I know who is moving into Netherfield hall.
Who?
His name is Mr. Bingley.
He is unmarried and well under 30.
What a wonder, a single man in possession of a good fortune,
coming to live at Netherfield.
It is a truth universally acknowledged
that such a man must be in want of a wife.
Of course.
He's a rightful property of the neighbourhood daughters.
However little is known of his character, Charlotte?
Little need be known, Eliza.
Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.
It is best to know as little as possible of the defects
of the person with whom you are to pass your life.
You make me laugh, Charlotte.
But it is not sound, you know it is not sound.
You would never act that way yourself. Never.
Did your mother know Mr. Bennet before she married him?
Did he know her?
You are too shrewd, Charlotte.
Then my father is remarkable -
so odd a mixture of quick parts and caprice,
even after 20 years my mother still fails to understand him.
Her mind is less difficult to comprehend.
A single man of large fortune from the north?
What a thing for our girls, Mr. Bennet.
How so, Mrs. Bennet? How can it affect them?
How can you be so tiresome?
I depend upon him marrying one of them.
Indeed? Is that his design in settling here?
Design? Nonsense, how can you talk so?
But it is very likely he may fall in love with one of them,
therefore you must visit him at once.
It would be impossible for us to visit him if you do not.
You are overscrupulous, my dear, surely.
These are desperate times.
Five daughters, all unmarried,
and this house, this land entailed away to a cousin
when you have finally driven me to my death.
And what's to become of you?
I know what will become of me.
Well, I tell you what I will do.
I will write a few brief lines
to assure our new neighbour that he has my hearty consent
to his marrying whichever he chooses of the girls.
- He'll have a hard time. - He will, he will.
Of course, Jane is the eldest - he will be sensitive to that -
they all being equally silly and ignorant, like other girls...
Except possibly my little Lizzie.
Well, pass me my pen, there's no time to be lost.
You take delight in vexing me.
You have no compassion for my nerves.
You mistake me, my dear.
I have a high regard for your nerves.
They are my old friends.
I've heard you mention them with consideration
these 20 years - at least.
You will not wait to call Mr. Bingley?
I assure you, Mrs. Bennet, I will not.
So your father has already visited Netherfield, I dare say?
- Of course. - And what did he report?
Mr. Bingley was not in.
- Look. - There goes father.
- Where to? - To visit Mr. Bingley, of course.
- Unknown to mother. - I thought he would not.
He loves to surprise her, Charlotte -
to repay pain with pleasure.
Even though he must first inflict the pain
to bring about the pleasure.
Of course. Wait and see.
I hope Mr. Bingley may like it, Lizzie.
How are we to know what Mr. Bingley likes
since we are not to visit?
But you forget, mama, Mrs. Long promised
to introduce him to us at the assembly.
I do not believe Mrs. Long would do any such thing.
She is a selfish woman and has two nieces of her own.
If only one or two of you had been boys,
the rest would have had brothers to bring their friends home.
And we would not be so in want
of male company and protection.
We have father for company.
I refer to male company bespoke, Jane.
Don't keep coughing so, Kitty.
For heaven's sake, you tear my nerves to pieces.
Of course they're in shreds already,
for reasons - I'll not tell you.
Kitty has no discretion in her coughs, you're quite right, my dear.
Mr. Bennet speaks!
She times them ill, it seems. What do you say, Mary?
Does not your sister Kitty time her coughing ill?
Speak up, girl.
A young lady of deep perception
must have something to say on the subject?
One coughs... When one must, does not one?
"One coughs when one must"?
Mrs. Bennet, I was wrong.
You have at least one daughter of great wit and intelligence.
I hope Mr. Bingley will be most impressed. Oh-hh...
"One coughs when one must" -
a truly profound statement.
It will be all over London society
mark my words, in next to no time.
What use is Mr. Bingley to any of us,
since you are too unkind to call?
He might admire Lizzie's new hat, perhaps,
and be useful for that.
I am sick of Mr. Bingley.
Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that. Why didn't you tell me so before?
If I'd known this morning, I certainly wouldn't have called on him.
Most unfortunate,
but as I have actually paid the call,
we cannot escape the acquaintance now.
Mr. Bennet, I have wronged you.
- What is he like? - Father, do tell us.
Mr. Bingley's, well, quite young,
reasonably handsome, has no wife,
five sisters - but only two here at Netherfield.
