George Knightley, Esquire: Lend Me Leave by Barbara Cornthwaite

(Note to readers: I began writing this post last Monday, but my daughter has been sick all week, and I never managed to finish it until today. These circumstances have rendered the following content, like that of Northanger Abbey, is a bit dated upon publication, though the closer proximity to Valentine's Day is entirely appropriate for such a wonderful love story)

I meant to spend last weekend reading all twenty-six, frenzied posts from the one woman experiment in insanity that was my version of a Pride & Prejudice Readathon (I'm so out of the loop these days I did not even know the BBC was having their own Readathon on the 200th anniversary until the day before, and the realization only increased the already intensely isolating quality of the experience), but I do not yet have the courage to confront it all. Instead, I delved into the world of Donwell and Highbury with Barbara Cornthwaite, rereading George Knightley, Esquire Book One: Charity Envieth Not (read my review here), and tearing through Book Two: Lend Me Leave. One benefit of the Readathon seems to be the reclamation of my reading time. Hallelujah! May it only last.

I've been aching to read this book for several years, and it is the kind of yearning the makes me nervous, for I have been burned before: adoring the first book of two in a series and finding its  conclusion disappointing. Not this time. Ms. Cornthwaite has again brought alive the world of Mr. Knightley with stunning clarity. In Emma, Austen gives us her most broadly developed community (thanks in no small part to Miss Bates), and Ms. Cornthwaite collects each and every detail, spinning and expounding them into a faithful narrative for our hero. Here is Mr. Knightley, lord of the manor, settling the disputes of his tenants, attending meetings at the Crown, fulfilling his function as magistrate, and generally making sure everyone in his realm has everything they require. Due to my long and abiding interest in the treatment of madness in the 19th century (which, synchronistically, plays a roll in the new P&P sequel I've been planning), I particularly enjoyed his efforts to establish a county asylum, an endeavor compelled by the blatant insanity of a tenant's sister. The book is chock full of similar episodes, anchored in history, of a benevolent landlord's daily occupations and concerns, but the plot's driving force remains those events original to Austen. 

In the first book, the timing of Mr. Knightley's realization of his love for Emma was perfectly developed, and in book two we see him struggling with the consequences of this awakening, particularly his jealously of Frank Churchill. I admit to sensations of discomfort while watching Mr. Knightley lose his well-regulated mind to love. His passion is potent, verging on obsessive, and while I find Ms. Cornthwaite's depiction both believable and touching, it is not how I'm inclined to imagine Mr. Knightley coping with his emotions. I feel somewhat guilty recording this slight criticism, for overall the insight into his mind is blissful in its perfection. His observations of Mrs. Elton are priceless, as in this letter to brother John:

Yes, the new Mrs. Elton is now among us. I imagine that Isabella will soon hear from Emma on the subject, tho' I think Emma will likely moderate her words for her sister. You will have a fairly accurate picture of Mrs. Elton's character when I tell you about the call the Eltons paid to the Abbey today as they returned my wedding-visit. You will be pleased to learn that in her estimation, the Abbey compares favourably with Maple Grove, the seat of her sister's husband. You have never heard of the place before, you say? Neither had I, which now seems incredible, as I gather that it is the pride of Somerset. As Maple grove has been in existance for, I take it, something less than a century. and is evidently decorated in the first stare of fashion, the only resemblance Mrs. Elton could produce between Maple Grove ad Donwell is the air of refinement and - she almost said "wealth", but replaced it just in time with "Prosperity".

She is much disappointed with the card-parties in Highbury. Her hostesses, one and all, have neglected to serve ice at their gatherings (where does she suppose they will get it from? This is not Bath), and, worse, no one has taken the trouble to purchase new packs of cards for each table. She has evidently not grasped the fact that it is done in the large parties of Bath in order to prevent cheating, not as a proof of elegance. Or perhaps she has understood the reason, and is in fact suspicious of Mrs. Goddard or Mrs. Perry, supposing them to be regularly cheating the other ladies out of a sixpence or two. I could believe either of her.

