JANE AUSTEN 28 страница

conviction to him."

 

"It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence

had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a

case, but his reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was

obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not

unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal

that your sister had been in town three months last winter,

that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was

angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than

he remained in any doubt of your sister's sentiments. He has

heartily forgiven me now."

 

Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most

delightful friend; so easily guided that his worth was

invaluable; but she checked herself. She remembered that he

had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rather too early

to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of

course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the

conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they

parted.

 

__

 

<CHAPTER XVII (59)>

 

"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" was a

question which Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she

entered their room, and from all the others when they sat down

to table. She had only to say in reply, that they had wandered

about, till she was beyond her own knowledge. She coloured as

she spoke; but neither that, nor any thing else, awakened a

suspicion of the truth.

 

The evening passed quietly, unmarked by any thing

extraordinary. The acknowledged lovers talked and laughed, the

unacknowledged were silent. Darcy was not of a disposition in

which happiness overflows in mirth; and Elizabeth, agitated and

confused, rather _knew_ that she was happy than _felt_ herself

to be so; for, besides the immediate embarrassment, there were

other evils before her. She anticipated what would be felt in

the family when her situation became known; she was aware that

no one liked him but Jane; and even feared that with the others

it was a _dislike_ which not all his fortune and consequence

might do away.

 

At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was

very far from Miss Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely

incredulous here.

 

"You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be! -- engaged to

Mr. Darcy! No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it

to be impossible."

 

"This is a wretched beginning indeed! My sole dependence was

on you; and I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do

not. Yet, indeed, I am in earnest. I speak nothing but the

truth. He still loves me, and we are engaged."

 

Jane looked at her doubtingly. "Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be.

I know how much you dislike him."

 

"You know nothing of the matter. _That_ is all to be forgot.

Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in

such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is

the last time I shall ever remember it myself."

 

Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again, and

more seriously assured her of its truth.

 

"Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet now I must believe

you," cried Jane. "My dear, dear Lizzy, I would -- I do

congratulate you -- but are you certain? forgive the question

-- are you quite certain that you can be happy with him?"

 

"There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us

already, that we are to be the happiest couple in the world.

But are you pleased, Jane? Shall you like to have such a

brother?"

 

"Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or

myself more delight. But we considered it, we talked of it as

impossible. And do you really love him quite well enough?

Oh, Lizzy! do any thing rather than marry without affection.

Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to do?"

 

"Oh, yes! You will only think I feel _more_ than I ought to

do, when I tell you all."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Why, I must confess that I love him better than I do Bingley.

I am afraid you will be angry."

 

"My dearest sister, now _be_ serious. I want to talk very

seriously. Let me know every thing that I am to know, without

delay. Will you tell me how long you have loved him?"

 

"It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it

began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his

beautiful grounds at Pemberley."

 

Another intreaty that she would be serious, however, produced

the desired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn

assurances of attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss

Bennet had nothing farther to wish.

 

"Now I am quite happy," said she, "for you will be as happy as

myself. I always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but

his love of you, I must always have esteemed him; but now, as

Bingley's friend and your husband, there can be only Bingley

and yourself more dear to me. But Lizzy, you have been very

sly, very reserved with me. How little did you tell me of what

passed at Pemberley and Lambton! I owe all that I know of it

to another, not to you."

 

Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had been

unwilling to mention Bingley; and the unsettled state of her

own feelings had made her equally avoid the name of his friend.

But now she would no longer conceal from her his share in

Lydia's marriage. All was acknowledged, and half the night

spent in conversation.

____

 

"Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a window

the next morning, "if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming

here again with our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so

tiresome as to be always coming here? I had no notion but he

would go a-shooting, or something or other, and not disturb us

with his company. What shall we do with him? Lizzy, you must

walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley's way."

 

Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a

proposal; yet was really vexed that her mother should be

always giving him such an epithet.

 

As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively,

and shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good

information; and he soon afterwards said aloud, "Mrs. Bennet,

have you no more lanes hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her

way again to-day?"

 

"I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty," said Mrs. Bennet,

"to walk to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk,

and Mr. Darcy has never seen the view."

 

"It may do very well for the others," replied Mr. Bingley; "but

I am sure it will be too much for Kitty. Won't it, Kitty?"

Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed

a great curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth

silently consented. As she went up stairs to get ready,

Mrs. Bennet followed her, saying,

 

"I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have

that disagreeable man all to yourself. But I hope you will not

mind it: it is all for Jane's sake, you know; and there is no

occasion for talking to him, except just now and then. So, do

not put yourself to inconvenience."

 

During their walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet's consent

should be asked in the course of the evening. Elizabeth

reserved to herself the application for her mother's. She

could not determine how her mother would take it; sometimes

doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur would be enough

to overcome her abhorrence of the man. But whether she were

violently set against the match, or violently delighted with

it, it was certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted

to do credit to her sense; and she could no more bear that

Mr. Darcy should hear the first raptures of her joy, than the

first vehemence of her disapprobation.

