Posted on 2021-12-16
Intro:
A humorous Regency parody, set in 1808. Lady Russell is in London when she comes upon a matchmaking seminar aimed at society matrons. As the instructress guides the class to rate their charges’ suitors on a matrix of performance and potential, Lady Russell is in for some unexpected revelations.
London. Ah, London; a city replete with curiosities. Every time I take to the streets, I discover some newfangled scheme or other afoot; thankfully, my three god-daughters, especially dear, innocent Anne, are safely ensconced at Kellynch instead of being exposed amongst these evils. But for the need to scout out the ton as preparation to guide them through their yearly season, I much prefer the safety and security of the countryside as well.
I dismiss most of these new shopfronts as cons; swindler’s schemes to prey upon the unsuspecting gentry. But wait; this one might be interesting. The Matron’s Guide To Successful Match-Making: A Seminar . The calligraphed sign is affixed outside a townhouse in Mayfair; a respectable enough location at least. Beneath it, there is a small silver tray with a stack of calling cards and a smaller sign, also written in beautiful calligraphy: To make discreet enquiries, kindly avail yourself of one of these .
Turning a card over in my gloved hand, I find that the next meeting of the seminar is two days hence. On the day itself, the street is lined with carriages as some ten or twelve society matrons, all of an age to myself, are alighting their conveyances. One by one, a servant ushers us to a largish drawing-room with rows of ornate, carved wooden desks, akin to what one may find in a boarding-school for the richest of the rich. On each is a sheet of parchment, marked into a large grid of nine squares.
“Please, Lady Russell, kindly take a seat”. The servant, a bright-eyed young girl of seventeen or eighteen, curtseys politely and leaves me at my desk. It is not many minutes before the instructress sweeps in; to my astonishment, she is none other than the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple, whose acquaintance Sir Walter and I have sought to renew for several years.
“Ladies, it is of my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance today,” intones Lady Dalrymple, “I have gained my independence forthwith, even after the unfortunate demise of my husband, through making a prudent and successful match. Thence, I feel duty bound to pay forward my dues by helping my brethren to achieve the same. No payment is necessary; all I ask of you is to pay it forward by guiding your protegees with wisdom and foresight”.
Well said; and very generous and appropriate indeed. I nod in approval; these are the words of a true lady of the gentry. Yet what pearls of wisdom, I wonder, will she impart that I, of steady age and character *, have not encountered already?
“Ladies, I wish to draw your attention to the grid of Performance and Potential”, says Lady Dalrymple, tapping a thin stick against the wall, where a version of this nine-box grid has been hung. “This is the yardstick by which you can make an objective assessment of any suitors who may approach your daughters, nieces or wards.
“Now, let us commence with the concept of Performance. All of you are well-acquainted with the oldest criteria for assessing a suitor’s appropriateness: his wealth. May I broaden your perspectives to consider that Performance is not always directly associated with a person’s immediate wealth?
“How many of you have known peers of the realm whose estates are mired in debt? May I have a show of hands, please?” Every hand save mine is raised; I realize that even though Sir Walter may be a baronet, he falls just short of being a member of the peerage; neither am I, as a widow of a fellow baronet. Even then, I note, Kellynch is at the barest edge of solvency and I, having relinquished my late husband’s estate long ago, am living at the Lodge. We are not even peers; and we are less than a thousand pounds away from being mired in debt. A more sobering or humbling thought I never had.
“As I have said, though current wealth is indeed a component of Performance; it does not follow that Performance is solely tied to wealth. Consider thusly: a gentleman of means, inheriting a large estate; he must still ensure that the estate is profitable for generations to come. A man who lives in idleness and dissipation will not do; he will squander his children’s legacy in decades, if not in years. So do not make the mistake of associating an accident of birth with Performance; for an idle man has not merit of his own.”
A hawk-like, elderly lady rises and fixes each and every member of the Seminar with a glance. “I believe there is no better example of Performance than my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she declares. “Rumour has it that his income is ten-thousand a year; but in reality, that is an extreme understatement. Pemberley has been in the Darcy family for centuries, and a young man of greater responsibility is not to be found. He is well set to continue that legacy for centuries to come. But unfortunately for you, he is already promised to one; from the cradle he has been affianced; promised to none other than my dear daughter Anne, the very flower of Kent.”
