Chawton, Friday (Nov. 18, 1814).
I feel quite as doubtful as you could be, my dearest Fanny, as to when my letter may be finished, for I can command very little quiet time at present; but yet I must begin, for I know you will be glad to hear as soon as possible, and I really am impatient myself to be writing something on so very interesting a subject, though I have no hope of writing anything to the purpose. I shall do very little more, I dare say, than say over again what you have said before.
I was certainly a good deal surprised at first, as I had no suspicion of any change in your feelings, and I have no scruple1 in saying that you cannot be in love. My dear Fanny, I am ready to laugh at the idea, and yet it is no laughing matter to have had you so mistaken as to your own feelings. And with all my heart I wish I had cautioned you on that point when first you spoke2 to me; but though I did not think you then much in love, I did consider you as being attached in a degree quite sufficiently3 for happiness, as I had no doubt it would increase with opportunity, and from the time of our being in London together I thought you really very much in love. But you certainly are not at all—there is no concealing4 it.
[276]
What strange creatures we are! It seems as if your being secure of him had made you indifferent. There was a little disgust, I suspect, at the races, and I do not wonder at it. His expressions then would not do for one who had rather more acuteness, penetration5, and taste, than love, which was your case. And yet, after all, I am surprised that the change in your feelings should be so great. He is just what he ever was, only more evidently and uniformly devoted6 to you. This is all the difference. How shall we account for it?
My dearest Fanny, I am writing what will not be of the smallest use to you. I am feeling differently every moment, and shall not be able to suggest a single thing that can assist your mind. I could lament7 in one sentence and laugh in the next, but as to opinion or counsel I am sure that none will be extracted worth having from this letter.
I read yours through the very evening I received it, getting away by myself. I could not bear to leave off when I had once begun. I was full of curiosity and concern. Luckily your At. C. dined at the other house; therefore I had not to man[oe]uvre away from her, and as to anybody else, I do not care.
Poor dear Mr. A.! Oh, dear Fanny! your mistake has been one that thousands of women fall into. He was the first young man who attached himself to you. That was the charm, and most[277] powerful it is. Among the multitudes, however, that make the same mistake with yourself, there can be few indeed who have so little reason to regret it; his character and his attachment8 leave you nothing to be ashamed of.
Upon the whole, what is to be done? You have no inclination9 for any other person. His situation in life, family, friends, and, above all, his character, his uncommonly10 amiable11 mind, strict principles, just notions, good habits, all that you know so well how to value, all that is really of the first importance,—everything of this nature pleads his cause most strongly. You have no doubt of his having superior abilities, he has proved it at the University; he is, I dare say, such a scholar as your agreeable, idle brothers would ill bear a comparison with.
Oh, my dear Fanny! the more I write about him the warmer my feelings become,—the more strongly I feel the sterling12 worth of such a young man, and the desirableness of your growing in love with him again. I recommend this most thoroughly13. There are such beings in the world, perhaps one in a thousand, as the creature you and I should think perfection, where grace and spirit are united to worth, where the manners are equal to the heart and understanding; but such a person may not come in your way, or, if he does, he may not be the eldest14 son of a man of fortune, the near relation[278] of your particular friend, and belonging to your own county.
Think of all this, Fanny. Mr. A. has advantages which we do not often meet in one person. His only fault, indeed, seems modesty15. If he were less modest, he would be more agreeable, speak louder, and look impudenter; and is not it a fine character of which modesty is the only defect? I have no doubt he will get more lively and more like yourselves as he is more with you; he will catch your ways if he belongs to you. And as to there being any objection from his goodness, from the danger of his becoming even evangelical, I cannot admit that. I am by no means convinced that we ought not all to be evangelicals, and am at least persuaded that they who are so from reason and feeling must be happiest and safest. Do not be frightened from the connection by your brothers having most wit,—wisdom is better than wit, and in the long run will certainly have the laugh on her side; and don't be frightened by the idea of his acting16 more strictly17 up to the precepts18 of the New Testament19 than others.
And now, my dear Fanny, having written so much on one side of the question, I shall turn round and entreat20 you not to commit yourself farther, and not to think of accepting him unless you really do like him. Anything is to be preferred or endured rather than marrying without[279] affection; and if his deficiencies of manner, etc., etc., strike you more than all his good qualities, if you continue to think strongly of them, give him up at once. Things are now in such a state that you must resolve upon one or the other,—either to allow him to go on as he has done, or whenever you are together behave with a coldness which may convince him that he has been deceiving himself. I have no doubt of his suffering a good deal for a time,—a great deal when he feels that he must give you up; but it is no creed21 of mine, as you must be well aware, that such sort of disappointments kill anybody.
Your sending the music was an admirable device, it made everything easy, and I do not know how I could have accounted for the parcel otherwise; for though your dear papa most conscientiously22 hunted about till he found me alone in the dining-parlor, your Aunt C. had seen that he had a parcel to deliver. As it was, however, I do not think anything was suspected.
We have heard nothing fresh from Anna. I trust she is very comfortable in her new home. Her letters have been very sensible and satisfactory, with no parade of happiness, which I liked them the better for. I have often known young married women write in a way I did not like in that respect.
You will be glad to hear that the first edition[280] of M. P.[34] is all sold. Your Uncle Henry is rather wanting me to come to town to settle about a second edition; but as I could not very conveniently leave home now, I have written him my will and pleasure and unless he still urges it, shall not go. I am very greedy and want to make the most of it; but as you are much above caring about money, I shall not plague you with any particulars. The pleasures of vanity are more within your comprehension, and you will enter into mine at receiving the praise which every now and then comes to me through some channel or other.
Saturday.—Mr. Palmer spent yesterday with us, and is gone off with Cassy this morning. We have been expecting Miss Lloyd the last two days, and feel sure of her to-day. Mr. Knight23 and Mr. Edwd. Knight are to dine with us, and on Monday they are to dine with us again, accompanied by their respectable host and hostess.
Sunday.—Your papa had given me messages to you; but they are unnecessary, as he writes by this post to Aunt Louisa. We had a pleasant party yesterday; at least we found it so. It is delightful24 to see him so cheerful and confident. Aunt Cass. and I dine at the Great House to-day. We shall be a snug25 half-dozen. Miss Lloyd came, as we expected, yesterday, and desires her love. She is very happy to hear of your learning the harp26. I[281] do not mean to send you what I owe Miss Hare, because I think you would rather not be paid beforehand.
Yours very affectionately,
Jane Austen.
Miss Knight,
Goodnestone Farm, Wingham, Kent.
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1
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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2
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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4
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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5
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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6
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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7
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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8
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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9
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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10
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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11
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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12
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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13
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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14
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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15
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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16
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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17
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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18
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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20
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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21
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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22
conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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23
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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24
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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25
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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