Chapter 36

When Elizabeth received the letter from Mr. Darcy, she did not expect it to repeat his proposal. Nor did she guess what else it might contain. It is easy to imagine how eagerly she read it, and how mixed her feelings were as she did. The feelings she had while reading could hardly be put into words. At first she was astonished that he believed he could offer any kind of excuse at all. She felt sure that if he had any sense of shame, he could only say things he would not dare speak aloud. Filled with strong prejudice, she began to read how he explained what had happened at Netherfield. She read so hastily that she could barely take in what the words meant. She wanted so badly to know what the next sentence would say that she paid no attention to the meaning of the one in front of her. The claim that he had believed her sister felt nothing for his friend — this she instantly took to be a lie. When he explained the main reason he had opposed the marriage, she grew too angry to even try to be fair to him. Even if he regretted his own actions, there was nothing in the letter that could satisfy Elizabeth. The letter held no regret at all, only pride. From beginning to end, it was arrogant and rude.

But when the letter moved on to speak of Mr. Wickham, everything changed. If what it said was true, it would destroy every belief she had cherished about him. What was more, the account was strikingly similar to what Wickham himself had once told her about his own story. As she gathered herself and read more carefully, her heart ached more, and her feelings grew even more impossible to untangle. Astonishment, uneasiness, and even fear pressed down on her. "It must be a lie! This cannot be true! It must be a horrible lie!" she cried out again and again, refusing to believe any of it. Even after reading to the end, she barely took in what the last page or two said, and folded the letter away in haste. She resolved never to look at it or read it again.

With her mind so troubled, and her thoughts unable to settle on anything, she kept walking. But it was no use. Before thirty seconds had passed, she opened the letter again. She gathered herself as best she could, and once more began the painful task of reading everything about Wickham. She forced herself to hold steady and examine the meaning of each sentence. Wickham's connection to the Pemberley family was exactly as Wickham himself had described it. She had not known before how kind the late Mr. Darcy had been, but this too matched what Wickham had said. So far, the two accounts supported each other. But when she reached the part about the will, things changed a great deal. She still remembered clearly what Wickham had told her about the church position. Recalling his very words, she could not avoid feeling that one side or the other had told a terrible lie. For a few minutes she comforted herself with the thought that the side she wished to believe was not wrong. But reading again, very closely, the exact details — that Wickham had given up every right to that church position and had instead received a large sum of three thousand pounds — she could not help hesitating once more. She set the letter down and tried to weigh every part of it fairly. She thought about which side was likely telling the truth, but got nowhere. Both sides simply insisted on their own story. She began reading again. The more she read, line by line, the clearer it became that what she had believed — that no clever wording could make Mr. Darcy's conduct anything but wicked — might, in fact, show him to be entirely blameless from beginning to end.

Darcy stated without hesitation that Mr. Wickham had spent money carelessly and had, on the whole, lived a dissolute life. Elizabeth was deeply shocked by this. The shock was greater still because she could not offer a single piece of evidence that it was unfair. She had never heard anything about Wickham before he joined the militia. A young man he had happened to meet in London had urged him to renew a brief acquaintance from before, and that was how he had come to join. In Hertfordshire, no one knew anything of his earlier life except what he himself had chosen to say. Even if she could have seen his true character, Elizabeth had never wished to look for it. She had judged, from his face, his voice, and his manner alone, that he possessed every virtue. She tried hard to recall even one kind act that might rescue him from Mr. Darcy's accusations. She tried to find even a trace of unusual honesty or a compassionate heart. She wanted, at the very least, some clear sign of far greater virtue in him, something that would let her set aside what Mr. Darcy called years of idleness and vice as a single mistake. But no such memory came to her at all. She could easily picture Wickham's charming manner and pleasant way of speaking. But beyond the fact that the whole neighborhood thought well of him, and the goodwill he had won among the officers through his sociable manner at their dinners, she could remember no deeper merit. After her thoughts stayed on this for a long time, she read the letter again. And oh, the account that followed, of Wickham's scheme against Miss Darcy, was supported to some degree by what Colonel Fitzwilliam himself had said only the morning before. In the end, the letter even said that she could ask Colonel Fitzwilliam to confirm everything. He had already said himself that he was closely involved in all his cousin's affairs, and there was no reason to doubt his character. For a moment she nearly resolved to go and ask him. But such a request would be far too awkward. And she felt certain that Mr. Darcy would never have made such an offer unless he could be sure his cousin would confirm it — and with that thought, she finally gave up the idea completely.

She remembered every detail of the conversation she had shared with Wickham on the very first evening at Mr. Philips's house. Many of the things he had said were still vivid in her mind. Only now did it strike her, with shock, how improper it had been for him to bring up such matters to a stranger. She was surprised at herself for never having noticed it before. She also saw now how ill-mannered it had been for him to push forward and share his private affairs so freely, and how poorly his words matched his actions. He had boasted that he was not the least bit afraid of meeting Mr. Darcy. He had even said that Mr. Darcy might leave the area, but he himself would stay. And yet, the very next week, he had avoided the Netherfield ball. She also remembered that he had told his story to no one but her until the Netherfield party had left the area. But once they were gone, the story became the talk of the whole neighborhood. She recalled, too, how he had sworn that out of respect for the father, he would never expose the son's faults. Yet after that, he had not hesitated for a moment, and had shown no restraint at all in tearing down Mr. Darcy's good name.

How different everything about Wickham looked now! His attention to Miss King now seemed like nothing but a hateful, money-driven scheme. Even the fact that her fortune was not very large was no longer proof that he did not want much. It only showed his eagerness to seize whatever he could get. Even his behavior toward Elizabeth herself could no longer be seen as coming from any honest feeling. He must have either misjudged her fortune, or been feeding his own vanity by encouraging a liking she had too carelessly shown. What was left of her wish to defend Wickham grew fainter and fainter. She could not help admitting facts that made her trust Mr. Darcy's account more. Long ago, when Jane had asked him, Mr. Bingley had firmly said that Darcy was not at fault in that matter. Mr. Darcy's manner was proud and unwelcoming. But over the time she had known him, and especially in these last weeks of seeing more of him, Elizabeth had never once seen any sign that he was a man without principle or a man who acted unjustly. There was no sign at all that he lacked faith or had any immoral habits. His relatives respected and were fond of him. Even Wickham himself had admitted that Darcy was an excellent brother. Elizabeth herself had often heard him speak fondly of his sister. So he was not entirely without warmth of feeling. If Wickham's account were true, it would have been hard for such a serious abandonment of what was right to stay hidden from the world. And it was impossible to understand how a man capable of such a thing could be friends with someone as likable as Mr. Bingley.

Elizabeth became truly ashamed of herself. Whether she thought of Darcy or of Wickham, she could not escape the feeling that she had been blind, unfair, and ridiculously ruled by prejudice.

"How shamefully I have acted!" she cried. "I, who prided myself on my skill at judging people! I, who thought so highly of my own judgment! I have so often looked down on my sister's generous and fair-minded heart, and filled my own vanity with pointless suspicion. What a humiliating discovery this is! And yet, how well I deserve this humiliation! Even if I had fallen in love, I could not have been more pitifully blind than this. But it was not love that made me foolish — it was vanity. From the moment I first met them, I was pleased by one man's attention and hurt by another man's coldness, and in everything to do with the two of them, I let prejudice and ignorance in, and drove out reason. Until this moment, I never truly knew myself."

As her thoughts moved from herself to Jane, and from Jane to Bingley, she soon remembered that Mr. Darcy's explanation of that matter had seemed very lacking to her at the time. She read that part again. Reading it a second time, it felt completely different. If she could not help believing his account in one matter, how could she refuse to believe the same account in the other? He had stated clearly that he had never noticed any sign that Jane had feelings for Bingley. She could not help recalling what Charlotte had always thought. Nor could she deny that his description of Jane was accurate. Jane's feelings ran warm, but they were rarely shown on the outside. Her manner and bearing always carried a pleasant, contented warmth, which was not the kind of look that usually came with deep feeling.

When she reached the part where he criticized her family in words that were both shameful and deserved, Elizabeth felt deeply ashamed. The truth of the criticism was so clear that she could not deny it. What he had pointed out in particular, from what had happened at the Netherfield ball, had confirmed every objection he had first felt. That memory had stayed as strongly in Elizabeth's mind as it had in Darcy's.

His praise of herself and her sister did not leave her entirely unmoved. It gave her heart some small comfort. But it could not soothe the pain caused by the contempt that the rest of her family had brought upon themselves. She thought that Jane's disappointment had, in truth, come from the conduct of her own closest family. And when she considered how badly such improper behavior would damage both her sister's and her own reputation, she sank into a depth of discouragement she had never felt before.

Giving herself over to every kind of thought, she went over everything that had happened and tried to judge what was true. For two hours she wandered along the paths, trying somehow to grow used to such a sudden and enormous change. At last she grew tired, and remembering how long she had been away from home, she turned back. As she entered the house, she hoped to look as cheerful as usual. She resolved to hold back the thoughts that would keep her from being able to talk with the others.

She soon learned that, while she had been out, two gentlemen from Rosings had called, one after the other. Mr. Darcy had stayed only a few minutes, meaning only to say goodbye. Colonel Fitzwilliam, she was told, had sat waiting for her return for at least an hour, and had almost thought of walking out to look for her. Elizabeth could only pretend to be sorry that she had missed him. In truth, she was very glad. Colonel Fitzwilliam no longer held any interest for her at all. She could think of nothing but the letter.