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PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
By Jane Austen
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Chapter 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 fixed 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?
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 says 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 our girls!
How so? How can it
affect them?
My dear Mr. Bennet,
replied his wife, 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?
Design! Nonsense,
how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he may fall in love with
one of them, and therefore 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 still 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 have had my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to
be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she
ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.
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 visit 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 you 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. Lizzy 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 the preference.
They have none of
them much to recommend them, replied he; they are all silly and
ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her
sisters.
Mr. Bennet, how can
you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing
me. You have 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 live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into
the neighbourhood.
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-twenty 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.
Chapter 2
Mr. Bennet 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 knowledge 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 Elizabeth, 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 such 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.
Dont keep coughing
so, Kitty, for Heavens sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You
tear them to pieces.
Kitty has no discretion
in her coughs, said her father; she times them ill.
I do not cough for
my own amusement, replied Kitty fretfully. When is your next
ball to be, Lizzy?
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 impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know him
herself.
Then, my dear, you
may have the advantage 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 fortnights 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 after all, Mrs. Long and her daughters must stand their
chance; and, therefore, as she 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 introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot
quite agree with you there. What say you, Mary? For you 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 called 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 first tumult of joy was over, she began to declare that
it was what she had expected all the while.
How good it was in
you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure
you loved your girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased
I am! and it is such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning
and never said a word about 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 our 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, Im
the tallest.
The rest of the evening
was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return Mr. Bennets visit,
and determining when they should ask him to dinner.
Chapter 3
Not all 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 wayswith barefaced 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 favourable.
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 the next assembly
with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing
was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr. Bingleys
heart were entertained.
If I can but see
one of my daughters happily 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. Bennets 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. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in town the following day, and, consequently,
unable to accept the honour of their invitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite
disconcerted. 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 flying about from one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield
as he ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting the idea
of his being 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
with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of ladies,
but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve
he brought only six with him from Londonhis five sisters and a cousin.
And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogetherMr.
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, merely 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 looked 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 be proud; to be above his company, and above being pleased;
and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a
most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared
with his friend.
Mr. Bingley had soon made
himself acquainted with 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. What 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 lady, 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 would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against
him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into
particular resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters.
Elizabeth Bennet had been
obliged, by the scarcity 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 friend 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 detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner.
At such an assembly 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 round 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 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 walked off; and Elizabeth remained with no very cordial feelings
toward him. She told the story, however, with great spirit among her friends;
for she had a lively, 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 Janes pleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned
to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine
and Lydia had been fortunate enough never to be without partners, 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 events of an evening which had raised such splendid expectations.
He had rather hoped that his wifes views on the stranger would be disappointed;
but he soon found out that he had a different story to hear.
Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet,
as she entered the room, we have had a most delightful evening, a most
excellent ball. 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. First 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 inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her
for the two next. Then the two 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 Gods sake, say no more of his partners.
O that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!
Oh! my dear, I am
quite delighted with him. 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 upon Mrs. Hursts gown
Here she was interrupted
again. Mr. Bennet protested against any description of finery. She was
therefore obliged to seek 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, horrid 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 have given him one of your set-downs. I quite detest the man.
Chapter 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 by surprise, and me never. What could be more natural than
his 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 that. 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 know, 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 being 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 good sense, to be
so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others! Affectation
of candour is common enoughone meets with it everywhere. But to
be candid without ostentation or designto take the good
of everybodys character and make it still better, and say nothing of the
badbelongs to you alone. And so you like this mans sisters, too,
do you? Their manners are not equal to his.
Certainly notat
first. But they are very 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 please 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 ladies; not deficient in good humour when they were pleased,
nor in the power of making 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 brothers 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 purchase 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 easiness 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 estate of his own; but, though he was now only established
as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no means unwilling to preside at his
tablenor 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-hourwas
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 Darcys
regard, Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his judgement the highest opinion.
In understanding, 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 felt acquainted with all the room; and, as to Miss Bennet, he could
not conceive an angel more 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 smallest 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 sobut 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 therefore established as a sweet girl, and their brother felt
authorized by such commendation to think of her as he chose.
Chapter 5
Within a short walk of Longbourn
lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly 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 address 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 family to a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated
from that period Lucas Lodge, 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. Jamess
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 Elizabeths intimate friend.
That the Miss Lucases and
the Miss Bennets should 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. Bingleys first choice.
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 did seem
as if he admired herindeed I rather believe he didI heard
something about itbut I hardly know whatsomething about Mr. Robinson.
Perhaps you mean
what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it to you?
Mr. Robinsons asking him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and
whether he did not think there were a great many pretty women in the room, and
which he thought the prettiest? and his answering immediately to the
last question: Oh! the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there cannot
be two opinions on that point.
Upon my word! Well,
that is very decided indeedthat does seem as ifbut, however, it
may all come to nothing, you know.
My overhearings
were more to the purpose than yours, Eliza, said Charlotte. 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 Lizzys 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.
Are you quite sure,
maam?is not there a little mistake? said Jane. I certainly
saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.
Ayebecause
she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help answering
her; but she said he seemed quite angry at being spoke to.
Miss Bingley told
me, said Jane, that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate
acquaintances. With them 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 say 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.
Another time, Lizzy,
said her mother, I would not dance with him, if I were you.
I believe, maam,
I may safely promise you never to dance with him.
His pride,
said Miss Lucas, does not offend me so much as pride often does,
because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young
man, with family, 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 Elizabeth, and I could easily forgive his pride, if he
had not mortified mine.
Pride, observed
Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections,
is a very common failing, 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 very 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 would have others think of us.
If I were as rich
as Mr. Darcy, cried 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.
Then you would drink
a great deal more than 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.
Chapter 6
The ladies of Longbourn
soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit was soon returned in due form.
Miss Bennets pleasing manners grew on the goodwill of Mrs. Hurst 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 with 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 brothers admiration. It
was generally evident whenever they met, that he did admire her
and to her 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 discovered 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 Miss 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 believe 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
freelya slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of
us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine
cases out of ten a women had better show more 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 Janes 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 her. But, though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably
often, it is never for many hours 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 Janes 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 have also been
spent togetherand four evenings may do a great deal.
Yes; these four evenings
have enabled them 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 felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently
unlike afterwards to have 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 yourself.
Occupied in observing Mr.
Bingleys 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 no 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
Lucass, 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 certainly 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 friend 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 Forster 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 of a friend!always wanting me to play and sing before
anybody and everybody! If 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 Lucass persevering, however, she added, Very well, if
it must be so, it must. And gravely glancing at Mr. Darcy, There
is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with: Keep
your breath to cool your porridge; and I shall keep mine to swell
my song.
Her performance was pleasing,
though by no means 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 instrument 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 than 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 long concerto, was glad
to purchase praise and gratitude by Scotch and Irish airs, at the request
of her younger sisters, who, with some of the Lucases, and two or three officers,
joined eagerly in dancing at one end of the room.
Mr. Darcy stood near them
in silent indignation at such a mode of passing the evening, to the exclusion
of all conversation, and was too much engrossed by his thoughts to perceive
that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir William thus began:
What a charming amusement
for young people 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. Every 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 yourself, Mr. Darcy.
You saw me dance
at Meryton, I believe, sir.
Yes, indeed, and
received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance
at St. Jamess?
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?
Mr. Darcy bowed.
I had once had some
thought of fixing in town myselffor 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 companion 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 called out to her:
My dear Miss Eliza,
why are you not dancing? 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 beauty 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 intention 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 Eliza, 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
complaisancefor who 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 her 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 mannerin
such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed!
The insipidity, and yet the noisethe nothingness, and yet the self-importance
of all those people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!
Your conjecture
is totally wrong, I assure 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 such reflections. Mr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity:
Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet!
repeated Miss 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 ladys 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 while she chose to entertain herself in this manner;
and as his composure convinced her that all was safe, her wit
flowed long.
Chapter 7
Mr. Bennets property
consisted almost entirely in an estate of two thousand a year, which, unfortunately
for his daughters, was entailed, in default
of heirs male, on a distant relation; and their mothers fortune, though
ample for her situation in life, could but ill supply the deficiency of his.
Her father had 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 milliners shop just over the way. The two
youngest of the family, Catherine 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 were well supplied both with
news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in the
neighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was the headquarters.
Their visits to Mrs. Phillips
were now productive of the most interesting intelligence. Every day added something
to their knowledge of the officers names and connections. Their lodgings
were not long a secret, and at length they began to know the officers themselves.
Mr. Phillips visited them all, and this opened to his nieces a store of felicity
unknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingleys
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 manner 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 anybodys
children, it should not be of my own, however.
If my children are
silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it.
Yesbut 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 age, 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 welland,
indeed, so I do still at my heart; and if a smart young colonel, with five or
six thousand a year, should want one of my girls I shall not say nay to him;
and I thought Colonel Forster looked very becoming the other night at Sir Williams
in his regimentals.
Mamma, cried
Lydia, my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain Carter do not go
so often to Miss Watsons as they did when they first came; she sees them
now very often standing in Clarkes library.
Mrs. Bennet was prevented
replying by the entrance of the footman with a note for Miss Bennet; it came
from Netherfield, and the servant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennets 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 dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of
hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole days tête-a-tête
between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can
on receipt of this. My brother 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 horseback, 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. Bingleys 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 the horses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm, Mr.
Bennet, are they not?
They are wanted in
the farm much oftener than I can get them.
But if you have got
them to-day, said Elizabeth, my mothers 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 long 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 could not come back.
This was a lucky
idea of mine, indeed! 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 felicity of her contrivance. Breakfast was
scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield 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. Jonestherefore do not be
alarmed if you should hear of his having been to meand, excepting a sore
throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me.Yours, etc.
Well, my dear,
said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud, If your daughter
should have a dangerous fit of illnessIf 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 determined 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 Janewhich 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 walk. 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 proportion to what is required.
We will go as far
as Meryton with you, said Catherine and Lydia. Elizabeth accepted their
company, and the three young ladies set off together.
If we make haste,
said Lydia, as they walked along, perhaps we may see something of Captain
Carter before he goes.
In Meryton they parted;
the two youngest repaired 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 with 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 such dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible
to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her
in contempt for it. She was received, however, very politely by them;
and in their brothers manners there was something better than politeness;
there was good humour and kindness. Mr. 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 occasions
justifying her coming so far alone. 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 taken to her immediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld
by the fear of giving 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 treated 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 having 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 the 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 that 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
for the present. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was dispatched
to Longbourn to acquaint the family with her stay and bring back a supply of
clothes.
Chapter 8
At five oclock 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. Bingleys, 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 her feeling herself so much an intruder
as she believed she was considered by the others. 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 cards; who, when he found her
to prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say 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 thought 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 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 her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain;
and the gown which 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 see your sister make such an exhibition.
Certainly not.
To walk three miles,
or four miles, or five 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 that is very pleasing, said Bingley.
I am afraid, Mr.
Darcy, observed Miss Bingley in a half whisper, that this adventure
has rather affected your 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 were 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 on 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 Darcy.
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 friends
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 sleep, and when it seemed to her rather right than pleasant that she should
go downstairs 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 with astonishment.
Do you prefer reading
to cards? said he; that is rather singular.
Miss Eliza Bennet,
said Miss Bingley, 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
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 offered to fetch her othersall 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 herself 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 family library in such days as these.
Neglect! I am sure
you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles,
when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley.
I wish it may.
But I would really
advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for
a kind of model. There 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. Bingley 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?
I think she will.
She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennets 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! And 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 purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your
estimation 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 Bingley.
Then, observed
Elizabeth, you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an
accomplished woman.
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 something
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 such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance,
as you describe united.
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley
both cried out against 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 order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to
what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth
soon afterwards left the room.
Elizabeth Bennet,
said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, is one of those young
ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their
own; and with many 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 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 her 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 advice 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 comply with their brothers 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.
Chapter 9
Elizabeth passed the chief
of the night in her sisters 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 afterwards 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 after the family breakfast.
Had she found Jane in any
apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been very miserable; but being satisfied
on seeing her that 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 would not listen, therefore, to her daughters 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 Bingleys
appearance and invitation, the mother and three daughter all attended her into
the breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not
found 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 think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.
Removed! cried
Bingley. It must 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 here, Mr.
Bingley, and a charming prospect over the gravel walk. I do not know
a place 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 myself as quite fixed here.
That is exactly what
I should have supposed of you, said Elizabeth.
You begin to comprehend
me, do you? cried he, turning towards her.
Oh! yesI understand
you perfectly.
I wish I might take
this for a compliment; 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 neighbourhood 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 looking 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 replied, 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.
Ayethat is
because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman, looking at
Darcy, seemed to think the country was nothing at all.
Indeed, Mamma, you
are mistaken, said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. You quite
mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not such a variety of people
to be met with in the country as in the town, which you must acknowledge to
be true.
Certainly, my dear,
nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with many people in this neighbourhood,
I believe there 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 sake of saying something that might turn her mothers
thoughts, now asked her if Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since her
coming away.
Yes, she called yesterday
with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, is not he?
So much the man of fashion! So genteel and easy! He had always something
to say to everybody. That is my idea of good breeding; and those persons
who fancy themselves very important, 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 servants that can do their own work; my daughters are brought
up very differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases
are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome!
Not that I think Charlotte so very plainbut then she is our particular
friend.
She seems a very
pleasant young woman.
Oh! dear, yes; but
you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied
me Janes beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure,
Janeone does not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody
says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there
was a man at my brother Gardiners in town so much in love with her that
my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer 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.
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 driving away love!
I have been used
to consider poetry as the food 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, thin 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 again. 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 kindness 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 forward. 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 promised 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
attention of the officers, to whom her uncles good dinners, and her own
easy manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. She was very equal,
therefore, to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the ball, and abruptly reminded
him 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 mothers ear:
I am perfectly ready,
I assure you, to keep 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 she is ill.
Lydia declared herself
satisfied. Oh! yesit would be much better to wait till Jane was
well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again.
And when you have given your ball, she added, I shall insist
on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Forster it will be quite a shame if he does not.
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters
then departed, and 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 whom, however, could not be prevailed on to join in their censure
of her, in spite of all Miss Bingleys witticisms on fine eyes.
Chapter 10
The day passed much as the
day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent 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 calling 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 handwriting, 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 receive 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. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.
Thank youbut
I always mend my own.
How can you contrive
to write so even?
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 raptures with her beautiful little design for a table,
and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantleys.
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 always 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 Darcy, 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 from yours.
Oh! cried Miss
Bingley, Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves
out half his words, and blots the rest.
My ideas flow so
rapidly that I have not time to express themby 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 Darcy, 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 proud 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 quickness 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 that if you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield
you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric,
of compliment to yourselfand 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 true, 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.
I dare say you believed
it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity.
Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know;
and if, as you were 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 goand 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 fast as I could.
Would Mr. Darcy then
consider the rashness of your original intentions as atoned for by your
obstinacy in adhering to it?
Upon my word, I cannot
exactly explain the matter; Darcy must speak for himself.
You expect me to
account for opinions which 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 house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without
offering one argument in favour of its propriety.
To yield readilyeasilyto
the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you.
To yield without
conviction is no compliment 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 case 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 proceed on this subject, to arrange with rather more precision the
degree of importance 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 size; 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 declare 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 could 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 his 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, is no sacrifice on my side; and Mr. Darcy had much better
finish his letter.
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 with 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. Darcys 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 her, was still more strange. She could only
imagine, however, at last that she drew his notice because there was something
more wrong and reprehensible, according 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, drawing 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 wanted 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 cheating 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 alland now despise me if you dare.
Indeed I do not dare.
Elizabeth, having rather
expected to affront him, was amazed at his gallantry; but there
was a mixture of sweetness and archness 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 happiness in such an alliance.
I hope, said
she, as they were walking 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, endeavour 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 uncle and aunt Phillips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley.
Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession,
you know, only in different lines. As for your Elizabeths picture, you
must not have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful
eyes?
It would not be easy,
indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes,
so remarkably fine, 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 overheard.
You used us abominably
ill, answered Mrs. Hurst, running away without telling us that
you were coming out.
Then taking the disengaged
arm of Mr. Darcy, she 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 party. We had better go into the avenue.
But Elizabeth, who had
not the least inclination 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 rambled 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.
Chapter 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 considerable. 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 longer the first object; Miss Bingleys eyes were
instantly turned toward Darcy, and she had something to say to him before he
had advanced many steps. He addressed himself to Miss Bennet, with a polite
congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said he was very
glad; but diffuseness and warmth remained for Bingleys salutation.
He was full of joy and attention. The first 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 corner, saw it all with great delight.
When tea was over, Mr.
Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card-tablebut 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 play, 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 brothers conversation with Miss
Bennet.
Miss Bingleys attention
was quite as much engaged in watching Mr. Darcys progress through his
book, as in reading her own; and she was perpetually either making some
inquiry, or looking at his page. She could not 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 amusement; when hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss
Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said:
By the bye, Charles,
are you really serious in meditating a dance
at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the
wishes of the present party; I am much mistaken if there are not some among
us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.
If you mean Darcy,
cried her brother, he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it beginsbut
as for the ball, 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, 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 would surely be much more rational if conversation
instead of dancing were made the 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 afterwards 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. In 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 immediately. 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 invited to join their party, but he declined
it, observing that he could imagine but two motives for their choosing to walk
up and down the room together, with either 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 others 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
you 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 such a speech?
Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination, said Elizabeth. We can all plague
and punish one another. Tease himlaugh 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 has not yet taught me that.
Tease calmness of manner and presence of mind! No, nofeel he may defy
us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by
attempting to laugh 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 given me more credit than can be. The wisest and the best
of mennay, the wisest and best of their actionsmay be rendered ridiculous
by a person whose first object in life is a joke.
Certainly,
replied Elizabeththere are such people, but I hope I am not one
of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Follies
and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me,
I own, and I laugh at them whenever 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 expose a strong understanding to ridicule.
Such as vanity and
pride.
Yes, vanity is a
weakness indeed. But pridewhere 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 yieldingcertainly too little for the
convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices
of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses 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
lost, is lost forever.
That is a
failing indeed! cried Elizabeth. Implacable resentment is
a shade in a character. But you have chosen
your fault well. I really cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me.
There is, I believe,
in every disposition a tendency to some particular evila natural defect,
which not even the best education can overcome.
And 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, cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she
had no share. Louisa, 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.
