 Chapter 51 of Pride and Prejudice Her sister's wedding day arrived, and Jane and Elizabeth felt for her probably more than she felt for herself. The carriage was sent to meet them at Blank, and they were to return in it by dinnertime. Their arrival was dreaded by the elder Miss Bennets, and Jane more especially, who gave Lydia the feelings which would have attended herself had she been the culprit, and was wretched in the thought of what her sister must endure. They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room to receive them. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet as the carriage drove up to the door. Her husband looked impenetrably grave. Her daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy. His voice was heard in the vestibule. The door was thrown open, and she ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and welcomed her with rapture, gave her hand with an affectionate smile to Wickham, who followed his lady, and wished them both joy with an alacrity which showed no doubt of their happiness. Their reception from Mr. Bennet to whom they then turned was not quite so cordial. His countenance rather gained an austerity, and he scarcely opened his lips. The easy assurance of the young couple indeed was enough to provoke him. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still, untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations, and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly round the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and observed with a laugh that it was a great while since she had been there. Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but his manners were always so pleasing that had his character and his marriage been exactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he claimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had not before believed him quite equal to such assurance, but she sat down, resolving within herself to draw no limits in future to the impudence of an impudent man. She blushed, and Jane blushed, but the cheeks of the two who caused their confusion suffered no variation of color. There was no want of discourse. The bride and her mother could neither of them talk fast enough, and Wickham, who happened to sit near Elizabeth, began inquiring after his acquaintance in that neighborhood with a good humored ease which she felt very unable to equal in her replies. They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the world. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain, and Lydia led voluntarily to subjects which her sisters would not have alluded to for the world. We think of its being three months, she cried, since I went away. It seems but a fortnight I declare, and yet there have been things enough happened in the time. Good gracious, when I went away I am sure I had no more idea of being married till I came back again, though I thought it would be very good fun if I was. Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Elizabeth looked expressively at Lydia. But she, who never heard nor saw anything of which she chose to be insensible, gaily continued. Oh, Mama, do the people here about know I am married today? I was afraid they might not, and we overtook William Goulding in his curicle, so I was determined he should know it, and so I let down the side glass next to him and took off my glove, and let my hand just rest upon the window frame so that he might see the ring, and then I bowed and smiled like anything. Elizabeth could bear it no longer. She got up and ran out of the room and returned no more, till she heard them passing through the hall to the dining parlor. She then joined them soon enough to see Lydia, with anxious parade, walk up to her mother's right hand and hear her say to her eldest sister, Ah, Jane, I take your place now, and you must go lower, because I am a married woman. It was not to be supposed that time would give Lydia that embarrassment from which she had been so wholly free at first. Her ease and good spirits increased. She longed to see Mrs. Phillips, the Lucases, and all their other neighbors, and to hear herself called Mrs. Wickham by each of them. And in the meantime she went after dinner to show her ring and boast of being married to Mrs. Hill and the two housemates. Well, Mama, said she when they were all returned to the breakfast room. And what do you think of my husband? Is not he a charming man? I am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, Mama, we did not all go. Very true. And if I had my will we should. But, my dear Lydia, I don't at all like you're going such a way off. Must it be so? Oh, Lord, yes, there is nothing in that. I shall like it of all things. You and Papa and my sisters must come down and see us. We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I daresay there will be some balls, and I will take care to get good partners for them all. I should like it beyond anything, said her mother. And then, when you go away, you may leave one or two of my sisters behind you, and I daresay I shall get husbands for them before the winter is over. I thank you for my share of the favour, said Elizabeth, but I do not particularly like your way of getting husbands. Their visitors were not to remain above ten days with them. Mr. Wickham had received his commission before he left London, and he was to join his regiment at the end of a fortnight. No one but Mrs. Bennet regretted that their stay would be so short, and she made the most of the time by visiting about with her daughter and having very frequent parties at home. These parties were acceptable to all. To avoid a family circle was even more desirable to such as did think than such as did not. Wickham's affection for Lydia was just what Elizabeth had expected to find it, not equal to Lydia's for him. She had scarcely needed her present observation to be satisfied, from the reason of things, that their elopement had been brought on by the strength of her love, rather than by his. And she would have wondered why, without violently caring for her, he chose to elope with her at all. Had she not felt certain that his flight was rendered necessary by distress of circumstances, and if that were the case, he was not the young man to resist an opportunity of having a companion. Lydia was exceedingly fond of him. He was her dear Wickham on every occasion. No one was to be put in competition with him. He did everything best in the world, and she was sure he would kill more birds on the first of September than anybody else in the country. One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth, Lizzie, I never gave you an account of my wedding, I believe. You were not by when I told Mama and the others all about it. Are not you curious to hear how it was managed? No, really, replied Elizabeth. I think there cannot be too little said on the subject. La, you are so strange, but I must tell you how it went off. We were married, you know, at St. Clement's, because Wickham's lodgings were in that parish, and it was settled that we should all be there by eleven o'clock. My uncle and aunt and I were to go together, and the others were to meet us at the church. Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a fuss. I was so afraid, you know, that something would happen to put it off, and then I should have gone quite distracted. And there was my aunt all the time I was dressing, preaching and talking away, just as if she was reading a sermon. However, I did not hear above one word in ten, for I was thinking, you may suppose, of my dear Wickham. I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat. Well, and so we breakfasted at ten as usual. I thought it would never be over, for by the by you are to understand that my uncle and aunt were horrid, unpleasant all the time I was with them. If you'll believe me, I did not once put my foot out of doors, though I was there a fortnight. Not one party or scheme or anything. To be sure, London was rather thin, but however the little theatre was open. Well, and so just as the carriage came to the door, my uncle was called away upon business to that horrid man, Mr. Stone. And then, you know, when once they get together, there is no end of it. Well, I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my uncle was to give me away. And if we were beyond the hour, we could not be married all day. But luckily he came back again in ten minutes time, and then we all set out. However, I recollected afterwards that if he had been prevented going, the wedding need not be put off, for Mr. Darcy might have done as well. Mr. Darcy, repeated Elizabeth in utter amazement. Oh, yes, he was to come there with wick of you know. But gracious me, I quite forgot. I ought not to have said a word about it. I promised them so faithfully. What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret. If it was to be a secret, said Jane, say not another word on the subject. You may depend upon my seeking no further. Oh, certainly, said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity, we will ask you no questions. Thank you, said Lydia. For if you did, I should certainly tell you all, and then Wickham would be angry. On such encouragement to ask, Elizabeth was forced to put it out of her power by running away. But to live in ignorance on such a point was