by Peter Archer
Trembling and sighing in great turn, he released her mouth and quickly undid his breeches so that flesh might meet flesh. He felt no qualms in using his fiancée in such a way, for he had given the matter a great deal of thought in the time they were parted and determined that should such an occasion arise, he was well within his rights to take advantage of it. He led her hand to his shaft and noted with great appreciation her look of modesty as she turned her eyes away from him. Applying pressure, he showed her how he wished for her to move.
To Charlotte, she thought of the task not unlike milking a cow. Though such thoughts were not those of a proper bride-to-be, she could not help them. She looked upon sex as another chore that must be performed. Mr. Collins was quite content to let her stroke him as he buried his face into her chest and played with her breasts through the barrier of her gown. He made strange noises, breathing hard and fast, until finally she milked him of his seed. Afterward, she was pleasantly surprised to find him so grateful for the service that he hardly said anything at all and they were obliged to pass several hours in silence.
DID YOU KNOW?
It is a truth universally acknowledged that the first line of Pride and Prejudice is the best and most famous opening sentence in English literature and the gateway to one of the world’s greatest pleasures. So it is surprising to see the mild praise of the novel that appears in reviews written at the time it was first published. These reviews were favorable, as they had been in response to Sense and Sensibility, but they focused approvingly on the book’s morality and barely seemed to notice its breathtaking wit! However, there was a difference in tone between published reviews of Pride and Prejudice and social gossip about it, and the latter was much more interesting and spirited.
The first edition of 1,500 copies had sold out by July of 1813. A second edition was published that fall, and a third would be published in 1817. It was the novel to read or, as Anne Isabella Milbanke (who would later marry Lord Byron) put it, it was “at present the fashionable novel.” Maria Edgeworth, whom Jane admired, read it and urged her brother in a letter to do so also. Warren Hastings praised it, to Jane’s delight. The playwright Richard Sheridan said Pride and Prejudice “was one of the cleverest things” he had ever read. The high praise from prominent writers must have been especially gratifying to Austen.
Pride and Prejudice was published anonymously, which was how Jane liked it. As a result, however, many people had the wrong woman down as the author—and others thought it too good to have been written by a woman at all. Henry Austen, though sworn to secrecy like the rest of those in the know, let slip the secret of Jane’s authorship more than once. Jane forgave him since his motivation was rooted in “Brotherly vanity and Love”—and of course because it was Henry—but she appreciated the superior discretion of her brother Frank and his wife.
From poor Miss Benn to the highest members of high society, Elizabeth Bennet was working her charm while her creator watched and listened with amusement and satisfaction.
PART 2
If Jane Could See Us Now
A number of the entries we received in the Bad Austen contest were set in contemporary times. The juxtaposition of Austen’s nineteenth-century sensibility with the realities of the twenty-first century created a fair amount of amusement on the part of the editors, who did a lot of chortling—and hope you will, too. Herewith, stories that Jane Austen never wrote but quite possibly would have, if she’d lived a few centuries later.
Pemberley High
R. STANDFORD
It is universally acknowledged that high school is a form of medieval torture invented by embittered adults to retaliate against the inconvenience youth has caused them. This was never more true than for an outspoken, sharp-witted junior named Lizzi. Her unconventional dress and various charitable causes, including most recently “What Are Men Compared to Mountains: A Weekend of Womanhood and Nature Retreat,” earned her much notability and scorn amongst the jocks and cheerleaders that roamed the halls of Pemberley High.
Today was no different, though as Lizzi ran to her locker and hastily pulled out her science book, she noticed a lack of mockery. Perhaps they have finally seen the wisdom of my nature.
Then, she noticed that the halls, normally full of hormonal animals, referred to as students, engaging in mating and social rituals which Lizzi felt were unnecessary and demeaning to an individual, were empty, save her.
She glanced down at her watch.
