Pride and Prejudice

Chapter 1

It is a truth uni­ver­sal­ly ac­knowl­edged, that a sin­gle man in pos­ses­sion of a good for­tune, must be in want of a wife.

How­ev­er lit­tle known the feel­ings or views of such a man may be on his first en­ter­ing a neigh­bour­hood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the sur­round­ing fam­ilies, that he is con­sid­ered the right­ful prop­er­ty of some one or oth­er of their daugh­ters.

“My dear Mr. Ben­net,” said his la­dy to him one day, “have you heard that Nether­field Park is let at last?”

Mr. Ben­net replied that he had not.

“But it is,” re­turned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

Mr. Ben­net made no an­swer.

“Do you not want to know who has tak­en it?” cried his wife im­pa­tient­ly.

“YOU want to tell me, and I have no ob­jec­tion to hear­ing it.”

This was in­vi­ta­tion enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Nether­field is tak­en by a young man of large for­tune from the north of Eng­land; that he came down on Mon­day in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much de­light­ed with it, that he agreed with Mr. Mor­ris im­me­di­ate­ly; that he is to take pos­ses­sion be­fore Michael­mas, and some of his ser­vants are to be in the house by the end of next week.”

“What is his name?”

“Bin­gley.”

“Is he mar­ried or sin­gle?”

“Oh! Sin­gle, my dear, to be sure! A sin­gle man of large for­tune; four or five thou­sand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”

“How so? How can it af­fect them?”

“My dear Mr. Ben­net,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tire­some! You must know that I am think­ing of his mar­ry­ing one of them.”

“Is that his de­sign in set­tling here?”

“De­sign! Non­sense, how can you talk so! But it is very like­ly that he MAY fall in love with one of them, and there­fore you must vis­it him as soon as he comes.”

“I see no oc­ca­sion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send them by them­selves, which per­haps will be still bet­ter, for as you are as hand­some as any of them, Mr. Bin­gley may like you the best of the par­ty.”

“My dear, you flat­ter me. I cer­tain­ly HAVE had my share of beau­ty, but I do not pre­tend to be any­thing ex­traor­di­nary now. When a wom­an has five grown-​up daugh­ters, she ought to give over think­ing of her own beau­ty.”

“In such cas­es, a wom­an has not of­ten much beau­ty to think of.”

“But, my dear, you must in­deed go and see Mr. Bin­gley when he comes in­to the neigh­bour­hood.”

“It is more than I en­gage for, I as­sure you.”

“But con­sid­er your daugh­ters. On­ly think what an es­tab­lish­ment it would be for one of them. Sir William and La­dy Lu­cas are de­ter­mined to go, mere­ly on that ac­count, for in gen­er­al, you know, they vis­it no new­com­ers. In­deed you must go, for it will be im­pos­si­ble for US to vis­it him if you do not.”

“You are over-​scrupu­lous, sure­ly. I dare say Mr. Bin­gley will be very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to as­sure him of my hearty con­sent to his mar­ry­ing whichev­er he choos­es of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my lit­tle Lizzy.”

“I de­sire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit bet­ter than the oth­ers; and I am sure she is not half so hand­some as Jane, nor half so good-​hu­moured as Ly­dia. But you are al­ways giv­ing HER the pref­er­ence.”

“They have none of them much to rec­om­mend them,” replied he; “they are all sil­ly and ig­no­rant like oth­er girls; but Lizzy has some­thing more of quick­ness than her sis­ters.”

“Mr. Ben­net, how CAN you abuse your own chil­dren in such a way? You take de­light in vex­ing me. You have no com­pas­sion for my poor nerves.”

“You mis­take me, my dear. I have a high re­spect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you men­tion them with con­sid­er­ation these last twen­ty years at least.”

Mr. Ben­net was so odd a mix­ture of quick parts, sar­cas­tic hu­mour, re­serve, and caprice, that the ex­pe­ri­ence of three-​and-​twen­ty years had been in­suf­fi­cient to make his wife un­der­stand his char­ac­ter. HER mind was less dif­fi­cult to de­vel­op. She was a wom­an of mean un­der­stand­ing, lit­tle in­for­ma­tion, and un­cer­tain tem­per. When she was dis­con­tent­ed, she fan­cied her­self ner­vous. The busi­ness of her life was to get her daugh­ters mar­ried; its so­lace was vis­it­ing and news.