impossible. Or at least it was impossible not to try for information. Mr. Darcy had been at her sister's wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among people, where he had apparently leased to do, and leased temptation to go. Conjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her brain. But she was satisfied with none. Those that best pleased her as placing his conduct in the noblest light seemed most improbable. She could not bear such suspense, and hastily seizing a sheet of paper, wrote a short letter to her aunt to request an explanation of what Lydia had dropped, if it were compatible with the secrecy which had been intended. You may readily comprehend, she added, what my curiosity must be to know how a person unconnected with any of us, and, comparatively speaking, a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such a time. Pray, write instantly, and let me understand it, unless it is, for very cogent reasons, to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary, and then I must endeavor to be satisfied with ignorance. Not that I shall, though, she added to herself as she finished the letter, and my dear aunt, if you do not tell me in an honorable manner, I shall certainly be reduced to tricks and stratagems to find it out. Jane's delicate sense of honour would not allow her to speak to Elizabeth privately of what Lydia had let fall. Elizabeth was glad of it. Till it appeared whether her inquiries would receive any satisfaction, she had rather be without a confidant. Chapter 52 of Pride and Prejudice This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Lee Paquette. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Chapter 52 Elizabeth had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to her letter as soon as she possibly could. She was no sooner in possession of it than hurrying into the little copes, where she was least likely to be interrupted. She sat down on one of the benches and prepared to be happy. For the length of the letter convinced her that it did not contain a denial. Grace Church Street, September 6. My dear niece, I have just received your letter and shall devote this whole morning to answering it, as I foresee that a little writing will not comprise what I have to tell you. I must confess myself surprised by your application. I did not expect it from you. Don't think me angry, however, for I only mean to let you know that I had not imagined such inquiries to be necessary on your side. If you do not choose to understand me, forgive my impertinence. Your uncle is as much surprised as I am, and nothing but the belief of your being a party concerned would have allowed him to act as he has done. But if you are really innocent and ignorant, I must be more explicit. On the very day of my coming home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called and was shut up with him several hours. It was all over before I arrived, so my curiosity was not so dreadfully wracked as yours seems to have been. He came to tell Mr. Gardner that he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that he had seen and talked with them both. Wickham repeatedly, Lydia once. From what I can collect, he left Derbyshire only one day after ourselves and came to town with the resolution of hunting for them. The motive professed was his conviction of its being owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well known as to make it impossible for any young woman of character to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath him to lay his private actions open to the world. His character was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step forward and endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brought on by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never disgrace him. He had been some days in town before he was able to discover them, but he had something to direct his search which was more than we had, and the consciousness of this was another reason for his resolving to follow us. There is a lady, it seems, a Mrs. Young, who was some time ago governess to Miss Darcy, and was dismissed from her charge on some cause of disapprobation, though he did not say what. She then took a large house in Edward Street and has since maintained herself by letting lodgings. This Mrs. Young was, he knew, intimately acquainted with Wickham, and he went to her for intelligence of him as soon as he got to town, but it was two or three days before he could get from her what he wanted. She would not betray her trust, I suppose, without bribery and corruption, for she really did know where her friend was to be found. Wickham indeed had gone to her on their first arrival in London, and had she been able to receive them into her house, they would have taken up their abode with her. At length, however, our kind friend procured the wished-for direction. They were in Blank Street. He saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia. His first object with her, he acknowledged, had been to persuade her to quit her present disgraceful situation and return to her friends as soon as they could be prevailed on to receive her, offering his assistance as far as it would go. But he found Lydia absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none of her friends. She wanted no help of his. She would not hear of leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a marriage which in his very first conversation with Wickham he easily learnt had never been his design. He confessed himself obliged to leave the regiment on account of some debts of honour which were very pressing, and scrupled not to lay all the ill consequences of Lydia's flight on her own folly alone. He meant to resign his commission immediately, and as to his future situation he could conjecture very little about it. He must go somewhere, but he did not know where, and he knew he should have nothing to live on. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your sister at once. Though Mr. Bennett was not imagined to be very rich, he would have been able to do something for him, and his situation must have been benefited by marriage. But he found, in reply to this question, that Wickham still cherished the hope of more effectually making his fortune by marriage in some other country. Under such circumstances, however, he was not likely to be proof against the temptation of immediate relief. They met several times, for there was much to be discussed. Wickham, of course, wanted more than he could get, but at length was reduced to be reasonable. Everything being settled between them, Mr. Darcy's next step was to make your uncle acquainted with it, and he first called in Grace Church Street the evening before I came home. But Mr. Gardner could not be seen, and Mr. Darcy found, on further inquiry, that your father was still with him, but would quit town the next morning. He did not judge your father to be a person whom he could so properly consult as your uncle, and therefore readily postponed seeing him till after the departure of the former. He did not leave his name, and till the next day it was only known that a gentleman had called on business. On Saturday he came again. Your father was gone, your uncle at home, and as I said before, they had a great deal of talk together. They met again on Sunday, and then I saw him too. It was not all settled before Monday. As soon as it was, the express was sent off to Longbourn. But our visitor was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his character after all. He has been accused of many faults at different times, but this is the true one. Nothing was to be done that he did not do himself, though I am sure, and I do not speak it to be thanked, therefore say nothing about it. Your uncle would most readily have settled the whole. They battled it together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it, which went sorely against the grain. And I really believe your letter this morning gave him great pleasure, because it required an explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers and give the praise where it was due. But, Lizzy, this must go no farther than yourself or Jane at most. You know pretty well, I suppose, what has been done for the young people. His debts are to be paid, amounting, I believe, to considerably more than a thousand pounds. Another thousand, in addition to her own, settled upon her, and his commission purchased. The reason why all this was to be done by him alone was such as I have given above. It was owing to him, to his reserve, and want of proper consideration, that Wickham's character had been so misunderstood, and consequently that he had been received and noticed as he was. Perhaps there was some truth in this, though I doubt whether his reserve, or anybody's reserve, can be answerable for the event. But in spite of all this fine talking, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured that your uncle would never have yielded if we had not given him credit for another interest in the affair. When all this was resolved on, he returned again to his friends, who were still staying at Pemberley. But it was agreed that he should be in London once more when the wedding took place, and all money matters were then to receive the last finish. I believe I have now told you everything. It