“But what if one of them didn’t choose it?”
Mrs. Hill sighed.
“Then they won’t be the first to have found matrimony not quite what they’d expected, and they’ll have to make the best of it. There you are, Miss Mary, you’re quite done.”
At dinner, Mary felt ashamed of herself as she watched Charlotte minister efficiently to Mr. Collins’s every need. Her curiosity seemed poor recompense for Charlotte’s hospitality; surely it was ungrateful, distasteful even, to speculate about the private concerns of her hosts in this way. But the more she observed them together, the more she was convinced of the gulf that lay between them; and also, and perhaps more surprisingly, that for all her polite attentions, it was Charlotte who was the architect of it. Behind her mild, compliant demeanour, she was entirely self-contained. Nothing Mr. Collins said or did touched her; her feelings were locked up and battened down, in every way inaccessible to her husband. As Mary stole a glance at Mr. Collins’s bleak, resigned expression, she realised that he knew this; and that the unhappiness she sensed in him was the result of this knowledge.
Mary could not sleep that night, disturbed by what she had seen. When she first arrived at Longbourn, she had assumed the success of the Collins marriage could be judged by Charlotte’s sentiments alone. It had not occurred to her to consider Mr. Collins’s feelings in the matter. He had achieved his ambition of finding a respectable woman willing to marry him—surely that was enough? What more could he have hoped for? It was not possible he had expected love? Mary had not considered him capable of deep emotion; but she now saw she had been mistaken. Charlotte had made whatever accommodations had been necessary to resign herself to a marriage of convenience and, superficially at least, was content. It was her husband who was left miserable in an arrangement of his own making.
Chapter 38
Mary was working in the library one morning, enjoying her solitary state. Then, just as she had decided he did not intend to join her there, Mr. Collins appeared at the door, with a self-conscious air.
“Miss Bennet, I understand from Mrs. Collins that it will not inconvenience you if I work for a few hours at my desk. Please tell me if that is so—if not, I will depart at once.”
Mary assured him, as she had done before, that she would be very agreeable to their sharing the room, and eventually, he sat down and began to shuffle his papers. Mary applied herself to her books and was soon so thoroughly engaged with them that the next sound she heard was Charlotte calling them both to tea. As he readied himself to leave, Mr. Collins beamed at Mary with relief.
“I am most grateful to you, Miss Bennet. I was not at all disturbed. You were so quiet it was as though there was no person in the room but myself.”
“I am glad to have been so … negligible a presence, sir.”
His face fell.
“I did not mean to sound ungracious. But very few people understand the importance of silence as an aid to concentration. It is an essential requirement for anyone wishing to undertake serious study, but seldom found, I am afraid to say, especially amongst the fairer sex. You, however, do not seem much given to idle and unreflecting chatter.”
“I am glad to hear it, sir. It is true I do not have much of a gift for polite conversation.”
Discomfited, Mr. Collins gave a little laugh and hurried away. He was clearly satisfied with their arrangement, though, for the next day, and the days following, he arrived in the library every morning, saying little, working his way diligently through his correspondence. But on the fourth day, after an hour or two had passed, Mary was surprised to see him approach her little table.
“I am afraid my curiosity has triumphed over my manners. May I ask, Miss Bennet, what you are reading with such assiduity?”
Mary looked up, surprised. She had never supposed it would be he who broke the silence.
“Well, I am looking into works I enjoyed when I lived here. Books I found profitable and useful.”
“You are reminding yourself of past pleasures, then? To a thinking mind, there is no better recreation.”
“Partly, that is so. But I am also engaged in an exercise. An investigation, if you like.”
His incredulity registered plainly on his face.
“Really? Is it of a scholarly nature? If so, perhaps I may be able to assist. I am always at the disposal of any seeker after knowledge, ready to guide the uncertain tastes of those as yet unacquainted with works of a serious complexion.”
Mary was not used to discussing her intellectual pursuits with anyone, and her first instinct was to retreat. But his condescension irked her. She held up her head and looked him in the eye with more boldness than was usual.
“I am interested in human happiness, sir, in the better understanding of what it is and how it may be achieved. I wish to explore whether it is a state which arises from the chance convergence of circumstances, or whether it is a condition we may will ourselves to possess. I want to understand how we may recognise it when it is within our grasp and in what ways we can learn to live without it if we are not lucky enough to experience it.”
Mr. Collins was clearly very much taken aback.
“Well! That is an extraordinary occupation for a young lady! I never suspected your interests were so philosophical. I confess I imagined you were secretly reading novels, ashamed to be seen so frivolously engaged.”
“I should not be afraid to acknowledge any book I thought worthy of my time and application, though it is true I am no great reader of fiction. I find works of fact more congenial to my mind.”
“Do you, indeed?”
Mr. Collins sat down and reached towards the little hoard of books piled on the table.
“May I see in which direction your tastes incline?”
He picked them up one by one, examining their titles.
“Locke, Paley, Rousseau—even Mr. Hume! You venture into some unexpected places, Miss Bennet. Did your father know you were reading such works?”
“He may have done, but I don’t think he was very interested in anyone’s studies other than his own.”
