Read & Download Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen ebook, pdf, epub txt

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Chapter 18

Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and
looked in vain for Mr. Wickham among the cluster of red coats
there assembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred
to her. The certainty of meeting him had not been checked by
any of those recollections that might not unreasonably have
alarmed her. She had dressed with more than usual care, and
prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that
remained unsubdued of his heart, trusting that it was not more
than might be won in the course of the evening. But in an
instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely
omitted for Mr. Darcy’s pleasure in the Bingleys’ invitation
to the officers; and though this was not exactly the case, the
absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his friend Denny,
to whom Lydia eagerly applied, and who told them that Wickham
had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and
was not yet returned; adding, with a significant smile, “I do not
imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he
had not wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here.”

This part of his intelligence, though unheard by Lydia, was
caught by Elizabeth, and, as it assured her that Darcy was not
less answerable for Wickham’s absence than if her first surmise
had been just, every feeling of displeasure against the former
was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, that she could
hardly reply with tolerable civility to the polite inquiries
which he directly afterwards approached to make. Attendance,
forbearance, patience with Darcy, was injury to Wickham. She
was resolved against any sort of conversation with him, and
turned away with a degree of ill-humour which she could not
wholly surmount even in speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind
partiality provoked her.

But Elizabeth was not formed for ill-humour; and though every
prospect of her own was destroyed for the evening, it could not
dwell long on her spirits; and having told all her griefs to
Charlotte Lucas, whom she had not seen for a week, she was
soon able to make a voluntary transition to the oddities of her
cousin, and to point him out to her particular notice. The first
two dances, however, brought a return of distress; they were
dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn,
apologising instead of attending, and often moving wrong
without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery
which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give.
The moment of her release from him was ecstasy.

She danced next with an officer, and had the refreshment of
talking of Wickham, and of hearing that he was universally liked.
When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas,
and was in conversation with her, when she found herself
suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy who took her so much by surprise
in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what she
did, she accepted him. He walked away again immediately, and
she was left to fret over her own want of presence of mind;
Charlotte tried to console her:

“I dare say you will find him very agreeable.”

“Heaven forbid! _That_ would be the greatest misfortune of all!
To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Do not
wish me such an evil.”

When the dancing recommenced, however, and Darcy approached to
claim her hand, Charlotte could not help cautioning her in a
whisper, not to be a simpleton, and allow her fancy for Wickham
to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man ten times his
consequence. Elizabeth made no answer, and took her place in
the set, amazed at the dignity to which she was arrived in being
allowed to stand opposite to Mr. Darcy, and reading in her
neighbours’ looks, their equal amazement in beholding it. They
stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began to
imagine that their silence was to last through the two dances,
and at first was resolved not to break it; till suddenly
fancying that it would be the greater punishment to her partner
to oblige him to talk, she made some slight observation on the
dance. He replied, and was again silent. After a pause of
some minutes, she addressed him a second time with:–“It is
_your_ turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about
the dance, and _you_ ought to make some sort of remark on the
size of the room, or the number of couples.”

He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say
should be said.

“Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and
by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than
public ones. But _now_ we may be silent.”

“Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?”

“Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look
odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together; and yet for
the advantage of _some_, conversation ought to be so arranged, as
that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”

“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do
you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”

“Both,” replied Elizabeth archly; “for I have always seen a great
similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial,
taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say
something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down
to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb.”

“This is no very striking resemblance of your own character,
I am sure,” said he. “How near it may be to _mine_, I cannot
pretend to say. _You_ think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.”

“I must not decide on my own performance.”

He made no answer, and they were again silent till they had gone
down the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not
very often walk to Meryton. She answered in the affirmative,
and, unable to resist the temptation, added, “When you met us
there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”

The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of _hauteur_ overspread
his features, but he said not a word, and Elizabeth, though
blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on. At
length Darcy spoke, and in a constrained manner said, “Mr.
Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his
_making_ friends–whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_
them, is less certain.”

“He has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ friendship,” replied
Elizabeth with emphasis, “and in a manner which he is likely to
suffer from all his life.”

Darcy made no answer, and seemed desirous of changing the
subject. At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to
them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the
room; but on perceiving Mr. Darcy, he stopped with a bow of
superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his
partner.

“I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir. Such
very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you
belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your
fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have
this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable
event, my dear Eliza (glancing at her sister and Bingley) shall
take place. What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to
Mr. Darcy:–but let me not interrupt you, sir. You will not
thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that
young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me.”

