Emma by Jane Austen(3)

of her disposition. Her character depends upon those she is
with; but in good hands she will turn out a valuable
woman.’
‘I am glad you think so; and the good hands, I hope,
may not be wanting.’
‘Come,’ said he, ‘you are anxious for a compliment, so
I will tell you that you have improved her. You have
cured her of her school-girl’s giggle; she really does you
credit.’
‘Thank you. I should be mortified indeed if I did not
believe I had been of some use; but it is not every body
who will bestow praise where they may. You do not often
overpower me with it.’
‘You are expecting her again, you say, this morning?’
‘Almost every moment. She has been gone longer
already than she intended.’
‘Something has happened to delay her; some visitors
perhaps.’
‘Highbury gossips!—Tiresome wretches!’
‘Harriet may not consider every body tiresome that you
would.’
Emma knew this was too true for contradiction, and
therefore said nothing. He presently added, with a smile,

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‘I do not pretend to fix on times or places, but I must
tell you that I have good reason to believe your little
friend will soon hear of something to her advantage.’
‘Indeed! how so? of what sort?’
‘A very serious sort, I assure you;’ still smiling.
‘Very serious! I can think of but one thing—Who is in
love with her? Who makes you their confidant?’
Emma was more than half in hopes of Mr. Elton’s
having dropt a hint. Mr. Knightley was a sort of general
friend and adviser, and she knew Mr. Elton looked up to
him.
‘I have reason to think,’ he replied, ‘that Harriet Smith
will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most
unexceptionable quarter:—Robert Martin is the man. Her
visit to Abbey-Mill, this summer, seems to have done his
business. He is desperately in love and means to marry
her.’
‘He is very obliging,’ said Emma; ‘but is he sure that
Harriet means to marry him?’
‘Well, well, means to make her an offer then. Will that
do? He came to the Abbey two evenings ago, on purpose
to consult me about it. He knows I have a thorough
regard for him and all his family, and, I believe, considers
me as one of his best friends. He came to ask me whether
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I thought it would be imprudent in him to settle so early;
whether I thought her too young: in short, whether I
approved his choice altogether; having some apprehension
perhaps of her being considered (especially since your
making so much of her) as in a line of society above him. I
was very much pleased with all that he said. I never hear
better sense from any one than Robert Martin. He always
speaks to the purpose; open, straightforward, and very well
judging. He told me every thing; his circumstances and
plans, and what they all proposed doing in the event of his
marriage. He is an excellent young man, both as son and
brother. I had no hesitation in advising him to marry. He
proved to me that he could afford it; and that being the
case, I was convinced he could not do better. I praised the
fair lady too, and altogether sent him away very happy. If
he had never esteemed my opinion before, he would have
thought highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house
thinking me the best friend and counsellor man ever had.
This happened the night before last. Now, as we may
fairly suppose, he would not allow much time to pass
before he spoke to the lady, and as he does not appear to
have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he should be
at Mrs. Goddard’s to-day; and she may be detained by a
visitor, without thinking him at all a tiresome wretch.’
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‘Pray, Mr. Knightley,’ said Emma, who had been
smiling to herself through a great part of this speech, ‘how
do you know that Mr. Martin did not speak yesterday?’
‘Certainly,’ replied he, surprized, ‘I do not absolutely
know it; but it may be inferred. Was not she the whole
day with you?’
‘Come,’ said she, ‘I will tell you something, in return
for what you have told me. He did speak yesterday—that
is, he wrote, and was refused.’
This was obliged to be repeated before it could be
believed; and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with
surprize and displeasure, as he stood up, in tall indignation,
and said,
‘Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed
her. What is the foolish girl about?’
‘Oh! to be sure,’ cried Emma, ‘it is always
incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever
refuse an offer of marriage. A man always imagines a
woman to be ready for any body who asks her.’
‘Nonsense! a man does not imagine any such thing. But
what is the meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse Robert
Martin? madness, if it is so; but I hope you are mistaken.’
‘I saw her answer!—nothing could be clearer.’
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‘You saw her answer!—you wrote her answer too.
Emma, this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse
him.’
‘And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing)
I should not feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a
very respectable young man, but I cannot admit him to be
Harriet’s equal; and am rather surprized indeed that he
should have ventured to address her. By your account, he
does seem to have had some scruples. It is a pity that they
were ever got over.’