Mr. Collins fingered his clerical collar.
“I am surprised he had such books upon his shelves at all. They suggest a mind not wholly satisfied by Christian teaching. I should be sorry to think that was the case, but even more grieved to learn that you yourself had been influenced by them.”
“Oh, no, my faith is too firmly grounded to be shaken in the way you describe. And I cannot agree that it was wrong in my father to possess such books or to allow anyone who wished to read them. Even Dr. Fordyce says it is desirable for our minds to be challenged, for only thus can we learn to distinguish good arguments from bad.”
“You put your case most forcefully, Miss Bennet. And this enquiry of yours, this study in human happiness. May I ask if it is a purely intellectual pursuit? Or does it have perhaps a more personal application?”
Mary had not expected such a penetrating question.
“I suppose all enquiry is a mixture of the intellectual and the personal. How can we know where one begins and the other ends? And surely, the search for happiness—for individual happiness—is one that concerns us all, does it not?”
This time it was Mr. Collins who looked away.
“Some might say so. I shall consider of it, Miss Bennet.”
He nodded, turned on his heel, and left her alone in the library. For a while, she stared out the window, reflecting on their conversation. Then she opened the largest and most challenging volume from the books before her, put on her glasses, and began to read.
Chapter 39
Mary was not sure whether Mr. Collins would return to the library whilst she worked there. She was conscious of having ventured rather too closely towards a painful truth and thought he might not choose to share her company again. But the next day, he arrived at his usual hour. He did not speak, and nothing disturbed the silence of the library until he withdrew a few hours later. The day after was the same; and the one a
fter that. It was not until the third morning that he cleared his throat and approached her table with a book in his hand.
“Miss Bennet, I have been giving some thought to our recent discussion, and after much consideration, have decided I should not be doing wrong in offering this small volume to you. I think you will find it very illuminating. It is the Ethics of Aristotle. Do you know it?”
Mary shook her head. He sat down and pushed the book towards her.
“I think you will find it pertinent to your study. Aristotle has a great deal to say about happiness, all of it interesting. And although he did not have the benefit of hearing the word of God himself, many Christian thinkers value him highly. For that reason, I feel quite easy presenting it to you.”
Tentatively, Mary picked it up.
“I suggest you read a little every day to accustom yourself to his style. At the end of the week, we shall talk about what you have learnt. I have a feeling you will enjoy it.”
He returned to his desk and bowed his head over his papers. Mary stayed just long enough for her departure not to appear ill-mannered, before hurrying to her bedroom, where she could examine the book in private. As she did so, she felt her heart beating fast. For as long as she could remember, she had longed for someone to interest themselves in her studies. That it should be Mr. Collins, of all people, who showed the first hint of curiosity in her intellectual pursuits was astounding to her. He had been insensible to all her overtures when he first arrived at Longbourn, indifferent to every attempt of hers to engage him in her interests. But these were old wounds now, and whilst they sometimes throbbed a little to remind her of their existence, they had been succeeded by so much later pain that they no longer hurt as they once did. Now she felt nothing but gratitude that he should have chosen a book for her to read as she opened it eagerly and began to turn its pages.
She soon saw he had been right to warn her it would take a little while before she was comfortable in the presence of such a distinguished mind. But she persevered, and gradually began to get the measure of the great man’s precise, exacting prose. It was not an easy read, but she enjoyed the challenge it posed; and by the end of the week, she hurried to the library eagerly, keen to discuss what she had read. Mr. Collins was waiting for her, his papers pushed aside.
“So, Miss Bennet, I look forward to hearing what you have learnt from your first encounter with one of the most profound thinkers of the ancient world.”
“I read it with much interest, sir. And I have made a few notes.”
“An excellent habit in a scholar which I hope will enable you to explain clearly to me what Aristotle has taught you about happiness.”
“You want me to describe my impressions?”
Mr. Collins nodded. For a moment, Mary hesitated, but took a quick breath and began.
“Aristotle tells us we can be truly happy only when we are virtuous—and by that I think he means when we behave in a way that promotes our goodness, that brings out our best qualities.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“But it is often difficult for us to recognise what virtue looks like because we so readily confuse it with pleasure. Pleasure can deliver us enjoyment—the feelings we derive from good food, good conversation, the contemplation of beauty—but these things do not last. Enjoyments are transient, but true happiness endures. That is its distinguishing quality.”
“Indeed. And how does Aristotle suggest such happiness is to be achieved?”
“Well, it is hard to sum up his thoughts succinctly without losing the subtlety of their perceptions—”
“But if I press you to do so, Miss Bennet?”
“Then I should say he tells us it is only through self-knowledge that genuine happiness is to be had. Only when we know ourselves—when we have examined and understood our strengths and weaknesses, when we have been honest enough to admit what we really desire from life—only then do we have any chance at all of attaining it.”
Mr. Collins was delighted.
“Bravo, Miss Bennet! A most convincing summary. We shall make a classical scholar of you yet!”
Mary returned his smile, a little self-conscious but eager to continue.
“Do you think we might go on, sir? To the end of the book?”
“I think we must, or we shall never know how his ideas develop. You must read a little more and then we shall talk about it again.”
