Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Eighteen and Nineteen

Chapter eighteen is the Netherfield Ball, and chapter nineteen is Mr. Collins' proposal to Elizabeth. There is far to much going on for me to even begin to do justice to it all, but I iwll do my best to summarize some highlights.

The Bennets could not look worse than they do at the ball. It's like watching an embarrassing movie, where everything most humiliating happens. One cannot really blame Miss Bingley for wanting her brother removed from an attachment to this family, for they are horrendous. As bad as Mary's sonata is, Mr. Collins speech is the most spectacular:

"If I," said Mr. Collins, "were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. -- I do not mean however to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. -- In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards every body, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards any body connected with the family." And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room. -- Many stared. -- Many smiled; but no one looked more amused than Mr. Bennet himself, while his wife seriously commended Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.

Absolutely painful. Who details the duties of their job, especially when they are obvious, to an entire party of people? Rick Moranis' character in Ghostbusters, and Mr. Collins. It is actually a great introduction to the even more ridiculous speech he makes in the next chapter. 

Backtracking a bit, I am always reminded when I read of Elizabeth having to endure Mr. Collins as a dance partner of Mr. Tilney's comments in Northanger Abbey regarding the relationship between a dance partner and a mate: "I consider a country-dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity and complaisance are the principal duties of both; and those men who do not chuse to dance or marry themselves, have no business with the partners or wives of their neighbours." Austen had, in all probability, already written this line when Pride and Prejudice was composed, and the idea resonates between these two chapters. It's notable that Mr. Darcy causes no mortification as a partner, though Elizabeth is too concerned with finding him disagreeable to notice.

On to more ridiculous speeches. I love how Mr. Collins organises his proposal:

1. It's a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances
2. It will add greatly to his happiness
3. (and perhaps most importantly) "... it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness."

Only after elaborating on the last in some detail does he say, "And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection." Ha! I can see Elizabeth's eyes roll. He then adds the coup de grace by assuring Elizabeth how very small her portion is, and how he will never reprove her for it. When rejected, he presses his point by further reminders of how bleak Elizabeth's prospects are. The sad things is that it is in this paragraph that we here him speak the most sensibly he does throughout the entire book:

"You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are briefly these: -- It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of De Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in its favor; and you should take it into farther consideration that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall chuse to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females."

Elizabeth response, while in no way as suited to societal norms as Mr. Collins arguements, has stood the test of time as a feminist rallying cry: "Do not consider me now as an elegant female intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart." Such sentiments were truly revolutionary in their time.

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Sixteen and Seventeen

If I have highlighted the hypocrisy of Mrs. Bennet and Miss Bingley in earlier posts, neither holds a candle to what Mr. Wickham unleashes upon Elizabeth in chapter sixteen. He is a far more successful hypocrite, too, rendering him far more dangerous. Of course, none of this is apparent on a first read, and I should take a moment now to say what I have failed to mention before - this readathon is full of spoilers, people! Proceed at your own risk.

"I have no right to give my opinion," said Wickham, "as to his being agreeable or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and to well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial. But I believe your opinion of him would in general astonish -- and perhaps you would not express it quite so strongly anywhere else. -- Here you are in your own family."

"Upon my word I say no more here than I might say in any house in the neighbourhood, except Netherfield. He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Every body is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favourably spoken of by any one."

"I cannot pretend to be sorry," said Wickham, after a short interruption, "that he or that any man should not be estimated beyond their deserts; but with him I believe it does not often happen. The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chuses to be seen."

"I should take him, even on my slight acquaintance, to be an ill-tempered man." Wickham only shook his head.

"I wonder," said he, at the next opportunity of speaking, "whether he is likely to be in this country much longer."

"I do not at all know; but I heard nothing of his going away when I was at Netherfield. I hope your plans in favour of the ----shire will not be affected by his being in the neighbourhood."

"Oh! no -- it is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go. We are not on friendly terms, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding him but what I might proclaim to all the world; a sense of very great ill-usage, and most painful regrets at his being what he is."

