Episode 7 of the

Quills and Cliffhangers podcast

is now available on 

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Jane Eyre: The Quest for Equality

Recently we found a lovely vintage edition of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë.   Charlotte and her sisters, Anne and Emily, grew disillusioned with the limited career opportunities available to 19^th century women.  They decided to write novels, in the hope of earning their living as authors.  When Charlotte published Jane Eyre in 1847, it is unlikely that she foresaw her novel becoming a megahit that remains in print more than 170 years later.

This classic story combines the traditional romance novel with Gothic elements of the supernatural.  The atmosphere of the story varies from lively and upbeat to somber and eerie.  Occasionally, when the heroine peeks around a corner in a creepy old manor, the reader wonders if a ghost will appear.

Here is an example from Jane Eyre’s new life as a governess:

Thornfield, my new home after I left school, was, I found, a fine old battlemented hall, and Mrs. Fairfax, who had answered my advertisement, a mild, elderly lady, related by marriage to Mr. Rochester, the owner of the estate and the guardian of Adela Varens, my little pupil.

It was not till three months after my arrival there that my adventures began. One day Mrs. Fairfax proposed to show me over the house, much of which was unoccupied. The third storey especially had the aspect of a home of the past--a shrine of memory. I liked its hush and quaintness.

"If there were a ghost at Thornfield Hall this would be its haunt," said Mrs. Fairfax, as we passed the range of apartments on our way to see the view from the roof.

I was pacing through the corridor of the third floor on my return, when the last sound I expected in so still a region struck my ear--a laugh, distinct, formal, mirthless. At first it was very low, but it passed off in a clamorous peal that seemed to wake an echo in every lonely chamber.

"Mrs. Fairfax," I called out, "did you hear that laugh? Who is it?"

"Some of the servants very likely," she answered; "perhaps Grace Poole."

The laugh was repeated in a low tone, and terminated in an odd murmur.

The heroine, Jane Eyre, is blessed with remarkable inner strength and the courage to speak her mind.  This story is about her quest for freedom, financial independence, and a safe environment in which she can love and be loved.

While pondering an offer of marriage from her cousin, the heroine anguishes over the role of women in Victorian society. 

I could not help it; the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of the third story, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind’s eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it—and, certainly, they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement . . . and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended—a tale my imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence. It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.

Jane Eyre falls in love with a handsome, broodingly secretive man named Rochester.  The conclusion of the story reveals that she has achieved a state of equality with her husband, a startling concept in the 19^th century.

I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest—blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh. I know no weariness of my Edward’s society: he knows none of mine, any more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, we are ever together. To be together is for us to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character—perfect concord is the result.

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Episode 6 of the

Quills and Cliffhangers podcast

is now available on 

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iTunes

and Stitcher.

The Tale of Peter Rabbit Audiobook

It’s that time of year.  The stores are filled with candy, gift baskets, and stuffed bunny rabbits.  
The cute, cuddly, and mischievous rabbit has become a 
popular part of our folklore due in significant part 
to the beloved stories of author Beatrix Potter.

Today I would like to share with you one of Miss Potter’s first stories, 
The Tale of Peter Rabbit.  This classic fable has been enjoyed 
by people of all ages for generations.  
It’s also a lesson about pursuing our dreams, for, astonishingly, 
Miss Potter had difficulty convincing publishers to print this marvelous tale.  
Fortunately, she believed in her work, a
nd she published the first edition of this story herself.  
Then it caught the eye of a publisher, and, accompanied 
by her famous and charming illustrations, it went on to become a bestseller.
 
And now, here is…

THE TALE OF PETER RABBIT

By BEATRIX POTTER


Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names
were--

Flopsy,
Mopsy,
Cotton-tail,
and Peter.

They lived with their Mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a
very big fir-tree.

'Now my dears,' said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, 'you may go into
the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden:
your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs.
McGregor.'

'Now run along, and don't get into mischief. I am going out."
 

Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella, and went through
the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five
currant buns.

Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail, who were good little bunnies, went
down the lane to gather blackberries.

But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's
garden, and squeezed under the gate!

First he ate some lettuces and some French beans; and then he ate
some radishes;

And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley.


But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr.
McGregor!

Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young cabbages,
but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out,
'Stop thief!'

Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden,
for he had forgotten the way back to the gate.

He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe
amongst the potatoes.

After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I
think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately
run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his
jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new.

Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were
overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great
excitement, and implored him to exert himself.

Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop upon the
top of Peter; but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket
behind him.

And rushed into the tool-shed, and jumped into a can. It would have
been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it had not had so much water in it.

Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the
tool-shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn
them over carefully, looking under each.

Presently Peter sneezed--'Kertyschoo!' Mr. McGregor was after him in
no time.

And tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window,
upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and
he was tired of running after Peter. He went back to his work.

Peter sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with
fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was
very damp with sitting in that can.

After a time he began to wander about, going lippity--lippity--not
very fast, and looking all round.

He found a door in a wall; but it was locked, and there was no room
for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath.

An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying
peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to
the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not
answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry.

Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he
became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where Mr.
McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat was staring at some
gold-fish, she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her
tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away
without speaking to her; he had heard about cats from his cousin,
little Benjamin Bunny.

He went back towards the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close to him,
he heard the noise of a hoe--scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch.
Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But presently, as nothing
happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow and peeped over.
The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was
turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate!

Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow; and started running
as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some
black-currant bushes.

Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not
care. He slipped underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the wood
outside the garden.

Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scare-crow
to frighten the blackbirds.

Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to
the big fir-tree.

He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the
floor of the rabbit-hole and shut his eyes. His mother was busy
cooking; she wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the
second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a
fortnight!

 

I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.

His mother put him to bed, and made some chamomile tea; and she gave a
dose of it to Peter!

'One table-spoonful to be taken at bed-time.'

But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and
blackberries for supper.

THE END

The Quills and Cliffhangers Podcast is available on 

iTunes, Stitcher, and CastBox.

Episode 5 of the

Quills and Cliffhangers podcast

is now available on 

Castbox.

Fables in Slang Audiobook Part 2

Part Two of our show features the 1899 bestseller, Fables in Slang by George Ade.

I have a classic story for you today, starring a young woman of yesteryear who was looking for Mr. Right.  George wrote these fables during the Industrial Revolution, when women were expanding their roles in society, searching for work opportunities in offices in the Big City, and campaigning for their right to vote. 

You’ll run into some obscure references in this story, so here is some helpful historical information:

This story is set in a town that is so small, it doesn’t even have a name.  George calls a Way Station.  That’s a quick stop on a train route.  In this town lives a shrewd, wealthy businessman, a single father who is raising his daughter.  The author calls the girl a “peach”, which tells us that she is beautiful; however, she has no one to teach her how to develop her feminine charms.  She convinces her father to send her to a finishing school, where her friends reveal to her that life is one big party involving candy, the theater, and the company of charming, well-dressed young men.

A few weeks later, when her frugal father receives the bill from the school, he practically has a heart attack and demands that she return home.  George compares the father to David Harum.  In case you’re asking, “Who’s that?”,  David Harum was the title of an 1898 book about a horse-trader who engaged in unscrupulous business practices.  While we may assume that all of 19^th century society gathered around oil lamps enjoying the great classics, the truth is that 400,000 people were reading this shockingly entertaining bestseller, instead.

Another useful term you will need to know for this story is “drummer,” which was an old-fashioned word for a salesman.  When the drummer, a young tobacco sales rep, meets the daughter in the story, he becomes equally infatuated with her beauty, her charm – and her father’s money.  You can already see where this story is going.

A few minor items to mention:

The daughter takes the drummer for a ride in her Phaeton, which was a sporty, horse-drawn carriage with extra large wheels.

Part of the 19^th century courting ritual, which George Ade mentioned often in his stories, was that the suitor would bring his lady love…marshmallows.

And the daughter builds a shrine on her dresser with candles and a photo of someone named Mr. Sothern.  It took some research to locate him, but I believe this was a handsome young actor, E.H. Sothern, who famously played d’Artagnan in The King’s Musketeers on stage in 1899.

Without further ado, here is…

THE FABLE OF THE BRASH DRUMMER AND THE PEACH WHO LEARNED THAT THERE WERE OTHERS

A well-fixed Mortgage Shark, residing at a Way Station, had a Daughter whose Experience was not as large as her prospective Bank Roll. She had all the component Parts of a Peach, but she didn't know how to make a Showing, and there was nobody in Town qualified to give her a quiet Hunch.

She got her Fashion Hints from a Trade Catalogue, and took her Tips on Etiquette and Behavior from the Questions and Answers Department of an Agricultural Monthly.

