by Austen, Jane
52. spoke compassion: revealed or manifested compassionate feelings.
53. Darcy's disinclination to seek thanks or gratitude for himself will appear more strongly in his later course of action regarding this whole matter.
54. varieties: variations, changes of fortune.
55. That is, the continuance or termination of her acquaintance with Darcy.
56. In other words, compared to the common idea, so often described, of love at first sight. This passage represents an ironic jab at one of the author's favorite targets, the cult of immediate and impulsive love. This cult was widespread in the literature of the time, and Jane Austen attacks it with particular fervor in youthful stories such as “Love and Friendship.” Her favorite novel, Samuel Richardson's Sir Charles Grandison, includes similar attacks, along with a celebration of love that is based on strong moral principles and on a solid knowledge of the beloved. This novel's examples of impulsive love—Elizabeth's infatuation with Wickham and Lydia's current elopement with him—provide strong support for a similar position.
57. This other mode of attachment is love that develops gradually and rationally, the kind of love that Jane Austen generally extolls.
58. developement: disclosure or revelation of information.
59. This brings up the question of why Wickham runs away with Lydia, when he has no intention of marrying her. The explanation Elizabeth offers here is the one that will ultimately be confirmed (see pp. 574 and 576), which is that Wickham, already running off for reasons of his own, was happy to bring along as a companion a pretty girl who adored him. At this time, an unmarried man who wanted sexual companionship usually had to resort to prostitutes; Lydia would offer something better than that for Wickham.
Some have wondered if Wickham might have hoped to revenge himself on Darcy by ruining the sister of his beloved. But Wickham has no reason to know of Darcy's interest in Elizabeth: he has never been told of the proposal; he believes Darcy to be destined for Miss De Bourgh; and his belief in Darcy's social pride would make him doubt that Darcy would marry a woman of lower birth and wealth like Elizabeth. Nor would Wickham have reason to believe Elizabeth to be interested in Darcy, for all she told him during their last conversation was that she had come to understand Darcy better, without saying that she liked him or providing any more specifics. Finally, it is doubtful if Wickham, being as self-centered as he is, spends much time speculating about anyone's affairs but his own.
Thus Wickham's choice of Lydia, a choice that plays such an important role in the action of the book, is fundamentally a coincidence. But it is not too extreme a coincidence. Lydia had been residing with the commander of the regiment, which would have given her frequent contacts with the regiment's officers; Wickham has already been described as by far the most charming and handsome of the officers; thus, given Lydia's flirtatiousness and strong interest in men, it is in no way remarkable that she fell in love with him, and that he reciprocated enough to accept her as a temporary companion.
60. virtue: during this time virtue, for women, normally meant sexual virtue or chastity. In this context, it especially means virtuousness, i.e. the inner character that would make a woman preserve her chastity.
61. Lydia's essential flightiness has already been displayed in a number of ways. The implication here is that her affection for Wickham was a recent development.
62. mischief: harm, evil.
63. wild: passionately eager or desirous.
64. deranged: disarranged, thrown into disorder.
65. As stated above, and as will be underlined in later passages, Lydia's disgrace would bring humiliation upon the entire family. The improper behavior and lower social origins of the Bennets have already played a critical role in Bingley's decision (guided by Darcy) to break off his ties with Jane. A sexual scandal like this would have far more severe effects on the family and on the marital prospects of the other daughters.
66. John: the servant commissioned by Elizabeth to summon the Gardiners.
Chapter Five
Ihave been thinking it over again, Elizabeth,” said her uncle, as they drove from the town; “and really, upon serious consideration, I am much more inclined than I was to judge as your eldest sister does of the matter. It appears to me so very unlikely, that any young man should form such a design against a girl who is by no means unprotected or friendless, and who was actually staying in his colonel's family, that I am strongly inclined to hope the best. Could he expect that her friends would not step forward?1 Could he expect to be noticed2 again by the regiment, after such an affront to Colonel Forster?3 His temptation is not adequate to the risk.”
“Do you really think so?” cried Elizabeth, brightening up for a moment.
“Upon my word,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “I begin to be of your uncle's opinion. It is really too great a violation of decency, honour, and interest, for him to be guilty of it. I cannot think so very ill of Wickham. Can you, yourself, Lizzy, so wholly give him up, as to believe him capable of it?”
“Not perhaps of neglecting his own interest. But of every other neglect I can believe him capable. If, indeed, it should be so! But I dare not hope it. Why should they not go on to Scotland, if that had been the case?”
“In the first place,” replied Mr. Gardiner, “there is no absolute proof that they are not gone to Scotland.”
