CHAPTER XIX

dward remained a week at the cottage; he was earnestly

pressed by Mrs. Dashwood to stay longer; but, as if he

were bent only on self-mortification, he seemed resolved

to be gone when his enjoyment among his friends was at the

height. His spirits, during the last two or three days, though still

very unequal, were greatly improved―he grew more and more

partial to the house and environs―never spoke of going away

without a sigh―declared his time to be wholly disengaged―even

doubted to what place he should go when he left them―but still,

go he must. Never had any week passed so quickly―he could

hardly believe it to be gone. He said so repeatedly; other things he

said too, which marked the turn of his feelings and gave the lie to

his actions. He had no pleasure at Norland; he detested being in

town; but either to Norland or London, he must go. He valued

their kindness beyond any thing, and his greatest happiness was

in being with them. Yet, he must leave them at the end of a week,

in spite of their wishes and his own, and without any restraint on

his time.

Elinor placed all that was astonishing in this way of acting to

his mother's account; and it was happy for her that he had a

mother whose character was so imperfectly known to her, as to be

the general excuse for every thing strange on the part of her son.

Disappointed, however, and vexed as she was, and sometimes

displeased with his uncertain be haviour to herself, she was very

well disposed on the whole to regard his actions with all the

candid allowances and generous qualifications, which had been

rather more painfully extorted from her, for Willoughby's service,

by her mother. His want of spirits, of openness, and of consistency,

were most usually attributed to his want of independence, and his

better knowledge of Mrs. Ferrars's disposition and designs. The

shortness of his visit, the steadiness of his purpose in leaving

them, originated in the same fettered inclination, the same

inevitable necessity of temporising with his mother. The old well-

established grievance of duty against will, parent against child,

was the cause of all. She would have been glad to know when

these difficulties were to cease, this opposition was to yield,―

when Mrs. Ferrars would be reformed, and her son be at liberty to

be happy. But from such vain wishes she was forced to turn for

comfort to the renewal of her confidence in Edward's affection, to

the remembrance of every mark of regard in look or word which

fell from him while at Barton, and above all to that flattering proof

of it which he constantly wore round his finger.

"I think, Edward," said Mrs. Dashwood, as they were at

breakfast the last morning, "you would be a happier man if you

had any profession to engage your time and give an interest to

your plans and actions. Some inconvenience to your friends,

indeed, might result from it―you would not be able to give them

so much of your time. But (with a smile) you would be materially

benefited in one particular at least―you would know where to go

when you left them."

"I do assure you," he replied, "that I have long thought on this

point, as you think now. It has been, and is, and probably will

always be a heavy misfortune to me, that I have had no necessary

business to engage me, no profession to give me employment, or

afford me any thing like independence. But unfortunately my own

nicety, and the nicety of my friends, have made me what I am, an

idle, helpless being. We never could agree in our choice of a

profession. I always preferred the church, as I still do. But that

was not smart enough for my family. They recommended the

army. That was a great deal too smart for me. The law was allowed

to be genteel enough; many young men, who had chambers in the

Temple, made a very good appearance in the first circles, and

drove about town in very knowing gigs. But I had no inclination

for the law, even in this less abstruse study of it, which my family

approved. As for the navy, it had fashion on its side, but I was too

old when the subject was first started to enter it―and, at length, as

there was no necessity for my having any profession at all, as I

might be as dashing and expensive without a red coat on my back

as with one, idleness was pronounced on the whole to be most

advantageous and honourable, and a young man of eighteen is not

in general so earnestly bent on being busy as to resist the

solicitations of his friends to do nothing. I was therefore entered at

Oxford and have been properly idle ever since."

"The consequence of which, I suppose, will be," said Mrs.

Dashwood, "since leisure has not promoted your own happiness,

that your sons will be brought up to as many pursuits,

employments, professions, and trades as Columella's."

"They will be brought up," said he, in a serious accent, "to be as

unlike myself as is possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in

every thing."

"Come, come; this is all an effusion of immediate want of spirits,

Edward. You are in a melancholy humour, and fancy that any one

unlike yourself must be happy. But remember that the pain of

parting from friends will be felt by every body at times, whatever

be their education or state. Know your own happiness. You want

nothing but patience―or give it a more fascinating name, call it

hope. Your mother will secure to you, in time, that independence

you are so anxious for; it is her duty, and it will, it must ere long

become her happiness to prevent your whole youth from being

wasted in discontent. How much may not a few months do?"