‘Not Harriet’s equal!’ exclaimed Mr. Knightley loudly
and warmly; and with calmer asperity, added, a few
moments afterwards, ‘No, he is not her equal indeed, for
he is as much her superior in sense as in situation. Emma,
your infatuation about that girl blinds you. What are
Harriet Smith’s claims, either of birth, nature or education,
to any connexion higher than Robert Martin? She is the
natural daughter of nobody knows whom, with probably
no settled provision at all, and certainly no respectable
relations. She is known only as parlour-boarder at a
common school. She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any
information. She has been taught nothing useful, and is
too young and too simple to have acquired any thing
herself. At her age she can have no experience, and with
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her little wit, is not very likely ever to have any that can
avail her. She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and that
is all. My only scruple in advising the match was on his
account, as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion
for him. I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he
might do much better; and that as to a rational companion
or useful helpmate, he could not do worse. But I could
not reason so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to
there being no harm in her, to her having that sort of
disposition, which, in good hands, like his, might be easily
led aright and turn out very well. The advantage of the
match I felt to be all on her side; and had not the smallest
doubt (nor have I now) that there would be a general cryout
upon her extreme good luck. Even your satisfaction I
made sure of. It crossed my mind immediately that you
would not regret your friend’s leaving Highbury, for the
sake of her being settled so well. I remember saying to
myself, ‘Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet,
will think this a good match.’’
‘I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of
Emma as to say any such thing. What! think a farmer, (and
with all his sense and all his merit Mr. Martin is nothing
more,) a good match for my intimate friend! Not regret
her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man
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whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own!
I wonder you should think it possible for me to have such
feelings. I assure you mine are very different. I must think
your statement by no means fair. You are not just to
Harriet’s claims. They would be estimated very differently
by others as well as myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest
of the two, but he is undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in
society.—The sphere in which she moves is much above
his.—It would be a degradation.’
‘A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be
married to a respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer!’
‘As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal
sense she may be called Nobody, it will not hold in
common sense. She is not to pay for the offence of others,
by being held below the level of those with whom she is
brought up.—There can scarcely be a doubt that her
father is a gentleman—and a gentleman of fortune.—Her
allowance is very liberal; nothing has ever been grudged
for her improvement or comfort.—That she is a
gentleman’s daughter, is indubitable to me; that she
associates with gentlemen’s daughters, no one, I
apprehend, will deny.—She is superior to Mr. Robert
Martin.’
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‘Whoever might be her parents,’ said Mr. Knightley,
‘whoever may have had the charge of her, it does not
appear to have been any part of their plan to introduce her
into what you would call good society. After receiving a
very indifferent education she is left in Mrs. Goddard’s
hands to shift as she can;—to move, in short, in Mrs.
Goddard’s line, to have Mrs. Goddard’s acquaintance. Her
friends evidently thought this good enough for her; and it
was good enough. She desired nothing better herself. Till
you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had no
distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it. She
was as happy as possible with the Martins in the summer.
She had no sense of superiority then. If she has it now,
you have given it. You have been no friend to Harriet
Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have
proceeded so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not
being disinclined to him. I know him well. He has too
much real feeling to address any woman on the haphazard
of selfish passion. And as to conceit, he is the farthest from
it of any man I know. Depend upon it he had
encouragement.’
It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct
reply to this assertion; she chose rather to take up her own
line of the subject again.
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‘You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin; but, as I
said before, are unjust to Harriet. Harriet’s claims to marry
well are not so contemptible as you represent them. She is
not a clever girl, but she has better sense than you are
aware of, and does not deserve to have her understanding
spoken of so slightingly. Waiving that point, however, and
supposing her to be, as you describe her, only pretty and
good-natured, let me tell you, that in the degree she
possesses them, they are not trivial recommendations to
the world in general, for she is, in fact, a beautiful girl, and
must be thought so by ninety-nine people out of an
hundred; and till it appears that men are much more
philosophic on the subject of beauty than they are
generally supposed; till they do fall in love with wellinformed
minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with
such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being admired
and sought after, of having the power of chusing from
among many, consequently a claim to be nice. Her goodnature,
too, is not so very slight a claim, comprehending,
as it does, real, thorough sweetness of temper and manner,
a very humble opinion of herself, and a great readiness to
be pleased with other people. I am very much mistaken if
your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such
temper, the highest claims a woman could possess.’
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‘Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the
reason you have, is almost enough to make me think so
too. Better be without sense, than misapply it as you do.’
