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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 inquired how far Netherfield was from
Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr.
Darcy had been staying there.
"About a month," said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let the subject drop, added,
"He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand."
"Yes," replied Mr. Wickham; "his estate there is a noble one.
A clear ten thousand per annum.
You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information
on that head than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a particular
manner from my infancy."
Elizabeth could not but look surprised. "You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at
such an assertion, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our
meeting yesterday.
Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?" "As much as I ever wish to be," cried
Elizabeth very warmly.
"I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think him very
disagreeable."
"I have no right to give my opinion," said Wickham, "as to his being agreeable or
otherwise. I am not qualified to form one.
I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge.
It is impossible for me to be impartial.
But I believe your opinion of him would in general 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 inquiry.
Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the neighbourhood, the
society, appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the
latter with gentle but very intelligible gallantry.
"It was the prospect of constant society, and good society," he added, "which was my
chief inducement to enter the ----shire.
I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny
tempted me further by his account of their present quarters, and the very great
attentions and excellent acquaintances Meryton had procured them.
Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my
spirits will not bear solitude.
I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended
for, but circumstances have now made it eligible.
The church ought to have been my 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 inquiries as to his success was made by the latter.
It had not been very great; he had lost every point; but when Mrs. Phillips began
to express her concern thereupon, he assured her with much earnest gravity that
it was not of the least importance, that he
considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged that she would not make herself
uneasy.
"I know very well, madam," said he, "that when persons sit down to a card-table, they
must take their chances of these things, and happily I am not in such circumstances
as to make five shillings any object.
There are undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady Catherine
de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters."
Mr. 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 for her nephew, who chooses that everyone connected with him should have an
understanding of the first class."
Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and they continued
talking together, with mutual satisfaction till supper put an end to cards, and gave
the rest of the ladies their share of Mr. 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.
>
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 her 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 behavior.
The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia depended less on any single event, or
any particular person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half
the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no
means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball was, at any rate, a ball.
And even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it.
"While I can have my mornings to myself," said she, "it is 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.
>
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
inquiries which he directly afterwards approached to make.
Attendance, forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to Wickham.
She was resolved against any sort of conversation with him, and turned away with
a degree of ill-humour which she could not wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr.
Bingley, whose blind partiality provoked her.
But Elizabeth was not formed for ill- humour; and though every prospect of her
own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on her spirits; and having
told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas,
whom she had not seen for a week, she was soon able to make a voluntary transition to
the oddities of her cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice.
The first two dances, however, brought a return of distress; they were dances of
mortification.
Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologising instead of attending, and often
moving wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a
disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give.
The moment of her release from him was ecstasy.
She danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment of talking of Wickham, and
of hearing that he was universally liked.
When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation
with her, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy who took her so much
by surprise in his application for her
hand, that, without knowing what she did, she accepted him.
He walked away again immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of
presence of mind; Charlotte tried to console her:
"I dare say you will find him very agreeable."
"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of
all!
To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!
Do not wish me such an evil."
When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to claim her hand,
Charlotte could not help cautioning her in a whisper, not to be a simpleton, and allow
her fancy for Wickham to make her appear
unpleasant in the eyes of a man ten times his consequence.
Elizabeth made no answer, and took her place in the set, amazed at the dignity to
which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and reading in
her neighbours' looks, their equal amazement in beholding it.
They stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began to imagine that their
silence was to last through the two dances, and at first was resolved not to break it;
till suddenly fancying that it would be the
greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, she made some slight
observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent.
After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time with:--"It is
your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.
I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some sort of remark on the size of the
room, or the number of couples." He smiled, and assured her that whatever
she wished him to say should be said.
"Very well. That reply will do for the present.
Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than
public ones.
But now we may be silent." "Do you talk by rule, then, while you are
dancing?" "Sometimes.
One must speak a little, you know.
It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for the
advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the
trouble of saying as little as possible."
"Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that
you are gratifying mine?"
"Both," replied Elizabeth archly; "for I have always seen a great similarity in the
turn of our minds.
We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we
expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity
with all the eclat of a proverb."
"This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure," said he.
"How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say.
You think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."
"I must not decide on my own performance."
He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone down the dance,
when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Meryton.
She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist the temptation, added,
"When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."
The effect was immediate.
A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, but he said not a word, and
Elizabeth, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on.
At length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with
such happy manners as may ensure his making 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 tolerable powerful feeling towards
her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against another.
They had not long separated, when Miss Bingley came towards her, and with an
expression of civil disdain accosted her:
"So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham!
Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions;
and I find that the young man quite forgot to tell you, among his other communication,
that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. 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 has undertaken to make inquiries on the same
subject of Bingley.
Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy
expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the occurrences of
the evening.
Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment solicitude for Wickham,
resentment against his enemies, and everything else, gave way before the hope
of 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 inquiry after the pleasantness of her last partner she had scarcely replied,
before Mr. Collins came up to them, and
told her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate as to make a most
important discovery.
"I have found out," said he, "by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a
near relation of my patroness.
I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who
does the honours of the house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her
mother Lady Catherine.
How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with,
perhaps, a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly!
I am most thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my respects to
him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done it
before.
My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology."
"You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy!"
"Indeed I am.
I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it earlier.
I believe him to be Lady 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 manner towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes
his preferment.
I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an
occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family."
And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud
as to be heard by half the room.
Many 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.
>
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 upstairs." And, gathering her work together, she was
hastening away, when Elizabeth called out: "Dear madam, do not go.
I beg you will not go.
Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that
anybody need not hear. I am going away myself."
"No, no, nonsense, Lizzy.
I desire you to stay where you are." And upon 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