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Emma
by Jane Austen
VOLUME III
CHAPTER VI
After being long fed with hopes of a speedy visit from Mr. and
Mrs. Suckling, the Highbury world were obliged to endure the mortification
of hearing that they could not possibly come till the autumn. No
such importation of novelties could enrich their intellectual stores
at present. In the daily interchange of news, they must be again
restricted to the other topics with which for a while the Sucklings'
coming had been united, such as the last accounts of Mrs. Churchill,
whose health seemed every day to supply a different report, and
the situation of Mrs. Weston, whose happiness it was to be hoped
might eventually be as much increased by the arrival of a child,
as that of all her neighbours was by the approach of it.
Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It was the delay of a great
deal of pleasure and parade. Her introductions and recommendations
must all wait, and every projected party be still only talked of.
So she thought at first;--but a little consideration convinced her
that every thing need not be put off. Why should not they explore
to Box Hill though the Sucklings did not come? They could go there
again with them in the autumn. It was settled that they should go
to Box Hill. That there was to be such a party had been long generally
known: it had even given the idea of another. Emma had never been
to Box Hill; she wished to see what every body found so well worth
seeing, and she and Mr. Weston had agreed to chuse some fine morning
and drive thither. Two or three more of the chosen only were to
be admitted to join them, and it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending,
elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation,
the regular eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the Eltons
and the Sucklings.
This was so very well understood between them, that Emma could
not but feel some surprise, and a little displeasure, on hearing
from Mr. Weston that he had been proposing to Mrs. Elton, as her
brother and sister had failed her, that the two parties should unite,
and go together; and that as Mrs. Elton had very readily acceded
to it, so it was to be, if she had no objection. Now, as her objection
was nothing but her very great dislike of Mrs. Elton, of which Mr.
Weston must already be perfectly aware, it was not worth bringing
forward again:--it could not be done without a reproof to him, which
would be giving pain to his wife; and she found herself therefore
obliged to consent to an arrangement which she would have done a
great deal to avoid; an arrangement which would probably expose
her even to the degradation of being said to be of Mrs. Elton's
party! Every feeling was offended; and the forbearance of her outward
submission left a heavy arrear due of secret severity in her reflections
on the unmanageable goodwill of Mr. Weston's temper.
"I am glad you approve of what I have done," said he
very comfortably. "But I thought you would. Such schemes as
these are nothing without numbers. One cannot have too large a party.
A large party secures its own amusement. And she is a good-natured
woman after all. One could not leave her out."
Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it in private.
It was now the middle of June, and the weather fine; and Mrs. Elton
was growing impatient to name the day, and settle with Mr. Weston
as to pigeon-pies and cold lamb, when a lame carriage-horse threw
every thing into sad uncertainty. It might be weeks, it might be
only a few days, before the horse were useable; but no preparations
could be ventured on, and it was all melancholy stagnation. Mrs.
Elton's resources were inadequate to such an attack.
"Is not this most vexations, Knightley?" she cried.--"And
such weather for exploring!--These delays and disappointments are
quite odious. What are we to do?--The year will wear away at this
rate, and nothing done. Before this time last year I assure you
we had had a delightful exploring party from Maple Grove to Kings
Weston."
"You had better explore to Donwell," replied Mr. Knightley.
"That may be done without horses. Come, and eat my strawberries.
They are ripening fast."
If Mr. Knightley did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed
so, for his proposal was caught at with delight; and the "Oh!
I should like it of all things," was not plainer in words than
manner. Donwell was famous for its strawberry-beds, which seemed
a plea for the invitation: but no plea was necessary; cabbage-beds
would have been enough to tempt the lady, who only wanted to be
going somewhere. She promised him again and again to come--much
oftener than he doubted--and was extremely gratified by such a proof
of intimacy, such a distinguishing compliment as she chose to consider
it.
"You may depend upon me," said she. "I certainly
will come. Name your day, and I will come. You will allow me to
bring Jane Fairfax?"
