jane_austin_emma_data.txt

[Emma by Jane Austen 1816]
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable homeand happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessingsof existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the worldwith very little to distress or vex her.
She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate,indulgent father; and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage,been mistress of his house from a very early period.  Her motherhad died too long ago for her to have more than an indistinctremembrance of her caresses; and her place had been suppliedby an excellent woman as governess, who had fallen little shortof a mother in affection.
Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's family,less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters,but particularly of Emma.  Between _them_ it was more the intimacyof sisters.  Even before Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominaloffice of governess, the mildness of her temper had hardly allowedher to impose any restraint; and the shadow of authority beingnow long passed away, they had been living together as friend andfriend very mutually attached, and Emma doing just what she liked;highly esteeming Miss Taylor's judgment, but directed chiefly byher own.
The real evils, indeed, of Emma's situation were the power of havingrather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a littletoo well of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatenedalloy to her many enjoyments.  The danger, however, was at presentso unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortuneswith her.
Sorrow came--a gentle sorrow--but not at all in the shape of anydisagreeable consciousness.--Miss Taylor married.  It was MissTaylor's loss which first brought grief.  It was on the wedding-dayof this beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thoughtof any continuance.  The wedding over, and the bride-people gone,her father and herself were left to dine together, with no prospectof a third to cheer a long evening.  Her father composed himselfto sleep after dinner, as usual, and she had then only to sitand think of what she had lost.
The event had every promise of happiness for her friend.  Mr. Westonwas a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age,and pleasant manners; and there was some satisfaction in consideringwith what self-denying, generous friendship she had always wishedand promoted the match; but it was a black morning's work for her.The want of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day.She recalled her past kindness--the kindness, the affection of sixteenyears--how she had taught and how she had played with her from fiveyears old--how she had devoted all her powers to attach and amuseher in health--and how nursed her through the various illnessesof childhood.  A large debt of gratitude was owing here; but theintercourse of the last seven years, the equal footing and perfectunreserve which had soon followed Isabella's marriage, on theirbeing left to each other, was yet a dearer, tenderer recollection.She had been a friend and companion such as few possessed: intelligent,well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the family,interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly interested in herself,in every pleasure, every scheme of hers--one to whom she could speakevery thought as it arose, and who had such an affection for heras could never find fault.
How was she to bear the change?--It was true that her friend wasgoing only half a mile from them; but Emma was aware that great mustbe the difference between a Mrs. Weston, only half a mile from them,and a Miss Taylor in the house; and with all her advantages,natural and domestic, she was now in great danger of sufferingfrom intellectual solitude.  She dearly loved her father, but hewas no companion for her.  He could not meet her in conversation,rational or playful.
The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Woodhouse hadnot married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits;for having been a valetudinarian all his life, without activityof mind or body, he was a much older man in ways than in years;and though everywhere beloved for the friendliness of his heartand his amiable temper, his talents could not have recommended himat any time.
Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony,being settled in London, only sixteen miles off, was much beyondher daily reach; and many a long October and November evening mustbe struggled through at Hartfield, before Christmas brought the nextvisit from Isabella and her husband, and their little children,to fill the house, and give her pleasant society again.
Highbury, the large and populous village, almost amounting to a town,to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn, and shrubberies,and name, did really belong, afforded her no equals.  The Woodhouseswere first in consequence there.  All looked up to them.  She hadmany acquaintance in the place, for her father was universally civil,but not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of MissTaylor for even half a day.  It was a melancholy change; and Emmacould not but sigh over it, and wish for impossible things,till her father awoke, and made it necessary to be cheerful.His spirits required support.  He was a nervous man, easily depressed;fond of every body that he was used to, and hating to part with them;hating change of every kind.  Matrimony, as the origin of change,was always disagreeable; and he was by no means yet reconciledto his own daughter's marrying, nor could ever speak of her butwith compassion, though it had been entirely a match of affection,when he was now obliged to part with Miss Taylor too; and fromhis habits of gentle selfishness, and of being never able tosuppose that other people could feel differently from himself,he was very much disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sada thing for herself as for them, and would have been a great dealhappier if she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield.Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep himfrom such thoughts; but when tea came, it was impossible for himnot to say exactly as he had said at dinner,
"Poor Miss Taylor!--I wish she were here again.  What a pity itis that Mr. Weston ever thought of her!"
"I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot.  Mr. Weston is sucha good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly deservesa good wife;--and you would not have had Miss Taylor live with usfor ever, and bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of her own?"
"A house of her own!--But where is the advantage of a house of her own?This is three times as large.--And you have never any odd humours,my dear."
"How often we shall be going to see them, and they coming to seeus!--We shall be always meeting! _We_ must begin; we must go and paywedding visit very soon."
"My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such a distance.I could not walk half so far."
"No, papa, nobody thought of your walking.  We must go in the carriage,to be sure."
"The carriage! But James will not like to put the horses to forsuch a little way;--and where are the poor horses to be while weare paying our visit?"
"They are to be put into Mr. Weston's stable, papa.  You know wehave settled all that already.  We talked it all over with Mr. Westonlast night.  And as for James, you may be very sure he will always likegoing to Randalls, because of his daughter's being housemaid there.I only doubt whether he will ever take us anywhere else.  That wasyour doing, papa.  You got Hannah that good place.  Nobody thoughtof Hannah till you mentioned her--James is so obliged to you!"
"I am very glad I did think of her.  It was very lucky, for I wouldnot have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account;and I am sure she will make a very good servant: she is a civil,pretty-spoken girl; I have a great opinion of her.  Whenever I see her,she always curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner;and when you have had her here to do needlework, I observe shealways turns the lock of the door the right way and never bangs it.I am sure she will be an excellent servant; and it will be a greatcomfort to poor Miss Taylor to have somebody about her that she isused to see.  Whenever James goes over to see his daughter, you know,she will be hearing of us.  He will be able to tell her how weall are."
Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier flow of ideas,and hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her father tolerablythrough the evening, and be attacked by no regrets but her own.The backgammon-table was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwardswalked in and made it unnecessary.
Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was notonly a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularlyconnected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella's husband.He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor,and always welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual,as coming directly from their mutual connexions in London.  He hadreturned to a late dinner, after some days' absence, and now walkedup to Hartfield to say that all were well in Brunswick Square.It was a happy circumstance, and animated Mr. Woodhouse for some time.Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which always did him good;and his many inquiries after "poor Isabella" and her children wereanswered most satisfactorily.  When this was over, Mr. Woodhousegratefully observed, "It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to comeout at this late hour to call upon us.  I am afraid you must havehad a shocking walk."
"Not at all, sir.  It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mildthat I must draw back from your great fire."
"But you must have found it very damp and dirty.  I wish you maynot catch cold."
"Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes.  Not a speck on them."
"Well! that is quite surprising, for we have had a vast dealof rain here.  It rained dreadfully hard for half an hourwhile we were at breakfast.  I wanted them to put off the wedding."
"By the bye--I have not wished you joy.  Being pretty well awareof what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurrywith my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well.How did you all behave? Who cried most?"
"Ah! poor Miss Taylor! 'Tis a sad business."
"Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but I cannot possiblysay `poor Miss Taylor.' I have a great regard for you and Emma;but when it comes to the question of dependence or independence!--Atany rate, it must be better to have only one to please than two."
"Especially when _one_ of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome creature!"said Emma playfully.  "That is what you have in your head,I know--and what you would certainly say if my father were not by."
"I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed," said Mr. Woodhouse,with a sigh.  "I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome."
"My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean _you_, or supposeMr. Knightley to mean _you_.  What a horrible idea! Oh no! I meantonly myself.  Mr. Knightley loves to find fault with me, you know--in a joke--it is all a joke.  We always say what we like to one another."
Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who could seefaults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them:and though this was not particularly agreeable to Emma herself,she knew it would be so much less so to her father, that she wouldnot have him really suspect such a circumstance as her not beingthought perfect by every body.
"Emma knows I never flatter her," said Mr. Knightley, "but Imeant no reflection on any body.  Miss Taylor has been usedto have two persons to please; she will now have but one.The chances are that she must be a gainer."
"Well," said Emma, willing to let it pass--"you want to hearabout the wedding; and I shall be happy to tell you, for we allbehaved charmingly.  Every body was punctual, every body in theirbest looks: not a tear, and hardly a long face to be seen.  Oh no;we all felt that we were going to be only half a mile apart,and were sure of meeting every day."
"Dear Emma bears every thing so well," said her father."But, Mr. Knightley, she is really very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor,and I am sure she _will_ miss her more than she thinks for."
Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and smiles."It is impossible that Emma should not miss such a companion,"said Mr. Knightley.  "We should not like her so well as we do, sir,if we could suppose it; but she knows how much the marriage is toMiss Taylor's advantage; she knows how very acceptable it must be,at Miss Taylor's time of life, to be settled in a home of her own,and how important to her to be secure of a comfortable provision,and therefore cannot allow herself to feel so much pain as pleasure.Every friend of Miss Taylor must be glad to have her so happilymarried."
"And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me," said Emma,"and a very considerable one--that I made the match myself.I made the match, you know, four years ago; and to have it take place,and be proved in the right, when so many people said Mr. Weston wouldnever marry again, may comfort me for any thing."
Mr. Knightley shook his head at her.  Her father fondly replied,"Ah! my dear, I wish you would not make matches and foretell things,for whatever you say always comes to pass.  Pray do not make anymore matches."
"I promise you to make none for myself, papa; but I must, indeed,for other people.  It is the greatest amusement in the world! Andafter such success, you know!--Every body said that Mr. Weston wouldnever marry again.  Oh dear, no! Mr. Weston, who had been a widowerso long, and who seemed so perfectly comfortable without a wife,so constantly occupied either in his business in town or among hisfriends here, always acceptable wherever he went, always cheerful--Mr. Weston need not spend a single evening in the year alone if he didnot like it.  Oh no! Mr. Weston certainly would never marry again.Some people even talked of a promise to his wife on her deathbed,and others of the son and the uncle not letting him.  All mannerof solemn nonsense was talked on the subject, but I believed noneof it.
"Ever since the day--about four years ago--that Miss Taylor and Imet with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began to drizzle,he darted away with so much gallantry, and borrowed two umbrellasfor us from Farmer Mitchell's, I made up my mind on the subject.I planned the match from that hour; and when such success has blessedme in this instance, dear papa, you cannot think that I shall leaveoff match-making."
"I do not understand what you mean by `success,'" said Mr. Knightley."Success supposes endeavour.  Your time has been properly anddelicately spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last fouryears to bring about this marriage.  A worthy employment for a younglady's mind! But if, which I rather imagine, your making the match,as you call it, means only your planning it, your saying to yourselfone idle day, `I think it would be a very good thing for Miss Taylorif Mr. Weston were to marry her,' and saying it again to yourselfevery now and then afterwards, why do you talk of success? Whereis your merit? What are you proud of? You made a lucky guess;and _that_ is all that can be said."
"And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess?--I pity you.--I thought you cleverer--for, depend upon it a luckyguess is never merely luck.  There is always some talent in it.And as to my poor word `success,' which you quarrel with, I do notknow that I am so entirely without any claim to it.  You have drawntwo pretty pictures; but I think there may be a third--a somethingbetween the do-nothing and the do-all. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston'svisits here, and given many little encouragements, and smoothedmany little matters, it might not have come to any thing after all.I think you must know Hartfield enough to comprehend that."
"A straightforward, open-hearted man like Weston, and a rational,unaffected woman like Miss Taylor, may be safely left to manage theirown concerns.  You are more likely to have done harm to yourself,than good to them, by interference."
"Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to others,"rejoined Mr. Woodhouse, understanding but in part.  "But, my dear,pray do not make any more matches; they are silly things, and break upone's family circle grievously."
"Only one more, papa; only for Mr. Elton.  Poor Mr. Elton! Youlike Mr. Elton, papa,--I must look about for a wife for him.There is nobody in Highbury who deserves him--and he has beenhere a whole year, and has fitted up his house so comfortably,that it would be a shame to have him single any longer--and I thoughtwhen he was joining their hands to-day, he looked so very much as ifhe would like to have the same kind office done for him! I thinkvery well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I have of doinghim a service."
"Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a verygood young man, and I have a great regard for him.  But if youwant to shew him any attention, my dear, ask him to comeand dine with us some day.  That will be a much better thing.I dare say Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to meet him."
"With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time," said Mr. Knightley,laughing, "and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a muchbetter thing.  Invite him to dinner, Emma, and help him to the bestof the fish and the chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife.Depend upon it, a man of six or seven-and-twenty can take careof himself."
CHAPTER II
Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family,which for the last two or three generations had been rising intogentility and property.  He had received a good education, but,on succeeding early in life to a small independence, had becomeindisposed for any of the more homely pursuits in which his brotherswere engaged, and had satisfied an active, cheerful mind and socialtemper by entering into the militia of his county, then embodied.
Captain Weston was a general favourite; and when the chancesof his military life had introduced him to Miss Churchill,of a great Yorkshire family, and Miss Churchill fell in lovewith him, nobody was surprized, except her brother and his wife,who had never seen him, and who were full of pride and importance,which the connexion would offend.
Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full commandof her fortune--though her fortune bore no proportion to thefamily-estate--was not to be dissuaded from the marriage, and ittook place, to the infinite mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill,who threw her off with due decorum.  It was an unsuitable connexion,and did not produce much happiness.  Mrs. Weston ought to have foundmore in it, for she had a husband whose warm heart and sweet tempermade him think every thing due to her in return for the great goodnessof being in love with him; but though she had one sort of spirit,she had not the best.  She had resolution enough to pursueher own will in spite of her brother, but not enough to refrainfrom unreasonable regrets at that brother's unreasonable anger,nor from missing the luxuries of her former home.  They lived beyondtheir income, but still it was nothing in comparison of Enscombe:she did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted at onceto be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill of Enscombe.
Captain Weston, who had been considered, especially by the Churchills,as making such an amazing match, was proved to have much the worstof the bargain; for when his wife died, after a three years' marriage,he was rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain.From the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved.The boy had, with the additional softening claim of a lingeringillness of his mother's, been the means of a sort of reconciliation;and Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, having no children of their own,nor any other young creature of equal kindred to care for, offered totake the whole charge of the little Frank soon after her decease.Some scruples and some reluctance the widower-father may be supposedto have felt; but as they were overcome by other considerations,the child was given up to the care and the wealth of the Churchills,and he had only his own comfort to seek, and his own situation toimprove as he could.
A complete change of life became desirable.  He quitted the militiaand engaged in trade, having brothers already established in agood way in London, which afforded him a favourable opening.It was a concern which brought just employment enough.  He had stilla small house in Highbury, where most of his leisure days were spent;and between useful occupation and the pleasures of society,the next eighteen or twenty years of his life passed cheerfully away.He had, by that time, realised an easy competence--enough to securethe purchase of a little estate adjoining Highbury, which he hadalways longed for--enough to marry a woman as portionless evenas Miss Taylor, and to live according to the wishes of his ownfriendly and social disposition.
It was now some time since Miss Taylor had begun to influencehis schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic influence of youthon youth, it had not shaken his determination of never settlingtill he could purchase Randalls, and the sale of Randalls was longlooked forward to; but he had gone steadily on, with these objectsin view, till they were accomplished.  He had made his fortune,bought his house, and obtained his wife; and was beginning a newperiod of existence, with every probability of greater happinessthan in any yet passed through.  He had never been an unhappy man;his own temper had secured him from that, even in his first marriage;but his second must shew him how delightful a well-judging and trulyamiable woman could be, and must give him the pleasantest proofof its being a great deal better to choose than to be chosen,to excite gratitude than to feel it.
