Volume III
Chapter 43 lizabeth, 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 diningparlour. 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 goodnatured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetesttempered,
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. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immoveable from surprise; but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party, and spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure,
at least of perfect civility.
She had instinctively turned away; but, stopping on his approach, received his compliments with an embarrassment
impossible to be overcome. Had his first appearance, or his resemblance to the picture they had just been examining, been insufficient to assure the other two that they now saw Mr. Darcy, the gardener’s expression of surprise on beholding his master must immediately have told it. They stood a little aloof while he was talking to their niece, who, astonished and confused, scarcely dared lift her eyes to his face, and knew not what answer she returned to his civil
enquiries after her family. Amazed at the alteration in his manner since they last parted, every sentence that he uttered was increasing her embarrassment; and every idea of the impropriety of her being found there recurring to her mind, the few minutes in which they continued together
were some of the most uncomfortable of her life. Nor did he seem much more at ease; when he spoke, his accent had none of its usual sedateness; and he repeated his enquiries as to the time of her having left Longbourn, and of her stay in Derbyshire, so often, and in so hurried a way, as plainly
spoke the distraction of his thoughts. At length, every idea seemed to fail him; and, after standing a few moments without saying a word, he suddenly recollected himself, and took leave. The others then joined her, and expressed their admiration
of his figure; but Elizabeth heard not a word, and, wholly engrossed by her own feelings, followed them in silence. She was overpowered by shame and vexation. Her coming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged thing in the world! How strange must it appear to him! In what a disgraceful light might it not strike so vain a man! It might seem as if she had purposely thrown herself in his way again! Oh! why did she come? or, why did he thus come
a day before he was expected? Had they been only ten minutes sooner, they should have been beyond the reach of his discrimination, for it was plain that he was that moment arrived, that moment alighted from his horse or his carriage. She blushed again and again over the perverseness of the
meeting. And his behaviour, so strikingly altered, — what could it mean? That he should even speak to her was amazing!—
but to speak with such civility, to enquire after her family! Never in her life had she seen his manners so little dignified, never had he spoken with such gentleness as on this unexpected meeting. What a contrast did it offer to his last address in Rosings Park, when he put his letter into
her hand! She knew not what to think, nor how to account for it.
They had now entered a beautiful walk by the side of
the water, and every step was bringing forward a nobler fall
of ground, or a finer reach of the woods to which they were
approaching; but it was some time before Elizabeth was sensible
of any of it; and, though she answered mechanically to
the repeated appeals of her uncle and aunt, and seemed to
direct her eyes to such objects as they pointed out, she distinguished
no part of the scene. Her thoughts were all fixed
on that one spot of Pemberley House, whichever it might
be, where Mr. Darcy then was. She longed to know what
at that moment was passing in his mind; in what manner
he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of every thing,
she was still dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil only
because he felt himself at ease; yet there had been that in his
voice which was not like ease. Whether he had felt more of
pain or of pleasure in seeing her, she could not tell, but he
certainly had not seen her with composure.
At length, however, the remarks of her companions on
her absence of mind roused her, and she felt the necessity of
appearing more like herself.
They entered the woods, and bidding adieu to the river
for a while, ascended some of the higher grounds; whence,
in spots where the opening of the trees gave the eye power to
wander, were many charming views of the valley, the opposite
hills, with the long range of woods overspreading many,
and occasionally part of the stream. Mr. Gardiner expressed
a wish of going round the whole Park, but feared it might
be beyond a walk. With a triumphant smile, they were told
that it was ten miles round. It settled the matter; and they
pursued the accustomed circuit; which brought them again,
after some time, in a descent among hanging woods, to the
edge of the water, in one of its narrowest parts. They crossed
it by a simple bridge, in character with the general air of
the scene; it was a spot less adorned than any they had yet
visited; and the valley, here contracted into a glen, allowed
room only for the stream, and a narrow walk amidst the
rough coppice-wood which bordered it. Elizabeth longed
to explore its windings; but when they had crossed the
bridge, and perceived their distance from the house, Mrs.
