover Arden
Houghton House

Dear Mr. Arden,

I have been most sorry to learn of your being troubled by the fiery effusions of our local vicar, Mr. Elton, but let me put your mind to rest at once, by assuring you that you will not be hearing from him again. I have taken care of the matter.

Mr. Elton is a very good sort of man, perhaps not above the common in intelligence, but respectable, and ever conscientious in his duties. Since his marriage, however, he has been too much influenced by his wife, who is, you will hardly be surprised to collect, a woman whose wisdom is not always consistent. At times lately he has seemed to be in a state bordering almost upon derangement; what part his marriage has played in the disordering of his mental faculties, I cannot presume to say. At any rate, I walked over to the Vicarage today, at a time when his wife was out gadding, and had a word with him. His temper had by then subsided, and he was already in a state of regret, over his hot and injudiciously rash letter to you. It was an easy matter to represent to him what events a duel might be expected to lead; and he was immediately his usual rational self. You may be sure he will not importune you again, and I have taken the liberty to impress upon him that a letter of apology from him to you is not at all necessary, as you would not wish to receive any farther communication from such a quarter.

Rest in the knowledge, then, that the matter is peaceably and satisfactorily settled. Remember me to your brother, of whom I have the fondest recollections, and in whose well-doing I most earnestly rejoice.

Faithfully yours,

George Knightley

Mrs. Elton Sez is written/channeled by Austen-esque author Diana Birchall, whose latest book, Mrs. Elton In America, is now available.. Please join her once a week for her sage and sometimes sardonic voice, as she graciously condescends to advise on a variety of subjects as Mrs. Elton or in this case as Mr. Arden and Mr. Knightley.

Mrs. Elton in America

Mrs. Elton in America by Diana Birchall is now available for order as either a printed book or a download from Source Books or at Amazon.com. Diana is so excited, for the cover looks smashing and stunning. To Diana this painting of the Duchesse de Berry by the noted female painter Elizabeth Vigee LeBrun is Mrs. Elton in the flesh. "So elegant...yet the woman has that little bit of a vulgar look. You could not ask for a more stunningly eye catching cover, I think!"

In this book Mrs. Elton crosses the Atlantic Ocean with her caro sposo and children. She enjoys high comedic adventures in Boston and New York society, makes a sobering visit to a Southern slave state, and sojourns among the Comanche Indians. Her trip to America is the talk of Highbury...

For new visitors to this blog, Diana Birchall is the featured writer in Mrs. Elton Sez, in which she answers questions posed to her. If you have a question for Mrs. Elton, please send it in. She will be happy to answer it to the best of her ability. For previous Mrs. Elton Sez letters, click on the above link.

To understand our mini infatuation with this slightly vulgar, sometimes misunderstood and often irritating character, read In Defense of Mrs. Elton in the Jane Austen Centre's Online Magazine.

Posted by Vic of Jane Austen's World

Cranford Episode Two: Mrs. Elton Sez...

Gentle readers … Cranford continues … And so does the contest …

I am totally charmed by the Masterpiece Classic presentation of Cranford which began last Sunday. Episode two continues again tonight May 11th on PBS at 9:00pm, and concludes next Sunday May 18th. Three weeks living the simple life with the company of the ladies and gentlemen of Cranford, ahhh… such a respite indeed. You can review the cast of characters here.

We are honored once again by a review by Mrs. Elton, that pretentious matron of Highbury society who invaded Emma Woodhouse’s world and her patience; brought to us by that obliging Diana Birchall. Even though we always enjoy Mrs. Elton's forthright opinions, which she gives so freely as she continues her views on the mini-series Cranford, they are a bit like watching a train wreck. You should look away, - but are compelled to observe!

You can catch the first installment of her three part Cranford contributions here to catch up if need be, and read her previous review of Emma during The Complete Jane Austen series last March on Austenprose. Check out Diana Birchall’s recently released book, Mrs. Darcy’s Dilemma if you want to read a clever bit of writing to complement Jane Austen’s novel Pride and Prejudice.

