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Pride And Prejudice
By
Jane Austen
Contents
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 1
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a
single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of =
such
a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well f=
ixed
in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful
property of some one or other of their daughters.
"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady =
to
him one day, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?&quo=
t;
Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
"But it is," returned she; "for
Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it."
Mr. Bennet made no answer.
"Do you not want to know who has taken
it?" cried his wife impatiently.
" You want to tell me, and I have no objection=
to
hearing it."
This was invitation enough.
"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long s=
ays
that Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of
England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place,=
and
was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; =
that
he is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to=
be
in the house by the end of next week."
"What is his name?"
"Bingley."
"Is he married or single?"
"Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single
man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for o=
ur
girls!"
"How so? How can it affect them?"
"My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wi=
fe,
"how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his
marrying one of them."
"Is that his design in settling here?&quo=
t;
"Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! B=
ut
it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and there=
fore
you must visit him as soon as he comes."
"I see no occasion for that. You and the
girls may go, or you may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be sti=
ll
better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley may like you=
the
best of the party."
"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly
"In such cases, a woman has not often much
beauty to think of."
"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see=
Mr.
Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood."
"It is more than I engage for, I assure
you."
"But consider your daughters. Only think =
what
an establishment it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are
determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you know, they vi=
sit
no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit
him if you do not."
"You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare =
say
Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by yo=
u to
assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the
girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy."
"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizz=
y is
not a bit better than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome=
as
Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving her =
span>the
preference."
"They have none of them much to recommend
them," replied he; "they are all silly and ignorant like other gi=
rls;
but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters."
"Mr. Bennet, how can =
span>you
abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You h=
ave
no compassion for my poor nerves."
"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high
respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention =
them
with consideration these last twenty years at least."
"Ah, you do not know what I suffer."=
"But I hope you will get over it, and liv=
e to
see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.&quo=
t;
"It will be no use to us, if twenty such
should come, since you will not visit them."
"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there=
are
twenty, I will visit them all."
Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts,
sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-tw=
enty
years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She =
was a
woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When=
she
was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was=
to
get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 2
Mr. B=
ennet
was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He had always
intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his wife that he
should not go; and till the evening after the visit was paid she had no kno=
wledge
of it. It was then disclosed in the following manner. Observing his second
daughter employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly addressed her with:
"I hope Mr. Bingley will like it,
Lizzy."
"We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes," said her mother=
resentfully,
"since we are not to visit."
"But you forget, mamma," said Elizab=
eth,
"that we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long promised=
to
introduce him."
"I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any s=
uch
thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman,=
and
I have no opinion of her."
"No more have I," said Mr. Bennet;
"and I am glad to find that you do not depend on her serving you."=
;
Mrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply, but,
unable to contain herself, began scolding one of her daughters.
"Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for Heave=
n's
sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces."=
"Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,&q=
uot;
said her father; "she times them ill."
"I do not cough for my own amusement,&quo= t; replied Kitty fretfully. "When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?" <= o:p>
"To-morrow fortnight."
"Aye, so it is," cried her mother,
"and Mrs. Long does not come back till the day before; so it will be i=
mpossible
for her to introduce him, for she will not know him herself."
"Then, my dear, you may have the advantag=
e of
your friend, and introduce Mr. Bingley to her ."
"Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when=
I
am not acquainted with him myself; how can you be so teasing?"
"I honour your circumspection. A fortnigh=
t's
acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is=
by
the end of a fortnight. But if we =
do not venture somebody else will; and a=
fter
all, Mrs. Long and her neices must stand their chance; and, therefore, as s=
he
will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it=
on
myself."
The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet =
said
only, "Nonsense, nonsense!"
"What can be the meaning of that emphatic
exclamation?" cried he. "Do you consider the forms of introductio=
n,
and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with=
you
there . What say you, Mary? For yo=
u are
a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read great books and make
extracts."
Mary wished to say something sensible, but knew
not how.
"While Mary is adjusting her ideas,"=
he
continued, "let us return to Mr. Bingley."
"I am sick of Mr. Bingley," cried his
wife.
"I am sorry to hear that ; but why did not you tell me that
before? If I had known as much this morning I certainly would not have call=
ed on
him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot
escape the acquaintance now."
The astonishment of the ladies was just what he
wished; that of Mrs. Bennet perhaps surpassing the rest; though, when the f=
irst
tumult of joy was over, she began to declare that it was what she had expec=
ted
all the while.
"How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Benn=
et!
But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls t=
oo
well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! and it is suc=
h a good
joke, too, that you should have gone this morning and never said a word abo=
ut
it till now."
"Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you
choose," said Mr. Bennet; and, as he spoke, he left the room, fatigued
with the raptures of his wife.
"What an excellent father you have,
girls!" said she, when the door was shut. "I do not know how you =
will
ever make him amends for his kindness; or me, either, for that matter. At o=
ur
time of life it is not so pleasant, I can tell you, to be making new
acquaintances every day; but for your sakes, we would do anything. Lydia, my
love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will
dance with you at the next ball."
"Oh!" said Lydia stoutly, "I am=
not
afraid; for though I am the youngest, I'm the tallest."
The rest of the evening was spent in conjectur=
ing
how soon he would return Mr. Bennet's visit, and determining when they shou=
ld
ask him to dinner.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 3
Not a=
ll
that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five daughters, could=
ask
on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her husband any satisfactory
description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him in various ways--with barefac=
ed
questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the
skill of them all, and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand
intelligence of their neighbour, Lady Lucas. Her report was highly favourab=
le.
Sir William had been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully
handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at t=
he
next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be f=
ond
of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hope=
s of
Mr. Bingley's heart were entertained.
"If I can but see one of my daughters hap=
pily
settled at Netherfield," said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, "and all
the others equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for."
In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet's
visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had entertained
hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he =
had heard
much; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, =
for
they had the advantage of ascertaining from an upper window that he wore a =
blue
coat, and rode a black horse.
An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards
dispatched; and already had Mrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do
credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. M=
r.
Bingley was obliged to be in town the following day, and, consequently, una=
ble to
accept the honour of their invitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite disconcer=
ted.
She could not imagine what business he could have in town so soon after his
arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that he might be always fly=
ing
about from one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield as he oug=
ht
to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his be=
ing
gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon
followed that Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen wi=
th
him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of ladies, but we=
re
comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve he bro=
ught
only six with him from London--his five sisters and a cousin. And when the
party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether--Mr.
Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.=
Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike=
; he
had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were =
fine
women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merel=
y looked
the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room=
by
his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which =
was
in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having
ten thousand a year. The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a =
man,
the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was look=
ed
at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a
disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to b=
e proud;
to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his large est=
ate
in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeab=
le
countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend.
Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted w=
ith
all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced
every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving =
one
himself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. W=
hat
a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs.
Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other la=
dy,
and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room, speaking
occasionally to one of his own party. His character was decided. He was the
proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he w=
ould
never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Benne=
t,
whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resent=
ment
by his having slighted one of her daughters.
Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scar=
city
of gentlemen, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr.
Darcy had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between =
him
and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his fr=
iend
to join it.
"Come, Darcy," said he, "I must
have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid
manner. You had much better dance."
"I certainly shall not. You know how I de=
test
it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembl=
y as
this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not =
another
woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up
with."
"I would not be so fastidious as you
are," cried Mr. Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never =
met
with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are
several of them you see uncommonly pretty."
" You are dancing with the only handsome girl =
in the
room," said Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.
"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I
ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, =
who
is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to
introduce you."
"Which do you mean?" and turning rou=
nd
he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his=
own
and coldly said: "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> me ; I am in no humour at present to give
consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better
return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time =
with
me."
Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy wal=
ked
off; and Elizabeth remained with no very cordial feelings toward him. She t=
old
the story, however, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a live=
ly, playful
disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.
The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to
the whole family. Mrs. Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by =
the
Netherfield party. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been =
distinguished
by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her mother could be,
though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane's pleasure. Mary had heard her=
self
mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhoo=
d;
and Catherine and Lydia had been fortunate enough never to be without partn=
ers,
which was all that they had yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned,
therefore, in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and =
of
which they were the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. =
With
a book he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a good
deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had raised such splen=
did
expectations. He had rather hoped that his wife's views on the stranger wou=
ld
be disappointed; but he soon found out that he had a different story to hea=
r.
"Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet," as she ent=
ered
the room, "we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent bal=
l. I
wish you had been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it.
Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite
beautiful, and danced with her twice! Only think of that , my dear; he actually danced with =
her twice!
and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. Firs=
t of
all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her! But,
however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know; and he
seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So he inquir=
ed
who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then the t=
wo
third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the
two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the Boulanger --"
"If he had had any compassion for me ," cried her husband impatiently=
, "he
would not have danced half so much! For God's sake, say no more of his
partners. Oh that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!"
"Oh! my dear, I am quite delighted with h=
im.
He is so excessively handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never =
in
my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace u=
pon
Mrs. Hurst's gown--"
Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet
protested against any description of finery. She was therefore obliged to s=
eek
another branch of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit =
and
some exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.
"But I can assure you," she added,
"that Lizzy does not lose much by not suiting his fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, ho=
rrid
man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that there was no
enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very=
great!
Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to h=
ave
given him one of your set-downs. I quite detest the man."
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 4
When =
Jane
and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of
Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister just how very much she admired =
him.
"He is just what a young man ought to
be," said she, "sensible, good-humoured, lively; and I never saw =
such
happy manners!--so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!"
"He is also handsome," replied
Elizabeth, "which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can.
His character is thereby complete."
"I was very much flattered by his asking =
me
to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment."
"Did not you? I did for you. But that is =
one
great difference between us. Compliments always take you =
span>by
surprise, and me never. What could be more natural than h=
is
asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as
pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for tha=
t.
Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You
have liked many a stupider person."
"Dear Lizzy!"
"Oh! you are a great deal too apt, you kn=
ow,
to like people in general. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world =
are
good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human bei=
ng
in your life."
"I would not wish to be hasty in censuring
anyone; but I always speak what I think."
"I know you do; and it is that which makes the wonder. With your <=
/span>good
sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others!
Affectation of candour is common enough--one meets with it everywhere. But =
to
be candid without ostentation or design--to take the good of everybody's
character and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad--belongs to =
you
alone. And so you like this man's sisters, too, do you? Their manners are n=
ot
equal to his."
"Certainly not--at first. But they are ve=
ry
pleasing women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her
brother, and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a =
very
charming neighbour in her."
Elizabeth listened in silence, but was not
convinced; their behaviour at the assembly had not been calculated to pleas=
e in
general; and with more quickness of observation and less pliancy of temper =
than
her sister, and with a judgement too unassailed by any attention to herself,
she was very little disposed to approve them. They were in fact very fine l=
adies;
not deficient in good humour when they were pleased, nor in the power of ma=
king
themselves agreeable when they chose it, but proud and conceited. They were
rather handsome, had been educated in one of the first private seminaries in
town, had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, were in the habit of spending
more than they ought, and of associating with people of rank, and were
therefore in every respect entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly=
of
others. They were of a respectable family in the north of England; a
circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories than that their brothe=
r's
fortune and their own had been acquired by trade.
Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of
nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purch=
ase
an estate, but did not live to do it. Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and=
sometimes
made choice of his county; but as he was now provided with a good house and=
the
liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those who best knew the easi=
ness
of his temper, whether he might not spend the remainder of his days at
Netherfield, and leave the next generation to purchase.
His sisters were anxious for his having an est=
ate
of his own; but, though he was now only established as a tenant, Miss Bingl=
ey
was by no means unwilling to preside at his table--nor was Mrs. Hurst, who =
had married
a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider his house as =
her
home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years, when he=
was
tempted by an accidental recommendation to look at Netherfield House. He did
look at it, and into it for half-an-hour--was pleased with the situation and
the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and =
took
it immediately.
Between him and Darcy there was a very steady
friendship, in spite of great opposition of character. Bingley was endeared=
to
Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no
disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his =
own he
never appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy's regard, Bingley had=
the
firmest reliance, and of his judgement the highest opinion. In understandin=
g,
Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was
clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his
manners, though well-bred, were not inviting. In that respect his friend had
greatly the advantage. Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared,
Darcy was continually giving offense.
The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton
assembly was sufficiently characteristic. Bingley had never met with more
pleasant people or prettier girls in his life; everybody had been most kind=
and
attentive to him; there had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon fe=
lt acquainted
with all the room; and, as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel m=
ore
beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a collection of people in whom
there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had felt the sm=
allest
interest, and from none received either attention or pleasure. Miss Bennet =
he
acknowledged to be pretty, but she smiled too much.
Mrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so-=
-but
still they admired her and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl,
and one whom they would not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefo=
re established
as a sweet girl, and their brother felt authorized by such commendation to
think of her as he chose.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 5
Withi=
n a
short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particula=
rly
intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in Meryton, where he=
had
made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the honour of knighthood by an addre=
ss
to the king during his mayoralty. The distinction had perhaps been felt too
strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business, and to his residence =
in a
small market town; and, in quitting them both, he had removed with his fami=
ly
to a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lo=
dge,
where he could think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled by
business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. For, though
elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the contrary, he=
was
all attention to everybody. By nature inoffensive, friendly, and obliging, =
his
presentation at St. James's had made him courteous.
Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not =
too
clever to be a valuable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children.
The eldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven,
was Elizabeth's intimate friend.
That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets sho=
uld
meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the
assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.
" You began the evening well, Charlotte,"= said Mrs. Bennet with civil self-command to Miss Lucas. " You were Mr. Bingley's first choice." <= o:p>
"Yes; but he seemed to like his second
better."
"Oh! you mean Jane, I suppose, because he
danced with her twice. To be sure that =
span>did
seem as if he admired her--indeed I
rather believe he did --I heard
something about it--but I hardly know what--something about Mr. Robinson.&q=
uot;
"Perhaps you mean what I overheard between
him and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it to you? Mr. Robinson's asking him
how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not think there wer=
e a
great many pretty women in the room, and which he thought the prettiest? and his answer=
ing immediately
to the last question: 'Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there ca=
nnot
be two opinions on that point.'"
"Upon my word! Well, that is very decided
indeed--that does seem as if--but, however, it may all come to nothing, you
know."
" My overhearings were more to the purpose th=
an yours , Eliza," said Charlotte. &qu=
ot;Mr.
Darcy is not so well worth listening to as his friend, is he?--poor Eliza!-=
-to
be only just tolerable ."
"I beg you would not put it into Lizzy's =
head
to be vexed by his ill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man, that it
would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night
that he sat close to her for half-an-hour without once opening his lips.&qu=
ot;
"Are you quite sure, ma'am?--is not there=
a little
mistake?" said Jane. "I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to
her."
"Aye--because she asked him at last how he
liked Netherfield, and he could not help answering her; but she said he see=
med
quite angry at being spoke to."
"Miss Bingley told me," said Jane,
"that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate acquaintances. W=
ith them <=
/span>he
is remarkably agreeable."
"I do not believe a word of it, my dear. =
If
he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can
guess how it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare s=
ay
he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come =
to the
ball in a hack chaise."
"I do not mind his not talking to Mrs.
Long," said Miss Lucas, "but I wish he had danced with Eliza.&quo=
t;
"Another time, Lizzy," said her moth=
er,
"I would not dance with him ,=
if I
were you."
"I believe, ma'am, I may safely promise y=
ou never to dance with him."
"His pride," said Miss Lucas, "=
does
not offend me so much as pride often does, because the=
re is
an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with fam=
ily,
fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may=
so
express it, he has a right to be proud."
"That is very true," replied Elizabe=
th,
"and I could easily forgive h=
is pride, if he had not mortified mine ."
"Pride," observed Mary, who piqued
herself upon the solidity of her reflections, "is a very common failin=
g, I
believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common
indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are v=
ery
few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of =
some
quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things,=
though
the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being
vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we wou=
ld
have others think of us."
"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy," cr=
ied
a young Lucas, who came with his sisters, "I should not care how proud=
I
was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine a day.&qu=
ot;
"Then you would drink a great deal more t=
han
you ought," said Mrs. Bennet; "and if I were to see you at it, I
should take away your bottle directly."
The boy protested that she should not; she
continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the
visit.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 6
The l=
adies
of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit was soon return=
ed
in due form. Miss Bennet's pleasing manners grew on the goodwill of Mrs. Hu=
rst
and Miss Bingley; and though the mother was found to be intolerable, and the
younger sisters not worth speaking to, a wish of being better acquainted wi=
th them was expressed towards the two eldest. By=
Jane,
this attention was received with the greatest pleasure, but Elizabeth still=
saw
superciliousness in their treatment of everybody, hardly excepting even her
sister, and could not like them; though their kindness to Jane, such as it =
was,
had a value as arising in all probability from the influence of their broth=
er's
admiration. It was generally evident whenever they met, that he did admire her and to her =
span>it
was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference which she had
begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a way to be very much=
in
love; but she considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discove=
red
by the world in general, since Jane united, with great strength of feeling,=
a
composure of temper and a uniform cheerfulness of manner which would guard =
her
from the suspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend Mi=
ss
Lucas.
"It may perhaps be pleasant," replied
Charlotte, "to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it =
is
sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her
affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the
opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be but poor consolation to beli=
eve
the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in
almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can=
all
begin freely--a slight preference is natural e=
nough;
but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love wit=
hout
encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a women had better show more <=
/span>affection
than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do =
more
than like her, if she does not help him on."
"But she does help him on, as much as her
nature will allow. If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a
simpleton, indeed, not to discover it too."
"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know
Jane's disposition as you do."
"But if a woman is partial to a man, and =
does
not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out."
"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of he=
r.
But, though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hou=
rs
together; and, as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is
impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane
should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command =
his attention.
When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as
much as she chooses."
"Your plan is a good one," replied
Elizabeth, "where nothing is in question but the desire of being well
married, and if I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I =
dare
say I should adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting=
by
design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard =
nor
of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four =
dances
with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since
dined with him in company four times. This is not quite enough to make her
understand his character."
"Not as you represent it. Had she merely =
dined with him, she might only have discovered
whether he had a good appetite; but you must remember that four evenings ha=
ve
also been spent together--and four evenings may do a great deal."
"Yes; these four evenings have enabled th=
em
to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but with
respect to any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has
been unfolded."
"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish
Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I
should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be
studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely=
a
matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known=
to
each other or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicit=
y in
the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to h=
ave
their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of =
the
defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."
"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is =
not
sound. You know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way y=
ourself."
Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley's attentions=
to
her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming=
an
object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first
scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration =
at
the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But n=
o sooner
had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she hardly had a good
feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly
intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery
succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a
critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was
forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of =
his
asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was
caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware; to her=
he
was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought
her handsome enough to dance with.
He began to wish to know more of her, and as a
step towards conversing with her himself, attended to her conversation with
others. His doing so drew her notice. It was at Sir William Lucas's, where a
large party were assembled.
"What does Mr. Darcy mean," said she=
to
Charlotte, "by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster?"=
;
"That is a question which Mr. Darcy only =
can
answer."
"But if he does it any more I shall certa=
inly
let him know that I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and =
if I
do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of
him."
On his approaching them soon afterwards, though
without seeming to have any intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her fr=
iend
to mention such a subject to him; which immediately provoking Elizabeth to =
do
it, she turned to him and said:
"Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I
expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forst=
er to
give us a ball at Meryton?"
"With great energy; but it is always a
subject which makes a lady energetic."
"You are severe on us."
"It will be her turn soon to be teased," said Miss =
Lucas.
"I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what
follows."
"You are a very strange creature by way o=
f a
friend!--always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! I=
f my
vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it =
is,
I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of=
hearing
the very best performers." On Miss Lucas's persevering, however, she
added, "Very well, if it must be so, it must." And gravely glanci=
ng at
Mr. Darcy, "There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of cou=
rse
familiar with: 'Keep your breath to cool your porridge'; and I shall keep m=
ine
to swell my song."
Her performance was pleasing, though by no mea=
ns
capital. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties =
of
several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrum=
ent
by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one =
in the
family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient=
for
display.
Mary had neither genius nor taste; and though
vanity had given her application, it had given her likewise a pedantic air =
and
conceited manner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence th=
an
she had reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with =
much
more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the end of a l=
ong
concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish air=
s,
at the request of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases, and t=
wo
or three officers, joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.
Mr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignatio=
n at
such a mode of passing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, a=
nd
was too much engrossed by his thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas w=
as his
neighbour, till Sir William thus began:
"What a charming amusement for young peop=
le
this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it =
as
one of the first refinements of polished society."
"Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage
also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Ev=
ery
savage can dance."
Sir William only smiled. "Your friend
performs delightfully," he continued after a pause, on seeing Bingley =
join
the group; "and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yours=
elf,
Mr. Darcy."
"You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe,
sir."
"Yes, indeed, and received no inconsidera=
ble
pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St. James's?"
"Never, sir."
"Do you not think it would be a proper
compliment to the place?"
"It is a compliment which I never pay to =
any
place if I can avoid it."
"You have a house in town, I conclude?&qu=
ot;
Mr. Darcy bowed.
"I had once had some thought of fixing in
town myself--for I am fond of superior society; but I did not feel quite
certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas."
He paused in hopes of an answer; but his compa=
nion
was not disposed to make any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards
them, he was struck with the action of doing a very gallant thing, and call=
ed
out to her:
"My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not danc=
ing?
Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very
desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beaut=
y is
before you." And, taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy
who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she
instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William:
"Indeed, sir, I have not the least intent=
ion
of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to =
beg
for a partner."
Mr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to =
be
allowed the honour of her hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor =
did
Sir William at all shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.
"You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eli=
za,
that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this
gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am
sure, to oblige us for one half-hour."
"Mr. Darcy is all politeness," said
Elizabeth, smiling.
"He is, indeed; but, considering the
inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance--for w=
ho
would object to such a partner?"
Elizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her
resistance had not injured her with the gentleman, and he was thinking of h=
er
with some complacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley:
"I can guess the subject of your
reverie."
"I should imagine not."
"You are considering how insupportable it
would be to pass many evenings in this manner--in such society; and indeed =
I am
quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the
noise--the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! Wh=
at
would I give to hear your strictures on them!"
"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assu=
re
you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very
great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can
bestow."
Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his
face, and desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring s=
uch
reflections. Mr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity:
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" repeated Mi=
ss
Bingley. "I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a
favourite?--and pray, when am I to wish you joy?"
"That is exactly the question which I
expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from
admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be
wishing me joy."
"Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall
consider the matter is absolutely settled. You will be having a charming
mother-in-law, indeed; and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with
you."
He listened to her with perfect indifference w=
hile
she chose to entertain herself in this manner; and as his composure convinc=
ed
her that all was safe, her wit flowed long.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 7
Mr.
Bennet's property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two thousand a
year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed, in default of h=
eirs
male, on a distant relation; and their mother's fortune, though ample for h=
er
situation in life, could but ill supply the deficiency of his. Her father h=
ad
been an attorney in Meryton, and had left her four thousand pounds.
She had a sister married to a Mr. Phillips, who
had been a clerk to their father and succeeded him in the business, and a
brother settled in London in a respectable line of trade.
The village of Longbourn was only one mile from
Meryton; a most convenient distance for the young ladies, who were usually
tempted thither three or four times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt=
and
to a milliner's shop just over the way. The two youngest of the family, Cat=
herine
and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions; their minds were
more vacant than their sisters', and when nothing better offered, a walk to
Meryton was necessary to amuse their morning hours and furnish conversation=
for
the evening; and however bare of news the country in general might be, they
always contrived to learn some from their aunt. At present, indeed, they we=
re
well supplied both with news and happiness by the recent arrival of a milit=
ia
regiment in the neighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryt=
on
was the headquarters.
Their visits to Mrs. Phillips were now product=
ive
of the most interesting intelligence. Every day added something to their
knowledge of the officers' names and connections. Their lodgings were not l=
ong
a secret, and at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Phi=
llips
visited them all, and this opened to his nieces a store of felicity unknown
before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingley's large
fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their mother, was worthless=
in
their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of an ensign.
After listening one morning to their effusions=
on
this subject, Mr. Bennet coolly observed:
"From all that I can collect by your mann=
er
of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have
suspected it some time, but I am now convinced."
Catherine was disconcerted, and made no answer;
but Lydia, with perfect indifference, continued to express her admiration of
Captain Carter, and her hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he =
was
going the next morning to London.
"I am astonished, my dear," said Mrs.
Bennet, "that you should be so ready to think your own children silly.=
If
I wished to think slightingly of anybody's children, it should not be of my
own, however."
"If my children are silly, I must hope to=
be
always sensible of it."
"Yes--but as it happens, they are all of =
them
very clever."
"This is the only point, I flatter myself=
, on
which we do not agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every
particular, but I must so far differ from you as to think our two youngest
daughters uncommonly foolish."
"My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect =
such
girls to have the sense of their father and mother. When they get to our ag=
e, I
dare say they will not think about officers any more than we do. I remember=
the
time when I liked a red coat myself very well--and, indeed, so I do still a=
t my
heart; and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, shou=
ld
want one of my girls I shall not say nay to him; and I thought Colonel Fors=
ter
looked very becoming the other night at Sir William's in his regimentals.&q=
uot;
"Mamma," cried Lydia, "my aunt =
says
that Colonel Forster and Captain Carter do not go so often to Miss Watson's=
as
they did when they first came; she sees them now very often standing in
Clarke's library."
Mrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entr=
ance
of the footman with a note for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and t=
he
servant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and
she was eagerly calling out, while her daughter read,
"Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it
about? What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my=
love."
"It is from Miss Bingley," said Jane,
and then read it aloud.
"MY DEAR FRIEND,--
"If you are not so compassionate as to di=
ne
to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for t=
he
rest of our lives, for a whole day's tete-a-tete between two women can never
end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this. My broth=
er
and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.--Yours ever,
"CAROLINE BINGLEY"
"With the officers!" cried Lydia.
"I wonder my aunt did not tell us of that ."
"Dining out," said Mrs. Bennet,
"that is very unlucky."
"Can I have the carriage?" said Jane=
.
"No, my dear, you had better go on horseb=
ack,
because it seems likely to rain; and then you must stay all night."
"That would be a good scheme," said
Elizabeth, "if you were sure that they would not offer to send her
home."
"Oh! but the gentlemen will have Mr.
Bingley's chaise to go to Meryton, and the Hursts have no horses to
theirs."
"I had much rather go in the coach."=
"But, my dear, your father cannot spare t=
he
horses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are they not?&q=
uot;
"They are wanted in the farm much oftener
than I can get them."
"But if you have got them to-day," s=
aid
Elizabeth, "my mother's purpose will be answered."
She did at last extort from her father an
acknowledgment that the horses were engaged. Jane was therefore obliged to =
go
on horseback, and her mother attended her to the door with many cheerful
prognostics of a bad day. Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone l=
ong
before it rained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was =
delighted.
The rain continued the whole evening without intermission; Jane certainly c=
ould
not come back.
"This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!&q=
uot;
said Mrs. Bennet more than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all
her own. Till the next morning, however, she was not aware of all the felic=
ity
of her contrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Netherf=
ield
brought the following note for Elizabeth:
"MY DEAREST LIZZY,--
"I find myself very unwell this morning,
which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My =
kind
friends will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on=
my
seeing Mr. Jones--therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his hav=
ing
been to me--and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much th=
e matter
with me.--Yours, etc."
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Bennet, wh=
en
Elizabeth had read the note aloud, "if your daughter should have a
dangerous fit of illness--if she should die, it would be a comfort to know =
that
it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders."
"Oh! I am not afraid of her dying. People=
do
not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as
she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have
the carriage."
Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determi=
ned
to go to her, though the carriage was not to be had; and as she was no
horsewoman, walking was her only alternative. She declared her resolution. =
"How can you be so silly," cried her
mother, "as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be
fit to be seen when you get there."
"I shall be very fit to see Jane--which is
all I want."
"Is this a hint to me, Lizzy," said =
her
father, "to send for the horses?"
"No, indeed, I do not wish to avoid the w=
alk.
The distance is nothing when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be
back by dinner."
"I admire the activity of your
benevolence," observed Mary, "but every impulse of feeling should=
be
guided by reason; and, in my opinion, exertion should always be in proporti=
on
to what is required."
"We will go as far as Meryton with you,&q=
uot;
said Catherine and Lydia. Elizabeth accepted their company, and the three y=
oung
ladies set off together.
"If we make haste," said Lydia, as t=
hey
walked along, "perhaps we may see something of Captain Carter before he
goes."
In Meryton they parted; the two youngest repai=
red
to the lodgings of one of the officers' wives, and Elizabeth continued her =
walk
alone, crossing field after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and
springing over puddles with impatient activity, and finding herself at last=
within
view of the house, with weary ankles, dirty stockings, and a face glowing w=
ith
the warmth of exercise.
She was shown into the breakfast-parlour, where
all but Jane were assembled, and where her appearance created a great deal =
of
surprise. That she should have walked three miles so early in the day, in s=
uch dirty
weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingl=
ey;
and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in contempt for it. She was
received, however, very politely by them; and in their brother's manners th=
ere
was something better than politeness; there was good humour and kindness. M=
r.
Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided
between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her
complexion, and doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alo=
ne.
The latter was thinking only of his breakfast.
Her inquiries after her sister were not very
favourably answered. Miss Bennet had slept ill, and though up, was very
feverish, and not well enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be t=
aken
to her immediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giv=
ing alarm
or inconvenience from expressing in her note how much she longed for such a
visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal, however, to much
conversation, and when Miss Bingley left them together, could attempt little
besides expressions of gratitude for the extraordinary kindness she was tre=
ated
with. Elizabeth silently attended her.
When breakfast was over they were joined by the
sisters; and Elizabeth began to like them herself, when she saw how much
affection and solicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary came, and hav=
ing examined
his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold,
and that they must endeavour to get the better of it; advised her to return=
to
bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice was followed readily, for t=
he
feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely. Elizabeth did not =
quit
her room for a moment; nor were the other ladies often absent; the gentlemen
being out, they had, in fact, nothing to do elsewhere.
When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt th=
at
she must go, and very unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the
carriage, and she only wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane
testified such concern in parting with her, that Miss Bingley was obliged to
convert the offer of the chaise to an invitation to remain at Netherfield f=
or
the present. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was dispatc=
hed
to Longbourn to acquaint the family with her stay and bring back a supply of
clothes.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 8
At fi=
ve
o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six Elizabeth was
summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which then poured in, and amongst
which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior solicitude of
Mr. Bingley's, she could not make a very favourable answer. Jane was by no
means better. The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how
much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how
excessively they disliked being ill themselves; and then thought no more of=
the
matter: and their indifference towards Jane when not immediately before them
restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her former dislike.
Their brother, indeed, was the only one of the
party whom she could regard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was
evident, and his attentions to herself most pleasing, and they prevented he=
r feeling
herself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the other=
s.
She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was engrossed by =
Mr.
Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr. Hurst, by whom Elizabeth
sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to eat, drink, and play at card=
s;
who, when he found her to prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to s=
ay
to her.
When dinner was over, she returned directly to
Jane, and Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room.
Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and
impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thou=
ght
the same, and added:
"She has nothing, in short, to recommend =
her,
but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this
morning. She really looked almost wild."
"She did, indeed, Louisa. I could hardly =
keep
my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she =
span>be
scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair, so
untidy, so blowsy!"
"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw h=
er
petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown wh=
ich
had been let down to hide it not doing its office."
"Your picture may be very exact,
Louisa," said Bingley; "but this was all lost upon me. I thought =
Miss
Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this
morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice."
" You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,"=
said
Miss Bingley; "and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to s=
ee your sister make such an exhibition."
"Certainly not."
"To walk three miles, or four miles, or f=
ive
miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone!
What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of
conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum." =
"It shows an affection for her sister tha=
t is
very pleasing," said Bingley.
"I am afraid, Mr. Darcy," observed M=
iss
Bingley in a half whisper, "that this adventure has rather affected yo=
ur
admiration of her fine eyes."
"Not at all," he replied; "they
were brightened by the exercise." A short pause followed this speech, =
and
Mrs. Hurst began again:
"I have an excessive regard for Miss Jane
Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she w=
ere
well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, =
I am
afraid there is no chance of it."
"I think I have heard you say that their
uncle is an attorney in Meryton."
"Yes; and they have another, who lives
somewhere near Cheapside."
"That is capital," added her sister,=
and
they both laughed heartily.
"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it=
would
not make them one jot less agreeable."
"But it must very materially lessen their
chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," replied Dar=
cy.
To this speech Bingley made no answer; but his
sisters gave it their hearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time=
at
the expense of their dear friend's vulgar relations.
With a renewal of tenderness, however, they
returned to her room on leaving the dining-parlour, and sat with her till
summoned to coffee. She was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit=
her
at all, till late in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her sl=
eep,
and when it seemed to her rather right than pleasant that she should go dow=
nstairs
herself. On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party at loo, and=
was
immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high she
declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself=
for
the short time she could stay below, with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her w=
ith
astonishment.
"Do you prefer reading to cards?" sa=
id
he; "that is rather singular."
"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingl=
ey,
"despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything
else."
"I deserve neither such praise nor such
censure," cried Elizabeth; "I am not =
span>a
great reader, and I have pleasure in many things." "In nursing your sister I am sure you have
pleasure," said Bingley; "and I hope it will be soon increased by
seeing her quite well." Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then
walked towards the table where a few books were lying. He immediately offer=
ed
to fetch her others--all that his library afforded. "And I wish my collection were larger for
your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have =
not
many, I have more than I ever looked into." Elizabeth assured him that she could suit hers=
elf
perfectly with those in the room. "I am astonished," said Miss Bingley,
"that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a
delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!" "It ought to be good," he replied,
"it has been the work of many generations." "And then you have added so much to it
yourself, you are always buying books." "I cannot comprehend the neglect of a fam=
ily library
in such days as these." "Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing t=
hat
can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightf=
ul as
Pemberley." "I wish it may." "But I would really advise you to make yo=
ur
purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. The=
re
is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire." "With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley
itself if Darcy will sell it." "I am talking of possibilities,
Charles." "Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it
more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation." Elizabeth was so much caught with what passed,=
as
to leave her very little attention for her book; and soon laying it wholly
aside, she drew near the card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bing=
ley
and his eldest sister, to observe the game. "Is Miss Darcy much grown since the
spring?" said Miss Bingley; "will she be as tall as I am?" <=
o:p> "I think she will. She is now about Miss =
Elizabeth
Bennet's height, or rather taller." "How I long to see her again! I never met
with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! An=
d so
extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is
exquisite." "It is amazing to me," said Bingley,
"how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they=
all
are." "All young ladies accomplished! My dear
Charles, what do you mean?" "Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint
tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do=
all
this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time,
without being informed that she was very accomplished." "Your list of the common extent of
accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is
applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purs=
e or
covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimat=
ion
of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in =
the
whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished." "Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingle=
y. "Then," observed Elizabeth, "you
must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman." <=
o:p> "Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in
it." "Oh! certainly," cried his faithful
assistant, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not
greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough
knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to
deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain somethin=
g in
her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and
expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved." "All this she must possess," added
Darcy, "and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in
the improvement of her mind by extensive reading." "I am no longer surprised at your knowing=
only six accomplished women. I rather wonder =
now at
your knowing any ." "Are you so severe upon your own sex as to
doubt the possibility of all this?" "I never saw such a woman. I never saw su=
ch
capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe
united." Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out aga=
inst
the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew
many women who answered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to ord=
er,
with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As a=
ll conversation
was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room. "Elizabeth Bennet," said Miss Bingle=
y,
when the door was closed on her, "is one of those young ladies who see=
k to
recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with m=
any
men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a =
very
mean art." "Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, to whom
this remark was chiefly addressed, "there is a meanness in all =
span>the
arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever
bears affinity to cunning is despicable." Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with
this reply as to continue the subject. Elizabeth joined them again only to say that h=
er
sister was worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr. Jones
being sent for immediately; while his sisters, convinced that no country ad=
vice
could be of any service, recommended an express to town for one of the most=
eminent
physicians. This she would not hear of; but she was not so unwilling to com=
ply
with their brother's proposal; and it was settled that Mr. Jones should be =
sent
for early in the morning, if Miss Bennet were not decidedly better. Bingley=
was
quite uncomfortable; his sisters declared that they were miserable. They
solaced their wretchedness, however, by duets after supper, while he could =
find
no better relief to his feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions =
that
every attention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister. <=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 9
Eliza=
beth
passed the chief of the night in her sister's room, and in the morning had =
the
pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the inquiries which she
very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid, and some time afterwar=
ds
from the two elegant ladies who waited on his sisters. In spite of this
amendment, however, she requested to have a note sent to Longbourn, desiring
her mother to visit Jane, and form her own judgement of her situation. The =
note
was immediately dispatched, and its contents as quickly complied with. Mrs.
Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon aft=
er
the family breakfast.
Had she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs.
Bennet would have been very miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her th=
at
her illness was not alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately=
, as
her restoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She w=
ould
not listen, therefore, to her daughter's proposal of being carried home;
neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think it at all
advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss Bingley's appear=
ance
and invitation, the mother and three daughters all attended her into the
breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not fou=
nd
Miss Bennet worse than she expected.
"Indeed I have, sir," was her answer.
"She is a great deal too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not t=
hink
of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness."
"Removed!" cried Bingley. "It m=
ust
not be thought of. My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal."=
;
"You may depend upon it, Madam," said
Miss Bingley, with cold civility, "that Miss Bennet will receive every
possible attention while she remains with us."
Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments=
.
"I am sure," she added, "if it =
was
not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is
very ill indeed, and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience=
in
the world, which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception,
the sweetest temper I have ever met with. I often tell my other girls they =
are nothing
to her . You have a sweet room her=
e, Mr.
Bingley, and a charming prospect over the gravel walk. I do not know a plac=
e in
the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it=
in
a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease."
"Whatever I do is done in a hurry,"
replied he; "and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I
should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider mys=
elf
as quite fixed here."
"That is exactly what I should have suppo=
sed
of you," said Elizabeth.
"You begin to comprehend me, do you?"
cried he, turning towards her.
"Oh! yes--I understand you perfectly.&quo=
t;
"I wish I might take this for a complimen=
t;
but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful."
"That is as it happens. It does not follow
that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one =
as
yours."
"Lizzy," cried her mother,
"remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you=
are
suffered to do at home."
"I did not know before," continued
Bingley immediately, "that you were a studier of character. It must be=
an
amusing study."
"Yes, but intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that
advantage."
"The country," said Darcy, "can=
in
general supply but a few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourh=
ood
you move in a very confined and unvarying society."
"But people themselves alter so much, that
there is something new to be observed in them for ever."
"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Bennet,
offended by his manner of mentioning a country neighbourhood. "I assure
you there is quite as much of that=
going on in the country as in town."=
;
Everybody was surprised, and Darcy, after look=
ing
at her for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had
gained a complete victory over him, continued her triumph.
"I cannot see that London has any great
advantage over the country, for my part, except the shops and public places.
The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?"
"When I am in the country," he repli=
ed,
"I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the
same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in
either."
"Aye--that is because you have the right
disposition. But that gentleman," looking at Darcy, "seemed to th=
ink
the country was nothing at all."
"Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken," s=
aid
Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. "You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He o=
nly
meant that there was not such a variety of people to be met with in the cou=
ntry
as in the town, which you must acknowledge to be true."
"Certainly, my dear, nobody said there we=
re;
but as to not meeting with many people in this neighbourhood, I believe the=
re
are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty
families."
Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable
Bingley to keep his countenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed=
her
eyes towards Mr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sak=
e of
saying something that might turn her mother's thoughts, now asked her if Ch=
arlotte
Lucas had been at Longbourn since =
her coming away.
"Yes, she called yesterday with her fathe=
r.
What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, is not he? So much the m=
an
of fashion! So genteel and easy! He has always something to say to everybod=
y. That <=
/span>is
my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very impor=
tant,
and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter."
"Did Charlotte dine with you?"
"No, she would go home. I fancy she was
wanted about the mince-pies. For my part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servan=
ts
that can do their own work; my
"She seems a very pleasant young woman.&q=
uot;
"Oh! dear, yes; but you must own she is v=
ery
plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty. I=
do
not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane--one does not often=
see
anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own pa=
rtiality.
When she was only fifteen, there was a man at my brother Gardiner's in town=
so
much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an o=
ffer
before we came away. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too
young. However, he wrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.&quo=
t;
"And so ended his affection," said
Elizabeth impatiently. "There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in
the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in drivi=
ng
away love!"
"I have been used to consider poetry as t=
he food <=
/span>of
love," said Darcy.
"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may.
Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, th=
in
sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it
entirely away."
Darcy only smiled; and the general pause which
ensued made Elizabeth tremble lest her mother should be exposing herself ag=
ain.
She longed to speak, but could think of nothing to say; and after a short
silence Mrs. Bennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindn=
ess
to Jane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was=
unaffectedly
civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be civil also, and say
what the occasion required. She performed her part indeed without much
graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and soon afterwards ordered her
carriage. Upon this signal, the youngest of her daughters put herself forwa=
rd.
The two girls had been whispering to each other during the whole visit, and=
the
result of it was, that the youngest should tax Mr. Bingley with having prom=
ised
on his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield.
Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen,
with a fine complexion and good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her
mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early age. She had
high animal spirits, and a sort of natural self-consequence, which the atte=
ntion
of the officers, to whom her uncle's good dinners, and her own easy manners
recommended her, had increased into assurance. She was very equal, therefor=
e,
to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and abruptly reminded hi=
m of
his promise; adding, that it would be the most shameful thing in the world =
if
he did not keep it. His answer to this sudden attack was delightful to their
mother's ear:
"I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to k=
eep
my engagement; and when your sister is recovered, you shall, if you please,
name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing when sh=
e is
ill."
Lydia declared herself satisfied. "Oh!
yes--it would be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time m=
ost
likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given your ball," she added, "I shall ins=
ist on
their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a sham=
e if
he does not."
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, a=
nd
Elizabeth returned instantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations'
behaviour to the remarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the latter of who=
m,
however, could not be prevailed on to join in their censure of her , in spite of all Miss Bingley's
witticisms on fine eyes .
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 10
The d=
ay
passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spe=
nt
some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to
mend; and in the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. =
The
loo-table, however, did not appear. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley,
seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter and repeatedly cal=
ling
off his attention by messages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were=
at
piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.
Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was
sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his
companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady, either on his handwriti=
ng,
or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the
perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious
dialogue, and was exactly in union with her opinion of each.
"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to rece=
ive
such a letter!"
He made no answer.
"You write uncommonly fast."
"You are mistaken. I write rather
slowly."
"How many letters you must have occasion =
to
write in the course of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should
think them!"
"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to=
my
lot instead of yours."
"Pray tell your sister that I long to see
her."
"I have already told her so once, by your
desire."
"I am afraid you do not like your pen. Le=
t me
mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well."
"Thank you--but I always mend my own.&quo=
t;
"How can you contrive to write so even?&q=
uot;
He was silent.
"Tell your sister I am delighted to hear =
of
her improvement on the harp; and pray let her know that I am quite in raptu=
res
with her beautiful little design for a table, and I think it infinitely
superior to Miss Grantley's."
"Will you give me leave to defer your
raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them
justice."
"Oh! it is of no consequence. I shall see=
her
in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr.
Darcy?"
"They are generally long; but whether alw=
ays
charming it is not for me to determine."
"It is a rule with me, that a person who =
can
write a long letter with ease, cannot write ill."
"That will not do for a compliment to Dar=
cy,
Caroline," cried her brother, "because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for=
words
of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?"
"My style of writing is very different fr=
om
yours."
"Oh!" cried Miss Bingley, "Char=
les
writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words, a=
nd
blots the rest."
"My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not
time to express them--by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at
all to my correspondents."
"Your humility, Mr. Bingley," said
Elizabeth, "must disarm reproof."
"Nothing is more deceitful," said Da=
rcy,
"than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of
opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."
"And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?"
"The indirect boast; for you are really p=
roud
of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a
rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable,=
you
think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickne=
ss
is always prized much by the possessor, and often without any attention to =
the
imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning tha=
t if
you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minu=
tes,
you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself--and yet =
what
is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary
business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone
else?"
"Nay," cried Bingley, "this is =
too
much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the
morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believe what I said of myself to be tru=
e,
and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the
character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies.&qu=
ot;
"I dare say you believed it; but I am by =
no
means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct wou=
ld
be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you w=
ere mounting
your horse, a friend were to say, 'Bingley, you had better stay till next
week,' you would probably do it, you would probably not go--and at another
word, might stay a month."
"You have only proved by this," cried
Elizabeth, "that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition.
You have shown him off now much more than he did himself."
"I am exceedingly gratified," said
Bingley, "by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on =
the
sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that
gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think better of me=
, if
under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fas=
t as
I could."
"Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashne=
ss
of your original intentions as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to
it?"
"Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain t=
he
matter; Darcy must speak for himself."
"You expect me to account for opinions wh=
ich
you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the
case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember,
Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the ho=
use,
and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering=
one
argument in favour of its propriety."
"To yield readily--easily--to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you." =
"To yield without conviction is no compli=
ment
to the understanding of either."
"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow
nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the
requester would often make one readily yield to a request, without waiting =
for
arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a c=
ase
as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till =
the circumstance
occurs before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in
general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is
desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should=
you
think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to =
be
argued into it?"
"Will it not be advisable, before we proc=
eed
on this subject, to arrange with rather more precision the degree of import=
ance
which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy
subsisting between the parties?"
"By all means," cried Bingley; "=
;let
us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and si=
ze;
for that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be
aware of. I assure you, that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in
comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I decl=
are
I do not know a more awful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and =
in particular
places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening, when he has
nothing to do."
Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she co=
uld
perceive that he was rather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss
Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation =
with
her brother for talking such nonsense.
"I see your design, Bingley," said h=
is
friend. "You dislike an argument, and want to silence this."
"Perhaps I do. Arguments are too much like
disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room=
, I
shall be very thankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me."=
"What you ask," said Elizabeth, &quo=
t;is
no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better finish his letter.&q=
uot;
Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his
letter.
When that business was over, he applied to Miss
Bingley and Elizabeth for an indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved w=
ith
some alacrity to the pianoforte; and, after a polite request that Elizabeth
would lead the way which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived,
she seated herself.
Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they
were thus employed, Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over =
some
music-books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were
fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of=
admiration
to so great a man; and yet that he should look at her because he disliked h=
er,
was still more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last that she d=
rew
his notice because there was something more wrong and reprehensible, accord=
ing
to his ideas of right, than in any other person present. The supposition did
not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation.
After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley
varied the charm by a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, dra=
wing
near Elizabeth, said to her:
"Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss
Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"
She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the
question, with some surprise at her silence.
"Oh!" said she, "I heard you
before, but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wan=
ted
me, I know, to say 'Yes,' that you might have the pleasure of despising my
taste; but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and chea=
ting
a person of their premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind=
to
tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all--and now despise me if =
you
dare."
"Indeed I do not dare."
Elizabeth, having rather expected to affront h=
im,
was amazed at his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness and archn=
ess
in her manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody; and Darcy=
had
never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed, =
that
were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some
danger.
Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be
jealous; and her great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane
received some assistance from her desire of getting rid of Elizabeth.
She often tried to provoke Darcy into disliking
her guest, by talking of their supposed marriage, and planning his happines=
s in
such an alliance.
"I hope," said she, as they were wal=
king
together in the shrubbery the next day, "you will give your mother-in-=
law
a few hints, when this desirable event takes place, as to the advantage of
holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of
running after officers. And, if I may mention so delicate a subject, endeav=
our
to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which
your lady possesses."
"Have you anything else to propose for my
domestic felicity?"
"Oh! yes. Do let the portraits of your un=
cle
and aunt Phillips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to y=
our
great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in
different lines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not have it take=
n,
for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?"
"It would not be easy, indeed, to catch t=
heir
expression, but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fi=
ne,
might be copied."
At that moment they were met from another walk=
by
Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself.
"I did not know that you intended to
walk," said Miss Bingley, in some confusion, lest they had been overhe=
ard.
"You used us abominably ill," answer=
ed
Mrs. Hurst, "running away without telling us that you were coming
out."
Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, s=
he
left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three. Mr. Darcy =
felt
their rudeness, and immediately said:
"This walk is not wide enough for our par=
ty.
We had better go into the avenue."
But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclinati=
on
to remain with them, laughingly answered:
"No, no; stay where you are. You are
charmingly grouped, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would=
be
spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good-bye."
She then ran gaily off, rejoicing as she rambl=
ed
about, in the hope of being at home again in a day or two. Jane was already=
so
much recovered as to intend leaving her room for a couple of hours that
evening.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 11
When =
the
ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her sister, and seeing her
well guarded from cold, attended her into the drawing-room, where she was
welcomed by her two friends with many professions of pleasure; and Elizabeth
had never seen them so agreeable as they were during the hour which passed
before the gentlemen appeared. Their powers of conversation were considerab=
le.
They could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with
humour, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit.
But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no lo=
nger
the first object; Miss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned toward Darcy, a=
nd
she had something to say to him before he had advanced many steps. He addre=
ssed
himself to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made h=
er a
slight bow, and said he was "very glad;" but diffuseness and warm=
th
remained for Bingley's salutation. He was full of joy and attention. The fi=
rst
half-hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the
change of room; and she removed at his desire to the other side of the
fireplace, that she might be further from the door. He then sat down by her,
and talked scarcely to anyone else. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corn=
er,
saw it all with great delight.
When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his
sister-in-law of the card-table--but in vain. She had obtained private
intelligence that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurst soon found
even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to pl=
ay,
and the silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr=
. Hurst
had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and=
go
to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same; and Mrs. Hurst,
principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and
then in her brother's conversation with Miss Bennet.
Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much eng=
aged
in watching Mr. Darcy's progress through his book, as in reading her own; and she was
perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. She could n=
ot
win him, however, to any conversation; he merely answered her question, and
read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own
book, which she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she
gave a great yawn and said, "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in
this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much
sooner one tires of anything than of a book! When I have a house of my own,=
I
shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library."
No one made any reply. She then yawned again,
threw aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest for some am=
usement;
when hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss Bennet, she turned sudde=
nly towards
him and said:
"By the bye, Charles, are you really seri=
ous
in meditating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determ=
ine
on it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if th=
ere
are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pl=
easure."
"If you mean Darcy," cried her broth=
er,
"he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins--but as for the bal=
l,
it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup
enough, I shall send round my cards."
"I should like balls infinitely better,&q=
uot;
she replied, "if they were carried on in a different manner; but there=
is
something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It w=
ould
surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing were made t=
he
order of the day."
"Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I =
dare
say, but it would not be near so much like a ball."
Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwar=
ds
she got up and walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked
well; but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly studious. I=
n the
desperation of her feelings, she resolved on one effort more, and, turning =
to
Elizabeth, said:
"Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to
follow my example, and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very
refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude."
Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it imme=
diately.
Miss Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility; Mr. Darcy
looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention in that quarter=
as Elizabeth
herself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. He was directly invite=
d to
join their party, but he declined it, observing that he could imagine but t=
wo
motives for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with eith=
er
of which motives his joining them would interfere. "What could he mean?
She was dying to know what could be his meaning?"--and asked Elizabeth
whether she could at all understand him?
"Not at all," was her answer; "=
but
depend upon it, he means to be severe on us, and our surest way of
disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it."
Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of
disappointing Mr. Darcy in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring =
an
explanation of his two motives.
"I have not the smallest objection to
explaining them," said he, as soon as she allowed him to speak. "=
You
either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each
other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are
conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking; if=
the
first, I would be completely in your way, and if the second, I can admire y=
ou
much better as I sit by the fire."
"Oh! shocking!" cried Miss Bingley.
"I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for suc=
h a
speech?"
"Nothing so easy, if you have but the
inclination," said Elizabeth. "We can all plague and punish one
another. Tease him--laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it=
is
to be done."
"But upon my honour, I do not . I do assure you that my intimacy h=
as not
yet taught me that . Tease calmnes=
s of
manner and presence of mind! No, no; I feel he may defy us there. And as to
laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to lau=
gh
without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug himself."
"Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!"
cried Elizabeth. "That is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it
will continue, for it would be a great loss to me to
have many such acquaintances. I dearly love a laugh."
"Miss Bingley," said he, "has g=
iven
me more credit than can be. The wisest and the best of men--nay, the wisest=
and
best of their actions--may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first
object in life is a joke."
"Certainly," replied
Elizabeth--"there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them . I hope I never ridicule what is w=
ise
and good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them wh=
enever
I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without."
"Perhaps that is not possible for anyone.=
But
it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expo=
se a
strong understanding to ridicule."
"Such as vanity and pride."
"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But
pride--where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under
good regulation."
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.
"Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I
presume," said Miss Bingley; "and pray what is the result?" =
"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr.
Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise."
"No," said Darcy, "I have made =
no
such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of
understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little
yielding--certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot
forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offens=
es
against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move
them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once los=
t,
is lost forever."
" That is a failing indeed!" cried Elizabe=
th.
"Implacable resentment is
"There is, I believe, in every dispositio=
n a
tendency to some particular evil--a natural defect, which not even the best
education can overcome."
"And =
span>your
defect is to hate everybody."=
"And yours," he replied with a smile,
"is willfully to misunderstand them."
"Do let us have a little music," cri=
ed
Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share. "Loui=
sa,
you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst?"
Her sister had not the smallest objection, and=
the
pianoforte was opened; and Darcy, after a few moments' recollection, was not
sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much
attention.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 12
In
consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the next
morning to their mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for them in=
the
course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, who had calculated on her daughters
remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday, which would exactly fi=
nish
Jane's week, could not bring herself to receive them with pleasure before. =
Her
answer, therefore, was not propitious, at least not to Elizabeth's wishes, =
for
she was impatient to get home. Mrs. Bennet sent them word that they could n=
ot
possibly have the carriage before Tuesday; and in her postscript it was add=
ed,
that if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could s=
pare
them very well. Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively r=
esolved--nor
did she much expect it would be asked; and fearful, on the contrary, as bei=
ng
considered as intruding themselves needlessly long, she urged Jane to borrow
Mr. Bingley's carriage immediately, and at length it was settled that their
original design of leaving Netherfield that morning should be mentioned, and
the request made.
The communication excited many professions of
concern; and enough was said of wishing them to stay at least till the
following day to work on Jane; and till the morrow their going was deferred.
Miss Bingley was then sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her jealou=
sy
and dislike of one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.
The master of the house heard with real sorrow
that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet =
that
it would not be safe for her--that she was not enough recovered; but Jane w=
as
firm where she felt herself to be right.
To Mr. Darcy it was welcome
intelligence--Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted =
him
more than he liked--and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her , and more teasing than usual to him=
self. He
wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration shoul=
d now escape him, nothing that could elevate h=
er
with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had
been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight=
in
confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten wor=
ds
to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left=
by
themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, a=
nd
would not even look at her.
On Sunday, after morning service, the separati=
on,
so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's civility to Elizabeth
increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when
they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give=
her
to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tende=
rly,
she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth took leave of the whole par=
ty
in the liveliest of spirits.
They were not welcomed home very cordially by
their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at their coming, and thought them very w=
rong
to give so much trouble, and was sure Jane would have caught cold again. But
their father, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was reall=
y glad
to see them; he had felt their importance in the family circle. The evening
conversation, when they were all assembled, had lost much of its animation,=
and
almost all its sense by the absence of Jane and Elizabeth.
They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of
thorough-bass and human nature; and had some extracts to admire, and some n=
ew
observations of threadbare morality to listen to. Catherine and Lydia had
information for them of a different sort. Much had been done and much had b=
een
said in the regiment since the preceding Wednesday; several of the officers=
had
dined lately with their uncle, a private had been flogged, and it had actua=
lly
been hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 13
"=
;I
hope, my dear," said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at breakfast=
the
next morning, "that you have ordered a good dinner to-day, because I h=
ave
reason to expect an addition to our family party."
"Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobo=
dy
that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in-=
-and
I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not
believe she often sees such at home."
"The person of whom I speak is a gentlema=
n,
and a stranger."
Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled. "A gentleman=
and
a stranger! It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure! Well, I am sure I shall be extrem=
ely
glad to see Mr. Bingley. But--good Lord! how unlucky! There is not a bit of
fish to be got to-day. Lydia, my love, ring the bell--I must speak to Hill =
this
moment."
"It is not =
span>Mr.
Bingley," said her husband; "it is a person whom I never saw in t=
he
whole course of my life."
This roused a general astonishment; and he had=
the
pleasure of being eagerly questioned by his wife and his five daughters at
once.
After amusing himself some time with their
curiosity, he thus explained:
"About a month ago I received this letter;
and about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some
delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins,
who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleas=
es."
"Oh! my dear," cried his wife, "=
;I
cannot bear to hear that mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I =
do
think it is the hardest thing in the world, that your estate should be enta=
iled
away from your own children; and I am sure, if I had been you, I should have
tried long ago to do something or other about it."
Jane and Elizabeth tried to explain to her the
nature of an entail. They had often attempted to do it before, but it was a
subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason, and she contin=
ued
to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an estate away from a fami=
ly
of five daughters, in favour of a man whom nobody cared anything about.
"It certainly is a most iniquitous
affair," said Mr. Bennet, "and nothing can clear Mr. Collins from=
the
guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may
perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself."
"No, that I am sure I shall not; and I th=
ink
it is very impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical=
. I
hate such false friends. Why could he not keep on quarreling with you, as h=
is
father did before him?"
"Why, indeed; he does seem to have had so=
me
filial scruples on that head, as you will hear."
"Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th
October.
"Dear Sir,--
"The disagreement subsisting between your=
self
and my late honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have
had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach;
but for some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might s=
eem
disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with anyone with who=
m it
had always pleased him to be at variance.--'There, Mrs. Bennet.'--My mind,
however, is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination at
Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage of=
the
Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, wh=
ose
bounty and beneficence has preferred me to the valuable rectory of this par=
ish,
where it shall be my earnest endeavour to demean myself with grateful respe=
ct
towards her ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremoni=
es
which are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman, moreover, I =
feel
it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families
within the reach of my influence; and on these grounds I flatter myself tha=
t my
present overtures are highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my b=
eing
next in the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your si=
de,
and not lead you to reject the offered olive-branch. I cannot be otherwise =
than
concerned at being the means of injuring your amiable daughters, and beg le=
ave
to apologise for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them
every possible amends--but of this hereafter. If you should have no objecti=
on
to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting=
on
you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and shall prob=
ably
trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se'ennight following, which I
can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting t=
o my
occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other clergyman is engag=
ed
to do the duty of the day.--I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments=
to
your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend,
"WILLIAM COLLINS"
"At four o'clock, therefore, we may expect
this peace-making gentleman," said Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the let=
ter.
"He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my wor=
d,
and I doubt not will prove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady
Catherine should be so indulgent as to let him come to us again."
"There is some sense in what he says about
the girls, however, and if he is disposed to make them any amends, I shall =
not
be the person to discourage him."
"Though it is difficult," said Jane,
"to guess in what way he can mean to make us the atonement he thinks o=
ur
due, the wish is certainly to his credit."
Elizabeth was chiefly struck by his extraordin=
ary
deference for Lady Catherine, and his kind intention of christening, marryi=
ng,
and burying his parishioners whenever it were required.
"He must be an oddity, I think," said
she. "I cannot make him out.--There is something very pompous in his
style.--And what can he mean by apologising for being next in the entail?--=
We
cannot suppose he would help it if he could.--Could he be a sensible man,
sir?"
"No, my dear, I think not. I have great h=
opes
of finding him quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and
self-importance in his letter, which promises well. I am impatient to see
him."
"In point of composition," said Mary,
"the letter does not seem defective. The idea of the olive-branch perh=
aps
is not wholly new, yet I think it is well expressed."
To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor=
its
writer were in any degree interesting. It was next to impossible that their
cousin should come in a scarlet coat, and it was now some weeks since they =
had received
pleasure from the society of a man in any other colour. As for their mother,
Mr. Collins's letter had done away much of her ill-will, and she was prepar=
ing
to see him with a degree of composure which astonished her husband and
daughters.
Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was
received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet indeed said
little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed
neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was=
a tall,
heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave and stately, =
and
his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he
complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters; said he h=
ad
heard much of their beauty, but that in this instance fame had fallen short=
of
the truth; and added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time
disposed of in marriage. This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of
his hearers; but Mrs. Bennet, who quarreled with no compliments, answered m=
ost
readily.
"You are very kind, I am sure; and I wish
with all my heart it may prove so, for else they will be destitute enough.
Things are settled so oddly."
"You allude, perhaps, to the entail of th=
is
estate."
"Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous
affair to my poor girls, you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault wi=
th you , for such things I know are all cha=
nce in
this world. There is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to =
be
entailed."
"I am very sensible, madam, of the hardsh=
ip
to my fair cousins, and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautio=
us
of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young ladies tha=
t I
come prepared to admire them. At present I will not say more; but, perhaps,=
when
we are better acquainted--"
He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and=
the
girls smiled on each other. They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins's
admiration. The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture, were examined=
and
praised; and his commendation of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet'=
s heart,
but for the mortifying supposition of his viewing it all as his own future
property. The dinner too in its turn was highly admired; and he begged to k=
now
to which of his fair cousins the excellency of its cooking was owing. But he
was set right there by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him with some asperity that
they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had
nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. I=
n a
softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to
apologise for about a quarter of an hour.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 14
During
dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants were withdr=
awn,
he thought it time to have some conversation with his guest, and therefore
started a subject in which he expected him to shine, by observing that he
seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attentio=
n to
his wishes, and consideration for his comfort, appeared very remarkable. Mr.
Bennet could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise.
The subject elevated him to more than usual solemnity of manner, and with a
most important aspect he protested that "he had never in his life
witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank--such affability and
condescension, as he had himself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had b=
een
graciously pleased to approve of both of the discourses which he had already
had the honour of preaching before her. She had also asked him twice to din=
e at
Rosings, and had sent for him only the Saturday before, to make up her pool=
of quadrille
in the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people he knew, b=
ut he had
never seen anything but affability in her. She had always spoken to him as =
she
would to any other gentleman; she made not the smallest objection to his
joining in the society of the neighbourhood nor to his leaving the parish o=
ccasionally
for a week or two, to visit his relations. She had even condescended to adv=
ise
him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and ha=
d once
paid him a visit in his humble parsonage, where she had perfectly approved =
all
the alterations he had been making, and had even vouchsafed to suggest some
herself--some shelves in the closet up stairs."
"That is all very proper and civil, I am
sure," said Mrs. Bennet, "and I dare say she is a very agreeable
woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does
she live near you, sir?"
"The garden in which stands my humble abo=
de
is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence.&qu=
ot;
"I think you said she was a widow, sir? H=
as
she any family?"
"She has only one daughter, the heiress of
Rosings, and of very extensive property."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Bennet, shaking her
head, "then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young =
lady
is she? Is she handsome?"
"She is a most charming young lady indeed.
Lady Catherine herself says that, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is
far superior to the handsomest of her sex, because there is that in her
features which marks the young lady of distinguished birth. She is
unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her from making
that progress in many accomplishments which she could not have otherwise fa=
iled
of, as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education, and who s=
till
resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to d=
rive
by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies."
"Has she been presented? I do not remember
her name among the ladies at court."
"Her indifferent state of health unhappily
prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine one
day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship
seemed pleased with the idea; and you may imagine that I am happy on every
occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always accept=
able
to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine, that her charm=
ing
daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, inst=
ead
of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. These are the kind of
little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention whic=
h I
conceive myself peculiarly bound to pay."
"You judge very properly," said Mr.
Bennet, "and it is happy for you that you possess the talent of flatte=
ring
with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the
impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?"
"They arise chiefly from what is passing =
at
the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging
such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I
always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible."
Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered.=
His
cousin was as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keene=
st
enjoyment, maintaining at the same time the most resolute composure of
countenance, and, except in an occasional glance at Elizabeth, requiring no
partner in his pleasure.
By tea-time, however, the dose had been enough,
and Mr. Bennet was glad to take his guest into the drawing-room again, and,
when tea was over, glad to invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Coll=
ins
readily assented, and a book was produced; but, on beholding it (for everyt=
hing
announced it to be from a circulating library), he started back, and begging
pardon, protested that he never read novels. Kitty stared at him, and Lydia
exclaimed. Other books were produced, and after some deliberation he chose
Fordyce's Sermons. Lydia gaped as he opened the volume, and before he had, =
with
very monotonous solemnity, read three pages, she interrupted him with:
"Do you know, mamma, that my uncle Philli= ps talks of turning away Richard; and if he does, Colonel Forster will hire hi= m. My aunt told me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton to-morrow to hear more about it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from town." <= o:p>
Lydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to hold
her tongue; but Mr. Collins, much offended, laid aside his book, and said: =
"I have often observed how little young
ladies are interested by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for
their benefit. It amazes me, I confess; for, certainly, there can be nothin=
g so
advantageous to them as instruction. But I will no longer importune my young
cousin."
Then turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himself=
as
his antagonist at backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge, observing =
that
he acted very wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling amusements.=
Mrs.
Bennet and her daughters apologised most civilly for Lydia's interruption, =
and
promised that it should not occur again, if he would resume his book; but M=
r.
Collins, after assuring them that he bore his young cousin no ill-will, and
should never resent her behaviour as any affront, seated himself at another
table with Mr. Bennet, and prepared for backgammon.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 15
Mr. C=
ollins
was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little
assisted by education or society; the greatest part of his life having been
spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father; and though he
belonged to one of the universities, he had merely kept the necessary terms,
without forming at it any useful acquaintance. The subjection in which his
father had brought him up had given him originally great humility of manner;
but it was now a good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head,
living in retirement, and the consequential feelings of early and unexpecte=
d prosperity.
A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the
living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he felt for her high r=
ank,
and his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opin=
ion
of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his right as a rector, made
him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and
humility.
Having now a good house and a very sufficient
income, he intended to marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the
Longbourn family he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the
daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represente=
d by
common report. This was his plan of amends--of atonement--for inheriting th=
eir
father's estate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility an=
d suitableness,
and excessively generous and disinterested on his own part.
His plan did not vary on seeing them. Miss
Bennet's lovely face confirmed his views, and established all his strictest
notions of what was due to seniority; and for the first evening she =
span>was
his settled choice. The next morning, however, made an alteration; for in a=
quarter
of an hour's tete-a-tete with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a conversation
beginning with his parsonage-house, and leading naturally to the avowal of =
his
hopes, that a mistress might be found for it at Longbourn, produced from he=
r,
amid very complaisant smiles and general encouragement, a caution against t=
he
very Jane he had fixed on. "As to her younger daughters, she could not take upon her to
say--she could not positively answer--but she did not know <=
/span>of
any prepossession; her eldest daughter, she must just mention--she fel=
t it
incumbent on her to hint, was likely to be very soon engaged."
Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to
Elizabeth--and it was soon done--done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fi=
re.
Elizabeth, equally next to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded her of cours=
e.
Mrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted
that she might soon have two daughters married; and the man whom she could =
not
bear to speak of the day before was now high in her good graces.
Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not
forgotten; every sister except Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins =
was
to attend them, at the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to get r=
id
of him, and have his library to himself; for thither Mr. Collins had follow=
ed him
after breakfast; and there he would continue, nominally engaged with one of=
the
largest folios in the collection, but really talking to Mr. Bennet, with li=
ttle
cessation, of his house and garden at Hunsford. Such doings discomposed Mr.
Bennet exceedingly. In his library he had been always sure of leisure and
tranquillity; and though prepared, as he told Elizabeth, to meet with folly=
and
conceit in every other room of the house, he was used to be free from them
there; his civility, therefore, was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to =
join
his daughters in their walk; and Mr. Collins, being in fact much better fit=
ted
for a walker than a reader, was extremely pleased to close his large book, =
and
go.
In pompous nothings on his side, and civil ass=
ents
on that of his cousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton. The
attention of the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by him. Their
eyes were immediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers, =
and nothing
less than a very smart bonnet indeed, or a really new muslin in a shop wind=
ow,
could recall them.
But the attention of every lady was soon caugh=
t by
a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appeara=
nce,
walking with another officer on the other side of the way. The officer was =
the
very Mr. Denny concerning whose return from London Lydia came to inquire, a=
nd
he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the stranger's air, all wonde=
red
who he could be; and Kitty and Lydia, determined if possible to find out, l=
ed
the way across the street, under pretense of wanting something in an opposi=
te
shop, and fortunately had just gained the pavement when the two gentlemen,
turning back, had reached the same spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly,=
and
entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned
with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say had accepted a c=
ommission
in their corps. This was exactly as it should be; for the young man wanted =
only
regimentals to make him completely charming. His appearance was greatly in =
his
favour; he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figu=
re,
and very pleasing address. The introduction was followed up on his side by a
happy readiness of conversation--a readiness at the same time perfectly cor=
rect
and unassuming; and the whole party were still standing and talking togethe=
r very
agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley
were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group,
the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual civilitie=
s.
Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principal object. =
He
was then, he said, on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after her.=
Mr.
Darcy corroborated it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix=
his
eyes on Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested by the sight of the str=
anger,
and Elizabeth happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at ea=
ch
other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colo=
ur,
one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched =
his
hat--a salutation which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return. What could be the
meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long =
to
know.
In another minute, Mr. Bingley, but without
seeming to have noticed what passed, took leave and rode on with his friend=
.
Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young
ladies to the door of Mr. Phillip's house, and then made their bows, in spi=
te
of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that they should come in, and even in s=
pite
of Mrs. Phillips's throwing up the parlour window and loudly seconding the =
invitation.
Mrs. Phillips was always glad to see her niece=
s;
and the two eldest, from their recent absence, were particularly welcome, a=
nd
she was eagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden return home, which,=
as their
own carriage had not fetched them, she should have known nothing about, if =
she
had not happened to see Mr. Jones's shop-boy in the street, who had told her
that they were not to send any more draughts to Netherfield because the Miss
Bennets were come away, when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by
Jane's introduction of him. She received him with her very best politeness,
which he returned with as much more, apologising for his intrusion, without=
any
previous acquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering himself,=
however,
might be justified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced h=
im
to her notice. Mrs. Phillips was quite awed by such an excess of good breed=
ing;
but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put to an end by exclamations
and inquiries about the other; of whom, however, she could only tell her ni=
eces
what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had brought him from London, and tha=
t he
was to have a lieutenant's commission in the ----shire. She had been watchi=
ng
him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street, and had M=
r. Wickham
appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have continued the occupation, but
unluckily no one passed windows now except a few of the officers, who, in
comparison with the stranger, were become "stupid, disagreeable
fellows." Some of them were to dine with the Phillipses the next day, =
and
their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham, and give him an
invitation also, if the family from Longbourn would come in the evening. Th=
is
was agreed to, and Mrs. Phillips protested that they would have a nice
comfortable noisy game of lottery tickets, and a little bit of hot supper
afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parte=
d in
mutual good spirits. Mr. Collins repeated his apologies in quitting the roo=
m,
and was assured with unwearying civility that they were perfectly needless.=
As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane
what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen; but though Jane would have
defended either or both, had they appeared to be in the wrong, she could no
more explain such behaviour than her sister.
Mr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs.
Bennet by admiring Mrs. Phillips's manners and politeness. He protested tha=
t,
except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant wo=
man;
for she had not only received him with the utmost civility, but even pointe=
dly
included him in her invitation for the next evening, although utterly unkno=
wn
to her before. Something, he supposed, might be attributed to his connection
with them, but yet he had never met with so much attention in the whole cou=
rse
of his life.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 16
As no
objection was made to the young people's engagement with their aunt, and all
Mr. Collins's scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for a single evening
during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach conveyed him and his
five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and the girls had the pleasure =
of
hearing, as they entered the drawing-room, that Mr. Wickham had accepted th=
eir
uncle's invitation, and was then in the house.
When this information was given, and they had =
all
taken their seats, Mr. Collins was at leisure to look around him and admire,
and he was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, tha=
t he
declared he might almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfas=
t parlour
at Rosings; a comparison that did not at first convey much gratification; b=
ut
when Mrs. Phillips understood from him what Rosings was, and who was its
proprietor--when she had listened to the description of only one of Lady
Catherine's drawing-rooms, and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost
eight hundred pounds, she felt all the force of the compliment, and would
hardly have resented a comparison with the housekeeper's room.
In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady
Catherine and her mansion, with occasional digressions in praise of his own
humble abode, and the improvements it was receiving, he was happily employed
until the gentlemen joined them; and he found in Mrs. Phillips a very atten=
tive
listener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what she heard, a=
nd
who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as soon as she coul=
d.
To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin, and who had nothing to =
do
but to wish for an instrument, and examine their own indifferent imitations=
of
china on the mantelpiece, the interval of waiting appeared very long. It was
over at last, however. The gentlemen did approach, and when Mr. Wickham wal=
ked
into the room, Elizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before, =
nor
thinking of him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration.=
The
officers of the ----shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike =
set,
and the best of them were of the present party; but Mr. Wickham was as far
beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk, as they were superior to the broad-faced, stuffy=
uncle
Phillips, breathing port wine, who followed them into the room.
Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom alm=
ost
every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he
finally seated himself; and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fe=
ll
into conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, made her fe=
el that
the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered interesting=
by
the skill of the speaker.
With such rivals for the notice of the fair as=
Mr.
Wickham and the officers, Mr. Collins seemed to sink into insignificance; to
the young ladies he certainly was nothing; but he had still at intervals a =
kind
listener in Mrs. Phillips, and was by her watchfulness, most abundantly sup=
plied
with coffee and muffin. When the card-tables were placed, he had the
opportunity of obliging her in turn, by sitting down to whist.
"I know little of the game at present,&qu=
ot;
said he, "but I shall be glad to improve myself, for in my situation in
life--" Mrs. Phillips was very glad for his compliance, but could not =
wait
for his reason.
Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with re=
ady
delight was he received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At
first there seemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him entirely, for she was a
most determined talker; but being likewise extremely fond of lottery ticket=
s, she
soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager in making bets and
exclaiming after prizes to have attention for anyone in particular. Allowing
for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham was therefore at leisure to
talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing to hear him, though what she
chiefly wished to hear she could not hope to be told--the history of his
acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She dared not even mention that gentleman. Her
curiosity, however, was unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject
himself. He inquired how far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after recei=
ving
her answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying
there.
"About a month," said Elizabeth; and
then, unwilling to let the subject drop, added, "He is a man of very l=
arge
property in Derbyshire, I understand."
"Yes," replied Mr. Wickham; "his
estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not =
have
met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on that he=
ad
than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular mann=
er
from my infancy."
Elizabeth could not but look surprised.
"You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, =
at
such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manne=
r of
our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"
"As much as I ever wish to be," cried
Elizabeth very warmly. "I have spent four days in the same house with =
him,
and I think him very disagreeable."
"I have no right to give my opinion," said Wickham, "as to=
his
being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known =
him too
long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to
be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general astonish--=
and
perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. Here you =
are
in your own family."
"Upon my word, I say no more here than I might say in any house in the nei=
ghbourhood,
except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is
disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by
anyone."
"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said
Wickham, after a short interruption, "that he or that any man should n=
ot
be estimated beyond their deserts; but with him =
span>I
believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and
consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him o=
nly
as he chooses to be seen."
"I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-temper=
ed
man." Wickham only shook his head.
"I wonder," said he, at the next
opportunity of speaking, "whether he is likely to be in this country m=
uch
longer."
"I do not at all know; but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at
Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ----shire will not be affec=
ted
by his being in the neighbourhood."
"Oh! no--it is not for me to
be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he=
wishes to avoid seeing me , he must go. We are not on friendly =
terms,
and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding =
him =
span>but
what I might proclaim before all the world, a sense of very great ill-usage,
and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss Bennet, =
the
late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest
friend I ever had; and I can never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without
being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections. His behaviour=
to
myself has been scandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive him anythi=
ng
and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the =
memory
of his father."
Elizabeth found the interest of the subject
increase, and listened with all her heart; but the delicacy of it prevented
further inquiry.
Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general top=
ics,
Meryton, the neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all =
that
he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter with gentle but very intelligib=
le
gallantry.
"It was the prospect of constant society,=
and
good society," he added, "which was my chief inducement to enter =
the
----shire. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my frie=
nd
Denny tempted me further by his account of their present quarters, and the =
very
great attentions and excellent acquaintances Meryton had procured them. Soc=
iety,
I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits w=
ill
not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military =
life
is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible.
The church ought to have been my profession--I was brough=
t up
for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most
valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just
now."
"Indeed!"
"Yes--the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the
next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and
excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to
provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell,=
it
was given elsewhere."
"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth;
"but how could that be? How could his will be disregarded? W=
hy did
you not seek legal redress?"
"There was just such an informality in the
terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could =
not
have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it--or to treat it=
as
a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all
claim to it by extravagance, imprudence--in short anything or nothing. Cert=
ain it
is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age=
to
hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no less certain is it, t=
hat
I cannot accuse myself of having really done anything to deserve to lose it=
. I
have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion of him,
and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing wo=
rse.
But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates
me."
"This is quite shocking! He deserves to be
publicly disgraced."
"Some time or other he will be--but it shall not be by me . Till I can forget his father, I can=
never
defy or expose him ."
Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and
thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them.
"But what," said she, after a pause,
"can have been his motive? What can have induced him to behave so
cruelly?"
"A thorough, determined dislike of me--a
dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the l=
ate
Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better; but his
father's uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in
life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we
stood--the sort of preference which was often given me."
"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as
this--though I have never liked him. I had not thought so very ill of him. I
had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did n=
ot
suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such
inhumanity as this."
After a few minutes' reflection, however, she
continued, "I do remember his boasting one day, at Nether=
field,
of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving tempe=
r.
His disposition must be dreadful."
"I will not trust myself on the
subject," replied Wickham; "I can hardly be just to him."
Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after=
a
time exclaimed, "To treat in such a manner the godson, the friend, the
favourite of his father!" She could have added, "A young man, too,
like you , whose very countenance =
may
vouch for your being amiable"--but she contented herself with, "a=
nd
one, too, who had probably been his companion from childhood, connected
together, as I think you said, in the closest manner!"
"We were born in the same parish, within =
the
same park; the greatest part of our youth was passed together; inmates of t=
he
same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care.=
My father
began life in the profession which your uncle, Mr. Phillips, appears to do =
so
much credit to--but he gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy
and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was most
highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend. Mr. Dar=
cy
often acknowledged himself to be under the greatest obligations to my fathe=
r's
active superintendence, and when, immediately before my father's death, Mr.
Darcy gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that=
he
felt it to be as much a debt of gratitude to him , as of his affection to myself.&quo=
t;
"How strange!" cried Elizabeth.
"How abominable! I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not
made him just to you! If from no better motive, that he should not have been
too proud to be dishonest--for dishonesty I must call it."
"It is
wonderful," replied Wickham,
"for almost all his actions may be traced to pride; and pride had often
been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any
other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me
there were stronger impulses even than pride."
"Can such abominable pride as his have ev=
er
done him good?"
"Yes. It has often led him to be liberal =
and
generous, to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his
tenants, and relieve the poor. Family pride, and filial pride--for he is very proud of what his =
father
was--have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate fr=
om
the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is a
powerful motive. He has also broth=
erly pride, which, with some brotherly affection, makes him a very ki=
nd and
careful guardian of his sister, and you will hear him generally cried up as=
the
most attentive and best of brothers."
"What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?" <= o:p>
He shook his head. "I wish I could call h=
er
amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like=
her
brother--very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, a=
nd
extremely fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. =
But
she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen,=
and,
I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father's death, her home has b=
een
London, where a lady lives with her, and superintends her education." =
After many pauses and many trials of other
subjects, Elizabeth could not help reverting once more to the first, and
saying:
"I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr.
Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley, who seems good humour itself, and is, I really
believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit
each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley?"
"Not at all."
"He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming
man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is."
"Probably not; but Mr. Darcy can please w=
here
he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be a conversible companion i=
f he
thinks it worth his while. Among those who are at all his equals in
consequence, he is a very different man from what he is to the less prosper=
ous.
His pride never deserts him; but with the rich he is liberal-minded, just, =
sincere,
rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable--allowing something for fortune=
and
figure."
The whist party soon afterwards breaking up, t=
he
players gathered round the other table and Mr. Collins took his station bet=
ween
his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Phillips. The usual inquiries as to his succe=
ss
was made by the latter. It had not been very great; he had lost every point;
but when Mrs. Phillips began to express her concern thereupon, he assured h=
er
with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance, that he
considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged that she would not make
herself uneasy.
"I know very well, madam," said he,
"that when persons sit down to a card-table, they must take their chan=
ces
of these things, and happily I am not in such circumstances as to make five
shillings any object. There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same,
but thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessi=
ty
of regarding little matters."
Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after
observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice
whether her relation was very intimately acquainted with the family of de
Bourgh.
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she repl=
ied,
"has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was
first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long.&qu=
ot;
"You know of course that Lady Catherine de
Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to t=
he
present Mr. Darcy."
"No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at=
all
of Lady Catherine's connections. I never heard of her existence till the day
before yesterday."
"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a
very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite t=
he
two estates."
This information made Elizabeth smile, as she
thought of poor Miss Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain =
and
useless her affection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were
already self-destined for another.
"Mr. Collins," said she, "speaks
highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter; but from some particulars t=
hat
he has related of her ladyship, I suspect his gratitude misleads him, and t=
hat
in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman.&q=
uot;
"I believe her to be both in a great
degree," replied Wickham; "I have not seen her for many years, bu=
t I
very well remember that I never liked her, and that her manners were
dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensib=
le
and clever; but I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her
rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner, and the rest from the
pride for her nephew, who chooses that everyone connected with him should h=
ave
an understanding of the first class."
Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very
rational account of it, and they continued talking together, with mutual
satisfaction till supper put an end to cards, and gave the rest of the ladi=
es
their share of Mr. Wickham's attentions. There could be no conversation in =
the
noise of Mrs. Phillips's supper party, but his manners recommended him to e=
verybody.
Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done gracefully.
Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could think of nothing b=
ut
of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all the way home; but there was
not time for her even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia n=
or
Mr. Collins were once silent. Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, =
of
the fish she had lost and the fish she had won; and Mr. Collins in describi=
ng
the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, protesting that he did not in the le=
ast
regard his losses at whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and
repeatedly fearing that he crowded his cousins, had more to say than he cou=
ld
well manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 17
Eliza=
beth
related to Jane the next day what had passed between Mr. Wickham and hersel=
f.
Jane listened with astonishment and concern; she knew not how to believe th=
at
Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley's regard; and yet, it was not=
in
her nature to question the veracity of a young man of such amiable appearan=
ce
as Wickham. The possibility of his having endured such unkindness, was enou=
gh
to interest all her tender feelings; and nothing remained therefore to be d=
one,
but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each, and throw in=
to
the account of accident or mistake whatever could not be otherwise explaine=
d.
"They have both," said she, "be=
en
deceived, I dare say, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea.
Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in
short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may
have alienated them, without actual blame on either side."
"Very true, indeed; and now, my dear Jane,
what have you got to say on behalf of the interested people who have probab=
ly
been concerned in the business? Do clear them too, or we shall be obliged to think ill=
of somebody."
"Laugh as much as you choose, but you will
not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a
disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his father's favourit=
e in
such a manner, one whom his father had promised to provide for. It is impos=
sible.
No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, coul=
d be
capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in =
him?
Oh! no."
"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingl=
ey's
being imposed on, than that Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of him=
self
as he gave me last night; names, facts, everything mentioned without ceremo=
ny.
If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in h=
is looks."
"It is difficult indeed--it is distressin=
g.
One does not know what to think."
"I beg your pardon; one knows exactly wha=
t to
think."
But Jane could think with certainty on only one
point--that Mr. Bingley, if he had=
been imposed on, would have much to suff=
er
when the affair became public.
The two young ladies were summoned from the
shrubbery, where this conversation passed, by the arrival of the very perso=
ns
of whom they had been speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisters came to give th=
eir
personal invitation for the long-expected ball at Netherfield, which was fi=
xed for
the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to see their dear frie=
nd
again, called it an age since they had met, and repeatedly asked what she h=
ad
been doing with herself since their separation. To the rest of the family t=
hey
paid little attention; avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not
much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. They were soon gone ag=
ain,
rising from their seats with an activity which took their brother by surpri=
se,
and hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennet's civilities.
The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extre=
mely
agreeable to every female of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as
given in compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered =
by
receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a ceremonious
card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of her two
friends, and the attentions of her brother; and Elizabeth thought with plea=
sure
of dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of
everything in Mr. Darcy's look and behaviour. The happiness anticipated by
Catherine and Lydia depended less on any single event, or any particular
person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the eveni=
ng
with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy the=
m,
and a ball was, at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family =
that
she had no disinclination for it.
"While I can have my mornings to
myself," said she, "it is enough--I think it is no sacrifice to j=
oin
occasionally in evening engagements. Society has claims on us all; and I
profess myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation and amusem=
ent
as desirable for everybody."
Elizabeth's spirits were so high on this occas=
ion,
that though she did not often speak unnecessarily to Mr. Collins, she could=
not
help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley's invitation, and=
if he
did, whether he would think it proper to join in the evening's amusement; a=
nd
she was rather surprised to find that he entertained no scruple whatever on
that head, and was very far from dreading a rebuke either from the Archbish=
op,
or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by venturing to dance.
"I am by no means of the opinion, I assure
you," said he, "that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of
character, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency; and I am so f=
ar
from objecting to dancing myself, that I shall hope to be honoured with the
hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening; and I take this
opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances
especially, a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the
right cause, and not to any disrespect for her."
Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She
had fully proposed being engaged by Mr. Wickham for those very dances; and =
to
have Mr. Collins instead! her liveliness had never been worse timed. There =
was
no help for it, however. Mr. Wickham's happiness and her own were perforce =
delayed
a little longer, and Mr. Collins's proposal accepted with as good a grace as
she could. She was not the better pleased with his gallantry from the idea =
it
suggested of something more. It now first struck her, that she =
span>was
selected from among her sisters as worthy of being mistress of Hunsford
Parsonage, and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the
absence of more eligible visitors. The idea soon reached to conviction, as =
she
observed his increasing civilities toward herself, and heard his frequent
attempt at a compliment on her wit and vivacity; and though more astonished
than gratified herself by this effect of her charms, it was not long before=
her
mother gave her to understand that the probability of their marriage was
extremely agreeable to her . Eliza=
beth,
however, did not choose to take the hint, being well aware that a serious
dispute must be the consequence of any reply. Mr. Collins might never make =
the
offer, and till he did, it was useless to quarrel about him.
If there had not been a Netherfield ball to
prepare for and talk of, the younger Miss Bennets would have been in a very
pitiable state at this time, for from the day of the invitation, to the day=
of
the ball, there was such a succession of rain as prevented their walking to
Meryton once. No aunt, no officers, no news could be sought after--the very=
shoe-roses
for Netherfield were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth might have found some tri=
al
of her patience in weather which totally suspended the improvement of her
acquaintance with Mr. Wickham; and nothing less than a dance on Tuesday, co=
uld
have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday endurable to Kitty and
Lydia.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 18
Till
Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for M=
r.
Wickham among the cluster of red coats there assembled, a doubt of his being
present had never occurred to her. The certainty of meeting him had not been
checked by any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have alar=
med
her. She had dressed with more than usual care, and prepared in the highest
spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued of his heart, trust=
ing
that it was not more than might be won in the course of the evening. But in=
an
instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted for Mr.
Darcy's pleasure in the Bingleys' invitation to the officers; and though th=
is
was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by
his friend Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who told them that Wic=
kham
had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and was not yet
returned; adding, with a significant smile, "I do not imagine his busi=
ness
would have called him away just now, if he had not wanted to avoid a certain
gentleman here."
This part of his intelligence, though unheard =
by
Lydia, was caught by Elizabeth, and, as it assured her that Darcy was not l=
ess
answerable for Wickham's absence than if her first surmise had been just, e=
very
feeling of displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate dis=
appointment,
that she could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite inquiries
which he directly afterwards approached to make. Attendance, forbearance, p=
atience
with Darcy, was injury to Wickham. She was resolved against any sort of
conversation with him, and turned away with a degree of ill-humour which she
could not wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind
partiality provoked her.
But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; a=
nd
though every prospect of her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not
dwell long on her spirits; and having told all her griefs to Charlotte Luca=
s,
whom she had not seen for a week, she was soon able to make a voluntary
transition to the oddities of her cousin, and to point him out to her
particular notice. The first two dances, however, brought a return of distr=
ess;
they were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologi=
sing
instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it, gave
her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of
dances can give. The moment of her release from him was ecstasy.
She danced next with an officer, and had the r=
efreshment
of talking of Wickham, and of hearing that he was universally liked. When t=
hose
dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation =
with
her, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy who took her so
much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what
she did, she accepted him. He walked away again immediately, and she was le=
ft
to fret over her own want of presence of mind; Charlotte tried to console h=
er:
"I dare say you will find him very
agreeable."
"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all!=
To
find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do not wish me such an=
evil."
When the dancing recommenced, however, and Dar=
cy
approached to claim her hand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her in a
whisper, not to be a simpleton, and allow her fancy for Wickham to make her
appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man ten times his consequence. Elizabeth
made no answer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to whi=
ch she
was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and reading in=
her
neighbours' looks, their equal amazement in beholding it. They stood for so=
me
time without speaking a word; and she began to imagine that their silence w=
as
to last through the two dances, and at first was resolved not to break it; =
till
suddenly fancying that it would be the greater punishment to her partner to
oblige him to talk, she made some slight observation on the dance. He repli=
ed,
and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a se=
cond
time with:--"It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I =
talked
about the dance, and you ought to make some sort of remark on the=
size of
the room, or the number of couples."
He smiled, and assured her that whatever she
wished him to say should be said.
"Very well. That reply will do for the
present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasa=
nter
than public ones. But now we may be silent."
"Do you talk by rule, then, while you are
dancing?"
"Sometimes. One must speak a little, you
know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and
yet for the advantage of some ,
conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of
saying as little as possible."
"Are you consulting your own feelings in =
the
present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?"
"Both," replied Elizabeth archly;
"for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We
are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we
expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down =
to posterity
with all the eclat of a proverb."
"This is no very striking resemblance of =
your
own character, I am sure," said he. "How near it may be to mine , I cannot pretend to say. You =
span>think
it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."
"I must not decide on my own
performance."
He made no answer, and they were again silent =
till
they had gone down the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did =
not
very often walk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to
resist the temptation, added, "When you met us there the other day, we=
had
just been forming a new acquaintance."
The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, but he said not=
a
word, and Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not=
go
on. At length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said, "Mr. Wick=
ham
is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends--whether he may be equally capab=
le of retaining them, is less certain."
"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," replied Elizabeth with
emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his
life."
Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of
changing the subject. At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to t=
hem,
meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but on
perceiving Mr. Darcy, he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to complim=
ent
him on his dancing and his partner.
"I have been most highly gratified indeed=
, my
dear sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that =
you
belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partn=
er
does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often
repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Eliza (glancin=
g at
her sister and Bingley) shall take place. What congratulations will then fl=
ow
in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy:--but let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not
thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady,
whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me."
The latter part of this address was scarcely h=
eard
by Darcy; but Sir William's allusion to his friend seemed to strike him
forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards
Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, however,
shortly, he turned to his partner, and said, "Sir William's interrupti=
on
has made me forget what we were talking of."
"I do not think we were speaking at all. =
Sir
William could not have interrupted two people in the room who had less to s=
ay
for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success,
and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine."
"What think you of books?" said he,
smiling.
"Books--oh! no. I am sure we never read t=
he
same, or not with the same feelings."
"I am sorry you think so; but if that be =
the
case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different
opinions."
"No--I cannot talk of books in a ball-roo=
m;
my head is always full of something else."
"The =
span>present
always occupies you in such scenes=
--does
it?" said he, with a look of doubt.
"Yes, always," she replied, without
knowing what she said, for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, =
as
soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, "I remember heari=
ng
you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment
once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its =
being created ."
"I am," said he, with a firm voice. =
"And never allow yourself to be blinded by
prejudice?"
"I hope not."
"It is particularly incumbent on those who
never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first."=
;
"May I ask to what these questions
tend?"
"Merely to the illustration of your character," said she, endeavouring =
to
shake off her gravity. "I am trying to make it out."
"And what is your success?"
She shook her head. "I do not get on at a=
ll.
I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."
"I can readily believe," answered he
gravely, "that reports may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could
wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present
moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no cr=
edit
on either."
"But if I do not take your likeness now, I
may never have another opportunity."
"I would by no means suspend any pleasure=
of
yours," he coldly replied. She said no more, and they went down the ot=
her
dance and parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied, though not to an
equal degree, for in Darcy's breast there was a tolerable powerful feeling
towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger aga=
inst
another.
They had not long separated, when Miss Bingley
came towards her, and with an expression of civil disdain accosted her:
"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite
delighted with George Wickham! Your sister has been talking to me about him,
and asking me a thousand questions; and I find that the young man quite for=
got
to tell you, among his other communication, that he was the son of old Wick=
ham,
the late Mr. Darcy's steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, n=
ot
to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr. Darcy's us=
ing
him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has always been
remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a mo=
st
infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but I know very well that M=
r.
Darcy is not in the least to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wick=
ham
mentioned, and that though my brother thought that he could not well avoid
including him in his invitation to the officers, he was excessively glad to
find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming into the country =
at
all is a most insolent thing, indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to =
do
it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite's guilt; b=
ut
really, considering his descent, one could not expect much better."
"His guilt and his descent appear by your
account to be the same," said Elizabeth angrily; "for I have heard
you accuse him of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy's stewar=
d,
and of that , I can assure you, he
informed me himself."
"I beg your pardon," replied Miss
Bingley, turning away with a sneer. "Excuse my interference--it was ki=
ndly
meant."
"Insolent girl!" said Elizabeth to
herself. "You are much mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a
paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and
the malice of Mr. Darcy." She then sought her eldest sister, who has
undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her w=
ith
a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression, as
sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of the
evening. Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment solicitu=
de
for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything else, gave way =
before
the hope of Jane's being in the fairest way for happiness.
"I want to know," said she, with a
countenance no less smiling than her sister's, "what you have learnt a=
bout
Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged to think of a=
ny
third person; in which case you may be sure of my pardon."
"No," replied Jane, "I have not
forgotten him; but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does
not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstanc=
es
which have principally offended Mr. Darcy; but he will vouch for the good
conduct, the probity, and honour of his friend, and is perfectly convinced =
that
Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has rec=
eived;
and I am sorry to say by his account as well as his sister's, Mr. Wickham i=
s by
no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, a=
nd has
deserved to lose Mr. Darcy's regard."
"Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham
himself?"
"No; he never saw him till the other morn=
ing
at Meryton."
"This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am satisfied. But what does he say of the living?" <= o:p>
"He does not exactly recollect the
circumstances, though he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but =
he
believes that it was left to him c=
onditionally
only."
"I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley's
sincerity," said Elizabeth warmly; "but you must excuse my not be=
ing
convinced by assurances only. Mr. Bingley's defense of his friend was a very
able one, I dare say; but since he is unacquainted with several parts of the
story, and has learnt the rest from that friend himself, I shall venture to
still think of both gentlemen as I did before."
She then changed the discourse to one more
gratifying to each, and on which there could be no difference of sentiment.
Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane
entertained of Mr. Bingley's regard, and said all in her power to heighten =
her
confidence in it. On their being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth
withdrew to Miss Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last=
partner
she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up to them, and told her =
with
great exultation that he had just been so fortunate as to make a most impor=
tant
discovery.
"I have found out," said he, "b=
y a
singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my
patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the y=
oung
lady who does the honours of the house the names of his cousin Miss de Bour=
gh,
and of her mother Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occu=
r!
Who would have thought of my meeting with, perhaps, a nephew of Lady Cather=
ine
de Bourgh in this assembly! I am most thankful that the discovery is made in
time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trus=
t he
will excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance of the connect=
ion
must plead my apology."
"You are not going to introduce yourself =
to
Mr. Darcy!"
"Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon =
for
not having done it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine's nephew . It will be in my power to assur=
e him
that her ladyship was quite well yesterday se'nnight."
Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such=
a
scheme, assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him witho=
ut
introduction as an impertinent freedom, rather than a compliment to his aun=
t;
that it was not in the least necessary there should be any notice on either=
side;
and that if it were, it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in consequen=
ce,
to begin the acquaintance. Mr. Collins listened to her with the determined =
air
of following his own inclination, and, when she ceased speaking, replied th=
us:
"My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highe=
st
opinion in the world in your excellent judgement in all matters within the
scope of your understanding; but permit me to say, that there must be a wid=
e difference
between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those which
regulate the clergy; for, give me leave to observe that I consider the cler=
ical
office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the
kingdom--provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at the same time
maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates of my consci=
ence
on this occasion, which leads me to perform what I look on as a point of du=
ty.
Pardon me for neglecting to profit by your advice, which on every other sub=
ject
shall be my constant guide, though in the case before us I consider myself =
more
fitted by education and habitual study to decide on what is right than a yo=
ung lady
like yourself." And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy, wh=
ose
reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment at be=
ing
so addressed was very evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn=
bow
and though she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing it all, =
and
saw in the motion of his lips the words "apology,"
"Hunsford," and "Lady Catherine de Bourgh." It vexed he=
r to
see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with
unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak,
replied with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not
discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed abundantly
increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the end of it he on=
ly
made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr. Collins then returned to
Elizabeth.
"I have no reason, I assure you," sa=
id
he, "to be dissatisfied with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleas=
ed
with the attention. He answered me with the utmost civility, and even paid =
me
the compliment of saying that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine's
discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favour unworthily. It=
was
really a very handsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him.=
"
As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her=
own
to pursue, she turned her attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr.
Bingley; and the train of agreeable reflections which her observations gave
birth to, made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane. She saw her in idea set=
tled
in that very house, in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection =
could
bestow; and she felt capable, under such circumstances, of endeavouring eve=
n to
like Bingley's two sisters. Her mother's thoughts she plainly saw were bent=
the
same way, and she determined not to venture near her, lest she might hear t=
oo
much. When they sat down to supper, therefore, she considered it a most unl=
ucky
perverseness which placed them within one of each other; and deeply was she
vexed to find that her mother was talking to that one person (Lady Lucas)
freely, openly, and of nothing else but her expectation that Jane would soo=
n be
married to Mr. Bingley. It was an animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet seemed
incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match. His bei=
ng
such a charming young man, and so rich, and living but three miles from the=
m,
were the first points of self-gratulation; and then it was such a comfort to
think how fond the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain that they mu=
st
desire the connection as much as she could do. It was, moreover, such a
promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane's marrying so greatly mu=
st
throw them in the way of other rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant at =
her
time of life to be able to consign her single daughters to the care of their
sister, that she might not be obliged to go into company more than she like=
d.
It was necessary to make this circumstance a matter of pleasure, because on=
such
occasions it is the etiquette; but no one was less likely than Mrs. Bennet =
to
find comfort in staying home at any period of her life. She concluded with =
many
good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate, though evident=
ly
and triumphantly believing there was no chance of it.
In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the
rapidity of her mother's words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in=
a
less audible whisper; for, to her inexpressible vexation, she could perceive
that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to them. =
Her mother
only scolded her for being nonsensical.
"What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I sh=
ould
be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be
obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear."
"For heaven's sake, madam, speak lower. W=
hat
advantage can it be for you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend
yourself to his friend by so doing!"
Nothing that she could say, however, had any
influence. Her mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone.
Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not =
help
frequently glancing her eye at Mr. Darcy, though every glance convinced her=
of
what she dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother, she w=
as convinced
that his attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression of his face
changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity.=
At length, however, Mrs. Bennet had no more to
say; and Lady Lucas, who had been long yawning at the repetition of delights
which she saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham
and chicken. Elizabeth now began to revive. But not long was the interval o=
f tranquillity;
for, when supper was over, singing was talked of, and she had the mortifica=
tion
of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty, preparing to oblige the company=
. By
many significant looks and silent entreaties, did she endeavour to prevent =
such
a proof of complaisance, but in vain; Mary would not understand them; such =
an
opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song.
Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations, and she
watched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience which w=
as
very ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving, amongst the thank=
s of
the table, the hint of a hope that she might be prevailed on to favour them
again, after the pause of half a minute began another. Mary's powers were b=
y no
means fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and her manner affecte=
d.
Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at Jane, to see how she bore it; but J=
ane
was very composedly talking to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and =
saw
them making signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued,
however, imperturbably grave. She looked at her father to entreat his inter=
ference,
lest Mary should be singing all night. He took the hint, and when Mary had
finished her second song, said aloud, "That will do extremely well, ch=
ild.
You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to
exhibit."
Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somew=
hat
disconcerted; and Elizabeth, sorry for her, and sorry for her father's spee=
ch,
was afraid her anxiety had done no good. Others of the party were now appli=
ed
to.
"If I," said Mr. Collins, "were=
so
fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in
obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent
diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do
not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much =
of
our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. =
The rector
of a parish has much to do. In the first place, he must make such an agreem=
ent
for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron.=
He
must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much =
for
his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he
cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible. And I do not thin=
k it
of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners
towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment.=
I
cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should
omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with t=
he family."
And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken=
so
loud as to be heard by half the room. Many stared--many smiled; but no one
looked more amused than Mr. Bennet himself, while his wife seriously commen=
ded
Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to
Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.
To Elizabeth it appeared that, had her family =
made
an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening,=
it
would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or=
finer
success; and happy did she think it for Bingley and her sister that some of=
the
exhibition had escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not of a sort=
to
be much distressed by the folly which he must have witnessed. That his two
sisters and Mr. Darcy, however, should have such an opportunity of ridiculi=
ng
her relations, was bad enough, and she could not determine whether the sile=
nt
contempt of the gentleman, or the insolent smiles of the ladies, were more
intolerable.
The rest of the evening brought her little
amusement. She was teased by Mr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly =
by
her side, and though he could not prevail on her to dance with him again, p=
ut
it out of her power to dance with others. In vain did she entreat him to st=
and
up with somebody else, and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the
room. He assured her, that as to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to i=
t; that
his chief object was by delicate attentions to recommend himself to her and
that he should therefore make a point of remaining close to her the whole
evening. There was no arguing upon such a project. She owed her greatest re=
lief
to her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them, and good-naturedly engaged=
Mr.
Collins's conversation to herself.
She was at least free from the offense of Mr.
Darcy's further notice; though often standing within a very short distance =
of
her, quite disengaged, he never came near enough to speak. She felt it to be
the probable consequence of her allusions to Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced in i=
t.
The Longbourn party were the last of all the
company to depart, and, by a manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet, had to wait for their
carriage a quarter of an hour after everybody else was gone, which gave them
time to see how heartily they were wished away by some of the family. Mrs.
Hurst and her sister scarcely opened their mouths, except to complain of
fatigue, and were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. They
repulsed every attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation, and by so doing thre=
w a languor
over the whole party, which was very little relieved by the long speeches of
Mr. Collins, who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the elega=
nce
of their entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had marked
their behaviour to their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in
equal silence, was enjoying the scene. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing
together, a little detached from the rest, and talked only to each other.
Elizabeth preserved as steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingle=
y;
and even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional
exclamation of "Lord, how tired I am!" accompanied by a violent y=
awn.
When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs.
Bennet was most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soo=
n at
Longbourn, and addressed herself especially to Mr. Bingley, to assure him h=
ow
happy he would make them by eating a family dinner with them at any time,
without the ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful pleas=
ure,
and he readily engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of waiting on he=
r,
after his return from London, whither he was obliged to go the next day for=
a
short time.
Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and quitt=
ed
the house under the delightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary
preparations of settlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes, she should
undoubtedly see her daughter settled at Netherfield in the course of three =
or
four months. Of having another daughter married to Mr. Collins, she thought=
with
equal certainty, and with considerable, though not equal, pleasure. Elizabe=
th
was the least dear to her of all her children; and though the man and the m=
atch
were quite good enough for her , t=
he
worth of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 19
The n=
ext
day opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his declaration in fo=
rm.
Having resolved to do it without loss of time, as his leave of absence exte=
nded
only to the following Saturday, and having no feelings of diffidence to mak=
e it
distressing to himself even at the moment, he set about it in a very orderly
manner, with all the observances, which he supposed a regular part of the
business. On finding Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls
together, soon after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words:
"May I hope, madam, for your interest with
your fair daughter Elizabeth, when I solicit for the honour of a private
audience with her in the course of this morning?"
Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a b=
lush
of surprise, Mrs. Bennet answered instantly, "Oh dear!--yes--certainly=
. I
am sure Lizzy will be very happy--I am sure she can have no objection. Come,
Kitty, I want you up stairs." And, gathering her work together, she was
hastening away, when Elizabeth called out:
"Dear madam, do not go. I beg you will not
go. Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybo=
dy
need not hear. I am going away myself."
"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I desire you to
stay where you are." And upon Elizabeth's seeming really, with vexed a=
nd
embarrassed looks, about to escape, she added: "Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collin=
s."
Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunction-=
-and
a moment's consideration making her also sensible that it would be wisest to
get it over as soon and as quietly as possible, she sat down again and trie=
d to
conceal, by incessant employment the feelings which were divided between di=
stress
and diversion. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they were g=
one,
Mr. Collins began.
"Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that
your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your oth=
er
perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness; but allo=
w me
to assure you, that I have your respected mother's permission for this addr=
ess.
You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural deli=
cacy
may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistake=
n.
Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion o=
f my
future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject,
perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying--and,
moreover, for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife=
, as
I certainly did."
The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn
composure, being run away with by his feelings, made Elizabeth so near
laughing, that she could not use the short pause he allowed in any attempt =
to
stop him further, and he continued:
"My reasons for marrying are, first, that=
I
think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myse=
lf)
to set the example of matrimony in his parish; secondly, that I am convinced
that it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly--which perhaps I
ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recom=
mendation
of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice h=
as
she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked too!) on this subject; and=
it
was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford--between our pools at
quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh's footstool, t=
hat
she said, 'Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Ch=
oose
properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own , let her be an active, useful sort =
of
person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way.
This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsf=
ord,
and I will visit her.' Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, th=
at I
do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among =
the
least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners bey=
ond anything
I can describe; and your wit and vivacity, I think, must be acceptable to h=
er,
especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will
inevitably excite. Thus much for my general intention in favour of matrimon=
y;
it remains to be told why my views were directed towards Longbourn instead =
of
my own neighbourhood, where I can assure you there are many amiable young
women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after t=
he
death of your honoured father (who, however, may live many years longer), I
could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his
daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the
melancholy event takes place--which, however, as I have already said, may n=
ot be
for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter
myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing remains for me b=
ut
to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection=
. To
fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature=
on
your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with; and =
that
one thousand pounds in the four per cents, which will not be yours till aft=
er
your mother's decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that hea=
d, therefore,
I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous
reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married."
It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him n=
ow.
"You are too hasty, sir," she cried.
"You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further l=
oss
of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very
sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do
otherwise than to decline them."
"I am not now to learn," replied Mr.
Collins, with a formal wave of the hand, "that it is usual with young
ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept,
when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is
repeated a second, or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discour=
aged
by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere
long."
"Upon my word, sir," cried Elizabeth,
"your hope is a rather extraordinary one after my declaration. I do as=
sure
you that I am not one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are)
who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a
second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy,
and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you=
so.
Nay, were your friend Lady Catherine to know me, I am persuaded she would f=
ind
me in every respect ill qualified for the situation."
"Were it certain that Lady Catherine would
think so," said Mr. Collins very gravely--"but I cannot imagine t=
hat
her ladyship would at all disapprove of you. And you may be certain when I =
have
the honour of seeing her again, I shall speak in the very highest terms of =
your
modesty, economy, and other amiable qualification."
"Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me wi=
ll
be unnecessary. You must give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the
compliment of believing what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, an=
d by
refusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise. In
making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your feelings =
with
regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn estate whenever it
falls, without any self-reproach. This matter may be considered, therefore,=
as
finally settled." And rising as she thus spoke, she would have quitted=
the
room, had Mr. Collins not thus addressed her:
"When I do myself the honour of speaking =
to
you next on the subject, I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer t=
han
you have now given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at pres=
ent,
because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man =
on the
first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage =
my
suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female
character."
"Really, Mr. Collins," cried Elizabe=
th
with some warmth, "you puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto =
said
can appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my
refusal in such a way as to convince you of its being one."
"You must give me leave to flatter myself=
, my
dear cousin, that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My
reasons for believing it are briefly these: It does not appear to me that my
hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer wou=
ld be
any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with =
the
family of de Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances hig=
hly
in my favour; and you should take it into further consideration, that in sp=
ite
of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer =
of
marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it w=
ill
in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable
qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in yo=
ur
rejection of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing =
my
love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females."=
"I do assure you, sir, that I have no
pretensions whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a
respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed
sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your
proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every
respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegan=
t female,
intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from
her heart."
"You are uniformly charming!" cried =
he,
with an air of awkward gallantry; "and I am persuaded that when sancti=
oned
by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will =
not
fail of being acceptable."
To such perseverance in wilful self-deception
Elizabeth would make no reply, and immediately and in silence withdrew;
determined, if he persisted in considering her repeated refusals as flatter=
ing encouragement,
to apply to her father, whose negative might be uttered in such a manner as=
to
be decisive, and whose behaviour at least could not be mistaken for the
affectation and coquetry of an elegant female.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 20
Mr. C=
ollins
was not left long to the silent contemplation of his successful love; for M=
rs.
Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule to watch for the end of the
conference, no sooner saw Elizabeth open the door and with quick step pass =
her
towards the staircase, than she entered the breakfast-room, and congratulat=
ed
both him and herself in warm terms on the happy prospect or their nearer
connection. Mr. Collins received and returned these felicitations with equal
pleasure, and then proceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, =
with
the result of which he trusted he had every reason to be satisfied, since t=
he refusal
which his cousin had steadfastly given him would naturally flow from her
bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of her character.
This information, however, startled Mrs. Benne=
t;
she would have been glad to be equally satisfied that her daughter had mean=
t to
encourage him by protesting against his proposals, but she dared not believe
it, and could not help saying so.
"But, depend upon it, Mr. Collins," =
she
added, "that Lizzy shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her abo=
ut
it directly. She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her =
own
interest but I will make her know it."
"Pardon me for interrupting you, madam,&q=
uot;
cried Mr. Collins; "but if she is really headstrong and foolish, I know
not whether she would altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my
situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If
therefore she actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better
not to force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects of te=
mper,
she could not contribute much to my felicity."
"Sir, you quite misunderstand me," s=
aid
Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. "Lizzy is only headstrong in such matters as the=
se.
In everything else she is as good-natured a girl as ever lived. I will go
directly to Mr. Bennet, and we shall very soon settle it with her, I am
sure."
She would not give him time to reply, but hurr=
ying
instantly to her husband, called out as she entered the library, "Oh! =
Mr.
Bennet, you are wanted immediately; we are all in an uproar. You must come =
and
make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins, for she vows she will not have him, and if yo=
u do
not make haste he will change his mind and not have her ."
Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she
entered, and fixed them on her face with a calm unconcern which was not in =
the
least altered by her communication.
"I have not the pleasure of understanding
you," said he, when she had finished her speech. "Of what are you
talking?"
"Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares=
she
will not have Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not h=
ave
Lizzy."
"And what am I to do on the occasion? It
seems an hopeless business."
"Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell h=
er
that you insist upon her marrying him."
"Let her be called down. She shall hear my
opinion."
Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth =
was
summoned to the library.
"Come here, child," cried her father=
as
she appeared. "I have sent for you on an affair of importance. I
understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it
true?" Elizabeth replied that it was. "Very well--and this offer =
of
marriage you have refused?"
"I have, sir."
"Very well. We now come to the point. Your
mother insists upon your accepting it. Is it not so, Mrs. Bennet?"
"Yes, or I will never see her again."=
;
"An unhappy alternative is before you,
Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. You=
r mother
will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see =
you
again if you do ."
Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclu=
sion
of such a beginning, but Mrs. Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her
husband regarded the affair as she wished, was excessively disappointed.
"What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, in talking
this way? You promised me to insis=
t upon her marrying him."
"My dear," replied her husband, &quo=
t;I
have two small favours to request. First, that you will allow me the free u=
se
of my understanding on the present occasion; and secondly, of my room. I sh=
all
be glad to have the library to myself as soon as may be."
Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointme=
nt
in her husband, did Mrs. Bennet give up the point. She talked to Elizabeth
again and again; coaxed and threatened her by turns. She endeavoured to sec=
ure
Jane in her interest; but Jane, with all possible mildness, declined interf=
ering;
and Elizabeth, sometimes with real earnestness, and sometimes with playful
gaiety, replied to her attacks. Though her manner varied, however, her
determination never did.
Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in soli=
tude
on what had passed. He thought too well of himself to comprehend on what
motives his cousin could refuse him; and though his pride was hurt, he suff=
ered
in no other way. His regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibilit=
y of
her deserving her mother's reproach prevented his feeling any regret.
While the family were in this confusion, Charl=
otte
Lucas came to spend the day with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydi=
a,
who, flying to her, cried in a half whisper, "I am glad you are come, =
for
there is such fun here! What do you think has happened this morning? Mr.
Collins has made an offer to Lizzy, and she will not have him."
Charlotte hardly had time to answer, before th=
ey
were joined by Kitty, who came to tell the same news; and no sooner had they
entered the breakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone, than she likewise
began on the subject, calling on Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreat=
ing her
to persuade her friend Lizzy to comply with the wishes of all her family.
"Pray do, my dear Miss Lucas," she added in a melancholy tone, &q=
uot;for
nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me. I am cruelly used, nobody
feels for my poor nerves."
Charlotte's reply was spared by the entrance of
Jane and Elizabeth.
"Aye, there she comes," continued Mr=
s.
Bennet, "looking as unconcerned as may be, and caring no more for us t=
han
if we were at York, provided she can have her own way. But I tell you, Miss
Lizzy--if you take it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marri=
age
in this way, you will never get a husband at all--and I am sure I do not kn=
ow
who is to maintain you when your father is dead. I shall not be able to kee=
p you--and
so I warn you. I have done with you from this very day. I told you in the
library, you know, that I should never speak to you again, and you will fin=
d me
as good as my word. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not
that I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking to anybody. People who suffer=
as
I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nob=
ody
can tell what I suffer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are =
never
pitied."
Her daughters listened in silence to this
effusion, sensible that any attempt to reason with her or soothe her would =
only
increase the irritation. She talked on, therefore, without interruption from
any of them, till they were joined by Mr. Collins, who entered the room wit=
h an
air more stately than usual, and on perceiving whom, she said to the girls,
"Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold your tongues, and
let me and Mr. Collins have a little conversation together."
Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane=
and
Kitty followed, but Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she coul=
d;
and Charlotte, detained first by the civility of Mr. Collins, whose inquiri=
es
after herself and all her family were very minute, and then by a little cur=
iosity,
satisfied herself with walking to the window and pretending not to hear. In=
a
doleful voice Mrs. Bennet began the projected conversation: "Oh! Mr.
Collins!"
"My dear madam," replied he, "l=
et
us be for ever silent on this point. Far be it from me," he presently
continued, in a voice that marked his displeasure, "to resent the
behaviour of your daughter. Resignation to inevitable evils is the duty of =
us
all; the peculiar duty of a young man who has been so fortunate as I have b=
een
in early preferment; and I trust I am resigned. Perhaps not the less so from
feeling a doubt of my positive happiness had my fair cousin honoured me with
her hand; for I have often observed that resignation is never so perfect as=
when
the blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation.=
You
will not, I hope, consider me as showing any disrespect to your family, my =
dear
madam, by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your daughter's favour, without
having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the compliment of requesting you to
interpose your authority in my behalf. My conduct may, I fear, be objection=
able
in having accepted my dismission from your daughter's lips instead of your =
own.
But we are all liable to error. I have certainly meant well through the who=
le
affair. My object has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with =
due consideration
for the advantage of all your family, and if my manner =
has
been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologise."
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 21
The d=
iscussion
of Mr. Collins's offer was now nearly at an end, and Elizabeth had only to
suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily attending it, and
occasionally from some peevish allusions of her mother. As for the gentleman
himself, his feelings were chiefly expressed, not by
embarrassment or dejection, or by trying to avoid her, but by stiffness of
manner and resentful silence. He scarcely ever spoke to her, and the assidu=
ous
attentions which he had been so sensible of himself were transferred for the
rest of the day to Miss Lucas, whose civility in listening to him was a
seasonable relief to them all, and especially to her friend.
The morrow produced no abatement of Mrs. Benne=
t's
ill-humour or ill health. Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry
pride. Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but=
his
plan did not appear in the least affected by it. He was always to have gone=
on Saturday,
and to Saturday he meant to stay.
After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to
inquire if Mr. Wickham were returned, and to lament over his absence from t=
he
Netherfield ball. He joined them on their entering the town, and attended t=
hem
to their aunt's where his regret and vexation, and the concern of everybody,
was well talked over. To Elizabeth, however, he voluntarily acknowledged th=
at
the necessity of his absence had <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> been self-imposed.
"I found," said he, "as the time
drew near that I had better not meet Mr. Darcy; that to be in the same room,
the same party with him for so many hours together, might be more than I co=
uld
bear, and that scenes might arise unpleasant to more than myself."
She highly approved his forbearance, and they =
had
leisure for a full discussion of it, and for all the commendation which they
civilly bestowed on each other, as Wickham and another officer walked back =
with
them to Longbourn, and during the walk he particularly attended to her. His
accompanying them was a double advantage; she felt all the compliment it
offered to herself, and it was most acceptable as an occasion of introducing
him to her father and mother.
Soon after their return, a letter was delivere=
d to
Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield. The envelope contained a sheet of
elegant, little, hot-pressed paper, well covered with a lady's fair, flowing
hand; and Elizabeth saw her sister's countenance change as she read it, and=
saw
her dwelling intently on some particular passages. Jane recollected herself
soon, and putting the letter away, tried to join with her usual cheerfulnes=
s in
the general conversation; but Elizabeth felt an anxiety on the subject which
drew off her attention even from Wickham; and no sooner had he and his
companion taken leave, than a glance from Jane invited her to follow her up
stairs. When they had gained their own room, Jane, taking out the letter, s=
aid:
"This is from Caroline Bingley; what it
contains has surprised me a good deal. The whole party have left Netherfiel=
d by
this time, and are on their way to town--and without any intention of coming
back again. You shall hear what she says."
She then read the first sentence aloud, which
comprised the information of their having just resolved to follow their bro=
ther
to town directly, and of their meaning to dine in Grosvenor Street, where M=
r.
Hurst had a house. The next was in these words: "I do not pretend to
regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dea=
rest
friend; but we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns of t=
hat delightful
intercourse we have known, and in the meanwhile may lessen the pain of
separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend =
on
you for that." To these highflown expressions Elizabeth listened with =
all
the insensibility of distrust; and though the suddenness of their removal
surprised her, she saw nothing in it really to lament; it was not to be
supposed that their absence from Netherfield would prevent Mr. Bingley's be=
ing
there; and as to the loss of their society, she was persuaded that Jane must
cease to regard it, in the enjoyment of his.
"It is unlucky," said she, after a s=
hort
pause, "that you should not be able to see your friends before they le=
ave
the country. But may we not hope that the period of future happiness to whi=
ch
Miss Bingley looks forward may arrive earlier than she is aware, and that t=
he
delightful intercourse you have known as friends will be renewed with yet
greater satisfaction as sisters? Mr. Bingley will not be detained in London=
by them."
"Caroline decidedly says that none of the
party will return into Hertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you:&qu=
ot;
"When my brother left us yesterday, he
imagined that the business which took him to London might be concluded in t=
hree
or four days; but as we are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time
convinced that when Charles gets to town he will be in no hurry to leave it
again, we have determined on following him thither, that he may not be obli=
ged
to spend his vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintances =
are already
there for the winter; I wish that I could hear that you, my dearest friend,=
had
any intention of making one of the crowd--but of that I despair. I sincerely
hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that
season generally brings, and that your beaux will be so numerous as to prev=
ent
your feeling the loss of the three of whom we shall deprive you."
"It is evident by this," added Jane,
"that he comes back no more this winter."
"It is only evident that Miss Bingley does
not mean that he should ."
"Why will you think so? It must be his own
doing. He is his own master. But you do not know all . I will read you the passage which particularly =
hurts
me. I will have no reserves from y=
ou ."
"Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister;
and, to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her agai=
n. I
really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and
accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is
heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare
entertain of her being hereafter our sister. I do not know whether I ever
before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject; but I will not leave t=
he country
without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable. =
My
brother admires her greatly already; he will have frequent opportunity now =
of
seeing her on the most intimate footing; her relations all wish the connect=
ion
as much as his own; and a sister's partiality is not misleading me, I think,
when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman's heart. With all th=
ese
circumstances to favour an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wron=
g,
my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the
happiness of so many?"
"What do you think of this sentence, my dear Lizzy?" said Jane=
as
she finished it. "Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare
that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister; that she is p=
erfectly
convinced of her brother's indifference; and that if she suspects the natur=
e of
my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to put me on my guard? Can th=
ere
be any other opinion on the subject?"
"Yes, there can; for mine is totally
different. Will you hear it?"
"Most willingly."
"You shall have it in a few words. Miss
Bingley sees that her brother is in love with you, and wants him to marry M=
iss
Darcy. She follows him to town in hope of keeping him there, and tries to
persuade you that he does not care about you."
Jane shook her head.
"Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. No
one who has ever seen you together can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley, I=
am
sure, cannot. She is not such a simpleton. Could she have seen half as much
love in Mr. Darcy for herself, she would have ordered her wedding clothes. =
But
the case is this: We are not rich enough or grand enough for them; and she =
is
the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother, from the notion that wh=
en
there has been one intermarriage, she may have less trouble=
in
achieving a second; in which there is certainly some ingenuity, and I dare =
say
it would succeed, if Miss de Bourgh were out of the way. But, my dearest Ja=
ne,
you cannot seriously imagine that because Miss Bingley tells you her brother
greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is in the smallest degree less sensible of <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> your merit than when he took leave of you on =
Tuesday,
or that it will be in her power to persuade him that, instead of being in l=
ove
with you, he is very much in love with her friend."
"If we thought alike of Miss Bingley,&quo=
t;
replied Jane, "your representation of all this might make me quite eas=
y.
But I know the foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully
deceiving anyone; and all that I can hope in this case is that she is decei=
ving
herself."
"That is right. You could not have starte=
d a
more happy idea, since you will not take comfort in mine. Believe her to be
deceived, by all means. You have now done your duty by her, and must fret no
longer."
"But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even
supposing the best, in accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all
wishing him to marry elsewhere?"
"You must decide for yourself," said
Elizabeth; "and if, upon mature deliberation, you find that the misery=
of
disobliging his two sisters is more than equivalent to the happiness of bei=
ng
his wife, I advise you by all means to refuse him."
"How can you talk so?" said Jane,
faintly smiling. "You must know that though I should be exceedingly
grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate."
"I did not think you would; and that being
the case, I cannot consider your situation with much compassion."
"But if he returns no more this winter, my
choice will never be required. A thousand things may arise in six months!&q=
uot;
The idea of his returning no more Elizabeth
treated with the utmost contempt. It appeared to her merely the suggestion =
of
Caroline's interested wishes, and she could not for a moment suppose that t=
hose
wishes, however openly or artfully spoken, could influence a young man so
totally independent of everyone.
She represented to her sister as forcibly as
possible what she felt on the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing =
its
happy effect. Jane's temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to
hope, though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that =
Bingley
would return to Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart.
They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear =
of
the departure of the family, without being alarmed on the score of the
gentleman's conduct; but even this partial communication gave her a great d=
eal
of concern, and she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies shou=
ld
happen to go away just as they were all getting so intimate together. After=
lamenting
it, however, at some length, she had the consolation that Mr. Bingley would=
be
soon down again and soon dining at Longbourn, and the conclusion of all was=
the
comfortable declaration, that though he had been invited only to a family
dinner, she would take care to have two full courses.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 22
The B=
ennets
were engaged to dine with the Lucases and again during the chief of the day=
was
Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth took an opportuni=
ty
of thanking her. "It keeps him in good humour," said she, "a=
nd I
am more obliged to you than I can express." Charlotte assured her frie=
nd
of her satisfaction in being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the
little sacrifice of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlotte's kindne=
ss
extended farther than Elizabeth had any conception of; its object was nothi=
ng
else than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collins's addresses, by enga=
ging
them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas's scheme; and appearances were so=
favourable,
that when they parted at night, she would have felt almost secure of succes=
s if
he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon. But here she did injus=
tice
to the fire and independence of his character, for it led him to escape out=
of
Longbourn House the next morning with admirable slyness, and hasten to Lucas
Lodge to throw himself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice of h=
is
cousins, from a conviction that if they saw him depart, they could not fail=
to conjecture
his design, and he was not willing to have the attempt known till its succe=
ss
might be known likewise; for though feeling almost secure, and with reason,=
for
Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging, he was comparatively diffident si=
nce
the adventure of Wednesday. His reception, however, was of the most flatter=
ing
kind. Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the
house, and instantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But litt=
le
had she dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there.
In as short a time as Mr. Collins's long speec=
hes
would allow, everything was settled between them to the satisfaction of bot=
h;
and as they entered the house he earnestly entreated her to name the day th=
at was
to make him the happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must be wai=
ved
for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his happiness.=
The
stupidity with which he was favoured by nature must guard his courtship from
any charm that could make a woman wish for its continuance; and Miss Lucas,=
who
accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an establishm=
ent,
cared not how soon that establishment were gained.
Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily appli=
ed
to for their consent; and it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr.
Collins's present circumstances made it a most eligible match for their
daughter, to whom they could give little fortune; and his prospects of futu=
re
wealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate, with =
more
interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer Mr.
Bennet was likely to live; and Sir William gave it as his decided opinion, =
that
whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the Longbourn estate, it wo=
uld
be highly expedient that both he and his wife should make their appearance =
at
St. James's. The whole family, in short, were properly overjoyed on the
occasion. The younger girls formed hopes of coming out a year or two sooner than they might oth=
erwise
have done; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte'=
s dying
an old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had gained her
point, and had time to consider of it. Her reflections were in general
satisfactory. Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; =
his
society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still=
he
would be her husband. Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony,
marriage had always been her object; it was the only provision for
well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving
happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservat=
ive
she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever b=
een
handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. The least agreeable circumstanc=
e in
the business was the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose
friendship she valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wond=
er, and
probably would blame her; and though her resolution was not to be shaken, h=
er
feelings must be hurt by such a disapprobation. She resolved to give her the
information herself, and therefore charged Mr. Collins, when he returned to
Longbourn to dinner, to drop no hint of what had passed before any of the
family. A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it cou=
ld
not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absen=
ce
burst forth in such very direct questions on his return as required some
ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denia=
l,
for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.
As he was to begin his journey too early on the
morrow to see any of the family, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed
when the ladies moved for the night; and Mrs. Bennet, with great politeness=
and
cordiality, said how happy they should be to see him at Longbourn again,
whenever his engagements might allow him to visit them.
"My dear madam," he replied, "t=
his
invitation is particularly gratifying, because it is what I have been hopin=
g to
receive; and you may be very certain that I shall avail myself of it as soo=
n as
possible."
They were all astonished; and Mr. Bennet, who
could by no means wish for so speedy a return, immediately said:
"But is there not danger of Lady Catherin=
e's
disapprobation here, my good sir? You had better neglect your relations than
run the risk of offending your patroness."
"My dear sir," replied Mr. Collins,
"I am particularly obliged to you for this friendly caution, and you m=
ay
depend upon my not taking so material a step without her ladyship's
concurrence."
"You cannot be too much upon your guard. =
Risk
anything rather than her displeasure; and if you find it likely to be raise=
d by
your coming to us again, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay
quietly at home, and be satisfied that =
span>we
shall take no offence."
"Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is
warmly excited by such affectionate attention; and depend upon it, you will
speedily receive from me a letter of thanks for this, and for every other m=
ark
of your regard during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins, tho=
ugh my
absence may not be long enough to render it necessary, I shall now take the
liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not excepting my cousin
Elizabeth."
With proper civilities the ladies then withdre=
w;
all of them equally surprised that he meditated a quick return. Mrs. Bennet
wished to understand by it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of
her younger girls, and Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him. She
rated his abilities much higher than any of the others; there was a solidit=
y in
his reflections which often struck her, and though by no means so clever as
herself, she thought that if encouraged to read and improve himself by such=
an
example as hers, he might become a very agreeable companion. But on the
following morning, every hope of this kind was done away. Miss Lucas called
soon after breakfast, and in a private conference with Elizabeth related the
event of the day before.
The possibility of Mr. Collins's fancying hims=
elf
in love with her friend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day =
or
two; but that Charlotte could encourage him seemed almost as far from possi=
bility
as she could encourage him herself, and her astonishment was consequently so
great as to overcome at first the bounds of decorum, and she could not help
crying out:
"Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear
Charlotte--impossible!"
The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had
commanded in telling her story, gave way to a momentary confusion here on
receiving so direct a reproach; though, as it was no more than she expected,
she soon regained her composure, and calmly replied:
"Why should you be surprised, my dear Eli=
za?
Do you think it incredible that Mr. Collins should be able to procure any
woman's good opinion, because he was not so happy as to succeed with you?&q=
uot;
But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and
making a strong effort for it, was able to assure with tolerable firmness t=
hat
the prospect of their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she
wished her all imaginable happiness.
"I see what you are feeling," replied
Charlotte. "You must be surprised, very much surprised--so lately as M=
r.
Collins was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to think it ov=
er,
I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you
know; I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Colli=
ns's
character, connection, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance=
of
happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marr=
iage
state."
Elizabeth quietly answered
"Undoubtedly;" and after an awkward pause, they returned to the r=
est
of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then l=
eft
to reflect on what she had heard. It was a long time before she became at a=
ll
reconciled to the idea of so unsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr.
Collins's making two offers of marriage within three days was nothing in
comparison of his being now accepted. She had always felt that Charlotte's
opinion of matrimony was not exactly like her own, but she had not supposed=
it
to be possible that, when called into action, she would have sacrificed eve=
ry
better feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr. Collins was =
a most
humiliating picture! And to the pang of a friend disgracing herself and sun=
k in
her esteem, was added the distressing conviction that it was impossible for
that friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 23
Eliza=
beth
was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what she had heard, =
and
doubting whether she was authorised to mention it, when Sir William Lucas
himself appeared, sent by his daughter, to announce her engagement to the
family. With many compliments to them, and much self-gratulation on the
prospect of a connection between the houses, he unfolded the matter--to an
audience not merely wondering, but incredulous; for Mrs. Bennet, with more
perseverance than politeness, protested he must be entirely mistaken; and
Lydia, always unguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed:
"Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell
such a story? Do not you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?" =
Nothing less than the complaisance of a courti=
er
could have borne without anger such treatment; but Sir William's good breed=
ing
carried him through it all; and though he begged leave to be positive as to=
the
truth of his information, he listened to all their impertinence with the mo=
st
forbearing courtesy.
Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to reli=
eve
him from so unpleasant a situation, now put herself forward to confirm his
account, by mentioning her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself; an=
d endeavoured
to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters by the earnestn=
ess
of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she was readily joined by J=
ane,
and by making a variety of remarks on the happiness that might be expected =
from
the match, the excellent character of Mr. Collins, and the convenient dista=
nce
of Hunsford from London.
Mrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpowered to
say a great deal while Sir William remained; but no sooner had he left them
than her feelings found a rapid vent. In the first place, she persisted in
disbelieving the whole of the matter; secondly, she was very sure that Mr.
Collins had been taken in; thirdly, she trusted that they would never be ha=
ppy
together; and fourthly, that the match might be broken off. Two inferences,
however, were plainly deduced from the whole: one, that Elizabeth was the r=
eal
cause of the mischief; and the other that she herself had been barbarously
misused by them all; and on these two points she principally dwelt during t=
he
rest of the day. Nothing could console and nothing could appease her. Nor d=
id
that day wear out her resentment. A week elapsed before she could see Eliza=
beth
without scolding her, a month passed away before she could speak to Sir Wil=
liam
or Lady Lucas without being rude, and many months were gone before she coul=
d at
all forgive their daughter.
Mr. Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil =
on
the occasion, and such as he did experience he pronounced to be of a most
agreeable sort; for it gratified him, he said, to discover that Charlotte
Lucas, whom he had been used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as=
his
wife, and more foolish than his daughter!
Jane confessed herself a little surprised at t=
he
match; but she said less of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for
their happiness; nor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improba=
ble.
Kitty and Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only =
a clergyman;
and it affected them in no other way than as a piece of news to spread at
Meryton.
Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph =
on
being able to retort on Mrs. Bennet the comfort of having a daughter well
married; and she called at Longbourn rather oftener than usual to say how h=
appy
she was, though Mrs. Bennet's sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have
been enough to drive happiness away.
Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a
restraint which kept them mutually silent on the subject; and Elizabeth felt
persuaded that no real confidence could ever subsist between them again. He=
r disappointment
in Charlotte made her turn with fonder regard to her sister, of whose recti=
tude
and delicacy she was sure her opinion could never be shaken, and for whose
happiness she grew daily more anxious, as Bingley had now been gone a week =
and
nothing more was heard of his return.
Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to her
letter, and was counting the days till she might reasonably hope to hear ag=
ain.
The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday, addresse=
d to
their father, and written with all the solemnity of gratitude which a twelv=
emonth's
abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging his conscience on
that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many rapturous expressions, of=
his
happiness in having obtained the affection of their amiable neighbour, Miss
Lucas, and then explained that it was merely with the view of enjoying her
society that he had been so ready to close with their kind wish of seeing h=
im
again at Longbourn, whither he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnig=
ht;
for Lady Catherine, he added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she
wished it to take place as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an
unanswerable argument with his amiable Charlotte to name an early day for
making him the happiest of men.
Mr. Collins's return into Hertfordshire was no
longer a matter of pleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was as much
disposed to complain of it as her husband. It was very strange that he shou=
ld
come to Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge; it was also very inconvenient =
and
exceedingly troublesome. She hated having visitors in the house while her
health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people the most disagreea=
ble.
Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs. Bennet, and they gave way only to the
greater distress of Mr. Bingley's continued absence.
Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on
this subject. Day after day passed away without bringing any other tidings =
of
him than the report which shortly prevailed in Meryton of his coming no mor=
e to
Netherfield the whole winter; a report which highly incensed Mrs. Bennet, a=
nd
which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous falsehood.
Even Elizabeth began to fear--not that Bingley=
was
indifferent--but that his sisters would be successful in keeping him away.
Unwilling as she was to admit an idea so destructive of Jane's happiness, a=
nd
so dishonorable to the stability of her lover, she could not prevent its fr=
equently
occurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters and of his
overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss Darcy and the
amusements of London might be too much, she feared, for the strength of his
attachment.
As for Jane, her anxiety under this suspense was, of cour=
se,
more painful than Elizabeth's, but whatever she felt she was desirous of co=
ncealing,
and between herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject was never alluded=
to.
But as no such delicacy restrained her mother, an hour seldom passed in whi=
ch
she did not talk of Bingley, express her impatience for his arrival, or even
require Jane to confess that if he did not come back she would think herself
very ill used. It needed all Jane's steady mildness to bear these attacks w=
ith
tolerable tranquillity.
Mr. Collins returned most punctually on Monday
fortnight, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it h=
ad
been on his first introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much
attention; and luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved
them from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by =
him
at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time to make=
an
apology for his absence before the family went to bed.
Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable stat=
e.
The very mention of anything concerning the match threw her into an agony of
ill-humour, and wherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. The
sight of Miss Lucas was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she =
regarded
her with jealous abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see them, she concl=
uded
her to be anticipating the hour of possession; and whenever she spoke in a =
low
voice to Mr. Collins, was convinced that they were talking of the Longbourn
estate, and resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the house, as
soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her
husband.
"Indeed, Mr. Bennet," said she, &quo=
t;it
is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this
house, that I should be forced to make way for her , and live to see her take her place=
in
it!"
"My dear, do not give way to such gloomy
thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I ma=
y be
the survivor."
This was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and
therefore, instead of making any answer, she went on as before.
"I cannot bear to think that they should =
have
all this estate. If it was not for the entail, I should not mind it." =
"What should not you mind?"
"I should not mind anything at all."=
"Let us be thankful that you are preserved
from a state of such insensibility."
"I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for
anything about the entail. How anyone could have the conscience to entail a=
way
an estate from one's own daughters, I cannot understand; and all for the sa=
ke
of Mr. Collins too! Why should he =
have it more than anybody else?"
"I leave it to yourself to determine,&quo=
t;
said Mr. Bennet.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 24
Miss
Bingley's letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very first sentence
conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in London for the winter,=
and
concluded with her brother's regret at not having had time to pay his respe=
cts
to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country.
Hope was over, entirely over; and when Jane co=
uld
attend to the rest of the letter, she found little, except the professed
affection of the writer, that could give her any comfort. Miss Darcy's prai=
se
occupied the chief of it. Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and
Caroline boasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy, and ventured to pre=
dict
the accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former lett=
er.
She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother's being an inmate of Mr.
Darcy's house, and mentioned with raptures some plans of the latter with re=
gard
to new furniture.
Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated=
the
chief of all this, heard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided
between concern for her sister, and resentment against all others. To
Caroline's assertion of her brother's being partial to Miss Darcy she paid =
no credit.
That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she had ever done;
and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she could not think
without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness of temper, that wa=
nt
of proper resolution, which now made him the slave of his designing friends,
and led him to sacrifice of his own happiness to the caprice of their
inclination. Had his own happiness, however, been the only sacrifice, he mi=
ght
have been allowed to sport with it in whatever manner he thought best, but =
her
sister's was involved in it, as she thought he must be sensible himself. It=
was
a subject, in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and must b=
e unavailing.
She could think of nothing else; and yet whether Bingley's regard had reall=
y died
away, or were suppressed by his friends' interference; whether he had been
aware of Jane's attachment, or whether it had escaped his observation; what=
ever
were the case, though her opinion of him must be materially affected by the
difference, her sister's situation remained the same, her peace equally
wounded.
A day or two passed before Jane had courage to
speak of her feelings to Elizabeth; but at last, on Mrs. Bennet's leaving t=
hem
together, after a longer irritation than usual about Netherfield and its
master, she could not help saying:
"Oh, that my dear mother had more command
over herself! She can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual
reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be
forgot, and we shall all be as we were before."
Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous
solicitude, but said nothing.
"You doubt me," cried Jane, slightly
colouring; "indeed, you have no reason. He may live in my memory as the
most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all. I have nothing either=
to
hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with. Thank God! I have not that pain. A little time, therefore--I shall
certainly try to get the better."
With a stronger voice she soon added, "I =
have
this comfort immediately, that it has not been more than an error of fancy =
on
my side, and that it has done no harm to anyone but myself."
"My dear Jane!" exclaimed Elizabeth,
"you are too good. Your sweetness and disinterestedness are really
angelic; I do not know what to say to you. I feel as if I had never done you
justice, or loved you as you deserve."
Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordina=
ry
merit, and threw back the praise on her sister's warm affection.
"Nay," said Elizabeth, "this is=
not
fair. You wish to think all the world respectable,=
and
are hurt if I speak ill of anybody. I only want to think you perfect, and you set yourself against it=
. Do
not be afraid of my running into any excess, of my encroaching on your priv=
ilege
of universal good-will. You need not. There are few people whom I really lo=
ve,
and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more=
am
I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsisten=
cy
of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on=
the
appearance of merit or sense. I have met with two instances lately, one I w=
ill
not mention; the other is Charlotte's marriage. It is unaccountable! In eve=
ry
view it is unaccountable!"
"My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such
feelings as these. They will ruin your happiness. You do not make allowance
enough for difference of situation and temper. Consider Mr. Collins's
respectability, and Charlotte's steady, prudent character. Remember that sh=
e is
one of a large family; that as to fortune, it is a most eligible match; and=
be ready
to believe, for everybody's sake, that she may feel something like regard a=
nd
esteem for our cousin."
"To oblige you, I would try to believe al=
most
anything, but no one else could be benefited by such a belief as this; for =
were
I persuaded that Charlotte had any regard for him, I should only think wors=
e of
her understanding than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is =
a conceited,
pompous, narrow-minded, silly man; you know he is, as well as I do; and you
must feel, as well as I do, that the woman who married him cannot have a pr=
oper
way of thinking. You shall not defend her, though it is Charlotte Lucas. You
shall not, for the sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle =
and
integrity, nor endeavour to persuade yourself or me, that selfishness is
prudence, and insensibility of danger security for happiness."
"I must think your language too strong in
speaking of both," replied Jane; "and I hope you will be convince=
d of
it by seeing them happy together. But enough of this. You alluded to someth=
ing
else. You mentioned two instances. I cannot misunderstand you, b=
ut I
entreat you, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking that person to blame, and saying your opinion of him=
is
sunk. We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured. We =
must
not expect a lively young man to be always so guarded and circumspect. It i=
s very
often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration m=
eans
more than it does."
"And men take care that they should."=
;
"If it is designedly done, they cannot be
justified; but I have no idea of there being so much design in the world as
some persons imagine."
"I am far from attributing any part of Mr.
Bingley's conduct to design," said Elizabeth; "but without schemi=
ng
to do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there may be
misery. Thoughtlessness, want of attention to other people's feelings, and =
want
of resolution, will do the business."
"And do you impute it to either of
those?"
"Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall
displease you by saying what I think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst =
you
can."
"You persist, then, in supposing his sist=
ers
influence him?"
"Yes, in conjunction with his friend.&quo=
t;
"I cannot believe it. Why should they try=
to
influence him? They can only wish his happiness; and if he is attached to m=
e,
no other woman can secure it."
"Your first position is false. They may w=
ish
many things besides his happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and
consequence; they may wish him to marry a girl who has all the importance of
money, great connections, and pride."
"Beyond a doubt, they do wish
him to choose Miss Darcy," replied Jane; "but this may be from be=
tter
feelings than you are supposing. They have known her much longer than they =
have
known me; no wonder if they love her better. But, whatever may be their own
wishes, it is very unlikely they should have opposed their brother's. What
sister would think herself at liberty to do it, unless there were something
very objectionable? If they believed him attached to me, they would not try=
to
part us; if he were so, they could not succeed. By supposing such an affect=
ion,
you make everybody acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not
distress me by the idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken--or, at
least, it is light, it is nothing in comparison of what I should feel in
thinking ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it in the best light, in the
light in which it may be understood."
Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and fr=
om
this time Mr. Bingley's name was scarcely ever mentioned between them.
Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and repi=
ne
at his returning no more, and though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth=
did
not account for it clearly, there was little chance of her ever considering=
it
with less perplexity. Her daughter endeavoured to convince her of what she =
did
not believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely the effect=
of
a common and transient liking, which ceased when he saw her no more; but th=
ough
the probability of the statement was admitted at the time, she had the same
story to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet's best comfort was that Mr. Bingley =
must
be down again in the summer.
Mr. Bennet treated the matter differently.
"So, Lizzy," said he one day, "your sister is crossed in lov=
e, I
find. I congratulate her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed=
a
little in love now and then. It is something to think of, and it gives her a
sort of distinction among her companions. When is your turn to come? You wi=
ll
hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are officers
enough in Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let
Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would =
jilt
you creditably."
"Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man
would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane's good fortune."
"True," said Mr. Bennet, "but i=
t is
a comfort to think that whatever of that kind may befall you, you have an
affectionate mother who will make the most of it."
Mr. Wickham's society was of material service =
in
dispelling the gloom which the late perverse occurrences had thrown on many=
of
the Longbourn family. They saw him often, and to his other recommendations =
was
now added that of general unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth had alread=
y heard,
his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him, was now ope=
nly
acknowledged and publicly canvassed; and everybody was pleased to know how =
much
they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known anything of the
matter.
Miss Bennet was the only creature who could su=
ppose
there might be any extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the
society of Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour always pleaded for al=
lowances,
and urged the possibility of mistakes--but by everybody else Mr. Darcy was
condemned as the worst of men.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 25
After=
a
week spent in professions of love and schemes of felicity, Mr. Collins was
called from his amiable Charlotte by the arrival of Saturday. The pain of
separation, however, might be alleviated on his side, by preparations for t=
he
reception of his bride; as he had reason to hope, that shortly after his re=
turn
into Hertfordshire, the day would be fixed that was to make him the happies=
t of
men. He took leave of his relations at Longbourn with as much solemnity as
before; wished his fair cousins health and happiness again, and promised th=
eir
father another letter of thanks.
On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the
pleasure of receiving her brother and his wife, who came as usual to spend =
the
Christmas at Longbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man, gre=
atly
superior to his sister, as well by nature as education. The Netherfield lad=
ies
would have had difficulty in believing that a man who lived by trade, and
within view of his own warehouses, could have been so well-bred and agreeab=
le.
Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs.
Phillips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favourite
with all her Longbourn nieces. Between the two eldest and herself especiall=
y, there
subsisted a particular regard. They had frequently been staying with her in
town.
The first part of Mrs. Gardiner's business on =
her
arrival was to distribute her presents and describe the newest fashions. Wh=
en
this was done she had a less active part to play. It became her turn to lis=
ten.
Mrs. Bennet had many grievances to relate, and much to complain of. They had
all been very ill-used since she last saw her sister. Two of her girls had =
been
upon the point of marriage, and after all there was nothing in it.
"I do not blame Jane," she continued,
"for Jane would have got Mr. Bingley if she could. But Lizzy! Oh, sist=
er!
It is very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by this
time, had it not been for her own perverseness. He made her an offer in this
very room, and she refused him. The consequence of it is, that Lady Lucas w=
ill
have a daughter married before I have, and that the Longbourn estate is jus=
t as
much entailed as ever. The Lucases are very artful people indeed, sister. T=
hey
are all for what they can get. I am sorry to say it of them, but so it is. =
It
makes me very nervous and poorly, to be thwarted so in my own family, and to
have neighbours who think of themselves before anybody else. However, your
coming just at this time is the greatest of comforts, and I am very glad to
hear what you tell us, of long sleeves."
Mrs. Gardiner, to whom the chief of this news =
had
been given before, in the course of Jane and Elizabeth's correspondence with
her, made her sister a slight answer, and, in compassion to her nieces, tur=
ned
the conversation.
When alone with Elizabeth afterwards, she spoke
more on the subject. "It seems likely to have been a desirable match f=
or
Jane," said she. "I am sorry it went off. But these things happen=
so
often! A young man, such as you describe Mr. Bingley, so easily falls in lo=
ve
with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when accident separates them, so ea=
sily
forgets her, that these sort of inconsistencies are very frequent."
"An excellent consolation in its way,&quo=
t;
said Elizabeth, "but it will not do for us . We do not suffer by accident . It does not often happen that=
the
interference of friends will persuade a young man of independent fortune to
think no more of a girl whom he was violently in love with only a few days
before."
"But that expression of 'violently in lov=
e'
is so hackneyed, so doubtful, so indefinite, that it gives me very little i=
dea.
It is as often applied to feelings which arise from a half-hour's acquainta=
nce,
as to a real, strong attachment. Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingley's love?"
"I never saw a more promising inclination=
; he
was growing quite inattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by her.
Every time they met, it was more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he=
offended
two or three young ladies, by not asking them to dance; and I spoke to him
twice myself, without receiving an answer. Could there be finer symptoms? Is
not general incivility the very essence of love?"
"Oh, yes!--of that kind of love which I s=
uppose
him to have felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her, because, with her disposit=
ion,
she may not get over it immediately. It had better have happened to you , Lizzy; you would have laughed your=
self
out of it sooner. But do you think she would be prevailed upon to go back w=
ith
us? Change of scene might be of service--and perhaps a little relief from h=
ome
may be as useful as anything."
Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this
proposal, and felt persuaded of her sister's ready acquiescence.
"I hope," added Mrs. Gardiner,
"that no consideration with regard to this young man will influence he=
r.
We live in so different a part of town, all our connections are so differen=
t,
and, as you well know, we go out so little, that it is very improbable that=
they
should meet at all, unless he really comes to see her."
"And =
span>that
is quite impossible; for he is now=
in
the custody of his friend, and Mr. Darcy would no more suffer him to call on
Jane in such a part of London! My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr.
Darcy may perhaps have heard of such a place as Gracechurch Street, b=
ut he would
hardly think a month's ablution enough to cleanse him from its impurities, =
were
he once to enter it; and depend upon it, Mr. Bingley never stirs without
him."
"So much the better. I hope they will not
meet at all. But does not Jane correspond with his sister? She will not be able to help calling." =
"She will drop the acquaintance
entirely."
But in spite of the certainty in which Elizabe=
th
affected to place this point, as well as the still more interesting one of
Bingley's being withheld from seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude on the sub=
ject
which convinced her, on examination, that she did not consider it entirely =
hopeless.
It was possible, and sometimes she thought it probable, that his affection
might be reanimated, and the influence of his friends successfully combated=
by
the more natural influence of Jane's attractions.
Miss Bennet accepted her aunt's invitation with
pleasure; and the Bingleys were no otherwise in her thoughts at the same ti=
me,
than as she hoped by Caroline's not living in the same house with her broth=
er, she
might occasionally spend a morning with her, without any danger of seeing h=
im.
The Gardiners stayed a week at Longbourn; and =
what
with the Phillipses, the Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day wit=
hout
its engagement. Mrs. Bennet had so carefully provided for the entertainment=
of
her brother and sister, that they did not once sit down to a family dinner.
When the engagement was for home, some of the officers always made part of
it--of which officers Mr. Wickham was sure to be one; and on these occasion=
s,
Mrs. Gardiner, rendered suspicious by Elizabeth's warm commendation, narrow=
ly
observed them both. Without supposing them, from what she saw, to be very
seriously in love, their preference of each other was plain enough to make =
her
a little uneasy; and she resolved to speak to Elizabeth on the subject befo=
re
she left Hertfordshire, and represent to her the imprudence of encouraging =
such
an attachment.
To Mrs. Gardiner, Wickham had one means of
affording pleasure, unconnected with his general powers. About ten or a doz=
en
years ago, before her marriage, she had spent a considerable time in that v=
ery part
of Derbyshire to which he belonged. They had, therefore, many acquaintances=
in
common; and though Wickham had been little there since the death of Darcy's
father, it was yet in his power to give her fresher intelligence of her for=
mer
friends than she had been in the way of procuring.
Mrs. Gardiner had seen Pemberley, and known the
late Mr. Darcy by character perfectly well. Here consequently was an
inexhaustible subject of discourse. In comparing her recollection of Pember=
ley
with the minute description which Wickham could give, and in bestowing her
tribute of praise on the character of its late possessor, she was delighting
both him and herself. On being made acquainted with the present Mr. Darcy's=
treatment
of him, she tried to remember some of that gentleman's reputed disposition =
when
quite a lad which might agree with it, and was confident at last that she
recollected having heard Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy formerly spoken of as a very
proud, ill-natured boy.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 26
Mrs.
Gardiner's caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given on the first
favourable opportunity of speaking to her alone; after honestly telling her
what she thought, she thus went on:
"You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to f=
all
in love merely because you are warned against it; and, therefore, I am not
afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do=
not
involve yourself or endeavour to involve him in an affection which the want=
of
fortune would make so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against him ; he is a most interesting young man=
; and
if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think you could not do bet=
ter.
But as it is, you must not let your fancy run away with you. You have sense,
and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on your resolution and good conduct, I am sure. =
You
must not disappoint your father."
"My dear aunt, this is being serious
indeed."
"Yes, and I hope to engage you to be seri=
ous
likewise."
"Well, then, you need not be under any al=
arm.
I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love
with me, if I can prevent it."
"Elizabeth, you are not serious now."=
;
"I beg your pardon, I will try again. At
present I am not in love with Mr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he i=
s,
beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I ever saw--and if he becomes
really attached to me--I believe it will be better that he should not. I see
the imprudence of it. Oh! that
"Perhaps it will be as well if you discou=
rage
his coming here so very often. At least, you should not remind your mother of inviting him."
"As I did the other day," said Eliza=
beth
with a conscious smile: "very true, it will be wise in me to refrain f=
rom that . But do not imagine that he is alw=
ays
here so often. It is on your account that he has been so frequently invited
this week. You know my mother's ideas as to the necessity of constant compa=
ny
for her friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what I th=
ink
to be the wisest; and now I hope you are satisfied."
Her aunt assured her that she was, and Elizabe=
th
having thanked her for the kindness of her hints, they parted; a wonderful
instance of advice being given on such a point, without being resented.
Mr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon a=
fter
it had been quitted by the Gardiners and Jane; but as he took up his abode =
with
the Lucases, his arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His
marriage was now fast approaching, and she was at length so far resigned as=
to
think it inevitable, and even repeatedly to say, in an ill-natured tone, th=
at she
" wished they might be happy.=
"
Thursday was to be the wedding day, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her
farewell visit; and when she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her
mother's ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected herse=
lf,
accompanied her out of the room. As they went downstairs together, Charlotte
said:
"I shall depend on hearing from you very
often, Eliza."
" That you certainly shall."
"And I have another favour to ask you. Wi=
ll
you come and see me?"
"We shall often meet, I hope, in
Hertfordshire."
"I am not likely to leave Kent for some t=
ime.
Promise me, therefore, to come to Hunsford."
Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw
little pleasure in the visit.
"My father and Maria are coming to me in
March," added Charlotte, "and I hope you will consent to be of the
party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome as either of them."
The wedding took place; the bride and bridegro=
om
set off for Kent from the church door, and everybody had as much to say, or=
to
hear, on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend; and th=
eir correspondence
was as regular and frequent as it had ever been; that it should be equally
unreserved was impossible. Elizabeth could never address her without feeling
that all the comfort of intimacy was over, and though determined not to sla=
cken
as a correspondent, it was for the sake of what had been, rather than what =
was.
Charlotte's first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness; there
could not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of her new home, how=
she
would like Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare pronounce herself t=
o be;
though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte expressed
herself on every point exactly as she might have foreseen. She wrote
cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing which she
could not praise. The house, furniture, neighbourhood, and roads, were all =
to
her taste, and Lady Catherine's behaviour was most friendly and obliging. It
was Mr. Collins's picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened; and
Elizabeth perceived that she must wait for her own visit there to know the
rest.
Jane had already written a few lines to her si=
ster
to announce their safe arrival in London; and when she wrote again, Elizabe=
th
hoped it would be in her power to say something of the Bingleys.
Her impatience for this second letter was as w=
ell
rewarded as impatience generally is. Jane had been a week in town without
either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by
supposing that her last letter to her friend from Longbourn had by some
accident been lost.
"My aunt," she continued, "is g=
oing
to-morrow into that part of the town, and I shall take the opportunity of
calling in Grosvenor Street."
She wrote again when the visit was paid, and s=
he
had seen Miss Bingley. "I did not think Caroline in spirits," were
her words, "but she was very glad to see me, and reproached me for giv=
ing
her no notice of my coming to London. I was right, therefore, my last letter
had never reached her. I inquired after their brother, of course. He was we=
ll,
but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy that they scarcely ever saw him. I found
that Miss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit wa=
s not
long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I dare say I shall see them
soon here."
Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It
convinced her that accident only could discover to Mr. Bingley her sister's
being in town.
Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of
him. She endeavoured to persuade herself that she did not regret it; but she
could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley's inattention. After waiting at ho=
me
every morning for a fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh excuse f=
or
her, the visitor did at last appear; but the shortness of her stay, and yet
more, the alteration of her manner would allow Jane to deceive herself no l=
onger.
The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her sister will prove what s=
he
felt.
"My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be
incapable of triumphing in her better judgement, at my expense, when I conf=
ess
myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley's regard for me. But,=
my
dear sister, though the event has proved you right, do not think me obstina=
te
if I still assert that, considering what her behaviour was, my confidence w=
as as
natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason for wishin=
g to
be intimate with me; but if the same circumstances were to happen again, I =
am
sure I should be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till
yesterday; and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the meantime. When =
she
did come, it was very evident that she had no pleasure in it; she made a
slight, formal apology, for not calling before, said not a word of wishing =
to
see me again, and was in every respect so altered a creature, that when she
went away I was perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I
pity, though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me o=
ut as
she did; I can safely say that every advance to intimacy began on her side.=
But
I pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and becau=
se I
am very sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it. I need not
explain myself farther; and though we know this anxiety to be quite needless, =
yet if
she feels it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me; and so deserv=
edly
dear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety she must feel on his behalf is
natural and amiable. I cannot but wonder, however, at her having any such f=
ears
now, because, if he had at all cared about me, we must have met, long ago. =
He
knows of my being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself; a=
nd
yet it would seem, by her manner of talking, as if she wanted to persuade
herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. If=
I
were not afraid of judging harshly, I should be almost tempted to say that
there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this. But I will endeavour=
to
banish every painful thought, and think only of what will make me happy--yo=
ur
affection, and the invariable kindness of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me he=
ar
from you very soon. Miss Bingley said something of his never returning to
Netherfield again, of giving up the house, but not with any certainty. We h=
ad
better not mention it. I am extremely glad that you have such pleasant acco=
unts
from our friends at Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with Sir William and Mar=
ia.
I am sure you will be very comfortable there.--Yours, etc."
This letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but her
spirits returned as she considered that Jane would no longer be duped, by t=
he
sister at least. All expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. =
She
would not even wish for a renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on =
every
review of it; and as a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage =
to
Jane, she seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy's sister, as=
by
Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown
away.
Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabe=
th
of her promise concerning that gentleman, and required information; and
Elizabeth had such to send as might rather give contentment to her aunt tha=
n to
herself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions were over, he=
was
the admirer of some one else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all, =
but
she could see it and write of it without material pain. Her heart had been =
but
slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing that she would have been his only choice, had for=
tune permitted
it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most remarkable c=
harm
of the young lady to whom he was now rendering himself agreeable; but
Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in this case than in Charlotte's, did=
not
quarrel with him for his wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, co=
uld
be more natural; and while able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles=
to
relinquish her, she was ready to allow it a wise and desirable measure for
both, and could very sincerely wish him happy.
All this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner; and
after relating the circumstances, she thus went on: "I am now convince=
d,
my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love; for had I really experie=
nced
that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name, =
and wish
him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards him ; they are even impartial towards Mi=
ss
King. I cannot find out that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least
unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all
this. My watchfulness has been effectual; and though I certainly should be a
more interesting object to all my acquaintances were I distractedly in love=
with
him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative insignificance. Importance m=
ay
sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection much =
more
to heart than I do. They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet op=
en
to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something to
live on as well as the plain."
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 27
With =
no
greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise diversifie=
d by
little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty and sometimes cold, did
January and February pass away. March was to take Elizabeth to Hunsford. She
had not at first thought very seriously of going thither; but Charlotte, she
soon found, was depending on the plan and she gradually learned to consider=
it
herself with greater pleasure as well as greater certainty. Absence had
increased her desire of seeing Charlotte again, and weakened her disgust of=
Mr.
Collins. There was novelty in the scheme, and as, with such a mother and su=
ch uncompanionable
sisters, home could not be faultless, a little change was not unwelcome for=
its
own sake. The journey would moreover give her a peep at Jane; and, in short=
, as
the time drew near, she would have been very sorry for any delay. Everythin=
g,
however, went on smoothly, and was finally settled according to Charlotte's
first sketch. She was to accompany Sir William and his second daughter. The
improvement of spending a night in London was added in time, and the plan
became perfect as plan could be.
The only pain was in leaving her father, who w=
ould
certainly miss her, and who, when it came to the point, so little liked her
going, that he told her to write to him, and almost promised to answer her
letter.
The farewell between herself and Mr. Wickham w=
as
perfectly friendly; on his side even more. His present pursuit could not ma=
ke
him forget that Elizabeth had been the first to excite and to deserve his
attention, the first to listen and to pity, the first to be admired; and in=
his
manner of bidding her adieu, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of =
what
she was to expect in Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and trusting their opinion of
her--their opinion of everybody--would always coincide, there was a solicit=
ude,
an interest which she felt must ever attach her to him with a most sincere
regard; and she parted from him convinced that, whether married or single, =
he
must always be her model of the amiable and pleasing.
Her fellow-travellers the next day were not of=
a
kind to make her think him less agreeable. Sir William Lucas, and his daugh=
ter
Maria, a good-humoured girl, but as empty-headed as himself, had nothing to=
say
that could be worth hearing, and were listened to with about as much deligh=
t as
the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she had known Sir
William's too long. He could tell her nothing new of the wonders of his
presentation and knighthood; and his civilities were worn out, like his inf=
ormation.
It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and
they began it so early as to be in Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drov=
e to
Mr. Gardiner's door, Jane was at a drawing-room window watching their arriv=
al;
when they entered the passage she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth,=
looking
earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and lovely as ever. =
On
the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls, whose eagerness for their
cousin's appearance would not allow them to wait in the drawing-room, and w=
hose
shyness, as they had not seen her for a twelvemonth, prevented their coming
lower. All was joy and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly away; the
morning in bustle and shopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.
Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. T=
heir
first object was her sister; and she was more grieved than astonished to he=
ar,
in reply to her minute inquiries, that though Jane always struggled to supp=
ort
her spirits, there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable, however, to
hope that they would not continue long. Mrs. Gardiner gave her the particul=
ars
also of Miss Bingley's visit in Gracechurch Street, and repeated conversati=
ons
occurring at different times between Jane and herself, which proved that the
former had, from her heart, given up the acquaintance.
Mrs. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickha=
m's
desertion, and complimented her on bearing it so well.
"But my dear Elizabeth," she added,
"what sort of girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend
mercenary."
"Pray, my dear aunt, what is the differen=
ce
in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where
does discretion end, and avarice begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of h=
is
marrying me, because it would be imprudent; and now, because he is trying to
get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is m=
ercenary."
"If you will only tell me what sort of gi=
rl
Miss King is, I shall know what to think."
"She is a very good kind of girl, I belie=
ve.
I know no harm of her."
"But he paid her not the smallest attenti=
on
till her grandfather's death made her mistress of this fortune."
"No--why should he? If it were not allowa=
ble
for him to gain my affections because I had no money, what
occasion could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care abou=
t,
and who was equally poor?"
"But there seems an indelicacy in directi=
ng
his attentions towards her so soon after this event."
"A man in distressed circumstances has no=
t time
for all those elegant decorums which other people may observe. If she does not object to it, why should we ?"
" Her not objecting does not justify him . It only shows her being deficient =
in
something herself--sense or feeling."
"Well," cried Elizabeth, "have =
it
as you choose. He shall be mercenary, and she shall be foolish."
"No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry, you know, to =
think
ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire."
"Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor
opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire; and their intimate friends who
live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Hea=
ven!
I am going to-morrow where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable
quality, who has neither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are =
the
only ones worth knowing, after all."
"Take care, Lizzy; that speech savours
strongly of disappointment."
Before they were separated by the conclusion of
the play, she had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her
uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summ=
er.
"We have not determined how far it shall
carry us," said Mrs. Gardiner, "but, perhaps, to the Lakes."=
No scheme could have been more agreeable to
Elizabeth, and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful.
"Oh, my dear, dear aunt," she rapturously cried, "what delig=
ht!
what felicity! You give me fresh life and vigour. Adieu to disappointment a=
nd
spleen. What are young men to rocks and mountains? Oh! what hours of transp=
ort we
shall spend! And when we do return, it shall not be like other trave=
llers,
without being able to give one accurate idea of anything. We will know where we have gone--we will recollect what we have seen. Lakes, moun=
tains,
and rivers shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations; nor when we
attempt to describe any particular scene, will we begin quarreling about its
relative situation. Let our first effusions be less insupportable th=
an
those of the generality of travellers."
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 28
Every
object in the next day's journey was new and interesting to Elizabeth; and =
her
spirits were in a state of enjoyment; for she had seen her sister looking so
well as to banish all fear for her health, and the prospect of her northern
tour was a constant source of delight.
When they left the high road for the lane to
Hunsford, every eye was in search of the Parsonage, and every turning expec=
ted
to bring it in view. The palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one
side. Elizabeth smiled at the recollection of all that she had heard of its
inhabitants.
At length the Parsonage was discernible. The
garden sloping to the road, the house standing in it, the green pales, and =
the
laurel hedge, everything declared they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charl=
otte
appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate which led =
by a
short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole par=
ty.
In a moment they were all out of the chaise, rejoicing at the sight of each
other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and
Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with coming when she found herself so
affectionately received. She saw instantly that her cousin's manners were n=
ot
altered by his marriage; his formal civility was just what it had been, and=
he
detained her some minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries aft=
er
all her family. They were then, with no other delay than his pointing out t=
he neatness
of the entrance, taken into the house; and as soon as they were in the parl=
our,
he welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious formality to his humble
abode, and punctually repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment.
Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory;
and she could not help in fancying that in displaying the good proportion of
the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to
her, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But =
though
everything seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him by =
any
sigh of repentance, and rather looked with wonder at her friend that she co=
uld
have so cheerful an air with such a companion. When Mr. Collins said anythi=
ng
of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not
unseldom, she involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she
could discern a faint blush; but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear.
After sitting long enough to admire every article of furniture in the room,
from the sideboard to the fender, to give an account of their journey, and =
of
all that had happened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll =
in
the garden, which was large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of wh=
ich
he attended himself. To work in this garden was one of his most respectable
pleasures; and Elizabeth admired the command of countenance with which
Charlotte talked of the healthfulness of the exercise, and owned she encour=
aged
it as much as possible. Here, leading the way through every walk and cross
walk, and scarcely allowing them an interval to utter the praises he asked =
for,
every view was pointed out with a minuteness which left beauty entirely beh=
ind.
He could number the fields in every direction, and could tell how many trees
there were in the most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden=
, or
which the country or kingdom could boast, none were to be compared with the=
prospect
of Rosings, afforded by an opening in the trees that bordered the park near=
ly
opposite the front of his house. It was a handsome modern building, well
situated on rising ground.
From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led th=
em
round his two meadows; but the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the
remains of a white frost, turned back; and while Sir William accompanied hi=
m,
Charlotte took her sister and friend over the house, extremely well pleased=
, probably,
to have the opportunity of showing it without her husband's help. It was ra=
ther
small, but well built and convenient; and everything was fitted up and arra=
nged
with a neatness and consistency of which Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the
credit. When Mr. Collins could be forgotten, there was really an air of gre=
at
comfort throughout, and by Charlotte's evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth
supposed he must be often forgotten.
