Джейн Остин
Pride and Prejudice / Гордость и предубеждение

© Загородняя И. Б., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2022

© ООО «ИД «Антология», 2022

Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged[1], that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want[2] of a wife.

As soon as such a man first enters a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

“Do you not want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife impatiently.

“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

“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 to see the place, and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately. He is taking possession before Michaelmas[3], and some of his servants are going 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! 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?”

“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 better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley may like you the best of the party.”

“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had some beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to stop 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.

Consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them. It will be impossible for us to visit him if you do not.”

“You are over-scrupulous, surely. 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[4] 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 are all silly and ignorant like other girls,” replied he, “but Lizzy has something more of quickness[5] than her sisters.”

“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these last twenty years at least.”

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick mind, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice[6], that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to interpret. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.

Chapter 2

Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who visited Mr. Bingley. He had always intended to visit him, though to the last[7] 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 busy decorating a hat, he suddenly addressed her with:

“I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”

“We cannot know what Mr. Bingley likes,” said her mother resentfully, “since we are not to visit.”

“But you forget, mamma,” said Elizabeth, “that we will meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long promised to introduce him.”

“I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion[8] of her.”

“No more have I,” said Mr. Bennet; “and I am glad to find that you do not depend on her help.”

Mrs. Bennet did not make any reply, but, unable to contain herself, began scolding one of her daughters.

“Don't keep coughing so, Kitty! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”

“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs; she times them ill,”[9] said her father.

“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Kitty irritably. “When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?”

“In two weeks.”

“Oh, 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 am sick of Mr. Bingley now,” cried his wife.

“I am sorry to hear that; but why did not you tell me that before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”

The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished. But when the first tumult of joy was over, Mrs. Bennet began to declare that it was what she had expected all the while.

“My dear Mr. Bennet! 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 delights of his wife.

“What an excellent father you have, girls!” said she, when the door was shut. “Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.”

“Oh!” said Lydia resolutely, “I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest, I'm the tallest.”

The rest of the evening was spent in guessing how soon he would return Mr. Bennet's visit, and determining when they should ask him to dinner.

Chapter 3

Neither Mrs. Bennet nor her five daughters could draw from Mr. Bennet any satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. At last they had to accept the second-hand information of their neighbour, Lady Lucas. Her report was highly favourable. Her husband – Sir William – had been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole,[10] he was going 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.

“If I can only see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,” said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, “and all the others equally well married, I will 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.

An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards sent to Mr. Bingley. But soon an answer arrived. 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 upset. 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 saying that he had gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon followed that Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of ladies, but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve he brought only six with him from 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 easy manners. His sisters were fine women. 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 appearance, and five minutes after his entrance it was known that he had ten thousand a year. He was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening. Then he was discovered to be proud; to be above his company[11]; and not all his large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from 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, and was angry that the ball closed so early. 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, didn't want to be 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.

Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the lack of gentlemen, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.

“Come, Darcy,” said he, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. Please dance.”

“I certainly will not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”

“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Mr. Bingley. “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 seen! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” and turning round he looked for a moment at Elizabeth. Then he coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth remained with no very cordial feelings toward him. She told the story, however, with great spirit[12] among her friends; for she had a lively, playful disposition.

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 never to be without partners, which was all that they had yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they were the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. He wanted to know of the events of an evening which had raised such splendid expectations.

“Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet,” as she entered the room, “we have had a very delightful evening, a very 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! 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! Then he danced with Miss King, and then with Maria Lucas, and then with Jane again, and then with Lizzy, and —”

“If he had had any compassion for me,” cried her husband impatiently, “he would not have danced so much! For God's sake,[13] say no more of his partners.”

“Oh, my dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. Mrs. Hurst's gown —”

Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any description of finery. So she related, with 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. He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance with! I quite detest the man.”

Chapter 4

When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, Jane 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!”

“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? Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I allow you to like him. You have liked many stupider men.”

“Dear Lizzy!”

“Oh! You never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in your life.”

“I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak what I think.”