‘To be sure!’ cried she playfully. ‘I know that is the
feeling of you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet is
exactly what every man delights in—what at once
bewitches his senses and satisfies his judgment. Oh! Harriet
may pick and chuse. Were you, yourself, ever to marry,
she is the very woman for you. And is she, at seventeen,
just entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be
wondered at because she does not accept the first offer she
receives? No—pray let her have time to look about her.’
‘I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,’ said
Mr. Knightley presently, ‘though I have kept my thoughts
to myself; but I now perceive that it will be a very
unfortunate one for Harriet. You will puff her up with
such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a claim
to, that, in a little while, nobody within her reach will be
good enough for her. Vanity working on a weak head,
produces every sort of mischief. Nothing so easy as for a
young lady to raise her expectations too high. Miss Harriet
Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast,
though she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever
you may chuse to say, do not want silly wives. Men of
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family would not be very fond of connecting themselves
with a girl of such obscurity— and most prudent men
would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they
might be involved in, when the mystery of her parentage
came to be revealed. Let her marry Robert Martin, and
she is safe, respectable, and happy for ever; but if you
encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teach her to
be satisfied with nothing less than a man of consequence
and large fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs.
Goddard’s all the rest of her life—or, at least, (for Harriet
Smith is a girl who will marry somebody or other,) till she
grow desperate, and is glad to catch at the old writingmaster’s
son.’
‘We think so very differently on this point, Mr.
Knightley, that there can be no use in canvassing it. We
shall only be making each other more angry. But as to my
letting her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible; she has
refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent any
second application. She must abide by the evil of having
refused him, whatever it may be; and as to the refusal
itself, I will not pretend to say that I might not influence
her a little; but I assure you there was very little for me or
for any body to do. His appearance is so much against
him, and his manner so bad, that if she ever were disposed
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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 seen nobody better (that
must have been his great assistant) she might not, while
she was at Abbey-Mill, find him disagreeable. But the case
is altered now. She knows now what gentlemen are; and
nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any
chance with Harriet.’
‘Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!’ cried
Mr. Knightley.—‘Robert Martin’s manners have sense,
sincerity, and good-humour to recommend them; and his
mind has more true gentility than Harriet Smith could
understand.’
Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully
unconcerned, but was really feeling uncomfortable and
wanting him very much to be gone. She did not repent
what she had done; she still thought herself a better judge
of such a point of female right and refinement than he
could be; but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his
judgment in general, which made her dislike having it so
loudly against her; and to have him sitting just opposite to
her in angry state, was very disagreeable. Some minutes
passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt on
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Emma’s side to talk of the weather, but he made no
answer. He was thinking. The result of his thoughts
appeared at last in these words.
‘Robert Martin has no great loss—if he can but think
so; and I hope it will not be long before he does. Your
views for Harriet are best known to yourself; but as you
make no secret of your love of match-making, it is fair to
suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have;—
and as a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the
man, I think it will be all labour in vain.’
Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued,
‘Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very
good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of
Highbury, but not at all likely to make an imprudent
match. He knows the value of a good income as well as
any body. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act
rationally. He is as well acquainted with his own claims, as
you can be with Harriet’s. He knows that he is a very
handsome young man, and a great favourite wherever he
goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved
moments, when there are only men present, I am
convinced that he does not mean to throw himself away. I
have heard him speak with great animation of a large
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family of young ladies that his sisters are intimate with,
who have all twenty 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 would have been very kind to open my eyes;
but at present I only want to keep Harriet to myself. I
have done with match-making indeed. I could never hope
to equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while
I am well.’
‘Good morning to you,’—said he, rising and walking
off abruptly. He was very much vexed. He felt the
disappointment of the young man, and was mortified to
have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he
had given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma
had taken in the affair, was provoking him exceedingly.
Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there
was more indistinctness in the causes of her’s, than in his.
She did not always feel so absolutely satisfied with herself,
so entirely convinced that her opinions were right and her
adversary’s wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He walked off in
more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She
was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little
time and the return of Harriet were very adequate
restoratives. Harriet’s staying away so long was beginning
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to make her uneasy. The possibility of the young man’s
coming to Mrs. Goddard’s that morning, and meeting
with Harriet and pleading his own cause, gave alarming
ideas. The dread of such a failure after all became the
prominent uneasiness; and when Harriet appeared, and in
very good spirits, and without having any such reason to
give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction which
settled her with her own mind, and convinced her, that let
Mr. Knightley think or say what he would, she had done
nothing which woman’s friendship and woman’s feelings
would not justify.
