JANE AUSTEN 18 страница

 

"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 farther 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.

 

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<CHAPTER XIX (42)>

 

HAD Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she

could not have formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal

felicity or domestic comfort. Her father, captivated by youth

and beauty, and that appearance of good humour which youth and

beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak

understanding and illiberal mind had, very early in their

marriage, put an end to all real affection for her. Respect,

esteem, and confidence had vanished for ever; and all his views

of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not

of a disposition to seek comfort, for the disappointment which

his own imprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures

which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or

their vice. He was fond of the country and of books; and from

these tastes had arisen his principal enjoyments. To his wife

he was very little otherwise indebted, than as her ignorance

and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not the

sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to

his wife; but where other powers of entertainment are wanting,

the true philosopher will derive benefit from such as are

given.

 

Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of

her father's behaviour as a husband. She had always seen it

with pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his

affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavoured to forget

what she could not overlook, and to banish from her thoughts

that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum which,

in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own children, was

so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so strongly as

now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so

unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the

evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents;

talents which rightly used, might at least have preserved the

respectability of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging

the mind of his wife.

 

When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's departure, she

found little other cause for satisfaction in the loss of the

regiment. Their parties abroad were less varied than before;

and at home she had a mother and sister whose constant

repinings at the dulness of every thing around them threw a

real gloom over their domestic circle; and, though Kitty might

in time regain her natural degree of sense, since the

disturbers of her brain were removed, her other sister, from

whose disposition greater evil might be apprehended, was likely

to be hardened in all her folly and assurance by a situation of

such double danger as a watering place and a camp. Upon the

whole, therefore, she found what has been sometimes found

before, that an event to which she had looked forward with

impatient desire, did not, in taking place, bring all the

satisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently

necessary to name some other period for the commencement of

actual felicity; to have some other point on which her wishes

and hopes might be fixed, and by again enjoying the pleasure of

anticipation, console herself for the present, and prepare for

another disappointment. Her tour to the Lakes was now the

object of her happiest thoughts; it was her best consolation

for all the uncomfortable hours which the discontentedness of

her mother and Kitty made inevitable; and could she have

included Jane in the scheme, every part of it would have been

perfect.

 

"But it is fortunate," thought she, "that I have something

to wish for. Were the whole arrangement complete, my

disappointment would be certain. But here, by my carrying

with me one ceaseless source of regret in my sister's absence,

I may reasonably hope to have all my expectations of pleasure

realized. A scheme of which every part promises delight, can

never be successful; and general disappointment is only warded

off by the defence of some little peculiar vexation."

 

When Lydia went away, she promised to write very often and very

minutely to her mother and Kitty; but her letters were always

long expected, and always very short. Those to her mother

contained little else, than that they were just returned from

the library, where such and such officers had attended them,

and where she had seen such beautiful ornaments as made her

quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a new parasol, which

she would have described more fully, but was obliged to leave

off in a violent hurry, as Mrs. Forster called her, and they

were going to the camp; -- and from her correspondence with her

sister, there was still less to be learnt -- for her letters to

Kitty, though rather longer, were much too full of lines under

the words to be made public.

 

After the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence,

health, good humour, and cheerfulness began to re-appear at

Longbourn. Everything wore a happier aspect. The families who

had been in town for the winter came back again, and summer

finery and summer engagements arose. Mrs. Bennet was restored

to her usual querulous serenity, and by the middle of June

Kitty was so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton

without tears; an event of such happy promise as to make

Elizabeth hope that by the following Christmas, she might be so

tolerably reasonable as not to mention an officer above once a

day, unless, by some cruel and malicious arrangement at the

War-Office, another regiment should be quartered in Meryton.

