Chapter 1
Posted on Friday, 5 May 2006
IT is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of an unlimited amount of canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam) must be in want of a wife.
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last? Do not you want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife impatiently.
“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”
“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken by a young man named Bingley from the north of England. His family owns a factory that produces canned luncheon meat product (she was thinking of Spam). What a fine thing for our girls!”
“How so? How can it affect them?”
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them. Then we can eat a canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam) morning, noon, and night!”
Mr. Bennet groaned and considered explaining to his caro sposo for the umpteenth time that he was a vegetarian, and even if he wasn’t a vegetarian, he wouldn’t eat a canned luncheon meat product. Why someone would want to eat a potted meat product was beyond him.
“But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood.”
Mr. Bennet, having been down this road before, decided rather than to sport with his wife’s nerves and be hen-pecked for the next fortnight, he ought to go and visit the killer of pigs and whatever other mystery meat goes into a canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam). As a result, Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley.
After the visit, Mrs. Bennet said to her husband, “If I can but see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield, all the others equally well married, and an unlimited supply of canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam), I shall have nothing to wish for.”
In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet’s visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the father. The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining, from an upper window, that he wore a blue coat and drove a carriage that looked suspiciously similar to a Regency version of the Spammobile (see http://www.spammobile.com for pictures). As Mr. Bingley drove away in his pseudo-Spammobile, Mr. Bennet was heard to mutter, “Pig killer,” under his breath.
However, the ladies were destined to meet Mr. Bingley and his friends at the upcoming assembly. Mr. Bingley was good looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, merely looked the gentleman (his family was not in the canned luncheon meat business); but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien; and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of him being a Hormel heir (thus have access to unlimited amounts of brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff). The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening, till his manners gave a disgust which turned the tide of his popularity; for he was discovered to be proud, to be above his company, and above being pleased; and not all Spam in the kingdom could then save him from having a most forbidding, disagreeable countenance, and being unworthy to be compared with his friend.
The Bingley sisters were (of course) of a respectable family in the north of England; a circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories than that their brother's fortune and their own had been acquired by selling an off-brand canned luncheon meat product (namely, not Spam).
After the ball had concluded, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley sent an invitation to Miss Bennet to visit them so they could determine whether she was worthy of being the Mistress of an Netherfield, or any other estate built upon the fortune of an off-brand canned luncheon meat product (namely, not Spam).
Miss Bennet, being dense, listened to her mother, and went to Netherfield on horseback in the rain, got sick, and nearly died. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, being stubborn, walked to Netherfield to see her sister. Mr. Darcy, an heir to the Hormel fortune and its vast supplies of the brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff), stared at Miss Elizabeth Bennet and decided that despite the fact that her petticoat was six inches deep in mud that her fine eyes were brightened by the exercise.
Then Jane got better and Jane and Lizzy went home. But not before every Bennet in the countryside invaded Netherfield and made a scene.
“I hope, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet to his wife as they were at breakfast the next morning after everyone returned home, “that you have ordered a good dinner today, because I have reason to expect an addition to our family party.”
“Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming, I am sure, unless Charlotte Lucas should happen to call in, and I hope my dinners are good enough for her. I do not believe she often sees as much canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam) at home.”
“The person of whom I speak, is a gentleman and a stranger. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may take away your canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam) reserves as soon as he pleases.”
“Oh! my dear,” cried his wife, “I cannot bear to hear that mentioned. Pray do not talk of that odious man unless he wants to marry one of our girls.”
“As a matter of fact, he does,” Mr. Bennet stated.
Mrs. Bennet squealed with joy. “Then I can stay well supplied with Spam for ever!”
“Pig killer,” Mr. Bennet muttered with a shudder.
Mr. Collins arrived. -- He said a lot of complimentary, but meaningless phrases, blah – blah – blah. I shan’t sport with your intelligence by repeating what he said. -- He was interrupted by a summons to dinner. The dinner was highly admired; and he begged to know to which of his fair cousins, the excellence of its cookery was owing. He had never had Spam Stroganoff, Spam Croquettes, and Healthy Spam Peppers made with an off-brand canned luncheon meat product (namely, not Spam) made so well. But here he was set right by Mrs. Bennet, who assured him with some asperity that they were very well able to afford the brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff), and that her daughters had nothing to do in the kitchen. He begged pardon for having displeased her. In a softened tone she declared herself not at all offended; but he continued to apologize for about a quarter of an hour.
