- Lizzy? - You startled me.
You have had a letter from London from Jane. Why was I not told?
Because it was for me.
Why does she not write to me?
Am I not her mother?
Well, what does she say? What has happened?
Has she seen Mr. Bingley yet and how does he explain himself? Well?
He says nothing, mother, because they have not met.
But to be sure if they're both in London,
they must run into one another, they must talk.
Mother, London is very large.
It is not near as large as they say.
And two young people of style and fashion
must surely run into one another within the week
and Jane has been gone three.
Aunt Gardiner lives in so different a part of town
as to make it improbable that they should meet at all.
Well, her connections are very different.
Mr. Bingley is in the custody of Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy is so very careful where he goes.
How you love to vex and contradict me, Lizzy.
Jane must just stay with aunt Gardiner until she does run into Mr. Bingley
and you must write and tell her that is her mother's wish.
And tell her she must call upon miss Bingley at once.
Yes, that is it. They're in correspondence, are they not?
It would be ill-mannered of Jane
should she not call, everyone would say so.
Jane has called upon miss Bingley, but miss Bingley was out,
and has not yet returned the call.
- How long ago was this, pray? - A full two weeks.
Two weeks!?
Jane did not stay in, I know it.
She was out when miss Bingley called, and the maid forgot to give the message.
Jane waits in every morning and does not go out,
and still miss Bingley does not call.
Oh, I do not understand any of it.
Mr. Bingley will be back at Netherfield in the summer
and explain it all.
The sun's getting warmer already, I can feel it.
Don't sit there, your nose will peel and your cheeks will burn.
And Mr. Wickham will not like that.
You have been jilted, I know it.
You would hardly bear to be outdone by your sister Jane.
And it is Mr. Wickham, mmm?
He's not been to dine for at least a week.
Or breakfast, or tea.
He has been absent from our table
for two days, father. He is away.
Mm-hmm. Seems like a lifetime.
I must say, he's an excellent fellow for dispersing the gloom
and complaints we hear so much of,
for all his misfortunes at Mr. Darcy's hands.
Mr. Darcy, I hear from all sides,
is the very worst of all men.
- Yes. - Yes.
Worse even than Bonaparte himself? Hmm?
Oh, pay attention, Lizzy. Pay attention.
If you've not been jilted you have no excuse.
Jane has written again.
Miss Bingley did call but was very cold,
and said that Mr. Bingley would not be returning to Netherfield.
And spoke much of his partiality for miss Darcy.
Poor Jane.
Poor, poor Jane.
Still, at least she is no longer duped by the sister
as she was by the brother.
I hope Mr. Bingley does marry miss Darcy,
both for Jane's sake and as punishment for Mr. Bingley.
It would be penance enough from what Mr. Wickham says.
Mr. Wickham. Mr. Wickham...
It is another letter for you, Lizzy.
What a lot of letters you receive. I don't understand it.
She receives letters, Mrs. Bennet, because she writes letters.
- Well? - It is from Charlotte.
You receive letters from Charlotte?
She sends letters to pave her way, I daresay,
now she's married to Mr. Collins.
She'll be here in person soon enough
to drive us out of our home.
Well, how does she get on?
How does she get on with lady Catherine? Tell me.
She finds lady Catherine most friendly and obliging.
She writes cheerfully
and mentions nothing that she cannot praise.
House, furniture, neighbourhood...
Roads, all to her liking.
It could all have been yours.
But she does not mention Mr. Collins.
I shall have to wait till my visit
- to see how that goes. - Visit?
Yes mother, she asks me to visit.
But you will not go. I will not have you go.
I will not be left all alone.
All alone, Mrs. Bennet?
The younger girls do not count as company, Mr. Bennet,
except for Lydia. I'm sure you do not.
You'll never guess.
We ran all the way from Meryton. Lizzy, it is too bad.
Well, I'm not surprised. You were too serious.
No, I cannot have that.
It is not that Lizzy is too solemn,
but that Mr. Wickham has too light a nature.
It is the talk of the town, aunt Philips says so.
It is humiliating.