He's not adverse to local company, and even means to attend
the next assembly ball with a large party.
To be fond of dancing is a certain step towards falling in love,
and falling in love to marrying.
You may rest at peace, my dear wife.
What an excellent father you have, girls.
Have I not always told you so?
I do not know how we will make amends for his kindness.
Lydia, my love, you must have a new dress.
Although you are the youngest, I dare say
Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the ball.
I may be the youngest and the smallest, but I am not afraid.
Will Mr. Bingley soon be returning your call?
Did he furnish you with that impression?
You did tell him about the girls?
As little as possible, Mrs. Bennet.
In view of their ignorance and silliness it seemed sensible.
I dare say, he may call.
And now I have said all I will say on the subject
and I do not wish to hear any more about it.
- Kitty? - Yes, papa?
You may now cough as much as you choose.
Oh, hush, Lydia!
Please, hush.
I don't call that handsome. All right, but not handsome.
Where's his uniform?
He isn't an officer, you silly. He's nothing.
Come away the window, please.
I like him.
He appears intelligent and serious.
A serious and intelligent man
wants a serious and accomplished partner.
Looks are not everything.
Character is more - and accomplishment, of course.
Come in.
Lydia, dear, you will need to tuck a little lace tomorrow.
- No, I won't. - She will, lady Lucas, won't she?
- She will. - Look some out, dear.
And how is dear Charlotte's dress, lady Lucas?
It is very well. New, of course, not made over.
Dear Charlotte - always looks best in a new dress,
and of course never has the bother of tucking lace.
Such a dear girl, such a friend to Elizabeth.
Dear lady Lucas, if I can but see one of my daughters
settled at Netherfield, and all of the others equally well married,
I shall have nothing to wish for.
The Bingleys are people of society, Mrs. Bennet.
Mr. Bingley's appearance is perhaps deceptive,
he has such easy, unaffected manners -
he goes everywhere, sees anyone.
But his sisters are very fine.
They have an air of decided fashion.
What do you try to say, lady Lucas?
My girls are good enough for anyone.
And your Charlotte is too, I'm sure.
My only fear is Mr. Bingley will not be at the ball tomorrow.
He is always flying about from place to place.
He is not in Netherfield at the moment, they say.
Where can he have gone?
To fetch a party from London for tomorrow, mama.
Twelve ladies, and seven gentlemen.
No, the other way round! It must be the other way round -
twelve gentlemen and seven ladies.
Lydia, your lace has slipped.
Mother, Lydia's lace tuck has slipped.
Lydia looks very well, Mary.
Lydia always looks very well.
I wish I could say the same for you.
You read too much. No wonder you're short-sighted.
- There. - How will I look, Elizabeth?
He will love you at first sight, Jane.
You are ridiculous, Eliza.
Only two ladies.
Mr. Bingley would be quite handsome in uniform, I dare say.
That's miss Bingley, the unmarried one.
Who would want to marry her? So thin.
That's Mrs. Hurst, his other sister.
I can't think how she managed.
And that's Mr. Hurst. He's quite the gentleman.
But he's married, isn't he?
And that's Mr. Bingley's friend, Mr. Darcy.
He has 10,000 a year and a large estate in Derbyshire.
- How do you know? - Everyone knows.
It's common knowledge.
He is far handsomer than Mr. Bingley. Finer, too.
Yes, he is. But he's very proud.
Did you see that?
He is above his company, unworthy of his friend.
He has £10,000 a year, mother.
I am surprised at you, Lizzie.
It is a most disagreeable countenance, he's above being pleased.
- I do agree with you. - Sir William Lucas has quite betrayed me.
He will do anything to get Charlotte off his hands.
Look at her!
Go where you will be less obvious. You're not dancing.
What is 10,000 a year
compared to a man with a pleasing disposition?
Not worth considering. Where's his uniform?
The proudest, most disagreeable man in the world.
Come, Darcy, I must have you dance.
I hate to see you standing around in this stupid manner.
With such company as this assembly can afford it would be insupportable.
Saving your sisters, there is not a woman in the place
it would not be a punishment to stand up with.
The room is full of pleasant girls, some of them uncommonly pretty.
The eldest miss Bennet, perhaps, but you are dancing with her.
She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld.
- But she has a sister - - she has too many sisters.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet is charming.
