Austen, Jane
Emma
The Novels of Jane Austen. R. W. Chapman, ed. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1926
1815
AusEmma5
Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with
a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to
unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had
lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little
to distress or vex her.
She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most
affectionate, indulgent father, and had, in consequence of
her sister's marriage, been mistress of his house from
a very early period. Her mother had died too long ago
for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of
her caresses, and her place had been supplied by an excellent
woman as governess, who had fallen little short of
a mother in affection.
Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's
family, less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both
daughters, but particularly of Emma. Between them it
was more the intimacy of sisters. Even before Miss Taylor
had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess,
the mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to
impose any restraint; and the shadow of authority being
now long passed away, they had been living together as
friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma
doing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss Taylor's
judgment, but directed chiefly by her own.
The real evils indeed of Emma's situation were the
power of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition
to think a little too well of herself; these were
the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her many
enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so
AusEmma6
unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as
misfortunes with her.
Sorrow came -- a gentle sorrow -- but not at all in the
shape of any disagreeable consciousness.-- Miss Taylor
married. It was Miss Taylor's loss which first brought
grief. It was on the wedding-day of this beloved friend
that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any continuance.
The wedding over and the bride-people gone,
her father and herself were left to dine together, with no
prospect of a third to cheer a long evening. Her father
composed himself to sleep after dinner, as usual, and she
had then only to sit and think of what she had lost.
The event had every promise of happiness for her
friend. Mr. Weston was a man of unexceptionable
character, easy fortune, suitable age and pleasant manners;
and there was some satisfaction in considering with what
self-denying, generous friendship she had always wished
and promoted the match; but it was a black morning's
work for her. The want of Miss Taylor would be felt
every hour of every day. She recalled her past kindness--
the kindness, the affection of sixteen years -- how she had
taught and how she had played with her from five years
old -- how she had devoted all her powers to attach and
amuse her in health -- and how nursed her through the
various illnesses of childhood. A large debt of gratitude
was owing here; but the intercourse of the last seven
years, the equal footing and perfect unreserve which had
soon followed Isabella's marriage on their being left to
each other, was yet a dearer, tenderer recollection. It
had been a friend and companion such as few possessed,
intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the
ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, and
peculiarly interested in herself, in every pleasure, every
scheme of her's; -- one to whom she could speak every
thought as it arose, and who had such an affection for her
as could never find fault.
How was she to bear the change? -- It was true that
her friend was going only half a mile from them; but
AusEmma7
Emma was aware that great must be the difference
between a Mrs. Weston only half a mile from them, and
a Miss Taylor in the house; and with all her advantages,
natural and domestic, she was now in great danger of
suffering from intellectual solitude. She dearly loved her
father, but he was no companion for her. He could not
meet her in conversation, rational or playful.
The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and
Mr. Woodhouse had not married early) was much increased
by his constitution and habits; for having been a valetudinarian
all his life, without activity of mind or body, he
was a much older man in ways than in years; and though
everywhere beloved for the friendliness of his heart and
his amiable temper, his talents could not have recommended
him at any time.
Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by
matrimony, being settled in London, only sixteen miles
off, was much beyond her daily reach; and many a long
October and November evening must be struggled through
at Hartfield, before Christmas brought the next visit from
Isabella and her husband and their little children to fill
the house and give her pleasant society again.
Highbury, the large and populous village almost
amounting to a town, to which Hartfield, in spite of its
separate lawn and shrubberies and name, did really
belong, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses were
first in consequence there. All looked up to them. She
had many acquaintance in the place, for her father was
universally civil, but not one among them who could be
accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for even half a day. It
was a melancholy change; and Emma could not but
sigh over it and wish for impossible things, till her father
awoke, and made it necessary to be cheerful. His spirits
required support. He was a nervous man, easily depressed;
fond of every body that he was used to, and hating to
part with them; hating change of every kind. Matrimony,
as the origin of change, was always disagreeable;
and he was by no means yet reconciled to his own daughter's
AusEmma8
marrying, nor could ever speak of her but with
compassion, though it had been entirely a match of
affection, when he was now obliged to part with Miss Taylor
too; and from his habits of gentle selfishness and
of being never able to suppose that other people could
feel differently from himself, he was very much disposed
to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a thing for herself
as for them, and would have been a great deal happier if
she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield. Emma
smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him
from such thoughts; but when tea came, it was impossible
for him not to say exactly as he had at dinner,
"Poor Miss Taylor! -- I wish she were here again. What
a pity it is that Mr. Weston ever thought of her!"
"I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot.
Mr. Weston is such a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent
man, that he thoroughly deserves a good wife; -- and you
would not have had Miss Taylor live with us for ever and
bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house
of her own?"
"A house of her own! -- but where is the advantage of
a house of her own? This is three times as large.-- And
you have never any odd humours, my dear."
"How often we shall be going to see them and they
coming to see us!-- We shall be always meeting! We
must begin, we must go and pay our wedding-visit very
soon."
"My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such
a distance. I could not walk half so far."
"No, papa, nobody thought of your walking. We
must go in the carriage to be sure."
"The carriage! But James will not like to put the
horses to for such a little way;-- and where are the poor
horses to be while we are paying our visit?"
"They are to be put into Mr. Weston's stable, papa.
You know we have settled all that already. We talked
it all over with Mr. Weston last night. And as for James,
you may be very sure he will always like going to Randalls,
AusEmma9
because of his daughter's being housemaid there. I only
doubt whether he will ever take us anywhere else. That,
was your doing, papa. You got Hannah that good place.
Nobody thought of Hannah till you mentioned her --
James is so obliged to you!"
"I am very glad I did think of her. It was very lucky,
for I would not have had poor James think himself
slighted upon any account; and I am sure she will make
a very good servant; she is a civil, pretty-spoken girl;
I have a great opinion of her. Whenever I see her, she
always curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty
manner; and when you have had her here to do needlework,
I observe she always turns the lock of the door the
right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will be an
excellent servant; and it will be a great comfort to poor
Miss Taylor to have somebody about her that she is used
to see. Whenever James goes over to see his daughter
you know, she will be hearing of us. He will be able to
tell her how we all are."
Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier
flow of ideas, and hoped, by the help of backgammon, to
get her father tolerably through the evening, and be
attacked by no regrets but her own. The backgammon-table
was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards
walked in and made it unnecessary.
Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty,
was not only a very old and intimate friend of the
family, but particularly connected with it as the elder
brother of Isabella's husband. He lived about a mile
from Highbury, was a frequent visitor and always welcome,
and at this time more welcome than usual, as
coming directly from their mutual connections in London.
He had returned to a late dinner after some days absence,
and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well
in Brunswick-square. It was a happy circumstance and
animated Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley
had a cheerful manner which always did him good; and
his many inquiries after
"poor Isabella"
and her children
AusEmma10
were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over,
Mr. Woodhouse gratefully observed,
"It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at
this late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must have
had a shocking walk."
"Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful, moonlight night;
and so mild that I must draw back from your great fire."
"But you must have found it very damp and dirty.
I wish you may not catch cold."
"Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them."
"Well! that is quite surprizing, for we have had a vast
deal of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an
hour, while we were at breakfast. I wanted them to put
off the wedding."
"By the bye -- I have not wished you joy. Being pretty
well aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling,
I have been in no hurry with my congratulations. But
I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did you all
behave? Who cried most?"
"Ah! poor Miss Taylor! 'tis a sad business."
"Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but
I cannot possibly say ""poor Miss Taylor."" I have a great
regard for you and Emma; but when it comes to the
question of dependence or independence!-- At any rate,
it must be better to have only one to please, than two."
"Especially when one of those two is such a fanciful,
troublesome creature!"
said Emma playfully.
"That,
is what you have in your head, I know -- and what you
would certainly say if my father were not by."
"I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed,"
said
Mr. Woodhouse with a sigh.
"I am afraid I am sometimes
very fanciful and troublesome."
"My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean
you, or suppose Mr. Knightley to mean you. What
a horrible idea! Oh, no! I meant only myself. Mr. Knightley
loves to find fault with me you know -- in a
joke -- it is all a joke. We always say what we like to one
another."
AusEmma11
Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who
could see faults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one
who ever told her of them: and though this was not
particularly agreeable to Emma herself, she knew it would
be so much less so to her father, that she would not have
him really suspect such a circumstance as her not being
thought perfect by every body.
"Emma knows I never flatter her,"
said Mr. Knightley;
"but I meant no reflection on any body. Miss Taylor
has been used to have two persons to please; she will
now have but one. The chances are that she must be
a gainer."
"Well,"
said Emma, willing to let it pass--
"you want
to hear about the wedding, and I shall be happy to tell
you, for we all behaved charmingly. Every body was
punctual, every body in their best looks. Not a tear, and
hardly a long face to be seen. Oh! no, we all felt that
we were going to be only half a mile apart, and were sure
of meeting every day."
"DearEmma bears every thing so well,"
said her
father.
"But, Mr. Knightley, she is really very sorry to
lose poor Miss Taylor, and I am sure she will miss her
more than she thinks for."
Emma turned away her head, divided between tears
and smiles.
"It is impossible that Emma should not miss such
a companion,"
said Mr. Knightley.
"We should not like
her so well as we do, sir, if we could suppose it. But she
knows how much the marriage is to Miss Taylor's advantage;
she knows how very acceptable it must be at Miss Taylor's
time of life to be settled in a home of her own,
and how important to her to be secure of a comfortable
provision, and therefore cannot allow herself to feel so
much pain as pleasure. Every friend of Miss Taylor must
be glad to have her so happily married."
"And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me,"
said Emma,
"and a very considerable one -- that I made
the match myself. I made the match, you know, four
AusEmma12
years ago; and to have it take place, and be proved in
the right, when so many people said Mr. Weston would
never marry again, may comfort me for any thing."
Mr. Knightley shook his head at her. Her father fondly
replied,
"Ah! my dear, I wish you would not make
matches and foretel things, for whatever you say always
comes to pass. Pray do not make any more matches."
"I promise you to make none for myself, papa; but
I must, indeed, for other people. It is the greatest amusement
in the world! And after such success you know!--
Every body said that Mr. Weston would never marry
again. Oh dear, no! Mr. Weston, who had been a
widower so long, and who seemed so perfectly comfortable
without a wife, so constantly occupied either in his
business in town or among his friends here, always
acceptable wherever he went, always cheerful -- Mr. Weston
need not spend a single evening in the year alone if
he did not like it. Oh, no! Mr. Weston certainly would
never marry again. Some people even talked of a promise
to his wife on her death-bed, and others of the son and the
uncle not letting him. All manner of solemn nonsense
was talked on the subject, but I believed none of it. Ever
since the day (about four years ago) thatMiss Taylor and
I met with him in Broadway-lane, when, because it began
to mizzle, he darted away with so much gallantry, and
borrowed two umbrellas for us from Farmer Mitchell's,
I made up my mind on the subject. I planned the match
from that hour; and when such success has blessed me
in this instance, dear papa, you cannot think that I shall
leave off match-making."
"I do not understand what you mean by ""success;"""
said Mr. Knightley.
"Success supposes endeavour. Your
time has been properly and delicately spent, if you have
been endeavouring for the last four years to bring about
this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady's
mind! But if, which I rather imagine, your making the
match, as you call it, means only your planning it, your
saying to yourself one idle day, ""I think it would be
AusEmma13
a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to
marry her,"" and saying it again to yourself every now and
then afterwards,-- why do you talk of success? where is
your merit?-- what are you proud of?-- you made a lucky
guess; and that is all that can be said."
"And have you never known the pleasure and triumph
of a lucky guess?-- I pity you.-- I thought you cleverer--
for depend upon it, a lucky guess is never merely luck.
There is always some talent in it. And as to my poor
word ""success,"" which you quarrel with, I do not know
that I am so entirely without any claim to it. You have
drawn two pretty pictures -- but I think there may be
a third -- a something between the do-nothing and the
do-all. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston's visits here,
and given many little encouragements, and smoothed
many little matters, it might not have come to any thing
after all. I think you must know Hartfield enough to
comprehend that."
"A straight-forward, open-hearted man, like Weston,
and a rational unaffected woman, like Miss Taylor, may be
safely left to manage their own concerns. You are more
likely to have done harm to yourself, than good to them,
by interference."
"Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to
others;"
rejoined Mr. Woodhouse, understanding but
in part.
"But, my dear, pray do not make any more
matches, they are silly things, and break up one's family
circle grievously."
"Only one more, papa; only for Mr. Elton. Poor
Mr. Elton! You like Mr. Elton, papa,-- I must look
about for a wife for him. There is nobody in Highbury
who deserves him -- and he has been here a whole year,
and has fitted up his house so comfortably that it would
be a shame to have him single any longer -- and I thought
when he was joining their hands to-day, he looked so very
much as if he would like to have the same kind office done
for him! I think very well of Mr. Elton, and this is the
only way I have of doing him a service."
AusEmma14
"Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man to be sure, and
a very good young man, and I have a great regard for
him. But if you want to shew him any attention, my
dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That
will be a much better thing. I dare say Mr. Knightley
will be so kind as to meet him."
"With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time,"
said
Mr. Knightley laughing;
"and I agree with you entirely
that it will be a much better thing. Invite him to dinner,
Emma, and help him to the best of the fish and the
chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife. Depend
upon it, a man of six or seven-and-twenty can take care
of himself."
AusEmma15
Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of
a respectable family, which for the last two or three
generations had been rising into gentility and property.
He had received a good education, but on succeeding
early in life to a small independence, had become indisposed
for any of the more homely pursuits in which his
brothers were engaged; and had satisfied an active
cheerful mind and social temper by entering into the
militia of his country, then embodied.
Captain Weston was a general favourite; and when the
chances of his military life had introduced him to Miss Churchill,
of a great Yorkshire family, and Miss Churchill
fell in love with him, nobody was surprized except her
brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who
were full of pride and importance, which the connection
would offend.
Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full
command of her fortune -- though her fortune bore no
proportion to the family-estate -- was not to be dissuaded
from the marriage, and it took place to the infinite
mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her
off with due decorum. It was an unsuitable connection,
and did not produce much happiness. Mrs. Weston ought
to have found more in it, for she had a husband whose
warm heart and sweet temper made him think every thing
due to her in return for the great goodness of being
in love with him; but though she had one sort of spirit,
she had not the best. She had resolution enough to
pursue her own will in spite of her brother, but not enough
to refrain from unreasonable regrets at that brother's
unreasonable anger, nor from missing the luxuries of her
former home. They lived beyond their income, but still
it was nothing in comparison of Enscombe; she did not
AusEmma16
cease to love her husband, but she wanted at once to be the
wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe.
Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially
by the Churchills, as making such an amazing match, was
proved to have much the worst of the bargain; for when
his wife died after a three years' marriage, he was rather
a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain.
From the expense of the child, however, he was soon
relieved. The boy had, with the additional softening
claim of a lingering illness of his mother's, been the
means of a sort of reconciliation; and Mr. and Mrs. Churchill,
having no children of their own, nor any other
young creature of equal kindred to care for, offered to
take the whole charge of the little Frank soon after her
decease. Some scruples and some reluctance the widower-father
may be supposed to have felt; but as they were
overcome by other considerations, the child was given
up to the care and the wealth of the Churchills, and he
had only his own comfort to seek and his own situation
to improve as he could.
A complete change of life became desirable. He quitted
the militia and engaged in trade, having brothers already
established in a good way in London, which afforded him
a favourable opening. It was a concern which brought
just employment enough. He had still a small house in
Highbury, where most of his leisure days were spent;
and between useful occupation and the pleasures of
society, the next eighteen or twenty years of his life passed
cheerfully away. He had, by that time, realized an easy
competence -- enough to secure the purchase of a little
estate adjoining Highbury, which he had always longed
for -- enough to marry a woman as portionless even as
Miss Taylor, and to live according to the wishes of his
own friendly and social disposition.
It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to
influence his schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic
influence of youth on youth, it had not shaken his determination
of never settling till he could purchase Randalls,
AusEmma17
and the sale of Randalls was long looked forward to: but
he had gone steadily on, with these objects in view, till
they were accomplished. He had made his fortune,
bought his house, and obtained his wife; and was beginning
a new period of existence with every probability of
greater happiness than in any yet passed through. He
had never been an unhappy man; his own temper had
secured him from that, even in his first marriage; but
his second must shew him how delightful a well-judging
and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him
the pleasantest proof of its being a great deal better to
chuse than to be chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it.
He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune
was his own; for as to Frank, it was more than being
tacitly brought up as his uncle's heir, it had become so
avowed an adoption as to have him assume the name of
Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely, therefore,
that he should ever want his father's assistance.
His father had no apprehension of it. The aunt was a
capricious woman, and governed her husband entirely;
but it was not in Mr. Weston's nature to imagine that any
caprice could be strong enough to affect one so dear, and,
as he believed, so deservedly dear. He saw his son every
year in London, and was proud of him; and his fond
report of him as a very fine young man had made Highbury
feel a sort of pride in him too. He was looked on
as sufficiently belonging to the place to make his merits
and prospects a kind of common concern.
Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury,
and a lively curiosity to see him prevailed, though the
compliment was so little returned that he had never been
there in his life. His coming to visit his father had been
often talked of but never achieved.
Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally
proposed, as a most proper attention, that the visit
should take place. There was not a dissentient voice on
the subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with
Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned
AusEmma18
the visit. Now was the time for Mr. Frank Churchill to
come among them; and the hope strengthened when it
was understood that he had written to his new mother
on the occasion. For a few days every morning visit in
Highbury included some mention of the handsome letter
Mrs. Weston had received.
"I suppose you have heard
of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill had written
to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a very handsome
letter, indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr. Woodhouse
saw the letter, and he says he never saw such
a handsome letter in his life."
It was, indeed, a highly-prized letter. Mrs. Weston
had, of course, formed a very favourable idea of the
young man; and such a pleasing attention was an irresistible
proof of his great good sense, and a most welcome
addition to every source and every expression of congratulation
which her marriage had already secured. She felt
herself a most fortunate woman; and she had lived long
enough to know how fortunate she might well be thought,
where the only regret was for a partial separation from
friends, whose friendship for her had never cooled, and
who could ill bear to part with her!
She knew that at times she must be missed; and could
not think, without pain, of Emma's losing a single
pleasure, or suffering an hour's ennui, from the want of
her companionableness:
but dearEmma was of no feeble
character; she was more equal to her situation than most
girls would have been, and had sense and energy and
spirits that might be hoped would bear her well and
happily through its little difficulties and privations. And
then there was such comfort in the very easy distance of
Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even solitary
female walking, and in Mr. Weston's disposition and
circumstances, which would make the approaching season
no hindrance to their spending half the evenings in the
week together.
Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of
gratitude to Mrs. Weston, and of moments only of regret;
AusEmma19
and her satisfaction -- her more than satisfaction -- her
cheerful enjoyment was so just and so apparent, that
Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes taken
by surprize at his being still able to pity
"poor Miss Taylor,"
when they left her at Randalls in the centre of
every domestic comfort, or saw her go away in the evening
attended by her pleasant husband to a carriage of her
own. But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse's
giving a gentle sigh, and saying:
"Ah! poor Miss Taylor. She would be very glad to stay."
There was no recovering Miss Taylor -- nor much likelihood
of ceasing to pity her: but a few weeks brought
some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse. The compliments
of his neighbours were over; he no longer teased by
being wished joy of so sorrowful an event; and the
wedding-cake, which had been a great distress to him,
was all eat up. His own stomach could bear nothing rich,
and he could never believe other people to be different
from himself. What was unwholesome to him, he regarded
as unfit for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly
tried to dissuade them from having any wedding-cake
at all, and when that proved vain, as earnestly tried
to prevent any body's eating it. He had been at the
pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the
subject. Mr. Perry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man,
whose frequent visits were one of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse's
life; and, upon being applied to, he could
not but acknowledge, (though it seemed rather against the
bias of inclination,) that wedding-cake might certainly
disagree with many -- perhaps with most people, unless
taken moderately. With such an opinion, in confirmation
of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence every
visitor of the new-married pair; but still the cake was
eaten; and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves
till it was all gone.
There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little
Perrys being seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding-cake
in their hands: but Mr. Woodhouse would never believe it.
AusEmma20
Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way.
He liked very much to have his friends come and see him;
and from various united causes, from his long residence
at Hartfield, and his good nature, from his fortune, his
house, and his daughter, he could command the visits of
his own little circle, in a great measure as he liked. He
had not much intercourse with any families beyond that
circle; his horror of late hours and large dinner-parties
made him unfit for any acquaintance, but such as would
visit him on his own terms. Fortunately for him, Highbury,
including Randalls in the same parish, and Donwell Abbey
in the parish adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley,
comprehended many such. Not unfrequently, through
Emma's persuasion, he had some of the chosen and the
best to dine with him, but evening-parties were what he
preferred, and, unless he fancied himself at any time
unequal to company, there was scarcely an evening in
the week in whichEmma could not make up a card-table
for him.
Real, long-standing regard brought the Westons and
Mr. Knightley; and by Mr. Elton, a young man living
alone without liking it, the privilege of exchanging any
vacant evening of his own blank solitude for the elegancies
and society of Mr. Woodhouse's drawing-room and the
smiles of his lovely daughter, was in no danger of being
thrown away.
After these came a second set; among the most come-at-able
of whom were Mrs. and Miss Bates and Mrs. Goddard,
three ladies almost always at the service of an
invitation from Hartfield, and who were fetched and
carried home so often that Mr. Woodhouse thought it no
hardship for either James or the horses. Had it taken
place only once a year, it would have been a grievance.
AusEmma21
Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury,
was a very old lady, almost past every thing but tea and
quadrille. She lived with her single daughter in a very
small way, and was considered with all the regard and
respect which a harmless old lady, under such untoward
circumstances, can excite. Her daughter enjoyed a most
uncommon degree of popularity for a woman neither
young, handsome, rich, nor married. Miss Bates stood
in the very worst predicament in the world for having
much of the public favour; and she had no intellectual
superiority to make atonement to herself, or frighten
those who might hate her, into outward respect. She had
never boasted either beauty or cleverness. Her youth had
passed without distinction, and her middle of life was
devoted to the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour
to make a small income go as far as possible. And yet
she was a happy woman, and a woman whom no one
named without good-will. It was her own universal good-will
and contented temper which worked such wonders.
She loved every body, was interested in every body's
happiness, quick-sighted to every body's merits; thought
herself a most fortunate creature, and surrounded with
blessings in such an excellent mother and so many good
neighbours and friends, and a home that wanted for
nothing. The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature,
her contented and grateful spirit, were a recommendation
to every body and a mine of felicity to herself. She was
a great talker upon little matters, which exactly suited
Mr. Woodhouse, full of trivial communications and
harmless gossip.
Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a School-- not of
a seminary, or an establishment, or any thing which
professed, in long sentences of refined nonsense, to combine
liberal acquirements with elegant morality upon new
principles and new systems-- and where young ladies for
enormous pay might be screwed out of health and into
vanity-- but a real, honest, old-fashioned Boarding-school,
where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments were sold
AusEmma22
at a reasonable price, and where girls might be sent to
be out of the way and scramble themselves into a little
education, without any danger of coming back prodigies.
Mrs. Goddard's school was in high repute -- and very
deservedly; for Highbury was reckoned a particularly
healthy spot: she had an ample house and garden, gave
the children plenty of wholesome food, let them run about
a great deal in the summer, and in winter dressed their
chilblains with her own hands. It was no wonder that
a train of twenty young couple now walked after her to
church. She was a plain, motherly kind of woman, who
had worked hard in her youth, and now thought herself
entitled to the occasional holiday of a tea-visit; and
having formerly owed much to Mr. Woodhouse's kindness,
felt his particular claim on her to leave her neat parlour
hung round with fancy-work whenever she could, and
win or lose a few sixpences by his fireside.
These were the ladies whomEmma found herself very
frequently able to collect; and happy was she, for her
father's sake, in the power; though, as far as she was
herself concerned, it was no remedy for the absence of
Mrs. Weston. She was delighted to see her father look
comfortable, and very much pleased with herself for
contriving things so well; but the quiet prosings of three
such women made her feel that every evening so spent,
was indeed one of the long evenings she had fearfully
anticipated.
As she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly such
a close of the present day, a note was brought from
Mrs. Goddard, requesting, in most respectful terms, to be
allowed to bring Miss Smith with her; a most welcome
request: for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen whom
Emma knew very well by sight and had long felt an
interest in, on account of her beauty. A very gracious
invitation was returned, and the evening no longer dreaded
by the fair mistress of the mansion.
Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody.
Somebody had placed her, several years back, at Mrs. Goddard's
AusEmma23
school, and somebody had lately raised her
from the condition of scholar to that of parlour-boarder.
This was all that was generally known of her history.
She had no visible friends but what had been acquired
at Highbury, and was now just returned from a long visit
in the country to some young ladies who had been at
school there with her.
She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened
to be of a sort whichEmma particularly admired. She
was short, plump and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes,
light hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness;
and before the end of the evening, Emma was as much
pleased with her manners as her person, and quite determined
to continue the acquaintance.
She was not struck by any thing remarkably clever in
Miss Smith's conversation, but she found her altogether
very engaging -- not inconveniently shy, not unwilling to
talk -- and yet so far from pushing, shewing so proper
and becoming a deference, seeming so pleasantly grateful
for being admitted to Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed
by the appearance of every thing in so superior a style to
what she had been used to, that she must have good sense
and deserve encouragement. Encouragement should be
given. Those soft blue eyes and all those natural graces
should not be wasted on the inferior society of Highbury
and its connections. The acquaintance she had already
formed were unworthy of her. The friends from whom
she had just parted, though very good sort of people, must
be doing her harm.
They were a family of the name of
Martin, whomEmma well knew by character, as renting
a large farm of Mr. Knightley, and residing in the parish
of Donwell --
very creditably she believed -- she knew
Mr. Knightley thought highly of them -- but they must be
coarse and unpolished, and very unfit to be the intimates
of a girl who wanted only a little more knowledge and
elegance to be quite perfect. She would notice her; she
would improve her; she would detach her from her bad
acquaintance, and introduce her into good society; she
AusEmma24
would form her opinions and her manners. It would be
an interesting, and certainly a very kind undertaking;
highly becoming her own situation in life, her leisure, and
powers.
She was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes, in
talking and listening, and forming all these schemes in the
in-betweens, that the evening flew away at a very unusual
rate; and the supper-table, which always closed such
parties, and for which she had been used to sit and watch
the due time, was all set out and ready, and moved
forwards to the fire, before she was aware. With an
alacrity beyond the common impulse of a spirit which yet
was never indifferent to the credit of doing every thing
well and attentively, with the real good-will of a mind
delighted with its own ideas, did she then do all the
honours of the meal, and help and recommend the minced
chicken and scalloped oysters with an urgency which she
knew would be acceptable to the early hours and civil
scruples of their guests.
Upon such occasions poor Mr. Woodhouse's feelings
were in sad warfare. He loved to have the cloth laid,
because it had been the fashion of his youth; but his
conviction of suppers being very unwholesome made him
rather sorry to see any thing put on it; and while his
hospitality would have welcomed his visitors to every thing,
his care for their health made him grieve that they
would eat.
Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own, was
all that he could, with thorough self-approbation,
recommend, though he might constrain himself, while the
ladies were comfortably clearing the nicer things, to say:
"Mrs. Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of
these eggs. An egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome.
Serle understands boiling an egg better than any body.
I would not recommend an egg boiled by any body else --
but you need not be afraid -- they are very small, you
see -- one of our small eggs will not hurt you. Miss Bates,
let Emma help you to a little bit of tart -- a very little bit.
AusEmma25
Ours are all apple tarts. You need not be afraid of unwholesome
preserves here. I do not advise the custard.
Mrs. Goddard, what say you to half a glass of wine?
A small half glass -- put into a tumbler of water? I do
not think it could disagree with you."
Emma allowed her father to talk -- but supplied her
visitors in a much more satisfactory style; and on the
present evening had particular pleasure in sending them
away happy. The happiness of Miss Smith was quite
equal to her intentions. Miss Woodhouse was so great
a personage in Highbury, that the prospect of the introduction
had given as much panic as pleasure -- but the
humble, grateful, little girl went off with highly gratified
feelings, delighted with the affability with whichMiss Woodhouse
had treated her all the evening, and actually
shaken hands with her at last!
AusEmma26
Harriet Smith's intimacy at Hartfield was soon
a settled thing. Quick and decided in her ways, Emma
lost no time in inviting, encouraging, and telling her to
come very often; and as their acquaintance increased,
so did their satisfaction in each other. As a walking
companion, Emma had very early foreseen how useful
she might find her. In that respect Mrs. Weston's loss
had been important. Her father never went beyond the
shrubbery, where two divisions of the grounds sufficed
him for his long walk, or his short, as the year varied;
and since Mrs. Weston's marriage her exercise had been
too much confined. She had ventured once alone to
Randalls, but it was not pleasant; and a Harriet Smith,
therefore, one whom she could summon at any time to
a walk, would be a valuable addition to her privileges.
But in every respect as she saw more of her, she approved
her, and was confirmed in all her kind designs.
Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet,
docile, grateful disposition; was totally free from conceit;
and only desiring to be guided by any one she looked up
to. Her early attachment to herself was very amiable;
and her inclination for good company, and power of
appreciating what was elegant and clever, shewed that
there was no want of taste, though strength of understanding
must not be expected. Altogether she was
quite convinced of Harriet Smith's being exactly the
young friend she wanted -- exactly the something which
her home required. Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was
out of the question. Two such could never be granted.
Two such she did not want. It was quite a different sort
of thing -- a sentiment distinct and independent. Mrs. Weston
was the object of a regard, which had its basis
in gratitude and esteem. Harriet would be loved as one
AusEmma27
to whom she could be useful. For Mrs. Weston there was
nothing to be done; for Harriet every thing.
Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour
to find out who were the parents; but Harriet could not
tell. She was ready to tell every thing in her power, but
on this subject questions were vain. Emma was obliged
to fancy what she liked -- but she could never believe that
in the same situation she should not have discovered the
truth. Harriet had no penetration. She had been
satisfied to hear and believe just whatMrs. Goddard chose
to tell her; and looked no farther.
Mrs. Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls, and the
affairs of the school in general, formed naturally a great
part of her conversation -- and but for her acquaintance
with the Martins of Abbey-Mill-Farm, it must have been
the whole. But the Martins occupied her thoughts a good
deal; she had spent two very happy months with them,
and now loved to talk of the pleasures of her visit, and
describe the many comforts and wonders of the place.
Emma encouraged her talkativeness -- amused by such
a picture of another set of beings, and enjoying the
youthful simplicity which could speak with so much
exultation of Mrs. Martin's having
"two parlours, two
very good parlours indeed; one of them quite as large as
Mrs. Goddard's drawing-room; and of her having an
upper maid who had lived five-and-twenty years with
her; and of their having eight cows, two of them Alderneys,
and one a little Welch cow, a very pretty little Welch
cow, indeed; and of Mrs. Martin's saying, as she was so
fond of it, it should be called her cow; and of their
having a very handsome summer-house in their garden,
where some day next year they were all to drink tea:--
a very handsome summer-house, large enough to hold
a dozen people."
For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond
the immediate cause; but as she came to understand the
family better, other feelings arose.
She had taken up
a wrong idea, fancying it was a mother and daughter,
AusEmma28
a son and son's wife, who all lived together; but when
it appeared that the Mr. Martin, who bore a part in the
narrative, and was always mentioned with approbation
for his great good-nature in doing something or other,
was a single man; that there was no young Mrs. Martin,
no wife in the case; she did suspect danger to her poor
little friend from all this hospitality and kindness -- and
that if she were not taken care of, she might be required
to sink herself for ever.
With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in
number and meaning; and she particularly led Harriet
to talk more of Mr. Martin,-- and there was evidently no
dislike to it. Harriet was very ready to speak of the
share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry
evening games; and dwelt a good deal upon his being
so very good-humoured and obliging.
"He had gone
three miles round one day, in order to bring her some
walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of them--
and in every thing else he was so very obliging! He had
his shepherd's son into the parlour one night on purpose
to sing to her. She was very fond of singing. He could
sing a little himself. She believed he was very clever,
and understood every thing. He had a very fine flock;
and while she was with them, he had been bid more for
his wool than any body in the country. She believed
every body spoke well of him. His mother and sisters
were very fond of him. Mrs. Martin had told her one day,
(and there was a blush as she said it,)
that it was impossible
for any body to be a better son; and therefore she
was sure whenever he married he would make a good
husband. Not that she wanted him to marry. She was in
no hurry at all."
"Well done, Mrs. Martin!"
thought Emma.
"You
know what you are about."
"And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so
very kind as to send Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose: the
finest goose Mrs. Goddard had ever seen. Mrs. Goddard
had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the three
AusEmma29
teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson,
to sup with her."
"Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information
beyond the line of his own business. He does not read?"
"Oh, yes!-- that is, no -- I do not know -- but I believe
he has read a good deal -- but not what you would think
any thing of. He reads the Agricultural Reports and some
other books, that lay in one of the window seats -- but he
reads all them to himself. But sometimes of an evening,
before we went to cards, he would read something aloud
out of the Elegant Extracts -- very entertaining. And
I know he had read the Vicar of Wakefield. He never
read the Romance of the Forest, nor the Children of the Abbey.
He had never heard of such books before I mentioned
them, but he is determined to get them now as
soon as ever he can."
The next question was:
"What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin?"
"Oh! not handsome -- not at all handsome. I thought
him very plain at first, but I do not think him so plain
now. One does not, you know, after a time. But, did you
never see him! He is in Highbury every now and then,
and he is sure to ride through every week in his way to
Kingston. He has passed you very often."
"That may be -- and I may have seen him fifty times,
but without having any idea of his name. A young
farmer, whether on horseback or on foot, is the very last
sort of person to raise my curiosity. The yeomanry are
precisely the order of people with whom I feel I can have
nothing to do. A degree or two lower, and a creditable
appearance might interest me; I might hope to be useful
to their families in some way or other. But a farmer can
need none of my help, and is therefore in one sense as
much above my notice as in every other he is below it."
"To be sure. Oh! yes, it is not likely you should ever
have observed him -- but he knows you very well indeed --
I mean by sight."
"I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young
AusEmma30
man. I know indeed that he is so; and as such wish him
well. What do you imagine his age to be?"
"He was four-and-twenty the 8th of last June, and my
birth-day is the 23d -- just a fortnight and a day's
difference! which is very odd!"
"Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle.
His mother is perfectly right not to be in a hurry. They
seem very comfortable as they are, and if she were to
take any pains to marry him, she would probably repent
it. Six years hence, if he could meet with a good sort
of young woman in the same rank as his own, with a little
money, it might be very desirable."
"Six years hence! dearMiss Woodhouse, he would be
thirty years old!"
"Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to
marry, who are not born to an independence. Mr. Martin,
I imagine, has his fortune entirely to make -- cannot be
at all beforehand with the world. Whatever money he
might come into when his father died, whatever his share
of the family property, it is, I dare say, all afloat, all
employed in his stock, and so forth; and though, with
diligence and good luck, he may be rich in time, it is next
to impossible that he should have realised any thing yet."
"To be sure, so it is. But they live very comfortably.
They have no in-doors man -- else they do not want for
any thing; and Mrs. Martin talks of taking a boy another
year."
"I wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet, whenever
he does marry;-- I mean, as to being acquainted
with his wife -- for though his sisters, from a superior
education, are not to be altogether objected to, it does
not follow that he might marry any body at all fit for you
to notice. The misfortune of your birth ought to make
you particularly careful as to your associates. There can
be no doubt of your being a gentleman's daughter, and
you must support your claim to that station by every thing
within your own power, or there will be plenty of
people who would take pleasure in degrading you."
AusEmma31
"Yes, to be sure -- I suppose there are. But while
I visit at Hartfield, and you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse,
I am not afraid of what any body can do."
"You understand the force of influence pretty well,
Harriet; but I would have you so firmly established in
good society, as to be independent even of Hartfield and
Miss Woodhouse. I want to see you permanently well
connected -- and to that end it will be advisable to have
as few odd acquaintance as may be; and, therefore, I say
that if you should still be in this country when Mr. Martin
marries, I wish you may not be drawn in, by your intimacy
with the sisters, to be acquainted with the wife, who will
probably be some mere farmer's daughter, without
education."
"To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr. Martin would
ever marry any body but what had had some education --
and been very well brought up. However, I do not mean
to set up my opinion against your's -- and I am sure I shall
not wish for the acquaintance of his wife. I shall always
have a great regard for the Miss Martins, especially
Elizabeth, and should be very sorry to give them up, for
they are quite as well educated as me. But if he marries
a very ignorant, vulgar woman, certainly I had better not
visit her, if I can help it."
Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this
speech, and saw no alarming symptoms of love. The
young man had been the first admirer, but she trusted
there was no other hold, and that there would be no
serious difficulty on Harriet's side to oppose any friendly
arrangement of her own.
They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were
walking on the Donwell road. He was on foot, and after
looking very respectfully at her, looked with most unfeigned
satisfaction at her companion. Emma was not
sorry to have such an opportunity of survey; and walking
a few yards forward, while they talked together, soon
made her quick eye sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Robert Martin.
His appearance was very neat, and he looked
AusEmma32
like a sensible young man, but his person had no
other advantage; and when he came to be contrasted
with gentlemen, she thought he must lose all the ground
he had gained in Harriet's inclination. Harriet was not
insensible of manner; she had voluntarily noticed her
father's gentleness with admiration as well as wonder.
Mr. Martin looked as if he did not know what manner was.
They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse
must not be kept waiting; and Harriet then
came running to her with a smiling face, and in a flutter
of spirits, whichMiss Woodhouse hoped very soon to
compose.
"Only think of our happening to meet him!-- How
very odd! It was quite a chance, he said, that he had
not gone round by Randalls. He did not think we ever
walked this road. He thought we walked towards Randalls
most days. He has not been able to get the Romance of the Forest
yet. He was so busy the last time he was
at Kingston that he quite forgot it, but he goes again
to-morrow. So very odd we should happen to meet!
Well, Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you expected?
What do you think of him? Do you think him so very
plain?"
"He is very plain, undoubtedly -- remarkably plain:--
but that is nothing, compared with his entire want of
gentility. I had no right to expect much, and I did not
expect much; but I had no idea that he could be so very
clownish, so totally without air. I had imagined him,
I confess, a degree or two nearer gentility."
"To be sure,"
said Harriet, in a mortified voice,
"he is
not so genteel as real gentlemen."
"I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us,
you have been repeatedly in the company of some, such
very real gentlemen, that you must yourself be struck
with the difference in Mr. Martin. At Hartfield you have
had very good specimens of well educated, well bred men.
I should be surprized if, after seeing them, you could be
in company with Mr. Martin again without perceiving
AusEmma33
him to be a very inferior creature -- and rather wondering
at yourself for having ever thought him at all agreeable
before. Do not you begin to feel that now? Were not
you struck? I am sure you must have been struck by
his awkward look and abrupt manner -- and the uncouthness
of a voice, which I heard to be wholly unmodulated
as I stood here."
"Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has not
such a fine air and way of walking as Mr. Knightley.
I see the difference plain enough. But Mr. Knightley is
so very fine a man!"
"Mr. Knightley's air is so remarkably good, that it is
not fair to compare Mr. Martin with him. You might
not see one in a hundred, with gentleman so plainly written
as in Mr. Knightley. But he is not the only gentleman
you have been lately used to. What say you to
Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton? Compare Mr. Martin with
either of them. Compare their manner of carrying themselves;
of walking; of speaking; of being silent. You
must see the difference."
"Oh, yes! -- there is a great difference. But Mr. Weston
is almost an old man. Mr. Weston must be between forty
and fifty."
"Which makes his good manners the more valuable.
The older a person grows, Harriet, the more important it
is that their manners should not be bad -- the more glaring
and disgusting any loudness, or coarseness, or awkwardness
becomes. What is passable in youth, is detestable
in later age. Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt;
what will he be at Mr. Weston's time of life?"
"There is no saying, indeed!"
replied Harriet, rather
solemnly.
"But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be
a completely gross, vulgar farmer -- totally inattentive to
appearances, and thinking of nothing but profit and loss."
"Will he, indeed, that will be very bad."
"How much his business engrosses him already, is very
plain from the circumstance of his forgetting to inquire
AusEmma34
for the book you recommended. He was a great deal too
full of the market to think of any thing else -- which is
just as it should be, for a thriving man. What has he to
do with books? And I have no doubt that he will thrive
and be a very rich man in time -- and his being illiterate
and coarse need not disturb us."
"I wonder he did not remember the book"--
was all
Harriet's answer, and spoken with a degree of grave
displeasure whichEmma thought might be safely left to
itself. She, therefore, said no more for some time. Her
next beginning was,
"In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton's manners are
superior to Mr. Knightley's or Mr. Weston's. They have
more gentleness. They might be more safely held up as
a pattern. There is an openness, a quickness, almost
a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which every body likes in him
because there is so much good humour with it -- but that
would not do to be copied. Neither would Mr. Knightley's
downright, decided, commanding sort of manner -- though
it suits him very well; his figure and look, and situation
in life seem to allow it; but if any young man were to
set about copying him, he would not be sufferable. On the
contrary, I think a young man might be very safely
recommended to take Mr. Elton as a model. Mr. Elton
is good humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle. He
seems to me, to be grown particularly gentle of late. I do
not know whether he has any design of ingratiating himself
with either of us, Harriet, by additional softness, but
it strikes me that his manners are softer than they used
to be. If he means anything, it must be to please you.
Did not I tell you what he said of you the other day?"
She then repeated some warm personal praise which
she had drawn from Mr. Elton, and now did full justice
to; and Harriet blushed and smiled, and said she had
always thought Mr. Elton very agreeable.
Mr. Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for
driving the young farmer out of Harriet's head.
She
thought
it would be an excellent match; and only too
AusEmma35
palpably desirable, natural, and probable, for her to have
much merit in planning it. She feared it was what every body
else must think of and predict. It was not likely,
however, that any body should have equalled her in the
date of the plan, as it had entered her brain during the
very first evening of Harriet's coming to Hartfield. The
longer she considered it, the greater was her sense of its
expediency. Mr. Elton's situation was most suitable,
quite the gentleman himself, and without low connections;
at the same time not of any family that could
fairly object to the doubtful birth of Harriet. He had
a comfortable home for her, and
Emma imagined
a very
sufficient income; for though the vicarage of Highbury
was not large, he was known to have some independent
property; and she thought very highly of him as a good-humoured,
well-meaning, respectable young man, without
any deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of
the world.
She had already satisfied herself that he thought
Harriet a beautiful girl, which she trusted, with such
frequent meetings at Hartfield, was foundation enough
on his side; and on Harriet's, there could be little doubt
that the idea of being preferred by him would have all
the usual weight and efficacy. And he was really a very
pleasing young man, a young man whom any woman
not fastidious might like. He was reckoned very handsome;
his person much admired in general, though not
by her, there being a want of elegance of feature which
she could not dispense with:-- but the girl who could be
gratified by a Robert Martin's riding about the country
to get walnuts for her, might very well be conquered by
Mr. Elton's admiration.
AusEmma36
"I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston,"
said Mr. Knightley,
"of this great intimacy between
Emma and Harriet Smith, but I think it a bad thing."
"A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?--
why so?"
"I think they will neither of them do the other any
good."
"You surprize me! Emma must do Harriet good:
and by supplying her with a new object of interest, Harriet
may be said to do Emma good. I have been seeing their
intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very differently
we feel!-- Not think they will do each other any good!
This will certainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels
about Emma, Mr. Knightley."
"Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel
with you, knowing Weston to be out, and that you must
still fight your own battle."
"Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were
here, for he thinks exactly as I do on the subject. We
were speaking of it only yesterday, and agreeing how
fortunate it was for Emma, that there should be such
a girl in Highbury for her to associate with. Mr. Knightley,
I shall not allow you to be a fair judge in this case.
You are so much used to live alone, that you do not know
the value of a companion; and perhaps no man can be
a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the society
of one of her own sex, after being used to it all her life.
I can imagine your objection to Harriet Smith. She is
not the superior young woman whichEmma's friend
ought to be. But on the other hand as Emma wants to
see her better informed, it will be an inducement to her
to read more herself. They will read together. She
means it, I know."
AusEmma37
"Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she
was twelve years old. I have seen a great many lists of
her drawing up at various times of books that she meant
to read regularly through -- and very good lists they were --
very well chosen, and very neatly arranged -- sometimes
alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule. The
list she drew up when only fourteen -- I remember thinking
it did her judgment so much credit, that I preserved it
some time; and I dare say she may have made out a very
good list now. But I have done with expecting any
course of steady reading from Emma. She will never
submit to any thing requiring industry and patience, and
a subjection of the fancy to the understanding. Where
Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely affirm that
Harriet Smith will do nothing.-- You never could persuade
her to read half so much as you wished.-- You know you
could not."
"I dare say,"
replied Mrs. Weston, smiling,
"that
I thought so then;-- but since we have parted, I can
never remember Emma's omitting to do any thing I
wished."
"There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory
as that" --
said Mr. Knightley, feelingly; and for a moment
or two he had done.
"But I",
he soon added,
"who have
had no such charm thrown over my senses, must still see,
hear, and remember. Emma is spoiled by being the
cleverest of her family. At ten years old, she had the
misfortune of being able to answer questions which
puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always quick
and assured: Isabella slow and diffident. And ever since
she was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the house
and of you all. In her mother she lost the only person
able to cope with her. She inherits her mother's talents,
and must have been under subjection to her."
"I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be
dependent on your recommendation, had I quitted
Mr. Woodhouse's family and wanted another situation;
I do not think you would have spoken a good word for
AusEmma38
me to any body. I am sure you always thought me unfit
for the office I held."
"Yes,"
said he, smiling.
"You are better placed here;
very fit for a wife, but not at all for a governess. But
you were preparing yourself to be an excellent wife all
the time you were at Hartfield. You might not give
Emma such a complete education as your powers would
seem to promise; but you were receiving a very good
education from her, on the very material matrimonial point
of submitting your own will, and doing as you were bid;
and if Weston had asked me to recommend him a wife,
I should certainly have named Miss Taylor."
"Thank you. There will be very little merit in making
a good wife to such a man as Mr. Weston."
"Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather
thrown away, and that with every disposition to bear,
there will be nothing to be borne. We will not despair,
however. Weston may grow cross from the wantonness
of comfort, or his son may plague him."
"I hope not that.-- It is not likely. No, Mr. Knightley,
do not foretel vexation from that quarter."
"Not I, indeed. I only name possibilities. I do not
pretend to Emma's genius for foretelling and guessing.
I hope, with all my heart, the young man may be a Weston
in merit, and a Churchill in fortune.-- But Harriet Smith--
I have not half done about Harriet Smith. I think her
the very worst sort of companion thatEmma could
possibly have. She knows nothing herself, and looks upon
Emma as knowing every thing. She is a flatterer in all
her ways; and so much the worse, because undesigned.
Her ignorance is hourly flattery. How can Emma
imagine she has any thing to learn herself, while Harriet
is presenting such a delightful inferiority? And as for
Harriet, I will venture to say that she cannot gain by the
acquaintance. Hartfield will only put her out of conceit
with all the other places she belongs to. She will grow
just refined enough to be uncomfortable with those among
whom birth and circumstances have placed her home.
AusEmma39
I am much mistaken if Emma's doctrines give any
strength of mind, or tend at all to make a girl adapt
herself rationally to the varieties of her situation in life.--
They only give a little polish."
"I either depend more upon Emma's good sense than
you do, or am more anxious for her present comfort; for
I cannot lament the acquaintance. How well she looked
last night!"
"Oh! you would rather talk of her person than her
mind, would you? Very well; I shall not attempt to
deny Emma's being pretty."
"Pretty! say beautiful rather. Can you imagine any thing
nearer perfect beauty than Emma altogether -- face
and figure?"
"I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess
that I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to
me than her's. But I am a partial old friend."
"Such an eye!-- the true hazle eye -- and so brilliant!
regular features, open countenance, with a complexion!
oh! what a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height
and size; such a firm and upright figure. There is health,
not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her
glance. One hears sometimes of a child being ""the picture
of health;"" now Emma always gives me the idea of being
the complete picture of grown-up health. She is loveliness
itself. Mr. Knightley, is not she?"
"I have not a fault to find with her person,"
he replied.
I think her all you describe. I love to look at her; and
I will add this praise, that I do not think her personally
vain. Considering how very handsome she is, she appears
to be little occupied with it; her vanity lies another way.
Mrs. Weston, I am not to be talked out of my dislike of
her intimacy with Harriet Smith, or my dread of its
doing them both harm."
"And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my
confidence of its not doing them any harm. With all dear
Emma's little faults, she is an excellent creature. Where
shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder sister, or a truer
AusEmma40
friend? No, no; she has qualities which may be trusted;
she will never lead any one really wrong; she will make
no lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in the
right a hundred times."
"Very well; I will not plague you any more. Emma
shall be an angel, and I will keep my spleen to myself till
Christmas brings John and Isabella. John loves Emma
with a reasonable and therefore not a blind affection, and
Isabella always thinks as he does; except when he is not
quite frightened enough about the children. I am sure
of having their opinions with me."
"I know that you all love her really too well to be
unjust or unkind; but excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if
I take the liberty (I consider myself, you know, as having
somewhat of the privilege of speech thatEmma's mother
might have had) the liberty of hinting that I do not think
any possible good can arise from Harriet Smith's intimacy
being made a matter of much discussion among you.
Pray excuse me; but supposing any little inconvenience
may be apprehended from the intimacy, it cannot be
expected that Emma, accountable to nobody but her
father, who perfectly approves the acquaintance, should
put an end to it, so long as it is a source of pleasure to
herself. It has been so many years my province to give
advice, that you cannot be surprized, Mr. Knightley, at
this little remains of office."
"Not at all,"
cried he;
"I am much obliged to you for
it. It is very good advice, and it shall have a better fate
than your advice has often found; for it shall be attended
to."
"Mrs. John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be
made unhappy about her sister."
"Be satisfied,"
said he,
"I will not raise any outcry.
I will keep my ill-humour to myself. I have a very
sincere interest in Emma. Isabella does not seem more
my sister; has never excited a greater interest; perhaps
hardly so great. There is an anxiety, a curiosity in what
one feels for Emma. I wonder what will become of her!"
AusEmma41
"So do I,"
said Mrs. Weston gently;
"very much."
"She always declares she will never marry, which, of
course, means just nothing at all. But I have no idea
that she has yet ever seen a man she cared for. It would
not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with
a proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and
in some doubt of a return; it would do her good. But
there is nobody hereabouts to attach her; and she goes
so seldom from home."
"There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to
break her resolution, at present,"
said Mrs. Weston,
"as
can well be; and while she is so happy at Hartfield,
I cannot wish her to be forming any attachment which
would be creating such difficulties, on poor Mr. Woodhouse's
account. I do not recommend matrimony at
present to Emma, though I mean no slight to the state
I assure you."
Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite
thoughts of her own and Mr. Weston's on the subject, as
much as possible. There were wishes at Randalls respecting
Emma's destiny, but it was not desirable to have
them suspected; and the quiet transition whichMr. Knightley
soon afterwards made to
"What does Weston
think of the weather; shall we have rain?"
convinced
her that he had nothing more to say or surmise about
Hartfield.
AusEmma42
Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet's
fancy a proper direction and raised the gratitude of her
young vanity to a very good purpose, for she found her
decidedly more sensible than before of Mr. Elton's being
a remarkably handsome man, with most agreeable
manners; and as she had no hesitation in following up
the assurance of his admiration, by agreeable hints, she
was soon pretty confident of creating as much liking on
Harriet's side, as there could be any occasion for. She
was quite convinced of Mr. Elton's being in the fairest
way of falling in love, if not in love already. She had
no scruple with regard to him. He talked of Harriet, and
praised her so warmly, that she could not suppose any thing
wanting which a little time would not add. His
perception of the striking improvement of Harriet's
manner, since her introduction at Hartfield, was not one
of the least agreeable proofs of his growing attachment.
"You have given Miss Smith all that she required,"
said he;
"you have made her graceful and easy. She
was a beautiful creature when she came to you, but, in my
opinion, the attractions you have added are infinitely
superior to what she received from nature."
"I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but
Harriet only wanted drawing out, and receiving a few,
very few hints. She had all the natural grace of sweetness
of temper and artlessness in herself. I have done very
little."
"If it were admissible to contradict a lady,"
said the
gallant Mr. Elton --
"I have perhaps given her a little more decision of
character, have taught her to think on points which had
not fallen in her way before."
"Exactly so; that is what principally strikes me. So
AusEmma43
much superadded decision of character! Skilful has been
the hand."
"Great has been the pleasure, I am sure. I never met
with a disposition more truly amiable."
"I have no doubt of it."
And it was spoken with
a sort of sighing animation, which had a vast deal of the
lover. She was not less pleased another day with the
manner in which he seconded a sudden wish of her's, to
have Harriet's picture.
"Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?"
said she:
"Did you ever sit for your picture?"
Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only
stopt to say, with a very interesting nai--vete=,
"Oh! dear, no, never."
No sooner was she out of sight, than Emma exclaimed,
"What an exquisite possession a good picture of her
would be! I would give any money for it. I almost long
to attempt her likeness myself. You do not know it
I dare say, but two or three years ago I had a great
passion for taking likenesses, and attempted several of my
friends, and was thought to have a tolerable eye in
general. But from one cause or another, I gave it up in
disgust. But really, I could almost venture, if Harriet
would sit to me. It would be such a delight to have her
picture!"
"Let me entreat you,"
cried Mr. Elton;
"it would
indeed be a delight! Let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse,
to exercise so charming a talent in favour of your
friend. I know what your drawings are. How could you
suppose me ignorant? Is not this room rich in specimens
of your landscapes and flowers; and has not Mrs. Weston
some inimitable figure-pieces in her drawing-room, at
Randalls?"
Yes, good man!--
thought Emma--
but what has all
that to do with taking likenesses? You know nothing
of drawing. Don't pretend to be in raptures about mine.
Keep your raptures for Harriet's face.
"Well, if you give
me such kind encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believe I shall
AusEmma44
try what I can do. Harriet's features are very delicate,
which makes a likeness difficult; and yet there is a peculiarity
in the shape of the eye and the lines about the
mouth which one ought to catch."
"Exactly so-- The shape of the eye and the lines about
the mouth -- I have not a doubt of your success. Pray,
pray attempt it. As you will do it, it will indeed, to use
your own words, be an exquisite possession."
"But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to
sit. She thinks so little of her own beauty. Did not you
observe her manner of answering me? How completely
it meant, ""why should my picture be drawn?""
"Oh! yes, I observed it, I assure you. It was not
lost on me. But still I cannot imagine she would not be
persuaded."
Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost
immediately made; and she had no scruples which could
stand many minutes against the earnest pressing of both
the others. Emma wished to go to work directly, and
therefore produced the portfolio containing her various
attempts at portraits, for not one of them had ever been
finished, that they might decide together on the best size
for Harriet. Her many beginnings were displayed.
Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths, pencil, crayon,
and water-colours had been all tried in turn. She had
always wanted to do everything, and had made more
progress both in drawing and music than many might
have done with so little labour as she would ever submit
to. She played and sang;-- and drew in almost every
style; but steadiness had always been wanting; and in
nothing had she approached the degree of excellence
which she would have been glad to command, and ought
not to have failed of. She was not much deceived as to
her own skill either as an artist or a musician, but she was
not unwilling to have others deceived, or sorry to know
her reputation for accomplishment often higher than it
deserved.
There was merit in every drawing -- in the least finished,
AusEmma45
perhaps the most; her style was spirited; but had there
been much less, or had there been ten times more, the
delight and admiration of her two companions would have
been the same. They were both in extasies. A likeness
pleases every body; and Miss Woodhouse's performances
must be capital.
"No great variety of faces for you,"
said Emma.
"I
had only my own family to study from. There is my
father -- another of my father -- but the idea of sitting for
his picture made him so nervous, that I could only take
him by stealth; neither of them very like therefore.
Mrs. Weston again, and again, and again, you see. Dear
Mrs. Weston! always my kindest friend on every occasion.
She would sit whenever I asked her. There is my sister;
and really quite her own little elegant figure!-- and the
face not unlike. I should have made a good likeness of
her, if she would have sat longer, but she was in such
a hurry to have me draw her four children that she would
not be quiet. Then, here come all my attempts at three
of those four children;-- there they are, Henry and John
and Bella, from one end of the sheet to the other, and any
one of them might do for any one of the rest. She was so
eager to have them drawn that I could not refuse; but
there is no making children of three or four years old stand
still you know; nor can it be very easy to take any
likeness of them, beyond the air and complexion, unless
they are coarser featured than any mama's children ever
were. Here is my sketch of the fourth, who was a baby.
I took him, as he was sleeping on the sofa, and it is as
strong a likeness of his cockade as you would wish to see.
He had nestled down his head most conveniently. That's
very like. I am rather proud of little George. The corner
of the sofa is very good. Then here is my last"--
unclosing
a pretty sketch of a gentleman in small size, whole-length--
"my last and my best -- my brother, Mr. John Knightley.
-- This did not want much of being finished, when I put
it away in a pet, and vowed I would never take another
likeness. I could not help being provoked; for after all
AusEmma46
my pains, and when I had really made a very good
likeness of it -- (Mrs. Weston and I were quite agreed in
thinking it very like)-- only too handsome -- too flattering
-- but that was a fault on the right side -- after all this,
came poor dearIsabella's cold approbation of --
""Yes, it
was a little like -- but to be sure it did not do him justice.""
We had had a great deal of trouble in persuading him to
sit at all. It was made a great favour of; and altogether
it was more than I could bear; and so I never would
finish it, to have it apologized over as an unfavourable
likeness, to every morning visitor in Brunswick-square;--
and, as I said, I did then forswear ever drawing anybody
again. But for Harriet's sake, or rather for my own, and
as there are no husbands and wives in the case at present,
I will break my resolution now."
Mr. Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted
by the idea, and was repeating,
"No husbands and wives
in the case at present indeed, as you observe. Exactly so.
No husbands and wives,"
with so interesting a consciousness,
that Emma began to consider
whether she had not
better leave them together at once. But as she wanted
to be drawing, the declaration must wait a little longer.
She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait. It
was to be a whole-length in water-colours, like Mr. John Knightley's,
and was destined, if she could please herself,
to hold a very honourable station over the mantlepiece.
The sitting began; and Harriet, smiling and blushing,
and afraid of not keeping her attitude and countenance,
presented a very sweet mixture of youthful expression to
the steady eyes of the artist.
But there was no doing
anything, with Mr. Elton fidgetting behind her and
watching every touch. She gave him credit for stationing
himself where he might gaze and gaze again without
offence; but was really obliged to put an end to it, and
request him to place himself elsewhere. It then occurred
to her to employ him in reading.
"If he would be so good as to read to them, it would
be a kindness indeed! It would amuse away the difficulties
AusEmma47
of her part, and lessen the irksomeness of Miss Smith's."
Mr. Elton was only too happy. Harriet listened, and
Emma drew in peace.
She must allow him to be still
frequently coming to look; anything less would certainly
have been too little in a lover; and he was ready at the
smallest intermission of the pencil, to jump up and see
the progress, and be charmed.-- There was no being
displeased with such an encourager, for his admiration
made him discern a likeness almost before it was possible.
She could not respect his eye, but his love and his complaisance
were unexceptionable.
The sitting was altogether very satisfactory; she was
quite enough pleased with the first day's sketch to wish
to go on. There was no want of likeness, she had been
fortunate in the attitude, and as she meant to throw in
a little improvement to the figure, to give a little more
height, and considerably more elegance, she had great
confidence of its being in every way a pretty drawing at
last, and of its filling its destined place with credit to them
both -- a standing memorial of the beauty of one, the skill
of the other, and the friendship of both; with as many
other agreeable associations as Mr. Elton's very promising
attachment was likely to add.
Harriet was to sit again the next day; and Mr. Elton,
just as he ought, entreated for the permission of attending
and reading to them again.
"By all means. We shall be most happy to consider
you as one of the party."
The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and
satisfaction, took place on the morrow, and accompanied
the whole progress of the picture, which was rapid and
happy. Every body who saw it was pleased, but Mr. Elton
was in continual raptures, and defended it through every
criticism.
"Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty
she wanted,"--
observed Mrs. Weston to him -- not in the
least suspecting that she was addressing a lover.--
"The
AusEmma48
expression of the eye is most correct, but Miss Smith has
not those eye-brows and eye-lashes. It is the fault of her
face that she has them not."
"Do you think so?"
replied he.
"I cannot agree
with you. It appears to me a most perfect resemblance
in every feature. I never saw such a likeness in my life.
We must allow for the effect of shade, you know."
"You have made her too tall, Emma,"
said Mr. Knightley.
Emma knew that she had, but would not own it, and
Mr. Elton warmly added,
"Oh, no! certainly not too tall; not in the least too
tall. Consider, she is sitting down -- which naturally
presents a different -- which in short gives exactly the
idea -- and the proportions must be preserved, you know.
Proportions, fore-shortening.-- Oh, no! it gives one
exactly the idea of such a height as Miss Smith's. Exactly
so indeed!"
"It is very pretty,"
said Mr. Woodhouse.
"So prettily
done! Just as your drawings always are, my dear. I do
not know any body who draws so well as you do. The
only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems to
be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her
shoulders -- and it makes one think she must catch cold."
"But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer;
a warm day in summer. Look at the tree."
"But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear."
"You, sir, may say any thing,"
cried Mr. Elton;
"but
I must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought,
the placing of Miss Smith out of doors; and the tree is
touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other situation
would have been much less in character. The nai--vete= of
Miss Smith's manners -- and altogether -- Oh, it is most
admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I never saw
such a likeness."
The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed;
and here were a few difficulties. It must be done directly;
it must be done in London; the order must go through
AusEmma49
the hands of some intelligent person whose taste could be
depended on; and Isabella, the usual doer of all commissions,
must not be applied to, because it was December,
and Mr. Woodhouse could not bear the idea of her stirring
out of her house in the fogs of December. But no sooner
was the distress known to Mr. Elton, than it was removed.
His gallantry was always on the alert.
"Might he be
trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasure should
he have in executing it! he could ride to London at any
time. It was impossible to say how much he should be
gratified by being employed on such an errand."
"He was too good!-- she could not endure the thought!
-- she would not give him such a troublesome office for
the world"--
brought on the desired repetition of entreaties
and assurances,-- and a very few minutes settled the
business.
Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, chuse
the frame, and give the directions; and Emma thought
she could so pack it as to ensure its safety without much
incommoding him, while he seemed mostly fearful of not
being incommoded enough.
"What a precious deposit!"
said he with a tender
sigh, as he received it.
"This man is almost too gallant to be in love,"
thought Emma.
"I should say so, but that I suppose
there may be a hundred different ways of being in love.
He is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet
exactly; it will be an ""Exactly so,"" as he says himself;
but he does sigh and languish, and study for compliments
rather more than I could endure as a principal. I come
in for a pretty good share as a second. But it is his
gratitude on Harriet's account."
AusEmma50
The very day of Mr. Elton's going to London produced
a fresh occasion for Emma's services towards her friend.
Harriet had been at Hartfield, as usual, soon after breakfast;
and after a time, had gone home to return again
to dinner: as she returned, and sooner than had been talked
of, and with an agitated, hurried look, announcing something
extraordinary to have happened which she was
longing to tell. Half a minute brought it all out. She
had heard, as soon as she got back to Mrs. Goddard's,
that Mr. Martin had been there an hour before, and
finding she was not at home, nor particularly expected,
had left a little parcel for her from one of his sisters, and
gone away; and on opening this parcel, she had actually
found, besides the two songs which she had lent Elizabeth
to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was from him,
from Mr. Martin, and contained a direct proposal of
marriage.
"Who could have thought it! She was so
surprized she did not know what to do. Yes, quite
a proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, at least
she thought so. And he wrote as if he really loved her
very much -- but she did not know -- and so, she was come
as fast as she could to ask Miss Woodhouse what she
should do."--
Emma was half ashamed of her friend for
seeming so pleased and so doubtful.
"Upon my word,"
she cried,
"the young man is determined
not to lose any thing for want of asking. He will
connect himself well if he can."
"Will you read the letter?"
cried Harriet.
"Pray do,
I'd rather you would."
Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was
surprized.
The style of the letter was much above her
expectation. There were not merely no grammatical
AusEmma51
errors, but as a composition it would not have disgraced
a gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong and
unaffected, and the sentiments it conveyed very much
to the credit of the writer. It was short, but expressed
good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even
delicacy of feeling.
She paused over it, while Harriet
stood anxiously watching for her opinion, with a
"Well,
well,"
and was at last forced to add,
"Is it a good letter?
or is it too short?"
"Yes, indeed, a very good letter,"
replied Emma rather
slowly--
"so good a letter, Harriet, that every thing
considered, I think one of his sisters must have helped
him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom I saw
talking with you the other day could express himself so
well, if left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the
style of a woman; no, certainly, it is too strong and
concise; not diffuse enough for a woman. No doubt he
is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a natural talent
for -- thinks strongly and clearly -- and when he takes
a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words.
It is so with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of
mind. Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a certain
point, not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet
(returning
it,)
than I had expected."
"Well,"
said the still waiting Harriet;--
"well-- and--
and what shall I do?"
"What shall you do! In what respect? Do you mean
with regard to this letter?"
"Yes."
"But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it
of course -- and speedily."
"Yes. But what shall I say? DearMiss Woodhouse,
do advise me."
"Oh, no, no! the letter had much better be all your
own. You will express yourself very properly, I am sure.
There is no danger of your not being intelligible, which
is the first thing. Your meaning must be unequivocal;
no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of gratitude
AusEmma52
and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety
requires, will present themselves unbidden to your mind,
I am persuaded. You need not be prompted to write
with the appearance of sorrow for his disappointment."
"You think I ought to refuse him then,"
said Harriet,
looking down.
"Ought to refuse him! My dearHarriet, what do you
mean? Are you in any doubt as to that? I thought --
but I beg your pardon, perhaps I have been under a mistake.
I certainly have been misunderstanding you, if
you feel in doubt as to the purport of your answer. I had
imagined you were consulting me only as to the wording
of it."
Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner,
Emma continued:
"You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect."
"No, I do not; that is, I do not mean -- What shall
I do? What would you advise me to do? Pray, dear
Miss Woodhouse, tell me what I ought to do?"
"I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have
nothing to do with it. This is a point which you must
settle with your own feelings."
"I had no notion that he liked me so very much,"
said
Harriet, contemplating the letter. For a little while
Emma persevered in her silence; but beginning to
apprehend the bewitching flattery of that letter might be
too powerful, she thought it best to say,
"I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a
woman doubts as to whether she should accept a man or
not, she certainly ought to refuse him. If she can hesitate
as to ""Yes,"" she ought to say ""No"" directly. It is not a
state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with
half a heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older
than yourself, to say thus much to you. But do not
imagine that I want to influence you."
"Oh! no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to ----
but if you would just advise me what I had best do-- No,
no, I do not mean that -- As you say, one's mind ought to
AusEmma53
be quite made up-- One should not be hesitating--It is
a very serious thing.-- It will be safer to say ""No"",
perhaps.-- Do you think I had better say ""No?"" ".
"Not for the world,"
said Emma, smiling graciously,
"would I advise you either way. You must be the best
judge of your own happiness. If you prefer Mr. Martin
to every other person; if you think him the most agreeable
man you have ever been in company with, why
should you hesitate? You blush, Harriet.-- Does any body
else occur to you at this moment under such a
definition? Harriet, Harriet, do not deceive yourself;
do not be run away with by gratitude and compassion.
At this moment whom are you thinking of?"
The symptoms were favourable.-- Instead of answering,
Harriet turned away confused, and stood thoughtfully
by the fire; and though the letter was still in her hand,
it was now mechanically twisted about without regard.
Emma waited the result with impatience, but not without
strong hopes. At last, with some hesitation, Harriet
said--
"Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion,
I must do as well as I can by myself; and I have now
quite determined, and really almost made up my mind--
to refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I am right?"
"Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you
are doing just what you ought. While you were at all in
suspense I kept my feelings to myself, but now that you
are so completely decided I have no hesitation in approving.
DearHarriet, I give myself joy of this. It would
have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must
have been the consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin.
While you were in the smallest degree wavering, I said
nothing about it, because I would not influence; but it
would have been the loss of a friend to me. I could not
have visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm.
Now I am secure of you for ever."
Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea
of it struck her forcibly.
AusEmma54
"You could not have visited me!"
she cried, looking
aghast.
"No, to be sure you could not; but I never
thought of that before. That would have been too
dreadful!-- What an escape!-- DearMiss Woodhouse,
I would not give up the pleasure and honour of being
intimate with you for any thing in the world."
"Indeed, Harriet, it would have been a severe pang to
lose you; but it must have been. You would have
thrown yourself out of all good society. I must have
given you up."
"Dear me!-- How should I ever have borne it! It
would have killed me never to come to Hartfield any
more!"
"Dear affectionate creature!-- You banished to Abbey-Mill Farm!--
You confined to the society of the illiterate
and vulgar all your life! I wonder how the young man
could have the assurance to ask it. He must have a pretty
good opinion of himself."
"I do not think he is conceited either, in general,"
said
Harriet, her conscience opposing such censure;
"at
least he is very good natured, and I shall always feel much
obliged to him, and have a great regard for -- but that is
quite a different thing from -- and you know, though he
may like me, it does not follow that I should -- and
certainly I must confess that since my visiting here
I have seen people -- and if one comes to compare them,
person and manners, there is no comparison at all, one
is so very handsome and agreeable. However, I do really
think Mr. Martin a very amiable young man, and have
a great opinion of him; and his being so much attached
to me-- and his writing such a letter -- but as to leaving
you, it is what I would not do upon any consideration."
"Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend.
We will not be parted. A woman may not marry a man
merely because she is asked, or because he is attached to
her, and can write a tolerable letter."
"Oh! no;-- and it is but a short letter too."
Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass
AusEmma55
with a
"very true; and it would be a small consolation
to her, for the clownish manner which might be offending
her every hour of the day, to know that her husband
could write a good letter.""
"Oh! yes, very. Nobody cares for a letter; the thing
is, to be always happy with pleasant companions. I am
quite determined to refuse him. But how shall I do?
What shall I say?"
Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the
answer, and advised its being written directly, which
was agreed to, in the hope of her assistance; and though
Emma continued to protest against any assistance being
wanted, it was in fact given in the formation of every
sentence. The looking over his letter again, in replying
to it, had such a softening tendency, that it was particularly
necessary to brace her up with a few decisive expressions;
and she was so very much concerned at the idea
of making him unhappy, and thought so much of what
his mother and sisters would think and say, and was so
anxious that they should not fancy her ungrateful,
that
Emma believed
if the young man had come in her way
at that moment, he would have been accepted after all.
This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent.
The business was finished, and Harriet safe.
She was
rather low all the evening, but Emma could allow for her
amiable regrets, and sometimes relieved them by speaking
of her own affection, sometimes by bringing forward the
idea of Mr. Elton.
"I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again,"
was
said in rather a sorrowful tone.
"Nor if you were, could I ever bear to part with you,
my Harriet. You are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield,
to be spared to Abbey-Mill."
"And I am sure I should never want to go there; for
I am never happy but at Hartfield."
Some time afterwards it was,
"I think Mrs. Goddard
would be very much surprized if she knew what had
happened. I am sure Miss Nash would -- for Miss Nash
AusEmma56
thinks her own sister very well married, and it is only
a linen-draper."
"One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement
in the teacher of a school, Harriet. I dare say Miss Nash
would envy you such an opportunity as this of being
married. Even this conquest would appear valuable in
her eyes. As to anything superior for you, I suppose she
is quite in the dark. The attentions of a certain person
can hardly be among the tittle-tattle of Highbury yet.
Hitherto I fancy you and I are the only people to whom
his looks and manners have explained themselves."
Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about
wondering that people should like her so much. The
idea of Mr. Elton was certainly cheering; but still, after
a time, she was tender-hearted again towards the rejected
Mr. Martin.
"Now he has got my letter,"
said she softly.
"I
wonder what they are all doing-- whether his sisters
know-- if he is unhappy, they will be unhappy too.
I hope he will not mind it so very much.
"Let us think of those among our absent friends who
are more cheerfully employed,"
cried Emma.
"At this
moment, perhaps, Mr. Elton is shewing your picture to
his mother and sisters, telling how much more beautiful
is the original, and after being asked for it five or six times,
allowing them to hear your name, your own dear name."
"My picture!-- But he has left my picture in Bond-street."
"Has he so!-- Then I know nothing of Mr. Elton. No,
my dear little modest Harriet, depend upon it the picture
will not be in Bond-street till just before he mounts his
horse to-morrow. It is his companion all this evening,
his solace, his delight. It opens his designs to his family,
it introduces you among them, it diffuses through the
party those pleasantest feelings of our nature, eager curiosity
and warm prepossession. How cheerful, how animated,
how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all are!"
Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger.
AusEmma57
Harriet slept at Hartfield that night. For some weeks
past she had been spending more than half her time there,
and gradually getting to have a bed-room appropriated
to herself; and Emma judged it
best in every respect,
safest and kindest, to keep her with them as much as
possible just at present. She was obliged to go the next
morning for an hour or two to Mrs. Goddard's, but it was
then to be settled that she should return to Hartfield, to
make a regular visit of some days.
While she was gone, Mr. Knightley called, and sat
some time with Mr. Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr. Woodhouse,
who had previously made up his mind to walk out,
was persuaded by his daughter not to defer it, and was
induced by the entreaties of both, though against the
scruples of his own civility, to leave Mr. Knightley for
that purpose. Mr. Knightley, who had nothing of
ceremony about him, was offering by his short, decided
answers, an amusing contrast to the protracted apologies
and civil hesitations of the other.
"Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr. Knightley,
if you will not consider me as doing a very rude thing,
I shall take Emma's advice and go out for a quarter of
an hour. As the sun is out, I believe I had better take my
three turns while I can. I treat you without ceremony,
Mr. Knightley. We invalids think we are privileged
people."
"My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me."
"I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter.
Emma will be happy to entertain you. And therefore
I think I will beg your excuse and take my three turns--
my winter walk."
"You cannot do better, sir."
AusEmma58
"I would ask for the pleasure of your company,
Mr. Knightley, but I am a very slow walker, and my pace
would be tedious to you; and besides, you have another
long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey."
"Thank you, sir, thank you; I am going this moment
myself; and I think the sooner you go the better. I will
fetch your great coat and open the garden door for you."
Mr. Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr. Knightley,
instead of being immediately off likewise, sat down again,
seemingly inclined for more chat. He began speaking of
Harriet, and speaking of her with more voluntary praise
than Emma had ever heard before.
"I cannot rate her beauty as you do,"
said he;
"but
she is a pretty little creature, and I am inclined to think
very well of her disposition. Her character depends upon
those she is with; but in good hands she will turn out
a valuable woman."
"I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope
may not be wanting."
"Come,"
said he,
"you are anxious for a compliment,
so I will tell you that you have improved her. You have
cured her of her school-girl's giggle; she really does you
credit."
"Thank you. I should be mortified indeed if I did not
believe I had been of some use; but it is not every body
who will bestow praise where they may. You do not often
overpower me with it."
"You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?"
"Almost every moment. She has been gone longer
already than she intended."
"Something has happened to delay her; some visitors
perhaps."
"Highbury gossips!-- Tiresome wretches!"
"Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that
you would."
Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and
therefore said nothing. He presently added, with a smile,
"I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must
AusEmma59
tell you that I have good reason to believe your little
friend will soon hear of something to her advantage."
"Indeed! how so? of what sort?"
"A very serious sort, I assure you;"
still smiling.
"Very serious! I can think of but one thing -- Who is
in love with her? Who makes you their confidant?"
Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton's having
dropt a hint. Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend
and adviser, and she knew Mr. Elton looked up to him.
"I have reason to think,"
he replied,
"that Harriet Smith
will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most
unexceptionable quarter:-- Robert Martin is the man.
Her visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have done
his business. He is desperately in love and means to
marry her."
"He is very obliging,"
said Emma;
"but is he sure
that Harriet means to marry him?"
"Well, well, means to make her an offer then. Will
that do? He came to the Abbey two evenings ago, on
purpose to consult me about it. He knows I have a
thorough regard for him and all his family, and, I believe,
considers me as one of his best friends. He came to ask
me whether I thought it would be imprudent in him to
settle so early; whether I thought her too young: in
short, whether I approved his choice altogether; having
some apprehension perhaps of her being considered
(especially since your making so much of her) as in a line
of society above him. I was very much pleased with all
that he said. I never hear better sense from any one than
Robert Martin. He always speaks to the purpose; open,
straight forward, and very well judging. He told me
every thing; his circumstances and plans, and what they
all proposed doing in the event of his marriage. He is an
excellent young man, both as son and brother. I had no
hesitation in advising him to marry. He proved to me
that he could afford it; and that being the case, I was
convinced he could not do better. I praised the fair lady
too, and altogether sent him away very happy. If he
AusEmma60
had never esteemed my opinion before, he would have
thought highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house
thinking me the best friend and counsellor man ever had.
This happened the night before last. Now, as we may
fairly suppose, he would not allow much time to pass
before he spoke to the lady, and as he does not appear
to have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he
should be at Mrs. Goddard's to day; and she may be
detained by a visitor, without thinking him at all a tiresome
wretch."
"Pray, Mr. Knightley,"
said Emma, who had been
smiling to herself through a great part of this speech,
"how do you know that Mr. Martin did not speak
yesterday?"
"Certainly,"
replied he, surprized,
"I do not absolutely
know it; but it may be inferred. Was not she the whole
day with you?"
"Come,"
said she,
"I will tell you something, in
return for what you have told me. He did speak yesterday--
that is, he wrote, and was refused."
This was obliged to be repeated before it could be
believed; and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with
surprize and displeasure, as he stood up, in tall indignation,
and said,
"Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed
her. What is the foolish girl about?"
"Oh! to be sure,"
cried Emma,
"it is always incomprehensible
to a man that a woman should ever refuse an
offer of marriage. A man always imagines a woman to be
ready for anybody who asks her."
"Nonsense! a man does not imagine any such thing.
But what is the meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse
Robert Martin? madness, if it is so; but I hope you are
mistaken."
"I saw her answer, nothing could be clearer."
"You saw her answer! you wrote her answer too.
Emma, this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse
him."
AusEmma61
"And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing,)
I should not feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is
a very respectable young man, but I cannot admit him
to be Harriet's equal; and am rather surprized indeed
that he should have ventured to address her. By your
account, he does seem to have had some scruples. It is
a pity that they were ever got over."
"Not Harriet's equal!"
exclaimed Mr. Knightley
loudly and warmly; and with calmer asperity, added,
a few moments afterwards,
"No, he is not her equal
indeed, for he is as much her superior in sense as in
situation. Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds
you. What are Harriet Smith's claims, either of birth,
nature or education, to any connection higher than
Robert Martin? She is the natural daughter of nobody
knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all,
and certainly no respectable relations. She is known
only as parlour-boarder at a common school. She is not
a sensible girl, nor a girl of any information. She has been
taught nothing useful, and is too young and too simple
to have acquired any thing herself. At her age she can
have no experience, and with her little wit, is not very
likely ever to have any that can avail her. She is pretty,
and she is good tempered, and that is all. My only
scruple in advising the match was on his account, as being
beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion for him. I felt,
that as to fortune, in all probability he might do much
better; and that as to a rational companion or useful
helpmate, he could not do worse. But I could not reason
so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there being
no harm in her, to her having that sort of disposition,
which, in good hands, like his, might be easily led aright
and turn out very well. The advantage of the match
I felt to be all on her side; and had not the smallest
doubt (nor have I now) that there would be a general
cry-out upon her extreme good luck. Even your satisfaction
I made sure of. It crossed my mind immediately
that you would not regret your friend's leaving Highbury,
AusEmma62
for the sake of her being settled so well. I remember
saying to myself,
""Even Emma, with all her partiality for
Harriet, will think this a good match."" "
"I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of
Emma as to say any such thing. What! think a farmer,
(and with all his sense and all his merit Mr. Martin is
nothing more,) a good match for my intimate friend!
Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying
a man whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of
my own! I wonder you should think it possible for me
to have such feelings. I assure you mine are very different.
I must think your statement by no means fair. You are
not just to Harriet's claims. They would be estimated
very differently by others as well as myself; Mr. Martin
may be the richest of the two, but he is undoubtedly her
inferior as to rank in society.-- The sphere in which she
moves is much above his.-- It would be a degradation."
"A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be
married to a respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer!"
"As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal
sense she may be called Nobody, it will not hold in common
sense. She is not to pay for the offence of others, by being
held below the level of those with whom she is brought up.
-- There can scarcely be a doubt that her father is a gentleman--
and a gentleman of fortune.-- Her allowance is very
liberal; nothing has ever been grudged for her improvement
or comfort.-- That she is a gentleman's daughter, is
indubitable to me; that she associates with gentlemen's
daughters, no one, I apprehend, will deny.-- She is superior
to Mr. Robert Martin."
"Whoever might be her parents,"
said Mr. Knightley,
"whoever may have had the charge of her, it does not
appear to have been any part of their plan to introduce
her into what you would call good society. After receiving
a very indifferent education she is left in Mrs. Goddard's
hands to shift as she can;-- to move, in short, in Mrs. Goddard's
line, to have Mrs. Goddard's acquaintance.
Her friends evidently thought this good enough for her;
AusEmma63
and it was good enough. She desired nothing better
herself. Till you chose to turn her into a friend, her
mind had no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition
beyond it. She was as happy as possible with the Martins
in the summer. She had no sense of superiority then.
If she has it now, you have given it. You have been no
friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would
never have proceeded so far, if he had not felt persuaded
of her not being disinclined to him. I know him well.
He has too much real feeling to address any woman on
the hap-hazard of selfish passion. And as to conceit, he
is the farthest from it of any man I know. Depend upon
it he had encouragement."
It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct
reply to this assertion; she chose rather to take up her
own line of the subject again.
"You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin; but, as
I said before, are unjust to Harriet. Harriet's claims to
marry well are not so contemptible as you represent them.
She is not a clever girl, but she has better sense than you
are aware of, and does not deserve to have her understanding
spoken of so slightingly. Waving that point, however,
and supposing her to be, as you describe her, only pretty
and good-natured, let me tell you, that in the degree she
possesses them, they are not trivial recommendations to
the world in general, for she is, in fact, a beautiful girl,
and must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of an
hundred; and till it appears that men are much more
philosophic on the subject of beauty than they are
generally supposed; till they do fall in love with well-informed
minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with
such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being
admired and sought after, of having the power of choosing
from among many, consequently a claim to be nice. Her
good-nature, too, is not so very slight a claim, comprehending,
as it does, real, thorough sweetness of temper
and manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a great
readiness to be pleased with other people. I am very
AusEmma64
much mistaken if your sex in general would not think
such beauty, and such temper, the highest claims a woman
could possess."
"Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the
reason you have, is almost enough to make me think so
too. Better be without sense, than misapply it as you do."
"To be sure!"
cried she playfully.
"I know that is
the feeling of you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet
is exactly what every man delights in -- what at once
bewitches his senses and satisfies his judgment. Oh!
Harriet may pick and choose. Were you, yourself, ever
to marry, she is the very woman for you. And is she, at
seventeen, just entering into life, just beginning to be
known, to be wondered at because she does not accept
the first offer she receives? No-- pray let her have time
to look about her."
"I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,"
said Mr. Knightley presently,
"though I have kept my
thoughts to myself; but I now perceive that it will be
a very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will puff her up
with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has
a claim to, that, in a little while, nobody within her reach
will be good enough for her. Vanity working on a weak
head, produces every sort of mischief. Nothing so easy
as for a young lady to raise her expectations too high.
Miss Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow
in so fast, though she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense,
whatever you may chuse to say, do not want silly wives.
Men of family would not be very fond of connecting
themselves with a girl of such obscurity -- and most
prudent men would be afraid of the inconvenience and
disgrace they might be involved in, when the mystery of
her parentage came to be revealed. Let her marry
Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy
for ever; but if you encourage her to expect to marry
greatly, and teach her to be satisfied with nothing less
than a man of consequence and large fortune, she may be
a parlour-boarder at Mrs. Goddard's all the rest of her
AusEmma65
life-- or, at least, (for Harriet Smith is a girl who will
marry somebody or other,) till she grow desperate, and
is glad to catch at the old writing master's son."
"We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley,
that there can be no use in canvassing it. We shall
only be making each other more angry. But as to my
letting her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible; she has
refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent
any second application. She must abide by the evil of
having refused him, whatever it may be; and as to the
refusal itself, I will not pretend to say that I might not
influence her a little; but I assure you there was very
little for me or for anybody to do. His appearance is so
much against him, and his manner so bad, that if she
ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now. I can
imagine, that before she had seen anybody superior, she
might tolerate him. He was the brother of her friends,
and he took pains to please her; and altogether, having
seen nobody better (that must have been his great assistant)
she might not, while she was at Abbey-Mill, find
him disagreeable. But the case is altered now. She knows
now what gentlemen are; and nothing but a gentleman
in education and manner has any chance with Harriet."
"Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!"
cried Mr. Knightley.--
"Robert Martin's manners have
sense, sincerity, and good-humour to recommend them;
and his mind has more true gentility than Harriet Smith
could understand."
Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully
unconcerned, but was really feeling uncomfortable and
wanting him very much to be gone.
She did not repent
what she had done; she still thought herself a better
judge of such a point of female right and refinement than
he could be; but yet she had a sort of habitual respect
for his judgment in general, which made her dislike having
it so loudly against her; and to have him sitting just
opposite to her in angry state, was very disagreeable.
Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only
AusEmma66
one attempt on Emma's side to talk of the weather, but
he made no answer. He was thinking. The result of his
thoughts appeared at last in these words.
"Robert Martin has no great loss-- if he can but think
so; and I hope it will not be long before he does. Your
views for Harriet are best known to yourself; but as you
make no secret of your love of match-making, it is fair to
suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have;--
and as a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the
man, I think it will be all labour in vain."
Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued,
"Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very
good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury,
but not at all likely to make an imprudent match. He
knows the value of a good income as well as anybody.
Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally.
He is as well acquainted with his own claims, as you can
be with Harriet's. He knows that he is a very handsome
young man, and a great favourite wherever he goes; and
from his general way of talking in unreserved moments,
when there are only men present, I am convinced that he
does not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him
speak with great animation of a large family of young
ladies that his sisters are intimate with, who have all
twenty thousand apiece."
"I am very much obliged to you,"
said Emma, laughing
again.
"If I had set my heart on Mr. Elton's marrying
Harriet, it would have been very kind to open my eyes;
but at present I only want to keep Harriet to myself.
I have done with match-making indeed. I could never
hope to equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave
off while I am well."
"Good morning to you,"--
said he, rising and walking
off abruptly. He was very much vexed. He felt the
disappointment of the young man, and was mortified to
have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he
had given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma
had taken in the affair, was provoking him exceedingly.
AusEmma67
Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there
was more indistinctness in the causes of her's, than in his.
She did not always feel so absolutely satisfied with herself,
so entirely convinced that her opinions were right and her
adversary's wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He walked off in
more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She
was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little
time and the return of Harriet were very adequate
restoratives.
Harriet's staying away so long was beginning
to make her uneasy. The possibility of the young
man's coming to Mrs. Goddard's that morning, and meeting
with Harriet and pleading his own cause, gave
alarming ideas. The dread of such a failure after all
became the prominent uneasiness; and when Harriet
appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having
any such reason to give for her long absence, she felt
a satisfaction which settled her with her own mind, and
convinced her, that let Mr. Knightley think or say what
he would, she had done nothing which woman's friendship
and woman's feelings would not justify.
He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton; but
when she considered that Mr. Knightley could not have
observed him as she had done, neither with the interest,
nor (she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of Mr. Knightley's
pretensions) with the skill of such an observer
on such a question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily
and in anger, she was able to believe, that he had rather
said what he wished resentfully to be true, than what he
knew anything about. He certainly might have heard
Mr. Elton speak with more unreserve than she had ever
done, and Mr. Elton might not be of an imprudent,
inconsiderate disposition as to money-matters; he might
naturally be rather attentive than otherwise to them;
but then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for
the influence of a strong passion at war with all interested
motives. Mr. Knightley saw no such passion, and of course
thought nothing of its effects; but she saw too much
of it, to feel a doubt of its overcoming any hesitations that
AusEmma68
a reasonable prudence might originally suggest; and
more than a reasonable, becoming degree of prudence, she
was very sure did not belong to Mr. Elton.
Harriet's cheerful look and manner established her's:
she came back, not to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of
Mr. Elton. Miss Nash had been telling her something,
which she repeated immediately with great delight.
