Jane Austen (Sarah Fanny Malden 1889)/Chapter 6

by Sarah Fanny Malden

 

Chapter VI.

"Pride and Prejudice."

"I would not let Martha read First Impressions again, upon any account," wrote Jane Austen to her sister from Bath, in 1799, "and am very glad that I did not leave it in your power. She is very cunning, but I saw through her design; she means to publish it from memory, and one more perusal would enable her to do it." This is the first mention we have by Jane herself of the work afterwards known as Pride and Prejudice, which, evidently, Martha Lloyd had the good taste to admire greatly, though it had been scornfully rejected by Mr. Cadell two years earlier. In spite of her friend's admiration, Jane had not the courage to try its fate again till after Sense and Sensibility had made its successful appearance in 1811. In 1813, however, it appeared under its new and certainly better title, and Jane's letters at the time are full of the unaffected interest which she always displayed in her own writings, mixed with her usual keen criticism. "I feel that I must write to you to-day," she tells Cassandra in a letter written from Chawton on January 29th, 1813; "I want to tell you that I have got my own darling child from London. On Wednesday I received one copy sent down by Falkener, with three lines from Henry to say that he had given another to Charles, and sent a third by the coach to Godmersham. The advertisement is in our paper to-day for the first time: 18s. He shall ask £1 1s. for my two next, and £1 8s. for my stupidest of all." Then she relates a little piece of mystification, from which she had, not unnaturally, derived some amusement. "Miss B—— dined with us on the very day of the book's comings and in the evening we fairly set at it, and read half the first vol. to her, prefacing that, having intelligence from Henry that such a work would soon appear, we had desired him to send it whenever it came out, and I believe it passed with her unsuspected. She was amused, poor soul! That she could not help, you know, with two such people to lead the way, but she really does seem to admire Elizabeth." Jane's own opinion of her heroine, and of the first edition of the book, follows: "I must confess," she writes, "that I think her (Elizabeth) as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print, and how I shall be able to tolerate those who do not like her at least, I do not know. There are a few typical errors, and a 'said he' or a 'said she' would sometimes make the dialogue more immediately clear; but 'I do not write for such dull elves' as have not a great deal of ingenuity themselves. The second volume is shorter than I could wish, but the difference is not so much in reality as in look, there being a larger proportion of narrative in that part. I have lop't and crop't so successfully, however, that I imagine it must be rather shorter than Sense and Sensibility altogether. Now I will try and write of something else."

Cassandra Austen received the book with almost as much eagerness and pleasure as Jane herself, and she wrote her delight and admiration in terms which were very comforting to the authoress, who had been suffering from a little depression, as her answer shows:

"Chawton,
"Thursday, February, 4th (1813).

"My dear Cassandra,

"Your letter was truly welcome, and I am much obliged to you for all your praise; it came at a right time, for I had had some fits of disgust. Our second evening's reading to Miss B—— had not pleased me so well; but I believe something must be attributed to my mother's too rapid way of getting on. Though she perfectly understands the characters herself, she cannot speak as they ought. Upon the whole, however, I am quite vain enough, and well satisfied enough. The work is rather too light and bright and sparkling; it wants shade; it wants to be stretched out here and there with a long chapter of sense, if it could be had; if not, of solemn specious nonsense about something unconnected with the story; an essay on writing, a critique on Walter Scott, or the history of Buonaparte, or something that would form a contrast, and bring the reader with increased delight to the playfulness and epigrammatism of the general style. . . . There might as well be no suppers at Longbourn, but I suppose it was the remains of Mrs. Bennetts old Meryton habits."

We may all rejoice that Jane Austen did not improve Pride and Prejudice in the way she half ironically suggests; but it is wonderful that she avoided doing so, for in her day a novel was invariably thought to require some such "padding," and it was one of her boldest strokes to depart from this established rule. None of the great trio of her sister writers—Miss Burney, Miss Edgeworth, or Miss Ferrier—ventured to omit the moralising which our ancestors considered necessary to counteract the baleful effects of being amused, and their works, in consequence, are little read by a generation which prefers drawing its own moral to finding it ready made.

