Chapter Twenty #2
Darcy returned his attention to Elizabeth. "Miss Elizabeth is correct that loyalty, friendship and responsibility require steadiness. A man who abandons every obligation the moment it becomes difficult is not adaptable. He is unreliable."
Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow. "We are in agreement already. Lady Hortensia may be disappointed."
"I hope not. I have no intention of surrendering."
"The difficulty lies not in deciding whether constancy may be virtuous, but in deciding whether it is always so.
A quality cannot deserve unconditional praise merely because it occasionally produces admirable conduct.
Courage may become recklessness. Generosity may become extravagance.
Constancy may become a determination to continue upon a course long after reason and conscience have warned us that it is wrong. "
Elizabeth noticed Mr Bennet's absence suddenly and wished he had been present to hear that argument. It was precisely the kind of activity he enjoyed.
Darcy continued. "We are all capable of mistaking habit for principle. A person may remain in a position because he has occupied it for many years, obey an expectation because it has never occurred to him that it may be questioned or defend an opinion because admitting error would wound his pride."
His eyes held hers for a moment, and she had the uncomfortable impression that he was speaking of more than the proposition before them.
"A person who changes his mind after discovering new evidence is not necessarily weak," Darcy said. "He may be demonstrating greater strength than the person who refuses to reconsider because he fears appearing inconsistent. There is no virtue in being faithfully wrong."
Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a low sound of approval.
"We admire constancy in affection because we assume the affection is wisely placed.
We admire constancy in duty because we assume the duty is just. Remove those assumptions and the quality becomes far less simple.
Should a man remain loyal to a friend who has proved dishonourable?
Should a woman preserve an opinion she formed upon imperfect acquaintance merely to demonstrate that she possesses a steady character? "
Elizabeth felt heat rise in her face. Several heads turned discreetly towards her. Darcy's expression remained serious, though there was a glint in his eyes which told her he knew precisely what he had done.
"That example appears suspiciously particular," she said.
"I understood we were permitted to draw upon experience."
Lady Hortensia raised one hand. "You may quarrel directly when the formal speeches are complete. Mr Darcy still has two minutes."
Darcy inclined his head. "I beg your pardon."
Elizabeth could not tell whether the apology was intended for their hostess or for her.
He resumed. "There are occasions when remaining constant is easier than changing.
To continue as one has always done attracts less notice.
It avoids difficult explanations and preserves the approval of those who prefer matters as they are.
Altering course may require a person to disappoint others or abandon a plan upon which much has already been spent. "
His tone had changed. The lightness had gone from it, and although he still addressed the room, Elizabeth sensed something more personal beneath the words.
"In such circumstances, change is not evidence of inconstancy. It may be the first honest decision a person has made. A man should not continue towards an unhappy or unjust conclusion merely because he has travelled a long way in its direction."
He bowed to Lady Hortensia. "Constancy may be admirable, but only when its object deserves it. Otherwise, it is simply error prolonged."
The gentlemen applauded, though Mr Hadley's clapping was less enthusiastic than it had been for Elizabeth. Colonel Fitzwilliam gave Darcy an openly approving look.
Lady Hortensia waited until the noise had faded. "Very good. You have both succeeded in making a strong opening."
Mr Pritchard stepped forward with a small sandglass and placed it between the platforms. "Each speaker may now question the other. You will have five minutes apiece." Mr Pritchard turned the glass. "Miss Elizabeth may begin."
Elizabeth faced Darcy. "You argue that a person ought to alter course when he discovers his original judgement was wrong. Who is to decide that it was wrong?"
"The person required to act upon it."
"Then every person becomes the judge of his own obligations."
"Not the sole judge. Advice may be sought and consequences considered, but no one else can surrender his conscience for him."
"Conscience is a convenient word. A gentleman may claim it requires him to abandon a promise while another person bears the consequences."
"Then he must answer for the harm he causes. Change does not excuse dishonour."
Elizabeth pressed him upon the difference between honest reconsideration and selfishness, while Darcy insisted that no useful distinction could be made without examining the circumstances.
When she asked whether a person who had encouraged another to rely upon his constancy acquired an obligation to remain, his expression became more serious.
"He acquires an obligation to behave honestly and with consideration."
She moved instead to family expectations, and there Darcy answered with less hesitation. A family might offer wisdom, he said, but it might also attempt to govern an adult son or daughter through ambition or prejudice. Amelia glanced towards Henry Blackwood before lowering her eyes.
Mr Pritchard raised his hand as the final grains fell. "Time. Mr Darcy, you may begin." The glass was turned again.
Darcy began by making Elizabeth admit that constancy must allow for reflection and that a person ought to correct an opinion proved unjust.
He continued with a series of examples chosen with aggravating precision. Would she praise someone for remaining constant to a false first impression? To an obligation that injured another? To a marriage decided by family pressure?