Chapter Eleven


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 upsetting 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. You, Miss Bennet, have always given time to hear the thoughts of others, and I pray you do the same for myself as I explain my reasonings.

The offence that you laid last night to my charge was that of myself detaching Mr. Bingley from your sister. If, in the explanation of them, which is due to myself, I am under the necessity of relating feelings which may be offensive to yours, I can only say that I am sorry. The necessity must be obeyed, and further apology would be absurd.

I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your elder 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 feelings a serious attachment. I had often seen him in love before.

At that ball, while I had the honor of dancing you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas' 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 behavior attentively; and I could 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 error. Your superior knowledge of your sister must make the latter probable. If it be so, if I have 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 observe 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 investigation and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes and 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 objection to the marriage were not merely those which I last night acknowledged to have the utmost force of passion to put aside, in my own case; the want o connection would 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 endeavored 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 to the total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father.

It pains me to bring this charge against you again. 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 censor, is praise no less generally bestowed on you, your elder sister, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, than it is honorable to the sense and disposition of all.

I will say only 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 sister's uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling as soon discovered, and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching her 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 theme earnestly. But however, this remonstrance might have been staggered or delayed in his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately had prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance that 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 judgement than on his own.

To convince him, therefore, that he had deceived himself, was no very difficult point. To persuade him against returning to 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 being town. I knew it myself, as it was known to Miss Bingley; but her brother is even yet ignorant of it. I lied to you that night at Rosings. For that I apologize. 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.

I will only add,
God bless you.
Fitzwilliam Darcy


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