第 十七 章 · While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing their good

. While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing their good

fortune in Laura Place, Anne was renewing an acquaintance of a very

different description.

She had called on her former governess, and had heard from her of there

being an old schoolfellow in Bath, who had the two strong claims on

her attention of past kindness and present suffering. Miss Hamilton,

now Mrs Smith, had shewn her kindness in one of those periods of her

life when it had been most valuable. Anne had gone unhappy to school,

grieving for the loss of a mother whom she had dearly loved, feeling

her separation from home, and suffering as a girl of fourteen, of

strong sensibility and not high spirits, must suffer at such a time;

and Miss Hamilton, three years older than herself, but still from the

want of near relations and a settled home, remaining another year at

school, had been useful and good to her in a way which had considerably

lessened her misery, and could never be remembered with indifference.

Miss Hamilton had left school, had married not long afterwards, was

said to have married a man of fortune, and this was all that Anne had

known of her, till now that their governess’s account brought her

situation forward in a more decided but very different form.

She was a widow and poor. Her husband had been extravagant; and at his

death, about two years before, had left his affairs dreadfully

involved. She had had difficulties of every sort to contend with, and

in addition to these distresses had been afflicted with a severe

rheumatic fever, which, finally settling in her legs, had made her for

the present a cripple. She had come to Bath on that account, and was

now in lodgings near the hot baths, living in a very humble way, unable

even to afford herself the comfort of a servant, and of course almost

excluded from society.

Their mutual friend answered for the satisfaction which a visit from

Miss Elliot would give Mrs Smith, and Anne therefore lost no time in

going. She mentioned nothing of what she had heard, or what she

intended, at home. It would excite no proper interest there. She only

consulted Lady Russell, who entered thoroughly into her sentiments, and

was most happy to convey her as near to Mrs Smith’s lodgings in

Westgate Buildings, as Anne chose to be taken.

The visit was paid, their acquaintance re-established, their interest

in each other more than re-kindled. The first ten minutes had its

awkwardness and its emotion. Twelve years were gone since they had

parted, and each presented a somewhat different person from what the

other had imagined. Twelve years had changed Anne from the blooming,

silent, unformed girl of fifteen, to the elegant little woman of

seven-and-twenty, with every beauty except bloom, and with manners as

consciously right as they were invariably gentle; and twelve years had

transformed the fine-looking, well-grown Miss Hamilton, in all the glow

of health and confidence of superiority, into a poor, infirm, helpless

widow, receiving the visit of her former protegee as a favour; but all

that was uncomfortable in the meeting had soon passed away, and left

only the interesting charm of remembering former partialities and

talking over old times.

Anne found in Mrs Smith the good sense and agreeable manners which she

had almost ventured to depend on, and a disposition to converse and be

cheerful beyond her expectation. Neither the dissipations of the

past—and she had lived very much in the world—nor the restrictions of

the present, neither sickness nor sorrow seemed to have closed her

heart or ruined her spirits.

In the course of a second visit she talked with great openness, and

Anne’s astonishment increased. She could scarcely imagine a more

cheerless situation in itself than Mrs Smith’s. She had been very fond

of her husband: she had buried him. She had been used to affluence: it

was gone. She had no child to connect her with life and happiness

again, no relations to assist in the arrangement of perplexed affairs,

no health to make all the rest supportable. Her accommodations were

limited to a noisy parlour, and a dark bedroom behind, with no

possibility of moving from one to the other without assistance, which

there was only one servant in the house to afford, and she never

quitted the house but to be conveyed into the warm bath. Yet, in spite

of all this, Anne had reason to believe that she had moments only of

languor and depression, to hours of occupation and enjoyment. How could

it be? She watched, observed, reflected, and finally determined that

this was not a case of fortitude or of resignation only. A submissive

spirit might be patient, a strong understanding would supply

resolution, but here was something more; here was that elasticity of

mind, that disposition to be comforted, that power of turning readily

from evil to good, and of finding employment which carried her out of

herself, which was from nature alone. It was the choicest gift of

Heaven; and Anne viewed her friend as one of those instances in which,

by a merciful appointment, it seems designed to counterbalance almost

every other want.

