Chapter 24

MISS 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.

Miss Bingley’s letter arrived and ended all doubt. The very first sentence confirmed that they were all settled in London for the winter. The sentence ended with her brother’s regret that he had not had time to visit his friends in Hertfordshire before leaving the countryside.

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.

Hope was gone, entirely gone. When Jane could focus on the rest of the letter, she found little to comfort her except Caroline’s claims of affection. Most of the letter was devoted to praising Miss Darcy. Caroline once again described Miss Darcy’s many charms and boasted joyfully of their growing closeness. She even ventured to predict that the wishes described in her earlier letter would come true. She also wrote with great pleasure that her brother was staying at Mr. Darcy’s house. And she spoke with delight about some of Mr. Darcy’s plans for 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 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 whatever 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.

Jane soon told Elizabeth the main points of all this, and Elizabeth listened in silent anger. She felt torn between concern for her sister and resentment toward everyone else. She did not believe Caroline’s claim that her brother preferred Miss Darcy. She remained as certain as ever that he truly cared for Jane. Yet although she had always been inclined to like him, she now thought of him with anger and almost contempt. His easygoing nature and lack of firmness had made him the slave of his scheming friends. He was sacrificing his own happiness to their passing whims. If only his own happiness had been at stake, he might have been free to play with it however he pleased. But her sister’s happiness was at stake too, as Elizabeth thought he himself must realize. In short, she could spend a long time thinking about the matter, but her thoughts could achieve nothing. She could think of nothing else. Had Bingley’s affection really faded, or had his friends’ interference forced him to suppress it? Had he known of Jane’s feelings, or had he failed to notice them? The answers would make a great difference to Elizabeth’s opinion of him. But whatever the truth, her sister’s situation remained the same, and her peace of mind was equally damaged.

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,—

A day or two passed before Jane found the courage to talk to Elizabeth about her feelings. But at last, Mrs. Bennet left them alone after complaining longer than usual about Netherfield and its owner. Jane could not help saying:

“O 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.”

“Oh, I wish my dear mother had more control over herself! She has no idea how much her constant remarks about him hurt me. But I won’t complain. This cannot last long. He will be forgotten, and we shall all be as we were before.”

Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said nothing.

Elizabeth looked at her sister with disbelief and concern, 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——”

“You doubt me,” cried Jane, blushing slightly. “You really have no reason to. I may remember him as the kindest man I know, but that is all. I have nothing to hope for or fear, and nothing to blame him for. Thank God I have not that pain. So, with a little time, I shall certainly try to get over...”

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 anyone but myself.”

She soon added in a stronger voice, “At least I can take comfort right away in knowing I only imagined it. And my mistake has hurt no one but me.”

“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.”

“My dear Jane,” Elizabeth exclaimed, “you are too good. Your kindness and unselfishness are truly angelic. I don’t know what to say to you. I feel as if I’ve never fully appreciated you or loved you as much as you deserve.”

Miss Bennet eagerly disclaimed all extraordinary merit, and threw back the praise on her sister’s warm affection.

Miss Bennet eagerly denied deserving any special praise. She said her sister only praised her so highly out of affection.

“Nay,” said Elizabeth, “this is not fair. You wish to think all the world respectable, and are hurt if I speak ill of anybody. 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!”

“No,” said Elizabeth, “this is not fair. You want to think everyone is respectable, and you feel hurt if I speak badly of anyone. I only want to think you perfect, and you refuse to let me. Don’t worry that I’ll go too far and take over your special right to think well of everyone. You needn’t worry. There are few people I really love, and even fewer I think well of. The more I see of the world, the less satisfied I am with it. Every day strengthens my belief that all people are inconsistent. Every day also shows how little we can trust appearances of goodness or good sense. I’ve come across two examples lately. One I won’t mention. The other is Charlotte’s marriage. I can’t understand it! No matter how I look at her marriage, I can’t understand it!”

“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 everybody’s sake, that she may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin.”

“My dear Lizzy, do not give in to these feelings. They will ruin your happiness. You do not allow enough for differences in circumstances and personality. Think of Mr. Collins’s respectability and Charlotte’s sensible, steady character. Remember that she comes from a large family. Financially, the marriage is a very good match. And for everyone’s sake, be willing to believe she may feel something like affection and respect for our cousin.”

“To oblige you, I would try to believe almost anything, 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.”

“To please you, I would try to believe almost anything. But no one else would benefit from believing Charlotte cares for him. For if I believed she did, I would think even less of her judgment than I now do of her heart. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, foolish man. You know he is, just as well as I do. And you must feel, just as I do, that any woman who marries him cannot have sound judgment. You must not defend her, even though she is Charlotte Lucas. You must not change the meaning of principle and integrity for one person's sake. Nor must you try to convince yourself or me that selfishness is good judgment. Or that being blind to danger guarantees 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 entreat 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.”

