Chapter Chapter 20 · 第20章

Mr. Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of his

successful love; for Mrs. Bennet, having dawdled about in the vestibule

to watch for the end of the conference, no sooner saw Elizabeth open the

door and with quick step pass her towards the staircase, than she

entered the breakfast-room, and congratulated both him and herself in

warm terms on the happy prospect of their nearer connection. Mr. Collins

received and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure, and then

proceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, with the result

of which he trusted he had every reason to be satisfied, since the

refusal which his cousin had steadfastly given him would naturally flow

from her bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of her character.

This information, however, startled Mrs. Bennet: she would have been

glad to be equally satisfied that her daughter had meant to encourage

him by protesting against his proposals, but she dared not believe it,

and could not help saying so.

“But depend upon it, Mr. Collins,” she added, “that Lizzy shall be

brought to reason. I will speak to her about it myself directly. She is

a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest; but

I will _make_ her know it.”

“Pardon me for interrupting you, madam,” cried Mr. Collins; “but if she

is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would

altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who

naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If, therefore, she

actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to

force her into accepting me, because, if liable to such defects of

temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity.”

“Sir, you quite misunderstand me,” said Mrs. Bennet, alarmed. “Lizzy is

only headstrong in such matters as these. In everything else she is as

good-natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and

we shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure.”

She would not give him time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her

husband, called out, as she entered the library,--

“Oh, Mr. Bennet, you are wanted immediately; we are all in an uproar.

You must come and make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins, for she vows she will

not have him; and if you do not make haste he will change his mind and

not have _her_.”

Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them

on her face with a calm unconcern, which was not in the least altered by

her communication.

“I have not the pleasure of understanding you,” said he, when she had

finished her speech. “Of what are you talking?”

“Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not have Mr. Collins,

and Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not have Lizzy.”

“And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems a hopeless business.”

“Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist upon her

marrying him.”

“Let her be called down. She shall hear my opinion.”

Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was summoned to the

library.

“Come here, child,” cried her father as she appeared. “I have sent for

you on an affair of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made

you an offer of marriage. Is it true?”

Elizabeth replied that it was.

“Very well--and this offer of marriage you have refused?”

“I have, sir.”

“Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists upon your

accepting it. Is it not so, Mrs. Bennet?”

“Yes, or I will never see her again.”

“An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must

be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you

again if you do _not_ marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again

if you _do_.”

Elizabeth could not but smile at such a conclusion of such a beginning;

but Mrs. Bennet, who had persuaded herself that her husband regarded the

affair as she wished, was excessively disappointed.

“What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this way? You promised me

to _insist_ upon her marrying him.”

“My dear,” replied her husband, “I have two small favours to request.

First, that you will allow me the free use of my understanding on the

present occasion; and, secondly, of my room. I shall be glad to have the

library to myself as soon as may be.”

Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her husband, did

Mrs. Bennet give up the point. She talked to Elizabeth again and again;

coaxed and threatened her by turns. She endeavoured to secure Jane in

her interest, but Jane, with all possible mildness, declined

interfering; and Elizabeth, sometimes with real earnestness, and

sometimes with playful gaiety, replied to her attacks. Though her manner

varied, however, her determination never did.

Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had passed.

He thought too well of himself to comprehend on what motive his cousin

could refuse him; and though his pride was hurt, he suffered in no other

way. His regard for her was quite imaginary; and the possibility of her

deserving her mother’s reproach prevented his feeling any regret.

While the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend

the day with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who, flying to

her, cried in a half whisper, “I am glad you are come, for there is such

fun here! What do you think has happened this morning? Mr. Collins has

made an offer to Lizzy, and she will not have him.”

[Illustration:

“they entered the breakfast room”

]

Charlotte had hardly time to answer before they were joined by Kitty,

who came to tell the same news; and no sooner had they entered the

breakfast-room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone, than she likewise began on

the subject, calling on Miss Lucas for her compassion, and entreating

her to persuade her friend Lizzy to comply with the wishes of her

family. “Pray do, my dear Miss Lucas,” she added, in a melancholy tone;

“for nobody is on my side, nobody takes part with me; I am cruelly used,

nobody feels for my poor nerves.”

Charlotte’s reply was spared by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.

“Ay, there she comes,” continued Mrs. Bennet, “looking as unconcerned as

may be, and caring no more for us than if we were at York, provided she

can have her own way. But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, if you take it

into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way,

you will never get a husband at all--and I am sure I do not know who is

to maintain you when your father is dead. _I_ shall not be able to keep

you--and so I warn you. I have done with you from this very day. I told

you in the library, you know, that I should never speak to you again,

and you will find me as good as my word. I have no pleasure in talking

to undutiful children. Not that I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking

to anybody. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have

no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it

is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied.”

Her daughters listened in silence to this effusion, sensible that any

attempt to reason with or soothe her would only increase the irritation.

She talked on, therefore, without interruption from any of them till

they were joined by Mr. Collins, who entered with an air more stately

than usual, and on perceiving whom, she said to the girls,--

“Now, I do insist upon it, that you, all of you, hold your tongues, and

let Mr. Collins and me have a little conversation together.”

Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane and Kitty followed, but

Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear all she could; and Charlotte,

detained first by the civility of Mr. Collins, whose inquiries after

herself and all her family were very minute, and then by a little

curiosity, satisfied herself with walking to the window and pretending

not to hear. In a doleful voice Mrs. Bennet thus began the projected

conversation:--

“Oh, Mr. Collins!”

“My dear madam,” replied he, “let us be for ever silent on this point.

Far be it from me,” he presently continued, in a voice that marked his

displeasure, “to resent the behaviour of your daughter. Resignation to

inevitable evils is the duty of us all: the peculiar duty of a young man

who has been so fortunate as I have been, in early preferment; and, I

trust, I am resigned. Perhaps not the less so from feeling a doubt of my

positive happiness had my fair cousin honoured me with her hand; for I

have often observed, that resignation is never so perfect as when the

blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value in our estimation.

You will not, I hope, consider me as showing any disrespect to your

family, my dear madam, by thus withdrawing my pretensions to your

daughter’s favour, without having paid yourself and Mr. Bennet the

compliment of requesting you to interpose your authority in my behalf.

My conduct may, I fear, be objectionable in having accepted my

dismission from your daughter’s lips instead of your own; but we are all

liable to error. I have certainly meant well through the whole affair.

My object has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due

consideration for the advantage of all your family; and if my _manner_

has been at all reprehensible, I here beg leave to apologize.”

[Illustration]