Persuasion
there is a certainty of their being able to marry in six months, or
even in twelve; but a long engagement—”
“Yes, dear ma’am,” said Mrs Croft, “or an uncertain engagement, an
engagement which may be long. To begin without knowing that at such a
time there will be the means of marrying, I hold to be very unsafe and
unwise, and what I think all parents should prevent as far as they
can.”
Anne found an unexpected interest here. She felt its application to
herself, felt it in a nervous thrill all over her; and at the same
moment that her eyes instinctively glanced towards the distant table,
Captain Wentworth’s pen ceased to move, his head was raised, pausing,
listening, and he turned round the next instant to give a look, one
quick, conscious look at her.
The two ladies continued to talk, to re-urge the same admitted truths,
and enforce them with such examples of the ill effect of a contrary
practice as had fallen within their observation, but Anne heard nothing
distinctly; it was only a buzz of words in her ear, her mind was in
confusion.
Captain Harville, who had in truth been hearing none of it, now left
his seat, and moved to a window, and Anne seeming to watch him, though
it was from thorough absence of mind, became gradually sensible that he
was inviting her to join him where he stood. He looked at her with a
smile, and a little motion of the head, which expressed, “Come to me, I
have something to say;” and the unaffected, easy kindness of manner
which denoted the feelings of an older acquaintance than he really was,
strongly enforced the invitation. She roused herself and went to him.
The window at which he stood was at the other end of the room from
where the two ladies were sitting, and though nearer to Captain
Wentworth’s table, not very near. As she joined him, Captain Harville’s
countenance re-assumed the serious, thoughtful expression which seemed
its natural character.
“Look here,” said he, unfolding a parcel in his hand, and displaying a
small miniature painting, “do you know who that is?”
“Certainly: Captain Benwick.”
“Yes, and you may guess who it is for. But,” (in a deep tone), “it was
not done for her. Miss Elliot, do you remember our walking together at
Lyme, and grieving for him? I little thought then—but no matter. This
was drawn at the Cape. He met with a clever young German artist at the
Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my poor sister, sat to him,
and was bringing it home for her; and I have now the charge of getting
it properly set for another! It was a commission to me! But who else
was there to employ? I hope I can allow for him. I am not sorry,
indeed, to make it over to another. He undertakes it;” (looking towards
Captain Wentworth,) “he is writing about it now.” And with a quivering
lip he wound up the whole by adding, “Poor Fanny! she would not have
forgotten him so soon!”
“No,” replied Anne, in a low, feeling voice. “That I can easily
believe.”
“It was not in her nature. She doted on him.”
“It would not be the nature of any woman who truly loved.”
Captain Harville smiled, as much as to say, “Do you claim that for your
sex?” and she answered the question, smiling also, “Yes. We certainly
do not forget you as soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate
rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home,
quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced on
exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort
or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual
occupation and change soon weaken impressions.”
“Granting your assertion that the world does all this so soon for men
(which, however, I do not think I shall grant), it does not apply to
Benwick. He has not been forced upon any exertion. The peace turned him
on shore at the very moment, and he has been living with us, in our
little family circle, ever since.”
“True,” said Anne, “very true; I did not recollect; but what shall we
say now, Captain Harville? If the change be not from outward
circumstances, it must be from within; it must be nature, man’s nature,
which has done the business for Captain Benwick.”
“No, no, it is not man’s nature. I will not allow it to be more man’s
nature than woman’s to be inconstant and forget those they do love, or
have loved. I believe the reverse. I believe in a true analogy between
our bodily frames and our mental; and that as our bodies are the
strongest, so are our feelings; capable of bearing most rough usage,
and riding out the heaviest weather.”
“Your feelings may be the strongest,” replied Anne, “but the same
spirit of analogy will authorise me to assert that ours are the most
tender. Man is more robust than woman, but he is not longer lived;
which exactly explains my view of the nature of their attachments. Nay,
it would be too hard upon you, if it were otherwise. You have
difficulties, and privations, and dangers enough to struggle with. You
are always labouring and toiling, exposed to every risk and hardship.
Your home, country, friends, all quitted. Neither time, nor health, nor
life, to be called your own. It would be hard, indeed” (with a
faltering voice), “if woman’s feelings were to be added to all this.”
“We shall never agree upon this question,” Captain Harville was
beginning to say, when a slight noise called their attention to Captain
Wentworth’s hitherto perfectly quiet division of the room. It was
nothing more than that his pen had fallen down; but Anne was startled
at finding him nearer than she had supposed, and half inclined to
suspect that the pen had only fallen because he had been occupied by
them, striving to catch sounds, which yet she did not think he could
have caught.
