الفصل الفصل 4 · “What a pity it is, Elinor,” said Marianne, “that Edward should have no

. “What a pity it is, Elinor,” said Marianne, “that Edward should have no

taste for drawing.”

“No taste for drawing!” replied Elinor, “why should you think so? He

does not draw himself, indeed, but he has great pleasure in seeing the

performances of other people, and I assure you he is by no means

deficient in natural taste, though he has not had opportunities of

improving it. Had he ever been in the way of learning, I think he would

have drawn very well. He distrusts his own judgment in such matters so

much, that he is always unwilling to give his opinion on any picture;

but he has an innate propriety and simplicity of taste, which in

general direct him perfectly right.”

Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on the subject; but

the kind of approbation which Elinor described as excited in him by the

drawings of other people, was very far from that rapturous delight,

which, in her opinion, could alone be called taste. Yet, though smiling

within herself at the mistake, she honoured her sister for that blind

partiality to Edward which produced it.

“I hope, Marianne,” continued Elinor, “you do not consider him as

deficient in general taste. Indeed, I think I may say that you cannot,

for your behaviour to him is perfectly cordial, and if _that_ were your

opinion, I am sure you could never be civil to him.”

Marianne hardly knew what to say. She would not wound the feelings of

her sister on any account, and yet to say what she did not believe was

impossible. At length she replied:

“Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in every thing

equal to your sense of his merits. I have not had so many opportunities

of estimating the minuter propensities of his mind, his inclinations

and tastes, as you have; but I have the highest opinion in the world of

his goodness and sense. I think him every thing that is worthy and

amiable.”

“I am sure,” replied Elinor, with a smile, “that his dearest friends

could not be dissatisfied with such commendation as that. I do not

perceive how you could express yourself more warmly.”

Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased.

“Of his sense and his goodness,” continued Elinor, “no one can, I

think, be in doubt, who has seen him often enough to engage him in

unreserved conversation. The excellence of his understanding and his

principles can be concealed only by that shyness which too often keeps

him silent. You know enough of him to do justice to his solid worth.

But of his minuter propensities, as you call them you have from

peculiar circumstances been kept more ignorant than myself. He and I

have been at times thrown a good deal together, while you have been

wholly engrossed on the most affectionate principle by my mother. I

have seen a great deal of him, have studied his sentiments and heard

his opinion on subjects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole, I

venture to pronounce that his mind is well-informed, enjoyment of books

exceedingly great, his imagination lively, his observation just and

correct, and his taste delicate and pure. His abilities in every

respect improve as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person. At

first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person can

hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are

uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, is

perceived. At present, I know him so well, that I think him really

handsome; or at least, almost so. What say you, Marianne?”

“I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I do not now. When

you tell me to love him as a brother, I shall no more see imperfection

in his face, than I now do in his heart.”

Elinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for the warmth she

had been betrayed into, in speaking of him. She felt that Edward stood

very high in her opinion. She believed the regard to be mutual; but she

required greater certainty of it to make Marianne’s conviction of their

attachment agreeable to her. She knew that what Marianne and her mother

conjectured one moment, they believed the next—that with them, to wish

was to hope, and to hope was to expect. She tried to explain the real

state of the case to her sister.

“I do not attempt to deny,” said she, “that I think very highly of

him—that I greatly esteem, that I like him.”

Marianne here burst forth with indignation—

“Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh! worse than

cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again, and I

will leave the room this moment.”

Elinor could not help laughing. “Excuse me,” said she; “and be assured

that I meant no offence to you, by speaking, in so quiet a way, of my

own feelings. Believe them to be stronger than I have declared; believe

them, in short, to be such as his merit, and the suspicion—the hope of

his affection for me may warrant, without imprudence or folly. But

farther than this you must _not_ believe. I am by no means assured of

his regard for me. There are moments when the extent of it seems

doubtful; and till his sentiments are fully known, you cannot wonder at

my wishing to avoid any encouragement of my own partiality, by

believing or calling it more than it is. In my heart I feel

little—scarcely any doubt of his preference. But there are other points

to be considered besides his inclination. He is very far from being

independent. What his mother really is we cannot know; but, from

Fanny’s occasional mention of her conduct and opinions, we have never

been disposed to think her amiable; and I am very much mistaken if

Edward is not himself aware that there would be many difficulties in

his way, if he were to wish to marry a woman who had not either a great

fortune or high rank.”

Marianne was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother

and herself had outstripped the truth.

“And you really are not engaged to him!” said she. “Yet it certainly

soon will happen. But two advantages will proceed from this delay. _I_

shall not lose you so soon, and Edward will have greater opportunity of

improving that natural taste for your favourite pursuit which must be

so indispensably necessary to your future felicity. Oh! if he should be

so far stimulated by your genius as to learn to draw himself, how

delightful it would be!”

Elinor had given her real opinion to her sister. She could not consider

her partiality for Edward in so prosperous a state as Marianne had

believed it. There was, at times, a want of spirits about him which, if

it did not denote indifference, spoke of something almost as

unpromising. A doubt of her regard, supposing him to feel it, need not

give him more than inquietude. It would not be likely to produce that

dejection of mind which frequently attended him. A more reasonable

cause might be found in the dependent situation which forbade the

indulgence of his affection. She knew that his mother neither behaved

to him so as to make his home comfortable at present, nor to give him

any assurance that he might form a home for himself, without strictly

attending to her views for his aggrandizement. With such a knowledge as

this, it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject. She was

far from depending on that result of his preference of her, which her

mother and sister still considered as certain. Nay, the longer they

were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and

sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more

than friendship.

But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, when perceived

by his sister, to make her uneasy, and at the same time, (which was

still more common,) to make her uncivil. She took the first opportunity

of affronting her mother-in-law on the occasion, talking to her so

expressively of her brother’s great expectations, of Mrs. Ferrars’s

resolution that both her sons should marry well, and of the danger

attending any young woman who attempted to _draw him in;_ that Mrs.

Dashwood could neither pretend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to be

calm. She gave her an answer which marked her contempt, and instantly

left the room, resolving that, whatever might be the inconvenience or

expense of so sudden a removal, her beloved Elinor should not be

exposed another week to such insinuations.

In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the

post, which contained a proposal particularly well timed. It was the

offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of

her own, a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire. The

letter was from this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit

of friendly accommodation. He understood that she was in need of a

dwelling; and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage,

he assured her that everything should be done to it which she might

think necessary, if the situation pleased her. He earnestly pressed

her, after giving the particulars of the house and garden, to come with

her daughters to Barton Park, the place of his own residence, from

whence she might judge, herself, whether Barton Cottage, for the houses

were in the same parish, could, by any alteration, be made comfortable

to her. He seemed really anxious to accommodate them and the whole of

his letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of

giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was

suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of her nearer

connections. She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry. Her

resolution was formed as she read. The situation of Barton, in a county

so far distant from Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours

before, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every

possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first

recommendation. To quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an

evil; it was an object of desire; it was a blessing, in comparison of

the misery of continuing her daughter-in-law’s guest; and to remove for

ever from that beloved place would be less painful than to inhabit or

visit it while such a woman was its mistress. She instantly wrote Sir

John Middleton her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance

of his proposal; and then hastened to show both letters to her

daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her

answer were sent.

Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle

at some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present

acquaintance. On _that_ head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose

her mother’s intention of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as

described by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so

uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either

point; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought any charm

to her fancy, though it was a removal from the vicinity of Norland

beyond her wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her mother from

sending a letter of acquiescence.