Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austin
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