Chapter 19

by Jane Austen

　　Edward remained a week at the cottage; he was earnestlypressed by Mrs. Dashwood to stay longer; but, as if hewere bent only on self-mortification, he seemed resolvedto be gone when his enjoyment among his friends was atthe height. His spirits, during the last two or three days,though still very unequal, were greatly improved--he grewmore and more partial to the house and environs--neverspoke of going away without a sigh--declared his timeto be wholly disengaged--even doubted to what place heshould go when he left them--but still, go he must.Never had any week passed so quickly--he could hardlybelieve it to be gone. He said so repeatedly; other thingshe said too, which marked the turn of his feelings and gavethe 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 spiteof their wishes and his own, and without any restrainton his time.Elinor placed all that was astonishing in thisway of acting to his mother's account; and it washappy for her that he had a mother whose characterwas so imperfectly known to her, as to be the generalexcuse for every thing strange on the part of her son.Disappointed, however, and vexed as she was, and sometimesdispleased with his uncertain behaviour to herself,she was very well disposed on the whole to regard his actionswith 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 usuallyattributed to his want of independence, and his betterknowledge of Mrs. Ferrars's disposition and designs.The shortness of his visit, the steadiness of his purposein leaving them, originated in the same fettered inclination,the same inevitable necessity of temporizing with his mother.The old well-established grievance of duty against will,parent against child, was the cause of all. She would havebeen glad to know when these difficulties were to cease,this opposition was to yield,--when Mrs. Ferrars wouldbe reformed, and her son be at liberty to be happy.But from such vain wishes she was forced to turn for comfortto the renewal of her confidence in Edward's affection,to the remembrance of every mark of regard in look or wordwhich fell from him while at Barton, and above allto that flattering proof of it which he constantly woreround his finger."I think, Edward," said Mrs. Dashwood, as they wereat breakfast the last morning, "you would be a happier manif you had any profession to engage your time and givean interest to your plans and actions. Some inconvenienceto your friends, indeed, might result from it--youwould not be able to give them so much of your time.But (with a smile) you would be materially benefitedin one particular at least--you would know where to gowhen you left them.""I do assure you," he replied, "that I have longthought on this point, as you think now. It has been,and is, and probably will always be a heavy misfortuneto me, that I have had no necessary business to engage me,no profession to give me employment, or afford me anything 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 ourchoice 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 dealtoo smart for me. The law was allowed to be genteelenough; 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 hadno inclination for the law, even in this less abstrusestudy of it, which my family approved. As for the navy,it had fashion on its side, but I was too old when thesubject was first started to enter it--and, at length,as there was no necessity for my having any professionat all, as I might be as dashing and expensive withouta red coat on my back as with one, idleness was pronouncedon the whole to be most advantageous and honourable,and a young man of eighteen is not in general so earnestlybent on being busy as to resist the solicitations of hisfriends to do nothing. I was therefore entered at Oxfordand have been properly idle ever since.""The consequence of which, I suppose, will be,"said Mrs. Dashwood, "since leisure has not promotedyour own happiness, that your sons will be brought upto as many pursuits, employments, professions, and tradesas 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 immediatewant 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 friendswill be felt by every body at times, whatever be theireducation or state. Know your own happiness. You wantnothing 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 toprevent your whole youth from being wasted in discontent.How much may not a few months do?""I think," replied Edward, "that I may defy manymonths to produce any good to me."This desponding turn of mind, though it could notbe communicated to Mrs. Dashwood, gave additional painto them all in the parting, which shortly took place,and left an uncomfortable impression on Elinor'sfeelings especially, which required some trouble and timeto subdue. But as it was her determination to subdue it,and to prevent herself from appearing to suffer more thanwhat all her family suffered on his going away, she didnot 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 meanswere as different as their objects, and equally suitedto the advancement of each.Elinor sat down to her drawing-table as soon as hewas 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 thegeneral concerns of the family, and if, by this conduct,she did not lessen her own grief, it was at least preventedfrom unnecessary increase, and her mother and sisterswere spared much solicitude on her account.Such behaviour as this, so exactly the reverseof her own, appeared no more meritorious to Marianne,than her own had seemed faulty to her. The businessof self-command she settled very easily;--with strongaffections it was impossible, with calm ones it couldhave 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 