"I think," replied Edward, "that I may defy many months to

produce any good to me."

This desponding turn of mind, though it could not be

communicated to Mrs. Dashwood, gave additional pain to them all

in the parting, which shortly took place, and left an uncomfortable

impression on Elinor's feelings especially, which required some

trouble and time to subdue. But as it was her determination to

subdue it, and to prevent herself from appearing to suffer more

than what all her family suffered on his going away, she did not

adopt the method so judiciously employed by Marianne, on a

similar occasion, to augment and fix her sorrow, by seeking

silence, solitude and idleness. Their means were as different as

their objects, and equally suited to the advancement of each.

Elinor sat down to her drawing-table as soon as he was out of

the house, busily employed herself the whole day, neither sought

nor avoided the mention of his name, appeared to interest herself

almost as much as ever in the general concerns of the family, and

if, by this conduct, she did not lessen her own grief, it was at least

prevented from unnecessary increase, and her mother and sisters

were spared much solicitude on her account.

Such behaviour as this, so exactly the reverse of her own,

appeared no more meritorious to Marianne, than her own had

seemed faulty to her. The business of self-command she settled

very easily;―with strong affections it was impossible, with calm

ones it could have no merit. That her sister's affections were calm,

she dared not deny, though she blushed to acknowledge it; and of

the strength of her own, she gave a very striking proof, by still

loving and respecting that sister, in spite of this mortifying

conviction.

Without shutting herself up from her family, or leaving the

house in determined solitude to avoid them, or lying awake the

whole night to indulgemeditation, Elinor found every day

afforded her leisure enough to think of Edward, and of Edward's

behaviour, in every possible variety which the different state of

her spirits at different times could produce,―with tenderness,

pity, approbation, censure, and doubt. There were moments in

abundance, when, if not by the absence of her mother and sisters,

at least by the nature of their employments, conversation was

forbidden among them, and every effect of solitude was produced.

Her mind was inevitably at liberty; her thoughts could not be

chained elsewhere; and the past and the future, on a subject so

interesting, must be before her, must force her attention, and

engross her memory, her reflection, and her fancy.

From a reverie of this kind, as she sat at her drawing-table, she

was roused one morning, soon after Edward's leaving them, by the

arrival of company. She happened to be quite alone. The closing of

the little gate, at the entrance of the green court in front of the

house, drew her eyes to the window, and she saw a large party

walking up to the door. Amongst them were Sir John and Lady

Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, but there were two others, a

gentleman and lady, who were quite unknown to her. She was

sitting near the window, and as soon as Sir John perceived her, he

left the rest of the party to the ceremony of knocking at the door,

and stepping across the turf, obliged her to open the casement to

speak to him, though the space was so short between the door and

the window, as to make it hardly possible to speak at one without

being heard at the other.

"Well," said he, "we have brought you some strangers. How do

you like them?"

"Hush! they will hear you."

"Never mind if they do. It is only the Palmers. Charlotte is very

pretty, I can tell you. You may see her if you look this way."

As Elinor was certain of seeing her in a couple of minutes,

without taking that liberty, she begged to be excused.

"Where is Marianne? Has she run away because we are come? I

see her instrument is open."

"She is walking, I believe."

They were now joined by Mrs. Jennings, who had not patience

enough to wait till the door was opened before she told her story.

She came hallooing to the window, "How do you do, my dear?

How does Mrs. Dashwood do? And where are your sisters? What!

all alone! you will be glad of a little company to sit with you. I have

brought my other son and daughter to see you. Only think of their

coming so suddenly! I thought I heard a carriage last night, while

we were drinking our tea, but it never entered my head that it

could be them. I thought of nothing but whether it might not be

Colonel Brandon come back again; so I said to Sir John, I do think

I hear a carriage; perhaps it is Colonel Brandon come back

again"―

Elinor was obliged to turn from her, in the middle of her story,

to receive the rest of the party; Lady Middleton introduced the two

strangers; Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret came down stairs at the

same time, and they all sat down to look at one another, while Mrs.

Jennings continued her story as she walked through the passage

into the parlour, attended by Sir John.

Mrs. Palmer was several years younger than Lady Middleton,

and totally unlike her in every respect. She was short and plump,

had a very pretty face, and the finest expression of good humour

in it that could possibly be. Her manners were by no means so

elegant as her sister's, but they were much more prepossessing.

