Pride And Prejudice by Jane Austen translated into Modern English by Asa Montreaux
The next morning at breakfast, Mr. Bennet looked at his wife and said:
MR. BENNET
I hope, my dear, that you’ve ordered a good dinner today, because I have reason to believe we’ll have an extra guest joining our family party.
MRS. BENNET
Who do you mean, my dear? I don’t know of anyone who’s coming, I’m sure, unless Charlotte Lucas happens to stop by—and I should hope my dinners are good enough for her! I doubt she sees such feasts at home very often.
MR. BENNET
The person I’m talking about is a gentleman, and a stranger.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes lit up.
MRS. BENNET
A gentleman and a stranger! Oh, it must be Mr. Bingley, I’m sure of it! Why, Jane—you never said a word! You sly thing! Well, I will be absolutely thrilled to see Mr. Bingley. But—good heavens! How unlucky! There isn't a bit of fish to be found today. Lydia, my love, ring the bell! I must speak to Hill this instant!
MR. BENNET
It is not Mr. Bingley. It is a person whom I have never seen in my entire life.
This caused a wave of astonishment, and he had the great pleasure of being bombarded with questions from his wife and all five of his daughters at once.
After amusing himself with their curiosity for a few moments, he finally explained.
MR. BENNET
About a month ago, I received this letter. About two weeks ago, I answered it, as I felt it was a rather delicate matter that required my prompt attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, has the legal right to throw you all out of this house as soon as he likes.
MRS. BENNET
(Crying out)
Oh, my dear! I cannot bear to hear it mentioned! Please, don’t talk about that odious man. I truly think it is the cruelest thing in the world that your estate is entailed away from your own children! I am sure, if I had been you, I would have tried to do something about it long ago.
Jane and Elizabeth tried to explain the legal nature of an entail to her. They had tried many times before, but it was a subject on which Mrs. Bennet was completely beyond the reach of reason. She continued to rant bitterly against the injustice of settling an estate away from a family of five daughters, all in favor of a man that nobody cared about.
MR. BENNET
It certainly is a most unfair business. And nothing can clear Mr. Collins of the guilt of inheriting Longbourn. But if you will listen to his letter, you might be a little softened by the way he expresses himself.
MRS. BENNET
No, I am sure I will not be! And I think it was very rude of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends. Why couldn’t he just keep on fighting with you, like his father did before him?
MR. BENNET
Well, it seems he did have some family scruples on that point, as you will hear.
He then read the letter aloud.
Hunsford, near Westerham, Kent
15th October
Dear Sir,
The disagreement that existed between yourself and my late, honored father always caused me a great deal of distress. Since I have had the misfortune of losing him, I have often wished to heal that rift. For some time, however, I was held back by my own doubts, fearing it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with someone with whom he had always been pleased to disagree.
(Mr. Bennet glanced at his wife.)
My mind, however, is now made up on the subject. Having been ordained as a clergyman at Easter, I have been so fortunate as to be chosen for the patronage of the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. Her generosity and kindness have placed me in the valuable position of rector of this parish, where it will be my sincere effort to conduct myself with grateful respect toward Her Ladyship, and to be ever ready to perform the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England.
As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it is my duty to promote the blessings of peace in all families within my influence. For these reasons, I flatter myself that my current offer of goodwill is highly commendable, and that the fact that I am next in line to inherit the Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your side, and will not lead you to reject the offered olive branch. I cannot help but be concerned at being the cause of injury to your lovely daughters, and I beg your leave to apologize for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make them every possible amends—but more on that later.
If you should have no objection to receiving me into your house, I propose to give myself the satisfaction of visiting you and your family on Monday, November 18th, by four o'clock. I shall probably impose upon your hospitality until the following Saturday week, which I can do without any trouble, as Lady Catherine is far from objecting to my occasional absence on a Sunday, provided that another clergyman is hired to perform the duties of the day.
I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend,
William Collins
MR. BENNET
(Folding the letter)
So, at four o’clock, we can expect this peace-making gentleman. He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my word. I have no doubt he will prove to be a valuable acquaintance—especially if Lady Catherine is kind enough to let him visit us again.
MRS. BENNET
There is some sense in what he says about the girls, however. And if he really is willing to make them some kind of amends, I won’t be the one to discourage him.
JANE
Though it’s difficult to guess how he means to make up for it, the wish to do so is certainly to his credit.
Elizabeth was mostly struck by his extraordinary devotion to Lady Catherine, and his kind intention of baptizing, marrying, and burying his parishioners whenever they might need it.
ELIZABETH
He must be a very odd man, I think. I can’t make him out at all. There is something very pompous in his style. And what does he mean by apologizing for being the next to inherit? We can’t possibly think he would prevent it if he could. Can he be an intelligent man, sir?
MR. BENNET
No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes of finding him to be quite the opposite. There is a mixture of groveling and self-importance in his letter that promises to be very amusing. I can’t wait to see him.
MARY
In terms of writing, his letter does not seem to have any flaws. The idea of the olive branch is perhaps not entirely new, yet I think it is well-expressed.
To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were the least bit interesting. It was highly unlikely that their cousin would show up in a red military coat, and it had been some weeks since they had enjoyed the company of a man in any other color. As for their mother, Mr. Collins’s letter had softened much of her ill will, and she was preparing to see him with a level of calmness that astonished her husband and daughters.
Mr. Collins arrived right on time and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet said little, but the ladies were more than ready to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed to need no encouragement to speak, nor did he seem inclined to be quiet.
He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of twenty-five. He had a serious, stuffy air about him, and his manners were extremely formal. He had not been seated for long before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having such a fine family of daughters. He said he had heard much of their beauty, but that in this case, the rumors had fallen short of the truth. He added that he had no doubt she would see them all well-married in due time.
This flattery was not much to the taste of some of his audience, but Mrs. Bennet, who never argued with a compliment, answered readily:
MRS. BENNET
You are very kind, sir, I’m sure! And I wish with all my heart it will be so, for otherwise they will be left with nothing! Things are settled so oddly.
MR. COLLINS
You are referring, perhaps, to the entail of this estate?
MRS. BENNET
Ah, sir, I am indeed! It is a grievous affair for my poor girls, you must admit. Not that I mean to find fault with you, for such things, I know, are all a matter of chance in this world. There’s no knowing how estates will be passed down once they are entailed.
MR. COLLINS
I am very aware, madam, of the hardship this places on my fair cousins. I could say much on the subject, but I am careful not to appear too forward and hasty. But I can assure the young ladies that I come prepared to admire them. For now, I will say no more, but perhaps, when we are better acquainted…
He was interrupted by the call to dinner, and the girls smiled at each other. They were not the only objects of Mr. Collins’s admiration. The hall, the dining room, and all the furniture were carefully examined and praised. His compliments on everything would have touched Mrs. Bennet’s heart, if not for the irritating thought that he was looking at it all as his own future property.
The dinner, in turn, was also highly admired. He begged to know which of his fair cousins was responsible for the excellent cooking. But here, he was corrected by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him, with some sharpness, that they were perfectly capable of keeping a good cook, and that her daughters had nothing to do with the kitchen.
He begged her pardon for having displeased her. In a softer tone, she declared she wasn’t offended at all, but he continued to apologize for about a quarter of an hour.
During dinner, Mr. Bennet barely spoke. But once the servants had left, he decided it was time to have a proper conversation with his guest. He started with a topic on which he expected Mr. Collins to shine, remarking that he seemed to be very fortunate in his patroness.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s attention to his wishes and her concern for his comfort seemed truly remarkable. Mr. Bennet couldn’t have picked a better subject. Mr. Collins launched into a passionate speech in her praise. The topic elevated him to a level of seriousness that was even more intense than usual. With a look of great importance, he declared that he had never in his life witnessed such behavior in a person of high rank—such friendliness and condescension—as he had experienced from Lady Catherine herself.
She had been graciously pleased to approve of both the sermons he had already had the honor of preaching before her. She had also invited him to dine at her grand estate, Rosings, twice. And just last Saturday, she had sent for him to fill a spot at her evening card game.
He knew that many people considered Lady Catherine to be proud, but he had never seen anything but friendliness from her. She had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman. She had no objection to him socializing with the neighbors, or to him leaving his parish for a week or two to visit his relatives. She had even condescended to advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose his wife wisely. And she had once paid him a visit at his humble parsonage, where she had approved of all the renovations he had made, and had even offered a few suggestions of her own—some shelves in the upstairs closets.
MRS. BENNET
That is all very proper and kind, I’m sure. And I daresay she is a very agreeable woman. It’s a pity that great ladies, in general, are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?
MR. COLLINS
The garden of my humble home is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, Her Ladyship’s residence.
MRS. BENNET
I think you said she was a widow, sir? Does she have any family?
MR. COLLINS
She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of a very large fortune.
MRS. BENNET
(Shaking her head)
Ah! Then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?
MR. COLLINS
She is a most charming young lady, indeed! Lady Catherine herself says that, in terms of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the most beautiful women of her time, because there is something in her features that marks her as a young woman of distinguished birth. She is, unfortunately, of a sickly nature, which has prevented her from developing many talents that she would have otherwise mastered—or so I'm told by the lady who oversaw her education and who still lives with them. But she is perfectly lovely and often condescends to drive by my humble home in her little carriage with her ponies.
MRS. BENNET
Has she been presented at court? I don’t remember her name among the ladies there.
MR. COLLINS
Her poor health unfortunately prevents her from spending time in London. And because of that, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, the British Court has been deprived of its brightest ornament. Her Ladyship seemed pleased with the idea. You can imagine that I am happy, on every occasion, to offer those little, delicate compliments that are always so welcome to ladies. I have more than once remarked to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the highest rank, instead of giving her importance, would be honored by her presence. These are the kind of little things that please Her Ladyship, and it is a sort of attention that I feel I am especially obligated to pay.
MR. BENNET
You judge very correctly. And it is fortunate for you that you have such a talent for flattering with such delicacy. May I ask if these pleasing compliments come to you in the spur of the moment, or are they the result of previous study?
MR. COLLINS
They arise mostly from what is happening at the time. And though I sometimes amuse myself by creating and arranging little elegant compliments that can be adapted for ordinary occasions, I always wish to make them seem as natural and unpracticed as possible.
Mr. Bennet’s expectations were fully met. His cousin was every bit as absurd as he had hoped. He listened to him with the most intense enjoyment, all while maintaining a perfectly straight face. Except for an occasional glance at Elizabeth, he kept his amusement entirely to himself.
By teatime, however, he had had enough. Mr. Bennet was glad to lead his guest back into the drawing-room. And when tea was over, he was glad to invite him to read aloud to the ladies.
SCENE START
INT. LONGBOURN DRAWING ROOM - NIGHT
The family is gathered. MR. COLLINS has been invited to read.
MR. BENNET
(Presenting a book)
Would you do us the honor, Mr. Collins?
Mr. Collins readily agrees, and a book is produced. But upon seeing it—for it clearly came from a lending library—he recoils.
MR. COLLINS
(Stammering)
My apologies, but I must protest. I never read novels.
Kitty stares at him. Lydia lets out an exasperated sigh. Other books are brought out, and after some deliberation, he chooses a book of sermons. Lydia gapes as he opens the volume. Before he has managed to read three pages in his very monotonous, serious tone, she interrupts him.
LYDIA
Did you know, Mamma, that Uncle Philips is talking about firing Richard? And if he does, Colonel Forster is going to hire him! My aunt told me so herself on Saturday. I’m going to walk to Meryton tomorrow to hear more about it, and to ask when Mr. Denny is coming back from London.
Her two oldest sisters tell her to be quiet. But Mr. Collins, deeply offended, sets aside his book.
MR. COLLINS
I have often observed how little young ladies are interested in books of a serious nature, even though they are written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I confess! For certainly, there can be nothing so good for them as instruction. But I will no longer bother my young cousin.
He then turns to Mr. Bennet and offers to play him in a game of backgammon. Mr. Bennet accepts the challenge, remarking that Mr. Collins is acting very wisely in leaving the girls to their own trivial amusements.
Mrs. Bennet and her daughters apologize profusely for Lydia’s interruption and promise it won’t happen again if he would please continue his reading. But Mr. Collins, after assuring them that he holds no ill will toward his young cousin and would never take her behavior as a personal insult, sits down at another table with Mr. Bennet and prepares for their game.
SCENE END
Mr. Collins was not an intelligent man, and his natural shortcomings hadn't been helped much by his education or his social life. He had spent most of his life under the thumb of an uneducated and stingy father. And though he had attended a university, he only did the bare minimum required to get by and didn't make any useful friends.
The strict way his father had raised him had originally given him a very humble demeanor. But that was now completely overshadowed by the arrogance of a simple-minded man who spent too much time alone, mixed with the sense of self-importance that comes from sudden, unexpected success. A lucky break had brought him to the attention of Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the clergyman position in Hunsford became available. The respect he felt for her high rank, his reverence for her as his patroness, and a very high opinion of himself—of his authority as a clergyman and his rights as a rector—made him a walking contradiction: a mix of pride and groveling, self-importance and humility.
Now that he had a good house and a very comfortable income, he intended to get married. In seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family, he had a wife in mind. He planned to choose one of the daughters, assuming he found them as beautiful and charming as everyone said they were. This was his grand plan of making amends—of atoning—for inheriting their father’s estate. He thought it was an excellent plan, perfectly sensible and appropriate, and, on his part, incredibly generous and selfless.
His plan didn't change after meeting them. Miss Bennet’s lovely face confirmed his decision and satisfied all his strict ideas about respecting one's elders. For the first evening, she was his definite choice.
The next morning, however, brought a change. During a fifteen-minute private chat with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a conversation that started with his parsonage house and naturally led to him revealing his hope of finding a wife for it at Longbourn, she gave him a warning. With encouraging smiles, she cautioned him against the very Jane he had set his sights on.
“As for my younger daughters,” she said, “I can’t say for sure—I can’t give you a definite answer—but I don’t know of any prior attachments. But my eldest daughter… I feel it's my duty to hint… is likely to be engaged very soon.”
Mr. Collins only had to shift his attention from Jane to Elizabeth, and it was done in an instant—literally, in the time it took Mrs. Bennet to stir the fire. Elizabeth, being the next in line after Jane in both age and beauty, naturally became his new choice.
Mrs. Bennet tucked this new development away, trusting she might soon have two daughters married. The man she couldn't bear to even speak of the day before was now very high in her good graces.
Lydia’s plan to walk to Meryton had not been forgotten. Every sister except for Mary agreed to go with her. At Mr. Bennet’s request, Mr. Collins was to join them. Mr. Bennet was desperate to get rid of him and have his library to himself. After breakfast, Mr. Collins had followed him in there and showed every intention of staying, pretending to be reading one of the largest books in the collection, but really just talking nonstop to Mr. Bennet about his house and garden at Hunsford.
This sort of thing deeply annoyed Mr. Bennet. His library had always been his sanctuary of peace and quiet. And though he was prepared, as he told Elizabeth, to encounter foolishness and arrogance in every other room of the house, he was used to being free from them there. So, he was very quick to invite Mr. Collins to join his daughters on their walk. And Mr. Collins, who was, in fact, much better suited for walking than for reading, was extremely pleased to close his large book and go.
Their time passed with him spouting pompous nonsense and his cousins giving polite, noncommittal replies, until they reached Meryton. At that point, he could no longer hold the attention of the younger girls. Their eyes were immediately scanning the street, searching for officers. Nothing less than a very stylish hat or a new bolt of fabric in a shop window could momentarily distract them.
But then, every lady’s attention was suddenly caught by a young man they had never seen before. He had the look of a true gentleman and was walking with an officer on the other side of the street. The officer was the very same Mr. Denny whom Lydia had come to ask about, and he bowed as they passed. All of them were struck by the stranger’s presence and wondered who he could be. Kitty and Lydia, determined to find out, led the way across the street, pretending they needed something in a shop on the other side. Luckily, they had just stepped onto the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, reached the exact same spot.
Mr. Denny addressed them directly and asked for permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him from London the day before and, he was happy to say, had accepted a position in their regiment. This was perfect news, as the young man needed only a dashing military uniform to be completely charming. His appearance was very much in his favor: he had all the best qualities of beauty—a handsome face, a good build, and a very pleasing way about him.
After the introduction, he proved to be a ready and engaging conversationalist—but in a way that was perfectly polite and unassuming. The whole group was still standing there, talking very pleasantly, when the sound of horses drew their attention. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were seen riding down the street.
Upon spotting the group of ladies, the two gentlemen rode directly toward them and began the usual polite greetings. Bingley did most of the talking, and Miss Bennet was his main focus. He was, he said, on his way to Longbourn specifically to ask how she was doing. Mr. Darcy confirmed this with a bow and was just reminding himself not to stare at Elizabeth when his eyes were suddenly caught by the sight of the stranger.
Elizabeth happened to see the faces of both men as they looked at each other, and she was astonished by the effect of the meeting. Both of them changed color—one went pale, the other flushed red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat in a salutation that Mr. Darcy barely bothered to return.
What could it possibly mean? It was impossible to guess, and impossible not to be desperate to know.
A moment later, Mr. Bingley, seeming not to have noticed what had just happened, said his goodbyes and rode on with his friend.
Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Philips’s house and then bid them farewell, despite Lydia’s pressing pleas for them to come inside, and even despite Mrs. Philips throwing open the parlor window and loudly seconding the invitation.
Mrs. Philips was always happy to see her nieces, and the two eldest, having been away, were especially welcome. She was in the middle of expressing her surprise at their sudden return home—which, since their own carriage hadn't brought them, she would have known nothing about if she hadn't happened to see the pharmacist's errand boy in the street, who had told her they weren't to send any more medicine to Netherfield because the Miss Bennets had left—when Jane introduced Mr. Collins, and her polite attention was required.
She received him with her very best manners, which he returned with even more formality, apologizing for his intrusion without any prior acquaintance. He flattered himself, however, that his intrusion was justified by his relationship to the young ladies who had introduced him. Mrs. Philips was quite in awe of such an excess of good breeding. But her focus on one stranger was soon cut short by exclamations and questions about the other.