Cassandra Austen continued to admire Pride and Prejudice warmly, and her niece, Fanny Knight, joined in the praise. With her usual child-like pleasure in the praise of those she loved, Jane answered, "I am exceedingly pleased that you can say what you do, after going through the whole work, and Fanny's praise is very gratifying. My hopes were tolerably strong of her, but nothing like a certainty. Her liking Darcy and Elizabeth is enough; she might hate all the others if she would. I have her opinion under her own hand this morning, but your transcript of it, which I read first, was not and is not the less acceptable. To me it is, of course, all praise, but the more exact truth which she sends you is good enough."

Further admiration filtered slowly in from various quarters, and Jane received and recorded it all with the same unaffected pleasure, though she would still have liked to preserve her incognita. "Lady Robert is delighted with P. and P., and really was so, as I understand, before she knew who wrote it, for, of course, she knows now. He (Henry Austen) told her with as much satisfaction as if it were my wish. He did not tell me this, but he told Fanny. And Mr. Hastings! I am quite delighted with what such a man writes about it.' For some reason or other she specially valued Mr. Hasting's criticism, for she adds further on, "I long to have you hear Mr. H.'s opinion of P. and P. His admiring my Elizabeth so much is particularly welcome to me." Then she relates of another friend, "Poor Dr. Isham is obliged to admire P. and P., and to send me word that he is sure he shall not like Madame D'Arblay's new novel half so well." Evidently Jane could imagine no greater praise than to have one of her novels considered equal to anything of Madame D'Arblay's, but, as the new novel in question was the Wanderer, we may fairly believe that Dr. Isham really did prefer Elizabeth Bennet to the rather dreary adventures of Miss Ellis. Finally, Jane Austen heard that she was "read and admired in Ireland, too," and adds, in her usual tone of persiflage, 'I do not despair of having my portrait in the Exhibition at last—all white and red, with my head on one side; or, perhaps, I may marry young Mr. D'Arblay. I suppose in the meantime I shall owe dear Henry a great deal of money for printing, &c."

One cannot help regretting that Jane Austen, who accepted all praise so gratefully, should not have known what would be the opinions of more eminent people on Pride and Prejudice, especially the often-quoted entry in Sir Walter Scott's journal: "Read again, for the third time at least, Miss Austen's finely-written novel of Pride and Prejudice. That young lady had a talent for describing the involvements and feelings and characters of ordinary life, which is, to me, the most wonderful I ever met with. The big Bow-Wow strain I can do myself like any now going; but the exquisite touch which renders ordinary common-place things and characters interesting from the truth of the description, and the sentiment, is denied to me. What a pity such a gifted creature died so early."

There are various comments of Jane Austen at this time on her own writings, which are amusing, and show how life-like her own creations were to her; they would not otherwise have been so life-like to her readers. In May, 1813, while she was on a visit in London, she writes: "Henry and I went to the exhibition in Spring Gardens. It is not thought a good collection, but I was very well pleased, particularly (pray, tell Fanny) with a small portrait of Mrs Bingley, excessively like her. I went in hopes of seeing one of her sisters, but there was no Mrs. Darcy. Perhaps, however, I may find her in the great exhibition, which we shall go to if we have time. I have no change of her in the collection of Sir Joshua Reynolds's paintings, which is now showing in Pall Mall, and which we are also to visit. Mrs. Bingley's is exactly herself—size, shaped face, features, and sweetness; there never was a greater likeness. She is dressed in a white gown with green ornaments, which convinces me of what I had always supposed, that green was a favourite color with her. I dare say Mrs. D. will be in yellow." A little later comes a message to her favourite niece Fanny Knight, who had written her as to Miss Darcy, and wanted an answer in character, but this request Jane Austen was obliged to decline. "It made me laugh heartily, but I cannot pretend to answer it. Even had I more time, I should not feel at all sure of the sort of letter that Miss D. would write," and most readers of Pride and Prejudice will feel that they cannot realize Georgiana Darcy as a letter-writer. Finally, "we have been both to the exhibition (the Royal Academy), and Sir. J. Reynolds's, and I am disappointed, for there was nothing like Mrs. D. at either. I can only imagine that Mr. D. prizes any pictures of her too much to like it should be exposed to the public eye. I can imagine he would have that sort of feeling—that mixture of love, pride, and delicacy."