Diana Birchall’s introduction …
I’ve just returned from a family visit to New York, which is in many ways the exact opposite of Cranford. Cranford is small, while New York is, well, not. Cranford is only struggling into the industrial age and is appalled at the very idea of trains; New York embraces trains, planes, and enough machines to make an all-night clangor that Cranford could scarcely conceive. I suppose the whole of Cranford would fit handily into a single apartment building, but think what would be lost – the visiting, the social round, the sharing of troubles, the excitement over little bits of news. In New York people hardly know who their next door neighbors are. Cranfordian news items would fall far below the radar and even the most bizarre phenomena of Cranford would barely cause a stir: if you saw a cow in pajamas on Forty-second Street you would think it was only a publicity stunt and would simply walk around it. Wouldn’t you?

I walked in Central Park which was in full flower with magnolias, cherry blossoms, bluebells and tulips. Would the Cranford ladies have approved of that? No, I think they would be stunned by the colorful crowds, the cross town buses, the skyscrapers, visible even in the park; and only in the heart of the Ramble might they imagine themselves, for a moment, at home. If you’d like to read about my trip and see my pictures, they’re on my blog: lightbrightand sparkling.

But lo! What light from yonder window breaks? It is a movie camera, and Mrs. Elton is the star. My head begins to pain me...she is waving and gesticulating wildly, demanding to be heard...

And now, a few insights from Mrs. Elton …

Well, really, if I must say something, I should be allowed to tell you that I have seen more of Cranford, and I cannot approve of it at all. It grows vulgarer and vulgarer, and where it shall end, Heaven only knows. Only compare the place to Highbury, the charming village to which I was transplanted, so many years ago, and you will understand. First, it is an indisputed fact that Cranford is in the north, quite far north, indeed so close to Manchester as to be hardly genteel. Highbury, and Highbury alone, is in the most elegant situation that could possibly be. That is – Maple Grove to be sure is in a better one, but Highbury is still much more the thing than Cranford.

And only think: nearly every one who lives in Cranford is a single woman! Now, that is very sad; I am sure I should have been ashamed of being always a spinster, but if such a calamity had befallen Jane or me - dear Jane Fairfax, now Mrs. Churchill of Enscombe, which to be sure is in Yorkshire, but that is a very different part of the north, and not to be confused with the want of gentility of such a place as Manchester. Jane tells me that Yorkshire is very genteel indeed, she quite raves about the place, where no vulgarity is allowed. But what was I saying? Oh yes, only that if my dear caro sposo had not made me an offer, and I had remained unwed, (though to be sure I was in no wise wanting for offers), I should never have conducted myself as those ladies of Cranford do. Running through the streets, shouting about matters that had better be kept quiet, old ladies in ruffles, like mutton dressed as lamb; and then, in private, practicing such vulgar economy! Really, it is too bad to have a whole town full of old ladies, and then to show them as being so silly. It does them an injury. I was going to say that the very superior Jane Austen would never create or countenance such a thing, but I have just remembered that she did create Miss Bates, which seems very surprising of her. For what is Cranford but a town absolutely full of Miss Bateses? Now, that is my idea of a very sad place.

And Cranford is sad, do you not agree? Do not we all? The pitiful makeshifts of the people to live – only one burned-down candle in some of those rickety houses, if you will believe me, and the clothes – well! They say it is 1842, but I am sure I was wearing such bonnets and pelisses in Highbury as long ago as 1815. Very pitiful doings, upon my word.

But now I see that I am to be taken up, and given a new hat: Mrs. Birchall has explained to me that I am to become a movie critic. I am not quite certain exactly what she means by it, but I should hope that with my resources, I ought to be able to give my opinion decidedly, which is all that I think is meant. Yes, I see how it is, I shall never have a disengaged moment! It is quite tiresome to be so popular, when my natural inclination is all for quiet. As there is positively no escape, however, I will proceed to tell you what I think of this odd – very odd – stereopticon showing of Cranford, without feigning an approval which I do not feel.

Well! For one thing, I do believe there are too many people in Cranford. Miss Jane Austen always said that three or four families in a country village was the very number to be working with, and I assure you Cranford has a great many more than that. Indeed, there are whole families coming in from other books, and really this does not do. Why, there are screaming poaching boys running all over Cranford, and my Lady Ludlow is set down in a vastly grand mansion – bigger even than Maple Grove, which is the perfect size for taste (I never could bear with ostentation) - right within the village of Cranford itself, which is perfectly monstrous. And then my lady, wandering about in costume of the late 1780s at latest, has she been conjured up by one of those time travel machines invented by Mr. Jules Verne, early in the new century? It is odd, very odd indeed.