Gardiner, who was not a great walker, could go no farther,
and thought only of returning to the carriage as quickly as
possible. Her niece was, therefore, obliged to submit, and
they took their way towards the house on the opposite side
of the river, in the nearest direction; but their progress was
slow, for Mr. Gardiner, though seldom able to indulge the
taste, was very fond of fishing, and was so much engaged
in watching the occasional appearance of some trout in the
water, and talking to the man about them, that he advanced
but little. Whilst wandering on in this slow manner, they
were again surprised, and Elizabeth’s astonishment was
quite equal to what it had been at first, by the sight of Mr.
Darcy approaching them, and at no great distance. The
walk being here less sheltered than on the other side, allowed
them to see him before they met. Elizabeth, however
astonished, was at least more prepared for an interview than
before, and resolved to appear and to speak with calmness,
if he really intended to meet them. For a few moments, indeed,
she felt that he would probably strike into some other
path. This idea lasted while a turning in the walk concealed
him from their view; the turning past, he was immediately
before them. With a glance she saw that he had lost none
of his recent civility; and, to imitate his politeness, she began,
as they met, to admire the beauty of the place; but she
had not got beyond the words “delightful,” and “charming,”
when some unlucky recollections obtruded, and she fancied
that praise of Pemberley from her might be mischievously
construed. Her colour changed, and she said no more.
Mrs. Gardiner was standing a little behind; and on her
pausing, he asked her if she would do him the honour of
introducing him to her friends. This was a stroke of civility
for which she was quite unprepared; and she could hardly
suppress a smile at his being now seeking the acquaintance
of some of those very people against whom his pride had
revolted, in his offer to herself. “What will be his surprise,”
thought she, “when he knows who they are! He takes them
now for people of fashion.”
The introduction, however, was immediately made; and
as she named their relationship to herself, she stole a sly
look at him, to see how he bore it; and was not without the
expectation of his decamping as fast as he could from such
disgraceful companions. That he was surprised by the connexion
was evident; he sustained it however with fortitude,
and so far from going away, turned back with them, and entered
into conversation with Mr. Gardiner. Elizabeth could
not but be pleased, could not but triumph. It was consoling
that he should know she had some relations for whom there
was no need to blush. She listened most attentively to all
that passed between them, and gloried in every expression,
every sentence of her uncle, which marked his intelligence,
his taste, or his good manners.
The conversation soon turned upon fishing, and she
heard Mr. Darcy invite him, with the greatest civility, to
fish there as often as he chose while he continued in the
neighbourhood, offering at the same time to supply him
with fishing tackle, and pointing out those parts of the
stream where there was usually most sport. Mrs. Gardiner,
who was walking arm in arm with Elizabeth, gave her a
look expressive of her wonder. Elizabeth said nothing, but
it gratified her exceedingly; the compliment must be all
for herself. Her astonishment, however, was extreme; and
continually was she repeating, “Why is he so altered? From
what can it proceed? It cannot be for me, it cannot be for
my sake that his manners are thus softened. My reproofs at
Hunsford could not work such a change as this. It is impossible
that he should still love me.”
After walking some time in this way, the two ladies in
front, the two gentlemen behind, on resuming their places
after descending to the brink of the river for the better inspection
of some curious water-plant, there chanced to be
a little alteration. It originated in Mrs. Gardiner, who, fatigued
by the exercise of the morning, found Elizabeth’s
arm inadequate to her support, and consequently preferred
her husband’s. Mr. Darcy took her place by her niece, and
they walked on together. After a short silence, the lady first
spoke. She wished him to know that she had been assured
of his absence before she came to the place, and accordingly
began by observing that his arrival had been very unexpected—”
for your housekeeper,” she added, “informed us that
you would certainly not be here till to-morrow; and indeed,
before we left Bakewell we understood that you were not
immediately expected in the country.” He acknowledged
the truth of it all; and said that business with his steward
had occasioned his coming forward a few hours before the
rest of the party with whom he had been travelling. “They
will join me early tomorrow,” he continued, “and among
them are some who will claim an acquaintance with you,—
Mr. Bingley and his sisters.”
