| This blog explores social attitudes in Jane Austen's time, discusses her novels, reviews forgotten 18th century novels, and throws some occasional shade at the modern academy. The introductory post is here. My "six simple questions for academics" post is here. |
CMP#199 Lydia Bennet: rebel or victim?
Is Lydia Bennet a feminist rebel or a victim of grooming? How should we feel about her marriage to Wickham?
Jane Austen portrays Lydia as laughing and joyful when she elopes in Pride and Prejudice. She refuses to be parted from Wickham, even though they are not married. Her sister Elizabeth deplores Wickham and his “wretched” character, but she speaks to Jane not of his unforgettable conduct, but of “their conduct.” She also says to herself: “how little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue.” [Emphasis added]
Elizabeth thinks her sister, even at 15, should have known better. She comforts herself that at least Lydia thought she was eloping to get married: “she was serious on the subject of their journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side a scheme of infamy." Austen also tells us that Mrs. Bennet was not “humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct.” Because of course both Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, as Lydia’s parents, must be thought of as being in large measure responsible for her faulty character.
Still, Austen does not absolve Lydia on account of her age and inexperience, and neither does Elizabeth. No doubt we'd react to a 15-year-old running off with a grown man differently today and assign blame differently...
Is Lydia Bennet a feminist rebel or a victim of grooming? How should we feel about her marriage to Wickham?
Jane Austen portrays Lydia as laughing and joyful when she elopes in Pride and Prejudice. She refuses to be parted from Wickham, even though they are not married. Her sister Elizabeth deplores Wickham and his “wretched” character, but she speaks to Jane not of his unforgettable conduct, but of “their conduct.” She also says to herself: “how little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue.” [Emphasis added]
Elizabeth thinks her sister, even at 15, should have known better. She comforts herself that at least Lydia thought she was eloping to get married: “she was serious on the subject of their journey. Whatever he might afterwards persuade her to, it was not on her side a scheme of infamy." Austen also tells us that Mrs. Bennet was not “humbled by any remembrance of her misconduct.” Because of course both Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, as Lydia’s parents, must be thought of as being in large measure responsible for her faulty character.
Still, Austen does not absolve Lydia on account of her age and inexperience, and neither does Elizabeth. No doubt we'd react to a 15-year-old running off with a grown man differently today and assign blame differently...
Lydia is a victim
According to best-selling romance author Courtney Milan. Lydia is not a wild child, she’s a victim. Milan wrote an article for the Michigan Law Review (pdf) which described George Wickham as a “serial sexual predator." This carries more of a pathological and a criminal connotation than the old moral terms of cad, scoundrel, rake, libertine and bounder.
Milan does acknowledge that “while nothing that Wickham did was likely to be felonious in Regency England, [seducing respectable girls] was nonetheless recognized as civil wrongdoing.” In this reading of Wickham’s relationship with Lydia, "a twenty-something-year-old man… who is willing to encourage a barely pubescent child to believe that she loves him and should have sex with him… is pretty clearly a sexual predator, even if he is only using the tool of rape incidentally to hold out for money.”
Milan's elevated moral sensibilities leads her to deny Lydia’s moral agency. While Austen held her responsible for her actions, the feminist Milan does not. And once she views the Wickham-Lydia relationship through this lens, she can no longer regard Pride & Prejudice as being “light, bright, and sparkling.” It is now problematic.
According to best-selling romance author Courtney Milan. Lydia is not a wild child, she’s a victim. Milan wrote an article for the Michigan Law Review (pdf) which described George Wickham as a “serial sexual predator." This carries more of a pathological and a criminal connotation than the old moral terms of cad, scoundrel, rake, libertine and bounder.
Milan does acknowledge that “while nothing that Wickham did was likely to be felonious in Regency England, [seducing respectable girls] was nonetheless recognized as civil wrongdoing.” In this reading of Wickham’s relationship with Lydia, "a twenty-something-year-old man… who is willing to encourage a barely pubescent child to believe that she loves him and should have sex with him… is pretty clearly a sexual predator, even if he is only using the tool of rape incidentally to hold out for money.”
