In addition to what has been already said of
Catherine Morlands personal and mental endowments,
when about to be launched into all the difficulties
and dangers of a six weeks' residence in Bath, it may
be stated, for the reader's more certain information,
lest the following pages should otherwise fail of
giving any idea of what her character is meant to be,
that her heart was affectionate; her disposition cheerful
and open, without conceit or affectation of any kind--her
manners just removed from the awkwardness and shyness
of a girl; her person pleasing, and, when in good looks,
pretty--and her mind about as ignorant and uninformed
as the female mind at seventeen usually is.
When the hour of departure drew near, the maternal
anxiety of Mrs. Morland will be naturally supposed to be
most severe. A thousand alarming presentiments of evil
to her beloved Catherine from this terrific separation
must oppress her heart with sadness, and drown her in
tears for the last day or two of their being together;
and advice of the most important and applicable nature
must of course flow from her wise lips in their parting
conference in her closet. Cautions against the violence
of such noblemen and baronets as delight in forcing
young 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 little
of lords and baronets, that she entertained no notion of
their general mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious
of danger to her daughter from their machinations.
Her cautions were confined to the following points.
"I beg, Catherine, you will always wrap yourself up
very warm about the throat, when you come from the rooms
at night; and I wish you would try to keep some account
of the money you spend; I will give you this little book
on purpose.
Sally, or rather Sarah (for what young lady of common
gentility will reach the age of sixteen without altering
her name as far as she can?), must from situation be at this
time the intimate friend and confidante of her sister.
It is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted on
Catherine's writing by every post, nor exacted her promise
of transmitting the character of every new acquaintance,
nor a detail of every interesting conversation that Bath
might produce. Everything indeed relative to this
important journey was done, on the part of the Morlands,
with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemed
rather consistent with the common feelings of common life,
than with the refined susceptibilities, the tender
emotions which the first separation of a heroine
from 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 she
wanted it.
Under these unpromising auspices, the parting
took place, and the journey began. It was performed
with suitable quietness and uneventful safety.
Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor one lucky
overturn to introduce them to the hero. Nothing more
alarming 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 eager
delight--her eyes were here, there, everywhere, as they
approached its fine and striking environs, and afterwards drove
through 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 lodgings
in Pulteney Street.
It is now expedient to give some description of
Mrs. Allen, that the reader may be able to judge in what
manner her actions will hereafter tend to promote the
general distress of the work, and how she will, probably,
contribute to reduce poor Catherine to all the desperate
wretchedness of which a last volume is capable--whether by
her imprudence, vulgarity, or jealousy--whether by intercepting
her 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 surprise
at there being any men in the world who could like them
well 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 trifling
turn of mind were all that could account for her being
the choice of a sensible, intelligent man like Mr. Allen.
In one respect she was admirably fitted to introduce a
young lady into public, being as fond of going everywhere
and seeing everything herself as any young lady could be.
Dress was her passion. She had a most harmless delight
in being fine; and our heroine's entree into life could
not take place till after three or four days had been
spent in learning what was mostly worn, and her chaperone
was provided with a dress of the newest fashion.
Catherine too made some purchases herself, and when all
these matters were arranged, the important evening came
which was to usher her into the Upper Rooms. Her hair
was cut and dressed by the best hand, her clothes put on
with care, and both Mrs. Allen and her maid declared she
looked 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 enter
the 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 more
care for the safety of her new gown than for the comfort
of her protegee, Mrs. Allen made her way through the throng
of men by the door, as swiftly as the necessary caution
would allow; Catherine, however, kept close at her side,
and linked her arm too firmly within her friend's to be torn
asunder by any common effort of a struggling assembly.
But to her utter amazement she found that to proceed
along the room was by no means the way to disengage
themselves from the crowd; it seemed rather to increase
as they went on, whereas she had imagined that when once
fairly within the door, they should easily find seats
and be able to watch the dances with perfect convenience.
But this was far from being the case, and though by
unwearied diligence they gained even the top of the room,
their situation was just the same; they saw nothing of
the 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 ingenuity
they found themselves at last in the passage behind
the highest bench. Here there was something less
of crowd than below; and hence Miss Morland had a
comprehensive 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 first
time that evening, to feel herself at a ball: she longed
to dance, but she had not an acquaintance in the room.
Mrs. Allen did all that she could do in such a case
by saying very placidly, every now and then, "I wish you
could dance, my dear--I wish you could get a partner."
For some time her young friend felt obliged to her for
these wishes; but they were repeated so often, and proved
so totally ineffectual, that Catherine grew tired at last,
and would thank her no more.
They were not long able, however, to enjoy the
repose of the eminence they had so laboriously gained.
Everybody was shortly in motion for tea, and they must
squeeze out like the rest. Catherine began to feel
something of disappointment--she was tired of being
continually pressed against by people, the generality
of whose faces possessed nothing to interest, and with
all of whom she was so wholly unacquainted that she
could not relieve the irksomeness of imprisonment by the
exchange of a syllable with any of her fellow captives;
and when at last arrived in the tea-room, she felt
yet 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 about
them in vain for a more eligible situation, were obliged
to sit down at the end of a table, at which a large party
were already placed, without having anything to do there,
or anybody to speak to, except each other.
Mrs. Allen congratulated herself, as soon as they
were 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 part
I 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 perfect
serenity, "it is very uncomfortable indeed."
"What shall we do? The gentlemen and ladies at this
table look as if they wondered why we came here--we seem
forcing 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 would
join them directly. The Skinners were here last year--I
wish they were here now."
"Had not we better go away as it is? Here are no
tea-things for us, you see."
"No more there are, indeed. How very provoking! But
I think we had better sit still, for one gets so tumbled
in such a crowd! How is my head, my dear? Somebody gave
me 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 multitude
of people? I think you must know somebody."
"I don't, upon my word--I wish I did. I wish I had a
large acquaintance here with all my heart, and then I should
get you a partner. I should be so glad to have you dance.
There goes a strange-looking woman! What an odd gown
she has got on! How old-fashioned it is! Look at the back."
After some time they received an offer of tea from
one of their neighbours; it was thankfully accepted,
and this introduced a light conversation with the gentleman
who offered it, which was the only time that anybody spoke
to them during the evening, till they were discovered
and joined by Mr. Allen when the dance was over.
"Well, Miss Morland," said he, directly, "I hope
you 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 been
saying how glad I should be if the Skinners were here this
winter instead of last; or if the Parrys had come, as they
talked 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 was
over--enough to leave space for the remainder to walk
about in some comfort; and now was the time for a heroine,
who had not yet played a very distinguished part in
the 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 seen
by many young men who had not been near her before.
Not one, however, started with rapturous wonder on
beholding her, no whisper of eager inquiry ran round
the room, nor was she once called a divinity by anybody.
Yet Catherine was in very good looks, and had the company
only seen her three years before, they would now have thought
her exceedingly handsome.
She was looked at, however, and with some admiration;
for, in her own hearing, two gentlemen pronounced her
to be a pretty girl. Such words had their due effect;
she immediately thought the evening pleasanter than she
had found it before--her humble vanity was contented--she
felt more obliged to the two young men for this simple
praise than a true-quality heroine would have been
for 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.