But many other things meet with my dislike. You must know they do. I cannot approve of so many people dying continually; I am sure Highbury is a far healthier spot than Cranford, for Cranford is a veritable charnel-house. Our Miss Bates lived to a very old age, you know, and Mr. Woodhouse did the same; and every one was so well in Highbury that good Dr. Perry had very little to do. But Cranford, now! Mercy! I should be quite afraid to go there, such a dying place as it is. Poor Cousin Deborah, falling down dead like that; and then not even being accorded the proper respect. Far more time was devoted to the death of that wretched child - what was his name?

It is all Victorian Sentimentality, I call it, which is a very nasty business indeed. And whatever you may say of these moderns, they do not deal with Victorian Sentimentality at all well. They are so coarsened in the twenty-first century, that they have no idea of the tender emotions, and act them very awkwardly. I am sure Miss Jane Austen would not have liked it. She had a very good taste. She wrote whole books about the odiousness of Sentimentality - of course, she called it Sensibility, which is a far better word. But she would never have permitted her characters to indulge in such fits of lugubrious weeping as they do in Cranford; I declare I hardly knew where to look. I have heard people say that it is all very touching, and moving, and all that, but I should be ashamed. You never see me crying in public, or indeed in any other place.

Perhaps it is this over-sensibility that produces the decided longeurs that are invading the endless vignettes of this second episode of the stereopticon. It does not seem like Cranford to me. If you are acquainted with the people of Cranford, if you have read Mrs. Gaskell's excellent tale, you will know that there ought not to be a boy learning to read, or a young doctor, in it at all; and you would be sadly bewildered. And if you did not know Cranford, then I should think you would find it difficult to tell who everyone is. And the acting - to be sure, I like a play as well as any one; and there is some here that is very fine, as fine as any thing we saw on the London stage, when Mrs. Siddons was en fleur. Miss Judi Dench and Miss Eileen Atkins, are incomparable. But - how can I explain my meaning, in words you will understand? Let me consult Mrs. Birchall, my cicerone in this odd world - well, she assures me that the word I want is uneven. For I do think that the little blonde girl weeping over her brother and making cow's eyes at the doctor, is as odious an Actress as I ever saw in my life; and that clever boy with the trembling lip is not much better. I have always thought that children should be seen, and not heard, and I am sure Miss Jane Austen thinks so.

And what do these stereopticon makers have against the Irish, calumniating them as they do? I am sure that the Irish people I know are as elegant as any one. Did not Miss Fairfax's great friend Miss Campbell go to live in Ireland, when she married Mr. Dixon? She cannot say enough good about the country. And I particularly remember, long ago, in that pic-nic on Box Hill, there was an Irish car party, very civil behaved. So I can't understand it.

Well, well, next week we will discover how it all turns out. But I am sure there will be much weeping and sensibility and being satiric at the expense of poor old ladies; and I shall not like it at all.

Very Sincerely Yours,

Augusta Elton

CONTEST: Thank you very much Mrs. Elton, ahem, we would like to remind our gentle readers to enter our contest for a free copy of Mrs. Darcy’s Dilemma by contributing a comment between May 4th and May 18th. A name will be drawn from the comments, and a new copy mailed to the lucky winner. You can also check out Ms. Birchall's book Mrs. Elton in America to follow her exploits in another continent. Good luck to one and all.

Posted by Laurel Ann, Austenprose & Ms. Place, Jane Austen's World

Cranford Episode One: Mrs. Elton Sez...

Gentle Readers… Cranford arrives... and a contest begins!