Of this other stranger, however, she could only tell her nieces what they already knew: that Mr. Denny had brought him from London and that he was to be a lieutenant in the regiment. She had been watching him for the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street. Had Mr. Wickham appeared again, Kitty and Lydia would have certainly continued watching him. But unluckily, no one passed the windows now except for a few of the other officers, who, when compared to the stranger, had suddenly become "stupid, disagreeable fellows."
Some of them were to have dinner with the Philipses the next day. Their aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham and invite him as well, if the family from Longbourn would come over in the evening. This was eagerly agreed to. Mrs. Philips promised they would have a "nice, comfortable, noisy game of lottery tickets" and a little bit of a hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in high spirits. As he was leaving the room, Mr. Collins repeated his apologies, and was assured, with tireless politeness, that they were completely unnecessary.
As they walked home, Elizabeth told Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen. But though Jane would have defended either or both of them if they had seemed to be in the wrong, she couldn't explain their strange behavior any more than her sister could.
Upon his return, Mr. Collins greatly pleased Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs. Philips’s manners and politeness. He declared that, except for Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman. Not only had she received him with the utmost civility, but she had even pointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, even though she had never met him before. Something, he supposed, could be attributed to his connection to the family, but still, he had never in his entire life been met with so much attention.
Since no one objected to the young people’s evening plans with their aunt, and since all of Mr. Collins’s worries about leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet alone for an evening were firmly brushed aside, the carriage took him and his five cousins to Meryton at a reasonable hour. As they walked into the drawing-room, the girls had the pleasure of hearing that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle’s invitation and was already in the house.
Once this news was delivered and they had all found their seats, Mr. Collins had a moment to look around and admire the room. He was so impressed with the size and furniture of the parlor that he announced he could almost have imagined himself in the small summer breakfast room at Rosings. This comparison wasn't very flattering at first, but when Mrs. Philips understood from him what Rosings was, and who owned it—when she had listened to the description of just one of Lady Catherine’s drawing-rooms and learned that the fireplace mantel alone had cost eight hundred pounds—she finally understood the full weight of the compliment. At that point, she would have hardly been offended by a comparison to the housekeeper’s room.
He was happily busy describing all the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional detours to praise his own humble home and the improvements it was undergoing. He found a very attentive listener in Mrs. Philips, whose opinion of his importance grew with every word she heard. She was already planning how she would repeat it all to her neighbors as soon as she could.
For the girls, who couldn’t bear to listen to their cousin and had nothing to do but wish for a piano and examine the cheap china knock-offs on the mantelpiece, the wait for the other men seemed very long.
At last, however, it was over. The gentlemen entered the room. And when Mr. Wickham walked in, Elizabeth felt that all her previous admiration for him had been perfectly reasonable. The officers of the regiment were, in general, a respectable, gentlemanly group, and the best of them were here tonight. But Mr. Wickham was as far beyond them in looks, presence, and the way he carried himself as they were superior to the flushed, stuffy Uncle Philips, who smelled of port wine and followed them into the room.
Mr. Wickham was the lucky man toward whom nearly every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the lucky woman he finally sat down next to. The charming way he immediately started a conversation—even though it was only about the wet weather and the likelihood of a rainy season—made her feel that even the most common, dull, and worn-out topic could be made interesting by a skilled speaker.
With rivals like Mr. Wickham and the other officers vying for the ladies' attention, Mr. Collins seemed to fade into insignificance. To the young ladies, he was certainly nothing. But he still had a kind listener every now and then in Mrs. Philips, who, with her watchful eye, made sure he was generously supplied with coffee and muffins.
When the card tables were set up, he had a chance to repay her kindness by sitting down for a game of whist.
MR. COLLINS
I know little of the game at present, but I will be glad to improve myself. For in my position in life—
Mrs. Philips was very thankful he agreed to play, but she couldn’t wait to hear his full reason.
Mr. Wickham did not play whist, and he was welcomed with delight at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first, there seemed to be a danger of Lydia completely monopolizing him, as she was a very determined talker. But since she was also extremely fond of the game of lottery tickets, she soon became too invested in her bets and her excited cries after winning prizes to pay attention to anyone in particular. This left Mr. Wickham free, for the most part, to talk to Elizabeth.
And she was very willing to listen.
SCENE START
INT. MRS. PHILIPS'S PARLOR - NIGHT
ELIZABETH and WICKHAM are seated at a card table, playing lottery tickets with LYDIA and others.
Though she desperately wanted to hear the story of his history with Mr. Darcy, she knew she couldn’t ask. She didn’t even dare to mention the man’s name. Her curiosity, however, was about to be unexpectedly satisfied. Mr. Wickham brought up the subject himself. He asked how far Netherfield was from Meryton, and after she answered, he asked, in a hesitant voice:
WICKHAM
How long has Mr. Darcy been staying there?
ELIZABETH
About a month.
(Unwilling to let the topic die)
He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand.
WICKHAM
Yes. His estate there is a magnificent one. A clear ten thousand pounds a year. You couldn't have met anyone more capable of giving you accurate information on that subject than me… for I have been connected with his family, in a particular way, since I was a child.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but look surprised.
WICKHAM
You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, after seeing the very cold way we greeted each other yesterday. Are you well acquainted with Mr. Darcy?
ELIZABETH
(Warmly)
As much as I ever wish to be! I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I find him very disagreeable.
WICKHAM
I have no right to give my opinion as to whether he is agreeable or not. I’m not in a position to judge. I have known him too long and too well to be fair. It’s impossible for me to be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would surprise most people. And perhaps you wouldn’t express it so strongly anywhere else. Here, you are among your own family.
ELIZABETH
I swear, I say nothing more here than I would in any other house in the neighborhood, except for Netherfield. He is not liked in Hertfordshire at all. Everyone is disgusted with his pride. You won’t find anyone who speaks of him more favorably.
WICKHAM
(After a short pause)
I can’t pretend to be sorry that he—or any man—is not valued more than he deserves. But with him, I believe that doesn’t happen often. The world is blinded by his fortune and his importance, or frightened by his arrogant and imposing manners. People only see him as he chooses to be seen.
ELIZABETH
Even from my brief acquaintance, I would say he is an ill-tempered man.
Wickham only shook his head.
WICKHAM
(At his next chance to speak)
I wonder if he is likely to be in this part of the country for much longer.
ELIZABETH
I have no idea. But I heard nothing of him leaving when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans to join the regiment won’t be affected by him being in the neighborhood?
WICKHAM
Oh, no. It is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always pains me to see him. But my only reason for avoiding him is one I could announce to the whole world—a sense of being terribly wronged, and the most painful regret that he is the man he is. His father, Miss Bennet—the late Mr. Darcy—was one of the best men who ever lived, and the truest friend I ever had. I can never be in the same room with this Mr. Darcy without my soul grieving from a thousand tender memories. His own behavior toward me has been scandalous. But I truly believe I could forgive him for anything and everything, except for his treatment of his father's memory—disappointing his hopes and disgracing his name.
Elizabeth found her interest in the subject growing with every word. She listened with all her heart, but the delicate nature of it prevented her from asking any more questions.
Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics—Meryton, the neighborhood, the society. He seemed very pleased with all that he had seen so far, and spoke of the local society with a gentle but very clear admiration.
WICKHAM
It was the prospect of constant society—and good society—that was my main reason for joining the regiment. I know it to be a most respectable and agreeable group. And my friend Denny tempted me further with his description of their current situation, and the great kindness and excellent friends they have made in Meryton. Society, I admit, is necessary for me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits cannot bear to be alone. I must have work and company. A military life is not what I was raised for, but circumstances have now made it a good option. The church ought to have been my profession—I was brought up for it. And I would, at this very moment, be in charge of a very valuable parish, if the gentleman we were just speaking of had allowed it.
ELIZABETH
Indeed!
WICKHAM
Yes. The late Mr. Darcy left me the next appointment to the best parish in his gift. He was my godfather and was extremely fond of me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me generously, and he thought he had done so. But when the position became available, it was given to someone else.
ELIZABETH
(Crying out)
Good heavens! But how could that be? How could his will be ignored? Why didn’t you seek a legal solution?
WICKHAM
There was just enough of a loophole in the wording of the inheritance to give me no hope with the law. A man of honor could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it—or to treat it as a mere conditional recommendation. He claimed that I had given up all right to it through my own extravagance, my recklessness—in short, through anything and nothing. What is certain is that the position became vacant two years ago, exactly when I was old enough to take it, and that it was given to another man. And it is no less certain that I cannot accuse myself of having done anything to truly deserve losing it. I have a passionate, unguarded temper, and I may have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, we are very different sorts of men, and he hates me.
ELIZABETH
This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced!
WICKHAM
Sooner or later, he will be. But it won’t be by me. As long as I can remember his father, I can never challenge or expose him.
Elizabeth honored him for these feelings and thought he looked more handsome than ever as he expressed them.
ELIZABETH
(After a pause)
But what could have been his motive? What could have pushed him to behave so cruelly?
WICKHAM
A thorough, determined dislike of me. A dislike which I can only attribute, in some measure, to jealousy. If the late Mr. Darcy had liked me less, his son might have tolerated me better. But his father’s uncommon fondness for me irritated him, I believe, from a very early age. He did not have the temper to bear the sort of competition we were in—the sort of preference that was often given to me.
ELIZABETH
I had not thought Mr. Darcy was so bad. Though I have never liked him, I hadn’t thought so very poorly of him. I had assumed he just looked down on his fellow human beings in general. But I never suspected he would stoop to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this.
(After a moment's reflection)
I do remember him bragging one day, at Netherfield, about the unforgiving nature of his grudges, of his inability to let things go. His personality must be dreadful.
WICKHAM
I won’t trust myself to speak on the subject. I can hardly be fair to him.
Elizabeth was again deep in thought. After a time, she exclaimed:
ELIZABETH
To treat his father’s godson, his friend, his favorite, in such a manner!
(She could have added, ‘A young man like you, whose very face vouches for your good nature!’ but she contented herself with:)
And someone, too, who had probably been his own childhood companion! Connected, as I think you said, in the closest way.
WICKHAM
We were born in the same parish, on the same estate. The greater part of our youth was spent together. We lived in the same house, shared the same games, and were the objects of the same parental care. My father began his life in the profession that your uncle, Mr. Philips, seems to do so well in. But he gave up everything to be of service to the late Mr. Darcy and devoted all his time to managing the Pemberley estate. He was highly respected by Mr. Darcy—a most intimate, trusted friend. Mr. Darcy often admitted he was under the greatest obligation to my father’s diligent management. And when, just before my father’s death, Mr. Darcy gave him a voluntary promise to provide for me, I am convinced he felt it was as much a debt of gratitude to him as it was a sign of affection for me.
ELIZABETH
How strange! How abominable! I wonder that the very pride of this Mr. Darcy has not forced him to be just to you! If for no better reason, he should have been too proud to be dishonest—for dishonesty is what I must call it!
WICKHAM
It is wonderful, isn’t it? For almost all of his actions can be traced back to pride. And pride has often been his best friend. It has connected him more closely to virtue than any other feeling. But none of us are consistent. And in his behavior toward me, there were impulses even stronger than pride.
ELIZABETH
Can such a dreadful pride as his have ever done him any good?
WICKHAM
Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous—to give his money freely, to be a grand host, to help his tenants, and to give to the poor. Family pride, and pride in his father—for he is very proud of what his father was—have done this. The need not to disgrace his family, not to fall short of their popular reputation, or lose the influence of the Pemberley name is a powerful motive for him. He also has brotherly pride, which, combined with some brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister. You will generally hear him praised as the most attentive and best of brothers.
ELIZABETH
What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?
He shook his head.
WICKHAM
I wish I could call her charming. It pains me to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother—very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and sweet, and she was extremely fond of me. I devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father’s death, she has lived in London, where a lady lives with her and supervises her education.
After many pauses and many attempts at other topics, Elizabeth couldn’t help but return once more to the first, saying:
ELIZABETH
I am astonished at his friendship with Mr. Bingley. How can Mr. Bingley, who seems to be the very definition of good humor, and who is, I truly believe, genuinely kind, be friends with such a man? How can they possibly get along? Do you know Mr. Bingley?
WICKHAM
Not at all.
ELIZABETH
He is a sweet-tempered, kind, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is really like.
WICKHAM
Probably not. But Mr. Darcy can be pleasing when he wants to be. He is not without talent. He can be an engaging companion if he thinks it’s worth his while. Among those who are his equals in social standing, he is a very different man from what he is to those who are less fortunate. His pride never leaves him. But with the rich, he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honorable—and, perhaps, even agreeable, if you allow for his fortune and his good looks.
The whist party soon broke up, and the players gathered around the other table. Mr. Collins took his spot between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Philips. Mrs. Philips made the usual inquiries about how he had done. It had not been a great success; he had lost every round. But when Mrs. Philips began to express her concern, he assured her, with great seriousness, that it was of no importance at all. He considered the money a mere trifle and begged her not to worry.
MR. COLLINS
I know very well, madam, that when people sit down to a card table, they must take their chances. And happily, I am not in such a position as to make five shillings a significant amount. There are, undoubtedly, many who could not say the same. But thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am far beyond the need to worry about such little matters.
Mr. Wickham’s attention was caught. After observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice:
WICKHAM
Are your relatives very well acquainted with the de Bourgh family?
ELIZABETH
Lady Catherine de Bourgh has very recently given him a parish. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her, but he certainly has not known her for long.
WICKHAM
You know, of course, that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters. Consequently, she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy.
ELIZABETH
No, indeed, I did not! I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine’s family connections. I had never even heard of her until the day before yesterday.
WICKHAM
Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune. And it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two great estates by marriage.
This information made Elizabeth smile as she thought of poor Miss Bingley. All her efforts must be in vain—her fawning attentions, her affection for his sister, and her praise of him—if he was already promised to another.
ELIZABETH
Mr. Collins speaks very highly of both Lady Catherine and her daughter. But from some of the things he has told me about Her Ladyship, I suspect his gratitude is misleading him. And that, in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman.
WICKHAM
I believe she is both, to a great degree. I have not seen her for many years, but I remember very well that I never liked her, and that her manners were bossy and rude. She has a reputation for being remarkably sensible and clever. But I rather believe she gets some of her "abilities" from her rank and fortune, some from her bossy manner, and the rest from the pride of her nephew, who prefers that everyone connected with him be seen as having a first-class mind.
Elizabeth agreed that he had given a very rational explanation of it. They continued talking together with mutual satisfaction until supper put an end to the card games and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr. Wickham’s attentions. There could be no real conversation in the noise of Mrs. Philips’s supper party, but his manners charmed everyone. Whatever he said was said well, and whatever he did was done gracefully.
Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could think of nothing but Mr. Wickham and what he had told her all the way home. But there wasn't time for her to even mention his name, as neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were quiet for a single moment. Lydia talked nonstop about the lottery game, the bets she had lost and the prizes she had won. And Mr. Collins—in describing the hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Philips, insisting that he didn’t mind his losses at whist in the least, listing all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly worrying that he was crowding his cousins in the carriage—had more to say than he could possibly manage before they stopped at Longbourn House.
SCENE END
The next day, Elizabeth told Jane everything that had passed between her and Mr. Wickham. Jane listened with shock and concern. She didn’t want to believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley’s friendship, and yet, it wasn't in her nature to question the truthfulness of a young man with as charming an appearance as Wickham. The possibility that he had truly been treated so unkindly was enough to stir all her sympathy.
Therefore, the only thing left to do was to think well of them both, to defend each of their actions, and to blame anything that couldn't be otherwise explained on an accident or a misunderstanding.
JANE
They have both been deceived, I’m sure. In some way we can’t even imagine. Perhaps people with their own selfish motives have misrepresented them to each other. It’s simply impossible for us to guess the causes or circumstances that might have driven them apart without either of them being truly at fault.
ELIZABETH
Very true. And now, my dear Jane, what do you have to say in defense of the selfish people who were probably involved in this whole mess? You’d better clear their names, too, or we’ll be forced to think badly of someone!
JANE
Laugh as much as you like, but you won’t laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, just consider what a terrible light this puts Mr. Darcy in—treating his own father’s favorite in such a way! Someone his father had promised to provide for! It’s impossible. No man with common decency, no man who cared at all about his own reputation, could be capable of it. Can his closest friends be so completely fooled by him? Oh, no.
ELIZABETH
I can much more easily believe that Mr. Bingley has been fooled than that Mr. Wickham would invent such a story. He gave me names, facts, everything, without a hint of hesitation. If it isn’t true, let Mr. Darcy deny it. Besides, there was truth in his eyes.
JANE
It’s difficult, indeed—it’s so distressing. One doesn’t know what to think.
ELIZABETH
I beg your pardon—one knows exactly what to think.
But Jane could only be certain of one thing: that if Mr. Bingley had been deceived, he would have a lot to suffer when the truth finally came out.
The two young ladies were called away from their conversation in the garden by the arrival of the very people they had been discussing. Mr. Bingley and his sisters had come to personally deliver their invitations for the long-awaited ball at Netherfield, which was set for the following Tuesday. The two ladies were thrilled to see their “dear friend” Jane again, said it had been an “age” since they had last met, and repeatedly asked what she had been up to since they’d been apart. They paid little attention to the rest of the family, avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying very little to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others.
They were gone again just as quickly, jumping up from their seats with a speed that took their brother by surprise, and hurrying off as if they were desperate to escape Mrs. Bennet’s endless stream of polite courtesies.
The thought of the Netherfield ball was extremely exciting to every woman in the Bennet family. Mrs. Bennet chose to see it as a special honor for her eldest daughter and was particularly flattered that the invitation came from Mr. Bingley himself, instead of on a formal card. Jane imagined a happy evening in the company of her two friends and with the attention of their brother. And Elizabeth thought with pleasure about dancing all night with Mr. Wickham and seeing confirmation of his story in Mr. Darcy’s every look and action.
The happiness that Catherine and Lydia anticipated depended less on any single event or person. Although they both, like Elizabeth, planned to dance half the evening with Mr. Wickham, he was by no means the only partner who could satisfy them. At the end of the day, a ball was a ball. And even Mary could assure her family that she had no objection to going.
MARY
As long as I can have my mornings to myself, it is enough. I don’t think it’s a sacrifice to occasionally join in evening social events. Society has a claim on all of us, and I am one of those who believes that periods of recreation and amusement are good for everyone.