“Have you finished your letter?” said Captain Harville.
“Not quite, a few lines more. I shall have done in five minutes.”
“There is no hurry on my side. I am only ready whenever you are. I am
in very good anchorage here,” (smiling at Anne), “well supplied, and
want for nothing. No hurry for a signal at all. Well, Miss Elliot,”
(lowering his voice), “as I was saying, we shall never agree, I suppose,
upon this point. No man and woman would, probably. But let me observe
that all histories are against you—all stories, prose and verse. If I
had such a memory as Benwick, I could bring you fifty quotations in a
moment on my side the argument, and I do not think I ever opened a book
in my life which had not something to say upon woman’s inconstancy.
Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman’s fickleness. But perhaps you
will say, these were all written by men.”
“Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples in
books. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story.
Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been
in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything.”
“But how shall we prove anything?”
“We never shall. We never can expect to prove any thing upon such a
point. It is a difference of opinion which does not admit of proof. We
each begin, probably, with a little bias towards our own sex; and upon
that bias build every circumstance in favour of it which has occurred
within our own circle; many of which circumstances (perhaps those very
cases which strike us the most) may be precisely such as cannot be
brought forward without betraying a confidence, or in some respect
saying what should not be said.”
“Ah!” cried Captain Harville, in a tone of strong feeling, “if I could
but make you comprehend what a man suffers when he takes a last look at
his wife and children, and watches the boat that he has sent them off
in, as long as it is in sight, and then turns away and says, ‘God knows
whether we ever meet again!’ And then, if I could convey to you the
glow of his soul when he does see them again; when, coming back after a
twelvemonth’s absence, perhaps, and obliged to put into another port,
he calculates how soon it be possible to get them there, pretending to
deceive himself, and saying, ‘They cannot be here till such a day,’ but
all the while hoping for them twelve hours sooner, and seeing them
arrive at last, as if Heaven had given them wings, by many hours sooner
still! If I could explain to you all this, and all that a man can bear
and do, and glories to do, for the sake of these treasures of his
existence! I speak, you know, only of such men as have hearts!”
pressing his own with emotion.
“Oh!” cried Anne eagerly, “I hope I do justice to all that is felt by
you, and by those who resemble you. God forbid that I should undervalue
the warm and faithful feelings of any of my fellow-creatures! I should
deserve utter contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and
constancy were known only by woman. No, I believe you capable of
everything great and good in your married lives. I believe you equal to
every important exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long
as—if I may be allowed the expression—so long as you have an object. I
mean while the woman you love lives, and lives for you. All the
privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one; you
need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when existence or when
hope is gone.”
She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was
too full, her breath too much oppressed.
“You are a good soul,” cried Captain Harville, putting his hand on her
arm, quite affectionately. “There is no quarrelling with you. And when
I think of Benwick, my tongue is tied.”
Their attention was called towards the others. Mrs Croft was taking
leave.
“Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe,” said she. “I am
going home, and you have an engagement with your friend. To-night we
may have the pleasure of all meeting again at your party,” (turning to
Anne). “We had your sister’s card yesterday, and I understood Frederick
had a card too, though I did not see it; and you are disengaged,
Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?”
Captain Wentworth was folding up a letter in great haste, and either
could not or would not answer fully.
“Yes,” said he, “very true; here we separate, but Harville and I shall
soon be after you; that is, Harville, if you are ready, I am in half a
minute. I know you will not be sorry to be off. I shall be at your
service in half a minute.”
Mrs Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having sealed his letter
with great rapidity, was indeed ready, and had even a hurried, agitated
air, which shewed impatience to be gone. Anne knew not how to
understand it. She had the kindest “Good morning, God bless you!” from
Captain Harville, but from him not a word, nor a look! He had passed
out of the room without a look!
She had only time, however, to move closer to the table where he had
been writing, when footsteps were heard returning; the door opened, it
was himself. He begged their pardon, but he had forgotten his gloves,
and instantly crossing the room to the writing table, he drew out a
letter from under the scattered paper, placed it before Anne with eyes
of glowing entreaty fixed on her for a time, and hastily collecting his
gloves, was again out of the room, almost before Mrs Musgrove was aware
of his being in it: the work of an instant!
The revolution which one instant had made in Anne, was almost beyond
expression. The letter, with a direction hardly legible, to “Miss A.
E.—,” was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily. While
supposed to be writing only to Captain Benwick, he had been also
addressing her! On the contents of that letter depended all which this
world could do for her. Anything was possible, anything might be defied
rather than suspense. Mrs Musgrove had little arrangements of her own
at her own table; to their protection she must trust, and sinking into