Why do we love Mrs. Bennet?

 

What do my dog Krümel and *Pride and Prejudice* have in common?

 

It’s a strange question. But I think there is an answer.

 

Life is quite challenging in this book, especially for one particular character. “Ah, you do not know what I suffer.” That is Mrs. Bennet.

 

Imagine a family with five daughters, all between sixteen and twenty-two, and therefore all, in the eyes of their mother, in urgent need of a husband. There is Lizzy, the second oldest and heroine of the novel; Mr. Bennet, their father, a wonderfully dry and sometimes infuriating man with a taste for irony; and Mrs. Bennet, whose main occupation is getting these girls married. She is very serious about the job.

 

Then there is Mr. Collins.

 

He is pompous, oblivious to the feelings of others, not particularly charming, and a clergyman. More importantly, he is due to inherit the Bennet estate after Mr. Bennet’s death, because the property is entailed and can only pass to a male relative. So when Mr. Collins asks Mrs. Bennet for permission to speak with Lizzy, Mrs. Bennet is thrilled. She knows exactly what is coming.

 

Lizzy knows too.

 

Mr. Collins begins his proposal with a long explanation of his reasons for marrying. First, he says, it is proper for a clergyman in his comfortable financial circumstances to set an example to his parish. Secondly, he continues, he is destined to inherit the estate. And finally, he would like to assure Lizzy of “the violence of my affection”.

 

“The violence of my affection” is magnificent. He wants to sound passionate, but somehow manages to make love sound like an item on a financial planning checklist. Lizzy, unsurprisingly, refuses him.

 

And here Mrs. Bennet becomes fascinating.

 

She has been waiting in the hallway, watching for the end of the conversation. When Lizzy emerges and walks quickly towards the stairs, Mrs. Bennet enters the breakfast room and congratulates Mr. Collins — and herself — on the happy prospect of their closer connection.

 

She has completely misunderstood what has happened.

 

And somehow I love her for it.

 

She simply does not want to see the differences between what she hopes will happen and what is actually happening. She steps into the story she wants. Mr. Collins is doing exactly the same thing. For a brief moment, the two of them are almost celebrating together. They have invented a future, and as far as they are concerned, it is already real.

 

Then reality arrives.

 

Lizzy has refused him.

 

Mrs. Bennet is devastated. “Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”

 

She calls for Mr. Bennet and demands that he make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins. Mr. Bennet, however, has a rather elegant solution. He tells Lizzy:

 

> “Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.”

 

That is class.

 

Mr. Bennet is not always an easy character, but here he knows exactly where to place the words. Lizzy immediately understands that he is on her side. She can relax.

 

Mrs. Bennet, of course, cannot.

 

And this is why I have come to love her.

 

She tries again and again. She does not give up. She probably should know her husband better — much better — but perhaps there is something else going on. Perhaps she is simple-minded. Perhaps she is so wrapped up in her own world that she cannot see what everybody else can see.

 

Or perhaps she loves her family with such extraordinary, innocent determination that she simply expects the world to cooperate.

 

Maybe it is all three.

 

She reminds me of Krümel.

 

Krümel never accepted “no”. He simply waited. Frisbee in his mouth. Looking at me. Those puppy-dog eyes. Forever hopeful.

 

Mrs. Bennet has exactly that energy.

 

And when I look at her again, I begin to realise that her obsession with marriage is not quite as ridiculous as it first appears. Should Mr. Bennet die, she and her daughters really are in danger of losing their home. For women of their class and time, there were very few ways to earn an independent living. Marriage was not simply romance. It was security. It was survival.

 

Which makes Mrs. Bennet rather more interesting.

 

She is dedicated. For a good reason.

 

And somehow she becomes the engine of the story. She drives the plot forward, creates chaos, supplies comic relief — and perhaps comic relief is one of the best ways human beings have ever invented to survive difficult circumstances.

 

Especially when the circumstances are real.

 

“Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”

 

Can we agree that *Pride and Prejudice* is a mystery?

 

I still don’t quite know what this book is.

 

Except that sometimes it feels like puppy-dog eyes in literary form.

 

It is loyal. Jane Austen is remarkably loyal to her characters. Even when they are ridiculous, even when they are wrong, even when they are completely lost, she keeps looking at them.

 

And then there is one sentence I keep coming back to:

 

> “Mr. Collins was not left long to the silent contemplation of his successful love…”

 

“Successful love.”

 

That is such a tiny piece of magic.

 

Mr. Collins is deeply ridiculous. We know his proposal has failed. Austen knows it too. And yet, for one little moment, she lets him enjoy his private happiness. She could mock him. Instead, she handles him with a warm glove. She gives him a tiny moment of dignity.

 

It is almost as if she is sitting there with a cup of hot chocolate, watching this poor man dream.

 

And somehow that generosity is catching.

 

I can’t quite help liking him.

 

Maybe even admiring him, a little.

 

He is dedicated. Just… dedicated in the wrong direction.

 

So perhaps that is what I keep finding when I return to Jane Austen: not answers, exactly, but companionship.

 

Krümel waiting.

 

Mrs. Bennet hoping.

 

Mr. Collins dreaming.

 

Three people. Three impossible hopes.

 

All somehow contained in one sentence.

 

And that, I think, is one of the reasons I keep coming back.