Elizabeth’s spirits were so high that, even though she didn't often speak to Mr. Collins unless she had to, she couldn’t stop herself from asking if he planned to accept Mr. Bingley’s invitation, and if so, whether he thought it was proper for a clergyman to join in the evening's dancing. She was rather surprised to find that he had no hesitation whatsoever about it and was not at all afraid of getting a stern lecture from the Archbishop or from Lady Catherine de Bourgh for daring to dance.
MR. COLLINS
I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you, that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of good character to respectable people, can have any negative influence. In fact, I am so far from objecting to dancing myself that I hope to be honored with the hand of all my fair cousins during the evening. And I’d like to take this opportunity to ask for yours, Miss Elizabeth, for the first two dances especially—a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will understand is for the right reason, and not due to any disrespect for her.
Elizabeth felt completely tricked. She had fully intended to be dancing with Wickham for those very dances, and now she was stuck with Mr. Collins! Her playful mood had never been so badly timed. There was nothing to be done about it, however. Mr. Wickham’s happiness, and her own, would have to be delayed a little longer, and Mr. Collins’s proposal was accepted with as much grace as she could manage.
She was not any more pleased with his flattering attention when she considered what it might imply. It now occurred to her for the first time that she had been singled out from among her sisters as being worthy of becoming the mistress of the Hunsford parsonage and of helping to fill out a card table at Rosings when more important guests were absent. The idea soon grew into a conviction as she noticed his increasing politeness toward her and heard his frequent attempts to compliment her on her wit and intelligence. And though she was more shocked than flattered by the effect of her charms, it wasn't long before her mother let her know that the possibility of their marriage was a thought that was exceedingly agreeable to her.
Elizabeth, however, chose to ignore the hint, knowing that a serious argument would be the result of any reply. Mr. Collins might never actually propose, and until he did, it was pointless to quarrel about him.
If there hadn’t been a Netherfield ball to prepare for and talk about, the younger Miss Bennets would have been in a miserable state. From the day of the invitation to the day of the ball, there was such a continuous downpour of rain that it prevented them from walking to Meryton even once. No aunt, no officers, no news could be found. Even the ribbon rosettes for their dancing shoes had to be gotten by someone else. Even Elizabeth might have found her patience tested by weather that completely halted the progress of her acquaintance with Mr. Wickham. And nothing less than a dance on Tuesday could have made such a miserable Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday bearable for Kitty and Lydia.
It never even occurred to Elizabeth that Mr. Wickham might not be at the ball—not until she walked into the drawing-room at Netherfield and searched for him in vain among the crowd of red-coated officers. The certainty of meeting him had been so strong that she hadn’t considered any of the potential problems that might have reasonably worried her. She had gotten ready with more than her usual care and had arrived in the highest spirits, prepared to conquer whatever was left of his heart, certain it wouldn’t take more than the course of the evening.
But in an instant, a dreadful suspicion took hold of her: that he had been deliberately left out of the Bingley’s invitation to the officers, all for Mr. Darcy’s pleasure. While this wasn't exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was confirmed by his friend, Mr. Denny. Lydia, in her usual forward manner, had eagerly rushed over to him, and he told them that Wickham had been forced to go to London on business the day before and hadn’t returned yet. He added, with a meaningful smile:
MR. DENNY
I don’t imagine his business would have called him away right now if he hadn’t wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here.
Lydia didn't hear this last part, but Elizabeth caught every word. It assured her that Darcy was just as responsible for Wickham’s absence as if her first guess had been correct. Every ounce of her displeasure toward Darcy was sharpened by her immediate disappointment. When he approached her just a moment later to make polite conversation, she could barely answer him with basic civility. Any attention, any tolerance, any patience she showed Darcy felt like a betrayal of Wickham. She was determined not to have any sort of conversation with him and turned away with a sour mood that she couldn't completely shake, even when speaking to Mr. Bingley, whose blind loyalty to his friend annoyed her.
But Elizabeth was not made for long-lasting bad moods. And though all her own hopes for the evening were ruined, the feeling couldn’t linger for long. After pouring out all her frustrations to Charlotte Lucas, whom she hadn’t seen for a week, she was soon able to voluntarily switch topics to the absurdities of her cousin and point him out for Charlotte's particular amusement.
The first two dances, however, brought back her misery. They were two dances of pure, agonizing humiliation. Mr. Collins, awkward and series, was constantly apologizing instead of paying attention, and often made the wrong move without even realizing it. He gave her all the shame and misery a terrible partner can possibly inflict in a short time. The moment she was free from him was pure ecstasy.
She danced next with an officer and had the pleasure of talking about Wickham and hearing how universally liked he was. When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas and was in the middle of a conversation when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy. He took her so completely by surprise when he asked for her hand that, without even thinking, she accepted.
He walked away again immediately, leaving her to fume over her own lack of composure.
SCENE START
INT. NETHERFIELD BALLROOM - NIGHT
ELIZABETH stands with CHARLOTTE, flustered.
CHARLOTTE
(Trying to console her)
I’m sure you’ll find him very agreeable.
ELIZABETH
Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! Don’t wish such an evil thing on me.
When the music started again and Darcy approached to claim her hand, Charlotte couldn’t help but whisper a warning.
CHARLOTTE
Don’t be a fool. Don’t let your crush on Wickham make you act rudely to a man who is ten times more important.
Elizabeth didn't answer and took her place in the dance, amazed at the strange honor of being allowed to stand opposite Mr. Darcy and reading the equal amazement in her neighbors’ faces as they watched.
They stood for some time without saying a word. She began to think their silence would last for both dances and was, at first, determined not to be the one to break it. But then, it suddenly occurred to her that forcing him to talk would be the greater punishment for him. She made a small comment about the dance. He replied, and then they were silent again. After a pause of several minutes, she spoke to him a second time.
ELIZABETH
It’s your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance. You ought to make some kind of comment on the size of the room, or the number of couples.
He smiled and assured her that whatever she wished him to say, he would say.
ELIZABETH
Very well. That reply will do for now. Perhaps, in a little while, I’ll observe that private balls are much more pleasant than public ones. But for now, we can be silent.
MR. DARCY
So you have rules for conversation while you’re dancing?
ELIZABETH
Sometimes. One has to speak a little, you know. It would look strange to be completely silent for half an hour. And yet, for the benefit of some people, conversation ought to be arranged so that they have to say as little as possible.
MR. DARCY
Are you saying that for your own benefit, or do you imagine you’re doing me a favor?
ELIZABETH
(Playfully)
Both. I’ve always seen a great similarity in our minds. We are both of an unsocial, quiet disposition, unwilling to speak unless we expect to say something that will stun the entire room and be passed down through history with all the glamour of a proverb.
MR. DARCY
I’m sure that’s not a very accurate description of your character. How close it is to mine, I can’t say. But you undoubtedly think it’s a faithful portrait.
ELIZABETH
I can’t be the judge of my own performance.
He didn't answer, and they were silent again until they had moved down the line of dancers. Then, he asked her if she and her sisters walked to Meryton often. She said yes, and, unable to resist the temptation, added:
ELIZABETH
When you met us there the other day, we had just made a new acquaintance.
The effect was immediate. A deeper shadow of arrogance crossed his face, but he said nothing. Elizabeth, though angry at herself for her own weakness, couldn’t continue. At last, Darcy spoke, and in a strained voice, said:
MR. DARCY
Mr. Wickham is blessed with such charming manners that he is sure to make friends easily. Whether he is equally capable of keeping them is less certain.
ELIZABETH
(With emphasis)
He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship, and in a way that he is likely to suffer from for the rest of his life.
Darcy didn’t answer and seemed to want to change the subject. At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared next to them, meaning to pass through the dance to the other side of the room. But upon seeing Mr. Darcy, he stopped, with an overly elaborate bow, to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.
SIR WILLIAM LUCAS
I have been most highly pleased, indeed, my dear sir! Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is clear you belong to the highest social circles! Allow me to say, however, that your lovely partner does not disgrace you. And I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event…
(Glancing at Jane and Bingley)
…my dear Miss Eliza, shall take place! What congratulations will pour in then! I ask you, Mr. Darcy—but let me not interrupt you, sir. You won’t thank me for keeping you from the captivating conversation of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also scolding me.
Darcy barely heard the last part of this speech. But Sir William’s hint about his friend seemed to strike him forcefully. His eyes turned, with a very serious expression, toward Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. Pulling himself together a moment later, he turned back to his partner.
MR. DARCY
Sir William’s interruption has made me forget what we were talking about.
ELIZABETH
I don’t think we were speaking at all. Sir William couldn’t have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We’ve tried two or three subjects already without any success. What we are to talk about next, I cannot imagine.
MR. DARCY
(Smiling)
What do you think of books?
ELIZABETH
Books—oh, no! I’m sure we never read the same ones, or if we do, not with the same feelings.
MR. DARCY
I’m sorry you think so. But if that’s the case, we should at least have plenty to talk about. We can compare our different opinions.
ELIZABETH
No. I cannot talk about books in a ballroom. My head is always full of something else.
MR. DARCY
(With a look of doubt)
The present moment always occupies you in scenes like this, does it?
ELIZABETH
(Not knowing what she was saying)
Yes, always.
(Her thoughts had wandered, which became clear when she suddenly exclaimed)
I remember hearing you say once, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgive. That your resentment, once it’s created, is impossible to appease. You are very careful, I suppose, about letting it be created in the first place?
MR. DARCY
(With a firm voice)
I am.
ELIZABETH
And you never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?
MR. DARCY
I hope not.
ELIZABETH
It is especially important for those who never change their opinion to be sure of judging correctly at the start.
MR. DARCY
May I ask what these questions are leading to?
ELIZABETH
(Trying to shake off her seriousness)
Merely to the understanding of your character. I am trying to figure it out.
MR. DARCY
And what is your progress?
She shook her head.
ELIZABETH
I’m not getting anywhere at all. I hear such different stories about you that it puzzles me completely.
MR. DARCY
(Gravely)
I can readily believe that reports about me may vary greatly. And I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not trying to sketch my character at this particular moment, as there is reason to fear the result would not reflect well on either of us.
ELIZABETH
But if I don’t capture your likeness now, I may never have another chance.
MR. DARCY
(Coldly)
I would by no means want to stop any pleasure of yours.
She said no more. They finished the second dance and parted in silence, both of them dissatisfied, though not equally. In Darcy’s chest, there was a reasonably strong feeling toward her, which soon earned her his forgiveness and directed all his anger toward someone else.
They hadn’t been separated for long when Miss Bingley came over to her. With an expression of polite contempt, she started in.
MISS BINGLEY
So, Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite taken with George Wickham. Your sister has been talking to me about him and asking me a thousand questions. And I find that the young man forgot to tell you, among his other stories, that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy’s steward. Let me advise you, however, as a friend, not to blindly trust everything he says. As for Mr. Darcy treating him badly, it is completely false. On the contrary, he has always been remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most despicable manner. I don’t know all the details, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not the least bit to blame, that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned, and that though my brother felt he couldn’t avoid including him in his invitation to the officers, he was extremely glad to find that he had taken himself out of the way. His coming to this part of the country at all is a most arrogant thing indeed, and I wonder how he could dare to do it. I pity you, Miss Eliza, for this discovery of your favorite’s guilt. But really, considering his background, one couldn’t expect much better.
ELIZABETH
(Angrily)
His guilt and his background appear, by your account, to be the same thing. I have heard you accuse him of nothing worse than being the son of Mr. Darcy’s steward—and of that, I can assure you, he told me himself.
MISS BINGLEY
(Turning away with a sneer)
I beg your pardon. Excuse my interference. It was kindly meant.
ELIZABETH
(To herself)
Insolent girl! You are very much mistaken if you think you can influence me with such a pathetic attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own willful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy.
She then went to find her eldest sister, who had agreed to ask Bingley about the same subject. Jane met her with a smile of such sweet satisfaction, a glow of such happy expression, that it was clear how pleased she was with the evening. Elizabeth instantly understood her feelings. At that moment, her concern for Wickham, her resentment against his enemies, and everything else gave way to the hope of Jane’s future happiness.
ELIZABETH
(With a smile just as bright as her sister's)
I want to know what you’ve learned about Mr. Wickham. But perhaps you’ve been too pleasantly busy to think of anyone else, in which case you can be sure of my forgiveness.
JANE
No, I haven’t forgotten him. But I have nothing satisfying to tell you. Mr. Bingley doesn’t know his whole history and is completely unaware of the circumstances that have most offended Mr. Darcy. But he will vouch for the good character, the honesty, and the honor of his friend. He is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less kindness from Mr. Darcy than he has received. And I’m sorry to say that, according to his account, as well as his sister’s, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I’m afraid he has been very reckless and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy’s good opinion.
ELIZABETH
Mr. Bingley doesn’t know Mr. Wickham himself.
JANE
No, he never saw him until the other morning at Meryton.
ELIZABETH
So this story is what he has heard from Mr. Darcy. I am perfectly satisfied. But what does he say about the parish living?
JANE
He doesn’t exactly remember the circumstances, though he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once. But he believes it was left to him conditionally.
ELIZABETH
(Warmly)
I have no doubt of Mr. Bingley’s sincerity, but you must excuse me for not being convinced by just his assurances. Mr. Bingley’s defense of his friend was a very good one, I’m sure. But since he doesn't know several parts of the story and has learned the rest from that friend himself, I will dare to continue thinking of both gentlemen as I did before.
She then changed the subject to one that was more pleasing to them both and on which there could be no disagreement. Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though modest, hopes Jane had of Bingley’s affection and said everything she could to boost her confidence. When Mr. Bingley himself joined them, Elizabeth slipped away to Miss Lucas. She had barely answered her friend’s question about her last dance partner before Mr. Collins came up to them, telling her with great excitement that he had just made a most important discovery.
MR. COLLINS
I have found out, by a singular accident, that there is now in this very room a close relative of my patroness! I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady of the house the names of his cousin, Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother, Lady Catherine! How wonderfully these sorts of things happen! Who would have thought I would meet—perhaps—a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh at this party! I am most thankful that I made this discovery in time to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do. And I trust he will excuse me for not having done it sooner. My complete ignorance of the connection must be my apology.
ELIZABETH
You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?
MR. COLLINS
Indeed I am. I will beg his pardon for not having done it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine’s nephew. It will be in my power to assure him that Her Ladyship was quite well a week ago yesterday.
Elizabeth tried hard to talk him out of such a plan. She assured him that Mr. Darcy would see his forwardness as a rude intrusion, rather than a compliment to his aunt; that it wasn't at all necessary for them to acknowledge each other; and that if it were, it should be up to Mr. Darcy, as the person of higher social standing, to start the acquaintance. Mr. Collins listened to her with the determined expression of a man who intended to follow his own plan, and when she finished speaking, he replied:
MR. COLLINS
My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your excellent judgment in all matters within your understanding. But permit me to say that there must be a wide difference between the established rules of ceremony for ordinary people and those which guide the clergy. For, allow me to observe, I consider the office of a clergyman to be equal in dignity to the highest rank in the kingdom—provided that a proper humility of behavior is maintained at the same time. You must, therefore, allow me to follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which lead me to perform what I see as a point of duty. Pardon me for not taking your advice, which on every other subject will be my constant guide. Though in this case, I consider myself better equipped by my education and my regular studies to decide what is right than a young lady like yourself.
And with a low bow, he left her to go and approach Mr. Darcy. She eagerly watched his advance and saw Mr. Darcy's clear astonishment at being addressed in such a way. Her cousin began his speech with a solemn bow, and though she couldn't hear a word of it, she felt as if she could hear it all. She saw in the motion of his lips the words “apology," “Hunsford,” and “Lady Catherine de Bourgh." It annoyed her to see him expose himself to such a man. Mr. Darcy was watching him with unrestrained wonder. When Mr. Collins finally allowed him to speak, he replied with an air of distant civility.
Mr. Collins, however, was not discouraged from speaking again. Mr. Darcy’s contempt seemed to grow with the length of his second speech. At the end of it, he only gave him a slight bow and moved away. Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth.
MR. COLLINS
I have no reason, I assure you, to be dissatisfied with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered me with the utmost civility and even paid me the compliment of saying that he was so convinced of Lady Catherine’s good judgment as to be certain she would never give a favor to someone unworthy. It was a very handsome thought, really. On the whole, I am much pleased with him.
As Elizabeth no longer had any personal interests to pursue, she turned her attention almost entirely to her sister and Mr. Bingley. The stream of pleasant thoughts that her observations sparked made her, perhaps, almost as happy as Jane. In her mind, she saw her sister settled in that very house, with all the happiness a marriage of true love could bring. And she felt that, under such circumstances, she could even try to like Bingley’s two sisters.
She could plainly see her mother’s thoughts were heading in the same direction, and she was determined not to go near her, in case she might hear too much. So when they sat down to supper, she considered it a most unlucky twist of fate that placed them next to each other. She was deeply annoyed to find that her mother was talking to Lady Lucas freely, openly, and about nothing else but her expectation that Jane would soon be married to Mr. Bingley.
It was an exciting subject, and Mrs. Bennet seemed tireless as she listed all the advantages of the match. His being such a charming young man, and so rich, and living only three miles away were the first points of her self-congratulation. And then it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of Jane, and to be certain they must want the match as much as she did. It was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane’s marrying so well would surely put them in the path of other rich men. And lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be able to hand over her single daughters to the care of their sister, so that she might not be obliged to go out into society more than she liked. She had to make this sound like a matter of pleasure, because that's what's expected on such occasions, but no one was less likely than Mrs. Bennet to find comfort in staying at home at any point in her life. She concluded with many good wishes that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate, though she clearly and triumphantly believed there was no chance of it.
In vain, Elizabeth tried to slow her mother’s rapid stream of words, or persuade her to describe her happiness in a less audible whisper. To her unspeakable annoyance, she could see that the main parts of it were being overheard by Mr. Darcy, who sat opposite them. Her mother only scolded her for being nonsensical.
MRS. BENNET
What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we don’t owe him any special politeness that we should have to say nothing he may not like to hear!
ELIZABETH
For heaven’s sake, madam, speak lower! What advantage can it be to you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never win over his friend by doing so.
