by Jane Austen
“I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you,” said he, “that a ball of this kind, procured by a cat of character, can have any evil tendency; and I am so far from objecting to rolling the ball about myself, that I shall hope to be honoured with the paws of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening; and I take this opportunity of soliciting yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first bounces especially.”
Elizabeth felt herself completely taken in.
She had fully proposed being engaged by Mr. Wickham for those very bounces; and to have Mr. Collins instead—her liveliness had never been worse timed! Moreover, she began to suspect that she had the dubious honor of being selected as worthy of being the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings in the absence of more eligible cats.
The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family. Mrs. Bennet chose to consider it as given in compliment to her eldest daughter, and was particularly flattered by receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of a ceremonious card. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and the attention of their brother; and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing a great deal with Mr. Wickham, and of seeing a confirmation of everything in Mr. Darcy’s looks and behavior. The happiness anticipated by Catherine and Lydia, depended less on any single event, or any particular person, for though they each, like Elizabeth, meant to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them, and a ball was, at any rate, a ball. And even Mary could assure her family that she had no disinclination for it.
ELIZABETH WAS MOST disappointed with Mr. Bingley’s much-talked of ball because Wickham was not there to roll or run with it. Not only that, but she had promised Mr. Collins the first two bounces!
Elizabeth was astonished when Mr. Darcy asked her for a bounce, and endeavored to converse with him as little as possible until it occurred to her that she could torment him more effectively by obliging him to speak. She then made some slight observation on the splendor of the ball.
“It is your turn to talk now, Mr. Darcy,” she said.
“Do you talk by rule then, while at play?” he asked.
“We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition,” replied Elizabeth, “and are unwilling to open our mouths unless it is to utter such a meow as will amaze the whole room.”
“This is no striking resemblance of your own catness,” he said.
“We have tried two or three subjects already without success,” observed Elizabeth, “and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”
“What think you of newts?” said he, smiling.
“Newts—oh! No. I am sure we never stalk the same, or not with the same feelings.”
“I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions.”
“No—I cannot talk of newts in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.”
Elizabeth then spoke of Darcy’s mistreatment of Wickham. Just as she anticipated, Darcy’s tail swished and his eyes flashed. But he did not attempt to defend himself.
After the dance, Caroline Bingley approached Elizabeth. “Wickham’s encroaching on Mr. Darcy’s territory was a most insolent thing, but considering he is descended from a common alley cat, one could not expect much better,” she said.
“His guilt and his descent appear by your account to be the same,” retorted Elizabeth.
“Excuse my interference,” spat Miss Bingley, “it was kindly meant.”
At supper, Mrs. Bennet yowled triumphantly of her expectation of Jane’s marrying Mr. Bingley, while Darcy looked grave. Mary plunked on the pianoforte with very little grace, and Lydia and Kitty exposed themselves with the officers. To make matters worse, Mr. Collins hardly left Elizabeth’s side, sorely tempting her to swat him with her paw.
[As Elizabeth and Darcy danced] Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Mr. Darcy he stopt with a bow of superior courtesy to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.
“I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Eliza, (glancing at her sister and Bingley,) shall take place. What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr. Darcy—but let me not interrupt you, Sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me.”
Such superior dancing is not often seen.
The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; but Sir William’s allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together.
THE NEXT DAY opened a new scene at Longbourn. Mr. Collins solicited a private audience with Lizzy who, however, endeavored to scamper away.
“Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins!” ordered Mrs. Bennet.
As soon as they were alone, Mr. Collins said to Lizzy: “Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other purrfections.”
The next moment, Mr. Collins’s animal instincts got the best of him, for he ran away after a mouse that had scurried under a chair. He soon recollected himself, however.
“Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life,” he assured Lizzy solemnly. “Twice,” continued he, “has Lady Cat condescended to meow pointedly (unprovoked too!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford—while we batted about a spool of thread—that she said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. Choose properly, choose a pure-bred for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of cat, able to make a small rodent go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a creature as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.’”
“You will find her breeding beyond anything I can describe,” Mr. Collins continued, “and your frisks and capers, I think, must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and subjection which her rank will inevitably excite.”
Lizzy hastened to decline the honor of his paw, but Mr. Collins chose to see her refusal as a lady-like game of cat and mouse.
“I am perfectly serious in my refusal,” cried she, batting a ball under the couch. “On my honor, I am not toying with you!”
Mr. Collins persisted in believing that Elizabeth meant to increase his love by suspense, according to the practice of elegant felines.
Exasperated, Lizzy decided she must apply to her father, whose behavior at least could not be mistaken for affectation and coquetry.
“My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly—which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked too!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford—between our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh’s foot-stool, that she said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.’ Allow me, by the way, to observe, my
fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond any thing I can describe; and your wit and vivacity I think must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my general intention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be told why my views were directed towards Long-bourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father, (who, however, may live many years longer,) I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy event takes place—which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection.”
Wait, Cousin Elizabeth! I have not yet assured you of the violence of my affection!
MRS. BENNET POUNCED on Mr. Collins as soon as he was alone in the room. She was alarmed, however, upon hearing of Lizzy’s refusal.
“Lizzy is a foolish cat and does not know dry food from wet,” she cried. Then she hastened to Mr. Bennet’s library and jumped up on his chair, which she often used as a scratching post. She began to sharpen her claws energetically.
Help, we are all in an uproar!