Right there! Elizabeth, if she were not blinded by his charm and interest in his tale, should have alarm bells going off in her head. Did he just declare himself incapable to judge Mr. Darcy? He does it again:

"Society, I own, is necessary to me. I have been a disappointed man, and my spirits will not bear solitude. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. The church ought to have been my profession -- I was brought up for the church, and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now."

"Indeed!"

"Yes -- the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."

"Good heavens!" cried Elizabeth; "but how could that be? -- How could his will be disregarded? -- Why did not you seek legal redress?"

"There was just such an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from law. A man of honour could not have doubted the intention, but Mr. Darcy chose to doubt it -- or to treat it as a merely conditional recommendation, and to assert that I had forfeited all claim to it by extravagance, imprudence, in short any thing or nothing. Certain it is, that the living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and that it was given to another man; and no less certain is it, that I cannot accuse myself of having really done any thing to deserve to lose it. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me."

"This is quite shocking! -- He deserves to be publicly disgraced."

"Some time or other he will be -- but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him."

Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever as he expressed them.

This chapter almost reads like a cautionary tale. Elizabeth, with all her intelligence, listens to him say he can never do what he just did, and honors him for it. And he does it yet again:

After a few minutes reflection, however, she continued, "I do remember his boasting one day, at Netherfield, of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful."

"I will not trust myself on the subject," replied Wickham, "I can hardly be just to him."

Under Elizabeth's encouragement, he develops further and further slanders against Mr. Darcy, impugning his affection for Georgiana, and attributing an obligation to his father from the late Mr. Darcy, instead of the other way around. In all of her novels, Austen dwells on the differences between a persons actions and statement, demanding the former support the latter, but perhaps no more so that in Pride and Prejudice, and particularly in this chapter and the next.

Chapter seventeen opens with Elizabeth conveying Mr. Wickham's account of Mr. Darcy to Jane. Jane might be overly unwilling to judge anyone harshly, but she shows far more sense and less prejudice than Elizabeth in this scene:

"Laugh as much as you chuse, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his father's favourite in such a manner, -- one, whom his father had promised to provide for. -- It is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in him? oh! no."

"I can much more easily believe Mr. Bingley's being imposed on, than that Mr. Wickham should invent such a history of himself as he gave me last night; names, facts, every thing mentioned without ceremony. -- If it be not so, let Mr. Darcy contradict it. Besides, there was truth in his looks."

Truth in his looks! Oh, no. That certainly hold in Austen. This moment is detrimental in the development of Jane's worth, and it has been unfortunately overlooked in the film adaptations. It is best captured in the 1980 version, and if I did this right, the clip should be queued to the correct starting point. If not, and it begins in the middle of the Phillip's party, forward to 3:00.

 http://youtu.be/b09aoasaReY?t=3m1s

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Fourteen and Fifteen

It's hard not to love Mr. Collins. He brings so much comedy to the plot. He is overshadowed, however, in chapter fourteen by the mere specter of Lady Catherine, who may be even funnier. Together, they are two of my favorite characters in the book. Both are absolutely delightful in their horribleness. Here's another image by C.E. Brock:

She had even condescended to advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and had once paid him a visit in his humble parsonage; where she had perfectly approved all the alterations he had been making, and had even vouchsafed to suggest some herself, -- some shelves in the closets up stairs.

Every time I read an Austen novel,something strikes me in a new and different way. Today (or is it still tonight?), I feel particularly aware of the presumption with which Mr. Collins comes to Longbourn. It seems safe to assume, based on the collective response of all the Bennet sisters but Mary, that Mr. Collins is not popular with the ladies. It becomes clear that his planned atonement for being the heir of Longbourn, which Elizabeth mocked after hearing his letter, is really more about securing for himself a convenient wife than making restitution. Austen's pen drips with sarcasm here:

Having now a good house and very sufficient income, he intended to marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had a wife in view, as he meant to chuse one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report. This was his plan of amends -- of atonement -- for inheriting their father's estate; and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested on his own part.

What's truly galling is that his expectations are not unfounded, falling well within the boundaries of what most people in this society would find appropriate. Gross.

