Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen Chapter 1-30, Audiobook with Subtitles

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Chapter 1 of Pride and Prejudice
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 as 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 not you 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 might 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 on 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 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 has 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.
“Don't keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven's 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 fortnight's acquaintance is certainly very little.
One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight.
But if we do not venture somebody else will; and after all, Mrs. Long and her nieces 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 very 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 so 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 acquaintance
every day; but for your sakes, we would do anything.
Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you
at the next ball.”
“Oh!” said Lydia stoutly, “I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest, I'm
the tallest.”
The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return Mr. Bennet's visit,
and determining when they should ask him to dinner.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 ways; with 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. Bingley's 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. Bennet's visit, and sat about ten minutes with him
in his library.
He had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty
he had heard much; but he saw only the father.
The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining from
an upper window, that he wore a blue coat and rode a black horse.
An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched; and already had Mrs. Bennet planned
the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived which
deferred it all.
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 had brought only six with him from London, his
five sisters and a cousin.
And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether; Mr.
Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.
Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected
manners.
His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion.
His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, 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 overhear 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 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; and 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 towards 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 Jane's 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 to be never 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 event of an evening which had raised such splendid expectations.
He had rather hoped that all his wife's views on the stranger would be disappointed;
but he soon found that he had a very 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 enquired 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 God's sake, say no more of his partners.
Oh that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!”
“Oh!
my dear,” continued Mrs. Bennet, “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. Hurst's 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.”
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 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 my life.”
“I would wish not to be hasty in censuring any one; 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 enough;—one meets with it everywhere.
But to be candid without ostentation or design—to take the good of everybody's character and
make it still better, and say nothing of the bad—belongs to you alone.
And so, you like this man's sisters, too, do you?
Their manners are not equal to his.”
“Certainly not; at 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 judgment 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 being agreeable where 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 brother's fortune and their own had been acquired by
trade.
Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his
father, who had intended to 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 very anxious for his having an estate of his own; but though he was now
established only as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no means unwilling to preside at his
table, nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed
to consider his house as her home when it suited her.
Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years, when he was tempted by an accidental recommendation
to look at Netherfield House.
He did look at it, and into it for half an hour, was pleased with the situation and the
principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.
Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of great opposition of
character.
Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though
no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never
appeared dissatisfied.
On the strength of Darcy's regard Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his judgment
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 offence.
The manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently characteristic.
Bingley had never met with pleasanter 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 so—but still they admired her and liked
her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one whom they should not object to know
more of.
Miss Bennet was therefore established as a sweet girl, and their brother felt authorised
by such commendation to think of her as he chose.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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, 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. James's had made
him courteous.
Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a valuable neighbour
to Mrs. Bennet.
They had several children.
The eldest of them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth's
intimate friend.
That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets 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. Bingley's 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 her—indeed I rather believe he did—I heard
something about it—but I hardly know what—something about Mr. Robinson.”
“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it
to you?
Mr. Robinson's asking him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not
think there 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 was very decided indeed—that does seem as if—but, however, it may all
come to nothing, you know.”
“My overhearings were more to the purpose 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 Lizzy's head to be vexed by his ill-treatment, for
he is such a disagreeable man that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him.
Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close to her for half an hour without once opening
his lips.”
“Are you quite sure, ma'am?—is not there a little mistake?” said Jane.
“I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.”
“Aye—because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help
answering her; but she said he seemed very angry at being spoke to.”
“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much unless among his intimate
acquaintance.
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, ma'am, 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 every 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 6
The ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield.
The visit was returned in due form.
Miss Bennet's 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 brother's 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 freely—a 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 woman 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 Jane's disposition as you do.”
“But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must
find it out.”
“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of 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 leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”
“Your plan is a good one,” replied Elizabeth, “where nothing is in question but the desire
of being well married; and if I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare
say I should adopt it.
But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design.
As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard, nor of its reasonableness.
She has known him only a fortnight.
She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house,
and has since dined in company with him 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 been also spent together—and 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. Bingley's attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting
that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend.
Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without
admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise.
But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good
feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by
the beautiful expression of her dark eyes.
To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying.
Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry
in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in
spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was
caught by their easy playfulness.
Of this she was perfectly unaware;—to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable
nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with.
He began to wish to know more of her, and as a step towards conversing with her himself,
attended to her conversation with others.
His doing so drew her notice.
It was at Sir William Lucas's, where a large party were assembled.
“What does Mr. Darcy mean,” said she to Charlotte, “by listening to my conversation
with Colonel Forster?”
“That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.”
“But if he does it any more I shall 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 not you 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 a subject which always 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 Lucas's 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 own 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 societies.”
“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. James's?”
“Never, sir.”
“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”
“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”
“You have a house in town, I conclude?”
Mr. Darcy bowed.