Mr. Perry had been to Mrs. Goddard's to attend a sick
child, and Miss Nash had seen him, and he had told Miss Nash,
that as he was coming back yesterday from Clayton Park,
he had met Mr. Elton, and found to his great
surprize that Mr. Elton was actually on his road to London,
and not meaning to return till the morrow, though it was
the whist-club night, which he had been never known to
miss before; and Mr. Perry had remonstrated with him
about it, and told him how shabby it was in him, their
best player, to absent himself, and tried very much to
persuade him to put off his journey only one day; but it
would not do; Mr. Elton had been determined to go on,
and had said in a very particular way indeed, that he was
going on business which he would not put off for any
inducement in the world; and something about a very
enviable commission, and being the bearer of something
exceedingly precious. Mr. Perry could not quite understand
him, but he was very sure there must be a lady in
the case, and he told him so; and Mr. Elton only looked
very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits.
Miss Nash had told her all this, and had talked a great
deal more about Mr. Elton; and said, looking so very
significantly at her,
""that she did not pretend to understand
what his business might be, but she only knew that
any woman whomMr. Elton could prefer, she should
think the luckiest woman in the world; for, beyond
a doubt, Mr. Elton had not his equal for beauty or
agreeableness."" "
AusEmma69
Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma
could not quarrel with herself. He was so much displeased,
that it was longer than usual before he came to
Hartfield again; and when they did meet,
his grave looks
shewed that she was not forgiven. She was sorry, but
could not repent. On the contrary, her plans and proceedings
were more and more justified, and endeared to
her by the general appearances of the next few days.
The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand
soon after Mr. Elton's return, and being hung over the
mantle-piece of the common sitting-room, he got up to
look at it, and sighed out his half sentences of admiration
just as he ought; and as for Harriet's feelings, they were
visibly forming themselves into as strong and steady an
attachment as her youth and sort of mind admitted.
Emma was soon perfectly satisfied of Mr. Martin's being
no otherwise remembered, than as he furnished a contrast
with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter.
Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a
great deal of useful reading and conversation, had never
yet led to more than a few first chapters, and the intention
of going on to-morrow.
It was much easier to chat than
to study; much pleasanter to let her imagination range
and work at Harriet's fortune, than to be labouring to
enlarge her comprehension or exercise it on sober facts;
and the only literary pursuit which engaged Harriet at
present, the only mental provision she was making for
the evening of life, was the collecting and transcribing
all the riddles of every sort that she could meet with, into
a thin quarto of hot-pressed paper, made up by her friend,
and ornamented with cyphers and trophies.
In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand
scale are not uncommon. Miss Nash, head-teacher at
AusEmma70
Mrs. Goddard's, had written out at least three hundred;
and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it from her,
hoped, with Miss Woodhouse's help, to get a great many
more. Emma assisted with her invention, memory and
taste; and as Harriet wrote a very pretty hand, it was
likely to be an arrangement of the first order, in form as
well as quantity.
Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the
business as the girls, and tried very often to recollect
something worth their putting in.
"So many clever
riddles as there used to be when he was young -- he
wondered he could not remember them! but he hoped
he should in time."
And it always ended in
"Kitty,
a fair but frozen maid."
His good friend Perry too, whom he had spoken to on
the subject, did not at present recollect any thing of the
riddle kind; but he had desired Perry to be upon the
watch, and as he went about so much, something, he
thought, might come from that quarter.
It was by no means his daughter's wish that the intellects
of Highbury in general should be put under requisition.
Mr. Elton was the only one whose assistance she asked.
He was invited to contribute any really good enigmas,
charades, or conundrums that he might recollect; and
she had the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work
with his recollections; and at the same time, as she could
perceive, most earnestly careful that nothing ungallant,
nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the sex
should pass his lips.
They owed to him their two or three
politest puzzles; and the joy and exultation with which
at last he recalled, and rather sentimentally recited, that
well-known charade,
My first doth affliction denote,
Which my second is destin'd to feel
And my whole is the best antidote
That affliction to soften and heal.--
made her quite sorry to acknowledge that
they had transcribed
it some pages ago already.
AusEmma71
"Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?
said she;
"that is the only security for its freshness;
and nothing could be easier to you."
"Oh, no! he had never written, hardly ever, any thing
of the kind in his life. The stupidest fellow! He was
afraid not even Miss Woodhouse"--
he stopt a moment --
"or Miss Smith could inspire him."
The very next day however produced some proof of
inspiration. He called for a few moments, just to leave
a piece of paper on the table containing, as he said,
a charade, which a friend of his had addressed to a young
lady, the object of his admiration,
but which, from his manner,
Emma was immediately convinced must be his own.
"I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection,"
said he.
"Being my friend's, I have no right to expose it in any
degree to the public eye, but perhaps you may not dislike
looking at it."
The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which
Emma could understand.
There was deep consciousness
about him, and he found it easier to meet her eye than her
friend's.
He was gone the next moment:-- after another
moment's pause.
"Take it,"
said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper
towards Harriet --
"it is for you. Take your own."
But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it;
and Emma, never loth to be first, was obliged to examine
it herself.
To Miss @@@@.
CHARADE.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
Another view of man, my second brings,
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
But, ah! united, what reverse we have!
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown;
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply,
May its approval beam in that soft eye!
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She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning,
read it through again to be quite certain, and quite
mistress of the lines, and then passing it to Harriet, sat
happily smiling, and saying to herself, while Harriet was
puzzling over the paper in all the confusion of hope and
dulness,
"Very well, Mr. Elton, very well, indeed. I have
read worse charades. Courtship-- a very good hint.
I give you credit for it. This is feeling your way. This is
saying very plainly-- ""Pray, Miss Smith, give me leave
to pay my addresses to you. Approve my charade and
my intentions in the same glance.""
May its approval beam in that soft eye!
Harriet exactly. Soft, is the very word for her eye -- of
all epithets, the justest that could be given.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply --
Humph-- Harriet's ready wit! All the better. A man
must be very much in love indeed, to describe her so.
Ah! Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the benefit of this;
I think this would convince you. For once in your life
you would be obliged to own yourself mistaken. An
excellent charade indeed! and very much to the purpose.
Things must come to a crisis soon now."
She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant
observations, which were otherwise of a sort to run into
great length, by the eagerness of Harriet's wondering
questions.
"What can it be, Miss Woodhouse?-- what can it be?
I have not an idea -- I cannot guess it in the least. What
can it possibly be? Do try to find it out, Miss Woodhouse.
Do help me. I never saw any thing so hard. Is
it kingdom? I wonder who the friend was -- and who
could be the young lady! Do you think it is a good one?
Can it be woman?
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Can it be Neptune?
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
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Or a trident? or a mermaid? or a shark? Oh, no!
shark is only one syllable. It must be very clever, or he
would not have brought it. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do
you think we shall ever find it out?"
"Mermaids and sharks! Nonsense! My dearHarriet,
what are you thinking of? Where would be the use of
his bringing us a charade made by a friend upon a mermaid
or a shark? Give me the paper and listen.
"For Miss @@@@, read Miss Smith.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
That is court.
Another view of man, my second brings;
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
That is ship;-- plain as can be.-- Now for the cream.
But ah! united,
(courtship, you know,)
what reverse we have!
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown.
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
A very proper compliment!-- and then follows the
application, which I think, my dearHarriet, you cannot
find much difficulty in comprehending. Read it in
comfort to yourself. There can be no doubt of its being
written for you and to you."
Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion.
She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and
happiness. She could not speak. But she was not
wanted to speak. It was enough for her to feel. Emma
spoke for her.
"There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in
this compliment,"
said she,
"that I cannot have a
moment's doubt as to Mr. Elton's intentions. You are
his object -- and you will soon receive the completest proof
of it. I thought it must be so. I thought I could not be
so deceived; but now, it is clear; the state of his mind
is as clear and decided, as my wishes on the subject have
been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet, just so long
have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen
AusEmma74
which has happened. I could never tell whether an
attachment between you and Mr. Elton were most
desirable or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility
have really so equalled each other! I am very happy.
I congratulate you, my dearHarriet, with all my heart.
This is an attachment which a woman may well feel pride
in creating. This is a connection which offers nothing
but good. It will give you every thing that you want --
consideration, independence, a proper home -- it will fix
you in the centre of all your real friends, close to Hartfield
and to me, and confirm our intimacy for ever. This,
Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in
either of us."
"DearMiss Woodhouse"--
and
"DearMiss Woodhouse,"
was all thatHarriet, with many tender embraces
could articulate at first; but when they did arrive at
something more like conversation, it was sufficiently clear
to her friend that
she saw, felt, anticipated, and remembered
just as she ought. Mr. Elton's superiority had very
ample acknowledgment.
"Whatever you say is always right,"
cried Harriet,
"and therefore I suppose, and believe, and hope it must
be so; but otherwise I could not have imagined it. It is
so much beyond any thing I deserve. Mr. Elton, who
might marry any body! There cannot be two opinions
about him. He is so very superior. Only think of those
sweet verses-- ""To Miss @@@@."" Dear me, how clever!--
Could it really be meant for me?"
"I cannot make a question, or listen to a question
about that. It is a certainty. Receive it on my judgment.
It is a sort of prologue to the play, a motto to the
chapter; and will be soon followed by matter-of-fact
prose."
"It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected.
I am sure, a month ago, I had no more idea myself!--
The strangest things do take place!"
"When Miss Smiths and Mr. Eltons get acquainted --
they do indeed -- and really it is strange; it is out of the
AusEmma75
common course that what is so evidently, so palpably
desirable -- what courts the pre-arrangement of other
people, should so immediately shape itself into the proper
form. You and Mr. Elton are by situation called together;
you belong to one another by every circumstance of your
respective homes. Your marrying will be equal to the
match at Randalls. There does seem to be a something
in the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right
direction, and sends it into the very channel where it
ought to flow.
The course of true love never did run smooth--
A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long
note on that passage."
"That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me,-- me,
of all people, who did not know him, to speak to him, at
Michaelmas! And he, the very handsomest man that
ever was, and a man that every body looks up to, quite
like Mr. Knightley! His company so sought after, that
every body says he need not eat a single meal by himself
if he does not chuse it; that he has more invitations than
there are days in the week. And so excellent in the
Church! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has
ever preached from since he came to Highbury. Dear
me! When I look back to the first time I saw him! How
little did I think!-- The two Abbotts and I ran into the
front room and peeped through the blind when we heard
he was going by, and Miss Nash came and scolded us
away, and staid to look through herself; however, she
called me back presently, and let me look too, which
was very good-natured. And how beautiful we thought
he looked! He was arm in arm with Mr. Cole."
"This is an alliance which, whoever -- whatever your
friends may be, must be agreeable to them, provided at
least they have common sense; and we are not to be
addressing our conduct to fools. If they are anxious to
see you happily married, here is a man whose amiable
character gives every assurance of it;-- if they wish to
AusEmma76
have you settled in the same country and circle which
they have chosen to place you in, here it will be accomplished;
and if their only object is that you should, in
the common phrase, be well married, here is the comfortable
fortune, the respectable establishment, the rise in
the world which must satisfy them."
"Yes, very true. How nicely you talk; I love to hear
you. You understand every thing. You and Mr. Elton
are one as clever as the other. This charade!-- If I had
studied a twelvemonth, I could never have made any thing
like it."
"I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner
of declining it yesterday."
"I do think it is, without exception, the best charade
I ever read."
"I never read one more to the purpose, certainly."
"It is as long again as almost all we have had before."
"I do not consider its length as particularly in its
favour. Such things in general cannot be too short."
Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most
satisfactory comparisons were rising in her mind.
"It is one thing,"
said she, presently -- her cheeks in
a glow--
"to have very good sense in a common way, like
every body else, and if there is any thing to say, to sit
down and write a letter, and say just what you must, in
a short way; and another, to write verses and charades
like this."
Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection
of Mr. Martin's prose.
"Such sweet lines!"
continued Harriet --
"these two
last!-- But how shall I ever be able to return the paper,
or say I have found it out?-- Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what
can we do about that?"
"Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here
this evening, I dare say, and then I will give it him back,
and some nonsense or other will pass between us, and you
shall not be committed.-- Your soft eyes shall chuse their
own time for beaming. Trust to me."
AusEmma77
"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not
write this beautiful charade into my book! I am sure
I have not got one half so good."
"Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason
why you should not write it into your book."
"Oh! but those two lines are"--
"---- The best of all. Granted;-- for private enjoyment;
and for private enjoyment keep them. They are
not at all the less written you know, because you divide
them. The couplet does not cease to be, nor does its
meaning change. But take it away, and all appropriation
ceases, and a very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for
any collection. Depend upon it, he would not like to have
his charade slighted, much better than his passion. A
poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or
neither. Give me the book, I will write it down, and
then there can be no possible reflection on you."
Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly
separate the parts, so as to feel quite sure that her friend
were not writing down a declaration of love. It seemed
too precious an offering for any degree of publicity.
"I shall never let that book go out of my own hands,"
said she.
"Very well,"
replied Emma,
"a most natural feeling;
and the longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But
here is my father coming: you will not object to my reading
the charade to him. It will be giving him so much
pleasure! He loves any thing of the sort, and especially
any thing that pays woman a compliment. He has the
tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us all!-- You must
let me read it to him."
Harriet looked grave.
"My dearHarriet, you must not refine too much upon
this charade.-- You will betray your feelings improperly,
if you are too conscious and too quick, and appear to affix
more meaning, or even quite all the meaning which may
be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such a little
tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy,
AusEmma78
he would not have left the paper while I was by; but he
rather pushed it towards you. Do not
let us be too solemn on the business. He has encouragement
enough to proceed, without our sighing out our
souls over this charade."
"Oh! no-- I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it.
Do as you please."
Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject
again, by the recurrence of his very frequent inquiry
of
"Well, my dears, how does your book go on?-- Have
you got any thing fresh?"
"Yes, papa, we have something to read you, something
quite fresh. A piece of paper was found on the table this
morning-- (dropt, we suppose, by a fairy)-- containing
a very pretty charade, and we have just copied it in."
She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing
read, slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over,
with explanations of every part as she proceeded -- and he
was very much pleased, and, as she had foreseen, especially
struck with the complimentary conclusion.
"Aye, that's very just, indeed, that's very properly
said. Very true. ""Woman, lovely woman."" It is such
a pretty charade, my dear, that I can easily guess what
fairy brought it.-- Nobody could have written so prettily,
but you, Emma."
Emma only nodded, and smiled.-- After a little thinking,
and a very tender sigh, he added,
"Ah! it is no difficulty to see who you take after!
Your dear mother was so clever at all those things! If
I had but her memory! But I can remember nothing;--
not even that particular riddle which you have heard me
mention; I can only recollect the first stanza; and there
are several.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid,
Kindled a flame I yet deplore,
The hood-wink'd boy I called to aid,
Though of his near approach afraid,
So fatal to my suit before.
And that is all that I can recollect of it -- but it is very
AusEmma79
clever all the way through. But I think, my dear, you
said you had got it."
"Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We
copied it from the Elegant Extracts. It was Garrick's,
you know."
"Aye, very true.-- I wish I could recollect more of it.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.
The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for she was
very near being christened Catherine after her grandmama.
I hope we shall have her here next week. Have you
thought, my dear, where you shall put her -- and what
room there will be for the children?"
"Oh! yes-- she will have her own room, of course;
the room she always has;-- and there is the nursery for
the children,-- just as usual, you know.-- Why should
there be any change?"
"I do not know, my dear -- but it is so long since she
was here!-- not since last Easter, and then only for a few
days.-- Mr. John Knightley's being a lawyer is very
inconvenient.-- Poor Isabella!-- she is sadly taken away
from us all!-- and how sorry she will be when she comes,
not to see Miss Taylor here!"
"She will not be surprized, papa, at least."
"I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much
surprized when I first heard she was going to be married."
"We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us,
while Isabella is here."
"Yes, my dear, if there is time.-- But--
(in a very
depressed tone)
-- she is coming for only one week. There
will not be time for any thing."
"It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer-- but
it seems a case of necessity. Mr. John Knightley must be
in town again on the 28th, and we ought to be thankful,
papa, that we are to have the whole of the time they can
give to the country, that two or three days are not to be
taken out for the Abbey. Mr. Knightley promises to give
up his claim this Christmas-- though you know it is longer
since they were with him, than with us."
AusEmma80
"It would be very hard indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella
were to be anywhere but at Hartfield."
Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley's
claims on his brother, or any body's claims on Isabella,
except his own. He sat musing a little while, and then
said,
"But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged
to go back so soon, though he does. I think, Emma,
I shall try and persuade her to stay longer with us. She
and the children might stay very well."
"Ah! papa -- that is what you never have been able
to accomplish, and I do not think you ever will. Isabella
cannot bear to stay behind her husband."
This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it
was, Mr. Woodhouse could only give a submissive sigh;
and as Emma saw his spirits affected by the idea of his
daughter's attachment to her husband, she immediately
led to such a branch of the subject as must raise
them.
"Harriet must give us as much of her company as she
can while my brother and sister are here. I am sure she
will be pleased with the children. We are very proud
of the children, are not we, papa? I wonder which she
will think the handsomest, Henry or John?"
"Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how
glad they will be to come. They are very fond of being
at Hartfield, Harriet."
"I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know
who is not."
"Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mamma.
Henry is the eldest, he was named after me, not after
his father. John, the second, is named after his father.
Some people are surprized, I believe, that the eldest was
not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which
I thought very pretty of her. And he is a very clever
boy, indeed. They are all remarkably clever; and they
have so many pretty ways. They will come and stand
by my chair, and say,
""Grandpapa, can you give me a bit
AusEmma81
of string?""
and once Henry asked me for a knife, but
I told him knives were only made for grandpapas. I think
their father is too rough with them very often."
"He appears rough to you,"
said Emma,
"because you
are so very gentle yourself; but if you could compare him
with other papas, you would not think him rough. He
wishes his boys to be active and hardy; and if they
misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then;
but he is an affectionate father-- certainly Mr. John Knightley
is an affectionate father. The children are all
fond of him."
"And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up
to the ceiling in a very frightful way!"
"But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so
much. It is such enjoyment to them, that if their uncle
did not lay down the rule of their taking turns, which ever
began would never give way to the other."
"Well, I cannot understand it."
"That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the
world cannot understand the pleasures of the other."
Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going
to separate in preparation for the regular four o'clock
dinner, the hero of this inimitable charade walked in again.
Harriet turned away; but Emma could receive him with
the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in his
the consciousness of having made a push -- of having
thrown a die; and she imagined he was come to see how
it might turn up. His ostensible reason, however, was
to ask whether Mr. Woodhouse's party could be made up
in the evening without him, or whether he should be in
the smallest degree necessary at Hartfield. If he were,
every thing else must give way; but otherwise his friend
Cole had been saying so much about his dining with him --
had made such a point of it, that he had promised him
conditionally to come.
Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing
his friend on their account; her father was
sure of his rubber. He re-urged -- she re-declined; and
AusEmma82
he seemed then about to make his bow, when taking the
paper from the table, she returned it--
"Oh! here's the charade you were so obliging as to
leave with us; thank you for the sight of it. We admired
it so much, that I have ventured to write it into Miss Smith's
collection. Your friend will not take it amiss
I hope. Of course I have not transcribed beyond the eight
first lines."
Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say.
He looked rather doubtingly -- rather confused; said
something about
"honour;"--
glanced at Emma and at
Harriet, and then seeing the book open on the table, took
it up, and examined it very attentively. With the view
of passing off an awkward moment, Emma smilingly said,
"You must make my apologies to your friend; but so
good a charade must not be confined to one or two. He
may be sure of every woman's approbation while he writes
with such gallantry."
"I have no hesitation in saying,"
replied Mr. Elton,
though hesitating a good deal while he spoke,
"I have
no hesitation in saying-- at least if my friend feels at all
as I do -- I have not the smallest doubt that, could he
see his little effusion honoured as I see it,
(looking at the
book again, and replacing it on the table,)
he would
consider it as the proudest moment of his life."
After this speech he was gone as soon as possible.
Emma could not think it too soon;
for with all his good
and agreeable qualities, there was a sort of parade in his
speeches which was very apt to incline her to laugh.
She ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the
tender and the sublime of pleasure to Harriet's share.
AusEmma83
Though now the middle of December, there had yet
been no weather to prevent the young ladies from tolerably
regular exercise; and on the morrow, Emma had a charitable
visit to pay to a poor sick family, who lived a little
way out of Highbury.
Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage-lane,
a lane leading at right-angles from the broad, though
irregular, main street of the place; and, as may be
inferred, containing the blessed abode of Mr. Elton. A few
inferior dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about
a quarter of a mile down the lane rose the Vicarage; an
old and not very good house, almost as close to the road
as it could be. It had no advantage of situation; but
had been very much smartened up by the present proprietor;
and, such as it was, there could be no possibility
of the two friends passing it without a slackened pace and
observing eyes.-- Emma's remark was--
"There it is. There go you and your riddle-book one
of these days."--
Harriet's was--
"Oh! what a sweet house!-- How very beautiful!--
There are the yellow curtains thatMiss Nash admires so
much."
"I do not often walk this way now,"
said Emma, as
they proceeded,
"but then there will be an inducement,
and I shall gradually get intimately acquainted with all
the hedges, gates, pools, and pollards of this part of
Highbury."
Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within side
the Vicarage, and her curiosity to see it was so
extreme, that, considering exteriors and probabilities,
Emma could only class it, as a proof of love, with Mr. Elton's
seeing ready wit in her.
"I wish we could contrive it,"
said she;
"but I cannot
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think of any tolerable pretence for going in;-- no servant
that I want to inquire about of his housekeeper -- no
message from my father."
She pondered, but could think of nothing. After
a mutual silence of some minutes, Harriet thus began
again--
"I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not
be married, or going to be married! so charming as you
are!"--
Emma laughed, and replied,
"My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to
induce me to marry; I must find other people charming--
one other person at least. And I am not only, not going
to be married, at present, but have very little intention
of ever marrying at all."
"Ah! -- so you say; but I cannot believe it."
"I must see somebody very superior to any one I have
seen yet, to be tempted; Mr. Elton, you know,
(recollecting
herself,)
is out of the question: and I do not wish to see
any such person. I would rather not be tempted. I
cannot really change for the better. If I were to marry,
I must expect to repent it."
"Dear me!-- it is so odd to hear a woman talk so!"--
"I have none of the usual inducements of women to
marry. Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a
different thing! but I never have been in love; it is not
my way, or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall.
And, without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change
such a situation as mine. Fortune I do not want; employment
I do not want; consequence I do not want: I believe
few married women are half as much mistress of
their husband's house, as I am of Hartfield; and never,
never could I expect to be so truly beloved and important;
so always first and always right in any man's eyes as I am
in my father's."
"But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates!"
"That is as formidable an image as you could present,
Harriet; and if I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates!
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so silly-- so satisfied-- so smiling-- so prosing-- so
undistinguishing and unfastidious-- and so apt to tell
every thing relative to every body about me, I would
marry to-morrow. But between us, I am convinced there
never can be any likeness, except in being unmarried."
"But still, you will be an old maid! and that's so
dreadful!"
"Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid;
and it is poverty only which makes celibacy contemptible
to a generous public! A single woman, with a very
narrow income, must be a ridiculous, disagreeable, old
maid! the proper sport of boys and girls; but a single
woman, of good fortune, is always respectable, and may
be as sensible and pleasant as anybody else. And the
distinction is not quite so much against the candour and
common sense of the world as appears at first; for a very
narrow income has a tendency to contract the mind, and
sour the temper. Those who can barely live, and who
live perforce in a very small, and generally very inferior,
society, may well be illiberal and cross. This does not
apply, however, to Miss Bates; she is only too good
natured and too silly to suit me; but, in general, she is
very much to the taste of everybody, though single and
though poor. Poverty certainly has not contracted her
mind: I really believe, if she had only a shilling in the
world, she would be very likely to give away sixpence of
it; and nobody is afraid of her: that is a great charm."
"Dear me! but what shall you do? how shall you
employ yourself when you grow old?"
"If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy
mind, with a great many independent resources; and
I do not perceive why I should be more in want of employment
at forty or fifty than one-and-twenty. Woman's
usual occupations of eye and hand and mind will be as
open to me then, as they are now; or with no important
variation. If I draw less, I shall read more; if I give up
music, I shall take to carpet-work. And as for objects of
interest, objects for the affections, which is in truth the
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great point of inferiority, the want of which is really the
great evil to be avoided in not marrying, I shall be very
well off, with all the children of a sister I love so much, to
care about. There will be enough of them, in all probability,
to supply every sort of sensation that declining
life can need. There will be enough for every hope and
every fear; and though my attachment to none can equal
that of a parent, it suits my ideas of comfort better than
what is warmer and blinder. My nephews and nieces!--
I shall often have a niece with me."
"Do you know Miss Bates's niece? That is, I know
you must have seen her a hundred times-- but are you
acquainted?"
"Oh! yes; we are always forced to be acquainted
whenever she comes to Highbury. By the bye, that is
almost enough to put one out of conceit with a niece.
Heaven forbid! at least, that I should ever bore people
half so much about all the Knightleys together, as she
does about Jane Fairfax. One is sick of the very name
of Jane Fairfax. Every letter from her is read forty times
over; her compliments to all friends go round and round
again; and if she does but send her aunt the pattern of
a stomacher, or knit a pair of garters for her grandmother,
one hears of nothing else for a month. I wish Jane Fairfax
very well; but she tires me to death."
They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle
topics were superseded. Emma was very compassionate;
and the distresses of the poor were as sure of relief from
her personal attention and kindness, her counsel and her
patience, as from her purse. She understood their ways,
could allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had
no romantic expectations of extraordinary virtue from
those, for whom education had done so little; entered
into their troubles with ready sympathy, and always
gave her assistance with as much intelligence as good-will.
In the present instance, it was sickness and poverty
together which she came to visit; and after remaining
there as long as she could give comfort or advice, she
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quitted the cottage with such an impression of the scene
as made her say to Harriet, as they walked away,
"These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good. How
trifling they make every thing else appear!-- I feel now
as if I could think of nothing but these poor creatures all
the rest of the day; and yet, who can say how soon it
may all vanish from my mind?"
"Very true,"
said Harriet.
"Poor creatures! one can
think of nothing else."
"And really, I do not think the impression will soon
be over,"
said Emma, as she crossed the low hedge, and
tottering footstep which ended the narrow, slippery path
through the cottage garden, and brought them into the
lane again.
"I do not think it will,"
stopping to look
once more at all the outward wretchedness of the place,
and recal the still greater within.
"Oh! dear, no,"
said her companion.
They walked on. The lane made a slight bend; and
when that bend was passed, Mr. Elton was immediately
in sight; and so near as to give Emma time only to say
farther,
"Ah! Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our
stability in good thoughts. Well,
(smiling,)
I hope it may
be allowed that if compassion has produced exertion and
relief to the sufferers, it has done all that is truly important.
If we feel for the wretched, enough to do all we can for
them, the rest is empty sympathy, only distressing to
ourselves."
Harriet could just answer,
"Oh! dear, yes,"
before the
gentleman joined them. The wants and sufferings of the
poor family, however, were the first subject on meeting.
He had been going to call on them. His visit he would
now defer;
but they had a very interesting parley about
what could be done and should be done. Mr. Elton then
turned back to accompany them.
"To fall in with each other on such an errand as this,"
thought Emma;
"to meet in a charitable scheme; this
will bring a great increase of love on each side. I should
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not wonder if it were to bring on the declaration. It must,
if I were not here. I wish I were anywhere else."
Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she
could, she soon afterwards took possession of a narrow
footpath, a little raised on one side of the lane, leaving
them together in the main road. But she had not been
there two minutes when she found that Harriet's habits
of dependence and imitation were bringing her up too, and
that, in short, they would both be soon after her. This
would not do; she immediately stopped, under pretence
of having some alteration to make in the lacing of her
half-boot, and stooping down in complete occupation of
the footpath, begged them to
have the goodness to walk
on, and she would follow in half a minute.
They did as
they were desired; and by the time she judged it reasonable
to have done with her boot, she had the comfort of
further delay in her power, being overtaken by a child
from the cottage, setting out, according to orders, with
her pitcher, to fetch broth from Hartfield. To walk by
the side of this child, and talk to and question her, was
the most natural thing in the world, or would have been
the most natural, had she been acting just then without
design; and by this means the others were still able to
keep ahead, without any obligation of waiting for her.
She gained on them, however, involuntarily; the child's
pace was quick, and theirs rather slow; and she was the
more concerned at it, from their being evidently in a conversation
which interested them. Mr. Elton was speaking
with animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased
attention; and Emma having sent the child on, was
beginning to think how she might draw back a little more,
when they both looked around, and she was obliged to
join them.
Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in some
interesting detail; and Emma experienced some disappointment
when she found that he was only giving his
fair companion an account of the yesterday's party at his
friend Cole's, and that she was come in herself for the
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Stilton cheese, the north Wiltshire, the butter, the cellery,
the beet-root and all the dessert.
"This would soon have led to something better of
course,"
was her consoling reflection;
"any thing
interests between those who love; and any thing will
serve as introduction to what is near the heart. If I could
but have kept longer away!"
They now walked on together quietly, till within view
of the vicarage pales, when a sudden resolution, of at least
getting Harriet into the house, made her again find something
very much amiss about her boot, and fall behind
to arrange it once more. She then broke the lace off short,
and dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presently
obliged to entreat them to stop, and acknowledge her
inability to put herself to rights so as to be able to walk
home in tolerable comfort.
"Part of my lace is gone,"
said she,
"and I do not
know how I am to contrive. I really am a most troublesome
companion to you both, but I hope I am not often
so ill-equipped. Mr. Elton, I must beg leave to stop at
your house, and ask your housekeeper for a bit of ribband
or string, or any thing just to keep my boot on."
Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition; and
nothing could exceed his alertness and attention in conducting
them into his house and endeavouring to make
every thing appear to advantage. The room they were
taken into was the one he chiefly occupied, and looking
forwards; behind it was another with which it immediately
communicated; the door between them was open,
and Emma passed into it with the housekeeper to receive
her assistance in the most comfortable manner.
She was
obliged to leave the door ajar as she found it; but she
fully intended that Mr. Elton should close it. It was not
closed however, it still remained ajar; but by engaging
the housekeeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to
make it practicable for him to chuse his own subject in
the adjoining room. For ten minutes she could hear
nothing but herself. It could be protracted no longer.
AusEmma90
She was then obliged to be finished and make her
appearance.
The lovers were standing together at one of the windows.
It had a most favourable aspect;
and, for half a minute,
Emma felt the glory of having schemed successfully. But
it would not do; he had not come to the point. He had
been most agreeable, most delightful; he had told Harriet
that he had seen them go by, and had purposely followed
them; other little gallantries and allusions had been
dropt, but nothing serious.
"Cautious, very cautious,"
thought Emma.
"he
advances inch by inch, and will hazard nothing till he
believes himself secure."
Still, however, though every thing had not been accomplished
by her ingenious device, she could not but flatter
herself that it had been the occasion of much present
enjoyment to both, and must be leading them forward to
the great event.
AusEmma91
Mr. Elton must now be left to himself. It was no
longer in Emma's power to superintend his happiness or
quicken his measures. The coming of her sister's family
was so very near at hand, that first in anticipation and
then in reality, it became henceforth her prime object of
interest; and during the ten days of their stay at Hartfield
it was not to be expected-- she did not herself expect
-- that any thing beyond occasional, fortuitous assistance
could be afforded by her to the lovers.
They might
advance rapidly if they would, however; they must
advance somehow or other whether they would or no.
She hardly wished to have more leisure for them. There
are people, who the more you do for them, the less they
will do for themselves.
Mr. and Mrs. Knightley, from having been longer
than usual absent from Surry, were exciting of course
rather more than the usual interest. Till this year, every
long vacation since their marriage had been divided
between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but all the
holidays of this autumn had been given to sea-bathing
for the children, and it was therefore many months since
they had been seen in a regular way by their Surry
connections, or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could
not be induced to get so far as London, even for poor
Isabella's sake; and who consequently was now most
nervously and apprehensively happy in forestalling this
too short visit.
He thought much of the evils of the journey for her,
and not a little of the fatigues of his own horses and
coachman who were to bring some of the party the last
half of the way; but his alarms were needless; the
sixteen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr. and
Mrs. John Knightley, their five children, and a competent
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number of nursery-maids, all reaching Hartfield in safety.
The bustle and joy of such an arrival, the many to be
talked to, welcomed, encouraged, and variously dispersed
and disposed of, produced a noise and confusion which
his nerves could not have born under any other cause, nor
have endured much longer even for this; but the ways of
Hartfield and the feelings of her father were so respected
by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of maternal solicitude
for the immediate enjoyment of her little ones, and
for their having instantly all the liberty and attendance,
all the eating and drinking, and sleeping and playing,
which they could possibly wish for, without the smallest
delay, the children were never allowed to be long a disturbance
to him, either in themselves or in any restless
attendance on them.
Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman,
of gentle, quiet manners, and a disposition remarkably
amiable and affectionate; wrapt up in her family;
a devoted wife, a doating mother, and so tenderly attached
to her father and sister that, but for these higher ties,
a warmer love might have seemed impossible. She could
never see a fault in any of them. She was not a woman
of strong understanding or any quickness; and with
this resemblance of her father, she inherited also much of
his constitution; was delicate in her own health, over-careful
of that of her children, had many fears and many
nerves, and was as fond of her own Mr. Wingfield in town
as her father could be of Mr. Perry. They were alike too,
in a general benevolence of temper, and a strong habit of
regard for every old acquaintance.
Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and very
clever man; rising in his profession, domestic, and
respectable in his private character; but with reserved
manners which prevented his being generally pleasing;
and capable of being sometimes out of humour. He was
not an ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross
as to deserve such a reproach; but his temper was not
his great perfection; and, indeed, with such a worshipping
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wife, it was hardly possible that any natural defects in
it should not be increased. The extreme sweetness of her
temper must hurt his. He had all the clearness and quickness
of mind which she wanted, and he could sometimes
act an ungracious, or say a severe thing. He was not
a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing
wrong in him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the
little injuries to Isabella, whichIsabella never felt herself.
Perhaps she might have passed over more had his manners
been flattering to Isabella's sister, but they were only those
of a calmly kind brother and friend, without praise and
without blindness; but hardly any degree of personal
compliment could have made her regardless of that
greatest fault of all in her eyes which he sometimes fell
into, the want of respectful forbearance towards her
father. There he had not always the patience that could
have been wished. Mr. Woodhouse's peculiarities and
fidgettiness were sometimes provoking him to a rational
remonstrance or sharp retort equally ill bestowed. It did
not often happen; for Mr. John Knightley had really
a great regard for his father-in-law, and generally a strong
sense of what was due to him; but it was too often for
Emma's charity, especially as there was all the pain of
apprehension frequently to be endured, though the
offence came not. The beginning, however, of every visit
displayed none but the properest feelings, and this being
of necessity so short might be hoped to pass away in
unsullied cordiality. They had not been long seated and
composed when Mr. Woodhouse, with a melancholy shake
of the head and a sigh, called his daughter's attention
to the sad change at Hartfield since she had been there
last.
"Ah! my dear,"
said he,
"poor Miss Taylor -- It is
a grievous business!"
"Oh! yes, sir,"
cried she with ready sympathy,
"how
you must miss her! And dearEmma too!-- what
a dreadful loss to you both!-- I have been so grieved for
you.-- I could not imagine how you could possibly do
AusEmma94
without her.-- It is a sad change indeed.-- But I hope she
is pretty well, sir."
"Pretty well, my dear -- I hope-- pretty well.-- I do
not know but that the place agrees with her tolerably."
Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma quietly whether
there were any doubts of the air of Randalls.
"Oh! no-- none in the least. I never saw Mrs. Weston
better in my life-- never looking so well. Papa is only
speaking his own regret."
"Very much to the honour of both,"
was the handsome
reply.
"And do you see her, sir, tolerably often?"
asked
Isabella in the plaintive tone which just suited her father.
Mr. Woodhouse hesitated.--
"Not near so often, my
dear, as I could wish."
"Oh! papa, we have missed seeing them but one
entire day since they married. Either in the morning or
evening of every day, excepting one, have we seen either
Mr. Weston or Mrs. Weston, and generally both, either
at Randalls or here-- and as you may suppose, Isabella,
most frequently here. They are very, very kind in their
visits. Mr. Weston is really as kind as herself. Papa, if
you speak in that melancholy way, you will be giving
Isabella a false idea of us all. Every body must be aware
that Miss Taylor must be missed, but every body ought
also to be assured that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really
prevent our missing her by any means to the extent we
ourselves anticipated-- which is the exact truth."
"Just as it should be,"
said Mr. John Knightley,
"and
just as I hoped it was from your letters. Her wish of
shewing you attention could not be doubted, and his
being a disengaged and social man makes it all easy. I
have been always telling you, my love, that I had no idea
of the change being so very material to Hartfield as you
apprehended; and now you have Emma's account, I hope
you will be satisfied."
"Why to be sure,"
said Mr. Woodhouse--
"yes, certainly--
I cannot deny that Mrs. Weston, poor Mrs. Weston
AusEmma95
does come and see us pretty often -- but then -- she is
always obliged to go away again."
"It would be very hard upon Mr. Weston if she did not,
papa.-- You quite forget poor Mr. Weston.
"I think, indeed,"
said John Knightley pleasantly,
"that Mr. Weston has some little claim. You and I,
Emma, will venture to take the part of the poor husband.
I, being a husband, and you not being a wife, the claims
of the man may very likely strike us with equal force. As
for Isabella, she has been married long enough to see the
convenience of putting all the Mr. Westons aside as much
as she can."
"Me, my love,"
cried his wife, hearing and understanding
only in part.--
"Are you talking about me?-- I am
sure nobody ought to be, or can be, a greater advocate
for matrimony than I am; and if it had not been for the
misery of her leaving Hartfield, I should never have
thought of Miss Taylor but as the most fortunate woman in
the world; and as to slighting Mr. Weston, that excellent
Mr. Weston, I think there is nothing he does not deserve.
I believe he is one of the very best tempered men that
ever existed. Excepting yourself and your brother, I do
not know his equal for temper. I shall never forget his
flying Henry's kite for him that very windy day last
Easter -- and ever since his particular kindness last
September twelvemonth in writing that note, at twelve
o'clock at night, on purpose to assure me that there was
no scarlet fever at Cobham, I have been convinced there
could not be a more feeling heart nor a better man in
existence.-- If any body can deserve him, it must be
Miss Taylor."
"Where is the young man?"
said John Knightley.
"Has he been here on this occasion-- or has he not?"
"He has not been here yet,"
replied Emma.
"There
was a strong expectation of his coming soon after the
marriage, but it ended in nothing; and I have not heard
him mentioned lately."
"But you should tell them of the letter, my dear,"
said
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her father.
"He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to
congratulate her, and a very proper, handsome letter it
was. She shewed it to me. I thought it very well done of
him indeed. Whether it was his own idea you know, one
cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle perhaps----"
"My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty.-- You forget
how time passes."
"Three-and-twenty!-- is he indeed?-- Well, I could
not have thought it-- and he was but two years old when
he lost his poor mother! Well, time does fly indeed!--
and my memory is very bad. However, it was an exceedingly
good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston
a great deal of pleasure. I remember it was written from
Weymouth, and dated Sept. 28th-- and began, ""My dear
Madam,"" but I forget how it went on; and it was signed
""F. C. Weston Churchill.""-- I remember that perfectly."
"How very pleasing and proper of him!"
cried the
good-hearted Mrs. John Knightley.
"I have no doubt
of his being a most amiable young man. But how sad
it is that he should not live at home with his father!
There is something so shocking in a child's being taken
away from his parents and natural home! I never can
comprehend how Mr. Weston could part with him. To
give up one's child! I really never could think well of
any body who proposed such a thing to any body else."
"Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy,"
observed Mr. John Knightley coolly.
"But you need
not imagine Mr. Weston to have felt what you would feel
in giving up Henry or John. Mr. Weston is rather an
easy, cheerful tempered man, than a man of strong
feelings; he takes things as he finds them, and makes
enjoyment of them somehow or other, depending, I
suspect, much more upon what is called society for his
comforts, that is, upon the power of eating and drinking,
and playing whist with his neighbours five times a-week,
than upon family affection, or any thing that home
affords."
Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on
AusEmma97
Mr. Weston, and had half a mind to take it up; but she
struggled, and let it pass.
She would keep the peace if
possible; and there was something honourable and
valuable in the strong domestic habits, the all-sufficiency
of home to himself, whence resulted her brother's disposition
to look down on the common rate of social intercourse,
and those to whom it was important.-- It had
a high claim to forbearance.
AusEmma98
Mr. Knightley was to dine with them-- rather against
the inclination of Mr. Woodhouse, who did not like that
any one should share with him in Isabella's first day.
Emma's sense of right however had decided it; and
besides the consideration of what was due to each brother,
she had particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the
late disagreement between Mr. Knightley and herself, in
procuring him the proper invitation.
She hoped they might now become friends again. She
thought it was time to make up. Making-up indeed would
not do. She certainly had not been in the wrong, and he
would never own that he had. Concession must be out
of the question; but it was time to appear to forget that
they had ever quarrelled; and she hoped it might rather
assist the restoration of friendship, that when he came into
the room she had one of the children with her--
the
youngest, a nice little girl about eight months old, who
was now making her first visit to Hartfield, and very
happy to be danced about in her aunt's arms.
It did
assist; for though he began with grave looks and short
questions, he was soon led on to talk of them all in the
usual way, and to take the child out of her arms with all
the unceremoniousness of perfect amity.
Emma felt they
were friends again; and the conviction giving her at first
great satisfaction, and then a little sauciness, she could
not help saying, as he was admiring the baby,
"What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our
nephews and nieces. As to men and women, our opinions
are sometimes very different; but with regard to these
children, I observe we never disagree."
"If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate
of men and women, and as little under the power of fancy
AusEmma99
and whim in your dealings with them, as you are where
these children are concerned, we might always think
alike."
"To be sure-- our discordancies must always arise
from my being in the wrong."
"Yes,"
said he, smiling--
"and reason good. I was
sixteen years old when you were born."
"A material difference then,"
she replied--
"and no
doubt you were much my superior in judgment at that
period of our lives; but does not the lapse of one-and-twenty
years bring our understandings a good deal
nearer?"
"Yes-- a good deal nearer."
"But still, not near enough to give me a chance of
being right, if we think differently."
"I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years'
experience, and by not being a pretty young woman and
a spoiled child. Come, my dearEmma, let us be friends
and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little Emma,
that she ought to set you a better example than to be
renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong
before, she is now."
"That's true,"
she cried--
"very true. Little Emma,
grow up a better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely
cleverer and not half so conceited. Now, Mr. Knightley,
a word or two more, and I have done. As far as good
intentions went, we were both right, and I must say that
no effects on my side of the argument have yet proved
wrong. I only want to know that Mr. Martin is not very,
very bitterly disappointed."
"A man cannot be more so,"
was his short, full answer.
"Ah!-- Indeed I am very sorry.-- Come, shake hands
with me."
This had just taken place and with great cordiality,
when John Knightley made his appearance, and
"How
d'ye do, George?"
and
"John, how are you?"
succeeded
in the true English style, burying under a calmness
that seemed all but indifference, the real attachment
AusEmma100
which would have led either of them, if requisite, to do
every thing for the good of the other.
The evening was quiet and conversible, as Mr. Woodhouse
declined cards entirely for the sake of comfortable
talk with his dearIsabella, and the little party made two
natural divisions; on one side he and his daughter; on
the other the two Mr. Knightleys; their subjects totally
distinct, or very rarely mixing-- and Emma only occasionally
joining in one or the other.
The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits,
but principally of those of the elder, whose temper was
by much the most communicative, and who was always
the greater talker. As a magistrate, he had generally
some point of law to consult John about, or, at least, some
curious anecdote to give; and as a farmer, as keeping in
hand the home-farm at Donwell, he had to tell what every
field was to bear next year, and to give all such local
information as could not fail of being interesting to a
brother whose home it had equally been the longest part
of his life, and whose attachments were strong. The plan
of a drain, the change of a fence, the felling of a tree, and
the destination of every acre for wheat, turnips, or spring
corn, was entered into with as much equality of interest
by John, as his cooler manners rendered possible; and
if his willing brother ever left him any thing to inquire
about, his inquiries even approached a tone of eagerness.
While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Woodhouse
was enjoying a full flow of happy regrets and fearful
affection with his daughter.
"My poor dearIsabella,"
said he, fondly taking her
hand, and interrupting, for a few moments, her busy
labours for some one of her five children--
"How long it
is, how terribly long since you were here! And how tired
you must be after your journey! You must go to bed
early, my dear-- and I recommend a little gruel to you
before you go.-- You and I will have a nice basin of gruel
together. My dearEmma, suppose we all have a little
gruel."
AusEmma101
Emma could not suppose any such thing, knowing, as
she did, that both the Mr. Knightleys were as unpersuadable
on that article as herself;-- and two basins only were
ordered. After a little more discourse in praise of gruel,
with some wondering at its not being taken every evening
by every body, he proceeded to say, with an air of grave
reflection,
"It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending
the autumn at South End instead of coming here. I never
had much opinion of the sea air."
"Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it,
sir-- or we should not have gone. He recommended it for
all the children, but particularly for the weakness in little
Bella's throat,-- both sea air and bathing."
"Ah! my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the
sea doing her any good; and as to myself, I have been
long perfectly convinced, though perhaps I never told you
so before, that the sea is very rarely of use to any body.
I am sure it almost killed me once."
"Come, come,"
cried Emma, feeling this to be an
unsafe subject,
"I must beg you not to talk of the sea.
It makes me envious and miserable;-- I who have never
seen it! South End is prohibited, if you please. My dear
Isabella, I have not heard you make one inquiry after
Mr. Perry yet; and he never forgets you."
"Oh! good Mr. Perry-- how is he, sir?"
"Why, pretty well; but not quite well. Poor Perry
is bilious, and he has not time to take care of himself--
he tells me he has not time to take care of himself-- which
is very sad-- but he is always wanted all round the
country. I suppose there is not a man in such practice
any where. But then, there is not so clever a man any where."
"And Mrs. Perry and the children, how are they? do
the children grow?-- I have a great regard for Mr. Perry.
I hope he will be calling soon. He will be so pleased to
see my little ones."
"I hope he will be here to-morrow, for I have a question
AusEmma102
or two to ask him about myself of some consequence.
And, my dear, whenever he comes, you had better let him
look at little Bella's throat."
"Oh! my dear sir, her throat is so much better that
I have hardly any uneasiness about it. Either bathing
has been of the greatest service to her, or else it is to be
attributed to an excellent embrocation of Mr. Wingfield's,
which we have been applying at times ever since
August."
"It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing should
have been of use to her-- and if I had known you
were wanting an embrocation, I would have spoken
to----"
"You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs. and Miss Bates,"
said Emma,
"I have not heard one inquiry after
them."
"Oh! the good Bateses-- I am quite ashamed of myself
-- but you mention them in most of your letters. I hope
they are quite well. Good old Mrs. Bates-- I will call
upon her to-morrow, and take my children.-- They are
always so pleased to see my children.-- And that excellent
Miss Bates!-- such thorough worthy people! -- How are
they, sir?"
"Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the whole. But poor
Mrs. Bates had a bad cold about a month ago."
"How sorry I am! But colds were never so prevalent
as they have been this autumn. Mr. Wingfield told me
that he had never known them more general or heavy--
except when it has been quite an influenza."
"That has been a good deal the case, my dear; but
not to the degree you mention. Perry says that colds
have been very general, but not so heavy as he has very
often known them in November. Perry does not call it
altogether a sickly season."
"No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers it
very sickly except----"
"Ah! my poor dear child, the truth is, that in London
it is always a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London,
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nobody can be. It is a dreadful thing to have you forced
to live there!-- so far off!-- and the air so bad!"
"No, indeed-- we are not at all in a bad air. Our part
of London is so very superior to most others!-- You must
not confound us with London in general, my dear sir.
The neighbourhood of Brunswick Square is very different
from almost all the rest. We are so very airy! I should be
unwilling, I own, to live in any other part of the town;--
there is hardly any other that I could be satisfied to
have my children in:-- but we are so remarkably airy!--
Mr. Wingfield thinks the vicinity of Brunswick Square
decidedly the most favourable as to air."
"Ah! my dear, it is not like Hartfield. You make
the best of it-- but after you have been a week at Hartfield,
you are all of you different creatures; you do not
look like the same. Now I cannot say, that I think you
are any of you looking well at present."
"I am sorry to hear you say so, sir; but I assure you,
excepting those little nervous head-aches and palpitations
which I am never entirely free from any where, I am quite
well myself; and if the children were rather pale before
they went to bed, it was only because they were a little
more tired than usual, from their journey and the happiness
of coming. I hope you will think better of their looks
to-morrow; for I assure you Mr. Wingfield told me, that
he did not believe he had ever sent us off altogether, in
such good case. I trust, at least, that you do not think
Mr. Knightley looking ill,"--
turning her eyes with affectionate
anxiety towards her husband.
"Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you.
I think Mr. John Knightley very far from looking well."
"What is the matter, sir?-- Did you speak to me?"
cried Mr. John Knightley, hearing his own name.
"I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not
think you looking well-- but I hope it is only from being
a little fatigued. I could have wished, however, as you
know, that you had seen Mr. Wingfield before you left
home."
AusEmma104
"My dearIsabella,"--
exclaimed he hastily--
"pray do
not concern yourself about my looks. Be satisfied with
doctoring and coddling yourself and the children, and let
me look as I chuse."
"I do not thoroughly understand what you were telling
your brother,"
cried Emma,
"about your friend Mr. Graham's
intending to have a bailiff from Scotland, to
look after his new estate. But will it answer? Will not
the old prejudice be too strong?"
And she talked in this way so long and successfully
that, when forced to give her attention again to her father
and sister, she had nothing worse to hear than Isabella's
kind inquiry after Jane Fairfax;-- and Jane Fairfax,
though no great favourite with her in general, she was at
that moment very happy to assist in praising.
"That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!"
said Mrs. John Knightley--
"It is so long since I have seen her, except
now and then for a moment accidentally in town! What
happiness it must be to her good old grandmother and
excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them! I always
regret excessively on dearEmma's account that she cannot
be more at Highbury; but now their daughter is married,
I suppose Colonel and Mrs. Campbell will not be able to
part with her at all. She would be such a delightful
companion for Emma."
Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added,
"Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such
another pretty kind of young person. You will like
Harriet. Emma could not have a better companion than
Harriet."
"I am most happy to hear it-- but only Jane Fairfax
one knows to be so very accomplished and superior!--
and exactly Emma's age."
This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded
of similar moment, and passed away with similar
harmony; but the evening did not close without a little
return of agitation. The gruel came and supplied a great
deal to be said-- much praise and many comments--
AusEmma105
undoubting decision of its wholesomeness for every
constitution, and pretty severe Philippics upon the many
houses where it was never met with tolerable;-- but,
unfortunately, among the failures which the daughter had
to instance, the most recent, and therefore most prominent,
was in
her own cook at South End, a young woman hired
for the time, who never had been able to understand what
she meant by a basin of nice smooth gruel, thin, but not
too thin. Often as she had wished for and ordered it, she
had never been able to get any thing tolerable.
Here was
a dangerous opening.
"Ah!"
said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head and
fixing his eyes on her with tender concern.-- The ejaculation
in Emma's ear expressed, "Ah! there is no end
of the sad consequences of your going to South End. It
does not bear talking of." And for a little while she hoped
he would not talk of it, and that a silent rumination
might suffice to restore him to the relish of his own smooth
gruel. After an interval of some minutes, however, he
began with,
"I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea
this autumn, instead of coming here."
"But why should you be sorry, sir?-- I assure you, it
did the children a great deal of good."
"And, moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had better
not have been to South End. South End is an unhealthy
place. Perry was surprized to hear you had fixed upon
South End."
"I know there is such an idea with many people, but
indeed it is quite a mistake, sir.-- We all had our health
perfectly well there, never found the least inconvenience
from the mud; and Mr. Wingfield says it is entirely
a mistake to suppose the place unhealthy; and I am sure
he may be depended on, for he thoroughly understands
the nature of the air, and his own brother and family have
been there repeatedly."
"You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you
went any where.-- Perry was a week at Cromer once, and
AusEmma106
he holds it to be the best of all the sea-bathing places.
A fine open sea, he says, and very pure air. And, by what
I understand, you might have had lodgings there quite
away from the sea-- a quarter of a mile off-- very comfortable.
You should have consulted Perry."
"But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey;-- only
consider how great it would have been.-- A hundred miles,
perhaps, instead of forty."
"Ah! my dear," as Perry says, "where health is at
stake, nothing else should be considered;" and if one is
to travel, there is not much to chuse between forty miles
and an hundred.-- Better not move at all, better stay in
London altogether than travel forty miles to get into
a worse air. This is just whatPerry said. It seemed to
him a very ill-judged measure."
Emma's attempts to stop her father had been vain;
and when he had reached such a point as this, she could
not wonder at her brother-in-law's breaking out.
"Mr. Perry,"
said he, in a voice of very strong displeasure,
"would do as well to keep his opinion till it is
asked for. Why does he make it any business of his, to
wonder at what I do?-- at my taking my family to one
part of the coast or another?-- I may be allowed, I hope,
the use of my judgment as well as Mr. Perry.-- I want his
directions no more than his drugs."
He paused-- and
growing cooler in a moment, added, with only sarcastic
dryness,
"If Mr. Perry can tell me how to convey a wife
and five children a distance of an hundred and thirty miles
with no greater expense or inconvenience than a distance
of forty, I should be as willing to prefer Cromer to South End
as he could himself."
"True, true,"
cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready
interposition--
"very true. That's a consideration indeed.--
But John, as to what I was telling you of my idea
of moving the path to Langham, of turning it more to the
right that it may not cut through the home meadows,
I cannot conceive any difficulty. I should not attempt it,
if it were to be the means of inconvenience to the Highbury
AusEmma107
people, but if you call to mind exactly the present line
of the path. . . . The only way of proving it, however, will
be to turn to our maps. I shall see you at the Abbey
to-morrow morning I hope, and then we will look them
over, and you shall give me your opinion."
Mr. Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh
reflections on his friend Perry, to whom he had, in fact,
though unconsciously, been attributing many of his own
feelings and expressions;-- but the soothing attentions
of his daughters gradually removed the present evil, and
the immediate alertness of one brother, and better recollections
of the other, prevented any renewal of it.
AusEmma108
There could hardly be an happier creature in the world,
than Mrs. John Knightley, in this short visit to Hartfield,
going about every morning among her old acquaintance
with her five children, and talking over what she had done
every evening with her father and sister. She had nothing
to wish otherwise, but that the days did not pass so swiftly.
It was a delightful visit;-- perfect, in being much too
short.
In general their evenings were less engaged with friends
than their mornings: but one complete dinner engagement,
and out of the house too, there was no avoiding, though
at Christmas. Mr. Weston
would take no denial; they
must all dine at Randall's one day;--
even Mr. Woodhouse
was persuaded to think it a possible thing in preference
to a division of the party.
How they were all to be conveyed, he would have made
a difficulty if he could, but as his son and daughter's
carriage and horses were actually at Hartfield, he was not
able to make more than a simple question on that head;
it hardly amounted to a doubt; nor did it occupy Emma
long to convince him that they might in one of the
carriages find room for Harriet also.
Harriet, Mr. Elton, and Mr. Knightley, their own
especial set, were the only persons invited to meet them;--
the hours were to be early, as well as the numbers few;
Mr. Woodhouse's habits and inclination being consulted
in every thing.
The evening before this great event (for it was a very
great event that Mr. Woodhouse should dine out, on the
24th of December) had been spent by Harriet at Hartfield,
and she had gone home so much indisposed with a cold,
that, but for her own earnest wish of being nursed by
Mrs. Goddard, Emma could not have allowed her to leave
AusEmma109
the house. Emma called on her the next day, and found
her doom already signed with regard to Randalls. She
was very feverish and had a bad sore-throat: Mrs. Goddard
was full of care and affection, Mr. Perry was talked
of, and Harriet herself was too ill and low to resist the
authority which excluded her from this delightful engagement,
though she could not speak of her loss without
many tears.
Emma sat with her as long as she could, to attend her
in Mrs. Goddard's unavoidable absences, and raise her
spirits by representing how much Mr. Elton's would be
depressed when he knew her state; and left her at last
tolerably comfortable, in the sweet dependence of his
having a most comfortless visit, and of their all missing
her very much. She had not advanced many yards from
Mrs. Goddard's door, when she was met by Mr. Elton
himself, evidently coming towards it, and as they walked
on slowly together in conversation about the invalid-- of
whom he, on the rumour of considerable illness, had been
going to inquire, that he might carry some report of her
to Hartfield-- they were overtaken by Mr. John Knightley
returning from the daily visit to Donwell, with his two
eldest boys, whose healthy, glowing faces shewed all the
benefit of a country run, and seemed to ensure a quick
dispatch of the roast mutton and rice pudding they were
hastening home for. They joined company and proceeded
together. Emma was just describing the nature of her
friend's complaint;--
"a throat very much inflamed, with
a great deal of heat about her, a quick low pulse, &c. and
she was sorry to find from Mrs. Goddard that Harriet
was liable to very bad sore-throats, and had often alarmed
her with them."--
Mr. Elton looked all alarm on the
occasion, as he exclaimed,
"A sore-throat! -- I hope not infectious. I hope not
of a putrid infectious sort. Has Perry seen her? Indeed
you should take care of yourself as well as of your friend.
Let me entreat you to run no risks. Why does not Perry
see her?"
AusEmma110
Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself,
tranquillized this excess of apprehension by assurances of
Mrs. Goddard's experience and care; but as there must
still remain a degree of uneasiness which she could not wish
to reason away, which she would rather feed and assist
than not, she added soon afterwards-- as if quite another
subject,
"It is so cold, so very cold-- and looks and feels so very
much like snow, that if it were to any other place or with
any other party, I should really try not to go out to-day--
and dissuade my father from venturing; but as he has
made up his mind, and does not seem to feel the cold
himself, I do not like to interfere, as I know it would be
so great a disappointment to Mr. and Mrs. Weston. But
upon my word, Mr. Elton, in your case, I should certainly
excuse myself. You appear to me a little hoarse already,
and when you consider what demand of voice and what
fatigues to-morrow will bring, I think it would be no more
than common prudence to stay at home and take care of
yourself to-night."
Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well know what
answer to make; which was exactly the case; for though
very much gratified by the kind care of such a fair lady,
and not liking to resist any advice of her's, he had not
really the least inclination to give up the visit;-- but Emma,
too eager and busy in her own previous conceptions and
views to hear him impartially, or see him with clear vision,
was very well satisfied with his muttering acknowledgment
of its being
"very cold, certainly very cold,"
and walked
on, rejoicing in having extricated him from Randalls, and
secured him the power of sending to inquire after Harriet
every hour of the evening.
"You do quite right,"
said she;--
"We will make your
apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Weston."
But hardly had she so spoken, when she found her
brother was civilly offering a seat in his carriage, if the
weather were Mr. Elton's only objection, and Mr. Elton
actually accepting the offer with much prompt satisfaction.
AusEmma111
It was a done thing; Mr. Elton was to go, and never
had his broad handsome face expressed more pleasure than
at this moment; never had his smile been stronger, nor
his eyes more exulting than when he next looked at her.
"Well,"
said she to herself,
"this is most strange!--
After I had got him off so well, to chuse to go into company,
and leave Harriet ill behind!-- Most strange indeed!
-- But there is, I believe, in many men, especially single
men, such an inclination-- such a passion for dining out--
a dinner engagement is so high in the class of their
pleasures, their employments, their dignities, almost their
duties, that any thing gives way to it-- and this must
be the case with Mr. Elton; a most valuable, amiable,
pleasing young man undoubtedly, and very much in love
with Harriet; but still, he cannot refuse an invitation, he
must dine out whenever he is asked. What a strange
thing love is! he can see ready wit in Harriet, but will
not dine alone for her."
Soon afterwards Mr. Elton quitted them, and she could
not but do him the justice of feeling that
there was a great
deal of sentiment in his manner of naming Harriet at
parting; in the tone of his voice while assuring her that
he should call at Mrs. Goddard's for news of her fair friend,
the last thing before he prepared for the happiness of
meeting her again, when he hoped to be able to give a
better report; and he sighed and smiled himself off in
a way that left the balance of approbation much in his
favour.
After a few minutes of entire silence between them, John Knightley
began with--
"I never in my life saw a man more intent on being
agreeable than Mr. Elton. It is downright labour to him
where ladies are concerned. With men he can be rational
and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please every
feature works."
"Mr. Elton's manners are not perfect,"
replied Emma;
"but where there is a wish to please, one ought to overlook,
and one does overlook a great deal. Where a man does
AusEmma112
his best with only moderate powers, he will have the
advantage over negligent superiority. There is such perfect
good temper and good will in Mr. Elton as one cannot
but value."
"Yes,"
said Mr. John Knightley presently, with some
slyness,
"he seems to have a great deal of good-will
towards you."
"Me!"
she replied with a smile of astonishment,
"are
you imagining me to be Mr. Elton's object?"
"Such an imagination has crossed me, I own, Emma;
and if it never occurred to you before, you may as well
take it into consideration now."
"Mr. Elton in love with me!-- What an idea!"
"I do not say it is so; but you will do well to consider
whether it is so or not, and to regulate your behaviour
accordingly. I think your manners to him encouraging.
I speak as a friend, Emma. You had better look about
you, and ascertain what you do, and what you mean
to do."
"I thank you; but I assure you you are quite mistaken.
Mr. Elton and I are very good friends, and nothing more;"
and she walked on,
amusing herself in the consideration
of the blunders which often arise from a partial knowledge
of circumstances, of the mistakes which people of high
pretensions to judgment are for ever falling into; and not
very well pleased with her brother for imagining her blind
and ignorant, and in want of counsel.
He said no more.
Mr. Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to
the visit, that in spite of the increasing coldness, he
seemed to have no idea of shrinking from it, and set
forward at last most punctually with his eldest daughter
in his own carriage, with less apparent consciousness of
the weather than either of the others; too full of the
wonder of his own going, and the pleasure it was to afford
at Randalls to see that it was cold, and too well wrapt up
to feel it. The cold, however, was severe; and by the
time the second carriage was in motion, a few flakes of
snow were finding their way down, and the sky had the
AusEmma113
appearance of being so overcharged as to want only
a milder air to produce a very white world in a very short
time.
Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the
happiest humour. The preparing and the going abroad
in such weather, with the sacrifice of his children after
dinner, were evils, were disagreeables at least, which
Mr. John Knightley did not by any means like; he
anticipated nothing in the visit that could be at all worth
the purchase; and the whole of their drive to the Vicarage
was spent by him in expressing his discontent.
"A man,"
said he,
"must have a very good opinion
of himself when he asks people to leave their own fireside,
and encounter such a day as this, for the sake of coming
to see him. He must think himself a most agreeable
fellow; I could not do such a thing. It is the greatest
absurdity-- Actually snowing at this moment!-- The folly
of not allowing people to be comfortable at home-- and the
folly of people's not staying comfortably at home when
they can! If we were obliged to go out such an evening
as this, by any call of duty or business, what a hardship
we should deem it;-- and here are we, probably with
rather thinner clothing than usual, setting forward voluntarily,
without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature,
which tells man, in every thing given to his view or his
feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all under
shelter that he can;-- here are we setting forward to
spend five dull hours in another man's house, with nothing
to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday,
and may not be said and heard again to-morrow. Going
in dismal weather, to return probably in worse;-- four
horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to
convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and
worse company than they might have had at home."
Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased
assent, which no doubt he was in the habit of receiving,
to emulate the
"Very true, my love,"
which must have
been usually administered by his travelling companion;
AusEmma114
but she had resolution enough to refrain from making any
answer at all. She could not be complying, she dreaded
being quarrelsome; her heroism reached only to silence.
She allowed him to talk, and arranged the glasses, and
wrapped herself up, without opening her lips.
They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let
down, and Mr. Elton, spruce, black, and smiling, was with
them instantly. Emma thought with pleasure of some
change of subject. Mr. Elton was all obligation and
cheerfulness; he was so very cheerful in his civilities
indeed, that she began to think he must have received
a different account of Harriet from what had reached her.
She had sent while dressing, and the answer had been,
"Much the same-- not better."
"My report from Mrs. Goddard's,"
said she presently,
"was not so pleasant as I had hoped-- ""Not better,"" was
my answer."
His face lengthened immediately; and his voice was
the voice of sentiment as he answered.
"Oh! no-- I am grieved to find-- I was on the point
of telling you that when I called at Mrs. Goddard's door,
which I did the very last thing before I returned to dress,
I was told that Miss Smith was not better, by no means
better, rather worse. Very much grieved and concerned--
I had flattered myself that she must be better after such
a cordial as I knew had been given in the morning."
Emma smiled and answered--
"My visit was of use to
the nervous part of her complaint, I hope; but not even
I can charm away a sore throat; it is a most severe cold
indeed. Mr. Perry has been with her, as you probably
heard."
"Yes-- I imagined-- that is-- I did not"--
"He has been used to her in these complaints, and
I hope to-morrow morning will bring us both a more
comfortable report. But it is impossible not to feel
uneasiness. Such a sad loss to our party to-day!"
"Dreadful!-- Exactly so, indeed.-- She will be missed
every moment."
AusEmma115
This was very proper; the sigh which accompanied it
was really estimable; but it should have lasted longer.
Emma was rather in dismay when only half a minute
afterwards he began to speak of other things, and in
a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment.
"What an excellent device,"
said he,
"the use of
a sheep-skin for carriages. How very comfortable they
make it;-- impossible to feel cold with such precautions.
The contrivances of modern days indeed have rendered
a gentleman's carriage perfectly complete. One is so
fenced and guarded from the weather, that not a breath
of air can find its way unpermitted. Weather becomes
absolutely of no consequence. It is a very cold afternoon
-- but in this carriage we know nothing of the matter.--
Ha! snows a little I see."
"Yes,"
said John Knightley,
"and I think we shall
have a good deal of it."
"Christmas weather,"
observed Mr. Elton.
"Quite
seasonable; and extremely fortunate we may think ourselves
that it did not begin yesterday, and prevent this
day's party, which it might very possibly have done, for
Mr. Woodhouse would hardly have ventured had there
been much snow on the ground; but now it is of no
consequence. This is quite the season indeed for friendly
meetings. At Christmas every body invites their friends
about them, and people think little of even the worst
weather. I was snowed up at a friend's house once for
a week. Nothing could be pleasanter. I went for only
one night, and could not get away till that very day
se'nnight."
Mr. John Knightley looked as if he did not comprehend
the pleasure, but said only, coolly,
"I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls."
At another time Emma might have been amused, but
she was too much astonished now at Mr. Elton's spirits
for other feelings. Harriet seemed quite forgotten in the
expectation of a pleasant party.
"We are sure of excellent fires,"
continued he,
"and
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every thing in the greatest comfort. Charming people,
Mr. and Mrs. Weston;-- Mrs. Weston indeed is much
beyond praise, and he is exactly what one values, so
hospitable, and so fond of society;-- it will be a small
party, but where small parties are select, they are perhaps
the most agreeable of any. Mr. Weston's dining-room
does not accommodate more than ten comfortably; and
for my part, I would rather, under such circumstances,
fall short by two than exceed by two. I think you will
agree with me,
(turning with a soft air to Emma,)
I think
I shall certainly have your approbation, though Mr. Knightley
perhaps, from being used to the large parties
of London, may not quite enter into our feelings."
"I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir--
I never dine with any body."
"Indeed!
(in a tone of wonder and pity,)
I had no
idea that the law had been so great a slavery. Well, sir,
the time must come when you will be paid for all this,
when you will have little labour and great enjoyment."
"My first enjoyment,"
replied John Knightley, as they
passed through the sweep-gate,
"will be to find myself
safe at Hartfield again."
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Some change of countenance was necessary for each
gentleman as they walked into Mrs. Weston's drawing-room;--
Mr. Elton must compose his joyous looks, and
Mr. John Knightley disperse his ill-humour. Mr. Elton
must smile less, and Mr. John Knightley more, to fit them
for the place.-- Emma only might be as nature prompted,
and shew herself just as happy as she was. To her, it was
real enjoyment to be with the Westons. Mr. Weston was
a great favourite, and there was not a creature in the
world to whom she spoke with such unreserve, as to his
wife; not any one, to whom she related with such conviction
of being listened to and understood, of being always
interesting and always intelligible, the little affairs,
arrangements, perplexities and pleasures of her father and
herself. She could tell nothing of Hartfield, in which
Mrs. Weston had not a lively concern; and half an hour's
uninterrupted communication of all those little matters
on which the daily happiness of private life depends, was
one of the first gratifications of each.
This was a pleasure which perhaps the whole day's visit
might not afford, which certainly did not belong to the
present half hour; but the very sight of Mrs. Weston, her
smile, her touch, her voice was grateful to Emma, and she
determined to think as little as possible of Mr. Elton's
oddities, or of any thing else unpleasant, and enjoy all
that was enjoyable to the utmost.
The misfortune of Harriet's cold had been pretty well
gone through before her arrival. Mr. Woodhouse had been
safely seated long enough to give the history of it, besides
all the history of his own and Isabella's coming, and of
Emma's being to follow, and had indeed just got to the
end of his satisfaction that James should come and see
his daughter, when the others appeared, and Mrs. Weston,
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who had been almost wholly engrossed by her attentions
to him, was able to turn away and welcome her dear
Emma.
Emma's project of forgetting Mr. Elton for a while,
made her rather sorry to find, when they had all taken their
places, that he was close to her.
The difficulty was great
of driving his strange insensibility towards Harriet, from
her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow, but was
continually obtruding his happy countenance on her
notice, and solicitously addressing her upon every occasion.
Instead of forgetting him, his behaviour was such
that she could not avoid the internal suggestion of "Can
it really be as my brother imagined? can it be possible
for this man to be beginning to transfer his affections from
Harriet to me?-- Absurd and insufferable!" -- Yet he
would be so anxious for her being perfectly warm, would
be so interested about her father, and so delighted with
Mrs. Weston; and at last would begin admiring her
drawings with so much zeal and so little knowledge as
seemed terribly like a would-be lover, and made it some
effort with her to preserve her good manners. For her
own sake she could not be rude; and for Harriet's, in the
hope that all would yet turn out right, she was even
positively civil; but it was an effort; especially as something
was going on amongst the others, in the most overpowering
period of Mr. Elton's nonsense, which she
particularly wished to listen to.
She heard enough to
know that Mr. Weston was giving some information about
his son; she heard the words
"my son,"
and
"Frank,"
and
"my son,"
repeated several times over; and from
a few other half-syllables very much suspected that he
was announcing an early visit from his son; but before
she could quiet Mr. Elton, the subject was so completely
past that any reviving question from her would have been
awkward.
Now, it so happened that in spite of Emma's resolution
of never marrying, there was something in the name, in
the idea of Mr. Frank Churchill, which always interested
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her. She had frequently thought-- especially since his
father's marriage with Miss Taylor-- that if she were to
marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, character
and condition. He seemed by this connection between
the families, quite to belong to her. She could not but
suppose it to be a match that every body who knew them
must think of. That Mr. and Mrs. Weston did think of it,
she was very strongly persuaded; and though not meaning
to be induced by him, or by any body else, to give up
a situation which she believed more replete with good
than any she could change it for, she had a great curiosity
to see him, a decided intention of finding him pleasant,
of being liked by him to a certain degree, and a sort of
pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their friends'
imaginations.
With such sensations, Mr. Elton's civilities were dreadfully
ill-timed; but she had the comfort of appearing
very polite, while feeling very cross-- and of thinking that
the rest of the visit could not possibly pass without bringing
forward the same information again, or the substance
of it, from the open-hearted Mr. Weston.-- So it proved;--
for when happily released from Mr. Elton, and seated by
Mr. Weston, at dinner, he made use of the very first
interval in the cares of hospitality, the very first leisure
from the saddle of mutton, to say to her,
"We want only two more to be just the right number.
I should like to see two more here,-- your pretty little
friend, Miss Smith, and my son-- and then I should say
we were quite complete. I believe you did not hear me
telling the others in the drawing-room that we are expecting
Frank? I had a letter from him this morning, and
he will be with us within a fortnight."
Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure;
and fully assented to his proposition of Mr. Frank Churchill
and Miss Smith making their party quite complete.
"He has been wanting to come to us,"
continued
Mr. Weston,
"ever since September: every letter has
been full of it; but he cannot command his own time.
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He has those to please who must be pleased, and who
(between ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by
a good many sacrifices. But now I have no doubt of
seeing him here about the second week in January."
"What a very great pleasure it will be to you! and
Mrs. Weston is so anxious to be acquainted with him, that
she must be almost as happy as yourself."
"Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there
will be another put-off. She does not depend upon his
coming so much as I do: but she does not know the
parties so well as I do. The case, you see, is--(but this is
quite between ourselves: I did not mention a syllable of
it in the other room. There are secrets in all families, you
know)-- The case is, that a party of friends are invited to
pay a visit at Enscombe in January; and that Frank's
coming depends upon their being put off. If they are not
put off, he cannot stir. But I know they will, because it
is a family that a certain lady, of some consequence, at
Enscombe, has a particular dislike to: and though it is
thought necessary to invite them once in two or three
years, they always are put off when it comes to the point.
I have not the smallest doubt of the issue. I am as
confident of seeing Frank here before the middle of
January, as I am of being here myself: but your good
friend there
(nodding towards the upper end of the table)
has so few vagaries herself, and has been so little used to
them at Hartfield, that she cannot calculate on their
effects, as I have been long in the practice of doing."
"I am sorry there should be any thing like doubt in the
case,"
replied Emma;
"but am disposed to side with you,
Mr. Weston. If you think he will come, I shall think so
too; for you know Enscombe."
"Yes-- I have some right to that knowledge; though
I have never been at the place in my life.-- She is an odd
woman!-- But I never allow myself to speak ill of her, on
Frank's account; for I do believe her to be very fond of
him. I used to think she was not capable of being fond
of any body, except herself: but she has always been
AusEmma121
kind to him (in her way -- allowing for little whims and
caprices, and expecting every thing to be as she likes).
And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to him, that he
should excite such an affection; for, though I would not
say it to any body else, she has no more heart than
a stone to people in general; and the devil of a
temper."
Emma liked the subject so well, that she began upon
it, to Mrs. Weston, very soon after their moving into the
drawing-room:
wishing her joy-- yet observing, that she
knew the first meeting must be rather alarming.--
Mrs. Weston
agreed to it; but added, that
she should be very
glad to be secure of undergoing the anxiety of a first
meeting at the time talked of:
"for I cannot depend
upon his coming. I cannot be so sanguine as Mr. Weston.
I am very much afraid that it will all end in nothing.
Mr. Weston, I dare say, has been telling you exactly how
the matter stands."
"Yes-- it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-humour
of Mrs. Churchill, which I imagine to be the
most certain thing in the world."
"My Emma!"
replied Mrs. Weston, smiling,
"what
is the certainty of caprice?"
Then turning to Isabella,
who had not been attending before--
"You must know,
my dearMrs. Knightley, that we are by no means so sure
of seeing Mr. Frank Churchill, in my opinion, as his father
thinks. It depends entirely upon his aunt's spirits and
pleasure; in short, upon her temper. To you-- to my
two daughters, I may venture on the truth. Mrs. Churchill
rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd-tempered woman;
and his coming now, depends upon her being willing to
spare him."
"Oh, Mrs. Churchill; every body knows Mrs. Churchill,"
replied Isabella:
"and I am sure I never think of that
poor young man without the greatest compassion. To be
constantly living with an ill-tempered person, must be
dreadful. It is what we happily have never known any thing
of; but it must be a life of misery. What a blessing,
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that she never had any children! Poor little creatures,
how unhappy she would have made them!"
Emma wished she had been alone with Mrs. Weston.
She should then have heard more: Mrs. Weston would
speak to her, with a degree of unreserve which she would
not hazard with Isabella; and, she really believed, would
scarcely try to conceal any thing relative to the Churchills
from her, excepting those views on the young man, of
which her own imagination had already given her such
instinctive knowledge.
But at present there was nothing
more to be said. Mr. Woodhouse very soon followed them
into the drawing-room. To be sitting long after dinner,
was a confinement that he could not endure. Neither wine
nor conversation was any thing to him; and gladly did he
move to those with whom he was always comfortable.
While he talked to Isabella, however, Emma found an
opportunity of saying,
"And so you do not consider this visit from your son
as by any means certain. I am sorry for it. The introduction
must be unpleasant, whenever it takes place; and
the sooner it could be over, the better."
"Yes; and every delay makes one more apprehensive
of other delays. Even if this family, the Braithwaites, are
put off, I am still afraid that some excuse may be found
for disappointing us. I cannot bear to imagine any
reluctance on his side; but I am sure there is a great wish
on the Churchills' to keep him to themselves. There is
jealousy. They are jealous even of his regard for his
father. In short, I can feel no dependence on his coming,
and I wish Mr. Weston were less sanguine."
"He ought to come,"
said Emma.
"If he could stay
only a couple of days, he ought to come; and one can
hardly conceive a young man's not having it in his power
to do as much as that. A young woman, if she fall into
bad hands, may be teazed, and kept at a distance from
those she wants to be with; but one cannot comprehend
a young man's being under such restraint, as not be to
able to spend a week with his father, if he likes it."
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"One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways
of the family, before one decides upon what he can do,"
replied Mrs. Weston.
"One ought to use the same caution,
perhaps, in judging of the conduct of any one individual
of any one family; but Enscombe, I believe, certainly
must not be judged by general rules: she is so very
unreasonable; and every thing gives way to her."
"But she is so fond of the nephew: he is so very great
a favourite. Now, according to my idea of Mrs. Churchill,
it would be most natural, that while she makes no sacrifice
for the comfort of the husband, to whom she owes every thing,
while she exercises incessant caprice towards him,
she should frequently be governed by the nephew, to
whom she owes nothing at all."
"My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet
temper, to understand a bad one, or to lay down rules for
it: you must let it go its own way. I have no doubt of
his having, at times, considerable influence; but it may
be perfectly impossible for him to know beforehand when
it will be."
Emma listened, and then coolly said,
"I shall not be
satisfied, unless he comes."
"He may have a great deal of influence on some
points,"
continued Mrs. Weston,
"and on others, very
little: and among those, on which she is beyond his reach,
it is but too likely, may be this very circumstance of his
coming away from them to visit us."
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Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea; and when
he had drank his tea he was quite ready to go home;
and it was as much as his three companions could do, to
entertain away his notice of the lateness of the hour, before
the other gentlemen appeared. Mr. Weston was chatty
and convivial, and no friend to early separations of any
sort; but at last the drawing-room party did receive an
augmentation. Mr. Elton, in very good spirits, was one
of the first to walk in. Mrs. Weston and Emma were
sitting together on a sopha. He joined them immediately,
and with scarcely an invitation, seated himself between
them.
Emma, in good spirits too, from the amusement afforded
her mind by the expectation of Mr. Frank Churchill, was
willing to forget his late improprieties, and be as well
satisfied with him as before, and on his making Harriet
his very first subject, was ready to listen with most
friendly smiles.
He professed himself
extremely anxious about her fair
friend-- her fair, lovely, amiable friend.
"Did she know?
-- had she heard any thing about her, since their being at
Randalls?-- he felt much anxiety-- he must confess that
the nature of her complaint alarmed him considerably."
And in this style he talked on for some time very properly,
not much attending to any answer, but altogether sufficiently
awake to the terror of a bad sore throat; and
Emma was quite in charity with him.
But at last there seemed a perverse turn;
it seemed all
at once as if he were more afraid of its being a bad sore
throat on her account, than on Harriet's-- more anxious
that she should escape the infection, than that there should
be no infection in the complaint. He began with great
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earnestness to entreat her to refrain from visiting the sick
chamber again, for the present-- to entreat her to promise
him not to venture into such hazard till he had seen
Mr. Perry and learnt his opinion; and though she tried
to laugh it off and bring the subject back into its proper
course, there was no putting an end to his extreme
solicitude about her. She was vexed.
It did appear--
there was no concealing it-- exactly like the pretence of
being in love with her, instead of Harriet; an inconstancy,
if real, the most contemptible and abominable!
and she
had difficulty in behaving with temper. He turned to
Mrs. Weston to implore her assistance,
"Would not she
give him her support?-- would not she add her persuasions
to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go to Mrs. Goddard's,
till it were certain that Miss Smith's disorder had
no infection? He could not be satisfied without a promise
-- would not she give him her influence in procuring it?"
"So scrupulous for others,"
he continued,
"and yet
so careless for herself! She wanted me to nurse my cold
by staying at home to-day, and yet will not promise to
avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore throat
herself! Is this fair, Mrs. Weston?-- Judge between us.
Have not I some right to complain? I am sure of your
kind support and aid."
Emma saw Mrs. Weston's surprize, and felt that
it must
be great, at an address which, in words and manner, was
assuming to himself the right of first interest in her; and
as for herself, she was too much provoked and offended
to have the power of directly saying any thing to the
purpose.
She could only give him a look; but it was such
a look as she thought must restore him to his senses; and
then left the sopha, removing to a seat by her sister, and
giving her all her attention.
She had not time to know how Mr. Elton took the
reproof, so rapidly did another subject succeed; for
Mr. John Knightley now came into the room from examining
the weather, and opened on them all with the information
of the ground being covered with snow, and of its
AusEmma126
still snowing fast, with a strong drifting wind; concluding
with these words to Mr. Woodhouse:
"This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter
engagements, sir. Something new for your coachman and
horses to be making their way through a storm of snow."
Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation;
but every body else had something to say; every body
was either surprized or not surprized, and had some
question to ask, or some comfort to offer. Mrs. Weston
and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his
attention from his son-in-law, who was pursuing his
triumph rather unfeelingly.
"I admired your resolution very much, sir,"
said he,
"in venturing out in such weather, for of course you saw
there would be snow very soon. Every body must have
seen the snow coming on. I admired your spirit; and
I dare say we shall get home very well. Another hour
or two's snow can hardly make the road impassable; and
we are two carriages; if one is blown over in the bleak
part of the common field there will be the other at hand.
I dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight."
Mr. Weston, with triumph of a different sort, was
confessing that
he had known it to be snowing some time,
but had not said a word, lest it should make Mr. Woodhouse
uncomfortable, and be an excuse for his hurrying
away. As to there being any quantity of snow fallen or
likely to fall to impede their return, that was a mere joke;
he was afraid they would find no difficulty. He wished
the road might be impassable, that he might be able to
keep them all at Randalls; and with the utmost good-will
was sure that accommodation might be found for every body,
calling on his wife to agree with him, that, with
a little contrivance, every body might be lodged,
which
she hardly knew how to do, from the consciousness of
there being but two spare rooms in the house.
"What is to be done, my dearEmma?-- what is to be
done?"
was Mr. Woodhouse's first exclamation, and all
that he could say for some time. To her he looked for
AusEmma127
comfort; and her assurances of safety, her representation
of the excellence of the horses, and of James, and of their
having so many friends about them, revived him a little.
His eldest daughter's alarm was equal to his own.
The
horror of being blocked up at Randalls, while her children
were at Hartfield, was full in her imagination; and
fancying the road to be now just passable for adventurous
people, but in a state that admitted no delay, she was
eager to have it settled, that her father and Emma should
remain at Randalls, while she and her husband set forward
instantly through all the possible accumulations of drifted
snow that might impede them.
"You had better order the carriage directly, my love,"
said she;
"I dare say we shall be able to get along, if we
set off directly; and if we do come to any thing very bad,
I can get out and walk. I am not at all afraid. I should
not mind walking half the way. I could change my shoes,
you know, the moment I got home; and it is not the sort
of thing that gives me cold."
"Indeed!"
replied he.
"Then, my dearIsabella, it is
the most extraordinary sort of thing in the world, for in
general every thing does give you cold. Walk home!--
you are prettily shod for walking home, I dare say. It
will be bad enough for the horses."
Isabella turned to Mrs. Weston for her approbation of
the plan. Mrs. Weston could only approve. Isabella
then went to Emma; but Emma could not so entirely give
up the hope of their being all able to get away; and they
were still discussing the point, when Mr. Knightley, who
had left the room immediately after his brother's first
report of the snow, came back again, and told them that
he had been out of doors to examine, and could answer
for there not being the smallest difficulty in their getting
home, whenever they liked it, either now or an hour hence.
He had gone beyond the sweep-- some way along the
Highbury road-- the snow was no where above half an
inch deep-- in many places hardly enough to whiten the
ground; a very few flakes were falling at present, but the
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clouds were parting, and there was every appearance of
its being soon over. He had seen the coachmen, and they
both agreed with him in there being nothing to apprehend.
To Isabella, the relief of such tidings was very great,
and they were scarcely less acceptable to Emma on her
father's account, who was immediately set as much at ease
on the subject as his nervous constitution allowed; but
the alarm that had been raised could not be appeased so
as to admit of any comfort for him while he continued at
Randalls. He was satisfied of there being no present
danger in returning home, but no assurances could
convince him that it was safe to stay; and while the
others were variously arguing and recommending, Mr. Knightley
and Emma settled it in a few brief sentences:
thus----
"Your father will not be easy; why do not you go?"
"I am ready, if the others are."
"Shall I ring the bell?"
"Yes, do."
And the bell was rung, and the carriages spoken for. A
few minutes more, and Emma hoped
to see one troublesome
companion deposited in his own house, to get sober
and cool, and the other recover his temper and happiness
when this visit of hardship were over.
The carriages came: and Mr. Woodhouse, always the
first object on such occasions, was carefully attended to
his own by Mr. Knightley and Mr. Weston; but not all
that either could say could prevent some renewal of alarm
at the sight of the snow which had actually fallen, and
the discovery of a much darker night than he had been
prepared for.
"He was afraid they should have a very
bad drive. He was afraid poor Isabella would not like it.
And there would be poor Emma in the carriage behind.
He did not know what they had best do. They must
keep as much together as they could;"
and James was
talked to, and given a charge to
go very slow and wait
for the other carriage.
Isabella stept in after her father; John Knightley,
AusEmma129
forgetting that he did not belong to their party, stept in
after his wife very naturally; so that Emma found, on
being escorted and followed into the second carriage by
Mr. Elton, that the door was to be lawfully shut on them,
and that they were to have a te--te-a`-te--te drive.
It would
not have been the awkwardness of a moment, it would
have been rather a pleasure, previous to the suspicions
of this very day; she could have talked to him of Harriet,
and the three-quarters of a mile would have seemed but
one. But now, she would rather it had not happened.
She believed he had been drinking too much of Mr. Weston's
good wine, and felt sure that he would want to be
talking nonsense.
To restrain him as much as might be, by her own
manners, she was immediately preparing to speak with
exquisite calmness and gravity of the weather and the
night; but scarcely had she begun, scarcely had they
passed the sweep-gate and joined the other carriage, than
she found
her subject cut up-- her hand seized-- her
attention demanded, and Mr. Elton actually making
violent love to her: availing himself of the precious
opportunity, declaring sentiments which must be already
well known, hoping-- fearing-- adoring-- ready to die if
she refused him; but flattering himself that his ardent
attachment and unequalled love and unexampled passion
could not fail of having some effect, and in short, very
much resolved on being seriously accepted as soon as
possible. It really was so. Without scruple-- without
apology-- without much apparent diffidence, Mr. Elton,
the lover of Harriet, was professing himself her lover.
She tried to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and
say it all. Angry as she was, the thought of the moment
made her resolve to restrain herself when she did speak.
She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and
therefore could hope that it might belong only to the
passing hour.
Accordingly, with a mixture of the serious
and the playful, which she hoped would best suit his half
and half state, she replied,
AusEmma130
"I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to me!
you forget yourself-- you take me for my friend-- any
message to Miss Smith I shall be happy to deliver; but
no more of this to me, if you please."
"Miss Smith!-- Message to Miss Smith!-- What could
she possibly mean!"--
And he repeated her words with
such assurance of accent, such boastful pretence of amazement,
that she could not help replying with quickness,
"Mr. Elton, this is the most extraordinary conduct!
and I can account for it only in one way; you are not
yourself, or you could not speak either to me, or of Harriet,
in such a manner. Command yourself enough to say no
more, and I will endeavour to forget it."
But Mr. Elton had only drunk wine enough to elevate
his spirits, not at all to confuse his intellects. He perfectly
knew his own meaning; and having warmly protested
against her suspicion as most injurious, and slightly
touched upon his respect for Miss Smith as her friend,--
but acknowledging his wonder that Miss Smith should be
mentioned at all,-- he resumed the subject of his own
passion, and was very urgent for a favourable answer.
