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      "text": "[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nAlice\u2019s Adventures in Wonderland\n\nby Lewis Carroll\n\nTHE MILLENNIUM FULCRUM EDITION 3.0\n\nContents\n\n CHAPTER I.     Down the Rabbit-Hole\n CHAPTER II.    The Pool of Tears\n CHAPTER III.   A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale\n CHAPTER IV.    The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill\n CHAPTER V.     Advice from a Caterpillar\n CHAPTER VI.    Pig and Pepper\n CHAPTER VII.   A Mad Tea-Party\n CHAPTER VIII.  The Queen\u2019s Croquet-Ground\n CHAPTER IX.    The Mock Turtle\u2019s Story\n CHAPTER X.     The Lobster Quadrille\n CHAPTER XI.    Who Stole the Tarts?\n CHAPTER XII.   Alice\u2019s Evidence\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\nDown the Rabbit-Hole\n\n\nAlice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the\nbank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into\nthe book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or\nconversations in it, \u201cand what is the use of a book,\u201d thought Alice\n\u201cwithout pictures or conversations?\u201d\n\nSo she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the\nhot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of\nmaking a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and\npicking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran\nclose by her.\n\nThere was nothing so _very_ remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it\nso _very_ much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, \u201cOh\ndear! Oh dear! I shall be late!\u201d (when she thought it over afterwards,\nit occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the\ntime it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually _took a\nwatch out of its waistcoat-pocket_, and looked at it, and then hurried\non, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she\nhad never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a\nwatch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the\nfield after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a\nlarge rabbit-hole under the hedge.\n\nIn another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how\nin the world she was to get out again.\n\nThe rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then\ndipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think\nabout stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very\ndeep well.\n\nEither the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had\nplenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what\nwas going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out\nwhat she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she\nlooked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with\ncupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures\nhung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she\npassed; it was labelled \u201cORANGE MARMALADE\u201d, but to her great\ndisappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear\nof killing somebody underneath, so managed to put it into one of the\ncupboards as she fell past it.\n\n\u201cWell!\u201d thought Alice to herself, \u201cafter such a fall as this, I shall\nthink nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they\u2019ll all think me\nat home! Why, I wouldn\u2019t say anything about it, even if I fell off the\ntop of the house!\u201d (Which was very likely true.)\n\nDown, down, down. Would the fall _never_ come to an end? \u201cI wonder how\nmany miles I\u2019ve fallen by this time?\u201d she said aloud. \u201cI must be\ngetting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would\nbe four thousand miles down, I think\u2014\u201d (for, you see, Alice had learnt\nseveral things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and\nthough this was not a _very_ good opportunity for showing off her\nknowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good\npractice to say it over) \u201c\u2014yes, that\u2019s about the right distance\u2014but\nthen I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I\u2019ve got to?\u201d (Alice had no\nidea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice\ngrand words to say.)\n\nPresently she began again. \u201cI wonder if I shall fall right _through_\nthe earth! How funny it\u2019ll seem to come out among the people that walk\nwith their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think\u2014\u201d (she was rather\nglad there _was_ no one listening, this time, as it didn\u2019t sound at all\nthe right word) \u201c\u2014but I shall have to ask them what the name of the\ncountry is, you know. Please, Ma\u2019am, is this New Zealand or Australia?\u201d\n(and she tried to curtsey as she spoke\u2014fancy _curtseying_ as you\u2019re\nfalling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) \u201cAnd what\nan ignorant little girl she\u2019ll think me for asking! No, it\u2019ll never do\nto ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.\u201d\n\nDown, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began\ntalking again. \u201cDinah\u2019ll miss me very much to-night, I should think!\u201d\n(Dinah was the cat.) \u201cI hope they\u2019ll remember her saucer of milk at\ntea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are\nno mice in the air, I\u2019m afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that\u2019s\nvery like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?\u201d And here\nAlice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a\ndreamy sort of way, \u201cDo cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?\u201d and\nsometimes, \u201cDo bats eat cats?\u201d for, you see, as she couldn\u2019t answer\neither question, it didn\u2019t much matter which way she put it. She felt\nthat she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was\nwalking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly,\n\u201cNow, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?\u201d when suddenly,\nthump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and\nthe fall was over.\n\nAlice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a moment:\nshe looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another\nlong passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down\nit. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind,\nand was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, \u201cOh my ears\nand whiskers, how late it\u2019s getting!\u201d She was close behind it when she\nturned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen: she found\nherself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging\nfrom the roof.\n\nThere were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when\nAlice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every\ndoor, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to\nget out again.\n\nSuddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid\nglass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice\u2019s\nfirst thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall;\nbut, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small,\nbut at any rate it would not open any of them. However, on the second\ntime round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and\nbehind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the\nlittle golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!\n\nAlice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not\nmuch larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked along the\npassage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get\nout of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright\nflowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head\nthrough the doorway; \u201cand even if my head would go through,\u201d thought\npoor Alice, \u201cit would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh,\nhow I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only\nknew how to begin.\u201d For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had\nhappened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things\nindeed were really impossible.\n\nThere seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went\nback to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at\nany rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this\ntime she found a little bottle on it, (\u201cwhich certainly was not here\nbefore,\u201d said Alice,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper\nlabel, with the words \u201cDRINK ME,\u201d beautifully printed on it in large\nletters.\n\nIt was all very well to say \u201cDrink me,\u201d but the wise little Alice was\nnot going to do _that_ in a hurry. \u201cNo, I\u2019ll look first,\u201d she said,\n\u201cand see whether it\u2019s marked \u2018_poison_\u2019 or not\u201d; for she had read\nseveral nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and\neaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they\n_would_ not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them:\nsuch as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long;\nand that if you cut your finger _very_ deeply with a knife, it usually\nbleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a\nbottle marked \u201cpoison,\u201d it is almost certain to disagree with you,\nsooner or later.\n\nHowever, this bottle was _not_ marked \u201cpoison,\u201d so Alice ventured to\ntaste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed\nflavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and\nhot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n    *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\u201cWhat a curious feeling!\u201d said Alice; \u201cI must be shutting up like a\ntelescope.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face\nbrightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going\nthrough the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she\nwaited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further:\nshe felt a little nervous about this; \u201cfor it might end, you know,\u201d\nsaid Alice to herself, \u201cin my going out altogether, like a candle. I\nwonder what I should be like then?\u201d And she tried to fancy what the\nflame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could\nnot remember ever having seen such a thing.\n\nAfter a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided on going\ninto the garden at once; but, alas for poor Alice! when she got to the\ndoor, she found she had forgotten the little golden key, and when she\nwent back to the table for it, she found she could not possibly reach\nit: she could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her\nbest to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too slippery;\nand when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing\nsat down and cried.\n\n\u201cCome, there\u2019s no use in crying like that!\u201d said Alice to herself,\nrather sharply; \u201cI advise you to leave off this minute!\u201d She generally\ngave herself very good advice, (though she very seldom followed it),\nand sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into\nher eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having\ncheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself,\nfor this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people.\n\u201cBut it\u2019s no use now,\u201d thought poor Alice, \u201cto pretend to be two\npeople! Why, there\u2019s hardly enough of me left to make _one_ respectable\nperson!\u201d\n\nSoon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table:\nshe opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words\n\u201cEAT ME\u201d were beautifully marked in currants. \u201cWell, I\u2019ll eat it,\u201d said\nAlice, \u201cand if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it\nmakes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I\u2019ll\nget into the garden, and I don\u2019t care which happens!\u201d\n\nShe ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, \u201cWhich way? Which\nway?\u201d, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was\ngrowing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same\nsize: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice\nhad got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way\nthings to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go\non in the common way.\n\nSo she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n    *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\nThe Pool of Tears\n\n\n\u201cCuriouser and curiouser!\u201d cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that\nfor the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); \u201cnow I\u2019m\nopening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!\u201d\n(for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of\nsight, they were getting so far off). \u201cOh, my poor little feet, I\nwonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I\u2019m\nsure _I_ shan\u2019t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble\nmyself about you: you must manage the best way you can;\u2014but I must be\nkind to them,\u201d thought Alice, \u201cor perhaps they won\u2019t walk the way I\nwant to go! Let me see: I\u2019ll give them a new pair of boots every\nChristmas.\u201d\n\nAnd she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. \u201cThey must\ngo by the carrier,\u201d she thought; \u201cand how funny it\u2019ll seem, sending\npresents to one\u2019s own feet! And how odd the directions will look!\n\n     _Alice\u2019s Right Foot, Esq., Hearthrug, near the Fender,_ (_with\n     Alice\u2019s love_).\n\nOh dear, what nonsense I\u2019m talking!\u201d\n\nJust then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was\nnow more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden\nkey and hurried off to the garden door.\n\nPoor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to\nlook through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more\nhopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.\n\n\u201cYou ought to be ashamed of yourself,\u201d said Alice, \u201ca great girl like\nyou,\u201d (she might well say this), \u201cto go on crying in this way! Stop\nthis moment, I tell you!\u201d But she went on all the same, shedding\ngallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about\nfour inches deep and reaching half down the hall.\n\nAfter a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and\nshe hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White\nRabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves\nin one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a\ngreat hurry, muttering to himself as he came, \u201cOh! the Duchess, the\nDuchess! Oh! won\u2019t she be savage if I\u2019ve kept her waiting!\u201d Alice felt\nso desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the\nRabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, \u201cIf you please,\nsir\u2014\u201d The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and\nthe fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.\n\nAlice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she\nkept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: \u201cDear, dear! How\nqueer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual.\nI wonder if I\u2019ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the\nsame when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling\na little different. But if I\u2019m not the same, the next question is, Who\nin the world am I? Ah, _that\u2019s_ the great puzzle!\u201d And she began\nthinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as\nherself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sure I\u2019m not Ada,\u201d she said, \u201cfor her hair goes in such long\nringlets, and mine doesn\u2019t go in ringlets at all; and I\u2019m sure I can\u2019t\nbe Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a\nvery little! Besides, _she\u2019s_ she, and _I\u2019m_ I, and\u2014oh dear, how\npuzzling it all is! I\u2019ll try if I know all the things I used to know.\nLet me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen,\nand four times seven is\u2014oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that\nrate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn\u2019t signify: let\u2019s try\nGeography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of\nRome, and Rome\u2014no, _that\u2019s_ all wrong, I\u2019m certain! I must have been\nchanged for Mabel! I\u2019ll try and say \u2018_How doth the little_\u2014\u2019\u201d and she\ncrossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began\nto repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words\ndid not come the same as they used to do:\u2014\n\n\u201cHow doth the little crocodile\n    Improve his shining tail,\nAnd pour the waters of the Nile\n    On every golden scale!\n\n\u201cHow cheerfully he seems to grin,\n    How neatly spread his claws,\nAnd welcome little fishes in\n    With gently smiling jaws!\u201d\n\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sure those are not the right words,\u201d said poor Alice, and her eyes\nfilled with tears again as she went on, \u201cI must be Mabel after all, and\nI shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to\nno toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I\u2019ve\nmade up my mind about it; if I\u2019m Mabel, I\u2019ll stay down here! It\u2019ll be\nno use their putting their heads down and saying \u2018Come up again, dear!\u2019\nI shall only look up and say \u2018Who am I then? Tell me that first, and\nthen, if I like being that person, I\u2019ll come up: if not, I\u2019ll stay down\nhere till I\u2019m somebody else\u2019\u2014but, oh dear!\u201d cried Alice, with a sudden\nburst of tears, \u201cI do wish they _would_ put their heads down! I am so\n_very_ tired of being all alone here!\u201d\n\nAs she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see\nthat she had put on one of the Rabbit\u2019s little white kid gloves while\nshe was talking. \u201cHow _can_ I have done that?\u201d she thought. \u201cI must be\ngrowing small again.\u201d She got up and went to the table to measure\nherself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was\nnow about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: she soon\nfound out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she\ndropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.\n\n\u201cThat _was_ a narrow escape!\u201d said Alice, a good deal frightened at the\nsudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; \u201cand\nnow for the garden!\u201d and she ran with all speed back to the little\ndoor: but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden\nkey was lying on the glass table as before, \u201cand things are worse than\never,\u201d thought the poor child, \u201cfor I never was so small as this\nbefore, never! And I declare it\u2019s too bad, that it is!\u201d\n\nAs she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment,\nsplash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that\nshe had somehow fallen into the sea, \u201cand in that case I can go back by\nrailway,\u201d she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in\nher life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go\nto on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the\nsea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row\nof lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she\nsoon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when\nshe was nine feet high.\n\n\u201cI wish I hadn\u2019t cried so much!\u201d said Alice, as she swam about, trying\nto find her way out. \u201cI shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by\nbeing drowned in my own tears! That _will_ be a queer thing, to be\nsure! However, everything is queer to-day.\u201d\n\nJust then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way\noff, and she swam nearer to make out what it was: at first she thought\nit must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small\nshe was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had\nslipped in like herself.\n\n\u201cWould it be of any use, now,\u201d thought Alice, \u201cto speak to this mouse?\nEverything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very\nlikely it can talk: at any rate, there\u2019s no harm in trying.\u201d So she\nbegan: \u201cO Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired\nof swimming about here, O Mouse!\u201d (Alice thought this must be the right\nway of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but\nshe remembered having seen in her brother\u2019s Latin Grammar, \u201cA mouse\u2014of\na mouse\u2014to a mouse\u2014a mouse\u2014O mouse!\u201d) The Mouse looked at her rather\ninquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes,\nbut it said nothing.\n\n\u201cPerhaps it doesn\u2019t understand English,\u201d thought Alice; \u201cI daresay it\u2019s\na French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.\u201d (For, with all\nher knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago\nanything had happened.) So she began again: \u201cO\u00f9 est ma chatte?\u201d which\nwas the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a\nsudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with\nfright. \u201cOh, I beg your pardon!\u201d cried Alice hastily, afraid that she\nhad hurt the poor animal\u2019s feelings. \u201cI quite forgot you didn\u2019t like\ncats.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot like cats!\u201d cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. \u201cWould\n_you_ like cats if you were me?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps not,\u201d said Alice in a soothing tone: \u201cdon\u2019t be angry\nabout it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you\u2019d\ntake a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear\nquiet thing,\u201d Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about\nin the pool, \u201cand she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her\npaws and washing her face\u2014and she is such a nice soft thing to\nnurse\u2014and she\u2019s such a capital one for catching mice\u2014oh, I beg your\npardon!\u201d cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all\nover, and she felt certain it must be really offended. \u201cWe won\u2019t talk\nabout her any more if you\u2019d rather not.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe indeed!\u201d cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his\ntail. \u201cAs if _I_ would talk on such a subject! Our family always\n_hated_ cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don\u2019t let me hear the name\nagain!\u201d\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t indeed!\u201d said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of\nconversation. \u201cAre you\u2014are you fond\u2014of\u2014of dogs?\u201d The Mouse did not\nanswer, so Alice went on eagerly: \u201cThere is such a nice little dog near\nour house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you\nknow, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it\u2019ll fetch things when\nyou throw them, and it\u2019ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts\nof things\u2014I can\u2019t remember half of them\u2014and it belongs to a farmer, you\nknow, and he says it\u2019s so useful, it\u2019s worth a hundred pounds! He says\nit kills all the rats and\u2014oh dear!\u201d cried Alice in a sorrowful tone,\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019ve offended it again!\u201d For the Mouse was swimming away\nfrom her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the\npool as it went.\n\nSo she called softly after it, \u201cMouse dear! Do come back again, and we\nwon\u2019t talk about cats or dogs either, if you don\u2019t like them!\u201d When the\nMouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her: its face\nwas quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low\ntrembling voice, \u201cLet us get to the shore, and then I\u2019ll tell you my\nhistory, and you\u2019ll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.\u201d\n\nIt was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the\nbirds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a\nDodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice\nled the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\nA Caucus-Race and a Long Tale\n\n\nThey were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank\u2014the\nbirds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close\nto them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.\n\nThe first question of course was, how to get dry again: they had a\nconsultation about this, and after a few minutes it seemed quite\nnatural to Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, as if\nshe had known them all her life. Indeed, she had quite a long argument\nwith the Lory, who at last turned sulky, and would only say, \u201cI am\nolder than you, and must know better;\u201d and this Alice would not allow\nwithout knowing how old it was, and, as the Lory positively refused to\ntell its age, there was no more to be said.\n\nAt last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority among them,\ncalled out, \u201cSit down, all of you, and listen to me! _I\u2019ll_ soon make\nyou dry enough!\u201d They all sat down at once, in a large ring, with the\nMouse in the middle. Alice kept her eyes anxiously fixed on it, for she\nfelt sure she would catch a bad cold if she did not get dry very soon.\n\n\u201cAhem!\u201d said the Mouse with an important air, \u201care you all ready? This\nis the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you please! \u2018William\nthe Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope, was soon submitted\nto by the English, who wanted leaders, and had been of late much\naccustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin and Morcar, the earls of\nMercia and Northumbria\u2014\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cUgh!\u201d said the Lory, with a shiver.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon!\u201d said the Mouse, frowning, but very politely: \u201cDid\nyou speak?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot I!\u201d said the Lory hastily.\n\n\u201cI thought you did,\u201d said the Mouse. \u201c\u2014I proceed. \u2018Edwin and Morcar,\nthe earls of Mercia and Northumbria, declared for him: and even\nStigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it advisable\u2014\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cFound _what_?\u201d said the Duck.\n\n\u201cFound _it_,\u201d the Mouse replied rather crossly: \u201cof course you know\nwhat \u2018it\u2019 means.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know what \u2018it\u2019 means well enough, when _I_ find a thing,\u201d said the\nDuck: \u201cit\u2019s generally a frog or a worm. The question is, what did the\narchbishop find?\u201d\n\nThe Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went on, \u201c\u2018\u2014found\nit advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet William and offer him\nthe crown. William\u2019s conduct at first was moderate. But the insolence\nof his Normans\u2014\u2019 How are you getting on now, my dear?\u201d it continued,\nturning to Alice as it spoke.\n\n\u201cAs wet as ever,\u201d said Alice in a melancholy tone: \u201cit doesn\u2019t seem to\ndry me at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn that case,\u201d said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, \u201cI move\nthat the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic\nremedies\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cSpeak English!\u201d said the Eaglet. \u201cI don\u2019t know the meaning of half\nthose long words, and, what\u2019s more, I don\u2019t believe you do either!\u201d And\nthe Eaglet bent down its head to hide a smile: some of the other birds\ntittered audibly.\n\n\u201cWhat I was going to say,\u201d said the Dodo in an offended tone, \u201cwas,\nthat the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus-race.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat _is_ a Caucus-race?\u201d said Alice; not that she wanted much to\nknow, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that _somebody_ ought to\nspeak, and no one else seemed inclined to say anything.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said the Dodo, \u201cthe best way to explain it is to do it.\u201d (And,\nas you might like to try the thing yourself, some winter day, I will\ntell you how the Dodo managed it.)\n\nFirst it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, (\u201cthe exact\nshape doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d it said,) and then all the party were placed\nalong the course, here and there. There was no \u201cOne, two, three, and\naway,\u201d but they began running when they liked, and left off when they\nliked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over. However,\nwhen they had been running half an hour or so, and were quite dry\nagain, the Dodo suddenly called out \u201cThe race is over!\u201d and they all\ncrowded round it, panting, and asking, \u201cBut who has won?\u201d\n\nThis question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of\nthought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon its\nforehead (the position in which you usually see Shakespeare, in the\npictures of him), while the rest waited in silence. At last the Dodo\nsaid, \u201c_Everybody_ has won, and all must have prizes.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut who is to give the prizes?\u201d quite a chorus of voices asked.\n\n\u201cWhy, _she_, of course,\u201d said the Dodo, pointing to Alice with one\nfinger; and the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out in a\nconfused way, \u201cPrizes! Prizes!\u201d\n\nAlice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand in her\npocket, and pulled out a box of comfits, (luckily the salt water had\nnot got into it), and handed them round as prizes. There was exactly\none a-piece, all round.\n\n\u201cBut she must have a prize herself, you know,\u201d said the Mouse.\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d the Dodo replied very gravely. \u201cWhat else have you got in\nyour pocket?\u201d he went on, turning to Alice.\n\n\u201cOnly a thimble,\u201d said Alice sadly.\n\n\u201cHand it over here,\u201d said the Dodo.\n\nThen they all crowded round her once more, while the Dodo solemnly\npresented the thimble, saying \u201cWe beg your acceptance of this elegant\nthimble;\u201d and, when it had finished this short speech, they all\ncheered.\n\nAlice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked so grave\nthat she did not dare to laugh; and, as she could not think of anything\nto say, she simply bowed, and took the thimble, looking as solemn as\nshe could.\n\nThe next thing was to eat the comfits: this caused some noise and\nconfusion, as the large birds complained that they could not taste\ntheirs, and the small ones choked and had to be patted on the back.\nHowever, it was over at last, and they sat down again in a ring, and\nbegged the Mouse to tell them something more.\n\n\u201cYou promised to tell me your history, you know,\u201d said Alice, \u201cand why\nit is you hate\u2014C and D,\u201d she added in a whisper, half afraid that it\nwould be offended again.\n\n\u201cMine is a long and a sad tale!\u201d said the Mouse, turning to Alice, and\nsighing.\n\n\u201cIt _is_ a long tail, certainly,\u201d said Alice, looking down with wonder\nat the Mouse\u2019s tail; \u201cbut why do you call it sad?\u201d And she kept on\npuzzling about it while the Mouse was speaking, so that her idea of the\ntale was something like this:\u2014\n\n         \u201cFury said to a mouse, That he met in the house, \u2018Let us both\n         go to law: _I_ will prosecute _you_.\u2014Come, I\u2019ll take no\n         denial; We must have a trial: For really this morning I\u2019ve\n         nothing to do.\u2019 Said the mouse to the cur, \u2018Such a trial, dear\n         sir, With no jury or judge, would be wasting our breath.\u2019\n         \u2018I\u2019ll be judge, I\u2019ll be jury,\u2019 Said cunning old Fury: \u2018I\u2019ll\n         try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not attending!\u201d said the Mouse to Alice severely. \u201cWhat are\nyou thinking of?\u201d\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon,\u201d said Alice very humbly: \u201cyou had got to the fifth\nbend, I think?\u201d\n\n\u201cI had _not!_\u201d cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily.\n\n\u201cA knot!\u201d said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and looking\nanxiously about her. \u201cOh, do let me help to undo it!\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall do nothing of the sort,\u201d said the Mouse, getting up and\nwalking away. \u201cYou insult me by talking such nonsense!\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t mean it!\u201d pleaded poor Alice. \u201cBut you\u2019re so easily offended,\nyou know!\u201d\n\nThe Mouse only growled in reply.\n\n\u201cPlease come back and finish your story!\u201d Alice called after it; and\nthe others all joined in chorus, \u201cYes, please do!\u201d but the Mouse only\nshook its head impatiently, and walked a little quicker.\n\n\u201cWhat a pity it wouldn\u2019t stay!\u201d sighed the Lory, as soon as it was\nquite out of sight; and an old Crab took the opportunity of saying to\nher daughter \u201cAh, my dear! Let this be a lesson to you never to lose\n_your_ temper!\u201d \u201cHold your tongue, Ma!\u201d said the young Crab, a little\nsnappishly. \u201cYou\u2019re enough to try the patience of an oyster!\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!\u201d said Alice aloud,\naddressing nobody in particular. \u201cShe\u2019d soon fetch it back!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?\u201d said the\nLory.\n\nAlice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet:\n\u201cDinah\u2019s our cat. And she\u2019s such a capital one for catching mice you\ncan\u2019t think! And oh, I wish you could see her after the birds! Why,\nshe\u2019ll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!\u201d\n\nThis speech caused a remarkable sensation among the party. Some of the\nbirds hurried off at once: one old Magpie began wrapping itself up very\ncarefully, remarking, \u201cI really must be getting home; the night-air\ndoesn\u2019t suit my throat!\u201d and a Canary called out in a trembling voice\nto its children, \u201cCome away, my dears! It\u2019s high time you were all in\nbed!\u201d On various pretexts they all moved off, and Alice was soon left\nalone.\n\n\u201cI wish I hadn\u2019t mentioned Dinah!\u201d she said to herself in a melancholy\ntone. \u201cNobody seems to like her, down here, and I\u2019m sure she\u2019s the best\ncat in the world! Oh, my dear Dinah! I wonder if I shall ever see you\nany more!\u201d And here poor Alice began to cry again, for she felt very\nlonely and low-spirited. In a little while, however, she again heard a\nlittle pattering of footsteps in the distance, and she looked up\neagerly, half hoping that the Mouse had changed his mind, and was\ncoming back to finish his story.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\nThe Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill\n\n\nIt was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking\nanxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard\nit muttering to itself \u201cThe Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh\nmy fur and whiskers! She\u2019ll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are\nferrets! Where _can_ I have dropped them, I wonder?\u201d Alice guessed in a\nmoment that it was looking for the fan and the pair of white kid\ngloves, and she very good-naturedly began hunting about for them, but\nthey were nowhere to be seen\u2014everything seemed to have changed since\nher swim in the pool, and the great hall, with the glass table and the\nlittle door, had vanished completely.\n\nVery soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about, and\ncalled out to her in an angry tone, \u201cWhy, Mary Ann, what _are_ you\ndoing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and\na fan! Quick, now!\u201d And Alice was so much frightened that she ran off\nat once in the direction it pointed to, without trying to explain the\nmistake it had made.\n\n\u201cHe took me for his housemaid,\u201d she said to herself as she ran. \u201cHow\nsurprised he\u2019ll be when he finds out who I am! But I\u2019d better take him\nhis fan and gloves\u2014that is, if I can find them.\u201d As she said this, she\ncame upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass\nplate with the name \u201cW. RABBIT,\u201d engraved upon it. She went in without\nknocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the\nreal Mary Ann, and be turned out of the house before she had found the\nfan and gloves.\n\n\u201cHow queer it seems,\u201d Alice said to herself, \u201cto be going messages for\na rabbit! I suppose Dinah\u2019ll be sending me on messages next!\u201d And she\nbegan fancying the sort of thing that would happen: \u201c\u2018Miss Alice! Come\nhere directly, and get ready for your walk!\u2019 \u2018Coming in a minute,\nnurse! But I\u2019ve got to see that the mouse doesn\u2019t get out.\u2019 Only I\ndon\u2019t think,\u201d Alice went on, \u201cthat they\u2019d let Dinah stop in the house\nif it began ordering people about like that!\u201d\n\nBy this time she had found her way into a tidy little room with a table\nin the window, and on it (as she had hoped) a fan and two or three\npairs of tiny white kid gloves: she took up the fan and a pair of the\ngloves, and was just going to leave the room, when her eye fell upon a\nlittle bottle that stood near the looking-glass. There was no label\nthis time with the words \u201cDRINK ME,\u201d but nevertheless she uncorked it\nand put it to her lips. \u201cI know _something_ interesting is sure to\nhappen,\u201d she said to herself, \u201cwhenever I eat or drink anything; so\nI\u2019ll just see what this bottle does. I do hope it\u2019ll make me grow large\nagain, for really I\u2019m quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!\u201d\n\nIt did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected: before she had\ndrunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling,\nand had to stoop to save her neck from being broken. She hastily put\ndown the bottle, saying to herself \u201cThat\u2019s quite enough\u2014I hope I shan\u2019t\ngrow any more\u2014As it is, I can\u2019t get out at the door\u2014I do wish I hadn\u2019t\ndrunk quite so much!\u201d\n\nAlas! it was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and growing,\nand very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there\nwas not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with\none elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head.\nStill she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one arm out\nof the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself \u201cNow I\ncan do no more, whatever happens. What _will_ become of me?\u201d\n\nLuckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect,\nand she grew no larger: still it was very uncomfortable, and, as there\nseemed to be no sort of chance of her ever getting out of the room\nagain, no wonder she felt unhappy.\n\n\u201cIt was much pleasanter at home,\u201d thought poor Alice, \u201cwhen one wasn\u2019t\nalways growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and\nrabbits. I almost wish I hadn\u2019t gone down that rabbit-hole\u2014and yet\u2014and\nyet\u2014it\u2019s rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what\n_can_ have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied\nthat kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of\none! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And\nwhen I grow up, I\u2019ll write one\u2014but I\u2019m grown up now,\u201d she added in a\nsorrowful tone; \u201cat least there\u2019s no room to grow up any more _here_.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut then,\u201d thought Alice, \u201cshall I _never_ get any older than I am\nnow? That\u2019ll be a comfort, one way\u2014never to be an old woman\u2014but\nthen\u2014always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn\u2019t like _that!_\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you foolish Alice!\u201d she answered herself. \u201cHow can you learn\nlessons in here? Why, there\u2019s hardly room for _you_, and no room at all\nfor any lesson-books!\u201d\n\nAnd so she went on, taking first one side and then the other, and\nmaking quite a conversation of it altogether; but after a few minutes\nshe heard a voice outside, and stopped to listen.\n\n\u201cMary Ann! Mary Ann!\u201d said the voice. \u201cFetch me my gloves this moment!\u201d\nThen came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice knew it was\nthe Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the\nhouse, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as\nlarge as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.\n\nPresently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it; but, as\nthe door opened inwards, and Alice\u2019s elbow was pressed hard against it,\nthat attempt proved a failure. Alice heard it say to itself \u201cThen I\u2019ll\ngo round and get in at the window.\u201d\n\n\u201c_That_ you won\u2019t!\u201d thought Alice, and, after waiting till she fancied\nshe heard the Rabbit just under the window, she suddenly spread out her\nhand, and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of anything,\nbut she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass,\nfrom which she concluded that it was just possible it had fallen into a\ncucumber-frame, or something of the sort.\n\nNext came an angry voice\u2014the Rabbit\u2019s\u2014\u201cPat! Pat! Where are you?\u201d And\nthen a voice she had never heard before, \u201cSure then I\u2019m here! Digging\nfor apples, yer honour!\u201d\n\n\u201cDigging for apples, indeed!\u201d said the Rabbit angrily. \u201cHere! Come and\nhelp me out of _this!_\u201d (Sounds of more broken glass.)\n\n\u201cNow tell me, Pat, what\u2019s that in the window?\u201d\n\n\u201cSure, it\u2019s an arm, yer honour!\u201d (He pronounced it \u201carrum.\u201d)\n\n\u201cAn arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole\nwindow!\u201d\n\n\u201cSure, it does, yer honour: but it\u2019s an arm for all that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s got no business there, at any rate: go and take it away!\u201d\n\nThere was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear whispers\nnow and then; such as, \u201cSure, I don\u2019t like it, yer honour, at all, at\nall!\u201d \u201cDo as I tell you, you coward!\u201d and at last she spread out her\nhand again, and made another snatch in the air. This time there were\n_two_ little shrieks, and more sounds of broken glass. \u201cWhat a number\nof cucumber-frames there must be!\u201d thought Alice. \u201cI wonder what\nthey\u2019ll do next! As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they\n_could!_ I\u2019m sure _I_ don\u2019t want to stay in here any longer!\u201d\n\nShe waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last came a\nrumbling of little cartwheels, and the sound of a good many voices all\ntalking together: she made out the words: \u201cWhere\u2019s the other\nladder?\u2014Why, I hadn\u2019t to bring but one; Bill\u2019s got the other\u2014Bill!\nfetch it here, lad!\u2014Here, put \u2019em up at this corner\u2014No, tie \u2019em\ntogether first\u2014they don\u2019t reach half high enough yet\u2014Oh! they\u2019ll do\nwell enough; don\u2019t be particular\u2014Here, Bill! catch hold of this\nrope\u2014Will the roof bear?\u2014Mind that loose slate\u2014Oh, it\u2019s coming down!\nHeads below!\u201d (a loud crash)\u2014\u201cNow, who did that?\u2014It was Bill, I\nfancy\u2014Who\u2019s to go down the chimney?\u2014Nay, _I_ shan\u2019t! _You_ do\nit!\u2014_That_ I won\u2019t, then!\u2014Bill\u2019s to go down\u2014Here, Bill! the master says\nyou\u2019re to go down the chimney!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! So Bill\u2019s got to come down the chimney, has he?\u201d said Alice to\nherself. \u201cShy, they seem to put everything upon Bill! I wouldn\u2019t be in\nBill\u2019s place for a good deal: this fireplace is narrow, to be sure; but\nI _think_ I can kick a little!\u201d\n\nShe drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and waited till\nshe heard a little animal (she couldn\u2019t guess of what sort it was)\nscratching and scrambling about in the chimney close above her: then,\nsaying to herself \u201cThis is Bill,\u201d she gave one sharp kick, and waited\nto see what would happen next.\n\nThe first thing she heard was a general chorus of \u201cThere goes Bill!\u201d\nthen the Rabbit\u2019s voice along\u2014\u201cCatch him, you by the hedge!\u201d then\nsilence, and then another confusion of voices\u2014\u201cHold up his head\u2014Brandy\nnow\u2014Don\u2019t choke him\u2014How was it, old fellow? What happened to you? Tell\nus all about it!\u201d\n\nLast came a little feeble, squeaking voice, (\u201cThat\u2019s Bill,\u201d thought\nAlice,) \u201cWell, I hardly know\u2014No more, thank ye; I\u2019m better now\u2014but I\u2019m\na deal too flustered to tell you\u2014all I know is, something comes at me\nlike a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a sky-rocket!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo you did, old fellow!\u201d said the others.\n\n\u201cWe must burn the house down!\u201d said the Rabbit\u2019s voice; and Alice\ncalled out as loud as she could, \u201cIf you do, I\u2019ll set Dinah at you!\u201d\n\nThere was a dead silence instantly, and Alice thought to herself, \u201cI\nwonder what they _will_ do next! If they had any sense, they\u2019d take the\nroof off.\u201d After a minute or two, they began moving about again, and\nAlice heard the Rabbit say, \u201cA barrowful will do, to begin with.\u201d\n\n\u201cA barrowful of _what?_\u201d thought Alice; but she had not long to doubt,\nfor the next moment a shower of little pebbles came rattling in at the\nwindow, and some of them hit her in the face. \u201cI\u2019ll put a stop to\nthis,\u201d she said to herself, and shouted out, \u201cYou\u2019d better not do that\nagain!\u201d which produced another dead silence.\n\nAlice noticed with some surprise that the pebbles were all turning into\nlittle cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright idea came into her\nhead. \u201cIf I eat one of these cakes,\u201d she thought, \u201cit\u2019s sure to make\n_some_ change in my size; and as it can\u2019t possibly make me larger, it\nmust make me smaller, I suppose.\u201d\n\nSo she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find that she\nbegan shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough to get\nthrough the door, she ran out of the house, and found quite a crowd of\nlittle animals and birds waiting outside. The poor little Lizard, Bill,\nwas in the middle, being held up by two guinea-pigs, who were giving it\nsomething out of a bottle. They all made a rush at Alice the moment she\nappeared; but she ran off as hard as she could, and soon found herself\nsafe in a thick wood.\n\n\u201cThe first thing I\u2019ve got to do,\u201d said Alice to herself, as she\nwandered about in the wood, \u201cis to grow to my right size again; and the\nsecond thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think that\nwill be the best plan.\u201d\n\nIt sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply\narranged; the only difficulty was, that she had not the smallest idea\nhow to set about it; and while she was peering about anxiously among\nthe trees, a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a\ngreat hurry.\n\nAn enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and\nfeebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her. \u201cPoor little\nthing!\u201d said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to\nit; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it\nmight be hungry, in which case it would be very likely to eat her up in\nspite of all her coaxing.\n\nHardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit of stick, and\nheld it out to the puppy; whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off\nall its feet at once, with a yelp of delight, and rushed at the stick,\nand made believe to worry it; then Alice dodged behind a great thistle,\nto keep herself from being run over; and the moment she appeared on the\nother side, the puppy made another rush at the stick, and tumbled head\nover heels in its hurry to get hold of it; then Alice, thinking it was\nvery like having a game of play with a cart-horse, and expecting every\nmoment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle again; then\nthe puppy began a series of short charges at the stick, running a very\nlittle way forwards each time and a long way back, and barking hoarsely\nall the while, till at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with\nits tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great eyes half shut.\n\nThis seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape; so she\nset off at once, and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath,\nand till the puppy\u2019s bark sounded quite faint in the distance.\n\n\u201cAnd yet what a dear little puppy it was!\u201d said Alice, as she leant\nagainst a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with one of the\nleaves: \u201cI should have liked teaching it tricks very much, if\u2014if I\u2019d\nonly been the right size to do it! Oh dear! I\u2019d nearly forgotten that\nI\u2019ve got to grow up again! Let me see\u2014how _is_ it to be managed? I\nsuppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but the great\nquestion is, what?\u201d\n\nThe great question certainly was, what? Alice looked all round her at\nthe flowers and the blades of grass, but she did not see anything that\nlooked like the right thing to eat or drink under the circumstances.\nThere was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as\nherself; and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and\nbehind it, it occurred to her that she might as well look and see what\nwas on the top of it.\n\nShe stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the\nmushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large blue\ncaterpillar, that was sitting on the top with its arms folded, quietly\nsmoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of her or of\nanything else.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\nAdvice from a Caterpillar\n\n\nThe Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in\nsilence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and\naddressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.\n\n\u201cWho are _you?_\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nThis was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied,\nrather shyly, \u201cI\u2014I hardly know, sir, just at present\u2014at least I know\nwho I _was_ when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been\nchanged several times since then.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean by that?\u201d said the Caterpillar sternly. \u201cExplain\nyourself!\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t explain _myself_, I\u2019m afraid, sir,\u201d said Alice, \u201cbecause I\u2019m\nnot myself, you see.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t put it more clearly,\u201d Alice replied very politely,\n\u201cfor I can\u2019t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many\ndifferent sizes in a day is very confusing.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps you haven\u2019t found it so yet,\u201d said Alice; \u201cbut when you\nhave to turn into a chrysalis\u2014you will some day, you know\u2014and then\nafter that into a butterfly, I should think you\u2019ll feel it a little\nqueer, won\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a bit,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps your feelings may be different,\u201d said Alice; \u201call I know\nis, it would feel very queer to _me_.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou!\u201d said the Caterpillar contemptuously. \u201cWho are _you?_\u201d\n\nWhich brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation.\nAlice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar\u2019s making such _very_\nshort remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, \u201cI\nthink, you ought to tell me who _you_ are, first.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nHere was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any\ngood reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a _very_ unpleasant\nstate of mind, she turned away.\n\n\u201cCome back!\u201d the Caterpillar called after her. \u201cI\u2019ve something\nimportant to say!\u201d\n\nThis sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.\n\n\u201cKeep your temper,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she\ncould.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nAlice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do,\nand perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For\nsome minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded\nits arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, \u201cSo you\nthink you\u2019re changed, do you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I am, sir,\u201d said Alice; \u201cI can\u2019t remember things as I\nused\u2014and I don\u2019t keep the same size for ten minutes together!\u201d\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t remember _what_ things?\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ve tried to say \u201cHow doth the little busy bee,\u201d but it all\ncame different!\u201d Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.\n\n\u201cRepeat, \u2018_You are old, Father William_,\u2019\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nAlice folded her hands, and began:\u2014\n\n\u201cYou are old, Father William,\u201d the young man said,\n    \u201cAnd your hair has become very white;\nAnd yet you incessantly stand on your head\u2014\n    Do you think, at your age, it is right?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my youth,\u201d Father William replied to his son,\n    \u201cI feared it might injure the brain;\nBut, now that I\u2019m perfectly sure I have none,\n    Why, I do it again and again.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are old,\u201d said the youth, \u201cas I mentioned before,\n    And have grown most uncommonly fat;\nYet you turned a back-somersault in at the door\u2014\n    Pray, what is the reason of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my youth,\u201d said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,\n    \u201cI kept all my limbs very supple\nBy the use of this ointment\u2014one shilling the box\u2014\n    Allow me to sell you a couple?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are old,\u201d said the youth, \u201cand your jaws are too weak\n    For anything tougher than suet;\nYet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak\u2014\n    Pray, how did you manage to do it?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my youth,\u201d said his father, \u201cI took to the law,\n    And argued each case with my wife;\nAnd the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,\n    Has lasted the rest of my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are old,\u201d said the youth, \u201cone would hardly suppose\n    That your eye was as steady as ever;\nYet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose\u2014\n    What made you so awfully clever?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have answered three questions, and that is enough,\u201d\n    Said his father; \u201cdon\u2019t give yourself airs!\nDo you think I can listen all day to such stuff?\n    Be off, or I\u2019ll kick you down stairs!\u201d\n\n\n\u201cThat is not said right,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cNot _quite_ right, I\u2019m afraid,\u201d said Alice, timidly; \u201csome of the\nwords have got altered.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is wrong from beginning to end,\u201d said the Caterpillar decidedly,\nand there was silence for some minutes.\n\nThe Caterpillar was the first to speak.\n\n\u201cWhat size do you want to be?\u201d it asked.\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m not particular as to size,\u201d Alice hastily replied; \u201conly one\ndoesn\u2019t like changing so often, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cI _don\u2019t_ know,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nAlice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life\nbefore, and she felt that she was losing her temper.\n\n\u201cAre you content now?\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cWell, I should like to be a _little_ larger, sir, if you wouldn\u2019t\nmind,\u201d said Alice: \u201cthree inches is such a wretched height to be.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a very good height indeed!\u201d said the Caterpillar angrily,\nrearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019m not used to it!\u201d pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she\nthought of herself, \u201cI wish the creatures wouldn\u2019t be so easily\noffended!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll get used to it in time,\u201d said the Caterpillar; and it put the\nhookah into its mouth and began smoking again.\n\nThis time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a\nminute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and\nyawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the\nmushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went,\n\u201cOne side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you\ngrow shorter.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne side of _what?_ The other side of _what?_\u201d thought Alice to\nherself.\n\n\u201cOf the mushroom,\u201d said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it\naloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.\n\nAlice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute,\ntrying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was\nperfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at\nlast she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke\noff a bit of the edge with each hand.\n\n\u201cAnd now which is which?\u201d she said to herself, and nibbled a little of\nthe right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a\nviolent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!\n\nShe was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt\nthat there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she\nset to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed\nso closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her\nmouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the\nlefthand bit.\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n    *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\u201cCome, my head\u2019s free at last!\u201d said Alice in a tone of delight, which\nchanged into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders\nwere nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was\nan immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a\nsea of green leaves that lay far below her.\n\n\u201cWhat _can_ all that green stuff be?\u201d said Alice. \u201cAnd where _have_ my\nshoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can\u2019t see you?\u201d\nShe was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow,\nexcept a little shaking among the distant green leaves.\n\nAs there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head,\nshe tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that\nher neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She\nhad just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was\ngoing to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but\nthe tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp\nhiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her\nface, and was beating her violently with its wings.\n\n\u201cSerpent!\u201d screamed the Pigeon.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m _not_ a serpent!\u201d said Alice indignantly. \u201cLet me alone!\u201d\n\n\u201cSerpent, I say again!\u201d repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued\ntone, and added with a kind of sob, \u201cI\u2019ve tried every way, and nothing\nseems to suit them!\u201d\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t the least idea what you\u2019re talking about,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve tried the roots of trees, and I\u2019ve tried banks, and I\u2019ve tried\nhedges,\u201d the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; \u201cbut those\nserpents! There\u2019s no pleasing them!\u201d\n\nAlice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in\nsaying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.\n\n\u201cAs if it wasn\u2019t trouble enough hatching the eggs,\u201d said the Pigeon;\n\u201cbut I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I\nhaven\u2019t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m very sorry you\u2019ve been annoyed,\u201d said Alice, who was beginning to\nsee its meaning.\n\n\u201cAnd just as I\u2019d taken the highest tree in the wood,\u201d continued the\nPigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, \u201cand just as I was thinking I\nshould be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down\nfrom the sky! Ugh, Serpent!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019m _not_ a serpent, I tell you!\u201d said Alice. \u201cI\u2019m a\u2014I\u2019m a\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWell! _What_ are you?\u201d said the Pigeon. \u201cI can see you\u2019re trying to\ninvent something!\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2014I\u2019m a little girl,\u201d said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered\nthe number of changes she had gone through that day.\n\n\u201cA likely story indeed!\u201d said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest\ncontempt. \u201cI\u2019ve seen a good many little girls in my time, but never\n_one_ with such a neck as that! No, no! You\u2019re a serpent; and there\u2019s\nno use denying it. I suppose you\u2019ll be telling me next that you never\ntasted an egg!\u201d\n\n\u201cI _have_ tasted eggs, certainly,\u201d said Alice, who was a very truthful\nchild; \u201cbut little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you\nknow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it,\u201d said the Pigeon; \u201cbut if they do, why then\nthey\u2019re a kind of serpent, that\u2019s all I can say.\u201d\n\nThis was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a\nminute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, \u201cYou\u2019re\nlooking for eggs, I know _that_ well enough; and what does it matter to\nme whether you\u2019re a little girl or a serpent?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt matters a good deal to _me_,\u201d said Alice hastily; \u201cbut I\u2019m not\nlooking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn\u2019t want\n_yours_: I don\u2019t like them raw.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, be off, then!\u201d said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled\ndown again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well\nas she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches,\nand every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while\nshe remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands,\nand she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at\nthe other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until\nshe had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.\n\nIt was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it\nfelt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes,\nand began talking to herself, as usual. \u201cCome, there\u2019s half my plan\ndone now! How puzzling all these changes are! I\u2019m never sure what I\u2019m\ngoing to be, from one minute to another! However, I\u2019ve got back to my\nright size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden\u2014how\n_is_ that to be done, I wonder?\u201d As she said this, she came suddenly\nupon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high.\n\u201cWhoever lives there,\u201d thought Alice, \u201cit\u2019ll never do to come upon them\n_this_ size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!\u201d So she\nbegan nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go\nnear the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\nPig and Pepper\n\n\nFor a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and wondering what\nto do next, when suddenly a footman in livery came running out of the\nwood\u2014(she considered him to be a footman because he was in livery:\notherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a\nfish)\u2014and rapped loudly at the door with his knuckles. It was opened by\nanother footman in livery, with a round face, and large eyes like a\nfrog; and both footmen, Alice noticed, had powdered hair that curled\nall over their heads. She felt very curious to know what it was all\nabout, and crept a little way out of the wood to listen.\n\nThe Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter,\nnearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the other,\nsaying, in a solemn tone, \u201cFor the Duchess. An invitation from the\nQueen to play croquet.\u201d The Frog-Footman repeated, in the same solemn\ntone, only changing the order of the words a little, \u201cFrom the Queen.\nAn invitation for the Duchess to play croquet.\u201d\n\nThen they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together.\n\nAlice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the wood\nfor fear of their hearing her; and when she next peeped out the\nFish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground near the\ndoor, staring stupidly up into the sky.\n\nAlice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s no sort of use in knocking,\u201d said the Footman, \u201cand that for\ntwo reasons. First, because I\u2019m on the same side of the door as you\nare; secondly, because they\u2019re making such a noise inside, no one could\npossibly hear you.\u201d And certainly there _was_ a most extraordinary\nnoise going on within\u2014a constant howling and sneezing, and every now\nand then a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been broken to\npieces.\n\n\u201cPlease, then,\u201d said Alice, \u201chow am I to get in?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere might be some sense in your knocking,\u201d the Footman went on\nwithout attending to her, \u201cif we had the door between us. For instance,\nif you were _inside_, you might knock, and I could let you out, you\nknow.\u201d He was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking, and\nthis Alice thought decidedly uncivil. \u201cBut perhaps he can\u2019t help it,\u201d\nshe said to herself; \u201chis eyes are so _very_ nearly at the top of his\nhead. But at any rate he might answer questions.\u2014How am I to get in?\u201d\nshe repeated, aloud.\n\n\u201cI shall sit here,\u201d the Footman remarked, \u201ctill tomorrow\u2014\u201d\n\nAt this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate came\nskimming out, straight at the Footman\u2019s head: it just grazed his nose,\nand broke to pieces against one of the trees behind him.\n\n\u201c\u2014or next day, maybe,\u201d the Footman continued in the same tone, exactly\nas if nothing had happened.\n\n\u201cHow am I to get in?\u201d asked Alice again, in a louder tone.\n\n\u201c_Are_ you to get in at all?\u201d said the Footman. \u201cThat\u2019s the first\nquestion, you know.\u201d\n\nIt was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so. \u201cIt\u2019s really\ndreadful,\u201d she muttered to herself, \u201cthe way all the creatures argue.\nIt\u2019s enough to drive one crazy!\u201d\n\nThe Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for repeating his\nremark, with variations. \u201cI shall sit here,\u201d he said, \u201con and off, for\ndays and days.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what am _I_ to do?\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cAnything you like,\u201d said the Footman, and began whistling.\n\n\u201cOh, there\u2019s no use in talking to him,\u201d said Alice desperately: \u201che\u2019s\nperfectly idiotic!\u201d And she opened the door and went in.\n\nThe door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from\none end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a three-legged stool\nin the middle, nursing a baby; the cook was leaning over the fire,\nstirring a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s certainly too much pepper in that soup!\u201d Alice said to\nherself, as well as she could for sneezing.\n\nThere was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess sneezed\noccasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling\nalternately without a moment\u2019s pause. The only things in the kitchen\nthat did not sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat which was sitting\non the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.\n\n\u201cPlease would you tell me,\u201d said Alice, a little timidly, for she was\nnot quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak first, \u201cwhy\nyour cat grins like that?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a Cheshire cat,\u201d said the Duchess, \u201cand that\u2019s why. Pig!\u201d\n\nShe said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice quite\njumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed to the\nbaby, and not to her, so she took courage, and went on again:\u2014\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know that Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I didn\u2019t\nknow that cats _could_ grin.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey all can,\u201d said the Duchess; \u201cand most of \u2019em do.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know of any that do,\u201d Alice said very politely, feeling quite\npleased to have got into a conversation.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t know much,\u201d said the Duchess; \u201cand that\u2019s a fact.\u201d\n\nAlice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought it would\nbe as well to introduce some other subject of conversation. While she\nwas trying to fix on one, the cook took the cauldron of soup off the\nfire, and at once set to work throwing everything within her reach at\nthe Duchess and the baby\u2014the fire-irons came first; then followed a\nshower of saucepans, plates, and dishes. The Duchess took no notice of\nthem even when they hit her; and the baby was howling so much already,\nthat it was quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.\n\n\u201cOh, _please_ mind what you\u2019re doing!\u201d cried Alice, jumping up and down\nin an agony of terror. \u201cOh, there goes his _precious_ nose!\u201d as an\nunusually large saucepan flew close by it, and very nearly carried it\noff.\n\n\u201cIf everybody minded their own business,\u201d the Duchess said in a hoarse\ngrowl, \u201cthe world would go round a deal faster than it does.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich would _not_ be an advantage,\u201d said Alice, who felt very glad to\nget an opportunity of showing off a little of her knowledge. \u201cJust\nthink of what work it would make with the day and night! You see the\nearth takes twenty-four hours to turn round on its axis\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cTalking of axes,\u201d said the Duchess, \u201cchop off her head!\u201d\n\nAlice glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant to take\nthe hint; but the cook was busily stirring the soup, and seemed not to\nbe listening, so she went on again: \u201cTwenty-four hours, I _think_; or\nis it twelve? I\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t bother _me_,\u201d said the Duchess; \u201cI never could abide\nfigures!\u201d And with that she began nursing her child again, singing a\nsort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at\nthe end of every line:\n\n\u201cSpeak roughly to your little boy,\n    And beat him when he sneezes:\nHe only does it to annoy,\n    Because he knows it teases.\u201d\n\n\nCHORUS.\n(In which the cook and the baby joined):\n\n\n\u201cWow! wow! wow!\u201d\n\n\nWhile the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing\nthe baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so,\nthat Alice could hardly hear the words:\u2014\n\n\u201cI speak severely to my boy,\n    I beat him when he sneezes;\nFor he can thoroughly enjoy\n    The pepper when he pleases!\u201d\n\n\nCHORUS.\n\n\n\u201cWow! wow! wow!\u201d\n\n\n\u201cHere! you may nurse it a bit, if you like!\u201d the Duchess said to Alice,\nflinging the baby at her as she spoke. \u201cI must go and get ready to play\ncroquet with the Queen,\u201d and she hurried out of the room. The cook\nthrew a frying-pan after her as she went out, but it just missed her.\n\nAlice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a queer-shaped\nlittle creature, and held out its arms and legs in all directions,\n\u201cjust like a star-fish,\u201d thought Alice. The poor little thing was\nsnorting like a steam-engine when she caught it, and kept doubling\nitself up and straightening itself out again, so that altogether, for\nthe first minute or two, it was as much as she could do to hold it.\n\nAs soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing it, (which was to\ntwist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of its right\near and left foot, so as to prevent its undoing itself,) she carried it\nout into the open air. \u201cIf I don\u2019t take this child away with me,\u201d\nthought Alice, \u201cthey\u2019re sure to kill it in a day or two: wouldn\u2019t it be\nmurder to leave it behind?\u201d She said the last words out loud, and the\nlittle thing grunted in reply (it had left off sneezing by this time).\n\u201cDon\u2019t grunt,\u201d said Alice; \u201cthat\u2019s not at all a proper way of\nexpressing yourself.\u201d\n\nThe baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anxiously into its face\nto see what was the matter with it. There could be no doubt that it had\na _very_ turn-up nose, much more like a snout than a real nose; also\nits eyes were getting extremely small for a baby: altogether Alice did\nnot like the look of the thing at all. \u201cBut perhaps it was only\nsobbing,\u201d she thought, and looked into its eyes again, to see if there\nwere any tears.\n\nNo, there were no tears. \u201cIf you\u2019re going to turn into a pig, my dear,\u201d\nsaid Alice, seriously, \u201cI\u2019ll have nothing more to do with you. Mind\nnow!\u201d The poor little thing sobbed again (or grunted, it was impossible\nto say which), and they went on for some while in silence.\n\nAlice was just beginning to think to herself, \u201cNow, what am I to do\nwith this creature when I get it home?\u201d when it grunted again, so\nviolently, that she looked down into its face in some alarm. This time\nthere could be _no_ mistake about it: it was neither more nor less than\na pig, and she felt that it would be quite absurd for her to carry it\nfurther.\n\nSo she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to see it\ntrot away quietly into the wood. \u201cIf it had grown up,\u201d she said to\nherself, \u201cit would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but it makes\nrather a handsome pig, I think.\u201d And she began thinking over other\nchildren she knew, who might do very well as pigs, and was just saying\nto herself, \u201cif one only knew the right way to change them\u2014\u201d when she\nwas a little startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of\na tree a few yards off.\n\nThe Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she\nthought: still it had _very_ long claws and a great many teeth, so she\nfelt that it ought to be treated with respect.\n\n\u201cCheshire Puss,\u201d she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know\nwhether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little\nwider. \u201cCome, it\u2019s pleased so far,\u201d thought Alice, and she went on.\n\u201cWould you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat depends a good deal on where you want to get to,\u201d said the Cat.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t much care where\u2014\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cThen it doesn\u2019t matter which way you go,\u201d said the Cat.\n\n\u201c\u2014so long as I get _somewhere_,\u201d Alice added as an explanation.\n\n\u201cOh, you\u2019re sure to do that,\u201d said the Cat, \u201cif you only walk long\nenough.\u201d\n\nAlice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another\nquestion. \u201cWhat sort of people live about here?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn _that_ direction,\u201d the Cat said, waving its right paw round, \u201clives\na Hatter: and in _that_ direction,\u201d waving the other paw, \u201clives a\nMarch Hare. Visit either you like: they\u2019re both mad.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I don\u2019t want to go among mad people,\u201d Alice remarked.\n\n\u201cOh, you can\u2019t help that,\u201d said the Cat: \u201cwe\u2019re all mad here. I\u2019m mad.\nYou\u2019re mad.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know I\u2019m mad?\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cYou must be,\u201d said the Cat, \u201cor you wouldn\u2019t have come here.\u201d\n\nAlice didn\u2019t think that proved it at all; however, she went on \u201cAnd how\ndo you know that you\u2019re mad?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo begin with,\u201d said the Cat, \u201ca dog\u2019s not mad. You grant that?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose so,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cWell, then,\u201d the Cat went on, \u201cyou see, a dog growls when it\u2019s angry,\nand wags its tail when it\u2019s pleased. Now _I_ growl when I\u2019m pleased,\nand wag my tail when I\u2019m angry. Therefore I\u2019m mad.\u201d\n\n\u201c_I_ call it purring, not growling,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cCall it what you like,\u201d said the Cat. \u201cDo you play croquet with the\nQueen to-day?\u201d\n\n\u201cI should like it very much,\u201d said Alice, \u201cbut I haven\u2019t been invited\nyet.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll see me there,\u201d said the Cat, and vanished.\n\nAlice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so used to queer\nthings happening. While she was looking at the place where it had been,\nit suddenly appeared again.\n\n\u201cBy-the-bye, what became of the baby?\u201d said the Cat. \u201cI\u2019d nearly\nforgotten to ask.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt turned into a pig,\u201d Alice quietly said, just as if it had come back\nin a natural way.\n\n\u201cI thought it would,\u201d said the Cat, and vanished again.\n\nAlice waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but it did not\nappear, and after a minute or two she walked on in the direction in\nwhich the March Hare was said to live. \u201cI\u2019ve seen hatters before,\u201d she\nsaid to herself; \u201cthe March Hare will be much the most interesting, and\nperhaps as this is May it won\u2019t be raving mad\u2014at least not so mad as it\nwas in March.\u201d As she said this, she looked up, and there was the Cat\nagain, sitting on a branch of a tree.\n\n\u201cDid you say pig, or fig?\u201d said the Cat.\n\n\u201cI said pig,\u201d replied Alice; \u201cand I wish you wouldn\u2019t keep appearing\nand vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly,\nbeginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which\nremained some time after the rest of it had gone.\n\n\u201cWell! I\u2019ve often seen a cat without a grin,\u201d thought Alice; \u201cbut a\ngrin without a cat! It\u2019s the most curious thing I ever saw in my life!\u201d\n\nShe had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the house of\nthe March Hare: she thought it must be the right house, because the\nchimneys were shaped like ears and the roof was thatched with fur. It\nwas so large a house, that she did not like to go nearer till she had\nnibbled some more of the lefthand bit of mushroom, and raised herself\nto about two feet high: even then she walked up towards it rather\ntimidly, saying to herself \u201cSuppose it should be raving mad after all!\nI almost wish I\u2019d gone to see the Hatter instead!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\nA Mad Tea-Party\n\n\nThere was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the\nMarch Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting\nbetween them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a\ncushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. \u201cVery\nuncomfortable for the Dormouse,\u201d thought Alice; \u201conly, as it\u2019s asleep,\nI suppose it doesn\u2019t mind.\u201d\n\nThe table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at\none corner of it: \u201cNo room! No room!\u201d they cried out when they saw\nAlice coming. \u201cThere\u2019s _plenty_ of room!\u201d said Alice indignantly, and\nshe sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.\n\n\u201cHave some wine,\u201d the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.\n\nAlice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea.\n\u201cI don\u2019t see any wine,\u201d she remarked.\n\n\u201cThere isn\u2019t any,\u201d said the March Hare.\n\n\u201cThen it wasn\u2019t very civil of you to offer it,\u201d said Alice angrily.\n\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,\u201d said\nthe March Hare.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know it was _your_ table,\u201d said Alice; \u201cit\u2019s laid for a great\nmany more than three.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour hair wants cutting,\u201d said the Hatter. He had been looking at\nAlice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first\nspeech.\n\n\u201cYou should learn not to make personal remarks,\u201d Alice said with some\nseverity; \u201cit\u2019s very rude.\u201d\n\nThe Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he _said_\nwas, \u201cWhy is a raven like a writing-desk?\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, we shall have some fun now!\u201d thought Alice. \u201cI\u2019m glad they\u2019ve\nbegun asking riddles.\u2014I believe I can guess that,\u201d she added aloud.\n\n\u201cDo you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?\u201d said\nthe March Hare.\n\n\u201cExactly so,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cThen you should say what you mean,\u201d the March Hare went on.\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d Alice hastily replied; \u201cat least\u2014at least I mean what I\nsay\u2014that\u2019s the same thing, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot the same thing a bit!\u201d said the Hatter. \u201cYou might just as well\nsay that \u2018I see what I eat\u2019 is the same thing as \u2018I eat what I see\u2019!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou might just as well say,\u201d added the March Hare, \u201cthat \u2018I like what\nI get\u2019 is the same thing as \u2018I get what I like\u2019!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou might just as well say,\u201d added the Dormouse, who seemed to be\ntalking in his sleep, \u201cthat \u2018I breathe when I sleep\u2019 is the same thing\nas \u2018I sleep when I breathe\u2019!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt _is_ the same thing with you,\u201d said the Hatter, and here the\nconversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while\nAlice thought over all she could remember about ravens and\nwriting-desks, which wasn\u2019t much.\n\nThe Hatter was the first to break the silence. \u201cWhat day of the month\nis it?\u201d he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his\npocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then,\nand holding it to his ear.\n\nAlice considered a little, and then said \u201cThe fourth.\u201d\n\n\u201cTwo days wrong!\u201d sighed the Hatter. \u201cI told you butter wouldn\u2019t suit\nthe works!\u201d he added looking angrily at the March Hare.\n\n\u201cIt was the _best_ butter,\u201d the March Hare meekly replied.\n\n\u201cYes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,\u201d the Hatter grumbled:\n\u201cyou shouldn\u2019t have put it in with the bread-knife.\u201d\n\nThe March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped\nit into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of\nnothing better to say than his first remark, \u201cIt was the _best_ butter,\nyou know.\u201d\n\nAlice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. \u201cWhat a\nfunny watch!\u201d she remarked. \u201cIt tells the day of the month, and doesn\u2019t\ntell what o\u2019clock it is!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should it?\u201d muttered the Hatter. \u201cDoes _your_ watch tell you what\nyear it is?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course not,\u201d Alice replied very readily: \u201cbut that\u2019s because it\nstays the same year for such a long time together.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich is just the case with _mine_,\u201d said the Hatter.\n\nAlice felt dreadfully puzzled, The Hatter\u2019s remark seemed to have no\nsort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. \u201cI don\u2019t quite\nunderstand you,\u201d she said, as politely as she could.\n\n\u201cThe Dormouse is asleep again,\u201d said the Hatter, and he poured a little\nhot tea upon its nose.\n\nThe Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its\neyes, \u201cOf course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you guessed the riddle yet?\u201d the Hatter said, turning to Alice\nagain.\n\n\u201cNo, I give it up,\u201d Alice replied: \u201cwhat\u2019s the answer?\u201d\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t the slightest idea,\u201d said the Hatter.\n\n\u201cNor I,\u201d said the March Hare.\n\nAlice sighed wearily. \u201cI think you might do something better with the\ntime,\u201d she said, \u201cthan waste it in asking riddles that have no\nanswers.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you knew Time as well as I do,\u201d said the Hatter, \u201cyou wouldn\u2019t talk\nabout wasting _it_. It\u2019s _him_.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what you mean,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cOf course you don\u2019t!\u201d the Hatter said, tossing his head\ncontemptuously. \u201cI dare say you never even spoke to Time!\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps not,\u201d Alice cautiously replied: \u201cbut I know I have to beat\ntime when I learn music.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! that accounts for it,\u201d said the Hatter. \u201cHe won\u2019t stand beating.\nNow, if you only kept on good terms with him, he\u2019d do almost anything\nyou liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o\u2019clock in\nthe morning, just time to begin lessons: you\u2019d only have to whisper a\nhint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one,\ntime for dinner!\u201d\n\n(\u201cI only wish it was,\u201d the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.)\n\n\u201cThat would be grand, certainly,\u201d said Alice thoughtfully: \u201cbut then\u2014I\nshouldn\u2019t be hungry for it, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at first, perhaps,\u201d said the Hatter: \u201cbut you could keep it to\nhalf-past one as long as you liked.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that the way _you_ manage?\u201d Alice asked.\n\nThe Hatter shook his head mournfully. \u201cNot I!\u201d he replied. \u201cWe\nquarrelled last March\u2014just before _he_ went mad, you know\u2014\u201d (pointing\nwith his tea spoon at the March Hare,) \u201c\u2014it was at the great concert\ngiven by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing\n\n\u2018Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!\nHow I wonder what you\u2019re at!\u2019\n\n\nYou know the song, perhaps?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve heard something like it,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cIt goes on, you know,\u201d the Hatter continued, \u201cin this way:\u2014\n\n\u2018Up above the world you fly,\nLike a tea-tray in the sky.\n                    Twinkle, twinkle\u2014\u2019\u201d\n\n\nHere the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep\n\u201c_Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle_\u2014\u201d and went on so long that they\nhad to pinch it to make it stop.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019d hardly finished the first verse,\u201d said the Hatter, \u201cwhen the\nQueen jumped up and bawled out, \u2018He\u2019s murdering the time! Off with his\nhead!\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cHow dreadfully savage!\u201d exclaimed Alice.\n\n\u201cAnd ever since that,\u201d the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, \u201che won\u2019t\ndo a thing I ask! It\u2019s always six o\u2019clock now.\u201d\n\nA bright idea came into Alice\u2019s head. \u201cIs that the reason so many\ntea-things are put out here?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cYes, that\u2019s it,\u201d said the Hatter with a sigh: \u201cit\u2019s always tea-time,\nand we\u2019ve no time to wash the things between whiles.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you keep moving round, I suppose?\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cExactly so,\u201d said the Hatter: \u201cas the things get used up.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what happens when you come to the beginning again?\u201d Alice ventured\nto ask.\n\n\u201cSuppose we change the subject,\u201d the March Hare interrupted, yawning.\n\u201cI\u2019m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I don\u2019t know one,\u201d said Alice, rather alarmed at the\nproposal.\n\n\u201cThen the Dormouse shall!\u201d they both cried. \u201cWake up, Dormouse!\u201d And\nthey pinched it on both sides at once.\n\nThe Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. \u201cI wasn\u2019t asleep,\u201d he said in a\nhoarse, feeble voice: \u201cI heard every word you fellows were saying.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell us a story!\u201d said the March Hare.\n\n\u201cYes, please do!\u201d pleaded Alice.\n\n\u201cAnd be quick about it,\u201d added the Hatter, \u201cor you\u2019ll be asleep again\nbefore it\u2019s done.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnce upon a time there were three little sisters,\u201d the Dormouse began\nin a great hurry; \u201cand their names",
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      "path": "/Users/hattr/Downloads/TTLLMS.com BUILD/01-repo/daisychainrrr/models/ttllm-nano/data/raw/pg1342_pride_prejudice_excerpt.trainslice.txt",
      "text": "[Illustration:\n\n                             GEORGE ALLEN\n                               PUBLISHER\n\n                        156 CHARING CROSS ROAD\n                                LONDON\n\n                             RUSKIN HOUSE\n                                   ]\n\n                            [Illustration:\n\n               _Reading Jane\u2019s Letters._      _Chap 34._\n                                   ]\n\n\n\n\n                                PRIDE.\n                                  and\n                               PREJUDICE\n\n                                  by\n                             Jane Austen,\n\n                           with a Preface by\n                           George Saintsbury\n                                  and\n                           Illustrations by\n                             Hugh Thomson\n\n                         [Illustration: 1894]\n\n                       Ruskin       156. Charing\n                       House.        Cross Road.\n\n                                London\n                             George Allen.\n\n\n\n\n             CHISWICK PRESS:--CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.\n                  TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.\n\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration:\n\n                          _To J. Comyns Carr\n                      in acknowledgment of all I\n                       owe to his friendship and\n                    advice, these illustrations are\n                         gratefully inscribed_\n\n                            _Hugh Thomson_\n                                   ]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n_Walt Whitman has somewhere a fine and just distinction between \u201cloving\nby allowance\u201d and \u201cloving with personal love.\u201d This distinction applies\nto books as well as to men and women; and in the case of the not very\nnumerous authors who are the objects of the personal affection, it\nbrings a curious consequence with it. There is much more difference as\nto their best work than in the case of those others who are loved \u201cby\nallowance\u201d by convention, and because it is felt to be the right and\nproper thing to love them. And in the sect--fairly large and yet\nunusually choice--of Austenians or Janites, there would probably be\nfound partisans of the claim to primacy of almost every one of the\nnovels. To some the delightful freshness and humour of_ Northanger\nAbbey, _its completeness, finish, and_ entrain, _obscure the undoubted\ncritical facts that its scale is small, and its scheme, after all, that\nof burlesque or parody, a kind in which the first rank is reached with\ndifficulty._ Persuasion, _relatively faint in tone, and not enthralling\nin interest, has devotees who exalt above all the others its exquisite\ndelicacy and keeping. The catastrophe of_ Mansfield Park _is admittedly\ntheatrical, the hero and heroine are insipid, and the author has almost\nwickedly destroyed all romantic interest by expressly admitting that\nEdmund only took Fanny because Mary shocked him, and that Fanny might\nvery likely have taken Crawford if he had been a little more assiduous;\nyet the matchless rehearsal-scenes and the characters of Mrs. Norris and\nothers have secured, I believe, a considerable party for it._ Sense and\nSensibility _has perhaps the fewest out-and-out admirers; but it does\nnot want them._\n\n_I suppose, however, that the majority of at least competent votes\nwould, all things considered, be divided between_ Emma _and the present\nbook; and perhaps the vulgar verdict (if indeed a fondness for Miss\nAusten be not of itself a patent of exemption from any possible charge\nof vulgarity) would go for_ Emma. _It is the larger, the more varied, the\nmore popular; the author had by the time of its composition seen rather\nmore of the world, and had improved her general, though not her most\npeculiar and characteristic dialogue; such figures as Miss Bates, as the\nEltons, cannot but unite the suffrages of everybody. On the other hand,\nI, for my part, declare for_ Pride and Prejudice _unhesitatingly. It\nseems to me the most perfect, the most characteristic, the most\neminently quintessential of its author\u2019s works; and for this contention\nin such narrow space as is permitted to me, I propose here to show\ncause._\n\n_In the first place, the book (it may be barely necessary to remind the\nreader) was in its first shape written very early, somewhere about 1796,\nwhen Miss Austen was barely twenty-one; though it was revised and\nfinished at Chawton some fifteen years later, and was not published till\n1813, only four years before her death. I do not know whether, in this\ncombination of the fresh and vigorous projection of youth, and the\ncritical revision of middle life, there may be traced the distinct\nsuperiority in point of construction, which, as it seems to me, it\npossesses over all the others. The plot, though not elaborate, is almost\nregular enough for Fielding; hardly a character, hardly an incident\ncould be retrenched without loss to the story. The elopement of Lydia\nand Wickham is not, like that of Crawford and Mrs. Rushworth, a_ coup de\nth\u00e9\u00e2tre; _it connects itself in the strictest way with the course of the\nstory earlier, and brings about the denouement with complete propriety.\nAll the minor passages--the loves of Jane and Bingley, the advent of Mr.\nCollins, the visit to Hunsford, the Derbyshire tour--fit in after the\nsame unostentatious, but masterly fashion. There is no attempt at the\nhide-and-seek, in-and-out business, which in the transactions between\nFrank Churchill and Jane Fairfax contributes no doubt a good deal to the\nintrigue of_ Emma, _but contributes it in a fashion which I do not think\nthe best feature of that otherwise admirable book. Although Miss Austen\nalways liked something of the misunderstanding kind, which afforded her\nopportunities for the display of the peculiar and incomparable talent to\nbe noticed presently, she has been satisfied here with the perfectly\nnatural occasions provided by the false account of Darcy\u2019s conduct given\nby Wickham, and by the awkwardness (arising with equal naturalness) from\nthe gradual transformation of Elizabeth\u2019s own feelings from positive\naversion to actual love. I do not know whether the all-grasping hand of\nthe playwright has ever been laid upon_ Pride and Prejudice; _and I dare\nsay that, if it were, the situations would prove not startling or\ngarish enough for the footlights, the character-scheme too subtle and\ndelicate for pit and gallery. But if the attempt were made, it would\ncertainly not be hampered by any of those loosenesses of construction,\nwhich, sometimes disguised by the conveniences of which the novelist can\navail himself, appear at once on the stage._\n\n_I think, however, though the thought will doubtless seem heretical to\nmore than one school of critics, that construction is not the highest\nmerit, the choicest gift, of the novelist. It sets off his other gifts\nand graces most advantageously to the critical eye; and the want of it\nwill sometimes mar those graces--appreciably, though not quite\nconsciously--to eyes by no means ultra-critical. But a very badly-built\nnovel which excelled in pathetic or humorous character, or which\ndisplayed consummate command of dialogue--perhaps the rarest of all\nfaculties--would be an infinitely better thing than a faultless plot\nacted and told by puppets with pebbles in their mouths. And despite the\nability which Miss Austen has shown in working out the story, I for one\nshould put_ Pride and Prejudice _far lower if it did not contain what\nseem to me the very masterpieces of Miss Austen\u2019s humour and of her\nfaculty of character-creation--masterpieces who may indeed admit John\nThorpe, the Eltons, Mrs. Norris, and one or two others to their company,\nbut who, in one instance certainly, and perhaps in others, are still\nsuperior to them._\n\n_The characteristics of Miss Austen\u2019s humour are so subtle and delicate\nthat they are, perhaps, at all times easier to apprehend than to\nexpress, and at any particular time likely to be differently\napprehended by different persons. To me this humour seems to possess a\ngreater affinity, on the whole, to that of Addison than to any other of\nthe numerous species of this great British genus. The differences of\nscheme, of time, of subject, of literary convention, are, of course,\nobvious enough; the difference of sex does not, perhaps, count for much,\nfor there was a distinctly feminine element in \u201cMr. Spectator,\u201d and in\nJane Austen\u2019s genius there was, though nothing mannish, much that was\nmasculine. But the likeness of quality consists in a great number of\ncommon subdivisions of quality--demureness, extreme minuteness of touch,\navoidance of loud tones and glaring effects. Also there is in both a\ncertain not inhuman or unamiable cruelty. It is the custom with those\nwho judge grossly to contrast the good nature of Addison with the\nsavagery of Swift, the mildness of Miss Austen with the boisterousness\nof Fielding and Smollett, even with the ferocious practical jokes that\nher immediate predecessor, Miss Burney, allowed without very much\nprotest. Yet, both in Mr. Addison and in Miss Austen there is, though a\nrestrained and well-mannered, an insatiable and ruthless delight in\nroasting and cutting up a fool. A man in the early eighteenth century,\nof course, could push this taste further than a lady in the early\nnineteenth; and no doubt Miss Austen\u2019s principles, as well as her heart,\nwould have shrunk from such things as the letter from the unfortunate\nhusband in the_ Spectator, _who describes, with all the gusto and all the\ninnocence in the world, how his wife and his friend induce him to play\nat blind-man\u2019s-buff. But another_ Spectator _letter--that of the damsel\nof fourteen who wishes to marry Mr. Shapely, and assures her selected\nMentor that \u201che admires your_ Spectators _mightily\u201d--might have been\nwritten by a rather more ladylike and intelligent Lydia Bennet in the\ndays of Lydia\u2019s great-grandmother; while, on the other hand, some (I\nthink unreasonably) have found \u201ccynicism\u201d in touches of Miss Austen\u2019s\nown, such as her satire of Mrs. Musgrove\u2019s self-deceiving regrets over\nher son. But this word \u201ccynical\u201d is one of the most misused in the\nEnglish language, especially when, by a glaring and gratuitous\nfalsification of its original sense, it is applied, not to rough and\nsnarling invective, but to gentle and oblique satire. If cynicism means\nthe perception of \u201cthe other side,\u201d the sense of \u201cthe accepted hells\nbeneath,\u201d the consciousness that motives are nearly always mixed, and\nthat to seem is not identical with to be--if this be cynicism, then\nevery man and woman who is not a fool, who does not care to live in a\nfool\u2019s paradise, who has knowledge of nature and the world and life, is\na cynic. And in that sense Miss Austen certainly was one. She may even\nhave been one in the further sense that, like her own Mr. Bennet, she\ntook an epicurean delight in dissecting, in displaying, in setting at\nwork her fools and her mean persons. I think she did take this delight,\nand I do not think at all the worse of her for it as a woman, while she\nwas immensely the better for it as an artist._\n\n_In respect of her art generally, Mr. Goldwin Smith has truly observed\nthat \u201cmetaphor has been exhausted in depicting the perfection of it,\ncombined with the narrowness of her field;\u201d and he has justly added that\nwe need not go beyond her own comparison to the art of a miniature\npainter. To make this latter observation quite exact we must not use the\nterm miniature in its restricted sense, and must think rather of Memling\nat one end of the history of painting and Meissonier at the other, than\nof Cosway or any of his kind. And I am not so certain that I should\nmyself use the word \u201cnarrow\u201d in connection with her. If her world is a\nmicrocosm, the cosmic quality of it is at least as eminent as the\nlittleness. She does not touch what she did not feel herself called to\npaint; I am not so sure that she could not have painted what she did not\nfeel herself called to touch. It is at least remarkable that in two very\nshort periods of writing--one of about three years, and another of not\nmuch more than five--she executed six capital works, and has not left a\nsingle failure. It is possible that the romantic paste in her\ncomposition was defective: we must always remember that hardly\nanybody born in her decade--that of the eighteenth-century\nseventies--independently exhibited the full romantic quality. Even Scott\nrequired hill and mountain and ballad, even Coleridge metaphysics and\nGerman to enable them to chip the classical shell. Miss Austen was an\nEnglish girl, brought up in a country retirement, at the time when\nladies went back into the house if there was a white frost which might\npierce their kid shoes, when a sudden cold was the subject of the\ngravest fears, when their studies, their ways, their conduct were\nsubject to all those fantastic limits and restrictions against which\nMary Wollstonecraft protested with better general sense than particular\ntaste or judgment. Miss Austen, too, drew back when the white frost\ntouched her shoes; but I think she would have made a pretty good journey\neven in a black one._\n\n_For if her knowledge was not very extended, she knew two things which\nonly genius knows. The one was humanity, and the other was art. On the\nfirst head she could not make a mistake; her men, though limited, are\ntrue, and her women are, in the old sense, \u201cabsolute.\u201d As to art, if she\nhas never tried idealism, her realism is real to a degree which makes\nthe false realism of our own day look merely dead-alive. Take almost any\nFrenchman, except the late M. de Maupassant, and watch him laboriously\npiling up strokes in the hope of giving a complete impression. You get\nnone; you are lucky if, discarding two-thirds of what he gives, you can\nshape a real impression out of the rest. But with Miss Austen the\nmyriad, trivial, unforced strokes build up the picture like magic.\nNothing is false; nothing is superfluous. When (to take the present book\nonly) Mr. Collins changed his mind from Jane to Elizabeth \u201cwhile Mrs.\nBennet was stirring the fire\u201d (and we know_ how _Mrs. Bennet would have\nstirred the fire), when Mr. Darcy \u201cbrought his coffee-cup back_\nhimself,\u201d _the touch in each case is like that of Swift--\u201ctaller by the\nbreadth of my nail\u201d--which impressed the half-reluctant Thackeray with\njust and outspoken admiration. Indeed, fantastic as it may seem, I\nshould put Miss Austen as near to Swift in some ways, as I have put her\nto Addison in others._\n\n_This Swiftian quality appears in the present novel as it appears\nnowhere else in the character of the immortal, the ineffable Mr.\nCollins. Mr. Collins is really_ great; _far greater than anything Addison\never did, almost great enough for Fielding or for Swift himself. It has\nbeen said that no one ever was like him. But in the first place,_ he\n_was like him; he is there--alive, imperishable, more real than hundreds\nof prime ministers and archbishops, of \u201cmetals, semi-metals, and\ndistinguished philosophers.\u201d In the second place, it is rash, I think,\nto conclude that an actual Mr. Collins was impossible or non-existent at\nthe end of the eighteenth century. It is very interesting that we\npossess, in this same gallery, what may be called a spoiled first\ndraught, or an unsuccessful study of him, in John Dashwood. The\nformality, the under-breeding, the meanness, are there; but the portrait\nis only half alive, and is felt to be even a little unnatural. Mr.\nCollins is perfectly natural, and perfectly alive. In fact, for all the\n\u201cminiature,\u201d there is something gigantic in the way in which a certain\nside, and more than one, of humanity, and especially eighteenth-century\nhumanity, its Philistinism, its well-meaning but hide-bound morality,\nits formal pettiness, its grovelling respect for rank, its materialism,\nits selfishness, receives exhibition. I will not admit that one speech\nor one action of this inestimable man is incapable of being reconciled\nwith reality, and I should not wonder if many of these words and actions\nare historically true._\n\n_But the greatness of Mr. Collins could not have been so satisfactorily\nexhibited if his creatress had not adjusted so artfully to him the\nfigures of Mr. Bennet and of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The latter, like\nMr. Collins himself, has been charged with exaggeration. There is,\nperhaps, a very faint shade of colour for the charge; but it seems to me\nvery faint indeed. Even now I do not think that it would be impossible\nto find persons, especially female persons, not necessarily of noble\nbirth, as overbearing, as self-centred, as neglectful of good manners,\nas Lady Catherine. A hundred years ago, an earl\u2019s daughter, the Lady\nPowerful (if not exactly Bountiful) of an out-of-the-way country parish,\nrich, long out of marital authority, and so forth, had opportunities of\ndeveloping these agreeable characteristics which seldom present\nthemselves now. As for Mr. Bennet, Miss Austen, and Mr. Darcy, and even\nMiss Elizabeth herself, were, I am inclined to think, rather hard on him\nfor the \u201cimpropriety\u201d of his conduct. His wife was evidently, and must\nalways have been, a quite irreclaimable fool; and unless he had shot her\nor himself there was no way out of it for a man of sense and spirit but\nthe ironic. From no other point of view is he open to any reproach,\nexcept for an excusable and not unnatural helplessness at the crisis of\nthe elopement, and his utterances are the most acutely delightful in the\nconsciously humorous kind--in the kind that we laugh with, not at--that\neven Miss Austen has put into the mouth of any of her characters. It is\ndifficult to know whether he is most agreeable when talking to his wife,\nor when putting Mr. Collins through his paces; but the general sense of\nthe world has probably been right in preferring to the first rank his\nconsolation to the former when she maunders over the entail, \u201cMy dear,\ndo not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things.\nLet us flatter ourselves that_ I _may be the survivor;\u201d and his inquiry\nto his colossal cousin as to the compliments which Mr. Collins has just\nrelated as made by himself to Lady Catherine, \u201cMay I ask whether these\npleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the\nresult of previous study?\u201d These are the things which give Miss Austen\u2019s\nreaders the pleasant shocks, the delightful thrills, which are felt by\nthe readers of Swift, of Fielding, and we may here add, of Thackeray, as\nthey are felt by the readers of no other English author of fiction\noutside of these four._\n\n_The goodness of the minor characters in_ Pride and Prejudice _has been\nalready alluded to, and it makes a detailed dwelling on their beauties\ndifficult in any space, and impossible in this. Mrs. Bennet we have\nglanced at, and it is not easy to say whether she is more exquisitely\namusing or more horribly true. Much the same may be said of Kitty and\nLydia; but it is not every author, even of genius, who would have\ndifferentiated with such unerring skill the effects of folly and\nvulgarity of intellect and disposition working upon the common\nweaknesses of woman at such different ages. With Mary, Miss Austen has\ntaken rather less pains, though she has been even more unkind to her;\nnot merely in the text, but, as we learn from those interesting\ntraditional appendices which Mr. Austen Leigh has given us, in dooming\nher privately to marry \u201cone of Mr. Philips\u2019s clerks.\u201d The habits of\nfirst copying and then retailing moral sentiments, of playing and\nsinging too long in public, are, no doubt, grievous and criminal; but\nperhaps poor Mary was rather the scapegoat of the sins of blue stockings\nin that Fordyce-belectured generation. It is at any rate difficult not\nto extend to her a share of the respect and affection (affection and\nrespect of a peculiar kind; doubtless), with which one regards Mr.\nCollins, when she draws the moral of Lydia\u2019s fall. I sometimes wish\nthat the exigencies of the story had permitted Miss Austen to unite\nthese personages, and thus at once achieve a notable mating and soothe\npoor Mrs. Bennet\u2019s anguish over the entail._\n\n_The Bingleys and the Gardiners and the Lucases, Miss Darcy and Miss de\nBourgh, Jane, Wickham, and the rest, must pass without special comment,\nfurther than the remark that Charlotte Lucas (her egregious papa, though\ndelightful, is just a little on the thither side of the line between\ncomedy and farce) is a wonderfully clever study in drab of one kind, and\nthat Wickham (though something of Miss Austen\u2019s hesitation of touch in\ndealing with young men appears) is a not much less notable sketch in\ndrab of another. Only genius could have made Charlotte what she is, yet\nnot disagreeable; Wickham what he is, without investing him either with\na cheap Don Juanish attractiveness or a disgusting rascality. But the\nhero and the heroine are not tints to be dismissed._\n\n_Darcy has always seemed to me by far the best and most interesting of\nMiss Austen\u2019s heroes; the only possible competitor being Henry Tilney,\nwhose part is so slight and simple that it hardly enters into\ncomparison. It has sometimes, I believe, been urged that his pride is\nunnatural at first in its expression and later in its yielding, while\nhis falling in love at all is not extremely probable. Here again I\ncannot go with the objectors. Darcy\u2019s own account of the way in which\nhis pride had been pampered, is perfectly rational and sufficient; and\nnothing could be, psychologically speaking, a_ causa verior _for its\nsudden restoration to healthy conditions than the shock of Elizabeth\u2019s\nscornful refusal acting on a nature_ ex hypothesi _generous. Nothing in\neven our author is finer and more delicately touched than the change of\nhis demeanour at the sudden meeting in the grounds of Pemberley. Had he\nbeen a bad prig or a bad coxcomb, he might have been still smarting\nunder his rejection, or suspicious that the girl had come\nhusband-hunting. His being neither is exactly consistent with the\nprobable feelings of a man spoilt in the common sense, but not really\ninjured in disposition, and thoroughly in love. As for his being in\nlove, Elizabeth has given as just an exposition of the causes of that\nphenomenon as Darcy has of the conditions of his unregenerate state,\nonly she has of course not counted in what was due to her own personal\ncharm._\n\n_The secret of that charm many men and not a few women, from Miss Austen\nherself downwards, have felt, and like most charms it is a thing rather\nto be felt than to be explained. Elizabeth of course belongs to the_\nallegro _or_ allegra _division of the army of Venus. Miss Austen was\nalways provokingly chary of description in regard to her beauties; and\nexcept the fine eyes, and a hint or two that she had at any rate\nsometimes a bright complexion, and was not very tall, we hear nothing\nabout her looks. But her chief difference from other heroines of the\nlively type seems to lie first in her being distinctly clever--almost\nstrong-minded, in the better sense of that objectionable word--and\nsecondly in her being entirely destitute of ill-nature for all her\npropensity to tease and the sharpness of her tongue. Elizabeth can give\nat least as good as she gets when she is attacked; but she never\n\u201cscratches,\u201d and she never attacks first. Some of the merest\nobsoletenesses of phrase and manner give one or two of her early\nspeeches a slight pertness, but that is nothing, and when she comes to\nserious business, as in the great proposal scene with Darcy (which is,\nas it should be, the climax of the interest of the book), and in the\nfinal ladies\u2019 battle with Lady Catherine, she is unexceptionable. Then\ntoo she is a perfectly natural girl. She does not disguise from herself\nor anybody that she resents Darcy\u2019s first ill-mannered personality with\nas personal a feeling. (By the way, the reproach that the ill-manners of\nthis speech are overdone is certainly unjust; for things of the same\nkind, expressed no doubt less stiltedly but more coarsely, might have\nbeen heard in more than one ball-room during this very year from persons\nwho ought to have been no worse bred than Darcy.) And she lets the\ninjury done to Jane and the contempt shown to the rest of her family\naggravate this resentment in the healthiest way in the world._\n\n_Still, all this does not explain her charm, which, taking beauty as a\ncommon form of all heroines, may perhaps consist in the addition to her\nplayfulness, her wit, her affectionate and natural disposition, of a\ncertain fearlessness very uncommon in heroines of her type and age.\nNearly all of them would have been in speechless awe of the magnificent\nDarcy; nearly all of them would have palpitated and fluttered at the\nidea of proposals, even naughty ones, from the fascinating Wickham.\nElizabeth, with nothing offensive, nothing_ viraginous, _nothing of the\n\u201cNew Woman\u201d about her, has by nature what the best modern (not \u201cnew\u201d)\nwomen have by education and experience, a perfect freedom from the idea\nthat all men may bully her if they choose, and that most will away with\nher if they can. Though not in the least \u201cimpudent and mannish grown,\u201d\nshe has no mere sensibility, no nasty niceness about her. The form of\npassion common and likely to seem natural in Miss Austen\u2019s day was so\ninvariably connected with the display of one or the other, or both of\nthese qualities, that she has not made Elizabeth outwardly passionate.\nBut I, at least, have not the slightest doubt that she would have\nmarried Darcy just as willingly without Pemberley as with it, and\nanybody who can read between lines will not find the lovers\u2019\nconversations in the final chapters so frigid as they might have looked\nto the Della Cruscans of their own day, and perhaps do look to the Della\nCruscans of this._\n\n_And, after all, what is the good of seeking for the reason of\ncharm?--it is there. There were better sense in the sad mechanic\nexercise of determining the reason of its absence where it is not. In\nthe novels of the last hundred years there are vast numbers of young\nladies with whom it might be a pleasure to fall in love; there are at\nleast five with whom, as it seems to me, no man of taste and spirit can\nhelp doing so. Their names are, in chronological order, Elizabeth\nBennet, Diana Vernon, Argemone Lavington, Beatrix Esmond, and Barbara\nGrant. I should have been most in love with Beatrix and Argemone; I\nshould, I think, for mere occasional companionship, have preferred Diana\nand Barbara. But to live with and to marry, I do not know that any one\nof the four can come into competition with Elizabeth._\n\n_GEORGE SAINTSBURY._\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: List of Illustrations.]\n\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\nFrontispiece                                                          iv\n\nTitle-page                                                             v\n\nDedication                                                           vii\n\nHeading to Preface                                                    ix\n\nHeading to List of Illustrations                                     xxv\n\nHeading to Chapter I.                                                  1\n\n\u201cHe came down to see the place\u201d                                        2\n\nMr. and Mrs. Bennet                                                    5\n\n\u201cI hope Mr. Bingley will like it\u201d                                      6\n\n\u201cI\u2019m the tallest\u201d                                                      9\n\n\u201cHe rode a black horse\u201d                                               10\n\n\u201cWhen the party entered\u201d                                              12\n\n\u201cShe is tolerable\u201d                                                    15\n\nHeading to Chapter IV.                                                18\n\nHeading to Chapter V.                                                 22\n\n\u201cWithout once opening his lips\u201d                                       24\n\nTailpiece to Chapter V.                                               26\n\nHeading to Chapter VI.                                                27\n\n\u201cThe entreaties of several\u201d                                           31\n\n\u201cA note for Miss Bennet\u201d                                              36\n\n\u201cCheerful prognostics\u201d                                                40\n\n\u201cThe apothecary came\u201d                                                 43\n\n\u201cCovering a screen\u201d                                                   45\n\n\u201cMrs. Bennet and her two youngest girls\u201d                              53\n\nHeading to Chapter X.                                                 60\n\n\u201cNo, no; stay where you are\u201d                                          67\n\n\u201cPiling up the fire\u201d                                                  69\n\nHeading to Chapter XII.                                               75\n\nHeading to Chapter XIII.                                              78\n\nHeading to Chapter XIV.                                               84\n\n\u201cProtested that he never read novels\u201d                                 87\n\nHeading to Chapter XV.                                                89\n\nHeading to Chapter XVI.                                               95\n\n\u201cThe officers of the ----shire\u201d                                       97\n\n\u201cDelighted to see their dear friend again\u201d                           108\n\nHeading to Chapter XVIII.                                            113\n\n\u201cSuch very superior dancing is not often seen\u201d                       118\n\n\u201cTo assure you in the most animated language\u201d                        132\n\nHeading to Chapter XX.                                               139\n\n\u201cThey entered the breakfast-room\u201d                                    143\n\nHeading to Chapter XXI.                                              146\n\n\u201cWalked back with them\u201d                                              148\n\nHeading to Chapter XXII.                                             154\n\n\u201cSo much love and eloquence\u201d                                         156\n\n\u201cProtested he must be entirely mistaken\u201d                             161\n\n\u201cWhenever she spoke in a low voice\u201d                                  166\n\nHeading to Chapter XXIV.                                             168\n\nHeading to Chapter XXV.                                              175\n\n\u201cOffended two or three young ladies\u201d                                 177\n\n\u201cWill you come and see me?\u201d                                          181\n\n\u201cOn the stairs\u201d                                                      189\n\n\u201cAt the door\u201d                                                        194\n\n\u201cIn conversation with the ladies\u201d                                    198\n\n\u201cLady Catherine,\u201d said she, \u201cyou have given me a treasure\u201d           200\n\nHeading to Chapter XXX.                                              209\n\n\u201cHe never failed to inform them\u201d                                     211\n\n\u201cThe gentlemen accompanied him\u201d                                      213\n\nHeading to Chapter XXXI.                                             215\n\nHeading to Chapter XXXII.                                            221\n\n\u201cAccompanied by their aunt\u201d                                          225\n\n\u201cOn looking up\u201d                                                      228\n\nHeading to Chapter XXXIV.                                            235\n\n\u201cHearing herself called\u201d                                             243\n\nHeading to Chapter XXXVI.                                            253\n\n\u201cMeeting accidentally in town\u201d                                       256\n\n\u201cHis parting obeisance\u201d                                              261\n\n\u201cDawson\u201d                                                             263\n\n\u201cThe elevation of his feelings\u201d                                      267\n\n\u201cThey had forgotten to leave any message\u201d                            270\n\n\u201cHow nicely we are crammed in!\u201d                                      272\n\nHeading to Chapter XL.                                               278\n\n\u201cI am determined never to speak of it again\u201d                         283\n\n\u201cWhen Colonel Miller\u2019s regiment went away\u201d                           285\n\n\u201cTenderly flirting\u201d                                                  290\n\nThe arrival of the Gardiners                                         294\n\n\u201cConjecturing as to the date\u201d                                        301\n\nHeading to Chapter XLIV.                                             318\n\n\u201cTo make herself agreeable to all\u201d                                   321\n\n\u201cEngaged by the river\u201d                                               327\n\nHeading to Chapter XLVI.                                             334\n\n\u201cI have not an instant to lose\u201d                                      339\n\n\u201cThe first pleasing earnest of their welcome\u201d                        345\n\nThe Post                                                             359\n\n\u201cTo whom I have related the affair\u201d                                  363\n\nHeading to Chapter XLIX.                                             368\n\n\u201cBut perhaps you would like to read it\u201d                              370\n\n\u201cThe spiteful old ladies\u201d                                            377\n\n\u201cWith an affectionate smile\u201d                                         385\n\n\u201cI am sure she did not listen\u201d                                       393\n\n\u201cMr. Darcy with him\u201d                                                 404\n\n\u201cJane happened to look round\u201d                                        415\n\n\u201cMrs. Long and her nieces\u201d                                           420\n\n\u201cLizzy, my dear, I want to speak to you\u201d                             422\n\nHeading to Chapter LVI.                                              431\n\n\u201cAfter a short survey\u201d                                               434\n\n\u201cBut now it comes out\u201d                                               442\n\n\u201cThe efforts of his aunt\u201d                                            448\n\n\u201cUnable to utter a syllable\u201d                                         457\n\n\u201cThe obsequious civility\u201d                                            466\n\nHeading to Chapter LXI.                                              472\n\nThe End                                                              476\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \u00b7PRIDE AND PREJUDICE\u00b7\n\n\n\n\nChapter I.]\n\n\nIt is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession\nof a good fortune must be in want of a wife.\n\nHowever little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his\nfirst entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds\nof the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful\nproperty of some one or other of their daughters.\n\n\u201cMy dear Mr. Bennet,\u201d said his lady to him one day, \u201chave you heard that\nNetherfield Park is let at last?\u201d\n\nMr. Bennet replied that he had not.\n\n\u201cBut it is,\u201d returned she; \u201cfor Mrs. Long has just been here, and she\ntold me all about it.\u201d\n\nMr. Bennet made no answer.\n\n\u201cDo not you want to know who has taken it?\u201d cried his wife, impatiently.\n\n\u201c_You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.\u201d\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201cHe came down to see the place\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\nThis was invitation enough.\n\n\u201cWhy, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken\nby a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came\ndown on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much\ndelighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is\nto take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be\nin the house by the end of next week.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is his name?\u201d\n\n\u201cBingley.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs he married or single?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or\nfive thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow so? how can it affect them?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear Mr. Bennet,\u201d replied his wife, \u201chow can you be so tiresome? You\nmust know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that his design in settling here?\u201d\n\n\u201cDesign? Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he\n_may_ fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as\nsoon as he comes.\u201d\n\n\u201cI see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go--or you may send\nthem by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for as you are\nas handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the\nparty.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear, you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of beauty, but\nI do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five\ngrown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into\nthe neighbourhood.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is more than I engage for, I assure you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would\nbe for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go,\nmerely on that account; for in general, you know, they visit no new\ncomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for _us_ to visit\nhim, if you do not.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are over scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very\nglad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my\nhearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls--though\nI must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the\nothers: and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so\ngood-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving _her_ the preference.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey have none of them much to recommend them,\u201d replied he: \u201cthey are\nall silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of\nquickness than her sisters.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take\ndelight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They\nare my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration\nthese twenty years at least.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, you do not know what I suffer.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four\nthousand a year come into the neighbourhood.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not\nvisit them.\u201d\n\n\u201cDepend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them\nall.\u201d\n\nMr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour,\nreserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had\nbeen insufficient to make his wife understand his character. _Her_ mind\nwas less difficult to develope. She was a woman of mean understanding,\nlittle information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she\nfancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her\ndaughters married: its solace was visiting and news.\n\n[Illustration: M^{r.} & M^{rs.} Bennet\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201cI hope Mr. Bingley will like it\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nMr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He\nhad always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his\nwife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was\npaid she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following\nmanner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he\nsuddenly addressed her with,--\n\n\u201cI hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are not in a way to know _what_ Mr. Bingley likes,\u201d said her mother,\nresentfully, \u201csince we are not to visit.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you forget, mamma,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cthat we shall meet him at the\nassemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces\nof her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion\nof her.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo more have I,\u201d said Mr. Bennet; \u201cand I am glad to find that you do\nnot depend on her serving you.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply; but, unable to contain\nherself, began scolding one of her daughters.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven\u2019s sake! Have a little\ncompassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.\u201d\n\n\u201cKitty has no discretion in her coughs,\u201d said her father; \u201cshe times\nthem ill.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not cough for my own amusement,\u201d replied Kitty, fretfully. \u201cWhen\nis your next ball to be, Lizzy?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo-morrow fortnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, so it is,\u201d cried her mother, \u201cand Mrs. Long does not come back till\nthe day before; so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for\nshe will not know him herself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce\nMr. Bingley to _her_.\u201d\n\n\u201cImpossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him\nmyself; how can you be so teasing?\u201d\n\n\u201cI honour your circumspection. A fortnight\u2019s acquaintance is certainly\nvery little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a\nfortnight. But if _we_ do not venture, somebody else will; and after\nall, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and, therefore,\nas she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I\nwill take it on myself.\u201d\n\nThe girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, \u201cNonsense,\nnonsense!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?\u201d cried he. \u201cDo\nyou consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on\nthem, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you _there_. What say you,\nMary? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read\ngreat books, and make extracts.\u201d\n\nMary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.\n\n\u201cWhile Mary is adjusting her ideas,\u201d he continued, \u201clet us return to Mr.\nBingley.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sick of Mr. Bingley,\u201d cried his wife.\n\n\u201cI am sorry to hear _that_; but why did you not tell me so before? If I\nhad known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on\nhim. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we\ncannot escape the acquaintance now.\u201d\n\nThe astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished--that of Mrs.\nBennet perhaps surpassing the rest; though when the first tumult of joy\nwas over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the\nwhile.\n\n\u201cHow good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should\npersuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to\nneglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! And it is such a\ngood joke, too, that you should have gone this morning, and never said a\nword about it till now.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose,\u201d said Mr. Bennet; and,\nas he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.\n\n\u201cWhat an excellent father you have, girls,\u201d said she, when the door was\nshut. \u201cI do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness;\nor me either, for that matter. At our time of life, it is not so\npleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day; but\nfor your sakes we would do anything. Lydia, my love, though you _are_\nthe youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next\nball.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Lydia, stoutly, \u201cI am not afraid; for though I _am_ the\nyoungest, I\u2019m the tallest.\u201d\n\nThe rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would\nreturn Mr. Bennet\u2019s visit, and determining when they should ask him to\ndinner.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cI\u2019m the tallest\u201d]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n     \u201cHe rode a black horse\u201d\n]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nNot all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five\ndaughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her\nhusband any satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him\nin various ways, with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and\ndistant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all; and they were at\nlast obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour,\nLady Lucas. Her report was highly favourable. Sir William had been\ndelighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely\nagreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly\nwith a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of\ndancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively\nhopes of Mr. Bingley\u2019s heart were entertained.\n\n\u201cIf I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,\u201d\nsaid Mrs. Bennet to her husband, \u201cand all the others equally well\nmarried, I shall have nothing to wish for.\u201d\n\nIn a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet\u2019s visit, and sat about ten\nminutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being\nadmitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard\nmuch; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more\nfortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining, from an upper\nwindow, that he wore a blue coat and rode a black horse.\n\nAn invitation to dinner was soon afterwards despatched; and already had\nMrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her\nhousekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley\nwas obliged to be in town the following day, and consequently unable to\naccept the honour of their invitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite\ndisconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town\nso soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that\nhe might always be flying about from one place to another, and never\nsettled at Netherfield as he ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a\nlittle by starting the idea of his\n\n[Illustration:\n\n     \u201cWhen the Party entered\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\nbeing gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a\nreport soon followed that Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and\nseven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a\nnumber of ladies; but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing\nthat, instead of twelve, he had brought only six with him from London,\nhis five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the\nassembly-room, it consisted of only five altogether: Mr. Bingley, his\ntwo sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.\n\nMr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike: he had a pleasant\ncountenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women,\nwith an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely\nlooked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention\nof the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and\nthe report, which was in general circulation within five minutes after\nhis entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen\npronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was\nmuch handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great\nadmiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust\nwhich turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be\nproud, to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his\nlarge estate in Derbyshire could save him from having a most forbidding,\ndisagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his\nfriend.\n\nMr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal\npeople in the room: he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance,\nwas angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one\nhimself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for\nthemselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced\nonly once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being\nintroduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in\nwalking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party.\nHis character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in\nthe world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again.\nAmongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of\nhis general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his\nhaving slighted one of her daughters.\n\nElizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit\ndown for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been\nstanding near enough for her to overhear a conversation between him and\nMr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes to press his\nfriend to join it.\n\n\u201cCome, Darcy,\u201d said he, \u201cI must have you dance. I hate to see you\nstanding about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better\ndance.\u201d\n\n\u201cI certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am\nparticularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it\nwould be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not\nanother woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to\nstand up with.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would not be so fastidious as you are,\u201d cried Bingley, \u201cfor a\nkingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my\nlife as I have this evening; and there are several of them, you see,\nuncommonly pretty.\u201d\n\n\u201c_You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,\u201d said Mr.\nDarcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.\n\n\u201cOh, she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one\nof her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I\ndare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.\u201d\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201cShe is tolerable\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\u201cWhich do you mean?\u201d and turning round, he looked for a moment at\nElizabeth, till, catching her eye, he withdrew his own, and coldly said,\n\u201cShe is tolerable: but not handsome enough to tempt _me_; and I am in no\nhumour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted\nby other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her\nsmiles, for you are wasting your time with me.\u201d\n\nMr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth\nremained with no very cordial feelings towards him. She told the story,\nhowever, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively,\nplayful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.\n\nThe evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs.\nBennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield\nparty. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been\ndistinguished by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her\nmother could be, though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane\u2019s\npleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most\naccomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been\nfortunate enough to be never without partners, which was all that they\nhad yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good\nspirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they\nwere the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a\nbook, he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a\ngood deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had raised\nsuch splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that all his wife\u2019s\nviews on the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found that he\nhad a very different story to hear.\n\n\u201cOh, my dear Mr. Bennet,\u201d as she entered the room, \u201cwe have had a most\ndelightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there.\nJane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well\nshe looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with\nher twice. Only think of _that_, my dear: he actually danced with her\ntwice; and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second\ntime. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand\nup with her; but, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody\ncan, you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going\ndown the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and\nasked her for the two next. Then, the two third he danced with Miss\nKing, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane\nagain, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the _Boulanger_----\u201d\n\n\u201cIf he had had any compassion for _me_,\u201d cried her husband impatiently,\n\u201che would not have danced half so much! For God\u2019s sake, say no more of\nhis partners. O that he had sprained his ancle in the first dance!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, my dear,\u201d continued Mrs. Bennet, \u201cI am quite delighted with him. He\nis so excessively handsome! and his sisters are charming women. I never\nin my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the\nlace upon Mrs. Hurst\u2019s gown----\u201d\n\nHere she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any\ndescription of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch\nof the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit, and some\nexaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.\n\n\u201cBut I can assure you,\u201d she added, \u201cthat Lizzy does not lose much by not\nsuiting _his_ fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at\nall worth pleasing. So high and so conceited, that there was no enduring\nhim! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very\ngreat! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my\ndear, to have given him one of your set-downs. I quite detest the man.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhen Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in\nher praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much\nshe admired him.\n\n\u201cHe is just what a young-man ought to be,\u201d said she, \u201csensible,\ngood-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! so much ease,\nwith such perfect good breeding!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is also handsome,\u201d replied Elizabeth, \u201cwhich a young man ought\nlikewise to be if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I\ndid not expect such a compliment.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid not you? _I_ did for you. But that is one great difference between\nus. Compliments always take _you_ by surprise, and _me_ never. What\ncould be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help\nseeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in\nthe room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is\nvery agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a\nstupider person.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear Lizzy!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general.\nYou never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable\nin your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would wish not to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak\nwhat I think.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know you do: and it is _that_ which makes the wonder. With _your_\ngood sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of\nothers! Affectation of candour is common enough; one meets with it\neverywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design,--to take the\ngood of everybody\u2019s character and make it still better, and say nothing\nof the bad,--belongs to you alone. And so, you like this man\u2019s sisters,\ntoo, do you? Their manners are not equal to his.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly not, at first; but they are very pleasing women when you\nconverse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, and keep\nhis house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming\nneighbour in her.\u201d\n\nElizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced: their behaviour at\nthe assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and with more\nquickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister, and\nwith a judgment, too, unassailed by any attention to herself, she was\nvery little disposed to approve them. They were, in fact, very fine\nladies; not deficient in good-humour when they were pleased, nor in the\npower of being agreeable where they chose it; but proud and conceited.\nThey were rather handsome; had been educated in one of the first private\nseminaries in town; had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds; were in the\nhabit of spending more than they ought, and of associating with people\nof rank; and were, therefore, in every respect entitled to think well of\nthemselves and meanly of others. They were of a respectable family in\nthe north of England; a circumstance more deeply impressed on their\nmemories than that their brother\u2019s fortune and their own had been\nacquired by trade.\n\nMr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred\nthousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate,\nbut did not live to do it. Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and\nsometimes made choice of his county; but, as he was now provided with a\ngood house and the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those\nwho best knew the easiness of his temper, whether he might not spend the\nremainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the next generation to\npurchase.\n\nHis sisters were very anxious for his having an estate of his own; but\nthough he was now established only as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no\nmeans unwilling to preside at his table; nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had\nmarried a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider\nhis house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of\nage two years when he was tempted, by an accidental recommendation, to\nlook at Netherfield House. He did look at it, and into it, for half an\nhour; was pleased with the situation and the principal rooms, satisfied\nwith what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.\n\nBetween him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of a\ngreat opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the\neasiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition\ncould offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he\nnever appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy\u2019s regard, Bingley\nhad the firmest reliance, and of his judgment the highest opinion. In\nunderstanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means\ndeficient; but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty,\nreserved, and fastidious; and his manners, though well bred, were not\ninviting. In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage. Bingley\nwas sure of being liked wherever he appeared; Darcy was continually\ngiving offence.\n\nThe manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently\ncharacteristic. Bingley had never met with pleasanter people or prettier\ngirls in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive to him;\nthere had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted\nwith all the room; and as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel\nmore beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a collection of people\nin whom there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had\nfelt the smallest interest, and from none received either attention or\npleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty; but she smiled too\nmuch.\n\nMrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so; but still they admired\nher and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one whom\nthey should not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore\nestablished as a sweet girl; and their brother felt authorized by such\ncommendation to think of her as he chose.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: [_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWithin a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets\nwere particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade\nin Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the\nhonour of knighthood by an address to the king during his mayoralty. The\ndistinction had, perhaps, been felt too strongly. It had given him a\ndisgust to his business and to his residence in a small market town;\nand, quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house about\na mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge; where he\ncould think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled by\nbusiness, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. For,\nthough elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the\ncontrary, he was all attention to everybody. By nature inoffensive,\nfriendly, and obliging, his presentation at St. James\u2019s had made him\ncourteous.\n\nLady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a\nvaluable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children. The eldest\nof them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was\nElizabeth\u2019s intimate friend.\n\nThat the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a\nball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly\nbrought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.\n\n\u201c_You_ began the evening well, Charlotte,\u201d said Mrs. Bennet, with civil\nself-command, to Miss Lucas. \u201c_You_ were Mr. Bingley\u2019s first choice.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but he seemed to like his second better.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. To be\nsure that _did_ seem as if he admired her--indeed, I rather believe he\n_did_--I heard something about it--but I hardly know what--something\nabout Mr. Robinson.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson: did not\nI mention it to you? Mr. Robinson\u2019s asking him how he liked our Meryton\nassemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many pretty\nwomen in the room, and _which_ he thought the prettiest? and his\nanswering immediately to the last question, \u2018Oh, the eldest Miss Bennet,\nbeyond a doubt: there cannot be two opinions on that point.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon my word! Well, that was very decided, indeed--that does seem as\nif--but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201c_My_ overhearings were more to the purpose than _yours_, Eliza,\u201d said\nCharlotte. \u201cMr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as his friend,\nis he? Poor Eliza! to be only just _tolerable_.\u201d\n\n\u201cI beg you will not put it into Lizzy\u2019s head to be vexed by his\nill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man that it would be quite\na misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he\nsat close to her for half an hour without once opening his lips.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cWithout once opening his lips\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\u201cAre you quite sure, ma\u2019am? Is not there a little mistake?\u201d said Jane.\n\u201cI certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he\ncould not help answering her; but she said he seemed very angry at being\nspoke to.\u201d\n\n\u201cMiss Bingley told me,\u201d said Jane, \u201cthat he never speaks much unless\namong his intimate acquaintance. With _them_ he is remarkably\nagreeable.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very\nagreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it\nwas; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had\nheard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had to come\nto the ball in a hack chaise.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,\u201d said Miss Lucas, \u201cbut I\nwish he had danced with Eliza.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnother time, Lizzy,\u201d said her mother, \u201cI would not dance with _him_,\nif I were you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe, ma\u2019am, I may safely promise you _never_ to dance with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis pride,\u201d said Miss Lucas, \u201cdoes not offend _me_ so much as pride\noften does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so\nvery fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour,\nshould think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a _right_\nto be proud.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is very true,\u201d replied Elizabeth, \u201cand I could easily forgive\n_his_ pride, if he had not mortified _mine_.\u201d\n\n\u201cPride,\u201d observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her\nreflections, \u201cis a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have\never read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human\nnature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us\nwho do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some\nquality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different\nthings, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be\nproud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of\nourselves; vanity to what we would have others think of us.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,\u201d cried a young Lucas, who came with his\nsisters, \u201cI should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of\nfoxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you would drink a great deal more than you ought,\u201d said Mrs.\nBennet; \u201cand if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle\ndirectly.\u201d\n\nThe boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she\nwould; and the argument ended only with the visit.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit\nwas returned in due form. Miss Bennet\u2019s pleasing manners grew on the\ngood-will of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and though the mother was\nfound to be intolerable, and the younger sisters not worth speaking to,\na wish of being better acquainted with _them_ was expressed towards the\ntwo eldest. By Jane this attention was received with the greatest\npleasure; but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in their treatment of\neverybody, hardly excepting even her sister, and could not like them;\nthough their kindness to Jane, such as it was, had a value, as arising,\nin all probability, from the influence of their brother\u2019s admiration. It\nwas generally evident, whenever they met, that he _did_ admire her; and\nto _her_ it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference\nwhich she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a\nway to be very much in love; but she considered with pleasure that it\nwas not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane\nunited with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and an\nuniform cheerfulness of manner, which would guard her from the\nsuspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend, Miss\nLucas.\n\n\u201cIt may, perhaps, be pleasant,\u201d replied Charlotte, \u201cto be able to impose\non the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be\nso very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill\nfrom the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and\nit will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the\ndark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every\nattachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all\n_begin_ freely--a slight preference is natural enough; but there are\nvery few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without\nencouragement. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show _more_\naffection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he\nmay never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If _I_ can\nperceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton indeed not to\ndiscover it too.\u201d\n\n\u201cRemember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane\u2019s disposition as you do.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavor to conceal\nit, he must find it out.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane\nmeet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they\nalways see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that\nevery moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should\ntherefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his\nattention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling\nin love as much as she chooses.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour plan is a good one,\u201d replied Elizabeth, \u201cwhere nothing is in\nquestion but the desire of being well married; and if I were determined\nto get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt it. But\nthese are not Jane\u2019s feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet she\ncannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard, nor of its\nreasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four\ndances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house,\nand has since dined in company with him four times. This is not quite\nenough to make her understand his character.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot as you represent it. Had she merely _dined_ with him, she might\nonly have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must\nremember that four evenings have been also spent together--and four\nevenings may do a great deal.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes: these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both\nlike Vingt-un better than Commerce, but with respect to any other\nleading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Charlotte, \u201cI wish Jane success with all my heart; and if\nshe were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a\nchance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a\ntwelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If\nthe dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or\never so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the\nleast. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to\nhave their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as\npossible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your\nlife.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not\nsound, and that you would never act in this way yourself.\u201d\n\nOccupied in observing Mr. Bingley\u2019s attention to her sister, Elizabeth\nwas far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some\ninterest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely\nallowed her to be pretty: he had looked at her without admiration at the\nball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no\nsooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had\nhardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered\nuncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To\nthis discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had\ndetected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry\nin her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and\npleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those\nof the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of\nthis she was perfectly unaware: to her he was only the man who made\nhimself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough\nto dance with.\n\nHe began to wish to know more of her; and, as a step towards conversing\nwith her himself, attended to her conversation with others. His doing so\ndrew her notice. It was at Sir William Lucas\u2019s, where a large party were\nassembled.\n\n\u201cWhat does Mr. Darcy mean,\u201d said she to Charlotte, \u201cby listening to my\nconversation with Colonel Forster?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if he does it any more, I shall certainly let him know that I see\nwhat he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by\nbeing impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cThe entreaties of several\u201d [_Copyright 1894 by George\nAllen._]]\n\nOn his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have\nany intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such\na subject to him, which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she\nturned to him and said,--\n\n\u201cDid not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well\njust now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at\nMeryton?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith great energy; but it is a subject which always makes a lady\nenergetic.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are severe on us.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be _her_ turn soon to be teased,\u201d said Miss Lucas. \u201cI am going\nto open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a very strange creature by way of a friend!--always wanting me\nto play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a\nmusical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would\nreally rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of\nhearing the very best performers.\u201d On Miss Lucas\u2019s persevering, however,\nshe added, \u201cVery well; if it must be so, it must.\u201d And gravely glancing\nat Mr. Darcy, \u201cThere is a very fine old saying, which everybody here is\nof course familiar with--\u2018Keep your breath to cool your porridge,\u2019--and\nI shall keep mine to swell my song.\u201d\n\nHer performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song\nor two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she\nwould sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her\nsister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in\nthe family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always\nimpatient for display.\n\nMary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her\napplication, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited\nmanner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she\nhad reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with\nmuch more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the\nend of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by\nScotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who with\nsome of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly in\ndancing at one end of the room.\n\nMr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of\npassing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too\nmuch engrossed by his own thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas\nwas his neighbour, till Sir William thus began:--\n\n\u201cWhat a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is\nnothing like dancing, after all. I consider it as one of the first\nrefinements of polished societies.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst\nthe less polished societies of the world: every savage can dance.\u201d\n\nSir William only smiled. \u201cYour friend performs delightfully,\u201d he\ncontinued, after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group; \u201cand I doubt\nnot that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do\nyou often dance at St. James\u2019s?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have a house in town, I conclude?\u201d\n\nMr. Darcy bowed.\n\n\u201cI had once some thoughts of fixing in town myself, for I am fond of\nsuperior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of\nLondon would agree with Lady Lucas.\u201d\n\nHe paused in hopes of an answer: but his companion was not disposed to\nmake any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he was\nstruck with the notion of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to\nher,--\n\n\u201cMy dear Miss Eliza, why are not you dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow\nme to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You\ncannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.\u201d\nAnd, taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy, who, though\nextremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly\ndrew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William,--\n\n\u201cIndeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you\nnot to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.\u201d\n\nMr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour of\nher hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William at\nall shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.\n\n\u201cYou excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me\nthe happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the\namusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us\nfor one half hour.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Darcy is all politeness,\u201d said Elizabeth, smiling.\n\n\u201cHe is, indeed: but considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we\ncannot wonder at his complaisance; for who would object to such a\npartner?\u201d\n\nElizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured\nher with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her with some\ncomplacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley,--\n\n\u201cI can guess the subject of your reverie.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should imagine not.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many\nevenings in this manner,--in such society; and, indeed, I am quite of\nyour opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the\nnoise--the nothingness, and yet the self-importance, of all these\npeople! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!\u201d\n\n\u201cYour conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more\nagreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure\nwhich a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.\u201d\n\nMiss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he\nwould tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections.\nMr. Darcy replied, with great intrepidity,--\n\n\u201cMiss Elizabeth Bennet.\u201d\n\n\u201cMiss Elizabeth Bennet!\u201d repeated Miss Bingley. \u201cI am all astonishment.\nHow long has she been such a favourite? and pray when am I to wish you\njoy?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady\u2019s\nimagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love\nto matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as\nabsolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and\nof course she will be always at Pemberley with you.\u201d\n\nHe listened to her with perfect indifference, while she chose to\nentertain herself in this manner; and as his composure convinced her\nthat all was safe, her wit flowed along.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n     \u201cA note for Miss Bennet\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nMr. Bennet\u2019s property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two\nthousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed,\nin default of heirs male, on a distant relation; and their mother\u2019s\nfortune, though ample for her situation in life, could but ill supply\nthe deficiency of his. Her father had been an attorney in Meryton, and\nhad left her four thousand pounds.\n\nShe had a sister married to a Mr. Philips, who had been a clerk to their\nfather and succeeded him in the business, and a brother settled in\nLondon in a respectable line of trade.\n\nThe village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most\nconvenient distance for the young ladies, who were usually tempted\nthither three or four times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt, and\nto a milliner\u2019s shop just over the way. The two youngest of the family,\nCatherine and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions:\ntheir minds were more vacant than their sisters\u2019, and when nothing\nbetter offered, a walk to Meryton was necessary to amuse their morning\nhours and furnish conversation for the evening; and, however bare of\nnews the country in general might be, they always contrived to learn\nsome from their aunt. At present, indeed, they were well supplied both\nwith news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in\nthe neighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was\nthe head-quarters.\n\nTheir visits to Mrs. Philips were now productive of the most interesting\nintelligence. Every day added something to their knowledge of the\nofficers\u2019 names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret,\nand at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Philips\nvisited them all, and this opened to his nieces a source of felicity\nunknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr.\nBingley\u2019s large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their\nmother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of\nan ensign.\n\nAfter listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr.\nBennet coolly observed,--\n\n\u201cFrom all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two\nof the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but\nI am now convinced.\u201d\n\nCatherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect\nindifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, and\nher hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going the\nnext morning to London.\n\n\u201cI am astonished, my dear,\u201d said Mrs. Bennet, \u201cthat you should be so\nready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly\nof anybody\u2019s children, it should not be of my own, however.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I\nhad hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must\nso far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly\nfoolish.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of\ntheir father and mother. When they get to our age, I dare say they will\nnot think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I\nliked a red coat myself very well--and, indeed, so I do still at my\nheart; and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year,\nshould want one of my girls, I shall not say nay to him; and I thought\nColonel Forster looked very becoming the other night at Sir William\u2019s in\nhis regimentals.\u201d\n\n\u201cMamma,\u201d cried Lydia, \u201cmy aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain\nCarter do not go so often to Miss Watson\u2019s as they did when they first\ncame; she sees them now very often standing in Clarke\u2019s library.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a\nnote for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited\nfor an answer. Mrs. Bennet\u2019s eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was\neagerly calling out, while her daughter read,--\n\n\u201cWell, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well,\nJane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is from Miss Bingley,\u201d said Jane, and then read it aloud.\n\n     /* NIND \u201cMy dear friend, */\n\n     \u201cIf you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and\n     me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our\n     lives; for a whole day\u2019s _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_ between two women can never\n     end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of\n     this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.\n     Yours ever,\n\n\u201cCAROLINE BINGLEY.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith the officers!\u201d cried Lydia: \u201cI wonder my aunt did not tell us of\n_that_.\u201d\n\n\u201cDining out,\u201d said Mrs. Bennet; \u201cthat is very unlucky.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan I have the carriage?\u201d said Jane.\n\n\u201cNo, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to\nrain; and then you must stay all night.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat would be a good scheme,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cif you were sure that\nthey would not offer to send her home.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley\u2019s chaise to go to Meryton;\nand the Hursts have no horses to theirs.\u201d\n\n\u201cI had much rather go in the coach.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are\nwanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are not they?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: Cheerful prognostics]\n\n\u201cThey are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if you have got them to-day,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cmy mother\u2019s purpose\nwill be answered.\u201d\n\nShe did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the horses\nwere engaged; Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her\nmother attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a bad\nday. Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone long before it\nrained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was\ndelighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission;\nJane certainly could not come back.\n\n\u201cThis was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!\u201d said Mrs. Bennet, more than\nonce, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the next\nmorning, however, she was not aware of all the felicity of her\ncontrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield\nbrought the following note for Elizabeth:--\n\n     /* NIND \u201cMy dearest Lizzie, */\n\n     \u201cI find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be\n     imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will\n     not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on\n     my seeing Mr. Jones--therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear\n     of his having been to me--and, excepting a sore throat and a\n     headache, there is not much the matter with me.\n\n\u201cYours, etc.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my dear,\u201d said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note\naloud, \u201cif your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness--if she\nshould die--it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of\nMr. Bingley, and under your orders.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die of little\ntrifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays\nthere, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the\ncarriage.\u201d\n\nElizabeth, feeling really anxious, determined to go to her, though the\ncarriage was not to be had: and as she was no horsewoman, walking was\nher only alternative. She declared her resolution.\n\n\u201cHow can you be so silly,\u201d cried her mother, \u201cas to think of such a\nthing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get\nthere.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall be very fit to see Jane--which is all I want.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs this a hint to me, Lizzy,\u201d said her father, \u201cto send for the\nhorses?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, indeed. I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing,\nwhen one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.\u201d\n\n\u201cI admire the activity of your benevolence,\u201d observed Mary, \u201cbut every\nimpulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion,\nexertion should always be in proportion to what is required.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will go as far as Meryton with you,\u201d said Catherine and Lydia.\nElizabeth accepted their company, and the three young ladies set off\ntogether.\n\n\u201cIf we make haste,\u201d said Lydia, as they walked along, \u201cperhaps we may\nsee something of Captain Carter, before he goes.\u201d\n\nIn Meryton they parted: the two youngest repaired to the lodgings of one\nof the officers\u2019 wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone, crossing\nfield after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing\nover puddles, with impatient activity, and finding herself at last\nwithin view of the house, with weary ancles, dirty stockings, and a face\nglowing with the warmth of exercise.\n\nShe was shown into the breakfast parlour, where all but Jane were\nassembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise.\nThat she should have walked three miles so early in the day in such\ndirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and\nMiss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in contempt\nfor it. She was received, however, very politely by them; and in their\nbrother\u2019s manners there was something better than politeness--there was\ngood-humour and kindness. Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst\nnothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the\nbrilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion and doubt as to\nthe occasion\u2019s justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was\nthinking only of his breakfast.\n\nHer inquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered. Miss\nBennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and not well\nenough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her\nimmediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving\nalarm or inconvenience, from expressing in her note how much she longed\nfor such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal,\nhowever, to much conversation; and when Miss Bingley left them together,\ncould attempt little beside expressions of gratitude for the\nextraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended\nher.\n\nWhen breakfast was over, they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth\nbegan to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and\nsolicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary came; and having\nexamined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a\nviolent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it;\nadvised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice\nwas followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head\nached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment, nor were\nthe other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had in fact\nnothing to do elsewhere.\n\nWhen the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and very\nunwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and she only\nwanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern\nat parting with her that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer\nof the chaise into an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the\npresent. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was\ndespatched to Longbourn, to acquaint the family with her stay, and bring\nback a supply of clothes.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201cThe Apothecary came\u201d\n]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201ccovering a screen\u201d\n]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAt five o\u2019clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six\nElizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which then\npoured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the\nmuch superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley, she could not make a very\nfavourable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing\nthis, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how\nshocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked\nbeing ill themselves; and then thought no more of the matter: and their\nindifference towards Jane, when not immediately before them, restored\nElizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike.\n\nTheir brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could\nregard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his\nattentions to herself most pleasing; and they prevented her feeling\nherself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the\nothers. She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was\nengrossed by Mr. Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr.\nHurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to\neat, drink, and play at cards, who, when he found her prefer a plain\ndish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her.\n\nWhen dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley\nbegan abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were\npronounced to be very bad indeed,--a mixture of pride and impertinence:\nshe had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst\nthought the same, and added,--\n\n\u201cShe has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent\nwalker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really\nlooked almost wild.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very\nnonsensical to come at all! Why must _she_ be scampering about the\ncountry, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowzy!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep\nin mud, I am absolutely certain, and the gown which had been let down to\nhide it not doing its office.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour picture may be very exact, Louisa,\u201d said Bingley; \u201cbut this was\nall lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well\nwhen she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite\nescaped my notice.\u201d\n\n\u201c_You_ observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,\u201d said Miss Bingley; \u201cand I am\ninclined to think that you would not wish to see _your sister_ make such\nan exhibition.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly not.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is,\nabove her ancles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! what could she mean by\nit? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence,\na most country-town indifference to decorum.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,\u201d said\nBingley.\n\n\u201cI am afraid, Mr. Darcy,\u201d observed Miss Bingley, in a half whisper,\n\u201cthat this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine\neyes.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all,\u201d he replied: \u201cthey were brightened by the exercise.\u201d A\nshort pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again,--\n\n\u201cI have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet,--she is really a very sweet\ngirl,--and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such\na father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no\nchance of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in\nMeryton?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is capital,\u201d added her sister; and they both laughed heartily.\n\n\u201cIf they had uncles enough to fill _all_ Cheapside,\u201d cried Bingley, \u201cit\nwould not make them one jot less agreeable.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any\nconsideration in the world,\u201d replied Darcy.\n\nTo this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their\nhearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of\ntheir dear friend\u2019s vulgar relations.\n\nWith a renewal of tenderness, however, they repaired to her room on\nleaving the dining-parlour, and sat with her till summoned to coffee.\nShe was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all, till\nlate in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her asleep, and\nwhen it appeared to her rather right than pleasant that she should go\ndown stairs herself. On entering the drawing-room, she found the whole\nparty at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting\nthem to be playing high, she declined it, and making her sister the\nexcuse, said she would amuse herself, for the short time she could stay\nbelow, with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.\n\n\u201cDo you prefer reading to cards?\u201d said he; \u201cthat is rather singular.\u201d\n\n\u201cMiss Eliza Bennet,\u201d said Miss Bingley, \u201cdespises cards. She is a great\nreader, and has no pleasure in anything else.\u201d\n\n\u201cI deserve neither such praise nor such censure,\u201d cried Elizabeth; \u201cI\nam _not_ a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,\u201d said Bingley; \u201cand\nI hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well.\u201d\n\nElizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards a table\nwhere a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her\nothers; all that his library afforded.\n\n\u201cAnd I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own\ncredit; but I am an idle fellow; and though I have not many, I have more\nthan I ever looked into.\u201d\n\nElizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those\nin the room.\n\n\u201cI am astonished,\u201d said Miss Bingley, \u201cthat my father should have left\nso small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at\nPemberley, Mr. Darcy!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt ought to be good,\u201d he replied: \u201cit has been the work of many\ngenerations.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd then you have added so much to it yourself--you are always buying\nbooks.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as\nthese.\u201d\n\n\u201cNeglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of\nthat noble place. Charles, when you build _your_ house, I wish it may be\nhalf as delightful as Pemberley.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish it may.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I would really advise you to make your purchase in that\nneighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a\nfiner county in England than Derbyshire.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith all my heart: I will buy Pemberley itself, if Darcy will sell it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am talking of possibilities, Charles.\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get\nPemberley by purchase than by imitation.\u201d\n\nElizabeth was so much caught by what passed, as to leave her very little\nattention for her book; and, soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near\nthe card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his eldest\nsister, to observe the game.\n\n\u201cIs Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?\u201d said Miss Bingley: \u201cwill\nshe be as tall as I am?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet\u2019s height, or\nrather taller.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me\nso much. Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished\nfor her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is amazing to me,\u201d said Bingley, \u201chow young ladies can have patience\nto be so very accomplished as they all are.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and\nnet purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this; and I am\nsure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without\nbeing informed that she was very accomplished.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour list of the common extent of accomplishments,\u201d said Darcy, \u201chas\ntoo much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no\notherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen; but I am very\nfar from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I\ncannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen in the whole range of my\nacquaintance that are really accomplished.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor I, I am sure,\u201d said Miss Bingley.\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d observed Elizabeth, \u201cyou must comprehend a great deal in your\nidea of an accomplished woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, certainly,\u201d cried his faithful assistant, \u201cno one can be really\nesteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met\nwith. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing,\ndancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and, besides all\nthis, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of\nwalking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word\nwill be but half deserved.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll this she must possess,\u201d added Darcy; \u201cand to all she must yet add\nsomething more substantial in the improvement of her mind by extensive\nreading.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am no longer surprised at your knowing _only_ six accomplished women.\nI rather wonder now at your knowing _any_.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all\nthis?\u201d\n\n\u201c_I_ never saw such a woman. _I_ never saw such capacity, and taste, and\napplication, and elegance, as you describe, united.\u201d\n\nMrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her\nimplied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who\nanswered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with\nbitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all\nconversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the\nroom.\n\n\u201cEliza Bennet,\u201d said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, \u201cis\none of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other\nsex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I daresay, it\nsucceeds; but, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.\u201d\n\n\u201cUndoubtedly,\u201d replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed,\n\u201cthere is meanness in _all_ the arts which ladies sometimes condescend\nto employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is\ndespicable.\u201d\n\nMiss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to\ncontinue the subject.\n\nElizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and\nthat she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr. Jones\u2019s being sent for\nimmediately; while his sisters, convinced that no country advice could\nbe of any service, recommended an express to town for one of the most\neminent physicians. This she would not hear of; but she was not so\nunwilling to comply with their brother\u2019s proposal; and it was settled\nthat Mr. Jones should be sent for early in the morning, if Miss Bennet\nwere not decidedly better. Bingley was quite uncomfortable; his sisters\ndeclared that they were miserable. They solaced their wretchedness,\nhowever, by duets after supper; while he could find no better relief to\nhis feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions that every\npossible attention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\nM^{rs} Bennet and her two youngest girls\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nElizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister\u2019s room, and in the\nmorning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the\ninquiries which she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid,\nand some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his\nsisters. In spite of this amendment, however, she requested to have a\nnote sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her\nown judgment of her situation. The note was immediately despatched, and\nits contents as quickly complied with. Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her\ntwo youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.\n\nHad she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been\nvery miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her that her illness was\nnot alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as her\nrestoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She\nwould not listen, therefore, to her daughter\u2019s proposal of being carried\nhome; neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think\nit at all advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss\nBingley\u2019s appearance and invitation, the mother and three daughters all\nattended her into the breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes\nthat Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.\n\n\u201cIndeed I have, sir,\u201d was her answer. \u201cShe is a great deal too ill to be\nmoved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass\na little longer on your kindness.\u201d\n\n\u201cRemoved!\u201d cried Bingley. \u201cIt must not be thought of. My sister, I am\nsure, will not hear of her removal.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may depend upon it, madam,\u201d said Miss Bingley, with cold civility,\n\u201cthat Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she\nremains with us.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments.\n\n\u201cI am sure,\u201d she added, \u201cif it was not for such good friends, I do not\nknow what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a\nvast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is\nalways the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest\ntemper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to\n_her_. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect\nover that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is\nequal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I\nhope, though you have but a short lease.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhatever I do is done in a hurry,\u201d replied he; \u201cand therefore if I\nshould resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five\nminutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is exactly what I should have supposed of you,\u201d said Elizabeth.\n\n\u201cYou begin to comprehend me, do you?\u201d cried he, turning towards her.\n\n\u201cOh yes--I understand you perfectly.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen\nthrough, I am afraid, is pitiful.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep,\nintricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cLizzy,\u201d cried her mother, \u201cremember where you are, and do not run on in\nthe wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not know before,\u201d continued Bingley, immediately, \u201cthat you were\na studier of character. It must be an amusing study.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but intricate characters are the _most_ amusing. They have at\nleast that advantage.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe country,\u201d said Darcy, \u201ccan in general supply but few subjects for\nsuch a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and\nunvarying society.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be\nobserved in them for ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed,\u201d cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a\ncountry neighbourhood. \u201cI assure you there is quite as much of _that_\ngoing on in the country as in town.\u201d\n\nEverybody was surprised; and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment,\nturned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had gained a complete\nvictory over him, continued her triumph,--\n\n\u201cI cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, for\nmy part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal\npleasanter, is not it, Mr. Bingley?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen I am in the country,\u201d he replied, \u201cI never wish to leave it; and\nwhen I am in town, it is pretty much the same. They have each their\nadvantages, and I can be equally happy in either.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, that is because you have the right disposition. But that\ngentleman,\u201d looking at Darcy, \u201cseemed to think the country was nothing\nat all.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, mamma, you are mistaken,\u201d said Elizabeth, blushing for her\nmother. \u201cYou quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not\nsuch a variety of people to be met with in the country as in town, which\nyou must acknowledge to be true.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with\nmany people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few\nneighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty families.\u201d\n\nNothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his\ncountenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eye towards\nMr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of\nsaying something that might turn her mother\u2019s thoughts, now asked her if\nCharlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since _her_ coming away.\n\n\u201cYes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir\nWilliam is, Mr. Bingley--is not he? so much the man of fashion! so\ngenteel and so easy! He has always something to say to everybody. _That_\nis my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very\nimportant and never open their mouths quite mistake the matter.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid Charlotte dine with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince-pies. For\nmy part, Mr. Bingley, _I_ always keep servants that can do their own\nwork; _my_ daughters are brought up differently. But everybody is to\njudge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I\nassure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that _I_ think\nCharlotte so _very_ plain; but then she is our particular friend.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe seems a very pleasant young woman,\u201d said Bingley.\n\n\u201cOh dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself\nhas often said so, and envied me Jane\u2019s beauty. I do not like to boast\nof my own child; but to be sure, Jane--one does not often see anybody\nbetter looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own\npartiality. When she was only fifteen there was a gentleman at my\nbrother Gardiner\u2019s in town so much in love with her, that my\nsister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away.\nBut, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he\nwrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so ended his affection,\u201d said Elizabeth, impatiently. \u201cThere has\nbeen many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first\ndiscovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!\u201d\n\n\u201cI have been used to consider poetry as the _food_ of love,\u201d said Darcy.\n\n\u201cOf a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is\nstrong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I\nam convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.\u201d\n\nDarcy only smiled; and the general pause which ensued made Elizabeth\ntremble lest her mother should be exposing herself again. She longed to\nspeak, but could think of nothing to say; and after a short silence Mrs.\nBennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to\nJane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was\nunaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be\ncivil also, and say what the occasion required. She performed her part,\nindeed, without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and\nsoon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this signal, the youngest of\nher daughters put herself forward. The two girls had been whispering to\neach other during the whole visit; and the result of it was, that the\nyoungest should tax Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first coming\ninto the country to give a ball at Netherfield.\n\nLydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion\nand good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her mother, whose\naffection had brought her into public at an early age. She had high\nanimal spirits, and a sort of natural self-consequence, which the\nattentions of the officers, to whom her uncle\u2019s good dinners and her\nown easy manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. She was\nvery equal, therefore, to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the\nball, and abruptly reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be\nthe most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer\nto this sudden attack was delightful to her mother\u2019s ear.\n\n\u201cI am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and, when\nyour sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the very day of\nthe ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill?\u201d\n\nLydia declared herself satisfied. \u201cOh yes--it would be much better to\nwait till Jane was well; and by that time, most likely, Captain Carter\nwould be at Meryton again. And when you have given _your_ ball,\u201d she\nadded, \u201cI shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel\nForster it will be quite a shame if he does not.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth returned\ninstantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations\u2019 behaviour to the\nremarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the latter of whom, however,\ncould not be prevailed on to join in their censure of _her_, in spite of\nall Miss Bingley\u2019s witticisms on _fine eyes_.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss\nBingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who\ncontinued, though slowly, to mend; and, in the evening, Elizabeth joined\ntheir party in the drawing-room. The loo table, however, did not appear.\nMr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching\nthe progress of his letter, and repeatedly calling off his attention by\nmessages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and\nMrs. Hurst was observing their game.\n\nElizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in\nattending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual\ncommendations of the lady either on his hand-writing, or on the evenness\nof his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern\nwith which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was\nexactly in unison with her opinion of each.\n\n\u201cHow delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!\u201d\n\nHe made no answer.\n\n\u201cYou write uncommonly fast.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are mistaken. I write rather slowly.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a\nyear! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cPray tell your sister that I long to see her.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have already told her so once, by your desire.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend\npens remarkably well.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you--but I always mend my own.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can you contrive to write so even?\u201d\n\nHe was silent.\n\n\u201cTell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp,\nand pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful\nlittle design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss\nGrantley\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At\npresent I have not room to do them justice.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you\nalways write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me\nto determine.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with\nease cannot write ill.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,\u201d cried her\nbrother, \u201cbecause he does _not_ write with ease. He studies too much\nfor words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy style of writing is very different from yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d cried Miss Bingley, \u201cCharles writes in the most careless way\nimaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them; by which\nmeans my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour humility, Mr. Bingley,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cmust disarm reproof.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing is more deceitful,\u201d said Darcy, \u201cthan the appearance of\nhumility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an\nindirect boast.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd which of the two do you call _my_ little recent piece of modesty?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in\nwriting, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of\nthought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable, you\nthink at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with\nquickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any\nattention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs.\nBennet this morning, that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield\nyou should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of\npanegyric, of compliment to yourself; and yet what is there so very\nlaudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business\nundone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d cried Bingley, \u201cthis is too much, to remember at night all the\nfoolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I\nbelieved what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this\nmoment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless\nprecipitance merely to show off before the ladies.\u201d\n\n\u201cI daresay you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you\nwould be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as\ndependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were\nmounting your horse, a friend were to say, \u2018Bingley, you had better stay\ntill next week,\u2019 you would probably do it--you would probably not\ngo--and, at another word, might stay a month.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have only proved by this,\u201d cried Elizabeth, \u201cthat Mr. Bingley did\nnot do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much\nmore than he did himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am exceedingly gratified,\u201d said Bingley, \u201cby your converting what my\nfriend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am\nafraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means\nintend; for he would certainly think the better of me if, under such a\ncircumstance, I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I\ncould.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention\nas atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter--Darcy must speak for\nhimself.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine,\nbut which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to\nstand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet,\nthat the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and\nthe delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering\none argument in favour of its propriety.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo yield readily--easily--to the _persuasion_ of a friend is no merit\nwith you.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of\neither.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of\nfriendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make\none readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason\none into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have\nsupposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the\ncircumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour\nthereupon. But in general and ordinary cases, between friend and friend,\nwhere one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no\nvery great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying\nwith the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?\u201d\n\n\u201cWill it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange\nwith rather more precision the degree of importance which is to\nappertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting\nbetween the parties?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy all means,\u201d cried Bingley; \u201clet us hear all the particulars, not\nforgetting their comparative height and size, for that will have more\nweight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure\nyou that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with\nmyself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not\nknow a more awful object than Darcy on particular occasions, and in\nparticular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening,\nwhen he has nothing to do.\u201d\n\nMr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was\nrather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly\nresented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her\nbrother for talking such nonsense.\n\n\u201cI see your design, Bingley,\u201d said his friend. \u201cYou dislike an argument,\nand want to silence this.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss\nBennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very\nthankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat you ask,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cis no sacrifice on my side; and Mr.\nDarcy had much better finish his letter.\u201d\n\nMr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.\n\nWhen that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth\nfor the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to\nthe pianoforte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead the\nway, which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived, she\nseated herself.\n\nMrs. Hurst sang with her sister; and while they were thus employed,\nElizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music-books\nthat lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy\u2019s eyes were fixed\non her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of\nadmiration to so great a man, and yet that he should look at her because\nhe disliked her was still more strange. She could only imagine, however,\nat last, that she drew his notice because there was something about her\nmore wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in\nany other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked\nhim too little to care for his approbation.\n\nAfter playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a\nlively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near\nElizabeth, said to her,--\n\n\u201cDo you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an\nopportunity of dancing a reel?\u201d\n\nShe smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some\nsurprise at her silence.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said she, \u201cI heard you before; but I could not immediately\ndetermine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say \u2018Yes,\u2019\nthat you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always\ndelight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of\ntheir premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell\nyou that I do no",
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      "text": "Frankenstein;\n\nor, the Modern Prometheus\n\nby Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley\n\n\n CONTENTS\n\n Letter 1\n Letter 2\n Letter 3\n Letter 4\n Chapter 1\n Chapter 2\n Chapter 3\n Chapter 4\n Chapter 5\n Chapter 6\n Chapter 7\n Chapter 8\n Chapter 9\n Chapter 10\n Chapter 11\n Chapter 12\n Chapter 13\n Chapter 14\n Chapter 15\n Chapter 16\n Chapter 17\n Chapter 18\n Chapter 19\n Chapter 20\n Chapter 21\n Chapter 22\n Chapter 23\n Chapter 24\n\n\n\n\nLetter 1\n\n_To Mrs. Saville, England._\n\n\nSt. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17\u2014.\n\n\nYou will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the\ncommencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil\nforebodings. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure\nmy dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success\nof my undertaking.\n\nI am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of\nPetersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which\nbraces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this\nfeeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards\nwhich I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes.\nInspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent\nand vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of\nfrost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the\nregion of beauty and delight. There, Margaret, the sun is for ever\nvisible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a\nperpetual splendour. There\u2014for with your leave, my sister, I will put\nsome trust in preceding navigators\u2014there snow and frost are banished;\nand, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in\nwonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable\nglobe. Its productions and features may be without example, as the\nphenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered\nsolitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternal light? I\nmay there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle and may\nregulate a thousand celestial observations that require only this\nvoyage to render their seeming eccentricities consistent for ever. I\nshall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world\nnever before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by\nthe foot of man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient to\nconquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence this\nlaborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little\nboat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery up his\nnative river. But supposing all these conjectures to be false, you\ncannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all\nmankind, to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the pole\nto those countries, to reach which at present so many months are\nrequisite; or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at\nall possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine.\n\nThese reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my\nletter, and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me\nto heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquillise the mind as\na steady purpose\u2014a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual\neye. This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early years. I\nhave read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages which have\nbeen made in the prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean\nthrough the seas which surround the pole. You may remember that a\nhistory of all the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the\nwhole of our good Uncle Thomas\u2019 library. My education was neglected,\nyet I was passionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study\nday and night, and my familiarity with them increased that regret which\nI had felt, as a child, on learning that my father\u2019s dying injunction\nhad forbidden my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life.\n\nThese visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets\nwhose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also\nbecame a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation;\nI imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the\nnames of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated. You are well\nacquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment.\nBut just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my\nthoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.\n\nSix years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking. I\ncan, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this\ngreat enterprise. I commenced by inuring my body to hardship. I\naccompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea;\nI voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep; I often\nworked harder than the common sailors during the day and devoted my\nnights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and those\nbranches of physical science from which a naval adventurer might derive\nthe greatest practical advantage. Twice I actually hired myself as an\nunder-mate in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I\nmust own I felt a little proud when my captain offered me the second\ndignity in the vessel and entreated me to remain with the greatest\nearnestness, so valuable did he consider my services.\n\nAnd now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose?\nMy life might have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to\nevery enticement that wealth placed in my path. Oh, that some encouraging\nvoice would answer in the affirmative! My courage and my resolution is\nfirm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed. I am\nabout to proceed on a long and difficult voyage, the emergencies of which\nwill demand all my fortitude: I am required not only to raise the spirits\nof others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing.\n\nThis is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia. They fly\nquickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in\nmy opinion, far more agreeable than that of an English stagecoach. The\ncold is not excessive, if you are wrapped in furs\u2014a dress which I have\nalready adopted, for there is a great difference between walking the\ndeck and remaining seated motionless for hours, when no exercise\nprevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins. I have no\nambition to lose my life on the post-road between St. Petersburgh and\nArchangel.\n\nI shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three weeks; and my\nintention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be done by paying the\ninsurance for the owner, and to engage as many sailors as I think necessary\namong those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing. I do not intend to\nsail until the month of June; and when shall I return? Ah, dear sister, how\ncan I answer this question? If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years,\nwill pass before you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon,\nor never.\n\nFarewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down blessings on you,\nand save me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude for all your\nlove and kindness.\n\nYour affectionate brother,\n\nR. Walton\n\n\n\n\nLetter 2\n\n_To Mrs. Saville, England._\n\nArchangel, 28th March, 17\u2014.\n\n\nHow slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow!\nYet a second step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired a\nvessel and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have\nalready engaged appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainly\npossessed of dauntless courage.\n\nBut I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy, and the\nabsence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil, I have no\nfriend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there\nwill be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no\none will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts\nto paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of\nfeeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathise with me, whose\neyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I\nbitterly feel the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet\ncourageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose\ntastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans. How would such a\nfriend repair the faults of your poor brother! I am too ardent in execution\nand too impatient of difficulties. But it is a still greater evil to me\nthat I am self-educated: for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wild\non a common and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas\u2019 books of voyages.\nAt that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own\ncountry; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to derive its\nmost important benefits from such a conviction that I perceived the\nnecessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my native\ncountry. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than many\nschoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more and that my\ndaydreams are more extended and magnificent, but they want (as the painters\ncall it) _keeping;_ and I greatly need a friend who would have sense\nenough not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me to\nendeavour to regulate my mind.\n\nWell, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on the\nwide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen. Yet\nsome feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these\nrugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage\nand enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory, or rather, to word my phrase\nmore characteristically, of advancement in his profession. He is an\nEnglishman, and in the midst of national and professional prejudices,\nunsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments of\nhumanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel;\nfinding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assist\nin my enterprise.\n\nThe master is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable in the\nship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline. This\ncircumstance, added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, made\nme very desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my best years\nspent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the\ngroundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste to\nthe usual brutality exercised on board ship: I have never believed it to be\nnecessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his kindliness\nof heart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew, I felt\nmyself peculiarly fortunate in being able to secure his services. I heard\nof him first in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the\nhappiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago he loved\na young Russian lady of moderate fortune, and having amassed a considerable\nsum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented to the match. He saw\nhis mistress once before the destined ceremony; but she was bathed in\ntears, and throwing herself at his feet, entreated him to spare her,\nconfessing at the same time that she loved another, but that he was poor,\nand that her father would never consent to the union. My generous friend\nreassured the suppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover,\ninstantly abandoned his pursuit. He had already bought a farm with his\nmoney, on which he had designed to pass the remainder of his life; but he\nbestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains of his\nprize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited the young\nwoman\u2019s father to consent to her marriage with her lover. But the old\nman decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my friend, who,\nwhen he found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor returned\nuntil he heard that his former mistress was married according to her\ninclinations. \u201cWhat a noble fellow!\u201d you will exclaim. He is\nso; but then he is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind\nof ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conduct\nthe more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy which\notherwise he would command.\n\nYet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can\nconceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am\nwavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage\nis only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation. The\nwinter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well, and it\nis considered as a remarkably early season, so that perhaps I may sail\nsooner than I expected. I shall do nothing rashly: you know me\nsufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the\nsafety of others is committed to my care.\n\nI cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my\nundertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of\nthe trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which\nI am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to \u201cthe\nland of mist and snow,\u201d but I shall kill no albatross; therefore do not\nbe alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as worn and\nwoeful as the \u201cAncient Mariner.\u201d You will smile at my allusion, but I\nwill disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachment to, my\npassionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that\nproduction of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is something\nat work in my soul which I do not understand. I am practically\nindustrious\u2014painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and\nlabour\u2014but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief\nin the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out\nof the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited\nregions I am about to explore.\n\nBut to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after\nhaving traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of\nAfrica or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to\nlook on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the present to write to\nme by every opportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions when\nI need them most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. \nRemember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.\n\nYour affectionate brother,\n Robert Walton\n\n\n\n\nLetter 3\n\n_To Mrs. Saville, England._\n\nJuly 7th, 17\u2014.\n\n\nMy dear Sister,\n\nI write a few lines in haste to say that I am safe\u2014and well advanced\non my voyage. This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on\nits homeward voyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not\nsee my native land, perhaps, for many years. I am, however, in good\nspirits: my men are bold and apparently firm of purpose, nor do the\nfloating sheets of ice that continually pass us, indicating the dangers\nof the region towards which we are advancing, appear to dismay them. We\nhave already reached a very high latitude; but it is the height of\nsummer, and although not so warm as in England, the southern gales,\nwhich blow us speedily towards those shores which I so ardently desire\nto attain, breathe a degree of renovating warmth which I had not\nexpected.\n\nNo incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in a\nletter. One or two stiff gales and the springing of a leak are\naccidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record, and\nI shall be well content if nothing worse happen to us during our voyage.\n\nAdieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured that for my own sake, as well as\nyours, I will not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool,\npersevering, and prudent.\n\nBut success _shall_ crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I\nhave gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars\nthemselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. Why not\nstill proceed over the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the\ndetermined heart and resolved will of man?\n\nMy swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus. But I must\nfinish. Heaven bless my beloved sister!\n\nR.W.\n\n\n\n\nLetter 4\n\n\n_To Mrs. Saville, England._\n\nAugust 5th, 17\u2014.\n\nSo strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear\nrecording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before\nthese papers can come into your possession.\n\nLast Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed\nin the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room in which\nshe floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we\nwere compassed round by a very thick fog. We accordingly lay to,\nhoping that some change would take place in the atmosphere and weather.\n\nAbout two o\u2019clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out\nin every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to\nhave no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to\ngrow watchful with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly\nattracted our attention and diverted our solicitude from our own\nsituation. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by\ndogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile; a\nbeing which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature,\nsat in the sledge and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid progress\nof the traveller with our telescopes until he was lost among the\ndistant inequalities of the ice.\n\nThis appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we believed,\nmany hundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed to denote that\nit was not, in reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in, however, by\nice, it was impossible to follow his track, which we had observed with the\ngreatest attention.\n\nAbout two hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea, and before\nnight the ice broke and freed our ship. We, however, lay to until the\nmorning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large loose masses which\nfloat about after the breaking up of the ice. I profited of this time to\nrest for a few hours.\n\nIn the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck and\nfound all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently\ntalking to someone in the sea. It was, in fact, a sledge, like that we\nhad seen before, which had drifted towards us in the night on a large\nfragment of ice. Only one dog remained alive; but there was a human\nbeing within it whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel.\nHe was not, as the other traveller seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of\nsome undiscovered island, but a European. When I appeared on deck the\nmaster said, \u201cHere is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish\non the open sea.\u201d\n\nOn perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a\nforeign accent. \u201cBefore I come on board your vessel,\u201d said he,\n\u201cwill you have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?\u201d\n\nYou may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed\nto me from a man on the brink of destruction and to whom I should have\nsupposed that my vessel would have been a resource which he would not\nhave exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can afford. I\nreplied, however, that we were on a voyage of discovery towards the\nnorthern pole.\n\nUpon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on board.\nGood God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for\nhis safety, your surprise would have been boundless. His limbs were\nnearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and\nsuffering. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition. We attempted\nto carry him into the cabin, but as soon as he had quitted the fresh\nair he fainted. We accordingly brought him back to the deck and\nrestored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy and forcing him to\nswallow a small quantity. As soon as he showed signs of life we\nwrapped him up in blankets and placed him near the chimney of the\nkitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered and ate a little soup,\nwhich restored him wonderfully.\n\nTwo days passed in this manner before he was able to speak, and I often\nfeared that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding. When he\nhad in some measure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin and\nattended on him as much as my duty would permit. I never saw a more\ninteresting creature: his eyes have generally an expression of\nwildness, and even madness, but there are moments when, if anyone\nperforms an act of kindness towards him or does him any the most\ntrifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with\na beam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled. But he\nis generally melancholy and despairing, and sometimes he gnashes his\nteeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes that oppresses him.\n\nWhen my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep off\nthe men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I would not\nallow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body\nand mind whose restoration evidently depended upon entire repose.\nOnce, however, the lieutenant asked why he had come so far upon the ice\nin so strange a vehicle.\n\nHis countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom, and\nhe replied, \u201cTo seek one who fled from me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up we\nsaw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.