spiteof 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 indulge meditation,Elinor found every day afforded her leisure enoughto think of Edward, and of Edward's behaviour, in everypossible variety which the different state of her spiritsat different times could produce,--with tenderness,pity, approbation, censure, and doubt. There were momentsin abundance, when, if not by the absence of her motherand sisters, at least by the nature of their employments,conversation was forbidden among them, and every effectof solitude was produced. Her mind was inevitablyat 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 engrossher memory, her reflection, and her fancy.From a reverie of this kind, as she sat at herdrawing-table, she was roused one morning, soon afterEdward's leaving them, by the arrival of company.She happened to be quite alone. The closing of thelittle gate, at the entrance of the green court in frontof the house, drew her eyes to the window, and she sawa large party walking up to the door. Amongst themwere Sir John and Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings,but there were two others, a gentleman and lady, who werequite unknown to her. She was sitting near the window,and as soon as Sir John perceived her, he left the restof the party to the ceremony of knocking at the door,and stepping across the turf, obliged her to open thecasement to speak to him, though the space was so shortbetween the door and the window, as to make it hardlypossible 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 herif you look this way."As Elinor was certain of seeing her in a coupleof minutes, without taking that liberty, she beggedto be excused."Where is Marianne? Has she run away because weare come? I see her instrument is open.""She is walking, I believe."They were now joined by Mrs. Jennings, who had notpatience enough to wait till the door was opened beforeshe 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! youwill 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 hearda 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 ColonelBrandon come back again; so I said to Sir John, I do thinkI hear a carriage; perhaps it is Colonel Brandon comeback again"--Elinor was obliged to turn from her, in the middleof her story, to receive the rest of the party; LadyMiddleton introduced the two strangers; Mrs. Dashwoodand Margaret came down stairs at the same time, and theyall sat down to look at one another, while Mrs. Jenningscontinued her story as she walked through the passageinto the parlour, attended by Sir John.Mrs. Palmer was several years younger than LadyMiddleton, 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 couldpossibly be. Her manners were by no means so elegantas 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 sixand twenty, with an air of more fashion and sense thanhis 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 itas long as he staid.Mrs. Palmer, on the contrary, who was strongly endowedby nature with a turn for being uniformly civil and happy,was hardly seated before her admiration of the parlourand every thing in it burst forth."Well! what a delightful room this is! I neversaw anything so charming! Only think, Mamma, how itis improved since I was here last! I always thought itsuch 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 sucha house for myself! Should not you, Mr. Palmer?"Mr. Palmer made her no answer, and did not even raisehis 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 hadnever 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 meantime, talked on as loudas she could, and continued her account of their surprise,the evening before, on seeing their friends, withoutceasing till every thing was told. Mrs. Palmer laughedheartily at the recollection of their astonishment,and every body agreed, two or three times over, that ithad 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 heardby no one else, though they were seated on different sidesof the room; "but, however, I can't help wishing they hadnot travelled quite so fast, nor made such a long journeyof it, for they came all round by London upon accountof some business, for you know (nodding significantly andpointing 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 seeyou all!"Mrs. Palmer laughed, and said it would not do herany 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 therewas 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 upon her entering the room, stared at her some minutes,and then returned to his newspaper. Mrs. Palmer's eyewas 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. Palmerrose also, laid down the newspaper, stretched himselfand looked at them all around."My love, have you been asleep?" said his wife, laughing.He made her no answer; and only observed, after againexamining 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 tospend the next day at the park. Mrs. Dashwood, who didnot chuse to dine with them oftener than they dinedat the cottage, absolutely refused on her own account;her daughters might do as they pleased. But they had nocuriosity 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 shouldbe 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, allseemed equally anxious to avoid a family party; and the youngladies were obliged to yield."Why should they ask us?" said Marianne, as soon as theywere gone. "The rent of this cottage is said to be low;but we have it on very hard terms, if we are to dineat 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 bythose which we received from them a few weeks ago.The alteration is not in them, if their parties are growntedious and dull. We must look for the change elsewhere."