Posted on Friday, 11 May 2001
Recall in "Mansfield Park" a line of Henry Crawford, in which he said he sometimes wished to be in a certain profession? Well, that got me thinking, and I came up with this...
I was a beauty in my day, but that day was long ago. My children are grown, married, and have children of their own. And my dear husband is dead, bless his dear soul. So I find my only consolation is to observe the behavior of others. Recently, church has provided a wonderful place for that.
The crowd gathering in _______, one of London's finest churches and the one I go to every Sunday I am in town, was massive. The reverend of the church had been away for several weeks (not an uncommon habit of his), and his return for a memorable sermon was eagerly awaited by all who went to hear him speak.
Actually, almost everyone (including myself), but that is beside the point of the scene I am trying to paint for you all.
The preacher was not a handsome man. No, no lady who first saw him could say so; he was a black and plain man. And yet the more these ladies saw him, the more he became handsome and agreeable. He was so well-made, had good teeth (a rare thing among both men and women), such a pleasing manner, and so much countenance that many a lady was heard to say that "one quite forgets that he is plain."
He had an estate in Norfolk, which made many wonder at his choice in joining the clergy. His response was that "he felt an earnest desire to ensure that people came away from sermons so well delivered that they would never forget the message. The man who could manage so must have an excellent command of language to be held in such esteem, and he wished to be that man."
Yet what few knew was how much attention he paid to his estate in the past. He had instead stayed in London, enjoying all life could offer and stealing hearts. Having as little respect for women as he did, he believed their affections worth caring and therefore never heeded what sufferings were felt by the ladies he conquered. Some were said to be dying for him, but the more sensible thought if you would be dying for a man, let him at least have two eyebrows, not one! And should not such a man be tall, have a good complexion, and not have a wicked look in his eyes?
Now you may wonder, how can such a man have made it past all those who could stop him? The answer is that he had the money to "pass go," and the ton was such a collectively stupid group that none of them had the powers of thought to see him for what he was. Orange was the "height of fashion for women," but few could wear it and look lovely. Many women who wore the color made those around them hungry.
Why he had suddenly decided to take up the profession was a hotly contested subject. Rumor had it that it was to impress a young lady. No one knew who she was, but it seemed that the impossible had happened: he, the most renowned and half-respectable flirt of all of London, had fallen in love. The ladies did not wish to believe this; for it was one of them that he loved, not some poor, undistinguished, quiet, delicate country hussy!
(I say half-respectable because he never tried to make girls lift their skirts for him. But do not let it be said that there were not a great many girls who seemed ready and willing to do it if he asked. But he was smart enough to know that if he did, he would be trapped into marriage sooner or later.)
The reverend had a sister who had recently married a younger son. That too surprised many. Many a stupid, foolish, or "simply in the full daze of the testosterone fog" young man had fallen for her beauty, her wit, or her money. (The last being, naturally, the greatest cause of "love" in most of the young men.) That young man was a clergyman himself, and that angered all of the lords and gentlemen of property. "Why should a blasted second son of a baronet get this stunning dark goddess when all he had was a tiny cottage and less than a thousand a year?!" was a cry heard all through London. The clubs were in mourning the day it was said that she would marry that reverend.
The sister and her husband were close to the front of the seats, for many of the less kinder men held hopes of this husband dying by working himself to death in his country parsonage. The apparent kindness of the men around her was barely noticed by the lady. She seemed to be as entranced by her husband (who was not at all an ill sight to look at despite what most would have you think) as he was with her.
The church quickly filled. At the back were four figures clad entirely in black; one men and three women. They all appeared old, but they were not what they appeared to be.
And the same can said of so many characters of the ton that it would bore a person to death, but who wants to hear about boring lords and flattering ladies? No, you want me to talk of this parson.
He entered, and a hush fell over the assembled gathering. All stood upon his entrance. Even the four in the back; it was what the others were doing, and they did not want attention drawn to themselves.
The reverend reached the pulpit, and so Reverend Henry Crawford began his every six-week sermon. (For he delivered every six weeks, but he held an exception for certain holidays; some were wonderful to deliver sermons on!)