There had been a time, Mrs Smith told her, when her spirits had nearly

failed. She could not call herself an invalid now, compared with her

state on first reaching Bath. Then she had, indeed, been a pitiable

object; for she had caught cold on the journey, and had hardly taken

possession of her lodgings before she was again confined to her bed and

suffering under severe and constant pain; and all this among strangers,

with the absolute necessity of having a regular nurse, and finances at

that moment particularly unfit to meet any extraordinary expense. She

had weathered it, however, and could truly say that it had done her

good. It had increased her comforts by making her feel herself to be in

good hands. She had seen too much of the world, to expect sudden or

disinterested attachment anywhere, but her illness had proved to her

that her landlady had a character to preserve, and would not use her

ill; and she had been particularly fortunate in her nurse, as a sister

of her landlady, a nurse by profession, and who had always a home in

that house when unemployed, chanced to be at liberty just in time to

attend her. “And she,” said Mrs Smith, “besides nursing me most

admirably, has really proved an invaluable acquaintance. As soon as I

could use my hands she taught me to knit, which has been a great

amusement; and she put me in the way of making these little

thread-cases, pin-cushions and card-racks, which you always find me so

busy about, and which supply me with the means of doing a little good

to one or two very poor families in this neighbourhood. She had a large

acquaintance, of course professionally, among those who can afford to

buy, and she disposes of my merchandise. She always takes the right

time for applying. Everybody’s heart is open, you know, when they have

recently escaped from severe pain, or are recovering the blessing of

health, and Nurse Rooke thoroughly understands when to speak. She is a

shrewd, intelligent, sensible woman. Hers is a line for seeing human

nature; and she has a fund of good sense and observation, which, as a

companion, make her infinitely superior to thousands of those who

having only received ‘the best education in the world,’ know nothing

worth attending to. Call it gossip, if you will, but when Nurse Rooke

has half an hour’s leisure to bestow on me, she is sure to have

something to relate that is entertaining and profitable: something that

makes one know one’s species better. One likes to hear what is going

on, to be _au fait_ as to the newest modes of being trifling and silly.

To me, who live so much alone, her conversation, I assure you, is a

treat.”

Anne, far from wishing to cavil at the pleasure, replied, “I can easily

believe it. Women of that class have great opportunities, and if they

are intelligent may be well worth listening to. Such varieties of human

nature as they are in the habit of witnessing! And it is not merely in

its follies, that they are well read; for they see it occasionally

under every circumstance that can be most interesting or affecting.

What instances must pass before them of ardent, disinterested,

self-denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude, patience, resignation:

of all the conflicts and all the sacrifices that ennoble us most. A

sick chamber may often furnish the worth of volumes.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Smith more doubtingly, “sometimes it may, though I fear

its lessons are not often in the elevated style you describe. Here and

there, human nature may be great in times of trial; but generally

speaking, it is its weakness and not its strength that appears in a

sick chamber: it is selfishness and impatience rather than generosity

and fortitude, that one hears of. There is so little real friendship in

the world! and unfortunately” (speaking low and tremulously) “there are

so many who forget to think seriously till it is almost too late.”

Anne saw the misery of such feelings. The husband had not been what he

ought, and the wife had been led among that part of mankind which made

her think worse of the world than she hoped it deserved. It was but a

passing emotion however with Mrs Smith; she shook it off, and soon

added in a different tone—

“I do not suppose the situation my friend Mrs Rooke is in at present,

will furnish much either to interest or edify me. She is only nursing

Mrs Wallis of Marlborough Buildings; a mere pretty, silly, expensive,

fashionable woman, I believe; and of course will have nothing to report

but of lace and finery. I mean to make my profit of Mrs Wallis,

however. She has plenty of money, and I intend she shall buy all the

high-priced things I have in hand now.”