He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton; but
when she considered that Mr. Knightley could not have
observed him as she had done, neither with the interest,
nor (she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of Mr.
Knightley’s pretensions) with the skill of such an observer
on such a question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily
and in anger, she was able to believe, that he had rather
said what he wished resentfully to be true, than what he
knew any thing about. He certainly might have heard Mr.
Elton speak with more unreserve than she had ever done,
and Mr. Elton might not be of an imprudent,
inconsiderate disposition as to money matters; he might
naturally be rather attentive than otherwise to them; but
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then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the
influence of a strong passion at war with all interested
motives. Mr. Knightley saw no such passion, and of course
thought nothing of its effects; but she saw too much of it
to feel a doubt of its overcoming any hesitations that a
reasonable prudence might originally suggest; and more
than a reasonable, becoming degree of prudence, she was
very sure did not belong to Mr. Elton.
Harriet’s cheerful look and manner established hers: she
came back, not to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr.
Elton. Miss Nash had been telling her something, which
she repeated immediately with great delight. Mr. Perry
had been to Mrs. Goddard’s to attend a sick child, and
Miss Nash had seen him, and he had told Miss Nash, that
as he was coming back yesterday from Clayton Park, he
had met Mr. Elton, and found to his great surprize, that
Mr. Elton was actually on his road to London, and not
meaning to return till the morrow, though it was the
whist-club night, which he had been never known to miss
before; and Mr. Perry had remonstrated with him about it,
and told him how shabby it was in him, their best player,
to absent himself, and tried very much to persuade him to
put off his journey only one day; but it would not do; Mr.
Elton had been determined to go on, and had said in a
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very particular way indeed, that he was going on business
which he would not put off for any inducement in the
world; and something about a very enviable commission,
and being the bearer of something exceedingly precious.
Mr. Perry could not quite understand him, but he was
very sure there must be a lady in the case, and he told him
so; and Mr. Elton only looked very conscious and smiling,
and rode off in great spirits. Miss Nash had told her all
this, and had talked a great deal more about Mr. Elton;
and said, looking so very significantly at her, ‘that she did
not pretend to understand what his business might be, but
she only knew that any woman 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.’
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Chapter IX
Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could
not quarrel with herself. He was so much displeased, that
it was longer than usual before he came to Hartfield again;
and when they did meet, his grave looks shewed that she
was not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not repent. On
the contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and
more justified and endeared to her by the general
appearances of the next few days.
The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand
soon after Mr. Elton’s return, and being hung over the
mantelpiece of the common sitting-room, he got up to
look at it, and sighed out his half sentences of admiration
just as he ought; and as for Harriet’s feelings, they were
visibly forming themselves into as strong and steady an
attachment as her youth and sort of mind admitted. Emma
was soon perfectly satisfied of Mr. Martin’s being no
otherwise remembered, than as he furnished a contrast
with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter.
Her views of improving her little friend’s mind, by a
great deal of useful reading and conversation, had never
yet led to more than a few first chapters, and the intention
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of going on to-morrow. It was much easier to chat than to
study; much pleasanter to let her imagination range and
work at Harriet’s fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge
her comprehension or exercise it on sober facts; and the
only literary pursuit which engaged Harriet at present, the
only mental provision she was making for the evening of
life, was the collecting and transcribing all the riddles of
every sort that she could meet with, into a thin quarto of
hot-pressed paper, made up by her friend, and ornamented
with ciphers and trophies.
In this age of literature, such collections on a very
grand scale are not uncommon. Miss Nash, head-teacher
at Mrs. Goddard’s, had written out at least three hundred;
and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it from her,
hoped, with Miss Woodhouse’s help, to get a great many
more. Emma assisted with her invention, memory and
taste; and as Harriet wrote a very pretty hand, it was likely
to be an arrangement of the first order, in form as well as
quantity.
Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the
business as the girls, and tried very often to recollect
something worth their putting in. ‘So many clever riddles
as there used to be when he was young— he wondered he
could not remember them! but he hoped he should in
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time.’ And it always ended in ‘Kitty, a fair but frozen
maid.’
His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on
the subject, did not at present recollect any thing of the
riddle kind; but he had desired Perry to be upon the
watch, and as he went about so much, something, he
thought, might come from that quarter.
