Grove. Many a time has Selina said, when she has been going to Bristol,
'I really cannot get this girl to move from the house. I absolutely must
go in by myself, though I hate being stuck up in the barouche-landau
without a companion; but Augusta, I believe, with her own good-will,
would never stir beyond the park paling.' Many a time has she said so;
and yet I am no advocate for entire seclusion. I think, on the contrary,
when people shut themselves up entirely from society, it is a very
bad thing; and that it is much more advisable to mix in the world in
a proper degree, without living in it either too much or too little. I
perfectly understand your situation, however, Miss Woodhouse--(looking
towards Mr. Woodhouse), Your father's state of health must be a great
drawback. Why does not he try Bath?--Indeed he should. Let me recommend
Bath to you. I assure you I have no doubt of its doing Mr. Woodhouse
good.”
“My father tried it more than once, formerly; but without receiving any
benefit; and Mr. Perry, whose name, I dare say, is not unknown to you,
does not conceive it would be at all more likely to be useful now.”
“Ah! that's a great pity; for I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, where the
waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the relief they give. In my Bath
life, I have seen such instances of it! And it is so cheerful a place,
that it could not fail of being of use to Mr. Woodhouse's spirits,
which, I understand, are sometimes much depressed. And as to its
recommendations to _you_, I fancy I need not take much pains to dwell
on them. The advantages of Bath to the young are pretty generally
understood. It would be a charming introduction for you, who have lived
so secluded a life; and I could immediately secure you some of the best
society in the place. A line from me would bring you a little host of
acquaintance; and my particular friend, Mrs. Partridge, the lady I have
always resided with when in Bath, would be most happy to shew you any
attentions, and would be the very person for you to go into public
with.”
It was as much as Emma could bear, without being impolite. The idea
of her being indebted to Mrs. Elton for what was called an
_introduction_--of her going into public under the auspices of a friend
of Mrs. Elton's--probably some vulgar, dashing widow, who, with the
help of a boarder, just made a shift to live!--The dignity of Miss
Woodhouse, of Hartfield, was sunk indeed!
She restrained herself, however, from any of the reproofs she could have
given, and only thanked Mrs. Elton coolly; “but their going to Bath was
quite out of the question; and she was not perfectly convinced that
the place might suit her better than her father.” And then, to prevent
farther outrage and indignation, changed the subject directly.
“I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton. Upon these occasions,
a lady's character generally precedes her; and Highbury has long known
that you are a superior performer.”
“Oh! no, indeed; I must protest against any such idea. A superior
performer!--very far from it, I assure you. Consider from how partial
a quarter your information came. I am doatingly fond of
music--passionately fond;--and my friends say I am not entirely devoid
of taste; but as to any thing else, upon my honour my performance is
_mediocre_ to the last degree. You, Miss Woodhouse, I well know, play
delightfully. I assure you it has been the greatest satisfaction,
comfort, and delight to me, to hear what a musical society I am got
into. I absolutely cannot do without music. It is a necessary of life to
me; and having always been used to a very musical society, both at
Maple Grove and in Bath, it would have been a most serious sacrifice. I
honestly said as much to Mr. E. when he was speaking of my future
home, and expressing his fears lest the retirement of it should be
disagreeable; and the inferiority of the house too--knowing what I had
been accustomed to--of course he was not wholly without apprehension.
When he was speaking of it in that way, I honestly said that _the_
_world_ I could give up--parties, balls, plays--for I had no fear of
retirement. Blessed with so many resources within myself, the world was
not necessary to _me_. I could do very well without it. To those who had
no resources it was a different thing; but my resources made me quite
independent. And as to smaller-sized rooms than I had been used to, I
really could not give it a thought. I hoped I was perfectly equal to any
sacrifice of that description. Certainly I had been accustomed to every
luxury at Maple Grove; but I did assure him that two carriages were not
necessary to my happiness, nor were spacious apartments. 'But,' said I,
'to be quite honest, I do not think I can live without something of a
musical society. I condition for nothing else; but without music, life
would be a blank to me.'”
“We cannot suppose,” said Emma, smiling, “that Mr. Elton would hesitate
to assure you of there being a _very_ musical society in Highbury; and
I hope you will not find he has outstepped the truth more than may be
pardoned, in consideration of the motive.”
“No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head. I am delighted to
find myself in such a circle. I hope we shall have many sweet little
concerts together. I think, Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish a
musical club, and have regular weekly meetings at your house, or ours.
Will not it be a good plan? If _we_ exert ourselves, I think we shall
not be long in want of allies. Something of that nature would be
particularly desirable for _me_, as an inducement to keep me in
practice; for married women, you know--there is a sad story against
them, in general. They are but too apt to give up music.”
“But you, who are so extremely fond of it--there can be no danger,
surely?”
“I should hope not; but really when I look around among my acquaintance,
I tremble. Selina has entirely given up music--never touches the
instrument--though she played sweetly. And the same may be said of Mrs.
Jeffereys--Clara Partridge, that was--and of the two Milmans, now Mrs.
Bird and Mrs. James Cooper; and of more than I can enumerate. Upon my
word it is enough to put one in a fright. I used to be quite angry with
Selina; but really I begin now to comprehend that a married woman has
many things to call her attention. I believe I was half an hour this
morning shut up with my housekeeper.”
“But every thing of that kind,” said Emma, “will soon be in so regular a
train--”
“Well,” said Mrs. Elton, laughing, “we shall see.”
Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her music, had nothing
more to say; and, after a moment's pause, Mrs. Elton chose another
subject.