During dinner, Mr. Bennet scarcely spoke at all; but when the servants were withdrawn, he thought it time to have some conversation with his guest, and therefore started a subject in which he expected him to shine, by observing that he seemed very fortunate in his patroness. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as the daughter of the Earl of Hormel, was an heir to the Hormel fortune, makers of brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff). Mr. Bennet could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. The subject elevated him to more than usual solemnity of manner, and with a most important aspect he protested that he had never in his life witnessed such behaviour in a person of rank – such affability and condescension, as he had himself experienced from Lady Catherine. She had been graciously pleased to approve of both the discourses which he had already had the honour of preaching before her. She had also asked him twice to dine at Rosings which featured a dinner with no fewer than nine Spam courses (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff). She had even condescended to advise him to marry as soon as he could, provided he chose with discretion; and had once paid him a visit in his humble parsonage; where she had perfectly approved all the alterations he had been making, and had even vouchsafed to suggest some herself, -- some shelves in the closets up stairs, so he could store more Spam (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff).
“Pig killer,” Mr. Bennet thought with a shudder.
Mr. Collins was not a sensible man, and the deficiency of nature had been but little assisted by education or society. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh when the living of Hunsford was vacant; and the respect which he felt for her high rank and his veneration for her as his patroness, mingling with a very good opinion of himself, of his authority as a clergyman, and his rights as a rector, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility. Having now a good house and very sufficient supply of Spam, he intended to marry, and marry well. But not being sensible, he didn’t realize that Mary was the only Bennet that could be prevailed upon to marry him. The rest, especially Lizzy, thought he was a toad.
But before Mr. Collins had a chance to propose, Mr. Wickham came to Meryton and told Lizzy, “A military life is not what I was intended for, but circumstances have now made it eligible. A career at Hormel ought to have been my profession -- I was brought up for a position blending the brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff), and I should at this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased Mr. Darcy.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes -- the late Mr. Darcy bequeathed me the next presentation of the best position in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. I cannot do justice to his kindness. He meant to provide for me amply, and thought he had done it; but when the living fell, it was given elsewhere.”
“Good heavens!” cried Elizabeth; “This is quite shocking! -- He deserves to be publicly disgraced.”
“Some time or other he will be -- but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him. Really, Spam is a wonderful product (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff).”
Then there was a ball, dancing, Wickham fled to town, Bennets making fools of themselves and mortifying Jane and Lizzy, yada yada yada.
Now to the proposal from Mr. Collins to Lizzy -- “You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying -- and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did.”
“My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances with plenty of Spam (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced that you can fry up Spam (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) for me every day; and thirdly -- which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier -- that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Lady Catherine said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. -- Chuse properly – Chuse someone who will serve you Spam (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) every day. Make sure that she can cook Crunchy Spam Bites, Fancy Spam Musubi, Frijoles with Spam (Pinto Beans with Spam), Creamed Spam Plate Special, Spam Breakfast Bagels, Spam Sandwich Spread, Taste of the Islands Spam Salad, The Original Baked Spam Classic Island Spam, Spam Sticks, Spam Piccadilly, Crunchy Spam Sticks, Caribbean Mushrooms and Spam, Baked Spam Classic, Curried Spam and Rice, Garden Vegetable SPAMWICHES, Hawaiian Spam Sandwich, Barbecue Spam Muffins, Spam Turkey Finger Wraps, Spam Stroganoff, Spam Croquettes, Spam Speedy Dip, and Healthy Spam Peppers. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.’ This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with; and that only one thousand cans of Spam, which will not be yours till after your mother's decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.”
It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.
“You are too hasty, Sir,” Elizabeth cried. “Yuck! I will not marry you!”
“Then I will marry Charlotte Lucas!” Mr. Collins sputtered.
“You do that!” Elizabeth huffed.
As Mr. Collins ran from the house towards Lucas Lodge waiving a can of Spam (once again, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) and Mrs. Bennet yelled at Mr. Bennet to have him make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins, all Mr. Bennet could think as he watched the fat toad run down the lane was, “Pig killer.”
Chapter 2
Posted on Monday, 22 May 2006,
Mr. Collins hastened to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at Charlotte Lucas’s feet. His reception was of the most flattering kind. Miss Lucas perceived him running down the lane, waving a can of Spam (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff), from an upper window, and instantly set out to meet him “accidentally” in the lane. But little had she dared to hope that so much love and eloquence awaited her there. It was a good thing too that she didn’t expect much love or eloquence because, after all, we are talking about Mr. Collins. But things were soon settled between them to the satisfaction of both; and as they entered the house, he earnestly entreated her to name the day that was to make him the happiest of men; and though such a solicitation must be waved for the present, the lady felt no inclination to trifle with his happiness. The stupidity with which he was favoured by nature must guard his courtship from any charm that could make a woman wish for its continuance; and Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an overflow of Spam (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff), cared not how soon that establishment were gained.
