Chapter 11
When the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her
sister, and seeing her well guarded from cold, attended her into
the drawing-room, where she was welcomed by her two friends with
many professions of pleasure; and Elizabeth had never seen them
so agreeable as they were during the hour which passed before the
gentlemen appeared. Their powers of conversation were
considerable. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy,
relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at their acquaintance
with spirit.
But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first
object; Miss Bingley’s eyes were instantly turned toward Darcy,
and she had something to say to him before he had advanced many
steps. He addressed himself to Miss Bennet, with a polite
congratulation; Mr. Hurst also made her a slight bow, and said he
was “very glad;” but diffuseness and warmth remained for
Bingley’s salutation. He was full of joy and attention. The first
half-hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer
from the change of room; and she removed at his desire to the
other side of the fireplace, that she might be further from the
door. He then sat down by her, and talked scarcely to anyone
else. Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with
great delight.
When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the
card-table—but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence
that Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards; and Mr. Hurst soon found
even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one
intended to play, and the silence of the whole party on the
subject seemed to justify her. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to
do, but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep.
Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same; and Mrs. Hurst,
principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings,
joined now and then in her brother’s conversation with Miss
Bennet.
Miss Bingley’s attention was quite as much engaged in watching
Mr. Darcy’s progress through _his_ book, as in reading her own;
and she was perpetually either making some enquiry, or looking at
his page. She could not win him, however, to any conversation; he
merely answered her question, and read on. At length, quite
exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own book, which
she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she
gave a great yawn and said, “How pleasant it is to spend an
evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment
like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than of a
book! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I
have not an excellent library.”
No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her
book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest for some
amusement; when hearing her brother mentioning a ball to Miss
Bennet, she turned suddenly towards him and said:
“By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a
dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on
it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much
mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be
rather a punishment than a pleasure.”
“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he may go to bed, if he
chooses, before it begins—but as for the ball, it is quite a
settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup
enough, I shall send round my cards.”
“I should like balls infinitely better,” she replied, “if they
were carried on in a different manner; but there is something
insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It
would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of
dancing were made the order of the day.”
“Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would
not be near so much like a ball.”
Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards she got up and
walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked
well; but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly
studious. In the desperation of her feelings, she resolved on one
effort more, and, turning to Elizabeth, said:
“Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and
take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing
after sitting so long in one attitude.”
Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss
Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility; Mr.
Darcy looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention
in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously
closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but
he declined it, observing that he could imagine but two motives
for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with
either of which motives his joining them would interfere. “What
could he mean? She was dying to know what could be his
meaning?”—and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand
him?
“Not at all,” was her answer; “but depend upon it, he means to be
severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to
ask nothing about it.”
Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy
in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation
of his two motives.
“I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,” said he,
as soon as she allowed him to speak. “You either choose this
method of passing the evening because you are in each other’s
confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you
are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage
in walking; if the first, I would be completely in your way, and
if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the
fire.”
“Oh! shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard anything so
abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”
“Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,” said
Elizabeth. “We can all plague and punish one another. Tease
him—laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to
be done.”
“But upon my honour, I do _not_. I do assure you that my intimacy
has not yet taught me _that_. Tease calmness of manner and
presence of mind! No, no; I feel he may defy us there. And as to
laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by
attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug
himself.”
“Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!” cried Elizabeth. “That is an
uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it
would be a great loss to _me_ to have many such acquaintances. I
dearly love a laugh.”
“Miss Bingley,” said he, “has given me more credit than can be.
The wisest and the best of men—nay, the wisest and best of their
actions—may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object
in life is a joke.”
“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth—“there are such people, but I hope
I am not one of _them_. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and
good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, _do_
divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these,
I suppose, are precisely what you are without.”
“Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the
study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a
strong understanding to ridicule.”
“Such as vanity and pride.”
“Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a
real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good
regulation.”
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.
“Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss
Bingley; “and pray what is the result?”
“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He
owns it himself without disguise.”
“No,” said Darcy, “I have made no such pretension. I have faults
enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I
dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little
yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I
cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought,
nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed
about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be
called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”
“_That_ is a failing indeed!” cried Elizabeth. “Implacable
resentment _is_ a shade in a character. But you have chosen your
fault well. I really cannot _laugh_ at it. You are safe from me.”
“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some
particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best
education can overcome.”
“And _your_ defect is to hate everybody.”
“And yours,” he replied with a smile, “is willfully to
misunderstand them.”
“Do let us have a little music,” cried Miss Bingley, tired of a
conversation in which she had no share. “Louisa, you will not
mind my waking Mr. Hurst?”
Her sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was
opened; and Darcy, after a few moments’ recollection, was not
sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too
much attention.
Chapter 13
“I hope, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at
breakfast the next morning, “that you have ordered a good dinner
to-day, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family
party.”
“Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am
sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in—and I hope
_my_ dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often
sees such at home.”
“The person of whom I speak is a gentleman, and a stranger.”
