To Make Sport for our Neighbours

by Ronald McGowan

  Nothing came of it, of course. No young men came calling, no letters of proposal arrived in the post, no approaches were made by parents eager to match even their younger sons. It was all just as I had predicted, and I reminded Mrs. Bennet of this when, two years later, she came to me on the same errand on behalf of her second daughter.

  “Stuff and nonsense, Mr. Bennet!”

  she cried on hearing my objections,

  “Poor Jane has been unlucky, that is all, and I am sure that she would be the first to agree that Lizzy must have her ball, just as she had. It is only fair. And think of the advantages! It will give Lizzy her chance, to be sure, but it will also provide a second chance for Jane, for those who have wavered ever since her own ball finally to be convinced and make their offers. And at the least, with another sister out, the two of them will be able to go about more and meet suitable young men more often. It is very awkward for Jane, you know, to be the only one included in invitations and so forth.”

  I made my resistance in form, pour l’honneur du pavillon, but I knew all along that it was futile. If I did not arrange matters myself, I would be confronted in the end with some scheme far less suitable.

  So the doors were removed from the dining room again, and the same scenes were enacted, with exactly the same results, and a large part of the funds that I had so laboriously put by for my family’s future maintenance was squandered for immediate gratification.

  Mary’s efforts at restraining her younger sisters were not so effective on this occasion as Lizzy’s had previously been, and the evening was enlivened by Lydia and Kitty’s joining in the gavotte in their nightgowns for a whole measure before they could be extracted and consigned to bed in disgrace.

  Mary, however, God bless her, begged to be excused the delights of her own ball when her turn came, which discomposed her mother greatly.

  “But who will marry you, child, if you do not have your coming-out ball?” she cried.

  “Who will marry me if I do?” replied Mary, with admirable serenity. “Who married Jane after hers, or Lizzy after hers? I am far from considering it unfitting for young ladies to engage in such pastimes as dancing, and social intercourse is a necessary part of civilization, but I cannot say that I set great store by it. It is far more fitting that I should study to improve my accomplishments in order to be able to support myself when the sad necessity arises.”

  Her mother continued to assert that Mary must have her ball, that she should have her ball, and should enjoy herself on the occasion, whether she liked it or not.

  This discussion sparked an idea in my mind.

  “You must see, my dear,” I interposed, “that Mary does not want this ball. I dare say her elder sisters are by now indifferent to such things, and I am quite positive that I do not want this ball, especially with the prospect of two more still to pay for. What can be the use of them? Of what use have the last two been?”

  “It is not fair, Mr. Bennet. Would you deny your younger daughters the advantages lavished on their elders? We all know Jane and Lizzy have always been your favourites, but that you should treat your younger daughters so is quite beyond belief.”

  I could see that tears were about to follow, so I made haste to present my idea.

  “One more of these balls, my dear, though vexatious, would be within our means, but I tell you frankly, three more will leave your daughters paupers when I am gone. But I do not mean to deny any of my daughters anything within my power. We shall have this ball, but let it be for Mary, Kitty and Lydia all together. Let all three come out together, then at least we shall have no more of this nonsense.”

  “Surely, Mr. Bennet, you cannot call such a common form of conduct mere nonsense?” was the immediate reply, but I could tell that there was no heart in it, and that my idea had taken root and this was confirmed by Mrs. Bennet’s next words.

  “But, just think, a triple coming out! How grand that would be! Lydia is full young for it, as yet, but she is quite well grown enough, and I am sure the girls will be happy not to have to wait their turns. Mr. Bennet, what a marvel you are! You never fail to provide the answer to our prayers!”

  I forbore to ask why, in that case, were Jane and Lizzy not comfortably installed in establishments of their own. In any case, I fear the answer might reveal the insincerity of any such prayers, on my part, at least.

  To describe one ball is to describe them all, especially when there are no little noses left to peep over the bannisters, and I will spare the reader further details.

  In any case, that selfsame reader, if capable of the simplest arithmetic, will already have observed that I now had five daughters out, and not one of them married.

  Chapter Eleven : A Poetic Swain

  Things might have turned out differently, nonetheless.

  Mr. Potts was a young business connection of the Gardiners, from the North. We first met him when staying at Gracechurch Street over Christmas, when the exigencies of the season throw so many people together.

  It turned out that he was a nephew of Mrs. Long, and when we returned to Meryton he followed us on a visit to his aunt.

  To say that he was an unprepossessing young man would be something of an understatement. His stature was not of the tallest, his frame thin and almost weedy, his complexion pasty and marred by spots, and his voice squeaky and ill-modulated. His manner was so diffident that, on first impression, one might almost say that he made no first impression at all.

  He was, however, possessed of a considerable estate, albeit in the wilds of County Durham, and his income, by all accounts, was quite as large as mine. His name betrayed no great ancestry, but his mother, so Mrs. Bennet was informed by her friend, was distantly connected with both the Nevilles and the Vane-Tempests.