Elizabeth answered only by a slight bow. Her thoughts
were instantly driven back to the time when Mr. Bingley’s
name had been last mentioned between them; and if she
might judge from his complexion, his mind was not very
differently engaged.
“There is also one other person in the party,” he continued
after a pause, “who more particularly wishes to be
known to you,— Will you allow me, or do I ask too much,
to introduce my sister to your acquaintance during your
stay at Lambton?”
The surprise of such an application was great indeed; it
was too great for her to know in what manner she acceded
to it. She immediately felt that whatever desire Miss Darcy
might have of being acquainted with her must be the work
of her brother, and without looking farther, it was satisfactory;
it was gratifying to know that his resentment had not
made him think really ill of her.
They now walked on in silence; each of them deep in
thought. Elizabeth was not comfortable; that was impossible;
but she was flattered and pleased. His wish of introducing
his sister to her was a compliment of the highest
kind. They soon outstripped the others, and when they had
reached the carriage, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were half a
quarter of a mile behind.
He then asked her to walk into the house — but she declared
herself not tired, and they stood together on the lawn.
At such a time, much might have been said, and silence
was very awkward. She wanted to talk, but there seemed
an embargo on every subject. At last she recollected that
she had been travelling, and they talked of Matlock and
Dove-Dale with great perseverance. Yet time and her aunt
moved slowly — and her patience and her ideas were nearly
worn out before the tête-à-tête was over. On Mr. and Mrs.
Gardiner’s coming up, they were all pressed to go into the
house and take some refreshment; but this was declined,
and they parted on each side with the utmost politeness.
Mr. Darcy handed the ladies into the carriage, and when
it drove off, Elizabeth saw him walking slowly towards the
house.
The observations of her uncle and aunt now began; and
each of them pronounced him to be infinitely superior to
any thing they had expected. “He is perfectly well behaved,
polite, and unassuming,” said her uncle.
“There is something a little stately in him to be sure,”
replied her aunt, “but it is confined to his air, and is not unbecoming.
I can now say with the housekeeper, that though
some people may call him proud, I have seen nothing of it.”
“I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to
us. It was more than civil; it was really attentive; and there
was no necessity for such attention. His acquaintance with
Elizabeth was very trifling.”
“To be sure, Lizzy,” said her aunt, “he is not so handsome
as Wickham; or rather he has not Wickham’s countenance,
for his features are perfectly good. But how came
you to tell us that he was so disagreeable?”
Elizabeth excused herself as well as she could; said that
she had liked him better when they met in Kent than before,
and that she had never seen him so pleasant as this
morning.
“But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities,”
replied her uncle. “Your great men often are; and
therefore I shall not take him at his word about fishing, as
he might change his mind another day, and warn me off his grounds.”
Elizabeth felt that they had entirely mistaken his character,
but said nothing.
“From what we have seen of him,” continued Mrs.
Gardiner, “I really should not have thought that he could
have behaved in so cruel a way by any body, as he has done
by poor Wickham. He has not an ill-natured look. On the
contrary, there is something pleasing about his mouth when
he speaks. And there is something of dignity in his countenance,
that would not give one an unfavourable idea of
his heart. But to be sure, the good lady who shewed us the
house did give him a most flaming character! I could hardly
help laughing aloud sometimes. But he is a liberal master, I
suppose, and that in the eye of a servant comprehends every
virtue.”