His speech was eloquent; another man with the mastery of language that he had was yet to become a clergyman. He used acting talent to draw the attention of his listeners completely into his speeches, and had nearly all the eligible ladies swooning. The men were in awe of his ability to do that; many considered themselves to be five times as handsome as Reverend Crawford!
You ask me for the sermon? Oh, dear me! I cannot recall what he said. You know how it is with such a lady of my years. Besides, I sat in the back row, and could barely hear him clearly for all the noise the young ladies were making. But I swear I saw the four people in black shaking as if they were laughing at the scene. They seemed to think it absurd that he was a preacher.
So do I, but then again I am prejudiced against any preacher who is that secure in fortune and that great a flirt. I have met many such men in my years, and I tell you they can be charming if you are not careful. I am astonished he has not robbed ladies of their virtue, but for all I know he may have done that and we just do not know about it.
Once it was all over, he walked out amid great cheering. It was as if they were at a theatre! A church is supposed to be a quiet place, for Heaven's sake! Whomever gave him the idea to make it such a place should be pulled into the street and shot.
He greeted all as they exited. This took a long time if you were one of those in the front rows. Those in the back were given the least amount of his time, and I was always glad of that. I was one of the first to be greeted, and with the kind of flattery that always reminded me of why you should always ignore people who flatter you. Shakespeare warned us of that with "King Lear," and many a other writer has done the same.
But on that day, I was without transport to my home. How I would get home was something I was prepared to worry about when I saw the four in black getting a brief yet warm greeting and a condolence from Reverend Crawford. (Lord, how strange that sounds!) They came down, and the man saw me; asked if I needed to be taken somewhere. I told him I had no way to get home, in __________ Street. He said he and his sister would be pleased to take me there, for two of his sisters (the ladies with him) lived in that very street. He seemed up close much younger than I had thought, and I wondered if their father had recently died.
He handed me into the carriage first, then his sisters before entering himself. He gave the direction to the driver, and we were off. Soon, I saw that they looked too full of mirth to be deep in mourning. I commented on this, and they all burst into laughter.
I could not speak, but soon all three ladies removed their veils and the man his hat. "I am sorry for giving the appearance of mourning, but we had no choice. You see, my lady, we are known to Reverend Crawford," (he seemed to choke with laughter at that name) "and wished to see his sermon without being noticed by him. This seemed the only way."
To confess the truth, I was not completely surprised; only those who really knew something about the man could have had such smiles during so serious a sermon. I forgave them, and asked to know to whom I was so much obliged.
He introduced himself as "Mr. Tom Bertram of Northamptonshire. This," he motioned to the blonde lady on his immediate left, "is my sister Maria."
She extended her hand. "I am now Lady __________, which my brother still neglects to tell people when he introduces me."
"Well, you are newly married." He then motioned to the redhead beside me. "The lady you are sitting next to is my sister Julia, or Lady _________, as she is now."
"How do you do?" she asked me. She seemed good-humoured, and I was pleased with her and her sister.
"And this," Mr. Bertram motioned to the brunette on the far left, "is my sister-in-law Fanny, or as I should say, Lady ____ ___________."
She seemed the slightest bit shy, but still greeted me with a smile. I had heard that name before, and it suddenly came to me. "Is your husband Captain Lord ____ ____________?" I asked her.
"He is," said she.
I said that I had no idea he (or the other two men who I now remembered from the names after the "lady" part each of Mr. Bertram's sisters held) was married. "We are all just married," Mr. Bertram said, "and, I confess, our parents do not yet know about it as we have just returned from Gretna Green."
Normally, I would be against going to marry in a hurry, but I was soon acquainted with the particulars of the story and understood why. When people were threatened with marriage to one they did no trust, and they had someone else whom they could be happy with, then I can approve of such a measure. I soon learned that Lady _____ ___________ was the young lady that Reverend Crawford wanted to marry, but he still thought she was Miss Frances Price. No one knew that she, her sister (whom Mr. Bertram was married to), and her two cousins had resigned their fathers' names. And indeed, Mr. Bertram's brother was the young man Miss Crawford had married!
I only wished I could know first-hand the reaction of the "honourable" Reverend Henry Crawford when he learned the lady he had taken orders for was another man's wife. That would certainly be something I would never forget.