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Pride and Prejudice CD5

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I deliver perfection...|and don't brag about it! :D
If you please, ma'am!
There are two gentlemen and a lady waiting upon|you in the parlour. One of them is Mr Darcy.
Thank you. Tell them I shall come directly.
Mr Darcy.
- I hope that you have not been waiting long.|- Not at all.
May I introduce my sister Georgiana?
Georgiana, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
- How do you do?|- I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Darcy.
- I've heard so much about you.|- And I about you.
Mr Bingley is here with us, and very desirous to|see you as well. He insisted on accompanying us.
- May I summon him?|- Of course! I should like to see him very much.
I understand that you are fond of music,|and play very well.
Oh, no. Not play "very" well.
I mean, but I am very fond of music.|I should dearly love to hear you play and sing.
My brother has told me he has rarely heard|anything that gave him more pleasure.
Well, you shall. But I warn you, your brother|has grossly exaggerated my talents.
- No doubt for some mischievous reason.|- Oh, no. That could not be so.
My brother never exaggerates.|He always tells the absolute truth.
Except that sometimes I think he is|a little too kind to me.
- An ideal elder brother, then.|- Yes! I couldn't imagine a better or a kinder one.
You make me feel quite envious.|I have no brothers at all. Only four sisters.
I should have liked to have a sister.
Miss Bennet!
I was so delighted when Darcy told me|you were not five miles from Pemberley!
How do you do?
- I see you are well.|- Very well, thank you.
- Good, good, excellent! And your family?|- Very well, sir.
Yes?
Pray, tell me. Are "all" your sisters|still at Longbourn?
All except one. My youngest sister is at Brighton.
Ah.
It seems too long...
...it "is" too long, since I had the pleasure|of speaking to you.
- It must be several months.|- It is above eight months at least.
We have not met since the 26th of November,|when we were dancing together at Netherfield.
I think you must be right.
I don't think I can remember a happier time|than those short months I spent in Hertfordshire.
Miss Bennet, my sister has a request|to make of you.
Miss Bennet, my brother and I would be honoured
if you and your aunt and uncle|would be our guests at Pemberley for dinner.
- Would tomorrow evening be convenient?|- Thank you, we shall be delighted.
I can answer for Mr and Mrs Gardiner.|We have no fixed engagements.
- And shall we hear you play?|- If you insist upon it, yes, you shall.
Absolutely marvellous!
Will you not play again?|You played that song so beautifully.
Not very beautifully, not faithfully at all.
You must have seen how I fudged and slurred|my way through the difficult passages.
- It's a beautiful instrument, though.|- My brother gave it to me.
- He is so good. I don't deserve it.|- I am sure you do.
Your brother thinks you do,|and as you know, he is never wrong.
Now, it's your turn. Oh, I absolutely insist!
In front of all these people?|I will play, but please don't make me sing.
If you like.
Pray, Miss Eliza, are the Militia|still quartered at Meryton?
No, they are encamped at Brighton|for the summer.
- That must be a great loss for your family.|- We're enduring it as best we can, Miss Bingley.
I should have thought "one" gentleman's absence|might have caused particular pangs.
I can't imagine who you mean.
I understood that certain ladies found|the society of Mr Wickham curiously agreeable.
I'm so sorry. I'm neglecting you.|How can you play with no one to turn the pages.
There, allow me.
How very ill Eliza Bennet looked|this evening!
I've never seen anyone so much altered|as she is since the winter.
- Quite so, my dear.|- She is grown so brown and coarse.
Louisa and I were agreeing that we should|hardly know her. What do you say, Mr Darcy?
I noticed no great difference.
She is, I suppose, a little tanned.|Hardly surprising when one travels in the summer.
For my part, I must confess,|I never saw any beauty in her face.
Her features are not at all handsome.|Her complexion has no brilliancy.
Her teeth are tolerable, I suppose,
but nothing out of the common way.
And as for her eyes,|which I have sometimes heard called fine,
I could never perceive anything|extraordinary in them.
And in her air there is a self-sufficiency|without fashion, which I find intolerable.
I think...
When we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how|amazed we all were to find her a reputed beauty!
I particularly recall you, Mr Darcy, one night|after they had been dining at Netherfield,
saying: "She a beauty? I should as soon|call her mother a wit!"