“I had once some thoughts of fixing in town myself—for I am fond of superior society;
but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”
He paused in hopes of an answer; but his companion was not disposed to make any; and Elizabeth
at that instant moving towards them, he was struck with the notion of doing a very gallant
thing, and called out to her,
“My dear Miss Eliza, why are not you 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
complaisance; for 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 manner—in
such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion.
I was never more annoyed!
The insipidity, and yet the noise; the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all these 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 lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony,
in a moment.
I knew you would be wishing me joy.”
“Nay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled.
You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and of course she will be always 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 7
Mr. Bennet's property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two thousand a year, which,
unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed, in default of heirs male, on a distant relation;
and their mother's 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 milliner's 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. Philips 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. Philips visited them all, and this opened to his nieces a source of felicity unknown
before.
They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingley's large fortune, the mention
of which gave animation to their mother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the
regimentals of an ensign.
After listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr. Bennet coolly observed,
“From all that I can collect by your 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 anybody's children, it should not be of my own, however.”
“If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it.”
“Yes—but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.”
“This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree.
I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must so far differ
from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly foolish.”
“My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father
and mother.
When they get to our 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 well—and, 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 William's in his regimentals.”
“Mamma,” cried Lydia, “my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain Carter do
not go so often to Miss Watson's as they did when they first came; she sees them now
very often standing in Clarke's library.”
Mrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a note for Miss
Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited for an answer.
Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was eagerly calling out, while her
daughter read,
“Well, Jane, who is it from?
What is it about?
What does he say?
Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.”
“It is from Miss Bingley,” said Jane, and then read it aloud.
“MY DEAR FRIEND,— “If you are not so compassionate as to 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 day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a
quarrel.
Come as soon as you can on the 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. Bingley's chaise to go to Meryton; and the Hursts have
no horses to theirs.”
“I had much rather go in the coach.”
“But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure.
They are wanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are not they?”
“They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.”
“But if you have got them to-day,” said Elizabeth, “my mother's purpose will be
answered.”
She did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the horses were engaged.
Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her mother attended her to the door with
many cheerful prognostics of a bad day.
Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone 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 home till I am better.
They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones—therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his
having been to me—and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the
matter with me.—Yours, &c.”
“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud, “if your
daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness—if she should die, it would be a comfort to know
that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”
“Oh!
I am not at all 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 Jane—which is all I want.”
“Is this a hint to me, Lizzy,” said her father, “to send for the horses?”
“No, indeed.
I do not wish to avoid the 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 brother's 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 occasion's justifying her coming so far alone.
The latter was thinking only of his breakfast.
Her enquiries 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 beside 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 8
At five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six Elizabeth was
summoned to dinner.
To the civil enquiries which then poured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of
distinguishing the much superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley's, she could not make a very
favourable answer.
Jane was by no means better.
The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved,
how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked being ill themselves;
and then thought no more of the matter: and their indifference towards Jane when not immediately
before them, restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original 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 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 taste, 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 in Meryton.”
“Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.”
“That is capital,” added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.
“If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside,” cried Bingley, “it would not make them one
jot less agreeable.”
“But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration
in the world,” replied 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 friend's vulgar relations.
With a renewal of tenderness, however, they repaired 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 asleep, and when it appeared 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 soon be increased by seeing her quite well.”
Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards a table where a few books
were lying.
He immediately offered to fetch her others; all that his library afforded.
“And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an
idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever looked into.”
Elizabeth assured him that she could suit 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 by 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 Bennet's height, or rather taller.”
“How I long to see her again!
I never met with anybody who delighted me so much.
Such a countenance, such manners!—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 any one 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.
“Eliza 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 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's 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 brother's
proposal; and it was settled that Mr. Jones should be sent for early in the morning, if
Miss Bennet were not decidedly better.
Bingley was quite uncomfortable; his sisters declared that they were miserable.
They solaced their wretchedness, however, by duets after supper, while he could find
no better relief to his feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions that every possible
attention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 9
Elizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister's room, and in the morning had
the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the enquiries 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 judgment 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 daughter's proposal of being carried home; neither did
the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think it at all advisable.
After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss Bingley's appearance and invitation,
the mother and three daughters 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 shall 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 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 that 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!
yes—I 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 necessarily 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 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 not it, 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.”
“Aye—that is because you have the right disposition.
But that gentleman,” looking at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was nothing at all.”
“Indeed, Mama, 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 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 eye towards Mr. Darcy with a very expressive
smile.
Elizabeth, for the sake of saying something that might turn her mother's 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 so easy!
He has 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 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 plain—but then she is our particular friend.”
“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” said Bingley.
“Oh! dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain.
Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane's beauty.
I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane—one does not often see
anybody better looking.
It is what everybody says.
I do not trust my own partiality.
When she was only fifteen, there was a gentleman at my brother Gardiner's in town so much
in love with her, that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an 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 attentions
of the officers, to whom her uncle's good dinners and her own easy manners recommended
her, had increased into assurance.
