by Jane Austen
“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.”
“The work is rather too light & bright & sparkling;—it wants shade;— it wants to be stretched out here & there with a long Chapter—of sense if it can be had, if not of solemn specious nonsense—about something unconnected with the story; an Essay on Writing, a critique on Walter Scott, or the history of Buonaparte.”
Jane Austen’s letter to her sister Cassandra, 4 February 1813, commenting on Pride and Prejudice
VOLUME II
JANE RECEIVED A second letter from Caroline Bingley in which her claw marks were even more pronounced than on the first, though Jane chose to overlook them. According to Miss Bingley, her brother and Georgiana Darcy were on the brink of a felicitous union of their respective nine lives (making a total of eighteen, unless, as a dashing young cat at Oxford, Mr. Bingley may happen to have forfeited one or two). The friends and well-wishers of the happy couple awaited the moment when their understanding would be announced—an event that must bring Caroline ever closer to becoming mistress of Pemberley.
As a dashing young cat at Oxford, Mr. Bingley may have forfeited one or two of his nine lives.
Elizabeth could feel nothing but indignation towards a cat, such as Mr. Bingley, who might sleep here or sleep there to oblige his designing friends and remain insensible to the fact that back at Longbourn, poor Jane was taking twenty-three-and-a-half-hour naps to avoid dwelling on what must only make her unhappy. Could, Elizabeth wondered, the irresolute Mr. Bingley really have forgotten his ball and the precious moments he spent rolling it under the dining room table with Jane?
Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, complained constantly about how ill-used she was by all the cats in the kingdom. None of them had any regard for her poor nerves, or cared if her wet food was left out to get dry, or her favorite toy got lost under the sofa. To make matters worse, Lady Lucas, who was all out for what she could get, came on purpose to Longbourn one morning to show off an especially juicy vole she had captured, lording it over poor Mrs. Bennet who had hardly had the strength to lift a paw under the heavy weight of recent disappointments and reversals.
Mr. Wickham frequently kept company with the Bennets during this gloomy interval. Now that Mr. Darcy had left the neighborhood, Wickham became even less reserved in communicating all he had suffered at the paws of Mr. Darcy. By now, all the cats in the neighborhood were sensible of the injuries Wickham had endured, and all detested the proud ill-tempered Darcy, except for the mild-mannered Jane, who suggested he might merely (as is the case of many a seemingly ill-natured cat) be misunderstood.
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 seemed little chance of her ever consid ering it with less perplexity. Her daughter endeavoured 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, Lizzy,” 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 in love a little now and then. It is something to think of, and 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 Meryton 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 befal you, you have an affectionate mother who will always make the most of it.”
WHILE ALL THIS was going on at Longbourn, Mr. Collins was preparing to receive his bride at Hunsford, and he couldn’t help peering through the opening in the trees that allowed him a glimpse of Rosings in ecstatic anticipation of sharing the view with his dear Charlotte.
At Christmas, Mrs. Bennet’s brother, a sensible and well-mannered cat whose cranium was considerably larger than his sister’s, came to visit with his wife, Mrs. Gardiner, a particular favorite with Jane and Elizabeth. Caroline Bingley and her sister would not have believed that Mr. Gardiner, who lived within view of a warehouse (where he had great sport in catching rats), could be so amiable and respectable.
The sight of the visitors elicited fresh wails of ill-usage from Mrs. Bennet who, all during their visit, never relaxed her protestations on the general perverseness of life. Two daughters on the brink of marriage—and it had all come to nothing!
During their stay, Lizzy discussed with Aunt Gardiner Jane’s recent disappointment over Bingley.
“It had better have happened to you, Lizzy; you would have frisked and frolicked yourself out of it sooner. But do you think she would be prevailed upon to go back to town with us? A change of scene and relief from your mother’s plaintive meows might be of service.”
You, Elizabeth, would have frisked and frolicked yourself out of it sooner.
Jane readily agreed to the plan.
The Gardiners stayed a week at Longbourn and what with the noise and confusion of neighboring cats coming and going, they never got the comfort of a quiet bowl of crunchies by themselves.
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. Gardiner, rendered suspicious by Elizabeth’s warm commendation of him, 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.
MRS. GARDINER TOOK the opportunity of a private conference with Elizabeth to warn her to be on her guard with the handsome Mr. Wickham, whose relative poverty (thanks a lot, Mr. Darcy!) rendered him an unsuitable match for her niece.
Elizabeth bantered with her aunt, reminding her that the want of a comfortable, secure home never prevented two kitties from entering into the marriage state, especially when the moon was full.
Mr. Collins and Charlotte’s wedding day approached. Charlotte paid a farewell visit to Longbourn during which Mrs. Bennet favored her with sour looks and ill-natured growls. Elizabeth felt ashamed of her mother’s bad breeding and spectacular stupidity in refusing to understand the intractable nature of an entail. Charlotte, however, appeared not to notice; she was simply pleased with Elizabeth’s promise to visit Hunsford in March.
Meanwhile, in London, Jane waited in vain for a visit from Caroline Bingley. Every morning began with Jane putting out a fresh sardine in anticipation of seeing her friend, and every evening ended with her making a fresh excuse for Caroline’s continued absence. Finally, both sardines and excuses grew stale, and after a brief, chilly visit from Miss Bingley, Jane sadly confessed to Elizabeth that she had been deceived in Caroline’s character—catty she was, and catty she had long been and, Jane feared, duplicitous too.