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled. “A gentleman and a stranger! It is
Mr. Bingley, I am sure! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad
to see Mr. Bingley. But—good Lord! how unlucky! There is not a
bit of fish to be got to-day. Lydia, my love, ring the bell—I
must speak to Hill this moment.”
“It is _not_ Mr. Bingley,” said her husband; “it is a person whom
I never saw in the whole course of my life.”
This roused a general astonishment; and he had the pleasure of
being eagerly questioned by his wife and his five daughters at
once.
After amusing himself some time with their curiosity, he thus
explained:
“About a month ago I received this letter; and about a fortnight
ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and
requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins,
who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon
as he pleases.”
“Oh! my dear,” cried his wife, “I cannot bear to hear that
mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man. I do think it is
the hardest thing in the world, that your estate should be
entailed away from your own children; and I am sure, if I had
been you, I should have tried long ago to do something or other
about it.”
Jane and Elizabeth tried to explain to her the nature of an
entail. They had often attempted to do it before, but it was a
subject on which Mrs. Bennet was beyond the reach of reason, and
she continued to rail bitterly against the cruelty of settling an
estate away from a family of five daughters, in favour of a man
whom nobody cared anything about.
“It certainly is a most iniquitous affair,” said Mr. Bennet, “and
nothing can clear Mr. Collins from the guilt of inheriting
Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you may perhaps
be a little softened by his manner of expressing himself.”
“No, that I am sure I shall not; and I think it is very
impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical.
I hate such false friends. Why could he not keep on quarreling
with you, as his father did before him?”
“Why, indeed; he does seem to have had some filial scruples on
that head, as you will hear.”
“Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent, 15_th October_.
“Dear Sir,—
“The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late
honoured father always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have
had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal
the breach; but for some time I was kept back by my own doubts,
fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to
be on good terms with anyone with whom it had always pleased him
to be at variance.—‘There, Mrs. Bennet.’—My mind, however, is now
made up on the subject, for having received ordination at Easter,
I have been so fortunate as to be distinguished by the patronage
of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir
Lewis de Bourgh, whose bounty and beneficence has preferred me to
the valuable rectory of this parish, where it shall be my earnest
endeavour to demean myself with grateful respect towards her
ladyship, and be ever ready to perform those rites and ceremonies
which are instituted by the Church of England. As a clergyman,
moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing
of peace in all families within the reach of my influence; and on
these grounds I flatter myself that my present overtures are
highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in
the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your
side, and not lead you to reject the offered olive-branch. I
cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring
your amiable daughters, and beg leave to apologise for it, as
well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible
amends—but of this hereafter. If you should have no objection to
receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of
waiting on you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four
o’clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the
Saturday se’ennight following, which I can do without any
inconvenience, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my
occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that some other
clergyman is engaged to do the duty of the day.—I remain, dear
sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and daughters, your
well-wisher and friend,
“WILLIAM COLLINS”
“At four o’clock, therefore, we may expect this peace-making
gentleman,” said Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. “He
seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my
word, and I doubt not will prove a valuable acquaintance,
especially if Lady Catherine should be so indulgent as to let him
come to us again.”
“There is some sense in what he says about the girls, however,
and if he is disposed to make them any amends, I shall not be the
person to discourage him.”
“Though it is difficult,” said Jane, “to guess in what way he can
mean to make us the atonement he thinks our due, the wish is
certainly to his credit.”
Elizabeth was chiefly struck by his extraordinary deference for
Lady Catherine, and his kind intention of christening, marrying,
and burying his parishioners whenever it were required.
“He must be an oddity, I think,” said she. “I cannot make him
out.—There is something very pompous in his style.—And what can
he mean by apologising for being next in the entail?—We cannot
suppose he would help it if he could.—Could he be a sensible man,
sir?”
“No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes of finding him
quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and
self-importance in his letter, which promises well. I am
impatient to see him.”
“In point of composition,” said Mary, “the letter does not seem
defective. The idea of the olive-branch perhaps is not wholly
new, yet I think it is well expressed.”
To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in
any degree interesting. It was next to impossible that their
cousin should come in a scarlet coat, and it was now some weeks
since they had received pleasure from the society of a man in any
other colour. As for their mother, Mr. Collins’s letter had done
away much of her ill-will, and she was preparing to see him with
a degree of composure which astonished her husband and daughters.
Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great
politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet indeed said little;
but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed
neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent
himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of
five-and-twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners
were very formal. He had not been long seated before he
complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters;
said he had heard much of their beauty, but that in this instance
fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that he did not
doubt her seeing them all in due time disposed of in marriage.
This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers;
but Mrs. Bennet, who quarreled with no compliments, answered most
readily.
“You are very kind, I am sure; and I wish with all my heart it
may prove so, for else they will be destitute enough. Things are
settled so oddly.”
“You allude, perhaps, to the entail of this estate.”