Elizabeth here felt herself called on to say something
in vindication of his behaviour to Wickham; and therefore
gave them to understand, in as guarded a manner as
she could, that by what she had heard from his relations
in Kent, his actions were capable of a very different construction;
and that his character was by no means so faulty,
nor Wickham’s so amiable, as they had been considered in
Hertfordshire. In confirmation of this, she related the particulars
of all the pecuniary transactions in which they had
been connected, without actually naming her authority, but
stating it to be such as might be relied on.
Mrs. Gardiner was surprised and concerned; but as they
were now approaching the scene of her former pleasures, every
idea gave way to the charm of recollection; and she was
too much engaged in pointing out to her husband all the
interesting spots in its environs to think of any thing else.
Fatigued as she had been by the morning’s walk, they had
no sooner dined than she set off again in quest of her former
acquaintance, and the evening was spent in the satisfactions
of an intercourse renewed after many years discontinuance.
The occurrences of the day were too full of interest to
leave Elizabeth much attention for any of these new friends;
and she could do nothing but think, and think with wonder,
of Mr. Darcy’s civility, and above all, of his wishing her
to be acquainted with his sister.
Chapter 44 lizabeth had settled it that Mr. Darcy would bring
his sister to visit her the very day after her reaching
Pemberley; and was consequently resolved not to be
out of sight of the inn the whole of that morning.
But her conclusion was false; for on the very morning after
their own arrival at Lambton, these visitors came. They
had been walking about the place with some of their new
friends, and were just returned to the inn to dress themselves
for dining with the same family, when the sound of
a carriage drew them to a window, and they saw a gentleman
and lady in a curricle, driving up the street. Elizabeth,
immediately recognising the livery, guessed what it meant,
and imparted no small degree of surprise to her relations by
acquainting them with the honour which she expected. Her
uncle and aunt were all amazement; and the embarrassment
of her manner as she spoke, joined to the circumstance itself,
and many of the circumstances of the preceding day,
opened to them a new idea on the business. Nothing had
ever suggested it before, but they now felt that there was
no other way of accounting for such attentions from such a
quarter than by supposing a partiality for their niece. While
these newly-born notions were passing in their heads, the
perturbation of Elizabeth’s feelings was every moment increasing.
She was quite amazed at her own discomposure;
but amongst other causes of disquiet, she dreaded lest the
partiality of the brother should have said too much in her
favour; and more than commonly anxious to please, she
naturally suspected that every power of pleasing would fail
her.
She retreated from the window, fearful of being seen;
and as she walked up and down the room, endeavouring to
compose herself, saw such looks of enquiring surprise in her
uncle and aunt as made every thing worse.
Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and this formidable
introduction took place. With astonishment did
Elizabeth see that her new acquaintance was at least as
much embarrassed as herself. Since her being at Lambton,
she had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud; but
the observation of a very few minutes convinced her that
she was only exceedingly shy. She found it difficult to obtain
even a word from her beyond a monosyllable.
Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth;
and, though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed,
and her appearance womanly and graceful. She was less
handsome than her brother, but there was sense and good
humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming
and gentle. Elizabeth, who had expected to find
in her as acute and unembarrassed an observer as ever Mr.
Darcy had been, was much relieved by discerning such different
feelings.
They had not been long together before Darcy told her
that Bingley was also coming to wait on her; and she had
barely time to express her satisfaction, and prepare for such
a visitor, when Bingley’s quick step was heard on the stairs,
and in a moment he entered the room. All Elizabeth’s anger
against him had been long done away; but, had she still felt
any, it could hardly have stood its ground against the unaffected
cordiality with which he expressed himself on seeing
her again. He enquired in a friendly, though general way,
after her family, and looked and spoke with the same goodhumoured
ease that he had ever done.
To Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner he was scarcely a less interesting
personage than to herself. They had long wished to
see him. The whole party before them, indeed, excited a
lively attention. The suspicions which had just arisen, of Mr.
Darcy and their niece, directed their observation towards
each with an earnest, though guarded, enquiry; and they
soon drew from those enquiries the full conviction that one
of them at least knew what it was to love. Of the lady’s sensations
they remained a little in doubt; but that the gentleman
was overflowing with admiration was evident enough.