Cranford, episode one, the PBS mini-series of Elizabeth Gaskell’s novel premiers tonight on PBS at 9:00 pm. It received rave reviews when in aired last fall in the UK, so we are quite excited to meet Misses Matty (Judi Dench) and Deborah (Eileen Atkins) and the other ladies of the charming English
village of Cranford. The delight will be the pleasure of their company for the next three Sundays (May 4th, 11th and 18th), and to have the distinct honor of author Diana Birchall’s contribution as she channels Jane Austen’s infamous gad-about and all around busy-body Mrs. Elton from the novel Emma. Readers will remember Mrs. Elton’s recent visit when she reviewed the PBS airing of the adaptation of Emma last March on Austenprose, and her hilarious book, Mrs. Elton in America

Diana Birchall’s introduction…

Oh, my poor head. It is that infernal Mrs. Elton trying to get out again. It's like having a woodpecker rapping on your skull from the inside. Why can't I be the medium of channeling one of Jane Austen's nicer characters? Lizzy, say, or Anne, or my dear Mr. Tilney. But no. To have this woman's caw sounding in my ears is no pleasure, I can tell you. Still, it might be worse; I might be afflicted with Mr. Collins.

I saw the first hour of the new Cranford at a screening the other evening, and sure enough, I was awakened that very night by that inimitable indignant voice. Mrs. Elton, resident still of Highbury, demands to tell the world what she thinks of Cranford. I had better let her do so, or the woman will drive me mad. Some might say she has done so already. Well, here's Augusta Herself, I wish you joy of her.

Mrs Elton has her say…

Good heaven! It is a fine thing to be back at home in Highbury again. You would not think, that at our age, Mr. E and I would fly about so much as we do, but I assure you it is so. We have been to Cranford, which you must know is in the very vicinity of Manchester, and that is almost as dire-sounding a place as Birmingham.

It is very far to go for an exploring-party, but we cannot always be visiting Selina, and places about Bristol; and so we went to the Peak, on a party of pleasure, which was very delightful. On our journey home however our carriage broke down, and it was fortunate that I realized we were within half a dozen miles of Cranford, where Mr. E has some connections; and I told him to send the man to my Lady Ludlow forthwith, and beg her for some assistance.

That is, we have only seen my Lady Ludlow the once, at her great barracks of a place, when last we were visiting Cranford, some five and twenty years ago, but we have heard of her for ever in letters from Miss Matty and Miss Deborah. They are some sort of cousins to my dear Mr. E, though really we see them very seldom, for they are not quite the style of people we would care to have visit us in Highbury, though very good sort of folk I have no doubt.

It was growing rather late, and rather dark, and so we were glad when the man returned at last with some sort of – conveyance, I suppose it must be called, that I believe the people of Cranford hire about among themselves; I should have been ashamed to have been seen in such a horrid old coach, only for the extreme exigency. As we drove into Cranford, it was still light enough to see; and then I remembered what a squalid little place it always was, and still is. Indeed, I would not have believed it; it has not changed one iota this quarter of a century, and is positively primitive, not to say vulgar. But that is an epithet that belongs more to the people than the buildings.

It was, however, perfectly indispensible, in these circumstances, that we visit poor Miss Matty and Miss Deborah; and there they sat in their sad little house, lit by only two candles, and those not even made out of wax. Only think! When I was first married, in 1815 as was (though I have heard that some people do believe that the events of Emma occurred in 1808; they may talk about "internal evidence" all they like, but I assure you that is quite a wrong notion), we had wax-candles in every room of the vicarage. It was quite a paradise of light! Nowadays, of course, we use the most up-to-date methods, and have gas-lamps throughout; but I do not believe they have a single gas-lamp in Cranford to this day, in the year of our Lord and our good Queen, 1851: Was there ever such a village!

And Miss Matty and Miss Deborah – I never was so shocked in my life. I remembered them to have been, never pretty girls, but Matty was rather sweet, and Deborah rather handsome; and now they are hideous, quite hideous. Thank heaven! I have preserved better than they; but then, married women you know, have comforts, which single women have not, and it was perfectly plain to see that spinsterhood has taken its toll on these sweet sisters.

I did wish my Lady Ludlow would have been to home, as her dwelling would have been so much more suitable for us in every way, for even such a temporary sojourn; it is larger even, I believe, than Maple Grove. However, great people have their whims, and she might not remember us, or as seems likelier, even be dead. Mrs. Gaskell's story My Lady Ludlow was written in 1857, you know, much after Cranford, and it tells about times past, when the lady was already quite an old woman, so I do not know what she is doing in that modern stereopticon story; but I will not cavil now. Well, well, there was nothing to do but to make ourselves content where we were, as I am sure I have always a great talent for doing, even in the very heart of Cranford. Mr. Elton was uncomfortable enough, as it was perfectly plain that the ladies did not at all care to have a man in the house, but however they disliked his sex, he is a relation, and they could hardly turn him out so late at night.