The more Mary read, the more her confidence grew. In her next discussion with Mr. Collins, she articulated her thoughts more readily, and with greater clarity. The silence, which had once been the library’s defining quality, was replaced by animated conversation, conducted with such energy that eventually, even Charlotte noticed it. One afternoon, as she and Mary worked in the garden, she observed this was the first time they had been outside together for more than a week.
“You seemed to be having a very lively time of it today. I hope Mr. Collins is not boring you. He is apt to be passionate on those subjects that interest him, and it can be very fatiguing. You must not feel obliged to keep him company, you know.”
“But I’m not in the least bored, I promise you! On the contrary, I have found it extremely interesting and am very grateful for the time and trouble Mr. Collins has bestowed upon me.”
At this, Charlotte looked sharply in Mary’s direction. Mary, pulling up a particularly stubborn weed, did not notice and went on.
“Should you not like to pursue some course of study yourself, Charlotte? Mr. Collins makes it all so easy, I’m sure you would find it as stimulating as I do. Why don’t you join us?”
“I’m afraid I have enough to occupy me already, with a house to run and a child to look after. I have no leisure to spend my mornings discussing philosophy. What, I wonder, would Aristotle have to say about that?”
Mary, attacking the unresponsive earth with a trowel, did not catch the hint of acerbity in her tone.
“Very little, I expect. You are quite right, Aristotle does not show much interest in how women achieve happiness, or indeed, in women at all. I shall ask Mr. Collins about that at our next discussion.”
Charlotte stood up suddenly, dropping her scissors into her apron pocket and handing Mary her basket.
“I must go and see about dinner. I shall leave you to bring in the flowers.”
She did not say goodbye but marched briskly and unsmilingly away. Mary watched her go, puzzled, at a loss to understand how she had offended.
She was still a little nervous when she sat down to dinner, afraid of provoking Charlotte further; but Charlotte seemed herself again, presiding over the table with her usual orderly calm. Or was there perhaps the very faintest change in her manner, a new watchfulness, so subtle and so imperceptible that Mary was barely sure it was there at all? As the meal ran its course, she told herself she had been mistaken; but she could not put herself quite at ease and was glad when they rose from the table. Later, as Mrs. Hill brushed out her hair, Mary did not respond to her attempts to engage her in conversation. Her thoughts returned again and again to Charlotte’s state of mind until she felt she had exhausted every attempt to understand her behaviour, and resolved to consider it no longer. Once Mrs. Hill had gone, she picked up her Aristotle and read a few lines before blowing out the candle and attempting to get to sleep.
Chapter 40
The next morning, Mary watched Mr. Collins closely when he arrived in the library to see if his demeanour suggested Charlotte had confided the source of her irritation to him; but he seemed unaware of any ill feeling. On the contrary, he seemed in buoyant spirits.
“I have a proposition for you, Miss Bennet. As you have demonstrated such a taste for classical learning, I have been reflecting on whether it would be proper for me to lead you more deeply into the study of this great treasury of human knowledge.”
He sat down beside her.
“I have considered it most carefully, and taking into consideration your great steadiness of temper, have concluded no harm is likely to come of it. I
am satisfied what I intend will not be productive of any adverse consequences.”
He pulled from his coat pocket a small and rather battered volume and laid it before her.
“This is a dictionary of the Greek language, together with a grammar suitable for beginners. It is old, as you can see, but in my humble opinion, remains the best of its kind. It was mine as a boy. I had an excellent tutor who taught me to love the language, and it was he who gave me this little book. It is not an easy study, but one which richly repays the efforts made to master it. And all attempts to do so must start first with the principles laid out herein.”
Mary put down her pen, astonished.
“Are you suggesting I should learn Greek, sir?”
“Indeed I am. I am aware it is not usually regarded as a suitable subject for young ladies, but, if you will forgive an observation of a personal nature, I have never met a woman with interests as scholarly as your own. I think that you are perfectly equal to it.”
He leant over and opened the pages.
“Look, here is the alphabet in its entirety. This is alpha, and here at the end is omega. You have surely heard of them? And here are all the others in between, with the sounds they make written beside them.”
She rubbed her glasses with her sleeve and stared intently at the unfamiliar shapes.
“What do you think, Miss Bennet? If you are willing, I am prepared to make a trial of it with you.”
For a moment, she hesitated—it would be like learning to read all over again, with entirely new letters to master, and what if she should fail?—but then excitement rose up in her, and she knew she could not refuse.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Collins, I should like it of all things!”
He smiled.
“So should I, Miss Bennet. So should I.”
Mary’s first exercise was to memorise the Greek letters. She sat alone in the library with the little grammar and a large pile of paper, staring at them till her eyes ached, tracing their shapes with her pen whilst sounding out their names under her breath. Sometimes Mr. Collins insisted she repeat them to him out loud. At first, she feared to appear ridiculous, but he would have none of that, and soon she had conquered her embarrassment, speaking up clearly and without shame. She made excellent progress, and one afternoon, as they all sat at tea, Mr. Collins asked his wife if she would like to hear her friend recite the letters of the Greek alphabet.
The Other Bennet Sister Page 22