Lizzy Bennet não merece perdão

 olá,

hoje eu li uma matéria no The Guardian sobre o manuscrito inacabado que Hilary Mantel, premiada autora de Wolf Hall (entre outros títulos), deixou. A manchete já diz logo que era uma fanfic de Orgulho e Preconceito, então eu me interessei na hora.

Depois vi que era sobre Mary Bennet, a irmã do meio. Perdi 50% do interesse porque Austen nunca quis dar crédito a Mary. Como sei disso? Ora, ela fez uma Bennet sob medida para Mr. Collins, mas casou o primo chato com Charlotte Lucas. Se Mary tivesse papel maior do que ser alívio cômico ao piano ou no zelotismo, ela teria ao menos dado uma doença da moda para a pobre irmã do meio - fez isso com Kitty, não foi?

Aparentemente, Mantel escolheu Mary porque considerava a personagem uma outsider como Cromwell na era Elizabetana. Olha, uma coisa que aprendi em Austenation é que todos somos donos e proprietários de Jane e cada um entende a obra dela como quer. Então, se Mantel queria ver em Mary algo que Austen não colocou, a escolha era dela.

pinterest

Isso me traz ao assunto deste post: subjetividade. 

Para isso, vou te mostrar o trecho divulgado deste manuscrito inacabado de Mantel. Reproduzo o que o Guardian postou na versão original (propriedade de Tertius Enterprises) e em tradução livre feita por mim. 

POVOCATION

An extract from Mantel’s unfinished Austen satire

Elizabeth took her new sister’s silence as a token of profundity. But I myself saw that, compared to Georgiana, my sister was Socrates. And this led me to question, in due course, whether Darcy himself were in command of any significant intellectual power. How often, I believe, we women must suppress the question? A solemn countenance, a grave manner, a pre-occupied frown; these suggest to us a mastering of life’s perplexities born of a habit of deep reflection, and vigorous examination of every fact and circumstance. Yet, but what if the frown means nothing but ill humour? If the grave and pre-occupied air means nothing but insufficiency in the face of whatever circumstances present? What if the long silences, so intimidating to my sex, are merely the consequence of having nothing to say? What if that prevailing solemnity results from a simple failure to see the joke? Reader, to think it is to know it: Darcy was a more harmless soul than we had imagined, and replete with good intentions; his silence in company proceeded, not from a conviction of natural superiority, but from a solid, sterling stupidity, such as an English gentleman alone dares display. When was Darcy ever contradicted? His every assertion was treated as scripture. When were his wishes not performed, as if they were law? Such infallible consideration must divide a man from himself: he is dull but never knows it, for he receives witty answers to witless questions. I saw that it would be Elizabeth’s lifetime work to collaborate with his innocent self-conceit. It is what she will give, in return for being mistress of Pemberley.

“Darcy believes it is going to rain!”– and the whole county must seek cover. “Darcy believes there will be a vote in the house!” and all interested parties are agog. Never mind that the sky is clear. Never mind that Parliament is prorogued. We simple souls will all agree that Darcy has power to perceive what is hidden from us, because he is a man, and a gentleman and has a park that is ten miles round. - fim do trecho.

- tradução livre -

PROVOCAÇÃO

Um trecho da sátira inacabada de Austen por H. Mantel

"Elizabeth interpretou o silêncio de sua nova irmã como um sinal de profundidade. Mas eu mesma vi que, comparada a Georgiana, minha irmã era Sócrates. E isso me levou a questionar, em sequência, se o próprio Darcy tinha comando de algum poder intelectual significativo. Quantas vezes, creio eu, nós, mulheres, devemos suprimir a pergunta? Um semblante solene, uma forma grave, uma carranca preocupada; estas expressões nos sugerem um domínio das perplexidades da vida nascido do hábito de reflexão profunda e exame vigoroso de cada fato e circunstância. No entanto, mas e se a carranca não significar nada além de mau humor? Se o ar grave e preocupado não significa nada além de frustração diante de quaisquer circunstâncias presentes? E se os longos silêncios, tão intimidantes para o meu sexo, forem apenas consequência de não ter nada a dizer? E se essa solenidade predominante resultar de uma simples falha em entender a piada? Leitor, pensar é saber: Darcy era uma alma mais inofensiva do que imaginávamos, e repleta de boas intenções; seu silêncio em companhia provinha, não de uma convicção de superioridade natural, mas de uma estupidez sólida e genuína, como só um cavalheiro inglês ousa exibir. Quando Darcy foi contrariado? Cada afirmação sua foi tratada como sagrada. Quando seus desejos não foram atendidos, como se fossem lei? Tal consideração infalível deve separar um homem de si mesmo: ele é obtuso, mas nunca sabe disso, pois recebe respostas espirituosas para perguntas sem sentido. Percebi que seria o trabalho de toda a vida de Elizabeth colaborar com sua presunção inocente. É o que ela dará em troca de ser a dona de Pemberley.

― Darcy acredita que vai chover! ―  e todo o condado deve procurar abrigo. ― Darcy acredita que haverá uma votação no parlamento! ― e todas as partes interessadas estão ansiosas. Não importa que o céu esteja claro. Não importa que a sessão no Parlamento seja adiada. Nós, almas simples, concordaremos que Darcy tem o poder de perceber o que está escondido de nós, porque ele é um homem, um cavalheiro e tem uma propriedade de dezesseis quilômetros de extensão." fim do trecho

E chegamos onde eu quero: vamos falar de Lizzy.

