Читать книгу Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austin, Jane Austin - Страница 17

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 enquired 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 enquiry.

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 enquiries as to

his success were 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 of 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.