As she thought less of his inebriety, she thought more
of his inconstancy and presumption; and with fewer
struggles for politeness, replied,
"It is impossible for me to doubt any longer. You
have made yourself too clear. Mr. Elton, my astonishment
is much beyond any thing I can express. After such
behaviour, as I have witnessed during the last month, to
Miss Smith-- such attentions as I have been in the daily
habit of observing-- to be addressing me in this manner--
this is an unsteadiness of character, indeed, which I had
not supposed possible! Believe me, sir, I am far, very
far, from gratified in being the object of such professions."
"Good heaven!"
cried Mr. Elton,
"what can be the
meaning of this?-- Miss Smith!-- I never thought of Miss Smith
in the whole course of my existence-- never paid
her any attentions, but as your friend: never cared
whether she were dead or alive, but as your friend. If she
AusEmma131
has fancied otherwise, her own wishes have misled her,
and I am very sorry-- extremely sorry-- But, Miss Smith,
indeed!-- Oh! Miss Woodhouse! who can think of Miss Smith,
when Miss Woodhouse is near! No, upon my
honour, there is no unsteadiness of character. I have
thought only of you. I protest against having paid the
smallest attention to any one else. Every thing that
I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been with
the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself. You
cannot really, seriously, doubt it. No!--
(in an accent
meant to be insinuating)--
I am sure you have seen and
understood me."
It would be impossible to say whatEmma felt, on
hearing this-- which of all her unpleasant sensations was
uppermost. She was too completely overpowered to be
immediately able to reply: and two moments of silence
being ample encouragement for Mr. Elton's sanguine state
of mind, he tried to take her hand again, as he joyously
exclaimed--
"Charming Miss Woodhouse! allow me to interpret
this interesting silence. It confesses that you have long
understood me."
"No, sir,"
cried Emma,
"it confesses no such thing.
So far from having long understood you, I have been in
a most complete error with respect to your views, till this
moment. As to myself, I am very sorry that you should
have been giving way to any feelings---- Nothing could
be farther from my wishes-- your attachment to my friend
Harriet-- your pursuit of her, (pursuit, it appeared,) gave
me great pleasure, and I have been very earnestly wishing
you success: but had I supposed that she were not your
attraction to Hartfield, I should certainly have thought
you judged ill in making your visits so frequent. Am
I to believe that you have never sought to recommend
yourself particularly to Miss Smith?-- that you have
never thought seriously of her?"
"Never, madam,"
cried he, affronted, in his turn:
"never, I assure you. I think seriously of Miss Smith!--
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Miss Smith is a very good sort of girl; and I should be
happy to see her respectably settled. I wish her extremely
well: and, no doubt, there are men who might not object
to---- Every body has their level: but as for myself, I am
not, I think, quite so much at a loss. I need not so totally
despair of an equal alliance, as to be addressing myself
to Miss Smith!-- No, madam, my visits to Hartfield
have been for yourself only; and the encouragement I
received"----
"Encouragement!-- I give you encouragement!-- sir,
you have been entirely mistaken in supposing it. I have
seen you only as the admirer of my friend. In no other
light could you have been more to me than a common
acquaintance. I am exceedingly sorry: but it is well
that the mistake ends where it does. Had the same
behaviour continued, Miss Smith might have been led
into a misconception of your views; not being aware,
probably, any more than myself, of the very great inequality
which you are so sensible of. But, as it is, the disappointment
is single, and, I trust, will not be lasting. I have no
thoughts of matrimony at present."
He was too angry to say another word; her manner
too decided to invite supplication; and in this state of
swelling resentment, and mutually deep mortification,
they had to continue together a few minutes longer, for
the fears of Mr. Woodhouse had confined them to a foot
pace. If there had not been so much anger, there would
have been desperate awkwardness; but their straightforward
emotions left no room for the little zigzags of
embarrassment. Without knowing when the carriage
turned into Vicarage-lane, or when it stopped, they found
themselves, all at once, at the door of his house; and he
was out before another syllable passed.-- Emma then felt
it indispensable to wish him a good night. The compliment
was just returned, coldly and proudly; and, under
indescribable irritation of spirits, she was then conveyed
to Hartfield.
There she was welcomed, with the utmost delight, by
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her father, who had been trembling for
the dangers of
a solitary drive from Vicarage-lane-- turning a corner
which he could never bear to think of-- and in strange
hands-- a mere common coachman-- no James;
and there
it seemed as if her return only were wanted to make every thing
go well: for Mr. John Knightley, ashamed of his ill-humour,
was now all kindness and attention; and so
particularly solicitous for the comfort of her father, as to
seem-- if not quite ready to join him in a basin of gruel--
perfectly sensible of its being exceedingly wholesome;
and the day was concluding in peace and comfort to all
their little party, except herself.-- But her mind had never
been in such perturbation, and it needed a very strong
effort to appear attentive and cheerful till the usual hour
of separating allowed her the relief of quiet reflection.
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The hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and
Emma sat down to think and be miserable.--
It was
a wretched business, indeed!-- Such an overthrow of
every thing she had been wishing for!-- Such a development
of every thing most unwelcome!-- Such a blow for
Harriet!-- That was the worst of all. Every part of it
brought pain and humiliation, of some sort or other; but,
compared with the evil to Harriet, all was light; and she
would gladly have submitted to feel yet more mistaken--
more in error-- more disgraced by mis-judgment, than she
actually was, could the effects of her blunders have been
confined to herself.
"If I had not persuaded Harriet into liking the man, I
could have born any thing. He might have doubled his
presumption to me-- But poor Harriet!"
How she could have been so deceived!-- He protested
that he had never thought seriously of Harriet-- never!
She looked back as well as she could; but it was all
confusion. She had taken up the idea, she supposed, and
made every thing bend to it. His manners, however,
must have been unmarked, wavering, dubious, or she
could not have been so misled.
The picture!-- How eager he had been about the
picture!-- and the charade!-- and an hundred other
circumstances;-- how clearly they had seemed to point
at Harriet. To be sure, the charade, with its "ready
wit"-- but then, the "soft eyes"-- in fact it suited
neither; it was a jumble without taste or truth. Who
could have seen through such thick-headed nonsense?
Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his
manners to herself unnecessarily gallant; but it had
passed as his way, as a mere error of judgment, of knowledge,
of taste, as one proof among others that he had not
AusEmma135
always lived in the best society, that with all the gentleness
of his address, true elegance was sometimes wanting;
but, till this very day, she had never, for an instant,
suspected it to mean any thing but grateful respect to her
as Harriet's friend.
To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first
idea on the subject, for the first start of its possibility.
There was no denying that those brothers had penetration.
She remembered whatMr. Knightley had once said to
her about Mr. Elton, the caution he had given, the conviction
he had professed that Mr. Elton would never
marry indiscreetly; and blushed to think how much
truer a knowledge of his character had been there shewn
than any she had reached herself. It was dreadfully
mortifying; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many
respects, the very reverse of what she had meant and
believed him; proud, assuming, conceited; very full of
his own claims, and little concerned about the feelings of
others.
Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton's wanting
to pay his addresses to her had sunk him in her
opinion. His professions and his proposals did him no
service. She thought nothing of his attachment, and was
insulted by his hopes. He wanted to marry well, and
having the arrogance to raise his eyes to her, pretended
to be in love; but she was perfectly easy as to his not
suffering any disappointment that need be cared for.
There had been no real affection either in his language or
manners. Sighs and fine words had been given in abundance;
but she could hardly devise any set of expressions,
or fancy any tone of voice, less allied with real love.
She need not trouble herself to pity him. He only
wanted to aggrandize and enrich himself; and if Miss Woodhouse
of Hartfield, the heiress of thirty thousand
pounds, were not quite so easily obtained as he had
fancied, he would soon try for Miss Somebody else with
twenty, or with ten.
But-- that he should talk of encouragement, should
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consider her as aware of his views, accepting his attentions,
meaning (in short), to marry him!-- should suppose
himself her equal in connection or mind!-- look down
upon her friend, so well understanding the gradations of
rank below him, and be so blind to what rose above, as
to fancy himself shewing no presumption in addressing
her!-- It was most provoking.
Perhaps it was not fair to expect him to feel how very
much he was her inferior in talent, and all the elegancies
of mind. The very want of such equality might prevent
his perception of it; but he must know that in fortune and
consequence she was greatly his superior. He must know
that the Woodhouses had been settled for several generations
at Hartfield, the younger branch of a very ancient
family-- and that the Eltons were nobody. The landed
property of Hartfield certainly was inconsiderable, being
but a sort of notch in the Donwell Abbey estate, to which
all the rest of Highbury belonged; but their fortune,
from other sources, was such as to make them scarcely
secondary to Donwell Abbey itself, in every other kind of
consequence; and the Woodhouses had long held a high
place in the consideration of the neighbourhood which
Mr. Elton had first entered not two years ago, to make
his way as he could, without any alliances but in trade, or
any thing to recommend him to notice but his situation
and his civility.-- But he had fancied her in love with him;
that evidently must have been his dependence;
and after
raving a little about the seeming incongruity of gentle
manners and a conceited head, Emma was obliged in
common honesty to stop and admit that
her own behaviour
to him had been so complaisant and obliging, so full of
courtesy and attention, as (supposing her real motive
unperceived) might warrant a man of ordinary observation
and delicacy, like Mr. Elton, in fancying himself
a very decided favourite. If she had so misinterpreted his
feelings, she had little right to wonder that he, with self-interest
to blind him, should have mistaken her's.
The first error and the worst lay at her door. It was
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foolish, it was wrong, to take so active a part in bringing
any two people together. It was adventuring too far,
assuming too much, making light of what ought to be
serious, a trick of what ought to be simple. She was
quite concerned and ashamed, and resolved to do such
things no more.
"Here have I,"
said she,
"actually talked poor Harriet
into being very much attached to this man. She might
never have thought of him but for me; and certainly
never would have thought of him with hope, if I had not
assured her of his attachment, for she is as modest and
humble as I used to think him. Oh! that I had been
satisfied with persuading her not to accept young Martin.
There I was quite right. That was well done of me; but
there I should have stopped, and left the rest to time and
chance. I was introducing her into good company, and
giving her the opportunity of pleasing some one worth
having; I ought not to have attempted more. But now,
poor girl, her peace is cut up for some time. I have been
but half a friend to her; and if she were not to feel this
disappointment so very much, I am sure I have not an
idea of any body else who would be at all desirable for her;
-- William Coxe-- Oh! no, I could not endure William Coxe--
a pert young lawyer."
She stopt to blush and laugh at her own relapse, and
then resumed a more serious, more dispiriting cogitation
upon what had been, and might be, and must be. The
distressing explanation she had to make to Harriet, and
all that poor Harriet would be suffering, with the awkwardness
of future meetings, the difficulties of continuing or
discontinuing the acquaintance, of subduing feelings,
concealing resentment, and avoiding eclat, were enough
to occupy her in most unmirthful reflections some time
longer, and she went to bed at last with nothing settled
but the conviction of her having blundered most dreadfully.
To youth and natural cheerfulness like Emma's, though
under temporary gloom at night, the return of day will
hardly fail to bring return of spirits. The youth and
AusEmma138
cheerfulness of morning are in happy analogy, and of
powerful operation; and if the distress be not poignant
enough to keep the eyes unclosed, they will be sure to
open to sensations of softened pain and brighter hope.
Emma got up on the morrow more disposed for comfort
than she had gone to bed, more ready to see alleviations
of the evil before her, and to depend on getting tolerably
out of it.
It was a great consolation that Mr. Elton should not be
really in love with her, or so particularly amiable as to
make it shocking to disappoint him-- that Harriet's
nature should not be of that superior sort in which the
feelings are most acute and retentive-- and that there
could be no necessity for any body's knowing what had
passed except the three principals, and especially for her
father's being given a moment's uneasiness about it.
These were very cheering thoughts; and the sight of
a great deal of snow on the ground did her further service,
for any thing was welcome that might justify their all
three being quite asunder at present.
The weather was most favourable for her; though
Christmas-day, she could not go to church. Mr. Woodhouse
would have been miserable had his daughter
attempted it, and she was therefore safe from either
exciting or receiving unpleasant and most unsuitable
ideas. The ground covered with snow, and the atmosphere
in that unsettled state between frost and thaw, which is
of all others the most unfriendly for exercise, every morning
beginning in rain or snow, and every evening setting
in to freeze, she was for many days a most honourable
prisoner. No intercourse with Harriet possible but by
note; no church for her on Sunday any more than on
Christmas-day; and no need to find excuses for Mr. Elton's
absenting himself.
It was weather which might fairly confine every body
at home; and though she hoped and believed him to be
really taking comfort in some society or other, it was very
pleasant to have her father so well satisfied with his being
AusEmma139
all alone in his own house, too wise to stir out; and to
hear him say to Mr. Knightley, whom no weather could
keep entirely from them,--
"Ah! Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home
like poor Mr. Elton?"
These days of confinement would have been, but for
her private perplexities, remarkably comfortable, as such
seclusion exactly suited her brother, whose feelings must
always be of great importance to his companions; and he
had, besides, so thoroughly cleared off his ill-humour at
Randalls, that his amiableness never failed him during
the rest of his stay at Hartfield. He was always agreeable
and obliging, and speaking pleasantly of every body.
But with all the hopes of cheerfulness, and all the present
comfort of delay, there was still such an evil hanging over
her in the hour of explanation with Harriet, as made it
impossible for Emma to be ever perfectly at ease.
AusEmma140
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were not detained long
at Hartfield. The weather soon improved enough for
those to move who must move; and Mr. Woodhouse
having, as usual, tried to persuade his daughter to stay
behind with all her children, was obliged to see the whole
party set off, and return to his lamentations over the
destiny of poor Isabella;-- which poor Isabella, passing
her life with those she doated on, full of their merits, blind
to their faults, and always innocently busy, might have
been a model of right feminine happiness.
The evening of the very day on which they went,
brought a note from Mr. Elton to Mr. Woodhouse, a long,
civil, ceremonious note, to say, with Mr. Elton's best
compliments,
"that he was proposing to leave Highbury
the following morning in his way to Bath, where, in
compliance with the pressing entreaties of some friends,
he had engaged to spend a few weeks, and very much
regretted the impossibility he was under, from various
circumstances of weather and business, of taking a personal
leave of Mr. Woodhouse, of whose friendly civilities he
should ever retain a grateful sense-- and had Mr. Woodhouse
any commands, should be happy to attend to
them."
Emma was most agreeably surprized.--
Mr. Elton's
absence just at this time was the very thing to be desired.
She admired him for contriving it, though not able to give
him much credit for the manner in which it was announced.
Resentment could not have been more plainly spoken
than in a civility to her father, from which she was so
pointedly excluded. She had not even a share in his
opening compliments.-- Her name was not mentioned;--
and there was so striking a change in all this, and such an
ill-judged solemnity of leave-taking in his grateful acknowledgments,
AusEmma141
as she thought, at first, could not escape her
father's suspicion.
It did however.-- Her father was quite taken up with the
surprize of so sudden a journey, and his fears that Mr. Elton
might never get safely to the end of it, and saw
nothing extraordinary in his language. It was a very
useful note, for it supplied them with fresh matter for
thought and conversation during the rest of their lonely
evening. Mr. Woodhouse talked over his alarms, and
Emma was in spirits to persuade them away with all her
usual promptitude.
She now resolved to keep Harriet no longer in the dark.
She had reason to believe her nearly recovered from her
cold, and it was desirable that she should have as much
time as possible for getting the better of her other complaint
before the gentleman's return. She went to
Mrs. Goddard's the very next day, to undergo
the necessary penance of communication; and a severe
one it was.-- She had to destroy all the hopes which she
had been so industriously feeding-- to appear in the
ungracious character of the one preferred-- and acknowledge
herself grossly mistaken and mis-judging in all her
ideas on one subject, all her observations, all her convictions,
all her prophesies for the last six weeks.
The confession completely renewed her first shame--
and the sight of Harriet's tears made her think that she
should never be in charity with herself again.
Harriet bore the intelligence very well-- blaming
nobody-- and in every thing testifying such an ingenuousness
of disposition and lowly opinion of herself, as must
appear with particular advantage at that moment to her
friend.
Emma was in the humour to value simplicity and
modesty to the utmost;
and all that was amiable, all that
ought to be attaching, seemed on Harriet's side, not her
own. Harriet did not consider herself as having any thing
to complain of.
The affection of such a man as
Mr. Elton would have been too great a distinction.-- She
AusEmma142
never could have deserved him -- and nobody but so
partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would have
thought it possible.
Her tears fell abundantly-- but her grief was so truly
artless, that no dignity could have made it more respectable
in Emma's eyes-- and she listened to her and tried
to console her with all her heart and understanding--
really for the time convinced that Harriet was the superior
creature of the two-- and that to resemble her would be
more for her own welfare and happiness than all that
genius or intelligence could do.
It was rather too late in the day to set about being simple-minded
and ignorant; but she left her with every previous
resolution confirmed of being humble and discreet, and
repressing imagination all the rest of her life. Her second
duty now, inferior only to her father's claims, was to
promote Harriet's comfort, and endeavour to prove her
own affection in some better method than by match-making.
She got her to Hartfield, and shewed her the
most unvarying kindness, striving to occupy and amuse
her, and by books and conversation, to drive Mr. Elton
from her thoughts.
Time, she knew, must be allowed for this being
thoroughly done; and she could suppose herself but an
indifferent judge of such matters in general, and very
inadequate to sympathize in an attachment to Mr. Elton
in particular; but it seemed to her reasonable that at
Harriet's age, and with the entire extinction of all hope,
such a progress might be made towards a state of composure
by the time of Mr. Elton's return, as to allow them
all to meet again in the common routine of acquaintance,
without any danger of betraying sentiments or increasing
them.
Harriet did think him all perfection, and maintain the
non-existence of any body equal to him in person or goodness
-- and did, in truth, prove herself more resolutely in
love than Emma had foreseen; but yet it appeared to her
so natural, so inevitable to strive against an inclination of
AusEmma143
that sort unrequited, that she could not comprehend its
continuing very long in equal force.
If Mr. Elton, on his return, made his own indifference
as evident and indubitable as she could not doubt he would
anxiously do, she could not imagine Harriet's persisting
to place her happiness in the sight or the recollection of
him.
Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in the same place,
was bad for each, for all three. Not one of them had the
power of removal, or of effecting any material change of
society. They must encounter each other, and make the
best of it.
Harriet was further unfortunate in the tone of her
companions at Mrs. Goddard's; Mr. Elton being the
adoration of all the teachers and great girls in the school;
and it must be at Hartfield only that she could have any
chance of hearing him spoken of with cooling moderation
or repellant truth. Where the wound had been given, there
must the cure be found if anywhere; and Emma felt that,
till she saw her in the way of cure, there could be no true
peace for herself.
AusEmma144
Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. When the time
proposed drew near, Mrs. Weston's fears were justified in
the arrival of a letter of excuse. For the present, he could
not be spared, to his
"very great mortification and
regret; but still he looked forward with the hope of
coming to Randalls at no distant period."
Mrs. Weston was exceedingly disappointed-- much
more disappointed, in fact, than her husband, though her
dependence on seeing the young man had been so much
more sober: but a sanguine temper, though for ever
expecting more good than occurs, does not always pay
for its hopes by any proportionate depression. It soon
flies over the present failure, and begins to hope again.
For half an hour Mr. Weston was surprized and sorry;
but then he began to perceive that Frank's coming two or
three months later would be a much better plan; better
time of year; better weather; and that he would be
able, without any doubt, to stay considerably longer with
them than if he had come sooner.
These feelings rapidly restored his comfort, while
Mrs. Weston, of a more apprehensive disposition, foresaw
nothing but a repetition of excuses and delays; and after
all her concern for what her husband was to suffer,
suffered a great deal more herself.
Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care
really about Mr. Frank Churchill's not coming, except as
a disappointment at Randalls.
The acquaintance at
present had no charm for her. She wanted, rather, to be
quiet, and out of temptation;
but still, as it was desirable
that she should appear, in general, like her usual self, she
took care to express as much interest in the circumstance,
and enter as warmly into Mr. and Mrs. Weston's disappointment,
as might naturally belong to their friendship.
AusEmma145
She was the first to announce it to Mr. Knightley; and
exclaimed quite as much as was necessary, (or, being
acting a part, perhaps rather more,) at the conduct of the
Churchills, in keeping him away. She then proceeded to
say a good deal more than she felt, of
the advantage of
such an addition to their confined society in Surry; the
pleasure of looking at some body new; the gala-day to
Highbury entire, which the sight of him would have made;
and ending with reflections on the Churchills again, found
herself directly involved in a disagreement with Mr. Knightley;
and, to her great amusement, perceived that
she was taking the other side of the question from her real
opinion, and making use of Mrs. Weston's arguments
against herself.
"The Churchills are very likely in fault,"
said Mr. Knightley,
coolly;
"but I dare say he might come if he
would."
"I do not know why you should say so. He wishes
exceedingly to come; but his uncle and aunt will not
spare him."
"I cannot believe that he has not the power of coming,
if he made a point of it. It is too unlikely, for me to
believe it without proof."
"How odd you are! What has Mr. Frank Churchill done,
to make you suppose him such an unnatural creature?"
"I am not supposing him at all an unnatural creature,
in suspecting that he may have learnt to be above his
connections, and to care very little for any thing but his
own pleasure, from living with those who have always set
him the example of it. It is a great deal more natural
than one could wish, that a young man, brought up by
those who are proud, luxurious, and selfish, should be
proud, luxurious, and selfish too. If Frank Churchill had
wanted to see his father, he would have contrived it
between September and January. A man at his age--
what is he?-- three or four-and-twenty-- cannot be without
the means of doing as much as that. It is impossible."
"That's easily said, and easily felt by you, who have
AusEmma146
always been your own master. You are the worst judge
in the world, Mr. Knightley, of the difficulties of dependence.
You do not know what it is to have tempers to
manage."
"It is not to be conceived that a man of three or four-and-twenty
should not have liberty of mind or limb to
that amount. He cannot want money-- he cannot want
leisure. We know, on the contrary, that he has so much
of both, that he is glad to get rid of them at the idlest
haunts in the kingdom. We hear of him for ever at some
watering-place or other. A little while ago, he was at
Weymouth. This proves that he can leave the Churchills
"Yes, sometimes he can."
"And those times are, whenever he thinks it worth his
while; whenever there is any temptation of pleasure."
"It is very unfair to judge of any body's conduct,
without an intimate knowledge of their situation. Nobody,
who has not been in the interior of a family, can say what
the difficulties of any individual of that family may be.
We ought to be acquainted with Enscombe, and with
Mrs. Churchill's temper, before we pretend to decide upon
what her nephew can do. He may, at times, be able to
do a great deal more than he can at others."
"There is one thing, Emma, which a man can always
do, if he chuses, and that is, his duty; not by mano euvring
and finessing, but by vigour and resolution. It is Frank Churchill's
duty to pay this attention to his father. He
knows it to be so, by his promises and messages; but if
he wished to do it, it might be done. A man who felt
rightly would say at once, simply and resolutely, to
Mrs. Churchill-- ""Every sacrifice of mere pleasure you will
always find me ready to make to your convenience; but
I must go and see my father immediately. I know he
would be hurt by my failing in such a mark of respect to
him on the present occasion. I shall, therefore, set off
to-morrow.""-- If he would say so to her at once, in the
tone of decision becoming a man, there would be no
opposition made to his going."
AusEmma147
"No,"
said Emma, laughing;
"but perhaps there
might be some made to his coming back again. Such
language for a young man entirely dependent, to use!--
Nobody but you, Mr. Knightley, would imagine it possible.
But you have not an idea of what is requisite in situations
directly opposite to your own. Mr. Frank Churchill to
be making such a speech as that to the uncle and aunt,
who have brought him up, and are to provide for him!--
Standing up in the middle of the room, I suppose, and
speaking as loud as he could!-- How can you imagine such
conduct practicable?"
"Depend upon it, Emma, a sensible man would find
no difficulty in it. He would feel himself in the right;
and the declaration-- made, of course, as a man of sense
would make it, in a proper manner-- would do him more
good, raise him higher, fix his interest stronger with the
people he depended on, than all that a line of shifts and
expedients can ever do. Respect would be added to
affection. They would feel that they could trust him;
that the nephew, who had done rightly by his father,
would do rightly by them; for they know, as well as he
does, as well as all the world must know, that he ought
to pay this visit to his father; and while meanly exerting
their power to delay it, are in their hearts not thinking
the better of him for submitting to their whims. Respect
for right conduct is felt by every body. If he would act
in this sort of manner, on principle, consistently, regularly,
their little minds would bend to his."
"I rather doubt that. You are very fond of bending
little minds; but where little minds belong to rich people
in authority, I think they have a knack of swelling out,
till they are quite as unmanageable as great ones. I can
imagine, that if you, as you are, Mr. Knightley, were to be
transported and placed all at once in Mr. Frank Churchill's
situation, you would be able to say and do just what you
have been recommending for him; and it might have
a very good effect. The Churchills might not have a word
to say in return; but then, you would have no habits of
AusEmma148
early obedience and long observance to break through.
To him who has, it might not be so easy to burst forth
at once into perfect independence, and set all their claims
on his gratitude and regard at nought. He may have as
strong a sense of what would be right, as you can have,
without being so equal under particular circumstances
to act up to it."
"Then, it would not be so strong a sense. If it failed
to produce equal exertion, it could not be an equal
conviction."
"Oh! the difference of situation and habit! I wish
you would try to understand what an amiable young man
may be likely to feel in directly opposing those, whom as
child and boy he has been looking up to all his life."
"Your amiable young man is a very weak young man,
if this be the first occasion of his carrying through a resolution
to do right against the will of others. It ought to
have been an habit with him by this time, of following his
duty, instead of consulting expediency. I can allow for
the fears of the child, but not of the man. As he became
rational, he ought to have roused himself and shaken off
all that was unworthy in their authority. He ought to
have opposed the first attempt on their side to make him
slight his father. Had he begun as he ought, there would
have been no difficulty now."
"We shall never agree about him,"
cried Emma;
"but
that is nothing extraordinary. I have not the least idea
of his being a weak young man: I feel sure that he is not.
Mr. Weston would not be blind to folly, though in his own
son; but he is very likely to have a more yielding, complying,
mild disposition than would suit your notions of
man's perfection. I dare say he has; and though it may
cut him off from some advantages, it will secure him
many others."
"Yes; all the advantages of sitting still when he ought
to move, and of leading a life of mere idle pleasure, and
fancying himself extremely expert in finding excuses for
it. He can sit down and write a fine flourishing letter, full
AusEmma149
of professions and falsehoods, and persuade himself that
he has hit upon the very best method in the world of
preserving peace at home and preventing his father's
having any right to complain. His letters disgust
me."
"Your feelings are singular. They seem to satisfy
every body else."
"I suspect they do not satisfy Mrs. Weston. They
hardly can satisfy a woman of her good sense and quick
feelings: standing in a mother's place, but without
a mother's affection to blind her. It is on her account
that attention to Randalls is doubly due, and she must
doubly feel the omission. Had she been a person of
consequence herself, he would have come I dare say; and
it would not have signified whether he did or no. Can you
think your friend behind-hand in these sort of considerations?
Do you suppose she does not often say all this to
herself? No, Emma, your amiable young man can be
amiable only in French, not in English. He may be very
""aimable,"" have very good manners, and be very agreeable;
but he can have no English delicacy towards the
feelings of other people: nothing really amiable about
him."
"You seem determined to think ill of him."
"Me!-- not at all,"
replied Mr. Knightley, rather
displeased;
"I do not want to think ill of him. I should
be as ready to acknowledge his merits as any other man;
but I hear of none, except what are merely personal; that
he is well grown and good-looking, with smooth, plausible
manners."
"Well, if he have nothing else to recommend him, he
will be a treasure at Highbury. We do not often look
upon fine young men, well-bred and agreeable. We must
not be nice and ask for all the virtues into the bargain.
Cannot you imagine, Mr. Knightley, what a sensation his
coming will produce? There will be but one subject
throughout the parishes of Donwell and Highbury; but
one interest-- one object of curiosity; it will be all Mr. Frank Churchill;
AusEmma150
we shall think and speak of nobody
else."
"You will excuse my being so much overpowered. If
I find him conversible, I shall be glad of his acquaintance;
but if he is only a chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy
much of my time or thoughts."
"My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation
to the taste of every body, and has the power as well as
the wish of being universally agreeable. To you, he will
talk of farming; to me, of drawing or music; and so on
to every body, having that general information on all
subjects which will enable him to follow the lead, or take
the lead, just as propriety may require, and to speak
extremely well on each; that is my idea of him."
"And mine,"
said Mr. Knightley warmly,
"is, that if
he turn out any thing like it, he will be the most insufferable
fellow breathing! What! at three-and-twenty to
be the king of his company-- the great man-- the practised
politician, who is to read every body's character, and
make every body's talents conduce to the display of his
own superiority; to be dispensing his flatteries around,
that he may make all appear like fools compared with
himself! My dearEmma, your own good sense could
not endure such a puppy when it came to the point."
"I will say no more about him,"
cried Emma,
"you
turn every thing to evil. We are both prejudiced; you
against, I for him; and we have no chance of agreeing
till he is really here."
"Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced."
"But I am very much, and without being at all
ashamed of it. My love for Mr. and Mrs. Weston gives me
a decided prejudice in his favour."
"He is a person I never think of from one month's end
to another,"
said Mr. Knightley, with a degree of vexation,
which made Emma immediately talk of something else,
though she could not comprehend why he should be
angry.
To take a dislike to a young man, only because he
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appeared to be of a different disposition from himself, was
unworthy the real liberality of mind which she was
always used to acknowledge in him; for with all the high
opinion of himself, which she had often laid to his charge,
she had never before for a moment supposed it could
make him unjust to the merit of another.
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Emma and Harriet had been walking together one morning,
and, in Emma's opinion, been talking enough of Mr. Elton
for that day. She could not think that Harriet's solace
or her own sins required more; and she was therefore
industriously getting rid of the subject as they returned;--
but it burst out again when she thought she had succeeded,
and after speaking some time of what the poor must suffer
in winter, and receiving no other answer than a very
plaintive--
"Mr. Elton is so good to the poor!"
she found
something else must be done.
They were just approaching the house where lived Mrs.
and Miss Bates. She determined to call upon them and
seek safety in numbers. There was always sufficient reason
for such an attention; Mrs. and Miss Bates loved to be
called on, and she knew she was considered by the very
few who presumed ever to see imperfection in her, as
rather negligent in that respect, and as not contributing
what she ought to the stock of their scanty comforts.
She had had many a hint from Mr. Knightley and some
from her own heart, as to her deficiency-- but none were
equal to counteract the persuasion of its being
very
disagreeable,-- a waste of time-- tiresome women-- and all
the horror of being in danger of falling in with the second
rate and third rate of Highbury, who were calling on them
for ever,
and therefore she seldom went near them. But
now she made the sudden resolution of not passing their
door without going in-- observing, as she proposed it to
Harriet, that,
as well as she could calculate, they were
just now quite safe from any letter from Jane Fairfax.
The house belonged to people in business. Mrs. and
Miss Bates occupied the drawing-room floor; and there,
in the very moderate sized apartment, which was every thing
to them, the visitors were most cordially and even
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gratefully welcomed; the quiet neat old lady, who with
her knitting was seated in the warmest corner, wanting
even to give up her place to Miss Woodhouse, and her
more active, talking daughter, almost ready to overpower
them with care and kindness, thanks for their visit,
solicitude for their shoes, anxious inquiries after Mr. Woodhouse's
health, cheerful communications about her
mother's, and sweet-cake from the beaufet--
"Mrs. Cole
had just been there, just called in for ten minutes, and
had been so good as to sit an hour with them, and she had
taken a piece of cake and been so kind as to say she liked it
very much; and therefore she hoped Miss Woodhouse and
Miss Smith would do them the favour to eat a piece too."
The mention of the Coles was sure to be followed by
that of Mr. Elton. There was intimacy between them,
and Mr. Cole had heard from Mr. Elton since his going
away. Emma knew what was coming;
they must have
the letter over again, and settle how long he had been
gone, and how much he was engaged in company, and
what a favourite he was wherever he went, and how full
the Master of the Ceremonies' ball had been;
and she
went through it very well, with all the interest and all the
commendation that could be requisite, and always putting
forward to prevent Harriet's being obliged to say a word.
This she had been prepared for when she entered the
house; but meant, having once talked him handsomely
over, to be no farther incommoded by any troublesome
topic, and to wander at large amongst all the Mistresses
and Misses of Highbury and their card-parties. She had
not been prepared to have Jane Fairfax succeed Mr. Elton;
but he was actually hurried off by Miss Bates, she jumped
away from him at last abruptly to the Coles, to usher in
a letter from her niece.
"Oh! yes-- Mr. Elton, I understood-- certainly as to
dancing-- Mrs. Cole was telling me that dancing at the
rooms at Bath was---- Mrs. Cole was so kind as to sit some
time with us, talking of Jane; for as soon as she came in,
she began inquiring after her, Jane is so very great
AusEmma157
a favourite there. Whenever she is with us, Mrs. Cole
does not know how to shew her kindness enough; and
I must say that Jane deserves it as much as anybody can.
And so she began inquiring after her directly, saying,
""I know you cannot have heard from Jane lately, because
it is not her time for writing;""
and when I immediately
said, ""But indeed we have, we had a letter this very
morning,"" I do not know that I ever saw anybody more
surprized.
""Have you, upon your honour!""
said she;
"well, that is quite unexpected. Do let me hear what
she says."
Emma's politeness was at hand directly, to say, with
smiling interest--
"Have you heard from Miss Fairfax so lately? I am
extremely happy. I hope she is well?"
"Thank you. You are so kind!"
replied the happily
deceived aunt, while eagerly hunting for the letter.--
"Oh!
here it is. I was sure it could not be far off; but I had
put my huswife upon it, you see, without being aware,
and so it was quite hid, but I had it in my hand so very
lately that I was almost sure it must be on the table. I was
reading it to Mrs. Cole, and since she went away, I was
reading it again to my mother, for it is such a pleasure to
her-- a letter from Jane-- that she can never hear it often
enough; so I knew it could not be far off, and here it is,
only just under my huswife-- and since you are so kind as
to wish to hear what she says;-- but, first of all, I really
must, in justice to Jane, apologise for her writing so short
a letter-- only two pages you see-- hardly two-- and in
general she fills the whole paper and crosses half. My
mother often wonders that I can make it out so well.
She often says, when the letter is first opened,
"Well,
Hetty, now I think you will be put to it to make out all
that chequer-work"--
don't you, ma'am?-- And then I tell
her, I am sure she would contrive to make it out herself,
if she had nobody to do it for her-- every word of it -- I am
sure she would pore over it till she had made out every
word. And, indeed, though my mother's eyes are not so
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good as they were, she can see amazingly well still, thank
God! with the help of spectacles. It is such a blessing!
My mother's are really very good indeed. Jane often
says, when she is here,
""I am sure, grandmama, you must
have had very strong eyes to see as you do-- and so much
fine work as you have done too!-- I only wish my eyes
may last me as well.""
All this spoken extremely fast obliged Miss Bates to
stop for breath; and Emma said something very civil
about the excellence of Miss Fairfax's handwriting.
"You are extremely kind,"
replied Miss Bates highly
gratified;
"you who are such a judge, and write so
beautifully yourself. I am sure there is nobody's praise
that could give us so much pleasure as Miss Woodhouse's.
My mother does not hear; she is a little deaf you know.
Ma'am,"
addressing her,
"do you hear whatMiss Woodhouse
is so obliging to say about Jane's handwriting?"
And Emma had the advantage of hearing her own silly
compliment repeated twice over before the good old lady
could comprehend it. She was pondering, in the mean while,
upon the possibility, without seeming very rude,
of making her escape from Jane Fairfax's letter, and had
almost resolved on hurrying away directly under some
slight excuse, when Miss Bates turned to her again and
seized her attention.
"My mother's deafness is very trifling you see-- just
nothing at all. By only raising my voice, and saying
anything two or three times over, she is sure to hear; but
then she is used to my voice. But it is very remarkable
that she should always hear Jane better than she does me.
Jane speaks so distinct! However, she will not find her
grandmama at all deafer than she was two years ago;
which is saying a great deal at my mother's time of life--
and it really is full two years, you know, since she was
here. We never were so long without seeing her before,
and as I was telling Mrs. Cole, we shall hardly know how
to make enough of her now."
"Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon?"
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"Oh, yes; next week."
"Indeed!-- That must be a very great pleasure."
"Thank you, You are very kind. Yes, next week.
Every body is so surprized; and every body says the same
obliging things. I am sure she will be as happy to see her
friends at Highbury, as they can be to see her. Yes,
Friday or Saturday; she cannot say which, because
Colonel Campbell will be wanting the carriage himself one
of those days. So very good of them to send her the whole
way! But they always do, you know. Oh, yes, Friday
or Saturday next. That is what she writes about. That
is the reason of her writing out of rule, as we call it; for
in the common course, we should not have heard from
her before next Tuesday or Wednesday."
"Yes, so I imagined. I was afraid there could be little
chance of my hearing any thing of Miss Fairfax to-day."
"So obliging of you! No, we should not have heard,
if it had not been for this particular circumstance, of her
being to come here so soon. My mother is so delighted!--
for she is to be three months with us at least. Three
months, she says so, positively, as I am going to have the
pleasure of reading to you. The case is, you see, that the
Campbells are going to Ireland. Mrs. Dixon has persuaded
her father and mother to come over and see her directly.
They had not intended to go over till the summer, but
she is so impatient to see them again-- for till she married,
last October, she was never away from them so much as
a week, which must make it very strange to be in different
kingdoms, I was going to say, but however different
countries, and so she wrote a very urgent letter to her
mother-- or her father, I declare I do not know which it
was, but we shall see presently in Jane's letter-- wrote in
Mr. Dixon's name as well as her own, to press their coming
over directly, and they would give them the meeting in
Dublin, and take them back to their country-seat, Balycraig,
a beautiful place, I fancy. Jane has heard a great
deal of its beauty; from Mr. Dixon I mean-- I do not know
that she ever heard about it from any body else; but it
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was very natural, you know, that he should like to speak
of his own place while he was paying his addresses-- and
as Jane used to be very often walking out with them-- for
Colonel and Mrs. Campbell were very particular about
their daughter's not walking out often with only Mr. Dixon,
for which I do not at all blame them; of course she heard
everything he might be telling Miss Campbell about his
own home in Ireland. And I think she wrote us word
that he had shewn them some drawings of the place, views
that he had taken himself. He is a most amiable, charming
young man, I believe. Jane was quite longing to go
to Ireland, from his account of things."
At this moment, an ingenious and animating suspicion
entering Emma's brain with regard to Jane Fairfax, this
charming Mr. Dixon, and the not going to Ireland, she
said, with the insidious design of further discovery,
"You must feel it very fortunate that Miss Fairfax
should be allowed to come to you at such a time. Considering
the very particular friendship between her and
Mrs. Dixon, you could hardly have expected her to be
excused from accompanying Colonel and Mrs. Campbell."
"Very true, very true, indeed. The very thing that we
have always been rather afraid of; for we should not have
liked to have her at such a distance from us, for months
together-- not able to come if anything was to happen.
But you see, every thing turns out for the best. They
want her (Mr. and Mrs. Dixon) excessively to come over
with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell; quite depend upon it;
nothing can be more kind or pressing than their joint
invitation, Jane says, as you will hear presently; Mr. Dixon
does not seem in the least backward in any attention.
He is a most charming young man. Ever since the
service he rendered Jane at Weymouth, when they were
out in that party on the water, and she, by the sudden
whirling round of something or other among the sails,
would have been dashed into the sea at once, and actually
was all but gone, if he had not, with the greatest presence
of mind, caught hold of her habit-- (I can never think of it
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without trembling!)-- But ever since we had the history
of that day, I have been so fond of Mr. Dixon!"
"But, in spite of all her friend's urgency, and her own
wish of seeing Ireland, Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the
time to you and Mrs. Bates?"
"Yes-- entirely her own doing, entirely her own choice;
and Colonel and Mrs. Campbell think she does quite right,
just what they should recommend; and indeed they particularly
wish her to try her native air, as she has not been
quite so well as usual lately."
"I am concerned to hear of it. I think they judge wisely.
But Mrs. Dixon must be very much disappointed. Mrs. Dixon,
I understand, has no remarkable degree of personal
beauty; is not, by any means, to be compared with
Miss Fairfax."
"Oh! no. You are very obliging to say such things--
but certainly not. There is no comparison between them.
Miss Campbell always was absolutely plain-- but extremely
elegant and amiable."
"Yes, that of course."
"Jane caught a bad cold, poor thing! so long ago as
the 7th November, (as I am going to read to you,) and
has never been well since. A long time, is not it, for a cold
to hang upon her? She never mentioned it before, because
she would not alarm us. Just like her! so considerate!--
But however, she is so far from well, that her kind friends
the Campbells think she had better come home, and try an
air that always agrees with her; and they have no doubt
that three or four months at Highbury will entirely cure
her-- and it is certainly a great deal better that she should
come here, than go to Ireland, if she is unwell. Nobody
could nurse her, as we should do."
"It appears to me the most desirable arrangement in
the world."
"And so she is to come to us next Friday or Saturday,
and the Campbells leave town in their way to Holyhead
the Monday following-- as you will find from Jane's letter.
So sudden!-- You may guess, dearMiss Woodhouse, what
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a flurry it has thrown me in! If it was not for the drawback
of her illness-- but I am afraid we must expect to
see her grown thin, and looking very poorly. I must tell
you what an unlucky thing happened to me, as to that.
I always make a point of reading Jane's letters through to
myself first, before I read them aloud to my mother, you
know, for fear of there being any thing in them to distress
her. Jane desired me to do it, so I always do: and so I
began to-day with my usual caution; but no sooner did
I come to the mention of her being unwell, than I burst
out quite frightened with, ""Bless me! poor Jane is ill!""--
which my mother, being on the watch, heard distinctly,
and was sadly alarmed at. However, when I read on, I
found it was not near so bad as I fancied at first; and I
make so light of it now to her, that she does not think much
about it. But I cannot imagine how I could be so off my
guard! If Jane does not get well soon, we will call in
Mr. Perry. The expense shall not be thought of; and
though he is so liberal, and so fond of Jane that I dare say
he would not mean to charge anything for attendance, we
could not suffer it to be so, you know. He has a wife and
family to maintain, and is not to be giving away his time.
Well, now I have just given you a hint of whatJane writes
about, we will turn to her letter, and I am sure she tells her
own story a great deal better than I can tell it for her."
"I am afraid we must be running away,"
said Emma,
glancing at Harriet, and beginning to rise--
"My father
will be expecting us. I had no intention, I thought I had
no power of staying more than five minutes, when I first
entered the house. I merely called, because I would not
pass the door without inquiring after Mrs. Bates; but I
have been so pleasantly detained! Now, however, we
must wish you and Mrs. Bates good morning."
And not all that could be urged to detain her succeeded.
She regained the street-- happy in this, that though much
had been forced on her against her will, though she had in
fact heard the whole substance of Jane Fairfax's letter,
she had been able to escape the letter itself.
AusEmma163
Jane Fairfax was an orphan, the only child of Mrs. Bates's
youngest daughter.
The marriage of Lieut. Fairfax, of the ---- regiment of
infantry, and Miss Jane Bates, had had its day of fame
and pleasure, hope and interest; but nothing now remained
of it, save the melancholy remembrance of him
dying in action abroad-- of his widow sinking under consumption
and grief soon afterwards-- and this girl.
By birth she belonged to Highbury: and when at three
years old, on losing her mother, she became the property,
the charge, the consolation, the fondling of her grandmother
and aunt, there had seemed every probability of
her being permanently fixed there; of her being taught
only what very limited means could command, and growing
up with no advantages of connection or improvement
to be engrafted on what nature had given her in a pleasing
person, good understanding, and warm-hearted, well meaning
relations.
But the compassionate feelings of a friend of her father
gave a change to her destiny. This was Colonel Campbell,
who had very highly regarded Fairfax, as an excellent
officer and most deserving young man; and farther, had
been indebted to him for such attentions, during a severe
camp-fever, as he believed had saved his life. These were
claims which he did not learn to overlook, though some
years passed away from the death of poor Fairfax, before
his own return to England put any thing in his power.
When he did return, he sought out the child and took
notice of her. He was a married man, with only one living
child, a girl, about Jane's age: and Jane became their
guest, paying them long visits and growing a favourite
with all; and, before she was nine years old, his daughter's
great fondness for her, and his own wish of being a real
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friend, united to produce an offer from Colonel Campbell
of undertaking the whole charge of her education. It was
accepted; and from that period Jane had belonged to
Colonel Campbell's family, and had lived with them entirely,
only visiting her grandmother from time to time.
The plan was that she should be brought up for educating
others; the very few hundred pounds which she inherited
from her father making independence impossible.
To provide for her otherwise was out of Colonel Campbell's
power; for though his income, by pay and appointments,
was handsome, his fortune was moderate and must be all
his daughter's; but, by giving her an education, he hoped
to be supplying the means of respectable subsistance hereafter.
Such was Jane Fairfax's history. She had fallen into
good hands, known nothing but kindness from the Campbells,
and been given an excellent education. Living constantly
with right-minded and well-informed people, her
heart and understanding had received every advantage of
discipline and culture; and Col. Campbell's residence
being in London, every lighter talent had been done full
justice to, by the attendance of first-rate masters. Her
disposition and abilities were equally worthy of all that
friendship could do; and at eighteen or nineteen she was,
as far as such an early age can be qualified for the care of
children, fully competent to the office of instruction
herself; but she was too much beloved to be parted
with. Neither father nor mother could promote, and the
daughter could not endure it. The evil day was put off.
It was easy to decide that she was still too young; and
Jane remained with them, sharing, as another daughter,
in all the rational pleasures of an elegant society, and a
judicious mixture of home and amusement, with only the
drawback of the future, the sobering suggestions of her
own good understanding to remind her that all this might
soon be over.
The affection of the whole family, the warm attachment
of Miss Campbell in particular, was the more honourable
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to each party from the circumstance of Jane's decided
superiority both in beauty and acquirements. That
nature had given it in feature could not be unseen by the
young woman, nor could her higher powers of mind be
unfelt by the parents. They continued together with unabated
regard however, till the marriage of Miss Campbell,
who by that chance, that luck which so often defies anticipation
in matrimonial affairs, giving attraction to what
is moderate rather than to what is superior, engaged
the affections of Mr. Dixon, a young man, rich and
agreeable, almost as soon as they were acquainted;
and was eligibly and happily settled, while Jane Fairfax
had yet her bread to earn.
This event had very lately taken place; too lately for
any thing to be yet attempted by her less fortunate
friend towards entering on her path of duty; though
she had now reached the age which her own judgment
had fixed on for beginning. She had long resolved that
one-and-twenty should be the period. With the fortitude
of a devoted noviciate, she had resolved at one-and-twenty
to complete the sacrifice, and retire from all the
pleasures of life, of rational intercourse, equal society,
peace and hope, to penance and mortification for ever.
The good sense of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell could not
oppose such a resolution, though their feelings did. As
long as they lived, no exertions would be necessary, their
home might be her's for ever; and for their own comfort
they would have retained her wholly; but this would be
selfishness:-- what must be at last, had better be soon.
Perhaps they began to feel it might have been kinder
and wiser to have resisted the temptation of any delay,
and spared her from a taste of such enjoyments of ease
and leisure as must now be relinquished. Still, however,
affection was glad to catch at any reasonable excuse for
not hurrying on the wretched moment. She had never
been quite well since the time of their daughter's marriage;
and till she should have completely recovered her usual
strength, they must forbid her engaging in duties, which,
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so far from being compatible with a weakened frame and
varying spirits, seemed, under the most favourable circumstances,
to require something more than human
perfection of body and mind to be discharged with
tolerable comfort.
With regard to her not accompanying them to Ireland,
her account to her aunt contained nothing but truth,
though there might be some truths not told. It was her
own choice to give the time of their absence to Highbury;
to spend, perhaps, her last months of perfect liberty with
those kind relations to whom she was so very dear:
and the Campbells, whatever might be their motive or
motives, whether single, or double, or treble, gave the
arrangement their ready sanction, and said, that they
depended more on a few months spent in her native air,
for the recovery of her health, than on any thing else.
Certain it was that she was to come; and that Highbury,
instead of welcoming that perfect novelty which had
been so long promised it-- Mr. Frank Churchill-- must put
up for the present with Jane Fairfax, who could bring
only the freshness of a two years absence.
Emma was sorry;--
to have to pay civilities to a person
she did not like through three long months!-- to be
always doing more than she wished, and less than she
ought!
Why she did not like Jane Fairfax might be
a difficult question to answer; Mr. Knightley had once
told her it was because she saw in her the really accomplished
young woman, which she wanted to be thought
herself; and though the accusation had been eagerly
refuted at the time, there were moments of self-examination
in which her conscience could not quite acquit her.
But
"she could never get acquainted with her: she did
not know how it was, but there was such coldness and
reserve-- such apparent indifference whether she pleased
or not-- and then, her aunt was such an eternal talker!
--and she was made such a fuss with by every body!
-- and it had been always imagined that they were to be
so intimate -- because their ages were the same, every body
AusEmma167
had supposed they must be so fond of each other."
These were her reasons-- she had no better.
It was a dislike so little just-- every imputed fault was
so magnified by fancy, that she never saw Jane Fairfax
the first time after any considerable absence, without
feeling that she had injured her; and now, when the
due visit was paid, on her arrival, after a two years'
interval, she was particularly struck with the very
appearance and manners, which for those two whole
years she had been depreciating.
Jane Fairfax was very
elegant, remarkably elegant; and she had herself the
highest value for elegance. Her height was pretty, just
such as almost everybody would think tall, and nobody
could think very tall; her figure particularly graceful;
her size a most becoming medium, between fat and thin,
though a slight appearance of ill-health seemed to point
out the likeliest evil of the two.
Emma could not but feel
all this;
and then, her face-- her features -- there was
more beauty in them all together than she had remembered;
it was not regular, but it was very pleasing
beauty. Her eyes, a deep grey, with dark eye-lashes and
eye-brows, had never been denied their praise; but the
skin, which she had been used to cavil at, as wanting
colour, had a clearness and delicacy which really needed
no fuller bloom. It was a style of beauty, of which elegance
was the reigning character, and as such, she must,
in honour, by all her principles, admire it:-- elegance,
which, whether of person or of mind, she saw so little in
Highbury. There, not to be vulgar, was distinction, and
merit.
In short, she sat, during the first visit, looking at
Jane Fairfax with twofold complacency; the sense of
pleasure and the sense of rendering justice, and was
determining that she would dislike her no longer.
When
she took in her history, indeed, her situation, as well as
her beauty; when she considered what all this elegance
was destined to, what she was going to sink from, how
she was going to live, it seemed impossible to feel any thing
AusEmma168
but compassion and respect; especially, if to every
well-known particular entitling her to interest, were added
the highly probable circumstance of an attachment to
Mr. Dixon, which she had so naturally started to herself.
In that case, nothing could be more pitiable or more
honourable than the sacrifices she had resolved on.
Emma was very willing now to acquit her of having
seduced Mr. Dixon's affections from his wife, or of any thing
mischievous which her imagination had suggested
at first. If it were love, it might be simple, single,
successless love on her side alone. She might have been
unconsciously sucking in the sad poison, while a sharer
of his conversation with her friend; and from the best,
the purest of motives, might now be denying herself this
visit to Ireland, and resolving to divide herself effectually
from him and his connections by soon beginning her
career of laborious duty.
Upon the whole, Emma left her with such softened,
charitable feelings, as made her look around in walking
home, and lament that Highbury afforded no young man
worthy of giving her independence; nobody that she
could wish to scheme about for her.
These were charming feelings-- but not lasting. Before
she had committed herself by any public profession of
eternal friendship for Jane Fairfax, or done more towards
a recantation of past prejudices and errors, than saying
to Mr. Knightley,
"She certainly is handsome; she is
better than handsome!"
Jane had spent an evening at
Hartfield with her grandmother and aunt, and every thing
was relapsing much into its usual state. Former
provocations re-appeared.
The aunt was as tiresome as
ever; more tiresome, because anxiety for her health was
now added to admiration of her powers; and they had
to listen to the description of exactly how little bread
and butter she ate for breakfast, and how small a slice of
mutton for dinner, as well as to see exhibitions of new
caps and new work-bags for her mother and herself; and
Jane's offences rose again.
They had music; Emma
AusEmma169
was obliged to play; and the thanks and praise which
necessarily followed appeared to her
an affectation of
candour, an air of greatness, meaning only to shew off in
higher style her own very superior performance. She
was, besides, which was the worst of all, so cold, so
cautious! There was no getting at her real opinion.
Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined
to hazard nothing. She was disgustingly, was
suspiciously reserved.
If any thing could be more, where all was most, she
was more reserved on the subject of Weymouth and the
Dixons than any thing. She seemed bent on giving no
real insight into Mr. Dixon's character, or her own value
for his company, or opinion of the suitableness of the
match. It was all general approbation and smoothness;
nothing delineated or distinguished. It did her no
service however. Her caution was thrown away.
Emma
saw its artifice, and returned to her first surmises.
There
probably was something more to conceal than her own
preference; Mr. Dixon, perhaps, had been very near
changing one friend for the other, or been fixed only to
Miss Campbell, for the sake of the future twelve thousand
pounds.
The like reserve prevailed on other topics. She and
Mr. Frank Churchill had been at Weymouth at the same
time. It was known that they were a little acquainted;
but not a syllable of real information could Emma procure
as to what he truly was.
"Was he handsome?"--
"She believed he was reckoned a very fine young man."
"Was he agreeable?" --
"He was generally thought so."
"Did he appear a sensible young man; a young man of
information?"--
"At a watering-place, or in a common
London acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such
points. Manners were all that could be safely judged of,
under a much longer knowledge than they had yet had of
Mr. Churchill. She believed every body found his manners
pleasing."
Emma could not forgive her.
AusEmma170
Emma could not forgive her;-- but as neither provocation
nor resentment were discerned by Mr. Knightley, who
had been of the party, and had seen only proper attention
and pleasing behaviour on each side, he was expressing
the next morning, being at Hartfield again on business
with Mr. Woodhouse, his approbation of the whole; not
so openly as he might have done had her father been out
of the room, but speaking plain enough to be very
intelligible to Emma. He had been used to think her
unjust to Jane, and had now great pleasure in marking an
improvement.
"A very pleasant evening,"
he began, as soon as
Mr. Woodhouse had been talked into what was necessary,
told that he understood, and the papers swept away;--
"particularly pleasant. You and Miss Fairfax gave us
some very good music. I do not know a more luxurious
state, sir, than sitting at one's ease to be entertained
a whole evening by two such young women; sometimes
with music and sometimes with conversation. I am sure
Miss Fairfax must have found the evening pleasant,
Emma. You left nothing undone. I was glad you made
her play so much, for having no instrument at her
grandmother's, it must have been a real indulgence."
"I am happy you approved,"
said Emma, smiling;
"but I hope I am not often deficient in what is due to
guests at Hartfield."
"No, my dear,"
said her father instantly;
"that
I am sure you are not. There is nobody half so attentive
and civil as you are. If any thing, you are too attentive.
The muffin last night-- if it had been handed round once,
I think it would have been enough."
"No,"
said Mr. Knightley, nearly at the same time;
"you are not often deficient; not often deficient either
AusEmma171
in manner or comprehension. I think you understand
me, therefore."
An arch look expressed--
"I understand you well
enough;"
but she said only,
"Miss Fairfax is reserved."
"I always told you she was-- a little; but you will
soon overcome all that part of her reserve which ought
to be overcome, all that has its foundation in diffidence.
what arises from discretion must be honoured."
"You think her diffident. I do not see it."
"My dearEmma,"
said he, moving from his chair into
one close by her,
"you are not going to tell me, I hope,
that you had not a pleasant evening."
"Oh! no; I was pleased with my own perseverance
in asking questions, and amused to think how little
information I obtained."
"I am disappointed,"
was his only answer.
"I hope every body had a pleasant evening,"
said
Mr. Woodhouse, in his quiet way.
"I had. Once, I felt
the fire rather too much; but then I moved back my chair
a little, a very little, and it did not disturb me. Miss Bates
was very chatty and good-humoured, as she always
is, though she speaks rather too quick. However, she
is very agreeable, and Mrs. Bates too, in a different way.
I like old friends; and Miss Jane Fairfax is a very pretty
sort of young lady, a very pretty and a very well-behaved
young lady indeed. She must have found the evening
agreeable, Mr. Knightley, because she had Emma."
"True, sir; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax."
Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at
least for the present, said, and with a sincerity which no one
could question--
"She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep
one's eyes from. I am always watching her to admire;
and I do pity her from my heart."
Mr. Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than
he cared to express; and before he could make any
reply, Mr. Woodhouse, whose thoughts were on the
Bates's, said--
AusEmma172
"It is a great pity that their circumstances should be
so confined! a great pity indeed! and I have often
wished-- but it is so little one can venture to do-- small,
trifling presents, of any thing uncommon-- Now we have
killed a porker, and Emma thinks of sending them a loin
or a leg; it is very small and delicate-- Hartfield pork is
not like any other pork-- but still it is pork-- and, my
dearEmma, unless one could be sure of their making it
into steaks, nicely fried, as our's are fried, without the
smallest grease, and not roast it, for no stomach can bear
roast pork-- I think we had better send the leg-- do not
you think so, my dear?"
"My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew
you would wish it. There will be the leg to be salted,
you know, which is so very nice, and the loin to be
dressed directly in any manner they like."
"That's right, my dear, very right. I had not thought
of it before, but that was the best way. They must not
over-salt the leg; and then, if it is not over-salted, and
if it is very thoroughly boiled, just as Serle boils our's,
and eaten very moderately of, with a boiled turnip, and a
little carrot or parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome."
"Emma,"
said Mr. Knightley presently,
"I have
a piece of news for you. You like news-- and I heard an
article in my way hither that I think will interest you."
"News! Oh! yes, I always like news. What is it?--
why do you smile so?-- where did you hear it?-- at
Randalls?"
He had time only to say,
"No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls,"
when the door was thrown open, and Miss Bates and
Miss Fairfax walked into the room. Full of thanks, and
full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest.
Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment,
and that not another syllable of communication could
rest with him.
"Oh! my dear sir, how are you this morning? My
dearMiss Woodhouse-- I come quite overpowered. Such
AusEmma173
a beautiful hind-quarter of pork! You are too bountiful!
Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to be
married."
Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton,
and she was so completely surprized that she could not
avoid a little start, and a little blush, at the sound.
"There is my news:-- I thought it would interest you,"
said Mr. Knightley, with a smile which implied a conviction
of some part of what had passed between them.
"But where could you hear it?"
cried Miss Bates.
"Where could you possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley?
For it is not five minutes since I received Mrs. Cole's
note-- no, it cannot be more than five-- or at least ten--
for I had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to
come out-- I was only gone down to speak to Patty again
about the pork-- Jane was standing in the passage--
were not you, Jane?-- for my mother was so afraid that
we had not any salting-pan large enough. So I said
I would go down and see, and Jane said,
""Shall I go down
instead? for I think you have a little cold, and Patty
has been washing the kitchen.""
""Oh! my dear," said I--
well, and just then came the note. A Miss Hawkins-- that's
all I know. A Miss Hawkins of Bath. But, Mr. Knightley,
how could you possibly have heard it? for the very
moment Mr. Cole told Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down and
wrote to me. A Miss Hawkins"--
"I was with Mr. Cole on business an hour and half
ago. He had just read Elton's letter as I was shewn in,
and handed it to me directly."
"Well! that is quite ---- I suppose there never was
a piece of news more generally interesting. My dear sir,
you really are too bountiful. My mother desires her
very best compliments and regards, and a thousand
thanks, and says you really quite oppress her."
"We consider our Hartfield pork,"
replied Mr. Woodhouse--
"indeed it certainly is, so very superior to all
other pork, that Emma and I cannot have a greater
pleasure than"--
AusEmma174
"Oh! my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are
only too good to us. If ever there were people who,
without having great wealth themselves, had every thing
they could wish for, I am sure it is us. We may well say
that ""our lot is cast in a goodly heritage."" Well, Mr. Knightley,
and so you actually saw the letter; well"--
"It was short, merely to announce-- but cheerful,
exulting, of course."--
Here was a sly glance at Emma.
"He had been so fortunate as to-- I forget the precise
words-- one has no business to remember them. The
information was, as you state, that he was going to be
married to a Miss Hawkins. By his style, I should
imagine it just settled."
"Mr. Elton going to be married!"
said Emma, as
soon as she could speak.
"He will have everybody's
wishes for his happiness."
"He is very young to settle,"
was Mr. Woodhouse's
observation.
"He had better not be in a hurry. He
seemed to me very well off as he was. We were always
glad to see him at Hartfield."
"A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse!"
said
Miss Bates, joyfully;
"my mother is so pleased!-- she
says she cannot bear to have the poor old Vicarage without
a mistress. This is great news, indeed. Jane, you have
never seen Mr. Elton!-- no wonder that you have such
a curiosity to see him."
Jane's curiosity did not appear of that absorbing nature
as wholly to occupy her.
"No-- I have never seen Mr. Elton,"
she replied,
starting on this appeal;
"is he-- is he a tall man?"
"Who shall answer that question?"
cried Emma.
"My father would say ""yes,"" Mr. Knightley, ""no;"" and
Miss Bates and I that he is just the happy medium.
When you have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax,
you will understand that Mr. Elton is the standard of
perfection in Highbury, both in person and mind."
"Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will. He is the
very best young man-- But, my dearJane, if you remember,
AusEmma175
I told you yesterday he was precisely the height of
Mr. Perry. Miss Hawkins,-- I dare say, an excellent
young woman. His extreme attention to my mother--
wanting her to sit in the vicarage-pew, that she might
hear the better, for my mother is a little deaf, you know--
it is not much, but she does not hear quite quick. Jane
says that Colonel Campbell is a little deaf. He fancied
bathing might be good for it-- the warm bath-- but she
says it did him no lasting benefit. Colonel Campbell, you
know, is quite our angel. And Mr. Dixon seems a very
charming young man, quite worthy of him. It is such
a happiness when good people get together-- and they
always do. Now, here will be Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins;
and there are the Coles, such very good people; and the
Perrys-- I suppose there never was a happier or a better
couple than Mr. and Mrs. Perry. I say, sir,"
turning to
Mr. Woodhouse,
"I think there are few places with such
society as Highbury. I always say, we are quite blessed
in our neighbours.-- My dear sir, if there is one thing my
mother loves better than another, it is pork-- a roast loin
of pork"--
"As to who, or whatMiss Hawkins is, or how long he
has been acquainted with her,"
said Emma,
"nothing
I suppose can be known. One feels that it cannot be
a very long acquaintance. He has been gone only four
weeks."
Nobody had any information to give; and, after a few
more wonderings, Emma said,
"You are silent, Miss Fairfax-- but I hope you mean
to take an interest in this news. You, who have been
hearing and seeing so much of late on these subjects, who
must have been so deep in the business on Miss Campbell's
account-- we shall not excuse your being indifferent
about Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins."
"When I have seen Mr. Elton,"
replied Jane,
"I dare
say I shall be interested-- but I believe it requires that
with me. And as it is some months since Miss Campbell
married, the impression may be a little worn off."
AusEmma176
"Yes, he has been gone just four weeks, as you observe,
Miss Woodhouse,"
said Miss Bates,
"four weeks yesterday.
-- A Miss Hawkins--. Well, I had always rather fancied
it would be some young lady hereabouts; not that I ever
-- Mrs. Cole once whispered to me-- but I immediately
said, ""No, Mr. Elton is a most worthy young man--
but""-- In short, I do not think I am particularly
quick at those sort of discoveries. I do not pretend to it.
What is before me, I see. At the same time, nobody
could wonder if Mr. Elton should have aspired----
Miss Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so good-humouredly.
She knows I would not offend for the world. How does
Miss Smith do? She seems quite recovered now. Have
you heard from Mrs. John Knightley lately? Oh! those
dear little children. Jane, do you know I always fancy
Mr. Dixon like Mr. John Knightley? I mean in person
-- tall, and with that sort of look-- and not very talkative."
"Quite wrong, my dear aunt; there is no likeness
at all."
"Very odd! but one never does form a just idea of
any body beforehand. One takes up a notion, and runs
away with it. Mr. Dixon, you say, is not, strictly speaking,
handsome."
"Handsome! Oh! no-- far from it-- certainly plain.
I told you he was plain."
"My dear, you said that Miss Campbell would not
allow him to be plain, and that you yourself--"
"Oh! as for me, my judgment is worth nothing.
Where I have a regard, I always think a person well-looking.
But I gave what I believed the general opinion,
when I called him plain."
"Well, my dearJane, I believe we must be running
away. The weather does not look well, and grandmamma
will be uneasy. You are too obliging, my dearMiss Woodhouse;
but we really must take leave. This has
been a most agreeable piece of news indeed. I shall just
go round by Mrs. Cole's; but I shall not stop three
minutes: and, Jane, you had better go home directly--
AusEmma177
I would not have you out in a shower!-- We think she is
the better for Highbury already. Thank you, we do
indeed. I shall not attempt calling on Mrs. Goddard, for
I really do not think she cares for any thing but boiled
pork: when we dress the leg it will be another thing.
Good morning to you, my dear sir. Oh! Mr. Knightley
is coming too. Well, that is so very!-- I am sure if Jane
is tired, you will be so kind as to give her your arm.--
Mr. Elton, and Miss Hawkins.-- Good morning to you."
Emma, alone with her father had half her attention
wanted by him, while he lamented that young people
would be in such a hurry to marry-- and to marry
strangers too-- and the other half she could give to her
own view of the subject.
It was to herself an amusing
and a very welcome piece of news, as proving that Mr. Elton
could not have suffered long; but she was sorry
for Harriet: Harriet must feel it-- and all that she could
hope was, by giving the first information herself, to save
her from hearing it abruptly from others. It was now
about the time that she was likely to call. If she were to
meet Miss Bates in her way!--
and upon its beginning to
rain, Emma was obliged to expect that the weather would
be detaining her at Mrs. Goddard's, and that the intelligence
would undoubtedly rush upon her without
preparation.
The shower was heavy, but short; and it had not been
over five minutes, when in came Harriet, with just the
heated, agitated look which hurrying thither with a full
heart was likely to give; and the
"Oh! Miss Woodhouse,
what do you think has happened!"
which instantly
burst forth, had all the evidence of corresponding perturbation.
As the blow was given, Emma felt that she
could not now shew greater kindness than in listening;
and Harriet, unchecked, ran eagerly through what she
had to tell.
"She had set out from Mrs. Goddard's half
an hour ago-- she had been afraid it would rain-- she had
been afraid it would pour down every moment-- but she
thought she might get to Hartfield first-- she had hurried
AusEmma178
on as fast as possible; but then, as she was passing by
the house where a young woman was making up a gown
for her, she thought she would just step in and see how
it went on; and though she did not seem to stay half
a moment there, soon after she came out it began to rain,
and she did not know what to do; so she ran on directly,
as fast as she could, and took shelter at Ford's."--
Ford's was the principal woollen-draper, linen-draper, and
haberdasher's shop united; the shop first in size and
fashion in the place.--
"And so, there she had set, without
an idea of any thing in the world, full ten minutes,
perhaps-- when, all of a sudden, who should come in-- to
be sure it was so very odd!-- but they always dealt at
Ford's-- who should come in, but Elizabeth Martin and
her brother!-- DearMiss Woodhouse! only think. I
thought I should have fainted. I did not know what to do.
I was sitting near the door-- Elizabeth saw me directly;
but he did not; he was busy with the umbrella. I am
sure she saw me, but she looked away directly, and took
no notice; and they both went to quite the farther end
of the shop; and I kept sitting near the door!-- Oh!
dear; I was so miserable! I am sure I must have been
as white as my gown. I could not go away you know,
because of the rain; but I did so wish myself any where
in the world but there.-- Oh! dear, Miss Woodhouse--
well, at last, I fancy, he looked round and saw me; for
instead of going on with their buyings, they began
whispering to one another. I am sure they were talking
of me; and I could not help thinking that he was persuading
her to speak to me-- (do you think he was,
Miss Woodhouse?)-- for presently she came forward--
came quite up to me, and asked me how I did, and seemed
ready to shake hands, if I would. She did not do any of
it in the same way that she used; I could see she was
altered; but, however, she seemed to try to be very
friendly, and we shook hands, and stood talking some
time; but I know no more what I said-- I was in such
a tremble!-- I remember she said she was sorry we never
AusEmma179
met now; which I thought almost too kind! Dear,
Miss Woodhouse, I was absolutely miserable! By that
time, it was beginning to hold up, and I was determined
that nothing should stop me from getting away-- and
then-- only think!-- I found he was coming up towards
me too-- slowly you know, and as if he did not quite
know what to do; and so he came and spoke, and
I answered-- and I stood for a minute, feeling dreadfully,
you know, one can't tell how; and then I took courage,
and said it did not rain, and I must go; and so off I set;
and I had not got three yards from the door, when he
came after me, only to say, if I was going to Hartfield, he
thought I had much better go round by Mr. Cole's stables,
for I should find the near way quite floated by this rain.
Oh! dear, I thought it would have been the death of me!
So I said, I was very much obliged to him: you know
I could not do less; and then he went back to Elizabeth,
and I came round by the stables-- I believe I did-- but
I hardly knew where I was, or any thing about it. Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, I would rather done any thing than
have had it happen: and yet, you know, there was a sort
of satisfaction in seeing him behave so pleasantly and so
kindly. And Elizabeth, too! Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do
talk to me and make me comfortable again."
Very sincerely did Emma wish to do so; but it was not
immediately in her power. She was obliged to stop and
think. She was not thoroughly comfortable herself.
The young man's conduct, and his sister's, seemed the
result of real feeling, and she could not but pity them.
As Harriet described it, there had been an interesting
mixture of wounded affection and genuine delicacy in
their behaviour. But she had believed them to be well meaning,
worthy people before; and what difference did
this make in the evils of the connection? It was folly to
be disturbed by it. Of course, he must be sorry to lose
her-- they must be all sorry. Ambition, as well as love,
had probably been mortified. They might all have hoped
to rise by Harriet's acquaintance: and besides, what was
AusEmma180
the value of Harriet's description?-- so easily pleased-- so
little discerning;-- what signified her praise?
She exerted herself; and did try to make her comfortable,
by considering all that had passed as a mere
trifle, and quite unworthy of being dwelt on.
"It might be distressing, for the moment,"
said she;
"but you seem to have behaved extremely well; and
it is over-- and may never-- can never, as a first meeting,
occur again, and therefore you need not think about it."
Harriet said,
"very true;"
and she
"would not think
about it;"
but still she talked of it-- still she could talk
of nothing else; and Emma, at last, in order to put the
Martins out of her head, was obliged to hurry on the news,
which she had meant to give with so much tender caution;
hardly knowing herself whether to rejoice or be angry,
ashamed or only amused, at such a state of mind in poor
Harriet-- such a conclusion of Mr. Elton's importance
with her!
Mr. Elton's rights, however, gradually revived. Though
she did not feel the first intelligence as she might have
done the day before, or an hour before, its interest soon
increased; and before their first conversation was over,
she had talked herself into all the sensations of curiosity,
wonder and regret, pain and pleasure, as to this fortunate
Miss Hawkins, which could conduce to place the Martins
under proper subordination in her fancy.
Emma learned to be rather glad that there had been
such a meeting.
It had been serviceable in deadening
the first shock, without retaining any influence to alarm.
As Harriet now lived, the Martins could not get at her,
without seeking her, where hitherto they had wanted
either the courage or the condescension to seek her; for
since her refusal of the brother, the sisters had never been
at Mrs. Goddard's; and a twelvemonth might pass without
their being thrown together again, with any necessity,
or even any power of speech.
AusEmma181
Human nature is so well disposed towards those who
are in interesting situations, that a young person, who
either marries or dies, is sure of being kindly spoken of.
A week had not passed since Miss Hawkins's name was
first mentioned in Highbury, before she was, by some
means or other, discovered to have every recommendation
of person and mind; to be handsome, elegant, highly
accomplished, and perfectly amiable: and when Mr. Elton
himself arrived to triumph in his happy prospects, and
circulate the fame of her merits, there was very little
more for him to do, than to tell her Christian name, and
say whose music she principally played.
Mr. Elton returned, a very happy man. He had gone
away rejected and mortified-- disappointed in a very
sanguine hope, after a series of what had appeared to him
strong encouragement; and not only losing the right
lady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very
wrong one. He had gone away deeply offended-- he came
back engaged to another-- and to another as superior,
of course, to the first, as under such circumstances what
is gained always is to what is lost. He came back gay
and self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for
Miss Woodhouse, and defying Miss Smith.
The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the
usual advantages of perfect beauty and merit, was in
possession of an independent fortune, of so many thousands
as would always be called ten; a point of some
dignity, as well as some convenience: the story told well;
he had not thrown himself away-- he had gained a woman
of 10_000l. or thereabouts; and he had gained her with
such delightful rapidity-- the first hour of introduction
had been so very soon followed by distinguishing notice;
the history which he had to give Mrs. Cole of the rise and
AusEmma182
progress of the affair was so glorious-- the steps so quick,
from the accidental rencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green's,
and the party at Mrs. Brown's-- smiles and blushes rising
in importance-- with consciousness and agitation richly
scattered-- the lady had been so easily impressed-- so
sweetly disposed-- had in short, to use a most intelligible
phrase, been so very ready to have him, that vanity and
prudence were equally contented.
He had caught both substance and shadow-- both
fortune and affection, and was just the happy man he
ought to be; talking only of himself and his own concerns--
expecting to be congratulated-- ready to be
laughed at-- and, with cordial, fearless smiles, now addressing
all the young ladies of the place, to whom, a few
weeks ago, he would have been more cautiously gallant.
The wedding was no distant event, as the parties had
only themselves to please, and nothing but the necessary
preparations to wait for; and when he set out for Bath
again, there was a general expectation, which a certain
glance of Mrs. Cole's did not seem to contradict, that
when he next entered Highbury he would bring his bride.
During his present short stay, Emma had barely seen
him; but just enough to feel that the first meeting was
over, and to give her the impression of his not being
improved by the mixture of pique and pretension, now
spread over his air. She was, in fact, beginning very much
to wonder that she had ever thought him pleasing at all;
and his sight was so inseparably connected with some
very disagreeable feelings, that except in a moral light,
as a penance, a lesson, a source of profitable humiliation
to her own mind, she would have been thankful to be
assured of never seeing him again. She wished him very
well; but he gave her pain, and his welfare twenty miles
off would administer most satisfaction.
The pain of his continued residence in Highbury, however,
must certainly be lessened by his marriage. Many
vain solicitudes would be prevented-- many awkwardnesses
smoothed by it. A Mrs. Elton would be an excuse
AusEmma183
for any change of intercourse; former intimacy might
sink without remark. It would be almost beginning their
life of civility again.
Of the lady, individually, Emma thought very little.
She was good enough for Mr. Elton, no doubt; accomplished
enough for Highbury-- handsome enough-- to look
plain, probably, by Harriet's side.
As to connection,
there Emma was perfectly easy; persuaded, that after
all his own vaunted claims and disdain of Harriet, he had
done nothing. On that article, truth seemed attainable.
What she was, must be uncertain; but who she was,
might be found out; and setting aside the 10 000l. it did
not appear that she was at all Harriet's superior. She
brought no name, no blood, no alliance. Miss Hawkins
was the youngest of the two daughters of a Bristol--
merchant, of course, he must be called; but, as the
whole of the profits of his mercantile life appeared so very
moderate, it was not unfair to guess the dignity of his
line of trade had been very moderate also. Part of every
winter she had been used to spend in Bath; but Bristol
was her home, the very heart of Bristol; for though the
father and mother had died some years ago, an uncle remained--
in the law line-- nothing more distinctly honourable
was hazarded of him, than that he was in the law
line; and with him the daughter had lived. Emma
guessed him to be the drudge of some attorney, and too
stupid to rise. And all the grandeur of the connection
seemed dependent on the elder sister, who was very well
married, to a gentleman in a great way, near Bristol,
who kept two carriages! That was the wind-up of the
history; that was the glory of Miss Hawkins.
Could she but have given Harriet her feelings about it
all! She had talked her into love; but alas! she was
not so easily to be talked out of it. The charm of an object
to occupy the many vacancies of Harriet's mind was not
to be talked away. He might be superseded by another;
he certainly would indeed; nothing could be clearer;
even a Robert Martin would have been sufficient; but
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nothing else, she feared, would cure her. Harriet was one
of those, who, having once begun, would be always in
love. And now, poor girl! she was considerably worse
from this re-appearance of Mr. Elton. She was always
having a glimpse of him somewhere or other.
Emma
saw him only once; but two or three times every day
Harriet was sure just to meet with him, or just to miss
him, just to hear his voice, or see his shoulder, just to
have something occur to preserve him in her fancy, in
all the favouring warmth of surprize and conjecture.
She was, moreover, perpetually hearing about him; for,
excepting when at Hartfield, she was always among those
who saw no fault in Mr. Elton, and found nothing so
interesting as the discussion of his concerns; and every
report, therefore, every guess-- all that had already
occurred, all that might occur in the arrangement of his
affairs, comprehending income, servants, and furniture,
was continually in agitation around her. Her regard was
receiving strength by invariable praise of him, and her
regrets kept alive, and feelings irritated by ceaseless repetitions
of Miss Hawkins's happiness, and continual
observation of, how much he seemed attached!-- his air
as he walked by the house-- the very sitting of his hat,
being all in proof of how much he was in love!
Had it been allowable entertainment, had there been
no pain to her friend, or reproach to herself, in the
waverings of Harriet's mind, Emma would have been
amused by its variations. Sometimes Mr. Elton predominated,
sometimes the Martins; and each was occasionally
useful as a check to the other. Mr. Elton's
engagement had been the cure of the agitation of meeting
Mr. Martin. The unhappiness produced by the knowledge
of that engagement had been a little put aside by
Elizabeth Martin's calling at Mrs. Goddard's a few days
afterwards. Harriet had not been at home; but a note
had been prepared and left for her, written in the very
style to touch; a small mixture of reproach, with a great
deal of kindness; and till Mr. Elton himself appeared,
AusEmma185
she had been much occupied by it, continually pondering
over what could be done in return, and wishing to do more
than she dared to confess. But Mr. Elton, in person, had
driven away all such cares. While he staid, the Martins
were forgotten; and on the very morning of his setting
off for Bath again, Emma, to dissipate some of the distress
it occasioned, judged it best for her to return Elizabeth Martin's
visit.
How that visit was to be acknowledged-- what would
be necessary-- and what might be safest, had been a point
of some doubtful consideration. Absolute neglect of the
mother and sisters, when invited to come, would be
ingratitude. It must not be: and yet the danger of
a renewal of the acquaintance!--
After much thinking, she could determine on nothing
better, than Harriet's returning the visit; but in a way
that, if they had understanding, should convince them
that it was to be only a formal acquaintance. She meant
to take her in the carriage, leave her at the Abbey Mill,
while she drove a little farther, and call for her again so
soon, as to allow no time for insidious applications or
dangerous recurrences to the past, and give the most
decided proof of what degree of intimacy was chosen for
the future.
She could think of nothing better: and though there
was something in it which her own heart could not approve--
something of ingratitude, merely glossed over--
it must be done, or what would become of Harriet?
AusEmma186
Small heart had Harriet for visiting. Only half an
hour before her friend called for her at Mrs. Goddard's,
her evil stars had led her to the very spot where, at that
moment, a trunk, directed to The Rev. Philip Elton,
White-Hart, Bath, was to be seen under the operation of
being lifted into the butcher's cart, which was to convey
it to where the coaches past; and every thing in this
world, excepting that trunk and the direction, was consequently
a blank.
She went, however; and when they reached the farm,
and she was to be put down, at the end of the broad, neat
gravel-walk, which led between espalier apple-trees to the
front door, the sight of every thing which had given her
so much pleasure the autumn before, was beginning to
revive a little local agitation; and when they parted,
Emma observed her to be looking around with a sort of
fearful curiosity, which determined her not to allow the
visit to exceed the proposed quarter of an hour. She
went on herself, to give that portion of time to an old
servant who was married, and settled in Donwell.
The quarter of an hour brought her punctually to the
white gate again; and Miss Smith receiving her summons,
was with her without delay, and unattended by any
alarming young man. She came solitarily down the gravel
walk-- a Miss Martin just appearing at the door, and
parting with her seemingly with ceremonious civility.
Harriet could not very soon give an intelligent account.
She was feeling too much; but at last Emma collected
from her enough to understand the sort of meeting, and
the sort of pain it was creating. She had seen only
Mrs. Martin and the two girls. They had received her
doubtingly, if not coolly; and nothing beyond the
merest common-place had been talked almost all the time
AusEmma187
-- till just at last, when Mrs. Martin's saying, all of
a sudden, that she thought Miss Smith was grown, had
brought on a more interesting subject, and a warmer
manner. In that very room she had been measured last
September, with her two friends. There were the pencilled
marks and memorandums on the wainscot by
the window. He had done it. They all seemed to remember
the day, the hour, the party, the occasion-- to
feel the same consciousness, the same regrets-- to be
ready to return to the same good understanding; and
they were just growing again like themselves, (Harriet,
as Emma must suspect, as ready as the best of them to
be cordial and happy,) when the carriage re-appeared,
and all was over. The style of the visit, and the shortness
of it, were then felt to be decisive. Fourteen minutes
to be given to those with whom she had thankfully passed
six weeks not six months ago!-- Emma could not but
picture it all, and feel how justly they might resent, how
naturally Harriet must suffer.
It was a bad business.
She would have given a great deal, or endured a great
deal, to have had the Martins in a higher rank of life.
They were so deserving, that a little higher should have
been enough: but as it was, how could she have done
otherwise?-- Impossible!-- She could not repent. They
must be separated; but there was a great deal of pain
in the process-- so much to herself at this time, that she
soon felt the necessity of a little consolation, and resolved
on going home by way of Randalls to procure it. Her
mind was quite sick of Mr. Elton and the Martins. The
refreshment of Randalls was absolutely necessary.
It was a good scheme; but on driving to the door they
heard that neither "master nor mistress was at home;"
they had both been out some time; the man believed
they were gone to Hartfield.
"This is too bad,"
cried Emma, as they turned away.
"And now we shall just miss them; too provoking!
-- I do not know when I have been so disappointed."
And she leaned back in the corner, to indulge her murmurs,
AusEmma188
or to reason them away; probably a little of both-- such
being the commonest process of a not ill-disposed mind.
Presently the carriage stopt; she looked up; it was stopt
by Mr. and Mrs. Weston, who were standing to speak to
her. There was instant pleasure in the sight of them, and
still greater pleasure was conveyed in sound-- for Mr. Weston
immediately accosted her with,
"How d'ye do?-- how d'ye do?-- We have been sitting
with your father-- glad to see him so well. Frank comes
to-morrow-- I had a letter this morning-- we see him
to-morrow by dinner time to a certainty-- he is at Oxford
to-day, and he comes for a whole fortnight; I knew it
would be so. If he had come at Christmas he could not
have staid three days; I was always glad he did not
come at Christmas; now we are going to have just the
right weather for him, fine, dry, settled weather. We
shall enjoy him completely; every thing has turned out
exactly as we could wish."
There was no resisting such news, no possibility of
avoiding the influence of such a happy face as Mr. Weston's,
confirmed as it all was by the words and the countenance
of his wife, fewer and quieter, but not less to the purpose.
To know that she thought his coming certain was enough
to make Emma consider it so, and sincerely did she
rejoice in their joy.
It was a most delightful re-animation
of exhausted spirits. The worn-out past was sunk in the
freshness of what was coming; and in the rapidity of
half a moment's thought, she hoped Mr. Elton would
now be talked of no more.
Mr. Weston gave her the history of the engagements
at Enscombe, which allowed his son to answer for having
an entire fortnight at his command, as well as the route
and the method of his journey; and she listened, and
smiled, and congratulated.
"I shall soon bring him over to Hartfield,"
said he, at
the conclusion.
Emma could imagine she saw a touch of the arm at
this speech, from his wife.
AusEmma189
"We had better move on, Mr. Weston,"
said she,
"we
are detaining the girls."
"Well, well, I am ready;"--
and turning again to
Emma,
"but you must not be expecting such a very fine
young man; you have only had my account you know;
I dare say he is really nothing extraordinary:"--
though
his own sparkling eyes at the moment were speaking
a very different conviction.
Emma could look perfectly unconscious and innocent,
and answer in a manner that appropriated nothing.
"Think of me to-morrow, my dearEmma, about four
o'clock,"
was Mrs. Weston's parting injunction; spoken
with some anxiety, and meant only for her.
"Four o'clock!-- depend upon it he will be here by
three,"
was Mr. Weston's quick amendment; and so
ended a most satisfactory meeting. Emma's spirits were
mounted quite up to happiness;
every thing wore a different
air; James and his horses seemed not half so
sluggish as before. When she looked at the hedges, she
thought the elder at least must soon be coming out; and
when she turned round to Harriet, she saw something
like a look of spring, a tender smile even there.
"Will Mr. Frank Churchill pass through Bath as well
as Oxford?"--
was a question, however, which did not
augur much.
But neither geography nor tranquillity could come all
at once, and Emma was now in a humour to resolve that
they should both come in time.
The morning of the interesting day arrived, and
Mrs. Weston's faithful pupil did not forget either at ten,
or eleven, or twelve o'clock, that she was to think of her
at four.
"My dear, dear, anxious friend,"--
said she, in mental
soliloquy, while walking down stairs from her own room,
"always over-careful of every body's comfort but your
own; I see you now in all your little fidgets, going again
and again into his room, to be sure that all is right."
The clock struck twelve as she passed through the hall.
AusEmma190
"'Tis twelve, I shall not forget to think of you four
hours hence; and by this time to-morrow, perhaps,
or a little later, I may be thinking of the possibility
of their all calling here. I am sure they will bring him
soon."
She opened the parlour door, and saw two gentlemen
sitting with her father-- Mr. Weston and his son. They
had been arrived only a few minutes, and Mr. Weston
had scarcely finished his explanation of Frank's being a
day before his time, and her father was yet in the midst
of his very civil welcome and congratulations, when she
appeared, to have her share of surprize, introduction, and
pleasure.
The Frank Churchill so long talked of, so high in
interest, was actually before her-- he was presented to
her, and she did not think too much had been said in his
praise; he was a very good looking young man; height,
air, address, all were unexceptionable, and his countenance
had a great deal of the spirit and liveliness of his
father's; he looked quick and sensible.
She felt immediately
that she should like him; and there was a well-bred
ease of manner, and a readiness to talk, which
convinced her that he came intending to be acquainted
with her, and that acquainted they soon must be.
He had reached Randalls the evening before. She was
pleased with the eagerness to arrive which had made
him alter his plan, and travel earlier, later, and quicker,
that he might gain half a day.
"I told you yesterday,"
cried Mr. Weston with exultation,
"I told you all that he would be here before the
time named. I remembered what I used to do myself.
One cannot creep upon a journey; one cannot help
getting on faster than one has planned; and the pleasure
of coming in upon one's friends before the look-out
begins, is worth a great deal more than any little exertion
it needs."
"It is a great pleasure where one can indulge in it,"
said the young man,
"though there are not many houses
AusEmma191
that I should presume on so far; but in coming home
I felt I might do any thing."
The word home made his father look on him with fresh
complacency. Emma was directly sure that he knew
how to make himself agreeable; the conviction was
strengthened by what followed. He was very much
pleased with Randalls, thought it a most admirably
arranged house, would hardly allow it even to be very
small, admired the situation, the walk to Highbury,
Highbury itself, Hartfield still more, and professed himself
to have always felt the sort of interest in the country
which none but one's own country gives, and the greatest
curiosity to visit it. That he should never have been
able to indulge so amiable a feeling before, passed suspiciously
through Emma's brain;
but still if it were a
falsehood, it was a pleasant one, and pleasantly handled.
His manner had no air of study or exaggeration. He did
really look and speak as if in a state of no common enjoyment.
Their subjects in general were such as belong to an
opening acquaintance.
On his side were the inquiries,
--
"Was she a horse-woman?-- Pleasant rides?-- Pleasant
walks?-- Had they a large neighbourhood?-- Highbury,
perhaps, afforded society enough?-- There were several
very pretty houses in and about it.-- Balls-- had they
balls?-- Was it a musical society?"
But when satisfied on all these points, and their acquaintance
proportionably advanced, he contrived to find
an opportunity, while their two fathers were engaged
with each other, of introducing his mother-in-law, and
speaking of her with so much handsome praise, so much
warm admiration, so much gratitude for the happiness
she secured to his father, and her very kind reception of
himself, as was an additional proof of his knowing how to
please-- and of his certainly thinking it worth while to
try to please her. He did not advance a word of praise
beyond what she knew to be thoroughly deserved by
Mrs. Weston; but undoubtedly he could know very little
AusEmma192
of the matter. He understood what would be welcome;
he could be sure of little else.
