Chapter VII: Lady Catherine’s Visit 123 (3)

_Mrs Bennet_ (_starting up_). Oh! dear! yes—certainly. I am sure Lizzie will be very happy. I am sure she can have no objection. (_Going._)

_Elizabeth._ Dear ma’am, do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I am going away myself. (_Also going._)

_Mrs Bennet._ No, no, nonsense, Lizzie. I desire you will stay where you are (_seeing that Elizabeth is determined to go_). Lizzie, I _insist_ upon your staying, and hearing Mr Collins. (_Exit._)

_Elizabeth_ (_aside_). Well! if it has to be—I may as well get it over as soon and as quietly as possible.

_Mr Collins._ Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there _not_ been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you, that I have your respected mother’s permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But, before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying—and, moreover, for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife—as I certainly did.

_Elizabeth (aside)._ The idea of this man being run away with by his feelings!

_Mr Collins._ My reasons for marrying are—first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish; secondly, I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly—which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked, too!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford, between our pools at quadrille, that she said, “Mr Collins, you must marry—a clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for _my_ sake; and for your _own_, let her be an active, useful sort of person not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.” Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady de Burgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe, and your wit and vivacity, I think, must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite.

_Elizabeth (aside)._ How am I to stop the man?

_Mr Collins._ This much for my general intention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be told why my views were directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (_reverentially_) (who, however, may live many years longer) I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible when the melancholy event takes place, which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now, nothing remains for me but to assure you, in the most animated language, of the violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with, and that one thousand pounds in the 4 per cents., which will not be yours till after your mother’s decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head I shall, therefore, be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.

_Elizabeth._ You are too hasty sir; you forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them.

_Collins (waving his hand)._ I am not now to learn that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am, therefore, by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.

_Elizabeth._ Upon my word, sir, your hope is rather an extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal; you could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so. Nay, were your friend, Lady Catherine, to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the situation.

_Collins (gravely)._ Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so—but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all disapprove of you. And, you may be certain that when I have the honour of seeing her again, I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualifications.

_Elizabeth._ Indeed, Mr Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary; you must give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment of believing what I say: I wish you very happy and very rich, and by refusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise. In making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your feelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn estate whenever it falls without any self-reproach (_rising_). This matter may be considered, therefore, as finally settled.

_Mr Collins._ When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on the subject, I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be an established custom of your sex to reject a man on the _first_ application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character.

_Elizabeth (warmly)._ Really, Mr Collins, you puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as may convince you of its being one.

_Collins (smiling)._ You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are briefly these—It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of De Burgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in my favour; and you should take it into further consideration, that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you—your portion is unhappily so small, that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.

_Elizabeth._ I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretension whatever of that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart.

_Collins (with awkward gallantry)._ You are uniformly charming! and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable.

_Elizabeth._ To such perseverance in wilful self-deception I can make no reply; but if you persist in considering my repeated refusals as flattering encouragement, I shall apply to my father, whose negative will no doubt be uttered in such a manner as must be decisive, and whose behaviour at least will not be mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an “elegant female.” (_Enter Mrs Bennet._)

_Mrs Bennet._ Well, Mr Collins, allow me to congratulate you—and myself.

_Mr Collins (smiling complacently)._ I trust I have every reason to be satisfied with the result of our interview, since the refusal with which my fair cousin has replied to my proposals comes naturally from her bashful modesty and the delicacy of her character.

_Mrs Bennet._ Her refusal? Why, Lizzie, what is the meaning of this—do you refuse Mr Collins?

_Elizabeth._ I do indeed, ma’am.

_Mrs Bennet._ Oh! Mr Collins, do not pay any attention to her. Depend upon it, she shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her about it myself privately, She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest; but I will _make_ her know it.

_Mr Collins (gravely)._ Pardon me for interrupting you, madam. But if she is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If, therefore, Miss Elizabeth actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects of temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity.

_Elizabeth (interrupting)._ That is very true, Mr Collins.

_Mrs Bennet._ Sir, you quite misunderstand me. Lizzie is only headstrong in such matters as these. In everything else she is as good-natured a girl as ever lived. Yes, you are, Lizzie, and I insist on you accepting Mr Collins.

_Elizabeth._ Ma’am, ma’am. I cannot, I do not care for him.

_Mrs Bennet._ Now, I do insist upon it, Lizzie, that you hold your tongue and let Mr Collins and me have a little conversation together.

