Pride & Prejudice, ch. 24: She's Not Mad, She's Just Disappointed

Our Jane.

So … remember when I was moaning about how dumb and insipid Mr. Collins was, and getting all angsty and grumpy over him?

This chapter puts all that into much sharper perspective. Not because it’s about Mr. Collins—he gets a couple mentions at most. But because Jane’s dashed hopes cause Lizzy to spiral into anger and even mild depression, and that just hits home in a way I can’t quite articulate. Lizzy isn’t just indignant on Jane’s behalf here, but full-on disparaging at the state of humanity. Even given what’s yet to come, this chapter feels rather heavy to me.

Caroline’s helpful Goodbye And Thanks For All The Fish missive does two things: it convinces Jane that her courtship with Bingley is at an end, and it causes Lizzy to doubt her previously held belief that Bingley would come back for Jane. Speaking of: our patron saint of doormats has decided to blame herself for thinking that she meant more to Bingley than (what appears to be) he thought of her. “I have nothing to either hope or fear, and nothing to reproach him with,” she says, locating the very thin silver lining.

Lizzy compares her to an angel, which is apt. But then we find out that she is in a MoodTM:

“Do not be afraid of my … encroaching on your privilege of universal good will. You

need not. There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think

well. The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it; and every day

confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little

dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense.”

Then she compares Bingley’s apparent “inconsistency” with Charlotte’s, which is not quite as apt. Jane reminds Lizzy of what Mr. Collins has to offer and of Charlotte’s “prudent, steady character,” the latter landing as a blunt counterpoint to Lizzy’s accusation of Charlotte being inconsistent. She also states that Mr. Collins is, in the eyes of their society, “respectable.” Still, Lizzy insists that “selfishness is [not] prudence, and insensibility of danger, [not] security for happiness.” (She means the “danger” that can come from a bad marriage, which she clearly thinks awaits anybody who attaches herself to Mr. Collins.) 

That’s a whole lot of yikes, right there.

Jane also attempts to be the voice of reason (how many times have I said that now?) while talking about Bingley, even though the subject is painful for her. She believes that the Bingley sisters might very well want their brother to end up with Miss Darcy, that it’s natural “if they love her better” than they like Jane, and that they have no influence over Bingley anyway. Lizzy argues that they may not be acting out of love at all, and that Bingley’s actions—such as they are—stem from a “want of resolution.” 

This argument has merit, though there are a couple holes in it that Lizzy doesn’t get around to examining. If the Bingley sisters are trying to control their brother, then is he aware of it? Would he really listen to them only because he lacks “resolution,” or because of other reasons? I ask these questions because they seem to be the kind of questions our Lizzy should be asking, especially given that she’s “a studier of character” and has previously claimed that she had predicted Bingley’s reply to a question. But here, we see her intellectual curiosity (not to mention her character analysis) is absent. Her depression about the world has cut off her ability to think and reason. Jane’s not doing so hot, either: in her rush to acquit everyone involved of wrongdoing or pettiness, she glosses over her broken heart and Lizzy’s sharper instincts (Lizzy also believes that Darcy is in on it, which is pretty damn prescient of her).

Mrs. Bennet is perpetually confused at Bingley’s sudden removal, which honestly is a legitimate reaction, even given her emotional rashness. Mr. Bennet turns it into a joke, offering us this insight into the female psyche: “Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed in love a little now and then.” Hm. Sounds like a certain tone-deaf clergyman we all know and love. He ribs Lizzy about Wickham, meaning that Lick-’em (or Wizzy, it doesn’t matter, both are terrible) are now an item. Curiously, the entire town is now aware of Wickham’s Darcy-centric tale of woe, and are all “pleased to think how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known anything of the matter.” Never change, Meryton.

Only Jane, our precious and secretly-always-a-little-right Jane, cautions that there might have been some “possibility of mistakes” in the story. She’s right—but she can’t conceive just how right she is.

Soon to come: a visit from their London relations allows us to re-hash the Jane-Bingley dissolution. All. Over. Again.