Back at Longbourn, Wickham withdrew his attentions from Elizabeth to bestow them on a young feline who had recently inherited a sizable estate from her silly humans (who had left all of their possessions to their cat rat
her than their children). However, Elizabeth could not censure Wickham for his attentions to Miss King, as she understood that sleek, handsome toms must eat as well as those with tattered ears and mournful meows.
“My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of triumphing in her better judgement, 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 mean time. 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 at all cared about me, we must have met long 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 Hunsford. Pray go to see them, with Sir William and Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there—Yours, etc.”
JANUARY AND FEBRUARY passed away with the Bennet sisters frequently trotting down the muddy lanes to Meryton and back.
As her stay at Hunsford drew near, Elizabeth found herself looking forward to the visit. Kitty and Lydia did nothing but chase after officers or runaway balls, and Mrs. Bennet did little but lament and complain, so a change would be most welcome. (It seemed that Mrs. Bennet had not enough sense to understand that life is not just a pill pocket, but a pill, and a cat must take the bitter with the succulent.)
On the way to Hunsford, Elizabeth, who was traveling with Sir William Lucas and his daughter, Maria, stopped in London to visit Jane and the Gardiners. Though Elizabeth found Jane as fluffy as ever, she was concerned to hear from their aunt that Jane still slept twenty-three hours a day, though she endeavored, in the remaining hour of wakefulness, to support her spirits as best she could.
From Aunt Gardiner, Lizzy received an invitation for a summer outing to the lakes.
“Oh, my dear, dear aunt,” Lizzy rapturously cried, “what delight! What felicity! You give me fresh life and vigor. What are young toms to the joy of scampering over rocks and mountains? Oh! What hours of transport we shall spend! And when we do return, it shall not be like other cats, shut up in a cat carrier and mewing under the seat of the carriage. We will know where we have gone—we will recollect what trees we have climbed and what squirrels we have stalked!”
The farewell between [Elizabeth] 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 Bourgh, and trusting their opinion of her—their opinion of every body—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.
Amiable and pleasing? You think that if it makes you happy.
AT LENGTH, ELIZABETH and her companions arrived at Hunsford. Charlotte greeted Elizabeth with a quiet but earnest chirp, while Mr. Collins paraded proudly around the house and garden, rolled under the sideboard, and caught a magpie in his meadow as if to make Elizabeth feel all the delights she had forfeited in refusing his paw in marriage. Foremost among the felicities of Hunsford were the attentions of Lady Cat. These Elizabeth was to experience the following evening, as the Hunsford party was invited to dine at Rosings. Indeed, Miss Anne de Bourgh had come herself with her lady companion to deliver the invitation. Elizabeth was amused to see how cross and sickly Miss de Bourgh appeared (the perfect future match for Mr. Darcy). In truth, poor Anne had just been to the vet and been weighed, an experience so frightening that she left half her hair behind in the cat carrier.
At length the Parsonage was discernible. The garden sloping to the road, the house standing in it, the green pales and the laurel hedge, every thing 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, 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 enquiries 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 parlour, he welcomed them a second time with ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and punctually repeated all his wife’s offers of refreshment.
He welcomed them to his humble abode.
MR. COLLINS WAS in a state of protracted ecstasy at the thought of displaying Lady Cat’s grand house to Elizabeth and the others, as well as his patroness’s expensive furniture (her new ottoman was especially well-suited for sharpening his claws on) and superlative dishes. Elizabeth was instructed to anticipate wet food truly deserving of the name “Fancy Feast.”
Sir William and Maria were nearly overpowered by so much grandeur. When the group arrived at Rosings, Sir William said nothing, but Maria immediately scooted under a sofa so that only her tail and hind paws were visible.
Lady Cat was extraordinarily fond of hearing herself meow.
Elizabeth, however, found herself quite composed in the presence of the grand lady, her daughter, and their richly-furnished house.
Lady Cat was extraordinarily fond of hearing herself meow, and interrogated Elizabeth as to all the particulars of her family and upbringing.
“Your father’s estate is entailed on Mr. Collins, I think,” she observed.
Mr. Collins opened his mouth to chirp his apologies, but his tail, which waved ostentatiously, told another story. Charlotte, however, with great presence of mind, sat on it.
Lady Cat seemed quite taken aback when Elizabeth declined to give her a direct answer as to her age.
“At least,” said that fine lady, “you need not be ashamed to give your age in human years.”
“Ah, but Ma’am,” replied Elizabeth, “surely you woul
d then divide the number by seven and have your answer.”
Lady Cat regarded Elizabeth through narrowed eyes before turning the subject to her great condescension in finding a home for three young cats of her acquaintance. Long did she dwell on her great good deeds and general wonderfulness before ordering her carriage (one of several, as Mr. Collins reminded Elizabeth) to take the Hunsford party home. Maria was still under the chair when the carriage arrived and had to be dragged out by her tail. She protested by mewing loudly—the first sound she had made since entering Rosings.
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 judgement controverted. She enquired into Charlotte’s domestic concerns familiarly and minutely, and gave her a great deal of advice, as to the management of them all; told her how every thing ought to be regulated in so small a family as her’s, 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.