A Couple In England – Day Two – Part Two

And so let us tear ourselves away from Beau Brummell’s doorstep in Chesterfield Street and return to the top of the pavement and Charles Street and my preoccupation with doorways.

You have to allow that the doorway at No. 26 is a real pip, complete with a plaster bust above the entranceway. Neither Hibbert nor Google have enlightened me thus far, so if anyone knows more about this house, please let me know. Let us proceed . . . . .

And wander aimlessly through the deserted streets until we find ourselves at this interesting building at the entrance to Hays Mews.
Look . . . . another bust. . . . . I am just now noticing that there was a plaque beside the door. I know I didn’t notice it when I was standing there, or I’d have gone up and read it. Now I’m left to wonder, as are you, what this building houses. Sorry, old thing, wasn’t thinking . . . . .

Let’s make a right into Hays Mews, shall we?

This area was laid out circa 1750 to provide stables and coachhouses for the houses in Berkeley Square and adjacent streets. Architecturally, not much has changed, thank goodness, although there are now cars parked on the street, rather than a jaunty cabriolet.

 As I’ve already divulged the contents of my pockets, you know that I had no map with me and, truly, from this point on I simply wandered the streets as the whim took me, so I don’t have detailed descriptions of where some of the following photos were taken.

I wound up back at Charles Street, below, and still had the streets all to myself. I did warn you that I was oddly pre-occupied with house fronts and doorways, didn’t I?

The Only Running Footman, at the corner of Hays Mews and Charles Street. Now an upmarket restaurant, for centuries, it was known as the I Am The Only Running Footman pub, frequented by servants from the houses in the area.

I’ll leave you here, in Clarges Mews, for a bit until the next installment. I hope  you’ve enjoyed our Mayfair stroll half as much as I did.

Part Three Coming Soon . . . . . . .

Two Hundred Years of Pride and Prejudice

Two Hundred Years of Pride and Prejudice

On January 27, 1813, a novel in three volumes was published in London by The Author of Sense and Sensibility. 
The title Pride and Prejudice may have come from a paragraph in one of the novels of Fanny Burney, Cecilia (1782).

“…if to PRIDE and PREJUDICE you owe your miseries, so wonderfully is good and evil balanced, that to PRIDE and PREJUDICE you will also owe their termination.”
  Austen admired Burney’s work, and J. Austen is listed as one of the subscribers to Burney’s novel Camilla, published in 1796

 

Austen received £110 for the novel’s copyright from Publisher Thomas Egerton, who subsequently made a handsome profit from several editions of Pride and Prejudice.   The novel has been in the pubic domain for many decades and is estimated to have sold over 20 million copies worldwide, not to mention many adaptations for the stage and screen.  In almost all listings of the best and/or most beloved novels, Pride and Prejudice tops all others — or comes very close.
 
 
 
Pride and Prejudice was first drafted as First Impressions in 1796 and 1797 when Jane Austen was about 21 years of age.  She had spent her childhood in a lively family, often entertaining her parents, brothers, her sister Cassandra, with her sometimes silly and sometimes witty stories. 
 
 
 This year the 200th anniversary of Pride and Prejudice is being observed worldwide in all imaginable ways.  In the next few months, we will discuss a few of them now and then.
 
 
One of the most-looked-forward-to books is The Cambridge Companion to Pride ad Prejudice, edited by Janet Todd.. This much-anticipated volume will be available in April.
 
 
 
 
 
For more information on this volume, click here.

l-r, Liz Philosophos Cooper, JASNA-WI outgoing regional coordinator;
UW Professor Emily Auerbach; and current regional coordinator Judy Beine
at the 2012 Jane Austen Birthday Celebration, December 15, in Milwaukee, WI

 Last December, Professor Emily Auerbach of the University of Wisconsin presented a preview of her chapter of the Cambridge Companion at the JASNA-WI celebration of Jane Austen’s Birthday.

Dr. Auerbach, who is the author of Searching for Jane Austen and teaches Austen’s works to students of many ages and backgrounds, in the classroom and on radio, has written the Cambridge Companion Chapter on “Pride and Proliferation.”  She admitted that any discussion of the many sequels, prequels, continuations, adaptations, and mash-ups would be immediately outdated by new offerings almost every week.