“We have been calling at Randalls,” said she, “and found them both at
home; and very pleasant people they seem to be. I like them extremely.
Mr. Weston seems an excellent creature--quite a first-rate favourite
with me already, I assure you. And _she_ appears so truly good--there is
something so motherly and kind-hearted about her, that it wins upon one
directly. She was your governess, I think?”
Emma was almost too much astonished to answer; but Mrs. Elton hardly
waited for the affirmative before she went on.
“Having understood as much, I was rather astonished to find her so very
lady-like! But she is really quite the gentlewoman.”
“Mrs. Weston's manners,” said Emma, “were always particularly good.
Their propriety, simplicity, and elegance, would make them the safest
model for any young woman.”
“And who do you think came in while we were there?”
Emma was quite at a loss. The tone implied some old acquaintance--and
how could she possibly guess?
“Knightley!” continued Mrs. Elton; “Knightley himself!--Was not it
lucky?--for, not being within when he called the other day, I had never
seen him before; and of course, as so particular a friend of Mr. E.'s,
I had a great curiosity. 'My friend Knightley' had been so often
mentioned, that I was really impatient to see him; and I must do my
caro sposo the justice to say that he need not be ashamed of his friend.
Knightley is quite the gentleman. I like him very much. Decidedly, I
think, a very gentleman-like man.”
Happily, it was now time to be gone. They were off; and Emma could
breathe.
“Insufferable woman!” was her immediate exclamation. “Worse than I had
supposed. Absolutely insufferable! Knightley!--I could not have
believed it. Knightley!--never seen him in her life before, and call
him Knightley!--and discover that he is a gentleman! A little upstart,
vulgar being, with her Mr. E., and her _caro_ _sposo_, and her
resources, and all her airs of pert pretension and underbred finery.
Actually to discover that Mr. Knightley is a gentleman! I doubt whether
he will return the compliment, and discover her to be a lady. I could
not have believed it! And to propose that she and I should unite to
form a musical club! One would fancy we were bosom friends! And Mrs.
Weston!--Astonished that the person who had brought me up should be a
gentlewoman! Worse and worse. I never met with her equal. Much beyond
my hopes. Harriet is disgraced by any comparison. Oh! what would Frank
Churchill say to her, if he were here? How angry and how diverted he
would be! Ah! there I am--thinking of him directly. Always the first
person to be thought of! How I catch myself out! Frank Churchill comes
as regularly into my mind!”--
All this ran so glibly through her thoughts, that by the time her father
had arranged himself, after the bustle of the Eltons' departure, and was
ready to speak, she was very tolerably capable of attending.
“Well, my dear,” he deliberately began, “considering we never saw her
before, she seems a very pretty sort of young lady; and I dare say she
was very much pleased with you. She speaks a little too quick. A little
quickness of voice there is which rather hurts the ear. But I believe
I am nice; I do not like strange voices; and nobody speaks like you and
poor Miss Taylor. However, she seems a very obliging, pretty-behaved
young lady, and no doubt will make him a very good wife. Though I think
he had better not have married. I made the best excuses I could for not
having been able to wait on him and Mrs. Elton on this happy occasion; I
said that I hoped I _should_ in the course of the summer. But I ought to
have gone before. Not to wait upon a bride is very remiss. Ah! it shews
what a sad invalid I am! But I do not like the corner into Vicarage
Lane.”
“I dare say your apologies were accepted, sir. Mr. Elton knows you.”
“Yes: but a young lady--a bride--I ought to have paid my respects to her
if possible. It was being very deficient.”
“But, my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony; and therefore why
should you be so anxious to pay your respects to a _bride_? It ought to
be no recommendation to _you_. It is encouraging people to marry if you
make so much of them.”
“No, my dear, I never encouraged any body to marry, but I would always
wish to pay every proper attention to a lady--and a bride, especially,
is never to be neglected. More is avowedly due to _her_. A bride, you
know, my dear, is always the first in company, let the others be who
they may.”
“Well, papa, if this is not encouragement to marry, I do not know what
is. And I should never have expected you to be lending your sanction to
such vanity-baits for poor young ladies.”
“My dear, you do not understand me. This is a matter of mere
common politeness and good-breeding, and has nothing to do with any
encouragement to people to marry.”
Emma had done. Her father was growing nervous, and could not understand
_her_. Her mind returned to Mrs. Elton's offences, and long, very long,
did they occupy her.
CHAPTER XV
Emma was not required, by any subsequent discovery, to retract her ill
opinion of Mrs. Elton. Her observation had been pretty correct. Such as
Mrs. Elton appeared to her on this second interview, such she appeared
whenever they met again,--self-important, presuming, familiar, ignorant,
and ill-bred. She had a little beauty and a little accomplishment,
but so little judgment that she thought herself coming with superior
knowledge of the world, to enliven and improve a country neighbourhood;
and conceived Miss Hawkins to have held such a place in society as Mrs.
Elton's consequence only could surpass.
There was no reason to suppose Mr. Elton thought at all differently from
his wife. He seemed not merely happy with her, but proud. He had the air
of congratulating himself on having brought such a woman to Highbury,
as not even Miss Woodhouse could equal; and the greater part of her
new acquaintance, disposed to commend, or not in the habit of judging,
following the lead of Miss Bates's good-will, or taking it for granted
that the bride must be as clever and as agreeable as she professed
herself, were very well satisfied; so that Mrs. Elton's praise
passed from one mouth to another as it ought to do, unimpeded by Miss
Woodhouse, who readily continued her first contribution and talked with
a good grace of her being “very pleasant and very elegantly dressed.”
