Beginning, Previous Section, Section V
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They were all at Rosings Park upon Lady Catherine's invitation. Her ladyship's son-in-law, the retired captain, was agreeably discussing politics with Mr. Knightley-"because there was hardly ever the chance to discuss politics at Rosings"-and Captain Hunte's remark was true. Lady Catherine understood affairs of state as much as she might understand the farming cycle; and her daughter liked to avoid all potential disagreements with her mother, which meant that no real debate ever passed between the Huntes and Lady Catherine. As Captain Hunte and Mr. Knightley argued cheerfully over the subject of greatest popularity in parliament that day, Mr. Collins was engaged in a baffling game of chess with Arthur Somerset; their match was watched over by the hawkish eye of Lady Catherine and the kinder one of Franny.
"Father," whispered Franny when she saw that her father had stopped for a long while, staring in perplexity at the pieces, "Why do you not move that one there?" Mr. Collins thanked her and did as she suggested, moving his bishop and taking out the white counterpart.
"Ah, ah, no assistance from the spectators," said Arthur in protest. After a short pause, he likewise made his move, threatening two black pieces from the board. "Which shall it be then? Will you sacrifice the rook or the bishop?"
Franny watched in silent agony as her father moved to save the bishop. The black king was still open to a check from the opponent. Just as she expected, Arthur moved in to check her father's king without taking the rook. "Do not take his queen yet, Father," Franny exclaimed against Mr. Collins' motion. "He means to destroy your rook with his knight if you move your rook to take his queen now."
"Franny, remember what your cousin Arthur said. No assistance," said Mr. Collins. He was determined to act as he had decided to do, and he did.
"In my youth, ladies were never permitted to interrupt a gentleman's game of chess..." Lady Catherine was saying, but for once, no one paid any attention.
"I believe it is a stalemate," said Arthur, replacing Mr. Collins' rook with one of his knights.
Mr. Collins stared in flustered surprise, unable to believe that the game was ended. "...Well," he said after some hesitation, "That was an excellent match, Arthur, an excellent match. I never recalled playing against so good a player of chess before..." Not only had Mr. Collins never lost a game; he had also never won. He was accustomed to playing at such a plodding pace that few of his opponents ever had patience to challenge him. Mr. Collins and Arthur cleared the pieces and began to set up a game of checkers instead. Franny did not like checkers, and immediately she excused herself from her place.
She walked about the room, surveying the company. Mr. Knightley and Captain Hunte were still discussing a bill that was about to be passed by parliament, and Franny did not think she would know enough to be of any intelligence on either side of the debate, and so she walked on. Her mother and Mrs. Hunte were seated by the windows, utterly absorbed in whatever conversation they were having. One of them would occasionally cast her a fleeting look that made Franny feel very awkward. If she were the subject of their intimate conversation, Franny had no desire to find out what it was that they were saying. Thus, she promptly walked over to the secluded end of the room, the part of the room that housed the beautiful pianoforte. She lifted the cover and drew her hand across the length of the keyboard longingly.
"Henry Knightley had no reservations informing me of his conversation with you this afternoon."
Franny jumped at Arthur's sudden nearness. Taking momentary leave of his host, Arthur had approached his solitary "little French cousin" at the pianoforte. It was the first tête-à-tête between them since his arrival in Kent that morning. He watched as Franny flipped through a pile of manuscript with an air of seeming calm. His brows were furrowed together in thought. After a while, he said, "Do you not want to know what he told me?"
"I am certain that what he related to you could not have differed much from what I related to him," said Franny plainly.
"Very true." Arthur looked over her shoulder, as if to scrutinize the music with her. "I never knew you enjoyed this sort of composition," he said. "Where are the Schuberts and the Beethovens?"
"Locked away, I suppose," answered Franny, meeting his look with equanimity.
"Not all of them?"
"I hope not," Franny allowed.
"Here is something by the delightfully cheery Mozart. This, at any rate, is something that I know," said Arthur, pulling out a piece from the pile.
"It is Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's favourite song," said Franny. She hummed a bit of the melody, but then frowned.
"Why do you stop?" asked Arthur. "That was very pretty."
"Thank you," answered his bemused cousin. She pointed out that not only was her range to small to reach the high pitches required, but also, she did not know Italian.
"Is that all?" Arthur carefully translated each line of the song for her:
"Voi, che sapete che cosa è amor, -amor means 'love'-
donne vedete, s'io l'ho nel cor.
You who know what love is, ladies,
see whether it's in my heart.
What I experience I'll describe to you;
it's new to me, I don't understand it.
I feel an emotion full of desire,
that is now pleasure, and now suffering.
I freeze, then I feel my soul burning up-"
"'...e in un momento...torno a gelar'," Franny read in an accent worse than Arthur's. "Does it mean: 'and in a moment turn to...' No, perhaps it says: 'and in a moment freeze'?"