To return to this stereopticon affair. It is a great invention, to be sure, a new kind of photography, I collect, that permits pictures to positively move, in a most uncanny fashion; and the photographers quite rightly have taken all of Miss Jane Austen’s books and done full justice to them before making any attempts upon the works of Mrs. Gaskell, who is much inferior, as I can say without any prejudice at all. It is quite a miracle, to be sure; yet it is also positively amazing how many mistakes have been made in the course of this prodigious entertainment. For one, it said that the events in Cranford transpired in 1840, which every body knows not to be true; and for another, it has a most mysterious propensity for placing people from other – worlds, I was going to say, but perhaps more properly books, all together in a miserable confusion. Just as ranks and circles, lines and spheres, ought not to be confounded, people from one place and class ought not to be mixed. Lady Ludlow is only one example. It is quite wrong. Can you imagine what would happen if people created by Miss Jane Austen, say, were to meet with those who were the invention of Mrs. Gaskell? Heaven above! If would be bad enough if Mr. Darcy were to sit on the same Magistrates court with Mr. Knightley, or if Emma Woodhouse and Fanny Price were to be bosom friends. No, no, such half and half doings can never prosper, I assure you.

You may then ask, what am I, Mrs. Elton, who flourished in Highbury in 1815, doing in Cranford at the middle of the century? That is easy to answer. Although Miss Jane Austen did not survive, I have, and at this time am barely fifty, or at least not much more than sixty, and quite as vigorous and fresh as a woman half my age, I do assure you. Mr. E keeps well too, and now that our children are grown and all in their different places (our oldest, Philip Augustus, has gone to America and is a Congressman, you know, and a very great defender of the Indians), we have recaptured all our early passion for exploring. You must not think us the sort of provincial folk who never stir from their park, like Mrs. Knightley, or indeed, these poor good Jenkyns sisters.

I will have a great deal to say about my visit to Cranford, in ensuing visits, and not all of it complimentary, you may depend upon that; but you only hear truth from me. I never compliment, as every one knows. I have already told you how I was first struck with the appearance of poor Miss Matty and Miss Deborah; so that I was quite ashamed to be seen beside them, as even my second-best traveling gown was made of silk, and I had a very fine pelisse with sable upon it, which I saw them noticing, poor things. They tried to look disapproving, with meaningful looks, but I could not be taken in; what could they have felt but envy? I am sure they do not see such a dress from one year to the next; their own gowns were positively rusty.

And the food that was spread upon the table, my dear! It was so scanty, that I honestly was afraid they were starving themselves to give us tea; I would send them some vegetables from the vicarage garden if only it was not such a very great distance away. There were so many signs of their poverty altogether, I was quite uncomfortable. Not only did they speak incessantly of “elegant economy,” but I can swear I heard the words “Cheshire is cheaper.” Exactly so! as my caro sposo would say. I really think I need say no more of these people’s gentility. There was not even a scrap of ice upon the table; I remember making quite a fuss about ice in the card-parties at Highbury when I was first transplanted there as a bride, but more than thirty years later, these poor people have nothing but the pitifulest old ice house across the village square, shared in common with every body else in the place – more of your leveling notions. It is all of a piece with the gas-lamps.

The ladies of Cranford do have some notions of decorum and gentility, I grant, though they are so very countrified and live such a retired life as to be quite out of the fashionable world. I do believe that the vulgarity shown in that regrettable stereopticon play can be laid almost entirely at the door, not of the ladies or even poor Mrs. Gaskell, but of the photographer himself. I am sure he was not a gentleman, for he insisted upon us watching a medical operation (Mr. E would never allow me to see such a thing). There was also such a vile business made about the cat and the boot; and to think of having Miss Matty say that a cow is quite a daughter to her!