Chapter 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 finish Janes week, could
not bring herself to receive them with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore,
was not propitious, at least not to Elizabeths wishes, for she
was impatient to get home. Mrs. Bennet sent them word that they could not possibly
have the carriage before Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added,
that if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare
them very well. Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively resolvednor
did she much expect it would be asked; and fearful, on the contrary, as being
considered as intruding themselves needlessly long, she urged Jane to
borrow Mr. Bingleys 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 jealousy 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 herthat she was
not enough recovered; but Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right.
To Mr. Darcy it was welcome
intelligenceElizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted
him more than he likedand Miss Bingley was uncivil to her, and
more teasing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful
that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could
elevate her 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 words 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, and would not even look at her.
On Sunday, after morning
service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingleys
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 tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth took leave
of the whole party 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 wrong 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 really 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 new 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 been 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 actually been hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.
Chapter 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 have reason to expect an addition
to our family party.
Who do you mean,
my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas
should happen to call inand 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 gentleman, and a stranger.
Mrs. Bennets eyes
sparkled. A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure! Well,
I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley. Butgood Lord!
how unlucky! There is not a bit of fish to be got to-day. Lydia, my love, ring
the bellI must speak to Hill this moment.
It is not
Mr. Bingley, said her husband; it is a person whom I never saw in
the 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 pleases.
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 entailed
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 continued to rail bitterly against
the cruelty of settling an estate away from a family 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 think 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 his father did before him?
Why, indeed; he does
seem to have had some filial scruples on that head, as you will hear.
Hunsford, near Westerham,
Kent, 15th October.
Dear Sir,
The disagreement
subsisting between yourself 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 seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good
terms with anyone with whom 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, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred
me to the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest endeavour
to demean myself with grateful respect towards her ladyship, and be ever
ready to perform those rites and ceremonies 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 that my present overtures are highly
commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in the entail
of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your side, 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 leave to
apologise for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every
possible amendsbut of this hereafter. If you should have no objection
to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting
on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four oclock, and shall
probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday seennight
following, which I can do without any inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far
from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other
clergyman is engaged 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 oclock,
therefore, we may expect this peace-making gentleman, said Mr. Bennet,
as he folded up the letter. He seems to be a most conscientious and polite
young man, upon my word, 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 our due, the wish is certainly to his credit.
Elizabeth was chiefly struck
by his extraordinary deference for Lady Catherine, and his kind intention
of christening, marrying, 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 hopes 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
perhaps 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. Collinss letter had done away much
of her ill-will, and she was preparing 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
had 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 most
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 this 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 with you, for such things I know are all chance 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 hardship to my fair cousins, and could say much on the subject,
but that I am cautious of appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure
the young ladies that 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. Collinss admiration. The hall, the dining-room, and all
its furniture, were examined and praised; and his commendation of everything
would have touched Mrs. Bennets 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 know 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. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended;
but he continued to apologise for about a quarter of an hour.
Chapter 14
During dinner, Mr. Bennet
scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants were withdrawn, 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 Bourghs attention 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 ranksuch affability and condescension,
as he had himself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been 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 dine 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, but 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
occasionally for a week or two, to visit his relations. She had even condescended
to advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion;
and had 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 herselfsome shelves in the closet upstairs.
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 abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park,
her ladyships residence.
I think you said
she was a widow, sir? Has 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 failed
of, as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still
resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends
to drive 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
ornaments. 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 acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine,
that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated
rank, instead 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
which 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
flattering 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. Bennets expectations
were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened
to him with the keenest 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. Collins readily assented, and a book was produced; but, on beholding
it (for everything 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 Fordyces 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 Phillips talks of turning away Richard; and if he does, Colonel
Forster will hire him. 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.
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 nothing 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 Lydias interruption, and promised that it should not
occur again, if he would resume his book; but Mr. 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.
Chapter 15
Mr. Collins 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 unexpected 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 rank, and
his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion
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
represented by common report. This was his plan of amendsof atonementfor
inheriting their fathers estate; and he thought it an excellent
one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested
on his own part.
His plan did not vary on
seeing them. Miss Bennets lovely face confirmed his views, and established
all his strictest notions of what was due to seniority; and for the first evening
she was his settled choice. The next morning, however, made an alteration;
for in a quarter of an hours 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 her, amid very complaisant smiles and general encouragement,
a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on. As to her younger
daughters, she could not take upon her to sayshe could not positively
answerbut she did not know of any prepossession; her eldest
daughter, she must just mentionshe felt it incumbent on her to
hint, was likely to be very soon engaged.
Mr. Collins had only to
change from Jane to Elizabethand it was soon donedone while Mrs.
Bennet was stirring the fire. Elizabeth, equally next to Jane in birth and beauty,
succeeded her of course.
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.
Lydias 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 rid of him, and have his library to himself; for
thither Mr. Collins had followed 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 little 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 fitted for a walker than
a reader, was extremely pleased to close his large book, and go.
In pompous nothings
on his side, and civil assents 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 window, could recall them.
But the attention of every
lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most
gentlemanlike appearance, 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, and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the
strangers air, all wondered who he could be; and Kitty and Lydia, determined if possible to find out, led the way across the street, under pretense
of wanting something in an opposite 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 commission 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 figure, and very
pleasing address. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness
of conversationa readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming;
and the whole party were still standing and talking together 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 civilities. 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 stranger, and Elizabeth
happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other,
was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour, one
looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hata
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. Phillips house, and then
made their bows, in spite of Miss Lydias pressing entreaties that
they should come in, and even in spite of Mrs. Phillipss throwing up the
parlour window and loudly seconding the invitation.
Mrs. Phillips was always
glad to see her nieces; and the two eldest, from their recent absence, were
particularly welcome, and 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. Joness 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 Janes 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 him to her notice. Mrs. Phillips was quite
awed by such an excess of good breeding; 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 nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny
had brought him from London, and that he was to have a lieutenants commission
in the shire. She had been watching him the last hour, she said,
as he walked up and down the street, and had Mr. 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. This 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 parted in mutual good spirits. Mr. Collins repeated his apologies
in quitting the room, 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. Phillipss manners
and politeness. He protested that, except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he
had never seen a more elegant woman; for she had not only received him with
the utmost civility, but even pointedly included him in her invitation
for the next evening, although utterly unknown 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 course of his life.
Chapter 16
As no objection was made
to the young peoples engagement with their aunt, and all Mr. Collinss
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 their uncles
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, that he declared he might almost have supposed himself in
the small summer breakfast parlour at Rosings; a comparison that did
not at first convey much gratification; but when Mrs. Phillips understood
from him what Rosings was, and who was its proprietorwhen she had
listened to the description of only one of Lady Catherines 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 housekeepers 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 attentive listener, whose opinion of his consequence increased
with what she heard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her
neighbours as soon as she could. 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 walked 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 almost 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 fell into conversation, though it was only on its being a wet night,
made her feel 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 supplied 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, 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 ready delight was he received at the other table between
Elizabeth and Lydia. At first there seemed danger of Lydias engrossing
him entirely, for she was a most determined talker; but being likewise extremely
fond of lottery tickets, 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 toldthe
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 receiving 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 large 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 head than myself, for I have been connected with his family
in a particular manner 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 manner 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 astonishand 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 neighbourhood, 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 not be estimated beyond their deserts; but with him 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 only as he chooses
to be seen.
I should take him,
even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered 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 much 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 affected by his being
in the neighbourhood.
Oh! noit 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 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 anything 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 topics, Meryton, the neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly
pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter with
gentle but very intelligible 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 friend Denny tempted me further by his account
of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintances
Meryton had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have
been a disappointed man, and my spirits will 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 professionI was brought 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!
Yesthe 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?
Why 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
itor to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to
assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudencein
short anything or nothing. Certain 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, that 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 worse. 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 bebut 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 mea dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to
jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with
me better; but his fathers 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 stoodthe sort of preference which was often given me.
I had not thought
Mr. Darcy so bad as thisthough 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 not 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 Netherfield, of the implacability of his resentments, of his having
an unforgiving temper. 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 amiablebut she contented herself with, and
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 the 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 tobut 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. Darcy often acknowledged himself
to be under the greatest obligations to my fathers active superintendence,
and when, immediately before my fathers 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.
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 dishonestfor 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 ever 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 pridefor he is very proud of what his
father washave done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate
from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House, is
a powerful motive. He has also brotherly pride, which, with some
brotherly affection, makes him a very kind 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?
He shook his head. I
wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy.
But she is too much like her brothervery, very proud. As a child, she
was affectionate and pleasing, and 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 fathers death, her home has been 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 where he chooses. He does not want abilities. He can be
a conversible companion if 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 prosperous. His pride never deserts him; but with the rich he is
liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeableallowing
something for fortune and figure.
The whist party soon afterwards
breaking up, the players gathered round the other table and Mr. Collins took
his station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Phillips. The usual inquiries
as to his success 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 her 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 chances 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 necessity of regarding little matters.
Mr. Wickhams 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 replied, 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.
You know of course
that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently
that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy.
No, indeed, I did
not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherines 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 the 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 that he has related of her ladyship, I suspect his gratitude
misleads him, and that in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant,
conceited woman.
I believe her to be
both in a great degree, replied Wickham; I have not seen her for
many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her, and that her manners
were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably
sensible 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 have 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 ladies their share of Mr. Wickhams attentions. There could
be no conversation in the noise of Mrs. Phillipss supper party, but his
manners recommended him to everybody. 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 but 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 nor 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 describing the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, protesting
that he did not in the least 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 could well manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn
House.
Chapter 17
Elizabeth related to Jane
the next day what had passed between Mr. Wickham and herself. Jane listened
with astonishment and concern; she knew not how to believe that Mr. Darcy could
be so unworthy of Mr. Bingleys regard; and yet, it was not in her nature
to question the veracity of a young man of such amiable appearance
as Wickham. The possibility of his having endured such unkindness, was enough
to interest all her tender feelings; and nothing remained therefore to be done,
but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each, and throw into
the account of accident or mistake whatever could not be otherwise explained.
They have both,
said she, been 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 probably 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
fathers favourite in such a manner, one whom his father had promised to
provide for. It is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any
value for his character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate
friends be so excessively deceived in him? Oh! no.
I can much more easily
believe Mr. Bingleys being imposed on, than that Mr. Wickham should invent
such a history of himself as he gave me last night; names, facts, everything
mentioned without ceremony. If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides,
there was truth in his looks.
It is difficult indeedit
is distressing. One does not know what to think.
I beg your pardon;
one knows exactly what to think.
But Jane could think with
certainty on only one pointthat Mr. Bingley, if he had been imposed
on, would have much to suffer when the affair became public.
The two young ladies were
summoned from the shrubbery, where this conversation passed, by the arrival
of the very persons of whom they had been speaking; Mr. Bingley and his sisters
came to give their personal invitation for the long-expected ball at Netherfield,
which was fixed for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were delighted to
see their dear friend again, called it an age since they had met, and repeatedly
asked what she had been doing with herself since their separation. To the rest
of the family they 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 again, rising from their seats with an activity which took their brother
by surprise, and hurrying off as if eager to escape from Mrs. Bennets
civilities.
The prospect of the Netherfield
ball was extremely 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
pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation
of everything in Mr. Darcys look and behavior. 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 evening
with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them,
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 enoughI think it is no
sacrifice to join occasionally in evening engagements. Society has claims on
us all; and I profess myself one of those who consider intervals of recreation
and amusement as desirable for everybody.
Elizabeths spirits
were so high on this occasion, that though she did not often speak unnecessarily
to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking him whether he intended to accept
Mr. Bingleys invitation, and if he did, whether he would think it proper
to join in the evenings amusement; and 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 Archbishop, 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 far 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. Wickhams happiness
and her own were perforce delayed a little longer, and Mr. Collinss
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 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. Elizabeth, 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 afterthe very shoe-roses for Netherfield were got by proxy.
Even Elizabeth might have found some trial of her patience in weather which
totally suspended the improvement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham; and
nothing less than a dance on Tuesday, could have made such a Friday, Saturday,
Sunday, and Monday endurable to Kitty and Lydia.
Chapter 18
Till Elizabeth entered the
drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Mr. 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 alarmed 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, trusting 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. Darcys pleasure in the Bingleys
invitation to the officers; and though this 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 Wickham 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 business 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 less answerable for Wickhams absence than if her first surmise
had been just, every feeling of displeasure against the former was so sharpened
by immediate disappointment, that she could hardly reply with tolerable
civility to the polite inquiries which he directly afterwards approached
to make. Attendance, forbearance, patience 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; and 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
Lucas, 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 distress;
they were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn,
apologising 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 refreshment of talking of Wickham, and of hearing that
he was universally liked. When those 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 left to fret over her own want of presence of mind; Charlotte
tried to console her:
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 Darcy 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 which 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 some time without speaking a word; and she began to imagine that
their silence was 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 replied, and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she
addressed him a second 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 pleasanter 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 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. Wickham
is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friendswhether
he may be equally capable 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 them, 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 compliment
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 partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this
pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear
Eliza (glancing at her sister and Bingley) shall take place. What congratulations
will then flow 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 heard by Darcy; but Sir Williams 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
Williams interruption 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 say 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.
Booksoh! no.
I am sure we never read the 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.
NoI cannot talk
of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.
The present
always occupies you in such scenesdoes 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 hearing 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 all. 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 credit 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 other dance and parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied,
though not to an equal degree, for in Darcys breast there was a tolerable
powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed
all his anger against 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 forgot to tell you, among
his other communication, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late
Mr. Darcys steward. Let me recommend you, however, as a friend,
not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for as to
Mr. Darcys using 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 most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars,
but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame, that
he cannot bear to hear George Wickham 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 favourites guilt; but 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. Darcys steward, 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 interferenceit was kindly 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 with 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 solicitude
for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and everything else, gave way before
the hope of Janes being in the fairest way for happiness.
I want to know,
said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her sisters,
what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you have been too
pleasantly engaged to think of any 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 circumstances 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 received; and I am sorry to say by his account as
well as his sisters, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man.
I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr.
Darcys regard.
Mr. Bingley does not
know Mr. Wickham himself?
No; he never saw him
till the other morning at Meryton.
This account then
is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am satisfied. But what does he say
of the living?
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 conditionally only.
I have not a doubt
of Mr. Bingleys sincerity, said Elizabeth warmly; but you
must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only. Mr. Bingleys 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. Bingleys 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 important discovery.
I have found out,
said he, by 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 young lady who does the honours of the house the names of
his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady Catherine. How wonderfully
these sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with, perhaps,
a nephew of Lady Catherine 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 trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total
ignorance of the connection 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 Catherines nephew. It will be in my power to assure him that
her ladyship was quite well yesterday sennight.
Elizabeth tried hard to
dissuade him from such a scheme, assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider
his addressing him without introduction as an impertinent freedom, rather
than a compliment to his aunt; 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 consequence, to begin the acquaintance. Mr. Collins
listened to her with the determined air of following his own inclination, and,
when she ceased speaking, replied thus:
My dear Miss Elizabeth,
I have the highest 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 wide 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 clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank
in the kingdomprovided that a proper humility of behaviour is at the same
time maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates of my conscience
on this occasion, which leads me to perform what I look on as a point of duty.
Pardon me for neglecting to profit by your advice, which on every other subject
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 young lady like yourself. And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr.
Darcy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly watched, and whose astonishment
at being 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
her 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. Darcys contempt seemed abundantly
increasing with the length of his second speech, and at the end of it he only
made him a slight bow, and moved another way. Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth.
I have no reason,
I assure you, said he, to be dissatisfied with my reception. Mr.
Darcy seemed much pleased 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 Catherines 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 settled 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 even to like Bingleys two sisters.
Her mothers thoughts she plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined
not to venture near her, lest she might hear too much. When they sat
down to supper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky 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 soon 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
being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living but three miles from
them, 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
must desire the connection as much as she could do. It was, moreover, such a
promising thing for her younger daughters, as Janes marrying so greatly
must 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 liked. 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 evidently and triumphantly believing there was no chance of it.
In vain did Elizabeth endeavour
to check the rapidity of her mothers 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 should 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 heavens
sake, madam, speak lower. What 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 was 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 of tranquillity; for, when supper was over, singing
was talked of, and she had the mortification 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.
Elizabeths eyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations, and she
watched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience which
was very ill rewarded at their close; for Mary, on receiving, amongst the thanks
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. Marys powers
were by no means fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and her manner
affected. Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at Jane, to see how she bore
it; but Jane 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 interference, 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, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other
young ladies have time to exhibit.
Mary, though pretending
not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted; and Elizabeth, sorry for her,
and sorry for her fathers speech, was afraid her anxiety had done no good.
Others of the party were now applied 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 agreement 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 think it of light importance
that he should have attentive and conciliatory manner 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 the 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 staredmany smiled; but no one looked
more amused than Mr. Bennet himself, while his wife seriously commended
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 ridiculing her relations, was bad enough, and
she could not determine whether the silent 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, put it out of her power to dance with others. In
vain did she entreat him to stand 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 it; 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 relief to her friend Miss Lucas, who often
joined them, and good-naturedly engaged Mr. Collinss conversation
to herself.
She was at least free from
the offense of Mr. Darcys 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 it.
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
threw 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 elegance 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 Bingley; and even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than
the occasional exclamation of Lord, how tired I am! accompanied
by a violent yawn.
When at length they arose
to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing
the whole family soon at Longbourn, and addressed herself especially to Mr.
Bingley, to assure him how 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 pleasure, and he readily engaged for taking the earliest
opportunity of waiting on her, after his return from London, whither he was
obliged to go the next day for a short time.
Mrs. Bennet was perfectly
satisfied, and quitted 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.
Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children; and though the man
and the match were quite good enough for her, the worth of each was eclipsed
by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.
Chapter 19
The next day opened a new
scene at Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his declaration in form. Having resolved
to do it without loss of time, as his leave of absence extended only to the
following Saturday, and having no feelings of diffidence to make 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 blush of surprise, Mrs. Bennet answered instantly, Oh
dear!yescertainly. I am sure Lizzy will be very happyI am
sure she can have no objection. Come, Kitty, I want you upstairs. 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 anybody need not hear. I am going away myself.
