Pride and Prejudice (I)
I
was thinking about Pride and Prejudice this morning as I was driving to
the dentist. It was before 7am and the light was just starting to
filter in from the east. I thought of the song, “Dawn,” from the soundtrack of the "Keira Knightley version" that has
thrilled so many female hearts due to its romantic nature – you know,
the one that plays as Mr. Darcy strides across the field and the sun
comes up behind him and she is waiting as if called by Bronte force,
wearing her nightgown and a robe, and he proposes to her again and all is right with the world.
I
thought of the first time I went to see that movie, and how I was
disappointed. (Having been “raised” on the "Colin Firth edition," this one
seemed lacking in both length and Wyckham
getting served.) I went with my parents and my little sister, and,
though I had laughed and smiled throughout, there was something that was
bothering me: the scene at the end. It seemed so unromantic to me at
the time! I thought, “All he says at the end is “Mrs. Darcy” like ten
times, with a silly look on his face. Wasn’t there anything better he
had to say? I demand more flowery words! Why does just hearing that make
her ‘incandescently happy?’”
I
brought my concern up to my mom, complaining as I left the theatre. She
just got this soft smile on her face. I am not sure I've ever seen that look on her face since then, and I hadn't ever seen it before. I think she tried to explain to
me, but I was determined to be disappointed, “Dawn” or no “Dawn.”
Now, I am not a “Mrs. Darcy,” or a “Mrs.” at all. But being single for awhile
has taught me some things. Additionally, watching my boss with his wife
has taught me a lot of things. He frequently calls her “Mrs. Darcy.” (His last name isn't Darcy, but for the sake of this post, we will pretend.)
Prime example: recently, unfortunately, his lovely spouse was diagnosed
with breast cancer. She’s been a champion through the chemo,
but, as is to be expected, she has ‘bad’ days sometimes. The other day, she must have been struggling a bit, because my boss came into my
office and said, “Mrs. Darcy isn’t feeling so great and she wants me to
make her a cookie.”
Fine. So Mrs. Darcy wants a cookie. Big deal. There are many ways he could have responded:
- “You should make yourself some cookies then.” But he didn’t.
- “I’ll go buy you some cookies from the store after work, okay?” (It was 2 pm, and we had many, many things to do that day.)
- “How about I pop over to the store and get you some?”
- “How about you wait until after work and if you still want them, I’ll make them?”
- “Why are you asking me for cookies?”
But he did none of those things. Instead, he went downstairs, got out the KitchenAid,
and immediately started whipping up a batch of cookie dough…because
Mrs. Darcy wanted a cookie, so a cookie she was going to have, by Jingo!
He didn’t put it off, or complain. He looked at his calendar, mentally rearranged, and got the flour out, because he loves
her, because he cares, and because she is Mrs. to his Mr. and he
respects her, her trust, their relationship, and is a true partner to
her. My heart warmed enough that he probably could have baked those
cookies in it. It made me want someone who would make me proverbial
cookies if I were having a bad day.
So,
Mr. Darcy, I get it. I understand now why Mrs. Darcy, hearing you call
her by that title, was made “incandescently happy” by that simple
luxury.
And, I might add, that since I began writing this post, Mrs. Darcy had another round of chemo today, and she again asked for a cookie. And again, he made her cookies. This is not a one-time occurrence -- I think she must be incandescently happy, despite the chemo, to have her very own Mr. Darcy in her life.
Also, Mr. Darcy was kind enough to ask the help if they wanted a cookie, too, and generously shared.
It made me think of the line, "My dear Lizzie, I could not have parted with you for any less." (That might be a paraphrase, but I think you still get the context.) As much as I don't like being single, I have decided that my future Mr. needs to be a maker of emotional cookies when I've had a proverbial chemo day and make a request of his time. I will do my best not to abuse it, just as I'm sure the Mrs. Darcy in question doesn't. But
Perhaps the thing I admire most about this particular Mr. is that I think he would have been pretty willing to make cookies even if Mrs. Darcy hadn't had a chemo day -- even just a regular Bad Day would be enough to provoke the thoughtful gesture.
Here's to all the Mr. Darcys and Mrs. Darcys who work together to make married life happy.