It was by no means his daughter’s wish that the
intellects of Highbury in general should be put under
requisition. Mr. Elton was the only one whose assistance
she asked. He was invited to contribute any really good
enigmas, charades, or conundrums that he might recollect;
and she had the pleasure of seeing him most intently at
work with his recollections; and at the same time, as she
could perceive, most earnestly careful that nothing
ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment to
the sex should pass his lips. They owed to him their two
or three politest puzzles; and the joy and exultation with
which at last he recalled, and rather sentimentally recited,
that well-known charade,
My first doth affliction denote,
Which my second is destin’d to feel
And my whole is the best antidote
That affliction to soften and heal.—
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made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had
transcribed it some 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 be easier to you.’
‘Oh no! he had never written, hardly ever, any thing of
the kind in his life. The stupidest fellow! He was afraid not
even Miss Woodhouse’—he stopt a moment— ‘or Miss
Smith could inspire him.’
The very next day however produced some proof of
inspiration. He called for a few moments, just to leave a
piece of paper on the table containing, as he said, a
charade, which a friend of his had addressed to a young
lady, the object of his admiration, but which, from his
manner, Emma was immediately convinced must be his
own.
‘I do not offer it for Miss Smith’s collection,’ said he.
‘Being my friend’s, I have no right to expose it in any
degree to the public eye, but perhaps you may not dislike
looking at it.’
The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which
Emma could understand. There was deep consciousness
about him, and he found it easier to meet her eye than her
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friend’s. He was gone the next moment:—after another
moment’s pause,
‘Take it,’ said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper
towards Harriet—‘it is for you. Take your own.’
But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it;
and Emma, never loth to be first, was obliged to examine
it herself.
To Miss—
CHARADE.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of
kings,
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
Another view of man, my second brings,
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
But ah! united, what reverse we have!
Man’s boasted power and freedom, all are
flown;
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
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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 through again to be quite certain, and quite mistress
of the lines, and then passing it to Harriet, sat happily
smiling, and saying to herself, while Harriet was puzzling
over the paper in all the confusion of hope and dulness,
‘Very well, Mr. Elton, very well indeed. I have read worse
charades. Courtship—a very good hint. I give you credit
for it. This is feeling your way. This is saying very
plainly— ‘Pray, Miss Smith, give me leave to pay my
addresses to you. Approve my charade and my intentions
in the same glance.’
May its approval beam in that soft eye!
Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye—of
all epithets, the justest that could be given.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply.
Humph—Harriet’s ready wit! All the better. A man
must be very much in love, indeed, to describe her so. Ah!
Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the benefit of this; I think
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this would convince you. For once in your life you would
be obliged to own yourself mistaken. An excellent charade
indeed! and very much to the purpose. Things must come
to a crisis soon now.’
She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant
observations, which were otherwise of a sort to run into
great length, by the eagerness of Harriet’s wondering
questions.
‘What can it be, Miss Woodhouse?—what can it be? I
have not an idea—I cannot guess it in the least. What can
it possibly be? Do try to find it out, Miss Woodhouse. Do
help me. I never saw any thing so hard. Is it kingdom? I
wonder who the friend was—and who could be the
young lady. Do you think it is a good one? Can it be
woman?
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Can it be Neptune?
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
Or a trident? or a mermaid? or a shark? Oh, no! shark is
only one syllable. It must be very clever, or he would not
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have brought it. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do you think we
shall ever find it out?’
‘Mermaids and sharks! Nonsense! My dear Harriet,
what are you thinking of? Where would be the use of his
bringing us a charade made by a friend upon a mermaid or
a shark? Give me the paper and listen.
For Miss —————, read Miss Smith.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of
kings,
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
That is court.
Another view of man, my second brings;
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
That is ship;—plain as 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.
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A very proper compliment!—and then follows the
application, which I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot
find much difficulty in comprehending. Read it in
comfort to yourself. There can be no doubt of its being
written for you and to you.’
Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion.
She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and
happiness. She could not speak. But she was not wanted to
speak. It was enough for her to feel. Emma spoke for her.
‘There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in this
compliment,’ said she, ‘that I cannot have a doubt as to
Mr. Elton’s intentions. You are his object— and you will
soon receive the completest proof of it. I thought it must
be so. I thought I could not be so deceived; but now, it is
clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my
wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew you.
