by Austen, Jane
16. parsonage-house: residence for a parson, or clergyman. Mr. Collins would have received this with the living. For a picture of the parsonage house of Jane Austen's father, see p. 287.
17. prepossession: prior inclination or feeling; in this case, it refers to an existing romantic attachment of the girls.
18. The suddenness of the switch, indicated by the reference to such a brief action as stirring the fire, testifies to the shallow character of Mr. Collins's affection.
It is also possible that the reference to stirring the fire is meant by Jane Austen to suggest—at least ironically—the flame of amorous passion. If so, it would constitute one of the only examples of symbolism in her works.
19. Meaning that Elizabeth is next oldest and next most beautiful.
20. folios: books consisting of sheets of paper that were folded once, thereby forming pages that were half the size of a sheet. Other books were quartos, octavos and duodecimos, in which additional folds produced, respectively, pages that were a quarter, an eighth, or a twelfth the size of a sheet. In a letter Jane Austen indicates her preference for small books by denouncing “those enormous great stupid thick quarto volumes,” and instead praising an author “who condenses his thoughts into an octavo” (Feb. 9, 1813). In fact, during the preceding century folios had increasingly been displaced by smaller books, and by this point only lengthy works of reference tended to be in folio form (novels, including Jane Austen's, were usually printed in octavo form). Thus it is likely Mr. Collins chooses a folio solely because its size makes it look impressive; he shows no apparent interest in reading it.
21. muslin: a light cotton fabric, or a dress made from this fabric; it is probably the former in this case since shops then usually displayed pieces of fabric, which were selected by a buyer and then made into a dress specially tailored for that buyer. Muslin had become the most popular of fabrics in England starting in the 1780s, thanks to technical innovations that made the fabric inexpensive to manufacture and thus widely available (the innovations occurring in the British cotton textile industry in this period formed one of the main elements of the beginning stages of the industrial revolution). Jane Austen reveals a great fondness for muslins in her letters.
22. recall them: call back or divert their attention. Such window displays were a recent development, a part of the rise of permanent retail shops in the eighteenth century (prior to that most shopping, especially outside of cities, was done at weekly fairs). Such shops formed the core of small market towns like Meryton, which served the rural world as essential shopping centers.
23. pavement: sidewalk.
24. commission: position as an officer.
25. wanted only regimentals: only needed a military uniform.
26. address: manner of speaking; general demeanor in conversation.
27. readiness: facility.
28. This marks the introduction of another new character into the story, Wickham, who will play an even larger role than Mr. Collins. Like Mr. Collins, Wickham has a connection to Darcy that links him to the main plot. The nature of Wickham's character is suggested by the way he is introduced, for he is described purely in terms of external qualities—good looks and ease of conversation. He represents a type who figures prominently in almost all Jane Austen's novels: a young man who is smooth, charming, and (in most cases) handsome, but is also untrustworthy in some way. This young man flirts with the heroine, and attracts her to some degree. Over the course of the story she must learn to shake off this attraction and to recognize his flaws, while appreciating the superior worth of a less outwardly charming man.
29. Who turned which color is impossible to determine. The best guess is that Wickham turned red and Darcy white, for the former turns out to have reason to be embarrassed and the latter reason to be angry; Darcy is described as becoming pale with anger in a later scene with Elizabeth.
30. Touching or tipping one's hat was a standard salutation; not returning it would be very rude.
31. made their bows: a signal of farewell.
32. Miss Lydia's: the officers would use “Miss” when addressing her, for calling her only “Lydia” would be too familiar.
33. Mrs. Philips's shouting out the window shows her lack of refinement.
34. recent absence: i.e., at Netherfield.
35. draughts: medicines.