“I know you do; and it is that which makes the wonder. With your good sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others! 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 going to live with her brother, and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we will 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 softness of temper than her sister, and with a judgement unaffected by any attention to herself, she was very little disposed to approve them. They were in fact very fine ladies; not lacking in good humour when they were pleased, nor in the power of making themselves agreeable when they chose it, but proud and arrogant. 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 died. Mr. Bingley intended it likewise; but as he was now provided with a good house, 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.

His sisters were anxious for his having an estate of his own; but, though he was now only a tenant, Miss Bingley was not unwilling to preside at his table[14] – nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man of more fashion than fortune,[15] less disposed to consider his house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years,[16] when he received an accidental recommendation to look at Netherfield House. He did look at it, and 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. Darcy liked Bingley for the easiness, openness, and flexibility of his temper, though it was a great contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied. Bingley had the highest opinion of Darcy's judgement. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was not deficient[17], but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners 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 more pleasant people or prettier girls in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive to him; there had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted with all the room; and, as to Miss Bennet, he could not imagine 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 would not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore established as a sweet girl, and their brother was allowed to think of her as he chose.

Chapter 5

Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in Meryton, where he had made a good fortune, and risen to the honour of knighthood[18] by an address to the king during his mayoralty. The distinction had given him a disgust to his business, and to his residence in a small market town. He had removed with his family to a house about a mile from Meryton, named from that period Lucas Lodge, where he could think with pleasure of his own importance. Though elated by his rank, it did not make him arrogant; on the contrary, he was all attention to everybody.

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 to Miss Lucas. “ You were Mr. Bingley's first choice.”

“Yes; but he seemed to like his second better.”

“You mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. That did seem as if he admired her – I heard something about it.”

“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it to you? Mr. Robinson asked him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not think there were very many pretty women in the room, and which he thought the prettiest, and he answered immediately to the last question: 'Oh, the eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions on that point.'”

“Upon my word![19] Well, that is very decided – but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know.”

“My overhearings were more to the purpose[20] 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?” said Jane. “I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.”

“Yes – because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he could not help answering her.”

“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate acquaintances. With them he is remarkably agreeable.”

“I do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is eaten up with pride[21], 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[22].”

“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 such a fine young man, with family and fortune, 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, “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. 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 would not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine a day.”

“Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,” said Mrs. Bennet; “and if I saw you at it, I would take away your bottle directly.”

The boy protested that she would not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.

Chapter 6

The ladies of Longbourn soon visited those of Netherfield. Miss Bennet's pleasing manners were liked by 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 arrogance in their treatment of everybody, and could not like them; though their kindness to Jane arose 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 would soon be very much in love. But she considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered by everyone, since Jane combined, with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and a cheerfulness of manner which would guard her from the suspicions of the impudent. She mentioned this to her friend Miss Lucas.

“It may perhaps be pleasant,” replied Charlotte, “to be able to deceive 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. 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 allows. If I can perceive her regard for him,[23] he must be a simpleton, indeed, not to discover it too.”

“Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do. 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[24] every half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him,[25] there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses.”

“Your plan is a good one,” replied Elizabeth, “where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I would adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet,[26] she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard nor of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand his character.”

“Not as you represent it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must remember that four evenings have also been spent together – and four evenings may do a lot. I believe happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance; 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. At first, Mr. Darcy had looked at her without admiration. But soon he began to find that her face was uncommonly intelligent through the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. He was also forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing. 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 will certainly let him know that I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye,[27] and if I do not begin by being impudent myself, I will soon grow afraid of him.”

On his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have any intention of speaking, Elizabeth turned to him and said:

“Did you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”

“With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady energetic.”

“You are severe on us.”

“It will be her turn soon to be teased,” said Miss Lucas. “I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.”

Before she could reply, her sister Mary, who was always impatient for display, started playing on the pianoforte[28].

Mary had neither genius nor taste; but she had a pedantic air and conceited manner, which would have been good for a higher degree of excellence than she had reached. At the end of a long concerto, Mary was glad to purchase praise by Scotch and Irish airs[29], 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 way of passing the evening, and was too much engrossed by his thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas was his neighbour, till Sir William thus began:

“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished society.”[30]

“Certainly, sir; and it is also 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, seeing Bingley join the group; “and I doubt not that you are an adept[31] 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.”

