He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

We are nearing the time of year when hearts start fluttering: Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. As we’ve discussed, celebrating that day was highly popular in the nineteenth century, with plenty of cards and letters exchanged. But almost as popular was trying to determine who exactly your “true love” might be. After all, if you had a number of beaux flocking to your door, how were you to know which one to encourage?

Nineteenth century young ladies devised any number of schemes that were sure to tell them what they needed to know. Now, don’t try any of these at home. With the exception of the first, I highly doubt any of these will do more than keep you up at night!

• Saying a prayer before going to sleep. The first man you saw the next morning was your true love. Note that anyone who lived in your house was exempt, which is a good thing or we would likely have had far too many cases of young ladies eloping with the footman!



• Pinning bay leaves to your pillow. You pinned one leaf to each corner of your pillow and one in the center, and, when you slept, you would dream about your true love. Another version of this tradition has it that if you had a true love already and you dreamed of him, you were sure to marry him before the year was out. I don’t know about you, but laying my head on a pillow that smelled a bit like spaghetti sauce would probably have set me dreaming of Italian food rather than my one true love (although for some those might be the same thing!).


• Eating a rather nauseating egg. You hard-boiled an egg, broke it in half with the shell in place, removed the yolk, and filled the space with salt. Then you ate the egg, shell and all, and refrained from speaking afterward before you fell asleep. You would then dream of your true love. Or perhaps a nice cup of chamomile tea.


• Consulting floating paper. You took tiny scraps of paper and wrote the names of the gentlemen with whom you were acquainted. You then wrapped each piece of paper individually in clay and dropped them in water. Whichever one floated to the top first was the name of your true love. Another variation required the young lady to simply drop the paper pieces into the water and read the one that turned upward first. This variation sounds a little havey cavey to me: wouldn’t the ink just bleed once the paper hit the water?

Me? I think I’d have to rely on prayer and the whispers of my heart. Gosh, I guess that’s why I married my husband! That and the fact that he listens, he encourages, and he stands up for me. And he’s cute too (but don’t tell him I said that—he hates being called cute!).

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Jane Austen: International Woman of Mystery?

Writer, wit, woman ahead of her time. Jane Austen has been called all of those. But what about her private side?

Though her books deal with romance and marriage proposals, Jane never married. That doesn’t mean that she was never in love. Those of you who saw Becoming Jane know that supposedly she had a tendre for young man named Tom Lefroy. A few years older than Jane, Lefroy was the nephew of the family at a rectory near Jane’s home in Steventon. Jane said of him, “He is a very gentlemanlike, good-looking, pleasant young man.” They had a lovely flirtation over the course of the winter in 1796 when Jane was 20. In a letter to her sister Cassandra, who was at the time up in Berkshire visiting her fiancé’s family, Jane wrote, “Imagine to yourself everything most profligate and shocking in the way of dancing and sitting down together.” Go, Jane!

But Lefroy wandered out of Jane’s life, and nothing more happened (despite Hollywood’s pretensions). In the next 5 years, Jane received and refused at least one other proposal of marriage. Then, when she was around 25, she and Cassandra spent some time along the seashore. There they met a splendid gentleman, passionate, determined. He and Jane fell madly in love.

And then he disappeared.

Jane and Cassandra heard shortly afterward that he had died. Jane was so upset she stopped writing for several years. She was to receive at least two more proposals of marriage, one of which would have allowed her to live a life of leisure in her beloved hometown. She refused.

So, who was this gentleman? We may never know. The story goes that Cassandra was so worried about Jane’s depression that she cut all mention of the fellow from any letters or materials available to spare her sister’s feelings. Jane’s true love remains shrouded in mystery.

Not so the winner of our Jane extravaganza! Come back Tuesday when Marissa will whip out her trusty Red Sox hat and pull forth the name of the winner. You have until this Sunday at midnight to a post comment to be in the running.