Chapter 2

by Jane Austen

　　In addition to what has been already said ofCatherine Morlands personal and mental endowments,when about to be launched into all the difficultiesand dangers of a six weeks' residence in Bath, it maybe stated, for the reader's more certain information,lest the following pages should otherwise fail ofgiving any idea of what her character is meant to be,that her heart was affectionate; her disposition cheerfuland open, without conceit or affectation of any kind--hermanners just removed from the awkwardness and shynessof a girl; her person pleasing, and, when in good looks,pretty--and her mind about as ignorant and uninformedas the female mind at seventeen usually is.

　　When the hour of departure drew near, the maternalanxiety of Mrs. Morland will be naturally supposed to bemost severe. A thousand alarming presentiments of evilto her beloved Catherine from this terrific separationmust oppress her heart with sadness, and drown her intears for the last day or two of their being together;and advice of the most important and applicable naturemust of course flow from her wise lips in their partingconference in her closet. Cautions against the violenceof such noblemen and baronets as delight in forcingyoung ladies away to some remote farm-house, must,at such a moment, relieve the fulness of her heart.Who would not think so? But Mrs. Morland knew so littleof lords and baronets, that she entertained no notion oftheir general mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspiciousof danger to her daughter from their machinations.Her cautions were confined to the following points."I beg, Catherine, you will always wrap yourself upvery warm about the throat, when you come from the roomsat night; and I wish you would try to keep some accountof the money you spend; I will give you this little bookon purpose.

　　Sally, or rather Sarah (for what young lady of commongentility will reach the age of sixteen without alteringher name as far as she can?), must from situation be at thistime the intimate friend and confidante of her sister.It is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted onCatherine's writing by every post, nor exacted her promiseof transmitting the character of every new acquaintance,nor a detail of every interesting conversation that Bathmight produce. Everything indeed relative to thisimportant journey was done, on the part of the Morlands,with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemedrather consistent with the common feelings of common life,than with the refined susceptibilities, the tenderemotions which the first separation of a heroinefrom her family ought always to excite. Her father,instead of giving her an unlimited order on his banker,or even putting an hundred pounds bank-bill into her hands,gave her only ten guineas, and promosed her more when shewanted it.

　　Under these unpromising auspices, the partingtook place, and the journey began. It was performedwith suitable quietness and uneventful safety.Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor one luckyoverturn to introduce them to the hero. Nothing morealarming occurred than a fear, on Mrs. Allen's side,of having once left her clogs behind her at an inn,and that fortunately proved to be groundless.

　　They arrived at Bath. Catherine was all eagerdelight--her eyes were here, there, everywhere, as theyapproached its fine and striking environs, and afterwards drovethrough those streets which conducted them to the hotel.She was come to be happy, and she felt happy already.

　　They were soon settled in comfortable lodgingsin Pulteney Street.

　　It is now expedient to give some description ofMrs. Allen, that the reader may be able to judge in whatmanner her actions will hereafter tend to promote thegeneral distress of the work, and how she will, probably,contribute to reduce poor Catherine to all the desperatewretchedness of which a last volume is capable--whether byher imprudence, vulgarity, or jealousy--whether by interceptingher letters, ruining her character, or turning her out of doors.

　　Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females,whose society can raise no other emotion than surpriseat there being any men in the world who could like themwell enough to marry them. She had neither beauty,genius, accomplishment, nor manner. The air of a gentlewoman,a great deal of quiet, inactive good temper, and a triflingturn of mind were all that could account for her beingthe choice of a sensible, intelligent man like Mr. Allen.In one respect she was admirably fitted to introduce ayoung lady into public, being as fond of going everywhereand seeing everything herself as any young lady could be.Dress was her passion. She had a most harmless delightin being fine; and our heroine's entree into life couldnot take place till after three or four days had beenspent in learning what was mostly worn, and her chaperonewas provided with a dress of the newest fashion.Catherine too made some purchases herself, and when allthese matters were arranged, the important evening camewhich was to usher her into the Upper Rooms. Her hairwas cut and dressed by the best hand, her clothes put onwith care, and both Mrs. Allen and her maid declared shelooked quite as she should do. With such encouragement,Catherine hoped at least to pass uncensured through the crowd.As for admiration, it was always very welcome when it came,but she did not depend on it.