Nothing she could say, however, had any effect. Her mother would talk about her dreams in the same audible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and annoyance. She couldn’t help but frequently glance at Mr. Darcy, though every glance confirmed what she feared. Though he wasn't always looking directly at her mother, she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed on her. The expression on his face gradually changed from indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity.
At last, however, Mrs. Bennet had no more to say. And Lady Lucas, who had been yawning for a long time at the repetition of joys she saw no likelihood of sharing, was left to the comforts of cold ham and chicken.
Elizabeth now began to relax. But the period of peace was short-lived. When supper was over, someone suggested singing. She had the mortification of seeing Mary, after very little prompting, preparing to entertain the company. With many significant looks and silent pleas, she tried to prevent this display of eagerness, but it was no use. Mary wouldn't understand them. Such an opportunity to show off was delightful to her, and she began her song.
Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on her with the most painful feelings. She watched her progress through the several verses with an impatience that was not rewarded at the end. For Mary, upon receiving, among the thanks from the table, a hint of a hope that she might favor them again, paused for half a minute and then began another song. Mary’s talents were by no means suited for such a performance. Her voice was weak, and her manner was artificial. Elizabeth was in agony. She looked at Jane to see how she was handling it, but Jane was calmly talking to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters and saw them making fun of each other and of Darcy, who, however, remained impenetrably serious. She looked at her father, begging him with her eyes to intervene before Mary started singing all night. He took the hint, and when Mary had finished her second song, he said aloud:
MR. BENNET
That will do very well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to show off.
Mary, though pretending not to hear, was somewhat embarrassed. And Elizabeth, sorry for her, and sorry for her father’s comment, was afraid her anxiety hadn't done any good. Others in the party were now asked to perform.
MR. COLLINS
If I were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I would have great pleasure, I am sure, in entertaining the company with a song. For I consider music a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do not mean, however, to say that we are justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the first place, he must make an agreement for church taxes that is beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons. And the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his home, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and agreeable manners toward everyone, especially toward those to whom he owes his position. I cannot excuse him from that duty, nor could I think well of a man who would miss an opportunity to show his respect toward anyone connected with the family.
And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loudly that half the room had heard it. Many people stared—many smiled. But no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennet himself, while his wife seriously commended Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly and observed, in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably clever and good kind of young man.
To Elizabeth, it seemed that if her family had made a pact to embarrass themselves as much as possible during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to have played their parts with more enthusiasm or finer success. And she thought it was fortunate for Bingley and her sister that some of the spectacle had escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not the sort to be much distressed by the foolishness he must have seen. That his two sisters and Mr. Darcy, however, should have such an opportunity to ridicule her relatives was bad enough. And she couldn't decide whether the silent contempt of the gentleman or the arrogant smiles of the ladies was more unbearable.
The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was tormented by Mr. Collins, who stuck perseveringly by her side. And though he couldn't persuade her to dance with him again, he made it impossible for her to dance with anyone else. In vain, she begged him to stand up with someone else and offered to introduce him to any young lady in the room. He assured her that, as for dancing, he was perfectly indifferent to it; that his main goal was, through his delicate attentions, to win her favor; and that he would, therefore, make a point of remaining close to her the whole evening. There was no arguing with such a plan. Her greatest relief came from her friend Miss Lucas, who often joined them and good-naturedly engaged Mr. Collins in conversation herself.
She was at least free from the offense of Mr. Darcy’s further notice. Though he was often standing a very short distance from her, completely free, he never came near enough to speak. She felt it was the likely result of her comments about Mr. Wickham and was glad for it.
The Longbourn party was the last of all the guests to leave. By a maneuver of Mrs. Bennet, they had to wait for their carriage for a quarter of an hour after everyone else was gone. This gave them time to see how eagerly some of the family wished them away. Mrs. Hurst and her sister barely opened their mouths except to complain of being tired and were clearly impatient to have the house to themselves. They shut down every attempt Mrs. Bennet made at conversation and, by doing so, cast a dullness over the whole party, which was not much relieved by the long speeches of Mr. Collins, who was complimenting Mr. Bingley and his sisters on the elegance of their party and the hospitality and politeness they had shown their guests. Darcy said nothing at all. Mr. Bennet, in equal silence, was enjoying the scene. Mr. Bingley and Jane were standing together a little apart from the rest and talked only to each other. Elizabeth maintained as steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley. And even Lydia was too tired to say more than the occasional exclamation of, “Lord, how tired I am!” accompanied by a violent yawn.
When at length they got up to leave, Mrs. Bennet was overwhelmingly polite in her hope of seeing the whole family at Longbourn soon. She addressed herself particularly to Mr. Bingley, to assure him how happy he would make them by having a family dinner with them at any time, without the ceremony of a formal invitation. Bingley was all grateful pleasure, and he readily promised to take the earliest opportunity to visit her after his return from London, where he was obliged to go the next day for a short time.
Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied and left the house with the delightful belief that, allowing for the necessary preparations of marriage settlements, new carriages, and wedding clothes, she would undoubtedly see her daughter settled at Netherfield within three or four months. Of having another daughter married to Mr. Collins, she thought with equal certainty and with considerable, though not equal, pleasure. Elizabeth was the least dear to her of all her children. And though the man and the match were quite good enough for her, the value of each was eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.
The next day brought a new scene to Longbourn. Mr. Collins made his formal marriage proposal.
He had decided to do it without wasting any time, as his leave of absence was only until the following Saturday. And since he had no feelings of self-doubt to make the moment difficult for him, he went about it in a very orderly way, with all the proper steps he thought were a regular part of the business.
Soon after breakfast, he found Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together. He addressed the mother with these words:
MR. COLLINS
May I hope, madam, for your support with your lovely daughter Elizabeth, when I ask for the honor of a private audience with her this morning?
Before Elizabeth had time to do anything but blush with surprise, Mrs. Bennet instantly answered.
MRS. BENNET
Oh, dear! Yes, certainly! I’m sure Lizzy will be very happy—I’m sure she can have no objection. Come, Kitty, I need you upstairs.
And gathering her sewing, she was rushing out of the room when Elizabeth called out.
ELIZABETH
Dear Ma’am, please don’t go! I beg you, do not go! Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that everyone can’t hear. I’m leaving myself.
MRS. BENNET
No, no, nonsense, Lizzy! I insist you stay where you are!
(Seeing Elizabeth, with a look of annoyance and embarrassment, about to escape, she added)
Lizzy, I insist that you stay and hear Mr. Collins!
Elizabeth would not argue with such a command. A moment’s thought also made her realize it would be wisest to get it over with as quickly and as quietly as possible. She sat down again and tried to hide her feelings—which were a mix of distress and amusement—by keeping herself busy with her work. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked out, and as soon as they were gone, Mr. Collins began.
MR. COLLINS
Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, far from being a flaw, actually adds to your other perfections. You would have been less charming in my eyes if it were not for this little bit of reluctance. But allow me to assure you that I have your respected mother’s permission for this proposal. You can hardly doubt the purpose of my speech, however your natural delicacy may lead you to pretend otherwise. My attentions have been too obvious to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered this house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am carried away by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it would be wise for me to state my reasons for marrying—and, moreover, for coming to Hertfordshire with the specific intention of choosing a wife, as I most certainly did.
The idea of Mr. Collins, with all his serious composure, being “carried away” by his feelings made Elizabeth so close to laughing that she couldn't use the short pause he gave her to try and stop him. He continued.
MR. COLLINS
My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it is the right thing for every clergyman in a comfortable position, like myself, to set the example of marriage in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add greatly to my own happiness. And thirdly—which perhaps I should have mentioned earlier—that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honor of calling my patroness. Twice she has condescended to give me her opinion—unasked, I might add!—on this subject. And it was just last Saturday night, before I left Hunsford—between our hands of cards, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh’s footstool—that she said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly. Choose a gentlewoman, for my sake and for your own. Let her be an active, useful sort of person, not raised to be high and mighty, but able to make a small income go a long way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.’
Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not consider the attention and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh to be among the least of the advantages I have to offer. You will find her manners to be beyond anything I can describe. And your wit and vivacity, I think, must be agreeable to her, especially when they are balanced with the silence and respect that her high rank will inevitably inspire.
So much for my general intention to marry. It remains to be told why my search was directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighborhood, where, I assure you, there are many charming young women. But the fact is, since I am to inherit this estate after the death of your honored father—who, however, may live many more years—I could not be satisfied without deciding to choose a wife from among his daughters, so that the loss to them might be as small as possible when that sad event takes place—which, however, as I’ve already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself that it will not lower me in your opinion.
And now, nothing remains for me but to assure you, in the most passionate language, of the violence of my affection. As for fortune, I am completely indifferent and will make no demands of that kind on your father, since I am well aware that he could not meet them, and that the one thousand pounds in the 4 percent stocks—which will not be yours until after your mother’s death—is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that subject, therefore, I will be forever silent. And you may rest assured that no ungenerous criticism will ever pass my lips when we are married.
It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.
ELIZABETH
You are too hasty, sir! You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do so without any further delay. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very aware of the honor of your proposal, but it is impossible for me to do anything other than decline.
MR. COLLINS
(With a formal wave of his hand)
I am not just now learning that it is common for young ladies to reject the proposals of the man whom they secretly intend to accept when he first asks for their hand. And that sometimes, the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am, therefore, by no means discouraged by what you have just said and will hope to lead you to the altar before long.
ELIZABETH
Upon my word, sir! Your hope is rather extraordinary after my declaration. I assure you that I am not one of those young ladies—if such young ladies even exist—who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who would make you so. In fact, if your friend Lady Catherine were to meet me, I am certain she would find me completely ill-suited for the position in every respect.
MR. COLLINS
(Very gravely)
If it were certain that Lady Catherine would think so… but I cannot imagine that Her Ladyship would disapprove of you at all. And you may be certain that when I have the honor of seeing her again, I will speak in the highest terms of your modesty, your thriftiness, and your other charming qualities.
ELIZABETH
Indeed, Mr. Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary. You must allow me to judge for myself and pay me the compliment of believing what I say. I wish you to be very happy and very rich, and by refusing your hand, I am doing all in my power to prevent you from being otherwise. In making me the offer, you must have satisfied your own delicate feelings regarding my family, and you may take possession of the Longbourn estate whenever it falls to you without any self-blame. This matter may be considered, therefore, as finally settled.
She rose as she spoke and would have left the room, but Mr. Collins addressed her again.
MR. COLLINS
When I next do myself the honor of speaking to you on this subject, I will hope to receive a more favorable answer than you have now given me. Though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it is the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first proposal. And perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character.
ELIZABETH
(With some warmth)
Really, Mr. Collins, you puzzle me completely! If what I have said so far can appear to you as encouragement, I don’t know how to express my refusal in a way that will convince you it is one!
MR. COLLINS
You must allow me to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of my proposal is merely words, of course. My reasons for believing so are, briefly, these: It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy of your acceptance, or that the life I can offer would be anything other than highly desirable. My position in life, my connections with the de Bourgh family, and my relationship to your own are circumstances highly in my favor. And you should also take into consideration that, in spite of your many attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage will ever be made to you. Your inheritance is unfortunately so small that it will, in all likelihood, undo the effects of your loveliness and your charming qualities. As I must, therefore, conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I will choose to attribute it to your wish to increase my love by keeping me in suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.
ELIZABETH
I assure you, sir, that I have no desire for the kind of elegance that consists of tormenting a respectable man. I would much rather be paid the compliment of being believed. I thank you again and again for the honor you have done me with your proposal, but to accept it is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak any plainer? Do not consider me now as an "elegant female" intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart.
MR. COLLINS
(With an air of awkward gallantry)
You are uniformly charming! And I am persuaded that, when approved by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposal will not fail to be accepted.
To such stubborn and willful self-deception, Elizabeth would make no reply. She immediately and silently left the room, determined that if he persisted in seeing her repeated refusals as flattering encouragement, she would go to her father, whose "no" would be delivered in a way that must be decisive, and whose behavior, at least, could not be mistaken for the fake coyness of an “elegant female."
Mr. Collins was not left alone for long to silently contemplate his "successful" proposal. Mrs. Bennet, who had been lingering in the hallway to see how the conversation ended, saw Elizabeth open the door and quickly rush past her toward the stairs. The moment she was gone, Mrs. Bennet burst into the breakfast room and warmly congratulated both him and herself on the happy prospect of them soon becoming family.
Mr. Collins received and returned these congratulations with equal pleasure. He then proceeded to tell her all the details of their conversation, the result of which, he truly believed, gave him every reason to be satisfied. His cousin's firm refusal, he explained, was a natural result of her shy modesty and the genuine delicacy of her character.
This information, however, shocked Mrs. Bennet. She would have been glad to be just as satisfied that her daughter had meant to encourage him by rejecting his proposal, but she didn’t dare to believe it, and she couldn’t help but say so.
MRS. BENNET
But depend upon it, Mr. Collins, Lizzy will be brought to reason! I will speak to her about it myself, right now. She is a very headstrong, foolish girl and doesn’t know what’s good for her, but I will make her know it!
MR. COLLINS
Pardon me for interrupting you, madam. But if she is really headstrong and foolish, I’m not sure she would be a very desirable wife for a man in my position, who naturally hopes for happiness in his marriage. If, therefore, she actually persists in rejecting my proposal, perhaps it would be better not to force her into accepting me. If she is prone to such flaws of temper, she could not contribute much to my happiness.
MRS. BENNET
(Alarmed)
Sir, you completely misunderstand me! Lizzy is only headstrong in matters like these. In everything else, she is as good-natured a girl as ever lived! I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and we will settle it with her very soon, I’m sure.
She didn't give him time to reply but hurried instantly to her husband, calling out as she entered the library.
SCENE START
INT. MR. BENNET'S LIBRARY - DAY
MR. BENNET is reading. MRS. BENNET bursts in.
MRS. BENNET
Oh, Mr. Bennet, you are needed immediately! We are all in an uproar! You must come and make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins, for she swears she will not have him! And if you don’t hurry, he will change his mind and not have her!
Mr. Bennet raises his eyes from his book as she enters and fixes them on her face with a calm indifference that isn't the least bit changed by her news.
MR. BENNET
I do not have the pleasure of understanding you. What are you talking about?
MRS. BENNET
About Mr. Collins and Lizzy! Lizzy declares she will not have Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins is starting to say that he will not have Lizzy!
MR. BENNET
And what am I supposed to do about it? It seems a hopeless business.
MRS. BENNET
Speak to Lizzy about it yourself! Tell her that you insist upon her marrying him!
MR. BENNET
Let her be called down. She will hear my opinion.
Mrs. Bennet rings the bell, and MISS ELIZABETH is summoned to the library.
MR. BENNET
(As Elizabeth appears)
Come here, child. I have sent for you on a matter of importance. I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it true?
ELIZABETH
It is, sir.
MR. BENNET
Very well. And this offer of marriage, you have refused?
ELIZABETH
I have, sir.
MR. BENNET
Very well. We now come to the point. Your mother insists that you accept it. Is that not so, Mrs. Bennet?
MRS. BENNET
Yes, or I will never see her again!
MR. BENNET
An unhappy choice is before you, Elizabeth. From this day forward, you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.
Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile at such a conclusion to such a beginning. But Mrs. Bennet, who had convinced herself that her husband saw the matter as she wished, was extremely disappointed.
MRS. BENNET
What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, by talking in this way? You promised me you would insist upon her marrying him!
MR. BENNET
My dear, I have two small favors to ask. First, that you will allow me the free use of my own understanding on this occasion. And secondly, of my room. I would be glad to have the library to myself as soon as possible.
Not yet, however, in spite of her disappointment in her husband, did Mrs. Bennet give up. She talked to Elizabeth again and again, trying to persuade her and then threatening her. She tried to get Jane to side with her, but Jane, with all possible gentleness, refused to interfere. And Elizabeth, sometimes with real seriousness and sometimes with playful humor, replied to her mother's attacks. Though her manner varied, her decision never did.
Mr. Collins, meanwhile, was meditating in solitude on what had happened. He thought too highly of himself to understand why his cousin would refuse him. And though his pride was hurt, he didn't suffer in any other way. His affection for her was completely imaginary, and the possibility that she deserved her mother’s scolding prevented him from feeling any regret.
While the family was in this state of confusion, Charlotte Lucas came to spend the day with them. She was met in the hallway by Lydia, who, rushing to her, cried in a half-whisper:
LYDIA
I’m so glad you’re here! There is such fun going on! What do you think happened this morning? Mr. Collins proposed to Lizzy, and she won’t have him!
Charlotte barely had time to answer before they were joined by Kitty, who came to tell her the same news. And no sooner had they entered the breakfast room, where Mrs. Bennet was alone, than she, too, began on the subject, asking Miss Lucas for her sympathy and begging her to persuade her friend Lizzy to do what her family wished.
MRS. BENNET
(In a sad tone)
Please do, my dear Miss Lucas! For nobody is on my side, nobody supports me! I am cruelly treated, and nobody cares about my poor nerves!
Charlotte’s reply was cut short by the entrance of Jane and Elizabeth.
MRS. BENNET
(Continuing)
Ah, there she comes, looking as unconcerned as can be, and caring no more for us than if we were on the other side of the country, as long as she gets her own way. But I tell you what, Miss Lizzy, if you get it in your head to keep refusing every offer of marriage in this way, you will never get a husband at all! And I’m sure I don’t know who is going to support you when your father is dead. I won’t be able to keep you—and so I warn you! I am done with you from this very day. I told you in the library, you know, that I would never speak to you again, and you will find I am as good as my word. I have no pleasure in talking to disobedient children. Not that I have much pleasure in talking to anybody, really. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can’t have much desire for conversation. Nobody can understand what I suffer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied.
Her daughters listened in silence to this outburst, knowing that any attempt to reason with her or calm her down would only make her more irritated. She talked on, therefore, without interruption, until they were joined by Mr. Collins, who entered with a more formal air than usual. Seeing him, she said to the girls:
MRS. BENNET
Now, I insist upon it, that you all hold your tongues and let Mr. Collins and me have a little conversation together.
Elizabeth quietly slipped out of the room. Jane and Kitty followed, but Lydia stood her ground, determined to hear everything she could. Charlotte, detained first by the politeness of Mr. Collins, whose questions about her and her family were very detailed, and then by a little curiosity of her own, contented herself with walking to the window and pretending not to listen.
