The morning following the ball Elizabeth woke early—that is around ten in the morning—and went down to sit in his study with Mr. Bennet, who had woken also.
Elizabeth was filled with an odd mix of melancholy and joy.
Sadness at Mr. Darcy’s departure predominated, but Elizabeth thought that she really must not have lost her heart to him. If she had she would certainly have woken sobbing, been unable to go about any of her normal occupations and stared helplessly out the rainy window for the whole of the morning and afternoon. And likely she would have remained in that state until well into the new year.
If those of her novels that were more serious were to be imitated, she would in fact have never recovered from this melancholy, and then died an untimely death of grief, after which everyone would finally recognize her virtues and worth, and Mrs. Bennet would be the loudest of the mourners at her graveside.
But alas, she would no longer be alive to hear how dearly beloved she had been.
Suddenly Elizabeth giggled at an odd thought.
Mr. Bennet looked up from his book and raised his eyebrows in question.
“I only just imagined a book, written by a humorist such as the author of Tristam Shandy , where someone no one likes very much, a worthless fellow, is believed dead. And he returns to the wake or a memorial and overhears as everyone says very nice things about him, since one almost always speaks kindly of the dead, but then they are all shocked, and not overly pleased, when he appears amongst them alive, and asks them now to say such things to his face.”
The conceit brought a laugh to Mr. Bennet, but after a minute they both returned to their own thoughts.
Dying of a broken heart did not appeal to Elizabeth, and neither did feeling unhappy for months without end, so of a certainty it was for the best that she had not fallen in love with Mr. Darcy. Or only a little, at most.
What had protected her in this point? She was most aware of Mr. Darcy’s merits, both of person and character. There had been too great a distance between their situations in life, and she had been too aware of her own deficiencies of birth for marriage to be imagined on. And as she had come to know his character, it became clear to her that imagining any other connection was equally insupportable.
Mr. Darcy liked her as much as he could , and had their respective situations been equal they very well might have formed an attachment. This was a cause for happiness, not grief, and what was more, a reason to think highly of herself for having interested such a gentleman.
“Oh,” Elizabeth said to Mr. Bennet, “there was a thing Mr. Darcy said to me, about that officer who Lydia and Kitty are so enthused by, that I think—”
“In Latin or Greek please,” Mr. Bennet interrupted, “You may choose, but we have not yet practiced today.”
Elizabeth laughed, though it slowed her substantially to figure out how to convey in those ancient languages the tale that Mr. Darcy had thought fit to warn her particularly against paying attention to Mr. Wickham and suggested that he tended to prey upon young women.
Fortunately, Kitty and Lydia were not so unprotected that he would be likely to form a low design on them, and unfortunately not so wealthy that he might form a serious design, it would be likely best for Mr. Bennet to not invite him around often.
The fact was that the words that Elizabeth could think of to express all of these ideas in Latin were far cruder than any that she could have borne to speak aloud in English, even with great blushing. But the distance created by the use of a language that was not her native tongue made it possible for her to refer quite directly to the marital act without more than a strong temptation to giggle.
After she completed this, Mr. Bennet frowned for half a minute, and then he said in English, “I do hope that Mr. Darcy did not express himself so crudely to you . I may need to call him out, or at least severely chastise him if so.”
Elizabeth laughed. “No, no, no. You know he did not. It is merely difficult to be roundabout and circumspect in Latin, while at the same time being sufficiently specific that the audience is sure to understand what I mean.”
“I imagine that there are a great many words and ways of speaking that would have been used by the ancient Romans, their equivalent of ‘La’ and ‘Heavens’ or ‘By Jove, he’s popped that fellow’s cork,’ which we simply do not know of because Cicero did not see fit to write in a diction which used them.”
“And what,” Elizabeth asked giggling, does “‘he’s popped that fellow’s cork’ mean?”
“It was a phrase that some fellows in university used when fisticuffs had progressed to the point that there was a bloodied nose or face. Or I suppose if someone had been stabbed, but that never happened amongst my set—do not look at me with such shock. I too was young once.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Did you ever participate in such fisticuffs?”
“I shall leave you to imagine that I made whichever answer you consider more impressively disreputable.”
“No, not you?”
Mr. Bennet laughed. But then he said in a more serious mode, “That Mr. Darcy does take a concern in your interests. I imagine that you shall miss him.”
The inquiring look of Mr. Bennet brought a flush to Elizabeth’s cheeks. But she then replied, in Greek, since the time to practice that language was on them, and because the statement was one she knew how to easily make in it. “He is a noble friend, but ‘Send me off, after the libation, unharmed—and you farewell.’”
Mr. Bennet was satisfied.
Since she likely could never marry, having Darcy occupy a part of her heart—which he certainly would for a time—was a pleasant thing.
The two of them chattered in Greek for a while, much of it trading quotations from Homer, several times Elizabeth was able to note, on the basis of her recent reread of the book, that Mr. Bennet had slightly mangled the quote.
Their pleasant time was interrupted when Mr. Collins intruded.
In truth Elizabeth was rather surprised that he had not entered earlier, as he tended to always come to the book room after breakfast. Perhaps he was a gentleman who slept heavily after such a ball as last night, and that was the explanation.
He bowed deeply to Mr. Bennet who sat up straighter and looked at him with a fixed smile. Elizabeth knew that Mr. Bennet was looking very much forward to when Mr. Collins returned to his Lady Catherine, and he hoped to keep any future visits that the gentleman might make to the scope of only two to three days.
“My honored father, for such you shall be, I wish to ask for your permission and blessing to marry your lovely daughter. You must know how nearly from the first moment I laid eyes upon her, I had selected her as the companion for my future life. It had been my intention, I do not hesitate to confess, as I believe it was a respectable wish, to select a wife from amongst your daughters. My great patroness, Lady Catherine, had sent me off with such a suggestion when I left. She said, ‘You should marry for your own sake, and for mine let her be a gentlewoman, and then I shall visit her.’ I fancy that this visit, which I know she shall make not long after I return to Hunsford Parsonage with my wife, is not amongst the least of the advantages that I shall offer to her.”
Elizabeth was quite pleased for Mary at hearing this, and at seeing that Mr. Collins appeared to be truly content with his choice. She of course could never happily marry such a man, not even if the alternative was to be awful poverty, but the characters of the two were more compatible, and if Mary believed this would make her happiness, she was inclined to trust her.
Mr. Bennet’s expression, however, was very unsettled as he listened to Mr. Collins with mouth all agape.
When that gentleman paused for breath, Mr. Bennet interrupted him, his nimble fingers tearing apart a piece of writing paper on the desk. “I am wholly astonished to hear this. I must apologize, sir, but you must explain to me what you mean. You mean to marry one of my children? Which of my daughters do you refer to?”
This question rather surprised Mr. Collins who affirmed that it was Miss Mary to whom his heart was given.
Mr. Bennet pushed aside the pile of trash he had made and rose. “Mary. And she accepted you?”
“I have been most blessed by a gift of happiness from a second worthy gentlewoman. I think myself to have been uncommonly fortunate in—”
“And she accepted you? There is no mistake. I had no notion that this would happen. Mary accepted you ?”
“Sir,” Mr. Collins said in a more concerned tone of voice. “I assure you that I would not have presumed so far as to make an offer of my hand if I had not believed myself to be in possession of parental permission to do so. I had thought Mrs. Bennet to be most clear in her encouragement to me when I suggested my hopes to her. Had I known that you did not have any notion of this, I assure you that I would have presented my application to you first. I in no way wish to make any failure of acknowledging your position or to show myself as anything but your dutiful and most willing to be humbled son.”
“Yes, yes.” Mr. Bennet paced between the window and the mantlepiece, with the portrait of his father and a pair of dueling pistols hanging above it. “Of course. Mrs. Bennet would have encouraged you. Do ask Mary to come, I must speak to my daughter before I can give you any answer.”
“I hope I have not given you any cause for offence.” Mr. Collins knelt before Mr. Bennet. “I assure you have my sincere respect for your position. And I hope that your daughter Mary did not make a mistake by offering a favorable answer before coming to you and assuring herself of your approval first. I know her character to be the most serious and always dedicated to doing what she thinks is right and proper, and if she had realized you expected such a thing, I know she would have come to you first.”
