We feel bad for her, We love to laugh at him
Charlotte Lucas and Mr. Collins
"There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us"
Him
Mr. Collins is “for all the wrong reasons, one of the most memorable men in fiction.” (Fullerton 100). You cannot deny his memorability, he is so ridiculous and constructed so realistically, that it is hard to believe he is not a real person (hard, but somewhat fortunate). Mr. Collins is a good comic relief, the character we all love to dislike. His speech, if anything, is highly indicative of Austen’s feelings towards him; he is a social recluse, and it is no wonder Mr. Bennet asks if his behavior is rehearsed. If anyone enjoys Collins, it might be Mr. Bennet, who “delights in his absurdities and fatuousness; while Jane Austen as a narrator condemns ‘the stupidity with which he was favored by nature” (98). Austen quickly dismisses him, when he “declares that he never reads novels, he immediately puts himself into the position of social outcast” (Kies 27). The Austens love reading, which suggests they would dislike Collins. This serves as “a foil to Elizabeth’s interest in them” (Kies 29), and her drastic difference in character from himself.
There isn’t much worth merit in his character; he is “an arrogant, conceited man” (Gao 386), who cares about materialistic objects beyond anything. In arriving, he evidently “shows his excessive generosity and disinterest” in anyone for any redeemable reason (Gao 356). He plays a game of eenie-meenie-mini-mo in picking which of the Bennets he would like to marry, initially choosing the most beautiful, Jane, and upon learning of her potential engagement, quickly transfers his attentions to Elizabeth, not blinking an eyelash. He is an unlikable character, and he uses his comfortable social status in society as his only means to encourage Lizzy to marry him. Of course, he is far too ridiculous for the fearless heroine to consider, and so he goes to her more desperate best friend, Charlotte Lucas. Unlike Elizabeth, Charlotte cannot reject him. When Elizabeth returns to visit her married friend, Mr. Collins “could not help in fancying that in displaying the good proportion of the room, its aspect and its furniture, he addressed himself particularly to her, as if wishing to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him” (106). His interest in money and materialistic objects could excuse his constant mentioning and admiration of Lady Catherine; who is of high statue, and appreciates the attention and respect Mr. Collins dotes on her. Every word that escapes his mouth is Lady Catherine this, Lady Catherine that. Lady Catherine is responsible for his need of a wife, as she encourages it, and “so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished it to take place as soon as possible” (Austen 89). Twice does he mention Charlotte’s hand would make him “the happiest of men” (Austen 89, 95), though he appears to possess no sentiments for her, having so recently been rejected by her friend, and only approves of marriage because of Lady Catherine. Even after marrying Charlotte, Elizabeth notes that “her cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage; his formal civility was just what it had been”(Austen 106); this is not a compliment. Austen hardly reflects on Mr. Collins in good lights. He is always hasty to show the Bennets how comfortable and ‘happy’ he is, particularly after Elizabeth rejects him. It is hard to believe such a man could be happy, but he is sure to constantly reflect on what Elizabeth has missed out on. He is rather harsh, cruel, and completely unhelpful in the elopement of Lydia, and in a letter to the Bennets he says:
The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this… or the consolation of yourself and Mrs. Bennet, I am inclined to think that her own disposition must be naturally bad, or she could not be guilty of such an enormity, at so early an age. Howsoever that may be, you are grievously to be pitied… And this consideration leads me moreover to reflect, with augmented satisfaction, on a certain event of last November; for had it been otherwise, I must have been involved in all your sorrow and disgrace. Let me then advise you, dear sir, to console yourself as much as possible, to throw off your unworthy child from your affection for ever, and leave her to reap the fruits of her own heinous offense. (198)
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Ouch! While he is a clergyman, and religiously, Lydia’s offence in residing with a man before marriage at the time is inexcusable, these are harsh words. Mr. Bennet takes this very lightly, and only finds comic relief in this strange little man. Can Charlotte Lucas be really happy with him? Can anyone? Well…
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Her
The better half of Mr. Collins (I half shiver in writing that), is the unfortunate Charlotte Lucas. Charlotte represents what society was like for Austen, and her dilimmas are ones Austen, and many other women, faced themselves. She embodies the misfortunes of women, unable to secure herself in any other way than attaching herself to Mr. Collins. She excuses this marriage to Elizabeth by noting she is “not romantic”, she never were, and that she asks “only a comfortable home, considering Mr. Collins's character, connection, and situation in life, [she is] convinced that [her] chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state.” (87).