But afterwards she seemed|to improve on you.
I even believe you thought her|rather pretty at one time.
Yes, I did. That was only when I first knew her.
For many months now I have considered her one|of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.
No, no, the green one.
Yes, that will do.
Good. No, never mind that.
- If you please, ma'am. The post's just come.|- Thank you, Hannah.
A good girl, that. Very obliging.
Two letters from Jane. At last!|I had been wondering why we hadn't...
This one was misdirected at first. No wonder,|for she wrote the direction very ill, indeed!
Would you be angry if I beg you to postpone|our outing?
Not at all! Of course you want to read your letters.
We will walk to the church|and call back in an hour.
Thank you, you're very kind!
{y:i}My dearest Lizzy, I hope your journey|{y:i}has been as delightful as you anticipated.
{y:i}We all miss you.|{y:i}Our father most of all, I believe.
{y:i}I have hardly had time to write. My nephews|{y:i}and nieces have taken almost every moment!
{y:i}But they are such dear children.
{y:i}Our mother indeed finds their exuberance|{y:i}a little trying for her nerves.
Mamma...
{y:i}She spends much of the day above stairs|{y:i}in her room, or with Mrs Philips.
{y:i}Dearest Lizzy,
{y:i}since writing the above, something has occurred|{y:i}of a most unexpected and serious nature.
{y:i}But I'm afraid of alarming you.|{y:i}Be assured we are all well.
{y:i}What I have to say relates to poor Lydia.
Lydia!
{y:i}An express came at twelve last night,|{y:i}just as we were all gone to bed.
Mr Bennet, what is it?|Are we to be murdered in our beds?
{y:i}The letter was from Colonel Forster,
{y:i}to inform us that Lydia was gone off|{y:i}to Scotland with one of his officers.
{y:i}To own the truth... with Wickham.
Oh, Lydia!
Oh, Mr Bennet, we are all ruined!
{y:i}You will imagine our surprise and shock.
{y:i}To Kitty, however, it does not seem|{y:i}so wholly unexpected.
{y:i}I am very, very sorry.|{y:i}So imprudent a match on both sides!
{y:i}But I'm willing to hope the best, and that|{y:i}his character has been misunderstood.
I wish I could believe it.
{y:i}His choice is disinterested at least. He must|{y:i}know that our father can give him nothing.
Yes, that is true.
But how could he do this?
She is silly enough for anything.
But Wickham to love Lydia? Marry Lydia?
There is one lady I shall be very loath|to part from.
{y:i}We expect them soon returned from Gretna,|{y:i}man and wife.
{y:i}I must conclude.|{y:i}I cannot be away from our poor mother long.
{y:i}I shall write again as soon as I have news.
{y:i}My dearest Lizzy, I hardly know what to write,|{y:i}but I have bad news!
{y:i}Imprudent as a marriage would be,|{y:i}we now fear worse:
{y:i}That it has not taken place. That Wickham|{y:i}never intended to marry Lydia at all!
Great God, I knew it!
{y:i}- I cannot think so ill of him.|- I can. Poor Lydia.
Poor stupid girl!
{y:i}Colonel Forster said he feared|{y:i}that Wickham was not to be trusted.
{y:i}She was then but fifteen years old.
{y:i}They were traced as far as Clapham. Father has|{y:i}gone with Colonel Forster to try to discover them.
{y:i}I cannot help but beg you all|{y:i}to come here as soon as possible!
Oh, yes! Where is my uncle?
If you please, ma'am.
- Miss Bennet, I hope this...|- I beg your pardon. I must find Mr Gardiner.
- On business that cannot be delayed.|- Good God! What is the matter?
Of course I will not detain you, but let me go, or|let the servant go and fetch Mr and Mrs Gardiner.
- You cannot go yourself.|- I must...
Come. I insist. This will be for the best.|Hello there!
Have Mr and Mrs Gardiner fetched here at once.
- They walked in the direction of...|...the church.
Yes, sir, at once.
- You are not well. May I not call a doctor?|- No. I am well. I am well.
Is there nothing you can take|for your present relief?
A glass of wine? Can I get you one?|Truly, you look very ill.
No, I thank you. There is nothing|the matter with me. I am quite well.