"His father's marriage,"
he said,
"had been the wisest measure, every friend must
rejoice in it; and the family from whom he had received
such a blessing must be ever considered as having conferred
the highest obligation on him."
He got as near as he could to thanking her for Miss Taylor's
merits, without seeming quite to forget that in
the common course of things it was to be rather supposed
that Miss Taylor had formed Miss Woodhouse's character,
than Miss Woodhouse Miss Taylor's. And at last, as if
resolved to qualify his opinion completely for travelling
round to its object, he wound it all up with astonishment
at the youth and beauty of her person.
"Elegant, agreeable manners, I was prepared for,"
said he,
"but I confess that, considering every thing,
I had not expected more than a very tolerably well-looking
woman of a certain age; I did not know that
I was to find a pretty young woman in Mrs. Weston."
"You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs. Weston
for my feelings,"
said Emma;
"were you to guess her
to be eighteen, I should listen with pleasure; but she
would be ready to quarrel with you for using such words.
Don't let her imagine that you have spoken of her as
a pretty young woman."
"I hope I should know better,"
he replied;
"no,
depend upon it,
(with a gallant bow,)
that in addressing
Mrs. Weston I should understand whom I might praise
without any danger of being thought extravagant in my
terms."
Emma wondered whether the same suspicion of what
might be expected from their knowing each other, which
had taken strong possession of her mind, had ever crossed
his; and whether his compliments were to be considered
as marks of acquiescence, or proofs of defiance.
She must
see more of him to understand his ways; at present she
only felt they were agreeable.
She had no doubt of whatMr. Weston was often
AusEmma193
thinking about. His quick eye she detected again and
again glancing towards them with a happy expression;
and even, when he might have determined not to look,
she was confident that he was often listening.
Her own father's perfect exemption from any thought
of the kind, the entire deficiency in him of all such sort
of penetration or suspicion, was a most comfortable circumstance.
Happily he was not farther from approving
matrimony than from foreseeing it. -- Though always
objecting to every marriage that was arranged, he never
suffered beforehand from the apprehension of any; it
seemed as if he could not think so ill of any two persons'
understanding as to suppose they meant to marry till
it were proved against them. She blessed the favouring
blindness. He could now, without the drawback of a
single unpleasant surmise, without a glance forward at
any possible treachery in his guest, give way to all his
natural kind-hearted civility in solicitous inquiries after
Mr. Frank Churchill's accommodation on his journey,
through the sad evils of sleeping two nights on the road,
and express very genuine unmixed anxiety to know that
he had certainly escaped catching cold -- which, however,
he could not allow him to feel quite assured of himself till
after another night.
A reasonable visit paid, Mr. Weston began to move.--
"He must be going. He had business at the Crown about
his hay, and a great many errands for Mrs. Weston at
Ford's; but he need not hurry any body else."
His son,
too well bred to hear the hint, rose immediately also,
saying,
"As you are going farther on business, sir, I will take
the opportunity of paying a visit, which must be paid
some day or other, and therefore may as well be paid
now. I have the honour of being acquainted with a
neighbour of yours,
(turning to Emma,)
a lady residing in
or near Highbury; a family of the name of Fairfax.
I shall have no difficulty, I suppose, in finding the house;
though Fairfax, I believe, is not the proper name -- I
AusEmma194
should rather say Barnes, or Bates. Do you know any
family of that name?"
"To be sure we do,"
cried his father;
"Mrs. Bates --
we passed her house -- I saw Miss Bates at the window.
True, true, you are acquainted with Miss Fairfax;
I remember you knew her at Weymouth, and a fine girl
she is. Call upon her, by all means."
"There is no necessity for my calling this morning,"
said the young man;
"another day would do as well; but
there was that degree of acquaintance at Weymouth
which"--
"Oh! go to-day, go to-day. Do not defer it. What
is right to be done cannot be done too soon. And, besides,
I must give you a hint, Frank; any want of attention to
her here should be carefully avoided. You saw her with
the Campbells when she was the equal of every body she
mixed with, but here she is with a poor old grandmother,
who has barely enough to live on. If you do not call early
it will be a slight."
The son looked convinced.
"I have heard her speak of the acquaintance,"
said
Emma,
"she is a very elegant young woman."
He agreed to it, but with so quiet a
"Yes,"
as inclined
her almost to doubt his real concurrence; and yet there
must be a very distinct sort of elegance for the fashionable
world, if Jane Fairfax could be thought only ordinarily
gifted with it.
"If you were never particularly struck by her manners
before,"
said she,
"I think you will to-day. You will
see her to advantage; see her and hear her-- no, I am
afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has an aunt
who never holds her tongue."
"You are acquainted with Miss Jane Fairfax, sir, are
you?"
said Mr. Woodhouse, always the last to make
his way in conversation;
"then give me leave to assure
you that you will find her a very agreeable young lady.
She is staying here on a visit to her grandmamma and
aunt, very worthy people; I have known them all my
AusEmma195
life. They will be extremely glad to see you, I am sure,
and one of my servants shall go with you to shew you the
way."
"My dear sir, upon no account in the world; my
father can direct me."
"But your father is not going so far; he is only going
to the Crown, quite on the other side of the street, and
there are a great many houses; you might be very much
at a loss, and it is a very dirty walk, unless you keep on
the foot-path; but my coachman can tell you where you
had best cross the street."
Mr. Frank Churchill still declined it, looking as serious
as he could, and his father gave his hearty support by
calling out,
"My good friend, this is quite unnecessary;
Frank knows a puddle of water when he sees it, and as
to Mrs. Bates's, he may get there from the Crown in
a hop, step and jump."
They were permitted to go alone; and with a cordial
nod from one, and a graceful bow from the other, the two
gentlemen took leave. Emma remained very well pleased
with this beginning of the acquaintance, and could now
engage to think of them all at Randalls any hour of the
day, with full confidence in their comfort.
AusEmma196
The next morning brought Mr. Frank Churchill again.
He came with Mrs. Weston, to whom and to Highbury he
seemed to take very cordially. He had been sitting with
her, it appeared, most companionably at home, till her
usual hour of exercise; and on being desired to chuse
their walk, immediately fixed on Highbury.--
"He did
not doubt there being very pleasant walks in every direction,
but if left to him, he should always chuse the same.
Highbury, that airy, cheerful, happy-looking Highbury,
would be his constant attraction."--
Highbury, with
Mrs. Weston, stood for Hartfield; and she trusted to its
bearing the same construction with him. They walked
thither directly.
Emma had hardly expected them: for Mr. Weston, who
had called in for half a minute, in order to hear that his
son was very handsome, knew nothing of their plans;
and it was an agreeable surprize to her, therefore, to
perceive them walking up to the house together, arm in
arm. She was wanting to see him again, and especially
to see him in company with Mrs. Weston, upon his behaviour
to whom her opinion of him was to depend.
If
he were deficient there, nothing should make amends for
it. But on seeing them together, she became perfectly
satisfied. It was not merely in fine words or hyperbolical
compliment that he paid his duty; nothing could be more
proper or pleasing than his whole manner to her-- nothing
could more agreeably denote his wish of considering her
as a friend and securing her affection.
And there was time
enough for Emma to form a reasonable judgment, as
their visit included all the rest of the morning. They
were all three walking about together for an hour or two
-- first round the shrubberies of Hartfield, and afterwards
in Highbury. He was delighted with every thing;
AusEmma197
admired Hartfield sufficiently for Mr. Woodhouse's ear;
and when their going farther was resolved on, confessed
his wish to be made acquainted with the whole village,
and found matter of commendation and interest much
oftener than Emma could have supposed.
Some of the objects of his curiosity spoke very amiable
feelings. He begged to be shewn the house which his
father had lived in so long, and which had been the home
of his father's father; and on recollecting that an old
woman who had nursed him was still living, walked in
quest of her cottage from one end of the street to the
other; and though in some points of pursuit or observation
there was no positive merit, they shewed, altogether,
a good-will towards Highbury in general, which must be
very like a merit to those he was with.
Emma watched and decided, that with such feelings as
were now shewn,
it could not be fairly supposed that he
had been ever voluntarily absenting himself; that he had
not been acting a part, or making a parade of insincere
professions; and that Mr. Knightley certainly had not
done him justice.
Their first pause was at the Crown Inn, an inconsiderable
house, though the principal one of the sort, where a couple
of pair of post-horses were kept, more for the convenience
of the neighbourhood than from any run on the road; and
his companions had not expected to be detained by any
interest excited there; but in passing it they gave the
history of the large room visibly added; it had been
built many years ago for a ball-room, and while the neighbourhood
had been in a particularly populous, dancing
state, had been occasionally used as such;-- but such
brilliant days had long passed away, and now the highest
purpose for which it was ever wanted was to accommodate
a whist club established among the gentlemen and half-gentlemen
of the place. He was immediately interested.
Its character as a ball-room caught him; and instead of
passing on, he stopt for several minutes at the two superior
sashed windows which were open, to look in and contemplate
AusEmma198
its capabilities, and lament that its original purpose
should have ceased. He saw no fault in the room, he
would acknowledge none which they suggested.
No, it
was long enough, broad enough, handsome enough. It
would hold the very number for comfort. They ought to
have balls there at least every fortnight through the
winter. Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived the former
good old days of the room?-- She who could do any thing
in Highbury!
The want of proper families in the place,
and the conviction that none beyond the place and its
immediate environs could be tempted to attend, were
mentioned; but he was not satisfied. He could not be
persuaded that so many good-looking houses as he saw
around him, could not furnish numbers enough for such
a meeting; and even when particulars were given and
families described, he was still unwilling to admit that the
inconvenience of such a mixture would be any thing, or
that there would be the smallest difficulty in every body's
returning into their proper place the next morning. He
argued like a young man very much bent on dancing; and
Emma was rather surprized to see the constitution of the
Weston prevail so decidedly against the habits of the
Churchills.
He seemed to have all the life and spirit,
cheerful feelings, and social inclinations of his father, and
nothing of the pride or reserve of Enscombe. Of pride,
indeed, there was, perhaps, scarcely enough; his indifference
to a confusion of rank, bordered too much on
inelegance of mind. He could be no judge, however, of
the evil he was holding cheap. It was but an effusion of
lively spirits.
At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of
the Crown; and being now almost facing the house where
the Bateses lodged, Emma recollected his intended visit
the day before, and asked him if he had paid it.
"Yes, oh! yes--
he replied;
I was just going to
mention it. A very successful visit:-- I saw all the three
ladies; and felt very much obliged to you for your preparatory
hint. If the talking aunt had taken me quite
AusEmma199
by surprize, it must have been the death of me. As it
was, I was only betrayed into paying a most unreasonable
visit. Ten minutes would have been all that was necessary,
perhaps all that was proper; and I had told my father I
should certainly be at home before him -- but there was
no getting away, no pause; and, to my utter astonishment,
I found, when he (finding me no where else) joined me
there at last, that I had been actually sitting with them
very nearly three quarters of an hour. The good lady had
not given me the possibility of escape before."
"And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking?"
"Ill, very ill -- that is, if a young lady can ever be
allowed to look ill. But the expression is hardly admissible,
Mrs. Weston, is it? Ladies can never look ill. And,
seriously, Miss Fairfax is naturally so pale, as almost
always to give the appearance of ill health.-- A most
deplorable want of complexion."
Emma would not agree to this, and began a warm
defence of Miss Fairfax's complexion.
"It was certainly
never brilliant, but she would not allow it to have a sickly
hue in general; and there was a softness and delicacy in
her skin which gave peculiar elegance to the character of
her face."
He listened with all due deference; acknowledged
that
he had heard many people say the same-- but
yet he must confess, that to him nothing could make
amends for the want of the fine glow of health. Where
features were indifferent, a fine complexion gave beauty
to them all; and where they were good, the effect was--
fortunately he need not attempt to describe what the
effect was.
"Well,"
said Emma,
"there is no disputing about
taste.-- At least you admire her except her complexion."
He shook his head and laughed.--
"I cannot separate
Miss Fairfax and her complexion."
"Did you see her often at Weymouth? Were you
often in the same society?"
At this moment they were approaching Ford's, and he
hastily exclaimed,
"Ha! this must be the very shop
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that every body attends every day of their lives, as my
father informs me. He comes to Highbury himself, he
says, six days out of the seven, and has always business
at Ford's. If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us
go in, that I may prove myself to belong to the place, to be
a true citizen of Highbury. I must buy something at
Ford's. It will be taking out my freedom.-- I dare say
they sell gloves."
"Oh! yes, gloves and every thing. I do admire your
patriotism. You will be adored in Highbury. You were
very popular before you came, because you were Mr. Weston's
son-- but lay out half-a-guinea at Ford's, and
your popularity will stand upon your own virtues."
They went in; and while the sleek, well-tied parcels of
"Men's Beavers" and "York Tan" were bringing down
and displaying on the counter, he said--
"But I beg your
pardon, Miss Woodhouse, you were speaking to me, you
were saying something at the very moment of this burst
of my amor patria e. Do not let me lose it. I assure you
the utmost stretch of public fame would not make me
amends for the loss of any happiness in private life."
"I merely asked, whether you had known much of
Miss Fairfax and her party at Weymouth."
"And now that I understand your question, I must
pronounce it to be a very unfair one. It is always the
lady's right to decide on the degree of acquaintance.
Miss Fairfax must already have given her account.-- I
shall not commit myself by claiming more than she may
chuse to allow."
"Upon my word! you answer as discreetly as she could
do herself. But her account of every thing leaves so much
to be guessed, she is so very reserved, so very unwilling to
give the least information about any body, that I really
think you may say what you like of your acquaintance
with her."
"May I indeed?-- Then I will speak the truth, and
nothing suits me so well. I met her frequently at Weymouth.
I had known the Campbells a little in town; and
AusEmma201
at Weymouth we were very much in the same set. Col. Campbell
is a very agreeable man, and Mrs. Campbell a
friendly, warm-hearted woman. I like them all."
"You know Miss Fairfax's situation in life, I conclude;
what she is destined to be."
"Yes--
(rather hesitatingly)
-- "I believe I do."
"You get upon delicate subjects, Emma,"
said Mrs. Weston
smiling,
"remember that I am here.-- Mr. Frank Churchill
hardly knows what to say when you speak of
Miss Fairfax's situation in life. I will move a little
farther off."
"I certainly do forget to think of her,"
said Emma,
"as having ever been any thing but my friend and my
dearest friend."
He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such
a sentiment.
When the gloves were bought and they had quitted the
shop again,
"Did you ever hear the young lady we were
speaking of, play?"
said Frank Churchill.
"Ever hear her!"
repeated Emma.
"You forget how
much she belongs to Highbury. I have heard her every
year of our lives since we both began. She plays charmingly."
"You think so, do you?-- I wanted the opinion of some one
who could really judge. She appeared to me to play
well, that is, with considerable taste, but I know nothing
of the matter myself.-- I am excessively fond of music, but
without the smallest skill or right of judging of any body's
performance.-- I have been used to hear her's admired;
and I remember one proof of her being thought to play
well:-- a man, a very musical man, and in love with
another woman -- engaged to her -- on the point of marriage
-- would yet never ask that other woman to sit down to
the instrument, if the lady in question could sit down
instead-- never seemed to like to hear one if he could hear
the other. That I thought, in a man of known musical
talent, was some proof."
"Proof, indeed!"
said Emma, highly amused.--
AusEmma202
"Mr. Dixon is very musical, is he? We shall know more
about them all, in half an hour, from you, than Miss Fairfax
would have vouchsafed in half a year."
"Yes, Mr. Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons;
and I thought it a very strong proof."
"Certainly-- very strong it was; to own the truth, a
great deal stronger than, if I had been Miss Campbell,
would have been at all agreeable to me. I could not
excuse a man's having more music than love-- more ear
than eye-- a more acute sensibility to fine sounds than to
my feelings. How did Miss Campbell appear to like it?"
"It was her very particular friend, you know."
"Poor comfort!"
said Emma, laughing.
"One would
rather have a stranger preferred than one's very particular
friend-- with a stranger it might not recur again-- but
the misery of having a very particular friend always at
hand, to do every thing better than one does oneself!--
Poor Mrs. Dixon! Well, I am glad she is gone to settle in
Ireland."
"You are right. It was not very flattering to Miss Campbell;
but she really did not seem to feel it."
"So much the better-- or so much the worse:-- I do not
know which. But, be it sweetness or be it stupidity in her
-- quickness of friendship, or dulness of feeling-- there was
one person, I think, who must have felt it: Miss Fairfax
herself. She must have felt the improper and dangerous
distinction."
"As to that-- I do not--"
"Oh! do not imagine that I expect an account of
Miss Fairfax's sensations from you, or from any body else.
They are known to no human being, I guess, but herself.
But if she continued to play whenever she was asked by
Mr. Dixon, one may guess what one chuses."
"There appeared such a perfectly good understanding
among them all--"
he began rather quickly, but checking
himself, added,
"however, it is impossible for me to
say on what terms they really were-- how it might all be
behind the scenes. I can only say that there was smoothness
AusEmma203
outwardly. But you, who have known Miss Fairfax
from a child, must be a better judge of her character, and
of how she is likely to conduct herself in critical situations,
than I can be."
"I have known her from a child, undoubtedly; we
have been children and women together; and it is
natural to suppose that we should be intimate.-- that we
should have taken to each other whenever she visited her
friends. But we never did. I hardly know how it has
happened; a little, perhaps, from that wickedness on my
side which was prone to take disgust towards a girl so
idolized and so cried up as she always was, by her aunt and
grandmother, and all their set. And then, her reserve--
I never could attach myself to any one so completely
reserved."
"It is a most repulsive quality, indeed,"
said he.
"Oftentimes very convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing.
There is safety in reserve, but no attraction. One cannot
love a reserved person."
"Not till the reserve ceases towards oneself; and then
the attraction may be the greater. But I must be more in
want of a friend, or an agreeable companion, than I have
yet been, to take the trouble of conquering any body's
reserve to procure one. Intimacy between Miss Fairfax
and me is quite out of the question. I have no reason to
think ill of her-- not the least-- except that such extreme
and perpetual cautiousness of word and manner, such a
dread of giving a distinct idea about any body, is apt to
suggest suspicions of there being something to conceal."
He perfectly agreed with her:
and after walking together
so long, and thinking so much alike, Emma felt
herself so well acquainted with him, that
she could hardly
believe it to be only their second meeting. He was not
exactly what she had expected; less of the man of the
world in some of his notions, less of the spoiled child of
fortune, therefore better than she had expected. His
ideas seemed more moderate-- his feeling warmer.
She
was particularly struck by his manner of considering
AusEmma204
Mr. Elton's house, which, as well as the church, he would
go and look at, and would not join them in finding much
fault with.
No, he could not believe it a bad house; not
such a house as a man was to be pitied for having. If it
were to be shared with the woman he loved, he could not
think any man to be pitied for having that house. There
must be ample room in it for every real comfort. The man
must be a blockhead who wanted more.
Mrs. Weston laughed, and said
he did not know what he
was talking about. Used only to a large house himself
and without ever thinking how many advantages and
accommodations were attached to its size, he could be
no judge of the privations inevitably belonging to a small
one.
But Emma, in her own mind, determined that
he
did know what he was talking about, and that he shewed
a very amiable inclination to settle early in life, and to
marry, from worthy motives. He might not be aware of
the inroads on domestic peace to be occasioned by no
housekeeper's room, or a bad butler's pantry, but no
doubt he did perfectly feel that Enscombe could not make
him happy, and that whenever he were attached, he would
willingly give up much of wealth to be allowed an early
establishment.
AusEmma205
Emma's very good opinion of Frank Churchill was a
little shaken the following day, by hearing that he was
gone off to London, merely to have his hair cut. A sudden
freak seemed to have seized him at breakfast, and he had
sent for a chaise and set off, intending to return to dinner,
but with no more important view that appeared than
having his hair cut.
There was certainly no harm in his
travelling sixteen miles twice over on such an errand;
but there was an air of foppery and nonsense in it which
she could not approve. It did not accord with the rationality
of plan, the moderation in expense, or even the unselfish
warmth of heart which she had believed herself to
discern in him yesterday. Vanity, extravagance, love
of change, restlessness of temper, which must be doing
something, good or bad; heedlessness as to the pleasure
of his father and Mrs. Weston, indifference as to how his
conduct might appear in general; he became liable to all
these charges. His father only called him a coxcomb, and
thought it a very good story; but that Mrs. Weston did
not like it, was clear enough, by her passing it over as
quickly as possible, and making no other comment than
that
"all young people would have their little whims."
With the exception of this little blot, Emma found that
his visit hitherto had given her friend only good ideas of
him. Mrs. Weston was very ready to say
how attentive
and pleasant a companion he made himself-- how much
she saw to like in his disposition altogether. He appeared
to have a very open temper-- certainly a very cheerful and
lively one; she could observe nothing wrong in his
notions, a great deal decidedly right; he spoke of his
uncle with warm regard, was fond of talking of him-- said
he would be the best man in the world if he were left to
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himself; and though there was no being attached to the
aunt, he acknowledged her kindness with gratitude, and
seemed to mean always to speak of her with respect.
This
was all very promising; and, but for such an unfortunate
fancy for having his hair cut, there was nothing to denote
him unworthy of the distinguished honour which her
imagination had given him; the honour, if not of being
really in love with her, of being at least very near it, and
saved only by her own indifference-- (for still her resolution
held of never marrying)-- the honour, in short, of
being marked out for her by all their joint acquaintance.
Mr. Weston, on his side, added a virtue to the account
which must have some weight. He gave her to understand
that
Frank admired her extremely-- thought her very
beautiful and very charming;
and with so much to be
said for him altogether, she found she must not judge him
harshly. As Mrs. Weston observed,
"all young people
would have their little whims."
There was one person among his new acquaintance in
Surry, not so leniently disposed. In general he was judged,
throughout the parishes of Donwell and Highbury, with
great candour; liberal allowances were made for the little
excesses of such a handsome young man-- one who smiled
so often and bowed so well; but there was one spirit
among them not to be softened, from its power of censure,
by bows or smiles-- Mr. Knightley. The circumstance was
told him at Hartfield; for the moment, he was silent; but
Emma heard him almost immediately afterwards say to
himself, over a newspaper he held in his hand,
"Hum!
just the trifling, silly fellow I took him for."
She had
half a mind to resent; but an instant's observation convinced
her that it was really said only to relieve his own
feelings, and not meant to provoke; and therefore she
let it pass.
Although in one instance the bearers of not good tidings,
Mr. and Mrs. Weston's visit this morning was in another
respect particularly opportune. Something occurred while
they were at Hartfield, to make Emma want their advice;
AusEmma207
and, which was still more lucky, she wanted exactly the
advice they gave.
This was the occurrence:-- The Coles had been settled
some years in Highbury, and were very good sort of people
-- friendly, liberal, and unpretending; but, on the other
hand, they were of low origin, in trade, and only moderately
genteel. On their first coming into the country,
they had lived in proportion to their income, quietly,
keeping little company, and that little unexpensively;
but the last year or two had brought them a considerable
increase of means-- the house in town had yielded greater
profits, and fortune in general had smiled on them. With
their wealth, their views increased; their want of a larger
house, their inclination for more company. They added
to their house, to their number of servants, to their expenses
of every sort; and by this time were, in fortune
and style of living, second only to the family at Hartfield.
Their love of society, and their new dining-room, prepared
every body for their keeping dinner-company; and a few
parties, chiefly among the single men, had already taken
place. The regular and best families Emma could hardly
suppose they would presume to invite-- neither Donwell,
nor Hartfield, nor Randalls.
Nothing should tempt her
to go, if they did; and she regretted that her father's
known habits would be giving her refusal less meaning
than she could wish. The Coles were very respectable in
their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not
for them to arrange the terms on which the superior
families would visit them. This lesson, she very much
feared, they would receive only from herself; she had
little hope of Mr. Knightley, none of Mr. Weston.
But she had made up her mind how to meet this presumption
so many weeks before it appeared, that when
the insult came at last, it found her very differently
affected. Donwell and Randalls had received their invitation,
and none had come for her father and herself;
and Mrs. Weston's accounting for it with
"I suppose
they will not take the liberty with you; they know you
AusEmma208
do not dine out,"
was not quite sufficient. She felt that
she should like to have had the power of refusal; and
afterwards, as the idea of the party to be assembled there,
consisting precisely of those whose society was dearest to
her, occurred again and again, she did not know that she
might not have been tempted to accept. Harriet was
to be there in the evening, and the Bateses. They had
been speaking of it as they walked about Highbury the
day before, and Frank Churchill had most earnestly
lamented her absence.
Might not the evening end in a
dance?
had been a question of his.
The bare possibility
of it acted as a further irritation on her spirits; and her
being left in solitary grandeur, even supposing the omission
to be intended as a compliment, was but poor comfort.
It was the arrival of this very invitation while the
Westons were at Hartfield, which made their presence
so acceptable; for though her first remark, on reading it,
was that
"of course it must be declined,"
she so very
soon proceeded to ask them what they advised her to do,
that their advice for her going was most prompt and
successful.
She owned that,
considering every thing, she was not
absolutely without inclination for the party. The Coles
expressed themselves so properly-- there was so much real
attention in the manner of it-- so much consideration for
her father.
"They would have solicited the honour
earlier, but had been waiting the arrival of a folding-screen
from London, which they hoped might keep
Mr. Woodhouse from any draught of air, and therefore
induce him the more readily to give them the honour of
his company."
Upon the whole, she was very persuadable;
and it being briefly settled among themselves how
it might be done without neglecting his comfort-- how
certainly Mrs. Goddard, if not Mrs. Bates, might be depended
on for bearing him company-- Mr. Woodhouse
was to be talked into an acquiescence of his daughter's
going out to dinner on a day now near at hand, and
spending the whole evening away from him. As for his
AusEmma209
going, Emma did not wish him to think it possible; the
hours would be too late, and the party too numerous.
He was soon pretty well resigned.
"I am not fond of dinner-visiting,"
said he--
"I never
was. No more is Emma. Late hours do not agree with
us. I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Cole should have done it.
I think it would be much better if they would come in
one afternoon next summer, and take their tea with us
-- take us in their afternoon walk; which they might do,
as our hours are so reasonable, and yet get home without
being out in the damp of the evening. The dews of
a summer evening are what I would not expose any body
to. However, as they are so very desirous to have dear
Emma dine with them, and as you will both be there,
and Mr. Knightley too, to take care of her, I cannot wish
to prevent it, provided the weather be what it ought,
neither damp, nor cold, nor windy."
Then turning to
Mrs. Weston, with a look of gentle reproach--
"Ah!
Miss Taylor, if you had not married, you would have staid
at home with me."
"Well, sir,"
cried Mr. Weston,
"as I took Miss Taylor
away, it is incumbent on me to supply her place, if I can;
and I will step to Mrs. Goddard in a moment, if you
wish it."
But the idea of any thing to be done in a moment, was
increasing, not lessening Mr. Woodhouse's agitation.
The ladies knew better how to allay it. Mr. Weston
must be quiet, and every thing deliberately arranged.
With this treatment, Mr. Woodhouse was soon composed
enough for talking as usual.
"He should be happy
to see Mrs. Goddard. He had a great regard for Mrs. Goddard;
and Emma should write a line, and invite her.
James could take the note. But first of all, there must
be an answer written to Mrs. Cole."
"You will make my excuses, my dear, as civilly as
possible. You will say that I am quite an invalid, and
go no where, and therefore must decline their obliging
invitation; beginning with my compliments, of course.
AusEmma210
But you will do every thing right. I need not tell you
what is to be done. We must remember to let James
know that the carriage will be wanted on Tuesday.
I shall have no fears for you with him. We have never
been there above once since the new approach was made;
but still I have no doubt that James will take you very
safely. And when you get there, you must tell him at
what time you would have him come for you again; and
you had better name an early hour. You will not like
staying late. You will get very tired when tea is over."
"But you would not wish me to come away before I am
tired, papa?"
"Oh! no, my love; but you will soon be tired. There
will be a great many people talking at once. You will
not like the noise."
"But, my dear sir,"
cried Mr. Weston,
"if Emma
comes away early, it will be breaking up the party."
"And no great harm if it does,"
said Mr. Woodhouse.
"The sooner every party breaks up, the better."
"But you do not consider how it may appear to the
Coles. Emma's going away directly after tea might be
giving offence. They are good-natured people, and think
little of their own claims; but still they must feel that
any body's hurrying away is no great compliment; and
Miss Woodhouse's doing it would be more thought of
than any other person's in the room. You would not
wish to disappoint and mortify the Coles, I am sure, sir;
friendly, good sort of people as ever lived, and who have
been your neighbours these ten years."
"No, upon no account in the world. Mr. Weston,
I am much obliged to you for reminding me. I should
be extremely sorry to be giving them any pain. I know
what worthy people they are. Perry tells me that
Mr. Cole never touches malt liquor. You would not think
it to look at him, but he is bilious-- Mr. Cole is very bilious.
No, I would not be the means of giving them any pain.
My dearEmma, we must consider this. I am sure, rather
than run the risk of hurting Mr. and Mrs. Cole, you would
AusEmma211
stay a little longer than you might wish. You will not
regard being tired. You will be perfectly safe, you know,
among your friends."
"Oh, yes, papa. I have no fears at all for myself;
and I should have no scruples of staying as late as Mrs. Weston,
but on your account. I am only afraid of your
sitting up for me. I am not afraid of your not being
exceedingly comfortable with Mrs. Goddard. She loves
piquet, you know; but when she is gone home, I am
afraid you will be sitting up by yourself, instead of going
to bed at your usual time-- and the idea of that would
entirely destroy my comfort. You must promise me not
to sit up."
He did, on the condition of some promises on her side:
such as that, if she came home cold, she would be sure to
warm herself thoroughly; if hungry, that she would take
something to eat; that her own maid should sit up for
her; and that Serle and the butler should see that every thing
were safe in the house, as usual.
AusEmma212
Frank Churchill came back again; and if he kept
his father's dinner waiting, it was not known at Hartfield;
for Mrs. Weston was too anxious for his being
a favourite with Mr. Woodhouse, to betray any imperfection
which could be concealed.
He came back, had had his hair cut, and laughed at
himself with a very good grace, but without seeming
really at all ashamed of what he had done. He had no
reason to wish his hair longer, to conceal any confusion
of face; no reason to wish the money unspent, to improve
his spirits. He was quite as undaunted and as lively as
ever; and after seeing him, Emma thus moralized to
herself:--
"I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly
silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by
sensible people in an impudent way. Wickedness is
always wickedness, but folly is not always folly,-- It
depends upon the character of those who handle it.
Mr. Knightley, he is not a trifling, silly young man. If
he were, he would have done this differently. He would
either have gloried in the achievement, or been ashamed
of it. There would have been either the ostentation of
a coxcomb, or the evasions of a mind too weak to defend
its own vanities.-- No, I am perfectly sure that he is not
trifling or silly."
With Tuesday came the agreeable prospect of seeing
him again, and for a longer time than hitherto; of
judging of his general manners, and by inference, of the
meaning of his manners towards herself; of guessing how
soon it might be necessary for her to throw coldness into
her air; and of fancying what the observations of all
those might be, who were now seeing them together for
the first time.
AusEmma213
She meant to be very happy, in spite of the scene being
laid at Mr. Cole's; and without being able to forget that
among the failings of Mr. Elton, even in the days of his
favour, none had disturbed her more than his propensity
to dine with Mr. Cole.
Her father's comfort was amply secured, Mrs. Bates as
well as Mrs. Goddard being able to come; and her last
pleasing duty, before she left the house, was to pay her
respects to them as they sat together after dinner; and
while her father was fondly noticing the beauty of her
dress, to make the two ladies all the amends in her power,
by helping them to large slices of cake and full glasses of
wine, for whatever unwilling self-denial his care of their
constitution might have obliged them to practise during
the meal.-- She had provided a plentiful dinner for them;
she wished she could know that they had been allowed
to eat it.
She followed another carriage to Mr. Cole's door; and
was pleased to see that it was Mr. Knightley's;
for
Mr. Knightley keeping no horses, having little spare
money and a great deal of health, activity, and independence,
was too apt, in Emma's opinion, to get about as
he could, and not use his carriage so often as became the
owner of Donwell Abbey. She had an opportunity now
of speaking her approbation while warm from her heart,
for he stopped to hand her out.
"This is coming as you should do,"
said she,
"like
a gentleman.-- I am quite glad to see you."
He thanked her, observing,
"How lucky that we should
arrive at the same moment! for, if we had met first in
the drawing-room, I doubt whether you would have
discerned me to be more of a gentleman than usual.--
You might not have distinguished how I came, by my
look or manner."
"Yes I should, I am sure I should. There is always
a look of consciousness or bustle when people come in
a way which they know to be beneath them. You think
you carry it off very well, I dare say, but with you it
AusEmma214
is a sort of bravado, an air of affected unconcern; I
always observe it whenever I meet you under those
circumstances. Now you have nothing to try for. You
are not afraid of being supposed ashamed. You are not
striving to look taller than any body else. Now I shall
really be very happy to walk into the same room with
you."
"Nonsensical girl!"
was his reply, but not at all in
anger.
Emma had as much reason to be satisfied with the rest
of the party as with Mr. Knightley. She was received
with a cordial respect which could not but please, and
given all the consequence she could wish for. When the
Westons arrived, their kindest looks of love, the strongest
of admiration were for her, from both husband and wife;
the son approached her with a cheerful eagerness which
marked her as his peculiar object, and at dinner she found
him seated by her-- and, as she firmly believed, not
without some dexterity on his side.
The party was rather large, as it included one other
family, a proper unobjectionable country family, whom
the Coles had the advantage of naming among their
acquaintance, and the male part of Mr. Cox's family, the
lawyer of Highbury. The less worthy females were to
come in the evening, with Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax, and
Miss Smith; but already, at dinner, they were too
numerous for any subject of conversation to be general;
and while politics and Mr. Elton were talked over, Emma
could fairly surrender all her attention to the pleasantness
of her neighbour. The first remote sound to which she
felt herself obliged to attend, was the name of Jane Fairfax.
Mrs. Cole seemed to be relating something of
her that was expected to be very interesting. She
listened, and found it well worth listening to. That very
dear part of Emma, her fancy, received an amusing supply.
Mrs. Cole was telling that she had been calling on Miss Bates,
and as soon as she entered the room had been
struck by the sight of a pianoforte=-- a very elegant looking
AusEmma215
instrument-- not a grand, but a large-sized square
pianoforte=; and the substance of the story, the end of
all the dialogue which ensued of surprize, and inquiry, and
congratulations on her side, and explanations on Miss Bates's,
was, that this pianoforte= had arrived from
Broadwood's the day before, to the great astonishment
of both aunt and niece-- entirely unexpected; that at
first, by Miss Bates's account, Jane herself was quite at
a loss, quite bewildered to think who could possibly have
ordered it-- but now, they were both perfectly satisfied
that it could be from only one quarter;-- of course it
must be from Col. Campbell.
"One can suppose nothing else,"
added Mrs. Cole,
"and I was only surprized that there could ever have
been a doubt. But Jane, it seems, had a letter from them
very lately, and not a word was said about it. She knows
their ways best; but I should not consider their silence
as any reason for their not meaning to make the present.
They might chuse to surprize her."
Mrs. Cole had many to agree with her; every body
who spoke on the subject was equally convinced that it
must come from Col. Campbell, and equally rejoiced that
such a present had been made; and there were enough
ready to speak to allow Emma to think her own way, and
still listen to Mrs. Cole.
"I declare, I do not know when I have heard any thing
that has given me more satisfaction!-- It always has
quite hurt me that Jane Fairfax, who plays so delightfully,
should not have an instrument. It seemed quite
a shame, especially considering how many houses there
are where fine instruments are absolutely thrown away.
This is like giving ourselves a slap, to be sure! and it was
but yesterday I was telling Mr. Cole, I really was ashamed
to look at our new grand pianoforte= in the drawing-room,
while I do not know one note from another, and our little
girls, who are but just beginning, perhaps may never
make any thing of it; and there is poor Jane Fairfax,
who is mistress of music, has not any thing of the nature
AusEmma216
of an instrument, not even the pitifullest old spinnet in
the world, to amuse herself with.-- I was saying this to
Mr. Cole but yesterday, and he quite agreed with me;
only he is so particularly fond of music that he could not
help indulging himself in the purchase, hoping that some
of our good neighbours might be so obliging occasionally
to put it to a better use than we can; and that really is
the reason why the instrument was bought-- or else I am
sure we ought to be ashamed of it.-- We are in great hopes
that Miss Woodhouse may be prevailed with to try it this
evening."
Miss Woodhouse made the proper acquiescence; and
finding that nothing more was to be entrapped from any
communication of Mrs. Cole's, turned to Frank Churchill.
"Why do you smile?"
said she.
"Nay, why do you?"
"Me!-- I suppose I smile for pleasure at Col. Campbell's
being so rich and so liberal.-- It is a handsome
present."
"Very."
"I rather wonder that it was never made before."
"Perhaps Miss Fairfax has never been staying here so
long before."
"Or that he did not give her the use of their own
instrument-- which must now be shut up in London,
untouched by any body."
"That is a grand pianoforte=, and he might think it too
large for Mrs. Bates's house."
"You may say what you chuse-- but your countenance
testifies that your thoughts on this subject are very much
like mine."
"I do not know. I rather believe you are giving me
more credit for acuteness than I deserve. I smile because
you smile, and shall probably suspect whatever I find you
suspect; but at present I do not see what there is to
question. If Col. Campbell is not the person, who can
be?"
"What do you say to Mrs. Dixon?"
AusEmma217
"Mrs. Dixon! very true indeed. I had not thought
of Mrs. Dixon. She must know as well as her father, how
acceptable an instrument would be; and perhaps the
mode of it, the mystery, the surprize, is more like a young
woman's scheme than an elderly man's. It is Mrs. Dixon
I dare say. I told you that your suspicions would guide
mine."
"If so, you must extend your suspicions and comprehend
Mr. Dixon in them."
"Mr. Dixon.-- Very well. Yes, I immediately perceive
that it must be the joint present of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.
We were speaking the other day, you know, of his being
so warm an admirer of her performance."
"Yes, and what you told me on that head, confirmed
an idea which I had entertained before.-- I do not mean
to reflect upon the good intentions of either Mr. Dixon
or Miss Fairfax, but I cannot help suspecting either that,
after making his proposals to her friend, he had the
misfortune to fall in love with her, or that he became
conscious of a little attachment on her side. One might
guess twenty things without guessing exactly the right;
but I am sure there must be a particular cause for her
chusing to come to Highbury instead of going with the
Campbells to Ireland. Here, she must be leading a life
of privation and penance; there it would have been all
enjoyment. As to the pretence of trying her native air,
I look upon that as a mere excuse.-- In the summer it
might have passed; but what can any body's native air
do for them in the months of January, February, and
March? Good fires and carriages would be much more
to the purpose in most cases of delicate health, and I dare
say in her's. I do not require you to adopt all my suspicions,
though you make so noble a profession of doing
it, but I honestly tell you what they are."
"And, upon my word, they have an air of great probability.
Mr. Dixon's preference of her music to her friend's,
I can answer for being very decided."
"And then, he saved her life. Did you ever hear of
AusEmma218
that?-- A water-party; and by some accident she was
falling overboard. He caught her."
"He did. I was there-- one of the party."
"Were you really?-- Well!-- But you observed nothing
of course, for it seems to be a new idea to you.--
If I had been there, I think I should have made some
discoveries."
"I dare say you would; but I, simple I, saw nothing
but the fact, that Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from
the vessel and that Mr. Dixon caught her.-- It was the
work of a moment. And though the consequent shock
and alarm was very great and much more durable--
indeed I believe it was half an hour before any of us were
comfortable again-- yet that was too general a sensation
for any thing of peculiar anxiety to be observable. I do
not mean to say, however, that you might not have
made discoveries."
The conversation was here interrupted. They were
called on to share in the awkwardness of a rather long
interval between the courses, and obliged to be as formal
and as orderly as the others; but when the table was
again safely covered, when every corner dish was placed
exactly right, and occupation and ease were generally
restored, Emma said,
"The arrival of this pianoforte= is decisive with me.
I wanted to know a little more, and this tells me quite
enough. Depend upon it, we shall soon hear that it is
a present from Mr. and Mrs. Dixon."
"And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all knowledge
of it we must conclude it to come from the Campbells."
"No, I am sure it is not from the Campbells Miss Fairfax
knows it is not from the Campbells, or they would
have been guessed at first. She would not have been
puzzled, had she dared fix on them. I may not have
convinced you perhaps, but I am perfectly convinced
myself that Mr. Dixon is a principal in the business."
"Indeed you injure me if you suppose me unconvinced.
AusEmma219
Your reasonings carry my judgment along with
them entirely. At first, while I supposed you satisfied
that Col. Campbell was the giver, I saw it only as paternal
kindness, and thought it the most natural thing in the
world. But when you mentioned Mrs. Dixon, I felt how
much more probable that it should be the tribute of
warm female friendship. And now I can see it in no
other light than as an offering of love."
There was no occasion to press the matter farther.
The conviction seemed real; he looked as if he felt it.
She said no more, other subjects took their turn; and
the rest of the dinner passed away; the dessert succeeded,
the children came in, and were talked to and admired
amid the usual rate of conversation; a few clever things
said, a few downright silly, but by much the larger proportion
neither the one nor the other-- nothing worse
than every day remarks, dull repetitions, old news, and
heavy jokes.
The ladies had not been long in the drawing-room,
before the other ladies, in their different divisions, arrived.
Emma watched the entre=e of her own particular little
friend;
and if she could not exult in her dignity and grace,
she could not only love the blooming sweetness and the
artless manner, but could most heartily rejoice in that
light, cheerful, unsentimental disposition which allowed
her so many alleviations of pleasure, in the midst of the
pangs of disappointed affection. There she sat-- and who
would have guessed how many tears she had been lately
shedding? To be in company, nicely dressed herself and
seeing others nicely dressed, to sit and smile and
look pretty, and say nothing, was enough for the happiness
of the present hour. Jane Fairfax did look and move
superior; but Emma suspected she might have been glad
to change feelings with Harriet, very glad to have purchased
the mortification of having loved-- yes, of having
loved even Mr. Elton in vain-- by the surrender of all the
dangerous pleasure of knowing herself beloved by the
husband of her friend.
AusEmma220
In so large a party it was not necessary that Emma
should approach her. She did not wish to speak of the
pianoforte=, she felt too much in the secret herself, to think
the appearance of curiosity or interest fair, and therefore
purposely kept at a distance; but by the others, the
subject was almost immediately introduced, and she saw
the blush of consciousness with which congratulations
were received, the blush of guilt which accompanied the
name of
"my excellent friend Col. Campbell."
Mrs. Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was particularly
interested by the circumstance, and Emma could
not help being amused at her perseverance in dwelling on
the subject; and having so much to ask and to say as
to tone, touch, and pedal, totally unsuspicious of that
wish of saying as little about it as possible, which she
plainly read in the fair heroine's countenance.
They were soon joined by some of the gentlemen; and
the very first of the early was Frank Churchill. In he
walked, the first and the handsomest; and after paying
his compliments en passant to Miss Bates and her niece,
made his way directly to the opposite side of the circle,
where sat Miss Woodhouse; and till he could find a seat
by her, would not sit at all. Emma divined what every body
present must be thinking.
She was his object, and
every body must perceive it.
She introduced him to her
friend, Miss Smith, and, at convenient moments afterwards,
heard what each thought of the other.
"He had
never seen so lovely a face, and was delighted with her
nai--vete=."
And she,--
"Only to be sure it was paying him
too great a compliment, but she did think there were some
looks a little like Mr. Elton."
Emma restrained her
indignation, and only turned from her in silence.
Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gentleman
on first glancing towards Miss Fairfax; but it was
most prudent to avoid speech. He told her that
he had
been impatient to leave the dining-room-- hated sitting
long-- was always the first to move when he could-- that
his father, Mr. Knightley, Mr. Cox, and Mr. Cole, were
AusEmma221
left very busy over parish business-- that as long as he
had staid, however, it had been pleasant enough, as he
found them in general a set of gentlemen-like, sensible
men; and spoke so handsomely of Highbury altogether--
thought it so abundant in agreeable families--
that Emma
began to feel she had been used to despise the place rather
too much. She questioned him as to the society in
Yorkshire-- the extent of the neighbourhood about
Enscombe, and the sort; and could make out from his
answers that, as far as Enscombe was concerned, there
was very little going on; that their visitings were among
a range of great families, none very near; and that even
when days were fixed, and invitations accepted, it was an
even chance that Mrs. Churchill were not in health or
spirits for going; that they made a point of visiting no
fresh person; and that, though he had his separate
engagements, it was not without difficulty, without considerable
address at times, that he could get away, or
introduce an acquaintance for a night.
She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and that
Highbury, taken in its best, might reasonably please
a young man who had more retirement at home than he
liked. His importance at Enscombe was very evident.
He did not boast, but it naturally betrayed itself, that he
had persuaded his aunt where his uncle could do nothing,
and on her laughing and noticing it, he owned that
he
believed (excepting one or two points) he could with time
persuade her to any thing.
One of those points on which
his influence failed, he then mentioned.
He had wanted
very much to go abroad-- had been very eager indeed
to be allowed to travel-- but she would not hear of it.
This had happened the year before. Now,
he said,
he was
beginning to have no longer the same wish.
The unpersuadable point, which he did not mention,
Emma guessed to be good behaviour to his father.
"I have made a most wretched discovery,"
said he,
after a short pause.--
"I have been here a week to-morrow
-- half my time. I never knew days fly so fast. A week
AusEmma222
to-morrow! -- And I have hardly begun to enjoy myself.
But just got acquainted with Mrs. Weston, and others!--
I hate the recollection."
"Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent
one whole day, out of so few, in having your hair cut."
"No,"
said he, smiling,
"that is no subject of regret
at all. I have no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless
I can believe myself fit to be seen."
The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma
found herself obliged to turn from him for a few minutes,
and listen to Mr. Cole. When Mr. Cole had moved away,
and her attention could be restored as before, she saw
Frank Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss Fairfax,
who was sitting exactly opposite.
"What is the matter?"
said she.
He started.
"Thank you for rousing me,"
he replied.
"I believe I have been very rude; but really Miss Fairfax
has done her hair in so odd a way-- so very odd a way--
that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw any thing
so outre=e!-- Those curls!-- This must be a fancy of
her own. I see nobody else looking like her!-- I must go
and ask her whether it is an Irish fashion. Shall I?-- Yes,
I will-- I declare I will-- and you shall see how she takes
it;-- whether she colours."
He was gone immediately; and Emma soon saw him
standing before Miss Fairfax, and talking to her; but as
to its effect on the young lady, as he had improvidently
placed himself exactly between them, exactly in front of
Miss Fairfax, she could absolutely distinguish nothing.
Before he could return to his chair, it was taken by
Mrs. Weston.
"This is the luxury of a large party,"
said she:--
"one
can get near every body, and say every thing. My dear
Emma, I am longing to talk to you. I have been making
discoveries and forming plans, just like yourself, and
I must tell them while the idea is fresh. Do you know how
Miss Bates and her niece came here?"
"How!-- They were invited, were not they?"
AusEmma223
"Oh! yes-- but how they were conveyed hither?-- the
manner of their coming?"
"They walked, I conclude. How else could they come?"
"Very true.-- Well, a little while ago it occurred to me
how very sad it would be to have Jane Fairfax walking
home again, late at night, and cold as the nights are now.
And as I looked at her, though I never saw her appear to
more advantage, it struck me that she was heated, and
would therefore be particularly liable to take cold. Poor
girl! I could not bear the idea of it; so, as soon as
Mr. Weston came into the room, and I could get at him,
I spoke to him about the carriage. You may guess how
readily he came into my wishes; and having his approbation,
I made my way directly to Miss Bates, to assure her
that the carriage would be at her service before it took
us home; for I thought it would be making her comfortable
at once. Good soul! she was as grateful as possible,
you may be sure.
""Nobody was ever so fortunate as
herself!""--
but with many, many thanks,--
""there was no
occasion to trouble us, for Mr. Knightley's carriage had
brought, and was to take them home again.""
I was quite
surprized;-- very glad, I am sure; but really quite
surprized. Such a very kind attention-- and so thoughtful
an attention!-- the sort of thing that so few men would
think of. And, in short, from knowing his usual ways,
I am very much inclined to think that it was for their
accommodation the carriage was used at all. I do suspect
he would not have had a pair of horses for himself, and that
it was only as an excuse for assisting them."
"Very likely,"
said Emma--
"nothing more likely.
I know no man more likely than Mr. Knightley to do the
sort of thing-- to do any thing really good-natured, useful,
considerate, or benevolent. He is not a gallant man, but
he is a very humane one; and this, considering Jane Fairfax's
ill health, would appear a case of humanity to
him;-- and for an act of un-ostentatious kindness, there is
nobody whom I would fix on more than on Mr. Knightley.
I know he had horses to-day-- for we arrived together;
AusEmma224
and I laughed at him about it, but he said not a word that
could betray."
"Well,"
said Mrs. Weston, smiling,
"you give him
credit for more simple, disinterested benevolence in this
instance than I do; for while Miss Bates was speaking,
a suspicion darted into my head, and I have never been
able to get it out again. The more I think of it, the more
probable it appears. In short, I have made a match
between Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax. See the consequence
of keeping you company!-- What do you say
to it?"
"Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax!"
exclaimed Emma.
"DearMrs. Weston, how could you think of such a
thing?-- Mr. Knightley!-- Mr. Knightley must not
marry!-- You would not have little Henry cut out from
Donwell?-- Oh! no, no, Henry must have Donwell.
I cannot at all consent to Mr. Knightley's marrying; and
I am sure it is not at all likely. I am amazed that you
should think of such a thing."
"My dearEmma, I have told you what led me to think
of it. I do not want the match-- I do not want to injure
dear little Henry-- but the idea has been given me by
circumstances; and if Mr. Knightley really wished to
marry, you would not have him refrain on Henry's account,
a boy of six years old, who knows nothing of the matter?"
"Yes, I would. I could not bear to have Henry supplanted.--
Mr. Knightley marry!-- No, I have never had
such an idea, and I cannot adopt it now. And Jane Fairfax,
too, of all women!"
"Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him,
as you very well know."
"But the imprudence of such a match!"
"I am not speaking of its prudence; merely its
probability."
"I see no probability in it, unless you have any better
foundation than what you mention. His good-nature,
his humanity, as I tell you, would be quite enough to
account for the horses. He has a great regard for the
AusEmma225
Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax-- and is
always glad to shew them attention. My dearMrs. Weston,
do not take to match-making. You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax
mistress of the Abbey!-- Oh! no, no;-- every
feeling revolts. For his own sake, I would not have him
do so mad a thing."
"Imprudent, if you please-- but not mad. Excepting
inequality of fortune, and perhaps a little disparity of age,
I can see nothing unsuitable."
"But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry. I am
sure he has not the least idea of it. Do not put it into his
head. Why should he marry?-- He is as happy as possible
by himself; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library,
and all the parish to manage; and he is extremely fond
of his brother's children. He has no occasion to marry,
either to fill up his time or his heart."
"My dearEmma, as long as he thinks so, it is so; but
if he really loves Jane Fairfax--"
"Nonsense! He does not care about Jane Fairfax. In
the way of love, I am sure he does not. He would do any
good to her, or her family; but--"
"Well,"
said Mrs. Weston, laughing,
"perhaps the
greatest good he could do them, would be to give Jane
such a respectable home."
"If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil
to himself; a very shameful and degrading connection.
How would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him?
-- To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him
all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane?--
""So very kind and obliging!-- But he always had been
such a very kind neighbour!"" And then fly off, through
half a sentence, to her mother's old petticoat. ""Not that
it was such a very old petticoat either-- for still it would
last a great while-- and, indeed, she must thankfully say
that their petticoats were all very strong."
"For shame, Emma! Do not mimic her. You divert
me against my conscience. And, upon my word, I do not
think Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed by Miss Bates.
AusEmma226
Little things do not irritate him. She might talk
on; and if he wanted to say any thing himself, he would
only talk louder, and drown her voice. But the question
is not, whether it would be a bad connexion for him, but
whether he wishes it; and I think he does. I have heard
him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane Fairfax!
The interest he takes in her-- his anxiety about
her health-- his concern that she should have no happier
prospect! I have heard him express himself so warmly
on those points!-- Such an admirer of her performance
on the pianoforte=, and of her voice! I have heard him say
that he could listen to her for ever. Oh! and I had almost
forgotten one idea that occurred to me-- this pianoforte=
that has been sent her by somebody-- though we have all
been so well satisfied to consider it a present from the
Campbells, may it not be from Mr. Knightley? I cannot
help suspecting him. I think he is just the person to do
it, even without being in love."
"Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in
love. But I do not think it is at all a likely thing for him
to do. Mr. Knightley does nothing mysteriously."
"I have heard him lamenting her having no instrument
repeatedly; oftener than I should suppose such a circumstance
would, in the common course of things, occur to
him."
"Very well; and if he had intended to give her one,
he would have told her so."
"There might be scruples of delicacy, my dearEmma.
I have a very strong notion that it comes from him.
I am sure he was particularly silent when Mrs. Cole told
us of it at dinner."
"You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away
with it; as you have many a time reproached me with
doing. I see no sign of attachment-- I believe nothing
of the pianoforte=-- and proof only shall convince me that
Mr. Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax."
They combated the point some time longer in the same
way; Emma rather gaining ground over the mind of her
AusEmma227
friend; for Mrs. Weston was the most used of the two
to yield; till a little bustle in the room shewed them that
tea was over, and the instrument in preparation;-- and
at the same moment Mr. Cole approaching to entreat
Miss Woodhouse would do them the honour of trying it.
Frank Churchill, of whom, in the eagerness of her conversation
with Mrs. Weston, she had been seeing nothing,
except that he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax, followed
Mr. Cole, to add his very pressing entreaties; and as, in
every respect, it suited Emma best to lead, she gave a very
proper compliance.
She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to
attempt more than she could perform with credit; she
wanted neither taste nor spirit in the little things which are
generally acceptable, and could accompany her own voice
well. One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably
by surprize-- a second, slightly but correctly taken by
Frank Churchill. Her pardon was duly begged at the close
of the song, and every thing usual followed. He was
accused of having a delightful voice, and a perfect knowledge
of music; which was properly denied; and that he
knew nothing of the matter, and had no voice at all,
roundly asserted. They sang together once more; and
Emma would then resign her place to Miss Fairfax, whose
performance, both vocal and instrumental, she never
could attempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely
superior to her own.
With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance
from the numbers round the instrument, to listen.
Frank Churchill sang again. They had sung together
once or twice, it appeared, at Weymouth. But the sight
of Mr. Knightley among the most attentive, soon drew
away half Emma's mind; and she fell into a train of
thinking on the subject of Mrs. Weston's suspicions, to
which the sweet sounds of the united voices gave only
momentary interruptions. Her objections to Mr. Knightley's
marrying did not in the least subside.
She could see
nothing but evil in it. It would be a great disappointment
AusEmma228
to Mr. John Knightley; consequently to Isabella. A real
injury to the children-- a most mortifying change, and
material loss to them all;-- a very great deduction from
her father's daily comfort-- and, as to herself, she could
not at all endure the idea of Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey.
A Mrs. Knightley for them all to give way to!--
No-- Mr. Knightley must never marry. Little Henry
must remain the heir of Donwell.
Presently Mr. Knightley looked back, and came and
sat down by her. They talked at first only of the performance.
His admiration was certainly very warm; yet
she thought,
but for Mrs. Weston, it would not have
struck her. As a sort of touchstone, however, she began
to speak of his kindness in conveying the aunt and niece;
and though his answer was in the spirit of cutting the
matter short, she believed it to indicate only his disinclination
to dwell on any kindness of his own.
"I often feel concerned,"
said she,
"that I dare not
make our carriage more useful on such occasions. It is
not that I am without the wish; but you know how
impossible my father would deem it that James should
put-to for such a purpose."
"Quite out of the question, quite out of the question,"
he replied;--
"but you must often wish it, I am sure."
And he smiled with such seeming pleasure at the conviction,
that she must proceed another step.
"This present from the Campbells,"
said she--
"This
pianoforte= is very kindly given."
"Yes,"
he replied, and without the smallest apparent
embarrassment.--
"But they would have done better had
they given her notice of it. Surprizes are foolish things.
The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is
often considerable. I should have expected better judgment
in Colonel Campbell."
From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath
that Mr. Knightley had had no concern in giving the
instrument. But whether he were entirely free from
peculiar attachment-- whether there were no actual
AusEmma229
preference-- remained a little longer doubtful. Towards
the end of Jane's second song, her voice grew thick.
"That will do,"
said he, when it was finished, thinking
aloud--
"You have sung quite enough for one evening--
now, be quiet."
Another song, however, was soon begged for.
"One
more;-- they would not fatigue Miss Fairfax on any
account, and would only ask for one more."
And Frank Churchill
was heard to say,
"I think you could manage
this without effort; the first part is so trifling. The
strength of the song falls on the second."
Mr. Knightley grew angry.
"That fellow,"
said he, indignantly,
"thinks of nothing
but showing off his own voice. This must not be."
And
touching Miss Bates, who at that moment passed near--
"Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing herself
hoarse in this manner? Go, and interfere. They have
no mercy on her."
Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly
stay even to be grateful, before she stept forward and
put an end to all further singing. Here ceased the concert
part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse and Miss Fairfax
were the only young-lady-performers; but soon (within
five minutes) the proposal of dancing-- originating nobody
exactly knew where-- was so effectually promoted by
Mr. and Mrs. Cole, that every thing was rapidly clearing
away, to give proper space. Mrs. Weston, capital in her
country-dances, was seated, and beginning an irresistible
waltz; and Frank Churchill, coming up with most
becoming gallantry to Emma, had secured her hand, and
led her up to the top.
While waiting till the other young people could pair
themselves off, Emma found time, in spite of the compliments
she was receiving on her voice and her taste, to
look about, and see what became of Mr. Knightley.
This
would be a trial. He was no dancer in general. If he
were to be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it
might augur something. There was no immediate
AusEmma230
appearance. No; he was talking to Mrs. Cole-- he was
looking on unconcerned; Jane was asked by somebody
else, and he was still talking to Mrs. Cole.
Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry; his interest
was yet safe; and she led off the dance with genuine
spirit and enjoyment. Not more than five couple could
be mustered; but the rarity and the suddenness of it
made it very delightful, and she found herself well matched
in a partner. They were a couple worth looking at.
Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be
allowed. It was growing late, and Miss Bates became
anxious to get home, on her mother's account. After
some attempts, therefore, to be permitted to begin again,
they were obliged to thank Mrs. Weston, look sorrowful,
and have done.
"Perhaps it is as well,"
said Frank Churchill, as he
attended Emma to her carriage.
"I must have asked
Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing would not have
agreed with me, after your's."
AusEmma231
Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the
Coles. The visit afforded her many pleasant recollections
the next day; and all that she might be supposed to
have lost on the side of dignified seclusion, must be amply
repaid in the splendour of popularity.
She must have
delighted the Coles-- worthy people, who deserved to be
made happy!-- And left a name behind her that would
not soon die away.
Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common;
and there were two points on which she was not quite easy.
She doubted whether she had not transgressed the duty of
woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of Jane Fairfax's
feelings to Frank Churchill.
It was hardly right;
but it had been so strong an idea, that it would escape her,
and his submission to all that she told, was a compliment
to her penetration which made it difficult for her to be
quite certain that she ought to have held her tongue.
The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane Fairfax;
and there she had no doubt. She did unfeignedly
and unequivocally regret the inferiority of her
own playing and singing. She did most heartily grieve
over the idleness of her childhood-- and sat down and
practised vigorously an hour and a half.
She was then interrupted by Harriet's coming in; and
if Harriet's praise could have satisfied her, she might soon
have been comforted.
"Oh! if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!"
"Don't class us together, Harriet. My playing is no
more like her's, than a lamp is like sunshine."
"Oh! dear-- I think you play the best of the two. I
think you play quite as well as she does. I am sure I had
AusEmma232
much rather hear you. Every body last night said how
well you played."
"Those who knew any thing about it, must have felt
the difference. The truth is, Harriet, that my playing is
just good enough to be praised, but Jane Fairfax's is much
beyond it."
"Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well
as she does, or that if there is any difference nobody would
ever find it out. Mr. Cole said how much taste you had;
and Mr. Frank Churchill talked a great deal about your
taste, and that he valued taste much more than execution."
"Ah! but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet."
"Are you sure? I saw she had execution, but I did
not know she had any taste. Nobody talked about it.
And I hate Italian singing.-- There is no understanding a
word of it. Besides, if she does play so very well, you
know, it is no more than she is obliged to do, because she
will have to teach. The Coxes were wondering last night
whether she would get into any great family. How did
you think the Coxes looked?"
"Just as they always do-- very vulgar."
"They told me something,"
said Harriet rather hesitatingly,
"but it is nothing of any consequence."
Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her,
though fearful of its producing Mr. Elton.
"They told me-- that Mr. Martin dined with them last
Saturday."
"Oh!"
"He came to their father upon some business, and he
asked him to stay dinner."
"Oh!"
"They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox
I do not know what she meant, but she asked me
if I thought I should go and stay there again next
summer."
"She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such
an Anne Cox should be."
"She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there.
AusEmma233
He sat by her at dinner. Miss Nash thinks either of the
Coxes would be very glad to marry him."
"Very likely.-- I think they are, without exception, the
most vulgar girls in Highbury."
Harriet had business at Ford's.-- Emma thought it
most prudent to go with her. Another accidental meeting
with the Martins was possible, and, in her present state,
would be dangerous.
Harriet, tempted by every thing and swayed by half a
word, was always very long at a purchase; and while she
was still hanging over muslins and changing her mind,
Emma went to the door for amusement.--
Much could not
be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of Highbury;--
Mr. Perry walking hastily by, Mr. William Cox
letting himself in at the office door, Mr. Cole's carriage
horses returning from exercise, or a stray letter-boy on an
obstinate mule, were the liveliest objects she could presume
to expect; and when her eyes fell only on the
butcher with his tray, a tidy old woman travelling homewards
from shop with her full basket, two curs quarrelling
over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling children round
the baker's little bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she
knew she had no reason to complain, and was amused
enough; quite enough still to stand at the door.
A mind
lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see
nothing that does not answer.
She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged;
two persons appeared; Mrs. Weston and her
son-in-law; they were walking into Highbury;-- to
Hartfield of course. They were stopping, however, in the
first place at Mrs. Bates's; whose house was a little
nearer Randalls than Ford's; and had all but knocked,
when Emma caught their eye.--
Immediately they crossed
the road and came forward to her; and the agreeableness
of yesterday's engagement seemed to give fresh pleasure
to the present meeting. Mrs. Weston informed her that
she was going to call on the Bateses, in order to hear the
new instrument.
AusEmma234
"For my companion tells me,"
said she,
"that I absolutely
promised Miss Bates last night, that I would come
this morning. I was not aware of it myself. I did not
know that I had fixed a day, but as he says I did, I am
going now."
"And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be
allowed, I hope,"
said Frank Churchill,
"to join your
party and wait for her at Hartfield-- if you are going
home."
Mrs. Weston was disappointed.
"I thought you meant to go with me. They would be
very much pleased."
"Me! I should be quite in the way. But, perhaps--
I may be equally in the way here. Miss Woodhouse looks
as if she did not want me. My aunt always sends me off
when she is shopping. She says I fidget her to death;
and Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost say the
same. What am I to do?"
"I am here on no business of my own,"
said Emma,
"I am only waiting for my friend. She will probably
have soon done, and then we shall go home. But you had
better go with Mrs. Weston and hear the instrument."
"Well-- if you advise it.-- But
(with a smile)
if Col. Campbell
should have employed a careless friend, and if
it should prove to have an indifferent tone-- what shall I
say? I shall be no support to Mrs. Weston. She might
do very well by herself. A disagreeable truth would be
palateable through her lips, but I am the wretchedest
being in the world at a civil falsehood."
"I do not believe any such thing,"
replied Emma.--
"I am persuaded that you can be as insincere as your
neighbours, when it is necessary; but there is no reason
to suppose the instrument is indifferent. Quite otherwise
indeed, if I understood Miss Fairfax's opinion last night."
"Do come with me,"
said Mrs. Weston,
"if it be not
very disagreeable to you. It need not detain us long. We
will go to Hartfield afterwards. We will follow them to
Hartfield. I really wish you to call with me. It will be
AusEmma235
felt so great an attention! and I always thought you
meant it."
He could say no more; and with the hope of Hartfield
to reward him, returned with Mrs. Weston to Mrs. Bates's
door.
Emma watched them in, and then joined Harriet
at the interesting counter,-- trying, with all the force of
her own mind, to convince her that
if she wanted plain
muslin it was of no use to look at figured; and that a
blue ribbon, be it ever so beautiful, would still never
match her yellow pattern.
At last it was all settled, even
to the destination of the parcel.
"Should I send it to Mrs. Goddard's, ma'am?"
asked
Mrs. Ford.
"Yes -- no-- yes, to Mrs. Goddard's. Only
my pattern gown is at Hartfield. No, you shall send it to
Hartfield, if you please. But then, Mrs. Goddard will
want to see it.-- And I could take the pattern gown home
any day. But I shall want the ribbon directly-- so it had
better go to Hartfield-- at least the ribbon. You could
make it into two parcels, Mrs. Ford, could not you?"
"It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs. Ford the
trouble of two parcels."
"No more it is."
"No trouble in the world, ma'am,"
said the obliging
Mrs. Ford.
"Oh! but indeed I would much rather have it only in
one. Then, if you please, you shall send it all to Mrs. Goddard's--
I do not know-- No, I think, Miss Woodhouse,
I may just as well have it sent to Hartfield, and take it
home with me at night. What do you advise?"
"That you do not give another half-second to the
subject. To Hartfield, if you please, Mrs. Ford."
"Aye, that will be much best,"
said Harriet, quite
satisfied,
"I should not at all like to have it sent to Mrs. Goddard's."
Voices approached the shop-- or rather one voice and
two ladies; Mrs. Weston and Miss Bates met them at
the door.
"My dearMiss Woodhouse,"
said the latter,
"I am
AusEmma236
just run across to entreat the favour of you to come and
sit down with us a little while, and give us your opinion
of our new instrument; you and Miss Smith. How do
you do, Miss Smith?-- Very well I thank you.-- And I
begged Mrs. Weston to come with me, that I might be
sure of succeeding."
"I hope Mrs. Bates and Miss Fairfax are"--
"Very well, I am much obliged to you. My mother is
delightfully well; and Jane caught no cold last night.
How is Mr. Woodhouse?-- I am so glad to hear such a good
account. Mrs. Weston told me you were here.-- Oh! then,
said I, I must run across, I am sure Miss Woodhouse will
allow me just to run across and entreat her to come in;
my mother will be so very happy to see her-- and now we
are such a nice party, she cannot refuse.
""Aye, pray do,""
said Mr. Frank Churchill,
""Miss Woodhouse's opinion of
the instrument will be worth having.""--
But, said I, I shall
be more sure of succeeding if one of you will go with me.
-- ""Oh!""
said he,
""wait half-a-minute till I have finished
my job.""--
For, would you believe it, Miss Woodhouse,
there he is, in the most obliging manner in the world,
fastening in the rivet of my mother's spectacles.-- The
rivet came out, you know, this morning.-- So very obliging!
-- For my mother had no use of her spectacles-- could
not put them on. And, by the bye, every body ought to
have two pair of spectacles; they should indeed. Jane
said so. I meant to take them over to John Saunders the
first thing I did, but something or other hindered me all
the morning; first one thing, then another, there is no
saying what, you know. At one time Patty came to say
she thought the kitchen chimney wanted sweeping. Oh!
said I, Patty do not come with your bad news to me.
Here is the rivet of your mistress's spectacles out. Then
the baked apples came home, Mrs. Wallis sent them by
her boy; they are extremely civil and obliging to us, the
Wallises, always-- I have heard some people say that
Mrs. Wallis can be uncivil and give a very rude answer,
but we have never known any thing but the greatest
AusEmma237
attention from them. And it cannot be for the value of
our custom now, for what is our consumption of bread,
you know? Only three of us-- besides dearJane at
present-- and she really eats nothing-- makes such a
shocking breakfast, you would be quite frightened if you
saw it. I dare not let my mother know how little she
eats-- so I say one thing and then I say another, and it
passes off. But about the middle of the day she gets
hungry, and there is nothing she likes so well as these
baked apples, and they are extremely wholesome, for I
took the opportunity the other day of asking Mr. Perry;
I happened to meet him in the street. Not that I had any
doubt before-- I have so often heard Mr. Woodhouse recommend
a baked apple. I believe it is the only way that
Mr. Woodhouse thinks the fruit thoroughly wholesome.
We have apple dumplings, however, very often. Patty
makes an excellent apple-dumpling. Well, Mrs. Weston,
you have prevailed, I hope, and these ladies will oblige us."
Emma would be
"very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates,
&c."
and they did at last move out of the shop, with no
further delay from Miss Bates than,
"How do you do, Mrs. Ford? I beg your pardon. I
did not see you before. I hear you have a charming
collection of new ribbons from town. Jane came back
delighted yesterday. Thank ye, the gloves do very well
-- only a little too large about the wrist; but Jane is
taking them in."
"What was I talking of?"
said she, beginning again
when they were all in the street.
Emma wondered on what, of all the medley, she would
fix.
"I declare I cannot recollect what I was talking of.--
Oh! my mother's spectacles. So very obliging of Mr. Frank Churchill!
""Oh!""
said he,
""I do think I can
fasten the rivet; I like a job of this kind excessively.""--
Which you know shewed him to be so very---- Indeed
I must say that, much as I had heard of him before and
much as I had expected, he very far exceeds any thing ----
AusEmma238
I do congratulate you, Mrs. Weston, most warmly. He
seems every thing the fondest parent could----
""Oh!"",
said he,
""I can fasten the rivet. I like a job of that sort
excessively.""
I never shall forget his manner. And when
I brought out the baked apples from the closet, and hoped
our friends would be so very obliging as to take some,
""Oh!""
said he, directly,
""there is nothing in the way of
fruit half so good, and these are the finest looking home-baked
apples I ever saw in my life.""
That, you know, was
so very---- And I am sure, by his manner, it was no
compliment. Indeed they are very delightful apples, and
Mrs. Wallis does them full justice-- only we do not have
them baked more than twice, and Mr. Woodhouse made
us promise to have them done three times-- but Miss Woodhouse
will be so good as not to mention it. The
apples themselves are the very finest sort for baking,
beyond a doubt; all from Donwell-- some of Mr. Knightley's
most liberal supply. He sends us a sack every year;
and certainly there never was such a keeping apple any where
as one of his trees-- I believe there is two of them.
My mother says the orchard was always famous in her
younger days. But I was really quite shocked the other
day-- for Mr. Knightley called one morning, and Jane was
eating these apples, and we talked about them and said
how much she enjoyed them, and he asked whether we
were not got to the end of our stock.
""I am sure you
must be,""
said he,
""and I will send you another supply;
for I have a great many more than I can ever use. William Larkins
let me keep a larger quantity than usual this
year. I will send you some more, before they get good for
nothing.""
So I begged he would not-- for really as to ours
being gone, I could not absolutely say that we had a great
many left-- it was but half a dozen indeed; but they
should be all kept for Jane; and I could not at all bear
that he should be sending us more, so liberal as he had
been already; and Jane said the same. And when he
was gone, she almost quarrelled with me-- No, I should not
say quarrelled, for we never had a quarrel in our lives;
AusEmma239
but she was quite distressed that I had owned the apples
were so nearly gone; she wished I had made him believe
we had a great many left. Oh! said I, my dear, I did
say as much as I could. However, the very same evening
William Larkins came over with a large basket of apples,
the same sort of apples, a bushel at least, and I was very
much obliged, and went down and spoke to William Larkins
and said every thing, as you may suppose.
William Larkins is such an old acquaintance! I am always
glad to see him. But, however, I found afterwards from
Patty, that William said it was all the apples of that sort
his master had; he had brought them all-- and now his
master had not one left to bake or boil. William did not
seem to mind it himself, he was so pleased to think his
master had sold so many; for William, you know, thinks
more of his master's profit than any thing; but Mrs. Hodges,
he said, was quite displeased at their being all
sent away. She could not bear that her master should
not be able to have another apple-tart this spring. He
told Patty this, but bid her not mind it, and be sure not
to say any thing to us about it, for Mrs. Hodges would be
cross sometimes, and as long as so many sacks were sold,
it did not signify who ate the remainder. And so Patty
told me, and I was excessively shocked indeed! I would
not have Mr. Knightley know any thing about it for the
world! He would be so very---- I wanted to keep it from
Jane's knowledge; but unluckily, I had mentioned it
before I was aware."
Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door;
and her visitors walked up stairs without having any
regular narration to attend to, pursued only by the sounds
of her desultory good-will.
"Pray take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the
turning. Pray take care, Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather
a dark staircase-- rather darker and narrower than one
could wish. Miss Smith, pray take care. Miss Woodhouse,
I am quite concerned, I am sure you hit your foot. Miss Smith,
the step at the turning."
AusEmma240
The appearance of the little sitting-room as they
entered, was tranquillity itself; Mrs. Bates, deprived of
her usual employment, slumbering on one side of the fire,
Frank Churchill, at a table near her, most deedily occupied
about her spectacles, and Jane Fairfax, standing with her
back to them, intent on her pianoforte=.
Busy as he was, however, the young man was yet able
to shew a most happy countenance on seeing Emma
again.
"This is a pleasure,"
said he, in rather a low voice,
"coming at least ten minutes earlier than I had calculated.
You find me trying to be useful; tell me if you think I
shall succeed."
"What!"
said Mrs. Weston,
"have not you finished
it yet? you would not earn a very good livelihood as a
working-silversmith at this rate."
"I have not been working uninterruptedly,"
he replied,
"I have been assisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make her
instrument stand steadily, it was not quite firm; an unevenness
in the floor, I believe. You see we have been
wedging one leg with paper. This was very kind of you
to be persuaded to come. I was almost afraid you would
be hurrying home."
He contrived that she should be seated by him; and
was sufficiently employed in looking out the best baked
apple for her, and trying to make her help or advise him
in his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite ready to sit down
to the pianoforte= again. That she was not immediately
ready, Emma did suspect
to arise from the state of her
nerves; she had not yet possessed the instrument long
enough to touch it without emotion; she must reason
herself into the power of performance; and Emma could
not but pity such feelings, whatever their origin, and could
AusEmma241
not but resolve never to expose them to her neighbour
again.
At last Jane began, and though the first bars were
feebly given, the powers of the instrument were gradually
done full justice to. Mrs. Weston had been delighted
before, and was delighted again; Emma joined her in
all her praise; and the pianoforte=, with every proper
discrimination, was pronounced to be altogether of the
highest promise.
"Whoever Col. Campbell might employ,"
said Frank Churchill,
with a smile at Emma,
"the person has not
chosen ill. I heard a good deal of Col. Campbell's taste
at Weymouth; and the softness of the upper notes
I am sure is exactly what he and all that party would
particularly prize. I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he
either gave his friend very minute directions, or wrote
to Broadwood himself. Do not you think so?"
Jane did not look round. She was not obliged to hear.
Mrs. Weston had been speaking to her at the same
moment.
"It is not fair,"
said Emma in a whisper,
"mine was
a random guess. Do not distress her."
He shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he
had very little doubt and very little mercy. Soon afterwards
he began again,
"How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying
your pleasure on this occasion, Miss Fairfax. I dare say
they often think of you, and wonder which will be the
day, the precise day of the instrument's coming to hand.
Do you imagine Col. Campbell knows the business to be
going forward just at this time?-- Do you imagine it to
be the consequence of an immediate commission from
him, or that he may have sent only a general direction,
an order indefinite as to time, to depend upon contingencies
and conveniences?"
He paused. She could not but hear; she could not
avoid answering,
"Till I have a letter from Col. Campbell,"
said she, in
AusEmma242
a voice of forced calmness,
"I can imagine nothing with
any confidence. It must be all conjecture."
"Conjecture-- aye, sometimes one conjectures right,
and sometimes one conjectures wrong. I wish I could
conjecture how soon I shall make this rivet quite firm.
What nonsense one talks, Miss Woodhouse, when hard at
work, if one talks at all;-- your real workmen, I suppose,
hold their tongues; but we gentlemen labourers if we get
hold of a word-- Miss Fairfax said something about conjecturing.
There, it is done. I have the pleasure, madam,
(to Mrs. Bates)
of restoring your spectacles, healed for
the present."
He was very warmly thanked both by mother and
daughter; to escape a little from the latter, he went to
the pianoforte=, and begged Miss Fairfax, who was still
sitting at it, to play something more.
"If you are very kind,"
said he,
"it will be one of the
waltzes we danced last night;-- let me live them over
again. You did not enjoy them as I did; you appeared
tired the whole time. I believe you were glad we danced
no longer; but I would have given worlds-- all the worlds
one ever has to give-- for another half hour."
She played.
"What felicity it is to hear a tune again which has
made one happy!-- If I mistake not that was danced at
Weymouth."
She looked up at him for a moment, coloured deeply,
and played something else. He took some music from
a chair near the pianoforte=, and turning to Emma, said,
"Here is something quite new to me. Do you know
it?-- Cramer.-- And here are a new set of Irish melodies.
That, from such a quarter, one might expect. This was
all sent with the instrument. Very thoughtful of Col. Campbell,
was not it?-- He knew Miss Fairfax could
have no music here. I honour that part of the attention
particularly; it shews it to have been so thoroughly from
the heart. Nothing hastily done; nothing incomplete.
True affection only could have prompted it."
AusEmma243
Emma wished he would be less pointed, yet could not
help being amused; and when on glancing her eye
towards Jane Fairfax she caught the remains of a smile,
when she saw that with all the deep blush of consciousness,
there had been a smile of secret delight, she had less
scruple in the amusement, and much less compunction
with respect to her.--
This amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax
was apparently cherishing very reprehensible
feelings.
He brought all the music to her, and they looked it
over together.-- Emma took the opportunity of whispering,
"You speak too plain. She must understand you."
"I hope she does. I would have her understand me.
I am not in the least ashamed of my meaning."
"But really, I am half ashamed, and wish I had never
taken up the idea."
"I am very glad you did, and that you communicated
it to me. I have now a key to all her odd looks and ways.
Leave shame to her. If she does wrong, she ought to
feel it."
"She is not entirely without it, I think."
"I do not see much sign of it. She is playing Robin Adair
at this moment-- his favourite."
Shortly afterwards Miss Bates, passing near the window,
descried Mr. Knightley on horseback not far off.
"Mr. Knightley I declare!-- I must speak to him if
possible, just to thank him. I will not open the window
here; it would give you all cold; but I can go into my
mother's room you know. I dare say he will come in
when he knows who is here. Quite delightful to have
you all meet so!-- Our little room so honoured!"
She was in the adjoining chamber while she still spoke,
and opening the casement there, immediately called
Mr. Knightley's attention, and every syllable of their
conversation was as distinctly heard by the others, as if
it had passed within the same apartment.
"How d'ye do?-- how d'ye do?-- Very well, I thank
AusEmma244
you. So obliged to you for the carriage last night. We
were just in time; my mother just ready for us. Pray
come in; do come in. You will find some friends here."
So began Miss Bates; and Mr. Knightley seemed
determined to be heard in his turn, for most resolutely
and commandingly did he say,
"How is your niece, Miss Bates?-- I want to inquire
after you all, but particularly your niece. How is Miss Fairfax?--
I hope she caught no cold last night. How is
she to-day? Tell me how Miss Fairfax is."
And Miss Bates was obliged to give a direct answer
before he would hear her in any thing else. The listeners
were amused; and Mrs. Weston gave Emma a look of
particular meaning. But Emma still shook her head
in steady scepticism.
"So obliged to you!-- so very much obliged to you
for the carriage,"
resumed Miss Bates.
He cut her short with,
"I am going to Kingston. Can I do any thing for
you?"
"Oh! dear, Kingston-- are you?-- Mrs. Cole was saying
the other day she wanted something from Kingston."
"Mrs. Cole has servants to send. Can I do any thing
for you?"
"No, I thank you. But do come in. Who do you
think is here?-- Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith; so
kind as to call to hear the new pianoforte=. Do put up
your horse at the Crown, and come in."
"Well,"
said he in a deliberating manner,
"for five
minutes, perhaps."
"And here is Mrs. Weston and Mr. Frank Churchill
too!-- Quite delightful; so many friends!"
"No, not now, I thank you. I could not stay two
minutes. I must get on to Kingston as fast as I can."
"Oh! do come in. They will be so very happy to
see you."
"No, no, your room is full enough. I will call another
day, and hear the pianoforte=."
AusEmma245
"Well, I am so sorry!-- Oh! Mr. Knightley, what
a delightful party last night; how extremely pleasant.--
Did you ever see such dancing?-- Was not it delightful?
-- Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill; I never
saw any thing equal to it."
"Oh! very delightful indeed; I can say nothing less,
for I suppose Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Frank Churchill
are hearing every thing that passes. And
(raising his
voice still more)
I do not see why Miss Fairfax should not
be mentioned too. I think Miss Fairfax dances very well;
and Mrs. Weston is the very best country-dance player,
without exception, in England. Now, if your friends have
any gratitude, they will say something pretty loud about
you and me in return; but I cannot stay to hear it."
"Oh! Mr. Knightley, one moment more; something
of consequence-- so shocked!-- Jane and I are both so
shocked about the apples!"
"What is the matter now?"
"To think of your sending us all your store apples.
You said you had a great many, and now you have not
one left. We really are so shocked! Mrs. Hodges may
well be angry. William Larkins mentioned it here. You
should not have done it, indeed you should not. Ah!
he is off. He never can bear to be thanked. But I thought
he would have staid now, and it would have been a pity
not to have mentioned ---- Well,
(returning into the
room,)
I have not been able to succeed. Mr. Knightley
cannot stop. He is going to Kingston. He asked me if
he could do any thing" ----
"Yes,"
said Jane,
"we heard his kind offers, we heard
every thing."
"Oh! yes, my dear, I dare say you might, because you
know the door was open, and the window was open, and
Mr. Knightley spoke loud. You must have heard everything
to be sure.
""Can I do any thing for you at Kingston?""
said he, so I just mentioned ---- Oh! Miss Woodhouse,
must you be going?-- You seem but just come-- so very
obliging of you."
AusEmma246
Emma found it really time to be at home; the visit
had already lasted long; and on examining watches, so
much of the morning was perceived to be gone, that
Mrs. Weston and her companion taking leave also, could
allow themselves only to walk with the two young ladies
to Hartfield gates, before they set off for Randalls.
AusEmma247
It may be possible to do without dancing entirely.
Instances have been known of young people passing
many, many months successively, without being at any
ball of any description, and no material injury accrue
either to body or mind;-- but when a beginning is made
-- when the felicities of rapid motion have once been,
though slightly, felt-- it must be a very heavy set that
does not ask for more.
Frank Churchill had danced once at Highbury, and
longed to dance again; and the last half hour of an
evening whichMr. Woodhouse was persuaded to spend
with his daughter at Randalls, was passed by the two
young people in schemes on the subject. Frank's was
the first idea; and his the greatest zeal in pursuing it;
for the lady was the best judge of the difficulties, and the
most solicitous for accommodation and appearance. But
still she had inclination enough for shewing people again
how delightfully Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse
danced-- for doing that in which she need not blush
to compare herself with Jane Fairfax-- and even for
simple dancing itself, without any of the wicked aids of
vanity-- to assist him first in pacing out the room they
were in to see what it could be made to hold-- and then
in taking the dimensions of the other parlour, in the hope
of discovering, in spite of all thatMr. Weston could say
of their exactly equal size, that it was a little the largest.
His first proposition and request, that the dance begun
at Mr. Cole's should be finished there-- that the same
party should be collected, and the same musicians engaged,
met with the readiest acquiescence. Mr. Weston entered
into the idea with thorough enjoyment, and Mrs. Weston
most willingly undertook to play as long as they could
AusEmma248
wish to dance; and the interesting employment had
followed, of reckoning up exactly who there would be,
and portioning out the indispensable division of space to
every couple.
"You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three,
and the two Miss Coxes five,"
had been repeated many
times over.
"And there will be the two Gilberts, young
Cox, my father, and myself, besides Mr. Knightley. Yes,
that will be quite enough for pleasure. You and Miss Smith,
and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss Coxes
five; and for five couple there will be plenty of
room."
But soon it came to be on one side,
"But will there be good room for five couple?-- I really
do not think there will."
On another,
"And after all, five couple are not enough to make it
worth while to stand up. Five couple are nothing, when
one thinks seriously about it. It will not do to invite
five couple. It can be allowable only as the thought of
the moment."
Somebody said that Miss Gilbert was expected at her
brother's, and must be invited with the rest. Somebody
else believed Mrs. Gilbert would have danced the other
evening, if she had been asked. A word was put in for
a second young Cox; and at last, Mr. Weston naming
one family of cousins who must be included, and another
of very old acquaintance who could not be left out, it
became a certainty that the five couple would be at least
ten, and a very interesting speculation in what possible
manner they could be disposed of.
The doors of the two rooms were just opposite each
other.
"Might not they use both rooms, and dance
across the passage?"
It seemed the best scheme; and
yet it was not so good but that many of them wanted
a better. Emma said it would be awkward; Mrs. Weston
was in distress about the supper; and Mr. Woodhouse
opposed it earnestly, on the score of health. It made him
AusEmma249
so very unhappy, indeed, that it could not be persevered
in.
"Oh! no,"
said he;
"it would be the extreme of
imprudence. I could not bear it for Emma!-- Emma is
not strong. She would catch a dreadful cold. So would
poor little Harriet. So you would all. Mrs. Weston, you
would be quite laid up; do not let them talk of such
a wild thing. Pray do not let them talk of it. That
young man
(speaking lower)
is very thoughtless. Do not
tell his father, but that young man is not quite the thing.
He has been opening the doors very often this evening,
and keeping them open very inconsiderately. He does
not think of the draught. I do not mean to set you against
him, but indeed he is not quite the thing!"
Mrs. Weston was sorry for such a charge. She knew
the importance of it, and said every thing in her power
to do it away. Every door was now closed, the passage
plan given up, and the first scheme of dancing only in the
room they were in resorted to again; and with such
good-will on Frank Churchill's part, that the space which
a quarter of an hour before had been deemed barely
sufficient for five couple, was now endeavoured to be made
out quite enough for ten.
"We were too magnificent,"
said he.
"We allowed
unnecessary room. Ten couple may stand here very well."
Emma demurred.
"It would be a crowd-- a sad crowd;
and what could be worse than dancing without space to
turn in?"
"Very true,"
he gravely replied;
"it was very bad."
But still he went on measuring, and still he ended with,
"I think there will be very tolerable room for ten
couple."
"No, no,"
said she,
"you are quite unreasonable. It
would be dreadful to be standing so close! Nothing can
be farther from pleasure than to be dancing in a crowd--
and a crowd in a little room!"
"There is no denying it,"
he replied.
"I agree with
you exactly. A crowd in a little room-- Miss Woodhouse,
AusEmma250
you have the art of giving pictures in a few words.
Exquisite, quite exquisite!-- Still, however, having proceeded
so far, one is unwilling to give the matter up. It
would be a disappointment to my father-- and altogether
-- I do not know that-- I am rather of opinion that ten
couple might stand here very well."
Emma perceived that
the nature of his gallantry was
a little self-willed, and that he would rather oppose than
lose the pleasure of dancing with her;
but she took the
compliment, and forgave the rest.
Had she intended ever
to marry him, it might have been worth while to pause
and consider, and try to understand the value of his
preference, and the character of his temper; but for all
the purposes of their acquaintance, he was quite amiable
enough.
Before the middle of the next day, he was at Hartfield;
and he entered the room with such an agreeable smile as
certified the continuance of the scheme. It soon appeared
that he came to announce an improvement.
"Well, Miss Woodhouse,"
he almost immediately began,
"your inclination for dancing has not been quite frightened
away, I hope, by the terrors of my father's little
rooms. I bring a new proposal on the subject:-- a
thought of my father's, which waits only your approbation
to be acted upon. May I hope for the honour of your
hand for the two first dances of this little projected ball,
to be given, not at Randalls, but at the Crown Inn?"
"The Crown!"
"Yes; if you and Mr. Woodhouse see no objection,
and I trust you cannot, my father hopes his friends will
be so kind as to visit him there. Better accommodations,
he can promise them, and not a less grateful welcome than
at Randalls. It is his own idea. Mrs. Weston sees no
objection to it, provided you are satisfied. This is what
we all feel. Oh! you were perfectly right! Ten couple,
in either of the Randalls rooms, would have been insufferable!--
Dreadful!-- I felt how right you were the
whole time, but was too anxious for securing any thing
AusEmma251
to like to yield. Is not it a good exchange?-- You consent
-- I hope you consent?"
