Chapter 43 — Teaching Companion

What it asks It asks the student to read the rooms as Elizabeth does, as evidence of their owner, and to decide what they are evidence of. Before anyone has praised him, she sees, “with admiration of his taste,” that the furniture, “suitable to the fortune of their proprietor,” was “neither gaudy nor uselessly fine,--with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.” From the hill she had seen the same restraint outdoors: a stream “swelled into greater, but without any artificial appearance,” its banks “neither formal nor falsely adorned.” Pride is the old charge against him. Mrs. Reynolds says, “Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it.” In the carriage Mr. Gardiner calls him “unassuming,” and Mrs. Gardiner grants “something a little stately in him,” but “confined to his air.” Here “gaudy” means showy, “splendour” means grand display, “proprietor” means owner, “unassuming” means modest, and “stately” means grand in bearing. The student decides whether plain good taste in so great a house speaks of a humble man or of a pride too sure of itself to need show. The card does not say who chose the furniture: Elizabeth credits “his taste,” and one room was his father’s favourite, its miniatures “just as they used to be then.”

One reading

A humble man. Show is for people who need to be admired, and this owner, with the fortune for any amount of it, chose less. The grounds say the same: nature has been helped, not dressed up. Her uncle, who has no quarrel with Darcy, finds him “unassuming,” a word that fits the rooms as well as the man. On this reading the house is the first witness against the charge of pride, and it speaks before Mrs. Reynolds says a word.

• neither gaudy nor uselessly fine
• He is perfectly well-behaved, polite, and unassuming

Another reading

A proud one. Restraint can be its own kind of pride: a man secure in his rank has no need to dazzle, and plainness in a house this size is a choice only the very great can make. The rooms are still lofty and handsome, “suitable to the fortune of their proprietor.” Even Mrs. Gardiner, won over, sees “something a little stately in him.” And Mrs. Reynolds’s defence, that he only does not “rattle away like other young men,” admits that something in his manner reads as pride. On this reading the rooms show a man who thinks himself above display, which is not the same as thinking himself no better than others.

• their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor
• There is something a little stately in him, to be sure

Listen for

• Notices that Elizabeth credits “his taste” before Mrs. Reynolds has said a word in his favour, so the house is her first evidence.
• Hears the grounds and the rooms praised the same way, by naming faults only to deny them: “neither formal nor falsely adorned,” “neither gaudy nor uselessly fine.”
• Asks whether the taste is his at all: one room is “my late master’s favourite room,” its miniatures “just as they used to be then.”
• Notices that after the meeting on the lawn Elizabeth thinks of him as “so vain a man,” and asks whether a vain man would furnish rooms like these, or whether pride and vanity are different charges.

If stuck

• What does Elizabeth notice about the furniture, and what does she compare it with?
• What do people in this chapter say about Darcy’s pride?
• Can a person be proud and still dislike showing off?

A strong answer A strong response takes the rooms as evidence and asks what they prove. One reader hears humility: a man with the fortune for any display chose less, the grounds are helped and not dressed up, and her uncle, with no quarrel of his own, finds him “unassuming.” Another hears a quieter pride: the rooms are still “suitable to the fortune of their proprietor,” and a man sure of his rank has no need to dazzle, which is why even Mrs. Gardiner sees “something a little stately in him.” The best answers notice that the question splits the old charge in two, pride and vanity, and that Elizabeth reaches for “so vain a man” later the same day. Whether the house shows a pride that has gone, or one that was never what she thought, bears on the last written question.

What it asks It asks the student to put two facts about the gallery portrait together. Elizabeth finds “a striking resemblance of Mr. Darcy, with such a smile over the face, as she remembered to have sometimes seen, when he looked at her.” She stands “several minutes before the picture, in earnest contemplation,” and returns to it before they leave the gallery. Then “Mrs. Reynolds informed them, that it had been taken in his father’s lifetime”: the father is her “late master,” so the smile in the picture was not painted for Elizabeth. Before the canvas, which “fixed his eyes upon herself,” she feels “a more gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever felt in the height of their acquaintance,” thinks of his regard “with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before,” and “remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression.” Here “earnest contemplation” means long and serious looking, “the original” means the man the picture was painted from, and “regard” means his feeling for her. The student decides what a smile painted in his father’s lifetime can tell her about the looks she remembers. The card does not say what Darcy felt when he looked at her, or that Elizabeth loves him; the chapter names “a more gentle sensation” and gratitude, and no more.

