Pride and Prejudice

Chapter 29

Mr. Collins’s tri­umph, in con­se­quence of this in­vi­ta­tion, was com­plete. The pow­er of dis­play­ing the grandeur of his pa­troness to his won­der­ing vis­itors, and of let­ting them see her ci­vil­ity to­wards him­self and his wife, was ex­act­ly what he had wished for; and that an op­por­tu­ni­ty of do­ing it should be giv­en so soon, was such an in­stance of La­dy Cather­ine’s con­de­scen­sion, as he knew not how to ad­mire enough.

“I con­fess,” said he, “that I should not have been at all sur­prised by her la­dy­ship’s ask­ing us on Sun­day to drink tea and spend the evening at Ros­ings. I rather ex­pect­ed, from my knowl­edge of her af­fa­bil­ity, that it would hap­pen. But who could have fore­seen such an at­ten­tion as this? Who could have imag­ined that we should re­ceive an in­vi­ta­tion to dine there (an in­vi­ta­tion, more­over, in­clud­ing the whole par­ty) so im­me­di­ate­ly af­ter your ar­rival!”

“I am the less sur­prised at what has hap­pened,” replied Sir William, “from that knowl­edge of what the man­ners of the great re­al­ly are, which my sit­ua­tion in life has al­lowed me to ac­quire. About the court, such in­stances of el­egant breed­ing are not un­com­mon.”

Scarce­ly any­thing was talked of the whole day or next morn­ing but their vis­it to Ros­ings. Mr. Collins was care­ful­ly in­struct­ing them in 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 toi­lette, 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 her 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.”

While they were dress­ing, he came two or three times to their dif­fer­ent doors, to rec­om­mend their be­ing quick, as La­dy Cather­ine very much ob­ject­ed to be kept wait­ing for her din­ner. Such formidable ac­counts of her la­dy­ship, and her man­ner of liv­ing, quite fright­ened Maria Lu­cas who had been lit­tle used to com­pa­ny, and she looked for­ward to her in­tro­duc­tion at Ros­ings with as much ap­pre­hen­sion as her fa­ther had done to his pre­sen­ta­tion at St. James’s.

As the weath­er was fine, they had a pleas­ant walk of about half a mile across the park. Ev­ery park has its beau­ty and its prospects; and Eliz­abeth saw much to be pleased with, though she could not be in such rap­tures as Mr. Collins ex­pect­ed the scene to in­spire, and was but slight­ly af­fect­ed by his enu­mer­ation of the win­dows in front of the house, and his re­la­tion of what the glaz­ing al­to­geth­er had orig­inal­ly cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh.

When they as­cend­ed the steps to the hall, Maria’s alarm was ev­ery mo­ment in­creas­ing, and even Sir William did not look per­fect­ly calm. Eliz­abeth’s courage did not fail her. She had heard noth­ing of La­dy Cather­ine that spoke her aw­ful from any ex­traor­di­nary tal­ents or mirac­ulous virtue, and the mere state­li­ness of mon­ey or rank she thought she could wit­ness with­out trep­ida­tion.

From the en­trance-​hall, of which Mr. Collins point­ed out, with a rap­tur­ous air, the fine pro­por­tion and the fin­ished or­na­ments, they fol­lowed the ser­vants through an ante-​cham­ber, to the room where La­dy Cather­ine, her daugh­ter, and Mrs. Jenk­in­son were sit­ting. Her la­dy­ship, with great con­de­scen­sion, arose to re­ceive them; and as Mrs. Collins had set­tled it with her hus­band that the of­fice of in­tro­duc­tion should be hers, it was per­formed in a prop­er man­ner, with­out any of those apolo­gies and thanks which he would have thought nec­es­sary.

In spite of hav­ing been at St. James’s Sir William was so com­plete­ly awed by the grandeur sur­round­ing him, that he had but just courage enough to make a very low bow, and take his seat with­out say­ing a word; and his daugh­ter, fright­ened al­most out of her sens­es, sat on the edge of her chair, not know­ing which way to look. Eliz­abeth found her­self quite equal to the scene, and could ob­serve the three ladies be­fore her com­pos­ed­ly. La­dy Cather­ine was a tall, large wom­an, with strong­ly-​marked fea­tures, which might once have been hand­some. Her air was not con­cil­iat­ing, nor was her man­ner of re­ceiv­ing them such as to make her vis­itors for­get their in­fe­ri­or rank. She was not ren­dered formidable by si­lence; but what­ev­er she said was spo­ken in so au­thor­ita­tive a tone, as marked her self-​im­por­tance, and brought Mr. Wick­ham im­me­di­ate­ly to Eliz­abeth’s mind; and from the ob­ser­va­tion of the day al­to­geth­er, she be­lieved La­dy Cather­ine to be ex­act­ly what he rep­re­sent­ed.