A divulgação desse trecho (o único polido o bastante para ser divulgado, segundo o viúvo da autora) pode ter várias razões:

• chamar atenção atacando Mr. Darcy
• mostrar o humor mordaz da autora
• vender um feminismo anacrônico que ridiculariza Austen
• provocar demanda para publicar a obra

Eu não sei se gosto do que li porque Lizzy é vista como uma interesseira que faz tudo para manter sua posição. Eu mesma já comparei Lizzy com Charlotte, elas são lados do mesmo espelho, na minha opinião. Mas o que me incomoda aqui é pintar a impulsividade vibrante de uma como a sagacidade calculada da outra.

aesthetics

Austen não nos apresentou Charlotte com 19 anos, não sabemos se ela gostava de flertar e mostrar sua inteligência, se gabava por ser esperta e julgava todo mundo por esporte. Quando a conhecemos, ela é uma jovem mulher sensata que entende a realidade feminina e precisa lidar com urgência da garantia de sua sobrevivência.

Já Lizzy nos é mostrada na flor da juventude. Vibrante, linguaruda, inconsequente, a estrela brilhante de uma família de garotas cujo patrimônio está atrelado a um herdeiro homem - que não existe. A beleza de Lizzy é justamente enfrentar a vida como se não tivesse o peso da realidade lhe puxando para baixo como uma âncora.

Ao rejeitar Mr. Collins (herdeiro do patrimônio que a sustenta) e depois Mr. Darcy (milionário), ela mostra que é regida pela emoção - reage com o fígado! Se ela pensasse mais objetivamente, teria aceitado qualquer uma das duas, por mais insuportável que fosse a convivência com um homem boçal ou com um arrogante.

Claro, a personagem amadurece (muito) ao longo da trama. Eu considero que ela tem um arco dentro do arco. Te explico. Lizzy começa arrogante e inconsequente, enfrenta desafios, quebra a cara, passa um aperto, faz as pazes consigo mesma e aceita o amor. Esse quebra a cara 'crescimento pessoal' é o arco secundário.

A mudança na personagem começa quando ela recebe a carta de Darcy. Nesta hora, Austen nos mostra claramente o quão errada Lizzy estava, é um tapa na cara!

• ele é rico e por isso pode arcar com o custo de escrever tanto em papel caro;
• ele entrega em mãos evitando expô-la já que solteiros honrados não deveria trocar correspondência;
• ele conta segredos de família dizendo que confia na discrição dela;
• ele justifica tim-tim por tim-tim a avaliação que fez do comportamento público da família dela;
• ele avisa que não vai repetir que a ama.

Lizzy reconhece o peso dessa carta, mas nós aqui no século 21 desconhecemos o VALOR dessa comunicação e por vezes, passamos despercebidos. Daí para frente, Austen nos atropela com tantas pistas que nos sentimos humilhados como Lizzy.

Jane volta de Londres contando que nem viu Bingley, as irmãs mais novas fazem mil-e-uma titicas mostrando o quanto são insuportáveis, a tia gente-boa aparece para contar que conhece a família Darcy e fala bem deles e por último, ela aceita viajar com esses tios.

É nessa hora que Lizzy cai de joelhos. Viajar era um luxo na época, os pais dela não conseguem fazê-lo - nem sozinhos, nem com as filhas- então ela viaja na condição de convidada, de carona na diversão dos parentes. É dessa forma que ela conhece Pemberley, a casa de Mr. Darcy. E é nessa hora que ela é condenada para toda a eternidade:

... ela (Lizzy) percebeu que ser Senhora de Pemberley seria incrível!

"she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!" O&P, cap 43

Nesta fala, Austen nos mostra a epifania de Lizzy.

Caramba! Ele é um cara importante e eu agi como uma troglodita estúpida!

wifflegif

Veja bem, não é que Lizzy pense em DINHEIRO, ela pensa no ORGULHO de ter sido escolhida por um cara que tem tudo, que conhece o mundo, que já deve ter visto e conhecido garotas muito mais inteligentes ou bonitas que ela. É lisonjeiro ser notada por uma pessoa que tem horizonte mais amplo, que sabe mais do que você, que tem perspectiva. Mas ela não viu isso e foi um criança mimada fazendo pirraça.

Ah, Moira, está me dizendo que Lizzy tinha que ter aceitado os desaforos de Darcy?

Não!

Minha versão de O&P, 45 dias na Europa com Sr. Darcy, deixa claro que Lizzy tinha mesmo que fazê-lo engolir cada insulto!

O que quero dizer é que na hora que ela percebe a imponência do homem, ela passa a dar valor ao sentimento dele, mais do que - ou talvez tanto quanto - a fortuna que ele tem. E ela quebra a cara reconhecendo que entendeu tudo errado.

No entanto, para o mundo, Lizzy não merece perdão já que entende-se que ela é uma material girl encantada com dinheiro.

Assim eu te trago de volta ao texto de Mantel. Veja.

"Percebi que seria o trabalho de toda a vida de Elizabeth colaborar com a presunção inocente de seu marido idiota. 

É o que ela dará em troca de ser a dona de Pemberley."

Entendi errado? 

Não era para onde ela ia levar minha querida Lizzy Bennet?

gifer - The Lizzy Bennet Diaries

até mais,

M.