I am only distressed by some dreadful news,|which I have just received from Longbourn.
- I am sorry. Forgive me.|- No, no.
I have just received a letter from Jane,|with such dreadful news.
It cannot be concealed from anyone.
My youngest sister has left all her friends,
has eloped,
has thrown herself into the power...
...of Mr Wickham.
They have run away together from Brighton.|You know him too well to doubt the rest.
She has no money, no connections,|nothing that can tempt him.
When I think that I might have prevented it!
I, who knew what he was!
Had his character been known,|this could not have happened.
But it is all too late now.
I am grieved, indeed. Grieved, shocked.
- But is it certain? Absolutely certain?|- Oh, yes.
They left Brighton together on Sunday night.
They were traced as far as London,|but not beyond.
- They are certainly not gone to Scotland.|- What has been attempted to recover her?
My father has gone to London.
And Jane writes to beg my uncle's|immediate assistance.
I hope that we shall leave within half an hour.|But what can be done?
I know that nothing can be done.
How is such a man to be worked on?
How are they even to be discovered?
I have not the smallest hope.
She is lost forever, and our whole family|must partake of her ruin and disgrace.
I'm afraid you have long been desiring|my absence.
This unfortunate affair will, I fear,
prevent my sister from having the pleasure|of seeing you at Pemberley today.
Oh, yes.
Be so kind as to apologise for us to Miss Darcy.
Say that urgent business|calls us home immediately.
And if you would be so kind... as to conceal|the unhappy truth as long as possible.
I know that it cannot be long.
You may be assured of my secrecy.
But I have stayed too long. I shall leave you now.
Yes. Thank you.
Goodbye.
I shall never see him again.
Even if what you say of Wickham is true,|I still cannot believe this of Lydia.
Ever since the militia came to Meryton, there's|been nothing but love and officers in her head.
We must not assume the worst.|It may yet be that this is all a misunderstanding.
Or just a passing folly that her friends|can hush up and will in time be quite forgotten.
- It is possible, Lizzy!|- Indeed it is.
Why would any young man form a design against|a girl who is not unprotected or friendless,
and who is staying in the Colonel's family?
Look at it in any way you like.|The temptation is not worth the risk.
Not perhaps of risking his own interest.
But I do believe him capable|of risking everything else!
You are very quiet this evening, Mr Darcy.
I hope you're not pining for the loss|of Miss Eliza Bennet.
What?
Excuse me.
There she is!|Mamma, mamma! Did you bring us anything?
- Lizzy! I am so glad to see you.|- Has anything been heard?
Not yet, but now that our uncle has come, I hope|all will be well. Father left for town on Tuesday,
and we've only heard that he has arrived in safety.
Mamma has been asking for you|every five minutes.
- How is she?|- She has not yet left her room.
And you look pale.|Oh, Jane, how much you must have gone through!
I am so happy to see you, Lizzy. Come.
Oh!
Oh, Lizzy!
Oh, brother!
We are all ruined forever!
If only Mr Bennet had taken us all to Brighton,|none of this would have happened!
I blame those Forsters! I am sure there was|some great neglect on their part,
for she is not the kind of girl to do that sort|of thing, if she had been properly looked after!
- Mamma.|- And now here is Mr Bennet gone away.
I know he will fight Wickham, and then he will|be killed, and then what is to become of us all?
Those Collinses will turn us out|before he is cold in his grave!
And if you are not kind to us, brother,|I don't know what we shall do!
Sister, calm down. Nothing dreadful will happen!
I'll be in London tomorrow,|and we will consult as to what is to be done.
Yes, yes, that is it! You must find them out, and if|they be not married, you must make them marry.
Above all, keep Mr Bennet from fighting!
- Mamma, I am sure he does not mean to fight.|- Oh yes, he does!
And Wickham will kill him for sure,|unless you can prevent it, brother!
You must tell him what a dreadful state I'm in!|How I have such tremblings and flutterings.
Such spasms in my side and pains in my head|and beatings at my heart,
that I can get no rest either night or day!
Sister, calm yourself.
And tell Lydia not to give any directions|about wedding clothes till she's seen me,
for she does not know|which are the best warehouses!
This is the most unfortunate affair,|and will probably be much talked of.
Yes, thank you, Mary.|I think we have all apprehended that much.
