Posted on: 2008-09-03
William Collins was feeling mightily pleased with himself. He was comfortably ensconced at the dining table in his own future home, next to the lovely creature who would very likely soon be his wife, and he had the undivided attention of his future family; their reception of him had been everything he could have hoped and he could tell that they were impressed with his fine manners. In addition to all his other causes for joy, the splendid dinner he was in the process of ingesting featured his very favorite food, boiled potatoes, and they were, in fact, the best boiled potatoes he had ever eaten. He was eminently flattered that his hostess, and someday grandmother to his children, had somehow managed to discover his favorite food and contrived to serve it at his welcome dinner. He was struck by such condescension to one with whom there was every cause for the family to be at odds, as Mr. Bennet had always been with his father, but he had been certain that his well-considered effort to heal the breach would cause the family to welcome him, and was indeed pleased that they had.
The conversation lagged at the table as Mr. Collins savored the boiled potatoes; it was most clear that all of the Bennets were anxious that their favored guest be pleased with their home and the fine meal they had set before him, and were all waiting with bated breath to hear of his approval, but while he reveled in the taste of the succulent tubers he was hard pressed to keep up his end of the discourse. It occurred to him that he was, in fact, the luckiest of men, as he had come to Longbourn in search of a companion for his future life, and now might just have found himself in the position to marry a woman whose talent for cooking boiled potatoes surpassed any he had ever known in his twenty-five years on this earth. He had, of course, intended to simply marry the eldest Miss Bennet, and was most pleased to discover that she was also the most beautiful of all the five beauties in the family, but he resolved that if one of the other fair sisters had cooked the fluffy, mouthwatering, heavenly side-dish he would be forced to transfer his affections immediately. But the dearth of discourse as he pondered his future filled with such enticingly starchy goodness made the air weighty with expectation, and Mr. Collins knew that it was time to distribute some delicate attentions among his fair cousins. With luck, in so doing he could find out which of the Misses Bennet he should honor with an offer of marriage, and thus secure to himself a wife of exquisite culinary skills. As a parson with a rectory of no mean size, but an income requiring prudence in all expenditures, Mr. Collins was eager to be able to dispense with the need for paying someone (up until now, an old woman in the village of Hunsford) to cook his meals - his wife would, he assured himself, cheerfully accept the duty as only one aspect of showing her devoted care for him. With all these things in mind, he casually consulted his pocket notebook to see which of the compliments he had taken the care to arrange and write down in the weeks before his trip to Longbourn would be most suitable to both express his admiration and extract the name of the young lady destined to make him the happiest of men. He found just the thing.
"What a superbly featured room, and what excellent boiled potatoes. It has been many a year since I have had such an exemplary vegetable. To which of my fair cousins should I compliment the excellence of the cooking?"
His future mother-in-law oddly ignored his compliments on her fine establishment and answered his question with an air of someone trying very hard to please, "Mr. Collins, we are perfectly able to keep a cook."
Her answer disappointed him in his chief object (though he was more than pleased to know that he would one day be so rich), as he now knew that none of his cousins had made the exemplary vegetables in question, but he managed to keep the conversation flowing by again complimenting the estate, and then finally introducing his favorite topic, his noble patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh. As he basked in the awe his future family clearly felt at his good fortune to have such a noble, condescending patroness, Mr. Collins reflected that it did not matter, really, that none of his cousins had actually made the boiled potatoes, as, if it was a family recipe, as soon as he was married he would make sure that his wife learned the secret from the fine cook who ruled over the Longbourn kitchens; he further congratulated himself that as the the estate would some day be his, so would the cook. He smiled at the lovely Jane Bennet, and imagined a future evening when he and she would be seated at either end of the dining table in that very room, gazing lovingly at each other while their children, who would be lined up neatly and quietly along both sides of the table, grew up healthy and plump eating the best boiled potatoes in all of England.
The following morning, Mr. Collins found himself in the kitchen at Longbourn; having been disabused by Mrs. Bennet of the notion of making Jane Bennet the mistress of his humble abode on the grounds that she was soon to be engaged to another, and further informed by the good Mrs. Bennet that Miss Elizabeth was to be his first choice as a life companion, Mr. Collins had gone in search of the lucky young lady and had been informed by one of the two giggly youngest Misses Bennet that perhaps Miss Elizabeth might be found in that part of the house. Mr. Collins was pleased at the thought, believing that even if the Misses Bennet had not been formally instructed in the art of cookery, Miss Elizabeth's choice to spend her time in the kitchen instead of on such frivolous pursuits as novel reading or aimlessly wandering about the countryside indicated an interest on the part of the future mother of his children in useful domestic pursuits.