What is? Tell me. Mr. Wickham? What about Mr. Wickham?
It is over.
Yes, all over.
And father was partial to him.
Father, who is partial to no one, save Lizzy.
What is all over?
Mr. Wickham is engaged, Lizzy.
Poor Lizzy.
Of course he had no fortune.
But what is fortune, compared to love?
Engaged? To who?
To miss King. Odious miss King.
She has inherited 10,000 a year,
- but she has freckles. - She is not intelligent.
Well, neither is Mr. Wickham.
Poor, poor Lizzy.
Miss King...
- Odious miss King. - Miss King...
Well she's a very...
Good sort of girl.
In exoneration, let it not be forgotten
that young men must have something to live on
as well as young women.
By and large, it was to be expected.
I'm sure I did not expect it.
Oh poor, poor Lizzy.
"Oh, Charlotte,
aunt Gardiner was afraid of Mr. Wickham's marrying me
because that would be imprudent.
But now he is to marry a girl with £10,000,
the world would have it that he was mercenary.
But miss King is a very good kind of girl
and Mr. Wickham remains perfectly friendly.
And I feel a solicitude in him towards me, whether married or single,
he must always be my model of the amiable and pleasing.
I will not have him called mercenary,
merely prudent. I did not love him,
it was not sensible to love him."
But oh, Charlotte -
Lizzy, if you are defying me and writing to Charlotte,
accept her invitation at once.
You must go and stay at Hunsford.
Well, Mr. Collins doesn't have brothers, but he may have friends.
Lady Catherine is sure to have male company at her table.
Odious miss King to be Mrs. Wickham -
you seem to take his defection harder than I do.
Poor Lizzy.
First miss King gets Mr. Wickham,
then she is to stay with a clergyman,
for that is all Mr. Collins is,
then when that is over, she is to go to the lakes
with the Gardiners, who never go out,
and stare at trees and mountains and rivers.
There will not be a single redcoat anywhere.
What are young men,
even in red coats, to rocks and mountains?
You are all young in the ways of the world.
Poor, poor Lizzy.
- Dear Elizabeth. - Dear Charlotte, you haven't changed.
You look well. You seem happy.
I am. Everything is to my liking.
Even lady Catherine?
She is most friendly and obliging.
But Elizabeth,
Mr. Wickham is to marry miss King.
You need not worry on my account, Charlotte.
My feelings are not only cordial towards Mr. Wickham,
but impartial towards miss King.
So I could never have been very much in love, if I was at all.
But he was mercenary.
Oh, Charlotte, where does discretion end
and avarice begin?
I'm sure I do not know.
All that I do know is that I am heartily sick of young men
and glad to be with you.
Welcome to our humble abode, cousin Eliza.
And you have not changed, Mr. Collins.
What benefit would there be in alteration, cousin Eliza?
In that distant clump of trees, do you see?
There are numbered five chestnuts and two elms.
No, I mistake, three elms.
Yes, three elms.
And over there, miss Eliza - no further over,
there are five beeches, and beyond that, three elms,
and three oaks of the red variety.
See how well he looks?
Mr. Collins tends the garden himself, it is his pleasure.
It is a most healthful exercise. He recommends it to our parishioners.
And I'm glad to say they follow his example in this, as in so much else.
But of all the splendid views the garden boasts,
none can compare with the prospect of Rosings,
the residence of lady Catherine de Bourgh,
our eminent patroness,
and of miss de Bourgh, her daughter, her only daughter.
It is well situated, and on rising ground.
It is more than well situated,
it is excellently situated.
And what you refer to as rising ground
is a hill, miss Eliza.
You will have the honour of seeing lady Catherine at church on Sunday,
and I do not doubt you will find her delightful.
She might even ask you to take tea with her.
She is all affability and condescension,
- is she not, Charlotte? - Indeed.
Thank you.
Who could have foreseen such an attention as this?
I rather expected tea,
but who could have imagined we should receive an invitation
to dine so immediately after your arrival?
Instance of elegant breeding, indeed, cousin.
Do not let the sight of such rooms as there are at Rosings
or so many servants, overpower you.
And when you come face to face with lady Catherine,
do not let your courage fail you.
I think I shall be able to witness lady Catherine
- without trepidation, Mr. Collins. - I hear the carriage.
Yes.
Dinner will be entirely splendid.
Charlotte has become accustomed to it. It is her chosen lot in life.
Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel.
My apparel? Have I forgotten something?
Lady Catherine is far from requiring in us
that elegance of dress which so becomes herself and miss de Bourgh.
She will not think the worse of us for your being simply dressed.
She likes to see the distinction of rank observed.
Speak gently to miss de Bourgh, cousin Eliza.
Might I frighten her?
She is perfectly charming, but a little thin and small.
She is agreeably fragile,
and she is to marry Mr. Darcy.
That might well frighten her.
Mrs. Collins, you will often have noted
the perfection of the beef served at my table.
Never accept from the butcher anything but young flesh,
with a fine, smooth grain, and the fat white.
If yellow, the beast has been fed on corn cake.
Now look to it, and do not leave the servants to deal with the butcher.
They are a cunning race.
I hear from the launderers that you are troubled with red ants.
Green sage in every closet will make them disappear.
And your hens are off lay.
You must give them half an ounce of fresh meat each,
finely chopped, once a day as the weather grows cold.
And allow no cocks to run with them
and they will lay perpetually.
You will see to it, Charlotte. So infinitely kind and knowledgeable.
Darcy?
You seem pale.
You left too much food upon your plate.
So much may be considered sensibility, the rest must be considered waste.
I myself have a remarkable appetite.
Why only yesterday
lady Metcalfe complimented me upon it.
I follow Dr. Boerhave's rules for preserving health
and so does my daughter Anne,
whose constitution is naturally delicate.
A pleasant thing in a girl.
Do you not agree, Darcy?
I rise early, and never sit up late.
Wash the whole body every morning in cold water
by means of a large sponge.
Drink water generally, keep the body open,
keep the head cool at all times,
and never eat a hearty supper,
especially of animal food.
So much perspicacity.
Mr. Collins, I hear you are growing a new variety
of large cantaloupe melon in your hotbed.
It will not do.
The ordinary, small, oblong kind is good enough for me,
and of excellent flavour.
Why, only last year I was able to gather melons in may
and cucumbers in February.
Do you have brothers, miss Bennet?
- No. - What a misfortune.
- You cannot all be girls. - Yes.
- But not many. - There are five of us.
What can your mother have been thinking of?
Had I had more than one child they would have been boys
and remarkably well favoured,
as is my daughter miss de Bourgh.
Is she not, Darcy?
Mr. Darcy certainly believes so.
Miss de Bourgh draws remarkably well.
Do you draw, miss Bennet?
No. Not at all.
- Do you play and sing? - A little.
Sometime or other we shall be happy to hear you.
Our instrument is a capital one.
Do your sisters play and sing?
- Three of them do. - You ought to all to have learned.
My sister Jane plays tolerably well.
Do you not think so, Mr. Darcy?
Mr. Darcy knows Jane well through his friend Mr. Bingley
and her friend miss Bingley.
Jane has been in London these three months.
Have you never happened to see her there?
Why no, I have not been so fortunate.
Stains on velvet may be removed
by the application of butter,
then rubbing with warm water.
Green sage, Elizabeth - for the red ants.
You need not look like that, lady Catherine's advice is always excellent.
And I'm surprised her daughter Anne is so pale and quiet.
She did not speak a word through dinner and hardly ate a thing.
She is refined and quiet.
She is sickly and cross
and will do Mr. Darcy very well.
Mr. Darcy wishes to please you, Elizabeth.
At least I think he does.
He seldom speaks, but he's always watching you.
It is an earnest steadfast gaze.
I think there is some admiration in it.
Or perhaps absence of mind.
Yes, indeed, perhaps.
I have thought that, too.
Quick, lady Catherine's carriage!
She how she honours us, cousin Eliza.
Of course she may not stop, she may not get out.
But she may.
Oh, she has stopped! She is descending.
