I wonder...

This morning I found myself wondering what sort of experience a young lady during Jane Austen’s time would have had reading Pride and Prejudice. She would have understood perfectly the exact meaning of Austen’s universally acknowledged truth, and I can’t help but think that the prominence of such thinking at the time regarding single men of good fortune would have made the irony nigh impossible to detect. She would have known exactly what a barouche and a high-flyer looked like, and she would have known exactly the sort of people who would own them.

She would have recognized the characters. Perhaps she knew a Mrs. Bennet (or had one of her own). She might have known a Charlotte and a Bingley and a Collins. Maybe she had a Jane Bennet, or maybe she wished that she did.

She would have hated Mr. Darcy along with Elizabeth (due to a peculiar lack of Flair and other media sources to tell her otherwise). She would have fallen in love with Mr. Wickham and applauded Elizabeth’s staunch refusal of Collins. She would have sympathized with Charlotte, while secretly knowing that she might have done the same thing in Charlotte’s situation.

She would have been blown away by Darcy’s proposal, because she would have recognized immediately exactly how different he and Elizabeth were in pedigree and what an enormous barrier that was to cross.

She would have hated Mr. Wickham for his deceit and sympathized with Elizabeth’s evolving affections toward Darcy. Kitty’s scandal would have shocked her to the bone, and perhaps she would have even slammed the book shut in horror. The sheer enormity of Darcy’s generosity would have sealed her affections permanently.

She would have marveled at Lizzy’s audacity in the face of the odious Lady Catherine, and for a moment she would have lost hope that Darcy and Elizabeth could ever be together. She would have found hope in the book’s conclusion: a deep yet uncertain hope that we in present day might not fully understand.

Like all of us, she would have admired Lizzy’s passion, Jane’s kindness, and Darcy’s generosity. She would have laughed at Mrs. Bennet’s insufferable sensibilities and grown exasperated at Mr. Bennet’s utter obliviousness. And like many of us, she would have promised herself that should a real-life Mr. Darcy every cross her path, she would not let pride or prejudice blind her from the possibilities.

I wonder if she hugged the book to her chest and just spent a few minutes letting it all sink in, or if she threw it aside immediately and reached for Miss Austen’s next novel. I wonder if she even considered the notion that, years later, the love story in her hands would be a time-honored classic—scrutinized and philosophized and criticized by every English major around the globe.

(Though, personally, I think she just squealed like a fan girl and daydreamed about Mr. Darcy. I mean, come on, ladies--haven’t we all?)