Chapter 1. Netherfield is let at last

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

Longbourn sits quietly among hedged fields on an early-autumn afternoon.

Hertfordshire families stroll home from church, daughters glancing toward Netherfield Park

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.

Netherfield stands shuttered and silent above its carefully kept park.

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

Mrs. Bennet steps into the quiet drawing-room with news of Netherfield.

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

Mr. Bennet finishes his brief reply with his eyes still on his book.

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

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

Mrs. Bennet leans forward over the chair, searching her husband's face for a response.

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

Mrs. Bennet draws a quick breath, taking her husband's dry reply as permission to release her news.

"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."

Mrs. Bennet eagerly pours out the Netherfield news to her husband across the hearth

"What is his name?"

"Bingley."

"Is he married or single?"

Mr. Bennet lowers his book a fraction and asks the question that will unleash his wife's hopes.

"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!"

Mrs. Bennet clasps her hands beneath her chin, radiant with triumph.

"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."

Mrs. Bennet explains her marriage scheme as Mr. Bennet meets her impatience with amusement

"Is that his design in settling here?"

Mr. Bennet asks his question with perfect solemnity.

"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."

Mrs. Bennet waves aside her husband's teasing question and insists that he visit the newcomer.

"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."

Mr. Bennet answers his wife's demand with a small mock bow and a flattering compliment.

"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had 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."

Mrs. Bennet adjusts a curl and glances at the looking-glass, pleased by the compliment

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

Mr. Bennet turns a page as his dry remark settles into the quiet.

"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."

Mrs. Bennet leans forward to press her case while Mr. Bennet reclines with his open book.

"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."

Mrs. Bennet leans over her husband's chair, pleading that he visit their new neighbour.

"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 which ever he chuses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy."

Mr. Bennet lazily writes an imaginary note in the air as Mrs. Bennet leans over his chair

"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."

Mrs. Bennet bristles at her husband's preference for Lizzy and champions Jane and Lydia

"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 finishes his dry assessment of his daughters with a private smile.

"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."

Mrs. Bennet sinks into the faded chintz sofa, her eyes shut and her hand pressed to her chest.

"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."

Mr. Bennet regards his wife with mock-solemn courtesy.

"Ah! you do not know what I suffer."

Mrs. Bennet plucks at the lace at her throat, sunk into the chintz sofa.

"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."

Mrs. Bennet turns her shoulder against her husband and complains toward the fire.

"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them all."

Mr. Bennet presses a hand to his heart and promises to visit every eligible young man.

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 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.

Mr. Bennet returns to his book after the exchange, settled beside the hearth.

The drawing-room has emptied after the Bennets’ argument.