She is coming - quick! Tidy the sewing, plump the cushions!
Mrs. Collins. Good morning, miss Bennet.
It is too bad!
The butcher tells me you've ordered a whole leg of lamb.
A half would surely do at this season of the year.
Well, there are three of you at table, no more.
Oh, I suppose you mean the servants to have the rest.
They take advantage of you.
I will take the leg back myself and choose something more suitable.
You will be dining with us tomorrow, in any case.
Mr. Darcy is bringing his cousin colonel Fitzwilliam,
the son of lord Denny.
A person most truly a gentleman,
and would be most fond of miss de Bourgh
were it not for his cousin Mr. Darcy.
I thought miss Bennet would do for him...
For an evening.
He likes to talk of books and such.
Oh.
You must read "the Edinburgh review," miss Bennet.
Its editor lives far from the usual scenes of literary strife.
His co-editor's a young man,
unaccustomed to the hackneyed routine of reviews.
I have observed how it too often is,
the words of Godwin are recommended by the reviews of Wollstonecraft.
A friendly critique in the monthly review
is repaid by a sonnet to the author of sympathy.
When you are next in London, miss Bennet,
you must visit the opera. - I heard it was in an uproar
because they had raised subscriptions so high
that violence broke out. - Oh, that.
That's all over.
Now we have signora Radicati.
She's the only singer on the Italian stage who appears to be conscious
that the first excellence of vocal music is to delight.
What is it you are saying, Fitzwilliam?
What is it you are talking of? What is it you are telling?
Miss Bennet, let me hear what it is.
- We're speaking of music, madam. - Music!
Then pray speak aloud.
It is of all subjects my delight.
I must have my share in the conversation
if you are speaking of music.
There are few people in England, I suppose,
who have a more true enjoyment of music than myself,
or a better natural taste.
If I had ever learned, I should have been a great proficient.
And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to so apply.
How does your sister Georgiana get on, Darcy?
She is wonderfully proficient, madam.
Pray tell her for me that she cannot expect to excel
if she does not practice a great deal.
I have told miss Bennet several times
that she will never play really well
unless she practices more - and on a good instrument.
She may come to Rosings
and practice on the pianoforte in the housekeeper's room.
She will be in nobody's way in that part of the house.
Will you play for us now, miss Bennet, and sing?
Please do, miss Bennet.
- Well - - we're waiting.
¶ Farewell to the woodlands ¶
¶ farewell to the boughs ¶
- ¶ farewell... ¶ - Miss Bennet's father's estate
is entailed on Mr. Collins, I believe.
I am glad of it for you, Mrs. Collins,
but otherwise see no occasion for entailing estates away from the female line.
Mrs. Bennet had five daughters
and as if that were not bad enough,
has altogether left them to run wild with no governance.
Miss Bennet expresses herself
very decidedly for one so young.
She cannot be more than one and twenty.
Her sisters are all out, all five of them.
The young are out before the elder are married,
they will have too much time to get into trouble.
It is not wise, mark my words.
Her mother sounds to me a very foolish person.
You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy,
by coming in all this state to hear me?
But I will not be alarmed, though your sister does play so well.
And miss de Bourgh would if only she could.
There is a stubbornness about me
that can never bear to be frightened at the will of others.
My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.
I shall not say you're mistaken, because you could not
really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you.
I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough
to know you find gross enjoyment
in professing opinions which are not your own.
Oh, your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me,
and teach you not to believe a word I say.
I am unlucky in meeting with a man so well able
to expose my character
in part of the world where I had hoped
to pass myself off with some degree of credit.
You are impolitic, Mr. Darcy,
in provoking me to retaliate. - I am not afraid of you.
Pray, let me hear more about my cousin, miss Bennet.
I should like to know how he behaves amongst strangers.
Well, prepare yourself for something dreadful.
I first met Mr. Darcy at a ball
where he danced only four dances,
though gentlemen were scarce,
and to my knowledge, more than one lady was sitting down
in want of a partner. - I knew only my own party.
Oh, and nobody can ever be expected to be introduced in a ballroom.