At that instant Elizabeth was moving towards them, and Sir William called out to her:

“My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he was going to give it to Mr. Darcy who, though extremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly drew back, and said with some discontent 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,[32] requested to be allowed the honour of her hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined.

She looked playfully, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured her with the gentleman,[33] and he was thinking of her with some contentment, when thus approached by Miss Bingley:

“I can guess the subject of your thought.”

“I do not think you can.”

“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 boredom, and yet the noise – the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What would I give to hear your criticisms of them!”

“Your supposition 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 give.”

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:

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley. “I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite? – and 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.”

“Well, if you are serious about it, I will consider the matter absolutely settled. You will be having a charming mother-in-law, indeed; and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with you.”

He listened to her with perfect indifference while she chose to entertain herself in this manner; and as his composure convinced her that all was safe, her wit flowed long[34].

Chapter 7

Mr. Bennet's property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two thousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was inherited, in default of heirs male,[35] by a distant relation; and their mother's fortune could not 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, who was in trade and settled in London.

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most convenient distance for the young ladies, who usually went there three or four times a week, to pay a visit to their aunt and to a milliner's shop[36] just over the way. The two youngest of the family, Catherine and Lydia, were particularly frequent visitors. 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 provide conversation for the evening. They always learnt some news from their aunt. At present, indeed, they were well supplied both with news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment[37] in the neighbourhood. It was going to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was the headquarters.

Their visits to Mrs. Phillips now added something to their knowledge of the officers' names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret, and soon they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Phillips visited them all, and this opened to his nieces joy unknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers.

After listening one morning to their talk 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 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 are so ready to think your own children silly. All of them are very clever.”

“This is the only point, I flatter myself,[38] 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, 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. If a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, wants one of my girls I will not say no to him; and I thought Colonel Forster looked very charming the other night at Sir William's in his regimentals.”

Mrs. Bennet was interrupted 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 do not dine to-day with Louisa and me, we will 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 receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are going 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.

“I would prefer to go in the coach,” said Jane.

“But, my dear, the horses are wanted in the farm. Mr. Bennet, are they not?”

“They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.”

“But if you have got them to-day,” said Elizabeth, “my mother will be satisfied.”

So Mr. Bennet said that the horses were engaged. Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback. 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. The next morning, however, a servant from Netherfield brought the following note for Elizabeth:

“MY DEAREST LIZZY, —

“I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is caused by my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones – therefore do not be alarmed if you hear of his visiting me – and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me. – Yours, etc.”

Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her, 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 will 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 will be back by dinner.”

“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 went to the lodgings of one of the officers' wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone, crossing field after field at a quick pace, and finding herself at last within view of the house, with 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 had 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[39] 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.

Elizabeth was glad to be taken to Jane immediately; and Jane was delighted at her entrance. She was not able, however, to talk much, and when Miss Bingley left them together, could attempt little besides expressions of gratitude for the extraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended her.

When breakfast was over they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth began to like them herself, when she saw how much affection they showed for Jane. The apothecary[40] came, and having examined his patient, said that she had caught a violent cold; advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts[41]. 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.

When the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and very unwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, but Jane showed such concern in parting with her sister, 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 sent to Longbourn to inform the family about her stay and bring back a supply of clothes.

Chapter 8

At five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the polite inquiries, she could not make a very favourable answer. Jane was by no means[42] 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 restored Elizabeth to her former dislike.

Their brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could regard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his attentions to herself most pleasing. She had very little notice from any but him.

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 impudence; she had no conversation, no style, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, and added:

“She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I will never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild.”

“She did, indeed, Louisa. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be running about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair, so untidy!”

“Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain.”

“Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,” said Bingley; “but 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 offensive sort of arrogant 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.”

To this Bingley made no answer.

Soon, however, the sisters returned to Jane's room, and sat with her till summoned to coffee. She was still very poorly, and Elizabeth did not quit her at all, till late in the evening, when she saw her sleep, and when it seemed to her rather right than pleasant that she should go downstairs herself. On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party at loo[43], and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high[44] she declined it, and making her sister the excuse,[45] said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below, with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.

“Do you prefer reading to cards?” said he; “that is rather singular.”

