Chapter 50 — Teaching Companion

What it asks It asks the student to weigh Mr. Bennet’s regret against what follows it, and so to read the money paragraphs as character, not background. He “had very often wished” that “instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum,” and “He now wished it more than ever.” The narrator names what the failure has cost: “Had he done his duty in that respect, Lydia need not have been indebted to her uncle for whatever of honour or credit could now be purchased for her.” He means “to find out the extent of his assistance, and to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.” Then the terms arrive, and the tone changes. He “had never before supposed” it could be done “with so little inconvenience to himself”; he “would scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser”; and “his chief wish at present was to have as little trouble in the business as possible.” Once the rage is over, “he naturally returned to all his former indolence.” He still “begged to know further particulars of what he was indebted to his brother,” but was “too angry with Lydia to send any message to her.” The card does not say who really paid for the marriage; Mr. Bennet believes it was his brother-in-law.

One reading

That the regret was thin; the relief shows what it was made of. The wish is strongest while the cost is unknown, and it fades the moment the cost proves small. What he wants now is “as little trouble in the business as possible,” and within a page he “naturally returned to all his former indolence.” On this reading the regret was about his own purse and his pride before his brother-in-law more than about Lydia, and the easy habits that kept him from saving are back as soon as the bill is known.

• his chief wish at present was to have as little trouble in the business as possible
• he naturally returned to all his former indolence

Another reading

That the regret was real; the two feelings are about different things. The regret is about “duty,” and about Lydia’s “honour or credit” being bought by someone else. The relief is about his own yearly loss. A man can be glad a bill is small and still be ashamed of why there is a bill at all, and he still means to pay his brother back. On this reading Austen shows a man who feels the right thing and then does the easy thing: the relief sits beside the regret without cancelling it.

• Had he done his duty in that respect
• to discharge the obligation as soon as he could

Listen for

• Hears “very often wished”: the wish is years old and was never acted on.
• Notices that the narrator, not Mr. Bennet aloud, supplies the word “duty.”
• Hears the tone turn with the terms: “so little inconvenience,” “as little trouble,” “former indolence.”
• Does not say who really paid; Mr. Bennet believes it was his brother-in-law.

If stuck

• What does Mr. Bennet wish he had done, and why did he never do it?
• What surprises him when he reads the terms?
• Can you be truly sorry about something and still be glad it cost you little?

A strong answer A strong response decides what the relief shows about the regret, and grounds it in the opening paragraphs. One reader finds the regret thin: it lasts only while the cost is unknown, and once he will “scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser” he wants “as little trouble in the business as possible” and goes back to “his former indolence.” Another finds two real feelings about two different things: the narrator’s “duty” and Lydia’s “honour or credit” on one side, his own purse on the other, with his plan to “discharge the obligation” still standing. The best answers notice that his wish grows strongest when it can no longer be acted on, and keep that pattern in mind when they reach Elizabeth.

What it asks It asks the student to start from the narrator’s joke about Meryton and find the same turn inside the family. The news of Lydia’s marriage “was borne” in the neighbourhood “with decent philosophy,” the calm one keeps for a misfortune. It “would have been more for the advantage of conversation, had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town,” and “the good-natured wishes for her well-doing, which had proceeded before from all the spiteful old ladies in Meryton, lost but little of their spirit in this change of circumstances, because with such a husband her misery was considered certain.” The town measures the news by what it loses: a scandal to talk about. In the family, others weigh good news by their own losses. Elizabeth sees the marriage that will cover Lydia’s flight as “An union of a different tendency, and precluding the possibility of the other.” Mr. Bennet and his daughters see “all the advantages of Wickham’s removal” to the north, but for Mrs. Bennet it is “a severe disappointment,” coming “just when she had expected most pleasure and pride in her company.” Mr. Bennet himself, given the news he hoped for at little cost, means Lydia to have “no mark of affection whatever.” The card does not say whether the marriage will be happy or miserable; the ladies predict, the chapter does not tell.