  He took to calling at Longbourn every day, though why he should do so I could not at first imagine. Mrs. Bennet had nothing to say to him, and, while Jane treated him with the same sweetness of temper that she always displays, and Lizzy was perfectly polite, Lydia and Kitty seized every opportunity to mock and embarrass him.

  As far as I could see, he did very little more than sit and endure the girls’ raillery, staring the while at one or another, and sighing from time to time. His conversation consisted of little more than answering when spoken to, and I soon found reason to be absent when he called.

  I did not do the poor young man justice in this judgement, however, and he must have been more forthcoming in my absence.

  It was Mary who discovered the hidden streak of erudition in him.

  “I wonder you do not talk to him about your researches, papa,” she said to me one morning, “ for he is a man of learning such as we seldom see in these parts. You should hear him talk about the Anglo-Saxon manuscripts they have at Durham cathedral.”

  After this, I made a point of joining the girls and Mr. Potts during one of his morning calls, and from remarks dropped, convinced myself that there might well be something in Mary’s opinion.

  Acting on this, I invited him into the library, and showed him what little progress I had made with my project.

  He displayed an uncommon understanding of the subject, and saw immediately what I was after.

  “I believe I remember seeing an early manuscript of the Venerable Bede where he covers just such a point,” he commented, “it is a small excerpt from a larger work now lost and is not mentioned in the Historia Ecclesiastica. If you wish, I will write to my cousin, the cathedral librarian, and ask if you could borrow the text.”

  Of course, I closed with this offer immediately, and from that day forward Mr. Potts never failed to call upon me when he came to Longbourn, although his native reticence seemed to have returned after his initial enthusiasm, and I could never prevail upon him to spend more than a few minutes in the library before passing on to the drawing room, and the ladies. I could not think why he should be so eager to continue his humiliation at their hands, but assumed it was just his way, as they say.

  In spite of our close co-ope
ration, we never became what I should call friends. There was always such an extreme diffidence in his manner, amounting almost to reserve, that intimacy was impossible.

  That is my excuse for the fact that the attention he was apparently paying to one of my daughters in particular completely escaped me.

  Matters came to a head, however, one morning when I entered the drawing room and found the girls giggling together in one corner. Girls are always giggling over something, and I would have paid no heed, only that Lydia cried out at once.

  “Oh, Papa! Do come and see! Lizzy has a letter. From an admirer! She is so embarrassed. Just look at her blush.”

  I glanced over to where my second daughter’s face certainly betrayed a certain pinkness, and it was then that I first noticed the paper in her hand.

  “It is from Mr. Potts,” cried Lydia, “ I know his hand, and that is his.”

  This was news to me.

  “And how might you know Mr. Potts’ hand, miss?” I enquired.

  “Oh, it was on that letter he wrote to you about that boring book in the cathedral library at Durham,” she replied, carelessly.

  “Have you been reading my correspondence, miss? I shall have words with your mother about this, and no doubt she will have something to say to you.”

  That letter had been in my desk drawer. I must take more care to lock it in future.

  “But on the subject of correspondence, I did not know that you corresponded with Mr. Potts, Lizzy.”

  “Nor did I, father,” she replied. “This is the first communication I have had with the gentleman other than in common converse, if it is Mr. Potts, that is, for, as you see it is still sealed. I would not open it without consulting you first, although Lydia and Kitty begged me to do so.”

  So saying, she pressed the paper into my hand.

  “Do with it as you see fit, father. I cannot conceive that it can be of any great consequence to me.”

  “No, my dear. It is your letter. You must open it. Do so now, if you wish, or take it up to your room first.”

  Lizzy broke the seal and unfolded the sheet. She glanced at it, sniffed, and handed it to me.

  “It is a piece of nonsense,” she said, “or else a great impertinence. But see for yourself, father.”

  I, too, looked down at the missive, and found my eyes assailed, in a hand that was indeed that of Mr. Potts, with the following –

  “TO THE FAIR ELIZA

  Eliza steals my heart away,

  With eyes so bright and air so gay.

  My sorrows seem so much the less

  Whene’er I think on pretty Bess,

  And all my troubles feel so petty

  With just one smile from lovely

  Betty.

  My heart from morn to night is

  busy

  With thoughts and dreams of

  darling Lizzy.

  One word would make my joy

  complete,

  One word from you, my Elspeth sweet.

  Pray, let us both unite till death

  Us part, my dear Elizabeth.”

  “I see what you mean,” I said, handing it back, “ Arrant nonsense, indeed. But what answer is this poetic swain to expect?”

  Before Lizzy could reply, the letter was snatched from her hand by Lydia, and assiduously read through by her and her sisters, with the exception of Jane, of course, who, very properly, merely placed her arm about her sister’s shoulders.