"It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to,
if Mr. and Mrs. Weston do not. I think it admirable;
and, as far as I can answer for myself, shall be most happy
---- It seems the only improvement that could be.
Papa, do you not think it an excellent improvement?"
She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was
fully comprehended; and then, being quite new, further
representations were necessary to make it acceptable.
"No; he thought it very far from an improvement --
a very bad plan-- much worse than the other. A room
at an inn was always damp and dangerous; never properly
aired, or fit to be inhabited. If they must dance,
they had better dance at Randalls. He had never been
in the room at the Crown in his life-- did not know the
people who kept it by sight.-- Oh! no-- a very bad plan.
They would catch worse colds at the Crown than any where."
"I was going to observe, sir,"
said Frank Churchill,
"that one of the great recommendations of this change
would be the very little danger of any body's catching
cold-- so much less danger at the Crown than at Randalls!
Mr. Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but
nobody else could."
"Sir,"
said Mr. Woodhouse, rather warmly,
"you are
very much mistaken if you suppose Mr. Perry to be that
sort of character. Mr. Perry is extremely concerned
when any of us are ill. But I do not understand how the
room at the Crown can be safer for you than your father's
house."
"From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir.
We shall have no occasion to open the windows at all--
not once the whole evening; and it is that dreadful habit of
opening the windows, letting in cold air upon heated bodies,
which (as you well know, sir) does the mischief."
"Open the windows!-- but surely, Mr. Churchill, nobody
would think of opening the windows at Randalls.
AusEmma252
Nobody could be so imprudent! I never heard of such
a thing. Dancing with open windows!-- I am sure,
neither your father nor Mrs. Weston (poor Miss Taylor
that was) would suffer it."
"Ah! sir-- but a thoughtless young person will sometimes
step behind a window-curtain, and throw up a sash,
without its being suspected. I have often known it done
myself."
"Have you indeed, sir?-- Bless me! I never could
have supposed it. But I live out of the world, and am
often astonished at what I hear. However, this does
make a difference; and, perhaps, when we come to talk
it over-- but these sort of things require a good deal of
consideration. One cannot resolve upon them in a hurry.
If Mr. and Mrs. Weston will be so obliging as to call here
one morning, we may talk it over, and see what can be
done."
"But, unfortunately, sir, my time is so limited----"
"Oh!"
interrupted Emma,
"there will be plenty of
time for talking every thing over. There is no hurry at
all. If it can be contrived to be at the Crown, papa, it
will be very convenient for the horses. They will be so
near their own stable."
"So they will, my dear. That is a great thing. Not
that James ever complains; but it is right to spare our
horses when we can. If I could be sure of the rooms being
thoroughly aired-- but is Mrs. Stokes to be trusted? I
doubt it. I do not know her, even by sight."
"I can answer for every thing of that nature, sir,
because it will be under Mrs. Weston's care. Mrs. Weston
undertakes to direct the whole."
"There, papa!-- Now you must be satisfied-- Our own
dearMrs. Weston, who is carefulness itself. Do not you
remember whatMr. Perry said, so many years ago, when
I had the measles?
""If Miss Taylor undertakes to wrap
Miss Emma up, you need not have any fears, sir.""
How
often I have heard you speak of it as such a compliment
to her!"
AusEmma253
"Aye, very true. Mr. Perry did say so. I shall never
forget it. Poor little Emma! You were very bad with
the measles; that is, you would have been very bad, but
for Perry's great attention. He came four times a day
for a week. He said, from the first, it was a very good sort
-- which was our great comfort; but the measles are a
dreadful complaint. I hope whenever poor Isabella's
little ones have the measles, she will send for Perry.
"My father and Mrs. Weston are at the Crown at this
moment,"
said Frank Churchill,
"examining the capabilities
of the house. I left them there and came on to
Hartfield, impatient for your opinion, and hoping you
might be persuaded to join them and give your advice on
the spot. I was desired to say so from both. It would be
the greatest pleasure to them, if you could allow me to
attend you there. They can do nothing satisfactorily
without you."
Emma was most happy to be called to such a council;
and her father, engaging to think it all over while she was
gone, the two young people set off together without delay
for the Crown. There were Mr. and Mrs. Weston; delighted
to see her and receive her approbation, very busy
and very happy in their different way; she, in some little
distress; and he, finding every thing perfect.
"Emma,"
said she,
"this paper is worse than I expected.
Look! in places you see it is dreadfully dirty;
and the wainscot is more yellow and forlorn than any thing
I could have imagined."
"My dear, you are too particular,"
said her husband.
"What does all that signify? You will see nothing of it
by candle-light. It will be as clean as Randalls by candle-light.
We never see any thing of it on our club-nights."
The ladies here probably exchanged looks which
meant, "Men never know when things are dirty or not;"
and the gentlemen perhaps thought each to himself,
"Women will have their little nonsenses and needless
cares."
One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen
AusEmma254
did not disdain. It regarded a supper-room. At the
time of the ball-room's being built, suppers had not been
in question; and a small card-room adjoining, was the
only addition. What was to be done? This card-room
would be wanted as a card-room now; or, if cards were
conveniently voted unnecessary by their four selves, still
was not it too small for any comfortable supper? Another
room of much better size might be secured for the purpose;
but it was at the other end of the house, and a long awkward
passage must be gone through to get at it. This made
a difficulty. Mrs. Weston was afraid of draughts for the
young people in that passage; and neither Emma nor
the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect of being
miserably crowded at supper.
Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper;
merely sandwiches, &c. set out in the little room; but
that was scouted as a wretched suggestion. A private
dance, without sitting down to supper, was pronounced an
infamous fraud upon the rights of men and women; and
Mrs. Weston must not speak of it again. She then took
another line of expediency, and looking into the doubtful
room, observed,
"I do not think it is so very small. We shall not be
many, you know."
And Mr. Weston at the same time, walking briskly with
long steps through the passage, was calling out,
"You talk a great deal of the length of this passage,
my dear. It is a mere nothing after all; and not the
least draught from the stairs."
"I wish,"
said Mrs. Weston,
"one could know which
arrangement our guests in general would like best. To
do what would be most generally pleasing must be our
object-- if one could but tell what that would be."
"Yes, very true,"
cried Frank,
"very true. You want
your neighbours' opinions. I do not wonder at you. If
one could ascertain what the chief of them-- the Coles, for
instance. They are not far off. Shall I call upon them?
Or Miss Bates? She is still nearer.--And I do not know
AusEmma255
whether Miss Bates is not as likely to understand the
inclinations of the rest of the people as any body. I think
we do want a larger council. Suppose I go and invite
Miss Bates to join us?"
"Well-- if you please,"
said Mrs. Weston rather hesitating,
"if you think she will be of any use."
"You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates,"
said Emma.
"She will be all delight and gratitude, but
she will tell you nothing. She will not even listen to your
questions. I see no advantage in consulting Miss Bates."
"But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing! I am
very fond of hearing Miss Bates talk. And I need not
bring the whole family, you know."
Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was
proposed, gave it his decided approbation.
"Aye, do, Frank.-- Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let us
end the matter at once. She will enjoy the scheme, I am
sure; and I do not know a properer person for shewing
us how to do away difficulties. Fetch Miss Bates. We
are growing a little too nice. She is a standing lesson of
how to be happy. But fetch them both. Invite them
both."
"Both sir! Can the old lady?"----
"The old lady! No, the young lady, to be sure. I
shall think you a great blockhead, Frank, if you bring
the aunt without the niece."
"Oh! I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immediately
recollect. Undoubtedly if you wish it, I will endeavour
to persuade them both."
And away he ran.
Long before he re-appeared, attending the short, neat,
brisk-moving aunt, and her elegant niece,-- Mrs. Weston,
like a sweet-tempered woman and a good wife, had examined
the passage again, and found the evils of it much
less than she had supposed before-- indeed very trifling;
and here ended the difficulties of decision. All the rest,
in speculation at least, was perfectly smooth. All the
minor arrangements of table and chair, lights and music,
tea and supper, made themselves; or were left as mere
AusEmma256
trifles to be settled at any time between Mrs. Weston and
Mrs. Stokes.-- Every body invited, was certainly to come;
Frank had already written to Enscombe to propose
staying a few days beyond his fortnight, which could not
possibly be refused. And a delightful dance it was to be.
Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree
that it must. As a counsellor she was not wanted; but
as an approver, (a much safer character,) she was truly
welcome. Her approbation, at once general and minute,
warm and incessant, could not but please; and for another
half-hour they were all walking to and fro, between the
different rooms, some suggesting, some attending, and all
in happy enjoyment of the future. The party did not
break up without Emma's being positively secured for
the two first dances by the hero of the evening, nor without
her overhearing Mr. Weston whisper to his wife,
"He has
asked her, my dear. That's right. I knew he would!"
AusEmma257
One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the
ball completely satisfactory to Emma-- its being fixed for
a day within the granted term of Frank Churchill's stay in
Surry; for, in spite of Mr. Weston's confidence, she could
not think it so very impossible that the Churchills might
not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his fortnight.
But this was not judged feasible. The preparations
must take their time, nothing could be properly ready till
the third week were entered on, and for a few days they
must be planning, proceeding and hoping in uncertainty
--at the risk-- in her opinion, the great risk, of its being
all in vain.
Enscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not
in word.
His wish of staying longer evidently did not
please; but it was not opposed. All was safe and prosperous;
and as the removal of one solicitude generally
makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her
ball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley's
provoking indifference about it.
Either because he did
not dance himself, or because the plan had been formed
without his being consulted, he seemed resolved that it
should not interest him, determined against its exciting
any present curiosity, or affording him any future
amusement.
To her voluntary communications Emma
could get no more approving reply, than,
"Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be
at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment,
I have nothing to say against it, but that they shall not
choose pleasures for me.-- Oh! yes, I must be there; I
could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as I can;
but I would rather be at home, looking over William Larkins's
week's account; much rather, I confess.--
Pleasure in seeing dancing!-- not I, indeed-- I never look
AusEmma258
at it-- I do not know who does.-- Fine dancing, I believe,
like virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing
by are usually thinking of something very different."
This Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her
quite angry.
It was not in compliment to Jane Fairfax
however that he was so indifferent, or so indignant; he
was not guided by her feelings in reprobating the ball, for
she enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree.
It made her animated-- open hearted-- she voluntarily
said;--
"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen
to prevent the ball. What a disappointment it would be!
I do look forward to it, I own, with very great pleasure."
It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would
have preferred the society of William Larkins. No!--
she was more and more convinced that Mrs. Weston was
quite mistaken in that surmise. There was a great deal of
friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side--
but no love.
Alas! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with
Mr. Knightley. Two days of joyful security were immediately
followed by the overthrow of every thing. A letter
arrived from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew's instant
return.
Mrs. Churchill was unwell-- far too unwell to do
without him; she had been in a very suffering state
(so
said her husband)
when writing to her nephew two days
before, though from her usual unwillingness to give pain,
and constant habit of never thinking of herself, she had
not mentioned it; but now she was too ill to trifle, and
must entreat him to set off for Enscombe without delay.
The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in
a note from Mrs. Weston, instantly. As to his going, it
was inevitable. He must be gone within a few hours,
though without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, to
lessen his repugnance.
He knew her illnesses; they never
occurred but for her own convenience.
Mrs. Weston added,
"that he could only allow himself
time to hurry to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave
AusEmma259
of the few friends there whom he could suppose to feel any
interest in him; and that he might be expected at Hartfield
very soon."
This wretched note was the finale= of Emma's breakfast.
When once it had been read, there was no doing any thing,
but lament and exclaim. The loss of the ball-- the loss of
the young man-- and all that the young man might be
feeling!--
It was too wretched!-- Such a delightful evening
as it would have been!-- Every body so happy! and she
and her partner the happiest!--
"I said it would be so,"
was the only consolation.
Her father's feelings were quite distinct. He thought
principally of Mrs. Churchill's illness, and wanted to know
how she was treated;
and as for the ball, it was shocking
to have dearEmma disappointed; but they would all be
safer at home.
Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he
appeared; but if this reflected at all upon his impatience,
his sorrowful look and total want of spirits when he did
come might redeem him. He felt the going away almost
too much to speak of it.
His dejection was most evident.
He sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes;
and when rousing himself, it was only to say,
"Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst."
"But you will come again,"
said Emma.
"This will
not be your only visit to Randalls."
"Ah!--
(shaking his head)--
the uncertainty of when
I may be able to return!-- I shall try for it with a zeal!--
It will be the object of all my thoughts and cares!-- and
if my uncle and aunt go to town this spring-- but I am
afraid-- they did not stir last spring-- I am afraid it is
a custom gone for ever."
"Our poor ball must be quite given up."
"Ah! that ball!-- why did we wait for any thing?--
why not seize the pleasure at once?-- How often is happiness
destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation!--
You told us it would be so.-- Oh! Miss Woodhouse, why
are you always so right?"
AusEmma260
"Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance.
I would much rather have been merry than wise."
"If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My
father depends on it. Do not forget your engagement."
Emma looked graciously.
"Such a fortnight as it has been!"
he continued;
"every day more precious and more delightful than the
day before!-- every day making me less fit to bear my
other place. Happy those, who can remain at Highbury!"
"As you do us such ample justice now,"
said Emma,
laughing,
"I will venture to ask, whether you did not
come a little doubtingly at first? Do not we rather
surpass your expectations? I am sure we do. I am sure
you did not much expect to like us. You would not have
been so long in coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of
Highbury."
He laughed rather consciously; and though denying the
sentiment, Emma was convinced that it had been so.
"And you must be off this very morning?"
"Yes; my father is to join me here: we shall walk
back together, and I must be off immediately. I am
almost afraid that every moment will bring him."
"Not five minutes to spare even for your friends Miss Fairfax
and Miss Bates? How unlucky! Miss Bates's
powerful, argumentative mind might have strengthened
yours."
"Yes-- I have called there; passing the door, I thought
it better. It was a right thing to do. I went in for three
minutes, and was detained by Miss Bates's being absent.
She was out; and I felt it impossible not to wait till she
came in. She is a woman that one may, that one must
laugh at; but that one would not wish to slight. It was
better to pay my visit, then"--
He hesitated, got up, walked to a window.
"In short,"
said he,
"perhaps, Miss Woodhouse--
I think you can hardly be quite without suspicion"--
He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts.
She hardly knew what to say.
It seemed like the fore-runner
AusEmma261
of something absolutely serious, which she did not
wish.
Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in the hope of
putting it by, she calmly said,
"You were quite in the right; it was most natural to
pay your visit, then"--
He was silent. She believed he was looking at her;
probably reflecting on what she had said, and trying to
understand the manner.
She heard him sigh.
It was
natural for him to feel that he had cause to sigh. He could
not believe her to be encouraging him.
A few awkward
moments passed, and he sat down again; and in a more
determined manner said,
"It was something to feel that all the rest of my time
might be given to Hartfield. My regard for Hartfield is
most warm"--
He stopt again, rose again, and seemed quite embarrassed.--
He was more in love with her than Emma had
supposed;
and who can say how it might have ended, if
his father had not made his appearance?
Mr. Woodhouse
soon followed; and the necessity of exertion made him
composed.
A very few minutes more, however, completed the
present trial. Mr. Weston, always alert when business was
to be done, and as incapable of procrastinating any evil
that was inevitable, as of foreseeing any that was doubtful,
said,
"It was time to go;"
and the young man, though
he might and did sigh, could not but agree, and rise to
take leave.
"I shall hear about you all,"
said he;
"that is my
chief consolation. I shall hear of every thing that is going
on among you. I have engaged Mrs. Weston to correspond
with me. She has been so kind as to promise it. Oh! the
blessing of a female correspondent, when one is really
interested in the absent!-- she will tell me every thing.
In her letters I shall be at dear Highbury again."
A very friendly shake of the hand, a very earnest
"Good bye,"
closed the speech, and the door had soon shut out
Frank Churchill. Short had been the notice-- short their
AusEmma262
meeting; he was gone; and Emma felt so sorry to part,
and foresaw so great a loss to their little society from his
absence as to begin to be afraid of being too sorry, and
feeling it too much.
It was a sad change. They had been meeting almost
every day since his arrival. Certainly his being at Randalls
had given great spirit to the last two weeks--
indescribable spirit; the idea, the expectation of seeing
him which every morning had brought, the assurance of
his attentions, his liveliness, his manners! It had been
a very happy fortnight, and forlorn must be the sinking
from it into the common course of Hartfield days. To
complete every other recommendation, he had almost told
her that he loved her. What strength, or what constancy
of affection he might be subject to, was another point;
but at present she could not doubt his having a decidedly
warm admiration, a conscious preference of herself; and
this persuasion, joined to all the rest, made her think that
she must be a little in love with him, in spite of every
previous determination against it.
"I certainly must,"
said she.
"This sensation of
listlessness, weariness, stupidity, this disinclination to sit
down and employ myself, this feeling of every thing's
being dull and insipid about the house!-- I must be in
love; I should be the oddest creature in the world if
I were not-- for a few weeks at least. Well! evil to some
is always good to others. I shall have many fellow-mourners
for the ball, if not for Frank Churchill; but
Mr. Knightley will be happy. He may spend the evening
with his dearWilliam Larkins now if he likes."
Mr. Knightley, however, shewed no triumphant happiness.
He could not say that he was sorry on his own
account; his very cheerful look would have contradicted
him if he had; but he said, and very steadily, that he was
sorry for the disappointment of the others, and with
considerable kindness added,
"You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing,
you are really out of luck; you are very much out of luck!"
AusEmma263
It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge
of her honest regret in this woeful change; but when
they did meet,
her composure was odious.
She had been
particularly unwell, however, suffering from headache to
a degree, which made her aunt declare, that
had the ball
taken place, she did not think Jane could have attended
it;
and it was charity to impute some of her unbecoming
indifference to the languor of ill-health.
AusEmma264
Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in
love. Her ideas only varied as to the how much. At first,
she thought it was a good deal; and afterwards, but little.
She had great pleasure in hearing Frank Churchill talked
of; and, for his sake, greater pleasure than ever in seeing
Mr. and Mrs. Weston; she was very often thinking of him,
and quite impatient for a letter, that she might know how
he was, how were his spirits, how was his aunt, and what
was the chance of his coming to Randalls again this
spring. But, on the other hand, she could not admit
herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first morning, to be
less disposed for employment than usual; she was still
busy and cheerful; and, pleasing as he was, she could
yet imagine him to have faults; and farther, though
thinking of him so much, and, as she sat drawing or
working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for the
progress and close of their attachment, fancying interesting
dialogues, and inventing elegant letters; the conclusion
of every imaginary declaration on his side was that she
refused him. Their affection was always to subside into
friendship. Every thing tender and charming was to
mark their parting; but still they were to part. When
she became sensible of this, it struck her that she could
not be very much in love; for in spite of her previous and
fixed determination never to quit her father, never to
marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce more
of a struggle than she could foresee in her own feelings.
"I do not find myself making any use of the word
sacrifice,"
said she.--
"In not one of all my clever replies,
my delicate negatives, is there any allusion to making
a sacrifice. I do suspect that he is not really necessary to
my happiness. So much the better. I certainly will not
AusEmma265
persuade myself to feel more than I do. I am quite
enough in love. I should be sorry to be more."
Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her
view of his feelings.
"He is undoubtedly very much in love-- every thing
denotes it-- very much in love indeed!-- and when he
comes again, if his affection continue, I must be on my
guard not to encourage it.-- It would be most inexcusable
to do otherwise, as my own mind is quite made up. Not
that I imagine he can think I have been encouraging him
hitherto. No, if he had believed me at all to share his
feelings, he would not have been so wretched. Could he
have thought himself encouraged, his looks and language
at parting would have been different.-- Still, however,
I must be on my guard. This is in the supposition of his
attachment continuing what it now is; but I do not know
that I expect it will; I do not look upon him to be quite
the sort of man-- I do not altogether build upon his
steadiness or constancy.-- His feelings are warm, but I can
imagine them rather changeable.-- Every consideration of
the subject, in short, makes me thankful that my happiness
is not more deeply involved.-- I shall do very well again
after a little while-- and then, it will be a good thing over;
for they say every body is in love once in their lives, and
I shall have been let off easily."
When his letter to Mrs. Weston arrived, Emma had the
perusal of it; and she read it with a degree of pleasure
and admiration which made her at first shake her head
over her own sensations, and think she had undervalued
their strength. It was a long, well-written letter, giving
the particulars of his journey and of his feelings, expressing
all the affection, gratitude, and respect which was natural
and honourable, and describing every thing exterior and
local that could be supposed attractive, with spirit and
precision. No suspicious flourishes now of apology or
concern; it was the language of real feelings towards
Mrs. Weston; and the transition from Highbury to
Enscombe, the contrast between the places in some of the
AusEmma266
first blessings of social life was just enough touched on to
shew how keenly it was felt, and how much more might
have been said but for the restraints of propriety.--
The
charm of her own name was not wanting. Miss Woodhouse
appeared more than once, and never without a something
of pleasing connection, either a compliment to her taste,
or a remembrance of what she had said;
and in the very
last time of its meeting her eye, unadorned as it was by
any such broad wreath of gallantry, she yet could discern
the effect of her influence and acknowledge the greatest
compliment perhaps of all conveyed. Compressed into
the very lowest vacant corner were these words--
"I had
not a spare moment on Tuesday, as you know, for Miss Woodhouse's
beautiful little friend. Pray make my
excuses and adieus to her."
This, Emma could not doubt,
was all for herself. Harriet was remembered only from
being her friend. His information and prospects as to
Enscombe were neither worse nor better than had been
anticipated; Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he dared
not yet, even in his own imagination, fix a time for coming
to Randalls again.
Gratifying, however, and stimulative as was the letter
in the material part, its sentiments, she yet found, when
it was folded up and returned to Mrs. Weston, that it had
not added any lasting warmth, that she could still do
without the writer, and that he must learn to do without
her. Her intentions were unchanged. Her resolution of
refusal only grew more interesting by the addition of
a scheme for his subsequent consolation and happiness.
His recollection of Harriet, and the words which clothed
it, the
"beautiful little friend,"
suggested to her the idea
of Harriet's succeeding her in his affections.
Was it impossible?--
No,-- Harriet undoubtedly was greatly his inferior
in understanding; but he had been very much struck
with the loveliness of her face and the warm simplicity of
her manner; and all the probabilities of circumstance and
connection were in her favour.-- For Harriet, it would be
advantageous and delightful indeed.
AusEmma267
"I must not dwell upon it,"
said she.--
"I must not
think of it. I know the danger of indulging such speculations.
But stranger things have happened; and when we
cease to care for each other as we do now, it will be the
means of confirming us in that sort of true disinterested
friendship which I can already look forward to with
pleasure."
It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet's
behalf, though it might be wise to let the fancy touch it
seldom; for evil in that quarter was at hand. As Frank Churchill's
arrival had succeeded Mr. Elton's engagement
in the conversation of Highbury, as the latest interest had
entirely born down the first, so now upon Frank Churchill's
disappearance, Mr. Elton's concerns were assuming the
most irresistible form.-- His wedding-day was named. He
would soon be among them again; Mr. Elton and his
bride. There was hardly time to talk over the first letter
from Enscombe before "Mr. Elton and his bride" was in
every body's mouth, and Frank Churchill was forgotten.
Emma grew sick at the sound. She had had three weeks
of happy exemption from Mr. Elton; and Harriet's mind,
she had been willing to hope, had been lately gaining
strength. With Mr. Weston's ball in view at least, there
had been a great deal of insensibility to other things; but
it was now too evident that she had not attained such
a state of composure as could stand against the actual
approach-- new carriage, bell ringing and all.
Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required
all the reasonings and soothings and attentions of every
kind thatEmma could give. Emma felt that she could
not do too much for her, that Harriet had a right to all her
ingenuity and all her patience; but it was heavy work to
be for ever convincing without producing any effect, for ever
agreed to, without being able to make their opinions
the same. Harriet listened submissively, and said
"it
was very true-- it was just as Miss Woodhouse described--
it was not worth while to think about them-- and she
would not think about them any longer"--
but no change
AusEmma268
of subject could avail, and the next half hour saw her as
anxious and restless about the Eltons as before.-- At last
Emma attacked her on another ground.
"Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so
unhappy about Mr. Elton's marrying, Harriet, is the
strongest reproach you can make me. You could not give
me a greater reproof for the mistake I fell into. It was all
my doing, I know. I have not forgotten it, I assure you.--
Deceived myself, I did very miserably deceive you-- and
it will be a painful reflection to me for ever. Do not
imagine me in danger of forgetting it."
Harriet felt this too much to utter more than a few
words of eager exclamation. Emma continued,
"I have not said, exert yourself Harriet for my sake;
think less, talk less of Mr. Elton for my sake; because
for your own sake rather, I would wish it to be done, for
the sake of what is more important than my comfort,
a habit of self-command in you, a consideration of what
is your duty, an attention to propriety, an endeavour to
avoid the suspicions of others, to save your health and
credit, and restore your tranquillity. These are the
motives which I have been pressing on you. They are
very important-- and sorry I am that you cannot feel them
sufficiently to act upon them. My being saved from pain
is a very secondary consideration. I want you to save
yourself from greater pain. Perhaps I may sometimes
have felt that Harriet would not forget what was due-- or
rather what would be kind by me."
This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest.
The idea of wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss Woodhouse,
whom she really loved extremely, made her
wretched for a while, and when the violence of grief was
comforted away, still remained powerful enough to prompt
to what was right and support her in it very tolerably.
"You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my
life-- Want gratitude to you!-- Nobody is equal to you!--
I care for nobody as I do for you!-- Oh! Miss Woodhouse,
how ungrateful I have been!"
AusEmma269
Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing
that look and manner could do, made Emma feel that she
had never loved Harriet so well, nor valued her affection
so highly before.
"There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart,"
said
she afterwards to herself.
"There is nothing to be compared
to it. Warmth and tenderness of heart, with an
affectionate, open manner, will beat all the clearness of
head in the world, for attraction. I am sure it will. It is
tenderness of heart which makes my dear father so
generally beloved-- which gives Isabella all her popularity.--
I have it not-- but I know how to prize and
respect it.-- Harriet is my superior in all the charm and
all the felicity it gives. DearHarriet!-- I would not
change you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-judging
female breathing. Oh! the coldness of a Jane Fairfax!--
Harriet is worth a hundred such.-- And for
a wife-- a sensible man's wife-- it is invaluable. I mention
no names; but happy the man who changes Emma for
Harriet!"
AusEmma270
Mrs. Elton was first seen at church: but though
devotion might be interrupted, curiosity could not be
satisfied by a bride in a pew, and it must be left for the
visits in form which were then to be paid, to settle whether
she were very pretty indeed, or only rather pretty, or not
pretty at all.
Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than of pride or
propriety, to make her resolve on not being the last to pay
her respects; and she made a point of Harriet's going
with her, that the worst of the business might be gone
through as soon as possible.
She could not enter the house again, could not be in the
same room to which she had with such vain artifice
retreated three months ago, to lace up her boot, without
recollecting.
A thousand vexatious thoughts would recur.
Compliments, charades, and horrible blunders; and it was
not to be supposed that poor Harriet should not be
recollecting too; but she behaved very well, and was only
rather pale and silent.
The visit was of course short; and
there was so much embarrassment and occupation of mind
to shorten it, that Emma would not allow herself entirely
to form an opinion of the lady, and on no account to give
one, beyond the nothing-meaning terms of being
"elegantly
dressed, and very pleasing."
She did not really like her. She would not be in a hurry
to find fault, but she suspected that there was no elegance;
-- ease, but not elegance.-- She was almost sure that for
a young woman, a stranger, a bride, there was too much
ease. Her person was rather good; her face not unpretty;
but neither feature, nor air, nor voice, nor manner, were
elegant.
Emma thought at least it would turn out so.
As for Mr. Elton, his manners did not appear-- but no,
AusEmma271
she would not permit a hasty or a witty word from herself
about his manners. It was an awkward ceremony at any
time to be receiving wedding-visits, and a man had need
be all grace to acquit himself well through it. The woman
was better off; she might have the assistance of fine
clothes, and the privilege of bashfulness, but the man had
only his own good sense to depend on; and when she
considered how peculiarly unlucky poor Mr. Elton was in
being in the same room at once with the woman he had
just married, the woman he had wanted to marry, and the
woman whom he had been expected to marry, she must
allow him to have the right to look as little wise, and to be
as much affectedly, and as little really easy as could be.
"Well, Miss Woodhouse,"
said Harriet when they had
quitted the house, and after waiting in vain for her friend
to begin;
"Well, Miss Woodhouse,
(with a gentle sigh,)
what do you think of her?-- Is not she very charming?"
There was a little hesitation in Emma's answer.
"Oh! yes-- very-- a very pleasing young woman."
"I think her beautiful, quite beautiful."
"Very nicely dressed, indeed; a remarkably elegant
gown."
"I am not at all surprized that he should have fallen
in love."
"Oh! no-- there is nothing to surprize one at all.--
A pretty fortune; and she came in his way."
"I dare say,"
returned Harriet, sighing again,
"I dare
say she was very much attached to him."
"Perhaps she might; but it is not every man's fate
to marry the woman who loves him best. Miss Hawkins
perhaps wanted a home, and thought this the best offer
she was likely to have."
"Yes,"
said Harriet earnestly,
"and well she might,
nobody could ever have a better. Well, I wish them
happy with all my heart. And now, Miss Woodhouse,
I do not think I shall mind seeing them again. He is just
as superior as ever;-- but being married, you know, it is
quite a different thing. No, indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you
AusEmma272
need not be afraid; I can sit and admire him now without
any great misery. To know that he has not thrown
himself away, is such a comfort!-- She does seem a charming
young woman, just what he deserves. Happy creature!
He called her
""Augusta""
How delightful!"
When the visit was returned, Emma made up her mind.
She could then see more and judge better. From Harriet's
happening not to be at Hartfield, and her father's being
present to engage Mr. Elton, she had a quarter of an hour
of the lady's conversation to herself, and could composedly
attend to her; and the quarter of an hour quite
convinced her
that Mrs. Elton was a vain woman, extremely
well satisfied with herself, and thinking much of
her own importance; that she meant to shine and be very
superior, but with manners which had been formed in
a bad school, pert and familiar; that all her notions were
drawn from one set of people, and one style of living; that
if not foolish she was ignorant, and that her society would
certainly do Mr. Elton no good.
Harriet would have been a better match. If not wise
or refined herself, she would have connected him with
those who were; but Miss Hawkins, it might be fairly
supposed from her easy conceit, had been the best of her
own set. The rich brother-in-law near Bristol was the
pride of the alliance, and his place and his carriages were
the pride of him.
The very first subject after being seated was Maple Grove,
"My brother Mr. Suckling's seat"--
a comparison
of Hartfield to Maple Grove. The grounds of Hartfield
were small, but neat and pretty; and the house was
modern and well-built. Mrs. Elton seemed most favourably
impressed by the size of the room, the entrance, and
all that she could see or imagine.
"Very like Maple Grove
indeed!-- She was quite struck by the likeness!-- That
room was the very shape and size of the morning-room at
Maple Grove; her sister's favourite room."--
Mr. Elton
was appealed to.--
"Was not it astonishingly like?-- She
could really almost fancy herself at Maple Grove."
AusEmma273
"And the staircase-- You know, as I came in, I observed
how very like the staircase was; placed exactly in the
same part of the house. I really could not help exclaiming!
I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is very delightful
to me, to be reminded of a place I am so extremely partial
to as Maple Grove. I have spent so many happy months
there!
(with a little sigh of sentiment).
A charming place,
undoubtedly. Every body who sees it is struck by its
beauty; but to me, it has been quite a home. Whenever
you are transplanted, like me, Miss Woodhouse, you will
understand how very delightful it is to meet with any thing
at all like what one has left behind. I always say this is
quite one of the evils of matrimony."
Emma made as slight a reply as she could; but it was
fully sufficient for Mrs. Elton, who only wanted to be
talking herself.
"So extremely like Maple Grove! And it is not merely
the house-- the grounds, I assure you, as far as I could
observe, are strikingly like. The laurels at Maple Grove
are in the same profusion as here, and stand very much in
the same way-- just across the lawn; and I had a glimpse
of a fine large tree, with a bench round it, which put me
so exactly in mind! My brother and sister will be enchanted
with this place. People who have extensive
grounds themselves are always pleased with any thing in
the same style."
Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment. She had
a great idea that people who had extensive grounds
themselves cared very little for the extensive grounds of
any body else; but it was not worth while to attack
an error so double-dyed, and therefore only said in
reply,
"When you have seen more of this country, I am afraid
you will think you have over-rated Hartfield. Surry is
full of beauties."
"Oh! yes, I am quite aware of that. It is the garden
of England, you know. Surry is the garden of England."
"Yes; but we must not rest our claims on that distinction.
AusEmma274
Many counties, I believe, are called the garden of
England, as well as Surry."
"No, I fancy not,"
replied Mrs. Elton, with a most
satisfied smile.
"I never heard any county but Surry
called so."
Emma was silenced.
"My brother and sister have promised us a visit in the
spring, or summer at farthest,"
continued Mrs. Elton;
"and that will be our time for exploring. While they are
with us, we shall explore a great deal, I dare say. They
will have their barouche-landau, of course, which holds
four perfectly; and therefore, without saying any thing
of our carriage, we should be able to explore the different
beauties extremely well. They would hardly come in
their chaise, I think, at that season of the year. Indeed,
when the time draws on, I shall decidedly recommend
their bringing the barouche-landau; it will be so very
much preferable. When people come into a beautiful
country of this sort, you know, Miss Woodhouse, one
naturally wishes them to see as much as possible; and
Mr. Suckling is extremely fond of exploring. We explored
to King's-Weston twice last summer, in that way, most
delightfully, just after their first having the barouche-landau.
You have many parties of that kind here,
I suppose, Miss Woodhouse, every summer?"
"No; not immediately here. We are rather out of
distance of the very striking beauties which attract the
sort of parties you speak of; and we are a very quiet set
of people, I believe; more disposed to stay at home than
engage in schemes of pleasure."
"Ah! there is nothing like staying at home, for real
comfort. Nobody can be more devoted to home than
I am. I was quite a proverb for it at Maple Grove. Many
a time has Selina said, when she has been going to Bristol,
""I really cannot get this girl to move from the house.
I absolutely must go in by myself, though I hate being
stuck up in the barouche-landau without a companion;
but Augusta, I believe, with her own good will, would
AusEmma275
never stir beyond the park paling.""
Many a time she has
said so; and yet I am no advocate for entire seclusion.
I think, on the contrary, when people shut themselves up
entirely from society, it is a very bad thing; and that it
is much more advisable to mix in the world in a proper
degree, without living in it either too much or too little.
I perfectly understand your situation, however, Miss Woodhouse--
(looking towards Mr. Woodhouse)--
Your
father's state of health must be a great drawback. Why
does not he try Bath?-- Indeed he should. Let me
recommend Bath to you. I assure you I have no doubt
of its doing Mr. Woodhouse good."
"My father tried it more than once, formerly; but
without receiving any benefit; and Mr. Perry, whose
name, I dare say, is not unknown to you, does not conceive
it would be at all more likely to be useful now."
"Ah! that's a great pity; for I assure you, Miss Woodhouse,
where the waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the
relief they give. In my Bath life, I have seen such
instances of it! And it is so cheerful a place, that it could
not fail of being of use to Mr. Woodhouse's spirits, which,
I understand, are sometimes much depressed. And as to
its recommendations to you, I fancy I need not take much
pains to dwell on them. The advantages of Bath to the
young are pretty generally understood. It would be
a charming introduction for you, who have lived so
secluded a life; and I could immediately secure you some
of the best society in the place. A line from me would
bring you a little host of acquaintance; and my particular
friend, Mrs. Partridge, the lady I have always resided with
when in Bath, would be most happy to shew you any
attentions, and would be the very person for you to go
into public with."
It was as much as Emma could bear, without being
impolite.
The idea of her being indebted to Mrs. Elton
for what was called an introduction-- of her going into
public under the auspices of a friend of Mrs. Elton's,
probably some vulgar, dashing widow, who, with the
AusEmma276
help of a boarder, just made a shift to live!-- The
dignity of Miss Woodhouse, of Hartfield, was sunk
indeed!
She restrained herself, however, from any of the
reproofs she could have given, and only thanked Mrs. Elton
coolly;
"but their going to Bath was quite out of the
question; and she was not perfectly convinced that the
place might suit her better than her father."
And then,
to prevent further outrage and indignation, changed the
subject directly:
"I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton.
Upon these occasions, a lady's character generally
precedes her; and Highbury has long known that you
are a superior performer."
"Oh! no, indeed; I must protest against any such
idea. A superior performer!-- very far from it, I assure
you. Consider from how partial a quarter your information
came. I am doatingly fond of music-- passionately
fond;-- and my friends say I am not entirely devoid of
taste; but as to any thing else, upon my honour my
performance is mediocre to the last degree. You, Miss Woodhouse,
I well know, play delightfully. I assure you
it has been the greatest satisfaction, comfort, and delight
to me, to hear what a musical society I am got into.
I absolutely cannot do without music. It is a necessary
of life to me; and having always been used to a very
musical society, both at Maple Grove and in Bath, it would
have been a most serious sacrifice. I honestly said as
much to Mr. E. when he was speaking of my future home,
and expressing his fears lest the retirement of it should be
disagreeable; and the inferiority of the house too--
knowing what I had been accustomed to-- of course he
was not wholly without apprehension. When he was
speaking of it in that way, I honestly said that the world
I could give up-- parties, balls, plays-- for I had no fear
of retirement. Blessed with so many resources within
myself, the world was not necessary to me. I could do
very well without it. To those who had no resources it
AusEmma277
was a different thing; but my resources made me quite
independent. And as to smaller-sized rooms than I had
been used to, I really could not give it a thought. I hoped
I was perfectly equal to any sacrifice of that description.
Certainly I had been accustomed to every luxury at
Maple Grove; but I did assure him that two carriages
were not necessary to my happiness, nor were spacious
apartments. ""But,"" said I, ""to be quite honest, I do not
think I can live without something of a musical society.
I condition for nothing else; but without music, life would
be a blank for me."""
"We cannot suppose,"
said Emma, smiling,
"that
Mr. Elton would hesitate to assure you of there being
a very musical society in Highbury; and I hope you will
not find he has outstepped the truth more than may be
pardoned, in consideration of the motive."
"No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head.
I am delighted to find myself in such a circle. I hope we
shall have many sweet little concerts together. I think,
Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish a musical
club, and have regular weekly meetings at your house, or
ours. Will not it be a good plan? If we exert ourselves,
I think we shall not be long in want of allies. Something
of that nature would be particularly desirable for me, as
an inducement to keep me in practice; for married
women, you know-- there is a sad story against them, in
general. They are but too apt to give up music."
"But you, who are so extremely fond of it-- there can
be no danger, surely."
"I should hope not; but really when I look round
among my acquaintance, I tremble. Selina has entirely
given up music-- never touches the instrument-- though
she played sweetly. And the same may be said of Mrs. Jeffereys--
Clara Partridge, that was-- and of the two
Milmans, now Mrs. Bird and Mrs. James Cooper; and of
more than I can enumerate. Upon my word it is enough
to put one in a fright. I used to be quite angry with
Selina; but really I begin to comprehend that
AusEmma278
a married woman has many things to call her attention.
I believe I was half an hour this morning shut up with my
housekeeper."
"But every thing of that kind,"
said Emma,
"will soon
be in so regular a train--"
"Well,"
said Mrs. Elton, laughing,
"we shall see."
Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her
music, had nothing more to say; and, after a moment's
pause, Mrs. Elton chose another subject.
"We have been calling at Randalls,"
said she,
"and
found them both at home; and very pleasant people they
seem to be. I like them extremely. Mr. Weston seems an
excellent creature-- quite a first-rate favourite with me
already, I assure you. And she appears so truly good--
there is something so motherly and kind-hearted about
her, that it wins upon one directly. She was your governess,
I think?"
Emma was almost too much astonished to answer; but
Mrs. Elton hardly waited for the affirmative before she
went on.
"Having understood as much, I was rather astonished
to find her so very lady-like! But she is really quite the
gentlewoman."
"Mrs. Weston's manners,"
said Emma,
"were always
particularly good. Their propriety, simplicity, and
elegance, would make them the safest model for any young
woman."
"And who do you think came in while we were there?"
Emma was quite at a loss.
The tone implied some old
acquaintance-- and how could she possibly guess?
"Knightley!"
continued Mrs. Elton;--
"Knightley
himself!-- Was not it lucky?-- for, not being within when
he called the other day, I had never seen him before; and
of course, as so particular a friend of Mr. E.'s, I had
a great curiosity.
""My friend Knightley""
had been so
often mentioned, that I was really impatient to see him;
and I must do my caro sposo the justice to say that he
need not be ashamed of his friend. Knightley is quite the
AusEmma279
gentleman. I like him very much. Decidedly, I think,
a very gentleman-like man."
Happily it was now time to be gone. They were off;
and Emma could breathe.
"Insufferable woman!"
was her immediate exclamation.
"Worse than I had supposed. Absolutely insufferable!
Knightley!-- I could not have believed it. Knightley!--
never seen him in her life before, and call him
Knightley!-- and discover that he is a gentleman! A little
upstart, vulgar being, with her Mr. E., and her caro sposo,
and her resources, and all her airs of pert pretension and
under-bred finery. Actually to discover that Mr. Knightley
is a gentleman! I doubt whether he will return the
compliment, and discover her to be a lady. I could
not have believed it! And to propose that she and I should
unite to form a musical club! One would fancy we were
bosom friends! And Mrs. Weston!-- Astonished that the
person who had brought me up should be a gentlewoman!
Worse and worse. I never met with her equal. Much
beyond my hopes. Harriet is disgraced by any comparison.
Oh! what would Frank Churchill say to her, if he were
here? How angry and how diverted he would be! Ah!
there I am-- thinking of him directly. Always the first
person to be thought of! How I catch myself out! Frank Churchill
comes as regularly into my mind!"--
All this ran so glibly through her thoughts, that by the
time her father had arranged himself, after the bustle of
the Eltons' departure, and was ready to speak, she was
very tolerably capable of attending.
"Well, my dear,"
he deliberately began,
"considering
we never saw her before, she seems a very pretty sort of
young lady; and I dare say she was very much pleased
with you. She speaks a little too quick. A little quickness
of voice there is which rather hurts the ear. But I believe
I am nice; I do not like strange voices; and nobody
speaks like you and poor Miss Taylor. However, she
seems a very obliging, pretty-behaved young lady, and
no doubt will make him a very good wife. Though I think
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he had better not have married. I made the best excuses
I could for not having been able to wait on him and
Mrs. Elton on this happy occasion; I said that I hoped
I should in the course of the summer. But I ought to have
gone before. Not to wait upon a bride is very remiss.
Ah! it shews what a sad invalid I am! But I do not like
the corner into Vicarage-lane."
"I dare say your apologies were accepted, sir. Mr. Elton
knows you."
"Yes: but the young lady-- a bride-- I ought to have
paid my respects to her if possible. It was being very
deficient."
"But my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony;
and therefore why should you be so anxious to pay your
respects to a bride? It ought to be no recommendation
to you. It is encouraging people to marry if you make so
much of them."
"No, my dear, I never encouraged any body to marry,
but I would always wish to pay every proper attention to
a lady-- and a bride, especially, is never to be neglected.
More is avowedly due to her. A bride, you know, my dear,
is always the first in company, let the others be who they
may."
"Well, papa, if this is not encouragement to marry,
I do not know what is. And I should never have expected
you to be lending your sanction to such vanity-baits for
poor young ladies."
"My dear, you do not understand me. This is a matter
of mere common politeness and good-breeding, and has
nothing to do with any encouragement to people to marry."
Emma had done. Her father was growing nervous, and
could not understand her. Her mind returned to Mrs. Elton's
offences, and long, very long, did they occupy her.
AusEmma281
Emma was not required, by any subsequent discovery,
to retract her ill opinion of Mrs. Elton. Her observation
had been pretty correct. Such as Mrs. Elton appeared
to her on this second interview, such she appeared whenever
they met again.-- self-important, presuming, familiar,
ignorant, and ill-bred. She had a little beauty and a little
accomplishment, but so little judgment that she thought
herself coming with superior knowledge of the world, to
enliven and improve a country neighbourhood; and
conceived Miss Hawkins to have held such a place in
society as Mrs. Elton's consequence only could surpass.
There was no reason to suppose Mr. Elton thought at all
differently from his wife. He seemed not merely happy
with her, but proud. He had the air of congratulating
himself on having brought such a woman to Highbury, as
not even Miss Woodhouse could equal; and the greater
part of her new acquaintance, disposed to commend, or
not in the habit of judging, following the lead of Miss Bates's
good-will or taking it for granted that the bride
must be as clever and as agreeable as she professed herself,
were very well satisfied; so that Mrs. Elton's praise
passed from one mouth to another as it ought to do,
unimpeded by Miss Woodhouse, who readily continued
her first contribution and talked with a good grace of her
being
"very pleasant and very elegantly dressed."
In one respect Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had
appeared at first. Her feelings altered towards Emma.--
Offended, probably, by the little encouragement which
her proposals of intimacy met with, she drew back in her
turn and gradually became much more cold and distant;
and though the effect was agreeable, the ill-will which
produced it was necessarily increasing Emma's dislike.
Her manners too-- and Mr. Elton's, were unpleasant
towards Harriet. They were sneering and negligent.
AusEmma282
Emma hoped it must rapidly work Harriet's cure; but
the sensations which could prompt such behaviour sunk
them both very much.--
It was not to be doubted that
poor Harriet's attachment had been an offering to conjugal
unreserve, and her own share in the story, under a colouring
the least favourable to her and the most soothing to
him, had in all likelihood been given also. She was, of
course, the object of their joint dislike.--When they had
nothing else to say, it must be always easy to begin
abusing Miss Woodhouse; and the enmity which they
dared not shew in open disrespect to her, found a broader
vent in contemptuous treatment of Harriet.
Mrs. Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax; and
from the first. Not merely when a state of warfare with one
young lady might be supposed to recommend the other,
but from the very first; and she was not satisfied with
expressing a natural and reasonable admiration-- but
without solicitation, or plea, or privilege, she must be
wanting to assist and befriend her.-- Before Emma had
forfeited her confidence, and about the third time of their
meeting, she heard all Mrs. Elton's knight-errantry on the
subject.--
"Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming, Miss Woodhouse.--
I quite rave about Jane Fairfax.-- A sweet,
interesting creature. So mild and ladylike-- and with
such talents!-- I assure you I think she has very extraordinary
talents. I do not scruple to say that she plays
extremely well. I know enough of music to speak decidedly
on that point. Oh! she is absolutely charming!
You will laugh at my warmth-- but upon my word; I talk
of nothing but Jane Fairfax.-- And her situation is so
calculated to affect one!-- Miss Woodhouse, we must
exert ourselves and endeavour to do something for her.
We must bring her forward. Such talents as her's must
not be suffered to remain unknown.-- I dare say you have
heard those charming lines of the poet,
""Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
"And waste its fragrance on the desert air.""
AusEmma283
We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane Fairfax."
"I cannot think there is any danger of it,"
was Emma's
calm answer--
"and when you are better acquainted with
Miss Fairfax's situation and understand what her home
has been, with Col. and Mrs. Campbell, I have no idea
that you will suppose her talents can be unknown."
"Oh! but dearMiss Woodhouse, she is now in such
retirement, such obscurity, so thrown away.-- Whatever
advantages she may have enjoyed with the Campbells are
so palpably at an end! And I think she feels it. I am sure
she does. She is very timid and silent. One can see that
she feels the want of encouragement. I like her the better
for it. I must confess it is a recommendation to me. I am
a great advocate for timidity-- and I am sure one does not
often meet with it.-- But in those who are at all inferior,
it is extremely prepossessing. Oh! I assure you, Jane Fairfax
is a very delightful character, and interests me
more than I can express."
"You appear to feel a great deal -- but I am not aware
how you or any of Miss Fairfax's acquaintance here, any
of those who have known her longer than yourself, can
shew her any other attention than"--
"My dearMiss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be done
by those who dare to act. You and I need not be afraid.
If we set the example, many will follow it as far as they
can; though all have not our situations. We have
carriages to fetch and convey her home, and we live in
a style which could not make the addition of Jane Fairfax,
at any time, the least inconvenient.-- I should be extremely
displeased if Wright were to send us up such a dinner, as
could make me regret having asked more than Jane Fairfax
to partake of it. I have no idea of that sort of thing. It
is not likely that I should, considering what I have been
used to. My greatest danger, perhaps, in housekeeping,
may be quite the other way, in doing too much, and being
too careless of expense. Maple Grove will probably be my
model more than it ought to be-- for we do not at all
AusEmma284
affect to equal my brother, Mr. Suckling, in income.--
However, my resolution is taken as to noticing Jane Fairfax.--
I shall certainly have her very often at my
house, shall introduce her wherever I can, shall have
musical parties to draw out her talents, and shall be
constantly on the watch for an eligible situation. My
acquaintance is so very extensive, that I have little doubt
of hearing of something to suit her shortly.-- I shall introduce
her, of course, very particularly to my brother and
sister when they come to us. I am sure they will like her
extremely; and when she gets a little acquainted with
them, her fears will completely wear off, for there really
is nothing in the manners of either but what is highly
conciliating.-- I shall have her very often indeed while
they are with me, and I dare say we shall sometimes find
a seat for her in the barouche-landau in some of our
exploring parties."
"Poor Jane Fairfax!" --
thought Emma.--
"You have
not deserved this. You may have done wrong with
regard to Mr. Dixon, but this is a punishment beyond
what you can have merited!-- The kindness and protection
of Mrs. Elton!-- ""Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax.""
Heavens! Let me not suppose that she dares go about,
Emma Woodhouse-ing me!-- But upon my honour, there
seem no limits to the licentiousness of that woman's
tongue!"
Emma had not to listen to such paradings again-- to
any so exclusively addressed to herself-- so disgustingly
decorated with a
"dearMiss Woodhouse."
The change
on Mrs. Elton's side soon afterwards appeared, and she
was left in peace-- neither forced to be the very particular
friend of Mrs. Elton, nor, under Mrs. Elton's guidance,
the very active patroness of Jane Fairfax, and only
sharing with others in a general way, in knowing what was
felt, what was meditated, what was done.
She looked on with some amusement.-- Miss Bates's
gratitude for Mrs. Elton's attentions to Jane was in the
first style of guileless simplicity and warmth. She was
AusEmma285
quite one of her worthies-- the most amiable, affable,
delightful woman-- just as accomplished and condescending
as Mrs. Elton meant to be considered. Emma's only
surprize was that Jane Fairfax should accept those
attentions and tolerate Mrs. Elton as she seemed to do.
She heard of her walking with the Eltons, sitting with the
Eltons, spending a day with the Eltons!
This was
astonishing!-- She could not have believed it possible that
the taste or the pride of Miss Fairfax could endure such
society and friendship as the Vicarage had to offer.
"She is a riddle, quite a riddle!"
said she.--
"To chuse
to remain here month after month, under privations of
every sort! And now to chuse the mortification of
Mrs. Elton's notice and the penury of her conversation,
rather than return to the superior companions who have
always loved her with such real, generous affection."
Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three
months; the Campbells were gone to Ireland for three
months; but now the Campbells had promised their
daughter to stay at least till Midsummer, and fresh
invitations had arrived for her to join them there. According
to Miss Bates-- it all came from her-- Mrs. Dixon had
written most pressingly. Would Jane but go, means were
to be found, servants sent, friends contrived-- no travelling
difficulty allowed to exist; but still she had declined it!
"She must have some motive, more powerful than
appears, for refusing this invitation,"
was Emma's conclusion.
"She must be under some sort of penance,
inflicted either by the Campbells or herself. There is great
fear, great caution, great resolution somewhere.-- She is
not to be with the Dixons. The degree is issued by somebody.
But why must she consent to be with the Eltons?--
Here is quite a separate puzzle."
Upon her speaking her wonder aloud on that part of the
subject, before the few who knew her opinion of Mrs. Elton,
Mrs. Weston ventured this apology for Jane.
"We cannot suppose that she had any great enjoyment
at the Vicarage, my dearEmma-- but it is better than
AusEmma286
being always at home. Her aunt is a good creature, but,
as a constant companion, must be very tiresome. We
must consider whatMiss Fairfax quits, before we condemn
her taste for what she goes to."
"You are rightMrs. Weston,"
said Mr. Knightley
warmly,
"Miss Fairfax is as capable as any of us of forming
a just opinion of Mrs. Elton. Could she have chosen
with whom to associate, she would not have chosen her.
But
(with a reproachful smile at Emma)
she receives
attentions from Mrs. Elton, which nobody else pays her."
Emma felt that Mrs. Weston was giving her a momentary
glance; and she was herself struck by his warmth.
With a faint blush, she presently replied,
"Such attentions as Mrs. Elton's, I should have
imagined, would rather disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax.
Mrs. Elton's invitations I should have imagined any thing
but inviting."
"I should not wonder,"
said Mrs. Weston,
"if Miss Fairfax
were to have been drawn on beyond her own inclination,
by her aunt's eagerness in accepting Mrs. Elton's
civilities for her. Poor Miss Bates may very likely have
committed her niece and hurried her into a greater
appearance of intimacy than her own good sense would
have dictated, in spite of the very natural wish of a little
change."
Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again; and
after a few minutes silence, he said,
"Another thing must be taken into consideration too--
Mrs. Elton does not talk to Miss Fairfax as she speaks of
her. We all know the difference between the pronouns he
or she and thou, the plainest-spoken amongst us; we all
feel the influence of a something beyond common civility
in our personal intercourse with each other-- a something
more early implanted. We cannot give any body the
disagreeable hints that we may have been very full of the
hour before. We feel things differently. And besides the
operation of this, as a general principle, you may be sure
that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs. Elton by her superiority both
AusEmma287
of mind and manner; and that face to face Mrs. Elton
treats her with all the respect which she has a claim to.
Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably never fell in
Mrs. Elton's way before-- and no degree of vanity can
prevent her acknowledging her own comparative littleness
in action, if not in consciousness."
"I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,"
said
Emma. Little Henry was in her thoughts, and a mixture
of alarm and delicacy made her irresolute what else to say.
"Yes,"
he replied,
"any body may know how highly
I think of her."
"And yet,"
said Emma, beginning hastily and with an
arch look, but soon stopping--
it was better, however, to
know the worst at once--
she hurried on--
"And yet,
perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly
it is. The extent of your admiration may take you by
surprize some day or other."
Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons
of his thick leather gaiters, and either the exertion of
getting them together, or some other cause, brought the
colour into his face, as he answered,
"Oh! are you there?-- But you are miserably behindhand.
Mr. Cole gave me a hint of it six weeks ago."
He stopped.-- Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Weston,
and did not herself know what to think. In a
moment he went on--
"That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss Fairfax,
I dare say, would not have me if I were to ask
her-- and I am very sure I shall never ask her."
Emma returned her friend's pressure with interest; and
was pleased enough to exclaim,
"You are not vain, Mr. Knightley. I will say that
for you."
He seemed hardly to hear her; he was thoughtful--
and in a manner which shewed him not pleased, soon
afterwards said,
"So you have been settling that I should marry Jane Fairfax."
AusEmma288
"No indeed I have not. You have scolded me too
much for match-making, for me to presume to take such
a liberty with you. What I said just now, meant nothing.
One says those sort of things, of course, without any idea
of a serious meaning. Oh! no, upon my word I have not
the smallest wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane
any body. You would not come in and sit with us in this
comfortable way, if you were married."
Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his
reverie was,
"No, Emma, I do not think the extent of
my admiration for her will ever take me by surprize.--
I never had a thought of her in that way, I assure you."
And soon afterwards,
"Jane Fairfax is a very charming
young woman-- but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She
has a fault. She has not the open temper which a man
would wish for in a wife."
Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault.
"Well,"
said she,
"and you soon silenced Mr. Cole,
I suppose?"
"Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint; I told
him he was mistaken; he asked my pardon and said no
more. Cole does not want to be wiser or wittier than his
neighbours."
"In that respect how unlike dearMrs. Elton, who
wants to be wiser and wittier than all the world! I wonder
how she speaks of the Coles-- what she calls them! How
can she find any appellation for them, deep enough in
familiar vulgarity? She calls you, Knightley-- what can
she do for Mr. Cole? And so I am not to be surprized
that Jane Fairfax accepts her civilities and consents to be
with her. Mrs. Weston, your argument weighs most with
me. I can much more readily enter into the temptation
of getting away from Miss Bates, than I can believe in the
triumph of Miss Fairfax's mind over Mrs. Elton. I have
no faith in Mrs. Elton's acknowledging herself the inferior
in thought, word, or deed; or in her being under any
restraint beyond her own scanty rule of good-breeding.
I cannot imagine that she will not be continually insulting
AusEmma289
her visitor with praise, encouragement, and offers of
service; that she will not be continually detailing her
magnificent intentions, from the procuring her a permanent
situation to the including her in those delightful
exploring parties which are to take place in the barouche-landau."
"Jane Fairfax has feeling,"
said Mr. Knightley--
"I do
not accuse her of want of feeling. Her sensibilities,
I suspect, are strong-- and her temper excellent in its
power of forbearance, patience, self-controul; but it
wants openness. She is reserved, more reserved, I think,
than she used to be-- And I love an open temper. No--
till Cole alluded to my supposed attachment, it had never
entered my head. I saw Jane Fairfax and conversed with
her, with admiration and pleasure always-- but with no
thought beyond."
"Well, Mrs. Weston,"
said Emma triumphantly when
he left them,
"what do you say now to Mr. Knightley's
marrying Jane Fairfax?"
"Why really, dearEmma, I say that he is so very much
occupied by the idea of not being in love with her, that
I should not wonder if it were to end in his being so at last.
Do not beat me."
AusEmma290
Every body in and about Highbury who had ever
visited Mr. Elton, was disposed to pay him attention on
his marriage. Dinner-parties and evening-parties were
made for him and his lady; and invitations flowed in so
fast that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they
were never to have a disengaged day.
"I see how it is,"
said she.
"I see what a life I am to
lead among you. Upon my word we shall be absolutely
dissipated. We really seem quite the fashion. If this is
living in the country, it is nothing very formidable. From
Monday next to Saturday, I assure you we have not
a disengaged day!-- A woman with fewer resources than
I have, need not have been at a loss."
No invitation came amiss to her. Her Bath habits
made evening-parties perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove
had given her a taste for dinners. She was a little
shocked at the want of two drawing rooms, at the poor
attempt at rout-cakes, and there being no ice in the
Highbury card parties. Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard
and others, were a good deal behind hand in knowledge
of the world, but she would soon shew them how
every thing ought to be arranged. In the course of the
spring she must return their civilities by one very superior
party-- in which her card tables should be set out with
their separate candles and unbroken packs in the true
style-- and more waiters engaged for the evening than
their own establishment could furnish, to carry round the
refreshments at exactly the proper hour, and in the proper
order.
Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without
a dinner at Hartfield for the Eltons.
They must not do
AusEmma291
less than others, or should be exposed to odious
suspicions, and imagined capable of pitiful resentment.
A dinner there must be.
After Emma had talked about it
for ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and
only made the usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom
of the table himself, with the usual regular difficulty of
deciding who should do it for him.
The persons to be invited, required little thought.
Besides the Eltons, it must be the Westons and Mr. Knightley;
so far it was all of course-- and it was hardly
less inevitable that poor little Harriet must be asked
to make the eighth:--
but this invitation was not given
with equal satisfaction, and on many accounts Emma
was particularly pleased by Harriet's begging to be
allowed to decline it.
"She would rather not be in his
company more than she could help. She was not yet quite
able to see him and his charming happy wife together,
without feeling uncomfortable. If Miss Woodhouse would
not be displeased, she would rather stay at home."
It was
precisely whatEmma would have wished, had she deemed
it possible enough for wishing.
She was delighted with the
fortitude of her little friend-- for fortitude she knew it was
in her to give up being in company and stay at home; and
she could now invite the very person whom she really
wanted to make the eighth, Jane Fairfax.--
Since her last
conversation with Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley, she
was more conscience-stricken about Jane Fairfax than she
had often been.-- Mr. Knightley's words dwelt with her.
He had said that Jane Fairfax received attentions from
Mrs. Elton which nobody else paid her.
"This is very true,"
said she,
"at least as far as relates
to me, which was all that was meant-- and it is very
shameful.-- Of the same age-- and always knowing her--
I ought to have been more her friend.-- She will never like
me now. I have neglected her too long. But I will shew
her greater attention than I have done."
Every invitation was successful. They were all disengaged
and all happy.-- The preparatory interest of this
AusEmma292
dinner, however, was not yet over. A circumstance rather
unlucky occurred. The two eldest little Knightleys were
engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt a visit of some
weeks in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing
them, and staying one whole day at Hartfield-- which one
day would be the very day of this party.-- His professional
engagements did not allow of his being put off, but both
father and daughter were disturbed by its happening so.
Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons at dinner
together as the utmost that his nerves could bear-- and
here would be a ninth-- and Emma apprehended that it
would be a ninth very much out of humour at not being
able to come even to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without
falling in with a dinner-party.
She comforted her father better than she could comfort
herself, by representing that though he certainly would
make them nine, yet he always said so little, that the
increase of noise would be very immaterial. She thought
it in reality a sad exchange for herself, to have him with
his grave looks and reluctant conversation opposed to her
instead of his brother.
The event was more favourable to Mr. Woodhouse
than to Emma. John Knightley came; but Mr. Weston
was unexpectedly summoned to town and must be
absent on the very day. He might be able to join
them in the evening, but certainly not to dinner.
Mr. Woodhouse was quite at ease; and the seeing him so,
with the arrival of the little boys and the philosophic
composure of her brother on hearing his fate, removed the
chief of even Emma's vexation.
The day came, the party were punctually assembled,
and Mr. John Knightley seemed early to devote himself
to the business of being agreeable. Instead of drawing
his brother off to a window while they waited for dinner,
he was talking to Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton, as elegant as
lace and pearls could make her, he looked at in silence--
wanting only to observe enough for Isabella's information
-- but Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet
AusEmma293
girl, and he could talk to her. He had met her before
breakfast as he was returning from a walk with his little
boys, when it had been just beginning to rain. It was
natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, and he
said,
"I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this
morning, or I am sure you must have been wet.-- We
scarcely got home in time. I hope you turned directly."
"I went only to the post-office,"
said she,
"and reached
home before the rain was much. It is my daily errand.
I always fetch the letters when I am here. It saves trouble,
and is a something to get me out. A walk before breakfast
does me good."
"Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine."
"No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out."
Mr. John Knightley smiled, and replied,
"That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you
were not six yards from your own door when I had the
pleasure of meeting you; and Henry and John had seen
more drops than they could count long before. The post-office
has a great charm at one period of our lives. When
you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters
are never worth going through the rain for."
There was a little blush, and then this answer,
"I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the
midst of every dearest connection, and therefore I cannot
expect that simply growing older should make me indifferent
about letters."
"Indifferent! Oh! no-- I never conceived you could
become indifferent. Letters are no matter of indifference;
they are generally a very positive curse."
"You are speaking of letters of business; mine are
letters of friendship."
"I have often thought them the worst of the two,"
replied he coolly.
"Business, you know, may bring
money, but friendship hardly ever does."
"Ah! you are not serious now. I know Mr. John Knightley
too well-- I am very sure he understands the
AusEmma294
value of friendship as well as any body. I can easily
believe that letters are very little to you, much less than
to me, but it is not your being ten years older than myself
which makes the difference, it is not age, but situation.
You have every body dearest to you always at hand,
I, probably, never shall again; and therefore till I have
outlived all my affections, a post-office, I think, must
always have power to draw me out, in worse weather than
to-day."
"When I talked of your being altered by time, by the
progress of years,"
said John Knightley,
"I meant to
imply the change of situation which time usually brings.
I consider one as including the other. Time will generally
lessen the interest of every attachment not within the daily
circle-- but that is not the change I had in view for you. As
an old friend, you will allow me to hope, Miss Fairfax, that
ten years hence you may have as many concentrated
objects as I have."
It was kindly said, and very far from giving offence.
A pleasant
"thank you"
seemed meant to laugh it off, but
a blush, a quivering lip, a tear in the eye, shewed that it
was felt beyond a laugh. Her attention was now claimed
by Mr. Woodhouse, who being, according to his custom on
such occasions, making the circle of his guests, and paying
his particular compliments to the ladies, was ending with
her-- and with all his mildest urbanity, said,
"I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being
out this morning in the rain. Young ladies should take
care of themselves.-- Young ladies are delicate plants.
They should take care of their health and their complexion.
My dear, did you change your stockings?"
"Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very much obliged
by your kind solicitude about me."
"My dearMiss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to be
cared for.-- I hope your good grandmamma and aunt are
well. They are some of my very old friends. I wish my
health allowed me to be a better neighbour. You do us
a great deal of honour to-day, I am sure. My daughter
AusEmma295
and I are both highly sensible of your goodness, and have
the greatest satisfaction in seeing you at Hartfield."
The kind-hearted, polite old man might then sit down
and feel that he had done his duty, and made every fair
lady welcome and easy.
By this time, the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton,
and her remonstrances now opened upon Jane.
"My dearJane, what is this I hear?-- going to the
post-office in the rain!-- This must not be, I assure you.--
You sad girl, how could you do such a thing?-- It is a sign
I was not there to take care of you."
Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught
any cold.
"Oh! do not tell me. You really are a very sad girl,
and do not know how to take care of yourself.-- To the
post-office indeed! Mrs. Weston, did you ever hear the
like? You and I must positively exert our authority."
"My advice,"
said Mrs. Weston kindly and persuasively,
"I certainly do feel tempted to give. Miss Fairfax, you
must not run such risks.-- Liable as you have been to
severe colds, indeed you ought to be particularly careful,
especially at this time of year. The spring I always think
requires more than common care. Better wait an hour
or two, or even half a day for your letters, than run the
risk of bringing on your cough again. Now do not you
feel that you had? Yes, I am sure you are much too
reasonable. You look as if you would not do such a thing
again."
"Oh! she shall not do such a thing again,"
eagerly
rejoined Mrs. Elton.
"We will not allow her to do such
a thing again:"--
and nodding significantly--
"there must
be some arrangement made, there must indeed. I shall
speak to Mr. E.. The man who fetches our letters every
morning (one of our men, I forget his name) shall inquire
for your's too and bring them to you. That will obviate
all difficulties you know; and from us I really think, my
dearJane, you can have no scruple to accept such an
accommodation."
AusEmma296
"You are extremely kind,"
said Jane;
"but I cannot
give up my early walk. I am advised to be out of doors
as much as I can, I must walk somewhere, and the post-office
is an object; and upon my word, I have scarcely
ever had a bad morning before."
"My dearJane, say no more about it. The thing is
determined, that is
(laughing affectedly)
as far as I can
presume to determine any thing without the concurrence
of my lord and master. You know, Mrs. Weston, you and
I must be cautious how we express ourselves. But I do
flatter myself, my dearJane, that my influence is not
entirely worn out. If I meet with no insuperable difficulties
therefore, consider that point as settled."
"Excuse me,"
said Jane earnestly,
"I cannot by any
means consent to such an arrangement, so needlessly
troublesome to your servant. If the errand were not
a pleasure to me, it could be done, as it always is when
I am not here, by my grandmamma's."
"Oh! my dear; but so much as Patty has to do!--
And it is a kindness to employ our men."
Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered;
but instead of answering, she began speaking again to
Mr. John Knightley.
"The post-office is a wonderful establishment!"
said
she.--
"The regularity and dispatch of it! If one thinks
of all that it has to do, and all that it does so well, it is
really astonishing!"
"It is certainly very well regulated."
"So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears! So
seldom that a letter, among the thousands that are
constantly passing about the kingdom, is even carried
wrong-- and not one in a million, I suppose, actually lost!
And when one considers the variety of hands, and of bad
hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the
wonder!"
"The clerks grow expert from habit.-- They must begin
with some quickness of sight and hand, and exercise
improves them. If you want any further explanation,"
AusEmma297
continued he, smiling,
"they are paid for it. That is the
key to a great deal of capacity. The public pays and must
be served well."
The varieties of hand-writing were farther talked of, and
the usual observations made.
"I have heard it asserted,"
said John Knightley,
"that
the same sort of hand-writing often prevails in a family;
and where the same master teaches, it is natural enough.
But for that reason, I should imagine the likeness must be
chiefly confined to the females, for boys have very little
teaching after an early age, and scramble into any hand
they can get. Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very
much alike. I have not always known their writing
apart."
"Yes,"
said his brother hesitatingly,
"there is a likeness.
I know what you mean-- but Emma's hand is the
strongest."
"Isabella and Emma both write beautifully,"
said
Mr. Woodhouse;
"and always did. And so does poor
Mrs. Weston"--
with half a sigh and half a smile at her.
"I never saw any gentleman's handwriting"--
Emma
began, looking also at Mrs. Weston; but stopped, on
perceiving that Mrs. Weston was attending to some one
else-- and the pause gave her time to reflect,
"Now, how
am I going to introduce him?-- Am I unequal to speaking
his name at once before all these people? Is it necessary
for me to use any roundabout phrase?-- Your Yorkshire
friend-- your correspondent in Yorkshire;-- that would be
the way, I suppose, if I were very bad.-- No, I can pronounce
his name without the smallest distress. I certainly
get better and better.-- Now for it."
Mrs. Weston was disengaged and Emma began again--
"Mr. Frank Churchill writes one of the best gentlemen's
hands I ever saw."
"I do not admire it,"
said Mr. Knightley.
"It is too
small-- wants strength. It is like a woman's writing."
This was not submitted to by either lady. They
vindicated him against the base aspersion.
"No, it by
AusEmma298
no means wanted strength-- it was not a large hand, but
very clear and certainly strong. Had not Mrs. Weston
any letter about her to produce?"
No, she had heard
from him very lately, but having answered the letter, had
put it away.
"If we were in the other room,"
said Emma,
"if I had
my writing-desk, I am sure I could produce a specimen.
I have a note of his.-- Do not you remember, Mrs. Weston,
employing him to write for you one day?"
"He chose to say he was employed"--
"Well, well, I have that note; and can shew it after
dinner to convince Mr. Knightley."
"Oh! when a gallant young man, like Mr. Frank Churchill,"
said Mr. Knightley drily,
"writes to a fair
lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of course, put forth his
best."
Dinner was on table.-- Mrs. Elton, before she could be
spoken to, was ready; and before Mr. Woodhouse had
reached her with his request to be allowed to hand her into
the dinner-parlour, was saying--
"Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always
leading the way."
Jane's solicitude about fetching her own letters had not
escaped Emma. She had heard and seen it all; and felt
some curiosity to know whether the wet walk of this
morning had produced any. She suspected that it had;
that it would not have been so resolutely encountered but
in full expectation of hearing from some one very dear,
and that it had not been in vain. She thought there was
an air of greater happiness than usual-- a glow both of
complexion and spirits.
She could have made an inquiry or two, as to the
expedition and the expense of the Irish mails;-- it was at
her tongue's end-- but she abstained. She was quite
determined not to utter a word that should hurt Jane Fairfax's
feelings; and they followed the other ladies out
of the room, arm in arm, with an appearance of good-will
highly becoming to the beauty and grace of each.
AusEmma299
When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after
dinner, Emma found it hardly possible to prevent their
making two distinct parties;-- with so much perseverance
in judging and behaving ill did Mrs. Elton engross Jane Fairfax
and slight herself. She and Mrs. Weston were
obliged to be almost always either talking together or
silent together. Mrs. Elton left them no choice. If Jane
repressed her for a little time, she soon began again; and
though much that passed between them was in a half-whisper,
especially on Mrs. Elton's side, there was no
avoiding knowledge of their principal subjects:-- The post-office
--catching cold-- fetching letters-- and friendship,
were long under discussion; and to them succeeded one,
which must be at least equally unpleasant to Jane-- inquiries
whether she had yet heard of any situation likely to
suit her, and professions of Mrs. Elton's meditated activity.
"Here is April come!"
said she,
"I get quite anxious
about you. June will soon be here."
"But I have never fixed on June or any other month--
merely looked forward to the summer in general."
"But have you really heard of nothing?"
"I have not even made any inquiry; I do not wish to
make any yet."
"Oh! my dear, we cannot begin too early; you are
not aware of the difficulty of procuring exactly the
desirable thing."
"I not aware!"
said Jane, shaking her head;
"dear
Mrs. Elton, who can have thought of it as I have done?"
"But you have not seen so much of the world as I have.
You do not know how many candidates there always are
for the first situations. I saw a vast deal of that in the
neighbourhood round Maple Grove. A cousin of Mr. Suckling,
Mrs. Bragge, had such an infinity of applications;
every body was anxious to be in her family, for she moves
AusEmma300
in the first circle. Wax-candles in the school-room! You
may imagine how desirable! Of all the houses in the kingdom
Mrs. Bragge's is the one I would most wish to see you in."
"Col. and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by mid-summer,"
said Jane,
"I must spend some time with them;
I am sure they will want it;-- afterwards I may probably
be glad to dispose of myself. But I would not wish you
to take the trouble of making any inquiries at present."
"Trouble! aye, I know your scruples. You are afraid
of giving me trouble; but I assure you, my dearJane,
the Campbells can hardly be more interested about you
than I am. I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in a day or two,
and shall give her a strict charge to be on the look-out for
any thing eligible."
"Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention
the subject to her; till the time draws nearer, I do not
wish to be giving any body trouble."
"But, my dear child, the time is drawing near; here
is April, and June, or say even July, is very near, with
such business to accomplish before us. Your inexperience
really amuses me! A situation such as you deserve, and
your friends would require for you, is no every day
occurrence, is not obtained at a moment's notice; indeed,
indeed, we must begin inquiring directly."
"Excuse me, ma'am, but this is by no means my
intention; I make no inquiry myself, and should be sorry
to have any made by my friends. When I am quite
determined as to the time, I am not at all afraid of being
long unemployed. There are places in town, offices, where
inquiry would soon produce something-- Offices for the
sale-- not quite of human flesh -- but of human intellect."
"Oh! my dear, human flesh! You quite shock me; if
you mean a fling at the slave-trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling
was always rather a friend to the abolition."
"I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,"
replied Jane;
"governess-trade, I assure you, was all
that I had in view; widely different certainly, as to the
guilt of those who carry it on; but as to the greater
AusEmma301
misery of the victims, I do not know where it lies. But
I only mean to say that there are advertising offices, and
that by applying to them I should have no doubt of very
soon meeting with something that would do."
"Something that would do!"
repeated Mrs. Elton.
"Aye, that may suit your humble ideas of yourself;--
I know what a modest creature you are; but it will not
satisfy your friends to have you taking up with any thing
that may offer, any inferior, commonplace situation, in
a family not moving in a certain circle, or able to command
the elegancies of life."
"You are very obliging; but as to all that, I am very
indifferent; it would be no object to me to be with the
rich; my mortifications, I think, would only be the
greater; I should suffer more from comparison. A gentleman's
family is all that I should condition for."
"I know you, I know you; you would take up with
any thing; but I shall be a little more nice, and I am sure
the good Campbells will be quite on my side; with your
superior talents, you have a right to move in the first circle.
Your musical knowledge alone would entitle you to name
your own terms, have as many rooms as you like, and
mix in the family as much as you chose;-- that is-- I do
not know-- if you knew the harp, you might do all that,
I am very sure; but you sing as well as play;-- yes,
I really believe you might, even without the harp, stipulate
for what you chose;-- and you must and shall be delightfully,
honourably and comfortably settled before the
Campbells or I have any rest."
"You may well class the delight, the honour, and the
comfort of such a situation together,"
said Jane,
"they
are pretty sure to be equal; however, I am very serious
in not wishing any thing to be attempted at present for
me. I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton, I am
obliged to any body who feels for me, but I am quite
serious in wishing nothing to be done till the summer.
For two or three months longer I shall remain where I am,
and as I am."
AusEmma302
"And I am quite serious too, I assure you,"
replied
Mrs. Elton gaily,
"in resolving to be always on the watch,
and employing my friends to watch also, that nothing
really unexceptionable may pass us."
In this style she ran on; never thoroughly stopped by
any thing till Mr. Woodhouse came into the room; her
vanity had then a change of object, and Emma heard her
saying in the same half-whisper to Jane,
"Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest!--
Only think of his gallantry in coming away before the
other men!-- what a dear creature he is;-- I assure you
I like him excessively. I admire all that quaint, old-fashioned
politeness; it is much more to my taste than
modern ease; modern ease often disgusts me. But this
good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish you had heard his gallant
speeches to me at dinner. Oh! I assure you I began to
think my caro sposo would be absolutely jealous. I fancy
I am rather a favourite; he took notice of my gown. How
do you like it?-- Selina's choice-- handsome, I think, but
I do not know whether it is not over-trimmed; I have the
greatest dislike to the idea of being over-trimmed-- quite
a horror of finery. I must put on a few ornaments now
because it is expected of me. A bride, you know, must
appear like a bride, but my natural taste is all for simplicity;
a simple style of dress is so infinitely preferable to finery.
But I am quite in the minority, I believe; few people seem
to value simplicity of dress,-- shew and finery are every thing.
I have some notion of putting such a trimming as
this to my white and silver poplin. Do you think it will
look well?"
The whole party were but just reassembled in the
drawing-room when Mr. Weston made his appearance
among them. He had returned to a late dinner, and walked
to Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had been too much
expected by the best judges, for surprize-- but there was
great joy. Mr. Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him
now, as he would have been sorry to see him before. John Knightley
only was in mute astonishment.--
That a man
AusEmma303
who might have spent his evening quietly at home after
a day of business in London, should set off again, and walk
half-a-mile to another man's house, for the sake of being
in mixed company till bed-time, of finishing his day in the
efforts of civility and the noise of numbers, was a circumstance
to strike him deeply. A man who had been in
motion since eight o'clock in the morning, and might now
have been still, who had been long talking, and might have
been silent, who had been in more than one crowd, and
might have been alone!-- Such a man, to quit the tranquillity
and independence of his own fire-side, and on the
evening of a cold sleety April day rush out again into the
world!-- Could he by a touch of his finger have instantly
taken back his wife, there would have been a motive; but
his coming would probably prolong rather than break up
the party.
John Knightley looked at him with amazement,
then shrugged his shoulders, and said,
"I could not have
believed it even of him."
Mr. Weston meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious of the
indignation he was exciting, happy and cheerful as usual,
and with all the right of being principal talker, which
a day spent any where from home confers, was making
himself agreeable among the rest; and having satisfied the
inquiries of his wife as to his dinner, convincing her that
none of all her careful directions to the servants had been
forgotten, and spread abroad what public news he had
heard, was proceeding to a family communication, which,
though principally addressed to Mrs. Weston, he had not
the smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every body
in the room. He gave her a letter, it was from Frank,
and to herself; he had met with it in his way, and had
taken the liberty of opening it.
"Read it, read it,"
said he,
"it will give you pleasure;
only a few lines-- will not take you long; read it to Emma."
The two ladies looked over it together; and he sat
smiling and talking to them the whole time, in a voice
a little subdued, but very audible to every body.
"Well, he is coming, you see; good news, I think.
AusEmma304
Well, what do you say to it?-- I always told you he would
be here again soon, did not I?-- Anne, my dear, did not
I always tell you so, and you would not believe me?-- In
town next week, you see -- at the latest, I dare say; for
she is as impatient as the black gentleman when any thing
is to be done; most likely they will be there to-morrow or
Saturday. As to her illness, all nothing of course. But it
is an excellent thing to have Frank among us again, so
near as town. They will stay a good while when they do
come, and he will be half his time with us. This is precisely
what I wanted. Well, pretty good news, is not it?
Have you finished it? Has Emma read it all? Put it up,
put it up; we will have a good talk about it some other
time, but it will not do now. I shall only just mention the
circumstance to the others in a common way."
Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the
occasion. Her looks and words had nothing to restrain
them. She was happy, she knew she was happy, and
knew she ought to be happy. Her congratulations were
warm and open; but Emma could not speak so fluently.
She was a little occupied in weighing her own feelings,
and trying to understand the degree of her agitation, which
she rather thought was considerable.
Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very observant, too
communicative to want others to talk, was very well satisfied
with what she did say, and soon moved away to make
the rest of his friends happy by a partial communication
of what the whole room must have overheard already.
It was well that he took every body's joy for granted,
or he might not have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or
Mr. Knightley particularly delighted. They were the
first entitled, after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to be made
happy;-- from them he would have proceeded to Miss Fairfax,
but she was so deep in conversation with John Knightley,
that it would have been too positive an interruption;
and finding himself close to Mrs. Elton, and her
attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the subject
with her.
AusEmma305
"I hope I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing
my son to you,"
said Mr. Weston.
Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a particular compliment
intended her by such a hope, smiled most graciously.
"You have heard of a certain Frank Churchill, I presume,"
he continued--
"and know him to be my son,
though he does not bear my name."
"Oh! yes, and I shall be very happy in his acquaintance.
I am sure Mr. Elton will lose no time in calling on him;
and we shall both have great pleasure in seeing him at the
Vicarage."
"You are very obliging.-- Frank will be extremely
happy, I am sure.-- He is to be in town next week, if not
sooner. We have notice of it in a letter to-day. I met the
letters in my way this morning, and seeing my son's hand,
presumed to open it-- though it was not directed to me--
it was to Mrs. Weston. She is his principal correspondent,
I assure you. I hardly ever get a letter."
"And so you absolutely opened what was directed to
her! oh! Mr. Weston--
(laughing affectedly)
I must
protest against that.-- A most dangerous precedent
indeed!-- I beg you will not let your neighbours follow
your example.-- Upon my word, if this is what I am to
expect, we married women must begin to exert ourselves!
--Oh! Mr. Weston, I could not have believed it of you!"
"Aye, we men are sad fellows. You must take care of
yourself, Mrs. Elton.-- This letter tells us-- it is a short
letter-- written in a hurry, merely to give us notice-- it
tells us that they are all coming up to town directly, on
Mrs. Churchill's account-- she has not been well the whole
winter, and thinks Enscombe too cold for her-- so they are
all to move southward without loss of time."
"Indeed!-- from Yorkshire, I think. Enscombe is in
Yorkshire?"
AusEmma306
"Yes, they are about 190 miles from London. A considerable
journey."
"Yes, upon my word, very considerable. Sixty-five
miles farther than from Maple Grove to London. But
what is distance, Mr. Weston, to people of large fortune?--
You would be amazed to hear how my brother, Mr. Suckling,
sometimes flies about. You will hardly believe me--
but twice in one week he and Mr. Bragge went to London
and back again with four horses."
"The evil of the distance from Enscombe,"
said
Mr. Weston,
"is, that Mrs. Churchill, as we understand,
has not been able to leave the sopha for a week together.
In Frank's last letter she complained, he said, of being too
weak to get into her conservatory without having both his
arm and his uncle's! This, you know, speaks a great
degree of weakness-- but now she is so impatient to be in
town, that she means to sleep only two nights on the road.
-- SoFrank writes word. Certainly, delicate ladies have
very extraordinary constitutions, Mrs. Elton. You must
grant me that."
"No, indeed, I shall grant you nothing. I always take
the part of my own sex. I do indeed. I give you notice--
You will find me a formidable antagonist on that point.
I always stand up for women-- and I assure you, if you
knew how Selina feels with respect to sleeping at an inn,
you would not wonder at Mrs. Churchill's making incredible
exertions to avoid it. Selina says it is quite horror to her--
and I believe I have caught a little of her nicety. She
always travels with her own sheets; an excellent precaution.
Does Mrs. Churchill do the same?"
"Depend upon it, Mrs. Churchill does everything that
any other fine lady ever did. Mrs. Churchill will not be
second to any lady in the land for"--
Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with,
"Oh! Mr. Weston, do not mistake me. Selina is no fine
lady, I assure you. Do not run away with such an idea."
"Is not she? Then she is no rule for Mrs. Churchill,
who is as thorough a fine lady as any body ever beheld."
AusEmma307
Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong in
disclaiming so warmly. It was by no means her object to
have it believed that her sister was not a fine lady;
perhaps there was want of spirit in the pretence of it;--
and she was considering in what way she had best retract,
when Mr. Weston went on.
"Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you
may suspect-- but this is quite between ourselves. She
is very fond of Frank, and therefore I would not speak ill
of her. Besides, she is out of health now; but that indeed,
by her own account, she has always been. I would not
say so to every body, Mrs. Elton, but I have not much
faith in Mrs. Churchill's illness."
"If she is really ill, why not go to BathMr. Weston?--
To Bath, or to Clifton?"
"She has taken it into her head that Enscombe is too
cold for her. The fact is, I suppose, that she is tired of
Enscombe. She has now been a longer time stationary
there, than she ever was before, and she begins to want
change. It is a retired place. A fine place, but very
retired."
"Aye-- like Maple Grove, I dare say. Nothing can
stand more retired from the road than Maple Grove.
Such an immense plantation all round it! You seem shut
out from every thing-- in the most complete retirement.--
And Mrs. Churchill probably has not health or spirits like
Selina to enjoy that sort of seclusion. Or, perhaps she
may not have resources in herself to be qualified
for a country life. I always say a woman cannot have too
many resources-- and I feel very thankful that I have so
many myself as to be quite independent of society."
"Frank was here in February for a fortnight."
"So I remember to have heard. He will find an
addition to the society of Highbury when he comes again;
that is, if I may presume to call myself an addition. But
perhaps he may never have heard of there being such
a creature in the world."
This was too loud a call for a compliment to be passed
AusEmma308
by, and Mr. Weston with a very good grace, immediately
exclaimed,
"My dear madam! Nobody but yourself could imagine
such a thing possible. Not heard of you!-- I believe
Mrs. Weston's letters lately have been full of very little else
than Mrs. Elton."
He had done his duty and could return to his son.
"When Frank left us,"
continued he,
"it was quite
uncertain when we might see him again, which makes
this day's news doubly welcome. It has been completely
unexpected. That is, I always had a strong persuasion he
would be here again soon, I was sure something favourable
would turn up-- but nobody believed me. He and
Mrs. Weston were both dreadfully desponding.
""How
could he contrive to come? And how could it be supposed
that his uncle and aunt would spare him again?""
and so
forth-- I always felt that something would happen in our
favour; and so it has, you see. I have observed, Mrs. Elton,
in the course of my life, that if things are going
untowardly one month, they are sure to mend the next."
"Very true, Mr. Weston, perfectly true. It is just what
I used to say to a certain gentleman in company in the
days of courtship, when, because things did not go quite
right, did not proceed with all the rapidity which suited
his feelings, he was apt to be in despair, and exclaim that
he was sure at this rate it would be May before Hymen's
saffron robe would be put on for us! Oh! the pains I have
been at to dispel those gloomy ideas and give him cheerfuller
views! The carriage-- we had disappointments
about the carriage;-- one morning, I remember, he came
to me quite in despair."
She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing, and Mr. Weston
instantly seized the opportunity of going on.
"You were mentioning May. May is the very month
whichMrs. Churchill is ordered, or has ordered herself, to
spend in some warmer place than Enscombe-- in short, to
spend in London; so that we have the agreeable prospect
of frequent visits from Frank the whole spring-- precisely
AusEmma309
the season of the year which one should have chosen for it:
days almost at the longest; weather genial and pleasant,
always inviting one out, and never too hot for exercise.
When he was here before, we made the best of it; but
there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather;
there always is in February, you know, and we could not
do half that we intended. Now will be the time. This
will be complete enjoyment; and I do not know, Mrs. Elton,
whether the uncertainty of our meetings, the sort
of constant expectation there will be of his coming in to-day
or to-morrow, and at any hour, may not be more
friendly to happiness than having him actually in the
house. I think it is so. I think it is the state of mind
which gives most spirit and delight. I hope you will be
pleased with my son; but you must not expect a prodigy.
He is generally thought a fine young man, but do not
expect a prodigy. Mrs. Weston's partiality for him is very
great, and, as you may suppose, most gratifying to me.
She thinks nobody equal to him."
"And I assure you, Mr. Weston, I have very little
doubt that my opinion will be decidedly in his favour.
I have heard so much in praise of Mr. Frank Churchill.--
At the same time it is fair to observe, that I am one of
those who always judge for themselves, and are by no
means implicitly guided by others. I give you notice that
as I find your son, so I shall judge him.-- I am no
flatterer."
Mr. Weston was musing.
"I hope,"
said he presently,
"I have not been severe
upon poor Mrs. Churchill. If she is ill I should be sorry to
do her injustice; but there are some traits in her character
which make it difficult for me to speak of her with the
forbearance I could wish. You cannot be ignorant,
Mrs. Elton, of my connection with the family, nor of the
treatment I have met with; and, between ourselves, the
whole blame of it is to be laid on her. She was the instigator.
