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Emma
by Jane Austen
VOLUME II
CHAPTER XIII
Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. Her
ideas only varied as to the how much. At first, she thought it was
a good deal; and afterwards, but little. She had great pleasure
in hearing Frank Churchill talked of; and, for his sake, greater
pleasure than ever in seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weston; she was very often
thinking of him, and quite impatient for a letter, that she might
know how he was, how were his spirits, how was his aunt, and what
was the chance of his coming to Randalls again this spring. But,
on the other hand, she could not admit herself to be unhappy, nor,
after the first morning, to be less disposed for employment than
usual;she was still busy and cheerful; and, pleasing as he was,
she could yet imagine him to have faults; and farther, though thinking
of him so much, and, as she sat drawing or working, forming a thousand
amusing schemes for the progress and close of their attachment,
fancying interesting dialogues, and inventing elegant letters; the
conclusion of every imaginary declaration on his side was that she
refused him. Their affection was always to subside into friendship.
Every thing tender and charming was to mark their parting; but still
they were to part. When she became sensible of this, it struck her
that she could not be very much in love; for in spite of her previous
and fixed determination never to quit her father, never to marry,
a strong attachment certainly must produce more of a struggle than
she could foresee in her own feelings.
"I do not find myself making any use of the word sacrifice,"
said she.-- "In not one of all my clever replies, my delicate
negatives, is there any allusion to making a sacrifice. I do suspect
that he is not really necessary to my happiness. So much the better.
I certainly will not persuade myself to feel more than I do. I am
quite enough in love. I should be sorry to be more."
Upon the whole, she was equally contented with her view of his
feelings.
"He is undoubtedly very much in love--every thing denotes
it--very much in love indeed!--and when he comes again, if his affection
continue, I must be on my guard not to encourage it.--It would be
most inexcusable to do otherwise, as my own mind is quite made up.
Not that I imagine he can think I have been encouraging him hitherto.
No, if he had believed me at all to share his feelings, he would
not have been so wretched. Could he have thought himself encouraged,
his looks and language at parting would have been different.-- Still,
however, I must be on my guard. This is in the supposition of his
attachment continuing what it now is; but I do not know that I expect
it will; I do not look upon him to be quite the sort of man-- I
do not altogether build upon his steadiness or constancy.-- His
feelings are warm, but I can imagine them rather changeable.-- Every
consideration of the subject, in short, makes me thankful that my
happiness is not more deeply involved.--I shall do very well again
after a little while--and then, it will be a good thing over; for
they say every body is in love once in their lives, and I shall
have been let off easily."
When his letter to Mrs. Weston arrived, Emma had the perusal of
it; and she read it with a degree of pleasure and admiration which
made her at first shake her head over her own sensations, and think
she had undervalued their strength. It was a long, well-written
letter, giving the particulars of his journey and of his feelings,
expressing all the affection, gratitude, and respect which was natural
and honourable, and describing every thing exterior and local that
could be supposed attractive, with spirit and precision. No suspicious
flourishes now of apology or concern; it was the language of real
feeling towards Mrs. Weston; and the transition from Highbury to
Enscombe, the contrast between the places in some of the first blessings
of social life was just enough touched on to shew how keenly it
was felt, and how much more might have been said but for the restraints
of propriety.--The charm of her own name was not wanting. Miss Woodhouse
appeared more than once, and never without a something of pleasing
connexion, either a compliment to her taste, or a remembrance of
what she had said; and in the very last time of its meeting her
eye, unadorned as it was by any such broad wreath of gallantry,
she yet could discern the effect of her influence and acknowledge
the greatest compliment perhaps of all conveyed. Compressed into
the very lowest vacant corner were these words--"I had not
a spare moment on Tuesday, as you know, for Miss Woodhouse's beautiful
little friend. Pray make my excuses and adieus to her." This,
Emma could not doubt, was all for herself. Harriet was remembered
only from being her friend. His information and prospects as to
Enscombe were neither worse nor better than had been anticipated;
Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he dared not yet, even in his
own imagination, fix a time for coming to Randalls again.
Gratifying, however, and stimulative as was the letter in the material
part, its sentiments, she yet found, when it was folded up and returned
to Mrs. Weston, that it had not added any lasting warmth, that she
could still do without the writer, and that he must learn to do
without her. Her intentions were unchanged. Her resolution of refusal
only grew more interesting by the addition of a scheme for his subsequent
consolation and happiness. His recollection of Harriet, and the
words which clothed it, the "beautiful little friend,"
suggested to her the idea of Harriet's succeeding her in his affections.
Was it impossible?--No.--Harriet undoubtedly was greatly his inferior
in understanding; but he had been very much struck with the loveliness
of her face and the warm simplicity of her manner; and all the probabilities
of circumstance and connexion were in her favour.--For Harriet,
it would be advantageous and delightful indeed.
"I must not dwell upon it," said she.--"I must not
think of it. I know the danger of indulging such speculations. But
stranger things have happened; and when we cease to care for each
other as we do now, it will be the means of confirming us in that
sort of true disinterested friendship which I can already look forward
to with pleasure."
It was well to have a comfort in store on Harriet's behalf, though
it might be wise to let the fancy touch it seldom; for evil in that
quarter was at hand. As Frank Churchill's arrival had succeeded
Mr. Elton's engagement in the conversation of Highbury, as the latest
interest had entirely borne down the first, so now upon Frank Churchill's
disappearance, Mr. Elton's concerns were assuming the most irresistible
form.--His wedding-day was named. He would soon be among them again;
Mr. Elton and his bride. There was hardly time to talk over the
first letter from Enscombe before "Mr. Elton and his bride"
was in every body's mouth, and Frank Churchill was forgotten. Emma
grew sick at the sound. She had had three weeks of happy exemption
from Mr. Elton; and Harriet's mind, she had been willing to hope,
had been lately gaining strength. With Mr. Weston's ball in view
at least, there had been a great deal of insensibility to other
things; but it was now too evident that she had not attained such
a state of composure as could stand against the actual approach--new
carriage, bell-ringing, and all.
Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all the
reasonings and soothings and attentions of every kind that Emma
could give. Emma felt that she could not do too much for her, that
Harriet had a right to all her ingenuity and all her patience; but
it was heavy work to be for ever convincing without producing
any effect, for ever agreed to, without being able to make their
opinions the same. Harriet listened submissively, and said "it
was very true-- it was just as Miss Woodhouse described--it was
not worth while to think about them--and she would not think about
them any longer" but no change of subject could avail, and
the next half-hour saw her as anxious and restless about the Eltons
as before. At last Emma attacked her on another ground.
"Your allowing yourself to be so occupied and so unhappy about
Mr. Elton's marrying, Harriet, is the strongest reproach you can
make me. You could not give me a greater reproof for the mistake
I fell into. It was all my doing, I know. I have not forgotten it,
I assure you.--Deceived myself, I did very miserably deceive you--
and it will be a painful reflection to me for ever. Do not imagine
me in danger of forgetting it."
Harriet felt this too much to utter more than a few words of eager
exclamation. Emma continued,
"I have not said, exert yourself Harriet for my sake; think
less, talk less of Mr. Elton for my sake; because for your own sake
rather, I would wish it to be done, for the sake of what is more
important than my comfort, a habit of self-command in you, a consideration
of what is your duty, an attention to propriety, an endeavour to
avoid the suspicions of others, to save your health and credit,
and restore your tranquillity. These are the motives which I have
been pressing on you. They are very important--and sorry I am that
you cannot feel them sufficiently to act upon them. My being saved
from pain is a very secondary consideration. I want you to save
yourself from greater pain. Perhaps I may sometimes have felt that
Harriet would not forget what was due--or rather what would be kind
by me."
This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest. The idea
of wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss Woodhouse, whom
she really loved extremely, made her wretched for a while, and when
the violence of grief was comforted away, still remained powerful
enough to prompt to what was right and support her in it very tolerably.
"You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my life--
Want gratitude to you!--Nobody is equal to you!--I care for nobody
as I do for you!--Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how ungrateful I have been!"
Such expressions, assisted as they were by every thing that look
and manner could do, made Emma feel that she had never loved Harriet
so well, nor valued her affection so highly before.
"There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart," said
she afterwards to herself. "There is nothing to be compared
to it. Warmth and tenderness of heart, with an affectionate, open
manner, will beat all the clearness of head in the world, for attraction,
I am sure it will. It is tenderness of heart which makes my dearfather
so generally beloved--which gives Isabella all her popularity.--
I have it not--but I know how to prize and respect it.--Harriet
is my superior in all the charm and all the felicity it gives. Dear
Harriet!--I would not change you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted,
best-judging female breathing. Oh! the coldness of a Jane Fairfax!--Harriet
is worth a hundred such--And for a wife-- a sensible man's wife--it
is invaluable. I mention no names; but happy the man who changes
Emma for Harriet!"
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