Jump to new as of December 6, 2002
Posted on Sunday, 18 November 2001
October 29th, 2001
Dear Reader,
In our correspondence I hope to acquaint you with a piece of juvenilia by Jane Austen entitled Lesley Castle, written by her at a young and tender age, of about 16. Unfortunately, she stopped writing it at the tenth letter, and there the characters remained for these two hundred years or so. I hope that my attempts to spur the characters onwards, which has included, dare I confess to it, some reworking, rewriting, and even additions to Austen's originals, will meet with favour, and any changes will be looked on by you with some compassion. I am but your (and Jane's) servant,
Adam Cuerden
January 1st, 1792
Since you ask for a description of my holidays in your last, I shall provide one for you, though I fear it shall not make interesting reading, for, though you have described your plans to visit half of Sussex, we do not even have our father here in our old and Mouldering castle. Its remote location two miles from Perth on a bold projecting rock, kept us from visiting any society whatsoever, save, of course, the M'Leods, the M'Kenzies, the M'Phearsons, the M'Cartneys, the M'Donalds, the MacBeths and the MacDuffs but nonetheless, we refuse to be dull or unhappy, and are, in fact, the two most lively, most agreeable, and most witty girls in the whole of the British Isles; not an hour in the day hangs heavy on our hands, as we fill it with reading, working, walking, and when fatigued, relax with song, dance, or by the more mental comforts of bon-mots and witty repartée. We are both truly handsome and accomplished, and the greatest of our perfections is that we are entirely insensible of them ourselves! However, as you might imagine, there were no social opportunities, save a few dances and dinner parties once or twice a day, and so very few know of our accomplishments, or that we remain here, in this castle, awaiting the world's notice. Ah, well! I trust you will have more to tell your affectionate
M. Lesley
Just as I was about to seal the envelope, my sister announced that she had seen our brother's carriage pull up just now. What can this be about? I shall keep this letter open, and give you full details.
January 3d, 1792
This morning, our brother left, leaving us his infant child, for us to raise as our own. He begged me to raise her as she would have been by an indulgent, affectionate, and amiable mother, and at this thought, tears rolled down his cheeks at the remembrance of his wife, Louisa's deeds. She had wantonly disgraced the maternal character and abandoned her conjugal duties, leaving him, her child, and her reputation behind a few weeks ago as she ran off with Danvers and Dishonour.* How little did he deserve the misfortune he has experienced from his married state So good a husband to so bad a wife! Never was there a sweeter face, a finer form, or a rottener heart than those of Louisa. The child inherits all of her mother's physical beauties, and it can only be hoped that she may inherit her father's mental ones! With a sigh, he embraced his sweet child and saluted Matilda and me, then drove off on his lonely way on the road to Aberdeen. The experience has changed our dear brother immensely, however though but five and twenty, Lesley has already experienced such melancholy and despair, and no more is the Beau, the young stripling, the bonny lad that his father remains even at fifty-seven, and which Lesley was but a few years previous. I cannot continue at present, I must go and assist Matilda with the child, cursed with her mother's foul name. We can only hope for the best with her.
January 4th
Louisa is an angel. At present she is sweetly smiling as she naps upon the sofa, so I have snuck away to finish my letter to you. She has only just turned two years old, but is as handsome as though two-and-twenty, as sensible as though two-and-thirty, and as prudent as though two-and-forty! To convince you of this, I must inform you that she has a very fine complexion and pretty features, that she already knows the first two letters of the alphabet, and that she never tears her frocks. If this does not convince you of her beauty, sense, and prudence, then I must require you to come up to Lesley Castle and see her, for nothing else will convince you! Ah, but what I would give to see you within these venerable walls! It is now four years since we last met, when my removal from school tore me from you, and that two such as us, united by sympathy and friendship, should remain apart for so long is deeply depressing, and I only wish that our father should decide to take us to London, or Bath, or Brighton, or somewhere else where we might, by chance or design, meet, or at least have better chance than we are now, at different ends of this great isle. But my father does not arrive until Autumn, and my brother intends to leave Scotland alone in a few days, in the hope that travel might soothe his broken heart, and thus I fear no such meeting shall occur in the near future. I know you join in my prayers for the recovery of our dear Lesley's peace of mind, which must ever be essential to your dear friend,
M. Lesley.
* Rakehelly Dishonour, Esq. Danvers' assistant in his affairs.
Posted on Monday, 19 November 2001
October 30th, 2001Dear Reader,
I am afraid that I have very little in the witty way to give you in the following letter. However, Jane Austen has a great deal of wit in it, so it works out all right. Your correspondent,
Adam Cuerden
February 12th
I must apologise for taking so long to answer your most agreeable letter, but I have been occupied these last five weeks with my preparations for my sister's wedding, and I have had no time whatsoever to spare for either you or myself. But it is simply too provoking: the match has been called off, and all my effort thrown away! Imagine my disappointment, having worked night and day getting the wedding dinner ready by the appointed time, having roasted beef, broiled mutton, and stewed soup in sufficient quantities to last them all the way through the honeymoon, and then finding to my horror that all my work was in vain! Indeed, I have never recalled any vexation greater than when my sister came running to me in tears last Monday, her face as white as a whipped syllabub, and told me that Hervey had been thrown from his horse, fractured his skull, and was pronounced by his surgeon to be in imminent danger!
"Good God!" said I "you don't say so? But what in the name of heaven will become of all these victuals? We shall never arrange to eat it all whilst it is good. However, we'll call in the Surgeon to help us " At this point I was interrupted by Eloisa falling down with all the appearance of lifelessness upon one of the chests, where we keep our table linen, and I worried that my words had been amiss. However, I called my mother and the maids, and at last we brought her to herself again; and as soon as she was sensible, she expressed a desire to go instantly to Henry, and was so wildly determined upon this, that it took all our efforts to prevent her from putting it into action, and at last more by force than by entreaty, we persuaded her to go to her own room, and laid her on the bed where she continued for some hours in the most dreadful convulsions, thus proving, as I attempted to explain to her as I sat by her bedside with our mother, that she was in no fit state to leave the house at present. She had occasional intervals of composure in which we joined in her lamentations about the waste of all the food and how we were ever to get rid of it. My mother and I agreed that the best thing we could do was to begin eating them immediately, and accordingly we ordered ourselves to be brought the ham and the fowls, which I and my mother set upon with alacrity, and for some of the roast beef to be sent to Henry, should he be able to partake of it. This last seemed to provide some comfort to Eloisa, and I rejoiced, and attempted to persuade her to have a wing of chicken, but she turned the most appalling shade at the sight of it, and would not be persuaded, and began to talk of visiting Henry again.
