Pride and Prejudice; Sense and Sensibility

Chapter 115 The Inner Confession of a Rainy Night Visitor (2)
"Well, sir," said Elinor, who, though she pitied him, was anxious to have him go, "that's all?"

"That's all!—no—have you forgotten what happened in town? That vile letter! Didn't she show it to you?"

"I have read, I have read all the letters you have exchanged."

"When I received her first letter (as I had been in the city and it arrived right away), I was -- in the common saying, indescribable. In simpler terms -- perhaps Prosaic simplicity—I was in great pain. The words, the lines, to use a common metaphor—if the dear letter writer had been here, she would have forbidden me— —like a sword piercing my heart. Knowing that Marianne was in town, to say the same cliché, it was—a bolt from the blue! A bolt from the blue, a sword through the heart! How would she blame me? Ah! her tastes and opinions—I believe I know them better, and certainly value them more, than my own."

During this extraordinary conversation, Elinor's mood had been fluctuating, and now she softened again.She felt, however, it was her duty to check her companion from continuing to express that last thought.

"It's not normal, Mr. Willoughby. Don't forget that you are married. You have only to say what your conscience tells you to say."

"Marianne wrote to me that, though we had been separated for many weeks, she still loved me as much as before, her affection was unswerving, and she believed that mine was still strong. These words aroused my feelings of remorse. I say aroused, because I have been living in London for a long time, whether busy with business or debauched, I gradually feel at ease, I have become a cruel villain. I thought my feelings for her had become indifferent, so I Presumably she must have lost her love for me, too. I told myself that our past love was nothing more than an idle affair, and shrugged my shoulders to show that it was so. Overcoming all censure, dispelling all scruples, I have often said to myself: 'I shall be very glad to hear that she has married a good husband.' But this letter made me see myself better. I felt that she was the one I was in the world. The only girl I love the most, and I have no conscience for her. However, my affair with Miss Gray had just been settled, and retreat was out of the question. My only recourse was to avoid both of you. I did not give Marian I wrote back, trying to distract her from my attention. At one point I even decided not to go to Beckley Street. But I finally decided that it would be wisest to pretend to be a cold acquaintance, so one morning I looked at After you all went out and walked far away, I went in and left my business card."

"Seeing us go out?"

"Exactly. You'd be even more surprised to hear that I've been watching you a lot, and how many times I've come close to running into you. I've ducked into a number of shops so as not to be seen by you as your carriages drove by. I live in Bond Street and see one of you almost every day. We wouldn't have been so long apart if I hadn't been on constant guard and trying to avoid you. I try to avoid The Middletons, and others we both probably knew. But, I didn't know the Middletons came to town, I think it was Sir John's first day in town, and I went to Jennings On the second day at my wife's house, I bumped into him twice. He invited me to a party at his house at night. In order to arouse my interest in going, he also told me that both of you sisters would come. In this way, Of course I didn't dare to go. However, even if he didn't tell me that you would go too, I would think that you would definitely go, and I wouldn't go to his house with confidence. The next morning, I received another A note from Marianne--still confiding in me with such warmth and sincerity--everything made my conduct seem abhorrent. I didn't know how to reply. I wanted to write, but never got a word in. But I know I thought of her every moment of that day. Miss Dashwood, if you can have pity on me, please have pity on the situation I was in. I was thinking of your sister, and I had to be in the presence of another woman Playing a jovial lover! It couldn't have been worse for three or four weeks, and then, alas! I bumped into you guys. No need to mention it, I made a fool of myself and acted like a clown! It was a What a wretched night! On the one hand, Marianne is as beautiful as an angel, calling me Willoughby in that tone! Oh, God! She held out her hand to me, and those charming eyes looked lovingly and eagerly Me, I want to explain to her! And Sophie, on the other hand, was so jealous that she looked like—well, it doesn't matter anyway, it's all over now. That night! As soon as it was possible I ran away and avoided you, but I saw Marianne's lovely face go very pale. That was the last time I saw her, and the last time she was seen in front of me. It was terrible What a scene! But now, when I think of her dying, it is a kind of consolation to me, because I think others saw her dying as well as she did that day. When I came all the way, she was always in front of my eyes, that's the way, that's the look."