No, no, nonsense,
Lizzy. I desire you to stay where you are. And upon Elizabeths seeming
really, with vexed and embarrassed looks, about to escape, she added:
Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth would not oppose
such an injunctionand a moments 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 tried to conceal, by incessant employment
the feelings which were divided between distress and diversion. Mrs.
Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they were gone, Mr. Collins began.
Believe me, my dear
Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice,
rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable
in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness; but allow me
to assure you, that I have your respected mothers permission for this
address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your
natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too
marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you
out as the companion of 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 marryingand, 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 myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish; secondly,
that I am convinced that it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdlywhich
perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice
and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling
patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked
too!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left
Hunsfordbetween our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging
Miss de Bourghs footstool, that she said, Mr. Collins, you must
marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose 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 Hunsford,
and I will visit her. Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin,
that 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
beyond anything I can describe; and your wit and vivacity, I think, must
be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect
which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my general intention in
favour of matrimony; 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 the 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 placewhich,
however, as I have already said, may not 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 but 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 after your
mothers decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head,
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 now.
You are too hasty,
sir, she cried. You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do
it without further loss 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 discouraged
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 assure 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 find me in every respect ill qualified for the situation.
Were it certain that
Lady Catherine would think so, said Mr. Collins very gravelybut
I cannot imagine that 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 will 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, and 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 than you have now given me; though I am far from accusing
you of cruelty at present, 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 Elizabeth 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 would 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 highly in my favour; and you should take it into further consideration,
that in spite 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 will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness
and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are
not serious in your 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
elegant 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 sanctioned 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 flattering encouragement, to apply to her father, whose negative
might be uttered in such a manner as to be decisive, and whose behavior
at least could not be mistaken for the affectation and coquetry
of an elegant female.
Chapter 20
Mr. Collins was not left
long to the silent contemplation of his successful love; for Mrs. 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 congratulated both him and
herself in warm terms on the happy prospect of 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 the 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. Bennet; she would have been glad to be equally satisfied that
her daughter had meant 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 about 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, 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 temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity.
Sir, you quite misunderstand
me, said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. Lizzy is only headstrong in such
matters as these. 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 hurrying 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 you 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 have Lizzy.
And what am I to do
on the occasion? It seems an hopeless business.
Speak to Lizzy about
it yourself. Tell her 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 welland 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. Your 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 conclusion 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 insist upon her marrying
him.
My dear, replied
her husband, I have two small favours to request. First, that you will
allow me the free use of my understanding on the present occasion; and secondly,
of my room. I shall be glad to have the library to myself as soon as may be.
Not yet, however, in spite
of her disappointment 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 secure Jane in her interest; but Jane, with all possible
mildness, declined interfering; 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 solitude 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 suffered in no other way. His regard for her was quite imaginary;
and the possibility of her deserving her mothers reproach prevented
his feeling any regret.
While the family were in
this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend the day with them. She was met
in the vestibule by Lydia, 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 they 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 entreating 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, for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part
with me. I am cruelly used, nobody feels for my poor nerves.
Charlottes reply was
spared by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.
Aye, there she comes,
continued Mrs. Bennet, looking as unconcerned as may be, and caring no
more for us than if we were at York, provided she can have her own way. But
I tell you, Miss LizzyIf you take it into your head to go on refusing
every offer of marriage in this way, you will never get a husband at alland
I am sure I do not know who is to maintain you when your father is dead. I shall
not be able to keep youand 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 find 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. Nobody 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 with 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 could; and Charlotte, detained first by the civility
of Mr. Collins, whose inquiries after herself and all her family were very minute,
and then by a little curiosity, 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, let 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 evil duty of us all; the peculiar duty of a young man who has
been so fortunate as I have been 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 daughters 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 objectionable in having accepted my dismission from
your daughters lips instead of your own. But we are all liable
to error. I have certainly meant well through the whole 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.
Chapter 21
The discussion of Mr. Collinss
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 assiduous 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. Bennets 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 the Netherfield ball. He joined them on their entering the
town, and attended them to their aunts where his regret and vexation,
and the concern of everybody, was well talked over. To Elizabeth, however, he
voluntarily acknowledged that the necessity of his absence had 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 could 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 delivered to Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield. The envelope
contained a sheet of elegant, little, hot-pressed paper, well covered with a
ladys fair, flowing hand; and Elizabeth saw her sisters 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 cheerfulness 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 upstairs. When they had gained their own room, Jane, taking out the
letter, said:
This is from Caroline
Bingley; what it contains has surprised me a good deal. The whole party have
left Netherfield by this time, and are on their way to townand 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 brother to town directly, and of their meaning to dine in Grosvenor
Street, where Mr. 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 dearest friend; but we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns
of that 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. Bingleys
being 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 short pause, that you should not be able to see your
friends before they leave the country. But may we not hope that the period of
future happiness to which Miss Bingley looks forward may arrive earlier than
she is aware, and that the 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:
When my brother left
us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be
concluded in three 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 obliged 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 crowdbut
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 prevent 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 you.
Mr. Darcy is impatient
to see his sister; and, to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager
to meet her again. 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 the
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 connection as much as his own; and a sisters partiality
is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging
any womans heart. With all these circumstances to favour an attachment,
and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, 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 perfectly convinced of her
brothers indifference; and that if she suspects the nature of my
feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to put me on my guard? Can there
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 Miss 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 when 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 Jane, 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 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 love
with you, he is very much in love with her friend.
If we thought alike
of Miss Bingley, replied Jane, your representation of all this might
make me quite easy. 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 deceiving herself.
That is right. You
could not have started 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 being 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!
The idea of his returning
no more Elizabeth treated with the utmost contempt. It appeared to her
merely the suggestion of Carolines interested wishes, and she could not
for a moment suppose that those 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. Janes 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 gentlemans conduct; but even this partial communication gave
her a great deal of concern, and she bewailed it as exceedingly unlucky that
the ladies should 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.
Chapter 22
The Bennets 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 opportunity of thanking
her. It keeps him in good humour, said she, and I am more
obliged to you than I can express. Charlotte assured her friend of her
satisfaction in being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the little
sacrifice of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlottes kindness
extended farther than Elizabeth had any conception of; its object was nothing
else than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collinss addresses, by
engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucass scheme; and
appearances were so favourable, that when they parted at night, she would have
felt almost secure of success if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire
so very soon. But here she did injustice 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 his 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 success
might be known likewise; for though feeling almost secure, and with reason,
for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging, he was comparatively diffident
since the adventure of Wednesday. His reception, however, was of the most flattering
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 little
had she dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there.
In as short a time as Mr.
Collinss long speeches would allow, everything was settled between them
to the satisfaction of both; and as they entered the house he earnestly
entreated her to name the day that was to make him the happiest of men;
and though such a solicitation must be waived 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 establishment, cared
not how soon that establishment were gained.
Sir William and Lady Lucas
were speedily applied to for their consent; and it was bestowed with
a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collinss present circumstances made
it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom they could give little
fortune; and his prospects of future 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 would be highly expedient that both
he and his wife should make their appearance at St. Jamess. 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 otherwise
have done; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlottes
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 preservative she had now obtained;
and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been handsome, she felt
all the good luck of it. The least agreeable circumstance in the business was
the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued
beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wonder, and probably would
blame her; and though her resolution was not to be shaken, her 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 could not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long
absence 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-denial, 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, this invitation is particularly gratifying, because
it is what I have been hoping to receive; and you may be very certain that I
shall avail myself of it as soon 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 Catherines 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 may depend upon my not taking so material a step without her
ladyships concurrence.
You cannot be too
much upon your guard. Risk anything rather than her displeasure; and if you
find it likely to be raised by your coming to us again, which I should think
exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home, and be satisfied that 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 mark of your regard during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for
my fair cousins, though 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 withdrew; 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 solidity 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. Collinss
fancying himself 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 possibility 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 Charlotteimpossible!
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 Eliza? Do you think it incredible that Mr. Collins should
be able to procure any womans good opinion, because he was not
so happy as to succeed with you?
But Elizabeth had now recollected
herself, and making a strong effort for it, was able to assure with tolerable
firmness that 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 surprisedso
lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to
think it over, 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. Collinss 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 marriage state.
Elizabeth quietly answered
Undoubtedly; and after an awkward pause, they returned to the rest
of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then left
to reflect on what she had heard. It was a long time before she became at all
reconciled to the idea of so unsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr.
Collinss making two offers of marriage within three days was nothing in
comparison of his being now accepted. She had always felt that Charlottes
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 every
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
sunk 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.
Chapter 23
Elizabeth 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 matterto 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 courtier could have borne without anger such treatment; but Sir
Williams good breeding 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 most forbearing courtesy.
Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent
on her to relieve him from so unpleasant a situation, now put herself forward
to confirm his account, by mentioning her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte
herself; and endeavoured to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother
and sisters by the earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William, in which
she was readily joined by Jane, 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 distance 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 happy together; and fourthly, that the match might be broken
off. Two inferences, however, were plainly deduced from the whole:
one, that Elizabeth was the real 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 the rest of the day. Nothing could console
and nothing could appease her. Nor did that day wear out her resentment.
A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without scolding her, a
month passed away before she could speak to Sir William or Lady Lucas without
being rude, and many months were gone before she could at all forgive their
daughter.
Mr. Bennets 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 the 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 improbable. 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 happy she was, though Mrs. Bennets 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. Her disappointment in Charlotte made her turn with fonder
regard to her sister, of whose rectitude 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 again. The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on
Tuesday, addressed to their father, and written with all the solemnity
of gratitude which a twelvemonths 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 him again at Longbourn, whither
he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight; 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. Collinss 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 should 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 disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs.
Bennet, and they gave way only to the greater distress of Mr. Bingleys
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 more to Netherfield the whole winter; a report which highly
incensed Mrs. Bennet, and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous
falsehood.
Even Elizabeth began to
fearnot that Bingley was indifferentbut that his sisters
would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling as she was to admit an idea
so destructive of Janes happiness, and so dishonorable to the stability
of her lover, she could not prevent its frequently 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 course, more painful than Elizabeths,
but whatever she felt she was desirous of concealing, 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 which 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 Janes steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable
tranquillity.
Mr. Collins returned most
punctually on Monday fortnight, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite
so gracious as it had 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 state. 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 concluded 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, 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 may 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 away an estate from ones own daughters,
I cannot understand; and all for the sake of Mr. Collins too! Why should he
have it more than anybody else?
I leave it to yourself
to determine, said Mr. Bennet.
Chapter 24
Miss Bingleys 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
brothers regret at not having had time to pay his respects to his friends
in Hertfordshire before he left the country.
Hope was over, entirely
over; and when Jane could attend to the rest of the letter, she found little,
except the professed affection of the writer, that could give her any
comfort. Miss Darcys praise occupied the chief of it. Her many attractions
were again dwelt on, and Caroline boasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy,
and ventured to predict the accomplishment of the wishes which had been
unfolded in her former letter. She wrote also with great pleasure of her brothers
being an inmate of Mr. Darcys house, and mentioned with raptures some
plans of the latter with regard 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 Carolines assertion of her brothers 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 want 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 might have been allowed to sport with it in whatever
manner he thought best, but her sisters 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 be unavailing. She could think of nothing else;
and yet whether Bingleys regard had really died away, or were suppressed
by his friends interference; whether he had been aware of Janes
attachment, or whether it had escaped his observation; whatever were the case,
though her opinion of him must be materially affected by the difference, her
sisters 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.
Bennets leaving them 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, thereforeI
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 extraordinary merit, and threw back the praise on her sisters 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 privilege of universal good-will. You need
not. There are few people whom I really love, 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 inconsistency 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 will not mention; the other is Charlottes
marriage. It is unaccountable! In every 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.
Collinss respectability, and Charlottes steady, prudent character.
Remember that she is one of a large family; that as to fortune, it is a most
eligible match; and be ready to believe, for everybodys sake, that she
may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin.
To oblige you, I would
try to believe almost 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 worse 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 proper 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 convinced of it by seeing them happy together. But enough of this.
You alluded to something else. You mentioned two instances. I
cannot misunderstand you, but 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 is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration
means 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. Bingleys conduct to design, said Elizabeth; but
without scheming to do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there may be error,
and there may be misery. Thoughtlessness, want of attention to other peoples
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 sisters influence him?
Yes, in conjunction
with his friend.
I cannot believe it.
Why should they try to influence him? They can only wish his happiness; and if he is attached to me, no other woman can secure it.
Your first position
is false. They may wish 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 better 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
brothers. 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 affection, 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 mistakenor,
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 from this time Mr. Bingleys name was scarcely ever mentioned
between them.
Mrs. Bennet still continued
to wonder and repine 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 though the probability of the statement
was admitted at the time, she had the same story to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennets
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 love, 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 will 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 Janes good
fortune.
True, said Mr.
Bennet, but it 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. Wickhams 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 already heard, his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all
that he had suffered from him, was now openly 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 suppose there might be any extenuating circumstances
in the case, unknown to the society of Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour
always pleaded for allowances, and urged the possibility of mistakesbut
by everybody else Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.
Chapter 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 the reception of his bride;
as he had reason to hope, that shortly after his return into Hertfordshire,
the day would be fixed that was to make him the happiest 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 their 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, greatly superior to his sister, as well by nature as education. The Netherfield
ladies 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 agreeable.
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 especially, there
subsisted a particular regard. They had frequently been staying with
her in town.
The first part of Mrs. Gardiners
business on her arrival was to distribute her presents and describe the newest
fashions. When this was done she had a less active part to play. It became her
turn to listen. 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, sister! It is very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collinss
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 will have a daughter married before I have, and that the Longbourn
estate is just as much entailed as ever. The Lucases are very
artful people indeed, sister. They 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 Elizabeths
correspondence with her, made her sister a slight answer, and, in compassion
to her nieces, turned the conversation.
When alone with Elizabeth
afterwards, she spoke more on the subject. It seems likely to have been
a desirable match for 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 love with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when accident
separates them, so easily forgets her, that these sort of inconsistencies are
very frequent.
An excellent consolation
in its way, 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 love is so hackneyed, so doubtful, so indefinite,
that it gives me very little idea. It is as often applied to feelings which
arise from a half-hours acquaintance, as to a real, strong attachment.
Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingleys 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 suppose him to have felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her,
because, with her disposition, she may not get over it immediately. It
had better have happened to you, Lizzy; you would have laughed yourself
out of it sooner. But do you think she would be prevailed upon to go
back with us? Change of scene might be of serviceand perhaps a little
relief from home may be as useful as anything.
Elizabeth was exceedingly
pleased with this proposal, and felt persuaded of her sisters ready acquiescence.
I hope, added
Mrs. Gardiner, that no consideration with regard to this young man will
influence her. We live in so different a part of town, all our connections are
so different, 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 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, but he would hardly think a months 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 Elizabeth affected to place this point, as well as the still more interesting
one of Bingleys being withheld from seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude
on the subject 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 Janes attractions.
Miss Bennet accepted her
aunts invitation with pleasure; and the Bingleys were no otherwise in
her thoughts at the same time, than as she hoped by Carolines not living
in the same house with her brother, she might occasionally spend a morning with
her, without any danger of seeing him.
The Gardiners stayed a week
at Longbourn; and what with the Phillipses, the Lucases, and the officers, there
was not a day without 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 itof which officers Mr. Wickham was sure to be one;
and on these occasion, Mrs. Gardiner, rendered suspicious by Elizabeths
warm commendation, narrowly 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 before 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 dozen years ago, before her marriage, she had spent a considerable
time in that very 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 Darcys father, it was yet in his power to give her fresher
intelligence of her former 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
Pemberley 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.
Darcys treatment of him, she tried to remember some of that gentlemans
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.
Chapter 26
Mrs. Gardiners 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 fall 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
better. 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 serious likewise.
Well, then, you need
not be under any alarm. 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 is, beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I ever sawand if he becomes really attached to meI believe it will be better that he
should not. I see the imprudence of it. Oh! that abominable
Mr. Darcy! My fathers opinion of me does me the greatest honour, and I
should be miserable to forfeit it. My father, however, is partial to
Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very sorry to be the means
of making any of you unhappy; but since we see every day that where there is
affection, young people are seldom withheld by immediate want of fortune from
entering into engagements with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than
so many of my fellow-creatures if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that
it would be wisdom to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not
to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first object.
When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short, I will do my
best.
Perhaps it will be
as well if you discourage his coming here so very often. At least, you should
not remind your mother of inviting him.
As I did the other
day, said Elizabeth with a conscious smile: very true, it will be
wise in me to refrain from that. But do not imagine that he is
always here so often. It is on your account that he has been so frequently invited
this week. You know my mothers ideas as to the necessity of constant company
for her friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what I think
to be the wisest; and now I hope you are satisfied.
Her aunt assured her that
she was, and Elizabeth 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 after 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, that 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 mothers
ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected herself, 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. Will you come and see me?
We shall often meet,
I hope, in Hertfordshire.
I am not likely to
leave Kent for some time. 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 bridegroom 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 their 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 slacken as a correspondent, it was for
the sake of what had been, rather than what was. Charlottes 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 to 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 Catherines behaviour was most
friendly and obliging. It was Mr. Collinss 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 sister to announce their safe arrival in London; and when
she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped it would be in her power to say something of
the Bingleys.
Her impatience for this
second letter was as well 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 going 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 she 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 giving 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 well, 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 was 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 sisters 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 Bingleys
inattention. After waiting at home every morning for a fortnight, and inventing
every evening a fresh excuse for 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 longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion
to her sister will prove what she felt.
My dearest Lizzy will,
I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in her better judgement, at my expense,
when I confess myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingleys
regard for me. But, my dear sister, though the event has proved you right, do
not think me obstinate if I still assert that, considering what her behaviour
was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend
her reason for wishing 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 out 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 because 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 deservedly 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 fears 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; and 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 happyyour affection, and the invariable
kindness of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear 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 had better not mention it. I am extremely
glad that you have such pleasant accounts from our friends at Hunsford. Pray
go to see them, with Sir William and Maria. 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 the 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. Darcys sister, as by Wickhams account, she would make him abundantly
regret what he had thrown away.
Mrs. Gardiner about this
time reminded Elizabeth of her promise concerning that gentleman, and required
information; and Elizabeth had such to send as might rather give contentment
to her aunt than 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 fortune
permitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most remarkable
charm of the young lady to whom he was now rendering himself agreeable;
but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in this case than in Charlottes,
did not quarrel with him for his wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary,
could 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 convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love; for had
I really experienced 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 Miss
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 may
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 open
to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something
to live on as well as the plain.
