On the very last day of the regiment's remaining in Meryton, he dined with others
of the officers at Longbourn; and so little was Elizabeth disposed to part from
him in good humour, that on his making some enquiry as to the manner in which her
time had passed at Hunsford, she mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam's and Mr. Darcy's
having both spent three weeks at Rosings, and asked him if he were acquainted with
He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a moment's recollection and
a returning smile, replied that he had formerly seen him often; and after observing
that he was a very gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him. Her answer
was warmly in his favour. With an air of indifference he soon afterwards added,
"How long did you say that he was at Rosings?"
"Nearly three weeks."
"And you saw him frequently?"
"Yes, almost every day."
"His manners are very different from his cousin's."
"Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves on acquaintance."
"Indeed!" cried Wickham with a look which did not escape her.
"And pray may I ask -- ?" but checking himself, he added in a gayer tone, "Is
it in address that he improves? Has he deigned to add ought of civility to his ordinary
style? for I dare not hope," he continued in a lower and more serious tone, "that
he is improved in essentials."
"Oh, no!" said Elizabeth. "In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he
While she spoke, Wickham looked as if scarcely knowing whether to rejoice over
her words, or to distrust their meaning. There was a something in her countenance
which made him listen with an apprehensive and anxious attention, while she added,
"When I said that he improved on acquaintance, I did not mean that either his mind
or manners were in a state of improvement, but that from knowing him better, his
disposition was better understood."
Wickham's alarm now appeared in a heightened complexion and agitated look; for
a few minutes he was silent; till, shaking off his embarrassment, he turned to her
again, and said in the gentlest of accents, "You, who so well know my feelings towards
Mr. Darcy, will readily comprehend how sincerely I must rejoice that he is wise
enough to assume even the appearance of what is right. His pride, in that direction,
may be of service, if not to himself, to many others, for it must deter him from
such foul misconduct as I have suffered by. I only fear that the sort of cautiousness,
to which you, I imagine, have been alluding, is merely adopted on his visits to
his aunt, of whose good opinion and judgment he stands much in awe. His fear of
her has always operated, I know, when they were together; and a good deal is to
be imputed to his wish of forwarding the match with Miss De Bourgh, which I am certain
he has very much at heart."
Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this, but she answered only by a slight
inclination of the head. She saw that he wanted to engage her on the old subject
of his grievances, and she was in no humour to indulge him. The rest of the evening
passed with the appearance, on his side, of usual cheerfulness, but with no farther
attempt to distinguish Elizabeth; and they parted at last with mutual civility,
and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.
When the party broke up, Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to Meryton, from whence
they were to set out early the next morning. The separation between her and her
family was rather noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the only one who shed tears; but
she did weep from vexation and envy. Mrs. Bennet was diffuse in her good wishes
for the felicity of her daughter, and impressive in her injunctions that she would
not miss the opportunity of enjoying herself as much as possible; advice, which
there was every reason to believe would be attended to; and in the clamorous happiness
of Lydia herself in bidding farewell, the more gentle adieus of her sisters were
uttered without being heard.
<CHAPTER XIX (42)>
HAD Elizabeth's opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could not have
formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal felicity or domestic comfort. Her father,
captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good humour which youth and
beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal
mind had, very early in their marriage, put an end to all real affection for her.
Respect, esteem, and confidence had vanished for ever; and all his views of domestic
happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort,
for the disappointment which his own imprudence had brought on, in any of those
pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice.
He was fond of the country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal
enjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than as her ignorance
and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which
a man would in general wish to owe to his wife; but where other powers of entertainment
are wanting, the true philosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.
Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her father's behaviour
as a husband. She had always seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and
grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavoured to forget what
she could not overlook, and to banish from her thoughts that continual breach of
conjugal obligation and decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her
own children, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so strongly as
now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage,
nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction
of talents; talents which rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability
of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.
When Elizabeth had rejoiced over Wickham's departure, she found little other
cause for satisfaction in the loss of the regiment. Their parties abroad were less
varied than before; and at home she had a mother and sister whose constant repinings
at the dulness of every thing around them threw a real gloom over their domestic
circle; and, though Kitty might in time regain her natural degree of sense, since
the disturbers of her brain were removed, her other sister, from whose disposition
greater evil might be apprehended, was likely to be hardened in all her folly and
assurance by a situation of such double danger as a watering place and a camp. Upon
the whole, therefore, she found what has been sometimes found before, that an event
to which she had looked forward with impatient desire, did not, in taking place,
bring all the satisfaction she had promised herself. It was consequently necessary
to name some other period for the commencement of actual felicity; to have some
other point on which her wishes and hopes might be fixed, and by again enjoying
the pleasure of anticipation, console herself for the present, and prepare for another
disappointment. Her tour to the Lakes was now the object of her happiest thoughts;
it was her best consolation for all the uncomfortable hours which the discontentedness
of her mother and Kitty made inevitable; and could she have included Jane in the
scheme, every part of it would have been perfect.
"But it is fortunate," thought she, "that I have something to wish for. Were
the whole arrangement complete, my disappointment would be certain. But here, by
my carrying with me one ceaseless source of regret in my sister's absence, I may
reasonably hope to have all my expectations of pleasure realized. A scheme of which
every part promises delight, can never be successful; and general disappointment
is only warded off by the defence of some little peculiar vexation."
When Lydia went away, she promised to write very often and very minutely to her
mother and Kitty; but her letters were always long expected, and always very short.
Those to her mother contained little else, than that they were just returned from
the library, where such and such officers had attended them, and where she had seen
such beautiful ornaments as made her quite wild; that she had a new gown, or a new
parasol, which she would have described more fully, but was obliged to leave off
in a violent hurry, as Mrs. Forster called her, and they were going to the camp;
-- and from her correspondence with her sister, there was still less to be learnt
-- for her letters to Kitty, though rather longer, were much too full of lines under
the words to be made public.
After the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence, health, good humour,
and cheerfulness began to re-appear at Longbourn. Everything wore a happier aspect.
The families who had been in town for the winter came back again, and summer finery
and summer engagements arose. Mrs. Bennet was restored to her usual querulous serenity,
and by the middle of June Kitty was so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton
without tears; an event of such happy promise as to make Elizabeth hope that by
the following Christmas, she might be so tolerably reasonable as not to mention
an officer above once a day, unless, by some cruel and malicious arrangement at
the War-Office, another regiment should be quartered in Meryton.
The time fixed for the beginning of their Northern tour was now fast approaching;
and a fortnight only was wanting of it, when a letter arrived from Mrs. Gardiner,
which at once delayed its commencement and curtailed its extent. Mr. Gardiner would
be prevented by business from setting out till a fortnight later in July, and must
be in London again within a month; and as that left too short a period for them
to go so far, and see so much as they had proposed, or at least to see it with the
leisure and comfort they had built on, they were obliged to give up the Lakes, and
substitute a more contracted tour; and, according to the present plan, were to go
no farther northward than Derbyshire. In that county, there was enough to be seen
to occupy the chief of their three weeks; and to Mrs. Gardiner it had a peculiarly
strong attraction. The town where she had formerly passed some years of her life,
and where they were now to spend a few days, was probably as great an object of
her curiosity, as all the celebrated beauties of Matlock, Chatsworth, Dovedale,
or the Peak.