Lessons of Advantage

by michael sand

  “I am surprised that Mr Darcy allows his friend to proceed to such folly,” he continued. “But perhaps he has not yet been informed. He may yet interfere to persuade his friend to break the engagement.”

  “On the contrary,” Charlotte then said. “It appears more likely to extend to a double marriage. Listen to what my father writes: — ‘Your mother is of the opinion that we shall soon be hearing of Miss Eliza’s being engaged to Mr Darcy.’”

  — From which it may be seen, how by reading out only half her father’s sentence, Mrs Collins contrived to convey a falsehood, without descending to tell a lie. The effect on her husband was all she could have hoped for. “Mr Darcy engaged to Elizabeth Bennet! (in a scandalized accent.) Impossible! This could not be! This must be false. A man of Mr Darcy’s august position would not look twice at a portionless girl, without importance or connections! It was absurd!”

  Charlotte wondered which might give the greater cause of objection, the Bennets’ want of importance, or their want of means. But she only said,

  “Not so absurd. I believe that Mr Darcy is inclined towards Eliza. He actually stood up with her at the Netherfield ball last winter; — and you know how little in general he likes to dance. And his calling here so frequently during his visit to Rosings last April, was certainly not done in compliment to us!” And unable to resist the wish of adding to her husband’s discomfiture, — “Perhaps Elizabeth Bennet may now cease to regret her loss in not marrying you.”

  Mr Collins’s perturbation was constantly increasing. Lady Catherine must be informed — he would walk to Rosings at once! She would put a stop to it, of that Charlotte might rest assured! “Her Ladyship has often told me, that Mr Darcy is to marry Miss Anne de Bourgh — they have been engaged since children!” Were the ancient lineages of the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families to suffer such a degradation, — to say nothing of the noble race of Sir Lewis de Bourgh? Charlotte, perceiving that she had gone too far, then tried to undo the mischief which her having yielded to temptation might be giving rise to. “Do not excite yourself, Mr Collins. If Mr Darcy is engaged to Miss de Bourgh, he cannot be engaged to Miss Bennet.” Surely Mr Darcy’s honourable character, (in which Mr Collins had the most profound belief,) made such a proceeding impossible. But it was too late for recovery. Mr Collins, in all the importance of dreadful news, must rush off to Rosings to spread the alarm; and Charlotte was left with no other recourse, but to sit down and write a letter to Longbourn.

  Chapter Seven

  Mr Darcy was arrived in town some days before he accomplished his stated purpose of visiting his sister. The city had never appeared so cheerless to him. Where in Hertfordshire, the melancholy of decay had been clothed in richly-varied hues, here autumn appeared only in dull cerements of sombre grey; the façades of the great houses and buildings of state smoking in rain, and half-hidden behind a veil of mist. Fitzwilliam house, replete with a pomp of display which the mind might admire, but which would never warm the heart, was possessed of more formal elegance than comfort; but Darcy had no wish of returning to Pemberley at that moment: that setting — the most promising for a life of private felicity — would seem a barren prospect now. London did furnish one comfort, in the form of that sort of concealment which numbers alone allow. In London, a man might participate in civil intercourse with no lowering of reserve; might avoid the peculiarity which is generated by the evasion of society, without ever being obliged to confide in any one of its members. In one of London’s inhabitants, Darcy wished that he could confide; but he was deterred by a constraint of many years’ continuance. Was he now to act unguarded with a person to whom he had always presented the appearance of brotherly imperturbability?

  The academy at which Georgiana was a pupil, was situate in Queen-square. Miss Lamont, the mistress, received him in her parlour. In general, Miss Lamont was well pleased with Miss Darcy, but could wish that she balanced the indulgence she was inclined to make towards poetry, with reading of a more solid nature. In that regard, Miss Lamont encouraged all her girls to read the works of Dr Johnson; nothing strengthened a young lady’s powers, both of mind and expression, so much as a course of Johnson. As a young woman, Miss Lamont had met Dr Johnson; and few people enjoyed a first (or, indeed, a subsequent) audience without learning of this notable event. Dr Johnson had been no friend to female erudition, in general, but he had made an exception in favour of Miss Lamont, who had been fortunate enough to win the Great Lexicographer’s admiration — (‘An almost masculine understanding’). A maidservant entering at that moment to say that Miss Darcy was now at liberty and awaiting her brother in the music-room, Miss Lamont allowed Mr Darcy to escape the elegant phraseology of her periodic effusions, only cautioning him that Miss Darcy had but a quarter hour’s leisure before she must attend at a demonstration of the proper use of the globes.