Leia minhas versões respeitosas e fofas de Orgulho e Preconceito

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The Prince of Pemberley - Book 1 - Chapter 5

Happy Easter!

Many happy Pride and Prejudice news here. An all Brazilian musical and pics from the set of Pride, Prejudice and zombies...

And of course, another chapter of my new P&P fanfic... Buckle up, the ride starts to pick up speed NOW.

As always, if you haven't already, read the story's front page before diving in. Tks.

BOOK 1

FRIENDS

Previous chapter

CHAPTER 5

Time after time

‘She is influencing you!’ Graham Fitzwilliam said in an ironic smile and handed the menu back to the waiter. ‘A salad with grilled fish?’

Darcy shrugged.

‘Are you on a diet or something?’ The older cousin asked.

‘Yes. My pants are already fitting better.’ Darcy raised his brows.

‘And you bought a rowing machine.’ Graham said as if listing clues to an enigma.

Darcy nodded. ‘My personal trainer said–‘

‘You have a personal trainer?’ Graham asked in a mocking tone.

‘Yes.’

‘Is she a vision in spandex?’

‘Hardly. He is as male as both of us.’

Graham frowned and twisted his lips adding another clue to his enigma.

‘Anyway, the guy said it would be nice to have some exercise during the holidays. Lizzy suggested running, she loves to run, but with all the snow we are having at Pemberley this year, I’d need a treadmill. I prefer rowing.’

Graham Fitzwilliam nodded slowly and stared at his cousin. The waiter brought them their beverages – a beer for Graham and sparkling water with a side of lemon juice for Darcy. ‘You do look better.’

‘Why, thank you, my Lord!’ Darcy mocked.

‘You are in general good mood; smiling, making jokes… don’t tell me you are content with yourself.’ He pursed his lips under his heavy beard.

‘I sleep better, less insomnia.’ Darcy mixed the juice in his water glass. ‘And I’m not desperate for the next meal either.’ He sipped his water and winced at the sour taste. ‘I also cut back on the booze; I drank mostly out of habit anyway. Anne always have wine served at dinner and when alone I sometimes had beer-‘

‘Oh, that is a nice fight!’ Fitz chuckled. ‘She hates to have her careful planned meals tempered with!’ He smiled. ‘I love doing it to her!’

Darcy chuckled. ‘By the way, please watch out her dress code next time she invites you. Please don’t ruin another holiday for me.’ He said miserably and Graham laughed delighted. ‘Anne complained about your manners the whole night and the next morning with her mother. I had to hide from them to have some peace.’

‘I’ll do it for you, cousin. Next time your wife invites me in, I’ll wear a tuxedo.’ Graham joked.

Darcy shook his head. ‘It’s a pity that now I only have alcohol on the weekends.’

‘No more booze, light meals… How did you manage on the holidays? The food was anything but salads and grilled meat.’ Graham licked his lips.

Darcy shook his head. ‘That’s why I rowed.’

They sipped their drinks in silence for a while. Darcy checked his watch and Graham thought his cousin had an important appointment waiting for him at his office and their London lunch in would be cut short. But Darcy was really calculating what time it was in Rio de Janeiro and New York wondering why neither Lizzy nor Georgiana called him to say what they had planned. His sister lived alone in a big apartment; he could barely monitor his sister who traveled more than stayed at home so Lizzy could help him while having her girls’ only vacation. During the holidays, he discussed the idea with Georgiana and she loved it. In fact, Georgiana was curious about Elizabeth - the friend her brother talked so much about - and when he asked her if they could stay in the big studio she had in TriBeCa, she agreed instantly.

The women were supposed to have arranged schedules yesterday but neither told him what was settled.

‘Did she tell you to lose weight?’ Graham deadpanned stunning Darcy.

‘What?’

‘Lizzy. The hot Brazilian.’ Graham said. ‘Did she tell you to lose weight?’

‘No…’ Darcy frowned and lowered his eyes to his glass on the table. ‘Of course not. She is much too generous for that.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘She looks a lot younger than her years, not only the four she’s younger than me. You should meet her, Graham. Bloody hell.’

‘Very hot… Let me see her again.’ Graham extended his hand to Darcy demanding his phone. During the Holidays they had escaped the women and spent hours travelling down memory lane, listening to their taped radio transmissions. Darcy read Elizabeth’s letters and studied her photo on his phone, the selfies she took of them both. Christmas Eve, when Darcy called her, Graham popped in the video to exchange a few words with the friend from the past.

Darcy fished his phone from his pocket, fidgeted with it for a while and extended it to his cousin.

‘Holy cow!’ Graham said reaching for Darcy’s phone that showed a picture of Lizzy on her balcony, tank top and skirt, legs curled under her, smiling and holding a beer. He looked over the phone to Darcy who nodded and then back at the picture. ‘Are there others?’ He asked. Darcy nodded again.

While he perused the pictures until he reached Pemberley’s pure blood horses, an idea occurred to Graham. ‘Are you falling, man?’

Darcy blinked.

‘Are you having an affair with her?’ Graham pressed.

He shook his head ‘no’ but Elizabeth’s voice over the phone came to Darcy’s mind: “Have you ever heard of the expression ‘emotional affair’?” ‘She is also married, we are friends. I just like to talk to her, she is sunny. She doesn’t sound like an old nag, we laugh, share kids’ problems, ideas – mostly we try to convince each other of our view of things… much like when we were teens. We don’t have any bad blood between us. No dead weigh dragging us down. We have fun together.’