Sir William and Lady Lucas were speedily applied to for their consent; and it was bestowed with a most joyful alacrity. Mr. Collins's present circumstances made it a most eligible match for their daughter, to whom they could give little fortune; and his prospects of future wealth were exceedingly fair. Lady Lucas began directly to calculate with more interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer Mr. Bennet was likely to live before Mr. Collins could inherit Longborn, with its vast canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam) cellar.
While Mr. Collins was off at Lucas Lodge acquainting its occupants to the virtues of shelves in the closet for storing brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff), Jane received a letter. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, little, hot-pressed paper, well covered with a lady's fair, flowing hand. Jane, knowing that everyone would annoy her to death until the found out the contents of the letter, began to read it out loud over a lunch of brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff), Lettuce, and Tomato sandwiches. Jane taking out the letter, said, “This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains, has surprised me a good deal. The whole party has left Netherfield by this time, and is on their way to town; and without any intention of coming back again. You shall hear what she says.”
Jane took a deep breath and began to read the letter, correcting Caroline’s horrible grammar on the fly and not noting the numerous spelling errors to her family. “I do not pretend to regret any thing I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend. When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to our canned luncheon meat product packing plant (she failed to mention that it was an off-brand), might be concluded in three or four days, but as we are certain it cannot be so. Mr. Darcy is impatient to see his sister, and to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again. I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, accomplishments, and supply of brand name canned luncheon meat product. The affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare to entertain of her being hereafter our sister. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject, but I would like to have access to her unlimited supply of brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff, although inexpensive knockoffs can be quite good). With all these circumstances to favour an attachment and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?” Mrs. Bennet cried, wept, and gnashed her teeth after hearing the letter. Mr. Bennet was heard to mutter, “Pig killer” under his breath.
Jane could only bring herself to appear only mildly depressed, but began to form plans on how to see Mr. Bingley again. She decided to chase after him by visiting her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner at their house near Cheapside and left for London as soon as could be managed. However, since Mr. Gardiner was not in the canned luncheon meat product business, it was not likely that she would fall in his path. Jane, being desperate and a little dim, decided to call on Miss Bingley as soon as may be and relied upon that grand lady to convey to Mr. Bingley the intelligence that she was in Town and available for visits.
Thursday was to be Mr. Collins’ wedding day, and on Wednesday Miss Lucas paid her farewell visit to the Bennets; and when she rose to take leave, Elizabeth, ashamed of her mother's ungracious and reluctant good wishes, and sincerely affected herself, accompanied her out of the room. As they went down stairs together, Charlotte said, “I shall depend on hearing from you very often, Eliza.”
“That you certainly shall.”
“And I have another favour to ask. Will you come and see me?”
“We shall often meet, I hope, in Hertfordshire.”
“I am not likely to leave Kent for some time. Promise me, therefore, to come to Hunsford when my father and Maria visit.”
Elizabeth could not refuse, though she foresaw little pleasure in the visit.
With no greater events than these in the Longbourn family, and otherwise diversified by little beyond the walks to Meryton, sometimes dirty and sometimes cold, did January and February pass away. While Jane was still cooling her heels in London awaiting a visit from Mr. Bingley, March took Elizabeth to Hunsford. She had not at first thought very seriously of going thither; but Charlotte, she soon found, was depending on the plan, for Charlotte, having been reared in a household with fewer cans of canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam), ran out of recipes to cook for Mr. Collins.
When the chaise carrying Sir William Lucas, Maria, and Elizabeth left the high-road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the Parsonage, and every turning expected to bring it in view. The palings of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side. Elizabeth smiled at the recollection of all that she had heard of its inhabitants.
At length the Parsonage was discernable. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at a small gate, which led by a short gravel walk to the house, amidst the nods and smiles of the whole party. Elizabeth saw instantly that her cousin's manners were not altered by his marriage; his formal civility was just what it had been, and he detained her some minutes at the gate to hear and satisfy his enquiries after all her family. They were then, with no other delay than his pointing out the neatness of the entrance, taken into the house; and as soon as they were in the parlour, he welcomed them a second time with ostentatious formality to his humble abode, and punctually repeated all his wife's offers of refreshment.
“Miss Elizabeth, you must have some Spam Musubi,” said Mr. Collins with a bow. “My dear Charlotte has become almost as good at preparing them as some of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s cooks. I say some, because she has several.”
“Spam Musubi?” questioned Elizabeth. “I am not familiar with what that is.”
Mr. Collins gasped and visibly turned pale. He then recollected himself and muttered in a self-aggrandizing way, “My dear young cousin, I had not realized that you had been so little exposed to the greater world as me or my dear Charlotte.”
Charlotte, realizing that the rest of his speech, indeed none of his speeches ever reflected well upon him interrupted, “Lizzy, Spam Musubi is Fried Spam Sushi, properly made using only brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff). It is also known as a ‘Hawaiian Steak Sandwich’ and is quite favored by the residents of that island nation.”