“Thank you, Lady Catherine,” says Lady Dalrymple, beckoning the great Lady to sit with a nod. “That is an excellent example indeed. Remember, Performance is not only about the wealth that a gentleman was born with, but also his demonstrated ability to accumulate and steward that wealth to benefit the next generation.
“And now, let us move on to Potential. Remember that our young charges, once out in society, will encounter individuals of the opposite sex who are equally young. When a young lady comes out, she is perhaps six and ten; at that age, to her perspective, a gentleman of one-and-twenty is most worldly and impressive.
“Yet how much can a man who has barely reached the age of his majority be expected to achieve? Most wealthy young gentlemen reaching the age of eligibility at two- or three-and-twenty are barely men; in fact, they would be best classified as adolescents. At that age, they would have completed their educations at Oxford or Cambridge, and mayhap been sent on a Grand Tour for a year or so. But if their fathers are yet living, they would be untested in their ability to continue their family’s wealth; even though they may have learned estate management at the elbows of their sires from youth, rarely, if ever, would they be subject to the need to make difficult decisions, as that would be the premise of the master.
“Therefore, you need to assess a man of that age based on his Potential, for a very young man has had hardly any opportunity yet to show Performance. You must observe his pursuits; and acquaint yourself with his character. Consider where he has made actions, small though they may seem to your experienced eye, of significant impact. Is he honest, hard-working? Has he a sense of purpose in his life? A capacity for learning and improvement?
“Now, Ladies, please rate your charges’ past, current and prospective suitors against this grid. To the right, you have Performance; Low, Medium and High. And to the top, you have Potential; again, Low, Medium and High. I will leave you for the next thirty minutes to consider, and then we may rejoin for further discussion.” With a swish of her skirts, Lady Dalrymple quits the room.
I commence with tallying the list of candidates. William Walter Elliot takes precedence, as he was chronologically the first to materialize. He may be currently ineligible, having spurned our Elizabeth in their first youth; nonetheless, he is the heir presumptive of Kellynch Hall and thus must always remain within consideration. With the prospect of inheriting the Baronetcy, his Potential must needs be High; though since he has rejected all our invitations thus far, I must concede that his Performance is Low, or at least Unknown.
Next, I have Charles Musgrove of Uppercross; a dear neighbour boy whom I have known since infancy, who will come down from Cambridge a year hence. To be sure, he is of a calm and cheerful temperament; though I can scarcely think of any other accomplishments he has save for the ability to hunt the best game in the county. Ah well, if Anne marries him, at least her dinner table shall never be wanting. I inscribe C.M. in the centre of the grid: Medium Performance, and Medium Potential.
After all, Charles has at least made more of himself than his ne’er-do-well brother Richard, better known as Dick Musgrove. But I abhor abbreviations; Richard Musgrove is the proper name, and the initials R.M. undoubtedly belong at zero Performance and zero Potential. That boy knows naught but to solicit his parents for money at every turn, employed though he may be in the Royal Navy. Is there, perchance, a number less than zero? The horror, indeed! It is not to be borne – such a man who can only reduce his family’s wealth can only be worse than zero on Performance, with no Potential to speak of.
Finally, I am left with Frederick Wentworth – for I have the least taste for him, so I must leave him to the last. Yet I must consider that one who has defended our country at war as a mere boy barely out of his teens, a component of the British victory at San Domingo in the year six; those are concrete accomplishments indeed. Much as I am loath to acknowledge it, this is an example of non-zero Performance.
And what of Potential? He has no connexions to purchase him a commission of higher rank. Yet to be made Commander at the age of three-and-twenty! Could anyone make a command at a younger age yet? A usual age to receive a Lieutenant’s commission is twenty; therefore, to be distinguished and elevated thus in three short years; nay, much as I wish to deny it, this cannot be a sign of zero Potential. With no small amount of reluctance, I poise my quill at the centre of the grid again.
“But he has realized nothing *!” I realize, belatedly, that I have spoken out loud. “And spending freely, what had come freely *; what could he possibly realize in future? It will not do!”