In a sorrowful voice, Mrs. Bennet began their planned conversation.
MRS. BENNET
Oh, Mr. Collins!
MR. COLLINS
My dear madam, let us be forever silent on this point. Far be it from me...
(Continuing in a voice that showed his displeasure)
...to be angry about your daughter's behavior. Resignation to unavoidable evils is the duty of us all. And it is the particular duty of a young man who has been as fortunate as I have been, with such an early promotion in life. And I trust I am resigned. Perhaps I am no less so from feeling some doubt about my own happiness if my fair cousin had honored me with her hand. For I have often observed that resignation is never so perfect as when the denied blessing begins to lose some of its value in our estimation.
You will not, I hope, consider me to be showing any disrespect to your family, my dear madam, by thus withdrawing my proposal for your daughter’s hand, without having paid you and Mr. Bennet the compliment of asking you to use your authority on my behalf. My conduct may, I fear, be questionable for having accepted my dismissal from your daughter’s lips instead of your own. But we are all prone to error. I have certainly meant well throughout this whole affair. My goal has been to secure a charming companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage of all your family. And if my manner has been in any way blameworthy, I hereby beg leave to apologize.
The drama of Mr. Collins’s proposal was now mostly over. All Elizabeth had to endure were the lingering uncomfortable feelings and the occasional bitter comment from her mother. As for the gentleman himself, his feelings were mainly expressed not through embarrassment or sadness or by trying to avoid her, but through a stiff formality and a resentful silence. He barely spoke to her. The attentive flattery he had been so aware of giving her was now transferred, for the rest of the day, to Miss Lucas, whose politeness in listening to him was a welcome relief to everyone, especially to her friend Elizabeth.
The next day brought no improvement in Mrs. Bennet’s bad mood or her "ill health." Mr. Collins was also in the same state of angry pride. Elizabeth had hoped that his resentment might cut his visit short, but his plans didn't seem to be affected by it at all. He had always planned to leave on Saturday, and to Saturday he still intended to stay.
After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to see if Mr. Wickham had returned and to lament his absence from the Netherfield ball. He joined them as they were entering the town and walked with them to their aunt’s house, where his regret and annoyance, and everyone else’s concern, were thoroughly discussed. To Elizabeth, however, he privately admitted that the "necessity" of his absence had been his own decision.
WICKHAM
I realized, as the time drew near, that it would be better for me not to see Mr. Darcy. To be in the same room, at the same party with him for so many hours, might be more than I could bear. And scenes might have occurred that would have been unpleasant for more than just myself.
She highly approved of his restraint. They had plenty of time for a full discussion of it and for all the polite compliments they gave each other, as Wickham and another officer walked back with them to Longbourn. During the walk, he paid particular attention to her. His walking them home was a double benefit: she felt the compliment it offered her personally, and it was a perfect opportunity to introduce him to her father and mother.
Soon after they returned, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet. It was from Netherfield and was opened immediately. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, high-quality paper, covered in a lady’s beautiful, flowing handwriting. Elizabeth saw her sister’s expression change as she read it and saw her focus intently on certain passages.
Jane quickly composed herself and, putting the letter away, tried to join in the general conversation with her usual cheerfulness. But Elizabeth felt an anxiety about the letter that drew her attention away from even Wickham. As soon as he and his companion had left, a glance from Jane invited her to follow her upstairs.
SCENE START
INT. JANE AND ELIZABETH'S ROOM - DAY
JANE takes out the letter.
JANE
This is from Caroline Bingley. What it says has surprised me a great deal. The whole party has left Netherfield by now and is on their way to London, with no intention of coming back. You should hear what she says.
She then read the first sentence aloud, which contained the information that they had just decided to follow their brother to the city immediately and planned to have dinner that day in Grosvenor Street, where Mr. Hurst had a house. The next part was this:
JANE
(Reading)
"I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire except your society, my dearest friend. But we will hope, at some future time, to enjoy many returns of that delightful friendship we have known. In the meanwhile, we may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and completely open correspondence. I am depending on you for that."
Elizabeth listened to these overly dramatic expressions with complete distrust. And though the suddenness of their departure surprised her, she saw nothing in it to be truly sad about. Their absence from Netherfield wouldn't necessarily prevent Mr. Bingley from being there. And as for the loss of their "society," she was sure that Jane would soon stop caring about it once she was enjoying his.
ELIZABETH
(After a short pause)
It’s unlucky that you won’t be able to see your friends before they leave the county. But may we not hope that the period of future happiness Miss Bingley is looking forward to might arrive sooner than she thinks? And that the delightful friendship you have known will be renewed with even greater satisfaction... as sisters? Mr. Bingley won’t be kept in London by them.
JANE
Caroline clearly says that none of the party will return to Hertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you.
(Reading)
"When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be finished in three or four days. But as we are certain it cannot be, and at the same time convinced that when Charles gets to the city he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have decided to follow him there, so that he may not be forced to spend his free hours in a comfortless hotel. Many of my acquaintances are already there for the winter. I wish I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of joining the crowd, but of that I despair. I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire will be full of the festivities that season usually brings, and that your admirers will be so numerous as to prevent your feeling the loss of the three of whom we shall deprive you."
(Looking up)
It’s clear from this that he is not coming back this winter.
ELIZABETH
It is only clear that Miss Bingley does not want him to.
JANE
Why would you think that? It must be his own decision. He is his own master. But you don’t know everything. I will read you the passage that particularly hurts me. I will have no secrets from you.
(Reading)
"Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and to tell you the truth, we are scarcely less eager to see her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has an equal in beauty, elegance, and accomplishments. And the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something even more interesting by the hope we dare to entertain of her one day being our sister. I do not know if I have ever mentioned my feelings on this subject to you before, but I will not leave the country without confiding in you, and I trust you will not think them unreasonable. My brother already admires her greatly. He will now have frequent opportunities to see her on the most intimate terms. Her relatives all wish for the match as much as his own do. And a sister’s biased opinion is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of winning any woman’s heart. With all these circumstances in favor of an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event that will secure the happiness of so many?"
(Looking at Elizabeth)
What do you think of that sentence, my dear Lizzy? Is it not clear enough? Does it not explicitly state that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister? That she is perfectly convinced of her brother’s indifference to me? And that if she suspects my feelings for him, she means—most kindly!—to warn me? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?
ELIZABETH
Yes, there can. For mine is totally different. Will you hear it?
JANE
Most willingly.
ELIZABETH
You shall have it in a few words. Miss Bingley sees that her brother is in love with you and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She is following him to the city in the hope of keeping him there, and she is trying to persuade you that he doesn’t care about you.
Jane shook her head.
ELIZABETH
Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me! No one who has ever seen you two together can doubt his affection. Miss Bingley, I’m sure, cannot. She is not such a fool. If she could have seen half as much love in Mr. Darcy for herself, she would have already ordered her wedding clothes! But the situation is this: we are not rich enough or grand enough for them. And she is all the more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother because she thinks that if there has been one inter-marriage, she might have less trouble arranging a second for herself. It’s a clever little scheme, I admit, and I daresay it would succeed if Miss de Bourgh were out of the way. But my dearest Jane, you cannot seriously imagine that just because Miss Bingley tells you her brother greatly admires Miss Darcy, he is any less aware of your own worth than when he said goodbye to you on Tuesday! Or that it will be in her power to persuade him that instead of being in love with you, he is very much in love with her friend!
JANE
If we thought the same of Miss Bingley, your explanation might make me feel quite at ease. But I know the foundation of your argument is unjust. Caroline is incapable of willfully deceiving anyone. And all that I can hope, in this case, is that she is deceived herself.
ELIZABETH
That’s right! You couldn’t have come up with a happier idea, since you won’t take comfort in mine. Believe she is deceived, by all means. You have now done your duty by her and must not fret any longer.
JANE
But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even in the best-case scenario, in accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry someone else?
ELIZABETH
You must decide for yourself. And if, after careful consideration, you find that the misery of upsetting his two sisters is greater than the happiness of being his wife, I advise you, by all means, to refuse him.
JANE
(Faintly smiling)
How can you talk so? You must know that, though I would be extremely sad about their disapproval, I could not hesitate.
ELIZABETH
I didn’t think you would. And that being the case, I cannot view your situation with much sympathy.
JANE
But if he doesn't return this winter, my choice will never be required. A thousand things can happen in six months.
Elizabeth treated the idea of his not returning with the utmost contempt. It seemed to her to be merely a product of Caroline’s selfish wishes, and she could not for a moment believe that those wishes, however openly or cleverly expressed, could influence a young man so completely independent of everyone.
She explained her feelings on the subject to her sister as forcefully as possible and soon had the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Jane’s personality was not one to despair, and she was gradually led to hope—though the self-doubt of affection sometimes overcame that hope—that Bingley would return to Netherfield and fulfill every wish of her heart.
They agreed that Mrs. Bennet should only be told of the family’s departure, without being alarmed about the gentleman’s behavior. But even this partial information gave her a great deal of concern. She mourned it as exceedingly unlucky that the ladies should happen to go away just as they were all getting so close. After lamenting for some time, however, she had the comfort of thinking that Mr. Bingley would be down again soon and would soon be having dinner at Longbourn. And the conclusion of it all was the comfortable declaration that, though he had only been invited for a simple family dinner, she would take care to have two full, elaborate courses.
SCENE END
The Bennets were having dinner with the Lucases that evening. Once again, for most of the day, Miss Lucas was kind enough to be the one to listen to Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth took a moment to thank her.
ELIZABETH
It keeps him in a good mood, and I am more grateful to you than I can possibly say.
Charlotte assured her friend it was her pleasure to be useful and that it more than made up for the small sacrifice of her time. This was a very kind thing to say, but Charlotte’s kindness went much further than Elizabeth could have ever imagined. Her true goal was nothing less than to protect her friend from any more of Mr. Collins’s proposals by redirecting them toward herself.
That was Miss Lucas’s plan. And things were looking so favorable that when they parted ways that night, she would have felt almost certain of success, if only he weren't leaving Hertfordshire so soon. But in this, she underestimated the fire and independence of his character. It led him to sneak out of Longbourn House the very next morning with admirable slyness and hurry over to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her feet.
He was anxious to avoid being seen by his cousins, convinced that if they saw him leave, they would immediately guess his intentions. He didn't want his attempt to be known until its success could be known as well. For though he felt almost sure of himself—and with good reason, as Charlotte had been reasonably encouraging—he was feeling a little less confident since the disastrous proposal on Wednesday.
His reception, however, was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas saw him from an upstairs window as he walked toward the house and immediately went out to "accidentally" meet him in the lane. But she had hardly dared to hope that so much love and passionate speaking awaited her there.
In as short a time as Mr. Collins’s long-winded speeches would allow, everything was settled between them to their mutual satisfaction. As they entered the house, he earnestly begged her to name the day that would make him the happiest of men. And though such a request had to be put off for the moment, the lady felt no desire to play games with his happiness. The natural stupidity he was blessed with would protect his courtship from having any of the charm that might make a woman wish for it to continue. And Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and selfless desire for a secure home, didn't care how soon that security was gained.
Sir William and Lady Lucas were quickly asked for their consent, and it was given with a most joyful enthusiasm. Mr. Collins’s current situation made him a very desirable match for their daughter, to whom they could give very little fortune. And his prospects of future wealth were excellent. Lady Lucas immediately began to calculate, with more interest than she had ever shown before, how many more years Mr. Bennet was likely to live. And Sir William gave it as his firm opinion that whenever Mr. Collins came into possession of the Longbourn estate, it would be highly appropriate for both him and his wife to make an appearance at the royal court.
In short, the whole family was properly overjoyed by the news. The younger girls began to hope they might be introduced to society a year or two sooner than they might have otherwise. And the boys were relieved of their fear that Charlotte would die an old maid.
Charlotte herself was reasonably calm. She had gotten what she wanted and now had time to think about it. Her reflections were, for the most part, satisfactory. Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither intelligent nor charming. His company was tiresome, and his affection for her had to be imaginary. But still, he would be her husband. Without thinking very highly of either men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her goal. It was the only honorable option for well-educated young women of small fortune. And however uncertain it was of providing happiness, it was their most pleasant protection from poverty. This protection she had now secured. And at the age of twenty-seven, without ever having been beautiful, she felt all the good luck of it.
The least pleasant part of the business was the surprise it was sure to cause Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued more than anyone else’s. Elizabeth would be shocked, and would probably blame her. And though Charlotte's decision was not to be shaken, her feelings would be hurt by such disapproval. She decided to be the one to give her the news herself. Therefore, she made Mr. Collins promise that when he returned to Longbourn for dinner, he would not drop any hint of what had happened in front of the family.
A promise of secrecy was, of course, very obediently given, but it wasn't easy to keep. The curiosity sparked by his long absence burst forth in such direct questions upon his return that it took some cleverness to avoid them. At the same time, he was exercising great self-control, as he was dying to announce his successful courtship.
Since he was to begin his journey too early the next morning to see any of the family, the goodbyes were said when the ladies went up to bed for the night. Mrs. Bennet, with great politeness and warmth, said how happy they would be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever his other commitments might allow him to visit.
MR. COLLINS
My dear madam, this invitation is particularly gratifying, because it is exactly what I have been hoping to receive! And you may be very certain that I will take you up on it as soon as possible.
They were all astonished. And Mr. Bennet, who by no means wished for such a speedy return, immediately said:
MR. BENNET
But is there not a danger of Lady Catherine’s disapproval here, my good sir? You had better neglect your relatives than run the risk of offending your patroness.
MR. COLLINS
My dear sir, I am particularly obliged to you for this friendly caution, and you may depend on my not taking such a significant step without Her Ladyship’s permission.
MR. BENNET
You cannot be too careful. Risk anything rather than her displeasure. And if you find it is likely to be aroused by your coming to us again—which I should think is exceedingly probable—stay quietly at home, and be assured that we will take no offense.
MR. COLLINS
Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly stirred by such affectionate concern! And depend upon it, you will speedily receive from me a letter of thanks for this, as well as for every other sign of your kindness during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins, though my absence may not be long enough to make it necessary, I will now take the liberty of wishing them health and happiness—not excluding my cousin Elizabeth.
With proper goodbyes, the ladies then left, all of them equally surprised to find that he was planning a quick return. Mrs. Bennet chose to believe it meant he was thinking of proposing to one of her younger girls, and Mary might have been persuaded to accept him. She rated his intelligence much higher than any of the others. There was a seriousness in his thoughts that often struck her, and though he was by no means as clever as she was, she thought that if he were encouraged to read and improve himself by her example, he might become a very agreeable companion.
But on the following morning, every hope of that kind was destroyed. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast and, in a private conversation with Elizabeth, told her what had happened the day before.
SCENE START
INT. LONGBOURN DRAWING ROOM - MORNING
ELIZABETH and CHARLOTTE are speaking privately.
The thought of Mr. Collins fancying himself in love with her friend had crossed Elizabeth’s mind once or twice in the last day or two. But that Charlotte could actually encourage him seemed almost as impossible as that she could encourage him herself. Her astonishment was so great that, at first, it overcame all sense of politeness. She couldn't help but cry out:
ELIZABETH
Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte—impossible!
The steady expression Miss Lucas had maintained while telling her story gave way to a moment of confusion at receiving such a direct rebuke. Though, as it was no more than she had expected, she soon regained her composure and calmly replied.
CHARLOTTE
Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? Do you think it’s incredible that Mr. Collins should be able to win any woman’s good opinion, just because he wasn’t lucky enough to succeed with you?
But Elizabeth had now collected herself. Making a strong effort, she was able to assure her, with reasonable firmness, that the prospect of them being related was very welcome to her and that she wished her all imaginable happiness.
CHARLOTTE
I see what you are feeling. You must be surprised—very much surprised—so soon after Mr. Collins was wanting to marry you. But when you have had time to think it all over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know. I never was. I ask only for a comfortable home. And considering Mr. Collins’s character, his connections, and his situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as good as most people can boast of when they get married.
Elizabeth quietly answered, “undoubtedly." And after an awkward pause, they returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte didn't stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard.
It was a long time before she could come to terms with the idea of such an unsuitable match. The strangeness of Mr. Collins making two marriage proposals in three days was nothing compared to his now being accepted. She had always felt that Charlotte’s view of marriage was not exactly like her own, but she could not have imagined it was possible that, when it came down to it, she would sacrifice every better feeling for the sake of worldly advantage.
Charlotte, the wife of Mr. Collins, was a most humiliating picture! And to the pain of a friend disgracing herself and sinking in her esteem was added the distressing certainty that it was impossible for that friend to be even reasonably happy in the life she had chosen.
SCENE END
Elizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters, thinking about what she had just heard and wondering if she was allowed to mention it, when Sir William Lucas himself appeared. He had been sent by his daughter to announce her engagement to the family.
With many compliments to them and a great deal of self-congratulation on the prospect of a connection between their two houses, he revealed the news—to an audience that was not just surprised, but completely in disbelief. Mrs. Bennet, with more persistence than politeness, insisted he must be entirely mistaken. And Lydia, who was always impulsive and often rude, loudly exclaimed:
LYDIA
Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Don’t you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry Lizzy?
Nothing less than the smooth politeness of a courtier could have handled such treatment without getting angry. But Sir William’s good breeding carried him through it all. And though he begged to be firm on the truth of his information, he listened to all their rudeness with the most patient courtesy.
Elizabeth, feeling it was her duty to rescue him from such an unpleasant situation, now stepped forward to confirm his story, mentioning that she already knew about it from Charlotte herself. She tried to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters with her own enthusiastic congratulations to Sir William, in which she was quickly joined by Jane. She made a variety of comments on the happiness that could be expected from the match, the excellent character of Mr. Collins, and the convenient distance of Hunsford from London.
Mrs. Bennet was, in fact, too stunned to say much while Sir William was there. But no sooner had he left than her feelings came pouring out. First, she insisted on disbelieving the whole thing. Second, she was very sure that Mr. Collins had been tricked. Third, she was certain they would never be happy together. And fourth, that the engagement might be broken off.