“Shoot,” Lizzi said. Late again. It was so easy for her mind to wander during her walk to school, and Lizzi often found herself lost in contemplation over a wayward daisy or rose that lay on her path to school. Sighing, she was about to renounce herself to the dull dribble called chemistry when a splash of color invaded her vision.
“Hey,” she said, turning.
A boy, well-dressed in a polo and dark jeans, handsome with a brooding stare, stood in front of her, nervously clutching a piece of paper.
“Are you new? Lost?” Lizzi said. “I can show you where your classes are.”
“… I …”
“Let me help.” Lizzi reached for the paper.
The young gentlemen recoiled as her hand brushed against his.
“Don’t pay her any heed,” Caroline said, appearing from the shadows.
She was dressed immaculately, every accessory matching her cheerleading captain outfit, which she wore every day. This monotony made Lizzi’s stomach churn.
“I fear I might be ill,” Lizzi said under her breath.
“I’ll show you around and protect you from the pariahs that infest the hallways.” Caroline batted her eyelashes and interlaced her arm with the stranger.
He smirked at Lizzi, to acknowledge his awareness and acceptance of his and her social standing, and, Lizzi suspected, to rub her face in that knowledge.
“Of all the arrogant fools!” Lizzi exclaimed. “See if I ever help him.”
Lizzi had all but forgotten the incident by the time she arrived at chemistry class and was entirely ready to immerse herself in the world of formulas and equations when an all-too-familiar face appeared at the door.
“Class,” the teacher said, “we have a new student. Meet Mr. Darcy. I assume you will all reveal your charitable nature to him in time.”
DID YOU KNOW?
Thomas Egerton published Mansfield Park, as he had Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice, but either he knew it was not the crowd pleaser that Pride and Prejudice was and offered to publish it only on commission or he offered an unacceptably low price for the copyright. In either case, this novel was published on commission also. The first edition of probably 1,250 copies was published in May of 1814 and sold out within six months, so it was surprising and disappointing when Egerton declined to publish a second edition. His instincts were right: When Henry negotiated with a different publisher to bring out a second edition in 1816—also on commission—it did not sell and was remaindered the following year. Perhaps Austen’s own comment that this novel was “not half so entertaining” as Pride and Prejudice expressed the common view.
To Jane’s disappointment, there were no contemporary reviews of Mansfield Park. (Serious authors whose work is ignored by the press today can perhaps take some comfort in that fact.) We do, however, have a fascinating document containing responses to the novel: Jane herself recorded the opinions of Mansfield Park expressed by family, friends, neighbors, and other acquaintances. One opinion that does indeed show up repeatedly is that it is not as good as Pride and Prejudice. Frank Austen and his wife, Mary, felt this way; so did Edward and his sons Edward and George; Mrs. Austen; Charles; and Jane’s friend, the Godmersham governess, Anne Sharp.
Anna, Jane’s intelligent, spirited niece, “could not bear Fanny.” The strength of her disgust comes through loud and clear! And Mrs. Austen, no slouch in the intelligence department herself, “thought Fanny insipid”—as many readers have thought since. It is interesting to see that while many readers—particularly since around
the middle of the twentieth century—have in fact found Mansfield Park the most interesting, sophisticated, and complex of Austen’s novels, and certainly the most difficult to “figure out,” the general opinion is no doubt the same that was heard by Jane—Pride and Prejudice is preferred. And, as members of her own family did at the time of the book’s publication, many readers continue to dislike the heroine Fanny—and the hero Edmund, for that matter—and much prefer the morally corrupt but very entertaining figures of Mary and Henry Crawford.
“He’s very easy on the eyes,” a perky blonde chirped.
“If you like the conceited type.” Lizzi’s laugh echoed to the corners of the classroom.
“And I hear his parents bought the mansion that had been left to dust on the corner of Main,” said the blonde.
“One thing in his favor, I suppose,” Lizzi replied. “Though even if he had all the money in the world, that would not make up for his lack of manners.”
“What was that, Miss Bennet?” her teacher replied.
