Bab Bab 41 · 第41章

The first week of their return was soon gone. The second began. It was

the last of the regiment’s stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in

the neighbourhood were drooping apace. The dejection was almost

universal. The elder Miss Bennets alone were still able to eat, drink,

and sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very

frequently were they reproached for this insensibility by Kitty and

Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such

hard-heartedness in any of the family.

“Good Heaven! What is to become of us? What are we to do?” would they

often exclaim in the bitterness of woe. “How can you be smiling so,

Lizzy?”

Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what

she had herself endured on a similar occasion five-and-twenty years ago.

“I am sure,” said she, “I cried for two days together when Colonel

Miller’s regiment went away. I thought I should have broke my heart.”

“I am sure I shall break _mine_,” said Lydia.

“If one could but go to Brighton!” observed Mrs. Bennet.

“Oh yes!--if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable.”

“A little sea-bathing would set me up for ever.”

“And my aunt Philips is sure it would do _me_ a great deal of good,”

added Kitty.

Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through

Longbourn House. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by them; but all sense

of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy’s

objections; and never had she before been so much disposed to pardon his

interference in the views of his friend.

But the gloom of Lydia’s prospect was shortly cleared away; for she

received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of the

regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a

very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good-humour

and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of

their _three_ months’ acquaintance they had been intimate _two_.

The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster,

the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely

to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister’s feelings, Lydia flew

about the house in restless ecstasy, calling for everyone’s

congratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever;

whilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repining at her fate

in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.

“I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask _me_ as well as Lydia,”

said she, “though I am _not_ her particular friend. I have just as much

right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older.”

In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and Jane to make

her resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from

exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia, that she

considered it as the death-warrant of all possibility of common sense

for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her, were it

known, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her

go. She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia’s general

behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of

such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more

imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must

be greater than at home. He heard her attentively, and then said,--

“Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public

place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little

expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present

circumstances.”

“If you were aware,” said Elizabeth, “of the very great disadvantage to

us all, which must arise from the public notice of Lydia’s unguarded and

imprudent manner, nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure you

would judge differently in the affair.”

“Already arisen!” repeated Mr. Bennet. “What! has she frightened away

some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such

squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity

are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of the pitiful fellows

who have been kept aloof by Lydia’s folly.”

“Indeed, you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It is not

of peculiar, but of general evils, which I am now complaining. Our

importance, our respectability in the world, must be affected by the

wild volatility, the assurance and disdain of all restraint which mark

Lydia’s character. Excuse me,--for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear

father, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and

of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of

her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character

will be fixed; and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt

that ever made herself and her family ridiculous;--a flirt, too, in the

worst and meanest degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond

youth and a tolerable person; and, from the ignorance and emptiness of

her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that universal

contempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In this danger Kitty

is also comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain,

ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled! Oh, my dear father, can you

suppose it possible that they will not be censured and despised wherever

they are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in the

disgrace?”

Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject; and,

affectionately taking her hand, said, in reply,--

“Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known,

you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less

advantage for having a couple of--or I may say, three--very silly

sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to

Brighton. Let her go, then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will

keep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an

object of prey to anybody. At Brighton she will be of less importance

even as a common flirt than she has been here. The officers will find

women better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that her being

there may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow

many degrees worse, without authorizing us to lock her up for the rest

of her life.”

With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion

continued the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was not

in her nature, however, to increase her vexations by dwelling on them.

She was confident of having performed her duty; and to fret over

unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her

disposition.

Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of her conference with her

father, their indignation would hardly have found expression in their

united volubility. In Lydia’s imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised

every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw, with the creative eye

of fancy, the streets of that gay bathing-place covered with officers.

She saw herself the object of attention to tens and to scores of them at

present unknown. She saw all the glories of the camp: its tents

stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded with the young

and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet; and, to complete the view, she

saw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six

officers at once.

