Chapter 26

MRS. GARDINER’S caution to Elizabeth was punctually and kindly given on the first favourable opportunity of speaking to her alone: after honestly telling her what she thought, she thus went on:—

Mrs. Gardiner kindly warned Elizabeth at the first good opportunity to speak to her alone. After honestly telling Elizabeth what she thought, she went on:

“You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love merely because you are warned against it; and, therefore, I am not afraid of speaking openly. Seriously, I would have you be on your guard. Do not involve yourself, or endeavour to involve him, in an affection which the want of fortune would make so very imprudent. I have nothing to say against him: he is a most interesting young man; and if he had the fortune he ought to have, I should think you could not do better. But as it is—you must not let your fancy run away with you. You have sense, and we all expect you to use it. Your father would depend on your resolution and good conduct, I am sure. You must not disappoint your father.”

“You are too sensible a girl, Lizzy, to fall in love just because someone warns you against it. So I am not afraid to speak openly. Seriously, I want you to be careful. Do not fall in love with him or try to make him fall in love with you. Your lack of money would make such a relationship very unwise. I have nothing against him. He is a very interesting young man. If he had the wealth he ought to have, I would think you could not do better. But as things stand, you must not let your feelings carry you away. You have good sense, and we all expect you to use it. I am sure your father would count on your self-control and good judgment. You must not disappoint your father.”

“My dear aunt, this is being serious indeed.”

“My dear aunt, you're being very serious now.”

“Yes, and I hope to engage you to be serious likewise.”

“Yes, and I hope to persuade you to be serious too.”

“Well, then, you need not be under any alarm. I will take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent it.”

“Well, then, you don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of myself, and of Mr. Wickham too. He won’t fall in love with me if I can help it.”

“Elizabeth, you are not serious now.”

“Elizabeth, you're not being serious now.”

“I beg your pardon. I will try again. At present I am not in love with Mr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison, the most agreeable man I ever saw—and if he becomes really attached to me—I believe it will be better that he should not. I see the imprudence of it. Oh, that abominable Mr. Darcy! My father’s opinion of me does me the greatest honour; and I should be miserable to forfeit it. My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I should be very sorry to be the means of making any of you unhappy; but since we see, every day, that where there is affection young people are seldom withheld, by immediate want of fortune, from entering into engagements with each other, how can I promise to be wiser than so many of my fellow-creatures, if I am tempted, or how am I even to know that it would be wiser to resist? All that I can promise you, therefore, is not to be in a hurry. I will not be in a hurry to believe myself his first object. When I am in company with him, I will not be wishing. In short, I will do my best.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try again. At present, I am not in love with Mr. Wickham. No, I certainly am not. But he is by far the most charming man I have ever met. And if he becomes truly attached to me, I believe it would be better if he didn’t. I see how unwise such an attachment would be. Oh, that awful Mr. Darcy! My father’s good opinion of me is a great honour, and I would be miserable to lose it. My father, however, is fond of Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, I would be very sorry to make any of you unhappy. But every day we see young people in love getting engaged, rarely held back by their current lack of money. So how can I promise to be wiser than so many others if I am tempted? And how can I even know that resisting would be wiser? All I can promise you, therefore, is not to rush. I won’t rush to believe that I come first in his affections. When I am with him, I won’t indulge in wishful thinking. In short, I will do my best.”

“Perhaps it will be as well if you discourage his coming here so very often. At least you should not remind your mother of inviting him.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you discouraged him from coming here so often. At least you should not remind your mother to invite him.”

“As I did the other day,” said Elizabeth, with a conscious smile; “very true, it will be wise in me to refrain from that. But do not imagine that he is always here so often. It is on your account that he has been so frequently invited this week. You know my mother’s ideas as to the necessity of constant company for her friends. But really, and upon my honour, I will try to do what I think to be wisest; and now I hope you are satisfied.”

“As I did the other day,” said Elizabeth, with a knowing smile. “Very true. I would be wise to avoid that. But don’t think he is always here so often. He has been invited so often this week because of you. You know my mother thinks her friends need constant company. But really, I give you my word, I will try to do what I think is wisest. And now I hope you’re satisfied.”

Her aunt assured her that she was; and Elizabeth, having thanked her for the kindness of her hints, they parted,—a wonderful instance of advice being given on such a point without being resented.

Her aunt assured her that she was. Elizabeth thanked her aunt for her kind suggestions, and they parted. It was a remarkable case of advice on such a subject being given without causing resentment.

Mr. Collins returned into Hertfordshire soon after it had been quitted by the Gardiners and Jane; but, as he took up his abode with the Lucases, his arrival was no great inconvenience to Mrs. Bennet. His marriage was now fast approaching; and she was at length so far resigned as to think it inevitable, and even repeatedly to say, in an ill-natured tone, that she “wished they might be happy.” Thursday was to be the wedding-day, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit; and when she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother’s ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected herself, accompanied her out of the room. As they went down stairs together, Charlotte said,—

Mr. Collins returned to Hertfordshire soon after the Gardiners and Jane had left. But because he stayed with the Lucases, his arrival caused Mrs. Bennet little inconvenience. His wedding was now fast approaching. She had finally accepted the marriage as inevitable, and even repeatedly said, in an ill-natured tone, that she “wished they might be happy.” The wedding was to take place on Thursday, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas made her farewell visit. When Charlotte rose to leave, Elizabeth went out of the room with her. Elizabeth was ashamed of her mother’s ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and was herself genuinely moved. As they went downstairs together, Charlotte said:

“I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza.”

