Chapter 34

by Jane Austen

　　When they were gone, Elizabeth, as if intending to exasperateherself as much as possible against Mr. Darcy, chose for heremployment the examination of all the letters which Jane hadwritten to her since her being in Kent. They contained no actualcomplaint, nor was there any revival of past occurrences, or anycommunication of present suffering. But in all, and in almostevery line of each, there was a want of that cheerfulness whichhad been used to characterise her style, and which, proceedingfrom the serenity of a mind at ease with itself and kindlydisposed towards everyone, had been scarcely ever clouded.Elizabeth noticed every sentence conveying the idea ofuneasiness, with an attention which it had hardly received on thefirst perusal. Mr. Darcy's shameful boast of what misery he hadbeen able to inflict gave her a keener sense of her sister'ssufferings. It was some consolation to think that his visit toRosings was to end on the day after the next-- and, a stillgreater, that in less than a fortnight she should herself be withJane again, and enabled to contribute to the recovery of herspirits, by all that affection could do.She could not think of Darcy's leaving Kent withoutremembering that his cousin was to go with him; but ColonelFitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, andagreeable as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him.While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the soundof the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the ideaof its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once beforecalled late in the evening, and might now come to inquireparticularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and herspirits were very differently affected, when, to her utteramazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In anhurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health,imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. Sheanswered him with cold civility. He sat down for a fewmoments, and then getting up, walked about the room.Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence ofseveral minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, andthus began:"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not berepressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admireand love you."Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared,coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficientencouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had longfelt for her, immediately followed. He spoke well; but therewere feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed; and hewas not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than ofpride. His sense of her inferiority-- of its being a degradation--of the family obstacles which had always opposed to inclination,were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to theconsequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely torecommend his suit.In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensibleto the compliment of such a man's affection, and though herintentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry forthe pain he was to receive; till, roused to resentment by hissubsequent language, she lost all compassion in anger. Shetried, however, to compose herself to answer him with patience,when he should have done. He concluded with representing toher the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all hisendeavours, he had found impossible to conquer; and withexpressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by heracceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see thathe had no doubt of a favourable answer. He spoke ofapprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed realsecurity. Such a circumstance could only exasperate farther,and, when he ceased, the colour rose into her cheeks, and shesaid:"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode toexpress a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed,however unequally they may be returned. It is natural thatobligation should be felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I wouldnow thank you. But I cannot-- I have never desired your goodopinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. Iam sorry to have occasioned pain to anyone. It has been mostunconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of shortduration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long preventedthe acknowledgment of your regard, can have little difficulty inovercoming it after this explanation."Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with hiseyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no lessresentment than surprise. His complexion became pale withanger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in everyfeature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure,and would not open his lips till he believed himself to haveattained it. The pause was to Elizabeth's feelings dreadful. Atlength, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:"And this is the reply which I am to have the honour ofexpecting: I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with solittle endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is ofsmall importance.""I might as well inquire," replied she, " why with so evident adesire of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me thatyou liked me against your will, against your reason, and evenagainst your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility,if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know Ihave. Had not my feelings decided against you-- had they beenindifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think thatany consideration would tempt me to accept the man who hasbeen the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of amost beloved sister?"As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; butthe emotion was short, and he listened without attemptingto interrupt her while she continued:"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motivecan excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there.You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal,if not the only means of dividing them from each other-- ofexposing one to the censure of the world for caprice andinstability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes,and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind."She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he waslistening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by anyfeeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile ofaffected incredulity."Can you deny that you have done it?" she repeated.With assumed tranquillity he then replied: "I have no wish ofdenying that I did everything in my power to separate my friendfrom your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him Ihave been kinder than towards myself."Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civilreflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely toconciliate her."But it is not merely this affair," she continued, "on which mydislike is founded. Long before it had taken place my opinion ofyou was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recitalwhich I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On thissubject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act offriendship can you here defend yourself? or under whatmisrepresentation can you here impose upon others?""You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns," saidDarcy, in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour."Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can helpfeeling an interest in him?""His misfortunes!" repeated Darcy contemptuously; "yes, hismisfortunes have been great indeed.""And of your infliction," cried Elizabeth with energy. "Youhave reduced him to his present state of poverty-- comparativepoverty. You have withheld the advantages which you mustknow to have been designed for him. You have deprived thebest years of his life of that independence which was no less hisdue than his desert. You have done all this! and yet you cantreat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule.""And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps acrossthe room, "Is your opinion of me! This is the estimation inwhich you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. Myfaults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! Butperhaps," added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towardsher, "these offenses might have been overlooked, had not yourpride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that hadlong prevented my forming any serious design. These bitteraccusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greaterpolicy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the beliefof my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; byreason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort ismy abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related.They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice inthe inferiority of your connections?-- to congratulate myself onthe hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedlybeneath my own?"Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet shetried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said:"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode ofyour declaration affected me in any other way, than as it sparedthe concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had youbehaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued:"You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possibleway that would have tempted me to accept it."Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her withan expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She wenton:"From the very beginning-- from the first moment, I may almostsay-- of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing mewith the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and yourselfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form thegroundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events havebuilt so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a monthbefore I felt that you were the last man in the world whom Icould ever be prevailed on to marry.""You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehendyour feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my ownhave been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of yourtime, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabethheard him the next moment open the front door and quit thehouse.The tumult of her mind, was now painfully great. She knew nothow to support herself, and from actual weakness sat down andcried for half-an-hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected onwhat had passed, was increased by every review of it. That sheshould receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! That heshould have been in love with her for so many months! So muchin love as to wish to marry her in spite of all the objectionswhich had made him prevent his friend's marrying her sister, andwhich must appear at least with equal force in his own case--was almost incredible! It was gratifying to have inspiredunconsciously so strong an affection. But his pride, hisabominable pride-- his shameless avowal of what he had donewith respect to Jane-- his unpardonable assurance inacknowledging, though he could not justify it, and the unfeelingmanner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham, his crueltytowards whom he had not attempted to deny, soon overcame thepity which the consideration of his attachment had for a momentexcited. She continued in very agitated reflections till the soundof Lady Catherine's carriage made her feel how unequal she wasto encounter Charlotte's observation, and hurried her away toher room.