JANE AUSTEN 14 страница

call herself _near_ her family under less than _half_ the

present distance."

 

Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said,

"_You_ cannot have a right to such very strong local

attachment. _You_ cannot have been always at Longbourn."

 

Elizabeth looked surprised. The gentleman experienced some

change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper

from the table, and, glancing over it, said, in a colder voice,

 

"Are you pleased with Kent?"

 

A short dialogue on the subject of the country ensued, on

either side calm and concise -- and soon put an end to by the

entrance of Charlotte and her sister, just returned from their

walk. The te^te-a`-te^te surprised them. Mr. Darcy related

the mistake which had occasioned his intruding on Miss Bennet,

and after sitting a few minutes longer without saying much to

any body, went away.

 

"What can be the meaning of this!" said Charlotte, as soon

as he was gone. "My dear Eliza he must be in love with you,

or he would never have called on us in this familiar way."

 

But when Elizabeth told of his silence, it did not seem very

likely, even to Charlotte's wishes, to be the case; and after

various conjectures, they could at last only suppose his visit

to proceed from the difficulty of finding any thing to do,

which was the more probable from the time of year. All field

sports were over. Within doors there was Lady Catherine,

books, and a billiard table, but gentlemen cannot be always

within doors; and in the nearness of the Parsonage, or the

pleasantness of the walk to it, or of the people who lived in

it, the two cousins found a temptation from this period of

walking thither almost every day. They called at various times

of the morning, sometimes separately, sometimes together, and

now and then accompanied by their aunt. It was plain to them

all that Colonel Fitzwilliam came because he had pleasure in

their society, a persuasion which of course recommended him

still more; and Elizabeth was reminded by her own satisfaction

in being with him, as well as by his evident admiration of her,

of her former favourite George Wickham; and though, in

comparing them, she saw there was less captivating softness in

Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners, she believed he might have the

best informed mind.

 

But why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parsonage, it was more

difficult to understand. It could not be for society, as he

frequently sat there ten minutes together without opening his

lips; and when he did speak, it seemed the effect of necessity

rather than of choice -- a sacrifice to propriety, not a

pleasure to himself. He seldom appeared really animated.

Mrs. Collins knew not what to make of him. Colonel

Fitzwilliam's occasionally laughing at his stupidity, proved

that he was generally different, which her own knowledge of him

could not have told her; and as she would have liked to believe

this change the effect of love, and the object of that love,

her friend Eliza, she sat herself seriously to work to find it

out. -- She watched him whenever they were at Rosings, and

whenever he came to Hunsford; but without much success. He

certainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the expression

of that look was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast

gaze, but she often doubted whether there were much admiration

in it, and sometimes it seemed nothing but absence of mind.

 

She had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possibility of

his being partial to her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the

idea; and Mrs. Collins did not think it right to press the

subject, from the danger of raising expectations which might

only end in disappointment; for in her opinion it admitted not

of a doubt, that all her friend's dislike would vanish, if she

could suppose him to be in her power.

 

In her kind schemes for Elizabeth, she sometimes planned her

marrying Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was beyond comparison the

pleasantest man; he certainly admired her, and his situation in

life was most eligible; but, to counterbalance these

advantages, Mr. Darcy had considerable patronage in the church,

and his cousin could have none at all.

 

__

 

<CHAPTER X (33)>

 

MORE than once did Elizabeth in her ramble within the Park,

unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. -- She felt all the perverseness

of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was

brought; and to prevent its ever happening again, took care to

inform him at first that it was a favourite haunt of hers. --

How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd! --

Yet it did, and even a third. It seemed like wilful

ill-nature, or a voluntary penance, for on these occasions it

was not merely a few formal enquiries and an awkward pause and

then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back

and walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she

give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much; but

it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he

was asking some odd unconnected questions -- about her pleasure

in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her

opinion of Mr. and Mrs. Collins's happiness; and that in

speaking of Rosings, and her not perfectly understanding the

house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent

again she would be staying _there_ too. His words seemed to

imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts?

She supposed, if he meant any thing, he must mean an allusion

to what might arise in that quarter. It distressed her a

little, and she was quite glad to find herself at the gate in

the pales opposite the Parsonage.

 

She was engaged one day, as she walked, in re-perusing Jane's

last letter, and dwelling on some passages which proved that

Jane had not written in spirits, when, instead of being again

surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking up, that Colonel

Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter

immediately and forcing a smile, she said,

 

"I did not know before that you ever walked this way."

 

"I have been making the tour of the Park," he replied, "as I

generally do every year, and intend to close it with a call at

the Parsonage. Are you going much farther?"

 

"No, I should have turned in a moment."

 

And accordingly she did turn, and they walked towards the

Parsonage together.

 

"Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?" said she.

 

"Yes -- if Darcy does not put it off again. But I am at his

disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases."

 

"And if not able to please himself in the arrangement, he has

at least great pleasure in the power of choice. I do not know

any body who seems more to enjoy the power of doing what he

likes than Mr. Darcy."

