Nosy November ~ Who’s the nosiest of all?

So, Nosy November… 😊. Three cheers for Amy D’Orazio for suggesting such a fun theme for this month!

‘Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can,’ Elizabeth said to Mr Darcy, and we have good reason to believe that Jane Austen shared that view, given the verve and panache with which she portrayed the likes of Mr Collins, Mrs Bennet, Miss Bates and all the other characters who seem to compete with each other for the title of Austen’s Most Ludicrous.

But who would you say is the nosiest? Mrs Jennings? Lucy Steele? Miss Bingley? Mrs Norris? Lady Catherine? Who might be the most vexing busybody at the dinner table? Or the grinch that ruins Christmas?

And as we ponder over aggravating aunts and nosy neighbours, we might as well ask ‘Hang on a minute, what about the parents?’

From what we know of them, Jane Austen’s parents seem to have been remarkable people whom she held in great affection and esteem.

So why is it that in her novels, parents are more of a trial than a comfort to her heroines?

Photo: BBC

Mrs Dashwood certainly is no comfort to Elinor, and by being too ready to support Marianne in her flights of fancy, Mrs Dashwood does no favours to her second daughter either.

Mr Woodhouse is a selfish hypochondriac. General Tilney is a snob and an overbearing ogre. Sir Walter Elliot cares for little else beyond his looks and his place in the Baronetage. Lord Bertram misses every sign that his sons and daughters are headed for disaster and his lady spends her days languishing on her sofa with her pug.

Photo: BBC

Mismatched and self-absorbed, Mr and Mrs Bennet present their daughters with a less-than-pleasing picture of conjugal felicity and domestic comfort, and as for Lady Susan, the least said of her maternal sentiments, the better.

Role models are few and far between, and they are given only a modest share of the limelight. We get the impression that Mr and Mrs Morland are a happy couple and a good example for their children, but we don’t see much of them. Mr and Mrs John Knightley are devoted parents, but from the little that we are told about them and their marriage, their union isn’t a true partnership. For all his friendliness, Mr Weston seems rather superficial and a too indulgent father (but then again, his second wife might be the making of him). We don’t see much of Mr and Mrs Gardiner as parents either. We can only witness their interactions with Elizabeth and, given their common sense and affectionate ways, we can picture them as principled and loving parents and a great couple.

Photo: BBC

Now that we’ve started to speculate, how do you imagine Mr and Mrs Darcy would be as parents? Would his reformation withstand the trial of Grandmama Bennet coming to Pemberley to air her views on bringing up children? Would his hackles rise if his son were to fall in love with a tradesman’s daughter, or if his own daughters were courted by gentlemen of modest fortune, by penniless officers or by the likes of John Thornton, mill-owner and tradesman extraordinaire? What would Elizabeth have to say if he baulked at such notions? Or if Lady Catherine were to poke her long nose into their affairs, sally forth to Pemberley as soon as her great-nephew or great-niece was born and insist on instructing the Darcys in the only right way of bringing up Lady Anne’s grandchildren?

It’s nice to think that Mr and Mrs Darcy would present a united front against Lady Catherine, Mrs Bennet and everyone else who would presume to interfere. They might air their differences behind closed doors (and sparks might fly on such occasions), but they are too devoted to each other to allow any outside influence to come between them.

Having said that, it was very tempting to imagine how Mr and Mrs Darcy might address thorny subjects before they had the chance to become a truly devoted couple.

Cue an excerpt from Mr Bennet’s Dutiful Daughter, my only foray in the realm of early-marriage scenarios. You might remember this scene. Mr Darcy has not had reason to question his behaviour and his set of values. He has not mended his ways yet, and would very much prefer that his new wife did not flaunt relations in trade. As for Elizabeth, she married for duty, not love. Each of them still has a great deal to discover about the other – and about themselves – but are they ready to discard their preconceptions?

Mr Bennet’s Dutiful Daughter

(Excerpt)

When she was finally driven back to Berkeley Square, she found the house just as she had left it. Mr Darcy was still out, she was told in response to a hesitant query.

