THE PROPOSAL OF MR COLLINS.

Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet, Mr Collins.

From “Pride and Prejudice.”

Costumes.

Mr Collins in black, with a high choker and cravat tied in front.

Elizabeth. Pale primrose dress, the lappels of the bodice and the hem of the skirt embroidered in gold and white; clear muslin chemisette, rucked under-sleeves of the same.

Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Collins.

THE PROPOSAL OF MR COLLINS.

Characters.

Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet, Mr Collins.

N.B.—“Her (Mrs Bennet) mind was less difficult to develope. She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.”—Pride and Prejudice, Chap. I.

“The greatest part of his (Mr Collins) life had been spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father.... The subjection in which his father had brought him up had given him originally great humility of manner, but it was now a good deal counteracted by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in retirement, and the consequential feeling of early and unexpected prosperity.... Having now a good home and a very sufficient income, he intended to marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family (The Bennets) he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they were represented by common report. This was his plan of amends—of atonement—for inheriting their father’s estate, and he thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively generous and disinterested on his own part.”—Pride and Prejudice, Chap. XV., Vol. I.

“The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father,—pardon me—it pains me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of them, let it give you consolation to consider, that to have conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure, is praise no less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is honourable to the sense and disposition of both.”—Quotation from Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth Bennet, Vol. II., Chapter XXXV.

Scene.—The morning-room at Longbourne.

Properties required: There is a good-sized table L. Chairs, sofas, and other tables about the room. The furniture is good, but a little shabby and vulgar, and formal. Door R. enter Elizabeth with household needlework. She walks to the table.

Elizabeth. Well! if my father was hopeful of finding our cousin, Mr Collins, far from sensible, I cannot think he is disappointed, for the deficiencies of nature have been but little assisted by education, and though he has belonged to one of the Universities, he evidently merely kept the necessary terms without forming there any useful acquaintance.

Enter Mrs Bennet (going to her work). Well, Lizzie, what do you think of your cousin, Mr Collins? I am sure he is a very fine young man, in spite of his being next in the entail—though, to be sure, I cannot bear to hear that mentioned—and I do think it is the hardest thing in the world that your father’s estate should be entailed away from his own children, and I am sure, if I had been him, I should have tried long ago to do something about it.

Elizabeth. My dear ma’am, let me try and explain again the nature of an entail.

Mrs Bennet. Not one word, Eliza. It is trying enough to my nerves to know that we must submit to such a thing simply because of Mr Bennet’s indifference to what becomes of us all when he is dead, without having it all explained to me. However, I don’t suppose Mr Collins can help it, and as he has seemed, since the very first day we saw him, a week ago, willing to make amends by one or other of you girls, I am not the person to discourage him.

Elizabeth. Certainly not, my dear ma’am.

Mrs Bennet. Not but what at first I thought he wanted your sister Jane. It was quite right and proper, considering she was the eldest and by far the best-looking of you all. But when I found that he was thinking of her, I gave him a hint that she was not to be had for the asking. I don’t want to spoil Jane’s chance with Bingley, and so I just put it right, you know.

Elizabeth. I have no doubt you acted wisely, ma’am.

Mrs Bennet. Well, Lizzie, I did for the best. When he told me his plans, and that he had come to Longbourne to choose a wife among you, I said, “Mr Collins, I cannot but be very gratified by your confidence, and as to my younger daughters, I cannot take upon myself to say—I could not positively answer,” for I did not want to appear too pleased with his attentions, “and I do not know of any prepossessions, but my eldest daughter, I must just mention—I feel it incumbent on me to hint—is likely to be very soon engaged,”—and it is marvellous how soon he abandoned all idea of Jane. But hush, here he comes.

(Enter Mr Collins).

Mr Collins. May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of the morning.

Mrs Bennet (starting up). Oh! dear! yes—certainly. I am sure Lizzie will be very happy. I am sure she can have no objection. (Going.)

Elizabeth. Dear ma’am, do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I am going away myself. (Also going.)

Mrs Bennet. No, no, nonsense, Lizzie. I desire you will stay where you are (seeing that Elizabeth is determined to go). Lizzie, I insist upon your staying, and hearing Mr Collins. (Exit.)

Elizabeth (aside). Well! if it has to be—I may as well get it over as soon and as quietly as possible.

Mr Collins. Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you, that I have your respected mother’s permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But, before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying—and, moreover, for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife—as I certainly did.

Elizabeth (aside). The idea of this man being run away with by his feelings!

Mr Collins. My reasons for marrying are—first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish; secondly, I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly—which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked, too!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford, between our pools at quadrille, that she said, “Mr Collins, you must marry—a clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.” Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady de Burgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe, and your wit and vivacity, I think, must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite.

Elizabeth (aside). How am I to stop the man?

