The George Wickham Papers: Back to Pemberley

[The undated papers that appear to open the official GW memoirs read in a considerably confused manner. Indeed, there is some considerable doubt over whether the following was intended  for public consumption or for the attention of GW’s 19th century editor; a book proposal, if you like. Stained with claret and written in a somewhat free hand, we might assume that GW had embarked on his recollections during a night of indulgence! As always, the project page can be found on Facebook. Previous chapters can be found here.]

I had always known that I would see Pemberley1 again, yet whether as gentleman or pauper, I could hardly dare to guess. There I had been happy, had danced until dawn and run free through the blossoms and meadows; there I had scraped my knees and dipped for tadpoles, ridden my mount to dropping and roamed as though the whole world was my empire. There, at Pemberley, I grew from a babe to a boy and learned what it means to leave childhood behind.

lyme_park_from_jones_views_1819_-_north_front

Within those hallowed halls I had known such sadness and such raptures that a lifetime of tales could scarcely contain them all. There, at Pemberley, even a man such as I might fall in love.

Or at least, he might believe he had.

And yet, once again, I find myself dashing off ahead, leaving those who follow lost and bewildered, and in the first pages of my manuscript. It is a sorry start! Perhaps though, I am falling behind or- confound it, is the way for all authors?2

Pemberley… that place the sainted biographers of our land have made second only to paradise itself, that rural idyll, that house of propriety, pomp and priggishness.

Not the kind of place one would expect to find a chap like me.

Let me tell you a little of how this old soldier writes, so that you might be properly forewarned because forewarned is, as they rightly say, forearmed.

It is, frankly, chaos.

My plan, such as one ever had a plan, was a simple enough scheme at first when, fuelled by brandy, I decided to set down the facts of it all. The facts in the case against me, as it were.

The African tiger, Miss Darcy, Waterloo, Meryton, Italy, that duchess, the misses Bennet, Brighton, prinny’s breeches, the tale of the ribbons3all of it. Set it down in some sort of order and write a book, which can hardly be a difficult endeavour, after all. I have known many gentlemen of letters, scholars and scribes, and not one of them ever gave me the impression that the life of an author could be regarded as anything other than an utter pleasure.

Well, allow me to assure you that it can, especially when one has one’s other engagements to keep up, and I have always had lots of engagements.

My life has been eventful, full, one might say, and now, as the seasons pass, it is time to look back over the many, many decades. I am a feckless youth no longer but for the sake of my vanity, let us not concentrate on the matter of years and numbers. Suffice to say that I have celebrated many birthdays, raised my glass at innumerable new years and danced at a fair few summer balls.4

It never fails to raise a wry smile when I realise that, as my notoriety increased, so too did the number of young ladies who lined up to be my dance partner. My hair is a little more threaded with silver now, my chest a little more adorned with medals and my coffers a little more healthy, but I remain the same George Wickham. Not plain mister anymore, of course, but laurels and honours have yet to find me so early in our tale.

And it occurs to me that I am not yet even born in these pages. I am assuming that you know me, that you have read some of the more fanciful tales of my adventures already. Of course, there is every chance that you have never even heard my name before in your life.

So back to the beginning we go, but never fear, there is to be no family tree, no dramatis personae.

This is not fiction, after all.

And you must meet my parents. (That sounds like a terrible precursor to an unwanted proposal, doesn’t it?)

You must meet my parents.

But first, we must travel to Italy, and a babe with no name.

Notes

The illustration that accompanies this post shows the north front of Pemberley. It was first published in Jones’ Views of the Seats of Noblemen and Gentlemen (1819).

1: The estate of the aforementioned Darcy family.

2: GW’s note here is presumably intended for his editor. Splashed liberally with what appears to be claret, it appears that GW was not finding the life of a writer a particularly easy one at first.

3: These stories will be covered throughout the papers. Intriguingly, GW’s memory appears to have failed him, as he has certainly neglected to list some of his more famed and shocking exploits here. Intriguingly, he has concentrated on certain elements of the year in which he met his wife, clearly one that had made quite an impact on him.

4: Sadly, since this paper is undated, we can only guess at GW’s age when he prepared it. His words suggest he was in at least middle age, however.

24 comments

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    • Mary on November 19, 2016 at 4:53 am
    • Reply

    Delightful!! A pleasure to read! Thank you!

      • George Wickham on November 19, 2016 at 5:04 am
      • Reply

      Madam, it is a pleasure; I confess, I may have enjoyed a little too much brandy before I set nib to paper on this particular page.