No admirer of Elizabeth Bennet will wonder that her delineator could not find a satisfactory portrait of her, for she is e vary rare type of character; indeed, it is a distinguishing characteristic of Pride and Prejudice that both the hero and heroine are uncommon in every respect, and yet thoroughly lifelike. A shade more of gaiety would have made Elizabeth a flippant, amusing, common-place girl, just as a degree less intellect would have made Darcy as intolerable as Mrs. Bennet thought him. But Jane Austen had shaken off all tendency to exaggeration by the time she brought out Pride and Prejudice, and henceforth her characters are kept well within bounds.

We see in Darcy the man who has had everything to spoil him, yet is really superior of being spoilt. He is handsome, wealthy, well-born, and of powerful intellect, and the adulation and submission he has always had from everyone about him wearies him into receiving such homage with cold indifference and apparent haughtiness, yet under this repellent exterior is a warm, generous, and tender heart, which is capable of great sacrifices for anyone he really loves. Elizabeth Bennet is exactly the right wife for him, for, with a nature as capable of tenderness and constancy as his, she has all the simplicity, brightness, ans playfulness which are wanting in him; yet from the day that she and Mr. Darcy first meet they take a mutual aversion to each other, and long after he has succumbed, and fallen in love with her, she is unconscious of his feelings, and continues to dislike him. Elizabeth lives in Hertfordshire with a clever satirical father (whose pet she is), an intensely vulgar silly mother, and four sisters, of whom only one is her equal and companion: Jane and Elizabeth Bennet are as Cassadra and Jane Austen were to one another. The Bennets, though well off, are not rich, and the daughters will be very poor, as their father's estate is entailed to male heirs, and, at his death, goes to a distant cousin. This arrangement is a perpetual grievance to Mrs. Bennet, who cannot be made to understand the nature of an entail, and makes thereupon the remark which is so much truer than appears at first sights that "there is no knowing how estates will go when once they come to be entailed!"

The Bingleys, consisting of Mr. Bingley, a married and an unmarried sister, and the former's husband, come to reside on an estate near the Bennets, and Mr. Darcy comes with them; he is Mr. Bingley's great friend, and Miss Bingley has formed the intention of becoming his wife. The Bingleys and Bennets meet at a ball, where Bingley falls in love at first sight with Jane Bennet, while Darcy is much bored by the whole thing, and, being urged to dance with Elizabeth Bennet, answers hastily and coldly that "she is not handsome enough to tempt me, and I am in no humour to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men." Elizabeth overhears him, and registers a vow of eternal dislike to him. From this time, though neither the gentleman nor the lady have any wish to meet again, circumstances, which neither of them can control, force them into an intimacy, in the course of which Darcy, who has begun by despising Elizabeth as a mere country-town belle, and believes himself perfectly safe from her attacks, falls hopelessly in love with her, although she has no idea of it. When at last he is impelled to throw himself at her feet, she rejects him indignantly, not only, it should be said, on account of the original insult, but also because she believes him to have acted treacherously and basely in some occurrences of his past life. She has, however, been deceived, in the stories she has heard, which her original dislike to him made her accept too readily, and Darcy, feeling bound to clear himself, writes her an explanation which opens her eyes to see that she has cruelly misjudged and needlessly insulted him. Upon a generous nature like Elizabeth's this knowledge can have but one result—she is gradually drawn over, first to admire, then to esteem him, and so reaches the brink of love, though he has no suspicion of her change of feeling, and is determined never again to try his fate. Circumstances, which seem likely to separate him and Elizabeth for ever, prove to be the chain which draws them together at last.

