By Jane Austen

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 inquired 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 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  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