Some books combine characters from some or all of Austen’s novels. Zombies, vampires and werewolves have invaded some versions of Meryton. Others are set in new time periods, even into the future, and in new locations, from Boca Raton to Mumbai.

Particularly popular have been further stories of the Bennet girls, Anne de Bourgh and especially Georgiana Darcy who alone has been married innumerable times in fan fiction.  The fates of unborn children of the Darcys, Bingleys, Collinses and many more characters are imagined.
 
 
 
All of this attention, Auerbach tells us, confirms Austen as a full-fledged BRAND, in the 21st century sense of the word. But even for the most devoted Janeite, this bewildering proliferation of tales also confirms our incurable addition to Jane Austen and her universal characters who transcend all categories to prove the power of her sparkling novel.   
Read on!
 

 

A Couple In England – Day Two – Part One



 

I awoke on Thursday way before the Husband to the realization that I was in London. It was a bit after 8 a.m., but the room was still dark as I climbed out of bed and crept to the bathroom. A short time later, I emerged to find Hubby still sleeping. And London still awaiting me outside. Stealthily, I rummaged around in drawers and suitcases until I found something to wear on the top and something to wear on the bottom. As to what these two garments consisted of I could not have cared less. I donned socks, hoping they were mine and not the Husbands, pulled on my boots, scarf and coat and dropped the room key, money, cigs and lighter and my camera into the coat pockets and crept like a cat burglar out of the door.
 
Emerging from the hotel, I found that it was overcast and drizzling. Undaunted, I grinned my way up the street to Caffe Nero, where I got a medium mocha and took it outside to one of the tables. I sat down, lit up and sipped – God was good and all was right in my world.


The Church of Christ the Scientist is just across Curzon Street, and beside that are C.F. Trumper, Men’s Hairdressers

and just to the left of that, G. Heywood Hill Ltd. booksellers.


Of course, neither was open at that early hour, so I took myself off on my long anticipated Mayfair stroll. You’ll recall that all I’d wanted to do since yesterday was to walk the streets and poke about at my leisure, which I did. And found my interest focusing, for some odd reason, on doorways. Here we go . . . . . . .



Let’s pay homage to the Beau first, shall we? It’s only fitting. Taking a right onto Queen Street, we stroll up to the top and make a left onto Charles Street, keeping on until we come to the corner of Chesterfield Street, where Beau Brummell lived. Before we turn in, though, take in the door across the street. And the elaborate railings. And the shrubbery on the terrace. And the pediments.


Now look back down the street, at the way we just came. See the street lights, the gentle curve of the street, the wet roads, the grey skies. Not another soul in sight . . . . London in the morning . . . . joy!



 
And midway down Chesterfield Street, on the left, we find Brummell’s house – let us linger here a moment in the drizzle and contemplate this particular doorway, shall we? Just imagine the visitors who must have come and gone through that door, with its elegant side and fan lights. Visitors aside, just imagine Brummell himself coming and going through that door. Oh, to have the mystery of what he looked like solved at long last! Did he look like this . . . . .
 

or more like this “I’ve just smelled something frightful” rendering?


Or possibly an amalgam of both?

In the early morning quiet, with the streets deserted, it’s easy to imagine a carriage drawing round the corner or the sound of a service door closing upon a maid who has just taken in a delivery. A horse may whinny in the distance, someone may shout in the mews two streets away, while the aristocracy sleep warm in their beds, having turned in just a few hours ago after a night of Regency revelry . . . .  
 
But back to the house . . . . .

 
 
Incidentally, Lord Rosebery lived here, too. 
 
 
 

Day Two – Part Two Coming Soon

The Adventures of Dr. Syntax, Part 7

The Adventures of Dr. Syntax in Search of the Picturesque

Part 7

Dr. Syntax Tumbling into the Water

Excerpts from Canto 10
Dr. Syntax, after falling into the lake in Canto 9, becomes sick:

“…It was not Vice that e’er could keep
Dear Syntax from refreshing sleep;
For no foul thought, no wicked art.
In his pure life e’er bore a part.
Some ailment dire his slumbers broke.
And, ere the sun arose he awoke;
When such a tremor o’er him pass’d.
He thought that hour would prove his last.
His limbs were all besieg’d by pain;
He now grew hot, then cold again:
His tongue was parch’d, his lips were dry,
And, heaving the unbidden sigh.
He rang the bell, and call’d for aid.
Then groan’d so loud, th’ affrighted maid
Spread the alarm throughout the house;
When straight the landlord and his spouse
 Made all despatch to do their best

And ease the sufferings of their guest. …”

Eventually  Dr. Syntax regains his health and he goes forward on his quest for the picturesque — which so far has brought him more trouble than anything else.