____

 

In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library,

she saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation

on seeing it was extreme. She did not fear her father's

opposition, but he was going to be made unhappy; and that it

should be through her means -- that _she_, his favourite child,

should be distressing him by her choice, should be filling him

with fears and regrets in disposing of her -- was a wretched

reflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared

again, when, looking at him, she was a little relieved by his

smile. In a few minutes he approached the table where she was

sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending to admire her work

said in a whisper, "Go to your father, he wants you in the

library." She was gone directly.

 

Her father was walking about the room, looking grave and

anxious. "Lizzy," said he, "what are you doing? Are you out

of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have not you always

hated him?"

 

How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had

been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would

have spared her from explanations and professions which it was

exceedingly awkward to give; but they were now necessary, and

she assured him, with some confusion, of her attachment to

Mr. Darcy.

 

"Or, in other words, you are determined to have him. He is

rich, to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine

carriages than Jane. But will they make you happy?"

 

"Have you any other objection," said Elizabeth, "than your

belief of my indifference?"

 

"None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort

of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him."

 

"I do, I do like him," she replied, with tears in her eyes,

"I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly

amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not

pain me by speaking of him in such terms."

 

"Lizzy," said her father, "I have given him my consent.

He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare

refuse any thing, which he condescended to ask. I now give it

to _you_, if you are resolved on having him. But let me advise

you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy.

I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless

you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked up to him

as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the

greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely

escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the

grief of seeing _you_ unable to respect your partner in life.

You know not what you are about."

 

Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her

reply; and at length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was

really the object of her choice, by explaining the gradual

change which her estimation of him had undergone, relating her

absolute certainty that his affection was not the work of a

day, but had stood the test of many months suspense, and

enumerating with energy all his good qualities, she did conquer

her father's incredulity, and reconcile him to the match.

 

"Well, my dear," said he, when she ceased speaking, "I have no

more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could

not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to any one less worthy."

 

To complete the favourable impression, she then told him what

Mr. Darcy had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with

astonishment.

 

"This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did

every thing: made up the match, gave the money, paid the

fellow's debts, and got him his commission! So much the

better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy.

Had it been your uncle's doing, I must and _would_ have paid

him; but these violent young lovers carry every thing their

own way. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow; he will rant

and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end

of the matter."

 

He then recollected her embarrassment a few days before, on his

reading Mr. Collins's letter; and after laughing at her some

time, allowed her at last to go -- saying, as she quitted the

room, "If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in,

for I am quite at leisure."

 

Elizabeth's mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight;

and, after half an hour's quiet reflection in her own room,

she was able to join the others with tolerable composure.

Every thing was too recent for gaiety, but the evening passed

tranquilly away; there was no longer any thing material to

be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity would

come in time.

 

When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, she

followed her, and made the important communication. Its effect

was most extraordinary; for on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet

sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it

under many, many minutes that she could comprehend what she

heard; though not in general backward to credit what was for

the advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a

lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to

fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder,

and bless herself.

 

"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me!

Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true?

Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be!

What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have!

Jane's is nothing to it -- nothing at all. I am so pleased --

so happy. Such a charming man! -- so handsome! so tall! --

Oh, my dear Lizzy! pray apologise for my having disliked him

so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy.

A house in town! Every thing that is charming! Three

daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will

become of me. I shall go distracted."

 

This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be

doubted: and Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was

heard only by herself, soon went away. But before she had

been three minutes in her own room, her mother followed her.

 

"My dearest child," she cried, "I can think of nothing else!

Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! 'Tis as good as a

Lord! And a special licence. You must and shall be married

by a special licence. But my dearest love, tell me what dish

Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it

tomorrow."

 

This was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to the

gentleman himself might be; and Elizabeth found that, though in

the certain possession of his warmest affection, and secure of

her relations' consent, there was still something to be wished

for. But the morrow passed off much better than she expected;

for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of her intended

son-in-law that she ventured not to speak to him, unless it was

in her power to offer him any attention, or mark her deference

for his opinion.

 

Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking

pains to get acquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured

her that he was rising every hour in his esteem.

 

"I admire all my three sons-in-law highly," said he.

"Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall

like _your_ husband quite as well as Jane's."

 

__

 

<CHAPTER XVIII (60)>

 

ELIZABETH'S spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she

wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love

with her. "How could you begin?" said she. "I can comprehend

your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning;

but what could set you off in the first place?"

 

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the

words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was

in the middle before I knew that I _had_ begun."

 

"My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners --

my behaviour to _you_ was at least always bordering on the

uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to

give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for

my impertinence?"

 

"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."