Mr Collins. This much for my general intention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be told why my views were directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (reverentially) (who, however, may live many years longer) I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible when the melancholy event takes place, which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now, nothing remains for me but to assure you, in the most animated language, of the violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with, and that one thousand pounds in the 4 per cents., which will not be yours till after your mother’s decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head I shall, therefore, be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.

Elizabeth. You are too hasty sir; you forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline them.

Collins (waving his hand). I am not now to learn that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I am, therefore, by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long.

Elizabeth. Upon my word, sir, your hope is rather an extraordinary one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am perfectly serious in my refusal; you could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so. Nay, were your friend, Lady Catherine, to know me, I am persuaded she would find me in every respect ill qualified for the situation.

Collins (gravely). Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so—but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all disapprove of you. And, you may be certain that when I have the honour of seeing her again, I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualifications.

Elizabeth. Indeed, Mr Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary; you must give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment of believing what I say: I wish you very happy and very rich, and by refusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise. In making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your feelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn estate whenever it falls without any self-reproach (rising). This matter may be considered, therefore, as finally settled.

Mr Collins. When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on the subject, I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be an established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character.

Elizabeth (warmly). Really, Mr Collins, you puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as may convince you of its being one.

Collins (smiling). You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are briefly these—It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of De Burgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in my favour; and you should take it into further consideration, that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you—your portion is unhappily so small, that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.

Elizabeth. I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretension whatever of that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart.

Collins (with awkward gallantry). You are uniformly charming! and I am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable.

Elizabeth. To such perseverance in wilful self-deception I can make no reply; but if you persist in considering my repeated refusals as flattering encouragement, I shall apply to my father, whose negative will no doubt be uttered in such a manner as must be decisive, and whose behaviour at least will not be mistaken for the affectation and coquetry of an “elegant female.” (Enter Mrs Bennet.)

Mrs Bennet. Well, Mr Collins, allow me to congratulate you—and myself.

Mr Collins (smiling complacently). I trust I have every reason to be satisfied with the result of our interview, since the refusal with which my fair cousin has replied to my proposals comes naturally from her bashful modesty and the delicacy of her character.

Mrs Bennet. Her refusal? Why, Lizzie, what is the meaning of this—do you refuse Mr Collins?

Elizabeth. I do indeed, ma’am.

Mrs Bennet. Oh! Mr Collins, do not pay any attention to her. Depend upon it, she shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her about it myself privately, She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest; but I will make her know it.

Mr Collins (gravely). Pardon me for interrupting you, madam. But if she is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If, therefore, Miss Elizabeth actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were better not to force her into accepting me, because if liable to such defects of temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity.

Elizabeth (interrupting). That is very true, Mr Collins.

Mrs Bennet. Sir, you quite misunderstand me. Lizzie is only headstrong in such matters as these. In everything else she is as good-natured a girl as ever lived. Yes, you are, Lizzie, and I insist on you accepting Mr Collins.

Elizabeth. Ma’am, ma’am. I cannot, I do not care for him.

Mrs Bennet. Now, I do insist upon it, Lizzie, that you hold your tongue and let Mr Collins and me have a little conversation together.

Mr Collins (stiffly). My dear madam, let us be for ever silent on this point. Far be it from me to resent the behaviour of your daughter. Resignation to inevitable evil is the duty of us all. You will not, I hope, consider me as showing any disrespect to your family by now withdrawing all pretensions to your daughter’s favour. My conduct may, I fear, be objectionable in accepting my dismission from her lips instead of your own. But we are all liable to error—I have certainly meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure an amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage of all your family, and if my manner has been at all reprehensible, I beg here to apologise. (Exit, with a bow.)

Mrs Bennet (calling after him). Oh! Mr Collins—(turning angrily to Elizabeth), and there you stand, looking as unconcerned as may be, and caring no more for us all than if you were at York—provided you can have your own way. But I will tell you what, Miss Lizzie, if you take it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this way, you will never get a husband at all; and I am sure I do not know who is to maintain you when your father is dead—I shall not be able to keep you, and so I warn you. I have done with you from this very day—I shall never speak to you again, and you will find me as good as my word—I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not that I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking to anybody. People who suffer as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! but it is always so, those who do not complain are never pitied—and it is all owing to you—to your wilfulness and bad temper.

Elizabeth (coaxingly). Ah, ma’am, do not be hard on me. Think of my sister Jane. How lovely she is. How much admired. How willing she will be to listen to Mr Bingley. Let us go and tell her about it all. She will agree with us both.

Mrs Bennet (softened). Well, Lizzie, I suppose I must be content with one sensible girl among you all, but I should be thankful to have you off my hands.

(Exeunt Mrs Bennet and Elizabeth.)

End of Scene.