If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it to
contain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation at all of
its contents. But such as they were, it may well be supposed how eagerly
she went through them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited. Her
feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. With amazement did she
first understand that he believed any apology to be in his power; and
steadfastly was she persuaded, that he could have no explanation to give,
which a just sense of shame would not conceal. With a strong prejudice
against everything he might say, she began his account of what had
happened at Netherfield. She read with an eagerness which hardly left her
power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing what the next
sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the sense of the one
before her eyes. His belief of her sister’s insensibility she instantly
resolved to be false; and his account of the real, the worst objections to
the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing him justice. He
expressed no regret for what he had done which satisfied her; his style
was not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.🔗
But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickham—when
she read with somewhat clearer attention a relation of events which, if
true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and which bore
so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself—her feelings
were yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.
Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wished to
discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, “This must be false! This
cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!”—and when she had
gone through the whole letter, though scarcely knowing anything of the
last page or two, put it hastily away, protesting that she would not
regard it, that she would never look in it again.🔗
In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest on nothing,
she walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the letter was
unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she could, she again
began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, and commanded
herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence. The account of
his connection with the Pemberley family was exactly what he had related
himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy, though she had not before
known its extent, agreed equally well with his own words. So far each
recital confirmed the other; but when she came to the will, the difference
was great. What Wickham had said of the living was fresh in her memory,
and as she recalled his very words, it was impossible not to feel that
there was gross duplicity on one side or the other; and, for a few
moments, she flattered herself that her wishes did not err. But when she
read and re-read with the closest attention, the particulars immediately
following of Wickham’s resigning all pretensions to the living, of his
receiving in lieu so considerable a sum as three thousand pounds, again
was she forced to hesitate. She put down the letter, weighed every
circumstance with what she meant to be impartiality—deliberated on
the probability of each statement—but with little success. On both
sides it was only assertion. Again she read on; but every line proved more
clearly that the affair, which she had believed it impossible that any
contrivance could so represent as to render Mr. Darcy’s conduct in it less
than infamous, was capable of a turn which must make him entirely
blameless throughout the whole.🔗
The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay at
Mr. Wickham’s charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she could
bring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of him before his
entrance into the ——shire Militia, in which he had engaged at
the persuasion of the young man who, on meeting him accidentally in town,
had there renewed a slight acquaintance. Of his former way of life nothing
had been known in Hertfordshire but what he told himself. As to his real
character, had information been in her power, she had never felt a wish of
enquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once
in the possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of
goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might
rescue him from the attacks of Mr. Darcy; or at least, by the predominance
of virtue, atone for those casual errors under which she would endeavour
to class what Mr. Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of many
years’ continuance. But no such recollection befriended her. She could see
him instantly before her, in every charm of air and address; but she could
remember no more substantial good than the general approbation of the
neighbourhood, and the regard which his social powers had gained him in
the mess. After pausing on this point a considerable while, she once more
continued to read. But, alas! the story which followed, of his designs on
Miss Darcy, received some confirmation from what had passed between
Colonel Fitzwilliam and herself only the morning before; and at last she
was referred for the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliam
himself—from whom she had previously received the information of his
near concern in all his cousin’s affairs, and whose character she had no
reason to question. At one time she had almost resolved on applying to
him, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application, and
at length wholly banished by the conviction that Mr. Darcy would never
have hazarded such a proposal, if he had not been well assured of his
cousin’s corroboration.🔗
She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation
between Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr. Phillips’s.
Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was now
struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, and
wondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of putting
himself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professions
with his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fear of
seeing Mr. Darcy—that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that he
should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ball the very
next week. She remembered also that, till the Netherfield family had
quitted the country, he had told his story to no one but herself; but that
after their removal it had been everywhere discussed; that he had then no
reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr. Darcy’s character, though he had
assured her that respect for the father would always prevent his exposing
the son.🔗
How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned! His
attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of views solely and
hatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity of her fortune proved no longer
the moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at anything. His
behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive; he had
either been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifying
his vanity by encouraging the preference which she believed she had most
incautiously shown. Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainter
and fainter; and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could not but
allow that Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long ago asserted
his blamelessness in the affair; that proud and repulsive as were his
manners, she had never, in the whole course of their
acquaintance—an acquaintance which had latterly brought them much
together, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways—seen
anything that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust—anything
that spoke him of irreligious or immoral habits; that among his own
connections he was esteemed and valued—that even Wickham had
allowed him merit as a brother, and that she had often heard him speak so
affectionately of his sister as to prove him capable of some amiable
feeling; that had his actions been what Mr. Wickham represented them, so
gross a violation of everything right could hardly have been concealed
from the world; and that friendship between a person capable of it, and
such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.🔗
She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could
she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.🔗
“How despicably I have acted!” she cried; “I, who have prided myself on my
discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who have often
disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity in
useless or blameable mistrust! How humiliating is this discovery! Yet, how
just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not have been more
wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with
the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the
very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and
ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this
moment I never knew myself.”🔗
From herself to Jane—from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a
line which soon brought to her recollection that Mr. Darcy’s explanation
there had appeared very insufficient, and she read it again. Widely
different was the effect of a second perusal. How could she deny that
credit to his assertions in one instance, which she had been obliged to
give in the other? He declared himself to be totally unsuspicious of her
sister’s attachment; and she could not help remembering what Charlotte’s
opinion had always been. Neither could she deny the justice of his
description of Jane. She felt that Jane’s feelings, though fervent, were
little displayed, and that there was a constant complacency in her air and
manner not often united with great sensibility.🔗
When she came to that part of the letter in which her family were
mentioned in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, her sense of
shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly for
denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded as having
passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first
disapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind than
on hers.🔗
The compliment to herself and her sister was not unfelt. It soothed, but
it could not console her for the contempt which had thus been
self-attracted by the rest of her family; and as she considered that
Jane’s disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest relations,
and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt by such
impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond anything she had ever
known before.🔗
After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every variety
of thought—re-considering events, determining probabilities, and
reconciling herself, as well as she could, to a change so sudden and so
important, fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, made her at
length return home; and she entered the house with the wish of appearing
cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing such reflections as
must make her unfit for conversation.🔗
She was immediately told that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each
called during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes, to take
leave—but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at
least an hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after
her till she could be found. Elizabeth could but just affect
concern in missing him; she really rejoiced at it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was
no longer an object; she could think only of her letter.🔗