Lessons of Advantage

by michael sand

  “To offend by inadvertence, is a failing, indeed,” Darcy replied, after a pause. “But I lack your power, which amounts to genius, of conversing easily with all sorts of men.”

  “Nay,” cried Bingley, sitting up. “This is too much! What needs such sarcasm?”

  “You mistake me, Bingley; I intended no sarcasm. Your abilities reflect the sweetness of your disposition. I admire them unreservedly.”

  Bingley looked his astonishment. He was not used to receive praise from Darcy.

  “However, I am serious in expecting your resentment,” Darcy went on, “for what I have to say concerns Miss Jane Bennet; and without wishing to obtrude, I must ask whether I am right in believing that your feelings towards her have not changed, that they remain what they formerly were. — But your manner confesses that this is so (when Bingley, staring open-mouthed, could make no reply). That is why I must say that which I know will offend you.”

  “You need not repeat your warning,” said Bingley, in a depressed accent, “ — if that is what you mean. It is not forgot.”

  “That is not what I meant,” Darcy replied, with energy. Recollection of the lecture he had read his friend the previous winter, — his warning that, Bingley’s family having only recently risen into gentility, he needed to observe special care in making a connection — was lending colour to the countenances of both men. “I wish my warning could be forgot. — I wish I could forget my wretched meddling — my arrogant interference in your affairs. But I cannot. I had no business to speak as I did, Bingley. The objections I raised, in regard to the Bennet family, may have been true in a prudential light; but worldly advantage is not all, — and if a man finds no inconvenience from any disagreeable relation, why should he care what other people may think of the matter?” In saying this, Mr Darcy might be speaking for more than just his friend. “In any event, it was not for me to decide on such a case, and I truly beg your pardon.”

  Bingley’s astonishment now knew no bounds. — For Darcy to be apologizing to him constituted such a reversal of all established order as gave rise to almost as much disquiet as gratification. With an attempt at a light laugh, therefore,

  “And this is what you feared to say? — What would lose you my good opinion?”

  Darcy remained imperturbably grave. “If there were nothing worse, I might now be feeling comfortable; but my interference extended farther, — and reached to conduct which you may rightly judge unpardonable. Let me acknowledge it at once. Last January, while you were resident in Grosvenor-street, Miss Bennet came to spend the winter with her connections in town. This event was known to me, and to some other of your friends, and we — or rather, I, for I should speak only of myself, — having it in mind to preserve you from what I then considered danger and disappointment — took it upon myself to withhold the intelligence from you.”

  For a moment, Bingley merely gaped. Then he jumped out of his chair, pink with anger, and stood, struggling for speech. “Do you mean to say that Miss Bennet — that she was in London all that time,” he managed at last, “ — and you had the audacity to keep me in ignorance of it! — You and ‘my other friends.’ — I know very well who they may be! My sisters! This was Caroline and Louisa’s doing! The Bennets are not rich enough or grand enough for them. They will only be satisfied with my marrying some great heiress — and you know very well whom they have in mind! It matters not a whit to them that Miss Darcy does not care a hang for me, in that way, or that I — ” He broke off, unable to continue.

  “Bingley,” Darcy began in low voice, after a moment. “Ill as you must think of me at this moment, you will do me the justice to believe that I have entertained no such expectation — dear though it would be to call you brother. I have naturally been aware of your sisters’ wishes in that quarter, but I have long been convinced that their solicitude was in vain, and their wishes impossible of success.”

  “Their solicitude! Oh! yes — their solicitude has been great indeed — but entirely on their own account! Louisa wants a more extensive entrée into society, and Caroline hopes that one great marriage will lead to another! — And you know what she means by that! — How could you lend yourself to their vile conspiracy!”