He had only himself to please in his choice: his fortune washis own; for as to Frank, it was more than being tacitly broughtup as his uncle's heir, it had become so avowed an adoptionas to have him assume the name of Churchill on coming of age.It was most unlikely, therefore, that he should ever want hisfather's assistance.  His father had no apprehension of it.The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed her husband entirely;but it was not in Mr. Weston's nature to imagine that any capricecould be strong enough to affect one so dear, and, as he believed,so deservedly dear.  He saw his son every year in London,and was proud of him; and his fond report of him as a very fineyoung man had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him too.He was looked on as sufficiently belonging to the place to make hismerits and prospects a kind of common concern.
Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a livelycuriosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so littlereturned that he had never been there in his life.  His comingto visit his father had been often talked of but never achieved.
Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally proposed,as a most proper attention, that the visit should take place.There was not a dissentient voice on the subject, either whenMrs. Perry drank tea with Mrs. and Miss Bates, or when Mrs. andMiss Bates returned the visit.  Now was the time for Mr. FrankChurchill to come among them; and the hope strengthened when it wasunderstood that he had written to his new mother on the occasion.For a few days, every morning visit in Highbury included some mentionof the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had received.  "I suppose youhave heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill has writtento Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a very handsome letter, indeed.Mr. Woodhouse told me of it.  Mr. Woodhouse saw the letter, and hesays he never saw such a handsome letter in his life."
It was, indeed, a highly prized letter.  Mrs. Weston had, of course,formed a very favourable idea of the young man; and such a pleasingattention was an irresistible proof of his great good sense,and a most welcome addition to every source and every expressionof congratulation which her marriage had already secured.  She feltherself a most fortunate woman; and she had lived long enoughto know how fortunate she might well be thought, where the onlyregret was for a partial separation from friends whose friendshipfor her had never cooled, and who could ill bear to part with her.
She knew that at times she must be missed; and could not think,without pain, of Emma's losing a single pleasure, or sufferingan hour's ennui, from the want of her companionableness: but dearEmma was of no feeble character; she was more equal to her situationthan most girls would have been, and had sense, and energy,and spirits that might be hoped would bear her well and happilythrough its little difficulties and privations.  And then there wassuch comfort in the very easy distance of Randalls from Hartfield,so convenient for even solitary female walking, and in Mr. Weston'sdisposition and circumstances, which would make the approachingseason no hindrance to their spending half the evenings in theweek together.
Her situation was altogether the subject of hours of gratitudeto Mrs. Weston, and of moments only of regret; and hersatisfaction--her more than satisfaction--her cheerful enjoyment,was so just and so apparent, that Emma, well as she knew her father,was sometimes taken by surprize at his being still able to pity`poor Miss Taylor,' when they left her at Randalls in the centreof every domestic comfort, or saw her go away in the eveningattended by her pleasant husband to a carriage of her own.But never did she go without Mr. Woodhouse's giving a gentle sigh,and saying, "Ah, poor Miss Taylor! She would be very glad to stay."
There was no recovering Miss Taylor--nor much likelihood ofceasing to pity her; but a few weeks brought some alleviationto Mr. Woodhouse.  The compliments of his neighbours were over;he was no longer teased by being wished joy of so sorrowful an event;and the wedding-cake, which had been a great distress to him,was all eat up.  His own stomach could bear nothing rich, and hecould never believe other people to be different from himself.What was unwholesome to him he regarded as unfit for any body;and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuade them from havingany wedding-cake at all, and when that proved vain, as earnestlytried to prevent any body's eating it.  He had been at the painsof consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on the subject.  Mr. Perrywas an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose frequent visits were oneof the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse's life; and upon being applied to,he could not but acknowledge (though it seemed rather against thebias of inclination) that wedding-cake might certainly disagreewith many--perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately.With such an opinion, in confirmation of his own, Mr. Woodhouse hopedto influence every visitor of the newly married pair; but still thecake was eaten; and there was no rest for his benevolent nerves tillit was all gone.
There was a strange rumour in Highbury of all the little Perrysbeing seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding-cake in theirhands: but Mr. Woodhouse would never believe it.
CHAPTER III
Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way.  He liked very muchto have his friends come and see him; and from various united causes,from his long residence at Hartfield, and his good nature,from his fortune, his house, and his daughter, he could command thevisits of his own little circle, in a great measure, as he liked.He had not much intercourse with any families beyond that circle;his horror of late hours, and large dinner-parties, made him unfitfor any acquaintance but such as would visit him on his own terms.Fortunately for him, Highbury, including Randalls in the same parish,and Donwell Abbey in the parish adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley,comprehended many such.  Not unfrequently, through Emma's persuasion,he had some of the chosen and the best to dine with him: but eveningparties were what he preferred; and, unless he fancied himself at anytime unequal to company, there was scarcely an evening in the weekin which Emma could not make up a card-table for him.
Real, long-standing regard brought the Westons and Mr. Knightley;and by Mr. Elton, a young man living alone without liking it,the privilege of exchanging any vacant evening of his own blank solitudefor the elegancies and society of Mr. Woodhouse's drawing-room,and the smiles of his lovely daughter, was in no danger of beingthrown away.
After these came a second set; among the most come-at-ableof whom were Mrs. and Miss Bates, and Mrs. Goddard, three ladiesalmost always at the service of an invitation from Hartfield,and who were fetched and carried home so often, that Mr. Woodhousethought it no hardship for either James or the horses.  Had ittaken place only once a year, it would have been a grievance.
Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury, was avery old lady, almost past every thing but tea and quadrille.She lived with her single daughter in a very small way, and wasconsidered with all the regard and respect which a harmless old lady,under such untoward circumstances, can excite.  Her daughter enjoyeda most uncommon degree of popularity for a woman neither young,handsome, rich, nor married.  Miss Bates stood in the very worstpredicament in the world for having much of the public favour;and she had no intellectual superiority to make atonement to herself,or frighten those who might hate her into outward respect.She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness.  Her youthhad passed without distinction, and her middle of life was devotedto the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make a smallincome go as far as possible.  And yet she was a happy woman,and a woman whom no one named without good-will.  It was her ownuniversal good-will and contented temper which worked such wonders.She loved every body, was interested in every body's happiness,quicksighted to every body's merits; thought herself a most fortunatecreature, and surrounded with blessings in such an excellent mother,and so many good neighbours and friends, and a home that wantedfor nothing.  The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature,her contented and grateful spirit, were a recommendation to every body,and a mine of felicity to herself.  She was a great talker uponlittle matters, which exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, full of trivialcommunications and harmless gossip.
Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a School--not of a seminary,or an establishment, or any thing which professed, in long sentences ofrefined nonsense, to combine liberal acquirements with elegant morality,upon new principles and new systems--and where young ladies forenormous pay might be screwed out of health and into vanity--buta real, honest, old-fashioned Boarding-school, where a reasonablequantity of accomplishments were sold at a reasonable price,and where girls might be sent to be out of the way, and scramblethemselves into a little education, without any danger of comingback prodigies.  Mrs. Goddard's school was in high repute--andvery deservedly; for Highbury was reckoned a particularly healthyspot: she had an ample house and garden, gave the children plentyof wholesome food, let them run about a great deal in the summer,and in winter dressed their chilblains with her own hands.It was no wonder that a train of twenty young couple now walkedafter her to church.  She was a plain, motherly kind of woman,who had worked hard in her youth, and now thought herself entitledto the occasional holiday of a tea-visit; and having formerlyowed much to Mr. Woodhouse's kindness, felt his particular claimon her to leave her neat parlour, hung round with fancy-work,whenever she could, and win or lose a few sixpences by his fireside.
These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very frequentlyable to collect; and happy was she, for her father's sake,in the power; though, as far as she was herself concerned,it was no remedy for the absence of Mrs. Weston.  She was delightedto see her father look comfortable, and very much pleased withherself for contriving things so well; but the quiet prosingsof three such women made her feel that every evening so spentwas indeed one of the long evenings she had fearfully anticipated.
As she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly such a closeof the present day, a note was brought from Mrs. Goddard, requesting,in most respectful terms, to be allowed to bring Miss Smith with her;a most welcome request: for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen,whom Emma knew very well by sight, and had long felt an interest in,on account of her beauty.  A very gracious invitation was returned,and the evening no longer dreaded by the fair mistress of the mansion.
Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of somebody.  Somebody hadplaced her, several years back, at Mrs. Goddard's school,and somebody had lately raised her from the condition of scholarto that of parlour-boarder. This was all that was generally knownof her history.  She had no visible friends but what had beenacquired at Highbury, and was now just returned from a long visitin the country to some young ladies who had been at school there with her.
She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sortwhich Emma particularly admired.  She was short, plump, and fair,with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features,and a look of great sweetness, and, before the end of the evening,Emma was as much pleased with her manners as her person, and quitedetermined to continue the acquaintance.
She was not struck by any thing remarkably clever in Miss Smith'sconversation, but she found her altogether very engaging--notinconveniently shy, not unwilling to talk--and yet so far from pushing,shewing so proper and becoming a deference, seeming so pleasantlygrateful for being admitted to Hartfield, and so artlesslyimpressed by the appearance of every thing in so superior a styleto what she had been used to, that she must have good sense,and deserve encouragement.  Encouragement should be given.Those soft blue eyes, and all those natural graces, should not bewasted on the inferior society of Highbury and its connexions.The acquaintance she had already formed were unworthy of her.The friends from whom she had just parted, though very good sortof people, must be doing her harm.  They were a family of the nameof Martin, whom Emma well knew by character, as renting a large farmof Mr. Knightley, and residing in the parish of Donwell--very creditably,she believed--she knew Mr. Knightley thought highly of them--but theymust be coarse and unpolished, and very unfit to be the intimatesof a girl who wanted only a little more knowledge and eleganceto be quite perfect.  _She_ would notice her; she would improve her;she would detach her from her bad acquaintance, and introduce herinto good society; she would form her opinions and her manners.It would be an interesting, and certainly a very kind undertaking;highly becoming her own situation in life, her leisure, and powers.
She was so busy in admiring those soft blue eyes, in talkingand listening, and forming all these schemes in the in-betweens, thatthe evening flew away at a very unusual rate; and the supper-table,which always closed such parties, and for which she had beenused to sit and watch the due time, was all set out and ready,and moved forwards to the fire, before she was aware.  With analacrity beyond the common impulse of a spirit which yet was neverindifferent to the credit of doing every thing well and attentively,with the real good-will of a mind delighted with its own ideas,did she then do all the honours of the meal, and help and recommendthe minced chicken and scalloped oysters, with an urgency which sheknew would be acceptable to the early hours and civil scruples of their guests.
Upon such occasions poor Mr. Woodhouses feelings were in sad warfare.He loved to have the cloth laid, because it had been the fashionof his youth, but his conviction of suppers being very unwholesomemade him rather sorry to see any thing put on it; and while hishospitality would have welcomed his visitors to every thing,his care for their health made him grieve that they would eat.
Such another small basin of thin gruel as his own was all thathe could, with thorough self-approbation, recommend; though hemight constrain himself, while the ladies were comfortably clearingthe nicer things, to say:
"Mrs. Bates, let me propose your venturing on one of these eggs.An egg boiled very soft is not unwholesome.  Serle understands boilingan egg better than any body.  I would not recommend an egg boiledby any body else; but you need not be afraid, they are very small,you see--one of our small eggs will not hurt you.  Miss Bates,let Emma help you to a _little_ bit of tart--a _very_ little bit.Ours are all apple-tarts. You need not be afraid of unwholesomepreserves here.  I do not advise the custard.  Mrs. Goddard, what sayyou to _half_ a glass of wine? A _small_ half-glass, put into a tumblerof water? I do not think it could disagree with you."
Emma allowed her father to talk--but supplied her visitors ina much more satisfactory style, and on the present evening hadparticular pleasure in sending them away happy.  The happinessof Miss Smith was quite equal to her intentions.  Miss Woodhousewas so great a personage in Highbury, that the prospect of theintroduction had given as much panic as pleasure; but the humble,grateful little girl went off with highly gratified feelings,delighted with the affability with which Miss Woodhouse had treatedher all the evening, and actually shaken hands with her at last!
CHAPTER IV
Harriet Smith's intimacy at Hartfield was soon a settled thing.Quick and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time in inviting, encouraging,and telling her to come very often; and as their acquaintance increased,so did their satisfaction in each other.  As a walking companion,Emma had very early foreseen how useful she might find her.In that respect Mrs. Weston's loss had been important.  Her fathernever went beyond the shrubbery, where two divisions of the groundsufficed him for his long walk, or his short, as the year varied;and since Mrs. Weston's marriage her exercise had been too much confined.She had ventured once alone to Randalls, but it was not pleasant;and a Harriet Smith, therefore, one whom she could summon at anytime to a walk, would be a valuable addition to her privileges.But in every respect, as she saw more of her, she approved her,and was confirmed in all her kind designs.
Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile,grateful disposition, was totally free from conceit, and only desiringto be guided by any one she looked up to.  Her early attachmentto herself was very amiable; and her inclination for good company,and power of appreciating what was elegant and clever, shewed thatthere was no want of taste, though strength of understanding mustnot be expected.  Altogether she was quite convinced of HarrietSmith's being exactly the young friend she wanted--exactly thesomething which her home required.  Such a friend as Mrs. Westonwas out of the question.  Two such could never be granted.Two such she did not want.  It was quite a different sort of thing,a sentiment distinct and independent.  Mrs. Weston was the objectof a regard which had its basis in gratitude and esteem.Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful.For Mrs. Weston there was nothing to be done; for Harriet every thing.
Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to find out whowere the parents, but Harriet could not tell.  She was ready to tellevery thing in her power, but on this subject questions were vain.Emma was obliged to fancy what she liked--but she could neverbelieve that in the same situation _she_ should not have discoveredthe truth.  Harriet had no penetration.  She had been satisfiedto hear and believe just what Mrs. Goddard chose to tell her;and looked no farther.
Mrs. Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls and the affairs of theschool in general, formed naturally a great part of the conversation--andbut for her acquaintance with the Martins of Abbey-Mill Farm,it must have been the whole.  But the Martins occupied her thoughtsa good deal; she had spent two very happy months with them,and now loved to talk of the pleasures of her visit, and describethe many comforts and wonders of the place.  Emma encouraged hertalkativeness--amused by such a picture of another set of beings,and enjoying the youthful simplicity which could speak with so muchexultation of Mrs. Martin's having "_two_ parlours, two very good parlours,indeed; one of them quite as large as Mrs. Goddard's drawing-room;and of her having an upper maid who had lived five-and-twenty yearswith her; and of their having eight cows, two of them Alderneys,and one a little Welch cow, a very pretty little Welch cow indeed;and of Mrs. Martin's saying as she was so fond of it, it should becalled _her_ cow; and of their having a very handsome summer-housein their garden, where some day next year they were all to drinktea:--a very handsome summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen people."
For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond the immediate cause;but as she came to understand the family better, other feelings arose.She had taken up a wrong idea, fancying it was a mother and daughter,a son and son's wife, who all lived together; but when it appearedthat the Mr. Martin, who bore a part in the narrative, and was alwaysmentioned with approbation for his great good-nature in doing somethingor other, was a single man; that there was no young Mrs. Martin,no wife in the case; she did suspect danger to her poor littlefriend from all this hospitality and kindness, and that, if shewere not taken care of, she might be required to sink herself forever.
