CHAPTER V
Letter, Lucy Westenra to Mina Murray.
"17, Chatham Street,
"Wednesday.
"My dearest Mina,—
"I must say you tax me very unfairly with being a bad correspondent. I wrote to you twice since we parted, and your last letter was only your second. Besides, I have nothing to tell you. There is really nothing to interest you. Town is very pleasant just now, and we go a good deal to picture-galleries and for walks and rides in the park. As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the last Pop. Some one has evidently been telling tales. That was Mr. Holmwood. He often comes to see us, and he and mamma get on very well together; they have so many things to talk about in common. We met some time ago a man that would just do for you, if you were not already engaged to Jonathan. He is an excellent parti, being handsome, well off, and of good birth. He is a doctor and really clever. Just fancy! He is only nine-and-twenty, and he has an immense lunatic asylum all under his own care. Mr. Holmwood introduced him to me, and he called here to see us, and often comes now. I think he is one of the most resolute men I ever saw, and yet the most calm. He seems absolutely imperturbable. I can fancy what a wonderful power he must have over his patients. He has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one’s thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if you have never tried it. He says that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think I do. I do not, as you know, take sufficient interest in dress to be able to describe the new fashions. Dress is a bore. That is slang again, but never mind; Arthur says that every day. There, it is all out. Mina, we have told all our secrets to each other since we were children; we have slept together and eaten together, and laughed and cried together; and now, though I have spoken, I would like to speak more. Oh, Mina, couldn’t you guess? I love him. I am blushing as I write, for although I think he loves me, he has not told me so in words. But oh, Mina, I love him; I love him; I love him! There, that does me good. I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as we used to sit; and I would try to tell you what I feel. I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the letter, and I don’t want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all. Let me hear from you at once, and tell me all that you think about it. Mina, I must stop. Good-night. Bless me in your prayers; and, Mina, pray for my happiness.
"LUCY.
"P.S.—I need not tell you this is a secret. Good-night again.
“L.”
Not much to say here. “Pop” is a type of popular concert, and “parti” is a marriage prospect, from French apparently. If anyone from France could let me know how that derives, I’d be interested to know.
Je parle un peu francais, mais je ne connais pas du tout ce mot avec cette connotation. Est-ce que c’est lié à “partir” ?
Je pense que c’est plutôt lié au mot “partie” (en: part). Dans un sens proche, on a “être parti à quelque chose” ou “être partie prenante”, be part of something, being involved in something.
“A parti” like in the book is the same as in french “un parti”. Your definition is correct. “Un bon parti” is someone desirable as a partner because they have perceivable qualities they would share with there partner, like money, social status, ease in society. It is not about having the qualities to be a good partner but rather about having visible quality that would reflect on your partner or spouse. Being kind or tender won’t make you a “bon parti”, it will help you be a good partner but having a good reputation because of your kindness makes you “un bon parti” because your good reputation will reflect on the reputation of your partner, even though it won’t defined fully they reputation, just like your money doesn’t have to because your patner’s from they to enjoy it.
“…we have slept together…”
" I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing…"
I’m guessing these don’t mean what they mean nowadays, right?
Slept together would just take its literal meaning. They were asleep in the same room or bed.
I did a bit of a search to try and find an alternative meaning of “undressing”. I thought perhaps it might have some meaning similar to “debriefing”—discussing the events each had experienced or something like that. But there wasn’t much to go on. This Stack Exchange thread points to times “undress” could be used something like that, but it’s near-exclusively as a double-entendre. And Wiktionary doesn’t provide any definition other than the literal one.
My best interpretation of that sentence is that it’s because they have complicated layered Victorian clothes on that require assistance to get into or out of. It’s an intimate act, which is why Lucy brings it up, but not a romantic or sexual one.
That’s my reading, anyway. But given how strong Dracula’s themes of transgressive sexuality are in other places, it would be hard to deny it’s possible to interpret this passage as having some Carmilla-esque sapphic undertones.
I guess if they were kids together maybe they were napping in the yard or something… Or maybe they were both staying at the same vacation lodge as the same time (with their parents nearby, natch.)
My best interpretation of that sentence is that it’s because they have complicated layered Victorian clothes on that require assistance to get into or out of.
Yeah now that I think about it, it’s probably like that scene from Gone with the Wind where all the young ladies are taking off their corsets together so they can take a nap (or in this case, sit by the fire.)
nine-and-twenty
I need not tell youSo many inversions compared to modern english. How interresting!
{I found an explanation for this.
The original germanic form still survives in dialects, especially in references to age and time [Cahill und Gazdar 1997], which fits the examples in Sherlock Holmes
Thank you! That was interesting.
