Minor rant + First Impressions (3)
I like Cracked, but just about every time they mention Padmé I prepare to board the failboat.
It’s -- yes, I think her characterization is erratic and inconsistent. Yes, I understand that Cracked is hardly a model of egalitarianism. But.
But I keep running into references to what a poor role model she is, as if that’s her purpose in the plot. Look, I’m the first person to say that she devolved from a character to a role over the three movies, but that role wasn’t “role model” it was “love interest” with a dash of “dead mother.” And even in the beginning, role model wasn’t her purpose.
Oh, it was Leia’s, sure -- Leia screams Girls Need Role Models and serves as a sterling one even into ROTJ (the princess rescues the pirate from the dragon? hell yeah). Padmé isn’t like that. She’s a competent, high-minded politician who happens to be a resourceful, well-trained fighter as well, as it seems Republic politicians need to be. Like Han before her, she’s the vehicle for the more realistic, or at least less mythic side of the story -- there’s nothing mythic about trade routes and senatorial bills and elections.
A deliberate role model has to be -- memetic, on some level, larger than life. Padmé is life-sized and meant to be that way. That, as I think irnan pointed out to me awhile back, is why her thoroughly mythic death seems so bizarre. It’s not that death by despair is inherently ridiculous (Finduilas! Arwen!), but that it’s ridiculous for Padmé.
So, anyway, complaining that she doesn’t have that Leia-esque stature is rather missing the point. There are so many things to object to in her portrayal, but the fact that she has a uterus and yet isn’t an exemplar of female virtue isn’t one of them. Padmé should be judged as Padmé, not The Token Girl. (To be fair, she is a token girl. But that’s not all she is.)
And then, to make matters better-worse, all the blather about modeling for young girls (because Cracked cares so much about that kind of thing) is invariably accompanied by the remark that her only redeeming quality is how incredibly gorgeous she is and how tragic it is that her son and daughter are so very unattractive (tangential note: lolwut). Because, as we all know, hawtness is a totally valid measure of personal merit.
---------------
Title: First Impressions (3/13)
Fanverse: First Impressions
Blurb: As always, Jane gets sick and stays at Netherfield; the various residents disagree about everything.
---------------
Chapter Three
Lavinia, Lady Darcy, lived in Hertfordshire, about twelve miles from Netherfield. Although Miss Darcy had little fondness for her great-aunt, her strong family loyalties impelled her to do her duty by all her relations. She paid a visit in November, leaving Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst to their own devices for the day.
Within an hour, the former had sent a note to Miss Bennet. It read:
My dear friend,
If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. Miss Darcy has gone to visit her aunt at Pickering, and my brothers are to dine with the officers. Yours ever,
Caroline Bingley
The peremptory message did little to endear its writer to Henry, but Jane was flattered and pleased. Mrs Bennet sent her over on horseback, hoping that a storm might keep her at Netherfield.
Her purpose was more than answered. Jane wrote to Henry the next morning, assuring him that she had got caught in the rain, but was not very sick. He immediately decided to leave, and see her for himself.
"It is still wet," said his mother, fretfully. "You will make yourself ill."
"Nonsense," he replied, and his youngest sisters agreed to accompany him as far as Meryton, where they hoped to see an officer or two.
The rest of the way he walked alone, increasing his pace and leaping over stiles and puddles, and reached Netherfield with muddy boots and flushed cheeks. Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, though polite, were plainly shocked; Miss Darcy stared; Mr Hurst only yawned.
"Bennet!" cried Bingley, springing up and warmly shaking his hand.
Henry enquired after Jane, hoping her situation was no worse than she had represented it, but knowing her too well to believe it to be the case. Instead he discovered that she was feverish, and far too weak to leave her room. He sat with her as long as he could, Jane clinging to his hand; but at three, admitted that he should return to Longbourn.
"You may use our chaise," Miss Bingley said graciously.
Jane began to cry. "I am sorry," she said between hiccups. "It is only that - Hal, I have felt so much better with you here - and I know it is selfish, but I do not want you to go."
Miss Bingley did not like her friend's brother, and certainly did not wish to throw him into Miss Darcy's company; but she was hardly so inhuman as to be unaffected by this. "Mr Bennet, I hope you will stay at Netherfield for the present."
"Of course," said Henry.
The sisters' solicitude for Jane slightly improved their standing in Henry's eyes, but only until dinner. Then, beyond a few trite statements, they seemed scarcely to remember her existence, and instead paid court to Miss Darcy.
Their attentions were well beyond what might be expected of even the most doting friends; even Henry did not know what to think of it, at first. However, their constant appeals to their brother for confirmation quickly persuaded him that they hoped for a nearer connection.
This did nothing to endear the lady to him, though he could not persuade himself that she shared their ambitions. She accepted the ceaseless panegyrics with indifference, at best, and often irritation. As vain as she was, he had supposed that she would be particularly susceptible to flattery - but undoubtedly she thought so well of herself, as to require no affirmation from others.
If Miss Bingley's compliments for Miss Darcy were endless, so were her complaints about their guest.
"Harry Bennet," said Miss Bingley, as soon as he had left the room, "is insolent, plain, rude, satirical, exactly the kind of young man I most abominate."
Bingley stared, but Mrs Hurst adeptly picked up her sister's opening. "I quite agree, sister. He has nothing, in short, to recommend him, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget his appearance this morning. He really looked almost wild."
"Are you mad?" said her husband.
"His boots," she said, ignoring him. "Did you see them? I believe they were entirely caked with mud."
Miss Bingley nodded firmly. "They were. Really, I do not see why should a gentleman wander about the countryside, because his sister has a cold!"
"It shows an affection for his sister that is very much to his credit," said Bingley.
His own sisters laughed. "Nonsense, Charles!" Miss Bingley cried. "You certainly would not act in such a ridiculous manner if Louisa or I had a trifling little fever."
"Of course I would."
She fell silent, but Miss Darcy gave him an approving look. Thus encouraged, Miss Bingley ignored her brother's unfashionable affection for her, and turned to her friend.
"I am afraid, Catherine," she whispered, "that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of his fine eyes."
Miss Darcy looked surprised. "Not at all," said she. "They were brightened by the exercise."
That evening, Henry returned downstairs with some reluctance. The others were all playing cards - at high stakes, he suspected, so declined to join them.
"I cannot leave Jane very long," he said; "I believe I shall amuse myself with a book, if I may."
The ladies only glanced in his direction, Miss Darcy a little longer than the others; he could not help but notice her lips curving into her usual smile of serene superiority.
Mr Hurst, however, stared. "Do you prefer reading to cards? - that is rather singular!"
"Shall I fetch you the other books?" said Bingley hastily. "I am afraid they are all that my library affords; I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into."
Henry smiled. "Thank you, but I can suit myself perfectly with those in the room."
Miss Bingley sniffed. "I am astonished that my father should have left so small a collection of books. - What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Catherine!"
"It ought to be good," she replied. "It has been the work of many generations."
"But you have added so much to it yourself!" Miss Bingley looked pointedly at her brother. "You are always buying books."
For a moment, Miss Darcy's smile gained something of sincerity, and her features animation. "I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these," she said earnestly.
"Neglect!" cried Miss Bingley. "I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley."
Bingley seemed to have little expectation of this, but said politely, "I wish it may."
"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire."
"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself, if Miss Darcy will sell it."
The lady in question glanced up, eyes flashing with indignation, or perhaps even anger; her face, which had frozen into its usual lines of abstracted disinterest, hardened - but, for the first time in their acquaintance, she held her tongue.
Miss Bingley, oblivious as always, looked petulant. "I am talking of possibilities, Charles."
"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than imitation."
Henry had not previously felt the slightest interest in the estate of which Miss Darcy was mistress - but at this, his attention was caught. Miss Darcy, of course, would be satisfied with nothing less than a lavish monument to her vanity; and a house that would appeal to Miss Bingley's extravagant tastes, that her brother would find quite inimitable, must possess more than mere splendour. His imagination conjured up a monstrosity of gaudy, ostentatious opulence. Even this, however, could only amuse him for a moment; so, after a brief argument with Miss Darcy - and Miss Bingley, he supposed, though she did not signify - he returned upstairs.
Jane was worse, and Henry decided to send for the apothecary in the morning, if she had not improved. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst declared themselves miserable at the bad news; Bingley pestered his servants; and Miss Darcy said she was very sorry.
He sent for Mrs Bennet the following day; she quickly ascertained that Jane was in no serious danger, and therefore wished her to remain ill, and at Netherfield. In this latter desire she was seconded, for rather different reasons, by Mr Jones.
Upon hearing their reports, Bingley would not hear of her removal, and Miss Bingley coldly assented. Jane and Henry would remain at Netherfield a few days longer.
Mrs Bennet's spirits were quite elevated by this excess of civility. "I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield," she observed, looking about with an acquisitive eye. "You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease."
"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," said Bingley; "and, therefore, if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here."
Henry laughed. "That is exactly what I should have supposed of you."
"You begin to comprehend me, do you?"
"Oh! yes - I understand you perfectly," said Henry easily.
"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful."
Henry shrugged. "That is as it happens. It does not follow that a deep, intricate character -" he carefully avoided Miss Darcy's glance - "is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."
"Hal is so clever," said the doting mama.
Miss Bingley sent her a fulminating look, and, the next day, told Miss Darcy that she suspected "that dreadful woman" was behind the whole affair.
"Do you?" said Catherine, her smile and her indifference firmly in place. "I doubt she has the capacity for any kind of serious thought - let alone command over the elements."
"Well," Miss Bingley replied, a little discomfited by this, "I hope you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when your desirable alliance takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers."
Catherine's brows rose, but she said only in a very dry voice, "Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?"
Happily, Jane continued to recover, and by that evening, was improved enough to come downstairs. Henry, wrapping his sister in a blanket, brought her to the dining-room.
"Miss Bennet, I am glad you are well again," said Catherine, and Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley greeted their friend with such cries of delight that he felt it safe to leave her to their care.
When he returned with the other gentlemen, Bingley instantly gravitated to her side, piling up the fire, moving her away from any draft that might come through the door, and was so absorbed in their conversation as to pay little attention to anybody else in the room. Henry, amused and pleased, left them to their own devices.
Mr Hurst fell asleep on the sofa; his wife played with her bracelets, or talked to Jane and Bingley; Henry and Catherine read; and Miss Bingley took up the second volume of Miss Darcy's book, stared at it in mixed confusion and boredom, and instead watched her, either asking questions or peering at her page. Miss Darcy endured this with her customary sedateness, but Miss Bingley herself finally lost patience and heaved a great yawn.
"How pleasant it is to spend an evening this way!" she cried. "I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! - Charles, when you have a house of your own, I hope it will have an excellent library."
Miss Darcy cast her a sardonic look, but said nothing; neither did anybody else.
After several similar attempts, Miss Bingley got up and walked about the room, glancing repeatedly at Henry. Her friend had done the same the previous day; and, as he could not suppose himself an object of interest to such a great heiress, he had supposed there must be something so objectionable about him as to draw her attention. However, this assumption seemed somehow quite ridiculous in regard to Miss Bingley's interest, and his concern was edging toward alarm when she approached him directly.
"Mr Harry Bennet," she said, her smile saccharine-sweet, "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."
Henry could hardly refuse before the whole room, and not only joined her but offered his arm. Miss Bingley gladly accepted; Miss Darcy glanced up, and was promptly rewarded for her trouble by hearing herself, yet again, praised to the skies. Miss Darcy was a pillar of womanly virtue, elegant, serene, and persuasive - her beauty was incomparable, her mind refined, her accomplishments innumerable - what, Miss Bingley demanded of the impudent Henry, was there to laugh at in such a paragon?
"Miss Darcy is not to be laughed at!" he cried, trying not to smile. "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 acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh."
The object of all this stiffened. "Caroline has given me credit for more than can be," said she. "The wisest and best of women, nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke."
Her direct glance at him made it evident, if there had been any doubt, that he was the person to whom she referred. Despite himself, Henry's amusement vanished. "Certainly," he said, "there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or 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."
She shrugged. "Perhaps that is not possible for anyone," she allowed. "But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule."
Henry did not even notice Miss Bingley's fingers releasing his arm. "Such as vanity and pride?" he said, with a quizzical arch of his brows.
"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride -" Catherine hesitated. "Where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation."
He could not help smiling at that, turning away to conceal it from her. Miss Bingley, having failed in both her aims - of bringing her friend's virtues to Bingley's attention, and showing Harry Bennet how unworthy he was of her - looked at him with contempt.
"Your examination of Miss Darcy is over, I presume? and pray, what is the result?"
"I am perfectly convinced by it that Miss Darcy has no defect," he replied. "She owns it herself without disguise."
"No," said Catherine, meeting his gaze with cool, hard eyes, "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but I hope they are not of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. - It is, I believe, too little yielding - certainly too little," she added, lifting her chin, "for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the vices and follies of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences 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 lost, is lost forever."
"That is a failing indeed! Implacable resentment is a shade in a character," he said. "But you have chosen your fault well. - I really cannot laugh at it; you are safe from me."
Something of her customary abstraction came over her face. "There is, I believe, in every disposition," said she, "a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."
"And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody," said Henry sharply.
"And yours," Catherine said with a smile, "is wilfully to misunderstand them."
It’s -- yes, I think her characterization is erratic and inconsistent. Yes, I understand that Cracked is hardly a model of egalitarianism. But.
But I keep running into references to what a poor role model she is, as if that’s her purpose in the plot. Look, I’m the first person to say that she devolved from a character to a role over the three movies, but that role wasn’t “role model” it was “love interest” with a dash of “dead mother.” And even in the beginning, role model wasn’t her purpose.
Oh, it was Leia’s, sure -- Leia screams Girls Need Role Models and serves as a sterling one even into ROTJ (the princess rescues the pirate from the dragon? hell yeah). Padmé isn’t like that. She’s a competent, high-minded politician who happens to be a resourceful, well-trained fighter as well, as it seems Republic politicians need to be. Like Han before her, she’s the vehicle for the more realistic, or at least less mythic side of the story -- there’s nothing mythic about trade routes and senatorial bills and elections.
A deliberate role model has to be -- memetic, on some level, larger than life. Padmé is life-sized and meant to be that way. That, as I think irnan pointed out to me awhile back, is why her thoroughly mythic death seems so bizarre. It’s not that death by despair is inherently ridiculous (Finduilas! Arwen!), but that it’s ridiculous for Padmé.
So, anyway, complaining that she doesn’t have that Leia-esque stature is rather missing the point. There are so many things to object to in her portrayal, but the fact that she has a uterus and yet isn’t an exemplar of female virtue isn’t one of them. Padmé should be judged as Padmé, not The Token Girl. (To be fair, she is a token girl. But that’s not all she is.)
And then, to make matters better-worse, all the blather about modeling for young girls (because Cracked cares so much about that kind of thing) is invariably accompanied by the remark that her only redeeming quality is how incredibly gorgeous she is and how tragic it is that her son and daughter are so very unattractive (tangential note: lolwut). Because, as we all know, hawtness is a totally valid measure of personal merit.
---------------
Title: First Impressions (3/13)
Fanverse: First Impressions
Blurb: As always, Jane gets sick and stays at Netherfield; the various residents disagree about everything.
---------------
Chapter Three
Lavinia, Lady Darcy, lived in Hertfordshire, about twelve miles from Netherfield. Although Miss Darcy had little fondness for her great-aunt, her strong family loyalties impelled her to do her duty by all her relations. She paid a visit in November, leaving Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst to their own devices for the day.
Within an hour, the former had sent a note to Miss Bennet. It read:
My dear friend,
If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. Miss Darcy has gone to visit her aunt at Pickering, and my brothers are to dine with the officers. Yours ever,
Caroline Bingley
The peremptory message did little to endear its writer to Henry, but Jane was flattered and pleased. Mrs Bennet sent her over on horseback, hoping that a storm might keep her at Netherfield.
Her purpose was more than answered. Jane wrote to Henry the next morning, assuring him that she had got caught in the rain, but was not very sick. He immediately decided to leave, and see her for himself.
"It is still wet," said his mother, fretfully. "You will make yourself ill."
"Nonsense," he replied, and his youngest sisters agreed to accompany him as far as Meryton, where they hoped to see an officer or two.
The rest of the way he walked alone, increasing his pace and leaping over stiles and puddles, and reached Netherfield with muddy boots and flushed cheeks. Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, though polite, were plainly shocked; Miss Darcy stared; Mr Hurst only yawned.
"Bennet!" cried Bingley, springing up and warmly shaking his hand.
Henry enquired after Jane, hoping her situation was no worse than she had represented it, but knowing her too well to believe it to be the case. Instead he discovered that she was feverish, and far too weak to leave her room. He sat with her as long as he could, Jane clinging to his hand; but at three, admitted that he should return to Longbourn.
"You may use our chaise," Miss Bingley said graciously.
Jane began to cry. "I am sorry," she said between hiccups. "It is only that - Hal, I have felt so much better with you here - and I know it is selfish, but I do not want you to go."
Miss Bingley did not like her friend's brother, and certainly did not wish to throw him into Miss Darcy's company; but she was hardly so inhuman as to be unaffected by this. "Mr Bennet, I hope you will stay at Netherfield for the present."
"Of course," said Henry.
The sisters' solicitude for Jane slightly improved their standing in Henry's eyes, but only until dinner. Then, beyond a few trite statements, they seemed scarcely to remember her existence, and instead paid court to Miss Darcy.
Their attentions were well beyond what might be expected of even the most doting friends; even Henry did not know what to think of it, at first. However, their constant appeals to their brother for confirmation quickly persuaded him that they hoped for a nearer connection.
This did nothing to endear the lady to him, though he could not persuade himself that she shared their ambitions. She accepted the ceaseless panegyrics with indifference, at best, and often irritation. As vain as she was, he had supposed that she would be particularly susceptible to flattery - but undoubtedly she thought so well of herself, as to require no affirmation from others.
If Miss Bingley's compliments for Miss Darcy were endless, so were her complaints about their guest.
"Harry Bennet," said Miss Bingley, as soon as he had left the room, "is insolent, plain, rude, satirical, exactly the kind of young man I most abominate."
Bingley stared, but Mrs Hurst adeptly picked up her sister's opening. "I quite agree, sister. He has nothing, in short, to recommend him, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget his appearance this morning. He really looked almost wild."
"Are you mad?" said her husband.
"His boots," she said, ignoring him. "Did you see them? I believe they were entirely caked with mud."
Miss Bingley nodded firmly. "They were. Really, I do not see why should a gentleman wander about the countryside, because his sister has a cold!"
"It shows an affection for his sister that is very much to his credit," said Bingley.
His own sisters laughed. "Nonsense, Charles!" Miss Bingley cried. "You certainly would not act in such a ridiculous manner if Louisa or I had a trifling little fever."
"Of course I would."