With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in numberand meaning; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr. Martin,and there was evidently no dislike to it.  Harriet was very readyto speak of the share he had had in their moonlight walks and merryevening games; and dwelt a good deal upon his being so very good-humouredand obliging.  He had gone three miles round one day in order to bringher some walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of them,and in every thing else he was so very obliging.  He had hisshepherd's son into the parlour one night on purpose to sing to her.She was very fond of singing.  He could sing a little himself.She believed he was very clever, and understood every thing.He had a very fine flock, and, while she was with them,he had been bid more for his wool than any body in the country.She believed every body spoke well of him.  His mother and sisterswere very fond of him.  Mrs. Martin had told her one day (and therewas a blush as she said it,) that it was impossible for any bodyto be a better son, and therefore she was sure, whenever he married,he would make a good husband.  Not that she _wanted_ him to marry.She was in no hurry at all.
"Well done, Mrs. Martin!" thought Emma.  "You know what you are about."
"And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so very kind as to sendMrs. Goddard a beautiful goose--the finest goose Mrs. Goddard hadever seen.  Mrs. Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked allthe three teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson,to sup with her."
"Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information beyond the lineof his own business? He does not read?"
"Oh yes!--that is, no--I do not know--but I believe he hasread a good deal--but not what you would think any thing of.He reads the Agricultural Reports, and some other books that layin one of the window seats--but he reads all _them_ to himself.But sometimes of an evening, before we went to cards, he would readsomething aloud out of the Elegant Extracts, very entertaining.And I know he has read the Vicar of Wakefield.  He never read theRomance of the Forest, nor The Children of the Abbey.  He had neverheard of such books before I mentioned them, but he is determinedto get them now as soon as ever he can."
The next question was--
"What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin?"
"Oh! not handsome--not at all handsome.  I thought him very plainat first, but I do not think him so plain now.  One does not, you know,after a time.  But did you never see him? He is in Highbury everynow and then, and he is sure to ride through every week in his wayto Kingston.  He has passed you very often."
"That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times, but withouthaving any idea of his name.  A young farmer, whether on horsebackor on foot, is the very last sort of person to raise my curiosity.The yeomanry are precisely the order of people with whom I feel Ican have nothing to do.  A degree or two lower, and a creditableappearance might interest me; I might hope to be useful to theirfamilies in some way or other.  But a farmer can need none of my help,and is, therefore, in one sense, as much above my notice as in everyother he is below it."
"To be sure.  Oh yes! It is not likely you should ever haveobserved him; but he knows you very well indeed--I mean by sight."
"I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young man.I know, indeed, that he is so, and, as such, wish him well.What do you imagine his age to be?"
"He was four-and-twenty the 8th of last June, and my birthday isthe 23rd just a fortnight and a day's difference--which is very odd."
"Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle.  His mother isperfectly right not to be in a hurry.  They seem very comfortableas they are, and if she were to take any pains to marry him,she would probably repent it.  Six years hence, if he could meetwith a good sort of young woman in the same rank as his own,with a little money, it might be very desirable."
"Six years hence! Dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be thirty years old!"
"Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to marry,who are not born to an independence.  Mr. Martin, I imagine,has his fortune entirely to make--cannot be at all beforehand withthe world.  Whatever money he might come into when his father died,whatever his share of the family property, it is, I dare say,all afloat, all employed in his stock, and so forth; and though,with diligence and good luck, he may be rich in time, it is next toimpossible that he should have realised any thing yet."
"To be sure, so it is.  But they live very comfortably.They have no indoors man, else they do not want for any thing;and Mrs. Martin talks of taking a boy another year."
"I wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet, whenever he doesmarry;--I mean, as to being acquainted with his wife--for thoughhis sisters, from a superior education, are not to be altogetherobjected to, it does not follow that he might marry any body at all fitfor you to notice.  The misfortune of your birth ought to make youparticularly careful as to your associates.  There can be no doubtof your being a gentleman's daughter, and you must support yourclaim to that station by every thing within your own power, or therewill be plenty of people who would take pleasure in degrading you."
"Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are.  But while I visitat Hartfield, and you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse,I am not afraid of what any body can do."
"You understand the force of influence pretty well, Harriet; but Iwould have you so firmly established in good society, as to beindependent even of Hartfield and Miss Woodhouse.  I want to see youpermanently well connected, and to that end it will be advisableto have as few odd acquaintance as may be; and, therefore, I saythat if you should still be in this country when Mr. Martin marries,I wish you may not be drawn in by your intimacy with the sisters,to be acquainted with the wife, who will probably be some merefarmer's daughter, without education."
"To be sure.  Yes.  Not that I think Mr. Martin would ever marry any bodybut what had had some education--and been very well brought up.However, I do not mean to set up my opinion against your's--and Iam sure I shall not wish for the acquaintance of his wife.  I shallalways have a great regard for the Miss Martins, especially Elizabeth,and should be very sorry to give them up, for they are quite as welleducated as me.  But if he marries a very ignorant, vulgar woman,certainly I had better not visit her, if I can help it."
Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this speech,and saw no alarming symptoms of love.  The young man had beenthe first admirer, but she trusted there was no other hold,and that there would be no serious difficulty, on Harriet's side,to oppose any friendly arrangement of her own.
They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were walking on theDonwell road.  He was on foot, and after looking very respectfullyat her, looked with most unfeigned satisfaction at her companion.Emma was not sorry to have such an opportunity of survey;and walking a few yards forward, while they talked together, soon madeher quick eye sufficiently acquainted with Mr. Robert Martin.His appearance was very neat, and he looked like a sensible young man,but his person had no other advantage; and when he came to becontrasted with gentlemen, she thought he must lose all the groundhe had gained in Harriet's inclination.  Harriet was not insensibleof manner; she had voluntarily noticed her father's gentlenesswith admiration as well as wonder.  Mr. Martin looked as if hedid not know what manner was.
They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse mustnot be kept waiting; and Harriet then came running to her with asmiling face, and in a flutter of spirits, which Miss Woodhousehoped very soon to compose.
"Only think of our happening to meet him!--How very odd! It wasquite a chance, he said, that he had not gone round by Randalls.He did not think we ever walked this road.  He thought we walkedtowards Randalls most days.  He has not been able to get theRomance of the Forest yet.  He was so busy the last time he wasat Kingston that he quite forgot it, but he goes again to-morrow.So very odd we should happen to meet! Well, Miss Woodhouse, is helike what you expected? What do you think of him? Do you think himso very plain?"
"He is very plain, undoubtedly--remarkably plain:--but that isnothing compared with his entire want of gentility.  I had noright to expect much, and I did not expect much; but I had noidea that he could be so very clownish, so totally without air.I had imagined him, I confess, a degree or two nearer gentility."
"To be sure," said Harriet, in a mortified voice, "he is notso genteel as real gentlemen."
"I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us, you have beenrepeatedly in the company of some such very real gentlemen,that you must yourself be struck with the difference in Mr. Martin.At Hartfield, you have had very good specimens of well educated,well bred men.  I should be surprized if, after seeing them,you could be in company with Mr. Martin again without perceivinghim to be a very inferior creature--and rather wondering atyourself for having ever thought him at all agreeable before.Do not you begin to feel that now? Were not you struck? I am sureyou must have been struck by his awkward look and abrupt manner,and the uncouthness of a voice which I heard to be wholly unmodulatedas I stood here."
"Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley.  He has not such a fineair and way of walking as Mr. Knightley.  I see the differenceplain enough.  But Mr. Knightley is so very fine a man!"
"Mr. Knightley's air is so remarkably good that it is not fairto compare Mr. Martin with _him_.  You might not see one in a hundredwith _gentleman_ so plainly written as in Mr. Knightley.  But he isnot the only gentleman you have been lately used to.  What say youto Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton? Compare Mr. Martin with either of _them_.Compare their manner of carrying themselves; of walking; of speaking;of being silent.  You must see the difference."
"Oh yes!--there is a great difference.  But Mr. Weston is almostan old man.  Mr. Weston must be between forty and fifty."
"Which makes his good manners the more valuable.  The older aperson grows, Harriet, the more important it is that their mannersshould not be bad; the more glaring and disgusting any loudness,or coarseness, or awkwardness becomes.  What is passable in youthis detestable in later age.  Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt;what will he be at Mr. Weston's time of life?"
"There is no saying, indeed," replied Harriet rather solemnly.
"But there may be pretty good guessing.  He will be a completely gross,vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and thinkingof nothing but profit and loss."
"Will he, indeed? That will be very bad."
"How much his business engrosses him already is very plain from thecircumstance of his forgetting to inquire for the book you recommended.He was a great deal too full of the market to think of any thingelse--which is just as it should be, for a thriving man.  What hashe to do with books? And I have no doubt that he _will_ thrive,and be a very rich man in time--and his being illiterate and coarseneed not disturb _us_."
"I wonder he did not remember the book"--was all Harriet's answer,and spoken with a degree of grave displeasure which Emma thought mightbe safely left to itself.  She, therefore, said no more for some time.Her next beginning was,
"In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton's manners are superiorto Mr. Knightley's or Mr. Weston's. They have more gentleness.They might be more safely held up as a pattern.  There is an openness,a quickness, almost a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which every bodylikes in _him_, because there is so much good-humour with it--butthat would not do to be copied.  Neither would Mr. Knightley'sdownright, decided, commanding sort of manner, though it suits_him_ very well; his figure, and look, and situation in life seemto allow it; but if any young man were to set about copying him,he would not be sufferable.  On the contrary, I think a young manmight be very safely recommended to take Mr. Elton as a model.Mr. Elton is good-humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle.He seems to me to be grown particularly gentle of late.  I do notknow whether he has any design of ingratiating himself with eitherof us, Harriet, by additional softness, but it strikes me that hismanners are softer than they used to be.  If he means any thing,it must be to please you.  Did not I tell you what he said of youthe other day?"
She then repeated some warm personal praise which she had drawnfrom Mr. Elton, and now did full justice to; and Harriet blushedand smiled, and said she had always thought Mr. Elton very agreeable.
Mr. Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for drivingthe young farmer out of Harriet's head.  She thought it wouldbe an excellent match; and only too palpably desirable, natural,and probable, for her to have much merit in planning it.She feared it was what every body else must think of and predict.It was not likely, however, that any body should have equalledher in the date of the plan, as it had entered her brain duringthe very first evening of Harriet's coming to Hartfield.  The longershe considered it, the greater was her sense of its expediency.Mr. Elton's situation was most suitable, quite the gentleman himself,and without low connexions; at the same time, not of any familythat could fairly object to the doubtful birth of Harriet.  He had acomfortable home for her, and Emma imagined a very sufficient income;for though the vicarage of Highbury was not large, he was knownto have some independent property; and she thought very highlyof him as a good-humoured, well-meaning, respectable young man,without any deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of the world.
She had already satisfied herself that he thought Harriet a beautifulgirl, which she trusted, with such frequent meetings at Hartfield,was foundation enough on his side; and on Harriet's there could belittle doubt that the idea of being preferred by him would have allthe usual weight and efficacy.  And he was really a very pleasingyoung man, a young man whom any woman not fastidious might like.He was reckoned very handsome; his person much admired in general,though not by her, there being a want of elegance of feature whichshe could not dispense with:--but the girl who could be gratifiedby a Robert Martin's riding about the country to get walnutsfor her might very well be conquered by Mr. Elton's admiration.
CHAPTER V
"I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston," said Mr. Knightley, "ofthis great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I think it a bad thing."
"A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?--why so?"
"I think they will neither of them do the other any good."
"You surprize me! Emma must do Harriet good: and by supplying herwith a new object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good.I have been seeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure.How very differently we feel!--Not think they will do each other anygood! This will certainly be the beginning of one of our quarrelsabout Emma, Mr. Knightley."
"Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you,knowing Weston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle."
"Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were here,for he thinks exactly as I do on the subject.  We were speakingof it only yesterday, and agreeing how fortunate it was for Emma,that there should be such a girl in Highbury for her to associate with.Mr. Knightley, I shall not allow you to be a fair judge in this case.You are so much used to live alone, that you do not know the valueof a companion; and, perhaps no man can be a good judge of the comforta woman feels in the society of one of her own sex, after being usedto it all her life.  I can imagine your objection to Harriet Smith.She is not the superior young woman which Emma's friend ought to be.But on the other hand, as Emma wants to see her better informed,it will be an inducement to her to read more herself.  They willread together.  She means it, I know."
"Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelveyears old.  I have seen a great many lists of her drawing-up atvarious times of books that she meant to read regularly through--andvery good lists they were--very well chosen, and very neatlyarranged--sometimes alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule.The list she drew up when only fourteen--I remember thinking itdid her judgment so much credit, that I preserved it some time;and I dare say she may have made out a very good list now.  But Ihave done with expecting any course of steady reading from Emma.She will never submit to any thing requiring industry and patience,and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding.  Where Miss Taylorfailed to stimulate, I may safely affirm that Harriet Smith will donothing.--You never could persuade her to read half so much as youwished.--You know you could not."
"I dare say," replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, "that I thoughtso _then_;--but since we have parted, I can never remember Emma'somitting to do any thing I wished."
"There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory as _that_,"--saidMr. Knightley, feelingly; and for a moment or two he had done.  "But I,"he soon added, "who have had no such charm thrown over my senses,must still see, hear, and remember.  Emma is spoiled by being thecleverest of her family.  At ten years old, she had the misfortune ofbeing able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen.She was always quick and assured: Isabella slow and diffident.And ever since she was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the houseand of you all.  In her mother she lost the only person able to copewith her.  She inherits her mother's talents, and must have beenunder subjection to her."
"I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be dependent on_your_ recommendation, had I quitted Mr. Woodhouse's family and wantedanother situation; I do not think you would have spoken a good word forme to any body.  I am sure you always thought me unfit for the office I held."
"Yes," said he, smiling.  "You are better placed _here_; very fitfor a wife, but not at all for a governess.  But you were preparingyourself to be an excellent wife all the time you were at Hartfield.You might not give Emma such a complete education as your powers wouldseem to promise; but you were receiving a very good education from _her_,on the very material matrimonial point of submitting your own will,and doing as you were bid; and if Weston had asked me to recommendhim a wife, I should certainly have named Miss Taylor."
"Thank you.  There will be very little merit in making a good wifeto such a man as Mr. Weston."
"Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather thrown away,and that with every disposition to bear, there will be nothingto be borne.  We will not despair, however.  Weston may grow crossfrom the wantonness of comfort, or his son may plague him."
"I hope not _that_.--It is not likely.  No, Mr. Knightley, do notforetell vexation from that quarter."
"Not I, indeed.  I only name possibilities.  I do not pretend to Emma'sgenius for foretelling and guessing.  I hope, with all my heart,the young man may be a Weston in merit, and a Churchill in fortune.--ButHarriet Smith--I have not half done about Harriet Smith.  I thinkher the very worst sort of companion that Emma could possibly have.She knows nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing every thing.She is a flatterer in all her ways; and so much the worse,because undesigned.  Her ignorance is hourly flattery.  How canEmma imagine she has any thing to learn herself, while Harrietis presenting such a delightful inferiority? And as for Harriet,I will venture to say that _she_ cannot gain by the acquaintance.Hartfield will only put her out of conceit with all the other placesshe belongs to.  She will grow just refined enough to be uncomfortablewith those among whom birth and circumstances have placed her home.I am much mistaken if Emma's doctrines give any strength of mind,or tend at all to make a girl adapt herself rationally to the varietiesof her situation in life.--They only give a little polish."
"I either depend more upon Emma's good sense than you do, or am moreanxious for her present comfort; for I cannot lament the acquaintance.How well she looked last night!"
"Oh! you would rather talk of her person than her mind, would you?Very well; I shall not attempt to deny Emma's being pretty."
"Pretty! say beautiful rather.  Can you imagine any thing nearerperfect beauty than Emma altogether--face and figure?"
"I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I haveseldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers.But I am a partial old friend."
"Such an eye!--the true hazle eye--and so brilliant! regular features,open countenance, with a complexion! oh! what a bloom of full health,and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure!There is health, not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head,her glance.  One hears sometimes of a child being `the pictureof health;' now, Emma always gives me the idea of being the completepicture of grown-up health.  She is loveliness itself.  Mr. Knightley,is not she?"
"I have not a fault to find with her person," he replied."I think her all you describe.  I love to look at her; and Iwill add this praise, that I do not think her personally vain.Considering how very handsome she is, she appears to be littleoccupied with it; her vanity lies another way.  Mrs. Weston, I amnot to be talked out of my dislike of Harriet Smith, or my dreadof its doing them both harm."
"And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of itsnot doing them any harm.  With all dear Emma's little faults,she is an excellent creature.  Where shall we see a better daughter,or a kinder sister, or a truer friend? No, no; she has qualitieswhich may be trusted; she will never lead any one really wrong;she will make no lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in theright a hundred times."
"Very well; I will not plague you any more.  Emma shall be an angel,and I will keep my spleen to myself till Christmas brings Johnand Isabella.  John loves Emma with a reasonable and thereforenot a blind affection, and Isabella always thinks as he does;except when he is not quite frightened enough about the children.I am sure of having their opinions with me."
"I know that you all love her really too well to be unjust or unkind;but excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if I take the liberty (I consider myself,you know, as having somewhat of the privilege of speech that Emma'smother might have had) the liberty of hinting that I do not thinkany possible good can arise from Harriet Smith's intimacy being madea matter of much discussion among you.  Pray excuse me; but supposingany little inconvenience may be apprehended from the intimacy,it cannot be expected that Emma, accountable to nobody but her father,who perfectly approves the acquaintance, should put an end to it,so long as it is a source of pleasure to herself.  It has been somany years my province to give advice, that you cannot be surprized,Mr. Knightley, at this little remains of office."
"Not at all," cried he; "I am much obliged to you for it.It is very good advice, and it shall have a better fate than youradvice has often found; for it shall be attended to."
"Mrs. John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be made unhappyabout her sister."
"Be satisfied," said he, "I will not raise any outcry.  I will keepmy ill-humour to myself.  I have a very sincere interest in Emma.Isabella does not seem more my sister; has never excited agreater interest; perhaps hardly so great.  There is an anxiety,a curiosity in what one feels for Emma.  I wonder what will becomeof her!"
"So do I," said Mrs. Weston gently, "very much."
"She always declares she will never marry, which, of course,means just nothing at all.  But I have no idea that she has yetever seen a man she cared for.  It would not be a bad thing for herto be very much in love with a proper object.  I should like to seeEmma in love, and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good.But there is nobody hereabouts to attach her; and she goes so seldomfrom home."
"There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to breakher resolution at present," said Mrs. Weston, "as can well be;and while she is so happy at Hartfield, I cannot wish her to beforming any attachment which would be creating such difficultieson poor Mr. Woodhouse's account.  I do not recommend matrimonyat present to Emma, though I mean no slight to the state, I assure you."
Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite thoughts ofher own and Mr. Weston's on the subject, as much as possible.There were wishes at Randalls respecting Emma's destiny, but itwas not desirable to have them suspected; and the quiet transitionwhich Mr. Knightley soon afterwards made to "What does Westonthink of the weather; shall we have rain?" convinced her that hehad nothing more to say or surmise about Hartfield.
CHAPTER VI
Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet's fancya proper direction and raised the gratitude of her young vanityto a very good purpose, for she found her decidedly more sensiblethan before of Mr. Elton's being a remarkably handsome man, with mostagreeable manners; and as she had no hesitation in following upthe assurance of his admiration by agreeable hints, she was soonpretty confident of creating as much liking on Harriet's side,as there could be any occasion for.  She was quite convincedof Mr. Elton's being in the fairest way of falling in love,if not in love already.  She had no scruple with regard to him.He talked of Harriet, and praised her so warmly, that she couldnot suppose any thing wanting which a little time would not add.His perception of the striking improvement of Harriet's manner,since her introduction at Hartfield, was not one of the leastagreeable proofs of his growing attachment.
"You have given Miss Smith all that she required," said he;"you have made her graceful and easy.  She was a beautiful creaturewhen she came to you, but, in my opinion, the attractions you haveadded are infinitely superior to what she received from nature."
"I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but Harrietonly wanted drawing out, and receiving a few, very few hints.She had all the natural grace of sweetness of temper and artlessnessin herself.  I have done very little."
"If it were admissible to contradict a lady," said the gallantMr. Elton--
"I have perhaps given her a little more decision of character,have taught her to think on points which had not fallen in herway before."
"Exactly so; that is what principally strikes me.  So much superaddeddecision of character! Skilful has been the hand!"
"Great has been the pleasure, I am sure.  I never met witha disposition more truly amiable."
"I have no doubt of it." And it was spoken with a sortof sighing animation, which had a vast deal of the lover.She was not less pleased another day with the mannerin which he seconded a sudden wish of hers, to have Harriet's picture.
"Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?" said she: "didyou ever sit for your picture?"
Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only stopt to say,with a very interesting naivete,
"Oh! dear, no, never."
No sooner was she out of sight, than Emma exclaimed,
"What an exquisite possession a good picture of her would be! I wouldgive any money for it.  I almost long to attempt her likeness myself.You do not know it I dare say, but two or three years ago I hada great passion for taking likenesses, and attempted several ofmy friends, and was thought to have a tolerable eye in general.But from one cause or another, I gave it up in disgust.But really, I could almost venture, if Harriet would sit to me.It would be such a delight to have her picture!"
"Let me entreat you," cried Mr. Elton; "it would indeed be a delight!Let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse, to exercise so charming atalent in favour of your friend.  I know what your drawings are.How could you suppose me ignorant? Is not this room rich inspecimens of your landscapes and flowers; and has not Mrs. Westonsome inimitable figure-pieces in her drawing-room, at Randalls?"
Yes, good man!--thought Emma--but what has all that to do with takinglikenesses? You know nothing of drawing.  Don't pretend to bein raptures about mine.  Keep your raptures for Harriet's face."Well, if you give me such kind encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believeI shall try what I can do.  Harriet's features are very delicate,which makes a likeness difficult; and yet there is a peculiarityin the shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth which one oughtto catch."
"Exactly so--The shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth--Ihave not a doubt of your success.  Pray, pray attempt it.As you will do it, it will indeed, to use your own words,be an exquisite possession."
"But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to sit.She thinks so little of her own beauty.  Did not you observe hermanner of answering me? How completely it meant, `why should mypicture be drawn?'"
"Oh! yes, I observed it, I assure you.  It was not lost on me.But still I cannot imagine she would not be persuaded."
Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost immediately made;and she had no scruples which could stand many minutes against the earnestpressing of both the others.  Emma wished to go to work directly,and therefore produced the portfolio containing her various attemptsat portraits, for not one of them had ever been finished, that theymight decide together on the best size for Harriet.  Her manybeginnings were displayed.  Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths,pencil, crayon, and water-colours had been all tried in turn.She had always wanted to do every thing, and had made more progressboth in drawing and music than many might have done with so littlelabour as she would ever submit to.  She played and sang;--and drewin almost every style; but steadiness had always been wanting;and in nothing had she approached the degree of excellence which shewould have been glad to command, and ought not to have failed of.She was not much deceived as to her own skill either as an artistor a musician, but she was not unwilling to have others deceived,or sorry to know her reputation for accomplishment often higherthan it deserved.
There was merit in every drawing--in the least finished, perhaps the most;her style was spirited; but had there been much less, or had therebeen ten times more, the delight and admiration of her two companionswould have been the same.  They were both in ecstasies.  A likenesspleases every body; and Miss Woodhouse's performances must be capital.
"No great variety of faces for you," said Emma.  "I had only myown family to study from.  There is my father--another of myfather--but the idea of sitting for his picture made him so nervous,that I could only take him by stealth; neither of them verylike therefore.  Mrs. Weston again, and again, and again, you see.Dear Mrs. Weston! always my kindest friend on every occasion.She would sit whenever I asked her.  There is my sister; and reallyquite her own little elegant figure!--and the face not unlike.I should have made a good likeness of her, if she would havesat longer, but she was in such a hurry to have me draw her fourchildren that she would not be quiet.  Then, here come all myattempts at three of those four children;--there they are,Henry and John and Bella, from one end of the sheet to the other,and any one of them might do for any one of the rest.  She was soeager to have them drawn that I could not refuse; but there is nomaking children of three or four years old stand still you know;nor can it be very easy to take any likeness of them, beyond theair and complexion, unless they are coarser featured than anyof mama's children ever were.  Here is my sketch of the fourth,who was a baby.  I took him as he was sleeping on the sofa, and itis as strong a likeness of his cockade as you would wish to see.He had nestled down his head most conveniently.  That's very like.I am rather proud of little George.  The corner of the sofa is very good.Then here is my last,"--unclosing a pretty sketch of a gentlemanin small size, whole-length--"my last and my best--my brother,Mr. John Knightley.--This did not want much of being finished, when Iput it away in a pet, and vowed I would never take another likeness.I could not help being provoked; for after all my pains, and when Ihad really made a very good likeness of it--(Mrs. Weston and Iwere quite agreed in thinking it _very_ like)--only too handsome--tooflattering--but that was a fault on the right side--afterall this, came poor dear Isabella's cold approbation of--"Yes,it was a little like--but to be sure it did not do him justice."We had had a great deal of trouble in persuading him to sit at all.It was made a great favour of; and altogether it was more than Icould bear; and so I never would finish it, to have it apologisedover as an unfavourable likeness, to every morning visitor inBrunswick Square;--and, as I said, I did then forswear ever drawingany body again.  But for Harriet's sake, or rather for my own,and as there are no husbands and wives in the case _at_ _present_,I will break my resolution now."
Mr. Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted by the idea,and was repeating, "No husbands and wives in the case at presentindeed, as you observe.  Exactly so.  No husbands and wives,"with so interesting a consciousness, that Emma began to considerwhether she had not better leave them together at once.  But as shewanted to be drawing, the declaration must wait a little longer.
She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait.It was to be a whole-length in water-colours, like Mr. JohnKnightley's, and was destined, if she could please herself,to hold a very honourable station over the mantelpiece.
The sitting began; and Harriet, smiling and blushing, and afraidof not keeping her attitude and countenance, presented a very sweetmixture of youthful expression to the steady eyes of the artist.But there was no doing any thing, with Mr. Elton fidgeting behindher and watching every touch.  She gave him credit for stationinghimself where he might gaze and gaze again without offence;but was really obliged to put an end to it, and request him toplace himself elsewhere.  It then occurred to her to employ himin reading.
"If he would be so good as to read to them, it would be a kindnessindeed! It would amuse away the difficulties of her part, and lessenthe irksomeness of Miss Smith's."
Mr. Elton was only too happy.  Harriet listened, and Emma drewin peace.  She must allow him to be still frequently coming to look;any thing less would certainly have been too little in a lover;and he was ready at the smallest intermission of the pencil,to jump up and see the progress, and be charmed.--There was nobeing displeased with such an encourager, for his admirationmade him discern a likeness almost before it was possible.She could not respect his eye, but his love and his complaisancewere unexceptionable.
The sitting was altogether very satisfactory; she was quiteenough pleased with the first day's sketch to wish to go on.There was no want of likeness, she had been fortunate in the attitude,and as she meant to throw in a little improvement to the figure,to give a little more height, and considerably more elegance, she hadgreat confidence of its being in every way a pretty drawing at last,and of its filling its destined place with credit to them both--astanding memorial of the beauty of one, the skill of the other,and the friendship of both; with as many other agreeable associationsas Mr. Elton's very promising attachment was likely to add.
Harriet was to sit again the next day; and Mr. Elton, just as he ought,entreated for the permission of attending and reading to them again.
"By all means.  We shall be most happy to consider you as oneof the party."
The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and satisfaction,took place on the morrow, and accompanied the whole progressof the picture, which was rapid and happy.  Every body who saw itwas pleased, but Mr. Elton was in continual raptures, and defendedit through every criticism.
"Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty shewanted,"--observed Mrs. Weston to him--not in the least suspectingthat she was addressing a lover.--"The expression of the eye ismost correct, but Miss Smith has not those eyebrows and eyelashes.It is the fault of her face that she has them not."
"Do you think so?" replied he.  "I cannot agree with you.It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature.I never saw such a likeness in my life.  We must allow for the effectof shade, you know."
"You have made her too tall, Emma," said Mr. Knightley.
Emma knew that she had, but would not own it; and Mr. Elton warmly added,
"Oh no! certainly not too tall; not in the least too tall.  Consider,she is sitting down--which naturally presents a different--whichin short gives exactly the idea--and the proportions mustbe preserved, you know.  Proportions, fore-shortening.--Oh no! itgives one exactly the idea of such a height as Miss Smith's. Exactly so indeed!"
"It is very pretty," said Mr. Woodhouse.  "So prettily done! Justas your drawings always are, my dear.  I do not know any body who drawsso well as you do.  The only thing I do not thoroughly like is,that she seems to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawlover her shoulders--and it makes one think she must catch cold."
"But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer.Look at the tree."
"But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear."
"You, sir, may say any thing," cried Mr. Elton, "but I must confessthat I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of MissSmith out of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitablespirit! Any other situation would have been much less in character.The naivete of Miss Smith's manners--and altogether--Oh, it ismost admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it.  I never saw sucha likeness."
The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were afew difficulties.  It must be done directly; it must be done in London;the order must go through the hands of some intelligent person whose tastecould be depended on; and Isabella, the usual doer of all commissions,must not be applied to, because it was December, and Mr. Woodhousecould not bear the idea of her stirring out of her house in the fogsof December.  But no sooner was the distress known to Mr. Elton,than it was removed.  His gallantry was always on the alert."Might he be trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasureshould he have in executing it! he could ride to London at any time.It was impossible to say how much he should be gratified by beingemployed on such an errand."
"He was too good!--she could not endure the thought!--she wouldnot give him such a troublesome office for the world,"--broughton the desired repetition of entreaties and assurances,--anda very few minutes settled the business.
Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, chuse the frame,and give the directions; and Emma thought she could so pack itas to ensure its safety without much incommoding him, while heseemed mostly fearful of not being incommoded enough.
"What a precious deposit!" said he with a tender sigh, as hereceived it.
"This man is almost too gallant to be in love," thought Emma."I should say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred differentways of being in love.  He is an excellent young man, and will suitHarriet exactly; it will be an `Exactly so,' as he says himself;but he does sigh and languish, and study for compliments rather morethan I could endure as a principal.  I come in for a pretty goodshare as a second.  But it is his gratitude on Harriet's account."
CHAPTER VII
The very day of Mr. Elton's going to London produced a fresh occasionfor Emma's services towards her friend.  Harriet had been at Hartfield,as usual, soon after breakfast; and, after a time, had gone hometo return again to dinner: she returned, and sooner than had beentalked of, and with an agitated, hurried look, announcing somethingextraordinary to have happened which she was longing to tell.Half a minute brought it all out.  She had heard, as soon as she gotback to Mrs. Goddard's, that Mr. Martin had been there an hour before,and finding she was not at home, nor particularly expected, had lefta little parcel for her from one of his sisters, and gone away;and on opening this parcel, she had actually found, besides the twosongs which she had lent Elizabeth to copy, a letter to herself;and this letter was from him, from Mr. Martin, and contained a directproposal of marriage.  "Who could have thought it? She was so surprizedshe did not know what to do.  Yes, quite a proposal of marriage;and a very good letter, at least she thought so.  And he wroteas if he really loved her very much--but she did not know--and so,she was come as fast as she could to ask Miss Woodhouse what sheshould do.--" Emma was half-ashamed of her friend for seeming sopleased and so doubtful.