In one respect Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had appeared at
first. Her feelings altered towards Emma.--Offended, probably, by the
little encouragement which her proposals of intimacy met with, she drew
back in her turn and gradually became much more cold and distant; and
though the effect was agreeable, the ill-will which produced it was
necessarily increasing Emma's dislike. Her manners, too--and Mr.
Elton's, were unpleasant towards Harriet. They were sneering and
negligent. Emma hoped it must rapidly work Harriet's cure; but the
sensations which could prompt such behaviour sunk them both very
much.--It was not to be doubted that poor Harriet's attachment had been
an offering to conjugal unreserve, and her own share in the story, under
a colouring the least favourable to her and the most soothing to him,
had in all likelihood been given also. She was, of course, the object
of their joint dislike.--When they had nothing else to say, it must be
always easy to begin abusing Miss Woodhouse; and the enmity which
they dared not shew in open disrespect to her, found a broader vent in
contemptuous treatment of Harriet.
Mrs. Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax; and from the first. Not
merely when a state of warfare with one young lady might be supposed to
recommend the other, but from the very first; and she was not satisfied
with expressing a natural and reasonable admiration--but without
solicitation, or plea, or privilege, she must be wanting to assist and
befriend her.--Before Emma had forfeited her confidence, and about the
third time of their meeting, she heard all Mrs. Elton's knight-errantry
on the subject.--
“Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming, Miss Woodhouse.--I quite rave
about Jane Fairfax.--A sweet, interesting creature. So mild and
ladylike--and with such talents!--I assure you I think she has very
extraordinary talents. I do not scruple to say that she plays extremely
well. I know enough of music to speak decidedly on that point. Oh! she
is absolutely charming! You will laugh at my warmth--but, upon my word,
I talk of nothing but Jane Fairfax.--And her situation is so calculated
to affect one!--Miss Woodhouse, we must exert ourselves and endeavour
to do something for her. We must bring her forward. Such talent as hers
must not be suffered to remain unknown.--I dare say you have heard those
charming lines of the poet,
'Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
'And waste its fragrance on the desert air.'
We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane Fairfax.”
“I cannot think there is any danger of it,” was Emma's calm answer--“and
when you are better acquainted with Miss Fairfax's situation and
understand what her home has been, with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, I
have no idea that you will suppose her talents can be unknown.”
“Oh! but dear Miss Woodhouse, she is now in such retirement, such
obscurity, so thrown away.--Whatever advantages she may have enjoyed
with the Campbells are so palpably at an end! And I think she feels it.
I am sure she does. She is very timid and silent. One can see that she
feels the want of encouragement. I like her the better for it. I
must confess it is a recommendation to me. I am a great advocate for
timidity--and I am sure one does not often meet with it.--But in those
who are at all inferior, it is extremely prepossessing. Oh! I assure
you, Jane Fairfax is a very delightful character, and interests me more
than I can express.”
“You appear to feel a great deal--but I am not aware how you or any of
Miss Fairfax's acquaintance here, any of those who have known her longer
than yourself, can shew her any other attention than”--
“My dear Miss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be done by those who dare to
act. You and I need not be afraid. If _we_ set the example, many will
follow it as far as they can; though all have not our situations. _We_
have carriages to fetch and convey her home, and _we_ live in a style
which could not make the addition of Jane Fairfax, at any time, the
least inconvenient.--I should be extremely displeased if Wright were to
send us up such a dinner, as could make me regret having asked _more_
than Jane Fairfax to partake of it. I have no idea of that sort of
thing. It is not likely that I _should_, considering what I have been
used to. My greatest danger, perhaps, in housekeeping, may be quite the
other way, in doing too much, and being too careless of expense. Maple
Grove will probably be my model more than it ought to be--for we do not
at all affect to equal my brother, Mr. Suckling, in income.--However, my
resolution is taken as to noticing Jane Fairfax.--I shall certainly have
her very often at my house, shall introduce her wherever I can, shall
have musical parties to draw out her talents, and shall be constantly
on the watch for an eligible situation. My acquaintance is so very
extensive, that I have little doubt of hearing of something to suit
her shortly.--I shall introduce her, of course, very particularly to my
brother and sister when they come to us. I am sure they will like her
extremely; and when she gets a little acquainted with them, her fears
will completely wear off, for there really is nothing in the manners
of either but what is highly conciliating.--I shall have her very often
indeed while they are with me, and I dare say we shall sometimes find a
seat for her in the barouche-landau in some of our exploring parties.”
“Poor Jane Fairfax!”--thought Emma.--“You have not deserved this. You
may have done wrong with regard to Mr. Dixon, but this is a punishment
beyond what you can have merited!--The kindness and protection of Mrs.
Elton!--'Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax.' Heavens! Let me not suppose
that she dares go about, Emma Woodhouse-ing me!--But upon my honour,
there seems no limits to the licentiousness of that woman's tongue!”
Emma had not to listen to such paradings again--to any so exclusively
addressed to herself--so disgustingly decorated with a “dear Miss
Woodhouse.” The change on Mrs. Elton's side soon afterwards appeared,
and she was left in peace--neither forced to be the very particular
friend of Mrs. Elton, nor, under Mrs. Elton's guidance, the very active
patroness of Jane Fairfax, and only sharing with others in a general
way, in knowing what was felt, what was meditated, what was done.
She looked on with some amusement.--Miss Bates's gratitude for
Mrs. Elton's attentions to Jane was in the first style of guileless
simplicity and warmth. She was quite one of her worthies--the
most amiable, affable, delightful woman--just as accomplished and
condescending as Mrs. Elton meant to be considered. Emma's only surprize
was that Jane Fairfax should accept those attentions and tolerate Mrs.
Elton as she seemed to do. She heard of her walking with the Eltons,
sitting with the Eltons, spending a day with the Eltons! This was
astonishing!--She could not have believed it possible that the taste or
the pride of Miss Fairfax could endure such society and friendship as
the Vicarage had to offer.
“She is a riddle, quite a riddle!” said she.--“To chuse to remain here
month after month, under privations of every sort! And now to chuse the
mortification of Mrs. Elton's notice and the penury of her conversation,
rather than return to the superior companions who have always loved her
with such real, generous affection.”
Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three months; the Campbells
were gone to Ireland for three months; but now the Campbells had
promised their daughter to stay at least till Midsummer, and fresh
invitations had arrived for her to join them there. According to Miss
Bates--it all came from her--Mrs. Dixon had written most pressingly.
Would Jane but go, means were to be found, servants sent, friends
contrived--no travelling difficulty allowed to exist; but still she had
declined it!
“She must have some motive, more powerful than appears, for refusing
this invitation,” was Emma's conclusion. “She must be under some sort
of penance, inflicted either by the Campbells or herself. There is great
fear, great caution, great resolution somewhere.--She is _not_ to be
with the _Dixons_. The decree is issued by somebody. But why must she
consent to be with the Eltons?--Here is quite a separate puzzle.”
Upon her speaking her wonder aloud on that part of the subject, before
the few who knew her opinion of Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Weston ventured this
apology for Jane.
“We cannot suppose that she has any great enjoyment at the Vicarage,
my dear Emma--but it is better than being always at home. Her aunt is a
good creature, but, as a constant companion, must be very tiresome. We
must consider what Miss Fairfax quits, before we condemn her taste for
what she goes to.”
“You are right, Mrs. Weston,” said Mr. Knightley warmly, “Miss Fairfax
is as capable as any of us of forming a just opinion of Mrs. Elton.
Could she have chosen with whom to associate, she would not have chosen
her. But (with a reproachful smile at Emma) she receives attentions from
Mrs. Elton, which nobody else pays her.”
Emma felt that Mrs. Weston was giving her a momentary glance; and she
was herself struck by his warmth. With a faint blush, she presently
replied,
“Such attentions as Mrs. Elton's, I should have imagined, would rather
disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton's invitations I should
have imagined any thing but inviting.”
“I should not wonder,” said Mrs. Weston, “if Miss Fairfax were to have
been drawn on beyond her own inclination, by her aunt's eagerness in
accepting Mrs. Elton's civilities for her. Poor Miss Bates may
very likely have committed her niece and hurried her into a greater
appearance of intimacy than her own good sense would have dictated, in
spite of the very natural wish of a little change.”
Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again; and after a few
minutes silence, he said,
“Another thing must be taken into consideration too--Mrs. Elton does
not talk _to_ Miss Fairfax as she speaks _of_ her. We all know the
difference between the pronouns he or she and thou, the plainest spoken
amongst us; we all feel the influence of a something beyond common
civility in our personal intercourse with each other--a something more
early implanted. We cannot give any body the disagreeable hints that we
may have been very full of the hour before. We feel things differently.
And besides the operation of this, as a general principle, you may be
sure that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs. Elton by her superiority both of mind
and manner; and that, face to face, Mrs. Elton treats her with all the
respect which she has a claim to. Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably
never fell in Mrs. Elton's way before--and no degree of vanity can
prevent her acknowledging her own comparative littleness in action, if
not in consciousness.”
“I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,” said Emma. Little Henry
was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and delicacy made her
irresolute what else to say.
“Yes,” he replied, “any body may know how highly I think of her.”
“And yet,” said Emma, beginning hastily and with an arch look, but soon
stopping--it was better, however, to know the worst at once--she hurried
on--“And yet, perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it
is. The extent of your admiration may take you by surprize some day or
other.”
Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick
leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together, or
some other cause, brought the colour into his face, as he answered,
“Oh! are you there?--But you are miserably behindhand. Mr. Cole gave me
a hint of it six weeks ago.”
He stopped.--Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Weston, and did not
herself know what to think. In a moment he went on--
“That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss Fairfax, I dare
say, would not have me if I were to ask her--and I am very sure I shall
never ask her.”
Emma returned her friend's pressure with interest; and was pleased
enough to exclaim,
“You are not vain, Mr. Knightley. I will say that for you.”
He seemed hardly to hear her; he was thoughtful--and in a manner which
shewed him not pleased, soon afterwards said,
“So you have been settling that I should marry Jane Fairfax?”
“No indeed I have not. You have scolded me too much for match-making,
for me to presume to take such a liberty with you. What I said just now,
meant nothing. One says those sort of things, of course, without any
idea of a serious meaning. Oh! no, upon my word I have not the smallest
wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane any body. You would not come
in and sit with us in this comfortable way, if you were married.”
Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his reverie was, “No,
Emma, I do not think the extent of my admiration for her will ever take
me by surprize.--I never had a thought of her in that way, I assure
you.” And soon afterwards, “Jane Fairfax is a very charming young
woman--but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She has a fault. She has
not the open temper which a man would wish for in a wife.”
Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault. “Well,” said
she, “and you soon silenced Mr. Cole, I suppose?”
“Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint; I told him he was mistaken;
he asked my pardon and said no more. Cole does not want to be wiser or
wittier than his neighbours.”