One reading

Elizabeth. The wedding that saves Lydia’s name is, for her, the end of a hope: it ties the family to “the man whom he so justly scorned,” and she sees it only as “An union of a different tendency, and precluding the possibility of the other.” Like the town, she measures Lydia’s marriage by what it takes from her. Unlike the town, she is not spiteful; her loss is real, and she bears it in private. On this reading the joke about Meryton prepares a sadder version of the same reckoning, in earnest this time.

• An union of a different tendency, and precluding the possibility of the other
• the man whom he so justly scorned

Another reading

Mrs. Bennet. Everyone else sees “all the advantages of Wickham’s removal,” and she alone is “not so well pleased with it”: the move north is “a severe disappointment,” and a pity, since Lydia leaves a regiment “where she was acquainted with everybody.” What she loses is the pleasure of showing a married daughter at home. On this reading she is the town’s comedy brought indoors: good news turned sour by what it costs her, with no thought for why the others are glad of it.

• But Mrs. Bennet was not so well pleased with it
• was a severe disappointment

Listen for

• Hears the irony in “decent philosophy”: good news is borne like a loss, because the town has lost a scandal.
• Finds a second person who weighs good news by a private loss, and quotes the line that shows it.
• Tells the town’s spite apart from a loss that is real, and says which kind each person feels.
• Does not predict Lydia’s misery; that is the ladies’ forecast, not the chapter’s.

If stuck

• What did the town expect, or hope, would happen to Lydia instead?
• Who in the Bennet family is not glad about some piece of good news in this chapter?
• Have you ever been sorry to hear good news because of what it cost you?

A strong answer A strong response names a second person and shows, from the text, what that person loses by the good news. One reader chooses Elizabeth: the wedding that covers Lydia’s flight is to her “An union of a different tendency,” the end of any hope of Darcy, and she bears in earnest what the town bears in jest. Another chooses Mrs. Bennet, who alone is “not so well pleased” with the move north, because it takes away the daughter she meant to show off. The best answers tell spite from real loss, and notice that in this chapter almost everyone judges Lydia’s marriage by what it does to them.

What it asks It asks the student to take Mrs. Bennet’s scale of values seriously, not only to laugh at it. On “this happy day” she comes down to dinner “in spirits oppressively high. No sentiment of shame gave a damp to her triumph.” Her thoughts run “wholly on those attendants of elegant nuptials, fine muslins, new carriages, and servants.” She searches the neighbourhood for a house and, “without knowing or considering what their income might be, rejected many as deficient in size and importance”: “as for Purvis Lodge, the attics are dreadful.” When her husband says the couple shall never be received at Longbourn and “would not advance a guinea to buy clothes for his daughter,” protesting that Lydia “should receive from him no mark of affection whatever on the occasion,” Mrs. Bennet finds it a “privilege, without which her marriage would scarcely seem valid.” The narrator sums up: “She was more alive to the disgrace, which her want of new clothes must reflect on her daughter’s nuptials, than to any sense of shame at her eloping and living with Wickham a fortnight before they took place.” Later she is glad to “show her married daughter in the neighbourhood.”

One reading

Disgrace is what the neighbours see; shame is what you feel inside, and she lives entirely in the first. The elopement is past and will soon be covered by a wedding, but the clothes, the house and the carriages will be on show. She judges houses by “size and importance” and a marriage by its outfit. On this reading the sentence is the narrator’s plain verdict: Mrs. Bennet has no inner measure at all, only the eyes of Meryton, and her “triumph” is untroubled because nothing that cannot be seen can trouble it.

• rejected many as deficient in size and importance
• No sentiment of shame gave a damp to her triumph.

Another reading

For her, the clothes are where the family’s love shows. Mr. Bennet himself treats them that way: refusing them, he means Lydia to have “no mark of affection whatever.” Without them, to her mind, the marriage “would scarcely seem valid.” On this reading Mrs. Bennet is not shameless so much as differently ashamed: the disgrace she fears is a daughter married without her family’s public blessing, and her fight for the clothes is a fight for Lydia’s place, however foolishly she wages it.

