by Jane Austen
Mrs. Bennet does not seem such a buffoon when we consider that her daughters really will be in dire straits should they not marry. The entail of the Bennet estate to Mr. Collins guarantees not only that the house and grounds will no longer be available to the Bennet women but that their yearly income will be considerably reduced. In fact, without one sister well established in marriage before the death of Mr. Bennet, it would be difficult for any of the five to maintain the condition of a gentlewoman at all. Having one sister comfortably married, however, could create a measure of financial security for the others and might help, through the social connections established, to ensure a succession of respectable marriages in the family. The possibility that, in lieu of marriage, these young women might become governesses and thereby preserve a tenuous connection to the gentry is simply not a viable option in this novel, where working for a living, even in relatively genteel circumstances, is a fate worse than marriage to Mr. Collins. If we put aside the romantic ideal of the novel and look at the material reality, Mrs. Bennet’s frustration with Elizabeth for declining Mr. Collins’s proposal is entirely reasonable: Had Elizabeth accepted her distant cousin’s hand, she could have preserved her father’s estate for herself and for her unmarried sisters.
Nor, for that matter, does the other ostensibly foolish character of the novel, Mr. Collins himself, seem so oblivious in refusing to acknowledge Elizabeth’s rejection of his proposal. He may be pompous, but he is also practical, and he knows minutely the details of Elizabeth’s meager future inheritance. The idea that she might turn him down is simply inconceivable to him, for, as he rightly points out, given her family circumstances, she may never receive another offer. That she declines Mr. Darcy’s first proposal, is, in practical terms, even more astonishing. Remaining single after her parents’ deaths might mean an annual income of £40 (4 percent annual interest, as Mr. Collins estimates it, on a £1,000 share of her mother’s legacy), a portion of which would go toward renting a room somewhere in the village. Marriage to Mr. Darcy, by stark contrast, would mean having at her disposal a reputed £10,000 annually, plus the amenities of Pemberley, the house in London, the carriages, the servants, and so forth. It is difficult to convert these sums into the modern British pound or American dollar, in part thanks to inflation but mostly because the nineteenth-century economy and culture are so very different from ours, but suffice it to say that Elizabeth, in declining Mr. Darcy, has rejected fantastic wealth for the likelihood of a quite modest existence, far beneath that to which she has become accustomed.
The conventions of romantic comedy, however, do not allow us to focus on the folly of Elizabeth’s decision to follow her heart and her principles or to dwell for very long on the grim financial future of these five unwed women. The narrator, in fact, offers no sustained commentary on how limited the options are for women in this society. The only real defenses of women’s moral and legal entitlement to inherit property fall from the lips of the two caricatural aging women: Mrs. Bennet, who refuses to recognize the legality of the entail that will disinherit herself and her daughters, and Lady Catherine, who opines, “I see no occasion for entailing estates from the female line” (p. 164). The romantic narrative would also lead us to believe that Elizabeth should indeed be true to herself, for there is something terribly dull about the financially “prudent” marriage, and something disgraceful about the “mercenary” one, although the two motives amount to the same thing, as Elizabeth explains to Mrs. Gardiner (p. 153). The prospect of repudiating the desire for romance and settling for “a comfortable home,” as Charlotte Lucas has done (p. 125), is represented to be a fairly dismal choice, which is one reason why the novel looks so very different from the conservative morality tales that were popular in this period. Austen’s narrator tends to see the world from Elizabeth Bennet’s perspective, and so, therefore, do we, and the plot reconciliation confirms the legitimacy of this view. When the two elder Bennet sisters finally become engaged, we know that Elizabeth’s match is better than Jane’s, not because Darcy is the master of Pemberley and has twice the annual income of Bingley, but because, as Elizabeth compares the two sisters’ relative happiness, “she only smiles, I laugh” (p. 369).
That this resolution glosses over Elizabeth’s early attraction to Wickham, who is now married to her thoughtless sister Lydia, and her prior antipathy toward Darcy—a dislike so pronounced that Jane can hardly accept her sister’s subsequent avowal of love for him—is not altogether justified by Elizabeth’s recent maturity or by the evidence that comes to light about Wickham’s and Darcy’s respective characters. At the very least, Elizabeth’s change of heart suggests that she is far more rational in romantic matters than one might think the passionate and idealistic side of her nature would allow. But it is the role of the comic ending to obscure inappropriate desires and inconvenient hostilities in order to establish the alliances that will secure a stable and joyous future. What distinguishes the conclusion of Austen’s great novel from that of lesser comic fare is that, as we turn the final pages, the new community established at Pemberley and at the nearby Bingley estate, by the characters we have come to know so well, seems to us both plausible and reassuring.
