Mr Darcy’s first proposal – Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice (Part 2, Chapter

11)

Context: Elizabeth just heard that Mr Darcy is responsible for Mr Bingley leaving without marrying
her sister Jane. This scene goes from love confession to trial.

Expressing emotion
• Speech has a great influence on love; Darcy says he loves Elizabeth against his better
judgment and it’s not romantic to her at all
• Body language: Darcy arrives visibly agitated, they both struggle grappling for composure
and blush a lot from various emotions, Darcy also pales a lot
• Emotions are half repressed, she breaks down crying when he leaves
• Emotions are held back and stifled by reason for Darcy (societal rules) and for Elizabeth
(love for her sister and consideration for Whicham)
• EXCEPT anger (which can stem from love)
• Elizabeth is so lost to her emotions when he first starts talking that her POV keeps the
reader from hearing him – and she probably is too busy thinking of a comeback to actually
listen to the least offensive parts of his speech

Self-staging
• The scene starts and ends with Darcy’s “conforming to societal rules” bit
• Everything else is out of the bounds of the rules of courtship – he should be
conquering her, not his feelings; none of this is proper
• Both keep striving for composure, words related to faking are everywhere, especially with
regard to Darcy
• Rumors, opinions and misinterpretations play an important role in how people are, seem
and feel

Initiation
• This scene is a turning point in the novel: they both come away “with homework”
• She needs to reevaluate her “knowledge”, which is based on rumors and
assumptions, and therefore her opinion of people
• He needs to work on his communication skills and stop meddling
• They both need to work on their pride and prejudice
 TEXT: Jane Austen: Pride and Prejudice (Part 2, Chapter 11)

[…] In a hurried manner [Mr. Darcy] immediately began an enquiry after her health, imputing his
visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for
a few moments, and then getting up walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not
a word. After a silence of several minutes he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus
began,

‘In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell
you how ardently I admire and love you.’

Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent.
This he considered sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of all that he felt and had long felt for
her, immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be
detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of
her inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the family obstacles which judgment had always
opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he
was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.

In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man’s
affection, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he
was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion in
anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to answer him with patience, when he should have
done. […] He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security.
Such a circumstance could only exasperate farther, and when he ceased, the colour rose into her
cheeks, and she said,

‘In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the
sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. It is natural that obligation should be
felt, and if I could feel gratitude, I would now thank you. But I cannot—I have never desired your
good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned
pain to any one. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short
duration. The feelings which, you tell me, have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard,
can have little difficulty in overcoming it after this explanation.’

Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantle-piece with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to
catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger,
and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance
of composure, and would not open his lips, till he believed himself to have attained it. The pause
was to Elizabeth’s feelings dreadful. At length, in a voice of forced calmness, he said,
‘And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be
informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.’

‘I might as well enquire,’ replied she, ‘why with so evident a design of offending and insulting me,
you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against
your character? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other
provocations. You know I have. Had not my own feelings decided against you, had they been
indifferent, or had they even been favourable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me
to accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most
beloved sister?’

As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion was short, and he
listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued.

‘I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and
ungenerous part you acted there. […]’

She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an air which proved him
wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected
incredulity.

‘Can you deny that you have done it?’ she repeated.

With assumed tranquillity he then replied, ‘I have no wish of denying that I did every thing in my
power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have
been kinder than towards myself.’
[…] Elizabeth accuses Darcy of withholding money from an innocent man when it is rightfully his.

‘And this,’ cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, ‘is your opinion of me! This
is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to
this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,’ added he, stopping in his walk, and turning
towards her, ‘these offences might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my
honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These
bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I with greater policy concealed my struggles,
and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by
reason, by reflection, by every thing. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I
ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in
the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose
condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?’

Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to the utmost to speak with
composure when she said,
‘You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any
other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you
behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.’

She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued, ‘You could not have made me
the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.’

Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an expression of mingled
incredulity and mortification. She went on.

‘From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you,
your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish
disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on
which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I had not known you a month
before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.’

‘You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to
be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and
accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.’

And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the
front door and quit the house.

The tumult of her mind was now painfully great. She knew not how to support herself, and from
actual weakness sat down and cried for half an hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what
had passed, was increased by every review of it. That she should receive an offer of marriage from
Mr. Darcy! that he should have been in love with her for so many months! So much in love as to
wish to marry her in spite of all the objections which had made him prevent his friend’s marrying
her sister, and which must appear at least with equal force in his own case, was almost incredible!
It was gratifying to have inspired unconsciously so strong an affection. But his pride, his
abominable pride, his shameless avowal of what he had done with respect to Jane, his
unpardonable assurance in acknowledging, though he could not justify it, and the unfeeling manner
in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham, his cruelty towards whom he had not attempted to deny,
soon overcame the pity which the consideration of his attachment had for a moment excited.