I also love this scene on Box Hill, before Emma's rudeness, as it beautifully displays the keen capabilities of his heart:

"It is breathtaking, is it not, Mr. Knightley?" said Miss Bates at his side. "I was here many years ago - dear me, it must be twenty-years now - when I was rather a young lady. A small party of friends - Captain Fairfax and my sister, Mr. Prescott and his sister - my father's curate, you know."

Mr. Prescott... Good heavens, I had forgotten all about him, thought Knightley. Mr. Prescott had been the last curate in the parish of Highbury, before the town's population had diminished to the point where a curate was not needed. Knightley's memories of the man were verty dim, and he seemed to recall that he had been a tall man who had married a woman from Langham and soon afterwards been given a parish somewhere in Hampshire.

"My dear Jane," said Mrs. Elton, "Come and look at this! I believe you can see that church from here - remember the church with the odd tower we saw on the way here? Come and see if it the same one."

Miss Fairfax came dutifully to Mrs. Elton's side and looked out into the distance in the direction Mrs. Elton was pointing out.

"You may be right, Mrs. Elton," said Jane in so listless a tone that Knightley looked at her thoughtfully. Miss Fairfax had escaped Mrs. Elton's company yesterday by walking home, but she could hardly do the same today.

"My dear Augusta," said Elton, "ought the food baskets to be sitting in the sun there? I would have thought that the shade of a tree might be a better place."

"I told the servants to move the baskets - that shiftless Betty does not hear one word out of three that I say. I will go and see to it that things are done properly - servants can never be expected to think of these things."

She started off, with Elton at her heels, and Knightley saw his chance.

"Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax - will you join me in exploring the hill?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Knightley," said Jane, with the first smile he had seen from her all day.

"Have you heard anything of Mr. Prescott lately?" asked Knightley. "I have not thought of him these ten years or more. I believe he was living in Hampshire."

"Oh, yes - he has a parish near Petersfield. Sophia - his sister - writes to me. We used to go on drives quite often - we had the carriage then, and dear Papa would let us drive with - I think he rather hoped - ah, well. How long ago that was, to be sure!" There was a wistful note in her voice as she said the lasy.

Long ago, indeed. The Bates' had not had a carriage for the last decade, at least. Miss Bates had been a young lady then - he could not picture her as demure, for she would always have been talkative - but in her youth her leading characteristic must have been her enthusiasm. He had a vision of her as a young lady with a party of friends - bubbling over with good cheer, enthusiastic for every scheme proposed - perhaps being escorted by Mr. Prescott - who Mr. Bates evidently had hoped would marry his daughter. Knightley glanced at Miss Fairfax to see what she thought and was struck bu her inattention. She walked languidly and seemed to be indifferent to her surroundings. It might be that she was weary - the heat was oppressive and any exercise in it was liable to produce exhaustion in one who had been lately ill.

Like all the best Austenesque, the George Knightley, Esquire series illuminates the original book for a reader, shining new light on the nuances and intimations of the text, while providing what we most crave: more time with Austen's irresistable creations. I love that this genre has given devoted Janeites a new medium for discussing Austen's texts, and Ms. Cornthwaite has added admirably to the conversation.

Character Profile: George Knightley

Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly connected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella's husband. He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their mutual connections in London.

Name: George Knightley

Age: 35

Hobbies: Agricultural improvement. He also takes a general interest in making sure everyone in his little corner of the world is well taken care of, an activity which surely leaves him little time for any demanding hobby, so he settles for sparing with Emma instead.

Most Charming Quality: Intelligence.

Most Detrimental Tendency: Jealousy.

Greatest Strengths: Honor and sincerity.

Truest Friend: It's a toss up between Emma Woodhouse, John Knightly, and William Larkins.

Worst Enemy: Frank Churchill

Prospects: Exceedingly good. He is the master on Donwell Abbey, the principal estate of the area, but he invests most of his money back into the estate, foregoing many of the luxuries (like horses) that most gentlemen consider necessary.

Favorite Quotations:
 "I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years' experience, and by not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child."

"He is a very liberal thanker, with his thousands and tens of thousands.--'Happier than I deserve.' Come, he knows himself there."

"No, Emma, your amiable young man can be amiable only in French, not in English. He may be very 'aimable,' have very good manners, and be very agreeable; but he can have no English delicacy towards the feelings of other people: nothing really amiable about him." 

"Oh! very delightful indeed; I can say nothing less, for I suppose Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill are hearing every thing that passes. And (raising his voice still more) I do not see why Miss Fairfax should not be mentioned too. I think Miss Fairfax dances very well; and Mrs. Weston is the very best country-dance player, without exception, in England. Now, if your friends have any gratitude, they will say something pretty loud about you and me in return; but I cannot stay to hear it."

"Better be without sense, than misapply it as you do."

"I cannot make speeches, Emma:" he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.--"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.--You hear nothing but truth from me.--I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.--Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover.--But you understand me.--Yes, you see, you understand my feelings--and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice."

Musings: Finally, a hero I can relish in peace! Both Edmund Bertram and Mr. Darcy's profiles were too emotional for me to enjoy it. Mr. Knightley is just the sort of man I can easily rejoice in, without any undue frenzy. He is, perhaps, Austen's most likable hero, and certainly the most comfortable husband.

One knows precisely what to expect of Mr. Knightly. The man is clear-sighted, penetrating, and scrupulously honorable: the model of gentlemanly conduct. His only flaw is jealously of Frank Churchill, a rather charming failing than not, and we easily forgive him.

I adore Mr. Knightley's proposal. I think it possibly the best in Austen, though Wentworth may have him beat. It is his most muddled speech. Usually clear and concise in his statements, he invokes that fact while his overriding emotions undermine the entire argument. "I cannot make speeches..." - can you not, Mr. Knightley? I find it a more than admirable speech, even when its intelligence gets lost feeling.

Such an admirable man leaves me little to critique. All I can do is bask in his perfection. Oh dear! It seems I'm overcome by frenzy in spite myself. How very disappointing.

Images:
http://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2010/01/24/emma-2010-on-pbs-masterpiece-classic-a-review/
http://reveriesunderthesignofausten.wordpress.com/category/18th-century-films/
http://www.jimandellen.org/austenblog/548.html
http://jeremynortham.co.uk/2010/02/01/why-jonny-lee-miller-will-never-be-my-mr-knightley/

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Fifty-eight, Fifty-nine, Sixty, and Sixty-one

I did it!

My hands are kind of numb, and writing coherently is something of an effort, but this has been fun. I think volume three has seen a deterioration in post quality, and there is no chance this last post (it's my 26th today) is going to in any way do justice to the conclusion of the novel. Still, I've come this far, and I should put some effort into this final push. This experience in no way equates that of curling up and reading all day (or night), and I admit stopping to post all the time took some of the joy away from the narrative, but it has been a new kind of reading/blogging experience for me, and I appreciate it as such. I'm curious to go back and see what I actually wrote.

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."

The last four chapters carry us through the shared wedding day of Darcy, Elizabeth, Bingley, and Jane.  "Happy for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her two most deserving daughters." Most of the time not spent between Darcy and Elizabeth is devoted to telling others of their engagement, managing their reactions, and receiving congratulations. I love Mrs. Bennet's reaction:

"Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane's is nothing to it -- nothing at all. I am so pleased -- so happy. Such a charming man! -- so handsome! so tall! -- Oh, my dear Lizzy! pray apologise for my having disliked him so much before. I hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Every thing that is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted."

