by Jane Austen
“You are mistaken, Elinor; you are very much mistaken. A very little trouble on your side secures29 him. Perhaps just at present he may be undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his friends may all advise him against it.30 But some of those little attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give, will fix him,31 in spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should not try for him. It is not to be supposed that any prior attachment on your side—in short, you know as to an attachment of that kind, it is quite out of the question, the objections are insurmountable—you have too much sense not to see all that. Colonel Brandon must be the man; and no civility shall be wanting on my part, to make him pleased with you and your family. It is a match that must give universal satisfaction. In short, it is a kind of thing that”—lowering his voice to an important whisper—“will be exceedingly welcome to all parties.”32 Recollecting himself, however, he added, “That is, I mean to say—your friends33 are all truly anxious to see you well settled; Fanny particularly, for she has your interest very much at heart, I assure you. And her mother too, Mrs. Ferrars, a very good-natured woman, I am sure it would give her great pleasure; she said as much the other day.”
Elinor would not vouchsafe any answer.
“It would be something remarkable now,” he continued, “something droll, if Fanny should have a brother and I a sister settling34 at the same time. And yet it is not very unlikely.”
“Is Mr. Edward Ferrars,” said Elinor, with resolution, “going to be married?”
“It is not actually settled, but there is such a thing in agitation.35 He has a most excellent mother. Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost liberality, will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a-year, if the match takes place.36 The lady is the Hon. Miss Morton,37 only daughter of the late Lord Morton, with thirty thousand pounds.38 A very desirable connection on both sides, and I have not a doubt of its taking place in time. A thousand a-year is a great deal for a mother to give away, to make over for ever; but Mrs. Ferrars has a noble spirit. To give you another instance of her liberality:—The other day, as soon as we came to town, aware that money could not be very plenty39 with us just now, she put bank-notes into Fanny’s hands to the amount of two hundred pounds.40 And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great expense while we are here.”
He paused for her assent and compassion; and she forced herself to say,
“Your expenses both in town and country must certainly be considerable, but your income is a large one.”
“Not so large, I dare say, as many people suppose. I do not mean to complain, however; it is undoubtedly a comfortable one, and I hope will in time be better. The inclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on, is a most serious drain.41 And then I have made a little purchase within this half year; East Kingham Farm, you must remember the place, where old Gibson used to live. The land was so very desirable for me in every respect, so immediately adjoining my own property, that I felt it my duty to buy it.42 I could not have answered it to my conscience to let it fall into any other hands. A man must pay for his convenience; and it has cost me a vast deal of money.”
“More than you think it really and intrinsically worth.”
“Why, I hope not that. I might have sold it again the next day, for more than I gave:43 but with regard to the purchase-money, I might have been very unfortunate indeed; for the stocks were at that time so low, that if I had not happened to have the necessary sum in my banker’s hands, I must have sold out to very great loss.”44
Elinor could only smile.
“Other great and inevitable expenses too we have had on first coming to Norland. Our respected father, as you well know, bequeathed all the Stanhill effects45 that remained at Norland (and very valuable they were) to your mother. Far be it from me to repine at his doing so; he had an undoubted right to dispose of his own property as he chose. But, in consequence of it, we have been obliged to make large purchases of linen, china, &c. to supply the place of what was taken away. You may guess, after all these expenses, how very far we must be from being rich, and how acceptable Mrs. Ferrars’s kindness is.”
“Certainly,” said Elinor; “and assisted by her liberality, I hope you may yet live to be in easy circumstances.”
“Another year or two may do much towards it,” he gravely replied;46 “but however there is still a great deal to be done. There is not a stone laid of Fanny’s greenhouse,47 and nothing but the plan of the flower-garden marked out.”48
“Where is the green-house to be?”
“Upon the knoll behind the house. The old walnut trees are all come down to make room for it.49 It will be a very fine object from many parts of the park, and the flower-garden will slope down just before it, and be exceedingly pretty.50 We have cleared away all the old thorns that grew in patches over the brow.”