\u201d\n\nThis aroused the stranger\u2019s attention, and he asked a multitude of\nquestions concerning the route which the d\u00e6mon, as he called him, had\npursued. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said, \u201cI have,\ndoubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of these good\npeople; but you are too considerate to make inquiries.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to\ntrouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you have\nbenevolently restored me to life.\u201d\n\nSoon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of the\nice had destroyed the other sledge. I replied that I could not answer\nwith any degree of certainty, for the ice had not broken until near\nmidnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place of safety\nbefore that time; but of this I could not judge.\n\nFrom this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of the\nstranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck to watch for\nthe sledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in\nthe cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness of the atmosphere.\nI have promised that someone should watch for him and give him instant\nnotice if any new object should appear in sight.\n\nSuch is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the\npresent day. The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very\nsilent and appears uneasy when anyone except myself enters his cabin.\nYet his manners are so conciliating and gentle that the sailors are all\ninterested in him, although they have had very little communication\nwith him. For my own part, I begin to love him as a brother, and his\nconstant and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion. He must\nhave been a noble creature in his better days, being even now in wreck\nso attractive and amiable.\n\nI said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no friend\non the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit had been\nbroken by misery, I should have been happy to have possessed as the brother\nof my heart.\n\nI shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals,\nshould I have any fresh incidents to record.\n\n\n\n\nAugust 13th, 17\u2014.\n\n\nMy affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at once my\nadmiration and my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I see so\nnoble a creature destroyed by misery without feeling the most poignant\ngrief? He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and\nwhen he speaks, although his words are culled with the choicest art,\nyet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.\n\nHe is now much recovered from his illness and is continually on the deck,\napparently watching for the sledge that preceded his own. Yet, although\nunhappy, he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery but that he\ninterests himself deeply in the projects of others. He has frequently\nconversed with me on mine, which I have communicated to him without\ndisguise. He entered attentively into all my arguments in favour of my\neventual success and into every minute detail of the measures I had taken\nto secure it. I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced to use the\nlanguage of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my soul\nand to say, with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I would\nsacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my\nenterprise. One man\u2019s life or death were but a small price to pay for\nthe acquirement of the knowledge which I sought, for the dominion I should\nacquire and transmit over the elemental foes of our race. As I spoke, a\ndark gloom spread over my listener\u2019s countenance. At first I\nperceived that he tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before\nhis eyes, and my voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears trickle\nfast from between his fingers; a groan burst from his heaving breast. I\npaused; at length he spoke, in broken accents: \u201cUnhappy man! Do you\nshare my madness? Have you drunk also of the intoxicating draught? Hear me;\nlet me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!\u201d\n\nSuch words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the\nparoxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened\npowers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation were\nnecessary to restore his composure.\n\nHaving conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise\nhimself for being the slave of passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of\ndespair, he led me again to converse concerning myself personally. He asked\nme the history of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it\nawakened various trains of reflection. I spoke of my desire of finding a\nfriend, of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than\nhad ever fallen to my lot, and expressed my conviction that a man could\nboast of little happiness who did not enjoy this blessing.\n\n\u201cI agree with you,\u201d replied the stranger; \u201cwe are\nunfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than\nourselves\u2014such a friend ought to be\u2014do not lend his aid to\nperfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the most\nnoble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting\nfriendship. You have hope, and the world before you, and have no cause for\ndespair. But I\u2014I have lost everything and cannot begin life\nanew.\u201d\n\nAs he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm, settled\ngrief that touched me to the heart. But he was silent and presently\nretired to his cabin.\n\nEven broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he\ndoes the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight\nafforded by these wonderful regions seem still to have the power of\nelevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he\nmay suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments, yet when he\nhas retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has a\nhalo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.\n\nWill you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine\nwanderer? You would not if you saw him. You have been tutored and\nrefined by books and retirement from the world, and you are therefore\nsomewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit to\nappreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man. Sometimes I\nhave endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he possesses that\nelevates him so immeasurably above any other person I ever knew. I\nbelieve it to be an intuitive discernment, a quick but never-failing\npower of judgment, a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled\nfor clearness and precision; add to this a facility of expression and a\nvoice whose varied intonations are soul-subduing music.\n\n\n\n\nAugust 19th, 17\u2014.\n\n\nYesterday the stranger said to me, \u201cYou may easily perceive, Captain\nWalton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes. I had\ndetermined at one time that the memory of these evils should die with\nme, but you have won me to alter my determination. You seek for\nknowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the\ngratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine\nhas been. I do not know that the relation of my disasters will be\nuseful to you; yet, when I reflect that you are pursuing the same\ncourse, exposing yourself to the same dangers which have rendered me\nwhat I am, I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one\nthat may direct you if you succeed in your undertaking and console you\nin case of failure. Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually\ndeemed marvellous. Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might\nfear to encounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things\nwill appear possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would\nprovoke the laughter of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers\nof nature; nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series\ninternal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is composed.\u201d\n\nYou may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered\ncommunication, yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by\na recital of his misfortunes. I felt the greatest eagerness to hear\nthe promised narrative, partly from curiosity and partly from a strong\ndesire to ameliorate his fate if it were in my power. I expressed\nthese feelings in my answer.\n\n\u201cI thank you,\u201d he replied, \u201cfor your sympathy, but it is\nuseless; my fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and then I\nshall repose in peace. I understand your feeling,\u201d continued he,\nperceiving that I wished to interrupt him; \u201cbut you are mistaken, my\nfriend, if thus you will allow me to name you; nothing can alter my\ndestiny; listen to my history, and you will perceive how irrevocably it is\ndetermined.\u201d\n\nHe then told me that he would commence his narrative the next day when I\nshould be at leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest thanks. I have\nresolved every night, when I am not imperatively occupied by my duties, to\nrecord, as nearly as possible in his own words, what he has related during\nthe day. If I should be engaged, I will at least make notes. This\nmanuscript will doubtless afford you the greatest pleasure; but to me, who\nknow him, and who hear it from his own lips\u2014with what interest and\nsympathy shall I read it in some future day! Even now, as I commence my\ntask, his full-toned voice swells in my ears; his lustrous eyes dwell on me\nwith all their melancholy sweetness; I see his thin hand raised in\nanimation, while the lineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul\nwithin. Strange and harrowing must be his story, frightful the storm which\nembraced the gallant vessel on its course and wrecked it\u2014thus!\n\n\n\n\nChapter 1\n\n\nI am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most\ndistinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years\ncounsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public\nsituations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who\nknew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public\nbusiness. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the\naffairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his\nmarrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a\nhusband and the father of a family.\n\nAs the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot\nrefrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a\nmerchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous\nmischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a\nproud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty\nand oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been\ndistinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts,\ntherefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his\ndaughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in\nwretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and\nwas deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances.\nHe bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct\nso little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in\nendeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin\nthe world again through his credit and assistance.\n\nBeaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten\nmonths before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery,\nhe hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the\nReuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort\nhad saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but\nit was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in\nthe meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a\nmerchant\u2019s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction;\nhis grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for\nreflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end\nof three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.\n\nHis daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw\nwith despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that\nthere was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort\npossessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support\nher in her adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw and\nby various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to\nsupport life.\n\nSeveral months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time\nwas more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence\ndecreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving\nher an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her, and she knelt\nby Beaufort\u2019s coffin weeping bitterly, when my father entered the\nchamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who\ncommitted herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he\nconducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of a\nrelation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.\n\nThere was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but\nthis circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted\naffection. There was a sense of justice in my father\u2019s upright mind\nwhich rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love\nstrongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the\nlate-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set\na greater value on tried worth. There was a show of gratitude and\nworship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the\ndoting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her\nvirtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing\nher for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace\nto his behaviour to her. Everything was made to yield to her wishes\nand her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is\nsheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her\nwith all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and\nbenevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto\nconstant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During\nthe two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had\ngradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after\ntheir union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change\nof scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders,\nas a restorative for her weakened frame.\n\nFrom Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born\nat Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained\nfor several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each\nother, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very\nmine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother\u2019s tender caresses and\nmy father\u2019s smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me are my\nfirst recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something\nbetter\u2014their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on\nthem by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in\ntheir hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled\ntheir duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed\ntowards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit\nof tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during\nevery hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity,\nand of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but\none train of enjoyment to me.\n\nFor a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a\ndaughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five\nyears old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they\npassed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent\ndisposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my\nmother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a\npassion\u2014remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been\nrelieved\u2014for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the\nafflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale\nattracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number\nof half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst\nshape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother,\naccompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife,\nhard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to\nfive hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far\nabove all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were\ndark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her\nhair was the brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her\nclothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was\nclear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of\nher face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold\nher without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent,\nand bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.\n\nThe peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and\nadmiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was\nnot her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a\nGerman and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with\nthese good people to nurse: they were better off then. They had not been\nlong married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their\ncharge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory\nof Italy\u2014one among the _schiavi ognor frementi,_ who exerted\nhimself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its\nweakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria\nwas not known. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and\na beggar. She continued with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude\nabode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.\n\nWhen my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of\nour villa a child fairer than pictured cherub\u2014a creature who seemed\nto shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter\nthan the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his\npermission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their\ncharge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed\na blessing to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty\nand want when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They\nconsulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza\nbecame the inmate of my parents\u2019 house\u2014my more than\nsister\u2014the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and\nmy pleasures.\n\nEveryone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential\nattachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my\npride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to\nmy home, my mother had said playfully, \u201cI have a pretty present for my\nVictor\u2014tomorrow he shall have it.\u201d And when, on the morrow, she\npresented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish\nseriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth\nas mine\u2014mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on\nher I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other\nfamiliarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body\nforth the kind of relation in which she stood to me\u2014my more than\nsister, since till death she was to be mine only.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 2\n\n\nWe were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in\nour ages. I need not say that we were strangers to any species of\ndisunion or dispute. Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and\nthe diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us\nnearer together. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated\ndisposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense\napplication and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge.\nShe busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets;\nand in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss\nhome \u2014the sublime shapes of the mountains, the changes of the seasons,\ntempest and calm, the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of\nour Alpine summers\u2014she found ample scope for admiration and delight.\nWhile my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the\nmagnificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their\ncauses. The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine.\nCuriosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature,\ngladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me, are among the\nearliest sensations I can remember.\n\nOn the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave\nup entirely their wandering life and fixed themselves in their native\ncountry. We possessed a house in Geneva, and a _campagne_ on Belrive,\nthe eastern shore of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a\nleague from the city. We resided principally in the latter, and the\nlives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion. It was my\ntemper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently to a few. I was\nindifferent, therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united\nmyself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them. Henry\nClerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy of singular\ntalent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger for\nits own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance. He\ncomposed heroic songs and began to write many a tale of enchantment and\nknightly adventure. He tried to make us act plays and to enter into\nmasquerades, in which the characters were drawn from the heroes of\nRoncesvalles, of the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous\ntrain who shed their blood to redeem the holy sepulchre from the hands\nof the infidels.\n\nNo human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself. My\nparents were possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence.\nWe felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot according to\ntheir caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights\nwhich we enjoyed. When I mingled with other families I distinctly\ndiscerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted\nthe development of filial love.\n\nMy temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some\nlaw in my temperature they were turned not towards childish pursuits\nbut to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things\nindiscriminately. I confess that neither the structure of languages,\nnor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states\npossessed attractions for me. It was the secrets of heaven and earth\nthat I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of\nthings or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man\nthat occupied me, still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical,\nor in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world.\n\nMeanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral\nrelations of things. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes,\nand the actions of men were his theme; and his hope and his dream was\nto become one among those whose names are recorded in story as the\ngallant and adventurous benefactors of our species. The saintly soul\nof Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home.\nHer sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of\nher celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us. She was\nthe living spirit of love to soften and attract; I might have become\nsullen in my study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that\nshe was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness. And\nClerval\u2014could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval? Yet\nhe might not have been so perfectly humane, so thoughtful in his\ngenerosity, so full of kindness and tenderness amidst his passion for\nadventurous exploit, had she not unfolded to him the real loveliness of\nbeneficence and made the doing good the end and aim of his soaring\nambition.\n\nI feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood,\nbefore misfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright visions of\nextensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. Besides,\nin drawing the picture of my early days, I also record those events which\nled, by insensible steps, to my after tale of misery, for when I would\naccount to myself for the birth of that passion which afterwards ruled my\ndestiny I find it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost\nforgotten sources; but, swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent\nwhich, in its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys.\n\nNatural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire,\ntherefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led to my\npredilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age we all went\non a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon; the inclemency of the\nweather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this house I\nchanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it\nwith apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate and the wonderful\nfacts which he relates soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new\nlight seemed to dawn upon my mind, and bounding with joy, I communicated my\ndiscovery to my father. My father looked carelessly at the title page of my\nbook and said, \u201cAh! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste\nyour time upon this; it is sad trash.\u201d\n\nIf, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me\nthat the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded and that a modern\nsystem of science had been introduced which possessed much greater powers\nthan the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while\nthose of the former were real and practical, under such circumstances I\nshould certainly have thrown Agrippa aside and have contented my\nimagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my\nformer studies. It is even possible that the train of my ideas would never\nhave received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the cursory glance\nmy father had taken of my volume by no means assured me that he was\nacquainted with its contents, and I continued to read with the greatest\navidity.\n\nWhen I returned home my first care was to procure the whole works of this\nauthor, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and\nstudied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me\ntreasures known to few besides myself. I have described myself as always\nhaving been imbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of\nnature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern\nphilosophers, I always came from my studies discontented and unsatisfied.\nSir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking\nup shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth. Those of his\nsuccessors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted\nappeared even to my boy\u2019s apprehensions as tyros engaged in the same\npursuit.\n\nThe untaught peasant beheld the elements around him and was acquainted\nwith their practical uses. The most learned philosopher knew little\nmore. He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal\nlineaments were still a wonder and a mystery. He might dissect,\nanatomise, and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes\nin their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him. I\nhad gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep\nhuman beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and\nignorantly I had repined.\n\nBut here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knew\nmore. I took their word for all that they averred, and I became their\ndisciple. It may appear strange that such should arise in the eighteenth\ncentury; but while I followed the routine of education in the schools of\nGeneva, I was, to a great degree, self-taught with regard to my favourite\nstudies. My father was not scientific, and I was left to struggle with a\nchild\u2019s blindness, added to a student\u2019s thirst for knowledge.\nUnder the guidance of my new preceptors I entered with the greatest\ndiligence into the search of the philosopher\u2019s stone and the elixir\nof life; but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention. Wealth was an\ninferior object, but what glory would attend the discovery if I could\nbanish disease from the human frame and render man invulnerable to any but\na violent death!\n\nNor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a\npromise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of which\nI most eagerly sought; and if my incantations were always unsuccessful, I\nattributed the failure rather to my own inexperience and mistake than to a\nwant of skill or fidelity in my instructors. And thus for a time I was\noccupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand\ncontradictory theories and floundering desperately in a very slough of\nmultifarious knowledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish\nreasoning, till an accident again changed the current of my ideas.\n\nWhen I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house near\nBelrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible thunderstorm. It\nadvanced from behind the mountains of Jura, and the thunder burst at once\nwith frightful loudness from various quarters of the heavens. I remained,\nwhile the storm lasted, watching its progress with curiosity and delight.\nAs I stood at the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an\nold and beautiful oak which stood about twenty yards from our house; and so\nsoon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing\nremained but a blasted stump. When we visited it the next morning, we found\nthe tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered by the\nshock, but entirely reduced to thin ribbons of wood. I never beheld\nanything so utterly destroyed.\n\nBefore this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of\nelectricity. On this occasion a man of great research in natural\nphilosophy was with us, and excited by this catastrophe, he entered on\nthe explanation of a theory which he had formed on the subject of\nelectricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing to me.\nAll that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa,\nAlbertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by\nsome fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my\naccustomed studies. It seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever\nbe known. All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew\ndespicable. By one of those caprices of the mind which we are perhaps\nmost subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former\noccupations, set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed\nand abortive creation, and entertained the greatest disdain for a\nwould-be science which could never even step within the threshold of\nreal knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the\nmathematics and the branches of study appertaining to that science as\nbeing built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration.\n\nThus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments\nare we bound to prosperity or ruin. When I look back, it seems to me\nas if this almost miraculous change of inclination and will was the\nimmediate suggestion of the guardian angel of my life\u2014the last effort\nmade by the spirit of preservation to avert the storm that was even\nthen hanging in the stars and ready to envelop me. Her victory was\nannounced by an unusual tranquillity and gladness of soul which\nfollowed the relinquishing of my ancient and latterly tormenting\nstudies. It was thus that I was to be taught to associate evil with\ntheir prosecution, happiness with their disregard.\n\nIt was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual.\nDestiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and\nterrible destruction.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 3\n\n\nWhen I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I\nshould become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had\nhitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my father thought it\nnecessary for the completion of my education that I should be made\nacquainted with other customs than those of my native country. My\ndeparture was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day\nresolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life\noccurred\u2014an omen, as it were, of my future misery.\n\nElizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and she was\nin the greatest danger. During her illness many arguments had been urged to\npersuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had at first\nyielded to our entreaties, but when she heard that the life of her\nfavourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She\nattended her sickbed; her watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity\nof the distemper\u2014Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of this\nimprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third day my mother\nsickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the\nlooks of her medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her\ndeathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of women did not desert\nher. She joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself. \u201cMy\nchildren,\u201d she said, \u201cmy firmest hopes of future happiness were\nplaced on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the\nconsolation of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to\nmy younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy\nand beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are\nnot thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully to\ndeath and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.\u201d\n\nShe died calmly, and her countenance expressed affection even in death.\nI need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent\nby that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the\nsoul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so\nlong before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day\nand whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed\nfor ever\u2014that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been\nextinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear\ncan be hushed, never more to be heard. These are the reflections of\nthe first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the\nevil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has\nnot that rude hand rent away some dear connection? And why should I\ndescribe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at\nlength arrives when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and\nthe smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a\nsacrilege, is not banished. My mother was dead, but we had still\nduties which we ought to perform; we must continue our course with the\nrest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remains whom the\nspoiler has not seized.\n\nMy departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events,\nwas now again determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of\nsome weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose,\nakin to death, of the house of mourning and to rush into the thick of\nlife. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me. I was\nunwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above\nall, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled.\n\nShe indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the comforter to us all.\nShe looked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and\nzeal. She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call\nher uncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time,\nwhen she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us.\nShe forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget.\n\nThe day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the last\nevening with us. He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit\nhim to accompany me and to become my fellow student, but in vain. His\nfather was a narrow-minded trader and saw idleness and ruin in the\naspirations and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the misfortune\nof being debarred from a liberal education. He said little, but when\nhe spoke I read in his kindling eye and in his animated glance a\nrestrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable details\nof commerce.\n\nWe sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor\npersuade ourselves to say the word \u201cFarewell!\u201d It was said, and we\nretired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the\nother was deceived; but when at morning\u2019s dawn I descended to the\ncarriage which was to convey me away, they were all there\u2014my father\nagain to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to\nrenew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last\nfeminine attentions on her playmate and friend.\n\nI threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in\nthe most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by\namiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual\npleasure\u2014I was now alone. In the university whither I was going I\nmust form my own friends and be my own protector. My life had hitherto\nbeen remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me invincible\nrepugnance to new countenances. I loved my brothers, Elizabeth, and\nClerval; these were \u201cold familiar faces,\u201d but I believed myself\ntotally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such were my reflections as\nI commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits and hopes rose. I\nardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when at home,\nthought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one place and had\nlonged to enter the world and take my station among other human beings. \nNow my desires were complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to\nrepent.\n\nI had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my\njourney to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At length the\nhigh white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted and was\nconducted to my solitary apartment to spend the evening as I pleased.\n\nThe next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a visit to\nsome of the principal professors. Chance\u2014or rather the evil\ninfluence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway over me\nfrom the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my father\u2019s\ndoor\u2014led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. He\nwas an uncouth man, but deeply imbued in the secrets of his science. He\nasked me several questions concerning my progress in the different branches\nof science appertaining to natural philosophy. I replied carelessly, and\npartly in contempt, mentioned the names of my alchemists as the principal\nauthors I had studied. The professor stared. \u201cHave you,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201creally spent your time in studying such nonsense?\u201d\n\nI replied in the affirmative. \u201cEvery minute,\u201d continued M. Krempe with\nwarmth, \u201cevery instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly\nand entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with exploded systems\nand useless names. Good God! In what desert land have you lived,\nwhere no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies which you\nhave so greedily imbibed are a thousand years old and as musty as they\nare ancient? I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific\nage, to find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear\nsir, you must begin your studies entirely anew.\u201d\n\nSo saying, he stepped aside and wrote down a list of several books\ntreating of natural philosophy which he desired me to procure, and\ndismissed me after mentioning that in the beginning of the following\nweek he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural\nphilosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow\nprofessor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he\nomitted.\n\nI returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long\nconsidered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I\nreturned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any\nshape. M. Krempe was a little squat man with a gruff voice and a\nrepulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in\nfavour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected a\nstrain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come\nto concerning them in my early years. As a child I had not been\ncontent with the results promised by the modern professors of natural\nscience. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my\nextreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the\nsteps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the\ndiscoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists.\nBesides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy.\nIt was very different when the masters of the science sought\nimmortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now\nthe scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit\nitself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in\nscience was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of\nboundless grandeur for realities of little worth.\n\nSuch were my reflections during the first two or three days of my\nresidence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming\nacquainted with the localities and the principal residents in my new\nabode. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information\nwhich M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures. And although I\ncould not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow deliver\nsentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what he had said of M.\nWaldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto been out of town.\n\nPartly from curiosity and partly from idleness, I went into the lecturing\nroom, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very\nunlike his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but with an\naspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs covered his\ntemples, but those at the back of his head were nearly black. His person\nwas short but remarkably erect and his voice the sweetest I had ever heard.\nHe began his lecture by a recapitulation of the history of chemistry and\nthe various improvements made by different men of learning, pronouncing\nwith fervour the names of the most distinguished discoverers. He then took\na cursory view of the present state of the science and explained many of\nits elementary terms. After having made a few preparatory experiments, he\nconcluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I\nshall never forget:\n\n\u201cThe ancient teachers of this science,\u201d said he,\n\u201cpromised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters\npromise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted and that\nthe elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers, whose hands seem\nonly made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or\ncrucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses\nof nature and show how she works in her hiding-places. They ascend into the\nheavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of\nthe air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers;\nthey can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even\nmock the invisible world with its own shadows.\u201d\n\nSuch were the professor\u2019s words\u2014rather let me say such the words of\nthe fate\u2014enounced to destroy me. As he went on I felt as if my soul\nwere grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were\ntouched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was\nsounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception,\none purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of\nFrankenstein\u2014more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps\nalready marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and\nunfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.\n\nI closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a state of\ninsurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I\nhad no power to produce it. By degrees, after the morning\u2019s dawn,\nsleep came. I awoke, and my yesternight\u2019s thoughts were as a dream.\nThere only remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies and to\ndevote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess a\nnatural talent. On the same day I paid M. Waldman a visit. His\nmanners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public,\nfor there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture which in\nhis own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness. I\ngave him pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had\ngiven to his fellow professor. He heard with attention the little\nnarration concerning my studies and smiled at the names of Cornelius\nAgrippa and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had\nexhibited. He said that \u201cThese were men to whose indefatigable zeal\nmodern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their\nknowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names\nand arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in a\ngreat degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The\nlabours of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever\nfail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.\u201d I\nlistened to his statement, which was delivered without any presumption\nor affectation, and then added that his lecture had removed my\nprejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured\nterms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his\ninstructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have\nmade me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended\nlabours. I requested his advice concerning the books I ought to\nprocure.\n\n\u201cI am happy,\u201d said M. Waldman, \u201cto have gained a\ndisciple; and if your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of\nyour success. Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the\ngreatest improvements have been and may be made; it is on that account that\nI have made it my peculiar study; but at the same time, I have not\nneglected the other branches of science. A man would make but a very sorry\nchemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge alone. If your\nwish is to become really a man of science and not merely a petty\nexperimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of natural\nphilosophy, including mathematics.\u201d\n\nHe then took me into his laboratory and explained to me the uses of his\nvarious machines, instructing me as to what I ought to procure and\npromising me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in\nthe science not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the list of\nbooks which I had requested, and I took my leave.\n\nThus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 4\n\n\nFrom this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, in the\nmost comprehensive sense of the term, became nearly my sole occupation.\nI read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination,\nwhich modern inquirers have written on these subjects. I attended the\nlectures and cultivated the acquaintance of the men of science of the\nuniversity, and I found even in M. Krempe a great deal of sound sense\nand real information, combined, it is true, with a repulsive\nphysiognomy and manners, but not on that account the less valuable. In\nM. Waldman I found a true friend. His gentleness was never tinged by\ndogmatism, and his instructions were given with an air of frankness and\ngood nature that banished every idea of pedantry. In a thousand ways\nhe smoothed for me the path of knowledge and made the most abstruse\ninquiries clear and facile to my apprehension. My application was at\nfirst fluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength as I proceeded and\nsoon became so ardent and eager that the stars often disappeared in the\nlight of morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory.\n\nAs I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my progress\nwas rapid. My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the students, and\nmy proficiency that of the masters. Professor Krempe often asked me,\nwith a sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa went on, whilst M. Waldman\nexpressed the most heartfelt exultation in my progress. Two years\npassed in this manner, during which I paid no visit to Geneva, but was\nengaged, heart and soul, in the pursuit of some discoveries which I\nhoped to make. None but those who have experienced them can conceive\nof the enticements of science. In other studies you go as far as\nothers have gone before you, and there is nothing more to know; but in\na scientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder.\nA mind of moderate capacity which closely pursues one study must\ninfallibly arrive at great proficiency in that study; and I, who\ncontinually sought the attainment of one object of pursuit and was\nsolely wrapped up in this, improved so rapidly that at the end of two\nyears I made some discoveries in the improvement of some chemical\ninstruments, which procured me great esteem and admiration at the\nuniversity. When I had arrived at this point and had become as well\nacquainted with the theory and practice of natural philosophy as\ndepended on the lessons of any of the professors at Ingolstadt, my\nresidence there being no longer conducive to my improvements, I thought\nof returning to my friends and my native town, when an incident\nhappened that protracted my stay.\n\nOne of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted my attention was\nthe structure of the human frame, and, indeed, any animal endued with\nlife. Whence, I often asked myself, did the principle of life proceed?\nIt was a bold question, and one which has ever been considered as a\nmystery; yet with how many things are we upon the brink of becoming\nacquainted, if cowardice or carelessness did not restrain our\ninquiries. I revolved these circumstances in my mind and determined\nthenceforth to apply myself more particularly to those branches of\nnatural philosophy which relate to physiology. Unless I had been\nanimated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm, my application to this\nstudy would have been irksome and almost intolerable. To examine the\ncauses of life, we must first have recourse to death. I became\nacquainted with the science of anatomy, but this was not sufficient; I\nmust also observe the natural decay and corruption of the human body.\nIn my education my father had taken the greatest precautions that my\nmind should be impressed with no supernatural horrors. I do not ever\nremember to have trembled at a tale of superstition or to have feared\nthe apparition of a spirit. Darkness had no effect upon my fancy, and\na churchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of\nlife, which, from being the seat of beauty and strength, had become\nfood for the worm. Now I was led to examine the cause and progress of\nthis decay and forced to spend days and nights in vaults and\ncharnel-houses. My attention was fixed upon every object the most\ninsupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings. I saw how the\nfine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of\ndeath succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm\ninherited the wonders of the eye and brain. I paused, examining and\nanalysing all the minutiae of causation, as exemplified in the change\nfrom life to death, and death to life, until from the midst of this\ndarkness a sudden light broke in upon me\u2014a light so brilliant and\nwondrous, yet so simple, that while I became dizzy with the immensity\nof the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised that among so\nmany men of genius who had directed their inquiries towards the same\nscience, that I alone should be reserved to discover so astonishing a\nsecret.\n\nRemember, I am not recording the vision of a madman. The sun does not\nmore certainly shine in the heavens than that which I now affirm is\ntrue. Some miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of the\ndiscovery were distinct and probable. After days and nights of\nincredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of\ngeneration and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing\nanimation upon lifeless matter.\n\nThe astonishment which I had at first experienced on this discovery\nsoon gave place to delight and rapture. After so much time spent in\npainful labour, to arrive at once at the summit of my desires was the\nmost gratifying consummation of my toils. But this discovery was so\ngreat and overwhelming that all the steps by which I had been\nprogressively led to it were obliterated, and I beheld only the result.\nWhat had been the study and desire of the wisest men since the creation\nof the world was now within my grasp. Not that, like a magic scene, it\nall opened upon me at once: the information I had obtained was of a\nnature rather to direct my endeavours so soon as I should point them\ntowards the object of my search than to exhibit that object already\naccomplished. I was like the Arabian who had been buried with the dead\nand found a passage to life, aided only by one glimmering and seemingly\nineffectual light.\n\nI see by your eagerness and the wonder and hope which your eyes\nexpress, my friend, that you expect to be informed of the secret with\nwhich I am acquainted; that cannot be; listen patiently until the end\nof my story, and you will easily perceive why I am reserved upon that\nsubject. I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then was,\nto your destruction and infallible misery. Learn from me, if not by my\nprecepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of\nknowledge and how much happier that man is who believes his native town\nto be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature\nwill allow.\n\nWhen I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated\na long time concerning the manner in which I should employ it.\nAlthough I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to\nprepare a frame for the reception of it, with all its intricacies of\nfibres, muscles, and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable\ndifficulty and labour. I doubted at first whether I should attempt the\ncreation of a being like myself, or one of simpler organization; but my\nimagination was too much exalted by my first success to permit me to\ndoubt of my ability to give life to an animal as complex and wonderful\nas man. The materials at present within my command hardly appeared\nadequate to so arduous an undertaking, but I doubted not that I should\nultimately succeed. I prepared myself for a multitude of reverses; my\noperations might be incessantly baffled, and at last my work be\nimperfect, yet when I considered the improvement which every day takes\nplace in science and mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my present\nattempts would at least lay the foundations of future success. Nor\ncould I consider the magnitude and complexity of my plan as any\nargument of its impracticability. It was with these feelings that I\nbegan the creation of a human being. As the minuteness of the parts\nformed a great hindrance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to my first\nintention, to make the being of a gigantic stature, that is to say,\nabout eight feet in height, and proportionably large. After having\nformed this determination and having spent some months in successfully\ncollecting and arranging my materials, I began.\n\nNo one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like\na hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death\nappeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and\npour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless\nme as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would\nowe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his\nchild so completely as I should deserve theirs. Pursuing these\nreflections, I thought that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless\nmatter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible)\nrenew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.\n\nThese thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my undertaking\nwith unremitting ardour. My cheek had grown pale with study, and my\nperson had become emaciated with confinement. Sometimes, on the very\nbrink of certainty, I failed; yet still I clung to the hope which the\nnext day or the next hour might realise. One secret which I alone\npossessed was the hope to which I had dedicated myself; and the moon\ngazed on my midnight labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless\neagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding-places. Who shall conceive\nthe horrors of my secret toil as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps\nof the grave or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless\nclay? My limbs now tremble, and my eyes swim with the remembrance; but\nthen a resistless and almost frantic impulse urged me forward; I seemed\nto have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit. It was\nindeed but a passing trance, that only made me feel with renewed\nacuteness so soon as, the unnatural stimulus ceasing to operate, I had\nreturned to my old habits. I collected bones from charnel-houses and\ndisturbed, with profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human\nframe. In a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house,\nand separated from all the other apartments by a gallery and staircase,\nI kept my workshop of filthy creation; my eyeballs were starting from\ntheir sockets in attending to the details of my employment. The\ndissecting room and the slaughter-house furnished many of my materials;\nand often did my human nature turn with loathing from my occupation,\nwhilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually increased, I\nbrought my work near to a conclusion.\n\nThe summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in\none pursuit. It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields\nbestow a more plentiful harvest or the vines yield a more luxuriant\nvintage, but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature. And the\nsame feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also\nto forget those friends who were so many miles absent, and whom I had\nnot seen for so long a time. I knew my silence disquieted them, and I\nwell remembered the words of my father: \u201cI know that while you are\npleased with yourself you will think of us with affection, and we shall\nhear regularly from you. You must pardon me if I regard any\ninterruption in your correspondence as a proof that your other duties\nare equally neglected.\u201d\n\nI knew well therefore what would be my father\u2019s feelings, but I could\nnot tear my thoughts from my employment, loathsome in itself, but which\nhad taken an irresistible hold of my imagination. I wished, as it\nwere, to procrastinate all that related to my feelings of affection\nuntil the great object, which swallowed up every habit of my nature,\nshould be completed.\n\nI then thought that my father would be unjust if he ascribed my neglect\nto vice or faultiness on my part, but I am now convinced that he was\njustified in conceiving that I should not be altogether free from\nblame. A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and\npeaceful mind and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to\ndisturb his tranquillity. I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge\nis an exception to this rule. If the study to which you apply yourself\nhas a tendency to weaken your affections and to destroy your taste for\nthose simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that\nstudy is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human\nmind. If this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit\nwhatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic\naffections, Greece had not been enslaved, C\u00e6sar would have spared his\ncountry, America would have been discovered more gradually, and the\nempires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed.\n\nBut I forget that I am moralizing in the most interesting part of my\ntale, and your looks remind me to proceed.\n\nMy father made no reproach in his letters and only took notice of my\nsilence by inquiring into my occupations more particularly than before.\nWinter, spring, and summer passed away during my labours; but I did not\nwatch the blossom or the expanding leaves\u2014sights which before always\nyielded me supreme delight\u2014so deeply was I engrossed in my\noccupation. The leaves of that year had withered before my work drew near\nto a close, and now every day showed me more plainly how well I had\nsucceeded. But my enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, and I appeared\nrather like one doomed by slavery to toil in the mines, or any other\nunwholesome trade than an artist occupied by his favourite employment.\nEvery night I was oppressed by a slow fever, and I became nervous to a most\npainful degree; the fall of a leaf startled me, and I shunned my fellow\ncreatures as if I had been guilty of a crime. Sometimes I grew alarmed at\nthe wreck I perceived that I had become; the energy of my purpose alone\nsustained me: my labours would soon end, and I believed that exercise and\namusement would then drive away incipient disease; and I promised myself\nboth of these when my creation should be complete.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 5\n\n\nIt was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment\nof my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I\ncollected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a\nspark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was\nalready one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the\npanes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the\nhalf-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature\nopen; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.\n\nHow can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate\nthe wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to\nform? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as\nbeautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered\nthe work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous\nblack, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these\nluxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes,\nthat seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which\nthey were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.\n\nThe different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings\nof human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole\npurpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had\ndeprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour\nthat far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty\nof the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my\nheart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I\nrushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my\nbed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude\nsucceeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the\nbed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness.\nBut it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest\ndreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in\nthe streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her,\nbut as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with\nthe hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I\nheld the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her\nform, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel.\nI started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my\nteeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and\nyellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window\nshutters, I beheld the wretch\u2014the miserable monster whom I had\ncreated. He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they\nmay be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some\ninarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have\nspoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to\ndetain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the\ncourtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained\nduring the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest\nagitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if\nit were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I\nhad so miserably given life.\n\nOh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy\nagain endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I\nhad gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those\nmuscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing\nsuch as even Dante could not have conceived.\n\nI passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and\nhardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly\nsank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with\nthis horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had\nbeen my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a\nhell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!\n\nMorning, dismal and wet, at length dawned and discovered to my\nsleepless and aching eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple\nand clock, which indicated the sixth hour. The porter opened the gates\nof the court, which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into\nthe streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the\nwretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my\nview. I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited, but\nfelt impelled to hurry on, although drenched by the rain which poured\nfrom a black and comfortless sky.\n\nI continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavouring by\nbodily exercise to ease the load that weighed upon my mind. I\ntraversed the streets without any clear conception of where I was or\nwhat I was doing. My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear, and I\nhurried on with irregular steps, not daring to look about me:\n \n Like one who, on a lonely road,\n Doth walk in fear and dread,\n And, having once turned round, walks on,\n And turns no more his head;\n Because he knows a frightful fiend\n Doth close behind him tread.\n \n [Coleridge\u2019s \u201cAncient Mariner.\u201d]\n\n\n\nContinuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the various\ndiligences and carriages usually stopped. Here I paused, I knew not why;\nbut I remained some minutes with my eyes fixed on a coach that was coming\ntowards me from the other end of the street. As it drew nearer I observed\nthat it was the Swiss diligence; it stopped just where I was standing, and\non the door being opened, I perceived Henry Clerval, who, on seeing me,\ninstantly sprung out. \u201cMy dear Frankenstein,\u201d exclaimed he,\n\u201chow glad I am to see you! How fortunate that you should be here at\nthe very moment of my alighting!\u201d\n\nNothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval; his presence brought back\nto my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all those scenes of home so dear\nto my recollection. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot my horror\nand misfortune; I felt suddenly, and for the first time during many months,\ncalm and serene joy. I welcomed my friend, therefore, in the most cordial\nmanner, and we walked towards my college. Clerval continued talking for\nsome time about our mutual friends and his own good fortune in being\npermitted to come to Ingolstadt. \u201cYou may easily believe,\u201d said\nhe, \u201chow great was the difficulty to persuade my father that all\nnecessary knowledge was not comprised in the noble art of book-keeping;\nand, indeed, I believe I left him incredulous to the last, for his constant\nanswer to my unwearied entreaties was the same as that of the Dutch\nschoolmaster in The Vicar of Wakefield: \u2018I have ten thousand florins\na year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.\u2019 But his\naffection for me at length overcame his dislike of learning, and he has\npermitted me to undertake a voyage of discovery to the land of\nknowledge.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left\nmy father, brothers, and Elizabeth.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from\nyou so seldom. By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their\naccount myself. But, my dear Frankenstein,\u201d continued he, stopping\nshort and gazing full in my face, \u201cI did not before remark how very ill\nyou appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been watching for\nseveral nights.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one\noccupation that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see;\nbut I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an\nend and that I am at length free.\u201d\n\nI trembled excessively; I could not endure to think of, and far less to\nallude to, the occurrences of the preceding night. I walked with a\nquick pace, and we soon arrived at my college. I then reflected, and\nthe thought made me shiver, that the creature whom I had left in my\napartment might still be there, alive and walking about. I dreaded to\nbehold this monster, but I feared still more that Henry should see him.\nEntreating him, therefore, to remain a few minutes at the bottom of the\nstairs, I darted up towards my own room. My hand was already on the\nlock of the door before I recollected myself. I then paused, and a\ncold shivering came over me. I threw the door forcibly open, as\nchildren are accustomed to do when they expect a spectre to stand in\nwaiting for them on the other side; but nothing appeared. I stepped\nfearfully in: the apartment was empty, and my bedroom was also freed\nfrom its hideous guest. I could hardly believe that so great a good\nfortune could have befallen me, but when I became assured that my enemy\nhad indeed fled, I clapped my hands for joy and ran down to Clerval.\n\nWe ascended into my room, and the servant presently brought breakfast;\nbut I was unable to contain myself. It was not joy only that possessed\nme; I felt my flesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse\nbeat rapidly. I was unable to remain for a single instant in the same\nplace; I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud.\nClerval at first attributed my unusual spirits to joy on his arrival,\nbut when he observed me more attentively, he saw a wildness in my eyes\nfor which he could not account, and my loud, unrestrained, heartless\nlaughter frightened and astonished him.\n\n\u201cMy dear Victor,\u201d cried he, \u201cwhat, for God\u2019s sake,\nis the matter? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you are! What is the\ncause of all this?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not ask me,\u201d cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I\nthought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; \u201c_he_ can\ntell. Oh, save me! Save me!\u201d I imagined that the monster seized me;\nI struggled furiously and fell down in a fit.\n\nPoor Clerval! What must have been his feelings? A meeting, which he\nanticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I\nwas not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not\nrecover my senses for a long, long time.\n\nThis was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for\nseveral months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I\nafterwards learned that, knowing my father\u2019s advanced age and unfitness\nfor so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make\nElizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my\ndisorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive\nnurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he\ndid not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest\naction that he could towards them.\n\nBut I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the unbounded and\nunremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life.\nThe form of the monster on whom I had bestowed existence was for ever\nbefore my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him. Doubtless my\nwords surprised Henry; he at first believed them to be the wanderings\nof my disturbed imagination, but the pertinacity with which I\ncontinually recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder\nindeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.\n\nBy very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed and\ngrieved my friend, I recovered. I remember the first time I became\ncapable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I\nperceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared and that the young\nbuds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window. It was\na divine spring, and the season contributed greatly to my\nconvalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in\nmy bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as\ncheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion.\n\n\u201cDearest Clerval,\u201d exclaimed I, \u201chow kind, how very good\nyou are to me. This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you\npromised yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever\nrepay you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I\nhave been the occasion, but you will forgive me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get\nwell as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I\nmay speak to you on one subject, may I not?\u201d\n\nI trembled. One subject! What could it be? Could he allude to an object on\nwhom I dared not even think?\n\n\u201cCompose yourself,\u201d said Clerval, who observed my change of\ncolour, \u201cI will not mention it if it agitates you; but your father\nand cousin would be very happy if they received a letter from you in your\nown handwriting. They hardly know how ill you have been and are uneasy at\nyour long silence.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that all, my dear Henry? How could you suppose that my first\nthought would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and\nwho are so deserving of my love?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad\nto see a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from\nyour cousin, I believe.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter 6\n\n\nClerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from my\nown Elizabeth:\n\n\u201cMy dearest Cousin,\n\n\u201cYou have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear\nkind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account. You are\nforbidden to write\u2014to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor,\nis necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a long time I have thought\nthat each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have\nrestrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. I have\nprevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so\nlong a journey, yet how often have I regretted not being able to\nperform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending on\nyour sickbed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never\nguess your wishes nor minister to them with the care and affection of\nyour poor cousin. Yet that is over now: Clerval writes that indeed\nyou are getting better. I eagerly hope that you will confirm this\nintelligence soon in your own handwriting.\n\n\u201cGet well\u2014and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home and\nfriends who love you dearly. Your father\u2019s health is vigorous, and he\nasks but to see you, but to be assured that you are well; and not a\ncare will ever cloud his benevolent countenance. How pleased you would\nbe to remark the improvement of our Ernest! He is now sixteen and full\nof activity and spirit. He is desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter\ninto foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his\nelder brother returns to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of\na military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your\npowers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his\ntime is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the\nlake. I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point\nand permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.\n\n\u201cLittle alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken\nplace since you left us. The blue lake and snow-clad mountains\u2014they\nnever change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are\nregulated by the same immutable laws. My trifling occupations take up\nmy time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing\nnone but happy, kind faces around me. Since you left us, but one\nchange has taken place in our little household. Do you remember on\nwhat occasion Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you do not;\nI will relate her history, therefore in a few words. Madame Moritz,\nher mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the\nthird. This girl had always been the favourite of her father, but\nthrough a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and\nafter the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed\nthis, and when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed ",