She was very equal, 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 mother's 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 while she is ill.”
Lydia declared herself satisfied.
“Oh!
yes—it 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 Bingley's witticisms on fine
eyes.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 unison 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 to 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 you—but 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 Grantley's.”
“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again?
At present I have not room to do them justice.”
“Oh!
it is of no consequence.
I shall see her in January.
But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”
“They are generally long; but whether 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 them—by which means my letters
sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.”
“Your humility, Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, “must disarm reproof.”
“Nothing is more deceitful,” said 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 much prized 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 on quitting Netherfield
you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment
to yourself—and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave
very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or any one
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 believed 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 go—and, at another
word, might stay a month.”
“You have only proved by this,” cried Elizabeth, “that Mr. Bingley did not do
justice to his own disposition.
You have shown him off now much more than he did himself.”
“I am exceedingly gratified,” said Bingley, “by your converting what my friend says
into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper.
But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for
he would certainly think the 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 intention 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 readily—easily—to 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 the indulgence
of some music.
Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to the pianoforte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth
would lead the way, which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived, she seated herself.
Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth could not
help observing, as she turned over some music-books that lay on the instrument, how frequently
Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her.
She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man;
and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her, was still more strange.
She could only imagine, however, at last, that she drew his notice because there was
a something about her 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
all—and 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 the 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 Philips 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 Elizabeth's picture, you must not attempt to 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 Bingley's
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 Bingley's 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-table—but in vain.
She had obtained private intelligence that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards; and Mr.
Hurst soon found even his open petition rejected.
She assured him that no one intended to 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 brother's conversation
with Miss Bennet.
Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr. Darcy's progress
through his book, as in reading her own; and she was perpetually either making some enquiry,
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 begins—but 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 other's
confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures
appear to the greatest advantage in walking; if the first, I would be completely in your
way, and if the second, I can admire 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 him—laugh at him.
Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.”
“But upon my honour, I do not.
I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that.
Tease calmness of manner and presence of mind!
No, no; I feel he may defy us there.
And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to 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 men—nay, the wisest and best of their actions—may be
rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.”
“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth—“there are such people, but I hope I am not one of
them.
I hope I never ridicule what is 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 pride—where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.”
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.
“Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss Bingley; “and pray
what is the result?”
“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect.
He owns it himself without disguise.”
“No,” said Darcy, “I have made no such pretension.
I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding.
My temper I dare not vouch for.
It is, I believe, too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world.
I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their 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 evil—a 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 Jane's week, could not bring herself to
receive them with pleasure before.
Her answer, therefore, was not propitious, at least not to Elizabeth's wishes, for
she was impatient to get home.
Mrs. Bennet sent them word that they could 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 resolved—nor 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. Bingley's carriage immediately,
and at length it was settled that their original design of leaving Netherfield that morning
should be mentioned, and the request made.
The communication excited many professions of concern; and enough was said of wishing
them to stay at least till the following day to work on Jane; and till the morrow their
going was deferred.
Miss Bingley was then sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her 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 her—that she was not enough
recovered; but Jane was firm where she felt herself to be right.
To Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence—Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough.
She attracted him more than he liked—and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her, and more
teasing than usual to 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 Bingley's civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection
for Jane; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always
give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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
in—and I hope my dinners are good enough for her.
I do not believe she often sees such at home.”
“The person of whom I speak is a gentleman, and a stranger.”
Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled.
“A gentleman and a stranger!
It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure!
Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley.
But—good Lord!
how unlucky!
There is not a bit of fish to be got to-day.
Lydia, my love, ring the bell—I must speak to Hill this moment.”
“It is not 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 amends—but 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 o'clock, and shall
probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se'ennight 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 o'clock, 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. Collins's 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. Collins's admiration.
The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture, were examined and praised; and his commendation
of everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet's heart, but for the mortifying supposition
of his viewing it all as his own future property.
The dinner too in its turn was highly admired; and he begged to 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 Bourgh's 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 rank—such 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 herself—some
shelves in the closet up stairs.”
“That is all very proper and civil, I am sure,” said Mrs. Bennet, “and I dare say
she is a very agreeable woman.
It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her.
Does she live near you, sir?”
“The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park,
her ladyship's 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 ornament.
Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea; and you may imagine that I am happy on every
occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always 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. Bennet's 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 Fordyce's Sermons.
Lydia gaped as he opened the volume, and before he had, with very monotonous solemnity, read
three pages, she interrupted him with:
“Do you know, mamma, that my uncle 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 Lydia's 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 amends—of atonement—for inheriting their father's 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 Bennet's lovely face confirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions
of what was due to seniority; and for the first evening she was his settled choice.
The next morning, however, made an alteration; for in a quarter of an hour's tête-à-tête
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 say—she could not positively
answer—but she did not know of any prepossession; her eldest daughter, she must just mention—she
felt it incumbent on her to hint, was likely to be very soon engaged.”
Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth—and it was soon done—done while
Mrs. Bennet was stirring the 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.
Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every sister except Mary
agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins was to attend them, at the request of Mr. Bennet,
who was most anxious to get 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 enquire,
and he bowed as they passed.
All were struck with the stranger's 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 conversation—a 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 enquire 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 hat—a salutation which Mr. Darcy just
deigned to return.
What could be the meaning of it?
It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.
In another minute, Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have noticed what passed, took
leave and rode on with his friend.
Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Phillip's
house, and then made their bows, in spite of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that
they should come in, and even in spite of Mrs. Phillips's 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. Jones's shop-boy in the street, who had
told her that they were not to send any more draughts to Netherfield because the Miss Bennets
were come away, when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction
of him.
She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned with as much more, apologising
for his intrusion, without any previous acquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering
himself, however, might be justified by his relationship to the young ladies who introduced
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 enquiries 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 lieutenant's 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. Phillips's
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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 16
As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their aunt, and all Mr. Collins's
scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for a single evening during his visit were most
steadily resisted, the coach conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to
Meryton; and the girls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room,
that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation, and was then in the house.
When this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Mr. Collins was
at leisure to look around him and admire, and he was so much struck with the size and
furniture of the apartment, 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 proprietor—when she had listened to the description of only one of Lady Catherine's
drawing-rooms, and found that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt
all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison with the
housekeeper's room.
In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional
digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and the improvements it was receiving, he
was happily employed until the gentlemen joined them; and he found in Mrs. Phillips a very
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 Lydia's 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 told—the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy.
She dared not even mention that gentleman.
Her curiosity, however, was unexpectedly relieved.
Mr. Wickham began the subject himself.
He enquired 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 astonish—and perhaps you would not
express it quite so strongly anywhere else.
Here you are in your own family.”
“Upon my word, I say no more here than I might say in any house in the 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!
no—it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy.
If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go.
We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason
for avoiding him 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 enquiry.
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 profession—I 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!”
“Yes—the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in
his gift.
He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me.
I cannot do justice to his kindness.
He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell,
it was given elsewhere.”
“Good heavens!”
cried Elizabeth; “but how could that be?
How could his will be disregarded?
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 it—or
to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim
to it by extravagance, imprudence—in short anything or nothing.
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 be—but it shall not be by me.
Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him.”
Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he
expressed them.
“But what,” said she, after a pause, “can have been his motive?
What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?”
“A thorough, determined dislike of me—a dislike which I cannot but attribute in some
measure to jealousy.
Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better; but his
father's uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life.
He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood—the sort of preference
which was often given me.”
“I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this—though I have never liked him.
I had not thought so very ill of him.
I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did 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 amiable”—but 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 to—but he gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy and devoted
all his time to the care of the Pemberley property.
He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend.
Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himself to be under the greatest obligations to my father's
active superintendence, and when, immediately before my father's death, Mr. Darcy gave
him a voluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to be as much
a debt of gratitude to him, as of his affection to myself.”
“How strange!”
cried Elizabeth.
“How abominable!
I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you!
If from no better motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest—for
dishonesty I must call it.”
“It is wonderful,” replied Wickham, “for almost all his actions may be traced to pride;
and pride had often been his best friend.
It has connected him nearer with virtue than with any other feeling.
But we are none of us consistent, and in his behaviour to me there were stronger impulses
even than pride.”
“Can such abominable pride as his have 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 pride—for he is very proud of what his father was—have 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 brother—very, 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 father's 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 agreeable—allowing 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 enquiries as to his success were 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. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Collins for a few moments,
he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation was very intimately acquainted
with the family of de Bourgh.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” she 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 Catherine's connections.
I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday.”
“Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that
she and her cousin will unite 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 of 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. Wickham's attentions.
There could be no conversation in the noise of Mrs. Phillips's 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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. Bingley's 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 father's 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. Bingley's 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 indeed—it 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 point—that 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. Bennet's 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 their brother; and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr.
Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr. Darcy's look and behaviour.
The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended less on any single event, or
any particular person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the 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 enough—I 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.”
Elizabeth's 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. Bingley's invitation, and if he did, whether he would think it proper to join in
the evening's 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. Wickham's happiness and her own were perforce delayed a little longer, and Mr.
Collins's proposal accepted with as good a grace as she could.
She was not the better pleased with his gallantry from the idea it suggested of something more.
It now first struck her, that she 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 after—the 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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. Darcy's
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 Wickham's 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 enquiries
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
éclat 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 friends—whether 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 William's allusion
to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious
expression towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together.
Recovering himself, however, shortly, he turned to his partner, and said, “Sir William's
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.
“Books—oh!
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.”
“No—I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.”
“The present always occupies you in such scenes—does it?” said he, with a look
of doubt.
“Yes, always,” she replied, without knowing what she said, for her thoughts had wandered
far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, “I remember
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 Darcy's breast there was a tolerably
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. Darcy's steward.
Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his
assertions; for as to Mr. Darcy's 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 favourite's 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. Darcy's 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 interference—it 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 had undertaken to make enquiries 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 Jane's being
in the fairest way for happiness.
“I want to know,” said she, with a countenance no less smiling than her sister's, “what
you have learnt 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 sister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man.
I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy's 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. Bingley's sincerity,” said Elizabeth warmly; “but you must excuse
my not being convinced by assurances only.
Mr. Bingley's defense of his friend was a very able one, I dare say; but since he
is unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from that friend
himself, I shall venture to still think of both gentlemen as I did before.”
She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each, and on which there could
be no difference of sentiment.
Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained
of Mr. Bingley's regard, and said all in her power to heighten her confidence in it.
On their being joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew to Miss Lucas; to whose
enquiry 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 Catherine's nephew.
It will be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday se'nnight.”
Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme, assuring him that Mr. Darcy
would consider his addressing him 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 kingdom—provided that a proper
humility of behaviour is at the same time maintained.
You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates of my 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. Darcy's 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 Catherine's discernment as to be certain she could never
bestow a favour unworthily.
It was really a very handsome thought.
Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him.”
As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned her attention
almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley; and the train of agreeable reflections which
her observations gave birth to, made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane.
She saw her in idea 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 Bingley's two sisters.
Her mother's thoughts she plainly saw were bent the same way, and she determined not
to venture near her, lest she might hear 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 Jane's 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 mother's words, or persuade
her to describe her felicity in a less audible whisper; for, to her inexpressible vexation,
she could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite to
them.
Her mother only scolded her for being nonsensical.
“What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I 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 heaven's 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.
Elizabeth's 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.
Mary's 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 father's 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
manners towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment.
I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an
occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with 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 stared—many 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. Collins's conversation to herself.
She was at least free from the offense of Mr. Darcy's further notice; though often
standing within a very short distance of her, quite disengaged, he never came near enough
to speak.
She felt it to be the probable consequence of her allusions to Mr. Wickham, and rejoiced
in 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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!—yes—certainly.
I am sure Lizzy will be very happy—I am sure she can have no objection.
Come, Kitty, I want you up stairs.”
And, gathering her work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out:
“Dear madam, do not go.
I beg you will not go.
Mr. Collins must excuse me.
He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear.
I am going away myself.”
“No, no, nonsense, Lizzy.
I desire you to stay where you are.”
And upon Elizabeth's seeming really, with vexed and embarrassed looks, about to escape,
she added: “Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth would not oppose such an injunction—and a moment's consideration making her also
sensible that it would be wisest to get it over as soon and as quietly as possible, she
sat down again and 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 mother's 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 marrying—and, moreover, for coming into Hertfordshire with
the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did.”
The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his solemn composure, being run away with by his feelings,
made Elizabeth so near laughing, that she could not use the short pause he allowed in
any attempt to stop him further, and he continued:
“My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman
in easy circumstances (like 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 thirdly—which
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 Hunsford—between our
pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh's 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 place—which, 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 mother's 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 gravely—“but
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
of 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 behaviour at least could not be mistaken for
the affectation and coquetry of an elegant female.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 well—and this offer of marriage you have refused?”
“I have, sir.”
“Very well.
We now come to the point.
Your mother insists upon your accepting it.
Is it not so, Mrs. Bennet?”
“Yes, or I will never see her again.”
“An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth.
From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents.
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 mother's
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.”
Charlotte's 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 Lizzy—if you take it into your head to go on refusing every offer
of marriage in this way, you will never get a husband at all—and I am sure I do not
know who is to maintain you when your father is dead.
I shall not be able to keep you—and so I warn you.
I have done with you from this very day.
I told you in the library, you know, that I should never speak to you again, and you
will 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 enquiries 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 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 daughter's favour, without having paid yourself
and Mr. Bennet the compliment of requesting you to interpose your authority in my behalf.
My conduct may, I fear, be objectionable in having accepted my dismission from your daughter's
lips instead of your own.
But we are all liable to error.
I have certainly meant well through the 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.”
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 21
The discussion of Mr. Collins's offer was now nearly at an end, and Elizabeth had only
to suffer from the uncomfortable feelings necessarily attending it, and occasionally
from some peevish allusions of her mother.
As for the gentleman himself, his feelings were chiefly expressed, not by embarrassment
or dejection, or by trying to avoid her, but by stiffness of manner and resentful silence.
He scarcely ever spoke to her, and the 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. Bennet's ill-humour or ill health.
Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride.
Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might shorten his visit, but his plan did not appear
in the least affected by it.
He was always to have gone on Saturday, and to Saturday he meant to stay.
After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to enquire 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 aunt's 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 lady's fair, flowing hand; and Elizabeth saw her sister's countenance change as she
read it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages.
Jane recollected herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to join with her usual
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 up stairs.