_Mr Collins (stiffly)._ My dear madam, let us be for ever silent on this point. Far be it from me to resent the behaviour of your daughter. Resignation to inevitable evil is the duty of us all. You will not, I hope, consider me as showing any disrespect to your family by now withdrawing all pretensions to your daughter’s favour. My conduct may, I fear, be objectionable in accepting my dismission from _her_ lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to error—I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage of all your family, and if my _manner_ has been at all reprehensible, I beg here to apologise. (_Exit, with a bow._)

_Mrs Bennet (calling after him)._ Oh! Mr Collins—(_turning angrily to Elizabeth_), and there you stand, looking as unconcerned as may be, and caring no more for us all than if you were at York—provided you can have your own way. But I will tell you what, Miss Lizzie, if you take it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way, you will never get a husband at all; and I am sure I do not know who is to maintain you when your father is dead—_I_ shall not be able to keep you, and so I warn you. I have done with you from this very day—I shall never speak to you again, and you will find me as good as my word—I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not that I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking to anybody. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! but it is always so, those who do not complain are never pitied—and it is all owing to you—to your wilfulness and bad temper.

_Elizabeth (coaxingly)._ Ah, ma’am, do not be hard on me. Think of my sister Jane. How lovely she is. How much admired. How willing _she_ will be to listen to Mr Bingley. Let us go and tell her about it all. She will agree with us both.

_Mrs Bennet (softened)._ Well, Lizzie, I suppose I must be content with _one_ sensible girl among you all, but I should be thankful to have _you_ off my hands.

(_Exeunt Mrs Bennet and Elizabeth._)

_End of Scene._

LADY CATHERINE’S VISIT.

_From “Pride and Prejudice,” Vol. I., Chap. XXIX._

_Costumes._

_Lady Catherine._ Large hat trimmed with white feathers, and violet silk handkerchief, worn over a ruched cap. Dress of cinnamon brown satin; the bodice cut V-shaped in front; a high ruche of white muslin round the neck; open front of bodice being frilled with white lace. Pelisse of deep violet cloth. Silver-headed black stick; long-handled eyeglass.

_Elizabeth._ Dress of white Indian muslin—the bodice made high in front and gathered in the centre of the bosom into a long gold brooch. A Spencer waist trimmed round back and down the sides with a frill of the muslin, sleeves tied with pale green ribbon. Pale green ribbon girdle.

LADY CATHERINE’S VISIT.

_Characters._

_Lady Catherine de Burgh_, _Elizabeth Bennet._

_N.B._—“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 and rank
she thought she could witness without trepidation.... 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 ... delivering
her opinion on every subject in so decisive a manner as proved that
she was not used to have her judgment controverted.”—_Pride and
Prejudice_, Vol I., Chap. XXIX.

“There was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her (_Elizabeth’s_)
manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody, and Darcy
had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.”—Vol. I.,
Chap. X.

(_Elizabeth._) “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear
to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with
every attempt to intimidate me.”—_Pride and Prejudice_, Vol. I.,
Chap. XXXI.

_Scene—The morning-room at Longbourn. The furniture is comfortable, but a little shabby; it also wears a faded look of gaudiness, and is arranged in a stiff and formal manner._

_Properties required:—If possible a long French window at the back for Lady Catherine to enter. If not practicable a door to the L. with a screen in front of it, behind which the window must be imagined. Door R._

_Elizabeth._ So all is settled peaceably and amicably in this turbulent family of ours. Dear Jane has attained her wish at last, and is engaged to Mr Bingley, and Lydia is married. Lydia, who caused us so much unspeakable misery but a few weeks back, by eloping with Mr Wickham, is married, and the Bennets are now acknowledged to be the luckiest family in the world, though only a little while before we were generally proved to be marked out by misfortune.

How quickly and easily all this has been arranged, and by whom? By Mr Darcy, whose character I once so misjudged, whose proposal of marriage I treated with such scorn, but whom now my heart tells me I sincerely love and esteem. To-morrow he is to come to see us with Bingley. Bingley will have eyes for none but Jane. Will Mr Darcy be satisfied to spend the time with me, or will he have too keen a remembrance of my refusal when he was staying with Lady Catherine at Rosings? Good heaven! were she to know what passed between us, what would her feelings be.

_Going to the window._ I thought I heard the sound of a carriage. Who can it be? It is too early for visitors, and, besides, I know neither the servant nor the livery. The horses are post, too. Good Heaven! it is Lady Catherine de Burgh. What can she want here? She has seen me, and evidently means to come in through the window. (_Enter Lady Catherine de Burgh, C. through the French window or from behind the screen. She bows stiffly to Elizabeth, who curtseys._)

_Lady C. (sitting)._ I hope you are well, Miss Bennet.

_Elizabeth._ Thank you, very well. Allow me to call my mother.

_Lady C._ No, I thank you. It is you I have come all this way to see.

_Elizabeth (surprised)._ I am greatly honoured.

_Lady C._ You have a very small park here.

_Elizabeth (smiling)._ It is certainly not to compare with Rosings, but, I assure you, it is quite large enough for our use.

_Lady C. (snifs)._ This must be a most inconvenient sitting-room for the evening in summer; the windows are full west.

_Elizabeth._ We only sit here in the morning. (_Aside._) Heaven! how could I think her like her nephew.

_Lady C._ You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience must tell you why I come.

_Elizabeth (with unaffected astonishment)._ Indeed, you are mistaken, madam, I have not been at all able to account for the honour of seeing you here.

