Preludes, page 32
As might be imagined, Johnson’s life and work were greatly influenced by her dual heritage. She received a good if modest European education from her mother and from Brantford Collegiate Institute, where she graduated in 1877, and learned about her Mohawk background from her grandfather Chief John Smoke Johnson, whose dramatic talents inspired many of Pauline’s poetic works.
When George died in 1884 the family was forced to leave their home and move to nearby Brantford. Pauline turned to writing as means of supporting herself. She had been writing poetry since her teens, and between 1884 and 1886 published several poems. Four were in Gems of Poetry (New York), eight were in The Week (Toronto), and several occasional pieces appeared elsewhere, including a poem written for the retirement of Seneca orator Red Jacket in 1885 and the dedication of a statue of Joseph Brant (Thayendanegea) the following year. By 1886 she had acquired a considerable reputation and it was now that she began signing her works as both E. Pauline Johnson and Tekahionwake.
In 1892 she was invited to participate in an evening of poetry sponsored by the Young Men’s Liberal Club in Toronto, which she did to considerable success. Here her childhood lessons in elegance, manners, and deportment came into play, along with the dramatic gifts and lessons from her grandfather. The audience was delighted with her recitation of her poems, and she soon embarked on a tour of towns and villages across Ontario. She had become, if not the serious poet she wished to be, successful as a popular performer of her own poetry.
Over the next seventeen years she toured Canada and parts of the United States, and presented a series of successful recitals in London, England. While there, she arranged for the publication of her first collection of poetry, The White Wampum (London, Toronto, and Boston, 1895). Her second collection, Canadian Born, was published in 1903, and Flint and Feather was published in 1912.
She continued touring and writing poetry until ill health forced her to retire in 1909. She chose Vancouver, British Columbia, as her new home and it was here that she died of breast cancer in 1913, three days before her birthday.
Johnson’s poetry really celebrates her heritage and her home and is rich in early expressions of Canadian nationalism. She turned the styles and techniques of English poetry to the landscapes and scenes that she knew: gurgling brooks, towering pine trees, purple sunsets, and a lover in a canoe. She extolled the glories of the wilderness and wrote ballads with episodes drawn from First Nations history. Hers was not an easy life, having to straddle late Victorian expectations as an unmarried performer, societal and institutional racism as an Indigenous woman, and just surviving as a woman artist in a time when women’s rights were more fantasy than reality.
About the Author
Award-winning author Riana Everly was born in South Africa but has called Canada home since she was eight years old. She has a Master’s degree in Medieval Studies and is trained as a classical musician, specialising in Baroque and early Classical music. She first encountered Jane Austen when her father handed her a copy of Emma at age 11, and has never looked back.
Riana now lives in Toronto with her family. When she is not writing, she can often be found playing string quartets with friends, biking around the beautiful province of Ontario with her husband, trying to improve her photography, thinking about what to make for dinner, and, of course, reading!
If you enjoyed this novel, please consider posting a review at your favourite bookseller’s website.
Riana Everly loves connecting with readers on Facebook at facebook.com/RianaEverly/.
Also, be sure to check out her website at rianaeverly.com for sneak peeks at coming works and links to works in progress.
Much Ado in Meryton
Much Ado in Meryton: Pride and Prejudice Meets Shakespeare
A tale of friends, enemies, and the power of love.
“Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.”
– Benedick, Much Ado About Nothing, 5.2
Mr. Darcy’s arrival in Meryton raises many people’s disdain, and Elizabeth Bennet’s ire. An insult at a dance is returned in full measure, and soon the two find themselves in a merry war of words, trading barbs at every encounter. Matters go from bad to worse when Elizabeth and Darcy find themselves living under the same roof for a time, and their constant bickering frays everybody’s nerves.
Will a clever scheme by their family and friends bring some peace to Netherfield’s halls? And what of Mr. Wickham, whose charming presence is not quite so welcome by some members of the party? When the games get out of hand and nastier elements come into play, will everybody’s chances for happiness be ruined forever?
This clever mash-up of Pride and Prejudice and Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing casts our beloved characters in fresh light, uniting Jane Austen’s keen insight into love and character, and Shakespeare’s biting wit.
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Please enjoy this excerpt from Much Ado in Meryton.
One
Only you excepted
(Benedick, 1.1)
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Fitzwilliam Darcy shifted in place as the carriage bounced over another rut in the lane. It was quite black outside and the curtains were drawn, allowing nothing of their surroundings to be seen. Surely they must soon be at their destination. Beside him on the squab, his friend drew his own curtain aside enough to peer through. He gazed into the void for a moment, then turned back to the occupants of the carriage with a broad grin.
“Surely you cannot see anything, Charles. There is no moon and we are facing backwards. The lamps will show you nothing.” Darcy shifted again, trying to stretch out his long legs without disturbing the women sitting across from him. He had spent a great deal too much time in a carriage today. Perhaps if he had insisted upon using his own for this short ride, he might be more comfortable, for his coach was both longer and wider than Charles Bingley’s. But his men and horses had made the drive up from London that very morning and they deserved a rest. His friend’s carriage was adequate. Just.