"I cannot name a day," said he, "till I have spoken
to some others whom I would wish to meet you."
"Oh! leave all that to me. Only give me a carte-blanche.--I
am Lady Patroness, you know. It is my party. I will bring friends
with me."
"I hope you will bring Elton," said he: "but I will
not trouble you to give any other invitations."
"Oh! now you are looking very sly. But consider--you need
not be afraid of delegating power to me. I am no young lady on her
preferment. Married women, you know, may be safely authorised. It
is my party. Leave it all to me. I will invite your guests."
"No,"--he calmly replied,--"there is but one married
woman in the world whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she
pleases to Donwell, and that one is--"
"--Mrs. Weston, I suppose," interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather
mortified.
"No--Mrs. Knightley;--and till she is in being, I will manage
such matters myself."
"Ah! you are an odd creature!" she cried, satisfied to
have no one preferred to herself.--"You are a humourist, and
may say what you like. Quite a humourist. Well, I shall bring Jane
with me-- Jane and her aunt.--The rest I leave to you. I have no
objections at all to meeting the Hartfield family. Don't scruple.
I know you are attached to them."
"You certainly will meet them if I can prevail; and I shall
call on Miss Bates in my way home."
"That's quite unnecessary; I see Jane every day:--but as you
like. It is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; quite a
simple thing. I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little
baskets hanging on my arm. Here,--probably this basket with pink
ribbon. Nothing can be more simple, you see. And Jane will have
such another. There is to be no form or parade--a sort of gipsy
party. We are to walk about your gardens, and gather the strawberries
ourselves, and sit under trees;--and whatever else you may like
to provide, it is to be all out of doors--a table spread in the
shade, you know. Every thing as natural and simple as possible.
Is not that your idea?"
"Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be
to have the table spread in the dining-room. The nature and the
simplicity of gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and furniture,
I think is best observed by meals within doors. When you are tired
of eating strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in
the house."
"Well--as you please; only don't have a great set out. And,
by the bye, can I or my housekeeper be of any use to you with our
opinion?-- Pray be sincere, Knightley. If you wish me to talk to
Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect anything--"
"I have not the least wish for it, I thank you."
"Well--but if any difficulties should arise, my housekeeper
is extremely clever."
"I will answer for it, that mine thinks herself full as clever,
and would spurn any body's assistance."
"I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us all to
come on donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates, and me--and my caro sposo walking
by. I really must talk to him about purchasing a donkey. In a country
life I conceive it to be a sort of necessary; for, let a woman have
ever so many resources, it is not possible for her to be always
shut up at home;--and very long walks, you know--in summer there
is dust, and in winter there is dirt."
"You will not find either, between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell
Lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Come on a donkey,
however, if you prefer it. You can borrow Mrs. Cole's. I would wish
every thing to be as much to your taste as possible."
"That I am sure you would. Indeed I do you justice, my good
friend. Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner, I know you
have the warmest heart. As I tell Mr. E., you are a thorough humourist.--
Yes, believe me, Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention
to me in the whole of this scheme. You have hit upon the very thing
to please me."
Mr. Knightley had another reason for avoiding a table in the shade.
He wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as well as Emma, to join the
party; and he knew that to have any of them sitting down out of
doors to eat would inevitably make him ill. Mr. Woodhouse must not,
under the specious pretence of a morning drive, and an hour or two
spent at Donwell, be tempted away to his misery.
He was invited on good faith. No lurking horrors were to upbraid
him for his easy credulity. He did consent. He had not been at Donwell
for two years. "Some very fine morning, he, and Emma, and Harriet,
could go very well; and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston, while
the dear girls walked about the gardens. He did not suppose they
could be damp now, in the middle of the day. He should like to see
the old house again exceedingly, and should be very happy to meet
Mr. and Mrs. Elton, and any other of his neighbours.--He could not
see any objection at all to his, and Emma's, and Harriet's going
there some very fine morning. He thought it very well done of Mr.
Knightley to invite them-- very kind and sensible--much cleverer
than dining out.--He was not fond of dining out."
