Captain Wentworth learns that there is an old mess-mate with his family
settled for the winter at Lyme. He goes to visit them, and comes back
with such a glowing description of the beautiful neighbourhood that the
young people at Uppercross are all eager to see it. Although it is so
late in the season, a party is made up, consisting of Charles Musgrove,
Mary, Anne, Henrietta, Louisa, and Captain Wentworth, to drive to
Lyme, stay the night there, and come back for next day’s dinner. It is
in connection with Lyme that we have Jane Austen’s most finished bit of
descriptive landscape-painting. Full of appreciation as it reads, it
is sober and restrained indeed, contrasted with modern word-painting
of sea and shore and sky. “The remarkable situation of the town, the
principal street almost hurrying into the water, the walk to the Cobbe
skirting round the pleasant little bay, which in the season is animated
with bathing machines and company; the Cobbe itself, its old wonders
and new improvements, with the very beautiful line of cliffs stretching
out to the east of the town, are what the stranger’s eye will seek;
and a very strange stranger it must be who does not see charms in the
immediate environs of Lyme to make him wish to know it better. The
scenes in its neighbourhood,--Charmouth, with its high grounds and
extensive sweeps of country, and still more its sweet retired bay,
backed by dark cliffs, where fragments of low rock among the sands make
it the happiest spot for watching the flow of the tide, for sitting in
unwearied contemplation; the woody varieties of the cheerful village of
Up-Lyme; and, above all, Pinney, with its green chasms between romantic
rocks, where the scattered forest trees and orchards of luxuriant
growth declare that many a generation must have passed away since the
first partial falling of the cliff prepared the ground for such a
state, where a scene so wonderful and so lovely is exhibited as may
more than equal any of the resembling scenes of the far-famed Isle of
Wight;--these places must be visited again and again to make the worth
of Lyme understood.”
Not only Captain Harville, Captain Wentworth’s friend, and his wife
are brought by Captain Wentworth to be introduced to his companions;
Captain Benwick, another old friend, accompanies the others. Captain
Benwick has a sad little history which renders him especially
interesting. He had been engaged to Captain Harville’s sister, and is
still mourning her loss. “They had been a year or two waiting for
fortune and promotion. Fortune came, his prize-money as lieutenant
being great. Promotion, too, came _at last_; but Fanny did not live to
know it. She had died the preceding summer when he was at sea.”
“And yet,” said Anne to herself, “he has not, perhaps, a more sorrowing
heart than I have.”
Captain Harville, who looks sensible and benevolent, is delicate and
lame. Captain Benwick has a pleasing face and a melancholy air, just
as he ought to have. Mrs. Harville shows the same good feeling as her
husband, and nothing can be more pleasant than their desire to consider
the whole party as friends of their own.
Captains Harville and Benwick pay a visit to the inn in the evening.
Captain Benwick’s spirits do not seem fit for the mirth of the party,
and Anne kindly talks to him of their favourite books.
Anne and Henrietta, the earliest risers next morning, agree to take
a stroll down to the sea before breakfast. Captain Wentworth and
Louisa come after the two others. As they are all returning to town,
at the steps leading up from the beach, a gentleman about to descend,
politely draws back and waits. As they pass him Anne’s face catches
his eye, and he looks at her with evident admiration. “She was looking
remarkably well; her very regular, very pretty features having the
bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind which had been
blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye which it had
produced. It was evident that the gentleman (completely a gentleman
in manners) admired her exceedingly. Captain Wentworth looked round
at her instantly in a way which showed his noticing it. He gave her a
momentary glance, a glance of brightness, which seemed to say, ‘That
man is struck with you, and even I at this moment see something like
Anne Elliot again.’”
After the party have returned to the inn, Anne, in passing quickly
from her own room to the dining-room, had nearly run against the same
gentleman as he came out of an adjoining apartment. “This second
meeting, short as it was, also proved again, by the gentleman’s looks,
that he thought hers very lovely, and by the readiness and propriety of
his apologies, that he was a man of exceedingly good manners. He seemed
about thirty, and though not handsome, had an agreeable person. Anne
felt that she should like to know who he was.”
“They had nearly done breakfast when the sound of a carriage, almost
the first they had heard since entering Lyme, drew half the party to
the window. It was a gentleman’s carriage, a curricle, but only coming
round from the stable-yard to the front door. Somebody must be going
away. It was driven by a servant in mourning.
“The word curricle made Charles Musgrove jump up, that he might compare
it with his own; and the whole six were collected to look, by the time
the owner of the curricle was to be seen issuing from the door, amidst
the bows and civilities of the household, and taking his seat to drive
off.”
“Ah!” cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and with half a glance at
Anne, “it is the very man we passed.”
“The waiter came into the room soon afterwards.
“‘Pray,’ said Captain Wentworth, immediately, ‘can you tell us the name
of the gentleman who has just gone away?’