“Miss Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, “despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else.”

“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” cried Elizabeth; “I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”

“In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,” said Bingley; “and I hope it will be soon increased by seeing her quite well.”

Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards the table where a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her others – all that his library afforded.

Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those in the room.

“I am astonished,” said Miss Bingley, “that my father has left such a small 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.”

Elizabeth was so much caught with what passed, that she laid her book aside, drew near the card-table, and stood 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 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 and net purses[46].”

“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. 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. “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[47] in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice and her expressions.”

“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 the game. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.

“Elizabeth Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, “is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a very mean art.”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, “there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes use for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.”[48]

Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to continue the subject[49].

Elizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley insisted that Mr. Jones should be 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. Then 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 misery, however, by duets after supper, while he could find no better relief to his feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions that every attention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.

Chapter 9

Elizabeth passed the night in her sister's room, and in the morning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the inquiries which she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid. In spite of this, however, she requested to have a note sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her own judgement of her situation. The note was immediately sent, and Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.

If she had found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been very miserable; but as 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 did not want to 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. Soon the mother and three daughters were invited by Miss Bingley into the breakfast parlour. Mr. 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 too ill to be moved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”[50]

“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 politeness, “that Miss Bennet will receive every possible attention while she remains with us.”

“I am sure,” Mrs. Bennet said, “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, for she has the sweetest temper I have ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over the gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have a short lease.”

“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” replied he; “and therefore if I resolve to quit Netherfield, I would probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.”

“That is exactly what I 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 mean that a deep, complicated character is more or less admirable than such a one as yours.”

“I did not know before,” said Bingley immediately, “that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.”

“Yes, but complicated characters are the most amusing. They have at least that advantage.”

“The country,” said Darcy, “can in general supply not many 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 all the time.”

“Yes, indeed,” cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a country neighbourhood. “I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, for my part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?”

“When I am in the country,” he replied, “I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either.”

“That is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman,” looking at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was nothing at all.”

“Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. “You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in the town, which you must acknowledge to be true.”

“Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty families.”

Nothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his countenance[51]. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eyes towards Mr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of saying something that might turn her mother's thoughts[52], 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 polite and easy! He had always something to say to everybody. That is my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very important, and never open their mouths, quite mistake the matter.”

“Did Charlotte dine with you?”

“No, she went home. I fancy she was wanted about the cooking. For my part, Mr. Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work; my daughters are brought up very differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain – but then she is our particular friend.”

“She seems a very pleasant young woman.”

“Oh, yes; but you must admit 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 man at my brother Gardiner's in town so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an 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.[53] I wonder who first discovered the ability of poetry to drive 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 is only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve[54] it entirely.”

Darcy only smiled. Mrs. Bennet longed to speak, but could think of nothing to say; and after a short silence she began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was very polite in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be polite also. 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 remind Mr. Bingley of his promise to give a ball at Netherfield.

Lydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion; a favourite with her mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early age.

She addressed 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 will name the day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing when 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 will insist on their giving one also. I will 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.

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[55], 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 praises of the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect indifference with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in union with her opinion of each.

“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

He made no answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

“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.

“Do you always write such charming long letters to your sister, Mr. Darcy?”

“They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not for me to determine.”

When the letter was over, he asked Miss Bingley and Elizabeth for some music. Miss Bingley moved with some eagerness to the pianoforte and 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 him; and yet that he looked at her because he disliked her, was still more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last that she drew his notice because there was something more wrong, 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 approval.

After playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley began playing a lively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, coming up to Elizabeth, said to her:

“Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel[56]?”

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 playfulness 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,[57] he would be in some danger.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous.

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 near the house 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[58]; and our the younger girls of running after officers[59]. And, if I may mention such a delicate subject, endeavour to check[60] that trait, bordering on pride and impudence, which your lady possesses.”

“Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?”

“Oh, yes! Let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Phillips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great-uncle the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?”

“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shape, and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.”

At that moment they were met from another walk by Mrs. Hurst and Elizabeth herself.

“I did not know that you intended to walk,” said Miss Bingley, in some confusion.

“You ran away without telling us that you were coming out,” answered Mrs. Hurst.

