Confessions and Correspondence: Mr. Gardiner Writes to Mr. Bennet about Jane

Welcome to our epistolary retelling of Pride & Prejudice! Jane Austen’s original version of the story, First Impression, was told entirely in letters, so it seemed like a great group project. We’ll be posting a new letter every Wednesday. 

Gracechurch Street, 4 March 1812

Bennet,

Though you are generally too indolent to maintain your correspondence and too indifferent to ease your daughters’ burdens, I beg you to reply promptly to this letter so that you may advise how I am to improve your eldest daughter’s spirits. Her sadness breaks my heart.

E.G.

No. He could not possibly send such a letter, however tempting the prospect. He relished the notion of shocking Thomas Bennet, who had never before received so much as a curt word from his amiable brother-in-law.

Also, he hated to waste paper.

But Edward Gardiner was a man rich in both paper and patience. He did not mind spending either resource in service of a worthy goal, and presently he had two such goals: bring comfort to a dear niece, and ease the worries of a most beloved wife.

Try again, dearest, he could just hear his Madeline suggesting, with a teasing lilt to her voice.

Very well, then:

Gracechurch Street, 4 March 1812

My dear Bennet,

How are you, my good man? I do hope you and all your family are in health. As I have yet to receive a response to my letter from Tuesday last, I will assume the roads, and not the recipient, have been ill-suited to providing a timely reply. (That Lizzy’s correspondence has reached us without difficulty I will attribute to her charms, for not even muddy roads can resist her wit.)

I would not write a second letter so soon after my first (unworthy as I am of competing with the likes of Cicero and Horace), except that I have noticed, of late, an alteration in your eldest daughter’s spirits. Do not fear: she remains sweet-tempered and obliging, to my children most especially. All in our household adore her, and only our nursemaid has any cause for complaint, for little John does not listen to her now, unless she is seconded my his dear Cousin Jane.

The alteration lies not in her behavior toward others but toward herself. She does not eat or laugh as she used to do, and though she will leave the house to accompany Madeline or the children, she will not venture out if the chief aim is her entertainment or happiness.

You will say she is being silly, and that I am even sillier for being concerned. Perhaps you are correct, and yet I must write to ask—

What? Just what could he possibly ask? Was there anything he might write that would convince Thomas Bennet to care?

The first letter might have been uncivil, but this second attempt was a great deal worse. The jocular tone, the intricate sentences, the cuts disguised as compliments—they were Bennet’s way of writing (when he bothered to write), not his.

Neither letter sufficed; each was, in its own way, false. Or perhaps just incomplete. What he required was a letter that represented the intricacies of his feelings for Thomas Bennet, for Thomas Bennet was nothing if not an intricate character.

He was witty and well-read; he was ignorant and blind. He listened intently to Edward’s stories of business and travel; he steadfastly ignored Edward’s suggestions about family and finance. He never made Edward feel small for being the son of a tradesman; he often belittled his daughters for being, well, daughters.

And that, he supposed, was his chief complaint: Bennet’s disdain for his own daughters. True, Edward did not particularly like how Bennet treated Fanny, but he understood the origin of those feelings. (He too, had lived with Fanny for many years.)

But his daughters! His own children! How could he care so little for their futures?

Edward supposed he knew the origin of these feelings, as well. Before he had met Madeline—before he’d had daughters of his own—he too had dismissed the plight of young ladies. Even Fanny’s own example had not taught him what he ought to have learned, just by living in the world: marriage was no game, or if it was, it was a game with a dismal set of rules.

There would come a day, not too far in the future, when his own dear ones, Kate and Helen, would travel that stormy passage separating girlhood from womanhood. If they should suffer as Jane suffered—no! He could not sit idly by, laughing at their fate.

How could Thomas fail to see that Jane’s loss of spirits was not some trivial matter? Did he not understand that, for a young lady with little fortune and few connections, marriage to a good man was not merely a fancy or a whim, but a means of survival? Jane must have felt her one small chance at happiness had slipped away; she was in danger of losing not just her heart but her hope.

Then again, such a loss was not an affliction suffered only by young ladies.

Gracechurch Street, 4 March 1812

Dear Thomas,

Do you recall that day, some twenty-three or twenty-four years ago, when you asked for my advice, and then chose not to follow it? I daresay you do, or if you do not, seek out Fanny. She is sure to remind you.

Though I cannot regret your decision to ignore my advice then, I would ask you, Brother, to heed me now. Write to Jane. Tell her a story from one of your ancient histories, or give her a riddle to solve, as you used to do when she was younger. She is heartsick, and I fear for her health. I have seen her grow fatigued and pale from lack of sleep and appetite.

Madeline and I, as well as our children, have tried our best, but our efforts have succeeded only in occupying her time. She requires a diversion of thought, and correspondence provides a most ready diversion, especially for a young lady living away from home. Though Jane receives letters from Longbourn almost daily, all of her correspondents, even our dearest Lizzy, cannot help but remind her of what she has lost.

Surely you can see how a letter or two, containing amusing tales she may not know or puzzles she would enjoy unraveling, might provide some solace?

Ah, I can guess your response: “Girls like to be crossed in love, now and then.” Did I quote you correctly? I believe those were the words you used, all those years ago, when I warned you my sister might prefer a certain red coat over a gentleman scholar.

I have often heard it said, and have frequently said it myself, that Lizzy is the daughter most like you. In wit and cleverness, I believe this to be true. But remember: I met you when you were Jane’s age, and you were more like her once. Perhaps you were too skeptical, even then, to believe the best of everyone, but you at least believed better of yourself. In those days, you spoke to me of creating the family you never had, of being the father you lacked. Perhaps you saw yourself with sons instead of daughters; perhaps life did not unfold as you expected.

You may still be the father you hoped to be, Thomas.

The day Fanny accepted your proposal, in spite of feelings she otherwise held, I supposed you must be right: girls do indeed like to be crossed in love. The experience of three-and-twenty years has shown us both the falsity of this claim. There may be girls (and boys, too) who relish spectacle and sport, if only because it distracts them from the daily struggle of doing what is right. But no one with a heart and mind worthy of love enjoys being crossed. You of all people know this to be true, Thomas.

So please, write to Jane. Be a father to her, as only you can be. I hope you can bring yourself to forgive my officious tone, but I will not beg pardon for the words themselves. I, too, am a father, and I would thank you for such blunt counsel, should I require it.

Though this letter may have caused some doubt, believe me to be,

Your affectionate brother,

Edward

P.S.—Do convince Fanny to make fewer references to Bingley in her letters. You will say this is an impossible task, but you are clever enough to accomplish it. Quote that Roman poet who claimed, “Semper in absentes felicior aestus amantes,” or if Latin does not move Fanny as it moves you, promise her a visit to London next winter. I will gladly host her, if only she would give Jane some peace.

Read all the letters from Confessions & Correspondence here!