Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austin
towards him and said:
“By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in meditating a
dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on
it, to consult the wishes of the present party; I am much
mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be
rather a punishment than a pleasure.”
“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he may go to bed, if he
chooses, before it begins—but as for the ball, it is quite a
settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup
enough, I shall send round my cards.”
“I should like balls infinitely better,” she replied, “if they
were carried on in a different manner; but there is something
insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It
would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of
dancing were made the order of the day.”
“Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would
not be near so much like a ball.”
Miss Bingley made no answer, and soon afterwards she got up and
walked about the room. Her figure was elegant, and she walked
well; but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, was still inflexibly
studious. In the desperation of her feelings, she resolved on one
effort more, and, turning to Elizabeth, said:
“Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and
take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing
after sitting so long in one attitude.”
Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Miss
Bingley succeeded no less in the real object of her civility; Mr.
Darcy looked up. He was as much awake to the novelty of attention
in that quarter as Elizabeth herself could be, and unconsciously
closed his book. He was directly invited to join their party, but
he declined it, observing that he could imagine but two motives
for their choosing to walk up and down the room together, with
either of which motives his joining them would interfere. “What
could he mean? She was dying to know what could be his
meaning?”—and asked Elizabeth whether she could at all understand
him?
“Not at all,” was her answer; “but depend upon it, he means to be
severe on us, and our surest way of disappointing him will be to
ask nothing about it.”
Miss Bingley, however, was incapable of disappointing Mr. Darcy
in anything, and persevered therefore in requiring an explanation
of his two motives.
“I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,” said he,
as soon as she allowed him to speak. “You either choose this
method of passing the evening because you are in each other’s
confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you
are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage
in walking; if the first, I would be completely in your way, and
if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the
fire.”
“Oh! shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard anything so
abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”
“Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,” said
Elizabeth. “We can all plague and punish one another. Tease
him—laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to
be done.”
“But upon my honour, I do _not_. I do assure you that my intimacy
has not yet taught me _that_. Tease calmness of manner and
presence of mind! No, no; I feel he may defy us there. And as to
laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by
attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr. Darcy may hug
himself.”
“Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!” cried Elizabeth. “That is an
uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it
would be a great loss to _me_ to have many such acquaintances. I
dearly love a laugh.”
“Miss Bingley,” said he, “has given me more credit than can be.
The wisest and the best of men—nay, the wisest and best of their
actions—may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object
in life is a joke.”
“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth—“there are such people, but I hope
I am not one of _them_. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and
good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, _do_
divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these,
I suppose, are precisely what you are without.”
“Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the
study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a
strong understanding to ridicule.”
“Such as vanity and pride.”
“Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a
real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good
regulation.”
Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.
“Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss
Bingley; “and pray what is the result?”
“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He
owns it himself without disguise.”
“No,” said Darcy, “I have made no such pretension. I have faults
enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I
dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little
yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I
cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought,
nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed
about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be
called resentful. My good opinion once