Chapter 22  he Bennets were engaged to dine with the Lucases, and again during the chief of the day, was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth
took an opportunity of thanking her. “It keeps him in good humour,” said she, “and I am more obliged to you than I can express.” Charlotte assured her friend of her satisfaction in being useful, and that it amply repaid her for the little sacrifice of her time. This was very amiable, but Charlotte’s kindness extended farther than Elizabeth had
any conception of;— its object was nothing less than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collins’s addresses, by engaging them towards herself. Such was Miss Lucas’s scheme; and appearances were so favourable that when they parted at night, she would have felt almost sure of success if he had not been to leave Hertfordshire so very soon. But here, she did injustice to the fire and independence of his character, for it led him to escape out of Longbourn House the
next morning with admirable slyness, and hasten to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her feet. He was anxious to avoid the notice of his cousins, from a conviction that if they saw him depart, they could not fail to conjecture his design, and he was not willing to have the attempt known till its success
could be known likewise; for though feeling almost secure, and with reason, for Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging, he was comparatively diffident since the adventure of Wednesday. His reception however was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and instantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane. But little had she dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there.
In as short a time as Mr. Collins’s long speeches would allow, every thing was settled between them to the satisfaction
of both; and as they entered the house, he earnestly entreated her to name the day that was to make him the happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must be waved
for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his happiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by nature must guard his courtship from any charm that could
make a woman wish for its continuance; and Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an establishment, cared not how soon that establishment were gained.
Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent; and it was bestowed with a most joyful
alacrity. Mr. Collins’s present circumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom they could give little fortune; and his prospects of future wealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate with more interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer Mr. Bennet was likely to live; and Sir
William gave it as his decided opinion that whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the Longbourn estate, it would be highly expedient that both he and his wife should make their appearance at St. James’s. The whole family, in short, were properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes of coming out a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have done; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte’s dying an old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. She had gained her point, and had time to consider of it. Her reflections were in general satisfactory. Mr. Collins to be sure was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still he would be her husband. — Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving
happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been handsome, she felt all the good luck of it. The least agreeable circumstance in the business was the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet, whose friendship she valued beyond that of any other person. Elizabeth would wonder, and probably would blame her; and though her resolution was not to be shaken, her feelings must be hurt by such disapprobation. She resolved to give her the information herself, and therefore charged Mr. Collins, when he returned to Longbourn to
dinner, to drop no hint of what had passed before any of the family. A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty; for the
curiosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his return, as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great selfdenial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.
As he was to begin his journey too early on the morrow to see any of the family, the ceremony of leave-taking was performed when the ladies moved for the night; and Mrs. Bennet, with great politeness and cordiality, said how happy they should be to see him at Longbourn again, whenever
his other engagements might allow him to visit them.
“My dear Madam,” he replied, “this invitation is particularly
gratifying, because it is what I have been hoping to receive; and you may be very certain that I shall avail myself of it as soon as possible.”
They were all astonished; and Mr. Bennet, who could by no means wish for so speedy a return, immediately said,
“But is there not danger of Lady Catherine’s disapprobation here, my good sir?—You had better neglect your relations,
than run the risk of offending your patroness.”
“My dear sir, “ replied Mr. Collins, “I am particularly obliged to you for this friendly caution, and you may depend
upon my not taking so material a step without her ladyship’s concurrence.”
“You cannot be too much on your guard. Risk any thing rather than her displeasure; and if you find it likely to be
raised by your coming to us again, which I should think exceedingly probable, stay quietly at home, and be satisfied that we shall take no offence.”
“Believe me, my dear sir, my gratitude is warmly excited by such affectionate attention; and depend upon it, you will
speedily receive from me a letter of thanks for this, as well as for every other mark of your regard during my stay in Hertfordshire. As for my fair cousins, though my absence
may not be long enough to render it necessary, I shall now take the liberty of wishing them health and happiness, not excepting my cousin Elizabeth.”
With proper civilities the ladies then withdrew; all of them equally surprised to find that he meditated a quick return. Mrs. Bennet wished to understand by it that he thought of paying his addresses to one of her younger girls, and Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him. She
rated his abilities much higher than any of the others; there was a solidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though by no means so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged to read and improve himself by such an example as her’s, he might become a very agreeable companion. But on the following morning, every hope of this kind was done away. Miss Lucas called soon after breakfast, and in a private conference with Elizabeth related the event of the
day before. The possibility of Mr. Collins’s fancying himself in love with her friend had once occurred to Elizabeth within the last day or two; but that Charlotte could encourage him, seemed almost as far from possibility as that she could encourage him herself, and her astonishment was
consequently so great as to overcome at first the bounds of decorum, and she could not help crying out,
“Engaged to Mr. Collins! my dear Charlotte, — impossible!”