Elinor kept her concern and her censure to herself; and was very thankful that Marianne was not present, to share the provocation.51
Having now said enough to make his poverty clear, and to do away the necessity of buying a pair of ear-rings for each of his sisters, in his next visit at Gray’s, his thoughts took a cheerfuller turn, and he began to congratulate Elinor on having such a friend as Mrs. Jennings.52
“She seems a most valuable woman indeed.—Her house, her style of living, all bespeak an exceeding good income; and it is an acquaintance that has not only been of great use53 to you hitherto, but in the end may prove materially advantageous.—Her inviting you to town is certainly a vast thing in your favour; and indeed, it speaks54 altogether so great a regard for you, that in all probability when she dies you will not be forgotten.—She must have a great deal to leave.”
“Nothing at all, I should rather suppose; for she has only her jointure,55 which will descend to her children.”
“But it is not to be imagined that she lives up to her income.56 Few people of common prudence will do that; and whatever she saves, she will be able to dispose of.”
“And do you not think it more likely that she should leave it to her daughters, than to us?”
“Her daughters are both exceedingly well married, and therefore I cannot perceive the necessity of her remembering them farther. Whereas, in my opinion, by her taking so much notice of you, and treating you in this kind of way, she has given you a sort of claim on her future consideration, which a conscientious woman would not disregard.57 Nothing can be kinder than her behaviour; and she can hardly do all this, without being aware of the expectation she raises.”
“But she raises none in those most concerned. Indeed, brother, your anxiety for our welfare and prosperity carries you too far.”
“Why to be sure,” said he, seeming to recollect himself, “people have little, have very little in their power.58 But, my dear Elinor, what is the matter with Marianne?—she looks very unwell, has lost her colour, and is grown quite thin. Is she ill?”59
“She is not well, she has had a nervous complaint on her for several weeks.”60
“I am sorry for that. At her time of life, any thing of an illness destroys the bloom for ever!61 Her’s has been a very short one! She was as handsome a girl last September, as any I ever saw; and as likely to attract the men. There was something in her style of beauty, to please them particularly. I remember Fanny used to say that she would marry sooner and better than you did; not but what she is exceedingly fond of you, but so it happened to strike her.62 She will be mistaken, however. I question whether Marianne now, will marry a man worth more than five or six hundred a-year, at the utmost, and I am very much deceived if you do not do better.63 Dorsetshire! I know very little of Dorsetshire; but, my dear Elinor, I shall be exceedingly glad to know more of it; and I think I can answer for your having Fanny and myself among the earliest and best pleased of your visitors.”64
Elinor tried very seriously to convince him that there was no likelihood of her marrying Colonel Brandon; but it was an expectation of too much pleasure to himself to be relinquished, and he was
really resolved on seeking an intimacy with that gentleman, and promoting the marriage by every possible attention. He had just compunction enough for having done nothing for his sisters himself, to be exceedingly anxious that everybody else should do a great deal; and an offer from Colonel Brandon, or a legacy from Mrs. Jennings, was the easiest means of atoning for his own neglect.
They were lucky enough to find Lady Middleton at home, and Sir John came in before their visit ended. Abundance of civilities passed on all sides. Sir John was ready to like anybody, and though Mr. Dashwood did not seem to know much about horses,65 he soon set him down as66 a very good-natured fellow: while Lady Middleton saw enough of fashion67 in his appearance, to think his acquaintance worth having; and Mr. Dashwood went away delighted with both.
“I shall have a charming account to carry to Fanny,” said he, as he walked back with his sister. “Lady Middleton is really a most elegant woman! Such a woman as I am sure Fanny will be glad to know.68 And Mrs. Jennings too, an exceeding well-behaved woman, though not so elegant as her daughter. Your sister69 need not have any scruple even of70 visiting her, which, to say the truth, has been a little the case, and very naturally; for we only knew that Mrs. Jennings was the widow of a man who had got all his money in a low way;71 and Fanny and Mrs. Ferrars were both strongly prepossessed72 that neither she nor her daughters were such kind of women as Fanny would like to associate with. But now I can carry her a most satisfactory account of both.”
