Chapter 6 #2
“And is Rosings very grand, Mr. Collins?” said Mama.
“I have heard it is the finest house in Kent, nay, in all the south of England.” In one of Mr. Darcy’s letters, he had shared some observations of Rosings Park, which Papa had related to us.
The chimney piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds—Mr. Darcy had remarked that it was likely that his sister-by-marriage, Lady Catherine, would allow only the best dressed chimney sweeps to clean what certainly must be the finest soot in all of England. So droll.
Mr. Collins sat up even straighter, if that were possible.
“Grand, madam? It is splendid beyond description. The approach alone is lined with elms of ancient origin, planted by Sir Lewis de Bourgh”—did he not see the contradiction?
—“the house built of Portland stone, with a portico supported by Ionic columns, and a drawing room that can accommodate upwards of fifty guests. Her ladyship’s dining room is hung with crimson damask, and the silver plate…
Of course, I could not expect you and my cousins to appreciate its magnificence.
I am frequently invited to dine at Rosings, and Lady Catherine herself is known to converse with me for upwards of half an hour at a time.
She is most gracious, and always enquires after my health, and that of my parishioners. ”
Jane and I exchanged glances, and I could see she struggled not to snicker. Mama appeared entranced, eyes shining with tears of amusement.
“And Lady Catherine—does she have a family?” Mama asked, covering her mouth with her napkin. She caught my eye—it was badly done, for I found I could not suppress my merriment. Mr. Collins appeared not to notice.
He nodded solemnly. “Indeed she does. Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, an only child, is a young lady of distinguished birth and fortune, though delicate in health. Lady Catherine has every hope that her daughter will one day make a brilliant match, and I have no doubt she will succeed, for who could refuse such a combination of pedigree and property?”
He smiled, as if he himself might be the object of such noble designs, then grew suddenly reflective.
“Lady Catherine is also most solicitous regarding the marriages of her acquaintance. She is of the opinion—a most sound one, I believe—that it is the duty of every clergyman to set an example of propriety by marrying and establishing himself respectably in the world. She has often remarked to me that a single man in possession of a good living ought not to remain so for long.”
Here he paused, and I saw Mama’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Jane looked down at her plate. I kept my expression bland, though inwardly I braced myself.
Mr. Collins cleared his throat. “In fact, it was by Lady Catherine’s express recommendation that I resolved, upon inheriting the living at Hunsford, to seek out a suitable wife.
It is a subject on which she has pronounced most eloquently.
Her ladyship has assured me that a prudent choice in marriage will secure the happiness and respectability of both parties, and contribute to the harmony of the parish. ”
He glanced at Jane, then at me, his gaze lingering just a moment too long.
“It is my intention, therefore, to select a lady of modest fortune and amiable temper, who will do credit to my station and to the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I am not insensible to the advantages of an alliance with a family such as yours, Mrs. Bennet—indeed, I have every reason to hope that my proposal will meet with a favourable reception.”
There was a silence, broken only by the clink of Mrs. Bennet’s spoon against her plate.
“You have come, sir,” she said, “at an auspicious time. Our Jane, Miss Bennet, is engaged to be married to Mr. Bingley, a neighbour who holds Netherfield Park.”
Mr. Collins took but a moment to switch his full attention to me.
“I am, I hope, a man of sense and feeling,” he said, “though not, perhaps, of the most lively disposition. I flatter myself that my society would not be wholly disagreeable. Lady Catherine herself has always remarked on my punctuality and my attention to the duties of my office.”
I attempted to turn the conversation. “Lady Catherine, it seems, is as much a patroness of social harmony as she is of the church.”
“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. Her ladyship is a model for all the nobility. She is never so happy as when she is dispensing advice. Why, she even undertook to instruct Mrs. Jenkinson, her daughter’s companion, on the proper method of arranging a tea tray.
‘There is a right way and a wrong way, Mrs. Jenkinson,’ she said—and who could doubt her? ”
At this, Jane did laugh, though she quickly disguised it as a cough.
