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.

Everyone agrees that a wealthy single man must need 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.

However little anyone may know about such a man’s feelings or intentions when he first moves into a neighborhood, the local families firmly believe this truth. So they see him as the rightful property of one or another of their daughters.

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

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” his wife said to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park has finally been rented?”

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

Mr. Bennet answered that he hadn't.

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

“But it is,” she replied. “Because Mrs. Long was just here, and she told me all about it.”

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

Mr. Bennet did not answer.

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

“Don’t you want to know who has taken it?” his wife exclaimed impatiently.

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

“You want to tell me, and I don’t mind hearing it.”

This was invitation enough.

That was enough of an invitation.

“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.”

“Well, my dear, you must know that Mrs. Long says a very wealthy young man has rented Netherfield. He comes from the north of England. He came down on Monday in a carriage drawn by four horses to see the place. He was so delighted with Netherfield that he reached an agreement with Mr. Morris immediately. He is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants will arrive by the end of next week.”

“What is his name?”

“What’s his name?”

“Bingley.”

“Bingley.”

“Is he married or single?”

“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!”

“Oh, definitely single, my dear! A wealthy single man with an income of four or five thousand a year. How wonderful for our girls!”

“How so? how can it affect them?”

“How? 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.”

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” his wife replied, “how can you be so annoying? You must know I’m thinking of him marrying one of them.”

“Is that his design in settling here?”

“Is that why he’s moving 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.”

“A plan? Nonsense, how can you say that! But it's very likely he may fall in love with one of them. So you must visit him as soon as he arrives.”

“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.”

“I see no need for that. You and the girls can go, or you can send them on their own. Perhaps sending them alone would be even better. Since you’re as beautiful as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you best of all.”

“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.”

“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of beauty, but I don’t claim to be anything special now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she should stop thinking about her own beauty.”

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

“In such cases, a woman rarely has much beauty left to think about.”

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

“But, my dear, you really must visit Mr. Bingley when he moves into the neighborhood.”

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

“That’s more than I can promise, 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.”

“But think of your daughters. Just imagine what a good marriage it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to visit him for that reason alone. Usually, you know, they don’t visit newcomers. You really must go, because we won’t be able to visit him if you don’t.”

“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.”

“Surely you’re being too particular. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very glad to see you. And I’ll send a short note with you, assuring him that I heartily approve of his marrying whichever girl he chooses. Though I must put 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.”

“I don’t want you to do any such thing. Lizzy is no better than the others. And I’m sure she’s not half as pretty as Jane, nor half as cheerful as Lydia. But you always favor her.”

“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.”

“None of them have much to recommend them,” he replied. “They are all silly and ignorant like other girls. But Lizzy is a little quicker-witted 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.”

“Mr. Bennet, how can you insult your own children like that? You enjoy upsetting me. You have no sympathy 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 twenty years at least.”

“You misunderstand me, my dear. I have great respect for your nerves. They are old friends of mine. I've heard you speak of them with concern for at least twenty years.”

“Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”

“Ah, you don’t know how much I’m suffering.”

“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.”

“But I hope you’ll get over it. And I hope you’ll live to see many young men earning four thousand pounds a year move into the neighbourhood.”

“It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them.”

“It won’t do us any good if twenty like him come, since you won’t visit them.”

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

“You can count on it, my dear. When there are twenty, I’ll visit them all.”

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 was an odd mix of quick wit, sarcastic humour, reserve, and unpredictable whims. So even after twenty-three years, his wife still did not understand his character. Her mind was easier to understand. She was a woman of limited intelligence, little knowledge, and an unpredictable temper. When she was unhappy, she imagined she suffered from nervous trouble. Her main purpose in life was to get her daughters married. Her comforts were social visits and news.