is a relation which you tell me is to give you great surprise. I hope at least it will not afford you any displeasure. Lydia came to us, and Wickham had constant admission to the house. He was exactly what he had been when I knew him in Hertfordshire. But I would not tell you how little I was satisfied with her behaviour while she stayed with us, if I had not perceived by Jane's letter last Wednesday, that her conduct on coming home was exactly of a peace with it, and therefore what I now tell you can give you no fresh pain. I talked to her repeatedly in the most serious manner, representing to her all the wickedness of what she had done, and all the unhappiness she had brought on her family. If she heard me, it was by good luck, for I am sure she did not listen. I was sometimes quite provoked, but then I recollected my dear Elizabeth and Jane, and for their sakes, had patience with her. Mr. Darcy was punctual in his return, and as Lydia informed you, attended the wedding. He dined with us the next day, and was to leave town again on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear Lizzy, if I take this opportunity of saying what I was never bold enough to say before? How much I like him. His behaviour to us has in every respect been as pleasing as when we were in Darbyshire. His understanding and opinions all pleased me. He wants nothing but a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his wife may teach him. I thought him very sly. He hardly ever mentioned your name, but slinus seems the fashion. Pray forgive me if I have been very presuming, or at least do not punish me so far as to exclude me from P. I shall never be quite happy till I have been all round the park. A low-faten with a nice little pair of ponies would be the very thing. But I must write no more. The children have been wanting me this half hour, yours very sincerely. M. Gardner. The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister's match, which she had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true. He had followed them purposely to town. He had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research, in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meat, frequently meat, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her, for a woman who had already refused him, as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as a borance against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had, to be sure, done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong. He had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it. And though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe that remaining partiality for her might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, everything to him. Oh, how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled, but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough, but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, unfinding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself. She was roused from her seat and her reflections by someone's approach, and before she could strike into another path, she was overtaken by Wickham. I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble, my dear sister, said he as he joined her. You certainly do, she replied with a smile, but it does not follow that the interruption must be unwelcome. I should be sorry indeed, if it were. We were always good friends, and now we are better. True. Are the others coming out? I do not know. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are going in the carriage to Mariton. And so, my dear sister, I find from our uncle and aunt that you have actually seen Pemberley. She replied in the affirmative. I almost envy you the pleasure, and yet I believe it would be too much for me, or else I could take it in my way to Newcastle. And you saw the old housekeeper, I suppose. Poor Reynolds. She was always very fond of me. But, of course, she did not mention my name to you. Yes, she did. And what did she say? That you were gone into the army, and she was afraid had not turned out well. At such a distance as that, you know, things are strangely misrepresented. Certainly, he replied, biting his lips. Elizabeth hoped she had silenced him, but he soon afterwards said, I was surprised to see Darcy in town last month. We passed each other several times. I wonder what he can be doing there. Perhaps preparing for his marriage with Mr. Berg, said Elizabeth. It must be something particular to take him there at this time of year. Undoubtedly. Did you see him while you went lambton? I thought I understood from the gardeners that you had. Yes, he introduced us to his sister. And do you like her? Very much. I have heard indeed that she is uncommonly improved within this year or two. When I last saw her, she was not very promising. I am very glad you liked her. I hope she will turn out well. I daresay she will. She has got over the most trying age. Did you go by the village of Kimpton? I do not recollect that we did. I mention it because it is the living which I ought to have had. A most delightful place. Excellent parsonage house. It would have suited me in every respect. How should you have light-making sermons? Exceedingly well. I should have considered it as part of my duty, and the exertion would soon have been nothing. One ought not to repine. But to be sure, it would have been such a thing for me. The quiet, the retirement of such a life would have answered all my ideas of happiness. But it was not to be. Did you ever hear Darcy mention the circumstance when you were in Kent? I have heard from authority, which I thought is good, that it was left you conditionally only and at the will of the present patron. You have? Yes, there was something in that. I told you so from the first you may remember. I did hear, too, that there was a time when sermon-making was not so palatable to you as it seems to be at present, that you actually declared your resolution of never taking orders and that the business had been compromised accordingly. You did? And it was not wholly without foundation. You may remember what I told you on that point when first we talked of it. They were now almost at the door of the house, for she had walked fast to get rid of him. And unwilling for her sister's sake to provoke him, she only said in reply with a good, humored smile. Come, Mr. Wickham, we are brother and sister, you know. Do not let us quarrel about the past. In future I hope we shall be always of one mind. She held out her hand. He kissed it with affectionate gallantry, though he hardly knew how to look, and they entered the house. Recording by Linda Lee Pickett Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen Chapter 53 Mr. Wickham was so perfectly satisfied with this conversation that he never again distressed himself, or provoked his dear sister Elizabeth by introducing the subject of it. And she was pleased to find that she had said enough to keep him quiet. The day of his and Lydia's departure soon came, and Mrs. Bennet was forced to submit to a separation, which, as her husband by no means entered into her scheme of their all-going to Newcastle, was likely to continue at least a twelve-month. Oh, my dear Lydia! She cried. When shall we meet again? Oh, Lord, I don't know. Not these two or three years, perhaps. Write to me very often, my dear. As often as I can. But you know married women have never much time for writing. My sisters may write to me. They will have nothing else to do. Mr. Wickham's adiors were much more affectionate than his wife's. He smiled, looked handsome, and said many pretty things. He is as fine a fellow, said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of the house, as ever I saw. He simpers and smirks, and makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas himself to produce a more valuable son-in-law. The loss of her daughter made Mrs. Bennet very dull for several days. I often think, said she, that there is nothing so bad as parting with one's friends. One seems so forlorn without them. This is the consequence you see, madame, of marrying a daughter, said Elizabeth. It must make you better satisfied that your other four are single. It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married, but only because her husband's regiment happens to be so far off. If they had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon. But the spiritless condition which this event threw her into was shortly relieved, and her mind opened again to the agitation of hope, by an article of news which then began to be in circulation. The housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, who was coming down in a day or two, to shoot there for several weeks. Mrs. Bennet was quite in the fidgets. She looked at Jane and smiled and shook her head by turns. Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister. For Mrs. Phillips first brought her the news. Well, so much the better. Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield if he likes it, and who knows what may happen. But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it, and so is it quite certain he is coming. You may depend on it, replied the other. For Mrs. Nichols was in Maritain last night. I saw her passing by, and went out myself on purpose to know the truth of it. And she told me that it was certain true. He comes down on Thursday at the latest, very likely on Wednesday. She was going to the Butchers, she told me, on purpose to order in some meat on Wednesday, and she has got three couple of ducks just fit to be killed. Miss Bennet had not been able to hear of his coming without changing color. It was many months since she had mentioned his name to Elizabeth. But now, as soon as they were alone together, she said, I saw you look at me today, Lizzie, when my aunt told us of the present report. And I know I appeared distressed. But don't imagine it was from any silly cause. I was only confused for the moment because I felt that I should be looked at. I do assure you that the news does not affect me either with pleasure or pain. I am glad of one thing, that he comes alone, because we shall see the less of him. Not that I am afraid of myself, but I dread other people's remarks. Elizabeth did not know what to make of it. Had she not seen him in Darbyshire, she might have supposed him capable of coming there with no other view than what was acknowledged. But she still thought impartial to Jane, and she wavered as to the greater probability of his coming there with his friend's permission, or being bold enough to come without it. Yet it is hard, she sometimes thought, that this poor man cannot come to a house which he has legally hired without raising all this speculation. I will leave him to himself. In spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her feelings in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed, more unequal, than she had often seen them. The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents about a twelve-month ago was now brought forward again. As soon as ever Mr. Binley comes, my dear, said Mrs. Bennet, you will wait on him, of course. No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised, if I went to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool's errand again. His wife represented to him how absolutely necessary such an attention would be from all the neighbouring gentlemen on his returning to Netherfield. "'Tis an etiquette I despise,' said he. "'If he wants our society, let him seek it. He knows where we live. I will not spend my hours in running after my neighbours every time they go away and come back again.' "'Well, all I know is that it will be abominably rude if you do not wait on him. But, however, that shant prevent my asking him to dine here, I am determined. We must have Mrs. Long and the Goulding soon. That will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just room at table for him.' Consoled by this resolution, she was the better able to bear her husband's insubility, though it was very mortifying to know that her neighbours might all see Mr. Bingley in consequence of it before they did, as the day of his arrival drew near. "'I begin to be sorry that he comes at all,' said Jane to her sister. "'It would be nothing. I could see him with perfect indifference, but I can hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of. My mother means well, but she does not know. No one can know how much I suffer from what she says. Happy shall I be when his stay at Netherfield is over.' "'I wish I could say anything to comfort you,' replied Elizabeth. But it is wholly out of my power. You must feel it, and the usual satisfaction of preaching patience to a sufferer is denied me because you have always so much.' Mr. Bingley arrived. Mrs. Bennet, through the assistance of servants, contrived to have the earliest tidings of it, that the period of anxiety and fretfulness on her side might be as long as it could. She counted the days that must intervene before their invitation could be sent, hopeless of seeing him before. But on the third morning after his arrival in Hartfordshire, she saw him from her dressing-room window enter the paddock and ride towards the house. Her daughters were eagerly called to partake of her joy. Jane resolutely kept her place at the table. But Elizabeth, to satisfy her mother, went to the window. She looked. She saw Mr. Darcy with him and sat down again by her sister. "'There is a gentleman with him, Mama,' said Kitty. "'Who can it be?' "'Some acquaintance or other, my dear, I suppose. I am sure I do not know.' "'Ah!' replied Kitty. It looks just like that man that used to be with him before. Mr. What's his name? That tall, proud man.' "'Good gracious! Mr. Darcy! And so it does, I vow. "'Well, any friend of Mr. Bingley's will always be welcome here, to be sure. But else I must say that I hate the very sight of him.' Jane looked at Elizabeth with surprise and concern. She knew but little of their meeting in Darbyshire, and therefore felt for the awkwardness which must attend her sister in seeing him almost for the first time after receiving his explanatory letter. Both sisters were uncomfortable enough. Each felt for the other, and of course for themselves. And their mother talked on of her dislike of Mr. Darcy, and her resolution to be civil to him only as Mr. Bingley's friend, without being heard by either of them. But Elizabeth had sources of uneasiness which could not be suspected by Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to show Mrs. Gardner's letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment towards him. To Jane he could be only a man whose proposals she had refused, and whose merit she had undervalued. But to her own more extensive information, he was the person to whom the whole family were indebted for the first of benefits, and whom she regarded herself with an interest, if not quite so tender, at least as reasonable and just as what Jane felt for Bingley. Her astonishment at his coming, at his coming to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and voluntarily seeking her again, was almost equal to what she had known on first witnessing his altered behavior in Darbyshire. The color which had been driven from her face returned for half a minute with an additional glow, and the smile of delight added luster to her eyes as she thought for that space of time, that his affection and wishes must still be unshaken, but she would not be secure. Let me first see how he behaves, said she. It will then be early enough for expectation. She sat intently at work, striving to be composed, and without daring to lift up her eyes, till anxious curiosity carried them to the face of her sister, as the servant was approaching the door. Jane looked a little paler than usual, but more sedate than Elizabeth had expected. On the gentlemen's appearing, her color increased. Yet she received them with tolerable ease, and with a propriety of behavior equally free from any symptom of resentment or any unnecessary complacence. Elizabeth said as little to either as civility would allow, and sat down again to her work with an eagerness which it did not often command. She had ventured only one glance at Darcy. He looked serious as usual, and she thought more as he had been used to look in heart for sure than as she had seen him at Pemberley. But perhaps he could not in her mother's presence be what he was before her uncle and aunt. It was a painful but not an improbable conjecture. Bingley she had likewise seen for an instant, and in that short period saw him looking both pleased and embarrassed. He was received by Mrs. Bennet with a degree of civility which made her two daughters ashamed, especially when contrasted with the cold and ceremonious politeness of her curtsy and address to his friend. Elizabeth particularly, who knew that her mother owed to the latter the preservation of her favorite daughter from irredeal infamy, was hurt and distressed to a most painful degree by a distinction so ill-applied. Darcy, after inquiring of her how Mr. and Mrs. Gardner did, a question which she could not answer without confusion, said scarcely anything. He was not seated by her. Perhaps that was the reason of his silence. But it had not been so endurbisher. There he had talked to her friends when he could not to herself. But now several minutes elapsed without bringing the sound of his voice, and when occasionally unable to resist the impulse of curiosity, she raised her eyes to his face. She as often found him looking at Jane as at herself, and frequently on no object but the ground. More thoughtfulness and less anxiety to please than when they last met were plainly expressed. She was disappointed and angry with herself for being so. Could I expect it to be otherwise? said she. Yet why did he come? She was in no humor for conversation with anyone but himself, and to him she had hardly courage to speak. She inquired after his sister, but could do no more. It is a long time, Mr. Bingley, since you went away, said Mrs. Bennett. He readily agreed to it. I began to be afraid you would never come back again. People did say you meant to quit the place entirely at Mikomas, but, however, I hope it is not true. A great many changes have happened in the neighbourhood since you went away. Miss Lucas is married and settled, and one of my own daughters. I suppose you have heard of it. Indeed, you must have seen it in the papers. It was in the Times and the Courier, I know, though it was not put in as it ought to be. It was only said, lately George Wickham Esquire to Miss Lydia Bennett, without there being a syllable said of her father or the place where she lived, or anything. It was my brother Gardner's drawing up too, and I wonder how he came to make such an awkward business of it. Did you see it? Bingley replied that he did, and made his congratulations. Elizabeth dared not lift up her eyes. How Mr. Darcy looked, therefore, she could not tell. It is a delightful thing to be sure to have a daughter well married, continued her mother. But at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken such a way from me. They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems. And there they are to stay. I do not know how long. His regiment is there, for I suppose you have heard of his leaving the Blankshire, and of his being gone into the regulars. Thank heaven, he has some friends, though perhaps not so many as he deserves. Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was in such misery of shame that she could hardly keep her seat. It drew from her, however, the exertion of speaking which nothing else had so effectually done before. And she asked Bingley whether he meant to make any stay in the country at present. A few weeks, he believed. You have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley, said her mother. I beg you, will come here and shoot as many as you please on Mr. Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you. Elizabeth's misery increased at such unnecessary, such officious attention. Were the same fair prospect to arise at present as had flattered them a year ago, everything she was persuaded would be hastening to the same vexatious conclusion. At that instant she felt that years of happiness could not make Jane or herself amends for moments of such painful confusion. The first wish of my heart, said she to herself, is never more to be in company with either of them. Their society can afford no pleasure that will atone for such wretchedness as this. Let me never see either one or the other again. Yet the misery for which years of happiness were to offer no compensation received soon afterwards material relief, from observing how much the beauty of her sister rekindled the admiration of her former lover. When first he came in, he had spoken to her but little. But every five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention. He found her as handsome as she had been last year, as good-natured and as unaffected, though not quite so chatty. Jane was anxious that no difference should be perceived in her at all, and was really persuaded that she talked as much as ever. But her mind was so busily engaged that she did not always know when she was silent. When the gentleman rose to go away, Mrs. Bennet was mindful of her intended civility, and they were invited and engaged to dine at Longbourn in a few days time. You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley, she added. For when you went to town last winter you promised to take a family dinner with us as soon as you returned. I have not forgot you see, and I assure you I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep your engagement. Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something of his concern at having been prevented by business. They then went away. Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine there that day. But though she always kept a very good table, she did not think anything less than two courses could be good enough for a man on whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfied the appetite and pride of one who had ten thousand a year. Chapter 54 of Pride and Prejudice This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Lee Paquette Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen Chapter 54 As soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits, or in other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects that must deaden them more. Mr. Darcy's behavior astonished and vexed her. Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent, said she, did he come at all? She could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure. He could be still amiable, still pleasing to my uncle and aunt when he was in town, and why not to me? If he fears me, why come hither? If he no longer cares for me, why silent? Teasing, teasing man! I will think no more about him. Her resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach of her sister, who joined her with a cheerful look which showed her better satisfied with their visitors than Elizabeth. Now, said she, that this first meeting is over, I feel perfectly easy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed again by his coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then be publicly seen that, on both sides, we meet only as common and indifferent acquaintance. Yes, very indifferent indeed, said Elizabeth laughingly. Oh Jane, take care. My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak as to be in danger now. I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with you as ever. They did not see the gentleman again till Tuesday, and Mrs. Bennet, in the meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes which the good humor and common politeness of Bingley in half an hour's visit had revived. On Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn, and the two who were most anxiously expected to the credit of their punctuality as sportsmen were in very good time. When they repaired to the dining-room, Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take the place which in all their former parties had belonged to him, by her sister. Her prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, forebored to invite him to sit by herself. On entering the room he seemed to hesitate, but Jane happened to look round and happened to smile. It was decided. He placed himself by her. Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He bore it with noble indifference, and she would have imagined that Bingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes likewise turn towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half- laughing alarm. His behavior to her sister was such during dinnertime, as showed an admiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded Elizabeth that if left holy to himself, Jane's happiness and his own would be speedily secured. Though she dared not depend upon the consequence, she yet received pleasure from observing his behavior. It gave her all the animation that her spirits could boast, for she was in no cheerful humor. Mr. Darcy was almost as far from her as the table could divide them. He was on one side of her mother. She knew how little such a situation would give pleasure to either, or make either appear to advantage. She was not near enough to hear any of their discourse, but she could see how seldom they spoke to each other, and how formal and cold was their manner whenever they did. Her mother's ungraciousness made the sense of what they owed him more painful to Elizabeth's mind, and she would at times have given anything to be privileged to tell him that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of the family. She was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of bringing them together, that the whole of the visit would not pass away without enabling them to enter into something more of conversation than the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious and uneasy, the period which passed in the drawing-room before the gentleman came was wearisome and dull to a degree that almost made her uncivil. She looked forward to their entrance as the point on which all her chance of pleasure for the evening must depend. If he does not come to me then, said she, I shall give him up for ever. The gentleman came, and she thought he looked as if he would have answered her hopes, but alas, the ladies had crowded round the table, where Miss Bennet was making tea and Elizabeth pouring out the coffee in so close a confederacy that there was not a single vacancy near her which would admit of a chair. And on the gentleman's approaching, one of the girls moved closer to her than ever and said in a whisper, The men shan't come and part as I am determined. We want none of them, do we? Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. She followed him with her eyes, envied everyone to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience enough to help anybody to coffee, and then was enraged against herself for being so silly. A man who has once been refused. How could I ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love? Is there one among the sex who would not protest against such a weakness as a second proposal to the same woman? There is no indignity so abhorrent to their feelings. She was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his coffee cup himself. And she seized the opportunity of saying, Is your sister at Pemberley still? Yes, she will remain there till Christmas. And quite alone have all her friends left her? Mrs. Ainsley is with her. The others have gone on to Scarborough these three weeks. She could think of nothing more to say. But if he wished to converse with her, he might have better success. He stood by her, however, for some minutes in silence, and at last, on the young lady's whispering to Elizabeth again, he walked away. When the tea-things were removed and the card-tables placed, the ladies all rose, and Elizabeth was then hoping to be soon joined by him when all her views were overthrown by seeing him fall a victim to her mother's rapacity for wist players, and in a few moments after, seated with the rest of the party. She now lost every expectation of pleasure. They were confined for the evening at different tables, and she had nothing to hope but that his eyes were so often turned towards her side of the room as to make him play as unsuccessfully as herself. Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two netherfields gentlemen to supper, but their carriage was unluckily ordered before any of the others, and she had no opportunity of detaining them. Well, girls, said she, as soon as they were left to themselves. What say you to the day? I think everything has passed off uncommonly well, I assure you. The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever saw. The venison was roasted to a turn, and everybody said they never saw so fat a haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at the Lucas's last week, and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged that the partridges were remarkably well done, and I suppose he has two or three French cooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you look in greater beauty. Mrs. Long said so too, for I asked her whether you did not. And what do you think she said besides? Ah, Mrs. Bennet, we shall have her at netherfield at last. She did indeed. I do think Mrs. Long is as good a creature as ever lived, and her nieces are very pretty-behaved girls, and not at all handsome. I like them prodigiously. Mrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits. She had seen enough of Bingley's behaviour to Jane to be convinced that she would get him at last, and her expectations of advantage to her family when in a happy humour were so far beyond reason that she was quite disappointed at not seeing him there again the next day to make his proposals. It has been a very agreeable day, said Mrs. Bennet to Elizabeth. The party seemed so well selected, so suitable one with the other. I hope we may often meet again. Elizabeth smiled. Lizzie, you must not do so. You must not suspect me. It mortifies me. I assure you that I have now learned to enjoy his conversation as an agreeable and sensible young man without having a wish beyond it. I am perfectly satisfied from what his manners now are that he never had any design of engaging my affection. It is only that he is blessed with greater sweetness of a dress and a stronger desire of generally pleasing than any other man. You are very cruel, said her sister. You will not let me smile and are provoking me to it every moment. How hard it is in some cases to be believed. And how impossible in others. But why should you wish to persuade me that I feel more than I acknowledge? That is a question which I hardly know how to answer. We all love to instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing. Forgive me. And if you persist in indifference, do not make me your confidant. End of Chapter 54 End of Chapter 54 Recording by Linda Lee Paquette Chapter 55 of Pride and Prejudice This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Lee Paquette Pride and Prejudice By Jane Austen Chapter 55 A few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His friend had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in ten days time. He sat with them above an hour, and was in remarkably good spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them. But with many expressions of concern, he confessed himself engaged elsewhere. Next time you call, said she, I hope we shall be more lucky. He should be particularly happy at any time, etc., etc. And if she would give him leave, would take an early opportunity of waiting on them. Can you come tomorrow? Yes. He had no engagement at all for tomorrow, and her invitation was accepted with alacrity. He came, and in such very good time that the ladies were none of them dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughter's room in her dressing gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out, My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come. Mr. Bingley is come. He is indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to Miss Bennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind Miss Lizzie's hair. We will be down as soon as we can, said Jane. But I dare say Kitty is forwarder than either of us, for she went upstairs half an hour ago. Oh, hang Kitty! What has she to do with it? Come, be quick, be quick! Where is your sash, my dear? But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go down without one of her sisters. The same anxiety to get them by themselves was visible again in the evening. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, as was his custom, and Mary went upstairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of the five being thus removed, Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at Elizabeth and Catherine for a considerable time, without making any impression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her, and when at last Kitty did, she very innocently said, What is the matter, Mama? What do you keep winking at me for? What am I to do? Nothing, child! Nothing! I did not wink at you. She then sat still five minutes longer, but unable to waste such a precious occasion, she suddenly got up and saying to Kitty, Come here, my love! I want to speak to you! Took her out of the room. Jane instantly gave a look at Elizabeth, which spoke her distress at such premeditation, and her entreaty that she would not give into it. In a few minutes Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out. Lizzie, my dear, I want to speak with you! Elizabeth was forced to go. We may as well leave them by themselves, you know, said her mother as soon as she was in the hall. Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in my dressing room. Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but remained quietly in the hall, till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned into the drawing-room. Mrs. Bennet's schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was everything that was charming, except the professed lover of her daughter. His ease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable addition to their evening party, and he bore with the ill-judged officiousness of the mother, and heard all her silly remarks with a forbearance and command of countenance, particularly grateful to the daughter. He scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper, and before he went away, an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own, and Mrs. Bennet's means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband. After this day, Jane said no more of her indifference, not a word passed between the sisters concerning Bingley. But Elizabeth went to bed in the happy belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy returned within the stated time. Seriously, however, she felt tolerably persuaded that all this must have taken place with that gentleman's concurrence. Bingley was punctual to his appointment, and he and Mr. Bennet spent the morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more agreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption or folly in Bingley that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him into silence, and he was more communicative and less eccentric than the other had ever seen him. Bingley, of course, returned with him to dinner, and in the evening Mrs. Bennet's invention was again at work to get everybody away from him and her daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter to write, went into the breakfast room for that purpose soon after tea, for as the others were all going to sit down to cards, she could not be wanted to counteract her mother's schemes. But on returning to the drawing-room, when her letter was finished, she saw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that her mother had been too ingenious for her. On opening the door, she perceived her sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as if engaged in earnest conversation. And had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each other, would have told it all. Their situation was awkward enough, but hers, she thought, was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by either, and Elizabeth was on the point of going away again, when Bingley, who as well as the other had sat down, suddenly rose and whispering a few words to her sister, ran out of the room. Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would give pleasure, and instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the liveliest emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world. "'Tis too much,' she added. "'By far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh, why is not everybody as happy?' Elizabeth's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a delight which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane, but she would not allow herself to stay with her sister, or say half that remained to be said for the present. "'I must go instantly to my mother,' she cried. I would not on any account trifle with her affectionate solicitude, or allow her to hear it from anyone but myself. He has gone to my father already. "'Oh Lizzie, to know that what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear family. How shall I bear so much happiness?' She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the card-party, and was sitting upstairs with Kitty. Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease with which an affair was finally settled that had given them so many previous months of suspense and vexation. "'And this,' said she, is the end of all his friends' anxious circumspection, of all his sisters' falsehood and contrivance, the happiest, wisest, most reasonable end.' In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose conference with her father had been short and to the purpose. "'Where is your sister?' said he hastily as he opened the door. With my mother upstairs, she will be down in a moment, I daresay.' He then shut the door and, coming up to her, claimed the good wishes and affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressed her delight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands with great cordiality, and then, till her sister came down, she had to listen to all he had to say of his own happiness and of Jane's perfections. And in spite of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed all his expectations of felicity to be rationally founded, because they had for basis the excellent understanding and super-excellent disposition of Jane, and the general similarity of feeling and taste between her and himself. It was an evening of no common delight to them all. The satisfaction of Miss Bennet's mind gave a glow of such sweet animation to her face as made her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped her turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent or speak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings, though she talked to Bingley of nothing else for half an hour. And when Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly showed how really happy he was. Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till their visitor took his leave for the night. But as soon as he was gone, he turned to his daughter and said, Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman. Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his goodness. You are a good girl, he replied, and I have great pleasure in thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are each of you so complying that nothing will ever be resolved on. So easy that every servant will cheat you, and so generous that you will always exceed your income. I hope not so. Imprudence and thoughtlessness in money matters would be unpardonable in me. Exceed their income? My dear Mr. Bennet, cried his wife. What are you talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a year, and very likely more. Then addressing her daughter. Oh, my dear, dear Jane, I am so happy. I am sure I shan't get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it would be. I always said it must be so at last. I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing. I remember as soon as ever I saw him when he first came into Hartfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was that you should come together. Oh, he is the handsomest young man that ever was seen. Wicom, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her favourite child. At that moment she cared for no other. Her younger sisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness which she might in future be able to dispense. Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield, and Kitty begged very hard for a few balls there every winter. Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn, coming frequently before breakfast and always remaining till after supper. Unless, unless, when some barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough detested, had given him an invitation to dinner which he thought himself obliged to accept. Elizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister. For while he was present, Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone else, but she found herself considerably useful to both of them in those hours of separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he always attached himself to Elizabeth for the pleasure of talking of her, and when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of relief. He has made me so happy, said she one evening, by telling me that he was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring. I had not believed it possible. I suspected as much, replied Elizabeth, but how did he account for it? It must have been his sisters doing. They were certainly no friends to his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have chosen so much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see, as I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again, though we can never be what we once were to each other. That is the most unforgiving speech, said Elizabeth, that I ever heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me indeed to see you again, the dupe of Miss Bingley's pretended regard. Would you believe it, Lizzie, that when he went to town last November he really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent would have prevented his coming down again. He made a little mistake to be sure, but it is to the credit of his modesty. This naturally introduced a panagery from Jane on his diffidence, and the little value he put on his own good qualities. Elizabeth was pleased to find that he had not betrayed the interference of his friend. For though Jane had the most generous and forgiving heart in the world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice her against him. I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed, cried Jane. Oh, Lizzie, why am I thus singled from my family and blessed above them all? If I could but see you as happy, if there were but such another man for you. If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as you. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself. And, perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time. The situation of affairs in the long-born family could not be long a secret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Phillips, and she ventured without any permission to do the same by all her neighbors in Mariton. The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the world, though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away, they had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune. Chapter 56 of Pride and Prejudice This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Lee Paquette. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Chapter 56 One morning, about a week after Bing Lee's engagement with Jane had been formed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the dining room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window by the sound of a carriage, and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the Equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbors. The horses were posed, and neither the carriage nor the livery of the servant who preceded it were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, that somebody was coming, Bing Lee instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid the confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the shrubbery. They both set off, and the conjectures of the remaining three continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown open, and their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine de Berg. They were, of course, all intending to be surprised, but their astonishment was beyond their expectation, and on the part of Mrs. Bennet and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even inferior to what Elizabeth felt. She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no other reply to Elizabeth's salutation than a slight inclination of the head, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned her name to her mother on her ladyship's entrance, though no request of introduction had been made. Mrs. Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such high importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, she said very stiffly to Elizabeth, I hope you are well, Mrs. Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your mother. Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was. And that, I suppose, is one of your sisters. Yes, madame, said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to Lady Catherine. She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all is lately married, and my eldest is somewhere about the grounds. Walking with a young man, who, I believe, will soon become a part of the family. You have a very small park here, returned Lady Catherine after a short silence. It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, I daresay. But I assure you, it is much larger than Sir William Lucas's. This must be a most inconvenient sitting-room for the evening in summer. The windows are full west. Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner, and then added, May I take the liberty of asking your ladieship whether you left Mr. and Mrs. Collins well? Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last. Elizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for her from Charlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no letter appeared, and she was completely puzzled. Mrs. Bennet, with great civility, baked her ladieship to take some refreshment. But Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely, declined eating anything. And then, rising up, said to Elizabeth, Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of little wilderness on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favour me with your company. Go, my dear, cried her mother, and show her ladieship about the different walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage. Elizabeth obeyed, and running into her own room for her parasol, attended her noble guest downstairs. As they passed through the hall, Lady Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlor and drawing-room, and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be decent-looking rooms, walked on. Her carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her waiting-woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk that led to the copes. Elizabeth was determined to make no effort for conversation with a woman who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable. How could I ever think her like her nephew? said she as she looked in her face. As soon as they entered the copes, Lady Catherine began in the following manner. You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come. Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment. Indeed you are mistaken, madame. I have not been at all able to account for the honor of seeing you here. Miss Bennet replied her ladyship in an angry tone. You ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told that not only your sister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that you, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would in all likelihood be soon afterwards united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place that I might make my sentiment known to you. If you believed it impossible to be true, said Elizabeth, coloring with astonishment and disdain, I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it? At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted, you're coming to Longbourn to see me and my family, said Elizabeth Cooley, will be rather a confirmation of it, if indeed such a report is in existence. If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a report is spread about? I never heard that it was. And can you likewise declare that there is no foundation for it? I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer. This is not to be borne, Miss Bennet. I insist on being satisfied. Has he? Has my nephew made you an offer of marriage? Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible. It ought to be so. It must be so, while he retains the use of his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You may have drawn him in. If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it. Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns. But you are not entitled to know mine, nor will such behavior as this ever induce me to be explicit. Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is engaged to my daughter. Now what have you to say? Only this. That if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will make an offer to me. Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment and then replied. The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy they have been intended for each other. It was the favorite wish of his mother, as well as of hers. While in their cradles we planned the union, and now at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished in their marriage, to be prevented by a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unalied to the family. Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends, to his tacit engagement with Mr. Berg? Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin? Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Mr. Berg. You both did as much as you could in planning the marriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by honor nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I accept him? Because honor, decorum, prudence, nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest. For do not expect to be noticed by his family or friends if you willfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace. Your name will never even be mentioned by any of us. These are heaviness fortunes, replied Elizabeth. But the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine. Obstinate headstrong girl, I am ashamed of you. Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that score? Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose. Nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment. That will make your ladyship's situation at present more pitiable. But it will have no effect on me. I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My daughter and my nephew are formed for each other. They are descended on the maternal side, from the same noble line, and on the fathers, from respectable, and ancient, though untitled families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses. And what is to divide them? The upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune. Is this to be endured? But it must not, shall not be. If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up. In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman. I am a gentleman's daughter. So far we are equal. True. You are a gentleman's daughter. But who was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition. Whatever my connections may be, said Elizabeth, if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you. Tell me once for all, are you engaged to him? Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but say after a moment's deliberation. I am not. Lady Catherine seemed pleased. And will you promise me never to enter into such an engagement? I will make no promise of the kind. Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require. And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter. But would my giving you the wished-for promise make their marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill judged. You have widely mistaken my character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs I cannot tell. But you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be impetuned no farther on the subject. Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the objections I have already urged. I have still another to add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister's infamous elopement. I know it all. That the young man's marrying her was a patched up business at the expense of your father and uncles, and is such a girl to be my nephew's sister, is her husband, is the son of his late father's steward to be his brother? Heaven and earth, of what are you thinking? Are the shades of pemberley to be thus polluted? You can have nothing further to say, she resentfully answered. You have insulted me in every possible method. I must beg to return to the house. And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned back. Her ladyship was highly incensed. You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew. Unfuelling selfish girl. Do you not consider that a connection with you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody? Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments. You are then resolved to have him. I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness without reference to you or to any person so wholly unconnected with me. It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world. Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude, replied Elizabeth, have any possible claim on me in the present instance. No principle of either would be violated by my marriage with Mr. Darcy, and with regard to the resentment of his family or the indignation of the world. If the former were excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment's concern, and the world in general would have too much sense to join in the scorn. And this is your real opinion. This is your final resolve. Very well. I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable, but depend upon it. I will carry my point. In this manner, Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door of the carriage. When turning hastily round, she added, I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased. Elizabeth made no answer, and without attempting to persuade her ladieship to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She heard the carriage drive away as she proceeded upstairs. Her mother impatiently met her at the door of the dressing room to ask why Lady Catherine would not come in again and rest herself. She did not choose it, said her daughter. She would go. She is a very fine-looking woman, and her calling here was prodigiously civil. For she only came, I suppose, to tell us that Collins's were well. She is on her road somewhere, I daresay, and so passing through Maritain thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to you, Lizzie. Elizabeth was forced to give into a little falsehood here, for to acknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible.