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Гордость и предубеждение
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Pride and Prejudice
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Chapter 43
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Elizabeth,
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as they drove along,
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watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation;
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and when at length they turned in at the lodge,
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her spirits were in a high flutter.
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The park was very large,
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and contained great variety of ground.
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They entered it in one of its lowest points,
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and drove for some time through a beautiful wood stretching over a wide extent.
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Elizabeth’s mind was too full for conversation,
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but she saw and admired every remarkable spot and point of view.
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They gradually ascended for half-a-mile,
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and then found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence,
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where the wood ceased,
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and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House,
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situated on the opposite side of a valley,
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into which the road with some abruptness wound.
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It was a large,
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handsome stone building,
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standing well on rising ground,
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and backed by a ridge of high woody hills;
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and in front,
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a stream of some natural importance was swelled into greater,
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but without any artificial appearance.
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Its banks were neither formal nor falsely adorned.
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Elizabeth was delighted.
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She had never seen a place for which nature had done more,
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or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.
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They were all of them warm in their admiration;
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and at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!
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They descended the hill,
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crossed the bridge,
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and drove to the door;
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and,
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while examining the nearer aspect of the house,
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all her apprehension of meeting its owner returned.
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She dreaded lest the chambermaid had been mistaken.
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On applying to see the place,
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they were admitted into the hall;
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and Elizabeth,
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as they waited for the housekeeper,
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had leisure to wonder at her being where she was.
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The housekeeper came;
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a respectable-looking elderly woman,
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much less fine,
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and more civil,
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than she had any notion of finding her.
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They followed her into the dining-parlour.
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It was a large,
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well proportioned room,
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handsomely fitted up.
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Elizabeth,
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after slightly surveying it,
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went to a window to enjoy its prospect.
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The hill,
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crowned with wood,
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which they had descended,
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receiving increased abruptness from the distance,
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was a beautiful object.
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Every disposition of the ground was good;
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and she looked on the whole scene,
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the river,
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the trees scattered on its banks and the winding of the valley,
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as far as she could trace it,
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with delight.
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As they passed into other rooms these objects were taking different positions;
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but from every window there were beauties to be seen.
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The rooms were lofty and handsome,
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and their furniture suitable to the fortune of its proprietor;
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but Elizabeth saw,
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with admiration of his taste,
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that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine;
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with less of splendour,
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and more real elegance,
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than the furniture of Rosings.
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“And of this place,”
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thought she,
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“I might have been mistress!
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With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted!
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Instead of viewing them as a stranger,
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I might have rejoiced in them as my own,
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and welcomed to them as visitors my uncle and aunt.
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But no,”—
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recollecting herself—“that could never be;
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my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me;
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I should not have been allowed to invite them.”
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This was a lucky recollection—it saved her from something very like regret.
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She longed to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master was really absent,
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but had not the courage for it.
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At length however,
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the question was asked by her uncle;
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and she turned away with alarm,
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while Mrs. Reynolds replied that he was,
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adding,
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“But we expect him to-morrow,
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with a large party of friends.”
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How rejoiced was Elizabeth that their own journey had not by any circumstance been delayed a day!
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Her aunt now called her to look at a picture.
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She approached and saw the likeness of Mr. Wickham,
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suspended,
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amongst several other miniatures,
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over the mantelpiece.
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Her aunt asked her,
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smilingly,
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how she liked it.
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The housekeeper came forward,
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and told them it was a picture of a young gentleman,
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the son of her late master’s steward,
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who had been brought up by him at his own expense.
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“He is now gone into the army,”
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she added;
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“but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.”
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Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile,
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but Elizabeth could not return it.
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“And that,”
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said Mrs. Reynolds,
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pointing to another of the miniatures,
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“is my master—and very like him.
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It was drawn at the same time as the other—about eight years ago.”
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“I have heard much of your master’s fine person,”
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said Mrs. Gardiner,
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looking at the picture;
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“it is a handsome face.
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But,
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Lizzy,
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you can tell us whether it is like or not.”
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Mrs. Reynolds respect for Elizabeth seemed to increase on this intimation of her knowing her master.
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“Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?”
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Elizabeth coloured,
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and said:
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“A little.”
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“And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman,
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ma’am?”
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“Yes,
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very handsome.”
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“I am sure I know none so handsome;
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but in the gallery up stairs you will see a finer,
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larger picture of him than this.
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This room was my late master’s favourite room,
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and these miniatures are just as they used to be then.
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He was very fond of them.”
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This accounted to Elizabeth for Mr. Wickham’s being among them.
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Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy,
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drawn when she was only eight years old.
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