Chapter 4: The Pilgrim's Progress

Longbourn, Hertfordshire, July, 1794

Lady Rutherford realized even before she reached the bottom of Longbourn's steps that she had let her anger overcome her reason. She needed Bennet's cooperation, but something in the way he had smirked at her was so vexing. As she entered her carriage and said, "Home, John," she reflected on the infuriating man.

Why was he so pompous? What was so silly about her suggestion? All she had done was propose that he let his daughters play as they like, and...

But wait, wasn't that what he was doing? Was not his benign neglect more or less what she had proposed? He was obviously aware of the concept; maybe he had been consciously practicing it, albeit in a more extreme manner than she thought optimal. But once his girls began formal instruction, there would be no discernible difference.

She performed a mental exercise that she had been taught many years ago, one which she had not had to employ in some time. When trying to understand a person who vexed you, pretend that you were he, and imagine what he thought about himself. Since everyone considers his own actions justified, there must be a way to cast them in a good light. Although truly evil people did exist, more likely there was a better explanation - a miscommunication, an unknown fact or assumption, a different value system, *something* that when understood, could be addressed and hopefully resolved.

So. Assume for a moment that Bennet was not a terrible father. Was there evidence to support this? What did she know about him that was fact, rather than assumption?

She recalled that more than once, while in her carriage on her way to or from Meryton or London, she had seen Bennet out walking with his daughters, or walking with Jane while he carried Lizzy. Since she did not leave Netherfield often, it was hardly likely that her excursions just happened to coincide with the times that Bennet had taken his children for a stroll, if that activity were equally infrequent. No, he must have done it quite often, perhaps even daily.

So she could well be wrong about the amount of time he spent with his children. Which immediately made her think of her visit to Longbourn a few weeks ago, when through her filter of disapproval, she had imagined his greeting of Lizzy in his study as evidence that he seldom saw her. But thinking back, she realized that they had both had a merry glint in their eyes. What if their 'How are you today, I am very well' exchange had been a private joke between them, because they were so often together?

During that same visit, she had cut off Mrs. Bennet, not wanting to hear her litany of grievances against her husband, but what if one of her complaints was that he spent more time with his daughters than with her?

Further evidence of his care for his daughters had been his immediate objection when he had thought that she wanted to separate Jane and Lizzy. Their happiness had been more important to him than her offer of a free education.

And what of Lizzy and Jane themselves? If she had to describe them in one word, that word would be 'cheerful.' They laughed and smiled as much as any children she had ever seen, more even than Clarence did, and she had thanked God daily that Clarence was such a happy child. She had also become aware over the past weeks, both from talking to them and observing them during their playtime between lessons, that Jane and Lizzy liked to climb trees, skip rocks in the pond, and play boisterously with tenant children and their dogs. Her own parents had not permitted her to do any of those things, and she had been a very solemn child. Perhaps not unhappy, for she knew no other way, but...

It hit her like a thunderbolt that she would have traded her childhood for Jane's in a heartbeat. Yes, Jane should have started her lessons sooner, but taking her own blinders off, Lady Rutherford realized that while she had been thinking of Jane as "nearly six," she was still but five. And although it had been her own family's practice to begin instruction before a child's fifth birthday, it was not unheard of, or even unusual, for children of the gentry to begin their instruction after that event, particularly little girls. So what she had been thinking of as a two-year delay was actually much shorter than that. And even if Bennet had been somewhat dilatory, he was hardly likely to have put her instruction off for much longer, especially when Jane's upcoming birthday reminded him that time was not standing still.

So what had been the actual delay in Jane's education? Perhaps six months? Perhaps even less. In a few years, that delay would mean next to nothing.

Bennet was, in fact, doing exactly what she had proudly offered as her enlightened approach to educating children, by letting them play as they chose. He didn't need to be so smug about it, but fair play, he had been right. And she realized that she wished her own father had been more like Mr. Bennet. It would have made scarcely any difference in her life if her lessons had been delayed a few months, but being able to play at anything and with anyone the way the Bennet girls did, and more importantly, having her father's love and attention, would have meant the world to her.

