Ever after his marriage, it was Darcy’s first and greatest delight to give pleasure to his wife, and he studied the subject with all the intelligence and seriousness he possessed, which were considerable. Their first trip together, in the spring following their wedding, was to the Lakes, which Elizabeth had missed seeing when her aunt and uncle Gardiner had changed the course of their proposed trip and taken her to Derbyshire instead. As that had resulted in Elizabeth’s encounter with Mr. Darcy at Pemberley, and thus helped bring about their marriage, the young couple could not repine; but the circumstance made it imperative that the Lakes should be achieved, and in due course they most happily were.
During the next few years they traveled about with some frequency, with trips to London in the season, to superior seaside towns in summer, and a visit to Scotland. Their favorite place remained their beautiful estate Pemberley however, and there they stayed more than half the year. This was in part made necessary by the happy arrival of three healthy children in the first five years of matrimony, two boys and a girl, and the Darcys felt that however little or widely they traveled, they were without doubt one of the happiest couples in the world.
One wish, however, did keep recurring to Darcy’s mind. He had often had thoughts, visions even, of traveling on the Continent, and introducing his Elizabeth to the glories and beauties of Italy in particular. She shared his avid interest, and they spent many evenings in their fine library at Pemberley, reading about such travels.
It happened that Darcy had always felt disappointed at having been unable to undertake the Grand Tour that young, moneyed English gentlemen – and he was certainly one of that description – took as a matter of course throughout the eighteenth and into the early nineteenth centuries. Darcy’s cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, a few years older than himself, had travelled abroad and loved to describe what he had seen of the Italian Lakes, and Paris, and Rome, and Venice. He had also had served in the war against France with some distinction, and as Darcy’s favorite and most amiable cousin, almost a brother, he was a person well worth listening to. His descriptions of Venice, in particular, struck into the minds and imaginations of the couple, more than any other place. It sounded almost a magical, fairy city, unlike any other place in the world, with the gleaming, reflecting multi-hued Adriatic Sea forming the enchanted backdrop for the exquisite, majestic palazzi, among which the canals threaded. There, you traveled by water, in picturesque gondolas, and there was art, art everywhere, fronting the palaces, filling musei and buildings, piazzas and gardens. Oh! How could you be said to have lived, if you had not seen Venice?
Only Lady Catherine, of all in the family, disliked hearing her nephew Fitzwilliam’s gilded reminiscences of his travels. “What is the use of going to such unseemly places,” she told her nephews brusquely, “still less hearing about them, and the barbaric, irregular ways in which one knows the people outside England still live, even in the modern age.”
“But Aunt Catherine, you know travel teaches you about the world,” Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested.
“Nonsense! The less one learns about heathenish places, where there are neither fine manners nor morals, the better. Traveling is dangerous; it exposes a young person to things he had much better not learn.”
“Traveling was thought by the ancients to be an important part of a good life,” Darcy contributed mildly. “Sir Francis Bacon said that travel, in the younger sort, is a part of education; in the elder a part of experience.”
Lady Catherine glared at him. “Such gadding about is to no purpose,” she snapped. “Your father and I were quite glad, after you finished at Cambridge, that you were prevented by the war from indulging in such dangerous escapades.”
“My escapades do not seem to have harmed me,” Col. Fitzwilliam objected. “I am quite of the opposite opinion.”
“That is different. Trips to the Continent were necessary to your profession. And you were lucky indeed to have survived them and come safely home. I shudder to think what might have happened.”
“I confess I should like to see Italy myself – and most of all Venice,” Elizabeth spoke up. She was holding her youngest child on her lap, whom Lady Catherine had come to inspect, but on hearing this outrageous speech the lady’s indignation knew no bounds.
She rose to her feet, turning red in her anger. “Silence! That a lady should speak of such things! It is worse than unwomanly, it is unladylike!”
“But ladies do travel, Aunt Catherine. Since the Continent has become open again to English travelers, in the last two or three years, many ladies have journeyed as far as Italy,” Darcy pointed out.
“And written about it too,” persisted Elizabeth. “Corinne is my delight – such descriptions of the beauties of Italy! The authoress, Madame de Stael, went to Venice in 1804, I believe, and traveled with her three children. Think of that!” She and Darcy nodded at each other.
“Yes, and travel is vastly improved since then,” said Darcy, “I am sure we might undertake such a journey as that, with our own family.”
“That is positively wicked talk,” Lady Catherine fumed. “To mention that immoral foreign de Stael woman – a writer too, what is more. Not even respectable. You should be ashamed to speak of such things.”
“I confess I enjoyed Mrs. Radcliffe’s works even more than Madame de Stael’s,” Elizabeth mentioned. “Now there is an authoress for you. who is English.”
“Another writer, living an irregular life, not one to be admitted into decent company!”
“But such an exciting book! Signor Montoni, the Italian brigand!” exclaimed Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Lady Catherine nodded. “Exactly as I was saying. Darcy, promise me solemnly now, you will not traipse all over Italy with your wife and children. It is a shatter-brained scheme that will result in your meeting such ruffians as this Signor Montoni.”
“I believe I can promise you never to meet Signor Montoni,” he answered wearily.
“Remember, I shall hold you to that,” she said, frowning. “I shall retire now. You have caused me the greatest pain and displeasure by pursuing this dreadful subject, and I am positively exhausted. I am sure I shall suffer from it.”
After she had withdrawn, Elizabeth put the baby in its basket and smoothed the covers. Then she looked up at Darcy brightly.
“Darcy, did you mean it? Should you really like to go to Venice – the children and all? Is it possible? Would it be safe?”
He nodded. “Yes, I believe it is both possible, and safe. I have been studying the matter, and very many English families have gone a-traveling, ever since the peace. Is it not so, Fitzwilliam?”
“Indeed, yes. I know several such cases, and have received letters from my old comrade Major Scott, who has been spending the winter at Rome with his wife and children. He writes me that if one has money, the trip can be made comfortably and in good time. You might take two well-sprung carriages, one for yourselves, the other for the servants.”
Darcy turned to his wife and took her hand. “It is my dearest wish,” he told her, “but only if you feel that way yourself, and it would please you. You would not be afraid?”
“Never, with you,” she assured him. “And oh, the delight it would be! We shall see every thing beautiful, and keep literary journals ourselves – though perhaps we will not expose them to the public gaze, as it would so offend Lady Catherine.”
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