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 after 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.