She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.
I cannot, after all give consequence to young ladies
who are slighted by other men.
Excuse me.
Lizzie, you lose nothing by not smiting that man's fancy.
This disagreeable, horrid man.
"Not handsome enough" to dance with, indeed!
I shall never recover from the slights of this evening, never.
We have had the most delightful evening, Mr. Bennet,
the most excellent ball. You should have been there.
Jane was so admired.
Mr. Bingley thought her beautiful
and danced with her twice.
And the two third he danced with miss King,
and the two fourth he danced with Maria Lucas,
- and the two sixth - - if he had compassion for me,
he'd have sprained his ankle in the first dance.
And I never, in all my life, saw anything more elegant
than the miss Bingley dresses.
Stop! I warn you, I will have no descriptions of finery.
Mary was mentioned to the miss Bingleys
as the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood,
and Kitty and Lydia were never without partners.
- Lydia's lace slipped. - Of course.
And - Lizzie?
Lizzie was slighted by Mr. Darcy.
So high and conceited - I quite detest the man.
He walked here, and he walked there,
fancying himself so great.
"Not handsome enough to dance with," indeed!
I wish you had been there to give him one of your set downs.
Such ease... Such manners,
such perfect breeding.
You've liked many a stupider person, I will say that.
Lizzie!
You are a great deal too apt to like people in general.
You never find fault in anyone.
I have never heard you speak ill
of another human being in my life.
- I always say what I think. - That is the wonder of it.
You liked his sisters, too, I dare say?
I did not, not at first.
But after a little while they appeared quite pleasing.
Humph!
I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time.
Dear Jane, he admired you.
I did not expect such a compliment.
That is the wonder of it.
Compliments always take you by surprise, and me never.
Horrid Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth.
To say such things in your hearing.
What Mr. Bingley sees in him, I cannot think.
Mr. Bingley sees in Mr. Darcy
a man whose breeding - if not his manners -
is superior to his own.
The Bingley fortune, after all, has been acquired from trade,
unlike Mr. Darcy's.
Mr. Bingley has one great advantage, however.
He is sure of being liked wherever he goes,
whereas wherever Mr. Darcy appears, he gives offense.
Quite. I wonder what they are saying of us?
A collection of people in whom there is little beauty and no fashion.
I don't feel the slightest interest in any of them
and fail to see how you can possibly do so.
This place is the end of the world, Bingley.
They retire so early.
I like it here. It is a good enough house,
one has the liberty of a manor -
a man must have an estate of his own -
if he cannot have his father's -
and I never met pleasanter people in my life,
or prettier girls, come to that.
Oh- the eldest miss Bennet is an angel.
Such ease, such manners,
such beauty, such kindness.
- She smiles too much. - I'm sure I wish I smiled more.
But at what? Life's so dull.
- She is a sweet girl. - I quite liked her.
One must converse with someone, I dare say.
That is so. Especially when one is in the countryside.
The eldest miss Bennet is allowed to be a sweet girl,
for lack of competition.
Bingley, you may think of her as you choose.
But not aloud.
One last game?
What is a ball, if not to be talked over?
What are young men, if not to be discussed?
You began the evening well, Charlotte.
You were Mr. Bingley's first choice.
But he seemed to like his second better, Jane.
Mr. Bingley was overheard to say
that the eldest miss Bennet was "the prettiest woman in the room".
Mr. Darcy was not so well worth overhearing, was he?
Poor Lizzie, to be only just "tolerable".
Mr. Darcy is so disagreeable, Lydia,
that to be liked by him would be a misfortune.
They say he sat next to Mrs. Long for half an hour
and never said a single word.
I dare say he found out she came in a chaise, not a carriage.
But miss Bingley did tell me Mr. Darcy never does speak much,
unless among intimate acquaintances.
Oh, Jane!
There is perhaps an excuse for his pride.
One cannot help but wonder that so very fine a young man
with family, fortune, everything in his favour,
should think highly of himself.
If I may so express it,
he has a right to be proud.
That is perhaps true.
I could more easily forgive his pride,
had he not mortified mine.
Pride is a very common failing, I believe.
By all that I have ever read,
I am convinced that it is very common indeed,
that human nature is particularly prone to it,
and there are very few of us who do not cherish
a feeling of self-complacency on some quality or other,
real or imagined.