The introduction of Mr. Collins and all his ridiculousness stands in sharp contrast to the first meeting with Mr. Wickham in chapter fifteen. The man seems everything Mr. Collins is not. Of course, this is the chapter which also bears witness to the cold greeting between Mr. Darcy and Wickham, which is what readers typically remember of it, but I'd like to pay some attention to Mrs. Phillips introduction instead. We first see her vulgarly hanging from her window, yelling into the street. She then provides us with this wonderful glimpse into the workings of small town gossip, which plays such an important role in the book:

Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces, and the two eldest, from their recent absence, were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly expressing her surprise at their sudden return home, which, as their own carriage had not fetched them, she should have known nothing about, if she had not happened to see Mr. Jones's shop boy in the street, who had told her that they were not to send any more draughts to Netherfield because the Miss Bennets were come away, when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction of him. 

Having established her enjoyment of the same pursuits that occupy the two youngest Bennets, but not having the excuse of youth, the chapter ends with this assesment of Mrs. Phillips character:

Mr. Collins, on his return, highly gratified Mrs. Bennet by admiring Mrs. Philips's manners and politeness. He protested that except Lady Catherine and her daughter, he had never seen a more elegant woman; for she had not only received him with the utmost civility, but had even pointedly included him in her invitation for the next evening, although utterly unknown to her before. Something he supposed might be attributed to his connection with them, but yet he had never met with so much attention in the whole course of his life.

If the reader was left in any doubt as to the value of Mr. Collins' opinions before, they can now be assured of their utter worthlessness.

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen

I actually feel kind of bad for Mr. Hurst in chapter eleven. One must wonder if his vapid personality is reason for or the result of how little regard he is shown. The chapter begins with his desire for cards being denied by Miss Bingley, leaving him with "nothing to do but to stretch himself on one of the sophas and go to sleep." At the end, she considerately asks Mrs. Hurst if she minds him being woken up by the piano, but no thought is paid to the feelings of the sleeper.

Sandwiched between Mr. Hurst's woes is one of my favorite scenes in the book. Mr. Bingley's excessive concern and attention to drafts remind me of Mr. Woodhouse. Meanwhile. Miss Bingley treats us to a display of hypocrisy to rival, or rather surpass, Mrs. Bennet's in chapter five:

Miss Bingley's attention was quite as much engaged in watching Mr. Darcy's progress through his book, as in reading her own; and she was perpetually either making some inquiry, or looking at his page. She could not win him, however, to any conversation; he merely answered her question, and read on. At length, quite exhausted by the attempt to be amused with her own book, which she had only chosen because it was the second volume of his, she gave a great yawn and said, "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book! -- When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library."

No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book, and cast her eyes round the room in quest of some amusement...

All this is just the prelude to one of Darcy and Elizabeth's best exchanges, rendered all the more delightful by taking place in spite of Miss Bingley's maneuvers. I said a few posts ago that I was delaying talk of Darcy, but now he must be addressed, for this is the scene in which I fall in love with him:

"I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect. He owns it himself without disguise."

"No" -- said Darcy, "I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. -- It is I believe too little yielding -- certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. -- My good opinion once lost is lost for ever."

"That is a failing indeed!" -- cried Elizabeth. "Implacable resentment is a shade in a character. But 
you have chosen your fault well. -- I really cannot laugh at it; you are safe from me."

"There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome."

"And your defect is a propensity to hate every body."

"And yours," he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them."

I can see that smile. Just like the one in his portrait. Listen to this proud man expose his inner self so openly, Elizabeth! How can you mistake this for disdain? She does indeed willfully misunderstand him,an accusation he will echo later at Rosings, and even though he is not yet serious in his intentions towards her, my heart bleeds a bit for him here.

Chapter twelve returns Jane and Elizabeth to Longbourn, and chapter thirteen introduces Mr. Collins. By now, the reader is fully aware of the limitations of Mrs. Bennet's character, but this is the first time we begin to see the real failings of Mr. Bennet. Every time I begin this chapter, I have to stop and think how I would respond if my husband, having known of it for a month, was informing me for the first time of the need to host a visitor that very evening, let alone for the next week. I would be livid. Such behavior is grossly inconsiderate, and presages grief to come.