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 town—and without
any intention of coming back again.
You shall hear what she says.”
She then read the first sentence aloud, which comprised the information of their having
just resolved to follow their 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. Bingley's
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 crowd—but of that I
despair.
I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season
generally brings, and that your beaux will be so numerous as to 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 sister's partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable
of engaging any woman's 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 brother's 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 Caroline's 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.
Jane's temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope, though the diffidence
of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that Bingley would return to Netherfield and
answer every wish of her heart.
They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only hear of the departure of the family, without being
alarmed on the score of the gentleman's conduct; but even this partial communication
gave her a great 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 Charlotte's kindness extended farther than Elizabeth had any conception
of; its object was nothing else than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collins's addresses,
by engaging them towards herself.
Such was Miss Lucas's scheme; and appearances were so favourable, that when they parted
at night, she would have felt almost secure of 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. Collins's 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. Collins's 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. James's.
The whole family, in short, were properly overjoyed on the occasion.
The younger girls formed hopes of coming out a year or two sooner than they might otherwise
have done; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte's dying
an old maid.
Charlotte herself was tolerably composed.
She had gained her point, and had time to consider of it.
Her reflections were in general satisfactory.
Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and
his attachment to her must be imaginary.
But still he would be her husband.
Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was
the only provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain
of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want.
This 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 Catherine's disapprobation here, my good sir?
You had better neglect your relations than run the risk of offending your patroness.”
“My dear sir,” replied Mr. Collins, “I am particularly obliged to you for this friendly
caution, and you may depend upon my not taking so material a step without her ladyship's
concurrence.”
“You cannot be too much upon your guard.
Risk anything rather than her displeasure; and if you find it likely to be 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. Collins's 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 Charlotte—impossible!”
The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her story, gave way to
a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct a reproach; though, as it was no more
than she expected, she soon regained her composure, and calmly replied:
“Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza?
Do you think it incredible that Mr. Collins should be able to procure any woman's good
opinion, because he was not so happy as to succeed with you?”
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 surprised—so 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. Collins's character, connection, and
situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as
most people can boast on entering the 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. Collins's making two offers of marriage within three days was
nothing in comparison of his being now accepted.
She had always felt that Charlotte's opinion of matrimony was not exactly like her own,
but she had not supposed it to be possible that, when called into action, she would have
sacrificed 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 matter—to an audience not merely wondering, but incredulous; for
Mrs. Bennet, with more perseverance than politeness, protested he must be entirely mistaken; and
Lydia, always unguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed:
“Good Lord!
Sir William, how can you tell such a story?
Do not you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?”
Nothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could have borne without anger such treatment;
but Sir William's 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. Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and such as he did experience
he pronounced to be of a most agreeable sort; for it gratified him, he said, to discover
that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had been used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish
as his wife, and more foolish than his daughter!
Jane confessed herself a little surprised at 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. Bennet's sour looks and ill-natured
remarks might have been enough to drive happiness away.
Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them mutually silent
on the subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no real confidence could ever subsist
between them again.
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 twelvemonth's abode in the family
might have prompted.
After discharging his conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many rapturous
expressions, of his happiness in having obtained the affection of their amiable neighbour,
Miss Lucas, and then explained that it was merely with the view of enjoying her society
that he had been so ready to close with their kind wish of seeing 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. Collins's return into Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of pleasure to Mrs.
Bennet.
On the contrary, she was as much disposed to complain of it as her husband.
It was very strange that he 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. Bingley's continued absence.
Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject.
Day after day passed away without bringing any other tidings of him than the report which
shortly prevailed in Meryton of his coming no 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 fear—not that Bingley was indifferent—but that his sisters would
be successful in keeping him away.
Unwilling as she was to admit an idea so destructive of Jane's happiness, 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 Elizabeth's,
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 Jane's 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 one's 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 24
Miss Bingley's letter arrived, and put an end to doubt.
The very first sentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in London for the
winter, and concluded with her brother's regret at not having had time to pay his 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 Darcy's 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 brother's being an inmate of Mr. Darcy's
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 Caroline's assertion of her brother's being partial to Miss Darcy she paid no credit.
That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she had ever done; and much as
she had always been disposed to like him, she could not think without anger, hardly
without contempt, on that easiness of temper, that 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 sister's was involved in it, as
she thought he must be sensible himself.
It was a subject, in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and must be unavailing.
She could think of nothing else; and yet whether Bingley's regard had really died away, or
were suppressed by his friends' interference; whether he had been aware of Jane's attachment,
or whether it had escaped his observation; whatever were the case, though her opinion
of him must be materially affected by the difference, her sister's situation remained
the same, her peace equally wounded.
A day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth; but
at last, on Mrs. Bennet's leaving 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, therefore—I shall certainly try to get the better.”
With a stronger voice she soon added, “I have this comfort immediately, that it has
not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it has done no harm to anyone
but myself.”