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. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good-bye.”

She then ran gaily off.

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 pleasure; and Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable as they were during the hour which passed before the gentlemen appeared.

But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object; Miss Bingley's eyes were instantly turned toward Darcy. He addressed himself to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said he was “very glad.” Bingley was full of joy and attention. 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 stretched himself on one of the sofas and went 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 inquiry, or looking at his page. She could not win him, however, to any conversation; he merely answered her question, and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own book, which she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare 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 will 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. 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 in the real object of her politeness; Mr. Darcy looked up, 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 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 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 offensive. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”

“Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,” said Elizabeth. “We can all 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,[61] I do not. I assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me that. Tease calmness of manner and presence of mind! No, no. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject.”

“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 – no, 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 admit, 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 admits 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. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”

“That is a failing indeed!” cried Elizabeth. “Cruel 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.”

“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 was not sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.

Chapter 12

The next morning Elizabeth wrote 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, could not bring herself to receive them with pleasure before. Her answer, therefore, was not favourable, 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. Against staying longer, however, Elizabeth was positively resolved. She urged Jane to borrow Mr. Bingley's carriage immediately.

The communication excited much concern; and enough was said of wishing them to stay at least till the following day; and till the morrow[62] 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 news[63] – Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked – and Miss Bingley was impolite 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. 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 to his book, and did not even look at her.

On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley's politeness 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. 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 music and human nature; and had some extracts to admire, and some new observations of modern 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, and it had actually been hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married.

Chapter 13

“I hope, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at breakfast the next morning, “that you have ordered a good dinner to-day, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party.”

“Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure.”

“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!”

“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 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!” cried his wife, “I cannot bear to hear that mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I think it is the hardest thing in the world, that your estate should be entailed away from your own children.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Bennet, “nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you listen to his letter, you may perhaps be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself.”

“Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15th October.

“Dear Sir, —

“The disagreement 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[64]. For some time I was kept back by my own doubts, fearing that 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 disagreement. My mind, however, is now made up on the subject, for having received ordination[65] at Easter, I have been distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. She has preferred me to the valuable rectory[66] of this parish, where it will be my earnest endeavour to show the 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. On these grounds I flatter myself that the circumstance of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate will not lead you to reject the offered olive-branch. I am concerned at being the means of injuring your daughters, and beg leave[67] to apologise for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends – but of this later. If you have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of visiting you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock, and will probably trespass on your hospitality[68] till the Saturday following. I can do this 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 peacemaking gentleman,” said Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. “He seems to be a most polite young man, and I doubt not will prove a valuable acquaintance, especially if Lady Catherine lets 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 will 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 amends, the wish is certainly to his credit.”

Elizabeth was chiefly struck by his extraordinary respect for Lady Catherine, and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying his parishioners whenever it were required[69].

“He must be an oddity, I think,” said she. “There is something very pompous in his style. And what can he mean by apologising for being next in the entail? 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. 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 was not inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having such a fine family of daughters; said he had heard much of their beauty, but that in this instance fame had fallen short of the truth[70]; and added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time well disposed of in marriage. Mrs. Bennet 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 poor 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[71]. 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. The girls 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 praises 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 Mrs. Bennet assured him with some severity that they were very well able to keep a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologise for about a quarter of an hour.

Chapter 14

During dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants were withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his guest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to shine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's attention to his wishes, and consideration for his comfort, appeared very remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins was expressive in her praise. He protested that “he had never in his life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank – such cordiality and grace, as he had himself experienced from Lady Catherine. She was reckoned proud by many people he knew, but he had never seen anything but cordiality 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 dwelling, where she had perfectly approved all the alterations he had been making, and had even suggested some herself – some shelves in the closet upstairs.”

“That is all very proper, 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 dwelling 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[72] 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 poor health, 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 dwelling in her little phaeton and ponies.”

“Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court.”

“Her state of health unhappily prevents her being in town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornaments. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea; and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine, that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I consider myself 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 an unstudied air[73].”

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, 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 agreed, and a book was produced; but, on seeing it, 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 yawned 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 am going to walk to Meryton to-morrow to hear more about it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from town.”

