As I sit to recount this evening's occurrences at the Netherfield ball, the quiet of my chamber stands in stark contrast to the whirl of music and conversation that filled the hours before. The event was to be the pinnacle of Netherfield's social engagements, and yet, for me, it unfolded as a tableau of disquieting revelations and encounters which have left me in a state of considerable reflection.
The drawing-room was aglow with the flicker of candles and the bright colors of gowns and uniforms as the guests assembled, a milieu of local society. Miss Elizabeth Bennet entered with a countenance of such anticipation that it could not escape notice. Her eyes scanned the assembly, searching, I discerned, for Mr. Wickham. I observed her reaction when his absence became apparent – a mixture of confusion and a dawning displeasure that did not elude my perception.
It became known through the murmurs of the crowd and the pointed words of Mr. Denny that Wickham's absence was no accident but a deliberate avoidance. Elizabeth's distress was palpable, and I could not help but feel a twinge of responsibility, though I had no hand in his decision to absent himself.
The evening progressed, and I found myself in the unexpected position of engaging Miss Bennet for a dance. Her acceptance surprised us both, and I retreated to collect my thoughts, which were in disarray. Her cousin, Mr. Collins, provided a brief interlude of diversion with his comical display of dancing, but my mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with the impending dance with Elizabeth.
When the moment arrived, and I approached her, I could see the reluctance masked behind her polite smile. We took to the floor in silence, the eyes of the room upon us. The dance began, and the silence stretched on, a testament to the chasm between us. Elizabeth, in a move that betrayed her nerves, initiated a trifling conversation about the dance, to which I replied, and then we fell into silence once more.
It was not until she inquired about our previous meeting in Meryton and the formation of a new acquaintance that the conversation took a turn. The mention of Wickham brought a visible change to my demeanor; I felt a coldness settle over me, and though I wished to remain indifferent, I could not. My response was measured but carried a weight of meaning that hinted at the truth of my sentiments towards the man.
"Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may insure his making friends; whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."
"He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship," replied Elizabeth, with emphasis, "and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."
The dance concluded, and we parted – I, with a mind burdened by the complexities of my feelings towards her and the situation at hand; she, no doubt, with her own set of vexations and concerns. The rest of the evening saw me observing her from a distance, noting her interactions with others and her attempts to regain composure.
Mr. Collins, steadfast in his misguided resolution, proceeded to approach me with a confidence that bordered on the absurd.
The scene that unfolded was one I shall not soon forget. Mr. Collins, with a solemnity that belied the awkwardness of his position, delivered what can only be described as a tribute to Lady Catherine, replete with assurances of her good health and references to his own rectitude. I endured this address with a composure that was tested by the length and content of his speech. My response, though polite, was terse, and I excused myself at the earliest opportunity, leaving Mr. Collins to ponder the interaction.
Miss Elizabeth's reaction to her cousin's behaviour was a mixture of dismay and embarrassment, which I observed from a distance. Mr. Collins, upon returning to her side, seemed utterly oblivious to the impropriety of his conduct, instead expressing satisfaction with the civility of my response. His interpretation of the exchange, and his apparent pleasure in it, struck me as delusional, a testament to his vanity and lack of discernment.
The incident has left me with much to consider. It is clear that Mr. Collins' association with Lady Catherine will inevitably lead to further entanglement, and the prospect of him becoming connected to Elizabeth through marriage is one I find increasingly distressing. The disparity in their characters and sensibilities could not be more pronounced, and the thought of Elizabeth bound to such a man is intolerable.
Furthermore, the interactions of the evening have underscored the growing complexity of my feelings towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Despite the impropriety of her family and the unsuitability of a match, I find my thoughts returning to her with an intensity that both confounds and disturbs me. Her intelligence, her spirited nature, and the liveliness of her expression have imprinted themselves upon me, challenging the very principles I have long upheld.
As the night wanes and the revelry of the ball becomes a memory, I am left to grapple with these revelations in the solitude of my study. The path ahead is uncertain, and the propriety of my future actions is a matter of considerable debate within my own mind. For now, I must content myself with the reflection that this evening has brought to light feelings and considerations that will require careful examination in the days to come.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
CZYTASZ
The Lost Journals of Fitzwilliam Darcy
Historyczne"The Lost Journals of Fitzwilliam Darcy" is a retelling of Jane Austen's classic novel "Pride and Prejudice" from the perspective of the enigmatic Mr. Darcy. Presented as a series of detailed journal entries, the story chronicles Darcy's innermost t...
