JANE AUSTEN 7 страница

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, vain and

useless her affection for his sister and her praise of himself,

if he were already self-destined to 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 insolent. 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 of her

nephew, who chuses that every one connected with him should

have an understanding of the first class."

 

Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of

it, and they 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. Philips's supper

party, but his manners recommended him to every body. 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; but there was not time for her even to mention

his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were

once silent. Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of

the fish she had lost and the fish she had won, and Mr.

Collins, in describing the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Philips,

protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses at

whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly

fearing that he crouded his cousins, had more to say than he

could well manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn

House.

 

__

 

<CHAPTER XVII (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 veracity of a young man of such amiable

appearance as Wickham. -- The possibility of his having really

endured such unkindness, was enough to interest all her tender

feelings; and nothing therefore remained to be done, but to

think well of them both, to defend the conduct of each, and

throw into the account of accident or mistake, whatever could

not be otherwise explained.

 

"They have both," said she, "been deceived, I dare say,

in some way or other, of which we can form no idea.

Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the

other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture

the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them,

without actual blame on either side."

 

"Very true, indeed; -- and now, my dear Jane, what have you got

to say in behalf of the interested people who have probably

been concerned in the business? -- Do clear _them_ too, or we

shall be obliged to think ill of somebody."

 

"Laugh as much as you chuse, but you will not laugh me out of

my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a

disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his

father's favourite in such a manner, -- one, whom his father

had promised to provide for. -- It is impossible. No man of

common humanity, no man who had any value for his character,

could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so

excessively deceived in him? oh! no."

 

"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on,

than that Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself

as he gave me last night; names, facts, every thing mentioned

without ceremony. -- If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict

it. Besides, there was truth in his looks."

 

"It is difficult indeed -- it is distressing. -- One does not

know what to think."

 

"I beg your pardon; -- one knows exactly what to think."

 

But Jane could think with certainty on only one point, -- that

Mr. Bingley, if he _had_ _been_ imposed on, would have much to

suffer when the affair became public.

 

The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery where

this conversation passed, by the arrival of some 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, called it an age since they had met, and

repeatedly asked what she had been doing with herself since

their separation. To the rest of the family they paid little

attention; avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not

much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others. 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 attention of their brother; and Elizabeth

thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham,

and of seeing a confirmation of every thing in Mr. Darcy's

looks and behaviour. The happiness anticipated by Catherine

and Lydia, depended less on any single event, or 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.

 

"While I can have my mornings to myself," said she, "it is

enough. -- I think it no sacrifice to join occasionally in

evening engagements. Society has claims on us all; and

I profess myself one of those who consider intervals of

recreation and amusement as desirable for every body."

 

Elizabeth's spirits were so high on the 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, and, if he did, whether he would think it proper to

join in the evening's amusement; and she was rather surprised

to find that he entertained no scruple whatever on that head,

and was very far from dreading a rebuke either from the

Archbishop, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, by venturing to dance.

 

"I am by no means of opinion, I assure you," said he, "that a

ball of this kind, given by a young man of character to

respectable people, can have any evil tendency; and I am so far

from objecting to dancing myself, that I shall hope to be

honoured with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of

the evening, and I take this opportunity of soliciting yours,

Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially, -- a

preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the

right cause, and not to any disrespect for her."

 

Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in. She had fully

proposed being engaged by Wickham for those very dances: -- and

to have Mr. Collins instead! her liveliness had been never

worse timed. There was no help for it however. Mr. Wickham's

happiness and her own was perforce delayed a little longer, and

Mr. Collins's proposal accepted with as good a grace as she

could. She was not the better pleased with his gallantry from

the idea it suggested of something more. -- It now first struck

her that _she_ was selected from among her sisters as worthy of

being the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to

form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more

eligible visitors. 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;

and though more astonished than gratified herself by this

effect of her charms, it was not long before her mother gave

her to understand that the probability of their marriage was

exceedingly agreeable to _her_. Elizabeth, however, did not

chuse 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.

 

If there had not been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and

talk of, the younger Miss Bennets would have been in a pitiable

state at this time, for from the day of the invitation to the

day of the ball, there was such a succession of rain as

prevented their walking to Meryton once. No aunt, no officers,

no news could be sought after; -- the very shoe-roses for

Netherfield were got by proxy. Even Elizabeth might have found

some trial of her patience in weather which totally suspended

the improvement of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham; and

nothing less than a dance on Tuesday, could have made such a

Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday endurable to Kitty and

Lydia.

 

__

 

<CHAPTER XVIII (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 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,

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 exstacy.

 

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 of 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 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 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 stopt 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."

 

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 report

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 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 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 favorite'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

every thing 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."