Lydia was told 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 serious books, 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[74]. 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 politely for Lydia's interruption, and promised that it would not occur again; but Mr. Collins, after assuring them that he bore his young cousin no ill-will[75], seated himself at another table with Mr. Bennet, and prepared for backgammon.

Chapter 15

Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had not been assisted by education or society. The greatest part of his life had been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father; and though he belonged to one of the universities, he did not form 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 counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head[76], 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. The respect which he felt for her high rank, and his adoration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and servility, selfimportance 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 for inheriting their father's estate; and he thought it an excellent one, 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 for the first evening she was his settled choice. The next morning, however, made an alteration. In a quarter of an hour's tête-à-tête with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a conversation beginning with his house, and leading naturally to the declaration of his hopes, that a mistress might be found for it at Longbourn, produced from her, among smiles and general encouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on. “As to her younger daughters, she did not know of any prepossession; her eldest daughter, she must just mention, was likely to be very soon engaged.”

Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth – and it was soon done. Elizabeth, equally next to Jane in age and beauty, succeeded her of course.

Mrs. Bennet 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 in her good graces[77].

Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every sister except Mary agreed to go with her. 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 there Mr. Collins had followed him after breakfast; and there he took a large book but continued talking to Mr. Bennet of his house and garden at Hunsford. Such doings discomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. In his library he had been always sure of 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 politeness, therefore, was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to join his daughters in their walk; and Mr. Collins was extremely pleased to close his large book, and go.

When they entered Meryton, the eyes of the younger girls were immediately wandering up in the street in quest of the officers.

But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with another officer on the other side of the way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny concerning whose return from London Lydia came to inquire, and he bowed as they passed. All were struck with the stranger's air, all wondered who he could be; and Kitty and Lydia, determined 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 begged 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[78]. He had a fine face, a good figure, and very pleasing manners. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation; 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. Bingley said he was on his way to Longbourn on purpose to inquire after Jane. Mr. Darcy confirmed it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when he suddenly noticed the stranger. Elizabeth happened to see the expression of both as they looked at each other, and 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[79]. What could be the meaning of it?

In another minute, Mr. Bingley 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[80], in spite of Miss Lydia's invitation.

Mrs. Phillips was always glad to see her nieces; and she received Mr. Collins with her very best politeness, which he returned with as much more, apologising for his intrusion, without any previous acquaintance with her. Mrs. Phillips was quite impressed by such an excess of good breeding.

She told her nieces of the stranger what they already knew, that Mr. Denny had brought him from London, and that he had a lieutenant's commission in the – shire. Some of the officers were to dine with the Phillipses the next day, and their aunt promised to make her husband invite Mr. Wickham, also. Mrs. Phillips declared 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.

As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen; but Jane could no more explain such behaviour than her sister.

Mr. Collins on his return highly pleased Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs. Phillips's manners and politeness.

He said 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 politeness, but even included him in her invitation for the next evening, although utterly unknown to her before.

Chapter 16

The next evening the coach took Mr. Collins and his five cousins 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 looked around him and he was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared it was like the small summer breakfast parlour at Rosings. 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.

In describing to her all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional digressions in praise of his own humble dwelling, 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. To the girls, who could not listen to their cousin, 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 some unreasonable admiration.

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. 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 topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker.

When the card-tables were placed, Mr. Collins sat down to whist[81].

Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. Allowing for the common demands of the game,[82] Mr. Wickham could at leisure 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 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.[83] I can give you certain information on that subject for I have been connected with his family in a particular manner from my infancy.”

Elizabeth looked surprised.

“Then you may be surprised, Miss Bennet, after seeing the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”

“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 have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. 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.”

“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[84]; but with him I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his imposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen.”

“I took 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 to stay here 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,[85] and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had. But his son's behaviour to myself has been scandalous; however I 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 Meryton, the neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet seen, and speaking of the latter with gallantry.

“Society, I admit, 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. I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, if it had pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes – the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the best living[86] in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. He meant to provide for me sufficiently, 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?”[87]

“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, and declared that I had lost all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence – in short anything or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, 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 an unguarded temper[88], 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 not by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never 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 attribute in some measure to jealousy. 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.”

Elizabeth was deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, “To treat in such a manner the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father!”

“We were born in the same parish, within the same park; the greatest part of our youth was passed together. My father 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 abominable!” cried Elizabeth. “I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you!”

“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.”

“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 – for he is very proud of what his father was – has 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 described 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 said:

“I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley, who 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 can be a good companion if he thinks it worth his while. Among those who are his equals, 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.”

The whist party soon afterwards broke 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; but when Mrs. Phillips began to express her concern, he assured her that it was not of the least importance.

“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. 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, if he was 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 impudent. 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.”

Elizabeth and Mr. Wickham 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.

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 honesty of a young man of such amiable appearance as Wickham. Nothing remained therefore to be done, but to think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each.

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, and repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since their separation. To the rest of the family they paid little attention. 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 lot 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 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.

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.

“I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you,” said he, “that a ball of this kind, given by a young man, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency; and I take this opportunity of asking you, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances.”

Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in.[89] She had fully proposed being engaged by Mr. Wickham for those very dances; and to have Mr. Collins instead! There was no help for it, however, and she accepted Mr. Collins's proposal with as good a grace as she could. It now first struck her, that she was selected from among her sisters as worthy of being mistress of Hunsford Parsonage. 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. 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.

Chapter 18

Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham, a doubt of his being present had never occurred to her. 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. The fact of Wickham's absence was confirmed by his friend Denny. He told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and was not yet returned. He added, with a significant smile, “I suppose he wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here.”

Elizabeth was resolved against any sort of conversation with Darcy. But she was not formed for ill-humour[90]; and having told all her griefs to Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week, she was soon able to point Mr. Collins out to her particular notice[91]. The first two dances, however, were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, 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 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 resumed, however, and Darcy approached to claim her hand, Elizabeth took her place in the set. They stood for some time without speaking a word; then she fancied that it would be the greater punishment to her partner to oblige him to talk, and 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. Perhaps by and by[92] 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 playfully; “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, reserved disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to future like 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 eager to change 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 seeing Mr. Darcy, he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.

“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) will 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 reproaching 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. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”

“What do you think 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 is the case, we may compare our different opinions.”

“No – I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.”

“Thepresent 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 important for 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, “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[93] on either.”

“But if I do not make your portrait 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 powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon[94].

They had not long separated, when Miss Bingley came towards her, and said:

“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 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. He cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned. 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 impudent thing, indeed. 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.”

Elizabeth then sought her eldest sister, who has undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley. Jane met her with a glow of such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was satisfied with the events of the evening.

“I want to know,” said Elizabeth, with a smile, “what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham.”

“I have nothing satisfactory to tell you,” replied Jane. “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 and honour of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has received. I am afraid Mr. Wickham 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. Since he is unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from that friend himself, I will think of both gentlemen as I did before.”

Then they were joined by Mr. Bingley himself, and Elizabeth withdrew to Miss Lucas. 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, “that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to a young lady 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.”

“You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy!”

“Indeed I am. I will beg 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 a week ago.”

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme, assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him without introduction as an impudent freedom, rather than a compliment to his aunt. 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. Permit me to say, however, that there must be a wide difference between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those which regulate the clergy. 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, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education 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. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him with unrestrained wonder. When at last Mr. Collins allowed him time to speak, he replied with an air of distant civility. Mr. Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again, and Mr. Darcy's contempt seemed 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.”

As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue, she turned her attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr. Bingley. She saw her in idea[95] settled in that very house, in all the felicity which a marriage of true affection could give. Her mother's thoughts she plainly saw were bent the same way. When they sat down to supper, she was vexed to find that her mother was talking to Lady Lucas freely, openly, and of nothing else but her expectation that Jane would soon be married to Mr. Bingley. 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-conceit; 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. 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 persuade her mother to describe her felicity in a less audible whisper; for, to her inexpressible annoyance, she could notice 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?”

“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 tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation. The expression of Mr. Darcy's 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 preparing to oblige the company. Such an opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song. 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 scorn at each other, and at Darcy, who continued, however, imperturbably grave. She looked at her father to entreat his interference, to prevent Mary from singing all night. He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second song, said aloud, “You have delighted us long enough, child. 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.