The steady countenance which Miss Lucas had commanded in telling her story, gave way to a momentary confusion here on receiving so direct a reproach; though, as it was no more than she expected, she soon regained her
composure, and calmly replied,
“Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? — Do you think it incredible that Mr. Collins should be able to
procure any woman’s good opinion, because he was not so happy as to succeed with you?”
But Elizabeth had now recollected herself, and making a strong effort for it, was able to assure her with tolerable
firmness that the prospect of their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished her all imaginable happiness.
“I see what you are feeling,” replied Charlotte,— ”you must be surprised, very much surprised,— so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing 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 a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins’s character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair
as most people can boast on entering the marriage state.”
Elizabeth quietly answered “Undoubtedly;”— and after an awkward pause, they returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard. It was a long time before she became at all reconciled to the idea of so unsuitable a match. The strangeness of Mr. Collins’s making two offers of marriage within three days, was nothing in comparison of his being now accepted. She had always felt that Charlotte’s opinion of matrimony was not exactly like her own, but she could not have supposed it possible that, when called into action, she would have sacrificed every better
feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr. Collins, was a most humiliating picture! — And to the pang of a friend disgracing herself and sunk in her esteem, was added the distressing conviction that it was impossible for that friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen.
Chapter 23 
lizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what she had heard, and doubting whether she were authorised to mention it, when
Sir William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his
daughter to announce her engagement to the family. With
many compliments to them, and much self-gratulation on
the prospect of a connection between the houses, he unfolded
the matter,—to an audience not merely wondering,
but incredulous; for Mrs. Bennet, with more perseverance
than politeness, protested he must be entirely mistaken, and
Lydia, always unguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed,
“Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story?—
Do not you know that Mr. Collins wants to marry
Lizzy?”
Nothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could
have borne without anger such treatment; but Sir William’s
good breeding carried him through it all; and though he
begged leave to be positive as to the truth of his information,
he listened to all their impertinence with the most forbearing
courtesy.
Elizabeth, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him
from so unpleasant a situation, now put herself forward to
confirm his account, by mentioning her prior knowledge of
it from Charlotte herself; and endeavoured to put a stop to
the exclamations of her mother and sisters, by the earnestness
of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she was
readily joined by Jane, and by making a variety of remarks
on the happiness that might 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 much overpowered to say
a great deal while Sir William remained; but no sooner had
he left them than her feelings found a rapid vent. In the
first place, she persisted in disbelieving the whole of the
matter; secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Collins had
been taken in; thirdly, she trusted that they would never
be happy together; and fourthly, that the match might be
broken off. Two inferences, however, were plainly deduced
from the whole; one, that Elizabeth was the real cause of
all the mischief; and the other, that she herself had been
barbarously used by them all; and on these two points she
principally dwelt during the rest of the day. Nothing could
console and nothing appease her.—Nor did that day wear
out her resentment. A week elapsed before she could see
Elizabeth without scolding her, a month passed away before
she could speak to Sir William or Lady Lucas without being
rude, and many months were gone before she could at all
forgive their daughter.
Mr. Bennet’s emotions were much more tranquil on
the occasion, and such as he did experience he pronounced
to be of a most agreeable sort; for it gratified him, he said,
to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had been used
to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and
more foolish than his daughter! Jane confessed herself a
little surprised at the match; but she said less of her astonishment
than of her earnest desire for their happiness; nor
could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable.
Kitty and Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr.
Collins was only a clergyman; and it affected them in no
other way than as a piece of news to spread at Meryton.
Lady Lucas could not be insensible of triumph on being
able to retort on Mrs. Bennet the comfort of having a
daughter well married; and she called at Longbourn rather
oftener than usual to say how happy she was, though Mrs.
Bennet’s sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have
been enough to drive happiness away.
Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint
which kept them mutually silent on the subject;
and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no real confidence could
ever subsist between them again. Her disappointment in
Charlotte made her turn with fonder regard to her sister, of
whose rectitude and delicacy she was sure her opinion could
never be shaken, and for whose happiness she grew daily
more anxious, as Bingley had now been gone a week, and
nothing was heard of his return.
Jane had sent Caroline an early answer to her letter,
and was counting the days till she might reasonably hope to
hear again. The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Collins
arrived on Tuesday, addressed to their father, and written
with all the solemnity of gratitude which a twelvemonth’s
abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging
his conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform
them, with many rapturous expressions, of his happiness in
having obtained the affection of their amiable neighbour,
Miss Lucas, and then explained that it was merely with the
view of enjoying her society that he had been so ready to
close with their kind wish of seeing him again at Longbourn,
whither he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight;
for Lady Catherine, he added, so heartily approved his marriage,
that she wished it to take place as soon as possible,
which he trusted would be an unanswerable argument with
his amiable Charlotte to name an early day for making him
the happiest of men.