“Oh! but their removing from the chaise into an hackney coach is such a presumption!4 And, besides, no traces of them were to be found on the Barnet road.”5
“Well, then —supposing them to be in London. They may be there, though for the purpose of concealment, for no more exceptionable purpose. It is not likely that money should be very abundant on either side; and it might strike them that they could be more economically, though less expeditiously, married in London, than in Scotland.”6
“But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? Why must their marriage be private? Oh! no, no, this is not likely. His most particular friend, you see by Jane's account, was persuaded of his never intending to marry her. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford it. And what claims has Lydia, what attractions has she beyond youth, health, and good humour, that could make him for her sake, forego every chance of benefiting himself by marrying well?7 As to what restraint the apprehension of disgrace in the corps might throw on a dishonourable elopement with her, I am not able to judge; for I know nothing of the effects that such a step might produce. But as to your other objection, I am afraid it will hardly hold good. Lydia has no brothers to step forward;8 and he might imagine, from my father's behaviour, from his indolence and the little attention he has ever seemed to give to what was going forward in his family, that he would do as little, and think as little about it, as any father could do, in such a matter.”
“But can you think that Lydia is so lost to every thing but love of him, as to consent to live with him on any other terms than marriage?”
“It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed,” replied Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, “that a sister's sense of decency and virtue in such a point should admit of doubt.9 But, really, I know not what to say. Perhaps I am not doing her justice. But she is very young; she has never been taught to think on serious subjects; and for the last half year, nay, for a twelvemonth, she has been given up to nothing but amusement and vanity. She has been allowed to dispose of her time in the most idle and frivolous manner, and to adopt any opinions that came in her way. Since the——shire were first quartered in Meryton, nothing but love, flirtation, and officers, have been in her head. She has been doing every thing in her power by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater —what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings;10 which are naturally lively11 enough. And we all know that Wickham has every charm of person12 and address13 that can captivate a woman.”14
“But you see that Jane” said her aunt, “does not think so ill of Wickham, as to believe him capable of the attempt.”
“Of whom does
Jane ever think ill? And who is there, whatever might be their former conduct, that she would believe capable of such an attempt, till it were proved against them? But Jane knows, as well as I do, what Wickham really is. We both know that he has been profligate15 in every sense of the word. That he has neither integrity nor honour. That he is as false and deceitful, as he is insinuating.”
“And do you really know all this?” cried Mrs. Gardiner, whose curiosity as to the mode of her intelligence16 was all alive.17
“I do, indeed,” replied Elizabeth, colouring.18 “I told you the other day, of his infamous behaviour to Mr. Darcy; and you, yourself, when last at Longbourn, heard in what manner he spoke of the man, who had behaved with such forbearance and liberality towards him. And there are other circumstances which I am not at liberty—which it is not worth while to relate; but his lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless. From what he said of Miss Darcy, I was thoroughly prepared to see a proud, reserved, disagreeable girl. Yet he knew to the contrary himself. He must know that she was as amiable and unpretending as we have found her.”
“But does Lydia know nothing of this? Can she be ignorant of what you and Jane seem so well to understand?”
“Oh, yes!—that, that is the worst of all. Till I was in Kent, and saw so much both of Mr. Darcy and his relation, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I was ignorant of the truth myself. And when I
returned home, the——shire was to leave Meryton in a week or fortnight's time. As that was the case, neither Jane, to whom I related the whole, nor I, thought it necessary to make our knowledge public; for of what use could it apparently be to any one, that the good opinion which all the neighbourhood had of him, should then be overthrown? And even when it was settled that Lydia should go with Mrs. Forster, the necessity of opening her eyes to his character never occurred to me. That she could be in any danger from the deception never entered my head. That such a consequence as this should ensue, you may easily believe was far enough from my thoughts.”
“When they all removed to Brighton, therefore, you had no reason, I suppose, to believe them fond of each other.”
“Not the slightest. I can remember no symptom of affection on either side; and had any thing of the kind been perceptible, you must be aware that ours is not a family, on which it could be thrown away.19 When first he entered the corps, she was ready enough to admire him; but so we all were. Every girl in, or near Meryton, was out of her senses about him for the first two months; but he never distinguished her by any particular attention, and, consequently, after a moderate period of extravagant and wild admiration, her fancy for him gave way, and others of the regiment, who treated her with more distinction, again became her favourites.”
———
It may be easily believed, that however little of novelty could be added to their fears, hopes, and conjectures, on this interesting20 subject, by its repeated discussion, no other could detain them from it long, during the whole of the journey. From Elizabeth's thoughts it was never absent. Fixed there by the keenest of all anguish, self reproach, she could find no interval of ease or forgetfulness.
They travelled as expeditiously as possible; and sleeping one night on the road, reached Longbourn by dinner-time the next day.21 It was a comfort to Elizabeth to consider that Jane could not have been wearied by long expectations.
The little Gardiners, attracted by the sight of a chaise,22 were standing on the steps of the house, as they entered the paddock;23 and when the carriage drove up to the door, the joyful surprise that lighted up their faces, and displayed itself over their whole bodies, in a variety of capers and frisks, was the first pleasing earnest24 of their welcome.
Elizabeth jumped out; and, after giving each of them an hasty kiss, hurried into the vestibule, where Jane, who came running down stairs from her mother's apartment,25 immediately met her.