An elaborate flower garden of the time.
[From Humphrey Repton, The Art of Landscape Gardening (Boston, 1907; reprint ed.), p. 144]
[List of Illustrations]
Chapter Twelve
Mrs. John Dashwood had so much confidence in her husband’s judgment that she waited the very next day both on Mrs. Jennings and her daughter;1 and her confidence was rewarded by finding even the former, even the woman with whom her sisters were staying, by no means unworthy her notice; and as for Lady Middleton, she found her one of the most charming women in the world!
Lady Middleton was equally pleased with Mrs. Dashwood. There was a kind of cold hearted selfishness on both sides, which mutually attracted them; and they sympathised with each other in an insipid propriety of demeanour, and a general want of understanding.2
The same manners however, which recommended Mrs. John Dashwood to the good opinion of Lady Middleton, did not suit the fancy of Mrs. Jennings, and to her she appeared nothing more than a little proud-looking woman of uncordial address,3 who met her husband’s sisters without any affection, and almost without having any thing to say to them; for of the quarter of an hour bestowed on Berkeley-street, she sat at least seven minutes and a half in silence.4
Elinor wanted very much to know, though she did not chuse to ask, whether Edward was then in town; but nothing would have induced Fanny voluntarily to mention his name before her, till able to tell her that his marriage with Miss Morton was resolved on, or till her husband’s expectations on Colonel Brandon were answered; because she believed them still so very much attached to each other, that they could not be too sedulously divided in word and deed on every occasion. The intelligence however, which she would not give, soon flowed from another quarter. Lucy came very shortly to claim Elinor’s compassion on being unable to see Edward, though he had arrived in town with Mr. and Mrs. Dashwood.5 He dared not come to Bartlett’s Buildings for fear of detection, and though their mutual impatience to meet, was not to be told, they could do nothing at present but write.6
Edward assured them himself of his being in town, within a very short time, by twice calling in Berkeley-street. Twice was his card found on the table,7 when they returned from their morning’s engagements. Elinor was pleased that he had called; and still more pleased that she had missed him.
The Dashwoods were so prodigiously delighted with the Middletons, that though not much in the habit of giving any thing, they determined to give them—a dinner; and soon after their acquaintance began, invited them to dine in Harley-street,8 where they had taken a very good house for three months. Their sisters and Mrs. Jennings were invited likewise,9 and John Dashwood was careful to secure Colonel Brandon, who, always glad to be where the Miss Dashwoods were, received his eager civilities with some surprise,10 but much more pleasure. They were to meet Mrs. Ferrars; but Elinor could not learn whether her sons were to be of the party. The expectation of seeing her, however, was enough to make her interested in the engagement; for though she could now meet Edward’s mother without that strong anxiety which had once promised to attend such an introduction, though she could now see her with perfect indifference as to her opinion of herself, her desire of being in company with Mrs. Ferrars, her curiosity to know what she was like, was as lively as ever.11
The interest with which she thus anticipated the party, was soon afterwards increased, more powerfully than pleasantly, by her hearing that the Miss Steeles were also to be at it.
So well had they recommended themselves to Lady Middleton, so agreeable had their assiduities made them to her, that though Lucy was certainly not elegant, and her sister not even genteel,12 she was as ready as Sir John to ask them to spend a week or two in Conduit-street: and it happened to be particularly convenient to the Miss Steeles, as soon as the Dashwoods’ invitation was known, that their visit should begin a few days before the party took place.13
Their claims to the notice of Mrs. John Dashwood, as the nieces of the gentleman who for many years had had the care of her brother, might not have done much, however, towards procuring them seats at her table; but as Lady Middleton’s guests they must be welcome; and Lucy, who had long wanted to be personally known to the family, to have a nearer view of their characters and her own difficulties, and to have an opportunity of endeavouring to please them, had seldom been happier in her life than she was on receiving Mrs. John Dashwood’s card.