As it happens, Miss Elizabeth was wise to her mother's machinations to avoid being cast out to starve in the hedgerows on the death of her husband at the expense of her least favorite daughter, and had accordingly taken herself out of Mr. Collins' way before he came down to breakfast by departing the house to roam the countryside with a new novel by a very delightful lady author. Thus, when Mr. Collins found his way to the kitchens, which took a while as he was rather engrossed in examining the contents of his future home as he went, the only person he found there was the cook. She being a female, he decided to work his considerable masculine charms on her, to the extent that would be proper for a clergyman like himself, in the hopes that when his lovely cousin Elizabeth consented to make him the happiest of men, she would arrive at his humble abode with the knowledge of how to make the most enchanting of side-dishes imaginable. He pictured in his mind the praises of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, bestowed liberally upon him for his great prowess in choosing such a superior cook for a wife. He wondered how he would go about arranging for the talented Mrs. Collins to display her considerable hypothetical potato cooking skills to his noble patroness; he did not think that Lady Catherine herself would ever stoop so low as to dine at his humble parsonage. Mr. Collins resolved to ponder the issue, and he turned his mind to the matter at hand, flattering the cook of Longbourn. He bowed low. The cook, a somewhat craggy and careworn individual, was stunned into silence by his gracious manners and could do nothing but continue chopping vegetables and dumping them in a pot boiling over the fire.
"Are you by any chance the lady responsible for the delectable boiled potatoes that graced my plate at dinner last night, giving me considerable gastronomic delight, and convincing me that even at Rosings Park there could be no finer vegetable served even for my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh?"
The cook was once again overwhelmed by his condescension, but she managed to answer him nonetheless. "Aye."
The woman's near-silent deference to her betters was most becoming in a servant, and Mr. Collins looked forward to the day when he would have such a model servant in his employ.
"Allow me to thank you for your efforts. I have, as I told Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and their five charming daughters, not had such an exemplary vegetable in many a year, and in thinking it over since then, I am not sure that I have ever had such an ideal dish in my entire life."
Mr. Collins waited for the cook to respond to his gracious compliments, but she merely nodded and took a mound of dough from under a cloth and started to knead it with forceful strokes. As no other answer seemed forthcoming, Mr. Collins cleared his throat and continued.
"As you may know, I will some day be master of this fine estate, at which time I look forward to often partaking of your superlative boiled potatoes. However, I am in great hopes that a fortunate event before that time will, if I may say so discreetly, provide me with a mistress for my current abode from among the lovely ladies of this house. May I hope that when my cousin makes me the happiest of men, you will consent to tutor her in the art of producing such delightful boiled potatoes for my humble parsonage table?" Mr. Collins gave the cook an ingratiating smile, which was unfortunately lost on her as she had failed, through the duration of his address, to raise her eyes from the pile of dough she was so skillfully beating into submission on the floury tabletop.
"I never give out me recipes," was the curt response from the cook, and Mr. Collins was so taken aback that he was unable to muster any further compliments or cajoling banter for the moment. He therefore stammered a farewell and left the kitchen to continue his search for the fortunate young lady whose praises he expected to sing to Lady Catherine, that noble paragon of a patroness, when he returned to Hunsford.
As it happens, Mr. Collins did not find Elizabeth that day, and for the remainder of his visit he had a rather difficult time in wooing the young lady; her natural delicacy made her shy and he had very few opportunities to talk to her at all, much less talk to her alone. In truth, he had a difficult time finding her most days, and in the evenings, when the family were gathered in the drawing room after dinner (which, he lamented every night before bed, had never again featured boiled potatoes after the first evening, no matter that he hinted repeatedly to Mrs. Bennet and the cook that he would very much love to partake of that delicacy again), Miss Elizabeth managed to surround herself with sisters. Mrs. Bennet, to be sure, was a great help to him when he tried to find opportunities to woo his fair cousin, but if he had not known better, he would have sworn that not only was Miss Elizabeth trying to avoid him, but her father was also trying to hinder his suit.