Carol Howard has published essays on early British and contemporary African-American women writers and has coedited two books on British writers (1996, 1997). Chair of the English Department at Warren Wilson College, her current book project traces the tension between the desire for freedom and for stability in British women’s writings about slavery and empire, from 1688 to 1805. She was educated at SUNY Purchase and Columbia University, where she received her Ph.D. in 1999, and she now lives in Black Mountain, North Carolina, with her husband and two daughters.
Volume the First
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 as 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 not you 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 foura 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,b 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.1 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 might like you the best of the party.”
“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have my share of beauty, but I do not pretend to be any thing
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 new comers. 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 on 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 twenty years at least.”
“Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”
“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.”
“It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.”
“Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all.”
Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts,c 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 develope. 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.
Chapter 2
Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He had always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his wife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was paid she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following manner. Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly addressed her with,—
“I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”
“We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes,” said her mother, resentfully, “since we are not to visit.”
“But you forget, mamma,” said Elizabeth, “that we shall meet him at the assemblies, and that Mrs. Long has promised to introduce him.”
“I do not believe Mrs. Long will do any such thing. She has two nieces of her own. She is a selfish, hypocritical woman, and I have no opinion of her.”
“No more have I,” said Mr. Bennet; “and I am glad to find that you do not depend on her serving you.”
Mrs. Bennet deigned not to make any reply; but, unable to contain herself, began scolding one of her daughters.
“Don’t keep coughing so, Kitty, for heaven’s sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves. You tear them to pieces.”
“Kitty has no discretion in her coughs,” said her father; “she times them ill.”
“I do not cough for my own amusement,” replied Kitty, fretfully. “When is your next ball to be, Lizzy?”2 “To-morrow fortnight.”
“Ay, so it is,” cried her mother, “and Mrs. Long does not come back till the day before; so, it will be impossible for her to introduce him, for she will not know him herself.”
“Then, my dear, you may have the advantage of your friend, and introduce Mr. Bingley to her.”
“Impossible, Mr. Bennet, impossible, when I am not acquainted with him myself; how can you be so teasing?”
“I honour your circumspection. A fortnight’s acquaintance is certainly very little. One cannot know what a man really is by the end of a fortnight. But if we do not venture, somebody else will; and after all, Mrs. Long and her nieces must stand their chance; and, therefore, as she will think it an act of kindness, if you decline the office, I will take it on myself.”
The girls stared at their father. Mrs. Bennet said only, “Nonsense, nonsense!”
“What can be the meaning of that emphatic exclamation?” cried he. “Do you consider the forms of introduction, and the stress that is laid on them, as nonsense? I cannot quite agree with you there. What say you, Mary? for you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know and read great books, and make extracts.”d
Mary wished to say something very sensible, but knew not how.
“While Mary is adjusting her ideas,” he continued, “let us return to Mr. Bingley.”
“I am sick of Mr. Bingley,” cried his wife.
“I am sorry to hear that; but why did not you tell me so before? If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”
The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished; that of Mrs. Bennet perhaps surpassing the rest; though when the first tumult of joy was over, she began to declare that it was what she had expected all the while.
“How good it was in you, my dear Mr. Bennet. But I knew I should persuade you at last. I was sure you loved your girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am! and it is such a good joke, too, that you should have gone this morning, and never said a word about it till now.”
“Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you choose,” said Mr. Bennet; and, as he spoke, he left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.
“What an excellent father you have, girls,” said she, when the door was shut. “I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or me either, for that matter. At our time of life, it is not so pleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintance every day; but for your sakes, we would do any thing. Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.”
“Oh,” said Lydia, stoutly, “I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest, I’m the tallest.”
The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon he would return Mr. Bennet’s visit, and determining when they should ask him to dinner.
Chapter 3
Not all that Mrs. Bennet, however, with the assistance of her five daughters, could ask on the subject, was sufficient to draw from her husband any satisfactory description of Mr. Bingley. They attacked him in various ways; with barefaced questions, ingenious suppositions, and distant surmises; but he eluded the skill of them all; and they were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour, Lady Lucas. Her report was highly favourable. Sir William had been delighted with him. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love; and very lively hopes of Mr. Bingley’s heart were entertained.
“If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,” said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, “and all the others equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for.”
In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet’s visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate
, for they had the advantage of ascertaining, from an upper window, that he wore a blue coat and rode a black horse.
An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards despatched; and already had Mrs. Bennet planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in town the following day, and consequently unable to accept the honour of their invitation, &c. Mrs. Bennet was quite disconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town so soon after his arrival in Hertfordshire; and she began to fear that he might be always flying about from one place to another, and never settled at Netherfield as he ought to be. Lady Lucas quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his being gone to London only to get a large party for the ball; and a report soon followed that Mr. Bingley was to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of ladies; but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve, he had brought only six with him from London, his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly-room, it consisted of only five all together; Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.