I attempted thusly to dissuade her: "Dear Eloisa, there's no occasion for your crying so much about such a trifle. (for I thought that by making light of it she might be more comforted) I beg you would not mind it You see that it does not vex me in the least; though perhaps I suffer as greatly as you, for I shall not only be obliged to eat up all the victuals I have dressed already, but must if Hervey recovers (which, however, is not very likely) dress as much for you again; or should he die (as I suppose he will) I shall still have to prepare a dinner for you whenever you marry anyone else." At this point she began to sob, crying out Henry's name, and I decided to try a different tact. "I know the sufferings of Henry vex you greatly, as well they should, but fear not, for I dare say he'll die soon enough, and then his pain may be over, and you shall be easy, and I dare say that in truth, we can probably clear the victuals in a fortnight if we try hard enough." Thus I did all in my power to console her, but she remained inconsolable, and at last, seeing that there was nothing I could do to help her, I took down the remains of the ham and the chicken, and sent William to ask how Hervey did. He was not expected to last many hours; he died the same day. We took all possible care to break the melancholy event to Eloisa in the tenderest manner; yet in spite of every precaution, her sufferings upon hearing it threw her into a great delirium, and our doctor fears she may go rapidly into a decline. We are therefore preparing to go to Bristol, in the hopes that that might cheer her, or that the waters of Bath might help her, and we mean to be there sometime next week. From some of her curses, sobbed at me in moments of high delirium, I fear that I have hurt her greatly in some way, but trust that I shall be able to make amends for whatever slight I have given her by kind care and attention over the course of her recovery. And now, my dear Margaret, let me talk a little of your affairs. In the first place I must tell you that it is confidently reported that your father is going to be married. I am very unwilling to believe so unpleasant a report, yet at the same time cannot wholly discredit it, and thus I have written to my dear friend Susan Fitzgerald for information concerning it (as she is in town at present) which I hope to be able to give to you soon. I think your brother is extremely right in the resolution he has taken of traveling, as it will perhaps serve to obliterate from his mind those disagreeable events that he has suffered through as, indeed, we hope the same will help Eloisa. I am happy to find that though so secluded, neither you nor Matilda are dull or unhappy that you may never know what it is to be either is the sincere wish of your ever affectionate
C.Lutterell
P.S. I have this instant received an answer from my friend Susan which I enclose to you, and on which you may reflect at your leisure.
The Enclosed Letter
My dear Charlotte,
You could not have applied for information concerning the report of Sir George Lesley's marriage to anyone more able to give you it than I am. He is certainly married I myself was present at the ceremony, and I hope you will not be too surprised when I sign myself as your affectionate
Susan Lesley.
Posted on Monday, 19 November 2001
October 31st, 2001Dear Reader,
I enclose to you a letter that appears to have been meant to be sent to you, but was unfortunately delayed over two hundred years in the post. I hope it was not urgent. I remain your humble servant,
Adam Cuerden
February the 16th
I have reflected upon the letter you enclosed to me, my dear Charlotte, and have reached worrisome conclusions in my reflections. I reflected that if, by this second marriage, our father should have a second family, then our fortunes must of necessity be considerably diminished; that, if his wife should be of an extravagant turn, she would encourage him in the gay and dissipated life to which he needs little encouragement enough which already severely threatens his health and fortune; that the jewels which once our mother adorned shall surely not come to us as had been promised; that, unless they should by some chance come to Perthshire which I see no reason why now they should I shall never even meet my mother-in-law, and if they did, Matilda would lose her position as mistress of Lesley Castle until they should leave: all these fears crowd my mind. After I showed her the letter, the same fears and worries instantly sprung to the mind of my sister, and I know not which worries her more: the diminution of our fortunes, or of her own consequence. We both wish to know whether Lady Lesley is handsome, and what you think of her. As you honour her by calling her friend, we hope that she must be amiable and a worthy recompense to that which me must reconcile ourselves to losing.
There is nothing more I can say that will be of any use until I hear your reply, so I shall proceed onto the things I had intended to tell you before I found what surprising news you had for us: I have heard from my brother, who is already in Paris (though he intends to quit it to proceed to Italy in a few days). His manner is much more cheerful than it was, indeed, he seems to have recovered most of the cheerful gaiety, the sprightly wit, for which he was once so remarkable he attributes it to the French air, though I am inclined to believe that it is his happiness to be free of Louisa. I believe you never yet heard the particulars of his first acquaintance with her. He had gone to spend Christmas at our cousin Colonel Drummond's house in Cumberland, at just around the time he made his twenty-second birthday. Louisa Burton was the daughter of some distant relation of Mrs. Drummond, who had died a few months before then in extreme poverty, leaving his only child (who was then eighteen if I recall correctly) to the protection of whichever of his relations who would take up that task. Mrs. Drummond was the only one who found herself so disposed, and so Louisa was removed from a miserable cottage in Yorkshire to the Drummonds' stately mansion and from every problem of pecuniary distress to every elegant enjoyment endowed by money.
Louisa was naturally ill-tempered and cunning, but had been taught to disguise her true nature under a guise of insinuating sweetness by her father, who knew all too well that to be married was all that would keep her from starving, and who flattered himself that with such an extraordinary share of personal beauty, combined with the twin artifices of a gentle manner and an engaging address, she could stand a good chance of attracting any suitable young man who could afford to marry a girl without a shilling. Louisa entered perfectly into her father's schemes, and by dint of perseverance and application, had at length so thoroughly disguised her natural disposition under the masque of innocence, that none who had not spent a long and constant intimacy with her could discover her true character. Thus when the hapless Lesley first came upon her at the Drummonds', his heart which (to use your favourite comparison) was as delicate and sweet as a whipped syllabub could not resist her attractions. In a very few days, he was falling in love, soon afterwards he actually fell, and before he had known her a month he had married her. Our father naturally disapproved of such a hasty and impudent connection, but on finding that they were utterly indifferent to his opinion on the matter, he became completely reconciled. They moved to the estate near Aberdeen that our brother inherited from his great uncle, which was entirely sufficient to support him and his wife in great ease and elegance, and entirely independent of Sir George Lesley's wishes. For the first twelvemonth, no one could be happier than Lesley, and no one more amiable to all appearances than Louisa, and so plausibly did she act and so carefully behave that though Matilda and I spent a full six weeks with them once, and many shorter visits, yet neither of us had any suspicion of her true character. After the birth of young Louisa, however, which one would have suspected would only increase her regard for Lesley, her long-worn mask was by degrees set aside, and, as she thought herself secure in her husband's affections, she did not seem to think it worth her while to take any pains to prevent that affection from ever diminishing. Our visits to Dunbeath began to grow less frequent, and were far less agreeable than they once were, but this absence was neither mentioned or lamented by Louisa, who had begun to take in the company of Danvers who she met in Aberdeen (where he was going to University at that time) You know already where this Danvers led her, so I shall not recount the painful details again. Adieu, my dear Charlotte; and though I have not yet mentioned any thing of the matter, I hope you will give my kind condolences to your sister, who I hope you will do me the justice to believe that I think and feel for a great deal. I can only hope that the healthy air of the Bristol Downs will rally her spirits, and begin to take from her the difficult remembrance of her beloved Henry.
I am, my dear Charlotte, yours ever,
Margaret Lesley
November 2nd, 2001Dear Reader,
I am very pleased that you have decided to continue our correspondence, but I must point out a fact I have recently realised: as many of you are women, a great number of you unmarried, and I am a bachelor, this could be scandalous if anyone found out! Be careful! To prevent your disgrace is the fondest wish of your servant,
Adam Cuerden
February 27th
My dear Peggy,
I have only just now received your letter, which being delivered to Sussex after we had left for Bristol was obliged to be forwarded to me here, but appears to have taken the scenic route in its travels, as it has only but this instant reached me. I return to you many thanks for your account of Lesley's acquaintance, love, and marriage with Louisa, which has not the less entertained me for having been oft times repeated to me before.
I have the satisfaction of being able to tell you that I have every reason to believe that our pantry has now been emptied, as we left very particular orders with the servants to eat as hard as they possibly could, and to call in a few charwomen, local farmers, and anyone else they would care to invite to assist them. We brought a cold pigeon pie, a cold turkey, a cold tongue, and half a dozen jellies with us, which we were lucky enough, with the help of the landlady, her husband, and their three children to dispatch of within two days of our arrival. However, poor Eloisa is still very indifferent in health and spirits, and I very much fear that the air of the Bristol downs, healthy as it is, is not sufficient to drive poor Henry from her remembrance.
