Pride & Prejudice, ch. 47: Everything is Awful

To reiterate, the subtitle refers specifically to this chapter, not to the state of things in the year of our lord 2020.

We begin right away with a discussion about Lydia and Wickham’s are-they-or-aren’t-they status. Uncle Gardiner points out that it would be foolish of Wickham to just up and leave the regiment (as he has essentially quit his job—great way to start life as a married man) with a young woman from a respectable background. “His temptation is not adequate to the risk,” Uncle G argues. Aunt Gardiner chimes in that Wickham is surely too honorable to commit such an act of indecency.

Lizzy’s like, listen, you don’t know this guy like I do. Lydia isn’t rich and he’s only interested in marrying rich, and he’s not going to let a little thing like dignity stand in his way. Plus, he’s definitely seen my dad’s complete lack of familial authority, so what would Wickham have to fear? Lydia can be cute and fun, but she has no filter, so of course Wickham’s going to find an easy target in her. And anyway, why else would they bother to keep randomly switching different coaches other than to cover their tracks?

It’s important to point out that Lizzy is basically going through a breakdown here. Having to admit that her younger sister apparently has no sense of honor or decorum is taking a toll on her. Before, when she simply rolled her eyes at Lydia’s immaturity, it was done safely in the knowledge that Lydia was at home and not, well, way out past her bedtime with some jerk. But that same pattern of behavior that Lizzy mocked has now led to Lydia becoming lost to her family in every sense of the word. 

She reminds her aunt and uncle (and the reader) of Wickham’s true behavior. The flippancy with which he lied to Lizzy about Miss Darcy is the same flippancy that propelled him to gamble away his money, lie about Darcy, and ultimately, to run off with Lydia. 

I think this is a point in Wickham’s character that some readers have struggled with. He is not a tragic figure; there is no one big bad fault that results in the downfall of himself, Lydia, and by extension the Bennets. Instead, his weaknesses are small-scale stuff: he has no direction, he dwells in the past, and he has no respect for others. None of this seems like it should add up to such a monumentally bad choice like running off to London with a young woman for ~companionship~. But let’s remember: this guy doesn’t think things through. He didn’t count on Georgiana breaking down and admitting to big bro Darcy what she’d been planning to do; he didn’t count on Lizzy learning the truth (and believing it) from Darcy; and he didn’t count on Lizzy “learning to detect” his “affectation” after becoming disillusioned with him. Could he have predicted any of these outcomes? Maybe not. But he does have an established pattern of lying to impress others (a pattern that he will continue to demonstrate), charming whomever he pleases, and disregarding rules of propriety.

So, no. Lydia and Wickham were not inevitable. But Lydia’s recklessness and Wickham’s ego are a very bad combination, and compounded with the supreme lack of order and authority … we can’t be that surprised, is what I’m saying.

The three of them arrive at Longbourn to an aggravated Mrs. Bennet, an anxious Jane, the shy Gardiner kiddies, and a physically absent Mr. Bennet. To be fair, the description of Mrs. Bennet’s “tremblings” and “flutterings” sound almost like an anxiety attack, though not all her complaints are sympathetic or justified.* Her assertion that “there was some great neglect or other on [the Forsters’] side” has a ring of truth to it, but she immediately follows it with, “for [Lydia] is not the kind of girl to do such a thing, if she had been well looked after.” We can all see that for the bull it is (either she’s ignorant about her daughter or turning a blind eye). Mrs. Bennet’s fretting about Mr. Bennet dying in a duel, the Collinses kicking them out of the house, and what Lydia will wear to the wedding all give the impression that even if she’s legitimately concerned, she’s also high on the melodrama. Notably, she doesn’t single out Wickham here—she’s equally ready to accept him either as her husband’s murderer or her future son-in-law.

Mr. Bennet is in London trying to trace the path of the coach they took to London and where they might have switched coaches—the Regency version of Follow that cab!, if you will. Uncle Gardiner promises to go to London to help Mr. Bennet, because God knows that it’s all hands on deck. 

And now we come to Mary. Sigh. Though she goes to Lizzy for the purpose of “pour[ing] into the wounded bosoms of each other the balm of sisterly consolation,” what she actually has to say produces the opposite effect. She tries to spin Lydia’s “loss of virtue” into a learning moment, but all Lizzy learns is that Mary’s “sisterly” concern is nonexistent to the point where Mary suddenly becomes more robotic than Darcy. And I mean … is it possible that this is some kind of coping mechanism for her? I don’t think so, personally; I think this is just another example of the Bennet parents failing to instill good values in their younger daughters. I know it must be hard to be the middle kid, and I will always have a soft spot for the black sheep of any family unit, but we have to face facts: Mary is deficient in something if all she can think about is pulling “moral extractions from the evil before them.”

Later, Lizzy gets the 411 from Jane re: Wickham’s possible motivation for going off with Lydia. Turns out that Lydia herself might have been the instigator on that front: Kitty “had known … of their being in love with each other many weeks.” Or, rather, of Lydia being in love with him; Denny doubted that Wickham was planning on marrying her. Jane shows a letter from Lydia that expresses a clear intention to marry Wickham, although since it’s also peppered with the more typical musings of a teen girl (her clothes need patching up, she’s going to miss a dance), her assumption comes across as rather childish.

Jane assures Lizzy that she still thinks they had good intentions when they decided not to tell everyone about Wickham. Morally, they might have made the right choice … but when you’re dealing with an immoral (or amoral) person, that choice is hard to justify. A lot could have been avoided had they decided to reveal the truth. But a lot more trouble and distress could have been avoided if Wickham had tried to grow a conscience. Or if Darcy had bothered to tell the truth when he’d had the chance. Come to think of it, he never stopped having the chance … 

Lizzy is distressed at the idea that Mrs. Bennet’s “hysterics” have ensured that the whole servant staff knows what has transpired, and angry at the thought of Lady Lucas stopping by to “condole” with the Bennets. This is a delicate situation: if the servants know about it, the gossip will spread all the more quickly, and Lady Lucas’s behavior can easily be interpreted as petty and unkind. “Let them triumph over us at a distance, and be satisfied,” Lizzy declares, and even though I feel like this is an unhealthy slide back into her bitter moments, I can’t shame her for the reaction. The Bennets are on their own now, generous uncles aside.

Soon to come: Wickham’s true nature comes to light for Meryton, Mr. Bennet slumps back into town, and Mr. Collins offers some kind, gentle words of wisdom.

*That said, David Shapard points out that Austen mocks characters who “fancy [themselves] ill, often as a way to elicit attention or sympathy.” I wonder if there is a chance that Austen, in real life, misunderstood those who exhibited anxiety? However, for the purposes of this novel, it is clear that Mrs. Bennet’s description is meant to paint her as an immature character.