CHAPTER XVI.
As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with theiraunt, and all Mr. Collins's scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet fora single evening during his visit were most steadily resisted, the coachconveyed him and his five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and thegirls had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room,that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation, and was then inthe 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 muchstruck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that he declared hemight almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast parlourat Rosings; a comparison that did not at first convey muchgratification; but when Mrs. Philips understood from him what Rosingswas, and who was its proprietor, when she had listened to thedescription of only one of Lady Catherine's drawing-rooms, and foundthat the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds, she felt allthe force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparisonwith 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 theimprovements it was receiving, he was happily employed until thegentlemen joined them; and he found in Mrs. Philips a very attentivelistener, whose opinion of his consequence increased with what sheheard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours assoon 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 examinetheir own indifferent imitations of china on the mantle-piece, theinterval of waiting appeared very long. It was over at last however. Thegentlemen did approach; and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room,Elizabeth felt that she had neither been seeing him before, nor thinkingof him since, with the smallest degree of unreasonable admiration. Theofficers of the ----shire were in general a very creditable,gentleman-like set, and the best of them were of the present party; butMr. Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, andwalk, as _they_ were superior to the broad-faced stuffy uncle Philips,breathing port wine, who followed them into the room.
Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye wasturned, and Elizabeth was the happy woman by whom he finally seatedhimself; and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fell intoconversation, though it was only on its being a wet night, and on theprobability of a rainy season, made her feel that the commonest,dullest, most thread-bare topic might be rendered interesting by theskill of the speaker.
With such rivals for the notice of the fair, as Mr. Wickham and theofficers, Mr. Collins seemed likely to sink into insignificance; to theyoung ladies he certainly was nothing; but he had still at intervals akind listener in Mrs. Philips, and was, by her watchfulness, mostabundantly supplied with coffee and muffin.
When the card tables were placed, he had an opportunity of obliging herin return, by sitting down to whist.
I know little of the game, at present, said he, but I shall be gladto improve myself, for in my situation of life---- Mrs. Philips wasvery thankful for his compliance, but could not wait for his reason.
Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was hereceived at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. At first thereseemed danger of Lydia's engrossing him entirely, for she was a mostdetermined talker; but being likewise extremely fond of lottery tickets,she soon grew too much interested in the game, too eager in making betsand exclaiming after prizes, to have attention for any one inparticular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham wastherefore at leisure to talk to Elizabeth, and she was very willing tohear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not hope tobe told, the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She dared noteven mention that gentleman. Her curiosity however was unexpectedlyrelieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how farNetherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked inan hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.
About a month, said Elizabeth; and then, unwilling to let the subjectdrop, added, He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, Iunderstand.
Yes, replied Wickham;--his estate there is a noble one. A clear tenthousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable ofgiving you certain information on that head than myself--for I have beenconnected 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, afterseeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meetingyesterday.--Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?
As much as I ever wish to be, cried Elizabeth warmly,--I have spentfour days in the same house with him, and I think him verydisagreeable.
I have no right to give _my_ opinion, said Wickham, as to his beingagreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known himtoo long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for _me_ tobe impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in generalastonish--and perhaps you would not express it quite so stronglyanywhere else.--Here you are in your own family.
Upon my word I say no more _here_ than I might say in any house in theneighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked inHertfordshire. Every body is disgusted with his pride. You will not findhim more favourably spoken of by any one.
I cannot pretend to be sorry, said Wickham, after a shortinterruption, that he or that any man should not be estimated beyondtheir deserts; but with _him_ I believe it does not often happen. Theworld is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by hishigh and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chuses to be seen.
I should take him, even on _my_ slight acquaintance, to be anill-tempered man. Wickham only shook his head.
I wonder, said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, whether he islikely to be in this country much longer.
I do not at all know; but I _heard_ nothing of his going away when Iwas at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ----shire willnot 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 foravoiding _him_ but what I might proclaim to all the world; a sense ofvery 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 menthat ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had; and I can never bein company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by athousand tender recollections. His behaviour to myself has beenscandalous; but I verily believe I could forgive him any thing and everything, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memoryof his father.
Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened withall her heart; but the delicacy of it prevented farther inquiry.
Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, theneighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that hehad yet seen, and speaking of the latter especially, with gentle butvery 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 amost respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted mefarther by his account of their present quarters, and the very greatattentions and excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them.Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, andmy spirits will not bear solitude. I _must_ have employment and society.A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances havenow made it eligible. The church _ought_ to have been my profession--Iwas brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been inpossession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman wewere speaking of just now.
Indeed!
Yes--the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the bestliving 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 givenelsewhere.
Good heavens! cried Elizabeth; but how could _that_ be?--How couldhis will be disregarded?--Why did not you seek legal redress?
There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as togive me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted theintention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it--or to treat it as a merelyconditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claimto it by extravagance, imprudence, in short any thing or nothing.Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as Iwas of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and noless certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really doneany thing to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and Imay perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion _of_ him, and _to_ him, toofreely. I can recal nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are verydifferent 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 Ican forget his father, I can never defy or expose _him_.
Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer thanever as he expressed them.
But what, said she, after a pause, can have been his motive?--whatcan have induced him to behave so cruelly?
A thorough, determined dislike of me--a dislike which I cannot butattribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked meless, his son might have borne with me better; but his father's uncommonattachment to me, irritated him I believe very early in life. He had nota temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood--the sort ofpreference which was often given me.
I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this--though I have never likedhim, I had not thought so very ill of him--I had supposed him to bedespising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him ofdescending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity asthis!
After a few minutes reflection, however, she continued, I _do_ rememberhis boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of hisresentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition mustbe dreadful.
I will not trust myself on the subject, replied Wickham, _I_ canhardly be just to him.
Elizabeth was again deep in thought, and after a time exclaimed, Totreat in such a manner, the god-son, the friend, the favourite of hisfather!--She could have added, A young man too, like _you_, whose verycountenance may vouch for your being amiable--but she contentedherself with And one, too, who had probably been his own companion fromchildhood, connected together, as I think you said, in the closestmanner!
We were born in the same parish, within the same park, the greatestpart 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. Philips,appears to do so much credit to--but he gave up every thing to be of useto the late Mr. Darcy, and devoted all his time to the care of thePemberley property. He was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a mostintimate, confidential friend. Mr. Darcy often acknowledged himself tobe under the greatest obligations to my father's active superintendance,and when immediately before my father's death, Mr. Darcy gave him avoluntary promise of providing for me, I am convinced that he felt it tobe as much a debt of gratitude to _him_, as of affection to myself.
How strange! cried Elizabeth. How abominable!--I wonder that the verypride of this Mr. Darcy has not made him just to you!--If from no bettermotive, that he should not have been too proud to be dishonest,--fordishonesty I must call it.
It _is_ wonderful,--replied Wickham,--for almost all his actions maybe traced to pride;--and pride has often been his best friend. It hasconnected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling. But we are noneof us consistent; and in his behaviour to me, there were strongerimpulses 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 hismoney freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, and relievethe poor. Family pride, and _filial_ pride, for he is very proud of whathis father was, have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, todegenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of thePemberley House, is a powerful motive. He has also _brotherly_ pride,which with _some_ brotherly affection, makes him a very kind and carefulguardian of his sister; and you will hear him generally cried up as themost attentive and best of brothers.
What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?
He shook his head.--I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me painto speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother,--very,very proud.--As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, andextremely fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to heramusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, aboutfifteen or sixteen, and I understand highly accomplished. Since herfather'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 nothelp 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 youknow 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 chuses. He does notwant abilities. He can be a conversible companion if he thinks it worthhis while. Among those who are at all his equals in consequence, he is avery different man from what he is to the less prosperous. His pridenever deserts him; but with the rich, he is liberal-minded, just,sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable,--allowingsomething for fortune and figure.
The whist party soon afterwards breaking up, the players gathered roundthe other table, and Mr. Collins took his station between his cousinElizabeth and Mrs. Philips.--The usual inquiries as to his success weremade by the latter. It had not been very great; he had lost every point;but when Mrs. Philips began to express her concern thereupon, he assuredher with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance,that he considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged she would notmake herself uneasy.
I know very well, madam, said he, that when persons sit down to acard table, they must take their chance of these things,--and happily Iam not in such circumstances as to make five shillings any object. Thereare undoubtedly many who could not say the same, but thanks to LadyCatherine de Bourgh, I am removed far beyond the necessity of regardinglittle matters.
Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Mr. Collins fora few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relationwere very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, she replied, has very lately given him aliving. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to hernotice, but he certainly has not known her long.
You know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcywere sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy.
No, indeed, I did not.--I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine'sconnections. I never heard of her existence till the day beforeyesterday.
Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune, and it isbelieved that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.
This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor MissBingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless heraffection for his sister and her praise of himself, if he were alreadyself-destined to another.
Mr. Collins, said she, speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and herdaughter; but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship,I suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being hispatroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman.
I believe her to be both in a great degree, replied Wickham; I havenot seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never likedher, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has thereputation of being remarkably sensible and clever; but I rather believeshe derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune, part fromher authoritative manner, and the rest from the pride of her nephew, whochuses that every one connected with him should have an understanding ofthe first class.
Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account of it, andthey continued talking together with mutual satisfaction till supper putan 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 ofMrs. Philips's supper party, but his manners recommended him to everybody. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, donegracefully. Elizabeth went away with her head full of him. She couldthink of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, allthe way home; but there was not time for her even to mention his name asthey went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were once silent. Lydiatalked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and thefish she had won, and Mr. Collins, in describing the civility of Mr. andMrs. Philips, protesting that he did not in the least regard his lossesat whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearingthat he crouded his cousins, had more to say than he could well managebefore the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.