Elizabeth awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations
which had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from the
surprise of what had happened; it was impossible to think of anything
else; and, totally indisposed for employment, she resolved, soon after
breakfast, to indulge herself in air and exercise. She was proceeding
directly to her favourite walk, when the recollection of Mr. Darcy’s
sometimes coming there stopped her, and instead of entering the park, she
turned up the lane, which led farther from the turnpike-road. The park
paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed one of the
gates into the ground.🔗
After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she was
tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and look
into the park. The five weeks which she had now passed in Kent had made a
great difference in the country, and every day was adding to the verdure
of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk, when she
caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which edged the
park; he was moving that way; and, fearful of its being Mr. Darcy, she was
directly retreating. But the person who advanced was now near enough to
see her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced her name. She had
turned away; but on hearing herself called, though in a voice which proved
it to be Mr. Darcy, she moved again towards the gate. He had by that time
reached it also, and, holding out a letter, which she instinctively took,
said, with a look of haughty composure, “I have been walking in the grove
some time in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading
that letter?” And then, with a slight bow, turned again into the
plantation, and was soon out of sight.🔗
With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity,
Elizabeth opened the letter, and, to her still increasing wonder,
perceived an envelope containing two sheets of letter-paper, written quite
through, in a very close hand. The envelope itself was likewise full.
Pursuing her way along the lane, she then began it. It was dated from
Rosings, at eight o’clock in the morning, and was as follows:—🔗
“Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of
its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those
offers which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any
intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes which,
for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and the effort
which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion, should
have been spared, had not my character required it to be written and read.
You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand your
attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand
it of your justice.🔗
“Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal
magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was,
that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley
from your sister, and the other, that I had, in defiance of various
claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate
prosperity and blasted the prospects of Mr. Wickham. Wilfully and wantonly
to have thrown off the companion of my youth, the acknowledged favourite
of my father, a young man who had scarcely any other dependence than on
our patronage, and who had been brought up to expect its exertion, would
be a depravity, to which the separation of two young persons, whose
affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no
comparison. But from the severity of that blame which was last night so
liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in
the future secured, when the following account of my actions and their
motives has been read. If, in the explanation of them, which is due to
myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be
offensive to yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be
obeyed, and further apology would be absurd.🔗
“I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with
others, that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other young woman
in the country. But it was not till the evening of the dance at
Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious
attachment. I had often seen him in love before. At that ball, while I
had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir
William Lucas’s accidental information, that Bingley’s
attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of
their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time
alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend’s
behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for
Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I
also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as
ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained
convinced from the evening’s scrutiny, that though she received his
attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of
sentiment. If you have not been mistaken here, I must have
been in error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the
latter probable. If it be so, if I have been misled by such error to
inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I
shall not scruple to assert, that the serenity of your sister’s
countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer
a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely
to be easily touched. That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is
certain—but I will venture to say that my investigation and
decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. I did not
believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; I believed it on
impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. My objections to
the marriage were not merely those which I last night acknowledged to
have required the utmost force of passion to put aside, in my own case;
the want of connection could not be so great an evil to my friend as to
me. But there were other causes of repugnance; causes which, though still
existing, and existing to an equal degree in both instances, I had myself
endeavoured to forget, because they were not immediately before me. These
causes must be stated, though briefly. The situation of your
mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison to
that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed
by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your
father. Pardon me. It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for
the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this
representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider that, to
have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure,
is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your elder sister, than
it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both. I will only say
farther that from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was
confirmed, and every inducement heightened which could have led me
before, to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy
connection. He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you,
I am certain, remember, with the design of soon returning.🔗
“The part which I acted is now to be explained. His sisters’ uneasiness
had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon
discovered, and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching
their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London. We
accordingly went—and there I readily engaged in the office of
pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described,
and enforced them earnestly. But, however this remonstrance might have
staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would
ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the
assurance that I hesitated not in giving, of your sister’s indifference.
He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not
with equal regard. But Bingley has great natural modesty, with a stronger
dependence on my judgement than on his own. To convince him, therefore,
that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him
against returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given,
was scarcely the work of a moment. I cannot blame myself for having done
thus much. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair on
which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended to
adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister’s
being in town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley; but her
brother is even yet ignorant of it. That they might have met without ill
consequence is perhaps probable; but his regard did not appear to me
enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. Perhaps this
concealment, this disguise was beneath me; it is done, however, and it was
done for the best. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other
apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister’s feelings, it was
unknowingly done and though the motives which governed me may to you very
naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them.🔗
“With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured
Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his
connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I
am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more
than one witness of undoubted veracity.🔗
“Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years
the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct in the
discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to
him; and on George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was therefore
liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at
Cambridge—most important assistance, as his own father, always poor
from the extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a
gentleman’s education. My father was not only fond of this young man’s
society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest
opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to
provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first
began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities—the
want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his
best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the
same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in
unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again I shall give
you pain—to what degree you only can tell. But whatever may be the
sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of their nature
shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character—it adds even
another motive.🔗
“My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr.
Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly
recommended it to me, to promote his advancement in the best manner that
his profession might allow—and if he took orders, desired that a
valuable family living might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was
also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive
mine, and within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to
inform me that, having finally resolved against taking orders, he hoped I
should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate
pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment, by which he could not be
benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying law, and I must be
aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very
insufficient support therein. I rather wished, than believed him to be
sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal.
I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman; the business was
therefore soon settled—he resigned all claim to assistance in the
church, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive
it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection between
us seemed now dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to
Pemberley, or admit his society in town. In town I believe he chiefly
lived, but his studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now free
from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For
about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the
incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me
again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me,
and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had
found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved
on being ordained, if I would present him to the living in question—of
which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that
I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my
revered father’s intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to
comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition to it. His
resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances—and
he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his
reproaches to myself. After this period every appearance of acquaintance
was dropped. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most
painfully obtruded on my notice.🔗
“I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself,
and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold
to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your
secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the
guardianship of my mother’s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About
a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her
in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to
Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for
there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs.
Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her
connivance and aid, he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose
affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as
a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent
to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and
after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add, that I owed the knowledge
of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the
intended elopement, and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of
grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father,
acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted.
Regard for my sister’s credit and feelings prevented any public exposure;
but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs.
Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham’s chief object
was unquestionably my sister’s fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds;
but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a
strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.🔗
“This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been
concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you
will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. I know
not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he had imposed on you;
but his success is not perhaps to be wondered at. Ignorant as you
previously were of everything concerning either, detection could not be in
your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.🔗
“You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night; but I
was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be
revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more
particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from our near
relationship and constant intimacy, and, still more, as one of the
executors of my father’s will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every
particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should
make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same
cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility
of consulting him, I shall endeavour to find some opportunity of putting
this letter in your hands in the course of the morning. I will only add,
God bless you.🔗
“FITZWILLIAM DARCY”🔗