Elizabeth, on her side, had much to do. She wanted to
ascertain the feelings of each of her visitors, she wanted to
compose her own, and to make herself agreeable to all; and
in the latter object, where she feared most to fail, she was
most sure of success, for those to whom she endeavoured to
give pleasure were prepossessed in her favour. Bingley was
ready, Georgiana was eager, and Darcy determined to be
pleased.
In seeing Bingley, her thoughts naturally flew to her sister;
and oh! how ardently did she long to know whether any
of his were directed in a like manner. Sometimes she could
fancy that he talked less than on former occasions, and once
or twice pleased herself with the notion that as he looked at
her, he was trying to trace a resemblance. But though this
might be imaginary, she could not be deceived as to his
behaviour to Miss Darcy, who had been set up as a rival of
Jane. No look appeared on either side that spoke particular
regard. Nothing occurred between them that could justify
the hopes of his sister. On this point she was soon satis-
fied; and two or three little circumstances occurred ere they
parted which, in her anxious interpretation, denoted a recollection
of Jane not untinctured by tenderness, and a wish
of saying more that might lead to the mention of her, had
he dared. He observed to her, at a moment when the others
were talking together, and in a tone which had something
of real regret, that it “was a very long time since he had had
the pleasure of seeing her—” and, before she could reply, he
added, “It is above eight months. We have not met since
the th of November, when we were all dancing together
at Netherfield.”
Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact; and
he afterwards took occasion to ask her, when unattended to
by any of the rest, whether all her sisters were at Longbourn.
There was not much in the question, nor in the preceding
remark, but there was a look and manner which gave them
meaning.
It was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr.
Darcy himself; but, whenever she did catch a glimpse, she
saw an expression of general complaisance, and in all that
he said she heard an accent so far removed from hauteur or
disdain of his companions, as convinced her that the improvement
of manners which she had yesterday witnessed,
however temporary its existence might prove, had at least
outlived one day. When she saw him thus seeking the acquaintance
and courting the good opinion of people, with
whom any intercourse a few months ago would have been
a disgrace; when she saw him thus civil, not only to herself,
but to the very relations whom he had openly disdained,
and recollected their last lively scene in Hunsford Parsonage,
the difference, the change was so great, and struck so forcibly
on her mind, that she could hardly restrain her astonishment
from being visible. Never, even in the company of
his dear friends at Netherfield, or his dignified relations at
Rosings, had she seen him so desirous to please, so free from
self-consequence or unbending reserve, as now, when no
importance could result from the success of his endeavours,
and when even the acquaintance of those to whom his attentions
were addressed would draw down the ridicule and
censure of the ladies both of Netherfield and Rosings.
Their visitors staid with them above half an hour, and
when they arose to depart, Mr. Darcy called on his sister
to join him in expressing their wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs.
Gardiner and Miss Bennet to dinner at Pemberley before
they left the country. Miss Darcy, though with a diffidence
which marked her little in the habit of giving invitations,
readily obeyed. Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece, desirous
of knowing how she, whom the invitation most concerned,
felt disposed as to its acceptance, but Elizabeth had turned
away her head. Presuming, however, that this studied
avoidance spoke rather a momentary embarrassment, than
any dislike of the proposal, and seeing in her husband, who
was fond of society, a perfect willingness to accept it, she
ventured to engage for her attendance, and the day after the
next was fixed on.
Bingley expressed great pleasure in the certainty of seeing
Elizabeth again, having still a great deal to say to her,
and many enquiries to make after all their Hertfordshire
friends. Elizabeth, construing all this into a wish of hearing
her speak of her sister, was pleased; and on this account, as
well as some others, found herself, when their visitors left
them, capable of considering the last half hour with some
satisfaction, though while it was passing the enjoyment of
it had been little. Eager to be alone, and fearful of enquiries
or hints from her uncle and aunt, she staid with them only
long enough to hear their favourable opinion of Bingley,
and then hurried away to dress.
