As time went on, Elizabeth found increasing delight in married life, which she had no doubt she would.  When not visiting her beloved Jane, Elizabeth indulged in long walks about Pemberly in the arms of Mr. Darcy, and when the weather proved too severe for such means of exercise, Elizabeth found pleasure in practicing upon the pianoforte.  Although her abilities never improved to the point of satisfying lady Catherine de Bourgh, they always appealed to both she and her husband’s musical taste.  When appealed to play at balls, Elizabeth felt moved to decline, for her love of dancing always proved greater than that of playing upon the pianoforte.  Indeed, Elizabeth proved quite content in marriage and found a wonderful friend in Miss Darcy.

    Elizabeth was chatting quite pleasantly with this very friend when Mrs. Reynolds entered the saloon to announce the delivery of a letter from Newcastle.  Although the weight of the letter proved heavier than most any correspondence received from Lydia, Elizabeth concluded that her sister must have spent a few days cataloguing frivolous wants of mere material value.  For this reason, she cordially accepted the letter, only to place the envelope aside and continue her discourse.  Not until that evening did she find herself able to read the letter, and to great agitation.  The letter was to this affect:

‘My DEAR Lizzy,

    I hope to find you in good health and finance.  You must be very happy, as your love for Mr. Darcy has yet to fade.  My affection for Wickham, however, has decreased exceedingly.  While he loves me, I am sure, I no longer return the same affection.  At present, a divorce proves out of the question, however, if I am drawn to take leave of Newcastle, which I do not doubt will occur, I shall not mind residing in Mr. Darcy’s guest room.  Indeed, I am sure that my visiting would not prove a bit troublesome on your part.  At present, I have taken up a noble profession to support my wants, which you and Wickham have so greatly neglected.  I shall hint at it, though the guessing, my dear Lizzy, proves entirely your responsibility.

    Let us first consider the notion that I, myself, have no interest in medicine.  Thus I entreat you to eliminate the occupation of midwife from your list.  My means of obtaining an income proves tiring, though most certainly will not cause cramping of the wrist, so eradicate novelist from your list as well—such a horrid profession you should not have even listed in the first place!  Now only one option should remain.  I shall not set it plain in script for you here.  Rather, I remain faithful to my previously established game of wits.  Pray, have you a guess?  Indeed, I am almost sure that you have.

    My getting such a career one can only attribute to Wickham, who insisted upon my potential in the field despite my limited experience.  His capability to see my perfections and talents proves the only redeemable trait of which he possesses.  How lucky he must feel to have the company of a woman such as myself.  At times I feel that his support in my means of establishing an income spawns from a lack of want to work himself.  Though I have not stayed within Newcastle much these past few days, when indeed I do have the little comfort of my small home, I often find Wickham in high agitation.

    The reason for such agitation, my dear Lizzy, I believe I discovered the other day, for, on entering the parlor, I came upon my wretched Wickham in a very compromising position with our servant.  Details, I assure you, need not be expressed.  To be sure, I no longer comprehend what I once saw in Wickham, though I am convinced of your proceeding to harbor affection towards him despite your professed love for Mr. Darcy.  At any rate, I have found a new object for which to direct my affection—Winslow.

    Now, I know where you have your mind, Lizzy, but I must rebuff your assumption and enlighten you with the information that Winslow is my new puppy!  Such a cute pug I now have!  I am quite glad I have no children, for if I did, I am sure they would prove quite disagreeable.  Not to mention that one need not purchase even half so many items for a puppy as a child would require.  Indeed, I am sure to find much pleasure in the company of Winslow.  Already he has ruined Wickham’s favorite pair of slippers, which I found quite distasteful in the first place.

    My wonderful Winslow and I went into town yesterday.  I purchased a Pomona green bonnet and redingote, lined in slate silk, which I plan on wearing over a white walking dress.  How my neighbors shall admire me, you may only guess.  So entertaining a pastime it proves, having wealth.  Just last week I purchased a suit for Marianne and dressed her up as a gentleman for the evening’s ball.  Many of the women refused respectable offers to dance, as they wished for Marianne’s hand!  How much I laughed when they found her out!  Indeed, I find much entertainment thanks to my newly found profession.  Perchance you shall have the privilege of my company soon, though do not bring yourself into frenzy.  We shall see one another soon enough, I dare say.

                            Yours, etc.