When, on the fourth, in health renew’d.
His anxious journey he pursu’d.
In two days more, before his eyes
The stately towers of York arise.
“But what,” said he, “can all this mean?
What is yon crowded busy .scene?
Ten thousand souls, I do maintain,
Are scattered over yonder plain,”
“Ay, more than that,” a man replied.
Who trotted briskly by his side,
“And if you choose, I’ll be your guide:
For sure you will not pass this way.
And miss the pleasure of the day:
These are the races, to whose sport
Nobles and gentry all resort.”
Thought Syntax I’ll just take a look;

Twill give a subject to my book. …”
 

Dr. Syntax loses his money at the Race ground at York

It will come as no surprise to those of you who’ve followed the good doctor’s journey so far that the man who offers his services is less than honest!  He tempts Dr Syntax into a wager — which results in a loss of 20 pounds. Another dilemma for our hero.

What would have been his hapless fate.
In this most unexpected state,

May well be guess’d: but, lo! a friend
Fortune was kind enough to send.
An honest ‘Squire, who smok’d the trick,
Appeared well arm’d with oaken stick.
And placing many a sturdy blow
Upon the shoulders of the foe,
“It is with all my soul I beat
This vile, this most notorious cheat…”
 
“… Syntax his simple story told ; —
The ‘Squire, as kind as he was bold.
His full protection now affords
And cheer’d him both with wine and words.
“I love the Clergy from my heart,
And always take a parson’s part.
My father, Doctor, wore the gown;
A better man was never known….”
 There follows another long conversation extolling the virtues of the clergy.  Dr. Syntax, in his own opinion, has never had a clerical lliving (job) worthy of his abilities, and he tells that to almost everyone he meets. To a great extent thiese dialogues prepare us for the denouement to come after many more adventures.

 

Excerpts from Canto 11

After a comfortable night with the squire and his wife, over  a hearty breakfast Dr. Syntax is addressed by his host:
 
This morning I intend to go
To see the military show.
The light dragoons, now quartered here.
Will all in grand review appear :
They are a regiment of renown.
And some great general is come down
To see them all, in bright array,
Act the fierce battle of the day.
If you should like such sights as these, —
If Warlike feats your fancy please.
We’ll to the common take a ride.
And I myself will be your guide:
So, if you please, within an hour
Our nags shall be before the door.”…
Dr. Syntax at the Review
 
Naturally the good doctor agrees. But just as they are about to leave he receives a letter from his wife, full of loal gossip from home…which concludes as follows:
 
“…So fare you well, my dearest life,—-
And I remain your loving wife.”
 Postscript.  
” But if you fear that you shall come
Without a bag of money home,
Twere better far that you should take
A leap at once into the Lake:
I’d rather hear that you were drown’d,
Than that you should my hopes confound!”
These tender lines did not impart
Much comfort to the Doctor’s heart;
He therefore thought it would be better
To lay aside this pretty letter;
Nor suffer its contents to sour
The pleasure of the present hour.
The ‘Squire now became his guide,
So off they trotted, side by side;
And, ere they pass’d a mile or two,^
Beheld the scene of the review.
The troops drawn up in proud array,
An animating sight display ;
The well-form’d squadrons wheel around.
The standards wave, the trumpets sound…”
 
The horese Grizzle recalls her long-ago days as a war horse by resonding vigorously to the trumpets.  But Dr. Syntax manages to survive the charge and eventually returns to his host’s home, where the Squire and his Wife entertain him with some songs.  Dr. Syntax reciprocates. 
“Doctor Syntax’s Song.
 I’ve got a scold of a wife.
The plague and storm of my life;
O! were she in coal-pit bottom.
And all such jades, ‘od rot ’em!
My cares would then be over.
And I should live in clover;
With harum scarum, horum scorum,
Stew’d prunes for ever!
Stew’d prunes for ever! …
 