"Upon my word," she cried, "the young man is determined not to loseany thing for want of asking.  He will connect himself well if he can."
"Will you read the letter?" cried Harriet.  "Pray do.  I'd ratheryou would."
Emma was not sorry to be pressed.  She read, and was surprized.The style of the letter was much above her expectation.There were not merely no grammatical errors, but as a composition itwould not have disgraced a gentleman; the language, though plain,was strong and unaffected, and the sentiments it conveyed very muchto the credit of the writer.  It was short, but expressed good sense,warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling.She paused over it, while Harriet stood anxiously watching forher opinion, with a "Well, well," and was at last forced to add,"Is it a good letter? or is it too short?"
"Yes, indeed, a very good letter," replied Emma rather slowly--"sogood a letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I think one ofhis sisters must have helped him.  I can hardly imagine the youngman whom I saw talking with you the other day could express himselfso well, if left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not thestyle of a woman; no, certainly, it is too strong and concise;not diffuse enough for a woman.  No doubt he is a sensible man,and I suppose may have a natural talent for--thinks strongly andclearly--and when he takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally findproper words.  It is so with some men.  Yes, I understand the sortof mind.  Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a certain point,not coarse.  A better written letter, Harriet (returning it,)than I had expected."
"Well," said the still waiting Harriet;--"well--and--and whatshall I do?"
"What shall you do! In what respect? Do you mean with regardto this letter?"
"Yes."
"But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it of course--and speedily."
"Yes. But what shall I say? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me."
"Oh no, no! the letter had much better be all your own.  You willexpress yourself very properly, I am sure.  There is no danger of yournot being intelligible, which is the first thing.  Your meaning mustbe unequivocal; no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of gratitudeand concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires,will present themselves unbidden to _your_ mind, I am persuaded.You need not be prompted to write with the appearance of sorrowfor his disappointment."
"You think I ought to refuse him then," said Harriet, looking down.
"Ought to refuse him! My dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are youin any doubt as to that? I thought--but I beg your pardon, perhaps Ihave been under a mistake.  I certainly have been misunderstandingyou, if you feel in doubt as to the _purport_ of your answer.I had imagined you were consulting me only as to the wording of it."
Harriet was silent.  With a little reserve of manner, Emma continued:
"You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect."
"No, I do not; that is, I do not mean--What shall I do? What wouldyou advise me to do? Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what Iought to do."
"I shall not give you any advice, Harriet.  I will have nothing todo with it.  This is a point which you must settle with your feelings."
"I had no notion that he liked me so very much," said Harriet,contemplating the letter.  For a little while Emma perseveredin her silence; but beginning to apprehend the bewitching flatteryof that letter might be too powerful, she thought it best to say,
"I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman _doubts_as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly oughtto refuse him.  If she can hesitate as to `Yes,' she ought to say`No' directly.  It is not a state to be safely entered intowith doubtful feelings, with half a heart.  I thought it my dutyas a friend, and older than yourself, to say thus much to you.But do not imagine that I want to influence you."
"Oh! no, I am sure you are a great deal too kind to--but if youwould just advise me what I had best do--No, no, I do not meanthat--As you say, one's mind ought to be quite made up--One shouldnot be hesitating--It is a very serious thing.--It will be saferto say `No,' perhaps.--Do you think I had better say `No?'"
"Not for the world," said Emma, smiling graciously, "would I adviseyou either way.  You must be the best judge of your own happiness.If you prefer Mr. Martin to every other person; if you think himthe most agreeable man you have ever been in company with, why shouldyou hesitate? You blush, Harriet.--Does any body else occur to youat this moment under such a definition? Harriet, Harriet, do notdeceive yourself; do not be run away with by gratitude and compassion.At this moment whom are you thinking of?"
The symptoms were favourable.--Instead of answering, Harriet turnedaway confused, and stood thoughtfully by the fire; and thoughthe letter was still in her hand, it was now mechanically twistedabout without regard.  Emma waited the result with impatience,but not without strong hopes.  At last, with some hesitation,Harriet said--
"Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I mustdo as well as I can by myself; and I have now quite determined,and really almost made up my mind--to refuse Mr. Martin.  Do youthink I am right?"
"Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing justwhat you ought.  While you were at all in suspense I kept my feelingsto myself, but now that you are so completely decided I have nohesitation in approving.  Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this.It would have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must havebeen the consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin.  While you were inthe smallest degree wavering, I said nothing about it, because I wouldnot influence; but it would have been the loss of a friend to me.I could not have visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm.Now I am secure of you for ever."
Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but the idea of it struckher forcibly.
"You could not have visited me!" she cried, looking aghast."No, to be sure you could not; but I never thought of that before.That would have been too dreadful!--What an escape!--Dear Miss Woodhouse,I would not give up the pleasure and honour of being intimate with youfor any thing in the world."
"Indeed, Harriet, it would have been a severe pang to lose you;but it must have been.  You would have thrown yourself out of allgood society.  I must have given you up."
"Dear me!--How should I ever have borne it! It would have killedme never to come to Hartfield any more!"
"Dear affectionate creature!--_You_ banished to Abbey-Mill Farm!--_You_confined to the society of the illiterate and vulgar all your life!I wonder how the young man could have the assurance to ask it.He must have a pretty good opinion of himself."
"I do not think he is conceited either, in general," said Harriet,her conscience opposing such censure; "at least, he is very good natured,and I shall always feel much obliged to him, and have a great regardfor--but that is quite a different thing from--and you know,though he may like me, it does not follow that I should--andcertainly I must confess that since my visiting here I have seenpeople--and if one comes to compare them, person and manners,there is no comparison at all, _one_ is so very handsome and agreeable.However, I do really think Mr. Martin a very amiable young man,and have a great opinion of him; and his being so much attachedto me--and his writing such a letter--but as to leaving you,it is what I would not do upon any consideration."
"Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend.  We will notbe parted.  A woman is not to marry a man merely because she is asked,or because he is attached to her, and can write a tolerable letter."
"Oh no;--and it is but a short letter too."
Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but let it pass with a"very true; and it would be a small consolation to her, for theclownish manner which might be offending her every hour of the day,to know that her husband could write a good letter."
"Oh! yes, very.  Nobody cares for a letter; the thing is, to be alwayshappy with pleasant companions.  I am quite determined to refuse him.But how shall I do? What shall I say?"
Emma assured her there would be no difficulty in the answer,and advised its being written directly, which was agreed to,in the hope of her assistance; and though Emma continued to protestagainst any assistance being wanted, it was in fact given in theformation of every sentence.  The looking over his letter again,in replying to it, had such a softening tendency, that it wasparticularly necessary to brace her up with a few decisive expressions;and she was so very much concerned at the idea of making him unhappy,and thought so much of what his mother and sisters would think and say,and was so anxious that they should not fancy her ungrateful,that Emma believed if the young man had come in her way at that moment,he would have been accepted after all.
This letter, however, was written, and sealed, and sent.The business was finished, and Harriet safe.  She was rather lowall the evening, but Emma could allow for her amiable regrets,and sometimes relieved them by speaking of her own affection,sometimes by bringing forward the idea of Mr. Elton.
"I shall never be invited to Abbey-Mill again," was said in rathera sorrowful tone.
"Nor, if you were, could I ever bear to part with you, my Harriet.You are a great deal too necessary at Hartfield to be sparedto Abbey-Mill."
"And I am sure I should never want to go there; for I am never happybut at Hartfield."
Some time afterwards it was, "I think Mrs. Goddard would be verymuch surprized if she knew what had happened.  I am sure Miss Nashwould--for Miss Nash thinks her own sister very well married,and it is only a linen-draper."
"One should be sorry to see greater pride or refinement in theteacher of a school, Harriet.  I dare say Miss Nash would envy yousuch an opportunity as this of being married.  Even this conquestwould appear valuable in her eyes.  As to any thing superior for you,I suppose she is quite in the dark.  The attentions of a certainperson can hardly be among the tittle-tattle of Highbury yet.Hitherto I fancy you and I are the only people to whom his looksand manners have explained themselves."
Harriet blushed and smiled, and said something about wonderingthat people should like her so much.  The idea of Mr. Elton wascertainly cheering; but still, after a time, she was tender-heartedagain towards the rejected Mr. Martin.
"Now he has got my letter," said she softly.  "I wonder what theyare all doing--whether his sisters know--if he is unhappy,they will be unhappy too.  I hope he will not mind it so very much."
"Let us think of those among our absent friends who are morecheerfully employed," cried Emma.  "At this moment, perhaps, Mr. Eltonis shewing your picture to his mother and sisters, telling how muchmore beautiful is the original, and after being asked for it fiveor six times, allowing them to hear your name, your own dear name."
"My picture!--But he has left my picture in Bond-street."
"Has he so!--Then I know nothing of Mr. Elton.  No, my dearlittle modest Harriet, depend upon it the picture will not bein Bond-street till just before he mounts his horse to-morrow.It is his companion all this evening, his solace, his delight.It opens his designs to his family, it introduces you among them,it diffuses through the party those pleasantest feelings of our nature,eager curiosity and warm prepossession.  How cheerful, how animated,how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all are!"
Harriet smiled again, and her smiles grew stronger.
CHAPTER VIII
Harriet slept at Hartfield that night.  For some weeks past shehad been spending more than half her time there, and graduallygetting to have a bed-room appropriated to herself; and Emmajudged it best in every respect, safest and kindest, to keep herwith them as much as possible just at present.  She was obligedto go the next morning for an hour or two to Mrs. Goddard's,but it was then to be settled that she should return to Hartfield,to make a regular visit of some days.
While she was gone, Mr. Knightley called, and sat some time withMr. Woodhouse and Emma, till Mr. Woodhouse, who had previously made uphis mind to walk out, was persuaded by his daughter not to defer it,and was induced by the entreaties of both, though against the scruplesof his own civility, to leave Mr. Knightley for that purpose.Mr. Knightley, who had nothing of ceremony about him, was offeringby his short, decided answers, an amusing contrast to the protractedapologies and civil hesitations of the other.
"Well, I believe, if you will excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if youwill not consider me as doing a very rude thing, I shall takeEmma's advice and go out for a quarter of an hour.  As the sunis out, I believe I had better take my three turns while I can.I treat you without ceremony, Mr. Knightley.  We invalids think weare privileged people."
"My dear sir, do not make a stranger of me."
"I leave an excellent substitute in my daughter.  Emma will be happyto entertain you.  And therefore I think I will beg your excuseand take my three turns--my winter walk."
"You cannot do better, sir."
"I would ask for the pleasure of your company, Mr. Knightley,but I am a very slow walker, and my pace would be tedious to you;and, besides, you have another long walk before you, to Donwell Abbey."
"Thank you, sir, thank you; I am going this moment myself; and Ithink the sooner _you_ go the better.  I will fetch your greatcoatand open the garden door for you."
Mr. Woodhouse at last was off; but Mr. Knightley, instead of beingimmediately off likewise, sat down again, seemingly inclinedfor more chat.  He began speaking of Harriet, and speakingof her with more voluntary praise than Emma had ever heard before.
"I cannot rate her beauty as you do," said he; "but she is apretty little creature, and I am inclined to think very well ofher disposition.  Her character depends upon those she is with;but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman."
"I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope, may not be wanting."
"Come," said he, "you are anxious for a compliment, so I willtell you that you have improved her.  You have cured her of herschool-girl's giggle; she really does you credit."
"Thank you.  I should be mortified indeed if I did not believe Ihad been of some use; but it is not every body who will bestowpraise where they may.  _You_ do not often overpower me with it."
"You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?"
"Almost every moment.  She has been gone longer already thanshe intended."
"Something has happened to delay her; some visitors perhaps."
"Highbury gossips!--Tiresome wretches!"
"Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you would."
Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and thereforesaid nothing.  He presently added, with a smile,
"I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must tell youthat I have good reason to believe your little friend will soonhear of something to her advantage."
"Indeed! how so? of what sort?"
"A very serious sort, I assure you;" still smiling.
"Very serious! I can think of but one thing--Who is in lovewith her? Who makes you their confidant?"
Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton's having dropt a hint.Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser, and she knewMr. Elton looked up to him.
"I have reason to think," he replied, "that Harriet Smith willsoon have an offer of marriage, and from a most unexceptionablequarter:--Robert Martin is the man.  Her visit to Abbey-Mill,this summer, seems to have done his business.  He is desperatelyin love and means to marry her."
"He is very obliging," said Emma; "but is he sure that Harrietmeans to marry him?"
"Well, well, means to make her an offer then.  Will that do? He cameto the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose to consult me about it.He knows I have a thorough regard for him and all his family, and,I believe, considers me as one of his best friends.  He came to askme whether I thought it would be imprudent in him to settle so early;whether I thought her too young: in short, whether I approved hischoice altogether; having some apprehension perhaps of her beingconsidered (especially since _your_ making so much of her) as in a lineof society above him.  I was very much pleased with all that he said.I never hear better sense from any one than Robert Martin.He always speaks to the purpose; open, straightforward, and verywell judging.  He told me every thing; his circumstances and plans,and what they all proposed doing in the event of his marriage.  He isan excellent young man, both as son and brother.  I had no hesitationin advising him to marry.  He proved to me that he could afford it;and that being the case, I was convinced he could not do better.I praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent him away very happy.If he had never esteemed my opinion before, he would have thoughthighly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house thinking me thebest friend and counsellor man ever had.  This happened the nightbefore last.  Now, as we may fairly suppose, he would not allowmuch time to pass before he spoke to the lady, and as he does notappear to have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he shouldbe at Mrs. Goddard's to-day; and she may be detained by a visitor,without thinking him at all a tiresome wretch."
"Pray, Mr. Knightley," said Emma, who had been smiling to herselfthrough a great part of this speech, "how do you know that Mr. Martindid not speak yesterday?"
"Certainly," replied he, surprized, "I do not absolutely know it;but it may be inferred.  Was not she the whole day with you?"
"Come," said she, "I will tell you something, in return for whatyou have told me.  He did speak yesterday--that is, he wrote,and was refused."
This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed;and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with surprize and displeasure,as he stood up, in tall indignation, and said,
"Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her.What is the foolish girl about?"
"Oh! to be sure," cried Emma, "it is always incomprehensibleto a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage.A man always imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her."
"Nonsense! a man does not imagine any such thing.  But what isthe meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin? madness,if it is so; but I hope you are mistaken."
"I saw her answer!--nothing could be clearer."
"You saw her answer!--you wrote her answer too.  Emma, this isyour doing.  You persuaded her to refuse him."
"And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing) I shouldnot feel that I had done wrong.  Mr. Martin is a very respectableyoung man, but I cannot admit him to be Harriet's equal; and amrather surprized indeed that he should have ventured to address her.By your account, he does seem to have had some scruples.  It isa pity that they were ever got over."
"Not Harriet's equal!" exclaimed Mr. Knightley loudly and warmly;and with calmer asperity, added, a few moments afterwards, "No, heis not her equal indeed, for he is as much her superior in senseas in situation.  Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you.What are Harriet Smith's claims, either of birth, nature or education,to any connexion higher than Robert Martin? She is the naturaldaughter of nobody knows whom, with probably no settled provisionat all, and certainly no respectable relations.  She is known onlyas parlour-boarder at a common school.  She is not a sensible girl,nor a girl of any information.  She has been taught nothing useful,and is too young and too simple to have acquired any thing herself.At her age she can have no experience, and with her little wit,is not very likely ever to have any that can avail her.She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and that is all.My only scruple in advising the match was on his account, as beingbeneath his deserts, and a bad connexion for him.  I felt that,as to fortune, in all probability he might do much better; and that asto a rational companion or useful helpmate, he could not do worse.But I could not reason so to a man in love, and was willingto trust to there being no harm in her, to her having that sortof disposition, which, in good hands, like his, might be easily ledaright and turn out very well.  The advantage of the match I feltto be all on her side; and had not the smallest doubt (nor have I now)that there would be a general cry-out upon her extreme good luck.Even _your_ satisfaction I made sure of.  It crossed my mind immediatelythat you would not regret your friend's leaving Highbury, for thesake of her being settled so well.  I remember saying to myself,`Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will think this agood match.'"