The Girl and her Father lived in a big White House, with Evergreen Trees and whitewashed Dornicks in front of it, and a Wind-Pump at the rear. Father was a good deal the same kind of a Man as David Harum, except that he didn't let go of any Christmas Presents. In fact, Daughter was the only one on Earth who could induce him to Loosen Up.

Now, it happened that there came to this Town every Thirty Days a brash Drummer, who represented a Tobacco House. He was a Gabby Young Man, and he could Articulate at all Times, whether he had anything to Say or not.

One night, at a Lawn Fête given by the Ladies of the Methodist Congregation, he met Daughter. She noticed that his Trousers did not bag at the Knees; also that he wore a superb Ring. They strolled under the Maples, and he talked what is technically known as Hot Air. He made an Impression considerably deeper than himself. She promised to Correspond.

On the occasion of his next Visit to the Way Station, he let her wear his Ring, and made a Wish, while she took him riding in the Phaeton. He began to carry her Photograph in his Watch, and show it to the Boys employed at the House. Sometimes he would fold over one of her Letters so they could see how it started out. He said the Old Man had Nothing But, and he proposed to make it a case of Marry. Truly, it seemed that he was the principal Cake in the Pantry, and little did he suspect that he could be Frosted.

But Daughter, after much Pleading, induced Father to send her to a Finishing School in the East. (A Finishing School is a Place at which Young Ladies are taught how to give the Quick Finish to all Persons who won't do.)

At School, the Daughter tied up with a Chum, who seldom overlooked a Wednesday Matinee, and she learned more in three Weeks than her Childhood Home could have shown her in three Centuries.

Now she began to see the other Kind; the Kind that Wears a Cutaway, with a White Flower, in the Morning, a Frock, with Violets, in the Afternoon, and a jimmy little Tuxedo at Night.

For the first time she began to listen to Harness that had Chains to it, and she rode in Vehicles that permitted her to glance in at the Second Stories.

She stopped wearing Hats, and began to choose Confections. She selected them Languidly, three at a time.

Then the Bill to the Way Station, and Father down with Heart Failure.

She kept Mr. Sothern's Picture on her Dresser, with two Red Candles burning in front of it, and every time she thought of Gabby Will, the Crackerjack Salesman, she reached for the Peau d'Espagne and sprayed herself.

One Day when the Tobacco Salesman came up Main Street with his Grips, on his way to visit the Trade, he met the Drug Clerk, who told him that She was Home on a Visit. So he hurried through with his Work, got a Shave, changed ends on his Cuffs, pared his Nails, bought a box of Marshmallows, and went out to the House.

Daughter was on the Lawn, seated under a Canopy that had set Father back thirty-two Dollars. There was a Hired Hand sprinkling the Grass with a Hose, and as Will, the Conversational Drummer, came up the Long Walk, Daughter called to the Hired Hand, and said: "Johnson, there is a Strange Man coming up the Walk; change the Direction of the Stream somewhat, else you may Dampen him."

The Drummer approached her, feeling of his Necktie, and wondered if she would up and Kiss him, right in broad Daylight. She didn't. Daughter allowed a rose-colored Booklet, by Guy de Maupassant, to sink among the Folds of her French Gown, and then she Looked at him, and said: "All Goods must be delivered at the Rear."

"Don't you Know me?" he asked.

"Rully, it seems to me I have seen you, Somewhere," she replied, "but I cahn't place you. Are you the Man who tunes the Piano?"

"Don't you remember the night I met you at the Lawn Fête?" he asked; and then, Chump that he was, and all Rattled, he told her his Name, instead of giving her the scorching Come-Back that he composed next Day, when it was Too Late.

"I meet so many People traveling about," she said; "I cahn't remember all of them, you know. I dare say you called to see Pu-pah; he will be here Presently."

Then she gave him "Some one's else," "Neyether," "Savoir-Faire," and a few other Crisp Ones, hot from the Finishing School, after which she asked him how the Dear Villagers were coming on. He reminded her that he did not live in the Town. She said: "Only Fahncy!" and he said he guessed he'd have to be Going, as he had promised a Man to meet him at Jordan's Store before the Bank closed.

As he moved toward the St. Nicholas Hotel he kept his Hand on his Solar Plexus. At five o'clock he rode out of Town on a Local.

Moral: Anybody can Win unless there happens to be a Second Entry.

*          *          *

And so Will, the brokenhearted tobacco sales rep, left the small town on the five o’clock train and was never seen again.  But we can hope that the daughter eventually found the man of her dreams, who kept her in marshmallows and took her to the theater every weekend.

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