“But, Lizzy, you look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be Missish, I hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?"
"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, "I am excessively diverted. But it is so strange!"
"Yes—that is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man it would have been nothing; but his perfect indifference, and your pointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I would not give up Mr. Collins's correspondence for any consideration. Nay, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving him the preference even over Wickham, much as I value the impudence and hypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Lizzy, what said Lady Catherine about this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?"
To this question my daughter replied only with a laugh, and with that laugh the incident passed off. Had I known what was to follow I might not have been quite so ready with my mirth.
The repeated visits of Mr. Bingley over the next few days were varied slightly by his being accompanied by his friend Mr. Darcy. That stern and disagreeable gentlemen had parted company with Bingley for several days, but was now returned and seemed a fixture at his friend’s side.
Mrs. Bennet took to spying for him from her dressing room window, and seemed equally surprised every time she saw the two of them approach.
“Good gracious!" she would cry "if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be always coming here? I had no notion but he would go a shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him? Lizzy, you must walk out with him again”
As Mary and Kitty always declined to accompany their sister on the long routes prescribed by Mrs. Bennet in order to give the acknowledged lovers more time undisturbed, the burden of keeping Mr. Darcy occupied fell more and more on poor Lizzy’s shoulders.
I had no notion of just how heavy this burden had become until one night, after dinner, when I was approached in my library by the gentleman himself.
When he then asked for the hand of my daughter Elizabeth in marriage I was not so much surprised as quite dumbfounded. When at last I could speak, I found myself at first merely repeating his last words.
“The hand of my daughter Elizabeth in marriage? Forgive me, sir, if I enquire whether you are serious in this proposal.”
“I have never been more serious in my life, sir,” he replied, and launched into an encomium, nay a panegyric on my Lizzy, of all her virtues, which were no news to me, and of all the services she had done for him, to reform his character and improve his understanding of his fellow men etc. etc. which was something of a surprise, I own.
I still found it difficult to believe what I was hearing, and certainly was not going to make any definite reply to his solicitations before speaking to their object. I therefore thanked him in form for his declaration and said that I must consult with my daughter before giving a definite answer. On her decision I would base my own. I begged him to send Elizabeth to me as soon as might be, and he left me with a smile on his face which I was not entirely sure I liked.
Elizabeth soon arrived. She found me walking about the room, looking grave and anxious. I can look grave and anxious, when I wish to.
"Lizzy," said I, "what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have not you always hated him?"
How earnestly did she then express the wish that her former opinions had been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared her from explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give; but they were now necessary, and she assured me with some confusion, of her attachment to Mr. Darcy.
"Or in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane. But will they make you happy?"
"Have you any other objection," said Elizabeth, "than your belief of my indifference?"
"None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him."
"I do, I do like him," she replied, with tears in her eyes, "I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms."
"Lizzy," I said, "I have given him my consent. He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse any thing, which he condescended to ask. I now give it to you, if you are resolved on having him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about."
Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply; and at length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the object of her choice, by explaining the gradual change which her estimation of him had undergone, relating her absolute certainty that his affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months suspense, and enumerating with energy all his good qualities, she managed to conquer my incredulity, and reconcile me to the match.
"Well, my dear," I said, when she ceased speaking, "I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to any one less worthy."
To complete the favourable impression, she then told me what Mr. Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia. I heard her with astonishment.
"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did every thing; made up the match, gave the money, paid the fellow's debts, and got him his commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and would have paid him; but these violent young lovers carry every thing their own way. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he will rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter."
I then recollected her embarrassment a few days before, on my reading Mr. Collins's letter; and after laughing at her some time, allowed her at last to go—saying, as she quitted the room,
"If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at leisure."
Chapter Thirty-four Consultations
If only they had. But the sad truth was that we had to be content with the miraculous marriages of but three daughters out of five for a quite unconscionable time. The Darcy connection notwithstanding, eligible young men prepared to marry young ladies without prospects were no thicker on the ground than they had been before.
All was not quite lost, however. It was not quite the ten years for which I had stipulated for Kitty’s good behavior, nor even the seven lean ones that might have been expected to follow upon such a feast of matchmaking before we found ourselves at last obliged to consider decamping to the seaside for the sake of Kitty’s health.
Her cough, that notoriously inconsiderate complaint, had never quite gone away in all that time. My sons-in-law, that is to say, my civilian sons-in-law, each of whom I value highly in their own, particular way, had both, on occasion, offered to pay for a consultation with a London physician, but some remaining shreds of dignity had compelled me to refuse. However, the necessity at length arose, while visiting the Gardiners, to obtain professional advice for a particularly bad bout.