"I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to sayany such thing.  What! think a farmer, (and with all his sense and allhis merit Mr. Martin is nothing more,) a good match for my intimatefriend! Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marryinga man whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own! Iwonder you should think it possible for me to have such feelings.I assure you mine are very different.  I must think your statementby no means fair.  You are not just to Harriet's claims.They would be estimated very differently by others as well as myself;Mr. Martin may be the richest of the two, but he is undoubtedlyher inferior as to rank in society.--The sphere in which she movesis much above his.--It would be a degradation."
"A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be marriedto a respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer!"
"As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal senseshe may be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense.She is not to pay for the offence of others, by being held belowthe level of those with whom she is brought up.--There can scarcelybe a doubt that her father is a gentleman--and a gentleman offortune.--Her allowance is very liberal; nothing has ever been grudgedfor her improvement or comfort.--That she is a gentleman's daughter,is indubitable to me; that she associates with gentlemen's daughters,no one, I apprehend, will deny.--She is superior to Mr. Robert Martin."
"Whoever might be her parents," said Mr. Knightley, "whoever mayhave had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any partof their plan to introduce her into what you would call good society.After receiving a very indifferent education she is left inMrs. Goddard's hands to shift as she can;--to move, in short,in Mrs. Goddard's line, to have Mrs. Goddard's acquaintance.Her friends evidently thought this good enough for her; and it _was_good enough.  She desired nothing better herself.  Till you choseto turn her into a friend, her mind had no distaste for her own set,nor any ambition beyond it.  She was as happy as possible with theMartins in the summer.  She had no sense of superiority then.If she has it now, you have given it.  You have been no friend toHarriet Smith, Emma.  Robert Martin would never have proceeded so far,if he had not felt persuaded of her not being disinclined to him.I know him well.  He has too much real feeling to address anywoman on the haphazard of selfish passion.  And as to conceit,he is the farthest from it of any man I know.  Depend upon it hehad encouragement."
It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to thisassertion; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject again.
"You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin; but, as I said before,are unjust to Harriet.  Harriet's claims to marry well are notso contemptible as you represent them.  She is not a clever girl,but she has better sense than you are aware of, and does notdeserve to have her understanding spoken of so slightingly.Waiving that point, however, and supposing her to be, as youdescribe her, only pretty and good-natured, let me tell you, that inthe degree she possesses them, they are not trivial recommendationsto the world in general, for she is, in fact, a beautiful girl,and must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of an hundred;and till it appears that men are much more philosophic on the subjectof beauty than they are generally supposed; till they do fallin love with well-informed minds instead of handsome faces, a girl,with such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being admiredand sought after, of having the power of chusing from among many,consequently a claim to be nice.  Her good-nature, too, is not so veryslight a claim, comprehending, as it does, real, thorough sweetnessof temper and manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a greatreadiness to be pleased with other people.  I am very much mistakenif your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such temper,the highest claims a woman could possess."
"Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have,is almost enough to make me think so too.  Better be without sense,than misapply it as you do."
"To be sure!" cried she playfully.  "I know _that_ is the feelingof you all.  I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactlywhat every man delights in--what at once bewitches his sensesand satisfies his judgment.  Oh! Harriet may pick and chuse.Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you.And is she, at seventeen, just entering into life, just beginningto be known, to be wondered at because she does not accept the firstoffer she receives? No--pray let her have time to look about her."
"I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy," said Mr. Knightleypresently, "though I have kept my thoughts to myself; but I nowperceive that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet.You will puff her up with such ideas of her own beauty, and of whatshe has a claim to, that, in a little while, nobody within herreach will be good enough for her.  Vanity working on a weak head,produces every sort of mischief.  Nothing so easy as for a young ladyto raise her expectations too high.  Miss Harriet Smith may not findoffers of marriage flow in so fast, though she is a very pretty girl.Men of sense, whatever you may chuse to say, do not want silly wives.Men of family would not be very fond of connecting themselveswith a girl of such obscurity--and most prudent men would beafraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they might be involved in,when the mystery of her parentage came to be revealed.  Let her marryRobert Martin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy for ever;but if you encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teachher to be satisfied with nothing less than a man of consequenceand large fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. Goddard'sall the rest of her life--or, at least, (for Harriet Smith is agirl who will marry somebody or other,) till she grow desperate,and is glad to catch at the old writing-master's son."
"We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley,that there can be no use in canvassing it.  We shall only be makingeach other more angry.  But as to my _letting_ her marry Robert Martin,it is impossible; she has refused him, and so decidedly, I think,as must prevent any second application.  She must abide by the evilof having refused him, whatever it may be; and as to the refusal itself,I will not pretend to say that I might not influence her a little;but I assure you there was very little for me or for any body to do.His appearance is so much against him, and his manner so bad,that if she ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now.I can imagine, that before she had seen any body superior,she might tolerate him.  He was the brother of her friends,and he took pains to please her; and altogether, having seennobody better (that must have been his great assistant)she might not, while she was at Abbey-Mill, find him disagreeable.But the case is altered now.  She knows now what gentlemen are;and nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any chancewith Harriet."
"Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!" cried Mr. Knightley.--"RobertMartin's manners have sense, sincerity, and good-humour to recommendthem; and his mind has more true gentility than Harriet Smith could understand."
Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but wasreally feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone.She did not repent what she had done; she still thought herselfa better judge of such a point of female right and refinement than hecould be; but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgmentin general, which made her dislike having it so loudly against her;and to have him sitting just opposite to her in angry state,was very disagreeable.  Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence,with only one attempt on Emma's side to talk of the weather,but he made no answer.  He was thinking.  The result of his thoughtsappeared at last in these words.
"Robert Martin has no great loss--if he can but think so; and Ihope it will not be long before he does.  Your views for Harrietare best known to yourself; but as you make no secret of your loveof match-making, it is fair to suppose that views, and plans,and projects you have;--and as a friend I shall just hint to youthat if Elton is the man, I think it will be all labour in vain."
Emma laughed and disclaimed.  He continued,
"Depend upon it, Elton will not do.  Elton is a very good sort of man,and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likelyto make an imprudent match.  He knows the value of a good incomeas well as any body.  Elton may talk sentimentally, but he willact rationally.  He is as well acquainted with his own claims, as youcan be with Harriet's. He knows that he is a very handsome young man,and a great favourite wherever he goes; and from his general wayof talking in unreserved moments, when there are only men present,I am convinced that he does not mean to throw himself away.I have heard him speak with great animation of a large familyof young ladies that his sisters are intimate with, who have alltwenty thousand pounds apiece."
"I am very much obliged to you," said Emma, laughing again."If I had set my heart on Mr. Elton's marrying Harriet, it wouldhave been very kind to open my eyes; but at present I only wantto keep Harriet to myself.  I have done with match-making indeed.I could never hope to equal my own doings at Randalls.  I shall leaveoff while I am well."
"Good morning to you,"--said he, rising and walking off abruptly.He was very much vexed.  He felt the disappointment of the young man,and was mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by thesanction he had given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma hadtaken in the affair, was provoking him exceedingly.
Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there was moreindistinctness in the causes of her's, than in his.  She did not alwaysfeel so absolutely satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced thather opinions were right and her adversary's wrong, as Mr. Knightley.He walked off in more complete self-approbation than he left for her.She was not so materially cast down, however, but that a littletime and the return of Harriet were very adequate restoratives.Harriet's staying away so long was beginning to make her uneasy.The possibility of the young man's coming to Mrs. Goddard'sthat morning, and meeting with Harriet and pleading his own cause,gave alarming ideas.  The dread of such a failure after all became theprominent uneasiness; and when Harriet appeared, and in very good spirits,and without having any such reason to give for her long absence,she felt a satisfaction which settled her with her own mind,and convinced her, that let Mr. Knightley think or say what he would,she had done nothing which woman's friendship and woman's feelingswould not justify.
He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton; but when she consideredthat Mr. Knightley could not have observed him as she had done,neither with the interest, nor (she must be allowed to tell herself,in spite of Mr. Knightley's pretensions) with the skill of suchan observer on such a question as herself, that he had spoken ithastily and in anger, she was able to believe, that he had rathersaid what he wished resentfully to be true, than what he knewany thing about.  He certainly might have heard Mr. Elton speakwith more unreserve than she had ever done, and Mr. Elton might notbe of an imprudent, inconsiderate disposition as to money matters;he might naturally be rather attentive than otherwise to them;but then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the influenceof a strong passion at war with all interested motives.  Mr. Knightleysaw no such passion, and of course thought nothing of its effects;but she saw too much of it to feel a doubt of its overcoming anyhesitations that a reasonable prudence might originally suggest;and more than a reasonable, becoming degree of prudence, she was verysure did not belong to Mr. Elton.
Harriet's cheerful look and manner established hers: she came back,not to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr. Elton.  Miss Nashhad been telling her something, which she repeated immediatelywith great delight.  Mr. Perry had been to Mrs. Goddard's to attenda sick child, and Miss Nash had seen him, and he had told Miss Nash,that as he was coming back yesterday from Clayton Park, he had metMr. Elton, and found to his great surprize, that Mr. Elton wasactually on his road to London, and not meaning to return tillthe morrow, though it was the whist-club night, which he had beennever known to miss before; and Mr. Perry had remonstrated with himabout it, and told him how shabby it was in him, their best player,to absent himself, and tried very much to persuade him to put offhis journey only one day; but it would not do; Mr. Elton had beendetermined to go on, and had said in a _very_ _particular_ way indeed,that he was going on business which he would not put off for anyinducement in the world; and something about a very enviable commission,and being the bearer of something exceedingly precious.  Mr. Perrycould not quite understand him, but he was very sure there mustbe a _lady_ in the case, and he told him so; and Mr. Elton onlylooked very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits.Miss Nash had told her all this, and had talked a great deal moreabout Mr. Elton; and said, looking so very significantly at her,"that she did not pretend to understand what his business might be,but she only knew that any woman whom Mr. Elton could prefer,she should think the luckiest woman in the world; for, beyond a doubt,Mr. Elton had not his equal for beauty or agreeableness."
CHAPTER IX
Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrelwith herself.  He was so much displeased, that it was longer thanusual before he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet,his grave looks shewed that she was not forgiven.  She was sorry,but could not repent.  On the contrary, her plans and proceedingswere more and more justified and endeared to her by the generalappearances of the next few days.
The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon afterMr. Elton's return, and being hung over the mantelpiece of the commonsitting-room, he got up to look at it, and sighed out his half sentencesof admiration just as he ought; and as for Harriet's feelings, they werevisibly forming themselves into as strong and steady an attachmentas her youth and sort of mind admitted.  Emma was soon perfectlysatisfied of Mr. Martin's being no otherwise remembered, than ashe furnished a contrast with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter.
Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a great dealof useful reading and conversation, had never yet led to more thana few first chapters, and the intention of going on to-morrow.It was much easier to chat than to study; much pleasanter to lether imagination range and work at Harriet's fortune, than to belabouring to enlarge her comprehension or exercise it on sober facts;and the only literary pursuit which engaged Harriet at present,the only mental provision she was making for the evening of life,was the collecting and transcribing all the riddles of every sortthat she could meet with, into a thin quarto of hot-pressed paper,made up by her friend, and ornamented with ciphers and trophies.
In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scaleare not uncommon.  Miss Nash, head-teacher at Mrs. Goddard's,had written out at least three hundred; and Harriet, who had takenthe first hint of it from her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse's help,to get a great many more.  Emma assisted with her invention,memory and taste; and as Harriet wrote a very pretty hand,it was likely to be an arrangement of the first order, in formas well as quantity.
Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the girls,and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting in."So many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young--hewondered he could not remember them! but he hoped he should in time."And it always ended in "Kitty, a fair but frozen maid."
His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the subject,did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind;but he had desired Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went aboutso much, something, he thought, might come from that quarter.
It was by no means his daughter's wish that the intellects ofHighbury in general should be put under requisition.  Mr. Eltonwas the only one whose assistance she asked.  He was invitedto contribute any really good enigmas, charades, or conundrumsthat he might recollect; and she had the pleasure of seeing himmost intently at work with his recollections; and at the same time,as she could perceive, most earnestly careful that nothing ungallant,nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the sex should passhis lips.  They owed to him their two or three politest puzzles;and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled,and rather sentimentally recited, that well-known charade,
My first doth affliction denote,      Which my second is destin'd to feel    And my whole is the best antidote      That affliction to soften and heal.--
made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed itsome pages ago already.
"Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?" said she;"that is the only security for its freshness; and nothing could beeasier to you."
"Oh no! he had never written, hardly ever, any thing of the kindin his life.  The stupidest fellow! He was afraid not even MissWoodhouse"--he stopt a moment--"or Miss Smith could inspire him."
The very next day however produced some proof of inspiration.He called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on thetable containing, as he said, a charade, which a friend of his hadaddressed to a young lady, the object of his admiration, but which,from his manner, Emma was immediately convinced must be his own.
"I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection," said he."Being my friend's, I have no right to expose it in any degreeto the public eye, but perhaps you may not dislike looking at it."
The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emmacould understand.  There was deep consciousness about him,and he found it easier to meet her eye than her friend's.He was gone the next moment:--after another moment's pause,
"Take it," said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper towardsHarriet--"it is for you.  Take your own."
But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it; and Emma,never loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself.
To Miss--
CHARADE.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,      Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.    Another view of man, my second brings,      Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
But ah! united, what reverse we have!      Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown;    Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,      And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply,      May its approval beam in that soft eye!
She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning, read it throughagain to be quite certain, and quite mistress of the lines, and thenpassing it to Harriet, sat happily smiling, and saying to herself,while Harriet was puzzling over the paper in all the confusionof hope and dulness, "Very well, Mr. Elton, very well indeed.I have read worse charades.  _Courtship_--a very good hint.  I giveyou credit for it.  This is feeling your way.  This is saying veryplainly--`Pray, Miss Smith, give me leave to pay my addresses to you.Approve my charade and my intentions in the same glance.'
May its approval beam in that soft eye!
Harriet exactly.  Soft is the very word for her eye--of all epithets,the justest that could be given.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply.
Humph--Harriet's ready wit! All the better.  A man must be very muchin love, indeed, to describe her so.  Ah! Mr. Knightley, I wishyou had the benefit of this; I think this would convince you.For once in your life you would be obliged to own yourself mistaken.An excellent charade indeed! and very much to the purpose.Things must come to a crisis soon now.
She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations,which were otherwise of a sort to run into great length, by theeagerness of Harriet's wondering questions.
"What can it be, Miss Woodhouse?--what can it be? I have not an idea--Icannot guess it in the least.  What can it possibly be? Do tryto find it out, Miss Woodhouse.  Do help me.  I never saw any thingso hard.  Is it kingdom? I wonder who the friend was--and who couldbe the young lady.  Do you think it is a good one? Can it be woman?
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Can it be Neptune?
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
Or a trident? or a mermaid? or a shark? Oh, no! shark is onlyone syllable.  It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it.Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find it out?"
