Bab Bab 36 · 第36章

“I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son to you,”

said Mr. Weston.

Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compliment intended

her by such a hope, smiled most graciously.

“You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I presume,” he

continued—“and know him to be my son, though he does not bear my name.”

“Oh! yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance. I am sure Mr.

Elton will lose no time in calling on him; and we shall both have great

pleasure in seeing him at the Vicarage.”

“You are very obliging.—Frank will be extremely happy, I am sure.— He

is to be in town next week, if not sooner. We have notice of it in a

letter to-day. I met the letters in my way this morning, and seeing my

son’s hand, presumed to open it—though it was not directed to me—it was

to Mrs. Weston. She is his principal correspondent, I assure you. I

hardly ever get a letter.”

“And so you absolutely opened what was directed to her! Oh! Mr.

Weston—(laughing affectedly) I must protest against that.—A most

dangerous precedent indeed!—I beg you will not let your neighbours

follow your example.—Upon my word, if this is what I am to expect, we

married women must begin to exert ourselves!—Oh! Mr. Weston, I could

not have believed it of you!”

“Aye, we men are sad fellows. You must take care of yourself, Mrs.

Elton.—This letter tells us—it is a short letter—written in a hurry,

merely to give us notice—it tells us that they are all coming up to

town directly, on Mrs. Churchill’s account—she has not been well the

whole winter, and thinks Enscombe too cold for her—so they are all to

move southward without loss of time.”

“Indeed!—from Yorkshire, I think. Enscombe is in Yorkshire?”

“Yes, they are about one hundred and ninety miles from London, a

considerable journey.”

“Yes, upon my word, very considerable. Sixty-five miles farther than

from Maple Grove to London. But what is distance, Mr. Weston, to people

of large fortune?—You would be amazed to hear how my brother, Mr.

Suckling, sometimes flies about. You will hardly believe me—but twice

in one week he and Mr. Bragge went to London and back again with four

horses.”

“The evil of the distance from Enscombe,” said Mr. Weston, “is, that

Mrs. Churchill, _as_ _we_ _understand_, has not been able to leave the

sofa for a week together. In Frank’s last letter she complained, he

said, of being too weak to get into her conservatory without having

both his arm and his uncle’s! This, you know, speaks a great degree of

weakness—but now she is so impatient to be in town, that she means to

sleep only two nights on the road.—So Frank writes word. Certainly,

delicate ladies have very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton. You

must grant me that.”

“No, indeed, I shall grant you nothing. I always take the part of my

own sex. I do indeed. I give you notice—You will find me a formidable

antagonist on that point. I always stand up for women—and I assure you,

if you knew how Selina feels with respect to sleeping at an inn, you

would not wonder at Mrs. Churchill’s making incredible exertions to

avoid it. Selina says it is quite horror to her—and I believe I have

caught a little of her nicety. She always travels with her own sheets;

an excellent precaution. Does Mrs. Churchill do the same?”

“Depend upon it, Mrs. Churchill does every thing that any other fine

lady ever did. Mrs. Churchill will not be second to any lady in the

land for”—

Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with,

“Oh! Mr. Weston, do not mistake me. Selina is no fine lady, I assure

you. Do not run away with such an idea.”

“Is not she? Then she is no rule for Mrs. Churchill, who is as thorough

a fine lady as any body ever beheld.”

Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong in disclaiming so warmly.

It was by no means her object to have it believed that her sister was

_not_ a fine lady; perhaps there was want of spirit in the pretence of

it;—and she was considering in what way she had best retract, when Mr.

Weston went on.

“Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you may suspect—but

this is quite between ourselves. She is very fond of Frank, and

therefore I would not speak ill of her. Besides, she is out of health

now; but _that_ indeed, by her own account, she has always been. I

would not say so to every body, Mrs. Elton, but I have not much faith

in Mrs. Churchill’s illness.”

“If she is really ill, why not go to Bath, Mr. Weston?—To Bath, or to

Clifton?”

“She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too cold for her. The

fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of Enscombe. She has now been a

longer time stationary there, than she ever was before, and she begins

to want change. It is a retired place. A fine place, but very retired.”