On Elinor its effect was very different. She began immediately to determine that Edward who lived with his mother, must be asked as his mother was, to a party given by his sister; and to see him for the first time after all that passed, in the company of Lucy!—she hardly knew how she could bear it!
These apprehensions perhaps were not founded entirely on reason, and certainly not at all on truth.14 They were relieved however, not by her own recollection,15 but by the good will of Lucy, who believed herself to be inflicting a severe disappointment when she told her that Edward certainly would not be in Harley-street on Tuesday, and even hoped to be carrying the pain still farther by persuading her, that he was kept away by that extreme affection for herself, which he could not conceal when they were together.
The important Tuesday came that was to introduce the two young ladies to this formidable mother-in-law.
“Pity me, dear Miss Dashwood!” said Lucy, as they walked up the stairs together—for the Middletons arrived so directly16 after Mrs. Jennings, that they all followed the servant at the same time17—“There is nobody here but you, that can feel for me.—I declare I can hardly stand. Good gracious!—In a moment I shall see the person that all my happiness depends on—that is to be my mother!”18—
Elinor could have given her immediate relief by suggesting the possibility of its being Miss Morton’s mother, rather than her own, whom they were about to behold; but instead of doing that, she assured her, and with great sincerity, that she did pity her,—to the utter amazement of Lucy, who, though really uncomfortable herself, hoped at least to be an object of irrepressible envy to Elinor.
Mrs. Ferrars was a little, thin woman, upright, even to formality, in her figure, and serious, even to sourness, in her aspect.19 Her complexion was sallow; and her features small, without beauty, and naturally without expression; but a lucky contraction of the brow had rescued her countenance from the disgrace of insipidity, by giving it the strong characters of pride and ill nature. She was not a woman of many words: for, unlike people in general, she proportioned them to the number of her ideas;20 and of the few syllables that did escape her, not
one fell to the share of Miss Dashwood, whom she eyed with the spirited determination of disliking her at all events.
Elinor could not now be made unhappy by this behaviour.—A few months ago it would have hurt her exceedingly; but it was not in Mrs. Ferrars’s power to distress her by it now;—and the difference of her manners to the Miss Steeles, a difference which seemed purposely made to humble her more, only amused her. She could not but smile to see the graciousness of both mother and daughter towards the very person—for Lucy was particularly distinguished—whom of all others, had they known as much as she did, they would have been most anxious to mortify; while she herself, who had comparatively no power to wound them, sat pointedly slighted by both. But while she smiled at a graciousness so misapplied, she could not reflect on the mean-spirited folly from which it sprung, nor observe the studied attentions with which the Miss Steeles courted its continuance, without thoroughly despising them all four.21
Lucy was all exultation on being so honourably distinguished; and Miss Steele wanted only to be teazed about Dr. Davies to be perfectly happy.
The dinner was a grand one, the servants were numerous, and every thing bespoke the Mistress’s inclination for shew, and the Master’s ability to support it.22 In spite of the improvements and additions which were making to the Norland estate, and in spite of its owner having once been within some thousand pounds of being obliged to sell out at a loss,23 nothing gave any symptom of that indigence which he had tried to infer from it;—no poverty of any kind, except of conversation, appeared—but there, the deficiency was considerable. John Dashwood had not much to say for himself that was worth hearing, and his wife had still less. But there was no peculiar24 disgrace in this, for it was very much the case with the chief25 of their visitors, who almost all laboured under one or other of these disqualifications for being agreeable—Want26 of sense, either natural or improved27—want of elegance—want of spirits28—or want of temper.29