Two conclusions, however, were clearly drawn from the whole affair: one, that Elizabeth was the real cause of all the trouble, and the other, that she herself had been cruelly used by all of them. And she focused on these two points for the rest of the day. Nothing could console her, and nothing could calm her down.
And her resentment didn’t wear out with the day. A week went by before she could look at Elizabeth without scolding her. A month passed before she could speak to Sir William or Lady Lucas without being rude. And many months were gone before she could bring herself to forgive their daughter at all.
Mr. Bennet’s emotions were much calmer on the occasion. And what he did feel, he declared to be of a most agreeable sort. It pleased him, he said, to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had always thought to be reasonably sensible, was just as foolish as his wife, and even more foolish than his own daughter!
Jane admitted she was a little surprised at the match, but she said less about her own shock and more about her sincere wish for their happiness. And Elizabeth couldn’t persuade her to believe it was an improbable match. Kitty and Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a clergyman. It affected them in no other way than as a new piece of gossip to spread around Meryton.
Lady Lucas could not help but feel a sense of triumph at being able to throw Mrs. Bennet’s own words back at her about the comfort of having a daughter well-married. She called at Longbourn more often than usual to say how happy she was, though Mrs. Bennet’s sour looks and mean-spirited remarks might have been enough to drive happiness away.
Between Elizabeth and Charlotte, there was a tension that kept them both silent on the subject. And Elizabeth was convinced that no real trust could ever exist between them again. Her disappointment in Charlotte made her turn with even fonder affection to her sister, of whose good character and delicacy she was sure her opinion could never be shaken. And for whose happiness she grew more anxious every day, as Bingley had now been gone for a week, and there was no news of his return.
Jane had sent Caroline an early reply to her letter and was counting the days until she could reasonably hope to hear from her again. The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Collins arrived on Tuesday, addressed to their father, and written with all the solemn gratitude that a year-long stay with the family might have inspired. After clearing his conscience on that matter, he went on to inform them, with many emotional expressions, of his happiness in having won the affection of their charming neighbor, Miss Lucas. He then explained that it was only with the goal of enjoying her company that he had been so quick to accept their kind wish of seeing him again at Longbourn, where he hoped to be able to return in two weeks, on Monday. Lady Catherine, he added, so heartily approved of his marriage that she wished it to take place as soon as possible, which he was sure would be an unanswerable argument for his "amiable Charlotte" to name an early day for making him the happiest of men.
Mr. Collins’s return to Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of pleasure for Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was just as inclined to complain about it as her husband was. It was very strange that he should come to Longbourn instead of to Lucas Lodge. It was also very inconvenient and exceedingly troublesome. She hated having visitors in the house while her health was so poor, and lovers were the most disagreeable people of all.
Such were the gentle complaints of Mrs. Bennet, and they only gave way to the greater distress of Mr. Bingley’s continued absence.
Neither Jane nor Elizabeth was comfortable on this subject. Day after day passed without bringing any other news of him than the rumor which soon spread through Meryton that he would not be returning to Netherfield at all that winter—a rumor that highly infuriated Mrs. Bennet, and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous lie.
Even Elizabeth began to fear—not that Bingley was indifferent, but that his sisters would be successful in keeping him away. As unwilling as she was to admit an idea so destructive to Jane’s happiness and so dishonorable to her lover’s commitment, she couldn’t stop it from frequently crossing her mind. The combined efforts of his two unfeeling sisters and his overbearing friend, helped by the attractions of Miss Darcy and the amusements of London, might be too much, she feared, for the strength of his affection.
As for Jane, her anxiety during this period of uncertainty was, of course, more painful than Elizabeth’s. But whatever she felt, she was determined to hide it. And so, between herself and Elizabeth, the subject was never mentioned. But since no such delicacy held her mother back, an hour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Bingley, express her impatience for his arrival, or even demand that Jane confess that if he did not come back, she would consider herself very badly treated. It took all of Jane’s steady gentleness to bear these attacks with reasonable calm.
Mr. Collins returned most punctually in two weeks, on Monday, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite as gracious as it had been on his first visit. He was too happy, however, to need much attention. And luckily for the others, the business of courtship relieved them of a great deal of his company. He spent the majority of every day at Lucas Lodge and sometimes returned to Longbourn only in time to make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed.
Mrs. Bennet was truly in a most pitiable state. The very mention of anything concerning the match threw her into an agony of a bad mood, and wherever she went, she was sure to hear it talked about. The sight of Miss Lucas was hateful to her. As her future successor in that house, she regarded her with a jealous loathing. Whenever Charlotte came to visit, she assumed she was eagerly anticipating the hour she would take possession. And whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, she was convinced they were talking about the Longbourn estate and planning to turn her and her daughters out of the house as soon as Mr. Bennet was dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her husband.
MRS. BENNET
Indeed, Mr. Bennet, it is very hard to think that Charlotte Lucas will one day be the mistress of this house! That I will be forced to make way for her and live to see her take my place in it!
MR. BENNET
My dear, do not give in to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.
This was not very consoling to Mrs. Bennet, and so, instead of making any reply, she went on as before.
MRS. BENNET
I cannot bear to think that they will have all this estate! If it was not for the entail, I wouldn’t mind it.
MR. BENNET
What would you not mind?
MRS. BENNET
I wouldn’t mind anything at all!
MR. BENNET
Let us be thankful that you are saved from a state of such complete numbness.
MRS. BENNET
I can never be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for anything about the entail! How anyone could have the conscience to entail away an estate from one’s own daughters, I cannot understand! And all for the sake of Mr. Collins, too! Why should he have it more than anyone else?
MR. BENNET
I leave it to you to decide.
Miss Bingley’s letter arrived and put an end to all doubt. The very first sentence confirmed that they were all settled in London for the winter. It concluded with her brother’s regret that he hadn't had time to say goodbye to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left.
Hope was over. Completely and utterly over. And when Jane could bring herself to read the rest of the letter, she found little comfort, except for the writer’s professed affection.
The majority of the letter was filled with praise for Miss Darcy. Her many attractions were described in detail once again. Caroline boasted joyfully of their growing friendship and dared to predict that the wishes she had mentioned in her last letter would soon come true. She also wrote with great pleasure that her brother was now a guest in Mr. Darcy’s house and mentioned with excitement some of Darcy's plans for new furniture.
Elizabeth, to whom Jane very quickly shared the main points of all this, heard it in silent fury. Her heart was torn between concern for her sister and rage against everyone else. She didn't believe a word of Caroline’s claim that her brother was interested in Miss Darcy. She was as certain as ever that he was truly fond of Jane. And as much as she had always been inclined to like him, she couldn't think of him now without anger, almost without contempt. His easy-going nature, his lack of proper resolve, had now made him a slave to his scheming friends and led him to sacrifice his own happiness for their selfish whims.
If his own happiness had been the only thing at stake, he could have been allowed to play with it however he liked. But her sister’s happiness was involved, too, as she was sure he must have known. It was a subject, in short, that she would dwell on for a long time, and one that would offer no solutions. She could think of nothing else. And yet, whether Bingley’s affection had truly faded or had just been suppressed by his friends’ meddling; whether he had been aware of Jane’s feelings for him, or if it had completely escaped his notice—whichever was the case, though her opinion of him would be greatly affected by the difference, her sister’s situation remained the same: her peace was equally shattered.
A day or two passed before Jane had the courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth. At last, after Mrs. Bennet had left them alone after a longer-than-usual rant about Netherfield and its master, she couldn't help but say:
SCENE START
INT. LONGBOURN DRAWING ROOM - DAY
JANE and ELIZABETH are sitting together.
JANE
Oh, I wish my dear mother had more control over herself! She can have no idea of the pain she gives me with her constant talk of him. But I will not complain. It cannot last long. He will be forgotten, and we will all be as we were before.
Elizabeth looks at her sister with a disbelieving concern but says nothing.
JANE
(Slightly blushing)
You doubt me. Indeed, you have no reason to. He may live in my memory as the most charming man I have ever met, but that is all. I have nothing to hope for or to fear, and nothing to blame him for. Thank God I do not have that pain. A little time, therefore—I will certainly try to get over it—
(With a stronger voice)
I have this comfort, at least: that it was no more than a flight of fancy on my part, and that it has done no harm to anyone but myself.
ELIZABETH
My dear Jane, you are too good! Your sweetness and your selflessness are truly angelic. I don’t know what to say to you. I feel as if I have never done you justice or loved you as you deserve.
Miss Bennet eagerly denied having any extraordinary merit and threw the praise back on her sister’s warm affection.
ELIZABETH
No, this isn't fair! You want to think everyone in the world is respectable and you get hurt if I speak ill of anyone. I only want to think you are perfect, and you argue against it. Don’t be afraid of me going to extremes, of treading on your privilege of universal goodwill. You don't need to. There are few people whom I truly love, and even fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more dissatisfied I am with it. And every day confirms my belief in the inconsistency of all human characters, and of how little you can trust the appearance of either virtue or sense. I’ve seen two examples of it lately. One I won't mention. The other is Charlotte’s marriage. It’s unaccountable! From every angle, it is unaccountable!
JANE
My dear Lizzy, do not give in to such feelings. They will ruin your happiness. You don't make enough allowance for differences in situation and personality. Consider Mr. Collins’s respectability and Charlotte’s practical, steady character. Remember that she is one of a large family, and that in terms of fortune, it is a very good match. And be ready to believe, for everyone’s sake, that she may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin.
ELIZABETH
To please you, I would try to believe almost anything. But no one else could benefit from such a belief. If I were convinced that Charlotte had any real regard for him, I would only think worse of her judgment than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man! You know he is, as well as I do. And you must feel, as well as I do, that the woman who marries him cannot have a proper way of thinking. You will not defend her, even though it is Charlotte Lucas! You will not, for the sake of one person, change the meaning of principle and integrity, or try to persuade yourself or me that selfishness is prudence and that ignoring danger is a recipe for happiness!
JANE
I must think your language is too strong in speaking of both of them. And I hope you will be convinced of it by seeing them happy together. But enough of this. You hinted at something else. You mentioned two instances. I cannot misunderstand you… but I beg you, dear Lizzy, do not pain me by thinking that person is to blame, and by saying your opinion of him has sunk. We must not be so quick to imagine we have been intentionally hurt. We must not expect a lively young man to be always so guarded and careful. It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women imagine admiration means more than it does.
ELIZABETH
And men take care that they do.
JANE
If it is done on purpose, they cannot be justified. But I have no idea that there is as much scheming in the world as some people imagine.
ELIZABETH
I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley’s conduct to a scheme. But without planning to do wrong or to make others unhappy, there can be error, and there can be misery. Thoughtlessness, lack of attention to other people’s feelings, and lack of resolve will do the job just as well.
JANE
And do you blame him for either of those?
ELIZABETH
Yes, for the last one. But if I go on, I will displease you by saying what I think of people you respect. Stop me while you can.
JANE
You persist, then, in believing his sisters influenced him?
ELIZABETH
Yes, along with his friend.
JANE
I cannot believe it. Why would they try to influence him? They can only wish for his happiness, and if he is attached to me, no other woman can make him happy.
ELIZABETH
Your first point is false. They may wish for many things besides his happiness. They may wish for his increase in wealth and status. They may wish for him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money, great connections, and pride.
JANE
Beyond a doubt, they do wish him to marry Miss Darcy. But this may be from better motives than you are supposing. They have known her much longer than they have known me. It's no wonder if they love her better. But whatever their own wishes may be, it is very unlikely they would have opposed their brother’s. What sister would think she had the right to do that, unless there were something very objectionable? If they believed he was attached to me, they would not try to separate us. If he were so attached, they could not succeed. By assuming such an affection, you make everyone out to be acting unnaturally and wrongly, and you make me most unhappy. Do not distress me with the idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken—or at least, it is a slight mistake, it is nothing in comparison to what I would feel in thinking badly of him or his sisters. Let me see it in the best light, in the light in which it can be understood.
Elizabeth could not argue with such a wish. And from this time on, Mr. Bingley’s name was barely ever mentioned between them.
Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and complain about his not returning. And though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not explain it clearly, there seemed little chance of her ever seeing it with less confusion. Her daughter tried to convince her of what she did not believe herself: that his attentions to Jane had been merely the effect of a common and temporary liking, which ended when he saw her no more. But though the probability of this 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.
MR. BENNET
(To Elizabeth, one day)
So, Lizzy, your sister has been 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 friends. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be outdone by Jane for long. Now is your time. There are enough officers in Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the county. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow and would jilt you respectably.
ELIZABETH
Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane’s good fortune.
MR. BENNET
True. But it is a comfort to think that, whatever of that kind may happen to you, you have an affectionate mother who will always make the most of it.
Mr. Wickham’s company was a great help in lifting the gloom which the recent unfortunate events had cast over many in the Longbourn family. They saw him often, and to his other good qualities was now added that of a general openness. The whole story that Elizabeth had already heard—his claims on Mr. Darcy and all that he had suffered from him—was now openly known and publicly discussed. And everyone was pleased to think how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy, even before they had known anything about the matter.
Miss Bennet was the only person who could suppose there might be any mitigating circumstances in the case that the society of Hertfordshire was unaware of. Her mild and steady open-mindedness always pleaded for allowances and urged the possibility of mistakes. But by everyone else, Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.
SCENE END
After a week spent in declarations of love and plans for future happiness, Mr. Collins was called away from his "amiable Charlotte" by the arrival of Saturday. The pain of their separation, however, was lessened for him by the preparations he had to make for the reception of his bride. He had every reason to hope that, shortly after his next return to Hertfordshire, the day would be set that would make him the happiest of men. He took his leave of his relatives at Longbourn with as much seriousness as before, wished his "fair cousins" health and happiness once again, and promised their father another letter of thanks.
The following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of welcoming her brother and his wife, who came, as they always did, to spend Christmas at Longbourn. Mr. Gardiner was an intelligent, gentlemanly man, far superior to his sister, in both his nature and his education. The Netherfield ladies would have had a hard time believing that a man who lived by trade, and within sight of his own warehouses, could be so well-bred and charming. Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips, was a kind, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favorite of her Longbourn nieces. Between the two eldest and herself, there was a particularly close bond. They had often stayed with her in London.
The first order of business for Mrs. Gardiner upon her arrival was to hand out her presents and describe the newest fashions. When that was done, she had a less active role to play. It was her turn to listen. Mrs. Bennet had many grievances to share and much to complain about. They had all been very badly treated since she had last seen her sister. Two of her girls had been on the verge of marriage, and in the end, it had all come to nothing.
MRS. BENNET
I don’t blame Jane, for Jane would have gotten Mr. Bingley if she could. But Lizzy! Oh, sister! It is very hard to think that she could have been Mr. Collins’s wife by now, if it hadn’t been for her own stubbornness! He made her an offer in this very room, and she refused him! The consequence is that Lady Lucas will have a daughter married before I do, and the Longbourn estate is just as entangled as ever. The Lucases are very cunning people, indeed, sister. They are all about what they can get. I’m sorry to say it of them, but it’s true. It makes me very nervous and unwell to be thwarted like this in my own family and to have neighbors who think of themselves before anyone else. However, your coming just at this time is the greatest of comforts, and I am very glad to hear what you tell us about the new long sleeves.
Mrs. Gardiner, who had already been told most of this news in the letters she had exchanged with Jane and Elizabeth, gave her sister a brief reply. Out of compassion for her nieces, she changed the subject.
Later, when she was alone with Elizabeth, she spoke more on the matter.
SCENE START
INT. LONGBOURN BEDROOM - NIGHT
MRS. GARDINER and ELIZABETH are talking privately.
MRS. GARDINER
It seems like it would have been a desirable match for Jane. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But these things happen so often! A young man like the Mr. Bingley you describe so easily falls in love with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when an accident separates them, he just as easily forgets her. These sorts of fickle attachments are very common.
ELIZABETH
An excellent consolation, in its way. But it won’t do for us. We are not suffering because of an "accident." It doesn’t often happen that the meddling of friends will persuade a young man of independent fortune to think no more of a girl he was "violently in love with" only a few days before.
MRS. GARDINER
But that expression, ‘violently in love,’ is so overused, so doubtful, so vague, that it gives me very little idea of what you mean. It is just as often applied to feelings that arise from a half-hour’s acquaintance as it is to a real, strong attachment. Pray, how "violent" was Mr. Bingley’s love?
ELIZABETH
I never saw a more promising attraction. He was becoming quite inattentive to other people and was completely engrossed by her. Every time they met, it was more obvious and remarkable. At his own ball, he offended two or three young ladies by not asking them to dance, and I spoke to him twice myself without getting an answer. Could there be finer symptoms? Is not general rudeness the very essence of love?
MRS. GARDINER
Oh, yes! Of the kind of love which I suppose he felt. Poor Jane! I am sorry for her, because with her personality, she may not get over it immediately. It had better have happened to you, Lizzy; you would have laughed yourself out of it sooner. But do you think she could be persuaded to go back with us? A change of scenery might do her good—and perhaps a little break from home would be as useful as anything.
Elizabeth was extremely pleased with this proposal and was sure her sister would readily agree.
MRS. GARDINER
I hope that no thoughts of this young man will influence her decision. We live in such a different part of the city, all our social connections are so different, and, as you well know, we go out so little, that it is very unlikely they would meet at all—unless he actually comes to see her.
ELIZABETH
And that is quite impossible. For he is now in the custody of his friend, and Mr. Darcy would no more allow him to call on Jane in that part of London! My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr. Darcy may have, perhaps, heard of such a place as Gracechurch Street, but he would hardly think a month’s worth of scrubbing would be enough to cleanse him from its impurities if he were to ever set foot in it. And depend upon it, Mr. Bingley never stirs without him.
MRS. GARDINER
So much the better. I hope they will not meet at all. But doesn’t Jane correspond with his sister? She won't be able to help but visit.
ELIZABETH
She will drop the acquaintance entirely.
But in spite of the certainty with which Elizabeth pretended to speak on this point, as well as the even more interesting one of Bingley being kept from seeing Jane, she felt a concern on the subject which convinced her, on reflection, that she did not consider it entirely hopeless. It was possible, and sometimes she thought it probable, that his affection might be rekindled and that the influence of his friends might be successfully fought by the more natural influence of Jane’s attractions.