Frank's mother would never have been slighted as she was
but for her. Mr. Churchill has pride; but his pride is
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nothing to his wife's: his is a quiet, indolent, gentleman-like
sort of pride that would harm nobody, and only make
himself a little helpless and tiresome; but her pride is
arrogance and insolence! And what inclines one less to
bear, she has no fair pretence of family or blood. She was
nobody when he married her, barely the daughter of
a gentleman; but ever since her being turned into
a Churchill she has out-Churchill'd them all in high and
mighty claims: but in herself, I assure you, she is an
upstart."
"Only think! well, that must be infinitely provoking!
I have quite a horror of upstarts. Maple Grove has given
me a thorough disgust of people of that sort; for there is
a family in that neighbourhood who are such an annoyance
to my brother and sister from the airs they give themselves!
Your description of Mrs. Churchill made me think
of them directly. People of the name of Tupman, very
lately settled there, and encumbered with many low
connections, but giving themselves immense airs, and
expecting to be on a footing with the old established
families. A year and a half is the very utmost that they
can have lived at West Hall; and how they got their
fortune nobody knows. They came from Birmingham,
which is not a place to promise much, you know, Mr. Weston.
One has not great hopes from Birmingham. I always
say there is something direful in the sound: but nothing
more is positively known of the Tupmans, though a good
many things I assure you are suspected; and yet by their
manners they evidently think themselves equal even to my
brother, Mr. Suckling, who happens to be one of their
nearest neighbours. It is infinitely too bad. Mr. Suckling
who has been eleven years a resident at Maple Grove, and
whose father had it before him-- I believe, at least-- I am
almost sure that old Mr. Suckling had completed the
purchase before his death."
They were interrupted. Tea was carrying round, and
Mr. Weston, having said all that he wanted, soon took the
opportunity of walking away.
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After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston and Mr. Elton sat down
with Mr. Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five were
left to their own powers, and Emma doubted their getting
on very well; for Mr. Knightley seemed little disposed
for conversation; Mrs. Elton was wanting notice, which
nobody had inclination to pay, and she was herself in
a worry of spirits which would have made her prefer being
silent.
Mr. John Knightley proved more talkative than his
brother. He was to leave them early the next day; and
he soon began with--
"Well, Emma, I do not believe I have any thing more
to say about the boys; but you have your sister's letter,
and every thing is down at full length there we may be
sure. My charge would be much more concise than her's,
and probably not much in the same spirit; all that I have
to recommend being comprised in, do not spoil them, and
do not physic them."
"I rather hope to satisfy you both,"
said Emma,
"for
I shall do all in my power to make them happy, which
will be enough for Isabella; and happiness must preclude
false indulgence and physic."
"And if you find them troublesome, you must send
them home again."
"That is very likely. You think so, do not you?"
"I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your
father-- or even may be some incumbrance to you, if your
visiting-engagements continue to increase as much as they
have done lately."
"Increase!"
"Certainly; you must be sensible that the last half
year has made a great difference in your way of life."
"Difference! No indeed I am not."
"There can be no doubt of your being much more
engaged with company than you used to be. Witness this
very time. Here am I come down for only one day, and
you are engaged with a dinner-party! -- When did it
happen before, or any thing like it? Your neighbourhood
AusEmma312
is increasing, and you mix more with it. A little while
ago, every letter to Isabella brought an account of fresh
gaieties; dinners at Mr. Cole's, or balls at the Crown.
The difference which Randalls, Randalls alone makes in
your goings-on, is very great."
"Yes,"
said his brother quickly,
"it is Randalls that
does it all."
"Very well-- and as Randalls, I suppose, is not likely
to have less influence than heretofore, it strikes me as
a possible thing, Emma, that Henry and John may be
sometimes in the way. And if they are, I only beg you to
send them home."
"No,"
cried Mr. Knightley,
"that need not be the
consequence. Let them be sent to Donwell. I shall
certainly be at leisure."
"Upon my word,"
exclaimed Emma,
"you amuse me!
I should like to know how many of all my numerous
engagements take place without your being of the party;
and why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure
to attend to the little boys. These amazing engagements
of mine-- what have they been? Dining once with the
Coles-- and having a ball talked of, which never took
place. I can understand you--
(nodding at Mr. John Knightley)--
your good fortune in meeting with so many
of your friends at once here, delights you too much to pass
unnoticed. But you,
(turning to Mr. Knightley,)
who
know how very, very seldom I am ever two hours from
Hartfield, why should you foresee such a series of dissipation
for me, I cannot imagine. And as to my dear little
boys, I must say, that if aunt Emma has not time for
them, I do not think they would fare much better with
uncle Knightley, who is absent from home about five
hours where she is absent one-- and who, when he is at
home, is either reading to himself or settling his accounts."
Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to smile; and
succeeded without difficulty, upon Mrs. Elton's beginning
to talk to him.
AusEmma315
A very little quiet reflection was enough to satisfy Emma
as to the nature of her agitation on hearing this news of
Frank Churchill. She was soon convinced that
it was not
for herself she was feeling at all apprehensive or embarrassed;
it was for him. Her own attachment had really
subsided into a mere nothing; it was not worth thinking
of;-- but if he, who had undoubtedly been always so much
the most in love of the two, were to be returning with the
same warmth of sentiment which he had taken away, it
would be very distressing. If a separation of two months
should not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils
before her;-- caution for him and for herself would be
necessary. She did not mean to have her own affections
entangled again, and it would be incumbent on her to avoid
any encouragement of his.
She wished she might be able to keep him from an
absolute declaration. That would be so very painful
a conclusion of their present acquaintance!-- and yet, she
could not help rather anticipating something decisive.
She felt as if the spring would not pass without bringing
a crisis, an event, a something to alter her present composed
and tranquil state.
It was not very long, though rather longer than Mr. Weston
had foreseen, before she had the power of forming
some opinion of Frank Churchill's feelings. The Enscombe
family were not in town quite so soon as had been imagined,
but he was at Highbury very soon afterwards. He rode
down for a couple of hours; he could not yet do more;
but as he came from Randall's immediately to Hartfield,
AusEmma316
she could then exercise all her quick observation, and
speedily determine how he was influenced, and how she
must act. They met with the utmost friendliness. There
could be no doubt of his great pleasure in seeing her. But
she had an almost instant doubt of his caring for her as he
had done, of his feeling the same tenderness in the same
degree. She watched him well.
It was a clear thing he
was less in love than he had been. Absence, with the
conviction probably of her indifference, had produced this
very natural and very desirable effect.
He was in high spirits; as ready to talk and laugh as
ever, and seemed delighted to speak of his former visit,
and recur to old stories: and he was not without agitation.
It was not in his calmness that she read his comparative
indifference.
He was not calm; his spirits were evidently
fluttered; there was restlessness about him. Lively as he
was, it seemed a liveliness that did not satisfy himself;
but what decided her belief on the subject, was his staying
only a quarter of an hour, and hurrying away to make
other calls in Highbury.
"He had seen a group of old
acquaintance in the street as he passed-- he had not
stopped, he would not stop for more than a word-- but he
had the vanity to think they would be disappointed if he
did not call, and much as he wished to stay longer at
Hartfield, he must hurry off."
She had no doubt as to his being less in love-- but neither
his agitated spirits, nor his hurrying away, seemed like
a perfect cure; and she was rather inclined to think it
implied a dread of her returning power, and a discreet
resolution of not trusting himself with her long.
This was the only visit from Frank Churchill in the
course of ten days.
He was often hoping, intending to
come-- but was always prevented. His aunt could not
bear to have him leave her. Such was his own account at
Randall's.
If he were quite sincere, if he really tried to
come, it was to be inferred that Mrs. Churchill's removal
to London had been of no service to the wilful or nervous
part of her disorder. That she was really ill was very
AusEmma317
certain; he had declared himself convinced of it, at
Randall's.
Though much might be fancy, he could not
doubt, when he looked back, that she was in a weaker
state of health than she had been half a year ago. He did
not believe it to proceed from any thing that care and
medicine might not remove, or at least that she might not
have many years of existence before her; but he could not
be prevailed on by all his father's doubts, to say that her
complaints were merely imaginary, or that she was as
strong as ever.
It soon appeared that London was not the place for her.
She could not endure its noise. Her nerves were under
continual irritation and suffering; and by the ten days'
end, her nephew's letter to Randall's communicated
a change of plan.
They were going to remove immediately
to Richmond. Mrs. Churchill had been recommended to
the medical skill of an eminent person there, and had
otherwise a fancy for the place. A ready-furnished house
in a favourite spot was engaged, and much benefit expected
from the change.
Emma heard that Frank wrote in the highest spirits of
this arrangement, and seemed most fully to appreciate
the blessing of having two months before him of such near
neighbourhood to many dear friends-- for the house was
taken for May and June. She was told that now he wrote
with the greatest confidence of being often with them,
almost as often as he could even wish.
Emma saw how Mr. Weston understood these joyous
prospects.
He was considering her as the source of all the
happiness they offered. She hoped it was not so. Two
months must bring it to the proof.
Mr. Weston's own happiness was indisputable.
He was
quite delighted. It was the very circumstance he could
have wished for. Now, it would be really having Frank
in their neighbourhood. What were nine miles to a young
man?-- An hour's ride. He would be always coming over.
The difference in that respect of Richmond and London
was enough to make the whole difference of seeing him
AusEmma318
always and seeing him never. Sixteen miles-- nay,
eighteen-- it must be full eighteen to Manchester-street--
was a serious obstacle. Were he ever able to get away,
the day would be spent in coming and returning. There
was no comfort in having him in London; he might as
well be at Enscombe; but Richmond was the very
distance for easy intercourse. Better than nearer!
One good thing was immediately brought to a certainty
by this removal,-- the ball at the Crown. It had not been
forgotten before, but it had been soon acknowledged vain
to attempt to fix a day. Now, however, it was absolutely
to be; every preparation was resumed, and very soon
after the Churchills had removed to Richmond, a few lines
from Frank, to say that
his aunt felt already much better
for the change, and that he had no doubt of being able to
join them for twenty-four hours at any given time,
induced
them to name as early a day as possible.
Mr. Weston's ball was to be a real thing. A very few
to-morrows stood between the young people of Highbury
and happiness.
Mr. Woodhouse was resigned. The time of year lightened
the evil to him.
May was better for every thing than
February. Mrs. Bates was engaged to spend the evening
at Hartfield, James had due notice, and he sanguinely
hoped that neither dear little Henry nor dear little John
would have any thing the matter with them, while dear
Emma was gone.
AusEmma319
No misfortune occurred, again to prevent the ball.
The day approached, the day arrived; and, after a morning
of some anxious watching, Frank Churchill, in all the
certainty of his own self, reached Randall's before dinner,
and every thing was safe.
No second meeting had there yet been between him and
Emma.
The room at the Crown was to witness it;-- but
it would be better than a common meeting in a crowd.
Mr. Weston had been so very earnest in his entreaties for
her early attendance, for her arriving there as soon as
possible after themselves, for the purpose of taking her
opinion as to the propriety and comfort of the rooms before
any other persons came, that she could not refuse him,
and must therefore spend some quiet interval in the
young man's company. She was to convey Harriet, and
they drove to the Crown in good time, the Randalls' party
just sufficiently before them.
Frank Churchill seemed to have been on the watch;
and though he did not say much, his eyes declared that he
meant to have a delightful evening.
They all walked
about together, to see that every thing was as it should be;
and within a few minutes were joined by the contents of
another carriage, whichEmma could not hear the sound
of at first, without great surprise.
"So unreasonably
early!"
she was going to exclaim; but she presently
found that it was a family of old friends, who were coming,
like herself, by particular desire, to help Mr. Weston's
judgement; and they were so very closely followed by
another carriage of cousins, who had been entreated to
come early with the same distinguishing earnestness, on
the same errand, that it seemed as if half the company
might soon be collected together for the purpose of
preparatory inspection.
Emma perceived that her taste was not the only taste on
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whichMr. Weston depended, and felt, that
to be the
favourite and intimate of a man who had so many intimates
and confidantes, was not the very first distinction in the
scale of vanity. She liked his open manners, but a little
less of open-heartedness would have made him a higher
character.-- General benevolence, but not general friendship,
made a man what he ought to be.-- She could fancy
such a man.
The whole party walked about, and looked, and praised
again; and then, having nothing else to do, formed a sort
of half circle round the fire, to observe in their various
modes, till other subjects were started, that, though May,
a fire in the evening was still very pleasant.
Emma found that it was not Mr. Weston's fault that
the number of privy counsellors was not yet larger. They
had stopped at Mrs. Bates's door to offer the use of their
carriage, but the aunt and niece were to be brought by
the Eltons.
Frank was standing by her, but not steadily; there was
a restlessness, which showed a mind not at ease. He was
looking about, he was going to the door, he was watching
for the sound of other carriages,-- impatient to begin, or
afraid of being always near her.
Mrs. Elton was spoken of.
"I think she must be here
soon,"
said he.
"I have a great curiosity to see Mrs. Elton,
I have heard so much of her. It cannot be long, I think,
before she comes."
A carriage was heard. He was on the move immediately;
but coming back, said,
"I am forgetting that I am not acquainted with her.
I have never seen either Mr. or Mrs. Elton. I have no
business to put myself forward."
Mr. and Mrs. Elton appeared; and all the smiles and
the proprieties passed.
"But Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax!"
said Mr. Weston,
looking about.
"We thought you were to bring them."
The mistake had been slight. The carriage was sent for
them now. Emma longed to know whatFrank's first
AusEmma321
opinion of Mrs. Elton might be; how he was affected by
the studied elegance of her dress, and her smiles of graciousness.
He was immediately qualifying himself to form an
opinion, by giving her very proper attention, after the
introduction had passed.
In a few minutes the carriage returned.-- Somebody
talked of rain.--
"I will see that there are umbrellas, sir,"
said Frank to his father:
"Miss Bates must not be
forgotten:"
and away he went. Mr. Weston was following;
but Mrs. Elton detained him, to gratify him by her
opinion of his son; and so briskly did she begin, that the
young man himself, though by no means moving slowly,
could hardly be out of hearing.
"A very fine young man indeed, Mr. Weston. You
know I candidly told you I should form my own opinion;
and I am happy to say that I am extremely pleased with
him.-- You may believe me. I never compliment. I think
him a very handsome young man, and his manners are
precisely what I like and approve-- so truly the gentleman,
without the least conceit or puppyism. You must know
I have a vast dislike to puppies-- quite a horror of them.
They were never tolerated at Maple Grove. Neither
Mr. Suckling nor me had ever any patience with them;
and we used sometimes to say very cutting things!
Selina, who is mild almost to a fault, bore with them
much better."
While she talked of his son, Mr. Weston's attention was
chained; but when she got to Maple Grove, he could
recollect that there were ladies just arriving to be attended
to, and with happy smiles must hurry away.
Mrs. Elton turned to Mrs. Weston.
"I have no doubt
of its being our carriage with Miss Bates and Jane. Our
coachman and horses are so extremely expeditious!--
I believe we drive faster than anybody.-- What a pleasure
it is to send one's carriage for a friend!-- I understand
you were so kind as to offer, but another time it will be
quite unnecessary. You may be very sure I shall always
take care of them."
AusEmma322
Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, escorted by the two
gentlemen, walked into the room; and Mrs. Elton seemed
to think it as much her duty as Mrs. Weston's to receive
them. Her gestures and movements might be understood
by any one who looked on like Emma, but her words,
every body's words, were soon lost under the incessant
flow of Miss Bates, who came in talking, and had not
finished her speech under many minutes after her being
admitted into the circle at the fire. As the door opened
she was heard,
"So very obliging of you!-- No rain at all. Nothing to
signify. I do not care for myself. Quite thick shoes.
And Jane declares-- Well!--
(as soon as she was within the
door)
Well! This is brilliant indeed!-- This is admirable!
-- Excellently contrived, upon my word. Nothing wanting.
Could not have imagined it.-- So well lighted up.--
Jane, Jane, look-- did you ever see any thing? Oh!
Mr. Weston, you must really have had Aladdin's lamp.
Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her own room again.
I saw her as I came in; she was standing in the entrance.
""Oh! Mrs. Stokes,"" said I-- but I had not time for
more."
-- She was now met by Mrs. Weston.--
"Very well,
I thank you, ma'am. I hope you are quite well. Very
happy to hear it. So afraid you might have a headach!--
seeing you pass by so often, and knowing how much
trouble you must have. Delighted to hear it indeed. Ah!
dearMrs. Elton, so obliged to you for the carriage!-- excellent
time.-- Jane and I quite ready. Did not keep the horses
a moment. Most comfortable carriage.-- Oh! and I am
sure our thanks are due to you, Mrs. Weston, on that score.
Mrs. Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note, or we should
have been.-- But two such offers in one day!-- Never were
such neighbours. I said to my mother, ""Upon my word,
ma'am--."" Thank you, my mother is remarkably well.
Gone to Mr. Woodhouse's. I made her take her shawl--
for the evenings are not warm-- her large new shawl-- Mrs. Dixon's
wedding present.-- So kind of her to think of my
mother! Bought at Weymouth, you know-- Mr. Dixon's
AusEmma323
choice. There were three others, Jane says, which they
hesitated about some time. Colonel Campbell rather
preferred an olive. My dearJane, are you sure you did not
wet your feet?-- It was but a drop or two, but I am so
afraid:-- but Mr. Frank Churchill was so extremely-- and
there was a mat to step upon-- I shall never forget his
extreme politeness.-- Oh! Mr. Frank Churchill, I must tell
you my mother's spectacles have never been in fault since;
the rivet never came out again. My mother often talks of
your goodnature. Does not she, Jane?-- Do not we often
talk of Mr. Frank Churchill?-- Ah! here's Miss Woodhouse.--
DearMiss Woodhouse, how do you do?-- Very
well I thank you, quite well. This is meeting quite in
fairy-land!-- Such a transformation!-- Must not compliment,
I know--
(eyeing Emma most complacently)
-- that
would be rude-- but upon my word, Miss Woodhouse, you
do look-- how do you like Jane's hair?-- You are a judge.--
She did it all herself. Quite wonderful how she does her
hair!-- No hairdresser from London I think could.-- Ah!
Dr. Hughes I declare-- and Mrs. Hughes. Must go and
speak to Dr. and Mrs. Hughes for a moment.-- How do
you do? How do you do?-- Very well, I thank you. This
is delightful, is not it?-- Where's dearMr. Richard?-- Oh!
there he is. Don't disturb him. Much better employed
talking to the young ladies. How do you do, Mr. Richard?
-- I saw you the other day as you rode through the town
-- Mrs. Otway, I protest!-- and good Mr. Otway, and
Miss Otway and Miss Caroline.-- Such a host of friends!--
and Mr. George and Mr. Arthur!-- How do you do? How
do you all do?-- Quite well, I am much obliged to you.
Never better.-- Don't I hear another carriage?-- Who can
this be?-- very likely the worthy Coles.-- Upon my word,
this is charming to be standing about among such friends!
And such a noble fire!-- I am quite roasted. No coffee,
I thank you, for me-- never take coffee.-- A little tea if
you please, sir, by and bye,-- no hurry-- Oh! here it comes.
Everything so good!"
Frank Churchill returned to his station by Emma; and
AusEmma324
as soon as Miss Bates was quiet, she found herself necessarily
overhearing the discourse of Mrs. Elton and Miss Fairfax,
who were standing a little way behind her.--
He
was thoughtful. Whether he were overhearing too, she
could not determine.
After a good many compliments to
Jane on her dress and look, compliments very quietly and
properly taken, Mrs. Elton was evidently wanting to be
complimented herself-- and it was,
"How do you like my
gown?-- How do you like my trimming?-- How has
Wright done my hair?"--
with many other relative
questions, all answered with patient politeness. Mrs. Elton
then said,
"Nobody can think less of dress in general than I do--
but upon such an occasion as this, when everybody's eyes
are so much upon me, and in compliment to the Westons--
who I have no doubt are giving this ball chiefly to do me
honour-- I would not wish to be inferior to others. And
I see very few pearls in the room except mine.-- So Frank Churchill
is a capital dancer, I understand. We shall see
if our styles suit.-- A fine young man certainly is Frank Churchill.
I like him very well."
At this moment Frank again began talking so vigorously,
that Emma could not but imagine he had overheard his
own praises, and did not want to hear more;-- and the
voices of the ladies were drowned for awhile, till another
suspension brought Mrs. Elton's tones again distinctly
forward.-- Mr. Elton had just joined them, and his wife
was exclaiming,
"Oh! you have found us out at last, have you, in our
seclusion?-- I was this moment telling Jane, I thought
you would begin to be impatient for tidings of us."
"Jane!"--
repeated Frank Churchill, with a look of
surprise and displeasure.--
"That is easy-- but Miss Fairfax
does not disapprove it, I suppose."
"How do you like Mrs. Elton?"
said Emma in
a whisper.
"Not at all."
"You are ungrateful."
AusEmma325
"Ungrateful!-- What do you mean?"
Then changing
from a frown to a smile--
"No, do not tell me-- I do not
want to know what you mean.-- Where is my father?--
When are we to begin dancing?"
Emma could hardly understand him;
he seemed in an
odd humour.
He walked off to find his father, but was
quickly back again with both Mr. and Mrs. Weston. He
had met with them in a little perplexity, which must be
laid before Emma. It had just occurred to Mrs. Weston
that Mrs. Elton must be asked to begin the ball; that she
would expect it; which interfered with all their wishes
of giving Emma that distinction. -- Emma heard the sad
truth with fortitude.
"And what are we to do for a proper partner for her?"
said Mr. Weston.
"She will think Frank ought to ask her."
Frank turned instantly to Emma, to claim her former
promise; and boasted himself an engaged man, which his
father looked his most perfect approbation of-- and it then
appeared that Mrs. Weston was wanting him to dance with
Mrs. Elton himself, and that their business was to help
to persuade him into it, which was done pretty soon.--
Mr. Weston and Mrs. Elton led the way, Mr. Frank Churchill
and Miss Woodhouse followed. Emma must submit
to stand second to Mrs. Elton, though she had always
considered the ball as peculiarly for her. It was almost
enough to make her think of marrying.
Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly the advantage, at this
time, in vanity completely gratified; for though she had
intended to begin with Frank Churchill, she could not lose
by the change. Mr. Weston might be his son's superior.--
In spite of this little rub, however, Emma was smiling with
enjoyment, delighted to see the respectable length of the
set as it was forming, and to feel that she had so many
hours of unusual festivity before her.-- She was more
disturbed by Mr. Knightley's not dancing, than by any thing
else.--
There he was, among the standers-by, where
he ought not to be; he ought to be dancing,-- not classing
himself with the husbands, and fathers, and whist-players,
AusEmma326
who were pretending to feel an interest in the dance till
their rubbers were made up, -- so young as he looked!--
He could not have appeared to greater advantage perhaps
any where, than where he had placed himself. His tall,
firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms and stooping
shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma felt must
draw every body's eyes; and, excepting her own partner,
there was not one among the whole row of young men who
could be compared with him.-- He moved a few steps
nearer, and those few steps were enough to prove in how
gentlemanlike a manner, with what natural grace, he must
have danced, would he but take the trouble.--
Whenever
she caught his eye, she forced him to smile; but in general
he was looking grave. She wished he could love a ball-room
better, and could like Frank Churchill better.--
He
seemed often observing her. She must not flatter herself
that he thought of her dancing, but if he were criticising
her behaviour, she did not feel afraid. There was nothing
like flirtation between her and her partner. They seemed
more like cheerful, easy friends, than lovers. That Frank Churchill
thought less of her than he had done was
indubitable.
The ball proceeded pleasantly. The anxious cares, the
incessant attentions of Mrs. Weston, were not thrown
away. Every body seemed happy; and the praise of
being a delightful ball, which is seldom bestowed till after
a ball has ceased to be, was repeatedly given in the very
beginning of the existence of this. Of very important,
very recordable events, it was not more productive than
such meetings usually are. There was one, however, which
Emma thought something of.--
The two last dances before
supper were begun, and Harriet had no partner;-- the only
young lady sitting down;-- and so equal had been hitherto
the number of dancers, that how there could be any one
disengaged was the wonder!--
But Emma's wonder
lessened soon afterwards, on seeing Mr. Elton sauntering
about.
He would not ask Harriet to dance if it were
possible to be avoided: she was sure he would not-- and
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she was expecting him every moment to escape into the
card-room.
Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the part
of the room where the sitters-by were collected, spoke to
some, and walked about in front of them, as if to show
his liberty, and his resolution of maintaining it. He did
not omit being sometimes directly before Miss Smith, or
speaking to those who were close to her.-- Emma saw it.
She was not yet dancing; she was working her way up
from the bottom, and had therefore leisure to look around,
and by only turning her head a little she saw it all. When
she was half way up the set, the whole group were exactly
behind her, and she would no longer allow her eyes to
watch; but Mr. Elton was so near, that she heard every
syllable of a dialogue which just then took place between
him and Mrs. Weston; and she perceived that his wife,
who was standing immediately above her, was not only
listening also, but even encouraging him by significant
glances.-- The kind-hearted, gentle Mrs. Weston had left
her seat to join him and say,
"Do not you dance, Mr. Elton?"
to which his prompt reply was,
"Most readily,
Mrs. Weston, if you will dance with me."
"Me!-- oh! no-- I would get you a better partner than
myself. I am no dancer."
"If Mrs. Gilbert wishes to dance,"
said he,
"I shall
have great pleasure, I am sure-- for, though beginning to
feel myself rather an old married man, and that my
dancing days are over, it would give me very great pleasure at
any time to stand up with an old friend like Mrs. Gilbert."
"Mrs. Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is
a young lady disengaged whom I should be very glad to
see dancing-- Miss Smith."
"Miss Smith!-- oh!-- I had
not observed.-- You are extremely obliging-- and if I were
not an old married man.-- But my dancing days are over,
Mrs. Weston. You will excuse me. Any thing else I should
be most happy to do, at your command-- but my dancing
days are over."
Mrs. Weston said no more; and Emma could imagine
AusEmma328
with what surprise and mortification she must be returning
to her seat.
This was Mr. Elton! the amiable, obliging,
gentle Mr. Elton.--
She looked round for a moment;
he
had joined Mr. Knightley at a little distance, and was
arranging himself for settled conversation, while smiles of
high glee passed between him and his wife.
She would not look again. Her heart was in a glow, and
she feared her face might be as hot.
In another moment a happier sight caught her;-- Mr. Knightley
leading Harriet to the set!-- Never had she been
more surprised, seldom more delighted, than at that
instant. She was all pleasure and gratitude, both for
Harriet and herself, and longed to be thanking him; and
though too distant for speech, her countenance said much,
as soon as she could catch his eye again.
His dancing proved to be just what she had believed it,
extremely good; and Harriet would have seemed almost
too lucky, if it had not been for the cruel state of things
before, and for the very complete enjoyment and very high
sense of the distinction which her happy features announced.
It was not thrown away on her, she bounded
higher than ever, flew farther down the middle, and was
in a continual course of smiles.
Mr. Elton had retreated into the cardroom, looking
(Emma trusted)
very foolish. She did not think he was
quite so hardened as his wife, though growing very like
her;--
she spoke some of her feelings, by observing audibly
to her partner,
"Knightley has taken pity on poor little Miss Smith!--
Very goodnatured, I declare."
Supper was announced. The move began; and Miss Bates
might be heard from that moment, without interruption,
till her being seated at table and taking up her
spoon.
"Jane, Jane, my dearJane, where are you?-- Here is
your tippet. Mrs. Weston begs you to put on your
tippet. She says she is afraid there will be draughts
in the passage, though every thing has been done-- one
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door nailed up-- Quantities of matting-- My dearJane,
indeed you must. Mr. Churchill, oh! you are too obliging!
How well you put it on!-- so gratified! Excellent dancing
indeed!-- Yes, my dear, I ran home, as I said I should, to
help grandmamma to bed, and got back again, and nobody
missed me.-- I set off without saying a word, just as I told
you. Grandmamma was quite well, had a charming
evening with Mr. Woodhouse, a vast deal of chat, and
backgammon.-- Tea was made down stairs, biscuits and
baked apples and wine before she came away: amazing
luck in some of her throws: and she inquired a great deal
about you, how you were amused, and who were your
partners. ""Oh!"" said I, ""I shall not forestall Jane;
I left her dancing with Mr. George Otway; she will love
to tell you all about it herself to-morrow: her first
partner was Mr. Elton, I do not know who will ask her
next, perhaps Mr. William Cox."" My dear sir, you are
too obliging.-- Is there nobody you would not rather?--
I am not helpless. Sir, you are most kind. Upon my
word, Jane on one arm, and me on the other!-- Stop, stop,
let us stand a little back, Mrs. Elton is going; dear
Mrs. Elton, how elegant she looks!-- Beautiful lace!-- Now
we all follow in her train. Quite the queen of the evening!
-- Well, here we are at the passage. Two steps, Jane, take
care of the two steps. Oh! no, there is but one. Well,
I was persuaded there were two. How very odd! I
was convinced there were two, and there is but one.
I never saw any thing equal to the comfort and style--
Candles every where.-- I was telling you of your grandmamma,
Jane,-- There was a little disappointment.-- The
baked apples and biscuits, excellent in their way, you
know; but there was a delicate fricassee of sweetbread
and some asparagus brought in at first, and good Mr. Woodhouse,
not thinking the asparagus quite boiled enough,
sent it all out again. Now there is nothing grandmamma
loves better than sweetbread and asparagus-- so she was
rather disappointed, but we agreed we would not speak
of it to any body, for fear of its getting round to dear
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Miss Woodhouse, who would be so very much concerned!--
Well, this is brilliant! I am all amazement! could not
have supposed any thing!-- Such elegance and profusion!
-- I have seen nothing like it since-- Well, where shall we
sit? where shall we sit? Any where, so that Jane is not
in a draught. Where I sit is of no consequence. Oh! do
you recommend this side?-- Well, I am sure, Mr. Churchill
-- only it seems too good-- but just as you please. What
you direct in this house cannot be wrong. DearJane, how
shall we ever recollect half the dishes for grandmamma?
Soup too! Bless me! I should not be helped so soon, but
it smells most excellent, and I cannot help beginning."
Emma had no opportunity of speaking to Mr. Knightley
till after supper; but, when they were all in the ball-room
again, her eyes invited him irresistibly to come to her and
be thanked. He was warm in his reprobation of Mr. Elton's
conduct;
it had been unpardonable rudeness;
and Mrs. Elton's looks also received the due share of
censure.
"They aimed at wounding more than Harriet,"
said he.
"Emma, why is it that they are your enemies?"
He looked with smiling penetration; and, on receiving
no answer, added,
"She ought not to be angry with you,
I suspect, whatever he may be.-- To that surmise, you say
nothing, of course; but confess, Emma, that you did
want him to marry Harriet."
"I did,"
replied Emma,
"and they cannot forgive me."
He shook his head; but there was a smile of indulgence
with it, and he only said,
"I shall not scold you. I leave you to your own
reflections."
"Can you trust me with such flatterers?-- Does my
vain spirit ever tell me I am wrong?"
"Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit.-- If one
leads you wrong, I am sure the other tells you of it."
"I do own myself to have been completely mistaken
in Mr. Elton. There is a littleness about him which you
discovered, and which I did not: and I was fully convinced
AusEmma331
of his being in love with Harriet. It was through
a series of strange blunders!"
"And, in return for your acknowledging so much,
I will do you the justice to say, that you would have
chosen for him better than he has chosen for himself.--
Harriet Smith has some first-rate qualities, whichMrs. Elton
is totally without. An unpretending, single-minded,
artless girl-- infinitely to be preferred by any man of sense
and taste to such a woman as Mrs. Elton. I found Harriet
more conversable than I expected."
Emma was extremely gratified.-- They were interrupted
by the bustle of Mr. Weston calling on every body to begin
dancing again.
"Come Miss Woodhouse, Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax,
what are you all doing?-- Come Emma, set your companions
the example. Every body is lazy! Every body
is asleep!"
"I am ready,"
said Emma,
"whenever I am wanted."
"Whom are you going to dance with?"
asked Mr. Knightley.
She hesitated a moment, and then replied,
"With you,
if you will ask me."
"Will you?"
said he, offering his hand.
"Indeed I will. You have shown that you can dance,
and you know we are not really so much brother and sister
as to make it at all improper."
"Brother and sister! no, indeed."
AusEmma332
This little explanation with Mr. Knightley gave Emma
considerable pleasure. It was one of the agreeable recollections
of the ball, which she walked about the lawn the
next morning to enjoy.--
She was extremely glad that they
had come to so good an understanding respecting the
Eltons, and that their opinions of both husband and wife
were so much alike; and his praise of Harriet, his concession
in her favour, was peculiarly gratifying. The
impertinence of the Eltons, which for a few minutes had
threatened to ruin the rest of her evening, had been the
occasion of some of its highest satisfactions; and she
looked forward to another happy result-- the cure of
Harriet's infatuation.--
From Harriet's manner of speaking
of the circumstance before they quitted the ball-room, she
had strong hopes. It seemed as if her eyes were suddenly
opened, and she were enabled to see that Mr. Elton was
not the superior creature she had believed him. The fever
was over, and Emma could harbour little fear of the pulse
being quickened again by injurious courtesy. She depended
on the evil feelings of the Eltons for supplying all the
discipline of pointed neglect that could be further requisite.
-- Harriet rational, Frank Churchill not too much in love,
and Mr. Knightley not wanting to quarrel with her, how
very happy a summer must be before her!
She was not to see Frank Churchill this morning. He
had told her that he could not allow himself the pleasure
of stopping at Hartfield, as he was to be at home by the
middle of the day. She did not regret it.
Having arranged all these matters, looked them through,
and put them all to rights, she was just turning to the
house with spirits freshened up for the demands of the
two little boys, as well as of their grandpapa, when the
great iron sweepgate opened, and two persons entered
AusEmma333
whom she had never less expected to see together --
Frank Churchill,
with Harriet leaning on his arm-- actually
Harriet!--
A moment sufficed to convince her that something
extraordinary had happened. Harriet looked white
and frightened, and he was trying to cheer her.-- The iron
gates and the front door were not twenty yards asunder;--
they were all three soon in the hall, and Harriet immediately
sinking into a chair fainted away.
A young lady who faints, must be recovered; questions
must be answered, and surprises be explained. Such
events are very interesting, but the suspense of them
cannot last long. A few minutes made Emma acquainted
with the whole.
Miss Smith, and Miss Bickerton, another parlour boarder
at Mrs. Goddard's, who had been also at the ball, had walked
out together, and taken a road, the Richmond road, which,
though apparently public enough for safety, had led them
into alarm. -- About half a mile beyond Highbury, making
a sudden turn, and deeply shaded by elms on each side, it
became for a considerable stretch very retired; and when
the young ladies had advanced some way into it, they had
suddenly perceived at a small distance before them, on
a broader path of greensward by the side, a party of
gipsies. A child on the watch, came towards them to beg;
and Miss Bickerton, excessively frightened, gave a great
scream, and calling on Harriet to follow her, ran up a steep
bank, cleared a slight hedge at the top, and made the best
of her way by a short cut back to Highbury. But poor
Harriet could not follow. She had suffered very much
from cramp after dancing, and her first attempt to mount
the bank brought on such a return of it as made her
absolutely powerless-- and in this state, and exceedingly
terrified, she had been obliged to remain.
How the trampers might have behaved, had the young
ladies been more courageous, must be doubtful; but such
an invitation for attack could not be resisted; and Harriet
was soon assailed by half a dozen children, headed by
a stout woman and a great boy, all clamorous, and
AusEmma334
impertinent in look, though not absolutely in word.-- More
and more frightened, she immediately promised them
money, and taking out her purse, gave them a shilling, and
begged them not to want more, or to use her ill.-- She was
then able to walk, though but slowly, and was moving
away-- but her terror and her purse were too tempting,
and she was followed, or rather surrounded, by the whole
gang, demanding more.
In this state Frank Churchill had found her, she
trembling and conditioning, they loud and insolent. By
a most fortunate chance his leaving Highbury had been
delayed so as to bring him to her assistance at this critical
moment. The pleasantness of the morning had induced
him to walk forward, and leave his horses to meet him by
another road, a mile or two beyond Highbury-- and
happening to have borrowed a pair of scissars the night
before of Miss Bates, and to have forgotten to restore them,
he had been obliged to stop at her door, and go in for a few
minutes: he was therefore later than he had intended;
and being on foot, was unseen by the whole party till
almost close to them. The terror which the woman and
boy had been creating in Harriet was then their own
portion. He had left them completely frightened; and
Harriet eagerly clinging to him, and hardly able to speak,
had just strength enough to reach Hartfield, before her
spirits were quite overcome. It was his idea to bring her
to Hartfield: he had thought of no other place.
This was the amount of the whole story,-- of his communication
and of Harriet's as soon as she had recovered
her senses and speech.-- He dared not stay longer than
to see her well; these several delays left him not another
minute to lose; and Emma engaging to give assurance
of her safety to Mrs. Goddard, and notice of there being
such a set of people in the neighbourhood to Mr. Knightley,
he set off, with all the grateful blessings that she could
utter for her friend and herself.
Such an adventure as this,-- a fine young man and
a lovely young woman thrown together in such a way,
AusEmma335
could hardly fail of suggesting certain ideas to the coldest
heart and the steadiest brain. SoEmma thought, at least.
Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician
have seen what she did, have witnessed their
appearance together, and heard their history of it, without
feeling that circumstances had been at work to make them
peculiarly interesting to each other?-- How much more
must an imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation
and foresight!-- especially with such a ground-work of
anticipation as her mind had already made.
It was a very extraordinary thing! Nothing of the sort
had ever occurred before to any young ladies in the place,
within her memory; no rencontre, no alarm of the kind;--
and now it had happened to the very person, and at the
very hour, when the other very person was chancing to pass
by to rescue her!-- It certainly was very extraordinary!
-- And knowing, as she did, the favourable state of mind of
each at this period, it struck her the more. He was wishing
to get the better of his attachment to herself, she just
recovering from her mania for Mr. Elton. It seemed as if
every thing united to promise the most interesting consequences.
It was not possible that the occurrence should
not be strongly recommending each to the other.
In the few minutes' conversation which she had yet had
with him, while Harriet had been partially insensible, he
had spoken of her terror, her nai--vete=, her fervor as she
seized and clung to his arm, with a sensibility amused and
delighted; and just at last, after Harriet's own account
had been given, he had expressed his indignation at the
abominable folly of Miss Bickerton in the warmest terms.
Every thing was to take its natural course, however,
neither impelled nor assisted. She would not stir a step,
nor drop a hint. No, she had had enough of interference.
There could be no harm in a scheme, a mere passive
scheme. It was no more than a wish. Beyond it she
would on no account proceed.
Emma's first resolution was to keep her father from the
knowledge of what had passed,-- aware of the anxiety and
AusEmma336
alarm it would occasion: but she soon felt that concealment
must be impossible. Within half an hour it was
known all over Highbury. It was the very event to engage
those who talk most, the young and the low; and all the
youth and servants in the place were soon in the happiness
of frightful news. The last night's ball seemed lost in the
gipsies. Poor Mr. Woodhouse trembled as he sat, and, as
Emma had foreseen, would scarcely be satisfied without
their promising never to go beyond the shrubbery again.
It was some comfort to him that many inquiries after
himself and Miss Woodhouse (for his neighbours knew
that he loved to be inquired after), as well as Miss Smith,
were coming in during the rest of the day; and he had the
pleasure of returning for answer, that they were all very
indifferent-- which, though not exactly true, for she was
perfectly well, and Harriet not much otherwise, Emma
would not interfere with. She had an unhappy state of
health in general for the child of such a man, for she hardly
knew what indisposition was; and if he did not invent
illnesses for her, she could make no figure in a message.
The gipsies did not wait for the operations of justice;
they took themselves off in a hurry. The young ladies of
Highbury might have walked again in safety before their
panic began, and the whole history dwindled soon into
a matter of little importance but to Emma and her
nephews:-- in her imagination it maintained its ground,
and Henry and John were still asking every day for the
story of Harriet and the gipsies, and still tenaciously
setting her right if she varied in the slightest particular
from the original recital.
AusEmma337
A very few days had passed after this adventure, when
Harriet came one morning to Emma with a small parcel
in her hand, and after sitting down and hesitating, thus
began:
"Miss Woodhouse-- if you are at leisure-- I have something
that I should like to tell you-- a sort of confession
to make-- and then, you know, it will be over."
Emma was a good deal surprised; but begged her to
speak. There was a seriousness in Harriet's manner which
prepared her, quite as much as her words, for something
more than ordinary.
"It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish,"
she continued,
"to have no reserves with you on this subject.
As I am happily quite an altered creature in one respect, it
is very fit that you should have the satisfaction of knowing
it. I do not want to say more than is necessary-- I am too
much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and
I dare say you understand me."
"Yes,"
said Emma,
"I hope I do."
"How I could so long a time be fancying myself!----"
cried Harriet, warmly.
"It seems like madness! I can see
nothing at all extraordinary in him now.-- I do not care
whether I meet him or not-- except that of the two I had
rather not see him-- and indeed I would go any distance
round to avoid him-- but I do not envy his wife in the
least; I neither admire her nor envy her, as I have done:
she is very charming, I dare say, and all that, but I think
her very ill-tempered and disagreeable-- I shall never
forget her look the other night!-- However, I assure you,
Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil.-- No, let them be
ever so happy together, it will not give me another
moment's pang: and to convince you that I have been
speaking truth, I am now going to destroy-- what I ought
AusEmma338
to have destroyed long ago-- what I ought never to have
kept-- I know that very well
(blushing as she spoke).--
However, now I will destroy it all-- and it is my particular
wish to do it in your presence, that you may see how
rational I am grown. Cannot you guess what this parcel
holds?"
said she, with a conscious look.
"Not the least in the world.-- Did he ever give you any thing?"
"No-- I cannot call them gifts; but they are things
that I have valued very much."
She held the parcel towards her, and Emma read the
words Most precious treasures on the top. Her curiosity
was greatly excited. Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she
looked on with impatience. Within abundance of silver
paper was a pretty little Tunbridge-ware box, which
Harriet opened: it was well lined with the softest cotton;
but, excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a small piece of
court plaister.
"Now,"
said Harriet,
"you must recollect,"
"No, indeed I do not."
"Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you
could forget what passed in this very room about court plaister,
one of the very last times we ever met in it!-- It
was but a very few days before I had my sore throat--
just before Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came-- I think
the very evening.-- Do not you remember his cutting his
finger with your new penknife, and your recommending
court plaister?-- But as you had none about you, and
knew I had, you desired me to supply him; and so I took
mine out and cut him a piece; but it was a great deal too
large, and he cut it smaller, and kept playing some time
with what was left, before he gave it back to me. And so
then, in my nonsense, I could not help making a treasure
of it-- so I put it by never to be used, and looked at it now
and then as a great treat."
"My dearest Harriet!"
cried Emma, putting her hand
before her face, and jumping up,
"you make me more
ashamed of myself than I can bear. Remember it? Ay,
AusEmma339
I remember it all now; all, except your saving this
relick-- I knew nothing of that till this moment-- but
the cutting the finger, and my recommending court plaister,
and saying I had none about me!-- Oh! my sins,
my sins!-- And I had plenty all the while in my pocket!--
One of my senseless tricks!-- I deserve to be under a continual
blush all the rest of my life.-- Well--
(sitting down
again)
go on-- what else?"
"And had you really some at hand yourself?-- I am sure
I never suspected it, you did it so naturally."
"And so you actually put this piece of court plaister
by for his sake!"
said Emma, recovering from her state
of shame and feeling divided between wonder and amusement.
And secretly she added to herself,
"Lord bless me!
when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton
a piece of court plaister thatFrank Churchill had been
pulling about!-- I never was equal to this."
"Here,"
resumed Harriet, turning to her box again,
"here is something still more valuable, I mean that has
been more valuable, because this is what did really once
belong to him, which the court plaister never did."
Emma was quite eager to see this superior treasure. It
was the end of an old pencil,-- the part without any lead.
"This was really his,"
said Harriet.--
"Do not you
remember one morning?-- no, I dare say you do not. But
one morning-- I forget exactly the day-- but perhaps it
was the Tuesday or Wednesday before that evening, he
wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it
was about spruce beer. Mr. Knightley had been telling
him something about brewing spruce beer, and he wanted
to put it down; but when he took out his pencil, there was
so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would
not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the
table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and,
as soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted with it
again from that moment."
"I do remember it,"
cried Emma,
"I perfectly
remember it.-- Talking about spruce beer.-- Oh! yes--
AusEmma340
Mr. Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr. Elton's
seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I perfectly
remember it.-- Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just
here, was not he?-- I have an idea he was standing just
here."
"Ah! I do not know. I cannot recollect.-- It is very
odd, but I cannot recollect.-- Mr. Elton was sitting here,
I remember, much about where I am now."--
"Well, go on."
"Oh! that's all. I have nothing more to show you,
or to say-- except that I am now going to throw them
both behind the fire, and I wish you to see me do it."
"My poor dearHarriet! and have you actually found
happiness in treasuring up these things?"
"Yes, simpleton as I was!-- but I am quite ashamed
of it now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn
them. It was very wrong of me, you know, to keep any
remembrances, after he was married. I knew it was--
but had not resolution enough to part with them."
"But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court plaister?
-- I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the
court plaister might be useful."
"I shall be happier to burn it,"
replied Harriet.
"It
has a disagreeable look to me. I must get rid of every thing.--
There it goes, and there is an end, thank Heaven!
of Mr. Elton."
"And when,"
thought Emma,
"will there be a beginning
of Mr. Churchill?"
She had soon afterwards reason to believe that the
beginning was already made, and could not but hope that
the gipsy, though she had told no fortune, might be proved
to have made Harriet's.-- About a fortnight after the
alarm, they came to a sufficient explanation, and quite
undesignedly. Emma was not thinking of it at the
moment, which made the information she received more
valuable. She merely said, in the course of some trivial
chat,
"Well, Harriet, whenever you marry I would advise
you to do so and so"--
and thought no more of it, till after
AusEmma341
a minute's silence she heard Harriet say in a very serious
tone,
"I shall never marry."
Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how it
was; and after a moment's debate, as to whether it
should pass unnoticed or not, replied,
"Never marry!-- This is a new resolution."
"It is one that I shall never change, however."
After another short hesitation,
"I hope it does not
proceed from-- I hope it is not in compliment to
Mr. Elton?"
"Mr. Elton indeed!"
cried Harriet indignantly.--
"Oh!
no"--
and Emma could just catch the words,
"so superior
to Mr. Elton!"
She then took a longer time for consideration.
Should
she proceed no farther?-- should she let it pass, and seem
to suspect nothing?-- Perhaps Harriet might think her
cold or angry if she did; or perhaps if she were totally
silent, it might only drive Harriet into asking her to hear
too much; and against any thing like such an unreserve
as had been, such an open and frequent discussion of hopes
and chances, she was perfectly resolved.-- She believed it
would be wiser for her to say and know at once, all that she
meant to say and know. Plain dealing was always best.
She had previously determined how far she would proceed,
on any application of the sort; and it would be safer for
both, to have the judicious law of her own brain laid down
with speed.--
She was decided, and thus spoke--
"Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your
meaning. Your resolution, or rather your expectation of
never marrying, results from an idea that the person
whom you might prefer, would be too greatly your
superior in situation to think of you. Is not it so?"
"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, believe me I have not the
presumption to suppose-- Indeed I am not so mad.-- But
it is a pleasure to me to admire him at a distance-- and to
think of his infinite superiority to all the rest of the world,
with the gratitude, wonder, and veneration, which are so
proper, in me especially."
AusEmma342
"I am not at all surprised at you, Harriet. The service
he rendered you was enough to warm your heart."
"Service! oh! it was such an inexpressible obligation!
-- the very recollection of it, and all that I felt at the time
-- when I saw him coming-- his noble look-- and my
wretchedness before. Such a change! In one moment
such a change! From perfect misery to perfect happiness."
"It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable.
-- Yes, honourable, I think, to choose so well and so gratefully.--
But that it will be a fortunate preference is more
than I can promise. I do not advise you to give way to it,
Harriet. I do not by any means engage for its being
returned. Consider what you are about. Perhaps it will be
wisest in you to check your feelings while you can: at
any rate do not let them carry you far, unless you are
persuaded of his liking you. Be observant of him. Let
his behaviour be the guide of your sensations. I give you
this caution now, because I shall never speak to you again
on the subject. I am determined against all interference.
Henceforward I know nothing of the matter. Let no name
ever pass our lips. We were very wrong before; we will
be cautious now.-- He is your superior, no doubt, and there
do seem objections and obstacles of a very serious nature;
but yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place,
there have been matches of greater disparity. But take
care of yourself. I would not have you too sanguine;
though, however it may end, be assured that your raising
your thoughts to him, is a mark of good taste which I shall
always know how to value."
Harriet kissed her hand in silent and submissive gratitude.
Emma was very decided in thinking such an
attachment no bad thing for her friend.
It's tendency
would be to raise and refine her mind-- and it must be
saving her from the danger of degradation.
AusEmma343
In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance,
June opened upon Hartfield. To Highbury in general
it brought no material change. The Eltons were still
talking of a visit from the Sucklings, and of the use to be
made of their barouche-landau; and Jane Fairfax was
still at her grandmother's; and as the return of the
Campbells from Ireland was again delayed, and August,
instead of Midsummer, fixed for it, she was likely to
remain there full two months longer, provided at least she
were able to defeat Mrs. Elton's activity in her service,
and save herself from being hurried into a delightful
situation against her will.
Mr. Knightley, who, for some reason best known to
himself, had certainly taken an early dislike to Frank Churchill,
was only growing to dislike him more.
He began
to suspect him of some double dealing in his pursuit of
Emma. That Emma was his object appeared indisputable.
Every thing declared it; his own attentions, his father's
hints, his mother-in-law's guarded silence; it was all in
unison; words, conduct, discretion, and indiscretion,
told the same story.
But while so many were devoting
him to Emma, and Emma herself making him over to
Harriet, Mr. Knightley began to suspect him of some
inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax.
He could not
understand it; but there were symptoms of intelligence
between them-- he thought so at least-- symptoms of
admiration on his side, which, having once observed, he
could not persuade himself to think entirely void of
meaning, however he might wish to escape any of Emma's
errors of imagination. She was not present when the
suspicion first arose. He was dining with the Randalls'
family, and Jane, at the Eltons'; and he had seen a look,
AusEmma344
more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from the
admirer of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of
place. When he was again in their company, he could not
help remembering what he had seen; nor could he avoid
observations which, unless it were like Cowper and his
fire at twilight,
"Myself creating what I saw,"
brought him yet stronger suspicion of there being a something
of private liking, of private understanding even,
between Frank Churchill and Jane.
He had walked up one day after dinner, as he very often
did, to spend his evening at Hartfield. Emma and Harriet
were going to walk; he joined them; and, on returning,
they fell in with a larger party, who, like themselves,
judged it wisest to take their exercise early, as the weather
threatened rain; Mr. and Mrs. Weston and their son, Miss Bates
and her niece, who had accidentally met. They all
united; and, on reaching Hartfield gates, Emma, who
knew it was exactly the sort of visiting that would be
welcome to her father, pressed them all to go in and drink
tea with him. The Randalls' party agreed to it immediately;
and after a pretty long speech from Miss Bates,
which few persons listened to, she also found it possible
to accept dearMiss Woodhouse's most obliging invitation.
As they were turning into the grounds, Mr. Perry passed
by on horseback. The gentlemen spoke of his horse.
"By the bye,"
said Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston
presently,
"what became of Mr. Perry's plan of setting up
his carriage?"
Mrs. Weston looked surprised, and said,
"I did not
know that he ever had any such plan."
"Nay, I had it from you. You wrote me word of it
three months ago."
"Me! impossible!"
"Indeed you did. I remember it perfectly. You
mentioned it as what was certainly to be very soon.
Mrs. Perry had told somebody, and was extremely happy
about it. It was owing to her persuasion, as she thought his
AusEmma345
being out in bad weather did him a great deal of harm.
You must remember it now?"
"Upon my word I never heard of it till this moment."
"Never! really, never!-- Bless me! how could it be?
-- Then I must have dreamt it-- but I was completely
persuaded-- Miss Smith, you walk as if you were tired.
You will not be sorry to find yourself at home."
"What is this?-- what is this?"
cried Mr. Weston,
"about Perry and a carriage? Is Perry going to set up
his carriage, Frank? I am glad he can afford it. You had
it from himself, had you?"
"No, sir,"
replied his son, laughing,
"I seem to have
had it from nobody.-- Very odd!-- I really was persuaded
of Mrs. Weston's having mentioned it in one of
her letters to Enscombe, many weeks ago, with all these
particulars-- but as she declares she never heard a syllable
of it before, of course it must have been a dream. I am
a great dreamer. I dream of every body at Highbury
when I am away-- and when I have gone through my
particular friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and
Mrs. Perry."
"It is odd though,"
observed his father,
"that you
should have had such a regular connected dream about
people whom it was not very likely you should be thinking
of at Enscombe. Perry's setting up his carriage! and his
wife's persuading him to it, out of care for his health-- just
what will happen, I have no doubt, some time or other;
only a little premature. What an air of probability
sometimes runs through a dream! And at others, what
a heap of absurdities it is! Well, Frank, your dream
certainly shows that Highbury is in your thoughts
when you are absent. Emma, you are a great dreamer, I
think?"
Emma was out of hearing. She had hurried on before
her guests to prepare her father for their appearance, and
was beyond the reach of Mr. Weston's hint.
"Why, to own the truth,"
cried Miss Bates, who had
been trying in vain to be heard the last two minutes,
"if
AusEmma346
I must speak on this subject, there is no denying that
Mr. Frank Churchill might have-- I do not mean to say
that he did not dream it-- I am sure I have sometimes the
oddest dreams in the world-- but if I am questioned about
it, I must acknowledge that there was such an idea last
spring; for Mrs. Perry herself mentioned it to my mother,
and the Coles knew of it as well as ourselves-- but it was
quite a secret, known to nobody else, and only thought
of about three days. Mrs. Perry was very anxious that
he should have a carriage, and came to my mother in great
spirits one morning because she thought she had prevailed.
Jane, don't you remember grandmamma's telling us of it
when we got home?-- I forget where we had been walking
to-- very likely to Randall's; yes, I think it was to
Randall's. Mrs. Perry was always particularly fond of
my mother-- indeed I do not know who is not-- and she
had mentioned it to her in confidence; she had no objection
to her telling us, of course, but it was not to go
beyond: and, from that day to this, I never mentioned
it to a soul that I know of. At the same time, I will not
positively answer for my having never dropt a hint,
because I know I do sometimes pop out a thing before
I am aware. I am a talker, you know; I am rather
a talker; and now and then I have let a thing escape me
which I should not. I am not like Jane; I wish I were.
I will answer for it she never betrayed the least thing in
the world. Where is she?-- Oh! just behind. Perfectly
remember Mrs. Perry's coming.-- Extraordinary dream
indeed!"
They were entering the hall. Mr. Knightley's eyes had
preceded Miss Bates's in a glance at Jane. From Frank Churchill's
face, where he thought he saw confusion
suppressed or laughed away, he had involuntarily turned
to her's; but she was indeed behind, and too busy with
her shawl. Mr. Weston had walked in. The two other
gentlemen waited at the door to let her pass. Mr. Knightley
suspected in Frank Churchill the determination of
catching her eye-- he seemed watching her intently--
AusEmma347
vain, however, if it were soJane passed between them
into the hall, and looked at neither.
There was no time for farther remark or explanation.
The dream must be borne with, and Mr. Knightley must
take his seat with the rest round the large modern circular
table whichEmma had introduced at Hartfield, and which
none but Emma could have had power to place there and
persuade her father to use, instead of the small-sized
Pembroke, on which two of his daily meals had, for forty
years, been crowded. Tea passed pleasantly, and nobody
seemed in a hurry to move.
"Miss Woodhouse,"
said Frank Churchill, after examining
a table behind him, which he could reach as he sat,
"have your nephews taken away their alphabets-- their
box of letters? It used to stand here. Where is it? This
is a sort of dull-looking evening, that ought to be treated
rather as winter than summer. We had great amusement
with those letters one morning. I want to puzzle you
again."
Emma was pleased with the thought; and producing
the box, the table was quickly scattered over with alphabets,
which no one seemed so much disposed to employ
as their two selves. They were rapidly forming words for
each other, or for any body else who would be puzzled.
The quietness of the game made it particularly eligible
for Mr. Woodhouse, who had often been distressed by the
more animated sort, whichMr. Weston had occasionally
introduced, and who now sat happily occupied in lamenting,
with tender melancholy, over the departure of the
"poor little boys,"
or in fondly pointing out, as he took
up any stray letter near him, how beautifully Emma had
written it.
Frank Churchill placed a word before Miss Fairfax.
She gave a slight glance round the table, and applied
herself to it. Frank was next to Emma, Jane opposite
to them-- and Mr. Knightley so placed as to see them all;
and it was his object to see as much as he could, with as
little apparent observation. The word was discovered,
AusEmma348
and with a faint smile pushed away. If meant to be
immediately mixed with the others, and buried from sight,
she should have looked on the table instead of looking just
across, for it was not mixed; and Harriet, eager after
every fresh word, and finding out none, directly took it
up, and fell to work. She was sitting by Mr. Knightley,
and turned to him for help. The word was blunder; and
as Harriet exultingly proclaimed it, there was a blush on
Jane's cheek which gave it a meaning not otherwise
ostensible. Mr. Knightley connected it with the dream;
but how it could all be, was beyond his comprehension.
How the delicacy, the discretion of his favourite could
have been so lain asleep! He feared there must be some
decided involvement. Disingenuousness and double-dealing
seemed to meet him at every turn. These letters
were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick. It was
a child's play, chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank Churchill's
part.
With great indignation did he continue to observe him;
with great alarm and distrust, to observe also his two
blinded companions. He saw a short word prepared for
Emma, and given to her with a look sly and demure. He
saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly
entertaining, though it was something which she judged
it proper to appear to censure; for she said,
"Nonsense!
for shame!"
He heard Frank Churchill next say, with
a glance towards Jane,
"I will give it to her-- shall I?"--
and as clearly heard Emma opposing it with eager laughing
warmth.
"No, no, you must not; you shall not, indeed."
It was done however. This gallant young man, who
seemed to love without feeling, and to recommend himself
without complaisance, directly handed over the word to
Miss Fairfax, and with a particular degree of sedate civility
entreated her to study it.
Mr. Knightley's excessive
curiosity to know what this word might be, made him
seize every possible moment for darting his eye towards
it, and it was not long before he saw it to be Dixon.
Jane Fairfax's
perception seemed to accompany his; her comprehension
AusEmma349
was certainly more equal to the covert meaning,
the superior intelligence, of those five letters so arranged.
She was evidently displeased; looked up, and seeing
herself watched, blushed more deeply than he had ever
perceived her, and saying only,
"I did not know that
proper names were allowed,"
pushed away the letters
with even an angry spirit, and looked resolved to be
engaged by no other word that could be offered. Her face
was averted from those who had made the attack, and
turned towards her aunt.
"Ay, very true, my dear,"
cried the latter, though Jane
had not spoken a word--
"I was just going to say the same
thing. It is time for us to be going indeed. The evening
is closing in, and grandmamma will be looking for us. My
dear sir, you are too obliging. We really must wish you
good night."
Jane's alertness in moving, proved her as ready as her
aunt had preconceived. She was immediately up, and
wanting to quit the table; but so many were also moving,
that she could not get away;
and Mr. Knightley thought
he saw another collection of letters anxiously pushed
towards her, and resolutely swept away by her unexamined.
She was afterwards looking for her shawl--
Frank Churchill was looking also-- it was growing dusk,
and the room was in confusion;
and how they parted,
Mr. Knightley could not tell.
He remained at Hartfield after all the rest, his thoughts
full of what he had seen; so full, that when the candles
came to assist his observations,
he must-- yes, he certainly
must, as a friend-- an anxious friend-- give Emma some
hint, ask her some question. He could not see her in
a situation of such danger, without trying to preserve
her. It was his duty.
"Pray, Emma,"
said he,
"may I ask in what lay the
great amusement, the poignant sting of the last word
given to you and Miss Fairfax? I saw the word, and am
curious to know how it could be so very entertaining to
the one, and so very distressing to the other."
AusEmma350
Emma was extremely confused. She could not endure
to give him the true explanation; for though her suspicions
were by no means removed, she was really ashamed of
having ever imparted them.
"Oh!"
she cried in evident embarrassment,
"it all
meant nothing; a mere joke among ourselves."
"The joke,"
he replied gravely,
"seemed confined to
you and Mr. Churchill."
He had hoped she would speak again, but she did not.
She would rather busy herself about any thing than speak.
He sat a little while in doubt. A variety of evils crossed
his mind.
Interference-- fruitless interference. Emma's
confusion, and the acknowledged intimacy, seemed to
declare her affection engaged. Yet he would speak. He
owed it to her, to risk any thing that might be involved in
an unwelcome interference, rather than her welfare; to
encounter any thing, rather than the remembrance of
neglect in such a cause.
"My dearEmma,"
said he at last, with earnest kindness,
"do you think you perfectly understand the degree of
acquaintance between the gentleman and lady we have
been speaking of?"
"Between Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax! Oh!
yes, perfectly.-- Why do you make a doubt of it?"
"Have you never at any time had reason to think that
he admired her, or that she admired him?"
"Never, never!"--
she cried with a most open eagerness
--
"Never, for the twentieth part of a moment, did such
an idea occur to me. And how could it possibly come into
your head?"
"I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of
attachment between them-- certain expressive looks,
which I did not believe meant to be public."
"Oh! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to
find that you can vouchsafe to let your imagination
wander-- but it will not do-- very sorry to check you in
your first essay-- but indeed it will not do. There is no
admiration between them, I do assure you; and the
AusEmma351
appearances which have caught you, have arisen from
some peculiar circumstances-- feelings rather of a totally
different nature:-- it is impossible exactly to explain:--
there is a good deal of nonsense in it-- but the part which
is capable of being communicated, which is sense, is, that
they are as far from any attachment or admiration for
one another, as any two beings in the world can be. That
is, I presume it to be so on her side, and I can answer for
its being so on his. I will answer for the gentleman's
indifference."
She spoke with a confidence which staggered, with
a satisfaction which silenced , Mr. Knightley. She was in
gay spirits, and would have prolonged the conversation,
wanting to hear the particulars of his suspicions, every
look described, and all the wheres and hows of a circumstance
which highly entertained her: but his gaiety did
not meet her's. He found he could not be useful, and his
feelings were too much irritated for talking. That he
might not be irritated into an absolute fever, by the fire
whichMr. Woodhouse's tender habits required almost
every evening throughout the year, he soon afterwards
took a hasty leave, and walked home to the coolness and
solitude of Donwell Abbey.
AusEmma352
After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from
Mr. and Mrs. Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged
to endure the mortification of hearing that they could not
possibly come till the autumn. No such importation of
novelties could enrich their intellectual stores at present.
In the daily interchange of news, they must be again
restricted to the other topics with which for a while the
Sucklings' coming had been united, such as the last
accounts of Mrs. Churchill, whose health seemed every
day to supply a different report, and the situation of
Mrs. Weston, whose happiness it was to be hoped might
eventually be as much increased by the arrival of a child,
as that of all her neighbours was by the approach of it.
Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It was the
delay of a great deal of pleasure and parade. Her introductions
and recommendations must all wait, and every
projected party be still only talked of. So she thought at
first;-- but a little consideration convinced her that every thing
need not be put off.
Why should not they explore
to Box Hill though the Sucklings did not come? They
could go there again with them in the autumn.
It was
settled that they should go to Box Hill. That there was
to be such a party had been long generally known: it had
even given the idea of another. Emma had never been
to Box Hill; she wished to see what every body found so
well worth seeing, and she and Mrs. Weston had agreed
to choose some fine morning and drive thither. Two or
three more of the chosen only were to be admitted to join
them, and it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending,
elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation,
the regular eating and drinking, and pic-nic parade
of the Eltons and the Sucklings.
AusEmma353
This was so very well understood between them, that
Emma could not but feel some surprise, and a little displeasure,
on hearing from Mr. Weston that he had been
proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had
failed her, that the two parties should unite, and go
together; and that as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded
to it, so it was to be, if she had no objection.
Now, as her
objection was nothing but her very great dislike of
Mrs. Elton, of whichMr. Weston must already be perfectly
aware, it was not worth bringing forward again:-- it could
not be done without a reproof to him, which would be
giving pain to his wife;
and she found herself therefore
obliged to consent to an arrangement which she would
have done a great deal to avoid; an arrangement which
would probably expose her even to the degradation of
being said to be of Mrs. Elton's party! Every feeling was
offended; and the forbearance of her outward submission
left a heavy arrear due of secret severity in her reflections
on the unmanageable good-will of Mr. Weston's temper.
"I am glad you approve of what I have done,"
said he
very comfortably.
"But I thought you would. Such
schemes as these are nothing without numbers. One
cannot have too large a party. A large party secures its
own amusement. And she is a good-natured woman after
all. One could not leave her out."
Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it
in private.
It was now the middle of June, and the weather fine;
and Mrs. Elton was growing impatient to name the day,
and settle with Mr. Weston as to pigeon-pies and cold
lamb, when a lame carriage-horse threw every thing into
sad uncertainty. It might be weeks, it might be only
a few days, before the horse were useable, but no preparations
could be ventured on, and it was all melancholy
stagnation. Mrs. Elton's resources were inadequate to
such an attack.
"Is not this most vexatious, Knightley?"
she cried.--
"And such weather for exploring!-- These delays and
AusEmma354
disappointments are quite odious. What are we to do?--
The year will wear away at this rate, and nothing done.
Before this time last year I assure you we had had a delightful
exploring party from Maple Grove to Kings Weston."
"You had better explore to Donwell,"
replied Mr. Knightley.
"That may be done without horses. Come,
and eat my strawberries. They are ripening fast."
If Mr. Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged
to proceed so, for his proposal was caught at with delight;
and the
"Oh! I should like it of all things,"
was not
plainer in words than manner. Donwell was famous for
its strawberry-beds, which seemed a plea for the invitation:
but no plea was necessary; cabbage-beds would have
been enough to tempt the lady, who only wanted to be
going somewhere. She promised him again and again to
come-- much oftener than he doubted-- and was extremely
gratified by such a proof of intimacy, such a distinguishing
compliment as she chose to consider it.
"You may depend upon me,"
said she.
"I certainly
will come. Name your day, and I will come. You will
allow me to bring Jane Fairfax?"
"I cannot name a day,"
said he,
"till I have spoken
to some others whom I would wish to meet you."
"Oh! leave all that to me. Only give me a carte-blanche.--
I am Lady Patroness, you know. It is my
party. I will bring friends with me."
"I hope you will bring Elton,"
said he:--
"but I will not
trouble you to give any other invitations."
"Oh! now you are looking very sly. But consider;--
you need not be afraid of delegating power to me. I am
no young lady on her preferment. Married women, you
know, may be safely authorized. It is my party. Leave
it all to me. I will invite your guests."
"No,"--
he calmly replied,--
"there is but one married
woman in the world whom I can ever allow to invite what
guests she pleases to Donwell, and that one is--"
"-- Mrs. Weston, I suppose,"
interrupted Mrs. Elton,
rather mortified.
AusEmma355
"No-- Mrs. Knightley;-- and, till she is in being, I will
manage such matters myself."
"Ah! you are an odd creature!"
she cried, satisfied
to have no one preferred to herself.--
"You are a humourist,
and may say what you like. Quite a humourist. Well,
I shall bring Jane with me-- Jane and her aunt.-- The rest
I leave to you. I have no objections at all to meeting the
Hartfield family. Don't scruple. I know you are attached
to them."
"You certainly will meet them if I can prevail; and
I shall call on Miss Bates in my way home."
"That's quite unnecessary; I see Jane every day:--
but as you like. It is to be a morning scheme, you know,
Knightley; quite a simple thing. I shall wear a large
bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging on my
arm. Here,-- probably this basket with pink ribbon.
Nothing can be more simple, you see. And Jane will have
such another. There is to be no form or parade-- a sort
of gipsy party.-- We are to walk about your gardens, and
gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under trees;--
and whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all
out of doors-- a table spread in the shade, you know.
Every thing as natural and simple as possible. Is not
that your idea?"
"Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural
will be to have the table spread in the dining-room. The
nature and the simplicity of gentlemen and ladies, with
their servants and furniture, I think is best observed by
meals within doors. When you are tired of eating strawberries
in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house."
"Well-- as you please; only don't have a great set out.
And, by the bye, can I or my housekeeper be of any use
to you with our opinion?-- Pray be sincere, Knightley.
If you wish me to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect
anything--."
"I have not the least wish for it, I thank you."
"Well-- but if any difficulties should arise, my house-keeper
is extremely clever."
AusEmma356
"I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as
clever, and would spurn anybody's assistance."
"I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us
all to come on donkies, Jane, Miss Bates, and me-- and my
caro sposo walking by. I really must talk to him about
purchasing a donkey. In a country life I conceive it to
be a sort of necessary; for, let a woman have ever so many
resources, it is not possible for her to be always shut up
at home;-- and very long walks, you know-- in summer
there is dust, and in winter there is dirt."
"You will not find either, between Donwell and Highbury.
Donwell-lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly
dry. Come on a donkey, however, if you prefer it. You
can borrow Mrs. Cole's. I would wish every thing to be
as much to your taste as possible."
"That I am sure you would. Indeed I do you justice,
my good friend. Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt
manner, I know you have the warmest heart. As I tell
Mr. E., you are a thorough humourist.-- Yes, believe me,
Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention to me in
the whole of this scheme. You have hit upon the very
thing to please me."
Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table
in the shade. He wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as
well as Emma, to join the party; and he knew that to
have any of them sitting down out of doors to eat would
inevitably make him ill.
Mr. Woodhouse must not, under
the specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or
two spent at Donwell, be tempted away to his misery.
He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were
to upbraid him for his easy credulity. He did consent.
He had not been at Donwell for two years.
"Some very
fine morning, he, and Emma, and Harriet, could go very
well; and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston, while the
dear girls walked about the gardens. He did not suppose
they could be damp now, in the middle of the day. He
should like to see the old house again exceedingly, and
should be very happy to meet Mr. and Mrs. Elton, and
AusEmma357
any other of his neighbours.-- He could not see any
objection at all to his, and Emma's, and Harriet's, going
there some very fine morning. He thought it very well
done of Mr. Knightley to invite them-- very kind and
sensible-- much cleverer than dining out.-- He was not
fond of dining out."
Mr. Knightley was fortunate in every body's most ready
concurrence. The invitation was every where so well
received, that it seemed as if, like Mrs. Elton, they were
all taking the scheme as a particular compliment to
themselves.-- Emma and Harriet professed very high
expectations of pleasure from it; and Mr. Weston,
unasked, promised to get Frank over to join them, if
possible; a proof of approbation and gratitude which
could have been dispensed with.-- Mr. Knightley was then
obliged to say that he should be glad to see him; and
Mr. Weston engaged to lose no time in writing, and spare
no arguments to induce him to come.
In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast, that
the party to Box Hill was again under happy consideration;
and at last Donwell was settled for one day, and
Box Hill for the next,-- the weather appearing exactly
right.
Under a bright mid-day sun, at almost Midsummer,
Mr. Woodhouse was safely conveyed in his carriage, with
one window down, to partake of this al-fresco party; and
in one of the most comfortable rooms in the abbey,
especially prepared for him by a fire all the morning, he
was happily placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with
pleasure of what had been atchieved, and advise every body
to come and sit down, and not to heat themselves.--
Mrs. Weston, who seemed to have walked there on purpose
to be tired, and sit all the time with him, remained, when
all the others were invited or persuaded out, his patient
listener and sympathizer.
It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that
as soon as she was satisfied of her father's comfort, she
was glad to leave him, and look around her; eager to
AusEmma358
refresh and correct her memory with more particular observation,
more exact understanding of a house and grounds
which must ever be so interesting to her and all her family.
She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her
alliance with the present and future proprietor could fairly
warrant, as she viewed the respectable size and style of the
building, its suitable, becoming, characteristic situation,
low and sheltered-- its ample gardens stretching down to
meadows washed by a stream, of which the Abbey, with
all the old neglect of prospect, had scarcely a sight-- and
its abundance of timber in rows and avenues, which neither
fashion nor extravagance had rooted up.-- The house was
larger than Hartfield, and totally unlike it, covering a good
deal of ground, rambling and irregular, with many comfortable
and one or two handsome rooms.--
It was just
what it ought to be, and it looked what it was--
and Emma
felt an increasing respect for it,
as the residence of a family
of such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding.--
Some faults of temper John Knightley had;
but Isabella had connected herself unexceptionably. She
had given them neither men, nor names, nor places, that
could raise a blush.
These were pleasant feelings, and she
walked about and indulged them till it was necessary to
do as the others did, and collect round the strawberry beds.--
The whole party were assembled, excepting Frank Churchill,
who was expected every moment from Richmond;
and Mrs. Elton, in all her apparatus of happiness,
her large bonnet and her basket, was very ready to lead
the way in gathering, accepting, or talking-- strawberries,
and only strawberries, could now be thought or spoken of.
--
"The best fruit in England-- every body's favourite--
always wholesome.-- These the finest beds and finest sorts.
-- Delightful to gather for one's self-- the only way of
really enjoying them.-- Morning decidedly the best time--
never tired-- every sort good-- hautboy infinitely superior
-- no comparison-- the others hardly eatable-- hautboys
very scarce-- Chili preferred-- white wood finest flavour
of all-- price of strawberries in London-- abundance about
AusEmma359
Bristol-- Maple Grove-- cultivation -- beds when to be
renewed-- gardeners thinking exactly different-- no general
rule-- gardeners never to be put out of their way--
delicious fruit-- only too rich to be eaten much of-- inferior
to cherries-- currants more refreshing-- only objection to
gathering strawberries the stooping-- glaring sun-- tired
to death-- could bear it no longer-- must go and sit in the
shade."
Such, for half an hour, was the conversation-- interrupted
only once by Mrs. Weston, who came out, in her
solicitude after her son-in-law, to inquire if he were come--
and she was a little uneasy.-- She had some fears of his
horse.
Seats tolerably in the shade were found; and now
Emma was obliged to overhear whatMrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax
were talking of.-- A situation, a most desirable
situation, was in question. Mrs. Elton had received notice
of it that morning, and was in raptures. It was not with
Mrs. Suckling, it was not with Mrs. Bragge, but in felicity
and splendour it fell short only of them: it was with
a cousin of Mrs. Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling,
a lady known at Maple Grove. Delightful, charming,
superior, first circles, spheres, lines, ranks, every thing--
and Mrs. Elton was wild to have the offer closed with
immediately.-- On her side, all was warmth, energy, and
triumph-- and she positively refused to take her friend's
negative, though Miss Fairfax continued to assure her that
she would not at present engage in any thing, repeating
the same motives which she had been heard to urge before.
-- Still Mrs. Elton insisted on being authorized to write an
acquiescence by the morrow's post.-- How Jane could bear
it at all, was astonishing to Emma.-- She did look vexed,
she did speak pointedly-- and at last, with a decision of
action unusual to her, proposed a removal.--
"Should not
they walk?-- Would not Mr. Knightley show them the
gardens-- all the gardens? -- She wished to see the whole
extent."--
The pertinacity of her friend seemed more than
she could bear.
AusEmma360
It was hot; and after walking some time over the
gardens in a scattered, dispersed way, scarcely any three
together, they insensibly followed one another to the
delicious shade of a broad short avenue of limes, which
stretching beyond the garden at an equal distance from
the river, seemed the finish of the pleasure grounds.-- It led
to nothing; nothing but a view at the end over a low
stone wall with high pillars, which seemed intended, in
their erection, to give the appearance of an approach to
the house, which never had been there. Disputable, however,
as might be the taste of such a termination, it was in
itself a charming walk, and the view which closed it extremely
pretty.-- The considerable slope, at nearly the foot
of which the Abbey stood, gradually acquired a steeper form
beyond its grounds; and at half a mile distant was a bank
of considerable abruptness and grandeur, well clothed with
wood;-- and at the bottom of this bank, favourably placed
and sheltered, rose the Abbey-Mill Farm, with meadows in
front, and the river making a close and handsome curve
around it.
It was a sweet view-- sweet to the eye and the mind.
English verdure, English culture, English comfort, seen
under a sun bright, without being oppressive.
In this walk Emma and Mr. Weston found all the others
assembled; and towards this view she immediately perceived
Mr. Knightley and Harriet distinct from the rest,
quietly leading the way.
Mr. Knightley and Harriet!-- It
was an odd te--te-a`-te--te; but she was glad to see it.--
There had been a time when he would have scorned her
as a companion, and turned from her with little ceremony.
Now they seemed in pleasant conversation.
There had been
a time also when Emma would have been sorry to see
Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey-Mill Farm;
but now she feared it not.
It might be safely viewed with
all its appendages of prosperity and beauty, its rich
pastures, spreading flocks, orchard in blossom, and light
column of smoke ascending.--
She joined them at the wall,
and found them more engaged in talking than in looking
AusEmma361
around. He was giving Harriet information as to modes
of agriculture, &c. and Emma received a smile which
seemed to say,
"These are my own concerns. I have
a right to talk on such subjects, without being suspected
of introducing Robert Martin."--
She did not suspect him.
It was too old a story.-- Robert Martin had probably
ceased to think of Harriet.--
They took a few turns together
along the walk.-- The shade was most refreshing, and
Emma found it the pleasantest part of the day.
The next remove was to the house; they must all go in
and eat;-- and they were all seated and busy, and still
Frank Churchill did not come. Mrs. Weston looked, and
looked in vain. His father would not own himself uneasy,
and laughed at her fears; but she could not be cured of
wishing that he would part with his black mare. He had
expressed himself as to coming, with more than common
certainty.
"His aunt was so much better, that he had not
a doubt of getting over to them."--
Mrs. Churchill's state,
however, as many were ready to remind her, was liable to
such sudden variation as might disappoint her nephew in
the most reasonable dependence-- and Mrs. Weston was
at last persuaded to believe, or to say, that it must be by
some attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was prevented
coming.-- Emma looked at Harriet while the point was
under consideration;
she behaved very well, and betrayed
no emotion.
The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out
once more to see what had not yet been seen, the old
Abbey fish-ponds; perhaps get as far as the clover, which
was to be begun cutting on the morrow, or, at any rate,
have the pleasure of being hot, and growing cool again.--
Mr. Woodhouse, who had already taken his little round in
the highest part of the gardens, where no damps from the
river were imagined even by him, stirred no more; and
his daughter resolved to remain with him, that Mrs. Weston
might be persuaded away by her husband to the exercise
and variety which her spirits seemed to need.
Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Woodhouse's
AusEmma362
entertainment. Books of engravings, drawers of
medals, cameos, corals, shells, and every other family
collection within his cabinets, had been prepared for his
old friend, to while away the morning; and the kindness
had perfectly answered. Mr. Woodhouse had been
exceedingly well amused. Mrs. Weston had been showing
them all to him, and now he would show them all to
Emma;-- fortunate in having no other resemblance to
a child, than in a total want of taste for what he
saw, for he was slow, constant, and methodical.-- Before
this second looking over was begun, however, Emma
walked into the hall for the sake of a few moments' free
observation of the entrance and ground-plot of the house--
and was hardly there, when Jane Fairfax appeared, coming
quickly in from the garden, and with a look of escape.--
Little expecting to meet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there
was a start at first; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person
she was in quest of.
"Will you be so kind,"
said she,
"when I am missed, as
to say that I am gone home?-- I am going this moment.--
My aunt is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have
been absent-- but I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am
determined to go directly.-- I have said nothing about it
to any body. It would only be giving trouble and distress.
Some are gone to the ponds, and some to the lime walk.
Till they all come in I shall not be missed; and when they
do, will you have the goodness to say that I am gone?"
"Certainly, if you wish it;-- but you are not going to
walk to Highbury alone?"
"Yes-- what should hurt me?-- I walk fast. I shall be
at home in twenty minutes."
"But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite
alone. Let my father's servant go with you.-- Let me order
the carriage. It can be round in five minutes."
"Thank you, thank you-- but on no account.-- I would
rather walk.-- And for me to be afraid of walking alone!--
I, who may so soon have to guard others!"
She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very
AusEmma363
feelingly replied,
"That can be no reason for your being
exposed to danger now. I must order the carriage.
The heat even would be danger.-- You are fatigued
already."
"I am"--
she answered--
"I am fatigued; but it is not
the sort of fatigue-- quick walking will refresh me.-- Miss Woodhouse,
we all know at times what it is to be wearied
in spirits. Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest
kindness you can show me, will be to let me have my own
way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary."
Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all;
and entering into her feelings, promoted her quitting the
house immediately, and watched her safely off with the
zeal of a friend.
Her parting look was grateful-- and her
parting words,
"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of
being sometimes alone!"--
seemed to burst from an over-charged
heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual
endurance to be practised by her, even towards some of
those who loved her best.
"Such a home, indeed! such an aunt!"
said Emma,
as she turned back into the hall again.
"I do pity you.
And the more sensibility you betray of their just horrors,
the more I shall like you."
Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they
had only accomplished some views of St. Mark's Place,
Venice, when Frank Churchill entered the room. Emma
had not been thinking of him, she had forgotten to think
of him-- but she was very glad to see him. Mrs. Weston
would be at ease. The black mare was blameless; they
were right who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause.
He had been detained by a temporary increase of illness
in her; a nervous seizure, which had lasted some hours--
and he had quite given up every thought of coming, till
very late;-- and had he known how hot a ride he should
have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he
believed he should not have come at all. The heat was
excessive; he had never suffered any thing like it-- almost
wished he had staid at home-- nothing killed him like
AusEmma364
heat-- he could bear any degree of cold, &c. but heat was
intolerable--
and he sat down, at the greatest possible
distance from the slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse's fire,
looking very deplorable.
"You will soon be cooler, if you sit still,"
said Emma.
"As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could
very ill be spared-- but such a point had been made of my
coming! You will all be going soon I suppose; the whole
party breaking up. I met one as I came-- Madness in such
weather!-- absolute madness!"
Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that
Frank Churchill's state might be best defined by the
expressive phrase of being out of humour. Some people
were always cross when they were hot. Such might be
his constitution;
and as she knew that eating and drinking
were often the cure of such incidental complaints, she
recommended his taking some refreshment; he would
find abundance of every thing in the dining-room-- and
she humanely pointed out the door.
"No-- he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would
only make him hotter."
In two minutes, however, he
relented in his own favour; and muttering something
about spruce beer, walked off. Emma returned all her
attention to her father, saying in secret--
"I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should
not like a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot
morning. Harriet's sweet easy temper will not mind it."
He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable
meal, and came back all the better-- grown quite cool--
and, with good manners, like himself-- able to draw a chair
close to them, take an interest in their employment; and
regret, in a reasonable way, that he should be so late. He
was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to improve
them; and, at last, made himself talk nonsense very
agreeably. They were looking over views of Swisserland.
"As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad,"
said
he.
"I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these
places. You will have my sketches, some time or other,
AusEmma365
to look at-- or my tour to read-- or my poem. I shall do
something to expose myself."
"That may be-- but not by sketches in Swisserland.
You will never go to Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt
will never allow you to leave England."
"They may be induced to go too. A warm climate may
be prescribed for her. I have more than half an expectation
of our all going abroad. I assure you I have. I feel
a strong persuasion, this morning, that I shall soon be
abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing.
I want a change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever
your penetrating eyes may fancy-- I am sick of
England-- and would leave it to-morrow, if I could."
"You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot
you invent a few hardships for yourself, and be contented
to stay?"
"I sick of prosperity and indulgence!-- You are quite
mistaken. I do not look upon myself as either prosperous
or indulged. I am thwarted in every thing material. I do
not consider myself at all a fortunate person."
"You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you
first came. Go and eat and drink a little more, and you
will do very well. Another slice of cold meat, another
draught of Madeira and water, will make you nearly on
a par with the rest of us."
"No-- I shall not stir. I shall sit by you. You are my
best cure."
"We are going to Box Hill to-morrow;-- you will join
us. It is not Swisserland, but it will be something for
a young man so much in want of a change. You will stay,
and go with us?"
"No, certainly not; I shall go home in the cool of the
evening."
"But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow
morning."
"No-- It will not be worth while. If I come, I shall be
cross."
"Then pray stay at Richmond."
AusEmma366
"But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear
to think of you all there without me."
"These are difficulties which you must settle for
yourself. Choose your own degree of crossness. I shall
press you no more."
The rest of the party were now returning, and all were
soon collected. With some there was great joy at the
sight of Frank Churchill; others took it very composedly;
but there was a very general distress and disturbance on
Miss Fairfax's disappearance being explained. That it was
time for every body to go, concluded the subject; and
with a short final arrangement for the next day's scheme,
they parted. Frank Churchill's little inclination to exclude
himself increased so much, that his last words to Emma
were,
"Well;-- if you wish me to stay, and join the party,
I will."
She smiled her acceptance; and nothing less than
a summons from Richmond was to take him back before
the following evening.
AusEmma367
They had a very fine day for Box Hill; and all the
other outward circumstances of arrangement, accommodation,
and punctuality, were in favour of a pleasant party.
Mr. Weston directed the whole, officiating safely between
Hartfield and the vicarage, and every body was in good
time. Emma and Harriet went together; Miss Bates and
her niece, with the Eltons; the gentlemen on horseback.
Mrs. Weston remained with Mr. Woodhouse. Nothing
was wanting but to be happy when they got there. Seven
miles were travelled in expectation of enjoyment, and
every body had a burst of admiration on first arriving;
but in the general amount of the day there was deficiency.
There was a languor, a want of spirits, a want of union,
which could not be got over. They separated too much
into parties. The Eltons walked together; Mr. Knightley
took charge of Miss Bates and Jane; and Emma and
Harriet belonged to Frank Churchill. And Mr. Weston
tried, in vain, to make them harmonize better. It seemed
at first an accidental division, but it never materially
varied. Mr. and Mrs. Elton, indeed, showed no unwillingness
to mix, and be as agreeable as they could: but during
the two whole hours that were spent on the hill, there
seemed a principle of separation, between the other
parties, too strong for any fine prospects, or any cold
collation, or any cheerful Mr. Weston, to remove.
At first it was downright dulness to Emma.
She had
never seen Frank Churchill so silent and stupid. He said
nothing worth hearing-- looked without seeing-- admired
without intelligence-- listened without knowing what she
said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet
should be dull likewise, and they were both insufferable.
When they all sat down it was better; to her taste
a great deal better, for Frank Churchill grew talkative
AusEmma368
and gay, making her his first object. Every distinguishing
attention that could be paid, was paid to her. To amuse
her, and be agreeable in her eyes, seemed all that he cared
for--
and Emma, glad to be enlivened, not sorry to be
flattered, was gay and easy too, and gave him all the
friendly encouragement, the admission to be gallant,
which she had ever given in the first and most animating
period of their acquaintance; but which now, in her own
estimation, meant nothing, though in the judgment of
most people looking on it must have had such an appearance
as no English word but flirtation could very well
describe.
"Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse
flirted together excessively." They were laying themselves
open to that very phrase-- and to having it sent off in
a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by another.
Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real
felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than
she had expected. She laughed because she was disappointed;
and though she liked him for his attentions, and
thought them all, whether in friendship, admiration, or
playfulness, extremely judicious, they were not winning
back her heart. She still intended him for her friend.
"How much I am obliged to you,"
said he,
"for telling
me to come to day!-- If it had not been for you, I should
certainly have lost all the happiness of this party. I had
quite determined to go away again."
"Yes, you were very cross; and I do not know what
about, except that you were too late for the best strawberries.
I was a kinder friend than you deserved. But
you were humble. You begged hard to be commanded
to come."
"Don't say I was cross. I was fatigued. The heat
overcame me."
"It is hotter to-day."
"Not to my feelings. I am perfectly comfortable
to-day."
"You are comfortable because you are under command."
"Your command?-- Yes."
AusEmma369
"Perhaps I intended you to say so, but I meant self-command.
You had, somehow or other, broken bounds
yesterday, and run away from your own management;
but to-day you are got back again-- and as I cannot be
always with you, it is best to believe your temper under
your own command rather than mine."
"It comes to the same thing. I can have no self-command
without a motive. You order me, whether you
speak or not. And you can be always with me. You are
always with me."
"Dating from three o'clock yesterday. My perpetual
influence could not begin earlier, or you would not have
been so much out of humour before."
"Three o'clock yesterday! That is your date. I
thought I had seen you first in February."
"Your gallantry is really unanswerable. But
(lowering
her voice)--
nobody speaks except ourselves, and it is
rather too much to be talking nonsense for the entertainment
of seven silent people."
"I say nothing of which I am ashamed,"
replied he,
with lively impudence.
"I saw you first in February.
Let every body on the Hill hear me if they can. Let my
accents swell to Mickleham on one side, and Dorking on
the other. I saw you first in February."
And then
whispering--
"Our companions are excessively stupid.
What shall we do to rouse them? Any nonsense will
serve. They shall talk. Ladies and gentlemen, I am
ordered by Miss Woodhouse (who, wherever she is, presides,)
to say, that she desires to know what you are all
thinking of."
Some laughed, and answered good-humouredly. Miss Bates
said a great dealMrs. Elton swelled at the idea of
Miss Woodhouse's presiding; Mr. Knightley's answer
was the most distinct.
"Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear
what we are all thinking of?"
"Oh! no, no"--
cried Emma, laughing as carelessly
as she could--
"Upon no account in the world. It is the
AusEmma370
very last thing I would stand the brunt of just now. Let
me hear any thing rather than what you are all thinking of.
I will not say quite all. There are one or two, perhaps,
(glancing at Mr. Weston and Harriet,)
whose thoughts
I might not be afraid of knowing."
"It is a sort of thing,"
cried Mrs. Elton emphatically,
"which I should not have thought myself privileged to
inquire into. Though, perhaps, as the Chaperon of the
party-- I never was in any circle-- exploring parties--
young ladies-- married women--"
Her mutterings were chiefly to her husband; and he
murmured, in reply,
"Very true, my love, very true. Exactly so, indeed--
quite unheard of-- but some ladies say any thing. Better
pass it off as a joke. Every body knows what is due to
you."
"It will not do,"
whispered Frank to Emma,
"they
are most of them affronted. I will attack them with more
address. Ladies and gentlemen-- I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse
to say, that she waves her right of knowing
exactly what you may all be thinking of, and only requires
something very entertaining from each of you, in a general
way. Here are seven of you, besides myself, (who, she is
pleased to say, am very entertaining already,) and she
only demands from each of you either one thing very
clever, be it prose or verse, original or repeated-- or two
things moderately clever-- or three things very dull indeed,
and she engages to laugh heartily at them all."
"Oh! very well,"
exclaimed Miss Bates,
"then I need
not be uneasy. ""Three things very dull indeed."" That
will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three
dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan't I?--
(looking round with the most good-humoured dependence
on every body's assent)--
Do not you all think I shall?"
Emma could not resist.
"Ah! ma'am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon
me-- but you will be limited as to number-- only three at
once."
AusEmma371
Miss Bates, deceived by the mock ceremony of her
manner, did not immediately catch her meaning; but,
when it burst on her, it could not anger, though a slight
blush showed that it could pain her.
"Ah!-- well-- to be sure. Yes, I see what she means,
(turning to Mr. Knightley,)
and I will try to hold my
tongue. I must make myself very disagreeable, or she
would not have said such a thing to an old friend."
"I like your plan,"
cried Mr. Weston.
"Agreed,
agreed. I will do my best. I am making a conundrum.
How will a conundrum reckon?"
"Low, I am afraid, sir, very low,"
answered his son;--
"but we shall be indulgent-- especially to any one who
leads the way."
"No, no,"
said Emma,
"it will not reckon low. A
conundrum of Mr. Weston's shall clear him and his next
neighbour. Come, sir, pray let me hear it."
"I doubt it's being very clever myself,"
said Mr. Weston.
"It is too much a matter of fact, but here it is.-- What
two letters of the alphabet are there, that express
perfection?"
"What two letters!-- express perfection! I am sure
I do not know."
"Ah! you will never guess. You,
(to Emma),
I am
certain, will never guess.-- I will tell you.-- M. and A.--
Em-ma.-- Do you understand?"
Understanding and gratification came together. It
might be a very indifferent piece of wit; but Emma found
a great deal to laugh at and enjoy in it-- and so did Frank
and Harriet.-- It did not seem to touch the rest of the
party equally; some looked very stupid about it, and
Mr. Knightley gravely said,
"This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted,
and Mr. Weston has done very well for himself; but he
must have knocked up every body else. Perfection should
not have come quite so soon."
"Oh! for myself, I protest I must be excused,"
said
Mrs. Elton;
"I really cannot attempt-- I am not at all
AusEmma372
fond of the sort of thing. I had an acrostic once sent to
me upon my own name, which I was not at all pleased
with. I knew who it came from. An abominable puppy!--
You know who I mean--
(nodding to her husband).
These
kind of things are very well at Christmas, when one is
sitting round the fire; but quite out of place, in my
opinion, when one is exploring about the country in summer.
Miss Woodhouse must excuse me. I am not one of those
who have witty things at every body's service. I do not
pretend to be a wit. I have a great deal of vivacity in my
own way, but I really must be allowed to judge when to
speak and when to hold my tongue. Pass us, if you please,
Mr. Churchill. Pass Mr. E., Knightley, Jane and myself.
We have nothing clever to say-- not one of us."
"Yes, yes, pray pass me,"
added her husband, with
a sort of sneering consciousness;
"I have nothing to say
that can entertain Miss Woodhouse, or any other young
lady. An old married man-- quite good for nothing.
Shall we walk, Augusta?"
"With all my heart. I am really tired of exploring so
long on one spot. Come, Jane, take my other arm."
Jane declined it, however, and the husband and wife
walked off.
"Happy couple!"
said Frank Churchill, as
soon as they were out of hearing:--
"How well they suit
one another!-- Very lucky-- marrying as they did, upon
an acquaintance formed only in a public place!-- They
only knew each other, I think, a few weeks in Bath!
Peculiarly lucky!-- for as to any real knowledge of a person's
disposition that Bath, or any public place, can give--
it is all nothing; there can be no knowledge. It is only
by seeing women in their own homes, among their own
set, just as they always are, that you can form any just
judgment. Short of that, it is all guess and luck-- and
will generally be ill-luck. How many a man has committed
himself on a short acquaintance, and rued it all the rest
of his life!"
Miss Fairfax, who had seldom spoken before, except
among her own confederates, spoke now.
AusEmma373
"Such things do occur, undoubtedly." --
She was stopped
by a cough. Frank Churchill turned towards her to
listen.
"You were speaking,"
said he, gravely. She recovered
her voice.
"I was only going to observe, that though such unfortunate
circumstances do sometimes occur both to men
and women, I cannot imagine them to be very frequent.
A hasty and imprudent attachment may arise-- but there
is generally time to recover from it afterwards. I would
be understood to mean, that it can be only weak, irresolute
characters, (whose happiness must be always at the mercy
of chance,) who will suffer an unfortunate acquaintance
to be an inconvenience, an oppression for ever."
He made no answer; merely looked, and bowed in
submission; and soon afterwards said, in a lively tone,
"Well, I have so little confidence in my own judgment,
that whenever I marry, I hope somebody will choose my
wife for me. Will you?
(turning to Emma.)
Will you
choose a wife for me?-- I am sure I should like any body
fixed on by you. You provide for the family, you know,
(with a smile at his father).
Find somebody for me. I am
in no hurry. Adopt her, educate her."
"And make her like myself."
"By all means, if you can."
"Very well. I undertake the commission. You shall
have a charming wife."
"She must be very lively, and have hazle eyes. I care
for nothing else. I shall go abroad for a couple of years--
and when I return, I shall come to you for my wife.
Remember."
Emma was in no danger of forgetting. It was a commission
to touch every favourite feeling.
Would not
Harriet be the very creature described?-- Hazle eyes
excepted, two years more might make her all that he
wished. He might even have Harriet in his thoughts at
the moment; who could say? Referring the education
to her seemed to imply it.
AusEmma374
"Now, ma'am,"
said Jane to her aunt,
"shall we join
Mrs. Elton?"
"If you please, my dear. With all my heart. I am
quite ready. I was ready to have gone with her, but this
will do just as well. We shall soon overtake her. There
she is-- no, that's somebody else. That's one of the ladies
in the Irish car party, not at all like her.-- Well, I declare--"
They walked off, followed in half a minute by Mr. Knightley.
Mr. Weston, his son, Emma, and Harriet,
only remained; and the young man's spirits now rose to
a pitch almost unpleasant. Even Emma grew tired at last
of flattery and merriment,
and wished herself rather walking
quietly about with any of the others, or sitting almost
alone, and quite unattended to, in tranquil observation of
the beautiful views beneath her. The appearance of the
servants looking out for them to give notice of the carriages
was a joyful sight; and even the bustle of collecting and
preparing to depart, and the solicitude of Mrs. Elton to
have her carriage first, were gladly endured, in the prospect
of the quiet drive home which was to close the very
questionable enjoyments of this day of pleasure. Such
another scheme, composed of so many ill-assorted people,
she hoped never to be betrayed into again.
While waiting for the carriage, she found Mr. Knightley
by her side.
He looked around, as if to see that no one
were near, and then said,
"Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been
used to do: a privilege rather endured than allowed,
perhaps, but I must still use it. I cannot see you acting
wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be so
unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent
in your wit to a woman of her character, age, and situation?--
Emma, I had not thought it possible."
Emma recollected, blushed, was sorry, but tried to
laugh it off.
"Nay, how could I help saying what I did?-- Nobody
could have helped it. It was not so very bad. I dare say
she did not understand me."
AusEmma375
"I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning.
She has talked of it since. I wish you could have heard how
she talked of it-- with what candour and generosity. I wish
you could have heard her honouring your forbearance, in
being able to pay her such attentions, as she was for ever
receiving from yourself and your father, when her society
must be so irksome."
"Oh!"
cried Emma,
"I know there is not a better
creature in the world: but you must allow, that what is
good and what is ridiculous are most unfortunately
blended in her."
"They are blended,"
said he,
"I acknowledge; and,
were she prosperous, I could allow much for the occasional
prevalence of the ridiculous over the good. Were she
a woman of fortune, I would leave every harmless absurdity
to take its chance, I would not quarrel with you for any
liberties of manner. Were she your equal in situation--
but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case.
She is poor; she has sunk from the comforts she was
born to; and, if she live to old age, must probably sink
more. Her situation should secure your compassion.
It was badly done, indeed!-- You, whom she had known
from an infant, whom she had seen grow up from a period
when her notice was an honour, to have you now, in
thoughtless spirits, and the pride of the moment, laugh
at her, humble her-- and before her niece, too-- and before
others, many of whom (certainly some,) would be entirely
guided by your treatment of her.-- This is not pleasant to
you, Emma-- and it is very far from pleasant to me; but
I must, I will,-- I will tell you truths while I can, satisfied
with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel,
and trusting that you will some time or other do me greater
justice than you can do now."
While they talked, they were advancing towards the
carriage; it was ready; and, before she could speak again,
he had handed her in. He had misinterpreted the feelings
which had kept her face averted, and her tongue motionless.
They were combined only of anger against herself,
AusEmma376
mortification, and deep concern. She had not been able
to speak; and, on entering the carriage, sunk back for
a moment overcome-- then reproaching herself for having
taken no leave, making no acknowledgement, parting in
apparent sullenness, she looked out with voice and hand
eager to show a difference; but it was just too late. He
had turned away, and the horses were in motion. She
continued to look back, but in vain; and soon, with what
appeared unusual speed, they were half way down the
hill, and every thing left far behind. She was vexed
beyond what could have been expressed-- almost beyond
what she could conceal. Never had she felt so agitated,
mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She
was most forcibly struck. The truth of his representation
there was no denying. She felt it at her heart.
How could
she have been so brutal, so cruel to Miss Bates!-- How
could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in any
one she valued! And how suffer him to leave her without
saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common
kindness!
Time did not compose her. As she reflected more, she
seemed but to feel it more. She never had been so
depressed.
Happily it was not necessary to speak. There
was only Harriet, who seemed not in spirits herself, fagged,
and very willing to be silent;
and Emma felt the tears
running down her cheeks almost all the way home, without
being at any trouble to check them, extraordinary as they
were.
AusEmma377
The wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in
Emma's thoughts all the evening.
How it might be
considered by the rest of the party, she could not tell.
They, in their different homes, and their different ways,
might be looking back on it with pleasure; but in her view
it was a morning more completely misspent, more totally
bare of rational satisfaction at the time, and more to be
abhorred in recollection, than any she had ever passed.
A whole evening of back-gammon with her father, was
felicity to it. There, indeed, lay real pleasure, for there
she was giving up the sweetest hours of the twenty-four to
his comfort; and feeling that, unmerited as might be the
degree of his fond affection and confiding esteem, she could
not, in her general conduct, be open to any severe reproach.
As a daughter, she hoped she was not without a heart.
She hoped no one could have said to her, "How could
you be so unfeeling to your father?-- I must, I will tell
you truths while I can." Miss Bates should never again--
no, never! If attention, in future, could do away the
past, she might hope to be forgiven. She had been often
remiss, her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more
in thought than fact; scornful, ungracious. But it
should be so no more.
In the warmth of true contrition,
she would call upon her the very next morning, and it
should be the beginning, on her side, of a regular, equal,
kindly intercourse.
She was just as determined when the morrow came,
and went early, that nothing might prevent her.
It was
not unlikely,
she thought,
that she might see Mr. Knightley
in her way; or, perhaps, he might come in while she were
paying her visit. She had no objection. She would not
be ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly
AusEmma378
and truly hers. Her eyes were towards Donwell as she
walked, but she saw him not.
"The ladies were all at home."
She had never rejoiced
at the sound before, nor ever before entered the
passage, nor walked up the stairs, with any wish of giving
pleasure, but in conferring obligation, or of deriving it,
except in subsequent ridicule.
There was a bustle on her approach; a good deal of
moving and talking. She heard Miss Bates's voice, some thing
was to be done in a hurry; the maid looked frightened
and awkward;
hoped she would be pleased to wait a
moment,
and then ushered her in too soon. The aunt and
niece seemed both escaping into the adjoining room. Jane
she had a distinct glimpse of, looking extremely ill; and,
before the door had shut them out, she heard Miss Bates
saying,
"Well, my dear, I shall say you are laid down
upon the bed, and I am sure you are ill enough."
Poor old Mrs. Bates, civil and humble as usual, looked
as if she did not quite understand what was going on.
"I am afraid Jane is not very well,"
said she,
"but
I do not know; they tell me she is well. I dare say my
daughter will be here presently, Miss Woodhouse. I hope
you find a chair. I wish Hetty had not gone. I am very
little able-- Have you a chair, ma'am? Do you sit where
you like? I am sure she will be here presently."
Emma seriously hoped she would. She had a moment's
fear of Miss Bates keeping away from her. But Miss Bates
soon came--
"Very happy and obliged"--
but Emma's
conscience told her that
there was not the same cheerful
volubility as before-- less ease of look and manner. A very
friendly inquiry after Miss Fairfax, she hoped, might lead
the way to a return of old feelings. The touch seemed
immediate.
"Ah! Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are!-- I suppose
you have heard-- and are come to give us joy. This does
not seem much like joy, indeed, in me--
(twinkling away
a tear or two)--
but it will be very trying for us to part
with her, after having had her so long, and she has
AusEmma379
a dreadful headach just now, writing all the morning:--
such long letters, you know, to be written to Colonel Campbell,
and Mrs. Dixon. ""My dear,"" said I, ""you will
blind yourself""-- for tears were in her eyes perpetually.
One cannot wonder, one cannot wonder. It is a great
change; and though she is amazingly fortunate-- such
a situation, I suppose, as no young woman before ever
met with on first going out-- do not think us ungrateful,
Miss Woodhouse, for such surprising good fortune--
(again
dispersing her tears)--
but, poor dear soul! if you were to
see what a headach she has. When one is in great pain,
you know one cannot feel any blessing quite as it may
deserve. She is as low as possible. To look at her,
nobody would think how delighted and happy she is to
have secured such a situation. You will excuse her not
coming to you-- she is not able-- she is gone into her own
room-- I want her to lie down upon the bed. ""My dear,""
said I, ""I shall say you are laid down upon the bed:"" but,
however, she is not; she is walking about the room.
But, now that she has written her letters, she says she
shall soon be well. She will be extremely sorry to miss
seeing you, Miss Woodhouse, but your kindness will
excuse her. You were kept waiting at the door-- I was
quite ashamed-- but somehow there was a little bustle--
for it so happened that we had not heard the knock, and
till you were on the stairs, we did not know any body was
coming. ""It is only Mrs. Cole,"" said I, ""depend upon it.
Nobody else would come so early.""
"Well,""
said she,
""it
must be borne some time or other, and it may as well be
now.""
But then Patty came in, and said it was you.
""Oh!"" said I, ""it is Miss Woodhouse: I am sure you
will like to see her.""--
""I can see nobody,""
said she; and
up she got, and would go away; and that was what made
us keep you waiting-- and extremely sorry and ashamed
we were. ""If you must go, my dear,"" said I, ""you must,
and I will say you are laid down upon the bed."" "
Emma was most sincerely interested. Her heart had been
long growing kinder towards Jane; and this picture of her
AusEmma380
present sufferings acted as a cure of every former ungenerous
suspicion, and left her nothing but pity; and the remembrance
of the less just and less gentle sensations of the
past, obliged her to admit that Jane might very naturally
resolve on seeing Mrs. Cole or any other steady friend,
when she might not bear to see herself. She spoke as she
felt, with earnest regret and solicitude--
sincerely wishing
that the circumstances which she collected from Miss Bates
to be now actually determined on, might be as much for
Miss Fairfax's advantage and comfort as possible.
"It
must be a severe trial to them all. She had understood
it was to be delayed till Colonel Campbell's return."
"So very kind!"
replied Miss Bates.
"But you are
always kind."
There was no bearing such an
"always;"
and to break
through her dreadful gratitude,
Emma made the direct
inquiry of--
"Where-- may I ask?-- is Miss Fairfax going?"
"To a Mrs. Smallridge-- charming woman-- most
superior-- to have the charge of her three little girls--
delightful children. Impossible that any situation could
be more replete with comfort; if we except, perhaps,
Mrs. Suckling's own family, and Mrs. Bragge's; but
Mrs. Smallridge is intimate with both. and in the very
same neighbourhood:-- lives only four miles from Maple Grove.
Jane will be only four miles from Maple Grove."
Mrs. Elton, I suppose, has been the person to whom
Miss Fairfax owes--"
"Yes, our good Mrs. Elton. The most indefatigable,
true friend. She would not take a denial. She would not
let Jane say ""No;"" for when Jane first heard of it, (it
was the day before yesterday, the very morning we were at
Donwell,) when Jane first heard of it, she was quite
decided against accepting the offer, and for the reasons
you mention; exactly as you say, she had made up her
mind to close with nothing till Colonel Campbell's return,
and nothing should induce her to enter into any engagement
at present-- and so she told Mrs. Elton over and over
AusEmma381
again-- and I am sure I had no more idea that she would
change her mind!-- but that good Mrs. Elton, whose judgement
never fails her, saw farther than I did. It is not
every body that would have stood out in such a kind way
as she did, and refuse to take Jane's answer; but she
positively declared she would not write any such denial
yesterday, as Jane wished her; she would wait -- and,
sure enough, yesterday evening it was all settled that
Jane should go. Quite a surprise to me! I had not the
least idea!-- Jane took Mrs. Elton aside, and told her at
once, that upon thinking over the advantages of Mrs. Suckling's
situation, she had come to the resolution of
accepting it.-- I did not know a word of it till it was all
settled."
"You spent the evening with Mrs. Elton?"
"Yes, all of us; Mrs. Elton would have us come. It
was settled so, upon the hill, while we were walking about
with Mr. Knightley.
""You must all spend your evening
with us,""
said she--
""I positively must have you all
come."" "
"Mr. Knightley was there too, was he?"
"No, not Mr. Knightley; he declined it from the first;
and though I thought he would come, because Mrs. Elton
declared she would not let him off, he did not;-- but my
mother, and Jane, and I, were all there, and a very agreeable
evening we had. Such kind friends, you know, Miss Woodhouse,
one must always find agreeable, though every body
seemed rather fagged after the morning's party.
Even pleasure, you know, is fatiguing-- and I cannot say
that any of them seemed very much to have enjoyed it.
However, I shall always think it a very pleasant party,
and feel extremely obliged to the kind friends who included
me in it."
"Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware
of it, had been making up her mind the whole day."
"I dare say she had."
"Whenever the time may come, it must be unwelcome
to her and all her friends-- but I hope her engagement will
AusEmma382
have every alleviation that is possible-- I mean, as to the
character and manners of the family."
"Thank you, dearMiss Woodhouse. Yes, indeed,
there is every thing in the world that can make her happy
in it. Except the Sucklings and Bragges, there is not
such another nursery establishment, so liberal and elegant,
in all Mrs. Elton's acquaintance. Mrs. Smallridge, a most
delightful woman!-- A style of living almost equal to
Maple Grove-- and as to the children, except the little
Sucklings and little Bragges, there are not such elegant
sweet children any where. Jane will be treated with such
regard and kindness!-- It will be nothing but pleasure,
a life of pleasure.-- And her salary!-- I really cannot venture
to name her salary to you, Miss Woodhouse. Even
you, used as you are to great sums, would hardly believe
that so much could be given to a young person like Jane."
"Ah! madam,"
cried Emma,
"if other children are at
all like what I remember to have been myself, I should
think five times the amount of what I have ever yet heard
named as a salary on such occasions, dearly earned."
"You are so noble in your ideas!"
"And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you?"
"Very soon, very soon indeed; that's the worst of it.
Within a fortnight. Mrs. Smallridge is in a great hurry.
My poor mother does not know how to bear it. So then,
I try to put it out of her thoughts, and say, Come ma'am,
do not let us think about it any more."
"Her friends must all be sorry to lose her; and will not
Colonel and Mrs. Campbell be sorry to find that she has
engaged herself before their return?"
"Yes; Jane says she is sure they will; but yet, this
is such a situation as she cannot feel herself justified in
declining. I was so astonished when she first told me
what she had been saying to Mrs. Elton, and when
Mrs. Elton at the same moment came congratulating me
upon it! It was before tea-- stay-- no, it could not be
before tea, because we were just going to cards-- and yet
it was before tea, because I remember thinking-- Oh! no
AusEmma383
now I recollect, now I have it; something happened
before tea, but not thatMr. Elton was called out of the
room before tea, old John Abdy's son wanted to speak
with him. Poor old John, I have a great regard for him;
he was clerk to my poor father twenty-seven years; and
now, poor old man, he is bed-ridden, and very poorly with
the rheumatic gout in his joints-- I must go and see him
to-day; and so will Jane, I am sure, if she gets out at all.
And poor John's son came to talk to Mr. Elton about relief
from the parish: he is very well to do himself, you know,
being head man at the Crown, ostler, and every thing of
that sort, but still he cannot keep his father without some
help; so, when Mr. Elton came back, he told us what
John ostler had been telling him, and then it came out
about the chaise having been sent to Randall's to take
Mr. Frank Churchill to Richmond. That was what
happened before tea. It was after tea that Jane spoke to
Mrs. Elton."
Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how
perfectly new this circumstance was to her; but as without
supposing it possible that she could be ignorant of any
of the particulars of Mr. Frank Churchill's going, she
proceeded to give them all, it was of no consequence.
WhatMr. Elton had learnt from the ostler on the
subject, being the accumulation of the ostler's own knowledge,
and the knowledge of the servants at Randall's,
was, that a messenger had come over from Richmond soon
after the return of the party from Box Hill-- which
messenger, however, had been no more than was expected;
and that Mr. Churchill had sent his nephew a few lines,
containing, upon the whole, a tolerable account of Mrs. Churchill,
and only wishing him not to delay coming back
beyond the next morning early; but that Mr. Frank Churchill
having resolved to go home directly, without
waiting at all, and his horse seeming to have got a cold,
Tom had been sent off immediately for the Crown chaise,
and the ostler had stood out and seen it pass by, the boy
going a good pace, and driving very steady.
AusEmma384
There was nothing in all this either to astonish or
interest,
and it caught Emma's attention only as it united
with the subject which already engaged her mind. The
contrast between Mrs. Churchill's importance in the world,
and Jane Fairfax's, struck her;
one was every thing, the
other nothing--
and she sat musing on the difference of
woman's destiny, and quite unconscious on what her eyes
were fixed, till roused by Miss Bates's saying,
"Ay, I see what you are thinking of, the piano forte=.
What is to become of that?-- Very true. Poor dearJane
was talking of it just now.--
""You must go,""
said she.
""You and I must part. You will have no business here.--
Let it stay, however,""
said she;
""give it house-room till
Colonel Campbell comes back. I shall talk about it to
him; he will settle for me; he will help me out of all my
difficulties.""--
And to this day, I do believe, she knows not
whether it was his present or his daughter's."
Now Emma was obliged to think of the piano forte=;
and the remembrance of all her former fanciful and unfair
conjectures was so little pleasing, that she soon allowed
herself to believe her visit had been long enough; and,
with a repetition of every thing that she could venture to
say of the good wishes which she really felt, took leave.
AusEmma385
Emma's pensive meditations, as she walked home, were
not interrupted; but on entering the parlour, she found
those who must rouse her. Mr. Knightley and Harriet
had arrived during her absence, and were sitting with her
father.-- Mr. Knightley immediately got up, and in
a manner decidedly graver than usual, said,
"I would not go away without seeing you, but I have
no time to spare, and therefore must now be gone directly.
I am going to London, to spend a few days with John and
Isabella. Have you any thing to send or say, besides the
""love,"" which nobody carries?"
"Nothing at all. But is not this a sudden scheme?"
"Yes-- rather-- I have been thinking of it some little
time."
Emma was sure he had not forgiven her;
he looked
unlike himself. Time, however, she thought, would tell him
that they ought to be friends again.
While he stood, as
if meaning to go, but not going-- her father began his
inquiries.
"Well, my dear, and did you get there safely?-- And
how did you find my worthy old friend and her daughter?
-- I dare say they must have been very much obliged to
you for coming. DearEmma has been to call on Mrs. and
Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley, as I told you before. She is
always so attentive to them!"
Emma's colour was heightened by this unjust praise;
and with a smile, and shake of the head, which spoke much,
she looked at Mr. Knightley.--
It seemed as if there were
an instantaneous impression in her favour, as if his eyes
received the truth from her's, and all that had passed of
good in her feelings were at once caught and honoured.--
He looked at her with a glow of regard. She was warmly
gratified-- and in another moment still more so, by a little
AusEmma386
movement of more than common friendliness on his part.--
He took her hand;-- whether she had not herself made the
first motion, she could not say-- she might, perhaps, have
rather offered it-- but he took her hand, pressed it, and
certainly was on the point of carrying it to his lips-- when,
from some fancy or other, he suddenly let it go.-- Why he
should feel such a scruple, why he should change his mind
when it was all but done, she could not perceive.-- He would
have judged better, she thought, if he had not stopped.-- The
intention, however, was indubitable; and whether it was
that his manners had in general so little gallantry, or
however else it happened, but she thought nothing
became him more.-- It was with him, of so simple, yet so
dignified a nature.-- She could not but recall the attempt
with great satisfaction. It spoke such perfect amity.-- He
left them immediately afterwards-- gone in a moment.
He always moved with the alertness of a mind which could
neither be undecided nor dilatory, but now he seemed more
sudden than usual in his disappearance.
Emma could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates,
but she wished she had left her ten minutes earlier;-- it
would have been a great pleasure to talk over Jane Fairfax's
situation with Mr. Knightley.-- Neither would she
regret that he should be going to Brunswick Square, for
she knew how much his visit would be enjoyed-- but it
might have happened at a better time-- and to have had
longer notice of it, would have been pleasanter.-- They
parted thorough friends, however; she could not be
deceived as to the meaning of his countenance, and his
unfinished gallantry;-- it was all done to assure her that
she had fully recovered his good opinion.-- He had been
sitting with them half an hour, she found. It was a pity
that she had not come back earlier!
In the hope of diverting her father's thoughts from the
disagreeableness of Mr. Knightley's going to London; and
going so suddenly; and going on horseback, which she
knew would be all very bad; Emma communicated her
news of Jane Fairfax, and her dependence on the effect
AusEmma387
was justified; it supplied a very useful check,-- interested,
without disturbing him. He had long made up his mind
to Jane Fairfax's going out as governess, and could talk
of it cheerfully, but Mr. Knightley's going to London had
been an unexpected blow.
"I am very glad indeed, my dear, to hear she is to be so
comfortably settled. Mrs. Elton is very good-natured and
agreeable, and I dare say her acquaintance are just what
they ought to be. I hope it is a dry situation, and that her
health will be taken good care of. It ought to be a first
object, as I am sure poor Miss Taylor's always was with me.
You know, my dear, she is going to be to this new lady
whatMiss Taylor was to us. And I hope she will be better
off in one respect, and not be induced to go away after it
has been her home so long."
The following day brought news from Richmond to
throw every thing else into the back-ground. An express
arrived at Randall's to announce the death of Mrs. Churchill!
Though her nephew had had no particular reason to
hasten back on her account, she had not lived above six-and-thirty
hours after his return. A sudden seizure of
a different nature from any thing foreboded by her general
state, had carried her off after a short struggle. The great
Mrs. Churchill was no more.
It was felt as such things must be felt. Every body had
a degree of gravity and sorrow; tenderness towards the
departed, solicitude for the surviving friends; and, in
a reasonable time, curiosity to know where she would be
buried. Goldsmith tells us, that when lovely woman
stoops to folly, she has nothing to do but to die; and when
she stoops to be disagreeable, it is equally to be recommended
as a clearer of ill-fame. Mrs. Churchill, after
being disliked at least twenty-five years, was now spoken
of with compassionate allowances. In one point she was
fully justified. She had never been admitted before to be
seriously ill. The event acquitted her of all the fancifulness,
and all the selfishness of imaginary complaints.
"Poor Mrs. Churchill! no doubt she had been suffering
AusEmma388
a great deal: more than any body had ever supposed--
and continual pain would try the temper. It was a sad
event-- a great shock-- with all her faults, what would
Mr. Churchill do without her? Mr. Churchill's loss would
be dreadful indeed. Mr. Churchill would never get over it."
-- Even Mr. Weston shook his head, and looked solemn,
and said,
"Ah! poor woman, who would have thought
it!"
and resolved, that his mourning should be as handsome
as possible; and his wife sat sighing and moralizing
over her broad hems with a commiseration and good sense,
true and steady. How it would affect Frank was among
the earliest thoughts of both. It was also a very early
speculation with Emma.
The character of Mrs. Churchill,
the grief of her husband--
her mind glanced over them both
with awe and compassion-- and then rested with lightened
feelings on
how Frank might be affected by the event, how
benefited, how freed. She saw in a moment all the possible
good. Now, an attachment to Harriet Smith would have
nothing to encounter. Mr. Churchill, independent of his
wife, was feared by nobody; an easy, guidable man, to
be persuaded into any thing by his nephew. All that
remained to be wished was, that the nephew should form
the attachment, as, with all her good will in the cause,
Emma could feel no certainty of its being already formed.
Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion, with
great self-command. Whatever she might feel of brighter
hope, she betrayed nothing.
Emma was gratified, to
observe such a proof in her of strengthened character, and
refrained from any allusion that might endanger its
maintenance. They spoke, therefore, of Mrs. Churchill's
death with mutual forbearance.
Short letters from Frank were received at Randall's,
communicating all that was immediately important of
their state and plans.
Mr. Churchill was better than could
be expected; and their first removal, on the departure of
the funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very
old friend in Windsor, to whomMr. Churchill had been
promising a visit the last ten years.
At present, there was
AusEmma389
nothing to be done for Harriet; good wishes for the future
were all that could yet be possible on Emma's side.
It was a more pressing concern to show attention to
Jane Fairfax, whose prospects were closing, while Harriet's
opened, and whose engagements now allowed of no delay
in any one at Highbury, who wished to show her kindness
-- and with Emma it was grown into a first wish. She had
scarcely a stronger regret than for her past coldness; and
the person, whom she had been so many months neglecting,
was now the very one on whom she would have lavished
every distinction of regard or sympathy. She wanted to
be of use to her; wanted to show a value for her society,
and testify respect and consideration. She resolved to
prevail on her to spend a day at Hartfield. A note was
written to urge it. The invitation was refused, and by
a verbal message.
"Miss Fairfax was not well enough to
write;"
and when Mr. Perry called at Hartfield, the same
morning, it appeared that
she was so much indisposed as
to have been visited, though against her own consent, by
himself, and that she was suffering under severe headachs,
and a nervous fever to a degree, which made him doubt the
possibility of her going to Mrs. Smallridge's at the time
proposed. Her health seemed for the moment completely
deranged-- appetite quite gone-- and though there were
no absolutely alarming symptoms, nothing touching the
pulmonary complaint, which was the standing apprehension
of the family, Mr. Perry was uneasy about her. He
thought she had undertaken more than she was equal to,
and that she felt it so herself, though she would not own it.
Her spirits seemed overcome. Her present home, he could
not but observe, was unfavourable to a nervous disorder:
-- confined always to one room;-- he could have wished
it otherwise-- and her good aunt, though his very old
friend, he must acknowledge to be not the best companion
for an invalid of that description. Her care and attention
could not be questioned; they were, in fact, only too
great. He very much feared that Miss Fairfax derived
more evil than good from them.
Emma listened with the
AusEmma390
warmest concern; grieved for her more and more, and
looked around eager to discover some way of being useful.
To take her-- be it only an hour or two-- from her aunt, to
give her change of air and scene, and quiet rational conversation,
even for an hour or two, might do her good;
and the following morning she wrote again to say, in the
most feeling language she could command, that she would
call for her in the carriage at any hour thatJane would
name-- mentioning that she had Mr. Perry's decided
opinion, in favour of such exercise for his patient. The
answer was only in this short note:
"Miss Fairfax's compliments and thanks, but is quite
unequal to any exercise."
Emma felt that her own note had deserved something
better; but it was impossible to quarrel with words, whose
tremulous inequality showed indisposition so plainly, and
she thought only of how she might best counteract this
unwillingness to be seen or assisted. In spite of the
answer, therefore, she ordered the carriage, and drove
to Mrs. Bates's, in the hope that Jane would be induced
to join her-- but it would not do;-- Miss Bates came to
the carriage door, all gratitude, and agreeing with her
most earnestly in thinking an airing might be of the
greatest service-- and every thing that message could do
was tried-- but all in vain. Miss Bates was obliged to
return without success; Jane was quite unpersuadable;
the mere proposal of going out seemed to make her worse.
-- Emma wished she could have seen her, and tried her
own powers; but, almost before she could hint the wish,
Miss Bates made it appear that she had promised her niece
on no account to let Miss Woodhouse in.
"Indeed, the
truth was, that poor dearJane could not bear to see
anybody-- anybody at all-- Mrs. Elton, indeed, could not
be denied-- and Mrs. Cole had made such a point-- and
Mrs. Perry had said so much-- but, except them, Jane
would really see nobody."
Emma did not want to be classed with the Mrs. Eltons,
the Mrs. Perrys, and the Mrs. Coles, who would force
AusEmma391
themselves anywhere; neither could she feel any right of
preference herself-- she submitted, therefore, and only
questioned Miss Bates farther as to her niece's appetite
and diet, which she longed to be able to assist. On that
subject poor Miss Bates was very unhappy, and very
communicative;
Jane would hardly eat any thing:-- Mr. Perry
recommended nourishing food; but every thing
they could command (and never had anybody such good
neighbours) was distasteful.
Emma, on reaching home, called the housekeeper directly,
to an examination of her stores; and some arrow-root
of very superior quality was speedily despatched to
Miss Bates with a most friendly note. In half an hour
the arrow-root was returned, with a thousand thanks
from Miss Bates, but
"dearJane would not be satisfied
without its being sent back; it was a thing she could not
take-- and, moreover, she insisted on her saying, that she
was not at all in want of any thing."
When Emma afterwards heard that Jane Fairfax had
been seen wandering about the meadows, at some distance
from Highbury, on the afternoon of the very day on which
she had, under the plea of being unequal to any exercise,
so peremptorily refused to go out with her in the carriage,
she could have no doubt-- putting every thing together--
that Jane was resolved to receive no kindness from her.
She was sorry, very sorry. Her heart was grieved for
a state which seemed but the more pitiable from this
sort of irritation of spirits, inconsistency of action, and
inequality of powers; and it mortified her that she was
given so little credit for proper feeling, or esteemed so little
worthy as a friend: but she had the consolation of knowing
that her intentions were good, and of being able to say
to herself, that could Mr. Knightley have been privy to all
her attempts of assisting Jane Fairfax, could he even
have seen into her heart, he would not, on this occasion,
have found any thing to reprove.
AusEmma392
One morning about ten days after Mrs. Churchill's
decease, Emma was called down stairs to Mr. Weston,
who
"could not stay five minutes, and wanted particularly
to speak with her."--
He met her at the parlour door, and
hardly asking her how she did, in the natural key of his
voice, sunk it immediately, to say, unheard by her father,
"Can you come to Randall's at any time this morning?
-- Do, if it be possible. Mrs. Weston wants to see you.
She must see you."
"Is she unwell?"
"No, no, not at all-- only a little agitated. She would
have ordered the carriage, and come to you, but she must
see you alone, and that you know--
(nodding towards her
father)
-- Humph!-- Can you come?"
"Certainly. This moment, if you please. It is impossible
to refuse what you ask in such a way. But what can
be the matter?-- Is she really not ill?"
"Depend upon me-- but ask no more questions. You
will know it all in time. The most unaccountable business!
But hush, hush!"
To guess what all this meant, was impossible even for
Emma.
Something really important seemed announced
by his looks;
but, as her friend was well, she endeavoured
not to be uneasy, and settling it with her father, that she
would take her walk now, she and Mr. Weston were soon
out of the house together and on their way at a quick
pace for Randall's.
"Now,"
-- said Emma, when they were fairly beyond
the sweep gates,--
"now Mr. Weston, do let me know
what has happened."
"No, no,"
-- he gravely replied.--
"Don't ask me.
I promised my wife to leave it all to her. She will break
AusEmma393
it to you better than I can. Do not be impatient, Emma;
it will all come out too soon."
"Break it to me,"
cried Emma, standing still with
terror.--
"Good God!-- Mr. Weston, tell me at once.--
Something has happened in Brunswick Square. I know
it has. Tell me, I charge you tell me this moment what
it is."
"No, indeed you are mistaken."--
"Mr. Weston do not trifle with me.-- Consider how
many of my dearest friends are now in Brunswick Square.
Which of them is it?-- I charge you by all that is sacred,
not to attempt concealment."
"Upon my word, Emma."--
"Your word!-- why not your honour!-- why not say
upon your honour, that it has nothing to do with any of
them? Good Heavens!-- What can be to be broke to me,
that does not relate to one of that family?"
"Upon my honour,"
said he very seriously,
"it does
not. It is not in the smallest degree connected with any
human being of the name of Knightley."
Emma's courage returned, and she walked on.
"I was wrong,"
he continued,
"in talking of its being
broke to you. I should not have used the expression. In
fact, it does not concern you-- it concerns only myself,--
that is, we hope.-- Humph! -- In short, my dearEmma,
there is no occasion to be so uneasy about it. I don't say
that it is not a disagreeable business-- but things might
be much worse.-- If we walk fast, we shall soon be at
Randall's."
Emma found that she must wait; and now it required
little effort. She asked no more questions therefore,
merely employed her own fancy, and that soon pointed
out to her
the probability of its being some money concern
-- something just come to light, of a disagreeable nature
in the circumstances of the family,-- something which the
late event at Richmond had brought forward.
Her fancy
was very active.
Half a dozen natural children, perhaps--
and poor Frank cut off!-- This, though very undesirable,
AusEmma394
would be no matter of agony to her.
It inspired little
more than an animating curiosity.
"Who is that gentleman on horseback?"
said she,
as they proceeded-- speaking more to assist Mr. Weston
in keeping his secret, than with any other view.
"I do not know.-- One of the Otways.-- Not Frank;--
it is not Frank, I assure you. You will not see him. He
is half way to Windsor by this time."
"Has your son been with you, then?"
"Oh! yes-- did not you know?-- Well, well, never
mind."
For a moment he was silent; and then added, in a tone
much more guarded and demure,
"Yes, Frank came over this morning, just to ask us
how we did."
They hurried on, and were speedily at Randall's.--
"Well, my dear,"
said he, as they entered the room--
"I have brought her, and now I hope you will soon be
better. I shall leave you together. There is no use in
delay. I shall not be far off, if you want me."
-- And
Emma distinctly heard him add, in a lower tone, before
he quitted the room,--
"I have been as good as my word.
She has not the least idea."
Mrs. Weston was looking so ill, and had an air of so
much perturbation, that Emma's uneasiness increased;
and the moment they were alone, she eagerly said,
"What is it my dear friend? Something of a very
unpleasant nature, I find, has occurred;-- do let me know
directly what it is. I have been walking all this way in
complete suspense. We both abhor suspense. Do not let
mine continue longer. It will do you good to speak of your
distress, whatever it may be."
"Have you indeed no idea?"
said Mrs. Weston in
a trembling voice.
"Cannot you, my dearEmma--
cannot you form a guess as to what you are to hear?"
"So far as that it relates to Mr. Frank Churchill, I do
guess."
"You are right. It does relate to him, and I will tell
AusEmma395
you directly;"
(resuming her work, and seeming resolved
against looking up.)
"He has been here this very morning,
on a most extraordinary errand. It is impossible to
express our surprise. He came to speak to his father on
a subject,-- to announce an attachment--"
She stopped to breathe. Emma thought first of herself,
and then of Harriet.
"More than an attachment, indeed,"
resumed Mrs. Weston;
"an engagement-- a positive engagement.--
What will you say, Emma-- what will anybody say, when
it is known that Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax are
engaged;-- nay, that they have been long engaged!"
Emma even jumped with surprise;-- and, horror-struck,
exclaimed,
"Jane Fairfax!-- Good God! You are not serious?
You do not mean it?"
"You may well be amazed,"
returned Mrs. Weston,
still averting her eyes, and talking on with eagerness, that
Emma might have time to recover--
"You may well be
amazed. But it is even so. There has been a solemn
engagement between them ever since October-- formed
at Weymouth, and kept a secret from everybody. Not
a creature knowing it but themselves-- neither the Campbells,
nor her family, nor his.-- It is so wonderful, that
though perfectly convinced of the fact, it is yet almost
incredible to myself. I can hardly believe it.-- I thought
I knew him."
Emma scarcely heard what was said.-- Her mind was
divided between two ideas-- her own former conversations
with him about Miss Fairfax; and poor Harriet;--
and for some time she could only exclaim, and require
confirmation, repeated confirmation.
"Well,"
said she at last, trying to recover herself;
"this
is a circumstance which I must think of at least half a day,
before I can at all comprehend it. What!-- engaged
to her all the winter-- before either of them came to
Highbury?"
"Engaged since October,-- secretly engaged.-- It has
AusEmma396
hurt me, Emma, very much. It has hurt his father
equally. Some part of his conduct we cannot excuse."
Emma pondered a moment, and then replied,
"I will
not pretend not to understand you; and to give you all
the relief in my power, be assured that no such effect has
followed his attentions to me, as you are apprehensive
of."
Mrs. Weston looked up, afraid to believe; but Emma's
countenance was as steady as her words.
"That you may have less difficulty in believing this
boast, of my present perfect indifference,"
she continued,
"I will farther tell you, that there was a period in the
early part of our acquaintance, when I did like him, when
I was very much disposed to be attached to him-- nay,
was attached-- and how it came to cease, is perhaps the
wonder. Fortunately, however, it did cease. I have really
for some time past, for at least these three months, cared
nothing about him. You may believe me, Mrs. Weston.
This is the simple truth."
Mrs. Weston kissed her with tears of joy; and when
she could find utterance, assured her, that this protestation
had done her more good than any thing else in the
world could do.
"Mr. Weston will be almost as much relieved as myself,"
said she.
"On this point we have been wretched. It was
our darling wish that you might be attached to each
other-- and we were persuaded that it was so.-- Imagine
what we have been feeling on your account."
"I have escaped; and that I should escape, may be
a matter of grateful wonder to you and myself. But this
does not acquit him, Mrs. Weston; and I must say, that
I think him greatly to blame. What right had he to come
among us with affection and faith engaged, and with
manners so very disengaged? What right had he to
endeavour to please, as he certainly did-- to distinguish
any one young woman with persevering attention, as he
certainly did-- while he really belonged to another?--
How could he tell what mischief he might be doing?--How
AusEmma397
could he tell that he might not be making me in love with
him?-- very wrong, very wrong indeed."
"From something that he said, my dearEmma, I rather
imagine--"
"And how could she bear such behaviour! Composure
with a witness! to look on, while repeated attentions
were offering to another woman, before her face, and not
resent it.-- That is a degree of placidity, which I can
neither comprehend nor respect."
"There were misunderstandings between them, Emma;
he said so expressly. He had not time to enter into much
explanation. He was here only a quarter of an hour, and
in a state of agitation which did not allow the full use even
of the time he could stay-- but that there had been misunderstandings
he decidedly said. The present crisis,
indeed, seemed to be brought on by them; and those
misunderstandings might very possibly arise from the
impropriety of his conduct."
"Impropriety! Oh! Mrs. Weston-- it is too calm
a censure. Much, much beyond impropriety!-- It has
sunk him, I cannot say how it has sunk him in my opinion.
So unlike what a man should be!-- None of that upright
integrity, that strict adherence to truth and principle,
that disdain of trick and littleness, which a man should
display in every transaction of his life."
"Nay, dearEmma, now I must take his part; for
though he has been wrong in this instance, I have known
him long enough to answer for his having many, very
many, good qualities; and--"
"Good God!"
cried Emma, not attending to her.--
"Mrs. Smallridge, tooJane actually on the point of
going as governess! What could he mean by such horrible
indelicacy? To suffer her to engage herself-- to suffer her
even to think of such a measure!"
"He knew nothing about it, Emma. On this article
I can fully acquit him. It was a private resolution of her's,
not communicated to him-- or at least not communicated
in a way to carry conviction.-- Till yesterday, I know he
AusEmma398
said he was in the dark as to her plans. They burst on
him, I do not know how, but by some letter or message--
and it was the discovery of what she was doing, of this
very project of her's, which determined him to come
forward at once, own it all to his uncle, throw himself on
his kindness, and, in short, put an end to the miserable
state of concealment that had been carrying on so long."
Emma began to listen better.
"I am to hear from him soon,"
continued Mrs. Weston.
"He told me at parting, that he should soon write; and
he spoke in a manner which seemed to promise me many
particulars that could not be given now. Let us wait,
therefore, for this letter. It may bring many extenuations.
It may make many things intelligible and excusable which
now are not to be understood. Don't let us be severe,
don't let us be in a hurry to condemn him. Let us have
patience. I must love him; and now that I am satisfied
on one point, the one material point, I am sincerely
anxious for its all turning out well, and ready to hope that
it may. They must both have suffered a great deal under
such a system of secresy and concealment."
"His sufferings,"
replied Emma drily,
"do not appear
to have done him much harm. Well, and how did Mr. Churchill
take it?"
"Most favourably for his nephew-- gave his consent
with scarcely a difficulty. Conceive what the events of
a week have done in that family! While poor Mrs. Churchill
lived, I suppose there could not have been
a hope, a chance, a possibility;-- but scarcely are her
remains at rest in the family vault, than her husband is
persuaded to act exactly opposite to what she would have
required. What a blessing it is, when undue influence
does not survive the grave!-- He gave his consent with
very little persuasion."
"Ah!"
thought Emma,
"he would have done as much
for Harriet."
"This was settled last night, and Frank was off with the
light this morning. He stopped at Highbury, at the
AusEmma399
Bates's, I fancy, some time-- and then came on hither;
but was in such a hurry to get back to his uncle, to whom
he is just now more necessary than ever, that, as I tell you,
he could stay with us but a quarter of an hour.-- He was
very much agitated-- very much, indeed-- to a degree
that made him appear quite a different creature from any thing
I had ever seen him before.-- In addition to all the rest,
there had been the shock of finding her so very unwell,
which he had had no previous suspicion of-- and there was
every appearance of his having been feeling a great deal."
"And do you really believe the affair to have been
carrying on with such perfect secresy?-- The Campbells,
the Dixons, did none of them know of the engagement?"
Emma could not speak the name of Dixon without a little
blush.
"None; not one. He positively said that it had been
known to no being in the world but their two selves."
"Well,"
said Emma,
"I suppose we shall gradually
grow reconciled to the idea, and I wish them very happy.
But I shall always think it a very abominable sort of
proceeding. What has it been but a system of hypocrisy
and deceit,-- espionage, and treachery?-- To come among
us with professions of openness and simplicity; and such
a league in secret to judge us all!-- Here have we been, the
whole winter and spring, completely duped, fancying
ourselves all on an equal footing of truth and honour, with
two people in the midst of us who may have been carrying
round, comparing and sitting in judgment on sentiments
and words that were never meant for both to hear.-- They
must take the consequence, if they have heard each other
spoken of in a way not perfectly agreeable!"
"I am quite easy on that head,"
replied Mrs. Weston.
"I am very sure that I never said any thing of either to
the other, which both might not have heard."
"You are in luck.-- Your only blunder was confined to
my ear, when you imagined a certain friend of our's in love
with the lady."
"True. But as I have always had a thoroughly good
AusEmma400
opinion of Miss Fairfax, I never could, under any blunder,
have spoken ill of her; and as to speaking ill of him,
there I have been safe."
At this moment Mr. Weston appeared at a little distance
from the window, evidently on the watch. His wife gave
him a look which invited him in; and, while he was
coming round, added,
"Now, dearest Emma, let me
intreat you to say and look every thing that may set his
heart at ease, and incline him to be satisfied with the
match. Let us make the best of it-- and, indeed, almost
every thing may be fairly said in her favour. It is not
a connexion to gratify; but if Mr. Churchill does not feel
that, why should we? and it may be a very fortunate
circumstance for him, for Frank, I mean, that he should
have attached himself to a girl of such steadiness of
character and good judgment as I have always given her
credit for-- and still am disposed to give her credit for, in
spite of this one great deviation from the strict rule of
right. And how much may be said in her situation for
even that error!"
"Much indeed!"
cried Emma, feelingly.
"If a
woman can ever be excused for thinking only of herself, it is
in a situation like Jane Fairfax's.-- Of such, one may almost
say, that ""the world is not their's, nor the world's law."" "
She met Mr. Weston on his entrance, with a smiling
countenance, exclaiming,
"A very pretty trick you have been playing me, upon
my word! This was a device, I suppose, to sport with my
curiosity, and exercise my talent of guessing. But you
really frightened me. I thought you had lost half your
property, at least. And here, instead of its being a matter
of condolence, it turns out to be one of congratulation.--
I congratulate you, Mr. Weston, with all my heart, on the
prospect of having one of the most lovely and accomplished
young women in England for your daughter."
A glance or two between him and his wife, convinced
him that all was as right as this speech proclaimed; and
its happy effect on his spirits was immediate. His air and
AusEmma401
voice recovered their usual briskness: he shook her
heartily and gratefully by the hand, and entered on the
subject in a manner to prove, that he now only wanted
time and persuasion to think the engagement no very bad
thing. His companions suggested only what could palliate
imprudence, or smooth objections; and by the time they
had talked it all over together, and he had talked it all
over again with Emma, in their walk back to Hartfield, he
was become perfectly reconciled, and not far from thinking
it the very best thing thatFrank could possibly have done.
AusEmma402
"Harriet, poor Harriet!" --
Those were the words;
in them lay the tormenting ideas whichEmma could not
get rid of, and which constituted the real misery of the
business to her.
Frank Churchill had behaved very ill
by herself-- very ill in many ways,-- but it was not so
much his behaviour as her own, which made her so angry
with him. It was the scrape which he had drawn her into
on Harriet's account, that gave the deepest hue to his
offence.-- Poor Harriet! to be a second time the dupe of
her misconceptions and flattery. Mr. Knightley had
spoken prophetically, when he once said,
"Emma, you
have been no friend to Harriet Smith."
-- She was afraid
she had done her nothing but disservice.-- It was true that
she had not to charge herself, in this instance as in the
former, with being the sole and original author of the
mischief; with having suggested such feelings as might
otherwise never have entered Harriet's imagination; for
Harriet had acknowledged her admiration and preference
of Frank Churchill before she had ever given her a hint on
the subject; but she felt completely guilty of having
encouraged what she might have repressed. She might
have prevented the indulgence and increase of such
sentiments. Her influence would have been enough. And
now she was very conscious that she ought to have prevented
them.-- She felt that she had been risking her
friend's happiness on most insufficient grounds. Common
sense would have directed her to tell Harriet, that she
must not allow herself to think of him, and that there were
five hundred chances to one against his ever caring for
her.--
"But, with common sense,"
she added,
"I am
afraid I have had little to do."
She was extremely angry with herself. If she could
AusEmma403
not have been angry with Frank Churchill too, it would
have been dreadful.-- As for Jane Fairfax, she might at
least relieve her feelings from any present solicitude on her
account. Harriet would be anxiety enough; she need no
longer be unhappy about Jane, whose troubles and whose
ill health having, of course, the same origin, must be
equally under cure.-- Her days of insignificance and evil
were over.-- She would soon be well, and happy, and
prosperous.--
Emma could now imagine why her own
attentions had been slighted.
This discovery laid many
smaller matters open. No doubt it had been from jealousy.
-- In Jane's eyes she had been a rival; and well might
any thing she could offer of assistance or regard be
repulsed. An airing in the Hartfield carriage would have
been the rack, and arrow-root from the Hartfield store-room
must have been poison. She understood it all;
and
as far as her mind could disengage itself from the injustice
and selfishness of angry feelings, she acknowledged that
Jane Fairfax would have neither elevation nor happiness
beyond her desert. But poor Harriet was such an engrossing
charge! There was little sympathy to be spared for
any body else. Emma was sadly fearful that this second
disappointment would be more severe than the first.
Considering the very superior claims of the object, it
ought; and judging by its apparently stronger effect on
Harriet's mind, producing reserve and self-command, it
would.-- She must communicate the painful truth,
however, and as soon as possible. An injunction of
secresy had been among Mr. Weston's parting words.
"For the present, the whole affair was to be completely
a secret. Mr. Churchill had made a point of it, as a token
of respect to the wife he had so very recently lost; and
everybody admitted it to be no more than due decorum."--
Emma had promised;
but still Harriet must be excepted.
It was her superior duty.
In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it
almost ridiculous, that she should have the very same
distressing and delicate office to perform by Harriet, which
AusEmma404
Mrs. Weston had just gone through by herself.
The
intelligence, which had been so anxiously announced to
her, she was now to be anxiously announcing to another.
Her heart beat quick on hearing Harriet's footstep and
voice;
so, she supposed, had poor Mrs. Weston felt when
she was approaching Randall's. Could the event of the
disclosure bear an equal resemblance!-- But of that,
unfortunately, there could be no chance.
"Well, Miss Woodhouse!"
cried Harriet, coming
eagerly into the room--
"is not this the oddest news that
ever was?"
"What news do you mean?"
replied Emma, unable
to guess, by look or voice, whether Harriet could indeed
have received any hint.
"About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear any thing
so strange? Oh!-- you need not be afraid of owning it
to me, for Mr. Weston has told me himself. I met him
just now. He told me it was to be a great secret; and,
therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body
but you, but he said you knew it."
"What did Mr. Weston tell you?"--
said Emma, still
perplexed.
"Oh! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and
Mr. Frank Churchill are to be married, and that they have
been privately engaged to one another this long while.
How very odd!"
It was, indeed, so odd;
Harriet's behaviour was so
extremely odd, that Emma did not know how to understand
it.
Her character appeared absolutely changed.
She seemed to propose showing no agitation, or disappointment,
or peculiar concern in the discovery.
Emma looked
at her, quite unable to speak.
"Had you any idea,"
cried Harriet,
"of his being in
love with her?-- You, perhaps, might.-- You
(blushing as
she spoke)
who can see into everybody's heart; but
nobody else--"
"Upon my word,"
said Emma,
"I begin to doubt my
having any such talent. Can you seriously ask me, Harriet,
AusEmma405
whether I imagined him attached to another woman at
the very time that I was-- tacitly, if not openly-- encouraging
you to give way to your own feelings?-- I never
had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of
Mr. Frank Churchill's having the least regard for Jane Fairfax.
You may be very sure that if I had, I should
have cautioned you accordingly."
"Me!"
cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished.
"Why should you caution me?-- You do not think I care
about Mr. Frank Churchill."
"I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the
subject,"
replied Emma, smiling;
"but you do not mean
to deny that there was a time-- and not very distant either
-- when you gave me reason to understand that you did
care about him?"
"Him!-- never, never. DearMiss Woodhouse, how
could you so mistake me?"
turning away distressed.
"Harriet!"
cried Emma, after a moment's pause--
"What do you mean?-- Good Heaven! what do you
mean?-- Mistake you!-- Am I to suppose then?--"
She could not speak another word.-- Her voice was
lost; and she sat down, waiting in great terror till Harriet
should answer.
Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with
face turned from her, did not immediately say any thing;
and when she did speak, it was in a voice nearly as agitated
as Emma's.
"I should not have thought it possible,"
she began,
"that you could have misunderstood me! I know we
agreed never to name him-- but considering how infinitely
superior he is to every body else, I should not have
thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any
other person. Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not
know who would ever look at him in the company of the
other. I hope I have a better taste than to think of
Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side. And
that you should have been so mistaken, is amazing!-- I am
sure, but for believing that you entirely approved and
AusEmma406
meant to encourage me in my attachment, I should have
considered it at first too great a presumption almost, to
dare to think of him. At first, if you had not told me that
more wonderful things had happened; that there had
been matches of greater disparity (those were your very
words);-- I should not have dared to give way to--
I should not have thought it possible-- But if you, who
had been always acquainted with him--"
"Harriet!"
cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely--
"Let us understand each other now, without the possibility
of farther mistake. Are you speaking of -- Mr. Knightley?"
"To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any body
else-- and so I thought you knew. When we talked
about him, it was clear as possible."
"Not quite,"
returned Emma, with forced calmness,
"for all that you then said, appeared to me to relate to
a different person. I could almost assert that you had
named Mr. Frank Churchill. I am sure the service
Mr. Frank Churchill rendered you, in protecting you
from the gipsies, was spoken of."
"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!"
"My dearHarriet, I perfectly remember the substance
of what I said on the occasion. I told you that I did not
wonder at your attachment; that considering the service
he had rendered you, it was extremely natural:-- and you
agreed to it, expressing yourself very warmly as to your
sense of that service, and mentioning even what your
sensations had been in seeing him come forward to your
rescue.-- The impression of it is strong on my memory."
"Oh, dear,"
cried Harriet,
"now I recollect what you
mean; but I was thinking of something very different at
the time. It was not the gipsies-- it was not Mr. Frank Churchill
that I meant. No!
(with some elevation)
I was
thinking of a much more precious circumstance-- of
Mr. Knightley's coming and asking me to dance, when
Mr. Elton would not stand up with me; and when there
was no other partner in the room. That was the kind
AusEmma407
action; that was the noble benevolence and generosity;
that was the service which made me begin to feel how
superior he was to every other being upon earth."
"Good God!"
cried Emma,
"this has been a most
unfortunate-- most deplorable mistake!-- What is to be
done?"
"You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had
understood me. At least, however, I cannot be worse off
than I should have been, if the other had been the person;
and now-- it is possible--."
She paused a few moments. Emma could not speak.
"I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse,"
she resumed,
"that you should feel a great difference between the two,
as to me or as to anybody. You must think one five
hundred million times more above me than the other.
But I hope, Miss Woodhouse, that supposing-- that if--
strange as it may appear--. But you know they were
your own words, that more wonderful things had happened,
matches of greater disparity had taken place than between
Mr. Frank Churchill and me; and, therefore, it seems as
if such a thing even as this, may have occurred before--
and if I should be so fortunate, beyond expression, as to--
if Mr. Knightley should really-- if he does not mind the
disparity, I hope, dearMiss Woodhouse, you will not set
yourself against it, and try to put difficulties in the way.
But you are too good for that, I am sure."
Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma
turned round to look at her in consternation, and hastily
said,
"Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley's returning your
affection?"
"Yes,"
replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully--
"I must say that I have."
Emma's eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat
silently meditating, in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes.
A few minutes were sufficient for making her acquainted
with her own heart. A mind like her's, once opening to
suspicion, made rapid progress. She touched-- she
AusEmma408
admitted-- she acknowledged the whole truth.
Why was
it so much worse that Harriet should be in love with
Mr. Knightley, than with Frank Churchill? Why was the
evil so dreadfully increased by Harriet's having some
hope of a return?
It darted through her, with the speed
of an arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but
herself!
Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before
her in the same few minutes. She saw it all with a clearness
which had never blessed her before.
How improperly had
she been acting by Harriet! How inconsiderate, how
indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling had been her
conduct! What blindness, what madness, had led her on!
It struck her with dreadful force, and she was ready to give
it every bad name in the world. Some portion of respect
for herself, however, in spite of all these demerits-- some
concern for her own appearance, and a strong sense of
justice by Harriet--
(there would be no need of compassion
to the girl who believed herself loved by Mr. Knightley--
but justice required that she should not be made unhappy
by any coldness now,)
gave Emma the resolution to sit
and endure farther with calmness, with even apparent
kindness.--
For her own advantage indeed, it was fit that
the utmost extent of Harriet's hopes should be enquired
into; and Harriet had done nothing to forfeit the regard
and interest which had been so voluntarily formed and
maintained-- or to deserve to be slighted by the person
whose counsels had never led her right.--
Rousing from
reflection, therefore, and subduing her emotion, she turned
to Harriet again, and, in a more inviting accent, renewed
the conversation; for as to the subject which had first
introduced it, the wonderful story of Jane Fairfax, that
was quite sunk and lost.-- Neither of them thought but
of Mr. Knightley and themselves.
Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie,
was yet very glad to be called from it, by the now encouraging
manner of such a judge, and such a friend as
Miss Woodhouse, and only wanted invitation, to give the
AusEmma409
history of her hopes with great, though trembling delight.
-- Emma's tremblings as she asked, and as she listened,
were better concealed than Harriet's, but they were not
less. Her voice was not unsteady; but her mind was in
all the perturbation that such a developement of self, such
a burst of threatening evil, such a confusion of sudden and
perplexing emotions, must create.-- She listened with
much inward suffering, but with great outward patience,
to Harriet's detail.-- Methodical, or well arranged, or very
well delivered, it could not be expected to be; but it
contained, when separated from all the feebleness and
tautology of the narration, a substance to sink her spirit--
especially with the corroborating circumstances, which
her own memory brought in favour of Mr. Knightley's
most improved opinion of Harriet.
Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his
behaviour ever since those two decisive dances.-- Emma
knew that he had, on that occasion, found her much
superior to his expectation. From that evening, or at
least from the time of Miss Woodhouse's encouraging her
to think of him, Harriet had begun to be sensible of
his
talking to her much more than he had been used to do,
and of his having indeed quite a different manner towards
her; a manner of kindness and sweetness!-- Latterly she
had been more and more aware of it. When they had been
all walking together, he had so often come and walked by
her, and talked so very delightfully!-- He seemed to want
to be acquainted with her.
Emma knew it to have been
very much the case. She had often observed the change,
to almost the same extent.-- Harriet repeated expressions
of approbation and praise from him-- and Emma felt
them to be in the closest agreement with what she had
known of his opinion of Harriet. He praised her for being
without art or affectation, for having simple, honest,
generous, feelings.-- She knew that he saw such recommendations
in Harriet; he had dwelt on them to her
more than once.-- Much that lived in Harriet's memory,
many little particulars of the notice she had received from
AusEmma410
him, a look, a speech, a removal from one chair to another,
a compliment implied, a preference inferred, had been
unnoticed, because unsuspected by Emma. Circumstances
that might swell to half an hour's relation, and contained
multiplied proofs to her who had seen them, had passed
undiscerned by her who now heard them; but the two
latest occurrences to be mentioned, the two of strongest
promise to Harriet, were not without some degree of
witness from Emma herself.--
The first, was his walking
with her apart from the others, in the limewalk at Donwell,
where they had been walking some time before Emma
came, and he had taken pains (as she was convinced) to
draw her from the rest to himself-- and at first, he had
talked to her in a more particular way than he had ever
done before, in a very particular way indeed!--
(Harriet
could not recall it without a blush.)
He seemed to be
almost asking her, whether her affections were engaged.--
But as soon as she (Miss Woodhouse) appeared likely to
join them, he changed the subject, and began talking
about farming:-- The second, was his having sat talking
with her nearly half an hour before Emma came back
from her visit, the very last morning of his being at Hartfield--
though, when he first came in, he had said that he
could not stay five minutes-- and his having told her,
during their conversation, that though he must go to
London, it was very much against his inclination that he
left home at all,
which was much more
(as Emma felt)
than he had acknowledged to her. The superior degree
of confidence towards Harriet, which this one article
marked, gave her severe pain.
On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she
did, after a little reflection, venture the following question.
"Might he not?-- Is it not possible, that when enquiring,
as you thought, into the state of your affections, he might
be alluding to Mr. Martin-- he might have Mr. Martin's
interest in view?"
-- But Harriet rejected the suspicion
with spirit.
"Mr. Martin! No indeed!-- There was not a hint of
AusEmma411
Mr. Martin. I hope I know better now, than to care for
Mr. Martin, or to be suspected of it."
When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to
her dearMiss Woodhouse, to say whether she had not
good ground for hope.
"I never should have presumed to think of it at first,"
said she,
"but for you. You told me to observe him
carefully, and let his behaviour be the rule of mine-- and
so I have. But now I seem to feel that I may deserve him;
and that if he does choose me, it will not be any thing
so very wonderful."
The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many
bitter feelings, made the utmost exertion necessary on
Emma's side, to enable her to say in reply,
"Harriet, I will only venture to declare, that Mr. Knightley
is the last man in the world, who would intentionally
give any woman the idea of his feeling for her
more than he really does."
Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for a sentence
so satisfactory; and Emma was only saved from raptures
and fondness, which at that moment would have been
dreadful penance, by the sound of her father's footsteps.
He was coming through the hall. Harriet was too much
agitated to encounter him.
"She could not compose
herself-- Mr. Woodhouse would be alarmed-- she had
better go;"--
with most ready encouragement from her
friend, therefore, she passed off through another door--
and the moment she was gone, this was the spontaneous
burst of Emma's feelings:
"Oh God! that I had never
seen her!"
The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly
enough for her thoughts.-- She was bewildered amidst the
confusion of all that had rushed on her within the last few
hours. Every moment had brought a fresh surprise; and
every surprise must be matter of humiliation to her.--
How to understand it all! How to understand the
deceptions she had been thus practising on herself, and
living under!-- The blunders, the blindness of her own
AusEmma412
head and heart!
she sat still, she walked about, she
tried her own room, she tried the shrubbery-- in every
place, every posture, she perceived that
she had acted
most weakly; that she had been imposed on by others
in a most mortifying degree; that she had been imposing
on herself in a degree yet more mortifying; that she
was wretched, and should probably find this day but the
beginning of wretchedness.
To understand, thoroughly understand her own heart,
was the first endeavour. To that point went every leisure
moment which her father's claims on her allowed, and
every moment of involuntary absence of mind.
How long had Mr. Knightley been so dear to her, as
every feeling declared him now to be? When had his
influence, such influence begun?-- When had he succeeded
to that place in her affection, whichFrank Churchill had
once, for a short period, occupied?-- She looked back; she
compared the two-- compared them, as they had always
stood in her estimation, from the time of the latter's
becoming known to her-- and as they must at any time
have been compared by her, had it-- oh! had it, by any
blessed felicity, occurred to her, to institute the comparison.--
She saw that there never had been a time when
she did not consider Mr. Knightley as infinitely the
superior, or when his regard for her had not been infinitely
the most dear. She saw, that in persuading herself, in
fancying, in acting to the contrary, she had been entirely
under a delusion, totally ignorant of her own heart-- and,
in short, that she had never really cared for Frank Churchill
at all!
This was the conclusion of the first series of reflection.
This was the knowledge of herself, on the first question of
inquiry, which she reached; and without being long in
reaching it.--
She was most sorrowfully indignant;
ashamed of every sensation but the one revealed to her--
her affection for Mr. Knightley.-- Every other part of her
mind was disgusting.
With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the
AusEmma413
secret of everybody's feelings; with unpardonable
arrogance proposed to arrange everybody's destiny. She
was proved to have been universally mistaken; and she
had not quite done nothing-- for she had done mischief.
She had brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and she too
much feared, on Mr. Knightley.-- Were this most unequal
of all connexions to take place, on her must rest all the
reproach of having given it a beginning; for his attachment,
she must believe to be produced only by a consciousness
of Harriet's;-- and even were this not the
case, he would never have known Harriet at all but for
her folly.
Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!-- It was an union
to distance every wonder of the kind.-- The attachment
of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax became common-place,
threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no
surprise, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be
said or thought.-- Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--
Such an elevation on her side! Such a debasement on his!
--
It was horrible to Emma to think
how it must sink him
in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the sneers,
the merriment it would prompt at his expense; the
mortification and disdain of his brother, the thousand
inconveniences to himself.-- Could it be?-- No; it was
impossible. And yet it was far, very far, from impossible.
-- Was it a new circumstance for a man of first-rate abilities
to be captivated by very inferior powers? Was it new
for one, perhaps too busy to seek, to be the prize of a girl
who would seek him?-- Was it new for any thing in this
world to be unequal, inconsistent, incongruous-- or for
chance and circumstance( as second causes) to direct the
human fate?
Oh! had she never brought Harriet forward! Had
she left her where she ought, and where he had told her
she ought!-- Had she not, with a folly which no tongue
could express, prevented her marrying the unexceptionable
young man who would have made her happy and respectable
in the line of life to which she ought to belong--
AusEmma414
all would have been safe; none of this dreadful sequel
would have been.
How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to
raise her thoughts to Mr. Knightley!-- How she could
dare to fancy herself the chosen of such a man till actually
assured of it!-- But Harriet was less humble, had fewer
scruples than formerly.-- Her inferiority, whether of mind
or situation, seemed little felt.-- She had seemed more
sensible of Mr. Elton's being to stoop in marrying her,
than she now seemed of Mr. Knightley's.-- Alas! was
not that her own doing too? Who had been at pains to
give Harriet notions of self-consequence but herself?--
Who but herself had taught her, that she was to elevate
herself if possible, and that her claims were great to a high
worldly establishment?-- If Harriet, from being humble,
were grown vain, it was her doing too.
AusEmma415
Till now that she was threatened with its loss, Emma
had never known how much of her happiness depended on
being first with Mr. Knightley, first in interest and
affection.-- Satisfied that it was so, and feeling it her due,
she had enjoyed it without reflection; and only in the
dread of being supplanted, found how inexpressibly important
it had been.--
Long, very long, she felt she had
been first; for, having no female connexions of his own,
there had been only Isabella whose claims could be compared
with hers, and she had always known exactly how
far he loved and esteemed Isabella. She had herself been
first with him for many years past. She had not deserved
it; she had often been negligent or perverse, slighting
his advice, or even wilfully opposing him, insensible of
half his merits, and quarrelling with him because he
would not acknowledge her false and insolent estimate
of her own-- but still, from family attachment and habit,
and thorough excellence of mind, he had loved her, and
watched over her from a girl, with an endeavour to
improve her, and an anxiety for her doing right, which
no other creature had at all shared. In spite of all her
faults, she knew she was dear to him; might she not say,
very dear?--
When the suggestions of hope, however,
which must follow here, presented themselves, she could
not presume to indulge them.
Harriet Smith might think
herself not unworthy of being peculiarly, exclusively,
passionately loved by Mr. Knightley. She could not.
She could not flatter herself with any idea of blindness in
his attachment to her. She had received a very recent
proof of its impartiality.-- How shocked had he been by
her behaviour to Miss Bates! How directly, how strongly
had he expressed himself to her on the subject!-- Not too
strongly for the offence-- but far, far too strongly to issue
AusEmma416
from any feeling softer than upright justice and clear-sighted
good will.-- She had no hope, nothing to deserve
the name of hope, that he could have that sort of affection
for herself which was now in question; but there was
a hope (at times a slight one, at times much stronger,)
that Harriet might have deceived herself, and be over-rating
his regard for her. -- Wish it she must, for his sake
-- be the consequence nothing to herself, but his remaining
single all his life. Could she be secure of that, indeed, of
his never marrying at all, she believed she should be
perfectly satisfied.-- Let him but continue the same
Mr. Knightley to her and her father, the same Mr. Knightley
to all the world; let Donwell and Hartfield lose none
of their precious intercourse of friendship and confidence,
and her peace would be fully secured.-- Marriage, in fact,
would not do for her. It would be incompatible with
what she owed to her father, and with what she felt for
him. Nothing should separate her from her father. She
would not marry, even if she were asked by Mr. Knightley.
It must be her ardent wish that Harriet might be
disappointed; and she hoped, that when able to see them
together again, she might at least be able to ascertain
what the chances for it were.-- She should see them henceforward
with the closest observance; and wretchedly as
she had hitherto misunderstood even those she was
watching, she did not know how to admit that she could
be blinded here.-- He was expected back every day. The
power of observation would be soon given-- frightfully
soon it appeared when her thoughts were in one course.
In the meanwhile, she resolved against seeing Harriet.--
It would do neither of them good, it would do the subject
no good, to be talking of it farther.-- She was resolved not
to be convinced, as long as she could doubt, and yet had
no authority for opposing Harriet's confidence. To talk
would be only to irritate.--
She wrote to her, therefore,
kindly, but decisively, to beg that she would not, at present,
come to Hartfield;
acknowledging it to be her conviction,
that all farther confidential discussion of one topic
AusEmma417
had better be avoided; and hoping, that if a few days
were allowed to pass before they met again, except in the
company of others-- she objected only to a te--te-a`-te--te--
they might be able to act as if they had forgotten the conversation
of yesterday.--
Harriet submitted, and approved,
and was grateful.
This point was just arranged, when a visitor arrived to
tear Emma's thoughts a little from the one subject which
had engrossed them, sleeping or waking, the last twenty-four
hours-- Mrs. Weston, who had been calling on her
daughter-in-law elect, and took Hartfield in her way
home, almost as much in duty to Emma as in pleasure to
herself, to relate all the particulars of so interesting an
interview.
Mr. Weston had accompanied her to Mrs. Bates's, and
gone through his share of this essential attention most
handsomely; but she having then induced Miss Fairfax
to join her in an airing, was now returned with much more
to say, and much more to say with satisfaction, than
a quarter of an hour spent in Mrs. Bates's parlour, with
all the incumbrance of awkward feelings, could have
afforded.
A little curiosity Emma had; and she made the most
of it while her friend related. Mrs. Weston had set off to
pay the visit in a good deal of agitation herself; and in
the first place had wished not to go at all at present, to
be allowed merely to write to Miss Fairfax instead, and to
defer this ceremonious call till a little time had passed,
and Mr. Churchill could be reconciled to the engagement's
becoming known; as,
considering every thing,
she
thought
such a visit could not be paid without leading to
reports;--
but Mr. Weston had thought differently;
he
was extremely anxious to shew his approbation to Miss Fairfax
and her family, and did not conceive that any
suspicion could be excited by it; or if it were, that it
would be of any consequence;
for
"such things,"
he
observed,
"always got about."
Emma smiled, and felt
that Mr. Weston had very good reason for saying so.
AusEmma418
They had gone, in short-- and very great had been the
evident distress and confusion of the lady. She had hardly
been able to speak a word, and every look and action had
shown how deeply she was suffering from consciousness.
The quiet, heartfelt satisfaction of the old lady, and the
rapturous delight of her daughter-- who proved even too
joyous to talk as usual, had been a gratifying, yet almost
an affecting, scene. They were both so truly respectable
in their happiness, so disinterested in every sensation;
thought so much of Jane; so much of everybody, and so
little of themselves, that every kindly feeling was at work
for them.
Miss Fairfax's recent illness had offered a fair
plea for Mrs. Weston to invite her to an airing; she had
drawn back and declined at first, but on being pressed had
yielded; and in the course of their drive, Mrs. Weston
had, by gentle encouragement, overcome so much of her
embarrassment, as to bring her to converse on the important
subject.
Apologies for her seemingly ungracious
silence in their first reception, and the warmest expressions
of the gratitude she was always feeling towards
herself and Mr. Weston, must necessarily open the cause;
but when these effusions were put by, they had talked
a good deal of the present and of the future state of the
engagement.
Mrs. Weston was convinced that
such conversation
must be the greatest relief to her companion,
pent up within her own mind as every thing had so long
been,
and was very much pleased with all that she had
said on the subject.
"On the misery of what she had suffered, during the
concealment of so many months,"
continued Mrs. Weston,
"she was energetic. This was one of her expressions.
""I will not say, that since I entered into the engagement
I have not had some happy moments; but I can say, that
I have never known the blessing of one tranquil hour:""--
and the quivering lip, Emma, which uttered it, was an
attestation that I felt at my heart."
"Poor girl!"
said Emma.
"She thinks herself wrong,
then, for having consented to a private engagement?"
AusEmma419
"Wrong!-- No one, I believe, can blame her more than
she is disposed to blame herself.
""The consequence,""
said
she,
""has been a state of perpetual suffering to me; and
so it ought. But after all the punishment that misconduct
can bring, it is still not less misconduct. Pain is no expiation.
I never can be blameless. I have been acting
contrary to all my sense of right; and the fortunate turn
that every thing has taken, and the kindness I am now
receiving, is what my conscience tells me ought not to be.
Do not imagine, madam,""
she continued,
""that I was
taught wrong. Do not let any reflection fall on the
principles or the care of the friends who brought me up.
The error has been all my own; and I do assure you that,
with all the excuse that present circumstances may appear
to give, I shall yet dread making the story known to
Colonel Campbell."" "
"Poor girl!"
said Emma again.
"She loves him then
excessively, I suppose. It must have been from attachment
only, that she could be led to form the engagement.
Her affection must have overpowered her judgment."
"Yes, I have no doubt of her being extremely attached
to him."
"I am afraid,"
returned Emma, sighing,
"that I must
often have contributed to make her unhappy."
"On your side, my love, it was very innocently done.
But she probably had something of that in her thoughts,
when alluding to the misunderstandings which he had
given us hints of before.
One natural consequence of the
evil she had involved herself in,
she said,
was that of
making her unreasonable. The consciousness of having
done amiss, had exposed her to a thousand inquietudes,
and made her captious and irritable to a degree that must
have been-- that had been-- hard for him to bear.
""I did
not make the allowances,""
said she,
""which I ought to have
done, for his temper and spirits-- his delightful spirits, and
that gaiety, that playfulness of disposition, which, under
any other circumstances, would, I am sure, have been as
constantly bewitching to me, as they were at first.""
She
AusEmma420
then began to speak of you, and of the great kindness
you had shown her during her illness; and with a blush
which showed me how it was all connected,
desired me,
whenever I had an opportunity, to thank you-- I could not
thank you too much-- for every wish and every endeavour
to do her good.
She was sensible that you had never
received any proper acknowledgment from herself."
"If I did not know her to be happy now,"
said Emma,
seriously,
"which, in spite of every little drawback from
her scrupulous conscience, she must be, I could not bear
these thanks; -- for, oh! Mrs. Weston, if there were an
account drawn up of the evil and the good I have done
Miss Fairfax!-- Well,
(checking herself, and trying to be
more lively),
this is all to be forgotten. You are very
kind to bring me these interesting particulars. They show
her to the greatest advantage. I am sure she is very good--
I hope she will be very happy. It is fit that the fortune
should be on his side, for I think the merit will be all on
her's."
Such a conclusion could not pass unanswered by
Mrs. Weston. She thought well of Frank in almost every
respect; and, what was more, she loved him very much,
and her defence was, therefore, earnest. She talked with
a great deal of reason, and at least equal affection-- but
she had too much to urge for Emma's attention; it was
soon gone to Brunswick Square or to Donwell; she forgot
to attempt to listen; and when Mrs. Weston ended with,
"We have not yet had the letter we are so anxious for,
you know, but I hope it will soon come,"
she was obliged
to pause before she answered, and at last obliged to answer
at random, before she could at all recollect what letter it
was which they were so anxious for.
"Are you well, my Emma?"
was Mrs. Weston's parting
question.
"Oh! perfectly. I am always well, you know. Be sure
to give me intelligence of the letter as soon as possible."
Mrs. Weston's communications furnished Emma with
more food for unpleasant reflection, by increasing her
AusEmma421
esteem and compassion, and her sense of past injustice
towards Miss Fairfax. She bitterly regretted not having
sought a closer acquaintance with her, and blushed for
the envious feelings which had certainly been, in some
measure, the cause.
Had she followed Mr. Knightley's
known wishes, in paying that attention to Miss Fairfax,
which was every way her due; had she tried to know her
better; had she done her part towards intimacy; had
she endeavoured to find a friend there instead of in Harriet Smith;
she must, in all probability, have been spared from
every pain which pressed on her now.-- Birth, abilities,
and education, had been equally marking one as an
associate for her, to be received with gratitude; and the
other-- what was she?-- Supposing even that they had
never become intimate friends; that she had never been
admitted into Miss Fairfax's confidence on this important
matter-- which was most probable-- still, in knowing her
as she ought, and as she might, she must have been
preserved from the abominable suspicions of an improper
attachment to Mr. Dixon, which she had not only so
foolishly fashioned and harboured herself, but had so
unpardonably imparted; an idea which she greatly feared
had been made a subject of material distress to the
delicacy of Jane's feelings, by the levity or carelessness of
Frank Churchill's. Of all the sources of evil surrounding
the former, since her coming to Highbury, she was persuaded
that she must herself have been the worst. She
must have been a perpetual enemy. They never could
have been all three together, without her having stabbed
Jane Fairfax's peace in a thousand instances; and on
Box Hill, perhaps, it had been the agony of a mind that
would bear no more.
The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy,
at Hartfield. The weather added what it could of gloom.
A cold stormy rain set in, and nothing of July appeared
but in the trees and shrubs, which the wind was despoiling,
and the length of the day, which only made such cruel
sights the longer visible.
AusEmma422
The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse, and he could only
be kept tolerably comfortable by almost ceaseless attention
on his daughter's side, and by exertions which had never
cost her half so much before.
It reminded her of their
first forlorn te--te-a`-te--te, on the evening of Mrs. Weston's
wedding-day; but Mr. Knightley had walked in then,
soon after tea, and dissipated every melancholy fancy.
Alas! such delightful proofs of Hartfield's attraction, as
those sort of visits conveyed, might shortly be over. The
picture which she had then drawn of the privations of the
approaching winter, had proved erroneous; no friends
had deserted them, no pleasures had been lost.-- But her
present forebodings she feared would experience no similar
contradiction. The prospect before her now, was threatening
to a degree that could not be entirely dispelled-- that
might not be even partially brightened. If all took place
that might take place among the circle of her friends,
Hartfield must be comparatively deserted; and she left
to cheer her father with the spirits only of ruined happiness.
The child to be born at Randall's must be a tie there
even dearer than herself; and Mrs. Weston's heart and
time would be occupied by it. They should lose her;
and, probably, in great measure, her husband also.--
Frank Churchill would return among them no more; and
Miss Fairfax, it was reasonable to suppose, would soon
cease to belong to Highbury. They would be married, and
settled either at or near Enscombe. All that were good
would be withdrawn; and if to these losses, the loss of
Donwell were to be added, what would remain of cheerful
or of rational society within their reach? Mr. Knightley
to be no longer coming there for his evening comfort!--
No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to
change his own home for their's!-- How was it to be
endured? And if he were to be lost to them for Harriet's
sake; if he were to be thought of hereafter, as finding in
Harriet's society all that he wanted; if Harriet were to be
the chosen, the first, the dearest, the friend, the wife to
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whom he looked for all the best blessings of existence;
what could be increasing Emma's wretchedness but the
reflection never far distant from her mind, that it had been
all her own work?
When it came to such a pitch as this, she was not able
to refrain from a start, or a heavy sigh, or even from
walking about the room for a few seconds-- and the only
source whence any thing like consolation or composure
could be drawn, was in the resolution of her own better
conduct, and the hope that, however inferior in spirit and
gaiety might be the following and every future winter of
her life to the past, it would yet find her more rational,
more acquainted with herself, and leave her less to regret
when it were gone.
AusEmma424
The weather continued much the same all the following
morning; and the same loneliness, and the same melancholy,
seemed to reign at Hartfield-- but in the afternoon
it cleared; the wind changed into a softer quarter; the
clouds were carried off; the sun appeared; it was summer
again. With all the eagerness which such a transition
gives, Emma resolved to be out of doors as soon as
possible. Never had the exquisite sight, smell, sensation
of nature, tranquil, warm, and brilliant after a storm,
been more attractive to her. She longed for the serenity
they might gradually introduce; and on Mr. Perry's
coming in soon after dinner, with a disengaged hour to
give her father, she lost no time in hurrying into the
shrubbery.-- There, with spirits freshened, and thoughts
a little relieved, she had taken a few turns, when she saw
Mr. Knightley passing through the garden door, and
coming towards her.-- It was the first intimation of his
being returned from London. She had been thinking of
him the moment before, as unquestionably sixteen miles
distant.-- There was time only for the quickest arrangement
of mind.
She must be collected and calm.
In half
a minute they were together. The
"How d'ye do's,"
were quiet and constrained on each side. She asked after
their mutual friends:
they were all well.--
When had he
left them?--
Only that morning.
He must have had a wet
ride.--
Yes.--
He meant to walk with her, she found.
"He had just looked into the dining-room, and as he was
not wanted there, preferred being out of doors."--
She
thought he neither looked nor spoke cheerfully; and the
first possible cause for it, suggested by her fears, was, that
he had perhaps been communicating his plans to his
brother, and was pained by the manner in which they had
been received.
AusEmma425
They walked together.
He was silent. She thought he
was often looking at her, and trying for a fuller view of
her face than it suited her to give. And this belief produced
another dread. Perhaps he wanted to speak to her,
of his attachment to Harriet; he might be watching for
encouragement to begin.-- She did not, could not, feel
equal to lead the way to any such subject. He must do it
all himself. Yet she could not bear this silence. With
him it was most unnatural.
She considered-- resolved--
and, trying to smile, began--
"You have some news to hear, now you are come back,
that will rather surprise you."
"Have I?"
said he quietly, and looking at her;
"of
what nature?"
"Oh! the best nature in the world-- a wedding."
After waiting a moment, as if to be sure she intended
to say no more, he replied,
"If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have
heard that already."
"How is it possible?"
cried Emma, turning her glowing
cheeks towards him; for while she spoke, it occurred
to her that he might have called at Mrs. Goddard's in
his way.
"I had a few lines on parish business from Mr. Weston
this morning, and at the end of them he gave me a brief
account of what had happened."
Emma was quite relieved, and could presently say, with
a little more composure,
"You probably have been less surprised than any of us,
for you have had your suspicions.-- I have not forgotten
that you once tried to give me a caution.-- I wish I had
attended to it-- but--
(with a sinking voice and a heavy
sigh)
I seem to have been doomed to blindness."
For a moment or two nothing was said, and
she was
unsuspicious of having excited any particular interest, till
she found her arm drawn within his, and pressed against
his heart, and heard him thus saying, in a tone of great
sensibility, speaking low,
AusEmma426
"Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.--
Your own excellent sense-- your exertions for your father's
sake-- I know you will not allow yourself.--"
Her arm
was pressed again, as he added, in a more broken and
subdued accent,
"The feelings of the warmest friendship
-- Indignation -- Abominable scoundrel!"
-- And in a
louder, steadier tone, he concluded with,
"He will soon
be gone. They will soon be in Yorkshire. I am sorry for
her. She deserves a better fate."
Emma understood him; and as soon as she could
recover from the flutter of pleasure, excited by such tender
consideration, replied,
"You are very kind-- but you are mistaken-- and
I must set you right.-- I am not in want of that sort of
compassion. My blindness to what was going on, led me
to act by them in a way that I must always be ashamed
of, and I was very foolishly tempted to say and do many
things which may well lay me open to unpleasant conjectures,
but I have no other reason to regret that I was
not in the secret earlier."
"Emma!"
cried he, looking eagerly at her,
"are you,
indeed?"
--but checking himself--
"No, no, I understand
you-- forgive me-- I am pleased that you can say
even so much.-- He is no object of regret, indeed! and
it will not be very long, I hope, before that becomes the
acknowledgment of more than your reason.-- Fortunate
that your affections were not farther entangled!-- I could
never, I confess, from your manners, assure myself as to
the degree of what you felt-- I could only be certain that
there was a preference-- and a preference which I never
believed him to deserve.-- He is a disgrace to the name
of man.-- And is he to be rewarded with that sweet young
woman?-- Jane, Jane, you will be a miserable creature."
"Mr. Knightley,"
said Emma, trying to be lively, but
really confused--
"I am in a very extraordinary situation.
I cannot let you continue in your error; and yet, perhaps,
since my manners gave such an impression, I have as
much reason to be ashamed of confessing that I never
AusEmma427
have been at all attached to the person we are speaking of,
as it might be natural for a woman to feel in confessing
exactly the reverse.-- But I never have."