His young friend widened his grin. “I own it is full dark, but we shall be there very soon. Look! There is the first house.” He drew the curtain open to reveal a small cottage with lights flickering behind two windows. “I do believe I shall like this town very much indeed.” He smiled indulgently. Then, turning a worried frown to his tall friend, asked, “Darcy, you will be polite, will you not?”
A very pretty young woman on the forward-facing bench gave a delicate sniff. “Mr. Darcy is unfailingly polite. When it is merited.”
The other woman beside her tittered. Her carefully contrived ringlets bounced against the hat that marked her as a married woman. “I doubt he shall have to exercise those skills tonight, Caroline. I cannot imagine a single creature here who is deserving of Mr. Darcy’s charm. Really, Charles,” she turned to the beaming young gentleman, “why have you brought us here? London is far preferable at this time of year. Could you not have found a more…” she turned to the closed window and sniffed, “civilised place to let an estate?”
Caroline nodded. Her face, lovely though it might be, was not made lovelier by the disdain that crept across it. “Surely, Mr. Darcy, London is your preferred place. Why, you stayed an extra three days after the rest of us came up to this sad part of Hertfordshire.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
The rumbling of the carriage wheels turned to a jostling bounce that suggested cobblestones rather than a packed dirt lane. They must be well within the village now. It was not so large a place, this market town called Meryton, but prosperous enough if they had stone streets, and Charles had spoken of a rather grand set of assembly rooms.
“My personal business kept me in town,” was all Darcy replied.
Bingley added, “And Darcy was most gracious in cutting that business short so he could attend the assembly with us.” His smile became more serious. “I do thank you for this, Darcy. I have met many of the gentlemen of the area, but this shall be my first introduction to the local society as a whole and I am pleased to have you at my side. Not that I am nervous, but I wish to make a good impression.” Then he turned back to the two women who sat across from him. “And I shall assume the same excellent behaviour from you as you expect from my friend. This is my home now, and for all that you are my sisters, I shall be quite put out if you turn the people against me with your high and mighty ways.”
Caroline sniffed again. “You are so easily led, Charles. One man tells you of a grand estate to be let, and you are ready to sign the lease before setting an eye on it. Another tells you Meryton is as fine a town as any in England, and you accept his very word as truth without question. You are always so determined to like a thing that you never consider it for yourself. I shall see for myself whether these people are worthy of my consideration.”
Her sister, Louisa Hurst, said not a word, but beside her, her husband gave a snort. “Good wine and food, you say? Cards and good hunting? Jolly good. Then we shall get along very well.”
By now the carriage had pulled to a stop and the party of five alit from the vehicle to get their first sight of the assembly rooms. The edifice that faced them was grander than anything Darcy had expected and looked really rather fine from the square. Finer than he had expected, to be honest. The building was large and rectangular, with two short wings on either end and a Grecian portico over the large double doors. The style was of the last fifty years, and it looked, in the light of the burning lamps about the square, newly painted and in excellent repair. Darcy suspected the building functioned more often as a space for town meetings and local business than for assembly balls. Tonight, however, it was the centre of local society, to judge from the number of carriages lining the square and the sounds of revelry from the tavern across the way where any number of drivers and footmen must be whiling away the hours until they were needed again.
Bingley and his party promenaded inside the building and divested themselves of their outerwear, then proceeded to the main doors that led to the grand hall. Darcy could hear the noise from inside abate even before the doors were fully open. Of course. Their arrival must have been long anticipated, and speculation as to their names, numbers, and bank accounts must have filled the air since the building saw its first guests that evening.
True to his expectations, no sooner had the party of newcomers set foot into the grand hall than the whispers started. “Five thousand…” came one voice. “No, ten! And an estate in Derbyshire!” came another. He even heard someone suggest, “Related to the king!” This last was quite ludicrous, but it was not the strangest thing Darcy had heard. He was well used to being the subject of such whispers and rumour. In fact, whilst he despised it, he rather expected it. This sotto voce rush of words provided the carpet upon which he walked into a room, and likewise provided the insulation he so often relied upon to protect him from an onslaught of false admirers. It was easy to avoid conversation when one was seen to be so much above one’s company. He straightened his spine and raised his chin a bit, so as to peer down his nose upon those around him. This was the armour he donned to protect himself from the rabble, and the armour was all but impenetrable.
A man came rushing up to the group as they moved into the assembly hall. He would have been elfin had he been smaller; his gestures and physiognomy seemed more suited to a little creature than this large man. But he bowed prettily and spoke with cultivated tones as he offered his greetings.
“Mr. Bingley!” he gushed as his fingers danced in the air. Was the man trying to cast a spell? Darcy clenched his jaw and exhaled slowly as the man prattled on. “Delighted that you have come. Delighted! The whole town is anxious to meet you. And what charming guests you have brought. Capital, just capital! Please, if you will?”