“‘Yes, sir, a Mr. Elliot, a gentleman of large fortune, came in last
night from Sidmouth, and going on now for Crewkerne, on his way to Bath
and London.’
“‘Elliot!’ Many had looked at each other, and many had repeated the
name before all this had been got through, even by the smart rapidity
of a waiter.
“‘Bless me!’ cried Mary; ‘it must be our cousin, it must be our Mr.
Elliot, it must, indeed!--Charles, Anne, must not it? In mourning, you
see, just as our Mr. Elliot must be. How very extraordinary! In the
same inn with us, Anne; must not it be our Mr. Elliot, my father’s next
heir? Pray, sir,’ turning to the waiter, ‘did not you hear--did not his
servant say--whether he belonged to the Kellynch family?’
“‘No, ma’am; he did not mention no particular family; but he said his
master was a very rich gentleman, and would be a baronight, some day.’
“‘There, you see,’ cried Mary, in an ecstacy, ‘just as I said! Heir
to Sir Walter Elliot! I was sure that would come out, if it was so!
Depend upon it, that is a circumstance which his servants take care to
publish, wherever he goes. But, Anne, only conceive how extraordinary!
I wish I had looked at him more. I wish we had been aware in time who
it was, that he might have been introduced to us. What a pity that we
should not have been introduced to each other! Do you think he had
the Elliot countenance? I hardly looked at him, I was looking at the
horses; but I think he had something of the Elliot countenance. I
wonder the arms did not strike me. Oh! the great-coat was hanging over
the panel, and hid the arms--so it did; otherwise, I am sure I should
have observed them, and the livery, too. If the servant had not been in
mourning, one should have known him by the livery.’
“‘Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together,’ said
Captain Wentworth, ‘we must consider it to be the arrangement of
Providence that you should not be introduced to your cousin.’”
Though Anne tries to quiet Mary by reminding her of the terms on which
her father is with his heir, still it is a secret gratification to
have seen her cousin, and to know that the future owner of Kellynch is
undoubtedly a gentleman, and has an air of good sense.
Breakfast over, Captain and Mrs. Harville, with Captain Benwick, arrive
to join the visitors in their last walk about Lyme.
Captain Harville says aside to Anne that she has done a good deed in
making that “poor fellow,” Captain Benwick, talk so much.
Anne reminds him gently of what time does in every case of affliction,
and remarks that Captain Benwick’s is still of a recent date, only last
summer.
“Ay, true enough,” with a deep sigh, “only June.”
“And not known to him, perhaps, so soon?”
“Not till the first week in August, when he came home from the Cape,
just made into the _Grappler_. I was at Plymouth, dreading to hear
of him; he sent in letters, but the _Grappler_ was under orders for
Portsmouth. There the news must follow him, but who was to tell it? Not
I. I would as soon be run up to the yard-arm. Nobody could do it but
that good fellow” (pointing to Captain Wentworth). “The _Laconia_ had
come into Plymouth the week before; no danger of her being sent to sea
again. He stood his chance for the risk; wrote up for leave of absence,
but without waiting the return, travelled night and day till he got to
Portsmouth, rowed off to the _Grappler_ that instant, and never left
the poor fellow for a week. That’s what he did, and nobody else could
have saved poor James. You may think, Miss Elliott, whether he is dear
to us!”
The pleasure-seekers part with the Harvilles at their own door, and
turn at the special request of Louisa Musgrove, with only Captain
Benwick attending them to the last, to walk along the Cobbe once more,
before setting out for Uppercross.
“There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobbe
pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the
lower, and all were contented to pass quietly and carefully down the
steep flight excepting Louisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain
Wentworth. In all their walks he had had to jump her from the stiles;
the sensation was delightful to her. The hardness of the pavement for
her feet made him less willing upon the present occasion; he did it,
however, she was safely down, and instantly to show her enjoyment,
ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He advised her against it,
thought the jar too great; but no, he reasoned and talked in vain, she
smiled and said, ‘I am determined I will;’ he put out his hands; she
was too precipitate by half a second, she fell on the pavement on the
Lower Cobbe, and was taken up lifeless! There was no wound, no blood,
no visible bruise; but her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face
was like death. The horror of that moment to all that stood around!
“Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his
arms, looking on her with a face as pallid as her own, in an agony
of silence. ‘She is dead! She is dead!’ screamed Mary, catching
hold of her husband, and contributing with his own horror to make
him immovable; and in another moment Henrietta, sinking under the
conviction, lost her senses too, and would have fallen on the steps
but for Captain Benwick and Anne, who caught and supported her between
them.”
“‘Is there no one to help me?’ were the first words which burst from
Captain Wentworth in a tone of despair, and as if all his own strength
were gone.
“‘Go to him! go to him!’ cried Anne; ‘for Heaven’s sake go to him. I
can support her myself. Leave me and go to him. Rub her hands, rub her
temples! here are salts;[74] take them, take them!’”