You ask me whether your new stepmother is handsome and amiable; I shall therefore give you an exact description of her bodily and mental charms. She is short and extremely well made; is naturally pale, though she rouges a good deal; has pleasant enough eyes, and especially fine teeth, which she will take care to make you aware of the moment she sees you, and is altogether very pretty. She is remarkably good tempered whenever she has her own way, and is very lively when not out of humour. She is naturally extravagant and not very affected; she never reads anything but my letters, and never writes anything but the replies to me; she can play, dance, and sing, but has absolutely no taste in any of them, though she claims to be passionately fond of all of them. You may wonder at my speaking with so little affection of one I call my friend, but, to tell the truth, the friendship arose due to a caprice on her part, and not through esteem on mine: We spent two or three days together with Lady Stanthorpe in Berkshire (to whom we both happen to be connected), and, the weather being remarkably bad, and the other people remarkably stupid, she soon decided upon a violent partiality for me, which very soon became outright friendship, and has a legacy in this continued correspondence. I suspect that she has grown just as tired of me as I have grown of her, but as she is much too polite and I too civil to say so, our letters are just as frequent and affectionate as ever, and our attachment as firm and sincere as when it first began.
As she has a great taste for the pleasures of London and Brighthelmstone, she will I dare say find every excuse to avoid leaving them for Perthshire, and you are very unlikely to ever meet her in your venerable but mouldering and isolated castle. Perhaps if her doctor should find her to be suffering from excess enjoyment, she may then be incited to visit you, to improve her health but not her mood in any case, I fear that your fears are all well grounded, you may consider your mother's jewels as lost, your father's extravagance will only be encouraged, and though she brings four thousand pounds to the marriage, she will probably spend that much every year on dress, public places and the like if she can get it, and if you inherit any fortune you may consider yourself very well off. But as so melancholy a subject will surely distress you, I shall say no more upon it.
Eloisa's indisposition brings us to Bristol at such an unfashionable time of the year that we have only seen but one other genteel family since our arrival: Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe, the ill health of whose little boy occasioned their arrival here. As they are most agreeable people, as well as being the only family with whom we may converse, we are of course on a very intimate footing with them, and see them almost every day, and dined with them yesterday. It was a pleasant day, and a very good dinner, though I do wish I had had a hand in the preparation of it: the veal was terribly underdone, and the curry had no seasoning. A brother of Mrs. Marlowe, a Mr. Cleveland is with them at present, a good-looking young man who seems to have a good deal to say for himself; I have tried to encourage Eloisa to set her cap at him, but she does not at all seem to relish it yet. I should like to see her happily married, and Cleveland has a very good estate Perhaps you wonder that I do not consider myself as well as my sister in my matchmaking, but to tell you the truth I never desire to have any greater participation in a wedding than the preparation of the dinner, and therefore, whenever I can get any of my acquaintance to marry for me I shall never think of doing it myself, for I suspect that I shall not have as much time for dressing my own wedding dinner as that of my friends.
I am, of course, quite vexed at your stepmother for not informing me in advance of her plans, so that I could prepare her matrimonial dinner as well, but under the circumstances, with me feeling it a duty to you to talk her out of it, it is perhaps for the best.
Yours sincerely,
C.Lutterell
November 5th, 2001Dear Reader,
So many things have happened since last I wrote that are none of your business.
Your humble servant,
Adam Cuerden
March 18th
Dearest Charlotte,
On the same day I received your last letter, we were surprised to receive one from Sir George, revealing that he was in Edinburgh, and intended to visit us and introduce Lady Lesley to us the following evening. This, as you may suppose, considerably surprised us, as we fully expected from your letter that the chance of her coming to visit us at a time when London must be so gay was minusculely small. As, however, we must feel delighted over such a mark of condescension to us as their visit, we were prepared to return to them a letter full of the happiness and joy we felt in expectation of their blessing, when, recollecting that they would be here long before the letter could reach them, we decided that they must simply suppose that we were as happy as we ought.
At nine in the evening the following day, they came, accompanied by one of Lady Lesley's brothers. Her Ladyship perfectly matches the description you gave of her, except that I do not think her so attractive as you seem to believe. She has not a bad figure, but there is something so extremely unmajestic in her little diminutive figure, in comparison with the elegant height of Matilda and myself, so as to render her an insignificant dwarf. Her curiosity to see us (which, having brought her well over four hundred miles must have been indeed great) being satisfied, she already begins to talk of returning to London, and of bringing us with her. We cannot refuse for it is seconded by the commands of our father, and thirded by the entreaties of her brother, Mr. Fitzgerald who is certainly one of the most pleasant young men I ever beheld. It is not yet determined when we shall go, but when we do we shall certainly take our little Louisa with us. However, to return to the present time, the M'Leods and the M'Kenzies have just arrived, so I must bid you adieu my dear Charlotte. Matilda unites in best wishes to you and Eloisa with your own
Margaret Lesley
November 8, 2001Dear Reader,
I can listen no longer in silence. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. I must go, uncertain of my fate. A word, a look will be enough to determine whether I enter your father's house this evening or never. Best wishes,
Adam Cuerden
March 20th
My sweet friend, you can have no idea of the horrors of this place, and how much I repent ever leaving our charming residence in Portman Square for a dismal, ancient, weather-beaten, and probably rat-infested castle such as this. Your wildest imagings could never grasp enough of the hideousness of its dungeon-like form. It is actually perched upon a bare rock so apparently insurmountable that I at first thought we should have to be pulled up by a rope, and already then did I begin to repent coming to visit my daughters in their horrid prison, and though in the end such a dangerous and ridiculous means of entrance was not quite required, I nonetheless had to climb hundreds upon hundreds of steps up to the looming portcullis. My spirits began to rally when I entered the tremendous building, in hopes that they should soon be comforted by the sight of my dear sweet girls but here again, I encountered nothing but disappointment and surprise, for they are a pair of Scotch Giants, out of proportion and overgrown for any but such an immense building as this. I wish, my dear Charlotte, that you could but behold them: they would frighten you out of your wits! (However, I nonetheless invited them to London their ungainly forms should show me off to advantage.)
Besides these two fair damsels, I found some little brat here who I believe is some relation to them they told me who she was, and gave me some long rigmarole story, but I can't stand either children or scandal, and do not care to know the sordid history of her father and that Miss Somebody. Not only that, but every day I must either climb down those steps to go visit one of a parcel of Scotch wretches, with terrible hard names, then climb up all those steps again, or instead to have them invade my sanctity here, with their rough accents and strange fashions. The entertainment is even worse. These girls have no music but Scotch Airs, no drawings but Scotch mountains, and no books but Scotch poems in some unreadable course dialect and I hate all things Scotch! Worse yet, every so often one of those horrid men will pull out some wretched instrument looking like an overgrown tartan insect, and begin playing some hideous caterwaul and yet, they are so civil, gave me so many invitations, and talked of coming again so soon, that I could not dare affront them without seeming the most wretchedly rude creature who ever lived! So, nothing can give me any pleasure here even my toilette, which I can generally spend half a day at with a great deal of pleasure is nothing to me, as there is never anyone in this house I would ever wish to please.
Even my brother has greatly offended me just earlier today, and as there is nothing else remotely of interest in this horrible place for me to tell you about, I suppose I shall give you the particulars. For four or five days I have suspected William of entertaining a partiality to my eldest daughter. I know not why, for if I had been so inclined to fall in love with some woman, I should not have chosen Matilda Lesley, such a tall and gangly woman but there is no accounting for some men's taste, and I suppose that he being himself six feet tall, he might have some affinity for that height. I have a great affection for my brother and do not wish to see him unhappy, and seeing that he meant to be so if he could not marry Matilda, I saw it only fit to remind him that his circumstances will not allow him to marry a woman without fortune, and as Matilda's is entirely dependent on her father, who should not have any inclination to give her anything at present, nor should I let him, I thought it only right to warn him of the precarious state his love would put him in, and encourage him to conquer his passion, instead of loving and despairing. Finding myself this morning alone with him in one of the horrible rooms of this castle, full of hideous stag's heads and swords and bugles and stylised thistles and other horrors, I opened the case with him in this manner:
"Well, my dear William, what do you think of these girls? I myself do not find them quite so plain as I expected, but then, I suspect I am partial to the daughters of my husband so I dare say I look upon them too favourably. They are indeed so much like Sir George that it is natural to think -"
"My dear Susan! (cried he in a tone of the greatest amazement) You surely do not think that they bear the least resemblance to their father! He is so very plain! but I do beg your pardon, I had entirely forgotten to whom I was speaking."
"Oh, pray don't mind me, for everyone knows Sir George is horribly ugly, and I assure you I always thought him a fright."
"You surprise me extremely by what you say about both Sir George and his daughters. You surely cannot think your husband so deficient in personal charms, nor can you see any resemblance between him and the Miss Lesleys, who are, in my opinion, perfectly unlike him and perfectly handsome."
"Well, if you think the girls so beautiful, though I cannot see why, and you think their father completely unlike him, then you must return to your view that he is quite plain."
"By no means, for what may be pretty in a woman may be unpleasing in a man."
"You have stated your opinion of Sir George already. It is futile for you to attempt to change it now."
"Men are no judges of the beauty of their own sex."
"Neither men or women can think him tolerable."
"Well, well!" said he, his face temporarily becoming a study in amused surprise, before returning to its usual merely amused state, "We will not dispute about his beauty, but your opinion of his daughters is surely very singular, for if I understand you correctly, you did not find them so plain as you expected to do?"
"I did not find them quite so plain as I thought to, but they are still very plain."
"I can hardly believe you serious! You cannot really think so for what single feature in the face of either of them can you find in the least way disagreeable?"
"A great many! Come, shall I tell you of their faults?" I here took on a cunning look, in order to shame him "Perhaps I could begin with the eldest, Matilda?"
"They are so much alike," said he, deliberating, "that I should suppose the faults of one would be the faults of both."
"Well, then, in the first place, they are both so horrendously tall!"
"They are taller than you, certainly."
"I am afraid I know nothing of that."
"In any case, though they may be above the common size, their features are perfectly elegant; and as to their faces, their eyes are beautiful -"
"I can never give such tremendous knock-me-down figures any such description as elegant, and though their eyes may be lovely, they are lost so high up that I could never strain my neck enough to look at them."
"Well, perhaps you may be in the right for not attempting it for they would surely dazzle you with their lustre."
"Oh, certainly," I replied, with greatest complacency, for I assure you I was not in the least offended by his rudeness, though from what followed, I suppose that William was aware that he had just given me cause for offence, for, coming up to me and taking my hand, he said, "You must not look so grave, Susan; you will make me fear I have offended you."
"Offended me! Dear brother, I can assure you I am not offended in the least. I am merely quite surprised at your being such an advocate for the beauty of these girls. Nothing more."
"Well, we have not yet finished our dispute concerning them, and if you do not object, let us continue. What fault do you find in their complexion?"
"They are so horribly pale!"
"They always have a little colour, at least, and after any exercise it is considerably heightened."
"Yes, but if there should ever happen to be rain in this part of the world as I do believe there is often they should never be able to raise themselves above the common stock, except by running up and down these horrid galleries and antechambers and those horrid, horrid stairs."
"Well," replied my brother in a vexed tone, and glancing an impudent look at me, "if they have but a little colour, at least it is all their own."
This was too much, my dear Charlotte, for I am certain that he meant impudence by that look, by pretending to doubt the reality of mine you know that I have always protested against wearing rouge, and how much I have always told you I dislike it, and my opinions have not changed a single iota from that stance, and I am sure that any one looking as I stormed out of the room would have seen just how red my face can be in that moment, and ever since then I have been in my dressing room writing to you. I was so much vexed by William's glance that I afterwards realised I had not even given him that advice regarding his attachment to Matilda that had first caused me to embark, through motives of pure love, upon that conversation; and now am so convinced of his violent passion for her that I suspect that he would never see reason upon the subject, and am so vexed that for all I care he can face the consequences until it comes time to ask my husband for his permission and then I shall attempt to stop the wedding for his own good. This is getting to be quite a long letter for me, by which I hope to convey some of my deep regard to you, however, as much as I love you, I fear that once I get to town and once more have agreeable company, I may not have the time to write such again even to my dear Charlotte. Adieu, my dear girl!
Yours affectionately,
Susan Lesley.
November 9th, 2001Dear Reader,
I've been reading the most interesting book; it's called Lesley Castle and it's by someone named Jane Austen. Unfortunately, it's incomplete I do wish someone would finish it! Ah, well, maybe someday. I remain your affectionate
Adam Cuerden
March 27th
I have received letters from both you and your mother-law within this week, and have found great amusement from them, as I discover you are both quite jealous of each other's beauty, much as you try to deny it. Why is it that two beautiful women mother and daughter, no less cannot be in the same house without falling out about their faces? I implore you merely to be convinced that you are both perfectly handsome and say no more of the matter.
I suppose I must direct this letter to Portman Square where you will probably find yourself by now despite your love of Lesley Castle, but I do suppose that you will enjoy yourself nonetheless: in spite of everything people say about the rolling green hills and rustic beauty of the country, I was always of the opinion that London and its amusements must be very agreeable for a while, and have often wished that my mother's income would allow her to occasionally jockey us into its public places during winter. I have always longed to go to Vauxhall and see whether they really cut their cold beef quite as thin as it is reported, for I have a sly suspicion that few people understand the art of cutting a slice of cold beef the way I do nay, it would be very hard if I did not know something of the matter, having taken great pains in my education on the subject. Mama always believed me her best scholar, though while Papa was alive Eloisa was his. Never were there two more different dispositions in the world! Though we both loved reading, she preferred histories, and I recipes. She liked drawing pictures, I liked drawing pullets. No one could sing a better song than she; no one could bake a better pie than I and so it has always continued from the days of our childhood, the only difference being that we no longer have disputes over which of our enjoyments is the superior (though, of course, it is mine). For many years, we have entered into an agreement whereby we both constantly complement each other's works: I never fail to listen rapturously to her music (which is, of course of superior quality) and she never fails to eat my pies (which, of course, are even more superior) or such at least was the case until Henry Hervey made his appearance in Sussex. Before his aunt's arrival in our neighbourhood about a twelvemonth ago, his visits to her had been long-scheduled and of equal and settled duration, but on her removal to Brampton Hall within a short walk from our house, they became more frequent, longer, and sometimes unannounced. Many times have I had delicate sauce ruined because I was called away from my cooking at precisely the wrong point but, no matter. It was greatly displeasing to Mrs. Diana who, as you well know, is a professed enemy to everything not ruled utterly by decorum and formality, or which might resemble ease or good breeding. So great was her disapproval of her poor nephew's behaviour that I have often heard her give such hints of it before his face that, had he not have been in such deep conversation with Eloisa to be insensible, would have surely made him blush and at the same time, her alteration in behaviour to me took place. The benevolent agreement we had of always admiring each other's work she seemed to have forgotten, and though I constantly applauded everything, even the merest country dance, not even a pigeon pie of my creation would obtain from her a single word of favour. This was certainly enough to put anyone into a passion, yet I was as cool as a cream cheese, and as set in my well-moulded plan as a raspberry trifle with apple jam rolls, egg custard with a bit of nutmeg, and whipped cream flavoured with a dollop of honey (which is, of course, one of my specialities.), and I was determined upon letting her have her own way, and to not make a single reproach.