“Aye—like Maple Grove, I dare say. Nothing can stand more retired from

the road than Maple Grove. Such an immense plantation all round it! You

seem shut out from every thing—in the most complete retirement.—And

Mrs. Churchill probably has not health or spirits like Selina to enjoy

that sort of seclusion. Or, perhaps she may not have resources enough

in herself to be qualified for a country life. I always say a woman

cannot have too many resources—and I feel very thankful that I have so

many myself as to be quite independent of society.”

“Frank was here in February for a fortnight.”

“So I remember to have heard. He will find an _addition_ to the society

of Highbury when he comes again; that is, if I may presume to call

myself an addition. But perhaps he may never have heard of there being

such a creature in the world.”

This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed by, and Mr.

Weston, with a very good grace, immediately exclaimed,

“My dear madam! Nobody but yourself could imagine such a thing

possible. Not heard of you!—I believe Mrs. Weston’s letters lately have

been full of very little else than Mrs. Elton.”

He had done his duty and could return to his son.

“When Frank left us,” continued he, “it was quite uncertain when we

might see him again, which makes this day’s news doubly welcome. It has

been completely unexpected. That is, _I_ always had a strong persuasion

he would be here again soon, I was sure something favourable would turn

up—but nobody believed me. He and Mrs. Weston were both dreadfully

desponding. ‘How could he contrive to come? And how could it be

supposed that his uncle and aunt would spare him again?’ and so forth—I

always felt that something would happen in our favour; and so it has,

you see. I have observed, Mrs. Elton, in the course of my life, that if

things are going untowardly one month, they are sure to mend the next.”

“Very true, Mr. Weston, perfectly true. It is just what I used to say

to a certain gentleman in company in the days of courtship, when,

because things did not go quite right, did not proceed with all the

rapidity which suited his feelings, he was apt to be in despair, and

exclaim that he was sure at this rate it would be _May_ before Hymen’s

saffron robe would be put on for us. Oh! the pains I have been at to

dispel those gloomy ideas and give him cheerfuller views! The

carriage—we had disappointments about the carriage;—one morning, I

remember, he came to me quite in despair.”

She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr. Weston instantly

seized the opportunity of going on.

“You were mentioning May. May is the very month which Mrs. Churchill is

ordered, or has ordered herself, to spend in some warmer place than

Enscombe—in short, to spend in London; so that we have the agreeable

prospect of frequent visits from Frank the whole spring—precisely the

season of the year which one should have chosen for it: days almost at

the longest; weather genial and pleasant, always inviting one out, and

never too hot for exercise. When he was here before, we made the best

of it; but there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather; there

always is in February, you know, and we could not do half that we

intended. Now will be the time. This will be complete enjoyment; and I

do not know, Mrs. Elton, whether the uncertainty of our meetings, the

sort of constant expectation there will be of his coming in to-day or

to-morrow, and at any hour, may not be more friendly to happiness than

having him actually in the house. I think it is so. I think it is the

state of mind which gives most spirit and delight. I hope you will be

pleased with my son; but you must not expect a prodigy. He is generally

thought a fine young man, but do not expect a prodigy. Mrs. Weston’s

partiality for him is very great, and, as you may suppose, most

gratifying to me. She thinks nobody equal to him.”

“And I assure you, Mr. Weston, I have very little doubt that my opinion

will be decidedly in his favour. I have heard so much in praise of Mr.

Frank Churchill.—At the same time it is fair to observe, that I am one

of those who always judge for themselves, and are by no means

implicitly guided by others. I give you notice that as I find your son,

so I shall judge of him.—I am no flatterer.”

Mr. Weston was musing.

“I hope,” said he presently, “I have not been severe upon poor Mrs.

Churchill. If she is ill I should be sorry to do her injustice; but

there are some traits in her character which make it difficult for me

to speak of her with the forbearance I could wish. You cannot be

ignorant, Mrs. Elton, of my connexion with the family, nor of the

treatment I have met with; and, between ourselves, the whole blame of

it is to be laid to her. She was the instigator. Frank’s mother would

never have been slighted as she was but for her. Mr. Churchill has

pride; but his pride is nothing to his wife’s: his is a quiet,

indolent, gentlemanlike sort of pride that would harm nobody, and only

make himself a little helpless and tiresome; but her pride is arrogance

and insolence! And what inclines one less to bear, she has no fair

pretence of family or blood. She was nobody when he married her, barely

the daughter of a gentleman; but ever since her being turned into a

Churchill she has out-Churchill’d them all in high and mighty claims:

but in herself, I assure you, she is an upstart.”