Elizabeth, as she affectionately embraced her, whilst tears filled the eyes of both, lost not a moment in asking whether any thing had been heard of the fugitives.
“Not yet,” replied Jane. “But now that my dear uncle is come, I hope every thing will be well.”
“Is my father in town?”
“Yes, he went on Tuesday as I wrote you word.”
“And have you heard from him often?”
“We have heard only once. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday, to say that he had arrived in safety, and to give me his directions,26 which I particularly begged him to do. He merely added, that he should not write again, till he had something of importance to mention.”27
“And my mother —How is she? How are you all?”
“My mother is tolerably well, I trust; though her spirits are greatly shaken. She is up stairs, and will have great satisfaction in seeing you all. She does not yet leave her dressing-room. Mary and Kitty, thank Heaven! are quite well.”
“But you —How are you?” cried Elizabeth. “You look pale. How much you must have gone through!”
Her sister, however, assured her, of her being perfectly well; and their conversation, which had been passing while Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were engaged with their children, was now put an end to, by the approach of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and thanked them both, with alternate smiles and tears.
When they were all in the drawing room, the questions which Elizabeth had already asked, were of course repeated by the others, and they soon found that Jane had no intelligence28 to give. The sanguine hope of good, however, which the benevolence of her heart suggested, had not yet deserted her; she still expected that it would all end well, and that every morning would bring some letter, either from Lydia or her father, to explain their proceedings, and perhaps announce the marriage.
Mrs. Bennet, to whose apartment they all repaired,29 after a few minutes conversation together, received them exactly as might be expected; with tears and lamentations of regret, invectives against the villanous conduct of Wickham, and complaints of her own sufferings and ill usage; blaming every body but the person to whose ill judging indulgence the errors of her daughter must be principally owing.
“If I had been able,” said she, “to carry my point of going to Brighton, with all my family, this would not have happened; but poor dear Lydia had nobody to take care of her. Why did the Forsters ever let her go out of their sight? I am sure there was some great neglect or other on their side, for she is not the kind of girl to do such a thing, if she had been well looked after. I always thought they were very unfit to have the charge of her; but I was over-ruled, as I always am. Poor dear child! And now here's Mr. Bennet gone away, and I know he will fight Wickham, wherever he meets him, and then he will be killed,30 and what is to become of us all? The Collinses will turn us out, before he is cold in his grave; and if you are not kind to us, brother, I do not know what we shall do.”
They all exclaimed against such terrific31 ideas; and Mr. Gardiner, after general assurances of his affection for her and all her family, told her that he meant to be in London the very next day, and would assist Mr. Bennet in every endeavour for recovering Lydia.
“Do not give way to useless alarm,” added he, “though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain. It is not quite a week since they left Brighton. In a few days more, we may gain some news of them, and till we know that they are not married, and have no design of marrying, do not let us give the matter over as lost. As soon as I get to town, I shall go to my brother, and make him come home with me to Gracechurch Street, and then we may consult together as to what is to be done.”
“Oh! my dear brother,” replied Mrs. Bennet, “that is exactly what I could most wish for. And now do, when you get to town, find them out, wherever they may be; and if they are not married already, make them marry. And as for wedding clothes, do not let them wait for that, but tell Lydia she shall have as much money as she chuses, to buy them, after they are married. And, above all things, keep Mr. Bennet from fighting. Tell him what a dreadful state I am in,�
�that I am frightened out of my wits; and have such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me, such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by night nor by day.32 And tell my dear Lydia, not to give any directions about her clothes, till she has seen me, for she does not know which are the best warehouses.33 Oh, brother, how kind you are! I know you will contrive it all.”
But Mr. Gardiner, though he assured her again of his earnest endeavours in the cause, could not avoid recommending moderation to her, as well in her hopes as her fears; and, after talking with her in this manner till dinner was on table, they left her to vent all her feelings on the housekeeper, who attended, in the absence of her daughters.
Though her brother and sister were persuaded that there was no real occasion for such a seclusion from the family, they did not attempt to oppose it, for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her tongue before the servants, while they waited at table, and judged it better that one only of the household, and the one whom they could most trust, should comprehend all her fears and solicitude on the subject.34
In the dining-room they were soon joined by Mary and Kitty, who had been too busily engaged in their separate apartments, to make their appearance before. One came from her books, and the other from her toilette.35 The faces of both, however, were tolerably calm; and no change was visible in either, except that the loss of her favourite sister, or the anger which she had herself incurred in the business, had given something more of fretfulness than usual, to the accents36 of Kitty. As for Mary, she was mistress enough of herself to whisper to Elizabeth with a countenance of grave reflection, soon after they were seated at table,
“This is a most unfortunate affair; and will probably be much talked of. But we must stem the tide of malice, and pour into the wounded bosoms of each other, the balm of sisterly consolation.”
Then, perceiving in Elizabeth no inclination of replying, she added, “Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia, we may draw from it this useful lesson; that loss of virtue37 in a female is irretrievable—that one false step involves her in endless ruin —that her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful,38 —and that she cannot be too much guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex.”