“I must say you’re speaking too harshly about both of them,” replied Jane. “And I hope seeing them happy together will convince you of that. But enough about this. You hinted at something else. You mentioned two instances. I know what you mean, but I beg you, dear Lizzy, not to hurt me by blaming that person. Please don’t say your opinion of him has fallen. We must not be so quick to imagine that someone has deliberately hurt us. We must not expect a lively young man to be so careful and cautious all the time. Very often, it is only our own vanity that misleads us. Women imagine that admiration means more than it does.”

“And men take care that they should.”

“And men make sure they do.”

“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.”

“If it was done on purpose, they cannot be justified. But I don’t believe people act with hidden intentions as often as some 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.”

“I’m far from thinking any of Mr. Bingley’s behavior was deliberate,” said Elizabeth. “But people may make mistakes and cause misery without planning to do wrong or make others unhappy. Thoughtlessness, disregard for other people’s feelings, and a lack of determination will be enough.”

“And do you impute it to either of those?”

“And do you think either of those is the cause?”

“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.”

“Yes, to the very end. But if I go on, I’ll upset you by saying what I think of people you respect. Stop me while you still can.”

“You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him?”

“So you still think his sisters influence him?”

“Yes, in conjunction with his friend.”

“Yes, together 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.”

“I can't believe it. Why would they try to influence him? They can only want him to be happy. And if he loves me, no other woman can make him happy.”

“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.”

“Your first point is wrong. They may want many things besides his happiness. They may want him to have more wealth and higher social standing. They may want him to marry a girl with all the status that money, powerful connections, and pride bring.”

“Beyond a doubt they do wish him to choose 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 everybody 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.”

“Without a doubt, they do want him to choose Miss Darcy,” Jane replied. “But their reasons may be kinder than you suppose. They have known her much longer than they have known me. It is no wonder they love her more. But whatever their own wishes, it is very unlikely they would have opposed their brother’s wishes. What sister would feel free to do that unless there were something seriously wrong with his choice? If they believed he loved me, they would not try to separate us. If he did love me, they could not succeed. By supposing he loves me, you make everyone seem to be behaving unnaturally and wrongly, and you make me deeply unhappy. Please do not upset me with that idea. I am not ashamed of having been mistaken. Or at least, my shame is slight. It is nothing compared with what I would feel if I thought badly of him or his sisters. Let me see this in the best possible light, as it can reasonably be understood.”

Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley’s name was scarcely ever mentioned between them.

Elizabeth could not go against such a wish. And from then on, they hardly ever mentioned Mr. Bingley’s name.

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.

Mrs. Bennet still wondered and complained about his failure to return. Although Elizabeth explained the reason clearly almost every day, her mother seemed unlikely ever to find his absence less puzzling. Elizabeth tried to convince her mother of something she did not believe herself. She claimed his interest in Jane had been nothing more than an ordinary, passing attraction. His feelings had faded when he stopped seeing Jane. But although Mrs. Bennet accepted this explanation as likely at the time, Elizabeth had to repeat it every day. Mrs. Bennet’s greatest comfort was the thought that Mr. Bingley was sure to return 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 officers 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.”

Mr. Bennet took a different view of the matter. “So, Lizzy,” he said one day, “I hear your sister has been disappointed in love. I congratulate her. Next to getting married, a girl likes nothing better than a little disappointment in love now and then. It gives her something to think about and makes her stand out a little among her friends. When will your turn come? You can hardly bear to let Jane outdo you for long. Now is your chance. There are enough officers at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and being jilted by him would be quite respectable.”

“Thank you, sir, but a less agreeable man would satisfy me. We must not all expect Jane’s good fortune.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’d be happy with a less pleasant man. We can’t all expect Jane’s good luck.”

“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.”

“True,” said Mr. Bennet, “but you can take comfort in knowing you have a loving mother. Whatever of that kind may happen to you, she 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 everybody was pleased to think how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known anything of the matter.

Mr. Wickham’s company did much to lift the gloom that recent unfortunate events had cast over many in the Longbourn family. They saw him often, and his new willingness to speak freely added to his other attractions. Everything Elizabeth had already heard was now openly acknowledged and publicly discussed. This included his claims on Mr. Darcy and all he had suffered at Mr. Darcy’s hands. And everyone was pleased to remember how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy, even before knowing anything about it.

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.

Miss Bennet alone thought there might be circumstances unknown to Hertfordshire society that could excuse his behavior. Her gentle, consistent fairness always led her to make allowances and suggest that mistakes might have been made. But everyone else condemned Mr. Darcy as the worst of men.