Then, the two were silent for a while.Willoughby was the first to wake up from the silence, and then said:
"Okay, let me hurry up and go. Is your sister really getting better and out of danger?"

"We have no doubts about that."

"And your poor mother is sure of it?—she dotes on Marianne."

"But the letter, Willoughby, the letter in your own hand, do you have anything to say about it?"

"Yes, yes, that's one thing in particular. You know, your sister wrote me another letter the very next morning. You've seen what she wrote. I was in Egypt. I had breakfast at Leeson's, and someone brought me her letter from my place, along with a few others. Sophie, by chance, saw it before I did. It was that size , the delicate paper, and the handsome handwriting, all this aroused her suspicion at once. She had heard it mentioned in a daze that I was in love with a young lady in Devonshire, and she What she saw told which young lady it was. This made her even more jealous than ever. So she put on an air of jesting (that would have been flattering if it had come from a woman you loved. Delighted.), opened the letter at once, and read it. Her impertinence cost her a great deal, for she read what depresses her. I can bear her despondency, but her That feeling—her viciousness—could not at all appease me. In any case, what do you think of my wife's writing style? Delicate, tender, downright effeminate—isn't it?"

"Your wife! I believe it's your own handwriting."

"Yes, but it's to my credit that I've only slavishly copied lines I'm ashamed to sign. The originals were all hers, with her own ingenuity and gentility. But what can I do? We're engaged, and everything's being prepared, and the wedding day is almost fixed—but I talk like a fool. What preparations! Days! To tell the truth, I Needed her money. In my situation, I had to make sure I didn't lose my face anyway, so I was capable of anything at that time. After all, how I worded my reply will be decided by Marianne. And what impressions of my personality are produced in the minds of her friends and relatives? Only one impression can be produced, that I am declaring myself a villain, and it does not matter whether I do it by bowing my head or blowing my beard and staring.' I It's all over in their eyes,' I said to myself, 'they'll never have anything to do with me again. They've seen me as a wretch, and this letter will only make them see me as a villain . . .' I thought thus in despair, copying my wife's words recklessly, and saying farewell to Marianne's last keepsakes. Three of her letters—all in my wallet or I would have denied the letters, and treasured them. But I had to take them out, and I couldn't even kiss them. And the lock of hair—in the same wallet, too, I keep it with me at all times, lest my wife be searched half-smilingly, half-badly--that lovely lock of hair--every token of it."

"You are wrong, Mr. Willoughby, and you are very much responsible for it," said Elinor, with uncontrollable compassion. "You should not speak of Mrs. Willoughby or of me in this way." Sister. That is your own choice, not forced by others. Your wife has the right to ask you to treat her with respect, at least treat her with courtesy. She must love you very much, otherwise she would not marry you. Your treating her so unkindly, and speaking of her so disrespectfully, will never atone for Marianne, nor, I think, will ever comfort your conscience."

"Don't tell me about my wife," said Willoughby, with a heavy sigh, "she doesn't deserve your pity. She knew I didn't love her when we were married. So we are married, come honeymoon at Combe House, and then come back to town for merry-go-round. Now, Miss Dashwood, do you pity me, or have I said all this in vain? In your opinion, am I not more sinful than I was before? A little less--even a little less. My intentions are not always bad. Shall I explain my sin a little?"

"Yes, of course you explain a little--just a little. On the whole, you prove that your fault is not so great as I thought. You prove that your heart is far less wicked. But I hardly Dare to imagine—you inflicted so much pain on others—I just don't know that it could have been worse."

"When your sister is cured, can you tell her what I said to you, so that I will be in her heart as I am in your heart, and I will be less guilty? You say she has forgiven me. Give me Let me hope that if she knew a little better about my heart, how I feel now, she would forgive me more spontaneously, more naturally, more gently, and not so solemnly. Tell Her my pain and my confession, tell her I never changed my mind about her. If you will, please tell her I love her more than ever at this moment."