[Illustration:

“Tenderly flirting”

[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]

Had she known that her sister sought to tear her from such prospects and

such realities as these, what would have been her sensations? They could

have been understood only by her mother, who might have felt nearly the

same. Lydia’s going to Brighton was all that consoled her for the

melancholy conviction of her husband’s never intending to go there

himself.

But they were entirely ignorant of what had passed; and their raptures

continued, with little intermission, to the very day of Lydia’s leaving

home.

Elizabeth was now to see Mr. Wickham for the last time. Having been

frequently in company with him since her return, agitation was pretty

well over; the agitations of former partiality entirely so. She had even

learnt to detect, in the very gentleness which had first delighted her,

an affectation and a sameness to disgust and weary. In his present

behaviour to herself, moreover, she had a fresh source of displeasure;

for the inclination he soon testified of renewing those attentions which

had marked the early part of their acquaintance could only serve, after

what had since passed, to provoke her. She lost all concern for him in

finding herself thus selected as the object of such idle and frivolous

gallantry; and while she steadily repressed it, could not but feel the

reproof contained in his believing, that however long, and for whatever

cause, his attentions had been withdrawn, her vanity would be gratified,

and her preference secured, at any time, by their renewal.

On the very last day of the regiment’s remaining in Meryton, he dined,

with others of the officers, at Longbourn; and so little was Elizabeth

disposed to part from him in good-humour, that, on his making some

inquiry as to the manner in which her time had passed at Hunsford, she

mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam’s and Mr. Darcy’s having both spent three

weeks at Rosings, and asked him if he were acquainted with the former.

He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but, with a moment’s

recollection, and a returning smile, replied, that he had formerly seen

him often; and, after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man,

asked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in his favour.

With an air of indifference, he soon afterwards added, “How long did you

say that he was at Rosings?”

“Nearly three weeks.”

“And you saw him frequently?”

“Yes, almost every day.”

“His manners are very different from his cousin’s.”

“Yes, very different; but I think Mr. Darcy improves on acquaintance.”

“Indeed!” cried Wickham, with a look which did not escape her. “And pray

may I ask--” but checking himself, he added, in a gayer tone, “Is it in

address that he improves? Has he deigned to add aught of civility to his

ordinary style? for I dare not hope,” he continued, in a lower and more

serious tone, “that he is improved in essentials.”

“Oh, no!” said Elizabeth. “In essentials, I believe, he is very much

what he ever was.”

While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to

rejoice over her words or to distrust their meaning. There was a

something in her countenance which made him listen with an apprehensive

and anxious attention, while she added,--

“When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that

either his mind or manners were in a state of improvement; but that,

from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood.”

Wickham’s alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated

look; for a few minutes he was silent; till, shaking off his

embarrassment, he turned to her again, and said in the gentlest of

accents,--

“You, who so well know my feelings towards Mr. Darcy, will readily

comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise enough to assume

even the _appearance_ of what is right. His pride, in that direction,

may be of service, if not to himself, to many others, for it must deter

him from such foul misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that

the sort of cautiousness to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is

merely adopted on his visits to his aunt, of whose good opinion and

judgment he stands much in awe. His fear of her has always operated, I

know, when they were together; and a good deal is to be imputed to his

wish of forwarding the match with Miss de Bourgh, which I am certain he

has very much at heart.”

Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only by a

slight inclination of the head. She saw that he wanted to engage her on

the old subject of his grievances, and she was in no humour to indulge

him. The rest of the evening passed with the _appearance_, on his side,

of usual cheerfulness, but with no further attempt to distinguish

Elizabeth; and they parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a

mutual desire of never meeting again.

When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to Meryton,

from whence they were to set out early the next morning. The separation

between her and her family was rather noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the

only one who shed tears; but she did weep from vexation and envy. Mrs.

Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes for the felicity of her daughter,

and impressive in her injunctions that she would not miss the

opportunity of enjoying herself as much as possible,--advice which there

was every reason to believe would be attended to; and, in the clamorous

happiness of Lydia herself in bidding farewell, the more gentle adieus

of her sisters were uttered without being heard.

[Illustration:

The arrival of the

Gardiners

]