 

"He likes to have his own way very well," replied Colonel

Fitzwilliam. "But so we all do. It is only that he has better

means of having it than many others, because he is rich, and

many others are poor. I speak feelingly. A younger son, you

know, must be inured to self-denial and dependence."

 

"In my opinion, the younger son of an Earl can know very little

of either. Now, seriously, what have you ever known of

self-denial and dependence? When have you been prevented by

want of money from going wherever you chose, or procuring any

thing you had a fancy for?"

 

"These are home questions -- and perhaps I cannot say that

I have experienced many hardships of that nature. But in

matters of greater weight, I may suffer from the want of money.

Younger sons cannot marry where they like."

 

"Unless where they like women of fortune, which I think they

very often do."

 

"Our habits of expence make us too dependant, and there are not

many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some

attention to money."

 

"Is this," thought Elizabeth, "meant for me?" and she coloured

at the idea; but, recovering herself, said in a lively tone,

"And pray, what is the usual price of an Earl's younger son?

Unless the elder brother is very sickly, I suppose you would

not ask above fifty thousand pounds."

 

He answered her in the same style, and the subject dropped.

To interrupt a silence which might make him fancy her affected

with what had passed, she soon afterwards said,

 

"I imagine your cousin brought you down with him chiefly for

the sake of having somebody at his disposal. I wonder he does

not marry, to secure a lasting convenience of that kind. But,

perhaps his sister does as well for the present, and, as she is

under his sole care, he may do what he likes with her."

 

"No," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "that is an advantage which he

must divide with me. I am joined with him in the guardianship

of Miss Darcy."

 

"Are you, indeed? And pray what sort of guardians do you make?

Does your charge give you much trouble? Young ladies of her

age are sometimes a little difficult to manage, and if she has

the true Darcy spirit, she may like to have her own way."

 

As she spoke, she observed him looking at her earnestly, and

the manner in which he immediately asked her why she supposed

Miss Darcy likely to give them any uneasiness, convinced her

that she had somehow or other got pretty near the truth. She

directly replied,

 

"You need not be frightened. I never heard any harm of her;

and I dare say she is one of the most tractable creatures in

the world. She is a very great favourite with some ladies of

my acquaintance, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. I think I have

heard you say that you know them."

 

"I know them a little. Their brother is a pleasant

gentleman-like man -- he is a great friend of Darcy's."

 

"Oh! yes," said Elizabeth drily -- "Mr. Darcy is uncommonly

kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of

him."

 

"Care of him! -- Yes, I really believe Darcy _does_ take care

of him in those points where he most wants care. From

something that he told me in our journey hither, I have reason

to think Bingley very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg

his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the

person meant. It was all conjecture."

 

"What is it you mean?"

 

"It is a circumstance which Darcy, of course, would not wish to

be generally known, because if it were to get round to the

lady's family, it would be an unpleasant thing."

 

"You may depend upon my not mentioning it."

 

"And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to

be Bingley. What he told me was merely this; that he

congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the

inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without

mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only suspected

it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to

get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have

been together the whole of last summer."

 

"Did Mr. Darcy give you his reasons for this interference?"

 

"I understood that there were some very strong objections

against the lady."

 

"And what arts did he use to separate them?"

 

"He did not talk to me of his own arts," said Fitzwilliam

smiling. "He only told me what I have now told you."

 

Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling

with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam

asked her why she was so thoughtful.

 

"I am thinking of what you have been telling me," said she.

"Your cousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was

he to be the judge?"

 

"You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?"

 

"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the

propriety of his friend's inclination, or why, upon his own

judgment alone, he was to determine and direct in what manner

that friend was to be happy." "But," she continued,

recollecting herself, "as we know none of the particulars, it

is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that

there was much affection in the case."

 

"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwilliam, "but it

is lessening the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly."

 

This was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her so just a

picture of Mr. Darcy that she would not trust herself with an

answer; and, therefore, abruptly changing the conversation,

talked on indifferent matters till they reached the parsonage.

There, shut into her own room as soon as their visitor left

them, she could think without interruption of all that she had

heard. It was not to be supposed that any other people could

be meant than those with whom she was connected. There could

not exist in the world two men over whom Mr. Darcy could have

such boundless influence. That he had been concerned in the

measures taken to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, she had never

doubted; but she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the

principal design and arrangement of them. If his own vanity,

however, did not mislead him, _he_ was the cause, his pride and

caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and

still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every

hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in

the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might

have inflicted.

 

"There were some very strong objections against the lady," were

Colonel Fitzwilliam's words, and these strong objections

probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney,

and another who was in business in London.