Elizabeth, never having heard of sushi or Hawaii (only the Sandwich Islands, which Captain Cook discovered and named), smiled politely in response, took one of the offered Spam Sushi rolls, and ate it quietly.
“What is your opinion of this divine delicacy?” asked Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth admitted to herself that the Spam Musubi was quite good, but was tempted not to state that knowing Mr. Collins’s tendency to think too well of himself. However, she took pity on her dear friend Charlotte and proclaimed, “It is very good and such an exotic treat for me. I have never had Hawaiian food before.” Elizabeth knew that such a comment would cost her pride a little, but with such a simpleton, it would not cost her dear.
Mr. Collins smiled broadly and puffed out his chest. “You must take the recipe back with you to Hertfordshire!” exclaimed Mr. Collins. “My dear Charlotte, write out the recipe for my dear young cousin.”
“Yes, I will do that later.”
“No, you must do it now,” Mr. Collins replied in a flutter. “If you wait until later, you might forget. You should never put off until later what is best accomplished today.”
Charlotte sighed and left her friend, sister, and father having barely spoken a word to them. She returned shortly and handed Elizabeth a piece of paper.
Recipe for Spam Musubi4 cups uncooked Japanese rice
Enough water to cook the rice in
5 sheets sushi-nori (dried seaweed sheets available at Asian markets and many large U.S. grocery stores in the International Foods area)
1 can SPAM (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) or SPAM Lite
Furikake rice seasoning optional (Japanese seaweed seasoning available at Asian markets and some U.S. grocery stores)
1/4 cup soy sauce (preferably Aloha Shoyu)
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup rice wine (Mirin)
Musubi maker or some other mold to make the sushi with (A musubi maker is a plastic mold that can be used to make rectangular shaped rice balls. You can buy them on the Internet or at Asian markets.)1. Cook Japanese rice according to directions. Make the Musubis while the rice is still warm.
2. Boil soy sauce, sugar and rice wine. After it boils, turn off flame.
3. Cut SPAM into 1/4 in. wide slices. Fry in pan (a Teflon or Iron skillet works well).
4. After the pieces have finished browning, soak the fried SPAM in soy sauce mixture.
5. Cut the nori so that they are the same width as the musubi maker’s length but leave the nori’s length long enough to wrap around the roll.
6. Line a musubi maker with sushi nori so that both sides stick straight up. If you don’t have a musubi maker, you can use the SPAM can to create the mold, just cut the top and bottom of the can off so that only the sides remain and wash it out well.
7. Spread cooked rice across bottom of musubi maker, on top of nori - 1/4 inch high.
8. Sprinkle Furikake on top of rice (optional).
9. Take the SPAM out of the soy sauce mixture and place one or two pieces of SPAM in musubi maker on top of rice. SPAM should cover most of the length of the musubi maker.
10. Spread more cooked rice on top of spam - 1/4 in. high.
11. Fold over one side of the nori. Use musubi maker insert to press down on top of nori, rice and SPAM to compress them all together. Fold over other side of nori and press down.
12. Remove musubi log from maker.
13. (Optional) Cut each log in half to make it easier to eat.A picture of the finished product is available at: http://enscriptchun.blogspot.com/2005/01/i-gotta-knife-frying-pan-and-issues.html or http://www.foodmigration.com/gallery/kauaifood/14130627_small or http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/object/article?f=/chronicle/archive/2004/10/13/FDGK295AOB1.DTL&o=0.
Elizabeth puzzled over many things on her friend’s recipe, What is plastic? she thought. What is a grocery store? And what is this http:// thing? However, because Mr. Collins was already looking very smug, she did not want to offer more fuel to the fire.
Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; and she could not help fancying that in offering a variety of treats made with brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) particularly to her, it was as he wished to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. But though every thing seemed neat and comfortable, she was not able to gratify him by any sigh of repentance; and rather looked with wonder at her friend that she could have so cheerful an air, with such a companion. When Mr. Collins said any thing of which his wife might reasonably be ashamed, which certainly was not unseldom, she involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush; but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear.
“But Miss Elizabeth, the delicacies that I may offer you in my humble abode are few compared to the splendors of which you will partake in at Rosings Park,” Mr. Collins said while placing his hand over his heart reverently.
“Indeed?”
“Yes, Lady Catherine in magnificence has invited the whole party to dine at Rosings tomorrow. I congratulate you on your good fortune.”
Elizabeth did not roll her eyes, though she was sorely tempted to do so. Instead she bore his effusions with grace.
