It began in a woman's club in London on a February afternoon--an uncomfortable club, and a miserable afternoon--when Mrs. Wilkins, who had come down from Hampstead to shop and had lunched at her club, took up The Times from the table in the smoking-room, and running her listless eye down the Agony Column saw this....
What follows is an advertisement for a small medieval castle in Italy to let on the shores of the Mediterranean. The ad romantically calls out to those Who Appreciate Wisteria and Sunshine. Initially thinking such a holiday is only for the rich, Mrs. Wilkins revisits the part of the ad referring to those who appreciate wisteria and sunshine. Such a statement surely includes her as much as any wealthy citizen. Two years of marriage to a solicitor, focusing on his needs and those of his extended family, have made Lotty realize she needs to claim moments of joy for her very own. Raising her eyes from the ad to look at another woman attending her Shaftesbury Club, she wonders if Mrs. Arbuthnot could possibly feel the same way?
She looked so kind. She looked so unhappy. Why couldn't two unhappy people refresh each other on their way through this dusty business of life by a little talk--real, natural talk, about what they felt, what they would have liked, what they still tried to hope?
By page six I knew this was just the sort of book to carry me through these last bits of cold, wet weather. I also wondered how many women read this story when it was published in 1922 and broached the topic of booking a fabulous holiday with a friend? I digress....
Caught off-guard Mrs. Arbuthnot is rattled by the idea of planning such an indulgent trip. She's been firmly rooted in the idea of God, Home, Husband, Duty. Surely one's home is the very idea of Heaven? But all is not as it seems in either woman's marriage. Throwing caution to the wind, it's decided that Lotty and Rose will reply to the ad. By the way, the rental for this particular castle was a sigh-inducing £60 per month.
Realizing the costs could easily be split between four as there are plenty of spare rooms, the new friends place an ad of their own. Enter the young and beautiful Lady Caroline Dester and Mrs. Fisher who is decidedly reserved and slightly mature, shall we say. Arriving at their holiday destination.....
....it had from each of its three sides the most amazing views--to the east the bay and mountains, to the north the village across the tranquil clear green water of the little harbour and the hill dotted with white houses and orange groves, and to the west was the thin thread of land by which San Salvatore was tied to Genoa reaching away into the blue dimness of France.
Each woman has varying expectations pertaining to their retreat from the routine of life at home. Solitude is a common theme which can prove difficult while trying to be courteous. We can all identify with lining up a picture perfect afternoon picnic, evaporated by a boisterous crowd planted nearby. But as time passes connections are made between the guests, personal armour melts away and the dynamics shift in the loveliest of ways.
Interestingly, it occurred to me that this story could also be imagined as the perfect setting for a holiday during this pandemic. The elements are all there...spacious grounds and an abundance of fresh air. With each woman finding her own section of the castle's garden for quiet reflection the atmosphere couldn't be more perfect for physical distancing. And I'm slightly worried that thinking this way has crept into my reading.....
The Enchanted April is a beautiful story that begs to be read during bleak winter months and I will certainly be returning to it again. Elizabeth von Arnim beautifully points out the benefits of taking time for ourselves for rest, clarity and fostering independence. But most of all, she gave this winter-weary reader the gift of a garden when ours is still a few weeks away.
Such a jumble of spring and summer was not to be believed in, except by those who dwelt in those gardens. Everything seemed to be out together--all the things crowded into one month which in England are spread penuriously over six. Even primroses were found one day by Mrs. Wilkins in a cold corner up in the hills' and when she brought them down to the geraniums and heliotrope of San Savatore they looked quite shy.