But she had no reason to fear Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s
curiosity; it was not their wish to force her communication.
It was evident that she was much better acquainted with
Mr. Darcy than they had before any idea of; it was evident
that he was very much in love with her. They saw much to
interest, but nothing to justify enquiry.
Of Mr. Darcy it was now a matter of anxiety to think
well; and, as far as their acquaintance reached, there was no
fault to find. They could not be untouched by his politeness,
and, had they drawn his character from their own feelings
and his servant’s report, without any reference to any other
account, the circle in Hertfordshire to which he was known
would not have recognised it for Mr. Darcy. There was now
an interest, however, in believing the housekeeper; and they
soon became sensible that the authority of a servant who
had known him since he was four years old, and whose
own manners indicated respectability, was not to be hastily
rejected. Neither had any thing occurred in the intelligence
of their Lambton friends that could materially lessen its
weight. They had nothing to accuse him of but pride; pride
he probably had, and if not, it would certainly be imputed
by the inhabitants of a small market-town where the family
did not visit. It was acknowledged, however, that he was a
liberal man, and did much good among the poor.
With respect to Wickham, the travellers soon found
that he was not held there in much estimation; for though
the chief of his concerns with the son of his patron were
imperfectly understood, it was yet a well known fact that on
his quitting Derbyshire he had left many debts behind him,
which Mr. Darcy afterwards discharged.
As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this
evening more than the last; and the evening, though as it
passed it seemed long, was not long enough to determine
her feelings towards one in that mansion; and she lay awake
two whole hours endeavouring to make them out. She certainly
did not hate him. No; hatred had vanished long ago,
and she had almost as long been ashamed of ever feeling a
dislike against him that could be so called. The respect created
by the conviction of his valuable qualities, though at
first unwillingly admitted, had for some time ceased to be
repugnant to her feelings; and it was now heightened into
somewhat of a friendlier nature by the testimony so highly
in his favour, and bringing forward his disposition in so
amiable a light, which yesterday had produced. But above
all, above respect and esteem, there was a motive within her
of good will which could not be overlooked. It was gratitude. —
Gratitude, not merely for having once loved her, but
for loving her still well enough to forgive all the petulance
and acrimony of her manner in rejecting him, and all the
unjust accusations accompanying her rejection. He who, she
had been persuaded, would avoid her as his greatest enemy,
seemed, on this accidental meeting, most eager to preserve
the acquaintance, and without any indelicate display of regard,
or any peculiarity of manner, where their two selves
only were concerned, was soliciting the good opinion of her
friends, and bent on making her known to his sister. Such
a change in a man of so much pride excited not only astonishment
but gratitude — for to love, ardent love, it must be
attributed; and as such, its impression on her was of a sort to
be encouraged, as by no means unpleasing, though it could
not be exactly defined. She respected, she esteemed, she was
grateful to him; she felt a real interest in his welfare; and
she only wanted to know how far she wished that welfare to
depend upon herself, and how far it would be for the happiness
of both that she should employ the power, which her
fancy told her she still possessed, of bringing on the renewal
of his addresses.
It had been settled in the evening, between the aunt and
niece, that such a striking civility as Miss Darcy’s, in coming
to them on the very day of her arrival at Pemberley — for
she had reached it only to a late breakfast — ought to be
imitated, though it could not be equalled, by some exertion
of politeness on their side; and, consequently, that it would
be highly expedient to wait on her at Pemberley the following
morning. They were, therefore, to go. — Elizabeth was
pleased, though, when she asked herself the reason, she had
very little to say in reply.
Mr. Gardiner left them soon after breakfast. The fishing scheme had been renewed the day before, and a positive
engagement made of his meeting some of the gentlemen at Pemberley by noon.