We must stem the tide of malice,
and pour into each other's wounded bosoms|the balm of sisterly consolation.
- Mary, pass the potatoes to your aunt Gardiner.|- I beg your pardon?
Never mind. I will.
Thank you, Kitty.
That's the first kind word I've had from anyone|since Lydia went away.
It is most unfair, for I have not|done anything naughty!
And I don't see that Lydia has done|anything dreadful either.
- Kitty, please!|- Unhappy as the event must be for Lydia,
we must draw from it this useful lesson:|That loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable.
My dear Mary, this is hardly helpful.
For a woman's reputation|is no less brittle than it is beautiful.
Therefore we cannot be too guarded|in our behaviour
towards the undeserving of the other sex.
Yes... thank you, Mary.
Now, Jane... tell me everything about it|that I have not already heard.
What did Colonel Forster say?
Had they no apprehension about anything|before the elopement took place?
Colonel Forster did own he suspected|some partiality on Lydia's side,
but nothing to give him any alarm.
Lizzy, I feel I am to blame.
I urged you not to make Wickham's bad conduct|known. Now poor Lydia is suffering for it.
No one else suspected him for a moment.|I am, I am to blame!
You are not to blame! No more than I, or Mr Darcy|or anyone else deceived by Wickham.
You have nothing to blame yourself for.|Others are culpable, not you.
She wrote a note for Mrs Forster|before she went away.
"My dear Harriet, you will laugh when you know|where I am gone,
and I can't help laughing myself at your surprise|tomorrow morning, as soon as I am missed."
{y:i}I'm going to Gretna Green, and if you|{y:i}can't guess with who, I'll think you a simpleton,
{y:i}for there is but one man in the world I love.|{y:i}Don't send them word at Longbourn of my going.
{y:i}It will make the surprise all the greater, when I|{y:i}write to them and sign my name Lydia Wickham!
{y:i}What a good joke it will be.|{y:i}I can scarcely write for laughing!
Thoughtless, thoughtless Lydia!|What a letter to have written at such a moment.
But at least she believed they were to be married,|whatever he might persuade her to afterwards.
Our poor father! How he must have felt it.
I never saw anyone so shocked.
He couldn't speak for ten minutes. Mother was|in hysterics, and the house was in confusion.
Lady Lucas has been very kind,|offering her services.
She had better had stayed home! Assistance|is impossible, and condolence insufferable.
Let her triumph over us at a distance|and be satisfied!
That is unkind.
- I am sure she meant well.|- Yes, perhaps she did.
I am sorry. It's just that I can't help but be...
Oh, Jane.
Jane, do you not see that more things have been|ruined by this business than Lydia's reputation?
{y:i}I have stayed too long. I shall leave you now.
Come in!
I thought you would not be in bed yet.
I have been thinking about|what you said this afternoon.
That it is not only Lydia's reputation|that has been ruined.
I was angry and upset. I should not have said it.|It does no good to dwell on it.
You meant, I suppose, that you and I,
and Mary and Kitty,|have been tainted by association.
That our chances of making a good marriage have|been materially damaged by Lydia's disgrace.
The chances of any of us making a good marriage|were never very great.
And now I should say, they are non-existent.
No one will solicit our society after this.|Mr Darcy made that very clear to me.
Mr Darcy?
Does he know our troubles?
He happened upon me|a moment after I first read your letter.
He was very kind, very gentleman-like...
...but he made it very clear he wanted|nothing more than to be out of my sight.
He will not be renewing his addresses to me.
He'll make very sure his friend|doesn't renew his to you.
I never expected Mr Bingley would renew|his addresses. I am quite reconciled to that.
Surely you do not desire|Mr Darcy's attentions, do you?
No, no. I never sought them.
But you do think he was intending to renew them?
- You think he is still in love with you?|- I don't know.
I don't know what he was two days ago.
All I know is that now he, or any other respectable|man, will want nothing to do with any of us.
Lord! Look who's coming!
- Who is it, Kitty?|- Mr Collins, of course.
I'm not going to sit with him for anyone!
I had hoped to condole|with your poor father and your mother.
Father is still in London, and mother|is not yet well enough to leave her room.
Ah. Ah.
