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 s | |
