JANE AUSTEN 6 страница

Mrs. Bennet before breakfast, a conversation beginning with his

parsonage-house, and leading naturally to the avowal of his

hopes that a mistress for it might be found 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 in 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 well 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 an officer on the other side of the

way. The officer was the very Mr. Denny, concerning whose

return from London Lydia came to inquire, 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 pretence 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 inquire 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. Philips's house, and then made their bows, in spite

of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that they would come in,

and even in spite of Mrs. Philips' throwing up the parlour

window and loudly seconding the invitation.

 

Mrs. Philips 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. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good

breeding; but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put an

end to by exclamations and inquiries 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 the 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 Philipses 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. Philips 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 wrong, she

could no more explain such behaviour than her sister.

 

Mr. Collins, on his return, highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by

admiring Mrs. Philips'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 had 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 XVI (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. Philips 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. Philips 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

mantlepiece, 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 Philips, 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, and on the probability of a rainy season,

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 likely to sink into

insignificance; to the young ladies he certainly was nothing;

but he 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, he had an opportunity

of obliging her in return, 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 of life --"

Mrs. Philips was very thankful 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 any one 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 an

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 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 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 to 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

to 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 any thing and every thing, 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

farther 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 especially,

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 farther by his account of their

present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent

acquaintance 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 not you 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 perhaps have sometimes 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 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

superintendance, 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 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 has often been his

best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than 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 a 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 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 Mr. Collins took his

station between his cousin Elizabeth and Mrs. Philips. -- The

usual inquiries as to his success were made 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 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 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 chance 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 were 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