The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy;
but Sir William’s allusion to his friend seemed to strike him
forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious
expression towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together.
Recovering himself, however, shortly, he turned to his partner,
and said, “Sir William’s interruption has made me forget what
we were talking of.”

“I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not
have interrupted two people in the room who had less to say for
themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without
success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”

“What think you of books?” said he, smiling.

“Books–oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with
the same feelings.”

“I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at
least be no want of subject. We may compare our different
opinions.”

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

“The _present_ always occupies you in such scenes–does it?”
said he, with a look of doubt.

“Yes, always,” she replied, without knowing what she said,
for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon
afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, “I remember
hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave,
that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are
very cautious, I suppose, as to its _being created_.”

“I am,” said he, with a firm voice.

“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”

“I hope not.”

“It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their
opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.”

“May I ask to what these questions tend?”

“Merely to the illustration of _your_ character,” said she,
endeavouring to shake off her gravity. “I am trying to make
it out.”

“And what is your success?”

She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such
different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”

“I can readily believe,” answered he gravely, “that reports may
vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet,
that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment,
as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no
credit on either.”

“But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have
another opportunity.”

“I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours,” he coldly
replied. She said no more, and they went down the other dance
and parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied, though not
to an equal degree, for in Darcy’s breast there was a tolerable
powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon,
and directed all his anger against another.

They had not long separated, when Miss Bingley came towards
her, and with an expression of civil disdain accosted her:

“So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George
Wickham! Your sister has been talking to me about him, and
asking me a thousand questions; and I find that the young man
quite forgot to tell you, among his other communication, that
he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy’s steward.
Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit
confidence to all his assertions; for as to Mr. Darcy’s using
him ill, it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has
always been remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has
treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the
particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the
least to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham
mentioned, and that though my brother thought that he could not
well avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he
was excessively glad to find that he had taken himself out of the
way. His coming into the country at all is a most insolent thing,
indeed, and I wonder how he could presume to do it. I pity you,
Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favourite’s guilt; but
really, considering his descent, one could not expect much better.”

“His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the
same,” said Elizabeth angrily; “for I have heard you accuse him
of nothing worse than of being the son of Mr. Darcy’s steward,
and of _that_, I can assure you, he informed me himself.”

“I beg your pardon,” replied Miss Bingley, turning away with a
sneer. “Excuse my interference–it was kindly meant.”

“Insolent girl!” said Elizabeth to herself. “You are much
mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack
as this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and
the malice of Mr. Darcy.” She then sought her eldest sister, who
has undertaken to make inquiries on the same subject of Bingley.
Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of
such happy expression, as sufficiently marked how well she was
satisfied with the occurrences of the evening. Elizabeth instantly
read her feelings, and at that moment solicitude for Wickham,
resentment against his enemies, and everything else, gave way
before the hope of Jane’s being in the fairest way for happiness.

“I want to know,” said she, with a countenance no less smiling
than her sister’s, “what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham.
But perhaps you have been too pleasantly engaged to think of
any third person; in which case you may be sure of my pardon.”

“No,” replied Jane, “I have not forgotten him; but I have nothing
satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of
his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have
principally offended Mr. Darcy; but he will vouch for the good
conduct, the probity, and honour of his friend, and is perfectly
convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention
from Mr. Darcy than he has received; and I am sorry to say by
his account as well as his sister’s, Mr. Wickham is by no means a
respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent,
and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy’s regard.”

“Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?”

“No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.”

“This account then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy.
I am satisfied. But what does he say of the living?”

“He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has
heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that
it was left to him _conditionally_ only.”

“I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley’s sincerity,” said Elizabeth
warmly; “but you must excuse my not being convinced by
assurances only. Mr. Bingley’s defense of his friend was a very
able one, I dare say; but since he is unacquainted with several
parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from that friend
himself, I shall venture to still think of both gentlemen as I
did before.”

She then changed the discourse to one more gratifying to each,
and on which there could be no difference of sentiment.
Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though modest
hopes which Jane entertained of Mr. Bingley’s regard, and said
all in her power to heighten her confidence in it. On their being
joined by Mr. Bingley himself, Elizabeth withdrew to Miss
Lucas; to whose inquiry after the pleasantness of her last partner
she had scarcely replied, before Mr. Collins came up to them,
and told her with great exultation that he had just been so
fortunate as to make a most important discovery.