• no mark of affection whatever
• without which her marriage would scarcely seem valid

Listen for

• Draws a clear line between the two words, using the sentence that sets them side by side.
• Notices the house hunt done “without knowing or considering what their income might be,” and what it says about display.
• Hears that Mr. Bennet, too, treats the clothes as a “mark of affection.”
• Does not simply mock her; finds what her values are, not only what they lack.

If stuck

• What does Mrs. Bennet want for Lydia’s wedding, and what does her husband refuse?
• Which houses does she turn down, and for what reasons?
• Is it possible to be embarrassed by something without being ashamed of it?

A strong answer A strong response defines the two words through the chapter and grounds the definition in Mrs. Bennet’s behaviour. One reader finds that disgrace, for her, is entirely what is seen: houses judged by “size and importance,” a marriage that needs muslins and carriages, and “No sentiment of shame” to trouble her. Another finds a love expressed in public forms: the clothes are, in Mr. Bennet’s own words, a “mark of affection,” and without them her marriage “would scarcely seem valid.” The best answers keep the narrator’s judgment in view and still let Mrs. Bennet’s logic stand, and carry the distinction forward: a few paragraphs later, Elizabeth will mind one person’s knowing more than anyone’s.

What it asks It asks the student to weigh how Elizabeth argues against a hope she has not even voiced: as honest reasoning, or as a way of keeping herself from hoping. She is “most heartily sorry” she told Darcy of Lydia, though she trusts his silence: “There were few people on whose secrecy she would have more confidently depended; but at the same time there was no one whose knowledge of a sister’s frailty would have mortified her so much.” This is “Not, however, from any fear of disadvantage from it individually to herself; for at any rate there seemed a gulf impassable between them.” Then she builds the best case and knocks it down: “Had Lydia’s marriage been concluded on the most honourable terms, it was not to be supposed that Mr. Darcy would connect himself with a family, where to every other objection would now be added an alliance and relationship of the nearest kind with the man whom he so justly scorned.” She goes on: “From such a connection she could not wonder that he should shrink,” and the wish for her regard that she saw in him in Derbyshire “could not in rational expectation survive such a blow as this.” Only then does the reckoning begin: “She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it.” The card does not say that Darcy has turned away from her; his feelings appear only as she imagines them.

One reading

Mostly clear thinking. The scandal is not the problem, and a proper wedding would not mend it. The problem is Wickham himself, who will now be her brother, and the narrator’s word “justly” backs her: Darcy’s scorn for him is deserved. On this reading the best case is a test she runs fairly, and her answer is honest, not self-pity.

• it was not to be supposed that Mr. Darcy would connect himself with a family
• the man whom he so justly scorned

Another reading

Mostly fear: of hoping, and of being refused. She shuts the door before he can, since a hope she rules out herself is one Darcy can never refuse. Her words are the words of careful reasoning, “not to be supposed,” “rational expectation,” “a gulf impassable,” and they leave her nothing to wait for. On this reading the best case is raised so that it can be buried, and the lines that follow show what comes once hope is gone: the wishes start, each one “when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it.”

• could not in rational expectation survive such a blow as this
• there seemed a gulf impassable between them

Listen for

• Notices that she raises the best case herself; nobody asks her to.
• Hears the language of reasoning (“not to be supposed,” “rational expectation”) and asks whether it is doing the work of reasoning or of comfort.
• Sees that the objection is Wickham himself, not the scandal, and weighs the word “justly.”
• Does not claim that Darcy has turned away; she imagines what he would do.

If stuck

• What does Elizabeth think would keep Darcy away even if Lydia had married properly?
• Who will Wickham be to Elizabeth once he marries Lydia?
• Have you ever talked yourself out of a hope before anyone else could? Were you being sensible, or careful not to get hurt?