Mr. Collins’s triumph in consequence of this invitation was complete. The power of displaying the grandeur of his patroness to his wondering visitors, and of letting them see her civility towards himself and his wife, was exactly what he had wished for; and that an opportunity of doing it should be given so soon was such an instance of Lady Catherine's condescension as he knew not how to admire enough.
The next day, as the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across the park. From the entrance hall, of which Mr. Collins pointed out, with a rapturous air, the fine proportion and finished ornaments, symbols of the Hormel dynasty, they followed the servants through an ante-chamber, to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Behind Lady Catherine was a very fine fresco of an open can of Spam (the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) which Elizabeth could not help but be in wonder of.
In spite of having been at St. James's, Sir William was so completely awed by the grandeur surrounding him, all of the symbols of Hormel were overpowering, that he had but just courage enough to make a very low bow, and take his seat without saying a word; and his daughter, frightened almost out of her senses, sat on the edge of her chair, not knowing which way to look. Only Elizabeth found herself quite equal to the scene.
After sitting a few minutes, they were all sent to one of the windows to admire the view, Mr. Collins attending them to describe the garden’s beauties, such as the maze built in the shape of a Spam can or the Hormel symbol portrayed using flowers. Elizabeth had difficulty looking through the stained glass windows portraying cans of spam, so she accepted Mr. Collins’ word that the view was very fine.
After a short time, they were called into dinner. The dinner was exceedingly handsome, and there were all the servants, and all the articles of plate which Mr. Collins had promised; and, as he had likewise foretold, he took his seat at the bottom of the table, by her ladyship’ desire, and looked as if he felt that life could furnish nothing greater. -- He carved the Spam Wellington, and ate, and praised with delighted alacrity; and every dish was commended, first by him, and then by Sir William, who was now enough recovered to echo whatever his son in law said, in a manner which Elizabeth wondered Lady Catherine could bear. But Lady Catherine seemed gratified by their excessive admiration, and gave most gracious smiles, especially when any dish on the table proved a novelty to them.
After dinner there was conversation and cards, neither of which was of much interest to Elizabeth. When Lady Catherine and her daughter had played as long as they chose, the tables were broke up, the carriage was offered to Mrs. Collins, gratefully accepted, and immediately ordered. With many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Collins's side, and as many bows on Sir William's, they departed. As soon as they had driven from the door, Elizabeth was called on by her cousin to give her opinion of all that she had seen at Rosings, which, for Charlotte's sake, she made more favourable than it really was.
“The Spam Wellington was done to the right amount of doneness and I’ve never seen Spam and Pineapple Fried Rice fried so well,” Elizabeth said cheerfully. “I’ve never seen so many wonderful dishes made with brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff). But her commendation, though costing her some trouble, could by no means satisfy Mr. Collins, and he was very soon obliged to take her ladyship's praise into his own hands.
Sir William staid only a week at Hunsford; but his visit was long enough to convince him of his daughter's being most comfortably settled, and of her possessing such a husband and such a neighbour as were not often met with. His high cholesterol and blood pressure would not allow him to stay longer where there is such an abundance of rich food made from canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam).
The entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about twice a week. Each meal was a grand affair and Elizabeth was shocked to see that no dish made of brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) was never repeated. Their other engagements were few; as the style of living of the neighbourhood in general was beyond the Collinses' reach.
In this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visit soon passed away. Easter was approaching, and the week preceding it was to bring an addition to the family at Rosings, which in so small a circle must be important. Elizabeth had heard, soon after her arrival, that Mr. Darcy was expected there in the course of a few weeks.
His arrival was soon known at the Parsonage, for Mr. Collins was walking the whole morning within view of the lodges opening into Hunsford Lane, in order to have the earliest assurance of it; and after making his bow as the carriage turned into the park, hurried home with the great intelligence. On the following morning he hastened to Rosings to pay his respects. There were two nephews of Lady Catherine to require them, for Mr. Darcy had brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger son of his uncle, Lord of Hormel; and to the great surprise of all the party, when Mr. Collins returned, the gentlemen accompanied him.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who led the way, was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address most truly the gentleman. Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, paid his compliments, with his usual reserve. Colonel Fitzwilliam entered into conversation directly with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, and talked very pleasantly; but his cousin, after having addressed a slight observation on the house and garden to Mrs. Collins, sat for some time without speaking to any body. Colonel Fitzwilliam's manners were very much admired at the parsonage, and the ladies all felt that he must add considerably to the pleasure of their engagements at Rosings. It was some days, however, before they received any invitation thither.
When they finally visited Rosings, Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them because any thing was a welcome relief to him at Rosings (especially since gazing into Elizabeth’s fine eyes could take his mind off of Lady Catherine’s lectures); and Mrs. Collins's pretty friend had moreover caught his fancy very much. He now seated himself by her, and talked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of traveling and staying at home, of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never been half so well entertained in that room before; and they conversed with so much spirit and flow, as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine herself as well as of Mr. Darcy.