Yes, Harriet, just so long have I been wanting the very
circumstance to happen what has happened. I could never
tell whether an attachment between you and Mr. Elton
were most desirable or most natural. Its probability and its
eligibility have really so equalled each other! I am very
happy. I congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my
heart. This is an attachment which a woman may well feel
pride in creating. This is a connexion which offers nothing
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but good. It will give you every thing that you want—
consideration, independence, a proper home—it will fix
you in the centre of all your real friends, close to Hartfield
and to me, and confirm our intimacy for ever. This,
Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in
either of us.’
‘Dear Miss Woodhouse!’—and ‘Dear Miss
Woodhouse,’ was all that Harriet, with many tender
embraces could articulate at first; but when they did arrive
at something more like conversation, it was sufficiently
clear to her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated, and
remembered just as she ought. Mr. Elton’s superiority had
very ample acknowledgment.
‘Whatever you say is always right,’ cried Harriet, ‘and
therefore I suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so;
but otherwise I could not have imagined it. It is so much
beyond any thing I deserve. Mr. Elton, who might marry
any body! There cannot be two opinions about him. He is
so very superior. Only think of those sweet verses—‘To
Miss ————.’ Dear me, how clever!—Could it really
be meant for me?’
‘I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about
that. It is a certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It is a
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sort of prologue to the play, a motto to the chapter; and
will be soon followed by matter-of-fact prose.’
‘It is a sort of thing which nobody could have
expected. I am sure, a month ago, I had no more idea
myself!—The strangest things do take place!’
‘When Miss Smiths and Mr. Eltons get acquainted—
they do indeed—and really it is strange; it is out of the
common course that what is so evidently, so palpably
desirable—what courts the pre-arrangement of other
people, should so immediately shape itself into the proper
form. You and Mr. Elton are by situation called together;
you belong to one another by every circumstance of your
respective homes. Your marrying will be equal to the
match at Randalls. There does seem to be a something in
the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right
direction, and sends it into the very channel where it
ought to flow.
The course of true love never did run
smooth—
A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long
note on that passage.’
‘That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me,—
me, of all people, who did not know him, to speak to
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him, at Michaelmas! And he, the very handsomest man
that ever was, and a man that every body looks up to,
quite like Mr. Knightley! His company so sought after,
that every body says he need not eat a single meal by
himself if he does not chuse it; that he has more invitations
than there are days in the week. And so excellent in the
Church! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has ever
preached from since he came to Highbury. Dear me!
When I look back to the first time I saw him! How little
did I think!— The two Abbots and I ran into the front
room and peeped through the blind when we heard he
was going by, and Miss Nash came and scolded us away,
and staid to look through herself; however, she called me
back presently, and let me look too, which was very
good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he looked!
He was arm-in-arm with Mr. Cole.’
‘This is an alliance which, whoever—whatever your
friends may be, must be agreeable to them, provided at
least they have common sense; and we are not to be
addressing our conduct to fools. If they are anxious to see
you happily married, here is a man whose amiable
character gives every assurance of it;—if they wish to have
you settled in the same country and circle which they
have chosen to place you in, here it will be accomplished;
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and if their only object is that you should, in the common
phrase, be well married, here is the comfortable fortune,
the respectable establishment, the rise in the world which
must satisfy them.’
‘Yes, very true. How nicely you talk; I love to hear
you. You understand every thing. You and Mr. Elton are
one as clever as the other. This charade!—If I had studied
a twelvemonth, I could never have made any thing like it.’
‘I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of
declining it yesterday.’
‘I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I
ever read.’
‘I never read one more to the purpose, certainly.’
‘It is as long again as almost all we have had before.’
‘I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour.
Such things in general cannot be too short.’
Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most
satisfactory comparisons were rising in her mind.
‘It is one thing,’ said she, presently—her cheeks in a
glow—‘to have very good sense in a common way, like
every body else, and if there is any thing to say, to sit
down and write a letter, and say just what you must, in a
short way; and another, to write verses and charades like
this.’
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Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection
of Mr. Martin’s prose.
‘Such sweet lines!’ continued Harriet—‘these two
last!—But how shall I ever be able to return the paper, or
say I have found it out?—Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what can
we do about that?’
‘Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this
evening, I dare say, and then I will give it him back, and
some nonsense or other will pass between us, and you
shall not be committed.—Your soft eyes shall chuse their
own time for beaming. Trust to me.’
‘Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not
write this beautiful charade into my book! I am sure I have
not got one half so good.’
‘Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason
why you should not write it into your book.’
‘Oh! but those two lines are’—
—‘The best of all. Granted;—for private enjoyment;
and for private enjoyment keep them. They are not at all
the less written you know, because you divide them. The
couplet does not cease to be, nor does its meaning change.
