Pride and Prejudice, chapter 7
Chapter seven of Pride and Prejudice seems at first like another slow, expositional, color-building chapter. We get some background on the Bennet family’s financial situation, what little world-building we need on the nearby village of Meryton, and in a development which will only prove significant later, we learn that a militia regiment has arrived in Hertfordshire.
And we have this exchange:
"From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced."
Catherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect indifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, and her hope of seeing him in the course of the day, as he was going the next morning to London.
"I am astonished, my dear," said Mrs. Bennet, "that you should be so ready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly of anybody's children, it should not be of my own, however."
"If my children are silly, I must hope to be always sensible of it."
"Yes—but as it happens, they are all of them very clever."
"This is the only point, I flatter myself, on which we do not agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must so far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly foolish."
"My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father and mother. When they get to our age, I dare say they will not think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well—and, indeed, so I do still at my heart; and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls I shall not say nay to him; and I thought Colonel Forster looked very becoming the other night at Sir William's in his regimentals."
This could be about anything; it’s about officers at the moment, but we can easily gather that this could be any conversation on any morning. What makes it different is that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are interrupted by a letter for Jane: she has been invited to dine at Netherfield with Mr. Bingley’s sisters. Mrs. Bennet, displaying a peculiar yet somehow entirely appropriate level of cunning, persuades Jane to ride to the engagement on horseback, as there are not enough horses available for her to take the carriage: it looks like rain, and Jane will have to stay all night.
This backfires slightly: Jane does have to stay all night, and for much longer besides, as she catches a cold as a result of riding through the rain storm. She writes Elizabeth:
"MY DEAREST LIZZY,—
"I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones—therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me—and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me.—Yours, etc."
So, now we have a plot: Jane is ill and stuck at Netherfield. Who cares?
I mean that question quite literally: who, of the characters in this novel we have met so far, actually gives a damn that Jane is sick? We can observe a reaction of some kind from every individual. Most of them don’t come off too well:
Jane herself: as we can see above, she is sensible enough to know she is ill, but is more than anything worried that other people should worry about her. It’s a deft (and very sad) touch that Jane writes to Elizabeth with both the news and the reassurance, rather than either of her parents.
Mr. Bennet: “"Well, my dear," said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud, "if your daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness—if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders."” He’s making a joke about it, as he does about everything. This is merely an opportunity to laugh at his wife.
Mrs. Bennet: she’s not in the least bit worried for Jane’s illness or discomfort, and not at all guilty that she effectively caused them both.
Elizabeth: “Elizabeth, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her, though the carriage was not to be had; and as she was no horsewoman, walking was her only alternative. She declared her resolution.” Elizabeth, though feeling anxious, is firm and resolute in her actions. She loves Jane, and knows Jane well enough to know that she will not ask for a visit however much she wants and needs one. Her mother only wonders why she would want to go when she’ll be covered in dirt when she gets there.
Mary: “"I admire the activity of your benevolence," observed Mary, "but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is required." This is typical Mary - she’s just bright enough to realize that Elizabeth is acting admirably, but has no desire to put herself out, so she manages to come up with a pretty sounding reason why she should do as she likes.
Catherine and Lydia: “"We will go as far as Meryton with you," said Catherine and Lydia. Elizabeth accepted their company, and the three young ladies set off together.” They don’t care and don’t pretend to.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst: they are astonished and bewildered at Elizabeth’s behavior, and will later insult her for it, but they treat Jane kindly and it is enough to make Elizabeth think a little better of them, albeit temporarily. Importantly, like their invitation to dinner in the first place, their solicitation over Jane’s illness is only dependent on there being no men in the house to distract them.
Mr. Bingley: kind, but rather vaguely so, in keeping with his appearances in the rest of the novel so far.
Mr. Hurst: “thinking only of his breakfast.” Clear enough.
Mr. Darcy: “Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion's justifying her coming so far alone.” This is a complicated reaction - Darcy is not yet overcome by his attraction to Elizabeth, but it is a distraction. If someone he wasn’t hot for had shown up like this, I wouldn’t expect him to be divided at all.
This will be important later. When Elizabeth and Darcy have finally agreed to marry, she teasingly declares that he fell in love without knowing any good of her; Elizabeth’s behavior toward the sick Jane will be his example, and she will cheerfully dismiss it as not indicative at all, for of course who would do less for Jane?
As we can see, nearly everyone would do less for Jane, and even Darcy at the time didn’t find Elizabeth’s actions particularly admirable: he seemed to think it was a little excessive. He’ll be most of the way in love with her by the time the Netherfield visit is over, however.