Lydia, the youngest of the five Bennet sisters, a foolish, spoilt, flirting girl, makes a disreputable elopement with a young officer, named Wickham, of whom Elizabeth had seen a good deal. He is the son of a former steward of Mr. Darcy, handsome, plausible, and unprincipled, and, having been thwarted by his employer in a disgraceful attempt to take Holy Orders, had revenged himself first by attempting an elopement with Miss Darcy, a girl of fifteen, to whom her brother is guardian, and afterwards by spreading abroad scandalous stories of Darcy, all absolutely false, although concocted with skill. Elizabeth, at the time when her feelings against Mr. Darcy were most hostile, had heard and believed these stories, and it is to these she made allusion when rejecting him. To clear himself he is obliged to tell her of his sister's narrow escape, which, he entreats, she will tell to no one but her sister Jane, and she obeys the injunction. Now, in the first agony at Lydia's shameful elopement, she reproaches herself bitterly for not having warned her own family against Wickham. Darcy, generously taking the blame upon himself, sets off in pursuit of the fugitives, whom he traces, and reinstates in comparative comfort and decency, after spending much time, trouble, and money in the undertaking, and (having done all this without the knowledge of the Bennet family) only requires that none of them shall ever be made acquainted with all that they owe him. Of course, the secret leaks out, and Elizabeth is overwhelmed by the magnanimity of the man she has disliked and insulted, so that when be again ventures to plead his cause she grants it. She is all the more willing to do so as Jane is on the eve of a happy marriage with Bingley, and one of her bitterest prejudices against Darcy had been engendered by his opposition to their engagement.

Everything is now rose-colour, but, unfortunately, Elizabeth had been at first so very outspoken against Mr. Darcy, and afterwards (partly from necessity) so very reticent about his rise in her good opinion that none of her relations, except an uncle and aunt, who have lately seen them together, can believe in her changed feelings, and even her own beloved sister is hard to convince.

"At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far from Miss Bennet's general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here.

"'You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be! engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no; you shall not deceive me; I know it to be impossible.'

"'This is a wretched beginning, indeed! My sole dependence was on you, and I am sure nobody else will believe me if you do not. Yet, indeed, I am in earnest; I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we are engaged.'

"Jane looked at her doubtingly.

"'Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be. I know how much you dislike him.'

"'You know nothing of the matter. That is all to be forgotten. Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But, in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever remember it myself.'"

Miss Bennet still looked all amazement; Elizabeth again, and more seriously assured her of its truth.

"'Good Heaven! can it be really so? Yet now I must believe you,' cried. Jane. 'My dear, dear Lizzy, I would—I do congratulate you; but, are you certain—forgive the question—are you quite certain that you can be happy with him?'

"'There can be no doubt of that; it is settled between us already that we are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased, Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother?'

"'Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more delight. But we considered it, we talked of it, as quite impossible. And do you really love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! do anything rather than marry without affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought to do?'

"'Oh, yes! you will only think I feel more than I ought to do when I tell you all.'

"'What do you mean?'

"'Why, I must confess that I love him better than I do Bingley. I am afraid you will be angry.'

"'My dearest sister, now do be serious. I want to talk very seriously. Let me know everything that I am to know without delay. Will you tell me how long you have loved him?'

"'It has been coming on so gradually that I hardly know when it began. But I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley.'

"Another entreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the desired effect, and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances of attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing further to wish.

"'Now I am quite happy,' said she, 'for you will be as happy as myself. I always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love for you, I must always have esteemed him; but now, as Bingley's friend and your husband, there can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me.'"

This has ended satisfactorily, but the father and mother have still to hear of it, and Elizabeth goes through a good deal when Darcy has spoken to Mr. Bennet, and she is summoned to him.

"Her father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious. 'Lizzy,' said he, 'what are you doing? Are you out of your senses to be accepting this man? Have you not always hated him?'

"How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared her from explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give, but they were now necessary, and she assured him, with some confusion, of her attachment to Mr. Darcy.

"'Or, in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane, but will they make you happy?'

"'Have you any other objection,' said Elizabeth, 'than your belief of my indifference?'

"'None at all; we all know him to be a proud unpleasant sort of man, but this would be nothing if you really liked him.'

"'I do, I do like him,' she replied, with tears in her eyes, 'I love him. Indeed, he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is: then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms.'

"'Lizzy,' said her father, 'I have given him my consent. He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse anything which he condescended to ask, I now give it to you, if you are resolved on having him; but let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable unless you truly esteemed your husband—unless you looked up to him as to a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about.'"

Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply, and at length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the object of her choice, by explaining the gradual change which her estimation of him had undergone, relating her absolute certainty that his affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many months' suspense, and enumerating with energy all his good qualities, she did conquer her father's incredulity, and reconcile him to the match.