Sadly, the idea that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was to become Mrs. William Collins became so firmly entrenched in Mr. Collins' mind that even had he succeeded in his pursuit of his wife-elect's company leading up to his proposal, he would still not have noticed that she did not in any way, shape or form return what he chose to believe was his regard for her (such regard as you, dear Reader, are perfectly aware was completely imaginary even on his part). Therefore, when Miss Elizabeth so firmly and persistently rejected his proposals to the point where even he had to understand that she truly had no intention of marrying him, the reality of his situation came as quite a shock. It was while he was in this state of befuddlement that Miss Charlotte Lucas arrived at Longbourn and, to the very great relief of her friend Elizabeth, and the even greater dismay of Mrs. Bennet, whisked Mr. Collins off to Lucas Lodge to dine with her family.
It behooves me here to mention that Mrs. Bennet is a woman of very little discretion. Very well, to be honest, no discretion. Her joys, her sorrows, her vexations, her expectations, her triumphs, her failures... no matter how great or small, all were aired to the world with complete abandon. Thus Lady Lucas was well apprised of Mr. Collins' handsome compliments on the boiled potatoes that were served on his first evening at Longbourn. (And here it must be noted, by the bye, that the failure of boiled potatoes to appear on the table at Longbourn since that occasion was contrary to the wishes, nay, demands of Mrs. Bennet, who was anxious to gratify the desires of the man she hoped to someday call son, in the hopes that he would not cast her out to starve amongst the hedgerows before Mr. Bennet grew cold in his grave. No, the disappointing lack of boiled potatoes must be set squarely at the feet of the cook, who had taken something of a dislike to Mr. Collins that first day in the kitchen, and, since we are being completely honest, rather enjoyed vexing Mrs. Bennet. But I digress). Lady Lucas, seeing an opportunity to steal a march on her dear friend and snatch the prospective husband out from under the noses of the dear, lovely Bennet girls, sent Charlotte straightway to the kitchens to make some boiled potatoes. Lady Lucas, though she did not yet know that Mr. Collins had tried and failed to secure Elizabeth Bennet's hand, was determined to show her plain, unaccomplished daughter off to the best advantage, and suspecting that Mrs. Bennet's boast to the man in question that her own daughters could not cook was not likely to have impressed a man who would, until he inherited Longbourn (a circumstance highly in his favor), probably desire his wife to cook his meals, she wished him to know firsthand of her own dear Charlotte's prowess in the kitchen, and what better way to show it than by having Charlotte prepare his favorite dish?
Sadly, or luckily, depending on how much you would pity Charlotte were she to marry Mr. Collins, boiled potatoes were not Charlotte's specialty. The tubers she served up to their fawning guest were hard, flavorless, and, if dropped, bouncy. Her mince pies were a sheer delight - well, as much as mince pies can be delightful, which I suppose is a matter of taste, and I do not care for them myself - but Mr. Collins did not taste the mince pies, as he did not care for them either. He did taste the boiled potatoes, and was appalled, nay offended, that someone could abuse potatoes in such a way. His manners did not allow him to avoid eating them, as Lady Lucas told him repeatedly that Charlotte had prepared them especially for him, and his own nature required him to praise them profusely and infinitely beyond their worth as comestibles, but his dismay at the disappointing vegetables immediately cast out from his brain all thoughts he might have entertained during his walk to Lucas Lodge with Miss Lucas of allowing that young lady to make him the happiest of men. Certainly, she was agreeable, and sensible, and able to make a small income go a long way. Evidently she did not find him distasteful. In the right light one might almost say that she was not exactly plain. She was even almost shorter than he. But Mr. Collins was a man of conviction, and he was quite certain that he could never marry a woman who was so woefully deficient in cooking boiled potatoes.
Mr. Collins returned to Longbourn that evening in a state of confusion bordering on panic. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, his most noble and demanding patroness, had instructed him to return from his visit to Hertfordshire with the promise of some lady or other to be his wife. He had concentrated his entire being on wooing his cousin Elizabeth, and other than Miss Lucas, he had not had time to meet any other women besides his cousins. While he could conceivably marry one of the other Bennet girls, Mr. Bennet's refusal to force Elizabeth to marry him was stuck in his craw, and he was now leaning towards the starving-in-the-hedgerows plan for the rest of the family in order to make Elizabeth and her father (who, admittedly, would be dead when it happened and therefore possibly unaware of it) suffer. But a life without at least passable boiled potatoes... no, Mr. Collins was forced to admit to himself that the boiled potatoes that had entered his mouth on that fateful night had also entered his heart, and his soul, and had spoiled him for all other boiled potatoes henceforth. A firm resolve took hold of Mr. Collins mind, the same way Charlotte Lucas' boiled potatoes had now taken a firm hold on his stomach like so many balls of cement. There was only one woman who could make him the happiest of men, and he was resolved to marry her without delay.
The day Mrs. Bennet found out that Mr. Collins had run off to Gretna Green with her cook she went into something of a catatonic state from which she did not emerge until the day after her favorite daughter, Jane, and her least favorite daughter, Elizabeth married Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy respectively. I am aware, dear Reader, that you know very well how those events came to pass, so I need not dwell on them here (although I imagine you are wondering why Elizabeth chose to go visit her family's old cook at Hunsford; sadly for you, that narrative belongs not to this tale). The cause of Mrs. Bennet's release from her stupor was the arrival of some shocking, and yet, strangely delightful news from Kent; not to put too fine a point on it, Mr. Collins had died. While his wife (who, I find I have failed to mention, never did get over her dislike of the man, but presented with an opportunity to vex Mrs. Bennet, and rather fancying the whole Mrs.-Bennet-starving-in-the-hedgerows plan, figured she might as well marry him as not. But I digress) was indeed an expert at boiled potatoes, she was rather bad at cooking fish, such that Mrs. Bennet had never allowed her to serve it after one unbelievably horrid night when the whole family had been made wretchedly ill by some poorly prepared trout. But Mr. Collins had not had time to become properly acquainted with his bride before the wedding, and the new Mrs. Collins showed little inclination to become well acquainted afterwards, and so her deficiency in cooking fish had never come up, and so on the night that Mr. Collins had finally convinced his noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh (whose resistance to bad ideas was horribly weakened by the impending wedding of her nephew Mr. Darcy to that obstinate, headstrong Elizabeth Bennet, as mentioned above) to dine at his humble parsonage, Mr. Collins had demanded that his wife serve fish (along with boiled potatoes, naturally). His wife complied, not caring much one way or another whether the fish was any good, she hated the stuff anyway, and, well, the entire party became wretchedly ill (except, of course, Mrs. Collins, who I have already mentioned hated fish, and Anne de Bourgh, who had only consumed some weak tea and boiled potatoes, which, by the bye, she found delicious).
I do not wish you to think, however, that it was the bad fish that killed Mr. Collins; his constitution was made of much sterner stuff than to be killed by a little indisposition of the stomach. No, Mr. Collins was killed by falling down the stairs at Rosings Park the next time he went to visit after they had all recovered from their bouts of food poisoning, when Lady Catherine de Bourgh, in a moment of not very noble pique, threw a tea pot at his head and demanded he leave her house at once for having married such a horrible, ungenteel, unaccomplished woman. Mrs. Collins being well past childbearing age, Mr. Collins died without issue, and so several decades later when Mr. Bennet finally did die, the estate passed down to the next person in line for the entail, who, by an amazing, coincidental twist of fate, was the young man who, as Mr. Phillips' law clerk, had long since fallen in love with and married Mary Bennet, who became the next mistress of Longbourn. Sadly, Mrs. Bennet did not long survive her husband, which is just as well because she drove her daughter so crazy with her constant complaints of nerves and advice on how to run the house, that Mary herself considered turning her out to starve in the hedgerows (although she never really would have, and if she had, one of her other daughters would surely have taken her in, or at least, put her up in a cottage somewhere nowhere near Derbyshire. But I digress).
Charlotte Lucas married the recently widowed Colonel Forster shortly before her thirtieth birthday, which made him very happy after the trials he endured during his first foray into marriage with a nitwit who was, let us not forget, close personal friends with Lydia Bennet Wickham, and therefore not the brightest candle in the candelabra. Of course, that narrative also does not belong to this tale, but I wanted you, dear Reader, to know that Charlotte had her happily ever after.
The erstwhile cook of Longbourn was not terribly put out by her husband's death, especially when, ironically, she was offered a position in the kitchens at Rosings Park, where her entire job was to make boiled potatoes every day for Miss de Bourgh, which exemplary vegetable turned out to be an elixir of health to the young lady, allowing her to gain in health and strength enough that, at age thirty-five, she was able to commence study of the pianoforte.