  The shame which was then Darcy’s portion, was such as he had probably never felt before. Bingley’s reproach struck him to the heart. Their friendship constituted one of the chief comforts of his life, and that he should have forfeited Bingley’s regard, gave him infinite pain. To this, vanity added its increment, in the knowledge that Bingley’s respect for his judgement was forfeit as well — that judgement which they had both been used to deem such an oracle. Bingley, who had been nervously pacing the room, stopped suddenly, as though struck. “What must Miss Bennet have been thinking of me! (in a voice of misery.) She must believe that I knew of her presence in London, and was indifferent to it. How unfeeling I must have appeared to her, — how hurt she must have been by what she took to be my coldness. — And this (taking fire) is what I owe to the tender care of those who thought they knew better for me than I could know for myself!” —

  Darcy had never seen Bingley so angry — had scarcely ever seen him even vexed. After a long silence,

  “Bingley,” he began, in a most feeling tone, “your resentment is entirely justified. I deserve your anger. The recollection of my behaviour disgusts me — it cannot be too severely censured. It was arrogant and presumptuous of me to meddle in your affairs. I had no right to prefer my judgement over yours, or to think I knew better than you what would make you happy. I apologize unreservedly, and I beg that you will forgive me.”

  Bingley’s anger was momentarily abated from sheer surprise. He had never seen his friend so nearly humble, or heard him speak with such open sensibility.

  “You admit that you were wrong?”

  “Unquestionably. Wrong in my views, and in my actions; and wrong to think I had a right to interfere. — My only saving grace (after a slight hesitation) may be, that I was equally wrong in another respect, — when I told you that I doubted the strength of Miss Bennet’s feelings. I now have reason to believe that she entertains the same regard for you that you do for her.”

  At that, Bingley ceased pacing, and abruptly sat down in his chair. The concluding point of Darcy’s lecture, all those months ago, had been his conviction that, “The serenity of Miss Bennet’s countenance suggests that her heart was not easily reached” — and that “He had seen no symptom that she participated in Bingley’s sentiment.”

  “On what do you base your reason?” was then said, very quietly.

  “On my own observation, in part. I have taken several opportunities of engaging Miss Bennet in speech of late, and I find that her feelings are stronger than I had supposed. They are concealed behind a calmness of manner, and a genuine serenity of mind; but from the tone of her expressions, — especially when you were the subject of our conversation, — I am convinced that she is far from indifferent on the topic. I have an additional foundation for my opinion, which I am not free to reveal; but you may believe me when I tell you, that it is based on a truer knowledge of Miss Bennet’s disposition, and a more just evaluation, than my own.”

  Had both men truly learned their lesson, Darcy might have refrained from giving his opinion a second time unasked, — and Bingley would have rejected the impertinence out-of-hand. But the habit of long subordination could not be so soon abandoned, on either side. Mr Darcy must learn to make the respect in which he held Mr Bingley more manifest; and Mr Bingley must learn to trust more to his own judgement, in spite of the admiration in which he held Darcy’s. This would be a work of time.

  Who the source of this truer knowledge of Jane Bennet’s disposition might be, and whether that evaluation might be relied upon, were then questions Bingley longed to ask. And though delicacy forbade him from inquiring farther, since Darcy appeared conscious on the point, it did not stop his curiosity. — Might Darcy have heard something from one of the Hertfordshire party when they had met at Pember
ley? Bingley was left to try what might be learned by surmise.

  “You think, then, that Miss Bennet would receive my addresses favourably?”

  “I shall not venture to say. — On that subject, there is only one person whose opinion is worth soliciting. But (with a smile) I should not entirely despair, if I were you.”

  “And you make no objection to the match? (But seeing Darcy’s expression) — Yes, to be sure. Why should I care if you object?”

  “Why should you care if anyone objects?” came the reply, “ — as long as you and Miss Bennet desire it.”

  In spite of this shew of detachment, Bingley felt sure that he had his friend’s approval, and his sanguine happiness was such at that moment, that his anger was entirely done away. Under the influence of so much encouraging intelligence, he could not remain angry with anyone; and if his sisters had appeared at that moment, petitioning for forgiveness, they would very likely have received it. The two men were as good friends as ever, when they bid each other good night. As they shook hands, Bingley expressed his expectation of again seeing his friend in the course of a week or ten days. Some doubtful look in Darcy’s face made him repeat his expectation.

  “You will be returning, will you not? I rely on your advice.”

  “You have your own good sense to rely on, and are in no need of my advice. I am more likely to advise you wrong. But I am always at your disposal. A note to Fitzwilliam House will always reach me.”

  With that, the friends parted, one feeling his prospects of future felicity much increased, and the other much diminished.