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      "text": "\n\n##### SOURCE pg1342_pride_prejudice_excerpt #####\n\n[Illustration:\n\n                             GEORGE ALLEN\n                               PUBLISHER\n\n                        156 CHARING CROSS ROAD\n                                LONDON\n\n                             RUSKIN HOUSE\n                                   ]\n\n                            [Illustration:\n\n               _Reading Jane\u2019s Letters._      _Chap 34._\n                                   ]\n\n\n\n\n                                PRIDE.\n                                  and\n                               PREJUDICE\n\n                                  by\n                             Jane Austen,\n\n                           with a Preface by\n                           George Saintsbury\n                                  and\n                           Illustrations by\n                             Hugh Thomson\n\n                         [Illustration: 1894]\n\n                       Ruskin       156. Charing\n                       House.        Cross Road.\n\n                                London\n                             George Allen.\n\n\n\n\n             CHISWICK PRESS:--CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.\n                  TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.\n\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration:\n\n                          _To J. Comyns Carr\n                      in acknowledgment of all I\n                       owe to his friendship and\n                    advice, these illustrations are\n                         gratefully inscribed_\n\n                            _Hugh Thomson_\n                                   ]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n_Walt Whitman has somewhere a fine and just distinction between \u201cloving\nby allowance\u201d and \u201cloving with personal love.\u201d This distinction applies\nto books as well as to men and women; and in the case of the not very\nnumerous authors who are the objects of the personal affection, it\nbrings a curious consequence with it. There is much more difference as\nto their best work than in the case of those others who are loved \u201cby\nallowance\u201d by convention, and because it is felt to be the right and\nproper thing to love them. And in the sect--fairly large and yet\nunusually choice--of Austenians or Janites, there would probably be\nfound partisans of the claim to primacy of almost every one of the\nnovels. To some the delightful freshness and humour of_ Northanger\nAbbey, _its completeness, finish, and_ entrain, _obscure the undoubted\ncritical facts that its scale is small, and its scheme, after all, that\nof burlesque or parody, a kind in which the first rank is reached with\ndifficulty._ Persuasion, _relatively faint in tone, and not enthralling\nin interest, has devotees who exalt above all the others its exquisite\ndelicacy and keeping. The catastrophe of_ Mansfield Park _is admittedly\ntheatrical, the hero and heroine are insipid, and the author has almost\nwickedly destroyed all romantic interest by expressly admitting that\nEdmund only took Fanny because Mary shocked him, and that Fanny might\nvery likely have taken Crawford if he had been a little more assiduous;\nyet the matchless rehearsal-scenes and the characters of Mrs. Norris and\nothers have secured, I believe, a considerable party for it._ Sense and\nSensibility _has perhaps the fewest out-and-out admirers; but it does\nnot want them._\n\n_I suppose, however, that the majority of at least competent votes\nwould, all things considered, be divided between_ Emma _and the present\nbook; and perhaps the vulgar verdict (if indeed a fondness for Miss\nAusten be not of itself a patent of exemption from any possible charge\nof vulgarity) would go for_ Emma. _It is the larger, the more varied, the\nmore popular; the author had by the time of its composition seen rather\nmore of the world, and had improved her general, though not her most\npeculiar and characteristic dialogue; such figures as Miss Bates, as the\nEltons, cannot but unite the suffrages of everybody. On the other hand,\nI, for my part, declare for_ Pride and Prejudice _unhesitatingly. It\nseems to me the most perfect, the most characteristic, the most\neminently quintessential of its author\u2019s works; and for this contention\nin such narrow space as is permitted to me, I propose here to show\ncause._\n\n_In the first place, the book (it may be barely necessary to remind the\nreader) was in its first shape written very early, somewhere about 1796,\nwhen Miss Austen was barely twenty-one; though it was revised and\nfinished at Chawton some fifteen years later, and was not published till\n1813, only four years before her death. I do not know whether, in this\ncombination of the fresh and vigorous projection of youth, and the\ncritical revision of middle life, there may be traced the distinct\nsuperiority in point of construction, which, as it seems to me, it\npossesses over all the others. The plot, though not elaborate, is almost\nregular enough for Fielding; hardly a character, hardly an incident\ncould be retrenched without loss to the story. The elopement of Lydia\nand Wickham is not, like that of Crawford and Mrs. Rushworth, a_ coup de\nth\u00e9\u00e2tre; _it connects itself in the strictest way with the course of the\nstory earlier, and brings about the denouement with complete propriety.\nAll the minor passages--the loves of Jane and Bingley, the advent of Mr.\nCollins, the visit to Hunsford, the Derbyshire tour--fit in after the\nsame unostentatious, but masterly fashion. There is no attempt at the\nhide-and-seek, in-and-out business, which in the transactions between\nFrank Churchill and Jane Fairfax contributes no doubt a good deal to the\nintrigue of_ Emma, _but contributes it in a fashion which I do not think\nthe best feature of that otherwise admirable book. Although Miss Austen\nalways liked something of the misunderstanding kind, which afforded her\nopportunities for the display of the peculiar and incomparable talent to\nbe noticed presently, she has been satisfied here with the perfectly\nnatural occasions provided by the false account of Darcy\u2019s conduct given\nby Wickham, and by the awkwardness (arising with equal naturalness) from\nthe gradual transformation of Elizabeth\u2019s own feelings from positive\naversion to actual love. I do not know whether the all-grasping hand of\nthe playwright has ever been laid upon_ Pride and Prejudice; _and I dare\nsay that, if it were, the situations would prove not startling or\ngarish enough for the footlights, the character-scheme too subtle and\ndelicate for pit and gallery. But if the attempt were made, it would\ncertainly not be hampered by any of those loosenesses of construction,\nwhich, sometimes disguised by the conveniences of which the novelist can\navail himself, appear at once on the stage._\n\n_I think, however, though the thought will doubtless seem heretical to\nmore than one school of critics, that construction is not the highest\nmerit, the choicest gift, of the novelist. It sets off his other gifts\nand graces most advantageously to the critical eye; and the want of it\nwill sometimes mar those graces--appreciably, though not quite\nconsciously--to eyes by no means ultra-critical. But a very badly-built\nnovel which excelled in pathetic or humorous character, or which\ndisplayed consummate command of dialogue--perhaps the rarest of all\nfaculties--would be an infinitely better thing than a faultless plot\nacted and told by puppets with pebbles in their mouths. And despite the\nability which Miss Austen has shown in working out the story, I for one\nshould put_ Pride and Prejudice _far lower if it did not contain what\nseem to me the very masterpieces of Miss Austen\u2019s humour and of her\nfaculty of character-creation--masterpieces who may indeed admit John\nThorpe, the Eltons, Mrs. Norris, and one or two others to their company,\nbut who, in one instance certainly, and perhaps in others, are still\nsuperior to them._\n\n_The characteristics of Miss Austen\u2019s humour are so subtle and delicate\nthat they are, perhaps, at all times easier to apprehend than to\nexpress, and at any particular time likely to be differently\napprehended by different persons. To me this humour seems to possess a\ngreater affinity, on the whole, to that of Addison than to any other of\nthe numerous species of this great British genus. The differences of\nscheme, of time, of subject, of literary convention, are, of course,\nobvious enough; the difference of sex does not, perhaps, count for much,\nfor there was a distinctly feminine element in \u201cMr. Spectator,\u201d and in\nJane Austen\u2019s genius there was, though nothing mannish, much that was\nmasculine. But the likeness of quality consists in a great number of\ncommon subdivisions of quality--demureness, extreme minuteness of touch,\navoidance of loud tones and glaring effects. Also there is in both a\ncertain not inhuman or unamiable cruelty. It is the custom with those\nwho judge grossly to contrast the good nature of Addison with the\nsavagery of Swift, the mildness of Miss Austen with the boisterousness\nof Fielding and Smollett, even with the ferocious practical jokes that\nher immediate predecessor, Miss Burney, allowed without very much\nprotest. Yet, both in Mr. Addison and in Miss Austen there is, though a\nrestrained and well-mannered, an insatiable and ruthless delight in\nroasting and cutting up a fool. A man in the early eighteenth century,\nof course, could push this taste further than a lady in the early\nnineteenth; and no doubt Miss Austen\u2019s principles, as well as her heart,\nwould have shrunk from such things as the letter from the unfortunate\nhusband in the_ Spectator, _who describes, with all the gusto and all the\ninnocence in the world, how his wife and his friend induce him to play\nat blind-man\u2019s-buff. But another_ Spectator _letter--that of the damsel\nof fourteen who wishes to marry Mr. Shapely, and assures her selected\nMentor that \u201che admires your_ Spectators _mightily\u201d--might have been\nwritten by a rather more ladylike and intelligent Lydia Bennet in the\ndays of Lydia\u2019s great-grandmother; while, on the other hand, some (I\nthink unreasonably) have found \u201ccynicism\u201d in touches of Miss Austen\u2019s\nown, such as her satire of Mrs. Musgrove\u2019s self-deceiving regrets over\nher son. But this word \u201ccynical\u201d is one of the most misused in the\nEnglish language, especially when, by a glaring and gratuitous\nfalsification of its original sense, it is applied, not to rough and\nsnarling invective, but to gentle and oblique satire. If cynicism means\nthe perception of \u201cthe other side,\u201d the sense of \u201cthe accepted hells\nbeneath,\u201d the consciousness that motives are nearly always mixed, and\nthat to seem is not identical with to be--if this be cynicism, then\nevery man and woman who is not a fool, who does not care to live in a\nfool\u2019s paradise, who has knowledge of nature and the world and life, is\na cynic. And in that sense Miss Austen certainly was one. She may even\nhave been one in the further sense that, like her own Mr. Bennet, she\ntook an epicurean delight in dissecting, in displaying, in setting at\nwork her fools and her mean persons. I think she did take this delight,\nand I do not think at all the worse of her for it as a woman, while she\nwas immensely the better for it as an artist._\n\n_In respect of her art generally, Mr. Goldwin Smith has truly observed\nthat \u201cmetaphor has been exhausted in depicting the perfection of it,\ncombined with the narrowness of her field;\u201d and he has justly added that\nwe need not go beyond her own comparison to the art of a miniature\npainter. To make this latter observation quite exact we must not use the\nterm miniature in its restricted sense, and must think rather of Memling\nat one end of the history of painting and Meissonier at the other, than\nof Cosway or any of his kind. And I am not so certain that I should\nmyself use the word \u201cnarrow\u201d in connection with her. If her world is a\nmicrocosm, the cosmic quality of it is at least as eminent as the\nlittleness. She does not touch what she did not feel herself called to\npaint; I am not so sure that she could not have painted what she did not\nfeel herself called to touch. It is at least remarkable that in two very\nshort periods of writing--one of about three years, and another of not\nmuch more than five--she executed six capital works, and has not left a\nsingle failure. It is possible that the romantic paste in her\ncomposition was defective: we must always remember that hardly\nanybody born in her decade--that of the eighteenth-century\nseventies--independently exhibited the full romantic quality. Even Scott\nrequired hill and mountain and ballad, even Coleridge metaphysics and\nGerman to enable them to chip the classical shell. Miss Austen was an\nEnglish girl, brought up in a country retirement, at the time when\nladies went back into the house if there was a white frost which might\npierce their kid shoes, when a sudden cold was the subject of the\ngravest fears, when their studies, their ways, their conduct were\nsubject to all those fantastic limits and restrictions against which\nMary Wollstonecraft protested with better general sense than particular\ntaste or judgment. Miss Austen, too, drew back when the white frost\ntouched her shoes; but I think she would have made a pretty good journey\neven in a black one._\n\n_For if her knowledge was not very extended, she knew two things which\nonly genius knows. The one was humanity, and the other was art. On the\nfirst head she could not make a mistake; her men, though limited, are\ntrue, and her women are, in the old sense, \u201cabsolute.\u201d As to art, if she\nhas never tried idealism, her realism is real to a degree which makes\nthe false realism of our own day look merely dead-alive. Take almost any\nFrenchman, except the late M. de Maupassant, and watch him laboriously\npiling up strokes in the hope of giving a complete impression. You get\nnone; you are lucky if, discarding two-thirds of what he gives, you can\nshape a real impression out of the rest. But with Miss Austen the\nmyriad, trivial, unforced strokes build up the picture like magic.\nNothing is false; nothing is superfluous. When (to take the present book\nonly) Mr. Collins changed his mind from Jane to Elizabeth \u201cwhile Mrs.\nBennet was stirring the fire\u201d (and we know_ how _Mrs. Bennet would have\nstirred the fire), when Mr. Darcy \u201cbrought his coffee-cup back_\nhimself,\u201d _the touch in each case is like that of Swift--\u201ctaller by the\nbreadth of my nail\u201d--which impressed the half-reluctant Thackeray with\njust and outspoken admiration. Indeed, fantastic as it may seem, I\nshould put Miss Austen as near to Swift in some ways, as I have put her\nto Addison in others._\n\n_This Swiftian quality appears in the present novel as it appears\nnowhere else in the character of the immortal, the ineffable Mr.\nCollins. Mr. Collins is really_ great; _far greater than anything Addison\never did, almost great enough for Fielding or for Swift himself. It has\nbeen said that no one ever was like him. But in the first place,_ he\n_was like him; he is there--alive, imperishable, more real than hundreds\nof prime ministers and archbishops, of \u201cmetals, semi-metals, and\ndistinguished philosophers.\u201d In the second place, it is rash, I think,\nto conclude that an actual Mr. Collins was impossible or non-existent at\nthe end of the eighteenth century. It is very interesting that we\npossess, in this same gallery, what may be called a spoiled first\ndraught, or an unsuccessful study of him, in John Dashwood. The\nformality, the under-breeding, the meanness, are there; but the portrait\nis only half alive, and is felt to be even a little unnatural. Mr.\nCollins is perfectly natural, and perfectly alive. In fact, for all the\n\u201cminiature,\u201d there is something gigantic in the way in which a certain\nside, and more than one, of humanity, and especially eighteenth-century\nhumanity, its Philistinism, its well-meaning but hide-bound morality,\nits formal pettiness, its grovelling respect for rank, its materialism,\nits selfishness, receives exhibition. I will not admit that one speech\nor one action of this inestimable man is incapable of being reconciled\nwith reality, and I should not wonder if many of these words and actions\nare historically true._\n\n_But the greatness of Mr. Collins could not have been so satisfactorily\nexhibited if his creatress had not adjusted so artfully to him the\nfigures of Mr. Bennet and of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The latter, like\nMr. Collins himself, has been charged with exaggeration. There is,\nperhaps, a very faint shade of colour for the charge; but it seems to me\nvery faint indeed. Even now I do not think that it would be impossible\nto find persons, especially female persons, not necessarily of noble\nbirth, as overbearing, as self-centred, as neglectful of good manners,\nas Lady Catherine. A hundred years ago, an earl\u2019s daughter, the Lady\nPowerful (if not exactly Bountiful) of an out-of-the-way country parish,\nrich, long out of marital authority, and so forth, had opportunities of\ndeveloping these agreeable characteristics which seldom present\nthemselves now. As for Mr. Bennet, Miss Austen, and Mr. Darcy, and even\nMiss Elizabeth herself, were, I am inclined to think, rather hard on him\nfor the \u201cimpropriety\u201d of his conduct. His wife was evidently, and must\nalways have been, a quite irreclaimable fool; and unless he had shot her\nor himself there was no way out of it for a man of sense and spirit but\nthe ironic. From no other point of view is he open to any reproach,\nexcept for an excusable and not unnatural helplessness at the crisis of\nthe elopement, and his utterances are the most acutely delightful in the\nconsciously humorous kind--in the kind that we laugh with, not at--that\neven Miss Austen has put into the mouth of any of her characters. It is\ndifficult to know whether he is most agreeable when talking to his wife,\nor when putting Mr. Collins through his paces; but the general sense of\nthe world has probably been right in preferring to the first rank his\nconsolation to the former when she maunders over the entail, \u201cMy dear,\ndo not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things.\nLet us flatter ourselves that_ I _may be the survivor;\u201d and his inquiry\nto his colossal cousin as to the compliments which Mr. Collins has just\nrelated as made by himself to Lady Catherine, \u201cMay I ask whether these\npleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are the\nresult of previous study?\u201d These are the things which give Miss Austen\u2019s\nreaders the pleasant shocks, the delightful thrills, which are felt by\nthe readers of Swift, of Fielding, and we may here add, of Thackeray, as\nthey are felt by the readers of no other English author of fiction\noutside of these four._\n\n_The goodness of the minor characters in_ Pride and Prejudice _has been\nalready alluded to, and it makes a detailed dwelling on their beauties\ndifficult in any space, and impossible in this. Mrs. Bennet we have\nglanced at, and it is not easy to say whether she is more exquisitely\namusing or more horribly true. Much the same may be said of Kitty and\nLydia; but it is not every author, even of genius, who would have\ndifferentiated with such unerring skill the effects of folly and\nvulgarity of intellect and disposition working upon the common\nweaknesses of woman at such different ages. With Mary, Miss Austen has\ntaken rather less pains, though she has been even more unkind to her;\nnot merely in the text, but, as we learn from those interesting\ntraditional appendices which Mr. Austen Leigh has given us, in dooming\nher privately to marry \u201cone of Mr. Philips\u2019s clerks.\u201d The habits of\nfirst copying and then retailing moral sentiments, of playing and\nsinging too long in public, are, no doubt, grievous and criminal; but\nperhaps poor Mary was rather the scapegoat of the sins of blue stockings\nin that Fordyce-belectured generation. It is at any rate difficult not\nto extend to her a share of the respect and affection (affection and\nrespect of a peculiar kind; doubtless), with which one regards Mr.\nCollins, when she draws the moral of Lydia\u2019s fall. I sometimes wish\nthat the exigencies of the story had permitted Miss Austen to unite\nthese personages, and thus at once achieve a notable mating and soothe\npoor Mrs. Bennet\u2019s anguish over the entail._\n\n_The Bingleys and the Gardiners and the Lucases, Miss Darcy and Miss de\nBourgh, Jane, Wickham, and the rest, must pass without special comment,\nfurther than the remark that Charlotte Lucas (her egregious papa, though\ndelightful, is just a little on the thither side of the line between\ncomedy and farce) is a wonderfully clever study in drab of one kind, and\nthat Wickham (though something of Miss Austen\u2019s hesitation of touch in\ndealing with young men appears) is a not much less notable sketch in\ndrab of another. Only genius could have made Charlotte what she is, yet\nnot disagreeable; Wickham what he is, without investing him either with\na cheap Don Juanish attractiveness or a disgusting rascality. But the\nhero and the heroine are not tints to be dismissed._\n\n_Darcy has always seemed to me by far the best and most interesting of\nMiss Austen\u2019s heroes; the only possible competitor being Henry Tilney,\nwhose part is so slight and simple that it hardly enters into\ncomparison. It has sometimes, I believe, been urged that his pride is\nunnatural at first in its expression and later in its yielding, while\nhis falling in love at all is not extremely probable. Here again I\ncannot go with the objectors. Darcy\u2019s own account of the way in which\nhis pride had been pampered, is perfectly rational and sufficient; and\nnothing could be, psychologically speaking, a_ causa verior _for its\nsudden restoration to healthy conditions than the shock of Elizabeth\u2019s\nscornful refusal acting on a nature_ ex hypothesi _generous. Nothing in\neven our author is finer and more delicately touched than the change of\nhis demeanour at the sudden meeting in the grounds of Pemberley. Had he\nbeen a bad prig or a bad coxcomb, he might have been still smarting\nunder his rejection, or suspicious that the girl had come\nhusband-hunting. His being neither is exactly consistent with the\nprobable feelings of a man spoilt in the common sense, but not really\ninjured in disposition, and thoroughly in love. As for his being in\nlove, Elizabeth has given as just an exposition of the causes of that\nphenomenon as Darcy has of the conditions of his unregenerate state,\nonly she has of course not counted in what was due to her own personal\ncharm._\n\n_The secret of that charm many men and not a few women, from Miss Austen\nherself downwards, have felt, and like most charms it is a thing rather\nto be felt than to be explained. Elizabeth of course belongs to the_\nallegro _or_ allegra _division of the army of Venus. Miss Austen was\nalways provokingly chary of description in regard to her beauties; and\nexcept the fine eyes, and a hint or two that she had at any rate\nsometimes a bright complexion, and was not very tall, we hear nothing\nabout her looks. But her chief difference from other heroines of the\nlively type seems to lie first in her being distinctly clever--almost\nstrong-minded, in the better sense of that objectionable word--and\nsecondly in her being entirely destitute of ill-nature for all her\npropensity to tease and the sharpness of her tongue. Elizabeth can give\nat least as good as she gets when she is attacked; but she never\n\u201cscratches,\u201d and she never attacks first. Some of the merest\nobsoletenesses of phrase and manner give one or two of her early\nspeeches a slight pertness, but that is nothing, and when she comes to\nserious business, as in the great proposal scene with Darcy (which is,\nas it should be, the climax of the interest of the book), and in the\nfinal ladies\u2019 battle with Lady Catherine, she is unexceptionable. Then\ntoo she is a perfectly natural girl. She does not disguise from herself\nor anybody that she resents Darcy\u2019s first ill-mannered personality with\nas personal a feeling. (By the way, the reproach that the ill-manners of\nthis speech are overdone is certainly unjust; for things of the same\nkind, expressed no doubt less stiltedly but more coarsely, might have\nbeen heard in more than one ball-room during this very year from persons\nwho ought to have been no worse bred than Darcy.) And she lets the\ninjury done to Jane and the contempt shown to the rest of her family\naggravate this resentment in the healthiest way in the world._\n\n_Still, all this does not explain her charm, which, taking beauty as a\ncommon form of all heroines, may perhaps consist in the addition to her\nplayfulness, her wit, her affectionate and natural disposition, of a\ncertain fearlessness very uncommon in heroines of her type and age.\nNearly all of them would have been in speechless awe of the magnificent\nDarcy; nearly all of them would have palpitated and fluttered at the\nidea of proposals, even naughty ones, from the fascinating Wickham.\nElizabeth, with nothing offensive, nothing_ viraginous, _nothing of the\n\u201cNew Woman\u201d about her, has by nature what the best modern (not \u201cnew\u201d)\nwomen have by education and experience, a perfect freedom from the idea\nthat all men may bully her if they choose, and that most will away with\nher if they can. Though not in the least \u201cimpudent and mannish grown,\u201d\nshe has no mere sensibility, no nasty niceness about her. The form of\npassion common and likely to seem natural in Miss Austen\u2019s day was so\ninvariably connected with the display of one or the other, or both of\nthese qualities, that she has not made Elizabeth outwardly passionate.\nBut I, at least, have not the slightest doubt that she would have\nmarried Darcy just as willingly without Pemberley as with it, and\nanybody who can read between lines will not find the lovers\u2019\nconversations in the final chapters so frigid as they might have looked\nto the Della Cruscans of their own day, and perhaps do look to the Della\nCruscans of this._\n\n_And, after all, what is the good of seeking for the reason of\ncharm?--it is there. There were better sense in the sad mechanic\nexercise of determining the reason of its absence where it is not. In\nthe novels of the last hundred years there are vast numbers of young\nladies with whom it might be a pleasure to fall in love; there are at\nleast five with whom, as it seems to me, no man of taste and spirit can\nhelp doing so. Their names are, in chronological order, Elizabeth\nBennet, Diana Vernon, Argemone Lavington, Beatrix Esmond, and Barbara\nGrant. I should have been most in love with Beatrix and Argemone; I\nshould, I think, for mere occasional companionship, have preferred Diana\nand Barbara. But to live with and to marry, I do not know that any one\nof the four can come into competition with Elizabeth._\n\n_GEORGE SAINTSBURY._\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: List of Illustrations.]\n\n\n                                                                    PAGE\n\nFrontispiece                                                          iv\n\nTitle-page                                                             v\n\nDedication                                                           vii\n\nHeading to Preface                                                    ix\n\nHeading to List of Illustrations                                     xxv\n\nHeading to Chapter I.                                                  1\n\n\u201cHe came down to see the place\u201d                                        2\n\nMr. and Mrs. Bennet                                                    5\n\n\u201cI hope Mr. Bingley will like it\u201d                                      6\n\n\u201cI\u2019m the tallest\u201d                                                      9\n\n\u201cHe rode a black horse\u201d                                               10\n\n\u201cWhen the party entered\u201d                                              12\n\n\u201cShe is tolerable\u201d                                                    15\n\nHeading to Chapter IV.                                                18\n\nHeading to Chapter V.                                                 22\n\n\u201cWithout once opening his lips\u201d                                       24\n\nTailpiece to Chapter V.                                               26\n\nHeading to Chapter VI.                                                27\n\n\u201cThe entreaties of several\u201d                                           31\n\n\u201cA note for Miss Bennet\u201d                                              36\n\n\u201cCheerful prognostics\u201d                                                40\n\n\u201cThe apothecary came\u201d                                                 43\n\n\u201cCovering a screen\u201d                                                   45\n\n\u201cMrs. Bennet and her two youngest girls\u201d                              53\n\nHeading to Chapter X.                                                 60\n\n\u201cNo, no; stay where you are\u201d                                          67\n\n\u201cPiling up the fire\u201d                                                  69\n\nHeading to Chapter XII.                                               75\n\nHeading to Chapter XIII.                                              78\n\nHeading to Chapter XIV.                                               84\n\n\u201cProtested that he never read novels\u201d                                 87\n\nHeading to Chapter XV.                                                89\n\nHeading to Chapter XVI.                                               95\n\n\u201cThe officers of the ----shire\u201d                                       97\n\n\u201cDelighted to see their dear friend again\u201d                           108\n\nHeading to Chapter XVIII.                                            113\n\n\u201cSuch very superior dancing is not often seen\u201d                       118\n\n\u201cTo assure you in the most animated language\u201d                        132\n\nHeading to Chapter XX.                                               139\n\n\u201cThey entered the breakfast-room\u201d                                    143\n\nHeading to Chapter XXI.                                              146\n\n\u201cWalked back with them\u201d                                              148\n\nHeading to Chapter XXII.                                             154\n\n\u201cSo much love and eloquence\u201d                                         156\n\n\u201cProtested he must be entirely mistaken\u201d                             161\n\n\u201cWhenever she spoke in a low voice\u201d                                  166\n\nHeading to Chapter XXIV.                                             168\n\nHeading to Chapter XXV.                                              175\n\n\u201cOffended two or three young ladies\u201d                                 177\n\n\u201cWill you come and see me?\u201d                                          181\n\n\u201cOn the stairs\u201d                                                      189\n\n\u201cAt the door\u201d                                                        194\n\n\u201cIn conversation with the ladies\u201d                                    198\n\n\u201cLady Catherine,\u201d said she, \u201cyou have given me a treasure\u201d           200\n\nHeading to Chapter XXX.                                              209\n\n\u201cHe never failed to inform them\u201d                                     211\n\n\u201cThe gentlemen accompanied him\u201d                                      213\n\nHeading to Chapter XXXI.                                             215\n\nHeading to Chapter XXXII.                                            221\n\n\u201cAccompanied by their aunt\u201d                                          225\n\n\u201cOn looking up\u201d                                                      228\n\nHeading to Chapter XXXIV.                                            235\n\n\u201cHearing herself called\u201d                                             243\n\nHeading to Chapter XXXVI.                                            253\n\n\u201cMeeting accidentally in town\u201d                                       256\n\n\u201cHis parting obeisance\u201d                                              261\n\n\u201cDawson\u201d                                                             263\n\n\u201cThe elevation of his feelings\u201d                                      267\n\n\u201cThey had forgotten to leave any message\u201d                            270\n\n\u201cHow nicely we are crammed in!\u201d                                      272\n\nHeading to Chapter XL.                                               278\n\n\u201cI am determined never to speak of it again\u201d                         283\n\n\u201cWhen Colonel Miller\u2019s regiment went away\u201d                           285\n\n\u201cTenderly flirting\u201d                                                  290\n\nThe arrival of the Gardiners                                         294\n\n\u201cConjecturing as to the date\u201d                                        301\n\nHeading to Chapter XLIV.                                             318\n\n\u201cTo make herself agreeable to all\u201d                                   321\n\n\u201cEngaged by the river\u201d                                               327\n\nHeading to Chapter XLVI.                                             334\n\n\u201cI have not an instant to lose\u201d                                      339\n\n\u201cThe first pleasing earnest of their welcome\u201d                        345\n\nThe Post                                                             359\n\n\u201cTo whom I have related the affair\u201d                                  363\n\nHeading to Chapter XLIX.                                             368\n\n\u201cBut perhaps you would like to read it\u201d                              370\n\n\u201cThe spiteful old ladies\u201d                                            377\n\n\u201cWith an affectionate smile\u201d                                         385\n\n\u201cI am sure she did not listen\u201d                                       393\n\n\u201cMr. Darcy with him\u201d                                                 404\n\n\u201cJane happened to look round\u201d                                        415\n\n\u201cMrs. Long and her nieces\u201d                                           420\n\n\u201cLizzy, my dear, I want to speak to you\u201d                             422\n\nHeading to Chapter LVI.                                              431\n\n\u201cAfter a short survey\u201d                                               434\n\n\u201cBut now it comes out\u201d                                               442\n\n\u201cThe efforts of his aunt\u201d                                            448\n\n\u201cUnable to utter a syllable\u201d                                         457\n\n\u201cThe obsequious civility\u201d                                            466\n\nHeading to Chapter LXI.                                              472\n\nThe End                                                              476\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: \u00b7PRIDE AND PREJUDICE\u00b7\n\n\n\n\nChapter I.]\n\n\nIt is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession\nof a good fortune must be in want of a wife.\n\nHowever little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his\nfirst entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds\nof the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful\nproperty of some one or other of their daughters.\n\n\u201cMy dear Mr. Bennet,\u201d said his lady to him one day, \u201chave you heard that\nNetherfield Park is let at last?\u201d\n\nMr. Bennet replied that he had not.\n\n\u201cBut it is,\u201d returned she; \u201cfor Mrs. Long has just been here, and she\ntold me all about it.\u201d\n\nMr. Bennet made no answer.\n\n\u201cDo not you want to know who has taken it?\u201d cried his wife, impatiently.\n\n\u201c_You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.\u201d\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201cHe came down to see the place\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\nThis was invitation enough.\n\n\u201cWhy, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken\nby a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came\ndown on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much\ndelighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is\nto take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be\nin the house by the end of next week.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is his name?\u201d\n\n\u201cBingley.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs he married or single?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or\nfive thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow so? how can it affect them?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear Mr. Bennet,\u201d replied his wife, \u201chow can you be so tiresome? You\nmust know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that his design in settling here?\u201d\n\n\u201cDesign? Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he\n_may_ fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as\nsoon as he comes.\u201d\n\n\u201cI see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go--or you may send\nthem by themselves, which perhaps will be still better; for as you are\nas handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the\nparty.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear, you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of beauty, but\nI do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now. When a woman has five\ngrown-up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into\nthe neighbourhood.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is more than I engage for, I assure you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would\nbe for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go,\nmerely on that account; for in general, you know, they visit no new\ncomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for _us_ to visit\nhim, if you do not.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are over scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very\nglad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my\nhearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls--though\nI must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the\nothers: and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so\ngood-humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving _her_ the preference.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey have none of them much to recommend them,\u201d replied he: \u201cthey are\nall silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of\nquickness than her sisters.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take\ndelight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They\nare my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration\nthese twenty years at least.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, you do not know what I suffer.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four\nthousand a year come into the neighbourhood.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not\nvisit them.\u201d\n\n\u201cDepend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them\nall.\u201d\n\nMr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour,\nreserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had\nbeen insufficient to make his wife understand his character. _Her_ mind\nwas less difficult to develope. She was a woman of mean understanding,\nlittle information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she\nfancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her\ndaughters married: its solace was visiting and news.\n\n[Illustration: M^{r.} & M^{rs.} Bennet\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201cI hope Mr. Bingley will like it\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nMr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He\nhad always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his\nwife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was\npaid she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following\nmanner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he\nsuddenly addressed her with,--\n\n\u201cI hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are not in a way to know _what_ Mr. Bingley likes,\u201d said her mother,\nresentfully, \u201csince we are not to visit.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you forget, mamma,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cthat we shall meet him at the\nassemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces\nof her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion\nof her.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo more have I,\u201d said Mr. Bennet; \u201cand I am glad to find that you do\nnot depend on her serving you.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply; but, unable to contain\nherself, began scolding one of her daughters.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven\u2019s sake! Have a little\ncompassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.\u201d\n\n\u201cKitty has no discretion in her coughs,\u201d said her father; \u201cshe times\nthem ill.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not cough for my own amusement,\u201d replied Kitty, fretfully. \u201cWhen\nis your next ball to be, Lizzy?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo-morrow fortnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, so it is,\u201d cried her mother, \u201cand Mrs. Long does not come back till\nthe day before; so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for\nshe will not know him herself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce\nMr. Bingley to _her_.\u201d\n\n\u201cImpossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him\nmyself; how can you be so teasing?\u201d\n\n\u201cI honour your circumspection. A fortnight\u2019s acquaintance is certainly\nvery little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a\nfortnight. But if _we_ do not venture, somebody else will; and after\nall, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and, therefore,\nas she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I\nwill take it on myself.\u201d\n\nThe girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, \u201cNonsense,\nnonsense!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?\u201d cried he. \u201cDo\nyou consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on\nthem, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you _there_. What say you,\nMary? For you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read\ngreat books, and make extracts.\u201d\n\nMary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.\n\n\u201cWhile Mary is adjusting her ideas,\u201d he continued, \u201clet us return to Mr.\nBingley.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sick of Mr. Bingley,\u201d cried his wife.\n\n\u201cI am sorry to hear _that_; but why did you not tell me so before? If I\nhad known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on\nhim. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we\ncannot escape the acquaintance now.\u201d\n\nThe astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished--that of Mrs.\nBennet perhaps surpassing the rest; though when the first tumult of joy\nwas over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the\nwhile.\n\n\u201cHow good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet! But I knew I should\npersuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to\nneglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! And it is such a\ngood joke, too, that you should have gone this morning, and never said a\nword about it till now.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose,\u201d said Mr. Bennet; and,\nas he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.\n\n\u201cWhat an excellent father you have, girls,\u201d said she, when the door was\nshut. \u201cI do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness;\nor me either, for that matter. At our time of life, it is not so\npleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day; but\nfor your sakes we would do anything. Lydia, my love, though you _are_\nthe youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next\nball.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Lydia, stoutly, \u201cI am not afraid; for though I _am_ the\nyoungest, I\u2019m the tallest.\u201d\n\nThe rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would\nreturn Mr. Bennet\u2019s visit, and determining when they should ask him to\ndinner.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cI\u2019m the tallest\u201d]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n     \u201cHe rode a black horse\u201d\n]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nNot all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five\ndaughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her\nhusband any satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him\nin various ways, with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and\ndistant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all; and they were at\nlast obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour,\nLady Lucas. Her report was highly favourable. Sir William had been\ndelighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely\nagreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly\nwith a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of\ndancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively\nhopes of Mr. Bingley\u2019s heart were entertained.\n\n\u201cIf I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,\u201d\nsaid Mrs. Bennet to her husband, \u201cand all the others equally well\nmarried, I shall have nothing to wish for.\u201d\n\nIn a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet\u2019s visit, and sat about ten\nminutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being\nadmitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard\nmuch; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more\nfortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining, from an upper\nwindow, that he wore a blue coat and rode a black horse.\n\nAn invitation to dinner was soon afterwards despatched; and already had\nMrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her\nhousekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley\nwas obliged to be in town the following day, and consequently unable to\naccept the honour of their invitation, etc. Mrs. Bennet was quite\ndisconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town\nso soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that\nhe might always be flying about from one place to another, and never\nsettled at Netherfield as he ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a\nlittle by starting the idea of his\n\n[Illustration:\n\n     \u201cWhen the Party entered\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\nbeing gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a\nreport soon followed that Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and\nseven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a\nnumber of ladies; but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing\nthat, instead of twelve, he had brought only six with him from London,\nhis five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the\nassembly-room, it consisted of only five altogether: Mr. Bingley, his\ntwo sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.\n\nMr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike: he had a pleasant\ncountenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women,\nwith an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely\nlooked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention\nof the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and\nthe report, which was in general circulation within five minutes after\nhis entrance, of his having ten thousand a year. The gentlemen\npronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was\nmuch handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great\nadmiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust\nwhich turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be\nproud, to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his\nlarge estate in Derbyshire could save him from having a most forbidding,\ndisagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his\nfriend.\n\nMr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal\npeople in the room: he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance,\nwas angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one\nhimself at Netherfield. Such amiable qualities must speak for\nthemselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced\nonly once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, declined being\nintroduced to any other lady, and spent the rest of the evening in\nwalking about the room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party.\nHis character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in\nthe world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again.\nAmongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet, whose dislike of\nhis general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his\nhaving slighted one of her daughters.\n\nElizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit\ndown for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been\nstanding near enough for her to overhear a conversation between him and\nMr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes to press his\nfriend to join it.\n\n\u201cCome, Darcy,\u201d said he, \u201cI must have you dance. I hate to see you\nstanding about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better\ndance.\u201d\n\n\u201cI certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am\nparticularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it\nwould be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not\nanother woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to\nstand up with.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would not be so fastidious as you are,\u201d cried Bingley, \u201cfor a\nkingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my\nlife as I have this evening; and there are several of them, you see,\nuncommonly pretty.\u201d\n\n\u201c_You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,\u201d said Mr.\nDarcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.\n\n\u201cOh, she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one\nof her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I\ndare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.\u201d\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201cShe is tolerable\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\u201cWhich do you mean?\u201d and turning round, he looked for a moment at\nElizabeth, till, catching her eye, he withdrew his own, and coldly said,\n\u201cShe is tolerable: but not handsome enough to tempt _me_; and I am in no\nhumour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted\nby other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her\nsmiles, for you are wasting your time with me.\u201d\n\nMr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and Elizabeth\nremained with no very cordial feelings towards him. She told the story,\nhowever, with great spirit among her friends; for she had a lively,\nplayful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.\n\nThe evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs.\nBennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the Netherfield\nparty. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she had been\ndistinguished by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified by this as her\nmother could be, though in a quieter way. Elizabeth felt Jane\u2019s\npleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned to Miss Bingley as the most\naccomplished girl in the neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been\nfortunate enough to be never without partners, which was all that they\nhad yet learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good\nspirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which they\nwere the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still up. With a\nbook, he was regardless of time; and on the present occasion he had a\ngood deal of curiosity as to the event of an evening which had raised\nsuch splendid expectations. He had rather hoped that all his wife\u2019s\nviews on the stranger would be disappointed; but he soon found that he\nhad a very different story to hear.\n\n\u201cOh, my dear Mr. Bennet,\u201d as she entered the room, \u201cwe have had a most\ndelightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there.\nJane was so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well\nshe looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her quite beautiful, and danced with\nher twice. Only think of _that_, my dear: he actually danced with her\ntwice; and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second\ntime. First of all, he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand\nup with her; but, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody\ncan, you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going\ndown the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and\nasked her for the two next. Then, the two third he danced with Miss\nKing, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane\nagain, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the _Boulanger_----\u201d\n\n\u201cIf he had had any compassion for _me_,\u201d cried her husband impatiently,\n\u201che would not have danced half so much! For God\u2019s sake, say no more of\nhis partners. O that he had sprained his ancle in the first dance!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, my dear,\u201d continued Mrs. Bennet, \u201cI am quite delighted with him. He\nis so excessively handsome! and his sisters are charming women. I never\nin my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the\nlace upon Mrs. Hurst\u2019s gown----\u201d\n\nHere she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any\ndescription of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another branch\nof the subject, and related, with much bitterness of spirit, and some\nexaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.\n\n\u201cBut I can assure you,\u201d she added, \u201cthat Lizzy does not lose much by not\nsuiting _his_ fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man, not at\nall worth pleasing. So high and so conceited, that there was no enduring\nhim! He walked here, and he walked there, fancying himself so very\ngreat! Not handsome enough to dance with! I wish you had been there, my\ndear, to have given him one of your set-downs. I quite detest the man.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhen Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in\nher praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much\nshe admired him.\n\n\u201cHe is just what a young-man ought to be,\u201d said she, \u201csensible,\ngood-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! so much ease,\nwith such perfect good breeding!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is also handsome,\u201d replied Elizabeth, \u201cwhich a young man ought\nlikewise to be if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I\ndid not expect such a compliment.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid not you? _I_ did for you. But that is one great difference between\nus. Compliments always take _you_ by surprise, and _me_ never. What\ncould be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help\nseeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in\nthe room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is\nvery agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a\nstupider person.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear Lizzy!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general.\nYou never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable\nin your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would wish not to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak\nwhat I think.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know you do: and it is _that_ which makes the wonder. With _your_\ngood sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of\nothers! Affectation of candour is common enough; one meets with it\neverywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design,--to take the\ngood of everybody\u2019s character and make it still better, and say nothing\nof the bad,--belongs to you alone. And so, you like this man\u2019s sisters,\ntoo, do you? Their manners are not equal to his.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly not, at first; but they are very pleasing women when you\nconverse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, and keep\nhis house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming\nneighbour in her.\u201d\n\nElizabeth listened in silence, but was not convinced: their behaviour at\nthe assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and with more\nquickness of observation and less pliancy of temper than her sister, and\nwith a judgment, too, unassailed by any attention to herself, she was\nvery little disposed to approve them. They were, in fact, very fine\nladies; not deficient in good-humour when they were pleased, nor in the\npower of being agreeable where they chose it; but proud and conceited.\nThey were rather handsome; had been educated in one of the first private\nseminaries in town; had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds; were in the\nhabit of spending more than they ought, and of associating with people\nof rank; and were, therefore, in every respect entitled to think well of\nthemselves and meanly of others. They were of a respectable family in\nthe north of England; a circumstance more deeply impressed on their\nmemories than that their brother\u2019s fortune and their own had been\nacquired by trade.\n\nMr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred\nthousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate,\nbut did not live to do it. Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and\nsometimes made choice of his county; but, as he was now provided with a\ngood house and the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those\nwho best knew the easiness of his temper, whether he might not spend the\nremainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the next generation to\npurchase.\n\nHis sisters were very anxious for his having an estate of his own; but\nthough he was now established only as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no\nmeans unwilling to preside at his table; nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had\nmarried a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider\nhis house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of\nage two years when he was tempted, by an accidental recommendation, to\nlook at Netherfield House. He did look at it, and into it, for half an\nhour; was pleased with the situation and the principal rooms, satisfied\nwith what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.\n\nBetween him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of a\ngreat opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the\neasiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition\ncould offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he\nnever appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy\u2019s regard, Bingley\nhad the firmest reliance, and of his judgment the highest opinion. In\nunderstanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means\ndeficient; but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty,\nreserved, and fastidious; and his manners, though well bred, were not\ninviting. In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage. Bingley\nwas sure of being liked wherever he appeared; Darcy was continually\ngiving offence.\n\nThe manner in which they spoke of the Meryton assembly was sufficiently\ncharacteristic. Bingley had never met with pleasanter people or prettier\ngirls in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive to him;\nthere had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted\nwith all the room; and as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel\nmore beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a collection of people\nin whom there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had\nfelt the smallest interest, and from none received either attention or\npleasure. Miss Bennet he acknowledged to be pretty; but she smiled too\nmuch.\n\nMrs. Hurst and her sister allowed it to be so; but still they admired\nher and liked her, and pronounced her to be a sweet girl, and one whom\nthey should not object to know more of. Miss Bennet was therefore\nestablished as a sweet girl; and their brother felt authorized by such\ncommendation to think of her as he chose.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: [_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWithin a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets\nwere particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade\nin Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune, and risen to the\nhonour of knighthood by an address to the king during his mayoralty. The\ndistinction had, perhaps, been felt too strongly. It had given him a\ndisgust to his business and to his residence in a small market town;\nand, quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house about\na mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge; where he\ncould think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled by\nbusiness, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. For,\nthough elated by his rank, it did not render him supercilious; on the\ncontrary, he was all attention to everybody. By nature inoffensive,\nfriendly, and obliging, his presentation at St. James\u2019s had made him\ncourteous.\n\nLady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a\nvaluable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. They had several children. The eldest\nof them, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was\nElizabeth\u2019s intimate friend.\n\nThat the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a\nball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly\nbrought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate.\n\n\u201c_You_ began the evening well, Charlotte,\u201d said Mrs. Bennet, with civil\nself-command, to Miss Lucas. \u201c_You_ were Mr. Bingley\u2019s first choice.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but he seemed to like his second better.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. To be\nsure that _did_ seem as if he admired her--indeed, I rather believe he\n_did_--I heard something about it--but I hardly know what--something\nabout Mr. Robinson.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson: did not\nI mention it to you? Mr. Robinson\u2019s asking him how he liked our Meryton\nassemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many pretty\nwomen in the room, and _which_ he thought the prettiest? and his\nanswering immediately to the last question, \u2018Oh, the eldest Miss Bennet,\nbeyond a doubt: there cannot be two opinions on that point.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon my word! Well, that was very decided, indeed--that does seem as\nif--but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201c_My_ overhearings were more to the purpose than _yours_, Eliza,\u201d said\nCharlotte. \u201cMr. Darcy is not so well worth listening to as his friend,\nis he? Poor Eliza! to be only just _tolerable_.\u201d\n\n\u201cI beg you will not put it into Lizzy\u2019s head to be vexed by his\nill-treatment, for he is such a disagreeable man that it would be quite\na misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he\nsat close to her for half an hour without once opening his lips.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cWithout once opening his lips\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\u201cAre you quite sure, ma\u2019am? Is not there a little mistake?\u201d said Jane.\n\u201cI certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, because she asked him at last how he liked Netherfield, and he\ncould not help answering her; but she said he seemed very angry at being\nspoke to.\u201d\n\n\u201cMiss Bingley told me,\u201d said Jane, \u201cthat he never speaks much unless\namong his intimate acquaintance. With _them_ he is remarkably\nagreeable.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not believe a word of it, my dear. If he had been so very\nagreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long. But I can guess how it\nwas; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had\nheard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had to come\nto the ball in a hack chaise.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not mind his not talking to Mrs. Long,\u201d said Miss Lucas, \u201cbut I\nwish he had danced with Eliza.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnother time, Lizzy,\u201d said her mother, \u201cI would not dance with _him_,\nif I were you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe, ma\u2019am, I may safely promise you _never_ to dance with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis pride,\u201d said Miss Lucas, \u201cdoes not offend _me_ so much as pride\noften does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so\nvery fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour,\nshould think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a _right_\nto be proud.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is very true,\u201d replied Elizabeth, \u201cand I could easily forgive\n_his_ pride, if he had not mortified _mine_.\u201d\n\n\u201cPride,\u201d observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her\nreflections, \u201cis a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have\never read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human\nnature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us\nwho do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some\nquality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different\nthings, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be\nproud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of\nourselves; vanity to what we would have others think of us.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,\u201d cried a young Lucas, who came with his\nsisters, \u201cI should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of\nfoxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you would drink a great deal more than you ought,\u201d said Mrs.\nBennet; \u201cand if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle\ndirectly.\u201d\n\nThe boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she\nwould; and the argument ended only with the visit.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe ladies of Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit\nwas returned in due form. Miss Bennet\u2019s pleasing manners grew on the\ngood-will of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and though the mother was\nfound to be intolerable, and the younger sisters not worth speaking to,\na wish of being better acquainted with _them_ was expressed towards the\ntwo eldest. By Jane this attention was received with the greatest\npleasure; but Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in their treatment of\neverybody, hardly excepting even her sister, and could not like them;\nthough their kindness to Jane, such as it was, had a value, as arising,\nin all probability, from the influence of their brother\u2019s admiration. It\nwas generally evident, whenever they met, that he _did_ admire her; and\nto _her_ it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference\nwhich she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a\nway to be very much in love; but she considered with pleasure that it\nwas not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane\nunited with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and an\nuniform cheerfulness of manner, which would guard her from the\nsuspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend, Miss\nLucas.\n\n\u201cIt may, perhaps, be pleasant,\u201d replied Charlotte, \u201cto be able to impose\non the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be\nso very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill\nfrom the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and\nit will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the\ndark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every\nattachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all\n_begin_ freely--a slight preference is natural enough; but there are\nvery few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without\nencouragement. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show _more_\naffection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he\nmay never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If _I_ can\nperceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton indeed not to\ndiscover it too.\u201d\n\n\u201cRemember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane\u2019s disposition as you do.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavor to conceal\nit, he must find it out.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But though Bingley and Jane\nmeet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and as they\nalways see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that\nevery moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should\ntherefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his\nattention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling\nin love as much as she chooses.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour plan is a good one,\u201d replied Elizabeth, \u201cwhere nothing is in\nquestion but the desire of being well married; and if I were determined\nto get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt it. But\nthese are not Jane\u2019s feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet she\ncannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard, nor of its\nreasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four\ndances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house,\nand has since dined in company with him four times. This is not quite\nenough to make her understand his character.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot as you represent it. Had she merely _dined_ with him, she might\nonly have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must\nremember that four evenings have been also spent together--and four\nevenings may do a great deal.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes: these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both\nlike Vingt-un better than Commerce, but with respect to any other\nleading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Charlotte, \u201cI wish Jane success with all my heart; and if\nshe were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a\nchance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a\ntwelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If\nthe dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or\never so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the\nleast. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to\nhave their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as\npossible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your\nlife.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not\nsound, and that you would never act in this way yourself.\u201d\n\nOccupied in observing Mr. Bingley\u2019s attention to her sister, Elizabeth\nwas far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some\ninterest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely\nallowed her to be pretty: he had looked at her without admiration at the\nball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no\nsooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had\nhardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered\nuncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To\nthis discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had\ndetected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry\nin her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and\npleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those\nof the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of\nthis she was perfectly unaware: to her he was only the man who made\nhimself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough\nto dance with.\n\nHe began to wish to know more of her; and, as a step towards conversing\nwith her himself, attended to her conversation with others. His doing so\ndrew her notice. It was at Sir William Lucas\u2019s, where a large party were\nassembled.\n\n\u201cWhat does Mr. Darcy mean,\u201d said she to Charlotte, \u201cby listening to my\nconversation with Colonel Forster?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if he does it any more, I shall certainly let him know that I see\nwhat he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by\nbeing impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cThe entreaties of several\u201d [_Copyright 1894 by George\nAllen._]]\n\nOn his approaching them soon afterwards, though without seeming to have\nany intention of speaking, Miss Lucas defied her friend to mention such\na subject to him, which immediately provoking Elizabeth to do it, she\nturned to him and said,--\n\n\u201cDid not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well\njust now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at\nMeryton?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith great energy; but it is a subject which always makes a lady\nenergetic.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are severe on us.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will be _her_ turn soon to be teased,\u201d said Miss Lucas. \u201cI am going\nto open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a very strange creature by way of a friend!--always wanting me\nto play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a\nmusical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would\nreally rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of\nhearing the very best performers.\u201d On Miss Lucas\u2019s persevering, however,\nshe added, \u201cVery well; if it must be so, it must.\u201d And gravely glancing\nat Mr. Darcy, \u201cThere is a very fine old saying, which everybody here is\nof course familiar with--\u2018Keep your breath to cool your porridge,\u2019--and\nI shall keep mine to swell my song.\u201d\n\nHer performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song\nor two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she\nwould sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her\nsister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in\nthe family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always\nimpatient for display.\n\nMary had neither genius nor taste; and though vanity had given her\napplication, it had given her likewise a pedantic air and conceited\nmanner, which would have injured a higher degree of excellence than she\nhad reached. Elizabeth, easy and unaffected, had been listened to with\nmuch more pleasure, though not playing half so well; and Mary, at the\nend of a long concerto, was glad to purchase praise and gratitude by\nScotch and Irish airs, at the request of her younger sisters, who with\nsome of the Lucases, and two or three officers, joined eagerly in\ndancing at one end of the room.\n\nMr. Darcy stood near them in silent indignation at such a mode of\npassing the evening, to the exclusion of all conversation, and was too\nmuch engrossed by his own thoughts to perceive that Sir William Lucas\nwas his neighbour, till Sir William thus began:--\n\n\u201cWhat a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy! There is\nnothing like dancing, after all. I consider it as one of the first\nrefinements of polished societies.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst\nthe less polished societies of the world: every savage can dance.\u201d\n\nSir William only smiled. \u201cYour friend performs delightfully,\u201d he\ncontinued, after a pause, on seeing Bingley join the group; \u201cand I doubt\nnot that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do\nyou often dance at St. James\u2019s?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have a house in town, I conclude?\u201d\n\nMr. Darcy bowed.\n\n\u201cI had once some thoughts of fixing in town myself, for I am fond of\nsuperior society; but I did not feel quite certain that the air of\nLondon would agree with Lady Lucas.\u201d\n\nHe paused in hopes of an answer: but his companion was not disposed to\nmake any; and Elizabeth at that instant moving towards them, he was\nstruck with the notion of doing a very gallant thing, and called out to\nher,--\n\n\u201cMy dear Miss Eliza, why are not you dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow\nme to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You\ncannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.\u201d\nAnd, taking her hand, he would have given it to Mr. Darcy, who, though\nextremely surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when she instantly\ndrew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir William,--\n\n\u201cIndeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you\nnot to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.\u201d\n\nMr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour of\nher hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William at\nall shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion.\n\n\u201cYou excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me\nthe happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the\namusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us\nfor one half hour.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Darcy is all politeness,\u201d said Elizabeth, smiling.\n\n\u201cHe is, indeed: but considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we\ncannot wonder at his complaisance; for who would object to such a\npartner?\u201d\n\nElizabeth looked archly, and turned away. Her resistance had not injured\nher with the gentleman, and he was thinking of her with some\ncomplacency, when thus accosted by Miss Bingley,--\n\n\u201cI can guess the subject of your reverie.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should imagine not.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many\nevenings in this manner,--in such society; and, indeed, I am quite of\nyour opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the\nnoise--the nothingness, and yet the self-importance, of all these\npeople! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!\u201d\n\n\u201cYour conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more\nagreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure\nwhich a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.\u201d\n\nMiss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he\nwould tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections.\nMr. Darcy replied, with great intrepidity,--\n\n\u201cMiss Elizabeth Bennet.\u201d\n\n\u201cMiss Elizabeth Bennet!\u201d repeated Miss Bingley. \u201cI am all astonishment.\nHow long has she been such a favourite? and pray when am I to wish you\njoy?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady\u2019s\nimagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love\nto matrimony, in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, if you are so serious about it, I shall consider the matter as\nabsolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, and\nof course she will be always at Pemberley with you.\u201d\n\nHe listened to her with perfect indifference, while she chose to\nentertain herself in this manner; and as his composure convinced her\nthat all was safe, her wit flowed along.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n     \u201cA note for Miss Bennet\u201d\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nMr. Bennet\u2019s property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two\nthousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed,\nin default of heirs male, on a distant relation; and their mother\u2019s\nfortune, though ample for her situation in life, could but ill supply\nthe deficiency of his. Her father had been an attorney in Meryton, and\nhad left her four thousand pounds.\n\nShe had a sister married to a Mr. Philips, who had been a clerk to their\nfather and succeeded him in the business, and a brother settled in\nLondon in a respectable line of trade.\n\nThe village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most\nconvenient distance for the young ladies, who were usually tempted\nthither three or four times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt, and\nto a milliner\u2019s shop just over the way. The two youngest of the family,\nCatherine and Lydia, were particularly frequent in these attentions:\ntheir minds were more vacant than their sisters\u2019, and when nothing\nbetter offered, a walk to Meryton was necessary to amuse their morning\nhours and furnish conversation for the evening; and, however bare of\nnews the country in general might be, they always contrived to learn\nsome from their aunt. At present, indeed, they were well supplied both\nwith news and happiness by the recent arrival of a militia regiment in\nthe neighbourhood; it was to remain the whole winter, and Meryton was\nthe head-quarters.\n\nTheir visits to Mrs. Philips were now productive of the most interesting\nintelligence. Every day added something to their knowledge of the\nofficers\u2019 names and connections. Their lodgings were not long a secret,\nand at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Philips\nvisited them all, and this opened to his nieces a source of felicity\nunknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr.\nBingley\u2019s large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their\nmother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of\nan ensign.\n\nAfter listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr.\nBennet coolly observed,--\n\n\u201cFrom all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two\nof the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but\nI am now convinced.\u201d\n\nCatherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect\nindifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, and\nher hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going the\nnext morning to London.\n\n\u201cI am astonished, my dear,\u201d said Mrs. Bennet, \u201cthat you should be so\nready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly\nof anybody\u2019s children, it should not be of my own, however.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I\nhad hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must\nso far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly\nfoolish.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of\ntheir father and mother. When they get to our age, I dare say they will\nnot think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I\nliked a red coat myself very well--and, indeed, so I do still at my\nheart; and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year,\nshould want one of my girls, I shall not say nay to him; and I thought\nColonel Forster looked very becoming the other night at Sir William\u2019s in\nhis regimentals.\u201d\n\n\u201cMamma,\u201d cried Lydia, \u201cmy aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain\nCarter do not go so often to Miss Watson\u2019s as they did when they first\ncame; she sees them now very often standing in Clarke\u2019s library.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bennet was prevented replying by the entrance of the footman with a\nnote for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited\nfor an answer. Mrs. Bennet\u2019s eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was\neagerly calling out, while her daughter read,--\n\n\u201cWell, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well,\nJane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is from Miss Bingley,\u201d said Jane, and then read it aloud.\n\n     /* NIND \u201cMy dear friend, */\n\n     \u201cIf you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and\n     me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our\n     lives; for a whole day\u2019s _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_ between two women can never\n     end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of\n     this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.\n     Yours ever,\n\n\u201cCAROLINE BINGLEY.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith the officers!\u201d cried Lydia: \u201cI wonder my aunt did not tell us of\n_that_.\u201d\n\n\u201cDining out,\u201d said Mrs. Bennet; \u201cthat is very unlucky.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan I have the carriage?\u201d said Jane.\n\n\u201cNo, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to\nrain; and then you must stay all night.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat would be a good scheme,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cif you were sure that\nthey would not offer to send her home.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley\u2019s chaise to go to Meryton;\nand the Hursts have no horses to theirs.\u201d\n\n\u201cI had much rather go in the coach.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are\nwanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are not they?\u201d\n\n[Illustration: Cheerful prognostics]\n\n\u201cThey are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if you have got them to-day,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cmy mother\u2019s purpose\nwill be answered.\u201d\n\nShe did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the horses\nwere engaged; Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her\nmother attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a bad\nday. Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone long before it\nrained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was\ndelighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission;\nJane certainly could not come back.\n\n\u201cThis was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!\u201d said Mrs. Bennet, more than\nonce, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the next\nmorning, however, she was not aware of all the felicity of her\ncontrivance. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Netherfield\nbrought the following note for Elizabeth:--\n\n     /* NIND \u201cMy dearest Lizzie, */\n\n     \u201cI find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be\n     imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will\n     not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on\n     my seeing Mr. Jones--therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear\n     of his having been to me--and, excepting a sore throat and a\n     headache, there is not much the matter with me.\n\n\u201cYours, etc.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my dear,\u201d said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note\naloud, \u201cif your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness--if she\nshould die--it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of\nMr. Bingley, and under your orders.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die of little\ntrifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays\nthere, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the\ncarriage.\u201d\n\nElizabeth, feeling really anxious, determined to go to her, though the\ncarriage was not to be had: and as she was no horsewoman, walking was\nher only alternative. She declared her resolution.\n\n\u201cHow can you be so silly,\u201d cried her mother, \u201cas to think of such a\nthing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get\nthere.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall be very fit to see Jane--which is all I want.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs this a hint to me, Lizzy,\u201d said her father, \u201cto send for the\nhorses?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, indeed. I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing,\nwhen one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.\u201d\n\n\u201cI admire the activity of your benevolence,\u201d observed Mary, \u201cbut every\nimpulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion,\nexertion should always be in proportion to what is required.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will go as far as Meryton with you,\u201d said Catherine and Lydia.\nElizabeth accepted their company, and the three young ladies set off\ntogether.\n\n\u201cIf we make haste,\u201d said Lydia, as they walked along, \u201cperhaps we may\nsee something of Captain Carter, before he goes.\u201d\n\nIn Meryton they parted: the two youngest repaired to the lodgings of one\nof the officers\u2019 wives, and Elizabeth continued her walk alone, crossing\nfield after field at a quick pace, jumping over stiles and springing\nover puddles, with impatient activity, and finding herself at last\nwithin view of the house, with weary ancles, dirty stockings, and a face\nglowing with the warmth of exercise.\n\nShe was shown into the breakfast parlour, where all but Jane were\nassembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise.\nThat she should have walked three miles so early in the day in such\ndirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and\nMiss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in contempt\nfor it. She was received, however, very politely by them; and in their\nbrother\u2019s manners there was something better than politeness--there was\ngood-humour and kindness. Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst\nnothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the\nbrilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion and doubt as to\nthe occasion\u2019s justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was\nthinking only of his breakfast.\n\nHer inquiries after her sister were not very favourably answered. Miss\nBennet had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and not well\nenough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to be taken to her\nimmediately; and Jane, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving\nalarm or inconvenience, from expressing in her note how much she longed\nfor such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal,\nhowever, to much conversation; and when Miss Bingley left them together,\ncould attempt little beside expressions of gratitude for the\nextraordinary kindness she was treated with. Elizabeth silently attended\nher.\n\nWhen breakfast was over, they were joined by the sisters; and Elizabeth\nbegan to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and\nsolicitude they showed for Jane. The apothecary came; and having\nexamined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a\nviolent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it;\nadvised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice\nwas followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head\nached acutely. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment, nor were\nthe other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had in fact\nnothing to do elsewhere.\n\nWhen the clock struck three, Elizabeth felt that she must go, and very\nunwillingly said so. Miss Bingley offered her the carriage, and she only\nwanted a little pressing to accept it, when Jane testified such concern\nat parting with her that Miss Bingley was obliged to convert the offer\nof the chaise into an invitation to remain at Netherfield for the\npresent. Elizabeth most thankfully consented, and a servant was\ndespatched to Longbourn, to acquaint the family with her stay, and bring\nback a supply of clothes.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201cThe Apothecary came\u201d\n]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n\u201ccovering a screen\u201d\n]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAt five o\u2019clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six\nElizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which then\npoured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the\nmuch superior solicitude of Mr. Bingley, she could not make a very\nfavourable answer. Jane was by no means better. The sisters, on hearing\nthis, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how\nshocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked\nbeing ill themselves; and then thought no more of the matter: and their\nindifference towards Jane, when not immediately before them, restored\nElizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike.\n\nTheir brother, indeed, was the only one of the party whom she could\nregard with any complacency. His anxiety for Jane was evident, and his\nattentions to herself most pleasing; and they prevented her feeling\nherself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the\nothers. She had very little notice from any but him. Miss Bingley was\nengrossed by Mr. Darcy, her sister scarcely less so; and as for Mr.\nHurst, by whom Elizabeth sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to\neat, drink, and play at cards, who, when he found her prefer a plain\ndish to a ragout, had nothing to say to her.\n\nWhen dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley\nbegan abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were\npronounced to be very bad indeed,--a mixture of pride and impertinence:\nshe had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst\nthought the same, and added,--\n\n\u201cShe has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent\nwalker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really\nlooked almost wild.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very\nnonsensical to come at all! Why must _she_ be scampering about the\ncountry, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowzy!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep\nin mud, I am absolutely certain, and the gown which had been let down to\nhide it not doing its office.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour picture may be very exact, Louisa,\u201d said Bingley; \u201cbut this was\nall lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well\nwhen she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite\nescaped my notice.\u201d\n\n\u201c_You_ observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,\u201d said Miss Bingley; \u201cand I am\ninclined to think that you would not wish to see _your sister_ make such\nan exhibition.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly not.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is,\nabove her ancles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! what could she mean by\nit? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence,\na most country-town indifference to decorum.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,\u201d said\nBingley.\n\n\u201cI am afraid, Mr. Darcy,\u201d observed Miss Bingley, in a half whisper,\n\u201cthat this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine\neyes.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all,\u201d he replied: \u201cthey were brightened by the exercise.\u201d A\nshort pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again,--\n\n\u201cI have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet,--she is really a very sweet\ngirl,--and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such\na father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no\nchance of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in\nMeryton?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is capital,\u201d added her sister; and they both laughed heartily.\n\n\u201cIf they had uncles enough to fill _all_ Cheapside,\u201d cried Bingley, \u201cit\nwould not make them one jot less agreeable.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any\nconsideration in the world,\u201d replied Darcy.\n\nTo this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their\nhearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of\ntheir dear friend\u2019s vulgar relations.\n\nWith a renewal of tenderness, however, they repaired to her room on\nleaving the dining-parlour, and sat with her till summoned to coffee.\nShe was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all, till\nlate in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her asleep, and\nwhen it appeared to her rather right than pleasant that she should go\ndown stairs herself. On entering the drawing-room, she found the whole\nparty at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting\nthem to be playing high, she declined it, and making her sister the\nexcuse, said she would amuse herself, for the short time she could stay\nbelow, with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.\n\n\u201cDo you prefer reading to cards?\u201d said he; \u201cthat is rather singular.\u201d\n\n\u201cMiss Eliza Bennet,\u201d said Miss Bingley, \u201cdespises cards. She is a great\nreader, and has no pleasure in anything else.\u201d\n\n\u201cI deserve neither such praise nor such censure,\u201d cried Elizabeth; \u201cI\nam _not_ a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,\u201d said Bingley; \u201cand\nI hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well.\u201d\n\nElizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards a table\nwhere a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her\nothers; all that his library afforded.\n\n\u201cAnd I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own\ncredit; but I am an idle fellow; and though I have not many, I have more\nthan I ever looked into.\u201d\n\nElizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those\nin the room.\n\n\u201cI am astonished,\u201d said Miss Bingley, \u201cthat my father should have left\nso small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at\nPemberley, Mr. Darcy!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt ought to be good,\u201d he replied: \u201cit has been the work of many\ngenerations.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd then you have added so much to it yourself--you are always buying\nbooks.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as\nthese.\u201d\n\n\u201cNeglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of\nthat noble place. Charles, when you build _your_ house, I wish it may be\nhalf as delightful as Pemberley.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish it may.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I would really advise you to make your purchase in that\nneighbourhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a\nfiner county in England than Derbyshire.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith all my heart: I will buy Pemberley itself, if Darcy will sell it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am talking of possibilities, Charles.\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get\nPemberley by purchase than by imitation.\u201d\n\nElizabeth was so much caught by what passed, as to leave her very little\nattention for her book; and, soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near\nthe card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his eldest\nsister, to observe the game.\n\n\u201cIs Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?\u201d said Miss Bingley: \u201cwill\nshe be as tall as I am?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet\u2019s height, or\nrather taller.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me\nso much. Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished\nfor her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is amazing to me,\u201d said Bingley, \u201chow young ladies can have patience\nto be so very accomplished as they all are.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and\nnet purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this; and I am\nsure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without\nbeing informed that she was very accomplished.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour list of the common extent of accomplishments,\u201d said Darcy, \u201chas\ntoo much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no\notherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen; but I am very\nfar from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I\ncannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen in the whole range of my\nacquaintance that are really accomplished.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor I, I am sure,\u201d said Miss Bingley.\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d observed Elizabeth, \u201cyou must comprehend a great deal in your\nidea of an accomplished woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; I do comprehend a great deal in it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, certainly,\u201d cried his faithful assistant, \u201cno one can be really\nesteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met\nwith. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing,\ndancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and, besides all\nthis, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of\nwalking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word\nwill be but half deserved.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll this she must possess,\u201d added Darcy; \u201cand to all she must yet add\nsomething more substantial in the improvement of her mind by extensive\nreading.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am no longer surprised at your knowing _only_ six accomplished women.\nI rather wonder now at your knowing _any_.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all\nthis?\u201d\n\n\u201c_I_ never saw such a woman. _I_ never saw such capacity, and taste, and\napplication, and elegance, as you describe, united.\u201d\n\nMrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her\nimplied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who\nanswered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with\nbitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all\nconversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the\nroom.\n\n\u201cEliza Bennet,\u201d said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, \u201cis\none of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other\nsex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I daresay, it\nsucceeds; but, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.\u201d\n\n\u201cUndoubtedly,\u201d replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed,\n\u201cthere is meanness in _all_ the arts which ladies sometimes condescend\nto employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is\ndespicable.\u201d\n\nMiss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to\ncontinue the subject.\n\nElizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and\nthat she could not leave her. Bingley urged Mr. Jones\u2019s being sent for\nimmediately; while his sisters, convinced that no country advice could\nbe of any service, recommended an express to town for one of the most\neminent physicians. This she would not hear of; but she was not so\nunwilling to comply with their brother\u2019s proposal; and it was settled\nthat Mr. Jones should be sent for early in the morning, if Miss Bennet\nwere not decidedly better. Bingley was quite uncomfortable; his sisters\ndeclared that they were miserable. They solaced their wretchedness,\nhowever, by duets after supper; while he could find no better relief to\nhis feelings than by giving his housekeeper directions that every\npossible attention might be paid to the sick lady and her sister.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\nM^{rs} Bennet and her two youngest girls\n\n[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nElizabeth passed the chief of the night in her sister\u2019s room, and in the\nmorning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the\ninquiries which she very early received from Mr. Bingley by a housemaid,\nand some time afterwards from the two elegant ladies who waited on his\nsisters. In spite of this amendment, however, she requested to have a\nnote sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her\nown judgment of her situation. The note was immediately despatched, and\nits contents as quickly complied with. Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her\ntwo youngest girls, reached Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.\n\nHad she found Jane in any apparent danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been\nvery miserable; but being satisfied on seeing her that her illness was\nnot alarming, she had no wish of her recovering immediately, as her\nrestoration to health would probably remove her from Netherfield. She\nwould not listen, therefore, to her daughter\u2019s proposal of being carried\nhome; neither did the apothecary, who arrived about the same time, think\nit at all advisable. After sitting a little while with Jane, on Miss\nBingley\u2019s appearance and invitation, the mother and three daughters all\nattended her into the breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes\nthat Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.\n\n\u201cIndeed I have, sir,\u201d was her answer. \u201cShe is a great deal too ill to be\nmoved. Mr. Jones says we must not think of moving her. We must trespass\na little longer on your kindness.\u201d\n\n\u201cRemoved!\u201d cried Bingley. \u201cIt must not be thought of. My sister, I am\nsure, will not hear of her removal.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may depend upon it, madam,\u201d said Miss Bingley, with cold civility,\n\u201cthat Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she\nremains with us.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgments.\n\n\u201cI am sure,\u201d she added, \u201cif it was not for such good friends, I do not\nknow what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed, and suffers a\nvast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world, which is\nalways the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest\ntemper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to\n_her_. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect\nover that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is\nequal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I\nhope, though you have but a short lease.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhatever I do is done in a hurry,\u201d replied he; \u201cand therefore if I\nshould resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five\nminutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is exactly what I should have supposed of you,\u201d said Elizabeth.\n\n\u201cYou begin to comprehend me, do you?\u201d cried he, turning towards her.\n\n\u201cOh yes--I understand you perfectly.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen\nthrough, I am afraid, is pitiful.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep,\nintricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cLizzy,\u201d cried her mother, \u201cremember where you are, and do not run on in\nthe wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not know before,\u201d continued Bingley, immediately, \u201cthat you were\na studier of character. It must be an amusing study.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but intricate characters are the _most_ amusing. They have at\nleast that advantage.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe country,\u201d said Darcy, \u201ccan in general supply but few subjects for\nsuch a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and\nunvarying society.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be\nobserved in them for ever.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed,\u201d cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a\ncountry neighbourhood. \u201cI assure you there is quite as much of _that_\ngoing on in the country as in town.\u201d\n\nEverybody was surprised; and Darcy, after looking at her for a moment,\nturned silently away. Mrs. Bennet, who fancied she had gained a complete\nvictory over him, continued her triumph,--\n\n\u201cI cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, for\nmy part, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal\npleasanter, is not it, Mr. Bingley?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen I am in the country,\u201d he replied, \u201cI never wish to leave it; and\nwhen I am in town, it is pretty much the same. They have each their\nadvantages, and I can be equally happy in either.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, that is because you have the right disposition. But that\ngentleman,\u201d looking at Darcy, \u201cseemed to think the country was nothing\nat all.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, mamma, you are mistaken,\u201d said Elizabeth, blushing for her\nmother. \u201cYou quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not\nsuch a variety of people to be met with in the country as in town, which\nyou must acknowledge to be true.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, my dear, nobody said there were; but as to not meeting with\nmany people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few\nneighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four-and-twenty families.\u201d\n\nNothing but concern for Elizabeth could enable Bingley to keep his\ncountenance. His sister was less delicate, and directed her eye towards\nMr. Darcy with a very expressive smile. Elizabeth, for the sake of\nsaying something that might turn her mother\u2019s thoughts, now asked her if\nCharlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since _her_ coming away.\n\n\u201cYes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir\nWilliam is, Mr. Bingley--is not he? so much the man of fashion! so\ngenteel and so easy! He has always something to say to everybody. _That_\nis my idea of good breeding; and those persons who fancy themselves very\nimportant and never open their mouths quite mistake the matter.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid Charlotte dine with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince-pies. For\nmy part, Mr. Bingley, _I_ always keep servants that can do their own\nwork; _my_ daughters are brought up differently. But everybody is to\njudge for themselves, and the Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I\nassure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that _I_ think\nCharlotte so _very_ plain; but then she is our particular friend.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe seems a very pleasant young woman,\u201d said Bingley.\n\n\u201cOh dear, yes; but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself\nhas often said so, and envied me Jane\u2019s beauty. I do not like to boast\nof my own child; but to be sure, Jane--one does not often see anybody\nbetter looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own\npartiality. When she was only fifteen there was a gentleman at my\nbrother Gardiner\u2019s in town so much in love with her, that my\nsister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away.\nBut, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he\nwrote some verses on her, and very pretty they were.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so ended his affection,\u201d said Elizabeth, impatiently. \u201cThere has\nbeen many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first\ndiscovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!\u201d\n\n\u201cI have been used to consider poetry as the _food_ of love,\u201d said Darcy.\n\n\u201cOf a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is\nstrong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I\nam convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.\u201d\n\nDarcy only smiled; and the general pause which ensued made Elizabeth\ntremble lest her mother should be exposing herself again. She longed to\nspeak, but could think of nothing to say; and after a short silence Mrs.\nBennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to\nJane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was\nunaffectedly civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be\ncivil also, and say what the occasion required. She performed her part,\nindeed, without much graciousness, but Mrs. Bennet was satisfied, and\nsoon afterwards ordered her carriage. Upon this signal, the youngest of\nher daughters put herself forward. The two girls had been whispering to\neach other during the whole visit; and the result of it was, that the\nyoungest should tax Mr. Bingley with having promised on his first coming\ninto the country to give a ball at Netherfield.\n\nLydia was a stout, well-grown girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion\nand good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her mother, whose\naffection had brought her into public at an early age. She had high\nanimal spirits, and a sort of natural self-consequence, which the\nattentions of the officers, to whom her uncle\u2019s good dinners and her\nown easy manners recommended her, had increased into assurance. She was\nvery equal, therefore, to address Mr. Bingley on the subject of the\nball, and abruptly reminded him of his promise; adding, that it would be\nthe most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it. His answer\nto this sudden attack was delightful to her mother\u2019s ear.\n\n\u201cI am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement; and, when\nyour sister is recovered, you shall, if you please, name the very day of\nthe ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill?\u201d\n\nLydia declared herself satisfied. \u201cOh yes--it would be much better to\nwait till Jane was well; and by that time, most likely, Captain Carter\nwould be at Meryton again. And when you have given _your_ ball,\u201d she\nadded, \u201cI shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel\nForster it will be quite a shame if he does not.\u201d\n\nMrs. Bennet and her daughters then departed, and Elizabeth returned\ninstantly to Jane, leaving her own and her relations\u2019 behaviour to the\nremarks of the two ladies and Mr. Darcy; the latter of whom, however,\ncould not be prevailed on to join in their censure of _her_, in spite of\nall Miss Bingley\u2019s witticisms on _fine eyes_.\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThe day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs. Hurst and Miss\nBingley had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who\ncontinued, though slowly, to mend; and, in the evening, Elizabeth joined\ntheir party in the drawing-room. The loo table, however, did not appear.\nMr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him, was watching\nthe progress of his letter, and repeatedly calling off his attention by\nmessages to his sister. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at piquet, and\nMrs. Hurst was observing their game.\n\nElizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in\nattending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual\ncommendations of the lady either on his hand-writing, or on the evenness\nof his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern\nwith which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was\nexactly in unison with her opinion of each.\n\n\u201cHow delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!\u201d\n\nHe made no answer.\n\n\u201cYou write uncommonly fast.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are mistaken. I write rather slowly.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a\nyear! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cPray tell your sister that I long to see her.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have already told her so once, by your desire.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend\npens remarkably well.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you--but I always mend my own.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can you contrive to write so even?\u201d\n\nHe was silent.\n\n\u201cTell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp,\nand pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful\nlittle design for a table, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss\nGrantley\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At\npresent I have not room to do them justice.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you\nalways write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are generally long; but whether always charming, it is not for me\nto determine.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with\nease cannot write ill.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,\u201d cried her\nbrother, \u201cbecause he does _not_ write with ease. He studies too much\nfor words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy style of writing is very different from yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d cried Miss Bingley, \u201cCharles writes in the most careless way\nimaginable. He leaves out half his words, and blots the rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them; by which\nmeans my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour humility, Mr. Bingley,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cmust disarm reproof.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing is more deceitful,\u201d said Darcy, \u201cthan the appearance of\nhumility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an\nindirect boast.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd which of the two do you call _my_ little recent piece of modesty?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in\nwriting, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of\nthought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable, you\nthink at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with\nquickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any\nattention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs.\nBennet this morning, that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield\nyou should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of\npanegyric, of compliment to yourself; and yet what is there so very\nlaudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business\nundone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?\u201d\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d cried Bingley, \u201cthis is too much, to remember at night all the\nfoolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I\nbelieved what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this\nmoment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless\nprecipitance merely to show off before the ladies.\u201d\n\n\u201cI daresay you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you\nwould be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as\ndependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were\nmounting your horse, a friend were to say, \u2018Bingley, you had better stay\ntill next week,\u2019 you would probably do it--you would probably not\ngo--and, at another word, might stay a month.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have only proved by this,\u201d cried Elizabeth, \u201cthat Mr. Bingley did\nnot do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much\nmore than he did himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am exceedingly gratified,\u201d said Bingley, \u201cby your converting what my\nfriend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am\nafraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means\nintend; for he would certainly think the better of me if, under such a\ncircumstance, I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I\ncould.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention\nas atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?\u201d\n\n\u201cUpon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter--Darcy must speak for\nhimself.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine,\nbut which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to\nstand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet,\nthat the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and\nthe delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering\none argument in favour of its propriety.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo yield readily--easily--to the _persuasion_ of a friend is no merit\nwith you.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of\neither.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of\nfriendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make\none readily yield to a request, without waiting for arguments to reason\none into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have\nsupposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the\ncircumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour\nthereupon. But in general and ordinary cases, between friend and friend,\nwhere one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no\nvery great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying\nwith the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?\u201d\n\n\u201cWill it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange\nwith rather more precision the degree of importance which is to\nappertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting\nbetween the parties?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy all means,\u201d cried Bingley; \u201clet us hear all the particulars, not\nforgetting their comparative height and size, for that will have more\nweight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure\nyou that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with\nmyself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not\nknow a more awful object than Darcy on particular occasions, and in\nparticular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening,\nwhen he has nothing to do.\u201d\n\nMr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was\nrather offended, and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly\nresented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her\nbrother for talking such nonsense.\n\n\u201cI see your design, Bingley,\u201d said his friend. \u201cYou dislike an argument,\nand want to silence this.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps I do. Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss\nBennet will defer yours till I am out of the room, I shall be very\nthankful; and then you may say whatever you like of me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat you ask,\u201d said Elizabeth, \u201cis no sacrifice on my side; and Mr.\nDarcy had much better finish his letter.\u201d\n\nMr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.\n\nWhen that business was over, he applied to Miss Bingley and Elizabeth\nfor the indulgence of some music. Miss Bingley moved with alacrity to\nthe pianoforte, and after a polite request that Elizabeth would lead the\nway, which the other as politely and more earnestly negatived, she\nseated herself.\n\nMrs. Hurst sang with her sister; and while they were thus employed,\nElizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music-books\nthat lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy\u2019s eyes were fixed\non her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of\nadmiration to so great a man, and yet that he should look at her because\nhe disliked her was still more strange. She could only imagine, however,\nat last, that she drew his notice because there was something about her\nmore wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in\nany other person present. The supposition did not pain her. She liked\nhim too little to care for his approbation.\n\nAfter playing some Italian songs, Miss Bingley varied the charm by a\nlively Scotch air; and soon afterwards Mr. Darcy, drawing near\nElizabeth, said to her,--\n\n\u201cDo you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an\nopportunity of dancing a reel?\u201d\n\nShe smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some\nsurprise at her silence.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said she, \u201cI heard you before; but I could not immediately\ndetermine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say \u2018Yes,\u2019\nthat you might have the pleasure of despising my taste; but I always\ndelight in overthrowing those kind of schemes, and cheating a person of\ntheir premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell\nyou that I do no\n\n##### SOURCE pg11_alice_excerpt #####\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nAlice\u2019s Adventures in Wonderland\n\nby Lewis Carroll\n\nTHE MILLENNIUM FULCRUM EDITION 3.0\n\nContents\n\n CHAPTER I.     Down the Rabbit-Hole\n CHAPTER II.    The Pool of Tears\n CHAPTER III.   A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale\n CHAPTER IV.    The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill\n CHAPTER V.     Advice from a Caterpillar\n CHAPTER VI.    Pig and Pepper\n CHAPTER VII.   A Mad Tea-Party\n CHAPTER VIII.  The Queen\u2019s Croquet-Ground\n CHAPTER IX.    The Mock Turtle\u2019s Story\n CHAPTER X.     The Lobster Quadrille\n CHAPTER XI.    Who Stole the Tarts?\n CHAPTER XII.   Alice\u2019s Evidence\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\nDown the Rabbit-Hole\n\n\nAlice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the\nbank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into\nthe book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or\nconversations in it, \u201cand what is the use of a book,\u201d thought Alice\n\u201cwithout pictures or conversations?\u201d\n\nSo she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the\nhot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of\nmaking a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and\npicking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran\nclose by her.\n\nThere was nothing so _very_ remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it\nso _very_ much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, \u201cOh\ndear! Oh dear! I shall be late!\u201d (when she thought it over afterwards,\nit occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the\ntime it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually _took a\nwatch out of its waistcoat-pocket_, and looked at it, and then hurried\non, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she\nhad never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a\nwatch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the\nfield after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a\nlarge rabbit-hole under the hedge.\n\nIn another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how\nin the world she was to get out again.\n\nThe rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then\ndipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think\nabout stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very\ndeep well.\n\nEither the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had\nplenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what\nwas going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out\nwhat she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she\nlooked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with\ncupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures\nhung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she\npassed; it was labelled \u201cORANGE MARMALADE\u201d, but to her great\ndisappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear\nof killing somebody underneath, so managed to put it into one of the\ncupboards as she fell past it.\n\n\u201cWell!\u201d thought Alice to herself, \u201cafter such a fall as this, I shall\nthink nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they\u2019ll all think me\nat home! Why, I wouldn\u2019t say anything about it, even if I fell off the\ntop of the house!\u201d (Which was very likely true.)\n\nDown, down, down. Would the fall _never_ come to an end? \u201cI wonder how\nmany miles I\u2019ve fallen by this time?\u201d she said aloud. \u201cI must be\ngetting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would\nbe four thousand miles down, I think\u2014\u201d (for, you see, Alice had learnt\nseveral things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and\nthough this was not a _very_ good opportunity for showing off her\nknowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good\npractice to say it over) \u201c\u2014yes, that\u2019s about the right distance\u2014but\nthen I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I\u2019ve got to?\u201d (Alice had no\nidea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice\ngrand words to say.)\n\nPresently she began again. \u201cI wonder if I shall fall right _through_\nthe earth! How funny it\u2019ll seem to come out among the people that walk\nwith their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think\u2014\u201d (she was rather\nglad there _was_ no one listening, this time, as it didn\u2019t sound at all\nthe right word) \u201c\u2014but I shall have to ask them what the name of the\ncountry is, you know. Please, Ma\u2019am, is this New Zealand or Australia?\u201d\n(and she tried to curtsey as she spoke\u2014fancy _curtseying_ as you\u2019re\nfalling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) \u201cAnd what\nan ignorant little girl she\u2019ll think me for asking! No, it\u2019ll never do\nto ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.\u201d\n\nDown, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began\ntalking again. \u201cDinah\u2019ll miss me very much to-night, I should think!\u201d\n(Dinah was the cat.) \u201cI hope they\u2019ll remember her saucer of milk at\ntea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are\nno mice in the air, I\u2019m afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that\u2019s\nvery like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?\u201d And here\nAlice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a\ndreamy sort of way, \u201cDo cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?\u201d and\nsometimes, \u201cDo bats eat cats?\u201d for, you see, as she couldn\u2019t answer\neither question, it didn\u2019t much matter which way she put it. She felt\nthat she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was\nwalking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly,\n\u201cNow, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?\u201d when suddenly,\nthump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and\nthe fall was over.\n\nAlice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a moment:\nshe looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another\nlong passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down\nit. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind,\nand was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, \u201cOh my ears\nand whiskers, how late it\u2019s getting!\u201d She was close behind it when she\nturned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen: she found\nherself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging\nfrom the roof.\n\nThere were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when\nAlice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every\ndoor, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to\nget out again.\n\nSuddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid\nglass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice\u2019s\nfirst thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall;\nbut, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small,\nbut at any rate it would not open any of them. However, on the second\ntime round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and\nbehind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the\nlittle golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!\n\nAlice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not\nmuch larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked along the\npassage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get\nout of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright\nflowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head\nthrough the doorway; \u201cand even if my head would go through,\u201d thought\npoor Alice, \u201cit would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh,\nhow I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only\nknew how to begin.\u201d For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had\nhappened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things\nindeed were really impossible.\n\nThere seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went\nback to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at\nany rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this\ntime she found a little bottle on it, (\u201cwhich certainly was not here\nbefore,\u201d said Alice,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper\nlabel, with the words \u201cDRINK ME,\u201d beautifully printed on it in large\nletters.\n\nIt was all very well to say \u201cDrink me,\u201d but the wise little Alice was\nnot going to do _that_ in a hurry. \u201cNo, I\u2019ll look first,\u201d she said,\n\u201cand see whether it\u2019s marked \u2018_poison_\u2019 or not\u201d; for she had read\nseveral nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and\neaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they\n_would_ not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them:\nsuch as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long;\nand that if you cut your finger _very_ deeply with a knife, it usually\nbleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a\nbottle marked \u201cpoison,\u201d it is almost certain to disagree with you,\nsooner or later.\n\nHowever, this bottle was _not_ marked \u201cpoison,\u201d so Alice ventured to\ntaste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed\nflavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and\nhot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n    *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\u201cWhat a curious feeling!\u201d said Alice; \u201cI must be shutting up like a\ntelescope.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face\nbrightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going\nthrough the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she\nwaited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further:\nshe felt a little nervous about this; \u201cfor it might end, you know,\u201d\nsaid Alice to herself, \u201cin my going out altogether, like a candle. I\nwonder what I should be like then?\u201d And she tried to fancy what the\nflame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could\nnot remember ever having seen such a thing.\n\nAfter a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided on going\ninto the garden at once; but, alas for poor Alice! when she got to the\ndoor, she found she had forgotten the little golden key, and when she\nwent back to the table for it, she found she could not possibly reach\nit: she could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her\nbest to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too slippery;\nand when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing\nsat down and cried.\n\n\u201cCome, there\u2019s no use in crying like that!\u201d said Alice to herself,\nrather sharply; \u201cI advise you to leave off this minute!\u201d She generally\ngave herself very good advice, (though she very seldom followed it),\nand sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into\nher eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having\ncheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself,\nfor this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people.\n\u201cBut it\u2019s no use now,\u201d thought poor Alice, \u201cto pretend to be two\npeople! Why, there\u2019s hardly enough of me left to make _one_ respectable\nperson!\u201d\n\nSoon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table:\nshe opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words\n\u201cEAT ME\u201d were beautifully marked in currants. \u201cWell, I\u2019ll eat it,\u201d said\nAlice, \u201cand if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it\nmakes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I\u2019ll\nget into the garden, and I don\u2019t care which happens!\u201d\n\nShe ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, \u201cWhich way? Which\nway?\u201d, holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was\ngrowing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same\nsize: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice\nhad got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way\nthings to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go\non in the common way.\n\nSo she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n    *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\nThe Pool of Tears\n\n\n\u201cCuriouser and curiouser!\u201d cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that\nfor the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); \u201cnow I\u2019m\nopening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!\u201d\n(for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of\nsight, they were getting so far off). \u201cOh, my poor little feet, I\nwonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I\u2019m\nsure _I_ shan\u2019t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble\nmyself about you: you must manage the best way you can;\u2014but I must be\nkind to them,\u201d thought Alice, \u201cor perhaps they won\u2019t walk the way I\nwant to go! Let me see: I\u2019ll give them a new pair of boots every\nChristmas.\u201d\n\nAnd she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. \u201cThey must\ngo by the carrier,\u201d she thought; \u201cand how funny it\u2019ll seem, sending\npresents to one\u2019s own feet! And how odd the directions will look!\n\n     _Alice\u2019s Right Foot, Esq., Hearthrug, near the Fender,_ (_with\n     Alice\u2019s love_).\n\nOh dear, what nonsense I\u2019m talking!\u201d\n\nJust then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was\nnow more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden\nkey and hurried off to the garden door.\n\nPoor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to\nlook through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more\nhopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.\n\n\u201cYou ought to be ashamed of yourself,\u201d said Alice, \u201ca great girl like\nyou,\u201d (she might well say this), \u201cto go on crying in this way! Stop\nthis moment, I tell you!\u201d But she went on all the same, shedding\ngallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about\nfour inches deep and reaching half down the hall.\n\nAfter a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and\nshe hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White\nRabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves\nin one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a\ngreat hurry, muttering to himself as he came, \u201cOh! the Duchess, the\nDuchess! Oh! won\u2019t she be savage if I\u2019ve kept her waiting!\u201d Alice felt\nso desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the\nRabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, \u201cIf you please,\nsir\u2014\u201d The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and\nthe fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.\n\nAlice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she\nkept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: \u201cDear, dear! How\nqueer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual.\nI wonder if I\u2019ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the\nsame when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling\na little different. But if I\u2019m not the same, the next question is, Who\nin the world am I? Ah, _that\u2019s_ the great puzzle!\u201d And she began\nthinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as\nherself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sure I\u2019m not Ada,\u201d she said, \u201cfor her hair goes in such long\nringlets, and mine doesn\u2019t go in ringlets at all; and I\u2019m sure I can\u2019t\nbe Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a\nvery little! Besides, _she\u2019s_ she, and _I\u2019m_ I, and\u2014oh dear, how\npuzzling it all is! I\u2019ll try if I know all the things I used to know.\nLet me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen,\nand four times seven is\u2014oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that\nrate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn\u2019t signify: let\u2019s try\nGeography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of\nRome, and Rome\u2014no, _that\u2019s_ all wrong, I\u2019m certain! I must have been\nchanged for Mabel! I\u2019ll try and say \u2018_How doth the little_\u2014\u2019\u201d and she\ncrossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began\nto repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words\ndid not come the same as they used to do:\u2014\n\n\u201cHow doth the little crocodile\n    Improve his shining tail,\nAnd pour the waters of the Nile\n    On every golden scale!\n\n\u201cHow cheerfully he seems to grin,\n    How neatly spread his claws,\nAnd welcome little fishes in\n    With gently smiling jaws!\u201d\n\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sure those are not the right words,\u201d said poor Alice, and her eyes\nfilled with tears again as she went on, \u201cI must be Mabel after all, and\nI shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to\nno toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I\u2019ve\nmade up my mind about it; if I\u2019m Mabel, I\u2019ll stay down here! It\u2019ll be\nno use their putting their heads down and saying \u2018Come up again, dear!\u2019\nI shall only look up and say \u2018Who am I then? Tell me that first, and\nthen, if I like being that person, I\u2019ll come up: if not, I\u2019ll stay down\nhere till I\u2019m somebody else\u2019\u2014but, oh dear!\u201d cried Alice, with a sudden\nburst of tears, \u201cI do wish they _would_ put their heads down! I am so\n_very_ tired of being all alone here!\u201d\n\nAs she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see\nthat she had put on one of the Rabbit\u2019s little white kid gloves while\nshe was talking. \u201cHow _can_ I have done that?\u201d she thought. \u201cI must be\ngrowing small again.\u201d She got up and went to the table to measure\nherself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was\nnow about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: she soon\nfound out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she\ndropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.\n\n\u201cThat _was_ a narrow escape!\u201d said Alice, a good deal frightened at the\nsudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; \u201cand\nnow for the garden!\u201d and she ran with all speed back to the little\ndoor: but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden\nkey was lying on the glass table as before, \u201cand things are worse than\never,\u201d thought the poor child, \u201cfor I never was so small as this\nbefore, never! And I declare it\u2019s too bad, that it is!\u201d\n\nAs she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment,\nsplash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that\nshe had somehow fallen into the sea, \u201cand in that case I can go back by\nrailway,\u201d she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in\nher life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go\nto on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the\nsea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row\nof lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she\nsoon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when\nshe was nine feet high.\n\n\u201cI wish I hadn\u2019t cried so much!\u201d said Alice, as she swam about, trying\nto find her way out. \u201cI shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by\nbeing drowned in my own tears! That _will_ be a queer thing, to be\nsure! However, everything is queer to-day.\u201d\n\nJust then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way\noff, and she swam nearer to make out what it was: at first she thought\nit must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small\nshe was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had\nslipped in like herself.\n\n\u201cWould it be of any use, now,\u201d thought Alice, \u201cto speak to this mouse?\nEverything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very\nlikely it can talk: at any rate, there\u2019s no harm in trying.\u201d So she\nbegan: \u201cO Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired\nof swimming about here, O Mouse!\u201d (Alice thought this must be the right\nway of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but\nshe remembered having seen in her brother\u2019s Latin Grammar, \u201cA mouse\u2014of\na mouse\u2014to a mouse\u2014a mouse\u2014O mouse!\u201d) The Mouse looked at her rather\ninquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes,\nbut it said nothing.\n\n\u201cPerhaps it doesn\u2019t understand English,\u201d thought Alice; \u201cI daresay it\u2019s\na French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.\u201d (For, with all\nher knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago\nanything had happened.) So she began again: \u201cO\u00f9 est ma chatte?\u201d which\nwas the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a\nsudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with\nfright. \u201cOh, I beg your pardon!\u201d cried Alice hastily, afraid that she\nhad hurt the poor animal\u2019s feelings. \u201cI quite forgot you didn\u2019t like\ncats.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot like cats!\u201d cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. \u201cWould\n_you_ like cats if you were me?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps not,\u201d said Alice in a soothing tone: \u201cdon\u2019t be angry\nabout it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you\u2019d\ntake a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear\nquiet thing,\u201d Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about\nin the pool, \u201cand she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her\npaws and washing her face\u2014and she is such a nice soft thing to\nnurse\u2014and she\u2019s such a capital one for catching mice\u2014oh, I beg your\npardon!\u201d cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all\nover, and she felt certain it must be really offended. \u201cWe won\u2019t talk\nabout her any more if you\u2019d rather not.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe indeed!\u201d cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his\ntail. \u201cAs if _I_ would talk on such a subject! Our family always\n_hated_ cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don\u2019t let me hear the name\nagain!\u201d\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t indeed!\u201d said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of\nconversation. \u201cAre you\u2014are you fond\u2014of\u2014of dogs?\u201d The Mouse did not\nanswer, so Alice went on eagerly: \u201cThere is such a nice little dog near\nour house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you\nknow, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it\u2019ll fetch things when\nyou throw them, and it\u2019ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts\nof things\u2014I can\u2019t remember half of them\u2014and it belongs to a farmer, you\nknow, and he says it\u2019s so useful, it\u2019s worth a hundred pounds! He says\nit kills all the rats and\u2014oh dear!\u201d cried Alice in a sorrowful tone,\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019ve offended it again!\u201d For the Mouse was swimming away\nfrom her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the\npool as it went.\n\nSo she called softly after it, \u201cMouse dear! Do come back again, and we\nwon\u2019t talk about cats or dogs either, if you don\u2019t like them!\u201d When the\nMouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her: its face\nwas quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low\ntrembling voice, \u201cLet us get to the shore, and then I\u2019ll tell you my\nhistory, and you\u2019ll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.\u201d\n\nIt was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the\nbirds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a\nDodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice\nled the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\nA Caucus-Race and a Long Tale\n\n\nThey were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank\u2014the\nbirds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close\nto them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.\n\nThe first question of course was, how to get dry again: they had a\nconsultation about this, and after a few minutes it seemed quite\nnatural to Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, as if\nshe had known them all her life. Indeed, she had quite a long argument\nwith the Lory, who at last turned sulky, and would only say, \u201cI am\nolder than you, and must know better;\u201d and this Alice would not allow\nwithout knowing how old it was, and, as the Lory positively refused to\ntell its age, there was no more to be said.\n\nAt last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority among them,\ncalled out, \u201cSit down, all of you, and listen to me! _I\u2019ll_ soon make\nyou dry enough!\u201d They all sat down at once, in a large ring, with the\nMouse in the middle. Alice kept her eyes anxiously fixed on it, for she\nfelt sure she would catch a bad cold if she did not get dry very soon.\n\n\u201cAhem!\u201d said the Mouse with an important air, \u201care you all ready? This\nis the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you please! \u2018William\nthe Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope, was soon submitted\nto by the English, who wanted leaders, and had been of late much\naccustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin and Morcar, the earls of\nMercia and Northumbria\u2014\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cUgh!\u201d said the Lory, with a shiver.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon!\u201d said the Mouse, frowning, but very politely: \u201cDid\nyou speak?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot I!\u201d said the Lory hastily.\n\n\u201cI thought you did,\u201d said the Mouse. \u201c\u2014I proceed. \u2018Edwin and Morcar,\nthe earls of Mercia and Northumbria, declared for him: and even\nStigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it advisable\u2014\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cFound _what_?\u201d said the Duck.\n\n\u201cFound _it_,\u201d the Mouse replied rather crossly: \u201cof course you know\nwhat \u2018it\u2019 means.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know what \u2018it\u2019 means well enough, when _I_ find a thing,\u201d said the\nDuck: \u201cit\u2019s generally a frog or a worm. The question is, what did the\narchbishop find?\u201d\n\nThe Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went on, \u201c\u2018\u2014found\nit advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet William and offer him\nthe crown. William\u2019s conduct at first was moderate. But the insolence\nof his Normans\u2014\u2019 How are you getting on now, my dear?\u201d it continued,\nturning to Alice as it spoke.\n\n\u201cAs wet as ever,\u201d said Alice in a melancholy tone: \u201cit doesn\u2019t seem to\ndry me at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn that case,\u201d said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, \u201cI move\nthat the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic\nremedies\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cSpeak English!\u201d said the Eaglet. \u201cI don\u2019t know the meaning of half\nthose long words, and, what\u2019s more, I don\u2019t believe you do either!\u201d And\nthe Eaglet bent down its head to hide a smile: some of the other birds\ntittered audibly.\n\n\u201cWhat I was going to say,\u201d said the Dodo in an offended tone, \u201cwas,\nthat the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus-race.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat _is_ a Caucus-race?\u201d said Alice; not that she wanted much to\nknow, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that _somebody_ ought to\nspeak, and no one else seemed inclined to say anything.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said the Dodo, \u201cthe best way to explain it is to do it.\u201d (And,\nas you might like to try the thing yourself, some winter day, I will\ntell you how the Dodo managed it.)\n\nFirst it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, (\u201cthe exact\nshape doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d it said,) and then all the party were placed\nalong the course, here and there. There was no \u201cOne, two, three, and\naway,\u201d but they began running when they liked, and left off when they\nliked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over. However,\nwhen they had been running half an hour or so, and were quite dry\nagain, the Dodo suddenly called out \u201cThe race is over!\u201d and they all\ncrowded round it, panting, and asking, \u201cBut who has won?\u201d\n\nThis question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of\nthought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon its\nforehead (the position in which you usually see Shakespeare, in the\npictures of him), while the rest waited in silence. At last the Dodo\nsaid, \u201c_Everybody_ has won, and all must have prizes.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut who is to give the prizes?\u201d quite a chorus of voices asked.\n\n\u201cWhy, _she_, of course,\u201d said the Dodo, pointing to Alice with one\nfinger; and the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out in a\nconfused way, \u201cPrizes! Prizes!\u201d\n\nAlice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand in her\npocket, and pulled out a box of comfits, (luckily the salt water had\nnot got into it), and handed them round as prizes. There was exactly\none a-piece, all round.\n\n\u201cBut she must have a prize herself, you know,\u201d said the Mouse.\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d the Dodo replied very gravely. \u201cWhat else have you got in\nyour pocket?\u201d he went on, turning to Alice.\n\n\u201cOnly a thimble,\u201d said Alice sadly.\n\n\u201cHand it over here,\u201d said the Dodo.\n\nThen they all crowded round her once more, while the Dodo solemnly\npresented the thimble, saying \u201cWe beg your acceptance of this elegant\nthimble;\u201d and, when it had finished this short speech, they all\ncheered.\n\nAlice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked so grave\nthat she did not dare to laugh; and, as she could not think of anything\nto say, she simply bowed, and took the thimble, looking as solemn as\nshe could.\n\nThe next thing was to eat the comfits: this caused some noise and\nconfusion, as the large birds complained that they could not taste\ntheirs, and the small ones choked and had to be patted on the back.\nHowever, it was over at last, and they sat down again in a ring, and\nbegged the Mouse to tell them something more.\n\n\u201cYou promised to tell me your history, you know,\u201d said Alice, \u201cand why\nit is you hate\u2014C and D,\u201d she added in a whisper, half afraid that it\nwould be offended again.\n\n\u201cMine is a long and a sad tale!\u201d said the Mouse, turning to Alice, and\nsighing.\n\n\u201cIt _is_ a long tail, certainly,\u201d said Alice, looking down with wonder\nat the Mouse\u2019s tail; \u201cbut why do you call it sad?\u201d And she kept on\npuzzling about it while the Mouse was speaking, so that her idea of the\ntale was something like this:\u2014\n\n         \u201cFury said to a mouse, That he met in the house, \u2018Let us both\n         go to law: _I_ will prosecute _you_.\u2014Come, I\u2019ll take no\n         denial; We must have a trial: For really this morning I\u2019ve\n         nothing to do.\u2019 Said the mouse to the cur, \u2018Such a trial, dear\n         sir, With no jury or judge, would be wasting our breath.\u2019\n         \u2018I\u2019ll be judge, I\u2019ll be jury,\u2019 Said cunning old Fury: \u2018I\u2019ll\n         try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not attending!\u201d said the Mouse to Alice severely. \u201cWhat are\nyou thinking of?\u201d\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon,\u201d said Alice very humbly: \u201cyou had got to the fifth\nbend, I think?\u201d\n\n\u201cI had _not!_\u201d cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily.\n\n\u201cA knot!\u201d said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and looking\nanxiously about her. \u201cOh, do let me help to undo it!\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall do nothing of the sort,\u201d said the Mouse, getting up and\nwalking away. \u201cYou insult me by talking such nonsense!\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t mean it!\u201d pleaded poor Alice. \u201cBut you\u2019re so easily offended,\nyou know!\u201d\n\nThe Mouse only growled in reply.\n\n\u201cPlease come back and finish your story!\u201d Alice called after it; and\nthe others all joined in chorus, \u201cYes, please do!\u201d but the Mouse only\nshook its head impatiently, and walked a little quicker.\n\n\u201cWhat a pity it wouldn\u2019t stay!\u201d sighed the Lory, as soon as it was\nquite out of sight; and an old Crab took the opportunity of saying to\nher daughter \u201cAh, my dear! Let this be a lesson to you never to lose\n_your_ temper!\u201d \u201cHold your tongue, Ma!\u201d said the young Crab, a little\nsnappishly. \u201cYou\u2019re enough to try the patience of an oyster!\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!\u201d said Alice aloud,\naddressing nobody in particular. \u201cShe\u2019d soon fetch it back!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?\u201d said the\nLory.\n\nAlice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet:\n\u201cDinah\u2019s our cat. And she\u2019s such a capital one for catching mice you\ncan\u2019t think! And oh, I wish you could see her after the birds! Why,\nshe\u2019ll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!\u201d\n\nThis speech caused a remarkable sensation among the party. Some of the\nbirds hurried off at once: one old Magpie began wrapping itself up very\ncarefully, remarking, \u201cI really must be getting home; the night-air\ndoesn\u2019t suit my throat!\u201d and a Canary called out in a trembling voice\nto its children, \u201cCome away, my dears! It\u2019s high time you were all in\nbed!\u201d On various pretexts they all moved off, and Alice was soon left\nalone.\n\n\u201cI wish I hadn\u2019t mentioned Dinah!\u201d she said to herself in a melancholy\ntone. \u201cNobody seems to like her, down here, and I\u2019m sure she\u2019s the best\ncat in the world! Oh, my dear Dinah! I wonder if I shall ever see you\nany more!\u201d And here poor Alice began to cry again, for she felt very\nlonely and low-spirited. In a little while, however, she again heard a\nlittle pattering of footsteps in the distance, and she looked up\neagerly, half hoping that the Mouse had changed his mind, and was\ncoming back to finish his story.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\nThe Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill\n\n\nIt was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking\nanxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard\nit muttering to itself \u201cThe Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh\nmy fur and whiskers! She\u2019ll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are\nferrets! Where _can_ I have dropped them, I wonder?\u201d Alice guessed in a\nmoment that it was looking for the fan and the pair of white kid\ngloves, and she very good-naturedly began hunting about for them, but\nthey were nowhere to be seen\u2014everything seemed to have changed since\nher swim in the pool, and the great hall, with the glass table and the\nlittle door, had vanished completely.\n\nVery soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about, and\ncalled out to her in an angry tone, \u201cWhy, Mary Ann, what _are_ you\ndoing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and\na fan! Quick, now!\u201d And Alice was so much frightened that she ran off\nat once in the direction it pointed to, without trying to explain the\nmistake it had made.\n\n\u201cHe took me for his housemaid,\u201d she said to herself as she ran. \u201cHow\nsurprised he\u2019ll be when he finds out who I am! But I\u2019d better take him\nhis fan and gloves\u2014that is, if I can find them.\u201d As she said this, she\ncame upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass\nplate with the name \u201cW. RABBIT,\u201d engraved upon it. She went in without\nknocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the\nreal Mary Ann, and be turned out of the house before she had found the\nfan and gloves.\n\n\u201cHow queer it seems,\u201d Alice said to herself, \u201cto be going messages for\na rabbit! I suppose Dinah\u2019ll be sending me on messages next!\u201d And she\nbegan fancying the sort of thing that would happen: \u201c\u2018Miss Alice! Come\nhere directly, and get ready for your walk!\u2019 \u2018Coming in a minute,\nnurse! But I\u2019ve got to see that the mouse doesn\u2019t get out.\u2019 Only I\ndon\u2019t think,\u201d Alice went on, \u201cthat they\u2019d let Dinah stop in the house\nif it began ordering people about like that!\u201d\n\nBy this time she had found her way into a tidy little room with a table\nin the window, and on it (as she had hoped) a fan and two or three\npairs of tiny white kid gloves: she took up the fan and a pair of the\ngloves, and was just going to leave the room, when her eye fell upon a\nlittle bottle that stood near the looking-glass. There was no label\nthis time with the words \u201cDRINK ME,\u201d but nevertheless she uncorked it\nand put it to her lips. \u201cI know _something_ interesting is sure to\nhappen,\u201d she said to herself, \u201cwhenever I eat or drink anything; so\nI\u2019ll just see what this bottle does. I do hope it\u2019ll make me grow large\nagain, for really I\u2019m quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!\u201d\n\nIt did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected: before she had\ndrunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling,\nand had to stoop to save her neck from being broken. She hastily put\ndown the bottle, saying to herself \u201cThat\u2019s quite enough\u2014I hope I shan\u2019t\ngrow any more\u2014As it is, I can\u2019t get out at the door\u2014I do wish I hadn\u2019t\ndrunk quite so much!\u201d\n\nAlas! it was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and growing,\nand very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there\nwas not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with\none elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head.\nStill she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one arm out\nof the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself \u201cNow I\ncan do no more, whatever happens. What _will_ become of me?\u201d\n\nLuckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect,\nand she grew no larger: still it was very uncomfortable, and, as there\nseemed to be no sort of chance of her ever getting out of the room\nagain, no wonder she felt unhappy.\n\n\u201cIt was much pleasanter at home,\u201d thought poor Alice, \u201cwhen one wasn\u2019t\nalways growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and\nrabbits. I almost wish I hadn\u2019t gone down that rabbit-hole\u2014and yet\u2014and\nyet\u2014it\u2019s rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what\n_can_ have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied\nthat kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of\none! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And\nwhen I grow up, I\u2019ll write one\u2014but I\u2019m grown up now,\u201d she added in a\nsorrowful tone; \u201cat least there\u2019s no room to grow up any more _here_.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut then,\u201d thought Alice, \u201cshall I _never_ get any older than I am\nnow? That\u2019ll be a comfort, one way\u2014never to be an old woman\u2014but\nthen\u2014always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn\u2019t like _that!_\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you foolish Alice!\u201d she answered herself. \u201cHow can you learn\nlessons in here? Why, there\u2019s hardly room for _you_, and no room at all\nfor any lesson-books!\u201d\n\nAnd so she went on, taking first one side and then the other, and\nmaking quite a conversation of it altogether; but after a few minutes\nshe heard a voice outside, and stopped to listen.\n\n\u201cMary Ann! Mary Ann!\u201d said the voice. \u201cFetch me my gloves this moment!\u201d\nThen came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice knew it was\nthe Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the\nhouse, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as\nlarge as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.\n\nPresently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it; but, as\nthe door opened inwards, and Alice\u2019s elbow was pressed hard against it,\nthat attempt proved a failure. Alice heard it say to itself \u201cThen I\u2019ll\ngo round and get in at the window.\u201d\n\n\u201c_That_ you won\u2019t!\u201d thought Alice, and, after waiting till she fancied\nshe heard the Rabbit just under the window, she suddenly spread out her\nhand, and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of anything,\nbut she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass,\nfrom which she concluded that it was just possible it had fallen into a\ncucumber-frame, or something of the sort.\n\nNext came an angry voice\u2014the Rabbit\u2019s\u2014\u201cPat! Pat! Where are you?\u201d And\nthen a voice she had never heard before, \u201cSure then I\u2019m here! Digging\nfor apples, yer honour!\u201d\n\n\u201cDigging for apples, indeed!\u201d said the Rabbit angrily. \u201cHere! Come and\nhelp me out of _this!_\u201d (Sounds of more broken glass.)\n\n\u201cNow tell me, Pat, what\u2019s that in the window?\u201d\n\n\u201cSure, it\u2019s an arm, yer honour!\u201d (He pronounced it \u201carrum.\u201d)\n\n\u201cAn arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole\nwindow!\u201d\n\n\u201cSure, it does, yer honour: but it\u2019s an arm for all that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s got no business there, at any rate: go and take it away!\u201d\n\nThere was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear whispers\nnow and then; such as, \u201cSure, I don\u2019t like it, yer honour, at all, at\nall!\u201d \u201cDo as I tell you, you coward!\u201d and at last she spread out her\nhand again, and made another snatch in the air. This time there were\n_two_ little shrieks, and more sounds of broken glass. \u201cWhat a number\nof cucumber-frames there must be!\u201d thought Alice. \u201cI wonder what\nthey\u2019ll do next! As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they\n_could!_ I\u2019m sure _I_ don\u2019t want to stay in here any longer!\u201d\n\nShe waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last came a\nrumbling of little cartwheels, and the sound of a good many voices all\ntalking together: she made out the words: \u201cWhere\u2019s the other\nladder?\u2014Why, I hadn\u2019t to bring but one; Bill\u2019s got the other\u2014Bill!\nfetch it here, lad!\u2014Here, put \u2019em up at this corner\u2014No, tie \u2019em\ntogether first\u2014they don\u2019t reach half high enough yet\u2014Oh! they\u2019ll do\nwell enough; don\u2019t be particular\u2014Here, Bill! catch hold of this\nrope\u2014Will the roof bear?\u2014Mind that loose slate\u2014Oh, it\u2019s coming down!\nHeads below!\u201d (a loud crash)\u2014\u201cNow, who did that?\u2014It was Bill, I\nfancy\u2014Who\u2019s to go down the chimney?\u2014Nay, _I_ shan\u2019t! _You_ do\nit!\u2014_That_ I won\u2019t, then!\u2014Bill\u2019s to go down\u2014Here, Bill! the master says\nyou\u2019re to go down the chimney!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! So Bill\u2019s got to come down the chimney, has he?\u201d said Alice to\nherself. \u201cShy, they seem to put everything upon Bill! I wouldn\u2019t be in\nBill\u2019s place for a good deal: this fireplace is narrow, to be sure; but\nI _think_ I can kick a little!\u201d\n\nShe drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and waited till\nshe heard a little animal (she couldn\u2019t guess of what sort it was)\nscratching and scrambling about in the chimney close above her: then,\nsaying to herself \u201cThis is Bill,\u201d she gave one sharp kick, and waited\nto see what would happen next.\n\nThe first thing she heard was a general chorus of \u201cThere goes Bill!\u201d\nthen the Rabbit\u2019s voice along\u2014\u201cCatch him, you by the hedge!\u201d then\nsilence, and then another confusion of voices\u2014\u201cHold up his head\u2014Brandy\nnow\u2014Don\u2019t choke him\u2014How was it, old fellow? What happened to you? Tell\nus all about it!\u201d\n\nLast came a little feeble, squeaking voice, (\u201cThat\u2019s Bill,\u201d thought\nAlice,) \u201cWell, I hardly know\u2014No more, thank ye; I\u2019m better now\u2014but I\u2019m\na deal too flustered to tell you\u2014all I know is, something comes at me\nlike a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a sky-rocket!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo you did, old fellow!\u201d said the others.\n\n\u201cWe must burn the house down!\u201d said the Rabbit\u2019s voice; and Alice\ncalled out as loud as she could, \u201cIf you do, I\u2019ll set Dinah at you!\u201d\n\nThere was a dead silence instantly, and Alice thought to herself, \u201cI\nwonder what they _will_ do next! If they had any sense, they\u2019d take the\nroof off.\u201d After a minute or two, they began moving about again, and\nAlice heard the Rabbit say, \u201cA barrowful will do, to begin with.\u201d\n\n\u201cA barrowful of _what?_\u201d thought Alice; but she had not long to doubt,\nfor the next moment a shower of little pebbles came rattling in at the\nwindow, and some of them hit her in the face. \u201cI\u2019ll put a stop to\nthis,\u201d she said to herself, and shouted out, \u201cYou\u2019d better not do that\nagain!\u201d which produced another dead silence.\n\nAlice noticed with some surprise that the pebbles were all turning into\nlittle cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright idea came into her\nhead. \u201cIf I eat one of these cakes,\u201d she thought, \u201cit\u2019s sure to make\n_some_ change in my size; and as it can\u2019t possibly make me larger, it\nmust make me smaller, I suppose.\u201d\n\nSo she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find that she\nbegan shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough to get\nthrough the door, she ran out of the house, and found quite a crowd of\nlittle animals and birds waiting outside. The poor little Lizard, Bill,\nwas in the middle, being held up by two guinea-pigs, who were giving it\nsomething out of a bottle. They all made a rush at Alice the moment she\nappeared; but she ran off as hard as she could, and soon found herself\nsafe in a thick wood.\n\n\u201cThe first thing I\u2019ve got to do,\u201d said Alice to herself, as she\nwandered about in the wood, \u201cis to grow to my right size again; and the\nsecond thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think that\nwill be the best plan.\u201d\n\nIt sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply\narranged; the only difficulty was, that she had not the smallest idea\nhow to set about it; and while she was peering about anxiously among\nthe trees, a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a\ngreat hurry.\n\nAn enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and\nfeebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her. \u201cPoor little\nthing!\u201d said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to\nit; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it\nmight be hungry, in which case it would be very likely to eat her up in\nspite of all her coaxing.\n\nHardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit of stick, and\nheld it out to the puppy; whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off\nall its feet at once, with a yelp of delight, and rushed at the stick,\nand made believe to worry it; then Alice dodged behind a great thistle,\nto keep herself from being run over; and the moment she appeared on the\nother side, the puppy made another rush at the stick, and tumbled head\nover heels in its hurry to get hold of it; then Alice, thinking it was\nvery like having a game of play with a cart-horse, and expecting every\nmoment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle again; then\nthe puppy began a series of short charges at the stick, running a very\nlittle way forwards each time and a long way back, and barking hoarsely\nall the while, till at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with\nits tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great eyes half shut.\n\nThis seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape; so she\nset off at once, and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath,\nand till the puppy\u2019s bark sounded quite faint in the distance.\n\n\u201cAnd yet what a dear little puppy it was!\u201d said Alice, as she leant\nagainst a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with one of the\nleaves: \u201cI should have liked teaching it tricks very much, if\u2014if I\u2019d\nonly been the right size to do it! Oh dear! I\u2019d nearly forgotten that\nI\u2019ve got to grow up again! Let me see\u2014how _is_ it to be managed? I\nsuppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but the great\nquestion is, what?\u201d\n\nThe great question certainly was, what? Alice looked all round her at\nthe flowers and the blades of grass, but she did not see anything that\nlooked like the right thing to eat or drink under the circumstances.\nThere was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as\nherself; and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and\nbehind it, it occurred to her that she might as well look and see what\nwas on the top of it.\n\nShe stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the\nmushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large blue\ncaterpillar, that was sitting on the top with its arms folded, quietly\nsmoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of her or of\nanything else.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\nAdvice from a Caterpillar\n\n\nThe Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in\nsilence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and\naddressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.\n\n\u201cWho are _you?_\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nThis was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied,\nrather shyly, \u201cI\u2014I hardly know, sir, just at present\u2014at least I know\nwho I _was_ when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been\nchanged several times since then.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean by that?\u201d said the Caterpillar sternly. \u201cExplain\nyourself!\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t explain _myself_, I\u2019m afraid, sir,\u201d said Alice, \u201cbecause I\u2019m\nnot myself, you see.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t put it more clearly,\u201d Alice replied very politely,\n\u201cfor I can\u2019t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many\ndifferent sizes in a day is very confusing.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps you haven\u2019t found it so yet,\u201d said Alice; \u201cbut when you\nhave to turn into a chrysalis\u2014you will some day, you know\u2014and then\nafter that into a butterfly, I should think you\u2019ll feel it a little\nqueer, won\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a bit,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps your feelings may be different,\u201d said Alice; \u201call I know\nis, it would feel very queer to _me_.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou!\u201d said the Caterpillar contemptuously. \u201cWho are _you?_\u201d\n\nWhich brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation.\nAlice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar\u2019s making such _very_\nshort remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, \u201cI\nthink, you ought to tell me who _you_ are, first.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nHere was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any\ngood reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a _very_ unpleasant\nstate of mind, she turned away.\n\n\u201cCome back!\u201d the Caterpillar called after her. \u201cI\u2019ve something\nimportant to say!\u201d\n\nThis sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.\n\n\u201cKeep your temper,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she\ncould.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nAlice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do,\nand perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For\nsome minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded\nits arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, \u201cSo you\nthink you\u2019re changed, do you?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I am, sir,\u201d said Alice; \u201cI can\u2019t remember things as I\nused\u2014and I don\u2019t keep the same size for ten minutes together!\u201d\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t remember _what_ things?\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ve tried to say \u201cHow doth the little busy bee,\u201d but it all\ncame different!\u201d Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.\n\n\u201cRepeat, \u2018_You are old, Father William_,\u2019\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nAlice folded her hands, and began:\u2014\n\n\u201cYou are old, Father William,\u201d the young man said,\n    \u201cAnd your hair has become very white;\nAnd yet you incessantly stand on your head\u2014\n    Do you think, at your age, it is right?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my youth,\u201d Father William replied to his son,\n    \u201cI feared it might injure the brain;\nBut, now that I\u2019m perfectly sure I have none,\n    Why, I do it again and again.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are old,\u201d said the youth, \u201cas I mentioned before,\n    And have grown most uncommonly fat;\nYet you turned a back-somersault in at the door\u2014\n    Pray, what is the reason of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my youth,\u201d said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,\n    \u201cI kept all my limbs very supple\nBy the use of this ointment\u2014one shilling the box\u2014\n    Allow me to sell you a couple?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are old,\u201d said the youth, \u201cand your jaws are too weak\n    For anything tougher than suet;\nYet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak\u2014\n    Pray, how did you manage to do it?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my youth,\u201d said his father, \u201cI took to the law,\n    And argued each case with my wife;\nAnd the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,\n    Has lasted the rest of my life.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are old,\u201d said the youth, \u201cone would hardly suppose\n    That your eye was as steady as ever;\nYet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose\u2014\n    What made you so awfully clever?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have answered three questions, and that is enough,\u201d\n    Said his father; \u201cdon\u2019t give yourself airs!\nDo you think I can listen all day to such stuff?\n    Be off, or I\u2019ll kick you down stairs!\u201d\n\n\n\u201cThat is not said right,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cNot _quite_ right, I\u2019m afraid,\u201d said Alice, timidly; \u201csome of the\nwords have got altered.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is wrong from beginning to end,\u201d said the Caterpillar decidedly,\nand there was silence for some minutes.\n\nThe Caterpillar was the first to speak.\n\n\u201cWhat size do you want to be?\u201d it asked.\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m not particular as to size,\u201d Alice hastily replied; \u201conly one\ndoesn\u2019t like changing so often, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cI _don\u2019t_ know,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\nAlice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life\nbefore, and she felt that she was losing her temper.\n\n\u201cAre you content now?\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cWell, I should like to be a _little_ larger, sir, if you wouldn\u2019t\nmind,\u201d said Alice: \u201cthree inches is such a wretched height to be.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a very good height indeed!\u201d said the Caterpillar angrily,\nrearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019m not used to it!\u201d pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she\nthought of herself, \u201cI wish the creatures wouldn\u2019t be so easily\noffended!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll get used to it in time,\u201d said the Caterpillar; and it put the\nhookah into its mouth and began smoking again.\n\nThis time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a\nminute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and\nyawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the\nmushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went,\n\u201cOne side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you\ngrow shorter.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne side of _what?_ The other side of _what?_\u201d thought Alice to\nherself.\n\n\u201cOf the mushroom,\u201d said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it\naloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.\n\nAlice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute,\ntrying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was\nperfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at\nlast she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke\noff a bit of the edge with each hand.\n\n\u201cAnd now which is which?\u201d she said to herself, and nibbled a little of\nthe right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a\nviolent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!\n\nShe was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt\nthat there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she\nset to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed\nso closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her\nmouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the\nlefthand bit.\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n    *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\u201cCome, my head\u2019s free at last!\u201d said Alice in a tone of delight, which\nchanged into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders\nwere nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was\nan immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a\nsea of green leaves that lay far below her.\n\n\u201cWhat _can_ all that green stuff be?\u201d said Alice. \u201cAnd where _have_ my\nshoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can\u2019t see you?\u201d\nShe was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow,\nexcept a little shaking among the distant green leaves.\n\nAs there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head,\nshe tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that\nher neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She\nhad just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was\ngoing to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but\nthe tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp\nhiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her\nface, and was beating her violently with its wings.\n\n\u201cSerpent!\u201d screamed the Pigeon.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m _not_ a serpent!\u201d said Alice indignantly. \u201cLet me alone!\u201d\n\n\u201cSerpent, I say again!\u201d repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued\ntone, and added with a kind of sob, \u201cI\u2019ve tried every way, and nothing\nseems to suit them!\u201d\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t the least idea what you\u2019re talking about,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve tried the roots of trees, and I\u2019ve tried banks, and I\u2019ve tried\nhedges,\u201d the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; \u201cbut those\nserpents! There\u2019s no pleasing them!\u201d\n\nAlice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in\nsaying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.\n\n\u201cAs if it wasn\u2019t trouble enough hatching the eggs,\u201d said the Pigeon;\n\u201cbut I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I\nhaven\u2019t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m very sorry you\u2019ve been annoyed,\u201d said Alice, who was beginning to\nsee its meaning.\n\n\u201cAnd just as I\u2019d taken the highest tree in the wood,\u201d continued the\nPigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, \u201cand just as I was thinking I\nshould be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down\nfrom the sky! Ugh, Serpent!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019m _not_ a serpent, I tell you!\u201d said Alice. \u201cI\u2019m a\u2014I\u2019m a\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cWell! _What_ are you?\u201d said the Pigeon. \u201cI can see you\u2019re trying to\ninvent something!\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2014I\u2019m a little girl,\u201d said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered\nthe number of changes she had gone through that day.\n\n\u201cA likely story indeed!\u201d said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest\ncontempt. \u201cI\u2019ve seen a good many little girls in my time, but never\n_one_ with such a neck as that! No, no! You\u2019re a serpent; and there\u2019s\nno use denying it. I suppose you\u2019ll be telling me next that you never\ntasted an egg!\u201d\n\n\u201cI _have_ tasted eggs, certainly,\u201d said Alice, who was a very truthful\nchild; \u201cbut little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you\nknow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it,\u201d said the Pigeon; \u201cbut if they do, why then\nthey\u2019re a kind of serpent, that\u2019s all I can say.\u201d\n\nThis was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a\nminute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, \u201cYou\u2019re\nlooking for eggs, I know _that_ well enough; and what does it matter to\nme whether you\u2019re a little girl or a serpent?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt matters a good deal to _me_,\u201d said Alice hastily; \u201cbut I\u2019m not\nlooking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn\u2019t want\n_yours_: I don\u2019t like them raw.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, be off, then!\u201d said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled\ndown again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well\nas she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches,\nand every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while\nshe remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands,\nand she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at\nthe other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until\nshe had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.\n\nIt was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it\nfelt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes,\nand began talking to herself, as usual. \u201cCome, there\u2019s half my plan\ndone now! How puzzling all these changes are! I\u2019m never sure what I\u2019m\ngoing to be, from one minute to another! However, I\u2019ve got back to my\nright size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden\u2014how\n_is_ that to be done, I wonder?\u201d As she said this, she came suddenly\nupon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high.\n\u201cWhoever lives there,\u201d thought Alice, \u201cit\u2019ll never do to come upon them\n_this_ size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!\u201d So she\nbegan nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go\nnear the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\nPig and Pepper\n\n\nFor a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and wondering what\nto do next, when suddenly a footman in livery came running out of the\nwood\u2014(she considered him to be a footman because he was in livery:\notherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a\nfish)\u2014and rapped loudly at the door with his knuckles. It was opened by\nanother footman in livery, with a round face, and large eyes like a\nfrog; and both footmen, Alice noticed, had powdered hair that curled\nall over their heads. She felt very curious to know what it was all\nabout, and crept a little way out of the wood to listen.\n\nThe Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter,\nnearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the other,\nsaying, in a solemn tone, \u201cFor the Duchess. An invitation from the\nQueen to play croquet.\u201d The Frog-Footman repeated, in the same solemn\ntone, only changing the order of the words a little, \u201cFrom the Queen.\nAn invitation for the Duchess to play croquet.\u201d\n\nThen they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together.\n\nAlice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the wood\nfor fear of their hearing her; and when she next peeped out the\nFish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground near the\ndoor, staring stupidly up into the sky.\n\nAlice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s no sort of use in knocking,\u201d said the Footman, \u201cand that for\ntwo reasons. First, because I\u2019m on the same side of the door as you\nare; secondly, because they\u2019re making such a noise inside, no one could\npossibly hear you.\u201d And certainly there _was_ a most extraordinary\nnoise going on within\u2014a constant howling and sneezing, and every now\nand then a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been broken to\npieces.\n\n\u201cPlease, then,\u201d said Alice, \u201chow am I to get in?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere might be some sense in your knocking,\u201d the Footman went on\nwithout attending to her, \u201cif we had the door between us. For instance,\nif you were _inside_, you might knock, and I could let you out, you\nknow.\u201d He was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking, and\nthis Alice thought decidedly uncivil. \u201cBut perhaps he can\u2019t help it,\u201d\nshe said to herself; \u201chis eyes are so _very_ nearly at the top of his\nhead. But at any rate he might answer questions.\u2014How am I to get in?\u201d\nshe repeated, aloud.\n\n\u201cI shall sit here,\u201d the Footman remarked, \u201ctill tomorrow\u2014\u201d\n\nAt this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate came\nskimming out, straight at the Footman\u2019s head: it just grazed his nose,\nand broke to pieces against one of the trees behind him.\n\n\u201c\u2014or next day, maybe,\u201d the Footman continued in the same tone, exactly\nas if nothing had happened.\n\n\u201cHow am I to get in?\u201d asked Alice again, in a louder tone.\n\n\u201c_Are_ you to get in at all?\u201d said the Footman. \u201cThat\u2019s the first\nquestion, you know.\u201d\n\nIt was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so. \u201cIt\u2019s really\ndreadful,\u201d she muttered to herself, \u201cthe way all the creatures argue.\nIt\u2019s enough to drive one crazy!\u201d\n\nThe Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for repeating his\nremark, with variations. \u201cI shall sit here,\u201d he said, \u201con and off, for\ndays and days.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what am _I_ to do?\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cAnything you like,\u201d said the Footman, and began whistling.\n\n\u201cOh, there\u2019s no use in talking to him,\u201d said Alice desperately: \u201che\u2019s\nperfectly idiotic!\u201d And she opened the door and went in.\n\nThe door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from\none end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a three-legged stool\nin the middle, nursing a baby; the cook was leaning over the fire,\nstirring a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s certainly too much pepper in that soup!\u201d Alice said to\nherself, as well as she could for sneezing.\n\nThere was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess sneezed\noccasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling\nalternately without a moment\u2019s pause. The only things in the kitchen\nthat did not sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat which was sitting\non the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.\n\n\u201cPlease would you tell me,\u201d said Alice, a little timidly, for she was\nnot quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak first, \u201cwhy\nyour cat grins like that?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a Cheshire cat,\u201d said the Duchess, \u201cand that\u2019s why. Pig!\u201d\n\nShe said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice quite\njumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed to the\nbaby, and not to her, so she took courage, and went on again:\u2014\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know that Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I didn\u2019t\nknow that cats _could_ grin.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey all can,\u201d said the Duchess; \u201cand most of \u2019em do.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know of any that do,\u201d Alice said very politely, feeling quite\npleased to have got into a conversation.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t know much,\u201d said the Duchess; \u201cand that\u2019s a fact.\u201d\n\nAlice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought it would\nbe as well to introduce some other subject of conversation. While she\nwas trying to fix on one, the cook took the cauldron of soup off the\nfire, and at once set to work throwing everything within her reach at\nthe Duchess and the baby\u2014the fire-irons came first; then followed a\nshower of saucepans, plates, and dishes. The Duchess took no notice of\nthem even when they hit her; and the baby was howling so much already,\nthat it was quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.\n\n\u201cOh, _please_ mind what you\u2019re doing!\u201d cried Alice, jumping up and down\nin an agony of terror. \u201cOh, there goes his _precious_ nose!\u201d as an\nunusually large saucepan flew close by it, and very nearly carried it\noff.\n\n\u201cIf everybody minded their own business,\u201d the Duchess said in a hoarse\ngrowl, \u201cthe world would go round a deal faster than it does.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich would _not_ be an advantage,\u201d said Alice, who felt very glad to\nget an opportunity of showing off a little of her knowledge. \u201cJust\nthink of what work it would make with the day and night! You see the\nearth takes twenty-four hours to turn round on its axis\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cTalking of axes,\u201d said the Duchess, \u201cchop off her head!\u201d\n\nAlice glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant to take\nthe hint; but the cook was busily stirring the soup, and seemed not to\nbe listening, so she went on again: \u201cTwenty-four hours, I _think_; or\nis it twelve? I\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t bother _me_,\u201d said the Duchess; \u201cI never could abide\nfigures!\u201d And with that she began nursing her child again, singing a\nsort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at\nthe end of every line:\n\n\u201cSpeak roughly to your little boy,\n    And beat him when he sneezes:\nHe only does it to annoy,\n    Because he knows it teases.\u201d\n\n\nCHORUS.\n(In which the cook and the baby joined):\n\n\n\u201cWow! wow! wow!\u201d\n\n\nWhile the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing\nthe baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so,\nthat Alice could hardly hear the words:\u2014\n\n\u201cI speak severely to my boy,\n    I beat him when he sneezes;\nFor he can thoroughly enjoy\n    The pepper when he pleases!\u201d\n\n\nCHORUS.\n\n\n\u201cWow! wow! wow!\u201d\n\n\n\u201cHere! you may nurse it a bit, if you like!\u201d the Duchess said to Alice,\nflinging the baby at her as she spoke. \u201cI must go and get ready to play\ncroquet with the Queen,\u201d and she hurried out of the room. The cook\nthrew a frying-pan after her as she went out, but it just missed her.\n\nAlice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a queer-shaped\nlittle creature, and held out its arms and legs in all directions,\n\u201cjust like a star-fish,\u201d thought Alice. The poor little thing was\nsnorting like a steam-engine when she caught it, and kept doubling\nitself up and straightening itself out again, so that altogether, for\nthe first minute or two, it was as much as she could do to hold it.\n\nAs soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing it, (which was to\ntwist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of its right\near and left foot, so as to prevent its undoing itself,) she carried it\nout into the open air. \u201cIf I don\u2019t take this child away with me,\u201d\nthought Alice, \u201cthey\u2019re sure to kill it in a day or two: wouldn\u2019t it be\nmurder to leave it behind?\u201d She said the last words out loud, and the\nlittle thing grunted in reply (it had left off sneezing by this time).\n\u201cDon\u2019t grunt,\u201d said Alice; \u201cthat\u2019s not at all a proper way of\nexpressing yourself.\u201d\n\nThe baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anxiously into its face\nto see what was the matter with it. There could be no doubt that it had\na _very_ turn-up nose, much more like a snout than a real nose; also\nits eyes were getting extremely small for a baby: altogether Alice did\nnot like the look of the thing at all. \u201cBut perhaps it was only\nsobbing,\u201d she thought, and looked into its eyes again, to see if there\nwere any tears.\n\nNo, there were no tears. \u201cIf you\u2019re going to turn into a pig, my dear,\u201d\nsaid Alice, seriously, \u201cI\u2019ll have nothing more to do with you. Mind\nnow!\u201d The poor little thing sobbed again (or grunted, it was impossible\nto say which), and they went on for some while in silence.\n\nAlice was just beginning to think to herself, \u201cNow, what am I to do\nwith this creature when I get it home?\u201d when it grunted again, so\nviolently, that she looked down into its face in some alarm. This time\nthere could be _no_ mistake about it: it was neither more nor less than\na pig, and she felt that it would be quite absurd for her to carry it\nfurther.\n\nSo she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to see it\ntrot away quietly into the wood. \u201cIf it had grown up,\u201d she said to\nherself, \u201cit would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but it makes\nrather a handsome pig, I think.\u201d And she began thinking over other\nchildren she knew, who might do very well as pigs, and was just saying\nto herself, \u201cif one only knew the right way to change them\u2014\u201d when she\nwas a little startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of\na tree a few yards off.\n\nThe Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she\nthought: still it had _very_ long claws and a great many teeth, so she\nfelt that it ought to be treated with respect.\n\n\u201cCheshire Puss,\u201d she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know\nwhether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little\nwider. \u201cCome, it\u2019s pleased so far,\u201d thought Alice, and she went on.\n\u201cWould you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat depends a good deal on where you want to get to,\u201d said the Cat.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t much care where\u2014\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cThen it doesn\u2019t matter which way you go,\u201d said the Cat.\n\n\u201c\u2014so long as I get _somewhere_,\u201d Alice added as an explanation.\n\n\u201cOh, you\u2019re sure to do that,\u201d said the Cat, \u201cif you only walk long\nenough.\u201d\n\nAlice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another\nquestion. \u201cWhat sort of people live about here?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn _that_ direction,\u201d the Cat said, waving its right paw round, \u201clives\na Hatter: and in _that_ direction,\u201d waving the other paw, \u201clives a\nMarch Hare. Visit either you like: they\u2019re both mad.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I don\u2019t want to go among mad people,\u201d Alice remarked.\n\n\u201cOh, you can\u2019t help that,\u201d said the Cat: \u201cwe\u2019re all mad here. I\u2019m mad.\nYou\u2019re mad.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know I\u2019m mad?\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cYou must be,\u201d said the Cat, \u201cor you wouldn\u2019t have come here.\u201d\n\nAlice didn\u2019t think that proved it at all; however, she went on \u201cAnd how\ndo you know that you\u2019re mad?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo begin with,\u201d said the Cat, \u201ca dog\u2019s not mad. You grant that?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose so,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cWell, then,\u201d the Cat went on, \u201cyou see, a dog growls when it\u2019s angry,\nand wags its tail when it\u2019s pleased. Now _I_ growl when I\u2019m pleased,\nand wag my tail when I\u2019m angry. Therefore I\u2019m mad.\u201d\n\n\u201c_I_ call it purring, not growling,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cCall it what you like,\u201d said the Cat. \u201cDo you play croquet with the\nQueen to-day?\u201d\n\n\u201cI should like it very much,\u201d said Alice, \u201cbut I haven\u2019t been invited\nyet.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll see me there,\u201d said the Cat, and vanished.\n\nAlice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so used to queer\nthings happening. While she was looking at the place where it had been,\nit suddenly appeared again.\n\n\u201cBy-the-bye, what became of the baby?\u201d said the Cat. \u201cI\u2019d nearly\nforgotten to ask.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt turned into a pig,\u201d Alice quietly said, just as if it had come back\nin a natural way.\n\n\u201cI thought it would,\u201d said the Cat, and vanished again.\n\nAlice waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but it did not\nappear, and after a minute or two she walked on in the direction in\nwhich the March Hare was said to live. \u201cI\u2019ve seen hatters before,\u201d she\nsaid to herself; \u201cthe March Hare will be much the most interesting, and\nperhaps as this is May it won\u2019t be raving mad\u2014at least not so mad as it\nwas in March.\u201d As she said this, she looked up, and there was the Cat\nagain, sitting on a branch of a tree.\n\n\u201cDid you say pig, or fig?\u201d said the Cat.\n\n\u201cI said pig,\u201d replied Alice; \u201cand I wish you wouldn\u2019t keep appearing\nand vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly,\nbeginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which\nremained some time after the rest of it had gone.\n\n\u201cWell! I\u2019ve often seen a cat without a grin,\u201d thought Alice; \u201cbut a\ngrin without a cat! It\u2019s the most curious thing I ever saw in my life!\u201d\n\nShe had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the house of\nthe March Hare: she thought it must be the right house, because the\nchimneys were shaped like ears and the roof was thatched with fur. It\nwas so large a house, that she did not like to go nearer till she had\nnibbled some more of the lefthand bit of mushroom, and raised herself\nto about two feet high: even then she walked up towards it rather\ntimidly, saying to herself \u201cSuppose it should be raving mad after all!\nI almost wish I\u2019d gone to see the Hatter instead!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\nA Mad Tea-Party\n\n\nThere was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the\nMarch Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting\nbetween them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a\ncushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. \u201cVery\nuncomfortable for the Dormouse,\u201d thought Alice; \u201conly, as it\u2019s asleep,\nI suppose it doesn\u2019t mind.\u201d\n\nThe table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at\none corner of it: \u201cNo room! No room!\u201d they cried out when they saw\nAlice coming. \u201cThere\u2019s _plenty_ of room!\u201d said Alice indignantly, and\nshe sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.\n\n\u201cHave some wine,\u201d the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.\n\nAlice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea.\n\u201cI don\u2019t see any wine,\u201d she remarked.\n\n\u201cThere isn\u2019t any,\u201d said the March Hare.\n\n\u201cThen it wasn\u2019t very civil of you to offer it,\u201d said Alice angrily.\n\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,\u201d said\nthe March Hare.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know it was _your_ table,\u201d said Alice; \u201cit\u2019s laid for a great\nmany more than three.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour hair wants cutting,\u201d said the Hatter. He had been looking at\nAlice for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first\nspeech.\n\n\u201cYou should learn not to make personal remarks,\u201d Alice said with some\nseverity; \u201cit\u2019s very rude.\u201d\n\nThe Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he _said_\nwas, \u201cWhy is a raven like a writing-desk?\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, we shall have some fun now!\u201d thought Alice. \u201cI\u2019m glad they\u2019ve\nbegun asking riddles.\u2014I believe I can guess that,\u201d she added aloud.\n\n\u201cDo you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?\u201d said\nthe March Hare.\n\n\u201cExactly so,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cThen you should say what you mean,\u201d the March Hare went on.\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d Alice hastily replied; \u201cat least\u2014at least I mean what I\nsay\u2014that\u2019s the same thing, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot the same thing a bit!\u201d said the Hatter. \u201cYou might just as well\nsay that \u2018I see what I eat\u2019 is the same thing as \u2018I eat what I see\u2019!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou might just as well say,\u201d added the March Hare, \u201cthat \u2018I like what\nI get\u2019 is the same thing as \u2018I get what I like\u2019!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou might just as well say,\u201d added the Dormouse, who seemed to be\ntalking in his sleep, \u201cthat \u2018I breathe when I sleep\u2019 is the same thing\nas \u2018I sleep when I breathe\u2019!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt _is_ the same thing with you,\u201d said the Hatter, and here the\nconversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while\nAlice thought over all she could remember about ravens and\nwriting-desks, which wasn\u2019t much.\n\nThe Hatter was the first to break the silence. \u201cWhat day of the month\nis it?\u201d he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his\npocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then,\nand holding it to his ear.\n\nAlice considered a little, and then said \u201cThe fourth.\u201d\n\n\u201cTwo days wrong!\u201d sighed the Hatter. \u201cI told you butter wouldn\u2019t suit\nthe works!\u201d he added looking angrily at the March Hare.\n\n\u201cIt was the _best_ butter,\u201d the March Hare meekly replied.\n\n\u201cYes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,\u201d the Hatter grumbled:\n\u201cyou shouldn\u2019t have put it in with the bread-knife.\u201d\n\nThe March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped\nit into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of\nnothing better to say than his first remark, \u201cIt was the _best_ butter,\nyou know.\u201d\n\nAlice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. \u201cWhat a\nfunny watch!\u201d she remarked. \u201cIt tells the day of the month, and doesn\u2019t\ntell what o\u2019clock it is!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should it?\u201d muttered the Hatter. \u201cDoes _your_ watch tell you what\nyear it is?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course not,\u201d Alice replied very readily: \u201cbut that\u2019s because it\nstays the same year for such a long time together.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich is just the case with _mine_,\u201d said the Hatter.\n\nAlice felt dreadfully puzzled, The Hatter\u2019s remark seemed to have no\nsort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. \u201cI don\u2019t quite\nunderstand you,\u201d she said, as politely as she could.\n\n\u201cThe Dormouse is asleep again,\u201d said the Hatter, and he poured a little\nhot tea upon its nose.\n\nThe Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its\neyes, \u201cOf course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you guessed the riddle yet?\u201d the Hatter said, turning to Alice\nagain.\n\n\u201cNo, I give it up,\u201d Alice replied: \u201cwhat\u2019s the answer?\u201d\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t the slightest idea,\u201d said the Hatter.\n\n\u201cNor I,\u201d said the March Hare.\n\nAlice sighed wearily. \u201cI think you might do something better with the\ntime,\u201d she said, \u201cthan waste it in asking riddles that have no\nanswers.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you knew Time as well as I do,\u201d said the Hatter, \u201cyou wouldn\u2019t talk\nabout wasting _it_. It\u2019s _him_.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what you mean,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cOf course you don\u2019t!\u201d the Hatter said, tossing his head\ncontemptuously. \u201cI dare say you never even spoke to Time!\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps not,\u201d Alice cautiously replied: \u201cbut I know I have to beat\ntime when I learn music.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! that accounts for it,\u201d said the Hatter. \u201cHe won\u2019t stand beating.\nNow, if you only kept on good terms with him, he\u2019d do almost anything\nyou liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o\u2019clock in\nthe morning, just time to begin lessons: you\u2019d only have to whisper a\nhint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one,\ntime for dinner!\u201d\n\n(\u201cI only wish it was,\u201d the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.)\n\n\u201cThat would be grand, certainly,\u201d said Alice thoughtfully: \u201cbut then\u2014I\nshouldn\u2019t be hungry for it, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at first, perhaps,\u201d said the Hatter: \u201cbut you could keep it to\nhalf-past one as long as you liked.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that the way _you_ manage?\u201d Alice asked.\n\nThe Hatter shook his head mournfully. \u201cNot I!\u201d he replied. \u201cWe\nquarrelled last March\u2014just before _he_ went mad, you know\u2014\u201d (pointing\nwith his tea spoon at the March Hare,) \u201c\u2014it was at the great concert\ngiven by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing\n\n\u2018Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!\nHow I wonder what you\u2019re at!\u2019\n\n\nYou know the song, perhaps?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve heard something like it,\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cIt goes on, you know,\u201d the Hatter continued, \u201cin this way:\u2014\n\n\u2018Up above the world you fly,\nLike a tea-tray in the sky.\n                    Twinkle, twinkle\u2014\u2019\u201d\n\n\nHere the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep\n\u201c_Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle_\u2014\u201d and went on so long that they\nhad to pinch it to make it stop.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019d hardly finished the first verse,\u201d said the Hatter, \u201cwhen the\nQueen jumped up and bawled out, \u2018He\u2019s murdering the time! Off with his\nhead!\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cHow dreadfully savage!\u201d exclaimed Alice.\n\n\u201cAnd ever since that,\u201d the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, \u201che won\u2019t\ndo a thing I ask! It\u2019s always six o\u2019clock now.\u201d\n\nA bright idea came into Alice\u2019s head. \u201cIs that the reason so many\ntea-things are put out here?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cYes, that\u2019s it,\u201d said the Hatter with a sigh: \u201cit\u2019s always tea-time,\nand we\u2019ve no time to wash the things between whiles.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you keep moving round, I suppose?\u201d said Alice.\n\n\u201cExactly so,\u201d said the Hatter: \u201cas the things get used up.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what happens when you come to the beginning again?\u201d Alice ventured\nto ask.\n\n\u201cSuppose we change the subject,\u201d the March Hare interrupted, yawning.\n\u201cI\u2019m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I don\u2019t know one,\u201d said Alice, rather alarmed at the\nproposal.\n\n\u201cThen the Dormouse shall!\u201d they both cried. \u201cWake up, Dormouse!\u201d And\nthey pinched it on both sides at once.\n\nThe Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. \u201cI wasn\u2019t asleep,\u201d he said in a\nhoarse, feeble voice: \u201cI heard every word you fellows were saying.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell us a story!\u201d said the March Hare.\n\n\u201cYes, please do!\u201d pleaded Alice.\n\n\u201cAnd be quick about it,\u201d added the Hatter, \u201cor you\u2019ll be asleep again\nbefore it\u2019s done.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnce upon a time there were three little sisters,\u201d the Dormouse began\nin a great hurry; \u201cand their names\n\n##### SOURCE pg84_frankenstein_excerpt #####\n\nFrankenstein;\n\nor, the Modern Prometheus\n\nby Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley\n\n\n CONTENTS\n\n Letter 1\n Letter 2\n Letter 3\n Letter 4\n Chapter 1\n Chapter 2\n Chapter 3\n Chapter 4\n Chapter 5\n Chapter 6\n Chapter 7\n Chapter 8\n Chapter 9\n Chapter 10\n Chapter 11\n Chapter 12\n Chapter 13\n Chapter 14\n Chapter 15\n Chapter 16\n Chapter 17\n Chapter 18\n Chapter 19\n Chapter 20\n Chapter 21\n Chapter 22\n Chapter 23\n Chapter 24\n\n\n\n\nLetter 1\n\n_To Mrs. Saville, England._\n\n\nSt. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17\u2014.\n\n\nYou will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the\ncommencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil\nforebodings. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure\nmy dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success\nof my undertaking.\n\nI am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of\nPetersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which\nbraces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this\nfeeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards\nwhich I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes.\nInspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent\nand vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of\nfrost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the\nregion of beauty and delight. There, Margaret, the sun is for ever\nvisible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a\nperpetual splendour. There\u2014for with your leave, my sister, I will put\nsome trust in preceding navigators\u2014there snow and frost are banished;\nand, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in\nwonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable\nglobe. Its productions and features may be without example, as the\nphenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered\nsolitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternal light? I\nmay there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle and may\nregulate a thousand celestial observations that require only this\nvoyage to render their seeming eccentricities consistent for ever. I\nshall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world\nnever before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by\nthe foot of man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient to\nconquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence this\nlaborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little\nboat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery up his\nnative river. But supposing all these conjectures to be false, you\ncannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all\nmankind, to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the pole\nto those countries, to reach which at present so many months are\nrequisite; or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at\nall possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine.\n\nThese reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my\nletter, and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me\nto heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquillise the mind as\na steady purpose\u2014a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual\neye. This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early years. I\nhave read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages which have\nbeen made in the prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean\nthrough the seas which surround the pole. You may remember that a\nhistory of all the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the\nwhole of our good Uncle Thomas\u2019 library. My education was neglected,\nyet I was passionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study\nday and night, and my familiarity with them increased that regret which\nI had felt, as a child, on learning that my father\u2019s dying injunction\nhad forbidden my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life.\n\nThese visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets\nwhose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also\nbecame a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation;\nI imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the\nnames of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated. You are well\nacquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment.\nBut just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my\nthoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.\n\nSix years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking. I\ncan, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this\ngreat enterprise. I commenced by inuring my body to hardship. I\naccompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea;\nI voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep; I often\nworked harder than the common sailors during the day and devoted my\nnights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and those\nbranches of physical science from which a naval adventurer might derive\nthe greatest practical advantage. Twice I actually hired myself as an\nunder-mate in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I\nmust own I felt a little proud when my captain offered me the second\ndignity in the vessel and entreated me to remain with the greatest\nearnestness, so valuable did he consider my services.\n\nAnd now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose?\nMy life might have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to\nevery enticement that wealth placed in my path. Oh, that some encouraging\nvoice would answer in the affirmative! My courage and my resolution is\nfirm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed. I am\nabout to proceed on a long and difficult voyage, the emergencies of which\nwill demand all my fortitude: I am required not only to raise the spirits\nof others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing.\n\nThis is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia. They fly\nquickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in\nmy opinion, far more agreeable than that of an English stagecoach. The\ncold is not excessive, if you are wrapped in furs\u2014a dress which I have\nalready adopted, for there is a great difference between walking the\ndeck and remaining seated motionless for hours, when no exercise\nprevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins. I have no\nambition to lose my life on the post-road between St. Petersburgh and\nArchangel.\n\nI shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three weeks; and my\nintention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be done by paying the\ninsurance for the owner, and to engage as many sailors as I think necessary\namong those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing. I do not intend to\nsail until the month of June; and when shall I return? Ah, dear sister, how\ncan I answer this question? If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years,\nwill pass before you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon,\nor never.\n\nFarewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down blessings on you,\nand save me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude for all your\nlove and kindness.\n\nYour affectionate brother,\n\nR. Walton\n\n\n\n\nLetter 2\n\n_To Mrs. Saville, England._\n\nArchangel, 28th March, 17\u2014.\n\n\nHow slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow!\nYet a second step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired a\nvessel and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have\nalready engaged appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainly\npossessed of dauntless courage.\n\nBut I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy, and the\nabsence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil, I have no\nfriend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there\nwill be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no\none will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts\nto paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of\nfeeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathise with me, whose\neyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I\nbitterly feel the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet\ncourageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose\ntastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans. How would such a\nfriend repair the faults of your poor brother! I am too ardent in execution\nand too impatient of difficulties. But it is a still greater evil to me\nthat I am self-educated: for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wild\non a common and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas\u2019 books of voyages.\nAt that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own\ncountry; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to derive its\nmost important benefits from such a conviction that I perceived the\nnecessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my native\ncountry. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than many\nschoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more and that my\ndaydreams are more extended and magnificent, but they want (as the painters\ncall it) _keeping;_ and I greatly need a friend who would have sense\nenough not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me to\nendeavour to regulate my mind.\n\nWell, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on the\nwide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen. Yet\nsome feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these\nrugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage\nand enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory, or rather, to word my phrase\nmore characteristically, of advancement in his profession. He is an\nEnglishman, and in the midst of national and professional prejudices,\nunsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments of\nhumanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel;\nfinding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assist\nin my enterprise.\n\nThe master is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable in the\nship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline. This\ncircumstance, added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, made\nme very desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my best years\nspent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the\ngroundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste to\nthe usual brutality exercised on board ship: I have never believed it to be\nnecessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his kindliness\nof heart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew, I felt\nmyself peculiarly fortunate in being able to secure his services. I heard\nof him first in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the\nhappiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago he loved\na young Russian lady of moderate fortune, and having amassed a considerable\nsum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented to the match. He saw\nhis mistress once before the destined ceremony; but she was bathed in\ntears, and throwing herself at his feet, entreated him to spare her,\nconfessing at the same time that she loved another, but that he was poor,\nand that her father would never consent to the union. My generous friend\nreassured the suppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover,\ninstantly abandoned his pursuit. He had already bought a farm with his\nmoney, on which he had designed to pass the remainder of his life; but he\nbestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains of his\nprize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited the young\nwoman\u2019s father to consent to her marriage with her lover. But the old\nman decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my friend, who,\nwhen he found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor returned\nuntil he heard that his former mistress was married according to her\ninclinations. \u201cWhat a noble fellow!\u201d you will exclaim. He is\nso; but then he is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind\nof ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conduct\nthe more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy which\notherwise he would command.\n\nYet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can\nconceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am\nwavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage\nis only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation. The\nwinter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well, and it\nis considered as a remarkably early season, so that perhaps I may sail\nsooner than I expected. I shall do nothing rashly: you know me\nsufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the\nsafety of others is committed to my care.\n\nI cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my\nundertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of\nthe trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which\nI am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to \u201cthe\nland of mist and snow,\u201d but I shall kill no albatross; therefore do not\nbe alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as worn and\nwoeful as the \u201cAncient Mariner.\u201d You will smile at my allusion, but I\nwill disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachment to, my\npassionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that\nproduction of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is something\nat work in my soul which I do not understand. I am practically\nindustrious\u2014painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and\nlabour\u2014but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief\nin the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out\nof the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited\nregions I am about to explore.\n\nBut to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after\nhaving traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of\nAfrica or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to\nlook on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the present to write to\nme by every opportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions when\nI need them most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. \nRemember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.\n\nYour affectionate brother,\n Robert Walton\n\n\n\n\nLetter 3\n\n_To Mrs. Saville, England._\n\nJuly 7th, 17\u2014.\n\n\nMy dear Sister,\n\nI write a few lines in haste to say that I am safe\u2014and well advanced\non my voyage. This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on\nits homeward voyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not\nsee my native land, perhaps, for many years. I am, however, in good\nspirits: my men are bold and apparently firm of purpose, nor do the\nfloating sheets of ice that continually pass us, indicating the dangers\nof the region towards which we are advancing, appear to dismay them. We\nhave already reached a very high latitude; but it is the height of\nsummer, and although not so warm as in England, the southern gales,\nwhich blow us speedily towards those shores which I so ardently desire\nto attain, breathe a degree of renovating warmth which I had not\nexpected.\n\nNo incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in a\nletter. One or two stiff gales and the springing of a leak are\naccidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record, and\nI shall be well content if nothing worse happen to us during our voyage.\n\nAdieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured that for my own sake, as well as\nyours, I will not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool,\npersevering, and prudent.\n\nBut success _shall_ crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I\nhave gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars\nthemselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. Why not\nstill proceed over the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the\ndetermined heart and resolved will of man?\n\nMy swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus. But I must\nfinish. Heaven bless my beloved sister!\n\nR.W.\n\n\n\n\nLetter 4\n\n\n_To Mrs. Saville, England._\n\nAugust 5th, 17\u2014.\n\nSo strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear\nrecording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before\nthese papers can come into your possession.\n\nLast Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed\nin the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room in which\nshe floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we\nwere compassed round by a very thick fog. We accordingly lay to,\nhoping that some change would take place in the atmosphere and weather.\n\nAbout two o\u2019clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out\nin every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to\nhave no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to\ngrow watchful with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly\nattracted our attention and diverted our solicitude from our own\nsituation. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by\ndogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile; a\nbeing which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature,\nsat in the sledge and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid progress\nof the traveller with our telescopes until he was lost among the\ndistant inequalities of the ice.\n\nThis appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we believed,\nmany hundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed to denote that\nit was not, in reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in, however, by\nice, it was impossible to follow his track, which we had observed with the\ngreatest attention.\n\nAbout two hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea, and before\nnight the ice broke and freed our ship. We, however, lay to until the\nmorning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large loose masses which\nfloat about after the breaking up of the ice. I profited of this time to\nrest for a few hours.\n\nIn the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck and\nfound all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently\ntalking to someone in the sea. It was, in fact, a sledge, like that we\nhad seen before, which had drifted towards us in the night on a large\nfragment of ice. Only one dog remained alive; but there was a human\nbeing within it whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel.\nHe was not, as the other traveller seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of\nsome undiscovered island, but a European. When I appeared on deck the\nmaster said, \u201cHere is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish\non the open sea.\u201d\n\nOn perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a\nforeign accent. \u201cBefore I come on board your vessel,\u201d said he,\n\u201cwill you have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?\u201d\n\nYou may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed\nto me from a man on the brink of destruction and to whom I should have\nsupposed that my vessel would have been a resource which he would not\nhave exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can afford. I\nreplied, however, that we were on a voyage of discovery towards the\nnorthern pole.\n\nUpon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on board.\nGood God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for\nhis safety, your surprise would have been boundless. His limbs were\nnearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and\nsuffering. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition. We attempted\nto carry him into the cabin, but as soon as he had quitted the fresh\nair he fainted. We accordingly brought him back to the deck and\nrestored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy and forcing him to\nswallow a small quantity. As soon as he showed signs of life we\nwrapped him up in blankets and placed him near the chimney of the\nkitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered and ate a little soup,\nwhich restored him wonderfully.\n\nTwo days passed in this manner before he was able to speak, and I often\nfeared that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding. When he\nhad in some measure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin and\nattended on him as much as my duty would permit. I never saw a more\ninteresting creature: his eyes have generally an expression of\nwildness, and even madness, but there are moments when, if anyone\nperforms an act of kindness towards him or does him any the most\ntrifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with\na beam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled. But he\nis generally melancholy and despairing, and sometimes he gnashes his\nteeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes that oppresses him.\n\nWhen my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep off\nthe men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I would not\nallow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body\nand mind whose restoration evidently depended upon entire repose.\nOnce, however, the lieutenant asked why he had come so far upon the ice\nin so strange a vehicle.\n\nHis countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom, and\nhe replied, \u201cTo seek one who fled from me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up we\nsaw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.\u201d\n\nThis aroused the stranger\u2019s attention, and he asked a multitude of\nquestions concerning the route which the d\u00e6mon, as he called him, had\npursued. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said, \u201cI have,\ndoubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of these good\npeople; but you are too considerate to make inquiries.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to\ntrouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you have\nbenevolently restored me to life.\u201d\n\nSoon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of the\nice had destroyed the other sledge. I replied that I could not answer\nwith any degree of certainty, for the ice had not broken until near\nmidnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place of safety\nbefore that time; but of this I could not judge.\n\nFrom this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of the\nstranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck to watch for\nthe sledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in\nthe cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness of the atmosphere.\nI have promised that someone should watch for him and give him instant\nnotice if any new object should appear in sight.\n\nSuch is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the\npresent day. The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very\nsilent and appears uneasy when anyone except myself enters his cabin.\nYet his manners are so conciliating and gentle that the sailors are all\ninterested in him, although they have had very little communication\nwith him. For my own part, I begin to love him as a brother, and his\nconstant and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion. He must\nhave been a noble creature in his better days, being even now in wreck\nso attractive and amiable.\n\nI said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no friend\non the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit had been\nbroken by misery, I should have been happy to have possessed as the brother\nof my heart.\n\nI shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals,\nshould I have any fresh incidents to record.\n\n\n\n\nAugust 13th, 17\u2014.\n\n\nMy affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at once my\nadmiration and my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I see so\nnoble a creature destroyed by misery without feeling the most poignant\ngrief? He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and\nwhen he speaks, although his words are culled with the choicest art,\nyet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.\n\nHe is now much recovered from his illness and is continually on the deck,\napparently watching for the sledge that preceded his own. Yet, although\nunhappy, he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery but that he\ninterests himself deeply in the projects of others. He has frequently\nconversed with me on mine, which I have communicated to him without\ndisguise. He entered attentively into all my arguments in favour of my\neventual success and into every minute detail of the measures I had taken\nto secure it. I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced to use the\nlanguage of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my soul\nand to say, with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I would\nsacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my\nenterprise. One man\u2019s life or death were but a small price to pay for\nthe acquirement of the knowledge which I sought, for the dominion I should\nacquire and transmit over the elemental foes of our race. As I spoke, a\ndark gloom spread over my listener\u2019s countenance. At first I\nperceived that he tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before\nhis eyes, and my voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears trickle\nfast from between his fingers; a groan burst from his heaving breast. I\npaused; at length he spoke, in broken accents: \u201cUnhappy man! Do you\nshare my madness? Have you drunk also of the intoxicating draught? Hear me;\nlet me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!\u201d\n\nSuch words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the\nparoxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened\npowers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation were\nnecessary to restore his composure.\n\nHaving conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise\nhimself for being the slave of passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of\ndespair, he led me again to converse concerning myself personally. He asked\nme the history of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it\nawakened various trains of reflection. I spoke of my desire of finding a\nfriend, of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than\nhad ever fallen to my lot, and expressed my conviction that a man could\nboast of little happiness who did not enjoy this blessing.\n\n\u201cI agree with you,\u201d replied the stranger; \u201cwe are\nunfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than\nourselves\u2014such a friend ought to be\u2014do not lend his aid to\nperfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the most\nnoble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting\nfriendship. You have hope, and the world before you, and have no cause for\ndespair. But I\u2014I have lost everything and cannot begin life\nanew.\u201d\n\nAs he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm, settled\ngrief that touched me to the heart. But he was silent and presently\nretired to his cabin.\n\nEven broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he\ndoes the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight\nafforded by these wonderful regions seem still to have the power of\nelevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he\nmay suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments, yet when he\nhas retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has a\nhalo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.\n\nWill you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine\nwanderer? You would not if you saw him. You have been tutored and\nrefined by books and retirement from the world, and you are therefore\nsomewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit to\nappreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man. Sometimes I\nhave endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he possesses that\nelevates him so immeasurably above any other person I ever knew. I\nbelieve it to be an intuitive discernment, a quick but never-failing\npower of judgment, a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled\nfor clearness and precision; add to this a facility of expression and a\nvoice whose varied intonations are soul-subduing music.\n\n\n\n\nAugust 19th, 17\u2014.\n\n\nYesterday the stranger said to me, \u201cYou may easily perceive, Captain\nWalton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes. I had\ndetermined at one time that the memory of these evils should die with\nme, but you have won me to alter my determination. You seek for\nknowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the\ngratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine\nhas been. I do not know that the relation of my disasters will be\nuseful to you; yet, when I reflect that you are pursuing the same\ncourse, exposing yourself to the same dangers which have rendered me\nwhat I am, I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one\nthat may direct you if you succeed in your undertaking and console you\nin case of failure. Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually\ndeemed marvellous. Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might\nfear to encounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things\nwill appear possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would\nprovoke the laughter of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers\nof nature; nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series\ninternal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is composed.\u201d\n\nYou may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered\ncommunication, yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by\na recital of his misfortunes. I felt the greatest eagerness to hear\nthe promised narrative, partly from curiosity and partly from a strong\ndesire to ameliorate his fate if it were in my power. I expressed\nthese feelings in my answer.\n\n\u201cI thank you,\u201d he replied, \u201cfor your sympathy, but it is\nuseless; my fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and then I\nshall repose in peace. I understand your feeling,\u201d continued he,\nperceiving that I wished to interrupt him; \u201cbut you are mistaken, my\nfriend, if thus you will allow me to name you; nothing can alter my\ndestiny; listen to my history, and you will perceive how irrevocably it is\ndetermined.\u201d\n\nHe then told me that he would commence his narrative the next day when I\nshould be at leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest thanks. I have\nresolved every night, when I am not imperatively occupied by my duties, to\nrecord, as nearly as possible in his own words, what he has related during\nthe day. If I should be engaged, I will at least make notes. This\nmanuscript will doubtless afford you the greatest pleasure; but to me, who\nknow him, and who hear it from his own lips\u2014with what interest and\nsympathy shall I read it in some future day! Even now, as I commence my\ntask, his full-toned voice swells in my ears; his lustrous eyes dwell on me\nwith all their melancholy sweetness; I see his thin hand raised in\nanimation, while the lineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul\nwithin. Strange and harrowing must be his story, frightful the storm which\nembraced the gallant vessel on its course and wrecked it\u2014thus!\n\n\n\n\nChapter 1\n\n\nI am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most\ndistinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years\ncounsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public\nsituations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who\nknew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public\nbusiness. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the\naffairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his\nmarrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a\nhusband and the father of a family.\n\nAs the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot\nrefrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a\nmerchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous\nmischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a\nproud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty\nand oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been\ndistinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts,\ntherefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his\ndaughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in\nwretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and\nwas deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances.\nHe bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct\nso little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in\nendeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin\nthe world again through his credit and assistance.\n\nBeaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten\nmonths before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery,\nhe hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the\nReuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort\nhad saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but\nit was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in\nthe meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a\nmerchant\u2019s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction;\nhis grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for\nreflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end\nof three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.\n\nHis daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw\nwith despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that\nthere was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort\npossessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support\nher in her adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw and\nby various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to\nsupport life.\n\nSeveral months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time\nwas more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence\ndecreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving\nher an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her, and she knelt\nby Beaufort\u2019s coffin weeping bitterly, when my father entered the\nchamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who\ncommitted herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he\nconducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of a\nrelation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.\n\nThere was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but\nthis circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted\naffection. There was a sense of justice in my father\u2019s upright mind\nwhich rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love\nstrongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the\nlate-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set\na greater value on tried worth. There was a show of gratitude and\nworship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the\ndoting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her\nvirtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing\nher for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace\nto his behaviour to her. Everything was made to yield to her wishes\nand her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is\nsheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her\nwith all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and\nbenevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto\nconstant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During\nthe two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had\ngradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after\ntheir union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change\nof scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders,\nas a restorative for her weakened frame.\n\nFrom Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born\nat Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained\nfor several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each\nother, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very\nmine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother\u2019s tender caresses and\nmy father\u2019s smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me are my\nfirst recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something\nbetter\u2014their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on\nthem by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in\ntheir hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled\ntheir duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed\ntowards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit\nof tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during\nevery hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity,\nand of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but\none train of enjoyment to me.\n\nFor a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a\ndaughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five\nyears old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they\npassed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent\ndisposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my\nmother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a\npassion\u2014remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been\nrelieved\u2014for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the\nafflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale\nattracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number\nof half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst\nshape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother,\naccompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife,\nhard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to\nfive hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far\nabove all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were\ndark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her\nhair was the brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her\nclothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was\nclear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of\nher face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold\nher without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent,\nand bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.\n\nThe peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and\nadmiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was\nnot her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a\nGerman and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with\nthese good people to nurse: they were better off then. They had not been\nlong married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their\ncharge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory\nof Italy\u2014one among the _schiavi ognor frementi,_ who exerted\nhimself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its\nweakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria\nwas not known. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and\na beggar. She continued with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude\nabode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.\n\nWhen my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of\nour villa a child fairer than pictured cherub\u2014a creature who seemed\nto shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter\nthan the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his\npermission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their\ncharge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed\na blessing to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty\nand want when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They\nconsulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza\nbecame the inmate of my parents\u2019 house\u2014my more than\nsister\u2014the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and\nmy pleasures.\n\nEveryone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential\nattachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my\npride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to\nmy home, my mother had said playfully, \u201cI have a pretty present for my\nVictor\u2014tomorrow he shall have it.\u201d And when, on the morrow, she\npresented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish\nseriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth\nas mine\u2014mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on\nher I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other\nfamiliarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body\nforth the kind of relation in which she stood to me\u2014my more than\nsister, since till death she was to be mine only.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 2\n\n\nWe were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in\nour ages. I need not say that we were strangers to any species of\ndisunion or dispute. Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and\nthe diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us\nnearer together. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated\ndisposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense\napplication and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge.\nShe busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets;\nand in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss\nhome \u2014the sublime shapes of the mountains, the changes of the seasons,\ntempest and calm, the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of\nour Alpine summers\u2014she found ample scope for admiration and delight.\nWhile my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the\nmagnificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their\ncauses. The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine.\nCuriosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature,\ngladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me, are among the\nearliest sensations I can remember.\n\nOn the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave\nup entirely their wandering life and fixed themselves in their native\ncountry. We possessed a house in Geneva, and a _campagne_ on Belrive,\nthe eastern shore of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a\nleague from the city. We resided principally in the latter, and the\nlives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion. It was my\ntemper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently to a few. I was\nindifferent, therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united\nmyself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them. Henry\nClerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy of singular\ntalent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger for\nits own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance. He\ncomposed heroic songs and began to write many a tale of enchantment and\nknightly adventure. He tried to make us act plays and to enter into\nmasquerades, in which the characters were drawn from the heroes of\nRoncesvalles, of the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous\ntrain who shed their blood to redeem the holy sepulchre from the hands\nof the infidels.\n\nNo human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself. My\nparents were possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence.\nWe felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot according to\ntheir caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights\nwhich we enjoyed. When I mingled with other families I distinctly\ndiscerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted\nthe development of filial love.\n\nMy temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some\nlaw in my temperature they were turned not towards childish pursuits\nbut to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things\nindiscriminately. I confess that neither the structure of languages,\nnor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states\npossessed attractions for me. It was the secrets of heaven and earth\nthat I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of\nthings or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man\nthat occupied me, still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical,\nor in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world.\n\nMeanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral\nrelations of things. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes,\nand the actions of men were his theme; and his hope and his dream was\nto become one among those whose names are recorded in story as the\ngallant and adventurous benefactors of our species. The saintly soul\nof Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home.\nHer sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of\nher celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us. She was\nthe living spirit of love to soften and attract; I might have become\nsullen in my study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that\nshe was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness. And\nClerval\u2014could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval? Yet\nhe might not have been so perfectly humane, so thoughtful in his\ngenerosity, so full of kindness and tenderness amidst his passion for\nadventurous exploit, had she not unfolded to him the real loveliness of\nbeneficence and made the doing good the end and aim of his soaring\nambition.\n\nI feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood,\nbefore misfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright visions of\nextensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. Besides,\nin drawing the picture of my early days, I also record those events which\nled, by insensible steps, to my after tale of misery, for when I would\naccount to myself for the birth of that passion which afterwards ruled my\ndestiny I find it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost\nforgotten sources; but, swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent\nwhich, in its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys.\n\nNatural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire,\ntherefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led to my\npredilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age we all went\non a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon; the inclemency of the\nweather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this house I\nchanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it\nwith apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate and the wonderful\nfacts which he relates soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new\nlight seemed to dawn upon my mind, and bounding with joy, I communicated my\ndiscovery to my father. My father looked carelessly at the title page of my\nbook and said, \u201cAh! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste\nyour time upon this; it is sad trash.\u201d\n\nIf, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me\nthat the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded and that a modern\nsystem of science had been introduced which possessed much greater powers\nthan the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while\nthose of the former were real and practical, under such circumstances I\nshould certainly have thrown Agrippa aside and have contented my\nimagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my\nformer studies. It is even possible that the train of my ideas would never\nhave received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the cursory glance\nmy father had taken of my volume by no means assured me that he was\nacquainted with its contents, and I continued to read with the greatest\navidity.\n\nWhen I returned home my first care was to procure the whole works of this\nauthor, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and\nstudied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me\ntreasures known to few besides myself. I have described myself as always\nhaving been imbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of\nnature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern\nphilosophers, I always came from my studies discontented and unsatisfied.\nSir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking\nup shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth. Those of his\nsuccessors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted\nappeared even to my boy\u2019s apprehensions as tyros engaged in the same\npursuit.\n\nThe untaught peasant beheld the elements around him and was acquainted\nwith their practical uses. The most learned philosopher knew little\nmore. He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal\nlineaments were still a wonder and a mystery. He might dissect,\nanatomise, and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes\nin their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him. I\nhad gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep\nhuman beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and\nignorantly I had repined.\n\nBut here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knew\nmore. I took their word for all that they averred, and I became their\ndisciple. It may appear strange that such should arise in the eighteenth\ncentury; but while I followed the routine of education in the schools of\nGeneva, I was, to a great degree, self-taught with regard to my favourite\nstudies. My father was not scientific, and I was left to struggle with a\nchild\u2019s blindness, added to a student\u2019s thirst for knowledge.\nUnder the guidance of my new preceptors I entered with the greatest\ndiligence into the search of the philosopher\u2019s stone and the elixir\nof life; but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention. Wealth was an\ninferior object, but what glory would attend the discovery if I could\nbanish disease from the human frame and render man invulnerable to any but\na violent death!\n\nNor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a\npromise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of which\nI most eagerly sought; and if my incantations were always unsuccessful, I\nattributed the failure rather to my own inexperience and mistake than to a\nwant of skill or fidelity in my instructors. And thus for a time I was\noccupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand\ncontradictory theories and floundering desperately in a very slough of\nmultifarious knowledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish\nreasoning, till an accident again changed the current of my ideas.\n\nWhen I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house near\nBelrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible thunderstorm. It\nadvanced from behind the mountains of Jura, and the thunder burst at once\nwith frightful loudness from various quarters of the heavens. I remained,\nwhile the storm lasted, watching its progress with curiosity and delight.\nAs I stood at the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an\nold and beautiful oak which stood about twenty yards from our house; and so\nsoon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing\nremained but a blasted stump. When we visited it the next morning, we found\nthe tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered by the\nshock, but entirely reduced to thin ribbons of wood. I never beheld\nanything so utterly destroyed.\n\nBefore this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of\nelectricity. On this occasion a man of great research in natural\nphilosophy was with us, and excited by this catastrophe, he entered on\nthe explanation of a theory which he had formed on the subject of\nelectricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing to me.\nAll that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa,\nAlbertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by\nsome fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my\naccustomed studies. It seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever\nbe known. All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew\ndespicable. By one of those caprices of the mind which we are perhaps\nmost subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former\noccupations, set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed\nand abortive creation, and entertained the greatest disdain for a\nwould-be science which could never even step within the threshold of\nreal knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the\nmathematics and the branches of study appertaining to that science as\nbeing built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration.\n\nThus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments\nare we bound to prosperity or ruin. When I look back, it seems to me\nas if this almost miraculous change of inclination and will was the\nimmediate suggestion of the guardian angel of my life\u2014the last effort\nmade by the spirit of preservation to avert the storm that was even\nthen hanging in the stars and ready to envelop me. Her victory was\nannounced by an unusual tranquillity and gladness of soul which\nfollowed the relinquishing of my ancient and latterly tormenting\nstudies. It was thus that I was to be taught to associate evil with\ntheir prosecution, happiness with their disregard.\n\nIt was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual.\nDestiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and\nterrible destruction.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 3\n\n\nWhen I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I\nshould become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had\nhitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my father thought it\nnecessary for the completion of my education that I should be made\nacquainted with other customs than those of my native country. My\ndeparture was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day\nresolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life\noccurred\u2014an omen, as it were, of my future misery.\n\nElizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and she was\nin the greatest danger. During her illness many arguments had been urged to\npersuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had at first\nyielded to our entreaties, but when she heard that the life of her\nfavourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She\nattended her sickbed; her watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity\nof the distemper\u2014Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of this\nimprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third day my mother\nsickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the\nlooks of her medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her\ndeathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of women did not desert\nher. She joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself. \u201cMy\nchildren,\u201d she said, \u201cmy firmest hopes of future happiness were\nplaced on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the\nconsolation of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to\nmy younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy\nand beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are\nnot thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully to\ndeath and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.\u201d\n\nShe died calmly, and her countenance expressed affection even in death.\nI need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent\nby that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the\nsoul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so\nlong before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day\nand whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed\nfor ever\u2014that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been\nextinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear\ncan be hushed, never more to be heard. These are the reflections of\nthe first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the\nevil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has\nnot that rude hand rent away some dear connection? And why should I\ndescribe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at\nlength arrives when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and\nthe smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a\nsacrilege, is not banished. My mother was dead, but we had still\nduties which we ought to perform; we must continue our course with the\nrest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remains whom the\nspoiler has not seized.\n\nMy departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events,\nwas now again determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of\nsome weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose,\nakin to death, of the house of mourning and to rush into the thick of\nlife. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me. I was\nunwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above\nall, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled.\n\nShe indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the comforter to us all.\nShe looked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and\nzeal. She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call\nher uncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time,\nwhen she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us.\nShe forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget.\n\nThe day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the last\nevening with us. He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit\nhim to accompany me and to become my fellow student, but in vain. His\nfather was a narrow-minded trader and saw idleness and ruin in the\naspirations and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the misfortune\nof being debarred from a liberal education. He said little, but when\nhe spoke I read in his kindling eye and in his animated glance a\nrestrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable details\nof commerce.\n\nWe sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor\npersuade ourselves to say the word \u201cFarewell!\u201d It was said, and we\nretired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the\nother was deceived; but when at morning\u2019s dawn I descended to the\ncarriage which was to convey me away, they were all there\u2014my father\nagain to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to\nrenew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last\nfeminine attentions on her playmate and friend.\n\nI threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in\nthe most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by\namiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual\npleasure\u2014I was now alone. In the university whither I was going I\nmust form my own friends and be my own protector. My life had hitherto\nbeen remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me invincible\nrepugnance to new countenances. I loved my brothers, Elizabeth, and\nClerval; these were \u201cold familiar faces,\u201d but I believed myself\ntotally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such were my reflections as\nI commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits and hopes rose. I\nardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when at home,\nthought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one place and had\nlonged to enter the world and take my station among other human beings. \nNow my desires were complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to\nrepent.\n\nI had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my\njourney to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At length the\nhigh white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted and was\nconducted to my solitary apartment to spend the evening as I pleased.\n\nThe next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a visit to\nsome of the principal professors. Chance\u2014or rather the evil\ninfluence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway over me\nfrom the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my father\u2019s\ndoor\u2014led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. He\nwas an uncouth man, but deeply imbued in the secrets of his science. He\nasked me several questions concerning my progress in the different branches\nof science appertaining to natural philosophy. I replied carelessly, and\npartly in contempt, mentioned the names of my alchemists as the principal\nauthors I had studied. The professor stared. \u201cHave you,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201creally spent your time in studying such nonsense?\u201d\n\nI replied in the affirmative. \u201cEvery minute,\u201d continued M. Krempe with\nwarmth, \u201cevery instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly\nand entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with exploded systems\nand useless names. Good God! In what desert land have you lived,\nwhere no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies which you\nhave so greedily imbibed are a thousand years old and as musty as they\nare ancient? I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific\nage, to find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear\nsir, you must begin your studies entirely anew.\u201d\n\nSo saying, he stepped aside and wrote down a list of several books\ntreating of natural philosophy which he desired me to procure, and\ndismissed me after mentioning that in the beginning of the following\nweek he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural\nphilosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow\nprofessor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he\nomitted.\n\nI returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long\nconsidered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I\nreturned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any\nshape. M. Krempe was a little squat man with a gruff voice and a\nrepulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in\nfavour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected a\nstrain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come\nto concerning them in my early years. As a child I had not been\ncontent with the results promised by the modern professors of natural\nscience. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my\nextreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the\nsteps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the\ndiscoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists.\nBesides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy.\nIt was very different when the masters of the science sought\nimmortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now\nthe scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit\nitself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in\nscience was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of\nboundless grandeur for realities of little worth.\n\nSuch were my reflections during the first two or three days of my\nresidence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming\nacquainted with the localities and the principal residents in my new\nabode. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information\nwhich M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures. And although I\ncould not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow deliver\nsentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what he had said of M.\nWaldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto been out of town.\n\nPartly from curiosity and partly from idleness, I went into the lecturing\nroom, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very\nunlike his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but with an\naspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs covered his\ntemples, but those at the back of his head were nearly black. His person\nwas short but remarkably erect and his voice the sweetest I had ever heard.\nHe began his lecture by a recapitulation of the history of chemistry and\nthe various improvements made by different men of learning, pronouncing\nwith fervour the names of the most distinguished discoverers. He then took\na cursory view of the present state of the science and explained many of\nits elementary terms. After having made a few preparatory experiments, he\nconcluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I\nshall never forget:\n\n\u201cThe ancient teachers of this science,\u201d said he,\n\u201cpromised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters\npromise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted and that\nthe elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers, whose hands seem\nonly made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or\ncrucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses\nof nature and show how she works in her hiding-places. They ascend into the\nheavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of\nthe air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers;\nthey can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even\nmock the invisible world with its own shadows.\u201d\n\nSuch were the professor\u2019s words\u2014rather let me say such the words of\nthe fate\u2014enounced to destroy me. As he went on I felt as if my soul\nwere grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were\ntouched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was\nsounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception,\none purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of\nFrankenstein\u2014more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps\nalready marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and\nunfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.\n\nI closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a state of\ninsurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I\nhad no power to produce it. By degrees, after the morning\u2019s dawn,\nsleep came. I awoke, and my yesternight\u2019s thoughts were as a dream.\nThere only remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies and to\ndevote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess a\nnatural talent. On the same day I paid M. Waldman a visit. His\nmanners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public,\nfor there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture which in\nhis own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness. I\ngave him pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had\ngiven to his fellow professor. He heard with attention the little\nnarration concerning my studies and smiled at the names of Cornelius\nAgrippa and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had\nexhibited. He said that \u201cThese were men to whose indefatigable zeal\nmodern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their\nknowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names\nand arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in a\ngreat degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The\nlabours of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever\nfail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.\u201d I\nlistened to his statement, which was delivered without any presumption\nor affectation, and then added that his lecture had removed my\nprejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured\nterms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his\ninstructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have\nmade me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended\nlabours. I requested his advice concerning the books I ought to\nprocure.\n\n\u201cI am happy,\u201d said M. Waldman, \u201cto have gained a\ndisciple; and if your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of\nyour success. Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the\ngreatest improvements have been and may be made; it is on that account that\nI have made it my peculiar study; but at the same time, I have not\nneglected the other branches of science. A man would make but a very sorry\nchemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge alone. If your\nwish is to become really a man of science and not merely a petty\nexperimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of natural\nphilosophy, including mathematics.\u201d\n\nHe then took me into his laboratory and explained to me the uses of his\nvarious machines, instructing me as to what I ought to procure and\npromising me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in\nthe science not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the list of\nbooks which I had requested, and I took my leave.\n\nThus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 4\n\n\nFrom this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, in the\nmost comprehensive sense of the term, became nearly my sole occupation.\nI read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination,\nwhich modern inquirers have written on these subjects. I attended the\nlectures and cultivated the acquaintance of the men of science of the\nuniversity, and I found even in M. Krempe a great deal of sound sense\nand real information, combined, it is true, with a repulsive\nphysiognomy and manners, but not on that account the less valuable. In\nM. Waldman I found a true friend. His gentleness was never tinged by\ndogmatism, and his instructions were given with an air of frankness and\ngood nature that banished every idea of pedantry. In a thousand ways\nhe smoothed for me the path of knowledge and made the most abstruse\ninquiries clear and facile to my apprehension. My application was at\nfirst fluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength as I proceeded and\nsoon became so ardent and eager that the stars often disappeared in the\nlight of morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory.\n\nAs I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my progress\nwas rapid. My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the students, and\nmy proficiency that of the masters. Professor Krempe often asked me,\nwith a sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa went on, whilst M. Waldman\nexpressed the most heartfelt exultation in my progress. Two years\npassed in this manner, during which I paid no visit to Geneva, but was\nengaged, heart and soul, in the pursuit of some discoveries which I\nhoped to make. None but those who have experienced them can conceive\nof the enticements of science. In other studies you go as far as\nothers have gone before you, and there is nothing more to know; but in\na scientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder.\nA mind of moderate capacity which closely pursues one study must\ninfallibly arrive at great proficiency in that study; and I, who\ncontinually sought the attainment of one object of pursuit and was\nsolely wrapped up in this, improved so rapidly that at the end of two\nyears I made some discoveries in the improvement of some chemical\ninstruments, which procured me great esteem and admiration at the\nuniversity. When I had arrived at this point and had become as well\nacquainted with the theory and practice of natural philosophy as\ndepended on the lessons of any of the professors at Ingolstadt, my\nresidence there being no longer conducive to my improvements, I thought\nof returning to my friends and my native town, when an incident\nhappened that protracted my stay.\n\nOne of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted my attention was\nthe structure of the human frame, and, indeed, any animal endued with\nlife. Whence, I often asked myself, did the principle of life proceed?\nIt was a bold question, and one which has ever been considered as a\nmystery; yet with how many things are we upon the brink of becoming\nacquainted, if cowardice or carelessness did not restrain our\ninquiries. I revolved these circumstances in my mind and determined\nthenceforth to apply myself more particularly to those branches of\nnatural philosophy which relate to physiology. Unless I had been\nanimated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm, my application to this\nstudy would have been irksome and almost intolerable. To examine the\ncauses of life, we must first have recourse to death. I became\nacquainted with the science of anatomy, but this was not sufficient; I\nmust also observe the natural decay and corruption of the human body.\nIn my education my father had taken the greatest precautions that my\nmind should be impressed with no supernatural horrors. I do not ever\nremember to have trembled at a tale of superstition or to have feared\nthe apparition of a spirit. Darkness had no effect upon my fancy, and\na churchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of\nlife, which, from being the seat of beauty and strength, had become\nfood for the worm. Now I was led to examine the cause and progress of\nthis decay and forced to spend days and nights in vaults and\ncharnel-houses. My attention was fixed upon every object the most\ninsupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings. I saw how the\nfine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of\ndeath succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm\ninherited the wonders of the eye and brain. I paused, examining and\nanalysing all the minutiae of causation, as exemplified in the change\nfrom life to death, and death to life, until from the midst of this\ndarkness a sudden light broke in upon me\u2014a light so brilliant and\nwondrous, yet so simple, that while I became dizzy with the immensity\nof the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised that among so\nmany men of genius who had directed their inquiries towards the same\nscience, that I alone should be reserved to discover so astonishing a\nsecret.\n\nRemember, I am not recording the vision of a madman. The sun does not\nmore certainly shine in the heavens than that which I now affirm is\ntrue. Some miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of the\ndiscovery were distinct and probable. After days and nights of\nincredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of\ngeneration and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing\nanimation upon lifeless matter.\n\nThe astonishment which I had at first experienced on this discovery\nsoon gave place to delight and rapture. After so much time spent in\npainful labour, to arrive at once at the summit of my desires was the\nmost gratifying consummation of my toils. But this discovery was so\ngreat and overwhelming that all the steps by which I had been\nprogressively led to it were obliterated, and I beheld only the result.\nWhat had been the study and desire of the wisest men since the creation\nof the world was now within my grasp. Not that, like a magic scene, it\nall opened upon me at once: the information I had obtained was of a\nnature rather to direct my endeavours so soon as I should point them\ntowards the object of my search than to exhibit that object already\naccomplished. I was like the Arabian who had been buried with the dead\nand found a passage to life, aided only by one glimmering and seemingly\nineffectual light.\n\nI see by your eagerness and the wonder and hope which your eyes\nexpress, my friend, that you expect to be informed of the secret with\nwhich I am acquainted; that cannot be; listen patiently until the end\nof my story, and you will easily perceive why I am reserved upon that\nsubject. I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then was,\nto your destruction and infallible misery. Learn from me, if not by my\nprecepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of\nknowledge and how much happier that man is who believes his native town\nto be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature\nwill allow.\n\nWhen I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated\na long time concerning the manner in which I should employ it.\nAlthough I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to\nprepare a frame for the reception of it, with all its intricacies of\nfibres, muscles, and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable\ndifficulty and labour. I doubted at first whether I should attempt the\ncreation of a being like myself, or one of simpler organization; but my\nimagination was too much exalted by my first success to permit me to\ndoubt of my ability to give life to an animal as complex and wonderful\nas man. The materials at present within my command hardly appeared\nadequate to so arduous an undertaking, but I doubted not that I should\nultimately succeed. I prepared myself for a multitude of reverses; my\noperations might be incessantly baffled, and at last my work be\nimperfect, yet when I considered the improvement which every day takes\nplace in science and mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my present\nattempts would at least lay the foundations of future success. Nor\ncould I consider the magnitude and complexity of my plan as any\nargument of its impracticability. It was with these feelings that I\nbegan the creation of a human being. As the minuteness of the parts\nformed a great hindrance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to my first\nintention, to make the being of a gigantic stature, that is to say,\nabout eight feet in height, and proportionably large. After having\nformed this determination and having spent some months in successfully\ncollecting and arranging my materials, I began.\n\nNo one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like\na hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death\nappeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and\npour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless\nme as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would\nowe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his\nchild so completely as I should deserve theirs. Pursuing these\nreflections, I thought that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless\nmatter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible)\nrenew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.\n\nThese thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my undertaking\nwith unremitting ardour. My cheek had grown pale with study, and my\nperson had become emaciated with confinement. Sometimes, on the very\nbrink of certainty, I failed; yet still I clung to the hope which the\nnext day or the next hour might realise. One secret which I alone\npossessed was the hope to which I had dedicated myself; and the moon\ngazed on my midnight labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless\neagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding-places. Who shall conceive\nthe horrors of my secret toil as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps\nof the grave or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless\nclay? My limbs now tremble, and my eyes swim with the remembrance; but\nthen a resistless and almost frantic impulse urged me forward; I seemed\nto have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit. It was\nindeed but a passing trance, that only made me feel with renewed\nacuteness so soon as, the unnatural stimulus ceasing to operate, I had\nreturned to my old habits. I collected bones from charnel-houses and\ndisturbed, with profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human\nframe. In a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house,\nand separated from all the other apartments by a gallery and staircase,\nI kept my workshop of filthy creation; my eyeballs were starting from\ntheir sockets in attending to the details of my employment. The\ndissecting room and the slaughter-house furnished many of my materials;\nand often did my human nature turn with loathing from my occupation,\nwhilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually increased, I\nbrought my work near to a conclusion.\n\nThe summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in\none pursuit. It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields\nbestow a more plentiful harvest or the vines yield a more luxuriant\nvintage, but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature. And the\nsame feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also\nto forget those friends who were so many miles absent, and whom I had\nnot seen for so long a time. I knew my silence disquieted them, and I\nwell remembered the words of my father: \u201cI know that while you are\npleased with yourself you will think of us with affection, and we shall\nhear regularly from you. You must pardon me if I regard any\ninterruption in your correspondence as a proof that your other duties\nare equally neglected.\u201d\n\nI knew well therefore what would be my father\u2019s feelings, but I could\nnot tear my thoughts from my employment, loathsome in itself, but which\nhad taken an irresistible hold of my imagination. I wished, as it\nwere, to procrastinate all that related to my feelings of affection\nuntil the great object, which swallowed up every habit of my nature,\nshould be completed.\n\nI then thought that my father would be unjust if he ascribed my neglect\nto vice or faultiness on my part, but I am now convinced that he was\njustified in conceiving that I should not be altogether free from\nblame. A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and\npeaceful mind and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to\ndisturb his tranquillity. I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge\nis an exception to this rule. If the study to which you apply yourself\nhas a tendency to weaken your affections and to destroy your taste for\nthose simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that\nstudy is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human\nmind. If this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit\nwhatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic\naffections, Greece had not been enslaved, C\u00e6sar would have spared his\ncountry, America would have been discovered more gradually, and the\nempires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed.\n\nBut I forget that I am moralizing in the most interesting part of my\ntale, and your looks remind me to proceed.\n\nMy father made no reproach in his letters and only took notice of my\nsilence by inquiring into my occupations more particularly than before.\nWinter, spring, and summer passed away during my labours; but I did not\nwatch the blossom or the expanding leaves\u2014sights which before always\nyielded me supreme delight\u2014so deeply was I engrossed in my\noccupation. The leaves of that year had withered before my work drew near\nto a close, and now every day showed me more plainly how well I had\nsucceeded. But my enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, and I appeared\nrather like one doomed by slavery to toil in the mines, or any other\nunwholesome trade than an artist occupied by his favourite employment.\nEvery night I was oppressed by a slow fever, and I became nervous to a most\npainful degree; the fall of a leaf startled me, and I shunned my fellow\ncreatures as if I had been guilty of a crime. Sometimes I grew alarmed at\nthe wreck I perceived that I had become; the energy of my purpose alone\nsustained me: my labours would soon end, and I believed that exercise and\namusement would then drive away incipient disease; and I promised myself\nboth of these when my creation should be complete.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 5\n\n\nIt was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment\nof my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I\ncollected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a\nspark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was\nalready one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the\npanes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the\nhalf-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature\nopen; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.\n\nHow can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate\nthe wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to\nform? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as\nbeautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered\nthe work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous\nblack, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these\nluxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes,\nthat seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which\nthey were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.\n\nThe different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings\nof human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole\npurpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had\ndeprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour\nthat far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty\nof the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my\nheart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I\nrushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my\nbed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude\nsucceeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the\nbed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness.\nBut it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest\ndreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in\nthe streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her,\nbut as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with\nthe hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I\nheld the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her\nform, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel.\nI started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my\nteeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and\nyellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window\nshutters, I beheld the wretch\u2014the miserable monster whom I had\ncreated. He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they\nmay be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some\ninarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have\nspoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to\ndetain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the\ncourtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained\nduring the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest\nagitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if\nit were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I\nhad so miserably given life.\n\nOh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy\nagain endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I\nhad gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those\nmuscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing\nsuch as even Dante could not have conceived.\n\nI passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and\nhardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly\nsank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with\nthis horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had\nbeen my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a\nhell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!\n\nMorning, dismal and wet, at length dawned and discovered to my\nsleepless and aching eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple\nand clock, which indicated the sixth hour. The porter opened the gates\nof the court, which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into\nthe streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the\nwretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my\nview. I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited, but\nfelt impelled to hurry on, although drenched by the rain which poured\nfrom a black and comfortless sky.\n\nI continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavouring by\nbodily exercise to ease the load that weighed upon my mind. I\ntraversed the streets without any clear conception of where I was or\nwhat I was doing. My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear, and I\nhurried on with irregular steps, not daring to look about me:\n \n Like one who, on a lonely road,\n Doth walk in fear and dread,\n And, having once turned round, walks on,\n And turns no more his head;\n Because he knows a frightful fiend\n Doth close behind him tread.\n \n [Coleridge\u2019s \u201cAncient Mariner.\u201d]\n\n\n\nContinuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the various\ndiligences and carriages usually stopped. Here I paused, I knew not why;\nbut I remained some minutes with my eyes fixed on a coach that was coming\ntowards me from the other end of the street. As it drew nearer I observed\nthat it was the Swiss diligence; it stopped just where I was standing, and\non the door being opened, I perceived Henry Clerval, who, on seeing me,\ninstantly sprung out. \u201cMy dear Frankenstein,\u201d exclaimed he,\n\u201chow glad I am to see you! How fortunate that you should be here at\nthe very moment of my alighting!\u201d\n\nNothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval; his presence brought back\nto my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all those scenes of home so dear\nto my recollection. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot my horror\nand misfortune; I felt suddenly, and for the first time during many months,\ncalm and serene joy. I welcomed my friend, therefore, in the most cordial\nmanner, and we walked towards my college. Clerval continued talking for\nsome time about our mutual friends and his own good fortune in being\npermitted to come to Ingolstadt. \u201cYou may easily believe,\u201d said\nhe, \u201chow great was the difficulty to persuade my father that all\nnecessary knowledge was not comprised in the noble art of book-keeping;\nand, indeed, I believe I left him incredulous to the last, for his constant\nanswer to my unwearied entreaties was the same as that of the Dutch\nschoolmaster in The Vicar of Wakefield: \u2018I have ten thousand florins\na year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.\u2019 But his\naffection for me at length overcame his dislike of learning, and he has\npermitted me to undertake a voyage of discovery to the land of\nknowledge.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left\nmy father, brothers, and Elizabeth.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from\nyou so seldom. By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their\naccount myself. But, my dear Frankenstein,\u201d continued he, stopping\nshort and gazing full in my face, \u201cI did not before remark how very ill\nyou appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been watching for\nseveral nights.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one\noccupation that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see;\nbut I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an\nend and that I am at length free.\u201d\n\nI trembled excessively; I could not endure to think of, and far less to\nallude to, the occurrences of the preceding night. I walked with a\nquick pace, and we soon arrived at my college. I then reflected, and\nthe thought made me shiver, that the creature whom I had left in my\napartment might still be there, alive and walking about. I dreaded to\nbehold this monster, but I feared still more that Henry should see him.\nEntreating him, therefore, to remain a few minutes at the bottom of the\nstairs, I darted up towards my own room. My hand was already on the\nlock of the door before I recollected myself. I then paused, and a\ncold shivering came over me. I threw the door forcibly open, as\nchildren are accustomed to do when they expect a spectre to stand in\nwaiting for them on the other side; but nothing appeared. I stepped\nfearfully in: the apartment was empty, and my bedroom was also freed\nfrom its hideous guest. I could hardly believe that so great a good\nfortune could have befallen me, but when I became assured that my enemy\nhad indeed fled, I clapped my hands for joy and ran down to Clerval.\n\nWe ascended into my room, and the servant presently brought breakfast;\nbut I was unable to contain myself. It was not joy only that possessed\nme; I felt my flesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse\nbeat rapidly. I was unable to remain for a single instant in the same\nplace; I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud.\nClerval at first attributed my unusual spirits to joy on his arrival,\nbut when he observed me more attentively, he saw a wildness in my eyes\nfor which he could not account, and my loud, unrestrained, heartless\nlaughter frightened and astonished him.\n\n\u201cMy dear Victor,\u201d cried he, \u201cwhat, for God\u2019s sake,\nis the matter? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you are! What is the\ncause of all this?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not ask me,\u201d cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I\nthought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; \u201c_he_ can\ntell. Oh, save me! Save me!\u201d I imagined that the monster seized me;\nI struggled furiously and fell down in a fit.\n\nPoor Clerval! What must have been his feelings? A meeting, which he\nanticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I\nwas not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not\nrecover my senses for a long, long time.\n\nThis was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for\nseveral months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I\nafterwards learned that, knowing my father\u2019s advanced age and unfitness\nfor so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make\nElizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my\ndisorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive\nnurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he\ndid not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest\naction that he could towards them.\n\nBut I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the unbounded and\nunremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life.\nThe form of the monster on whom I had bestowed existence was for ever\nbefore my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him. Doubtless my\nwords surprised Henry; he at first believed them to be the wanderings\nof my disturbed imagination, but the pertinacity with which I\ncontinually recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder\nindeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.\n\nBy very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed and\ngrieved my friend, I recovered. I remember the first time I became\ncapable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I\nperceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared and that the young\nbuds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window. It was\na divine spring, and the season contributed greatly to my\nconvalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in\nmy bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as\ncheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion.\n\n\u201cDearest Clerval,\u201d exclaimed I, \u201chow kind, how very good\nyou are to me. This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you\npromised yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever\nrepay you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I\nhave been the occasion, but you will forgive me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get\nwell as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I\nmay speak to you on one subject, may I not?\u201d\n\nI trembled. One subject! What could it be? Could he allude to an object on\nwhom I dared not even think?\n\n\u201cCompose yourself,\u201d said Clerval, who observed my change of\ncolour, \u201cI will not mention it if it agitates you; but your father\nand cousin would be very happy if they received a letter from you in your\nown handwriting. They hardly know how ill you have been and are uneasy at\nyour long silence.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that all, my dear Henry? How could you suppose that my first\nthought would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and\nwho are so deserving of my love?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad\nto see a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from\nyour cousin, I believe.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nChapter 6\n\n\nClerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from my\nown Elizabeth:\n\n\u201cMy dearest Cousin,\n\n\u201cYou have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear\nkind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account. You are\nforbidden to write\u2014to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor,\nis necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a long time I have thought\nthat each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have\nrestrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. I have\nprevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so\nlong a journey, yet how often have I regretted not being able to\nperform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending on\nyour sickbed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never\nguess your wishes nor minister to them with the care and affection of\nyour poor cousin. Yet that is over now: Clerval writes that indeed\nyou are getting better. I eagerly hope that you will confirm this\nintelligence soon in your own handwriting.\n\n\u201cGet well\u2014and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home and\nfriends who love you dearly. Your father\u2019s health is vigorous, and he\nasks but to see you, but to be assured that you are well; and not a\ncare will ever cloud his benevolent countenance. How pleased you would\nbe to remark the improvement of our Ernest! He is now sixteen and full\nof activity and spirit. He is desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter\ninto foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his\nelder brother returns to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of\na military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your\npowers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his\ntime is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the\nlake. I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point\nand permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.\n\n\u201cLittle alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken\nplace since you left us. The blue lake and snow-clad mountains\u2014they\nnever change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are\nregulated by the same immutable laws. My trifling occupations take up\nmy time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing\nnone but happy, kind faces around me. Since you left us, but one\nchange has taken place in our little household. Do you remember on\nwhat occasion Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you do not;\nI will relate her history, therefore in a few words. Madame Moritz,\nher mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the\nthird. This girl had always been the favourite of her father, but\nthrough a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and\nafter the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt observed\nthis, and when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed ",
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