“Of whom do you speak?” Unnoticed, Lady Dalrymple has re-entered the room. “Ladies, I believe that Lady Russell here, a dear friend of my Elliot cousins, has a very interesting example. If you do not mind, Lady Russell, may I prevail upon you to share?”
So, Lady Dalrymple knows of her connexion with the Elliots; who would have thought of it? For if she is aware, how could she not renew the acquaintance with Sir Walter?
“I speak of a Commander Wentworth,” I say. “A man of no material wealth, save for an over-abundance of bravado and wit. In the year six, he approached my favourite god-daughter Anne, and nearly convinced her of an attachment; a more degrading alliance I could never have conceived of, and thankfully I was able to prevent it. For as I have said, he has neither fortune nor connexions to advance himself; having no parent living *, it is already a wonder that he made it into the officer ranks, with no-one to purchase him a commission.”
“Pray, what is his age?” asks Lady Dalrymple. “If he is in the early years of his majority, it is no wonder that he has realized nothing, when he has had no time with which to realize anything.”
“This was two years ago, when he was three-and-twenty,” I grudgingly admit. “Since then, I know not what he has done with his life; nor do I care, to be honest”.
Lady Dalrymple looks thoughtful. “Three-and-twenty,” she muses. “And do you not recall my teachings of Potential – that a man of that age is scarcely out of his adolescence? Yet here we have a self-made man, who has attained elevation in his chosen career solely on his own merit at that tender age – Ladies, do you not agree that this must needs be an exemplar of High Potential?”
“But he may perish at any moment!” I protest.
“And so may any son of any country squire,” counters Lady Dalrymple. “A fall from a horse; a bout of fever; like it or not, not a single one of us can take for granted a next day on this earth. Life, by its very nature, is terminal.
“And to assess Performance accurately, you need to be acquainted with the gentleman’s current situation. Here is a copy of the most recent navy-list for you to peruse.” She places a stack of papers onto my desk.
“Post! He has made post-Captain, at the age of five-and-twenty.” It takes all my self-possession to keep from fainting dead away.
Who can be in doubt of what followed?*
“Captain F.W.
H.M.S. Laconia
Captain,
My sincere congratulations on your promotion. In hindsight, I have been given to believe that my judgement of you has erred, and I hereby extend my heartfelt apologies…”
Note: Common italics are just that; italics with an asterisk denote phrases that come from the original text of Persuasion.
London. Ah, London; a city replete with curiosities. Every time I take to the streets, I discover some newfangled scheme or other afoot; thankfully, my three god-daughters, especially dear, innocent Anne, are safely ensconced at Kellynch instead of being exposed amongst these evils. But for the need to scout out the ton as preparation to guide them through their yearly season, I much prefer the safety and security of the countryside as well.
I dismiss most of these new shopfronts as cons; swindler’s schemes to prey upon the unsuspecting gentry. But wait; this one might be interesting. The Matron’s Guide To Successful Match-Making: A Seminar . The calligraphed sign is affixed outside a townhouse in Mayfair; a respectable enough location at least. Beneath it, there is a small silver tray with a stack of calling cards and a smaller sign, also written in beautiful calligraphy: To make discreet enquiries, kindly avail yourself of one of these .
Turning a card over in my gloved hand, I find that the next meeting of the seminar is two days hence. On the day itself, the street is lined with carriages as some ten or twelve society matrons, all of an age to myself, are alighting their conveyances. One by one, a servant ushers us to a largish drawing-room with rows of ornate, carved wooden desks, akin to what one may find in a boarding-school for the richest of the rich. On each is a sheet of parchment, marked into a large grid of nine squares.
“Please, Lady Russell, kindly take a seat”. The servant, a bright-eyed young girl of seventeen or eighteen, curtseys politely and leaves me at my desk. It is not many minutes before the instructress sweeps in; to my astonishment, she is none other than the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple, whose acquaintance Sir Walter and I have sought to renew for several years.
“Ladies, it is of my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance today,” intones Lady Dalrymple, “I have gained my independence forthwith, even after the unfortunate demise of my husband, through making a prudent and successful match. Thence, I feel duty bound to pay forward my dues by helping my brethren to achieve the same. No payment is necessary; all I ask of you is to pay it forward by guiding your protegees with wisdom and foresight”.