A strong answer A strong response weighs her reasoning and grounds the judgment in the paragraph. One reader finds it mostly clear thinking: the obstacle is “the man whom he so justly scorned,” not the scandal, so no proper wedding could change Darcy’s mind, and she is honest enough to say so. Another finds it mostly fear: phrases such as “not to be supposed” and “in rational expectation” bury a hope before Darcy can refuse it. The best answers allow that it can be both, and notice what comes straight after: once every chance is gone, she becomes “jealous of his esteem.”

What it asks It asks the student to notice where the daydream lands. Elizabeth “began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her.” She pictures “an union that must have been to the advantage of both: by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved; and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance.” Then: “But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity really was. An union of a different tendency, and precluding the possibility of the other, was soon to be formed in their family.” The next paragraph judges Lydia and Wickham, “brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue.” The voice here is Elizabeth’s thought in the narrator’s words, so the student may hear it as hers, the narrator’s, or both. The card does not say that the union she pictures will happen.

One reading

Because Elizabeth still wants to be admired. Even humbled, her picture of happiness has an audience: a marriage that would “teach” others. On this reading the narrator lets a little irony in, and the grand phrase shows the pride still at work in her regret, the same need to be seen that drives Mrs. Bennet to “show her married daughter in the neighbourhood” and that makes Elizabeth dread Darcy’s “triumph.”

• teach the admiring multitude
• she should be able to show her married daughter in the neighbourhood

Another reading

Because a marriage in this world is a public thing, and Elizabeth means it seriously. The very next sentence sets her imagined union against “An union of a different tendency”: Lydia’s marriage, which the town is already watching, will teach the opposite lesson. On this reading the multitude is not vanity but a measure of what is lost: a good marriage would have shown others what marriage can be, and the one about to be made will show them only “passions … stronger than their virtue.”

• An union of a different tendency
• their passions were stronger than their virtue

Listen for

• Notices that the daydream moves from two people to a crowd in one sentence.
• Hears the shift in register in “connubial felicity” and asks whether the narrator is smiling.
• Connects the multitude to other watchers in the chapter: Meryton’s ladies, Mrs. Bennet’s neighbourhood.
• Does not turn the imagined union into a lesson about opposites attracting, and does not say it will happen.

If stuck

• What does Elizabeth think she would have given Darcy, and he her?
• What marriage is about to happen instead?
• When you picture your own happiness, is anyone else in the picture?

A strong answer A strong response explains why the daydream ends in public and grounds it in the sentences around it. One reader hears pride surviving humiliation: her ideal marriage needs “the admiring multitude,” as her mother’s needs the neighbourhood. Another hears a serious claim: set against “An union of a different tendency,” a good marriage is a lesson others need, and its loss is a public loss too. The best answers decide whose voice is speaking in “connubial felicity,” and notice how near this sentence sits to Elizabeth’s dread of Darcy’s “triumph.”

What it asks It asks the student to explain a habit of mind. In the middle of her reckoning: “What a triumph for him, as she often thought, could he know that the proposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago would now have been gladly and gratefully received! He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex. But while he was mortal, there must be a triumph.” The words “as she often thought” make it a scene she returns to, not a passing fear. Everywhere else in these paragraphs she has given him up: “there seemed a gulf impassable between them,” and the wish for her regard she once saw in him “could not in rational expectation survive such a blow as this.” The triumph is pictured, not seen: Darcy does not appear in the chapter, and his feelings exist only as she imagines them. The card does not say that he has turned away from her.

One reading

To punish herself. She has something to repent at last: proposals she “proudly spurned.” Picturing his triumph is a way of paying for that pride, again and again, and she even grants that he is as generous as any man, so that the sting cannot be blamed on him. On this reading the scene is a penance: pride, brought low, keeps pressing on its own bruise.

• proposals which she had proudly spurned only four months ago
• He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex

Another reading

Because it is the one scene in which he still cares. A man can only triumph over a refusal if her answer still matters to him. In every other thought she has given him up; in this one Darcy still wants her, and her yes would mean something to him. On this reading the scene she dreads is also the last place her hope can live, and she goes back to it for that reason, even though it hurts.

