As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their
aunt, and all Mr. Collins's scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for a
single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coach
conveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and the
girls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room,
that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation, and was then in
the house.
When this information was given, and they had all taken
their seats, Mr. Collins was at leisure to look around him and admire,
and he was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment,
that he declared he might almost have supposed himself in the small
summer breakfast parlour at Rosings; a comparison that did not at first
convey much gratification; but when Mrs. Phillips understood from him
what Rosings was, and who was its proprietor--when she had listened to
the description of only one of Lady Catherine's drawing-rooms, and found
that the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt
all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a
comparison with the housekeeper's room.
In describing to her all
the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion, with occasional
digressions in praise of his own humble abode, and the improvements it
was receiving, he was happily employed until the gentlemen joined them;
and he found in Mrs. Phillips a very attentive listener, whose opinion
of his consequence increased with what she heard, and who was resolving
to retail it all among her neighbours as soon as she could. To the
girls, who could not listen to their cousin, and who had nothing to do
but to wish for an instrument, and examine their own indifferent
imitations of china on the mantelpiece, the interval of waiting appeared
very long. It was over at last, however. The gentlemen did approach,
and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room, Elizabeth felt that she had
neither been seeing him before, nor thinking of him since, with the
smallest degree of unreasonable admiration. The officers of the
----shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the
best of them were of the present party; but Mr. Wickham was as far
beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk, as _they_ were
superior to the broad-faced, stuffy uncle Phillips, breathing port wine,
who followed them into the room.
Mr. Wickham was the happy man
towards whom almost every female eye was turned, and Elizabeth was the
happy woman by whom he finally seated himself; and the agreeable manner
in which he immediately fell into conversation, though it was only on
its being a wet night, made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most
threadbare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the
speaker.
With such rivals for the notice of the fair as Mr.
Wickham and the officers, Mr. Collins seemed to sink into
insignificance; to the young ladies he certainly was nothing; but he had
still at intervals a kind listener in Mrs. Phillips, and was by her
watchfulness, most abundantly supplied with coffee and muffin. When the
card-tables were placed, he had the opportunity of obliging her in turn,
by sitting down to whist.
"I know little of the game at present,"
said he, "but I shall be glad to improve myself, for in my situation in
life--" Mrs. Phillips was very glad for his compliance, but could not
wait for his reason.
Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with
ready delight was he received at the other table between Elizabeth and
Lydia. At first there seemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him entirely,
for she was a most determined talker; but being likewise extremely fond
of lottery tickets, she soon grew too much interested in the game, too
eager in making bets and exclaiming after prizes to have attention for
anyone in particular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr.
Wickham was therefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very
willing to hear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could
not hope to be told--the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She
dared not even mention that gentleman. Her curiosity, however, was
unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He
inquired how far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her
answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying
there.
"About a month," said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to
let the subject drop, added, "He is a man of very large property in
Derbyshire, I understand."
"Yes," replied Mr. Wickham; "his estate
there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not
have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information on
that head than myself, for I have been connected with his family in a
particular manner from my infancy."
Elizabeth could not but look surprised.
"You
may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, at such an assertion, after seeing,
as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday.
Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"
"As much as I ever wish
to be," cried Elizabeth very warmly. "I have spent four days in the same
house with him, and I think him very disagreeable."
"I have no
right to give _my_ opinion," said Wickham, "as to his being agreeable or
otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long
and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for _me_ to be
impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general
astonish--and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly
anywhere else. Here you are in your own family."
"Upon my word, I
say no more _here_ than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood,
except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody
is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably
spoken of by anyone."
"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said
Wickham, after a short interruption, "that he or that any man should not
be estimated beyond their deserts; but with _him_ I believe it does not
often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or
frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he
chooses to be seen."
"I should take him, even on _my_ slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man." Wickham only shook his head.
"I wonder," said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, "whether he is likely to be in this country much longer."
"I
do not at all know; but I _heard_ nothing of his going away when I was
at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ----shire will not be
affected by his being in the neighbourhood."
"Oh! no--it is not
for _me_ to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If _he_ wishes to avoid seeing
_me_, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me
pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding _him_ but what I
might proclaim before all the world, a sense of very great ill-usage,
and most painful regrets at his being what he is. His father, Miss
Bennet, the late Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that ever breathed,
and the truest friend I ever had; and I can never be in company with
this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender
recollections. His behaviour to myself has been scandalous; but I verily
believe I could forgive him anything and everything, rather than his
disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father."
Elizabeth
found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with all her
heart; but the delicacy of it prevented further inquiry.
Mr.
Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the
neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he
had yet seen, and speaking of the latter with gentle but very
intelligible gallantry.
"It was the prospect of constant society,
and good society," he added, "which was my chief inducement to enter the
----shire. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my
friend Denny tempted me further by his account of their present
quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintances
Meryton had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have
been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I _must_
have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended
for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church _ought_ to
have been my profession--I was brought up for the church, and I should
at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it
pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now."
"Indeed!"
"Yes--the
late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living
in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I
cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and
thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given
elsewhere."
"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth; "but how could _that_
be? How could his will be disregarded? Why did you not seek legal
redress?"
