"We Neither of Us Perform to Strangers"

            A regency girl cannot be described as truly accomplished unless she plays the piano forte, right? Well, that’s what I told myself when I registered for a unit of beginning piano at school this semester.

            Don’t get me wrong because I love music. I’ve played the violin for upwards of twelve or thirteen years now. And messing around with random instruments has always been one of my favorite things to do.

            But music in front of people? That’s another story. Not only my fingertips but my entire body used to vibrato when scratching out a violin concerto at a recital or sawing away at Christmas carols for a group of friends. Mom still refers to me as the “closet violinist” because I simply don’t play in front of people. They might hear me.

“Just look at the lights,” a best friend’s mom encouraged me before a second grade choir performance. Lights or no lights to focus on, my knees tremble, my hands quake, and my voice jars as though I’m withstanding an earthquake.

             So this fall, when my piano professor informed me that part of the course included performing in two recitals, I first felt a wave of anxiety course through my veins. But then I thought of Elizabeth Bennet when she plays for Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy at Rosings.  

            When Darcy excuses himself as a poor conversationalist, Elizabeth expertly retorts, “‘My fingers […] do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women’s do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault—because I would not take the trouble of practicing. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.’

            “‘Darcy smiled and said, ‘You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers.’”

            On top of the incredibly gracious manner in which Darcy bends to this criticism, which might just possibly make me want to stand and cheer, this scene also provides a beautiful description of balance. Elizabeth’s knees don’t have to rattle as she sits at the piano because she realizes that her comparatively meager musical ability isn’t going to be a defining mark of her character. The woman was apparently too busy walking about the country, visiting with friends or “improving her mind with extensive reading” to spend a great amount of time practicing piano. But Darcy doesn’t knock her for any deficiency. Rather than placing hope in doing everything, and doing everything like superwoman, Elizabeth realizes limitations and doesn’t fret about the impossibility of perfection.

            So as I walked up the stage steps for my first piano recital last Tuesday, I thought like Elizabeth. Everyone here listening knows I’m not attempting to become a concert pianist. My hands still shook a bit, but I made it through the song, and the audience even clapped at the end. I continue to internalize the fact that a balanced life leaves little room for perfection, and that’s okay.

However, this doesn’t mean I won’t practice. In fact, I’m working on the next recital piece right now. In case you hadn’t guessed already, it’s the theme from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice soundtrack.

From October to October

The swollen pink hills oozed spitefully. I fanned the baggy white t-shirt away from my sticky skin and felt the moving air brush my belly. And it was in this miserable state that I met her.

I don’t remember exactly how old I was, probably about fourteen or fifteen. It was midsummer, and Mom lay stretched out beside me. Bumps peppered our arms and legs from the poison oak we’d encountered on our camping trip. But sweating there in bed on a bright Saturday afternoon, I watched as dark hair, a radiant smile and “fine eyes” lit up the screen. For the six hours that comprises the BBC version, or what Mom and I like to call “the real Pride and Prejudice,” I galloped over the cool, rolling green hills and danced in the crystal ballrooms of regency England.

            She was all wit, beauty and authentic charm. By the end of the film, I felt as head over heals as Mr. Darcy himself. Miss Elizabeth Bennet waltzed in and forever altered my existence.

            Several years later, I entered my final year of college. Naturally, I planned to write my senior thesis on Pride and Prejudice. Consistent with my obsession of starting assignments way too early, I recently began mining for research and literary criticism to apply to the project which won’t be due till next spring.

Reading through a Norton critical edition, I found one scholar who described the time frame of the novel. He wrote, “What we are given of Elizabeth Bennet’s life is about a year, from about October to October, the year in which she becomes twenty-one” (Stuart Tave, “Limitations and Definitions”). Flabbergasted, I scribbled on a sticky note, “I’m going to be Elizabeth Bennet this year.” I was about to turn twenty only a few weeks later. In an extraordinary case of fantastic timing, I realized that the year in which I would dive into Elizabeth’s world set up a parallel with my real life.Then a new idea surfaced. What if while I'm working this research paper, I write a blog about Pride and Prejudice for fun?

            So in this, the October of my twentieth year, I embark on a journey with Elizabeth Bennet. As I navigate the senior year of my undergrad program and glimpse the possibility of life after school, I’ll read and write my way through Lizzy’s dance through 19^th century Britain. The plan is to post something of the experience every week, and we’ll see where it all wraps up at the end of next October. Here it goes!