Miss Bennet accepted her aunt’s invitation with pleasure. And the Bingleys were in her thoughts only in that she hoped, since Caroline didn't live in the same house as her brother, she might occasionally be able to spend a morning with her without any danger of seeing him.
The Gardiners stayed a week at Longbourn. And what with the Philipses, the Lucases, and the officers, there was not a day without some social engagement. Mrs. Bennet had so carefully planned for the entertainment of her brother and sister that they did not once sit down to a simple family dinner. When the gathering was at their own home, some of the officers were always a part of it, and Mr. Wickham was sure to be one of them. On these occasions, Mrs. Gardiner, made suspicious by Elizabeth’s warm praise of him, watched them both closely. Without thinking, from what she saw, that they were very seriously in love, their preference for each other was plain enough to make her a little uneasy. She resolved to speak to Elizabeth on the subject before she left Hertfordshire and to point out the foolishness of encouraging such an attachment.
For Mrs. Gardiner, Wickham had one way of providing pleasure that was unconnected with his general charms. About ten or a dozen years ago, before her marriage, she had spent a considerable amount of time in the very same part of Derbyshire where he was from. They had, therefore, many acquaintances in common. And though Wickham had been there very little since the death of Darcy’s father, five years before, he was still able to give her fresher news of her former friends than she had been able to get otherwise.
Mrs. Gardiner had seen Pemberley and knew the late Mr. Darcy by reputation very well. Here, consequently, was an endless subject of conversation. In comparing her memory of Pemberley with the detailed description Wickham could give, and in giving her own tribute of praise to the character of its late owner, she was delighting both him and herself. Upon being told of the present Mr. Darcy’s treatment of him, she tried to remember something of that gentleman’s supposed personality when he was just a boy that might fit with it. And she was confident, at last, that she remembered having heard Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy spoken of in the past as a very proud and ill-natured boy.
SCENE END
Mrs. Gardiner’s warning to Elizabeth was delivered promptly and kindly, the very first chance she had to speak to her alone. After honestly telling her what she thought, she continued:
SCENE START
INT. LONGBOURN BEDROOM - DAY
MRS. GARDINER and ELIZABETH are speaking privately.
MRS. GARDINER
You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love simply because you are warned against it. And therefore, I am not afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I want you to be on your guard. Do not get yourself involved, or try to involve him, in an affection that the lack of fortune would make so very unwise. I have nothing to say against him. He is a most interesting young man, and if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is—you must not let your imagination run away with you. You have common sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on your resolve and your good judgment, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father.
ELIZABETH
My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed.
MRS. GARDINER
Yes, and I hope to get you to be serious as well.
ELIZABETH
Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He will not be in love with me, if I can help it.
MRS. GARDINER
Elizabeth, you are not being serious now.
ELIZABETH
I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present, I am not in love with Mr. Wickham. No, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I have ever seen. And if he becomes really attached to me—I believe it will be better that he should not. I see the foolishness of it. Oh, that abominable Mr. Darcy! My father’s opinion of me does me the greatest honor, and I would be miserable to lose it. My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I would be very sorry to be the cause of making any of you unhappy. But since we see every day that where there is affection, young people are seldom held back by a lack of money from getting engaged, how can I promise to be wiser than so many of my fellow human beings if I am tempted? Or how am I even to know that it would be wiser to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe I am his first choice. When I am in his company, I will not be wishing for anything more. In short, I will do my best.
MRS. GARDINER
Perhaps it will be just as well if you discourage his coming here so very often. At least you should not remind your mother to invite him.
ELIZABETH
(With a knowing smile)
As I did the other day. Very true. It will be wise of me to stop doing that. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is on your account that he has been invited so frequently this week. You know my mother’s ideas about the necessity of constant company for her friends. But really, and upon my honor, I will try to do what I think is wisest. And now I hope you are satisfied.
Her aunt assured her that she was. And Elizabeth, after thanking her for the kindness of her advice, they parted—a wonderful example of advice being given on such a topic without causing any resentment.
Mr. Collins returned to Hertfordshire soon after the Gardiners and Jane had left. But, as he was staying with the Lucases, his arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now fast approaching, and she was, at last, so resigned to it as to think it inevitable. She even repeatedly said, in a bitter tone, that she "wished they might be happy."
Thursday was to be the wedding day. On Wednesday, Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit. When she rose to leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother’s ungracious and reluctant good wishes and sincerely moved herself, walked with her out of the room. As they went downstairs together, Charlotte said:
CHARLOTTE
I will be depending on hearing from you very often, Eliza.
ELIZABETH
That you certainly will.
CHARLOTTE
And I have another favor to ask. Will you come and see me?
ELIZABETH
We will see each other often, I hope, in Hertfordshire.
CHARLOTTE
I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, that you will come to Hunsford.
Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the visit.
CHARLOTTE
My father and Maria are coming to visit me in March, and I hope you will agree to be part of the party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome to me as either of them.
The wedding took place. The bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from the church door, and everyone had as much to say and to hear on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend, and their correspondence was as regular and as frequent as it had ever been. That it should be equally open and honest was impossible. Elizabeth could never write to her without feeling that all the comfort of their intimacy was over. And though she was determined not to slacken as a correspondent, it was for the sake of what had been, rather than what was.
Charlotte’s first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness. There was a natural curiosity to know how she would speak of her new home, how she would like Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare to declare herself to be. Though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte expressed herself on every point exactly as she might have expected. She wrote cheerfully, seemed to be surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing that she could not praise. The house, the furniture, the neighborhood, and the roads were all to her liking, and Lady Catherine’s behavior was most friendly and obliging. It was Mr. Collins’s picture of Hunsford and Rosings, rationally softened. And Elizabeth realized that she would have to wait for her own visit there to know the rest.
Jane had already written a few lines to her sister to announce their safe arrival in London. When she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped she would be able to say something about the Bingleys.
Her impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience usually is. Jane had been in the city for a week without either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She explained it, however, by guessing that her last letter to her friend from Longbourn had been lost in the mail by some accident.
JANE
(In her letter)
"My aunt is going to that part of town tomorrow, and I will take the opportunity to call on Grosvenor Street."
She wrote again after the visit was paid and she had seen Miss Bingley.
JANE
(In her letter)
"I did not think Caroline was in good spirits, but she was very glad to see me and scolded me for not giving her any notice of my coming to London. I was right, therefore; my last letter had never reached her. I asked after their brother, of course. He was well, but so busy with Mr. Darcy that they hardly ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected for dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I daresay I will see them here soon."
Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It convinced her that only an accident could reveal to Mr. Bingley that her sister was in town.
Four weeks passed, and Jane saw nothing of him. She tried to persuade herself that she didn't regret it, but she could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley’s inattention. After waiting at home every morning for two weeks and inventing a fresh excuse for her every evening, the visitor did at last appear. But the shortness of her stay and, even more, the change in her manner, would not allow Jane to deceive herself any longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her sister will prove what she felt:
JANE
(In her letter)
"My dearest Lizzy will, I am sure, be incapable of gloating in her better judgment, at my expense, when I confess that I 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 stubborn if I still say that, considering what her behavior was, my confidence was as natural as your suspicion. I do not at all understand her reason for wanting to be so close with me. But if the same circumstances were to happen again, I am sure I would be deceived again. Caroline did not return my visit until yesterday, and not a note, not a line, did I receive in the meantime. When she did come, it was very clear that she took no pleasure in it. She made a slight, formal apology for not calling before, said not a word of wanting to see me again, and was, in every respect, so changed that when she left, I was perfectly determined to continue the acquaintance no longer.
I pity her, though I cannot help blaming her. She was very wrong to single me out as she did. I can safely say that every move toward friendship began on her side. But I pity her, because she must feel that she has been acting wrongly, and because I am very sure that her anxiety for her brother is the cause of it. I need not explain myself further. And though we know this anxiety to be quite needless, yet if she feels it, it will easily explain her behavior to me. And as deservedly dear as he is to his sister, whatever anxiety she may feel on his behalf is natural and understandable. I cannot help but wonder, however, at her having any such fears now, because if he had cared about me at all, we must have met long, long ago. He knows I am 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 would be almost tempted to say that there is a strong appearance of duplicity in all this.
I will try to banish every painful thought and think only of what will make me happy—your affection and the unwavering 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 news from our friends at Hunsford. Please go to see them, with Sir William and Maria. I am sure you will be very comfortable there.
Yours, etc."
This letter gave Elizabeth some pain. But her spirits returned as she considered that Jane would no longer be fooled, by the sister at least. All hope from the brother was now absolutely over. She would not even wish for any renewal of his attentions. Her opinion of his character sank with every review of it. And as a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane, she seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy’s sister, as, by Wickham’s account, she would make him thoroughly regret what he had thrown away.
Mrs. Gardiner, around this time, reminded Elizabeth of her promise concerning that gentleman and asked for an update. And Elizabeth had news to send that would rather please her aunt than herself. His apparent preference for her had faded, his attentions were over, and he was now the admirer of someone else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all, but she could see it and write about it without any significant pain. Her heart had been only slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing that she would have been his only choice, if fortune had permitted it. The sudden inheritance of ten thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the young lady to whom he was now making himself agreeable. But Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in this case than in Charlotte’s, did not argue with him for his wish for financial independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more natural. And as long as she could suppose that it cost him a few struggles to give her up, she was ready to see it as a wise and desirable step for both of them and could very sincerely wish him happy.
All this was admitted to Mrs. Gardiner. And after telling her the circumstances, she went on:
ELIZABETH
(In her letter)
"I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love. For if I had really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I would at present detest his very name and wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only friendly toward him, they are even impartial toward Miss King. I cannot find that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think she is a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has been effective. And though I would certainly be a more interesting object to all my acquaintances if I were distractedly in love with him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative insignificance. Importance can sometimes be bought too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection much more to heart than I do. They are young in the ways of the world and not yet open to the humiliating realization that handsome young men must have something to live on, just as well as the plain ones."
SCENE END
With no greater events than these happening in the Longbourn family, and otherwise only broken up by walks to Meryton that were sometimes muddy and sometimes cold, January and February passed away. March was to take Elizabeth to Hunsford. At first, she hadn't thought very seriously about going, but she soon realized that Charlotte was counting on the plan. Gradually, she began to look forward to it with greater pleasure and certainty.
Being apart had increased her desire to see Charlotte again and had lessened her disgust for Mr. Collins. There was something new and exciting in the idea. And since, with such a mother and such uninteresting sisters, home could not be perfect, a little change was welcome for its own sake. The journey would also give her a chance to see Jane. In short, as the time drew near, she would have been very sorry for any delay.
Everything, however, went smoothly and was finally arranged according to Charlotte’s original idea. She was to go with Sir William and his second daughter. The added bonus of spending a night in London was included in time, and the plan became as perfect as a plan could be.
The only pain was in leaving her father, who would certainly miss her. When it came down to it, he disliked her going so much that he told her to write to him and almost promised to answer her letter.
The farewell between her and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly—on his side, even more so. His current romantic pursuit couldn't make him forget that Elizabeth had been the first to spark and to deserve his attention, the first to listen and to sympathize, the first to be admired. In the way he said goodbye—wishing her every happiness, reminding her of what to expect in Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and trusting that their opinions of her, and of everyone, would always match—there was a concern, an interest, which she felt must always attach her to him with a most sincere affection. She parted from him convinced that, whether he was married or single, he must always be her model of a charming and pleasing man.
Her traveling companions the next day were not the kind to make her think him any less agreeable. Sir William Lucas and his daughter Maria, a good-humored girl but as empty-headed as her father, had nothing to say that was worth hearing. Elizabeth listened to them with about as much delight as she would to the rattling of the carriage. She loved absurdities, but she had known Sir William’s for too long. He could tell her nothing new of the wonders of his presentation at court and his knighthood, and his polite courtesies were as worn out as his stories.
It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began so early that they were in Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drove up to Mr. Gardiner’s door, Jane was at a drawing-room window, watching for their arrival. When they entered the hallway, she was there to welcome them. Elizabeth, looking intently at her face, was pleased to see it as healthy and lovely as ever. On the stairs were a troop of little boys and girls, whose eagerness to see their cousin wouldn't allow them to wait in the drawing-room, and whose shyness, since they hadn't seen her for a year, prevented them from coming any lower.
All was joy and kindness. The day passed most pleasantly. The morning was spent in bustling around and shopping, and the evening at one of the theaters.
Elizabeth managed to sit by her aunt at the theater. Their first topic of conversation was her sister, and she was more grieved than surprised to hear, in reply to her detailed questions, that though Jane always struggled to keep her spirits up, there were periods of sadness. It was reasonable, however, to hope that they wouldn't last long. Mrs. Gardiner also gave her the details of Miss Bingley’s visit to Gracechurch Street and repeated conversations that had happened at different times between Jane and herself, which proved that Jane had, from her heart, given up the friendship.
Mrs. Gardiner then teased her niece about Wickham’s desertion and complimented her on bearing it so well.
SCENE START
INT. THEATER - NIGHT
MRS. GARDINER and ELIZABETH are talking during a performance.
MRS. GARDINER
But, my dear Elizabeth, what sort of girl is this Miss King? I would be sorry to think our friend is a mercenary.
ELIZABETH
Pray, my dear aunt, what is the difference in matters of marriage between a mercenary motive and a prudent one? Where does good sense end and greed begin? Last Christmas, you were afraid of him marrying me because it would be unwise. And now, because he is trying to get a girl with only ten thousand pounds, you want to find out that he is a mercenary.
MRS. GARDINER
If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I will know what to think.
ELIZABETH
She is a very good kind of girl, I believe. I know no harm of her.
MRS. GARDINER
But he paid her no attention at all until her grandfather’s death made her the mistress of this fortune?
ELIZABETH
No. Why should he? If it wasn't acceptable for him to win my affections because I had no money, what reason could there be for him to make love to a girl he didn't care about and who was equally poor?
MRS. GARDINER
But there seems to be a certain lack of taste in directing his attentions toward her so soon after this event.
ELIZABETH
A man in difficult circumstances doesn't have time for all the elegant proprieties that other people can observe. If she doesn't object to it, why should we?
MRS. GARDINER
Her not objecting doesn't justify him. It only shows that she is lacking in something herself—either sense or feeling.
ELIZABETH
Well, have it as you choose. He will be a mercenary, and she will be foolish.
MRS. GARDINER
No, Lizzy, that is not what I choose. I would be sorry, you know, to think badly of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.
ELIZABETH
Oh, if that is all, I have a very poor opinion of young men who live in Derbyshire. And their intimate friends who live in Hertfordshire are not much better. I am sick of them all! Thank heaven, I am going tomorrow where I will find a man who has not one agreeable quality, who has neither manners nor sense to recommend him. Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all.
MRS. GARDINER
Take care, Lizzy. That speech sounds strongly of disappointment.
Before they were separated by the end of the play, she had the unexpected happiness of an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt on a pleasure tour they were planning to take in the summer.
MRS. GARDINER
We haven't quite decided how far we will go, but perhaps to the Lakes.
No plan could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful.
ELIZABETH
(Ecstatically)
My dear, dear aunt! What delight! What happiness! You give me new life and energy! Goodbye to disappointment and sadness! What are men compared to rocks and mountains? Oh, what hours of joy we will spend! And when we do return, it will not be like other travelers, without being able to give one accurate idea of anything. We will know where we have gone—we will remember what we have seen. Lakes, mountains, and rivers will not be jumbled together in our imaginations. Nor, when we try to describe a particular scene, will we begin arguing about its relative location. Let our first travel stories be less unbearable than those of the average traveler!
SCENE END
Every sight on the next day’s journey was new and interesting to Elizabeth, and her spirits were in a state of pure enjoyment. She had seen her sister looking so well that all her fears for her health were gone, and the thought of her upcoming northern tour was a constant source of delight.
When they left the main road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was searching for the parsonage, and every turn in the road was expected to bring it into view. The fence of Rosings Park bordered them on one side. Elizabeth smiled at the memory of all she had heard about its inhabitants.
At last, the parsonage was in sight. The garden sloping down to the road, the house standing in it, the green fence, and the laurel hedge—everything announced they were arriving. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate that led by a short gravel path to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole party. In a moment, they were all out of the carriage, overjoyed at the sight of each other. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more glad she had come when she found herself so warmly received.
She saw instantly that her cousin’s manners had not been changed by his marriage. His formal politeness was exactly as it had been. He kept her for several minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his questions about all her family. They were then, with no other delay than his pointing out the tidiness of the entrance, taken into the house. As soon as they were in the parlor, he welcomed them a second time, with a showy formality, to his "humble home" and promptly repeated all of his wife’s offers of refreshments.
Elizabeth had been prepared to see him in all his glory. She couldn’t help but imagine that in showing off the good proportions of the room, its view, and its furniture, he was speaking particularly to her, as if he wanted to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But though everything seemed neat and comfortable, she wasn't able to please him with any sigh of regret. Instead, she looked with wonder at her friend, that she could have such a cheerful attitude with such a companion.
Whenever Mr. Collins said something that his wife might reasonably be ashamed of—which was certainly not a rare occurrence—she involuntarily glanced at Charlotte. Once or twice, she could see a faint blush, but in general, Charlotte wisely pretended not to hear.
After sitting long enough to admire every piece of furniture in the room, from the sideboard to the fireplace screen, to give an account of their journey and of all that had happened in London, Mr. Collins invited them to take a stroll in the garden, which was large and well-laid out, and which he tended to himself. To work in his garden was one of his most respectable pleasures. Elizabeth admired the straight face with which Charlotte talked about how healthy the exercise was and admitted that she encouraged it as much as possible.
Here, leading the way through every path and cross-path, and barely giving them a moment to utter the praises he was fishing for, every view was pointed out with a level of detail that left no room for appreciating its beauty. He could count the fields in every direction and could tell how many trees there were in the most distant clump. But of all the views his garden, or the country, or the entire kingdom could boast, none were to be compared with the prospect of Rosings, which was visible through an opening in the trees that bordered the park, nearly opposite the front of his house. It was a handsome, modern building, well-situated on a rising piece of ground.