So you would always keep the world in the dark, Lizzie.
But if a woman conceals her affection from the object of it,
she may lose the opportunity of fixing him.
In nine cases out of 10, a woman had better show
more affection than she feels.
Although very few of us have heart enough
to be in love without encouragement,
Mr. Bingley undoubtedly admires Jane.
She had better help his admiration on.
If I were determined to get a rich husband,
I dare say I should adopt such a plan, but I am not.
Mr. Darcy admires you, Elizabeth.
Mr. Darcy?
He does overlisten my conversations. Why?
You better ask Mr. Darcy that yourself.
That would be impertinent.
But if I am not impertinent soon,
I shall grow afraid of him.
He has a very satirical eye.
Come along, Charlotte.
Do you not think, Mr. Darcy,
I expressed myself remarkably well just now?
You were talking of dancing.
- That always renders a woman eloquent. - You are severe on us.
It will be her turn to be teased now.
I am going to take you to the piano, and you know what follows.
You are a strange creature by way of a friend,
always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody.
If my vanity had taken a musical turn,
you would have proved invaluable,
but as it is -
Oh, very well.
There is a fine old saying, Mr. Darcy,
with which everyone here is familiar.
"Keep your breath to cool your porridge."
I shall keep mine to swell my song.
¶ Down yonder green valley ¶
¶ where streamlets meander ¶
¶ when twilight is fading ¶
¶ I pensively rove ¶
¶ or at the bright noontide ¶
¶ in solitude wander ¶
¶ amid the dark shades ¶
¶ of the lonely ash grove ¶
¶ 'twas there while the blackbird ¶
¶ was cheerfully singing ¶
¶ I first met that dear one ¶
¶ the joy of my heart ¶
¶ around us for gladness ¶
¶ the bluebells were ringing ¶
¶ ah, then little thought I ¶
¶ how soon we should part. ¶
Mary must sing now, Lizzie.
She is so talented.
¶ Early one morning ¶
¶ just as the sun was shining ¶
¶ I heard a young maid sing ¶
¶ in the valley below ¶
¶ oh, don't deceive me ¶
¶ oh, never leave me ¶
¶ how could you use ¶
¶ a poor maiden so? ¶
¶ oh, gay is the garland... ¶
- Shh! Shh! - ¶ how fresh are the roses ¶
¶ I've culled from the garden ¶
¶ to bind on thy brow ¶
¶ oh, don't deceive me ¶
¶ oh, never leave me ¶
¶ how could you use ¶
¶ a poor maiden so? ¶
that will do, dear. You delighted us for long enough.
There's nothing like dancing, sir.
One of the first refinements of polished societies.
It is certainly widespread. Every savage dances.
Dear miss Eliza, why are you not dancing?
Mr. Darcy, miss Eliza?
Mr. Darcy, you cannot refuse to dance
when so much beauty is before you.
I have not the least intention of dancing,
and certainly not of begging for a partner.
Miss Bennet, I'd be honoured.
You excel so much in the dance, that Mr. Darcy,
who in general dislikes the amusement, wishes to oblige.
Mr. Darcy is all politeness.
- I can guess. - What can you guess?
You find it all so insupportable.
So do I. Such insipidity,
yet such noise, and nothingness as self-importance.
No, I have been meditating upon the very great pleasure
which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.
- And who has inspired that? - Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
I am all amazement. When am I to wish you joy?
A lady's imagination is very rapid.
It jumps from admiration to love,
from love to matrimony in a moment.
No, 'twas your imagination that did that.
I hope your mother-in-law bestows equal pleasure.
She's sure to move in and live with you at Pemberley.
She has fine eyes as well, or had.
It is true that since my father's elevation to knighthood
he has occupied himself in being civil to all the world,
sometimes without discretion.
I am sorry.
Neither your father nor your mother could give offense.
You are fortunate in parents, Charlotte.
I wish I could gratify them more.
I am 27, Lizzie. I have never been handsome,
and am less and less likely to find a husband
with every dance my father gives, however grand.
Since you do not think highly of matrimony or men,
marriage can hardly be your object, Charlotte.
But it must be.
My brothers live in the apprehension of my dying an old maid.
Marriage is the only honourable provision
for a well-educated young woman of small fortune,
however uncertain it may be of giving happiness.
You are too prudent, too steady.