Mr. Bennet is more serious in his response:

 "Lizzy," said her father, "I have given him my consent. He is the kind of man, indeed, to whom I should never dare refuse any thing, which he condescended to ask. I now give it to you, if you are resolved on having him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about."

These remarks provide a conclusion to Austen's exploration, throughout the novel, of what constitutes a happy marriage.

Now finally able to engage in mutual banter, the exchanges between hero and heroine are phenomenal (check out the lovely C.E. Brock portrayal of this scene):

"What made you so shy of me, when you first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you called, did you look as if you did not care about me?"

"Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement."

"But I was embarrassed."

"And so was I."

"You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner."

"A man who had felt less, might."

"How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when you would have spoken, if I had not asked you! My resolution of thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort springs from a breach of promise? for I ought not to have mentioned the subject. This will never do."

"You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady Catherine's unjustifiable endeavours to separate us were the means of removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to wait for any opening of your's. My aunt's intelligence had given me hope, and I was determined at once to know every thing."

"Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use.

And with that, I think I need my bed. Happy birthday, Elizabeth and Darcy! Sleep well!

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Fifty-six and Fifty-seven

Austen could have rushed Darcy and Elizabeth into an understanding, but such a precipitous conclusion would have denied us one of the best scenes in the novel: when Lady Catherine comes to Longbourn. Elizabeth's indignation on this occasion is very reminiscent to the fiery way she responds to Mr. Darcy's first proposal. The back and forth is priceless:

"Miss Bennet," replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, "you ought to know, that 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 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 know 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."

"If you believed it impossible to be true," said Elizabeth, colouring with astonishment and disdain, "I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?"

"At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted."

"Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family," said Elizabeth coolly, "will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence."

"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?"

"I never heard that it was."

"And can you likewise declare, that there is no foundation for it?"

"I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer."

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

"Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible."

"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."

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

"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."

"But you are not entitled to know mine; nor will such behaviour as this, ever induce me to be explicit."

"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?"

"Only this; that if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will make an offer to me."

Couldn't resist the temptation to include such a chunk of the exchange. Chapter fifty-seven provides an encore to this encounter, in the form of a letter from Mr. Collin's, accompanied by Mr. Bennet's ill-timed wit on the subject. I love this line from the letter: "This young gentleman is blessed, in a peculiar way, with every thing the heart of mortal can most desire, -- splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive patronage." 

Between Lady Catherine's demands, Mr. Collins' mixed good wishes, and Mr. Bennet's amusement in the whole, Elizabeth is left even more perplexed by the state of affairs between herself and Mr. Darcy than ever. Best hasten towards felicity ... I'm tired!

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Fifty-three, Fifty-four, and Fifty-five

Wave goodbye to the disagreeable Wickhams, and good riddance! Now is the time for far more gratifying topics. Chapters firty-three through fifty-five see the return of Mr. Bingley to Netherfield, and the culmination of his and Jane's long courtship. Generally, Bingley's return ushers in a new wave of good times at Longbourn, and we return to the atmosphere of cheerful domesticity with which the book begins. Even the dialogue of the first chapter is invoked:

"Yet it is hard," she sometimes thought, "that this poor man cannot come to a house which he has legally hired, without raising all this speculation! I will leave him to himself."

In spite of what her sister declared, and really believed to be her feelings in the expectation of his arrival, Elizabeth could easily perceive that her spirits were affected by it. They were more disturbed, more unequal, than she had often seen them.

The subject which had been so warmly canvassed between their parents, about a twelvemonth ago, was now brought forward again.

"As soon as ever Mr. Bingley comes, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet, "you will wait on him of course."

"No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised, if I went to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in nothing, and I will not be sent on a fool's errand again."

Mr. Benet remains sarcastic, and Mrs. Bennet a nuisance, but their eccentricities now regain some charm, while over the bulk of this volume, a sinister atmosphere has reigned at Longbourn.

