by Jane Austen
“Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat the matter as you do now.”
“Indeed I could not. I was uncomfortable enough. I was very uncomfortable, I may say unhappy. And with no one to speak to, of what I felt, no Jane to comfort me and say that I had not been so very weak and vain and nonsensical as I knew I had! Oh! how I wanted you!”
“How unfortunate that you should have used such very strong expressions in speaking of Wickham to Mr. Darcy,8 for now they do appear wholly undeserved.”
“Certainly. But the misfortune of speaking with bitterness, is a most natural consequence of the prejudices I had been encouraging. There is one point, on which I want your advice. I want to be told whether I ought, or ought not to make our acquaintance in general understand Wickham's character.”
Miss Bennet paused a little and then replied, “Surely there can be no occasion for exposing him so dreadfully. What is your own opinion?”
“That it ought not to be attempted. Mr. Darcy has not authorised me to make his communication public. On the contrary every particular relative to his sister, was meant to be kept as much as possible to myself; and if I endeavour to undeceive people as to the rest of his conduct, who will believe me? The general prejudice against Mr. Darcy is so violent, that it would be the death of half the good people in Meryton, to attempt to place him in an amiable light. I am not equal to it. Wickham will soon be gone; and therefore it will not signify to anybody here, what he really is. Sometime hence it will be all found out, and then we may laugh at their stupidity in not knowing it before. At present I will say nothing about it.”9
“You are quite right. To have his errors made public might ruin him for ever. He is now perhaps sorry for what he has done, and anxious to re-establish a character. We must not make him desperate.”10
The tumult of Elizabeth's mind was allayed by this conversation. She had got rid of two of the secrets which had weighed on her for a fortnight, and was certain of a willing listener in Jane, whenever she might wish to talk again of either. But there was still something lurking behind, of which prudence forbad the disclosure. She dared not relate the other half of Mr. Darcy's letter, nor explain to her sister how sincerely she had been valued by his friend. Here was knowledge in which no one could partake; and she was sensible11 that nothing less than a perfect understanding between the parties could justify her in throwing off this last incumbrance of mystery. “And then,” said she, “if that very improbable event should ever take place, I shall merely be able to tell what Bingley may tell in a much more agreeable manner himself. The liberty of communication cannot be mine till it has lost all its value!”12
She was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the real state of her sister's spirits. Jane was not happy. She still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley. Having never even fancied herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than first attachments often boast; and so fervently did she value his remembrance, and prefer him to every other man, that all her good sense, and all her attention to the feelings of her friends, were requisite to check the indulgence of those regrets, which must have been injurious to her own health and their tranquillity.13
“Well, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet one day, “what is your opinion now of this sad business of Jane's? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. I told my sister Philips so the other day. But I cannot find out that Jane saw any thing of him in London. Well, he is a very undeserving young man —and I do not suppose there is the least chance in the world of her ever getting him now. There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have enquired of every body too, who is likely to know.”
“I do not believe that he will ever live at Netherfield any more.”
“Oh, well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come. Though I shall always say that he used my daughter extremely ill; and if I was her, I would not have put up with it. Well, my comfort is, I am sure Jane will die of a broken heart,14 and then he will be sorry for what he has done.”
But as Elizabeth could not receive comfort from any such expectation, she made no answer.
“Well, Lizzy,” continued her mother soon afterwards, “and so the Collinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an excellent manager, I dare say.15 If she is half as sharp as her mother, she is saving16 enough. There is nothing extravagant in their housekeeping, I dare say.”17
“No, nothing at all.”
“A great deal of good management, depend upon it. Yes, yes. They will take care not to outrun their income. They will never be distressed for money. Well, much good may it do them! And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn when your father is dead. They look upon it quite as their own, I dare say, whenever that happens.”
“It was a subject which they could not mention before me.”
“No. It would have been strange if they had. But I make no doubt, they often talk of it between themselves. Well, if they can be easy with an estate that is not lawfully their own, so much the better, I should be ashamed of having one that was only entailed on me.”18
1. chief: greater part.
2. The other feelings are presumably Darcy's feelings of social pride along with ones of resentment toward Elizabeth.
3. According to this speech, Elizabeth would not yet have fully decided that all the merit is on Darcy's side, and all the blame on Wickham's, though she clearly is leaning in that direction. It is possible her words are simply an ironic response to Jane's continued attempts to blame neither man and to see them both as good, and that in fact she has already made a firm decision in Darcy's favor.
4. That is, you are so profuse in your compassion and regret that it is making me be saving, or frugal, in my sympathy (since there is no need for more). Elizabeth is obviously being sardonic with regard to Jane's excessive tenderness.
5. An ingenious formulation but, as Jane's immediate response indicates, it is not exactly right. Even here, as she is admitting her faults, Elizabeth's love of clever expression leads her to be less than fully accurate.
6. genius: abilities, mental powers.
7. A significant acknowledgment by Elizabeth, both of her error and of the reasons for it. She admits the role of vanity and of her desire to exercise her cleverness; she also acknowledges the harm caused by her love of wit and humor. Of course, it is that very wit and playfulness that gives her such charm. But like almost any characteristic it has its dangers, especially when carried too far—Mr. Bennet provides a stark example of this. Courtesy books of the time often warned of the dangers of excessive wit and emphasized the need to join wit to delicacy and moral sensitivity, a principle that Elizabeth generally follows but that she could be judged to have violated in some of her jabs at Darcy. Jane Austen's own view of the matter is perhaps summarized in a letter to her niece Fanny (see cover) cautioning against the rejection of someone for lack of wit: “Wisdom is certainly better than Wit, & in the long run will certainly have the laugh on her side” (Nov. 18,1814). In this novel Elizabeth always has wit; her struggle is to attain greater wisdom.
8. Throughout this conversation both Elizabeth and Jane simply use “Wickham;” until this point, they have always said “Mr. Wickham,” just as they continue to say “Mr. Darcy.” In general, people in Jane Austen's novels use “Mr.” or “Mrs.” or “Miss” when speaking of someone else unless that person is an intimate friend or near relation, or is a servant. Willingness to use others' names alone—in the way that Lydia has recently spoken of “Denny, and Wickham, and Pratt”—usually suggests vulgarity or excessive familiarity on the part of the speaker. In the case of Elizabeth and Jane here, their use of “Wickham” alone is probably a sign of diminished respect for him, for they certainly have not become more intimate with him.
9. Elizabeth's refusal to expose Wi
ckham will have grave consequences, though in fairness to her, she could not really have anticipated them, especially with regard to Lydia. It is possible that one reason for her decision is that she hates having to admit in public how wrong she had been in her championing of Wickham. Such a motive might lie behind her statement, “I am not equal to it,” and also behind the exaggerated nature of her prediction of how the public would react to new information concerning Darcy and Wickham.
10. In other words, Jane worries that if they expose Wickham, he would despair of ever reestablishing his character, or reputation, and thus abandon any attempts to improve himself. Jane's counsel is thoroughly naive, since Wickham has never shown any sign of repentance or of a wish to improve—nor will he after his further bad conduct.
11. sensible: conscious.
12. In other words, she says she will not be free to reveal everything until doing so will have little value, because others, particularly Jane, will already know what she can tell. She thus continues to fear that knowing the truth about Bingley could only grieve Jane further, presumably because it would increase Jane's sense of what she has lost. Elizabeth may also fear that it could lead Jane to harbor renewed hope about Bingley, a hope that might be doomed to disappointment. Even explaining part of what Elizabeth knows, such as Bingley's ignorance of Jane's presence in London during the winter, might foster these feelings in Jane, and might also lead to inquiries about the rest of the story. Hence Elizabeth prefers to avoid the whole subject.
13. The need to avoid upsetting her friends is causing Jane to abstain from indulging in regrets. Since such abstention from regrets is also good for Jane, this would be an example of how striving to accommodate others can benefit oneself.
14. A common convention of the time as to the fate of spurned lovers.
15. Charlotte was shown as being a very skillful housekeeper—much better than Mrs. Bennet, whose extravagance, it is explained later, has helped ensure that her husband has never saved any money to augment their daughters' fortunes.
16. saving: frugal, parsimonious.
17. A dig at the Lucases for not living as comfortably or luxuriously as the Bennets. Mrs. Bennet manifests a continual need to assert her own family's superiority over the Lucases, who appear to be the closest rival to the Ben-nets for most prominent family in the neighborhood.
18. In fact, Mr. Bennet probably inherited Longbourn because of an entail (though if he got it from his father, he would have inherited it even without an entail). Thus Mrs. Bennet is most likely herself enjoying an estate that had been entailed on her husband. Moreover, since entails were the most popular legal device then used among the landed classes to pass on property, no one would normally regard the beneficiary of an entail as obtaining something not lawfully his own.