The whole family were in town at the time, so all must have their say. All did, at the various lengths they favoured, though none were particularly enlightening.
The only thing on which all could was agree that it was no particular surprise that poor Kitty's lungs should be affected by the pestilential air of the capital. Nor was it any surprise that the voice that prevailed was Darcy's, at whose behes
t we took our daughter to his own physician, a gentleman favoured by very highly placed patients indeed.
This luminary charged a great deal of money to concur with us that the pernicious vapours of the great wen were aggravating Kitty's complaint, and advised a change of air.
I was very content to seize upon such a reason for returning home, but made the mistake of mentioning to the doctor that this cough had been continuing for many years now.
"One must hope, then, that it is not constitutional," commented the worthy sawbones, " but, in any case, if country air has not been efficacious these past years, then I cannot recommend its continuance. Sea air must be my prescription, combined with the usual bathing treatments and, preferably, taking of the waters."
Immediately, Kitty was in hopes of her long awaited trip to Brighton at last, but this was more than I would subscribe to.
"Have you forgotten already," I asked, "what happened to your sister Lydia in Brighton? Or that I have forbidden you to go so near to the place as Eastbourne? I shall find you some small seaside watering place, not too far removed, where the beneficial effects of the marine climate may be felt without the pernicious allurements of fashionable society. If you are very lucky, and very good, and if your health improves, I may consent at last to take you to an assembly while we are there."
I set in train the usual enquiries, and as it happened, the very next day brought a letter from my correspondent in Cambridge, Mr. Casaubon, informing me that he had been advised to spend some time at the seaside himself, and hoped to see me in London on his way to the south coast.
And so it chanced that it was a party of five, namely, myself, Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty and Mr. Casaubon who set out at length for the small but perfectly formed Sussex resort of Sanditon.
Chapter Thirty-five The Benefits of Sea Air
Our destination had been recommended to Mr. Casaubon by an old friend of his, named Parker, who owned property nearby and in fact had been one of the prime movers in the enterprise of converting a decent Sussex fishing village into a pale imitation of Brighton or Weymouth.
That Sanditon was no more than this we were quite able to make out for ourselves on our arrival. The lodgings we had taken were accounted the best to be had in the resort. The direction “No. 1 Waterloo Crescent” certainly sounded well enough, and we were assured that no more eligible residence could be found, situated right next to The Terrace, with an open view of the sea and easy access to all attractions.
Number 2, Waterloo Crescent, however, turned out to be still a-building, and in consequence the crescent shape, so favoured of developers and resort-goers throughout the nation, could scarce be made out. As for the famous Terrace, one short row of smart-looking houses, with a broad walk in front, aspiring to be the Mall of the place, it was short indeed, with scarce a dozen buildings in it. In this row, however, were the best milliner's shop and the library a little detached from it, the hotel and billiard room. Here began the descent to the not very large beach and to both the bathing machines.
Indeed, the entire resort seemed hardly worthy of the description given in Mr. Parker’s letter to Mr. Casaubon –
“Such a place as Sanditon, sir, I may say was wanted, was called for. Nature had marked it out, had spoken in most intelligible characters. The finest, purest sea breeze on the coast -- acknowledged to be so -- excellent bathing -- fine hard sand -- deep water ten yards from the shore -- no mud -- no weeds -- no slimy rocks. Never was there a place more palpably designed by nature for the resort of the invalid -- the very spot which thousands seemed in need of! The most desirable distance from London! One complete, measured mile nearer than Eastbourne. Only conceive, sir, the advantage of saving a whole mile in a long journey.”
Casaubon’s friend’s dissertation on the virtues of his project went on much longer, but the above extract will give its flavour. Shortly after our arrival we had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Parker, and his extensive family connections, and they proved unexceptionable, indeed, valuable companions during our stay. Whether we should have felt obliged to continue our acquaintance anywhere but in a watering place I will not conjecture, nor will I venture to express an opinion upon whether Mr. Parker’s recommendations might be perhaps not entirely uncoloured by commercial considerations.
If the ladies were disappointed, they hid it very well, and in fact such a place, with little else going on, suited Mr. Casaubon and myself much more than a larger one would have done. We were able to make more progress with our joint work than we had achieved for many a year. How I had missed the spark that comes from being able to discuss one’s subject instantly, before one’s inspiration has faded, with a like-minded scholar.