“My dear Jane!”
exclaimed Elizabeth, “you are too good.
Your sweetness and disinterestedness are really angelic; I do not know what to say to you.
I feel as if I had never done you justice, or loved you as you deserve.”
Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back the praise on her sister's
warm affection.
“Nay,” said Elizabeth, “this is not fair.
You wish to think all the world respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of anybody.
I only want to think you perfect, and you set yourself against it.
Do not be afraid of my running into any excess, of my encroaching on your 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 Charlotte's
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. Collins's respectability, and Charlotte's 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 everybody's 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. Bingley's 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 people's feelings, and want of resolution,
will do the business.”
“And do you impute it to either of those?”
“Yes; to the last.
But if I go on, I shall displease you by saying what I think of persons you esteem.
Stop me whilst you can.”
“You persist, then, in supposing his 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 brother's.
What sister would think herself at liberty to do it, unless there were something very
objectionable?
If they believed him attached to me, they would not try to part us; if he were so, they
could not succeed.
By supposing such an 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 mistaken—or, at least, it is light, it is nothing in comparison
of what I should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters.
Let me take it in the best light, in the light in which it may be understood.”
Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley's 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. Bennet's best comfort was that Mr. Bingley must be down again in the summer.
Mr. Bennet treated the matter differently.
“So, Lizzy,” said he one day, “your sister is crossed in 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 Jane's 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. Wickham's society was of material service in dispelling the gloom which the late perverse
occurrences had thrown on many of the Longbourn family.
They saw him often, and to his other recommendations was now added that of general unreserve.
The whole of what Elizabeth had 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 mistakes—but by everybody else Mr. Darcy
was condemned as the worst of men.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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. Gardiner's 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. Collins's wife by this time, had
it not been for her own perverseness.
He made her an offer in this very room, and she refused him.
The consequence of it is, that Lady Lucas 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 Elizabeth's 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-hour's acquaintance, as to a
real, strong attachment.
Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingley's love?”
“I never saw a more promising inclination; he was growing quite inattentive to other
people, and wholly engrossed by her.
Every time they met, it was more decided and remarkable.
At his own ball he offended two or three young ladies, by not asking them to dance; and I
spoke to him twice myself, without receiving an answer.
Could there be finer symptoms?
Is not general incivility the very essence of love?”
“Oh, yes!—of that kind of love which I 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 service—and perhaps a little relief from home may be as
useful as anything.”
Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal, and felt persuaded of her sister's
ready acquiescence.
“I hope,” added Mrs. Gardiner, “that no consideration with regard to this young
man will influence 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 month's ablution enough to cleanse him from its impurities, were he once
to enter it; and depend upon it, Mr. Bingley never stirs without him.”
“So much the better.
I hope they will not meet at all.
But does not Jane correspond with his sister?
She will not be able to help calling.”
“She will drop the acquaintance entirely.”
But in spite of the certainty in which Elizabeth affected to place this point, as well as the
still more interesting one of Bingley's being withheld from seeing Jane, she felt
a solicitude on the 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
Jane's attractions.
Miss Bennet accepted her aunt's invitation with pleasure; and the Bingleys were no otherwise
in her thoughts at the same time, than as she hoped by Caroline's 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 it—of which
officers Mr. Wickham was sure to be one; and on these occasions, Mrs. Gardiner, rendered
suspicious by Elizabeth's 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 Darcy's 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. Darcy's treatment of him, she tried
to remember some of that gentleman's reputed disposition when quite a lad which might agree
with it, and was confident at last that she recollected having heard Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy
formerly spoken of as a very proud, ill-natured boy.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 26
Mrs. Gardiner's caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given on the first favourable
opportunity of speaking to her alone; after honestly telling her what she thought, she
thus went on:
“You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to 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 saw—and if he becomes
really attached to me—I believe it will be better that he should not.
I see the imprudence of it.
Oh! that abominable Mr. Darcy!
My father's 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 mother's 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 mother's 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.
Charlotte's first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness; there could
not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of her new home, how she would like
Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare pronounce herself 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 Catherine's
behaviour was most friendly and obliging.
It was Mr. Collins's picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened; and Elizabeth
perceived that she must wait for her own visit there to know the rest.
Jane had already written a few lines to her 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 enquired 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 sister's being
in town.
Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him.
She endeavoured to persuade herself that she did not regret it; but she could no longer
be blind to Miss Bingley's inattention.
After waiting at 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 Bingley's
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 happy—your 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. Darcy's
sister, as by Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown
away.
Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded 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 Charlotte's, 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.”
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen 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 Charlotte's
first sketch.
She was to accompany Sir William and his second daughter.
The improvement of spending a night in London was added in time, and the plan became perfect
as plan could be.
The only pain was in leaving her father, who 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 her—their
opinion of everybody—would 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 William's too long.
He could tell her nothing new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood; and his
civilities were worn out, like his 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. Gardiner's 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 cousin's
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 enquiries, 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 Bingley's 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 Wickham's desertion, and complimented her on bearing
it so well.
