CHAPTER I
Emma and Harriet had been walking
together one morning, and, in Emma's opinion, had 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 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 understand--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 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 any body 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 any body 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 checker-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 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 what
Miss 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
meanwhile, 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 any thing 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?"
"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,
Baly-craig, 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 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 every thing 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 farther 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 any thing 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 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 friends' 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 of 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, dear Miss Woodhouse, what 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 had 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 any
thing 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 what Jane 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. CHAPTER
II
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 connexion 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 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 subsistence
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 Colonel 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 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 novitiate, 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 hers 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, 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 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 every body 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
altogether than she had remembered; it was not regular, but it was very pleasing
beauty. Her eyes, a deep grey, with dark eye-lashes and eyebrows, 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 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 actions 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 connexions 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 reappeared. 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 workbags for her mother and herself; and Jane's
offences rose again. They had music; Emma 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.
CHAPTER III
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 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 dear Emma," 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--
"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 dear Emma, unless one
could be sure of their making it into steaks, nicely fried, as ours 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 is 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 ours, 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 dear Miss Woodhouse-- I come quite
over-powered. Such 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 a 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---"
"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 every body'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 dear Jane, if you remember, 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 what Miss 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."
"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 dear Jane, I believe we must be running away. The
weather does not look well, and grandmama will be uneasy. You are too obliging,
my dear Miss 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--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 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!--
Dear Miss 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 anywhere 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 her 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 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
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 connexion? 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 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 never had 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.
CHAPTER IV
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 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 10,000 l. 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 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 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 connexion, 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 10,000 l., 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 connexion 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 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 reappearance 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, 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?
CHAPTER V
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 intelligible 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 commonplace had been talked almost all the time-- 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 reappeared, 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, 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 reanimation 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.
"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 dear Emma, 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
downstairs from her own room, "always overcareful for 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. "'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 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 horsewoman?--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 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 what Mr. Weston was often 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 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 grandmama and aunt, very worthy people; I have
known them all my 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 footpath;
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.
CHAPTER VI
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; 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 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 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 nowhere 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 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 patriae. 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 at Weymouth we were very much in the same set. Colonel 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.--"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 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 feelings warmer. She was particularly struck by his manner of
considering 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.
CHAPTER VII
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, indifferent 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
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; 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 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 farther 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 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. 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 dear Emma, we must consider this. I am
sure, rather than run the risk of hurting Mr. and Mrs. Cole, you would 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.
CHAPTER
VIII
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 moralised 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.
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 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, the 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
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 Colonel
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 Colonel 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 of an instrument, not even the pitifullest old spinet 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 Colonel 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 Colonel Campbell is not the person, who can be?"
"What
do you say to Mrs. Dixon?"
"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 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. Your reasonings
carry my judgment along with them entirely. At first, while I supposed you
satisfied that Colonel 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 everyday 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 entree 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.
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 Colonel
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 naivete." 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 left very busy over parish
business--that as long as he had staid, however, it had been pleasant enough, as
he had found them in general a set of gentlemanlike, 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 and 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 at 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 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 outree!--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?"
"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 unostentatious 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; 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. "Dear Mrs. 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 dear Emma, 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 Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax-- and
is always glad to shew them attention. My dear Mrs. 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 dear Emma, 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 connexion. 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. 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 here 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 dear
Emma. 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 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 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
concern," 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 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 very trifling. The strength of the song falls on the second."
Mr. Knightley grew angry.
"That fellow," said he,
indignantly, "thinks of nothing but shewing 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 farther 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 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."
CHAPTER IX
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 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 to 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. 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.
"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 Colonel 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 palatable 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 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 dear Miss Woodhouse," said the latter, "I am 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 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 dear Jane 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 farther 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. . . . 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 anywhere 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; 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 upstairs 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."
CHAPTER X
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 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 Colonel Campbell might employ," said Frank
Churchill, with a smile at Emma, "the person has not chosen ill. I heard a good
deal of Colonel 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 Colonel 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 Colonel Campbell," said she, in
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 Colonel 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."
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
horse-back 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 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 anything 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."
"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 to 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 every thing 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."
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.
CHAPTER XI
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 which Mr. 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 that Mr. 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 musician
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 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 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, 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 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, farther 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 anywhere."
"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. 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 dear Mrs. Weston, who is carefulness itself. Do
not you remember what Mr. 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 have I heard you speak of it as such a compliment to her!"
"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 candlelight. It will be as clean as Randalls by candlelight. 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 did not disdain. It regarded a supper-room. At the time of
the ballroom'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 it not 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 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 reappeared, 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 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!"
CHAPTER XII
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 chuse 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 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 over-throw 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 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 dear Emma 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?"
"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 any 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 doubtfully 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
forerunner 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 are 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, 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 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 dear William 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!"
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.
CHAPTER XIII
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
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 feeling towards Mrs. Weston; and the transition from Highbury
to Enscombe, the contrast between the places in some of the 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 connexion, 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 connexion were in her favour.--For Harriet, it would be
advantageous and delightful indeed.
"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 borne 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 that Emma
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 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!"
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. Dear Harriet!--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!"
CHAPTER XIV
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, 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 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."
"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 overrated 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. 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 never
stir beyond the park paling.' Many a time has she 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 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 farther 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 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 to 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 around
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 now to comprehend that 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 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 underbred 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 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 a
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.
CHAPTER
XV
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. 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
talent as hers 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.'
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 Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, I have no idea that you will suppose her talents
can be unknown."
"Oh! but dear Miss 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 dear Miss 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 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 seems 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 "dear Miss 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 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 decree 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 has any great enjoyment at the Vicarage, my dear Emma--but it
is better than being always at home. Her aunt is a good creature, but, as a
constant companion, must be very tiresome. We must consider what Miss Fairfax
quits, before we condemn her taste for what she goes to."
"You are
right, Mrs. 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 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?"
"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 dear Mrs. 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 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, dear Emma, 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."
CHAPTER XVI
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 less than others,
or she 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 what Emma 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 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
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 connexion, 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 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 dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies
are very sure to be cared for.-- I hope your good grand-mama 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 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 dear Jane, 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 yours too and
bring them to you. That will obviate all difficulties you know; and from us I
really think, my dear Jane, you can have no scruple to accept such an
accommodation."
"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 dear Jane, 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 dear Jane, 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 grandmama'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 despatch 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
farther explanation," 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 handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual
observations made.
"I have heard it asserted," said John Knightley,
"that the same sort of handwriting 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
gentleman'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 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
dryly, "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 dining-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.
CHAPTER XVII
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 a 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 in the first circle.
Wax-candles in the schoolroom! You may imagine how desirable! Of all houses in
the kingdom Mrs. Bragge's is the one I would most wish to see you in."
"Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer,"
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 dear Jane, 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 everyday 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 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."
"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,--show 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 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 fireside, 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 anywhere
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. 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.
CHAPTER XVIII
"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?"
"Yes, they are about one hundred and ninety 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 sofa
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.--So Frank 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 every thing 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."
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 Bath, Mr.
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 enough 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 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 which Mrs. 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 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 of 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
connexion with the family, nor of the treatment I have met with; and, between
ourselves, the whole blame of it is to be laid to 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 nothing to his wife's: his is a quiet,
indolent, gentlemanlike 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 to 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 connexions, 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.
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 encumbrance 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 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 you should 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.
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