Chapter 27
With no greater events than
these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise diversified 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 such 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. Everything, however, went on smoothly,
and was finally settled according to Charlottes 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 would 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 was perfectly friendly; on his side even more. His present pursuit
could not make 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 hertheir opinion of everybodywould always coincide,
there was a solicitude, 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 daughter 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 delight as the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities,
but she had known Sir Williams too long. He could tell her nothing new
of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood; and his civilities were worn
out, like his information.
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 drove to Mr. Gardiners door, Jane was at a drawing-room
window watching their arrival; 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 cousins appearance would not
allow them to wait in the drawing-room, and whose 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. Their first object was her sister; and she was more grieved
than astonished to hear, in reply to her minute inquiries, that though Jane
always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of dejection.
It was reasonable, however, to hope that they would not continue long. Mrs.
Gardiner gave her the particulars also of Miss Bingleys visit in Gracechurch
Street, and repeated conversations 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 Wickhams 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 difference in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary
and the prudent motive? Where does discretion end, and avarice
begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his 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 mercenary.
If you will only tell
me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to think.
She is a very good
kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her.
But he paid her not
the smallest attention till her grandfathers death made her mistress of
this fortune.
Nowhat should
he? if it were not allowable 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 about, and who was equally poor?
But there seems an
indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her so soon after this event.
A man in distressed
circumstances has not 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
herselfsense 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 Heaven! 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 summer.
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 delight! what felicity! You give me fresh life and vigour.
Adieu to disappointment and spleen. What are young men to rocks and mountains?
Oh! what hours of transport we shall spend! And when we do return, it
shall not be like other travellers, without being able to give one accurate
idea of anything. We will know where we have gonewe will
recollect what we have seen. Lakes, mountains, 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 than those of the generality
of travellers.
Chapter 28
Every object in the next
days 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 expected 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 Charlotte 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 party. 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
cousins manners were not 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 after all her family. They were then, with no other
delay than his pointing out the neatness of the entrance, taken into the house;
and as soon as they were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time,
with ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and punctually
repeated all his wifes 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 could have so cheerful an air with
such a companion. When Mr. Collins said anything 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 which 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 encouraged 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 behind. 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 nearly 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 them 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 him, Charlotte took her sister and friend over the house, extremely
well pleased, probably, to have the opportunity of showing it without her husbands
help. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and everything was
fitted up and arranged 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 great comfort throughout, and by Charlottes 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 of her notice when service is over. I have scarcely
any hesitation in saying she will 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 dine at Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed to walk
home. Her ladyships carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should
say, one of her ladyships carriages, 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 when it closed, Elizabeth, in the solitude of her chamber, had
to meditate upon Charlottes 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 well. She had also to anticipate how her visit would
pass, the quiet tenor of their usual employments, the vexatious
interruptions of Mr. Collins, and the gaieties 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 upstairs in a violent hurry, and calling loudly after
her. She opened the door and met Maria in the landing place, who, breathless
with agitation, cried out
Oh, my dear Eliza!
pray make haste and come 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 phaeton 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 shocked at the mistake, it is not Lady Catherine. The
old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, 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 and 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 Elizabeth, 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 Elizabeths high diversion, was stationed in the doorway, in
earnest contemplation of the greatness before him, and constantly bowing
whenever Miss de Bourgh looked that way.
At length there was nothing
more to be said; the ladies drove on, and the others returned into the house.
Mr. Collins no sooner 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 asked to dine at Rosings the next day.
Chapter 29
Mr. Collinss triumph,
in consequence of this invitation, was complete. The power 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 what he had wished
for; and that an opportunity of doing it should be given so soon, was such an
instance of Lady Catherines condescension, as he knew not how to
admire enough.
I confess, said
he, that I should not have been at all surprised by her ladyships
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 foreseen such an attention as this? Who could have imagined
that we should receive an invitation to dine there (an invitation, moreover,
including the whole party) 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 uncommon.
Scarcely anything was talked
of the whole day or next morning but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was
carefully instructing 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 toilette, he said to Elizabeth
Do not make yourself
uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring
that elegance of dress in us which becomes herself and her daughter. I would
advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is superior to the restthere
is no occasion for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of
you for being simply 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 formidable 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 introduction at Rosings with as much apprehension as her father
had done to his presentation at St. Jamess.
As the weather was fine,
they had a pleasant walk 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, Marias alarm was every moment increasing, and even Sir William
did not look perfectly calm. Elizabeths courage did not fail her. She
had heard nothing of Lady Catherine that spoke her awful from any extraordinary
talents or miraculous virtue, and 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. Collins had settled it with her husband that the office of introduction
should be hers, it was performed in a proper manner, without any of those apologies
and thanks which he would have thought necessary.
In spite of having been
at St. Jamess Sir William 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 word; and his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses,
sat on the edge of her 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 might 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 Elizabeths 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 Marias 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; her 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 remarkable, 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 sent 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 better 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 ladyships desire, and looked as if
he felt that life could furnish nothing greater. He carved, and ate, and praised
with delighted alacrity; 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 did not supply much conversation. Elizabeth was ready to
speak whenever there was an opening, but she was seated between Charlotte and
Miss de Bourghthe former 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 fearing she was indisposed. Maria thought
speaking out of the question, and the gentlemen 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 every subject in so decisive a manner, as proved that
she was not used to have her judgement controverted. She inquired into Charlottes
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
ladys attention, which could furnish her with 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
mothers maiden name? Elizabeth felt all the impertinence of her
questions but answered them very composedly. Lady Catherine then observed,
Your fathers
estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, I think. For your sake,
turning to Charlotte, I am glad of it; but otherwise I see no occasion
for entailing estates from the female line. It was not thought
necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourghs family. Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?
A little.
Oh! thensome
time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our instrument is a capital one,
probably superior toYou 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, but 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 assured her that had not been the case.
Then, who taught you?
who attended to you? 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 always 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 governess 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 education 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 that 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 the other day that I recommended another
young person, who was merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family are
quite delighted with her. Mrs. Collins, did I tell you of Lady Metcalfs
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, maam, all.
All! What, all five
out at once? Very odd! And you only the second. The younger ones out before
the elder ones are married! Your younger sisters must be very young?
Yes, my youngest is
not sixteen. Perhaps she is full young to be much in company. But really,
maam, I think it would be very 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 likely 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, what is your age?
With three younger
sisters grown up, 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 sure, 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 uttered that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs. Jenkinson
expressed her fears of Miss de Bourghs being too hot or too cold, or having
too much or too little light. A great deal more passed at the other table. Lady
Catherine was generally speakingstating the mistakes of the three others,
or relating some 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 played 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 gathered 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 coach; and with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Collinss
side and as many bows on Sir Williams 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 had seen at Rosings, which, for Charlottes 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 ladyships praise into his own hands.
Chapter 30
Sir William stayed only
a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long enough to convince him of his daughters
being most comfortably settled, and of her possessing such 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, and 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 not 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 fronted 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 for 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 arrangement.
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 her 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 many 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. She examined into their employments, looked at their work,
and advised them to do it differently; found fault with the arrangement of the
furniture; or detected the housemaid in negligence; and if she accepted any
refreshment, seemed to do it only for the sake of finding out that Mrs. Collinss
joints of meat were too large for her family.
Elizabeth soon perceived,
that though this great 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 harmony 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 style of living in the neighbourhood in general was beyond Mr. Collinss
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 side 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
Catherines curiosity.
In this quiet way, the first
fortnight of her visit soon passed away. Easter was approaching, and the week
preceding it was to bring an addition to the family at Rosings, which in so
small a circle must 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 amused in seeing how hopeless Miss Bingleys designs on him were, by
his behaviour to his cousin, for whom he was evidently destined by Lady Catherine,
who talked of his coming with the greatest satisfaction, spoke of him in terms
of the highest admiration, and seemed almost angry to find that he had already
been frequently seen by Miss Lucas and herself.
His arrival was soon known
at the Parsonage; for 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 husbands room, crossing the road, and immediately running into
the other, told the girls what 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 right to the compliment, before their approach was announced
by the door-bell, and shortly afterwards the three gentlemen entered the room.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, 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 Hertfordshirepaid his compliments, with his usual
reserve, to Mrs. Collins, 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 after a moments 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 passed 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.
Chapter 31
Colonel Fitzwilliams
manners were very much admired at the Parsonage, and the ladies all felt that
he must add considerably to the pleasures of their engagements at Rosings. It
was some days, however, before they received any invitation thitherfor
while there were visitors in the house, they could not be necessary; and it
was not till Easter-day, almost a week after the gentlemens 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 week 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 Catherines
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. Collinss pretty friend had moreover caught his fancy very much. He
now seated himself 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, said 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 ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would
Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would
have performed delightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?
Mr. Darcy spoke with affectionate
praise of his sisters proficiency.
I am very glad to
hear such a good account 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.
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. Jenkinsons
room. She would be in nobodys way, you know, in that part of the house.
Mr. Darcy looked a little
ashamed of his aunts ill-breeding, and made no answer.
When coffee was over, Colonel
Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth of having promised to play to him; and she sat
down directly to the instrument. He drew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened
to half a song, and then talked, as before, to her other nephew; till the latter
walked away from her, and making with his usual deliberation towards the pianoforte
stationed himself so as to command a full view of the fair performers
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 sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me
that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always
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 design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your
acquaintance long enough to know that you find great enjoyment in occasionally
professing opinions which 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 Hertfordshireand, give
me leave to say, very impolitic toofor 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 behaves among strangers.
You shall hear thenbut
prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing
him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at a balland 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 knowing 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.
Shall 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 some people possess, said Darcy, of conversing
easily with those I have 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 womens 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 faultbecause I will not take the trouble of practising. It is
not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other womans
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
perform 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 has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is
not equal to Annes. 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 cousins 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 have been just as likely to marry
her, had she been his relation.
Lady Catherine continued
her remarks on Elizabeths 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 ladyships carriage was ready to take them all home.
Chapter 32
Elizabeth was sitting by
herself the next morning, and writing to Jane while Mrs. Collins 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 after Rosings were made, seemed in danger of sinking into
total silence. It was absolutely necessary, therefore, to think of something,
and in this emergence 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 recollect right, he went but the day before. He and his sisters were well,
I hope, when you left London?
Perfectly so, I thank
you.
She found that she was to
receive no other answer, and, after a short pause added:
I think I have understood
that Mr. Bingley 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 Netherfield, 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, perhaps, 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 Darcy, If he were to give it up as soon as any eligible purchase
offers.
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, This 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 didand
I am sure she could 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 rejoice in his having met with one of the very few sensible women who
would have accepted him, or have made him happy if they had. My friend has an
excellent understandingthough I am not certain that I consider her marrying
Mr. Collins as the wisest thing she ever did. She seems perfectly happy, however,
and in 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? Little more than half a days journey. Yes, I call
it a very easy distance.
I should never have
considered the distance as one of the advantages of the match,
cried Elizabeth. 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 suppose, 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 not be settled too near her family. The far and the near must
be relative, and depend 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 comfortable income,
but not such a one as will allow of frequent journeysand I am persuaded
my friend would not call herself near her family under less than half
the present distance.
Mr. Darcy drew his chair
a little towards her, and said, You cannot have a right to such
very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.
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 conciseand
soon put an end to by the entrance 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 saying much to anybody, went away.
What can be the meaning
of this? said 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 Charlottes wishes,
to be the case; and after various 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; and 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 period of walking thither almost every day. They
called at various times of the morning, sometimes separately, sometimes together,
and now and then accompanied by their 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 still 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 Fitzwilliams manners,
she believed he might have the best informed mind.
But why Mr. Darcy came so
often to the Parsonage, 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 when he did speak, it seemed the effect of necessity rather than
of choicea sacrifice to propriety, not a pleasure to himself. He
seldom appeared really animated. Mrs. Collins knew not what to make of
him. Colonel Fitzwilliams occasionally 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 friend 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 seemed nothing but absence of mind.
She had once or twice suggested
to Elizabeth the 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 friends dislike
would vanish, if she could suppose him to be in her power.
In her kind schemes for
Elizabeth, she sometimes planned her marrying Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was beyond
comparison the most pleasant man; he certainly admired her, and his situation
in life was most eligible; but, to counterbalance these advantages, Mr.
Darcy had considerable patronage in the church, and his cousin could
have none at all.
Chapter 33
More than once did Elizabeth,
in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. 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 occur a second time, therefore,
was very odd! Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like wilful ill-nature,
or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it was 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
questionsabout her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary
walks, and her opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collinss happiness; and that in
speaking of Rosings and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed
to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would 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 her 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 perusing Janes 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 walked this way.
I have been making
the tour of the park, he replied, as I generally do every year,
and intend to close it with a call at the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?
No, I should have
turned in a moment.
And accordingly she did
turn, and they walked towards the Parsonage together.
Do you certainly leave
Kent on Saturday? said she.
YesIf 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 from going wherever you chose, or procuring anything you
had a fancy for?
These are home questionsand
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
cannot 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 dependent, and there are not many in my rank of life who can afford
to marry without some 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
earls 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 subject 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 with 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 him 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
acquaintance, 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 manhe is a great friend of Darcys.
Oh! yes, said
Elizabeth drily; Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes
a prodigious deal of care of him.
Care of him! Yes,
I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he
most wants care. From something that he told me in our journey hither, I have
reason 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 not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get
round to the ladys 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
inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names
or any other particulars, 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 together 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, said Fitzwilliam, smiling. He only told me what
I have now told you.
Elizabeth made no answer,
and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. After watching her
a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.
I am thinking of what
you have been telling me, said she. Your cousins 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 friends inclination,
or why, upon his own judgement alone, he was to determine and direct in what
manner his friend was to be happy. But, she continued, recollecting herself,
as we know 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 cousins triumph 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 indifferent 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 attributed 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 caprice were
the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. 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 might have inflicted.
There were some very
strong objections against the lady, were Colonel Fitzwilliams 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 goodness 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, her confidence gave way a little;
but she would not allow that any objections there had material weight
with Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a deeper wound
from the want of importance in his friends 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 pride, 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
her 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 and as much as possible prevented her husband from pressing her; but Mr.
Collins could not conceal his apprehension of Lady Catherines being
rather displeased by her staying at home.
Chapter 34
When they were gone, Elizabeth,
as if intending to exasperate herself as much as possible against Mr.
Darcy, chose for her employment the examination of all the letters which Jane
had written to her since her being in Kent. They contained no actual complaint,
nor was there any revival of past occurrences, or any communication of present
suffering. But in all, and in almost every line of each, there was 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 kindly
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. Darcys shameful boast
of what misery he had been able to inflict, gave her a keener sense of her sisters
sufferings. It was some consolation to think that his visit to Rosings
was to end on the day after the nextand, 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 Darcys
leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin was to go with him; but Colonel
Fitzwilliam 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 roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits
were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself,
who had once before called late in the evening, and might now come to inquire
particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were
very differently affected, when, 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.
Elizabeths 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 her, 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 inferiorityof
its being a degradationof the family obstacles which had always opposed
to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth 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 could not be insensible to the compliment of such a mans
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 him 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 had 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 see 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 exasperate
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 should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude,
I would now thank you. But I cannotI have never desired your good opinion,
and you have certainly bestowed it most 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 feelings 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 mantelpiece 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 himself to have attained it. The pause was to Elizabeths
feelings dreadful. At length, 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 she, 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 youhad 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 changed 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 there. You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been
the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each otherof
exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability,
and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them
both 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 incredulity.
Can you deny that
you have done it? she repeated.
With assumed tranquillity
he then replied: I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my
power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success.
Towards him 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 place my opinion of you was decided. Your character was
unfolded in the recital which 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 gentlemans 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 povertycomparative poverty. You have withheld the advantages which
you must 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 have 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
offenses 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 of my being
impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by
reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.
Nor am I ashamed 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 suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any
other way, than as it spared the concern which I might have felt in refusing
you, had you behaved 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 looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity
and mortification. She went on:
From the very beginningfrom
the first moment, I may almost sayof my acquaintance with you, your manners,
impressing 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 disapprobation 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 whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.
You have said quite
enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be
ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of
your time, and accept my best 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 great. 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 passed, was increased by every review of it. That she
should receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! That he should have been
in love with her for so many months! So much in love as to wish to marry her
in spite of all the objections which had made him prevent his friends
marrying her sister, and which must appear at least with equal force in his
own casewas almost incredible! It was gratifying to have inspired
unconsciously so strong an affection. But his pride, his abominable pridehis
shameless avowal of what he had done with respect to Janehis unpardonable
assurance in acknowledging, though he could 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 which the consideration of his
attachment had for a moment excited. She continued in very agitated reflections
till the sound of Lady Catherines carriage made her feel how unequal she
was to encounter Charlottes observation, and hurried her away to her room.
Chapter 35
Elizabeth awoke the next
morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length 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 indisposed for employment,
she resolved, soon after breakfast, to indulge herself in air and exercise.
She was proceeding directly to her favourite walk, when the recollection of
Mr. Darcys 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 part 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 turned 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
increasing wonder, perceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter-paper,
written quite through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise
full. Pursuing her way along the lane, she then began it. It was dated from
Rosings, at eight oclock 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 demand 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 blasted 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 only a few weeks,
could bear no comparison. But from the severity of that blame which 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 offensive 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, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred
your elder sister to any other young woman in the country. But it was not till
the evening of the dance 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 Lucass accidental information, that Bingleys attentions
to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He
spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided.
From that moment I observed my friends behaviour attentively; and I could
then perceive that his partiality 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 evenings 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
latter 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 sisters
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 certainbut 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 the marriage were not merely
those which I last night acknowledged to have the utmost force of passion
to put aside, in my own case; the want of connection could not be so great an
evil to my friend as to me. But there were other causes of repugnance;
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 mothers family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison
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
disposition of both. I will only say farther that from what passed that
evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement
heightened which could have led me before, to preserve my friend from what I
esteemed a most unhappy connection. 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 him directly in London. We accordingly wentand there I readily
engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend the certain evils
of such a choice. I described, 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 sisters
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 on 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 into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was scarcely
the work of a moment. I cannot 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 sisters 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 concealment, 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 sisters feelings,
it was unknowingly done and though the 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 truth of what
I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity.
Mr. Wickham is the
son of a very respectable 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 father to be of service to him; and on George
Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed.