But I know you too well and love you too much,
to believe your chief business in life
is the getting of a husband.
- Oh, papa! - No, I will not have it.
You must be two of the silliest girls in the country.
But you cannot object to your daughters visiting my sister.
They do not go to visit their aunt.
They go to visit the officers - gossip, and giggle, and flirt.
You should not be so ready to think your own children silly.
When Lydia and Kitty are our age,
they will not think of redcoats any more than we do.
But in the meanwhile,
if a smart young colonel of 5,000 or 6,000 a year
wants one of my girls, I will not say nay to him.
Thank you.
Jane, who is it from?
Make haste, my love.
It is from miss Bingley.
I am invited to dine at Netherfield.
Oh, but the gentlemen
are dining out with the officers. That's most unlucky.
Oh, they've left out Lizzie.
You should never have sung, Lizzie. You have not the voice.
Can I have the carriage?
Your father cannot spare the horses.
They are wanted on the farm, are they not?
You will have to go on horseback.
- But why, mother? - Because...
It seems quite likely to rain...
And you must stay all night.
It is raining. I am mortified.
What a lucky idea of mine.
Still raining, and dear Jane's caught a chill.
How admirably things work out.
If your daughter should die, it will be a comfort to know
it was in pursuit of Mr. Bingley under your orders.
People do not die of little trifling colds.
As long as she stays where she is, all is very well.
I shall go and visit her.
Is that a hint for me to send for the horses?
No. I shall walk.
And arrive muddy? Three miles?
I shall walk, since I am obliged to.
Very well, walk!
I admire the activity of so much benevolence,
but every impulsive feeling should be guided by reason.
In my opinion,
exertion should always be in proportion to what is required.
To walk three miles so early in the day in such weather?
- And by yourself? - It was not so far and not so wet,
nor did I feel lonely.
We are city folk, I fear, and not so brave as you.
Come near the fire, miss Eliza, you're cold.
You must not follow your sister's example.
Thank you.
How is she?
Thank you.
It is late. I really must take my leave.
Shall I send for the carriage?
- Thank you. - Don't go, Eliza.
It seems you must stay the night,
miss Eliza Bennet, for your sister's sake.
We must send a servant for your clothes.
Pray, do not bother. But thank you,
I should like to stay with Jane.
But you must have clothes.
It is time for us to dress for dinner.
Pray excuse us, miss Eliza.
But she must have clothes.
They regard me as an intruder.
Indeed they do not.
It is only you they like.
Will you not join us for cards?
Thank you, I will amuse myself with a book.
Do you prefer reading to cards?
How very singular.
Miss Eliza Bennet despises cards.
She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.
I am not a great reader,
and I have pleasure in many things.
In nursing your sister, for one.
Young ladies are so very accomplished.
It is amazing how they can all have the patience to be so accomplished.
All young ladies? What do you mean?
I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time
without being informed that she was "very accomplished."
The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it
only for painting tables or covering screens.
I only know half a dozen young ladies who are truly accomplished.
Then you must demand a great deal of them.
Yes, I do.
She must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing,
dancing, drawing, and modern languages.
She must possess a certain something
in her air and manner of walking,
the tone of voice, in her address and expression.
And to all this, she must add
to the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.
And you know half a dozen?
I rather wonder at you knowing any.
You are severe upon your own sex.
I never saw such a woman. She does not exist.
Oh she exists, miss Eliza,
in the form of his own sister.
Miss Georgiana Darcy is a paragon
of everything desirable in a young woman.
Indeed she is.
I am a little tired. Pray excuse me. Good night.
- Good night. - Good night.
Eliza Bennet is one of those who seek
to recommend themselves to the opposite sex
by undervaluing their own. Paltry art.
There is a meanness in all the arts
by which women seek to captivate men.
Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.
Jane! They are monsters. They like nothing.
They dislike everything, and will have no argument.
If they prefer ragout to fricassee,
anyone who chooses fricassee is beneath their contempt.
She is safely upstairs.
Her manners are so bad.
A mixture of pride and impertinence.
No conversation, no style,
- no taste, no beauty. - Doesn't like ragout?
But she's clearly an excellent walker.
Ugh -- these country folk -- she looked almost wild.
Hair so untidy, so blowsy,
her petticoat, six inches deep in mud.