  Chapter Four

  Mr Darcy’s carriage had scarcely turned out of the sweep the next morning when Mr Bingley was calling loudly for his horse. He was soon riding through the identical scene of autumnal foliage which had the previous day corresponded to the gloom of Mr Darcy, but which to his eyes shewed only a cheerful blaze. His thoughts were in a state of happy confusion. He had not visited Longbourn since the day of the dinner party, kept at home by the wish to avoid too obvious a display of his partiality for Jane, and to conceal it from his friend, — for he had not then known what the great man might be thinking about the possibility of their union. The previous evening’s revelations had given Bingley confidence, not only in knowing that he need not fear his friend’s disapproval, but in having Darcy’s opinion that his cause with Miss Bennet might prosper. To be sure, Darcy’s opinion ought not to weigh more heavily with him than his own; but so revolutionary a change from habitual deference was not to be accomplished in an instant; and in his heart, he thought that if Darcy believed Miss Bennet returned his affections, it might really be so. Nonetheless, Bingley tried (without much success) to rein in his spirits as he rode towards Longbourn, for fear of disappointment. The good observation of Kitty, from an upper window, had allowed Mrs Bennet to marshal the females of the family into an appearance of informality when Mr Bingley entered the drawing room. The happy reception accorded him caused the absence of Mr Darcy to go unnoticed for some time, by all except Elizabeth. But Mrs Bennet observing it, at last, and being prepared to take offence, (though hardly missing the gentleman), —

  “She dared say his friend was too much occupied to condescend to visit them today.”

  “Mr Darcy has been called away on necessary business; but he sends his most respectful compliments to you all,” Bingley replied, with ready wit. “He is gone to town to visit his sister. Mr Darcy is a devoted brother — much superior to myself in that regard, I might say” — directing an arch look towards Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth thought it was better to know the worst at once. “I know that Mr Darcy’s attachment to his sister is strong,” she therefore began, “ — so strong that he might wish to be remaining by her side in London. Has he any plan of returning into Hertfordshire?”

  “Oh! yes,” Mr Bingley began eagerly; but checking himself, added, “That is, I believe he will soon be back — in a week, or ten days at the utmost.”

  Though Bingley had averred, upon entering, that he could only stay a few minutes, — “It was not in his power to extend the courtesy of his visit,” — in the event he remained over an hour. He was in remarkably good spirits, and nothing Mrs Bennet could say had power to distress him. Without being at all silly himself, Bingley had a great forbearance of silliness: Elizabeth and Jane were grateful to him for keeping his countenance so well —and helping them to keep theirs. When he was rising to leave, Mrs Bennet invited him to stay for dinner; but he was engaged elsewhere, and he was obliged to take his departure, with pleasant words on his lips, but raging inwardly against those kindly neighbours, who, by their ill-timed and officious hospitality, had made a longer stay at Longbourn impossible. His chagrin was sensibly diminished, however, by Mrs Bennet’s renewing the invitation for the following day, which he readily accepted.

  When Bingley was gone, Elizabeth went out to walk alone in the shrubbery. She had felt alarm, seeing him arrive alone, and her heart had sunk still lower, on being told that Darcy was gone to London. There had been a hesitation in Bingley’s manner, too, when he spoke his belief that Darcy would soon return, which convinced Elizabeth that the opposite was true. She had professed to wish, on the evening after the dinner party, that Darcy had never returned to Hertfordshire, and that they should not be meeting again. — “Their being in company could only be exposing them to farther awkwardness.” Now she had gotten her wish; but she did not appear to feel that gratification which the fulfilment of its wishes is supposed to engender in mankind. She was disappointed, and angry at herself for being so. How could she have believed any other event possible? The connection with Wickham remained an immoveable impediment. “Perhaps he had only come to discover whether I meant enough to him to overlook it — and found that he could not. My powers had sunk — or they lacked the strength to outweigh the low evaluation in which he holds our family — with just cause. Seeing us has reminded him of all his old disgust.”

  Feelings rushed on Elizabeth — of painful conjecture and keen regret. — How he must be despising her for having extorted his aid! — forcing him to rescue her and to degrade himself in the process. He had acted out of a noble sense of justice; but it must destroy any sentiment in her favour. Though Elizabeth had sometimes conceived a passing warmth for this person or that, as she seemed to apprehend here a scintilla of wit, or there a superior manner, these favourable impressions had never been lasting. She had long despaired of ever finding a man worthy of regard; a man who united grace and spirit, whose powers were equal in heart and understanding; and now, when she had done so, — when she had found the man above all others whom she could admire, — he was lost to her. Now that hope must be abandoned, she might at last admit her feelings, and acknowledge to herself how great that hope had been.