The song continues for many verses and concludes:
 
…By fam’d UIlyssus’ stream
How oft I fondly dream,
When I read in classic pages,
Of all the ancient sages;
But they were born to die,
And so were you and I;
With harum scarum, horum scorum,-
Stew’d prunes for everl
Stew’d prunes for ever !
Thus, with many a pleasant lay,
The party clos’d th’ exhausted day.
More to come…
 
 
 
 
 

A Couple In England – Day One – Part Two

You may recall that in the first half of my post about our first day in London, I left you at the gates of the In and Out Club on Piccadilly. It was cold, grey and wet; I was chomping at the bit to get into the midst of London, while Hubby was a tad less so. And it was Boxing Day, so that most things were closed.
“What now?” asked the Husband. I looked at him. What, indeed? I hadn’t factored in the weather. Or the closings. And speaking of closings, they made not a whit of difference to the hoardes of people walking briskly past us up and down Piccadilly. I looked across the street at the entrance to Green Park. What to do, what to do? Drawing upon my past experiences in London, not to mention the times I’d been over as as a tour guide, I went through my mental Roledex searching for inspiration.

“Come on,” I told Hubby, guiding him by the arm towards the crossing light. Over the road we went, then headed towards Apsley House until we got to the bus stop.

“Why are we standing here?” asked Hubby, naturally enough.
“We’re waiting for the bus. The Big Red tour bus.” I smiled encouragingly, recalling how much fun the Husband had had on the bus the last time we’d been in London together – when we’d ridden all the routes at his suggestion. And taken the Thames River cruise that our tickets also included.
He looked skeptical. “How do you know it stops here?” I pointed at the sign.

The Husband’s face lit with sunshine. “I love the bus tour!” Things were looking up. The next bus showed up sharpish and on we hopped. We paid for our fares and the Hubby took two pair of headphones from the attendant, who encouraged us to head up the stairs to the top level.
“The front of the bus is covered. You won’t get wet and you’ll have a better view. You don’t want to sit down here,” he said. Before I could respond, the Husband was all but pushing me up the stairs.
“Hurry up!” he encouraged. “Quick, before the good seats are all taken.” He apparently hadn’t noticed that the bus was thus far empty. Up we went and had our pick of seats. We chose two right in front of the big windscreen, sat down and plugged in our headphones.
“This is great!”
I smiled back at him. “Happy?”
“Sure. Aren’t you?” You bet. The bus pulled away from the curb and the narrative began. “The very first Hard Rock Cafe can be seen on the right . . . . . . . and the large residence coming up just ahead is Apsley House, home to the Dukes of Wellington . . . . . . . the Wellington Arch . . . . . . . . . the Lanesborough Hotel, formerly St. George’s Hospital . . . . . . “
Hubby turned to me with a grin and mouthed, “Apsley House!” He pointed at me and mouthed again, “Artie!” I nodded and grinned in return. It was turning out to be a pretty good day after all.
Up Park Lane we went and I spied the Winter Wonderland set up behind Apsley House in Hyde Park. “That’s where we’re going on Friday night,” I told Hubby. Soon we were at Marble Arch, then Oxford Street, which was absolutely crowded with people. Round London we rode – Trafalgar Square, the Duke of York’s column . . . . . Westminster Abbey and Big Ben.

Past the Embankment, the Tower of London and over Tower Bridge we rode. The narrative directed our attentention to St. George Wharf Tower on the left, which is destined to become the tallest residential building in London and which, unfortunately, would be the scene of a helicopter crash in just two weeks time.

We crossed back over the River and before long we passed Buckingham Palace.
And, once again, Big Ben.
Needless to say, the bus tour was a smashing success. Hubby and I were back on the same page, he was as glad as I to be in London and all seemed right with the world. On that note, we went back to the Green Park Hilton and had dinner in their lovely restaurant and then went upstairs to properly unpack. Climbing into bed a short while later, I kissed the husband and turned out the light secure in the knowledge that tomorrow I’d be waking up in England. On the street where Bertie and Jeeves lived, no less.
Day Two Coming Soon . . . . . . .