"It is something like that," Arthur agreed. He continued slowly:
"I seek a blessing outside myself,
from whom I know not or what it is.
I sigh and moan without meaning to,
palpitate and tremble without knowing it...
I find no peace night or day,
and yet I enjoy languishing so.
You who know what love is.... [See Note 1]
"-And then it repeats the beginning ... Of course, the Canzona is to be sung by a contralto or a boy whose voice has not yet been broken, so I could not possibly sing it for you."
"I did not expect to hear you sing at all," said Franny.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I have never heard you sing. Do you sing? Do you play music?"
"I do not boast of having any more talent in the art than anyone else."
When dinner was announced, Arthur offered to take her in. She accepted, for form's sake, but warned him rather lightly that she had not forgotten his slight against her.
"Pardon me?" asked Arthur in perplexity. "I do not understand."
"Oh, you do not need to be evasive," Franny answered, meaning to have the upper hand. "You left Hertfordshire most unceremoniously last winter, and I will have you feel the full effects of it."
"I thought that you were not one to hold a grudge, my little French cousin," said Arthur, not willing to allow Franny command of the situation.
"I beg you would not call me that, Sir. It would hardly make amends for your faults."
"France, then."
"No."
"Miss Collins."
"So cold! We have been friends once."
"But not friends anymore, according to your accusations against me, and therefore, you must remain Miss Collins."
Franny was pensive. "I shall have to call you Mr. Somerset then."
"That is too much of my father. All right, if I must, I will call you Franny, though perhaps I might venture to slip in Frances Maria once or twice."
"I begin to think that Mother is right. You are silly."
"I can be grave if you want me to be so."
"I only want you to be yourself," said Franny. She smiled. "Mr. Knightley has told me so many interesting things about you which failed to catch my notice entirely during my short acquaintance with you."
"I fear to discover the details of that conversation."
"He tells me that you do not take after your mother or your father, and that you are a great reader."
"Shall I be arrogant and admit to that?"
Franny ignored his tone. "Nor am I now ignorant of your misbehaviour as a child. Mrs. Hunte did not hesitate to tell me that you were quite the small rogue when you were little."
"Upon what grounds does she make her allegations?"
"Upon the evidence provided by the wedding of your father and my aunt."
Arthur laughed with evident appreciation. "I was but seven or eight at the time. What had I done?"
"You tried to vex me."
"And were you really that little bundled doll in Mrs. Hunte's arms?"
"I dare say I was, though I have no recollection of it."
"I remember," said Arthur in amusement. "I could not make you cry. I made faces at you, I shook your little fingers, I confiscated one of your shoes, and all you could do was giggle at me."
"I was born to ridicule you, I suppose," answered Franny.
"Oh, I would not be so quick to say that," Arthur said-and caught himself before he could utter the rest of his sentence. He wanted to tell her that he hoped there were other reasons for her existence, but just then, he remembered the diamond pendant and thought that perhaps Franny truly was meant to be a mockery of his impetuousness.
"And?"
"And?" Arthur echoed her. "What more do you wish to hear?"
"You were about to say...?"
"That the soup was done to a turn tonight."
"Really, I do not think that was at all what you intended to say."
"I do think the soup was well done," Arthur protested.
"You will have to give that compliment to Lady Catherine. I do not order the menu nor hire the cooks at Rosings."
"I know that," said Arthur, "and it's a pity."
"Why so?"
"Do you not think so?"
Franny shook her head. "You are communicating in puzzles again. I don't think I shall ever understand you when you do that."
They turned to listen to other conversations around the table. "You have said that you have a home in the country," Lady Catherine was saying to Henry Knightley at the other end of the table. "Do you go there often? In which county is it?"
"In Surrey," answered Mr. Knightley politely. "It was my grandfather's property, which he gave to his daughter, my mother. My family has been living there since my father retired from his practice."
"And your father, I understand, is a lawyer?"
"Yes, he was a barrister."
"I have read of him in the papers before," said Lady Catherine in approval. "He was a gentleman?"
"Undoubtedly, your ladyship, but being the younger son, and wishing to marry, he was obliged to look for a career."
"A barrister is a sensible profession, I suppose. He might have chosen worse. Was your father from the family of magistrates of the same name?"
"The eldest sons in the family have always settled every dispute in Donwell, but I do not think that we mean the same thing. It is somewhat different from a magistrate."
"We mean the same. Then you, as the eldest son, will become one as well? I have heard something of your mother. She was Miss Woodhouse of Surrey. She was so well known for her attentiveness to her father, and even proposed that her husband must live in her father's home, or else she would never marry. I never did find out what became of her. How came it that she lived in London in the end?"