Surely, to speak of the barnyard is the province of farmers, not gentlewomen. I was never in any party where ladies spoke in such a way. Those who say that the Victorian age is a more prudish one than what preceded it are quite mistaken. Miss Jane Austen does not even once mention a cat in a single one of her books; and I am sorry to be forced to the conclusion that Mrs. Gaskell is the vulgarest of the two. And I am a judge. I always had a natural inclination in that way even as a young woman, and now, as I am quite the first lady in society in Highbury (except, perhaps, for Mrs. Knightley, whose adherents are perfectly deluded), I am abundantly qualified for the office of pointing out the deficiencies of Cranford.

Quite another matter from the elegancies of life in either Cranford or Highbury, is this stereopticon play. It will be natural for me to give my strictures and opinions on these proceedings as they are unfolded, as I have now endured a – Skreening, they call it, of the first part of the business. The occasion, I must confess, opened with some éclat. I was invited – for who could think of leaving me out – to a little party that was held in late April in a ballroom, a very large ballroom indeed. This ballroom, or perhaps stadium, quite resembled Astley’s, I thought, though without the horses, and was in a very fine modern building called the Directors Guild, in the Far Western American city of Los Angeles. A Picture-Palace, I am told such places used to be called. The people who came (and very oddly they were dressed, too; the ladies nearly all in breeches, and with their hair so short, so oddly coloured, my dear! How you would have stared).

We were given quite elegant viands, prawns, and potato-pancakes, and Italian meats – most elegant, and the place was lighted up so brilliantly, it must have cost a vast sum in gas-lamps. Well: they showed a part of this Cranford play, up on an immensely large wall hanging, and the audience liked it vastly, they made very little attempt to conceal their rather indecorous laughter, at the Cranford people’s quaint doings, which I thought quite rude. I do not believe I have ever seen so many people all together in my entire life, but most remarkable was what happened at the end. Chairs were placed upon the stage, and who should walk out and sit in them but the very actresses we had seen on the Skreen but moments ago! They seated themselves, and spoke with great condescension and cordiality, for full an hour; and the audience were very cordial to them in return, though to be sure, they acted very well, only too well, so that it made one about what their reputations could be.

I do not know exactly, but I suspect a great deal. Jane Tranter, head of BBC Fiction, spoke, and the Director, Simon Curtis, and the Writers and Creators, Heidi Thomas, Sue Birtwistle and Susie Conklin (such outlandish names!) were also present; but one person was not, and that is Mrs. Gaskell, which is perhaps not to be lamented, as I do not know if she could have borne to hear her name bandied about publicly in this immodest and vulgar fashion. It did very well in this Far Western setting however, which was vulgarity personified. I was much diverted to see how much younger the actresses looked in their strange costumes – the ordinary clothes they had worn in the play were modester, but it must be admitted, made them appear much older. Miss Eileen Atkins in particular, was quite animated and youthfully pretty, though she had been quite dour and pinched as Miss Deborah; and Miss Imelda Staunton was jocular, while Miss Judi Dench seemed very familiar with Miss Atkins, as they spoke of being acting together as sisters for the first time fifty years ago, in 1958, which made me laugh as of course that is a good hundred years in my future.

One thing I was surprised to hear Miss Deborah say, was, that a woman is not the equal of a man, but always his superior. That is a more dangerously revolutionary view than I can readily comprehend, having always shown my conjugal obedience to my dear Mr. E; but I always stand up for women myself, and Cranford is a society of women – Amazons, Mrs. Gaskell calls them. But I am sure she is being ironic. I dote upon irony, but I would not trade my position as a married woman, for any thing.

Oh! What a nuisance. Mrs. Diana Birchall wishes to get some rest. I suppose I shall have to be shut up again in her ridiculous head, but I trust she will allow me to deliver my opinions of farther episodes of this peculiar stereoptican that is portraying Cranford and its residents, in part, as it were, and through a glass darkly.

Yours very sincerely

Augusta Elton

CONTEST: Thank you very much Mrs. Elton. We look forward what you have to say about episode two of Cranford on Sunday next, May 11th. at 9:00 pm on Masterpiece Classic. We would love to read your opinion of Cranford, and if you leave a comment between May 4th and May 18th, your name will be entered in a drawing on May 19th for a free copy of Diana Birchall’s book Mrs. Darcy’s Dilemma. Good luck to one and all!

Posted by Laurel Ann, Austenprose & Ms. Place, Jane Austen’s World