What shall I play next, colonel?
My fingers await your orders.
Perhaps I should have sought introductions
but I'm ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers.
A man of sense and education who's lived in the world,
ill-qualified?
How can that be, colonel?
He will not give himself the trouble, I suppose.
I cannot converse easily with those I have not seen before.
I cannot catch the love of conversation or appear
interested in their concerns as others seem to do.
My fingers are not so masterly on this instrument as many others,
but then I've always supposed it to be my fault,
because I would not give myself the trouble.
What is it you are saying, miss Bennet?
What is it you are talking of, Darcy?
Anne, come here and have your share of the conversation.
Miss Bennet may have a very fine notion of fingering
but her taste is not equal to Anne's.
How could it be?
Her sisters all out and not even the eldest married?
It is an aquatic life hat, Elizabeth.
The other part is made airtight and waterproof
so that in the event of falling into the water
it will save him by the buoyancy from being drowned.
Is Mr. Collins liable to fall into deep water, Charlotte?
Lady Catherine de Bourgh believes he may.
He must plant bulrushes by the lake,
and the lake is very deep so she recommends the hat.
And Mr. Collins, of course, ordered it.
Charlotte, he will look very strange.
I know.
Mr. Darcy.
Miss Bennet, I apologize for the intrusion.
I understood Mrs. Collins would be with you.
Well, she had to go out.
But please, do sit down.
How suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Bingley and his sisters were well, I hope,
when you left London?
Perfectly so, I thank you.
I believe Mr. Bingley
has little hope of returning to Netherfield again?
I imagine he will spend very little of his time there in future.
He has many friends and is at a time of life
when friends and engagements are continually increasing.
If he means to be but little at Netherfield,
it would be better for the neighbourhood
if he were to give up the place entirely,
for then we might have some settled family there.
But perhaps Mr. Bingley did not take on the place
so much as for the convenience of the neighbourhood as for himself,
and we must expect him to keep or quit it on the same principle.
I would not be surprised if he were to give it up.
This seems a very comfortable house.
Yes.
I believe lady Catherine did a great deal to it
when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.
I'm sure she did.
And I'm sure she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful object.
Mr. Collins is very fortunate in his choice of wife.
Yes, indeed.
His friends may well rejoice in him having met one of the very few sensible women
who would have accepted him or made him happy if they had.
Charlotte has an excellent understanding,
although I'm not sure whether I consider her marrying Mr. Collins
as one of the wisest things she ever did.
It must be very agreeable for her to be settled
within so easy a distance of her own family and friends.
I would not have considered distance
as one of the advantages of a match.
I do not understand Mr. Darcy.
He's constantly meeting me in the park and constantly calling here.
But when he does he has nothing to say.
My dear Eliza, he must be in love with you.
In love with me? That does not seem very likely.
He has difficulty in finding anything to do,
that's all it amounts to. - Perhaps.
Colonel Fitzwilliam certainly admires you.
He reminds me of George Wickham.
Except that he is better informed -
and is eligible, where Mr. Wickham was not.
I like his company. I feel easy in it, that is all.
- I do not feel easy with Mr. Darcy.
'Tis a plaintive melody,
perhaps you're missing home. - No.
Not at all.
"So, I am safely home again and much improved in spirits.
You must not concern yourself about me anymore.
I can scarcely remember Mr. Bingley's face,
and I'm sure he has forgotten mine long ago."
How long are you staying, colonel Fitzwilliam?
We leave here on Saturday,
that is if Mr. Darcy does not put it off again.
I am at his disposal.
I do not know anyone who seems more to enjoy
the power of doing what he likes than Mr. Darcy.
He likes to have his own way very well.
But then so do we all.
And he's rich, which makes it easier while others are poor.
- I speak feelingly, I'm a youngest son. - Youngest son of an Earl?
Now seriously, what have you ever known of self-denial and dependence?
When has lack of money ever prevented you
from going where you choose or procuring what you wish?
Youngest sons cannot marry where they choose.
Unless they fancy women of fortune,
which I think they very often do.
Our habits of expense make us dependent.
