As an alternative to demand, Lady Catherine had gone so far as to appeal to every one of her acquaintance for vouchers to Almack’s. Whilst known to the Lady Patronesses, Lady Catherine had never been honoured with a visit, and so could not approach that august tribunal on her own. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had been provided with vouchers to attend, in spite of being married, but—in a singular disinclination counter to the universal opinion of all London—had no desire to attend. Their mutual description of that august assembly was that “it includes those who prefer admiration to respect, make lively conversation possessed of very little substance, humour, or taste, evince no pretentions to either education or reflection, and consist chiefly of second-hand opinions and prejudice, all masquerading as wits and philosophers.” Elizabeth declared that she was quite content with the airs, folly, and conceit to be met with in the course of their usual invitations, and had no inclination to stifle in a room that—once a week—was stuffed with the quantity of bodies as the entire city of Derby; and Mr. Darcy was heard to declare that he had no pretentions to go where Wellington could not, repeating that frequent judgement, “Almack’s is a system of tyranny which would never be tolerated except in a country ever-celebrated for its freedom; such complete freedom that people are at liberty to make fools of themselves.” In addition to the protection of its lights from the shades of the unfashionable, the Ladies Patronesses took care to distinguish Almack’s from private assemblies by providing scandalously poor refreshment, which would—in any other house—have resulted in a general condemnation as the most penurious of entertainments: a few slices of stale bread, dry cake, weak lemonade, and weaker tea was to suffice as sustenance for an entire evening of intrigue and exertion.

In general, such gentlemen as had voiced the above sentiment would perforce be found in the course of the following Wednesday, the victim of either his own wife or his own vanity. In those illuminating words of Mr. Luttrell,

All on that magic list depends;
Fame, fortune, fashion, lovers, friends
‘Tis that which gratifies or vexes
All ranks, all ages, and both sexes.
If once to Almack’s you belong,
Like Monarchs you can do no wrong,
But banished thence on Wednesday night,
By Jove, you can do nothing right!

It must be hoped that the sentiments of the Darcys did not become more generally accepted, lest London lose its most irresistible attraction to bemused foreigners, grasping rustics, or the legions of would-be fashionables who would go to any length to secure admission to the assembly most calculated to expose their pretentions, and display their own inferiority.