When, af­ter ex­am­in­ing the moth­er, in whose coun­te­nance and de­port­ment she soon found some re­sem­blance of Mr. Dar­cy, she turned her eyes on the daugh­ter, she could al­most have joined in Maria’s as­ton­ish­ment at her be­ing so thin and so small. There was nei­ther in fig­ure nor face any like­ness be­tween the ladies. Miss de Bourgh was pale and sick­ly; her fea­tures, though not plain, were in­signif­icant; and she spoke very lit­tle, ex­cept in a low voice, to Mrs. Jenk­in­son, in whose ap­pear­ance there was noth­ing re­mark­able, and who was en­tire­ly en­gaged in lis­ten­ing to what she said, and plac­ing a screen in the prop­er di­rec­tion be­fore her eyes.

Af­ter sit­ting a few min­utes, they were all sent to one of the win­dows to ad­mire the view, Mr. Collins at­tend­ing them to point out its beau­ties, and La­dy Cather­ine kind­ly in­form­ing them that it was much bet­ter worth look­ing at in the sum­mer.

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. He carved, and ate, and praised with de­light­ed alacrity; and ev­ery dish was com­mend­ed, first by him and then by Sir William, who was now enough re­cov­ered to echo what­ev­er his son-​in-​law said, in a man­ner which Eliz­abeth won­dered La­dy Cather­ine could bear. But La­dy Cather­ine seemed grat­ified by their ex­ces­sive ad­mi­ra­tion, and gave most gra­cious smiles, es­pe­cial­ly when any dish on the ta­ble proved a nov­el­ty to them. The par­ty did not sup­ply much con­ver­sa­tion. Eliz­abeth was ready to speak when­ev­er there was an open­ing, but she was seat­ed be­tween Char­lotte and Miss de Bourgh–the for­mer of whom was en­gaged in lis­ten­ing to La­dy Cather­ine, and the lat­ter said not a word to her all din­ner-​time. Mrs. Jenk­in­son was chiefly em­ployed in watch­ing how lit­tle Miss de Bourgh ate, press­ing her to try some oth­er dish, and fear­ing she was in­dis­posed. Maria thought speak­ing out of the ques­tion, and the gen­tle­men did noth­ing but eat and ad­mire.

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, de­liv­er­ing her opin­ion on ev­ery sub­ject in so de­ci­sive a man­ner, as proved that she was not used to have her judge­ment con­tro­vert­ed. She in­quired in­to Char­lotte’s do­mes­tic con­cerns fa­mil­iar­ly and minute­ly, 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. Eliz­abeth found that noth­ing was be­neath this great la­dy’s at­ten­tion, which could fur­nish her with an oc­ca­sion of dic­tat­ing to oth­ers. 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 on 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 so 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 spring 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.”

“Aye, 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 are most de­light­ful­ly sit­uat­ed through my means; and it was but the oth­er day that I rec­om­mend­ed an­oth­er 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 Met­calf’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 younger sis­ters 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. The last-​born has as good a right to the plea­sures of youth at the first. 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 dared to tri­fle with so much dig­ni­fied im­per­ti­nence.

“You can­not be more than twen­ty, I am sure, there­fore you need not con­ceal your age.”

“I am not one-​and-​twen­ty.”

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. Their ta­ble was su­perla­tive­ly stupid. Scarce­ly a syl­la­ble was ut­tered that did not re­late to the game, ex­cept when Mrs. Jenk­in­son ex­pressed her fears of Miss de Bourgh’s be­ing too hot or too cold, or hav­ing too much or too lit­tle light. A great deal more passed at the oth­er ta­ble. La­dy Cather­ine was gen­er­al­ly speak­ing–stat­ing the mis­takes of the three oth­ers, or re­lat­ing some anec­dote of her­self. Mr. Collins was em­ployed in agree­ing to ev­ery­thing her la­dy­ship said, thank­ing her for ev­ery fish he won, and apol­ogis­ing if he thought he won too many. Sir William did not say much. He was stor­ing his mem­ory with anec­dotes and no­ble names.

When La­dy Cather­ine and her daugh­ter had played as long as they chose, the ta­bles were bro­ken 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 as many bows on Sir William’s they de­part­ed. As soon as they had driv­en from the door, Eliz­abeth was called on by her cousin to give her opin­ion of all that she had seen at Ros­ings, which, for Char­lotte’s sake, she made more favourable than it re­al­ly was. But her com­men­da­tion, though cost­ing her some trou­ble, could by no means sat­is­fy Mr. Collins, and he was very soon obliged to take her la­dy­ship’s praise in­to his own hands.