“Only think! well, that must be infinitely provoking! I have quite a

horror of upstarts. Maple Grove has given me a thorough disgust to

people of that sort; for there is a family in that neighbourhood who

are such an annoyance to my brother and sister from the airs they give

themselves! Your description of Mrs. Churchill made me think of them

directly. People of the name of Tupman, very lately settled there, and

encumbered with many low connexions, but giving themselves immense

airs, and expecting to be on a footing with the old established

families. A year and a half is the very utmost that they can have lived

at West Hall; and how they got their fortune nobody knows. They came

from Birmingham, which is not a place to promise much, you know, Mr.

Weston. One has not great hopes from Birmingham. I always say there is

something direful in the sound: but nothing more is positively known of

the Tupmans, though a good many things I assure you are suspected; and

yet by their manners they evidently think themselves equal even to my

brother, Mr. Suckling, who happens to be one of their nearest

neighbours. It is infinitely too bad. Mr. Suckling, who has been eleven

years a resident at Maple Grove, and whose father had it before him—I

believe, at least—I am almost sure that old Mr. Suckling had completed

the purchase before his death.”

They were interrupted. Tea was carrying round, and Mr. Weston, having

said all that he wanted, soon took the opportunity of walking away.

After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Elton sat down with Mr.

Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five were left to their own powers,

and Emma doubted their getting on very well; for Mr. Knightley seemed

little disposed for conversation; Mrs. Elton was wanting notice, which

nobody had inclination to pay, and she was herself in a worry of

spirits which would have made her prefer being silent.

Mr. John Knightley proved more talkative than his brother. He was to

leave them early the next day; and he soon began with—

“Well, Emma, I do not believe I have any thing more to say about the

boys; but you have your sister’s letter, and every thing is down at

full length there we may be sure. My charge would be much more concise

than her’s, and probably not much in the same spirit; all that I have

to recommend being comprised in, do not spoil them, and do not physic

them.”

“I rather hope to satisfy you both,” said Emma, “for I shall do all in

my power to make them happy, which will be enough for Isabella; and

happiness must preclude false indulgence and physic.”

“And if you find them troublesome, you must send them home again.”

“That is very likely. You think so, do not you?”

“I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your father—or even

may be some encumbrance to you, if your visiting engagements continue

to increase as much as they have done lately.”

“Increase!”

“Certainly; you must be sensible that the last half-year has made a

great difference in your way of life.”

“Difference! No indeed I am not.”

“There can be no doubt of your being much more engaged with company

than you used to be. Witness this very time. Here am I come down for

only one day, and you are engaged with a dinner-party!—When did it

happen before, or any thing like it? Your neighbourhood is increasing,

and you mix more with it. A little while ago, every letter to Isabella

brought an account of fresh gaieties; dinners at Mr. Cole’s, or balls

at the Crown. The difference which Randalls, Randalls alone makes in

your goings-on, is very great.”

“Yes,” said his brother quickly, “it is Randalls that does it all.”

“Very well—and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely to have less

influence than heretofore, it strikes me as a possible thing, Emma,

that Henry and John may be sometimes in the way. And if they are, I

only beg you to send them home.”

“No,” cried Mr. Knightley, “that need not be the consequence. Let them

be sent to Donwell. I shall certainly be at leisure.”

“Upon my word,” exclaimed Emma, “you amuse me! I should like to know

how many of all my numerous engagements take place without your being

of the party; and why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure

to attend to the little boys. These amazing engagements of mine—what

have they been? Dining once with the Coles—and having a ball talked of,

which never took place. I can understand you—(nodding at Mr. John

Knightley)—your good fortune in meeting with so many of your friends at

once here, delights you too much to pass unnoticed. But you, (turning

to Mr. Knightley,) who know how very, very seldom I am ever two hours

from Hartfield, why you should foresee such a series of dissipation for

me, I cannot imagine. And as to my dear little boys, I must say, that

if Aunt Emma has not time for them, I do not think they would fare much

better with Uncle Knightley, who is absent from home about five hours

where she is absent one—and who, when he is at home, is either reading

to himself or settling his accounts.”

Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile; and succeeded without

difficulty, upon Mrs. Elton’s beginning to talk to him.

VOLUME III