Chapter 45 onvinced as Elizabeth now was that Miss Bingley’s
dislike of her had originated in jealousy, she could
not help feeling how very unwelcome her appearance
at Pemberley must be to her, and was curious
to know with how much civility on that lady’s side the acquaintance
would now be renewed.
On reaching the house, they were shewn through the
hall into the saloon, whose northern aspect rendered it delightful
for summer. Its windows, opening to the ground,
admitted a most refreshing view of the high woody hills
behind the house, and of the beautiful oaks and Spanish
chesnuts which were scattered over the intermediate lawn.
In this room they were received by Miss Darcy, who
was sitting there with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the
lady with whom she lived in London. Georgiana’s reception
of them was very civil; but attended with all that embarrassment
which, though proceeding from shyness and the fear
of doing wrong, would easily give to those who felt themselves
inferior the belief of her being proud and reserved.
Mrs. Gardiner and her niece, however, did her justice, and
pitied her.
By Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, they were noticed only
by a curtsey; and on their being seated, a pause, awkward as
such pauses must always be, succeeded for a few moments.
It was first broken by Mrs. Annesley, a genteel, agreeable
looking woman, whose endeavour to introduce some kind
of discourse proved her to be more truly well bred than
either of the others; and between her and Mrs. Gardiner,
with occasional help from Elizabeth, the conversation was
carried on. Miss Darcy looked as if she wished for courage
enough to join in it; and sometimes did venture a short sentence,
when there was least danger of its being heard.
Elizabeth soon saw that she was herself closely watched
by Miss Bingley, and that she could not speak a word, especially
to Miss Darcy, without calling her attention. This observation
would not have prevented her from trying to talk
to the latter, had they not been seated at an inconvenient
distance; but she was not sorry to be spared the necessity of
saying much. Her own thoughts were employing her. She
expected every moment that some of the gentlemen would
enter the room. She wished, she feared, that the master of
the house might be amongst them; and whether she wished
or feared it most, she could scarcely determine. After sitting
in this manner a quarter of an hour without hearing Miss
Bingley’s voice, Elizabeth was roused by receiving from her
a cold enquiry after the health of her family. She answered
with equal indifference and brevity, and the other said no
more.
The next variation which their visit afforded was produced
by the entrance of servants with cold meat, cake, and
a variety of all the finest fruits in season; but this did not
take place till after many a significant look and smile from
Mrs. Annesley to Miss Darcy had been given, to remind her
of her post. There was now employment for the whole party;
for though they could not all talk, they could all eat; and
the beautiful pyramids of grapes, nectarines, and peaches
soon collected them round the table.
While thus engaged, Elizabeth had a fair opportunity
of deciding whether she most feared or wished for the appearance
of Mr. Darcy, by the feelings which prevailed on
his entering the room; and then, though but a moment before
she had believed her wishes to predominate, she began
to regret that he came.
He had been some time with Mr. Gardiner, who, with
two or three other gentlemen from the house, was engaged
by the river, and had left him only on learning that the
ladies of the family intended a visit to Georgiana that morning.
No sooner did he appear, than Elizabeth wisely resolved
to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed; — a resolution the
more necessary to be made, but perhaps not the more easily
kept, because she saw that the suspicions of the whole party
were awakened against them, and that there was scarcely an
eye which did not watch his behaviour when he first came
into the room. In no countenance was attentive curiosity so
strongly marked as in Miss Bingley’s, in spite of the smiles
which overspread her face whenever she spoke to one of its
objects; for jealousy had not yet made her desperate, and
her attentions to Mr. Darcy were by no means over. Miss
Darcy, on her brother’s entrance, exerted herself much more
to talk; and Elizabeth saw that he was anxious for his sister
and herself to get acquainted, and forwarded, as much as
possible, every attempt at conversation on either side. Miss
Bingley saw all this likewise; and, in the imprudence of
anger, took the first opportunity of saying, with sneering
civility,
“Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the — shire militia removed
from Meryton? They must be a great loss to your family.”
