-1995- All 6 Episodes — -s Pride And Prejudice

In the drawing-room that evening, while Jane recovers upstairs, Elizabeth spars with Darcy. They talk of “accomplished” women, of pride, of “a lively, playful disposition.” He smiles—a rare, awkward quirk of the mouth—and she is almost taken aback. Almost. But then he says that he cannot “forget the follies and vices of others so easily.” She thinks of his snub at the assembly. Pride , she decides, is his master.

Elizabeth laughs it off, telling her friend Charlotte Lucas she will “dance a reel with Mr. Darcy” only when the devil is sick. But that night, as she sits by her window, the slight stings. It is a seed of resentment that will grow like a weed.

Darcy, emboldened by her defiance, walks across a misty field at dawn. He finds Elizabeth walking alone. He is humble now. His pride is gone. He asks if her feelings have changed. She takes his hand.

He stares. Then, a slow, wondering smile breaks across his face. He takes her hand, presses it to his lips, and whispers, “Elizabeth.” -s Pride and Prejudice -1995- All 6 Episodes

But the true blow of Episode Three falls not at Longbourn, but in the mess room of the militia. Wickham arrives. Handsome, charming, with a story of grievous wrongs suffered at Darcy’s hands. Elizabeth drinks it in, her prejudice confirmed. Darcy, she decides, is a monster. And Wickham? A wounded hero.

But in the final hour, the miracle. Mr. Bennet receives a letter from Mr. Gardiner: Wickham has agreed to marry Lydia for a staggering sum. Mrs. Bennet crows. Only Elizabeth suspects the truth. And then, Bingley returns to Netherfield, proposes to Jane (in a drawing-room so full of nervous energy it practically hums), and is accepted.

Episode Five is the turning point. The next morning, Darcy hands her a letter. She reads it in a sun-dappled grove, her face shifting from anger to confusion to horror. Wickham, he writes, was a gambler, a wastrel who tried to elope with Darcy’s fifteen-year-old sister, Georgiana, for her fortune. And Jane? Darcy admits he advised Bingley she did not love him, believing it a kindness. Elizabeth looks up from the letter, her world inverted. She has been a fool. Blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd. In the drawing-room that evening, while Jane recovers

“My affections and wishes are unchanged,” she says. “But one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

Then comes the visit from Mr. Collins, their ridiculous clergyman cousin, who will inherit Longbourn. Episode Three delivers the season’s first great set-piece: he proposes to Elizabeth in the Longbourn parlor. It is a masterpiece of condescending absurdity. “My reasons for marrying are, first… secondly… thirdly…” He lists them like items on a grocery list. Elizabeth refuses, calmly, then firmly. Her mother is hysterical. Her father, hiding in his library, sighs with relief. “An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth,” he says. “From this day, you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.”

Then, disaster. A letter arrives: Lydia has run off with Wickham. Elizabeth tells Darcy. He goes pale, says nothing, and leaves abruptly. She returns to Longbourn, certain she has lost him forever. But then he says that he cannot “forget

Then, the second dance: of fate. Darcy, overwhelmed by a love he cannot suppress, proposes in the Hunsford parsonage. It is the most unromantic proposal ever uttered. “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” But then he ruins it: he catalogues her low connections, her family’s vulgarity, the inferiority of her situation. Elizabeth’s fury is cold and absolute. “From the very beginning, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others.” She accuses him of ruining Wickham and destroying Jane’s happiness. Darcy walks out, stunned.

One night, Lady Catherine de Bourgh thunders into Longbourn, ordering Elizabeth to promise never to marry Darcy. Elizabeth refuses. “I am only resolved to act in that manner which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness.”

Episode Four contains the two most uncomfortable dances in English literature. The first is at Netherfield Ball. Darcy, breaking every rule of his own nature, asks Elizabeth to dance. They move in silence, then in strained conversation. “I take no interest in dancing,” he says, “unless I am allowed to dance with my partner.” It is a confession, clumsy and raw. She deflects with wit. He looks at her as if she is the only woman in the room.

Episode One unfolds at the Meryton Assembly. Elizabeth’s eyes are bright, her tongue sharp. She watches Mr. Bingley—open, charming, immediately dancing with her sister Jane—and approves. But then she sees him . Mr. Darcy. Tall, handsome, and carved from the very ice of his Pemberley estate. He stands apart, refusing to dance, and when Bingley suggests he ask Elizabeth to dance, Darcy replies, loud enough for her to hear: “She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me .”