“In that respect how unlike dear Mrs. Elton, who wants to be wiser and
wittier than all the world! I wonder how she speaks of the Coles--what
she calls them! How can she find any appellation for them, deep enough
in familiar vulgarity? She calls you, Knightley--what can she do for
Mr. Cole? And so I am not to be surprized that Jane Fairfax accepts
her civilities and consents to be with her. Mrs. Weston, your argument
weighs most with me. I can much more readily enter into the temptation
of getting away from Miss Bates, than I can believe in the triumph of
Miss Fairfax's mind over Mrs. Elton. I have no faith in Mrs. Elton's
acknowledging herself the inferior in thought, word, or deed; or in her
being under any restraint beyond her own scanty rule of good-breeding.
I cannot imagine that she will not be continually insulting her visitor
with praise, encouragement, and offers of service; that she will not be
continually detailing her magnificent intentions, from the procuring her
a permanent situation to the including her in those delightful exploring
parties which are to take place in the barouche-landau.”
“Jane Fairfax has feeling,” said Mr. Knightley--“I do not accuse her
of want of feeling. Her sensibilities, I suspect, are strong--and her
temper excellent in its power of forbearance, patience, self-control;
but it wants openness. She is reserved, more reserved, I think, than
she used to be--And I love an open temper. No--till Cole alluded to my
supposed attachment, it had never entered my head. I saw Jane Fairfax
and conversed with her, with admiration and pleasure always--but with no
thought beyond.”
“Well, Mrs. Weston,” said Emma triumphantly when he left them, “what do
you say now to Mr. Knightley's marrying Jane Fairfax?”
“Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so very much occupied by the
idea of _not_ being in love with her, that I should not wonder if it
were to end in his being so at last. Do not beat me.”
CHAPTER XVI
Every body in and about Highbury who had ever visited Mr. Elton, was
disposed to pay him attention on his marriage. Dinner-parties and
evening-parties were made for him and his lady; and invitations flowed
in so fast that she had soon the pleasure of apprehending they were
never to have a disengaged day.
“I see how it is,” said she. “I see what a life I am to lead among you.
Upon my word we shall be absolutely dissipated. We really seem quite
the fashion. If this is living in the country, it is nothing very
formidable. From Monday next to Saturday, I assure you we have not a
disengaged day!--A woman with fewer resources than I have, need not have
been at a loss.”
No invitation came amiss to her. Her Bath habits made evening-parties
perfectly natural to her, and Maple Grove had given her a taste for
dinners. She was a little shocked at the want of two drawing rooms, at
the poor attempt at rout-cakes, and there being no ice in the Highbury
card-parties. Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard and others, were a
good deal behind-hand in knowledge of the world, but she would soon shew
them how every thing ought to be arranged. In the course of the spring
she must return their civilities by one very superior party--in which
her card-tables should be set out with their separate candles and
unbroken packs in the true style--and more waiters engaged for the
evening than their own establishment could furnish, to carry round the
refreshments at exactly the proper hour, and in the proper order.
Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without a dinner at
Hartfield for the Eltons. They must not do less than others, or she
should be exposed to odious suspicions, and imagined capable of pitiful
resentment. A dinner there must be. After Emma had talked about it for
ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness, and only made the
usual stipulation of not sitting at the bottom of the table himself,
with the usual regular difficulty of deciding who should do it for him.
The persons to be invited, required little thought. Besides the
Eltons, it must be the Westons and Mr. Knightley; so far it was all of
course--and it was hardly less inevitable that poor little Harriet must
be asked to make the eighth:--but this invitation was not given with
equal satisfaction, and on many accounts Emma was particularly pleased
by Harriet's begging to be allowed to decline it. “She would rather not
be in his company more than she could help. She was not yet quite
able to see him and his charming happy wife together, without feeling
uncomfortable. If Miss Woodhouse would not be displeased, she would
rather stay at home.” It was precisely what Emma would have wished, had
she deemed it possible enough for wishing. She was delighted with the
fortitude of her little friend--for fortitude she knew it was in her to
give up being in company and stay at home; and she could now invite the
very person whom she really wanted to make the eighth, Jane Fairfax.--
Since her last conversation with Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley, she
was more conscience-stricken about Jane Fairfax than she had often
been.--Mr. Knightley's words dwelt with her. He had said that Jane
Fairfax received attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else paid her.
“This is very true,” said she, “at least as far as relates to me, which
was all that was meant--and it is very shameful.--Of the same age--and
always knowing her--I ought to have been more her friend.--She will
never like me now. I have neglected her too long. But I will shew her
greater attention than I have done.”
Every invitation was successful. They were all disengaged and all
happy.--The preparatory interest of this dinner, however, was not yet
over. A circumstance rather unlucky occurred. The two eldest little
Knightleys were engaged to pay their grandpapa and aunt a visit of some
weeks in the spring, and their papa now proposed bringing them, and
staying one whole day at Hartfield--which one day would be the very day
of this party.--His professional engagements did not allow of his being
put off, but both father and daughter were disturbed by its happening
so. Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons at dinner together as the
utmost that his nerves could bear--and here would be a ninth--and Emma
apprehended that it would be a ninth very much out of humour at not
being able to come even to Hartfield for forty-eight hours without
falling in with a dinner-party.
She comforted her father better than she could comfort herself, by
representing that though he certainly would make them nine, yet
he always said so little, that the increase of noise would be very
immaterial. She thought it in reality a sad exchange for herself, to
have him with his grave looks and reluctant conversation opposed to her
instead of his brother.