Milan's elevated moral sensibilities leads her to deny Lydia’s moral agency. While Austen held her responsible for her actions, the feminist Milan does not. And once she views the Wickham-Lydia relationship through this lens, she can no longer regard Pride & Prejudice as being “light, bright, and sparkling.” It is now problematic.
Happy and proud Lydia's a feisty rebel
Of course, we do not always find unanimity in modern feminist interpretations of Austen. Other modern fans see Lydia as the true heroine of the piece because she has thrown over the traces of patriarchal convention and dared to do as she pleases. She's the Regency version of Miley Cyrus. Trystan L. Bass writes: "As Austen says, Lydia is 'untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless'.. unlike passive Lizzy or especially Jane, Lydia acts on her desires when she thinks it it is in her own interest. And, frankly, she turns out OK in the end. Her story isn’t a morality play — Lydia doesn’t come to ruin, she isn’t ostracized or abandoned. She gets out of her father’s house and marries a hot guy. Her husband may get bored with her in the end, but Wickham will always need Lydia because she can mooch off her rich sisters to support the couple." Mr. Bennet makes sardonic comments about his worthless new son-in-law. All's well that ends well, or well enough.
Austen tells us what becomes of Lydia, at least in the near future: "in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her. Though Darcy could never receive him at Pemberley, yet, for Elizabeth’s sake, he assisted him further in his profession. Lydia was occasionally a visitor there, when her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath; and with the Bingleys they both of them frequently stayed so long, that even Bingley’s good-humour was overcome, and he proceeded so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone."
"Staying so long" probably means for months at a time. Yes, no doubt Wickham cheats on Lydia, but if he were ever abusive to her, he'd find out pretty fast he had two brothers-in-law who would put him on a slow boat to a regiment in India.
Of course, we do not always find unanimity in modern feminist interpretations of Austen. Other modern fans see Lydia as the true heroine of the piece because she has thrown over the traces of patriarchal convention and dared to do as she pleases. She's the Regency version of Miley Cyrus. Trystan L. Bass writes: "As Austen says, Lydia is 'untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless'.. unlike passive Lizzy or especially Jane, Lydia acts on her desires when she thinks it it is in her own interest. And, frankly, she turns out OK in the end. Her story isn’t a morality play — Lydia doesn’t come to ruin, she isn’t ostracized or abandoned. She gets out of her father’s house and marries a hot guy. Her husband may get bored with her in the end, but Wickham will always need Lydia because she can mooch off her rich sisters to support the couple." Mr. Bennet makes sardonic comments about his worthless new son-in-law. All's well that ends well, or well enough.
Austen tells us what becomes of Lydia, at least in the near future: "in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to reputation which her marriage had given her. Though Darcy could never receive him at Pemberley, yet, for Elizabeth’s sake, he assisted him further in his profession. Lydia was occasionally a visitor there, when her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath; and with the Bingleys they both of them frequently stayed so long, that even Bingley’s good-humour was overcome, and he proceeded so far as to talk of giving them a hint to be gone."
"Staying so long" probably means for months at a time. Yes, no doubt Wickham cheats on Lydia, but if he were ever abusive to her, he'd find out pretty fast he had two brothers-in-law who would put him on a slow boat to a regiment in India.
Close call for Georgiana Most worthless young man in Britain
Vanessa Zoltan and Lauren Sandler discuss their reactions to Lydia's elopement in their podcast "Live From Pemberley." Vanessa blames Wickham, a grown man who has run off with a girl almost half his age, and has done so under the false pretense of offering her marriage. Lauren decries the "totally twisted morality" to save her by tethering her to someone who would "kidnap her and lie to her at the age of fifteen--the notion that she should be stuck.. that to me is the real crime here...It feels like a failure of Austen's imagination, to me, to not be able to find a way out of this for Lydia other than her being tethered to Wickham for life at the age of fifteen."