She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was
still in the country. It was spoken of again while they were at dinner, when
Mr. Collins joining in, observed:
"Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the
honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church, =
and
I need not say you will be delighted with her. She is all affability and
condescension, and I doubt not but you will be honoured with some portion o=
f her
notice when service is over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying she w=
ill
include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she honours =
us
during your stay here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is charming. We d=
ine
at Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her ladysh=
ip's
carriage is regularly ordered for us. I <=
/span>should
say, one of her ladyship's carriag=
es,
for she has several."
"Lady Catherine is a very respectable,
sensible woman indeed," added Charlotte, "and a most attentive
neighbour."
"Very true, my dear, that is exactly what=
I
say. She is the sort of woman whom one cannot regard with too much
deference."
The evening was spent chiefly in talking over
Hertfordshire news, and telling again what had already been written; and wh=
en
it closed, Elizabeth, in the solitude of her chamber, had to meditate upon =
Charlotte's
degree of contentment, to understand her address in guiding, and composure =
in
bearing with, her husband, and to acknowledge that it was all done very wel=
l.
She had also to anticipate how her visit would pass, the quiet tenor of the=
ir
usual employments, the vexatious interruptions of Mr. Collins, and the gaie=
ties
of their intercourse with Rosings. A lively imagination soon settled it all=
.
About the middle of the next day, as she was in
her room getting ready for a walk, a sudden noise below seemed to speak the
whole house in confusion; and, after listening a moment, she heard somebody
running up stairs in a violent hurry, and calling loudly after her. She ope=
ned the
door and met Maria in the landing place, who, breathless with agitation, cr=
ied
out--
"Oh, my dear Eliza! pray make haste and c=
ome
into the dining-room, for there is such a sight to be seen! I will not tell=
you
what it is. Make haste, and come down this moment."
Elizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria would
tell her nothing more, and down they ran into the dining-room, which fronted
the lane, in quest of this wonder; It was two ladies stopping in a low phae=
ton
at the garden gate.
"And is this all?" cried Elizabeth.
"I expected at least that the pigs were got into the garden, and here =
is
nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter."
"La! my dear," said Maria, quite sho=
cked
at the mistake, "it is not Lady Catherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkin=
son,
who lives with them; the other is Miss de Bourgh. Only look at her. She is
quite a little creature. Who would have thought that she could be so thin a=
nd
small?"
"She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte=
out
of doors in all this wind. Why does she not come in?"
"Oh, Charlotte says she hardly ever does.=
It
is the greatest of favours when Miss de Bourgh comes in."
"I like her appearance," said Elizab=
eth,
struck with other ideas. "She looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do=
for
him very well. She will make him a very proper wife."
Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at
the gate in conversation with the ladies; and Sir William, to Elizabeth's h=
igh
diversion, was stationed in the doorway, in earnest contemplation of the gr=
eatness
before him, and constantly bowing whenever Miss de Bourgh looked that way. =
At length there was nothing more to be said; t=
he
ladies drove on, and the others returned into the house. Mr. Collins no soo=
ner
saw the two girls than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune,
which Charlotte explained by letting them know that the whole party was ask=
ed to
dine at Rosings the next day.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 29
Mr.
Collins's triumph, in consequence of this invitation, was complete. The pow=
er
of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering visitors, and =
of
letting them see her civility towards himself and his wife, was exactly wha=
t he
had wished for; and that an opportunity of doing it should be given so soon,
was such an instance of Lady Catherine's condescension, as he knew not how =
to
admire enough.
"I confess," said he, "that I
should not have been at all surprised by her ladyship's asking us on Sunday=
to
drink tea and spend the evening at Rosings. I rather expected, from my
knowledge of her affability, that it would happen. But who could have fores=
een
such an attention as this? Who could have imagined that we should receive an
invitation to dine there (an invitation, moreover, including the whole part=
y)
so immediately after your arrival!"
"I am the less surprised at what has
happened," replied Sir William, "from that knowledge of what the
manners of the great really are, which my situation in life has allowed me =
to
acquire. About the court, such instances of elegant breeding are not uncomm=
on."
Scarcely anything was talked of the whole day =
or
next morning but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instruct=
ing
them in what they were to expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many
servants, and so splendid a dinner, might not wholly overpower them.
When the ladies were separating for the toilet=
te,
he said to Elizabeth--
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cou=
sin,
about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of d=
ress
in us which becomes herself and her daughter. I would advise you merely to =
put
on whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest--there is no occasion f=
or
anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being sim=
ply
dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved."
While they were dressing, he came two or three
times to their different doors, to recommend their being quick, as Lady
Catherine very much objected to be kept waiting for her dinner. Such formid=
able
accounts of her ladyship, and her manner of living, quite frightened Maria
Lucas who had been little used to company, and she looked forward to her in=
troduction
at Rosings with as much apprehension as her father had done to his presenta=
tion
at St. James's.
As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant w=
alk
of about half a mile across the park. Every park has its beauty and its
prospects; and Elizabeth saw much to be pleased with, though she could not =
be
in such raptures as Mr. Collins expected the scene to inspire, and was but =
slightly
affected by his enumeration of the windows in front of the house, and his
relation of what the glazing altogether had originally cost Sir Lewis de
Bourgh.
When they ascended the steps to the hall, Mari=
a's
alarm was every moment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfec=
tly
calm. Elizabeth's courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing of Lady C=
atherine
that spoke her awful from any extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue, a=
nd
the mere stateliness of money or rank she thought she could witness without
trepidation.
From the entrance-hall, of which Mr. Collins
pointed out, with a rapturous air, the fine proportion and the finished
ornaments, they followed the servants through an ante-chamber, to the room
where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her
ladyship, with great condescension, arose to receive them; and as Mrs. Coll=
ins
had settled it with her husband that the office of introduction should be h=
ers,
it was performed in a proper manner, without any of those apologies and tha=
nks
which he would have thought necessary.
In spite of having been at St. James's Sir Wil=
liam
was so completely awed by the grandeur surrounding him, that he had but just
courage enough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a w=
ord;
and his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of h=
er
chair, not knowing which way to look. Elizabeth found herself quite equal to
the scene, and could observe the three ladies before her composedly. Lady
Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly-marked features, which mig=
ht
once have been handsome. Her air was not conciliating, nor was her manner of
receiving them such as to make her visitors forget their inferior rank. She=
was
not rendered formidable by silence; but whatever she said was spoken in so
authoritative a tone, as marked her self-importance, and brought Mr. Wickham
immediately to Elizabeth's mind; and from the observation of the day
altogether, she believed Lady Catherine to be exactly what he represented. =
When, after examining the mother, in whose
countenance and deportment she soon found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she
turned her eyes on the daughter, she could almost have joined in Maria's
astonishment at her being so thin and so small. There was neither in figure=
nor
face any likeness between the ladies. Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly; h=
er features,
though not plain, were insignificant; and she spoke very little, except in a
low voice, to Mrs. Jenkinson, in whose appearance there was nothing remarka=
ble,
and who was entirely engaged in listening to what she said, and placing a
screen in the proper direction before her eyes.
After sitting a few minutes, they were all sen=
t to
one of the windows to admire the view, Mr. Collins attending them to point =
out
its beauties, and Lady Catherine kindly informing them that it was much bet=
ter
worth looking at in the summer.
The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there
were all the servants and all the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had
promised; and, as he had likewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom =
of
the table, by her ladyship's desire, and looked as if he felt that life cou=
ld
furnish nothing greater. He carved, and ate, and praised with delighted ala=
crity;
and every dish was commended, first by him and then by Sir William, who was=
now
enough recovered to echo whatever his son-in-law said, in a manner which
Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine could bear. But Lady Catherine seemed
gratified by their excessive admiration, and gave most gracious smiles,
especially when any dish on the table proved a novelty to them. The party d=
id
not supply much conversation. Elizabeth was ready to speak whenever there w=
as
an opening, but she was seated between Charlotte and Miss de Bourgh--the fo=
rmer
of whom was engaged in listening to Lady Catherine, and the latter said not=
a
word to her all dinner-time. Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching
how little Miss de Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish, and fea=
ring
she was indisposed. Maria thought speaking out of the question, and the gen=
tlemen
did nothing but eat and admire.
When the ladies returned to the drawing-room,
there was little to be done but to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she did
without any intermission till coffee came in, delivering her opinion on eve=
ry subject
in so decisive a manner, as proved that she was not used to have her judgem=
ent
controverted. She inquired into Charlotte's domestic concerns familiarly and
minutely, gave her a great deal of advice as to the management of them all;
told her how everything ought to be regulated in so small a family as hers,=
and
instructed her as to the care of her cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found =
that
nothing was beneath this great lady's attention, which could furnish her wi=
th
an occasion of dictating to others. In the intervals of her discourse with =
Mrs.
Collins, she addressed a variety of questions to Maria and Elizabeth, but
especially to the latter, of whose connections she knew the least, and who =
she
observed to Mrs. Collins was a very genteel, pretty kind of girl. She asked
her, at different times, how many sisters she had, whether they were older =
or
younger than herself, whether any of them were likely to be married, whether
they were handsome, where they had been educated, what carriage her father
kept, and what had been her mother's maiden name? Elizabeth felt all the
impertinence of her questions but answered them very composedly. Lady Cathe=
rine
then observed,
"Your father's estate is entailed on Mr.
Collins, I think. For your sake," turning to Charlotte, "I am gla=
d of
it; but otherwise I see no occasion for entailing estates from the female l=
ine.
It was not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh's family. Do you play a=
nd
sing, Miss Bennet?"
"A little."
"Oh! then--some time or other we shall be
happy to hear you. Our instrument is a capital one, probably superior to---=
-You
shall try it some day. Do your sisters play and sing?"
"One of them does."
"Why did not you all learn? You ought all=
to
have learned. The Miss Webbs all play, and their father has not so good an
income as yours. Do you draw?"
"No, not at all."
"What, none of you?"
"Not one."
"That is very strange. But I suppose you =
had
no opportunity. Your mother should have taken you to town every spring for =
the
benefit of masters."
"My mother would have had no objection, b=
ut
my father hates London."
"Has your governess left you?"
"We never had any governess."
"No governess! How was that possible? Five
daughters brought up at home without a governess! I never heard of such a
thing. Your mother must have been quite a slave to your education."
Elizabeth could hardly help smiling as she ass=
ured
her that had not been the case.
"Then, who taught you? who attended to yo=
u?
Without a governess, you must have been neglected."
"Compared with some families, I believe we
were; but such of us as wished to learn never wanted the means. We were alw=
ays
encouraged to read, and had all the masters that were necessary. Those who
chose to be idle, certainly might."
"Aye, no doubt; but that is what a govern=
ess
will prevent, and if I had known your mother, I should have advised her most
strenuously to engage one. I always say that nothing is to be done in educa=
tion
without steady and regular instruction, and nobody but a governess can give=
it.
It is wonderful how many families I have been the means of supplying in tha=
t way.
I am always glad to get a young person well placed out. Four nieces of Mrs.
Jenkinson are most delightfully situated through my means; and it was but t=
he
other day that I recommended another young person, who was merely accidenta=
lly
mentioned to me, and the family are quite delighted with her. Mrs. Collins,=
did
I tell you of Lady Metcalf's calling yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss =
Pope
a treasure. 'Lady Catherine,' said she, 'you have given me a treasure.' Are=
any
of your younger sisters out, Miss Bennet?"
"Yes, ma'am, all."
"All! What, all five out at once? Very od=
d!
And you only the second. The younger ones out before the elder ones are mar=
ried!
Your younger sisters must be very young?"
"Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps=
she =
span>is
full young to be much in company. But really, ma'am, I think it would be ve=
ry
hard upon younger sisters, that they should not have their share of society=
and
amusement, because the elder may not have the means or inclination to marry
early. The last-born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth at the
first. And to be kept back on such=
a motive! I think it would not be very l=
ikely
to promote sisterly affection or delicacy of mind."
"Upon my word," said her ladyship,
"you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray, wha=
t is
your age?"
"With three younger sisters grown up,&quo=
t;
replied Elizabeth, smiling, "your ladyship can hardly expect me to own
it."
Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not
receiving a direct answer; and Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first
creature who had ever dared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence. =
"You cannot be more than twenty, I am sur=
e,
therefore you need not conceal your age."
"I am not one-and-twenty."
When the gentlemen had joined them, and tea was
over, the card-tables were placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr. and
Mrs. Collins sat down to quadrille; and as Miss de Bourgh chose to play at
cassino, the two girls had the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up
her party. Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was ut=
tered
that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs. Jenkinson expressed her f=
ears
of Miss de Bourgh's being too hot or too cold, or having too much or too li=
ttle
light. A great deal more passed at the other table. Lady Catherine was
generally speaking--stating the mistakes of the three others, or relating s=
ome
anecdote of herself. Mr. Collins was employed in agreeing to everything her
ladyship said, thanking her for every fish he won, and apologising if he
thought he won too many. Sir William did not say much. He was storing his
memory with anecdotes and noble names.
When Lady Catherine and her daughter had playe=
d as
long as they chose, the tables were broken up, the carriage was offered to =
Mrs.
Collins, gratefully accepted and immediately ordered. The party then gather=
ed round
the fire to hear Lady Catherine determine what weather they were to have on=
the
morrow. From these instructions they were summoned by the arrival of the co=
ach;
and with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Collins's side and as many bo=
ws
on Sir William's they departed. As soon as they had driven from the door,
Elizabeth was called on by her cousin to give her opinion of all that she h=
ad
seen at Rosings, which, for Charlotte's sake, she made more favourable than=
it
really was. But her commendation, though costing her some trouble, could by=
no
means satisfy Mr. Collins, and he was very soon obliged to take her ladyshi=
p's
praise into his own hands.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 30
Sir W=
illiam
stayed only a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long enough to convince h=
im
of his daughter's being most comfortably settled, and of her possessing suc=
h a
husband and such a neighbour as were not often met with. While Sir William =
was
with them, Mr. Collins devoted his morning to driving him out in his gig, a=
nd
showing him the country; but when he went away, the whole family returned to
their usual employments, and Elizabeth was thankful to find that they did n=
ot
see more of her cousin by the alteration, for the chief of the time between
breakfast and dinner was now passed by him either at work in the garden or =
in reading
and writing, and looking out of the window in his own book-room, which fron=
ted
the road. The room in which the ladies sat was backwards. Elizabeth had at
first rather wondered that Charlotte should not prefer the dining-parlour f=
or
common use; it was a better sized room, and had a more pleasant aspect; but=
she
soon saw that her friend had an excellent reason for what she did, for Mr.
Collins would undoubtedly have been much less in his own apartment, had they
sat in one equally lively; and she gave Charlotte credit for the arrangemen=
t.
From the drawing-room they could distinguish
nothing in the lane, and were indebted to Mr. Collins for the knowledge of =
what
carriages went along, and how often especially Miss de Bourgh drove by in h=
er
phaeton, which he never failed coming to inform them of, though it happened=
almost
every day. She not unfrequently stopped at the Parsonage, and had a few
minutes' conversation with Charlotte, but was scarcely ever prevailed upon =
to
get out.
Very few days passed in which Mr. Collins did =
not
walk to Rosings, and not many in which his wife did not think it necessary =
to
go likewise; and till Elizabeth recollected that there might be other family
livings to be disposed of, she could not understand the sacrifice of so man=
y hours.
Now and then they were honoured with a call from her ladyship, and nothing
escaped her observation that was passing in the room during these visits. S=
he
examined into their employments, looked at their work, and advised them to =
do
it differently; found fault with the arrangement of the furniture; or detec=
ted
the housemaid in negligence; and if she accepted any refreshment, seemed to=
do
it only for the sake of finding out that Mrs. Collins's joints of meat were=
too
large for her family.
Elizabeth soon perceived, that though this gre=
at
lady was not in commission of the peace of the county, she was a most active
magistrate in her own parish, the minutest concerns of which were carried to
her by Mr. Collins; and whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to be
quarrelsome, discontented, or too poor, she sallied forth into the village =
to
settle their differences, silence their complaints, and scold them into har=
mony
and plenty.
The entertainment of dining at Rosings was
repeated about twice a week; and, allowing for the loss of Sir William, and
there being only one card-table in the evening, every such entertainment was
the counterpart of the first. Their other engagements were few, as the styl=
e of
living in the neighbourhood in general was beyond Mr. Collins's reach. This=
, however,
was no evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent her time comfortably
enough; there were half-hours of pleasant conversation with Charlotte, and =
the
weather was so fine for the time of year that she had often great enjoyment=
out
of doors. Her favourite walk, and where she frequently went while the others
were calling on Lady Catherine, was along the open grove which edged that s=
ide
of the park, where there was a nice sheltered path, which no one seemed to
value but herself, and where she felt beyond the reach of Lady Catherine's
curiosity.
In this quiet way, the first fortnight of her
visit soon passed away. Easter was approaching, and the week preceding it w=
as
to bring an addition to the family at Rosings, which in so small a circle m=
ust
be important. Elizabeth had heard soon after her arrival that Mr. Darcy was=
expected
there in the course of a few weeks, and though there were not many of her
acquaintances whom she did not prefer, his coming would furnish one
comparatively new to look at in their Rosings parties, and she might be amu=
sed
in seeing how hopeless Miss Bingley's designs on him were, by his behaviour=
to
his cousin, for whom he was evidently destined by Lady Catherine, who talke=
d of
his coming with the greatest satisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the hig=
hest
admiration, and seemed almost angry to find that he had already been freque=
ntly
seen by Miss Lucas and herself.
His arrival was soon known at the Parsonage; f=
or
Mr. Collins was walking the whole morning within view of the lodges opening
into Hunsford Lane, in order to have the earliest assurance of it, and after
making his bow as the carriage turned into the Park, hurried home with the
great intelligence. On the following morning he hastened to Rosings to pay =
his respects.
There were two nephews of Lady Catherine to require them, for Mr. Darcy had
brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of his uncle Lord -=
---,
and, to the great surprise of all the party, when Mr. Collins returned, the
gentlemen accompanied him. Charlotte had seen them from her husband's room,
crossing the road, and immediately running into the other, told the girls w=
hat
an honour they might expect, adding:
"I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of
civility. Mr. Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me."
Elizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all ri=
ght
to the compliment, before their approach was announced by the door-bell, and
shortly afterwards the three gentlemen entered the room. Colonel Fitzwillia=
m, who
led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most
truly the gentleman. Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been used to look in
Hertfordshire--paid his compliments, with his usual reserve, to Mrs. Collin=
s,
and whatever might be his feelings toward her friend, met her with every
appearance of composure. Elizabeth merely curtseyed to him without saying a
word.
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation
directly with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very
pleasantly; but his cousin, after having addressed a slight observation on =
the
house and garden to Mrs. Collins, sat for some time without speaking to
anybody. At length, however, his civility was so far awakened as to inquire=
of Elizabeth
after the health of her family. She answered him in the usual way, and afte=
r a
moment's pause, added:
"My eldest sister has been in town these
three months. Have you never happened to see her there?"
She was perfectly sensible that he never had; =
but
she wished to see whether he would betray any consciousness of what had pas=
sed
between the Bingleys and Jane, and she thought he looked a little confused =
as
he answered that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet. The=
subject
was pursued no farther, and the gentlemen soon afterwards went away.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 31
Colon=
el
Fitzwilliam's manners were very much admired at the Parsonage, and the ladi=
es
all felt that he must add considerably to the pleasures of their engagement=
s at
Rosings. It was some days, however, before they received any invitation
thither--for while there were visitors in the house, they could not be
necessary; and it was not till Easter-day, almost a week after the gentleme=
n's
arrival, that they were honoured by such an attention, and then they were
merely asked on leaving church to come there in the evening. For the last w=
eek
they had seen very little of Lady Catherine or her daughter. Colonel
Fitzwilliam had called at the Parsonage more than once during the time, but=
Mr.
Darcy they had seen only at church.
The invitation was accepted of course, and at a
proper hour they joined the party in Lady Catherine's drawing-room. Her
ladyship received them civilly, but it was plain that their company was by =
no
means so acceptable as when she could get nobody else; and she was, in fact=
, almost
engrossed by her nephews, speaking to them, especially to Darcy, much more =
than
to any other person in the room.
Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see
them; anything was a welcome relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs. Collins's
pretty friend had moreover caught his fancy very much. He now seated himsel=
f by
her, and talked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and
staying at home, of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never been half=
so well
entertained in that room before; and they conversed with so much spirit and
flow, as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine herself, as well as of Mr.
Darcy. His eyes had been soon and repeatedly turned=
towards
them with a look of curiosity; and that her ladyship, after a while, shared=
the
feeling, was more openly acknowledged, for she did not scruple to call out:=
"What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam?
What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear
what it is."
"We are speaking of music, madam," s=
aid
he, when no longer able to avoid a reply.
"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of
all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation if you are
speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more
true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ev=
er
learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her he=
alth
had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed deli=
ghtfully.
How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?"
Mr. Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his
sister's proficiency.
"I am very glad to hear such a good accou=
nt
of her," said Lady Catherine; "and pray tell her from me, that she
cannot expect to excel if she does not practice a good deal."
"I assure you, madam," he replied,
"that she does not need such advice. She practises very constantly.&qu=
ot;
"So much the better. It cannot be done too
much; and when I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on=
any
account. I often tell young ladies that no excellence in music is to be
acquired without constant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times, =
that
she will never play really well unless she practises more; and though Mrs. =
Collins
has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to
Rosings every day, and play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She
would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."
Mr. Darcy looked a little ashamed of his aunt's
ill-breeding, and made no answer.
When coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam remi=
nded
Elizabeth of having promised to play to him; and she sat down directly to t=
he
instrument. He drew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a son=
g,
and then talked, as before, to her other nephew; till the latter walked awa=
y from
her, and making with his usual deliberation towards the pianoforte stationed
himself so as to command a full view of the fair performer's countenance.
Elizabeth saw what he was doing, and at the first convenient pause, turned =
to
him with an arch smile, and said:
"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by
coming in all this state to hear me? I will not be alarmed though your sist=
er does play so well. There is a stubbornness ab=
out me
that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage alwa=
ys
rises at every attempt to intimidate me."
"I shall not say you are mistaken," =
he
replied, "because you could not really believe me to entertain any des=
ign
of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enou=
gh
to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions w=
hich
in fact are not your own."
Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of
herself, and said to Colonel Fitzwilliam, "Your cousin will give you a
very pretty notion of me, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am
particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so able to expose my real
character, in a part of the world where I had hoped to pass myself off with
some degree of credit. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to
mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire--and, give me
leave to say, very impolitic too--for it is provoking me to retaliate, and =
such
things may come out as will shock your relations to hear."
"I am not afraid of you," said he,
smilingly.
"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse=
him
of," cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I should like to know how he beh=
aves
among strangers."
"You shall hear then--but prepare yourself
for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in
Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a ball--and at this ball, what do you
think he did? He danced only four dances, though gentlemen were scarce; and=
, to
my certain knowledge, more than one young lady was sitting down in want of =
a partner.
Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact."
"I had not at that time the honour of kno=
wing
any lady in the assembly beyond my own party."
"True; and nobody can ever be introduced =
in a
ball-room. Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait =
your
orders."
"Perhaps," said Darcy, "I should
have judged better, had I sought an introduction; but I am ill-qualified to
recommend myself to strangers."
"Shall we ask your cousin the reason of
this?" said Elizabeth, still addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Sha=
ll
we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world=
, is
ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?"
"I can answer your question," said
Fitzwilliam, "without applying to him. It is because he will not give
himself the trouble."
"I certainly have not the talent which so=
me
people possess," said Darcy, "of conversing easily with those I h=
ave
never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear
interested in their concerns, as I often see done."
"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "=
do
not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many
women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the
same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault--bec=
ause
I will not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe =
my fingers as capable as any other woman's =
of
superior execution."
Darcy smiled and said, "You are perfectly
right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the
privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting. We neither of us perfo=
rm
to strangers."
Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, =
who
called out to know what they were talking of. Elizabeth immediately began
playing again. Lady Catherine approached, and, after listening for a few
minutes, said to Darcy:
"Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss =
if
she practised more, and could have the advantage of a London master. She ha=
s a
very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne's. Anne
would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to
learn."
Elizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordially=
he
assented to his cousin's praise; but neither at that moment nor at any other
could she discern any symptom of love; and from the whole of his behaviour =
to
Miss de Bourgh she derived this comfort for Miss Bingley, that he might hav=
e been
just as likely to marry her , had =
she
been his relation.
Lady Catherine continued her remarks on Elizab=
eth's
performance, mixing with them many instructions on execution and taste.
Elizabeth received them with all the forbearance of civility, and, at the
request of the gentlemen, remained at the instrument till her ladyship's
carriage was ready to take them all home.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 32
Eliza=
beth
was sitting by herself the next morning, and writing to Jane while Mrs. Col=
lins
and Maria were gone on business into the village, when she was startled by a
ring at the door, the certain signal of a visitor. As she had heard no
carriage, she thought it not unlikely to be Lady Catherine, and under that
apprehension was putting away her half-finished letter that she might escape
all impertinent questions, when the door opened, and, to her very great
surprise, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy only, entered the room.
He seemed astonished too on finding her alone,=
and
apologised for his intrusion by letting her know that he had understood all=
the
ladies were to be within.
They then sat down, and when her inquiries aft=
er
Rosings were made, seemed in danger of sinking into total silence. It was
absolutely necessary, therefore, to think of something, and in this emergen=
ce recollecting
when she had seen him last in Hertfordshire, =
and feeling
curious to know what he would say on the subject of their hasty departure, =
she
observed:
"How very suddenly you all quitted
Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy! It must have been a most agreeable
surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you all after him so soon; for, if I recolle=
ct
right, he went but the day before. He and his sisters were well, I hope, wh=
en
you left London?"
"Perfectly so, I thank you."
She found that she was to receive no other ans=
wer,
and, after a short pause added:
"I think I have understood that Mr. Bingl=
ey
has not much idea of ever returning to Netherfield again?"
"I have never heard him say so; but it is
probable that he may spend very little of his time there in the future. He =
has
many friends, and is at a time of life when friends and engagements are
continually increasing."
"If he means to be but little at Netherfi=
eld,
it would be better for the neighbourhood that he should give up the place
entirely, for then we might possibly get a settled family there. But, perha=
ps,
Mr. Bingley did not take the house so much for the convenience of the
neighbourhood as for his own, and we must expect him to keep it or quit it =
on
the same principle."
"I should not be surprised," said Da=
rcy,
"if he were to give it up as soon as any eligible purchase offers.&quo=
t;
Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of
talking longer of his friend; and, having nothing else to say, was now
determined to leave the trouble of finding a subject to him.
He took the hint, and soon began with, "T=
his
seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal=
to
it when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford."
"I believe she did--and I am sure she cou=
ld
not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object."
"Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate=
in
his choice of a wife."
"Yes, indeed, his friends may well rejoic=
e in
his having met with one of the very few sensible women who would have accep=
ted
him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend has an excellent
understanding--though I am not certain that I consider her marrying Mr. Col=
lins
as the wisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however, and i=
n a prudential
light it is certainly a very good match for her."
"It must be very agreeable for her to be
settled within so easy a distance of her own family and friends."
"An easy distance, do you call it? It is
nearly fifty miles."
"And what is fifty miles of good road? Li=
ttle
more than half a day's journey. Yes, I call it a very easy distance."
"I should never have considered the dista=
nce
as one of the advantages of the match," cried Elizabeth. &qu=
ot;I
should never have said Mrs. Collins was settled near her family."
"It is a proof of your own attachment to
Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppo=
se,
would appear far."
As he spoke there was a sort of smile which
Elizabeth fancied she understood; he must be supposing her to be thinking of
Jane and Netherfield, and she blushed as she answered:
"I do not mean to say that a woman may no=
t be
settled too near her family. The far and the near must be relative, and dep=
end
on many varying circumstances. Where there is fortune to make the expenses =
of travelling
unimportant, distance becomes no evil. But that is not the case here . Mr. and Mrs. Collins have a comfo=
rtable
income, but not such a one as will allow of frequent journeys--and I am
persuaded my friend would not call herself near her family under less than half <=
/span>the
present distance."
Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her,=
and
said, " You cannot have a rig=
ht to
such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.&qu=
ot;
Elizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman
experienced some change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper
from the table, and glancing over it, said, in a colder voice:
"Are you pleased with Kent?"
A short dialogue on the subject of the country
ensued, on either side calm and concise--and soon put an end to by the entr=
ance
of Charlotte and her sister, just returned from her walk. The tete-a-tete
surprised them. Mr. Darcy related the mistake which had occasioned his
intruding on Miss Bennet, and after sitting a few minutes longer without sa=
ying
much to anybody, went away.
"What can be the meaning of this?" s=
aid
Charlotte, as soon as he was gone. "My dear, Eliza, he must be in love
with you, or he would never have called us in this familiar way."
But when Elizabeth told of his silence; it did=
not
seem very likely, even to Charlotte's wishes, to be the case; and after var=
ious
conjectures, they could at last only suppose his visit to proceed from the
difficulty of finding anything to do, which was the more probable from the =
time
of year. All field sports were over. Within doors there was Lady Catherine,
books, and a billiard-table, but gentlemen cannot always be within doors; a=
nd
in the nearness of the Parsonage, or the pleasantness of the walk to it, or=
of
the people who lived in it, the two cousins found a temptation from this pe=
riod
of walking thither almost every day. They called at various times of the mo=
rning,
sometimes separately, sometimes together, and now and then accompanied by t=
heir
aunt. It was plain to them all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he had
pleasure in their society, a persuasion which of course recommended him sti=
ll
more; and Elizabeth was reminded by her own satisfaction in being with him,=
as
well as by his evident admiration of her, of her former favourite George
Wickham; and though, in comparing them, she saw there was less captivating
softness in Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners, she believed he might have the b=
est
informed mind.
But why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parsona=
ge,
it was more difficult to understand. It could not be for society, as he
frequently sat there ten minutes together without opening his lips; and whe=
n he
did speak, it seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice--a sacri=
fice
to propriety, not a pleasure to himself. He seldom appeared really animated.
Mrs. Collins knew not what to make of him. Colonel Fitzwilliam's occasional=
ly
laughing at his stupidity, proved that he was generally different, which her
own knowledge of him could not have told her; and as she would liked to have
believed this change the effect of love, and the object of that love her fr=
iend
Eliza, she set herself seriously to work to find it out. She watched him
whenever they were at Rosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but without
much success. He certainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the
expression of that look was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, =
but she
often doubted whether there were much admiration in it, and sometimes it se=
emed
nothing but absence of mind.
She had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth t=
he
possibility of his being partial to her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the
idea; and Mrs. Collins did not think it right to press the subject, from the
danger of raising expectations which might only end in disappointment; for =
in
her opinion it admitted not of a doubt, that all her friend's dislike would=
vanish,
if she could suppose him to be in her power.
In he=
r kind
schemes for Elizabeth, she sometimes planned her marrying Colonel Fitzwilli=
am.
He was beyond comparison the most pleasant man; he certainly admired her, a=
nd
his situation in life was most eligible; but, to counterbalance these advan=
tages,
Mr. Darcy had considerable patronage in the church, and his cousin could ha=
ve
none at all.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 33
More =
than
once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Da=
rcy.
She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where =
no
one else was brought, and, to prevent its ever happening again, took care to
inform him at first that it was a favourite haunt of hers. How it could occ=
ur a
second time, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did, and even a third. It seem=
ed
like wilful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it w=
as not
merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he
actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never said=
a
great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening
much; but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was
asking some odd unconnected questions--about her pleasure in being at Hunsf=
ord,
her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins's
happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings and her not perfectly understand=
ing
the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she w=
ould
be staying there too. His words seemed to imply it. Could=
he have
Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant anything, he
must mean an allusion to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed he=
r a
little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in the pales
opposite the Parsonage.
She was engaged one day as she walked, in peru=
sing
Jane's last letter, and dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had
not written in spirits, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy,
she saw on looking up that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away
the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said:
"I did not know before that you ever walk=
ed
this way."
"I have been making the tour of the
park," he replied, "as I generally do every year, and intend to c=
lose
it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"
"No, I should have turned in a moment.&qu=
ot;
And accordingly she did turn, and they walked
towards the Parsonage together.
"Do you certainly leave Kent on
Saturday?" said she.
"Yes--if Darcy does not put it off again.=
But
I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases."
"And if not able to please himself in the
arrangement, he has at least pleasure in the great power of choice. I do not
know anybody who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he likes than =
Mr.
Darcy."
"He likes to have his own way very
well," replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But so we all do. It is only
that he has better means of having it than many others, because he is rich,=
and
many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you know, must be
inured to self-denial and dependence."
"In my opinion, the younger son of an earl
can know very little of either. Now seriously, what have you ever known of
self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by want of money f=
rom
going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you had a fancy for?" =
"These are home questions--and perhaps I
cannot say that I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in
matters of greater weight, I may suffer from want of money. Younger sons ca=
nnot
marry where they like."
"Unless where they like women of fortune,
which I think they very often do."
"Our habits of expense make us too depend=
ent,
and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without s=
ome
attention to money."
"Is this," thought Elizabeth,
"meant for me?" and she coloured at the idea; but, recovering
herself, said in a lively tone, "And pray, what is the usual price of =
an
earl's younger son? Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you
would not ask above fifty thousand pounds."
He answered her in the same style, and the sub=
ject
dropped. To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her affected with
what had passed, she soon afterwards said:
"I imagine your cousin brought you down w=
ith
him chiefly for the sake of having someone at his disposal. I wonder he does
not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But, perhaps, his
sister does as well for the present, and, as she is under his sole care, he=
may
do what he likes with her."
"No," said Colonel Fitzwilliam,
"that is an advantage which he must divide with me. I am joined with h=
im
in the guardianship of Miss Darcy."
"Are you indeed? And pray what sort of
guardians do you make? Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies=
of
her age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has the true
Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way."
As she spoke she observed him looking at her
earnestly; and the manner in which he immediately asked her why she supposed
Miss Darcy likely to give them any uneasiness, convinced her that she had
somehow or other got pretty near the truth. She directly replied:
"You need not be frightened. I never heard
any harm of her; and I dare say she is one of the most tractable creatures =
in
the world. She is a very great favourite with some ladies of my acquaintanc=
e,
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have heard you say that you know
them."
"I know them a little. Their brother is a
pleasant gentlemanlike man--he is a great friend of Darcy's."
"Oh! yes," said Elizabeth drily;
"Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious d=
eal
of care of him."
"Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy=
does take care of him in those points where h=
e most
wants care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have re=
ason
to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, =
for
I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant. It was all
conjecture."
"What is it you mean?"
"It is a circumstance which Darcy could n=
ot
wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the lady's
family, it would be an unpleasant thing."
"You may depend upon my not mentioning
it."
"And remember that I have not much reason=
for
supposing it to be Bingley. What he told me was merely this: that he
congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconvenienc=
es
of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other par=
ticulars,
and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young =
man
to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been toget=
her
the whole of last summer."
"Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this
interference?"
"I understood that there were some very
strong objections against the lady."
"And what arts did he use to separate
them?"
"He did not talk to me of his own arts,&q=
uot;
said Fitzwilliam, smiling. "He only told me what I have now told
you."
Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her h=
eart
swelling with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked h=
er
why she was so thoughtful.
"I am thinking of what you have been tell=
ing
me," said she. "Your cousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. =
Why
was he to be the judge?"
"You are rather disposed to call his
interference officious?"
"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to
decide on the propriety of his friend's inclination, or why, upon his own
judgement alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner his friend w=
as
to be happy. But," she continued, recollecting herself, "as we kn=
ow
none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be
supposed that there was much affection in the case."
"That is not an unnatural surmise," =
said
Fitzwilliam, "but it is a lessening of the honour of my cousin's trium=
ph
very sadly."
This was spoken jestingly; but it appeared to =
her
so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an
answer, and therefore, abruptly changing the conversation talked on indiffe=
rent
matters until they reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room, as
soon as their visitor left them, she could think without interruption of all
that she had heard. It was not to be supposed that any other people could be
meant than those with whom she was connected. There could not exist in the
world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have such
boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the measures taken to
separate Bingley and Jane she had never doubted; but she had always attribu=
ted
to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them. If his own
vanity, however, did not mislead him, he
was the cause, his pride and capri=
ce
were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffe=
r.
He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate,
generous heart in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he mi=
ght
have inflicted.
"There were some very strong objections
against the lady," were Colonel Fitzwilliam's words; and those strong
objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney, =
and
another who was in business in London.
"To Jane herself," she exclaimed,
"there could be no possibility of objection; all loveliness and goodne=
ss
as she is!--her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners
captivating. Neither could anything be urged against my father, who, though
with some peculiarities, has abilities Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, =
and respectability
which he will probably never reach." When she thought of her mother, h=
er
confidence gave way a little; but she would not allow that any objections <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> there had material weight with Mr. Darcy, whos=
e pride,
she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound from the want of importance=
in
his friend's connections, than from their want of sense; and she was quite
decided, at last, that he had been partly governed by this worst kind of pr=
ide,
and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley for his sister.
The agitation and tears which the subject
occasioned, brought on a headache; and it grew so much worse towards the
evening, that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it determined h=
er
not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea.
Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was really unwell, did not press her to go an=
d as
much as possible prevented her husband from pressing her; but Mr. Collins c=
ould
not conceal his apprehension of Lady Catherine's being rather displeased by=
her
staying at home.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 34
When =
they
were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate herself as much as poss=
ible
against Mr. Darcy, chose for her employment the examination of all the lett=
ers
which Jane had written to her since her being in Kent. They contained no ac=
tual
complaint, nor was there any revival of past occurrences, or any communicat=
ion
of present suffering. But in all, and in almost every line of each, there w=
as a
want of that cheerfulness which had been used to characterise her style, and
which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with itself and kindl=
y disposed
towards everyone, had been scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth noticed every
sentence conveying the idea of uneasiness, with an attention which it had
hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy's shameful boast of what mi=
sery
he had been able to inflict, gave her a keener sense of her sister's
sufferings. It was some consolation to think that his visit to Rosings was =
to
end on the day after the next--and, a still greater, that in less than a
fortnight she should herself be with Jane again, and enabled to contribute =
to
the recovery of her spirits, by all that affection could do.
She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent
without remembering that his cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwil=
liam
had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was,
she did not mean to be unhappy about him.
While settling this point, she was suddenly ro=
used
by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by t=
he
idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called l=
ate
in the evening, and might now come to inquire particularly after her. But t=
his
idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, whe=
n,
to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In an hurried
manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit=
to
a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility=
. He
sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room.
Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several
minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:
"In vain I have struggled. It will not do=
. My
feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I
admire and love you."
Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression.
She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient
encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for he=
r, immediately
followed. He spoke well; but there were feelings besides those of the heart=
to
be detailed; and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than=
of
pride. His sense of her inferiority--of its being a degradation--of the fam=
ily
obstacles which had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a war=
mth
which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely =
to
recommend his suit.
In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she cou=
ld not
be insensible to the compliment of such a man's affection, and though her
intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain=
he
was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she =
lost
all compassion in anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to answer h=
im
with patience, when he should have done. He concluded with representing to =
her
the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavours, he h=
ad
found impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now=
be
rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily s=
ee
that he had no doubt of a favourable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his
countenance expressed real security. Such a circumstance could only exasper=
ate
farther, and, when he ceased, the colour rose into her cheeks, and she said=
:
"In such cases as this, it is, I believe,=
the
established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed,
however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation shoul=
d be
felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I =
cannot--I
have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it mo=
st
unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been most
unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration. The feel=
ings
which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, =
can
have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."
Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantelp=
iece
with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less
resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the
disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for=
the
appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himse=
lf
to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings dreadful. At len=
gth,
with a voice of forced calmness, he said:
"And this is all the reply which I am to =
have
the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so
little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it =
is of
small importance."
"I might as well inquire," replied s=
he,
"why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting me, you chose=
to
tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even
against your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. =
You
know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you--had they been
indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any
consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of
ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"
As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy chang=
ed
colour; but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to
interrupt her while she continued:
"I have every reason in the world to think
ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> there . You dare not, you cannot deny, t=
hat
you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from ea=
ch
other--of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instabil=
ity,
and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them bo=
th
in misery of the acutest kind."
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation
that he was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any
feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredul=
ity.
"Can you deny that you have done it?"
she repeated.
With assumed tranquillity he then replied: &qu=
ot;I
have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my fr=
iend
from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him =
span>I
have been kinder than towards myself."
Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing
this civil reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to
conciliate her.
"But it is not merely this affair," =
she
continued, "on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken p=
lace
my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital w=
hich
I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you =
have
to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? or
under what misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?"
"You take an eager interest in that
gentleman's concerns," said Darcy, in a less tranquil tone, and with a
heightened colour.
"Who that knows what his misfortunes have
been, can help feeling an interest in him?"
"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy
contemptuously; "yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed."
"And of your infliction," cried
Elizabeth with energy. "You have reduced him to his present state of
poverty--comparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you mu=
st
know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his
life of that independence which was no less his due than his desert. You ha=
ve
done all this! and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with
contempt and ridicule."
"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked
with quick steps across the room, "is your opinion of me! This is the
estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My
faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,"
added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards her, "these offens=
es
might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest
confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious
design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with
greater policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief o=
f my
being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflect=
ion,
by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashame=
d of
the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to
rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?--to congratulate myself on =
the
hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my
own?"
Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every
moment; yet she tried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said: =
"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you supp=
ose
that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it
spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you beha=
ved
in a more gentlemanlike manner."
She saw him start at this, but he said nothing,
and she continued:
"You could not have made the offer of your
hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it."
Again his astonishment was obvious; and he loo=
ked
at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went
on:
"From the very beginning--from the first
moment, I may almost say--of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impres=
sing
me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish
disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of d=
isapprobation
on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not
known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world who=
m I
could ever be prevailed on to marry."
"You have said quite enough, madam. I per=
fectly
comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own ha=
ve
been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my be=
st wishes
for your health and happiness."
And with these words he hastily left the room,=
and
Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.=
The tumult of her mind, was now painfully grea=
t.
She knew not how to support herself, and from actual weakness sat down and
cried for half-an-hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had pass=
ed, was
increased by every review of it. That she should receive an offer of marria=
ge
from Mr. Darcy! That he should have been in love with her for so many month=
s!
So much in love as to wish to marry her in spite of all the objections which
had made him prevent his friend's marrying her sister, and which must appea=
r at
least with equal force in his own case--was almost incredible! It was
gratifying to have inspired unconsciously so strong an affection. But his
pride, his abominable pride--his shameless avowal of what he had done with
respect to Jane--his unpardonable assurance in acknowledging, though he cou=
ld not
justify it, and the unfeeling manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham,=
his
cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny, soon overcame the pity w=
hich
the consideration of his attachment had for a moment excited. She continued=
in
very agitated reflections till the sound of Lady Catherine's carriage made =
her
feel how unequal she was to encounter Charlotte's observation, and hurried =
her
away to her room.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 35
Eliza=
beth
awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had at le=
ngth
closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from the surprise of what had
happened; it was impossible to think of anything else; and, totally indispo=
sed
for employment, she resolved, soon after breakfast, to indulge herself in a=
ir
and exercise. She was proceeding directly to her favourite walk, when the
recollection of Mr. Darcy's sometimes coming there stopped her, and instead=
of
entering the park, she turned up the lane, which led farther from the
turnpike-road. The park paling was still the boundary on one side, and she =
soon
passed one of the gates into the ground.
After walking two or three times along that pa=
rt
of the lane, she was tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at
the gates and look into the park. The five weeks which she had now passed in
Kent had made a great difference in the country, and every day was adding to
the verdure of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk=
, when
she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which edged the
park; he was moving that way; and, fearful of its being Mr. Darcy, she was
directly retreating. But the person who advanced was now near enough to see
her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced her name. She had turn=
ed
away; but on hearing herself called, though in a voice which proved it to be
Mr. Darcy, she moved again towards the gate. He had by that time reached it=
also,
and, holding out a letter, which she instinctively took, said, with a look =
of
haughty composure, "I have been walking in the grove some time in the =
hope
of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?" And
then, with a slight bow, turned again into the plantation, and was soon out=
of
sight.
With no expectation of pleasure, but with the
strongest curiosity, Elizabeth opened the letter, and, to her still increas=
ing
wonder, perceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter-paper, writte=
n quite
through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise full. Pursu=
ing
her way along the lane, she then began it. It was dated from Rosings, at ei=
ght
o'clock in the morning, and was as follows:--
"Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this
letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those
sentiments or renewal of those offers which were last night so disgusting to
you. I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by
dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon
forgotten; and the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter
must occasion, should have been spared, had not my character required it to=
be
written and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I dema=
nd your
attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand =
it
of your justice.
"Two offenses of a very different nature,=
and
by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first
mentioned was, that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached=
Mr.
Bingley from your sister, and the other, that I had, in defiance of various=
claims,
in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity and bla=
sted
the prospects of Mr. Wickham. Wilfully and wantonly to have thrown off the
companion of my youth, the acknowledged favourite of my father, a young man=
who
had scarcely any other dependence than on our patronage, and who had been
brought up to expect its exertion, would be a depravity, to which the
separation of two young persons, whose affection could be the growth of onl=
y a
few weeks, could bear no comparison. But from the severity of that blame wh=
ich
was last night so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall
hope to be in the future secured, when the following account of my actions =
and
their motives has been read. If, in the explanation of them, which is due to
myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensiv=
e to
yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed, and
further apology would be absurd.
"I had not been long in Hertfordshire, be=
fore
I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your elder sister to a=
ny
other young woman in the country. But it was not till the evening of the da=
nce at
Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment=
. I
had often seen him in love before. At that ball, while I had the honour of
dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's
accidental information, that Bingley's attentions to your sister had given =
rise
to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain eve=
nt,
of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my
friend's behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiali=
ty
for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I =
also
watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but
without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the
evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, =
she
did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. If you have not been mistaken here, I must
have been in error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the la=
tter
probable. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error to inflict pain =
on
her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to
assert, that the serenity of your sister's countenance and air was such as
might have given the most acute observer a conviction that, however amiable=
her
temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched. That I was desirous =
of
believing her indifferent is certain--but I will venture to say that my
investigation and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears=
. I
did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on
impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. My objections to t=
he marriage
were not merely those which I last night acknowledged to have the utmost fo=
rce
of passion to put aside, in my own case; the want of connection could not b=
e so
great an evil to my friend as to me. But there were other causes of repugna=
nce;
causes which, though still existing, and existing to an equal degree in both
instances, I had myself endeavoured to forget, because they were not
immediately before me. These causes must be stated, though briefly. The
situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in com=
parison
to that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed=
by herself,
by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. Pardon=
me.
It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your
nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let=
it
give you consolation to consider that, to have conducted yourselves so as to
avoid any share of the like censure, is praise no less generally bestowed on
you and your elder sister, than it is honourable to the sense and dispositi=
on
of both. I will only say farther that from what passed that evening, my opi=
nion
of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened which could h=
ave
led me before, to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy co=
nnection.
He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain,
remember, with the design of soon returning.
"The part which I acted is now to be
explained. His sisters' uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our
coincidence of feeling was soon discovered, and, alike sensible that no time
was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining h=
im
directly in London. We accordingly went--and there I readily engaged in the
office of pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I d=
escribed,
and enforced them earnestly. But, however this remonstrance might have
staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would
ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the
assurance that I hesitated not in giving, of your sister's indifference. He=
had
before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal
regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger dependence o=
n my
judgement than on his own. To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived
himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning int=
o Hertfordshire,
when that conviction had been given, was scarcely the work of a moment. I c=
annot
blame myself for having done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct=
in
the whole affair on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I
condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your
sister's being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley; =
but
her brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill
consequence is perhaps probable; but his regard did not appear to me enough
extinguished for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this concealme=
nt,
this disguise was beneath me; it is done, however, and it was done for the
best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer=
. If
I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done and though t=
he
motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I =
have
not yet learnt to condemn them.
"With respect to that other, more weighty
accusation, of having injured Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying
before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant; but of the tru=
th of
what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veraci=
ty.
"Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respect=
able
man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and
whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my fath=
er
to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kin=
dness
was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and
afterwards at Cambridge--most important assistance, as his own father, alwa=
ys
poor from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a
gentleman's education. My father was not only fond of this young man's soci=
ety,
whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him,=
and
hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in i=
t.
As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him i=
n a
very different manner. The vicious propensities--the want of principle, whi=
ch
he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not es=
cape
the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who=
had
opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not
have. Here again I shall give you pain--to what degree you only can tell. B=
ut
whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of
their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character--it adds
even another motive.
"My excellent father died about five years
ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in h=
is
will he particularly recommended it to me, to promote his advancement in the
best manner that his profession might allow--and if he took orders, desired
that a valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. The=
re was
also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive m=
ine,
and within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me th=
at,
having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I should not think =
it
unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in =
lieu
of the preferment, by which he could not be benefited. He had some intentio=
n,
he added, of studying law, and I must be aware that the interest of one
thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wish=
ed,
than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to
accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman;
the business was therefore soon settled--he resigned all claim to assistanc=
e in
the church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive
it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection between us
seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, =
or
admit his society in town. In town I believe he chiefly lived, but his stud=
ying
the law was a mere pretence, and being now free from all restraint, his life
was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard littl=
e of
him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been desig=
ned
for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His
circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were
exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now
absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present him to the living=
in question--of
which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I=
had
no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered
father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with t=
his
entreaty, or for resisting every repetition to it. His resentment was in
proportion to the distress of his circumstances--and he was doubtless as
violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After =
this
period every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know no=
t.
But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice.
"I must now mention a circumstance which I
would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present
should induce me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I fee=
l no
doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was
left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and
myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment
formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presid=
ed over
it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; =
for
there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge,=
in whose
character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her connivance and aid, h=
e so
far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a
strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded=
to
believe herself in love, and to consent to an elopement. She was then but
fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am h=
appy
to add, that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpecte=
dly
a day or two before the intended elopement, and then Georgiana, unable to
support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked=
up
to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt a=
nd how
I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public
exposure; but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and M=
rs.
Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was
unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I
cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong
inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.
"This, madam, is a faithful narrative of
every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not
absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of
cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of
falsehood he had imposed on you; but his success is not perhaps to be wonde=
red at.
Ignorant as you previously were of everything concerning either, detection
could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination=
.
"You may possibly wonder why all this was=
not
told you last night; but I was not then master enough of myself to know what
could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I =
can
appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from=
our
near relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more, as one of the
executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every
particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should
make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prev=
ented
by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the
possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of
putting this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only
add, God bless you.
"FITZWILLIAM DARCY"
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 36
If
Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to contain=
a
renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation at all of its contents.
But such as they were, it may well be supposed how eagerly she went through
them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited. Her feelings as she r=
ead
were scarcely to be defined. With amazement did she first understand that he
believed any apology to be in his power; and steadfastly was she persuaded,
that he could have no explanation to give, which a just sense of shame would
not conceal. With a strong prejudice against everything he might say, she b=
egan
his account of what had happened at Netherfield. She read with an eagerness
which hardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing
what the next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the sense=
of the
one before her eyes. His belief of her sister's insensibility she instantly
resolved to be false; and his account of the real, the worst objections to =
the
match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing him justice. He express=
ed
no regret for what he had done which satisfied her; his style was not penit=
ent,
but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.
But when this subject was succeeded by his acc=
ount
of Mr. Wickham--when she read with somewhat clearer attention a relation of
events which, if true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth,=
and
which bore so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself--her feeli=
ngs
were yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition. Astonishmen=
t,
apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished to discredit it
entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, "This must be false! This cannot be! =
This
must be the grossest falsehood!"--and when she had gone through the wh=
ole
letter, though scarcely knowing anything of the last page or two, put it
hastily away, protesting that she would not regard it, that she would never
look in it again.
In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts
that could rest on nothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a
minute the letter was unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she
could, she again began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickha=
m,
and commanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence. T=
he
account of his connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what he had
related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy, though she had not
before known its extent, agreed equally well with his own words. So far each
recital confirmed the other; but when she came to the will, the difference =
was
great. What Wickham had said of the living was fresh in her memory, and as =
she
recalled his very words, it was impossible not to feel that there was gross
duplicity on one side or the other; and, for a few moments, she flattered
herself that her wishes did not err. But when she read and re-read with the
closest attention, the particulars immediately following of Wickham's resig=
ning
all pretensions to the living, of his receiving in lieu so considerable a s=
um
as three thousand pounds, again was she forced to hesitate. She put down the
letter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to be impartiality--=
deliberated
on the probability of each statement--but with little success. On both side=
s it
was only assertion. Again she read on; but every line proved more clearly t=
hat
the affair, which she had believed it impossible that any contrivance could=
so
represent as to render Mr. Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, was
capable of a turn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the who=
le.
The extravagance and general profligacy which =
he
scrupled not to lay at Mr. Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her; the m=
ore
so, as she could bring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of him
before his entrance into the ----shire Militia, in which he had engaged at =
the persuasion
of the young man who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had there renewe=
d a
slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life nothing had been known in
Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to his real character, had
information been in her power, she had never felt a wish of inquiring. His
countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possessio=
n of
every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some
distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from=
the
attacks of Mr. Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for
those casual errors under which she would endeavour to class what Mr. Darcy=
had
described as the idleness and vice of many years' continuance. But no such
recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before her, in eve=
ry
charm of air and address; but she could remember no more substantial good t=
han
the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and the regard which his soci=
al
powers had gained him in the mess. After pausing on this point a considerab=
le
while, she once more continued to read. But, alas! the story which followed=
, of
his designs on Miss Darcy, received some confirmation from what had passed
between Colonel Fitzwilliam and herself only the morning before; and at last
she was referred for the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam h=
imself--from
whom she had previously received the information of his near concern in all=
his
cousin's affairs, and whose character she had no reason to question. At one
time she had almost resolved on applying to him, but the idea was checked by
the awkwardness of the application, and at length wholly banished by the
conviction that Mr. Darcy would never have hazarded such a proposal, if he =
had
not been well assured of his cousin's corroboration.
She perfectly remembered everything that had
passed in conversation between Wickham and herself, in their first evening =
at
Mr. Phillips's. Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She=
was
now struck with the impropriety of such
communications to a stranger, and wondered it had escaped her before. She s=
aw
the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsist=
ency
of his professions with his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of
having no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy--that Mr. Darcy might leave the country,=
but
that he should stand his ground; yet he had avoi=
ded
the Netherfield ball the very next week. She remembered also that, till the=
Netherfield
family had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but herself;
but that after their removal it had been everywhere discussed; that he had =
then
no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr. Darcy's character, though he had
assured her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing t=
he
son.
How differently did everything now appear in w=
hich
he was concerned! His attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of v=
iews
solely and hatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity of her fortune proved no
longer the moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at anything=
. His
behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive; he had either =
been
deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying his vanity by
encouraging the preference which she believed she had most incautiously sho=
wn.
Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter and fainter; and in far=
ther
justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not but allow that Mr. Bingley, when
questioned by Jane, had long ago asserted his blamelessness in the affair; =
that
proud and repulsive as were his manners, she had never, in the whole course=
of
their acquaintance--an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much to=
gether,
and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways--seen anything that betrayed=
him
to be unprincipled or unjust--anything that spoke him of irreligious or imm=
oral
habits; that among his own connections he was esteemed and valued--that even
Wickham had allowed him merit as a brother, and that she had often heard him
speak so affectionately of his sister as to prove him capable of some amiable feeling; that had his actions be=
en
what Mr. Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of everything right
could hardly have been concealed from the world; and that friendship betwee=
n a
person capable of it, and such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley, was
incomprehensible.
She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of nei=
ther
Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, parti=
al,
prejudiced, absurd.
"How despicably I have acted!" she
cried; "I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued
myself on my abilities! who have often disdained the generous candour of my
sister, and gratified my vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! How
humiliating is this discovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in l=
ove,
I could not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been=
my folly.
Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the othe=
r,
on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and
ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this
moment I never knew myself."
From herself to Jane--from Jane to Bingley, her
thoughts were in a line which soon brought to her recollection that Mr. Dar=
cy's
explanation there had appeared very insufficient, and she =
read
it again. Widely different was the effect of a second perusal. How could she
deny that credit to his assertions in one instance, which she had been obli=
ged
to give in the other? He declared himself to be totally unsuspicious of her=
sister's
attachment; and she could not help remembering what Charlotte's opinion had
always been. Neither could she deny the justice of his description of Jane.=
She
felt that Jane's feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that
there was a constant complacency in her air and manner not often united with
great sensibility.
When she came to that part of the letter in wh=
ich
her family were mentioned in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach,
her sense of shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too
forcibly for denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded=
as having
passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first disapprobat=
ion,
could not have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers.
The compliment to herself and her sister was n=
ot
unfelt. It soothed, but it could not console her for the contempt which had
thus been self-attracted by the rest of her family; and as she considered t=
hat
Jane's disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest relations, a=
nd
reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt by such impropriet=
y of
conduct, she felt depressed beyond anything she had ever known before.
After wandering along the lane for two hours,
giving way to every variety of thought--re-considering events, determining
probabilities, and reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change so
sudden and so important, fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, m=
ade her
at length return home; and she entered the house with the wish of appearing
cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such reflections as must
make her unfit for conversation.
She was immediately told that the two gentlemen
from Rosings had each called during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few
minutes, to take leave--but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with =
them
at least an hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after=
her
till she could be found. Elizabeth could but just affect concern in missing him; she really rejoi=
ced at
it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was no longer an object; she could think only of her
letter.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 37
The t=
wo
gentlemen left Rosings the next morning, and Mr. Collins having been in wai=
ting
near the lodges, to make them his parting obeisance, was able to bring home=
the
pleasing intelligence, of their appearing in very good health, and in as
tolerable spirits as could be expected, after the melancholy scene so lately
gone through at Rosings. To Rosings he then hastened, to console Lady Cathe=
rine
and her daughter; and on his return brought back, with great satisfaction, a
message from her ladyship, importing that she felt herself so dull as to ma=
ke
her very desirous of having them all to dine with her.
Elizabeth could not see Lady Catherine without
recollecting that, had she chosen it, she might by this time have been
presented to her as her future niece; nor could she think, without a smile,=
of
what her ladyship's indignation would have been. "What would she have
said? how would she have behaved?" were questions with which she amused
herself.
Their first subject was the diminution of the
Rosings party. "I assure you, I feel it exceedingly," said Lady
Catherine; "I believe no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do.
But I am particularly attached to these young men, and know them to be so m=
uch
attached to me! They were excessively sorry to go! But so they always are. =
The dear
Colonel rallied his spirits tolerably till just at last; but Darcy seemed to
feel it most acutely, more, I think, than last year. His attachment to Rosi=
ngs
certainly increases."
Mr. Collins had a compliment, and an allusion =
to
throw in here, which were kindly smiled on by the mother and daughter.
Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Mi=
ss
Bennet seemed out of spirits, and immediately accounting for it by herself,=
by
supposing that she did not like to go home again so soon, she added:
"But if that is the case, you must write =
to
your mother and beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be
very glad of your company, I am sure."
"I am much obliged to your ladyship for y=
our
kind invitation," replied Elizabeth, "but it is not in my power to
accept it. I must be in town next Saturday."
"Why, at that rate, you will have been he=
re
only six weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so
before you came. There can be no occasion for your going so soon. Mrs. Benn=
et
could certainly spare you for another fortnight."
"But my father cannot. He wrote last week=
to
hurry my return."
"Oh! your father of course may spare you,=
if
your mother can. Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. An=
d if
you will stay another month complete, it will be in my power to take=
one
of you as far as London, for I am going there early in June, for a week; an=
d as
Dawson does not object to the barouche-box, there will be very good room for
one of you--and indeed, if the weather should happen to be cool, I should n=
ot
object to taking you both, as you are neither of you large."
"You are all kindness, madam; but I belie=
ve
we must abide by our original plan."
Lady Catherine seemed resigned. "Mrs.
Collins, you must send a servant with them. You know I always speak my mind,
and I cannot bear the idea of two young women travelling post by themselves=
. It
is highly improper. You must contrive to send somebody. I have the greatest
dislike in the world to that sort of thing. Young women should always be
properly guarded and attended, according to their situation in life. When m=
y niece
Georgiana went to Ramsgate last summer, I made a point of her having two
men-servants go with her. Miss Darcy, the daughter of Mr. Darcy, of Pemberl=
ey,
and Lady Anne, could not have appeared with propriety in a different manner=
. I
am excessively attentive to all those things. You must send John with the y=
oung
ladies, Mrs. Collins. I am glad it occurred to me to mention it; for it wou=
ld
really be discreditable to you
"My uncle is to send a servant for us.&qu=
ot;
"Oh! Your uncle! He keeps a man-servant, =
does
he? I am very glad you have somebody who thinks of these things. Where shall
you change horses? Oh! Bromley, of course. If you mention my name at the Be=
ll,
you will be attended to."
Lady Catherine had many other questions to ask
respecting their journey, and as she did not answer them all herself, atten=
tion
was necessary, which Elizabeth believed to be lucky for her; or, with a min=
d so
occupied, she might have forgotten where she was. Reflection must be reserv=
ed
for solitary hours; whenever she was alone, she gave way to it as the great=
est
relief; and not a day went by without a solitary walk, in which she might
indulge in all the delight of unpleasant recollections.
Mr. Darcy's letter she was in a fair way of so=
on
knowing by heart. She studied every sentence; and her feelings towards its
writer were at times widely different. When she remembered the style of his
address, she was still full of indignation; but when she considered how
unjustly she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against =
herself;
and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. His attachme=
nt
excited gratitude, his general character respect; but she could not approve
him; nor could she for a moment repent her refusal, or feel the slightest
inclination ever to see him again. In her own past behaviour, there was a
constant source of vexation and regret; and in the unhappy defects of her
family, a subject of yet heavier chagrin. They were hopeless of remedy. Her
father, contented with laughing at them, would never exert himself to restr=
ain
the wild giddiness of his youngest daughters; and her mother, with manners =
so
far from right herself, was entirely insensible of the evil. Elizabeth had
frequently united with Jane in an endeavour to check the imprudence of
Catherine and Lydia; but while they were supported by their mother's
indulgence, what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spir=
ited,
irritable, and completely under Lydia's guidance, had been always affronted=
by
their advice; and Lydia, self-willed and careless, would scarcely give them=
a
hearing. They were ignorant, idle, and vain. While there was an officer in
Meryton, they would flirt with him; and while Meryton was within a walk of
Longbourn, they would be going there forever.
Anxiety on Jane's behalf was another prevailing
concern; and Mr. Darcy's explanation, by restoring Bingley to all her former
good opinion, heightened the sense of what Jane had lost. His affection was
proved to have been sincere, and his conduct cleared of all blame, unless a=
ny could
attach to the implicitness of his confidence in his friend. How grievous th=
en
was the thought that, of a situation so desirable in every respect, so repl=
ete
with advantage, so promising for happiness, Jane had been deprived, by the
folly and indecorum of her own family!
When to these recollections was added the
development of Wickham's character, it may be easily believed that the happy
spirits which had seldom been depressed before, were now so much affected a=
s to
make it almost impossible for her to appear tolerably cheerful.
Their engagements at Rosings were as frequent
during the last week of her stay as they had been at first. The very last
evening was spent there; and her ladyship again inquired minutely into the
particulars of their journey, gave them directions as to the best method of
packing, and was so urgent on the necessity of placing gowns in the only ri=
ght way,
that Maria thought herself obliged, on her return, to undo all the work of =
the
morning, and pack her trunk afresh.
When they parted, Lady Catherine, with great
condescension, wished them a good journey, and invited them to come to Huns=
ford
again next year; and Miss de Bourgh exerted herself so far as to curtsey and
hold out her hand to both.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 38
On Sa=
turday
morning Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met for breakfast a few minutes before the
others appeared; and he took the opportunity of paying the parting civiliti=
es
which he deemed indispensably necessary.
"I know not, Miss Elizabeth," said h=
e,
"whether Mrs. Collins has yet expressed her sense of your kindness in
coming to us; but I am very certain you will not leave the house without
receiving her thanks for it. The favour of your company has been much felt,=
I
assure you. We know how little there is to tempt anyone to our humble abode.
Our plain manner of living, our small rooms and few domestics, and the litt=
le
we see of the world, must make Hunsford extremely dull to a young lady like=
yourself;
but I hope you will believe us grateful for the condescension, and that we =
have
done everything in our power to prevent your spending your time
unpleasantly."
Elizabeth was eager with her thanks and assura=
nces
of happiness. She had spent six weeks with great enjoyment; and the pleasur=
e of
being with Charlotte, and the kind attentions she had received, must make <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> her =
span>feel
the obliged. Mr. Collins was gratified, and with a more smiling solemnity
replied:
"It gives me great pleasure to hear that =
you
have passed your time not disagreeably. We have certainly done our best; and
most fortunately having it in our power to introduce you to very superior
society, and, from our connection with Rosings, the frequent means of varyi=
ng
the humble home scene, I think we may flatter ourselves that your Hunsford =
visit
cannot have been entirely irksome. Our situation with regard to Lady
Catherine's family is indeed the sort of extraordinary advantage and blessi=
ng
which few can boast. You see on what a footing we are. You see how continua=
lly
we are engaged there. In truth I must acknowledge that, with all the
disadvantages of this humble parsonage, I should not think anyone abiding i=
n it
an object of compassion, while they are sharers of our intimacy at
Rosings."
Words were insufficient for the elevation of h=
is
feelings; and he was obliged to walk about the room, while Elizabeth tried =
to
unite civility and truth in a few short sentences.
"You may, in fact, carry a very favourable
report of us into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin. I flatter myself at least =
that
you will be able to do so. Lady Catherine's great attentions to Mrs. Collins
you have been a daily witness of; and altogether I trust it does not appear=
that
your friend has drawn an unfortunate--but on this point it will be as well =
to
be silent. Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that I can from =
my
heart most cordially wish you equal felicity in marriage. My dear Charlotte=
and
I have but one mind and one way of thinking. There is in everything a most
remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us. We seem to have b=
een
designed for each other."
Elizabeth could safely say that it was a great
happiness where that was the case, and with equal sincerity could add, that=
she
firmly believed and rejoiced in his domestic comforts. She was not sorry,
however, to have the recital of them interrupted by the lady from whom they
sprang. Poor Charlotte! it was melancholy to leave her to such society! But=
she
had chosen it with her eyes open; and though evidently regretting that her
visitors were to go, she did not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and h=
er
housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, and all their dependent concerns,=
had
not yet lost their charms.
At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were
fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready.
After an affectionate parting between the friends, Elizabeth was attended to
the carriage by Mr. Collins, and as they walked down the garden he was
commissioning her with his best respects to all her family, not forgetting =
his
thanks for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his=
compliments
to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, though unknown. He then handed her in, Maria
followed, and the door was on the point of being closed, when he suddenly
reminded them, with some consternation, that they had hitherto forgotten to
leave any message for the ladies at Rosings.
"But," he added, "you will of
course wish to have your humble respects delivered to them, with your grate=
ful
thanks for their kindness to you while you have been here."
Elizabeth made no objection; the door was then
allowed to be shut, and the carriage drove off.
"Good gracious!" cried Maria, after a
few minutes' silence, "it seems but a day or two since we first came! =
and
yet how many things have happened!"
"A great many indeed," said her
companion with a sigh.
"We have dined nine times at Rosings, bes=
ides
drinking tea there twice! How much I shall have to tell!"
Elizabeth added privately, "And how much I
shall have to conceal!"
Their journey was performed without much
conversation, or any alarm; and within four hours of their leaving Hunsford
they reached Mr. Gardiner's house, where they were to remain a few days.
Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little
opportunity of studying her spirits, amidst the various engagements which t=
he
kindness of her aunt had reserved for them. But Jane was to go home with he=
r,
and at Longbourn there would be leisure enough for observation.
It was not without an effort, meanwhile, that =
she
could wait even for Longbourn, before she told her sister of Mr. Darcy's
proposals. To know that she had the power of revealing what would so
exceedingly astonish Jane, and must, at the same time, so highly gratify
whatever of her own vanity she had not yet been able to reason away, was su=
ch a
temptation to openness as nothing could have conquered but the state of
indecision in which she remained as to the extent of what she should
communicate; and her fear, if she once entered on the subject, of being hur=
ried
into repeating something of Bingley which might only grieve her sister furt=
her.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 39
It wa=
s the
second week in May, in which the three young ladies set out together from
Gracechurch Street for the town of ----, in Hertfordshire; and, as they drew
near the appointed inn where Mr. Bennet's carriage was to meet them, they
quickly perceived, in token of the coachman's punctuality, both Kitty and L=
ydia
looking out of a dining-room up stairs. These two girls had been above an h=
our
in the place, happily employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching t=
he
sentinel on guard, and dressing a salad and cucumber.
After welcoming their sisters, they triumphant=
ly
displayed a table set out with such cold meat as an inn larder usually affo=
rds,
exclaiming, "Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?"=
;
"And we mean to treat you all," added
Lydia, "but you must lend us the money, for we have just spent ours at=
the
shop out there." Then, showing her purchases--"Look here, I have
bought this bonnet. I do not think it is very pretty; but I thought I might=
as
well buy it as not. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I get home, and se=
e if
I can make it up any better."
And when her sisters abused it as ugly, she ad=
ded,
with perfect unconcern, "Oh! but there were two or three much uglier in
the shop; and when I have bought some prettier-coloured satin to trim it wi=
th
fresh, I think it will be very tolerable. Besides, it will not much signify
what one wears this summer, after the ----shire have left Meryton, and they=
are
going in a fortnight."
"Are they indeed!" cried Elizabeth, =
with
the greatest satisfaction.
"They are going to be encamped near Brigh=
ton;
and I do so want papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such=
a
delicious scheme; and I dare say would hardly cost anything at all. Mamma w=
ould
like to go too of all things! Only think what a miserable summer else we sh=
all have!"
"Yes," thought Elizabeth, " tha=
t would be a delightful scheme indeed, and
completely do for us at once. Good Heaven! Brighton, and a whole campful of
soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor regiment of mili=
tia,
and the monthly balls of Meryton!"
"Now I have got some news for you," =
said
Lydia, as they sat down at table. "What do you think? It is excellent
news--capital news--and about a certain person we all like!"
Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and t=
he
waiter was told he need not stay. Lydia laughed, and said:
"Aye, that is just like your formality and
discretion. You thought the waiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare sa=
y he
often hears worse things said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fel=
low!
I am glad he is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life. Well, but now
for my news; it is about dear Wickham; too good for the waiter, is it not? =
There
is no danger of Wickham's marrying Mary King. There's for you! She is gone =
down
to her uncle at Liverpool: gone to stay. Wickham is safe."
"And Mary King is safe!" added
Elizabeth; "safe from a connection imprudent as to fortune."
"She is a great fool for going away, if s=
he
liked him."
"But I hope there is no strong attachment=
on
either side," said Jane.
"I am sure there is not on his . I will answer for it, he never car=
ed three
straws about her--who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?"=
Elizabeth was shocked to think that, however
incapable of such coarseness of ex=
pression
herself, the coarseness of the
As soon as all had ate, and the elder ones pai=
d,
the carriage was ordered; and after some contrivance, the whole party, with=
all
their boxes, work-bags, and parcels, and the unwelcome addition of Kitty's =
and Lydia's
purchases, were seated in it.
"How nicely we are all crammed in,"
cried Lydia. "I am glad I bought my bonnet, if it is only for the fun =
of
having another bandbox! Well, now let us be quite comfortable and snug, and
talk and laugh all the way home. And in the first place, let us hear what h=
as
happened to you all since you went away. Have you seen any pleasant men? Ha=
ve
you had any flirting? I was in great hopes that one of you would have got a
husband before you came back. Jane will be quite an old maid soon, I declar=
e. She
is almost three-and-twenty! Lord, how ashamed I should be of not being marr=
ied
before three-and-twenty! My aunt Phillips wants you so to get husbands, you
can't think. She says Lizzy had better have taken Mr. Collins; but I do
not think there would have been any fun in it. Lord! how I should like to be
married before any of you; and then I would chaperon you about to all the
balls. Dear me! we had such a good piece of fun the other day at Colonel
Forster's. Kitty and me were to spend the day there, and Mrs. Forster promi=
sed
to have a little dance in the evening; (by the bye, Mrs. Forster and me are=
such friends!) and so she asked the two Harri=
ngtons
to come, but Harriet was ill, and so Pen was forced to come by herself; and
then, what do you think we did? We dressed up Chamberlayne in woman's cloth=
es
on purpose to pass for a lady, only think what fun! Not a soul knew of it, =
but
Colonel and Mrs. Forster, and Kitty and me, except my aunt, for we were for=
ced to
borrow one of her gowns; and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When De=
nny,
and Wickham, and Pratt, and two or three more of the men came in, they did =
not
know him in the least. Lord! how I laughed! and so did Mrs. Forster. I thou=
ght
I should have died. And that made the men suspect something, and then=
they
soon found out what was the matter."
With such kinds of histories of their parties =
and
good jokes, did Lydia, assisted by Kitty's hints and additions, endeavour to
amuse her companions all the way to Longbourn. Elizabeth listened as little=
as
she could, but there was no escaping the frequent mention of Wickham's name=
.
Their reception at home was most kind. Mrs. Be=
nnet
rejoiced to see Jane in undiminished beauty; and more than once during dinn=
er
did Mr. Bennet say voluntarily to Elizabeth:
"I am glad you are come back, Lizzy."=
;
Their party in the dining-room was large, for
almost all the Lucases came to meet Maria and hear the news; and various we=
re
the subjects that occupied them: Lady Lucas was inquiring of Maria, after t=
he
welfare and poultry of her eldest daughter; Mrs. Bennet was doubly engaged,=
on
one hand collecting an account of the present fashions from Jane, who sat s=
ome
way below her, and, on the other, retailing them all to the younger Lucases;
and Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any other person's, was enumerating
the various pleasures of the morning to anybody who would hear her.
"Oh! Mary," said she, "I wish y=
ou
had gone with us, for we had such fun! As we went along, Kitty and I drew up
the blinds, and pretended there was nobody in the coach; and I should have =
gone
so all the way, if Kitty had not been sick; and when we got to the George, =
I do
think we behaved very handsomely, for we treated the other three with the n=
icest
cold luncheon in the world, and if you would have gone, we would have treat=
ed you
too. And then when we came away it was such fun! I thought we never should =
have
got into the coach. I was ready to die of laughter. And then we were so mer=
ry
all the way home! we talked and laughed so loud, that anybody might have he=
ard
us ten miles off!"
To this Mary very gravely replied, "Far b=
e it
from me, my dear sister, to depreciate such pleasures! They would doubtless=
be
congenial with the generality of female minds. But I confess they would hav=
e no
charms for me --I should infinitely
prefer a book."
But of this answer Lydia heard not a word. She
seldom listened to anybody for more than half a minute, and never attended =
to
Mary at all.
In the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the res=
t of
the girls to walk to Meryton, and to see how everybody went on; but Elizabe=
th
steadily opposed the scheme. It should not be said that the Miss Bennets co=
uld not
be at home half a day before they were in pursuit of the officers. There was
another reason too for her opposition. She dreaded seeing Mr. Wickham again,
and was resolved to avoid it as long as possible. The comfort to her =
span>of
the regiment's approaching removal was indeed beyond expression. In a fortn=
ight
they were to go--and once gone, she hoped there could be nothing more to pl=
ague
her on his account.
She had not been many hours at home before she
found that the Brighton scheme, of which Lydia had given them a hint at the
inn, was under frequent discussion between her parents. Elizabeth saw direc=
tly
that her father had not the smallest intention of yielding; but his answers
were at the same time so vague and equivocal, that her mother, though often=
disheartened,
had never yet despaired of succeeding at last.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 40
Eliza=
beth's
impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could no longer be overc=
ome;
and at length, resolving to suppress every particular in which her sister w=
as
concerned, and preparing her to be surprised, she related to her the next m=
orning
the chief of the scene between Mr. Darcy and herself.
Miss Bennet's astonishment was soon lessened by
the strong sisterly partiality which made any admiration of Elizabeth appear
perfectly natural; and all surprise was shortly lost in other feelings. She=
was
sorry that Mr. Darcy should have delivered his sentiments in a manner so li=
ttle
suited to recommend them; but still more was she grieved for the unhappiness
which her sister's refusal must have given him.
"His being so sure of succeeding was
wrong," said she, "and certainly ought not to have appeared; but
consider how much it must increase his disappointment!"
"Indeed," replied Elizabeth, "I=
am
heartily sorry for him; but he has other feelings, which will probably soon
drive away his regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing
him?"
"Blame you! Oh, no."
"But you blame me for having spoken so wa=
rmly
of Wickham?"
"No--I do not know that you were wrong in
saying what you did."
"But you will know it, when I tell you what happened t=
he
very next day."
She then spoke of the letter, repeating the wh=
ole
of its contents as far as they concerned George Wickham. What a stroke was =
this
for poor Jane! who would willingly have gone through the world without
believing that so much wickedness existed in the whole race of mankind, as =
was
here collected in one individual. Nor was Darcy's vindication, though grate=
ful
to her feelings, capable of consoling her for such discovery. Most earnestly
did she labour to prove the probability of error, and seek to clear the one
without involving the other.
"This will not do," said Elizabeth;
"you never will be able to make both of them good for anything. Take y=
our
choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such a quanti=
ty
of merit between them; just enough to make one good sort of man; and of lat=
e it
has been shifting about pretty much. For my part, I am inclined to believe =
it
all Darcy's; but you shall do as you choose."
It was some time, however, before a smile coul=
d be
extorted from Jane.
"I do not know when I have been more
shocked," said she. "Wickham so very bad! It is almost past belie=
f.
And poor Mr. Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered. S=
uch
a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill opinion, too! and havi=
ng
to relate such a thing of his sister! It is really too distressing. I am su=
re
you must feel it so."
"Oh! no, my regret and compassion are all
done away by seeing you so full of both. I know you will do him such ample
justice, that I am growing every moment more unconcerned and indifferent. Y=
our
profusion makes me saving; and if you lament over him much longer, my heart
will be as light as a feather."
"Poor Wickham! there is such an expressio=
n of
goodness in his countenance! such an openness and gentleness in his
manner!"
"There certainly was some great mismanage=
ment
in the education of those two young men. One has got all the goodness, and =
the
other all the appearance of it."
"I never thought Mr. Darcy so deficient in
the appearance of it as you used to do."
"And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever =
in
taking so decided a dislike to him, without any reason. It is such a spur to
one's genius, such an opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind. One =
may
be continually abusive without saying anything just; but one cannot always =
be
laughing at a man without now and then stumbling on something witty." =
"Lizzy, when you first read that letter, =
I am
sure you could not treat the matter as you do now."
"Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable
enough, I may say unhappy. And with no one to speak to about what I felt, no
Jane to comfort me and say that I had not been so very weak and vain and
nonsensical as I knew I had! Oh! how I wanted you!"
"How unfortunate that you should have used
such very strong expressions in speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy, for now t=
hey do appear wholly undeserved."
"Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking
with bitterness is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been
encouraging. There is one point on which I want your advice. I want to be t=
old
whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in general underst=
and Wickham's
character."
Miss Bennet paused a little, and then replied,
"Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What =
is
your opinion?"
"That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. D=
arcy
has not authorised me to make his communication public. On the contrary, ev=
ery
particular relative to his sister was meant to be kept as much as possible =
to myself;
and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who w=
ill
believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that it
would be the death of half the good people in Meryton to attempt to place h=
im
in an amiable light. I am not equal to it. Wickham will soon be gone; and
therefore it will not signify to anyone here what he really is. Some time h=
ence
it will be all found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not
knowing it before. At present I will say nothing about it."
"You are quite right. To have his errors =
made
public might ruin him for ever. He is now, perhaps, sorry for what he has d=
one,
and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him desperate.&qu=
ot;
The tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed by =
this
conversation. She had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her
for a fortnight, and was certain of a willing listener in Jane, whenever she
might wish to talk again of either. But there was still something lurking
behind, of which prudence forbade the disclosure. She dared not relate the
other half of Mr. Darcy's letter, nor explain to her sister how sincerely s=
he had
been valued by her friend. Here was knowledge in which no one could partake;
and she was sensible that nothing less than a perfect understanding between=
the
parties could justify her in throwing off this last encumbrance of mystery.
"And then," said she, "if that very improbable event should =
ever
take place, I shall merely be able to tell what Bingley may tell in a much =
more
agreeable manner himself. The liberty of communication cannot be mine till =
it
has lost all its value!"
She was now, on being settled at home, at leis=
ure
to observe the real state of her sister's spirits. Jane was not happy. She
still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley. Having never even fanc=
ied
herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment, =
and,
from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than most first attachments
often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him=
to
every other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the feel=
ings
of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets whi=
ch
must have been injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.
"Well, Lizzy," said Mrs. Bennet one =
day,
"what is your opinion now
"I do not believe he will ever live at
Netherfield any more."
"Oh well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody
wants him to come. Though I shall always say he used my daughter extremely =
ill;
and if I was her, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am
sure Jane will die of a broken heart; and then he will be sorry for what he=
has
done."
But as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from
any such expectation, she made no answer.
"Well, Lizzy," continued her mother,
soon afterwards, "and so the Collinses live very comfortable, do they?
Well, well, I only hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep?
Charlotte is an excellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as h=
er mother,
she is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in their =
housekeeping,
I dare say."
"No, nothing at all."
"A great deal of good management, depend =
upon
it. Yes, yes. they will take care not to outrun their incom=
e. They will never be distressed for money. Well=
, much
good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn
when your father is dead. They look upon it as quite their own, I dare say,
whenever that happens."
"It was a subject which they could not
mention before me."
"No; it would have been strange if they h=
ad;
but I make no doubt they often talk of it between themselves. Well, if they=
can
be easy with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better. I
should be ashamed of having one that was only entailed on me."
<=
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er 41
The f=
irst
week of their return was soon gone. The second began. It was the last of the
regiment's stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood w=
ere
drooping apace. The dejection was almost universal. The elder Miss Bennets
alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course=
of
their employments. Very frequently were they reproached for this insensibil=
ity
by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not compreh=
end
such hard-heartedness in any of the family.
"Good Heaven! what is to become of us? Wh=
at
are we to do?" would they often exclaim in the bitterness of woe.
"How can you be smiling so, Lizzy?"
Their affectionate mother shared all their gri=
ef;
she remembered what she had herself endured on a similar occasion,
five-and-twenty years ago.
"I am sure," said she, "I cried=
for
two days together when Colonel Miller's regiment went away. I thought I sho=
uld
have broken my heart."
"I am sure I shall break mine ," said Lydia.
"If one could but go to Brighton!"
observed Mrs. Bennet.
"Oh, yes!--if one could but go to Brighto=
n!
But papa is so disagreeable."
"A little sea-bathing would set me up
forever."
"And my aunt Phillips is sure it would do=
me a
great deal of good," added Kitty.
Such were the kind of lamentations resounding
perpetually through Longbourn House. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by them;
but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of M=
r.
Darcy's objections; and never had she been so much disposed to pardon his i=
nterference
in the views of his friend.
But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly
cleared away; for she received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of=
the
colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable frie=
nd
was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good humo=
ur and
good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of their =
three months' acquaintance they had been intim=
ate two .
The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her
adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortificatio=
n of
Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister's
feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for every=
one's
congratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever; whi=
lst
the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repined at her fate in terms as
unreasonable as her accent was peevish.
"I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not=
ask
me as well as Lydia," said she, "=
Though
I am not her particular friend. I have just as mu=
ch right
to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older."
In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her
reasonable, and Jane to make her resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this
invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her moth=
er
and Lydia, that she considered it as the death warrant of all possibility of
common sense for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her we=
re
it known, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go.
She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia's general behaviour, =
the
little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mr=
s.
Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a
companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home. =
He
heard her attentively, and then said:
"Lydia will never be easy until she has
exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her =
to
do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the
present circumstances."
"If you were aware," said Elizabeth,
"of the very great disadvantage to us all which must arise from the pu=
blic
notice of Lydia's unguarded and imprudent manner--nay, which has already ar=
isen
from it, I am sure you would judge differently in the affair."
"Already arisen?" repeated Mr. Benne=
t.
"What, has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy!=
But
do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected w=
ith
a little absurdity are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of pit=
iful
fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydia's folly."
"Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such
injuries to resent. It is not of particular, but of general evils, which I =
am
now complaining. Our importance, our respectability in the world must be
affected by the wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint
which mark Lydia's character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. If you, =
my
dear father, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, a=
nd of
teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of her li=
fe,
she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed,
and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herse=
lf
or her family ridiculous; a flirt, too, in the worst and meanest degree of
flirtation; without any attraction beyond youth and a tolerable person; and=
, from
the ignorance and emptiness of her mind, wholly unable to ward off any port=
ion
of that universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In th=
is
danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Va=
in, ignorant,
idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! Oh! my dear father, can you suppose it
possible that they will not be censured and despised wherever they are know=
n,
and that their sisters will not be often involved in the disgrace?"
Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the
subject, and affectionately taking her hand said in reply:
"Do not make yourself uneasy, my love.
Wherever you and Jane are known you must be respected and valued; and you w=
ill
not appear to less advantage for having a couple of--or I may say, three--v=
ery
silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to =
Brighton.
Let her go, then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out =
of
any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to
anybody. At Brighton she will be of less importance even as a common flirt =
than
she has been here. The officers will find women better worth their notice. =
Let
us hope, therefore, that her being there may teach her her own insignifican=
ce.
At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorising us to =
lock
her up for the rest of her life."
With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be
content; but her own opinion continued the same, and she left him disappoin=
ted
and sorry. It was not in her nature, however, to increase her vexations by
dwelling on them. She was confident of having performed her duty, and to fr=
et over
unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her dispositi=
on.
Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of
her conference with her father, their indignation would hardly have found
expression in their united volubility. In Lydia's imagination, a visit to
Brighton comprised every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw, with the
creative eye of fancy, the streets of that gay bathing-place covered with
officers. She saw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores of
them at present unknown. She saw all the glories of the camp--its tents str=
etched
forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded with the young and the gay,=
and
dazzling with scarlet; and, to complete the view, she saw herself seated
beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.
Had she known her sister sought to tear her fr=
om
such prospects and such realities as these, what would have been her
sensations? They could have been understood only by her mother, who might h=
ave
felt nearly the same. Lydia's going to Brighton was all that consoled her f=
or
her melancholy conviction of her husband's never intending to go there hims=
elf.
But they were entirely ignorant of what had
passed; and their raptures continued, with little intermission, to the very=
day
of Lydia's leaving home.
Elizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the l=
ast
time. Having been frequently in company with him since her return, agitation
was pretty well over; the agitations of formal partiality entirely so. She =
had
even learnt to detect, in the very gentleness which had first delighted her=
, an
affectation and a sameness to disgust and weary. In his present behaviour to
herself, moreover, she had a fresh source of displeasure, for the inclinati=
on
he soon testified of renewing those intentions which had marked the early p=
art
of their acquaintance could only serve, after what had since passed, to pro=
voke
her. She lost all concern for him in finding herself thus selected as the
object of such idle and frivolous gallantry; and while she steadily repress=
ed
it, could not but feel the reproof contained in his believing, that however
long, and for whatever cause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her vanity
would be gratified, and her preference secured at any time by their renewal=
.
On the very last day of the regiment's remaini=
ng
at Meryton, he dined, with other of the officers, at Longbourn; and so litt=
le
was Elizabeth disposed to part from him in good humour, that on his making =
some
inquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she ment=
ioned
Colonel Fitzwilliam's and Mr. Darcy's having both spent three weeks at Rosi=
ngs,
and asked him, if he was acquainted with the former.
He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but =
with
a moment's recollection and a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly
seen him often; and, after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man, =
asked
her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in his favour. With an air=
of
indifference he soon afterwards added:
"How long did you say he was at
Rosings?"
"Nearly three weeks."
"And you saw him frequently?"
"Yes, almost every day."
"His manners are very different from his
cousin's."
"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Dar=
cy
improves upon acquaintance."
"Indeed!" cried Mr. Wickham with a l=
ook
which did not escape her. "And pray, may I ask?--" But checking
himself, he added, in a gayer tone, "Is it in address that he improves?
Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his ordinary style?--for I dare =
not
hope," he continued in a lower and more serious tone, "that he is
improved in essentials."
"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "In
essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was."
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely
knowing whether to rejoice over her words, or to distrust their meaning. Th=
ere
was a something in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensi=
ve and
anxious attention, while she added:
"When I said that he improved on
acquaintance, I did not mean that his mind or his manners were in a state of
improvement, but that, from knowing him better, his disposition was better
understood."
Wickham's alarm now appeared in a heightened
complexion and agitated look; for a few minutes he was silent, till, shaking
off his embarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the gentlest of =
accents:
"You, who so well know my feeling towards=
Mr.
Darcy, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise
enough to assume even the appearan=
ce of what is right. His pride, in that
direction, may be of service, if not to himself, to many others, for it must
only deter him from such foul misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear
that the sort of cautiousness to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, =
is
merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion and judgeme=
nt
he stands much in awe. His fear of her has always operated, I know, when th=
ey
were together; and a good deal is to be imputed to his wish of forwarding t=
he
match with Miss de Bourgh, which I am certain he has very much at heart.&qu=
ot;
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, b=
ut
she answered only by a slight inclination of the head. She saw that he want=
ed
to engage her on the old subject of his grievances, and she was in no humou=
r to
indulge him. The rest of the evening passed with the appearance , on his side, of usual
cheerfulness, but with no further attempt to distinguish Elizabeth; and they
parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never
meeting again.
When the party broke up, Lydia returned with M=
rs.
Forster to Meryton, from whence they were to set out early the next morning.
The separation between her and her family was rather noisy than pathetic. K=
itty
was the only one who shed tears; but she did weep from vexation and envy. M=
rs. Bennet
was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her daughter, and impres=
sive
in her injunctions that she should not miss the opportunity of enjoying her=
self
as much as possible--advice which there was every reason to believe would be
well attended to; and in the clamorous happiness of Lydia herself in bidding
farewell, the more gentle adieus of her sisters were uttered without being
heard.
<=
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er 42
Had
Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could not have
formed a very pleasing opinion of conjugal felicity or domestic comfort. Her
father, captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good humour
which youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak
understanding and illiberal mind had very early in their marriage put an en=
d to
all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and confidence had vanished for
ever; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Benn=
et
was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his o=
wn imprudence
had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console the
unfortunate for their folly or their vice. He was fond of the country and of
books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal enjoyments. To his wi=
fe
he was very little otherwise indebted, than as her ignorance and folly had
contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which a man
would in general wish to owe to his wife; but where other powers of
entertainment are wanting, the true philosopher will derive benefit from su=
ch
as are given.
Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the
impropriety of her father's behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it =
with
pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treat=
ment
of herself, she endeavoured to forget what she could not overlook, and to b=
anish
from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum
which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own children, was so hig=
hly
reprehensible. But she had never felt so strongly as now the disadvantages
which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been s=
o fully
aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talen=
ts,
which, rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of his
daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.
When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's
departure she found little other cause for satisfaction in the loss of the
regiment. Their parties abroad were less varied than before, and at home she
had a mother and sister whose constant repinings at the dullness of everyth=
ing
around them threw a real gloom over their domestic circle; and, though Kitt=
y might
in time regain her natural degree of sense, since the disturbers of her bra=
in
were removed, her other sister, from whose disposition greater evil might be
apprehended, was likely to be hardened in all her folly and assurance by a
situation of such double danger as a watering-place and a camp. Upon the wh=
ole,
therefore, she found, what has been sometimes found before, that an event to
which she had been looking with impatient desire did not, in taking place,
bring all the satisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently
necessary to name some other period for the commencement of actual felicity=
--to
have some other point on which her wishes and hopes might be fixed, and by =
again
enjoying the pleasure of anticipation, console herself for the present, and
prepare for another disappointment. Her tour to the Lakes was now the objec=
t of
her happiest thoughts; it was her best consolation for all the uncomfortable
hours which the discontentedness of her mother and Kitty made inevitable; a=
nd
could she have included Jane in the scheme, every part of it would have been
perfect.
"But it is fortunate," thought she,
"that I have something to wish for. Were the whole arrangement complet=
e,
my disappointment would be certain. But here, by carrying with me one cease=
less
source of regret in my sister's absence, I may reasonably hope to have all =
my
expectations of pleasure realised. A scheme of which every part promises
delight can never be successful; and general disappointment is only warded =
off
by the defence of some little peculiar vexation."
When Lydia went away she promised to write very
often and very minutely to her mother and Kitty; but her letters were always
long expected, and always very short. Those to her mother contained little =
else
than that they were just returned from the library, where such and such
officers had attended them, and where she had seen such beautiful ornaments=
as made
her quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a new parasol, which she would =
have
described more fully, but was obliged to leave off in a violent hurry, as M=
rs.
Forster called her, and they were going off to the camp; and from her
correspondence with her sister, there was still less to be learnt--for her =
letters
to Kitty, though rather longer, were much too full of lines under the words=
to
be made public.
After the first fortnight or three weeks of her
absence, health, good humour, and cheerfulness began to reappear at Longbou=
rn.
Everything wore a happier aspect. The families who had been in town for the
winter came back again, and summer finery and summer engagements arose. Mrs.
Bennet was restored to her usual querulous serenity; and, by the middle of =
June,
Kitty was so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton without tears; an
event of such happy promise as to make Elizabeth hope that by the following
Christmas she might be so tolerably reasonable as not to mention an officer
above once a day, unless, by some cruel and malicious arrangement at the War
Office, another regiment should be quartered in Meryton.
The time fixed for the beginning of their nort=
hern
tour was now fast approaching, and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when=
a
letter arrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its commencement a=
nd curtailed
its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented by business from setting out ti=
ll a
fortnight later in July, and must be in London again within a month, and as
that left too short a period for them to go so far, and see so much as they=
had
proposed, or at least to see it with the leisure and comfort they had built=
on,
they were obliged to give up the Lakes, and substitute a more contracted to=
ur,
and, according to the present plan, were to go no farther northwards than
Derbyshire. In that county there was enough to be seen to occupy the chief =
of
their three weeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a peculiarly strong attracti=
on.
The town where she had formerly passed some years of her life, and where th=
ey
were now to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of her curios=
ity
as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale, or the Pea=
k.
Elizabeth was excessively disappointed; she had
set her heart on seeing the Lakes, and still thought there might have been =
time
enough. But it was her business to be satisfied--and certainly her temper t=
o be
happy; and all was soon right again.
With the mention of Derbyshire there were many
ideas connected. It was impossible for her to see the word without thinking=
of
Pemberley and its owner. "But surely," said she, "I may enter
his county with impunity, and rob it of a few petrified spars without his
perceiving me."
The period of expectation was now doubled. Four
weeks were to pass away before her uncle and aunt's arrival. But they did p=
ass
away, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, with their four children, did at length ap=
pear
at Longbourn. The children, two girls of six and eight years old, and two y=
ounger
boys, were to be left under the particular care of their cousin Jane, who w=
as
the general favourite, and whose steady sense and sweetness of temper exact=
ly
adapted her for attending to them in every way--teaching them, playing with
them, and loving them.
The Gardiners stayed only one night at Longbou=
rn,
and set off the next morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and
amusement. One enjoyment was certain--that of suitableness of companions; a
suitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear inconveniences--c=
heerfulness
to enhance every pleasure--and affection and intelligence, which might supp=
ly
it among themselves if there were disappointments abroad.
It is not the object of this work to give a
description of Derbyshire, nor of any of the remarkable places through which
their route thither lay; Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenilworth, Birmingham,
etc. are sufficiently known. A small part of Derbyshire is all the present =
concern.
To the little town of Lambton, the scene of Mrs. Gardiner's former residenc=
e,
and where she had lately learned some acquaintance still remained, they bent
their steps, after having seen all the principal wonders of the country; and
within five miles of Lambton, Elizabeth found from her aunt that Pemberley =
was
situated. It was not in their direct road, nor more than a mile or two out =
of
it. In talking over their route the evening before, Mrs. Gardiner expressed=
an
inclination to see the place again. Mr. Gardiner declared his willingness, =
and
Elizabeth was applied to for her approbation.
"My love, should not you like to see a pl=
ace
of which you have heard so much?" said her aunt; "a place, too, w=
ith
which so many of your acquaintances are connected. Wickham passed all his y=
outh
there, you know."
Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she ha=
d no
business at Pemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for seeing
it. She must own that she was tired of seeing great houses; after going ove=
r so
many, she really had no pleasure in fine carpets or satin curtains.
Mrs. Gardiner abused her stupidity. "If it
were merely a fine house richly furnished," said she, "I should n=
ot
care about it myself; but the grounds are delightful. They have some of the
finest woods in the country."
Elizabeth said no more--but her mind could not
acquiesce. The possibility of meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the place,
instantly occurred. It would be dreadful! She blushed at the very idea, and=
thought
it would be better to speak openly to her aunt than to run such a risk. But
against this there were objections; and she finally resolved that it could =
be
the last resource, if her private inquiries to the absence of the family we=
re
unfavourably answered.
Accordingly, when she retired at night, she as=
ked
the chambermaid whether Pemberley were not a very fine place? what was the =
name
of its proprietor? and, with no little alarm, whether the family were down =
for the
summer? A most welcome negative followed the last question--and her alarms =
now
being removed, she was at leisure to feel a great deal of curiosity to see =
the
house herself; and when the subject was revived the next morning, and she w=
as
again applied to, could readily answer, and with a proper air of indifferen=
ce,
that she had not really any dislike to the scheme. To Pemberley, therefore,
they were to go.
<=
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er 43
Eliza=
beth,
as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods wi=
th
some perturbation; and when at length they turned in at the lodge, her spir=
its
were in a high flutter.
The park was very large, and contained great
variety of ground. They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove f=
or
some time through a beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.
Elizabeth's mind was too full for conversation,
but she saw and admired every remarkable spot and point of view. They gradu=
ally
ascended for half-a-mile, and then found themselves at the top of a
considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly cau=
ght
by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which t=
he
road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome stone building,
standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills; =
and
in front, a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater, but
without any artificial appearance. Its banks were neither formal nor falsely
adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which natu=
re
had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an
awkward taste. They were all of them warm in their admiration; and at that
moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!
They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, a=
nd
drove to the door; and, while examining the nearer aspect of the house, all=
her
apprehension of meeting its owner returned. She dreaded lest the chambermaid
had been mistaken. On applying to see the place, they were admitted into th=
e hall;
and Elizabeth, as they waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to wonder at=
her
being where she was.
The housekeeper came; a respectable-looking
elderly woman, much less fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of
finding her. They followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well
proportioned room, handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying
it, went to a window to enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, wh=
ich they
had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the distance, was a
beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked =
on
the whole scene, the river, the trees scattered on its banks and the windin=
g of
the valley, as far as she could trace it, with delight. As they passed into
other rooms these objects were taking different positions; but from every
window there were beauties to be seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, a=
nd
their furniture suitable to the fortune of its proprietor; but Elizabeth sa=
w,
with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine;
with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosin=
gs.
"And of this place," thought she,
"I might have been mistress! With these rooms I might now have been
familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have
rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and a=
unt.
But no,"--recollecting herself--"that could never be; my uncle and
aunt would have been lost to me; I should not have been allowed to invite
them."
This was a lucky recollection--it saved her fr=
om
something very like regret.
She longed to inquire of the housekeeper wheth=
er
her master was really absent, but had not the courage for it. At length
however, the question was asked by her uncle; and she turned away with alar=
m,
while Mrs. Reynolds replied that he was, adding, "But we expect him
to-morrow, with a large party of friends." How rejoiced was Elizabeth =
that
their own journey had not by any circumstance been delayed a day!
Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. =
She
approached and saw the likeness of Mr. Wickham, suspended, amongst several
other miniatures, over the mantelpiece. Her aunt asked her, smilingly, how =
she
liked it. The housekeeper came forward, and told them it was a picture of a
young gentleman, the son of her late master's steward, who had been brought=
up
by him at his own expense. "He is now gone into the army," she ad=
ded;
"but I am afraid he has turned out very wild."
Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile,
but Elizabeth could not return it.
"And that," said Mrs. Reynolds, poin=
ting
to another of the miniatures, "is my master--and very like him. It was
drawn at the same time as the other--about eight years ago."
"I have heard much of your master's fine
person," said Mrs. Gardiner, looking at the picture; "it is a
handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not."=
Mrs. Reynolds respect for Elizabeth seemed to
increase on this intimation of her knowing her master.
"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?&quo=
t;
Elizabeth coloured, and said: "A
little."
"And do not you think him a very handsome
gentleman, ma'am?"
"Yes, very handsome."
"I am sure I know none so handsome; but in
the gallery up stairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than this.
This room was my late master's favourite room, and these miniatures are jus=
t as
they used to be then. He was very fond of them."
This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham's
being among them.
Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to=
one
of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.
"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her
brother?" said Mrs. Gardiner.
"Oh! yes--the handsomest young lady that =
ever
was seen; and so accomplished!--She plays and sings all day long. In the ne=
xt
room is a new instrument just come down for her--a present from my master; =
she comes
here to-morrow with him."
Mr. Gardiner, whose manners were very easy and
pleasant, encouraged her communicativeness by his questions and remarks; Mr=
s.
Reynolds, either by pride or attachment, had evidently great pleasure in
talking of her master and his sister.
"Is your master much at Pemberley in the
course of the year?"
"Not so much as I could wish, sir; but I =
dare
say he may spend half his time here; and Miss Darcy is always down for the
summer months."
"Except," thought Elizabeth, "w=
hen
she goes to Ramsgate."
"If your master would marry, you might see
more of him."
"Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enoug=
h for
him."
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could =
not
help saying, "It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should
think so."
"I say no more than the truth, and everyb=
ody will
say that knows him," replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was goi=
ng
pretty far; and she listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper
added, "I have never known a cross word from him in my life, and I have
known him ever since he was four years old."
This was praise, of all others most extraordin=
ary,
most opposite to her ideas. That he was not a good-tempered man had been her
firmest opinion. Her keenest attention was awakened; she longed to hear mor=
e,
and was grateful to her uncle for saying:
"There are very few people of whom so much
can be said. You are lucky in having such a master."
"Yes, sir, I know I am. If I were to go
through the world, I could not meet with a better. But I have always observ=
ed,
that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they gr=
ow
up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in t=
he world."
Elizabeth almost stared at her. "Can this=
be
Mr. Darcy?" thought she.
"His father was an excellent man," s=
aid
Mrs. Gardiner.
"Yes, ma'am, that he was indeed; and his =
son
will be just like him--just as affable to the poor."
Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was
impatient for more. Mrs. Reynolds could interest her on no other point. She
related the subjects of the pictures, the dimensions of the rooms, and the
price of the furniture, in vain. Mr. Gardiner, highly amused by the kind of
family prejudice to which he attributed her excessive commendation of her m=
aster,
soon led again to the subject; and she dwelt with energy on his many merits=
as
they proceeded together up the great staircase.
"He is the best landlord, and the best
master," said she, "that ever lived; not like the wild young men
nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tena=
nts
or servants but will give him a good name. Some people call him proud; but =
I am
sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not
rattle away like other young men."
"In what an amiable light does this place
him!" thought Elizabeth.
"This fine account of him," whispered
her aunt as they walked, "is not quite consistent with his behaviour to
our poor friend."
"Perhaps we might be deceived."
"That is not very likely; our authority w=
as
too good."
On reaching the spacious lobby above they were
shown into a very pretty sitting-room, lately fitted up with greater elegan=
ce
and lightness than the apartments below; and were informed that it was but =
just
done to give pleasure to Miss Darcy, who had taken a liking to the room whe=
n last
at Pemberley.
"He is certainly a good brother," sa=
id
Elizabeth, as she walked towards one of the windows.
Mrs. Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy's delight,
when she should enter the room. "And this is always the way with
him," she added. "Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is su=
re
to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her."
The picture-gallery, and two or three of the
principal bedrooms, were all that remained to be shown. In the former were =
many
good paintings; but Elizabeth knew nothing of the art; and from such as had
been already visible below, she had willingly turned to look at some drawin=
gs
of Miss Darcy's, in crayons, whose subjects were usually more interesting, =
and also
more intelligible.
In the gallery there were many family portrait=
s,
but they could have little to fix the attention of a stranger. Elizabeth wa=
lked
in quest of the only face whose features would be known to her. At last it
arrested her--and she beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Darcy, with such=
a smile
over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at he=
r.
She stood several minutes before the picture, in earnest contemplation, and
returned to it again before they quitted the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informe=
d them
that it had been taken in his father's lifetime.
There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabe=
th's
mind, a more gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever felt at
the height of their acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs.
Reynolds was of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the
praise of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she c=
onsidered
how many people's happiness were in his guardianship!--how much of pleasure=
or
pain was it in his power to bestow!--how much of good or evil must be done =
by
him! Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper was favour=
able
to his character, and as she stood before the canvas on which he was
represented, and fixed his eyes upon herself, she thought of his regard wit=
h a
deeper sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before; she remembered
its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression.
When all of the house that was open to general
inspection had been seen, they returned downstairs, and, taking leave of the
housekeeper, were consigned over to the gardener, who met them at the
hall-door.
As they walked across the hall towards the riv=
er,
Elizabeth turned back to look again; her uncle and aunt stopped also, and w=
hile
the former was conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it
himself suddenly came forward from the road, which led behind it to the
stables.
They were within twenty yards of each other, a=
nd
so abrupt was his appearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Th=
eir
eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of both were overspread with the deepest=
blush.
He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immovable from surprise; but
shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party, and spoke to Elizab=
eth,
if not in terms of perfect composure, at least of perfect civility.
She had instinctively turned away; but stoppin=
g on
his approach, received his compliments with an embarrassment impossible to =
be overcome.
Had his first appearance, or his resemblance to the picture they had just b=
een
examining, been insufficient to assure the other two that they now saw Mr.
Darcy, the gardener's expression of surprise, on beholding his master, must
immediately have told it. They stood a little aloof while he was talking to
their niece, who, astonished and confused, scarcely dared lift her eyes to =
his
face, and knew not what answer she returned to his civil inquiries after her
family. Amazed at the alteration of his manner since they last parted, every
sentence that he uttered was increasing her embarrassment; and every idea of
the impropriety of her being found there recurring to her mind, the few min=
utes
in which they continued were some of the most uncomfortable in her life. Nor
did he seem much more at ease; when he spoke, his accent had none of its us=
ual
sedateness; and he repeated his inquiries as to the time of her having left
Longbourn, and of her having stayed in Derbyshire, so often, and in so hurr=
ied
a way, as plainly spoke the distraction of his thoughts.
At length every idea seemed to fail him; and,
after standing a few moments without saying a word, he suddenly recollected
himself, and took leave.
The others then joined her, and expressed
admiration of his figure; but Elizabeth heard not a word, and wholly engros=
sed
by her own feelings, followed them in silence. She was overpowered by shame=
and
vexation. Her coming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged th=
ing
in the world! How strange it must appear to him! In what a disgraceful ligh=
t might
it not strike so vain a man! It might seem as if she had purposely thrown
herself in his way again! Oh! why did she come? Or, why did he thus come a =
day
before he was expected? Had they been only ten minutes sooner, they should =
have
been beyond the reach of his discrimination; for it was plain that he was t=
hat
moment arrived--that moment alighted from his horse or his carriage. She
blushed again and again over the perverseness of the meeting. And his
behaviour, so strikingly altered--what could it mean? That he should even s=
peak
to her was amazing!--but to speak with such civility, to inquire after her
family! Never in her life had she seen his manners so little dignified, nev=
er had
he spoken with such gentleness as on this unexpected meeting. What a contra=
st
did it offer to his last address in Rosings Park, when he put his letter in=
to
her hand! She knew not what to think, or how to account for it.
They had now entered a beautiful walk by the s=
ide
of the water, and every step was bringing forward a nobler fall of ground, =
or a
finer reach of the woods to which they were approaching; but it was some ti=
me before
Elizabeth was sensible of any of it; and, though she answered mechanically =
to
the repeated appeals of her uncle and aunt, and seemed to direct her eyes to
such objects as they pointed out, she distinguished no part of the scene. H=
er
thoughts were all fixed on that one spot of Pemberley House, whichever it m=
ight
be, where Mr. Darcy then was. She longed to know what at the moment was pas=
sing
in his mind--in what manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of
everything, she was still dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil only becau=
se
he felt himself at ease; yet there had been that <=
/span>in
his voice which was not like ease. Whether he had felt more of pain or of
pleasure in seeing her she could not tell, but he certainly had not seen her
with composure.
At length, however, the remarks of her compani=
ons
on her absence of mind aroused her, and she felt the necessity of appearing
more like herself.
They entered the woods, and bidding adieu to t=
he
river for a while, ascended some of the higher grounds; when, in spots where
the opening of the trees gave the eye power to wander, were many charming v=
iews
of the valley, the opposite hills, with the long range of woods overspreadi=
ng many,
and occasionally part of the stream. Mr. Gardiner expressed a wish of going
round the whole park, but feared it might be beyond a walk. With a triumpha=
nt
smile they were told that it was ten miles round. It settled the matter; and
they pursued the accustomed circuit; which brought them again, after some t=
ime,
in a descent among hanging woods, to the edge of the water, and one of its
narrowest parts. They crossed it by a simple bridge, in character with the
general air of the scene; it was a spot less adorned than any they had yet
visited; and the valley, here contracted into a glen, allowed room only for=
the
stream, and a narrow walk amidst the rough coppice-wood which bordered it. =
Elizabeth
longed to explore its windings; but when they had crossed the bridge, and
perceived their distance from the house, Mrs. Gardiner, who was not a great
walker, could go no farther, and thought only of returning to the carriage =
as
quickly as possible. Her niece was, therefore, obliged to submit, and they =
took
their way towards the house on the opposite side of the river, in the neare=
st
direction; but their progress was slow, for Mr. Gardiner, though seldom abl=
e to
indulge the taste, was very fond of fishing, and was so much engaged in wat=
ching
the occasional appearance of some trout in the water, and talking to the man
about them, that he advanced but little. Whilst wandering on in this slow
manner, they were again surprised, and Elizabeth's astonishment was quite e=
qual
to what it had been at first, by the sight of Mr. Darcy approaching them, a=
nd
at no great distance. The walk being here less sheltered than on the other
side, allowed them to see him before they met. Elizabeth, however astonishe=
d,
was at least more prepared for an interview than before, and resolved to ap=
pear
and to speak with calmness, if he really intended to meet them. For a few
moments, indeed, she felt that he would probably strike into some other pat=
h.
The idea lasted while a turning in the walk concealed him from their view; =
the turning
past, he was immediately before them. With a glance, she saw that he had lo=
st
none of his recent civility; and, to imitate his politeness, she began, as =
they
met, to admire the beauty of the place; but she had not got beyond the words
"delightful," and "charming," when some unlucky
recollections obtruded, and she fancied that praise of Pemberley from her m=
ight
be mischievously construed. Her colour changed, and she said no more.
Mrs. Gardiner was standing a little behind; an=
d on
her pausing, he asked her if she would do him the honour of introducing him=
to
her friends. This was a stroke of civility for which she was quite unprepar=
ed; and
she could hardly suppress a smile at his being now seeking the acquaintance=
of
some of those very people against whom his pride had revolted in his offer =
to
herself. "What will be his surprise," thought she, "when he
knows who they are? He takes them now for people of fashion."