  “It is a fair verse,” pronounced Mary, “the scansion is correct, and the rhyme ingenious. I cannot fault it in point of style, although some might think it rather forward.”

  “But, don’t you see?” cried Lydia, “It is a proposal! Lizzy has had a proposal of marriage. Oh, what fun we shall have, even if it is only boring Mr. Potts!”

  The entry into the chamber at this point of Mrs. Bennet rendered any rational continuation of the discussion impossible, and I left the room, saying as I did so,

  “Lizzy, I will leave you to talk over this event with your mother and sisters. When you have done so, I would be obliged if you would give me a moment of your time in the library.”

  I had not long to wait, which was just as well, for I confess I found myself troubled by this unexpected complication.

  Lizzy soon settled my mind, however. I had always felt that she would, but “varium et mutabile genus”, you know.

  “I pray you will not regard this nonsense, father,” she said, “I do not intend to notice it, although mother, I know, would be ordering the trousseau without further delay.”

  “But this young man seems to be deeply in love with you, if we are to believe his, er, rhyme.” I hesitated over the word. I could not bring myself to dignify Mr. Potts’ effort with the title of poem, or even verse, and doggerel seemed too unkind in the circumstances. “And it certainly seems that he has made you an offer, which must be noticed somehow.”

  “Not if we choose not to notice it. Mr. Potts will soon be gone home, and I believe that if we say no more about this… indiscretion, then neither will he. His fever will be cured now. He has written his verses and cleared his conscience. Now he can go home easy in his mind. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love?”

  “You think that to be its effect, do you?” I have always heard it spoken of as the food of love.”

  “Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But I do not believe that Mr. Potts’ feelings for me can be anything more than a shadow of the real emotion. He has certainly shown no sign of anything more in my presence. And if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away. Mr. Potts has not managed a sonnet, I know. He is two lines short and the meter is wrong, as I am sure Mary would point out. But that is just the point. He is rather more than two lines short of my idea of the sort of man I could marry, and the meter, the rhythm between us, is all wrong. I would be delighted to oblige my mother and my sisters by providing a wedding for them to fuss over, but I fear he will not do.”

  “I confess I am glad to hear it, my dear, but I would be failing in my duty if I did not point out Mr. Potts’ eligibility in terms of his social standing and his ability to support a wife. You have already mentioned the other consideration that will influence your dear mother.”

  “I am sensible of all these things sir, but I could never marry a man I could not respect, and I fear I agree with Lydia and Kitty in this point at least. I do not respect Mr. Potts as a sensible man, and I fear I never could.”

  “Very well, my dear, we will do as you suggest, and ignore this effusion. Might I suggest that we may be aided in this endeavor by the date, which perhaps in all this excitement you have overlooked?”

  She took my meaning immediately. My Lizzy has never been slow.

  “Of course!” she cried. “ How stupid of me to forget! I will take great pleasure in reminding mama. Oh, father, will you ever cease to amaze me?”

  “Very soon, I fear,” was my reply. “You are growing up now, my pet, and it will not be long before you find that everything your parents have to say is nonsense. But you may be sure that one thing I will never cease to do is love you. Now, go along, before you bring my grey hairs down in tears.”

  As she left, I could not resist glancing at the calendar to make sure that the date was, in fact, February the fourteenth.

  I know not what it is about Gracechurch Street, but a very similar thing had happened the previous year, with a young man who waxed poetical about Jane.

  His verses were pronounced “very fine” by Mrs. Bennet, and were, when considered as a sonnet, more strictly in accordance with the rules of prosody, but I could not help feeling that, with their -

  “Shall I compare thee to a summer, Jane?

  Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

  Rough winds do make the May-time buds complain

  That summer’s lease hath all too short a date.”

  and so
on, right through to –

  “So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

  So long lives this, and lives my love for thee.”

  they were, perhaps, somewhat lacking in originality.

  I did not venture to express this opinion to Mrs. Bennet, and I fear that Mary, for all her learning, did not make the connection. I am sure that Elizabeth did, but she knows when to hold her peace, quite as much as I do.

  Jane herself was far too embarrassed by the whole proceeding to venture a second look at either the piece or its author, but, in any case, he, like Mr. Potts, was never seen nor heard of again

  Chapter Twelve: New Arrivals.

  "My dear Mr. Bennet," said Mrs. Bennet to me one day, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?"

  This was the sort of remark with which it was not uncommon for my darling wife to open the day. I felt sure that I knew what was coming, and had no wish to encourage it, and so I replied only that I had not.

  "But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it."

  Knowing when to be deaf is an essential ingredient for a long and what is commonly called happy marriage. I therefore made no answer, although I had very little hope that the matter would be allowed to drop.

  Sure enough,

  "Do not you want to know who has taken it?" she cried impatiently.

  "You want to tell me, my dear, and I can have no objection to hearing it."

  This, as I feared it would be, was invitation enough.

  "Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week."