Pride & Prejudice, ch. 3: Wallflower

I’ll say this for Pride & Prejudice: its first iconic moment happens really early in the novel. I mean, what’s the equivalent for Mansfield Park? The chapter where Maria hops over the ha-ha with Henry Crawford? Yeah, that happens halfway through the first volume. Here, we get Mr. Darcy Being An Overgrown Brat almost immediately. And it is de-lish.

Let’s back up: We start with Mr. Bingley returning the visit to Mr. Bennet hoping to “[be] admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much.” Oooh, sounds like this rich guy actually is scoping around for a wife! I remember warming up to Bingley right after reading this line—maybe because I, too, wanted to know more about the Bennet girls. Mr. Bennet declines to introduce him to his daughters, probably because he doesn’t want Bingley hanging around for another whole fifteen minutes. That would cut into Mr. Bennet’s man-cave time okay, okay, it’s a library, not a den with a beer cooler and a scratchy armchair. But it serves the same purpose.

Mrs. Bennet is eager to make more time for Bingley to visit again, but he’s got some friends in London to pick up. Where the whole “twelve ladies and seven gentlemen” rumor comes from is left unanswered. Seriously, who came up with those numbers? And who knows twenty people well enough to invite them down to a village in the country for one party? Am I overthinking things again? Should I just drop this and get to the good stuff? Yes? You’re right.

Good news: Bingley is awesome! He dances a lot, he chats to people, he’s genuine and “unaffected,” and he’s all, we should totally party at my place some time, my parents are never home. He has stylish sisters with refined manners and a brother-in-law who looks the part. And his other friend, one Mr. “Noble Mien” Darcy, practically takes everyone’s breath away, especially when the fast-as-lightning town gossip reports that he has “ten thousand a year.”* Mm-mm. Let’s check that left hand … nope, no ring on this gentleman! Calling all the single ladies!

… I think I took some extra goofy pills this morning.

ANYWAY, once people start to talk to Mr. Darcy, they find out that he’s got a Derbyshire-sized chip on his shoulder, that he holds himself “above his company, and above being pleased.” He only dances with Bingley’s sisters and ignores everybody else while apparently glowering at nothing and nobody in particular. Now I know that some interpretations set this down as social awkwardness on Darcy’s part (mixed in with snobbery). I think that’s an attractive interpretation for a few reasons, one being that it turns him into a better foil for Lizzy, who always has a witty quip in any social interaction. But I also think that interpretation sells Darcy short in a way, and as I go through these chapters, I might be able to articulate how and why. (Sincere question: if Bingley hadn’t been Bingleying about all over the place—that is, if he hadn’t been so friendly and personable—would Darcy’s reputation have suffered less by comparison? It’s not explored in the text, but at least in this chapter, it seems like a possibility.)

Illustration by Robert Ball. Fun fact: I have this copy of Pride &
Prejudice (published in 1945). I inherited it from my grandmother,
who herself received it from her mother. 

And here we get to the meet-very-not-cute of Darcy and Lizzy. Now, listen, you Pemberley denizens, I’ve seen the arguments. We’ve studied this scene the way rabbis study the Torah: Bingley tries to get Darcy to socialize, points out Elizabeth Bennet as a dance partner, and then Darcy’s all, Four out of ten, would not recommend, and walks away. Lizzy, sitting within hearing distance, goes off and turns his insult of her into a funny story where he’s the butt of the joke. So is Darcy just being garden-variety rude, or is this deliberate on his part? Why risk insulting a lady who he can reasonably assume can overhear him? Or is it the reader’s fault to assume that Darcy can assume Lizzy has decent hearing?

These are worthwhile questions. But I think in the context of the narrative, Darcy’s rudeness is not justifiable because it reflects his inability to play nice with others. Is he bored? Yes. Is he low-key envious of Bingley having snagged “the only handsome girl in the room”? Very possibly. Does that mean he can mouth off whenever he wants? No. Should he know better than to do that? I think he should. He’s not standing up to some great injustice here: he’s offending a young unmarried woman who doesn’t possess his prestige and independence. Darcy is punching down.** And he’s misrepresenting the situation to boot: Lizzy’s sitting down because the assembly skews female, not because she’s been “slighted by other men.” We haven’t had any indication that she’s had to skip a dance before this one.

You know, Darcy … if you didn’t want to be here, you could’ve just not come …

Mrs. Bennet feeds off the good and bad stuff as she generously provides her husband with a recap of the dance. And I have to say, even as I roll my eyes at her prattling, it’s kind of refreshing that she doesn’t try to encourage Lizzy or any of her daughters to pursue the super-rich Darcy anyway. His insult about Lizzy is enough to mark him as a Bad Guy in her eyes. Although maybe this is another case of misplaced pride rather than a mama bear protecting her cubs. Oh, Mama Bennet, am I going to ever like you again?

Coming soon: We’re in for some sisterly bonding and some backstory on the Bingley brood, plus some of the blanks of Mr. Darcy are filled in.

*David M. Shapard states that this puts him “among the one or two hundred wealthiest men in England” at this period in time. So picture Elon Musk without the new-money swagger.

**Much like Emma Woodhouse and her cruel words to Miss Bates, for instance. The specifics of that scene are different, obviously, but I think Mr. Knightley would agree with me here.