Instead my scheme was to treat her as she treated me, and though she might even draw my own picture, or play Malbrook which is the only piece that I actually like I would not even say, "Thank you, Eloisa;" though I had for many years constantly bellowed "Bravo! Bravissimo! Encora! Da Capo! Allegretto! Con Expressione! Poco Presto!" and a great many other outlandish words, which I had been told are the proper way to express appreciation to music, whenever Eloisa played. (I suppose they must be, as I see some of them in every page of every music book, being, I imagine, the sentiments of the composer.)
I executed my plan with great speed and rapidity, but I cannot say success, for, alas! my silence while she played did not in the least displease her; on the contrary she said to me one day, "Well, Charlotte! I am very glad you have decided to stop that constant stream of appreciation you began whenever I played until your throat grew hoarse and my head ached. I am very much obliged to you for keeping your admiration to yourself!"
I shall never forget the witty answer I made to this speech: "Well, Eloisa, you need not worry about any resumption of it in the future, for I assure you I shall always keep my admiration to myself and my own pursuits and never extend it to yours from now on!" This was the only very severe thing I have ever said in my life, for though I have often thought myself to have a very satirical way of thought, I have never before made my feelings public.
I suppose that two people never were so much in love as Henry and Eloisa; not even your brother's love for Miss Burton could be so strong though it were more violent. You may imagine therefore how provoked my sister was to have him play her such a trick. Poor girl! She still laments his death with undiminished fervour, even though he has been dead a full six weeks; but some people mind these things much more than others, I suppose. The ill state of health his death has thrown Eloisa into has caused her to be very weak both physically and emotionally: she has cried this whole morning at the departure of Mrs. Marlowe with her husband, brother, and child. I am sorry to see them go because they are the only family around here of which we have any acquaintance, but have never thought of crying but then, Eloisa and Mrs. Marlowe had been together a great deal more, and have developed some affection, which makes Eloisa's tears more understandable. The Marlowes are going to town; Cleveland accompanies them since neither I nor Eloisa could capture him I must wish you and Matilda better luck. I know not when we shall leave Bristol Eloisa's spirits are so low that she is very adverse to moving, yet she has not mended in the slightest. A week or two will determine our plans; in the mean time believe me to be your ever affectionate
Charlotte Lutterell
November 10th, 2001Dear Reader,
I cannot bring myself to be witty today, for today I must introduce you to my dear Eloisa. I must allow her to speak for herself. I remain your compassionate friend,
Adam Cuerden
April 4th
Dear Emma,
I am so grateful to you for feeling such affection for me as to request me to be your correspondent. It is such a great relief to me to be able to write to you, and, as long as my health and spirits might allow I shall continue to do so. Ever since we met I have found you to be a kind and compassionate person, and have hoped that you might become my friend, and I am as happy as I now am able to be that we have become so. I shall be as constant as possible in writing you, even though I feel I shall not be entertaining my heart has broken, and no mirth is available to me. I know no one else here, so no gossip or tales of great events are available to me... I know not what exactly to write you...
My sister has long been the only other woman I could talk to, and much as I love her, and as much as she tries, she cannot feel what I feel, and I fear she understands her own two correspondents better than me, her sister. My poor lost Henry, the only love I shall ever have is no more, and only you have ever given me the kind ear I need to talk of him and soothe my heart with the flow of memories about him. You are my only friend besides my sister... Oh, Emma, if anyone could ever help me to return to happiness again I know it must be you. Though we have not known each other for a great deal of time, your sympathy and your understanding to me have been the only balm to my tortured soul. I can not thank you enough. I fear I speak too strongly, but I speak only the truth. I must stop now, my tears prevent me from writing more. Adieu, my dear Emma I shall write you again with greatest speed, but for now my heart's turmoil is too great. I am your most sincere friend,
Eloisa Lutterell
November 13, 2001Dear Reader,
I have heard terrible rumours, rumours relating to a situation that cannot hold, that cannot be allowed to exist any longer! However, you didn't hear about what happened from me, in a very real and literal sense. I remain your humble, if annoying servant
Adam Cuerden
April 10th
My dear, dear Eloisa, I know how great your feelings for poor Henry were, and will do all that is within my meagre powers to try to help you. I must admit to some worry that too great indulgence of your sorrows by repeating and dwelling on them to me might encourage and increase them, yet knowing as I do how recent is your loss, and what soothing (if melancholy) pleasure it must afford you, I cannot yet encourage you to deny such an indulgence; however, although you will always receive compassion from me, as you should expect, I shall also attempt, although I know not how well I will succeed, to move your mind for a time away from your sorrows with talk on other subjects, with such wit and lively humour that might bring a smile even to the sweet but sorrowful countenance of my dear Eloisa.
I was filled with delight to receive your letter, and hope to show some measure of my affection and a desire that the correspondence might be regular and frequent by responding promptly but I fear I cannot claim merit from the punctuality, for Mr. Marlowe is constantly desirous of my appearing in some of the public places every evening, and I do not like to refuse him, yet at the same time so greatly desire not to, that the liberty I claim from having a letter to write to allow me to stay at home with my little boy gives me such great additional inducement that I have no reason to delay the indulgence of my great desire to write you. I hope therefore that I may be able to offer you my assistance as quickly as the posts will allow, and that you need not languish over any sadness or vexation for more than a week without advice.
You may find it interesting to hear that I have met your sister's three friends Lady Lesley and her daughters twice since I have been here. I know you shall be impatient to know of the beauties of the three ladies of which you have heard so much, and I think I may have the pleasure of informing you that I like none of their faces so well as your own. Yet they are all in their way handsome Lady Lesley was known for her beauty long before her marriage; her daughters do have a better face than her ladyship but with the advantages of a blooming complexion, a little affectation and a good deal of small talk (in each of which she is superior to the young ladies), I dare say she will still gain herself as many admirers as the more regular features of Matilda and Margaret. I am sure you will agree with me that none of them are the proper size for real beauty when you know that two of them are taller and the other shorter than ourselves; yet in spite of this defect or rather, by reason of it there is something noble and majestic in the aspect of the Miss Lesleys, and something agreeably lively in the appearance of their little mother-in-law. But despite their respective majesty and liveliness, neither of them posses the bewitching sweetness of my dear Eloisa, which her present languor is so far from diminishing.
I wonder what my husband or brother would say if they read the opinions I have expressed about you in this letter? It would be hard to have me prevented from telling you of your beauty without being thought either your determined enemy or your professed toad-eater. How much amiable in that respect are we women! One man may say all he desires in compliment to another, and as long as he also does his duty by our sex, we will not think any the less of him.
I must send Mrs. Lutterell my compliments; Charlotte, my love; and Eloisa, the dearest wishes for the recovery of her health and spirits that can be offered by her affectionate friend
E. Marlowe
I have just read over this letter, and am afraid that it is but a poor specimen of my powers in the witty way; and your opinion of them will not be greatly increased when I tell you that I have been as entertaining as I possibly could...
November 18th, 2001Dear Reader,
I am, as ever, your humble servant
Adam Cuerden
April 13th
My dear Charlotte,
We left Lesley castle on the 28th of last month, and arrived safely in London after seven days. You can imagine the melancholy that filled my mind on the journey here, of the sadness at leaving dear Lesley Castle, and of the worry at the unknown that we would find here, and you have my grateful thanks that among the first things I found on arriving was your letter, having lain in wait for me. Ah, my dear friend, I every day the more regret the serene and tranquil pleasures of the castle we have left, in exchange for the uncertain and unequal pleasures of this vaunted city. Not that I find these uncertain and unequal amusements displeasing; I enjoy them extremely and would enjoy them even more if I were not certain that every appearance I make in public but rivets and tempers the chains of those unhappy beings whose passion it is impossibly not to pity, though it is not in my power to return. In short, my dear Charlotte, it is my sensibility for the sufferings of so many amiable young men, my dislike of the extreme admiration I meet with, and my aversion to being so celebrated in public, in private, in papers and in printshops that prevent me from any greater enjoyment of the so varied amusements of London. How often I have wished that I possessed as little personal beauty as you do; that my figure was so round and inelegant; my face as unlovely; my appearance as unpleasing; and my dress so unattractive as yours! But, ah, what little chance is there of so desirable an event; I have had the small pox, and therefore must submit to my unhappy fate.
