Just call me "Mrs. Darcy"
I know it's not Thursday, but I'm going to "throw back" nonetheless. I'm not certain why I never recorded this story back in November: perhaps because I retold it orally so often that I'd convinced myself that I'd chronicled it as well. Whatever the case, this is one of my favorite little moments from last season's escapades.
I was walking along the Tidal Basin in Washington, DC, with my favorite group from Michigan. It was a pleasant stroll in the cool of an autumn evening, and as we meandered towards the memorial of my favorite historical figure, I couldn't help but gush a bit when asked by my "duckling" girls (the gaggle who followed me everywhere) about what was so special about Thomas Jefferson.
They giggled and chided and in typical 8th grade fashion, asked if I'd marry him if he were alive. I paused to consider the man - who though incredibly fascinating is slightly questionable in Christian beliefs - and responded with, no. Who *would I marry, of course was their reply. Little thinking what an avalanche of discussion I would launch, I quickly named Mr. Darcy as my ideal man. "Who?" Who?! Does not the world over know of said perfect man. Was not his character and wit etched onto the heart and mind of every woman for the last two centuries? How could this be? Surely these sweet girls were in jest? Could they be so unfortunate as to have never even heard the name Fitzwilliam Darcy? Indeed, they were in earnest. Mr. Darcy was a stranger to them.
Ah, then the questions were fired! The torrent of curiosities and surplus of laughter only increased when the unfortunate fact of his being a fictional character finally came to light. How could I love someone I could never meet? The same may be asked of them in their fantasies over boy bands and actors, I quipped! But what was he like? what did he look like? They insisted. Their questions ceased only when I assured them that I'd show them a picture of him on the morrow.
The next day, before breakfast was even finished, I was thronged by my inquisitive girls waiting for their glimpse at the dashing face of Mr. Darcy. I reached for my device, the girls all huddled close for a peek, but before the image could load, I recanted. His beauty is not in face but in mind, not in form but in character: a mere picture could not suffice. They must read the book to draw the full image of his perfection. And so I told them! Read the book. They revolted. Could they not simply watch the movie or Google him? No, I insisted. Pride and Prejudice must be read!
Not surprisingly, they were little pleased by my change of heart and staunch resolve that they must actually read the book. However, in an effort to appease the girls, humor my own love for Jane Austen, and pass the time enjoyably, I somehow found myself volunteering to read the beloved novel to the girls on the bus trip to New York City. Really? What was I saying? Really?! The girls were elated!
And so, this is the story of how Crazy Corrie read (in an English accent of course!), dialogued, explained, and eventually paraphrased the entire tale of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett most of the way to NYC from the back of the coach bus (even the boys were listening!). The girls were eating out of the palm of my hand: they swooned and scowled at precisely the right moments and by the end of it all they conceded that Mr. Darcy was indeed a man worthy of admiration. And that literature truly had something to offer the world.
My job here was done!
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| "a pleasant stroll along the Tidal Basin" |
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| Young TJ? |
Ah, then the questions were fired! The torrent of curiosities and surplus of laughter only increased when the unfortunate fact of his being a fictional character finally came to light. How could I love someone I could never meet? The same may be asked of them in their fantasies over boy bands and actors, I quipped! But what was he like? what did he look like? They insisted. Their questions ceased only when I assured them that I'd show them a picture of him on the morrow.
The next day, before breakfast was even finished, I was thronged by my inquisitive girls waiting for their glimpse at the dashing face of Mr. Darcy. I reached for my device, the girls all huddled close for a peek, but before the image could load, I recanted. His beauty is not in face but in mind, not in form but in character: a mere picture could not suffice. They must read the book to draw the full image of his perfection. And so I told them! Read the book. They revolted. Could they not simply watch the movie or Google him? No, I insisted. Pride and Prejudice must be read!
Not surprisingly, they were little pleased by my change of heart and staunch resolve that they must actually read the book. However, in an effort to appease the girls, humor my own love for Jane Austen, and pass the time enjoyably, I somehow found myself volunteering to read the beloved novel to the girls on the bus trip to New York City. Really? What was I saying? Really?! The girls were elated!
And so, this is the story of how Crazy Corrie read (in an English accent of course!), dialogued, explained, and eventually paraphrased the entire tale of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett most of the way to NYC from the back of the coach bus (even the boys were listening!). The girls were eating out of the palm of my hand: they swooned and scowled at precisely the right moments and by the end of it all they conceded that Mr. Darcy was indeed a man worthy of admiration. And that literature truly had something to offer the world.
My job here was done!
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| my gaggle of literature lovers :) |
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