  Mr Bingley returned promptly the next day, so entirely free of entangling engagements, that having eaten a pleasant dinner, he made no difficulty of staying supper as well. In the afternoon, Mrs Bennet’s generalship was once more to the fore, manoeuvring for Bingley and Jane being left alone. Mr Bennet, wishing for the solitude of his library, and Mary for the use of her piano, required no manoeuvring; and Mrs Bennet had then only to invent some private business which would oblige herself and Kitty to remove, and thereafter to send in a message by the housekeeper, that Elizabeth was likewise needed. Elizabeth, to whom such undisguised premeditation was mortifying, (as she knew it to be likewise to Jane,) was forced to obey, but soon found means to return to the drawing room. The day was productive of great complacency, and might be considered a success in all regards save one — that Bingley and Jane remained unengaged. Mrs Bennet was not discouraged, however. “Mr Bennet hopes to get in some shooting tomorrow,” she began, as Bingley was preparing to take his leave. “But he dislikes going out alone. Is not that so, Mr Bennet?” Mr Bennet reluctantly agreeing, Mrs Bennet was then on the point of suggesting that — “If Mr Bingley had no better engagement, it would be an act of kindness,” — when Mr Bingley forestalled
her by volunteering his company before it was asked. “It would give him great pleasure, if Mr Bennet would allow him to propose himself” — &c. &c. This offer was closed with, and they were to see Mr Bingley in the morning.

  Elizabeth parted from Jane that night without a word; but her sister’s countenance was sufficiently expressive to make speech unnecessary; — and to give Elizabeth tolerable matter for thought when she had retired to her own bedroom. She had resisted her mother’s plans; but was her opposition rational, in light of Jane’s evident desire that Bingley should propose? How could the poor man be expected to bring things to a happy conclusion if no opportunity of a private interview were afforded him? It was only the appearance of indecorum she disliked: she wanted the opportunity to arise without premeditation. But what if it would not? Was human agency to be despised if Providence failed to act? Elizabeth was conscious of a persisting reluctance; and she soon discovered its source in the influence of Mr Darcy, through whose critical eyes she continued to view her family. However, Mr Darcy had deserted the field. Why then should his views be considered? and why scruple over the means employed, when he would not be present to be given disgust by them? Nothing might come of it if Bingley were not given the chance to speak. She must cease countering her mother’s plans, and begin to abet them.

  Mr Bingley duly came the next morning, and Elizabeth was pleased to see, when he and Mr Bennet were returned into the house, that her father’s opinion of him had risen. There was a bottom of good sense in Bingley which Mr Bennet must appreciate, together with a complete absence of the sort of silly presumption which tended to rouse his sarcasm. And when, after dinner, her father again retired to his library, Elizabeth did not wait for any hint from her mother, but immediately made for the breakfast-room, on the pretext of having a letter to write. This, indeed, was no pretext, for it was her time of the week to write to Mrs Gardiner. Her last letter having imparted the interesting intelligence of the arrival of Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy, she had all the circumstance of the recent dinner party, with the promising appearance of Bingley’s renewed partiality for Jane, to convey in this — and all the dismay of her own disappointment to conceal. Despite the real attachment for her aunt which ^actuated her correspondence, Elizabeth was conscious that her chief purpose in writing at this moment, was to mention Mr Darcy’s being gone to London to visit his sister, and to wonder whether they might have seen him in town? — though she had no great hope of gleaning any information. When she had finished her letter, Elizabeth wondered what was best to do. She had heard her mother and Kitty go up stairs some time before. As she passed into the hallway, still debating with herself, the door of the drawing room flew open, and Bingley ran out. Catching sight of her, he flushed, — took her hand for an instant, then dropped it without a word, — and breaking away, made for the library. When Elizabeth entered the drawing room a moment later, Jane was gazing out the window; but she turned at the sound, and came running into her sister’s arms, tears of joy streaming from her eyes.