The event was more favourable to Mr. Woodhouse than to Emma. John
Knightley came; but Mr. Weston was unexpectedly summoned to town and
must be absent on the very day. He might be able to join them in the
evening, but certainly not to dinner. Mr. Woodhouse was quite at ease;
and the seeing him so, with the arrival of the little boys and the
philosophic composure of her brother on hearing his fate, removed the
chief of even Emma's vexation.
The day came, the party were punctually assembled, and Mr. John
Knightley seemed early to devote himself to the business of being
agreeable. Instead of drawing his brother off to a window while they
waited for dinner, he was talking to Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton,
as elegant as lace and pearls could make her, he looked at in
silence--wanting only to observe enough for Isabella's information--but
Miss Fairfax was an old acquaintance and a quiet girl, and he could talk
to her. He had met her before breakfast as he was returning from a walk
with his little boys, when it had been just beginning to rain. It was
natural to have some civil hopes on the subject, and he said,
“I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this morning, or I am
sure you must have been wet.--We scarcely got home in time. I hope you
turned directly.”
“I went only to the post-office,” said she, “and reached home before the
rain was much. It is my daily errand. I always fetch the letters when
I am here. It saves trouble, and is a something to get me out. A walk
before breakfast does me good.”
“Not a walk in the rain, I should imagine.”
“No, but it did not absolutely rain when I set out.”
Mr. John Knightley smiled, and replied,
“That is to say, you chose to have your walk, for you were not six yards
from your own door when I had the pleasure of meeting you; and Henry
and John had seen more drops than they could count long before. The
post-office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When you have
lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going
through the rain for.”
There was a little blush, and then this answer,
“I must not hope to be ever situated as you are, in the midst of every
dearest connexion, and therefore I cannot expect that simply growing
older should make me indifferent about letters.”
“Indifferent! Oh! no--I never conceived you could become indifferent.
Letters are no matter of indifference; they are generally a very
positive curse.”
“You are speaking of letters of business; mine are letters of
friendship.”
“I have often thought them the worst of the two,” replied he coolly.
“Business, you know, may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does.”
“Ah! you are not serious now. I know Mr. John Knightley too well--I am
very sure he understands the value of friendship as well as any body. I
can easily believe that letters are very little to you, much less than
to me, but it is not your being ten years older than myself which
makes the difference, it is not age, but situation. You have every
body dearest to you always at hand, I, probably, never shall again;
and therefore till I have outlived all my affections, a post-office,
I think, must always have power to draw me out, in worse weather than
to-day.”
“When I talked of your being altered by time, by the progress of years,”
said John Knightley, “I meant to imply the change of situation which
time usually brings. I consider one as including the other. Time will
generally lessen the interest of every attachment not within the daily
circle--but that is not the change I had in view for you. As an old
friend, you will allow me to hope, Miss Fairfax, that ten years hence
you may have as many concentrated objects as I have.”
It was kindly said, and very far from giving offence. A pleasant “thank
you” seemed meant to laugh it off, but a blush, a quivering lip, a tear
in the eye, shewed that it was felt beyond a laugh. Her attention was
now claimed by Mr. Woodhouse, who being, according to his custom on such
occasions, making the circle of his guests, and paying his particular
compliments to the ladies, was ending with her--and with all his mildest
urbanity, said,
“I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this morning
in the rain. Young ladies should take care of themselves.--Young ladies
are delicate plants. They should take care of their health and their
complexion. My dear, did you change your stockings?”
“Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very much obliged by your kind
solicitude about me.”
“My dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to be cared for.--I
hope your good grand-mama and aunt are well. They are some of my very
old friends. I wish my health allowed me to be a better neighbour. You
do us a great deal of honour to-day, I am sure. My daughter and I
are both highly sensible of your goodness, and have the greatest
satisfaction in seeing you at Hartfield.”
The kind-hearted, polite old man might then sit down and feel that he
had done his duty, and made every fair lady welcome and easy.
By this time, the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton, and her
remonstrances now opened upon Jane.
“My dear Jane, what is this I hear?--Going to the post-office in the
rain!--This must not be, I assure you.--You sad girl, how could you do
such a thing?--It is a sign I was not there to take care of you.”
Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any cold.
“Oh! do not tell _me_. You really are a very sad girl, and do not know
how to take care of yourself.--To the post-office indeed! Mrs. Weston,
did you ever hear the like? You and I must positively exert our
authority.”
“My advice,” said Mrs. Weston kindly and persuasively, “I certainly do
feel tempted to give. Miss Fairfax, you must not run such risks.--Liable
as you have been to severe colds, indeed you ought to be particularly
careful, especially at this time of year. The spring I always think
requires more than common care. Better wait an hour or two, or even
half a day for your letters, than run the risk of bringing on your cough
again. Now do not you feel that you had? Yes, I am sure you are much too
reasonable. You look as if you would not do such a thing again.”
“Oh! she _shall_ _not_ do such a thing again,” eagerly rejoined Mrs.
Elton. “We will not allow her to do such a thing again:”--and nodding
significantly--“there must be some arrangement made, there must indeed.
I shall speak to Mr. E. The man who fetches our letters every morning
(one of our men, I forget his name) shall inquire for yours too and
bring them to you. That will obviate all difficulties you know; and from
_us_ I really think, my dear Jane, you can have no scruple to accept
such an accommodation.”
“You are extremely kind,” said Jane; “but I cannot give up my early
walk. I am advised to be out of doors as much as I can, I must walk
somewhere, and the post-office is an object; and upon my word, I have
scarcely ever had a bad morning before.”