Anne had called several times on her friend, before the existence of

such a person was known in Camden Place. At last, it became necessary

to speak of her. Sir Walter, Elizabeth and Mrs Clay, returned one

morning from Laura Place, with a sudden invitation from Lady Dalrymple

for the same evening, and Anne was already engaged, to spend that

evening in Westgate Buildings. She was not sorry for the excuse. They

were only asked, she was sure, because Lady Dalrymple being kept at

home by a bad cold, was glad to make use of the relationship which had

been so pressed on her; and she declined on her own account with great

alacrity—“She was engaged to spend the evening with an old

schoolfellow.” They were not much interested in anything relative to

Anne; but still there were questions enough asked, to make it

understood what this old schoolfellow was; and Elizabeth was

disdainful, and Sir Walter severe.

“Westgate Buildings!” said he, “and who is Miss Anne Elliot to be

visiting in Westgate Buildings? A Mrs Smith. A widow Mrs Smith; and who

was her husband? One of five thousand Mr Smiths whose names are to be

met with everywhere. And what is her attraction? That she is old and

sickly. Upon my word, Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary

taste! Everything that revolts other people, low company, paltry rooms,

foul air, disgusting associations are inviting to you. But surely you

may put off this old lady till to-morrow: she is not so near her end, I

presume, but that she may hope to see another day. What is her age?

Forty?”

“No, sir, she is not one-and-thirty; but I do not think I can put off

my engagement, because it is the only evening for some time which will

at once suit her and myself. She goes into the warm bath to-morrow, and

for the rest of the week, you know, we are engaged.”

“But what does Lady Russell think of this acquaintance?” asked

Elizabeth.

“She sees nothing to blame in it,” replied Anne; “on the contrary, she

approves it, and has generally taken me when I have called on Mrs

Smith.”

“Westgate Buildings must have been rather surprised by the appearance

of a carriage drawn up near its pavement,” observed Sir Walter. “Sir

Henry Russell’s widow, indeed, has no honours to distinguish her arms,

but still it is a handsome equipage, and no doubt is well known to

convey a Miss Elliot. A widow Mrs Smith lodging in Westgate Buildings!

A poor widow barely able to live, between thirty and forty; a mere Mrs

Smith, an every-day Mrs Smith, of all people and all names in the

world, to be the chosen friend of Miss Anne Elliot, and to be preferred

by her to her own family connections among the nobility of England and

Ireland! Mrs Smith! Such a name!”

Mrs Clay, who had been present while all this passed, now thought it

advisable to leave the room, and Anne could have said much, and did

long to say a little in defence of _her_ friend’s not very dissimilar

claims to theirs, but her sense of personal respect to her father

prevented her. She made no reply. She left it to himself to recollect,

that Mrs Smith was not the only widow in Bath between thirty and forty,

with little to live on, and no surname of dignity.

Anne kept her appointment; the others kept theirs, and of course she

heard the next morning that they had had a delightful evening. She had

been the only one of the set absent, for Sir Walter and Elizabeth had

not only been quite at her ladyship’s service themselves, but had

actually been happy to be employed by her in collecting others, and had

been at the trouble of inviting both Lady Russell and Mr Elliot; and Mr

Elliot had made a point of leaving Colonel Wallis early, and Lady

Russell had fresh arranged all her evening engagements in order to wait

on her. Anne had the whole history of all that such an evening could

supply from Lady Russell. To her, its greatest interest must be, in

having been very much talked of between her friend and Mr Elliot; in

having been wished for, regretted, and at the same time honoured for

staying away in such a cause. Her kind, compassionate visits to this

old schoolfellow, sick and reduced, seemed to have quite delighted Mr

Elliot. He thought her a most extraordinary young woman; in her temper,

manners, mind, a model of female excellence. He could meet even Lady

Russell in a discussion of her merits; and Anne could not be given to

understand so much by her friend, could not know herself to be so

highly rated by a sensible man, without many of those agreeable

sensations which her friend meant to create.

Lady Russell was now perfectly decided in her opinion of Mr Elliot. She

was as much convinced of his meaning to gain Anne in time as of his

deserving her, and was beginning to calculate the number of weeks which

would free him from all the remaining restraints of widowhood, and

leave him at liberty to exert his most open powers of pleasing. She

would not speak to Anne with half the certainty she felt on the

subject, she would venture on little more than hints of what might be

hereafter, of a possible attachment on his side, of the desirableness

of the alliance, supposing such attachment to be real and returned.

