Me Darcy, you Jane
"It is a truth universally acknowledged", wrote Jane Austen, "that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife".
This notion is the opening sentence of Pride and Prejudice — a book which appeared in 1813. If you have been watching the BBC adaptation of Austen's novel you'll understand why the work has been such a favourite for so long.
The six-part TV series was phenomenally successful in Britain and has enjoyed similar popularity here. I predict the return of the bonnet and the empire line, and expect members of my sex to be frequently compared — favourably or unfavourably, as the case may be — to the novel's likely lads: Messrs Collins, Bingley, Wickham and Darcy.
If I am prone to wearing a blue singlet, stubbies and thongs, I may not qualify to join such company. But if I possessed a good fortune, then it's a gentleman I would be. The two go hand in hand. And Mr Darcy in the end gets the girl.
Or is it the other way round: does the girl get Darcy? As it is wont to happen in true romance, the novel's main voice, Elizabeth Bennet, overcomes her prejudice to finally smile upon Mr Darcy's character and fortune. Lucky Liz.
While we are led to assume that Miss Bennet and Mr Darcy then partake of their share of happy ever aftering, we are free to pick over the traces of their single status and compare it to that of our modern mister and miss (for the sake of historical argument, "Ms" is not operative here).
The question that needs to be asked is simply this: how could Miss Bennet afford such prejudice (or afford to look such a gift horse like Darcy in the mouth)? Who does she think she is? A (gasp!) feminist?
All those red coats in the novel, bivouacking locally and dallying in sundry romantic pursuits, were earmarked for the Napoleonic Wars. Britain was keen to rid Europe of the French disease because its infection was spreading even to its own womenfolk. If all men could think they had rights — maybe (their) women could too!
It is a pity that with the defeat of Napoleon, Austen herself was to get caught up in the reaction that settled in; her last novel, Mansfield Park, is rigidly moralistic and affirming of the old ways. But P&P — first drafted in her youth — is rebellious within the confines, not just of the contemporary mores, but of reality. You could be as rad-fem as you like back in them days — but without jobs on offer or an independent income, what was any self-respecting feminist to do?
Since Mr Darcy has been judged to be something of a hunk, television viewers, in their millions, have endorsed the match. The modern belief is that Liz did indeed get lucky, and true romance triumphs over all.
Dave Riley