The Annotated Persuasion

by Jane Austen

  A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevitably consumed; and when her own mistress again, when able to turn and look as she had done before, she found herself accosted by Captain Wentworth, in a reserved yet hurried sort of farewell. “He must wish her good night. He was going—he should get home as fast as he could.”53

  “Is not this song worth staying for?” said Anne, suddenly struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious to be encouraging.

  “No!” he replied impressively,54 “there is nothing worth my staying for”; and he was gone directly.55

  Jealousy of Mr. Elliot! It was the only intelligible motive. Captain Wentworth jealous of her affection!56 Could she have believed it a week ago57—three hours ago! For a moment the gratification was exquisite. But alas! there were very different thoughts to succeed. How was such jealousy to be quieted? How was the truth to reach him? How, in all the peculiar58 disadvantages of their respective situations, would he ever learn her real sentiments? It was misery to think of Mr. Elliot’s attentions.—Their evil was incalculable.59

  Chapter Nine

  Anne recollected with pleasure the next morning her promise of going to Mrs. Smith; meaning that it should engage her from home at the time when Mr. Elliot would be most likely to call; for to avoid Mr. Elliot was almost a first object.

  She felt a great deal of good will towards him. In spite of the mischief1 of his attentions, she owed him gratitude and regard, perhaps compassion. She could not help thinking much of the extraordinary circumstances attending their acquaintance; of the right which he seemed to have to interest her, by every thing in situation, by his own sentiments, by his early prepossession.2 It was altogether very extraordinary.—Flattering, but painful. There was much to regret. How she might have felt, had there been no Captain Wentworth in the case, was not worth enquiry; for there was a Captain Wentworth: and be the conclusion of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be his for ever. Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other men, than their final separation.3

  Prettier musings of high-wrought love and eternal constancy, could never have passed along the streets of Bath, than Anne was sporting with from Camden-place to Westgate-buildings.4 It was almost enough to spread purification and perfume all the way.5

  She was sure of a pleasant reception; and her friend seemed this morning particularly obliged to her for coming, seemed hardly to have expected her, though it had been an appointment.6

  An account of the concert was immediately claimed; and Anne’s recollections of the concert were quite happy enough to animate her features, and make her rejoice to talk of it. All that she could tell, she told most gladly; but the all was little for one who had been there, and unsatisfactory for such an enquirer as Mrs. Smith, who had already heard, through the short cut of a laundress7 and a waiter,8 rather more of the general success and produce of the evening than Anne could relate; and who now asked in vain for several particulars of the company. Every body of any consequence or notoriety in Bath was well known by name to Mrs. Smith.

  “The little Durands were there, I conclude,” said she, “with their mouths open to catch the music; like unfledged sparrows ready to be fed. They never miss a concert.”

  “Yes. I did not see them myself, but I heard Mr. Elliot say they were in the room.”

  “The Ibbotsons—were they there? and the two new beauties, with the tall Irish officer,9 who is talked of for one of them.”

  “I do not know.—I do not think they were.”

  “Old Lady Mary Maclean? I need not ask after her. She never misses, I know; and you must have seen her. She must have been in your own circle, for as you went with Lady Dalrymple, you were in the seats of grandeur; round the orchestra, of course.”

  “No, that was what I dreaded. It would have been very unpleasant to me in every respect. But happily Lady Dalrymple always chooses to be farther off; and we were exceedingly well placed—that is for hearing; I must not say for seeing, because I appear to have seen very little.”

  “Oh! you saw enough for your own amusement.—I can understand. There is a sort of domestic enjoyment to be known even in a crowd, and this you had. You were a large party in yourselves, and you wanted nothing beyond.”

  “But I ought to have looked about me more,” said Anne, conscious while she spoke, that there had in fact been no want of looking about; that the object only had been deficient.

  “No, no—you were better employed. You need not tell me that you had a pleasant evening. I see it in your eye. I perfectly see how the hours passed—that you had always something agreeable to listen to. In the intervals of the concert, it was conversation.”

  Anne half smiled and said, “Do you see that in my eye?”

  “Yes, I do. Your countenance perfectly informs me that you were in company last night with the person, whom you think the most agreeable in the world, the person who interests you at this present time, more than all the rest of the world put together.”

  A blush overspread Anne’s cheeks. She could say nothing.

  “And such being the case,” continued Mrs. Smith, after a short pause,10 “I hope you believe that I do know how to value your kindness in coming to me this morning. It is really very good of you to come and sit with me, when you must have so many pleasanter demands upon your time.”

  Anne heard nothing of this. She was still in the astonishment and confusion excited by her friend’s penetration, unable to imagine how any report of Captain Wentworth could have reached her. After another short silence—

  “Pray,” said Mrs. Smith, “is Mr. Elliot aware of your acquaintance with me? Does he know that I am in Bath?”

  “Mr. Elliot!” repeated Anne, looking up surprised. A moment’s reflection shewed her the mistake she had been under. She caught it instantaneously; and, recovering courage with the feeling of safety, soon added, more composedly, “are you acquainted with Mr. Elliot?”

  “I have been a good deal acquainted with him,” replied Mrs. Smith, gravely, “but it seems worn out now. It is a great while since we met.”

  “I was not at all aware of this. You never mentioned it before. Had I known it, I would have had the pleasure of talking to him about you.”

  “To confess the truth,” said Mrs. Smith, assuming her usual air of cheerfulness, “that is exactly the pleasure I want you to have. I want you to talk about me to Mr. Elliot. I want your interest11 with him. He can be of essential service to me; and if you would have the goodness, my dear Miss Elliot,12 to make it an object to yourself, of course it is done.”

  “I should be extremely happy—I hope you cannot doubt my willingness to be of even the slightest use to you,” replied Anne; “but I suspect that you are considering me as having a higher claim on Mr. Elliot—a greater right to influence him, than is really the case. I am sure you have, somehow or other, imbibed such a notion. You must consider me only as Mr. Elliot’s relation. If in that light, if there is any thing which you suppose his cousin might fairly ask of him, I beg you would not hesitate to employ me.”

  Mrs. Smith gave her a penetrating glance, and then smiling, said,

  “I have been a little premature, I perceive. I beg your pardon. I ought to have waited for official information.13 But now, my dear Miss Elliot, as an old friend, do give me a hint as to when I may speak. Next week? To be sure by next week I may be allowed to think it all settled, and build my own selfish schemes on Mr. Elliot’s good fortune.”

  “No,” replied Anne, “nor next week, nor next, nor next. I assure you that nothing of the sort you are thinking of will be settled any week. I am not going to marry Mr. Elliot. I should like to know why you imagine I am.”

  Mrs. Smith looked at her again, looked earnestly, smiled, shook her head, and exclaimed,

  “Now, how I do wish I understood you! How I do wish I knew what you were at! I have a great idea that you do not design to be cruel, when the right moment comes. Till it does come, you know, we women never mean to have any body.
It is a thing of course among us, that every man is refused—till he offers. But why should you be cruel?14 Let me plead for my—present friend I cannot call him—but for my former friend. Where can you look for a more suitable match? Where could you expect a more gentlemanlike, agreeable man? Let me recommend Mr. Elliot. I am sure you hear nothing but good of him from Colonel Wallis; and who can know him better than Colonel Wallis?”15

  “My dear Mrs. Smith,16 Mr. Elliot’s wife has not been dead much above half a year.17 He ought not to be supposed to be paying his addresses to18 any one.”

  “Oh! if these are your only objections,” cried Mrs. Smith, archly, “Mr. Elliot is safe, and I shall give myself no more trouble about him. Do not forget me when you are married, that’s all. Let him know me to be a friend of yours, and then he will think little of the trouble required, which it is very natural for him now, with so many affairs and engagements of his own, to avoid and get rid of as he can—very natural, perhaps. Ninety-nine out of a hundred would do the same.19 Of course, he cannot be aware of the importance to me. Well, my dear Miss Elliot, I hope and trust you will be very happy. Mr. Elliot has sense to understand the value of such a woman. Your peace will not be shipwrecked as mine has been. You are safe in all worldly matters,20 and safe in his character. He will not be led astray, he will not be misled by others to his ruin.”

  “No,” said Anne, “I can readily believe all that of my cousin. He seems to have a calm, decided temper, not at all open to dangerous impressions. I consider him with great respect. I have no reason, from any thing that has fallen within my observation, to do otherwise. But I have not known him long; and he is not a man, I think, to be known intimately soon. Will not this manner of speaking of him, Mrs. Smith, convince you that he is nothing to me? Surely, this must be calm enough. And, upon my word, he is nothing to me. Should he ever propose to me (which I have very little reason to imagine he has any thought of doing),21 I shall not accept him. I assure you I shall not. I assure you Mr. Elliot had not the share which you have been supposing, in whatever pleasure the concert of last night might afford:—not Mr. Elliot; it is not Mr. Elliot that—”

  She stopped, regretting with a deep blush that she had implied so much; but less would hardly have been sufficient. Mrs. Smith would hardly have believed so soon in Mr. Elliot’s failure, but from the perception of there being a somebody else. As it was, she instantly submitted, and with all the semblance of seeing nothing beyond; and Anne, eager to escape farther notice, was impatient to know why Mrs. Smith should have fancied she was to marry Mr. Elliot, where she could have received the idea, or from whom she could have heard it.

  “Do tell me how it first came into your head.”

  “It first came into my head,” replied Mrs. Smith, “upon finding how much you were together, and feeling it to be the most probable thing in the world to be wished for by every body belonging to either of you; and you may depend upon it that all your acquaintance have disposed of you in the same way.22 But I never heard it spoken of till two days ago.”

  “And has it indeed been spoken of?”

  “Did you observe the woman who opened the door to you, when you called yesterday?”

