บทที่ บทที่ 18 · 第18章

Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time proposed drew near,

Mrs. Weston’s fears were justified in the arrival of a letter of

excuse. For the present, he could not be spared, to his “very great

mortification and regret; but still he looked forward with the hope of

coming to Randalls at no distant period.”

Mrs. Weston was exceedingly disappointed—much more disappointed, in

fact, than her husband, though her dependence on seeing the young man

had been so much more sober: but a sanguine temper, though for ever

expecting more good than occurs, does not always pay for its hopes by

any proportionate depression. It soon flies over the present failure,

and begins to hope again. For half an hour Mr. Weston was surprized and

sorry; but then he began to perceive that Frank’s coming two or three

months later would be a much better plan; better time of year; better

weather; and that he would be able, without any doubt, to stay

considerably longer with them than if he had come sooner.

These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while Mrs. Weston, of a

more apprehensive disposition, foresaw nothing but a repetition of

excuses and delays; and after all her concern for what her husband was

to suffer, suffered a great deal more herself.

Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care really about

Mr. Frank Churchill’s not coming, except as a disappointment at

Randalls. The acquaintance at present had no charm for her. She wanted,

rather, to be quiet, and out of temptation; but still, as it was

desirable that she should appear, in general, like her usual self, she

took care to express as much interest in the circumstance, and enter as

warmly into Mr. and Mrs. Weston’s disappointment, as might naturally

belong to their friendship.

She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley; and exclaimed quite

as much as was necessary, (or, being acting a part, perhaps rather

more,) at the conduct of the Churchills, in keeping him away. She then

proceeded to say a good deal more than she felt, of the advantage of

such an addition to their confined society in Surry; the pleasure of

looking at somebody new; the gala-day to Highbury entire, which the

sight of him would have made; and ending with reflections on the

Churchills again, found herself directly involved in a disagreement

with Mr. Knightley; and, to her great amusement, perceived that she was

taking the other side of the question from her real opinion, and making

use of Mrs. Weston’s arguments against herself.

“The Churchills are very likely in fault,” said Mr. Knightley, coolly;

“but I dare say he might come if he would.”

“I do not know why you should say so. He wishes exceedingly to come;

but his uncle and aunt will not spare him.”

“I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming, if he made a

point of it. It is too unlikely, for me to believe it without proof.”

“How odd you are! What has Mr. Frank Churchill done, to make you

suppose him such an unnatural creature?”

“I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature, in suspecting

that he may have learnt to be above his connexions, and to care very

little for any thing but his own pleasure, from living with those who

have always set him the example of it. It is a great deal more natural

than one could wish, that a young man, brought up by those who are

proud, luxurious, and selfish, should be proud, luxurious, and selfish

too. If Frank Churchill had wanted to see his father, he would have

contrived it between September and January. A man at his age—what is

he?—three or four-and-twenty—cannot be without the means of doing as

much as that. It is impossible.”

“That’s easily said, and easily felt by you, who have always been your

own master. You are the worst judge in the world, Mr. Knightley, of the

difficulties of dependence. You do not know what it is to have tempers

to manage.”

“It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four-and-twenty

should not have liberty of mind or limb to that amount. He cannot want

money—he cannot want leisure. We know, on the contrary, that he has so

much of both, that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest haunts

in the kingdom. We hear of him for ever at some watering-place or

other. A little while ago, he was at Weymouth. This proves that he can

leave the Churchills.”

“Yes, sometimes he can.”

“And those times are whenever he thinks it worth his while; whenever

there is any temptation of pleasure.”

“It is very unfair to judge of any body’s conduct, without an intimate

knowledge of their situation. Nobody, who has not been in the interior

of a family, can say what the difficulties of any individual of that

family may be. We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and with Mrs.

Churchill’s temper, before we pretend to decide upon what her nephew

can do. He may, at times, be able to do a great deal more than he can

at others.”

“There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always do, if he chuses, and

that is, his duty; not by manoeuvring and finessing, but by vigour and

resolution. It is Frank Churchill’s duty to pay this attention to his

father. He knows it to be so, by his promises and messages; but if he

wished to do it, it might be done. A man who felt rightly would say at

once, simply and resolutely, to Mrs. Churchill—‘Every sacrifice of mere

pleasure you will always find me ready to make to your convenience; but

I must go and see my father immediately. I know he would be hurt by my

failing in such a mark of respect to him on the present occasion. I

shall, therefore, set off to-morrow.’—If he would say so to her at

once, in the tone of decision becoming a man, there would be no

opposition made to his going.”

“No,” said Emma, laughing; “but perhaps there might be some made to his

coming back again. Such language for a young man entirely dependent, to

use!—Nobody but you, Mr. Knightley, would imagine it possible. But you

have not an idea of what is requisite in situations directly opposite

to your own. Mr. Frank Churchill to be making such a speech as that to

the uncle and aunt, who have brought him up, and are to provide for

him!—Standing up in the middle of the room, I suppose, and speaking as

loud as he could!—How can you imagine such conduct practicable?”

“Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find no difficulty in it.