The introduction, however, was immediately mad=
e;
and as she named their relationship to herself, she stole a sly look at him=
, to
see how he bore it, and was not without the expectation of his decamping as
fast as he could from such disgraceful companions. That he was surprised by the connection was evident; he sustai=
ned
it, however, with fortitude, and so far from going away, turned back with t=
hem,
and entered into conversation with Mr. Gardiner. Elizabeth could not but be
pleased, could not but triumph. It was consoling that he should know she ha=
d some
relations for whom there was no need to blush. She listened most attentivel=
y to
all that passed between them, and gloried in every expression, every senten=
ce
of her uncle, which marked his intelligence, his taste, or his good manners=
.
The conversation soon turned upon fishing; and=
she
heard Mr. Darcy invite him, with the greatest civility, to fish there as of=
ten
as he chose while he continued in the neighbourhood, offering at the same t=
ime to
supply him with fishing tackle, and pointing out those parts of the stream
where there was usually most sport. Mrs. Gardiner, who was walking arm-in-a=
rm
with Elizabeth, gave her a look expressive of wonder. Elizabeth said nothin=
g,
but it gratified her exceedingly; the compliment must be all for herself. H=
er
astonishment, however, was extreme, and continually was she repeating,
"Why is he so altered? From what can it proceed? It cannot be for me --it cannot be for my sake
that his manners are thus softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not work =
such
a change as this. It is impossible that he should still love me."
After walking some time in this way, the two
ladies in front, the two gentlemen behind, on resuming their places, after
descending to the brink of the river for the better inspection of some curi=
ous water-plant,
there chanced to be a little alteration. It originated in Mrs. Gardiner, wh=
o,
fatigued by the exercise of the morning, found Elizabeth's arm inadequate to
her support, and consequently preferred her husband's. Mr. Darcy took her p=
lace
by her niece, and they walked on together. After a short silence, the lady
first spoke. She wished him to know that she had been assured of his absence
before she came to the place, and accordingly began by observing, that his
arrival had been very unexpected--"for your housekeeper," she add=
ed,
"informed us that you would certainly not be here till to-morrow; and
indeed, before we left Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately
expected in the country." He acknowledged the truth of it all, and said
that business with his steward had occasioned his coming forward a few hour=
s before
the rest of the party with whom he had been travelling. "They will joi=
n me
early to-morrow," he continued, "and among them are some who will
claim an acquaintance with you--Mr. Bingley and his sisters."
Elizabeth answered only by a slight bow. Her thoughts were instantly driven back to the time when Mr. Bingley's name had been the last mentioned between them; and, if she might judge by his complexion, his mind was not very differently engaged. <= o:p>
"There is also one other person in the
party," he continued after a pause, "who more particularly wishes=
to
be known to you. Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my
sister to your acquaintance during your stay at Lambton?"
The surprise of such an application was great
indeed; it was too great for her to know in what manner she acceded to it. =
She
immediately felt that whatever desire Miss Darcy might have of being acquai=
nted
with her must be the work of her brother, and, without looking farther, it =
was satisfactory;
it was gratifying to know that his resentment had not made him think really=
ill
of her.
They now walked on in silence, each of them de=
ep
in thought. Elizabeth was not comfortable; that was impossible; but she was
flattered and pleased. His wish of introducing his sister to her was a
compliment of the highest kind. They soon outstripped the others, and when =
they
had reached the carriage, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were half a quarter of a mi=
le
behind.
He then asked her to walk into the house--but =
she
declared herself not tired, and they stood together on the lawn. At such a =
time
much might have been said, and silence was very awkward. She wanted to talk,
but there seemed to be an embargo on every subject. At last she recollected=
that
she had been travelling, and they talked of Matlock and Dove Dale with great
perseverance. Yet time and her aunt moved slowly--and her patience and her
ideas were nearly worn out before the tete-a-tete was over. On Mr. and Mrs.
Gardiner's coming up they were all pressed to go into the house and take so=
me
refreshment; but this was declined, and they parted on each side with utmost
politeness. Mr. Darcy handed the ladies into the carriage; and when it drove
off, Elizabeth saw him walking slowly towards the house.
The observations of her uncle and aunt now beg=
an;
and each of them pronounced him to be infinitely superior to anything they =
had
expected. "He is perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming,"
said her uncle.
"There is something a little stately in him, to be
sure," replied her aunt, "but it is confined to his air, and is n=
ot
unbecoming. I can now say with the housekeeper, that though some people may
call him proud, I have seen nothing of it."
"I was never more surprised than by his
behaviour to us. It was more than civil; it was really attentive; and there=
was
no necessity for such attention. His acquaintance with Elizabeth was very
trifling."
"To be sure, Lizzy," said her aunt,
"he is not so handsome as Wickham; or, rather, he has not Wickham's
countenance, for his features are perfectly good. But how came you to tell =
me
that he was so disagreeable?"
Elizabeth excused herself as well as she could;
said that she had liked him better when they had met in Kent than before, a=
nd
that she had never seen him so pleasant as this morning.
"But perhaps he may be a little whimsical=
in
his civilities," replied her uncle. "Your great men often are; and
therefore I shall not take him at his word, as he might change his mind ano=
ther
day, and warn me off his grounds."
Elizabeth felt that they had entirely
misunderstood his character, but said nothing.
"From what we have seen of him,"
continued Mrs. Gardiner, "I really should not have thought that he cou=
ld
have behaved in so cruel a way by anybody as he has done by poor Wickham. He
has not an ill-natured look. On the contrary, there is something pleasing a=
bout
his mouth when he speaks. And there is something of dignity in his countena=
nce
that would not give one an unfavourable idea of his heart. But, to be sure,=
the
good lady who showed us his house did give him a most flaming character! I
could hardly help laughing aloud sometimes. But he is a liberal master, I
suppose, and that in the eye of a servant comprehends ever=
y virtue."
Elizabeth here felt herself called on to say
something in vindication of his behaviour to Wickham; and therefore gave th=
em
to understand, in as guarded a manner as she could, that by what she had he=
ard
from his relations in Kent, his actions were capable of a very different co=
nstruction;
and that his character was by no means so faulty, nor Wickham's so amiable,=
as
they had been considered in Hertfordshire. In confirmation of this, she rel=
ated
the particulars of all the pecuniary transactions in which they had been
connected, without actually naming her authority, but stating it to be such=
as
might be relied on.
Mrs. Gardiner was surprised and concerned; but=
as
they were now approaching the scene of her former pleasures, every idea gave
way to the charm of recollection; and she was too much engaged in pointing =
out to
her husband all the interesting spots in its environs to think of anything
else. Fatigued as she had been by the morning's walk they had no sooner din=
ed
than she set off again in quest of her former acquaintance, and the evening=
was
spent in the satisfactions of a intercourse renewed after many years'
discontinuance.
The occurrences of the day were too full of
interest to leave Elizabeth much attention for any of these new friends; and
she could do nothing but think, and think with wonder, of Mr. Darcy's civil=
ity,
and, above all, of his wishing her to be acquainted with his sister.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 44
Eliza=
beth
had settled it that Mr. Darcy would bring his sister to visit her the very =
day
after her reaching Pemberley; and was consequently resolved not to be out of
sight of the inn the whole of that morning. But her conclusion was false; f=
or
on the very morning after their arrival at Lambton, these visitors came. Th=
ey
had been walking about the place with some of their new friends, and were j=
ust
returning to the inn to dress themselves for dining with the same family, w=
hen
the sound of a carriage drew them to a window, and they saw a gentleman and=
a
lady in a curricle driving up the street. Elizabeth immediately recognizing=
the
livery, guessed what it meant, and imparted no small degree of her surprise=
to
her relations by acquainting them with the honour which she expected. Her u=
ncle
and aunt were all amazement; and the embarrassment of her manner as she spo=
ke,
joined to the circumstance itself, and many of the circumstances of the
preceding day, opened to them a new idea on the business. Nothing had ever
suggested it before, but they felt that there was no other way of accounting
for such attentions from such a quarter than by supposing a partiality for
their niece. While these newly-born notions were passing in their heads, the
perturbation of Elizabeth's feelings was at every moment increasing. She was
quite amazed at her own discomposure; but amongst other causes of disquiet,=
she
dreaded lest the partiality of the brother should have said too much in her
favour; and, more than commonly anxious to please, she naturally suspected =
that
every power of pleasing would fail her.
She retreated from the window, fearful of bein=
g seen;
and as she walked up and down the room, endeavouring to compose herself, saw
such looks of inquiring surprise in her uncle and aunt as made everything
worse.
Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and this
formidable introduction took place. With astonishment did Elizabeth see that
her new acquaintance was at least as much embarrassed as herself. Since her=
being
at Lambton, she had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud; but the
observation of a very few minutes convinced her that she was only exceeding=
ly
shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from her beyond a
monosyllable.
Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than
Elizabeth; and, though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and=
her
appearance womanly and graceful. She was less handsome than her brother; but
there was sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly=
unassuming
and gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find in her as acute and
unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr. Darcy had been, was much relieved by
discerning such different feelings.
They had not long been together before Mr. Dar=
cy
told her that Bingley was also coming to wait on her; and she had barely ti=
me
to express her satisfaction, and prepare for such a visitor, when Bingley's
quick step was heard on the stairs, and in a moment he entered the room. Al=
l Elizabeth's
anger against him had been long done away; but had she still felt any, it c=
ould
hardly have stood its ground against the unaffected cordiality with which h=
e expressed
himself on seeing her again. He inquired in a friendly, though general way,
after her family, and looked and spoke with the same good-humoured ease tha=
t he
had ever done.
To Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner he was scarcely a less
interesting personage than to herself. They had long wished to see him. The
whole party before them, indeed, excited a lively attention. The suspicions
which had just arisen of Mr. Darcy and their niece directed their observati=
on
towards each with an earnest though guarded inquiry; and they soon drew fro=
m those
inquiries the full conviction that one of them at least knew what it was to
love. Of the lady's sensations they remained a little in doubt; but that the
gentleman was overflowing with admiration was evident enough.
Elizabeth, on her side, had much to do. She wa=
nted
to ascertain the feelings of each of her visitors; she wanted to compose her
own, and to make herself agreeable to all; and in the latter object, where =
she feared
most to fail, she was most sure of success, for those to whom she endeavour=
ed
to give pleasure were prepossessed in her favour. Bingley was ready, Georgi=
ana
was eager, and Darcy determined, to be pleased.
In seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew=
to
her sister; and, oh! how ardently did she long to know whether any of his w=
ere
directed in a like manner. Sometimes she could fancy that he talked less th=
an
on former occasions, and once or twice pleased herself with the notion that=
, as
he looked at her, he was trying to trace a resemblance. But, though this mi=
ght
be imaginary, she could not be deceived as to his behaviour to Miss Darcy, =
who
had been set up as a rival to Jane. No look appeared on either side that sp=
oke
particular regard. Nothing occurred between them that could justify the hop=
es
of his sister. On this point she was soon satisfied; and two or three little
circumstances occurred ere they parted, which, in her anxious interpretatio=
n,
denoted a recollection of Jane not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish of
saying more that might lead to the mention of her, had he dared. He observe=
d to
her, at a moment when the others were talking together, and in a tone which=
had
something of real regret, that it "was a very long time since he had h=
ad
the pleasure of seeing her;" and, before she could reply, he added,
"It is above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November,
when we were all dancing together at Netherfield."
Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so ex=
act;
and he afterwards took occasion to ask her, when unattended to by any of the
rest, whether all her sisters were at Longbourn. There was=
not
much in the question, nor in the preceding remark; but there was a look and=
a
manner which gave them meaning.
It was not often that she could turn her eyes =
on
Mr. Darcy himself; but, whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expres=
sion
of general complaisance, and in all that he said she heard an accent so rem=
oved
from hauteur or disdain of his companions, as convinc=
ed her
that the improvement of manners which she had yesterday witnessed however t=
emporary
its existence might prove, had at least outlived one day. When she saw him =
thus
seeking the acquaintance and courting the good opinion of people with whom =
any
intercourse a few months ago would have been a disgrace--when she saw him t=
hus
civil, not only to herself, but to the very relations whom he had openly
disdained, and recollected their last lively scene in Hunsford Parsonage--t=
he
difference, the change was so great, and struck so forcibly on her mind, th=
at
she could hardly restrain her astonishment from being visible. Never, even =
in
the company of his dear friends at Netherfield, or his dignified relations =
at
Rosings, had she seen him so desirous to please, so free from self-conseque=
nce
or unbending reserve, as now, when no importance could result from the succ=
ess
of his endeavours, and when even the acquaintance of those to whom his
attentions were addressed would draw down the ridicule and censure of the
ladies both of Netherfield and Rosings.
Their visitors stayed with them above
half-an-hour; and when they arose to depart, Mr. Darcy called on his sister=
to
join him in expressing their wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and Miss
Bennet, to dinner at Pemberley, before they left the country. Miss Darcy,
though with a diffidence which marked her little in the habit of giving
invitations, readily obeyed. Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece, desirous of
knowing how she , whom the invitat=
ion
most concerned, felt disposed as to its acceptance, but Elizabeth had turned
away her head. Presuming however, that this studied avoidance spoke rather a
momentary embarrassment than any dislike of the proposal, and seeing in her
husband, who was fond of society, a perfect willingness to accept it, she
ventured to engage for her attendance, and the day after the next was fixed=
on.
Bingley expressed great pleasure in the certai=
nty
of seeing Elizabeth again, having still a great deal to say to her, and many
inquiries to make after all their Hertfordshire friends. Elizabeth, constru=
ing
all this into a wish of hearing her speak of her sister, was pleased, and o=
n this
account, as well as some others, found herself, when their visitors left th=
em,
capable of considering the last half-hour with some satisfaction, though wh=
ile
it was passing, the enjoyment of it had been little. Eager to be alone, and
fearful of inquiries or hints from her uncle and aunt, she stayed with them
only long enough to hear their favourable opinion of Bingley, and then hurr=
ied
away to dress.
But she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs.
Gardiner's curiosity; it was not their wish to force her communication. It =
was
evident that she was much better acquainted with Mr. Darcy than they had be=
fore
any idea of; it was evident that he was very much in love with her. They saw
much to interest, but nothing to justify inquiry.
Of Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to
think well; and, as far as their acquaintance reached, there was no fault to
find. They could not be untouched by his politeness; and had they drawn his
character from their own feelings and his servant's report, without any
reference to any other account, the circle in Hertfordshire to which he was
known would not have recognized it for Mr. Darcy. There was now an interest=
, however,
in believing the housekeeper; and they soon became sensible that the author=
ity
of a servant who had known him since he was four years old, and whose own
manners indicated respectability, was not to be hastily rejected. Neither h=
ad
anything occurred in the intelligence of their Lambton friends that could
materially lessen its weight. They had nothing to accuse him of but pride;
pride he probably had, and if not, it would certainly be imputed by the
inhabitants of a small market-town where the family did not visit. It was
acknowledged, however, that he was a liberal man, and did much good among t=
he
poor.
With respect to Wickham, the travellers soon f=
ound
that he was not held there in much estimation; for though the chief of his
concerns with the son of his patron were imperfectly understood, it was yet=
a
well-known fact that, on his quitting Derbyshire, he had left many debts be=
hind
him, which Mr. Darcy afterwards discharged.
As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberl=
ey
this evening more than the last; and the evening, though as it passed it se=
emed
long, was not long enough to determine her feelings towards one =
span>in
that mansion; and she lay awake two whole hours endeavouring to make them o=
ut.
She certainly did not hate him. No; hatred had vanished long ago, and she h=
ad
almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against him, that cou=
ld
be so called. The respect created by the conviction of his valuable qualiti=
es,
though at first unwillingly admitted, had for some time ceased to be repugn=
ant
to her feeling; and it was now heightened into somewhat of a friendlier nat=
ure,
by the testimony so highly in his favour, and bringing forward his disposit=
ion
in so amiable a light, which yesterday had produced. But above all, above
respect and esteem, there was a motive within her of goodwill which could n=
ot
be overlooked. It was gratitude; gratitude, not merely for having once loved
her, but for loving her still well enough to forgive all the petulance and =
acrimony
of her manner in rejecting him, and all the unjust accusations accompanying=
her
rejection. He who, she had been persuaded, would avoid her as his greatest
enemy, seemed, on this accidental meeting, most eager to preserve the
acquaintance, and without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiar=
ity
of manner, where their two selves only were concerned, was soliciting the g=
ood
opinion of her friends, and bent on making her known to his sister. Such a
change in a man of so much pride exciting not only astonishment but
gratitude--for to love, ardent love, it must be attributed; and as such its
impression on her was of a sort to be encouraged, as by no means unpleasing,
though it could not be exactly defined. She respected, she esteemed, she was
grateful to him, she felt a real interest in his welfare; and she only want=
ed
to know how far she wished that welfare to depend upon herself, and how far=
it
would be for the happiness of both that she should employ the power, which =
her fancy
told her she still possessed, of bringing on her the renewal of his address=
es.
It had been settled in the evening between the
aunt and the niece, that such a striking civility as Miss Darcy's in coming=
to
see them on the very day of her arrival at Pemberley, for she had reached it
only to a late breakfast, ought to be imitated, though it could not be
equalled, by some exertion of politeness on their side; and, consequently, =
that
it would be highly expedient to wait on her at Pemberley the following morn=
ing.
They were, therefore, to go. Elizabeth was pleased; though when she asked
herself the reason, she had very little to say in reply.
Mr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. T=
he
fishing scheme had been renewed the day before, and a positive engagement m=
ade
of his meeting some of the gentlemen at Pemberley before noon.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 45
Convi=
nced
as Elizabeth now was that Miss Bingley's dislike of her had originated in
jealousy, she could not help feeling how unwelcome her appearance at Pember=
ley
must be to her, and was curious to know with how much civility on that lady=
's
side the acquaintance would now be renewed.
On reaching the house, they were shown through=
the
hall into the saloon, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful for summ=
er.
Its windows opening to the ground, admitted a most refreshing view of the h=
igh
woody hills behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish chestnu=
ts which
were scattered over the intermediate lawn.
In this house they were received by Miss Darcy,
who was sitting there with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with w=
hom
she lived in London. Georgiana's reception of them was very civil, but atte=
nded
with all the embarrassment which, though proceeding from shyness and the fe=
ar of
doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves inferior the be=
lief
of her being proud and reserved. Mrs. Gardiner and her niece, however, did =
her
justice, and pitied her.
By Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley they were notic=
ed
only by a curtsey; and, on their being seated, a pause, awkward as such pau=
ses
must always be, succeeded for a few moments. It was first broken by Mrs.
Annesley, a genteel, agreeable-looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce =
some
kind of discourse proved her to be more truly well-bred than either of the =
others;
and between her and Mrs. Gardiner, with occasional help from Elizabeth, the
conversation was carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if she wished for courage
enough to join in it; and sometimes did venture a short sentence when there=
was
least danger of its being heard.
Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely
watched by Miss Bingley, and that she could not speak a word, especially to
Miss Darcy, without calling her attention. This observation would not have
prevented her from trying to talk to the latter, had they not been seated a=
t an
inconvenient distance; but she was not sorry to be spared the necessity of
saying much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She expected every moment
that some of the gentlemen would enter the room. She wished, she feared that
the master of the house might be amongst them; and whether she wished or fe=
ared
it most, she could scarcely determine. After sitting in this manner a quart=
er
of an hour without hearing Miss Bingley's voice, Elizabeth was roused by
receiving from her a cold inquiry after the health of her family. She answe=
red
with equal indifference and brevity, and the other said no more.
The next variation which their visit afforded =
was
produced by the entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and a variety of=
all
the finest fruits in season; but this did not take place till after many a =
significant
look and smile from Mrs. Annesley to Miss Darcy had been given, to remind h=
er
of her post. There was now employment for the whole party--for though they
could not all talk, they could all eat; and the beautiful pyramids of grape=
s,
nectarines, and peaches soon collected them round the table.
While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair
opportunity of deciding whether she most feared or wished for the appearanc=
e of
Mr. Darcy, by the feelings which prevailed on his entering the room; and th=
en,
though but a moment before she had believed her wishes to predominate, she
began to regret that he came.
He had been some time with Mr. Gardiner, who, =
with
two or three other gentlemen from the house, was engaged by the river, and =
had
left him only on learning that the ladies of the family intended a visit to=
Georgiana
that morning. No sooner did he appear than Elizabeth wisely resolved to be
perfectly easy and unembarrassed; a resolution the more necessary to be mad=
e,
but perhaps not the more easily kept, because she saw that the suspicions of
the whole party were awakened against them, and that there was scarcely an =
eye
which did not watch his behaviour when he first came into the room. In no
countenance was attentive curiosity so strongly marked as in Miss Bingley's=
, in
spite of the smiles which overspread her face whenever she spoke to one of =
its objects;
for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and her attentions to Mr. Darcy
were by no means over. Miss Darcy, on her brother's entrance, exerted herse=
lf
much more to talk, and Elizabeth saw that he was anxious for his sister and
herself to get acquainted, and forwarded as much as possible, every attempt=
at
conversation on either side. Miss Bingley saw all this likewise; and, in the
imprudence of anger, took the first opportunity of saying, with sneering
civility:
"Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the ----shire
Militia removed from Meryton? They must be a great loss to your family."
In Darcy's presence she dared not mention
Wickham's name; but Elizabeth instantly comprehended that he was uppermost =
in
her thoughts; and the various recollections connected with him gave her a
moment's distress; but exerting herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured
attack, she presently answered the question in a tolerably detached tone. W=
hile
she spoke, an involuntary glance showed her Darcy, with a heightened comple=
xion,
earnestly looking at her, and his sister overcome with confusion, and unabl=
e to
lift up her eyes. Had Miss Bingley known what pain she was then giving her
beloved friend, she undoubtedly would have refrained from the hint; but she=
had
merely intended to discompose Elizabeth by bringing forward the idea of a m=
an
to whom she believed her partial, to make her betray a sensibility which mi=
ght
injure her in Darcy's opinion, and, perhaps, to remind the latter of all the
follies and absurdities by which some part of her family were connected with
that corps. Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy's meditated
elopement. To no creature had it been revealed, where secrecy was possible,
except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingley's connections her brother was
particularly anxious to conceal it, from the very wish which Elizabeth had =
long
ago attributed to him, of their becoming hereafter her own. He had certainly
formed such a plan, and without meaning that it should affect his endeavour=
to
separate him from Miss Bennet, it is probable that it might add something to
his lively concern for the welfare of his friend.
Elizabeth's collected behaviour, however, soon=
quieted
his emotion; and as Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed, dared not approach
nearer to Wickham, Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be
able to speak any more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet, scarcely=
recollected
her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which had been design=
ed
to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth seemed to have fixed them on her more a=
nd
more cheerfully.
Their visit did not continue long after the
question and answer above mentioned; and while Mr. Darcy was attending them=
to
their carriage Miss Bingley was venting her feelings in criticisms on
Elizabeth's person, behaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join her.=
Her
brother's recommendation was enough to ensure her favour; his judgement cou=
ld
not err. And he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana=
without
the power of finding her otherwise than lovely and amiable. When Darcy retu=
rned
to the saloon, Miss Bingley could not help repeating to him some part of wh=
at
she had been saying to his sister.
"How very ill Miss Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy," she cried; "I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she is since the winter. She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again." <= o:p>
However little Mr. Darcy might have liked such=
an
address, he contented himself with coolly replying that he perceived no oth=
er
alteration than her being rather tanned, no miraculous consequence of
travelling in the summer.
"For my own part," she rejoined, &qu=
ot;I
must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin;
her complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome.=
Her
nose wants character--there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are t=
olerable,
but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes be=
en
called so fine, I could never see anything extraordinary in them. They have=
a
sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether=
there
is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable."
Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admir=
ed
Elizabeth, this was not the best method of recommending herself; but angry
people are not always wise; and in seeing him at last look somewhat nettled,
she had all the success she expected. He was resolutely silent, however, an=
d,
from a determination of making him speak, she continued:
"I remember, when we first knew her in
Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty;
and I particularly recollect your saying one night, after they had been din=
ing
at Netherfield, ' She a beauty!--I
should as soon call her mother a wit.' But afterwards she seemed to improve=
on
you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time."
"Yes," replied Darcy, who could cont=
ain
himself no longer, "but that =
was only when I first saw her, for it is=
many
months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my
acquaintance."
He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to
all the satisfaction of having forced him to say what gave no one any pain =
but
herself.
Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that=
had
occurred during their visit, as they returned, except what had particularly
interested them both. The look and behaviour of everybody they had seen were
discussed, except of the person who had mostly engaged their attention. They
talked of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit--of everything but =
himself;
yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of him, and Mr=
s.
Gardiner would have been highly gratified by her niece's beginning the subj=
ect.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 46
Eliza=
beth
had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from Jane on their
first arrival at Lambton; and this disappointment had been renewed on each =
of
the mornings that had now been spent there; but on the third her repining w=
as
over, and her sister justified, by the receipt of two letters from her at o=
nce,
on one of which was marked that it had been missent elsewhere. Elizabeth was
not surprised at it, as Jane had written the direction remarkably ill.
They had just been preparing to walk as the
letters came in; and her uncle and aunt, leaving her to enjoy them in quiet,
set off by themselves. The one missent must first be attended to; it had be=
en written
five days ago. The beginning contained an account of all their little parti=
es
and engagements, with such news as the country afforded; but the latter hal=
f,
which was dated a day later, and written in evident agitation, gave more
important intelligence. It was to this effect:
"Since writing the above, dearest Lizzy,
something has occurred of a most unexpected and serious nature; but I am af=
raid
of alarming you--be assured that we are all well. What I have to say relate=
s to
poor Lydia. An express came at twelve last night, just as we were all gone =
to
bed, from Colonel Forster, to inform us that she was gone off to Scotland w=
ith
one of his officers; to own the truth, with Wickham! Imagine our surprise. =
To
Kitty, however, it does not seem so wholly unexpected. I am very, very sorr=
y.
So imprudent a match on both sides! But I am willing to hope the best, and =
that
his character has been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easi=
ly
believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks nothing bad at
heart. His choice is disinterested at least, for he must know my father can
give her nothing. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. My father bears it bett=
er.
How thankful am I that we never let them know what has been said against hi=
m;
we must forget it ourselves. They were off Saturday night about twelve, as =
is
conjectured, but were not missed till yesterday morning at eight. The expre=
ss
was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must have passed within ten mile=
s of
us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect him here soon. Lydia left a f=
ew
lines for his wife, informing her of their intention. I must conclude, for I
cannot be long from my poor mother. I am afraid you will not be able to mak=
e it
out, but I hardly know what I have written."
Without allowing herself time for consideratio=
n,
and scarcely knowing what she felt, Elizabeth on finishing this letter
instantly seized the other, and opening it with the utmost impatience, read=
as
follows: it had been written a day later than the conclusion of the first. =
"By this time, my dearest sister, you have
received my hurried letter; I wish this may be more intelligible, but though
not confined for time, my head is so bewildered that I cannot answer for be=
ing
coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would write, but I have bad n=
ews
for you, and it cannot be delayed. Imprudent as the marriage between Mr.
Wickham and our poor Lydia would be, we are now anxious to be assured it ha=
s taken
place, for there is but too much reason to fear they are not gone to Scotla=
nd.
Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left Brighton the day before, not ma=
ny
hours after the express. Though Lydia's short letter to Mrs. F. gave them to
understand that they were going to Gretna Green, something was dropped by D=
enny
expressing his belief that W. never intended to go there, or to marry Lydia=
at
all, which was repeated to Colonel F., who, instantly taking the alarm, set=
off
from B. intending to trace their route. He did trace them easily to Clapham=
, but
no further; for on entering that place, they removed into a hackney coach, =
and
dismissed the chaise that brought them from Epsom. All that is known after =
this
is, that they were seen to continue the London road. I know not what to thi=
nk.
After making every possible inquiry on that side London, Colonel F. came on
into Hertfordshire, anxiously renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the
inns in Barnet and Hatfield, but without any success--no such people had be=
en
seen to pass through. With the kindest concern he came on to Longbourn, and
broke his apprehensions to us in a manner most creditable to his heart. I am
sincerely grieved for him and Mrs. F., but no one can throw any blame on th=
em.
Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe th=
e worst,
but I cannot think so ill of him. Many circumstances might make it more
eligible for them to be married privately in town than to pursue their first
plan; and even if he could form such a design against a young=
woman
of Lydia's connections, which is not likely, can I suppose her so lost to
everything? Impossible! I grieve to find, however, that Colonel F. is not
disposed to depend upon their marriage; he shook his head when I expressed =
my
hopes, and said he feared W. was not a man to be trusted. My poor mother is
really ill, and keeps her room. Could she exert herself, it would be better;
but this is not to be expected. And as to my father, I never in my life saw=
him
so affected. Poor Kitty has anger for having concealed their attachment; bu=
t as
it was a matter of confidence, one cannot wonder. I am truly glad, dearest
Lizzy, that you have been spared something of these distressing scenes; but
now, as the first shock is over, shall I own that I long for your return? I=
am
not so selfish, however, as to press for it, if inconvenient. Adieu! I take=
up
my pen again to do what I have just told you I would not; but circumstances=
are
such that I cannot help earnestly begging you all to come here as soon as
possible. I know my dear uncle and aunt so well, that I am not afraid of
requesting it, though I have still something more to ask of the former. My
father is going to London with Colonel Forster instantly, to try to discover
her. What he means to do I am sure I know not; but his excessive distress w=
ill
not allow him to pursue any measure in the best and safest way, and Colonel
Forster is obliged to be at Brighton again to-morrow evening. In such an
exigence, my uncle's advice and assistance would be everything in the world=
; he
will immediately comprehend what I must feel, and I rely upon his
goodness."
"Oh! where, where is my uncle?" cried
Elizabeth, darting from her seat as she finished the letter, in eagerness to
follow him, without losing a moment of the time so precious; but as she rea=
ched
the door it was opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Her pale face =
and
impetuous manner made him start, and before he could recover himself to spe=
ak, she,
in whose mind every idea was superseded by Lydia's situation, hastily excla=
imed,
"I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this
moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have not an instant to
lose."
"Good God! what is the matter?" cried
he, with more feeling than politeness; then recollecting himself, "I w=
ill
not detain you a minute; but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mr=
s.
Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself."
Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled un=
der
her and she felt how little would be gained by her attempting to pursue the=
m.
Calling back the servant, therefore, she commissioned him, though in so
breathless an accent as made her almost unintelligible, to fetch his master=
and
mistress home instantly.
On his quitting the room she sat down, unable =
to support
herself, and looking so miserably ill, that it was impossible for Darcy to
leave her, or to refrain from saying, in a tone of gentleness and
commiseration, "Let me call your maid. Is there nothing you could take=
to
give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very
ill."
"No, I thank you," she replied,
endeavouring to recover herself. "There is nothing the matter with me.=
I
am quite well; I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just
received from Longbourn."
She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and=
for
a few minutes could not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, co=
uld
only say something indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in
compassionate silence. At length she spoke again. "I have just had a
letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyo=
ne.
My younger sister has left all her friends--has eloped; has thrown herself =
into
the power of--of Mr. Wickham. They are gone off together from Brighton.
Darcy was fixed in astonishment. "When I
consider," she added in a yet more agitated voice, "that I might =
have
prevented it! I, who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it
only--some part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had his character been
known, this could not have happened. But it is all--all too late now."=
"I am grieved indeed," cried Darcy;
"grieved--shocked. But is it certain--absolutely certain?"
"Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on
Sunday night, and were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are
certainly not gone to Scotland."
"And what has been done, what has been
attempted, to recover her?"
"My father is gone to London, and Jane has
written to beg my uncle's immediate assistance; and we shall be off, I hope=
, in
half-an-hour. But nothing can be done--I know very well that nothing can be
done. How is such a man to be worked on? How are they even to be discovered=
? I
have not the smallest hope. It is every way horrible!"
Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence. <= o:p>
"When <=
/span>my
eyes were opened to his real
character--Oh! had I known what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not=
--I
was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!"
Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to he=
ar
her, and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow
contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and instantly understo=
od
it. Her power was sinking; everything must
sink under such a proof of family =
weakness,
such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder nor
condemn, but the belief of his self-conquest brought nothing consolatory to=
her
bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exa=
ctly
calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never had she so hone=
stly
felt that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be vain.
But self, though it would intrude, could not
engross her. Lydia--the humiliation, the misery she was bringing on them al=
l,
soon swallowed up every private care; and covering her face with her
handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else; and, after a paus=
e of
several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice=
of
her companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke compassion, spoke
likewise restraint, said, "I am afraid you have been long desiring my
absence, nor have I anything to plead in excuse of my stay, but real, though
unavailing concern. Would to Heaven that anything could be either said or d=
one
on my part that might offer consolation to such distress! But I will not
torment you with vain wishes, which may seem purposely to ask for your than=
ks.
This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister's having the pleasu=
re
of seeing you at Pemberley to-day."
"Oh, yes. Be so kind as to apologise for =
us
to Miss Darcy. Say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal =
the
unhappy truth as long as it is possible, I know it cannot be long."
He readily assured her of his secrecy; again
expressed his sorrow for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion than
there was at present reason to hope, and leaving his compliments for her
relations, with only one serious, parting look, went away.
As he quitted the room, Elizabeth felt how
improbable it was that they should ever see each other again on such terms =
of
cordiality as had marked their several meetings in Derbyshire; and as she t=
hrew
a retrospective glance over the whole of their acquaintance, so full of
contradictions and varieties, sighed at the perverseness of those feelings
which would now have promoted its continuance, and would formerly have rejo=
iced
in its termination.
If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of
affection, Elizabeth's change of sentiment will be neither improbable nor
faulty. But if otherwise--if regard springing from such sources is unreason=
able
or unnatural, in comparison of what is so often described as arising on a f=
irst
interview with its object, and even before two words have been exchanged,
nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given somewhat of a
trial to the latter method in her partiality for Wickham, and that its ill
success might, perhaps, authorise her to seek the other less interesting mo=
de
of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him go with regret; and in this e=
arly
example of what Lydia's infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she
reflected on that wretched business. Never, since reading Jane's second let=
ter,
had she entertained a hope of Wickham's meaning to marry her. No one but Ja=
ne,
she thought, could flatter herself with such an expectation. Surprise was t=
he
least of her feelings on this development. While the contents of the first =
letter
remained in her mind, she was all surprise--all astonishment that Wickham
should marry a girl whom it was impossible he could marry for money; and how
Lydia could ever have attached him had appeared incomprehensible. But now it
was all too natural. For such an attachment as this she might have sufficie=
nt
charms; and though she did not suppose Lydia to be deliberately engaging in=
an
elopement without the intention of marriage, she had no difficulty in belie=
ving
that neither her virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falli=
ng
an easy prey.
She had never perceived, while the regiment wa=
s in
Hertfordshire, that Lydia had any partiality for him; but she was convinced
that Lydia wanted only encouragement to attach herself to anybody. Sometimes
one officer, sometimes another, had been her favourite, as their attentions=
raised
them in her opinion. Her affections had continually been fluctuating but ne=
ver
without an object. The mischief of neglect and mistaken indulgence towards =
such
a girl--oh! how acutely did she now feel it!
She was wild to be at home--to hear, to see, t=
o be
upon the spot to share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon
her, in a family so deranged, a father absent, a mother incapable of exerti=
on,
and requiring constant attendance; and though almost persuaded that nothing=
could
be done for Lydia, her uncle's interference seemed of the utmost importance,
and till he entered the room her impatience was severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardin=
er
had hurried back in alarm, supposing by the servant's account that their ni=
ece
was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying them instantly on that head, she eag=
erly
communicated the cause of their summons, reading the two letters aloud, and
dwelling on the postscript of the last with trembling energy, though Lydia =
had
never been a favourite with them, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner could not but be de=
eply
afflicted. Not Lydia only, but all were concerned in it; and after the first
exclamations of surprise and horror, Mr. Gardiner promised every assistance=
in
his power. Elizabeth, though expecting no less, thanked him with tears of
gratitude; and all three being actuated by one spirit, everything relating =
to
their journey was speedily settled. They were to be off as soon as possible.
"But what is to be done about Pemberley?" cried Mrs. Gardiner.
"John told us Mr. Darcy was here when you sent for us; was it so?"=
;
"Yes; and I told him we should not be abl=
e to
keep our engagement. That is all settled."
"What is all settled?" repeated the
other, as she ran into her room to prepare. "And are they upon such te=
rms
as for her to disclose the real truth? Oh, that I knew how it was!"
But wishes were vain, or at least could only s=
erve
to amuse her in the hurry and confusion of the following hour. Had Elizabeth
been at leisure to be idle, she would have remained certain that all employ=
ment
was impossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had her share of busi=
ness
as well as her aunt, and amongst the rest there were notes to be written to=
all
their friends at Lambton, with false excuses for their sudden departure. An
hour, however, saw the whole completed; and Mr. Gardiner meanwhile having
settled his account at the inn, nothing remained to be done but to go; and
Elizabeth, after all the misery of the morning, found herself, in a shorter
space of time than she could have supposed, seated in the carriage, and on =
the
road to Longbourn.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 47
"=
;I
have been thinking it over again, Elizabeth," said her uncle, as they =
drove
from the town; "and really, upon serious consideration, I am much more
inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does on the matter. It
appears to me so very unlikely that any young man should form such a design
against a girl who is by no means unprotected or friendless, and who was
actually staying in his colonel's family, that I am strongly inclined to ho=
pe
the best. Could he expect that her friends would not step forward? Could he
expect to be noticed again by the regiment, after such an affront to Colone=
l Forster?
His temptation is not adequate to the risk!"
"Do you really think so?" cried
Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.
"Upon my word," said Mrs. Gardiner,
"I begin to be of your uncle's opinion. It is really too great a viola=
tion
of decency, honour, and interest, for him to be guilty of. I cannot think so
very ill of Wickham. Can you yourself, Lizzy, so wholly give him up, as to
believe him capable of it?"
"Not, perhaps, of neglecting his own
interest; but of every other neglect I can believe him capable. If, indeed,=
it
should be so! But I dare not hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland=
if
that had been the case?"
"In the first place," replied Mr.
Gardiner, "there is no absolute proof that they are not gone to
Scotland."
"Oh! but their removing from the chaise i=
nto
a hackney coach is such a presumption! And, besides, no traces of them were=
to
be found on the Barnet road."
"Well, then--supposing them to be in Lond=
on.
They may be there, though for the purpose of concealment, for no more
exceptional purpose. It is not likely that money should be very abundant on
either side; and it might strike them that they could be more economically,
though less expeditiously, married in London than in Scotland."
"But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of
detection? Why must their marriage be private? Oh, no, no--this is not like=
ly.
His most particular friend, you see by Jane's account, was persuaded of his
never intending to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some
money. He cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia--what attraction has =
she beyond
youth, health, and good humour that could make him, for her sake, forego ev=
ery
chance of benefiting himself by marrying well? As to what restraint the
apprehensions of disgrace in the corps might throw on a dishonourable elope=
ment
with her, I am not able to judge; for I know nothing of the effects that su=
ch a
step might produce. But as to your other objection, I am afraid it will har=
dly
hold good. Lydia has no brothers to step forward; and he might imagine, fro=
m my
father's behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever=
seemed
to give to what was going forward in his family, that he would do as little, and think as little =
about
it, as any father could do, in such a matter."
"But can you think that Lydia is so lost =
to
everything but love of him as to consent to live with him on any terms other
than marriage?"
"It does seem, and it is most shocking
indeed," replied Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, "that a siste=
r's
sense of decency and virtue in such a point should admit of doubt. But, rea=
lly,
I know not what to say. Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very
young; she has never been taught to think on serious subjects; and for the =
last
half-year, nay, for a twelvemonth--she has been given up to nothing but
amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the mo=
st
idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way. =
Since
the ----shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation,
and officers have been in her head. She has been doing everything in her po=
wer
by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater--what shall I call =
it?
susceptibility to her feelings; which are naturally lively enough. And we a=
ll
know that Wickham has every charm of person and address that can captivate a
woman."
"But you see that Jane," said her au=
nt,
"does not think so very ill of Wickham as to believe him capable of the
attempt."
"Of whom does Jane ever think ill? And wh=
o is
there, whatever might be their former conduct, that she would think capable=
of
such an attempt, till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well =
as I
do, what Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate in eve=
ry sense
of the word; that he has neither integrity nor honour; that he is as false =
and
deceitful as he is insinuating."
"And do you really know all this?" c=
ried
Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity as to the mode of her intelligence was all
alive.
"I do indeed," replied Elizabeth, colouring. "I told you, the other day, of his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you yourself, when last at Longbourn, heard in what manner he sp= oke of the man who had behaved with such forbearance and liberality towards him. And there are other circumstances which I am not at liberty--which it is not worth while to relate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From what he said of Miss Darcy I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud, reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He= must know that she was as amiable and unpretending as we have found her." <= o:p>
"But does Lydia know nothing of this? can=
she
be ignorant of what you and Jane seem so well to understand?"
"Oh, yes!--that, that is the worst of all.
Till I was in Kent, and saw so much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation Colo=
nel
Fitzwilliam, I was ignorant of the truth myself. And when I returned home, =
the
----shire was to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight's time. As that was t=
he case,
neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it necessary to m=
ake
our knowledge public; for of what use could it apparently be to any one, th=
at
the good opinion which all the neighbourhood had of him should then be
overthrown? And even when it was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs.
Forster, the necessity of opening her eyes to his character never occurred =
to
me. That she could be in any danger from the deception
never entered my head. That such a consequence as this could ensue, you may easily believe, was=
far enough
from my thoughts."
"When they all removed to Brighton,
therefore, you had no reason, I suppose, to believe them fond of each
other?"
"Not the slightest. I can remember no sym=
ptom
of affection on either side; and had anything of the kind been perceptible,=
you
must be aware that ours is not a family on which it could be thrown away. W=
hen
first he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we a=
ll were.
Every girl in or near Meryton was out of her senses about him for the first=
two
months; but he never distinguished her by any particular attention; and,
consequently, after a moderate period of extravagant and wild admiration, h=
er
fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment, who treated her with mo=
re
distinction, again became her favourites."
* * * * *
It may be easily believed, that however little=
of
novelty could be added to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this
interesting subject, by its repeated discussion, no other could detain them
from it long, during the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts it=
was
never absent. Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self-reproach, she
could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness.
They travelled as expeditiously as possible, a=
nd,
sleeping one night on the road, reached Longbourn by dinner time the next d=
ay.
It was a comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wea=
ried
by long expectations.
The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight o=
f a
chaise, were standing on the steps of the house as they entered the paddock;
and, when the carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that light=
ed
up their faces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety =
of capers
and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest of their welcome.
Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of
them a hasty kiss, hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running
down from her mother's apartment, immediately met her.
Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her,
whilst tears filled the eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether
anything had been heard of the fugitives.
"Not yet," replied Jane. "But n=
ow
that my dear uncle is come, I hope everything will be well."
"Is my father in town?"
"Yes, he went on Tuesday, as I wrote you
word."
"And have you heard from him often?"=
"We have heard only twice. He wrote me a =
few
lines on Wednesday to say that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his
directions, which I particularly begged him to do. He merely added that he
should not write again till he had something of importance to mention."=
;
"And my mother--how is she? How are you
all?"
"My mother is tolerably well, I trust; th=
ough
her spirits are greatly shaken. She is up stairs and will have great
satisfaction in seeing you all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. M=
ary
and Kitty, thank Heaven, are quite well."
"But you--how are you?" cried Elizab=
eth.
"You look pale. How much you must have gone through!"
Her sister, however, assured her of her being
perfectly well; and their conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and
Mrs. Gardiner were engaged with their children, was now put an end to by the
approach of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed a=
nd thanked
them both, with alternate smiles and tears.
When they were all in the drawing-room, the
questions which Elizabeth had already asked were of course repeated by the
others, and they soon found that Jane had no intelligence to give. The sang=
uine
hope of good, however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested had not=
yet
deserted her; she still expected that it would all end well, and that every
morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father, to explai=
n their
proceedings, and, perhaps, announce their marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repai=
red,
after a few minutes' conversation together, received them exactly as might =
be
expected; with tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the
villainous conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and
ill-usage; blaming everybody but the person to whose ill-judging indulgence=
the
errors of her daughter must principally be owing.
"If I had been able," said she, &quo=
t;to
carry my point in going to Brighton, with all my family, this would not have happened; but poor dear L=
ydia had
nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out of the=
ir
sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their side, for s=
he is
not the kind of girl to do such a thing if she had been well looked after. I
always thought they were very unfit to have the charge of her; but I was
overruled, as I always am. Poor dear child! And now here's Mr. Bennet gone
away, and I know he will fight Wickham, wherever he meets him and then he w=
ill
be killed, and what is to become of us all? The Collinses will turn us out
before he is cold in his grave, and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do
not know what we shall do."
They all exclaimed against such terrific ideas;
and Mr. Gardiner, after general assurances of his affection for her and all=
her
family, told her that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would
assist Mr. Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.
"Do not give way to useless alarm,"
added he; "though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no
occasion to look on it as certain. It is not quite a week since they left
Brighton. In a few days more we may gain some news of them; and till we know
that they are not married, and have no design of marrying, do not let us gi=
ve
the matter over as lost. As soon as I get to town I shall go to my brother,=
and
make him come home with me to Gracechurch Street; and then we may consult t=
ogether
as to what is to be done."
"Oh! my dear brother," replied Mrs.
Bennet, "that is exactly what I could most wish for. And now do, when =
you
get to town, find them out, wherever they may be; and if they are not marri=
ed
already, make them marry. And as for wedding clothes, =
do not
let them wait for that, but tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she
chooses to buy them, after they are married. And, above all, keep Mr. Bennet
from fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in, that I am frighted o=
ut
of my wits--and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me--such s=
pasms
in my side and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get=
no
rest by night nor by day. And tell my dear Lydia not to give any directions
about her clothes till she has seen me, for she does not know which are the
best warehouses. Oh, brother, how kind you are! I know you will contrive it
all."
But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again =
of
his earnest endeavours in the cause, could not avoid recommending moderatio=
n to
her, as well in her hopes as her fear; and after talking with her in this
manner till dinner was on the table, they all left her to vent all her feel=
ings
on the housekeeper, who attended in the absence of her daughters.
Though her brother and sister were persuaded t=
hat
there was no real occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did n=
ot
attempt to oppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold
her tongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it b=
etter
that one only of the household, and the one whom =
they
could most trust should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the subj=
ect.
In the dining-room they were soon joined by Ma=
ry
and Kitty, who had been too busily engaged in their separate apartments to =
make
their appearance before. One came from her books, and the other from her
toilette. The faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change was
visible in either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the ang=
er which
she had herself incurred in this business, had given more of fretfulness th=
an
usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary, she was mistress enough of hers=
elf
to whisper to Elizabeth, with a countenance of grave reflection, soon after
they were seated at table:
"This is a most unfortunate affair, and w=
ill
probably be much talked of. But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour i=
nto
the wounded bosoms of each other the balm of sisterly consolation."
Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of
replying, she added, "Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may d=
raw
from it this useful lesson: that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievabl=
e;
that one false step involves her in endless ruin; that her reputation is no
less brittle than it is beautiful; and that she cannot be too much guarded =
in her
behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex."
Elizabeth lifted up her eyes in amazement, but=
was
too much oppressed to make any reply. Mary, however, continued to console
herself with such kind of moral extractions from the evil before them.
In the afternoon, the two elder Miss Bennets w=
ere
able to be for half-an-hour by themselves; and Elizabeth instantly availed
herself of the opportunity of making any inquiries, which Jane was equally
eager to satisfy. After joining in general lamentations over the dreadful
sequel of this event, which Elizabeth considered as all but certain, and Mi=
ss Bennet
could not assert to be wholly impossible, the former continued the subject,=
by
saying, "But tell me all and everything about it which I have not alre=
ady
heard. Give me further particulars. What did Colonel Forster say? Had they =
no
apprehension of anything before the elopement took place? They must have se=
en
them together for ever."
"Colonel Forster did own that he had often
suspected some partiality, especially on Lydia's side, but nothing to give =
him
any alarm. I am so grieved for him! His behaviour was attentive and kind to=
the
utmost. He was coming to us, in order to assure us of h=
is
concern, before he had any idea of their not being gone to Scotland: when t=
hat
apprehension first got abroad, it hastened his journey."
"And was Denny convinced that Wickham wou=
ld
not marry? Did he know of their intending to go off? Had Colonel Forster se=
en
Denny himself?"
"Yes; but, when questioned by him , Denny denied knowing anything of t=
heir
plans, and would not give his real opinion about it. He did not repeat his
persuasion of their not marrying--and from that , I am inclined to hope, he might h=
ave
been misunderstood before."
"And till Colonel Forster came himself, n=
ot
one of you entertained a doubt, I suppose, of their being really married?&q=
uot;
"How was it possible that such an idea sh=
ould
enter our brains? I felt a little uneasy--a little fearful of my sister's
happiness with him in marriage, because I knew that his conduct had not been
always quite right. My father and mother knew nothing of that; they only fe=
lt
how imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then owned, with a very natural tri=
umph
on knowing more than the rest of us, that in Lydia's last letter she had
prepared her for such a step. She had known, it seems, of their being in lo=
ve
with each other, many weeks."
"But not before they went to Brighton?&qu=
ot;
"No, I believe not."
"And did Colonel Forster appear to think =
well
of Wickham himself? Does he know his real character?"
"I must confess that he did not speak so =
well
of Wickham as he formerly did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravag=
ant.
And since this sad affair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton
greatly in debt; but I hope this may be false."
"Oh, Jane, had we been less secret, had we
told what we knew of him, this could not have happened!"
"Perhaps it would have been better,"
replied her sister. "But to expose the former faults of any person wit=
hout
knowing what their present feelings were, seemed unjustifiable. We acted wi=
th
the best intentions."
"Could Colonel Forster repeat the particu=
lars
of Lydia's note to his wife?"
"He brought it with him for us to see.&qu=
ot;
Jane then took it from her pocket-book, and ga=
ve
it to Elizabeth. These were the contents:
"MY DEAR HARRIET,
"You will laugh when you know where I am
gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning,=
as
soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess wi=
th
who, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I=
love,
and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it no har=
m to
be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, if you do not
like it, for it will make the surprise the greater, when I write to them and
sign my name 'Lydia Wickham.' What a good joke it will be! I can hardly wri=
te
for laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt for not keeping my engagement, =
and
dancing with him to-night. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows =
all;
and tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet, with great
pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish y=
ou
would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they =
are packed
up. Good-bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our
good journey.
"Your affectionate friend,
"LYDIA BENNET."
"Oh! thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!"
cried Elizabeth when she had finished it. "What a letter is this, to be
written at such a moment! But at least it shows that she =
span>was
serious on the subject of their journey. Whatever he might afterwards persu=
ade
her to, it was not on her side a s=
cheme of infamy. My poor father! how he must h=
ave
felt it!"
"I never saw anyone so shocked. He could =
not
speak a word for full ten minutes. My mother was taken ill immediately, and=
the
whole house in such confusion!"
"Oh! Jane," cried Elizabeth, "w=
as
there a servant belonging to it who did not know the whole story before the=
end
of the day?"
"I do not know. I hope there was. But to =
be
guarded at such a time is very difficult. My mother was in hysterics, and
though I endeavoured to give her every assistance in my power, I am afraid I
did not do so much as I might have done! But the horror of what might possi=
bly
happen almost took from me my faculties."
"Your attendance upon her has been too mu=
ch
for you. You do not look well. Oh that I had been with you! you have had ev=
ery
care and anxiety upon yourself alone."
"Mary and Kitty have been very kind, and
would have shared in every fatigue, I am sure; but I did not think it right=
for
either of them. Kitty is slight and delicate; and Mary studies so much, that
her hours of repose should not be broken in on. My aunt Phillips came to
Longbourn on Tuesday, after my father went away; and was so good as to stay
till Thursday with me. She was of great use and comfort to us all. And Lady
Lucas has been very kind; she walked here on Wednesday morning to condole w=
ith
us, and offered her services, or any of her daughters', if they should be of
use to us."
"She had better have stayed at home,"
cried Elizabeth; "perhaps she meant
well, but, under such a misfortune=
as
this, one cannot see too little of one's neighbours. Assistance is impossib=
le;
condolence insufferable. Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be
satisfied."
She then proceeded to inquire into the measures
which her father had intended to pursue, while in town, for the recovery of=
his
daughter.
"He meant I believe," replied Jane,
"to go to Epsom, the place where they last changed horses, see the
postilions and try if anything could be made out from them. His principal
object must be to discover the number of the hackney coach which took them =
from
Clapham. It had come with a fare from London; and as he thought that the
circumstance of a gentleman and lady's removing from one carriage into anot=
her
might be remarked he meant to make inquiries at Clapham. If he could anyhow=
discover
at what house the coachman had before set down his fare, he determined to m=
ake
inquiries there, and hoped it might not be impossible to find out the stand=
and
number of the coach. I do not know of any other designs that he had formed;=
but
he was in such a hurry to be gone, and his spirits so greatly discomposed, =
that
I had difficulty in finding out even so much as this."
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 48
The w=
hole
party were in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next morning, but the p=
ost
came in without bringing a single line from him. His family knew him to be,=
on
all common occasions, a most negligent and dilatory correspondent; but at s=
uch
a time they had hoped for exertion. They were forced to conclude that he ha=
d no
pleasing intelligence to send; but even of that they would have been glad to be certain.=
Mr. Gardiner
had waited only for the letters before he set off.
When he was gone, they were certain at least of
receiving constant information of what was going on, and their uncle promis=
ed,
at parting, to prevail on Mr. Bennet to return to Longbourn, as soon as he
could, to the great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the onl=
y security
for her husband's not being killed in a duel.
Mrs. Gardiner and the children were to remain =
in
Hertfordshire a few days longer, as the former thought her presence might be
serviceable to her nieces. She shared in their attendance on Mrs. Bennet, a=
nd
was a great comfort to them in their hours of freedom. Their other aunt als=
o visited
them frequently, and always, as she said, with the design of cheering and
heartening them up--though, as she never came without reporting some fresh
instance of Wickham's extravagance or irregularity, she seldom went away
without leaving them more dispirited than she found them.
All Meryton seemed striving to blacken the man
who, but three months before, had been almost an angel of light. He was
declared to be in debt to every tradesman in the place, and his intrigues, =
all
honoured with the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesma=
n's
family. Everybody declared that he was the wickedest young man in the world=
; and
everybody began to find out that they had always distrusted the appearance =
of
his goodness. Elizabeth, though she did not credit above half of what was s=
aid,
believed enough to make her former assurance of her sister's ruin more cert=
ain;
and even Jane, who believed still less of it, became almost hopeless, more
especially as the time was now come when, if they had gone to Scotland, whi=
ch
she had never before entirely despaired of, they must in all probability ha=
ve
gained some news of them.
Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tues=
day
his wife received a letter from him; it told them that, on his arrival, he =
had
immediately found out his brother, and persuaded him to come to Gracechurch
Street; that Mr. Bennet had been to Epsom and Clapham, before his arrival, =
but
without gaining any satisfactory information; and that he was now determine=
d to
inquire at all the principal hotels in town, as Mr. Bennet thought it possi=
ble
they might have gone to one of them, on their first coming to London, before
they procured lodgings. Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect any success from
this measure, but as his brother was eager in it, he meant to assist him in
pursuing it. He added that Mr. Bennet seemed wholly disinclined at present =
to
leave London and promised to write again very soon. There was also a postsc=
ript
to this effect:
"I have written to Colonel Forster to des=
ire
him to find out, if possible, from some of the young man's intimates in the
regiment, whether Wickham has any relations or connections who would be lik=
ely
to know in what part of town he has now concealed himself. If there were an=
yone
that one could apply to with a probability of gaining such a clue as that, =
it
might be of essential consequence. At present we have nothing to guide us.
Colonel Forster will, I dare say, do everything in his power to satisfy us =
on
this head. But, on second thoughts, perhaps, Lizzy could tell us what relat=
ions
he has now living, better than any other person."