“Mr. Bennet, we are all in an uproar!” she screeched. “Lizzy has scampered away from Mr. Collins and now Mr. Collins threatens to run away from Lizzy!”
Mr. Bennet called the defiant Lizzy to his library.
“And so,” he said, “you refuse to become the future companion of Mr. Collins; you decline the honor of making up a foursome at quadrille with her Ladyship?”
Elizabeth affirmed that she did.
To her relief, her father took her side. He then calmly requested that his wife remove her claws from his chair and allow him to curl up quietly by himself. This distressed Mrs. Bennet greatly. All her future plans for comfort and security had been cruelly overthrown, and her howls of protest and ill-usage echoed forlornly through the halls of Longbourn.
“I tell you what, Miss Lizzy—if you take it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way, you will never get a husband at all—and I am sure I do not know who is to maintain you when your father is dead—I shall not be able to keep you—and so I warn you—I have done with you from this very day—I told you in the library, you know, that I should never speak to you again, and you will find me as good as my word. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children—Not that I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking to anybody. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer— But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied.”
WHILE MRS. BENNET persisted in scolding Elizabeth for refusing Mr. Collins’s paw in marriage, Mr. Collins comforted himself by rolling around with Miss Lucas in some catnip grown expressly for him by Lady Cat’s head gardener.
Meanwhile, Lizzy met Mr. Wickham and had a cozy chat with him about the ball at Netherfield. Both lamented that they had not had a chance to bounce it together around the ball room. What a romp they would have enjoyed!
Soon afterwards, Jane received a letter from Caroline Bingley. Miss Bingley wrote that her brother had left for London, and since his friends did not want him to spend his vacant hours meowing despondently in some lonely kennel, they had all hastened to join him. What fine big rats they would catch in the sewers, now that the season had begun in town!
Jane received a letter from Caroline Bingley.
Although Caroline wrote in a lady-like hand, Elizabeth detected claw marks on the elegant, hot pressed paper. Catty Caroline teased Jane mercilessly about Georgiana Darcy’s manifold attractions, and her expectation of Miss Darcy’s marriage to Mr. Bingley. (Miss Darcy was said to be a well-grown young cat who was accomplished in chirruping, napping, and washing herself. What reasonable hope could Jane entertain of the pliable Mr. Bingley resisting such attractions?)
Elizabeth was confident that Mr. Bingley would be back in Hertfordshire very soon, but Mrs. Bennet was quite discomposed by the news that he had left Netherfield. She took comfort, however, in planning a supper for him of roasted harvest mouse that would, no doubt, lead him ere long to propose to Jane.
“When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be concluded in three or four days, but as we are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when Charles gets to town, he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have determined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend his vacant hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintance are already there for the winter; I wish I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of making one in the crowd, but of that I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings, and that your beaux will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of the three of whom we shall deprive you. . . .
“Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself, is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare entertain of her being hereafter our sister.”
MISS LUCAS KEPT Mr. Collins distracted all day by engaging him in unraveling a ball of yarn. Elizabeth was grateful to be free of his sullen looks and injured air but little could she have surmised that Charlotte was possessed of a fierce ambition. She was, in short, determined to secure Mr. Collins for herself!
Indeed, sly Mr. Collins crept out of Longbourn at an early hour the next morning, and trotted down the lane towards Lucas Lodge. Miss Lucas herself perceived him from an upper window and scooted out to meet him “accidentally” in the lane. She little could have imagined what passionate caterwauls awaited her there!
Mr. Collins crept out of Longbourn at an early hour.
Poor Mr. Collins, poor Miss Lucas! But though Mr. Collins was a dim-witted cat, he was also a respectable one. Miss Lucas could look forward to tidy kitty litter boxes in her new establishment, and eventually a litter of her own.
Charlotte charged Mr. Collins with uttering not one murmur about their agreement when he returned to Longbourn, and Mr. Collins promised, though it was hard for him not to publish his prosperous love to all the cats in the county.
When Charlotte did tell her the news, Elizabeth was shocked. How could her dear friend, an indubitably sensible cat, ever be happy with the empty purrs and false posturings of Cousin Collins?
Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window.
“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 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 her 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 romanti
c, you know. I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins’s character, connections, 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.”
SIR WILLIAM LUCAS lost no time in informing the Bennets of his daughter’s good fortune in entrapping (as Mrs. Bennet regarded it) Mr. Collins for her future mate.
The news threw Mrs. Bennet into a pitiable state. She reduced Mr. Bennet’s favorite chair to shreds at the thought of Mr. Collins and Charlotte mewing secretly in anticipation of the prosperous hour when they would assume possession of Longbourn. To further affront her, Mr. Collins sniffed all the Bennets’ furniture and actually sprayed the rug in Mrs. Bennet’s best parlour! Lady Lucas, too, came to visit often to triumph over poor Mrs. Bennet in quite a territorial manner.
Lady Lucas came to triumph over Mrs. Bennet in quite a territorial manner.
“I cannot bear to think that Mr. Collins and Charlotte should have all this estate,” Mrs. Bennet hissed to her husband. “Mr. Collins has a scrawny thin end-tail. It is nothing at all to Jane’s, but because she is a female she is disregarded and Mr. Collins will go on marking my rugs and calculating the number of mice who inhabit our park. It is all quite insupportable!”
Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention of any thing 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 abhorrence. 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.