"'Well, my dear,' said he, when she ceased speaking, 'I have no more to say. If this be the case he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy'"

Perhaps Miss Austen enjoyed making Elizabeth undergo a mauvais quart d'heure in hearing her own unfounded prejudices retorted upon her by her father, but both he and her sister are so warmly and tenderly anxious for her happiness that her pain would soon be forgotten. It is very different when she has to break the news to her mother, whose behaviour throughout the story gives additional force to her husband's remarks about respecting one's partner is life.

"When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night she followed her, and made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary, for, on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a syllable. Nor was it under many minutes that she could comprehend what she heard, though not in general backward to credit what was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless herself.

"'Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! Dear me! Mr. Darcy! who would, have thought it! And is it really true? Oh, my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane's is nothing to it—nothing at all. I am so pleased—so happy. Such a charming man!—so handsome!—so tall! Oh, my dear Lizzy! pray apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear dear Lizzy! A house in town. Everything that is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh Lord! what will become of me? I shall go distracted!'

"This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted, and Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself, soon went away; but before she had been three minutes in her own room her mother followed her.

"'My dearest child," she cried, 'I can think of nothing else. Ten thousand a year, and very likely more! 'tis as good as a lord! And a special license; you must and shall be married by a special license. But, my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond of, that I may have it to-morrow.'

"This was a sad omen of what her mother's behaviour to the gentleman himself might be; and Elizabeth found that though in certain possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations' consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow passed off much better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood in such awe of her intended son-in-law that she ventured not to speak to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or to mark her deference for his opinion."

In following the career of the hero and heroine, the secondary characters of Pride and Prejudice have been somewhat passed over, but there is not one that could be suppressed without injury to the book, and each and all are excellent in their way. Take, for instance, Mr. Collins, the prim, self-satisfied, under-bred young clergyman. He is cousin to Mr. Bennet, and (to Mrs. Bennet's never-ending wrath) heir to the Longbourn estate.

Mr. Collins, being in search of a wife, hopes to find one among his cousins, and, for that purpose, invites himself to stay with them. He is kindly received, and after dinner the conversation turns upon his good fortune in having been presented to his living by Lady Catherine de Bourgh. "Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. . . . She had been graciously pleased, to approve of both the discourses which he had already had the honour of preaching before her. She had also asked him twice to dine at Rosings, and had sent for him only the Saturday before to make up her pool of quadrille for the evening. Lady Catherine was reckoned, proud by many people he knew, but he had never seen anything but affability in her. She had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman; she made not the smallest objection to his joining in the society of the neighbourhood, nor to his leaving his parish occasionally for a week or two to visit his relations. She had even condescended to advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and had once paid him a visit in his humble parsonage, where she had perfectly approved all the alterations he was making, and had even vouchsafed to suggest some herself—some shelves in the closet upstairs.

"'That is all very proper and civil, I am sure,' said Mrs. Bennet, 'and I daresay she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?'

"'The garden, in which stands my humble abode, is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship's residence.'

"'I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?'

"'She has one only daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property.'

"'Ah,' cried Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, "then she is better off than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?'

"'She is a most charming young lady, indeed: Lady Catherine herself says that, in point of true beauty, Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex, because there is that in her features which marks the young woman of distinguished birth. She is unfortunately of a sickly constitution, which has prevented her making that progress in many accomplishments which she could not otherwise have failed of, as I am informed by the lady who superintended her education, and who still resides with them. But she is perfectly amiable, and often condescends to drive by my humble abode in her little phaeton and ponies.'

"'Has she been presented? I do not remember her name among the ladies at court.'

"'Her indifferent state of health, unhappily, prevents her being in town, and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. Her ladyship seemed pleased with the idea; and you may imagine that I am happy on every occasion to offer those little delicate compliments which are always acceptable to ladies. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her.—These are the kind of little things which please her ladyship, and it is a sort of attention which I consider myself peculiarly bound to pay.'

"'You judge very properly,' said Mr. Bennet, 'and it is happy for you that you possess the art of flattering with delicacy. May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the result of previous study?'

"'Their arise chiefly from what is passing at the time, and though I sometimes amuse myself with suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions, I always wish to give them as unstudied an air as possible.'"