  Georgiana jumped up from the piano when her brother entered the room, and ran to embrace him. When brother and sister had seated themselves on the sopha, Georgiana inquired eagerly after his Hertfordshire visit (his last letter had been dated from Netherfield). Georgiana knew Netherfield to be near Meryton, and longed to hear how things stood between her brother and Elizabeth Bennet; but she felt a delicacy about inquiring. — “How did Mr Bingley do?” seemed a natural question, however, and Georgiana hoped it might be leading to more interesting subjects. But Darcy only confirming the continued good state of his friend, Georgiana was at last obliged to venture — more directly, but rather hesitantly, — “Did not Miss Bennet live in the neighbourhood of Netherfield? Had they met? Was she in health?”

  Whatever struggle of concealment was in process of undergoing, Darcy managed to return a calm answer. — Miss Bennet’s family were well. He and Bingley had called at Longbourn once, and had been bidden to dinner on another occasion. — “Had it been a large party? An elegant gathering? — Music? Had they had music? — Had Miss Bennet performed?” — were questions which then followed each other in rapid succession. And when she learned that Miss Bennet had sung some songs from Shakespeare — “How delightful that must have been! Does Miss Bennet sing as well as she plays?”

  “I admit, I found her performance exceedingly pleasing. But I might not be a very severe judge.”

  Georgiana believed that her brother’s taste and judgement were both of the highest order.

  Before Mr Darcy left, a scheme was formed to attend a concert to be taking place at Hanover Square the following day. A famous virtuoso was to play, and Mr Jones (the music master) had urged Georgiana to hear as many of the superior performers as possible.

  The Hanover Square Rooms were half-empty when brother and sister entered; for Georgiana, in her eagerness to miss nothing, had caused them to arrive somewhat in advance of the time deemed fashionable. Eventually, (and it seemed a long ‘eventually’ to her,) the chandeliers were lit, and the concert commenced. Georgiana was then astonished to discover that the buzz of conversation diminished but slightly; for though every body claimed to admire the performance, scarcely any body listened to it. She had yet to learn, that where some came to hear, others came only to meet their friends; that where music gave celestial pleasure to some, to others it gave only the gapes; and that for the single spies, who took genuine delight in music, there were battalions who merely affected to.

  Georgiana thought the concert exceedingly good — if only she were allowed to hear it! The virtuoso performed his concerto, and followed it with another work, of tremendous technical brilliance, depicting the Battle of Prague, which was equally acclaimed by those who had listened and those who had not. After a brief pause, Miss Stephens performed arias from Handel. Darcy took little pleasure in the pianistic display, and hardly more in the singing. He could perceive that Miss Stephens possessed great superiority both of execution and expression; nevertheless, he found the effect inferior to the remembered performance at Longbourn. Much of the difference dwelt in Miss Stephens’ being obliged to sing to many people at once, where Elizabeth Bennet had seemed to
be singing to him alone. This event was public and formal; that had been domestic and private, and had possessed all the qualities of the sort of comfortable, easy, companionable society, which he most valued at that moment.

  An interval then followed, during which Darcy and Georgiana made their way — along with almost every one else — into the tearooms. The scene there was one of much crowding, for the competition for the beverage was intense. The noise was prodigious, as well, and Georgiana and Darcy soon preferred to abandon the prospect of refreshment, and take refuge from the rout on the terrace. Heat, noise, and excitement had made Georgiana feel the need of restorative, however, and she wished she could have her tea. Her wish was almost immediately gratified, and in a singular manner. A young man approached the table where they had seated themselves, carrying a cup in each hand, with a plate of bread-and-butter balanced between them. He bowed, as well as he could with his burden, and begged to recall himself to Miss Darcy’s recollection: they had been introduced in Queen-square, though briefly; Miss Anne Lloyd, one of Miss Darcy’s fellow-pupils at the Academy, was his sister.

  Georgiana stammered out a few words, — “Miss Lloyd was one of her dearest friends, — they often played duets together; she perfectly remembered meeting her brother, — Mr Lloyd had been so kind as to convey some of his sister’s folios that were wanted,” — before remembering that she, too, had a brother. Mr Darcy had risen, and — “My brother, Mr Darcy,” then followed. Mr Lloyd begged that they would pardon the liberty he had taken, (setting his viands down on their table, with a diffident gesture). He had observed that they were unsupplied, and had hoped that he might be allowed to remedy the deficiency. Georgiana took up her cup gratefully; — she was certainly prepared to forgive Mr Lloyd. Her brother was slower to do so; Mr Lloyd had displayed a degree of forwardness he could not quite approve; — had he offered to fetch their tea, the offer would certainly have been refused, and he must know it. But if there had been impertinence, there had been real attention as well, and Darcy gave their benefactor a restrained, but not unfriendly nod. Mr Lloyd, he saw, was not yet twenty: his had been a generous action, if impetuous — the action of a young man, who had not the experience to understand, that even the conferring of a benefit must be performed with propriety.

  Georgiana then wished to know whether Mr Lloyd had enjoyed the virtuoso’s performance. She was certain that Miss Lloyd would be sorry to have missed it. “His sister had wished to attend the concert — he was sure she would have delighted in so outstanding an executant. Unfortunately, she had been promised elsewhere.” — A bell now ringing to signal the end of the interval, put an end to this colloquy, much to Mr Darcy's relief. Mr Lloyd then ventured to hope that they should all meet at the ball afterwards. Georgiana had not known that the evening was to end in a ball, and she much regretted that she had not the power of remaining for it; but her leave from the academy did not admit of such an extension. Mr Lloyd looked his disappointment. “Then he must bid Mr and Miss Darcy farewell. But perhaps he might see Miss Darcy when he next visited in Queen-square?” Georgiana hoped that this might be the case.

  When they were alone once more, brother and sister agreed not to return into the concert hall. Even Georgiana’s appetite for music had received sufficient gratification for the day.

  Mr Darcy left his sister in Queen-square in a state of happy fatigue, while he returned to his own empty house, where he might amuse himself in solitude with his thoughts. These were not of the pleasantest. That Mr Lloyd had been so taken with Georgiana as to seize the opportunity to intrude himself upon her notice with a clumsy attempt at gallantry, was nothing out of the way: young men are as subject to sudden gusts of attraction as the sea is to the winds; — and such breezes are likely to die away as quickly as they sprang up. Mr Lloyd might never be heard from again; but there would be other young men. Georgiana was so great an heiress that wealth need not be of chief concern in the choice of a husband; solid worth, good principles, and a truly amiable character, would be of infinitely greater importance to him, on Georgiana’s behalf, than rank or wealth. But what if the man who attached her was one he knew unworthy. What should he do if he believed that she was storing up unhappiness for herself? There was much that men could see in other men, which women were blind to! — much that was only revealed when none but men were by. How was he to act in such a case? — How explain faults, vices, iniquities which might be glaring to him, but invisible to her? He was certain that Georgiana would not marry against his wishes; but equally certain, that if she persisted in her wish of marrying some one he could not approve of, he would have to give way in the end. How much a woman’s counsel would benefit them both in such a case — how valuable her advice would be! — if he were so fortunate as to possess any woman’s confidence at that time!

  The following morning, Darcy found a letter from Hertfordshire waiting on the breakfast table. He did not have to break the seal to know that it announced Bingley’s engagement — the hurried scrawl of the direction conveying the message of his felicity more clearly than words. To the satisfaction that he had been able to clear the way for his friend’s happiness, which this letter gave rise to in Darcy, was added poignant regret. Their friendship would continue of course, but some diminution of the close terms they had hitherto lived upon, must be expected. The great transformation of marriage might probably cause their intimacy to decline into more distant terms of goodwill; and Darcy felt already diminished by the anticipated loss of a nature and disposition, which had shed an amiable blessing of comfort on his existence.

  From this despondent outlook, he sought diversion in some books, newly arrived from the bookseller’s, which lay upon a side table. Among them was a set of views of the mountains of Switzerland, with their white chasms, and rivers of ice; and a volume of poetry, in which was depicted the romantic wanderings of a wretched soul doomed to blasted exile. Mr Darcy was possessed of too disciplined an understanding to indulge in fancy as a general thing; but he was not himself at this time; and as he stood watching the rain spatter against his drawing-room windows, he felt almost overcome by a weariness of spirits to which the ebbing light — and the sense of the declining year that accompanied it — made their melancholy contribution. Continued residence in London seemed a prospect unbearably stifling at that moment, while his present restive hopelessness enforced his exile from Pemberley. (He could better bear to be unhappy at any place than at Pemberley!) Would it not be preferable to go abroad, and seek a desolation less confined, among stony wastelands and icebound wildernesses? It was a vision to calm: perhaps he might find a coldness there to match the coldness of his hopes. Why should not he go? What was left for him in England?

  Chapter Eight

  In the days following the engagement of Jane and Mr Bingley, it became Elizabeth’s office, (on their occasional separations,) to listen to the panegyric of each on the good qualities of the other, and to affirm the truth of all that was said; — and this she was the readier to do, for she believed these panegyrics more deserved than is often the case. But though she shared the high opinions mutually expressed, the part of confidante was a source of pain to Elizabeth in seeming to reduce her to a mere listener, one whose fate would be always to hear of others’ happiness, and never to know her own. She could not begrudge Jane and Bingley their happiness, but it made her feel the desolation of her own state more keenly. Already she could feel herself becoming the ‘poor Aunt Elizabeth’ her sister’s children would probably call her; could feel the imminence of her entering into that class of females who are thought to have no higher purpose than to be at every one’s service and every one’s command, — resigned to submission, all wishes forgot, all hope abandoned.

  One morning during this time, Elizabeth received a letter. It was dated from Hunsford, and read as follows:

  “Friday, October 2.

  “My dear Eliza,

  “I write in some haste to warn you that you will soon be receiving a visit from Lady Catherine de Bou
rgh — a visit which I am responsible for ^precipitating. My father’s letter, arriving a few days since to inform us of your sister’s engagement to Mr Bingley, included some idle speculation about the prospect of your own being shortly to be engaged to his friend, Mr Darcy. This speculation, though not ill-intentioned, you may rightly judge impertinent. However, my father’s impertinence in communicating this rumour to me, was as nothing to mine in repeating it to Mr Collins. I ought to have foreseen that he would feel obliged to communicate the intelligence (which he took not for supposition, but for knowledge commonly held in neighbourhood) to Lady Catherine. I endeavoured to counter this idea when Lady Catherine examined me on the subject; but I found that belief had taken so strong a hold by then, that it was not to be uprooted by any assertion of mine. She has therefore formed the resolution of coming down upon you as soon tomorrow as her coach can be got ready, in order to insist on the report’s being immediately denied. If there is any truth to it, any chance of your fixing Mr Darcy, — and I have always believed that he entertains a strong partiality for you, — I hope you will do so without the slightest regard for Lady Catherine, or any concern on my account or that of Mr Collins. In any event, we must expect to have some share of her Ladyship’s anger since we were the means of bringing the matter to her notice.

  Yours, very sincerely,

  “Ch. Collins”

  There was much to astonish in this letter. Elizabeth was at a loss to understand how the Lucases could be thinking that she and Mr Darcy should become engaged. Surely no talk of the kind was forward; so fabulous a report could not have failed to reach her ears. Yet she found it difficult to credit Sir William with sufficient powers to invent such a story. However it might be, she was sure that nothing good would come of it. She could imagine the effect a rumour of this kind must have on Mr Darcy, should it come to his attention; the disgust it would be giving him to have his name bandied in the public mouth — and linked with her own. It would make any chance of their union still more impossible — if chance there were. — And was Lady Catherine actually to be coming to Longbourn? — coming for the purpose of insisting on her supposed engagement to Mr Darcy being denied! Such behaviour must have been thought impossible — for any person lacking her Ladyship’s exalted insolence.