One reading

That the smile was always his. The painter caught it while his father was alive. So the look she sometimes saw was not a new thing made for her: it was his own face, the one his household knows. On this reading the looks she remembers were the man himself, and the portrait joins Mrs. Reynolds as a witness to a man who was always warmer than Hertfordshire saw, and Elizabeth had seen the proof herself without reading it.

• Mrs. Reynolds informed them, that it had been taken in his father’s lifetime.
• with such a smile over the face, as she remembered to have sometimes seen

Another reading

Less about his looks than about her own eyes. She had seen the smile only “sometimes,” and it never changed her mind of him then. Now, after Mrs. Reynolds’s praise, she stands before it for several minutes and comes back to it, and the feeling it calls up is new: “a more gentle sensation” than she had ever felt, and a memory of his regard with its warmth kept and its rudeness softened. On this reading the portrait tells her little about how he looked at her: what has changed is which of his looks she chooses to remember.

• a more gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever felt in the height of their acquaintance
• she remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression

Listen for

• Notices “sometimes”: the smile was not the look she usually saw, and asks why it is the one she remembers now.
• Puts the date of the portrait beside the looks she remembers, and sees that the smile was not painted for her.
• Notices that the portrait “fixed his eyes upon herself,” so in the gallery she is looked at kindly by a man who is not there.
• Keeps the gentle feeling as what the chapter calls it, and does not say what Darcy felt when he smiled.

If stuck

• What does Elizabeth see in the portrait, and what does Mrs. Reynolds say about when it was made?
• Where has Elizabeth seen that smile before?
• If you found an old photo of someone wearing the smile they once gave you, what would it tell you?

A strong answer A strong response puts the two facts together: the smile is one she remembers “when he looked at her,” and the picture was “taken in his father’s lifetime.” One reader says the smile was always his: it belongs to the man his household knows, so the warmth she sometimes saw was his nature, not something made for her. Another says it tells her less about his looks than about her own eyes: she had seen it only “sometimes,” and only now, after Mrs. Reynolds’s praise and with “a more gentle sensation,” does it become the face she stands before and returns to. The best answers notice that a picture from his father’s lifetime cannot show that Darcy has changed, only that something in him was there before; whether she is reading it rightly, or only kindly, is the ground of the last written question.

What it asks It asks the student to set two of Elizabeth’s recollections side by side. In the rooms she imagines being mistress there and welcoming her uncle and aunt, then stops: “But, no,” recollecting herself, “that could never be; my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me; I should not have been allowed to invite them.” The narrator adds: “This was a lucky recollection--it saved her from something like regret.” Later, by the river, she begins, “to imitate his politeness,” to admire the place, “but she had not got beyond the words “delightful,” and “charming,” when some unlucky recollections obtruded, and she fancied that praise of Pemberley from her might be mischievously construed. Her colour changed, and she said no more.” The chapter does not say what the unlucky recollections are. Minutes later Darcy asks to be introduced to the very uncle and aunt she thought she would never have been allowed to invite. Here “recollection” means a memory that comes back, “obtruded” means pushed in uninvited, and “mischievously construed” means given a teasing or harmful meaning. The student decides what has changed between the lucky memory and the unlucky ones: the place, the company, Elizabeth, or the memory itself. The card does not say what Darcy thinks, and does not say that Elizabeth regrets her refusal or loves him.

One reading

Darcy is there. The lucky recollection worked because she was alone with her thoughts in a house whose owner was away: a private reason to stop wishing, which no one else would ever know. By the river the owner is in front of her, and the history between them now has a witness. Her fear is not of what she feels but of what he might think she means. On this reading what changed is the company, not Elizabeth: the same history that comforted her in private shames her in his presence.

