Love and Freindship

In honour of the 200th anniversary of the publication of Pride and Prejudice, here is an excerpt from Love and Freindship (1790), a wicked parody of the romantic novel from Jane Austen’s juvenilia. Laura is writing to her friend’s daughter, Marianne, in order to instruct her in the ways of the world.

Letter 4th

Our neighbourhood was small, for it consisted only of your Mother. She may probably have already told you that being left by her Parents in indigent Circumstances she had retired into Wales on eoconomical motives. There it was our freindship first commenced. Isobel was then one and twenty. Tho’ pleasing both in her Person and Manners (between ourselves) she never possessed the hundredth part of my Beauty or Accomplishments. Isabel had seen the World. She had passed 2 Years at one of the first Boarding-schools in London; had spent a fortnight in Bath and had supped one night in Southampton.

“Beware my Laura (she would often say) Beware of the insipid Vanities and idle Dissipations of the Metropolis of England; Beware of the unmeaning Luxuries of Bath and of the stinking fish of Southampton.”

“Alas! (exclaimed I) how am I to avoid those evils I shall never be exposed to? What probability is there of my ever tasting the Dissipations of London, the Luxuries of Bath, or the stinking Fish of Southampton? I who am doomed to waste my Days of Youth and Beauty in an humble Cottage in the Vale of Uske.”

Ah! little did I then think I was ordained so soon to quit that humble Cottage for the Deceitfull Pleasures of the World. Adeiu Laura.

Letter 5th

One Evening in December as my Father, my Mother and myself, were arranged in social converse round our Fireside, we were on a sudden greatly astonished, by hearing a violent knocking on the outward door of our rustic Cot.

My Father started—”What noise is that,” (said he.) “It sounds like a loud rapping at the door”—(replied my Mother.) “it does indeed.” (cried I.) “I am of your opinion; (said my Father) it certainly does appear to proceed from some uncommon violence exerted against our unoffending door.” “Yes (exclaimed I) I cannot help thinking it must be somebody who knocks for admittance.”

“That is another point (replied he;) We must not pretend to determine on what motive the person may knock—tho’ that someone DOES rap at the door, I am partly convinced.”

Here, a 2d tremendous rap interrupted my Father in his speech, and somewhat alarmed my Mother and me.

“Had we better not go and see who it is? (said she) the servants are out.” “I think we had.” (replied I.) “Certainly, (added my Father) by all means.” “Shall we go now?” (said my Mother,) “The sooner the better.” (answered he.) “Oh! let no time be lost” (cried I.)

A third more violent Rap than ever again assaulted our ears. “I am certain there is somebody knocking at the Door.” (said my Mother.) “I think there must,” (replied my Father) “I fancy the servants are returned; (said I) I think I hear Mary going to the Door.” “I’m glad of it (cried my Father) for I long to know who it is.”

I was right in my conjecture; for Mary instantly entering the Room, informed us that a young Gentleman and his Servant were at the door, who had lossed their way, were very cold and begged leave to warm themselves by our fire.

“Won’t you admit them?” (said I.) “You have no objection, my Dear?” (said my Father.) “None in the World.” (replied my Mother.)

Mary, without waiting for any further commands immediately left the room and quickly returned introducing the most beauteous and amiable Youth, I had ever beheld. The servant she kept to herself.

My natural sensibility had already been greatly affected by the sufferings of the unfortunate stranger and no sooner did I first behold him, than I felt that on him the happiness or Misery of my future Life must depend. Adeiu Laura.

Letter 6th

The noble Youth informed us that his name was Lindsay—for particular reasons however I shall conceal it under that of Talbot. He told us that he was the son of an English Baronet, that his Mother had been for many years no more and that he had a Sister of the middle size. “My Father (he continued) is a mean and mercenary wretch—it is only to such particular freinds as this Dear Party that I would thus betray his failings. Your Virtues my amiable Polydore (addressing himself to my father) yours Dear Claudia and yours my Charming Laura call on me to repose in you, my confidence.” We bowed. “My Father seduced by the false glare of Fortune and the Deluding Pomp of Title, insisted on my giving my hand to Lady Dorothea. No never exclaimed I. Lady Dorothea is lovely and Engaging; I prefer no woman to her; but know Sir, that I scorn to marry her in compliance with your Wishes. No! Never shall it be said that I obliged my Father.”

We all admired the noble Manliness of his reply. He continued.