  “No. Was not it Mrs. Speed, as usual, or the maid? I observed no one in particular.”23

  “It was my friend, Mrs. Rooke—Nurse Rooke, who, by the by, had a great curiosity to see you, and was delighted to be in the way to let you in. She came away from Marlborough-buildings24 only on Sunday; and she it was who told me you were to marry Mr. Elliot. She had had it from Mrs. Wallis herself,25 which did not seem bad authority. She sat an hour with me on Monday evening, and gave me the whole history.”26

  “The whole history!” repeated Anne, laughing. “She could not make a very long history, I think, of one such little article of unfounded news.”

  Mrs. Smith said nothing.

  “But,” continued Anne, presently, “though there is no truth in my having this claim on Mr. Elliot, I should be extremely happy to be of use to you, in any way that I could. Shall I mention to him your being in Bath? Shall I take any message?”

  “No, I thank you: no, certainly not. In the warmth of the moment, and under a mistaken impression, I might, perhaps, have endeavoured to interest you in some circumstances. But not now: no, I thank you, I have nothing to trouble you with.”

  “I think you spoke of having known Mr. Elliot many years?”

  “I did.”

  “Not before he married, I suppose?”

  “Yes; he was not married when I knew him first.”

  “And—were you much acquainted?”

  “Intimately.”

  “Indeed! Then do tell me what he was at that time of life. I have a great curiosity to know what Mr. Elliot was as a very young man. Was he at all such as he appears now?”

  “I have not seen Mr. Elliot these three years,” was Mrs. Smith’s answer, given so gravely that it was impossible to pursue the subject farther; and Anne felt that she had gained nothing but an increase of curiosity. They were both silent—Mrs. Smith very thoughtful. At last,

  “I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Elliot,” she cried, in her natural27 tone of cordiality, “I beg your pardon for the short answers I have been giving you, but I have been uncertain what I ought to do. I have been doubting and considering as to what I ought to tell you. There were many things to be taken into the account. One hates to be officious, to be giving bad impressions, making mischief. Even the smooth surface of family-union seems worth preserving, though there may be nothing durable beneath. However, I have determined; I think I am right; I think you ought to be made acquainted with Mr. Elliot’s real character. Though I fully believe that, at present, you have not the smallest intention of accepting him, there is no saying what may happen. You might, some time or other, be differently affected towards him. Hear the truth, therefore, now, while you are unprejudiced. Mr. Elliot is a man without heart or conscience; a designing, wary, cold-blooded being, who thinks only of himself; who, for his own interest or ease, would be guilty of any cruelty, or any treachery, that could be perpetrated without risk of his general character. He has no feeling for others. Those whom he has been the chief cause of leading into ruin, he can neglect and desert without the smallest compunction. He is totally beyond the reach of any sentiment of justice or compassion. Oh! he is black at heart, hollow and black!”28

  Anne’s astonished air, and exclamation of wonder, made her pause, and in a calmer manner she added,

  “My expressions startle you. You must allow29 for an injured, angry woman. But I will try to command myself. I will not abuse him. I will only tell you what I have found him. Facts shall speak. He was the intimate friend of my dear husband,30 who trusted and loved him, and thought him as good as himself. The intimacy had been formed before our marriage. I found them most intimate friends; and I, too, became excessively pleased with Mr. Elliot, and entertained the highest opinion of him. At nineteen, you know, one does not think very seriously, but Mr. Elliot appeared to me quite as good as others, and much more agreeable than most others, and we were almost always together. We were principally in town,31 living in very good style. He was then the inferior in circumstances, he was then the poor one; he had chambers in the Temple,32 and it was as much as he could do to support the appearance of a gentleman.33 He had always a home with us whenever he chose it; he was always welcome; he was like a brother. My poor Charles, who had the finest, most generous spirit in the world, would have divided his last farthing34 with him; and I know that his purse35 was open to him; I know that he often assisted him.”

  “This must have been about that very period of Mr. Elliot’s life,” said Anne, “which has always excited my particular curiosity. It must have been about the same time that he became known to my father and sister. I never knew him myself, I only heard of him, but there was a something in his conduct then with regard to my father and sister, and afterwards in the circumstances of his marriage, which I never could quite reconcile with present t
imes. It seemed to announce a different sort of man.”

  “I know it all, I know it all,” cried Mrs. Smith. “He had been introduced to Sir Walter and your sister before I was acquainted with him, but I heard him speak of them for ever. I know he was invited and encouraged, and I know he did not choose to go. I can satisfy you, perhaps, on points which you would little expect; and as to his marriage, I knew all about it at the time. I was privy to all the fors and againsts, I was the friend to whom he confided his hopes and plans, and though I did not know his wife previously, (her inferior situation in society, indeed, rendered that impossible)36 yet I knew her all her life afterwards, or, at least, till within the last two years of her life, and can answer any question you wish to put.”

  “Nay,” said Anne, “I have no particular enquiry to make about her. I have always understood they were not a happy couple. But I should like to know why, at that time of his life, he should slight my father’s acquaintance as he did. My father was certainly disposed to take very kind and proper notice of him. Why did Mr. Elliot draw back?”