36. In other words, Mrs. Philips only knew of Jane and Elizabeth's return home from talking to the shop boy of the apothecary (whose shop would be in Meryton, the main town of the area). Had the Bennets' carriage fetched the two girls, Mrs. Philips would have known from hearing reports of its journey. This gives a sense of how much everyone knew each other's affairs in such a small community. In Northanger Abbey Jane Austen has a character say that in current society, “every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies,” and she consistently demonstrates that phenomenon, though without necessarily condemning it, in her depictions of rural communities.
37. excess of good breeding: Mr. Collins's extreme politeness, as seen in his strict scruples about intruding on a stranger. Mrs. Philips is easily awed.
38. —shire: the name of the regiment. Each county in England was obligated to enroll a specified number of troops for the militia, who would then be formed into one or more regiments bearing the name of that county. Since most county names ended in “shire,” using “—shire” allows Jane Austen to avoid specifying one particular regiment. She may have done this to avoid being wrong, for the regiment she named might happen to be elsewhere at this time, or to avoid insulting a particular regiment, since one of its officers will play a villainous role in her story. The regiment cannot be the Hertfordshire, for militia units served outside their own counties; this prevented conflicts of loyalties in case the militia had to suppress a local riot, a duty often performed.
39. Mrs. Philips's spending a whole hour just watching Wickham, a newcomer in town, gives a further sense of prevailing small town nosiness.
40. stupid: dull.
41. in the evening: meaning after dinner.
42. comfortable: pleasant, enjoyable.
43. lottery tickets: a card game for any number of players, who wager on what card will be turned up next. The game's simplicity makes it an appropriate one to be sponsored by the unsophisticated Philipses.
44. Supper, except possibly in the form of a very light meal, was passing out of fashion as dinners were being served later. Mrs. Philips's offering a hot supper, which would be a substantial meal (and at the end of the next chapter Mr. Collins talks of “all the dishes” it involved), demonstrates her lack of fashion and elegance. In Jane Austen's unfinished novel The Watsons a snobbish character boasts to her poorer relations, “we never eat suppers.”
45. This reveals the lack of discrimination in Mr. Collinses praise, for Mrs. Philips has just been shown to be not elegant at all. This lack is further indicated by his delivering such encomiums about an ordinary evening invitation.
46. The exaggerated language of praise and delight that Mr. Collins uses, even for the most ordinary occasions, is mocked by Jane Austen in a letter to her sister, in which she concludes, after relating mundane news of the neighborhood: “I shall be able to send this to the post to-day, which exalts me to the utmost pinnacle of human felicity, & makes me bask in the sunshine of Prosperity, or gives me any other sensation of pleasure in studied Language which You may prefer” (Jan. 9,1799).
A highly ornamental chimney piece. See p. 141, note 4.
[From K. Warren Clouston, The Chippendale Period in English Furniture (London, 1897), p.127I
Chapter Sixteen
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, an
d 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 furniture1 of the apartment,2 that he declared he might almost have supposed himself in the small summer breakfast parlour3 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,4 she felt all the force of the compliment, and would hardly have resented a comparison with the housekeeper's room.5
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;6 and he found in Mrs. Philips a very attentive listener, whose opinion of his consequence7 increased with what she heard, and who was resolving to retail8 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,9 and examine their own indifferent10 imitations of china11 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,12 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,13 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;14 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,15 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.16
When the card tables were placed, he had an opportunity of obliging her in return, by sitting down to whist.17
“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.18 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.19 Her curiosity however was unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the subject himself.20 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 noble21 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.22 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. 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,23 “that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond their deserts;24 but with him I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence,25 or frightened by his high26 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,27 “whether he is likely to be in this country28 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. It 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;29 and I can never be in company with this Mr. Darcy without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections.30 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.31
Mr. Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Mery-ton, 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.32
“It was the prospect of constant society, and good society,”33 he added, “which was my chief inducement to enter the——shire.34
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,35 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.36 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,37 had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes —the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation38 of the best living in his gift.39 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,40 it was given elsewhere.”41
“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.42 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,43 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, unguarded44 temper,45 and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recai 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.”46
“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.”47
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.”