‘Sounds like an affair to me.’ Graham sipped his beer. ‘Fuck you! Now I feel guilty for having this.’ He put the glass down and waved for the waiter to order a diet soda.

---

Usually, George Wickham had the loving company of his beautiful wife as soon as he landed in Rio’s Air force base. After working aboard a hospital ship for three weeks at a time, all he wanted was the comfort of his family and his wife’s kisses.

A handsome man that knew the power of a uniform, Wickham had opted for the Navy right after med school and didn’t repent. He had had trouble adjusting to the hierarchy but once he made friends, he started building a nice career.

He planned to open his private practice when he retired from the Navy taking advantage of the good reputation he was building working the most unusual cases on the Hospital ship. He even studied the option of working abroad for a year joining the Peace Corps stationed in Haiti. But until he made a decision if it would actually improve his professional reputation, he wouldn’t share his plans.

Wickham ran a hand over his short hair and smiled to the lady officer talking to him at the Air base’s reception. He tried to remember when he had had a night with her but he couldn’t, it must have been very dull. He was concerned if this woman would cause him any headache when Elizabeth arrived to pick him up.

He hated taxis and as she worked a few minutes from the Base, he scheduled his flights so she could give him a ride home. That way they could chat before the kids demanded his attention exclusively. Once or twice he had managed to get an early flight and they stopped at a motel to rekindle their love even before arriving home.

The woman was smiling flirtatiously at him, adjusting her hair and shifting from foot to foot inside her uniform. If she only knew that uniforms were a weapon he used for seduction not to be seduced… Anyway, she could try almost anything and wouldn’t top the vision of his beautiful wife arriving with a smile on her cute face.

Her appealing figure clad in a black pencil skirt, fitted baby blue button down shirt, a black scarf around her neck, black high heels, delicate golden accessories; she was a vision for his sore eyes. He was proud that his wife was such a beautiful woman.

The moment he saw her, he tuned out the lady officer and turned to the door from where Elizabeth was coming, his cap under his arm.

‘Hello, Babe.’ He said when she got close.

‘Hey, George.’ She smiled and held his arm. ‘Welcome home.’

Wickham hugged her trim waist and kissed her lips lightly, careful not to make a show - one of his biggest traits was discretion – introduced her to the officer talking to him, said his goodbyes and left carrying his duffel bag in one arm and wife in the other.

She gave him the car keys, he took the wheel and they headed home. Elizabeth knew she would be picking him up so she was using his car that day, a midsize sedan that he loved. Wickham relaxed behind the wheel and maneuvered the evening traffic until they entered the highway.

As Elizabeth told him what had happened these last weeks, Wickham basked on the pleasure of holding her knee as he drove, feeling her gentle touch on his neck, learning about his children’s last exploits and hearing her melodic voice. Talking about another man.

Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Since she discovered this jerk online, she had been obsessed with him and their teenage years. Wickham remembered the guy perfectly from that eventful school convention in Peru, how haughty he was talking before the crowd of teenagers and his face when he knew Elizabeth wasn’t going to show up. At the time, Wickham thought the guy decided to leave early because she wouldn’t be coming and that propelled him to ask her out. How long since he had heard that name spoken?

‘What else happened, Babe?’ Wickham asked, not bothering to disguise his tone of voice.

‘Besides Fitz’ sister offer to host us in New York next month?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Or besides my week away with Jane?’

‘Both.’ He said checking his side mirror to change to a faster lane.

‘Mmmm… Nanda is almost giving up the pacifier, at last. Fitz sent Tom that build-your-own dinosaur kit he wanted so badly.’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘He was static when he got the box!’

Fitz, Fitz, Fitz. If he heard that name one more time he would be sick. With jealousy. His wife was not enough; he had to pounce on his son too. ‘Which toy?’ He asked.

‘That one I bought him last year when he aced his first math test, remember?’ She said and babbled about his son but Wickham didn’t know what she was talking about.

He believed Elizabeth pampered the boy and he’d like Tom to be raised as he had been, careless and free to play soccer with friends whenever he’d like. When he was at home, he took the boy to the beach all the time to let the kid do as he pleased.

‘And what about your PhD? Any news?’ He changed subjects pushing this matter for later.

He would deal with that later.

---

---
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“… Friends will be friends

When you’re in need of love they give you care and attention…”

Friends will be friends – Queen

next chapter

The Prince of Pemberley - Book 1 - Chapter 4

Hello,
This week I found out my first crush is back!... AUS will continue!
It was my first P&P fanfic crush, the one I couldn't put down. Curious? Check my post on fave JAFF!

As always, if you haven't already, read the story's front page before diving in. Tks.

BOOK 1

FRIENDS

Previous chapter

CHAPTER 4

Reunion

For the rest of that Monday they exchanged texts.

Tuesday morning for Elizabeth, early afternoon for Darcy, he missed the beginning of an important meeting in his conference room to call her and check on her traffic jam.

Wednesday she sent him a playlist with pop songs from the eighties. He replied saying he abhorred torture of any kind but actually downloaded the songs, uploaded on his phone and listened on his way home.

Thursday he spent a good part of his morning putting together a makeshift playlist with his favorite songs to send her in time for her morning traffic jam.