My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridgemost important
assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife,
would have been unable to give him a gentlemans education. My father was
not only fond of this young mans society, whose manner 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 it. As for myself, it is many, many years since
I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensitiesthe
want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best
friend, could not escape 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 painto what
degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham
has created, a suspicion of their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding
his real characterit 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 his will he particularly recommended it to me, to promote
his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allowand if he took orders, desired that a valuable family living might be his as soon
as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds.
His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these
events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, 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 intention, 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 wished, 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 settledhe resigned all claim to assistance 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 studying
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 little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living
which had been designed 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 questionof 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 fathers intentions. You will hardly
blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting
every repetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of
his circumstancesand 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 not. 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 feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister, who is more
than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mothers 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 presided 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, he 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 happy to add, that I owed the
knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly 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 and how I acted. Regard
for my sisters credit and feelings prevented any public exposure; but
I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was
of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickhams chief object was unquestionably
my sisters 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 wondered 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 fathers will, has been unavoidably
acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence
of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented
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
Chapter 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 read 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 began 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 sisters
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 expressed no regret for what he had done which
satisfied her; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It was
all pride and insolence.
But when this subject was
succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickhamwhen 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 himselfher feelings were yet more acutely painful and
more difficult of definition. Astonishment, 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 whole 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 Wickham, and commanded herself so far as to examine the
meaning of every sentence. The 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 Wickhams resigning all pretensions to the living,
of his receiving in lieu so considerable a sum as three thousand pounds,
again was she forced to hesitate. She put down the letter, weighed every circumstance
with what she meant to be impartialitydeliberated on the
probability of each statementbut with little success. On both sides it
was only assertion. Again she read on; but every line proved more clearly that
the affair, which she had believed it impossible that any contrivance
could so represent as to render Mr. Darcys conduct in it less than
infamous, was capable of a turn which must make him entirely blameless
throughout the whole.
The extravagance and general
profligacy which he scrupled not to lay at Mr. Wickhams charge,
exceedingly shocked her; the more 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 renewed 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 possession 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 every charm of air and address; but she could remember no more
substantial good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and
the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess. After pausing
on this point a considerable 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 himselffrom whom she had previously received the information
of his near concern in all his cousins 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 cousins
corroboration.
She perfectly remembered
everything that had passed in conversation between Wickham and herself, in their
first evening at Mr. Phillipss. 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 saw
the indelicacy of putting himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency
of his professions with his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having
no fear of seeing Mr. Darcythat Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but
that he should stand his ground; yet he had avoided 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. Darcys character, though he had assured
her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing the son.
How differently did everything
now appear in which he was concerned! His attentions to Miss King were now the
consequence of views 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 shown. Every lingering struggle in his favour
grew fainter and fainter; and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could
not but allow 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 acquaintancean acquaintance which
had latterly brought them much together, and given her a sort of intimacy
with his waysseen anything that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjustanything
that spoke him of irreligious or immoral habits; that among his own connections
he was esteemed and valuedthat 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 been what Mr. Wickham represented them, so gross a violation of
everything right could hardly have been concealed from the world; and that friendship
between a person capable of it, and such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley,
was incomprehensible.
She grew absolutely ashamed
of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she
had been blind, partial, 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 love, 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 other, 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 Janefrom
Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a line which soon brought to her recollection
that Mr. Darcys 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 obliged to give in the other? He declared himself to be totally unsuspicious
of her sisters attachment; and she could not help remembering what Charlottes
opinion had always been. Neither could she deny the justice of his description
of Jane. She felt that Janes 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 which 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 disapprobation, could not have made a stronger
impression on his mind than on hers.
The compliment to herself
and her sister was not 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 that Janes disappointment had in fact been the work
of her nearest relations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must
be hurt by such impropriety 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 thoughtre-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, made 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 leavebut 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 rejoiced at it. Colonel
Fitzwilliam was no longer an object; she could think only of her letter.
Chapter 37
The two gentlemen left Rosings
the next morning, and Mr. Collins having been in waiting 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 Catherine
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 make
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 ladyships 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 much 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 Rosings 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 Miss 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 your 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 here 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. Bennet 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. And 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; and as Dawson does not object to the barouche-box, there
will be very good room for one of youand indeed, if the weather should
happen to be cool, I should not object to taking you both, as you are neither
of you large.
You are all kindness,
madam; but I believe 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
my 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 Pemberley,
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 young ladies, Mrs. Collins. I am glad it occurred to me to mention it; for
it would really be discreditable to you to let them go alone.
My uncle is to send
a servant for us.
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 Bell, 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, attention was necessary, which Elizabeth believed to be lucky for
her; or, with a mind so occupied, she might have forgotten where she was. Reflection
must be reserved for solitary hours; whenever she was alone, she gave way to
it as the greatest relief; and not a day went by without a solitary walk, in
which she might indulge in all the delight of unpleasant recollections.
Mr. Darcys letter
she was in a fair way of soon 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 attachment 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 restrain 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 mothers indulgence,
what chance could there be of improvement? Catherine, weak-spirited, irritable,
and completely under Lydias 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 Janes behalf
was another prevailing concern; and Mr. Darcys 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 any could attach to the implicitness of his confidence
in his friend. How grievous then was the thought that, of a situation
so desirable in every respect, so replete 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 Wickhams character, it may be easily believed
that the happy spirits which had seldom been depressed before, were now so much
affected as 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
right 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 Hunsford again next year; and Miss de Bourgh exerted herself
so far as to curtsey and hold out her hand to both.
Chapter 38
On Saturday morning Elizabeth
and Mr. Collins met for breakfast a few minutes before the others appeared;
and he took the opportunity of paying the parting civilities which he deemed
indispensably necessary.
I know not, Miss Elizabeth,
said he, 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 favor 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
little 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 assurances of happiness. She had spent six weeks with great enjoyment;
and the pleasure of being with Charlotte, and the kind attentions she had received,
must make her 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 varying 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 Catherines family is indeed the sort of extraordinary
advantage and blessing which few can boast. You see on what a footing we are.
You see how continually we are engaged there. In truth I must acknowledge
that, with all the disadvantages of this humble parsonage, I should not think
anyone abiding in it an object of compassion, while they are sharers
of our intimacy at Rosings.
Words were insufficient
for the elevation of his 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 Catherines 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 unfortunatebut
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 been 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 her 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 grateful 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, besides 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. Gardiners 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 the kindness of her aunt had reserved for them. But Jane was to go home
with her, 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. Darcys 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 such
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 hurried into repeating something
of Bingley which might only grieve her sister further.
Chapter 39
It was 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. Bennets carriage was to meet them, they quickly perceived,
in token of the coachmans punctuality, both Kitty and Lydia looking
out of a dining-room upstairs. These two girls had been above an hour in the
place, happily employed in visiting an opposite milliner, watching the
sentinel on guard, and dressing a salad and cucumber.
After welcoming their sisters,
they triumphantly displayed a table set out with such cold meat as an inn larder
usually affords, 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 purchasesLook
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 see if I can make it up any better.
And when her sisters abused
it as ugly, she added, 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 with 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 Brighton; 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 would like to go too of all things! Only think what a
miserable summer else we shall have!
Yes, thought
Elizabeth, that 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 militia, 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 newscapital newsand about a certain person
we all like!
Jane and Elizabeth looked
at each other, and the 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 say he often hears worse things said than I am going
to say. But he is an ugly fellow! 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 Wickhams marrying Mary
King. Theres 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 she 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 cared three straws about herwho
could about such a nasty little freckled thing?
Elizabeth was shocked to
think that, however incapable of such coarseness of expression herself,
the coarseness of the sentiment was little other than her own breast
had harboured and fancied liberal!
As soon as all had ate,
and the elder ones paid, the carriage was ordered; and after some contrivance,
the whole party, with all their boxes, work-bags, and parcels, and the unwelcome
addition of Kittys and Lydias 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 has happened to you all since you went away. Have you seen any pleasant
men? Have 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 declare.
She is almost three-and-twenty! Lord, how ashamed I should be of not being married
before three-and-twenty! My aunt Phillips wants you so to get husbands, you
cant 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 Forsters.
Kitty and me were to spend the day there, and Mrs. Forster promised to have
a little dance in the evening; (by the bye, Mrs. Forster and me are such
friends!) and so she asked the two Harringtons 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 womans clothes 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 forced to borrow one of her gowns;
and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When Denny, 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 thought 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 Kittys 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 Wickhams name.
Their reception at home
was most kind. Mrs. Bennet rejoiced to see Jane in undiminished beauty; and
more than once during dinner 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 were the subjects that occupied them: Lady Lucas was inquiring of
Maria, after the 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 some way below her, and, on the other, retailing them all
to the younger Lucases; and Lydia, in a voice rather louder than any other persons,
was enumerating the various pleasures of the morning to anybody who would
hear her.
Oh! Mary, said
she, I wish you 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 nicest cold luncheon in the world, and if you would
have gone, we would have treated 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 merry all the way home! we talked and laughed
so loud, that anybody might have heard us ten miles off!
To this Mary very gravely
replied, Far be 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 have no charms for meI
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 rest of the girls to walk to Meryton, and to see how everybody
went on; but Elizabeth steadily opposed the scheme. It should not be said that
the Miss Bennets could 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 of the regiments approaching removal was indeed
beyond expression. In a fortnight they were to goand once gone, she hoped
there could be nothing more to plague 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 directly 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.
Chapter 40
Elizabeths impatience
to acquaint Jane with what had happened could no longer be overcome; and at
length, resolving to suppress every particular in which her sister was
concerned, and preparing her to be surprised, she related to her the next morning
the chief of the scene between Mr. Darcy and herself.
Miss Bennets 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 little suited to recommend them; but still more was she grieved
for the unhappiness which her sisters 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 warmly of Wickham?
NoI do not know
that you were wrong in saying what you did.
But you will
know it, when I tell you what happened the very next day.
She then spoke of the letter,
repeating the whole 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 Darcys vindication,
though grateful 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 your choice, but you must be satisfied with only one. There is but such
a quantity of merit between them; just enough to make one good sort of man;
and of late it has been shifting about pretty much. For my part, I am inclined
to believe it all Darcys; but you shall do as you choose.
It was some time, however,
before a smile could be extorted from Jane.
I do not know when
I have been more shocked, said she. Wickham so very bad! It is almost
past belief. And poor Mr. Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have
suffered. Such a disappointment! and with the knowledge of your ill opinion,
too! and having to relate such a thing of his sister! It is really too distressing.
I am sure 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. Your 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 expression of goodness in his countenance! such an openness
and gentleness in his manner!
There certainly was
some great mismanagement 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 ones 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 they 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 told whether I ought, or ought not, to make our acquaintances in
general understand Wickhams 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. Darcy has not authorised me to make his communication public.
On the contrary, every 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 will 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 him 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 hence 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 done, and anxious to re-establish a character. We must
not make him desperate.
The tumult of Elizabeths
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. Darcys letter, nor explain
to her sister how sincerely she 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 leisure to observe the real state of her sisters spirits.
Jane was not happy. She still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley.
Having never even fancied 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 feelings of her friends, were requisite
to check the indulgence of those regrets which must have been injurious
to her own health and their tranquillity.
Well, Lizzy,
said Mrs. Bennet one day, what is your opinion now of this sad
business of Janes? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it again
to anybody. I told my sister Phillips so the other day. But I cannot find out
that Jane saw anything of him in London. Well, he is a very undeserving young
manand I do not suppose theres the least chance in the world of
her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again
in the summer; and I have inquired of everybody, too, who is likely to know.
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 her 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 income. 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 had; 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.
Chapter 41
The first week of their
return was soon gone. The second began. It was the last of the regiments
stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were 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 insensibility
by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend
such hard-heartedness in any of the family.
Good Heaven! what
is to become of us? What 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 grief; 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 Millers regiment
went away. I thought I should 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 Brighton! 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 Mr. Darcys objections; and never had she been so much disposed
to pardon his interference in the views of his friend.
But the gloom of Lydias
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 friend was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance
in good humour and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other,
and out of their three months acquaintance they had been intimate
two.
The rapture of Lydia on
this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet,
and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly
inattentive to her sisters feelings, Lydia flew about the house in restless
ecstasy, calling for everyones congratulations, and laughing and
talking with more violence than ever; whilst 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 much 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 mother 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 were it known, she could not help secretly advising
her father not to let her go. She represented to him all the improprieties of
Lydias general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive
from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. 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 public notice of Lydias unguarded and imprudent mannernay,
which has already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently in the
affair.
Already arisen?
repeated Mr. Bennet. 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 with a little absurdity are not worth a regret.
Come, let me see the list of pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof
by Lydias 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 Lydias character. Excuse me, for I must speak
plainly. If you, my dear father, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant
spirits, and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business
of her life, 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
herself 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 portion of that universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite.
In this danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads.
Vain, 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 known, 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 will not appear to less advantage for having a couple ofor I may
say, threevery 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 insignificance. 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 disappointed 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 fret over unavoidable evils, or augment them
by anxiety, was no part of her disposition.
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 Lydias
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 campits
tents stretched 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 from such prospects and such realities as these, what would
have been her sensations? They could have been understood only by her mother,
who might have felt nearly the same. Lydias going to Brighton was all
that consoled her for her melancholy conviction of her husbands
never intending to go there himself.
But they were entirely ignorant
of what had passed; and their raptures continued, with little intermission,
to the very day of Lydias leaving home.
Elizabeth was now to see
Mr. Wickham for the last 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 inclination he soon testified of renewing those intentions which had
marked the early part of their acquaintance could only serve, after what had
since passed, to provoke 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 repressed 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 regiments remaining at Meryton, he dined, with other of the officers,
at Longbourn; and so little 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 mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliams and Mr. Darcys
having both spent three weeks at Rosings, and asked him, if he was acquainted
with the former.
He looked surprised, displeased,
alarmed; but with a moments 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 cousins.
Yes, very different.
But I think Mr. Darcy improves upon acquaintance.
Indeed! cried
Mr. Wickham with a look 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. There was a something in her countenance which made him
listen with an apprehensive 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.
Wickhams 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 appearance 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 judgement he stands much in awe. His fear of her has always
operated, I know, when they were together; and a good deal is to be imputed
to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss de Bourgh, which I am certain
he has very much at heart.
Elizabeth could not repress
a smile at this, but she answered only by a slight inclination of the head.
She saw that he wanted to engage her on the old subject of his grievances,
and she was in no humour 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 Mrs. 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. Kitty was the only one who shed tears; but she did weep
from vexation and envy. Mrs. Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes
for the felicity of her daughter, and impressive in her injunctions
that she should not miss the opportunity of enjoying herself as much as possibleadvice
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.
Chapter 42
Had Elizabeths 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 end 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. Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment
which his own 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 wife 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 such as are given.
Elizabeth, however, had
never been blind to the impropriety of her fathers behaviour as
a husband. She had always seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and
grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavoured to
forget what she could not overlook, and to banish 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 highly 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 so fully aware of the evils
arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents, 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 Wickhams 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 everything around them threw a real gloom over their domestic circle;
and, though Kitty might in time regain her natural degree of sense, since the
disturbers of her brain 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 whole, 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 felicityto 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 object of her happiest thoughts; it was her best consolation
for all the uncomfortable hours which the discontentedness of her mother and
Kitty made inevitable; and 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
complete, my disappointment would be certain. But here, by carrying with me
one ceaseless source of regret in my sisters 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 Mrs. Forster called her, and they were going off
to the camp; and from her correspondence with her sister, there was still less
to be learntfor 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 Longbourn. 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 northern 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
and curtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be prevented by business
from setting out till 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 tour, 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 attraction. The town where she had formerly passed some years of her
life, and where they were now to spend a few days, was probably as great an
object of her curiosity as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth,
Dovedale, or the Peak.
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 satisfiedand
certainly her temper to 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 without 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 aunts
arrival. But they did pass away, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, with their four
children, did at length appear at Longbourn. The children, two girls of six
and eight years old, and two younger boys, were to be left under the particular
care of their cousin Jane, who was the general favourite, and whose steady sense
and sweetness of temper exactly adapted her for attending to them in
every wayteaching them, playing with them, and loving them.
The Gardiners stayed only
one night at Longbourn, and set off the next morning with Elizabeth in pursuit
of novelty and amusement. One enjoyment was certainthat of suitableness
of companions; a suitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear inconveniencescheerfulness
to enhance every pleasureand affection and intelligence, which might supply
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. Gardiners
former residence, 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 place of which you have heard so much? said her aunt;
a place, too, with which so many of your acquaintances are connected.
Wickham passed all his youth there, you know.
Elizabeth was distressed.
She felt that she had 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 over 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 not care about it myself; but the grounds are delightful.
They have some of the finest woods in the country.
Elizabeth said no morebut
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 were unfavourably answered.
Accordingly, when she retired
at night, she asked 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
questionand 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 was again applied to, could readily answer, and with
a proper air of indifference, that she had not really any dislike to
the scheme. To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.
Chapter 43
Elizabeth, as they drove
along, watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation;
and when at length they turned in at the lodge, her spirits 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 for some time through a beautiful wood stretching over a wide
extent.
Elizabeths mind was
too full for conversation, but she saw and admired every remarkable spot and
point of view. They gradually 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 caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of
a valley, into which the 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 nature 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, and 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 the 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, which 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 winding 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, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of its proprietor;
but Elizabeth saw, 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 Rosings.
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
aunt. But no,recollecting herselfthat 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 recollectionit
saved her from something very like regret.
She longed to inquire of
the housekeeper whether 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 alarm, 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 masters steward,
who had been brought up by him at his own expense. He is now gone into
the army, she added; 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, pointing to another of the miniatures, is my masterand
very like him. It was drawn at the same time as the otherabout eight years
ago.
I have heard much
of your masters 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?
Elizabeth coloured, and
said: A little.
And do not you think
him a very handsome gentleman, maam?
Yes, very handsome.
I am sure I know none
so handsome; but in the gallery upstairs you will see a finer, larger picture
of him than this. This room was my late masters favourite room, and these
miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond of them.
This accounted to Elizabeth
for Mr. Wickhams 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! yesthe handsomest
young lady that ever was seen; and so accomplished!She plays and sings
all day long. In the next room is a new instrument just come down for hera
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; Mrs. 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, when 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 enough 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 everybody will say that knows him, replied the other. Elizabeth
thought this was going 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 extraordinary, 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 more, 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 observed, that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured
when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted
boy in the world.
