The Cajun Cheesehead Analyzes Austen’s Characters

#1 – Mr. Bennet, from Pride and Prejudice

Greetings everyone. Jack Caldwell here.

For the next year, I’m going to do something very different. While I’m working my next novel, I’m going to explore some of Jane Austen’s famous and/or beloved characters. I’ll be going deep into their actions and thoughts, as written by Miss Jane Austen herself. I will NOT base my analysis on the adaptations—only on what miss Austen wrote in the novels.

I will start out with Mr. Bennet, so get 1995’s Andrew Davies’ cuddly Daddy Bennet out of your mind. Instead, I will postulate that Mr. Bennet is one of Austen’s bad fathers.

Having read Austen’s novels numerous times, I find she had an issue with fathers. In general, they were either dead or pains in the arse. The major exception was Mr. Morland of Northanger Abbey; he seems to be a decent fellow. As for the rest of the surviving fathers, only Sir Thomas Bertram of Mansfield Park truly reflected on his mistakes and sought to change.

(Okay, I can hear y’all now yelling, “What about Mr. Gardiner?” Well, he’s a minor supporting character in Pride and Prejudice; therefore, he’s not part of this project. Besides, what do we really know about him, save Elizabeth Bennet’s opinion? We do not see him interact with his children, so he is right out.)

How does Mr. (insert first name here) Bennet measure up? Poorly, in my opinion. Let’s look at the reasons why.

He is a bully.

Yes, I said it. He constantly mocks and ridicules his wife and children. To him, everything is a joke. He mocks everyone and takes little to no responsibility for anything.

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humor, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character.

P&P, Chapter 1

“About a month ago I received this letter; and about a fortnight ago I answered it, for I thought it a case of some delicacy, and requiring early attention. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases.”

P&P, Chapter 13

Only Elizabeth escapes the majority of his mocking, but not always:

“Lydia will never be easy till she has exposed herself in some public place or other, and we can never expect her to do it with so little expense or inconvenience to her family as under the present circumstances.”

“If you were aware,” said Elizabeth, “of the very great disadvantage to us all which must arise from the public notice of Lydia’s unguarded and imprudent manner — nay, which has already arisen from it, I am sure you would judge differently in the affair.”

“Already arisen?” repeated Mr. Bennet. “What, has she frightened away some of your lovers? Poor little Lizzy! But do not be cast down. Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret. Come, let me see the list of the pitiful fellows who have been kept aloof by Lydia’s folly.”

P&P, Chapter 41

Bennet’s antics are obvious to Darcy:

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.

P&P, Chapter 34

Even after Lydia’s potentially disastrous elopement, Bennet learns nothing:

It was not till the afternoon, when he joined them at tea, that Elizabeth ventured to introduce the subject; and then, on her briefly expressing her sorrow for what he must have endured, he replied, “Say nothing of that. Who should suffer but myself? It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel it.”

“You must not be too severe upon yourself,” replied Elizabeth.

“You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it! No, Lizzy, let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame. I am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It will pass away soon enough.”

“Do you suppose them to be in London?”

“Yes; where else can they be so well concealed?’

“And Lydia used to want to go to London,” added Kitty.

“She is happy, then,” said her father drily, “and her residence there will probably be of some duration.”

Then, after a short silence, he continued, “Lizzy, I bear you no ill-will for being justified in your advice to me last May, which, considering the event, shews some greatness of mind.”

They were interrupted by Miss Bennet, who came to fetch her mother’s tea.

“This is a parade,” cried he, “which does one good; it gives such an elegance to misfortune! Another day I will do the same: I will sit in my library, in my nightcap and powdering gown, and give as much trouble as I can—or, perhaps, I may defer it, till Kitty runs away.”

“I am not going to run away, papa,” said Kitty fretfully. “If I should ever go to Brighton, I would behave better than Lydia.”

“You go to Brighton. I would not trust you so near it as East Bourne for fifty pounds! No, Kitty, I have at last learnt to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it. No officer is ever to enter my house again, nor even to pass through the village. Balls will be absolutely prohibited, unless you stand up with one of your sisters. And you are never to stir out of doors till you can prove that you have spent ten minutes of every day in a rational manner.”

Kitty, who took all these threats in a serious light, began to cry.

“Well, well,” said he, “do not make yourself unhappy. If you are a good girl for the next ten years, I will take you to a review at the end of them.”

P&P, Chapter 48

Elizabeth was not blind to it:

Had Elizabeth’s opinion been all drawn from her own family, she could not have formed a very pleasing picture of conjugal felicity or domestic comfort. Her father, captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good-humor which youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind had very early in their marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and confidence had vanished forever; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own imprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice. He was fond of the country and of books; and from these tastes had arisen his principal enjoyments. To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than as her ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his wife; but where other powers of entertainment are wanting, the true philosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.

