Volume I, Chapter XVI

CHAPTER XVI

As no objection was made to the young people's engagement with their aunt, and all Miss Collins's scruples of leaving Mr. and Mrs. Bennet for a single evening during her visit were most steadily resisted, the coach conveyed her and her five cousins at a suitable hour to Meryton; and Edward, as much as any of his sisters, had the pleasure of hearing, as they entered the drawing-room, that Mr. Wickham had accepted their uncle's invitation.

When this information was given, and they had all taken their seats, Miss Collins was at leisure to look around her and admire, and she was so much struck with the size and furniture of the apartment, that she declared she might almost have supposed herself in the small summer breakfast parlour at Rosings; a comparison that did not at first convey much gratification; but when Mrs. Philips understood from her 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 her own humble abode, and the improvements it was receiving, she was happily employed until the officers arrived; and she found in Mrs. Philips a very attentive listener, whose opinion of her consequence increased with what she heard, and who was resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as soon as she could. To the younger Miss Bennets, 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 arrive; and when Mr. Wickham walked into the room, Edward felt that he 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 Philips, breathing port wine, who followed them into the room.

Mr. Wickham was the happy man towards whom almost every eye was turned, and Edward was the happy man 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, and on the probability of a rainy season, made him 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 those assembled, as Mr. Wickham and the officers, Miss Collins seemed to sink into insignificance; to the young ladies she certainly was nothing; but she had still at intervals a kind listener in Mrs. Philips, and was by her watchfulness, most abundantly supplied with coffee and muffin.

When the card-tables were placed, she had the opportunity of obliging her in turn, by sitting down to whist.

'I know little of the game at present,' said she, 'but I shall be glad to improve myself, for in my situation in life—' Mrs. Philips was very thankful for her compliance, but could not wait for her reason.

Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he received at the other table between Edward 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 any one in particular. Allowing for the common demands of the game, Mr. Wickham was therefore at leisure to talk to Edward, and he was very willing to hear him, though what he chiefly wished to hear he could not hope to be told, the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. He dared not even mention that gentleman. His curiosity however was unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself. He inquired how far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving his answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.

'About a month,' said Edward; 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.'

Edward could not but look surprised.

'You may well be surprised, Mr. 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 Edward 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. Every body is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by any one.'

'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 chuses 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, 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 any thing and every thing, rather than his disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.'

Edward found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with all his 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, 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 Edward; '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 any thing 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 any thing 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.'

Edward honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them.

'But what,' said he, 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 moments' reflection, however, he 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.'

Edward was again deep in thought, struck by the similarity of their situations in life, and the thought that the same fate might befall him and his sisters upon their father's death, should Mr. Collins remain unyielding;—and after a time exclaimed, 'To treat in such a manner, the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father!'—He could have added, 'A young man too, like you, whose very countenance may vouch for your being amiable'—but he contented himself with 'And one, too, who had probably been his own 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. Philips, appears to do so much credit to—but he gave up every thing 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 affection to myself.'

'How strange!' cried Edward. '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 has 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.'

Edward wondered at Wickham's meaning; but instead replied, '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, Edward 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 chuses. 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 Miss Collins took her station between her cousin Edward and Mrs. Philips.—The usual inquiries as to her success were made by the latter. It had not been very great; she had lost every point; but when Mrs. Philips began to express her concern thereupon, she assured her with much earnest gravity that it was not of the least importance, that she considered the money as a mere trifle, and begged that she would not make herself uneasy.

'I know very well, madam,' said she, '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, my brother and I find ourselves removed far beyond the necessity of regarding little matters.'

Mr. Wickham's attention was caught; and after observing Miss Collins for a few moments, he asked Edward in a low voice whether his relation was very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.

'Lady Catherine de Bourgh,' he replied, 'has very lately given her brother a living, and Miss Collins is the particular friend of her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh. I hardly know how my cousin was first introduced to her notice, but she 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.'

'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 Edward smile, as he 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 the only woman to whom his attentions would ever be turned were one to whom he were already self-destined.

'Miss Collins,' said he, 'speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter; but from some particulars that she has related of her ladyship, I suspect her gratitude misleads her, and that in spite of her being her 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 of her nephew, who chuses that every one connected with him should have an understanding of the first class.'

Edward 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 ladies their share of Mr. Wickham's attention; though much of it, in his glances, remained for Edward. There could be no conversation in the noise of Mrs. Philips's supper party, but his manners recommended him to every body. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done gracefully.

Edward went away with his head full of him. He could think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told him, all the way home; but there was not time for him even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Miss Collins were once silent. Lydia talked incessantly of lottery tickets, of the fish she had lost and the fish she had won, and Miss Collins, in describing the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Philips, protesting that she did not in the least regard her losses at whist, enumerating all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly fearing that she crouded her cousins, had more to say than she could well manage before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.