Elizabeth almost stared
at her. Can this be Mr. Darcy? thought she.
His father was an
excellent man, said Mrs. Gardiner.
Yes, maam, that
he was indeed; and his son will be just like himjust 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 master, 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 tenants 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 was too good.
On reaching the spacious
lobby above they were shown into a very pretty sitting-room, lately fitted up
with greater elegance 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 when last at Pemberley.
He is certainly a
good brother, said Elizabeth, as she walked towards one of the windows.
Mrs. Reynolds anticipated
Miss Darcys 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 sure 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 drawings of Miss Darcys, in crayons, whose subjects were
usually more interesting, and also more intelligible.
In the gallery there were
many family portraits, but they could have little to fix the attention of a
stranger. Elizabeth walked in quest of the only face whose features would be
known to her. At last it arrested herand 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 her. She stood several minutes before the picture, in
earnest contemplation, and returned to it again before they quitted the
gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them that it had been taken in his fathers
lifetime.
There was certainly at this
moment, in Elizabeths 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 considered how many peoples 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 favourable 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 with 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 river, Elizabeth turned back to look again; her uncle and aunt
stopped also, and while 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, and so abrupt was his appearance, that it was impossible
to avoid his sight. Their 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 Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least of
perfect civility.
She had instinctively turned
away; but stopping 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 been examining, been insufficient to assure the other
two that they now saw Mr. Darcy, the gardeners 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 minutes 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 usual 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 hurried 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 engrossed 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 thing in the world! How strange it must appear to him! In
what a disgraceful light 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 that moment arrivedthat moment alighted from
his horse or his carriage. She blushed again and again over the perverseness
of the meeting. And his behaviour, so strikingly alteredwhat could it
mean? That he should even speak 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, never had he spoken with such gentleness
as on this unexpected meeting. What a contrast did it offer to his last address
in Rosings Park, when he put his letter into her hand! She knew not what to
think, or how to account for it.
They had now entered a beautiful
walk by the side 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 time 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. Her thoughts were all fixed on that one spot of Pemberley
House, whichever it might be, where Mr. Darcy then was. She longed to know what
at the moment was passing in his mindin what manner he thought of her,
and whether, in defiance of everything, she was still dear to him. Perhaps
he had been civil only because he felt himself at ease; yet there had
been that 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 companions 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 the 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 views of the valley, the opposite hills, with the
long range of woods overspreading 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 triumphant 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 time, 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 nearest direction; but their progress was slow, for Mr. Gardiner,
though seldom able to indulge the taste, was very fond of fishing, and was so
much engaged in watching 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 Elizabeths
astonishment was quite equal to what it had been at first, by the sight of Mr.
Darcy approaching them, and at no great distance. The walk here being here less
sheltered than on the other side, allowed them to see him before they met. Elizabeth,
however astonished, was at least more prepared for an interview than before,
and resolved to appear 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 path. 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 lost 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 might be mischievously construed. Her colour changed,
and she said no more.
Mrs. Gardiner was standing
a little behind; and 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 unprepared; 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 made; 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 sustained
it, however, with fortitude, and so far from going away, turned his back
with them, 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 had some relations for whom there was no need to blush. She listened
most attentively to all that passed between them, and gloried in every expression,
every sentence 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 often as he chose while he continued in the neighbourhood,
offering at the same time 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-arm with Elizabeth, gave her a look expressive of wonder.
Elizabeth said nothing, but it gratified her exceedingly; the compliment
must be all for herself. Her astonishment, however, was extreme, and continually
was she repeating, Why is he so altered? From what can it proceed? It
cannot be for meit 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 curious water-plant, there chanced to be a little alteration. It originated
in Mrs. Gardiner, who, fatigued by the exercise of the morning, found
Elizabeths arm inadequate to her support, and consequently preferred her
husbands. Mr. Darcy took her place 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 unexpectedfor
your housekeeper, she added, 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 hours before the rest of the party with whom he had
been travelling. They will join me early to-morrow, he continued,
and among them are some who will claim an acquaintance with youMr.
Bingley and his sisters.
Elizabeth answered only
by a slight bow. Her thoughts were instantly driven back to the time when Mr.
Bingleys name had been the last mentioned between them; and, if she might
judge by his complexion, his mind was not very differently engaged.
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 acquainted 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 deep 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 mile behind.
He then asked her to walk
into the housebut 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 slowlyand her patience and her ideas were nearly worn our before
the tete-a-tete was over. On Mr. and Mrs. Gardiners coming up they were
all pressed to go into the house and take some 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 began; 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 not 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
Wickhams 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, and 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 another 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 could 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 about his mouth when he speaks. And there is something of dignity
in his countenance 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 every virtue.
Elizabeth here felt herself
called on to say something in vindication of his behaviour to Wickham;
and therefore gave them to understand, in as guarded a manner as she could,
that by what she had heard from his relations in Kent, his actions were capable
of a very different construction; and that his character was by no means so
faulty, nor Wickhams so amiable, as they had been considered in
Hertfordshire. In confirmation of this, she related 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 mornings
walk they had no sooner dined 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.
Darcys civility, and, above all, of his wishing her to be acquainted
with his sister.
Chapter 44
Elizabeth 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; for on the very
morning after their arrival at Lambton, these visitors came. They had been walking
about the place with some of their new friends, and were just returning to the
inn to dress themselves for dining with the same family, when 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 uncle and aunt were
all amazement; and the embarrassment of her manner as she spoke, 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 Elizabeths 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 being 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 exceedingly 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. Darcy told her that Bingley was also coming to wait on her; and she
had barely time to express her satisfaction, and prepare for such a visitor,
when Bingleys quick step was heard on the stairs, and in a moment he entered
the room. All Elizabeths anger against him had been long done away; but
had she still felt any, it could hardly have stood its ground against the unaffected
cordiality with which he 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 that 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
observation towards each with an earnest though guarded inquiry; and
they soon drew from those inquiries the full conviction that one of them at
least knew what it was to love. Of the ladys 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 wanted 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 endeavoured to give pleasure were prepossessed
in her favour. Bingley was ready, Georgiana 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 were directed in a like manner. Sometimes she could fancy
that he talked less than 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 might 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 spoke particular regard. Nothing occurred between them that could
justify the hopes of his sister. On this point she was soon satisfied; and two
or three little circumstances occurred ere they parted, which, in her
anxious interpretation, 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 observed 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 had 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 exact; 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 expression of general complaisance, and in all that he said
she heard an accent so removed from hauteur or disdain of his
companions, as convinced her that the improvement of manners which she had yesterday
witnessed however temporary 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 disgracewhen she saw him thus civil, not only to herself, but
to the very relations whom he had openly disdained, and recollected their
last lively scene in Hunsford Parsonagethe difference, the change was
so great, and struck so forcibly on her mind, that 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-consequence or unbending reserve,
as now, when no importance could result from the success 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 invitation 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 certainty of seeing Elizabeth again, having still a great deal
to say to her, and many inquiries to make after all their Hertfordshire friends.
Elizabeth, construing all this into a wish of hearing her speak of her sister,
was pleased, and on this account, as well as some others, found herself, when
their visitors left them, capable of considering the last half-hour with some
satisfaction, though while 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 hurried away to dress.
But she had no reason to
fear Mr. and Mrs. Gardiners 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 before 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 servants
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 authority 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 had 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 the poor.
With respect to Wickham,
the travellers soon found 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 behind him, which Mr. Darcy afterwards discharged.
As for Elizabeth, her thoughts
were at Pemberley this evening more than the last; and the evening, though as
it passed it seemed long, was not long enough to determine her feelings towards
one in that mansion; and she lay awake two whole hours endeavouring
to make them out. She certainly did not hate him. No; hatred had vanished long
ago, and she had almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a dislike against
him, that could be so called. The respect created by the conviction of his valuable
qualities, though at first unwillingly admitted, had for some time ceased to
be repugnant to her feeling; and it was now heightened into somewhat
of a friendlier nature, by the testimony so highly in his favour, and bringing
forward his disposition 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 not 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 peculiarity of manner, where their two selves
only were concerned, was soliciting the good 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 gratitudefor 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 wanted 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 addresses.
It had been settled in the
evening between the aunt and the niece, that such a striking civility
as Miss Darcys 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 morning. 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. The fishing scheme had been renewed the day before, and a positive
engagement made of his meeting some of the gentlemen at Pemberley before noon.
Chapter 45
Convinced as Elizabeth now
was that Miss Bingleys dislike of her had originated in jealousy, she
could not help feeling how unwelcome her appearance at Pemberley must be to
her, and was curious to know with how much civility on that ladys
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 summer. Its windows opening to the ground, admitted a most
refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the house, and of the beautiful
oaks and Spanish chestnuts 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 whom she lived in London. Georgianas reception of them
was very civil, but attended with all the embarrassment which, though
proceeding from shyness and the fear of doing wrong, would easily give to those
who felt themselves inferior the belief 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 noticed only by a curtsey; and, on their being seated, a pause, awkward
as such pauses 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 at 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 feared it most, she could scarcely determine. After sitting in this manner
a quarter of an hour without hearing Miss Bingleys voice, Elizabeth was
roused by receiving from her a cold inquiry after the health of her family.
She answered with equal indifference and brevity, and the others
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 her of her post. There was now employment for
the whole partyfor though they could not all talk, they could all eat;
and the beautiful pyramids of grapes, 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 appearance of Mr. Darcy, by the feelings which prevailed on his
entering the room; and then, 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 made, 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 Bingleys, 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 brothers entrance, exerted herself 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 Darcys presence
she dared not mention Wickhams name; but Elizabeth instantly comprehended
that he was uppermost in her thoughts; and the various recollections connected
with him gave her a moments distress; but exerting herself vigorously
to repel the ill-natured attack, she presently answered the question
in a tolerably detached tone. While she spoke, an involuntary
glance showed her Darcy, with a heightened complexion, earnestly looking
at her, and his sister overcome with confusion, and unable 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 man to whom
she believed her partial, to make her betray a sensibility which might
injure her in Darcys 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 Darcys
meditated elopement. To no creature had it been revealed, where secrecy
was possible, except to Elizabeth; and from all Bingleys 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 effect 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.
Elizabeths 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 designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth
seemed to have fixed them on her more and 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 Elizabeths person, behaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join
her. Her brothers recommendation was enough to ensure her favour; his
judgement could 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 returned to the saloon, Miss Bingley could not
help repeating to him some part of what 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.
However little Mr. Darcy
might have liked such an address, he contented himself with coolly replying
that he perceived no other alteration than her being rather tanned, no miraculous
consequence of travelling in the summer.
For my own part,
she rejoined, 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 characterthere is nothing marked in
its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and
as for her eyes, which have sometimes been 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 admired 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, and, 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 dining 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 contain 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 fruitof
everything but himself; yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs. Gardiner
thought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner would have been highly gratified by
her nieces beginning the subject.
Chapter 46
Elizabeth 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 was over, and her sister
justified, by the receipt of two letters from her at once, 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 been written five days ago. The beginning contained an account of
all their little parties and engagements, with such news as the country afforded;
but the latter half, 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 afraid of alarming yoube assured that we are all well.
What I have to say relates 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 with 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 sorry. 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 easily 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 better. How thankful am I that we never let them know what
has been said against him; 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 express was sent off directly. My dear Lizzy, they must
have passed within ten miles of us. Colonel Forster gives us reason to expect
him here soon. Lydia left a few 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 make it out, but I hardly know what I have written.
Without allowing herself
time for consideration, 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 being coherent. Dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what I would
write, but I have bad news 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 has taken place, for there is but too much reason to
fear they are not gone to Scotland. Colonel Forster came yesterday, having left
Brighton the day before, not many hours after the express. Though Lydias
short letter to Mrs. F. gave them to understand that they were going to Gretna
Green, something was dropped by Denny 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 think. 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 successno such people had been 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 them. Our distress, my dear Lizzy,
is very great. My father and mother believe the 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 Lydias 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; but 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 will 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 uncles 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 reached 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 speak, she, in whose mind every idea was superseded
by Lydias situation, hastily exclaimed, 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 will not detain you a minute; but let me, or let the servant
go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.
Elizabeth hesitated, but
her knees trembled under her and she felt how little would be gained by her
attempting to pursue them. 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, could 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 anyone. My younger sister has left all her friendshas
eloped; has thrown herself into the power ofof Mr. Wickham. They
are gone off together from Brighton. You know him too well to doubt the
rest. She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him toshe
is lost for ever.
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 onlysome part of what I learnt, to my own family! Had
his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is allall
too late now.
I am grieved
indeed, cried Darcy; grievedshocked. But is it certainabsolutely
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 uncles immediate assistance;
and we shall be off, I hope, in half-an-hour. But nothing can be doneI
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.
When my eyes
were opened to his real characterOh! had I known what I ought, what I
dared to do! But I knew notI was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched
mistake!
Darcy made no answer. He
seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and down the room in earnest
meditation, his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed, and
instantly understood 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, exactly calculated to make her understand
her own wishes; and never had she so honestly 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. Lydiathe humiliation, the misery
she was bringing on them all, soon swallowed up every private care; and covering
her face with her handkerchief, Elizabeth was soon lost to everything else;
and, after a pause 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 done
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 thanks.
This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sisters having the pleasure
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 threw 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
rejoiced in its termination.
If gratitude and esteem
are good foundations of affection, Elizabeths change of sentiment will
be neither improbable nor faulty. But if otherwiseIf regard springing
from such sources is unreasonable or unnatural, in comparison of what is so
often described as arising on a first 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 mode of attachment. Be that as it may, she saw him
go with regret; and in this early example of what Lydias infamy
must produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched business.
Never, since reading Janes second letter, had she entertained a hope of
Wickhams meaning to marry her. No one but Jane, she thought, could flatter
herself with such an expectation. Surprise was the least of her feelings on
this development. While the contents of the first letter remained in her mind,
she was all surpriseall 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 sufficient 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 believing that neither
her virtue nor her understanding would preserve her from falling an easy prey.
She had never perceived,
while the regiment was 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 never without an object. The mischief of neglect
and mistaken indulgence towards such a girloh! how acutely
did she now feel it!
She was wild to be at hometo
hear, to see, to 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 exertion, and requiring constant attendance; and though
almost persuaded that nothing could be done for Lydia, her uncles interference
seemed of the utmost importance, and till he entered the room her impatience
was severe. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner had hurried back in alarm, supposing by the
servants account that their niece was taken suddenly ill; but satisfying
them instantly on that head, she eagerly 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 deeply 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 able 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 terms as for her to disclose the real truth? Oh, that I knew how it
was!
But wishes were vain, or
at least could only serve 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 employment was impossible to one so wretched as herself; but she had
her share of business 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.
Chapter 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 colonels family, that I am strongly inclined to hope 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 Colonel 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 uncles opinion. It is
really too great a violation 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 into a hackney coach is such a presumption! And,
besides, no traces of them were to be found on the Barnet road.
Well, thensupposing
them to be in London. 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, nothis
is not likely. His most particular friend, you see by Janes 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 Lydiawhat
attraction has she beyond youth, health, and good humour that could make him,
for her sake, forego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well?
As to what restraint the apprehensions of disgrace in the corps
might throw on a dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge;
for I know nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to
your other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no brothers
to step forward; and he might imagine, from my fathers 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 sisters sense of decency and virtue in such a point should
admit of doubt. But, really, 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 twelvemonthshe has been
given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose
of her time in the most 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 power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give
greaterwhat shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings; which
are naturally lively enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of
person and address that can captivate a woman.
But you see that Jane,
said her aunt, does not think so very ill of Wickham as to believe him
capable of the attempt.
Of whom does Jane
ever think ill? And who 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 every 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? cried 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 spoke of the man who had behaved with such forbearance and
liberality towards him. And there are other circumstances which I am
not at libertywhich 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.
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 Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was ignorant of the truth myself. And
when I returned home, the shire was to leave Meryton in a week or
fortnights time. As that was the case, neither Jane, to whom I related
the whole, nor I, thought it necessary to make our knowledge public; for of
what use could it apparently be to any one, that 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 symptom 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. When first he entered the corps, she was
ready enough to admire him; but so we all 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, her fancy for him gave way, and others
of the regiment, who treated her with more 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 Elizabeths 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, and, sleeping one night on the road, reached Longbourn by dinner
time the next day. It was a comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could
not have been wearied by long expectations.
The little Gardiners, attracted
by the sight of 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 lighted 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 mothers 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 now 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 motherhow
is she? How are you all?
My mother is tolerably
well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly shaken. She is upstairs and will
have great satisfaction in seeing you all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room.
Mary and Kitty, thank Heaven, are quite well.
But youhow are
you? cried Elizabeth. 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 and 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 sanguine 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 explain their proceedings, and, perhaps, announce their
marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment
they all repaired, 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, to carry my point in going to Brighton, with all my family,
this would not have happened; but poor dear Lydia had nobody to take
care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out of their sight? I am sure
there was some great neglect or other on their side, for she 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 heres Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he
will fight Wickham, wherever he meets him and then he will 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 give 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 together 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 married 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 out
of my witsand have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over mesuch
spasms 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 moderation 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 feelings on the housekeeper, who attended in the
absence of her daughters.
Though her brother and sister
were persuaded that there was no real occasion for such a seclusion from
the family, they did not 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 better that one only of the household, and the
one whom they could most trust should comprehend all her fears and solicitude
on the subject.
In the dining-room they
were soon joined by Mary 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 anger which she had herself incurred in this business,
had given more of fretfulness than usual to the accents of Kitty. As for Mary,
she was mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth, with a countenance
of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table:
This is a most unfortunate
affair, and will probably be much talked of. But we must stem the tide of malice,
and pour into 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 draw from it this useful lesson: that loss of virtue in a female
is irretrievable; 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 were 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 Miss 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 already heard. Give me further particulars. What did Colonel
Forster say? Had they no apprehension of anything before the elopement
took place? They must have seen them together for ever.
Colonel Forster did
own that he had often suspected some partiality, especially on Lydias
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 his concern, before he had any idea of their
not being gone to Scotland: when that apprehension first got abroad,
it hastened his journey.
And was Denny convinced
that Wickham would not marry? Did he know of their intending to go off? Had
Colonel Forster seen Denny himself?
Yes; but, when questioned
by him, Denny denied knowing anything of their plans, and would not give
his real opinion about it. He did not repeat his persuasion of their not marryingand
from that, I am inclined to hope, he might have been misunderstood
before.
