บทที่ บทที่ 36 · 第36章

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 be well 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 to

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

[Illustration:

“Meeting accidentally in Town”

[_Copyright 1894 by George Allen._]]

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. 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, 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 further 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 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 that she had been blind, partial,

prejudiced, absurd.

“How despicably have I 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 blameless distrust. 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 have been 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 tones 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 been thus

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, reconsidering 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.

[Illustration:

“His parting obeisance”

]