She did not even realize her carriage had stopped until her footman opened the door and reached to help her down. She gazed unseeing at Netherfield's main entrance. "My lady, are you well?" the footman asked, alarmed at her dazed expression.

She came to herself and said, "Thank you, John, I am well, just wool-gathering. I believe I will take a short walk before I go in."

"Yes, my lady." He signaled to the footman waiting to open the front door of Netherfield, who nodded and instead took up station to follow his mistress on her walk. The 'short walk' continued for over half an hour, but did not settle her mind, and she continued reviewing the day, and her life, even as she lay in bed that night. She would have to apologize to Mr. Bennet.

UI

In fact, the truth lay somewhere between Lady Rutherford's former and current assessment of Bennet's parental skills. He did care for his daughters, and spent time with them almost every day, but not because he worked at being a good father. He did it simply because he enjoyed it. The girls were little darlings, and gave him hugs and kisses and love and respect, none of which he got from his wife. He was content to be a gentleman of leisure, and to do what gave him pleasure, while doing the bare minimum required to run his estate and his household. So he would spend most of his time in his study, reading good books and sipping good wine, but when he felt like stretching his legs, he was happy to take a stroll with Jane and Lizzy, and to delight in their delight. He enjoyed answering their questions about nature, and seeing commonplace things like clouds and birds and butterflies and bumblebees through a child's eyes.

But he was also content to let his wife or servants see to his children's food and clothing and hygiene, and to let his steward run the estate. He put off any task he didn't enjoy, waiting until the last minute to attend to business correspondence, estate maintenance, and in this case, hiring a governess.

Until now, this system had worked well for him. His children were well fed and well clothed and seemed happy and healthy, and his estate ran smoothly (at least to his inexperienced eye). He had been embarrassed, however, when he perceived that Lady Rutherford, one of the few women he respected, and more importantly a woman with access to great power and resources, disapproved of his procrastination in hiring a governess for Jane. She had not expressed this verbally, but then a lady of quality would not. Nevertheless, he felt it.

He had resolved to be a better husband to Fanny, and he resolved to be a more diligent father to his children. Like most people, he was sincere at the time, but soon slipped back toward old habits. But not quite all the way back.

And not before he and Lady Rutherford had reconciled and become partners. She had indeed sent her carriage the following day, and he had accompanied his girls to Netherfield and asked to see her, where he was surprised to find that she not only graciously accepted his apology, but that she offered one of her own. With the ice broken, they put their heads together and agreed upon plans for Lizzy and Jane.

The plan for Jane was straightforward. She would be tutored at an accelerated but not strenuous pace until she could join Clarence in his classes. If it became apparent that was not going to work, they would re-evaluate the situation and come up with a new plan.

Lizzy's case was different. She was progressing so rapidly that a long-term plan was not practical. They decided to meet with her new tutor at frequent intervals, discuss Lizzy's progress, and adjust her lessons according to her interest and aptitude. Her tutor suggested that they begin instruction in modern languages at once, because in his experience children seemed to learn languages more easily when they were younger, while they learned things like mathematics more easily when they were older. Bennet had no objection.

Lady Rutherford had one more important but delicate question. "Mr. Bennet, I hope you will not take this the wrong way, but do you think that we will have your wife's support in this endeavor?"

Bennet hesitated. "I think that for now, we might keep this between ourselves, and that it might be best to have our discussions at Netherfield. Lizzy is no more exuberant than many children her age, but for some reason my wife finds it vexing when she does not act at all times as if she were being presented to the queen. It is also unfortunately true, and I belatedly realize that much of the blame for this falls on me, that Fanny is sensitive about her lack of education, and is resentful of people who make her think of it. Let me consider it, for I now see that if I can amend my own behavior toward my wife, it may make her more accepting of Lizzy."

Their plans yielded gratifying results. Jane was able to join Clarence in his sessions within a year, and they got along swimmingly, for both were very sweet-natured.

Lizzy exceeded all expectations; indeed, she exceeded all imagination. Within a few weeks, she had read all the primers at Netherfield, and was equally rapid at learning arithmetic. After several months, she could read material intended for adults, albeit naively (for satire, innuendo, and double entendre often escaped her). Like all children, she enjoyed the fantastical, but along with fairy tales and children's fables, she was reading Gulliver's Travels and The Pilgrim's Progress. She was equally adept in mathematics, able to add columns of figures or multiply three-digit numbers in her head almost instantly, and making good progress in algebra and geometry. She was also well on her way to fluency in several languages.