But take it away, and all appropriation ceases, and a very
pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection.
Depend upon it, he would not like to have his charade
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slighted, much better than his passion. A poet in love must
be encouraged in both capacities, or neither. Give me the
book, I will write it down, and then there can be no
possible reflection on you.’
Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly
separate the parts, so as to feel quite sure that her friend
were not writing down a declaration of love. It seemed
too precious an offering for any degree of publicity.
‘I shall never let that book go out of my own hands,’
said she.
‘Very well,’ replied Emma; ‘a most natural feeling; and
the longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is
my father coming: you will not object to my reading the
charade to him. It will be giving him so much pleasure!
He loves any thing of the sort, and especially any thing
that pays woman a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit
of gallantry towards us all!— You must let me read it to
him.’
Harriet looked grave.
‘My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon
this charade.—You will betray your feelings improperly, if
you are too conscious and too quick, and appear to affix
more meaning, or even quite all the meaning which may
be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such a little
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tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy,
he would not have left the paper while 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 encouragement
enough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls
over this charade.’
‘Oh! no—I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do
as you please.’
Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the
subject again, by the recurrence of his very frequent
inquiry of ‘Well, my dears, how does your book go on?—
Have you got any thing fresh?’
‘Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something
quite fresh. A piece of paper was found on the table this
morning—(dropt, we suppose, by a fairy)— containing a
very pretty charade, and we have just copied it in.’
She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing
read, slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over,
with explanations of every part as she proceeded— and he
was very much pleased, and, as she had foreseen, especially
struck with the complimentary conclusion.
‘Aye, that’s very just, indeed, that’s very properly said.
Very true. ‘Woman, lovely woman.’ It is such a pretty
charade, my dear, that I can easily guess what fairy brought
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it.— Nobody could have written so prettily, but you,
Emma.’
Emma only nodded, and smiled.—After a little
thinking, and a very tender sigh, he added,
‘Ah! it is no difficulty to see who you take after! Your
dear mother was so clever at all those things! If I had but
her memory! But I can remember nothing;—not even that
particular riddle which you have heard me mention; I can
only recollect the first stanza; and there are several.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid,
Kindled a flame I yet deplore,
The hood-wink’d boy I called to aid,
Though of his near approach afraid,
So fatal to my suit before.
And that is all that I can recollect of it—but it is very
clever all the way through. But I think, my dear, you said
you had got it.’
‘Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We
copied it from the Elegant Extracts. It was Garrick’s, you
know.’
‘Aye, very true.—I wish I could recollect more of it.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.
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The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for she was
very near being christened Catherine after her grandmama.
I hope we shall have her here next week. Have you
thought, my dear, where you shall put her—and what
room there will be for the children?’
‘Oh! yes—she will have her own room, of course; the
room she always has;—and there is the nursery for the
children,—just as usual, you know. Why should there be
any change?’
‘I do not know, my dear—but it is so long since she
was here!—not since last Easter, and then only for a few
days.—Mr. John Knightley’s being a lawyer is very
inconvenient.—Poor Isabella!—she is sadly taken away
from us all!—and how sorry she will be when she comes,
not to see Miss Taylor here!’
‘She will not be surprized, papa, at least.’
‘I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much
surprized when I first heard she was going to be married.’
‘We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us,
while Isabella is here.’
‘Yes, my dear, if there is time.—But—(in a very
depressed tone)—she is coming for only one week. There
will not be time for any thing.’
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‘It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer—but it
seems a case of necessity. Mr. John Knightley must be in
town again on the 28th, and we ought to be thankful,
papa, that we are to have the whole of the time they can
give to the country, that two or three days are not to be
taken out for the Abbey. Mr. Knightley promises to give
up his claim this Christmas— though you know it is
longer since they were with him, than with us.’
‘It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor
Isabella were to be anywhere but at Hartfield.’
Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley’s
claims on his brother, or any body’s claims on Isabella,
except his own. He sat musing a little while, and then said,
‘But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged
to go back so soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I shall
try and persuade her to stay longer with us. She and the
children might stay very well.’
‘Ah! papa—that is what you never have been able to
accomplish, and I do not think you ever will. Isabella
cannot bear to stay behind her husband.’
This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it
was, Mr. Woodhouse could only give a submissive sigh;
and as Emma saw his spirits affected by the idea of his
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daughter’s attachment to her husband, she immediately led
to such a branch of the subject as must raise them.