“I’ll count on hearing from you very often, Eliza.”

“That you certainly shall.”

“That you certainly will.”

“And I have another favour to ask. Will you come and see me?”

“And I have one more favor to ask. Will you come visit me?”

“We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire.”

“I hope we’ll see each other often in Hertfordshire.”

“I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, to come to Hunsford.”

“I probably won’t leave Kent for some time. So promise me you’ll come to Hunsford.”

Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the visit.

Elizabeth couldn't refuse, though she expected little enjoyment from the visit.

“My father and Maria are to come to me in March,” added Charlotte, “and I hope you will consent to be of the party. Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome to me as either of them.”

“My father and Maria are coming to visit me in March,” Charlotte added. “And I hope you’ll agree to join them. Really, Eliza, you’ll be just as welcome as either of them.”

The wedding took place: the bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from the church door, and everybody had as much to say or to hear on the subject as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend, and their correspondence was as regular and frequent as it ever had been: that it should be equally unreserved was impossible. Elizabeth could never address her without feeling that all the comfort of intimacy was over; and, though determined not to slacken as a correspondent, it was for the sake of what had been rather than what was. Charlotte’s first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness: there could not but be curiosity to know how she would speak of her new home, how she would like Lady Catherine, and how happy she would dare pronounce herself to be; though, when the letters were read, Elizabeth felt that Charlotte expressed herself on every point exactly as she might have foreseen. She wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts, and mentioned nothing which she could not praise. The house, furniture, neighbourhood, and roads, were all to her taste, and Lady Catherine’s behaviour was most friendly and obliging. It was Mr. Collins’s picture of Hunsford and Rosings rationally softened; and Elizabeth perceived that she must wait for her own visit there, to know the rest.

The wedding took place. The bride and groom left for Kent straight from the church door. Everyone had as much to say or hear about the wedding as usual. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend, and they exchanged letters as regularly and frequently as ever. But they could no longer write with the same openness. Whenever Elizabeth wrote to Charlotte, she felt that all the comfort of their closeness was gone. Still, she was determined to keep writing as often as before. She did so for the sake of their past friendship rather than their present one. Charlotte’s first letters were received with considerable eagerness. Elizabeth could not help wondering how Charlotte would describe her new home and how she would like Lady Catherine. She also wondered how happy Charlotte would dare to say she was. Yet when Elizabeth read the letters, Charlotte’s account of everything was exactly what she might have expected. Charlotte wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded by comforts, and mentioned nothing she could not praise. The house, furniture, neighbourhood, and roads were all to her taste. Lady Catherine’s behaviour was most friendly and helpful. Charlotte’s account was Mr. Collins’s picture of Hunsford and Rosings, toned down to sound more reasonable. Elizabeth realized she would have to wait until her own visit to learn the rest.

Jane had already written a few lines to her sister, to announce their safe arrival in London; and when she wrote again, Elizabeth hoped it would be in her power to say something of the Bingleys.

Jane had already written a short note to her sister to say they had arrived safely in London. And Elizabeth hoped Jane would be able to share some news of the Bingleys in her next letter.

Her impatience for this second letter was as well rewarded as impatience generally is. Jane had been a week in town, without either seeing or hearing from Caroline. She accounted for it, however, by supposing that her last letter to her friend from Longbourn had by some accident been lost.

Her impatience for this second letter was rewarded about as well as impatience usually is. Jane had been in town for a week without seeing or hearing from Caroline. However, she assumed that her last letter to her friend, sent from Longbourn, had somehow been lost.

“My aunt,” she continued, “is going to-morrow into that part of the town, and I shall take the opportunity of calling in Grosvenor Street.”

“My aunt,” she continued, “is going to that part of town tomorrow. I’ll take the opportunity to visit Grosvenor Street.”

She wrote again when the visit was paid, and she had seen Miss Bingley. “I did not think Caroline in spirits,” were her words, “but she was very glad to see me, and reproached me for giving her no notice of my coming to London. I was right, therefore; my last letter had never reached her. I inquired after their brother, of course. He was well, but so much engaged with Mr. Darcy that they scarcely ever saw him. I found that Miss Darcy was expected to dinner: I wish I could see her. My visit was not long, as Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I dare say I shall soon see them here.”

She wrote again after making her visit and seeing Miss Bingley. “I did not think Caroline seemed cheerful,” she wrote, “but she was very glad to see me. She scolded me for not telling her I was coming to London. So I was right. My last letter had never reached her. I asked about their brother, of course. He was well, but so busy with Mr. Darcy that his sisters hardly ever saw him. I learned that Miss Darcy was expected for dinner. I wish I could see her. My visit was short because Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were going out. I expect I shall see them here soon.”