Not many in my rank of life
can afford to marry without some attention to money.
I wonder Mr. Darcy does not marry,
for then he would always have someone at his disposal
and not have to depend on you.
But, perhaps his sister will do as well for the present.
I suppose he may do what he likes with her.
No.
That's an advantage he must share with me.
I'm joined with him in the guardianship of miss Darcy.
Are you indeed? Does your charge give you trouble?
If she has the true Darcy spirit,
she may like to give you trouble.
Oh, but you needn't be frightened.
I've never really heard harm of her.
They say she is a great favourite with the Bingley family.
There's another one Mr. Darcy likes to have at his disposal -
Mr. Bingley.
You're too censorious, miss Bennet.
Mr. Darcy takes care of Mr. Bingley in those points where he most wants care.
Mr. Bingley has reason to be indebted to him.
Only recently Mr. Darcy saved him
from the inconvenience of a most imprudent marriage.
And did Mr. Darcy give reasons for his interference?
And what arts did he use to separate them?
There were some very strong objections against the lady.
As to arts, I only know what he told me.
You are disposed to find his interference officious?
I do not see what right Mr. Darcy has
to decide on the propriety of Mr. Bingley's inclination,
or why his judgment should direct and determine
in what manner Mr. Bingley was to be happy!
There were some very strong objections against the lady.
Oh, yes!
One Uncle a country attorney,
and the other in business in London.
That is certainly enough to condemn my sister Jane,
all loveliness and goodness that she is,
her understanding excellent, and her manners captivating.
So it was not miss Bingley.
She had not the principle design and arrangement in their separation.
But Mr. Darcy - his pride, his caprice,
the cause of all that Jane has had to suffer and will always suffer.
He has ruined every chance of affection
for the most affectionate heart in the world.
And for what?
Two uncles not sufficiently grand enough for Mr. Darcy.
Well it cannot be my father,
for he has abilities which even Mr. Darcy must acknowledge.
Your mother, Elizabeth?
No!
Well, I cannot believe want of senses
is as wounding to Mr. Darcy's sensibilities
as want of proper connections.
Oh, I have a headache.
Of course you have a headache.
I am not going to Rosings this afternoon to drink tea -
I am not!
They will all be disappointed.
Charlotte, what are you doing?
I am cleaning the chair leg with pumice and wax, Elizabeth.
Why can the servants not do it?
Lady Catherine says I must see to it myself
and then it will be done properly.
And Mr. Collins agrees with her.
I hope Mr. Darcy does marry Anne de Bourgh,
and has lady Catherine for a mother-in-law.
Halt!
- You are well? - Tolerably so.
You did not come to tea, they said you were indisposed.
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.
In spite of all my endeavours I have found it impossible
to conquer the strength of my feelings.
The inferiority of your family,
the miserable connection,
the degradation, the lack of judgment I display,
the harshness of which I shall rightly be judged
by my own family and connections -
all these count as nothing.
Even the damage, for damage it must be, to my sister,
the insult to Anne de Bourgh and her mother
mean nothing to me in the face of my attachment to you.
I have struggled greatly and endured great pain,
I hope I will now be rewarded.
Miss Bennet, will you accept my hand in marriage?
I believe it is the established custom
for a lady to thank a gentleman for the sentiments he avows at such a moment,
however little she returns them.
If I could feel gratitude I would thank you,
but I cannot.
I have never desired your good opinion.
You have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly.
I am sorry I have occasioned pain in anyone.
It has been unconsciously done, however,
and I hope will be of short duration.
I am sure that the feelings which have prevented
the acknowledgment of your regard for me
will very soon triumph altogether.
And this is the reply which I'm 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 inquire why,
with so evident a design of offending and insulting me,
you chose to tell me that you like me against your will,
against your reason, and even against your character.
Is this not some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil?
Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of relations
whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?
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 forever,
the happiness of my most beloved sister?
I have every reason in the world to think ill of you.
Can you deny the ungenerous part you acted there?
That you divided them from each other,
exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability,
and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes,
involving them both in misery of the acutest kind?