The ladies, meanwhile, made merry with the delights, such as they were, of society. Sanditon might be no Brighton, but compared with Meryton its attractions were legion. With daily walks and sea bathing, combined with the sea air and marine diet, Kitty’s cough improved to the extent that her mother ceased constantly to scold her for it. A large part of this improvement, I suspect, was due to the complete absence of medical advice and a still larger part to her being one of the very few unattached young ladies in the town.
Mr. Parker, however, was most profuse in apologising for his failure to secure a doctor for his brainchild. He had, it appeared, pursued physicians, surgeons, even apothecaries wanting positions, all over the home counties with a view to persuading them to set up in Sanditon – “for just think, how encouraging it would be for invalids looking for a watering place, to know that there was a doctor on hand, as it were” – but all without any success – “although, indeed, there was one occasion when I went chasing a wild goose and brought home a golden egg, as I am sure my brother Sidney will tell you, when he arrives.”
All these attempts, if one were to credit Mr. Parker, though laudable, were, in fact redundant, since he held it indeed as certain that no person could be really well, no person (however upheld for the present by fortuitous aids of exercise and spirits in a semblance of health) could be really in a state of secure and permanent health without spending at least six weeks by the sea every year. The sea air and sea bathing together were nearly infallible, one or the other of them being a match for every disorder of the stomach, the lungs or the blood. They were anti-spasmodic, anti-pulmonary, anti-septic, anti- billious and anti-rheumatic. Nobody could catch cold by the sea; nobody wanted appetite by the sea; nobody wanted spirits; nobody wanted strength. Sea air was healing, softening, relaxing -- fortifying and bracing -- seemingly just as was wanted -- sometimes one, sometimes the other. If the sea breeze failed, the sea bath was the certain corrective; and where bathing disagreed, the sea air alone was evidently designed by nature for the cure.
If one were to believe Mr. Parker and his supporters, one would have to assume that the one trade for which his community would have no need would be that of undertakers. I confess, however, that I did not find those gentlemen less in evidence than elsewhere, and since all physical ailments must be ruled out, I can only surmise that it was the boredom of listening to such claims constantly being made, while sequestered in a place so far removed from all the more usual forms of entertainment – for in Sanditon there were no theatres, no regular assembly rooms, no concerts etc. – that provided their customers.
The promised advent of Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Parker was to console us all for this lack of immediate gratification. It was an event greatly desired by the younger element at Sanditon, among whom my girls still counted themselves. This was not merely because of Mr. Sidney being acknowledged the wit and raconteur which every watering place worthy of the name must contain, nor on account of his wife’s renowned charm and beauty, but because, in honour of their return from their honeymoon, an assembly was to be held at the Sanditon Hotel at the end of the month.
This news set the womenfolk assaulting the drapers and milliners again, but I cannot say that either Casaubon or myself heard it with any great satisfaction, although Casaubon gallantly did his duty by engaging
both my daughters for the requisite two dances.
I am not fond of balls and assemblies, but was persuaded to attend this one out of politeness to Mr. Parker, and a certain curiosity to meet his famous brother, in whom I was not disappointed. Mr. Sidney Parker I found to be a humourist, almost a rattle. I fear he will wear a little, on prolonged acquaintance, but for the short duration of our stay he did very well indeed. Young Mrs. Charlotte Parker, however, proved to be a very intelligent, conversable young lady, with a great deal both of sense and of sensibility. She put me rather in mind of my own, dear Lizzy.
Fortunately, the music was entirely professional, and there was thus no opportunity for Mary to delight us all with a display of her renowned skill upon the keyboard. She took her stand upon the dance floor with great eagerness and Mr. Casaubon - much more eagerness than had been her wont - and every time they passed me she seemed to be in animated conversation with her partner, so much so that I began to be anxious lest he be bored by her idle chatter. I admit, nonetheless, that if that were the case, he was manfully succeeding in disguising his ennui.
I do not recollect seeing either Casaubon or Mary on the floor later in the evening – or anywhere else, for that matter - but I dare say my attention was held by Kitty, who never seemed to lack for partners.
The month we remained in Sanditon after this event perhaps seemed rather flat after such excitement. Casaubon certainly proved somewhat distracted, and much less set upon the work to which, by now, he had contributed so much that it was almost his own as much as mine. Where before he had willingly put in whole days upon our studies, now he was constantly excusing himself for the afternoons, saying he needed to take a walk, or to go bathing, or some such. He, too, was officially there for his health, and I began to wonder whether I had been working him too hard, but thought no more of it than that.
To Make Sport for our Neighbours Page 17