I did not notice her petticoat,
I noticed her face, and thought she looked remarkably well.
You must have noticed it, Mr. Darcy.
You would not wish your sister to appear like that.
True, but miss Eliza Bennet is not my sister.
All the same, her sudden appearance
on such a spurious excuse as her sister's illness
must have affected your admiration of her "fine eyes."
Not at all. They were brightened by the exercise.
Now, Jane Bennet is a sweet girl.
And I wish with all my heart she were well settled.
With such a mother, and a father with a mere 2000 a year,
and that entailed away from his daughters --
an Uncle who is an attorney,
another who lives in -- Cheapside.
And oh, those little sisters!
If she had uncles to fill all of Cheapside,
it would not make her one jot less agreeable.
But it must lessen her chance of marrying a man
of any consideration in the world.
And the chance of her sister Elizabeth, too.
Quite so.
Now perhaps we can forget the mud on her petticoat.
I know why Mr. Darcy looks at me so.
It is because he finds something in me
more wrong and reprehensible,
according to his idea of right, than anybody else in the room.
Poor Eliza.
His opposition does not pain me.
I like him too little to care for his approbation.
Jane, please get better soon.
I'm doing my best.
- She is far too ill to be moved. - Yes?
The doctor says we must not think of moving her.
I will not hear of her being moved.
Miss Bennet will receive
every attention while she remains with us.
She suffers so much. She has the sweetest temper.
I often say to my other girls, they're nothing to her.
Such a charming house, Mr. Bingley.
You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope?
Whatever I do is done in a hurry.
Should I resolve to quit Netherfield,
I shall probably be off in five minutes.
However, at present I consider myself quite fixed here.
That is exactly what I supposed of you.
Oh, you begin to understand me, do you?
Oh, yes, I understand you - perfectly.
I wish I could take that for a compliment,
but to be so easily seen through is pitiful.
It does not necessarily follow
that deep and intricate characters are more estimable
from such a one as yours.
Remember where you are! Do not run on
in the wild manner you are suffered to do at home.
I did not know you were a studier of character. It must be amusing.
Yes, I am. And intricate characters are the most amusing.
In general, there can be few subjects for such a study.
In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined, unvarying society.
But people alter so much.
There is something new always to be observed.
I can assure you, there is as much of that
going on in the country as in the town.
I don't see that London has any particular advantage
over the country, except the shops and public places...
The country is pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?
I can be happy in either.
Ah, that's because you have the right disposition.
But that gentleman seems to think the country was nothing.
Mama, you quite mistook Mr. Darcy.
He only meant there was not such a variety of people
to be met with in the country as in the town,
which you must acknowledge to be true.
Most certainly, but there are few neighbourhoods larger,
I'm sure we dine with four and twenty families,
and all of style and fashion.
Only last week we dined tête-à-tête with sir William Lucas.
So much the man of society, so genteel,
and his daughter Charlotte's such a friend to my girls.
Pity she is not more handsome.
But miss Charlotte seemed very pleasant.
Well, you must own she is rather plain.
I don't like to boast of my own girls,
but one does seldom see anyone
better looking than Jane.
When she was only 15,
a very fine gentleman -- in town
sent us some verses, and very pretty they were.
And so ended his affection.
I wonder who first discovered
the efficacy of poetry in driving love away.
I have been used to considering poetry as the food of love.
Of a fine, stout, healthy love, it may be.
Everything nourishes what is strong already.
But if it be only a thin, slight sort of inclination,
I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.
Mr. Bingley, you promised us a ball!
We are all depending on it.
It would be shameful to forget, we will never forgive you.
Please, Mr. Bingley.
There are new officers in town we are pining to meet.
When your sister is recovered, miss Lydia,
you shall, if you please,
name the very day of the ball.
I hope that after your marriage to miss Bennet
you'll give your mother-in-law a few hints
as to the advantage of holding her tongue,
and somehow be able to cure the younger girls
of running after officers.
Aunt and Uncle Philips --
do let their portraits be placed in Pemberley.
How well they will blend with your ancestors'.
You write uncommonly fast, Mr. Darcy.
You are mistaken, I write rather slowly.
Business letters? How odious I should find them.
It is fortunate then that they fall to my lot than yours.
But this is a letter to my sister, as I have already mentioned.
Pray, tell your sister that I long to see her.
I have already done so, twice.
- Let me mend your pen. - Thank you, I mend my own.
How can you contrive to write so beautifully even?
- Miss Bingley... - Do I disturb you?
Pray tell me if I disturb you, Mr. Darcy.
Do I disturb you?
When my brother writes a letter, I marvel equally.
He leaves out half the words, and blots the rest.
My ideas flow so rapidly, I have not time to express them.
My letters as a consequence, mean nothing to their recipients.
Your humility, Mr. Bingley, must disarm reproof.
On the contrary, nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility.
Bingley has just uttered an indirect boast.
He is proud of his defects in writing,
since they're consequent upon rapidity of thought.
The power of doing anything quickly
is always much prized by its possessor,
however imperfect the performance which may result.
Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley is your friend.
I assure you, if Mr. Darcy were not such a great tall fellow,
I should not pay him half so much deference.
But I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy
on particular occasions, and in particular places,
at his own house especially --
and of a Sunday evening, when he has nothing to do.
Do you not feel a great inclination, miss Bennet,
to seize upon this opportunity of dancing a reel?
- Miss Bennet, I inquired -- - I heard you the first time.
But I was puzzled as to know how to reply.
If I said yes, you would despise my taste in reels.
If I said no, you would despise my taste in rejecting you.
No, I do not wish to dance a reel.
Now despise me, if you dare.
Indeed, I do not dare.
Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example
and take a turn about the room.
I assure you, it is very refreshing.
Mr. Darcy, won't you join us?
Thank you, no. I can imagine but two motives
for your choosing to walk up and down the room together.
My joining you would interfere with both.
I wonder what can be his meaning?
I am dying to know what can be his meaning.
Miss Bennet, do you begin to understand such a man?
Not at all. But depend upon it,
he means to be severe on us,
and our surest way of disappointing him
will be to ask him nothing about it.
I insist upon knowing his meaning.
Very well. You choose to walk about the room together
because you are in each other's confidence,
or you are conscious that your figures
appear to the greatest advantage in walking.
If the first, I should be completely in your way;
if the second, I can admire you better as I sit here.
How shall we punish him for such a speech?
We can all plague and punish one another,
if we have the inclination. Laugh at him.
We will not, if you please, expose ourselves
by attempting to laugh without a subject.
No, indeed, Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at.
An uncommon advantage. I hope it will remain uncommon
amongst my acquaintance, because I love to laugh.
The best and worst of men may be rendered ridiculous
by a person whose first object in life is a joke.
I do not ridicule what is wise and good.
I laugh at nonsense and follies,
whims and inconsistencies, vanity, pride --
vanity is a weakness, but pride,
where there is a real superiority of mind, perhaps not.
Mr. Darcy has no defect.
He owns it to himself without disguise.
Do let us have a little more music.
Louisa, you will not mind my waking Mr. Hurst to sing for us?
Please, wake him.
Miss Bennet, I have faults enough,
but they are not, I hope, of understanding.
My temper is, I believe, too little yielding.
I cannot forget the follies and vices of others,
nor their offenses against myself.
My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.
You have chosen your defect well, Mr. Darcy.
Implacable resentment
cannot be laughed at. You are safe from me.
There must in every disposition be a tendency to one evil,
one natural defect.
And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody.
And yours is wilfully to misunderstand them.
Jane... You must ask to borrow Mr. Bingley's carriage.
This is unendurable. Mr. Darcy has scarcely spoken
ten words to me through the whole of today.
Miss Eliza Bennet, we've so enjoyed your lively company,
your valuable remarks.
Miss Bennet, it will always give me pleasure to see you again,
either at our home, or even yours.
Dear Jane, miss Eliza Bennet.
I do wonder at your coming.
And it was wrong of you to borrow their carriage, we have one of our own.
Whatever will they think of us?
Jane, you are sure to have caught cold again,
and what value is that to you here?
My own Jane and Elizabeth, I have been mistaken in you.
Without the pair of you, evening conversation
has been devoid of much of its animation and all of its sense.
I have been considering the subject of coughing,
and measure to which the body and soul conflict.
You may wish to hear my conclusions.
There was a flogging at the barracks, a private.
- Who would flog an officer? - He will be striped for life.
Colonel Forster is to be married.
That is far more interesting than any flogging.
- Now are you happy? - Yes. It is home,
and I am accustomed to it.