I am now going to entrust you, my dear Charlotte, with a secret that has long disturbed the tranquillity of my days, and which is of a kind to require the most inviolable secrecy from you. Last Monday se'night Matilda and I accompanied Lady Lesley to a rout at the Honourable Mrs. Hardy's; we were escorted by Mr. Fitzgerald, who is a very amiable young man in the main, but extremely singular in his tastes (he prefers Matilda). We had scarcely paid our complements to the lady of the house and greeted a half dozen of the guests when something bade me look at the door, and there entered a young man, the most handsome of his sex, who entered with another gentleman and lady. From the first moment I beheld him, I was certain that on him depended all my future happiness. Imagine my surprise when he was introduced to me as Mr. Cleveland, the brother of your sister's correspondent! Mrs. Marlowe and her husband were indeed the pair who entered with them (You do not find Mrs. Marlowe handsome?) and I was extremely glad to make the acquaintance. It was an extremely short lived happiness as Sir James Gower, one of my admirers soon came over, and, by opening his mouth, put to an end out conversation before it had a chance to begin, but by his fine and graceful bow I could tell him a man of good breeding, and I could imagine every word that would have passed had we been able to speak. How I detest Sir James! He visits almost every day, and is charming enough in his way, but I simply do not and cannot love him, and he prevented me from talking to the one that I do! I have since met Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe quite often, and find them a charming couple, though Mrs. Marlowe has an annoying habit of talking of you and Eloisa constantly and not of her brother, and though I appreciate news of you and your sister, I fear my heart will not stand the suspense for long.
We see little of Sir George, who spends much of his time at the gaming table (though, happily, we were able to encourage him to play for lesser stakes than we were horrified to learn he had been; and no more danger comes from that direction to our family's fortune) We see rather more of Lady Lesley, who always makes her appearance (highly rouged) at around dinnertime. What lovely jewels she wears, and yet they do not suit her. Has she not learned that elegant simplicity can be much more fashionable than the most studied apparel? I have endeavoured to hint as much, but she seems not yet to have taken it to heart.
I must go and prepare for this evening. I remain your most affectionate friend
Margaret Lesley
P.S. We have not heard from our brother of late. What ever could he be up to?
November 22nd, 2001Dear Reader,
I have given the matter you have put to me in your last much thought, and have come to the conclusion that what you need is a sheep, a roll of duct tape, seventeen bagels, and two penn'orth of brass. I believe the use should be immediately apparent, and shall say no more on the matter. I remain your humble servant
Adam Cuerden
April 14th
My dear friend,
You will not believe the insufferable rudeness of my younger daughter, indeed, I quite regret taking her down with me already. Matilda is almost as bad, but at least she does not insult me outright! Both of them have hordes of foolish admirers that crowd around them, obstructing the view of those who are in search of my much superior charms. Indeed, if it were not for my dear brother's affection for me, I would almost think myself alone and friendless here, save, of course for Sir George but he is such an odious person, and I cannot now imagine why I married him! If I had known that being married would have so lowered my position in society, for though I may be invited to all the best parties, when it becomes known that I am a married woman, few people will pay me attentions as they think I want none but my husband's but they are wrong: I would find the attentions of others most pleasing compared to those of Sir George but, my daughters. Margaret has been trying to show me, in a most obvious manner, that she does not approve of me having the family jewels. I am her mother, I am married to her father: I have every right to them and she is not going to get them. But still, she tries, commenting about how jewels are not suited to such a very short woman such as myself (I will here remind you that my small petite figure has been the toast of London for these past three years, up until my foolish marriage, which has forced many of my admirers to abandon me for the much inferior charms of my girls.) and that I should give them to her, as diamonds would be much more suited to such a tall majestic figure such as hers! I was flabbergasted by her cheek, and when I tried to picture her in these jewels that so gracefully bedeck me, could come up with no image more flattering than an unlit crystal chandelier: Very high up, and decorative, perhaps, but having no charm of its own to lend the bedecked ornaments. On me, every jewel is at convenient height to be seen, and gains extra beauty from my own radiance. On her, the jewels would merely accentuate her flaws. I will not hear of it! I am quite determined! But now, I must leave you, my dear sweet friend. I must continue with my toilette, as if one should neglect one's beauty, they will soon find themselves looking like my hideous daughters. Such lack of style I have never seen demonstrated by two women before! Would you believe that but I shall have to tell you in my next letter. I am &c, &c,
Susan Lesley
November 25, 2001Dear Reader,
I thought you would like to know that I successfully avoided the army of three hundred and seventy-nine hairy goons sent after me by Mr. Despard Swithin, and am currently in hiding in a small hut high atop the Pennines in Yorkshire. I have acquired a large supply of soap, which, with luck, will cause them to flee in fear. I shall continue to write to you, but please take care not to let Swithin know where I am hidden. If you need to contact me, send your letters care of Mr. Despard Swithin, as I plan to invite him to tea on Saturday, although for some reason I have bad feelings about the invitation. Ah, well! I am your humble servant
Adam Cuerden
April 16th
Dear Margaret,
I have read your last letter, and feel it necessary to inform you that I am not as ugly as you seem -
Dear Margaret,
Having read your last letter, I have -
Dear Margaret,
I know I may not be the most attractive of women, however -
Dear Emma,
I have read your letter several times since receiving it, and though it may not provide me yet with mirth, nonetheless, your care and affection are a great comfort. I did not know whether yet to respond to it as I have been in a state of great melancholia, and wished to be able to truthfully tell you of a greater improvement of my spirits, but wandering by her room, I discovered Charlotte in an ill temper, seemingly determined to use up every scrap of paper in the house, grabbing each sheet, writing a few lines on it, then crumpling it up into a ball and throwing it over her shoulder, and I thought it best to write you whilst I still am able to do so. One of her letters bounced off the doorframe and into the hall after I had saved the few sheets I needed, and, out of curiousity, I picked it up and read it, and it would seem that Miss Margaret Lesley has insulted her appearance in some way, and she is attemting to reply to it, but, as I have never thought Margaret to be anything but kind to her, I doubt that she had done so intentionally.
We remain in Bristol, and have no plans to leave for a while, due to my state of health, but I must confess that melancholy is the source of most of my weakness: I probably could do much more than I do, but I cannot bring myself to make the effort as yet. Since you left, we have visited no one else, and so I must choose between my mother's dour and gloomy conversation, or Charlotte's attempts to cheer me. Loneliness besets me, despite them, and I know not what to do.
Dearest Emma, please write back soon. I trust you alone to guide the steps of your
Eloisa Lutterell
29th November 2001Dear Reader,
My noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh bids me send you greetings. I trust you will be sufficiently aware of the extreme condescension this demonstrates, and will be sufficiently grateful. I may, I trust, tell you without fear of sounding disrespectful that this novel reminds me of a small paperback in Rosings. I cannot say any more, however, as my noble patroness in her bounty and beneficence has offered me the honour of licking her boots today, and I must go. I am your most humble and ingratiating servant,
Mr.
CollinsCuerden
April 19th
My dear Peg,
I am extremely sorry for taking so long to reply, but I found myself to have run out of paper, and it was two days before I was able to find what I need in this city, as a great deal of my time must need be spent with dear Eloisa. I find myself unable to comment on some of the things in your last letter, however, I may inform you that I will quite happily try to disfigure your beauty as much as possible next time we meet, if that is still your desire. I can assure you I will take great pleasure in thus assisting you.
