At breakfast on Monday, Mr. Bennet told the rest of his family that his long‑estranged distant cousin, Mr. Collins, the heir presumptive to Longbourn, would be visiting at four o'clock. The patriarch could well have told everyone sooner, but most of his decisions were based on a thorough analysis of how much amusement he could derive from any encounter, and this one promised everything he could hope for. Elizabeth looked at him in disapproval as her mother went into misery of the acutest kind, but Mr. Bennet was not to be bothered by disapproving looks from his offspring, even Elizabeth.
Once the noise quieted down sufficiently, he read the letter from the said gentleman. Elizabeth thought the man must be very peculiar indeed, based on the way he wrote. He mentioned obscure words like 'olive branch' and 'amends', which moved Mrs. Bennet from the depths of despair to the heights of happiness, all without very much cause that Elizabeth could detect. She frankly thought her distant cousin sounded quite odd. She was however somewhat happy about the visit. Much like her father, she had a keen appreciation for the ridiculous, and Mr. Collins seemed like a good man to provide his fair share of it. Mary on the other hand thought his letter quite thoughtful and opined he might be an interesting addition to their lives.
Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. Mr. Bennet indeed said little; but the ladies were ready enough to talk, and Mr. Collins seemed neither in need of encouragement, nor inclined to be silent himself. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty. His air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. He had not been long seated before he complimented Mrs. Bennet on having so fine a family of daughters; said he had heard much of their beauty, but that in this instance fame had fallen short of the truth; and added, that he did not doubt her seeing them all in due time disposed of in marriage. This gallantry was not much to the taste of some of his hearers; but Mrs. Bennet, who quarreled with no compliments, answered most readily.
Elizabeth could not quite make the gentleman out, but since she had entirely too much to think about with respect to the other gentlemen of her acquaintance, she could not truly pay very much attention to Mr. Collins.
For most of the afternoon, Mr. Collins seemed to vacillate between obsequious flattery, discussion of his noble patroness, and sizing up his future inheritance. Unlike the amusement she had been expecting, Elizabeth found the entire display aggravating and distasteful, and by the time they sat down for supper, she was just about ready to be entirely done with her cousin.
Mr. Collins was quite enamored with the beauty of his cousins and had even had a discussion with the mistress of the house about it, in a quite out of the way moment. Mrs. Bennet mentioned that Jane was quite likely to soon be engaged, but the remainder of the girls had no attachments she was aware of. Unknown to Elizabeth, her mother thought that she had probably just settled her second-eldest most suitably, and the lady of the house set out to make her plans complete – without of course bothering to tell the young lady about said plans.
Mr. Collins began his campaign at the dinner table, in between bouts of furiously shoveling food in his mouth in prodigious amounts. He was a heavyset man, and Elizabeth thought his chance of living long enough to take over the estate from her father, who never overindulged and was in the best of health, was about even at best. She felt some pity for whichever poor misguided or desperate creature might marry the man, though she knew a man with a good living would eventually find someone to take the bait.
Mr. Collins looked around the dining room and began with what Elizabeth could only describe as a mighty bout of pomposity.
"Mrs. Bennet, may I complement you on this room. I find the finish, the décor and the ambience very tasteful and stately. In fact, if I might be so bold as to suggest such a thing, it puts me in mind of one of the small breakfast room at Rosings, well much like the eastern-most example, for Lady Catherine has several well‑appointed breakfast rooms."
The lady of the house did not like that comparison in the least, and nearly sputtered, "Small breakfast room! Small breakfast room!"
Mr. Collins, not the most astute of men, could nonetheless see that he had erred badly and tried to correct.
"Please, Mrs. Bennet. I meant no offense, I can assure you. I must surely be at fault for failing to speak clearly, as Lady Catherine has many times expressed to me the need for clarity in all my dealings. The fact is, Mrs. Bennet, I meant it as a compliment. When you understand the grandeur of Rosings, which I would hope my fair cousin might soon experience, you will see that I was paying you the highest compliment possible. The smallest of rooms in Rosings, would compare with the grandest room in most estates."
Somewhat mollified, Mrs. Bennet replied, "Well, if you say it is grand… I…"
Not knowing where to go from there, Mrs. Bennet sputtered to a stop.
Mary apparently contained some curiosity about the odd little man, although Elizabeth could not detect if she acted from genuine interest or politeness when she asked, "You have mentioned Rosings many times today, Mr. Collins. Do you live close to it?"
That turned out to be an error in judgment, as Mr. Collins then began a long‑winded monologue on the stateliness and grandeur of Rosings, the agreeableness of his 'humble' parsonage and its proximity to the great estate. Elizabeth was surprised to find that she enjoyed the bombastic nature of his speech, for about a minute or two. After that, she found that there was really nothing new coming except more repetition of the grandeur of Rosings and the beneficence and condescension of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, that she just stopped listening and spent several minutes thinking about Mr. Darcy and wondering what she was to do about him.
She managed to draw her attention back to the table just in time to hear Mr. Collins finish enough of his soliloquy long enough to shovel some more food in his mouth.
"… … and I can assure you my fair cousins, that I have been reliably informed that the glazing alone on the windows cost in excess of £800!"
Elizabeth was astounded to see Mr. Collins stop just short of pounding the table with his fist as he delivered his coup de grace, but he instead picked up his fork to deliver more foot to his voracious appetite.
Elizabeth could not quite resist the temptation to ask, somewhat sweetly and innocently, "I am wondering if you could clarify for us, Mr. Collins. Are you saying that Lady Catherine… well, actually I mean Lady Catherine's dead husband's ancestors, if we are to be precise… were frivolous, ostentatious or naïve?"
Caught in the middle of a major ingestion of potatoes, Mr. Collins started sputtering and coughing loudly. Lydia, helpfully pounded his back a few times to help him get his equilibrium back, and then a few more just because one cannot be too careful with the health of the heir presumptive. Who knew what would happen if he died at their table the very first day.
Mr. Collins eventually stopped coughing enough to look askance at Elizabeth and ask, "What do you mean, cousin?"
Elizabeth replied, "Well sir, I am trying to work out the point you are trying to make. Based on your description, I would have to believe that £800 is quite a lot for a few windows. That must mean that either Rosings has an enormous number of windows or each window was quite expensive. If they are quite expensive, that must mean they are highly decorative, extremely high quality, or the ancestor was overcharged. I am just trying to work out your point, Sir."
Mr. Collins gave the answer least expected by anyone after an afternoon exposed to him. He sat in complete silence, completely flummoxed by the question, and finally just shook his head, pretended the question had never been spoken, and went back to eating.
Elizabeth and Mary smiled at themselves with a joke well played, and both enjoyed the first bit of peaceful silence they had experienced all afternoon… for about 3 minutes before Kitty and Lydia began a loud argument. They smiled once again at each other, both acknowledging that the world was back the way it should be once again.
After dessert was served and nearly consumed, Mr. Collins found himself once again ready to take the reins of the conversation.
"I was thinking I might read for an hour or two tonight. I brought my copy of Fordyce's Sermons. Are you familiar with Fordyce?"
Kitty and Lydia stared at each other in abject horror, before breaking into a fit of giggling, but at least they were reasonably quiet about it, for Bennets.
The surprising answer came from Mary.
"Mr. Collins, that is an interesting choice. I was once quite a disciple of Mr. Fordyce and read all his works with great vigor. However, though I do not claim any extensive wisdom, I have with age concluded that the gentleman is best suited to silly young girls with no sense whatsoever, which description I must sheepishly apply to myself a year or two ago. However, now I believe I may fairly assert that any lady who has outgrown her childish ways will be well placed to leave Fordyce behind and concentrate on worthier reading material."
For the first time in living memory, the Bennet table was entirely silent. A grain of rice falling off the table to the floor would have been notable, as nobody had the slightest idea that Mary had been sharpening her knives so thoroughly.
Mr. Collins stared at her as if she were a talking two headed goat, and Elizabeth tried her best to hold out longer than Kitty or Lydia before giggling.
Mr. Bennet sat enjoying the spectacle for as long as he could without laughing himself, and finally decided to forestall whatever Mr. Collins was likely to reply with.
"Well said, Mary. Mr. Collins, since your voice is your vocation, I applaud your designs on reading, but we will just have to select the appropriate material. What do you suggest, Mary?"
"It is not for me to say, Papa."
"Yes, my child, it is. I am still head of this household, and I believe you shall choose our entertainment for the evening. Think of it as a challenge. Can you think of something that Mr. Collins can read that will entertain the entire family?"
Mary looked struck by being put on the spot like that, so Elizabeth reached under the table and squeezed her hand in sympathy and support.
After thinking for about half a minute while the table waited in breathless anticipation, she jumped up and said, "I have it."
She ran from the room while everyone looked at the swinging door, only to see her return about a minute later.
Mary, somewhat breathless from running all the way to the library, said, "This is perfect. It is a new novel I borrowed from Charlotte. Even Lizzy has not seen it. Sense and Sensibility by A Lady. It has everything. It is the story of two sisters who… well, I shall not spoil it. Mr. Collins, your audience shall await you after the separation."
Elizabeth tried her best not to giggle, and mostly managed the feat with some effort. Mr. Bennet dragged a somewhat stunned looking Mr. Collins off to the library for some port, while the ladies retired to the parlor to await their orator.