And till Colonel Forster
came himself, not one of you entertained a doubt, I suppose, of their being
really married?
How was it possible
that such an idea should enter our brains? I felt a little uneasya little
fearful of my sisters 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 felt how imprudent a match it must be. Kitty then
owned, with a very natural triumph on knowing more than the rest of us, that
in Lydias last letter she had prepared her for such a step. She had known,
it seems, of their being in love with each other, many weeks.
But not before they
went to Brighton?
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 extravagant. 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 without knowing what their present feelings were, seemed unjustifiable.
We acted with the best intentions.
Could Colonel Forster
repeat the particulars of Lydias note to his wife?
He brought it with
him for us to see.
Jane then took it from her
pocket-book, and gave 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 with 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 harm 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 write 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 you 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
was serious on the subject of their journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade
her to, it was not on her side a scheme of infamy. My poor father!
how he must have 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, was 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 possibly happen almost took from me my faculties.
Your attendance upon
her has been too much for you. You do not look well. Oh that I had been with
you! you have had every 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 with 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 ones
neighbours. Assistance is impossible; 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 ladys removing from one carriage into
another 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 make 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.
Chapter 48
The whole party were in
hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next morning, but the post 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 such a time they
had hoped for exertion. They were forced to conclude that he had 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 promised, 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 only security for her husbands 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, and was a great comfort to them in their hours of freedom. Their
other aunt also visited them frequently, and always, as she said, with the design
of cheering and heartening them upthough, as she never came without reporting
some fresh instance of Wickhams 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 tradesmans 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 said, believed enough to make her former assurance
of her sisters ruin more certain; 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, which she had never before entirely despaired
of, they must in all probability have gained some news of them.
Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn
on Sunday; on Tuesday 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 determined to inquire at all the principal hotels in town, as Mr.
Bennet thought it possible 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 postscript to this effect:
I have written to
Colonel Forster to desire him to find out, if possible, from some of the young
mans intimates in the regiment, whether Wickham has any relations
or connections who would be likely to know in what part of town he has now concealed
himself. If there were anyone 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 relations he has now living, better than any other person.
Elizabeth was at no loss
to understand from whence this deference to her authority proceeded;
but it was not in her power to give 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, both 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 though 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 anxiety; but the most anxious part of each was when the post was
expected. The arrival of letters was the grand object of every mornings
impatience. Through letters, whatever of good or bad was to be told would be
communicated, and every succeeding 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 your present distress, which must be of the bitterest
kind, because proceeding from a cause which no time can remove. No arguments
shall be wanting on my part that can alleviate so severe a misfortuneor
that may comfort you, under a circumstance that must be of all others the most
afflicting to a parents mind. 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 same time, for the consolation of
yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think that her own disposition
must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of such 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 likewise 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 herself 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 pleasant 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 with any of them. There was no one, therefore, who could be pointed
out as likely 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 Lydias 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 formidable. 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 might 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 yielded to his brother-in-laws 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 much 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 found them. Who is to fight Wickham, and make him marry
her, if he comes away?
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 stage 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 part 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 rendered 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 known nothing of Darcy,
she could have borne the dread of Lydias infamy somewhat better.
It would have spared her, she thought, one sleepless night out of two.
When Mr. Bennet arrived,
he had all the appearance 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 away, and it was some time before his daughters
had courage to speak of it.
It was not till the afternoon,
when he had joined 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 evil. 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?
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.
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, shows some greatness of mind.
They were interrupted by
Miss Bennet, who came to fetch her mothers 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 Kitty runs away.
I am not going to
run away, papa, said Kitty fretfully. If I should ever go to Brighton,
I would behave better 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 absolutely 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 every 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.
Chapter 49
Two days after Mr. Bennets
return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking together in the shrubbery behind
the house, they saw the housekeeper coming towards them, and, 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 said to Miss Bennet,
I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but I was 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 great astonishment, dont 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.
Away ran the girls, too
eager to get in to have time for speech. They ran through the vestibule
into the breakfast-room; from thence to the library; their father was in neither;
and they were on the point of seeking him upstairs with their mother, when they
were met by the butler, who said:
If you are looking
for my master, maam, 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 paddock.
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 newswhat
news? Have you heard from my uncle?
Yes I have had a letter
from him by express.
Well, and what news
does it bringgood or bad?
What is there of good
to be expected? said he, taking the letter from his pocket. But
perhaps you would like 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 tidings of my niece, and such as, upon the whole, I hope it
will give you satisfaction. Soon after you left me on Saturday, I was fortunate
enough to find out in what part of London they were. The particulars I reserve
till we meet; it is enough 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 married, 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; and, moreover, to enter into an engagement of allowing her, during
your life, one hundred pounds per annum. These are conditions which, considering
everything, 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. Wickhams 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 will 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 which 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, when 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 lose 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 a man!
Yes, yes, they must
marry. There is nothing 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 other, 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 fifty 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 uncles
doings! Generous, good man, I am afraid he has distressed himself. A small sum
could not do all this.
No, said her
father; Wickhams a fool if he takes her with a farthing less than
ten thousand pounds. I should be sorry to think so ill of him, in the very beginning
of our relationship.
Ten thousand pounds!
Heaven forbid! How is half such a sum to be repaid?
Mr. Bennet made no answer,
and each of them, deep 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.
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 clearing him, I cannot believe that ten thousand pounds, or anything
like it, has been 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 Wickhams 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 them, because Wickham has not sixpence of his own. The
kindness of my uncle and aunt can never be requited. Their taking her
home, and affording her their personal 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 happy! 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 yet be happy. His consenting to marry her is a proof,
I will believe, that he is come 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 manner, as may in time make their past imprudence
forgotten.
Their conduct has
been such, replied 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 uncles
letter to read to her?
Take whatever you
like, and get away.
Elizabeth took the letter
from his writing-table, and they went upstairs 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 herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiners hope of
Lydias 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 merry 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. Gardiners behaviour laid them all under.
For we must attribute
this happy conclusion, she added, in a great measure to his kindness.
We are persuaded that he has pledged himself to assist Mr. Wickham with money.
Well, cried
her mother, it is all very right; who should do it but her own uncle? if he had not had a family 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. Well! I am so happy! In a short time I shall have a daughter
married. Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds! And she was only sixteen last June.
My dear Jane, I am in such a flutter, that I am sure I cant write; so
I will dictate, and you write for me. We will settle with your father about
the money afterwards; but the things 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 days
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 Lydias 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 they had gained.
Chapter 50
Mr. Bennet had very often
wished before this period of his life that, instead of spending 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 indebted to her uncle
for whatever of honour or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction
of prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great 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 daughters successively entered the world, but yet the
son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for many years after Lydias 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
husbands 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 that 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 marry 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 allowance, and the continual presents in money which
passed to her through her mothers hands, Lydias expenses had been
very little within that sum.
That it would be done with
such trifling exertion 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 dispatched; 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 there was much to be talked of in marrying
her; and the good-natured wishes for her 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, If the Gouldings could quit itor the great house at Stoke, if the drawing-room 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 said to her: Mrs. Bennet, before you take any or all of
these houses for your son and daughter, let us come to a right understanding.
Into one house in this neighbourhood they shall never 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 amazement 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 daughter 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 want of new clothes must reflect on her
daughters nuptials, than to any sense of 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 give the proper termination to the elopement, they might hope
to conceal its unfavourable beginning from all those who were not immediately
on the spot.
She had no fear of its spreading
farther through 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
knowledge of a sisters frailty would have mortified her
so muchnot, however, from any fear of disadvantage from it individually
to herself, for, at any rate, there seemed a gulf impassable between
them. Had Lydias 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 that he would shrink. The wish of procuring her regard,
which she had assured herself of his feeling in Derbyshire, could not in rational
expectation survive such 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 chance of gaining intelligence.
She was convinced that she could have been happy with 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 months 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 understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered
all her wishes. It was 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 from his judgement, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have
received benefit of greater importance.
But no such happy marriage
could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity
really was. An union of a different tendency, and precluding the possibility
of the other, was soon to be formed 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 their passions were stronger than their virtue, she could easily
conjecture.
Mr. Gardiner soon wrote
again to his brother. To Mr. Bennets 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 nieces.
It is Mr. Wickhams intention to go into the regulars; and among his former
friends, there are still some who are able and willing to assist him in the
army. He has the promise of an ensigncy 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, they 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 directions, and all will be completed in a week. They
will then join his regiment, unless they 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, etc.,
E. GARDINER.
Mr. Bennet and his daughters
saw all the advantages of Wickhams removal from the shire
as clearly as Mr. Gardiner could do. But Mrs. Bennet was not so well pleased
with it. Lydias 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 Hertfordshire, was a severe disappointment; and, besides,
it was such a pity that Lydia should be taken from a regiment where she was
acquainted with everybody, and had so many favourites.
She is so fond of
Mrs. Forster, said she, it will be quite shocking to send her away!
And there are several of the young men, too, that she likes very much. The officers
may not be so pleasant in General s regiment.
His daughters 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 sisters feelings
and consequence, that she should be noticed on her marriage by her parents,
urged him so earnestly yet so rationally and so mildly, to receive her
and her husband at Longbourn, 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
again 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.
Chapter 51
Their sisters 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 would 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.
Lydias 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 austerity; 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. Elizabeth 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 neighbourhood, with a good humoured ease which she felt very unable to
equal in her replies. They 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, 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 went 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 through the hall to the dining parlour. She then joined
them soon enough to see Lydia, with anxious parade, walk up to her mothers
right hand, and hear her say to her eldest sister, Ah! Jane, I take your
place now, and you must go lower, 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. Her ease and good spirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Phillips,
the Lucases, 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 housemaids.
Well, mamma,
said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast room, and what
do you think of my husband? 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.
Very true; and if
I had my will, we should. But my dear Lydia, I dont 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 and 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.
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 them 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 days with them. Mr. Wickham had received his commission
before he left London, and he was to join his regiment at the end of a fortnight.
No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted
that their stay 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.
Wickhams affection
for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected to find it; not equal to Lydias
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 love, rather than by his; and she would have wondered why, without
violently caring 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 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; 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. Clements,
because Wickhams lodgings were in that parish. And it was settled
that we should all be there by eleven oclock. 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 fuss! I was so afraid, you know, that something
would happen to put it off, and then 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 usual; I thought it would never be over; for, by the bye, you are
to understand, that my uncle and aunt were horrid unpleasant all the time I
was with them. If youll believe me, I did not once put my foot out of
doors, though I was there a fortnight. Not one party, or scheme, or anything.
To be sure London was rather 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, there is no end of it. Well, I was so frightened I did not know
what to do, for my uncle 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 going, the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might
have done as well.
Mr. Darcy! repeated
Elizabeth, in utter amazement.
Oh, yes!he was
to come there with Wickham, 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, though 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 forced 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. Darcy had been at her sisters wedding. It was exactly
a scene, and exactly among people, where he had apparently least to do, and
least temptation to go. Conjectures 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 request an explanation of what Lydia had dropt, if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been intended.
You may readily comprehend,
she added, 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
itunless it is, for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy
which Lydia seems to think necessary; and then I must endeavour to be
satisfied with ignorance.
Not that I shall,
though, she added to herself, 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.
Janes delicate sense
of honour would not allow her to speak to Elizabeth privately of what Lydia
had let fall; Elizabeth was glad of it;till it appeared whether her inquiries
would receive any satisfaction, she had rather be without a confidante.
Chapter 52
Elizabeth 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 the 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 convinced her that it did
not contain a denial.
Gracechurch street,
Sept. 6.
MY DEAR NIECE,
I have just received
your letter, and shall 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.
Dont think me angry, however, 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 amand nothing but the belief of your being a party concerned
would have allowed him to act 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 had 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 Wickhams 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 brought on by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would
never disgrace 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 really 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 her house, they would have taken up their abode
with her. At length, however, our 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 situation, 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 absolutely 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. Since such
were her feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite
a marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt
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 Lydias flight on her own
folly 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 married 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 proof against the temptation of immediate relief.
They met several times,
for there was much to be discussed. Wickham of course wanted more than he could
get; but at length was reduced to be reasonable.
Every thing being
settled between them, Mr. Darcys next step was to make your uncle
acquainted with it, and he first called in Gracechurch street the evening 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 the 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 was gone, your uncle at home, and, as I said before, they
had a great deal of talk 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 express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor was
very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect
of his character, after all. He has been accused of many faults at different
times, but 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 this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an explanation
that would 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 believe, 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 Wickhams character had been so misunderstood, and 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 anybodys
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 returned 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 thing. 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. He was exactly
what he had been, when I knew 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 Janes 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 her repeatedly in the most serious
manner, representing to her all the wickedness 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, and 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 with me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying
(what I was never bold enough to say before) how much I like him. His behaviour
to us has, in every respect, been as pleasing as when we were in Derbyshire.
His understanding and opinions all please me; he wants nothing but a little
more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his wife
may teach him. I thought him very sly;he hardly ever mentioned
your name. But slyness seems the fashion.
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 shall never be quite happy till I have been all round the park.
A low phaeton, with a nice little pair of ponies, would be the very thing.
But I must write no
more. The children have been wanting me this half hour.
Yours, very sincerely,
M. GARDINER.
The contents of this letter
threw Elizabeth into 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 sisters 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 punishment 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 herfor a woman who had already refused himas
able to overcome a sentiment 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 reason 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 owed the restoration of Lydia, her character,
every thing, to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious
sensation she had ever encouraged, every 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 aunts commendation of him again and
again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. 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 reflections, by some ones 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?
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 was always very fond of me. But of course she did not mention
my name to you.
Yes, she did.
And what did she say?
That you were gone
into the army, and she was afraid hadnot turned out well. At such a distance
as that, you know, things are strangely misrepresented.
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 were at Lambton? I thought I understood from the Gardiners
that you had.
Yes; he introduced
us to his sister.
And do you like her?
Very much.
I have heard, indeed,
that she is uncommonly 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.
I dare say she will;
she has got over the most trying age.
Did you go by the
village of Kympton?
I do not recollect
that we did.
I mention it, because
it is the living which 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 considered it as part of my duty, and the exertion would soon
have been nothing. One ought not to repine;but, to be sure, it would have
been such a thing for me! The 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 thought 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 foundation. 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 sisters 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.
Chapter 53
Mr. Wickham was so perfectly
satisfied with this conversation that he never again distressed himself, or
provoked his dear sister Elizabeth, by introducing the subject of it;
and she was pleased to find that she had said enough to keep him quiet.
The day of his and Lydias
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 likely to continue at least a twelvemonth.
Oh! my dear Lydia,
she cried, when shall we meet again?
Oh, lord! I dont
know. Not these two or three years, perhaps.
Write to me very often,
my dear.
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.
Mr. Wickhams adieus
were much more affectionate than his wifes. He smiled, looked handsome,
and said many pretty things.
He is as fine a fellow,
said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of the house, as ever I saw.
He simpers, 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 ones 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 leave me because she is married, but only because her husbands
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 agitation 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 shook her head by turns.
Well, well, and so
Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister, (for Mrs. Phillips first brought her
the news). Well, 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, however, 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 know,
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 butchers, 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 dont 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 news does not affect me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad
of one thing, that he comes alone; because we shall see the less of him. Not
that I am afraid of myself, but I dread other peoples 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 there with no other view than what was acknowledged; but she
still thought him partial to Jane, and she wavered as to the greater probability
of his coming there with his friends permission, or being bold
enough to come without it.
Yet it is hard,
she sometimes thought, that this poor man cannot come to a house which
he has legally hired, without raising all this speculation! I will
leave him to himself.
In spite of what her sister
declared, and really believed to be her feelings in the expectation of his arrival,
Elizabeth could easily perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were
more disturbed, 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 again.
As soon as ever Mr.
Bingley comes, my dear, said Mrs. Bennet, you will wait on him of
course.
No, no. You forced
me into visiting him last year, and promised, if I went to see him, he should
marry one of my daughters. But it ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on
a fools errand again.
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 will not spend my hours in running after my neighbours
every time they go away and come back again.
Well, all I know is,
that it will be abominably rude if you do not wait on him. But, however,
that shant prevent 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 just room at table for him.
Consoled by this
resolution, she was the better able to bear her husbands 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 must 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 satisfy her mother, went to the windowshe
looked,she saw Mr. Darcy with him, and sat down again by her sister.
There is a gentleman
with him, mamma, 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.
whats-his-name. That tall, proud man.
Good gracious! Mr.
Darcy!and so it does, I vow. Well, any friend of Mr. Bingleys will
always be welcome here, to be sure; 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. Bingleys 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. Gardiners
letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment towards him. To Jane, he could
be only a man whose proposals she had refused, and whose merit she had undervalued;
but 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 herself
with an interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just as
what Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at his comingat his coming
to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her again, was almost
equal to what she had known on first witnessing his altered behaviour in Derbyshire.
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.
Let me first see how
he behaves, said she; it will then be early enough for expectation.
She sat intently at work,
striving to be composed, 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 the gentlemens 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 mothers presence be what he was before her
uncle and aunt. It was a painful, 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 daughters ashamed, especially when contrasted with the cold
and ceremonious politeness of her curtsey and address to his friend.
Elizabeth, particularly,
who knew that her mother owed to the latter the preservation of her favourite
daughter from irremediable 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 without 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 so.
Could I expect it
to be otherwise! said she. Yet why did he come?
She was in no humour for
conversation with anyone 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 and settled. And one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard
of it; indeed, 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 Gardiners 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. They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it
seems, and there they 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 regulars. 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. Bennets manor.
I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best
of the covies for you.
Elizabeths misery
increased, at such unnecessary, 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 hastening 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 she 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 this! Let me never see either one or the other again!
Yet the misery, for which
years of happiness were to offer no compensation, received soon afterwards
material relief, from observing how much the beauty of her sister re-kindled
the admiration of her former lover. When first he came in, he had spoken to
her but little; but every five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention.
He found her as handsome as she had been last year; as good natured, and as
unaffected, though not quite 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 not 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 reflection, 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 table, 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.
Chapter 54
As soon as they were gone,
Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits; or in other words, to dwell without
interruption on those subjects that must deaden them more. Mr. Darcys
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 pleasing, to my uncle and aunt, when he was in town; and
why not to me? if he fears me, 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 involuntarily kept by the approach of her sister, who
joined her with a cheerful look, which showed her better satisfied with their
visitors, than Elizabeth.
Now, said she,
that this first 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 Tuesday. It will then be publicly seen that, on both sides, we
meet only as common and indifferent acquaintance.