Mr. Knightley was fortunate in every body's most ready concurrence.
The invitation was everywhere so well received, that it seemed as
if, like Mrs. Elton, they were all taking the scheme as a particular
compliment to themselves.--Emma and Harriet professed very high
expectations of pleasure from it; and Mr. Weston, unasked, promised
to get Frank over to join them, if possible; a proof of approbation
and gratitude which could have been dispensed with.-- Mr. Knightley
was then obliged to say that he should be glad to see him; and Mr.
Weston engaged to lose no time in writing, and spare no arguments
to induce him to come.
In the meanwhile the lame horse recovered so fast, that the party
to Box Hill was again under happy consideration; and at last Donwell
was settled for one day, and Box Hill for the next,--the weather
appearing exactly right.
Under a bright mid-day sun, at almost Midsummer, Mr. Woodhouse
was safely conveyed in his carriage, with one window down, to partake
of this al-fresco party; and in one of the most comfortable rooms
in the Abbey, especially prepared for him by a fire all the morning,
he was happily placed, quite at his ease, ready to talk with pleasure
of what had been achieved, and advise every body to come and sit
down, and not to heat themselves.-- Mrs. Weston, who seemed to have
walked there on purpose to be tired, and sit all the time with him,
remained, when all the others were invited or persuaded out, his
patient listener and sympathiser.
It was so long since Emma had been at the Abbey, that as soon as
she was satisfied of her father's comfort, she was glad to leave
him, and look around her; eager to refresh and correct her memory
with more particular observation, more exact understanding of a
house and grounds which must ever be so interesting to her and all
her family.
She felt all the honest pride and complacency which her alliance
with the present and future proprietor could fairly warrant, as
she viewed the respectable size and style of the building, its suitable,
becoming, characteristic situation, low and sheltered-- its ample
gardens stretching down to meadows washed by a stream, of which
the Abbey, with all the old neglect of prospect, had scarcely a
sight--and its abundance of timber in rows and avenues, which neither
fashion nor extravagance had rooted up.--The house was larger than
Hartfield, and totally unlike it, covering a good deal of ground,
rambling and irregular, with many comfortable, and one or two handsome
rooms.--It was just what it ought to be, and it looked what it was--and
Emma felt an increasing respect for it, as the residence of a family
of such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding.--Some
faults of temper John Knightley had; but Isabella had connected
herself unexceptionably. She had given them neither men, nor names,
nor places, that could raise a blush. These were pleasant feelings,
and she walked about and indulged them till it was necessary to
do as the others did, and collect round the strawberry-beds.--The
whole party were assembled, excepting Frank Churchill, who was expected
every moment from Richmond; and Mrs. Elton, in all her apparatus
of happiness, her large bonnet and her basket, was very ready to
lead the way in gathering, accepting, or talking--strawberries,
and only strawberries, could now be thought or spoken of.--"The
best fruit in England-- every body's favourite--always wholesome.--These
the finest beds and finest sorts.--Delightful to gather for one's
self--the only way of really enjoying them.--Morning decidedly the
best time--never tired-- every sort good--hautboy infinitely superior--no
comparison-- the others hardly eatable--hautboys very scarce--Chili
preferred-- white wood finest flavour of all--price of strawberries
in London-- abundance about Bristol--Maple Grove--cultivation--beds
when to be renewed--gardeners thinking exactly different--no general
rule-- gardeners never to be put out of their way--delicious fruit--
only too rich to be eaten much of--inferior to cherries-- currants
more refreshing--only objection to gathering strawberries the stooping--glaring
sun--tired to death--could bear it no longer-- must go and sit in
the shade."
Such, for half an hour, was the conversation--interrupted only
once by Mrs. Weston, who came out, in her solicitude after her son-in-law,
to inquire if he were come--and she was a little uneasy.-- She had
some fears of his horse.