“I have found out,” said he, “by a singular accident, that there
is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened
to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who
does the honours of the house the names of his cousin Miss de
Bourgh, and of her mother Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these
sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with,
perhaps, a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly!
I am most thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to
pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust
he will excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance
of the connection must plead my apology.”

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

“Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it
earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine’s _nephew_. It will
be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well
yesterday se’nnight.”

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme,
assuring him that Mr. Darcy would consider his addressing him
without introduction as an impertinent freedom, rather than a
compliment to his aunt; that it was not in the least necessary
there should be any notice on either side; and that if it were,
it must belong to Mr. Darcy, the superior in consequence, to
begin the acquaintance. Mr. Collins listened to her with the
determined air of following his own inclination, and, when she
ceased speaking, replied thus:

“My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world
in your excellent judgement in all matters within the scope of
your understanding; but permit me to say, that there must be a
wide difference between the established forms of ceremony amongst
the laity, and those which regulate the clergy; for, give me
leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in
point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom–provided
that a proper humility of behaviour is at the same time
maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates
of my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to perform what
I look on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to profit
by your advice, which on every other subject shall be my constant
guide, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted
by education and habitual study to decide on what is right than
a young lady like yourself.” And with a low bow he left her to
attack Mr. Darcy, whose reception of his advances she eagerly
watched, and whose astonishment at being so addressed was very
evident. Her cousin prefaced his speech with a solemn bow and
though she could not hear a word of it, she felt as if hearing
it all, and saw in the motion of his lips the words “apology,”
“Hunsford,” and “Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” It vexed her to
see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was eyeing him
with unrestrained wonder, and when at last Mr. Collins allowed
him time to speak, replied with an air of distant civility. Mr.
Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again, and
Mr. Darcy’s contempt seemed abundantly increasing with the length
of his second speech, and at the end of it he only made him a
slight bow, and moved another way. Mr. Collins then returned
to Elizabeth.

“I have no reason, I assure you,” said he, “to be dissatisfied
with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the
attention. He answered me with the utmost civility, and even
paid me the compliment of saying that he was so well convinced
of Lady Catherine’s discernment as to be certain she could never
bestow a favour unworthily. It was really a very handsome
thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him.”

As Elizabeth had no longer any interest of her own to pursue,
she turned her attention almost entirely on her sister and Mr.
Bingley; and the train of agreeable reflections which her
observations gave birth to, made her perhaps almost as happy as
Jane. She saw her in idea settled in that very house, in all the
felicity which a marriage of true affection could bestow; and she
felt capable, under such circumstances, of endeavouring even to
like Bingley’s two sisters. Her mother’s thoughts she plainly
saw were bent the same way, and she determined not to venture
near her, lest she might hear too much. When they sat down to
supper, therefore, she considered it a most unlucky perverseness
which placed them within one of each other; and deeply was she
vexed to find that her mother was talking to that one person
(Lady Lucas) freely, openly, and of nothing else but her
expectation that Jane would soon be married to Mr. Bingley. It
was an animating subject, and Mrs. Bennet seemed incapable of
fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match. His
being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living but
three miles from them, were the first points of self-gratulation;
and then it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters
were of Jane, and to be certain that they must desire the
connection as much as she could do. It was, moreover, such a
promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane’s marrying so
greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men; and lastly,
it was so pleasant at her time of life to be able to consign her
single daughters to the care of their sister, that she might not
be obliged to go into company more than she liked. It was
necessary to make this circumstance a matter of pleasure,
because on such occasions it is the etiquette; but no one was less
likely than Mrs. Bennet to find comfort in staying home at any
period of her life. She concluded with many good wishes that
Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate, though evidently
and triumphantly believing there was no chance of it.

In vain did Elizabeth endeavour to check the rapidity of her
mother’s words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a
less audible whisper; for, to her inexpressible vexation, she
could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy,
who sat opposite to them. Her mother only scolded her for
being nonsensical.

“What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him?
I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged
to say nothing _he_ may not like to hear.”

“For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower. What advantage can
it be for you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend
yourself to his friend by so doing!”

Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Her
mother would talk of her views in the same intelligible tone.
Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation.
She could not help frequently glancing her eye at Mr. Darcy,
though every glance convinced her of what she dreaded; for
though he was not always looking at her mother, she was
convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her.
The expression of his face changed gradually from indignant
contempt to a composed and steady gravity.

