Pride & Prejudice, ch. 20: Mother Knows Pest

Credit to Ceydran on DeviantArt. They really
captured Mrs. Bennet's determined spirit.

The aftermath.

Ma Bennet goes into the room right after Elizabeth walks out, apparently not noticing anything less than positive in her daughter’s demeanor. Mr. Collins at first leads her to believe that all is well and that Lizzy said yes, or at least will say yes once her “bashful modesty” is won over.

Ma understands this to be the major red flag that it really is and goes into damage control. She explains that Lizzy “is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest,” but that she’ll make her see sense. Turns out that her exact wording succeeds in doing what all of Lizzy’s passionate speeches could not: convince Mr. Collins that, you know, maybe this woman isn’t his type after all. And again, it’s all about him—how her “defects of temper” might destroy his “felicity”—rather than Lizzy’s agency and autonomy being respected.

Mrs. Bennet ignores her daughter’s autonomy as well as she quickly back-peddles, assuring Mr. Collins that Lizzy is actually super sweet 99% of the time, and then runs into the library to rope her husband onto Team Collins. 

Let’s take a moment to contemplate the sheer frenzy that Mrs. Bennet is working herself into and why. Now, I’ve taken the mantle of a Mrs. Bennet apologist for the most part: she is a small-minded busybody, her one redeeming quality being that she recognizes the financial situation of her family and acts on it. In fact, here she is as she was in the beginning—rushing around in order to get the plot to move forward. Of course, the deviation here is that her idea for Lizzy’s narrative is not Lizzy’s own and moreover is really depressing. Does Mrs. Bennet realize how miserable Lizzy would be as Mr. Collins’ wife? It doesn’t matter, because I very much doubt she’d care. And yet, there are other considerations—security, position, providing for the Bennet family—that are just as important, or at least almost as. Had Mrs. Bennet been able to calmly and firmly argue her point, Lizzy would have listened (though it’s likely she still wouldn’t have said yes). Then again, had Mrs. Bennet been different, would she still be pressing Lizzy to take Mr. Collins’ offer?

It transpires that Mr. Bennet backs up his daughter’s decision, and even Mrs. Bennet realizes that she can’t appeal to him after that. She goes into petulant child mode, which makes Lizzy even less inclined to take her seriously and erodes any support her argument may have. And much like Mr. Collins, in the end all she can focus on is how this hurts her personally. “I shall not be able to keep you” after dad’s passing, Mrs. Bennet sniffs. “I should never speak to you again.” (Lizzy right now: Promise?) “Nobody can tell what I suffer!” she adds, and this may technically be true, given that the term arrested development didn’t even exist until possibly the 1830s.

And then who should show up but our sharp-as-a-tack single gal pal Charlotte?

The tweebs (Kitty and Lydia, and yes, that’s a Kim Possible reference) fill her in on the latest. When Mr. Collins comes in to speak with Mrs. Bennet, Charlotte dawdles around the window. (Interestingly, Lydia also elects to stay, apparently excited about this new development. Maybe she’s looking for a way to get back at the guy who outwardly shamed her?) 

Then Mr. Collins reminds me why I hate him. He rescinds his offer of marriage, but he does it in the most odious way possible. Just like Mrs. Bennet, it’s all about him. First he mentions his good luck in obtaining his current position, because he has to mention it constantly. Then he somehow implies that his prosperity is the reason why he keeps running into “inevitable evils,” like Lizzy telling him no thanks. (When he earlier argued that his prosperity and status should be attractive to a prospective bride, now he argues that such qualities attract “inevitable evils.” Yeah, untangle that line of logic.) Next, he hits us with “resignation is never so perfect as when the blessing denied begins to lose somewhat of its value,” a phrase here meaning (Shapard again:) “resignation is most perfect when one has not lost anything of value, [so] there is no real need to be resigned.” What. And after this, he states that he would’ve asked the Bennet parents to “interpose [their] authority” on Lizzy, and that he’s breaking a rule of conduct by taking Lizzy’s “no” seriously instead of hearing it from Mr. and Mrs. Bennet? He ends by giving one of those I’m sorry if I offended you non-apologies, suggesting that his “manner” might have been less than perfect. 

Of course, he’s right—this speech shows it. Mr. Collins can’t hide the chip on his shoulder or his wounded ego, try as he might to dress it up in flowery language. It is his “manner” that offends, though perhaps not in ways that he perceives. In fact, it’s entirely possible that he’s being sarcastic or melodramatic in claiming that he might have offended anyone, since it’s obvious that as far as he’s concerned, he did everything right. Obviously he didn’t ask the Bennets to intervene: he doesn’t want to risk getting turned down a second time. In the end, he lost a woman who he doesn’t love, doesn’t listen to, and in his own words, wouldn’t have made him all that happy. But sure, Mr. Collins. Have your pity party.

Coming soon: We check in with Wickham, Jane gets some bad news, and Lizzy does her best to console her.