Chương Chương 18 · 第18章

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 Mr. 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 wished 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.

Attention, 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 two first dances, however, brought a return of

distress: they were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins, awkward and

solemn, apologizing 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 often 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 kind 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 _éclat_ 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 insure 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 Miss 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.”

[Illustration:

“Such very superior dancing is not

often seen.”

[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]

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 any 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; on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree; for

in Darcy’s breast there was a tolerably 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, thus 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 forgot to tell you, among his

other communications, 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 been always

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 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 had 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 that 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

perfectly 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 defence 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 still to 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

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 to my patroness. I happened to overhear the

gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of

this 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 of your

excellent judgment 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 lead 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 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 of her expectation that Jane would be soon 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 at 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 to 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,

impenetrably 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 manners 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 with 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 offered 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 offence 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

manœuvre 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 particularly 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.

[Illustration:

“to assure you in the most animated language”

]