In Darcy’s presence she dared not mention Wickham’s
name; but Elizabeth instantly comprehended that he was
uppermost in her thoughts; and the various recollections
connected with him gave her a moment’s distress; but, exerting
herself vigorously to repel the ill-natured attack, she
presently answered the question in a tolerably disengaged
tone. While she spoke, an involuntary glance shewed her
Darcy with an heightened complexion, earnestly looking
at her, and his sister overcome with confusion and unable
to lift up her eyes. Had Miss Bingley known what pain she
was then giving her beloved friend, she undoubtedly would
have refrained from the hint; but she had merely intended
to discompose Elizabeth, by bringing forward the idea of a
man to whom she believed her partial, to make her betray a
sensibility which might injure her in Darcy’s opinion, and
perhaps to remind the latter of all the follies and absurdities
by which some part of her family were connected with that
corps. Not a syllable had ever reached her of Miss Darcy’s
meditated elopement. To no creature had it been revealed,
where secrecy was possible, except to Elizabeth; and from all
Bingley’s connections her brother was particularly anxious
to conceal it, from that very wish which Elizabeth had long
ago attributed to him, of their becoming hereafter her own.
He had certainly formed such a plan, and without meaning
that it should affect his endeavour to separate him from
Miss Bennet, it is probable that it might add something to
his lively concern for the welfare of his friend.
Elizabeth’s collected behaviour, however, soon quieted
his emotion; and as Miss Bingley, vexed and disappointed,
dared not approach nearer to Wickham, Georgiana also recovered
in time, though not enough to be able to speak any
more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet, scarcely
recollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance
which had been designed to turn his thoughts from
Elizabeth, seemed to have fixed them on her more, and
more cheerfully.
Their visit did not continue long after the question and
answer above-mentioned; and while Mr. Darcy was attending
them to their carriage, Miss Bingley was venting her
feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth’s person, behaviour, and
dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother’s recommendation
was enough to ensure her favour: his judgment
could not err, and he had spoken in such terms of
Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding
her otherwise than lovely and amiable. When Darcy returned
to the saloon, Miss Bingley could not help repeating
to him some part of what she had been saying to his sister.
“How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr.
Darcy,” she cried; “I never in my life saw any one so much
altered as she is since the winter. She is grown so brown and
coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have
known her again.”
However little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address,
he contented himself with coolly replying that he perceived
no other alteration than her being rather tanned — no
miraculous consequence of travelling in the summer.
“For my own part,” she rejoined, “I must confess that I
never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her
complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at
all handsome. Her nose wants character; there is nothing
marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of
the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes
been called so fine, I never could perceive any thing
extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look,
which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether, there is a
self-sufficiency without fashion which is intolerable.”
Persuaded as Miss Bingley was that Darcy admired
Elizabeth, this was not the best method of recommending
herself; but angry people are not always wise; and in seeing
him at last look somewhat nettled, she had all the success
she expected. He was resolutely silent however; and, from a
determination of making him speak she continued,
“I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire,
how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed
beauty; and I particularly recollect your saying one night,
after they had been dining at Netherfield, “She a beauty!— I
should as soon call her mother a wit.’’ But afterwards she
seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her
rather pretty at one time.”
“Yes,” replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer,
“but that was only when I first knew her, for it is many
months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest
women of my acquaintance.”
He then went away, and Miss Bingley was left to all the
satisfaction of having forced him to say what gave no one
any pain but herself.
Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred
during their visit, as they returned, except what had
particularly interested them both. The looks and behaviour
of every body they had seen were discussed, except of the
person who had mostly engaged their attention. They talked
of his sister, his friends, his house, his fruit, of every thing
but himself; yet Elizabeth was longing to know what Mrs.
Gardiner thought of him, and Mrs. Gardiner would have
been highly gratified by her niece’s beginning the subject.
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