She fell silent, but Miss Darcy gave him an approving look. Thus encouraged, Miss Bingley ignored her brother's unfashionable affection for her, and turned to her friend.
"I am afraid, Catherine," she whispered, "that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of his fine eyes."
Miss Darcy looked surprised. "Not at all," said she. "They were brightened by the exercise."
That evening, Henry returned downstairs with some reluctance. The others were all playing cards - at high stakes, he suspected, so declined to join them.
"I cannot leave Jane very long," he said; "I believe I shall amuse myself with a book, if I may."
The ladies only glanced in his direction, Miss Darcy a little longer than the others; he could not help but notice her lips curving into her usual smile of serene superiority.
Mr Hurst, however, stared. "Do you prefer reading to cards? - that is rather singular!"
"Shall I fetch you the other books?" said Bingley hastily. "I am afraid they are all that my library affords; I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into."
Henry smiled. "Thank you, but I can suit myself perfectly with those in the room."
Miss Bingley sniffed. "I am astonished that my father should have left so small a collection of books. - What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Catherine!"
"It ought to be good," she replied. "It has been the work of many generations."
"But you have added so much to it yourself!" Miss Bingley looked pointedly at her brother. "You are always buying books."
For a moment, Miss Darcy's smile gained something of sincerity, and her features animation. "I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these," she said earnestly.
"Neglect!" cried Miss Bingley. "I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley."
Bingley seemed to have little expectation of this, but said politely, "I wish it may."
"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire."
"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself, if Miss Darcy will sell it."
The lady in question glanced up, eyes flashing with indignation, or perhaps even anger; her face, which had frozen into its usual lines of abstracted disinterest, hardened - but, for the first time in their acquaintance, she held her tongue.
Miss Bingley, oblivious as always, looked petulant. "I am talking of possibilities, Charles."
"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than imitation."
Henry had not previously felt the slightest interest in the estate of which Miss Darcy was mistress - but at this, his attention was caught. Miss Darcy, of course, would be satisfied with nothing less than a lavish monument to her vanity; and a house that would appeal to Miss Bingley's extravagant tastes, that her brother would find quite inimitable, must possess more than mere splendour. His imagination conjured up a monstrosity of gaudy, ostentatious opulence. Even this, however, could only amuse him for a moment; so, after a brief argument with Miss Darcy - and Miss Bingley, he supposed, though she did not signify - he returned upstairs.
Jane was worse, and Henry decided to send for the apothecary in the morning, if she had not improved. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst declared themselves miserable at the bad news; Bingley pestered his servants; and Miss Darcy said she was very sorry.
He sent for Mrs Bennet the following day; she quickly ascertained that Jane was in no serious danger, and therefore wished her to remain ill, and at Netherfield. In this latter desire she was seconded, for rather different reasons, by Mr Jones.
Upon hearing their reports, Bingley would not hear of her removal, and Miss Bingley coldly assented. Jane and Henry would remain at Netherfield a few days longer.
Mrs Bennet's spirits were quite elevated by this excess of civility. "I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield," she observed, looking about with an acquisitive eye. "You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease."
"Whatever I do is done in a hurry," said Bingley; "and, therefore, if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here."
Henry laughed. "That is exactly what I should have supposed of you."
"You begin to comprehend me, do you?"
"Oh! yes - I understand you perfectly," said Henry easily.
"I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful."
Henry shrugged. "That is as it happens. It does not follow that a deep, intricate character -" he carefully avoided Miss Darcy's glance - "is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."
"Hal is so clever," said the doting mama.
Miss Bingley sent her a fulminating look, and, the next day, told Miss Darcy that she suspected "that dreadful woman" was behind the whole affair.
"Do you?" said Catherine, her smile and her indifference firmly in place. "I doubt she has the capacity for any kind of serious thought - let alone command over the elements."
"Well," Miss Bingley replied, a little discomfited by this, "I hope you will give your mother-in-law a few hints, when your desirable alliance takes place, as to the advantage of holding her tongue; and if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers."