"Mermaids and sharks! Nonsense! My dear Harriet, what are youthinking of? Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade madeby a friend upon a mermaid or a shark? Give me the paper and listen.
For Miss ----------, read Miss Smith.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,      Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
That is _court_.
Another view of man, my second brings;      Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
That is _ship_;--plain as it can be.--Now for the cream.
But ah! united, (_courtship_, you know,) what reverse we have!      Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown.    Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,      And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
A very proper compliment!--and then follows the application,which I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficultyin comprehending.  Read it in comfort to yourself.  There canbe no doubt of its being written for you and to you."
Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion.She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness.She could not speak.  But she was not wanted to speak.  It was enoughfor her to feel.  Emma spoke for her.
"There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in this compliment,"said she, "that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr. Elton's intentions.You are his object--and you will soon receive the completest proofof it.  I thought it must be so.  I thought I could not be so deceived;but now, it is clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided,as my wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew you.Yes, Harriet, just so long have I been wanting the very circumstanceto happen what has happened.  I could never tell whether an attachmentbetween you and Mr. Elton were most desirable or most natural.Its probability and its eligibility have really so equalled eachother! I am very happy.  I congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with allmy heart.  This is an attachment which a woman may well feel pridein creating.  This is a connexion which offers nothing but good.It will give you every thing that you want--consideration, independence,a proper home--it will fix you in the centre of all your real friends,close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy for ever.This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in eitherof us."
"Dear Miss Woodhouse!"--and "Dear Miss Woodhouse," was all that Harriet,with many tender embraces could articulate at first; but when theydid arrive at something more like conversation, it was sufficientlyclear to her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated, and rememberedjust as she ought.  Mr. Elton's superiority had very ample acknowledgment.
"Whatever you say is always right," cried Harriet, "and thereforeI suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so; but otherwise I couldnot have imagined it.  It is so much beyond any thing I deserve.Mr. Elton, who might marry any body! There cannot be two opinionsabout _him_.  He is so very superior.  Only think of those sweetverses--`To Miss --------.' Dear me, how clever!--Could it reallybe meant for me?"
"I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that.It is a certainty.  Receive it on my judgment.  It is a sortof prologue to the play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soonfollowed by matter-of-fact prose."
"It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected.  I am sure,a month ago, I had no more idea myself!--The strangest things dotake place!"
"When Miss Smiths and Mr. Eltons get acquainted--they do indeed--andreally it is strange; it is out of the common course that what isso evidently, so palpably desirable--what courts the pre-arrangementof other people, should so immediately shape itself into the proper form.You and Mr. Elton are by situation called together; you belongto one another by every circumstance of your respective homes.Your marrying will be equal to the match at Randalls.  There doesseem to be a something in the air of Hartfield which gives loveexactly the right direction, and sends it into the very channelwhere it ought to flow.
The course of true love never did run smooth--
A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that passage."
"That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me,--me, of all people,who did not know him, to speak to him, at Michaelmas! And he,the very handsomest man that ever was, and a man that every bodylooks up to, quite like Mr. Knightley! His company so sought after,that every body says he need not eat a single meal by himself if hedoes not chuse it; that he has more invitations than there are daysin the week.  And so excellent in the Church! Miss Nash has put downall the texts he has ever preached from since he came to Highbury.Dear me! When I look back to the first time I saw him! How littledid I think!--The two Abbots and I ran into the front room andpeeped through the blind when we heard he was going by, and MissNash came and scolded us away, and staid to look through herself;however, she called me back presently, and let me look too,which was very good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he looked!He was arm-in-arm with Mr. Cole."
"This is an alliance which, whoever--whatever your friends may be,must be agreeable to them, provided at least they have common sense;and we are not to be addressing our conduct to fools.  If theyare anxious to see you _happily_ married, here is a man whose amiablecharacter gives every assurance of it;--if they wish to have yousettled in the same country and circle which they have chosento place you in, here it will be accomplished; and if their onlyobject is that you should, in the common phrase, be _well_ married,here is the comfortable fortune, the respectable establishment,the rise in the world which must satisfy them."
"Yes, very true.  How nicely you talk; I love to hear you.You understand every thing.  You and Mr. Elton are one as cleveras the other.  This charade!--If I had studied a twelvemonth,I could never have made any thing like it."
"I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of decliningit yesterday."
"I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever read."
"I never read one more to the purpose, certainly."
"It is as long again as almost all we have had before."
"I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour.Such things in general cannot be too short."
Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear.  The most satisfactorycomparisons were rising in her mind.
"It is one thing," said she, presently--her cheeks in a glow--"tohave very good sense in a common way, like every body else,and if there is any thing to say, to sit down and write a letter,and say just what you must, in a short way; and another, to writeverses and charades like this."
Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin's prose.
"Such sweet lines!" continued Harriet--"these two last!--Buthow shall I ever be able to return the paper, or say I have foundit out?--Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what can we do about that?"
"Leave it to me.  You do nothing.  He will be here this evening,I dare say, and then I will give it him back, and some nonsenseor other will pass between us, and you shall not be committed.--Yoursoft eyes shall chuse their own time for beaming.  Trust to me."
"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautifulcharade into my book! I am sure I have not got one half so good."
"Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why youshould not write it into your book."
"Oh! but those two lines are"--
--"The best of all.  Granted;--for private enjoyment; and for privateenjoyment keep them.  They are not at all the less written you know,because you divide them.  The couplet does not cease to be, nor doesits meaning change.  But take it away, and all _appropriation_ ceases,and a very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection.Depend upon it, he would not like to have his charade slighted,much better than his passion.  A poet in love must be encouraged inboth capacities, or neither.  Give me the book, I will write it down,and then there can be no possible reflection on you."
Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts,so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing downa declaration of love.  It seemed too precious an offering for anydegree of publicity.
"I shall never let that book go out of my own hands," said she.
"Very well," replied Emma; "a most natural feeling; and the longerit lasts, the better I shall be pleased.  But here is my fathercoming: you will not object to my reading the charade to him.It will be giving him so much pleasure! He loves any thing ofthe sort, and especially any thing that pays woman a compliment.He has the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us all!--You mustlet me read it to him."
Harriet looked grave.
"My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon thischarade.--You will betray your feelings improperly, if you aretoo conscious and too quick, and appear to affix more meaning,or even quite all the meaning which may be affixed to it.Do not be overpowered by such a little tribute of admiration.If he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not have left the paperwhile I was by; but he rather pushed it towards me than towards you.Do not let us be too solemn on the business.  He has encouragementenough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls over this charade."
"Oh! no--I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it.  Do as you please."
Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again,by the recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of "Well, my dears,how does your book go on?--Have you got any thing fresh?"
"Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something quite fresh.A piece of paper was found on the table this morning--(dropt,we suppose, by a fairy)--containing a very pretty charade, and wehave just copied it in."
She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing read,slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanationsof every part as she proceeded--and he was very much pleased, and,as she had foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary conclusion.
"Aye, that's very just, indeed, that's very properly said.Very true.  `Woman, lovely woman.' It is such a pretty charade,my dear, that I can easily guess what fairy brought it.--Nobodycould have written so prettily, but you, Emma."
Emma only nodded, and smiled.--After a little thinking,and a very tender sigh, he added,
"Ah! it is no difficulty to see who you take after! Your dear motherwas so clever at all those things! If I had but her memory! But Ican remember nothing;--not even that particular riddle which youhave heard me mention; I can only recollect the first stanza;and there are several.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid,      Kindled a flame I yet deplore,    The hood-wink'd boy I called to aid,    Though of his near approach afraid,      So fatal to my suit before.
And that is all that I can recollect of it--but it is very cleverall the way through.  But I think, my dear, you said you had got it."
"Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page.  We copied itfrom the Elegant Extracts.  It was Garrick's, you know."
"Aye, very true.--I wish I could recollect more of it.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.
The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for she was very nearbeing christened Catherine after her grandmama.  I hope we shallhave her here next week.  Have you thought, my dear, where youshall put her--and what room there will be for the children?"
"Oh! yes--she will have her own room, of course; the room she alwayshas;--and there is the nursery for the children,--just as usual,you know.  Why should there be any change?"
"I do not know, my dear--but it is so long since she was here!--notsince last Easter, and then only for a few days.--Mr. John Knightley'sbeing a lawyer is very inconvenient.--Poor Isabella!--she is sadlytaken away from us all!--and how sorry she will be when she comes,not to see Miss Taylor here!"
"She will not be surprized, papa, at least."
"I do not know, my dear.  I am sure I was very much surprizedwhen I first heard she was going to be married."
"We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us, while Isabellais here."
"Yes, my dear, if there is time.--But--(in a very depressed tone)--sheis coming for only one week.  There will not be time for any thing."
"It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer--but it seems a caseof necessity.  Mr. John Knightley must be in town again on the 28th,and we ought to be thankful, papa, that we are to have the wholeof the time they can give to the country, that two or three daysare not to be taken out for the Abbey.  Mr. Knightley promisesto give up his claim this Christmas--though you know it is longersince they were with him, than with us."
"It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella wereto be anywhere but at Hartfield."
Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley's claims onhis brother, or any body's claims on Isabella, except his own.He sat musing a little while, and then said,
"But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go backso soon, though he does.  I think, Emma, I shall try and persuadeher to stay longer with us.  She and the children might stay very well."
"Ah! papa--that is what you never have been able to accomplish,and I do not think you ever will.  Isabella cannot bear to staybehind her husband."
This was too true for contradiction.  Unwelcome as it was, Mr. Woodhousecould only give a submissive sigh; and as Emma saw his spiritsaffected by the idea of his daughter's attachment to her husband,she immediately led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them.
"Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can whilemy brother and sister are here.  I am sure she will be pleasedwith the children.  We are very proud of the children, are not we,papa? I wonder which she will think the handsomest, Henry or John?"
"Aye, I wonder which she will.  Poor little dears, how glad theywill be to come.  They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet."
"I dare say they are, sir.  I am sure I do not know who is not."
"Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mama.  Henry is the eldest,he was named after me, not after his father.  John, the second,is named after his father.  Some people are surprized, I believe,that the eldest was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry,which I thought very pretty of her.  And he is a very clever boy,indeed.  They are all remarkably clever; and they have so manypretty ways.  They will come and stand by my chair, and say,`Grandpapa, can you give me a bit of string?' and once Henry asked mefor a knife, but I told him knives were only made for grandpapas.I think their father is too rough with them very often."
"He appears rough to you," said Emma, "because you are so verygentle yourself; but if you could compare him with other papas,you would not think him rough.  He wishes his boys to be active and hardy;and if they misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then;but he is an affectionate father--certainly Mr. John Knightleyis an affectionate father.  The children are all fond of him."
"And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceilingin a very frightful way!"
"But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so much.It is such enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did not lay downthe rule of their taking turns, whichever began would never give wayto the other."
"Well, I cannot understand it."
"That is the case with us all, papa.  One half of the world cannotunderstand the pleasures of the other."
Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to separatein preparation for the regular four o'clock dinner, the heroof this inimitable charade walked in again.  Harriet turned away;but Emma could receive him with the usual smile, and her quick eyesoon discerned in his the consciousness of having made a push--ofhaving thrown a die; and she imagined he was come to see how itmight turn up.  His ostensible reason, however, was to ask whetherMr. Woodhouse's party could be made up in the evening without him,or whether he should be in the smallest degree necessary at Hartfield.If he were, every thing else must give way; but otherwise his friendCole had been saying so much about his dining with him--had madesuch a point of it, that he had promised him conditionally to come.
Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing hisfriend on their account; her father was sure of his rubber.He re-urged--she re-declined; and he seemed then about to makehis bow, when taking the paper from the table, she returned it--
"Oh! here is the charade you were so obliging as to leave with us;thank you for the sight of it.  We admired it so much, that I haveventured to write it into Miss Smith's collection.  Your friendwill not take it amiss I hope.  Of course I have not transcribedbeyond the first eight lines."
Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say.He looked rather doubtingly--rather confused; said something about"honour,"--glanced at Emma and at Harriet, and then seeing the bookopen on the table, took it up, and examined it very attentively.With the view of passing off an awkward moment, Emma smilingly said,
"You must make my apologies to your friend; but so good a charademust not be confined to one or two.  He may be sure of every woman'sapprobation while he writes with such gallantry."
"I have no hesitation in saying," replied Mr. Elton, though hesitatinga good deal while he spoke; "I have no hesitation in saying--atleast if my friend feels at all as _I_ do--I have not the smallestdoubt that, could he see his little effusion honoured as _I_ see it,(looking at the book again, and replacing it on the table), hewould consider it as the proudest moment of his life."
After this speech he was gone as soon as possible.  Emma could notthink it too soon; for with all his good and agreeable qualities,there was a sort of parade in his speeches which was very aptto incline her to laugh.  She ran away to indulge the inclination,leaving the tender and the sublime of pleasure to Harriet's share.
CHAPTER X
Though now the middle of December, there had yet been no weatherto prevent the young ladies from tolerably regular exercise;and on the morrow, Emma had a charitable visit to pay to a poorsick family, who lived a little way out of Highbury.
Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage Lane, a laneleading at right angles from the broad, though irregular, main streetof the place; and, as may be inferred, containing the blessed abodeof Mr. Elton.  A few inferior dwellings were first to be passed,and then, about a quarter of a mile down the lane rose the Vicarage,an old and not very good house, almost as close to the road as itcould be.  It had no advantage of situation; but had been very muchsmartened up by the present proprietor; and, such as it was,there could be no possibility of the two friends passing it withouta slackened pace and observing eyes.--Emma's remark was--
"There it is.  There go you and your riddle-book one of these days."--Harriet's was--
"Oh, what a sweet house!--How very beautiful!--There are the yellowcurtains that Miss Nash admires so much."
"I do not often walk this way _now_," said Emma, as they proceeded,"but _then_ there will be an inducement, and I shall gradually getintimately acquainted with all the hedges, gates, pools and pollardsof this part of Highbury."
Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within side the Vicarage,and her curiosity to see it was so extreme, that, considering exteriorsand probabilities, Emma could only class it, as a proof of love,with Mr. Elton's seeing ready wit in her.
"I wish we could contrive it," said she; "but I cannot thinkof any tolerable pretence for going in;--no servant that I wantto inquire about of his housekeeper--no message from my father."
She pondered, but could think of nothing.  After a mutual silenceof some minutes, Harriet thus began again--
"I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be married,or going to be married! so charming as you are!"--
Emma laughed, and replied,
"My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to induce me to marry;I must find other people charming--one other person at least.And I am not only, not going to be married, at present, but havevery little intention of ever marrying at all."
"Ah!--so you say; but I cannot believe it."
"I must see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet,to be tempted; Mr. Elton, you know, (recollecting herself,)is out of the question:  and I do _not_ wish to see any such person.I would rather not be tempted.  I cannot really change for the better.If I were to marry, I must expect to repent it."
"Dear me!--it is so odd to hear a woman talk so!"--
"I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry.Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing!but I never have been in love; it is not my way, or my nature;and I do not think I ever shall.  And, without love, I am sure Ishould be a fool to change such a situation as mine.  Fortune Ido not want; employment I do not want; consequence I do not want:I believe few married women are half as much mistress of theirhusband's house as I am of Hartfield; and never, never could I expectto be so truly beloved and important; so always first and alwaysright in any man's eyes as I am in my father's."
"But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates!"
"That is as formidable an image as you could present, Harriet; and if Ithought I should ever be like Miss Bates! so silly--so satisfied--so smiling--so prosing--so undistinguishing and unfastidious--and so apt to tell every thing relative to every body about me,I would marry to-morrow. But between _us_, I am convinced there nevercan be any likeness, except in being unmarried."
"But still, you will be an old maid! and that's so dreadful!"
"Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid; and it ispoverty only which makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public!A single woman, with a very narrow income, must be a ridiculous,disagreeable old maid! the proper sport of boys and girls,but a single woman, of good fortune, is always respectable,and may be as sensible and pleasant as any body else.  And thedistinction is not quite so much against the candour and commonsense of the world as appears at first; for a very narrow incomehas a tendency to contract the mind, and sour the temper.Those who can barely live, and who live perforce in a very small,and generally very inferior, society, may well be illiberal and cross.This does not apply, however, to Miss Bates; she is only too goodnatured and too silly to suit me; but, in general, she is verymuch to the taste of every body, though single and though poor.Poverty certainly has not contracted her mind:  I really believe,if she had only a shilling in the world, she would be very likelyto give away sixpence of it; and nobody is afraid of her:  that is agreat charm."
"Dear me! but what shall you do? how shall you employ yourselfwhen you grow old?"
"If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, with a greatmany independent resources; and I do not perceive why I should bemore in want of employment at forty or fifty than one-and-twenty.Woman's usual occupations of hand and mind will be as open to me thenas they are now; or with no important variation.  If I draw less,I shall read more; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet-work.And as for objects of interest, objects for the affections,which is in truth the great point of inferiority, the want of whichis really the great evil to be avoided in _not_ marrying, I shallbe very well off, with all the children of a sister I love so much,to care about.  There will be enough of them, in all probability,to supply every sort of sensation that declining life can need.There will be enough for every hope and every fear; and though myattachment to none can equal that of a parent, it suits my ideasof comfort better than what is warmer and blinder.  My nephewsand nieces!--I shall often have a niece with me."
"Do you know Miss Bates's niece?  That is, I know you must haveseen her a hundred times--but are you acquainted?"
"Oh! yes; we are always forced to be acquainted whenever she comesto Highbury.  By the bye, _that_ is almost enough to put one outof conceit with a niece.  Heaven forbid! at least, that I shouldever bore people half so much about all the Knightleys together,as she does about Jane Fairfax.  One is sick of the very nameof Jane Fairfax.  Every letter from her is read forty times over;her compliments to all friends go round and round again; and if shedoes but send her aunt the pattern of a stomacher, or knit a pairof garters for her grandmother, one hears of nothing else for a month.I wish Jane Fairfax very well; but she tires me to death."
They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle topicswere superseded.  Emma was very compassionate; and the distressesof the poor were as sure of relief from her personal attentionand kindness, her counsel and her patience, as from her purse.She understood their ways, could allow for their ignorance andtheir temptations, had no romantic expectations of extraordinaryvirtue from those for whom education had done so little; entered intotheir troubles with ready sympathy, and always gave her assistancewith as much intelligence as good-will.  In the present instance,it was sickness and poverty together which she came to visit;and after remaining there as long as she could give comfort or advice,she quitted the cottage with such an impression of the sceneas made her say to Harriet, as they walked away,
"These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good.  How trifling theymake every thing else appear!--I feel now as if I could think ofnothing but these poor creatures all the rest of the day; and yet,who can say how soon it may all vanish from my mind?"
"Very true," said Harriet.  "Poor creatures! one can thinkof nothing else."
"And really, I do not think the impression will soon be over,"said Emma, as she crossed the low hedge, and tottering footstepwhich ended the narrow, slippery path through the cottage garden,and brought them into the lane again.  "I do not think it will,"stopping to look once more at all the outward wretchedness of the place,and recall the still greater within.
"Oh! dear, no," said her companion.
They walked on.  The lane made a slight bend; and when that bendwas passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight; and so nearas to give Emma time only to say farther,
"Ah!  Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our stabilityin good thoughts.  Well, (smiling,) I hope it may be allowed thatif compassion has produced exertion and relief to the sufferers,it has done all that is truly important.  If we feel for the wretched,enough to do all we can for them, the rest is empty sympathy,only distressing to ourselves."
Harriet could just answer, "Oh! dear, yes," before the gentlemanjoined them.  The wants and sufferings of the poor family, however,were the first subject on meeting.  He had been going to callon them.  His visit he would now defer; but they had a veryinteresting parley about what could be done and should be done.Mr. Elton then turned back to accompany them.
"To fall in with each other on such an errand as this," thought Emma;"to meet in a charitable scheme; this will bring a great increaseof love on each side.  I should not wonder if it were to bringon the declaration.  It must, if I were not here.  I wish I wereanywhere else."
Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, she soonafterwards took possession of a narrow footpath, a little raisedon one side of the lane, leaving them together in the main road.But she had not been there two minutes when she found that Harriet'shabits of dependence and imitation were bringing her up too, and that,in short, they would both be soon after her.  This would not do;she immediately stopped, under pretence of having some alterationto make in the lacing of her half-boot, and stooping down in completeoccupation of the footpath, begged them to have the goodness to walk on,and she would follow in half a minute.  They did as they were desired;and by the time she judged it reasonable to have done with her boot,she had the comfort of farther delay in her power, being overtakenby a child from the cottage, setting out, according to orders,with her pitcher, to fetch broth from Hartfield.  To walk by the sideof this child, and talk to and question her, was the most naturalthing in the world, or would have been the most natural, had she beenacting just then without design; and by this means the others werestill able to keep ahead, without any obligation of waiting for her.She gained on them, however, involuntarily:  the child's pace was quick,and theirs rather slow; and she was the more concerned at it,from their being evidently in a conversation which interested them.Mr. Elton was speaking with animation, Harriet listening with a verypleased attention; and Emma, having sent the child on, was beginningto think how she might draw back a little more, when they bothlooked around, and she was obliged to join them.
Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in some interesting detail;and Emma experienced some disappointment when she found that hewas only giving his fair companion an account of the yesterday'sparty at his friend Cole's, and that she was come in herself forthe Stilton cheese, the north Wiltshire, the butter, the cellery,the beet-root, and all the dessert.
"This would soon have led to something better, of course," was herconsoling reflection; "any thing interests between those who love;and any thing will serve as introduction to what is near the heart.If I could but have kept longer away!"
They now walked on together quietly, till within view of the vicaragepales, when a sudden resolution, of at least getting Harriet intothe house, made her again find something very much amiss about her boot,and fall behind to arrange it once more.  She then broke the laceoff short, and dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presentlyobliged to entreat them to stop, and acknowledged her inability toput herself to rights so as to be able to walk home in tolerable comfort.
"Part of my lace is gone," said she, "and I do not know how I amto contrive.  I really am a most troublesome companion to you both,but I hope I am not often so ill-equipped. Mr. Elton, I must begleave to stop at your house, and ask your housekeeper for a bitof ribband or string, or any thing just to keep my boot on."
Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition; and nothingcould exceed his alertness and attention in conducting them intohis house and endeavouring to make every thing appear to advantage.The room they were taken into was the one he chiefly occupied,and looking forwards; behind it was another with which it immediatelycommunicated; the door between them was open, and Emma passedinto it with the housekeeper to receive her assistance in the mostcomfortable manner.  She was obliged to leave the door ajar as shefound it; but she fully intended that Mr. Elton should close it.It was not closed, however, it still remained ajar; but by engagingthe housekeeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to make itpracticable for him to chuse his own subject in the adjoining room.For ten minutes she could hear nothing but herself.  It couldbe protracted no longer.  She was then obliged to be finished,and make her appearance.
The lovers were standing together at one of the windows.  It had amost favourable aspect; and, for half a minute, Emma felt the gloryof having schemed successfully.  But it would not do; he had notcome to the point.  He had been most agreeable, most delightful;he had told Harriet that he had seen them go by, and had purposelyfollowed them; other little gallantries and allusions had been dropt,but nothing serious.
"Cautious, very cautious," thought Emma; "he advances inch by inch,and will hazard nothing till he believes himself secure."
Still, however, though every thing had not been accomplishedby her ingenious device, she could not but flatter herselfthat it had been the occasion of much present enjoyment to both,and must be leading them forward to the great event.
CHAPTER XI
Mr. Elton must now be left to himself.  It was no longer in Emma'spower to superintend his happiness or quicken his measures.The coming of her sister's family was so very near at hand,that first in anticipation, and then in reality, it became henceforthher prime object of interest; and during the ten days of their stayat Hartfield it was not to be expected--she did not herself expect--that any thing beyond occasional, fortuitous assistance couldbe afforded by her to the lovers.  They might advance rapidlyif they would, however; they must advance somehow or other whetherthey would or no.  She hardly wished to have more leisure for them.There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they willdo for themselves.
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usualabsent from Surry, were exciting of course rather more than theusual interest.  Till this year, every long vacation since theirmarriage had been divided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey;but all the holidays of this autumn had been given to sea-bathingfor the children, and it was therefore many months since they hadbeen seen in a regular way by their Surry connexions, or seen at allby Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be induced to get so far as London,even for poor Isabella's sake; and who consequently was now mostnervously and apprehensively happy in forestalling this too short visit.
He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not alittle of the fatigues of his own horses and coachman who were tobring some of the party the last half of the way; but his alarmswere needless; the sixteen miles being happily accomplished,and Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, their five children, and a competentnumber of nursery-maids, all reaching Hartfield in safety.The bustle and joy of such an arrival, the many to be talked to,welcomed, encouraged, and variously dispersed and disposed of,produced a noise and confusion which his nerves could not have borneunder any other cause, nor have endured much longer even for this;but the ways of Hartfield and the feelings of her father wereso respected by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of maternalsolicitude for the immediate enjoyment of her little ones,and for their having instantly all the liberty and attendance,all the eating and drinking, and sleeping and playing,which they could possibly wish for, without the smallest delay,the children were never allowed to be long a disturbance to him,either in themselves or in any restless attendance on them.
Mrs. John Knightley was a pretty, elegant little woman, of gentle,quiet manners, and a disposition remarkably amiable and affectionate;wrapt up in her family; a devoted wife, a doating mother,and so tenderly attached to her father and sister that, but forthese higher ties, a warmer love might have seemed impossible.She could never see a fault in any of them.  She was not a womanof strong understanding or any quickness; and with this resemblanceof her father, she inherited also much of his constitution;was delicate in her own health, over-careful of that of her children,had many fears and many nerves, and was as fond of her own Mr. Wingfieldin town as her father could be of Mr. Perry.  They were alike too,in a general benevolence of temper, and a strong habit of regardfor every old acquaintance.
Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and very clever man;rising in his profession, domestic, and respectable in hisprivate character; but with reserved manners which prevented his beinggenerally pleasing; and capable of being sometimes out of humour.He was not an ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably crossas to deserve such a reproach; but his temper was not hisgreat perfection; and, indeed, with such a worshipping wife,it was hardly possible that any natural defects in it should notbe increased.  The extreme sweetness of her temper must hurt his.He had all the clearness and quickness of mind which she wanted,and he could sometimes act an ungracious, or say a severe thing.
He was not a great favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothingwrong in him escaped her.  She was quick in feeling the littleinjuries to Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself.Perhaps she might have passed over more had his manners beenflattering to Isabella's sister, but they were only those of a calmlykind brother and friend, without praise and without blindness;but hardly any degree of personal compliment could have made herregardless of that greatest fault of all in her eyes which he sometimesfell into, the want of respectful forbearance towards her father.There he had not always the patience that could have been wished.Mr. Woodhouse's peculiarities and fidgetiness were sometimes provokinghim to a rational remonstrance or sharp retort equally ill-bestowed.It did not often happen; for Mr. John Knightley had really a greatregard for his father-in-law, and generally a strong sense of what wasdue to him; but it was too often for Emma's charity, especially asthere was all the pain of apprehension frequently to be endured,though the offence came not.  The beginning, however, of every visitdisplayed none but the properest feelings, and this being of necessityso short might be hoped to pass away in unsullied cordiality.They had not been long seated and composed when Mr. Woodhouse,with a melancholy shake of the head and a sigh, called his daughter'sattention to the sad change at Hartfield since she had been there last.
"Ah, my dear," said he, "poor Miss Taylor--It is a grievous business."
"Oh yes, sir," cried she with ready sympathy, "how you mustmiss her!  And dear Emma, too!--What a dreadful loss to you both!--I have been so grieved for you.--I could not imagine how you couldpossibly do without her.--It is a sad change indeed.--But I hopeshe is pretty well, sir."
"Pretty well, my dear--I hope--pretty well.--I do not knowbut that the place agrees with her tolerably."
Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma quietly whether there were anydoubts of the air of Randalls.
"Oh! no--none in the least.  I never saw Mrs. Weston better in my life--never looking so well.  Papa is only speaking his own regret."
"Very much to the honour of both," was the handsome reply.
"And do you see her, sir, tolerably often?" asked Isabellain the plaintive tone which just suited her father.
Mr. Woodhouse hesitated.--"Not near so often, my dear, as I could wish."
"Oh! papa, we have missed seeing them but one entire day sincethey married.  Either in the morning or evening of every day,excepting one, have we seen either Mr. Weston or Mrs. Weston,and generally both, either at Randalls or here--and as youmay suppose, Isabella, most frequently here.  They are very,very kind in their visits.  Mr. Weston is really as kind as herself.Papa, if you speak in that melancholy way, you will be givingIsabella a false idea of us all.  Every body must be aware that MissTaylor must be missed, but every body ought also to be assuredthat Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really prevent our missing her by anymeans to the extent we ourselves anticipated--which is the exact truth."
"Just as it should be," said Mr. John Knightley, "and just as I hopedit was from your letters.  Her wish of shewing you attention couldnot be doubted, and his being a disengaged and social man makes itall easy.  I have been always telling you, my love, that I had no ideaof the change being so very material to Hartfield as you apprehended;and now you have Emma's account, I hope you will be satisfied."
"Why, to be sure," said Mr. Woodhouse--"yes, certainly--I cannot denythat Mrs. Weston, poor Mrs. Weston, does come and see us pretty often--but then--she is always obliged to go away again."
"It would be very hard upon Mr. Weston if she did not, papa.--You quite forget poor Mr. Weston."
"I think, indeed," said John Knightley pleasantly, "that Mr. Westonhas some little claim.  You and I, Emma, will venture to take the partof the poor husband.  I, being a husband, and you not being a wife,the claims of the man may very likely strike us with equal force.As for Isabella, she has been married long enough to see the convenienceof putting all the Mr. Westons aside as much as she can."
"Me, my love," cried his wife, hearing and understanding only in part.--"Are you talking about me?--I am sure nobody ought to be, or can be,a greater advocate for matrimony than I am; and if it had not beenfor the misery of her leaving Hartfield, I should never have thoughtof Miss Taylor but as the most fortunate woman in the world;and as to slighting Mr. Weston, that excellent Mr. Weston, I thinkthere is nothing he does not deserve.  I believe he is one of thevery best-tempered men that ever existed.  Excepting yourselfand your brother, I do not know his equal for temper.  I shallnever forget his flying Henry's kite for him that very windy daylast Easter--and ever since his particular kindness last Septembertwelvemonth in writing that note, at twelve o'clock at night,on purpose to assure me that there was no scarlet fever at Cobham,I have been convinced there could not be a more feeling heart nora better man in existence.--If any body can deserve him, it must beMiss Taylor."
"Where is the young man?" said John Knightley.  "Has he been hereon this occasion--or has he not?"
"He has not been here yet," replied Emma.  "There was a strongexpectation of his coming soon after the marriage, but it endedin nothing; and I have not heard him mentioned lately."
"But you should tell them of the letter, my dear," said her father."He wrote a letter to poor Mrs. Weston, to congratulate her,and a very proper, handsome letter it was.  She shewed it to me.I thought it very well done of him indeed.  Whether it was his own ideayou know, one cannot tell.  He is but young, and his uncle, perhaps--"