On Sundays, she would sit in her father's study with a volume of Johnson's Dictionary, and listen as he expounded on the definitions of words unfamiliar to her. By the time she was five, there were few such words.

UI

Four-year-old Lizzy had outgrown the Netherfield tutors, who were used to teaching only what normal children learned up to around age 12. Lady Rutherford and Mr. Bennet therefore worked out a new scheme. Lizzy was now mentally mature enough to educate herself by reading from the extensive library of her father, and the even more extensive library of Lady Rutherford.

Her father, mindful that she was still full young, spent several days reorganizing his library, and then informed Lizzy that she was allowed to read any book that she could reach with her feet flat on the floor. He reasoned that as she grew in stature she would grow in maturity, and be better able to handle content that she was not yet prepared for. (Years later, when Lizzy could finally reach the top shelf, she was a bit disappointed to find most of the books there were not salacious or bawdy, as she had expected, but were serious works by Enlightenment philosophers - Thomas Paine, Voltaire, Hume, etc. - who discussed religion and the Bible in a manner that might have seen them burned at the stake in an earlier time. She spent hours discussing them with her father, and then reading the sacred texts of other religions.)

Lady Rutherford also had masters who came to Netherfield once a week - three different masters on three different days - for her own education. She had been having Lizzy sit in on those sessions for some time, but now she would invert things. She would have Lizzy's interests dictate which masters came to Netherfield, and Lady Rutherford would be the one merely sitting in, while the masters' main emphasis would be on Lizzy. Since Lady Rutherford enjoyed learning almost any subject, and was coming to care for Lizzy as if she were her own daughter, this was not even an inconvenience, let alone a hardship.

And three days a week, Bennet himself would tutor Lizzy in his own specialty, the classics. At last he had the student he had always wanted - one who was both brilliant and eager to learn. Lizzy absorbed Latin and Greek* as easily as she did the modern languages, and before long she and her father conversed almost exclusively in those languages when they were alone - or around Mrs. Bennet, to her annoyance. They spent endless hours discussing works of ancient history, philosophy, and literature in their original versions, and helped each other become among the most knowledgeable, if unknown, authorities in England.

Longbourn, Hertfordshire, September, 1796

Lizzy enjoyed being with her father in his study, even when not working on her lessons, just to be outside of her mother's radius of irritation. But she was still a child, and sometimes became restless. One rainy Sunday afternoon, just to keep her occupied, he showed her his ledger of estate accounts, and asked her to check the totals. She was happy to do this, for she had been able to add columns of figures in her head since she was three. She had not been at it long before she said, "Papa, are these numbers supposed to add up?"

Bennet looked up from his book. "What do you mean? Of course they should add up!"

"But they do not - at least, not most of them."

Bennet said, "Show me."

After a couple of hours, the conclusion could not be denied: his steward was embezzling from him.

The figures in the ledger for individual purchases, rents, crop sales, and so forth seemed correct, although he knew that he would have to check those more carefully as well. But the quarterly totals, as Lizzy had said, seldom added up. Obviously, the occasional mistake was to be expected when adding dozens of numbers at once, but the totals in his ledgers were inaccurate more often than not. Even more incriminating was that the totals for income were invariably too small, while the totals for expenses were invariably too large. Had they been honest mistakes, they should not have been so predictable. The result was that Longbourn's net profits were understated by nearly a hundred pounds per quarter.

Bennet cursed himself for not being more diligent in checking his steward's figures, but he had never been especially good at arithmetic, and it was torture for him to add long columns of numbers, for he rarely arrived at the same total twice. He thought he had exercised due diligence by checking the individual entries, which all seemed reasonable. But clearly, that had not been enough.