“Ah! sir, I do indeed. It is a grievous affair to my poor girls,
you must confess. Not that I mean to find fault with _you_, for
such things I know are all chance in this world. There is no
knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed.”
“I am very sensible, madam, of the hardship to my fair cousins,
and could say much on the subject, but that I am cautious of
appearing forward and precipitate. But I can assure the young
ladies that I come prepared to admire them. At present I will not
say more; but, perhaps, when we are better acquainted—”
He was interrupted by a summons to dinner; and the girls smiled
on each other. They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins’s
admiration. The hall, the dining-room, and all its furniture,
were examined and praised; and his commendation of everything
would have touched Mrs. Bennet’s heart, but for the mortifying
supposition of his viewing it all as his own future property. The
dinner too in its turn was highly admired; and he begged to know
to which of his fair cousins the excellency of its cooking was
owing. But he was set right there by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him
with some asperity that they were very well able to keep a good
cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He
begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she
declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to
apologise for about a quarter of an hour.
Chapter 14
During dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the
servants were withdrawn, he thought it time to have some
conversation with his guest, and therefore started a subject in
which he expected him to shine, by observing that he seemed very
fortunate in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s attention
to his wishes, and consideration for his comfort, appeared very
remarkable. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins
was eloquent in her praise. The subject elevated him to more than
usual solemnity of manner, and with a most important aspect he
protested that “he had never in his life witnessed such behaviour
in a person of rank—such affability and condescension, as he had
himself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously
pleased to approve of both of the discourses which he had already
had the honour of preaching before her. She had also asked him
twice to dine at Rosings, and had sent for him only the Saturday
before, to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening. Lady
Catherine was reckoned proud by many people he knew, but _he_ had
never seen anything but affability in her. She had always spoken
to him as she would to any other gentleman; she made not the
smallest objection to his joining in the society of the
neighbourhood nor to his leaving the parish occasionally for a
week or two, to visit his relations. She had even condescended to
advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose with
discretion; and had once paid him a visit in his humble
parsonage, where she had perfectly approved all the alterations
he had been making, and had even vouchsafed to suggest some
herself—some shelves in the closet up stairs.”
“That is all very proper and civil, I am sure,” said Mrs. Bennet,
“and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that
great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near
you, sir?”
“The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by
a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship’s residence.”
“I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?”
“She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very
extensive property.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, “then she is better off
than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she
handsome?”
“She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself
says that, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far
superior to the handsomest of her sex, because there is that in
her features which marks the young lady of distinguished birth.
She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has
prevented her from making that progress in many accomplishments
which she could not have otherwise failed of, as I am informed by
the lady who superintended her education, and who still resides
with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to
drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies.”
“Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the
ladies at court.”
“Her indifferent state of health unhappily prevents her being in
town; and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine one day, has
deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. Her
ladyship seemed pleased with the idea; and you may imagine that I
am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate
compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more
than once observed to Lady Catherine, that her charming daughter
seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank,
instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. These
are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it
is a sort of attention which I conceive myself peculiarly bound
to pay.”
“You judge very properly,” said Mr. Bennet, “and it is happy for
you that you possess the talent of flattering with delicacy. May
I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse
of the moment, or are the result of previous study?”
“They arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though
I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such
little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary
occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as
possible.”
Mr. Bennet’s expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as
absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest
enjoyment, maintaining at the same time the most resolute
composure of countenance, and, except in an occasional glance at
Elizabeth, requiring no partner in his pleasure.
By tea-time, however, the dose had been enough, and Mr. Bennet
was glad to take his guest into the drawing-room again, and, when
tea was over, glad to invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr.
Collins readily assented, and a book was produced; but, on
beholding it (for everything announced it to be from a
circulating library), he started back, and begging pardon,
protested that he never read novels. Kitty stared at him, and
Lydia exclaimed. Other books were produced, and after some
deliberation he chose Fordyce’s Sermons. Lydia gaped as he opened
the volume, and before he had, with very monotonous solemnity,
read three pages, she interrupted him with:
“Do you know, mamma, that my uncle Phillips talks of turning away
Richard; and if he does, Colonel Forster will hire him. My aunt
told me so herself on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton to-morrow
to hear more about it, and to ask when Mr. Denny comes back from
town.”
Lydia was bid by her two eldest sisters to hold her tongue; but
Mr. Collins, much offended, laid aside his book, and said:
“I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by
books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their
benefit. It amazes me, I confess; for, certainly, there can be
nothing so advantageous to them as instruction. But I will no
longer importune my young cousin.”
Then turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himself as his antagonist
at backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepted the challenge, observing that
he acted very wisely in leaving the girls to their own trifling
amusements. Mrs. Bennet and her daughters apologised most civilly
for Lydia’s interruption, and promised that it should not occur
again, if he would resume his book; but Mr. Collins, after
assuring them that he bore his young cousin no ill-will, and
should never resent her behaviour as any affront, seated himself
at another table with Mr. Bennet, and prepared for backgammon.