"There was just such an informality in the terms of the
bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have
doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it--or to treat it
as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had
forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence--in short anything
or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago,
exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another
man; and no less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having
really done anything to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded
temper, and I may have spoken my opinion _of_ him, and _to_ him, too
freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very
different sort of men, and that he hates me."
"This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced."
"Some time or other he _will_ be--but it shall not be by _me_. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose _him_."
Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them.
"But what," said she, after a pause, "can have been his motive? What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?"
"A
thorough, determined dislike of me--a dislike which I cannot but
attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me
less, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommon
attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had
not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood--the sort
of preference which was often given me."
"I had not thought Mr.
Darcy so bad as this--though I have never liked him. I had not thought
so very ill of him. I had supposed him to be despising his
fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to
such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this."
After
a few minutes' reflection, however, she continued, "I _do_ remember his
boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his
resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must
be dreadful."
"I will not trust myself on the subject," replied Wickham; "I can hardly be just to him."
Elizabeth
was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, "To treat in
such a manner the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father!" She
could have added, "A young man, too, like _you_, whose very countenance
may vouch for your being amiable"--but she contented herself with, "and
one, too, who had probably been his companion from childhood, connected
together, as I think you said, in the closest manner!"
"We were
born in the same parish, within the same park; the greatest part of our
youth was passed together; inmates of the same house, sharing the same
amusements, objects of the same parental care. _My_ father began life in
the profession which your uncle, Mr. Phillips, appears to do so much
credit to--but he gave up everything to be of use to the late Mr. Darcy
and devoted all his time to the care of the Pemberley property. He was
most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend.
Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himself to be under the greatest
obligations to my father's active superintendence, and when, immediately
before my father's death, Mr. Darcy gave him a voluntary promise of
providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it to be as much a debt of
gratitude to _him_, as of his affection to myself."
"How
strange!" cried Elizabeth. "How abominable! I wonder that the very pride
of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you! If from no better
motive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest--for
dishonesty I must call it."
"It _is_ wonderful," replied Wickham,
"for almost all his actions may be traced to pride; and pride had often
been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than with
any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his
behaviour to me there were stronger impulses even than pride."
"Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?"
"Yes.
It has often led him to be liberal and generous, to give his money
freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relieve the
poor. Family pride, and _filial_ pride--for he is very proud of what his
father was--have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to
degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the
Pemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also _brotherly_ pride,
which, with _some_ brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and
careful guardian of his sister, and you will hear him generally cried up
as the most attentive and best of brothers."
"What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?"
He
shook his head. "I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to
speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother--very, very
proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond
of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is
nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen,
and, I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father's death, her
home has been London, where a lady lives with her, and superintends her
education."
After many pauses and many trials of other subjects, Elizabeth could not help reverting once more to the first, and saying:
"I
am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley,
who seems good humour itself, and is, I really believe, truly amiable,
be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you
know Mr. Bingley?"
"Not at all."
"He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is."
"Probably
not; but Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. He does not want
abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worth his
while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is a
very different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pride
never deserts him; but with the rich he is liberal-minded, just,
sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable--allowing something
for fortune and figure."
The whist party soon afterwards breaking
up, the players gathered round the other table and Mr. Collins took his
station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Phillips. The usual
inquiries as to his success was made by the latter. It had not been very
great; he had lost every point; but when Mrs. Phillips began to express
her concern thereupon, he assured her with much earnest gravity that it
was not of the least importance, that he considered the money as a mere
trifle, and begged that she would not make herself uneasy.
"I
know very well, madam," said he, "that when persons sit down to a
card-table, they must take their chances of these things, and happily I
am not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. There
are undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to Lady
Catherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regarding
little matters."
Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after
observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low
voice whether her relation was very intimately acquainted with the
family of de Bourgh.
"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she replied, "has
very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first
introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long."
"You
know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were
sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy."
"No,
indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine's
connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before
yesterday."
"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large
fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two
estates."
This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of
poor Miss Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and
useless her affection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he
were already self-destined for another.
"Mr. Collins," said she,
"speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter; but from some
particulars that he has related of her ladyship, I suspect his gratitude
misleads him, and that in spite of her being his patroness, she is an
arrogant, conceited woman."
"I believe her to be both in a great
degree," replied Wickham; "I have not seen her for many years, but I
very well remember that I never liked her, and that her manners were
dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably
sensible and clever; but I rather believe she derives part of her
abilities from her rank and fortune, part from her authoritative manner,
and the rest from the pride for her nephew, who chooses that everyone
connected with him should have an understanding of the first class."
Elizabeth
allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, and they
continued talking together, with mutual satisfaction till supper put an
end to cards, and gave the rest of the ladies their share of Mr.
Wickham's attentions. There could be no conversation in the noise of
Mrs. Phillips's supper party, but his manners recommended him to
everybody. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done
gracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She could
think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all
the way home; but there was not time for her even to mention his name as
they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were once silent. Lydia
talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the
fish she had won; and Mr. Collins in describing the civility of Mr. and
Mrs. Phillips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his losses
at whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing
that he crowded his cousins, had more to say than he could well manage
before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House. _