Vanessa points out it was possible for a married woman to separate from her husband, if not to divorce, and it might be more comfortable to imagine such a future for Lydia.
Vanessa Zoltan recognizes that "Austen thought Lydia deserved your moral condemnation. Lydia has done something wrong, she's done something risky... not only because of her individual behavior but because of the potential consequences for the rest of her family. She's done something not social, because it could have this very negative effect on the rest of her sisters." (I discuss why Lydia's elopement ruins the reputation of all the sisters here.)
Lydia expected to get married but on the other hand, she isn't shocked when the marriage doesn't happen right away.
Another thing to keep in mind is that Lydia has seriously offended against duty in choosing a husband without her parent's consent. She is not of age (over 21) and she was not supposed to be married without parental consent.
Georgiana Darcy escapes the same fate by a hair's breadth. Austen explicitly tells us that Darcy "joined [Georgiana and her governess] unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement; and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me."
"Offending" refers, again, to that principle of duty.
This was a widely-held value and it's referenced in other novels of the period, including Austen's other novels such as Mansfield Park. In The Spinster's Tale (1801), a girl is persuaded to reveal her engagement to her mother after her friend “Miss Woodley, very justly observed, it was a breach of duty in me to accept any gentleman as my future husband, without their knowledge and approbation.”
Vanessa Zoltan and Lauren Sandler discuss their reactions to Lydia's elopement in their podcast "Live From Pemberley." Vanessa blames Wickham, a grown man who has run off with a girl almost half his age, and has done so under the false pretense of offering her marriage. Lauren decries the "totally twisted morality" to save her by tethering her to someone who would "kidnap her and lie to her at the age of fifteen--the notion that she should be stuck.. that to me is the real crime here...It feels like a failure of Austen's imagination, to me, to not be able to find a way out of this for Lydia other than her being tethered to Wickham for life at the age of fifteen."
Vanessa points out it was possible for a married woman to separate from her husband, if not to divorce, and it might be more comfortable to imagine such a future for Lydia.
Vanessa Zoltan recognizes that "Austen thought Lydia deserved your moral condemnation. Lydia has done something wrong, she's done something risky... not only because of her individual behavior but because of the potential consequences for the rest of her family. She's done something not social, because it could have this very negative effect on the rest of her sisters." (I discuss why Lydia's elopement ruins the reputation of all the sisters here.)
Lydia expected to get married but on the other hand, she isn't shocked when the marriage doesn't happen right away.
Another thing to keep in mind is that Lydia has seriously offended against duty in choosing a husband without her parent's consent. She is not of age (over 21) and she was not supposed to be married without parental consent.
Georgiana Darcy escapes the same fate by a hair's breadth. Austen explicitly tells us that Darcy "joined [Georgiana and her governess] unexpectedly a day or two before the intended elopement; and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me."
"Offending" refers, again, to that principle of duty.
This was a widely-held value and it's referenced in other novels of the period, including Austen's other novels such as Mansfield Park. In The Spinster's Tale (1801), a girl is persuaded to reveal her engagement to her mother after her friend “Miss Woodley, very justly observed, it was a breach of duty in me to accept any gentleman as my future husband, without their knowledge and approbation.”
Austen does not condemn her
"My sense is 'no,' we don't see Lydia in the same way," as Austen's contemporaries would have see her, says Devoney Looser in the Jane and Jesus podcast with Karen Swallow Prior.
"We don't understand how revolutionary and crucial it is that she is so little punished in that novel. We don't understand perhaps to the same degree the things that she's done as being really beyond the pale." Lydia isn't banished like Maria Bertram Rushworth. "She's really brought back into the community." Looser correctly states that "In the fiction of this period, it's much for common for anyone who did what Lydia does in the novel to either die, be literally killed off... or to be shunned."
