第 58 章
彬格萊先生非但沒有如伊莉莎白所料，接到他朋友不能履約的道歉信，而且有咖苔琳夫人來過以後沒有幾天，就帶著達西一同來到浪搏恩。兩位貴客來得很早。吉英坐在那兒時時刻刻擔心，唯恐母親把達西的姨母來訪的消息當面告訴達西，好在班納特太太還沒有來得及說這件事，彬格萊就提議出去散步，因為他要和吉英單獨待在一塊兒。大家都同意。班納特太太沒有散步的習慣，曼麗又從來不肯浪費時間，於是一同出去的只有五個人。彬格萊和吉英以馬上就讓別人走在前頭，自己在後邊走，讓伊莉莎白、吉蒂和達西三個人去相應酬。三個人都不大說話：吉蒂很怕達西，因此不敢說話；伊莉莎白正在暗地裏下最大的決心；達西或許也是一樣。
他們向盧卡斯家裏走去，因為吉蒂想要去看看瑪麗亞；伊莉莎白覺得用不著大家都去，於是等吉蒂離開了他們以後，她就大著膽子跟他繼續往前走。現在是她拿出決心來的時候了；她便立刻鼓起勇氣跟他說；
“達西先生，我是個自私自利的人，我只想叫自己心裏痛快，也不管是否會傷害你的情感。你對我那位可憐的妹妹情義太重，我再也不能不感激你了。我自從知道了這件事情以後，一心就想對你表示謝忱；要是我家裏人全都知道了，那麼就不止我一個要感激你了。”
“我很抱歉，我真抱歉，”達西先生又是驚奇又是激動。”這件事要是以錯誤的眼光去看，也許會使你覺得不好受，想不到竟會讓你知道。我沒有料到嘉丁納太太這樣不可靠。”
“你不應該怪我舅母。只因為麗迪雅自己不留神，先露出了口風，我才知道你牽涉在這件事情裏面；那麼我不打聽個清楚明白，當然不肯甘休。讓我代表我全家人謝謝你，多謝你本著一片同情心，不怕麻煩，受盡委屈，去找他們。”
達西說：”如果你當真要謝我，你只消表明你自己的謝忱。無用否認，我所以做得那麼起勁，除了別的原因以外，也為了想要使你高興。你家裏人不用感謝我。我雖然尊敬他們，可是當時我心裏只想到你一個人。”
伊莉莎白窘得一句話也說不出來。過了片刻工夫，只聽得她的朋友又說：”你是個爽快人，決不會開我的玩笑。請你老實告訴我，你的心情是否還是和四月裏一樣。我的心願和情感依然如舊，只要你說一句話，我便再也不提起這樁事。”
伊莉莎白聽他這樣表明心跡，越發為他感到不安和焦急，便不得不開口說話。她立刻吞吞吐吐地告訴他說，自從他剛剛提起的那個時期到現在，她的心情已經起了很大的變化，現在她願意以愉快和感激的心情來接受他這一番盛情美意。這個回答簡直使他感到從來沒有過的快樂，他正象一個狂戀熱愛的人一樣，立刻抓住這個機會，無限乖巧、無限熱烈地向她傾訴衷曲。要是伊莉莎白能夠抬起頭來看看他那雙眼睛，她就可以看出，他那滿臉喜氣洋洋的神氣，使他變得多麼漂亮；她雖然不敢看他的臉色，卻敢聽他的聲音；只聽得他把千絲萬縷的感情都告訴了她，說她在他心目中是多麼重要，使她越聽越覺得他情感的寶貴。
他們只顧往前走，連方向也不辨別一下。他們有多少心思要想，多少情感要去體會，多少話要談。實在無心去注意別的事情，她馬上就認識到，這次雙方所以會取得這樣的諒解，還得歸功於他姨母的一番力量，原來他姨母回去的時候，路過倫敦果真去找過他一次，把她自己到浪搏恩來的經過、動機，以及和伊莉莎白談話的內容，都一一告訴了他，特別把伊莉莎白的一言一語談得十分詳細，凡是她老人家認為囂張乖癖、厚顏無恥的地方，都著重地說了又說，認為這樣一來，縱使伊莉莎白不肯答應打消這門親事，她姨姪倒一定會親口承諾。不過，也是老夫人該倒楣，效果恰恰相反。
他說：”以前我幾乎不敢奢望，這一次倒覺得事情有了希望。我完全瞭解你的脾氣，我想，假若你當真恨我入骨，再也沒有挽回的餘地，那你一定會在咖苔琳夫人面前照直招認出來。”
伊莉莎白漲紅了臉，一面笑，一面說：”這話不假，你知道我為人直爽，因此才相信我會做到那種地步。我既然能夠當著你自己的面，深惡痛絕地罵你，自然也會在你任何親戚面前罵你。”
“你罵我的話，哪一句不是活該？雖然你的指斥都沒有根據，都是聽到人家以訛傳訛，可是我那次對你的態度，實在應該受到最嚴厲的責備。那是不可原諒的。我想起這件事來，就免不了痛恨自己。”
伊莉莎白說：”那天下午的事，究竟應該誰多負責任，我們也用不著爭論了，嚴格說來，雙方的態度都不好，不過從那次以後，我覺得我們雙方都比較有禮貌些了。”
“我心裏實在過意不去。幾個月以來，一想起我當時說的那些話，表現出的那種行為，那種態度，那種表情，我就覺得說不出地難過。你罵我的話，確實罵得好，叫我一輩子也忘不了。你說：’假如你表現得有禮貌一些就好了。’你不知道你這句話使我多麼的痛苦，你簡直無從想像；不過，說老實話，我也還是過了好久才明白過來，承認你那句話罵得對。”
“我萬萬想不到那句話對你有那樣大的影響。我完全沒有料到那句話竟會叫你難受。”
“你這話我倒很容易相信。你當時認為我沒有一絲一毫真正的感情，我相信你當時一定是那樣想法。我永遠也忘不了，當時你竟翻了臉，你說，不管我怎樣向你求婚，都不能打動你的心，叫你答應我。”
“哎喲，我那些話你也不必再提，提起來未免不象話。告訴你，我自己也早已為那件事覺得難為情。”
達西又提起那封信。他說：”那封信……你接到我那封信以後，是否立刻對我有好感一些？信上所說的那些事，你相信不相信？”
她說，那封信對她影響很大，從此以後，她對他的偏見都慢慢地消除了。
他說：”我當時就想到，你看了那封信，一定非常難受，可是我實在萬不得已。但願你早把那封信毀了。其中有些話，特別是開頭那些話，我實在不願意你再去看它。我記得有些話一定會使你恨透了我。”
“如果你認為一定要燒掉那封信，才能保持我的愛情，那我當然一定把它燒掉；不過話說回來，即使我怎樣容易變心，也不會看了那封信就和你翻臉。”
達西說：”當初寫那封信的時候，我自以為完全心平氣和，頭腦冷靜；可是事後我才明白，當時確確實實是出於一般怨氣。”
“那封信開頭也許有幾分怨氣，結尾卻並不是這樣。結尾那句話完全是一片大慈大悲。還是不要再去想那封信吧。無論是寫信人也好，受信人也好，心情都已和當初大不相同，因此，一切不愉快的事，都應該把它忘掉。你得學學我的人生觀。你要回憶過去，也只應當去回憶那些使你愉快的事情。”
“我並不認為你有這種人生觀。對你來說，過去的事情，沒有哪一件應該受到指責，因此你回憶起過去的事情來，便覺得件件滿意，這與其說，是因為你人生觀的關係，倒不如說，是因為你天真無邪。可是我的情形卻是兩樣。我腦子裏總免不了想起一些苦痛的事情，實在不能不想，也不應該不想。我雖然並不主張自私，可是事實上卻自私了一輩子。從小時候起，大人就教我，為人處世應該如此這般，卻不教我要把脾氣改好。他們教我要學這個規矩那個規矩，又讓我學會了他們的傲慢自大。不幸我是一個獨生子（有好幾年，家裏只有我一個孩子），從小給父母親寵壞了。雖然父母本身都是善良人（特別是父親，完全是一片慈善心腸，和藹可親），卻縱容我自私自利，傲慢自大，甚至還鼓勵我如此，教我如此。他們教我，除了自己家裏人以外，不要把任何人放在眼裏，教我看不起天下人，至少希望我去鄙薄別人的見識，鄙薄別人的長處，把天下人都看得不如我。從八歲到二十八歲，我都是受的這種教養，好伊莉莎白，親伊莉莎白，要不是虧了你，我可能到現在還是如此！我哪一點不都是虧了你！你給了我一頓教訓，開頭我當然受不了，可是我實在受益非淺。你羞辱得我好有道理。當初我向你求婚，以為你一定會答應。多虧你使我明白過來，我既然認定一位小姐值得我去博她歡心，我又一味對她自命不凡，那是萬萬辦不到的。”
“當初你真以為會博得我的歡心嗎？”
“我的確是那樣想的。你一定會笑我太自負吧？我當時還以為你在指望著我、等待著我來求婚呢。”
“那一定是因為我態度不好，可是我告訴你，我並不是故意要那樣。我決不是有意欺騙你，可是我往往憑著一時的興致，以致造成大錯，從那天下午起，你一定是非常恨我。”
“恨你！開頭我也許很氣你，可是過了不久，我便知道究竟應該氣誰了。”
“我簡直不敢問你，那次我們在彭伯裏見面，你對我怎麼看法。你怪我不該來嗎？”
“不，哪兒的話；我只是覺得驚奇。”
“你固然驚奇，可是我蒙你那樣抬舉，恐怕比你還要驚奇。我的良心告訴我說，我不配受到你的殷勤款待，老實說，這當時的確沒有料到會受到份外的待遇。”
達西說：”我當時的用意，是要儘量做到禮貌周全，讓你看出我氣量頗大，不計舊怨，希望你知道我已經重視了你的責備，誠心改過，能夠原諒我，沖淡你對我的惡感。至於我從什麼時候又起了別的念頭，實在很難說，大概是看到你以後的半個鐘頭之內。”
然後他又說，那次喬治安娜非常樂意跟她做朋友，不料交情突然中斷，使她十分掃興；接著自然又談到交情中斷的原因，伊莉莎白這才明白，當初他還沒有離開那家旅館以前，就已下定決心，要跟著她從德比郡出發，去找她的妹妹，至於他當時所以沉悶憂鬱，並不是為了別的事操心，而是為了這件事在轉念頭。
她又感謝了他一次，但是提起這樁事，雙方都非常痛苦，所以沒有再談下去。
他們這樣悠閒自在地溜達了好幾英里路，也無心再去注意這種事，最後看看表，才發覺應該回家了。
“彬格萊和吉英上哪兒去了？”他們倆從這句話又談到那另外一對的事情上去。達西早已知道他朋友已經和吉英訂婚，覺得很高興。
伊莉莎白說：”我得問問你，你是否覺得事出意外？”
“完全不覺得意外。我臨走的時候，便覺得事情馬上會成功。”
“那麼說，你早就允許了他啦。真讓我猜著了。”雖然他意圖聲辨，說她這種說法不對，她卻認為事實確實如此。
他說：”我到倫敦去的前一個晚上，便把這事情向他坦白了，其實早就應該坦白的。我把過去的事都對他說了，使他明白我當初阻擋他那件事，真是又荒謬又冒失。他大吃一驚。他從來沒有想到會有這種事。我還告訴他說，我從前以為你姐姐對他平平淡淡，現在才明白是我自己想錯了；我立刻看出他對吉英依舊一往情深，因此我十分相信他們倆的結合一定會幸福。”
伊莉莎白聽到他能夠這樣輕而易舉地指揮他的朋友，不禁一笑。
她問道：”你跟他說，我姐姐愛他，你這話是自己體驗出來的呢，還是春天裏聽我說的？”
“是我自己體驗出來的。最近我到你家裏去過兩次，仔細觀察了她一下，便看出她對他感情很深切。”
“我想，一經你說明，他也立刻明白了吧。”
“的確如此。彬格萊為人極其誠懇謙虛。他因為膽怯，所以遇到這種迫切問題，自己便拿不定主張，總是相信我的話，因此這次一切都做得很順利。我不得不向他招認了一件事，我估計他在短時期裏當然難免要為這件事生氣。我老實對他說，去年冬天你姐姐進城去待了三個月，當時我知道這件事，卻故意瞞住了他。他果然很生氣。可是我相信，他只要明白了你姐姐對他有情感，他的氣憤自然會消除。他現在已經真心誠意地寬恕了我。”
伊莉莎白覺得，彬格萊這樣容易聽信別人的話，真是難得；她禁不往要說，彬格萊真是個太可愛的人，可是她畢竟沒有把這句話說出口。她想起了目前還不便跟達西開玩笑，現在就開他的玩笑未免太早。他繼續跟她談下去，預言著彬格萊的幸福……這種幸福當然抵不上他自己的幸福。兩人一直塊談到走進家門，步入穿堂，方才分開。
Chapter 58
INSTEAD of receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as Elizabeth half expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy with him to Longbourn before many days had passed after Lady Catherine’s visit. The gentlemen arrived early; and, before Mrs. Bennet had time to tell him of their having seen his aunt, of which her daughter sat in momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane, proposed their all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in the habit of walking; Mary could never spare time; but the remaining five set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed the others to outstrip them. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth, Kitty, and Darcy were to entertain each other. Very little was said by either; Kitty was too much afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was secretly forming a desperate resolution; and perhaps he might be doing the same.
They walked towards the Lucases, because Kitty wished to call upon Maria; and as Elizabeth saw no occasion for making it a general concern, when Kitty left them she went boldly on with him alone. Now was the moment for her resolution to be executed, and, while her courage was high, she immediately said,
“Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding your’s. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister. Ever since I have known it, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest of my family, I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.”
“I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,” replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise and emotion, “that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted.”
“You must not blame my aunt. Lydia’s thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them.”
“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”
Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”
Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings, which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.
They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the substance of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically on every expression of the latter which, in her ladyship’s apprehension, peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance; in the belief that such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from her nephew which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.
“It taught me to hope,” said he, “as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.”
Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, “Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”
“What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.”
“We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening,” said Elizabeth. “The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility.”
“I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: “had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.” Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me; — though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.”
“I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way.”
“I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.”
“Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.”
Darcy mentioned his letter. “Did it,” said he, “did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?”
She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.
“I knew,” said he, “that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.”
“The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.”
“When I wrote that letter,” replied Darcy, “I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.”
“The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”
“I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You shewed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”
“Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?”
“Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses.”
“My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?”
“Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction.”
“I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?”
“No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise.”
“Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.”
“My object then,” replied Darcy, “was to shew you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.”
He then told her of Georgiana’s delight in her acquaintance, and of her disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must comprehend.
She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to each, to be dwelt on farther.
After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know any thing about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.
“What could become of Mr. Bingley and Jane!” was a wonder which introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of it.
“I must ask whether you were surprised?” said Elizabeth.
“Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.”
“That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much.” And though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much the case.
“On the evening before my going to London,” said he, “I made a confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed myself mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.”
Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his friend.
“Did you speak from your own observation,” said she, “when you told him that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?”
“From the former. I had narrowly observed her during the two visits which I had lately made here; and I was convinced of her affection.”
“And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to him.”
“It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister’s sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me now.”
Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they parted.
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