However, that aside, not a great deal has changed here. Eloisa still is full of melancholy, though her physical health seems somewhat better, and I still attempt to raise her spirits as best I may. We have planned a visit to Bath to take the waters, for which I hold out much hope.
I believe I may have improved my cooking skills even further, as I have been able to invent three new main courses in the past week; a delicious dessert: a sort of cake with an indentation made in it which I coated with a caramel sauce of just the right consistency then filled with tasty berries and topped with clotted cream which caused even Eloisa to be tempted into second helpings; and several delicious soups, all of which I would send you the recipes for had I not known you to be a truly appalling cook who has great difficulty even with roasts and fruit pies. I might wish to be like you, but the great enjoyment and pleasure I gain through my exquisite abilities prevents me from even considering such a pitiable fate. For what have you but beauty? Anyone, regardless of any true quickness of mind or accomplishment might be blessed wit the same, even the humblest peasant. However, my talents are much rarer, and less likely to quickly deteriorate with age.
Nonetheless, my dear Margaret, I do feel a true affection for you, and must wish you best of luck in gaining the affections of Mr. Cleveland. I am sure that, despite your lack of any actual conversation to base your opinions on, you shall find him to be all you hoped, and soon have gained his affections.
As for your most vexing problem of having a surfeit of admirers, I believe I may offer you some advice, though it may not be what you want to hear: You may as well let Lady Lesley keep the family jewels for now, though they may ill suit her, for I do not believe she is about to release them, and if she did, the additional beauty gained by you, my dear Margaret, would only increase their number, your vexation, and their ardour. I must now bid you adieu, as I appear to be very low on ink, though I hadn't noticed hitherto. I remain your most affectionate
Charlotte Lutter---
Posted on Friday, 14 December 2001
December 9, 2001Dear Reader,
Oi've been arsked ter write ter yer by that Adam Cuerden feller. Seems he's a bit sick, and ain't up ter writin' yer himself, so Oi'm havin' ter look arfter him in moi faarmhouse. But he arsked me ter send yer this letter, though I dun't see whoi, it ain't even addressed ter yer. Anyway, Oi haave craaps ter haarvest. Oi will wroite yer, if Oi haas ter, laater.
Hal
Ebrill 19, 1792
Dear Dafydd,
You must permit me to beg the use of the piece with which you won the Eisteddfod. Its beauty has haunted my dreams ever since that glorious Saint David's Day on which you revealed it to the world at my mansion. I cannot bear to go through a day without playing it through at least once, yet I cannot allow myself to let any others hear it until I have your permission. The other day I was forced to slip out of a dinner party I myself was hosting because the urge to play had struck me so greatly, and to hide in one of the maze-like rooms of this much too large house (for I have not enough friends to fill it) playing the beautiful strains of your melody and for a time, I was back in Wales.
I shall return to my dear home in Cwmrhys soon, I cannot stay away much longer. Only the love of woman has kept me away so long. I hope, and yet I fear. Knowledge must soon come to me of whether she could love me, or whether things shall never be between us. And upon knowing, I shall know what I must do, and having done it, will return to the gleaming green hills of my home. Pray, play a song to the night air in the hopes that soon it may be heard by your friend
Sir James Gower.
[Note: (All the following may be ignored if desired, but following it will get you extremely close to a Welsh accent.) In the next Dear Reader and throughout when representing a Welsh accent (rare), I have used the following conventions with accents to represent pitch. an acute accent (e.g. á, é, í) represents a higher pitch. No accent mark represents a pitch somewhere in the middle, and a grave accent (e.g. à, è, ì) represents a lower pitch. Diersis (ä, ë, ï) merely indiates a slight lingering. All accented syllables are lingered over. Otherwise, all syllables are quick. Please note that the use of ff for f and cs for x is taken from the spelling of Welsh language, and is merely local colour, not anything to do with pronounciation. ]Rhagfyr 15, 2001
Réader-bàch,
I shall attémpt to ècspläin to yóu the glóries of the Wèlsh. It is a beáutifful lànguáge, and most wórthy of stùdÿ I should begín by explàiníng that äll of the single èffs you are sèeing áre in ffàct vèe's, unléss there be twó of thèm, in whìch càse they are an èff àfter áll. The doúble-ù's áre a vòwél úsually gìvén an òo sound ás in glòom. And the ý's are ù's, the ú's are ì's, and the llá's and rhà's you will néver gèt, so júst pronòunce them "clá" and "crà." I thínk that ìs the mòst of ít. Í shall wrrìte you làtèr. Yóurs sincèrelÿ,
Ángharàd Clwyd.
(And the wý is an oo-ih or an òi sound, sée?)
(Ecsépt when ìt is nòt.)
April 20th
My dear Eloisa,
You are in desperate need of a change of scene, and I think I may be able to provide it. The health of my dear boy is improved a great deal, and I have managed to convince my husband to allow me to invite you to stay with us here in London for a month or two. If you could write back in your next letter if and when you would be able to come, we will quite happily prepare our spare room for your arrival.
Now that I have offered my invitation, perhaps my wit and gossip will have a better effect on you! I have spent a great deal of time with your sister's correspondent, Margaret, and through her have become acquainted with a Sir James Gower. I firmly believe him to be quite in love with your sister's correspondent Margaret. Sadly, I do not think her in love with him, which is a pity, as he is in all respects an admirable man. He is quite eccentric, and it must be confessed that he gathers a very slight Welsh accent whenever he grows passionate on a subject, but he constantly reveals new depths to his character - you may imagine my surprise when we were at a party and he was begged by the host to play. As half the ladies there were at the least very good pianists (though none so good in my admittedly prejudiced opinion as my dear Eloisa!), I could not imagine why he was being importuned so, until he took up a small harp and played the most beautiful melody I have ever heard, singing along in what I am reliably informed was Welsh, nearly weeping as he played. Everyone was stunned into silence except Lady Lesley, who kept making snide comments to Sir George throughout the performance, to everyone's annoyance.
However, when I asked Margaret about it, although she admitted its beauty, she did not seem as impressed as one might think. I cannot imagine why, as it was certainly by far the most beautiful thing I have heard, but perhaps it is not to her taste.
This letter does not contain much wit so far; however, I am afraid that after my last pitiable attempt, I shall not try my hand at any further wit unless I am certain of more success. However, my husband suggested that you might perhaps be well served by a good comedy, and so we have decided to buy you a bound copy of several of Shakespeare's wittiest plays, which I will send tomorrow, as I thought it might be nice for you to be surprised when you read this, and have the anticipation of looking forward to it.
My dear Eloisa, I do hope you are able to visit us in London. Only the best is wished for you by your friend
E. Marlowe
December 27th, 2001Dear Reader,
I have written to assure you that the rumours you may have heard about me are lies! All lies! The truth is much more debauched and horrible. Yours sincerely,
Adam Cuerden
April 23nd
Dear Charlotte,
Has your experimentation with recipes included a great deal of brandy, port, sherry, or other alcoholic drinks of late? I can think of no other reason for you to have written some of the things you did, but, as we are old friends, I shall ignore them. In any case, my difficulty with unwanted admirers continues unabated, especially from Sir James Gower - something which I am sure you can have no experience of whatsoever, even though, reluctantly, I have decided to accept your advice regarding the jewels. I had hoped that the extreme lack of taste she displayed by bedecking her dwarf-like form with them would ward off some of her admirers at the least, until I realised that her admirers could have no taste whatsoever to begin with.