Yes, very indifferent
indeed, said Elizabeth, laughingly. Oh, Jane, take care.
My dear Lizzy, you
cannot think me so weak, 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 Tuesday; 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 hours visit, had revived.
On Tuesday there was a large
party assembled at 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, which, 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 seen his eyes likewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with
an expression of half-laughing 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,
Janes happiness, and his own, would be speedily secured. Though she dared
not depend upon the consequence, she yet received pleasure from observing his
behaviour. 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 divide 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 they spoke to each other, and how formal and cold was their manner whenever
they did. Her mothers ungraciousness, made the sense of what they owed
him more painful to Elizabeths mind; and she would, at times, have given
anything to 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 would 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 give 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 gentlemens
approaching, one of the girls moved closer to her than ever, and said, in a
whisper:
The men shant
come and part us, I am determined. We want none of them; do we?
Darcy had walked away to
another part of the room. She followed him with her eyes, envied everyone to
whom he spoke, had scarcely patience enough to help anybody to coffee; and then
was enraged against herself for being so silly!
A man who has once
been refused! How could 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 bringing 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 left her?
Mrs. Annesley is with
her. The others have 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 ladys whispering 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 mothers rapacity for whist players, and
in a few moments after seated with the rest of the party. She now lost every
expectation of pleasure. They were confined for the evening at different tables,
and she had nothing to hope, 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 they 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 turnand
everybody said they never saw so fat a haunch. The soup was fifty times better
than what we had at the Lucases last week; and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged,
that the partridges were remarkably 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, for 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 livedand her nieces are very pretty behaved girls, and not at all
handsome: I like them prodigiously.
Mrs. Bennet, in short, was
in very great spirits; she had seen enough of Bingleys behaviour to Jane,
to be convinced that she would get him at last; and her expectations of advantage
to her family, when 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 suitable 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 his 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 blessed with greater sweetness of address, and a stronger
desire of generally pleasing, than any other man.
You are very cruel,
said her sister, you will not let me smile, and are provoking me
to it every moment.
How hard it is in
some cases to be believed!
And how impossible
in others!
But why should you
wish to persuade me that I feel more than I acknowledge?
That is a question
which I hardly know how to answer. We all love to instruct, though we can teach
only what is not worth knowing. Forgive me; and if you persist in indifference,
do not make me your confidante.
Chapter 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 with 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 himself engaged elsewhere.
Next time you call,
said she, I hope we shall be more lucky.
He should be particularly
happy at any time, etc. 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
daughters room, in her dressing gown, and with her hair half finished,
crying out:
My dear Jane, make
haste and hurry down. He is comeMr. 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 Lizzys hair.
We will be down as
soon as we can, said Jane; but I dare say Kitty is forwarder than
either of us, for she 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 and 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 at
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 here, my love, I want to speak to you, took her out of the
room. Jane instantly 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 minutes, 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 and I are going upstairs 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 sight, then returned into the drawing-room.
Mrs. Bennets 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 agreeable addition to their evening party; and he
bore with the ill-judged officiousness of the mother, and heard all her
silly remarks with a forbearance and command of countenance particularly
grateful to the daughter.
He scarcely needed an invitation
to stay supper; and before he went away, an engagement was formed, chiefly through
his own and Mrs. Bennets 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 concluded, unless Mr. Darcy returned within the stated time. Seriously, however,
she felt tolerably persuaded that all this must have taken place with
that gentlemans 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 other had ever seen him. Bingley of course
returned with him to dinner; and in the evening Mrs. Bennets invention
was again at work to get every body away from 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 mothers 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, she perceived her sister and Bingley standing together
over the hearth, as if engaged in earnest conversation;
and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both, as they hastily turned
round and moved away from each other, would have told it all. Their situation
was awkward enough; but hers she thought was still worse. Not a
syllable 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
whispering a few words to her sister, ran out of the room.
Jane could have no reserves
from Elizabeth, where 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?
Elizabeths 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!
She then hastened away to
her mother, who had purposely broken up the card party, and was sitting up stairs
with Kitty.
Elizabeth, who was left
by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease with which an affair was finally
settled, that had given them so many previous months of suspense and vexation.
And this, said
she, is the end of all his friends anxious circumspection!
of all his sisters falsehood and contrivance! the happiest, wisest,
most reasonable end!
In a few minutes she was
joined by Bingley, whose conference with her father had been short and to the
purpose.
Where is your sister?
said he hastily, as he opened the door.
With my mother up
stairs. She will be down 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 hands with great cordiality; and then, till her sister came
down, she had to listen to all he had to say of his own happiness, and of Janes
perfections; and in spite 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 Bennets mind gave
a glow of such sweet animation to her face, as made her look handsomer than
ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, 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 talked to Bingley of
nothing else for half an hour; and when Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his
voice and manner plainly showed how really happy he was.
Not a word, however, passed
his lips in allusion to it, till their visitor took his leave for the
night; but as soon as he was 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 means 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 will always exceed your income.
I hope not so. Imprudence
or thoughtlessness 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 four 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 shant
get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it would be. I always said it must
be so, 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 other. 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 remaining till after supper; unless when some barbarous neighbour,
who could not be enough detested, had given him an invitation to dinner
which he thought himself obliged to accept.
Elizabeth had now but little
time for conversation 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 those hours of separation that must sometimes occur. In the
absence of Jane, he always 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 town 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 sisters doing. They 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 me, they will learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms
again; though we can never be what we once were to each other.
That is the most unforgiving
speech, said Elizabeth, that I ever heard you utter. Good girl!
It would vex me, indeed, to see you again the dupe of Miss Bingleys
pretended regard.
Would you believe
it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November, he really loved me, and
nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent would have prevented
his 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 Jane 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 creature 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 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, perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins
in time.
The situation of affairs
in the Longbourn family 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 her 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 misfortune.
Chapter 56
One morning, about a week
after Bingleys 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 carriage; 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 surprised; 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 usually ungracious, made no other reply to Elizabeths
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 ladyships
entrance, though no request 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 lady, I suppose, is your mother.
Elizabeth replied very concisely
that she was.
And that I
suppose is one of your sisters.
Yes, madam,
said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to a 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 Lucass.
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 there 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 before 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 prettyish kind of a little wilderness on one side of your lawn.
I should be glad to take 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 drawing-room, and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be decent looking
rooms, walked on.
Her carriage remained at
the door, and Elizabeth 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 effort for conversation with a woman who was now more
than usually insolent and disagreeable.
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 Catherine 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. But however insincere you may choose to be,
you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its
sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall
certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me
two days ago. I was told that not only your sister was on the point of being
most advantageously married, but that you, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would,
in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr.
Darcy. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would
not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved
on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.
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 propose by it?
At once to insist
upon having such a report 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 of 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 frankness 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 impossible.
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 moment 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 relation he has in the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest
concerns.
But you are not entitled
to know mine; nor 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 have 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 peculiar 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 their cradles, we planned the union: and now, at the moment
when the wishes of both 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 shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother
and aunt wished him to marry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could
in planning the marriage. 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? And 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 inclinations 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,
replied Elizabeth. But the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary
sources 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 Bennet, 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 persons whims. I have not been in the habit
of brooking disappointment.
That will make
your ladyships situation at present 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 fathers, from respectable, honourable, and ancientthough untitledfamilies.
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 you
have been brought up.
In marrying your nephew,
I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am
a gentlemans daughter; so far we are equal.
True. You are
a gentlemans daughter. But who was your mother? Who are your uncles and
aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition.
Whatever my connections
may be, said Elizabeth, If your nephew does not object to them,
they can be nothing to you.
Tell me once for all,
are you engaged to him?
Though Elizabeth would not,
for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question,
she could not but say, after a moments 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 given me the assurance I require.
And I certainly never
shall give it. I am not to be intimidated 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 marriage 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 extraordinary application have been as frivolous
as the application was ill-judged. You have 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 interference in his affairs, I cannot tell; but you have
certainly no right to concern yourself 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 another to add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest
sisters infamous elopement. I know it all; that the young
mans marrying her was a patched-up business, at the expence of your father
and uncles. And is such a girl to be my nephews sister? Is her husband,
is the son of his late fathers 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 you, 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 with Mr. Darcy. And with regard to the resentment of his family,
or the indignation of the world, if the former were excited by
his marrying me, it would not give me one moments concernand the
world in general would have too much sense to join in the scorn.
And this is your real
opinion! This is your 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 hoped to find you reasonable; but, depend upon it, I will
carry my point.
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 attempting 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 Lady 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 she 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.
Chapter 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 the 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! but 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,
and 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 Catherines
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 the 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 solid reasoning.
If he had been wavering
before as to what he should do, which had often seemed likely, the advice and
entreaty of so near 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. Lady Catherine might see him in her way through
town; and his engagement to Bingley of coming 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, when 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 hearing who their visitor had been, was very great; but they
obligingly satisfied it, with the same kind of supposition which had
appeased Mrs. Bennets curiosity; 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 hand.
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 that has astonished me exceedingly. As it principally
concerns yourself, you ought 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.
The colour now rushed into
Elizabeths 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 explained himself at all, or offended that his letter
was not rather addressed to herself; when her father continued:
You look conscious.
Young ladies have great 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 eldest 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 offered you the sincere congratulations of
Mrs. Collins and myself on this happy event, 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, and 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 meant by this? This young gentleman is blessed, in
a peculiar way, with every thing the heart of mortal can most desire,splendid
property, noble kindred, 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 precipitate closure with this gentlemans
proposals, which, of course, you will be inclined to take immediate advantage
of.
Have you any idea,
Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now it comes out:
My motive for
cautioning you is as follows. 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 looks 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 fathers 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 cousin, 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 Lydias
sad business has been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their living
together before 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 allow their names to be mentioned in your hearing. That is his notion
of Christian forgiveness! The rest of his letter is only about his dear Charlottes
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 live, 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!
Yesthat
is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man it would have been
nothing; but his perfect indifference, and your pointed
dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate writing,
I would not give up Mr. Collinss correspondence for any consideration.
Nay, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving him the preference even
over Wickham, much as I value the impudence and hypocrisy of my son-in-law.
And pray, Lizzy, what said Lady Catherine about this report? Did she call to
refuse her consent?
To this question his daughter
replied only with 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 said of Mr. Darcys 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.
Chapter 58
Instead of receiving any
such letter of excuse from his friend, as Elizabeth half expected Mr. Bingley
to do, he was able to bring Darcy with him to Longbourn before many days had
passed after Lady Catherines visit. The gentlemen arrived early; and,
before Mrs. Bennet had time to tell him of their having seen his aunt, of which
her daughter sat in momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane,
proposed their all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in the
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
them. 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 was 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.
I am sorry, exceedingly
sorry, replied 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. Lydias thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been
concerned in the matter; 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 force to the other inducements which
led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing.
Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.
Elizabeth was too much embarrassed
to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, You are too generous
to trifle 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 could 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 valuable.
They walked on, without
knowing in what direction. 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 good 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 expression of the latter which, in her ladyships 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, frankly 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 to your face,
I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.
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 share of blame annexed to that evening, said Elizabeth.
The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable;
but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility.
I cannot be so easily
reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct,
my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many
months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I
shall never forget: had you behaved 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 countenance 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 the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of
it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember
some expressions which 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 it, 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. Think only of the past as its remembrance
gives you pleasure.
I cannot give you
credit for any philosophy 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 better, 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
principles, 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 with 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 might 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 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 mean 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 soon 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 Georgianas
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
his 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
there 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 manner, and too busy to know anything about it, they found at
last, on examining their 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? said Elizabeth.
Not at all. When I
went away, I felt that it would soon happen.
That is to say, you
had given your permission. I guessed as much. And though he exclaimed
at the term, she 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 her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.
Elizabeth could not help
smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend.
Did you speak from
your own observation, said she, when you told him that my sister
loved him, 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, carried immediate conviction to him.
It did. Bingley is
most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending
on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made every
thing easy. I was obliged to confess 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 winter, 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 your sisters sentiments. He has heartily forgiven
me now.
Elizabeth longed to observe
that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful friend; so easily guided that his
worth was invaluable; but she checked herself. She remembered that he had yet
to learn to be laughed 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 the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they
parted.
Chapter 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 truth.
The evening passed quietly,
unmarked by anything extraordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed,
the unacknowledged 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 immediate embarrassment, there were other evils before her. She
anticipated what would be felt in the family when her situation became known;
she was aware that no one liked him but Jane; and even feared that with the
others it was a dislike which not all his fortune and consequence might do away.
At night she opened her
heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far from Miss Bennets 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 is all to be forgot. Perhaps I did not always love him
so well as I do now. But 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. Elizabeth again, and more seriously assured her of its truth.
Good Heaven! can it
be really so! Yet now I must believe you, cried Jane. My dear, dear
Lizzy, I wouldI do congratulate youbut are you certain? forgive
the questionare you quite certain that you can be happy with him?
There can be no doubt
of that. It is settled 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 either 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
feel 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 better 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 solemn 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. Were it for nothing but his love of you, I must always have esteemed
him; but now, as Bingleys friend and your husband, there can be only Bingley
and yourself more 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 that 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 would no longer conceal from her his share in Lydias marriage.
All was acknowledged, 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. Darcy 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 Bingleys 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?
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. Wont it, Kitty? Kitty owned that she had rather
stay at home. Darcy professed 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 not mind it: it is all for Janes sake, you know; and
there is no occasion for talking to him, except just now and then. So, do not
put yourself to inconvenience.
During their walk, it was
resolved that Mr. Bennets consent should be asked in the
course of the evening. Elizabeth reserved to herself the application for her
mothers. She could not determine 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 sense; 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 fathers
opposition, but he was going to be made unhappy; and that it should be through
her meansthat she, his favourite child, should be distressing him
by her choice, should be filling him with fears and regrets in disposing of
herwas a wretched reflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared
again, when, looking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few
minutes he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while
pretending to admire her work said in a whisper, Go to your father, he
wants you in the library. She was gone directly.
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 awkward to give; but they were now necessary, and she assured
him, with some confusion, 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 fine 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 proud, 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 have 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 would 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 was 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 fathers 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 deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone
less worthy.
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! And so, Darcy did every thing; made up the match, gave the
money, paid the fellows debts, and got him his commission! So much the
better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncles
doing, I must and would have paid him; but these violent young lovers
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 days before, on his reading Mr. Collinss letter; and
after laughing at her some time, allowed her at last to gosaying, as she
quitted the room, If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in,
for I am quite at leisure.
Elizabeths mind was
now relieved from a very heavy weight; and, after half an hours quiet
reflection in her own room, she 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 longer 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 was most extraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat
quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes
that she could 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 them. She began at length to recover, to fidget about
in her chair, get up, sit down 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! Janes is nothing
to itnothing at all. I am so pleasedso 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 charming! 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 only 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 mothers behaviour to the gentleman himself might be; and Elizabeth
found that, though in the certain possession of his warmest affection, and secure
of her relations consent, 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 Janes.
Chapter 60
Elizabeths spirits
soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having
ever fallen in love with her. How could you begin? said she. I
can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made 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 was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.
My beauty you had
early withstood, and as for my mannersmy behaviour to you was at
least always bordering on the uncivil, 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 were always speaking, and looking, and
thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested
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 assiduously courted you. ThereI 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 mebut 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 for 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 return, 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 gave 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 it! 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 effect. Too much, I am afraid; for what becomes
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 Catherines unjustifiable
endeavours to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts. I
am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing
your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of yours.
My aunts intelligence had given me 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 and 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, was 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 sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.
And if I had not a
letter to write myself, 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 answered Mrs. Gardiners long letter; but now, having that
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
more than really existed. But now suppose as much as you choose; give
a loose 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 more than you did in your last. I thank you, again and again, for
not going to the 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 sends you all the love in the world that he can spare from me. You are
all to come to Pemberley at Christmas. Yours, etc.
Mr. Darcys 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 nephew. He has more to give.
Yours sincerely, etc.
Miss Bingleys 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 though 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 brothers
in sending it. Four sides 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. Collins, or any congratulations to Elizabeth from his wife,
the Longbourn family heard 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 angry by the contents of her nephews
letter, that Charlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away
till the storm was blown over. At such a moment, 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 bought, 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 frequently at St. Jamess,
with very decent composure. If he did shrug his shoulders, it was not
till Sir William was out of sight.
Mrs. Phillipss vulgarity
was another, and perhaps 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 Bingleys good humour encouraged, yet, whenever
she did speak, she must be vulgar. Nor was her respect for him,
though it made her more quiet, at all likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth
did all she could to shield him from the frequent notice of either, 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 pleasing to either,
to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at Pemberley.
Chapter 61
Happy for all her maternal
feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two 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; though 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 exceedingly; his affection for her drew him oftener from home than
anything else could do. He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when
he was least expected.
Mr. Bingley and Jane remained
at Netherfield only a twelvemonth. So near a vicinity to her mother and
Meryton relations was not 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 Derbyshire, 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 the 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 Lydias example, she became, by proper attention and management, less
irritable, less ignorant, and less insipid. From the further disadvantage
of Lydias society she was of course carefully kept, and though Mrs. Wickham
frequently invited her to come 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 home; and she was necessarily drawn from the pursuit of accomplishments
by Mrs. Bennets 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 was 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; and 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 half as well as I do my dear Wickham, you must be very happy.
It is a great comfort 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 answer to put an end
to every entreaty and expectation of the kind. Such relief, however,
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 two persons so
extravagant in their wants, and heedless of the future, must be very insufficient
to their support; and whenever they changed their quarters, either Jane or herself
were sure of being applied to for some little assistance towards 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 always moving
from place to place in quest of a cheap situation, and always spending more
than they ought. His affection for her soon sunk into indifference; hers
lasted a little longer; and in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained
all the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her.
Though Darcy could never
receive him at Pemberley, yet, for Elizabeths sake, he assisted
him further in his profession. Lydia was occasionally a visitor there, when
her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath; and with the Bingleys
they both of them frequently staid so long, that even Bingleys
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 Darcys 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 Georgianas
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
listened 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 almost overcame her affection, she now saw the object of open pleasantry.
Her mind received knowledge which had never before fallen in her way. By Elizabeths
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 years
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 sent him language so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth,
that for some time all intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Elizabeths
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
conducted 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 such a mistress, but the visits of her uncle and aunt from the city.
With the Gardiners, they
were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth,
really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude
towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the means
of uniting them.
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