 CHAPTER 22 The Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases, and again during the chief of the day, was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth took an opportunity of thanking her. "'It keeps him in good humor,' said she, and I am more obliged to you than I can express." Charlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlotte's kindness extended farther than Elizabeth had any conception of. Its object was nothing else than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collins's addresses, by engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas's scheme, and appearances were so favorable that when they parted at night, she would have felt almost secure of success if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon. But here she did injustice to the fire and independence of his character, for it led him to escape out of Longbourn House the next morning with admirable slowness, and hastened to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice of his cousins, from a conviction that if they saw him depart, they could not fail to conjecture his design, and he was not willing to have the attempt known till its success might be known likewise. For though feeling almost secure, and with reason, for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging, he was comparatively diffident since the adventure of Wednesday. His reception, however, was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and instantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had she dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there. In as short a time as Mr. Collins's long speeches would allow, everything was settled between them to the satisfaction of both, and as they entered the house, he earnestly entreated her to name the day that was to make him the happiest of men. And though such a solicitation must be waived for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his happiness. The stupidity with which he was favored by nature must guard his courtship from any charm that could make a woman wish for its continuance. And Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an infant, cared not how soon that establishment were gained. Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent, and it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins's present circumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom they could give little fortune. And his prospects of future wealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate, with more interest than the matter had ever excited before. How many years longer Mr. Bennett was likely to live? And Sir William gave it as his decided opinion, that whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the long-born estate, it would be highly expedient that both he and his wife should make their appearance at St. James's. The whole family, in short, were properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes of coming out a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have done, and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte dying an old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had gained her point and had time to consider of it. Her reflections were in general satisfactory. Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable. His society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still he would be her husband. Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony, marriage had always been her object. It was the only provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative she had now obtained, and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. The least agreeable circumstance in the business was the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wonder, and probably would blame her. And though her resolution was not to be shaken, her feelings must be hurt by such a disapprobation. She resolved to give her the information herself, and therefore charged Mr. Collins when he returned to Longbourn to dinner, to drop no hint of what had passed before any of the family. A promise of secrecy was, of course, very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty. For the curiosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his return, as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love. As he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any of the family, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the ladies moved for the night. And Mrs. Bennet, with great politeness and cordiality, said how happy they should be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever his engagements might allow him to visit them. My dear madame, he replied, this invitation is particularly gratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to receive, and you may be very certain that I shall avail myself of it as soon as possible. They were all astonished, and Mr. Bennet, who could by no means wish for so speedy a return, immediately said, but is there not danger of Lady Catherine's disapprobation here, my good sir? You had better neglect your relations than run the risk of offending your patroness. My dear sir, replied Mr. Collins, I am particularly obliged to you for this friendly caution, and you may depend upon my not taking so material a step without her ladyship's concurrence. You cannot be too much upon your guard, risk anything rather than her displeasure, and if you find it likely to be raised by your coming to us again, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home, and be satisfied that we shall take no offence. Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly excited by such affectionate attention, and depend upon it, you will speedily receive from me a letter of thanks for this, and for every other mark of your regard during my stay in Hartfordshire. As for my fair cousins, though my absence may not be long enough to render it necessary, I shall now take the liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not accepting my cousin Elizabeth. With proper civilities the ladies then withdrew, all of them equally surprised that he meditated a quick return. Mrs. Bennet wished to understand by it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of her younger girls, and Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him. She rated his abilities much higher than any of the others. There was a solidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though by no means so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged to read and improve himself by such an example as hers, he might become a very agreeable companion. But on the following morning every hope of this kind was done away. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast, and in a private conference with Elizabeth, related the event of the day before. The possibility of Mr. Collins's fancying himself in love with her friend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day or two. But that Charlotte could encourage him seemed almost as far from possibility as she could encourage him herself, and her astonishment was consequently so great as to overcome at first the bounds of decorum, and she could not help crying out. Engaged to Mr. Collins? My dear Charlotte, impossible! The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her story gave way to a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct a reproach, though as it was no more than she expected, she soon regained her composure and calmly replied. Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? Do you think it's incredible that Mr. Collins should be able to procure any woman's good opinion, because he was not so happy as to succeed with you? But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a strong effort for it was able to assure with tolerable firmness that the prospect of their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished her all imaginable happiness. I see what you are feeling, replied Charlotte. You must be surprised. Very much surprised. So lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to think it over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home, and considering Mr. Collins's character, connection, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state. Elizabeth quietly answered, undoubtedly. And after an awkward pause, they returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard. It was a long time before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so unsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr. Collins's making two offers of marriage within three days was nothing in comparison of his being now accepted. She had always felt that Charlotte's opinion of matrimony was not exactly like her own. But she had not supposed it to be possible that, when called into action, she would have sacrificed every better feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte, the wife of Mr. Collins, was a most humiliating picture, and to the pang of a friend disgracing herself and sunk in her esteem was added the distressing conviction that it was impossible for that friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen. Chapter 23 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 23 Elizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what she had heard, and doubting whether she was authorized to mention it when Sir William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his daughter, to announce her engagement to the family. With many compliments to them, and much self-gratulation on the prospect of a connection between the houses, he unfolded the matter, to an audience not merely wondering, but incredulous. For Mrs. Bennet, with more perseverance than politeness, protested he must be entirely mistaken. And Lydia, always unguarded, and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed, Good Lord, Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do not you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzie? Nothing less than the complacence of a courtier could have borne without anger such treatment. But Sir William's good breeding carried him through it all, and though he begged leave to be positive as to the truth of his information, he listened to all their impertinence with the most forbearing courtesy. Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so unpleasant a situation, now put herself forward to confirm his account, by mentioning her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself, and endeavored to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters by the earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she was readily joined by Jane, and by making a variety of remarks on the happiness that might be expected from the match, the excellent character of Mr. Collins, and the convenient distance of Huntsford from London. Mrs. Bennet was in fact too much overpowered to say a great deal while Sir William remained, but no sooner had he left them than her feelings found a rapid vent. In the first place, she persisted in disbelieving the whole of the matter. Secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Collins had been taken in. Thirdly, she trusted that they would never be happy together, and fourthly, that the match might be broken off. Two inferences, however, were plainly deduced from the whole. One, that Elizabeth was the real cause of the mischief, and the other that she herself had been barbarously misused by them all. And on these two points she principally dwelt during the rest of the day. Nothing could console, and nothing could appease her. Nor did that day wear out her resentment. A week elapsed before she could see Elizabeth without scolding her. A month passed away before she could speak to Sir William or Lady Lucas without being rude, and many months were gone before she could at all forgive their daughter. Mr. Bennet's emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and such as he did experience, he pronounced to be of a most agreeable sort. For it gratified him, he said, to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had been used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife and more foolish than his daughter. Jane confessed herself a little surprised at the match, but she said less of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness. Nor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable. Kitty and Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a clergyman, and it affected them in no other way than as a piece of news to spread at Mariton. Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being able to retort on Mrs. Bennet the comfort of having a daughter well married, and she called at long-born rather oftener than usual to say how happy she was, though Mrs. Bennet's sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have been enough to drive happiness away. Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them mutually silent on the subject, and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no real confidence could ever subsist between them again. Her disappointment in Charlotte made her turn with fond regard to her sister, of whose rectitude and delicacy she was sure her opinion could never be shaken, and for whose happiness she grew daily more anxious, as Bingley had now been gone a week, and nothing more was heard of his return. Collin had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter, and was counting the days till she might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday, addressed to their father, and written with all the solemnity of gratitude which a twelve months abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging his conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many rapturous expressions, of his happiness in having obtained the affection of their amiable neighbor, Miss Lucas, and then explained that it was merely with the view of enjoying her society that he had been so ready to close with their kind wish of seeing him again at Longbourn, whether he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight. For Lady Catherine he added so heartily approved his marriage that she wished it to take place as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an unanswerable argument with his amiable Charlotte to name an early day for making him the happiest of men. Mr. Collins' return into Hartfordshire was no longer a matter of pleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was as much disposed to complain of it as her husband. It was very strange that he should come to Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge. It was also very inconvenient and exceedingly troublesome. She hated having visitors in the house while her health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people the most disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs. Bennet, and they gave way only to the greater distress of Mr. Bingley's continued absence. Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this subject. Day after day passed away without bringing any other tidings of him than the report which shortly prevailed in Maritain of his coming no more to Netherfield the whole winter. A report which highly incensed Mrs. Bennet and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous falsehood. Even Elizabeth began to fear. Not that Bingley was indifferent, but that his sisters would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling as she was to admit an idea so destructive of Jane's happiness and so dishonorable to the stability of her lover, she could not prevent its frequently occurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters and of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss Darcy and the amusements of London, might be too much she feared for the strength of his attachment. As for Jane, her anxiety under the suspense was, of course, more painful than Elizabeth's. But whatever she felt she was desirous of concealing, and between herself and Elizabeth therefore the subject was never alluded to. But as no such delicacy restrained her mother, an hour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Bingley, express her impatience for his arrival, or even require Jane to confess that if he did not come back, she would think herself very ill-used. It needed all Jane's steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable tranquility. Mr. Collins returned, most punctually, on Monday fortnight, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his first introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention, and luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by him at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time to make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed. Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention of anything concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill-humour, and wherever she went, she was sure of hearing it talked of. The sight of Miss Lucas was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she regarded her with jealous aborance. Whenever Charlotte came to see them, she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession, and whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, was convinced that they were talking of the Longbourn estate, and resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the house as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her husband. "'Indeed, Mr. Bennet,' said she, "'it is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take her place in it.' "'My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.' This was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and therefore, instead of making any answer, she went on as before. "'I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate. If it was not for the entail, I should not mind it.' "'What should not you mind?' "'I should not mind anything at all.' "'Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such insensibility.' "'I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for anything about the entail. How anyone could have the conscience to entail away an estate from one's own daughters, I cannot understand, and all for the sake of Mr. Collins, too. Why should he have it more than anybody else?' "'I leave it to yourself to determine,' said Mr. Bennet.' End of Chapter 23. Recording by Linda Lee Pickett. Chapter 24 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 Pickett. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Chapter 24. Miss Bingley's letter arrived and put an end to doubt. The very first sentence conveyed the assurance of there being all settled in London for the winter, and concluded with her brother's regret at not having had time to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire, before he left the country. Hope was over, entirely over, and when Jane could attend to the rest of the letter, she found little except the professed affection of the rider that could give her any comfort. Miss Darcy's praise occupied the chief of it. Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and Caroline boasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict the accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former letter. She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother's being an inmate of Mr. Darcy's house, and mentioned with raptures some plans of the latter with regard to new furniture. Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated to the chief of all this, heard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern for her sister, and resentment against all others. To Caroline's assertion of her brother's being partial to Miss Darcy, she paid no credit. That he was really fond of Jane. She doubted no more than she had ever done. And as much as she had always been disposed to like him, she could not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness of temper, that want of proper resolution which now made him the slave of his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice of his own happiness to the caprice of their inclination. Had his own happiness, however, been the only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to sport with it in whatever manner he thought best. But her sisters was involved in it, as she thought he must be sensible himself. It was a subject, in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and must be unavailing. She could think of nothing else. And yet whether Bingley's regard had really died away, or were suppressed by his friend's interference, whether he had been aware of Jane's attachment, or whether it had escaped his observation. Whatever were the case, though her opinion of him must be materially affected by the difference, her sisters' situation remained the same. Her peace equally wounded. A day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth. But at last, on Mrs. Bennet's leaving them together, after a longer irritation than usual about Netherfield and its master, she could not help saying that my dear mother had more command over herself. She can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before. Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said nothing. You doubt me, cried Jane slightly coloring. Indeed, you have no reason. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all. I have nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with. Thank God! I have not that pain. A little time, therefore. I shall certainly try to get the better. With a stronger voice she soon added, I have this comfort immediately, that it has not been more than an air of fancy on my side, and that it has done no harm to anyone but myself. My dear Jane, exclaimed Elizabeth, you are too good. Your sweetness and disinterestedness are really angelic. I do not know what to say to you. I feel as if I had never done you justice or loved you as you deserve. Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back the praise on her sister's warm affection. Nay, said Elizabeth, this is not fair. You wish to thank all the world respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of anybody. I only want to think you perfect, and you set yourself against it. Do not be afraid of my running into any excess, of my encroaching on your privilege of universal goodwill. You need not. There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it, and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense. I have met with two instances lately, one I will not mention. The other is Charlotte's marriage. It is unaccountable. In every view, it is unaccountable. My dear Lizzie, do not give way to such feelings as these. They will ruin your happiness. You do not make allowance enough for difference of situation and temper. Consider Mr. Collins' respectability, and Charlotte's steady, prudent character. Remember that she is one of a large family, that as to fortune, it is a most eligible match, and be ready to believe, for everybody's sake, that she may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin. To oblige you, I would try to believe almost anything, but no one else could be benefited by such a belief as this. For where I persuaded that Charlotte had any regard for him, I should only think worse of her understanding than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man. You know he is, as well as I do, and you must feel, as well as I do, that the woman who married him cannot have a proper way of thinking. You shall not defend her, though it is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not, for the sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle and integrity, nor endeavor to persuade yourself, or me, that selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of danger, security for happiness. I must think your language too strong in speaking of both, replied Jane, and I hope you will be convinced of it by seeing them happy together. But enough of this. You alluded to something else. You mentioned two instances. I cannot misunderstand you, but I intrigue you, dear Lizzie, not to pain me by thinking that person to blame, and to saying your opinion of him is sunk. We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured. We must not expect a lively young man to be always so guarded and circumspect. It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration means more than it does. Men take care that they should. If it is designedly done, they cannot be justified, but I have no idea of there being so much design in the world as some persons imagine. I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley's conduct to design, said Elizabeth, but without scheming to do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery. Yes, want of attention to other people's feelings, and want of resolution will do the business. And do you impute it to either of those? Yes, to the last, but if I go on, I shall displease you by saying what I think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst you can. You persist then in supposing his sisters influence him. Yes, in conjunction with his friend. I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They can only wish his happiness. And if he is attached to me, no other woman can secure it. Your first position is false. They may wish many things besides his happiness. They may wish his increase of wealth and consequence. They may wish him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money, great connections, and pride. Beyond a doubt, they do wish him to choose Miss Darcy, replied Jane. But this may be from better feelings than you are supposing. They have known her much longer than they have known me. No wonder if they love her better. But whatever may be their own wishes, it is very unlikely they should have opposed their brothers. What sister would think herself at liberty to do it, unless there were something very objectionable? If they believed him attached to me, they would not try to part us. If he were so, they could not succeed. By supposing such an affection, you make everybody acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken, or at least it is light. It is nothing in comparison of what I should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it in the best light, and the light in which it may be understood. Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish, and from this time Mr. Bingley's name was scarcely ever mentioned between them. Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his returning no more, and though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not account for it clearly, there was little chance of her ever considering it with less perplexity. Her daughter endeavored to convince her of what she did not believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely the effect of a common and transient liking, which ceased when he saw her no more. But though the probability of the statement was admitted at the time, she had the same story to repeat every day. Mrs. Bennet's best comfort was that Mr. Bingley must be down again in the summer. Mr. Bennet treated the matter differently. So, Lizzie, said he one day, your sister is crossed in love, I find. I congratulate her. Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is something to think of, and it gives her a sort of distinction among her companions. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are officers enough in meriten to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably. Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane's good fortune. True, said Mr. Bennet, but it is a comfort to think that whatever of that kind may be for you, you have an affectionate mother who will make the most of it. Mr. Wickham's society was of material service in dispelling the gloom which the late perverse occurrences had thrown on many of the long-born family. They saw him often, and to his other recommendations was now added that of general unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth had already heard, his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him, was now openly acknowledged and publicly canvassed. And everybody was pleased to know how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known anything of the matter. Miss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might be any extenuating circumstances in the case, unknown to the society of Hertfordshire. Her mild and steady candor always pleaded for allowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes. But by everybody else Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men. Chapter 25 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. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen Chapter 25 After a week spent in professions of love and schemes of felicity, Mr. Collins was called from his amiable Charlotte by the arrival of Saturday. The pain of separation, however, might be alleviated on his side by preparations for the reception of his bride, as he had reason to hope that shortly after his return into Hertfordshire the day would be fixed that was to make him the happiest of men. He took leave of his relations at Longbourn with as much solemnity as before, wished his fair cousins health and happiness again, and promised their father another letter of thanks. On the following Monday Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her brother and his wife, who came as usual to spend the Christmas at Longbourn. Mr. Gardner was a sensible gentleman-like man, greatly superior to his sister as well by nature as education. The Netherfield ladies would have had difficulty in believing that a man who lived by trade and within view of his own warehouses could have been so well-bred and agreeable. Mrs. Gardner, who was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Phillips, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favourite with all her long-born nieces. Between the two eldest and herself especially, there subsisted a particular regard. They had frequently been staying with her in town. The first part of Mrs. Gardner's business on her arrival was to distribute her presence and describe the newest fashions. When this was done, she had a less active part to play. It became her turn to listen. Mrs. Bennet had many grievances to relate and much to complain of. They had all been very ill-used since she last saw her sister. Two of her girls had been upon the point of marriage, and after all there was nothing in it. I do not blame Jane, she continued, for Jane would have got Mr. Bingley if she could. But Lizzie, oh sister, it is very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins's wife by this time had it not been for her own perverseness. She made her an offer in this very room, and she refused him. The consequence of it is that Lady Lucas will have a daughter married before I have, and that the long-born estate is just as much entailed as ever. The Lucas's are very artful people indeed, sister. They are all for what they can get. I am sorry to say it of them, but so it is. It makes me very nervous and poorly to be thwarted so in my own family, and to have neighbors who think of themselves before anybody else. However, your coming just at this time is the greatest of comforts, and I am very glad to hear what you tell us of long sleeves. Mrs. Gardner, to whom the chief of this news had been given before, in the course of Jane and Elizabeth's correspondence with her, made her sister a slight answer, and in compassion to her nieces, turned the conversation. When alone with Elizabeth afterwards, she spoke more on the subject. It seems likely to have been a desirable match for Jane, said she. I am sorry it went off, but these things happen so often. A young man, such as you describe, Mr. Bingley, so easily falls in love with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when accident separates them, so easily forgets her, that these sort of inconsistencies are very frequent. An excellent consolation in its way, said Elizabeth, but it will not do for us. We do not suffer by accident. It does not often happen that the interference of friends will persuade a young man of independent fortune to think no more of a girl whom he was violently in love with only a few days before. But that expression of violently in love is so hackneyed, so doubtful, so indefinite, that it gives me very little idea. It is as often applied to feelings which arise from a half-hour's acquaintance as to a real, strong attachment. Pray, how violent was Mr. Bingley's love. I never saw a more promising inclination. He was growing quite inattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by her. Every time they met, it was more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he offended two or three young ladies by not asking them to dance, and I spoke to him twice myself without receiving an answer. Could there be finer symptoms? Is not general incivility the very essence of love? Oh, yes, of that kind of love which I suppose him to have felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her, because with her disposition she may not get over it immediately. It had better have happened to you, Lizzie. You would have laughed yourself out of it sooner. But do you think she would be prevailed upon to go back with us? Change of scene might be of service, and perhaps a little relief from home may be as useful as anything. Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal, and felt persuaded of her sister's ready acquiescence. I hope, added Mrs. Gardner, that no consideration with regard to this young man will influence her. We live in so different a part of town. All our connections are so different, and as you well know, we go out so little that it is very improbable that they should meet at all unless he really comes to see her. And that is quite impossible, for he is now in the custody of his friend, and Mr. Darcy would no more suffer him to call on Jane in such a part of London. My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr. Darcy may perhaps have heard of such a place as Grace Church Street, but he would hardly think a month's ablution enough to cleanse him from its impurities, where he wants to enter it. And depend upon it. Mr. Bingley never stirs without him. So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But does not Jane correspond with his sister? She will not be able to help calling. She will drop the acquaintance entirely. But in spite of the certainty in which Elizabeth affected to place this point, as well as the still more interesting one of Bingley's being withheld from seeing Jane, she felt a solicitude on the subject which convinced her, on examination, that she did not consider it entirely hopeless. It was possible, and sometimes she thought it probable, that his affection might be reanimated and the influence of his friends successfully combated by the more natural influence of Jane's attractions. Miss Bennet accepted her aunt's invitation with pleasure, and the Bingley's were no otherwise in her thoughts at the same time, than as she hoped by Caroline's not living in the same house with her brother, she might occasionally spend a morning with her, without any danger of seeing him. The gardeners stayed a week at Longbourne, and what with the Philipses, the Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day without its engagement. Mrs. Bennet had so carefully provided for the entertainment of her brother and sister, that they did not once sit down to a family dinner. When the engagement was for home, some of the officers always made part of it, of which officers Mr. Wickham was sure to be one, and on these occasions Mrs. Gardner, rendered suspicious by Elizabeth's warm commendation, narrowly observed them both. Without supposing them, from what she saw, to be very seriously in love, their preference of each other was plain enough to make her a little uneasy, and she resolved to speak to Elizabeth on the subject before she left Hertfordshire, and represent to her the imprudence of encouraging such an attachment. To Mrs. Gardner, Wickham had one means of affording pleasure, unconnected with his general powers. About ten or a dozen years ago, before her marriage, she had spent a considerable time in that very part of Darbyshire to which he belonged. They had therefore many acquaintances in common, and though Wickham had been little there since the death of Darcy's father, it was yet in his power to give her fresher intelligence of her former friends than she had been in the way of procuring. Mrs. Gardner had seen Pemberley, and known the late Mr. Darcy by character perfectly well. Here consequently was an inexhaustible subject of discourse. In comparing her recollection of Pemberley with the minute description which Wickham could give, and in bestowing her tribute of praise on the character of its late possessor, she was delighting both him and herself. On being made acquainted with the presence Mr. Darcy's treatment of him, she tried to remember some of that gentleman's reputed disposition, one quite a lad, which might agree with it, and was confident at last that she recollected having heard Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy formerly spoken of as a very proud, ill-natured boy. 26. Mrs. Gardner's Caution to Elizabeth was punctually and clueless. Mrs. Gardner's Caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given on the first favorable opportunity of speaking to her alone. After honestly telling her what she thought, she thus went on. 27. You are too sensible a girl, Lizzie, to fall in love merely because you are warned against it, and therefore I am not afraid of speaking openly. 28. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve yourself or endeavor to involve him in an affection which the want of fortune would make so very imprudent. 29. I have nothing to say against him. He is a most interesting young man, and if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think you could not do better. 30. But as it is, you must not let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on your resolution and good conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father. 31. My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed. 32. Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise. 33. Well then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham, too. He shall not be in love with me if I can prevent it. 34. Elizabeth, you are not serious now. 35. I beg your pardon. I will try again. 36. At present, I am not in love with Mr. Wickham. 36. No, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I ever saw, and if he becomes really attached to me, I believe it will be better that he should not. 37. I see the imprudence of it. 38. Oh, that abominable Mr. Darcy! 39. My father's opinion of me does me the greatest honour, and I should be miserable to forfeit it. 40. My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. 41. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy. But since we see every day that where there is affection, young people are seldom withheld by immediate want of fortune from entering into engagements with each other. 42. How can I promise to be wiser than so many of my fellow creatures if I am tempted? Or how am I even to know that it would be wisdom to resist? 43. All that I can promise you, therefore, is not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first object. When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short, I will do my best. 44. Perhaps it would be as well if you discourage his coming here so very often. At least you should not remind your mother of inviting him. 45. As I did the other day, said Elizabeth with a conscious smile, very true. It will be wise in me to refrain from that. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is on your account that he has been so frequently invited this week. 46. You know my mother's idea as to the necessity of constant company for her friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what I think to be the wisest, and now I hope you are satisfied. 47. Her aunt assured her that she was, and Elizabeth, having thanked her for the kindness of her hints, they parted. A wonderful instance of advice being given on such a point without being resented. 48. Mr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted by the gardeners in Jane. But as he took up his abode with the Lucases, his arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now fast approaching, and she was at length so far resigned as to think it inevitable, and even repeatedly to say, in an ill-natured tone, that she wished they might be happy. 49. Thursday was to be the wedding day, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit, and when she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother's ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected herself, accompanied her out of the room. As they went downstairs together, Charlotte said, I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza. That you certainly shall. And I have another favour to ask you. Will you come and see me? We shall meet often, I hope, in Hertfordshire. I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, to come to Huntsford. Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the visit. My father and Maria are coming to me in March, added Charlotte, and I hope you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome as either of them. The wedding took place. The bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from the church door, and everybody had as much to say or to hear on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend, and their correspondence was as regular and frequent as it had ever been, that it should be equally unreserved was impossible. Elizabeth could never address her without feeling that all the comfort of intimacy was over, and, though determined not to slacken as a correspondent, it was for the sake of what had been, rather than what was. Charlotte's first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness. There could not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of her new home, how she would like Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare to pronounce herself to be. Though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte expressed herself on every point exactly as she might have foreseen. She wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The house, furniture, neighborhood, and roads were all to her taste, and Lady Catherine's behavior was most friendly and obliging. It was Mr. Collins's picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened, and Elizabeth perceived that she must wait for her own visit there to know the rest. Jane had already written a few lines to her sister to announce their safe arrival in London, and when she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped it would be in her power to say something of the Bingleys. Her impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience generally is. Jane had been a week in town without either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by supposing that her last letter to her friend from Longbourn had by some accident been lost. My aunt, she continued, is going to moral into that part of town, and I shall take the opportunity of calling in Grosjevenor Street. She wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley. I did not think Caroline in spirits were her words, but she was very glad to see me and reproach me for giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was right, therefore. My last letter had never reached her. I inquired after their brother, of course. He was well, but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy that they scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected to dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hearst were going out. I daresay I shall see them soon here. Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It convinced her that accident only could discover to Mr. Bingley her sister's being in town. Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She endeavored to persuade herself that she did not regret it, but she could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley's inattention. After waiting at home every morning for a fortnight and inventing every evening a fresh excuse for her, the visitor did at last appear. But the shortness of her stay, and yet more, the alteration of her manner, would allow Jane to deceive herself no longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her sister will prove what she felt. My dearest Lizzie Whale, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in her better judgment at my expense when I confess myself to have been entirely deceived in Miss Bingley's regard for me. But my dear sister, though the event has proved you right, do not think me obstinate if I still assert that, considering what her behaviour was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all comprehend her reason for wishing to be intimate with me, but if the same circumstances were to happen again, I am sure I should be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit till yesterday, and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the meantime. When she did come, it was very evident that she had no pleasure in it. She made a slight formal apology for not calling before, said not a word of wishing to see me again, and was in every respect so altered a creature that when she went away, I was perfectly resolved to continue the acquaintance no longer. I pity, though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong in singling me out as she did. I can safely say that every advance to intimacy began on her side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrong, and because I am very sure that anxiety for her brother is the cause of it. I need not explain myself farther, and though we know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet if she feels it, it will easily account for her behaviour to me, and so deservedly dear as he is to his sister. Whatever anxiety she must feel on his behalf is natural and amiable. I cannot but wonder, however, at her having any such fears now, because if he had it all cared about me, we must have met long ago. He knows of my being in town, I am certain, from something she said herself, and yet it would seem, by her manner of talking, as if she wanted to persuade herself that he is really partial to Miss Darcy. I cannot understand it. If I were not afraid of judging harshly, I should be almost tempted to say that there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this. But I will endeavour to banish every painful thought, and think only of what will make me happy, your affection, and the invariable kindness of my dear uncle and aunt. Let me hear from you very soon. Miss Bingley said something of his never returning to Netherfield again, of giving up the house, but not with any certainty. We had better not mention it. I am extremely glad that you have such pleasant accounts from our friends at Huntsford. Pray go to see them with Sir William and Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there. Yours, etc. This letter gave Elizabeth some pain, but her spirits returned as she considered that Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at least. All expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. She would not even wish for a renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on every review of it, and as a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane. She seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy's sister, as by Wickham's account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away. Mrs. Gardner, about this time, reminded Elizabeth of her promise concerning that gentleman, and required information. And Elizabeth had such to send as might rather give contentment to her aunt than to herself. His apparent partiality had subsided. His attentions were over. He was the admirer of someone else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all, but she could see it and write of it without material pain. Her heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing that she would have been his only choice, had fortune permitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the young lady to whom he was now rendering himself agreeable. But Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in this case than in Charlotte's, did not quarrel with him for his wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more natural, and while able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish her, she was ready to allow it a wise and desirable measure for both, and could very sincerely wish him happy. All this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardner, and after relating the circumstances, she thus went on. I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love, for had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name and wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards him, they are even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find out that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has been effectual, and though I certainly should be a more interesting object to all my acquaintances where I distractedly in love with him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative insignificance. Importance may sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection much more to heart than I do. They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something to live on as well as the plain. End of Chapter 26 Recording by Linda Lee Paquette Chapter 27 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 27 With no greater events than these in the long-born family and otherwise diversified by little beyond the walks to Maritain, sometimes dirty and sometimes cold did January and February pass away. March was to take Elizabeth to Huntsford. She had not at first thought very seriously of going thither. But Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on the plan, and she gradually learned to consider it herself with greater pleasure as well as greater certainty. Absence had increased her desire of seeing Charlotte again, and weakened her disgust of Mr. Collins. There was novelty in the scheme, and as with such a mother and such uncompaniable sisters, home could not be faultless. A little change was not unwelcome for its own sake. The journey would moreover give her a peep at Jane, and in short, as the time drew near, she would have been very sorry for any delay. Everything, however, went on smoothly, and was finally settled according to Charlotte's first sketch. She was to accompany Sir William and his second daughter. The improvement of spending a night in London was added in time, and the plan became perfect as plan could be. The only pain was in leaving her father, who would certainly miss her, and who, when it came to the point, so little liked her going that he told her to write to him, and almost promised to answer her letter. The farewell between herself and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly. On his side even more. His present pursuit could not make him forget that Elizabeth had been the first to excite and to deserve his attention, the first to listen and to pity, the first to be admired, and in his manner of bidding her adieu, wishing her every enjoyment, reminding her of what she was to expect in Lady Catherine de Berg, and trusting their opinion of her. Their opinion of everybody would always coincide. There was a solicitude, an interest which she felt must ever attach her to him with a most sincere regard, and she parted from him convinced that, whether married or single, he must always be her model of the amiable and pleasing. Her fellow travellers the next day were not of a kind to make her think him less agreeable. Sir William Lucas and his daughter Maria, a good-humored girl, but as empty-headed as himself, had nothing to say that could be worth hearing, and were listened to with about as much delight as the rattle of the shays. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she had known Sir William's too long. He could tell her nothing new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood, and his abilities were worn out like his information. It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early as to be in Grace Church Street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardner's door, Jane was at a drawing-room window watching their arrival. When they entered the passage, she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth, looking earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and lovely as ever. On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls whose eagerness for their cousin's appearance would not allow them to wait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness, as they had not seen her for a twelve-month, prevented their coming lower. All was joy and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly away, the morning in bustling shopping, and the evening at one of the theatres. Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first object was her sister, and she was more grieved than astonished to hear, and replied to her minute inquiries that though Jane always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of dejection. It was reasonable, however, to hope that they would not continue long. Mrs. Gardner gave her the particulars also of Miss Bingley's visit in Grace Church Street, and repeated conversations occurring at different times between Jane and herself, which proved that the former had, from her heart, given up the acquaintance. Mrs. Gardner then rallied her niece on Wickham's desertion, and complimented her on bearing it so well. But, my dear Elizabeth, she added, what sort of girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary. Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs between the mercenary and the prudent motive? Where does discretion end and avarice begin? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying me because it would be imprudent, and now, because he is trying to get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is mercenary. If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to think. She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her. But he paid her not the smallest attention till her grandfather's death made her mistress of this fortune. No, what should he? If it were not allowable for him to gain my affections because I had no money, what occasion could there be for making love to a girl whom he did not care about, and who was equally poor? But there seems an indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her so soon after this event. Man in distressed circumstances has not time for all those elegant decorums which other people may observe. If she does not object to it, why should we? Her not objecting does not justify him. It only shows her being deficient in something herself, sense or feeling. Well, cried Elizabeth, have it as you choose. He shall be mercenary and she shall be foolish. No, Lizzie, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry, you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Darbyshire. Oh, if that is all! I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Darbyshire, and their intimate friends who live in Hartfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank heaven I am going to Morrow where I shall find a man who is not one agreeable quality, who is neither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing after all. Take care, Lizzie. That speech savers strongly of disappointment. Before they were separated by the conclusion of the play, she had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in a tour of pleasure which they proposed taking in the summer. We have not determined how far it shall carry us, said Mrs. Gardner, but perhaps to the lakes. No scheme could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful. Oh, my dear, dear aunt, she rapturously cried. What delight! What felicity! You give me fresh life and vigor. Add year to disappointment and spleen. What are young men to rocks and mountains? Oh, what hours of transport we shall spend. And when we do return, it shall not be like other travellers without being able to give one accurate idea of anything. We will know where we have gone. We will recollect what we have seen. Lakes, mountains and rivers shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations, nor when we attempt to describe any particular scene will we begin quarreling about its relative situation. Let our first effusions be less insupportable than those of the generality of travellers. End of Chapter 27 Recording by Linda Lee-Piquettes Chapter 28 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-Piquettes Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen Chapter 28 Every object in the next day's journey was new and interesting to Elizabeth, and her spirits were in a state of enjoyment. For she had seen her sister looking so well as to banish all fear for her health, and the prospect of her northern tour was a constant source of delight. When they left the high road for the lane to Huntsford, every eye was in search of the parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it in view. The palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side. Elizabeth smiled at the recollection of all that she had heard of its inhabitants. At length, the parsonage was discernible. The garden sloping to the road, the house standing in it, the green pails, and the laurel hedge. Everything declared they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate, which led by a short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole party. In a moment they were all out of the shays, rejoicing at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with coming when she found herself so affectionately received. She saw instantly that her cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage. His formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained her some minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his inquiries after all her family. They were then, with no other delay than his pointing out the neatness of the entrance, taken into the house, and as soon as they were in the parlor, he welcomed them a second time, with ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and punctually repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment. Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory, and she could not help in fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But though everything seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him by any sigh of repentance, and rather looked with wonder at her friend, that she could have so cheerful an air with such a companion. When Mr. Collins said anything of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unsettled him, she involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush, but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear. After sitting long enough to admire every article of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fender, to give an account of their journey, and of all that had happened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the garden, which was large and well laid out, and to the cultivation of which he attended himself. To work in this garden was one of his most respectable pleasures, and Elizabeth admired the command of countenance, with which Charlotte talked of the healthfulness of the exercise, and owned she encouraged it as much as possible. Here, leading the way through every walk and crosswalk, and scarcely allowing them an interval to utter the praises he asked for, every view was pointed out with a minuteness which left beauty entirely behind. He could number the fields in every direction, and could tell how many trees there were in the most distant clump. But of all the views which his garden, or which the country or kingdom could boast, none were to be compared with the prospect of rosings, afforded by an opening in the trees that bordered the park nearly opposite the front of his house. It was a handsome modern building, well situated on rising ground. From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round his two meadows, but the ladies, not having shoes to encounter the remains of a white frost, turned back, and while Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte took her sister and friend over the house, extremely well pleased, probably, to have the opportunity of showing it without her husband's help. It was rather small, but well built and convenient, and everything was fitted up and arranged with a neatness and consistency of which Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit. When Mr. Collins could be forgotten, there was really an air of great comfort throughout, and by Charlotte's evident enjoyment of it, Elizabeth supposed he must be often forgotten. She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country. It was spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins joining in observed. Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Berg on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will be delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension, and I doubt not, but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice when service is over. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying she will include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she honours us during your stay here. Her behaviour to my dear Charlotte is charming. We dinet Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her Ladyship's carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say, one of her Ladyship's carriage is, for she has several. Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed, added Charlotte, and a most attentive neighbour. Very true, my dear. That is exactly what I say. She is the sort of woman whom one cannot regard with too much deference. The evening was spent chiefly in talking over Hertfordshire news, and telling again what had already been written. And when it closed, Elizabeth, in the solitude of her chamber, had to meditate upon Charlotte's degree of contentment to understand her address in guiding and composure in bearing with her husband, and to acknowledge that it was all done very well. She had also to anticipate how her visit would pass, the quiet tenor of their usual employments, the vexatious interruptions of Mr. Collins, and the gayities of their intercourse with Rosings. A lively imagination soon settled it all. About the middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready for a walk, a sudden noise below seemed to speak the whole house in confusion, and after listening a moment, she heard somebody running upstairs in a violent hurry and calling loudly after her. She opened the door and met Maria in the landing-place, who, breathless with agitation, cried out, Oh, my dear Eliza, pray make haste and come into the dining-room, for there is such a sight to be seen. I will not tell you what it is. Make haste and come down this moment. Elizabeth asked questions in vain. Maria would tell her nothing more, and down they ran into the dining-room, which fronted the lane in quest of this wonder. It was two ladies stopping in a low-faten at the garden-gate. And is this all? cried Elizabeth. I expected at least that the pigs were gotten to the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter. Long, my dear, said Maria, quite shocked at the mistake. It is not Lady Catherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them. The other is Mr. Berg. Only look at her. She is quite a little creature. Who would have thought that she could be so thin and small? She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out of doors and all this wind. Why does she not come in? Oh, Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favors when Mr. Berg comes in. I like her appearance, said Elizabeth, struck with other ideas. She looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do for him very well. She will make him a very proper wife. Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate in conversation with the ladies, and Sir William, to Elizabeth's high diversion, was stationed in the doorway in earnest contemplation of the greatness before him, and constantly bowing whenever Mr. Berg looked that way. At length there was nothing more to be said. The ladies drove on, and the others returned into the house. Mr. Collins no sooner saw the two girls than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune, which Charlotte explained by letting them know that the whole party was asked to dine at Rosings the next day. Chapter 29 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 29 Mr. Collins's triumph in consequence of this invitation was complete. The power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wandering visitors, and of letting them see her civility towards himself and his wife, was exactly what he had wished for. And that an opportunity of doing it should be given so soon was such an instance of Lady Catherine's condescension as he knew not how to admire enough. I confess, said he, that I should not have been at all surprised by her ladyships asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at Rosings. I rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it would happen. But who could have foreseen such an attention as this? Who could have imagined that we should receive an invitation to dine there, an invitation moreover including the whole party, so immediately after your arrival? I am the less surprised at what has happened, replied Sir William, from that knowledge of what the manners of the great really are, which my situation in life has allowed me to acquire. About the court, such instances of elegant breeding are not uncommon. Scarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them in what they were to expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner, might not wholly overpower them. When the ladies were separating for the toilette, he said to Elizabeth, Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved. While they were dressing, he came two or three times to their different doors to recommend their being quick, as Lady Catherine very much objected to be kept waiting for her dinner. Such formidable accounts of her ladyship and her manner of living quite frightened Maria Lucas, who had been little used to company, and she looked forward to her introduction at Rosings with as much apprehension as her father had done to his presentation at St. James's. As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across the park. Every park has its beauty and its prospects, and Elizabeth saw much to be pleased with, though she could not be in such raptures as Mr. Collins expected the scene to inspire, and was but slightly affected by his enumeration of the windows in front of the house, and his relation of what the glazing altogether had originally cost Sir Louis de Berg. When they ascended the steps to the hall, Maria's alarm was every moment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm. Elizabeth's courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing of Lady Catherine that spoke her awful from any extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue, and the mere stateliness of money or rank she thought she could witness without trepidation. From the entrance hall, of which Mr. Collins pointed out with a rapturous air the fine proportion and the finished ornaments, they followed the servants through an antechamber to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her ladyship, with great condescension, arose to receive them, and as Mrs. Collins had settled it with her husband that the office of introduction should be hers, it was performed in a proper manner, without any of those apologies and thanks which he would have thought necessary. In spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so completely awed by the grandeur surrounding him that he had but just courage enough to make a very low bow and take his seat without saying a word. And his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of her chair, not knowing which way to look. Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the scene, and could observe the three ladies before her composately. Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly marked features, which might once have been handsome. Her air was not conciliating, nor was her manner of receiving them such as to make her visitors forget their inferior rank. She was not rendered formidable by silence, but whatever she said was spoken in so authoritative a tone, as marked her self-importance, and brought Mr. Wickham immediately to Elizabeth's mind, and from the observation of the day altogether, she believed Lady Catherine to be exactly what he represented. When, after examining the mother, in whose countenance and deportment she soon found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes on the daughter. She could almost have joined in Maria's astonishment at her being so thin and so small. There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the ladies. Mr. Burg was pale and sickly. Her features, though not plain, were insignificant. And she spoke very little, except in a low voice to Mrs. Jenkinson, in whose appearance there was nothing remarkable, and who was entirely engaged in listening to what she said, and placing a screen in the proper direction before her eyes. After sitting a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows to admire the view. Mr. Collins attending them to point out its beauties, and Lady Catherine kindly informing them that it was much better worth looking at in the summer. The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants and all the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had promised. And as he had likewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by her ladyship's desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish nothing greater. He carved and ate, and praised with delighted alacrity. And every dish was commended, first by him and then by Sir William, who was now enough recovered to echo whatever his son-in-law said, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine could bear. But Lady Catherine seemed gratified by their excessive admiration, and gave most gracious smiles, especially when any dish on the table proved a novelty to them. The party did not supply much conversation. Elizabeth was ready to speak whenever there was an opening, but she was seated between Charlotte and Mr. Berg, the former of whom was engaged in listening to Lady Catherine, and the latter said not a word to her all dinner time. Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little Mr. Berg ate, pressing her to try some other dish, and fearing she was indisposed. Maria thought speaking out of the question, and the gentleman did nothing but eat and admire. When the ladies returned to the drawing-room, there was little to be done but to hear Lady Catherine talk, which she did without any intermission till coffee came in, delivering her opinion on every subject in so decisive a manner, as proved that she was not used to have her judgment controverted. She inquired into Charlotte's domestic concerns familiarly and minutely, gave her a great deal of advice as to the management of them all, told her how everything ought to be regulated in so small a family as hers, and instructed her as to the care of her cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found that nothing was beneath this great lady's attention, which could furnish her with an occasion of dictating to others. In the intervals of her discourse with Mrs. Collins, she addressed a variety of questions to Maria and Elizabeth, but especially to the latter, of whose connections she knew the least, and who she observed to Mrs. Collins was a very genteel, pretty kind of girl. She asked her at different times how many sisters she had, whether they were older or younger than herself, whether any of them were likely to be married, whether they were handsome, where they had been educated, what carriage her father kept, and what had been her mother's maiden name. Elizabeth felt all the impertinence of her questions, but answered them very composedly. Lady Catherine then observed. Your father's estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, I think, for your sake. Turning to Charlotte, I am glad of it, but otherwise I see no occasion for entailing estates from the female line. It was not thought necessary in Sir Louis de Berg's family. Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet? A little. Oh, then some time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our instrument is a capital one, probably superior to. You shall try it some day. Do your sisters play and sing? One of them does. Why did not you all learn? You ought all to have learned. The Miss Webb's all play, and their father has not so good an income as yours. Do you draw? No, not at all. What, none of you? Not one. That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother should have taken you to town every spring for the benefit of masters. My mother would have had no objection, but my father hates London. Has your governess left you? We never had any governess. No governess? How is that possible? Five daughters brought up at home without a governess. I never heard of such a thing. Your mother must have been quite a slave to your education. Elizabeth could hardly help smiling, as she assured her that had not been the case. Then who taught you? Who attended to you? Without a governess you must have been neglected. Compared with some families, I believe we were. But such of us as wished to learn never wanted the means. We were always encouraged to read, and had all the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be idle certainly might. I no doubt. But that is what a governess will prevent. And if I had known your mother, I should have advised her most strenuously to engage one. I always say that nothing is to be done in education without steady and regular instruction, and nobody but a governess can give it. It is wonderful how many families I have been the means of supplying in that way. I am always glad to get a young person well placed out. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson are most delightfully situated through my means, and it was but the other day that I recommended another young person, who was merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family are quite delighted with her. Mrs. Collins, did I tell you of Lady Metcalfe's calling yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. Lady Catherine, she said, you have given me a treasure. Are any of your younger sisters out, Miss Bennet? Yes, ma'am, all. All? What? All five out at once? Very odd. And you only the second. The younger ones out before the elder ones are married. Your younger sisters must be very young. Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps she is full young to be much in company. But really, ma'am, I think it would be very hard upon younger sisters that they should not have their share of society and amusement, because the elder may not have the means or inclination to marry early. The last-born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth as the first, and to be kept back on such a motive. I think it would not be very likely to promote sisterly affection or delicacy of mind. Upon my word, said her ladyship, you give your opinion very decidedly for so younger person. Pray, what is your age? With three younger sisters grown up, replied Elizabeth, smiling, your ladyship can hardly expect me to own it. Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer, and Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first creature who had ever dared to trifle with so much dignified impertinence. You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure. Therefore you need not conceal your age. I am not one and twenty. When the gentlemen had joined them, and tea was over, the card tables were placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat down to quadril, and as Mr. Berg chose to play at casino, the two girls had the honor of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her party. Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was uttered that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs. Jenkinson expressed her fears of Mr. Berg's being too hot or too cold, or having too much or too little light. A great deal more passed at the other table. Lady Catherine was generally speaking, stating the mistakes of the three others, or relating some anecdote of herself. Mr. Collins was employed in agreeing to everything her ladyship said, thanking her for every fish he won, and apologizing if he thought he won too many. Sir William did not say much. He was storing his memory with anecdotes and noble names. When Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose, the tables were broken up, the carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins, gratefully accepted, and immediately ordered. The party then gathered round the fire to hear Lady Catherine determine what weather they were to have on the morrow. From these instructions they were summoned by the arrival of the coach, and with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Collins's side, and as many bows on Sir William's, they departed. As soon as they had driven from the door, Elizabeth was called on by her cousin to give her opinion of all that she had seen at Rosings, which, for Charlotte's sake, she made more favorable than it really was. But her commendation, though costing her some trouble, could by no means satisfy Mr. Collins, and he was very soon obliged to take her ladyship's praise into his own hands. End of Chapter 29 Chapter 30 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 Pequettes Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen Chapter 30 Sir William stayed only a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long enough to convince him of his daughter's being most comfortably settled, and for possessing such a husband and such a neighbor as were not often met with. While Sir William was with them, Mr. Collins devoted his morning to driving him out in his gig, and showing him the country. But when he went away, the whole family returned to their usual employments, and Elizabeth was thankful to find that they did not see more of her cousin by the alteration. For the chief of the time between breakfast and dinner was now passed by him either at work in the garden, or in reading and writing, and looking out of the window in his own book-room which fronted the road. The room in which the ladies sat was backwards. Elizabeth had at first rather wondered that Charlotte should not prefer the dining-parlor for common use. It was a better-sized room, and had a more pleasant aspect. But she soon saw that her friend had an excellent reason for what she did, for Mr. Collins would undoubtedly have been much less in his own apartment had they sat in one equally lively, and she gave Charlotte credit for the arrangement. From the drawing-room they could distinguish nothing in the lane, and were indebted to Mr. Collins for the knowledge of what carriages went along, and how often especially Mr. Burr drove by in her faten, which he never failed coming to inform them of, though it happened almost every day. She not unfrequently stopped at the parsonage, and had a few minutes' conversation with Charlotte, but was scarcely ever prevailed upon to get out. Very few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings, and not many in which his wife did not think it necessary to go likewise. And till Elizabeth recollected that there might be other family livings to be disposed of, she could not understand the sacrifice of so many hours. Now and then they were honored with a call from her ladyship, and nothing escaped her observation that was passing in the room during these visits. She examined into their employments, looked at their work, and advised them to do it differently. Found fault with the arrangement of the furniture, or detected the housemate in negligence, and if she accepted any refreshment, seemed to do it only for the sake of finding out that Mrs. Collins's joints of meat were too large for her family. Elizabeth soon perceived that though this great lady was not in commission of the peace of the county, she was a most active magistrate in her own parish, the minutest concerns of which were carried to her by Mr. Collins. And whenever any of the cottagers were disposed to be quarrelsome, discontented, or too poor, she sallied forth into the village to settle the differences, silence their complaints, and scold them into harmony and plenty. The entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about twice a week, and allowing for the loss of Sir William, and there being only one card table in the evening, every such entertainment was the counterpart of the first. Their other engagements were few, as the style of living in the neighborhood in general was beyond Mr. Collins's reach. This, however, was no evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent her time comfortably enough. There were half hours of pleasant conversation with Charlotte, and the weather was so fine for the time of year that she had often great enjoyment out of doors. Her favorite walk, and where she frequently went while the others were calling on Lady Catherine, was along the open grove which edged that side of the park, where there was a nice sheltered path which no one seemed to value but herself, and where she felt beyond the reach of Lady Catherine's curiosity. In this quiet way the first fortnight of her visit soon passed away. Easter was approaching, and the week preceding it was to bring an addition to the family at Rosings, which in so small a circle must be important. Elizabeth had heard soon after her arrival that Mr. Darcy was expected there in the course of a few weeks, and though there were not many of her acquaintances whom she did not prefer, his coming with Furnish one comparatively knew to look at in their Rosings parties, and she might be amused in seeing how hopeless Miss Bingley's designs on him were by his behavior to his cousin, for whom he was evidently destined by Lady Catherine, who talked of his coming with the greatest satisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the highest admiration, and seemed almost angry to find that he had already been frequently seen by Miss Lucas and herself. His arrival was soon known at the Parsonage, for Mr. Collins was walking the whole morning within view of the lodges opening into Hansford Lane, in order to have the earliest assurance of it, and after making his bow as the carriage turned into the park, hurried home with the great intelligence. On the following morning he hastened to Rosings to pay his respects. There were two nephews of Lady Catherine to require them, for Mr. Darcy had brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of his Uncle Lord Blank, and to the great surprise of all the party, when Mr. Collins returned, the gentlemen accompanied him. Charlotte had seen them from her husband's room, crossing the road, and immediately running into the other, told the girls what an honor they might expect, adding, I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me. Elizabeth had scarcely time to disclaim all right to the compliments before their approach was announced by the doorbell, and shortly afterwards the three gentlemen entered the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address, most truly the gentlemen. Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, paid his compliments with his usual reserve to Mrs. Collins, and whatever might be his feelings toward her friend, met her with every appearance of composure. Elizabeth merely curtsied to him without saying a word. Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly. But his cousin, after having addressed a slight observation on the house and garden to Mrs. Collins, sat for some time without speaking to anybody. At length, however, his civility was so far awakened as to inquire of Elizabeth after the health of her family. She answered him in the usual way, and after a moment's pause added, My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you never happened to see her there? She was perfectly sensible that he never had, but she wished to see whether he would betray any consciousness of what had passed between the Bingleys and Jane, and she thought he looked a little confused as he answered that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet. The subject was pursued no farther, and the gentleman soon afterwards went away.