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Emma
by Jane Austen
VOLUME I
CHAPTER XI
Mr. Elton must now be left to himself. It was no longer in Emma's
power 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 henceforth her prime
object of interest; and during the ten days of their stay at Hartfield
it was not to be expected--she did not herself expect-- that any
thing beyond occasional, fortuitous assistance could be afforded
by her to the lovers. They might advance rapidly if they would,
however; they must advance somehow or other whether they 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 will do for themselves.
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual
absent from Surry, were exciting of course rather more than the
usual interest. Till this year, every long vacation since their
marriage had been divided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but
all the holidays of this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for
the children, and it was therefore many months since they had been
seen in a regular way by their Surry connexions, or seen at all
by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be induced to get so far as London,
even for poor Isabella's sake; and who consequently was now most
nervously and apprehensively happy in forestalling this too short
visit.
He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not a
little of the fatigues of his own horses and coachman who were to
bring some of the party the last half of the way; but his alarms
were needless; the sixteen miles being happily accomplished, and
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, their five children, and a competent
number 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 borne under
any other cause, nor have endured much longer even for this; but
the ways of Hartfield and the feelings of her father were so respected
by Mrs. John Knightley, that in spite of maternal solicitude 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 for these higher
ties, a warmer love might have seemed impossible. She could never
see a fault in any of them. She was not a woman of strong understanding
or any quickness; and with this resemblance of 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. Wingfield in town as her father could be
of Mr. Perry. They were alike too, in a general benevolence of temper,
and a strong habit of regard for every old acquaintance.
Mr. John Knightley was a tall, gentleman-like, and very clever
man; rising in his profession, domestic, and respectable in his
private character; but with reserved manners which prevented his
being generally pleasing; and capable of being sometimes out of
humour. He was not an ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably
cross as to deserve such a reproach; but his temper was not his
great perfection; and, indeed, with such a worshipping wife, it
was hardly possible that any natural defects in it should not be
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. Nothing
wrong in him escaped her. She was quick in feeling the little injuries
to Isabella, which Isabella never felt herself. Perhaps she might
have passed over more had his manners been flattering to Isabella's
sister, but they were only those of a calmly kind brother and friend,
without praise and without blindness; but hardly any degree of personal
compliment could have made her regardless of that greatest fault
of all in her eyes which he sometimes fell 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 provoking him to a rational remonstrance or sharp
retort equally ill-bestowed. It did not often happen; for Mr. John
Knightley had really a great regard for his father-in-law, and generally
a strong sense of what was due to him; but it was too often for
Emma's charity, especially as there was all the pain of apprehension
frequently to be endured, though the offence came not. The beginning,
however, of every visit displayed none but the properest feelings,
and this being of necessity so 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's attention 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 must miss 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 could possibly do without her.--It is a sad change indeed.--But
I hope she is pretty well, sir."
"Pretty well, my dear--I hope--pretty well.--I do not know
but that the place agrees with her tolerably."
Mr. John Knightley here asked Emma quietly whether there were any
doubts 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 Isabella
in 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 since
they 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 you may 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 giving Isabella a false idea of us all.
Every body must be aware that Miss Taylor must be missed, but every
body ought also to be assured that Mr. and Mrs. Weston do really
prevent our missing her by any means to the extent we ourselves
anticipated--which is the exact truth."
"Just as it should be," said Mr. John Knightley, "and
just as I hoped it was from your letters. Her wish of shewing you
attention could not be doubted, and his being a disengaged and social
man makes it all easy. I have been always telling you, my love,
that I had no idea of 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 deny that 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. Weston has some little claim. You and I, Emma, will venture
to take the part of 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 convenience of putting all the Mr. Westons aside as much
as she can."
"Me, my love," cried his wife, hearing and nderstanding
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 been for the misery of her leaving Hartfield,
I should never have thought of Miss Taylor but as the most fortunate
woman in the world; and as to slighting Mr. Weston, that excellent
Mr. Weston, I think there is nothing he does not deserve. I believe
he is one of the very best-tempered men that ever existed. Excepting
yourself and your brother, I do not know his equal for temper. I
shall never forget his flying Henry's kite for him that very windy
day last Easter--and ever since his particular kindness last September
twelvemonth 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 nor
a better man in existence.--If any body can deserve him, it must
be Miss Taylor."
"Where is the young man?" said John Knightley. "Has
he been here on this occasion--or has he not?"
"He has not been here yet," replied Emma. "There
was a strong expectation of his coming soon after the marriage,
but it ended in 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 idea you know, one cannot tell. He is but young, and his uncle,
perhaps--"
"My dear papa, he is three-and-twenty. You forget how time
passes."
"Three-and-twenty!--is he indeed?--Well, I could not have thought
it-- and he was but two years old when he lost his poor mother!
Well, time does fly indeed!--and my memory is very bad. However,
it was an exceeding good, pretty letter, and gave Mr. and Mrs. Weston
a great deal of pleasure. I remember it was written from Weymouth,
and dated Sept. 28th--and began, `My dear Madam,' but I forget how
it went on; and it was signed `F. C. Weston Churchill.'-- I remember
that perfectly."
"How very pleasing and proper of him!" cried the good-hearted
Mrs. John Knightley. "I have no doubt of his being a most amiable
young man. But how sad it is that he should not live at home with
his father! There is something so shocking in a child's being taken
away from his parents and natural home! I never could comprehend
how Mr. Weston could part with him. To give up one's child! I really
never could think well of any body who proposed such a thing to
any body else."
"Nobody ever did think well of the Churchills, I fancy,"
observed Mr. John Knightley coolly. "But you need not imagine
Mr. Weston to have felt what you would feel in giving up Henry or
John. Mr. Weston is rather an easy, cheerful-tempered man, than
a man of strong feelings; he takes things as he finds them, and
makes enjoyment of them somehow or other, depending, I suspect,
much more upon what is called society for his comforts, that is,
upon the power of eating and drinking, and playing whist with his
neighbours five times a week, than upon family affection, or any
thing that home affords."
Emma could not like what bordered on a reflection on Mr. Weston,
and had half a mind to take it up; but she struggled, and let it
pass. She would keep the peace if possible; and there was something
honourable and valuable in the strong domestic habits, the all-sufficiency
of home to himself, whence resulted her brother's disposition to
look down on the common rate of social intercourse, and those to
whom it was important.--It had a high claim to forbearance.
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