Pride & Prejudice, ch. 39: Lydia And Her Sisters

This is the first chapter that really highlights Lydia’s more annoying traits. We’ve seen her literally put herself forward and unabashedly eavesdrop on conversations, but here her immaturity is on full display. If the reader didn’t mind or was partial to her before, then this is where that opinion takes a turn for the worse. It’s a calculated move on Austen’s part, but she uses this time to offer a significant contrast between Lydia and her sadder but wiser older sister.

The set-up is that Lizzy, Jane, and Maria (remember her?) are heading back home and are met with Lydia and Kitty (see, the Bennets have a forgettable sister, too) and a lunch spread. “And we mean to treat you all, but you must lend us the money,” Lydia informs them. Obviously such an offer is meant to illustrate her selfishness, but it also begs the question as to whether Lydia knows the correct meaning of “treat.” I guess she reads novels, not dictionaries. She also spent the money on … wait for it … a hat that she doesn’t even like. Now, I am not a hat person by nature, so to me buying a mediocre-looking bonnet is a complete waste of time, money, and energy. She says she’ll run it through her Bedazzler later, but her flightiness gives one the impression that she’s just as likely to forget about it once she arrives home.

Anyway, Lydia has some hot goss concerning Mary King’s would-be suitor, Wickham: Miss King’s uncle whisked her away to Liverpool, and “Wickham is safe”—a curious turn of phrase to use, as if Mary King was the one preying on him. Then Lydia starts to bash the poor girl’s looks, refusing to believe that Wickham actually cared about her. This catches Lizzy off guard, not only because of Lydia’s rudeness, but also because she realizes that “her own breast had formerly harbored” a similar “coarseness of the sentiment,” if not the “expression” Lydia employs. Lizzy, too, once thought it “liberal” of herself to think that Wickham was fine to court Mary King despite a lack of genuine feelings toward her. Now that she’s heard Lydia say it, Lizzy realizes how incredibly hypocritical she was. 

Good.

(And by the way, this poor Mary King girl better be enjoying a nice holiday in Liverpool. Hopefully she meets a nice man with a decent income and a penchant for redheads.)

Anyway, this girl goes on to make the carriage ride home as loud and annoying as possible. I mean, she actually pats herself on the back for having bought the bonnet because it takes up more space. WHAT. And then she starts peppering her sisters with inane questions without giving them room to answer them. There’s a quick aside that she wants to get married soon (hello, my old friend foreshadowing). By the time she goes into the details of a dumb prank she and her clique played on the soldiers, it’s easy to picture Lizzy cringing at her little sister. Especially since Lydia mentions Wickham over and over again. This is, of course, part of Lizzy’s penance—even though she knows how horribly she misjudged him, she can’t say anything about it. Though the news that the regiment is moving away to Brighton … brightens her up. (I’m sorry.)

At Longbourn, it’s obvious that the two eldest Bennet sisters have been missed. Mr. Bennet is relieved to see Lizzy again, while Mrs. Bennet takes Jane’s “undiminished” good looks as a good sign.* Maria is, happily, remembered by her own family, who arrive to pick her up.

And then we have a look at what may be the dumbest exchange of dialogue in the novel, which is saying something as it doesn’t involve Mr. Collins. Lydia brags to middle sister (sigh) Mary about what a great day she had and how she totally paid for lunch for everyone and even though the coach was crowded, Mary should have totally been there, for sure! (Yeah, I know, my teen lingo is woefully out of date.) Mary has to be all Not Like Other Girls®️ and drone, “Far be it from me, my dear sister, to depreciate such pleasures. They would doubtless be congenial with the generality of female minds. But I confess they would have no charms for me. I should infinitely prefer a book.”

Now, I know a lot of us have, or maybe used to have, a soft spot for Mary. I’m perfectly willing to accept the idea that Mary just had the misfortune to be born in a time and place that didn’t have sympathy for her. But even we have to admit that Mary’s a bit too comfortable with leaning into the staid, rigid, by-the-book type of morality. And while it does serve to separate her from her sisters, it doesn’t make her a better person. Compare her to Lizzy, who once declared that she “is not a great reader and take[s] pleasure in many things” and doesn’t feel the need to throw her gender under the bus to make herself look better. We won’t really get into Mary’s negative traits until well into the third volume, but this is a pretty accurate (and depressing) foreshadowing of her heartlessness.

Lydia ignores Mary’s response, and I can’t fully blame it on her short attention span. But it also shows a greater disconnect between the sisters, especially as Lydia “never attended to Mary at all.” She also splits Longbourn to visit the officers (along with Kitty), while Lizzy finds out that her mom really wants the family to holiday at Brighton that summer. Mr. Bennet steadily rejects the idea, but Lizzy is distressed at Mrs. Bennet’s obsession with the seaside town. It’s an obsession she shares with her youngest daughter … 

Next time: Lizzy drops the Darcy bomb on Jane, the sisters make a decision that will have unforeseen consequences, and Mrs. Bennet know how to hold a grudge.

*The use of fading beauty to denote a female character’s broken heart is used primarily in Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion. I find it interesting that Austen chooses not to employ it here. Maybe it’s a subtle remark on Jane’s maturity?