by Rowland Jann
Throughout this flowery speech, Mrs. Bennet stared at Mr. Collins, looking for all the world like she wished to have him thrown from the house. Elizabeth could not imagine what form her response might take, and she gathered herself to intervene, knowing it would do none of them any credit to allow her mother to enunciate the long-held grievances she laid at this man’s door. It turned out that Elizabeth’s intervention was unnecessary.
“Mr. Collins, is it?”
Turning at the sound of Mr. Bennet’s voice, Mr. Collins executed another of his impossibly low bows—leading Elizabeth to wonder how he could possibly retain his balance while hunched over to such an extent.
“Mr. Bennet,” said he, “I am happy to meet you, sir. Though my father would not allow congress between us, being so sundered has always brought me much grief. I cannot be happier that we have finally met. I hope we shall not be sundered again.”
The amusement which suffused Mr. Bennet’s being informed Elizabeth of what he thought of Mr. Collins’s long speeches and ponderous manners, but he only directed a severe sort of frown of disapproval at the man.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Collins, it speaks well of you that you wish to heal the breach between us, etc. But why have you come? Was not my refusal of your request enough to persuade you to abandon your plan of attending us? Did I not inform you that I would issue an invitation at a later date?”
The expression of utter stupidity which fell over Mr. Collins’s countenance almost set Elizabeth to laughing, but she managed to keep her composure. It was obvious that the man was not the most intelligent of creatures. When he spoke, he used ten words when one would have been sufficient, but by contrast, any response which was not strictly literal appeared to pass him by.
“You did not refuse me,” sputtered the parson after a moment. “In your note, you mentioned how you would be happy to receive me. I went ahead with my plans when I received your reply.”
“I believe you did not read far enough into my letter, Mr. Collins,” was Mr. Bennet’s dry reply. “What I actually said was that I would be happy to receive you at another time. At present, Longbourn’s guest bedroom is occupied, and there is no way I can ask the current occupant to depart.”
Mr. Collins’s countenance grew more petulant as Mr. Bennet continued to speak, and by the end, he was positively sulking. “But I am family. I am aware that you have no other relations, so I must insist that you make alternate arrangements for whoever is inhabiting this room, which by all rights, should be mine.”
“You appear to have a high opinion of yourself, sir.”
Puffing himself up until he was preening, Mr. Collins said, as if it was the most important thing in the world: “I am a clergyman, sir. I have dedicated myself to that high and holy calling of caring for the infirm and calling the sinner to repentance.”
“And there are no other clergymen in the country, to be sure.”
Needless to say, Mr. Bennet’s sarcasm was lost on Mr. Collins. In fact, the man clearly did not know to what he referred.
“Now that you know my position in life,” continued Mr. Collins, apparently deciding that Mr. Bennet’s words could not have been of any import, “I am certain you will agree that I should be given the place of honor in your house.”
It was all Elizabeth could do not to shake her head in wonder. She had never met someone who was more confident of his exalted status, and for so little reason, than Mr. Collins. He almost would have made an excellent match with Miss Bingley for that fact alone.
“Whether the honor is deserved or not, I still do not have the room to house you, sir,” said Mr. Bennet, driving the lofty expression of piety from Mr. Collins’s face. “In fact, I am currently housing a man who is quite ill. He is under strict orders from the doctor not to leave Longbourn until he is recovered. You see, I cannot put him out, for to do so would be to risk his health.”
There was nothing Mr. Collins could say to that. Even someone as dull as he could not, in good conscience, advocate putting a sick man from the house.
“But . . . but . . .” stammered he, as he attempted to determine a solution to his dilemma which would not involve him returning to his home immediately. He stopped and appeared to gather himself for some moments before again speaking. “Surely there is something that can be done. Of course, I would not dream of suggesting we put an ailing man from the house to accommodate my humble person, but perhaps some other adjustment may be made? I understand you have several daughters—perhaps I could be housed in one of their rooms?”
Mr. Bennet looked at the man, and Elizabeth could detect a hint of exasperation in his manner. She thought that he would refuse to even consider it, but then he nodded slowly, saying: “I suppose you are correct, Mr. Collins. Perhaps we might be able to rearrange our daughters’ rooms to allow you a short stay.”
The man’s beaming countenance was a testament to his pleasure, more, Elizabeth thought, that he had been able to get his own way rather than thanks to the family he was inconveniencing by his behavior and rank stupidity.
“But,” said Mr. Bennet, the word falling like a hammer on Mr. Collins’s pretensions, “I am afraid I must insist that your stay be a short one. As I have already stated, we have a guest at present, and one who will be with us for some time. Perhaps you might stay until Saturday. You will wish to return to your flock before the Sabbath anyway, I suspect.”
The smile ran away from Mr. Collins’s face, and by the time Mr. Bennet had finished speaking, he was a picture of chagrin. “I am not certain my errand can be completed in such a short amount of time, sir.”
“Errand?” asked Mr. Bennet, raising an eyebrow. “I had understood this was a social visit in order to bring closer relations between our two families.”
Mr. Collins nodded vigorously. “Indeed, it is, sir. But I had . . . Well, let us just say that I was hoping to extend a more . . . substantive olive branch. I understand you have several amiable daughters?”
Elizabeth understood exactly to what the man referred, and the distaste she had felt for him took a sudden turn to disgust. He would find no such boon here, she was certain: Jane was all but spoken for, Lydia and Kitty would never consider a parson, even if they were mature enough to marry, and Elizabeth had already found a man with whom she was rapidly falling in love, and even if she had not, she could not imagine marrying such a man as Mr. Collins. Mary was, perhaps, the one about whom Elizabeth was not certain, but she thought that even Mary, for all her piety, would not consider Mr. Collins for a marriage partner.
It was clear that Mr. Bennet also understood the thrust of Mr. Collins’s words, if his sudden grin was any indication. He turned slightly and winked at Elizabeth; needless to say, she did not appreciate his sense of humor.
“I am afraid Saturday will have to do, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Bennet. “Either way, even if you proposed to stay for two weeks, that would not be enough time to become acquainted with the lady, woo her, and propose, now would it? Perhaps we might arrange another time for you to visit in the future—sometime when Longbourn is not bursting at the seams. For now you may simply survey the lay of the land, eh?”
At first Mr. Collins plainly did not understand Mr. Bennet, but as he spoke, a slow smile came over the man’s ugly face. Elizabeth was certain that her father did not intend to approve of Mr. Collins’s suit—in fact, she was certain that after her father had managed to wrangle as much amusement from the situation as he could, he would ultimately side with any one of his daughters who was the unfortunate recipient of Mr. Collins’s addresses.
“Very well, sir, I accept.”
“Excellent!” said Mr. Bennet. “Mrs. Bennet,” he said, turning to his wife, “please summon Mrs. Hill to make the arrangements. Lydia will be sharing a room with Kitty until Saturday. We will need to ensure she has everything she needs from her room.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded and she turned away, but before she left, Elizabeth was certain she sensed a hint of indecision in her m
other’s conduct. The arrangements were quickly made and Lydia’s things were quickly moved to make room for Mr. Collins. It was surprising, but in the end the girl did not complain much. When Mr. Collins was ensconced in his room, Elizabeth was privy to a conversation which explained both of her parents’ motivations.
“I am not certain I appreciate that man staying in my home, Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Can he not wait until you are cold in your grave before he catalogues everything here? Must he lord his good fortune over us, good fortune he does not, after all, deserve?”
“Perhaps it is as you say, Mrs. Bennet. But he does not appear to be the kind of man to lord anything over anyone.” Then he turned to Elizabeth and sent her another wink. “What do you think, Lizzy?”
“I will own to no great pleasure in the prospect of Mr. Collins staying here,” replied Elizabeth.
“Nor do I, though I will own that I expect to be quite diverted by his particular brand of silliness.” Mr. Bennet grinned. “Given that his father was such a brute of a man with little in the way of social graces, I must own to some surprise at Mr. Collins’s character. He certainly is nothing like his father was.”
“Of that I cannot speak, of course,” said Elizabeth. “But I hope he does not become too insistent in his wooing. I would not wish to fend off an over amorous man, especially if he professes an affection on so short an acquaintance.”
Mr. Bennet laughed. “I am quite confident that he would be ready to profess undying devotion to whomever of you girls gives him the slightest hint of encouragement.”
“That shall certainly not be me,” muttered Elizabeth.
“Of course it shall not!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Not when Mr. Darcy is paying you such exquisite attentions.” Mrs. Bennet paused. “I wonder if he can be directed toward Mary. She would make a good parson’s wife.”
“I dare say she would,” replied Mr. Bennet. “But no consent will be given for any of them while he is here this week, and I certainly will not force any of them against their wishes no matter how long their acquaintance.”
It was to Mrs. Bennet’s credit that she saw that her husband was serious, for she did not say anything further. The fact that Mr. Bingley seemed intent on paying his addresses to Jane and that Mr. Darcy was essentially a captive audience might have tempered her mother’s insistence on bartering marriages for all her daughters. But Elizabeth was certain Mrs. Bennet was not above doing everything possible to wheedle an acceptance out of whichever daughter Mr. Collins favored. If Elizabeth had not already known that Mary could be as stubborn as any of them, she might have been concerned for her sister.
Chapter VII
Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley were invited to stay for dinner the night of Mr. Collins’s arrival, and though Elizabeth was unable to imagine any greater silliness than she had been subject to earlier in the day, it seemed there was a deep well of ridiculous behavior to be found within the man.
They gathered at the usual time, and though it seemed unlikely that Mr. Collins would not attempt to spend every waking moment in the company of the family it appeared he was trying to woo, he kept to his room until the time for the repast had come. Thus, when they all met in the sitting-room before the meal, there was only time for brief introductions before they were all called in to dinner. Mr. Collins greeted the other two men cordially enough, but it seemed like he had little interest in them.
When they sat down to the meal, Mr. Collins’s true verbosity was revealed. The man seemed unable to be silent about anything: he complimented the house, the style, the table, and even the silverware. He waxed long and eloquent about Mrs. Bennet’s abilities as mistress, and spoke at length about the fineness of the meal and how happy he was that Longbourn could afford to keep a cook, though this he learned only after insulting Mrs. Bennet by insinuating that one of her daughters had done wonders with the meal.
To Elizabeth, it was all done in poor taste. Though unintentionally, he portrayed himself as a silly man, and one filled with avarice, for the comments about Longbourn could be construed to mean that he could not wait until the time he was in a position to take up residence. Through it all, Mrs. Bennet—she herself no expert on the subject of proper behavior—watched him with barely concealed hostility, the younger girls with disgust, Mr. Bennet with amusement, and Colonel Fitzwilliam with a knowing smile, the reason for which Elizabeth could not quite understand. Only Jane and Mr. Bingley, focused as they were upon each other, seemed unaffected by the man’s continuing soliloquy.
His favorite topics, however, were his happy situation as a parson in Kent, and more importantly, the lady who had seen his greatness and installed him in the parsonage long before a man in his position might be expected to hold a living.
“She is graciousness itself,” said he, as he savored a particularly generous bite of his beef. “I am very grateful to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I assure you, for she has such a generosity of spirit, such a greatness of mind and manner that I cannot imagine another woman in all the kingdom who could possibly be her equal. Her advice to me upon entering the parsonage was instructive and was followed gratefully to the last degree. And it is by her suggestion that I find myself in your happy company, for when she heard of our family detachment, she was insistent that I come here to heal the breach and, moreover, that I might find my ultimate happiness in Hertfordshire. Lady Catherine is truly the most marvelous person I have ever met!”
It was at this moment that Mr. Bingley had the misfortune to tear his attention away from Jane long enough to hear what someone else was saying.
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh, you say?” He turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Is that not the name of your aunt? I am certain I have heard Darcy speak of her on occasion.”
“Mr. Darcy?” asked Mr. Collins in a strangled voice. “Are you speaking of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, sir?”
“Of course,” said Mr. Bingley with a shrug. “I seem to remember Darcy speaking of his aunt.” He turned back to Fitzwilliam. “He told some jolly good stories of her Ladyship, as I recall.”
“I would request, sir,” said Mr. Collins, his tone offended, “that you would not speak of Lady Catherine in such a flippant manner. She is the preeminent lady in all the land, and she deserves your respect.”
“Perhaps Queen Charlotte might dispute your assertion,” murmured Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“I meant no disrespect, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Bingley with a shrug. He was already turning his attention back to Jane, having forgotten about the exchange altogether.
Then Mr. Collins gasped. “You know Mr. Darcy?”
“We have been friends for some years,” replied Mr. Bingley with a shrug. “When he regains his health, he will remove to Netherfield. He was on his way to visit me when he became ill in the first place.”
This time Mr. Collins’s gasp was loud enough that Elizabeth thought he might faint into his gravy, and when he spoke, his voice was a strangled whisper. “Mr. Darcy is the ailing man in Longbourn’s guestroom?”
“Yes, he is,” replied Mr. Bennet. “My Lizzy found him, you see. We brought him here before we knew who he was. Today was a little rough, but we hope that he will soon be on the mend again.”
The look which Mr. Collins directed at his host was positively dumbfounded, and Elizabeth could not help but wonder what the silly man was going on about.
“Mr. Bennet, do you not know the manner of man you have in your guest room?” demanded Mr. Collins when he had rediscovered his voice. “Mr. Darcy is the nephew of my own patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Do you have any idea of his connections?”
Mr. Bennet exchanged a sardonic glance with Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I have some idea, yes. Mr. Darcy told us of his family himself, and we have heard much the same from . . . other sources.”
But Mr. Collins was shaking his head in denial. “No, no, this will not do, Mr. Bennet. Mr. Darcy cannot stay in such circumstances. Every feeling must protest
against it.”
“Oh?” asked Mr. Bennet. “You do not think Longbourn’s guest room good enough for the likes of Mr. Darcy?”
“Indeed, I do not! Mr. Darcy is the scion of one of the oldest and most respectable families in all the kingdom. He cannot stay in such a place as Longbourn, comfortable though it is for a family of your standing.” Mr. Collins paused and thought of the matter for a moment before he nodded once. “I shall send an express to my patroness, informing her of Mr. Darcy’s presence. I have no doubt she will remove him to Rosings at once, where he may receive the care he requires in a place much more suitable to his stature.”
“Darcy would not go even if he was on his death bed,” muttered Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Pardon me?” asked Mr. Collins, offended that someone had dared to contradict him.
“Just this, Mr. Collins,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, his tone stern and unyielding. “Darcy is very well where he is. His convalescence at Longbourn is by his own choice, the Bennets’ kindness and generosity, and most importantly, by the doctor’s explicit instructions.”
“But—”
“I suggest you leave off, sir,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. His gaze bored into Mr. Collins, and he appeared more than a little exasperated by the parson’s words. “You are not only behaving badly, but you are insulting your hosts and suggesting that Darcy is proud and above his company. We are very grateful to the Bennets for graciously opening their home and caring for Darcy as they would for one of their own. I believe it is time to be silent.”
“And who are you, sir, to speak to me in such a way? I believe I am better qualified, by my position and by my connection to the honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh to know what is to be done.”
“Oh, I am sorry, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Bennet. His gleeful expression and barely suppressed mirth were a direct contrast to his words. Clearly, his expectations of his cousin’s ridiculous nature were being confirmed in every particular.