All language subtitles for P&P.1980.E01

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
neighborhood daughters.

However little is known of his
character?

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 neighbor
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 from
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
shortsighted.

- 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 ј10,000
a year, mother.

I am surprised
at you, Lizzie.

It is a most disagreeable
countenance and it's about
being pleased.

- I do agree with you.
- And 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 Derbyshire
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 neighborhood,

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 favor,

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 honored.

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
honorable 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 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 neighborhood
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
neighborhoods larger,

I'm sure we dine
with four and twenty
families,

and all of style
and fashion.

Only last week
we dined tete-а-tete
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 willfully
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.