She came in with a smile, smiled all the time of her visit, except

when she laughed, and smiled when she went away. Her husband

was a grave looking young man of five or six and twenty, with an

air of more fashion and sense than his wife, but of less willingness

to please or be pleased. He entered the room with a look of self-

consequence, slightly bowed to the ladies, without speaking a

word, and, after briefly surveying them and their apartments, took

up a newspaper from the table, and continued to read it as long as

he staid.

Mrs. Palmer, on the contrary, who was strongly endowed by

nature with a turn for being uniformly civil and happy, was hardly

seated before her admiration of the parlour and every thing in it

burst forth.

"Well! what a delightful room this is! I never saw anything so

charming! Only think, mama, how it is improved since I was here

last! I always thought it such a sweet place, ma'am! (turning to

Mrs. Dashwood) but you have made it so charming! Only look,

sister, how delightful every thing is! How I should like such a

house for myself! Should not you, Mr. Palmer?"

Mr. Palmer made her no answer, and did not even raise his

eyes from the newspaper.

"Mr. Palmer does not hear me," said she, laughing, "he never

does sometimes. It is so ridiculous!"

This was quite a new idea to Mrs. Dashwood; she had never

been used to find wit in the inattention of any one, and could not

help looking with surprise at them both.

Mrs. Jennings, in the mean time, talked on as loud as she could,

and continued her account of their surprise, the evening before,

on seeing their friends, without ceasing till every thing was told.

Mrs. Palmer laughed heartily at the recollection of their

astonishment, and every body agreed, two or three times over,

that it had been quite an agreeable surprise.

"You may believe how glad we all were to see them," added

Mrs. Jennings, leaning forward towards Elinor, and speaking in a

low voice as if she meant to be heard by no one else, though they

were seated on different sides of the room; "but, however, I can't

help wishing they had not travelled quite so fast, nor made such a

long journey of it, for they came all round by London upon

account of some business, for you know (nodding significantly and

pointing to her daughter) it was wrong in her situation. I wanted

her to stay at home and rest this morning, but she would come

with us; she longed so much to see you all!"

Mrs. Palmer laughed, and said it would not do her any harm.

"She expects to be confined in February," continued Mrs.

Jennings.

Lady Middleton could no longer endure such a conversation,

and therefore exerted herself to ask Mr. Palmer if there was any

news in the paper.

"No, none at all," he replied, and read on.

"Here comes Marianne," cried Sir John. "Now, Palmer, you

shall see a monstrous pretty girl."

He immediately went into the passage, opened the front door,

and ushered her in himself. Mrs. Jennings asked her, as soon as

she appeared, if she had not been to Allenham; and Mrs. Palmer

laughed so heartily at the question, as to show she understood it.

Mr. Palmer looked up on her entering the room, stared at her

some minutes, and then returned to his newspaper. Mrs. Palmer's

eye was now caught by the drawings which hung round the room.

She got up to examine them.

"Oh! dear, how beautiful these are! Well! how delightful! Do but

look, mama, how sweet! I declare they are quite charming; I could

look at them for ever." And then sitting down again, she very soon

forgot that there were any such things in the room.

When Lady Middleton rose to go away, Mr. Palmer rose also,

laid down the newspaper, stretched himself and looked at them all

round.

"My love, have you been asleep?" said his wife, laughing.

He made her no answer; and only observed, after again

examining the room, that it was very low pitched, and that the

ceiling was crooked. He then made his bow, and departed with the

rest.

Sir John had been very urgent with them all to spend the next

day at the park. Mrs. Dashwood, who did not chuse to dine with

them oftener than they dined at the cottage, absolutely refused on

her own account; her daughters might do as they pleased. But

they had no curiosity to see how Mr. and Mrs. Palmer ate their

dinner, and no expectation of pleasure from them in any other

way. They attempted, therefore, likewise to excuse themselves; the

weather was uncertain, and not likely to be good. But Sir John

would not be satisfied―the carriage should be sent for them and

they must come. Lady Middleton too, though she did not press

their mother, pressed them. Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Palmer joined

their entreaties, all seemed equally anxious to avoid a family party;

and the young ladies were obliged to yield.

"Why should they ask us?" said Marianne, as soon as they were

gone. "The rent of this cottage is said to be low; but we have it on

very hard terms, if we are to dine at the park whenever any one is

staying either with them, or with us."

"They mean no less to be civil and kind to us now," said Elinor,

"by these frequent invitations, than by those which we received

from them a few weeks ago. The alteration is not in them, if their

parties are grown tedious and dull. We must look for the change

elsewhere."
关键字:理智与情感
生词表: