Kitabı oku: «Pride and Prejudice», sayfa 6
Chapter 15
Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature
had been but little assisted by education or society; the
greatest part of his life having been spent under the guidance of
an illiterate and miserly father; and though he belonged to one
of the universities, he had merely kept the necessary terms,
without forming at it any useful acquaintance. The subjection in
which his father had brought him up had given him originally
great humility of manner; but it was now a good deal counteracted
by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in retirement, and the
consequential feelings of early and unexpected prosperity. A
fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh
when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he
felt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his
patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his
authority as a clergyman, and his right as a rector, made him
altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance
and humility.
Having now a good house and a very sufficient income, he intended
to marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn
family he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the
daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were
represented by common report. This was his plan of amends—of
atonement—for inheriting their father’s estate; and he thought it
an excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and
excessively generous and disinterested on his own part.
His plan did not vary on seeing them. Miss Bennet’s lovely face
confirmed his views, and established all his strictest notions of
what was due to seniority; and for the first evening _she_ was
his settled choice. The next morning, however, made an
alteration; for in a quarter of an hour’s _tête-à-tête_ with Mrs.
Bennet before breakfast, a conversation beginning with his
parsonage-house, and leading naturally to the avowal of his
hopes, that a mistress might be found for it at Longbourn,
produced from her, amid very complaisant smiles and general
encouragement, a caution against the very Jane he had fixed on.
“As to her _younger_ daughters, she could not take upon her to
say—she could not positively answer—but she did not _know_ of any
prepossession; her _eldest_ daughter, she must just mention—she
felt it incumbent on her to hint, was likely to be very soon
engaged.”
Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth—and it was
soon done—done while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire.
Elizabeth, equally next to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded
her of course.
Mrs. Bennet treasured up the hint, and trusted that she might
soon have two daughters married; and the man whom she could not
bear to speak of the day before was now high in her good graces.
Lydia’s intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every
sister except Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins was to
attend them, at the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious
to get rid of him, and have his library to himself; for thither
Mr. Collins had followed him after breakfast; and there he would
continue, nominally engaged with one of the largest folios in the
collection, but really talking to Mr. Bennet, with little
cessation, of his house and garden at Hunsford. Such doings
discomposed Mr. Bennet exceedingly. In his library he had been
always sure of leisure and tranquillity; and though prepared, as
he told Elizabeth, to meet with folly and conceit in every other
room of the house, he was used to be free from them there; his
civility, therefore, was most prompt in inviting Mr. Collins to
join his daughters in their walk; and Mr. Collins, being in fact
much better fitted for a walker than a reader, was extremely
pleased to close his large book, and go.
In pompous nothings on his side, and civil assents on that of his
cousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton. The
attention of the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by
_him_. Their eyes were immediately wandering up in the street in
quest of the officers, and nothing less than a very smart bonnet
indeed, or a really new muslin in a shop window, could recall
them.
But the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man,
whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike
appearance, walking with another officer on the other side of the
way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny concerning whose return
from London Lydia came to enquire, and he bowed as they passed.
All were struck with the stranger’s air, all wondered who he
could be; and Kitty and Lydia, determined if possible to find
out, led the way across the street, under pretense of wanting
something in an opposite shop, and fortunately had just gained
the pavement when the two gentlemen, turning back, had reached
the same spot. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated
permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned
with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say had
accepted a commission in their corps. This was exactly as it
should be; for the young man wanted only regimentals to make him
completely charming. His appearance was greatly in his favour; he
had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good
figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction was followed
up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation—a readiness
at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming; and the whole
party were still standing and talking together very agreeably,
when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley
were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of
the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and
began the usual civilities. Bingley was the principal spokesman,
and Miss Bennet the principal object. He was then, he said, on
his way to Longbourn on purpose to enquire after her. Mr. Darcy
corroborated it with a bow, and was beginning to determine not to
fix his eyes on Elizabeth, when they were suddenly arrested by
the sight of the stranger, and Elizabeth happening to see the
countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all
astonishment at the effect of the meeting. Both changed colour,
one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few
moments, touched his hat—a salutation which Mr. Darcy just
deigned to return. What could be the meaning of it? It was
impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.
In another minute, Mr. Bingley, but without seeming to have
noticed what passed, took leave and rode on with his friend.
Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the
door of Mr. Phillip’s house, and then made their bows, in spite
of Miss Lydia’s pressing entreaties that they should come in, and
even in spite of Mrs. Phillips’s throwing up the parlour window
and loudly seconding the invitation.
Mrs. Phillips was always glad to see her nieces; and the two
eldest, from their recent absence, were particularly welcome, and
she was eagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden return
home, which, as their own carriage had not fetched them, she
should have known nothing about, if she had not happened to see
Mr. Jones’s shop-boy in the street, who had told her that they
were not to send any more draughts to Netherfield because the
Miss Bennets were come away, when her civility was claimed
towards Mr. Collins by Jane’s introduction of him. She received
him with her very best politeness, which he returned with as much
more, apologising for his intrusion, without any previous
acquaintance with her, which he could not help flattering
himself, however, might be justified by his relationship to the
young ladies who introduced him to her notice. Mrs. Phillips was
quite awed by such an excess of good breeding; but her
contemplation of one stranger was soon put to an end by
exclamations and enquiries about the other; of whom, however, she
could only tell her nieces what they already knew, that Mr. Denny
had brought him from London, and that he was to have a
lieutenant’s commission in the ——shire. She had been watching him
the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street, and
had Mr. Wickham appeared, Kitty and Lydia would certainly have
continued the occupation, but unluckily no one passed windows now
except a few of the officers, who, in comparison with the
stranger, were become “stupid, disagreeable fellows.” Some of
them were to dine with the Phillipses the next day, and their
aunt promised to make her husband call on Mr. Wickham, and give
him an invitation also, if the family from Longbourn would come
in the evening. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Phillips protested
that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery
tickets, and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect
of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual
good spirits. Mr. Collins repeated his apologies in quitting the
room, and was assured with unwearying civility that they were
perfectly needless.
As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen
pass between the two gentlemen; but though Jane would have
defended either or both, had they appeared to be in the wrong,
she could no more explain such behaviour than her sister.
Mr. Collins on his return highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by
admiring Mrs. Phillips’s manners and politeness. He protested
that, except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a
more elegant woman; for she had not only received him with the
utmost civility, but even pointedly included him in her
invitation for the next evening, although utterly unknown to her
before. Something, he supposed, might be attributed to his
connection with them, but yet he had never met with so much
attention in the whole course of his life.
Chapter 16
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
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