 

The time fixed for the beginning of their Northern tour was now

fast approaching; and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when

a letter arrived from Mrs. Gardiner, which at once delayed its

commencement and curtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would be

prevented by business from setting out till a fortnight later

in July, and must be in London again within a month; and as

that left too short a period for them to go so far, and see so

much as they had proposed, or at least to see it with the

leisure and comfort they had built on, they were obliged to

give up the Lakes, and substitute a more contracted tour; and,

according to the present plan, were to go no farther northward

than Derbyshire. In that county, there was enough to be seen

to occupy the chief of their three weeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner

it had a peculiarly strong attraction. The town where she had

formerly passed some years of her life, and where they were now

to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of her

curiosity, as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock,

Chatsworth, Dovedale, or the Peak.

 

Elizabeth was excessively disappointed; she had set her heart

on seeing the Lakes; and still thought there might have been

time enough. But it was her business to be satisfied -- and

certainly her temper to be happy; and all was soon right again.

 

With the mention of Derbyshire, there were many ideas

connected. It was impossible for her to see the word without

thinking of Pemberley and its owner. "But surely," said she,

"I may enter his county with impunity, and rob it of a few

petrified spars without his perceiving me."

 

The period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks were to

pass away before her uncle and aunt's arrival. But they did

pass away, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, with their four children,

did at length appear at Longbourn. The children, two girls of

six and eight years old, and two younger boys, were to be left

under the particular care of their cousin Jane, who was the

general favourite, and whose steady sense and sweetness of

temper exactly adapted her for attending to them in every way

-- teaching them, playing with them, and loving them.

 

The Gardiners staid only one night at Longbourn, and set off

the next morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of novelty and

amusement. One enjoyment was certain -- that of suitableness

as companions; a suitableness which comprehended health and

temper to bear inconveniences -- cheerfulness to enhance every

pleasure -- and affection and intelligence, which might supply

it among themselves if there were disappointments abroad.

 

It is not the object of this work to give a description of

Derbyshire, nor of any of the remarkable places through which

their route thither lay; Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenelworth,

Birmingham, &c. are sufficiently known. A small part of

Derbyshire is all the present concern. To the little town of

Lambton, the scene of Mrs. Gardiner's former residence, and

where she had lately learned that some acquaintance still

remained, they bent their steps, after having seen all the

principal wonders of the country; and within five miles of

Lambton, Elizabeth found from her aunt that Pemberley was

situated. It was not in their direct road, nor more than a

mile or two out of it. In talking over their route the evening

before, Mrs. Gardiner expressed an inclination to see the place

again. Mr. Gardiner declared his willingness, and Elizabeth

was applied to for her approbation.

 

"My love, should not you like to see a place of which you have

heard so much?" said her aunt. "A place too, with which so

many of your acquaintance are connected. Wickham passed all

his youth there, you know."

 

Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at

Pemberley, and was obliged to assume a disinclination for

seeing it. She must own that she was tired of great houses;

after going over so many, she really had no pleasure in fine

carpets or satin curtains.

 

Mrs. Gardiner abused her stupidity. "If it were merely a fine

house richly furnished," said she, "I should not care about it

myself; but the grounds are delightful. They have some of the

finest woods in the country."

 

Elizabeth said no more -- but her mind could not acquiesce.

The possibility of meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the place,

instantly occurred. It would be dreadful! She blushed at the

very idea; and thought it would be better to speak openly to

her aunt than to run such a risk. But against this there were

objections; and she finally resolved that it could be the last

resource, if her private enquiries as to the absence of the

family were unfavourably answered.

 

Accordingly, when she retired at night, she asked the

chambermaid whether Pemberley were not a very fine place,

what was the name of its proprietor, and, with no little

alarm, whether the family were down for the summer. A most

welcome negative followed the last question -- and her alarms

being now removed, she was at leisure to feel a great deal of

curiosity to see the house herself; and when the subject was

revived the next morning, and she was again applied to, could

readily answer, and with a proper air of indifference, that

she had not really any dislike to the scheme.

 

To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.

 

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<END OF THE SECOND VOLUME>

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<VOLUME III>

<CHAPTER I (43)>

 

ELIZABETH, as they drove along, watched for the first

appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation; and when

at length they turned in at the lodge, her spirits were in a

high flutter.

 

The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground.