Friday Elizabeth sent him a couple of texts asking his plans for the weekend and saying how she longed for a leisure traffic-free time with her kids. Beach, sun and fun, those were her plans for the weekend. Darcy didn’t answer.

She reasoned he was a busy guy and they had been talking daily since Monday – it should be enough for her. It was silly to expect he would devote more of his time to her.

Saturday morning the kids woke her up early eager for the beach. Before going, they called their father according to their usual Saturday morning routine. As Wickham worked at least twenty days a month in a hospital boat floating along the Amazon River, they scheduled Saturday conference calls in advance so they could stretch the conversation for long minutes.

After the kids shouted on the phone excitedly about their week to a delighted father, Elizabeth took the phone from the speaker and talked to her husband about her week including the unexpected pleasure of finding Darcy. In return, Wickham told her about the sad experiences he had had curing a vast array of nasty sufferings. After they exchanged quick endearments, she got the kids ready for the beach.

A few hours later, they returned exhausted and famished but thankfully Reynalda, their housekeeper, had the kid’s lunch ready. Amidst the frenetic bath-lunch-cartoons on TV sequence, the doorbell rang but Elizabeth was too busy explaining to her daughter why some cartoons were not meant for children.

The doorbell rang again and she walked to get it since Reynalda didn’t. Down her bedrooms' corridor, Elizabeth regretted postponing her bath in favor of the kids’ cartoon hunt. She was still sticky from seawater and her bikini top felt a little uncomfortable; even her adorable dog’s barking irritated her. She adjusted the canga wrapped as a short skirt around her waist and held the doorknob.

In her small hall shared by only two apartments, Darcy felt ashamed of his forwardness. During the week, he had thought about inviting her to London or offering to make things right seventeen years later by going to Rio de Janeiro, the World Cup was only a few months away after all. But the words died in his throat and fingers (as he typed). He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression, he was just very happy about meeting his old friend again.

The week had been brutal, the only thing making his days brighter were her texts and voice on the phone. Another fight with his wife, his daughters busy with their little lives where he didn’t fit, a stall in his new business venture… everything was very frustrating. Except the pretty woman and the remembrance of his youth.

Suddenly the door opened: Elizabeth was certain it was her next-door neighbor, Darcy wasn’t certain of anything any longer.

Seeing him, Elizabeth’s heart stopped, her vision blurred and her legs wobbled.

Darcy’s air escaped his chest. He didn’t expect to get this welcome, he had only planned to meet his friend in person and share a few good laughs travelling back in time.

He hadn’t planned to feel this aroused by seeing her. True, he already knew Elizabeth had a pretty face but in fact she was a gorgeous woman. How could he have predicted she had that body? In a bikini and a skirt, barefoot with tattoos showing on her insteps, smelling like the sea…

Elizabeth needed almost a minute to make her mind work.

‘Fitz?’ She whispered.

His answer was a closed lips half smile. “Behave down there, man.”

‘Fitzwilliam Darcy?’ She insisted raising her brows. ‘His royal Highness, the Prince of Pemberley?’

‘King now.’ He said impudently. ‘Yes, me.’

Elizabeth blinked trying to drink him in. Several times in the past she had fantasized about this moment. They had been close friends in letters, but unfortunately never met in person. He told her his height, she could guess how he carried himself and his shape from his pictures but a little older and in person…

----

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“… Her warm heart, would never gonna leave me

She’s turned me round…”

A new flame – Simply red

Next chapter

The Prince of Pemberley - Book 1 - Chapter 2

Hello,
I don't feel like talking too much today, besides, there are 3.800 words here...

As always, if you haven't already, read the story's front page before diving in. Tks.

BOOK 1

FRIENDS

Previous chapter

CHAPTER 2

Poste restante

‘William!’ A familiar female voice shouted. ‘William, where are you?’ The voice shouted louder and tad angrier.

‘Mom, why are you shouting like this?’ A younger familiar female voice asked disapprovingly.

‘Your father is missing! Have you seen him?’ The older woman asked.

‘Not since breakfast. Isn’t he in the library?’

‘No… Your grandma is there. She wants to talk to him.’

‘Mmmm…’

‘William, are you hiding from my mother? Your own aunt?’

‘Really, mother! Do you think my father would do such a thing?’

‘William, where are you? Come to the library!’

‘Really... Do you have to shout?’

‘Diana, your father is capable of making me so angry…’

The voices trailed off as the women probably went down the stairs and Darcy sighed. Where he was? He was safe.

Alone in the attic where his wife Anne had exiled the Darcy family memorabilia, his old gun trunk opened on the floor at his feet, his father’s old office chair feeling unsettlingly cozy to him. He remembered seeing his father seat his heavy body in this chair and stay there for hours at an end reading the newspaper or escaping his own mother-in-law. Had he finally become his father?

He surely felt heavier and rounder around the middle…

He lowered his body, rested his elbows on his knees and rummaged a little more in his gun trunk. He used to be so proud of this old thing; his dear grandfather’s gift for his tenth birthday. He remembered perfectly how ecstatic he was to get his own gun – an old thing that needed a lot of maintenance – and how afraid to lose this treasure he was while watching his parents argue with his grandfather. At the end it was agreed that the gun was not be used – it was only decoration – and his grandfather bought buy him a safer brand new air gun.