 

"To Jane herself," she exclaimed, "there could be no

possibility of objection. All loveliness and goodness as she

is! Her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her

manners captivating. Neither could any thing be urged against

my father, who, though with some peculiarities, has abilities

which Mr. Darcy himself need not disdain, and respectability

which he will probably never reach." When she thought of her

mother, indeed, her confidence gave way a little, but she would

not allow that any objections _there_ had material weight with

Mr. Darcy, whose pride, she was convinced, would receive a

deeper wound from the want of importance in his friend's

connections, than from their want of sense; and she was quite

decided at last, that he had been partly governed by this worst

kind of pride, and partly by the wish of retaining Mr. Bingley

for his sister.

 

The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned brought on

a headache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening that,

added to her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it determined her

not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged

to drink tea. Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was really unwell,

did not press her to go, and as much as possible prevented her

husband from pressing her, but Mr. Collins could not conceal

his apprehension of Lady Catherine's being rather displeased by

her staying at home.

 

__

 

<CHAPTER XI (34)>

 

WHEN they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperate

herself as much as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for her

employment the examination of all the letters which Jane had

written to her since her being in Kent. They contained no

actual complaint, nor was there any revival of past

occurrences, or any communication of present suffering. But in

all, and in almost every line of each, there was a want of that

cheerfulness which had been used to characterize her style, and

which, proceeding from the serenity of a mind at ease with

itself, and kindly disposed towards every one, had been

scarcely ever clouded. Elizabeth noticed every sentence

conveying the idea of uneasiness with an attention which it had

hardly received on the first perusal. Mr. Darcy's shameful

boast of what misery he had been able to inflict gave her a

keener sense of her sister's sufferings. It was some

consolation to think that his visit to Rosings was to end on

the day after the next, and a still greater that in less than a

fortnight she should herself be with Jane again, and enabled to

contribute to the recovery of her spirits by all that affection

could do.

 

She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent without remembering

that his cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had

made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and agreeable

as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him.

 

While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound

of the door bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by

the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once

before called late in the evening, and might now come to

enquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon

banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when,

to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room.

In an hurried manner he immediately began an enquiry after her

health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were

better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for

a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room.

Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence

of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner,

and thus began,

 

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will

not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently

I admire and love you."

 

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared,

coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered

sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of all that he felt

and had long felt for her immediately followed. He spoke well,

but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be

detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of

tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority -- of

its being a degradation -- of the family obstacles which

judgment had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with

a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding,

but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.

 

In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be

insensible to the compliment of such a man's affection, and

though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at

first sorry for the pain he was to receive; till, roused to

resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion

in anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to answer him

with patience, when he should have done. He concluded with

representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in

spite of all his endeavours, he had found impossible to

conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be

rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she

could easily see that he had no doubt of a favourable answer.

He _spoke_ of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance

expressed real security. Such a circumstance could only

exasperate farther, and when he ceased, the colour rose into

her cheeks, and she said,

 

"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode

to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed,

however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that

obligation should be felt, and if I could _feel_ gratitude,

I would now thank you. But I cannot -- I have never desired

your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most

unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to any one.

It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will

be of short duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have

long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard, can have

little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation."

 

Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantle-piece with his

eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less

resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with

anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every

feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure,

and would not open his lips, till he believed himself to have

attained it. The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings dreadful.

At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,

 

"And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of

expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so

little _endeavour_ at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is

of small importance."

 

"I might as well enquire," replied she, "why, with so evident a

design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that

you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even

against your character? Was not this some excuse for

incivility, if I _was_ uncivil? But I have other provocations.

You know I have. Had not my own feelings decided against you,

had they been indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do

you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the

man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the

happiness of a most beloved sister?"

 

As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but

the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to

interrupt her while she continued.

 

"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No

motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted

_there_. You dare not, you cannot deny that you have been the

principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each

other, of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice

and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed

hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."

 

She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was

listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any

feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of

affected incredulity.

 

"Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.

 

With assumed tranquillity he then replied, "I have no wish of

denying that I did every thing in my power to separate my

friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success.

Towards _him_ I have been kinder than towards myself."

 

Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil

reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely

to conciliate, her.

 

"But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which my

dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion

of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital

which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this

subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of

friendship can you here defend yourself? or under what

misrepresentation, can you here impose upon others?"

 

"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," said

Darcy in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.

 

"Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help

feeling an interest in him?"

 

"His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously; "yes, his

misfortunes have been great indeed."

 

"And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy. "You

have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative

poverty. You have withheld the advantages, which you must know

to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best

years of his life, of that independence which was no less his

due than his desert. You have done all this! and yet you can

treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and

ridicule."

 

"And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across

the room, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in

which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My

faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But

perhaps," added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards

her, "these offences might have been overlooked, had not your

pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that

had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter

accusations might have been suppressed, had I with greater

policy concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the

belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed

inclination -- by reason, by reflection, by every thing. But

disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of

the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you

expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?

To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose

condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"

 

Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she

tried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said,

 

"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of

your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it

spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you,

had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner."

 

She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she

continued,