Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (most interesting books to read .txt) 📖

[She seats herself at the writing table—gets out her paper, etc. and begins her letter when the door-bell sounds. Elizabeth starts and is putting away the writing materials, when the maid ushers in Mr. Darcy, who seems much excited.]

Darcy.

I am here again, Miss Bennet. I saw Mr. and Mrs. Collins drive away with my aunt. I have something which I must say to you. [He walks excitedly up and down for a moment, while Elizabeth watches him in amazed silence. Then he suddenly goes up to her and begins to speak in an agitated manner.] Miss Bennet—in vain have I struggled! It will not do! My feelings will not be repressed! You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you!

Elizabeth.

[Is perfectly astounded. She stares, colours, doubts, and is silent.]

Darcy.

[Taking her silence for encouragement.] Miss Bennet, I can well understand your own astonishment at this declaration, for I am amazed at myself! My feeling for you has taken possession of me against my will, my reason, and almost against my character!

Elizabeth.

[Starting in indignation.] Sir!

Darcy.

Oh, understand me, I beg of you! For yourself alone my admiration is only too natural. I share it with everyone who has the happiness of knowing you. But—pardon me—for it pains me to offend you—the defects of your nearest relations, the total lack of propriety so frequently betrayed by your family, has so opposed my judgment to my inclination, that it has required the utmost force of passion on my part to put them aside. But, my dear Miss Bennet, your triumph is complete. Your own loveliness stands out the fairer in its contrast to your surroundings, and I now hope that the strength of my love may have its reward in your acceptance of my hand.

Elizabeth.

[Who has gone through all sorts of emotions during this speech, speaks, in a constrained manner as if trying to control herself.] Mr. Darcy—in such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. If I could feel gratitude I would now thank you. But I cannot. I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly.

Darcy.

[Leaning against the mantel-piece, hears her words with no less resentment than surprise. After a little he speaks in a voice of forced calmness.] And that is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting? I might perhaps wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.

Elizabeth.

I might as well inquire why, with so evident a design of insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, your reason, and even against your character! Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil?

Darcy.

I very clearly explained that the objections which appealed to my reason applied entirely to your family, and in no respect to yourself.

Elizabeth.

I am a part of my family, Mr. Darcy; and allow me to say that, since I have had the opportunity of comparing my relations with your own, the contrast is not so marked as I had been led to suppose. [Darcy starts.] But—aside from all questions of either feeling or family—do you think any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister, and involving her in misery of the acutest kind? [Darcy looks at her with a smile of incredulity..] Can you deny that you have done this?

Darcy.

I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister. I did not, indeed, anticipate that I should involve either of them in "misery" of any kind. On your sister's side, at least, I was never able to discover any symptoms of peculiar regard for Mr. Bingley. While, for every reason, I must rejoice in my success with my friend; toward him I have been kinder than toward myself.

Elizabeth.

[With disdain.] Your arrogance in calmly deciding the extent of other people's sentiments does not surprise me. It is of a piece with your whole nature! But your interference in my sister's concerns is not all. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received months ago from Mr. Wickham. [Darcy starts excitedly.] What can you have to say on this subject? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself?

Darcy.

[In a tone of suppressed excitement, in marked contrast to his previous self-assured manner.] You take an eager interest in that gentleman.

Elizabeth.

Who that knows what his misfortunes have been can help feeling an interest in him?

Darcy.

[Contemptuously.] His misfortunes! Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed!

Elizabeth.

[With energy.] And of your infliction! You have reduced him to his present state of poverty—comparative poverty; you have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have done all this, and yet you can treat the mention of his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule!

Darcy.

[Walking up and down the room with quick steps.] And this is your opinion of me? This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. [Stopping and looking at her.] Perhaps if I were to divulge the truth regarding Mr. Wickham, I might give you as great a surprise as you have given me. [After a slight pause.] I do not care to go into particulars, but in justice to myself, I must tell you that the man whom you consider a martyr is a profligate with the most vicious propensities. A man who should never have entered your home, for his presence there is a constant source of danger.

Elizabeth.

[In indignation.] Mr. Darcy!

Darcy.

[With dignity.] I am ready to give you the full proofs of all I have said, Miss Bennet, whenever you may so desire, although I would gladly forget all the miserable circumstances myself, and no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold them to any human being.

Elizabeth.

[Coldly.] Your judgment in the matter of my sister's happiness has given me a gauge by which I can measure your fairness to a man who has been so unfortunate as to offend you. My faith in Mr. Wickham is unshaken.

Darcy.

[Looking at Elizabeth in indignation and by a great effort governing himself.] I shall take what you have said, Miss Bennet, as a reflection on my judgment alone; otherwise, my veracity would be at stake, and this, I am sure, you did not intend. Indeed I understand your whole position perfectly. I have erred in the manner of my declaration. Your bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I concealed my struggles. It is my own fault. I have wounded your pride. I should have flattered you into the belief that I was impelled by inclination, by reason, by reflection, by everything! But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?

Elizabeth.

[Angrily.] And do you expect me to rejoice in your proposal that I ally myself to the conceit and impertinence of yours? No, Mr. Darcy! The manner of your declaration has affected me only in one way:—it has spared me the concern which I might otherwise have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike way. [Darcy starts.] You could not, however, have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it. [Darcy looks at her with an expression of mortified amazement.] I had not known you a month, before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.

Darcy.

You have said quite enough, Madam! I perfectly comprehend your feelings and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness. [Darcy hastily leaves the room.]

Elizabeth.

[Sinking into a chair, then getting up and walking excitedly about the room.] To insult my family! To think I was ready to fall on my knees, in gratitude for his condescension! To calmly dispose of Jane's happiness! [Stopping in her walk and with a half-amused smile.] And yet really to be in love with me in spite of every