The visit ended as all visits must and the party traveled back to the Parsonage in one of Lady Catherine’s carriages, though not the barouche box.
For the rest of their visit into Kent, the two cousins found a temptation of walking to the Parsonage almost every day. They called at various times of the morning, sometimes separately, sometimes together, and now and then accompanied by their aunt.
Mr. Darcy came often to the Parsonage, though no one could understand why. He seldom appeared really animated. Mrs. Collins knew not what to make of him. He certainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the expression of that look was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often doubted whether there were much admiration in it, and sometimes it seemed nothing but absence of mind.
Hmm… I wonder how many canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam) recipes Elizabeth knows? Should it matter? Cook knows at least 100 recipes and it always coming up with new ones. Her Spam Loco Moco was very novel, Mr. Darcy mused.
More than once did Elizabeth in her ramble within the Park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. On these occasions it was not merely a few formal enquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much; but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions -- about her pleasure in cooking canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam), her love of eating Spamwiches, and her opinion of Mrs. Collins's frying ability; and her not perfectly understanding the versatility of canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam). He seemed to expect that she would someday have an unlimited access to brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff). His words seemed to imply it. Could he have Colonel Fitzwilliam in his thoughts? She supposed, if he meant any thing, he must mean an allusion to what might arise in that quarter.
Elizabeth was engaged one day, as she walked, in re-perusing Jane's last letter, and dwelling on some passages which proved that Jane had not written in spirits, when, instead of being again surprised by Mr. Darcy, she saw on looking up, that Colonel Fitzwilliam was meeting her. Putting away the letter immediately and forcing a smile, she said, “I did not know before that you ever walked this way.”
“Oh yes,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam with a smile. “If I didn’t, we wouldn’t have this chance to talk and you wouldn’t have a chance to discover why I am no longer in Military Intelligence.”
“Really?” Elizabeth asked. “You were in Military Intelligence?”
“Yes, but I was transferred to the cavalry. You see horses don’t talk much and they can’t repeat the secrets that I tell them.”
“You tell secrets?”
“Oh yes,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a chuckle. “I’m worse than a little girl. I can’t keep any information to myself. You don’t even have to ask. I’ll just blab and blab and tell you everything I know. My nickname is ‘Leaking Sieve Fitzwilliam’ because I leak secrets like a sieve. But some call me ‘Parrot Fitzwilliam’ because I repeat everything that is told to me. If I weren’t the younger son of the Earl of Hormel, I would have been cashiered out long ago.”
Elizabeth looked at him doubtfully.
“For example, I know that Darcy cannot marry my cousin Anne,” Fitzwilliam began.
“Really? Why ever not?”
“Because Anne is already married! Last winter, she ran away to Gretna Greene and married one of Lady Catherine’s footmen. She claimed that she was sick and had to lie down in her room. Lady Catherine, never a very attentive parent because she is so busy meddling in everyone else’s business, didn’t notice that Anne didn’t leave her room for eleven days. The reason why she is so sickly and cross now is that she is suffering from morning sickness.”
Elizabeth gasped in astonishment. “No! You are teasing! You can’t be serious!” she exclaimed. “What will Lady Catherine do?”
“I don’t know, but Anne must tell her Mother soon before she outgrows her gowns. Of course, Empire waist gowns hide the condition rather well and it might be months before she is so large that it will be obvious.”
Elizabeth just stared at him in mute astonishment.
“I also have reason to think that Darcy’s good friend Bingley is very much indebted to him. Darcy congratulates himself on having lately saved his friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage. I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”
After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful. “I am thinking of what you have been telling me,” said she. “Your cousin's conduct does not suit my feelings. Why was he to be the judge?”
“You are rather disposed to call his interference officious?”
“I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide on the propriety of his friend's inclination. But,” she continued, recollecting herself, “as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case.”
“That is not an unnatural surmise,” said Fitzwilliam, “but it is lessening the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly.” This was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy that she would not trust herself with an answer; and, therefore, abruptly changing the conversation, she allowed him to reveal other secrets until they reached the parsonage. By the time they reached the parsonage, she did not believe she would be able to look at Mr. Collins again without blushing.
There, shut into her own room as soon as Colonel Fitzwilliam left, she could think without interruption of all that she had heard. That Darcy had been concerned in the measures taken to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, she had never doubted; but she had always attributed to Miss Bingley the principal design and arrangement of them. If his own vanity, however, did not mislead him, he was the cause, his pride and caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined for a while every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world; and no one could say how lasting an evil he might have inflicted.
“There were some very strong objections against the lady,” were Colonel Fitzwilliam's words, and these strong objections probably were, her having no relatives in the canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam) business.