Darcy caressed the old gun, the old leather padding where it was attached to and let his eyes yield to her handwriting. Lizzy’s letters were bound with twine in stacks of ten or so envelopes. The first packs had small round handwriting, almost childlike, sometimes in pink or green ink; and then it changed to inclined lettering, clearly written in a fast hand.

‘To: HRH Fitzwilliam Darcy, Prince of Pemberley’

‘To: My dear friend, Fitz D.’

‘To: The most presumptuous, insufferable guy in all England – Fitz Darcy’

She always surprised him when addressing the envelopes and the way she did gave him a clue of what was inside. Usually she teased him, but occasionally she accused him of being obnoxious, snob, insufferable. Darcy smiled to himself remembering how much he anticipated each letter, each answer to his previous one. And how he never minded her calling him ‘Fitz’ even though he told her how much he hated his name. He continued signing ‘William’, but she insisted with ‘Fitz’.

When it started, he was in school and inspired by a teacher had joined the school’s Youth Group two years before. His seriousness had propelled him into a post at the International board and being boring enough to take care of paperwork he gathered data to produce the international achievements’ reports to be presented on tri-annual conventions. His pride was stroked by this high post, how he was seen as a serious young man during that single week when students from all over the world united to exchange experiences of how they were changing their little corner of the world. He looked forward to the next one.

Basically, it was a boring task that none of the cool guys wanted. He was aloof enough to take it and put up with the correspondence coming from the different countries his school – the Royal British School - had branches. His grandfather helped him organize a form and he mailed it worldwide receiving fairly good answers until he got the one from Brazil. It was not in his format, it was handwritten and added several information he hadn’t asked for. Same happened the next trimester. The third time, he sent the report back with a personal note saying he would be forced to disregard Brazil’s data if it wasn’t sent in his unified form.

Her answer was priceless and to this day Darcy was sorry he had tossed away the note. In a few lines, an Elizabeth Bennett properly humbled him saying his form was nearsighted since it didn’t cover half of what was interesting and suggested him to rethink it. He was furious for days, barely spoke a word to people around him, considered several angry comebacks but before he sent her anything else, another letter arrived with a new form. Based on his, her form was indeed much better and easier to fill; it made the Youth Group’s efforts interesting to read.

The note that came attached to the improved form he kept. It was faded and crumpled but he could read her childish handwriting perfectly.

‘Dear Mr. Darcy,

I know you consider us inferior to your standards since we are a Third World country of uneducated people. I’m almost sorry to contradict you.

Although our country lacks many things, intelligence is not one of those. Especially not in our Groups.

I’m sending you an improved version of your form perfected in a joint effort of our five groups from the schools in Rio de Janeiro, São Paulo, Santa Catarina and Goiás. Actually, this is the form we’ll use from now on.

The way the Brazilian board sees our work, the Youth Groups are composed of friends who help each other and I’m sorry to know that our data won’t be considered in the International reports. On our next National convention we’ll discuss the best way to present it ourselves during the next International convention in Peru.

I shall not consider the inferiority of your form as degradation. In vain I have tried to conquer the need to send you our form but ultimately such a spiteful action goes against the nature of our youth group.

Certain of the reward of your understanding,

Lizzy Bennett.’

It stayed in his desk during all summer, every other day he would read it trying to find some underlying message he might have overseen but it was always there – the bordering derisiveness even if in the same courteous addressing he had used.

Finally when it was time to return to school, he gave in and adopted her form, but not without adding some changes. He didn’t remember his actual words but he thanked her almost grudgingly and communicated her the Brazilian form was now international.

Her answer was again, priceless.

‘Dear Mr. Darcy,

We are profoundly humbled by your acknowledging of our weak contribution to the improvement of our institution’s data collecting.

Next time you consider it interesting to rule over your kingdom, allow me to suggest consulting your subjects.

L Bennett.’

Unsure of the reason for such a passionate response to his impersonal note, Darcy chose to keep these notes private. This Elizabeth – Lizzy - must be really a fiery girl and that was irresistible. Also impudent, almost impolite and she consistently hurt his pride.

Not once he considered he may have hurt hers first.

He did write back and also very grudgingly, Elizabeth answered in unmerciful teasing, relentlessly making fun of the ‘rich boy who didn’t know anything outside his little corner of the world’. Not long after they moved from adding notes to documents to exchanging letters purely for the fun of it forming a pen-friendship.

Derisively she started calling him Little Prince referring Saint Exupery’s book, only he was the heir of the magnificent country-estate of Pemberley and not a planet. In spite of her intentions, it endeared her to Darcy. He started to also refer to himself as Prince of Pemberley – at least when talking to her.

She was good humored and authentic. She sent her photos and reciprocating, he sent her as many photos he could.

“Seeing how overwhelmingly big Pemberley is made me realize how important you must be, some kind of royalty for the people around you. Really a Prince. How many do you employ? Do you provide health care and schools for this small nation you rule?

You have humbled me… In your world, I would be a gentlewoman at most. Not even a Fidalga.”

‘My Baroness!’ Darcy whispered to himself and covered his smile with a hand, lost in his memories of how he used to call her, an affectionate nickname. ‘Bart!...’

 Her letters were very different from anything he was used to. She always sent him some token, a dried flower, an insect wing (that she said reminded him of how grossly he behaved), newspaper clippings, a cassette tape with music and a recorded message from her, chocolate coins.