Mr. Bennet sighed and looked at the kneeling gentleman with distaste. “Please Mr. Collins, send my daughter to me. I must speak with her to understand.”
At last Mr. Collins left the room.
As soon as it was only the two of them Mr. Bennet resumed pacing. “What is she about? Surely Mary can see that he is a fool. She is not so clever as you, Lizzy. She is a silly enough girl, but her abilities and sense are far superior to those of Mr. Collins . She is merely eighteen though. Perhaps that is the source of the foolishness.”
“It has been clear to me,” Elizabeth said, “that she has put this question to serious consideration over the past week. Her reply to Mr. Collins was certainly not the whim of an instant.”
Mr. Bennet frowned, studied Elizabeth. “You have been helping her to dress better. But can you not see that—”
Mary’s entrance to the room prevented Mr. Bennet’s further pursuit of the question. He immediately turned to his daughter and gestured for her to sit in a chair directly facing his desk. While still standing himself, Mr. Bennet said, “What are you about? What do you mean by this? Why did you accept such a man? I promise you that you do not need to worry about your mother’s anger. I will see to it that she cannot punish you once we’ve sent the gentleman off.”
Thinking that it was not proper for her to remain during this conversation, Elizabeth rose from her seat. “I shall go to—”
“Stay, Lizzy.” Mary leapt up and took her hand. “It shall be easier for me if you remain. I fear Papa will hear nothing I might say. Perhaps you can explain what I mean better than I might. He does not consider you to be so flimsy of mind and spirit as the rest of us.”
At this statement, Mr. Bennet turned his sarcastic eye upon Elizabeth. “Lizzy, explain it then. What is Mary about? Why would my daughter descend to accept an offer of marriage from one of the stupidest men in England?”
“He is not so stupid!” Mary exclaimed. “I am to marry him, and I hope I do not deceive myself into considering him as having higher desserts than are his due, but he is not really stupid. Not at all.”
“It is yet to be decided if you are to marry him. I am not at present inclined to give either my blessing or my approval to a match which seems likely to be deleterious to the happiness of all the parties involved. Believe me, there is great danger in marriages where there is a large distance between the sense and understanding of the parties. Such a thing is not to be undertaken lightly. I would not see you unhappy, Mary.”
Mary looked very much to be on the verge of tears. “You wouldn’t!”
Mr. Bennet studied her with a steady gaze. He steepled his fingers together. “It is not Mrs. Bennet’s anger that you fear. He would not have proposed at all, not to you at least, if you had not drawn him to do so. I think I understand. Lizzy shall correct me for you if I do not: You are determined to have an independent establishment for yourself. You do not have any particular liking for his person, nor for his mind, but you are making an effort to convince yourself that such things do not matter. You have, after all, never fancied yourself to be in love, and so you cannot think that it should be such an important consideration when you choose the partner of your future life. You foresee yourself having every joy that can be had from the command of your own garden, your own table, and your own idiot—your mother’s approval will be total. Until such time as Mr. Bingley makes his declarations, should he do so, you will be beyond any doubt Mrs. Bennet’s favorite, which is something that you have never experienced before. And you know that likely these next three days are your only hope of ever having such joy.”
Now Mary did start to cry heartily.
Elizabeth embraced her, and she looked at Mr. Bennet with a rare disapproval. That speech had been unkind to Mary.
Seeing how Elizabeth glared at him he sighed, pulled his hand through his hair, and rubbed at the bald spot on the back. “I apologize, Mary. I became sharper and more sarcastic than I ought. I was unkind. But I was most shocked to receive Mr. Collins’s application. I have not yet recovered from that.”
“He is not so stupid!” was Mary’s insistent reply. “I do not claim he is so very bright. But…he is like Lizzy is around Mama. He always tries to say exactly what is expected of him, so that he will never anger anyone. You made him very anxious with how you spoke to him when he came in. That is what makes you think he is so stupid that he always tries to be loudly grateful to everyone. It is unkind of you! The way you judge him. His father was a barbarous man; Mr. Collins has told me how he would be beaten as a child. It is no wonder that he is so grateful to a person who has given him preferment and advice rather than cruelty. It is no wonder that he sings their praises.”