Mama, with a gleam in her eye—for she was truly enjoying the repartee—pressed Mr. Collins to further confidences regarding Lady Catherine’s tastes and opinions.
He obliged her with the utmost willingness, describing at length her ladyship’s views on everything from the training of partridge dogs to the merits of boiled versus roasted potatoes.
At last, the meal drew to a close. Mama beamed, Jane smiled weakly at me, and I could only hope that Papa might recover swiftly enough to rescue us from Mr. Collins’s continued attentions.
As we rose from the table, Mr. Collins lingered behind, perhaps to rehearse another speech in praise of Lady Catherine, or to admire his own reflection in the glass.
He declined taking tea in the parlour, and retired thereafter to his room, confessing that he was enervated after the journey from Hunsford.
He made no comment on his accommodation; likely, the parsonage at Hunsford was of inferior dimensions, and his room there was but little larger than the butler’s room at Longbourn.
That night, as I prepared for bed, I could not help but laugh at the absurdity of the evening.
Mr. Collins, with all his self-importance and borrowed consequence, was as comic—and as mortifying—as ever I could have imagined.
Yet his intentions were unmistakable. Truly, I was glad that Papa had set aside sufficient dowry that I could refuse, with equanimity, if he were to propose marriage. God forbid!
I thought of Mary, the most serious of us, who knew far more scripture than I ever would.
Could she have done for Mr. Collins? She would have rated him highly as a clergyman.
But her intellect would challenge his ego, and, certainly, she would have laughed at his absurdities just as much as Mama, Jane, and I.
* * *
Mr. Collins’s presence at Longbourn became increasingly tedious.
He had arrived on a Monday and professed to depart on the Saturday se’night following; which date could not come soon enough by my reckoning.
It was not often that I lamented good news, but Mr. Bingley announced that he intended to hold a ball in Jane’s honour on the very day that Mr. Collins was to leave us—oh, blessed day!
Unfortunately, Mr. Collins said that Lady Catherine would certainly wish him to attend, and he went immediately to his room to write to his patroness of the delay in his return to Hunsford.
I had no favourites in the neighbourhood with whom I wished to dance, and fully expected Mr. Collins to solicit my hand for the first set.
I had observed his increasing civilities towards me, and he frequently sought to compliment me on my wit and vivacity; he was completely devoid of wit or irony himself and I was at a loss to know what he meant by his compliments.
Often, of an evening, I would sit by the window attempting my embroidery, while Mr. Collins sat as close to the fire as possible, without actually singeing his hair. Usually, he expounded at length upon the many virtues of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
"Lady Catherine," he declared, "is most gracious in her attentions to the female sex, often declaring that their natural delicacy renders them unsuited for any but the gentlest occupations. She has always maintained that women must be protected from the harsher realities of the world."
His sharp, grating voice filled the room, and I could not help but respond.
"How fortunate for us, Mr. Collins, that we are so universally considered fragile.
I daresay, if left to our own devices, we might accidentally run a household, manage our own fortunes, or—heaven forbid—even form a sensible opinion. "
He blinked, perplexed, and nodded emphatically.
"Indeed, cousin Elizabeth, you are most correct.
The dangers of independent thought for ladies cannot be overstated.
Why, I once heard Lady Catherine herself remark that a woman who forms opinions is much like a carriage without a driver—liable to overturn at the slightest bump! "
I exchanged a glance with Mama, her lips twitching. "Then I shall be doubly cautious, Mr. Collins, lest my opinions send the whole family into a ditch."
Mr. Collins, oblivious to the irony, beamed at me. "Such prudence does you credit, cousin. I shall be sure to mention your modesty to Lady Catherine at the earliest opportunity."
Did he take my response for wit? That I had spoken at all—was this vivacity? I picked up my embroidery. Mr. Collins resumed his monologue, entirely unaware that the joke had passed him by like Lady Catherine’s metaphorical carriage in the night.