Elizabeth was at no loss to understand from wh=
ence
this deference to her authority proceeded; but it was not in her power to g=
ive
any information of so satisfactory a nature as the compliment deserved. She=
had
never heard of his having had any relations, except a father and mother, bo=
th of
whom had been dead many years. It was possible, however, that some of his
companions in the ----shire might be able to give more information; and tho=
ugh
she was not very sanguine in expecting it, the application was a something =
to
look forward to.
Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiet=
y;
but the most anxious part of each was when the post was expected. The arriv=
al
of letters was the grand object of every morning's impatience. Through lett=
ers,
whatever of good or bad was to be told would be communicated, and every suc=
ceeding
day was expected to bring some news of importance.
But before they heard again from Mr. Gardiner,=
a
letter arrived for their father, from a different quarter, from Mr. Collins;
which, as Jane had received directions to open all that came for him in his
absence, she accordingly read; and Elizabeth, who knew what curiosities his=
letters
always were, looked over her, and read it likewise. It was as follows:
"MY DEAR SIR,
"I feel myself called upon, by our
relationship, and my situation in life, to condole with you on the grievous
affliction you are now suffering under, of which we were yesterday informed=
by
a letter from Hertfordshire. Be assured, my dear sir, that Mrs. Collins and
myself sincerely sympathise with you and all your respectable family, in yo=
ur
present distress, which must be of the bitterest kind, because proceeding f=
rom
a cause which no time can remove. No arguments shall be wanting on my part =
that
can alleviate so severe a misfortune--or that may comfort you, under a
circumstance that must be of all others the most afflicting to a parent's m=
ind.
The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this.
And it is the more to be lamented, because there is reason to suppose as my
dear Charlotte informs me, that this licentiousness of behaviour in your
daughter has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence; though, at the s=
ame
time, for the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to thi=
nk that
her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of su=
ch
an enormity, at so early an age. Howsoever that may be, you are grievously =
to
be pitied; in which opinion I am not only joined by Mrs. Collins, but likew=
ise
by Lady Catherine and her daughter, to whom I have related the affair. They
agree with me in apprehending that this false step in one daughter will be
injurious to the fortunes of all the others; for who, as Lady Catherine her=
self
condescendingly says, will connect themselves with such a family? And this
consideration leads me moreover to reflect, with augmented satisfaction, on=
a
certain event of last November; for had it been otherwise, I must have been
involved in all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me then advise you, dear sir,=
to console
yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child from your
affection for ever, and leave her to reap the fruits of her own heinous
offense.
"I am, dear sir, etc., etc."
Mr. Gardiner did not write again till he had
received an answer from Colonel Forster; and then he had nothing of a pleas=
ant
nature to send. It was not known that Wickham had a single relationship with
whom he kept up any connection, and it was certain that he had no near one =
living.
His former acquaintances had been numerous; but since he had been in the
militia, it did not appear that he was on terms of particular friendship wi=
th
any of them. There was no one, therefore, who could be pointed out as likel=
y to
give any news of him. And in the wretched state of his own finances, there =
was
a very powerful motive for secrecy, in addition to his fear of discovery by
Lydia's relations, for it had just transpired that he had left gaming debts
behind him to a very considerable amount. Colonel Forster believed that more
than a thousand pounds would be necessary to clear his expenses at Brighton=
. He
owed a good deal in town, but his debts of honour were still more formidabl=
e.
Mr. Gardiner did not attempt to conceal these particulars from the Longbourn
family. Jane heard them with horror. "A gamester!" she cried.
"This is wholly unexpected. I had not an idea of it."
Mr. Gardiner added in his letter, that they mi=
ght
expect to see their father at home on the following day, which was Saturday.
Rendered spiritless by the ill-success of all their endeavours, he had yiel=
ded to
his brother-in-law's entreaty that he would return to his family, and leave=
it
to him to do whatever occasion might suggest to be advisable for continuing
their pursuit. When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, she did not express so mu=
ch
satisfaction as her children expected, considering what her anxiety for his
life had been before.
"What, is he coming home, and without poor
Lydia?" she cried. "Sure he will not leave London before he has f=
ound
them. Who is to fight Wickham, and make him marry her, if he comes away?&qu=
ot;
As Mrs. Gardiner began to wish to be at home, =
it
was settled that she and the children should go to London, at the same time
that Mr. Bennet came from it. The coach, therefore, took them the first sta=
ge
of their journey, and brought its master back to Longbourn.
Mrs. Gardiner went away in all the perplexity
about Elizabeth and her Derbyshire friend that had attended her from that p=
art
of the world. His name had never been voluntarily mentioned before them by =
her
niece; and the kind of half-expectation which Mrs. Gardiner had formed, of
their being followed by a letter from him, had ended in nothing. Elizabeth =
had received
none since her return that could come from Pemberley.
The present unhappy state of the family render=
ed
any other excuse for the lowness of her spirits unnecessary; nothing,
therefore, could be fairly conjectured from that , though Elizabeth, who was by this=
time tolerably
well acquainted with her own feelings, was perfectly aware that, had she kn=
own
nothing of Darcy, she could have borne the dread of Lydia's infamy somewhat
better. It would have spared her, she thought, one sleepless night out of t=
wo.
When Mr. Bennet arrived, he had all the appear=
ance
of his usual philosophic composure. He said as little as he had ever been in
the habit of saying; made no mention of the business that had taken him awa=
y,
and it was some time before his daughters had courage to speak of it.
It was not till the afternoon, when he had joi=
ned
them at tea, that Elizabeth ventured to introduce the subject; and then, on=
her
briefly expressing her sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied,
"Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own
doing, and I ought to feel it."
"You must not be too severe upon
yourself," replied Elizabeth.
"You may well warn me against such an evi=
l.
Human nature is so prone to fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life
feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by=
the
impression. It will pass away soon enough."
"Do you suppose them to be in London?&quo=
t;
"Yes; where else can they be so well
concealed?"
"And Lydia used to want to go to
London," added Kitty.
"She is happy then," said her father
drily; "and her residence there will probably be of some duration.&quo=
t;
Then after a short silence he continued:
"Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being
justified in your advice to me last May, which, considering the event, show=
s some
greatness of mind."
They were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came=
to
fetch her mother's tea.
"This is a parade," he cried,
"which does one good; it gives such an elegance to misfortune! Another=
day
I will do the same; I will sit in my library, in my nightcap and powdering
gown, and give as much trouble as I can; or, perhaps, I may defer it till K=
itty
runs away."
"I am not going to run away, papa," =
said
Kitty fretfully. "If I should ever go to Brighton, I would behave bett=
er
than Lydia."
" You go to Brighton. I would not trust you so=
near
it as Eastbourne for fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be
cautious, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter =
into
my house again, nor even to pass through the village. Balls will be absolut=
ely
prohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters. And you are never=
to
stir out of doors till you can prove that you have spent ten minutes of eve=
ry
day in a rational manner."
Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious=
light,
began to cry.
"Well, well," said he, "do not =
make
yourself unhappy. If you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take
you to a review at the end of them."
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 49
Two d=
ays
after Mr. Bennet's return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking together in t=
he
shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper coming towards them, a=
nd,
concluding that she came to call them to their mother, went forward to meet
her; but, instead of the expected summons, when they approached her, she sa=
id to
Miss Bennet, "I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but I wa=
s in
hopes you might have got some good news from town, so I took the liberty of
coming to ask."
"What do you mean, Hill? We have heard
nothing from town."
"Dear madam," cried Mrs. Hill, in gr=
eat
astonishment, "don't you know there is an express come for master from=
Mr.
Gardiner? He has been here this half-hour, and master has had a letter.&quo=
t;
Away ran the girls, too eager to get in to have
time for speech. They ran through the vestibule into the breakfast-room; fr=
om
thence to the library; their father was in neither; and they were on the po=
int
of seeking him up stairs with their mother, when they were met by the butle=
r,
who said:
"If you are looking for my master, ma'am,=
he
is walking towards the little copse."
Upon this information, they instantly passed
through the hall once more, and ran across the lawn after their father, who=
was
deliberately pursuing his way towards a small wood on one side of the paddo=
ck.
Jane, who was not so light nor so much in the
habit of running as Elizabeth, soon lagged behind, while her sister, panting
for breath, came up with him, and eagerly cried out:
"Oh, papa, what news--what news? Have you
heard from my uncle?"
"Yes I have had a letter from him by
express."
"Well, and what news does it bring--good =
or
bad?"
"What is there of good to be expected?&qu=
ot;
said he, taking the letter from his pocket. "But perhaps you would lik=
e to
read it."
Elizabeth impatiently caught it from his hand.
Jane now came up.
"Read it aloud," said their father,
"for I hardly know myself what it is about."
"Gracechurch Street, Monday, August 2.
"MY DEAR BROTHER,
"At last I am able to send you some tidin=
gs
of my niece, and such as, upon the whole, I hope it will give you satisfact=
ion.
Soon after you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in w=
hat
part of London they were. The particulars I reserve till we meet; it is eno=
ugh to
know they are discovered. I have seen them both--"
"Then it is as I always hoped," cried
Jane; "they are married!"
Elizabeth read on:
"I have seen them both. They are not marr=
ied,
nor can I find there was any intention of being so; but if you are willing =
to
perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on your side, I hope =
it
will not be long before they are. All that is required of you is, to assure=
to
your daughter, by settlement, her equal share of the five thousand pounds
secured among your children after the decease of yourself and my sister; an=
d,
moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her, during your life, one
hundred pounds per annum. These are conditions which, considering everythin=
g, I
had no hesitation in complying with, as far as I thought myself privileged,=
for
you. I shall send this by express, that no time may be lost in bringing me =
your
answer. You will easily comprehend, from these particulars, that Mr. Wickha=
m's circumstances
are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to be. The world has been
deceived in that respect; and I am happy to say there will be some little
money, even when all his debts are discharged, to settle on my niece, in
addition to her own fortune. If, as I conclude will be the case, you send me
full powers to act in your name throughout the whole of this business, I wi=
ll
immediately give directions to Haggerston for preparing a proper settlement.
There will not be the smallest occasion for your coming to town again;
therefore stay quiet at Longbourn, and depend on my diligence and care. Send
back your answer as fast as you can, and be careful to write explicitly. We
have judged it best that my niece should be married from this house, of whi=
ch I
hope you will approve. She comes to us to-day. I shall write again as soon =
as anything
more is determined on. Yours, etc.,
"EDW. GARDINER."
"Is it possible?" cried Elizabeth, w=
hen
she had finished. "Can it be possible that he will marry her?"
"Wickham is not so undeserving, then, as =
we
thought him," said her sister. "My dear father, I congratulate
you."
"And have you answered the letter?"
cried Elizabeth.
"No; but it must be done soon."
Most earnestly did she then entreaty him to lo=
se
no more time before he wrote.
"Oh! my dear father," she cried,
"come back and write immediately. Consider how important every moment =
is
in such a case."
"Let me write for you," said Jane,
"if you dislike the trouble yourself."
"I dislike it very much," he replied;
"but it must be done."
And so saying, he turned back with them, and
walked towards the house.
"And may I ask--" said Elizabeth;
"but the terms, I suppose, must be complied with."
"Complied with! I am only ashamed of his
asking so little."
"And they must marry! Yet he is such <=
/span>a
man!"
"Yes, yes, they must marry. There is noth=
ing
else to be done. But there are two things that I want very much to know; one
is, how much money your uncle has laid down to bring it about; and the othe=
r,
how am I ever to pay him."
"Money! My uncle!" cried Jane,
"what do you mean, sir?"
"I mean, that no man in his senses would =
marry
Lydia on so slight a temptation as one hundred a year during my life, and f=
ifty
after I am gone."
"That is very true," said Elizabeth;
"though it had not occurred to me before. His debts to be discharged, =
and
something still to remain! Oh! it must be my uncle's doings! Generous, good
man, I am afraid he has distressed himself. A small sum could not do all
this."
"No," said her father; "Wickham=
's a
fool if he takes her with a farthing less than ten thousand pounds. I shoul=
d be
sorry to think so ill of him, in the very beginning of our relationship.&qu=
ot;
"Ten thousand pounds! Heaven forbid! How =
is
half such a sum to be repaid?"
Mr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them, d= eep in thought, continued silent till they reached the house. Their father then= went on to the library to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room. <= o:p>
"And they are really to be married!"
cried Elizabeth, as soon as they were by themselves. "How strange this=
is!
And for this we are to be thankful. That they should =
marry,
small as is their chance of happiness, and wretched as is his character, we=
are
forced to rejoice. Oh, Lydia!"
"I comfort myself with thinking,"
replied Jane, "that he certainly would not marry Lydia if he had not a
real regard for her. Though our kind uncle has done something towards clear=
ing
him, I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds, or anything like it, has be=
en
advanced. He has children of his own, and may have more. How could he spare
half ten thousand pounds?"
"If he were ever able to learn what Wickh=
am's
debts have been," said Elizabeth, "and how much is settled on his
side on our sister, we shall exactly know what Mr. Gardiner has done for th=
em,
because Wickham has not sixpence of his own. The kindness of my uncle and a=
unt
can never be requited. Their taking her home, and affording her their perso=
nal protection
and countenance, is such a sacrifice to her advantage as years of gratitude
cannot enough acknowledge. By this time she is actually with them! If such
goodness does not make her miserable now, she will never deserve to be happ=
y!
What a meeting for her, when she first sees my aunt!"
"We must endeavour to forget all that has
passed on either side," said Jane: "I hope and trust they will ye=
t be
happy. His consenting to marry her is a proof, I will believe, that he is c=
ome
to a right way of thinking. Their mutual affection will steady them; and I
flatter myself they will settle so quietly, and live in so rational a manne=
r,
as may in time make their past imprudence forgotten."
"Their conduct has been such," repli=
ed
Elizabeth, "as neither you, nor I, nor anybody can ever forget. It is
useless to talk of it."
It now occurred to the girls that their mother=
was
in all likelihood perfectly ignorant of what had happened. They went to the
library, therefore, and asked their father whether he would not wish them to
make it known to her. He was writing and, without raising his head, coolly =
replied:
"Just as you please."
"May we take my uncle's letter to read to
her?"
"Take whatever you like, and get away.&qu=
ot;
Elizabeth took the letter from his writing-tab=
le,
and they went up stairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet:
one communication would, therefore, do for all. After a slight preparation =
for
good news, the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain hers=
elf.
As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner's hope of Lydia's being soon married,=
her
joy burst forth, and every following sentence added to its exuberance. She =
was
now in an irritation as violent from delight, as she had ever been fidgety =
from
alarm and vexation. To know that her daughter would be married was enough. =
She
was disturbed by no fear for her felicity, nor humbled by any remembrance of
her misconduct.
"My dear, dear Lydia!" she cried.
"This is delightful indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again!
She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew how it would =
be.
I knew he would manage everything! How I long to see her! and to see dear
Wickham too! But the clothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister
Gardiner about them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and =
ask
him how much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go myself. Ring the bell,=
Kitty,
for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. My dear, dear Lydia! How mer=
ry
we shall be together when we meet!"
Her eldest daughter endeavoured to give some
relief to the violence of these transports, by leading her thoughts to the
obligations which Mr. Gardiner's behaviour laid them all under.
"For we must attribute this happy
conclusion," she added, "in a great measure to his kindness. We a=
re
persuaded that he has pledged himself to assist Mr. Wickham with money.&quo=
t;
"Well," cried her mother, "it is
all very right; who should do it but her own uncle? If he had not had a fam=
ily
of his own, I and my children must have had all his money, you know; and it=
is
the first time we have ever had anything from him, except a few presents. W=
ell!
I am so happy! In a short time I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickha=
m! How
well it sounds! And she was only sixteen last June. My dear Jane, I am in s=
uch
a flutter, that I am sure I can't write; so I will dictate, and you write f=
or
me. We will settle with your father about the money afterwards; but the thi=
ngs
should be ordered immediately."
She was then proceeding to all the particulars=
of
calico, muslin, and cambric, and would shortly have dictated some very
plentiful orders, had not Jane, though with some difficulty, persuaded her =
to
wait till her father was at leisure to be consulted. One day's delay, she
observed, would be of small importance; and her mother was too happy to be
quite so obstinate as usual. Other schemes, too, came into her head.
"I will go to Meryton," said she,
"as soon as I am dressed, and tell the good, good news to my sister
Philips. And as I come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Kitty,=
run
down and order the carriage. An airing would do me a great deal of good, I =
am
sure. Girls, can I do anything for you in Meryton? Oh! Here comes Hill! My =
dear
Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Lydia is going to be married; and =
you
shall all have a bowl of punch to make merry at her wedding."
Mrs. Hill began instantly to express her joy.
Elizabeth received her congratulations amongst the rest, and then, sick of =
this
folly, took refuge in her own room, that she might think with freedom.
Poor Lydia's situation must, at best, be bad
enough; but that it was no worse, she had need to be thankful. She felt it =
so;
and though, in looking forward, neither rational happiness nor worldly
prosperity could be justly expected for her sister, in looking back to what
they had feared, only two hours ago, she felt all the advantages of what th=
ey
had gained.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 50
Mr. B=
ennet
had very often wished before this period of his life that, instead of spend=
ing
his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum for the better provision of =
his
children, and of his wife, if she survived him. He now wished it more than
ever. Had he done his duty in that respect, Lydia need not have been indebt=
ed
to her uncle for whatever of honour or credit could now be purchased for he=
r.
The satisfaction of prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Gr=
eat
Britain to be her husband might then have rested in its proper place.
He was seriously concerned that a cause of so
little advantage to anyone should be forwarded at the sole expense of his
brother-in-law, and he was determined, if possible, to find out the extent =
of
his assistance, and to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.
When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was
held to be perfectly useless, for, of course, they were to have a son. The =
son
was to join in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and =
the
widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daught=
ers successively
entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for many y=
ears
after Lydia's birth, had been certain that he would. This event had at last
been despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no
turn for economy, and her husband's love of independence had alone prevented
their exceeding their income.
Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage
articles on Mrs. Bennet and the children. But in what proportions it should=
be
divided amongst the latter depended on the will of the parents. This was one
point, with regard to Lydia, at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr.
Bennet could have no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In =
terms
of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his brother, though expressed
most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect approbation of all t=
hat
was done, and his willingness to fulfil the engagements that had been made =
for
him. He had never before supposed that, could Wickham be prevailed on to ma=
rry
his daughter, it would be done with so little inconvenience to himself as by
the present arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser by
the hundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket a=
llowance,
and the continual presents in money which passed to her through her mother's
hands, Lydia's expenses had been very little within that sum.
That it would be done with such trifling exert=
ion
on his side, too, was another very welcome surprise; for his wish at present
was to have as little trouble in the business as possible. When the first
transports of rage which had produced his activity in seeking her were over=
, he
naturally returned to all his former indolence. His letter was soon dispatc=
hed;
for, though dilatory in undertaking business, he was quick in its execution=
. He
begged to know further particulars of what he was indebted to his brother, =
but
was too angry with Lydia to send any message to her.
The good news spread quickly through the house,
and with proportionate speed through the neighbourhood. It was borne in the
latter with decent philosophy. To be sure, it would have been more for the
advantage of conversation had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as =
the happiest
alternative, been secluded from the world, in some distant farmhouse. But t=
here
was much to be talked of in marrying her; and the good-natured wishes for h=
er
well-doing which had proceeded before from all the spiteful old ladies in
Meryton lost but a little of their spirit in this change of circumstances,
because with such an husband her misery was considered certain.
It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been
downstairs; but on this happy day she again took her seat at the head of her
table, and in spirits oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp =
to
her triumph. The marriage of a daughter, which had been the first object of=
her
wishes since Jane was sixteen, was now on the point of accomplishment, and =
her
thoughts and her words ran wholly on those attendants of elegant nuptials, =
fine
muslins, new carriages, and servants. She was busily searching through the
neighbourhood for a proper situation for her daughter, and, without knowing=
or
considering what their income might be, rejected many as deficient in size =
and importance.
"Haye Park might do," said she, &quo=
t;if
the Gouldings could quit it--or the great house at Stoke, if the drawing-ro=
om
were larger; but Ashworth is too far off! I could not bear to have her ten
miles from me; and as for Pulvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful."
Her husband allowed her to talk on without
interruption while the servants remained. But when they had withdrawn, he s=
aid
to her: "Mrs. Bennet, before you take any or all of these houses for y=
our
son and daughter, let us come to a right understanding. Into one house in this neighbourhood they shall n=
ever
have admittance. I will not encourage the impudence of either, by receiving
them at Longbourn."
A long dispute followed this declaration; but =
Mr.
Bennet was firm. It soon led to another; and Mrs. Bennet found, with amazem=
ent
and horror, that her husband would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for =
his daughter.
He protested that she should receive from him no mark of affection whatever=
on
the occasion. Mrs. Bennet could hardly comprehend it. That his anger could =
be
carried to such a point of inconceivable resentment as to refuse his daught=
er a
privilege without which her marriage would scarcely seem valid, exceeded all
she could believe possible. She was more alive to the disgrace which her wa=
nt
of new clothes must reflect on her daughter's nuptials, than to any sense o=
f shame
at her eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight before they took place. =
Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she
had, from the distress of the moment, been led to make Mr. Darcy acquainted
with their fears for her sister; for since her marriage would so shortly gi=
ve
the proper termination to the elopement, they might hope to conceal its unf=
avourable
beginning from all those who were not immediately on the spot.
She had no fear of its spreading farther throu=
gh
his means. There were few people on whose secrecy she would have more
confidently depended; but, at the same time, there was no one whose knowled=
ge
of a sister's frailty would have mortified her so much--not, however, from =
any
fear of disadvantage from it individually to herself, for, at any rate, the=
re
seemed a gulf impassable between them. Had Lydia's marriage been concluded =
on
the most honourable terms, it was not to be supposed that Mr. Darcy would
connect himself with a family where, to every other objection, would now be
added an alliance and relationship of the nearest kind with a man whom he so
justly scorned.
From such a connection she could not wonder th=
at he
would shrink. The wish of procuring her regard, which she had assured herse=
lf
of his feeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational expectation survive suc=
h a blow
as this. She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she hardly =
knew
of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to=
be
benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least cha=
nce
of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that she could have been happy w=
ith
him, when it was no longer likely they should meet.
What a triumph for him, as she often thought,
could he know that the proposals which she had proudly spurned only four mo=
nths
ago, would now have been most gladly and gratefully received! He was as
generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex; but while he was
mortal, there must be a triumph.
She began now to comprehend that he was exactly
the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understan=
ding
and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It w=
as
an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and
liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved; and fr=
om
his judgement, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have recei=
ved
benefit of greater importance.
But no such happy marriage could now teach the
admiring multitude what connubial felicity really was. An union of a differ=
ent
tendency, and precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be forme=
d in
their family.
How Wickham and Lydia were to be supported in
tolerable independence, she could not imagine. But how little of permanent
happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because t=
heir
passions were stronger than their virtue, she could easily conjecture.
* * * * *
Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. =
To
Mr. Bennet's acknowledgments he briefly replied, with assurance of his
eagerness to promote the welfare of any of his family; and concluded with
entreaties that the subject might never be mentioned to him again. The
principal purport of his letter was to inform them that Mr. Wickham had
resolved on quitting the militia.
"It was greatly my wish that he should do
so," he added, "as soon as his marriage was fixed on. And I think=
you
will agree with me, in considering the removal from that corps as highly
advisable, both on his account and my niece's. It is Mr. Wickham's intentio=
n to
go into the regulars; and among his former friends, there are still some wh=
o are
able and willing to assist him in the army. He has the promise of an ensign=
cy
in General ----'s regiment, now quartered in the North. It is an advantage =
to
have it so far from this part of the kingdom. He promises fairly; and I hope
among different people, where they may each have a character to preserve, t=
hey
will both be more prudent. I have written to Colonel Forster, to inform him=
of
our present arrangements, and to request that he will satisfy the various
creditors of Mr. Wickham in and near Brighton, with assurances of speedy
payment, for which I have pledged myself. And will you give yourself the
trouble of carrying similar assurances to his creditors in Meryton, of whom=
I
shall subjoin a list according to his information? He has given in all his
debts; I hope at least he has not deceived us. Haggerston has our direction=
s, and
all will be completed in a week. They will then join his regiment, unless t=
hey
are first invited to Longbourn; and I understand from Mrs. Gardiner, that my
niece is very desirous of seeing you all before she leaves the South. She is
well, and begs to be dutifully remembered to you and your mother.--Yours, e=
tc.,
"E. GARDINER."
Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the
advantages of Wickham's removal from the ----shire as clearly as Mr. Gardin=
er
could do. But Mrs. Bennet was not so well pleased with it. Lydia's being
settled in the North, just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in=
her
company, for she had by no means given up her plan of their residing in Her=
tfordshire,
was a severe disappointment; and, besides, it was such a pity that Lydia sh=
ould
be taken from a regiment where she was acquainted with everybody, and had so
many favourites.
"She is so fond of Mrs. Forster," sa=
id
she, "it will be quite shocking to send her away! And there are severa=
l of
the young men, too, that she likes very much. The officers may not be so
pleasant in General ----'s regiment."
His daughter's request, for such it might be
considered, of being admitted into her family again before she set off for =
the
North, received at first an absolute negative. But Jane and Elizabeth, who
agreed in wishing, for the sake of their sister's feelings and consequence,
that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents, urged him so ear=
nestly
yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her and her husband at Longbour=
n,
as soon as they were married, that he was prevailed on to think as they
thought, and act as they wished. And their mother had the satisfaction of
knowing that she would be able to show her married daughter in the
neighbourhood before she was banished to the North. When Mr. Bennet wrote a=
gain
to his brother, therefore, he sent his permission for them to come; and it =
was
settled, that as soon as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to
Longbourn. Elizabeth was surprised, however, that Wickham should consent to
such a scheme, and had she consulted only her own inclination, any meeting =
with
him would have been the last object of her wishes.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 51
Their
sister's wedding day arrived; and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her probably =
more
than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet them at ----, and =
they
were to return in it by dinner-time. Their arrival was dreaded by the elder
Miss Bennets, and Jane more especially, who gave Lydia the feelings which w=
ould
have attended herself, had she been the culprit, and was wretched in the
thought of what her sister must endure.
They came. The family were assembled in the
breakfast room to receive them. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet as the
carriage drove up to the door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her
daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy.
Lydia's voice was heard in the vestibule; the =
door
was thrown open, and she ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards,
embraced her, and welcomed her with rapture; gave her hand, with an
affectionate smile, to Wickham, who followed his lady; and wished them both=
joy
with an alacrity which shewed no doubt of their happiness.
Their reception from Mr. Bennet, to whom they =
then
turned, was not quite so cordial. His countenance rather gained in austerit=
y;
and he scarcely opened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple,
indeed, was enough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss
Bennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy,=
and
fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations;
and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly round the room, took
notice of some little alteration in it, and observed, with a laugh, that it=
was
a great while since she had been there.
Wickham was not at all more distressed than
herself, but his manners were always so pleasing, that had his character and
his marriage been exactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address,
while he claimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabe=
th
had not before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down=
, resolving
within herself to draw no limits in future to the impudence of an impudent =
man.
She blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the two who caused their
confusion suffered no variation of colour.
There was no want of discourse. The bride and =
her
mother could neither of them talk fast enough; and Wickham, who happened to=
sit
near Elizabeth, began inquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhoo=
d, with
a good humoured ease which she felt very unable to equal in her replies. Th=
ey
seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the world. Nothing of =
the
past was recollected with pain; and Lydia led voluntarily to subjects which=
her
sisters would not have alluded to for the world.
"Only think of its being three months,&qu=
ot;
she cried, "since I went away; it seems but a fortnight I declare; and=
yet
there have been things enough happened in the time. Good gracious! when I w=
ent
away, I am sure I had no more idea of being married till I came back again!
though I thought it would be very good fun if I was."
Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was
distressed. Elizabeth looked expressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard
nor saw anything of which she chose to be insensible, gaily continued,
"Oh! mamma, do the people hereabouts know I am married to-day? I was
afraid they might not; and we overtook William Goulding in his curricle, so=
I
was determined he should know it, and so I let down the side-glass next to =
him,
and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window frame, so =
that
he might see the ring, and then I bowed and smiled like anything."
Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up,=
and
ran out of the room; and returned no more, till she heard them passing thro=
ugh
the hall to the dining parlour. She then joined them soon enough to see Lyd=
ia,
with anxious parade, walk up to her mother's right hand, and hear her say to
her eldest sister, "Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go l=
ower,
because I am a married woman."
It was not to be supposed that time would give
Lydia that embarrassment from which she had been so wholly free at first. H=
er
ease and good spirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Phillips, the Lucas=
es,
and all their other neighbours, and to hear herself called "Mrs.
Wickham" by each of them; and in the mean time, she went after dinner =
to
show her ring, and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housema=
ids.
"Well, mamma," said she, when they w= ere all returned to the breakfast room, "and what do you think of my husba= nd? Is not he a charming man? I am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, mamma, we did not all go." <= o:p>
"Very true; and if I had my will, we shou=
ld.
But my dear Lydia, I don't at all like your going such a way off. Must it be
so?"
"Oh, lord! yes;--there is nothing in that= . I shall like it of all things. You and papa, and my sisters, must come down a= nd see us. We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say there will = be some balls, and I will take care to get good partners for them all." <= o:p>
"I should like it beyond anything!" =
said
her mother.
"And then when you go away, you may leave=
one
or two of my sisters behind you; and I dare say I shall get husbands for th=
em
before the winter is over."
"I thank you for my share of the
favour," said Elizabeth; "but I do not particularly like your way=
of
getting husbands."
Their visitors were not to remain above ten da=
ys
with them. Mr. Wickham had received his commission before he left London, a=
nd
he was to join his regiment at the end of a fortnight.
No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their st=
ay
would be so short; and she made the most of the time by visiting about with=
her
daughter, and having very frequent parties at home. These parties were
acceptable to all; to avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such=
as
did think, than such as did not.
Wickham's affection for Lydia was just what
Elizabeth had expected to find it; not equal to Lydia's for him. She had
scarcely needed her present observation to be satisfied, from the reason of
things, that their elopement had been brought on by the strength of her lov=
e,
rather than by his; and she would have wondered why, without violently cari=
ng for
her, he chose to elope with her at all, had she not felt certain that his
flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances; and if that were
the case, he was not the young man to resist an opportunity of having a
companion.
Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her =
dear
Wickham on every occasion; no one was to be put in competition with him. He=
did
every thing best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more birds on=
the
first of September, than any body else in the country.
One morning, soon after their arrival, as she =
was
sitting with her two elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth:
"Lizzy, I never gave you =
span>an
account of my wedding, I believe. You were not by, when I told mamma and the
others all about it. Are not you curious to hear how it was managed?" =
"No really," replied Elizabeth; &quo=
t;I
think there cannot be too little said on the subject."
"La! You are so strange! But I must tell =
you
how it went off. We were married, you know, at St. Clement's, because Wickh=
am's
lodgings were in that parish. And it was settled that we should all be ther=
e by
eleven o'clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together; and the others=
were
to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a fu=
ss!
I was so afraid, you know, that something would happen to put it off, and t=
hen
I should have gone quite distracted. And there was my aunt, all the time I =
was
dressing, preaching and talking away just as if she was reading a sermon.
However, I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may
suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in
his blue coat."
"Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as us=
ual;
I thought it would never be over; for, by the bye, you are to understand, t=
hat
my uncle and aunt were horrid unpleasant all the time I was with them. If
you'll believe me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was th=
ere
a fortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or anything. To be sure London was r=
ather
thin, but, however, the Little Theatre was open. Well, and so just as the
carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business to that
horrid man Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they get together, ther=
e is
no end of it. Well, I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my u=
ncle
was to give me away; and if we were beyond the hour, we could not be married
all day. But, luckily, he came back again in ten minutes' time, and then we=
all
set out. However, I recollected afterwards that if he had been prevented go=
ing,
the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well.&quo=
t;
"Mr. Darcy!" repeated Elizabeth, in
utter amazement.
"Oh, yes!--he was to come there with Wick=
ham,
you know. But gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word
about it. I promised them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be
such a secret!"
"If it was to be secret," said Jane,
"say not another word on the subject. You may depend upon my seeking no
further."
"Oh! certainly," said Elizabeth, tho=
ugh
burning with curiosity; "we will ask you no questions."
"Thank you," said Lydia, "for if
you did, I should certainly tell you all, and then Wickham would be
angry."
On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was fo=
rced
to put it out of her power, by running away.
But to live in ignorance on such a point was
impossible; or at least it was impossible not to try for information. Mr. D=
arcy
had been at her sister's wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among
people, where he had apparently least to do, and least temptation to go. Co=
njectures
as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her brain; but she was
satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her, as placing his conduct in=
the
noblest light, seemed most improbable. She could not bear such suspense; and
hastily seizing a sheet of paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt, to requ=
est
an explanation of what Lydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the secr=
ecy
which had been intended.
"You may readily comprehend," she ad=
ded,
"what my curiosity must be to know how a person unconnected with any of
us, and (comparatively speaking) a stranger to our family, should have been
amongst you at such a time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand
it--unless it is, for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which L=
ydia
seems to think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be satisfied with ig=
norance."
"Not that I shall , though," she added to herse=
lf, as
she finished the letter; "and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an
honourable manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to
find it out."
Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow
her to speak to Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall; Elizabeth w=
as
glad of it;--till it appeared whether her inquiries would receive any satis=
faction,
she had rather be without a confidante.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 52
Eliza=
beth
had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter as soon as she
possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it than, hurrying into t=
he
little copse, where she was least likely to be interrupted, she sat down on=
one
of the benches and prepared to be happy; for the length of the letter convi=
nced
her that it did not contain a denial.
"Gracechurch street, Sept. 6.
"MY DEAR NIECE,
"I have just received your letter, and sh=
all
devote this whole morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will not comprise what I have to=
tell
you. I must confess myself surprised by your application; I did not expect =
it
from you . Don't think me angry, h=
owever,
for I only mean to let you know that I had not imagined such inquiries to be
necessary on your side. If you do not choose to understand=
me,
forgive my impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am--and nothi=
ng
but the belief of your being a party concerned would have allowed him to ac=
t as
he has done. But if you are really innocent and ignorant, I must be more
explicit.
"On the very day of my coming home from
Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called, and =
was
shut up with him several hours. It was all over before I arrived; so my
curiosity was not so dreadfully racked as yours seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. =
Gardiner
that he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that he h=
ad
seen and talked with them both; Wickham repeatedly, Lydia once. From what I=
can
collect, he left Derbyshire only one day after ourselves, and came to town =
with
the resolution of hunting for them. The motive professed was his conviction=
of
its being owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well
known as to make it impossible for any young woman of character to love or
confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and =
confessed
that he had before thought it beneath him to lay his private actions open to
the world. His character was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, =
his
duty to step forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brough=
t on
by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never disgrac=
e him.
He had been some days in town, before he was able to discover them; but he =
had
something to direct his search, which was more than we had;
and the consciousness of this was another reason for his resolving to follow
us.
"There is a lady, it seems, a Mrs. Younge,
who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was dismissed from her
charge on some cause of disapprobation, though he did not say what. She then
took a large house in Edward-street, and has since maintained herself by
letting lodgings. This Mrs. Younge was, he knew, intimately acquainted with=
Wickham;
and he went to her for intelligence of him as soon as he got to town. But it
was two or three days before he could get from her what he wanted. She would
not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery and corruption, for she re=
ally
did know where her friend was to be found. Wickham indeed had gone to her on
their first arrival in London, and had she been able to receive them into h=
er
house, they would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, o=
ur
kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in ---- street. He=
saw
Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia. His first object with her=
, he
acknowledged, had been to persuade her to quit her present disgraceful situ=
ation,
and return to her friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive =
her,
offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia absolute=
ly
resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none of her friends; she
wanted no help of his; she would not hear of leaving Wickham. She was sure =
they
should be married some time or other, and it did not much signify when. Sin=
ce
such were her feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedit=
e a
marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he easily lea=
rnt
had never been his design. He confessed himself obliged to =
leave
the regiment, on account of some debts of honour, which were very pressing;=
and
scrupled not to lay all the ill-consequences of Lydia's flight on her own f=
olly
alone. He meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future
situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He must go somewhere, =
but
he did not know where, and he knew he should have nothing to live on.
"Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not marri=
ed your
sister at once. Though Mr. Bennet was not imagined to be very rich, he would
have been able to do something for him, and his situation must have been
benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to this question, that Wickham
still cherished the hope of more effectually making his fortune by marriage=
in some
other country. Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be p=
roof
against the temptation of immediate relief.
"They met several times, for there was mu=
ch
to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more than he could get; but at le=
ngth
was reduced to be reasonable.
"Every thing being settled between them , Mr. Darcy's next step was to make=
your
uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in Gracechurch street the eve=
ning
before I came home. But Mr. Gardiner could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found=
, on
further inquiry, that your father was still with him, but would quit town t=
he
next morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could so
properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed seeing him =
till
after the departure of the former. He did not leave his name, and till the =
next
day it was only known that a gentleman had called on business.
"On Saturday he came again. Your father w=
as
gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they had a great deal of t=
alk
together.
"They met again on Sunday, and then I saw
him too. It was not all settled before Monday: as soon as it was, the expre=
ss
was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor was very obstinate. I fancy, Liz=
zy,
that obstinacy is the real defect of his character, after all. He has been =
accused
of many faults at different times, but =
span>this
is the true one. Nothing was to be=
done
that he did not do himself; though I am sure (and I do not speak it to be
thanked, therefore say nothing about it), your uncle would most readily have
settled the whole.
"They battled it together for a long time,
which was more than either the gentleman or lady concerned in it deserved. =
But
at last your uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be =
of
use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the probable credit=
of
it, which went sorely against the grain; and I really believe your letter t=
his
morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an explanation that wo=
uld
rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give the praise where it was due. But,
Lizzy, this must go no farther than yourself, or Jane at most.
"You know pretty well, I suppose, what has
been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid, amounting, I beli=
eve,
to considerably more than a thousand pounds, another thousand in addition to
her own settled upon her , and his
commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him alone, =
was
such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his reserve and want of
proper consideration, that Wickham's character had been so misunderstood, a=
nd
consequently that he had been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there=
was
some truth in this ; though I doubt
whether his reserve, or anybody's reserve, can be answerable for the event=
. But
in spite of all this fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly
assured that your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him
credit for another interest in the affair.
"When all this was resolved on, he return=
ed
again to his friends, who were still staying at Pemberley; but it was agreed
that he should be in London once more when the wedding took place, and all
money matters were then to receive the last finish.
"I believe I have now told you every thin=
g.
It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise; I hope at
least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to us; and Wickham=
had
constant admission to the house. H=
e was exactly what he had been, when I kne=
w him
in Hertfordshire; but I would not tell you how little I was satisfied with =
her
behaviour while she staid with us, if I had not perceived, by Jane's letter
last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a piece with=
it,
and therefore what I now tell you can give you no fresh pain. I talked to h=
er
repeatedly in the most serious manner, representing to her all the wickedne=
ss
of what she had done, and all the unhappiness she had brought on her family=
. If
she heard me, it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was =
sometimes
quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth and Jane, and for
their sakes had patience with her.
"Mr. Darcy was punctual in his return, an=
d as
Lydia informed you, attended the wedding. He dined with us the next day, and
was to leave town again on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry wi=
th
me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying (what I was never b=
old enough
to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour to us has, in every respe=
ct,
been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire. His understanding and opini=
ons
all please me; he wants nothing but a little more liveliness, and that , if he marry prudently , his wife may teach him. I th=
ought him
very sly;--he hardly ever mentioned your name. But slyness seems the fashio=
n.
"Pray forgive me if I have been very
presuming, or at least do not punish me so far as to exclude me from P. I s=
hall
never be quite happy till I have been all round the park. A low phaeton, wi=
th a
nice little pair of ponies, would be the very thing.
"But I must write no more. The children h=
ave
been wanting me this half hour.
"Yours, very sincerely,
"M. GARDINER."
The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth in=
to a
flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure=
or
pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which
uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward=
her
sister's match, which she had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness
too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the=
pain
of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had
followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and
mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been
necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was
reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe,=
the
man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishm=
ent
to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither
regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it
was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that =
even
her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for
her--for a woman who had already refused him--as able to overcome a sentime=
nt
so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law =
of
Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had, to be
sure, done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reas=
on
for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was
reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he=
had
the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his
principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe that remaining partiality=
for
her might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be
materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they
were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They o=
wed
the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing, to him. Oh! how heart=
ily
did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, eve=
ry
saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled;
but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he
had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's
commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased h=
er.
She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding
how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and
confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.
She was roused from her seat, and her reflecti=
ons,
by some one's approach; and before she could strike into another path, she =
was overtaken
by Wickham.
"I am afraid I interrupt your solitary
ramble, my dear sister?" said he, as he joined her.
"You certainly do," she replied with=
a
smile; "but it does not follow that the interruption must be
unwelcome."
"I should be sorry indeed, if it were. We
were always good friends; and now we are better."
"True. Are the others coming out?" <= o:p>
"I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are
going in the carriage to Meryton. And so, my dear sister, I find, from our
uncle and aunt, that you have actually seen Pemberley."
She replied in the affirmative.
"I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I
believe it would be too much for me, or else I could take it in my way to
Newcastle. And you saw the old housekeeper, I suppose? Poor Reynolds, she w=
as
always very fond of me. But of course she did not mention my name to you.&q=
uot;
"Yes, she did."
"And what did she say?"
"That you were gone into the army, and she
was afraid had--not turned out well. At such a distance as that , you know, things are strangely mi=
srepresented."
"Certainly," he replied, biting his
lips. Elizabeth hoped she had silenced him; but he soon afterwards said:
"I was surprised to see Darcy in town last
month. We passed each other several times. I wonder what he can be doing
there."
"Perhaps preparing for his marriage with =
Miss
de Bourgh," said Elizabeth. "It must be something particular, to =
take
him there at this time of year."
"Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you w= ere at Lambton? I thought I understood from the Gardiners that you had." <= o:p>
"Yes; he introduced us to his sister.&quo=
t;
"And do you like her?"
"Very much."
"I have heard, indeed, that she is uncomm=
only
improved within this year or two. When I last saw her, she was not very
promising. I am very glad you liked her. I hope she will turn out well.&quo=
t;
"I dare say she will; she has got over the
most trying age."
"Did you go by the village of Kympton?&qu=
ot;
"I do not recollect that we did."
"I mention it, because it is the living w=
hich
I ought to have had. A most delightful place!--Excellent Parsonage House! It
would have suited me in every respect."
"How should you have liked making
sermons?"
"Exceedingly well. I should have consider=
ed
it as part of my duty, and the exertion would soon have been nothing. One o=
ught
not to repine;--but, to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me! Th=
e quiet,
the retirement of such a life would have answered all my ideas of happiness!
But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the circumstance, when
you were in Kent?"
"I have heard from authority, which I tho=
ught
as good , that it was left you
conditionally only, and at the will of the present patron."
"You have. Yes, there was something in that ; I told you so from the first, you=
may
remember."
"I did
hear, too, that there was a time, =
when
sermon-making was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present; that
you actually declared your resolution of never taking orders, and that the
business had been compromised accordingly."
"You did! and it was not wholly without f=
oundation.
You may remember what I told you on that point, when first we talked of
it."
They were now almost at the door of the house,=
for
she had walked fast to get rid of him; and unwilling, for her sister's sake=
, to
provoke him, she only said in reply, with a good-humoured smile:
"Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and
sister, you know. Do not let us quarrel about the past. In future, I hope we
shall be always of one mind."
She held out her hand; he kissed it with
affectionate gallantry, though he hardly knew how to look, and they entered=
the
house.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 53
Mr. W=
ickham
was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation that he never again
distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth, by introducing t=
he
subject of it; and she was pleased to find that she had said enough to keep=
him
quiet.
The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came,
and Mrs. Bennet was forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband=
by
no means entered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle, was likel=
y to
continue at least a twelvemonth.
"Oh! my dear Lydia," she cried,
"when shall we meet again?"
"Oh, lord! I don't know. Not these two or
three years, perhaps."
"Write to me very often, my dear." <= o:p>
"As often as I can. But you know married =
women
have never much time for writing. My sisters may write to me . They will have nothing else to do.&=
quot;
Mr. Wickham's adieus were much more affectiona= te than his wife's. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things. <= o:p>
"He is as fine a fellow," said Mr.
Bennet, as soon as they were out of the house, "as ever I saw. He simp=
ers,
and smirks, and makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy
even Sir William Lucas himself to produce a more valuable son-in-law."=
The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very
dull for several days.
"I often think," said she, "that
there is nothing so bad as parting with one's friends. One seems so forlorn
without them."
"This is the consequence, you see, Madam,=
of
marrying a daughter," said Elizabeth. "It must make you better
satisfied that your other four are single."
"It is no such thing. Lydia does not leav=
e me
because she is married, but only because her husband's regiment happens to =
be
so far off. If that had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon."=
But the spiritless condition which this event
threw her into was shortly relieved, and her mind opened again to the agita=
tion
of hope, by an article of news which then began to be in circulation. The
housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of
her master, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several=
weeks.
Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane, and smiled and sh=
ook
her head by turns.
"Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming
down, sister," (for Mrs. Phillips first brought her the news). "W=
ell,
so much the better. Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, =
you
know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, howeve=
r, he
is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what =
may happen? But that is nothing to us. You k=
now,
sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so, is it
quite certain he is coming?"
"You may depend on it," replied the =
other,
"for Mrs. Nicholls was in Meryton last night; I saw her passing by, and
went out myself on purpose to know the truth of it; and she told me that it=
was
certain true. He comes down on Thursday at the latest, very likely on
Wednesday. She was going to the butcher's, she told me, on purpose to order=
in
some meat on Wednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks just fit to be
killed."
Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his
coming without changing colour. It was many months since she had mentioned =
his
name to Elizabeth; but now, as soon as they were alone together, she said: =
"I saw you look at me to-day, Lizzy, when=
my
aunt told us of the present report; and I know I appeared distressed. But d=
on't
imagine it was from any silly cause. I was only confused for the moment,
because I felt that I should be looked at. I do assure you that the n=
ews
does not affect me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, th=
at
he comes alone; because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid =
of myself , but I dread other people's
remarks."
Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had=
she
not seen him in Derbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of coming t=
here
with no other view than what was acknowledged; but she still thought him pa=
rtial
to Jane, and she wavered as to the greater probability of his coming there =
with his friend's permission, or being bold e=
nough
to come without it.
"Yet it is hard," she sometimes thou=
ght,
"that this poor man cannot come to a house which he has legally hired,
without raising all this speculation! I <=
/span>will
leave him to himself."
In spite of what her sister declared, and real=
ly
believed to be her feelings in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth co=
uld
easily perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more distur=
bed,
more unequal, than she had often seen them.
The subject which had been so warmly canvassed
between their parents, about a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward aga=
in.
"As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet, "you will wait on him of course." <= o:p>
"No, no. You forced me into visiting him =
last
year, and promised, if I went to see him, he should marry one of my daughte=
rs.
But it ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool's errand again.&q=
uot;
His wife represented to him how absolutely
necessary such an attention would be from all the neighbouring gentlemen, on
his returning to Netherfield.
"'Tis an etiquette I despise," said =
he.
"If he wants our society, let him seek it. He knows where we live. I w=
ill
not spend my hours in running after my neighbours every time they go away a=
nd
come back again."
"Well, all I know is, that it will be
abominably rude if you do not wait on him. But, however, that shan't preven=
t my
asking him to dine here, I am determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the
Gouldings soon. That will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be ju=
st
room at table for him."
Consoled by this resolution, she was the better
able to bear her husband's incivility; though it was very mortifying to know
that her neighbours might all see Mr. Bingley, in consequence of it, before=
they did. As the day of his arrival drew near=
,--
"I begin to be sorry that he comes at
all," said Jane to her sister. "It would be nothing; I could see =
him
with perfect indifference, but I can hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually
talked of. My mother means well; but she does not know, no one can know, how
much I suffer from what she says. Happy shall I be, when his stay at
Netherfield is over!"
"I wish I could say anything to comfort
you," replied Elizabeth; "but it is wholly out of my power. You m=
ust
feel it; and the usual satisfaction of preaching patience to a sufferer is
denied me, because you have always so much."
Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the
assistance of servants, contrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that =
the
period of anxiety and fretfulness on her side might be as long as it could.=
She
counted the days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent;=
hopeless
of seeing him before. But on the third morning after his arrival in
Hertfordshire, she saw him, from her dressing-room window, enter the paddock
and ride towards the house.
Her daughters were eagerly called to partake of
her joy. Jane resolutely kept her place at the table; but Elizabeth, to sat=
isfy
her mother, went to the window--she looked,--she saw Mr. Darcy with him, and
sat down again by her sister.
"There is a gentleman with him, mamma,&qu=
ot;
said Kitty; "who can it be?"
"Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I
suppose; I am sure I do not know."
"La!" replied Kitty, "it looks =
just
like that man that used to be with him before. Mr. what's-his-name. That ta=
ll,
proud man."
"Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!--and so it doe=
s, I
vow. Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley's will always be welcome here, to be s=
ure;
but else I must say that I hate the very sight of him."
Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and
concern. She knew but little of their meeting in Derbyshire, and therefore =
felt
for the awkwardness which must attend her sister, in seeing him almost for =
the
first time after receiving his explanatory letter. Both sisters were
uncomfortable enough. Each felt for the other, and of course for themselves;
and their mother talked on, of her dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolution=
to
be civil to him only as Mr. Bingley's friend, without being heard by either=
of
them. But Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness which could not be suspected =
by
Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to shew Mrs. Gardiner's letter,=
or
to relate her own change of sentiment towards him. To Jane, he could be onl=
y a
man whose proposals she had refused, and whose merit she had undervalued; b=
ut
to her own more extensive information, he was the person to whom the whole
family were indebted for the first of benefits, and whom she regarded herse=
lf
with an interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just a=
s what
Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at his coming--at his coming to
Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her again, was almost eq=
ual
to what she had known on first witnessing his altered behaviour in Derbyshi=
re.
The colour which had been driven from her face, returned for half a minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added lustre to her eyes, as she thought for that space of time that his affection and wishes must still be unshaken. But she would not be secure. <= o:p>
"Let me first see how he behaves," s=
aid
she; "it will then be early enough for expectation."
She sat intently at work, striving to be compo=
sed,
and without daring to lift up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them=
to
the face of her sister as the servant was approaching the door. Jane looked=
a
little paler than usual, but more sedate than Elizabeth had expected. On th=
e gentlemen's
appearing, her colour increased; yet she received them with tolerable ease,=
and
with a propriety of behaviour equally free from any symptom of resentment or
any unnecessary complaisance.
Elizabeth said as little to either as civility
would allow, and sat down again to her work, with an eagerness which it did=
not
often command. She had ventured only one glance at Darcy. He looked serious=
, as
usual; and, she thought, more as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire,
than as she had seen him at Pemberley. But, perhaps he could not in her
mother's presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painfu=
l,
but not an improbable, conjecture.
Bingley, she had likewise seen for an instant,=
and
in that short period saw him looking both pleased and embarrassed. He was
received by Mrs. Bennet with a degree of civility which made her two daught=
ers
ashamed, especially when contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politenes=
s of
her curtsey and address to his friend.
Elizabeth, particularly, who knew that her mot=
her
owed to the latter the preservation of her favourite daughter from irremedi=
able
infamy, was hurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so
ill applied.
Darcy, after inquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs.
Gardiner did, a question which she could not answer without confusion, said
scarcely anything. He was not seated by her; perhaps that was the reason of=
his
silence; but it had not been so in Derbyshire. There he had talked to her
friends, when he could not to herself. But now several minutes elapsed with=
out bringing
the sound of his voice; and when occasionally, unable to resist the impulse=
of
curiosity, she raised her eyes to his face, she as often found him looking =
at
Jane as at herself, and frequently on no object but the ground. More
thoughtfulness and less anxiety to please, than when they last met, were
plainly expressed. She was disappointed, and angry with herself for being s=
o.
"Could I expect it to be otherwise!"
said she. "Yet why did he come?"
She was in no humour for conversation with any=
one
but himself; and to him she had hardly courage to speak.
She inquired after his sister, but could do no
more.
"It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you
went away," said Mrs. Bennet.
He readily agreed to it.
"I began to be afraid you would never come
back again. People did say you meant to quit the place entirely=
at
Michaelmas; but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have
happened in the neighbourhood, since you went away. Miss Lucas is married a=
nd
settled. And one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it; indee=
d,
you must have seen it in the papers. It was in The Times and The Courier, I
know; though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, 'Lately=
, George
Wickham, Esq. to Miss Lydia Bennet,' without there being a syllable said of=
her
father, or the place where she lived, or anything. It was my brother Gardin=
er's
drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of
it. Did you see it?"
Bingley replied that he did, and made his
congratulations. Elizabeth dared not lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked,
therefore, she could not tell.
"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to
have a daughter well married," continued her mother, "but at the =
same
time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken such a way from me. Th=
ey
are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there th=
ey
are to stay I do not know how long. His regiment is there; for I suppose you
have heard of his leaving the ----shire, and of his being gone into the reg=
ulars.
Thank Heaven! he has some friends, though perhaps not so many as he
deserves."
Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr.
Darcy, was in such misery of shame, that she could hardly keep her seat. It=
drew
from her, however, the exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so
effectually done before; and she asked Bingley whether he meant to make any
stay in the country at present. A few weeks, he believed.
"When you have killed all your own birds,=
Mr.
Bingley," said her mother, "I beg you will come here, and shoot as
many as you please on Mr. Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy=
to
oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you."
Elizabeth's misery increased, at such unnecess=
ary,
such officious attention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at present as
had flattered them a year ago, every thing, she was persuaded, would be has=
tening
to the same vexatious conclusion. At that instant, she felt that years of
happiness could not make Jane or herself amends for moments of such painful
confusion.
"The first wish of my heart," said s=
he
to herself, "is never more to be in company with either of them. Their
society can afford no pleasure that will atone for such wretchedness as thi=
s!
Let me never see either one or the other again!"
Yet the misery, for which years of happiness w=
ere
to offer no compensation, received soon afterwards material relief, from
observing how much the beauty of her sister re-kindled the admiration of he=
r former
lover. When first he came in, he had spoken to her but little; but every fi=
ve
minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention. He found her as hand=
some
as she had been last year; as good natured, and as unaffected, though not q=
uite
so chatty. Jane was anxious that no difference should be perceived in her at
all, and was really persuaded that she talked as much as ever. But her mind=
was
so busily engaged, that she did not always know when she was silent.
When the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs. Bennet
was mindful of her intended civility, and they were invited and engaged to =
dine
at Longbourn in a few days time.
"You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr.
Bingley," she added, "for when you went to town last winter, you
promised to take a family dinner with us, as soon as you returned. I have n=
ot
forgot, you see; and I assure you, I was very much disappointed that you did
not come back and keep your engagement."
Bingley looked a little silly at this reflecti=
on,
and said something of his concern at having been prevented by business. They
then went away.
Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask =
them
to stay and dine there that day; but, though she always kept a very good ta=
ble,
she did not think anything less than two courses could be good enough for a=
man
on whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and pride of =
one
who had ten thousand a year.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 54
As so=
on as
they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits; or in other wo=
rds,
to dwell without interruption on those subjects that must deaden them more.=
Mr.
Darcy's behaviour astonished and vexed her.
"Why, if he came only to be silent, grave,
and indifferent," said she, "did he come at all?"
She could settle it in no way that gave her
pleasure.
"He could be still amiable, still pleasin=
g,
to my uncle and aunt, when he was in town; and why not to me? If he fears m=
e,
why come hither? If he no longer cares for me, why silent? Teasing, teasing,
man! I will think no more about him."