  1. Oh my! What a cliffhanger, Catherine! And all the teasers… The tiger? ‘That’ duchess? Prinny’s breeches? And not plain Mr Wickham any more? How you tantalise us! I can’t wait to read this 🙂

    1. As GW is at pains to tell us, his was certainly an eventful life!

    • Debbie B. on November 19, 2016 at 7:43 am
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    Very intriguing, indeed! When is the anticipated publication date for the book?

    1. Rather than publish the findings in a book initially, the Wickham estate has elected to serialise the papers here at Austen Variations each week!

    • Carole in Canada on November 19, 2016 at 9:35 am
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    “Mister” Wickham, you are starting off rather melodramatic in your first paragraph! I must say I felt sorry for your poor horse…’ridden my mount to dropping’…already a lack of respect! I can hardly imagine you facing an African Tiger unless it was at Prinny’s zoo! Or did you have to go in and retrieve his breeches?!

      • George Wickham on November 19, 2016 at 10:09 am
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      Might a fellow not be excused for a little overzealous riding in his youth? I assure you madam, there is much more overzealous riding to come.

    • Rose Drew on November 19, 2016 at 10:09 am
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    George — George — George!

    African tigers are called LIONS!
    Were you so inebriated in India you thought you were in Africa?

    Is this an Actual Story? or a Factual Story?

      • George Wickham on November 19, 2016 at 10:52 am
      • Reply

      The tale of the African tiger will be revealed in time, madam, I promise! A story would suggest some measure of fiction, but this it to be a chronicle of my true adventures: the memoirs of Mr George Wickham!

        • Rose Drew on November 19, 2016 at 11:07 am
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        My confidence in you is restored, sir!

          • George Wickham on November 19, 2016 at 11:13 am
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          I thank you; even I would not have drunk *so* much as all that!

    • Anji on November 19, 2016 at 1:16 pm
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    Hmm, “African” tigers eh, George. Are they anything like “pink elephants”, the sort of creatures that you might see if too much of the aforementioned claret had been consumed? “I am all anticipation” regarding the next instalment of your memoirs.

    I have to admit that your style of writing is very engaging, though how much of that is due to the editorial skills of Ms. Curzon can only be guesswed at.

      • George Wickham on November 19, 2016 at 1:29 pm
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      If one looks hard enough, one might find the oddest things in the far flung corners of our world!

    • Maia on November 19, 2016 at 1:34 pm
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    It is always with a certain amount of trepidation I approach reading Mr. Wickham’s reminiscences and recollections. Proceed with caution is a wise maxim when dealing with this…err…gentleman. One never knows what unsavoury past exploits may be revealed. The escapades of Mr. George Wickham are legendary and not always suitable for the sight or hearing of virtuous ladies of quality. It would appear, on reading this latest installment of Mr. Wickham’s papers, that there is, indeed, cause for concern. Prinny’s breeches. I ask you. The mind boggles. What tale could Mr. Wickham possibly have to tell of them? Other than the fact they were of voluminous proportions, no doubt, I cannot imagine what else there is to tell. My mind runs amok, though I do try to contain it, there is no controlling it, alas. Maybe they, too, were stained with Mr. Wickham’s aforementioned claret, but let’s refrain from that thought.

    1. I cannot possibly comment and compromise the papers yet to be published but I can assure you that the tale of the breeches will be told in time!

    • Linda on November 19, 2016 at 1:41 pm
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    This is precious! YOU writing an accounting of your life!? I would not have thought you would want to bare all your sins to the world. Yes, the George Wickham we knew was a rake, a cheat and a seducer in his youth. What can you tell us we don’t already know or can guess at? Me think you haven’t changed that much…..you Silver Fox, you. Pray, write on. We are intrigued.

      • George Wickham on November 19, 2016 at 1:52 pm
      • Reply

      My life was a long one and no man is all saint or sinner. If nothing else, madam, I hope it will at least entertain!

    • Odette on November 20, 2016 at 2:08 pm
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    I can’t wait to read more of your disturbing life Mr Wickham

      • George Wickham on November 20, 2016 at 2:24 pm
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      Disturbing? Me? Never!

    • Deborah on November 26, 2016 at 1:13 am
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    This is too funny. GW with medals?

      • George Wickham on November 26, 2016 at 6:44 am
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      Madam, I am practically weighted down with them nowadays!

    • Sheila L. Majczan on December 11, 2016 at 6:49 pm
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    I am reading and withholding comment as I am learned you, sir, are a stranger to the truth.

      • George Wickham on January 22, 2017 at 5:38 pm
      • Reply

      Me, madam?! Heaven forbid!

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