Catherine's brows rose, but she said only in a very dry voice, "Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?"
Happily, Jane continued to recover, and by that evening, was improved enough to come downstairs. Henry, wrapping his sister in a blanket, brought her to the dining-room.
"Miss Bennet, I am glad you are well again," said Catherine, and Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley greeted their friend with such cries of delight that he felt it safe to leave her to their care.
When he returned with the other gentlemen, Bingley instantly gravitated to her side, piling up the fire, moving her away from any draft that might come through the door, and was so absorbed in their conversation as to pay little attention to anybody else in the room. Henry, amused and pleased, left them to their own devices.
Mr Hurst fell asleep on the sofa; his wife played with her bracelets, or talked to Jane and Bingley; Henry and Catherine read; and Miss Bingley took up the second volume of Miss Darcy's book, stared at it in mixed confusion and boredom, and instead watched her, either asking questions or peering at her page. Miss Darcy endured this with her customary sedateness, but Miss Bingley herself finally lost patience and heaved a great yawn.
"How pleasant it is to spend an evening this way!" she cried. "I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! - Charles, when you have a house of your own, I hope it will have an excellent library."
Miss Darcy cast her a sardonic look, but said nothing; neither did anybody else.
After several similar attempts, Miss Bingley got up and walked about the room, glancing repeatedly at Henry. Her friend had done the same the previous day; and, as he could not suppose himself an object of interest to such a great heiress, he had supposed there must be something so objectionable about him as to draw her attention. However, this assumption seemed somehow quite ridiculous in regard to Miss Bingley's interest, and his concern was edging toward alarm when she approached him directly.
"Mr Harry Bennet," she said, her smile saccharine-sweet, "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."
Henry could hardly refuse before the whole room, and not only joined her but offered his arm. Miss Bingley gladly accepted; Miss Darcy glanced up, and was promptly rewarded for her trouble by hearing herself, yet again, praised to the skies. Miss Darcy was a pillar of womanly virtue, elegant, serene, and persuasive - her beauty was incomparable, her mind refined, her accomplishments innumerable - what, Miss Bingley demanded of the impudent Henry, was there to laugh at in such a paragon?
"Miss Darcy is not to be laughed at!" he cried, trying not to smile. "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 acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh."
The object of all this stiffened. "Caroline has given me credit for more than can be," said she. "The wisest and best of women, nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke."
Her direct glance at him made it evident, if there had been any doubt, that he was the person to whom she referred. Despite himself, Henry's amusement vanished. "Certainly," he said, "there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or 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."
She shrugged. "Perhaps that is not possible for anyone," she allowed. "But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule."
Henry did not even notice Miss Bingley's fingers releasing his arm. "Such as vanity and pride?" he said, with a quizzical arch of his brows.
"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride -" Catherine hesitated. "Where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation."
He could not help smiling at that, turning away to conceal it from her. Miss Bingley, having failed in both her aims - of bringing her friend's virtues to Bingley's attention, and showing Harry Bennet how unworthy he was of her - looked at him with contempt.
"Your examination of Miss Darcy is over, I presume? and pray, what is the result?"
"I am perfectly convinced by it that Miss Darcy has no defect," he replied. "She owns it herself without disguise."
"No," said Catherine, meeting his gaze with cool, hard eyes, "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but I hope they are not of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. - It is, I believe, too little yielding - certainly too little," she added, lifting her chin, "for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the vices and follies of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences 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 lost, is lost forever."
"That is a failing indeed! Implacable resentment is a shade in a character," he said. "But you have chosen your fault well. - I really cannot laugh at it; you are safe from me."
Something of her customary abstraction came over her face. "There is, I believe, in every disposition," said she, "a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."
"And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody," said Henry sharply.
"And yours," Catherine said with a smile, "is wilfully to misunderstand them."