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Eight, Nine, and Ten

With Elizabeth and Jane entrenched at Netherfield, we begin to see Darcy and Elizabeth's relationship develop. Chapter seven establishes a kinship between them that gets reinforced over the following two chapters, and the common bond is books. I can't help but note that, though MIss Bingley's jealousy has already been aroused, Elizabeth does very little to make herself pleasant to her hostess. We often dwell on Caroline's rudeness, and for good reason, but in the delicate interactions between one female ego and another, it is Elizabeth who appears the bigger B*#!@ is this exchange:

Then," observed Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished women."

"Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it."

"Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."

"All this she must possess," added Darcy, "and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any."

"Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?"

"I never saw such a woman, I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united."

Of course, Caroline does set herself up for the set down, rendering it particularly well-deserved.


Chapter nine is one of the more humiliating for our heroine, as her family displays just how embarrassing it can be. None of the veiled insults exchanged between Elizabeth and Caroline are nearly as vile as those Mrs. Bennet now levels at Mr. Darcy, nor are they as undeserved. Elizabeth shows a remarkable degree of concern for Mr. Darcy's feelings, considering how much she professes to dislike him, and goes even farther in consideration of his comfort in chapter ten: "Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather offended; and therefore checked her laugh." 

One of my favorite exchanges:

"And so ended his affection," said Elizabeth impatiently. "There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!"

"I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said Darcy.

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Every thing nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

And another, portrayed here by C.E. Brock (again, image from Mollands.net):

"You used us abominably ill," answered Mrs. Hurst, "in running away without telling us that you were coming out." Then taking the disengaged arm of Mr. Darcy, she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path just admitted three.

Mr. Darcy felt their rudeness and immediately said, --

"This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue."
But Elizabeth, who had not the least inclination to remain with them, laughingly answered,

"No, no; stay where you are. -- You are charmingly group'd, and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoilt by admitting a fourth. Good bye."

Quick note: Elizabeth displays here an advanced knowledge and breadth of study by citing Gilpin's theories on the picturesque, further establishing a contrast between herself and her ignorant relations.

Food break!

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Six and Seven

A whole lot happens in chapter six, which begins by establishing vital themes in the novel. Charlotte Lucas first hints at the problems that will arise from Jane's cool temperament, even while Elizabeth lauds the same quality, and then reveals her own very pragmatic approach to marriage. Modern audiences deride Miss Lucas as unfeeling, or at least terribly unromantic, but to contemporary readers, it must have been Elizabeth's notions that seemed sadly mistaken. This becomes increasingly clear at the beginning of chapter seven, when the Bennet's financial and social circumstances are revealed.

Chapter six also establishes many of the flaws in Elizabet's character. Her sometimes clouded judgement of others is hinted when she laughs off Charlotte's pragmatic approach to marriage: "You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself." She also shows how blind she is regarding her own actions and feelings, particularly when she teases Mr. Darcy in a blatantly flirtatious manner without regard to the consequences. It is ironic what Charlotte has just finished saying: "In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better shew more affection than she feels." Elizabeth does just that, and it is no wonder Mr. Darcy mistakes her opinion of him.

I'm running behind, and there is still so much to say! Chapter seven brings the Bennet ladies to Nethefield, and Mrs. Bennet amply demonstrates the harm idiocy can inflict upon  others. More irony abounds, as Mr. Bennet has just finished deriding the senses of his two youngest, to which his wife replies: "My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father and mother. Tragic though her foolishness may be, I do love this scene:

She did at last extort from her father an acknowledgment that the horses were engaged. Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her mother attended her to the door with many cheerful prognostics of a bad day. Her hopes were answered; Jane had not been gone long before it rained hard. Her sisters were uneasy for her, but her mother was delighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission; Jane certainly could not come back.

"This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!" said Mrs. Bennet, more than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the next morning, however, she was not aware of all the felicity of her contrivance. 

