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Chapter 32

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The next morning Elizabeth awoke 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. Totally indisposed for employment, she resolved to indulge herself in air and exercise. 

She proceeded to her favourite walk. The recollection of seeing Mr. Darcy's sometimes there stopped her. Instead of entering the park, she turned up the lane, which led farther from the turnpike-road. She walked two or three times along that part of the lane. The park paling was still the boundary on one side, and she soon passed one of the gates into the ground.

The pleasantness of the morning tempted her 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. Every day was adding to the verdure of the early trees. 

On the point of continuing her walk, she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the grove which edged the park. He was moving her way. Fearful of its being Mr. Darcy, she directly retreated. The person who advanced was now near enough to see her. Stepping forward with eagerness, he pronounced her name. 

She had turned away. 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 was holding out a letter, which she instinctively took. 

With a look of haughty composure, he said, "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 envelope. To her increasing wonder, she perceived a lengthy letter written in a close hand. Pursuing her way along the lane, she then began it.

It was dated from Rosings, at eight o'clock in the morning.

"Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter. It does not repeat of those sentiments or renew the offers which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without any intention of paining you or humbling myself. I will not dwell on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten. I would spare us both from the formation and the perusal of this letter but that my character required it to be written and read. You must, thus, pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention. Your feelings, I know, will give it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice.

"Two offences of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was that I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister. And done so regardless of the sentiments of either. The second that I ruined the immediate prosperity and 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, without just cause would be depravity. From the severity of that blame, I hope to be secured by the following account of my actions and their motives. I can only say that I am sorry if, in the explanation, I relate feelings which offend you. The necessity must be obeyed, and further apology would be absurd.

"I saw that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other young woman in the country. It was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of a serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before. At that ball, I had the honour of dancing with you. At that time, I was first made aware that Bingley's attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. Sir Lucas spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's behaviour. I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever seen 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. 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. 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. I 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. In my case, having the utmost force of passion to put aside such objections. The want of connection could not be so great an evil to my friend as to me. There were other causes of repugnance. Causes that I had endeavoured to forget because they were not immediately before me. These causes must be stated, though briefly. The situation of your mother's family was nothing in comparison to a want of propriety. A want frequently betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. Pardon me. It pains me to offend you. Amidst your displeasure at this representation of your nearest relations, consider that, to have conducted yourselves to avoid any share of the like censure, is praise bestowed on you and your elder sister. It is honourable to the sense and disposition of both. I will only say that from what passed that evening confirmed my opinion of all parties. I aimed to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London, on the day following 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. To lose no time in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him in London. We accordingly went, and there I engaged in pointing out to my friend the certain evils of such a choice. I described and enforced them earnestly. This reproach might have staggered or delayed his determination. I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been for the assurance that I gave 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 that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. He accepted the fact of Jane's indifference. Then, to persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire was 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. Her brother is even yet ignorant of it. They might have met without ill consequence is probable. His regard did not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some danger. 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. The motives which governed me may appear insufficient; I have not yet learnt to condemn them.

"To the accusation of having injured Mr. Wickham, I refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant. 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 managed all of the Pemberley estates. Whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust inclined my father to be of service to him. On George Wickham, who was his godson, his kindness was liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge. All most important help, as his father would have been unable to give him a gentleman's education. My father was fond of the young man, whose manners were always engaging, also held the highest opinion of him. 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 my father, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age. I had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not. Here again, I must give you pain—to what degree you only can tell.

"My excellent father died about five years ago. His attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady. In his will, he recommended promoting his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow. If he took religious 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 father did not long survive mine. Within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to me. He had resolved against taking holy orders. He hoped for some pecuniary advantage, instead of the living, by which he could not benefit. He intentioned to study law. The interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished, than believed him to be sincere. At any rate, I was perfectly ready to agree to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman. The business was soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it. He 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. His studying the law was a mere pretence. Being now free from all restraint, his life was of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him. 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 resolved on being ordained if I would present him to the living in question. And I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to follow this entreaty. I resisted every repetition to it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances. 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. No obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold these details to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My sister was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. She is more than ten years my junior. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London. Last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate.  Thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design. There proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were unhappily deceived. By her connivance and aid, he recommended himself to Georgiana. Her affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child. She was persuaded to believe herself in love and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse. 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. Unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, Georgiana acknowledged the whole plan to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure. 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. 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. If you do not 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. His success is not to be wondered at. Ignorant as you were of everything about him, detection could not be in your power, and suspicion not in your inclination.

"You may wonder why all this was not told you last night. 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. From our near relationship and as one of the executors of my father's will, he knows every detail. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin. There may be the possibility of you 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"