บทที่ บทที่ 2 · 第2章

Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family,

which for the last two or three generations had been rising into

gentility and property. He had received a good education, but, on

succeeding early in life to a small independence, had become indisposed

for any of the more homely pursuits in which his brothers were engaged,

and had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and social temper by

entering into the militia of his county, then embodied.

Captain Weston was a general favourite; and when the chances of his

military life had introduced him to Miss Churchill, of a great

Yorkshire family, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was

surprized, except her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and

who were full of pride and importance, which the connexion would

offend.

Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of her

fortune—though her fortune bore no proportion to the family-estate—was

not to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place, to the

infinite mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her off

with due decorum. It was an unsuitable connexion, and did not produce

much happiness. Mrs. Weston ought to have found more in it, for she had

a husband whose warm heart and sweet temper made him think every thing

due to her in return for the great goodness of being in love with him;

but though she had one sort of spirit, she had not the best. She had

resolution enough to pursue her own will in spite of her brother, but

not enough to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother’s

unreasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her former home.

They lived beyond their income, but still it was nothing in comparison

of Enscombe: she did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted at

once to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe.

Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills,

as making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the worst of

the bargain; for when his wife died, after a three years’ marriage, he

was rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain.

From the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy

had, with the additional softening claim of a lingering illness of his

mother’s, been the means of a sort of reconciliation; and Mr. and Mrs.

Churchill, having no children of their own, nor any other young

creature of equal kindred to care for, offered to take the whole charge

of the little Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples and some

reluctance the widower-father may be supposed to have felt; but as they

were overcome by other considerations, the child was given up to the

care and the wealth of the Churchills, and he had only his own comfort

to seek, and his own situation to improve as he could.

A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted the militia and

engaged in trade, having brothers already established in a good way in

London, which afforded him a favourable opening. It was a concern which

brought just employment enough. He had still a small house in Highbury,

where most of his leisure days were spent; and between useful

occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty

years of his life passed cheerfully away. He had, by that time,

realised an easy competence—enough to secure the purchase of a little

estate adjoining Highbury, which he had always longed for—enough to

marry a woman as portionless even as Miss Taylor, and to live according

to the wishes of his own friendly and social disposition.

It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to influence his

schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic influence of youth on youth, it

had not shaken his determination of never settling till he could

purchase Randalls, and the sale of Randalls was long looked forward to;

but he had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till they were

accomplished. He had made his fortune, bought his house, and obtained

his wife; and was beginning a new period of existence, with every

probability of greater happiness than in any yet passed through. He had

never been an unhappy man; his own temper had secured him from that,

even in his first marriage; but his second must shew him how delightful

a well-judging and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him the

pleasantest proof of its being a great deal better to choose than to be

chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it.

He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune was his own;

for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly brought up as his

uncle’s heir, it had become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume

the name of Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely,

therefore, that he should ever want his father’s assistance. His father

had no apprehension of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, and

governed her husband entirely; but it was not in Mr. Weston’s nature to

imagine that any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear,

and, as he believed, so deservedly dear. He saw his son every year in

London, and was proud of him; and his fond report of him as a very fine

young man had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him too. He was

looked on as sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits and

prospects a kind of common concern.

Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively

curiosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little

returned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visit

his father had been often talked of but never achieved.

Now, upon his father’s marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a

most proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was not

a dissentient voice on the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea

with Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the

visit. Now was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; and

the hope strengthened when it was understood that he had written to his

new mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning visit in

Highbury included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had

received. “I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank

Churchill has written to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a very

handsome letter, indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Woodhouse saw

the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome letter in his

life.”

It was, indeed, a highly prized letter. Mrs. Weston had, of course,

formed a very favourable idea of the young man; and such a pleasing

attention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense, and a most

welcome addition to every source and every expression of congratulation

which her marriage had already secured. She felt herself a most

fortunate woman; and she had lived long enough to know how fortunate

she might well be thought, where the only regret was for a partial

separation from friends whose friendship for her had never cooled, and

who could ill bear to part with her.

She knew that at times she must be missed; and could not think, without

pain, of Emma’s losing a single pleasure, or suffering an hour’s ennui,

from the want of her companionableness: but dear Emma was of no feeble

character; she was more equal to her situation than most girls would

have been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be hoped

would bear her well and happily through its little difficulties and

privations. And then there was such comfort in the very easy distance

of Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary female

walking, and in Mr. Weston’s disposition and circumstances, which would

make the approaching season no hindrance to their spending half the

evenings in the week together.

Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to Mrs.

Weston, and of moments only of regret; and her satisfaction—her more

than satisfaction—her cheerful enjoyment, was so just and so apparent,

that Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes taken by surprize

at his being still able to pity ‘poor Miss Taylor,’ when they left her

at Randalls in the centre of every domestic comfort, or saw her go away

in the evening attended by her pleasant husband to a carriage of her

own. But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse’s giving a gentle sigh,

and saying, “Ah, poor Miss Taylor! She would be very glad to stay.”

There was no recovering Miss Taylor—nor much likelihood of ceasing to

pity her; but a few weeks brought some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse.

The compliments of his neighbours were over; he was no longer teased by

being wished joy of so sorrowful an event; and the wedding-cake, which

had been a great distress to him, was all eat up. His own stomach could

bear nothing rich, and he could never believe other people to be

different from himself. What was unwholesome to him he regarded as

unfit for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuade

them from having any wedding-cake at all, and when that proved vain, as

earnestly tried to prevent any body’s eating it. He had been at the

pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject. Mr.

Perry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent visits were

one of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse’s life; and upon being applied to,

he could not but acknowledge (though it seemed rather against the bias

of inclination) that wedding-cake might certainly disagree with

many—perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately. With such an

opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence

every visitor of the newly married pair; but still the cake was eaten;

and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves till it was all gone.

There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrys being

seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston’s wedding-cake in their hands: but Mr.

Woodhouse would never believe it.