Jane Austen’s Persuasion is a beautiful story of love about a love that was thought to be forgotten but was found once again.
Nevertheless, despite the sweetness that the romance of this book brings, there are a handful of characters that provide for a very interesting plotline and plot development. Not in the least is the heroine’s father, Sir Walter Elliot.
The book begins with a few paragraphs about Sir Walter Elliot of Kellynch Hall. He is described as fond of reading nothing but the Baronet (which appears to be a listing of some sort, of all the royalty and nobility of their times), especially the last few pages where his name and title are inscribed.
Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot’s character; vanity of person and of situation… He considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only to the blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who united these gifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect and devotion.
One cannot help but be half-amused, half-vexed, at the silliness of Sir Walter’s vanities. It is bad enough to be vain, but it is infinitely worse to laud yourself on your vanities.
Several more paragraphs bring us to understand the situation at Kellynch Hall. Apparently, Sir Walter and Elizabeth, the eldest Elliot girl, have been spending too much—all beyond the means of their income.
Retrenching is proposed by Sir Walter, as the only possible solution to their situation; Elizabeth agrees, but instead of retrenching on the luxuries they do not need, they decide to retrench on “some unnecessary charities,” among some other things.
When that does not work, and they must retrench some more, Sir Walter and his eldest daughter face a quandary: ‘they were neither of them able to devise any means of lessening their expenses without compromising their dignity or relinquishing their comforts in a way not to be borne.’
Enter Lady Russell! their neighbour, who has been almost like a mother (especially to Anne) after Lady Elliot’s death. She comes up with a retrenching scheme, one that takes off a bit of expense from here and there, but is met with a solid negative.
‘What! every comfort of life to be knocked off! Journeys, London, servants, horses, table – contractions and restrictions every where! To live no longer with the decencies even of a private gentleman! No, he would sooner quit Kellynch Hall at once than remain in it on such disgraceful terms.’
As Sir Walter does not want to retrench on his spending and thus, according to him, retrench on his precious dignity, it is decided that they will settle elsewhere and let (meaning to rent) Kellynch Hall.
As the subject of a tenant comes up, the navy is mentioned by Mr. Shepherd, Sir Walter’s lawyer. A lively discussion ensues with regards to the occupation of the men in the navy, and their being worthy enough to live in Kellynch Hall for Sir Walter.
Anne stoutly defends the seafarers, declaring,
‘The navy, I think, who have done so much for us, have at least equal claim with any other set of men, for all the comforts and all the privileges which any home can give. Sailors work hard enough for their comforts, we must allow.’
Mr. Shepherd and his daughter, Mrs. Clay, express their acquiescence, but Sir Walter disagrees.
‘The profession has its utility, but I should be sorry to see any friend of mine belonging to it. …it is in two points offensive to me; I have two strong grounds of objection to it. First, as being the means of bringing persons of obscure birth into undue distinction, and raising men to honours which their fathers and grandfathers never dreamt of; and secondly, as it cuts up a man’s youth and vigour most horribly; a sailor grows old sooner than any other man.’
This paragraph shows Sir Walter pronouncing a judgement based on his vanities: title or rank, and good looks. He prizes his baronetcy and does not wish to be counted among men who are not of royal or noble birth, but because of courageous acts have been granted a title. He also criticizes the complexion of the sailor, but only because he has been blessed with fine features and feels superior in that aspect.
Several days later, Mr. Shepherd comes, bearing the news of an Admiral Croft who wishes to let Kellynch Hall. Sir Walter meets these tidings with ‘cold, suspicious inquiry,’ saying he knows nothing of any Admiral Croft.
Mr. Shepherd assures him that the Admiral comes from a gentleman’s family and goes on to speak of Mrs. Croft, declaring that she is ‘sister to a gentleman who lived for a few years back at Monkford.’
Speculation occurs about that gentleman, whose name Mr. Shepherd cannot recollect, until a ‘You mean Mr. Wentworth, I suppose,’ from Anne ceases the flow of questions and brings to Mr. Shepherd’s memory more details about him.
Says Sir Walter:
‘Wentworth? Oh! ay, – Mr. Wentworth, the curate of Monkford. You misled me by the term gentleman. I thought you were speaking of some man of property. Mr. Wentworth was nobody, I remember; quite unconnected; nothing to do with the Strafford family. One wonders how the names of many of our nobility become so common.’
(And here, we grit our teeth and say “Oh! Sir Walter, your obnoxious pride is insufferable!”)
Sir Walter quits Kellynch Hall and moves to Bath. We do not hear about him until the middle of the book, when Anne arrives in their new residence.
At this time, there is a new character in the story, a Mr. Elliot, a cousin of the Elliots, and the heir of Kellynch Hall (in those days, a family’s property could only be passed down to male family members, thus, if there were no sons, the property would be passed down to the closest male descendant). After several years of estrangement, which is another story for another time, Mr. Elliot appears and introduces himself to Sir Walter, ready to make up for past misdeeds. He presents himself with such pretty manners and graces that Sir Walter and Elizabeth are charmed.
Anne mentioned the glimpses she had had of him at Lyme, but without being much attended to. ‘Oh! yes, perhaps, it had been Mr. Elliot. They did not know. It might be him, perhaps.’ They could not listen to her description of him. They were describing him themselves; Sir Walter especially. He did justice to his very gentlemanlike appearance, his air of elegance and fashion, his good shaped face, his sensible eye; but, at the same time, ‘must lament his being very much under-hung, a defect which time seemed to have increased; nor could he pretend to say that ten years had not altered almost every feature for the worse. Mr. Elliot appeared to think that he (Sir Walter) was looking exactly as he had done when they last parted;’ but Sir Walter had ‘not been able to return the compliment entirely, which had embarrassed him. He did not mean to complain, however. Mr. Elliot was better to look at than most men, and he had no objection to being seen with him any where.’
Seems to me as if Sir Walter isn’t quite at all in his element unless he is criticizing someone’s looks or rank. He goes on to express his desire to see Mrs. Wallis, the wife of Colonel Wallis, a friend of Mr. Elliot, who is widely acclaimed for being ‘excessively pretty.’
‘He longed to see her. He hoped she might make some amends for the many very plain faces he was continually passing in the streets. The worst of Bath was the number of plain women. He did not mean to say that there were no pretty women, but the number of the plain was out of all proportion. He had frequently observed, as he walked, that one handsome face would be followed by thirty, or five-and-thirty frights; and once, as he had stood in a shop in Bond Street, he had counted eighty0seven women go by, one after another, without there being a tolerable face among them…’
There it is—one of the two vanities Sir Walter has and clings on to. One of the two vanities he uses to judge other people.
In one final scene which heightens his vanity with regard to social status, he attempts to dissuade Anne from paying a visit to her old schoolfellow, a Mrs. Smith (This, in my opinion, is the final straw.).
‘Westage 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 every where. And what is her attraction? That she is old and sickly. Upon my word, Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary taste! Every thing 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 tomorrow: she is not so near her end, I presume, but that she may hope to see another day. What is her age? Forty?’
What can we conclude from this? We can only raise our hands in despair. Were Sir Walter to be a real person, we would not be friends. We cannot understand him and would only quarrel with him. His frequent references to his good looks and his nobility are detestable and the way he looks down on others who are not wealthy or may not have titles is infinitely worse. He is a sad character indeed, quite unlike the rest of who were rich and happy and loved in their circle of family and friends.
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