CHAPTER XIII.
If Elizabeth, when Mr. Darcy gave her the letter, did not expect it tocontain a renewal of his offers, she had formed no expectation at all ofits contents. But such as they were, it may be well supposed how eagerlyshe went through them, and what a contrariety of emotion they excited.Her feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. With amazement didshe first understand that he believed any apology to be in his power;and steadfastly was she persuaded that he could have no explanation togive, which a just sense of shame would not conceal. With a strongprejudice against every thing he might say, she began his account ofwhat had happened at Netherfield. She read, with an eagerness whichhardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowingwhat the next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to thesense of the one before her eyes. His belief of her sister'sinsensibility, she instantly resolved to be false, and his account ofthe real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to haveany wish of doing him justice. He expressed no regret for what he haddone which satisfied her; his style was not penitent, but haughty. Itwas all pride and insolence.
But when this subject was succeeded by his account of Mr. Wickham, whenshe read with somewhat clearer attention, a relation of events, which,if true, must overthrow every cherished opinion of his worth, and whichbore so alarming an affinity to his own history of himself, her feelingswere yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition.Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror, oppressed her. She wishedto discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, ”This must be false!This cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!”--and when she hadgone through the whole letter, though scarcely knowing any thing of thelast page or two, put it hastily away, protesting that she would notregard it, that she would never look in it again.
In this perturbed state of mind, with thoughts that could rest onnothing, she walked on; but it would not do; in half a minute the letterwas unfolded again, and collecting herself as well as she could, sheagain began the mortifying perusal of all that related to Wickham, andcommanded herself so far as to examine the meaning of every sentence.The account of his connection with the Pemberley family, was exactlywhat he had related himself; and the kindness of the late Mr. Darcy,though she had not before known its extent, agreed equally well with hisown words. So far each recital confirmed the other: but when she came tothe will, the difference was great. What Wickham had said of the livingwas fresh in her memory, and as she recalled his very words, it wasimpossible not to feel that there was gross duplicity on one side or theother; and, for a few moments, she flattered herself that her wishes didnot err. But when she read, and re-read with the closest attention, theparticulars immediately following of Wickham's resigning all pretensionsto the living, of his receiving in lieu, so considerable a sum as threethousand pounds, again was she forced to hesitate. She put down theletter, weighed every circumstance with what she meant to beimpartiality--deliberated on the probability of each statement--but withlittle success. On both sides it was only assertion. Again she read on.But every line proved more clearly that the affair, which she hadbelieved it impossible that any contrivance could so represent, as torender Mr. Darcy's conduct in it less than infamous, was capable of aturn which must make him entirely blameless throughout the whole.
The extravagance and general profligacy which he scrupled not to lay toMr. Wickham's charge, exceedingly shocked her; the more so, as she couldbring no proof of its injustice. She had never heard of him before hisentrance into the ----shire Militia, in which he had engaged at thepersuasion 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 tohis real character, had information been in her power, she had neverfelt a wish of enquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner, hadestablished him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried torecollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait ofintegrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr.Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for thosecasual errors, under which she would endeavour to class, what Mr. Darcyhad described as the idleness and vice of many years continuance. But nosuch recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly beforeher, in every charm of air and address; but she could remember no moresubstantial good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, andthe regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess. Afterpausing on this point a considerable while, she once more continued toread. But, alas! the story which followed of his designs on Miss Darcy,received some confirmation from what had passed between ColonelFitzwilliam and herself only the morning before; and at last she wasreferred for the truth of every particular to Colonel Fitzwilliamhimself--from whom she had previously received the information of hisnear concern in all his cousin's affairs, and whose character she had noreason to question. At one time she had almost resolved on applying tohim, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application, andat length wholly banished by the conviction that Mr. Darcy would neverhave hazarded such a proposal, if he had not been well assured of hiscousin's corroboration.