“But my dear Elizabeth,” she added, “what sort of girl is Miss King?
I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary.”
“Pray, my dear aunt, what is the 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 grandfather's death made her mistress
of this fortune.”
“No—why 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 herself—sense or feeling.”
“Well,” cried Elizabeth, “have it as you choose.
He shall be mercenary, and she shall be foolish.”
“No, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose.
I should be sorry, you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.”
“Oh! if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire;
and their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better.
I am sick of them all.
Thank 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 gone—we 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.”
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 28
Every object in the next day's journey was new and interesting to Elizabeth; and her
spirits were in a state of enjoyment; for she had seen her sister looking so well as
to banish all fear for her health, and the prospect of her northern tour was a constant
source of delight.
When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the
Parsonage, and every turning 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 cousin's 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 enquiries 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 wife's
offers of refreshment.
Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; and she could not help in fancying that in
displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed
himself particularly to her, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing
him.
But though everything seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him by any sigh
of repentance, and rather looked with wonder at her friend that she 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 husband's 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 Charlotte's evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth supposed he must be often forgotten.
She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country.
It was spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins joining in, observed:
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh
on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will be delighted with her.
She is all affability and condescension, and I doubt not but you will be honoured with
some portion 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 ladyship's carriage is regularly ordered for us.
I should say, one of her ladyship's 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 Charlotte's degree of contentment, to understand her address
in guiding, and composure in bearing with, her husband, and to acknowledge that it was
all done very 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 up stairs 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 Elizabeth's 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.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 29
Mr. Collins's 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 Catherine's condescension, as he knew not how to admire enough.
“I confess,” said he, “that I should not have been at all surprised by her ladyship's
asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at Rosings.
I rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it would happen.
But who could have 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 rest—there
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.
James's.
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, Maria's alarm was every moment increasing,
and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm.
Elizabeth's 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. James's, 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 Elizabeth's
mind; and from the observation of the day altogether, she believed Lady Catherine to
be exactly what he represented.
When, after examining the mother, in whose countenance and deportment she soon found
some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes on the daughter, she could almost
have joined in Maria's astonishment at her being so thin and so small.
There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the ladies.
Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly; 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 ladyship's 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 Bourgh—the 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 enquired into Charlotte's domestic concerns familiarly and minutely, gave her a great
deal of advice as to the management of them all; told her how everything ought to be regulated
in so small a family as hers, and instructed her as to the care of her cows and her poultry.
Elizabeth found that nothing was beneath this great lady's attention, which could furnish
her 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 mother's maiden name?
Elizabeth felt all the impertinence of her questions but answered them very composedly.
Lady Catherine then observed,
“Your father's 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 Bourgh's family.
Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?”
“A little.”
“Oh! then—some time or other we shall be happy to hear you.
Our instrument is a capital one, probably superior to——You shall try it some day.
Do your sisters play and sing?”
“One of them does.”
“Why did not you all learn?
You ought all to have learned.
The Miss Webbs all play, and their father has not so good an income as yours.
Do you draw?”
“No, not at all.”
“What, none of you?”
“Not one.”
“That is very strange.
But I suppose you had no opportunity.
Your mother should have taken you to town every spring for the benefit of masters.”
“My mother would have had no objection, 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 Metcalf's calling yesterday to thank me?
She finds Miss Pope a treasure.
'Lady Catherine,' said she, 'you have given me a treasure.'
Are any of your younger sisters out, Miss Bennet?”
“Yes, ma'am, all.”
“All!
What, all five out at once?
Very 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, ma'am, 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 as 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 Bourgh's 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 speaking—stating 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. Collins's side and as many bows on Sir William's they
departed.
As soon as they had driven from the door, Elizabeth was called on by her cousin to give
her opinion of all that she had seen at Rosings, which, for Charlotte's sake, she made more
favourable than it really was.
But her commendation, though costing her some trouble, could by no means satisfy Mr. Collins,
and he was very soon obliged to take her ladyship's praise into his own hands.
Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 30
Sir William stayed only a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long enough to convince
him of his daughter's 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. Collins's joints of meat were too large for her family.
Elizabeth soon perceived, that though this great lady was not in the 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. Collins's reach.
This, however, was no evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent her time comfortably
enough; there were half-hours of pleasant conversation with Charlotte, and the weather
was so fine for the time of year that she had often great enjoyment out of doors.
Her favourite walk, and where she frequently went while the others were calling on Lady
Catherine, was along the open grove which edged that 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 Catherine's 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 Bingley's 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 husband's 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 Hertfordshire—paid 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 enquire of Elizabeth after
the health of her family.
She answered him in the usual way, and after a moment's pause, added:
“My eldest sister has been in town these three months.
Have you never happened to see her there?”
She was perfectly sensible that he never had; but she wished to see whether he would betray
any consciousness of what had 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.