And that first photo she sent him… he felt his insides churn. It was faded now. Her sweet smile in parentheses, her eyes sparkling under a thick bang of dark hair, the tanned skin. Gorgeous. Nothing like the girls he knew. Authentic, original, pretty as hell. Lizzy.

Feeling dumb, Darcy kept his hand hiding his mouth as he looked at that photo. He kept her photos together and not inside the letter it came in because he always wanted to see her. He perused them after wasting an awful amount of time on that first one. With anticipation he arrived at his favorite: the smiling older Lizzy was half turned, the setting sun and the sea behind her, wind playing with her hair – long and straight, free of the heavy bangs. He turned it and read the inscription marveling at how her words popped into his head a few nanoseconds before his eyes read them.

‘Looking forward to show you this sunset in person, friend. Can you believe I’ll get to meet you and graduate in the same week? I’ll be free from college, free!’

It was all planned, his visit to Brazil in order to attend her graduation.

She was ecstatic he had accepted her invitation. She planned incessantly sending him almost daily letters detailing what they would do in Rio de Janeiro, how they would spend their time. Since she would start a new job soon, she would spend her last vacation before succumbing to capitalism with him.

He wanted to. He was excited to go, happy to meet her in person after ten years exchanging letters. They had tried once before. At the International convention in Peru he would be stepping down from the Youth Group since he was already in college; Elizabeth was finishing school and about to start college. They exchanged excited letters with expectations for what the future held for them, the most thrilling one was to meet in person. He had wanted to try using the burgeoning internet through his university’s computer lab but she couldn’t access it from anywhere, their only chance to a close contact was in person in Peru.

Darcy arrived in Lima barely containing his heart in his chest. How could a twenty one years old young man not look forward to meet a seventeen years old enchanting girl? They had made plans in letters for sightseeing, eating ceviche, he bought tourist guides and studied the country to impress her with his intelligence. When the convention started the next day, he was locked in a meeting and didn’t see the Brazilian group arrive. He searched the crowd of eager teenagers during lunch in the huge cafeteria until someone pointed the ‘Bennett girl’ and for a second his eyes fogged. Where was the dark haired beauty with bangs?

With a heavy heart he heard his friend Charles Bingley say that the only Bennett girl in Peru was Jane. He wanted to punch Bingley’s chuckling face as he presented the lovely Jane and the girl with Elizabeth’s nose and mouth extended him a thin envelope saying her sister was really sorry.

‘I mean, there’s not much I could do. If father lost his job we should save money and… I don’t have to lie to you: I’m devastated. I wanted to die when mother decided only Jane could go. I still want to die. I may be already dead when you get this.’

Darcy left the convention as soon as his duty with the next International secretary was accomplished. There was nothing in Peru for him if his friend wouldn’t be there. The gifts he had brought for Elizabeth were delivered to Jane with a curt nod. Bingley decided to follow Darcy and it took Jane a few days to understand why the guy she had dated for two days left all of a sudden.

‘You are lucky I wasn’t there, Fitz! Why would you let my sister date such a jerk? This Charles left without saying goodbye to her! I loved the t-shirt and the chocolate, by the way. But why would you befriend such a jerk? Isn’t Jane adorable enough for him?’

Alone in the attic Darcy chuckled to himself remembering he had actually been afraid of answering that letter. Bitter and jealous, he had been the one who told Bingley to go home. After two weeks gathering courage, he admitted to her he was wrong in his advising although he didn’t force Bingley, who was never constant in his love interests, to go. Elizabeth had given him all kinds of hell over Bingley and he laughed alone rereading those angry letters. She only calmed down when he sent Jane a personal apology note.

Only six years later another opportunity reached them, she was always in a tight budget and he under his father’s thumb. But when she graduated he had already finished his masters and had access to his trust fund. He was starting his adult life, was engaged and his cousin-fiancé was planning their wedding.

Anne de Bourgh twisted her white thin nose at the idea of flying to Brazil but accepted after some cajoling. He would never say anything but deep down Darcy hoped she would leave him in the lurch; Elizabeth was his friend, not hers. What if Lizzy was even more enchanting in person? There was a good chance of that.

He confirmed he would attend Elizabeth’s graduation; he bought the flight tickets and planned to stay for a month. But then he had to disappear for a while.

A week before his trip, his mother was very badly injured after she fell from a horse. Pemberley grounds were vast and it took them a few hours to find her in a deserted area, winter was severe that year, the chilly weather worsened her condition. After almost a month in the hospital, Anne Darcy died.

During this wretched period, Darcy started to write a letter to Elizabeth a few times, even tried to call once but didn’t manage to talk to her. When he told Anne about his idea of spending some time in Brazil to grieve, she didn’t take it well and soon after announced she was pregnant. Darcy was surprised, happy in a confused way, hurt, missing his mother and worried about his father and his little sister who were very happy with the possibility of having a baby in the house.

Devastated and dazed, Darcy accepted when his father forced him to anticipate the marriage, feeling it was his duty to emotionally support the family.

Now, decades later, the suspicion that Anne planned to force their marriage poisoned him. He hadn’t needed that; he wanted to go to Brazil, change sceneries and give fate a chance.

Soon before the wedding, Anne and his father were involved in a car crash that buried Darcy alive: his father died and Anne miscarried. That day burned all remembrance of anything lively or sparkling.

Anne lost her wits and doted on Georgiana who had sixteen at the time. Darcy was sad for a long time and missed Elizabeth, their friendship, her letters and cheering up.

When he thought he could write anything pleasant, he gathered his strength and sent her a long letter but never got an answer. He missed her graduation, didn’t explain why he didn’t show up, she probably was furious with him. What if she had gone to the airport to greet him?

But he hadn’t had much of a chance at the time. Even if he had been considering breaking up with Anne when she announced the pregnancy, after the miscarriage he didn’t have the courage to do it. Then came the girls, first Diana e soon after Sarah. Years later he still felt he was sacrificing himself.

That’s why he was in the attic now, dreaming of a ‘never been’. Never was.

Darcy sighed and leafed through Elizabeth’s old letters.

‘It’s easier to say 'I love you' to me than to your girlfriend because you're saying it to a piece of paper and a piece of paper doesn't have fingers for you to feel obliged to put a ring on! Besides, our ‘I love you’s are totally different. Right?

Anyway, I love you too, my piece of paper!

Lizzy, Bt.

PS.: I'm sending you a paper doll with my face, but no ring friendly fingers!’

He laughed to himself remembering he had actually played with that paper doll when he got it. A little ashamed, he had undressed the doll and found little frilly knickers. Lizzy must have used an old paper doll with her smiling face cut and glued with scotch tape, and two sets of clothes.

He found it crumpled in a corner of the old trunk, the neck already creased from the extra weight of the picture glued to the head.

‘Your good opinion once lost is lost forever... This is something very poetic to say but holding a grudge is toxic. Shouldn't you offer the other cheek? And don’t accuse me of being ‘too catholic’. There isn’t such a thing as ‘too catholic’.’

The boarding school fight!... What was it all about?

Darcy had to concentrate to remember why he had a fistfight when he was almost an adult. Someone said something about a girl he wasn’t even dating… He faintly remembered an ex-boyfriend and sour grapes.

‘I heard you! Lamb Tone rocks! I loved it! Rick Astley is sooooo great! Thanks, Prince! And Madonna… I appreciate your effort on giving me a few moments of pop rock instead of Plant, Page & Jagger all the time. You rock! And… such a sexy voice you have, your Highness!’

It had taken them three letters to arrange dates and schedules to make sure he would hack into Manchester radio station when she would be able to tune in using extra antennas or something and listen to his occasional broadcast.

Darcy spent many minutes smiling to the ceiling remembering how serious he and Graham took their pirate radio. They had shows, a recorded vignette and special features… So much fun.

‘Broadcast signal intrusion is a felony here. I think Lamb Tone is totally worth it but can hijacking Manchester radio put you in trouble? Oh, and the polo photo? Wow!...’

It was illegal and it brought him a lot of trouble. Manchester W540 radio only needed a few meager enquires to find out who was responsible for hijacking their signal one or two times a month. The Darcys were a traditional family in the area and the radio owner – a personal friend - called his father.

Darcy and Graham were in big trouble for a long time. Darcy winced remembering his father and uncle yelling at them to ‘stop behaving like lads and start being men’.

And the polo photo… Darcy smiled to himself. He had planned to impress Lizzy with all his male exuberance atop his exquisite gelding and the polo team uniform. It worked!

‘So, I guess I had it easy. I mean…

What if this guy turned out to be one of those crazy abusive boyfriends???’

Darcy hated to read her talking about guys who he couldn’t meet in person to see for himself if they were good enough for her.

And guys complained about their pen friendship! The gall!...

My mother is right; being a teacher in Brazil means almost starvation! What was I thinking???

With a degree in Biomedicine I can get a job in health care but the salary… it’s a shame. Don’t worry; I won’t start with the political speech here – even though our health care politics ARE SHAMEFULL  – but no one can live off the two dollars/hour salary.

Of course I could change majors but that would mean I’d have to start college all over again. I’ve been thinking about law school… Do you think I’d be a good lawyer?

Are you still interested in my insecurities or are bored to death?

He remembered how confused she was after the first year in college. He thought that if she changed majors, she would just want to do it again in a year time. She had been so sure of biomedicine the year before…

Reading her letter, Darcy remembered how ardently he had wanted to take her to a pub and let her open her heart to him over a pint until he could give her a wisdom dripping advice.

Instead, he had written her a long, long letter.

‘Engaged?! My friend, congratulations!

Anne will make you really happy, she has known you since you were born, and dealing with your mother-in-law will feel as easy as a dear aunt! Ha!

I don’t see myself getting married anytime soon, you guys are really brave! Isn’t marriage supposed to be the beginning of the rest of one’s life?

I’m really, really happy for you.

Do you think Anne will let you keep writing me?’

At the time he had felt a tiny sting of disappointment. Elizabeth was his friend, his confidant but also a very pretty girl. And being Brazilian gave her an edge… she sounded juicier. When she wrote saying she was happy for his impending marriage, did it mean she didn’t have any romantic designs for him whatsoever?

Darcy fished his phone from his pocket and speed dialed his Head of Security who didn’t answer the phone. Two seconds later came a text.

‘Wait until Monday.’

Soon after came another.

‘Dad, Mom is seething. Have you left the house? Granny Catherine wants to talk to you about one of her very important things…’

“…Someone said: “If you’re not careful,

You’ll have nothing left, nothing to care for”…”

Being boring – Pet Shop Boys

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Chapter 3