At length, however, Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Lady
Lucas, who had been long yawning at the repetition of delights
which she saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts
of cold ham and chicken. Elizabeth now began to revive. But
not long was the interval of tranquillity; for, when supper was
over, singing was talked of, and she had the mortification of
seeing Mary, after very little entreaty, preparing to oblige the
company. By many significant looks and silent entreaties, did
she endeavour to prevent such a proof of complaisance, but in
vain; Mary would not understand them; such an opportunity of
exhibiting was delightful to her, and she began her song.
Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations,
and she watched her progress through the several stanzas with
an impatience which was very ill rewarded at their close; for
Mary, on receiving, amongst the thanks of the table, the hint of
a hope that she might be prevailed on to favour them again, after
the pause of half a minute began another. Mary’s powers were
by no means fitted for such a display; her voice was weak, and
her manner affected. Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at
Jane, to see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly
talking to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw
them making signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who
continued, however, imperturbably grave. She looked at her
father to entreat his interference, lest Mary should be singing all
night. He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second
song, said aloud, “That will do extremely well, child. You have
delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time
to exhibit.”

Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat disconcerted;
and Elizabeth, sorry for her, and sorry for her father’s speech,
was afraid her anxiety had done no good. Others of the party
were now applied to.

“If I,” said Mr. Collins, “were so fortunate as to be able to sing,
I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company
with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion,
and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do
not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting
too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things
to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the
first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be
beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must
write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too
much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his
dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable
as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he
should have attentive and conciliatory manner towards everybody,
especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I
cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the
man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect
towards anybody connected with the family.” And with a bow to
Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so
loud as to be heard by half the room. Many stared–many smiled;
but no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennet himself, while
his wife seriously commended Mr. Collins for having spoken so
sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he
was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.

To Elizabeth it appeared that, had her family made an agreement
to expose themselves as much as they could during the
evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their
parts with more spirit or finer success; and happy did she think
it for Bingley and her sister that some of the exhibition had
escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not of a sort to
be much distressed by the folly which he must have witnessed.
That his two sisters and Mr. Darcy, however, should have such
an opportunity of ridiculing her relations, was bad enough, and
she could not determine whether the silent contempt of the
gentleman, or the insolent smiles of the ladies, were more
intolerable.

The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was
teased by Mr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly by her
side, and though he could not prevail on her to dance with him
again, put it out of her power to dance with others. In vain
did she entreat him to stand up with somebody else, and offer to
introduce him to any young lady in the room. He assured her,
that as to dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to it; that his
chief object was by delicate attentions to recommend himself to
her and that he should therefore make a point of remaining close
to her the whole evening. There was no arguing upon such a
project. She owed her greatest relief to her friend Miss Lucas,
who often joined them, and good-naturedly engaged Mr. Collins’s
conversation to herself.

She was at least free from the offense of Mr. Darcy’s further
notice; though often standing within a very short distance of her,
quite disengaged, he never came near enough to speak. She felt
it to be the probable consequence of her allusions to Mr. Wickham,
and rejoiced in it.

The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart,
and, by a manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet, had to wait for their
carriage a quarter of an hour after everybody else was gone,
which gave them time to see how heartily they were wished
away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her sister scarcely
opened their mouths, except to complain of fatigue, and were
evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. They
repulsed every attempt of Mrs. Bennet at conversation, and by
so doing threw a languor over the whole party, which was very
little relieved by the long speeches of Mr. Collins, who was
complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of
their entertainment, and the hospitality and politeness which had
marked their behaviour to their guests. Darcy said nothing at all.
Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying the scene. Mr.
Bingley and Jane were standing together, a little detached from
the rest, and talked only to each other. Elizabeth preserved as
steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and even
Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional
exclamation of “Lord, how tired I am!” accompanied by a
violent yawn.

When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most
pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon
at Longbourn, and addressed herself especially to Mr. Bingley,
to assure him how happy he would make them by eating a family
dinner with them at any time, without the ceremony of a formal
invitation. Bingley was all grateful pleasure, and he readily
engaged for taking the earliest opportunity of waiting on her,
after his return from London, whither he was obliged to go the
next day for a short time.

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and quitted the house under
the delightful persuasion that, allowing for the necessary
preparations of settlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes,
she should undoubtedly see her daughter settled at Netherfield in
the course of three or four months. Of having another daughter
married to Mr. Collins, she thought with equal certainty, and
with considerable, though not equal, pleasure. Elizabeth was the
least dear to her of all her children; and though the man and the
match were quite good enough for _her_, the worth of each was
eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.

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