“You cannot think he is a man of superior understanding,” Mr. Bennet began. “He is in no way like Lizzy. What do you mean about Lizzy around Mama?—oh, but now is not the time for such a subject. That you pity him does not mean you should marry him.”
“He is not so stupid. If you had ever cared to speak to him seriously after you were done laughing at my poor Mr. Collins, you would have found that he has learning and thoughts and an ability to think that is not in any way beneath the ordinary. I know he shall never be so clever as you or Lizzy, and no doubt you will always despise him for that, but he is clever enough for me to like his company. And he cares about things that matter to me , which you only sneer at.”
Mr. Bennet sighed, clearly surprised by how strongly Mary had chosen to defend Mr. Collins on these grounds, and by how she had criticized him. But Mr. Bennet was not the sort of patriarch to demand total respect, or to reply in anger when he thought there was some truth to what was said of him.
Mary looked at him with tears still in her eyes, but a vibrating challenge in her posture. In truth her fierceness reduced Elizabeth’s doubts about Mary’s wisdom in marrying Mr. Collins.
For a while Mr. Bennet stood by his desk rubbing the back of his head. “Can you tell me, with complete honesty, that you are in love with Mr. Collins?”
The young woman was silent for a while. Then she slowly said, “I believe I will become very fond of him.”
“No.” Mr. Bennet shook his head. “Not if that is your answer to that question.”
“And if I had said that I was in love,” Mary replied instantly, “you would have said that I was a fool blinded by love, and that his stupidity would offend me in the end, and that nothing I had said in his credit could be trusted, because I was such a fool to form an attachment with such a man, and after such a short course of time. I know how you are, Papa, always criticizing every side.”
Mr. Bennet rubbed at the back of his head again. He looked clearly unhappy.
“I wish to marry him,” Mary said. “That is my decision, and I think I will have a better chance at happiness in such a marriage than with anything else I might do.”
“You do not know what you are about,” Mr. Bennet said. “I tell you, do anything rather than marry without love. An independent establishment is not worth that. Assuaging wounded pride…nothing.”
From her expression, Elizabeth suspected that this was not the reply that Mary had expected. She paused, sitting in her chair. She smoothed her dress down, and then said, “This is my choice. You would not credit it if I said that I cared nothing for Mr. Collins’s current position and prospects. But I do wish to marry, and I am not ashamed to like the idea of marrying well. I know I am not so pretty as any of my sisters. I truly believe that Mr. Collins has more worth than you think, and that he will become better and more capable under my influence. He already has. I convinced him to behave more sensibly than he otherwise would have on several occasions last night.”
“You managed to make him less of a fool than his natural tendency—I apologize—” Mr. Bennet said looking at Elizabeth with a thing in his eyes that said that he knew she would criticize him for insulting Mr. Collins in front of Mary again. “Let me say, more of a wise man than nature and education have made him. That is hardly a sufficient reason to expect to find happiness. Mary, I beg you to reconsider. One day you will find a gentleman who you will love in truth.”
“Papa, I do not wish to wait. I do not wish to risk becoming like Charlotte Lucas. I will not trust to fate. And if none of us marry, what shall happen to us all when you die?”
“You will be perfectly fine. Jane is more likely than not to marry that very rich man. I do not think that there is much worry for any of you. As much as she despises the prospect, the settled funds on your mother are more than sufficient to maintain you all in food and ample shelter, even if they are not enough to maintain your consequence.”
“And what about Lizzy,” Mary said. “Mama insists that she will not support her, and she deserves and needs as much as the rest of us. Besides, I do not wish to live with my mother and sisters on two hundred a year, no matter how much I shall not starve in such a case.”
“Lizzy is reasonably likely to achieve a respectable situation which is concordant with her birth,” Mr. Bennet said sharply. “It is not your place to worry for her.”
“She has been my sister, and you tell me not to worry.”
Elizabeth felt truly touched, but she felt it incumbent on her to say, “Mary, I beg you not to consider my welfare at all. Your choice primarily affects your wellbeing.”
