الفصل الفصل 13 · 第13章

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday have now

passed in review before the reader; the events of each day, its hopes

and fears, mortifications and pleasures, have been separately stated,

and the pangs of Sunday only now remain to be described, and close the

week. The Clifton scheme had been deferred, not relinquished, and on

the afternoon’s Crescent of this day, it was brought forward again. In

a private consultation between Isabella and James, the former of whom

had particularly set her heart upon going, and the latter no less

anxiously placed his upon pleasing her, it was agreed that, provided

the weather were fair, the party should take place on the following

morning; and they were to set off very early, in order to be at home in

good time. The affair thus determined, and Thorpe’s approbation

secured, Catherine only remained to be apprised of it. She had left

them for a few minutes to speak to Miss Tilney. In that interval the

plan was completed, and as soon as she came again, her agreement was

demanded; but instead of the gay acquiescence expected by Isabella,

Catherine looked grave, was very sorry, but could not go. The

engagement which ought to have kept her from joining in the former

attempt would make it impossible for her to accompany them now. She had

that moment settled with Miss Tilney to take their proposed walk

to-morrow; it was quite determined, and she would not, upon any account,

retract. But that she _must_ and _should_ retract, was instantly the

eager cry of both the Thorpes; they must go to Clifton to-morrow, they

would not go without her, it would be nothing to put off a mere walk

for one day longer, and they would not hear of a refusal. Catherine was

distressed, but not subdued. “Do not urge me, Isabella. I am engaged to

Miss Tilney. I cannot go.” This availed nothing. The same arguments

assailed her again; she must go, she should go, and they would not hear

of a refusal. “It would be so easy to tell Miss Tilney that you had

just been reminded of a prior engagement, and must only beg to put off

the walk till Tuesday.”

“No, it would not be easy. I could not do it. There has been no prior

engagement.” But Isabella became only more and more urgent, calling on

her in the most affectionate manner, addressing her by the most

endearing names. She was sure her dearest, sweetest Catherine would not

seriously refuse such a trifling request to a friend who loved her so

dearly. She knew her beloved Catherine to have so feeling a heart, so

sweet a temper, to be so easily persuaded by those she loved. But all

in vain; Catherine felt herself to be in the right, and though pained

by such tender, such flattering supplication, could not allow it to

influence her. Isabella then tried another method. She reproached her

with having more affection for Miss Tilney, though she had known her so

little a while, than for her best and oldest friends, with being grown

cold and indifferent, in short, towards herself. “I cannot help being

jealous, Catherine, when I see myself slighted for strangers, I, who

love you so excessively! when once my affections are placed, it is not

in the power of anything to change them. But I believe my feelings are

stronger than anybody’s; I am sure they are too strong for my own

peace; and to see myself supplanted in your friendship by strangers

does cut me to the quick, I own. These Tilneys seem to swallow up

everything else.”

Catherine thought this reproach equally strange and unkind. Was it the

part of a friend thus to expose her feelings to the notice of others?

Isabella appeared to her ungenerous and selfish, regardless of

everything but her own gratification. These painful ideas crossed her

mind, though she said nothing. Isabella, in the meanwhile, had applied

her handkerchief to her eyes; and Morland, miserable at such a sight,

could not help saying, “Nay, Catherine. I think you cannot stand out

any longer now. The sacrifice is not much; and to oblige such a

friend—I shall think you quite unkind, if you still refuse.”

This was the first time of her brother’s openly siding against her, and

anxious to avoid his displeasure, she proposed a compromise. If they

would only put off their scheme till Tuesday, which they might easily

do, as it depended only on themselves, she could go with them, and

everybody might then be satisfied. But “No, no, no!” was the immediate

answer; “that could not be, for Thorpe did not know that he might not

go to town on Tuesday.” Catherine was sorry, but could do no more; and

a short silence ensued, which was broken by Isabella, who in a voice of

cold resentment said, “Very well, then there is an end of the party. If

Catherine does not go, I cannot. I cannot be the only woman. I would

not, upon any account in the world, do so improper a thing.”

“Catherine, you must go,” said James.

“But why cannot Mr. Thorpe drive one of his other sisters? I dare say

either of them would like to go.”

“Thank ye,” cried Thorpe, “but I did not come to Bath to drive my

sisters about, and look like a fool. No, if you do not go, d—— me if I

do. I only go for the sake of driving you.”

“That is a compliment which gives me no pleasure.” But her words were

lost on Thorpe, who had turned abruptly away.

The three others still continued together, walking in a most

uncomfortable manner to poor Catherine; sometimes not a word was said,

sometimes she was again attacked with supplications or reproaches, and

her arm was still linked within Isabella’s, though their hearts were at

war. At one moment she was softened, at another irritated; always

distressed, but always steady.

“I did not think you had been so obstinate, Catherine,” said James;

“you were not used to be so hard to persuade; you once were the

kindest, best-tempered of my sisters.”

