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978-1-101-07781-8
Elinor, this eldest daughter whose advice was so effectual, possessed a strength of understanding and coolness of judgment which qualified her, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother, and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantage of them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led to imprudence. She had an excellent heart; her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern them: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn, and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.
Marianne’s abilities were in many respects quite equal to Elinor’s. She was sensible and clever, but eager in everything; her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: she was everything but prudent. The resemblance between her and her mother was strikingly great.
“One had rather on such occasions do too much than too little. No one, at least, can think I have not done enough for them: even themselves, they can hardly expect more.”
It was contrary to every doctrine of hers that difference of fortune should keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition;
And besides all this, I am afraid, Mama, he has no real taste. Music seems scarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor’s drawings very much, it is not the admiration of a person who can understand their worth. It is evident, in spite of his frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover, not as a connoisseur.
I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide with my own. He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both.
To hear those beautiful lines which have frequently almost driven me wild, pronounced with such impenetrable calmness, such dreadful indifference!”
Mama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love.
“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.”
No, you will continue the same: unconscious of the pleasure or the regret you occasion and insensible of any change in those who walk under your shade! But who will remain to enjoy you?”
It was enough to secure his good opinion, for to be unaffected was all that a pretty girl could want to make her mind as captivating as her person.
She had only two daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world.
Giggling.
The immediate advantage to herself was by no means inconsiderable, for it supplied her with endless jokes against them both.
INSUFFERABLE HAG.
Mrs. Dashwood, who could not think a man five years younger than herself so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the youthful fancy of her daughter,
Is he an antique or what.
“at this rate you must be in continual terror of my decay; and it must seem to you a miracle that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty.”
Gaiety, gaiety. I’m gay. :]
“That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be. Whatever be his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation and leave him no sense of fatigue.”
He was exactly formed to engage Marianne’s heart, for with all this, he joined not only a captivating person, but a natural ardour of mind which was now roused and increased by the example of her own, and which recommended him to her affection beyond everything else.
A few years however will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of common sense and observation; and then they may be more easy to define and to justify than they now are by anybody but herself.”
yet there is something so amiable in the prejudices of a young mind, that one is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions.”
“There are inconveniences attending such feelings as Marianne’s which all the charms of enthusiasm and ignorance of the world cannot atone for. Her systems have all the unfortunate tendency of setting propriety at nought; and a better acquaintance with the world is what I look forward to as her greatest possible advantage.”
They were all in high spirits and good humour, eager to be happy, and determined to submit to the greatest inconveniences and hardships rather than be otherwise.
Mr. Willoughby got up two hours before his usual time,
TAotB: The Audacity of this Bitch.
“It is I who may rather expect to be ill—for I am now suffering under a very heavy disappointment!”
“Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way; but you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can—It will not satisfy you, I know; but you shall not talk me out of my trust in it.
You will tell me, I know, that this may or may not have happened; but I will listen to no cavil unless you can point out any other method of understanding the affair as satisfactory as this. And now, Elinor, what have you to say?”
Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather take evil upon credit than good. You had rather look out for misery for Marianne and guilt for poor Willoughby than an apology for the latter. You are resolved to think him blameable because he took leave of us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shown.
And is no allowance to be made for inadvertence or for spirits depressed by recent disappointment? Are no probabilities to be accepted merely because they are not certainties? Is nothing due to the man whom we have all so much reason to love and no reason in the world to think ill of? To the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though unavoidably secret for a while?
“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that every circumstance except one is in favour of their engagement; but that one is the total silence of both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other.”
“But with a strange kind of tenderness if he can leave her with such indifference, such carelessness of the future as you attribute to him.”
but I will not raise objections against anyone’s conduct on so illiberal a foundation as a difference in judgment from myself or a deviation from what I may think right and consistent.”
Such violence of affliction indeed could not be supported forever; it sunk within a few days into a calmer melancholy; but these employments to which she daily recurred, her solitary walks and silent meditations, still produced occasional effusions of sorrow as lively as ever.
is not everyone,”
“I shall not attempt it. I have no wish to be distinguished; and I have every reason to hope I never shall. Thank Heaven! I cannot be forced into genius and eloquence.”
“As moderate as those of the rest of the world, I believe. I wish as well as everybody else to be perfectly happy but like everybody else it must be in my own way. Greatness will not make me so.”
“I love to be reminded of the past, Edward. Whether it be melancholy or gay, I love to recall it; and you will never offend me by talking of former times.
“in a total misapprehension of character in some point or other: fancying people so much more gay or grave, or ingenious or stupid than they really are, and I can hardly tell why or in what the deception originated. Sometimes one is guided by what they say of themselves, and very frequently by what other people say of them, without giving oneself time to deliberate and judge.”
I am so foolishly shy that I often seem negligent when I am only kept back by my natural awkwardness. I have frequently thought that I must have been intended by nature to be fond of low company, I am so little at my ease among strangers of gentility!”
“Shyness is only the effect of a sense of inferiority in some way or other. If I could persuade myself that my manners were perfectly easy and graceful, I should not be shy.”
His visit afforded her but a very partial satisfaction, while his own enjoyment in it appeared so imperfect. It was evident that he was unhappy; she wished it were equally evident that he still distinguished her by the same affection which once she had felt no doubt of inspiring; but hitherto the continuance of his preference seemed very uncertain; and the reservedness of his manner towards her contradicted one moment what a more animated look had intimated the preceding one.
he believes many people pretend to more admiration of the beauties of nature than they really feel and is disgusted with such pretensions, he affects greater indifference and less discrimination in viewing them himself than he possesses. He is fastidious and will have an affectation of his own.”
“that admiration of landscape scenery is become a mere jargon. Everybody pretends to feel and tries to describe with the taste and elegance of him who first defined what picturesque beauty was.
sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in but what was worn and hackneyed out of all sense and meaning.”
To do him justice, he did everything in his power to promote their unreserve by making
thorough want of delicacy, of rectitude, and integrity of mind, which her attentions, her assiduities, her flatteries at the park betrayed; and she could have no lasting satisfaction in the company of a person who joined insincerity with ignorance, whose want of instruction prevented their meeting in conversation on terms of equality, and whose conduct towards others made every show of attention and deference towards herself perfectly valueless.
“Pardon me,” replied Elinor, startled by the question, “but I can give you no advice under such circumstances. Your own judgment must direct you.”
Elinor could not, dared not longer doubt, supported as it was too on every side by such probabilities and proofs, and contradicted by nothing but her own wishes.
but if he had injured her, how much more had he injured himself; if her case were pitiable, his was hopeless. His imprudence had made her miserable for a while; but it seemed to have deprived himself of all chance of ever being otherwise. She might in time regain tranquillity; but he, what had he to look forward to? Could he ever be tolerably happy with Lucy Steele? Could he, were his affection for herself out of the question, with his integrity, his delicacy, and well-informed mind, be satisfied with a wife like her: illiterate, artful, and selfish?
The youthful infatuation of nineteen would naturally blind him to everything but her beauty and good nature; but the four succeeding years—years which if rationally spent give such improvement to the understanding—must have opened his eyes to her defects of education; while the same period of time, spent on her side in inferior society and more frivolous pursuits, had perhaps robbed her of that simplicity which might once have given an interesting character to her beauty.
She was stronger alone, and her own good sense so well supported her that her firmness was as unshaken, her appearance of cheerfulness as invariable, as with regrets so poignant and so fresh, it was possible for them to be.