“I was just welcoming the fine and honorable Mr. Darcy to Pemberley High,” Lizzi said, standing. “We had the pleasure of meeting earlier today. I am sure with his disposition, he’ll have no trouble making friends.”
Though no one else seemed to notice, Lizzi thought she perceived a slight discoloration in the new student’s cheeks.
“How very kind of you,” her teacher replied. “And since you were the first to show our school’s ‘welcoming spirit,’ I’m sure you’ll have no problem honoring Mr. Darcy by being his lab partner. Kid, go take a seat next to our self-appointed welcoming committee.”
“I’d be honored to be his partner,” the blonde said.
The teacher replied that she already had a perfectly good lab partner.
“Sir,” Lizzi retorted, “you and I had an arrangement regarding partnerships—”
“Yes. Yes, you’re independent and don’t need a partner because it’s ‘demeaning’ to your self-esteem and sense of womanhood,” the teacher replied. “But Mr. Darcy is in want of a lab partner, and as you are, by your own actions, the only student without a partner, there seems to be only one solution to our problems.”
Lizzi shrunk down into her seat as the boy sat next to her.
“I … er … Hi,” he whispered. “This morning—I can explain—you see, some of us are not as endowed—”
“Spare me your excuses,” Lizzi hissed. “Let’s just figure out a way to make it through the semester.”
Reġency Matchmaking
STACEY GRAHAM
“Welcome, welcome, one and all to Regency Matchmaking! I am your hostess, Mrs. Bennet, the mother of five daughters—three of which have made excellent matches due to my influence—and two whom I will no doubt be finding suitable husbands for this afternoon. Shall we get started?”
Mrs. Bennet snapped the card with her fingers, signaling her daughters Mary and Kitty to be seated. The screen separating the girls from their mother stretched nearly the length of the television studio, masking the girls’ expression of horror at their mother’s interference in their love lives.
“I beseech you to hold, Mrs. Bennet.” Her voice rising from backstage, Caroline Bingley emerged from the shadows while signaling a footman to bring a chair and place it next to kitty. “You may now continue. I fear I am in need of your skills, Madam, though we will never speak of this publicly again.” Adjusting her shawl to cover her bony shoulders, she ignored the young women, staring instead at the smattering of people making up the studio audience.
“Er, yes, of course, Miss Bingley. I’m pleased you are down from London to join us.” Her head rapidly cocking to the side, Mrs. Bennet signaled her husband to block any further female intruders from the stage. Her daughters needed no further competition.
“Our first suitor hails from Northanger Abbey. He’s handsome, clever, and a bit of a charmer. Ladies, please give a Long-bourn welcome to Captain Frederick Tilney.”
A smidgen of polite applause filled the studio as Captain Tilney strode onto the stage, bowing slightly to Mrs. Bennet and throwing a wink to her husband. Scowling at this foolishness, Mr. Bennet returned to his book.
Once Captain Tilney was seated in the Bennets’ best chair, she began. “Sir, am I correct in my information that you are heir to a rather large establishment?”
Miss Bingley defied her perfect posture by leaning slightly forward in her seat to catch his answer. She was not disappointed by the strong timbre of his voice nor his succinct response.
“Yes, Madam. Northanger Abbey will be mine at the passing of the General, though it now stands bereft of a woman’s touch and I will need a wife to manage the estate once I assume rightful ownership.”
“Very good, Captain Tilney. I have no doubt either of my daughters,” a long cough erupting from behind the screen interrupted Mrs. Bennet’s declaration, “and Miss Bingley, of course, would suit you perfectly.”
“Captain Tilney,” Caroline interrupted, “can you tell me more what you are looking for in a wife? I so tire of men wanting only a quick roll in the stables without noticing my excellence in station, my accomplishments, my … FINE EYES.” Irritation scorched her words, the sting of being thrown over for the niece of a man who resides in Cheapside scraped at her pride. The irony of sitting with that woman’s sisters competing for a man was not lost on her, though desperate times called for desperate measures. She was nearly an old maid and would need to secure a husband quite soon.