“I hope I am not less so now,” she replied, very feelingly; “but indeed

I cannot go. If I am wrong, I am doing what I believe to be right.”

“I suspect,” said Isabella, in a low voice, “there is no great

struggle.”

Catherine’s heart swelled; she drew away her arm, and Isabella made no

opposition. Thus passed a long ten minutes, till they were again joined

by Thorpe, who, coming to them with a gayer look, said, “Well, I have

settled the matter, and now we may all go to-morrow with a safe

conscience. I have been to Miss Tilney, and made your excuses.”

“You have not!” cried Catherine.

“I have, upon my soul. Left her this moment. Told her you had sent me

to say that, having just recollected a prior engagement of going to

Clifton with us to-morrow, you could not have the pleasure of walking

with her till Tuesday. She said very well, Tuesday was just as

convenient to her; so there is an end of all our difficulties. A pretty

good thought of mine—hey?”

Isabella’s countenance was once more all smiles and good humour, and

James too looked happy again.

“A most heavenly thought indeed! now, my sweet Catherine, all our

distresses are over; you are honourably acquitted, and we shall have a

most delightful party.”

“This will not do,” said Catherine; “I cannot submit to this. I must

run after Miss Tilney directly and set her right.”

Isabella, however, caught hold of one hand, Thorpe of the other, and

remonstrances poured in from all three. Even James was quite angry.

When everything was settled, when Miss Tilney herself said that Tuesday

would suit her as well, it was quite ridiculous, quite absurd, to make

any further objection.

“I do not care. Mr. Thorpe had no business to invent any such message.

If I had thought it right to put it off, I could have spoken to Miss

Tilney myself. This is only doing it in a ruder way; and how do I know

that Mr. Thorpe has—He may be mistaken again perhaps; he led me into

one act of rudeness by his mistake on Friday. Let me go, Mr. Thorpe;

Isabella, do not hold me.”

Thorpe told her it would be in vain to go after the Tilneys; they were

turning the corner into Brock Street, when he had overtaken them, and

were at home by this time.

“Then I will go after them,” said Catherine; “wherever they are I will

go after them. It does not signify talking. If I could not be persuaded

into doing what I thought wrong, I never will be tricked into it.” And

with these words she broke away and hurried off. Thorpe would have

darted after her, but Morland withheld him. “Let her go, let her go, if

she will go.”

“She is as obstinate as—”

Thorpe never finished the simile, for it could hardly have been a

proper one.

Away walked Catherine in great agitation, as fast as the crowd would

permit her, fearful of being pursued, yet determined to persevere. As

she walked, she reflected on what had passed. It was painful to her to

disappoint and displease them, particularly to displease her brother;

but she could not repent her resistance. Setting her own inclination

apart, to have failed a second time in her engagement to Miss Tilney,

to have retracted a promise voluntarily made only five minutes before,

and on a false pretence too, must have been wrong. She had not been

withstanding them on selfish principles alone, she had not consulted

merely her own gratification; _that_ might have been ensured in some

degree by the excursion itself, by seeing Blaize Castle; no, she had

attended to what was due to others, and to her own character in their

opinion. Her conviction of being right, however, was not enough to

restore her composure; till she had spoken to Miss Tilney she could not

be at ease; and quickening her pace when she got clear of the Crescent,

she almost ran over the remaining ground till she gained the top of

Milsom Street. So rapid had been her movements that in spite of the

Tilneys’ advantage in the outset, they were but just turning into their

lodgings as she came within view of them; and the servant still

remaining at the open door, she used only the ceremony of saying that

she must speak with Miss Tilney that moment, and hurrying by him

proceeded upstairs. Then, opening the first door before her, which

happened to be the right, she immediately found herself in the

drawing-room with General Tilney, his son, and daughter. Her

explanation, defective only in being—from her irritation of nerves and

shortness of breath—no explanation at all, was instantly given. “I am

come in a great hurry—It was all a mistake—I never promised to go—I

told them from the first I could not go.—I ran away in a great hurry to

explain it.—I did not care what you thought of me.—I would not stay for

the servant.”

The business, however, though not perfectly elucidated by this speech,

soon ceased to be a puzzle. Catherine found that John Thorpe _had_

given the message; and Miss Tilney had no scruple in owning herself

greatly surprised by it. But whether her brother had still exceeded her

in resentment, Catherine, though she instinctively addressed herself as

much to one as to the other in her vindication, had no means of

knowing. Whatever might have been felt before her arrival, her eager

declarations immediately made every look and sentence as friendly as

she could desire.

The affair thus happily settled, she was introduced by Miss Tilney to

her father, and received by him with such ready, such solicitous

politeness as recalled Thorpe’s information to her mind, and made her

think with pleasure that he might be sometimes depended on. To such

anxious attention was the General’s civility carried, that not aware of

her extraordinary swiftness in entering the house, he was quite angry

with the servant whose neglect had reduced her to open the door of the

apartment herself. “What did William mean by it? He should make a point

of inquiring into the matter.” And if Catherine had not most warmly

asserted his innocence, it seemed likely that William would lose the

favour of his master forever, if not his place, by her rapidity.