This is quite a drastic change in attitude about marriage from the novel’s heroine, and Elizabeth is hasty to judge her friend for it. The saddest part is the delight Charlotte’s family takes in this marriage, completely careless of Mr. Collins character and Charlotte's life with such a man:
Lady Lucas began directly to calculate, with more interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer Mr. Bennet was likely to live; and Sir William gave it as his decided opinion, that whenever Mr. Collins should be in possession of the Longbourn estate, it would be highly expedient that both he and his wife should make their appearance at St. James's. The whole family, in short, were properly overjoyed on the occasion. The younger girls formed hopes of coming out a year or two sooner than they might otherwise have done; and the boys were relieved from their apprehension of Charlotte's dying an old maid.” (85)
Evidently, “if we feel sympathy for Charlotte at any point, we first do so when her family dwells on the economic and social advantages of the match and gives no thought at all to her personal happiness” (Clark 131). The Narrator, and the audience, naturally pities Charlotte here and judges her family. There is very little attributed to love, and if anything, the contrast between Elizabeth and Charlotte suggests that while one will risk everything for love, the other is far more realistic. That is what Charlotte is, she is not sad or desperate, she is realistic. She is older, about twenty-seven years old, which is a considertably older age for a woman in the time period. Being unmarried is frightening at that point, and as the passage above suggests, Charlotte marries Mr. Collins out of fear. She is terrified of being dependent on her family for support for the rest of her life. After Mr. Collins is rejected, Charlotte plays her cards very well, and encourages him to propose. The Narrator ensures the audience is fully aware of Charlotte’s circumstances, inspecting:
Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still he would be her husband. Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want.” (85)
Can you really judge Charlotte? She is able to ‘handle’ Mr. Collins, finding her way to distance herself from him as much as possible. She finds her own comfortable corner in the house, manages to tolerate her husband when necessary, and “when Mr. Collins could be forgotten, there was really an air of great comfort throughout, and by Charlotte's evident enjoyment of it” (Austen 107). Nonetheless, she does have to share his bedchamber, and “unfortunately for Charlotte, Mr Collins is a 24/7 commitment. As a parson, he works from home and is always there; she gets mo breaks from his irksome society” (Fullerton 102). Is she a victim of society's treatment of women? Judge her as you may, remember Austen is reflecting through her what she was unable to do. Though Austen’s proposal may have been by a man more likable, she rejects him, and prefers to live the life Charlotte was so dearly frightened of.
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Them
Mr. Collins may be “a flat character, who is exactly the same at the end of the novel as he was at the beginning” (Fullerton 96), and Charlotte may be little delighted and attracted to their personality, but regardless, they do share some sort of an understanding. Collins himself notes to Elizabeth:
My dear Charlotte and I have but one mind and one way of thinking. There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each other (146).
Ironically, he is right, perhaps not in the way that he thinks. Yes, it is a ridiculous statement judging that Charlotte’s design for her husband is being the only one desperate enough to marry him, but this says some truth on the relationship too. Both share a belief in practicality; this was, beyond anything, a practical arrangement for both parities. Both knew what they were getting into, and both agreed love does not matter. It is, in an unfortunate sort of way, admirable that even with all their issues they do share this understanding. Of course, this again contrast with our hero and heroine, who fight and struggle in order to win the worth of their love. There is a great beauty in that, but there should be at least an ounce of respect for Charlotte and Collins, who at least agree on their basic outlook on life. They don’t need love, they need comfort, and society’s acceptance. In each other, and with what they can offer each other, they find that. Does that, you wonder, makes them happy, or just flow along with life?
This is a perfect scene to portay an archetype of a Regency woman found in Charlotte. She is frightened, and she begs Lizzy not to judge her for her choice. Can you blame her?
Sting had to be here... disregarding the ending (in which the woman is described to fall in love with another man), this practical arrangement describes Charlotte and Collins perfectly, They are realists, they don't expect some "earthly paradise" togehter, and in any case, how often does Darcy and Elizabeth's 'eartly paradise" happen in the Regency period?