Bingley made the introductions. The man was Sir William Lucas, former mayor of the town of Meryton and self-appointed master of local society. He was, Darcy grudgingly admitted, a pleasant enough person, if a bit overblown in his own self-importance. Darcy pulled himself to his full height once more and returned the older man’s bow.
“And my sisters,” Bingley continued the introductions, “Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, and my brother Mr. Hurst.” Bows and curtseys were exchanged in a most formal manner before Sir William grabbed at Bingley’s arm like a schoolboy to pull him into the room.
“You must allow me to introduce you to…” His words were lost in the growing din of the gathered company. For lack of any alternative, Darcy followed.
The next half hour seemed interminable. Every face looked the same, every coat and gown interchangeable. There was too little of fashion and taste, and too much of vulgarity. The ladies’ gowns were dated enough that even he knew they were last year's styles, and not a single gentleman, other than Sir William himself, wore the latest cut of waistcoat and collar points. Furthermore, everybody talked too freely, too loudly, like farmers at a harvest festival. These—these—were the haute ton of local society? What had Bingley got himself into?
“…my daughter, Charlotte.”
Darcy blinked and brought himself back to the present. Sir William was still speaking, introducing the new arrivals in the neighbourhood to everybody in the space. Darcy turned to take in the woman now before them. She looked sensible enough, and about his own age of twenty-seven, but she had no particular charm or beauty. Was she married? No, it seemed not. Bingley greeted her, saying, “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Lucas.” To be unmarried still at her age did not bode well for her future felicity in life. He must take care to find a good husband for his sister Georgiana to save her from this same fate; although his sister, at least, had the sort of fortune that made spinsterhood a choice rather than a sad fate.
But he had no time to worry about ageing spinsters. Sir William and Bingley were weaving their way through the throng once more and Darcy must follow them. Sir William was still talking. “You have, I believe, previously met Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, Mr. Bingley. He is not here this evening, but do not fear! Pray, allow me to introduce to you his lovely daughters. This way, I see them together by the fern.”
He traipsed behind Bingley and Sir William as they waded through the crowd, which parted before them like the waters of the Red Sea before Moses. Everywhere he glanced, he met an ocean of fascinated eyes. The whispers were quieter, but they had not stopped. One ruddy country face after another looked upon him with variations of awe, reverence, and other intimations of being in the presence of a superior creature. He held his head high, not deigning to meet any one person’s eye, certainly not daring to smile. He was not one to crow about his place in the first circles in London, nor to bask in the glow of his noble relations, but neither would he lower himself to befriend these rustic imitators of society. For Bingley’s sake he would be coolly polite, and even civil should he find himself in suitable company, but these people were not of his class, and they must know it.
He glided across to where Sir William was now introducing Bingley to a matron and a gaggle of young women, all similar enough in feature that they must be sisters. One or two were rather pretty. But not of his class. From their giggling and gestures, they seemed quite countrified. There was no suggestion of elegance, no lingering benefit of a dancing master’s tutelage in the finer points of deportment and carriage. Except for that one. One of the sisters had caught his eye. He stood still whilst Sir William introduced them all, allowing his eye to linger on the elegant one for a moment.
The matron was Mrs. Bennet. She was a handsome woman, old enough to have five grown daughters, but still striking enough that Darcy could see she must have been quite beautiful in her youth.
“A pleasure, Madam!” Bingley’s smile lit the room. “I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Bennet when I first came to the neighbourhood two weeks ago. I am delighted to meet you.”
The lady fluttered and cooed, and Darcy stood as rigid as a statue as he received her exaggerated curtsey. Her motions were fussy, like an overly decorated doily, with a great deal of flounce and frill, but no taste and less elegance. Then came the sisters. “Miss Bennet,” Sir William began with the eldest. She was the one who had caught Darcy’s eye. She was rather pretty. No, he corrected himself, she was particularly lovely. Tall and slim, she had the sort of figure for which the fashions of the day were created, and she moved with an innate grace that a good dancing master would turn into a sort of art. Likewise, her face was a model of classical beauty, symmetrical and regular, her skin perfect alabaster tinged with rose, her expression everything pleasant. Neither by feature nor by appearance would she be out of place in any fine soirée in London. As Darcy glanced over to his friend Bingley, he noticed his friend all but gaping at this lovely creature. It seemed, by the look on Bingley’s face, that Miss Bennet would equally be welcome in his salon. If not elsewhere in his home.
There were three other sisters gathered about their mother, whose names Darcy only half-heard. Mary, Catherine, and Lillia… no, Lydia. He was tired from his long day of travels, and his interest in these silly looking creatures was minimal. He blinked his eyes and nodded his head in greeting and then excused himself to stalk towards the wall where he might stand and watch the proceedings. The band had reassembled on the dais and a dance was forming in the centre of the room. He closed his eyes for a moment and stifled a yawn. As he took a deep breath to return himself to the good regulation that was his pride, he scanned the crowd again. Was that Bingley, leading the eldest Miss Bennet to the line? So it was. And Sir William was gesturing them to the head of the dance; they were to lead, it seemed.