They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some

time through a beautiful wood, stretching over a wide extent.

 

Elizabeth's mind was too full for conversation, but she saw

and admired every remarkable spot and point of view. They

gradually ascended for half a mile, and then found themselves

at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased,

and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated

on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road, with

some abruptness, wound. It was a large, handsome, stone

building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge

of high woody hills; -- and in front, a stream of some natural

importance was swelled into greater, but without any artificial

appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely

adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place

for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had

been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were all

of them warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt

that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!

 

They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the

door; and, while examining the nearer aspect of the house, all

her apprehensions of meeting its owner returned. She dreaded

lest the chambermaid had been mistaken. On applying to see the

place, they were admitted into the hall; and Elizabeth, as they

waited for the housekeeper, had leisure to wonder at her being

where she was.

 

The housekeeper came; a respectable-looking, elderly woman,

much less fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of

finding her. They followed her into the dining-parlour. It

was a large, well-proportioned room, handsomely fitted up.

Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to a window to

enjoy its prospect. The hill, crowned with wood, from which

they had descended, receiving increased abruptness from the

distance, was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the

ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene -- the

river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the

valley, as far as she could trace it -- with delight. As they

passed into other rooms, these objects were taking different

positions; but from every window there were beauties to be

seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture

suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw,

with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor

uselessly fine; with less of splendor, and more real elegance,

than the furniture of Rosings.

 

"And of this place," thought she, "I might have been mistress!

With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted!

Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in

them as my own, and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and

aunt. -- But no," -- recollecting herself, -- "that could never

be: my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me: I should not

have been allowed to invite them." This was a lucky

recollection -- it saved her from something like regret.

 

She longed to enquire of the housekeeper whether her master

were really absent, but had not courage for it. At length,

however, the question was asked by her uncle; and she turned

away with alarm, while Mrs. Reynolds replied that he was,

adding, "but we expect him tomorrow, with a large party of

friends." How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own journey

had not by any circumstance been delayed a day!

 

Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached,

and saw the likeness of Mr. Wickham suspended, amongst several

other miniatures, over the mantlepiece. Her aunt asked her,

smilingly, how she liked it. The housekeeper came forward, and

told them it was the picture of a young gentleman, the son of

her late master's steward, who had been brought up by him at

his own expence. -- "He is now gone into the army," she added,

"but I am afraid he has turned out very wild."

 

Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile, but Elizabeth

could not return it.

 

"And that," said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the

miniatures, "is my master -- and very like him. It was drawn

at the same time as the other -- about eight years ago."

 

"I have heard much of your master's fine person," said

Mrs. Gardiner, looking at the picture; "it is a handsome face.

But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not."

 

Mrs. Reynolds's respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on

this intimation of her knowing her master.

 

"Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?"

 

Elizabeth coloured, and said -- "A little."

 

"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, Ma'am?"

 

"Yes, very handsome."

 

"I am sure _I_ know none so handsome; but in the gallery

up stairs you will see a finer, larger picture of him than

this. This room was my late master's favourite room, and

these miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was

very fond of them."

 

This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham's being among them.

 

Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss

Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.

 

"And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?" said

Mr. Gardiner.

 

"Oh! yes -- the handsomest young lady that ever was seen;

and so accomplished! -- She plays and sings all day long.

In the next room is a new instrument just come down for her --

a present from my master; she comes here to-morrow with him."

 

Mr. Gardiner, whose manners were easy and pleasant, encouraged

her communicativeness by his questions and remarks;

Mrs. Reynolds, either from pride or attachment, had evidently

great pleasure in talking of her master and his sister.

 

"Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?"

 

"Not so much as I could wish, Sir; but I dare say he may

spend half his time here; and Miss Darcy is always down for

the summer months."

 

"Except," thought Elizabeth, "when she goes to Ramsgate."

 

"If your master would marry, you might see more of him."

 

"Yes, Sir; but I do not know when _that_ will be. I do not

know who is good enough for him."

 

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner smiled. Elizabeth could not help saying,

"It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should

think so."