Mr. Knightley's expression was one that Franny would later describe as a "suppressed snigger of retarded derision." "I beg your pardon, madam, but you must mean my aunt, the former Miss Emma Woodhouse. She never has lived in London; that was my father and mother. And yes, my uncle did indeed oblige her by living at Hartfield during the first two years of their marriage."
"Oh!" exclaimed Lady Catherine in a tone of disapproval. "How very odd! In my days, it was the duty of husbands to provide the home for his wife. Gentlemen who could not might as well have died without entering upon the marriage estate." She paused, but she was not finished. "No," said Lady Catherine, "Matches can never be truly happy where the husband cannot give his wife a proper home. What should his wife's sphere think of him, choosing to live in the home of his wife's father? It should be very wrong indeed. They would think that the match was made for the sake of convenience on the gentleman's part. He can hardly be a proper gentleman.... And it must be very wrong to marry without consideration to family, name, and station."
"I am sorry that your ladyship must think so," said Mr. Knightley. "I thought that marriage should entail something a little more akin to affection than to titles and status. However, I cannot take offense, for though the match between my aunt and uncle was one of love, it was still a very proper one, even by your standards."
"Well, you answer very decidedly for a young man who has not been much tried by the world," said Lady Catherine. "I suppose it must come from your profession. Now-" She turned towards Arthur. "How were Mr. and Mrs. Somerset when you last left them? I hope the children were well."
"They seemed to be," said Arthur. "Ashleigh is very bright and studious. He is learning all he can from Father's trade."
"Ashleigh is fourteen this year, I understand," said Mrs. Collins from her side of the table. "In some more years, he too will be going away to study. Has he chosen a school yet?"
"No, he has not, nor has my father. It is rather early to decide."
"It is never too early to consider the education of a young man. Perhaps Ashleigh will follow in your steps," suggested Mrs. Collins.
"And enter Oxford, you mean?" said Arthur, finishing Mrs. Collins's sentence.
"We seem to understand each other very well," said his aunt.
"Yes, it would seem, madam. As for Oxford, Ashleigh has not thought much in that direction, though he will undoubtedly confront such a decision in his time. For the moment, I do not think Mrs. Somerset has any desire to entertain thoughts of parting with her children. They are still young, after all, and it will be some years' time before the urgency of university presses upon them."
"My nephew Darcy attended Cambridge," Lady Catherine interrupted, seizing control of the conversation once more. "Everyone of importance tells me that it is a very good school by all accounts,"-(as though anyone would dispute against her on such an established fact)-"His eldest goes there now, even though he is so young. He is the youngest of his family to ever enter Cambridge."
"And will they still be coming to Kent this summer, your ladyship?" asked Mr. Collins.
Lady Catherine pursed her lips. "No, unfortunately, something rather unexpected has arisen." That was as good as the Darcys had no desire to come. "However, I will not waste another thought on their coming this year. I shall, no doubt, see them at Christmas. They shall come then."
A long silence ensued as the course was replaced with another.
"When they were very young, they were quite fond of me," Lady Catherine reminisced. "William was simply the most intelligent child. He took after his father, you know. Bella was a sweet girl, like her grandmother. Bennet, for the most part, had the best of the Darcy and the Fitzwilliam in him, although I must say that his name was very awkward and undignified, yet there is nothing that can be done with it for my nephew Darcy was adamant against changing it to Lewis as we had previously agreed to do."
"It would not seem right to call him Lewis," said Lady Catherine's daughter. "He is every bit a Bennet. I would not have it any other way."
"I imagine you take the idea off with yourself and that it originated from the likes of Mrs. Darcy. I never could understand Mrs. Darcy. I should never have imagined naming my own child Bennet. It should be like calling my child a herb. What silly notions there are in naming children now. Why, in Hunsford, there is hardly to be a sensible name found."
"Frances Maria is a very sensible name," Mr. Collins offered. "It is a very proper Christian name."
"Yes, Maria is, but I do not know from where Frances came. I never thought of calling anyone that."
It was the name of his own mother, but Mr. Collins bit his tongue for once and protested nothing.
"And then, there is Mr. Denny's wife. His wife's Christian name, as I have only recently learned, is Bets. It is perfectly heathen. It is a good thing she does not go about society. It should ruin the shades of the finest manors, had she become mistress of one. I am also told that she named her son after Saint Nicholas. That was all very odd. I am vexed that she did not consult with me first. I would have suggested something more wise."
"Mother, that is hardly civil," reminded Mrs. Hunte. "Nicholas is a very good name."
"Mr. Denny's brother must bear the brunt of much sorrow. It is a pity that a man of such manners and breeding should have been christened Wellington. Had his parents consulted me, I would have called him by something sensible like John or William. I would not be afraid to tell him so if ever he returns to Rosings."
"Is Mr. Denny's brother in Hunsford this summer, your ladyship?" asked Arthur. "I should like to meet him."
