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Chapter 1, Mr. Collins’ Visit
Longbourn, November 21, 1812
“Lady Catherine de Bourgh has confided in me—and I do not think I am betraying her trust by telling you this, as I do so only in praise of her grandeur—that she is having the cupola at Rosings gilded for Christmas, at a cost of 4,000 pounds!”
Mr. Collins’ broad face glowed, and Elizabeth thought he could not possibly appear happier had his soul been transported by joy; a contingent which, she had to allow, might, in fact, be the case.
“What could better mark our Savior’s birth,” Elizabeth replied, “than such singular ostentation?” She was convinced that her cousin, should he ever turn his mind to God, must imagine Him in His counting house, counting up His money. “Her Ladyship’s extravagance is fully equal to her resources.”
“Indeed!” said Mr. Collins, pleased she’d taken his point. “Her condescension to me is all the more miraculous when seen in that light.”
“Do not sell yourself short, sir,” Elizabeth said, the solemnity of her tone achieved at no little exertion. “For do you not also serve one whose wealth beggars that august lady’s?”
Mr. Collins’ countenance froze. Elizabeth was able to resist the urge to smile only by the firm application of her teeth to her tongue. The clergyman, for his part, looked as though he was wrestling with some weighty matter of faith.
“Ah, ‘tis true,” Mr. Collins said finally with relief. “And her Ladyship is the nearest among us to Him, for she has by far the greatest portion of earthly wealth.”
“You must point that out to her Ladyship,” said Elizabeth. She permitted herself to smile.
The worthy clergyman nodded with vigor, clasping together his plump hands.
They were in the drawing room at Longbourn. Mr. Collins had arrived unexpectedly; no letter had preceded his visit.
He had insisted upon meeting with Elizabeth alone, and his eagerness was such that there could be no thought of refusing him.
Elizabeth wondered what could be the occasion for his visit. At first, she had been alarmed that something might be amiss with Charlotte, but as Mr. Collins seemed to fluctuate between excitement and contemplation without ever passing through concern, his visit could not have been occasioned by misfortune, and she was unable even to guess at its purpose. She decided to try prodding him.
“Charlotte, is she well?”
Mr. Collins started, and looked up at her with a quizzical expression, as though searching for the name. “Oh, yes!” he said at last. “Marriage agrees with us. I can assure you, dear cousin, that we find it a beneficial condition indeed. And Lady Catherine is most pleased with Mrs. Collins— ‘You have chosen well, Mr. Collins,’ she has told me on more than one occasion. I could not be happier with my choice of a wife.”
He paused and looked at Elizabeth deliberately, letting the message sink in: though she had spurned him, he had nevertheless found an entirely suitable wife.
Elizabeth could not help recalling another proposal she had rejected from an even more disagreeable suitor. The waning winter light—for it was already late-November—cast long shadows in the drawing room, making it feel cold and forlorn. It mirrored the feeling in her own heart, as though something necessary for life itself was wanting, something which she would not find in the short, bleak days of winter.
“I’m so pleased,” said Elizabeth when she had collected herself. “You are fortunate indeed, cousin.” She meant the latter sincerely.
Mr. Collins closed his eyes and smiled, nodding his head towards her in the manner in which one might accept an apology. Elizabeth felt a stab of pity for Charlotte.
Then Mr. Collins straightened, blinking his eyes as though he had just awakened. He stared at her for a moment before standing so abruptly that his teacup rattled in its saucer. He paced towards the fire, which was blazing with a fresh log, and then turned toward her, his face working as if trying to form a pleasing expression, which, if that had been his intention, to Elizabeth’s eye rather missed the mark.
“I will keep you in suspense no longer,” he said at last, with a slight bow. “For I know you must be wondering about the nature of my visit, which must surely have been a great surprise to you given that I am a stranger to impulse.” He raised his free hand before she could protest, doubtless thinking that she meant to convey some pleasantry along the lines of how the clergyman was always welcome at the Bennet home. This was, of course, untrue—they could hardly be cheered by a visit from the very person to whom Longbourn was entailed, and to whom it would pass in its entirety on the death of Mr. Bennet—and Elizabeth was glad to have been spared the difficulty of composing a suitable rejoinder.
“I am here, my dear cousin, to extend to you an invitation which is not only a great honor but one that could be to your very great advantage.”
Elizabeth waited, observing that Mr. Collins seemed to be enjoying the suspense he was creating. And, if pressed, she would’ve had to confess that she was intrigued.
“Lady Catherine has sent me here with the express instruction of inviting you, dearest Elizabeth, to attend Christmas at Rosings Park.” Mr. Collins said this with an air of triumph and then stood stiffly, his expression expectant and smug, as though he might receive something in the nature of a kiss.
Of course. What other invitation—and what other agency? —could oblige Mr. Collins to travel on what had to be short notice to Longbourn?
But why would Lady Catherine wish to have Elizabeth spend Christmas at Rosings? It was true that Lady Catherine had urged her to prolong her visit to Hunsford when she had visited Charlotte in the spring, but on that occasion, Lady Catherine had been lacking company and sought Elizabeth’s presence for that reason alone. Surely, she would have an abundance of visitors at Christmas time.