She perfectly remembered every thing that had passed in conversationbetween Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr. Philips's.Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. She was _now_struck with the impropriety of such communications to a stranger, andwondered it had escaped her before. She saw the indelicacy of puttinghimself forward as he had done, and the inconsistency of his professionswith his conduct. She remembered that he had boasted of having no fearof seeing Mr. Darcy--that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that_he_ should stand his ground; yet he had avoided the Netherfield ballthe very next week. She remembered also, that till the Netherfieldfamily had quitted the country, he had told his story to no one butherself; but that after their removal, it had been every wherediscussed; that he had then no reserves, no scruples in sinking Mr.Darcy's character, though he had assured her that respect for thefather, would always prevent his exposing the son.
How differently did every thing now appear in which he was concerned!His attentions to Miss King were now the consequence of views solely andhatefully mercenary; and the mediocrity of her fortune proved no longerthe moderation of his wishes, but his eagerness to grasp at any thing.His behaviour to herself could now have had no tolerable motive; he hadeither been deceived with regard to her fortune, or had been gratifyinghis vanity by encouraging the preference which she believed she had mostincautiously shewn. Every lingering struggle in his favour grew fainterand fainter; and in farther justification of Mr. Darcy, she could notbut allow that Mr. Bingley, when questioned by Jane, had long agoasserted his blamelessness in the affair; that proud and repulsive aswere his manners, she had never, in the whole course of theiracquaintance, an acquaintance which had latterly brought them muchtogether, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways, seen any thingthat betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust--any thing that spoke himof irreligious or immoral habits. That among his own connections he wasesteemed and valued--that even Wickham had allowed him merit as abrother, and that she had often heard him speak so affectionately ofhis sister as to prove him capable of _some_ amiable feeling. That hadhis actions been what Wickham represented them, so gross a violation ofevery thing right could hardly have been concealed from the world; andthat friendship between a person capable of it, and such an amiable manas Mr. Bingley, was incomprehensible.
She grew absolutely ashamed of herself.--Of neither Darcy nor Wickhamcould she think, without feeling that she had been blind, partial,prejudiced, absurd.
”How despicably have I acted!” she cried.--”I, who have prided myself onmy discernment!--I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who haveoften disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified myvanity, in useless or blameable distrust.--How humiliating is thisdiscovery!--Yet, how just a humiliation!--Had I been in love, I couldnot have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been myfolly.--Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglectof the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courtedprepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either wereconcerned. Till this moment, I never knew myself.”
From herself to Jane--from Jane to Bingley, her thoughts were in a linewhich soon brought to her recollection that Mr. Darcy's explanation_there_, had appeared very insufficient; and she read it again. Widelydifferent was the effect of a second perusal.--How could she deny thatcredit to his assertions, in one instance, which she had been obliged togive in the other?--He declared himself to have been totallyunsuspicious of her sister's attachment;--and she could not helpremembering what Charlotte's opinion had always been.--Neither could shedeny the justice of his description of Jane.--She felt that Jane'sfeelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and that there was aconstant complacency in her air and manner, not often united with greatsensibility.
When she came to that part of the letter in which her family werementioned, in terms of such mortifying, yet merited reproach, her senseof shame was severe. The justice of the charge struck her too forciblyfor denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded, ashaving passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his firstdisapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on his mindthan 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 been thusself-attracted by the rest of her family;--and as she considered thatJane's disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearestrelations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurtby such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond any thing shehad ever known before.
After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to everyvariety of thought; re-considering events, determining probabilities,and reconciling herself as well as she could, to a change so sudden andso important, fatigue, and a recollection of her long absence, made herat length return home; and she entered the house with the wish ofappearing cheerful as usual, and the resolution of repressing suchreflections as must make her unfit for conversation.
She was immediately told, that the two gentlemen from Rosings had eachcalled during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes to takeleave, but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at leastan hour, hoping for her return, and almost resolving to walk after hertill she could be found.--Elizabeth could but just _affect_ concern inmissing him; she really rejoiced at it. Colonel Fitzwilliam was nolonger an object. She could think only of her letter.