A Character Sketch ~ Mr. Darcy

A Character Sketch ~ Mr. Darcy

Janelle Spiers 

             The story of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen is brimming with notable characters. I thought I would share this Sketch of one of history's most memorable characters.  Don't forget to categorize Mr. Darcy of Pemberly.  Where would you put him?

            When Mr. Darcy was first introduced to the other principal characters, he was the center of attention at a ball.  Being a tall, handsome, rich gentleman of “noble mien,” Darcy was quickly accepted as a fine man.  But as the evening went on, he was very quickly shunned for his pride and arrogance.  By the end of the night, his character was firmly believed by all who did not know him to be rude and disagreeable.  His refusal to dance, though many were obliged to go without partners, and his haughty criticism gave the townspeople much ground on which to scorn him.

            Though looked upon in such disapproving light, Darcy had a certain air of loyalty that cannot be dismissed.  In a firm relationship with his friend, Mr. Bingley, Darcy did everything he could to secure his friend’s happiness.  Subtly breaking a possible engagement for fear of indifference on the lady’s part, Darcy shielded his friend from the potential pain and heartbreak by separating the two in secret.  When, however, he learned of the young woman’s love for Bingley and everything but indifference, again, Darcy did the best he could for his friend by reuniting the lovers, now knowing of the true feelings of each party.

            Darcy was also incredibly devoted to his young sister.  Praising her at every opportunity and writing to her with much care and faithfulness, his love for his sister was very evident.  Taking care to see her best interests fulfilled, he discovered an unfavorable elopement between his lovely Georgiana and a detestable acquaintance, which he was able to dissolve before damage could be placed upon her reputation.

            Mr. Darcy’s heart slowly began to soften when he realized it had been stolen by a lovely young woman with a “pair of fine eyes,” the same woman who had sworn to loathe him forever!  Gradually, and with great difficulty, Darcy allowed his feelings to take control of his common sense, but his pride was stung painfully when the woman refused his hand in marriage.  Utter distress and anger drove Darcy to prove to the woman he could be everything she thought he wasn’t, civil, polite, generous, and the one whom her heart could love. In noble perseverance and loving determination, Darcy allowed her to see the true quality of his heart, which he had shielded and protected for so long.

            Though his pride and status prevented him from being well liked, Mr. Darcy had many positive sides.  Intelligent and thoughtful with his wealth, Darcy also proved to be a loyal and faithful friend to those who chose to see past his faults and rough edges.  Willing to give whatever the cost he could for his comrades, Darcy reserved no energy or resources when it came to proving his unwavering devotion.  Mr. Darcy showed great integrity and lived up to his reputation.  The noble gentleman starring in Jane Austen’s beloved Pride and Prejudice, will not soon be forgotten.  His name and his fame shall live on, as generations of people treasure the masterpiece and its characters.

Don't Ever Ask...

“In the candle's flickering light, the library's thousands of books emerged from the shadows, and for a moment Nicholas could not help admiring them again. During free time he had almost never looked up from the pages he was reading, but now he saw the books anew, from without rather than from within, and was reminded of how beautiful they were simply as objects. The geometrical wonder of them all, each book on its own and all the books together, row upon row, the infinite patterns and possibilities they presented. They were truly lovely.” 
― Trenton Lee Stewart, The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict


I am head-over-heels in love with books.  Hardback books, paperback books, new shiny-cover books, and especially old, yellow paged books.  It isn't even fair when someone asks me what my favorite book is.  Don't ever ask someone that.

Instead, you must ask a reader:

What book did you just finish reading, and did you like it?

What book have you memorized passages from, because you like it so much?


Ask them things like that.  Because when you ask about favorites, life becomes boiled down into one central, unimaginative thing that has no boundaries, because it's one thing.  But when you expand to your scores of fictional characters, books, and stories,  life gets so much bigger, so much broader, and definitely more interesting.

If you haven't read The Extraordinary Education of Nicholas Benedict, check it out.  It is one of the many books snug on my bookshelf.  I carry it with me when I need a lighthearted, well-written story, that lifts my heart and the corners of my mouth.  And I gaze at it lovingly as I run my fingers along the spine, soaking in the story once again.

So, dear readers, I beg you to read.  I beg you to immerse yourselves in good, wholesome words.  Maybe someday, I will post a reading list of my "favorites." But of course, not one of them can be chosen as your all-time favorite. :)

Ghost Houses

The car rumbled down the road, straight and true to the forever-long stretch of pavement.  All the world passed by with dizzying speed.  A blue canvas sky, painted from horizon to horizon, was splattered with white clouds.  An army of tall, erect corn stalks stood silently waiting to fight the losing battle against the coming harvest.  And then there were the ghost houses.

They sat at the edge of the lonely road, with weeping windows, and sobbing doors.  Glass panes had long been shattered, and the doors were struggling to hold to their places.  The roofs were sunk and bent from years of resistance to the enemy winds and rains.  The trees and weeds had come to comfort the sunken husk, but finding no way to provide consolation, waited with drooping heads and sighing bows. 

The car passed by the little ghost houses to quickly, to fast to see the extent of what the houses endured.  Suddenly the window was filled again with soldier-corn, and picture-perfect sky.  I longed to see the little ghosts again.  Their mournful eyes full of broken glass tears, pierced my heart like a million shards of crystal.

As we traveled on towards our destination, down the long, empty roads, into a sunset of painted canvas, tiny splashes of mist fell.  The heavens were crying, drops of empathetic tears falling to earth, to fall on the sad, lonely earth. 

The weeds picked up their tired heads, and the trees danced in the wind.  They would do what I could not; walk amongst the abandoned houses, support their breaking, broken backs, and whisper songs of older days, and times when hope dwelled within.  

I envied the weeds, I envied the trees, but I wished them luck and strength.  And forever, when I look to those roads, to the defeated armies of stout-hearted corn, to the ever changing canvas of lovely blue and lovely white, I shall also remember the tired houses, the longing houses, the little ghost houses.