- Can you deny you have done it? - I have no wish of denying
that I did everything 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.
It is not merely on this affair
that my dislike is founded.
Your character was unfolded months before by Mr. Wickham.
- You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns. - Who could not,
knowing what his misfortunes have been?
You have reduced him to his present state of poverty.
You have withheld his advantages,
you have deprived him of the best years of his life, you have done all this!
And this is your opinion of me?
This is the estimation in which you hold me?
My faults, according to these calculations, are heavy indeed.
But perhaps these offenses might have been overlooked
had not your pride been hurt by honest confession of my scruples.
These bitter accusations might have been suppressed,
had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles.
But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence.
Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related.
They were natural and just.
You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy,
if you suppose the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way
than that it has spared me the concern I might have felt in refusing you
had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.
From the very beginning of my acquaintance with you,
I was impressed by your arrogance,
your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others.
In fact, I had not known you a month
before I felt you were the very last man in the world
who I could ever be prevailed upon 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.
He is in love with Elizabeth.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh will not have that.
His pride,
his abominable pride -
his shameless avowal of what he has done to Jane -
his unfeeling response to Mr. Wickham -
he did not even attempt to deny his cruelty.
But in love with me for so many months?
So much in love as to wish to marry me?
In spite of all those objections
which made him prevent Mr. Bingley from marrying Jane?
It is incredible!
And quite gratifying.
Miss Bennet.
Mr. Darcy.
Would you do me the honour of reading this letter?
"Be not alarmed, madam, lest this letter contain
any repetition of those sentiments
or renewal of those offers
which were last night so disgusting to you.
It does not.
But those wishes cannot be too soon forgotten,
and the efforts of writing this letter
and your perusal of it should have been spared
had not my character required it to be written and read.
Pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention.
I demand it of your justice.
Firstly,
my detaching Mr. Bingley from your sister:
I had not been long in Hertfordshire before I saw,
in common with others,
that Bingley preferred your eldest sister
to any other young woman in the country.
I had no apprehension of a serious attachment,
I had often seen him in love before.
At the ball of Netherfield,
while I had the honour of dancing with 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.
I then observed my friend's behaviour attentively,
and I could then 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 particular regard.
Perhaps I was in error.
Your superior knowledge of your sister must make it probable.
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 observer
that however amiable her temper,
her heart was not likely to be easily touched.
But I did not believe her indifference because I wished to,
and my objections to the marriage were not merely those.
And the want of connections I could have put aside in his case,
as I did in my own only yesterday.
But the situation of your mother's family,
though objectionable,
was nothing in comparison to the total want of propriety.
I readily pointed out the certain evils of such a choice,
and I hesitated not in giving him the assurance of your sister's indifference.
But Bingley has a great natural modesty
with a stronger dependence on my judgment than on his own.
To convince him that he deceived himself
as to the depth of your sister's regard was no very difficult point.
I cannot blame myself for having done this much."
But he expresses no regret for what he has done,
none at least that satisfies me.
His style is not penitent but haughty,
it is all pride and insolence.
As to Jane's insensibility to Mr. Bingley,
I know that to be false.
"With respect to that other more weighty accusation
of having injured Mr. Wickham,
I can only refute it by laying before you
the whole of his connection with my family.
My father supported George Wickham, the son of his steward,
at school and at Cambridge.
And intended him for the church.
His vicious propensities - his want of principle,
were not apparent to my father as they were to me.
I knew he should not be a clergyman
and after my father's death, when he expressed a desire to study law,
I assisted him in this matter.
But he presently found law an unprofitable study,
and entreated me to secure him the living
which by now had gone to another.
His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances -
and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others
as in his reproaches to myself.
How he lived after this I know not.
Until last summer
he most painfully obtruded again on my notice.
And I must now mention a circumstance
which I would wish to forget myself.
Having said thus much, I feel no doubt on your secrecy.
My sister, being then but fifteen,
was pursued to Ramsgate by Mr. Wickham,
and he so far recommended himself to Georgiana's affectionate heart
that she was persuaded to believe herself in love,
and to consent to an elopement,
a plan I was fortunate enough to come upon and prevent.
His object was unquestionably my sister's fortune -
that, and revenge upon me.
I know not in what manner Mr. Wickham has imposed upon you,
but ignorant as you previously were,
detection could not be in your power
and suspicion certainly not in your inclination.
For the truth of everything here related,
I refer you to the testimony of colonel Fitzwilliam,
who is acquainted with every particular of these transactions.
I will only add, God bless you.
Fitzwilliam Darcy."
This is villainy indeed
compared to which Mr. Darcy's is very little.
Is it to be believed?
It is quite true that Mr. Wickham,
though charm itself when I first met him,
was improper in communicating so much to a stranger
and indelicate in putting himself forward.
And there was an inconsistency between his professions and his conduct.
And until Mr. Darcy was safely gone from the neighbourhood,
told no one his story but myself.
And I was blind to it all.
And I excuse Mr. Wickham's attentions to miss King.
"Where does discretion end and avarice begin?"
And in truth, they were solely and hatefully mercenary.
Had I been in love I could have not been more wretchedly blind.
But vanity, not love, has been my folly.
Until this moment I never knew myself.
I am mortified by his appraisal of my family.
I am ashamed.
The justice of his charges cannot be denied.
I remember the ball at Netherfield,
how my mother behaved, and Kitty, and Lydia, and Mary.
They are hopeless of remedy.
They are ignorant, idle and vain,
and will flirt with any officer in a red coat.
What would lady Catherine have thought,
if I had been presented, as I might have been by now,
as her future niece.
What would she have said?
Miss Bennet, you seem out of spirits.
I, too, am out of spirits.
No one feels the loss of friends so much as I do.
I am particularly attached to Darcy and Fitzwilliam,
and know them to be attached to me.
They were excessively sorry to go.
I suppose you do not like to go home again so soon.
You must write to your mother
to beg you may stay a little longer with the Collinses.
I am obliged to you for your kind invitation,
but I believe I must be home by Saturday.
That means you will have been here only six weeks.
I expected you to stay two months,
I told Mrs. Collins so before you came.
But my father writes to hurry my return.
Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father.
You will stay another month complete
and I shall take you with me as far as London,
if the weather should happen to be cool.
You are all kindness, madam.
But I believe we must abide by our original plan.
You must change horses at Bromley.
If you mention my name at the bell, you will be well attended to.
Cousin Eliza, it gives me the greatest pleasure
to hear that you have passed your time not disagreeably with us.
Of course, from our connection with Rosings,
we have the frequent means of varying the humble home scene.
Our situation with regard to lady Catherine's family
is indeed the sort of extraordinary advantage
and blessing which few can boast.
You see how continually we are engaged there.
In truth, I must acknowledge
that with all the disadvantages of this humble parsonage,
I should not have thought anyone abiding herein an object of compassion
while they are sharers of our intimacy at Rosings.
Mr. Collins, I have spent six weeks here
with great enjoyment.
And the kind attention I have received,
must make me feel the obliged.
Jane.
- Well, how was it? - I will tell you.
Words were insufficient for a full four weeks
for the elevation of Mr. Collins' feelings.
Poor Charlotte.
I was daily witness to lady Catherine's great affection for her.
Daily!
Mr. Darcy proposed marriage to me.
Mr. Darcy?
Jane, I have greatly wronged him.
Mr. Darcy?
Of course I have refused him.
Please, do not mention the matter to mother.
Lydia, Kitty, Mary, your sister has arrived!
Well, how do the Collinses live?
Very comfortably, mother.
- Well, I only hope it lasts. - Lizzy!
Oh! Hello.
Oh, dear, how can you be smiling so, Lizzy?
Have you not heard? The regiment has gone to Brighton.
And father is too disagreeable to take us there.
Perhaps she has heard the good news.
That Mr. Wickham is not to marry Mary King.
Jane and Elizabeth have both been away,
- and neither come back married. - Mary!
Mary.
I'm glad to have you back, Lizzy.
You are not in love with some pitiful fellow?
No, father.
Then you are welcome home.