“Sir Edward was surprised; he had perhaps little expected to meet with so spirited an opposition to his will. “Where, Edward in the name of wonder (said he) did you pick up this unmeaning gibberish? You have been studying Novels I suspect.” I scorned to answer: it would have been beneath my dignity. I mounted my Horse and followed by my faithful William set forth for my Aunts.”

“My Father’s house is situated in Bedfordshire, my Aunt’s in Middlesex, and tho’ I flatter myself with being a tolerable proficient in Geography, I know not how it happened, but I found myself entering this beautifull Vale which I find is in South Wales, when I had expected to have reached my Aunts.”

“After having wandered some time on the Banks of the Uske without knowing which way to go, I began to lament my cruel Destiny in the bitterest and most pathetic Manner. It was now perfectly dark, not a single star was there to direct my steps, and I know not what might have befallen me had I not at length discerned thro’ the solemn Gloom that surrounded me a distant light, which as I approached it, I discovered to be the chearfull Blaze of your fire. Impelled by the combination of Misfortunes under which I laboured, namely Fear, Cold and Hunger I hesitated not to ask admittance which at length I have gained; and now my Adorable Laura (continued he taking my Hand) when may I hope to receive that reward of all the painfull sufferings I have undergone during the course of my attachment to you, to which I have ever aspired. Oh! when will you reward me with Yourself?”

“This instant, Dear and Amiable Edward.” (replied I.). We were immediately united by my Father, who tho’ he had never taken orders had been bred to the Church. Adeiu Laura.

And this only the beginning…See Love and Freindship for the full text.

The Moff Taunts His Fans, and Associated Divagations*

Steven Moffat, the evil genius behind Doctor Who and Sherlock, today revealed in a Guardian interview that we’ve all missed a vital clue showing how Sherlock escaped death in the fall from the roof of Barts. There’s a theory going round that it was Moriarty’s body in a Sherlock mask, and I have given some credence to the idea. I’ve yet to watch The Reichenbach Fall for a third time, and Moffat appears to knock the theory on the head. But who knows? He’s a cunning bastard who likes to mess with our minds, what little of them is left after trying to work out what just happened in his shows.

It takes at least a couple of viewings, usually three, to properly enjoy all the subtleties of a Moffat production. The first is to get the basic plot down and a general idea of the profligate whizzing-by of sharp dialogue and witty cultural references. Then, knowing whodunnit and why, I can watch the episode again to catch the clues and foreshadowings, while paying more attention to the dialogue. Third time is usually just for pure, unalloyed pleasure, but this time I need to work out how Sherlock dunnit.

The same goes for Doctor Who. All that time I could have been writing a novel.

The interview itself was very interesting. I didn’t know Moffat had written Joking ApartChalk, and Coupling, the first of which I haven’t seen. I spent the Nineties and Noughties in America, that televisual black hole, sporadically illuminated by BBC America. No, I’m being unfair – there’s a lot of good stuff on cable. But everything else is dire. It’s the equivalent of devaluing the currency to have so many television channels chasing too few good programmes. The crap is bound to swamp the airwaves and leak in through the television screen.

Anyway, to get back to the point, I saw the brilliant Chalk and Coupling on BBC America. I particularly enjoyed David Bamber as the headmaster in Chalk. He was also the best ever Mr Collins in the BBC’s 1995 production of Pride and Prejudice, kicking up the SQ (Smugness Quotient) dial to 11. Here he is proposing to Elizabeth Bennet.

Where was I? Yes, the Moffat interview. It was also illuminating to discover that, in order to write Sherlock, he broke a contract with Stephen Spielberg to write three scripts for the Tintin film franchise. No contest as far as I’m concerned. I saw The Adventures of Tintin, and while it has all the Hollywood production values, it doesn’t have a heart.

While we’re on the subject of Sherlock, I just discovered The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson, a cleverly put together recreation of the character’s thoughts arising out of his experiences in the show. It has comments from his sister, Harry (Harriet), Mrs Hudson, Molly, and Sherlock, as well as a few others, one of whom is probably Moriarty. It starts just before meeting Sherlock in the first episode. There’s also a link to Molly’s blindingly pink blog, which has some back and forth with Jim Moriarty when he’s worming his way into her boyfriendhood.

I thoroughly recommend both the blog and the Moffat interview. Apparently the scenes that show how Sherlock escaped death have already been filmed, but there’s still plenty of scope for speculation while we wait for the 3rd series.

Or I could get a life.

My reviews on Series 2:
A Scandal in Belgravia
The Hounds of Baskerville
The Reichenbach Fall

* For divagation, see my definition here.