Mr. Collins’s return into Hertfordshire was no longer a
matter of pleasure to Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was
as much disposed to complain of it as her husband.— 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 indifferent, and lovers were of all
people the most disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs
of Mrs. Bennet, and they gave way only to the greater
distress of Mr. Bingley’s continued absence.
Neither Jane nor Elizabeth were comfortable on this
subject. Day after day passed away without bringing any
other tidings of him than the report which shortly prevailed
in Meryton of his coming no more to Netherfield the whole
winter; a report which highly incensed Mrs. Bennet, and
which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous
falsehood.
Even Elizabeth began to fear — not that Bingley was indifferent —
but that his sisters would be successful in keeping
him away. Unwilling as she was to admit an idea so
destructive of Jane’s happiness, and so dishonourable to the
stability of her lover, she could not prevent its frequently
recurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters
and of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions
of Miss Darcy and the amusements of London, might be
too much, she feared, for the strength of his attachment.
As for Jane, her anxiety under this suspence was, of
course, more painful than Elizabeth’s; but whatever she felt
she was desirous of concealing, and between herself and
Elizabeth, therefore, the subject was never alluded to. But
as no such delicacy restrained her mother, an hour seldom
passed in which she did not talk of Bingley, express her impatience
for his arrival, or even require Jane to confess that
if he did not come back, she should think herself very ill
used. It needed all Jane’s steady mildness to bear these attacks
with tolerable tranquillity.
Mr. Collins returned most punctually on the Monday
fortnight, but his reception at Longbourn was not quite so
gracious as it had been on his first introduction. He was
too happy, however, to need much attention; and luckily
for the others, the business of love-making relieved them
from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was
spent by him at Lucas Lodge, and he sometimes returned to
Longbourn only in time to make an apology for his absence
before the family went to bed.
Mrs. Bennet was really in a most pitiable state. The very
mention of any thing concerning the match threw her into
an agony of ill humour, and wherever she went she was sure
of hearing it talked of. The sight of Miss Lucas was odious
to her. As her successor in that house, she regarded her with
jealous abhorrence. Whenever Charlotte came to see them
she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession;
and whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Collins, was
convinced that they were talking of the Longbourn estate,
and resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the
house as soon as Mr. Bennet were dead. She complained
bitterly of all this to her husband.
“Indeed, Mr. Bennet,” said she, “it is very hard to think
that Charlotte Lucas should ever be mistress of this house,
that I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take my place in it!”
“My dear, do not give way 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, therefore,
instead of making any answer, she went on as before,
“I cannot bear to think that they should have all this
estate, If it was not for the entail I should not mind it.”
“What should not you mind?”
“I should not mind any thing at all.”
“Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such insensibility.”
“I never can be thankful, Mr. Bennet, for any thing
about the entail. How any one 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 anybody else?”
“I leave it to yourself to determine,” said Mr. Bennet..
Volume I
Chapter 24  iss Bingley’s letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very first sentence conveyed the assurance of their being all settled in London for the winter, and concluded with her brother’s regret at
not having had time to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country.
Hope was over, entirely over; and when Jane could attend to the rest of the letter, she found little, except the professed affection of the writer, that could give her any comfort. Miss Darcy’s praise occupied the chief of it. Her many attractions were again dwelt on, and Caroline boasted joyfully of their increasing intimacy, and ventured to predict
the accomplishment of the wishes which had been unfolded in her former letter. She wrote also with great pleasure of her brother’s being an inmate of Mr. Darcy’s house, and mentioned with raptures some plans of the latter with regard to new furniture. Elizabeth, to whom Jane very soon communicated the chief of all this, heard it in silent indignation. Her heart was divided between concern for her sister, and resentment against all the others. To Caroline’s assertion
of her brother’s being partial to Miss Darcy she paid no credit. That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more than she had ever done; and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she could not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness of temper, that want of proper resolution which now made him the slave of his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice his own happiness to the caprice of their inclinations. Had his own happiness, however, been the only sacrifice, he might have been allowed to sport with it in what ever manner he thought best; but her sister’s was involved in it, as, she thought, he must be sensible himself. It was a subject, in short, on which reflection would be long indulged, and must be unavailing. She could think of nothing else, and yet whether Bingley’s
regard had really died away, or were suppressed by his friends’ interference; whether he had been aware of Jane’s attachment, or whether it had escaped his observation;
whichever were the case, though her opinion of him must be materially affected by the difference, her sister’s situation remained the same, her peace equally wounded.
A day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth; but at last on Mrs. Bennet’s leaving
them together, after a longer irritation than usual about Netherfield and its master, she could not help saying,
“Oh! that my dear mother had more command over herself; she can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before.”
Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said nothing.