Anne heard her, and made no violent exclamations; she only smiled,

blushed, and gently shook her head.

“I am no match-maker, as you well know,” said Lady Russell, “being much

too well aware of the uncertainty of all human events and calculations.

I only mean that if Mr Elliot should some time hence pay his addresses

to you, and if you should be disposed to accept him, I think there

would be every possibility of your being happy together. A most

suitable connection everybody must consider it, but I think it might be

a very happy one.”

“Mr Elliot is an exceedingly agreeable man, and in many respects I

think highly of him,” said Anne; “but we should not suit.”

Lady Russell let this pass, and only said in rejoinder, “I own that to

be able to regard you as the future mistress of Kellynch, the future

Lady Elliot, to look forward and see you occupying your dear mother’s

place, succeeding to all her rights, and all her popularity, as well as

to all her virtues, would be the highest possible gratification to me.

You are your mother’s self in countenance and disposition; and if I

might be allowed to fancy you such as she was, in situation and name,

and home, presiding and blessing in the same spot, and only superior to

her in being more highly valued! My dearest Anne, it would give me more

delight than is often felt at my time of life!”

Anne was obliged to turn away, to rise, to walk to a distant table,

and, leaning there in pretended employment, try to subdue the feelings

this picture excited. For a few moments her imagination and her heart

were bewitched. The idea of becoming what her mother had been; of

having the precious name of “Lady Elliot” first revived in herself; of

being restored to Kellynch, calling it her home again, her home for

ever, was a charm which she could not immediately resist. Lady Russell

said not another word, willing to leave the matter to its own

operation; and believing that, could Mr Elliot at that moment with

propriety have spoken for himself!—she believed, in short, what Anne

did not believe. The same image of Mr Elliot speaking for himself

brought Anne to composure again. The charm of Kellynch and of “Lady

Elliot” all faded away. She never could accept him. And it was not only

that her feelings were still adverse to any man save one; her

judgement, on a serious consideration of the possibilities of such a

case, was against Mr Elliot.

Though they had now been acquainted a month, she could not be satisfied

that she really knew his character. That he was a sensible man, an

agreeable man, that he talked well, professed good opinions, seemed to

judge properly and as a man of principle, this was all clear enough. He

certainly knew what was right, nor could she fix on any one article of

moral duty evidently transgressed; but yet she would have been afraid

to answer for his conduct. She distrusted the past, if not the present.

The names which occasionally dropt of former associates, the allusions

to former practices and pursuits, suggested suspicions not favourable

of what he had been. She saw that there had been bad habits; that

Sunday travelling had been a common thing; that there had been a period

of his life (and probably not a short one) when he had been, at least,

careless in all serious matters; and, though he might now think very

differently, who could answer for the true sentiments of a clever,

cautious man, grown old enough to appreciate a fair character? How

could it ever be ascertained that his mind was truly cleansed?

Mr Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but he was not open. There

was never any burst of feeling, any warmth of indignation or delight,

at the evil or good of others. This, to Anne, was a decided

imperfection. Her early impressions were incurable. She prized the

frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others. Warmth

and enthusiasm did captivate her still. She felt that she could so much

more depend upon the sincerity of those who sometimes looked or said a

careless or a hasty thing, than of those whose presence of mind never

varied, whose tongue never slipped.

Mr Elliot was too generally agreeable. Various as were the tempers in

her father’s house, he pleased them all. He endured too well, stood too

well with every body. He had spoken to her with some degree of openness

of Mrs Clay; had appeared completely to see what Mrs Clay was about,

and to hold her in contempt; and yet Mrs Clay found him as agreeable as

any body.

Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young friend, for she saw

nothing to excite distrust. She could not imagine a man more exactly

what he ought to be than Mr Elliot; nor did she ever enjoy a sweeter

feeling than the hope of seeing him receive the hand of her beloved

Anne in Kellynch church, in the course of the following autumn.