Reading was not an option. Embroidery – even less. She went to work out her devils in the music room and play forceful pieces, as stormy as her heart. At least until the door opened a couple of hours later and the master of the house walked in.

Unlike the drawing room at Netherfield, the door was in her line of vision and Elizabeth noticed him at once. She stopped playing instantly, and then wished she had not, for with the turbulent and resounding notes so abruptly silenced, the room became conspicuously and ominously quiet.

She steeled herself to raise her head and meet his eyes squarely. He looked weary, his countenance drawn, as though he had slept as fitfully as she, or not at all. Wherever he had slept. She did not ask.

Nor did he ask her to continue playing, but walked slowly to the window, hands behind his back. Just as he did when he was displeased, preoccupied, uncomfortable or angry. Or, in this case, presumably all of the above. Elizabeth’s shoulders grew straight and stiff with her proverbial determination not to be intimidated at the will of others. Stubbornness, she had called it. Equally stubbornly, she refused to open her lips. It was Mr Darcy who finally broke the silence, still half-turned away from her.

“I thought you intended to go out this morning.”

“I did go out.” It was childish to deliver cryptic answers that made no reference to her altered plans. Perversely so, but be that as it may, she shrugged, goaded by his grimace. No less by the terseness of his following question:

“How was your outing?”

“Wet,” came her equally terse retort, before she grew tired of the game of cat and mouse. “I went for a lengthy drive, if you must know, and not to Gracechurch Street,” she elaborated.

He turned around at that, his back losing some of its stiffness.

“Thank you,” he offered quietly, which only served to antagonise her all the more.

Her eyes grew cold, just as the hauteur left his.

“If you are thanking me for a direct answer, then I appreciate it. If it is for the way I chose to spend the morning, I do not. I did not have the heart to call upon my aunt and uncle today, that is all.”

“Why?”

Her eyes flashed up in disbelief. He would ask her that?

“I had their feelings to consider. And frankly my own pride.”

“Your pride?”

“It should not surprise you that it is not your sole prerogative. I do possess some as well, you know. Enough to keep my concerns private, and likewise the consequences of my actions.” His jaw tightened at that, but she resumed, undaunted. “As soon as I am ready to call in Gracechurch Street, I shall. I trust you will not go as far as expressly forbidding it.”

Mr Darcy gave a loud snort of exasperation.

“You know perfectly well I would not expressly forbid you anything! This is no way to treat a child, let alone a grown woman. Least of all you, much as you choose to act the part of a petulant child just now.”

Her chest swelled in indignation.

“I thank you for your candid opinion. That explains why I am treated as a petulant child rather than as your life companion and a rational creature entitled to her own wishes and opinions. No matter!” she interjected fiercely, raising her hand to forestall his interruption. “I cannot endure a repetition of that particular conversation either. What I would wish to know instead is whether I should expect to be censured like some misbehaving youngster every time I veer from your designated path. And indeed if you intend to treat your own children in this manner and raise them with as much understanding and gentle support as could be found in a military encampment. This has become a matter of concern to me of late.”

“Good Lord, Elizabeth, are you—?”

“No. I am not with child,” she cut him off mid-question, refusing to acknowledge the sudden warmth in his eyes and the disappointment that followed. “But I should like to know what I am to expect nevertheless. For all my relations’ flaws, real or imagined, I grew up assured of their love, however they chose to show it. ‘Tis bad enough that you would wish me to have precious little to do with my family and that, sadly, this would affect my children too. Must I also see them raised on a staple of stern rules, rather than unstinting love?”

From his place by the window Mr Darcy heaved a very long sigh.

“My children – your children. Can we not speak of ours, Elizabeth? And should they not have both love and solid rules to follow?”

Her lips tightened.

“Whose rules, yours or mine?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Whose rules indeed 😉?

Thanks for stopping by to read this post. I’d love to hear your thoughts on Austen’s Nosiest, on parents in her novels (Who did I miss? Are there many other good examples?) and on life at Pemberley when Baby makes three, Mrs Bennet four, Lady Catherine five – and goodness knows who else might come to visit!

Happy Holidays, and here’s to a grinch-free Christmas!