“My dear Jane, say no more about it. The thing is determined, that is
(laughing affectedly) as far as I can presume to determine any thing
without the concurrence of my lord and master. You know, Mrs. Weston,
you and I must be cautious how we express ourselves. But I do flatter
myself, my dear Jane, that my influence is not entirely worn out. If I
meet with no insuperable difficulties therefore, consider that point as
settled.”
“Excuse me,” said Jane earnestly, “I cannot by any means consent to such
an arrangement, so needlessly troublesome to your servant. If the errand
were not a pleasure to me, it could be done, as it always is when I am
not here, by my grandmama's.”
“Oh! my dear; but so much as Patty has to do!--And it is a kindness to
employ our men.”
Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered; but instead of
answering, she began speaking again to Mr. John Knightley.
“The post-office is a wonderful establishment!” said she.--“The
regularity and despatch of it! If one thinks of all that it has to do,
and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing!”
“It is certainly very well regulated.”
“So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears! So seldom that
a letter, among the thousands that are constantly passing about the
kingdom, is even carried wrong--and not one in a million, I suppose,
actually lost! And when one considers the variety of hands, and of bad
hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder.”
“The clerks grow expert from habit.--They must begin with some quickness
of sight and hand, and exercise improves them. If you want any farther
explanation,” continued he, smiling, “they are paid for it. That is
the key to a great deal of capacity. The public pays and must be served
well.”
The varieties of handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual
observations made.
“I have heard it asserted,” said John Knightley, “that the same sort
of handwriting often prevails in a family; and where the same master
teaches, it is natural enough. But for that reason, I should imagine
the likeness must be chiefly confined to the females, for boys have very
little teaching after an early age, and scramble into any hand they can
get. Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very much alike. I have not
always known their writing apart.”
“Yes,” said his brother hesitatingly, “there is a likeness. I know what
you mean--but Emma's hand is the strongest.”
“Isabella and Emma both write beautifully,” said Mr. Woodhouse; “and
always did. And so does poor Mrs. Weston”--with half a sigh and half a
smile at her.
“I never saw any gentleman's handwriting”--Emma began, looking also at
Mrs. Weston; but stopped, on perceiving that Mrs. Weston was attending
to some one else--and the pause gave her time to reflect, “Now, how am
I going to introduce him?--Am I unequal to speaking his name at once
before all these people? Is it necessary for me to use any roundabout
phrase?--Your Yorkshire friend--your correspondent in Yorkshire;--that
would be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad.--No, I can pronounce
his name without the smallest distress. I certainly get better and
better.--Now for it.”
Mrs. Weston was disengaged and Emma began again--“Mr. Frank Churchill
writes one of the best gentleman's hands I ever saw.”
“I do not admire it,” said Mr. Knightley. “It is too small--wants
strength. It is like a woman's writing.”
This was not submitted to by either lady. They vindicated him against
the base aspersion. “No, it by no means wanted strength--it was not a
large hand, but very clear and certainly strong. Had not Mrs. Weston any
letter about her to produce?” No, she had heard from him very lately,
but having answered the letter, had put it away.
“If we were in the other room,” said Emma, “if I had my writing-desk, I
am sure I could produce a specimen. I have a note of his.--Do not you
remember, Mrs. Weston, employing him to write for you one day?”
“He chose to say he was employed”--
“Well, well, I have that note; and can shew it after dinner to convince
Mr. Knightley.”
“Oh! when a gallant young man, like Mr. Frank Churchill,” said Mr.
Knightley dryly, “writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of
course, put forth his best.”
Dinner was on table.--Mrs. Elton, before she could be spoken to, was
ready; and before Mr. Woodhouse had reached her with his request to be
allowed to hand her into the dining-parlour, was saying--
“Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always leading the way.”
Jane's solicitude about fetching her own letters had not escaped Emma.
She had heard and seen it all; and felt some curiosity to know whether
the wet walk of this morning had produced any. She suspected that it
_had_; that it would not have been so resolutely encountered but in full
expectation of hearing from some one very dear, and that it had not been
in vain. She thought there was an air of greater happiness than usual--a
glow both of complexion and spirits.
She could have made an inquiry or two, as to the expedition and the
expense of the Irish mails;--it was at her tongue's end--but she
abstained. She was quite determined not to utter a word that should hurt
Jane Fairfax's feelings; and they followed the other ladies out of the
room, arm in arm, with an appearance of good-will highly becoming to the
beauty and grace of each.
CHAPTER XVII
When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after dinner, Emma found it
hardly possible to prevent their making two distinct parties;--with so
much perseverance in judging and behaving ill did Mrs. Elton engross
Jane Fairfax and slight herself. She and Mrs. Weston were obliged to
be almost always either talking together or silent together. Mrs. Elton
left them no choice. If Jane repressed her for a little time, she
soon began again; and though much that passed between them was in a
half-whisper, especially on Mrs. Elton's side, there was no avoiding
a knowledge of their principal subjects: The post-office--catching
cold--fetching letters--and friendship, were long under discussion;
and to them succeeded one, which must be at least equally unpleasant
to Jane--inquiries whether she had yet heard of any situation likely to
suit her, and professions of Mrs. Elton's meditated activity.
“Here is April come!” said she, “I get quite anxious about you. June
will soon be here.”
“But I have never fixed on June or any other month--merely looked
forward to the summer in general.”
“But have you really heard of nothing?”
“I have not even made any inquiry; I do not wish to make any yet.”
“Oh! my dear, we cannot begin too early; you are not aware of the
difficulty of procuring exactly the desirable thing.”