"Would you? Yes, the poor man. I should like to do something for him. He has taken his brother to see a physician in Tunbridge Wells. Mr. Denny is never quite well now. It is only a pity that so excellent a young man as Lieutenant-Commander Denny should have to bear the strains and burden of his brother's family. If he had been born into a better situation, I should not hesitate to be of more aid to him."
After the meal, the ladies retired to the drawing room and Mrs. Collins overtook Franny at the pianoforte in order to avoid a repeat of that afternoon. "Come away from there and sit with us," she said quietly.
Franny looked at her mother in some confusion. "As you wish, though I do not see the urgency for that. I may play a tune before I join you?"
"Certainly you may," said Mrs. Collins reluctantly, "but remember what Lady Catherine likes."
Franny chose a dance and played it through once, but aware of the constraints, she could derive no pleasure from it. Suppressing a sigh, she left the instrument and sat down beside Mrs. Hunte, whom she trusted would lend her support and comfort from the sudden rigidity of her mother. She picked up a piece of needlework that Mrs. Hunte offered to her as they listened to Lady Catherine speak. But what was a length of thread against a stretch of cotton to her when she had never liked embroidery?
The gentlemen did not stay behind long, for they soon joined them, and with a sly nod towards Arthur, Mr. Knightley approached Franny.
"May I?" he asked politely before sitting down. "It seems that Mr. Collins had a bit of reading which he has gone to fetch, and we are to wait for him while he sends for them. Do you care to entertain us with a little music in the mean while?"
Franny told him that she had just played.
"Franny!" said Lady Catherine. "When a gentleman asks you to play, at the very least, you must not appear headstrong, and oblige him for one song, however ill you may sound."
"I do not mean to be stubborn. I had not thought of playing any more this evening," said Franny, beginning to feel a sort of obstinance because of Lady Catherine's tone. A cautioning glance from Mrs. Collins steered her away from childishness, and she obliged them by going to the instrument. Arthur was already there.
"I thought I might fancy a tune by Schubert," said Arthur. "He is my favourite of the masters after Beethoven."
"I knew that without you telling me."
"Ah, then let us have some music by him, shall we?" Arthur sorted through the stack of music for something that he liked. "Is there nothing by Schubert in this collection?"
"Here is one," said Franny helpfully. "A theme and variation."
"Yes, perhaps."
Across the room, Mr. Knightley and Franny's mother began a spirited debate of some kind that was occasionally interrupted by Lady Catherine's interjections.
"I should think much less of that match," Mrs. Collins was saying, clearly continuing from a thread of conversation that had taken place in the dining room. "...What you tell me is simply a horror. That anyone should willingly part with their child, despite what little that can be offered for her happiness, is simply absurd."
"You are too hasty to judge, if you will pardon me for saying so," replied Mr. Knightley. "The case was nearly decided in favour of the father, who expressed the same fear. But in the end, it was decided in favour of his future son-in-law. The latter was clearly capable of providing for his wife and himself, modest as his income was. And there had been no misconduct at all."
"No misconduct proven that is," said Mrs. Collins.
"Perhaps, but why should one doubt one's daughter if one truly loved her? Especially when one's daughter has always been the quintessence of obedience, and has never given her parents any real cause for grief?" Mr. Knightley smiled. "When I last heard of the young couple, I discovered that the husband had indeed grown successful, despite having started his career as a mere engineer. They have a lovely home in the country, and three lively, active children. His wife has never been in better health or greater happiness. You may trust upon my honour as a gentleman that I do not aggrandize their fortune."
"This Fantasia shall do very well," said Arthur, bringing Franny's attention back to him. He held up a thick manuscript. "Do you know it?"
"But it is a duet."
"Yes, I know."
Franny could barely conceal her surprise as Arthur sat down beside her and began to play the secondo. She had never known that he could play, or play so well for that matter. It was a gift of which he had never boasted, and yet, Franny noted ruefully, she ought to have detected it from his fluency on the subject of music. Unwilling to let the opportunity of performing with an equal partner slip away, she joined him after a few bars with the melody of the primo.
The rest of the company grew silent as the sweetly yearning harmonies filled the room. Such an exhibition had never been given in all the history of Rosings Park. In the past, there was always someone who played but never did two players, ladies or gentlemen, execute the same oeuvre together as agreeably as this duo. The audience listened in captivation as their performers carried them up blazing crests, down hushed valleys, through repressed melancholy and into Viennese lightness. At last, they reached the end. Franny and Arthur beamed at one another as the echoes of the final cadence reverbed through every corner of the room. The vigour of the performance, the all-enrapturing impetus of the music, the vague awareness of having shared the musical spirit with one whose sentiments on the subject were sympathetic, real, and yet fantastic-these and various other thoughts swirled in Franny's mind with a vividness that amazed her.