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Jane Austin
Pride and Prejudice
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Inhaltsverzeichnis
Titel
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 12
Impressum neobooks
Chapter 1
Pride and Prejudice
By Jane Austen
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.”
“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, 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.
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 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?”
“To-morrow fortnight.”
“Aye, 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.”
Mary wished to say something 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 that
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
acquaintances every day; but for your sakes, we would do
anything. 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 dispatched; 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, etc. 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 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 altogether—Mr.
Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another
young man.
Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant
countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine
women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr.
Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon
drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome
features, noble mien, and the report which was in general
circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having
ten thousand a year. The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine
figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than
Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about
half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned
the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud; to
be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all his
large estate in Derbyshire could then save him from having a most
forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be
compared with his friend.
Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the
principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved,
danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and
talked of giving one himself at Netherfield. Such amiable
qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him
and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and
once with Miss Bingley, declined being introduced to any other
lady, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the
room, speaking occasionally to one of his own party. His
character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man
in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there
again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet,
whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into
particular resentment by his having slighted one of her
daughters.
Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen,
to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr.
Darcy had been standing near enough for her to hear a
conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance
for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.
“Come, Darcy,” said he, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you
standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much
better dance.”
“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am
particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as
this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and
there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a
punishment to me to stand up with.”
“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Mr. Bingley,
“for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant
girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of
them you see uncommonly pretty.”
“_You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said
Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.
“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there
is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very
pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner
to introduce you.”
“Which do you mean?” and turning round he looked for a moment at
Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly
said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt _me_; I
am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies
who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your
partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with
me.”
Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked off; and
Elizabeth remained with no very cordial feelings toward him. She
told the story, however, with great spirit among her friends; for
she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in
anything ridiculous.
The evening altogether passed off pleasantly to the whole family.
Mrs. Bennet had seen her eldest daughter much admired by the
Netherfield party. Mr. Bingley had danced with her twice, and she
had been distinguished by his sisters. Jane was as much gratified
by this as her mother could be, though in a quieter way.
Elizabeth felt Jane’s pleasure. Mary had heard herself mentioned
to Miss Bingley as the most accomplished girl in the
neighbourhood; and Catherine and Lydia had been fortunate enough
never to be without partners, which was all that they had yet
learnt to care for at a ball. They returned, therefore, in good
spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived, and of which
they were the principal inhabitants. They found Mr. Bennet still
up. With a book he was regardless of time; and on the present
occasion he had a good deal of curiosity as to the event of an
evening which had raised such splendid expectations. He had
rather hoped that his wife’s views on the stranger would be
disappointed; but he soon found out that he had a different story
to hear.
“Oh, my dear Mr. Bennet,” as she entered the room, “we have had a
most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had
been there. Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it.
Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr. Bingley thought her
quite beautiful, and danced with her twice! Only think of _that_,
my dear; he actually danced with her twice! and she was the only
creature in the room that he asked a second time. First of all,
he asked Miss Lucas. I was so vexed to see him stand up with her!
But, however, he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can,
you know; and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going
down the dance. So he enquired who she was, and got introduced,
and asked her for the two next. Then the two third he danced with
Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth
with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the
_Boulanger_—”
“If he had had any compassion for _me_,” cried her husband
impatiently, “he would not have danced half so much! For God’s
sake, say no more of his partners. Oh that he had sprained his
ankle in the first dance!”
“Oh! my dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively
handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life
saw anything more elegant than their dresses. I dare say the lace
upon Mrs. Hurst’s gown—”
Here she was interrupted again. Mr. Bennet protested against any
description of finery. She was therefore obliged to seek another
branch of the subject, and related, with much bitterness of
spirit and some exaggeration, the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.
“But I can assure you,” she added, “that Lizzy does not lose much
by not suiting _his_ fancy; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid
man, not at all worth pleasing. So high and so conceited that
there was no enduring him! He walked here, and he walked there,
fancying himself so very great! Not handsome enough to dance
with! I wish you had been there, my dear, to have given him one
of your set-downs. I quite detest the man.”