‘Harriet must give us as much of her company as she
can while my brother and sister are here. I am sure she
will be pleased with the children. We are very proud of
the children, are not we, papa? I wonder which she will
think the handsomest, Henry or John?’
‘Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how
glad they will be to come. They are very fond of being at
Hartfield, Harriet.’
‘I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know who is
not.’
‘Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his 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 many
pretty ways. They will come and stand by my chair, and
say, ‘Grandpapa, can you give me a bit of string?’ and once
Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives were
only made for grandpapas. I think their father is too rough
with them very often.’
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‘He appears rough to you,’ said Emma, ‘because you
are so very gentle yourself; but if you could compare him
with other papas, you would not think him rough. He
wishes his boys to be active and hardy; and if they
misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then; but
he is an affectionate father—certainly Mr. John Knightley
is an affectionate father. The children are all fond of him.’
‘And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to
the ceiling in a very frightful way!’
‘But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so
much. It is such enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did
not lay down the rule of their taking turns, whichever
began would never give way to the other.’
‘Well, I cannot understand it.’
‘That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the
world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.’
Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to
separate in preparation for the regular four o’clock dinner,
the hero of this inimitable charade walked in again.
Harriet turned away; but Emma could receive him with
the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in his
the consciousness of having made a push—of having
thrown a die; and she imagined he was come to see how it
might turn up. His ostensible reason, however, was to ask
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whether Mr. Woodhouse’s party could be made up in the
evening without him, or whether he should be in the
smallest degree necessary at Hartfield. If he were, every
thing else must give way; but otherwise his friend Cole
had been saying so much about his dining with him—had
made such a point of it, that he had promised him
conditionally to come.
Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his
disappointing his friend on their account; her father was
sure of his rubber. He re-urged —she re-declined; and he
seemed then about to make his 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 have ventured to write it into Miss Smith’s
collection. Your friend will not take it amiss I hope. Of
course I have not transcribed beyond the 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 book open on the table, took
it up, and examined it very attentively. With the view of
passing off an awkward moment, Emma smilingly said,
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‘You must make my apologies to your friend; but so
good a charade must not be confined to one or two. He
may be sure of every woman’s approbation while he
writes with such gallantry.’
‘I have no hesitation in saying,’ replied Mr. Elton,
though hesitating a good deal while he spoke; ‘I have no
hesitation in saying—at least if my friend feels at all as I
do—I have not the smallest doubt that, could he see his
little effusion honoured as I see it, (looking at the book
again, and replacing it on the table), he would consider it
as the proudest moment of his life.’
After this speech he was gone as soon as possible.
Emma could not think it too soon; for with all his good
and agreeable qualities, there was a sort of parade in his
speeches which was very apt to incline her to laugh. She
ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the tender and
the sublime of pleasure to Harriet’s share.
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Chapter X
Though now the middle of December, there had yet
been no weather to prevent the young ladies from
tolerably regular exercise; and on the morrow, Emma had
a charitable visit to pay to a poor sick family, who lived a
little way out of Highbury.
Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage
Lane, a lane leading at right angles from the broad, though
irregular, main street of the place; and, as may be inferred,
containing the blessed abode of Mr. Elton. A few inferior
dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about a quarter
of a mile down the lane rose the Vicarage, an old and not
very good house, almost as close to the road as it could be.
It had no advantage of situation; but had been very much
smartened up by the present proprietor; and, such as it
was, there could be no possibility of the two friends
passing it without a slackened pace and observing eyes.—
Emma’s remark was—
‘There it is. There go you and your riddle-book one of
these days.’— Harriet’s was—
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‘Oh, what a sweet house!—How very beautiful!—
There are the yellow curtains 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 get intimately acquainted with all the
hedges, gates, pools and pollards of this part of Highbury.’
Harriet, she found, had never in her life been within
side the Vicarage, and her curiosity to see it was so
extreme, that, considering exteriors and probabilities,
Emma could only class it, as a proof of love, with Mr.
Elton’s seeing ready wit in her.
‘I wish we could contrive it,’ said she; ‘but I cannot
think of any tolerable pretence for going in;—no servant
that I want to inquire about of his housekeeper—no
message from my father.’
She pondered, but could think of nothing. After a
mutual silence of some minutes, Harriet thus began
again—
‘I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not
be married, or going to be married! so charming as you
are!’—
Emma laughed, and replied,