In Which Belle Celebrates Candlelight

I have been re-watching Cranford, that delightful series based on the novels by Mrs. Elizbeth Gaskell. It portrays life in a small village in England in the mid-1800s. The sight of all the ladies enjoying tea and scurrying about their business makes me want to don a lace cap and do my reading and writing by candlelight. 

This would be the day to do it as it is Candlemas, the midpoint between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It is a festival of light and although I long ago gave away all my wax candles, I do have a fireplace and a couple of faux candles powered by battery.

Those will just have to do.

It is a day of new beginnings - in some traditions it is considered the beginning of spring and is a day when grain-based foods - pancakes and crepes - are to be enjoyed. I am sure that brownies and scones count as well.

It is cloudy and rainy here today and I plan on sitting in front of the fire, doing some reading, and reflecting on the coming year. I will sip my afternoon tea from a fine china cup and use a lace handkerchief in honor of the Ladies of Cranford.

The Finish Line

Charlotte Brontë

The race is finished; I have crossed the line and stand in the winner's circle.

All that chatter just means I have completed Derby Day and Other Adventures by A. Edward Newton. He ends his book with two tales of the Brontës. One chapter about his first visit to the parsonage where the father, son, and three daughters lived in Yorkshire. A dreary, desolate place by all accounts.

The final chapter has to do mostly with information about Charlotte and her life. I was surprised to read that Mrs. Gaskell, of Cranford fame, had written a biography of Charlotte. Later, it was discovered that she had left out or simply ignored certain information that didn't fit her idea of who Charlotte was. Since then who knows how many books about the Brontës have been written.

According to Mr. Newton, it was a friend on his who called on Mr. Nichols, Charlotte's widower, after he had returned to Ireland and remarried. With the offer of some coin, this friend walked away with a chest full of letters, stories, and other Brontë personal papers.

Also, there was a story about an unrequited love of Charlotte's, a married tutor, whom she met in Brussels. Some letters of hers, expressing undying devotion, came to light.

Of course, by then, all the Brontës were dead.

I don't consider myself a fan of the family. I have never read Jane Eyre. I may have read Wuthering Heights in high school, but am more familiar with that story through film. And I must admit, even after reading about them, the Brontës are not on my To Be Read list.