Well said; and very generous and appropriate indeed. I nod in approval; these are the words of a true lady of the gentry. Yet what pearls of wisdom, I wonder, will she impart that I, of steady age and character *, have not encountered already?
“Ladies, I wish to draw your attention to the grid of Performance and Potential”, says Lady Dalrymple, tapping a thin stick against the wall, where a version of this nine-box grid has been hung. “This is the yardstick by which you can make an objective assessment of any suitors who may approach your daughters, nieces or wards.
“Now, let us commence with the concept of Performance. All of you are well-acquainted with the oldest criteria for assessing a suitor’s appropriateness: his wealth. May I broaden your perspectives to consider that Performance is not always directly associated with a person’s immediate wealth?
“How many of you have known peers of the realm whose estates are mired in debt? May I have a show of hands, please?” Every hand save mine is raised; I realize that even though Sir Walter may be a baronet, he falls just short of being a member of the peerage; neither am I, as a widow of a fellow baronet. Even then, I note, Kellynch is at the barest edge of solvency and I, having relinquished my late husband’s estate long ago, am living at the Lodge. We are not even peers; and we are less than a thousand pounds away from being mired in debt. A more sobering or humbling thought I never had.
“As I have said, though current wealth is indeed a component of Performance; it does not follow that Performance is solely tied to wealth. Consider thusly: a gentleman of means, inheriting a large estate; he must still ensure that the estate is profitable for generations to come. A man who lives in idleness and dissipation will not do; he will squander his children’s legacy in decades, if not in years. So do not make the mistake of associating an accident of birth with Performance; for an idle man has not merit of his own.”
A hawk-like, elderly lady rises and fixes each and every member of the Seminar with a glance. “I believe there is no better example of Performance than my nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy,” she declares. “Rumour has it that his income is ten-thousand a year; but in reality, that is an extreme understatement. Pemberley has been in the Darcy family for centuries, and a young man of greater responsibility is not to be found. He is well set to continue that legacy for centuries to come. But unfortunately for you, he is already promised to one; from the cradle he has been affianced; promised to none other than my dear daughter Anne, the very flower of Kent.”
“Thank you, Lady Catherine,” says Lady Dalrymple, beckoning the great Lady to sit with a nod. “That is an excellent example indeed. Remember, Performance is not only about the wealth that a gentleman was born with, but also his demonstrated ability to accumulate and steward that wealth to benefit the next generation.
“And now, let us move on to Potential. Remember that our young charges, once out in society, will encounter individuals of the opposite sex who are equally young. When a young lady comes out, she is perhaps six and ten; at that age, to her perspective, a gentleman of one-and-twenty is most worldly and impressive.
“Yet how much can a man who has barely reached the age of his majority be expected to achieve? Most wealthy young gentlemen reaching the age of eligibility at two- or three-and-twenty are barely men; in fact, they would be best classified as adolescents. At that age, they would have completed their educations at Oxford or Cambridge, and mayhap been sent on a Grand Tour for a year or so. But if their fathers are yet living, they would be untested in their ability to continue their family’s wealth; even though they may have learned estate management at the elbows of their sires from youth, rarely, if ever, would they be subject to the need to make difficult decisions, as that would be the premise of the master.
“Therefore, you need to assess a man of that age based on his Potential, for a very young man has had hardly any opportunity yet to show Performance. You must observe his pursuits; and acquaint yourself with his character. Consider where he has made actions, small though they may seem to your experienced eye, of significant impact. Is he honest, hard-working? Has he a sense of purpose in his life? A capacity for learning and improvement?
“Now, Ladies, please rate your charges’ past, current and prospective suitors against this grid. To the right, you have Performance; Low, Medium and High. And to the top, you have Potential; again, Low, Medium and High. I will leave you for the next thirty minutes to consider, and then we may rejoin for further discussion.” With a swish of her skirts, Lady Dalrymple quits the room.
I commence with tallying the list of candidates. William Walter Elliot takes precedence, as he was chronologically the first to materialize. He may be currently ineligible, having spurned our Elizabeth in their first youth; nonetheless, he is the heir presumptive of Kellynch Hall and thus must always remain within consideration. With the prospect of inheriting the Baronetcy, his Potential must needs be High; though since he has rejected all our invitations thus far, I must concede that his Performance is Low, or at least Unknown.