    Such a letter could only bring Elizabeth great agitation.  Upon reading the letter she began pacing about and, every so often, a harsh breath of exasperation escaped her lips.  For Lydia to have such a profession—and what’s more, to harbor pride in such an employment!  The thought proved almost too much for Elizabeth.  On the subject of Lydia’s failed marriage Elizabeth harbored no pity.  Wickham and Lydia’s doomed future proved common knowledge to all except Mrs. Bennet and the lovers themselves.  Thus, Elizabeth could only care about how Lydia’s thoughtlessness, which had apparently never ceased to envelope her mind, now led her into a profession that could only bring the Bennet family shame.  As to Lydia’s adoption of a puppy, Elizabeth could only feel pity for the creature, which she knew would find no nurturing abilities within either of its owners.

    After giving great consideration as to how she should react to Lydia’s letter, Elizabeth came to rest on the idea of telling Darcy, which she promptly did at his entering the room.  The disgust felt for the decisions of Elizabeth’s relation, he could not hide.  However, he could only see Lydia’s putting herself at risk of illness and imprisonment as a means of crying out for help.  On this note, Darcy pondered for some time, but resolved that the only aid Lydia could possibly expect or want would be monetary, which, based on the content of her letter, proved unnecessary.  As for recommending that she quit her profession, both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy felt that Lydia would only ignore such a suggestion.

    Thus, the only remaining option for Elizabeth was to shut Lydia out of her life as well as out of the family, for good.  While the Bennets proved quite silly and poor in decorum at times, none but Lydia showed the acute ability to act so irrational and conceited.  The decision would benefit both the Bennets and Mr. and Mrs. Darcy by dividing them from the lives of two who did not deserve support from relations to begin with.  How Elizabeth planned on informing her beloved Jane, she had yet to contemplate, but she was sure that her ever-compassionate sister would only reject the idea of cutting ties with Lydia.  And so, while Mrs. Bennet and Jane could most certainly not cease to harbor affection for Lydia, despite her tremendous downfall, Elizabeth and her beloved Darcy quit their attempts at aiding a lost cause.