“You doubt me,” cried Jane, slightly colouring; “indeed you have no reason. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all. I have
nothing either to hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with. Thank God! I have not that pain. A little time therefore.— I shall certainly try to get the better.”
With a stronger voice she soon added, “I have this comfort immediately, that it has not been more than an error of fancy on my side, and that it has done no harm to any one but myself.”
“My dear Jane!” exclaimed Elizabeth, “you are too good. Your sweetness and disinterestedness are really angelic; I do not know what to say to you. I feel as if I had never done you justice, or loved you as you deserve.”
Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back the praise on her sister’s warm affection.
“Nay,” said Elizabeth, “this is not fair. You wish to think all the world respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of any
body. I only want to think you perfect, and you set yourself against it. Do not be afraid of my running into any excess, of my encroaching on your privilege of universal good will. You need not. There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world,
the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense. I have met with two instances lately; one I will not mention; the other is Charlotte’s marriage. It is unaccountable! in every view it is unaccountable!”
“My dear Lizzy, do not give way to such feelings as these. They will ruin your happiness. You do not make allowance
enough for difference of situation and temper. Consider Mr. Collins’s respectability, and Charlotte’s prudent, steady character. Remember that she is one of a large family; that
as to fortune, it is a most eligible match; and be ready to believe, for every body’s sake, that she may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin.”
“To oblige you, I would try to believe almost any thing, but no one else could be benefited by such a belief as this;
for were I persuaded that Charlotte had any regard for him, I should only think worse of her understanding, 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 shall not defend her, though it is Charlotte Lucas. You shall not, for the sake of one individual, change
the meaning of principle and integrity, nor endeavour to persuade yourself or me that selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of danger, security for happiness.”
“I must think your language too strong in speaking of both,” replied Jane, “and I hope you will be convinced of
it, by seeing them happy together. But enough of this. You alluded to something else. You mentioned two instances. I cannot misunderstand you, but I intreat you, dear Lizzy,
not to pain me by thinking that person to blame, and saying your opinion of him is sunk. We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured. We must not expect a lively young man to be always so guarded and circumspect. It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us.
Women fancy admiration means more than it does.”
“And men take care that they should.”
“If it is designedly done, they cannot be justified; but I have no idea of there being so much design in the world as some persons imagine.”
“I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley’s conduct to design,” said Elizabeth; “but without scheming to
do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery. Thoughtlessness, want of attention to other people’s feelings, and want of resolution, will
do the business,”
“And do you impute it to either of those?”
“Yes; to the last. But if I go on, I shall displease you by saying what I think of persons you esteem. Stop me whilst you can.”
“You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him.”
“Yes, in conjunction with his friend.”
“I cannot believe it. Why should they try to influence him? They can only wish his happiness, and if he is attached to me, no other woman can secure it.”
“Your first position is false. They may wish many things besides his happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth
and consequence; they may wish him to marry a girl who has all the importance of money, great connections, and pride.”
“Beyond a doubt, they do wish him to chuse Miss Darcy,” replied Jane; “but this may be from better feelings than you are supposing. They have known her much longer than they have known me; no wonder if they love her better. But, whatever may be their own wishes, it is very unlikely
they should have opposed their brother’s. What sister would think herself at liberty to do it, unless there were something very objectionable? If they believed him attached to me, they would not try to part us; if he were so, they could not succeed. By supposing such an affection, you make every body acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken — or, at least, it is slight, it is nothing in
comparison of what I should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters. Let me take it in the best light, in the light in which it may be understood.”
Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley’s name was scarcely ever mentioned between them.
Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder and repine at his returning no more, and though a day seldom passed in which Elizabeth did not account for it clearly, there seemed little chance of her ever considering it with less perplexity. Her daughter endeavoured to convince her of what she
did not believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely the effect of a common and transient liking, which ceased when he saw her no more; but though the probability of the statement 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. “So, Lizzy,”
said he one day, “your sister is 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 companions. When is your turn to come? You will hardly bear to be long outdone by Jane. Now is your time. Here are of-
ficers enough at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably.”
“Thank you, Sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane’s good fortune.”
“True,” said Mr. Bennet, “but it is a comfort to think that, whatever of that kind may befall you, you have an affectionate mother who will always make the most of it.”
Mr. Wickham’s society was of material service in dispelling the gloom, which the late perverse occurrences had
thrown on many of the Longbourn family. They saw him often, and to his other recommendations was now added that of general unreserve. The whole of what Elizabeth had already heard, his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him, was now openly acknowledged and publicly
canvassed; and every body was pleased to think how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known any thing of the matter.
Miss Bennet was the only creature who could suppose there might be any extenuating circumstances in the case,
unknown to the society of Hertfordshire; her mild and steady candour always pleaded for allowances, and urged the possibility of mistakes — but by everybody else Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.
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