"I'll tell her all the things that can excuse you relatively. But you haven't explained to me what is the special reason for your coming here today. How do you know that she is sick?,
"Last night I met Sir John Middleton in the foyer of the Drury Street Theatre, and as soon as he recognized me (for the first time in nearly two months) he told me Speaking of which, I am not surprised or resentful that he has ignored me since I was married, but at the time, he was such a good-natured, honest, and muddle-headed fellow that he had a great deal of respect for me. With all the resentment and deep concern for your sister, he couldn't help telling me things that he thought ought to grieve me, though he probably didn't think I should grieve. So he told me straight up: Marianne Dashwood was dying of typhus in Cleveland--he had a letter from Mrs. Jennings that morning saying she was very ill--the Palmers were frightened away, etc. I On hearing this, I was so shocked that I couldn't hide it with a look of indifference. Even Sir John, who was insensitive, noticed this. He couldn't help but softened when he saw me sad. He eliminated some hostility, and even jet lag Shake my hand a little, and tell me about a beagle she once promised to give me. I heard your sister was dying—and when she was dying, she thought I was the worst villain in the world, and would despise me at the last moment. I, hate me, what does it feel like in my heart? For what terrible conspiracy can't be said to be my work? One person will describe me as a villain who can do all kinds of evil things. I feel very sad. Terrible! I made up my mind quickly, and got into the carriage at eight o'clock this morning. Now you understand it all."

Eleanor did not answer.She was meditating: a person with outstanding appearance, cheerful nature, frankness, integrity, and sentimentality, but because of premature independent living, he has acquired bad habits of idleness, bohemianism, and greed for vanity, so he has a negative impact on his heart and character. Irreparable damage has been done to happiness and happiness.The social environment makes him extravagant and vain, and extravagant and vain makes him indifferent and selfish.In order to achieve the shameful goal of pursuing vanity, he does not hesitate to benefit himself at the expense of others, and pursues the happiness of his heart, but in the end he gets involved in a true love, but the extravagant life, or at least the need to satisfy the extravagance, makes him have to Sacrifice this true love.Every wrong inclination leads him from good to evil, and brings him to punishment.Previously, he disregarded morality, disregarded human feelings, abandoned all interests, and cut off this love from the surface.But now, this love is irretrievable, but it dominates his whole body and mind.And that marriage, for which he had relentlessly tortured her sister, might now be for him even more the source of his future misfortunes, and of still more irrevocable misfortunes.

Elinor meditated in this way for a few minutes, and was suddenly interrupted by Willoughby.It turned out that Willoughby had just woken up from almost the same painful contemplation, stood up suddenly and was about to go, and said in passing:

"It's useless to stay here any longer, I should go."

"Are you going back to town?"

"No, to Combe House. I'm going there on business, and I'll be back in town from there in a day or two. Good-bye."

Willoughby held out his hand.Eleanor couldn't refuse, so she also extended her hand to him.Willoughby took it affectionately.

"Have you really changed your mind about me a little?" he said, letting go of her hand, and leaning against the mantelpiece, seemed to have forgotten that he was going.

Eleanor told him that yes, she did change her mind about him a bit.She also said she forgave him, sympathized with him, wished him luck—even cared about his happiness—and offered him advice on how to live his life most effectively.Willoughby's answer was not very encouraging.

"Speaking of which," he said, "I'll try to get on with it. Family happiness is out of the question. Still, if I can allow myself to think that you and your sister care about my fate and my actions, it will be— —it will make me pay attention—at least, it will make it worth living. Of course, I have lost Marianne forever. If God willing, if I am ever lucky enough to be free again—”

Eleanor cut him off with a reprimand.

"Well," answered Willoughby, "say good-bye once more. I am going, and live, with one fear in mind."

"what do you mean?"

"I'm afraid your sister will get married."

"You're all wrong. You'll never get her again."

"But she'll let someone else have it. If that's the one I can't tolerate the most—but I don't want to be here lest you see that the one I hurt the most is the one I can't forgive , and thus lose for nothing your sympathy and pity for me. Good-bye, and God bless you!"

After speaking, he almost ran out of the room.

(End of this chapter)