He would feel himself in the right; and the declaration—made, of

course, as a man of sense would make it, in a proper manner—would do

him more good, raise him higher, fix his interest stronger with the

people he depended on, than all that a line of shifts and expedients

can ever do. Respect would be added to affection. They would feel that

they could trust him; that the nephew who had done rightly by his

father, would do rightly by them; for they know, as well as he does, as

well as all the world must know, that he ought to pay this visit to his

father; and while meanly exerting their power to delay it, are in their

hearts not thinking the better of him for submitting to their whims.

Respect for right conduct is felt by every body. If he would act in

this sort of manner, on principle, consistently, regularly, their

little minds would bend to his.”

“I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending little minds; but

where little minds belong to rich people in authority, I think they

have a knack of swelling out, till they are quite as unmanageable as

great ones. I can imagine, that if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were

to be transported and placed all at once in Mr. Frank Churchill’s

situation, you would be able to say and do just what you have been

recommending for him; and it might have a very good effect. The

Churchills might not have a word to say in return; but then, you would

have no habits of early obedience and long observance to break through.

To him who has, it might not be so easy to burst forth at once into

perfect independence, and set all their claims on his gratitude and

regard at nought. He may have as strong a sense of what would be right,

as you can have, without being so equal, under particular

circumstances, to act up to it.”

“Then it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed to produce equal

exertion, it could not be an equal conviction.”

“Oh, the difference of situation and habit! I wish you would try to

understand what an amiable young man may be likely to feel in directly

opposing those, whom as child and boy he has been looking up to all his

life.”

“Our amiable young man is a very weak young man, if this be the first

occasion of his carrying through a resolution to do right against the

will of others. It ought to have been a habit with him by this time, of

following his duty, instead of consulting expediency. I can allow for

the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he became rational, he

ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that was unworthy in

their authority. He ought to have opposed the first attempt on their

side to make him slight his father. Had he begun as he ought, there

would have been no difficulty now.”

“We shall never agree about him,” cried Emma; “but that is nothing

extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man:

I feel sure that he is not. Mr. Weston would not be blind to folly,

though in his own son; but he is very likely to have a more yielding,

complying, mild disposition than would suit your notions of man’s

perfection. I dare say he has; and though it may cut him off from some

advantages, it will secure him many others.”

“Yes; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought to move, and of

leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and fancying himself extremely

expert in finding excuses for it. He can sit down and write a fine

flourishing letter, full of professions and falsehoods, and persuade

himself that he has hit upon the very best method in the world of

preserving peace at home and preventing his father’s having any right

to complain. His letters disgust me.”

“Your feelings are singular. They seem to satisfy every body else.”

“I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs. Weston. They hardly can satisfy a

woman of her good sense and quick feelings: standing in a mother’s

place, but without a mother’s affection to blind her. It is on her

account that attention to Randalls is doubly due, and she must doubly

feel the omission. Had she been a person of consequence herself, he

would have come I dare say; and it would not have signified whether he

did or no. Can you think your friend behindhand in these sort of

considerations? Do you suppose she does not often say all this to

herself? No, Emma, your amiable young man can be amiable only in

French, not in English. He may be very ‘amiable,’ have very good

manners, and be very agreeable; but he can have no English delicacy

towards the feelings of other people: nothing really amiable about

him.”

“You seem determined to think ill of him.”

“Me!—not at all,” replied Mr. Knightley, rather displeased; “I do not

want to think ill of him. I should be as ready to acknowledge his

merits as any other man; but I hear of none, except what are merely

personal; that he is well-grown and good-looking, with smooth,

plausible manners.”

“Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he will be a treasure

at Highbury. We do not often look upon fine young men, well-bred and

agreeable. We must not be nice and ask for all the virtues into the

bargain. Cannot you imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a _sensation_ his

coming will produce? There will be but one subject throughout the

parishes of Donwell and Highbury; but one interest—one object of

curiosity; it will be all Mr. Frank Churchill; we shall think and speak

of nobody else.”

“You will excuse my being so much over-powered. If I find him

conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance; but if he is only a

chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts.”

“My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation to the taste of

every body, and has the power as well as the wish of being universally

agreeable. To you, he will talk of farming; to me, of drawing or music;

and so on to every body, having that general information on all

subjects which will enable him to follow the lead, or take the lead,

just as propriety may require, and to speak extremely well on each;

that is my idea of him.”

“And mine,” said Mr. Knightley warmly, “is, that if he turn out any

thing like it, he will be the most insufferable fellow breathing! What!

at three-and-twenty to be the king of his company—the great man—the

practised politician, who is to read every body’s character, and make

every body’s talents conduce to the display of his own superiority; to

be dispensing his flatteries around, that he may make all appear like

fools compared with himself! My dear Emma, your own good sense could

not endure such a puppy when it came to the point.”

“I will say no more about him,” cried Emma, “you turn every thing to

evil. We are both prejudiced; you against, I for him; and we have no

chance of agreeing till he is really here.”

“Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced.”

“But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of it. My love

for Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his favour.”

“He is a person I never think of from one month’s end to another,” said

Mr. Knightley, with a degree of vexation, which made Emma immediately

talk of something else, though she could not comprehend why he should

be angry.

To take a dislike to a young man, only because he appeared to be of a

different disposition from himself, was unworthy the real liberality of

mind which she was always used to acknowledge in him; for with all the

high opinion of himself, which she had often laid to his charge, she

had never before for a moment supposed it could make him unjust to the

merit of another.

VOLUME II