The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned brought on a headache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr. Darcy, it determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Mrs. Collins, seeing that she was really unwell, did not press her to go, and as much as possible prevented her husband from pressing her, but Mr. Collins could not conceal his apprehension of Lady Catherine's being rather displeased by her staying at home.
“But Miss Elizabeth,” he began, “may I remind you that Lady Catherine will serve hors d'oeuvres made from brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff)! Will you rest easy knowing that you have missed such splendors?”
Elizabeth strongly urged Mr. Collins to leave. Once the Collinses and Maria left, she began to settle on a chaise in the sitting room when she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might now come to enquire particularly after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. In a hurried manner he immediately began an enquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. However, he was too unobservant to notice. Instead, he sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word.
After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began, “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. And declaring myself thus I hardly need to remind you the splendors that I am offering you. An unlimited supply of brand name canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) will be your reward. You, who is a degradation to be aligned to because your family is not in the canned luncheon meat product business, must feel your good fortune. Had your father been a pig farmer, then my family might be roused to accept the marriage. But your father is merely a gentleman that grows vegetables on his land,” Darcy said with a contemptuous sniff. “Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own? This connection is completely beneath me and totally against my rationale character. However, what is a man who has been captured by your arts and allurements to do?” He concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavours, he had found impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand.
When he ceased his declaration, the colour rose into her cheeks, and she said, “In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. But I cannot -- I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to have occasioned pain to any one. It has been most unconsciously done, however, and I hope will be of short duration.”
Mr. Darcy, who was leaning against the mantle-piece with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. “And this is all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected.”
“I might as well enquire,” replied she, “why, with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character? But I have other provocations. Do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”
She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. “I did every thing in my power to separate my friend from your sister, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”
Elizabeth disdained the appearance of noticing this civil reflection, but its meaning did not escape, nor was it likely to conciliate, her. “But it is not merely this affair,” she continued, “on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place, my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. On this subject, what can you have to say? ”
“You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns,” said Darcy in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened colour.
“Who that knows what his misfortunes have been, can help feeling an interest in him?”
“His misfortunes!” repeated Darcy contemptuously; “yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed.”
“And of your infliction,” cried Elizabeth with energy. “You have reduced him to his present state of poverty, comparative poverty. You have withheld job of a Spam Blender, which you must know to have been designed for him.”
“Wickham!” Darcy exclaimed with zeal, “Will I ever be rid of the blackguard?”
“You have deprived the best years of his life, of that independence which was no less his due than his desert!”
“If he had received his true desert, he would have a blade through his heart!”
Elizabeth gasped at such a claim.
“Miss Bennet, will you allow me to explain to you the whole of his connection with my family. Of what he has particularly accused me, I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity. Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Spam production factories; and whose good conduct in the discharge of his trust naturally inclined my father to be of service to him; and on George Wickham, who was his god-son, his kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge. My father was not only fond of this young man's society, whose manners were always engaging; he had also the highest opinion of him, and hoping that blending pork to create a canned luncheon meat product (namely Spam, the real stuff, not some cheap knockoff) would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it. As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities -- the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments, which Mr. Darcy could not have. My excellent father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was to the last so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me to promote his advancement in the best manner that his profession might allow, and, if he went to culinary school, desired that a position of Master Blender be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also a legacy of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that, having finally resolved against going to culinary school, he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited. He had some intention, he added, of studying the law, and I must be aware that the interest of one thousand pounds would be a very insufficient support therein. I rather wished than believed him to be sincere; but, at any rate, was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a Spam Maker. The business was therefore soon settled. He resigned all claim to assistance in the canned luncheon meat business, were it possible that he could ever be in a situation to receive it, and accepted in return three thousand pounds. All connection between us seemed now dissolved. His studying the law was a mere pretence, and being now free from all restraint, his life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him; but on the decease of the incumbent of the living which had been designed for him, he applied to me again by letter for the presentation. His circumstances, he assured me, and I had no difficulty in believing it, were exceedingly bad. He had found the law a most unprofitable study, and was now absolutely resolved on going to culinary school, if I would present him to the living in question -- of which he trusted there could be little doubt, as he was well assured that I had no other person to provide for, and I could not have forgotten my revered father's intentions. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty, or for resisting every repetition of it. His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances -- and he was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others, as in his reproaches to myself. After this period, every appearance of acquaintance was dropt. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice. My sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it, to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham, undoubtedly by design; for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived; and by her connivance and aid he so far recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to purchase items offered for sale in a spam email he sent her. She was then but fifteen, which must be her excuse; and after stating her imprudence, I am happy to add that I owed the knowledge of it to herself. I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended sale; and then Georgiana, unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole to me. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure, but I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately, and Mrs. Younge was of course removed from her charge. Mr. Wickham's chief object was unquestionably my sister's fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed.