I feel myself called on, not only by our|relationship, but by my situation as a clergyman,
to condole with you all on the grievous affliction|you are now suffering under.
Thank you, sir.
It has often been said|that a friend in need is a friend, indeed, sir.
Yes.
Be assured, ladies, that Mrs Collins and myself|sincerely sympathise with you in your distress,
which must be of the bitterest kind, proceeding|from a cause which no time can remove.
The death of your sister would have been|a blessing in comparison.
And it is more to be lamented,|because there is reason to suppose,
my dear Charlotte informs me,
that this licentiousness of behaviour in your sister|has proceeded from a faulty degree of indulgence,
though I am inclined to think|that her disposition must be naturally bad.
Now, howsoever that may be,|you are grievously to be pitied...
We are very grateful, sir, for your...
...in which opinion I am joined|by Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter,
to whom I have related the affair in full.
They agree with me in apprehending|that this false step in one sister
must be injurious to the fortunes of all the others.
"For who", as Lady Catherine herself|condescendingly says,
"will connect themselves with such a family?"
Who, indeed, sir.
Now, perhaps, in view of that consideration, you|may feel it would be unwise to stay any longer.
Well, perhaps you are right.
Yes, perhaps you are right, cousin Elizabeth.
I always feel that a clergyman|cannot be too careful.
Especially one so fortunate as to enjoy the|condescension and patronage of Lady Catherine.
Your thoughtfulness does you credit,|cousin Elizabeth.
I am very, very sorry for you all!
- Insufferable man!|- I suppose he means well.
You suppose wrongly, Jane.
His purpose was to enjoy our misfortunes and|congratulate himself on his own happy situation!
I think it kind of him to condole with us.
- Is he gone?|- Yes.
- Good!|- Forever, with any luck.
Here's aunt Philips!|She can tell us the news from Meryton.
- I doubt there's much we care to hear.|- Mother will be pleased.
Well, girls, here's a to-do.
- Does your mother still keep to her bed?|- No, but she keeps to her room.
Well, well, the less the servants hear|the better, I dare say.
Come, let me to her, Jane, though Heaven knows|I have no glad tidings for her.
Every day I hear some new bad tale|of Mr Wickham!
Oh, Mr Wickham, that everybody praised|to the skies!
Mr Wickham, that half the town|was mad in love with. All the time a villain!
A very demon from hell sent to ruin us!
I have heard he's run up debts|with every reputable tradesman in the town.
Oh, sister!
- I have heard tales of gaming debts!|- Oh, sister!
Of drunken routs, in which more things|were broken than heads and furniture, sister!
Oh, sister, stop!
Debauches, intrigues, seductions!
They say there's hardly a tradesman in the town|whose daughters were not meddled with!
Now he's meddling with our dearest girl.|The foul fiend!
He shall be discovered and "made" to marry her!
I have to say, sister, that I always distrusted|his appearance of goodness.
Aye, sister, so did I, and warned the girls!
- Too smooth and plausible by half!|- But would anybody listen to me?
And now we are all, all ruined!
Oh, my poor girl. My poor, poor Lydia!
When shall we travel into Hertfordshire, my love?
Come away from the window, dear.|When I have settled my business affairs.
These things always take longer|than one thinks they will.
- You're not unhappy, surely?|- Lord, no!
Just that I can't wait to see my mother's face!|And my sisters'. Kitty will be so envious!
How I shall laugh!
I hope we shall be married from Longbourn. Then|all my sisters will have to be my bridesmaids.
Oh, I do wish we could go out into the town,|and be seen at plays and assemblies.
All in good time. Be patient, dear.
Lord, it makes me want to burst out laughing
when I think that I have done|what none of my sisters has.
And I the youngest of them all!
Mother! Here is a letter from my uncle Gardiner!
- Father is coming home today!|- Does he bring Lydia?
No. He and my uncle have not yet discovered|where she is.
- My uncle will continue his enquiries alone.|- Coming home without poor Lydia?
Who will fight Wickham and make him marry her,|if he comes away?
Oh, Jane, Jane, what is to become of us?
Oh, oh, fetch my smelling salts!|I feel my faintness coming upon me again!
Not now, Jane. Not now, Lizzy.
Mrs Younge.
Should I go and get father?|He has had nothing to eat since he came home.
Let me. You take mother her tea.
Well, Jane.
Elizabeth.
Mary, Kitty.
You look so tired, father.
- It must have been a dreadful time for you.|- Say nothing of that.
Who should suffer but myself?|It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.
Oh, papa.
You must not be so severe upon yourself.
Let me, for once in my life,|feel how much I have been to blame.
I am not afraid of being overpowered|by the impression. It will pass away soon enough.
- Do you still suppose them to be in London, sir?|- Yes, where else can they be so well concealed?
Lydia always wanted to go to London!
She is happy, then. And her residence there|will probably be of some duration.
Lizzy.
I bear you no ill-will for being justified|in your advice to me in May,
which, considering the event,|shows some greatness of mind, I think.
I must take mamma her tea.
She still keeps her state above stairs, does she?
Good. It lends such an elegance to our misfortune!|Another time I'll do the same.
I'll sit in my library, in my nightcap and powdering|gown, and I'll give as much trouble as I can.
Or perhaps I may defer it, till Kitty runs away.
I'm not going to run away. If I should go|to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia.
You go to Brighton? I wouldn't trust you as|near it as East Bourne. Not for fifty pounds!
No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious,|and you will feel the effects of it.
No officer is ever to enter my house again.|Or even to pass through the village!
Balls will be absolutely prohibited,|unless you stand up with one of your sisters!
And you are never to stir out of doors until having|spent ten minutes every day in a rational manner.
Well, well, well,|don't make yourself unhappy, my dear.
If you are a good girl for the next ten years,|I'll take you to a review at the end of them.
Oh, dearest, shall we not go out tonight?
Can we not go to the theatre?
- Lord! What in the world is "he" doing here?|- What?
- What a joke!|- Who is it?
- You'll never guess!|- Who is it?
Mr Darcy.
Come in.
Thank you, Hill.
Hill, what is it? Is Mrs Bennet asking for us?
No, ma'am.
I beg your pardon, but did you know an express|come for master from Mr Gardiner?
- When did it come, Hill?|- Oh, about half an hour ago, ma'am.
- Well, Lizzy?|- Papa, what news?
- What news from my uncle?|- Yes, I've had a letter from him.
- What news does it bring? Good or bad?|- What is there of good to be expected?
Perhaps you would like to read it yourself.
Read it aloud, Lizzy.|I hardly know what to make of it myself.
"My dear brother, at last I am able to send tidings|of my niece and Mr Wickham. I have seen them..."
It's as I hoped! They are married!
"They are not married, nor can I find|there was any intention of being so,
but if you will perform the engagements I have|ventured to make for you, they will before long."
- What engagements?|- Read on.
"All that is required is to assure your daughter her|equal share of the 5,000 pounds she will inherit,
and also allow her, during your life,|100 pounds per annum."
So little? What about Wickham's debts?
Read on.
"Mr Wickham's circumstances are not so hopeless|as they are generally believed to be."
- There!|- Read on, Lizzy!
"There will be some little money, even when all|his debts are discharged, to settle on my niece."
- I cannot believe it.|- Read on.
"We've judged it best that my niece should be|married from this house. I hope you approve."
Kitty will be disappointed not to be a bridesmaid.
"Send back your answer as soon as you can,|with the explicit financial settlement. Yours," etc...
How can it be possible|he will marry her for so little?
He must not be undeserving, as we thought.|He must truly be in love with her, I think.
You think that, Jane, if it gives you comfort.
- Have you answered the letter?|- No, but I must - and soon.
And they must marry. Yet he is such a man.
Yes, they must marry.|There's nothing else to be done.
There are two things I want to know:
One is, how much money your uncle laid down|to bring this about;
and the other, how am I ever to repay him?
I wish I had never spoken of this to Mr Darcy.
Dear Lizzy, please do not distress yourself.|I'm sure Mr Darcy will respect your confidence.
I'm sure he will. That is not what distresses me.
- What, then?|- I don't know!
How he must be congratulating himself|on his escape!
- How he must despise me now.|- You never sought his love!
Nor welcomed it when he offered it.
If he has withdrawn his high opinion of you,|why should you care?
I don't know!
I can't explain it.
I know I shall probably never see him again.
I cannot bear to think|that he is alive in the world...
...and thinking ill of me.