Next, I have Charles Musgrove of Uppercross; a dear neighbour boy whom I have known since infancy, who will come down from Cambridge a year hence. To be sure, he is of a calm and cheerful temperament; though I can scarcely think of any other accomplishments he has save for the ability to hunt the best game in the county. Ah well, if Anne marries him, at least her dinner table shall never be wanting. I inscribe C.M. in the centre of the grid: Medium Performance, and Medium Potential.
After all, Charles has at least made more of himself than his ne’er-do-well brother Richard, better known as Dick Musgrove. But I abhor abbreviations; Richard Musgrove is the proper name, and the initials R.M. undoubtedly belong at zero Performance and zero Potential. That boy knows naught but to solicit his parents for money at every turn, employed though he may be in the Royal Navy. Is there, perchance, a number less than zero? The horror, indeed! It is not to be borne – such a man who can only reduce his family’s wealth can only be worse than zero on Performance, with no Potential to speak of.
Finally, I am left with Frederick Wentworth – for I have the least taste for him, so I must leave him to the last. Yet I must consider that one who has defended our country at war as a mere boy barely out of his teens, a component of the British victory at San Domingo in the year six; those are concrete accomplishments indeed. Much as I am loath to acknowledge it, this is an example of non-zero Performance.
And what of Potential? He has no connexions to purchase him a commission of higher rank. Yet to be made Commander at the age of three-and-twenty! Could anyone make a command at a younger age yet? A usual age to receive a Lieutenant’s commission is twenty; therefore, to be distinguished and elevated thus in three short years; nay, much as I wish to deny it, this cannot be a sign of zero Potential. With no small amount of reluctance, I poise my quill at the centre of the grid again.
“But he has realized nothing *!” I realize, belatedly, that I have spoken out loud. “And spending freely, what had come freely *; what could he possibly realize in future? It will not do!”
“Of whom do you speak?” Unnoticed, Lady Dalrymple has re-entered the room. “Ladies, I believe that Lady Russell here, a dear friend of my Elliot cousins, has a very interesting example. If you do not mind, Lady Russell, may I prevail upon you to share?”
So, Lady Dalrymple knows of her connexion with the Elliots; who would have thought of it? For if she is aware, how could she not renew the acquaintance with Sir Walter?
“I speak of a Commander Wentworth,” I say. “A man of no material wealth, save for an over-abundance of bravado and wit. In the year six, he approached my favourite god-daughter Anne, and nearly convinced her of an attachment; a more degrading alliance I could never have conceived of, and thankfully I was able to prevent it. For as I have said, he has neither fortune nor connexions to advance himself; having no parent living *, it is already a wonder that he made it into the officer ranks, with no-one to purchase him a commission.”
“Pray, what is his age?” asks Lady Dalrymple. “If he is in the early years of his majority, it is no wonder that he has realized nothing, when he has had no time with which to realize anything.”
“This was two years ago, when he was three-and-twenty,” I grudgingly admit. “Since then, I know not what he has done with his life; nor do I care, to be honest”.
Lady Dalrymple looks thoughtful. “Three-and-twenty,” she muses. “And do you not recall my teachings of Potential – that a man of that age is scarcely out of his adolescence? Yet here we have a self-made man, who has attained elevation in his chosen career solely on his own merit at that tender age – Ladies, do you not agree that this must needs be an exemplar of High Potential?”
“But he may perish at any moment!” I protest.
“And so may any son of any country squire,” counters Lady Dalrymple. “A fall from a horse; a bout of fever; like it or not, not a single one of us can take for granted a next day on this earth. Life, by its very nature, is terminal.
“And to assess Performance accurately, you need to be acquainted with the gentleman’s current situation. Here is a copy of the most recent navy-list for you to peruse.” She places a stack of papers onto my desk.
“Post! He has made post-Captain, at the age of five-and-twenty.” It takes all my self-possession to keep from fainting dead away.
Who can be in doubt of what followed?*
“Captain F.W.
H.M.S. Laconia
Captain,
My sincere congratulations on your promotion. In hindsight, I have been given to believe that my judgement of you has erred, and I hereby extend my heartfelt apologies…”
Note: Common italics are just that; italics with an asterisk denote phrases that come from the original text of Persuasion.