“My father and I spent some time studying Plato and Socrates; in addition, I have read Leibniz and Spinoza, as well as Descartes’Meditations on First Philosophy. Nonetheless, I remain unconvinced that rationality is the sole basis for a good life,” Miss Elizabeth said.
“How is that possible?” Mr. Darcy asked, brows knitting together. “Only humanity has the gift of rational thinking; should that not then be the basis of human life?
“Rationality does not account for that most basic and important of human experiences – that of emotion,” she said, calmly.
“Emotion! Surely that is for children and the lower orders.”
“Do you hear yourself, Mr. Darcy? The greatest writers and poets of our age – of any age, for that matter – write about the glories of love, the appreciation of beauty, or the agony of loss and despair! Do you decry Shakespeare, Robert Burns, William Blake?”
Mr. Darcy shrugged. “I acknowledge the works of genius, of course, but I do not choose to live my life in accordance with their precepts.”
Miss Elizabeth shook her head. “Did you love your parents, Mr. Darcy?”
“Elizabeth!” her mother reprimanded her.
Both Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth ignored her. “Of course I did, but that is the natural reaction of a child to parental care.”
“So you loved them because of what they did for you?”
Mr. Darcy felt rather wrong-footed now. “Well, I would not put it like that.”
“How would you put it, then? Do not children love even those parents who do not take good care of them? Is it not a natural experience to love one’s parents?”
Mr. Darcy felt himself on firmer ground now. “It is natural, of course; but man may improve upon nature. Once we are no longer children, once we are in full possession of our rational minds, emotions then become a matter of choice. We can choose to succumb to them or choose not to. For my part, I choose not to.”
“And have you been successful in not succumbing to your emotions?” Her eyes twinkled as if she could read his thoughts, which were in considerable disarray.
“I believe myself to be a work in progress, Miss Elizabeth,” he said adroitly, with a small bow.
She laughed merrily. “As are we all, Mr. Darcy! But you recall what Horatio said to Hamlet, I imagine?”
Mr. Darcy thought for a moment before quoting, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
”Precisely,” she said.
“Is it not time for our chess game, Darcy?” Mr. Bennet interrupted a conversation that he felt had gone on quite long enough.
“Indeed.” Mr. Darcy rose with alacrity and bowed to the ladies; he heard Mrs. Bennet scolding Elizabeth as he left the room.
***
That night, Jane demanded, “What was all that about, Lizzy?” Jane turned to stare at her younger sister, who was braiding her hair in preparation for bed.
“Oh, my interrogation of Mr. Darcy? Why, simply to make out what sort of man he is! You must agree, surely, Jane, that it is odd indeed to travel incognito, hoping that no one learns of your high status.”
“Is it? Surely this is a common theme in fiction.”
“But this is real life, not fiction. I wondered who hethoughthe was, and who hereallywas.”
“And what did you learn?”
“Why, that he thinks he is a rational man, but in truth he is as governed by emotion as any of us. I wonder when he will realise it.”
***
As he prepared himself for sleep, Mr. Darcy felt deeply confused. Miss Elizabeth was no flighty young thing; she was educated, she was an excellent conversationalist, and it was just possible that she understood him far better than he understood her.
What was he to do now? One thing was certain; he could not allow himself to be in her company again.