　　Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing that they did not enterthe ballroom till late. The season was full, the room crowded,and the two ladies squeezed in as well as they could.As for Mr. Allen, he repaired directly to the card-room,and left them to enjoy a mob by themselves. With morecare for the safety of her new gown than for the comfortof her protegee, Mrs. Allen made her way through the throngof men by the door, as swiftly as the necessary cautionwould allow; Catherine, however, kept close at her side,and linked her arm too firmly within her friend's to be tornasunder by any common effort of a struggling assembly.But to her utter amazement she found that to proceedalong the room was by no means the way to disengagethemselves from the crowd; it seemed rather to increaseas they went on, whereas she had imagined that when oncefairly within the door, they should easily find seatsand be able to watch the dances with perfect convenience.But this was far from being the case, and though byunwearied diligence they gained even the top of the room,their situation was just the same; they saw nothing ofthe dancers but the high feathers of some of the ladies.Still they moved on--something better was yet in view;and by a continued exertion of strength and ingenuitythey found themselves at last in the passage behindthe highest bench. Here there was something lessof crowd than below; and hence Miss Morland had acomprehensive view of all the company beneath her,and of all the dangers of her late passage through them.It was a splendid sight, and she began, for the firsttime that evening, to feel herself at a ball: she longedto dance, but she had not an acquaintance in the room.Mrs. Allen did all that she could do in such a caseby saying very placidly, every now and then, "I wish youcould dance, my dear--I wish you could get a partner."For some time her young friend felt obliged to her forthese wishes; but they were repeated so often, and provedso totally ineffectual, that Catherine grew tired at last,and would thank her no more.

　　They were not long able, however, to enjoy therepose of the eminence they had so laboriously gained.Everybody was shortly in motion for tea, and they mustsqueeze out like the rest. Catherine began to feelsomething of disappointment--she was tired of beingcontinually pressed against by people, the generalityof whose faces possessed nothing to interest, and withall of whom she was so wholly unacquainted that shecould not relieve the irksomeness of imprisonment by theexchange of a syllable with any of her fellow captives;and when at last arrived in the tea-room, she feltyet more the awkwardness of having no party to join,no acquaintance to claim, no gentleman to assist them.They saw nothing of Mr. Allen; and after looking aboutthem in vain for a more eligible situation, were obligedto sit down at the end of a table, at which a large partywere already placed, without having anything to do there,or anybody to speak to, except each other.

　　Mrs. Allen congratulated herself, as soon as theywere seated, on having preserved her gown from injury."It would have been very shocking to have it torn," said she,"would not it? It is such a delicate muslin. For my partI have not seen anything I like so well in the whole room,I assure you."

　　"How uncomfortable it is," whispered Catherine,"not to have a single acquaintance here!"

　　"Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Allen, with perfectserenity, "it is very uncomfortable indeed."

　　"What shall we do? The gentlemen and ladies at thistable look as if they wondered why we came here--we seemforcing ourselves into their party."

　　"Aye, so we do. That is very disagreeable.I wish we had a large acquaintance here."

　　"I wish we had any--it would be somebody to go to."

　　"Very true, my dear; and if we knew anybody we wouldjoin them directly. The Skinners were here last year--Iwish they were here now."

　　"Had not we better go away as it is? Here are notea-things for us, you see."

　　"No more there are, indeed. How very provoking! ButI think we had better sit still, for one gets so tumbledin such a crowd! How is my head, my dear? Somebody gaveme a push that has hurt it, I am afraid."

　　"No, indeed, it looks very nice. But, dear Mrs. Allen,are you sure there is nobody you know in all this multitudeof people? I think you must know somebody."

　　"I don't, upon my word--I wish I did. I wish I had alarge acquaintance here with all my heart, and then I shouldget you a partner. I should be so glad to have you dance.There goes a strange-looking woman! What an odd gownshe has got on! How old-fashioned it is! Look at the back."

　　After some time they received an offer of tea fromone of their neighbours; it was thankfully accepted,and this introduced a light conversation with the gentlemanwho offered it, which was the only time that anybody spoketo them during the evening, till they were discoveredand joined by Mr. Allen when the dance was over.

　　"Well, Miss Morland," said he, directly, "I hopeyou have had an agreeable ball."

　　"Very agreeable indeed," she replied,vainly endeavouring to hide a great yawn.

　　"I wish she had been able to dance," said his wife;"I wish we could have got a partner for her. I have beensaying how glad I should be if the Skinners were here thiswinter instead of last; or if the Parrys had come, as theytalked of once, she might have danced with George Parry.I am so sorry she has not had a partner!"

　　"We shall do better another evening I hope,"was Mr. Allen's consolation.

　　The company began to disperse when the dancing wasover--enough to leave space for the remainder to walkabout in some comfort; and now was the time for a heroine,who had not yet played a very distinguished part inthe events of the evening, to be noticed and admired.Every five minutes, by removing some of the crowd,gave greater openings for her charms. She was now seenby many young men who had not been near her before.Not one, however, started with rapturous wonder onbeholding her, no whisper of eager inquiry ran roundthe room, nor was she once called a divinity by anybody.Yet Catherine was in very good looks, and had the companyonly seen her three years before, they would now have thoughther exceedingly handsome.

　　She was looked at, however, and with some admiration;for, in her own hearing, two gentlemen pronounced herto be a pretty girl. Such words had their due effect;she immediately thought the evening pleasanter than shehad found it before--her humble vanity was contented--shefelt more obliged to the two young men for this simplepraise than a true-quality heroine would have beenfor fifteen sonnets in celebration of her charms,and went to her chair in good humour with everybody,and perfectly satisfied with her share of public attention.