The next day she was off with her fellow travelers. 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 chaise. 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. His civilities 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 Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner’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. All was joy and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly away — the morning in bustle and shopping, the evening at one of the theatres.
Elizabeth then contrived to sit by her aunt. Their first object was her sister. She was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply 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. Gardiner gave her the particulars also of Miss Bingley’s visit in Gracechurch 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. Gardiner then rallied her niece on Wickham’s desertion, and complimented her on bearing it so well. “What sort of girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary.”
“Pray, what is the difference in matrimonial affairs, between the mercenary and the prudent motive? Last Christmas you were afraid of his marrying me, because it would be imprudent. 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, why 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.”
“A man in distressed circumstances has no 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, Lizzy, that is what I do not choose. I should be sorry to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.”
“Oh, if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire.” Elizabeth was not pleased to be reminded of Mr. Darcy, even though her aunt’s comment had not been thus intended. She had gone most of the day without thinking of him and the mere mention of his name made her argumentative. “Their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all. Thank Heaven! I am going tomorrow where I shall find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither manner nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all.”
“Take care, Lizzy, that speech savors 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. Gardiner, “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 aunt,” she rapturously cried, “what delight! You give me fresh life, for what are young men to rocks and mountains?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EVERY OBJECT IN THE NEXT DAY’S JOURNEY was new and interesting to Elizabeth. When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it in view. The palings of Rosings Park formed a 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 pales, 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 chaise, rejoicing at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure. 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. 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 was not unseldom, 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 side-board 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. 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 cross walk, 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. While Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte took her sister and friend around the house, extremely well pleased to have the opportunity of showing it without her husband’s help. It was rather small, but well built and convenient. 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 learned that Lady Catherine was still in the country. It was spoken o
f again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins observed, “Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honor of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church, and I need not say you will be delighted with her. I have scarcely any hesitation in saying she will include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she honors us during your stay here. Her behavior to my dear Charlotte is charming. We dine at 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 carriages, for she has several.”
“Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed,” added Charlotte, “and a most attentive neighbor.”
“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. 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 gaieties of their intercourse with Rosings. A lively imagination soon settled it all. But, best of all, despite her ladyship being the aunt of that most exasperating intruder into her dreams, she had no hopes of being reminded of Mr. Darcy the whole of her visit. For other than her present company, of whom she had no intention of encouraging discourse of that sort, there was nothing about her present quarters that would remind her of him.
The middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready for a walk, a sudden noise below seemed to send the whole house in confusion. After listening a moment, she heard somebody running upstairs in a violent hurry. She met Maria in the landing, who, breathless with agitation, said, “Oh, Eliza, pray make haste and come into the dining room, for there is such a sight to be seen.”
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 phaeton at the garden gate.
“Is this all?” asked Elizabeth. “I expected at least that the pigs had got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter.”
“La! 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 Miss de Bourgh. 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 in all this wind.”
“Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favors when Miss de Bourgh comes in.”
“I like her appearance,” said Elizabeth, struck with other ideas. “She looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do very well for Mr. Darcy. She will make him a very proper wife.”
Maria did not hear her, but since the words had been more for her own enjoyment and not for conversation, Elizabeth did not expect an answer. Though, it did not escape her that the very man she was determined never to think about during her visit was the first to come to her mind.
Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate in conversation with the ladies. Sir William was stationed in the doorway, in earnest contemplation of the greatness before him, and constantly bowing whenever Miss de Bourgh looked that way. Elizabeth endeavored not to laugh at the whole scene and wished there might be one person with whom she could share her amusement.
At length there was nothing more to be said. The ladies drove on and the others returned to 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 TWENTY-FIVE
MR. COLLINS’S TRIUMPH, in consequence of this invitation, was complete. The power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering visitors, and of letting them see her civility towards himself and his wife, was exactly what he had wished for.
“I confess,” said he, “that I should not have been at all surprised by her ladyship’s 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 all should receive an invitation to dine there so immediately after your arrival.”
Scarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but their visit to Rosings. To Elizabeth, Mr. Collins assured, “Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us which becomes herself and her daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes are superior to the rest — there is no occasion for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved.”
When the time came, 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 the weather was fine she could not be in such raptures as Mr. Collins expected the scene to inspire.
When they ascended the steps to the hall, though the rest of the party seemed to be quite apprehensive of who they were about to face, Elizabeth’s courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing of Lady Catherine that spoke of any extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue; rather than the mere stateliness of money or rank, both of which she thought she could witness without trepidation.
From the entrance hall they followed the servants through an antechamber, to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her ladyship, with great aloofness, arose to receive them. Mrs. Collins had settled it with her husband that the responsibility 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 just courage enough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a word. 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 composedly. 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.
Examining the mother, Elizabeth soon found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy in countenance and deportment. If arrogance was an inheritable trait, it was a strong one in this family. For a moment, Elizabeth almost felt sorry for Mr. Darcy, having grown up surrounded by the stately coldness of such as Lady Catherine, for it could be assumed that Lady Anne Darcy had been like her sister, having been raised with the same self-importance. It was a stark contrast to her own childhood filled with laughter and emotion. She turned her eyes on the daughter, and could almost have joined in Maria’s astonishment at her being so thin and small. There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the ladies. Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly; her features, though not plain, were insignificant; and she spoke very little, except in a low voice to Mrs. Jenkinson, who was entirely engaged in listening to what she said.
The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants and all the articles of plat
e which Mr. Collins had promised. 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. Every dish was commended, first by him and then by Sir William, who was now recovered enough to echo whatever his son-in-law said. Elizabeth wondered how Lady Catherine could bear it; but the lady seemed gratified by their excessive admiration, 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 Miss de Bourgh — the former of whom was engaged in listening to Lady Catherine, and the latter said not a word to her all dinner. Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little Miss de Bourgh ate. Maria thought speaking out of the question. The gentlemen 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 having her judgment refuted. She inquired into Charlotte’s domestic concerns familiarly and minutely, gave her a great deal of advice as to the management of them all. Elizabeth found 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 her, 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. At least Mr. Darcy did not pry so readily into other’s affairs, a family trait he did not share with his aunt. In contrast to her ladyship, his manners were not so disagreeable.
Pride and Prejudice (The Wild and Wanton Edition) Page 19