Despite saying this, Elizabeth’s mind was filled with the question of just what Mr. Bennet had meant by a “situation concordant with her birth”.
Mr. Bennet and Mary stared at each other.
At last Mr. Bennet looked down, and said unhappily, “I beg you to not throw yourself away.”
“It is my choice.”
This chiefly ended the conversation, as Mr. Bennet demanded that both girls leave the room so that he might think.
In the end, Mr. Bennet was not a gentleman who would absolutely refuse his daughter her choice of husband. If she wished to ignore his advice upon the matter after he had earnestly and clearly offered it, he would not be the brute who stood in the way of her happiness, such as she expected it to be.
Mr. Bennet decreed that the couple must extend their courtship for a period of months before he would permit the marriage to proceed, and further that he expected Mr. Collins to put himself to the expense and unpleasantness of visiting regularly during this delay so that his happy fiancée would have ample opportunity to become better acquainted with him—that is, Mr. Bennet hoped that Mr. Collins would wear out Mary’s patience and tolerance for his foibles before absolutely irrevocable events had occurred.
At first Mr. Bennet wished for this delay to extend a full twelve months, and while he was by no means happy with it, Mr. Collins respected Mr. Bennet’s will in this matter. He said that it showed all that was reasonable, prudent, and caring in a parent. Mr. Collins even went so far as to say that Lady Catherine had once favourably commented upon the value of long engagements—those designed in early childhood by the parents of the respective parties, such as the one subsisting between Anne de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy were of the greatest value.
Mary was too relieved to not receive further opposition—and in no hurry at this time to end the period of courtship—to complain. Mrs. Bennet however was extremely opposed to this, and her strenuous arguments brought the term down first to six months.
This of course did not satisfy her, and she continued to complain endlessly.But Mr. Bennet was determined upon this point.
Now that they were engaged, Mary began to feel more and more actual affection for her future partner in life.
Mr. Collins was very much under her influence, and he always praised her extensively, described how he had been inspired in his sermons by the readings that she had suggested to him, and he told Mary about Lady Catherine’s approval of the said sermon.
Mary had to feel gratitude for her influence over him, and he showed marks of his own growing affection. She knew perfectly well that he had asked her at first because he was determined to marry now that he had a position that allowed him to do so, and that he held her in no real affection, no more than she did for him. But as Mary had insisted to Mr. Bennet, he really was not so stupid as he appeared. If Mr. Collins had a tendency to pompously say the obvious, Mary had a tendency to say equally obvious things in the form of improving quotes and to give them as studied an air as possible.
The couple matched well in terms of interests, and the opposition of her father gave an additional impetus to Mary’s determination to find that which she could like in Mr. Collins.
And beyond all this, the extensive walks that Mr. Collins took under Mary’s direction caused the gentleman to become somewhat less heavyset, and this was sufficient to make a palpable improvement in his air and general looks in just the course of only six weeks.
Upon Elizabeth’s suggestions, Mr. Collins left off using overly strong pomade that he’d slathered his hair with, and he began to dress rather better. Of course, Mr. Collins would never be a handsome man, he now appeared to his better (though not best) advantage.
And as Mr. Collins began to look better than tolerable, moving into the state of being almost tempting given his good position in life, Mary started to develop a decided curiosity about the mysteries of the married state.
The result of this was that when Mr. Bennet carefully quizzed Mary about her present sentiments early in February, her views in favor of Mr. Collins had become so decided that Mr. Bennet thought that requiring the couple to go through an additional four months of this was sufficiently unlikely to make Mary reconsider, that he might as well allow the couple to end their agony of delay (and end his regular requirement to bear Mr. Collins’s company—a burden which had become heavier with his growing familiarity with the gentleman), so he gave the couple permission to marry as soon as they might.
After such a time Mrs. Bennet was insistent that they do so via common license, and so in late February the happy couple was united in tolerable matrimony.
While Mr. Collins and Mary waited for Mr. Bennet’s consent, Mr. Bingley returned from London, and as everyone had expected him to, he called upon the Bennets for a not so long delayed family dinner, and within a week’s time of his return, he was Jane’s declared lover.
