Painting the Clouds with Sunshine. Chapter One.

“What moves men of genius, or rather what inspires their work, is not new ideas, but their obsession with the idea that what has already been said is still not enough.”
Eugene Delacroix.

An idea is inspirational. An idea that involves Lady Catherine De Bourgh in the mind of Mr Collins is earth-shattering.

Chapter One.

“Charlotte, Charlotte my love; make haste and hear my tremendous news Come and look what I have bought!”
Charlotte Collins, quite used to her husband’s somewhat overblown ideas of tremendous news, laid down her needlework as she heard him bustle into the front parlour of their Hunsford Parsonage home, and mentally speculated as to what this latest earth-shattering revelation was to be, and what sort of a purchase could excite such boundless enthusiasm from her husband. It could not be anything relevant to Rosings Park, his normal source of tremendous and exciting news - where only yesterday Lady Catherine’s first daffodil of the year had sprouted forth from the earth causing him to almost burst with joy- because the clue was in him purshasing something. A sudden thought caused her eyes to widen and her heart to sink as she realized he had lately, to her intense dismay, spoken of taking up playing the violin, surely not…..” Oh, dear Lord, please no…”

Charlotte let out a soft sigh of relief as she saw the flat- wrapped parcel that Mr Collins was laying on the dining table. Whatever it was, it surely was not a violin. She watched the wrappings removed to reveal several canvas frames and a polished mahogany box. Her husband beamed in delight as he opened the box with a flourish and stepped aside for her to view the contents. These proved to be an extensive collection of brushes, a pallete and an artist’s box of oil paints. The Reverend spread his arms out wide, beamed again and announced, “I am going to take up painting, my dear Charlotte!” with all the aplomb of someone proudly declaring he had just received a Knighthood. Charlotte’s agile mind did a rapid mental assessment of all the things, accidents, costs and Heavenly plagues that a box of paints in the possession of her husband could bring down upon them and, realizing his new hobby needn’t involve herself and, all things considered, was relatively risk-free, allowed a smile to flow in the direction of the newest would-be addition to the austere Royal Accademy of Arts. Mr Collins raised a finger and his eyebrows at the same time in a somewhat dramatic gesture, smiled mysteriously and stepped back in the direction of the door. Seconds later he man-handled an easel and folding stool into the room despite the eager, excited attentions of Patch, the collie pup. Charlotte raised a smile that, in a more attentive observer might be described as painful or resigned. Mr Collins was not such an attentive observer however and was obviously already mentally composing his first master work. Charlotte took the opportunity to disappear to prepare lunch.

During the lunch the story of Mr Collins ‘s new-found passion emerged. To no surprise on Charlotte’s part, Lady Catherine De Bourgh was at the root of things although, in fairness Charlotte realized, her Ladyship’s actual involvement was of an innocent and unknowing nature. She had, it seemed expressed a desire to have a likeness of Rosings House painted to exhibit with all the forefathers of the long and ancient De Bourgh ancestors who frowned, sneered and glared disapprovingly down on their viewers from the hallowed walls of the great hall of Rosings. Mr Collins had, of course, gushed veritable waterfalls of praise and enthusiasm at the idea. No thought of anyone but a London master artist was considered to do the work in the early discussions on what was no more than an idea at the time - although her Ladyship declared that had she ever learned to paint she would of course have been a prolific talent on a par with Sir Joshua Reynolds, possibly even better, a fact Mr Collins had heartily agreed with - and certainly no artistic intent was present at that time in the breast of the good Reverend himself. That idealistic revelation was to come a little later when a local member of Hunsford parish, the widow Pennington, mentioned to him inadvertently that she wanted to dispense with some of the goods and chattels of her late husband, amongst which were his itms of his equipment as a keen amateur artist. Did Mr Collins have any idea who might want to make use of such possessions she wondered? Mr Collins was about to declare he knew of no one when a dazzling sunbeam of artistic inspiration hit him with such force and enlightenment that he almost passed out with its intensity. Yes, he did know someone who could use the materials, for who better than himself could take on the responsibility of committing Rosings House to fame in paint? Did he not know every window and door in that magnificent façade with loving familiarity; every pillar and portico, every arch and step? Who better indeed to preserve the magnificent Rosings House for artistic immortality?

In a very short time he had pressed two shillings into the hands of a reluctant Widow Pennington who wanted no money as long as the art materials went to a good home. “Indeed they shall do that, dear lady” Mr Collins beamed. Within a few minutes the said materials were stowed in his curricle and he was returning home in high good humour.

“So you see, Charlotte, I shall commence my preliminary sketches forthwith. Of course her Ladyship will be informed immediately and I have no doubt she will be truly ecstatic at the idea of not having to commission some professional master who would no doubt charge her a vast sum of money, when I myself will do it for free?”

Charlotte experienced a sudden stab of concern that such a plan may well not quite have either the total enthusiasm of the benefactor, or the actual skill level of its creator. Tact was required on both counts, indeed, remembering her husband’s recent venture of painting a chicken coop, a little more than tact was needed in somewhat of a hurry. Her dear husband had seen fit to letter “in” and “Out” over two of the apertures for poultry in the walls of the coop. Painting fences had, a spillage of green paint over the dog apart, been his only part successful venture involving a brush of late. Her agile mind suddenly saw a possible solution, or at least a mental “stay of execution”, and she gave Mr Collins a winning smile.

“What a delightful idea William. I’m sure it will be a masterpiece and her Ladyship will be delighted, but wait… why tell her Ladyship at all, dear. Why not do your painting as a complete surprise? I’m quite sure you don’t really want someone checking on progress at every turn and constantly interrupting your concentration. Imagine the pleasure you will get when unveiling your finished work as a surprise. I’m sure her Ladyship will be…amazed, and even speechless with admiration.”

Mr Collins clapped his hands, then clenched his fists in his enthusiasm. His smile was dazzling.
“By jingo, Charlotte, I believe you are right. Artists do need privacy. A surprise present for her Ladyship and secrecy to be maintained until it is revealed. Yes indeed. I will of course have to do some research and make a few sketches, but I can always say I am drawing wildlife if anyone asks me, or trees, or even mushrooms, yes mushrooms are good. Yes indeed that’s what I’ll do. I shall start in the morning. I must check my colour palette first of course; I need green for the grass and trees, and blue for the sky and a sort of brownish colour for the brickwork. Do you know, Charlotte, I can almost see the finished work in my mind’s eye, indeed I can. If it goes well I may even depict Anne De Bourgh riding past the front of the house in her little phaeton and ponies. Oh, how pleased she would be with that”

William headed off almost at a trot to begin his colourful mental journey down Linseed Oil avenue. Charlotte smiled bravely and appeared to nod enthusiastically as he waved, at least on the outside, as she sank into her chair. Inwardly she was trying desperately to find reasons for the project to be interrupted, postponed or even, praise be, abandoned completely. Perhaps a month long deluge of rain, some late hail and snow, an earthquake that opened up a large fissure and swallowed Rosings House whole even? Ah, maybe not as that would probably involve swallowing the inhabitants too and that might be considered uncharitable, even un Christian like. No, it would have to be something that, at the present time was evading her imagination and also giving her the beginnings of a faint headache. There were a few odd occasions in her normally peaceful little world when the thought of a very large glass of claret seemed slightly less sinful than others. Today may well be one of them.