“I not aware!” said Jane, shaking her head; “dear Mrs. Elton, who can
have thought of it as I have done?”
“But you have not seen so much of the world as I have. You do not know
how many candidates there always are for the _first_ situations. I saw
a vast deal of that in the neighbourhood round Maple Grove. A cousin of
Mr. Suckling, Mrs. Bragge, had such an infinity of applications; every
body was anxious to be in her family, for she moves in the first circle.
Wax-candles in the schoolroom! You may imagine how desirable! Of all
houses in the kingdom Mrs. Bragge's is the one I would most wish to see
you in.”
“Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer,”
said Jane. “I must spend some time with them; I am sure they will want
it;--afterwards I may probably be glad to dispose of myself. But I would
not wish you to take the trouble of making any inquiries at present.”
“Trouble! aye, I know your scruples. You are afraid of giving me
trouble; but I assure you, my dear Jane, the Campbells can hardly be
more interested about you than I am. I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in
a day or two, and shall give her a strict charge to be on the look-out
for any thing eligible.”
“Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the subject to
her; till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving any body
trouble.”
“But, my dear child, the time is drawing near; here is April, and June,
or say even July, is very near, with such business to accomplish before
us. Your inexperience really amuses me! A situation such as you deserve,
and your friends would require for you, is no everyday occurrence,
is not obtained at a moment's notice; indeed, indeed, we must begin
inquiring directly.”
“Excuse me, ma'am, but this is by no means my intention; I make no
inquiry myself, and should be sorry to have any made by my friends. When
I am quite determined as to the time, I am not at all afraid of being
long unemployed. There are places in town, offices, where inquiry
would soon produce something--Offices for the sale--not quite of human
flesh--but of human intellect.”
“Oh! my dear, human flesh! You quite shock me; if you mean a fling at
the slave-trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was always rather a friend to
the abolition.”
“I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,” replied Jane;
“governess-trade, I assure you, was all that I had in view; widely
different certainly as to the guilt of those who carry it on; but as to
the greater misery of the victims, I do not know where it lies. But
I only mean to say that there are advertising offices, and that by
applying to them I should have no doubt of very soon meeting with
something that would do.”
“Something that would do!” repeated Mrs. Elton. “Aye, _that_ may suit
your humble ideas of yourself;--I know what a modest creature you are;
but it will not satisfy your friends to have you taking up with any
thing that may offer, any inferior, commonplace situation, in a family
not moving in a certain circle, or able to command the elegancies of
life.”
“You are very obliging; but as to all that, I am very indifferent;
it would be no object to me to be with the rich; my mortifications, I
think, would only be the greater; I should suffer more from comparison.
A gentleman's family is all that I should condition for.”
“I know you, I know you; you would take up with any thing; but I shall
be a little more nice, and I am sure the good Campbells will be quite
on my side; with your superior talents, you have a right to move in the
first circle. Your musical knowledge alone would entitle you to name
your own terms, have as many rooms as you like, and mix in the family
as much as you chose;--that is--I do not know--if you knew the harp, you
might do all that, I am very sure; but you sing as well as play;--yes, I
really believe you might, even without the harp, stipulate for what
you chose;--and you must and shall be delightfully, honourably and
comfortably settled before the Campbells or I have any rest.”
“You may well class the delight, the honour, and the comfort of such
a situation together,” said Jane, “they are pretty sure to be equal;
however, I am very serious in not wishing any thing to be attempted
at present for me. I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton, I am
obliged to any body who feels for me, but I am quite serious in wishing
nothing to be done till the summer. For two or three months longer I
shall remain where I am, and as I am.”
“And I am quite serious too, I assure you,” replied Mrs. Elton gaily,
“in resolving to be always on the watch, and employing my friends to
watch also, that nothing really unexceptionable may pass us.”
In this style she ran on; never thoroughly stopped by any thing till Mr.
Woodhouse came into the room; her vanity had then a change of object,
and Emma heard her saying in the same half-whisper to Jane,
“Here comes this dear old beau of mine, I protest!--Only think of his
gallantry in coming away before the other men!--what a dear creature
he is;--I assure you I like him excessively. I admire all that quaint,
old-fashioned politeness; it is much more to my taste than modern ease;
modern ease often disgusts me. But this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish
you had heard his gallant speeches to me at dinner. Oh! I assure you I
began to think my caro sposo would be absolutely jealous. I fancy I
am rather a favourite; he took notice of my gown. How do you like
it?--Selina's choice--handsome, I think, but I do not know whether it
is not over-trimmed; I have the greatest dislike to the idea of being
over-trimmed--quite a horror of finery. I must put on a few ornaments
now, because it is expected of me. A bride, you know, must appear like
a bride, but my natural taste is all for simplicity; a simple style
of dress is so infinitely preferable to finery. But I am quite in the
minority, I believe; few people seem to value simplicity of dress,--show
and finery are every thing. I have some notion of putting such a
trimming as this to my white and silver poplin. Do you think it will
look well?”
The whole party were but just reassembled in the drawing-room when Mr.
Weston made his appearance among them. He had returned to a late dinner,
and walked to Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had been too much
expected by the best judges, for surprize--but there was great joy. Mr.
Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him now, as he would have been sorry
to see him before. John Knightley only was in mute astonishment.--That
a man who might have spent his evening quietly at home after a day
of business in London, should set off again, and walk half a mile
to another man's house, for the sake of being in mixed company till
bed-time, of finishing his day in the efforts of civility and the noise
of numbers, was a circumstance to strike him deeply. A man who had been
in motion since eight o'clock in the morning, and might now have been
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