FINIS

     In July 1964, Esquire Magazine printed an article titled, “The New Sentimentality,” written by David Newman and Robert Benton.  The article expressed American society’s transition from the old sentimentality to the new sentimentality—from values to the individual.  Patriotism went from commitment to an ideal to commitment to self.  Sex went from the prudent result of honorable intentions to respect for girls who sleep around a little.  Society was changing rapidly and because of this Warren Beatty was faced with a problem.  He had to create a film that focused on a pair of old sentimentality criminals, but bring them into the new age of free love, free sex, and free thoughts.  The challenge was filming “Bonnie and Clyde” without moving too far away from the facts.   
     The 1960s was a time when “sticking it to the man” was all the rage.  Free love and free sex and free thoughts were what the new generation was focusing on.  The old sentimentality of values and virginity was out.  In its place came the new sentimentality: commitment to self, respect for girls who slept around a little, and freedom to oppose the government.  Warren Beatty’s “Bonnie and Clyde” serves as a perfect example of this change.
     The film’s real-life models existed during the Great Depression—when old sentimentality was still intact.  However, the film was created during the shift from the old sentimentality to the new.  Thus, in making “Bonnie and Clyde,” Beatty had to mix Bonnie and Clyde’s old sentimentality views of love with society’s new sentimentality views of sex and patriotism. This explains why the film deviates from the true story of the original criminals.
     Clyde first met Bonnie in January of 1930, when he was visiting a friend in West Dallas—a normal way to make a new acquaintance at the time.  However, the film’s explanation as to how the two lovers met is completely different.  Scene one starts off with Bonnie noticing that Clyde is trying to steal her mother’s car.  She calls out to him in a friendly manner from her bedroom window, where she stands stark naked.  Then, Bonnie quickly dresses herself and clamors down the stairs to greet Clyde, who is, at that moment, a complete stranger to her. 
     Obviously, the beginning scene is made to attract the new generation of the 1960s.  Bonnie’s attitude toward Clyde is alluring, which fell into place with how society currently viewed sex; “we respect girls who sleep around a little.  They are nicer.”   Indeed, the fact that 1960s youth felt comfortable and open about sex played a large role in Beatty’s alterations to Bonnie and Clyde’s biography, specifically Clyde’s sex life.
     Throughout the film, sex is used as a type of relief.  This is made possible by constant hinting at the idea of Clyde’s being impotent.  Clyde’s character first enters this often referred to point when he tells Bonnie, “I’m not much of a lover boy,” which implies that he has never pleased a lady. Originally, the screenwriters wanted Clyde’s character to be shown as having homosexual tendencies with C.W., but the idea was quickly shot down.  Of course, Clyde was neither impotent nor homosexual in real life.   The director simply wanted to appeal to 1960s society by focusing “Bonnie and Clyde” around a subject that would gain attention.
     Threading the topic of sex throughout the film was just the way to appeal to the new generation and it aided in relieving any anxiety felt towards the main characters.  A grand example of sex as comic relief is near the beginning of the film.  Following Bonnie and Clyde’s first couple of robberies, they take refuge in an abandoned farmhouse.  Bonnie starts kissing Clyde, only to be pushed away when the lovemaking reaches a high point.  Beatty’s use of sex draws the audience away from scrutinizing the immorality of the couple’s robbing and trespassing.  It serves as a distraction as well as an appeal.  The sex-crazed character that Bonnie is shown as was exactly what the new sentimentality of sex supported.  The age of tramp was gone and in its place was a fear of virgins and want of a good time.  Because of this, Beatty distorted Bonnie’s actual personality, thus enabling the new generation to relate.
     The odd thing about the film’s coming of age sexcapades was that, at that point, film had yet to portray women in such a sexually aggressive way.  What’s more, it was still considered indecent to show women nude in film.  But Beatty broke barriers by sexing up the history of Bonnie and Clyde.
     He also caused uproar in how he romanticized the criminals’ way of life.  In order to guarantee that attention be given to the film Beatty took numerous artistic liberties with the criminal aspects of Bonnie and Clyde’s lives.  The movie shows the duo in a great number of bank robberies, but, as W.D. Jones explains, “there was never much money in the banks back in them days in the Southwest.”   The reason behind this alteration was Beatty’s wanting to appeal to the part of society fighting against “the man.”  By showing Bonnie and Clyde as going against the establishment, 1960s youth were able to relate to these glorified criminals.  It did not matter to Beatty whether or not it was realistic to have criminals who lived during the Great Depression rob banks that had no money.  In the world of cinema, historical facts could be exchanged for ticket sales.
     For this reason, Beatty made Bonnie and Clyde’s two-year petty theft spree look sort of glamorous.  The film shows the two criminals as being proud and looked up to by an impoverished society.  Clyde goes around telling people “we rob banks” without a second thought.  However, “the way [Beatty] showed Clyde is all wrong.  Clyde never bragged.  And he wouldn’t have lived 90 days running his mouth like they had it.”   The film made Bonnie and Clyde out to be hardened criminals who killed without a care and had a fetish for breaking the law.  Nothing could have been further from the truth.  “[Clyde] never wanted to kill.  He’d kidnap the police instead of killing them, if he could” and Bonnie was never known to have shot a gun.   The couple simply wanted to stay free, and once they entered the world of crime there was no end to their running.
     It is true that a poverty-stricken segment of 1930s society looked up to Bonnie and Clyde.  The film shows this when a group of gypsies gives C.W. a bucket of water to nourish Bonnie and Clyde.  In real life, the 2,000-some people who demanded the ability to pay their respects at the couple’s funeral made society’s admiration for the lovers obvious.  Even so, the true lives of Bonnie and Clyde were nowhere near as glamorous as the film made them.  And yet, their end was just as tragic, though not as sexed up, as on the big screen.
     Throughout “Bonnie and Clyde,” the audience restlessly waits for Clyde to get over his impotency and sexually satisfy Bonnie.  False alarms are strung all through the film in order to tease the viewers and keep them wanting.  It is not until the last scene that the audience witnesses Clyde having coitus with Bonnie (though one does not actually see them have sex—it is filmed tastefully).  Finally, the audience could be satisfied.  Or could they?
     Directly following the love scene, Bonnie and Clyde are ambushed by the police.  Bonnie’s body hangs limp in the passenger side of the vehicle, while Clyde is turned into a human colander on the side of the road.  The two Robin Hood figures—after finally consummating their love and satisfying the viewers’ hopes—are killed without warning.  The dramatic ending touched the hearts of the free loving, anti-establishmentarian youth.  But because Beatty’s film portrayed the two criminals as victims of the government, it sparked controversy in the film industry.  Criminals could not, as a general rule, be portrayed in such a way as to invoke empathy.  And yet, should not society have compassion for the fallen soldiers who, despite their misdeeds, simply wanted to live the American dream of freedom during a time when it was most difficult to simply live?