 

"I say no more than the truth, and what every body will say

that knows him," replied the other. Elizabeth thought this was

going pretty far; and she listened with increasing astonishment

as the housekeeper added, "I have never had a cross word from

him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four

years old."

 

This was praise, of all others most extraordinary, most

opposite to her ideas. That he was not a good tempered man had

been her firmest opinion. Her keenest attention was awakened;

she longed to hear more, and was grateful to her uncle for

saying,

 

"There are very few people of whom so much can be said.

You are lucky in having such a master."

 

"Yes, Sir, I know I am. If I was to go through the world,

I could not meet with a better. But I have always observed

that they who are good-natured when children are good-natured

when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered,

most generous-hearted, boy in the world."

 

Elizabeth almost stared at her. -- "Can this be Mr. Darcy!"

thought she.

 

"His father was an excellent man," said Mrs. Gardiner.

 

"Yes, Ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like

him -- just as affable to the poor."

 

Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for

more. Mrs. Reynolds could interest her on no other point. She

related the subject of the pictures, the dimensions of the

rooms, and the price of the furniture, in vain. Mr. Gardiner,

highly amused by the kind of family prejudice to which he

attributed her excessive commendation of her master, soon led

again to the subject; and she dwelt with energy on his many

merits, as they proceeded together up the great staircase.

 

"He is the best landlord, and the best master," said she, "that

ever lived. Not like the wild young men now-a-days, who think

of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or

servants but what will give him a good name. Some people call

him proud; but I am sure I never saw any thing of it. To my

fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other

young men."

 

"In what an amiable light does this place him!" thought

Elizabeth.

 

"This fine account of him," whispered her aunt, as they walked,

"is not quite consistent with his behaviour to our poor

friend."

 

"Perhaps we might be deceived."

 

"That is not very likely; our authority was too good."

 

On reaching the spacious lobby above, they were shewn into

a very pretty sitting-room, lately fitted up with greater

elegance and lightness than the apartments below; and were

informed that it was but just done to give pleasure to Miss

Darcy, who had taken a liking to the room when last at

Pemberley.

 

"He is certainly a good brother," said Elizabeth, as she walked

towards one of the windows.

 

Mrs. Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy's delight when she should

enter the room. "And this is always the way with him," she

added. -- "Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to

be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for

her."

 

The picture gallery, and two or three of the principal

bedrooms, were all that remained to be shewn. In the former

were many good paintings; but Elizabeth knew nothing of the

art; and from such as had been already visible below, she had

willingly turned to look at some drawings of Miss Darcy's, in

crayons, whose subjects were usually more interesting, and also

more intelligible.

 

In the gallery there were many family portraits, but they could

have little to fix the attention of a stranger. Elizabeth

walked on in quest of the only face whose features would be

known to her. At last it arrested her -- and she beheld a

striking resemblance of Mr. Darcy, with such a smile over the

face as she remembered to have sometimes seen, when he looked

at her. She stood several minutes before the picture in

earnest contemplation, and returned to it again before they

quitted the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them that it had

been taken in his father's life time.

 

There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth's mind, a more

gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever felt in

the height of their acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on

him by Mrs. Reynolds was of no trifling nature. What praise is

more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant? As a

brother, a landlord, a master, she considered how many people's

happiness were in his guardianship! -- How much of pleasure or

pain it was in his power to bestow! -- How much of good or evil

must be done by him! Every idea that had been brought forward

by the housekeeper was favourable to his character, and as she

stood before the canvas, on which he was represented, and fixed

his eyes upon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper

sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before; she

remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of

expression.

 

When all of the house that was open to general inspection had

been seen, they returned down stairs, and, taking leave of the

housekeeper, were consigned over to the gardener, who met them

at the hall door.

 

As they walked across the lawn towards the river, Elizabeth

turned back to look again; her uncle and aunt stopped also, and

while the former was conjecturing as to the date of the

building, the owner of it himself suddenly came forward from

the road, which led behind it to the stables.

 

They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was

his appearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight.