I wish that we had more scenes together. I do not even get to do my own proposal. And she dances with Colonel Fitzwilliam this morning. I wish it were me, but at least he is no rival.
I might almost think that Mr. Collins was one if he had not made his intentions so obvious. He is just being cousinly. Or anticipating being brotherly.
What a dreadful thought! I hope that Miss Elizabeth is going to refuse him. She is far too nice to be wasted on such a man. And I would like to see her married to Darcy. But might she feel compelled to accept Mr. Collins out of necessity?
Perhaps I should not delay my proposal to Miss Bennet so that her sister will know there is no necessity. I really do not think my offer will be disagreeable, and I am anxious for her to know the full extent of my feelings. Perhaps today will provide an opportunity. Or tomorrow. Hopefully no later. I am eager to know my fate.
Put money in thy purse.
OTHELLO, ACT I, SCENE III
Miss Elizabeth is very likeable, Mr. Wickham thought. It is a pity that she has no money. If she had thirty thousand pounds, I would marry her tomorrow. Even twenty thousand would do. That would be enough for me. Although money does seem to disappear so quickly. Perhaps it would be better to live off the income.
What is four percent of twenty thousand? Forty pounds on every thousand. Times twenty. Eight hundred pounds. Is that all? I would not even be able to leave the regiment on that amount.
Well, at least it is not difficult work, and the company is pleasant. I have suffered much worse. I do hope that being an officer will provide as many social opportunities as Denny claims. This is my best chance of meeting a lady with money.
I suppose Miss Bingley has a good fortune. But she has an eye for social climbing as well. She would not stoop to marry me. In fact, I think that eye is turned upon Darcy. But he is welcome to her. I want money, but I want my wife to be agreeable as well. A life attached to Miss Bingley would not be any fun at all.
Just listen to her screeching her lines. I almost wish that I had been able to think of some excuse for leaving without making myself look a fool, but it was better to stay and make new friends. One never knows when any acquaintance might lead to a valuable opportunity.
Hoy-day, what a sweep of vanity comes this way.
TIMON OF ATHENS, ACT I, SCENE II
I really am very good at this, Miss Bingley thought. It is almost a pity that ladies cannot go on the stage. If they could, I would be a great actress, adored by the public and revered by the critics. But I would much rather be a leader of society anyway. Once I am married, I shall have a reputation for getting up the best theatricals. I shall have a permanent stage built at Pemberley. Everybody will want to come and stay with us.
Invitations to our house parties will be coveted by the best of society. And Eliza Gibbons will never receive one. Nor Eliza Bennet. She will never experience the delights of Pemberley. Although it would be gratifying to let her see me in all my glory. Perhaps I shall invite her just once. Then she will know what she is missing out on when I never invite her again. And I could give her the smallest, most trivial part in our play. I know. We can do Lover’s Vows, and she can be Cottager’s wife.
I desire you in friendship, and I will one way or other make you amends.
the merry wives of windsor, ACT iiI, SCENE I
Good heavens, Elizabeth thought. I did not expect Miss Bingley to be this bad. She should have stuck to tragedy. And not the romantic kind. With that voice and manner, I could imagine her as Lady Macbeth, goading her husband to murder the king.
I hope that Mr. Darcy does not marry her. He does not deserve to have a wife who could at any moment say, ‘Here, husband, take this dagger and go and kill somebody with it, so that we can increase our consequence in the world.’
Oh, think of something else. I must not burst out laughing in the middle of her speech. I must keep a straight face. I must stop looking as she whirls her arms about, or else I shall be utterly undone.
It shall be my turn in a moment. Just a few lines, but I hope to say them well. And a few dance steps. Thank goodness Mr. Wickham is not playing Balthazar. That would have been dreadfully awkward.
As it is, I fear that his singling me out this morning must have looked very particular. Especially after I spoke to him so much yesterday as well. I hope nobody thinks that I am flirting with him.
I suppose Mr. Collins might have. He did not try to interrupt our conversation. I would not much mind if he did think the worst of me, but I do not want others to get the idea that I have a partiality for Mr. Wickham. Especially Mr. Darcy.
At least he does not think me a flirt. It was nice of him to say that yesterday. But I wonder what he thought of me for speaking to his enemy today. After what was said last night, that must have appeared dreadfully inconsiderate.
I hope he heard that we were only talking about my aunt’s dinner. I hope he saw that I did not initiate the conversation. I do not want him to think that I have no regard for his feelings or his comfort. I suppose that was the case just yesterday morning. Oh, how I regret having spoken so critically of him!
I was stupidly short-sighted, and now I feel that it was unjust to describe him as disagreeable. And to a man who may have gloated at hearing him disparaged. I have been no friend to Mr. Darcy, yet it suddenly seems as though we could be friends. It is astonishing, but so much has happened in such a short time.
Is that Miss Bingley beckoning? Here we go then. As Hamlet said, speak the lines trippingly.
Is Mr. Darcy staring at me again? I am glad he is nicer now, but it still makes me nervous to act under his scrutiny. I would like him to think me a capable actress. I believe I begin to value his opinion.
But love will not be spurred to what it loathes.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA, ACT V, SCENE II
Why is Mr. Darcy staring at Lizzy? Mr. Bennet thought. Is that affection which burns behind a mask of restraint? Is he in love with my daughter? I think he just might be.
Now this is a turn up for the books. He would be a good match for her. But I do not suppose he has much of a chance. She still thinks him proud and disagreeable.
You never know though. This play might be just the thing to bring them together. But what will Lizzy want? She will not care about his ten thousand pounds, his grand estate, or his noble relatives. Nor would I wish her to.
Those things will not make my daughter happy. What she wants and deserves is a man of great character. Mr. Darcy will have to be worthy to win her. I begin to believe that he is, but will she see it that way?
Who is't can read a woman?
CYMBELINE, ACT V, SCENE V
My cousin Jane adores me, Mr. Collins thought. She was hanging on to my every word. Her interest in my situation is acute. I believe she is already anticipating my proposal and longing for the moment when my home will be her home, and she will share in Lady Catherine’s generous attentions.
I only need to find the moment for proposing to her, and all will be settled in the best possible way. But how am I to find that moment when there is always a crowd about us? I must be ready to pounce upon any opportunity which may offer.
Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice…
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE, ACT II, SCENE II
I should have been Margaret, Mrs. Hurst thought. Even though Mr. Darcy does not like him, I would rather act with that nice, handsome Mr. Wickham than Sir William. Why must he pull my arm so roughly and speak his lines so loudly?
I shall be deaf from his shouting by the time we are ready to present this play. And then I will have the embarrassment of appearing at the side of such an uncouth man.
Oh, his dancing! Such mortification! Miss Eliza has all the luck.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
THE TEMPEST, ACT I, SCENE II
What an awful lot of noise they are making, Mr. Hurst thought as he slipped away. And there are officers everywhere. It is a sad day when a man cannot have a moment’s pea
ce in his own home. But at least I avoided having to act any role. I wonder if they have realized that yet.
CHAPTER 27
…we know what we are, but not what we may be.
HAMLET, ACT IV, SCENE V
To Mr. Darcy’s irritation, Miss Bingley did draw things out. She did not make anybody repeat their lines, but she found fault with the dancing. It was too unnatural for her liking, so the four couples had to repeat their efforts.
“Including us,” she said to Mr. Darcy. “We were perfect, but we might as well practice along with the others.
The others were Colonel Fitzwilliam and Jane, who danced well; Elizabeth and Mr. Denny, whose joining of arms Mr. Darcy disliked; and Mrs. Hurst and Sir William, who both looked so awkward that he was not surprised when Miss Bingley insisted on one more practice, and some correction of Sir William’s form, before they could move forward.
The dancers exited, and in the next part of the scene, Don John and Borachio made a first attempt at working their wickedness upon Claudio by convincing him that Don Pedro desired Hero for himself. Mr. Darcy thought that Mr. Wickham looked suitably evil in his part; however, Colonel Forster still looked much too good-natured. Mr. Bingley was not sufficiently bitter either, but he made a valiant effort.
Mr. Darcy was then back in the scene, but Mr. Wickham had already exited. Even better, in another moment, he left the room, along with Colonel Forster, presumably to rehearse the next scene, which had only the two of them in it.
Good riddance, Mr. Darcy thought as he began to make a speech about Beatrice’s faults. Then Miss Bingley made her entrance in overly dramatic style, and he was glad to make an exit of his own before she began to speak.
The scene ended with Don Pedro, Claudio, Leonato, and Hero getting up their scheme to bring about a match between Beatrice and Benedick by making them believe that each was the object of the other’s love.
After this, they moved on to the third scene of the second act. Although Mr. Wickham had happily vanished, Mr. Darcy was pleased to see that Elizabeth remained in the room, sitting with her sister and the inevitable Mr. Collins, who had again placed himself between them. Mr. Darcy had seen him do so earlier and had thought it inconsiderate.
That had been just before Mr. Wickham took all of Elizabeth’s attention which must have greatly displeased Mr. Collins. He had instead been obliged to devote himself to his other cousin, whose strained expression had given Mr. Darcy much sympathy for her. He knew all too well what it was like to listen as the man talked without end in sight. It was not surprising that even now, without somebody else to steal away Elizabeth’s attention, Mr. Collins was still failing to capture it. He was again bothering her sister instead.
This evidence suggested a great likelihood that she would refuse him, and it now seemed possible that she was not wanting to chase Mr. Wickham after all. When the two of them had been acting together, Mr. Darcy had detected a hint of a reluctance on her part.
With that in mind, it occurred to him that her earlier conversation with Mr. Wickham had appeared to be almost as one-sided as the one taking place next to it. Elizabeth had not seemed to say a great deal, nor could he recall having seen her smile as she had done yesterday.
As he thought of this, and also his pleasant interactions with her on the previous day, Mr. Darcy’s up and down feelings soared to a high. He took his place for the next scene feeling full of confidence. He had already memorized his soliloquy and practised it several times in the privacy of his chamber. He had stood in front of his looking glass and given some thought to the right pose and mannerisms. He had not, however, anticipated acting this scene in front of Elizabeth.
One glance at her sent terror into his heart. Now he was certain of forgetting all his lines or saying them very badly. His gestures and poses seemed ridiculous. His understanding of his character was inadequate, and he felt himself lacking the ability to portray the role properly.
Feeling hopelessly inadequate, Mr. Darcy opened his mouth and weakly called, “Boy!” Mr. Chamberlayne responded, and suddenly he was a boy and not one of the officers.
Mr. Darcy made the request for his book, and now he was half Benedick. They shared an appreciation for books. And they shared a common problem. Neither of them knew what to make of love.
He thought not of being watched by Elizabeth, but of Benedick and what it was like to see a friend losing his heart when one was dubious about love and marriage. The lines came easily to him, and he spoke them with a feeling which came in part from his own struggles and doubts.
In describing Claudio, he thought of Mr. Bingley, who had lately been looking and behaving very much like a man in love. And when he said, “May I be so converted and see with these eyes,” he knew that the question applied to himself as much as it did to his character.
“I think not,” Benedick said, but Mr. Darcy was finding it very difficult to keep thinking not. He had a feeling that against his will and his better judgement, he had been converted to the ranks of those who loved.
But he was supposed to marry a lady rather like Benedick described. Well-connected, ladylike, intelligent, accomplished, and yes, rich, even though that attribute was not of great significance to Mr. Darcy. But these other characteristics were what he had always believed were necessary for his heart to be given. Only his heart was being very uncooperative. It wanted a lady who conformed to none of his standards.
As Mr. Darcy withdrew to hide in an imaginary arbor, he was very much himself. Benedick’s problems were forgotten as he contemplated his own.
Am I too particular? Are my misgivings about her family standing between me and happiness? Is Richard right? Could I choose love over all else? Should I? The else is not something I can easily overlook, but she is not somebody I could easily forget. I do not know what to think any more. She has turned my world topsy-turvy.
“Your line, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley hissed at him.
Startled out of his thoughts, he saw that Mr. Bennet, Mr. Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Denny were all looking expectantly at him.
“Oh, right,” he stammered. “Sorry, I was just thinking that — that if I am to hide in an arbour, we should have an arbour.”
“An excellent point,” she said. “We must engage somebody to paint scenery. I do not know why we did not think of that sooner, but I shall take care of it today.”
His inattention was apparently forgiven, although Mr. Bingley was now looking askance at him. No doubt that scenery would come up in conversation later, but his friend would easily come around to the idea. It really would be a fine enhancement to their performance.
Mr. Darcy made his speech and then paid careful attention as the others continued enacting Leonato, Claudio, and Don Pedro’s scheme to make Benedick believe that Beatrice loved him. After they exited, he had another long speech, in which Benedick declared his resolution of returning Beatrice’s supposed affections.
The scene ended with him exchanging a few more lines with Miss Bingley, whose voice he thought was becoming worse and worse. By comparison, Mr. Darcy thought that he had done well enough. He hoped that he had. Perhaps he was only deluding himself. He probably needed to practice a great deal more. And to pay careful attention instead of daydreaming. It was embarrassing that he had missed his cue.
Evidently Mr. Collins thought nothing of such a mistake. He jumped up to cry, “That was magnificent, Mr. Darcy. Absolutely splendid. You have such a talent for acting. Such superior abilities. You give the role consequence. There is that in your speech which marks the gentleman of distinguished birth.”
Mr. Darcy had no use for such stupid remarks and empty praise. Indeed, there was only one opinion which he desired. One person whose approval he sought.
“What did you think?” he asked Elizabeth.
“I thought you played your part very well,” she replied. “That was an adept portrayal of a man wary of love. To my mind, you conveyed just the right blend of wit and feeling.”
No words
of excess. Just straightforward, meaningful observations and unembellished words of commendation. To Mr. Darcy’s ears this was high praise indeed.
He was quite sorry that she afterwards left the room to go and rehearse with the other ladies. He would have been happy to act in front of her again. Or even better, he would have liked to watch her act. Although her part was small, she had appeared to be a capable actress. He looked forward to seeing her do more and had no doubt that she would do it well.
Of course, if he married her, he would have the privilege of watching her act as often as they chose to entertain themselves with theatricals, which he thought might be very often. And as mistress of Pemberley, she would be able to choose her roles and have better parts in which to try her abilities. If he married her.
“Doth not the appetite alter?” Benedick had asked himself.
Could I be altered as well? Could I overlook her situation and tolerate her family? Could I choose in accordance with my desires?
I want to think it possible. I want to have the desire of my heart, but my feelings conflict with my values. I do not think I can be so much altered. The disadvantages of the match continue to plague me.
Yet I do love her. I do want to marry her. Oh, treacherous heart. Why must my desires put me so much out of comfort?
CHAPTER 28
poison in the…ears
HAMLET, ACT III, SCENE II
So Mr. Darcy could act. Another surprise, but after all that had happened on the previous day, Elizabeth was not completely astonished by discovering that she had been wrong to think he could not be merry and sportive in his role. It was a pleasure to watch him portraying Benedick.
Miss Bingley continued to disappoint, however. She had no grasp of the merriment which was essential to her part. In this scene, as in the last, she came across as arrogant instead of witty, and heavy-handed instead of lighthearted. An inability to disguise the air of superiority which marked her own character made her quite unsuitable for this role. Beatrice was not meek by any means, but she was not as excessively self-assured nor as disdainful as Miss Bingley seemed to think her.
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