noticed, this narrative seems to shift in the middle from an exterior, comic or satiric form that conveys Elizabeth's pride in her superior judgment to a more introspective, subjective, and reflective narrative in which she contemplates her mistakes. Up to Darcy's first proposal of marriage at the Hunsford Parsonage, the narrative is largely cast in dialogue and is presented by a narrator who is an arch and intrusive social commentator, but the tone of assurance is fractured by Elizabeth's humiliating discovery that she has had overmuch confidence in her judgment. After rudely spurning his proposal of marriage (only to find to her mortification that she has vastly misjudged him), Elizabeth accidentally meets Darcy by touring his home, after she has had plenty of time to reflect on her mistaken judgment of him. The magnificence of Darcy's estate, Pemberley, along with the extravagant praise of his loyal housekeeper, unsettle anew Elizabeth's opinion of him:
They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his appearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immoveable from surprise; but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party, and spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms of -285- perfect composure, at least of perfect civility.
She had instinctively turned away; but, stopping on his approach, received his compliments with an embarrassment impossible to be overcome. Had his first appearance, or his resemblance to the picture they had just been examining, been insufficient to assure the other two that they now saw Mr. Darcy, the gardener's expression of surprise, on beholding his master, must immediately have told it. They stood a little aloof while he was talking to their niece, who, astonished and confused, scarcely dared lift her eyes to his face, and knew not what answer she returned to his civil enquiries after her family. Amazed at the alteration in his manner since they last parted, every sentence that he uttered was increasing her embarrassment; and every idea of the impropriety of her being found there, recurring to her mind, the few minutes in which they continued together, were some of the most uncomfortable of her life. Nor did he seem much more at ease; when he spoke, his accent had not of its usual sedateness; and he repeated his enquiries as to the time of her leaving Longbourn, and of her stay in Derbyshire, so often, and in so hurried a way, as plainly spoke of the distraction of his thoughts.
At length, every idea seemed to fail him; and, after standing a few moments without saying a word, he suddenly recollected himself, and took leave.
Despite the concern with Elizabeth's and Darcy's feelings, this scene remains grounded in its surroundings, Darcy's estate, Pemberley. Elizabeth never forgets where she is, as the narrative reminds us of the scenery, and Darcy's social status is never allowed to recede from notice. Up to this point, the narrative could easily function as stage directions for a play, for everything that is supposed to transpire within registers on the face as blush or across the body as start. From here on, however, the narrative turns within, and follows Elizabeth's emotional reaction to Darcy's unexpected appearance:
The others then joined her, and expressed their admiration of his figure; but Elizabeth heard not a word, and, wholly engrossed by her own feelings, followed them in silence. She was overpowered by shame and vexation. Her coming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged, thing in the world! How strange must it appear to him! In what a disgraceful light might it not strike so vain a man! It might seem as if she had purposely thrown herself in his way again! Oh! why did she come? or, why did he thus come a day before he was expected? Had they only been ten minutes sooner, they should have been beyond the reach of his discrimination, for it was plain that he was that moment arrived, that moment alighted from his horse or his carriage. She blushed again and again over the perverseness of the meeting. And his behaviour, so strikingly altered, — what could it mean? That he should even speak to -286- her was amazing! — but to speak with such civility, to enquire after her family! Never in her life has 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 Rosing's Park, when he put his letter into her hand! She knew not what to think, nor how to account for it.
They had now entered a beautiful walk by the side of the water, and every step was bringing them forward to a nobler fall of ground, or a finer reach of the woods to which they were approaching; but it was some time before Elizabeth was sensible of any of it; and, though she answered mechanically to the repeated appeals of her uncle and aunt, and seemed to direct her eyes to such objects as they pointed out, she distinguished no part of the scene. Her thoughts were all fixed on that one spot of Pemberley House, whichever it might be, where Mr. Darcy then was. She longed to know what at that moment was passing in his mind; in what manner he thought of her, and whether, in defiance of every thing, she was still dear to him. Perhaps he had been civil, only because he felt himself at ease; yet there had been that in his voice, which was not like ease. Whether he had felt more of pain or of pleasure in seeing her, she could not tell, but he certainly had not seen her with composure.
In free indirect discourse, the train of her thoughts is recounted in full, grammatical, and neatly constructed sentences; urgency or passion is only marked by the series of exclamation points. And though the scene conveys Elizabeth's agitation, none of it is represented in an agitated style-the narration still conveys order, control, and rationality. Her emotional state is carefully assessed in an abstract, Johnsonian vocabulary of embarrassment, shame, and vexation, vocabulary that negates the particularity and subjectivity of her emotions: anyone meeting her spurned suitor in such circumstance would feel shame and vexation. What most distinguishes this passage from the early example from Northanger Abbey is that the narrative does not tell us about Darcy, only Elizabeth; aside from one unusual passage about Elizabeth's 'fine eyes,' Darcy's consciousness is never represented in Pride and Prejudice. And as such, his character remains opaque and inaccessible: 'She longed to know what at that moment was passing in his mind' speaks of a desire that can never be fulfilled. But of course, if his subject position is said to be impenetrable, hers is an open book, open for all the readers of Pride and Prejudice. In a contradiction that is not so different from the high modernist perspective of, say, Virginia Woolf, Pride and Prejudice may assert that complex characters are not easily known, that their riches consist of a hyperinteriority, but such an assertion has the -287- obvious effect of raising the price of interior riches, of the depths of character to be plumbed in an Elizabeth Bennet or a Mrs. Dalloway, both of whom are to be immensely valued over the shallow and easily known Mr. Collinses of the world. Reuben Brower writes, in a typical view, that 'what most satisfies us in reading the dialogue in Pride and Prejudice is Jane Austen's awareness that it is difficult to know any complex person, that the knowledge of a man like Darcy is an interpretation and a construction, not a simple absolute… A reasoned judgment of character [is] reached through long experience and slow weighing of possibilities.'
The most remarkable reunion scene in Austen occurs in her last finished novel, Persuasion. Seven years earlier, Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth were engaged to be married, but because his calling was unsettled, and due to the persuasion of elders, Anne calls off their marriage. At the opening of the novel, Captain Wentworth has returned wealthy, secure, and, though affecting indifference to Anne, still resentful. The first meeting of these former lovers takes place at the home of Anne's sister, Mary. Mary is now married to Charles Musgrove, and Captain Wentworth has come to go shooting with Charles; Wentworth stops to say hello to Mary, where Anne first sees him:
The others appeared; they were in the drawing-room. Her eye half met Captain Wentworth's; a bow, a curtsey passed; she heard his voice-he talked to Mary, said all that was right; said something to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy footing: the room seemed full-full of persons and voices-but a few minutes ended it. Charles shewed himself at the window, all was ready, their visitor had bowed and was gone; the Miss Musgroves were gone too, suddenly resolving to walk to the end of the village with the sportsmen: the room was cleared, and Anne might finish her breakfast as she could.
'It is over! it is over!' she repeated to herself again, and again, in nervous gratitude. 'The worst is over!'
Mary talked, but she could not attend. She had seen him. They had met.
They had been once more in the same room!
Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and try to be feeling less. Eight years, almost eight years has passed, since all had been given up. How absurd to be resuming the agitation which such an interval had banished into distance and indistinction! What might not eight years do? Events of every description, changes, alienations, removals, — all, all must be comprised in it; and oblivion of the past-how natural, how certain too! It included nearly a third part of her own life.
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