Elizabeth shook her head over this letter. It convinced her that accident only could discover to Mr. Bingley her sister’s being in town.

Elizabeth shook her head as she read the letter. The letter convinced her that Mr. Bingley would discover her sister was in town only by chance.

Four weeks passed away, and Jane saw nothing of him. She endeavoured to persuade herself that she did not regret it; but she could no longer be blind to Miss Bingley’s inattention. After waiting at home every morning for a fortnight, and inventing every evening a fresh excuse for her, the visitor did at last appear; but the shortness of her stay, and, yet more, the alteration of her manner, would allow Jane to deceive herself no longer. The letter which she wrote on this occasion to her sister will prove what she felt:—

Four weeks passed, and Jane saw nothing of him. She tried to convince herself that she did not regret his absence. But she could no longer ignore Miss Bingley’s lack of attention. For two weeks, Jane waited at home every morning and found a fresh excuse for Miss Bingley every evening. At last, Miss Bingley came to visit. But her stay was brief, and her manner had changed even more noticeably. Jane could no longer deceive herself. The letter she wrote to her sister after this visit shows how she felt:

This letter gave Elizabeth some pain; but her spirits returned, as she considered that Jane would no longer be duped, by the sister at least. All expectation from the brother was now absolutely over. She would not even wish for any renewal of his attentions. His character sunk on every review of it; and, as a punishment for him, as well as a possible advantage to Jane, she seriously hoped he might really soon marry Mr. Darcy’s sister, as, by Wickham’s account, she would make him abundantly regret what he had thrown away.

This letter caused Elizabeth some pain. But her spirits lifted when she considered that Jane would no longer be fooled, at least by the sister. All hope of anything from the brother was now completely gone. She would not even wish for him to show interest in Jane again. Her opinion of his character fell every time she thought about it. To punish him, and perhaps benefit Jane, she seriously hoped he would soon marry Mr. Darcy’s sister. For, according to Wickham, Mr. Darcy’s sister would make him bitterly regret what he had thrown away.

Mrs. Gardiner about this time reminded Elizabeth of her promise concerning that gentleman, and required information; and Elizabeth had such to send as might rather give contentment to her aunt than to herself. His apparent partiality had subsided, his attentions were over, he was the admirer of some one else. Elizabeth was watchful enough to see it all, but she could see it and write of it without material pain. Her heart had been but slightly touched, and her vanity was satisfied with believing that she would have been his only choice, had fortune permitted it. The sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds was the most remarkable charm of the young lady to whom he was now rendering himself agreeable; but Elizabeth, less clear-sighted perhaps in this case than in Charlotte’s, did not quarrel with him for his wish of independence. Nothing, on the contrary, could be more natural; and, while able to suppose that it cost him a few struggles to relinquish her, she was ready to allow it a wise and desirable measure for both, and could very sincerely wish him happy.

Around this time, Mrs. Gardiner reminded Elizabeth of her promise about that gentleman and asked for news. Elizabeth had news to send that might please her aunt more than herself. His apparent preference for her had faded, his attentions had ended, and he now admired someone else. Elizabeth noticed it all, but she could watch and write about it without much pain. Her feelings had not run very deep. Her vanity was satisfied by believing that she would have been his only choice, had money allowed it. The young lady he was now trying to please had recently acquired ten thousand pounds. This money was her most remarkable attraction. But Elizabeth, perhaps less clear-sighted about his choice than Charlotte’s, did not blame him for wanting financial independence. On the contrary, nothing could be more natural. As long as she could imagine that giving her up had cost him some struggle, she could approve his decision. She was ready to consider his choice wise and desirable for them both, and could sincerely wish him happiness.

All this was acknowledged to Mrs. Gardiner; and, after relating the circumstances, she thus went on:—“I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been much in love; for had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name, and wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards him, they are even impartial towards Miss King. I cannot find out that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this. My watchfulness has been effectual; and though I should certainly be a more interesting object to all my acquaintance, were I distractedly in love with him, I cannot say that I regret my comparative insignificance. Importance may sometimes be purchased too dearly. Kitty and Lydia take his defection much more to heart than I do. They are young in the ways of the world, and not yet open to the mortifying conviction that handsome young men must have something to live on as well as the plain.”

She admitted all this to Mrs. Gardiner. After explaining the circumstances, she went on: “I am now convinced, my dear aunt, that I have never been very much in love. If I had truly felt that pure and uplifting passion, I would now hate even his name. I would wish him every kind of misfortune. But my feelings towards him are not only friendly, I am even fair-minded towards Miss King. I cannot find that I hate her at all. Nor am I at all unwilling to think her a very nice girl. There can be no love in any of these feelings. My efforts to guard my heart have worked. Though everyone I know would certainly find me more interesting if I were madly in love with him, I have no regrets. I cannot say I mind being comparatively unimportant. Sometimes the price of being important is too high. Kitty and Lydia take his loss of interest much more to heart than I do. They have little experience of the world. They have not yet accepted the humiliating truth that handsome young men need something to live on, just like plain ones.”