We feel, after this dialogue, that we know something of Lady Catherine as well as of Mr. Collins, and our acquaintance with both is allowed to increase. Mr. Collins fixes his intentions on Elizabeth, who, of course, refuses him; but she has an intimate friend, Charlotte Lucas, whose ideas about marriage are by no means as lofty as her own, and who is quite willing to accept a comfortable house and good income with Mr. Collins attached. She becomes Mrs. Collins, and Elizabeth, though shocked and grieved at the marriage, cannot refuse her friend's earnest entreaty to pay her a visit in her new home. During this visit she unexpectedly meets Mr. Darcy, who is Lady Catherine's nephew, and receives the offer from him which she refuses with such indignant surprise. She has travelled with Sir William and Maria Lucas—Charlotte's father and sister—and two days after their arrival the whole party are invited to dine with Lady Catherine, Darcy and his friend not having then arrived.

"Scarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them what they were to expect, that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner might not wholly overpower them. When the ladies were separating for the toilet, he said to Elizabeth—

"'Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel: Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us which becomes herself and daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whatever of your clothes is superior to the rest—there is no occasion for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed: she likes to have the distinction of rank preserved. . . .'

"The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants and all the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had promised, and, as he had likewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by her ladyship's desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish nothing greater. . . . 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 intermission till coffee came in. . . . She inquired into Charlotte's domestic concerns familiarly and minutely, and gave her a great deal of advice as to the management of them all; told her how everything ought to be regulated in so small a family as hers, and instructed her as to the care of her cows and her poultry. . . . In the intervals of her discourse with Mrs. Collins she addressed a variety of questions to Maria and Elizabeth, but especially to the latter, of whose 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 herself, whether any of them were likely to be married, whether they were handsome, where they had been educated, what carriage her father kept, and what had been her mother's maiden name? Elizabeth felt all the impertinence of her questions, but answered them very composedly. Lady Catherine then observed—

"'Your father's estate is entailed upon Mr. Collins, I think. For your sake,' turning to Charlotte, 'I am glad of it, but otherwise I see no occasion for entailing estates from the female line. It was not thought necessary in Sir Lewis de Bourgh's family. Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?'

"'A little.'

"'Oh! then—some time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our instrument is a capital one, probably superior to —— You shall try it some day. Do your sisters play and sing?'

"'One of them does.'

"'Why did not you all learn?—you ought all to have learned. The Miss Webbs all play, and their father has not as good an income as yours. Do you draw?'

"'No, not at all.'

"'What, none of you?'

"'Not one.'

"'That is very strange; but I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother should have taken you to town every year for the benefit of masters.'

"'My mother would have had no objection, but my father hates London.'

"'Has your governess left you?'

"'We never had any governess.'

"'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.

"'Then who taught you, who attended to you? Without a governess you must have been neglected.'

"'Compared with some families, I believe we were; but such of us as wished to learn never wanted the means. We were always encouraged to read, and had all the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be idle certainly might.'

"'Ay, no doubt; but that is what a governess will prevent; and if I had known your mother, I should have advised her most strenuously to engage 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 out. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson's are most delightfully situated through my means; and it was but the other day that I recommended a young person who was merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family are 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," said she, "you have given me a treasure." Are any of your younger sisters out, Miss Bennet?'

"'Yes, Ma'am—all.'

"'All! What, all five out at once? Very odd! and you only the second—the younger ones out before the elder ones are married! Your youngest sister must be very young.'

"'Yes; my youngest is not sixteen. Perhaps she is full young to be much in company. But, really, Ma'am, I think it would be very hard upon younger sisters that they should not have their share of society and amusement because the elder may not have the means or inclination to marry early. And to be kept back on such a motive! I think it would not be very likely to promote sisterly affection or delicacy of mind.'

"'Upon my word,' said her ladyship, 'you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?'

"'With three younger sisters grown up,' replied Elizabeth, smiling, 'your ladyship can hardly expect me to own it.'

"Lady Catherine seemed quite astonished at not receiving a direct answer, and Elizabeth suspected herself to be the first creature who had ever ventured to trifle with so much dignified impertinence . . . 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 quadrille, and, as Miss de Bourgh chose to play at cassino, the two girls had the honour of assisting Mrs. Jenkinson to make up her party. . . . When Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose, the tables were broke up, the carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins, gratefully accepted, and immediately ordered. The party then gathered round the fire to hear Lady Catherine determine what weather they were to have on the morrow. From these instructions they were summoned by the arrival of the coach, and, with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Collins's side, and many bows on Sir William's, they departed."