“As you wish, Madam. I search for a woman of fortune and candor—and one who doesn’t mind a scoundrel.” A smile slid across his face as he heard the ladies draw in a quick breath at his admission of being a rapscallion.
“Finally!” Caroline Bingley sprung from her chair with more vigor than either Kitty or Mary had seen from the older woman. Crossing the barrier, Caroline stood before Tilney. “You had me at ‘large establishment.’”
“I believe we have an understanding, Miss Bingley?”
She nodded, taking in the breadth of his shoulders and the fit of his waistcoat as he stood. He would do nicely; she was certain she could tame his wickedness to become a proper husband. Then again, a bit of a rogue never hurt anyone.
“Well, I have never been so affronted! And in my own studio, too!” Mrs. Bennet was flustered. Her plans for the afternoon partially ruined by the upstart, Miss Bingley, she ushered the new couple quickly offstage, then returned to her station.
“Kitty! Mary! Sit still, girls. We have another gentleman of good breeding. May I introduce Mr. Willoughby of Combe Magna….”
Through Kitties’ Eyes
MARGARET K. GATES
“Megan, I think Alfred has noticed me,” said Rosanne. “We passed twice in the halls today, and he smiled both times.”
“I saw him staring at you from across the cafeteria,” said her sister.
The two cats sitting at the opposite end of the parlor stood up. Cinnamon, the black-and-white one, spoke. “Which girl do you choose, Orchid?”
The yellow cat licked her paw as she pondered the matter, then said, “Rosanne’s wearing black, and Megan has light blue slacks. I’ll shed my fur on Rosanne, and your black fur will stand out against Megan’s blue clothing.”
“Great choice. Let’s go.”
The cats sauntered to the sofa and settled in the girls’ laps. “Alfred dumped Susie last week.” Rosanne stroked Orchid’s back as she spoke.
Orchid interpreted the words to Cinnamon. “Sir Alfred has realized Susie’s unworthiness and wonders how he could have overlooked the charms of Lady Rosanne who is obviously an elegant female.”
“He’d be a good catch; he’s the star basketball player,” said Megan.
Cinnamon responded, “He’s also tall, of comely appearance, and his family has an abundance of shekels. I could continue this panegyric.”
“His sister spoke to me after class today; she never had before.”
“Sir Alfred commissioned a spy to scrutinize Lady Rosanne’s person
ality.”
“Aren’t you glad you didn’t repeat to anyone what you thought of her new hairstyle?”
“How fortunate that your unparalleled elegance precluded a repetition of your communication to me describing the rat’s nest on Sir Alfred’s sister’s head.” Cinnamon rubbed a paw against her own head for emphasis.
“I plan to compliment her to her best friend,” said Rosanne. “She’s a nice enough girl, really.”
“A well-spoken word of approbation will reach her brother’s ears and endear me to him.”
“Maybe he’ll ask you to the school dance next week.” Cinnamon continued to mimic Megan’s words. “A ball is an inimitable location in which to secure a gentleman’s affections. Consider Cinderella.”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be cool! I’m the best dancer in my grade.”
“Oh, what delight, what felicity!” Orchid rolled onto her back, pointed her paws toward the four corners of the parlor, and sighed.
“Yes, humans are ridiculous,” said Cinnamon, “but they feed us and provide a warm home safe from dogs. And how their follies amuse us.”
Rosanne spoke again. “But what if he asks Carolyn instead? She’s had her eye on Alfred for a month. I’d be sick if she got him.”
“But what despair would flood my soul should Sir Alfred deign to favor the base Carolyn with his attentions. She must be totally profligate to try to steal him from me.”
“Such a thought turns my stomach,” said her sister. “I never did like her.”
“If she purloins him away, I’ll have an enjoyment of original dislikes. But Orchid, let’s beat it before our fervid emotion constrains us to swoon alternately on the sofa.”