_Lady C. (angrily)._ Miss Bennet, you ought to know I am not to be trifled with. But, however insincere _you_ may choose to be, you shall not find _me_ so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told that not only your elder sister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that _you_, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my nephew—my own nephew—Mr Darcy. Though I _knew_ it must be a scandalous falsehood—though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.

_Elizabeth (surprised and angry)._ If you believed it impossible to be true, I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?

_Lady C._ At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.

_Elizabeth (coolly)._ Your coming to Longbourn to see me will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence.

_Lady C._ _If!_ do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously circulated by yourselves. Do you not know that such a report is spread abroad?

_Elizabeth._ I never heard that it was.

_Lady C._ And can you likewise declare that there is no _foundation_ for it?

_Elizabeth._ I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. _You_ may ask questions, which _I_ shall not choose to answer.

_Lady C._ This is not to be borne! Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has he, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?

_Elizabeth._ Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible.

_Lady C._ It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You may have drawn him in.

_Elizabeth._ If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it.

_Lady C._ Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.

_Elizabeth._ But you are not entitled to know _mine_; nor will such behaviour as this ever induce me to be explicit.

_Lady C._ Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never; Mr Darcy is engaged to _my daughter._ Now what have you to say?

_Elizabeth (quietly)._ Only this, that if it is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will make an offer to me.

_Lady C._ The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy they have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of _his_ mother as well as of hers. While in their cradles, we planned the union, and now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished, is their marriage to be prevented by a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends—to his tacit engagement with Miss de Burgh? Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?

_Elizabeth._ Yes! and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss de Burgh. You both did as much as you could, in planning the marriage; its completion depended on others. If Mr Darcy is neither by honour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I accept him?

_Lady C._ Because honour, decorum, prudence—nay, _interest_, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by any of his family or friends if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never be mentioned by any of us.

_Elizabeth._ These are heavy misfortunes indeed. But the wife of Mr Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily attached to her situation that she could, upon the whole, have no cause to repine.

_Lady C._ Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you!—But you are to understand me, Miss Bennet; I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose, nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person’s whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.

_Elizabeth._ _That_ will make your ladyship’s situation at present more pitiable, but it will have no effect on _me._

_Lady C._ I will not be interrupted! Hear me in silence. My daughter and my nephew are formed for each other. They are descended, on the maternal side, from the same noble line; and on the father’s, from respectable, honourable, and ancient, though untitled families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses; and what is to divide them?—the upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune! Is this to be endured? But it must not, shall not be! If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up.

_Elizabeth._ In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman’s daughter: so far we are equal.

_Lady C._ True, you are a gentleman’s daughter; but who was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition.

_Elizabeth._ Whatever my connections may be, if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you.

_Lady C._ Tell me, once for all, are you engaged to him?

_Elizabeth (after slight deliberation)._ I am not.

_Lady C. (pleased)._ Ah! and will you promise me never to enter into such an engagement?

_Elizabeth._ I will make no promise of the kind.

_Lady C._ Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require.

_Elizabeth._ And I certainly _never_ shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my giving you your wished-for promise make _their_ marriage at all more probable? supposing him to be attached to me, would _my_ refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference in _his_ affairs I cannot tell, but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no further on the subject.

_Lady C._ Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the objections I have already urged, I have still another to add. I am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister’s infamous elopement. I know it all; that the young man’s marrying her was a patched-up business—at the expense of your father and uncle. And is such a girl to be my nephew’s sister? Heaven and earth!—of what are you thinking?

_Elizabeth (rising angrily)._ You can now have nothing further to say. You have insulted me in every possible method. I must beg to be allowed to leave you. (_Curtseys._)

_Lady C. (rising, highly incensed)._ Stay, Miss Bennet. You have no regard then for the honour and credit of my nephew! Unfeeling, selfish girl! do you not consider that a connection with you must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody.

_Elizabeth._ Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say—you know my sentiments.

_Lady C._ You are then resolved to have him?

_Elizabeth._ I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to _you_, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.

_Lady C._ It is well! You refuse then to oblige me. You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world.

_Elizabeth._ Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude, has any possible claim on me in the present instance. No principle of either would be violated by my marriage with Mr Darcy. And with regard to the resentment of his family or the indignation of the world, if the former _were_ excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment’s concern—and the world in general would have too much sense to join in the scorn.

_Lady C._ And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well, I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; but depend upon it, I will carry my point.

_Elizabeth._ Good-day to you, Lady Catherine.

_Lady C. (at the window or screen)._ I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased. (_Exit Lady Catherine._)

_Elizabeth._ I could tell her truthfully I am _not_ engaged to Mr Darcy, but she little guessed the rest. Yet I do not think he can be quite indifferent to me, or surely she would not have taken the trouble—If he comes to-morrow with Bingley, as he arranged, I shall dare to hope (_sighs happily_). Perhaps I, too, may learn to think the Bennet family lucky in spite of Lady Catherine de Burgh.

[_Exit._

_End of Scene._

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