There could not be a better picture of a second-rate great lady's behaviour towards people whom she considers as her inferiors, and it may be supposed from this how angry she is when her cherished nephew, whom she also intended should be her son-in-law, falls in love with Elizabeth. She hears of it from outside sources, at about the time of Jane's engagement to Bingley, and at once sets off for Longbourn to load Elizabeth with reproaches, and insist upon her giving up all idea of marrying Darcy. Of course Elizabeth absolutely refuses to do this, and her ladyship departs in great wrath; but as she has wrung from Elizabeth an admission that she is not actually engaged to Darcy, she calls on him in the hopes that he may be deterred from proposing again. Her anger has, however, just the contrary effect; her account of what she calls Elizabeth's "perverseness and assurance" fills him with hope, and urges him on to the final proposal, in which he is successful.

"'It taught me to hope,' said he, 'as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.'

As Elizabeth observes, "Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use;" and though her ladyship's fury knows no bounds when she hears that Darcy is actually married to Elizabeth, she condescends in time to make overtures to them, which they care too little about her to refuse.

One more extract must be made in the hope, though perhaps a vain one, of giving some idea of the mixture of playfulness, sweetness, and refinement in Elizabeth Bennet, which made Jane Austen rightly call her "as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print." Her charm is one that pervades the book, and is not easily condensed into any isolated passage; but her first connected conversation with Mr. Darcy after their engagement is fairly characteristic of both of them.

"Elizabeth's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr. Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. 'How could you begin?' said she. 'I can comprehend your going on charmingly when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?'

"'I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.'

"'My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behaviour to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now, be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?'

"'For the liveliness of your mind, I did.'

"'You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less. The fact is that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking, and looking, and thinking, for your approbation alone. I roused and interested you because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for it; but, in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and in your heart you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously courted you. There, I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it; and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly reasonable. To be sure, you know no actual good of me—but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.'

"'Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was ill at Netherfield?'

"'Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and in return it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may be; and I shall begin directly, by asking you what made you so unwilling to come to the point at last? What made you so shy of me when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?'

"'Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.'

"'But I was embarrassed.'

"'And so was I.'

"'You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.'

"'A man who had felt less might.'

"'How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have gone on if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect—too much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral if our comfort springs from a breach of promise? for I ought not to have mentioned the subject. This will never do.'

"'You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. . . . I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of yours. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know everything. . . .'

"'Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what is to befall her?'

"'I am more likely to want time than courage Elizabeth. But it ought to be done, and, if you will give me a sheet of paper, it shall be done directly.'

"'And, if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.'"

Darcy is quite as well drawn a character as Elizabeth, for though his pride and self-will are, in the early part of the story, almost overpowering, we always see the really fine nature behind them, and we can feel that when he meets with a woman who will respect him, but never stoop to flatter his faults, and whom he can love enough to bear with her laughing at him, he will be a most devoted and excellent husband. If the book can be said to have any defects, they are—first, that it is impossible to see how such a woman as Mrs. Bennet could have two daughters like Jane and Elizabeth; secondly, at Lydia's elopement is a disagreeable incident, told too much in detail, and made needlessly prominent. It is intended to bring Wickham's baseness into greater relief, and to show how Darcy's love could even triumph over such a connection; but it is revolting to depict a girl of sixteen so utterly lost to all sense of decency as Lydia is, and the plot would have worked out quite well without it. Still, at the time Jane Austen wrote, she might have pointed to many episodes in great writers that were far more strangely chosen, and Lydia's story does not really occupy much of the book, thought, for a time, it is prominent. The other flaw is, I venture to think, the mistake of a young writer, and Mrs. Bennet is so excellently drawn, and is so amusing, that we cannot wish her refined into anything different. It may be said, also, that Lady Catherine is too vulgar for a woman who was really of high birth; but it must be remembered that she is introduced among people whom she considers her inferiors, and vulgarity in high life is not so rare but that even Jane Austen, in her quiet country home, may have come across it. There is not a character nor a conversation in Pride and Prejudice that could be omitted without loss, and we may, therefore, very well give over criticising small defects, and yield ourselves to the full enjoyment of its genius as a whole.