• This was a lucky recollection--it saved her from something like regret.
• she fancied that praise of Pemberley from her might be mischievously construed

Another reading

Elizabeth has. The lucky recollection had work to do: it saved her from “something like regret,” so something like regret was already there. Between the rooms and the river came Mrs. Reynolds, the portrait and a gentler feeling toward him than she had ever had. Now she cannot be sure her praise of the place is only praise of the place, and her colour gives her away. And the reason that made the first memory lucky is about to fail: the man she thought would never let her invite her uncle and aunt asks to meet them. On this reading what changed is Elizabeth, and the comfort of the first memory is wearing thin.

• Her colour changed, and she said no more.
• he asked her if she would do him the honour of introducing him to her friends

Listen for

• Hears “lucky” and “unlucky” as the narrator’s own pairing, and asks what luck has to do with memory.
• Notices that the lucky recollection rests on a reason the same visit undoes: Darcy asks to meet the uncle and aunt she thought she could never have invited.
• Notices she starts to praise the place only “to imitate his politeness,” so her words begin as manners, and asks when they stop being only that.
• Leaves the unlucky recollections unnamed where the chapter does, and does not turn “something like regret” into regret or love.

If stuck

• What does Elizabeth remember in the rooms, and why does the narrator call it lucky?
• What is she saying to Darcy by the river when she stops, and why does she stop?
• Can the same memory comfort you at one moment and embarrass you at another?

A strong answer A strong response sets the two memories side by side. One reader says what changed is the company: alone in the rooms, the thought of what she could not have had was a private comfort, but by the river the owner is in front of her, and the same history might be “mischievously construed.” Another says Elizabeth has changed: the first memory saved her from “something like regret,” and between the two she has heard Mrs. Reynolds and stood before the portrait, so she can no longer trust her praise to be only about the place. The best answers notice that the lucky recollection rested on his pride toward her relations, and that within minutes he asks to meet them. Whether that shows a changed man, or one she had misjudged, is the last written question.

What it asks It asks the student to read Elizabeth’s look during the introduction. Darcy asks “if she would do him the honour of introducing him to her friends.” She “could hardly suppress a smile” at his seeking the acquaintance “of some of those very people, against whom his pride had revolted, in his offer to herself,” and thinks, “He takes them now for people of fashion.” As she names them, “she stole a sly look at him, to see how he bore it; and was not without the expectation of his decamping as fast as he could from such disgraceful companions.” He is plainly surprised, but he “sustained it, however, with fortitude: and, so far from going away, turned back with them, and entered into conversation with Mr. Gardiner.” Then: “Elizabeth could not but be pleased, could not but triumph. It was consoling that he should know she had some relations for whom there was no need to blush.” Here “people of fashion” means people of high society, “decamping” means hurrying off, and “fortitude” means courage in bearing something hard. The student decides what she hoped the look would show. The card does not say why Darcy stays; the chapter shows only that he does.

One reading

Hoping to see him run. Running would prove her old picture of him right, and that picture is settled and safe. Her smile before the introduction is at his expense, and “disgraceful companions” is his old view of her relations, held up with a sting. On this reading the sly look is a test she expects him to fail, and it is the old Darcy she is watching for.

• was not without the expectation of his decamping as fast as he could from such disgraceful companions
• she could hardly suppress a smile

Another reading

Hoping to see him stay. What she feels when he stays is pleasure, not disappointment: she “could not but be pleased, could not but triumph,” and it is “consoling” that he should see relations “for whom there was no need to blush.” A person is not consoled by an outcome she did not want. She glories in “every sentence of her uncle,” which shows she wanted the Gardiners to pass as much as Darcy. On this reading the look is anxious more than sly: she half expects him to run because she half fears it.

• Elizabeth could not but be pleased, could not but triumph.
• It was consoling that he should know she had some relations for whom there was no need to blush.

Listen for

• Notices that the test is set by his proposal: she watches for the pride that “had revolted” against her relations.
• Hears the comedy of “decamping” and “fortitude,” words of camps and battles for a gentleman meeting an uncle and aunt.
• Weighs “triumph” against “consoling,” and asks what each says about what she wanted.
• Notices “some relations”: the word admits that not all of hers would pass, though the chapter names none.

If stuck

• What does Elizabeth expect Darcy to do when he learns who the Gardiners are?
• What does he do instead, and how does she feel?
• When you set someone a test, can you want them to pass and expect them to fail?

A strong answer A strong response reads the look through what follows it. One reader says she hoped to see him run: running would prove her old picture of his pride right, and her smile beforehand is at his expense. Another says she hoped to see him stay: when he does, she is “pleased,” she “could not but triumph,” and it is “consoling” that he can see relations “for whom there was no need to blush.” The best answers notice that the test is set by the words of his proposal, the pride that “had revolted” against her relations, so whatever she hoped, the look is her own way of finding out whether he is the same man.

What it asks It asks the student to listen to a silence and to the speech that follows it. In the carriage the Gardiners find Darcy “infinitely superior to anything they had expected.” Then her uncle adds: “But perhaps he may be a little whimsical in his civilities,” and “Your great men often are; and therefore I shall not take him at his word about fishing, as he might change his mind another day, and warn me off his grounds.” “Elizabeth felt that they had entirely mistaken his character, but said nothing.” A moment later Mrs. Gardiner says she would not have thought he “could have behaved in so cruel a way by anybody as he has done by poor Wickham,” and now Elizabeth “felt herself called on to say something in vindication of his behaviour to Wickham.” She speaks “in as guarded a manner as she could,” giving the facts “without actually naming her authority.” Here “whimsical” means changeable on a whim, “vindication” means defence against blame, and “guarded” means careful not to say too much. The student decides why she holds her tongue on one point and speaks on the next. The card does not say why Darcy was civil to the Gardiners, since the chapter never enters his mind, and it does not say that Elizabeth loves him.

One reading

The proof is private. To show her uncle that Darcy is no whimsical great man, she would have to say how she knows him: the proposal, her reproofs at Hunsford, the letter he put into her hand. None of that can be told. On Wickham she can speak, because she can give facts and keep their source back. On Darcy’s steadiness she has only what passed between the two of them. On this reading the silence is discretion: she keeps quiet just then because anything she said would tell too much.

• Elizabeth felt that they had entirely mistaken his character, but said nothing.
• without actually naming her authority

Another reading

She is not sure what she would say. She feels her uncle is wrong, but ever since the lawn she “knew not what to think, or how to account for it,” and kept asking why he was so altered. To call Darcy steady she would have to explain his change, and she cannot explain it even to herself. On Wickham she has facts; on Darcy she has a feeling. On this reading she keeps quiet because her certainty has run ahead of her reasons, and the silence holds a judgment she is not ready to defend.

• She knew not what to think, or how to account for it.
• Why is he so altered?

Listen for

• Notices that she does speak a minute later, about Wickham, and asks what makes that point safe to argue and this one not.
• Hears what her silent verdict claims: that Darcy is not “whimsical,” and will keep his word.
• Notices that the Gardiners, who met him only today, can say how he behaved but not whether he has changed; only Elizabeth can judge that, and she says nothing.
• Leaves Darcy’s reasons for the invitation unsaid, as the chapter does.

If stuck

• What does Mr. Gardiner say about the invitation to fish?
• What does Elizabeth know about Darcy that her uncle and aunt do not?
• Have you ever been sure someone was wrong and still kept quiet? What stopped you?

A strong answer A strong response sets the silence beside the speech that follows it. One reader says she keeps quiet because the proof is private: to show her uncle that Darcy is no whimsical great man she would have to tell of the proposal and the letter, while on Wickham she can give facts “without actually naming her authority.” Another says she keeps quiet because she is not sure what she would say: since the lawn she “knew not what to think,” and a feeling that her uncle is wrong is not yet a reason. The best answers notice what her silent verdict holds: she now believes Darcy will keep his word. The last written question asks whether that belief is about a changed man, or one she is only now seeing.

What it asks It asks the student to test the chapter’s chief witness by the one person she does not praise. Among the miniatures she shows them Wickham, “the son of her late master’s steward, who had been brought up by him at his own expense.” “He is now gone into the army,” she adds; “but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.” Of Darcy she says, “I have never had a cross word from him in my life,” and “He is the best landlord, and the best master,” said she, “that ever lived. Not like the wild young men now-a-days, who think of nothing but themselves.” The narrator says she talks “either from pride or attachment,” and Mr. Gardiner, “highly amused,” puts her “excessive commendation of her master” down to “the kind of family prejudice.” Mrs. Gardiner, who believes what Wickham has told them, whispers that the account “is not quite consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend.” In the carriage Elizabeth tells the Gardiners, “in as guarded a manner as she could,” that Darcy’s character was “by no means so faulty, nor Wickham’s so amiable, as they had been considered in Hertfordshire.” Here “steward” means the manager of an estate, “commendation” means praise, and “attachment” means fond loyalty. The student builds a thesis on whether her harsh word for Wickham makes her praise of Darcy more believable, meets the strongest objection, and revises. The card treats her praise neither as the final verdict nor as a servant’s flattery, and draws nothing about Wickham from outside this chapter.

One reading

Yes. A housekeeper who simply flattered the family would have a kind word for a young man her late master raised at his own expense, whose picture still hangs among theirs. She has none: she calls him “very wild,” to strangers, in the room her old master loved. She can see a fault and will name it, which makes her praise of Darcy a judgment rather than a habit. And at the end of the chapter Elizabeth, on authority she trusts, tells the Gardiners that Wickham was not “so amiable” as Hertfordshire thought. On this reading the one person the housekeeper runs down is the one Elizabeth’s own evidence says deserved it, and that speaks for her eyes.

• but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.
• nor Wickham’s so amiable, as they had been considered in Hertfordshire

Another reading

Not much. “Wild” is her word for everything her master is not: he is “Not like the wild young men now-a-days.” Wickham is the bad example that makes the good one shine, and both judgments may come from the same loyalty to the house. A servant proud of the family could be hard on the young man who went off to the army and warm to the son who stayed. Mr. Gardiner hears “family prejudice” in all of it. On this reading her word for Wickham cannot vouch for her fairness, because it may be part of the same partiality as her praise.

• Not like the wild young men now-a-days, who think of nothing but themselves.
• Mr. Gardiner, highly amused by the kind of family prejudice

Listen for

• Notices that she uses the same word, “wild,” for Wickham and for the young men she sets her master against.
• Weighs the source of the testimony: a lifetime in the house (“ever since he was four years old”) against “pride or attachment.”
• Uses Elizabeth’s guarded words in the carriage as a check on the housekeeper, without bringing in what earlier chapters told.
• Notices that Mrs. Gardiner trusts a different witness (“our authority was too good”), and asks how the chapter sets the two witnesses against each other.

If stuck

• What does Mrs. Reynolds say about Wickham, and what does she say about Darcy?
• What do Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner make of her praise?
• Do you trust someone’s praise more once you have heard them find fault with someone else?

A strong answer A strong response might argue that her word for Wickham does make her praise easier to trust, because a mere flatterer of the family would spare a young man her late master raised, whose picture hangs among theirs, and because Elizabeth’s own account at the end, that Wickham was not “so amiable” as Hertfordshire thought, bears her out. The strongest objection is that “wild” is her yardstick for everything her master is not (“Not like the wild young men now-a-days”), so both judgments may come from one loyalty, and Mr. Gardiner hears “family prejudice” in it. A revised thesis might hold that the Wickham line shows she will name a fault, but not that she is free of partiality, so her praise is strongest where it is specific and borne out by others, and weakest where it is a sweeping verdict. The best answers notice that this bears on the last written question: the more her long witness is trusted, the more the Darcy of Pemberley looks like the man he always was.

What it asks It asks the whole question of the chapter. Elizabeth arrives with a settled view: “That he was not a good-tempered man had been her firmest opinion.” Mrs. Reynolds says, “I have never had a cross word from him in my life,” and Elizabeth thinks, “Can this be Mr. Darcy?” The housekeeper offers a theory of her own: that a boy who is good-natured grows into a man who is good-natured, and “he was always the sweetest tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world.” On the lawn Elizabeth is “Amazed at the alteration of his manner since they last parted”: “Never in her life had she seen his manners so little dignified, never had he spoken with such gentleness as on this unexpected meeting. What a contrast did it offer to his last address in Rosings Park, when he put his letter into her hand!” By the river he asks to meet “some of those very people, against whom his pride had revolted, in his offer to herself,” invites Mr. Gardiner to fish, and asks leave to introduce his sister. Elizabeth keeps asking, “Why is he so altered? From what can it proceed?” and answers herself, “My reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this.” In the carriage Mr. Gardiner finds him “perfectly well-behaved, polite, and unassuming,” but perhaps “a little whimsical in his civilities,” and Elizabeth feels “that they had entirely mistaken his character.” Here “alteration” means change, “address” means his manner of speaking to her, “reproofs” means sharp words of blame, and “whimsical” means changeable on a whim. The student builds a thesis on whether Darcy has changed or Elizabeth is only now seeing who he always was, meets the strongest objection, and revises. The card must not say why Darcy behaves as he does (the chapter never enters his mind, and Elizabeth herself says it cannot be for her sake), that Elizabeth now loves him, that Mrs. Reynolds’s praise is the whole truth, or that he will propose again.

One reading

He has changed. The chapter measures the man by the river against a man Elizabeth knew well enough to hold a “firmest opinion” of. She has never seen “his manners so little dignified,” and the narrator sets them against “his last address in Rosings Park.” The test case is her relations: the pride that “had revolted” against them when he proposed now seeks them out and offers her uncle his river. Mrs. Reynolds can speak only of how he treats those in his care; what is new is courtesy to people he once looked down on. On this reading something in him has altered, whatever its cause, and the chapter is careful to leave the cause unsaid.

• What a contrast did it offer to his last address in Rosings Park
• against whom his pride had revolted, in his offer to herself

Another reading

She is only now seeing him. Pemberley shows a character with a long history: a boy who “was always the sweetest tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world,” a master who has never given “a cross word,” a brother of whom “There is nothing he would not do for her,” and a portrait from his father’s lifetime that wears the smile she “remembered to have sometimes seen.” Mrs. Reynolds reads the pride others saw as quietness: “he does not rattle away like other young men.” And in the gallery, before he appears, Elizabeth softens her own memory of his proposal, its “impropriety of expression.” On this reading what has changed is the light he is seen in: at home, among his own, and by eyes that no longer trust Wickham’s story.

• he was always the sweetest tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world
• To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men.

Listen for

• Sets the house’s evidence (the grounds, the rooms, the portrait, Mrs. Reynolds) against the lawn’s (the blush, the hurried questions, the invitation to fish, the sister).
• Notices that Elizabeth’s answer, that her reproofs “could not work such a change,” is a claim the chapter lets her make, not one it confirms, and that her own eyes have changed too: she softens the proposal’s “impropriety of expression” before he appears.
• Uses the Gardiners as outside witnesses who never knew the old Darcy, and asks what their surprise can and cannot prove.
• Leaves his reasons unsaid, as the chapter does, and does not call Elizabeth’s feeling love.

If stuck

• What did Elizabeth believe about Darcy’s temper when she arrived, and what does Mrs. Reynolds tell her?
• What does Darcy do on the lawn and by the river that Elizabeth never expected?
• If two people describe the same man differently, does one of them have to be wrong?

A strong answer A strong response might argue that Darcy has changed, because the chapter measures the man by the river against one Elizabeth knew well: never had she seen “his manners so little dignified,” in contrast to “his last address in Rosings Park,” and the pride that “had revolted” against her relations now seeks them out. Key evidence includes the invitation to fish and the request to introduce his sister. The strongest objection is that Pemberley shows a long-standing character: a boy “sweetest tempered” from childhood, a master who has never given “a cross word,” a portrait from his father’s lifetime wearing a smile she had “sometimes seen,” and a housekeeper who reads his pride as quietness. A revised thesis might hold that each is true in its own place: the goodness Mrs. Reynolds knows was always there toward those in his care, and what is new, or newly shown, is that goodness turned toward people he once looked down on. The best answers leave his reasons closed, as the chapter does, and notice that Elizabeth is no longer looking with the same eyes.