But as to Sir James Gower: We went to Lady Phillips' house this week, at which Sir James Gower (who I believe I have mentioned before, when he kept me from talking to my dear Mr. Cleveland) was strongly encouraged to play for everyone. He then disappeared for a few minutes, as excited chatter began, much to my confusion, and returned with a small harp. The music was beautiful, but my mind quickly drifted back as he played to Lesley Castle, where from atop the battlements I could often hear the sound of a distant piper (three years ago we determined that it was usually the M'Kenzies, at least when it came from the north.) I was deep in my memories, when Mrs. Marlowe came up to me and asked me about the performance. The memory quickly faded, and I said something I do not recall - Mrs. Marlowe seemed surprised, and asked whether I could honestly say that it was not the most beautiful thing I had heard... but I hadn't heard it. I didn't know what to say, and Mrs. Marlowe seemed rather shocked at whatever it was I did eventually say. I have visited Lesley Castle in my dreams ever since then... But Sir James Gower... I admire him, I am even growing to like him... But I do not love him, despite Mrs. Marlowe's attempts to push me towards him. And those attempts I firmly believe are keeping Mr. Cleveland away from me. His heart must break as he sees me with another man...
Louisa continues to be by far the sweetest, most intelligent girl who ever lived. She especially loves music, and loves to imitate us on the piano - I must confess that she cannot yet play anything melodic, but she is so happy when she is doing it that it gives us pleasure just to watch her.
Dear Charlotte, I hope you will be willing to forget whatever I did to offend you. This is the sincerest wish of your true friend
Margaret Lesley
January 3rd, 2001Dear Reader,
By any chance do you know whether they still hang people for stealing sheep? I have a very pressing reason to ask. However, before the shepherd discovers my hiding place, I must explain one part of the next letter to you, lest they do still hang people and I am thus unable to write you again: Siâms Gwyr (pronounced roughly "Shames Gower") is the Welsh form of James Gower, although ideally, there should be a circumflex over the w. I would explain more, but if my literary career is to continue, I must now attempt to make a run for it, before the sound of bleating gives me away. I remain (but for how long?) your humble servant,
Adam Cuerden
Ebrill 23, 1792
Siâms-bach,
If anything is a comfort to you in the barren wasteland of the city, I can only offer it to you with all my heart. How can I resist the entreaty? Under your care, our small village has gained a voice, and the language of that voice is music and poetry. Without you, you who know everyone in the village by name, and whose generosity has affected us all, Cwmrhys seems a sadder place. I had an occasion to herd my sheep past the road to your house as the sun rose in an ocean of orange and purple above the rolling greens, and to see it stand empty and isolated, one would almost believe that it too mourns your absence. Even the hills seem to call out for your return! And yet, to see the sadness that you try to conceal from us finally gone - that would be a reward well worth the price. While you are gone, the sheep must be my audience. Only when you return shall I release the songs that crowd my breast to the world, but you must be there - for without you, none of them would exist. The English bard declares that true love never runs smooth. If he could be wrong in one instance, it would gladden the heart of
Dafydd ap Fychan
Posted on Sunday, 12 May 2002
11th May, 2002
Dear Reader,
Oiâ€(tm)ve been arsked to wrote yer again, it seems, although Oi dunt know quoite whoi. Seems that Cuerden feller caanâ€(tm)t haandle doing his own wroiting. And he caalls himself a wroiter. Roight, then, letâ€(tm)s haave a look at what heâ€(tm)s written so faar then... Arrr!!! Whaatâ€(tm)s this about stealing sheep? Thaatâ€(tm)s haarming us poor faarmers, it is. And arfter all Oi did fer him, too. Roight, Oiâ€(tm)m going ter haave a word with him, Oi reckon.... Oiâ€(tm)ll taalk to yer laater.
Hal
P.S. He claims he were joking, but Oiâ€(tm)m keepinâ€(tm) an oi on him, Oi be!
April 24th, 1792Dear Emma,
My dear sister had been trying to cheer me up before your letter arrived, which resulted in me feeling more depressed than ever. She has all the tact of a siege army, indeed, for a siege army to come down to her level of tact, it would need to have had its cannonballs engraved with a variety of insults, possibly on the genealogy of individual people inside the town. I must confess that she means well, but she seems to believe that if she can convince me how great Herveyâ€(tm)s suffering was, then I will be happy that it ended....
Therefore, it gives me great pleasure to accept your invitation. When would be the earliest possible day I could come? I remain your sincere friend,
Eloisa Lutterell.
April 25th, 1792Dear Emma,
Should this letter by some miracle get to you before my last letter, I must beg you not to read it. I fear my sister had spent the day cheering me up, and, sadly, her method of cheering me up is actually quite depressing. I did not mean to lash out at her, her intentions are quite good, and in truth, she doesnâ€(tm)t spend all her time attempting to convince me that his death was good because his pain (which was immense) was now over - sometimes, she can be quite touching with her concern, and, although she did not know Henry as I did, she actually realises that he is... was a person, and that it is unfortunate that he was so cruelly taken from this world.
Once more, I have been too harsh. She does feel for him and me, I sometimes see glimpses of that showing through. She just is very bad at expressing herself emotionally, and she doesnâ€(tm)t understand romance in the slightest. She honestly thinks that this is the way to comfort me, to conceal her own feelings about Henry, and try to help me let go of mine... But she only reopens the wounds that lie raw across my heart when she does so...
Emma, I do want to come visit you, and I would like to come as soon as possible, but my sister is not evil, she just doesnâ€(tm)t understand.... Pray with me that something, or someone will come into her life and introduce her to the romance that once I might have had.
I have been reading Much Ado About Nothing. Itâ€(tm)s so sad... poor Hero, to live, but know that the man you loved thinks you the worst kind of villain, despite being blameless... I could not read further...
My dear Emma, that you may never know what I have known is the greatest wish of your true friend
Eloisa Lutterell
Posted on Thursday, 14 November 2002
13 November, 2002
Dear Reader,Adam Cuerden
March 31
Dear Matilda,Anyway, I've befriended a wealthy landowner here, and he invited me to stay with him for a few days - he can understand English quite well provided ye say it slowly and loudly, but oddly enough, he can only speak it quickly and softly. Strange, no? Pretty friendly lad, although it's quite impressive just how many ways he can serve pasta, all in one meal. Evidently, it's discourteous not to eat everything, so don't be surprised if I look a bit plumper when ye should see me next. However, even though I don't intend to stay out my welcome, ye should be able to write me back at this address for the next, oh... given the time the post takes, ye could surely count on at least one letter. I'll run by here again on my way back from Greece to Germany as well. It's a bit out of my way, but it's full of sunshine, which is quite nice, except when your skin becomes all red and starts peeling, which is a major disadvantage of this Italian habit of wearing short sleeves and low collars. I have told ye that everyone looks at ye oddly if ye wear kilts here, right? Strange, there weren't any problems in Paris. Indeed, a lot of lads commented upon it, and I explained all about the Hieland clans, and all... They seemed mildly disappointed, but the Frogs are pretty strange anyway.
Now then, how's wee Louisa keeping? Don't forget to teach the wee lass all about... er... knowledgey... things... Anyway, hope to hear from ye soon! I remain your devoted brother,
Lesley
Posted on Monday, 2 December 2002
1 December, 2002
-Harold Cobblers
April 27th
Eloisa, it seems, has received an offer from her dear friends the Marlowes, inviting her to come to London, which I suppose means we must return to Glenford, whilst she can investigate the restaurants and foods of London. Of course, I would love to go there myself, but who would I know with a spare room in, say, the large and luxuriant townhouse of her father? No, my case seems hopeless, and I must submit to my fate, must I not? I suppose then that I must therefore give up any hope of seeing you, despite you being so very nearby. Therefore, I must beg that you write back quickly, as your correspondence, though infinitely inferior to seeing you in person, seems to be all that is left to connect you to your dear friend,
Charlotte Lutterelll