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CHAPTER 36
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 inquiring.
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.