After the proper number of weeks for the banns to be read, Mrs. Bingley settled at Netherfield as the mistress of the manor, and Mrs. Bennet could not have been more delighted. Two daughters to be married!
Elizabeth split her time between occasional fond thoughts about Mr. Darcy and wondering again and again what Mr. Bennet had meant by “a situation that matched her birth”.
He ought to have said something more about it. After their conversation before she’d gone to nurse Jane at Netherfield, he knew that she knew about the circumstances of her birth. It was unkind of him to leave her dangling and worried.
But perhaps he had meant to reassure her that there was a plan. The only thing that Elizabeth could guess was that there was in fact some money left to her by either her mother or her father. But that would not explain the mysteriousness with which Mr. Bennet always spoke of the matter. If Mrs. Bennet had thought she was to have some money, she would have been treated very differently over the years.
Elizabeth hated that Mr. Bennet did not openly reveal the secret of her birth. It made her always scared. What would everyone think of her if they knew?
Would Mary still love her as a sister? At least Elizabeth knew that Jane would say that she was sure that Elizabeth was still a very good person, and Lydia would think it a great joke, and Kitty would not think about it much at all.
When Mr. Bennet finally gave permission to Mary for her to marry Mr. Collins, she immediately invited Elizabeth to come to stay with them for a long visit shortly after their union was solemnized. “You must stay. You must! I shall be very happy to have your company, and Mr. Collins will be happy as well. And Mr. Collins has been telling me everything about how the parsonage has been made up very nicely by Lady Catherine.”
Elizabeth smiled to see how Mary was beginning to adopt in her own tones a bit of the awe of Lady Catherine that Mr. Collins had. Elizabeth at times longed to say something like, “But she is just the daughter of an earl.”
The condescension of Lady Catherine would compose an important part of the comforts and company of the Hunsford couple, so it was sensible that Mary wished to think well of her.
Mary added after Elizabeth agreed to visit, if Mr. Bennet permitted it, “I think that one of the advantages of my marriage will be that I shall be able to expose you to a different sort of society and place. You will not be ordered about every time you step into the drawing room, you will not be made to sit all day with Papa if you wish to avoid—”
“I love to sit with Mr. Bennet.”
“I know. I know that very well. You always have. But it is the sole place where you might escape fully from the demands of my mother. I honor Mama, for she is my mother. And I will always do what I might to show her the respect she deserves, but the deficiencies of her character have become clearer to me as I prepare to enter the married state. I certainly would never behave as she has. Come with new dresses—I wish to see you be able to dress however you wish. You will not need to fear looking prettier than me or Kitty. Though you do anyways. I never wished that unearned glory that Mama thought must be my right, and I am to be married now, so I cannot use it any more in any case.”
Elizabeth smiled to hear this speech. “I shall come, I promise.”
“It was not of any use in any case. It was not my beauty at all that brought Mr. Collins to the point. He liked that I showed him sincere attention.”
This was a point on which Elizabeth could not wholly agree, for she still did not think well enough of Mr. Collins to think that he could distinguish between sincere and insincere attentions. But she was happy for Mary, and the more happy as she saw that Mary was in fact happy.
“Promise me,” Mary said once more, “that you will buy a new dress, one you really like. I know you have enough pocket money, or you can beg more from Papa, and he will give it to you. I wish to be able to introduce you to everyone as my very pretty cousin.”
“I shall. Maybe even three dresses if I can contrive to make my funds stretch so far.”
“I shall speak with Papa about this,” Mary said, “I will ask him to reserve some of the funds that would have gone to my trousseau for your use.”
Once more Elizabeth was really touched by Mary’s consideration for her. “I do not think that will be necessary. I do have more than enough pocket money, and while Mr. Bennet does not like us to spend on wholly frivolous things, he would not treat this in that manner.”
The two girls embraced again.
“Do promise,” Elizabeth said to Mary, “that you will be happy. Happier even than you plan to be at present.”
“I shall of course do my best to be happy,” Mary said smiling. “And you shall always be welcome to have a home with me. I will always like your presence.”