Her resolution was for a short time involuntar=
ily
kept by the approach of her sister, who joined her with a cheerful look, wh=
ich
showed her better satisfied with their visitors, than Elizabeth.
"Now," said she, "that this fir=
st
meeting is over, I feel perfectly easy. I know my own strength, and I shall
never be embarrassed again by his coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesda=
y.
It will then be publicly seen that, on both sides, we meet only as common a=
nd
indifferent acquaintance."
"Yes, very indifferent indeed," said
Elizabeth, laughingly. "Oh, Jane, take care."
"My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so we=
ak,
as to be in danger now?"
"I think you are in very great danger of
making him as much in love with you as ever."
* * * * *
They did not see the gentlemen again till Tues=
day;
and Mrs. Bennet, in the meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes,
which the good humour and common politeness of Bingley, in half an hour's
visit, had revived.
On Tuesday there was a large party assembled a=
t Longbourn;
and the two who were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their
punctuality as sportsmen, were in very good time. When they repaired to the=
dining-room,
Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take the place, whic=
h,
in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by her sister. Her prudent
mother, occupied by the same ideas, forbore to invite him to sit by herself=
. On
entering the room, he seemed to hesitate; but Jane happened to look round, =
and
happened to smile: it was decided. He placed himself by her.
Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked
towards his friend. He bore it with noble indifference, and she would have
imagined that Bingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not se=
en
his eyes likewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laug=
hing
alarm.
His behaviour to her sister was such, during
dinner time, as showed an admiration of her, which, though more guarded than
formerly, persuaded Elizabeth, that if left wholly to himself, Jane's
happiness, and his own, would be speedily secured. Though she dared not dep=
end
upon the consequence, she yet received pleasure from observing his behaviou=
r.
It gave her all the animation that her spirits could boast; for she was in =
no
cheerful humour. Mr. Darcy was almost as far from her as the table could di=
vide
them. He was on one side of her mother. She knew how little such a situation
would give pleasure to either, or make either appear to advantage. She was =
not
near enough to hear any of their discourse, but she could see how seldom th=
ey
spoke to each other, and how formal and cold was their manner whenever they
did. Her mother's ungraciousness, made the sense of what they owed him more
painful to Elizabeth's mind; and she would, at times, have given anything t=
o be
privileged to tell him that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by =
the
whole of the family.
She was in hopes that the evening would afford
some opportunity of bringing them together; that the whole of the visit wou=
ld
not pass away without enabling them to enter into something more of
conversation than the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance.
Anxious and uneasy, the period which passed in the drawing-room, before the=
gentlemen
came, was wearisome and dull to a degree that almost made her uncivil. She
looked forward to their entrance as the point on which all her chance of
pleasure for the evening must depend.
"If he does not come to me, then ," said she, "I shall giv=
e him
up for ever."
The gentlemen came; and she thought he looked =
as
if he would have answered her hopes; but, alas! the ladies had crowded round
the table, where Miss Bennet was making tea, and Elizabeth pouring out the
coffee, in so close a confederacy that there was not a single vacancy near =
her which
would admit of a chair. And on the gentlemen's approaching, one of the girls
moved closer to her than ever, and said, in a whisper:
"The men shan't come and part us, I am
determined. We want none of them; do we?"
Darcy had walked away to another part of the r=
oom.
She followed him with her eyes, envied everyone to whom he spoke, had scarc=
ely
patience enough to help anybody to coffee; and then was enraged against her=
self
for being so silly!
"A man who has once been refused! How cou=
ld I
ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love? Is there one among =
the
sex, who would not protest against such a weakness as a second proposal to =
the
same woman? There is no indignity so abhorrent to their feelings!"
She was a little revived, however, by his brin=
ging
back his coffee cup himself; and she seized the opportunity of saying:
"Is your sister at Pemberley still?"=
"Yes, she will remain there till
Christmas."
"And quite alone? Have all her friends le=
ft
her?"
"Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others ha=
ve
been gone on to Scarborough, these three weeks."
She could think of nothing more to say; but if=
he
wished to converse with her, he might have better success. He stood by her,
however, for some minutes, in silence; and, at last, on the young lady's wh=
ispering
to Elizabeth again, he walked away.
When the tea-things were removed, and the
card-tables placed, the ladies all rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to be
soon joined by him, when all her views were overthrown by seeing him fall a
victim to her mother's rapacity for whist players, and in a few moments aft=
er
seated with the rest of the party. She now lost every expectation of pleasu=
re. They
were confined for the evening at different tables, and she had nothing to h=
ope,
but that his eyes were so often turned towards her side of the room, as to =
make
him play as unsuccessfully as herself.
Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two
Netherfield gentlemen to supper; but their carriage was unluckily ordered
before any of the others, and she had no opportunity of detaining them.
"Well girls," said she, as soon as t=
hey
were left to themselves, "What say you to the day? I think every thing=
has
passed off uncommonly well, I assure you. The dinner was as well dressed as=
any
I ever saw. The venison was roasted to a turn--and everybody said they never
saw so fat a haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at th=
e Lucases'
last week; and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged, that the partridges were remark=
ably
well done; and I suppose he has two or three French cooks at least. And, my
dear Jane, I never saw you look in greater beauty. Mrs. Long said so too, f=
or I
asked her whether you did not. And what do you think she said besides? 'Ah!
Mrs. Bennet, we shall have her at Netherfield at last.' She did indeed. I do
think Mrs. Long is as good a creature as ever lived--and her nieces are very
pretty behaved girls, and not at all handsome: I like them prodigiously.&qu=
ot;
Mrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spiri=
ts;
she had seen enough of Bingley's behaviour to Jane, to be convinced that she
would get him at last; and her expectations of advantage to her family, whe=
n in
a happy humour, were so far beyond reason, that she was quite disappointed =
at not
seeing him there again the next day, to make his proposals.
"It has been a very agreeable day," =
said
Miss Bennet to Elizabeth. "The party seemed so well selected, so suita=
ble
one with the other. I hope we may often meet again."
Elizabeth smiled.
"Lizzy, you must not do so. You must not
suspect me. It mortifies me. I assure you that I have now learnt to enjoy h=
is
conversation as an agreeable and sensible young man, without having a wish
beyond it. I am perfectly satisfied, from what his manners now are, that he
never had any design of engaging my affection. It is only that he is blesse=
d with
greater sweetness of address, and a stronger desire of generally pleasing, =
than
any other man."
"You are very cruel," said her siste=
r,
"you will not let me smile, and are provoking me to it every moment.&q=
uot;
"How hard it is in some cases to be
believed!"
"And how impossible in others!"
"But why should you wish to persuade me t=
hat
I feel more than I acknowledge?"
"That is a question which I hardly know h=
ow
to answer. We all love to instruct, though we can teach only what is not wo=
rth
knowing. Forgive me; and if you persist in indifference, do not make me your
confidante."
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 55
A few=
days
after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His friend had left =
him
that morning for London, but was to return home in ten days time. He sat wi=
th
them above an hour, and was in remarkably good spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited=
him
to dine with them; but, with many expressions of concern, he confessed hims=
elf
engaged elsewhere.
"Next time you call," said she, &quo=
t;I
hope we shall be more lucky."
He should be particularly happy at any time, e=
tc.
etc.; and if she would give him leave, would take an early opportunity of
waiting on them.
"Can you come to-morrow?"
Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow;
and her invitation was accepted with alacrity.
He came, and in such very good time that the
ladies were none of them dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter's room=
, in
her dressing gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out:
"My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down.=
He
is come--Mr. Bingley is come. He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here,
Sarah, come to Miss Bennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never
mind Miss Lizzy's hair."
"We will be down as soon as we can,"
said Jane; "but I dare say Kitty is forwarder than either of us, for s=
he
went up stairs half an hour ago."
"Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with =
it?
Come be quick, be quick! Where is your sash, my dear?"
But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be
prevailed on to go down without one of her sisters.
The same anxiety to get them by themselves was
visible again in the evening. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library,=
as
was his custom, and Mary went up stairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of=
the
five being thus removed, Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at Elizabeth a=
nd
Catherine for a considerable time, without making any impression on them.
Elizabeth would not observe her; and when at last Kitty did, she very
innocently said, "What is the matter mamma? What do you keep winking a=
t me
for? What am I to do?"
"Nothing child, nothing. I did not wink at
you." She then sat still five minutes longer; but unable to waste such=
a
precious occasion, she suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty, "Come her=
e,
my love, I want to speak to you," took her out of the room. Jane insta=
ntly
gave a look at Elizabeth which spoke her distress at such premeditation, and
her entreaty that she would not give in to it. In a few minute=
s,
Mrs. Bennet half-opened the door and called out:
"Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with
you."
Elizabeth was forced to go.
"We may as well leave them by themselves =
you
know;" said her mother, as soon as she was in the hall. "Kitty an=
d I
are going up stairs to sit in my dressing-room."
Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with her
mother, but remained quietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of si=
ght,
then returned into the drawing-room.
Mrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were
ineffectual. Bingley was every thing that was charming, except the professed
lover of her daughter. His ease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreea=
ble
addition to their evening party; and he bore with the ill-judged officiousn=
ess
of the mother, and heard all her silly remarks with a forbearance and comma=
nd of
countenance particularly grateful to the daughter.
He scarcely needed an invitation to stay suppe=
r;
and before he went away, an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own =
and
Mrs. Bennet's means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.=
After this day, Jane said no more of her
indifference. Not a word passed between the sisters concerning Bingley; but
Elizabeth went to bed in the happy belief that all must speedily be conclud=
ed,
unless Mr. Darcy returned within the stated time. Seriously, however, she f=
elt
tolerably persuaded that all this must have taken place with that gentleman=
's concurrence.
Bingley was punctual to his appointment; and he
and Mr. Bennet spent the morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter
was much more agreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of
presumption or folly in Bingley that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust=
him
into silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric, than the o=
ther
had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned with him to dinner; and in the
evening Mrs. Bennet's invention was again at work to get every body away fr=
om
him and her daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter to write, went into the
breakfast room for that purpose soon after tea; for as the others were all
going to sit down to cards, she could not be wanted to counteract her mothe=
r's
schemes.
But on returning to the drawing-room, when her
letter was finished, she saw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to
fear that her mother had been too ingenious for her. On opening the door, s=
he
perceived her sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if
engaged in earnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion, the face=
s of
both, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each other, would ha=
ve
told it all. Their situation was awkward enough; but hers she thought was still worse. Not a sylla=
ble
was uttered by either; and Elizabeth was on the point of going away again, =
when
Bingley, who as well as the other had sat down, suddenly rose, and whisperi=
ng a
few words to her sister, ran out of the room.
Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, wh=
ere
confidence would give pleasure; and instantly embracing her, acknowledged, =
with
the liveliest emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.
"'Tis too much!" she added, "by=
far
too much. I do not deserve it. Oh! why is not everybody as happy?"
Elizabeth's congratulations were given with a
sincerity, a warmth, a delight, which words could but poorly express. Every
sentence of kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane. But she would=
not
allow herself to stay with her sister, or say half that remained to be said=
for
the present.
"I must go instantly to my mother;" = she cried. "I would not on any account trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow her to hear it from anyone but myself. He is gone to my father already. Oh! Lizzy, to know that what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear family! how shall I bear so much happiness!" <= o:p>
She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the card party, and was sitting up stairs with Kitty. <= o:p>
Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled=
at
the rapidity and ease with which an affair was finally settled, that had gi=
ven
them so many previous months of suspense and vexation.
"And this," said she, "is the e=
nd
of all his friend's anxious circumspection! of all his sister's falsehood a=
nd
contrivance! the happiest, wisest, most reasonable end!"
In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, wh=
ose
conference with her father had been short and to the purpose.
"Where is your sister?" said he hast=
ily,
as he opened the door.
"With my mother up stairs. She will be do=
wn
in a moment, I dare say."
He then shut the door, and, coming up to her, =
claimed
the good wishes and affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily
expressed her delight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook han=
ds
with great cordiality; and then, till her sister came down, she had to list=
en to
all he had to say of his own happiness, and of Jane's perfections; and in s=
pite
of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed all his expectations of
felicity to be rationally founded, because they had for basis the excellent
understanding, and super-excellent disposition of Jane, and a general
similarity of feeling and taste between her and himself.
It was an evening of no common delight to them
all; the satisfaction of Miss Bennet's mind gave a glow of such sweet anima=
tion
to her face, as made her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smile=
d,
and hoped her turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent =
or speak
her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings, though she ta=
lked
to Bingley of nothing else for half an hour; and when Mr. Bennet joined the=
m at
supper, his voice and manner plainly showed how really happy he was.
Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusi=
on
to it, till their visitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he w=
as
gone, he turned to his daughter, and said:
"Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a =
very
happy woman."
Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and
thanked him for his goodness.
"You are a good girl;" he replied,
"and I have great pleasure in thinking you will be so happily settled.=
I
have not a doubt of your doing very well together. Your tempers are by no m=
eans
unlike. You are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved
on; so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you w=
ill always
exceed your income."
"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtless=
ness
in money matters would be unpardonable in me."
"Exceed their income! My dear Mr.
Bennet," cried his wife, "what are you talking of? Why, he has fo=
ur
or five thousand a year, and very likely more." Then addressing her
daughter, "Oh! my dear, dear Jane, I am so happy! I am sure I shan't g=
et a
wink of sleep all night. I knew how it would be. I always said it must be s=
o,
at last. I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing! I remember, =
as
soon as ever I saw him, when he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I
thought how likely it was that you should come together. Oh! he is the
handsomest young man that ever was seen!"
Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was
beyond competition her favourite child. At that moment, she cared for no ot=
her.
Her younger sisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of
happiness which she might in future be able to dispense.
Mary petitioned for the use of the library at
Netherfield; and Kitty begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.=
Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily
visitor at Longbourn; coming frequently before breakfast, and always remain=
ing
till after supper; unless when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be
enough detested, had given him an invitation to dinner which he thought him=
self
obliged to accept.
Elizabeth had now but little time for conversa=
tion
with her sister; for while he was present, Jane had no attention to bestow =
on
anyone else; but she found herself considerably useful to both of them in t=
hose
hours of separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he a=
lways
attached himself to Elizabeth, for the pleasure of talking of her; and when
Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of relief.
"He has made me so happy," said she,=
one
evening, "by telling me that he was totally ignorant of my being in to=
wn
last spring! I had not believed it possible."
"I suspected as much," replied
Elizabeth. "But how did he account for it?"
"It must have been his sister's doing. Th=
ey
were certainly no friends to his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder
at, since he might have chosen so much more advantageously in many respects.
But when they see, as I trust they will, that their brother is happy with m=
e,
they will learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again; thoug=
h we
can never be what we once were to each other."
"That is the most unforgiving speech,&quo=
t;
said Elizabeth, "that I ever heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex =
me,
indeed, to see you again the dupe of Miss Bingley's pretended regard."=
"Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he
went to town last November, he really loved me, and nothing but a persuasio=
n of
my being indifferent would have prevented h=
is
coming down again!"
"He made a little mistake to be sure; but=
it
is to the credit of his modesty."
This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jan=
e on
his diffidence, and the little value he put on his own good qualities.
Elizabeth was pleased to find that he had not betrayed the interference of =
his
friend; for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the
world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice her against him.=
"I am certainly the most fortunate creatu=
re
that ever existed!" cried Jane. "Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled
from my family, and blessed above them all! If I could but see you =
span>as
happy! If there were but such another man for you!"
"If you were to give me forty such men, I
never could be so happy as you. Till I have your disposition, your goodness=
, I
never can have your happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhap=
s,
if I have very good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time."=
;
The situation of affairs in the Longbourn fami=
ly
could not be long a secret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs.
Phillips, and she ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all h=
er neighbours
in Meryton.
The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the
luckiest family in the world, though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had
first run away, they had been generally proved to be marked out for misfort=
une.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 56
One
morning, about a week after Bingley's engagement with Jane had been formed,=
as
he and the females of the family were sitting together in the dining-room,
their attention was suddenly drawn to the window, by the sound of a carriag=
e;
and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It was too early =
in
the morning for visitors, and besides, the equipage did not answer to that =
of
any of their neighbours. The horses were post; and neither the carriage, nor
the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to them. As it was
certain, however, that somebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on =
Miss
Bennet to avoid the confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him
into the shrubbery. They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining
three continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown =
open
and their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
They were of course all intending to be surpri=
sed;
but their astonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs=
. Bennet
and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even inferior to what
Elizabeth felt.
She entered the room with an air more than usu=
ally
ungracious, made no other reply to Elizabeth's salutation than a slight
inclination of the head, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had
mentioned her name to her mother on her ladyship's entrance, though no requ=
est
of introduction had been made.
Mrs. Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by
having a guest of such high importance, received her with the utmost
politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, she said very stiffly to
Elizabeth,
"I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That l=
ady,
I suppose, is your mother."
Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was.=
"And =
span>that
I suppose is one of your sisters.&=
quot;
"Yes, madam," said Mrs. Bennet,
delighted to speak to Lady Catherine. "She is my youngest girl but one=
. My
youngest of all is lately married, and my eldest is somewhere about the
grounds, walking with a young man who, I believe, will soon become a part of
the family."
"You have a very small park here,"
returned Lady Catherine after a short silence.
"It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, =
my
lady, I dare say; but I assure you it is much larger than Sir William
Lucas's."
"This must be a most inconvenient sitting
room for the evening, in summer; the windows are full west."
Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat th=
ere
after dinner, and then added:
"May I take the liberty of asking your
ladyship whether you left Mr. and Mrs. Collins well."
"Yes, very well. I saw them the night bef=
ore
last."
Elizabeth now expected that she would produce a
letter for her from Charlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive for her
calling. But no letter appeared, and she was completely puzzled.
Mrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged her
ladyship to take some refreshment; but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and =
not
very politely, declined eating anything; and then, rising up, said to
Elizabeth,
"Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a pretty=
ish
kind of a little wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to t=
ake
a turn in it, if you will favour me with your company."
"Go, my dear," cried her mother,
"and show her ladyship about the different walks. I think she will be
pleased with the hermitage."
Elizabeth obeyed, and running into her own room
for her parasol, attended her noble guest downstairs. As they passed through
the hall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlour and drawi=
ng-room,
and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be decent looking rooms, wal=
ked
on.
Her carriage remained at the door, and Elizabe=
th
saw that her waiting-woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along the
gravel walk that led to the copse; Elizabeth was determined to make no effo=
rt
for conversation with a woman who was now more than usually insolent and di=
sagreeable.
"How could I ever think her like her
nephew?" said she, as she looked in her face.
As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Cather=
ine
began in the following manner:--
"You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to
understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own
conscience, must tell you why I come."
Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment.=
"Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have =
not
been at all able to account for the honour of seeing you here."
"Miss Bennet," replied her ladyship,=
in
an angry tone, "you ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with. B=
ut
however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find
"If you believed it impossible to be
true," said Elizabeth, colouring with astonishment and disdain, "I
wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship prop=
ose
by it?"
"At once to insist upon having such a rep=
ort
universally contradicted."
"Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and =
my
family," said Elizabeth coolly, "will be rather a confirmation of=
it;
if, indeed, such a report is in existence."
"If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant o=
f it?
Has it not been industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that
such a report is spread abroad?"
"I never heard that it was."
"And can you likewise declare, that there=
is
no foundation for it?"
"I do not pretend to possess equal frankn=
ess
with your ladyship. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to
answer."
"This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I
insist on being satisfied. Has he, has my nephew, made you an offer of
marriage?"
"Your ladyship has declared it to be impo=
ssible."
"It ought to be so; it must be so, while =
he
retains the use of his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a mome=
nt
of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his
family. You may have drawn him in."
"If I have, I shall be the last person to
confess it."
"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have
not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relat=
ion
he has in the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns."=
;
"But you are not entitled to know mine; n=
or
will such behaviour as this, ever induce me to be explicit."
"Let me be rightly understood. This match=
, to
which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. =
Mr.
Darcy is engaged to my daughter. Now what have you to say?"
"Only this; that if he is so, you can hav=
e no
reason to suppose he will make an offer to me."
Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then
replied:
"The engagement between them is of a pecu=
liar
kind. From their infancy, they have been intended for each other. It was the
favourite wish of his mother, as well as of hers. While in the=
ir
cradles, we planned the union: and now, at the moment when the wishes of bo=
th
sisters would be accomplished in their marriage, to be prevented by a young
woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied=
to the
family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends? To his tacit
engagement with Miss de Bourgh? Are you lost to every feeling of propriety =
and
delicacy? Have you not heard me say that from his earliest hours he was
destined for his cousin?"
"Yes, and I had heard it before. But what=
is
that to me? If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I sh=
all
certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished hi=
m to
marry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning the mar=
riage.
Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by honour nor
inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make another choice? A=
nd
if I am that choice, why may not I accept him?"
"Because honour, decorum, prudence, nay,
interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be
noticed by his family or friends, if you wilfully act against the inclinati=
ons
of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected
with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be
mentioned by any of us."
"These are heavy misfortunes," repli=
ed
Elizabeth. "But the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sou=
rces
of happiness necessarily attached to her situation, that she could, upon the
whole, have no cause to repine."
"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed=
of
you! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing
due to me on that score? Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Benne=
t,
that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor
will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's=
whims.
I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment."
" That will make your ladyship's situation at p=
resent
more pitiable; but it will have no effect on me."
"I will not be interrupted. Hear me in
silence. My daughter and my nephew are formed for each other. They are
descended, on the maternal side, from the same noble line; and, on the
father's, from respectable, honourable, and ancient--though untitled--famil=
ies.
Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by
the voice of every member of their respective houses; and what is to divide
them? The upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections,=
or
fortune. Is this to be endured! But it must not, shall not be. If you were
sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which y=
ou
have been brought up."
"In marrying your nephew, I should not
consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentlema=
n's
daughter; so far we are equal."
"True. You are =
span>a
gentleman's daughter. But who was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunt=
s?
Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition."
"Whatever my connections may be," sa=
id
Elizabeth, "if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothin=
g to
you ."
"Tell me once for all, are you engaged to
him?"
Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpo=
se
of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but =
say,
after a moment's deliberation:
"I am not."
Lady Catherine seemed pleased.
"And will you promise me, never to enter =
into
such an engagement?"
"I will make no promise of the kind."=
;
"Miss Bennet I am shocked and astonished.=
I
expected to find a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself
into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have gi=
ven
me the assurance I require."
"And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimidate=
d into
anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your
daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for promise make their marriag=
e at
all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing to
accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me to say, =
Lady
Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordin=
ary
application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You h=
ave
widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such
persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interferenc=
e in
his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern your=
self
in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the
subject."
"Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no
means done. To all the objections I have already urged, I have still anothe=
r to
add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister's infamous=
elopement.
I know it all; that the young man's marrying her was a patched-up business,=
at
the expence of your father and uncles. And is such a girl to be my nephew's=
sister?
Is her husband, is the son of his late father's steward, to be his brother?
Heaven and earth!--of what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to=
be
thus polluted?"
"You can now have nothing further to
say," she resentfully answered. "You have insulted me in every
possible method. I must beg to return to the house."
And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose
also, and they turned back. Her ladyship was highly incensed.
"You have no regard, then, for the honour=
and
credit of my nephew! Unfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider that a
connection with you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?"
"Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to
say. You know my sentiments."
"You are then resolved to have him?"=
"I have said no such thing. I am only
resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my
happiness, without reference to yo=
u , or
to any person so wholly unconnected with me."
"It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige =
me.
You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are
determined to ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the
contempt of the world."
"Neither duty, nor honour, nor
gratitude," replied Elizabeth, "have any possible claim on me, in=
the
present instance. No principle of either would be violated by my marriage w=
ith
Mr. Darcy. And with regard to the resentment of his family, or the indignat=
ion
of the world, if the former were <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> excited by his marrying me, it would not=
give
me one moment's concern--and the world in general would have too much sense=
to
join in the scorn."
"And this is your real opinion! This is y= our final resolve! Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hop= ed to find you reasonable; but, depend upon it, I will carry my point." <= o:p>
In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till =
they
were at the door of the carriage, when, turning hastily round, she added,
"I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your
mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased."=
;
Elizabeth made no answer; and without attempti=
ng
to persuade her ladyship to return into the house, walked quietly into it
herself. She heard the carriage drive away as she proceeded up stairs. Her
mother impatiently met her at the door of the dressing-room, to ask why Lad=
y Catherine
would not come in again and rest herself.
"She did not choose it," said her
daughter, "she would go."
"She is a very fine-looking woman! and her
calling here was prodigiously civil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell =
us
the Collinses were well. She is on her road somewhere, I dare say, and so,
passing through Meryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose s=
he
had nothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?"
Elizabeth was forced to give into a little
falsehood here; for to acknowledge the substance of their conversation was
impossible.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 57
The
discomposure of spirits which this extraordinary visit threw Elizabeth into,
could not be easily overcome; nor could she, for many hours, learn to think=
of
it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine, it appeared, had actually taken t=
he
trouble of this journey from Rosings, for the sole purpose of breaking off =
her
supposed engagement with Mr. Darcy. It was a rational scheme, to be sure! b=
ut
from what the report of their engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a
loss to imagine; till she recollected that his being the intimate friend of Bingley, an=
d her being the sister of Jane, was enough, at=
a
time when the expectation of one wedding made everybody eager for another, =
to
supply the idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of=
her
sister must bring them more frequently together. And her neighbours at Lucas
Lodge, therefore (for through their communication with the Collinses, the
report, she concluded, had reached Lady Catherine), had only set that down =
as
almost certain and immediate, which she had looked forward to as possible at
some future time.
In revolving Lady Catherine's expressions,
however, she could not help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible
consequence of her persisting in this interference. From what she had said =
of
her resolution to prevent their marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she
must meditate an application to her nephew; and how he might take a similar representation of t=
he
evils attached to a connection with her, she dared not pronounce. She knew =
not
the exact degree of his affection for his aunt, or his dependence on her
judgment, but it was natural to suppose that he thought much higher of her
ladyship than she could do; and it was certain that, in
enumerating the miseries of a marriage with one , whose immediate connections were so
unequal to his own, his aunt would address him on his weakest side. With his
notions of dignity, he would probably feel that the arguments, which to
Elizabeth had appeared weak and ridiculous, contained much good sense and s=
olid
reasoning.
If he had been wavering before as to what he
should do, which had often seemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so nea=
r a
relation might settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy=
as
dignity unblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. L=
ady Catherine
might see him in her way through town; and his engagement to Bingley of com=
ing
again to Netherfield must give way.
"If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping=
his
promise should come to his friend within a few days," she added, "=
;I
shall know how to understand it. I shall then give over every expectation,
every wish of his constancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, wh=
en
he might have obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret=
him
at all."
* * * * *
The surprise of the rest of the family, on hea=
ring
who their visitor had been, was very great; but they obligingly satisfied i=
t,
with the same kind of supposition which had appeased Mrs. Bennet's curiosit=
y;
and Elizabeth was spared from much teasing on the subject.
The next morning, as she was going downstairs,=
she
was met by her father, who came out of his library with a letter in his han=
d.
"Lizzy," said he, "I was going =
to
look for you; come into my room."
She followed him thither; and her curiosity to
know what he had to tell her was heightened by the supposition of its being=
in
some manner connected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that =
it might
be from Lady Catherine; and she anticipated with dismay all the consequent
explanations.
She followed her father to the fire place, and
they both sat down. He then said,
"I have received a letter this morning th=
at
has astonished me exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you oug=
ht
to know its contents. I did not know before, that I had two daughters on the
brink of matrimony. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.&q=
uot;
The colour now rushed into Elizabeth's cheeks =
in
the instantaneous conviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead=
of
the aunt; and she was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he expla=
ined
himself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to her=
self;
when her father continued:
"You look conscious. Young ladies have gr=
eat
penetration in such matters as these; but I think I may defy even your sagacity, to discover the name of your
admirer. This letter is from Mr. Collins."
"From Mr. Collins! and what can he have
to say?"
"Something very much to the purpose of
course. He begins with congratulations on the approaching nuptials of my el=
dest
daughter, of which, it seems, he has been told by some of the good-natured,
gossiping Lucases. I shall not sport with your impatience, by reading what =
he
says on that point. What relates to yourself, is as follows: 'Having thus o=
ffered
you the sincere congratulations of Mrs. Collins and myself on this happy ev=
ent,
let me now add a short hint on the subject of another; of which we have been
advertised by the same authority. Your daughter Elizabeth, it is presumed, =
will
not long bear the name of Bennet, after her elder sister has resigned it, a=
nd
the chosen partner of her fate may be reasonably looked up to as one of the
most illustrious personages in this land.'
"Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is me=
ant
by this?" 'This young gentleman is blessed, in a peculiar way, with ev=
ery
thing the heart of mortal can most desire,--splendid property, noble kindre=
d,
and extensive patronage. Yet in spite of all these temptations, let me warn=
my
cousin Elizabeth, and yourself, of what evils you may incur by a precipitat=
e closure
with this gentleman's proposals, which, of course, you will be inclined to =
take
immediate advantage of.'
"Have you any idea, Lizzy, who this gentl=
eman
is? But now it comes out:
"'My motive for cautioning you is as foll=
ows.
We have reason to imagine that his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not
look on the match with a friendly eye.'
" Mr. Darcy , you see, is the man! Now,
Lizzy, I think I have surprised you. Could he, or the Lucases,=
have
pitched on any man within the circle of our acquaintance, whose name would =
have
given the lie more effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never l=
ooks
at any woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in =
his life!
It is admirable!"
Elizabeth tried to join in her father's
pleasantry, but could only force one most reluctant smile. Never had his wit
been directed in a manner so little agreeable to her.
"Are you not diverted?"
"Oh! yes. Pray read on."
"'After mentioning the likelihood of this
marriage to her ladyship last night, she immediately, with her usual
condescension, expressed what she felt on the occasion; when it became
apparent, that on the score of some family objections on the part of my cou=
sin,
she would never give her consent to what she termed so disgraceful a match.=
I
thought it my duty to give the speediest intelligence of this to my cousin,
that she and her noble admirer may be aware of what they are about, and not=
run
hastily into a marriage which has not been properly sanctioned.' Mr. Collins
moreover adds, 'I am truly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia's sad business has
been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their living together be=
fore
the marriage took place should be so generally known. I must not, however,
neglect the duties of my station, or refrain from declaring my amazement at
hearing that you received the young couple into your house as soon as they =
were
married. It was an encouragement of vice; and had I been the rector of
Longbourn, I should very strenuously have opposed it. You ought certainly to
forgive them, as a Christian, but never to admit them in your sight, or all=
ow
their names to be mentioned in your hearing.' That is his notion of Christi=
an forgiveness!
The rest of his letter is only about his dear Charlotte's situation, and his
expectation of a young olive-branch. But, Lizzy, you look as if you did not
enjoy it. You are not going to be =
missish
, I hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For what do we liv=
e,
but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?" =
"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, "I am
excessively diverted. But it is so strange!"
"Yes-- that is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed=
on
any other man it would have been nothing; but his perfect indifference, and your <=
/span>pointed
dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing, I wou=
ld
not give up Mr. Collins's correspondence for any consideration. Nay, when I
read a letter of his, I cannot help giving him the preference even over Wic=
kham,
much as I value the impudence and hypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Liz=
zy,
what said Lady Catherine about this report? Did she call to refuse her
consent?"
To this question his daughter replied only wit=
h a
laugh; and as it had been asked without the least suspicion, she was not
distressed by his repeating it. Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to =
make
her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she=
would
rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her, by what he sa=
id
of Mr. Darcy's indifference, and she could do nothing but wonder at such a =
want
of penetration, or fear that perhaps, instead of his seeing too little, she
might have fancied too much.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 58
Inste=
ad of
receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as Elizabeth half expe=
cted
Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy with him to Longbourn before =
many
days had passed after Lady Catherine's visit. The gentlemen arrived early; =
and,
before Mrs. Bennet had time to tell him of their having seen his aunt, of w=
hich
her daughter sat in momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with J=
ane,
proposed their all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in th=
e habit
of walking; Mary could never spare time; but the remaining five set off
together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed the others to outstrip th=
em.
They lagged behind, while Elizabeth, Kitty, and Darcy were to entertain each
other. Very little was said by either; Kitty was too much afraid of him to =
talk;
Elizabeth was secretly forming a desperate resolution; and perhaps he might=
be
doing the same.
They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty
wished to call upon Maria; and as Elizabeth saw no occasion for making it a
general concern, when Kitty left them she went boldly on with him alone. Now
was the moment for her resolution to be executed, and, while her courage wa=
s high,
she immediately said:
"Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature;
and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I =
may
be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled
kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most
anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the
rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.&qu=
ot;
"I am sorry, exceedingly sorry," rep=
lied
Darcy, in a tone of surprise and emotion, "that you have ever been
informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did=
not
think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted."
"You must not blame my aunt. Lydia's
thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the mat=
ter;
and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank =
you
again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion
which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications,=
for
the sake of discovering them."
"If you will thank me," he replied, "let it=
be
for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add forc=
e to
the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But you=
r family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I
believe I thought only of you .&qu=
ot;
Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a wo=
rd.
After a short pause, her companion added, "You are too generous to tri=
fle
with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at
once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but=
one
word from you will silence me on this subject for ever."
Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common
awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and
immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her
sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he
alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present
assurances. The happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had
probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as
sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had
Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the =
expression
of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but, though she c=
ould
not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings, which, in proving =
of
what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuab=
le.
They walked on, without knowing in what direct=
ion.
There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any
other objects. She soon learnt that they were indebted for their present go=
od
understanding to the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return
through London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and =
the substance
of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically on every expressi=
on
of the latter which, in her ladyship's apprehension, peculiarly denoted her
perverseness and assurance; in the belief that such a relation must assist =
her
endeavours to obtain that promise from her nephew which she had refused to
give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly
contrariwise.
"It taught me to hope," said he,
"as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of
your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably
decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frank=
ly
and openly."
Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, "Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that . After abusing you so abominably t= o your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations." <= o:p>
"What did you say of me, that I did not
deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken
premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof.=
It
was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence."
"We will not quarrel for the greater shar=
e of
blame annexed to that evening," said Elizabeth. "The conduct of
neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we h=
ave
both, I hope, improved in civility."
"I cannot be so easily reconciled to myse=
lf.
The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my express=
ions
during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly pai=
nful
to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: 'had you behave=
d in
a more gentlemanlike manner.' Those were your words. You know not, you can =
scarcely
conceive, how they have tortured me;--though it was some time, I confess,
before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice."
"I was certainly very far from expecting =
them
to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being
ever felt in such a way."
"I can easily believe it. You thought me =
then
devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your counten=
ance
I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any
possible way that would induce you to accept me."
"Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These
recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most
heartily ashamed of it."
Darcy mentioned his letter. "Did it,"
said he, "did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading=
it,
give any credit to its contents?"
She explained what its effect on her had been,=
and
how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.
"I knew," said he, "that what I
wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed t=
he
letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dr=
ead
your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions whi=
ch
might justly make you hate me."
"The letter shall certainly be burnt, if =
you
believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have =
both
reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope,
quite so easily changed as that implies."
"When I wrote that letter," replied
Darcy, "I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since
convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit."
"The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness,
but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the
letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received i=
t,
are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant=
circumstance
attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. T=
hink
only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."
"I cannot give you credit for any philoso=
phy
of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that =
the
contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much bette=
r,
of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude=
which
cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my
life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was
right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principl=
es,
but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for
many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good
themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable),
allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care
for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the
world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared w=
ith
my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still =
have
been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You =
taught
me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was
properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed=
me
how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being
pleased."
"Had you then persuaded yourself that I
should?"
"Indeed I had. What will you think of my
vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses."
"My manners must have been in fault, but =
not
intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits m=
ight
often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?"
"Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, =
but
my anger soon began to take a proper direction."
"I am almost afraid of asking what you
thought of me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?"
"No indeed; I felt nothing but
surprise."
"Your surprise could not be greater than =
mine <=
/span>in
being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary
politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due."
"My object then," replied Darcy,
"was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mea=
n as
to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your =
ill
opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How so=
on
any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in
about half an hour after I had seen you."
He then told her of Georgiana's delight in her
acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption; which
naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that h=
is
resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been
formed before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness t=
here
had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend=
.
She expressed her gratitude again, but it was =
too
painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.
After walking several miles in a leisurely man=
ner,
and too busy to know anything about it, they found at last, on examining th=
eir
watches, that it was time to be at home.
"What could become of Mr. Bingley and
Jane!" was a wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs.
Darcy was delighted with their engagement; his friend had given him the
earliest information of it.
"I must ask whether you were surprised?&q=
uot;
said Elizabeth.
"Not at all. When I went away, I felt tha=
t it
would soon happen."
"That is to say, you had given your
permission. I guessed as much." And though he exclaimed at the term, s=
he
found that it had been pretty much the case.
"On the evening before my going to
London," said he, "I made a confession to him, which I believe I
ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my
former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was
great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that=
I
believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was
indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to h=
er
was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together."
Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy m=
anner
of directing his friend.
"Did you speak from your own
observation," said she, "when you told him that my sister loved h=
im,
or merely from my information last spring?"
"From the former. I had narrowly observed=
her
during the two visits which I had lately made here; and I was convinced of =
her
affection."
"And your assurance of it, I suppose, car=
ried
immediate conviction to him."
"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly mod=
est.
His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxiou=
s a
case, but his reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was obliged to conf=
ess one
thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow
myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winte=
r,
that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his
anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of yo=
ur
sister's sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now."
Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley h=
ad
been a most delightful friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluab=
le;
but she checked herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laug=
hed
at, and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of
Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued t=
he
conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 59
"=
;My
dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was a question which
Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered their room, and from all
the others when they sat down to table. She had only to say in reply, that =
they
had wandered about, till she was beyond her own knowledge. She coloured as =
she
spoke; but neither that, nor anything else, awakened a suspicion of the tru=
th.
The evening passed quietly, unmarked by anythi=
ng
extraordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the unacknowledg=
ed
were silent. Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in
mirth; and Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather knew that she was happy than felt herself to be so; for, besides the immed=
iate
embarrassment, there were other evils before her. She anticipated what woul=
d be
felt in the family when her situation became known; she was aware that no o=
ne
liked him but Jane; and even feared that with the others it was a dislike w=
hich
not all his fortune and consequence might do away.
At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though
suspicion was very far from Miss Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely
incredulous here.
"You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot
be!--engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it to be
impossible."
"This is a wretched beginning indeed! My =
sole
dependence was on you; and I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do
not. Yet, indeed, I am in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still
loves me, and we are engaged."
Jane looked at her doubtingly. "Oh, Lizzy=
! it
cannot be. I know how much you dislike him."
"You know nothing of the matter. That <=
/span>is
all to be forgot. Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. Bu=
t in
such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I
shall ever remember it myself."
Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizab=
eth
again, and more seriously assured her of its truth.
"Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet no=
w I
must believe you," cried Jane. "My dear, dear Lizzy, I would--I do
congratulate you--but are you certain? forgive the question--are you quite
certain that you can be happy with him?"
"There can be no doubt of that. It is set=
tled
between us already, that we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But=
are
you pleased, Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother?"
"Very, very much. Nothing could give eith=
er
Bingley or myself more delight. But we considered it, we talked of it as
impossible. And do you really love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! do
anything rather than marry without affection. Are you quite sure that you f=
eel
what you ought to do?"
"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel more than I ought to do, when I tell you all.=
"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, I must confess that I love him bett=
er
than I do Bingley. I am afraid you will be angry."
"My dearest sister, now be serious. I want to talk very seriously. =
Let me
know every thing that I am to know, without delay. Will you tell me how long
you have loved him?"
"It has been coming on so gradually, that=
I
hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing
his beautiful grounds at Pemberley."
Another entreaty that she would be serious,
however, produced the desired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her so=
lemn
assurances of attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had
nothing further to wish.
"Now I am quite happy," said she,
"for you will be as happy as myself. I always had a value for him. Wer=
e it
for nothing but his love of you, I must always have esteemed him; but now, =
as
Bingley's friend and your husband, there can be only Bingley and yourself m=
ore
dear to me. But Lizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How
little did you tell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton! I owe all t=
hat
I know of it to another, not to you."
Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy.=
She
had been unwilling to mention Bingley; and the unsettled state of her own
feelings had made her equally avoid the name of his friend. But now she wou=
ld
no longer conceal from her his share in Lydia's marriage. All was acknowled=
ged,
and half the night spent in conversation.
* * * * *
"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Bennet, =
as
she stood at a window the next morning, "if that disagreeable Mr. Darc=
y is
not coming here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so
tiresome as to be always coming here? I had no notion but he would go
a-shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us with his company. What
shall we do with him? Lizzy, you must walk out with him again, that he may =
not
be in Bingley's way."
Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so
convenient a proposal; yet was really vexed that her mother should be always
giving him such an epithet.
As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her= so expressively, and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information; and he soon afterwards said aloud, "Mrs. Bennet, have you= no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?" <= o:p>
"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and
Kitty," said Mrs. Bennet, "to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. =
It
is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view."
"It may do very well for the others,"
replied Mr. Bingley; "but I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Won=
't
it, Kitty?" Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy profes=
sed
a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently
consented. As she went up stairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her,
saying:
"I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should=
be
forced to have that disagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will n=
ot
mind it: it is all for Jane's sake, you know; and there is no occasion for
talking to him, except just now and then. So, do not put yourself to inconv=
enience."
During their walk, it was resolved that Mr.
Bennet's consent should be asked in the course of the evening. Elizabeth
reserved to herself the application for her mother's. She could not determi=
ne
how her mother would take it; sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and
grandeur would be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether=
she
were violently set against the match, or violently delighted with it, it was
certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted to do credit to her se=
nse;
and she could no more bear that Mr. Darcy should hear the first raptures of=
her
joy, than the first vehemence of her disapprobation.
* * * * *
In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew=
to
the library, she saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation =
on
seeing it was extreme. She did not fear her father's opposition, but he was
going to be made unhappy; and that it should be through her means--that
Her father was walking about the room, looking
grave and anxious. "Lizzy," said he, "what are you doing? Are
you out of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have not you always hated=
him?"
How earnestly did she then wish that her former
opinions had been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would =
have
spared her from explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkwa=
rd
to give; but they were now necessary, and she assured him, with some confus=
ion,
of her attachment to Mr. Darcy.
"Or, in other words, you are determined to
have him. He is rich, to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fi=
ne
carriages than Jane. But will they make you happy?"
"Have you any other objection," said
Elizabeth, "than your belief of my indifference?"
"None at all. We all know him to be a pro=
ud,
unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked
him."
"I do, I do like him," she replied, =
with
tears in her eyes, "I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is
perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain=
me
by speaking of him in such terms."
"Lizzy," said her father, "I ha=
ve
given him my consent. He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never
dare refuse anything, which he condescended to ask. I now give it to you , if you are resolved on having him.=
But
let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I =
know
that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed =
your
husband; unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents wou=
ld
place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely
escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing =
you unable to respect your partner in life. =
You
know not what you are about."
Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and
solemn in her reply; and at length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy w=
as
really the object of her choice, by explaining the gradual change which her
estimation of him had undergone, relating her absolute certainty that his
affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months'=
suspense,
and enumerating with energy all his good qualities, she did conquer her
father's incredulity, and reconcile him to the match.
"Well, my dear," said he, when she
ceased speaking, "I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deser=
ves
you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy.&quo=
t;
To complete the favourable impression, she then
told him what Mr. Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with
astonishment.
"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! A=
nd
so, Darcy did every thing; made up the match, gave the money, paid the fell=
ow's
debts, and got him his commission! So much the better. It will save me a wo=
rld
of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and would have paid him; but these violent young l=
overs
carry every thing their own way. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he will
rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end of the
matter."
He then recollected her embarrassment a few da=
ys
before, on his reading Mr. Collins's letter; and after laughing at her some
time, allowed her at last to go--saying, as she quitted the room, "If =
any
young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at
leisure."
Elizabeth's mind was now relieved from a very
heavy weight; and, after half an hour's quiet reflection in her own room, s=
he
was able to join the others with tolerable composure. Every thing was too
recent for gaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away; there was no lon=
ger anything
material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity would come =
in
time.
When her mother went up to her dressing-room at
night, she followed her, and made the important communication. Its effect w=
as
most extraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, a=
nd
unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes that she co=
uld comprehend
what she heard; though not in general backward to credit what was for the
advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a lover to any of the=
m.
She began at length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit d=
own
again, wonder, and bless herself.
"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think!
dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my
sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what
jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane's is nothing to it--nothing at a=
ll.
I am so pleased--so happy. Such a charming man!--so handsome! so tall!--Oh,=
my dear
Lizzy! pray apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he =
will
overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Every thing that is charmin=
g!
Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of=
me.
I shall go distracted."
This was enough to prove that her approbation =
need
not be doubted: and Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard on=
ly
by herself, soon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own
room, her mother followed her.
"My dearest child," she cried, "=
;I
can think of nothing else! Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! 'Tis =
as
good as a Lord! And a special licence. You must and shall be married by a
special licence. But my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is
particularly fond of, that I may have it to-morrow."
This was a sad omen of what her mother's behav=
iour
to the gentleman himself might be; and Elizabeth found that, though in the
certain possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations' c=
onsent,
there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow passed off much
better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of her
intended son-in-law that she ventured not to speak to him, unless it was in=
her
power to offer him any attention, or mark her deference for his opinion.
Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her
father taking pains to get acquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured=
her
that he was rising every hour in his esteem.
"I admire all my three sons-in-law highly," said he. "Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think= I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane's." <= o:p>
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 60
Eliza=
beth's
spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account f=
or
his having ever fallen in love with her. "How could you begin?" s=
aid
she. "I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once mad=
e a
beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?"
"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or
the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I wa=
s in
the middle before I knew that I ha=
d begun."
"My beauty you had early withstood, and as
for my manners--my behaviour to yo=
u was at least always bordering on the unc=
ivil,
and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. =
Now
be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?"
"For the liveliness of your mind, I
did."
"You may as well call it impertinence at
once. It was very little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility,=
of
deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who we=
re
always speaking, and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interes=
ted
you, because I was so unlike them =
. Had
you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of
the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and
just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduo=
usly
courted you. There--I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and
really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To=
be
sure, you knew no actual good of me--but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love."
"Was there no good in your affectionate
behaviour to Jane while she was ill at Netherfield?"
"Dearest Jane! who could have done less f=
or
her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your
protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in ret=
urn,
it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as
often as may be; and I shall begin directly by asking you what made you so
unwilling to come to the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you
first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, =
did you
look as if you did not care about me?"
"Because you were grave and silent, and g=
ave
me no encouragement."
"But I was embarrassed."
"And so was I."
"You might have talked to me more when you
came to dinner."
"A man who had felt less, might."
"How unlucky that you should have a
reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit i=
t!
But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to
yourself. I wonder when you would =
have spoken, if I had not asked you! My
resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great e=
ffect.
Too much , I am afraid; for what b=
ecomes
of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise? for I ought =
not
to have mentioned the subject. This will never do."
"You need not distress yourself. The moral
will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separa=
te
us were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my prese=
nt
happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a
humour to wait for any opening of yours. My aunt's intelligence had given m=
e hope,
and I was determined at once to know every thing."
"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use,
which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what
did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn an=
d be
embarrassed? or had you intended any more serious consequence?"
"My real purpose was to see you , and to judge, if I could, whether =
I might
ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, w=
as
to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley, and if she were, =
to
make the confession to him which I have since made."
"Shall you ever have courage to announce =
to
Lady Catherine what is to befall her?"
"I am more likely to want more time than
courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to be done, and if you will give me a shee=
t of
paper, it shall be done directly."
"And if I had not a letter to write mysel=
f, I
might sit by you and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young =
lady
once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected." =
From an unwillingness to confess how much her
intimacy with Mr. Darcy had been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet answer=
ed
Mrs. Gardiner's long letter; but now, having that <=
/span>to
communicate which she knew would be most welcome, she was almost ashamed to
find that her uncle and aunt had already lost three days of happiness, and
immediately wrote as follows:
"I would have thanked you before, my dear
aunt, as I ought to have done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of
particulars; but to say the truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed m=
ore
than really existed. But now suppose as much as you choose; give a lo=
ose
rein to your fancy, indulge your imagination in every possible flight which=
the
subject will afford, and unless you believe me actually married, you cannot
greatly err. You must write again very soon, and praise him a great deal mo=
re
than you did in your last. I thank you, again and again, for not going to t=
he
Lakes. How could I be so silly as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is
delightful. We will go round the Park every day. I am the happiest creature=
in
the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such
justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh. Mr. Darcy s=
ends
you all the love in the world that he can spare from me. You are all to com=
e to
Pemberley at Christmas. Yours, etc."
Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine was in a
different style; and still different from either was what Mr. Bennet sent to
Mr. Collins, in reply to his last.
"DEAR SIR,
"I must trouble you once more for
congratulations. Elizabeth will soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady
Catherine as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the neph=
ew.
He has more to give.
"Yours sincerely, etc."
Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother,=
on
his approaching marriage, were all that was affectionate and insincere. She
wrote even to Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all =
her former
professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was affected; and tho=
ugh
feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing her a much kinder answer
than she knew was deserved.
The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving
similar information, was as sincere as her brother's in sending it. Four si=
des
of paper were insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest
desire of being loved by her sister.
Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collin=
s,
or any congratulations to Elizabeth from his wife, the Longbourn family hea=
rd
that the Collinses were come themselves to Lucas Lodge. The reason of this =
sudden
removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly a=
ngry
by the contents of her nephew's letter, that Charlotte, really rejoicing in=
the
match, was anxious to get away till the storm was blown over. At such a mom=
ent,
the arrival of her friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the
course of their meetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bough=
t,
when she saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility =
of her
husband. He bore it, however, with admirable calmness. He could even listen=
to
Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away the brightest
jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all meeting frequent=
ly
at St. James's, with very decent composure. If he did shrug his shoulders, =
it
was not till Sir William was out of sight.
Mrs. Phillips's vulgarity was another, and per=
haps
a greater, tax on his forbearance; and though Mrs. Phillips, as well as her
sister, stood in too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which
Bingley's good humour encouraged, yet, whenever she did speak, she must be vulgar. Nor was her r=
espect
for him, though it made her more quiet, at all likely to make her more eleg=
ant.
Elizabeth did all she could to shield him from the frequent notice of eithe=
r,
and was ever anxious to keep him to herself, and to those of her family with
whom he might converse without mortification; and though the uncomfortable
feelings arising from all this took from the season of courtship much of its
pleasure, it added to the hope of the future; and she looked forward with
delight to the time when they should be removed from society so little plea=
sing
to either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at Pemberl=
ey.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;line-height:115%'>Chapt=
er 61
Happy=
for
all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her t=
wo
most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she afterwards visited =
Mrs.
Bingley, and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may be guessed. I wish I could say, for =
the
sake of her family, that the accomplishment of her earnest desire in the
establishment of so many of her children produced so happy an effect as to =
make
her a sensible, amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life; thou=
gh
perhaps it was lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic
felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally nervous and =
invariably
silly.
Mr. Bennet missed his second daughter exceedin=
gly;
his affection for her drew him oftener from home than anything else could d=
o.
He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected. =
Mr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield o=
nly
a twelvemonth. So near a vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was n=
ot
desirable even to his easy temper, or her affectionate heart. The darling wish of =
his sisters
was then gratified; he bought an estate in a neighbouring county to Derbysh=
ire,
and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were
within thirty miles of each other.
Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent t=
he
chief of her time with her two elder sisters. In society so superior to what
she had generally known, her improvement was great. She was not of so
ungovernable a temper as Lydia; and, removed from the influence of Lydia's
example, she became, by proper attention and management, less irritable, le=
ss ignorant,
and less insipid. From the further disadvantage of Lydia's society she was =
of
course carefully kept, and though Mrs. Wickham frequently invited her to co=
me
and stay with her, with the promise of balls and young men, her father would
never consent to her going.
Mary was the only daughter who remained at hom=
e;
and she was necessarily drawn from the pursuit of accomplishments by Mrs.
Bennet's being quite unable to sit alone. Mary was obliged to mix more with=
the
world, but she could still moralize over every morning visit; and as she wa=
s no
longer mortified by comparisons between her sisters' beauty and her own, it=
was
suspected by her father that she submitted to the change without much
reluctance.
As for Wickham and Lydia, their characters
suffered no revolution from the marriage of her sisters. He bore with
philosophy the conviction that Elizabeth must now become acquainted with
whatever of his ingratitude and falsehood had before been unknown to her; a=
nd
in spite of every thing, was not wholly without hope that Darcy might yet be
prevailed on to make his fortune. The congratulatory letter which Elizabeth
received from Lydia on her marriage, explained to her that, by his wife at
least, if not by himself, such a hope was cherished. The letter was to this=
effect:
"MY DEAR LIZZY,
"I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy ha=
lf
as well as I do my dear Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comf=
ort
to have you so rich, and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will
think of us. I am sure Wickham would like a place at court very much, and I=
do
not think we shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help. =
Any
place would do, of about three or four hundred a year; but however, do not
speak to Mr. Darcy about it, if you had rather not.
"Yours, etc."
As it happened that Elizabeth had much rather not, she endeavoured in her answe=
r to
put an end to every entreaty and expectation of the kind. Such relief, howe=
ver,
as it was in her power to afford, by the practice of what might be called
economy in her own private expences, she frequently sent them. It had always
been evident to her that such an income as theirs, under the direction of t=
wo
persons so extravagant in their wants, and heedless of the future, must be =
very
insufficient to their support; and whenever they changed their quarters, ei=
ther
Jane or herself were sure of being applied to for some little assistance to=
wards
discharging their bills. Their manner of living, even when the restoration =
of
peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in the extreme. They were alw=
ays
moving from place to place in quest of a cheap situation, and always spendi=
ng
more than they ought. His affection for her soon sunk into indifference; he=
rs
lasted a little longer; and in spite of her youth and her manners, she reta=
ined
all the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her.
Though Darcy could never receive him =
span>at
Pemberley, yet, for Elizabeth's sake, he assisted him further in his
profession. Lydia was occasionally a visitor there, when her husband was go=
ne
to enjoy himself in London or Bath; and with the Bingleys they both of them
frequently staid so long, that even Bingley's good humour was overcome, and=
he proceeded
so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone.
Miss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darc=
y's
marriage; but as she thought it advisable to retain the right of visiting at
Pemberley, she dropt all her resentment; was fonder than ever of Georgiana,
almost as attentive to Darcy as heretofore, and paid off every arrear of
civility to Elizabeth.
Pemberley was now Georgiana's home; and the
attachment of the sisters was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were
able to love each other even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the
highest opinion in the world of Elizabeth; though at first she often listen=
ed
with an astonishment bordering on alarm at her lively, sportive, manner of =
talking
to her brother. He, who had always inspired in herself a respect which almo=
st
overcame her affection, she now saw the object of open pleasantry. Her mind
received knowledge which had never before fallen in her way. By Elizabeth's
instructions, she began to comprehend that a woman may take liberties with =
her
husband which a brother will not always allow in a sister more than ten yea=
rs
younger than himself.
Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the
marriage of her nephew; and as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of=
her
character in her reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, she s=
ent
him language so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time a=
ll
intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Elizabeth's persuasion, he was
prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation; and, after=
a
little further resistance on the part of his aunt, her resentment gave way,
either to her affection for him, or her curiosity to see how his wife condu=
cted
herself; and she condescended to wait on them at Pemberley, in spite of that
pollution which its woods had received, not merely from the presence of suc=
h a
mistress, but the visits of her uncle and aunt from the city.
With the Gardiners, they were always on the mo=
st
intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they we=
re
both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bri=
nging
her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them.