Captain Benwick obeyed, and Charles at the same moment disengaging
himself from his wife, they were both with him, and Louisa was raised
up and supported more firmly between them, and everything was done that
Anne had prompted, but in vain; while Captain Wentworth, staggering
against the wall for his support, exclaimed, in the bitterest agony,
“Oh, God! her father and mother!”
“A surgeon!” said Anne. He caught the word; it seemed to rouse him
at once, and saying only, “True, true, a surgeon this instant,” was
darting away, when Anne eagerly suggested--
“Captain Benwick! would it not be better for Captain Benwick? He knows
where a surgeon is to be found.”
“Every one capable of thinking felt the advantage of the idea, and in a
moment (it was all done in rapid moments) Captain Benwick had resigned
the poor corpse-like figure entirely to the brother’s care, and was off
for the town with the utmost rapidity.
“As to the wretched party left behind, it could scarcely be said which
of the three, who were completely rational, was suffering most; Captain
Wentworth, Anne, and Charles who, really a very affectionate brother,
hung over Louisa with sobs of grief, and could only turn his eyes from
one sister to see the other in a state as insensible, or to witness
the hysterical agitation of his wife, calling on him for help which he
could not give.
“Anne, attending with all the strength and zeal and thought which
instinct supplied, to Henrietta, still tried at intervals to suggest
comfort to the others, tried to quiet Mary, to animate Charles, to
assuage the feelings of Captain Wentworth. Both seemed to look to her
for directions.[75]
“‘Anne, Anne!’ cried Charles, ‘what is to be done next? What, in
Heaven’s name, is to be done next?’
“Captain Wentworth’s eyes were also turned towards her.
“‘Had she not better be carried to the inn? Yes, I am sure; carry her
gently to the inn.’
“‘Yes, yes, to the inn,’ repeated Captain Wentworth, comparatively
collected and eager to be doing something. ‘I will carry her myself.’”
The Harvilles meet the melancholy cavalcade, and Louisa is carried to
their house instead of to the inn. A surgeon pronounces that her limbs
have escaped, and though there is concussion of the brain, the case is
not by any means hopeless.
In the end, Captain Wentworth, Henrietta Musgrove, and Anne return to
Uppercross to break the news of the accident to the old Musgroves,
while Charles and Mary remain with the sufferer.
“It was growing quite dusk, however, before the travellers were in the
neighbourhood of Uppercross, and there had been total silence among
them for some time, Henrietta leaning back in the corner, with a shawl
over her face, giving the hope of her having cried herself to sleep;
when, as they were going up their last hill, Anne found herself all at
once addressed by Captain Wentworth. In a low, cautious voice, he said,
“I have been considering what we had best do. She must not appear at
first. She could not stand it. I have been thinking whether you had not
better remain in the carriage with her while I go in and break it to
Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove. Do you think this a good plan?”
“She did; he was satisfied and said no more. But the remembrance of
the appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship and of
deference for her judgment; a great pleasure, and when it became a sort
of parting proof its value did not lessen.
“When the distressing communication at Uppercross was over, and he had
seen the father and mother quite as composed as could be hoped, and the
daughter all the better for being with them, he announced his intention
of returning in the same carriage to Lyme, and when the horses were
baited, he was off.”
Anne only remains two days longer at Uppercross with the Musgroves. The
accounts which Charles Musgrove brings of Louisa are favourable on the
whole. A speedy cure cannot be looked for, but she is going on as well
as can be expected. The Harvilles are kindness itself.
Anne persuades Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove and Henrietta to join the others
by going into lodgings at Lyme. They can at least be of use by taking
care of the Harville children. “They were so happy in the decision
that Anne was delighted with what she had done, and felt that she could
not spend her last morning at Uppercross better, than in assisting
their preparations and sending them off at an early hour, though her
being left to the solitary range of the house was the consequence.
“She was the last, excepting the little boys, at the Cottage; she
was the very last, the only remaining one of all that had filled and
animated both houses, of all that had given Uppercross its cheerful
character. A few days had made a change indeed.
“If Louisa recovered, it would all be the same, more than former
happiness would be restored. There could not be a doubt, to her mind
there was none, of what would follow her recovery. A few months hence,
and the rooms now deserted, occupied but by her silent, pensive self,
might be filled again with all that was happy and gay, all that was
glowing and bright in prosperous love, all that was most unlike Anne
Elliot.”
I think my readers will endorse the cordial praise bestowed by Captain
Harville on Anne at a later part of the story: “good soul!” The
simple words may be lightly esteemed, as they are frequently bestowed
indiscriminately and contemptuously--and what a lowered standard
of morality the contempt involves--but how much they imply. Good,
true, courageous, christian Anne Elliot, true to herself, to Captain
Wentworth, to Louisa Musgrove, to every living creature! Anne Elliot is
worth scores--hundreds--of the outrageous, reckless, self-indulgent,
and idiotic heroines frequently held up for admiration and imitation.