• as she often thought
• would now have been gladly and gratefully received

Listen for

• Notices “as she often thought”: she returns to the scene again and again.
• Sees that a triumph needs a Darcy who still cares, though everywhere else she believes he cannot.
• Hears the concession “as generous … as the most generous of his sex” and asks why she makes it.
• Does not claim Darcy has turned away; his feelings are only what she imagines.

If stuck

• What would Darcy have to learn for him to feel a triumph?
• In the rest of these paragraphs, does Elizabeth think Darcy still cares for her?
• Why might someone keep replaying a moment that shames them?

A strong answer A strong response might argue that she returns to the scene to punish her own pride: she pictures it “often,” and the sentence that pictures it says she “proudly spurned” him, so each return makes her pay again. Key evidence to consider includes her concession that he is “as generous … as the most generous of his sex,” followed at once by “But while he was mortal, there must be a triumph.” The strongest objection is that a triumph needs a man who still cares, so the scene she dreads is the only one in which Darcy still wants her answer, while everywhere else she sees “a gulf impassable between them.” A revised thesis might hold that the scene both hurts and holds her: it punishes the pride that refused him, and it keeps alive, in the only form she allows herself, the hope that he still cares.

What it asks It asks the whole question of the chapter. Elizabeth’s reckoning moves through a run of balanced sentences: “She was humbled, she was grieved; she repented, though she hardly knew of what. She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it. She wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least chance of gaining intelligence. She was convinced that she could have been happy with him, when it was no longer likely they should meet.” Then the “triumph” she imagines for him, “as she often thought.” Then: “She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes,” and the union “to the advantage of both.” Earlier, no one’s knowledge of Lydia’s frailty “would have mortified her so much.” Her father, at the chapter’s opening, “now wished it more than ever,” too late. The card does not say that Darcy has turned away from her, that the union she pictures will happen, or who really paid for Lydia’s marriage.

One reading

Love, which the loss has only made plain. What she comes to “comprehend” is not his rank or his regard for her but what he is: “exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her.” She pictures what each would give the other, his mind “softened” by her ease and liveliness, her life enriched by his “judgment, information, and knowledge of the world,” and that is a picture of two people, not of a contest. On this reading loss does not create the feeling; it removes her excuses, and the “when” in each sentence marks when she saw the truth, not why she felt it.

• he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her
• His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes.

Another reading

Wounded pride. Each wish in the passage grows exactly as its chance shrinks: “jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it.” Her reckoning comes straight after the thought that no one’s knowing would have “mortified her so much,” begins with “humbled,” and keeps returning to his “triumph.” On this reading what she longs for is the good opinion she once threw away, and she wants it most because it is gone, as her father wishes for his savings most when they can no longer help. Austen’s balanced sentences make the pattern visible.

• She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it.
• What a triumph for him, as she often thought

Listen for

• Hears “when” three times in the reckoning and decides whether it marks a cause or only a time.
• Weighs the imagined “triumph” as part of her feeling, not an aside.
• Notices that the picture of the union names his qualities and hers, and asks whether pride could have drawn it.
• Does not say that Darcy has turned away, that the union will happen, or who paid for the marriage.

If stuck

• What does Elizabeth think she has lost, and why does she think it is lost?
• What does she imagine Darcy would feel if he knew?
• Can a person love someone and still have their pride hurt by losing them?

A strong answer A strong response might argue that the longing is love made visible by loss: what she comes to “comprehend” is that he “would most suit her,” and she pictures what each would give the other, a picture of two people rather than a contest. Key evidence to consider includes the run of sentences built on “when,” such as “jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefited by it.” The strongest objection is that every wish grows exactly as its chance shrinks, and that her reckoning follows hard on “mortified,” starts with “humbled,” and keeps returning to his imagined “triumph,” which sounds like pride wounded by a loss it caused. A revised thesis might hold that the two cannot be pulled apart in this chapter: her pride is what makes her feel the loss, and the loss is what lets her see the man, so the longing is love that has to come to her through humbled pride.