It's moments like this that makes me think those who find no pleasure in Austen are intolerably stupid.

Pride and Prejudice Readathon: Chapters Three, Four, and Five

Now we enter the broader society of Meryton and meet our hero. As Mr. Darcy has been the recipient of a great deal of my attention on other occasions, I'm going to overlook him (just for the moment) and focus on some of the more subtle triumphs in these chapters. First of all, I absolutely love, love, love how the Bennet ladies get their first description of Mr. Bingley:

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.

To have to rely on Sir William Lucas for a description of a young man! It reminds me of the scene in Sense and Sensibility where Marianne questions Sir John on Willoughby. It is not until the beginning of chapter five that Austen expounds on the knight's character, and at the time the true folly in relying upon his assessment become clear.  However, let it be noted that Sir William is actually fairly dependable in this one instance, and his description must be of more use to the ladies in forming an opinion of Mr. Bingley than what they can surmise by the color of his coat, no matter how fashionable blue might be (if you are interested in mens fashion of the period, do read up on Beau Brummel - fascinating stuff).

It is not until chapter four that the characters of our most important players are really introduced. We have already been able to surmise something about Elizabeth, Bingley, and Darcy already (regarding Jane we have learned little more than that she is beautiful), but it is here that Austen truly lays out their dispositions. I love how she creates a contrast between the discussion at Longbourn between Jane and Elizabeth verses that at Netherfield. In the brilliant dialog at Longbourn, Elizabeth first spoken words in the text  reveal her as her father's true daughter, and Jane's sweetness becomes instantly apparent:

"He is just what a young man ought to be," said she, "sensible, good humored, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! -- so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!"

"He is also handsome," replied Elizabeth, "which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete."

"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment."

"Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference between us. Compliments always take you by surprise, and me never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other women in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that. Well, he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person."

Austen is particularly brilliant at using dialog to illustrate character. I do wish that she had let us hear the conversation at Netherfield, rather than just summarizing it.

So short on time if I am to stay on schedule! I'll conclude by pointing out how chapter five fully exposes Mrs. Bennet's weaknesses. First she proves the hypocrite with Miss Lucas, pretending to not be glorying in Mr. Bingley's preference for Jane, and then she uses improper English - always a sign of character flaw in Austen: " every body says that he is ate up with pride". But my favorite is how this chapter ends, asthe mother of five grown daughters squabbles with a little boy:

"If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy," cried a young Lucas who came with his sisters, "I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day."

"Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought," said Mrs. Bennet; "and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly."

The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.

How ridiculous! I love moments like this in Austen, and I think this image by C.E. Brock (borrowed from mollands.net) captures it beautifully.

Oh! I almost forgot to say something about upward mobility, and how these chapters reveal the ways in which a family increased their standing in the world. I have not time to comment on it, but two moments are particularly revealing. This from chapter four:

Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly an hundred thousand pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate, but did not live to do it. -- Mr. Bingley intended it likewise, and sometimes made choice of his county; but as he was now provided with a good house and the liberty of a manor, it was doubtful to many of those who best knew the easiness of his temper, whether he might not spend the remainder of his days at Netherfield, and leave the next generation to purchase.

His sisters were very anxious for his having an estate of his own; but though he was now established only as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no means unwilling to preside at his table, nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man of more fashion than fortune, less disposed to consider his house as her home when it suited her. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years, when he was tempted by an accidental recommendation to look at Netherfield House. He did look at it and into it for half an hour, was pleased with the situation and the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.

And this from the beginning of chapter five:

Sir William Lucas had been formerly in trade in Meryton, where he had made a tolerable fortune and risen to the honour of knighthood by an address to the King during his mayoralty. The distinction had perhaps been felt too strongly. It had given him a disgust to his business and to his residence in a small market town; and quitting them both, he had removed with his family to a house about a mile from Meryton, denominated from that period Lucas Lodge, where he could think with pleasure of his own importance, and, unshackled by business, occupy himself solely in being civil to all the world. 

Oh again! This on gossip from chapter three: "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."

Love it!