Caroline Bingley: Matchmaker

I don't think Fitzwilliam Darcy would have fallen in love with Elizabeth Bennett if it wasn't for Caroline Bingley. So there.

Have you heard the pop-psychology story about Ben Franklin and the rare book? Franklin argued that people will be more inclined to like you if they've done you a favour – more so than if you've done something for them. Your brain recognises that you've done something nice for someone, you wouldn't do something nice for someone you didn't like, ergo you like the person.

When he wanted to get a particular rival on side, he asked to borrow a rare book, and expressed his gratitude. From that point on the rival was extremely ready to help Franklin and the two formed a friendship that lasted the rest of their lives.

It's a similar concept to this: my family moved a lot when I was a teenager, and a vet told us that we should put butter on our cat's paws when we were in a new house. Cats don't groom unless they feel safe so forcing her to groom would fast track her being comfortable in the new environment.

Or, if you've ever been told to lower your shoulders when you feel stressed. Your brain registers that as a relaxed position, so you begin to feel more relaxed.

A small study seems to confirm Ben Franklin's theory. Participants were put in a contest with a cash prize. After the prize was given out the test group was asked by the organiser to return it, with the claim that he'd put forward his own money and was now short, while the control group were allowed to keep their money. The participants were then surveyed on how they felt about the organiser, and those in the test group were more likely to rate him highly.

The nicer you are to someone, the more you like them, and this is Darcy's downfall. Or salvation. Either way.

Let's review:

Darcy's feelings for Elizabeth the moment he tells all his friends he doesn't like her.

Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty: he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes.

We don't see this scene wherein he makes it clear to his friends that he thinks she's gross, and we don't know what contributions Caroline Bingley made, but it's easy to imagine she was scathing.

What we know about Caroline is that she loves to say things that are wrong. She frequently makes statements that Darcy has to correct and, when you are in the habit of correcting someone, you could be forgiven for assuming that most of what they say is wrong. When that person is oily and smug, as Caroline is, correcting them becomes all the more satisfying.

This is where it starts. Darcy criticises Elizabeth, Caroline chimes in, probably goes further, and something in Darcy's brain rebels against her.

But so far, it's only internal. It's at the party held by Sir William Lucas that thought becomes action. Caroline presumes to read Darcy's mind, claims he's thinking about how awful a party it is, and he is so desperate to disagree with her that he admits to thinking Elizabeth is pretty.

“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”

Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections. Mr. Darcy replied, with great intrepidity,—

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

This exchange, naturally, adds more fuel to Caroline's fire, and thus only accelerates Darcy's fall. Caroline immediately begins making fun of him by criticising Elizabeth and her family. Her wit flows long and every jibe is another strut propping up his nascent feelings.

And then Elizabeth comes to stay at Netherfield.

She walks in, looking all flushed and rumpled, and Caroline Bingley goes on the offensive, trying to provoke Darcy into disliking her guest and within a couple of days he's reacted so strongly that he's convinced that, were it not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger.

He's so worried in fact that he clean stops talking to her.

Aside from the disastrous Netherfield ball, we don't see Darcy until Elizabeth visits Rosings Park. By this time he has struggled in vain and she must allow him to tell her how ardently he admires and loves her.

All we know of him during this absence is that he and Caroline persuade Bingley not to marry Jane. We know that one of his qualms about Jane marrying Bingley is her terrible family; he talks about that in his letter. But while he sets Elizabeth apart from her sisters and parents, it's likely Caroline never does.

The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father:—pardon me,—it pains me to offend you.

It's not unreasonable to assumed that for at least a few days, likely a couple of weeks, potentially several months, Caroline Bingley was wanging on about Elizabeth. And because we know Darcy is happy to sometimes respond to Caroline's attacks with contradictions, we can assume that at least some of the time he was defending her. Of, if not defending, complimenting in some way.

He went several months without seeing Elizabeth and, when he wasn't thinking about her of his own volition, he was being reminded of her by Caroline's bitchiness. Each time he finds himself being nice to her, he likes her a little more, then they run into each other again and there he is: in love.

I'm not saying that he wouldn't have eventually falling in love on his own; I'm just making a case that Caroline expedited the process. And timing is key. If her spitefulness hadn't put him in the position of defending Elizabeth so often he may not have liked her enough to form a strong foundation.

If he hadn't been desperate to marry her by the time they meet again at Rosings Park, she would never have told him how rude he was, and he wouldn't have undergone his course of self-improvement. Furthermore he wouldn't have told her about Wickham and Georgiana.

When they met again at Pemberley, he would still have been rude, she would have no reason to think differently of him, they would have barely talked and perhaps never seen each other again.

So thanks, Miss Bingley. Couldn't have done it without you.