PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 35

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ELIZABETH awoke
the next morning 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 any thing else, and, totally indisposed
for employment, she resolved soon after breakfast to indulge herself in
air and exercise. She was proceeding directly to her favourite walk, when
the recollection of Mr. Darcy's sometimes coming there stopped her, and
instead of entering the park, she turned up the lane which led her farther
from the turnpike road. The park paling was still the boundary on one
side, and she soon passed one of the gates into the ground.

After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she was
tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, 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, and every day was adding to the
verdure of the early trees. She was on the point of continuing her walk,
when she caught a glimpse of a gentleman within the sort of grove which
edged the park; he was moving that way; and fearful of its being Mr. Darcy,
she was directly retreating. But the person who advanced was now near
enough to see her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced her
name. She had turned away, but 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 holding out a letter, which she
instinctively took, said with a look of haughty composure, "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 letter, and, to her still increasing wonder, perceived
  an envelope containing two sheets of letter paper, written quite through,
  in a very close hand. -- The envelope itself was likewise full. -- Pursuing
  her way along the lane, she then began it. It was dated from Rosings,
  at eight o'clock in the morning, and was as follows: --

"Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension
  of its containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of
  those offers, which were last night so disgusting to you. I write without
  any intention of paining you, or humbling myself, by dwelling on wishes,
  which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten; and
  the effort which the formation and the perusal of this letter must occasion
  should have been spared, had not my character required it to be written
  and read. You must, therefore, pardon the freedom with which I demand
  your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow 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, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley
  from your sister; -- and the other, that I had, in defiance of various
  claims, in defiance of honour and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity,
  and blasted the 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,
  would be a depravity to which the separation of two young persons, whose
  affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no comparison.
  -- But from the severity of that blame which was last night so liberally
  bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in future
  secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives
  has been read. -- If, in the explanation of them which is due to myself,
  I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive
  to your's, I can only say that I am sorry. -- The necessity must be
  obeyed -- and farther apology would be absurd. -- I had not been long
  in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley
  preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country.
  -- But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that
  I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. -- I had
  often seen him in love before. -- At that ball, while I had the honour
  of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's
  accidental information, that Bingley's attentions to your sister had
  given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it
  as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. From
  that moment I observed my friend's behaviour attentively; and I could
  then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I
  had ever witnessed 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, and 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 an 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. But I shall not scruple to assert that 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, -- but I will venture to say that
  my investigations 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 to have required the utmost force of passion
  to put aside in my own case; the want of connection could not be so
  great an evil to my friend as to me. -- But there were other causes
  of repugnance; -- causes which, though still existing, and existing
  to an equal degree in both instances, I had myself endeavoured to forget,
  because they were not immediately before me. -- These causes must be
  stated, though briefly. -- The situation of your mother's family, though
  objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety
  so frequently, so almost uniformly, betrayed by herself, by your three
  younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. -- Pardon me.
  -- It pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects
  of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation
  of them, let it give you consolation to consider that to have conducted
  yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure is praise no
  less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is honourable
  to the sense and disposition of both. -- I will only say farther that,
  from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed,
  and every inducement heightened, which could have led me before to preserve
  my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. -- He left
  Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain,
  remember, 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; and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in
  detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly
  in London. -- We accordingly went -- and there I readily engaged in
  the office of pointing out to my friend, the certain evils of such a
  choice. -- I described, and enforced them earnestly. -- But, however
  this remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination,
  I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage,
  had it not been seconded by the assurance, which I hesitated not in
  giving, 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
  judgment than on his own. -- To convince him, therefore, that he had
  deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against
  returning into Hertfordshire, when that conviction had been given, was
  scarcely 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, but
  her brother is even yet ignorant of it. -- That they might have met
  without ill consequence is, perhaps, probable; -- but his regard did
  not appear to me enough extinguished for him to see her without some
  danger. -- Perhaps 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; and though the motives
  which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have
  not yet learnt to condemn them. --

With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured
  Mr. Wickham, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of
  his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me,
  I am ignorant; but 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 management of
  all the Pemberley estates; and whose good conduct in the discharge of
  his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and
  on George Wickham, who was his god-son, his kindness was therefore liberally
  bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge;
  -- most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the
  extravagance of his wife, would have been unable to give him a gentleman's
  education. My father was not only fond of this young man's society,
  whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion
  of him, and 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 his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man
  of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing
  him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. Here again
  I shall give you pain -- to what degree you only can tell. But whatever
  may be the sentiments which Mr. Wickham has created, a suspicion of
  their nature shall not prevent me from unfolding his real character.
  It adds even another motive. My excellent father died about five years
  ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that
  in his will he particularly recommended it to me to promote his advancement
  in the best manner that his profession might allow, and, if he took
  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
  own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these
  events Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved
  against taking orders, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for
  him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the
  preferment by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention,
  he added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest
  of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein.
  I rather wished than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was
  perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought
  not to be a clergyman. The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned
  all claim to assistance in the church, were it possible that he could
  ever be in a situation to receive it, and 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.
  In town, I believe, he chiefly lived, but his studying the law was a
  mere pretence, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a
  life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little
  of him; but 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 absolutely resolved on being ordained, if I would present
  him to the living in question -- of which he trusted there could be
  little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide
  for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions.
  You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty,
  or for resisting every repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion
  to the distress of his circumstances -- and 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 dropt. 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
  myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce
  me to unfold to any human being. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt
  of your secrecy. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was
  left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam,
  and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment
  formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who
  presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly
  by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between
  him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived;
  and by her connivance and aid he so far recommended himself to Georgiana,
  whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness
  to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love,
  and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen, which must
  be her excuse; and 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; and then Georgiana, unable
  to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost
  looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine
  what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings
  prevented any public exposure, but 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,
  which is thirty thousand pounds; but 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; and if you do not absolutely 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 has imposed
  on you; but his success is not, perhaps, to be wondered at. Ignorant
  as you previously were of every thing concerning either, detection could
  not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.
  You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night. But
  I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to
  be revealed. For the truth of every thing here related, I can appeal
  more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from
  our near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one of
  the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with
  every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should
  make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause
  from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of
  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."

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1. Ebooks list page : 81
2. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 58
3. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 44
4. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 42
5. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 41
6. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 40
7. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 39
8. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 38
9. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 11
10. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 12
11. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 45
12. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 46
13. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 49
14. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 57
15. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 56
16. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Chapter 55