If Lydia had been seduced and abandoned by Wickham and had she been in another novel, she would either have to be supported privately by her father or she would have descended to street prostitution. This is what is referred to when the gossips of Merryton receive the news of Lydia's marriage (nobody is fooled, it seems): "It was borne in the latter with decent philosophy. To be sure, it would have been more for the advantage of conversation, had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the happiest alternative, been secluded from the world in some distant farm-house."
"My sense is 'no,' we don't see Lydia in the same way," as Austen's contemporaries would have see her, says Devoney Looser in the Jane and Jesus podcast with Karen Swallow Prior.
"We don't understand how revolutionary and crucial it is that she is so little punished in that novel. We don't understand perhaps to the same degree the things that she's done as being really beyond the pale." Lydia isn't banished like Maria Bertram Rushworth. "She's really brought back into the community." Looser correctly states that "In the fiction of this period, it's much for common for anyone who did what Lydia does in the novel to either die, be literally killed off... or to be shunned."
If Lydia had been seduced and abandoned by Wickham and had she been in another novel, she would either have to be supported privately by her father or she would have descended to street prostitution. This is what is referred to when the gossips of Merryton receive the news of Lydia's marriage (nobody is fooled, it seems): "It was borne in the latter with decent philosophy. To be sure, it would have been more for the advantage of conversation, had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the happiest alternative, been secluded from the world in some distant farm-house."
Other sadder but wiser minor characters
Here are some examples from other novels: Lord Frampton marries his long-time mistress Augusta just before he dies. Being married “could not lessen the vice of her past life, yet if she reformed, and behaved in future as she ought, her own family now countenance her, and in time she might again associate with the virtuous and the good.” The Spinster's Tale 1801
Amanda shares her family history in Letters Moral and Entertaining (1795) by Ann Wingrove: "Weakness rendered the youngest an easy prey to the seducing arts of a man of quality, who afterwards persuaded her to marry his chaplain; assuring her he would one day be a bishop; but my poor aunt is still a vicar’s wife in a remote village, where she passes her days, sometimes a prey to remorse, but always the votary of indolence."
These examples are about minor characters, and I think Lydia is more than a minor character. The closest example I have come across comes from Ann Ryley's 1818 novel Fanny Fitz-York, Heiress of Tremorne, in which a fallen woman is accepted back home by her brother, a clergyman, is married off to the man who first seduced her, to make an honest woman of her, and (spoiler) thankfully he dies before he is able to carry out his plan to murder her.
Here are some examples from other novels: Lord Frampton marries his long-time mistress Augusta just before he dies. Being married “could not lessen the vice of her past life, yet if she reformed, and behaved in future as she ought, her own family now countenance her, and in time she might again associate with the virtuous and the good.” The Spinster's Tale 1801
Amanda shares her family history in Letters Moral and Entertaining (1795) by Ann Wingrove: "Weakness rendered the youngest an easy prey to the seducing arts of a man of quality, who afterwards persuaded her to marry his chaplain; assuring her he would one day be a bishop; but my poor aunt is still a vicar’s wife in a remote village, where she passes her days, sometimes a prey to remorse, but always the votary of indolence."
These examples are about minor characters, and I think Lydia is more than a minor character. The closest example I have come across comes from Ann Ryley's 1818 novel Fanny Fitz-York, Heiress of Tremorne, in which a fallen woman is accepted back home by her brother, a clergyman, is married off to the man who first seduced her, to make an honest woman of her, and (spoiler) thankfully he dies before he is able to carry out his plan to murder her.
When updating Pride and Prejudice in contemporary re-tellings, how do you replicate the shock value of Lydia's elopement? Harriet of Reading Jane Austen discusses how various writers reimagined Lydia's transgressions in this episode of the podcast (at 35:30).
Previous post: Three new books about Austen Next post: My 200th blog post!
Previous post: Three new books about Austen Next post: My 200th blog post!
RSS Feed