“This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together; and if you do not absolutely reject it as false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty towards Mr. Wickham. For the truth of every thing here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who from our near relationship and constant intimacy, and still more as one of the executors of my father's will, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions.” Darcy finally drew breath after rushing though such a painful admission. He looked at her earnestly to ascertain how she took the news and whether her heart had been injured by the revelation.
Instead of looking wounded, indignant, or angered, Elizabeth only looked confused. “He sent her a spam?”
“Yes,” Darcy replied gravely. “Wickham is a spammer.” Darcy barely stopped himself from spitting at the end of his statement.
Elizabeth looked even more confused. “And a spammer is bad?”
Darcy’s eyes widened. “I know that you are a virtuous young woman, but I had no idea you were kept so ignorant of the evils that exist in the world. Yes, a spammer is very, very bad. They send unsolicited emails to people and try to trick them into buying merchandise (which will never be delivered), revealing their personal identity information, or opening an infected file.”
Elizabeth scratched her head. She had never heard of such a thing. “An email?”
“You know, an electronic mail. The mail you send and receive off of the web through your PC.”
Elizabeth’s head was swimming. She had never heard of an email, a PC, and the only context she had heard of a web being used was a spider web. As it was still Regency England, her home didn’t have electricity, let alone a PC. But Darcy was now staring at her most unpleasantly because she did not understand what a spammer was and she did not want to further acknowledge her ignorance to this proud man. The rich must live completely separate lives if they have PCs and email and I’ve never heard of such a thing ever being mentioned.
“Do you know what a spammer is now Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked.
Elizabeth blushed and tried to lessen his incredulity. “Yes, of course, Mr. Darcy. My father does not let us knowingly consort with such a fellow and we are never allowed to engage in such behaviour on our PC. That is why I was not familiar with the term.”
“Your father is a wise man. Spammers are never to be trusted.”
Elizabeth furrowed her brow. “That only explains part of your conduct…”
Mr. Darcy winced, “Yes, you believe that regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister. -- I had not been long in Hertfordshire, before I saw, in common with others, that Bingley preferred your eldest sister to any other young woman in the country. -- But it was not till the evening of the dance at Netherfield that I had any apprehension of his feeling a serious attachment. -- I had often seen him in love before. -- At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, that Bingley's attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. He spoke of it as a certain event, of which the time alone could be undecided. From that moment I observed my friend's behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. -- Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment. -- If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in an error. -- If it be so, if I have been misled by such error, to inflict pain on her, your resentment has not been unreasonable. But I shall not scruple to assert that the serenity of your sister's countenance and air was such as might have given the most acute observer a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched. -- I did not believe her to be indifferent because I wished it; -- I believed it on impartial conviction, as truly as I wished it in reason. -- My objections to the marriage were not merely those which I last night acknowledged to have required the utmost force of passion to put aside in my own case because the Bingleys engage in producing an off-brand canned luncheon meat product (namely, not Spam); the want of connection could not be so great an evil to my friend as to me (an heir to the Hormel fortune). -- But there were other causes of repugnance; -- The situation of your mother's family, though objectionable, was nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, so almost uniformly, betrayed by herself, by your three younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father. -- Pardon me. -- It pains me to offend you. -- I will only say farther that, from what passed that evening, my opinion of all parties was confirmed, and every inducement heightened, which could have led me before to preserve my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. -- He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain, remember, with the design of soon returning. --
“The part which I acted is now to be explained. -- His sisters' uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling was soon discovered; and, alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching their brother, we shortly resolved on joining him directly in London. -- We accordingly went -- and there I readily engaged in the office of pointing out to my friend, the certain evils of such a choice. -- I described, and enforced them earnestly. -- But, however this remonstrance might have staggered or delayed his determination, I do not suppose that it would ultimately have prevented the marriage, had it not been seconded by the assurance, which I hesitated not in giving, of your sister's indifference. He had before believed her to return his affection with sincere, if not with equal, regard. -- I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. There is but one part of my conduct in the whole affair, on which I do not reflect with satisfaction; it is that I condescended to adopt the measures of art so far as to conceal from him your sister's being in town. -- Perhaps this concealment, this disguise, was beneath me. -- It is done, however, and it was done for the best. -- On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister's feelings, it was unknowingly done; and though the motives which governed me may to you very naturally appear insufficient, I have not yet learnt to condemn them. --
Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said, “You are a vile man and just as evil as any spammer. You could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.” His astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on. “From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immoveable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”
“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”
As Mr. Darcy marched out of the door of the parsonage with a flourish, Elizabeth heard her father’s worst condemnation of any man echoing in her head, “Pig killer.”