To Elizabeth it appeared that, if her family had 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. She could not determine whether the silent contempt of Mr. Darcy, or the impudent smiles of Mr. Bingley's sisters, 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. 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 remain 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.

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. Darcy said nothing at all. 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 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 promised to take the earliest opportunity of visiting her, after his return from London, where 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 she would 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. 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 ask 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, 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. 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 then she added: “Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth sat down again and tried to conceal her feelings. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they were gone, Mr. Collins began.

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Примечания

1

общепризнанная истина

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2

должен испытывать нужду

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3

Михайлов день (29 сентября), начало очередного квартала, когда в Англии производят оплаты.

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4

замолвить словечко

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5

(зд.) острота ума

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6

(зд.) чудачество

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7

до последнего момента

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8

я невысокого мнения о ней

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9

Китти совершенно не учитывает, когда лучше кашлять – она выбирает для этого неподходящее время.

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10

в довершение всего

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11

перед всеми задирает нос

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12

с удовольствием

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13

Ради бога

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14

играть роль хозяйки за его столом

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15

которая вышла замуж, скорее, за светского льва, а не богача

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16

Не прошло и двух лет с момента совершеннолетия мистера Бингли

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17

(зд.) недалёкий

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18

удостоился дворянского титула

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19

Честное слово!

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20

Мои сведения были ценнее

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21

он снедаем гордостью

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22

приехала на бал в наёмной карете

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23

Если её расположение к нему очевидно мне

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24

использовать наилучшим образом

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25

Когда она будет уверена в его чувствах

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26

Пока что

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27

У него очень насмешливые глаза

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28

(уст.) фортепиано

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29

шотландские и ирландские мелодии

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30

Я считаю, это одно из лучших достижений цивилизованного общества.

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31

мастер

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32

с серьёзной учтивостью

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33

Её сопротивление не повредило ей в глазах джентльмена

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34

её остроумие изливалось ещё долго

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35

при отсутствии наследников мужского пола

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36

модная лавка

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37

Полк милиции, относящийся к территориальным войскам английской армии.

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38

льщу себя надеждой

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39

испытывали к ней презрение

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40

(уст.) Аптекарь – медик, практикующий в сельской местности.

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41

(зд.) микстура

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42

никоим образом

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43

Мушка – карточная игра.

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44

но предполагая, что их ставки высоки

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45

сославшись на болезнь сестры

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46

вяжут кошельки

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47

Нечто особенное

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48

Всё, что имеет сродство с хитростью, достойно презрения.

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49

чтобы продолжить эту тему

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50

Придётся нам ещё некоторое время злоупотреблять вашей любезностью.

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51

(зд.) удержаться от смеха

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52

повернуть мысли матери в иное русло

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53

Мне представляется, множество увлечений окончились подобным образом.

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заморит

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Пикет – карточная игра.

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Рил – быстрый шотландский танец.

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будь у неё более подходящие родственники

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как полезно держать язык за зубами

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отучите младших сестёр бегать за офицерами

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(зд.) обуздать

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Клянусь честью

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до завтрашнего дня

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приятная новость

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положить конец этому разладу

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приняв духовный сан

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должность приходского священника

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прошу разрешения

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злоупотреблю вашим гостеприимством

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когда бы это ни потребовалось

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молва преуменьшала истинные достоинства

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но я не хочу опережать события

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состоятельнее

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придать им вид экспромта

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триктрак (то же, что нарды)

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он не питал никаких дурных чувств к своей младшей кузине

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самодовольство недалёкого человека

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теперь был у неё в милости

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был зачислен в их полк

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едва удостоил ответа

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откланялись

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Вист – карточная игра.

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Принимая во внимание правила игры

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Чистых десять тысяч годового дохода.

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его или кого-то другого оценивают по заслугам

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чувство причинённой мне жестокой обиды

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(церк.) приход

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Почему вы не стали искать защиты в суде?

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несдержанный нрав

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Элизабет почувствовала, что попала впросак.

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Она не была создана для дурного расположения духа

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вскоре смогла обратить внимание Шарлотты на мистера Коллинза

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вскоре

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(ид.) не сделает чести

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которое вскоре нашло ей оправдание

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в своём воображении

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