He consulted his father-in-law Horace Gardiner, still the Meryton solicitor. They decided that to avoid injury to Mr. Bennet's reputation, the affair should be handled quietly, if possible. It turned out that it was. After confronting the steward with their damning evidence and threatening to have him transported to Botany Bay, they struck a deal that allowed him to resign without a reference if he repaid one thousand pounds. Gardiner had thought that Bennet should ask for more, and felt vindicated when the alacrity with which the steward agreed made it probable that he had stolen substantially more during his ten years in the employ of Robert and then Thomas Bennet, but Bennet was satisfied, so that ended the matter.

Bennet resolved to become more personally involved in Longbourn's management, a resolution made far more palatable now that he had Lizzy as his trusted accountant. He explained the situation to Lady Rutherford, who appreciated his trust in her and readily granted his request to have her own steward tutor Lizzy in keeping ledgers. The steward was not as surprised at this request as one might think, for rumors of the amazing intelligence of Lizzy Bennet had been circulating among the Netherfield staff for some time.

Bennet also fulfilled his promise to Fanny by putting the entire 1000 pounds into the four percents to start saving for his daughters' dowries. From then on, he added to that investment by cutting back on luxuries, and also investing anything in excess of his usual quarterly profits without even waiting for the end of the year, for it was money that he would have never seen had not Lizzy not detected the steward's malfeasance.

What was strange was that the amount was often well in excess of 100 pounds, even though the totals from the corrupt steward had seldom been that far off. Bennet mentioned this to Gardiner, who opined that the steward had probably not only fudged the totals, but had recorded purchases that were never made. Bennet again cursed himself for not being more diligent, and for ignoring the advice to seek more damages from the steward.

At the end of that year, Fanny's brother Edward Gardiner, who was now living in London, visited Meryton for the holidays. Bennet proudly showed him Lizzy's talent for ledgers, and Edward, who had worked his way up to a position of responsibility at a trading company called Mathers Imports, was duly impressed.

The next time the Bennets visited London, Edward introduced Lizzy to Mr. Mathers, his employer, and that man was also very impressed. Edward took Lizzy on a tour of his company's warehouse, showing her all sorts of strange items with tales of exotic locales behind them, and Lizzy suddenly had a new favorite subject - geography. She begged her father to buy her an atlas, and spent hours poring over it. She then started drawing her own maps, showing rather more talent for cartography than she had ever shown for drawing landscapes with her art tutor at Netherfield.

Bennet began corresponding with his former colleagues at Oxford, and exerted himself to make new acquaintances there when he visited, which he began to do with some frequency. He of course took Lizzy with him. This served not only the primary purpose of broadening her experiences and, when he could, sneaking her into the huge library with its magnificent collection of maps, but also of keeping her vanity in check. Lizzy had long since exceeded his abilities in mathematics, the natural sciences, and almost everything else except his knowledge of the classics, so he felt that it would do her good to meet men who were her superiors in other fields. He attempted to fool her for as long as he could that his friends were generally more knowledgeable than she was, but the truth was that like Bennet, they were specialists who excelled in only one area, and did not have Lizzy's breadth of knowledge.

The Oxford dons were enthralled with the pretty little girl who asked more intelligent questions than any of their students, and who, by the age of eight, could beat them all at chess.

Mrs. Bennet, of course, objected to the special privileges Lizzy was receiving. "Why can you not take your other daughters for a change?" she asked him. By now Lizzy had three younger sisters: Mary, Catherine, and Lydia. Mary and Catherine, while not as actively disliked by their mother as Lizzy, had still been disappointments to her because they were not sons. But Lydia, perhaps because the doctor had said that Lydia must be Fanny's last child, or perhaps because she looked so much like her mother at that age, was Fanny's darling.

Mr. Bennet was prepared for the question. "Very well, Mrs. Bennet, let us ask them." He had Mrs. Bennet summon his three youngest daughters and said, "Well girls, how would you like to go to a big library and read all day?"

Mrs. Bennet huffed and stalked out of the room, not even waiting for them to answer.

*Lest you think this is too far-fetched, one of England's most eminent philosophers was John Stuart Mill, born 1806. He was given a rigorous education that included learning Greek at age three. But the education may have been too rigorous, for he suffered from bouts of depression, and even contemplated suicide in his youth.

And of course, thousands of children learn Greek at an even younger age each year, and they are not called geniuses; they are simply called Greeks.

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