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. This preservative she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been handsome, she felt all the good luck of it.

What manner of degradation and subjugation could lead someone to feel lucky for securing a husband like Mr Collins? Nevertheless, Charlotte is unswervingly loyal to her new husband. Elizabeth can’t help looking at her for signs of discontentment, but sees very little.

[Elizabeth] looked with wonder at her friend that she could have so cheerful an air with such a companion. When Mr. Collins said anything of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unseldom, she involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush; but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear.

Charlotte and Elizabeth have a giggle over the ridiculous Mr Collins in the 1980 adaptation

To me, this just makes it all the more horrible. She can’t complain about him to her friends, nor tweet nor blog of her troubles. Rather, she must express gratitude to her husband and of course his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and avoid giving any signs of her discontentment. What she does say, for example about encouraging Mr Collins to spend time in his garden, is in a kind of code.

Charlotte appears 'cheerful' and 'content' at Hunsford in the 1995 BBC and 2005 movie adaptations

This all has the potential to be very dark, but in the major adaptations the filmmakers have generally tried to keep it fairly light. In the 1980 adaptation, Charlotte and Elizabeth even share a giggle over the former’s new husband. Extra little comedic scenes with Collins are added to lighten the mood, when it would surely have been more interesting to explore the reality of such a life. It is, after all, a future that Elizabeth only narrowly avoided through her own strength of will. In my view, the 1995 and 2005 adaptations both do the same to an extent, with the 1995 series coming closest to recreating the tone of the book.

Jane is understandably sickened by the creepy Mr Collins in Lost in Austen

Marriage to Mr Collins was, as critic Robert M. Polhemus put it, ‘a kind of socially respectable prostitution in which Charlotte acquiesces.’ Her plight is just one example of how the main story – so ‘light and bright and sparkling’ – nevertheless flirts with many darker themes. It’s interesting that, of all the dramatizations, it’s Lost in Austen that presents life with Mr Collins in the darkest and most uncompromising manner. They do this by transforming Collins into an almost unrecognizable middle-aged slimely, fetishistic letch, which lessens some of the impact.  In the book, so much is left unsaid between her and Elizabeth that it only adds to the sense of gloom.

Darcy

Mr Collins in want of a witless wife

…after some deliberation he chose Fordyce’s Sermons. Lydia gaped as he opened the volume, and before he had, with very monotonous solemnity, read three pages…

James Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women was a popular guidebook on women’s conduct, published in 1767. In his sermons, Fordyce argued that ‘men of the best sense have usually been averse to the thought of marrying a witty female.’ Fordyce’s book was obviously a favorite of Mr Collins, although following its prescriptions would surely have condemned the latter to life as a bachelor. Where would the reverend find a woman less witty than himself?

The reader does not need to know about Fordyce’s sermons to see the truth of Elizabeth’s assertion that:

‘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.’

Nevertheless, Collins’ enthusiasm for Fordyce’s views on desirable female conduct exaggerates the mismatch even further. Lizzy’s sparkling wit is, of course, one of her definining characteristics, not to mention a trait that attracts Mr. Darcy.

Here, then, is a passage from Fordyce’s sermons:

When I speak on this subject, need I tell you, that men of the best sense have usually been averse to marrying a witty female?

You will probably tell me, they were afraid of being outshone, and some of them perhaps might be so. But I am apt to believe, that many of them acted on different motives. Men who understand the science of domestic happiness, know that its very first principle is ease. Of that indeed we grow fonder, in whatever condition, as we advance in life, and as the heat of youth abates. But we cannot be easy, where we are not safe. We are never safe in the company of a critic; and almost every wit is a critic by profession. In such company we are not at liberty to unbend ourselves. All must be the straining of study, or the anxiety of apprehension: how painful! Where the heart may not expand and open itself with freedom, farewell to real friendship, farewell to convivial delight! But to suffer this restraint at home, what misery! From the brandishings of wit in the hand of ill nature, of imperious passion, or of unbounded vanity, who would not flee! But when that weapon is pointed at a husband, is to be wondered that if from his own house he takes shelter in the tavern? He sought a soft friend; he expected to be happy in a reasonable companion. He found a perpetual satirist, or a self-sufficient prattler. How have I pitied such a man, when I have seen him in continual fear on his own account, and that of his friends, and for the poor lady herself; les, in the run of discourse, she should be guilty of some petulance, or some indiscretion, that would expose her and hurt them all! But take the matter at the best; there is still all the difference in the world between the entertainer of an evening, and a partner for life.

My favorite part is where Fordyce writes of men escaping the torments of their wives’ wits by fleeing to the tavern! Otherwise, I shall have to use Mr. Fordyce’s words against him with the verdict, ‘How painful!’

Yours in happy marriage to a witty woman!

Darcy

- ‘A tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty’

- ‘His air was grave and stately, and his manner very formal’

- ‘altogether a mix of pride and obsequiousness, self importance and humility’

However, casting directors seem unwilling to follow Austen’s description in their choice of actors. In our age of muscle bound young actors and other male celebrities – with our masculine ideals of youth, height and brawn – perhaps Austen’s description of Mr Collins’ features could detract from his ridiculousness in our eyes? In both the 1940 Pride and Prejudice movie and the 1980 Pride and Prejudice mini series, Mr Collins is portrayed by taller actors, yet both of them are considerably beyond their mid-twenties. In the 1995 and 2005 adaptations both men are short; indeed, in the 2005 movie Tom Hollander’s limited stature is a source of comedy. In the 2008 ITV series, Lost in Austen, Mr Collins (Guy Henry) is again tall, but gangly, and aged perhaps in his mid-40s. Also, into his character has been written a kind of pervy-uncle sleaziness that isn’t even hinted at in the book.

Our ideas of the most and least desirable of men obviously change over time, so what explains the transformation of Mr Collins? Why, in none of the major adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, has anyone cast a tall, heavily built young man? I most ardently await your thoughts on the subject!

Fitzwilliam Darcy