 

"You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very

little less. The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of

deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the

women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking for

_your_ approbation alone. I roused, and interested you,

because I was so unlike _them_. Had you not been really

amiable, you would have hated me for it; but in spite of the

pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always

noble and just; and in your heart, you thoroughly despised the

persons who so assiduously courted you. There -- I have saved

you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things

considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be

sure, you knew no actual good of me -- but nobody thinks of

_that_ when they fall in love."

 

"Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane while

she was ill at Netherfield?"

 

"Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a

virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your

protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible;

and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teazing

and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin

directly by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to

the point at last. What made you so shy of me, when you first

called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you

called, did you look as if you did not care about me?"

 

"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no

encouragement."

 

"But I was embarrassed."

 

"And so was I."

 

"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."

 

"A man who had felt less, might."

 

"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give,

and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I

wonder how long you _would_ have gone on, if you had been left

to yourself. I wonder when you _would_ have spoken, if I had

not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness

to Lydia had certainly great effect. _Too_ _much_, I am

afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs

from a breach of promise? for I ought not to have mentioned

the subject. This will never do."

 

"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly

fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us

were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted

for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing

your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening

of your's. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was

determined at once to know every thing."

 

"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make

her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did

you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to

Longbourn and be embarrassed? or had you intended any more

serious consequence?"

 

"My real purpose was to see _you_, and to judge, if I could,

whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one,

or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister were

still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the

confession to him which I have since made."

 

"Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine

what is to befall her?"

 

"I am more likely to want more time than courage, Elizabeth.

But it ought to done, and if you will give me a sheet of paper,

it shall be done directly."

 

"And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you

and admire the eveness of your writing, as another young lady

once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer

neglected."

 

From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with

Mr. Darcy had been over-rated, Elizabeth had never yet

answered Mrs. Gardiner's long letter; but now, having _that_

to communicate which she knew would be most welcome, she was

almost ashamed to find that her uncle and aunt had already lost

three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as follows:

 

"I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought

to have done, for your long, kind, satisfactory, detail of

particulars; but to say the truth, I was too cross to write.

You supposed more than really existed. But _now_ suppose as

much as you chuse; give a loose to your fancy, indulge your

imagination in every possible flight which the subject will

afford, and unless you believe me actually married, you cannot

greatly err. You must write again very soon, and praise him a

great deal more than you did in your last. I thank you, again

and again, for not going to the Lakes. How could I be so silly

as to wish it! Your idea of the ponies is delightful. We will

go round the Park every day. I am the happiest creature in the

world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one

with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only

smiles, I laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world

that he can spare from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at

Christmas. Your's, &c."

 

Mr. Darcy's letter to Lady Catherine was in a different style;

and still different from either was what Mr. Bennet sent to

Mr. Collins, in reply to his last.

 

"DEAR SIR,

 

I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth

will soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine

as well as you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the

nephew. He has more to give.

 

Your's sincerely, &c."

 

Miss Bingley's congratulations to her brother, on his

approaching marriage, were all that was affectionate and

insincere. She wrote even to Jane on the occasion, to express

her delight, and repeat all her former professions of regard.

Jane was not deceived, but she was affected; and though feeling

no reliance on her, could not help writing her a much kinder

answer than she knew was deserved.

 

The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar

information, was as sincere as her brother's in sending it.

Four sides of paper were insufficient to contain all her

delight, and all her earnest desire of being loved by her

sister.

 

Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any

congratulations to Elizabeth from his wife, the Longbourn

family heard that the Collinses were come themselves to Lucas

lodge. The reason of this sudden removal was soon evident.

Lady Catherine had been rendered so exceedingly angry by

the contents of her nephew's letter, that Charlotte, really

rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till the

storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of

her friend was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in

the course of their meetings she must sometimes think the

pleasure dearly bought, when she saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all

the parading and obsequious civility of her husband. He bore

it, however, with admirable calmness. He could even listen to

Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away

the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of

their all meeting frequently at St. James's, with very decent

composure. If he did shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir

William was out of sight.

 

Mrs. Philips's vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater,

tax on his forbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as

her sister, stood in too much awe of him to speak with the

familiarity which Bingley's good humour encouraged, yet,

whenever she _did_ speak, she must be vulgar. Nor was her

respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all likely

to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could to

shield him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever

anxious to keep him to herself, and to those of her family with

whom he might converse without mortification; and though the

uncomfortable feelings arising from all this took from the

season of courtship much of its pleasure, it added to the hope

of the future; and she looked forward with delight to the time

when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to

either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party

at Pemberley.

 

__

 

<CHAPTER XIX (61)>

 

HAPPY for all her maternal feelings was the day on which

Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters.

With what delighted pride she afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley,

and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may be guessed. I wish I could say,

for the sake of her family, that the accomplishment of her

earnest desire in the establishment of so many of her children

produced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible, amiable,

well-informed woman for the rest of her life; though perhaps it

was lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic

felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally

nervous and invariably silly.