Chapter Eighteen
T he first week of their return was soon gone. The second began. It was the last of the regiment's stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were drooping apace. The dejection was almost universal. The elder Miss Bennets alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Very frequently were they reproached for this insensibility1 by Kitty and Lydia, whose own misery was extreme, and who could not comprehend such hard-heartedness in any of the family.
“Good Heaven! What is to become of us! What are we to do!” would they often exclaim in the bitterness of woe. “How can you be smiling so, Lizzy?”
Their affectionate mother shared all their grief; she remembered what she had herself endured on a similar occasion, five and twenty years ago.
“I am sure,” said she, “I cried for two days together when Colonel Millar's regiment went away. I thought I should have broke my heart.”
“I am sure I shall break mine” said Lydia.
“If one could but go to Brighton!” observed Mrs. Bennet.
“Oh, yes! —if one could but go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable.”
“A little sea-bathing would set me up for ever.”2
“And my aunt Philips is sure it would do me a great deal of good,” added Kitty.
Such were the kind of lamentations resounding perpetually through Longbourn-house. Elizabeth tried to be diverted by them; but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. She felt anew the justice of Mr. Darcy's objections; and never had she before been so much disposed to pardon his interference in the views of his friend.
But the gloom of Lydia's prospect was shortly cleared away; for she received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the Colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This invaluable friend was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good humour and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other, and out of their three months' acquaintance they had been intimate two3
The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Wholly inattentive to her sister's feelings,4 Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstacy, calling for every one's congratulations, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever; whilst the luckless Kitty continued in the parlour repining at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her accent5 was peevish.
“I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia,” said she, “though I am not her particular friend. I have just as much right to be asked as she has, and more too, for I am two years older.”
In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable, and Jane to make her resigned. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia, that she considered it as the death-warrant of all possibility of common sense for the latter; and detestable as such a step must make her were it known, she could not help secretly advising her father not to let her go. She represented to him all the improprieties of Lydia's general behaviour, the little advantage she could derive from the friendship of such a woman as Mrs. Forster, and the probability of her being yet more imprudent with such a companion at Brighton, where the temptations must be greater than at home.6 He heard her attentively, and then said,
“Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself7 in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances.”
“If you were aware,” said Elizabeth, “of the very great disadvantage to us all, which must arise from the public notice of Lydia's unguarded8 and imprudent manner; nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently in the affair.”
“Already arisen!” repeated Mr. Bennet. “What, has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity, are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of the pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydias folly.”
“Indeed you are mistaken. I have no such injuries to resent. It is not of peculiar,9 but of general evils, which I am now complaining. Our importance, our respectability in the world, must be affected by the wild volatility, the assurance10 and disdain of all restraint which mark Lydia's character.11 Excuse me—for I must speak plainly. If you, my dear father, will not take the trouble of checking her exuberant spirits, and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of her life, she will soon be beyond the reach of amendment. Her character will be fixed, and she will, at sixteen, be the most determined flirt that ever made herself and her family ridiculous. A flirt too, in the worst and meanest12 degree of flirtation; without any attraction beyond youth and a tolerable person;13 and from the ignorance and emptiness of her mind, wholly unable to ward off any portion of that universal contempt which her rage for admiration will excite. In this danger Kitty is also comprehended.14 She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncon-trouled! Oh! my dear father, can you suppose it possible that they will no
t be censured and despised wherever they are known, and that their sisters will not be often involved in the disgrace?”
Mr. Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject; and affectionately taking her hand, said in reply,
“Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever15 you and Jane are known, you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for having a couple of—or I may say, three very silly sisters. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Let her go then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to any body.16 At Brighton she will be of less importance even as a common flirt than she has been here. The officers will find women better worth their notice. Let us hope, therefore, that her being there may teach her her own insignificance. At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorizing us to lock her up for the rest of her life.”17
With this answer Elizabeth was forced to be content; but her own opinion continued the same, and she left him disappointed and sorry. It was not in her nature, however, to increase her vexations, by dwelling on them. She was confident of having performed her duty, and to fret over unavoidable evils, or augment them by anxiety, was no part of her disposition.
Had Lydia and her mother known the substance of her conference with her father, their indignation would hardly have found expression in their united volubility. In Lydia's imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw with the creative eye of fancy,18 the streets of that gay bathing place covered with officers. She saw herself the object of attention, to tens and to scores of them at present unknown. She saw all the glories of the camp; its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines,19 crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet;20 and to complete the view, she saw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.21