From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them around his two meadows. But the ladies, not having the right shoes to deal with the remains of a white frost, turned back. While Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte took her sister and friend on a tour of the house, extremely pleased, probably, to have the opportunity of showing it without her husband’s help. It was rather small but well-built and convenient. Everything was furnished and arranged with a neatness and consistency for which Elizabeth gave Charlotte all the credit. When Mr. Collins could be forgotten, there was really a great air of comfort throughout the house. And by Charlotte’s obvious enjoyment of it, Elizabeth guessed he must be forgotten often.
She had already learned that Lady Catherine was still in the country. It was spoken of again while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins joined in, observing:
MR. COLLINS
Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honor of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh this coming Sunday at church. And I need not say you will be delighted with her. She is all friendliness and condescension, and I have no doubt that you will be honored with some of her attention when the service is over. I have almost no hesitation in saying that she will include you and my sister Maria in every invitation with which she honors us during your stay here. Her behavior to my dear Charlotte is charming. We have dinner at Rosings twice every week and are never allowed to walk home. Her Ladyship’s carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say, one of Her Ladyship’s carriages, for she has several.
CHARLOTTE
Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman, indeed, and a most attentive neighbor.
MR. COLLINS
Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say. She is the sort of woman whom one cannot regard with too much respect.
The evening was spent mainly in talking over Hertfordshire news and repeating what had already been written in letters. When it was over, Elizabeth, in the solitude of her room, had to contemplate Charlotte’s level of contentment, to understand her skill in guiding and her composure in putting up with her husband, and to admit that it was all done very well. She also had to anticipate how her visit would go: the quiet routine of their usual activities, the annoying interruptions of Mr. Collins, and the social events of their interactions with Rosings. A lively imagination soon settled it all.
About the middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready for a walk, a sudden noise from downstairs seemed to throw the whole house into confusion. After listening for a moment, she heard someone running upstairs in a great hurry and calling loudly for her. She opened the door and met Maria in the hallway who, breathless with excitement, cried out:
SCENE START
INT. HUNSFORD PARSONAGE HALLWAY - DAY
MARIA runs up to ELIZABETH's room.
MARIA
Oh, my dear Eliza! Please, hurry and come into the dining room, for there is such a sight to be seen! I will not tell you what it is. Make haste and come down this moment!
Elizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria would tell her nothing more. And down they ran into the dining room, which faced the lane, in search of this "wonder." It was two ladies, stopping in a low carriage at the garden gate.
ELIZABETH
And is this all? I expected at least that the pigs had gotten into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter!
MARIA
(Shocked at the mistake)
La! My dear, it is not Lady Catherine! The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them. The other is Miss de Bourgh. Just look at her! She is quite a little creature. Who would have thought she could be so thin and small!
ELIZABETH
She is abominably rude to keep Charlotte out of doors in all this wind. Why doesn’t she come in?
MARIA
Oh, Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favors when Miss de Bourgh comes in.
ELIZABETH
(Struck with other ideas)
I like her appearance. She looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will do for him very well. She will make him a very proper wife.
Mr. Collins and Charlotte were both standing at the gate, talking with the ladies. And Sir William, to Elizabeth’s great amusement, was stationed in the doorway, in earnest contemplation of the greatness before him, and constantly bowing whenever Miss de Bourgh looked his way.
At last, there was nothing more to be said. The ladies drove on, and the others returned to the house. Mr. Collins no sooner saw the two girls than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune, which Charlotte explained by letting them know that the whole party was invited to dine at Rosings the next day.
SCENE END
Mr. Collins’s triumph over this invitation was complete. The chance to show off the grandeur of his patroness to his amazed visitors and to let them see her politeness toward himself and his wife was exactly what he had wished for. And that an opportunity to do so should be given so soon was such an example of Lady Catherine’s condescension that he didn't know how to admire it enough.
MR. COLLINS
I confess, I would not have been at all surprised if Her Ladyship had asked us on Sunday to have tea and spend the evening at Rosings. I rather expected, from my knowledge of her friendliness, that it would happen. But who could have foreseen such an attention as this? Who could have imagined that we would receive an invitation to dine there—an invitation, moreover, including the whole party—so immediately after your arrival?
SIR WILLIAM
I am the less surprised at what has happened, from the knowledge of what the manners of the great really are, which my position in life has allowed me to acquire. Around the royal court, such instances of elegant good breeding are not uncommon.
Scarcely anything else was talked about for the rest of the day or the next morning but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them in what they were to expect, so that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner might not completely overwhelm them.
When the ladies were separating to get ready, he said to Elizabeth:
MR. COLLINS
Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your clothes. Lady Catherine is far from requiring the elegance of dress in us that is fitting for herself and her daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is the best of the rest—there is no need for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think less of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved.
While they were dressing, he came to their different doors two or three times to urge them to be quick, as Lady Catherine very much objected to be kept waiting for her dinner. Such intimidating accounts of Her Ladyship and her way of living quite frightened Maria Lucas, who was not used to much company. She looked forward to her introduction at Rosings with as much anxiety as her father had felt for his own presentation at the royal court.
As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across the park. Every park has its own beauty and its own views, and Elizabeth saw much to be pleased with, though she could not be in such raptures as Mr. Collins expected the scene to inspire. She was only slightly affected by his counting of the windows on the front of the house and his story of what the glazing had originally cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh.
When they walked up the steps to the hall, Maria’s alarm was increasing with every moment, and even Sir William did not look perfectly calm. Elizabeth’s courage, however, did not fail her. She had heard nothing of Lady Catherine that suggested she was to be feared for any extraordinary talents or miraculous virtue. And the mere grandness of money and rank, she thought, she could witness without trembling.
From the entrance hall, of which Mr. Collins pointed out, with a rapturous air, the fine proportions and finished ornaments, they followed the servants through an antechamber to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her Ladyship, with great condescension, rose to receive them. And as Mrs. Collins had arranged it with her husband that the job of introductions should be hers, it was performed in a proper manner, without any of the apologies and thanks that he would have thought necessary.
In spite of having been to the royal court, Sir William was so completely awed by the grandeur surrounding him that he had just enough courage to make a very low bow and take his seat without saying a word. And his daughter, frightened almost out of her wits, sat on the edge of her chair, not knowing which way to look.
Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the scene and could observe the three ladies before her calmly. Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman with strong features, which might have once been handsome. Her air was not welcoming, nor was her manner of receiving them such as to make her visitors forget their lower rank. She was not made intimidating by silence; whatever she said was spoken in so bossy a tone that it highlighted her self-importance and brought Mr. Wickham immediately to Elizabeth’s mind. And from her observations of the day, she believed Lady Catherine to be exactly what he had described.
After examining the mother, in whose face and demeanor she soon found some resemblance to Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes to the daughter. She could have almost joined in Maria’s astonishment at her being so thin and so small. There was no likeness between the ladies in either figure or face. Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly. Her features, though not plain, were insignificant. And she spoke very little, except in a low voice to Mrs. Jenkinson, in whose appearance there was nothing remarkable, and who was entirely busy with listening to what she said and placing a screen in the proper direction in front of her eyes.
After sitting for a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows to admire the view. Mr. Collins attended them to point out its beauties, and Lady Catherine kindly informed them that it was much better worth looking at in the summer.
The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants and all the silver plates that Mr. Collins had promised. And as he had also predicted, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by Her Ladyship’s request, and looked as if he felt that life could offer nothing greater. He carved and ate and praised with a delighted eagerness, and every dish was commended first by him and then by Sir William, who was now recovered enough to echo whatever his son-in-law said, in a manner that Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine could stand. But Lady Catherine seemed pleased by their excessive admiration and gave them most gracious smiles, especially when any dish on the table proved to be a novelty to them.
The party did not supply much conversation. Elizabeth was ready to speak whenever there was an opening, but she was seated between Charlotte and Miss de Bourgh—the former was busy listening to Lady Catherine, and the latter said not a word to her the entire dinnertime. Mrs. Jenkinson was mainly occupied with watching how little Miss de Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish, and worrying that she was unwell. Maria thought speaking was out of the question, and the gentlemen did nothing but eat and admire.
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 pause until coffee came in, delivering her opinion on every subject in so decisive a manner that it proved she was not used to having her judgment questioned. She inquired into Charlotte’s domestic affairs, familiarly and in great detail, and gave her a great deal of advice as to the management of them all. She told her how everything ought to be run in so small a family as hers and instructed her on the care of her cows and her poultry. Elizabeth found that nothing was beneath this great lady’s attention, as long as it gave her an occasion for bossing others around.
In the breaks of her conversation with Mrs. Collins, she addressed a variety of questions to Maria and Elizabeth, but especially to the latter, of whose family 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 her, whether any of them were likely to be married, whether they were handsome, where they had been educated, what kind of carriage her father kept, and what had been her mother’s maiden name. Elizabeth felt all the rudeness of her questions but answered them very calmly. Lady Catherine then observed:
SCENE START
INT. ROSINGS DRAWING ROOM - NIGHT
LADY CATHERINE is interrogating ELIZABETH.
LADY CATHERINE
Your father’s estate is entailed to Mr. Collins, I think? For your sake...
(Turning to Charlotte)
...I am glad of it. But otherwise, I see no reason for entailing estates away from the female line. It was not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh’s family. Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?
ELIZABETH
A little.
LADY CATHERINE
Oh, then—sometime or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our instrument is a fine one, probably superior to—you shall try it some day. Do your sisters play and sing?
ELIZABETH
One of them does.
LADY CATHERINE
Why did you not all learn? You ought to all have learned. The Miss Webbs all play, and their father does not have as good an income as yours. Do you draw?
ELIZABETH
No, not at all.
LADY CATHERINE
What, none of you?
ELIZABETH
Not one.
LADY CATHERINE
That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother should have taken you to the city every spring for the benefit of private tutors.
ELIZABETH
My mother would have no objection, but my father hates London.
LADY CATHERINE
Has your governess left you?
ELIZABETH
We never had a governess.
LADY CATHERINE
No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters brought up at home without a governess! I never heard of such a thing. Your mother must have been quite a slave to your education.
Elizabeth could hardly help smiling as she assured her that had not been the case.
LADY CATHERINE
Then who taught you? Who looked after you? Without a governess, you must have been neglected.
ELIZABETH
Compared with some families, I believe we were. But those of us who wished to learn never lacked the means. We were always encouraged to read and had all the tutors that were necessary. Those who chose to be idle certainly could.
LADY CATHERINE
Yes, no doubt. But that is what a governess will prevent. And if I had known your mother, I would have advised her most strongly to hire one. I always say that nothing is to be done in education without steady and regular instruction, and nobody but a governess can give it. It is wonderful how many families I have been the means of supplying in that way. I am always glad to get a young person well-placed. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson are most delightfully situated through my help. And it was just the other day that I recommended another young person who was merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family is quite delighted with her. Mrs. Collins, did I tell you of Lady Metcalfe’s calling yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. ‘Lady Catherine,’ she said, ‘you have given me a treasure.’ Are any of your younger sisters out in society, Miss Bennet?
ELIZABETH
Yes, ma’am, all of them.
LADY CATHERINE
All! What, all five out at once? Very odd! And you only the second. The younger ones out before the elder are married! Your younger sisters must be very young?
ELIZABETH
Yes, my youngest is not yet sixteen. Perhaps she is quite young to be in society so much. But really, ma’am, I think it would be very hard on younger sisters that they should not have their share of society and amusement just because the elder may not have the means or the desire to marry early. The last born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth as the first. And to be held back for such a reason! I think it would not be very likely to promote sisterly affection or a delicate mind.
LADY CATHERINE
Upon my word, you give your opinion very decisively for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?
ELIZABETH
(Smiling)
With three younger sisters grown up, Your Ladyship can hardly expect me to admit it.
Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer. And Elizabeth suspected she was the first person who had ever dared to play with so much dignified rudeness.
LADY CATHERINE
You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure. Therefore, you need not conceal your age.
ELIZABETH
I am not yet one-and-twenty.
When the gentlemen had joined them and tea was over, the card tables were placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat down to a game of quadrille. As Miss de Bourgh chose to play at cassino, the two girls had the honor of helping Mrs. Jenkinson make up her party. Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a word was spoken that did not relate to the game, except when Mrs. Jenkinson expressed her fears of Miss de Bourgh’s being too hot, or too cold, or having too much or too little light.
A great deal more happened at the other table. Lady Catherine was generally speaking—pointing out the mistakes of the three others or telling some story about herself. Mr. Collins was busy agreeing to everything Her Ladyship said, thanking her for every hand he won, and apologizing if he thought he won too many. Sir William did not say much. He was storing his memory with anecdotes and noble names.
When Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose, the tables were broken up. The carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins, gratefully accepted, and immediately ordered. The party then gathered around the fire to hear Lady Catherine determine what the weather would be on the next day. From these instructions, they were summoned by the arrival of the coach. And with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Collins’s side, and as many bows on Sir William’s, they departed.
As soon as they had driven from the door, Elizabeth was asked by her cousin to give her opinion of all that she had seen at Rosings, which, for Charlotte’s sake, she made more favorable than it really was. But her praise, though costing her some trouble, could by no means satisfy Mr. Collins, and he was very soon forced to take Her Ladyship’s praise into his own hands.
SCENE END
Sir William only stayed a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long enough to convince him that his daughter was most comfortably settled and that she had a husband and a neighbor that were not often found. While Sir William was with them, Mr. Collins spent his mornings driving him out in his carriage and showing him the countryside. But when he left, the whole family returned to their usual routines. Elizabeth was thankful to find that they didn't see more of her cousin after the change, for the majority of the time between breakfast and dinner was now spent by him either working in the garden or in his own study, reading, writing, and looking out the window, which faced the road.
The room where the ladies sat was at the back of the house. At first, Elizabeth had wondered why Charlotte didn't prefer the dining parlor for everyday use. It was a better-sized room and had a more pleasant view. But she soon saw that her friend had an excellent reason for what she did. Mr. Collins would have undoubtedly been in his own room much less if they had sat in a room that was equally lively. And she gave Charlotte credit for the clever arrangement.
From the drawing-room, they could see nothing of the lane. They were completely dependent on Mr. Collins for the knowledge of what carriages went by, and especially how often Miss de Bourgh drove past in her carriage, which he never failed to come and inform them of, even though it happened almost every day. She quite often stopped at the parsonage and had a few minutes' conversation with Charlotte but was almost never persuaded to get out.
Very few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings, and not many in which his wife did not think it necessary to go as well. And until Elizabeth remembered that there might be other family church positions to be given away, she couldn't understand the sacrifice of so many hours.
Now and then, they were honored with a visit from Her Ladyship, and nothing that was happening in the room during these visits escaped her notice. She examined what they were doing, looked at their work, and advised them to do it differently. She found fault with the arrangement of the furniture or caught the housemaid in some act of negligence. And if she accepted any refreshments, she seemed to do it only for the sake of pointing out that Mrs. Collins’s cuts of meat were too large for her family.
Elizabeth soon realized that, though this great lady was not an official judge for the county, she was a most active magistrate in her own parish. The smallest concerns of the village were brought to her by Mr. Collins. And whenever any of the villagers were inclined to be quarrelsome, unhappy, or too poor, she would ride out into the village to settle their differences, silence their complaints, and scold them into harmony and prosperity.
The entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about twice a week. And allowing for the absence of Sir William and there being only one card table in the evening, every such dinner was a repeat of the first. Their other social engagements were few, as the lifestyle of the neighborhood was generally beyond the Collinses’ financial reach. This, however, was no hardship for Elizabeth, and on the whole, she spent her time comfortably enough. There were half-hours of pleasant conversation with Charlotte, and the weather was so fine for the time of year that she often had great enjoyment outdoors. Her favorite walk, and where she frequently went while the others were visiting Lady Catherine, was along the open grove that bordered that side of the park. There was a nice, sheltered path there which no one seemed to value but herself, and where she felt beyond the reach of Lady Catherine’s prying eyes.
In this quiet way, the first two weeks of her visit soon passed. Easter was approaching, and the week before it was to bring an addition to the family at Rosings, which, in so small a circle, was sure to be important. Elizabeth had heard, soon after her arrival, that Mr. Darcy was expected there in the course of a few weeks. And though there were not many of her acquaintances whom she did not prefer, his coming would provide a relatively new face to look at during their Rosings parties. She thought she might be amused in seeing how hopeless Miss Bingley’s schemes on him were, by his behavior toward his cousin, for whom he was clearly destined by Lady Catherine. Lady Catherine, who talked of his coming with the greatest satisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the highest admiration and seemed almost angry to find that he had already been frequently seen by Miss Lucas and herself.
His arrival was soon known at the parsonage, for Mr. Collins was walking the whole morning within view of the gates opening onto Hunsford Lane, in order to have the earliest possible confirmation of it. And after making his bow as the carriage turned into the park, he hurried home with the great news. The following morning, he rushed to Rosings to pay his respects.
There were two nephews of Lady Catherine for him to greet, for Mr. Darcy had brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of his uncle, Lord ——. And to the great surprise of all the party, when Mr. Collins returned, the gentlemen accompanied him.
SCENE START
INT. HUNSFORD PARSONAGE - DAY
Charlotte had seen them from her husband’s room, crossing the road. She immediately ran into the other room and told the girls what an honor they might expect.
CHARLOTTE
I may thank you, Eliza, for this piece of civility. Mr. Darcy would never have come so soon to call on me.
Elizabeth barely had time to deny any right to the compliment before their approach was announced by the doorbell. Shortly afterwards, the three gentlemen entered the room.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in his person and his manner, most truly a gentleman. Mr. Darcy looked just as he always had in Hertfordshire. He paid his compliments, with his usual reserve, to Mrs. Collins. And whatever his feelings toward her friend might be, he met her with every appearance of composure. Elizabeth merely curtsied to him, without saying a word.
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man and talked very pleasantly. But his cousin, after having made a slight comment on the house and garden to Mrs. Collins, sat for some time without speaking to anyone.
At length, however, his politeness was awakened enough for him to ask Elizabeth about the health of her family. She answered him in the usual way, and after a moment’s pause, added:
ELIZABETH
My eldest sister has been in the city for these three months. Have you never happened to see her there?
She was perfectly aware that he never had. But she wanted to see if he would betray any awareness of what had passed between the Bingleys and Jane. And she thought he looked a little confused as he answered that he had never been so fortunate as to meet Miss Bennet.
The subject was not pursued any further, and the gentlemen soon afterwards went away.
SCENE END