After sitting with them a quarter of an hour, she rose to take leave,

and was then most agreeably surprised by General Tilney’s asking her if

she would do his daughter the honour of dining and spending the rest of

the day with her. Miss Tilney added her own wishes. Catherine was

greatly obliged; but it was quite out of her power. Mr. and Mrs. Allen

would expect her back every moment. The General declared he could say

no more; the claims of Mr. and Mrs. Allen were not to be superseded;

but on some other day he trusted, when longer notice could be given,

they would not refuse to spare her to her friend. “Oh, no; Catherine

was sure they would not have the least objection, and she should have

great pleasure in coming.” The General attended her himself to the

street-door, saying everything gallant as they went downstairs,

admiring the elasticity of her walk, which corresponded exactly with

the spirit of her dancing, and making her one of the most graceful bows

she had ever beheld, when they parted.

Catherine, delighted by all that had passed, proceeded gaily to

Pulteney Street, walking, as she concluded, with great elasticity,

though she had never thought of it before. She reached home without

seeing anything more of the offended party; and now that she had been

triumphant throughout, had carried her point, and was secure of her

walk, she began (as the flutter of her spirits subsided) to doubt

whether she had been perfectly right. A sacrifice was always noble; and

if she had given way to their entreaties, she should have been spared

the distressing idea of a friend displeased, a brother angry, and a

scheme of great happiness to both destroyed, perhaps through her means.

To ease her mind, and ascertain by the opinion of an unprejudiced

person what her own conduct had really been, she took occasion to

mention before Mr. Allen the half-settled scheme of her brother and the

Thorpes for the following day. Mr. Allen caught at it directly. “Well,”

said he, “and do you think of going too?”

“No; I had just engaged myself to walk with Miss Tilney before they

told me of it; and therefore you know I could not go with them, could

I?”

“No, certainly not; and I am glad you do not think of it. These schemes

are not at all the thing. Young men and women driving about the country

in open carriages! now and then it is very well; but going to inns and

public places together! it is not right; and I wonder Mrs. Thorpe

should allow it. I am glad you do not think of going; I am sure Mrs.

Morland would not be pleased. Mrs. Allen, are not you of my way of

thinking? Do not you think these kind of projects objectionable?”

“Yes, very much so indeed. Open carriages are nasty things. A clean

gown is not five minutes’ wear in them. You are splashed getting in and

getting out; and the wind takes your hair and your bonnet in every

direction. I hate an open carriage myself.”

“I know you do; but that is not the question. Do not you think it has

an odd appearance, if young ladies are frequently driven about in them

by young men, to whom they are not even related?”

“Yes, my dear, a very odd appearance indeed. I cannot bear to see it.”

“Dear madam,” cried Catherine, “then why did not you tell me so before?

I am sure if I had known it to be improper, I would not have gone with

Mr. Thorpe at all; but I always hoped you would tell me, if you thought

I was doing wrong.”

“And so I should, my dear, you may depend on it; for as I told Mrs.

Morland at parting, I would always do the best for you in my power. But

one must not be over particular. Young people _will_ be young people,

as your good mother says herself. You know I wanted you, when we first

came, not to buy that sprigged muslin, but you would. Young people do

not like to be always thwarted.”

“But this was something of real consequence; and I do not think you

would have found me hard to persuade.”

“As far as it has gone hitherto, there is no harm done,” said Mr.

Allen; “and I would only advise you, my dear, not to go out with Mr.

Thorpe any more.”

“That is just what I was going to say,” added his wife.

Catherine, relieved for herself, felt uneasy for Isabella, and after a

moment’s thought, asked Mr. Allen whether it would not be both proper

and kind in her to write to Miss Thorpe, and explain the indecorum of

which she must be as insensible as herself; for she considered that

Isabella might otherwise perhaps be going to Clifton the next day, in

spite of what had passed. Mr. Allen, however, discouraged her from

doing any such thing. “You had better leave her alone, my dear; she is

old enough to know what she is about, and if not, has a mother to

advise her. Mrs. Thorpe is too indulgent beyond a doubt; but, however,

you had better not interfere. She and your brother choose to go, and

you will be only getting ill will.”

Catherine submitted, and though sorry to think that Isabella should be

doing wrong, felt greatly relieved by Mr. Allen’s approbation of her

own conduct, and truly rejoiced to be preserved by his advice from the

danger of falling into such an error herself. Her escape from being one

of the party to Clifton was now an escape indeed; for what would the

Tilneys have thought of her, if she had broken her promise to them in

order to do what was wrong in itself, if she had been guilty of one

breach of propriety, only to enable her to be guilty of another?