These chapters draw the reader's attention to just how difficult communication was between single men and women in this society. Miss Lucas' early strictures on the importance of a lady making her affection known take on greater resonance as we watch Darcy and Elizabeth struggle to understand one another. Along with this tension, their is still a good deal of mortification for our heroine to endure:

"It is a delightful thing, to be sure, to have a daughter well married," continued her mother, "but at the same time, Mr. Bingley, it is very hard to have her taken such a way from me. They are gone down to Newcastle, a place quite northward, it seems, and there they are to stay I do not know how long. His regiment is there; for I suppose you have heard of his leaving the ----shire, and of his being gone into the regulars. Thank Heaven! he has some friends, though perhaps not so many as he deserves."

Elizabeth, who knew this to be levelled at Mr. Darcy, was in such misery of shame, that she could hardly keep her seat. It drew from her, however, the exertion of speaking, which nothing else had so effectually done before; and she asked Bingley whether he meant to make any stay in the country at present. A few weeks, he believed.

"When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley," said her mother, "I beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you please on Mr. Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you."

Elizabeth's misery increased, at such unnecessary, such officious attention! Were the same fair prospect to arise at present as had flattered them a year ago, every thing, she was persuaded, would be hastening to the same vexatious conclusion. At that instant, she felt that years of happiness could not make Jane or herself amends for moments of such painful confusion.

"The first wish of my heart," said she to herself, "is never more to be in company with either of them. Their society can afford no pleasure that will atone for such wretchedness as this! Let me never see either one or the other again!"

Chapter fifty-four is totally dedicated to illustrating Elizabeth's difficulty in interpreting Mr. Darcy's intentions, and fifty-five sees Mr. Bingley and Jane engaged. The latter utters some of Austen's more memorable quotes in her happiness. Of course, Lizzy is not to be outdone:

"I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!" cried Jane. "Oh! Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed above them all! If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such another man for you!"

"If you were to give me forty such men, I never could be so happy as you. Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time."

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Fifty, Fifty-one, and Fifty-two

Chapter fifty

Mr. Bennet sticks to his philosophy:

 He had never before supposed that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would be done with so little inconvenience to himself as by the present arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser, by the hundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket allowance, and the continual presents in money which passed to her through her mother's hands, Lydia's expences had been very little within that sum. 

That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too, was another very welcome surprise; for his chief wish at present was to have as little trouble in the business as possible. When the first transports of rage which had produced his activity in seeking her were over, he naturally returned to all his former indolence. 

Friends, neighbors, and gossips prove just as good-natured as ever:

 The good news quickly spread through the house; and with proportionate speed through the neighbourhood. It was borne in the latter with decent philosophy. To be sure, it would have been more for the advantage of conversation, had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the happiest alternative, been secluded from the world in some distant farm house. But there was much to be talked of in marrying her; and the good-natured wishes for her well-doing, which had proceeded before from all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton, lost but little of their spirit in this change of circumstances, because with such an husband, her misery was considered certain.

And life begins to resume its cstomary patterns. Elizabeth now has leisure to fully repent the loss of Mr. Darcy:

What a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he know that the proposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago, would now have been gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex. But while he was mortal, there must be a triumph.

She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their family.

The new Mrs. Wickham will, following some dispute, be received at Longbourn.

Chapter fifty-one

The happy couple prove themselves just as bad as anyone ever imagined:

Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations; and when at length they all sat down, looked eagerly round the room, took notice of some little alteration in it, and observed, with a laugh, that it was a great while since she had been there.

Wickham was not at all more distressed than herself, but his manners were always so pleasing, that had his character and his marriage been exactly what they ought, his smiles and his easy address, while he claimed their relationship, would have delighted them all. Elizabeth had not before believed him quite equal to such assurance; but she sat down, resolving within herself to draw no limits in future to the impudence of an impudent man. She blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the two who caused their confusion suffered no variation of colour.

Most important, this chapter begins to reveal the role Mr. Darcy played in bringing about the marriage

Chapter fifty-two

Mr. Darcy's full-blown heroism is revealed in Mrs Gardiner's letter. Elizabeth explores yet more conflicting emotions:

It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing, to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt's commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.

Her feelings find some release in being able to give Mr. Wickham a set down.

Nine chapters left. Very tired.

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Forty-seven, Forty-eight, and Forty-nine

My brain is starting to get mushy ...

Chapter forty-seven brings Elizabeth back to Longbourn, where we find the residence unchanged by their disgrace. Mary still moralizes, Kitty is even more peevish, Jane is just as self-sacrificing, and Mrs. Bennet, still completely absurd. Even amidst such tragedy, the persistant follies of the family provide moments of black comedy, like in Mary's famous lines:

"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 virtue 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, -- and that she cannot be too much guarded in her behaviour towards the undeserving of the other sex."

Lydia's note reflects particularly badly on her character, as it reveals her so selfishly oblivious to the repercussions of her actions, and so lacking in all semblance of proper feeling:

You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise to-morrow morning, as soon as I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and if you cannot guess with who, I shall think you a simpleton, for there is but one man in the world I love, and he is an angel. I should never be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. You need not send them word at Longbourn of my going, if you do not like it, for it will make the surprise the greater when I write to them and sign my name Lydia Wickham. What a good joke it will be! I can hardly write for laughing. Pray make my excuses to Pratt, for not keeping my engagement and dancing with him to night. Tell him I hope he will excuse me when he knows all, and tell him I will dance with him at the next ball we meet, with great pleasure. I shall send for my clothes when I get to Longbourn; but I wish you would tell Sally to mend a great slit in my worked muslin gown before they are packed up. Good bye. Give my love to Colonel Forster. I hope you will drink to our good journey.

Chapter forty-eight returns Mr. Bennet to Longbourn. He too, though temporarily sobered by events is largely unchanged and can already laugh at his predicament. His flippant nature, despite knowing better, perhaps renders him the most blamable of the entire family, including Lydia:

It was not till the afternoon, when he joined them at tea, that Elizabeth ventured to introduce the subject; and then, on her briefly expressing her sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied, 

"Say nothing of that. Who would suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it."

"You must not be too severe upon yourself," replied Elizabeth.

"You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough."

"Do you suppose them to be in London?"

"Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?"

"And Lydia used to want to go to London," added Kitty.

"She is happy, then," said her father, drily; "and her residence there will probably be of some duration."

Then, after a short silence, he continued, "Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which, considering the event, shews some greatness of mind."

They were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came to fetch her mother's tea.

"This is a parade," cried he, "which does one good; it gives such an elegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same; I will sit in my library, in my night cap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble as I can, -- or, perhaps, I may defer it till Kitty runs away."

"I am not going to run away, Papa," said Kitty, fretfully; "if I should ever go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia."

"You go to Brighton! -- I would not trust you so near it as East-Bourne, for fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter my house again, nor even to pass through the village. Balls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters. And you are never to stir out of doors till you can prove that you have spent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner."

Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.

"Well, well," said he, "do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of them."

Some mention must be made of how dreadful Mr. Collins' letter is - perhaps the worst we ever see of him (and there is a good deal of competition for that honor). Most abominable is when he congratulates himself on escaping any share in the Bennet's disgrace.

Chapter forty-nine brings a tempered form of good news. As Elizabeth wisely reflects: "And for this we are to be thankful. That they should marry, small as is their chance of happiness, and wretched as is his character, we are forced to rejoice! Oh, Lydia!" We see Mr. Bennet in a humbler mood: more self-deprecating than he is ever appears elsewhere. But Mrs. Bennet, if possible is proven even more ridiculous than previously supposed, as all her anguish converts to instant glee. It will be hard for any member of the household to ever again pay credence to her nerves.