Pride & Prejudice, ch. 14: Reading And Writhing

Last chapter, we got our first look at Mr. Collins, humble clergyman. Or at least, that was the impression he wanted to give—that of being a peace-seeking, dutiful man who arrives at the door of the estate he will inherit with a sincere interest in making things right for the Bennets. Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth both punctured that theory pretty early on, predicting that Mr. Collins would turn out to be full of himself and foolish.

Well, Lizzy, you get to be right this time. Are you happy? Honest question. Is anybody happy here? Because this chapter is the pits.

But this is important (she wails into the void) because we get some delightful background info on Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the patroness who graciously allowed Mr. Collins to move into the neighborhood and socialize with the neighbors. I’ll be honest, when I first read this at the tender age of … oh my God, was I seventeen? Wow. Yeah, I was seventeen. Anyway, I didn’t pick up on the degree of absurdity that defines Mr. Collins’ one-sided relationship with Lady Catherine. I thought he was just exhibiting standard politeness for the time. Also, I had no context to help me figure out what “patroness” meant. Now I understand that Mr. Collins really lucked into his job—he didn’t have a baronet dad who could secure a living for him after he received ordination, for example. So he’s pretty darn happy about landing on his feet, and as pompous as he can be, he does know that he owes his good fortune to falling into Lady Catherine’s good graces. Or, to put it another way, he knows how to play the role of fawning recipient.

Ma Bennet proves that she’s an attentive listener when she wants to be as she asks questions about the de Bourghs. It really seems like she wants to know just how capital-I important Lady Catherine is (and maybe if she has any eligible sons). Turns out that there’s just a daughter who has not “been presented” before the king (such presentations were standard among the aristocracy) because she’s in bad health. Mr. Collins is quick to assure his audience that the de Bourgh daughter is actually super-awesome and that he made a point of telling Lady Catherine so, in quite flowery language … 

And here is the first true quirk of Mr. Collins’ character: flattery has become a duty for him, so much so that he composes compliments to have at the ready for others. He takes obvious pride in this, repeating the flatteries he’s told Lady Catherine and her daughter to Mr. Bennet and the room in general like it was so clever of him. What’s left unsaid is whether this tendency (hobby?) of his was prompted by Lady Catherine’s interest in him or if it was always there—and perhaps was key to getting Lady Catherine’s attention in the first place. It’s a funny the-chicken-or-the-egg conundrum that doesn’t seem to have a definite answer.

Afterwards, Mr. Bennet invites Mr. Collins to read aloud to the family, which at first seems so out of character for Pa Bennet … but I bet that he’s the one who gives Mr. Collins the novel just to see how the guy reacts. Mr. Collins’ claim of never having read novels strikes me as akin to someone nowadays claiming that they never watch YouTube or (ugh) they don’t own a TV. His claim provokes responses in the two youngest Bennet sisters, the two characters you might not think would have an opinion about novels, but there you go. Maybe they’re reacting more to his overall attitude rather than his protest. 

Then, as he’s reading from the formidable-sounding Fordyce’s Sermons (a collection of sermons that speak specifically to the proper conduct of young ladies), Lydia interrupts him with some pointless gossip. And, well, his response … I want to take a look at it: “I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of a serious stamp, though written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I confess; —for certainly, there can be nothing so advantageous to them as instruction. But I will no longer importune my young cousin.” 

What happened to Mr. Collins the peace-maker or Mr. Collins the compliment machine? A fifteen-year-old gossiping about the soldiers stationed nearby is enough to turn him into a scold who wants to take his toy and go home? I don’t mean to downplay Lydia’s rudeness—chatting mindlessly while someone is reading to an audience is a dumb and immature move. But Mr. Collins’ reaction is just as immature, if not downright nasty: he acts like Lydia has dishonored him personally. He’s known her for less than one day! And this is how harsh he gets? And he says this even after Jane and Elizabeth tell Lydia to shut it. But I guess he has to get in the last word. Oh my God, he’s already getting under my skin.

And then he actually refuses to continue reading. He’s that upset. He tries to walk back the severity of his scolding, but the damage, such as it is, has been done. At least Lydia got him to shut up (and after three whole pages of Fordyce’s, I’d argue that she was actually showing some restraint). This serves as the first truly defining moment of Mr. Collins’ character, and it kinda gets worse from here.

But hey, as long as Mr. Bennet’s getting his jollies, nothing else much matters. Right?

Next time: A trip to Meryton, Mr. Collins sets his sights on Elizabeth, and Elizabeth is very interested in the new guy in town.