Elizabeth, however, had never been blind to the impropriety of her father’s behavior as a husband. She had always seen it with pain; but respecting his abilities, and grateful for his affectionate treatment of herself, she endeavored to forget what she could not overlook, and to banish from her thoughts that continual breach of conjugal obligation and decorum which, in exposing his wife to the contempt of her own children, was so highly reprehensible. But she had never felt so strongly as now the disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so fully aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents; talents which, rightly used, might at least have preserved the respectability of his daughters, even if incapable of enlarging the mind of his wife.

P&P, Chapter 42

He is lazy.

Longbourn is prosperous, but it could produce more. That Mr. Bennet did nothing to make Longbourn more productive it was entailed is not only foolish, he damaged his daughters’ future. Let me explain.

A British Pound Sterling in 1812 is approximately equivalent to £90 in 2026. That is €104 or $122. Therefore, Bennet’s annual  income of £2,000 is equivalent to £180,000, €208,000, or $244,000 today. Not hyper-wealthy, but undeniably upper middle class.

But it gets worse. If Bennet made any improvements to Longbourn, he could perhaps make £500 more per year. That’s equivalent to €52,000 or $61,000 a year. That ain’t chump change. He could have saves some of that money, invest in in the four-percents, and increase his daughters’ dowries. He did not. That is irresponsible.

Mr. Bennet had very often wished before this period of his life that, instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him. He now wished it more than ever. Had he done his duty in that respect, Lydia need not have been indebted to her uncle for whatever of honour or credit could now be purchased for her. The satisfaction of prevailing on one of the most worthless young men in Great Britain to be her husband might then have rested in its proper place.

He was seriously concerned that a cause of so little advantage to any one should be forwarded at the sole expense of his brother-in-law, and he was determined, if possible, to find out the extent of his assistance, and to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.

When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless; for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for many years after Lydia’s birth, had been certain that he would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy, and her husband’s love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their income.

Five thousand pounds was settled by marriage articles on Mrs. Bennet and the children. But in what proportions it should be divided amongst the latter depended on the will of the parents. This was one point, with regard to Lydia, at least, which was now to be settled, and Mr. Bennet could have no hesitation in acceding to the proposal before him. In terms of grateful acknowledgment for the kindness of his brother, though expressed most concisely, he then delivered on paper his perfect approbation of all that was done, and his willingness to fulfil the engagements that had been made for him. He had never before supposed that, could Wickham be prevailed on to marry his daughter, it would be done with so little inconvenience to himself as by the present arrangement. He would scarcely be ten pounds a year the loser by the hundred that was to be paid them; for, what with her board and pocket allowance, and the continual presents in money which passed to her through her mother’s hands, Lydia’s expenses had been very little within that sum.

That it would be done with such trifling exertion on his side, too, was another very welcome surprise; for his chief wish at present was to have as little trouble in the business as possible. When the first transports of rage which had produced his activity in seeking her were over, he naturally returned to all his former indolence. His letter was soon dispatched; for, though dilatory in undertaking business, he was quick in its execution. He begged to know farther particulars of what he was indebted to his brother, but was too angry with Lydia to send any message to her.

P&P, Chapter 50

Many of the excepts above also indicate his selfishness; his desire for privacy and peace above all else. He further proves it by returning from London early, having failed to find the runaway Lydia, and immediately hiding in his study.

The most positive emotion Bennet shows is fondness for his children, especially for Elizabeth; she is his favorite. However, his “favorite,” the one first in his thoughts, should have been his wife. Other than his slight fatherly affection, Bennet behaves in a barely acceptable manner:

Mr. Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly; his affection for her drew him oftener from home than anything else could do. He delighted in going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected.

P&P, Chapter 61

Rude and inconsiderate.

Bennet certainly fails to respect his so-called favorite, her husband, or anyone else. And if you think he spent the majority of his time at Pemberley outside of Darcy’s grand library, there is a bridge in Brooklyn you might want to buy.

As you can tell, I have little use for Mr. Bennet. He is a figure to laugh at, not admire. Indeed, by the end of the book, I felt sorry for Mrs. Bennet. Yes, she is foolish and flighty, but she loved her daughters in her own way, kept a good house for him, and was a constant source of amusement. She meant well, even though she was as dumb as a rock.

Mr. Bennet has no such excuse.

I look forward to your responses below, but please keep your observations to the Mr. Bennet in the actual novel. The adaptations, particularly 1995 and 2005, make him too lovable. The 1980 BBC adaptation is closer to the book, IMHO.

Any and all suggestions as to the next victim subject are welcome.

Until next time, this has been the Cajun Cheesehead Chronicles.

It takes a real man to write historical romance, so let me tell you a story…