He listened in perfect silence. She wished him to speak,
but he would not. She supposed she must say more before
she were entitled to his clemency; but it was a hard case
to be obliged still to lower herself in his opinion.
She went
on, however.
"I have very little to say for my own conduct.-- I was
tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself to appear
pleased.-- An old story, probably-- a common case-- and
no more than has happened to hundreds of my sex before;
and yet it may not be the more excusable in one who sets
up as I do for Understanding. Many circumstances assisted
the temptation. He was the son of Mr. Weston-- he was
continually here-- I always found him very pleasant-- and,
in short, for
(with a sigh)
let me swell out the causes ever
so ingeniously, they all centre in this at last-- my vanity
was flattered, and I allowed his attentions. Latterly,
however-- for some time, indeed-- I have had no idea of
their meaning any thing.-- I thought them a habit,
a trick, nothing that called for seriousness on my side.
He has imposed on me, but he has not injured me. I have
never been attached to him. And now I can tolerably
comprehend his behaviour. He never wished to attach
me. It was merely a blind to conceal his real situation
with another.-- It was his object to blind all about him;
and no one, I am sure, could be more effectually blinded
than myself-- except that I was not blinded-- that it was
my good fortune-- that, in short, I was somehow or other
safe from him."
She had hoped for an answer here-- for a few words to
say that her conduct was at least intelligible; but he was
silent; and, as far as she could judge, deep in thought.
At last, and tolerably in his usual tone, he said,
"I have never had a high opinion of Frank Churchill.--
I can suppose, however, that I may have under-rated him.
My acquaintance with him has been but trifling.-- And
AusEmma428
even if I have not under-rated him hitherto, he may yet
turn out well.-- With such a woman he has a chance.--
I have no motive for wishing him ill-- and for her sake,
whose happiness will be involved in his good character and
conduct, I shall certainly wish him well."
"I have no doubt of their being happy together,"
said
Emma;
"I believe them to be very mutually and very
sincerely attached."
"He is a most fortunate man!"
returned Mr. Knightley,
with energy.
"So early in life-- at three and twenty-- a
period when, if a man chooses a wife, he generally chooses
ill. At three and twenty to have drawn such a prize!--
What years of felicity that man, in all human calculation,
has before him!-- Assured of the love of such a woman--
the disinterested love, for Jane Fairfax's character vouches
for her disinterestedness; every thing in his favour,--
equality of situation-- I mean, as far as regards society,
and all the habits and manners that are important;
equality in every point but one-- and that one, since the
purity of her heart is not to be doubted, such as must
increase his felicity, for it will be his to bestow the only
advantages she wants.-- A man would always wish to give
a woman a better home than the one he takes her from;
and he who can do it, where there is no doubt of her regard,
must, I think, be the happiest of mortals.-- Frank Churchill
is, indeed, the favourite of fortune. Every thing turns out
for his good.-- He meets with a young woman at a watering-place,
gains her affection, cannot even weary her by
negligent treatment-- and had he and all his family sought
round the world for a perfect wife for him, they could not
have found her superior.-- His aunt is in the way.-- His
aunt dies.-- He has only to speak.-- His friends are eager
to promote his happiness.-- He has used every body ill--
and they are all delighted to forgive him.-- He is a fortunate
man indeed!"
"You speak as if you envied him."
"And I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the
object of my envy."
AusEmma429
Emma could say no more.
They seemed to be within
half a sentence of Harriet, and her immediate feeling was
to avert the subject, if possible. She made her plan; she
would speak of something totally different-- the children
in Brunswick Square;
and she only waited for breath to
begin, when Mr. Knightley startled her, by saying,
"You will not ask me what is the point of envy.--
You are determined, I see, to have no curiosity.-- You are
wise-- but I cannot be wise. Emma, I must tell what you
will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment."
"Oh! then, don't speak it, don't speak it,"
she eagerly
cried.
"Take a little time, consider, do not commit
yourself."
"Thank you,"
said he, in an accent of deep mortification,
and not another syllable followed.
Emma could not bear to give him pain.
He was wishing
to confide in her-- perhaps to consult her;-- cost her what
it would, she would listen. She might assist his resolution,
or reconcile him to it; she might give just praise to
Harriet, or, by representing to him his own independence,
relieve him from that state of indecision, which must be
more intolerable than any alternative to such a mind as his.
--
They had reached the house.
"You are going in, I suppose,"
said he.
"No"--
replied Emma--
quite confirmed by the depressed
manner in which he still spoke--
"I should like
to take another turn. Mr. Perry is not gone."
And, after
proceeding a few steps, she added--
"I stopped you ungraciously,
just now, Mr. Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave
you pain.-- But if you have any wish to speak openly to
me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of any thing that you
may have in contemplation-- as a friend, indeed, you may
command me.-- I will hear whatever you like. I will tell
you exactly what I think."
"As a friend!"
-- repeated Mr. Knightley.--
"Emma,
that I fear is a word-- No, I have no wish-- Stay, yes, why
should I hesitate?-- I have gone too far already for concealment.--
Emma, I accept your offer-- Extraordinary
AusEmma430
as it may seem, I accept it, and refer myself to you as
a friend.-- Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?"
He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and
the expression of his eyes overpowered her.
"My dearest Emma,"
said he,
"for dearest you will
always be, whatever the event of this hour's conversation,
my dearest, most beloved Emma-- tell me at once. Say
""No,"" if it is to be said."--
She could really say nothing.--
"You are silent,"
he cried, with great animation;
"absolutely
silent! at present I ask no more."
Emma was almost ready to sink under the agitation of
this moment.
The dread of being awakened from the
happiest dream, was perhaps the most prominent feeling.
"I cannot make speeches, Emma:"--
he soon resumed;
and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible
tenderness as was tolerably convincing.--
"If I loved you
less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know
what I am.-- You hear nothing but truth from me.--
I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne
it as no other woman in England would have borne it.--
Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma,
as well as you have borne with them. The manner,
perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God
knows, I have been a very indifferent lover.-- But you
understand me.-- Yes, you see, you understand my
feelings-- and will return them if you can. At present,
I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice."
While he spoke, Emma's mind was most busy, and,
with all the wonderful velocity of thought, had been able
-- and yet without losing a word-- to catch and comprehend
the exact truth of the whole;
to see that Harriet's
hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion,
as complete a delusion as any of her own-- that Harriet
was nothing; that she was every thing herself; that
what she had been saying relative to Harriet had been all
taken as the language of her own feelings; and that her
agitation, her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement,
AusEmma431
had been all received as discouragement from herself.--
And not only was there time for these convictions, with
all their glow of attendant happiness; there was time
also to rejoice that Harriet's secret had not escaped her,
and to resolve that it need not and should not.-- It was
all the service she could now render her poor friend; for
as to any of that heroism of sentiment which might have
prompted her to entreat him to transfer his affection from
herself to Harriet, as infinitely the most worthy of the two--
or even the more simple sublimity of resolving to refuse
him at once and for ever, without vouchsafing any motive,
because he could not marry them both, Emma had it not.
She felt for Harriet, with pain and with contrition; but
no flight of generosity run mad, opposing all that could be
probable or reasonable, entered her brain. She had led
her friend astray, and it would be a reproach to her for ever;
but her judgment was as strong as her feelings, and
as strong as it had ever been before, in reprobating any
such alliance for him, as most unequal and degrading.
Her way was clear, though not quite smooth.-- She spoke
then, on being so entreated.-- What did she say?-- Just
what she ought, of course. A lady always does.-- She
said enough to show there need not be despair-- and to
invite him to say more himself.
He had despaired at one
period; he had received such an injunction to caution and
silence, as for the time crushed every hope;-- she had
begun by refusing to hear him.--
The change had perhaps
been somewhat sudden;-- her proposal of taking another
turn, her renewing the conversation which she had just
put an end to, might be a little extraordinary!-- She felt
its inconsistency; but Mr. Knightley was so obliging
as to put up with it, and seek no farther explanation.
Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any
human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something
is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken; but where,
as in this case, though the conduct is mistaken, the feelings
are not, it may not be very material.-- Mr. Knightley
could not impute to Emma a more relenting heart
AusEmma432
than she possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept
of his.
He had, in fact, been wholly unsuspicious of his own
influence. He had followed her into the shrubbery with
no idea of trying it. He had come, in his anxiety to see
how she boreFrank Churchill's engagement, with no
selfish view, no view at all, but of endeavouring, if she
allowed him an opening, to soothe or to counsel her.--
The rest had been the work of the moment, the immediate
effect of what he heard, on his feelings. The delightful
assurance of her total indifference towards Frank Churchill,
of her having a heart completely disengaged from him,
had given birth to the hope, that, in time, he might gain
her affection himself;-- but it had been no present hope--
he had only, in the momentary conquest of eagerness over
judgment, aspired to be told that she did not forbid his
attempt to attach her.-- The superior hopes which gradually
opened were so much the more enchanting.-- The
affection, which he had been asking to be allowed to
create if he could, was already his!-- Within half an hour,
he had passed from a thoroughly distressed state of mind,
to something so like perfect happiness, that it could bear
no other name.
Her change was equal.-- This one half hour had given
to each the same precious certainty of being beloved, had
cleared from each the same degree of ignorance, jealousy,
or distrust.-- On his side, there had been a long-standing
jealousy, old as the arrival, or even the expectation, of
Frank Churchill.-- He had been in love with Emma, and
jealous of Frank Churchill, from about the same period,
one sentiment having probably enlightened him as to the
other. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had
taken him from the country.--
The Box-Hill party had
decided him on going away. He would save himself from
witnessing again such permitted, encouraged attentions.
-- He had gone to learn to be indifferent.-- But he had
gone to a wrong place. There was too much domestic
happiness in his brother's house; woman wore too
AusEmma433
amiable a form in it; Isabella was too much like Emma
-- differing only in those striking inferiorities, which always
brought the other in brilliancy before him, for much to
have been done, even had his time been longer.-- He had
staid on, however, vigorously, day after day-- till this
very morning's post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax.--
Then, with the gladness which must be felt,
nay, which he did not scruple to feel, having never believed
Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma, was
there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for
her, that he could stay no longer. He had ridden home
through the rain; and had walked up directly after
dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures,
faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery.
He had found her agitated and low.
Frank Churchill
was a villain.--
He heard her declare that she had never
loved him.
Frank Churchill's character was not desperate.
-- She was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they
returned into the house; and if he could have thought of
Frank Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very
good sort of fellow.
AusEmma434
What totally different feelings did Emma take back
into the house from what she had brought out!-- she had
then been only daring to hope for a little respite of suffering;--
she was now in an exquisite flutter of happiness, and
such happiness moreover as she believed must still be
greater when the flutter should have passed away.
They sat down to tea-- the same party round the same
table--
how often it had been collected!-- and how often
had her eyes fallen on the same shrubs in the lawn, and
observed the same beautiful effect of the western sun!--
But never in such a state of spirits, never in anything
like it;
and it was with difficulty that she could summon
enough of her usual self to be the attentive lady of the
house, or even the attentive daughter.
Poor Mr. Woodhouse little suspected what was plotting
against him in the breast of that man whom he was so
cordially welcoming, and so anxiously hoping might not
have taken cold from his ride.-- Could he have seen the
heart, he would have cared very little for the lungs; but
without the most distant imagination of the impending
evil, without the slightest perception of anything extraordinary
in the looks or ways of either, he repeated to
them very comfortably all the articles of news he had
received from Mr. Perry, and talked on with much self-contentment,
totally unsuspicious of what they could have
told him in return.
As long as Mr. Knightley remained with them, Emma's
fever continued; but when he was gone, she began to be
a little tranquillized and subdued-- and in the course of the
sleepless night, which was the tax for such an evening,
she found one or two such very serious points to consider,
as made her feel, that even her happiness must have some
alloy. Her father-- and Harriet. She could not be alone
AusEmma435
without feeling the full weight of their separate claims; and
how to guard the comfort of both to the utmost, was the
question. With respect to her father, it was a question
soon answered. She hardly knew yet whatMr. Knightley
would ask; but a very short parley with her own heart
produced the most solemn resolution of never quitting her
father.-- She even wept over the idea of it, as a sin of
thought.
While he lived, it must be only an engagement;
but she flattered herself, that if divested of the danger
of drawing her away, it might become an increase of
comfort to him.-- How to do her best by Harriet, was of
more difficult decision;-- how to spare her from any
unnecessary pain; how to make her any possible atonement;
how to appear least her enemy?--
On these
subjects, her perplexity and distress were very great--
and her mind had to pass again and again through every
bitter reproach and sorrowful regret that had ever surrounded
it.-- She could only resolve at last, that
she would
still avoid a meeting with her, and communicate all that
need be told by letter; that it would be inexpressibly
desirable to have her removed just now for a time from
Highbury, and --
indulging in one scheme more--
nearly
resolve, that it might be practicable to get an invitation
for her to Brunswick Square.-- Isabella had been pleased
with Harriet; and a few weeks spent in London must
give her some amusement.-- She did not think it in
Harriet's nature to escape being benefited by novelty and
variety, by the streets, the shops, and the children.-- At
any rate, it would be a proof of attention and kindness in
herself, from whom every thing was due; a separation
for the present; an averting of the evil day, when they
must all be together again.
She rose early, and wrote her letter to Harriet; an
employment which left her so very serious, so nearly sad,
that Mr. Knightley, in walking up to Hartfield to breakfast,
did not arrive at all too soon; and half an hour
stolen afterwards to go over the same ground again with
him, literally and figuratively, was quite necessary to
AusEmma436
reinstate her in a proper share of the happiness of the
evening before.
He had not left her long, by no means long enough for
her to have the slightest inclination for thinking of anybody
else, when a letter was brought her from Randall's
-- a very thick letter;-- she guessed what it must contain,
and deprecated the necessity of reading it.--
She was now
in perfect charity with Frank Churchill; she wanted no
explanations, she wanted only to have her thoughts to
herself-- and as for understanding any thing he wrote, she
was sure she was incapable of it.-- It must be waded
through, however.
She opened the packet;
it was too
surely so;-- a note from Mrs. Weston to herself, ushered
in the letter from Frank to Mrs. Weston.
"I have the greatest pleasure, my dearEmma, in
forwarding to you the enclosed. I know what thorough
justice you will do it, and have scarcely a doubt of its
happy effect.-- I think we shall never materially disagree
about the writer again; but I will not delay you by a long
preface.-- We are quite well.-- This letter has been the
cure of all the little nervousness I have been feeling lately.
-- I did not quite like your looks on Tuesday, but it was
an ungenial morning; and though you will never own
being affected by weather, I think every body feels
a north-east wind.-- I felt for your dear father very much
in the storm of Tuesday afternoon and yesterday morning,
but had the comfort of hearing last night, by Mr. Perry,
that it had not made him ill.
"Your's ever,
"A. W."
{To Mrs. Weston.}
Windsor-July.
MY DEAR MADAM,
"If I made myself intelligible yesterday, this letter will
be expected; but expected or not, I know it will be read
with candour and indulgence.-- You are all goodness, and
I believe there will be need of even all your goodness to
allow for some parts of my past conduct.-- But I have been
AusEmma437
forgiven by one who had still more to resent. My courage
rises while I write. It is very difficult for the prosperous
to be humble. I have already met with such success in
two applications for pardon, that I may be in danger of
thinking myself too sure of your's, and of those among
your friends who have had any ground of offence.-- You
must all endeavour to comprehend the exact nature of
my situation when I first arrived at Randall's; you must
consider me as having a secret which was to be kept at all
hazards. This was the fact. My right to place myself in
a situation requiring such concealment, is another question.
I shall not discuss it here. For my temptation to think
it a right, I refer every caviller to a brick house, sashed
windows below, and casements above, in Highbury.
I dared not address her openly; my difficulties in the
then state of Enscombe must be too well known to require
definition; and I was fortunate enough to prevail, before
we parted at Weymouth, and to induce the most upright
female mind in the creation to stoop in charity to a secret
engagement.-- Had she refused, I should have gone mad.
-- But you will be ready to say, what was your hope in
doing this?-- What did you look forward to?-- To any thing,
every thing-- to time, chance, circumstance, slow
effects, sudden bursts, perseverance and weariness, health
and sickness. Every possibility of good was before me,
and the first of blessings secured, in obtaining her promises
of faith and correspondence. If you need farther explanation,
I have the honour, my dear madam, of being
your husband's son, and the advantage of inheriting a disposition
to hope for good, which no inheritance of houses
or lands can ever equal the value of.-- See me, then,
under these circumstances, arriving on my first visit to
Randall's;-- and here I am conscious of wrong, for that
visit might have been sooner paid. You will look back
and see that I did not come till Miss Fairfax was in
Highbury; and as you were the person slighted, you will
forgive me instantly; but I must work on my father's
compassion, by reminding him, that so long as I absented
AusEmma438
myself from his house, so long I lost the blessing of knowing
you. My behaviour, during the very happy fortnight
which I spent with you, did not, I hope, lay me open to
reprehension, excepting on one point. And now I come
to the principal, the only important part of my conduct
while belonging to you, which excites my own anxiety,
or requires very solicitous explanation. With the greatest
respect, and the warmest friendship, do I mention Miss Woodhouse;
my father perhaps will think I ought to
add, with the deepest humiliation.-- A few words which
dropped from him yesterday spoke his opinion, and some
censure I acknowledge myself liable to.-- My behaviour
to Miss Woodhouse indicated, I believe, more than it
ought.-- In order to assist a concealment so essential to me,
I was led on to make more than an allowable use of the
sort of intimacy into which we were immediately thrown.
-- I cannot deny that Miss Woodhouse was my ostensible
object-- but I am sure you will believe the declaration,
that had I not been convinced of her indifference, I would
not have been induced by any selfish views to go on.--
Amiable and delightful as Miss Woodhouse is, she never
gave me the idea of a young woman likely to be attached;
and that she was perfectly free from any tendency to
being attached to me, was as much my conviction as my
wish.-- She received my attentions with an easy, friendly,
goodhumoured playfulness, which exactly suited me. We
seemed to understand each other. From our relative
situation, those attentions were her due, and were felt to
be so.-- Whether Miss Woodhouse began really to understand
me before the expiration of that fortnight, I cannot
say;-- when I called to take leave of her, I remember that
I was within a moment of confessing the truth, and I then
fancied she was not without suspicion; but I have no
doubt of her having since detected me, at least in some
degree.-- She may not have surmised the whole, but her
quickness must have penetrated a part. I cannot doubt it.
You will find, whenever the subject becomes freed from
its present restraints, that it did not take her wholly
AusEmma439
by surprise. She frequently gave me hints of it. I remember
her telling me at the ball, that I owed Mrs. Elton
gratitude for her attentions to Miss Fairfax.-- I hope this
history of my conduct towards her will be admitted by
you and my father as great extenuation of what you saw
amiss. While you considered me as having sinned against
Emma Woodhouse, I could deserve nothing from either.
Acquit me here, and procure for me, when it is allowable,
the acquittal and good wishes of that said Emma Woodhouse,
whom I regard with so much brotherly affection,
as to long to have her as deeply and as happily in love as
myself.-- Whatever strange things I said or did during
that fortnight, you have now a key to. My heart was in
Highbury, and my business was to get my body thither
as often as might be, and with the least suspicion. If you
remember any queerness, set them all to the right
account.-- Of the pianoforte= so much talked of, I feel it
only necessary to say, that its being ordered was absolutely
unknown to Miss. F@@, who would never have allowed
me to send it, had any choice been given her.-- The
delicacy of her mind throughout the whole engagement,
my dear madam, is much beyond my power of doing
justice to. You will soon, I earnestly hope, know her
thoroughly yourself.-- No description can describe her.
She must tell you herself what she is-- yet not by word,
for never was there a human creature who would so
designedly suppress her own merit.-- Since I began this
letter, which will be longer than I foresaw, I have heard
from her.-- She gives a good account of her own health;
but as she never complains, I dare not depend. I want
to have your opinion of her looks. I know you will soon
call on her; she is living in dread of the visit. Perhaps
it is paid already. Let me hear from you without delay;
I am impatient for a thousand particulars. Remember
how few minutes I was at Randall's, and in how bewildered,
how mad a state: and I am not much better
yet; still insane either from happiness or misery. When
I think of the kindness and favour I have met with, of
AusEmma440
her excellence and patience, and my uncle's generosity,
I am mad with joy: but when I recollect all the uneasiness
I occasioned her, and how little I deserve to be
forgiven, I am mad with anger. If I could but see her
again!-- But I must not propose it yet. My uncle has
been too good for me to encroach.-- I must still add to
this long letter. You have not heard all that you ought
to hear. I could not give any connected detail yesterday;
but the suddenness, and, in one light, the unseasonableness,
with which the affair burst out, needs explanation;
for though the event of the 26th ult., as you will conclude,
immediately opened to me the happiest prospects, I should
not have presumed on such early measures, but from the
very particular circumstances, which left me not an hour
to lose. I should myself have shrunk from any thing so
hasty, and she would have felt every scruple of mine with
multiplied strength and refinement.-- But I had no
choice. The hasty engagement she had entered into with
that woman-- Here, my dear madam, I was obliged to
leave off abruptly, to recollect and compose myself.--
I have been walking over the country, and am now,
I hope, rational enough to make the rest of my letter
what it ought to be.-- It is, in fact, a most mortifying
retrospect for me. I behaved shamefully. And here
I can admit, that my manners to Miss W., in being unpleasant
to Miss F., were highly blamable. She disapproved
them, which ought to have been enough.-- My
plea of concealing the truth she did not think sufficient.
-- She was displeased; I thought unreasonably so;
I thought her, on a thousand occasions, unnecessarily
scrupulous and cautious: I thought her even cold. But
she was always right. If I had followed her judgment, and
subdued my spirits to the level of what she deemed proper,
I should have escaped the greatest unhappiness I have
ever known.-- We quarrelled.-- Do you remember the
morning spent at Donwell?-- There every little dissatisfaction
that had occurred before came to a crisis. I was
late; I met her walking home by herself, and wanted to
AusEmma441
walk with her, but she would not suffer it. She absolutely
refused to allow me, which I then thought most unreasonable.
Now, however, I see nothing in it but a very
natural and consistent degree of discretion. While I, to
blind the world to our engagement, was behaving one
hour with objectionable particularity to another woman,
was she to be consenting the next to a proposal which
might have made every previous caution useless?-- Had
we been met walking together between Donwell and
Highbury, the truth must have been suspected.-- I was
mad enough, however, to resent.-- I doubted her affection.
I doubted it more the next day on Box-Hill; when,
provoked by such conduct on my side, such shameful,
insolent neglect of her, and such apparent devotion to
Miss W., as it would have been impossible for any woman
of sense to endure, she spoke her resentment in a form of
words perfectly intelligible to me.-- In short, my dear
madam, it was a quarrel blameless on her side, abominable
on mine; and I returned the same evening to Richmond,
though I might have staid with you till the next morning,
merely because I would be as angry with her as possible.
Even then, I was not such a fool as not to mean to be
reconciled in time; but I was the injured person, injured
by her coldness, and I went away determined that she
should make the first advances.-- I shall always congratulate
myself that you were not of the Box-Hill party.
Had you witnessed my behaviour there, I can hardly
suppose you would ever have thought well of me again.
Its effect upon her appears in the immediate resolution it
produced: as soon as she found I was really gone from
Randall's, she closed with the offer of that officious
Mrs. Elton; the whole system of whose treatment of her,
by the bye, has ever filled me with indignation and hatred.
I must not quarrel with a spirit of forbearance which has
been so richly extended towards myself; but, otherwise,
I should loudly protest against the share of it which that
woman has known.--
""Jane,""
indeed!-- You will observe
that I have not yet indulged myself in calling her by that
AusEmma442
name, even to you. Think, then, what I must have endured
in hearing it bandied between the Eltons with all
the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the insolence
of imaginary superiority. Have patience with me, I shall
soon have done.-- She closed with this offer, resolving to
break with me entirely, and wrote the next day to tell me
that we never were to meet again.--
She felt the engagement
to be a source of repentance and misery to each: she dissolved
it.--
This letter reached me on the very morning of my
poor aunt's death. I answered it within an hour; but
from the confusion of my mind, and the multiplicity of
business falling on me at once, my answer, instead of being
sent with all the many other letters of that day, was
locked up in my writing-desk; and I, trusting that I had
written enough, though but a few lines, to satisfy her,
remained without any uneasiness.-- I was rather disappointed
that I did not hear from her again speedily;
but I made excuses for her, and was too busy, and-- may
I add?-- too cheerful in my views to be captious.-- We
removed to Windsor; and two days afterwards I received
a parcel from her, my own letters all returned!-- and
a few lines at the same time by the post, stating her
extreme surprise at not having had the smallest reply to
her last; and adding, that as silence on such a point could
not be misconstrued, and as it must be equally desirable
to both to have every subordinate arrangement concluded
as soon as possible, she now sent me, by a safe conveyance,
all my letters, and requested, that if I could not directly
command her's, so as to send them to Highbury within
a week, I would forward them after that period to her at
---- : in short, the full direction to Mr. Smallridge's,
near Bristol, stared me in the face. I knew the name,
the place, I knew all about it, and instantly saw what she
had been doing. It was perfectly accordant with that
resolution of character which I knew her to possess; and
the secrecy she had maintained, as to any such design in
her former letter, was equally descriptive of its anxious
delicacy. For the world would not she have seemed to
AusEmma443
threaten me.-- Imagine the shock; imagine how, till
I had actually detected my own blunder, I raved at the
blunders of the post.-- What was to be done?-- One thing
only.-- I must speak to my uncle. Without his sanction
I could not hope to be listened to again.-- I spoke; circumstances
were in my favour; the late event had
softened away his pride, and he was, earlier than I could
have anticipated, wholly reconciled and complying; and
could say at last, poor man! with a deep sigh, that he
wished I might find as much happiness in the marriage
state as he had done.-- I felt that it would be of a different
sort.-- Are you disposed to pity me for what I must have
suffered in opening the cause to him, for my suspense
while all was at stake?-- No; do not pity me till I reached
Highbury, and saw how ill I had made her. Do not pity
me till I saw her wan, sick looks.-- I reached Highbury at
the time of day when, from my knowledge of their late
breakfast hour, I was certain of a good chance of finding
her alone.-- I was not disappointed; and at last I was
not disappointed either in the object of my journey.
A great deal of very reasonable, very just displeasure
I had to persuade away. But it is done; we are reconciled,
dearer, much dearer, than ever, and no moment's
uneasiness can ever occur between us again. Now, my
dear madam, I will release you; but I could not conclude
before. A thousand and a thousand thanks for all the
kindness you have ever shown me, and ten thousand for
the attentions your heart will dictate towards her.--
If you think me in a way to be happier than I deserve,
I am quite of your opinion.-- Miss W. calls me the child
of good fortune. I hope she is right.-- In one respect, my
good fortune is undoubted, that of being able to subscribe
myself,
Your obliged and affectionate Son,
F. C. WESTON CHURCHILL.
AusEmma444
This letter must make its way to Emma's feelings.
She was obliged, in spite of her previous determination to
the contrary, to do it all the justice thatMrs. Weston
foretold. As soon as she came to her own name, it was
irresistible; every line relating to herself was interesting,
and almost every line agreeable; and when this charm
ceased, the subject could still maintain itself, by the
natural return of her former regard for the writer, and the
very strong attraction which any picture of love must
have for her at that moment. She never stopt till she had
gone through the whole;
and though it was impossible
not to feel that he had been wrong, yet he had been less
wrong than she had supposed-- and he had suffered, and
was very sorry-- and he was so grateful to Mrs. Weston,
and so much in love with Miss Fairfax, and she was so
happy herself, that there was no being severe; and could
he have entered the room, she must have shaken hands
with him as heartily as ever.
She thought so well of the letter, that when Mr. Knightley
came again, she desired him to read it. She was sure
of Mrs. Weston's wishing it to be communicated; especially
to one, who, like Mr. Knightley, had seen so much to
blame in his conduct.
"I shall be very glad to look it over,"
said he,
"but it
seems long. I will take it home with me at night."
But that would not do. Mr. Weston was to call in the
evening, and she must return it by him.
"I would rather be talking to you,"
he replied;
"but
as it seems a matter of justice, it shall be done."
He began-- stopping, however, almost directly to say,
"Had I been offered the sight of one of this gentleman's
letters to his mother-in-law a few months ago, Emma, it
would not have been taken with such indifference."
AusEmma445
He proceeded a little farther, reading to himself; and
then, with a smile, observed,
"Humph!-- a fine complimentary
opening:-- But it is his way. One man's style
must not be the rule of another's. We will not be severe."
"It will be natural for me,"
he added shortly afterwards,
"to speak my opinion aloud as I read. By doing
it, I shall feel that I am near you. It will not be so great
a loss of time: but if you dislike it--"
"Not at all. I should wish it."
Mr. Knightley returned to his reading with greater
alacrity.
"He trifles here,"
said he,
"as to the temptation. He
knows he is wrong, and has nothing rational to urge.--
Bad.-- He ought not to have formed the engagement.--
""His father's disposition:""
-- he is unjust, however, to his
father. Mr. Weston's sanguine temper was a blessing on
all his upright and honourable exertions; but Mr. Weston
earned every present comfort before he endeavoured to
gain it.-- Very true; he did not come till Miss Fairfax
was here."
"And I have not forgotten,"
said Emma,
"how sure
you were that he might have come sooner if he would.
You pass it over very handsomely-- but you were perfectly
right."
"I was not quite impartial in my judgment, Emma:--
but yet, I think-- had you not been in the case-- I should
still have distrusted him."
When he came to Miss Woodhouse, he was obliged to
read the whole of it aloud-- all that related to her, with
a smile; a look; a shake of the head; a word or two of
assent, or disapprobation; or merely of love, as the
subject required; concluding, however, seriously, and,
after steady reflection, thus--
"Very bad-- though it might have been worse.--
Playing a most dangerous game. Too much indebted to
the event for his acquittal.-- No judge of his own manners
by you.-- Always deceived in fact by his own wishes, and
regardless of little besides his own convenience.-- Fancying
AusEmma446
you to have fathomed his secret. Natural enough!-- his
own mind full of intrigue, that he should suspect it in
others.-- Mystery; Finesse-- how they pervert the understanding!
My Emma, does not every thing serve to
prove more and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in
all our dealings with each other?"
Emma agreed to it, and with a blush of sensibility on
Harriet's account, which she could not give any sincere
explanation of.
"You had better go on,"
said she.
He did so, but very soon stopt again to say,
"the piano-forte=!
Ah! That was the act of a very, very young man,
one too young to consider whether the inconvenience of it
might not very much exceed the pleasure. A boyish
scheme, indeed!-- I cannot comprehend a man's wishing
to give a woman any proof of affection which he knows
she would rather dispense with; and he did know that
she would have prevented the instrument's coming if she
could."
After this, he made some progress without any pause.
Frank Churchill's confession of having behaved shamefully
was the first thing to call for more than a word in
passing.
"I perfectly agree with you, sir,"--
was then his remark.
"You did behave very shamefully. You never wrote
a truer line."
And having gone through what immediately
followed of the basis of their disagreement, and his persisting
to act in direct opposition to Jane Fairfax's sense
of right, he made a fuller pause to say,
"This is very bad.
-- He had induced her to place herself, for his sake, in
a situation of extreme difficulty and uneasiness, and it
should have been his first object to prevent her from
suffering unnecessarily.-- She must have had much more
to contend with, in carrying on the correspondence, than
he could. He should have respected even unreasonable
scruples, had there been such; but her's were all reasonable.
We must look to her one fault, and remember that
she had done a wrong thing in consenting to the engagement,
AusEmma447
to bear that she should have been in such a state
of punishment."
Emma knew that he was now getting to the Box-Hill
party, and grew uncomfortable.
Her own behaviour had
been so very improper! She was deeply ashamed, and
a little afraid of his next look. It was all read, however,
steadily, attentively, and without the smallest remark;
and, excepting one momentary glance at her, instantly
withdrawn, in the fear of giving pain-- no remembrance of
Box-Hill seemed to exist.
"There is no saying much for the delicacy of our good
friends, the Eltons,"
was his next observation.--
"His
feelings are natural.-- What! actually to resolve to break
with him entirely!-- She felt the engagement to be a source
of repentance and misery to each-- she dissolved it.--
What a view this gives of her sense of his behaviour!--
Well, he must be a most extraordinary --"
"Nay, nay, read on.-- You will find how very much he
suffers."
"I hope he does,"
replied Mr. Knightley coolly, and
resuming the letter.--
""Smallridge!""--
"What does this
mean? What is all this?"
"She had engaged to go as governess to Mrs. Smallridge's
children-- a dear friend of Mrs. Elton's-- a neighbour
of Maple Grove; and, by the bye, I wonder how
Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment."
"Say nothing, my dearEmma, while you oblige me to
read-- not even of Mrs. Elton. Only one page more.
I shall soon have done. What a letter the man writes!"
"I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards
him."
"Well, there is feeling here.-- He does seem to have
suffered in finding her ill.-- Certainly, I can have no doubt
of his being fond of her.
""Dearer, much dearer than ever.""
I hope he may long continue to feel all the value of such
a reconciliation.-- He is a very liberal thanker, with his
thousands and tens of thousands.--
""Happier than I deserve.""
Come, he knows himself there.
""Miss Woodhouse
AusEmma448
calls me the child of good fortune.""--
Those were Miss Woodhouse's
words, were they?-- And a fine ending--
and there is the letter. The child of good fortune! That
was your name for him, was it?"
"You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as
I am; but still you must, at least I hope you must, think
the better of him for it. I hope it does him some service
with you."
"Yes, certainly it does. He has had great faults, faults
of inconsideration and thoughtlessness; and I am very
much of his opinion in thinking him likely to be happier
than he deserves: but still as he is, beyond a doubt,
really attached to Miss Fairfax, and will soon, it may be
hoped, have the advantage of being constantly with her.
I am very ready to believe his character will improve,
and acquire from her's the steadiness and delicacy of
principle that it wants. And now, let me talk to you of
something else. I have another person's interest at present
so much at heart, that I cannot think any longer about
Frank Churchill. Ever since I left you this morning,
Emma, my mind has been hard at work on one subject."
The subject followed; it was in plain, unaffected,
gentleman-like English such as Mr. Knightley used even
to the woman he was in love with, how to be able to ask
her to marry him, without attacking the happiness of her
father. Emma's answer was ready at the first word.
"While her dear father lived, any change of condition
must be impossible for her. She could never quit him."
Part only of this answer, however, was admitted. The
impossibility of her quitting her father, Mr. Knightley
felt as strongly as herself;
but the inadmissibility of any
other change, he could not agree to. He had been thinking
it over most deeply, most intently; he had at first hoped
to induce Mr. Woodhouse to remove with her to Donwell;
he had wanted to believe it feasible, but his knowledge of
Mr. Woodhouse would not suffer him to deceive himself
long; and now he confessed his persuasion, that such
a transplantation would be a risk of her father's comfort,
AusEmma449
perhaps even of his life, which must not be hazarded.
Mr. Woodhouse taken from Hartfield!-- No, he felt that
it ought not to be attempted. But the plan which had
arisen on the sacrifice of this, he trusted his dearest Emma
would not find in any respect objectionable; it was, that
he should be received at Hartfield; that so long as her
father's happiness-- in other words his life-- required Hartfield
to continue her home, it should be his likewise.
Of their all removing to Donwell, Emma had already
had her own passing thoughts. Like him, she had tried
the scheme and rejected it; but such an alternative as
this had not occurred to her.
She was sensible of all the
affection it evinced. She felt that, in quitting Donwell,
he must be sacrificing a great deal of independence of
hours and habits; that in living constantly with her
father, and in no house of his own, there would be much,
very much, to be borne with.
She promised to think of it,
and advised him to think of it more; but he was fully
convinced, that no reflection could alter his wishes or his
opinion on the subject.
He had given it, he could assure
her, very long and calm consideration; he had been
walking away from William Larkins the whole morning,
to have his thoughts to himself.
"Ah! there is one difficulty unprovided for,"
cried
Emma.
"I am sure William Larkins will not like it. You
must get his consent before you ask mine."
She promised, however, to think of it; and pretty
nearly promised, moreover, to think of it, with the intention
of finding it a very good scheme.
It is remarkable, that Emma, in the many, very many,
points of view in which she was now beginning to consider
Donwell Abbey, was never struck with any sense of injury
to her nephew Henry, whose rights as heir expectant had
formerly been so tenaciously regarded. Think she must
of the possible difference to the poor little boy; and yet
she only gave herself a saucy conscious smile about it, and
found amusement in detecting the real cause of that violent
dislike of Mr. Knightley's marrying Jane Fairfax, or any body
AusEmma450
else, which at the time she had wholly imputed to
the amiable solicitude of the sister and the aunt.
This proposal of his, this plan of marrying and continuing
at Hartfield-- the more she contemplated it, the more
pleasing it became. His evils seemed to lessen, her own
advantages to increase, their mutual good to outweigh
every drawback. Such a companion for herself in the
periods of anxiety and cheerlessness before her!-- Such
a partner in all those duties and cares to which time must
be giving increase of melancholy!
She would have been too happy but for poor Harriet;
but every blessing of her own seemed to involve and
advance the sufferings of her friend, who must now be
even excluded from Hartfield. The delightful family-party
whichEmma was securing for herself, poor Harriet
must, in mere charitable caution, be kept at a distance
from. She would be a loser in every way.
Emma could
not deplore her future absence as any deduction from her
own enjoyment.
In such a party, Harriet would be rather
a dead weight than otherwise; but for the poor girl herself,
it seemed a peculiarly cruel necessity that was to be
placing her in such a state of unmerited punishment.
In time, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten,
that is, supplanted; but this could not be expected to
happen very early. Mr. Knightley himself would be doing
nothing to assist the cure;-- not like Mr. Elton. Mr. Knightley,
always so kind, so feeling, so truly considerate
for every body, would never deserve to be less worshipped
than now; and it really was too much to hope even of
Harriet, that she could be in love with more than three
men in one year.
AusEmma451
It was a very great relief to Emma to find Harriet as
desirous as herself to avoid a meeting.
Their intercourse
was painful enough by letter. How much worse, had they
been obliged to meet!
Harriet expressed herself very much as might be
supposed, without reproaches, or apparent sense of ill
usage; and yet Emma fancied there was a something of
resentment, a something bordering on it in her style,
which increased the desirableness of their being separate.
--
It might be only her own consciousness; but it seemed
as if an angel only could have been quite without resentment
under such a stroke.
She had no difficulty in procuring Isabella's invitation;
and she was fortunate in having a sufficient reason for
asking it, without resorting to invention.-- There was
a tooth amiss. Harriet really wished, and had wished
some time, to consult a dentist. Mrs. John Knightley
was delighted to be of use; any thing of ill-health was
a recommendation to her-- and though not so fond of
a dentist as of a Mr. Wingfield, she was quite eager to have
Harriet under her care.-- When it was thus settled on her
sister's side, Emma proposed it to her friend, and found
her very persuadable.-- Harriet was to go; she was invited
for at least a fortnight; she was to be conveyed in
Mr. Woodhouse's carriage.-- It was all arranged, it was
all completed, and Harriet was safe in Brunswick Square.
Now Emma could, indeed, enjoy Mr. Knightley's visits;
now she could talk, and she could listen with true happiness,
unchecked by that sense of injustice, of guilt, of
something most painful, which had haunted her when
remembering how disappointed a heart was near her, how
much might at that moment, and at a little distance, be
enduring by the feelings which she had led astray herself.
AusEmma452
The difference of Harriet at Mrs. Goddard's, or in
London, made perhaps an unreasonable difference in
Emma's sensations; but she could not think of her in
London without objects of curiosity and employment,
which must be averting the past, and carrying her out of
herself.
She would not allow any other anxiety to succeed
directly to the place in her mind whichHarriet had occupied.
There was a communication before her, one which
she only could be competent to make-- the confession of
her engagement to her father; but she would have nothing
to do with it at present.-- She had resolved to defer the
disclosure till Mrs. Weston were safe and well.
No
additional agitation should be thrown at this period among
those she loved-- and the evil should not act on herself by
anticipation before the appointed time.-- A fortnight, at
least, of leisure and peace of mind, to crown every warmer,
but more agitating, delight, should be her's.
She soon resolved, equally as a duty and a pleasure, to
employ half an hour of this holiday of spirits in calling on
Miss Fairfax.--
She ought to go-- and she was longing to
see her;
the resemblance of their present situations increasing
every other motive of good will.
It would be
a secret satisfaction; but the consciousness of a similarity
of prospect would certainly add to the interest with which
she should attend to any thing Jane might communicate.
She went-- she had driven once unsuccessfully to the
door, but had not been into the house since the morning
after Box-Hill, when poor Jane had been in such distress
as had filled her with compassion, though all the worst of
her sufferings had been unsuspected.-- The fear of being
still unwelcome, determined her, though assured of their
being at home, to wait in the passage, and send up her
name.-- She heard Patty announcing it; but no such
bustle succeeded as poor Miss Bates had before made so
happily intelligible.--
No; she heard nothing but the
instant reply of,
"Beg her to walk up;"
-- and a moment
afterwards she was met on the stairs by Jane herself,
AusEmma453
coming eagerly forward, as if no other reception of her
were felt sufficient.-- Emma had never seen her look so
well, so lovely, so engaging.
There was consciousness,
animation, and warmth; there was every thing which her
countenance or manner could ever have wanted.--
She
came forward with an offered hand; and said, in a low,
but very feeling tone,
"This is most kind, indeed!-- Miss Woodhouse, it is
impossible for me to express -- I hope you will believe
-- Excuse me for being so entirely without words."
Emma was gratified, and would soon have shown
no want of words, if the sound of Mrs. Elton's voice
from the sitting-room had not checked her, and made
it expedient to compress all her friendly and all her
congratulatory sensations into a very, very earnest shake
of the hand.
Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Elton were together. Miss Bates
was out, which accounted for the previous tranquillity.
Emma could have wished Mrs. Elton elsewhere; but she
was in a humour to have patience with every body; and
as Mrs. Elton met her with unusual graciousness, she
hoped the rencontre would do them no harm.
She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs. Elton's
thoughts, and understand why she was, like herself, in
happy spirits; it was being in Miss Fairfax's confidence,
and fancying herself acquainted with what was still
a secret to other people. Emma saw symptoms of it
immediately in the expression of her face; and while
paying her own compliments to Mrs. Bates, and appearing
to attend to the good old lady's replies, she saw her with
a sort of anxious parade of mystery fold up a letter which
she had apparently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax,
and return it into the purple and gold ridicule by her side,
saying, with significant nods,
"We can finish this some other time, you know. You
and I shall not want opportunities. And, in fact, you
have heard all the essential already. I only wanted to
prove to you that Mrs. S. admits our apology, and is not
AusEmma454
offended. You see how delightfully she writes. Oh! she
is a sweet creature! You would have doated on her, had
you gone.-- But not a word more. Let us be discreet--
quite on our good behaviour.-- Hush!-- You remember
those lines-- I forget the poem at this moment:
""For when a lady's in the case,
""You know all other things give place.""
Now I say, my dear, in our case, for lady, read -- mum!
a word to the wise.-- I am in a fine flow of spirits, an't I?
But I want to set your heart at ease as to Mrs. S.. -- My
representation, you see, has quite appeased her."
And again, on Emma's merely turning her head to look
at Mrs. Bates's knitting, she added, in a half whisper,
"I mentioned no names, you will observe.-- Oh! no;
cautious as a minister of state. I managed it extremely
well."
Emma could not doubt.
It was a palpable display,
repeated on every possible occasion. When they had all
talked a little while in harmony of the weather and
Mrs. Weston, she found herself abruptly addressed with,
"Do not you think, Miss Woodhouse, our saucy little
friend here is charmingly recovered?-- Do not you think
her cure does Perry the highest credit?--
(here was
a side-glance of great meaning at Jane.)
Upon my word,
Perry has restored her in a wonderful short time!-- Oh!
if you had seen her, as I did, when she was at the worst!"
-- And when Mrs. Bates was saying something to Emma,
whispered farther,
"We do not say a word of any assistance
thatPerry might have; not a word of a certain young
physician from Windsor.-- Oh! no; Perry shall have all
the credit."
"I have scarce had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Woodhouse,"
she shortly afterwards began,
"since the
party to Box-Hill. Very pleasant party. But yet I think
there was something wanting. Things did not seem-- that
is, there seemed a little cloud upon the spirits of some.-- So
it appeared to me at least, but I might be mistaken. However,
I think it answered so far as to tempt one to go again.
AusEmma455
what say you both to our collecting the same party, and
exploring to Box-Hill again, while the fine weather lasts?
-- It must be the same party, you know, quite the same
party, not one exception."
Soon after this Miss Bates came in, and Emma could
not help being diverted by the perplexity of her first
answer to herself, resulting, she supposed, from doubt of
what might be said, and impatience to say every thing.
"Thank you, dearMiss Woodhouse, you are all kindness.--
It is impossible to say-- Yes, indeed, I quite understand--
dearest Jane's prospects-- that is, I do not mean.--
But she is charmingly recovered.-- How is Mr. Woodhouse?--
I am so glad.-- Quite out of my power.-- Such
a happy little circle as you find us here.-- Yes, indeed.--
Charming young man!-- that is-- so very friendly; I mean
good Mr. Perry!-- such attention to Jane!"--
And from
her great, her more than commonly thankful delight
towards Mrs. Elton for being there, Emma guessed that
there had been a little show of resentment towards Jane,
from the vicarage quarter, which was now graciously overcome.--
After a few whispers, indeed, which placed it
beyond a guess, Mrs. Elton, speaking louder, said,
"Yes, here I am, my good friend; and here I have
been so long, that anywhere else I should think it necessary
to apologize: but the truth is, that I am waiting for my
lord and master. He promised to join me here, and pay
his respects to you."
"What! are we to have the pleasure of a call from
Mr. Elton?-- That will be a favour indeed! for I know
gentlemen do not like morning visits, and Mr. Elton's
time is so engaged."
"Upon my word it is, Miss Bates.-- He really is engaged
from morning to night.-- There is no end of people's
coming to him, on some pretence or other.-- The magistrates,
and overseers, and churchwardens, are always
wanting his opinion. They seem not able to do any thing
without him.-- ""Upon my word, Mr. E., I often say,rather
you than I.-- I do not know what would become of my
AusEmma456
crayons and my instrument, if I had half so many
applicants.""-- Bad enough as it is, for I absolutely neglect
them both to an unpardonable degree.-- I believe I have
not played a bar this fortnight.-- However, he is coming,
I assure you: yes, indeed, on purpose to wait on you all."
-- And putting up her hand to screen her words from
Emma--
"A congratulatory visit, you know.-- Oh! yes,
quite indispensable."
Miss Bates looked about her, so happily!--
"He promised to come to me as soon as he could disengage
himself from Knightley; but he and Knightley
are shut up together in deep consultation.-- Mr. E. is
Knightley's right hand."
Emma would not have smiled for the world, and only
said,
"Is Mr. Elton gone on foot to Donwell?-- He will
have a hot walk."
"Oh! no, it is a meeting at the Crown, a regular
meeting. Weston and Cole will be there too; but one is
apt to speak only of those who lead.-- I fancy Mr. E. and
Knightley have every thing their own way."
"Have not you mistaken the day?"
said Emma,
"I am almost certain that the meeting at the Crown is not
till to-morrow.-- Mr. Knightley was at Hartfield yesterday,
and spoke of it as for Saturday."
"Oh! no; the meeting is certainly to-day,"
was the
abrupt answer, which denoted the impossibility of any
blunder on Mrs. Elton's side.--
"I do believe,"
she continued,
"this is the most troublesome parish that ever
was. We never heard of such things at Maple Grove."
"Your parish there was small,"
said Jane.
"Upon my word, my dear, I do not know, for I never
heard the subject talked of."
"But it is proved by the smallness of the school, which
I have heard you speak of, as under the patronage of your
sister and Mrs. Bragge; the only school, and not more
than five-and-twenty children."
"Ah! you clever creature, that's very true. What
a thinking brain you have! I say, Jane, what a perfect
AusEmma457
character you and I should make, if we could be shaken
together. My liveliness and your solidity would produce
perfection.-- Not that I presume to insinuate, however,
that some people may not think you perfection already.--
But hush!-- not a word, if you please."
It seemed an unnecessary caution; Jane was wanting
to give her words, not to Mrs. Elton, but to Miss Woodhouse,
as the latter plainly saw.
The wish of distinguishing
her, as far as civility permitted, was very evident, though
it could not often proceed beyond a look.
Mr. Elton made his appearance. His lady greeted him
with some of her sparkling vivacity.
"Very pretty, sir, upon my word; to send me on here,
to be an encumbrance to my friends, so long before you
vouchsafe to come!-- But you knew what a dutiful
creature you had to deal with. You knew I should not
stir till my lord and master appeared.-- Here have I been
sitting this hour, giving these young ladies a sample of
true conjugal obedience-- for who can say, you know, how
soon it may be wanted?"
Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seemed
thrown away. His civilities to the other ladies must be
paid; but his subsequent object was to lament over himself
for the heat he was suffering, and the walk he had had
for nothing.
"When I got to Donwell,"
said he,
"Knightley could
not be found. Very odd! very unaccountable! after the
note I sent him this morning, and the message he returned,
that he should certainly be at home till one."
"Donwell!"
cried his wife--
"My dearMr. E., you
have not been to Donwell!-- You mean the Crown; you
come from the meeting at the Crown."
"No, no, that's to-morrow; and I particularly wanted
to see Knightley to-day on that very account.-- Such
a dreadful broiling morning!-- I went over the fields too
--
(speaking in a tone of great ill usage,)
which made it so
much the worse. And then not to find him at home!
I assure you I am not at all pleased. And no apology left,
AusEmma458
no message for me. The housekeeper declared she knew
nothing of my being expected.-- Very extraordinary!--
And nobody knew at all which way he was gone. Perhaps
to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, perhaps into his
woods.-- Miss Woodhouse, this is not like our friend
Knightley.-- Can you explain it?"
Emma amused herself by protesting that it was very
extraordinary indeed, and that she had not a syllable to
say for him.
"I cannot imagine,"
cried Mrs. Elton, (feeling the
indignity as a wife ought to do,)
"I cannot imagine how
he could do such a thing by you, of all people in the world!
The very last person whom one should expect to be forgotten!--
My dearMr. E., he must have left a message for
you, I am sure he must.-- Not even Knightley could be
so very eccentric;-- and his servants forgot it. Depend
upon it, that was the case: and very likely to happen
with the Donwell servants, who are all, I have often
observed, extremely awkward and remiss.-- I am sure
I would not have such a creature as his Harry stand at
our sideboard for any consideration. And as for Mrs. Hodges,
Wright holds her very cheap indeed.-- She
promised Wright a receipt, and never sent it."
"I met William Larkins,"
continued Mr. Elton,
"as
I got near the house, and he told me I should not find his
master at home, but I did not believe him.-- William
seemed rather out of humour.
He did not know what
was come to his master lately,
he said,
but he could
hardly ever get the speech of him.
I have nothing to do
with William's wants, but it really is of very great importance
that I should see Knightley to day; and it
becomes a matter, therefore, of very serious inconvenience
that I should have had this hot walk to no purpose."
Emma felt that she could not do better than go home
directly.
In all probability she was at this very time
waited for there; and Mr. Knightley might be preserved
from sinking deeper in aggression towards Mr. Elton, if
not towards William Larkins.
AusEmma459
She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax
determined to attend her out of the room, to go with her
even down stairs;
it gave her an opportunity which she
immediately made use of, to say,
"It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility.
Had you not been surrounded by other friends,
I might have been tempted to introduce a subject, to ask
questions, to speak more openly than might have been
strictly correct.-- I feel that I should certainly have been
impertinent."
"Oh!"
cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation
whichEmma thought
infinitely more becoming to her than
all the elegance of all her usual composure--
"there would
have been no danger. The danger would have been of my
wearying you. You could not have gratified me more
than by expressing an interest --. Indeed, Miss Woodhouse,
(speaking more collectedly,)
with the consciousness
which I have of misconduct, very great misconduct, it is
particularly consoling to me to know that those of my
friends, whose good opinion is most worth preserving, are
not disgusted to such a degree as to-- I have not time for
half that I could wish to say. I long to make apologies,
excuses, to urge something for myself. I feel it so very
due. But, unfortunately-- in short, if your compassion
does not stand my friend --"
"Oh! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are,"
cried
Emma, warmly, and taking her hand.
"You owe me no
apologies; and every body to whom you might be supposed
to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted even --"
"You are very kind, but I know what my manners
were to you. -- So cold and artificial!-- I had always a part
to act.-- It was a life of deceit! -- I know that I must have
disgusted you."
"Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should
be on my side. Let us forgive each other at once. We
must do whatever is to be done quickest, and I think our
feelings will lose no time there. I hope you have pleasant
accounts from Windsor?"
AusEmma460
"Very."
"And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to
lose you-- just as I begin to know you."
"Oh! as to all that, of course nothing can be thought
of yet. I am here till claimed by Colonel and Mrs. Campbell."
"Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps,"
replied
Emma, smiling--
"but, excuse me, it must be thought of."
The smile was returned as Jane answered,
"You are very right; it has been thought of. And
I will own to you, (I am sure it will be safe), that so far
as our living with Mr. Churchill at Enscombe, it is settled.
There must be three months, at least, of deep mourning;
but when they are over, I imagine there will be nothing
more to wait for."
"Thank you, thank you.-- This is just what I wanted
to be assured of.-- Oh! if you knew how much I love
every thing that is decided and open!-- Good bye, good bye."
AusEmma461
Mrs. Weston's friends were all made happy by her
safety; and if the satisfaction of her well-doing could be
increased to Emma, it was by knowing her to be the
mother of a little girl. She had been decided in wishing
for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge that it
was with any view of making a match for her, hereafter,
with either of Isabella's sons; but she was convinced
that a daughter would suit both father and mother best.
It would be a great comfort to Mr. Weston as he grew older
-- and even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years
hence-- to have his fireside enlivened by the sports and the
nonsense, the freaks and the fancies of a child never
banished from home; and Mrs. Weston -- no one could
doubt that a daughter would be most to her; and it
would be quite a pity that any one who so well knew how
to teach, should not have their powers in exercise again.
"She has had the advantage, you know, of practising
on me,"
she continued--
"like La Baronne d'Almane on
La Comtesse d'Ostalis', in Madame de Genlis' Adelaide and Theodore,
and we shall now see her own little Adelaide
educated on a more perfect plan."
"That is,"
replied Mr. Knightley,
"she will indulge
her even more than she did you, and believe that she does
not indulge her at all. It will be the only difference."
"Poor child!"
cried Emma;
"at that rate, what will
become of her?"
"Nothing very bad.-- The fate of thousands. She will
be disagreeable in infancy, and correct herself as she grows
older. I am losing all my bitterness against spoilt children,
my dearest Emma. I, who am owing all my happiness
to you, would not it be horrible ingratitude in me to be
severe on them?"
AusEmma462
Emma laughed, and replied:
"But I had the assistance
of all your endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other
people. I doubt whether my own sense would have
corrected me without it."
"Do you?-- I have no doubt. Nature gave you understanding:--
Miss Taylor gave you principles. You must
have done well. My interference was quite as likely to do
harm as good. It was very natural for you to say, what
right has he to lecture me?-- and I am afraid very natural
for you to feel that it was done in a disagreeable manner.
I do not believe I did you any good. The good was all to
myself, by making you an object of the tenderest affection
to me. I could not think about you so much without
doating on you, faults and all; and by dint of fancying
so many errors, have been in love with you ever since you
were thirteen at least."
"I am sure you were of use to me,"
cried Emma.
"I was very often influenced rightly by you-- oftener than
I would own at the time. I am very sure you did me good.
And if poor little Anna Weston is to be spoiled, it will be
the greatest humanity in you to do as much for her as you
have done for me, except falling in love with her when
she is thirteen."
"How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me,
with one of your saucy looks--
""Mr. Knightley, I am going
to do so and so; papa says I may, or, I have Miss Taylor's
leave""--
something which, you knew, I did not approve.
In such cases my interference was giving you two bad
feelings instead of one."
"What an amiable creature I was!-- No wonder you
should hold my speeches in such affectionate remembrance."
""Mr. Knightley.""--
You always called me,
""Mr. Knightley;""
and, from habit, it has not so very formal a sound.
-- And yet it is formal. I want you to call me something
else, but I do not know what."
"I remember once calling you ""George,"" in one of my
amiable fits, about ten years ago. I did it because
AusEmma463
I thought it would offend you; but, as you made no
objection, I never did it again."
"And cannot you call me
""George""
now?"
"Impossible!-- I never can call you any thing but
""Mr. Knightley."" I will not promise even to equal the
elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling you Mr. K.--
But I will promise,"
she added presently, laughing and
blushing--
"I will promise to call you once by your
Christian name. I do not say when, but perhaps you may
guess where;-- in the building in which N. takes M. for
better, for worse."
Emma grieved that
she could not be more openly just
to one important service which his better sense would
have rendered her, to the advice which would have saved
her from the worst of all her womanly follies-- her wilful
intimacy with Harriet Smith; but it was too tender
a subject.-- She could not enter on it.-- Harriet was very
seldom mentioned between them. This, on his side, might
merely proceed from her not being thought of; but Emma
was rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy, and a suspicion,
from some appearances, that their friendship were
declining. She was aware herself, that, parting under any
other circumstances, they certainly should have corresponded
more, and that her intelligence would not have
rested, as it now almost wholly did, on Isabella's letters.
He might observe that it was so. The pain of being
obliged to practise concealment towards him, was very
little inferior to the pain of having made Harriet unhappy.
Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as
could be expected; on her first arrival she had thought
her out of spirits, which appeared perfectly natural, as
there was a dentist to be consulted; but, since that
business had been over, she did not appear to find Harriet
different from what she had known her before.-- Isabella,
to be sure, was no very quick observer; yet if Harriet had
not been equal to playing with the children, it would not
have escaped her.
Emma's comforts and hopes were most
agreeably carried on, by Harriet's being to stay longer;
AusEmma464
her fortnight was likely to be a month at least. Mr. and
Mrs. John Knightley were to come down in August, and
she was invited to remain till they could bring her back.
"John does not even mention your friend,"
said
Mr. Knightley.
"Here is his answer, if you like to see it."
It was the answer to the communication of his intended
marriage. Emma accepted it with a very eager hand, with
an impatience all alive to know what he would say about it,
and not at all checked by hearing that her friend was unmentioned.
317,464,10 !
"John enters like a brother into my happiness,"
continued
Mr. Knightley,
"but he is no complimenter; and
though I well know him to have, likewise, a most brotherly
affection for you, he is so far from making flourishes, that
any other young woman might think him rather cool in her
praise. But I am not afraid of your seeing what he
writes."
"He writes like a sensible man,"
replied Emma, when
she had read the letter.
"I honour his sincerity. It is
very plain that he considers the good fortune of the
engagement as all on my side, but that he is not without
hope of my growing, in time, as worthy of your affection,
as you think me already. Had he said any thing to bear
a different construction, I should not have believed him."
"My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means
-- "
"He and I should differ very little in our estimation of
the two,"
-- interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile
--
"much less, perhaps, than he is aware of, if we could
enter without ceremony or reserve on the subject."
"Emma, my dearEmma --"
"Oh!"
she cried with more thorough gaiety,
"if you
fancy your brother does not do me justice, only wait till
my dear father is in the secret, and hear his opinion.
Depend upon it, he will be much farther from doing you
justice. He will think all the happiness, all the advantage,
on your side of the question; all the merit on mine.
I wish I may not sink into ""poor Emma"" with him at once.
AusEmma465
-- His tender compassion towards oppressed worth can go
no farther."
"Ah!"
he cried,
"I wish your father might be half as
easily convinced as John will be, of our having every right
that equal worth can give, to be happy together. I am
amused by one part of John's letter-- did you notice it?--
where he says, that my information did not take him
wholly by surprise, that he was rather in expectation of
hearing something of the kind."
"If I understand your brother, he only means so far
as your having some thoughts of marrying. He had no
idea of me. He seems perfectly unprepared for that."
"Yes, yes-- but I am amused that he should have seen
so far into my feelings. What has he been judging by?--
I am not conscious of any difference in my spirits or conversation
that could prepare him at this time for my
marrying any more than at another.-- But it was so,
I suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I was
staying with them the other day. I believe I did not play
with the children quite so much as usual. I remember one
evening the poor boys saying,
""Uncle seems always tired
now."" "
The time was coming when the news must be spread
farther, and other persons' reception of it tried. As soon
as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently recovered to admit
Mr. Woodhouse's visits, Emma having it in view that
her gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause,
resolved first to announce it at home, and then at Randall's.
--
But how to break it to her father at last!--
She had
bound herself to do it, in such an hour of Mr. Knightley's
absence, or when it came to the point her heart would
have failed her, and she must have put it off; but
Mr. Knightley was to come at such a time, and follow up
the beginning she was to make.-- She was forced to speak,
and to speak cheerfully too.
She must not make it
a more decided subject of misery to him, by a melancholy
tone herself. She must not appear to think it a misfortune.
--
With all the spirits she could command, she prepared
AusEmma466
him first for something strange, and then, in few words,
said, that
if his consent and approbation could be obtained
-- which, she trusted, would be attended with no difficulty,
since it was a plan to promote the happiness of all-- she
and Mr. Knightley meant to marry; by which means
Hartfield would receive the constant addition of that
person's company whom she knew he loved, next to his
daughters and Mrs. Weston, best in the world.
Poor man!-- it was at first a considerable shock to him,
and he tried earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was
reminded, more than once, of her having always said she
would never marry, and assured that it would be a great
deal better for her to remain single; and told of poor
Isabella, and poor Miss Taylor.-- But it would not do.
Emma hung about him affectionately, and smiled, and
said
it must be so; and that he must not class her with
Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose marriages taking them
from Hartfield, had, indeed, made a melancholy change:
but she was not going from Hartfield; she should
be always there; she was introducing no change in
their numbers or their comforts but for the better;
and she was very sure that he would be a great deal
the happier for having Mr. Knightley always at hand,
when he were once got used to the idea.-- Did not he
love Mr. Knightley very much?-- He would not deny that
he did, she was sure.-- Whom did he ever want to consult
on business but Mr. Knightley?-- Who was so useful to
him, who so ready to write his letters, who so glad to assist
him?-- Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached to him?
-- Would not he like to have him always on the spot?--
Yes. That was all very true. Mr. Knightley could not be
there too often; he should be glad to see him every day;--
but they did see him every day as it was.-- Why could not
they go on as they had done?
Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled; but the
worst was overcome, the idea was given; time and
continual repetition must do the rest.-- To Emma's entreaties
and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley's, whose
AusEmma467
fond praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome;
and he was soon used to be talked to by each, on every
fair occasion.-- They had all the assistance whichIsabella
could give, by letters of the strongest approbation; and
Mrs. Weston was ready, on the first meeting, to consider
the subject in the most serviceable light-- first, as a settled,
and secondly, as a good one-- well aware of the nearly
equal importance of the two recommendations to Mr. Woodhouse's
mind.-- It was agreed upon, as what was to
be; and every body by whom he was used to be guided
assuring him that it would be for his happiness; and
having some feelings himself which almost admitted it, he
began to think that
some time or other-- in another year
or two, perhaps-- it might not be so very bad if the
marriage did take place.
Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in
all that she said to him in favour of the event.-- She had
been extremely surprised, never more so, than when
Emma first opened the affair to her; but she saw in it
only increase of happiness to all, and had no scruple in
urging him to the utmost.--
She had such a regard for
Mr. Knightley, as to think he deserved even her dearest
Emma; and it was in every respect so proper, suitable,
and unexceptionable a connexion, and in one respect, one
point of the highest importance, so peculiarly eligible, so
singularly fortunate, that now it seemed as if Emma could
not safely have attached herself to any other creature, and
that she had herself been the stupidest of beings in not
having thought of it, and wished it long ago.-- How very
few of those men in a rank of life to address Emma would
have renounced their own home for Hartfield! And who
but Mr. Knightley could know and bear with Mr. Woodhouse,
so as to make such an arrangement desirable!
The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. Woodhouse had
been always felt in her husband's plans and her own, for
a marriage between Frank and Emma. How to settle the
claims of Enscombe and Hartfield had been a continual
impediment-- less acknowledged by Mr. Weston than by
AusEmma468
herself-- but even he had never been able to finish the
subject better than by saying--
"Those matters will take
care of themselves; the young people will find a way."--
But here there was nothing to be shifted off in a wild
speculation on the future. It was all right, all open, all
equal. No sacrifice on any side worth the name. It was
a union of the highest promise of felicity in itself, and
without one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay it.
Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in
such reflections as these, was one of the happiest women in
the world. If any thing could increase her delight, it was
perceiving that the baby would soon have outgrown its
first set of caps.
The news was universally a surprise wherever it spread;
and Mr. Weston had his five minutes share of it; but five
minutes were enough to familiarize the idea to his quickness
of mind.-- He saw the advantages of the match, and
rejoiced in them with all the constancy of his wife; but
the wonder of it was very soon nothing; and by the end
of an hour he was not far from believing that he had
always foreseen it.
"It is to be a secret, I conclude,"
said he.
"These
matters are always a secret, till it is found out that every body
knows them. Only let me be told when I may
speak out.-- I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion."
He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied
himself on that point. He told her the news.
Was not
she like a daughter, his eldest daughter?-- he must tell
her;
and Miss Bates being present, it passed, of course, to
Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately afterwards.
It was no more than the principals were prepared
for; they had calculated from the time of its being known
at Randall's, how soon it would be over Highbury; and
were thinking of themselves, as the evening wonder in
many a family circle, with great sagacity.
In general, it was a very well approved match. Some
might think him, and others might think her, the most
in luck. One set might recommend their all removing to
AusEmma469
Donwell, and leaving Hartfield for the John Knightleys;
and another might predict disagreements among their
servants; but yet, upon the whole, there was no serious
objection raised, except in one habitation, the vicarage.
-- There, the surprise was not softened by any satisfaction.
Mr. Elton cared little about it, compared with his wife;
he only hoped
"the young lady's pride would now be
contented;"
and supposed
"she had always meant to
catch Knightley if she could;"
and, on the point of living
at Hartfield, could daringly exclaim,
"Rather he than I!"
-- But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed.--
"Poor Knightley! poor fellow!-- sad business for him.--"
She was extremely concerned; for, though very eccentric,
he had a thousand good qualities.-- How could he be so
taken in?-- Did not think him at all in love-- not in the
least.-- Poor Knightley!-- There would be an end of all
pleasant intercourse with him.-- How happy he had been
to come and dine with them whenever they asked him!
But that would be all over now.-- Poor fellow!-- No more
exploring parties to Donwell made for her. Oh! no;
there would be a Mrs. Knightley to throw cold water on
every thing.-- Extremely disagreeable! But she was not
at all sorry that she had abused the housekeeper the other
day.-- Shocking plan, living together. It would never do.
She knew a family near Maple Grove who had tried it, and
been obliged to separate before the end of the first quarter.
AusEmma470
Time passed on. A few more to-morrows, and the
party from London would be arriving. It was an alarming
change; and Emma was thinking of it one morning as
what must bring a great deal to agitate and grieve her,
when Mr. Knightley came in, and distressing thoughts
were put by. After the first chat of pleasure he was silent;
and then, in a graver tone, began with,
"I have something to tell you, Emma; some news."
"Good or bad?"
said she, quickly, looking up in his
face.
"I do not know which it ought to be called."
"Oh! good I am sure.-- I see it in your countenance.
You are trying not to smile."
"I am afraid,"
said he, composing his features,
"I am
very much afraid, my dearEmma, that you will not smile
when you hear it."
"Indeed! but why so?-- I can hardly imagine that
any thing which pleases or amuses you, should not please
and amuse me too."
"There is one subject,"
he replied,
"I hope but one,
on which we do not think alike."
He paused a moment,
again smiling, with his eyes fixed on her face.
"Does
nothing occur to you?-- Do not you recollect?-- Harriet Smith."
Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of
something, though she knew not what.
"Have you heard from her yourself this morning?"
cried he.
"You have, I believe, and know the whole."
"No, I have not; I know nothing; pray tell me."
"You are prepared for the worst, I see-- and very bad
it is. Harriet Smith marries Robert Martin."
Emma gave a start, which did not seem like being
AusEmma471
prepared-- and her eyes, in eager gaze, said,
"No, this is
impossible!"
but her lips were closed.
"It is so, indeed,"
continued Mr. Knightley;
"I have
it from Robert Martin himself. He left me not half an
hour ago."
She was still looking at him with the most speaking
amazement.
"You like it, my Emma, as little as I feared.-- I wish
our opinions were the same. But in time they will. Time,
you may be very sure, will make one or the other of us
think differently; and, in the meanwhile, we need not talk
much on the subject."
"You mistake me, you quite mistake me,"
she replied,
exerting herself.
"It is not that such a circumstance
would now make me unhappy, but I cannot believe it.
It seems an impossibility!-- You cannot mean to say, that
Harriet Smith has accepted Robert Martin. You cannot
mean that he has even proposed to her again-- yet. You
only mean, that he intends it."
"I mean that he has done it,"
answered Mr. Knightley,
with smiling but determined decision,
"and been accepted."
318,471,22 !
"Good God!"
she cried.--
"Well!"--
Then having
recourse to her workbasket, in excuse for leaning down
her face, and concealing all the exquisite feelings of delight
and entertainment which she knew she must be expressing,
she added,
"Well, now tell me every thing; make this
intelligible to me. How, where, when?-- Let me know it
all. I never was more surprised-- but it does not make
me unhappy, I assure you.-- How-- how has it been possible?"
318,471,31 !
"It is a very simple story. He went to town on
business three days ago, and I got him to take charge of
some papers which I was wanting to send to John.-- He
delivered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was
asked by him to join their party the same evening to
Astley's. They were going to take the two eldest boys
to Astley's. The party was to be our brother and sister,
AusEmma472
Henry, John-- and Miss Smith. My friend Robert could
not resist. They called for him in their way; were all
extremely amused; and my brother asked him to dine
with them the next day-- which he did-- and in the course
of that visit (as I understand) he found an opportunity of
speaking to Harriet; and certainly did not speak in vain.
--She made him, by her acceptance, as happy even as he
is deserving. He came down by yesterday's coach, and
was with me this morning immediately after breakfast,
to report his proceedings, first on my affairs, and then on
his own. This is all that I can relate of the how, where,
and when. Your friend Harriet will make a much longer
history when you see her.-- She will give you all the
minute particulars, which only woman's language can
make interesting.-- In our communications we deal only
in the great.-- However, I must say that Robert Martin's
heart seemed for him, and to me, very overflowing; and
that he did mention, without its being much to the purpose,
that on quitting their box at Astley's, my brother
took charge of Mrs. John Knightley and little John, and
he followed with Miss Smith and Henry; and that at one
time they were in such a crowd, as to make Miss Smith
rather uneasy."
He stopped.-- Emma dared not attempt any immediate
reply.
To speak, she was sure would be to betray a most
unreasonable degree of happiness. She must wait a
moment, or he would think her mad.
Her silence disturbed
him; and after observing her a little while, he
added,
"Emma, my love, you said that this circumstance
would not now make you unhappy; but I am afraid it
gives you more pain than you expected. His situation is
an evil-- but you must consider it as what satisfies your
friend; and I will answer for your thinking better and
better of him as you know him more. His good sense and
good principles would delight you.-- As far as the man is
concerned, you could not wish your friend in better hands.
His rank in society I would alter if I could; which is saying
AusEmma473
a great deal I assure you, Emma.-- You laugh at me about
William Larkins; but I could quite as ill spare Robert Martin."
He wanted her to look up and smile; and having now
brought herself not to smile too broadly-- she did-- cheerfully
answering,
"You need not be at any pains to reconcile me to the
match. I think Harriet is doing extremely well. Her
connexions may be worse than his. In respectability of
character, there can be no doubt that they are. I have
been silent from surprise merely, excessive surprise. You
cannot imagine how suddenly it has come on me! how
peculiarly unprepared I was!-- for I had reason to believe
her very lately more determined against him, much more,
than she was before."
"You ought to know your friend best,"
replied
Mr. Knightley;
"but I should say she was a good-tempered,
soft-hearted girl, not likely to be very, very determined
against any young man who told her he loved her."
Emma could not help laughing as she answered,
"Upon
my word, I believe you know her quite as well as I do.--
But, Mr. Knightley, are you perfectly sure that she has
absolutely and downright accepted him.-- I could suppose
she might in time-- but can she already?-- Did not you
misunderstand him?-- You were both talking of other
things; of business, shows of cattle, or new drills-- and
might not you, in the confusion of so many subjects,
mistake him?-- It was not Harriet's hand that he was
certain of-- it was the dimensions of some famous ox."
The contrast between the countenance and air of
Mr. Knightley and Robert Martin was, at this moment,
so strong to Emma's feelings, and so strong was the
recollection of all that had so recently passed on Harriet's
side, so fresh the sound of those words, spoken with such
emphasis,
"No, I hope I know better than to think of
Robert Martin,"
that she was really expecting the intelligence
to prove, in some measure, premature.
It could
not be otherwise.
AusEmma474
"Do you dare say this?"
cried Mr. Knightley.
"Do
you dare to suppose me so great a blockhead, as not to
know what a man is talking of?-- What do you deserve?"
"Oh! I always deserve the best treatment, because
I never put up with any other; and, therefore, you must
give me a plain, direct answer. Are you quite sure that
you understand the terms on whichMr. Martin and
Harriet now are?"
"I am quite sure,"
he replied, speaking very distinctly,
"that he told me she had accepted him; and that there
was no obscurity, nothing doubtful, in the words he used;
and I think I can give you a proof that it must be so.
He asked my opinion as to
what he was now to do. He
knew of no one but Mrs. Goddard to whom he could apply
for information of her relations or friends. Could I mention
any thing more fit to be done, than to go to Mrs. Goddard?
I assured him that I could not.
Then,
he said,
he
would endeavour to see her in the course of this day."
"I am perfectly satisfied,"
replied Emma, with the
brightest smiles,
"and most sincerely wish them happy."
"You are materially changed since we talked on this
subject before."
"I hope so-- for at that time I was a fool."
"And I am changed also; for I am now very willing
to grant you all Harriet's good qualities. I have taken
some pains for your sake, and for Robert Martin's sake,
(whom I have always had reason to believe as much in love
with her as ever,) to get acquainted with her. I have often
talked to her a good deal. You must have seen that I did.
Sometimes, indeed, I have thought you were half suspecting
me of pleading poor Martin's cause, which was
never the case: but, from all my observations, I am
convinced of her being an artless, amiable girl, with very
good notions, very seriously good principles, and placing
her happiness in the affections and utility of domestic life.
-- Much of this, I have no doubt, she may thank you for."
"Me!"
cried Emma, shaking her head.--
"Ah! poor
Harriet!"
AusEmma475
She checked herself, however, and submitted quietly to
a little more praise than she deserved.
Their conversation was soon afterwards closed by the
entrance of her father.
She was not sorry. She wanted
to be alone.
Her mind was in a state of flutter and
wonder, which made it impossible for her to be collected.
She was in dancing, singing, exclaiming spirits; and till
she had moved about, and talked to herself, and laughed
and reflected, she could be fit for nothing rational.
Her father's business was to announce James's being
gone out to put the horses to, preparatory to their now
daily drive to Randall's; and she had, therefore, an
immediate excuse for disappearing.
The joy, the gratitude, the exquisite delight of her sensations
may be imagined. The sole grievance and alloy
thus removed in the prospect of Harriet's welfare, she was
really in danger of becoming too happy for security.--
What had she to wish for? Nothing, but to grow more
worthy of him, whose intentions and judgment had been
ever so superior to her own. Nothing, but that the lessons
of her past folly might teach her humility and circumspection
in future.
Serious she was, very serious in her thankfulness, and
in her resolutions; and yet there was no preventing
a laugh, sometimes in the very midst of them.
She must
laugh at such a close! Such an end of the doleful disappointment
of five weeks back! Such a heart-- such
a Harriet!
Now there would be pleasure in her returning.-- Every thing
would be a pleasure. It would be a great pleasure
to know Robert Martin.
High in the rank of her most serious and heartfelt
felicities, was the reflection that all necessity of concealment
from Mr. Knightley would soon be over. The disguise,
equivocation, mystery, so hateful to her to practise,
might soon be over. She could now look forward to giving
him that full and perfect confidence which her disposition
was most ready to welcome as a duty.
AusEmma476
In the gayest and happiest spirits she set forward with
her father; not always listening, but always agreeing to
what he said; and, whether in speech or silence, conniving
at the comfortable persuasion of his being obliged to go to
Randall's every day, or poor Mrs. Weston would be
disappointed.
They arrived.-- Mrs. Weston was alone in the drawing-room:--
but hardly had they been told of the baby, and
Mr. Woodhouse received the thanks for coming, which he
asked for, when a glimpse was caught through the blind,
of two figures passing near the window.
"It is Frank and Miss Fairfax,"
said Mrs. Weston.
"I was just going to tell you of our agreeable surprise in
seeing him arrive this morning. He stays till to-morrow,
and Miss Fairfax has been persuaded to spend the day
with us.-- They are coming in, I hope."
In half a minute they were in the room. Emma was
extremely glad to see him-- but there was a degree of confusion--
a number of embarrassing recollections on each
side. They met readily and smiling, but with a consciousness
which at first allowed little to be said; and having
all sat down again, there was for some time such a blank
in the circle, that Emma began to doubt whether the wish
now indulged, which she had long felt, of seeing Frank Churchill
once more, and of seeing him with Jane, would
yield its proportion of pleasure. When Mr. Weston joined
the party, however, and when the baby was fetched, there
was no longer a want of subject or animation-- or of
courage and opportunity for Frank Churchill to draw near
her and say,
"I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind
forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope
time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you
do not retract what you then said."
"No, indeed,"
cried Emma, most happy to begin,
"not
in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake
hands with you-- and to give you joy in person."
He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some
AusEmma477
time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and
happiness.
"Is not she looking well?"
said he, turning his eyes
towards Jane.
"Better than she ever used to do?-- You
see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her."
But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing
eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells,
he named the name of Dixon,-- Emma blushed, and
forbad its being pronounced in her hearing.
"I can never think of it,"
she cried,
"without extreme
shame."
"The shame,"
he answered,
"is all mine, or ought to be.
But is it possible that you had no suspicion?-- I mean of
late. Early, I know you had none."
"I never had the smallest, I assure you."
"That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near
-- and I wish I had-- it would have been better. But
though I was always doing wrong things, they were very
bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.-- It
would have been a much better transgression had I broken
the bond of secrecy and told you every thing."
"It is not now worth a regret,"
said Emma.
"I have some hope,"
resumed he,
"of my uncle's being
persuaded to pay a visit at Randall's; he wants to be
introduced to her. When the Campbells are returned, we
shall meet them in London, and continue there, I trust,
till we may carry her northward.-- But now, I am at such
a distance from her-- is not it hard, Miss Woodhouse?--
Till this morning, we have not once met since the day of
reconciliation. Do not you pity me?"
Emma spoke her pity so very kindly, that, with a sudden
accession of gay thought, he cried,
"Ah! by the bye,"--
then sinking his voice, and looking
demure for the moment--
"I hope Mr. Knightley is well?"
He paused.-- She coloured and laughed.--
"I know you
saw my letter, and think you may remember my wish in
your favour. Let me return your congratulations.--
I assure you that I have heard the news with the warmest
AusEmma478
interest and satisfaction.-- He is a man whom I cannot
presume to praise."
Emma was delighted, and only wanted him to go on in
the same style; but his mind was the next moment in his
own concerns and with his own Jane, and his next words
were,
"Did you ever see such a skin?-- such smoothness!
such delicacy!-- and yet without being actually fair.--
One cannot call her fair. It is a most uncommon complexion,
with her dark eye-lashes and hair-- a most distinguishing
complexion!-- So peculiarly the lady in it.--
Just colour enough for beauty."
"I have always admired her complexion,"
replied
Emma, archly;
"but do not I remember the time when
you found fault with her for being so pale?-- When we
first began to talk of her.-- Have you quite forgotten?"
"Oh! no-- what an impudent dog I was!-- How could
I dare--"
But he laughed so heartily at the recollection, that
Emma could not help saying,
"I do suspect that in the midst of your perplexities at
that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us
all.-- I am sure you had.-- I am sure it was a consolation
to you."
"Oh! no, no, no-- how can you suspect me of such
a thing?-- I was the most miserable wretch!"
"Not quite so miserable as to be insensible to mirth.
I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to
feel that you were taking us all in.-- Perhaps I am the
readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think
it might have been some amusement to myself in the
same situation. I think there is a little likeness between
us."
He bowed.
"If not in our dispositions,"
she presently added, with
a look of true sensibility,
"there is a likeness in our
destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with
two characters so much superior to our own."
AusEmma479
"True, true,"
he answered, warmly.
"No, not true on
your side. You can have no superior, but most true on
mine.-- She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is not she
an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her
throat. Observe her eyes, as she is looking up at my
father.-- You will be glad to hear
(inclining his head, and
whispering seriously)
that my uncle means to give her all
my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved
to have some in an ornament for the head. Will not it be
beautiful in her dark hair?"
"Very beautiful, indeed,"
replied Emma: and she
spoke so kindly, that he gratefully burst out,
"How delighted I am to see you again! and to see you
in such excellent looks!-- I would not have missed this
meeting for the world. I should certainly have called at
Hartfield, had you failed to come."
The others had been talking of the child, Mrs. Weston
giving an account of a little alarm she had been under, the
evening before, from the infant's appearing not quite well.
She believed she had been foolish, but it had alarmed her,
and she had been within half a minute of sending for
Mr. Perry. Perhaps she ought to be ashamed, but
Mr. Weston had been almost as uneasy as herself.-- In
ten minutes, however, the child had been perfectly well
again.
This was her history; and particularly interesting
it was to Mr. Woodhouse, who commended her very much
for thinking of sending for Perry, and only regretted that
she had not done it.
"She should always send for Perry, if
the child appeared in the slightest degree disordered, were
it only for a moment. She could not be too soon alarmed,
nor send for Perry too often. It was a pity, perhaps, that
he had not come last night; for, though the child seemed
well now, very well considering, it would probably have
been better if Perry had seen it."
Frank Churchill caught the name.
"Perry!"
said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke,
to catch Miss Fairfax's eye.
"My friend Mr. Perry!
What are they saying about Mr. Perry?-- Has he been
AusEmma480
here this morning?-- And how does he travel now?--
Has he set up his carriage?"
Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and
while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane's
countenance that she too was really hearing him, though
trying to seem deaf.
"Such an extraordinary dream of mine!"
he cried.
"I can never think of it without laughing.-- She hears us,
she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her
smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not
you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own
letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye
-- that the whole blunder is spread before her-- that she
can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen
to the others?"
Jane was forced to smile completely, for a moment;
and the smile partly remained as she turned towards him,
and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice,
"How you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to
me!-- They will sometimes obtrude-- but how you can
court them!"
He had a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly;
but Emma's feelings were chiefly with Jane,
in the argument; and on leaving Randall's, and falling
naturally into a comparison of the two men, she felt, that
pleased as she had been to see Frank Churchill, and really
regarding him as she did with friendship, she had never
been more sensible of Mr. Knightley's high superiority
of character.
The happiness of this most happy day,
received its completion, in the animated contemplation
of his worth which this comparison produced.
AusEmma481
If Emma had still, at intervals, an anxious feeling for
Harriet, a momentary doubt of its being possible for her
to be really cured of her attachment to Mr. Knightley, and
really able to accept another man from unbiassed inclination,
it was not long that she had to suffer from the recurrence
of any such uncertainty. A very few days
brought the party from London, and she had no sooner
an opportunity of being one hour alone with Harriet, than
she became perfectly satisfied-- unaccountable as it was!--
that Robert Martin had thoroughly supplanted Mr. Knightley,
and was now forming all her views of happiness.
Harriet was a little distressed-- did look a little foolish
at first; but having once owned that she had been presumptuous
and silly, and self-deceived, before, her pain
and confusion seemed to die away with the words, and
leave her without a care for the past, and with the fullest
exultation in the present and future; for, as to her friend's
approbation, Emma had instantly removed every fear of
that nature, by meeting her with the most unqualified
congratulations.-- Harriet was most happy to give every
particular of the evening at Astley's, and the dinner the
next day; she could dwell on it all with the utmost
delight. But what did such particulars explain?-- The
fact was, as Emma could now acknowledge, that Harriet
had always liked Robert Martin; and that his continuing
to love her had been irresistible.-- Beyond this, it must
ever be unintelligible to Emma.
The event, however, was most joyful, and every day was
giving her fresh reason for thinking so.-- Harriet's parentage
became known. She proved to be the daughter of
a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable
maintenance which had ever been her's, and decent
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enough to have always wished for concealment.--Such
was the blood of gentility whichEmma had formerly
been so ready to vouch for!--
It was likely to be as untainted,
perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but
what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley
-- or for the Churchills-- or even for Mr. Elton!-- The
stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth,
would have been a stain indeed.
No objection was raised on the father's side; the young
man was treated liberally; it was all as it should be: and
as Emma became acquainted with Robert Martin, who
was now introduced at Hartfield, she fully acknowledged
in him all the appearance of sense and worth which could
bid fairest for her little friend.
She had no doubt of
Harriet's happiness with any good tempered man; but
with him, and in the home he offered, there would be the
hope of more, of security, stability, and improvement.
She would be placed in the midst of those who loved her,
and who had better sense than herself; retired enough
for safety, and occupied enough for cheerfulness. She
would be never led into temptation, nor left for it to find
her out. She would be respectable and happy; and
Emma admitted her to be the luckiest creature in the
world, to have created so steady and persevering an
affection in such a man;-- or, if not quite the luckiest, to
yield only to herself.
Harriet, necessarily drawn away by her engagements
with the Martins, was less and less at Hartfield; which
was not to be regretted.-- The intimacy between her and
Emma must sink; their friendship must change into
a calmer sort of goodwill; and, fortunately, what ought
to be, and must be, seemed already beginning, and in the
most gradual, natural manner.
Before the end of September, Emma attended Harriet
to church, and saw her hand bestowed on Robert Martin
with so complete a satisfaction, as no remembrances, even
connected with Mr. Elton as he stood before them, could
impair.-- Perhaps, indeed, at that time she scarcely saw
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Mr. Elton, but as the clergyman whose blessing at the
altar might next fall on herself.-- Robert Martin and
Harriet Smith, the latest couple engaged of the three,
were the first to be married.
Jane Fairfax had already quitted Highbury, and was
restored to the comforts of her beloved home with the
Campbells.-- The Mr. Churchills were also in town; and
they were only waiting for November.
The intermediate month was the one fixed on, as far as
they dared, by Emma and Mr. Knightley.-- They had
determined that their marriage ought to be concluded
while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, to allow
them the fortnight's absence in a tour to the sea-side,
which was the plan.-- John and Isabella, and every other
friend, were agreed in approving it. But Mr. Woodhouse
-- how was Mr. Woodhouse to be induced to consent?--
he, who had never yet alluded to their marriage but as
a distant event.
When first sounded on the subject, he was so miserable,
that they were almost hopeless.-- A second allusion, indeed,
gave less pain.-- He began to think it was to be, and
that he could not prevent it-- a very promising step of
the mind on its way to resignation. Still, however, he
was not happy. Nay, he appeared so much otherwise,
that his daughter's courage failed. She could not bear to
see him suffering, to know him fancying himself neglected;
and though her understanding almost acquiesced in the
assurance of both the Mr. Knightleys, that when once the
event was over, his distress would be soon over too, she
hesitated-- she could not proceed.
In this state of suspense they were befriended, not by
any sudden illumination of Mr. Woodhouse's mind, or
any wonderful change of his nervous system, but by the
operation of the same system in another way.-- Mrs. Weston's
poultry-house was robbed one night of all her
turkies-- evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other
poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.-- Pilfering
was housebreaking to Mr. Woodhouse's fears.-- He was
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very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law's
protection, would have been under wretched alarm every
night of his life. The strength, resolution, and presence of
mind of the Mr. Knightleys, commanded his fullest dependance.
While either of them protected him and his,
Hartfield was safe.-- But Mr. John Knightley must be in
London again by the end of the first week in November.
The result of this distress was, that, with a much more
voluntary, cheerful consent than his daughter had ever
presumed to hope for at the moment, she was able to fix
her wedding-day-- and Mr. Elton was called on, within
a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin,
to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse.
The wedding was very much like other weddings, where
the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and
Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband,
thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her
own.--
"Very little white satin, very few lace veils;
a most pitiful business!-- Selina would stare when she
heard of it."
-- But, in spite of these deficiencies, the
wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the
small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony,
were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.