Seats tolerably in the shade were found; and now Emma was obliged
to overhear what Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax were talking of.--
A situation, a most desirable situation, was in question. Mrs. Elton
had received notice of it that morning, and was in raptures. It
was not with Mrs. Suckling, it was not with Mrs. Bragge, but in
felicity and splendour it fell short only of them: it was with a
cousin of Mrs. Bragge, an acquaintance of Mrs. Suckling, a lady
known at Maple Grove. Delightful, charming, superior, first circles,
spheres, lines, ranks, every thing--and Mrs. Elton was wild to have
the offer closed with immediately.--On her side, all was warmth,
energy, and triumph--and she positively refused to take her friend's
negative, though Miss Fairfax continued to assure her that she would
not at present engage in any thing, repeating the same motives which
she had been heard to urge before.-- Still Mrs. Elton insisted on
being authorised to write an acquiescence by the morrow's post.--How
Jane could bear it at all, was astonishingto Emma.--She did look
vexed, she did speak pointedly--and at last, with a decision of
action unusual to her, proposed a removal.-- "Should not they
walk? Would not Mr. Knightley shew them the gardens-- all the gardens?--She
wished to see the whole extent."--The pertinacity of her friend
seemed more than she could bear.
It was hot; and after walking some time over the gardens in a scattered,
dispersed way, scarcely any three together, they insensibly followed
one another to the delicious shade of a broad short avenue of limes,
which stretching beyond the garden at an equal distance from the
river, seemed the finish of the pleasure grounds.-- It led to nothing;
nothing but a view at the end over a low stone wall with high pillars,
which seemed intended, in their erection, to give the appearance
of an approach to the house, which never had been there. Disputable,
however, as might be the taste of such a termination, it was in
itself a charming walk, and the view which closed it extremely pretty.--The
considerable slope, at nearly the foot of which the Abbey stood,
gradually acquired a steeper form beyond its grounds; and at half
a mile distant was a bank of considerable abruptness and grandeur,
well clothed with wood;-- and at the bottom of this bank, favourably
placed and sheltered, rose the Abbey Mill Farm, with meadows in
front, and the river making a close and handsome curve around it.
It was a sweet view--sweet to the eye and the mind. English verdure,
English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright, without
being oppressive.
In this walk Emma and Mr. Weston found all the others assembled;
and towards this view she immediately perceived Mr. Knightley and
Harriet distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way. Mr. Knightley
and Harriet!--It was an odd tete-a-tete; but she was glad to see
it.--There had been a time when he would have scorned her as a companion,
and turned from her with little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant
conversation. There had been a time also when Emma would have been
sorry to see Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey Mill
Farm; but now she feared it not. It might be safely viewed with
all its appendages of prosperity and beauty, its rich pastures,
spreading flocks, orchard in blossom, and light column of smoke
ascending.--She joined them at the wall, and found them more engaged
in talking than in looking around. He was giving Harriet information
as to modes of agriculture, etc. and Emma received a smile which
seemed to say, "These are my own concerns. I have a right to
talk on such subjects, without being suspected of introducing Robert
Martin."--She did not suspect him. It was too old a story.--Robert
Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet.--They took a few
turns together along the walk.--The shade was most refreshing, and
Emma found it the pleasantest part of the day.
The next remove was to the house; they must all go in and eat;--
and they were all seated and busy, and still Frank Churchill did
not come. Mrs. Weston looked, and looked in vain. His father would
not own himself uneasy, and laughed at her fears; but she could
not be cured of wishing that he would part with his black mare.
He had expressed himself as to coming, with more than common certainty.
"His aunt was so much better, that he had not a doubt of getting
over to them."--Mrs. Churchill's state, however, as many were
ready to remind her, was liable to such sudden variation as might
disappoint her nephew in the most reasonable dependence--and Mrs.
Weston was at last persuaded to believe, or to say, that it must
be by some attack of Mrs. Churchill that he was prevented coming.--
Emma looked at Harriet while the point was under consideration;
she behaved very well, and betrayed no emotion.
The cold repast was over, and the party were to go out once more
to see what had not yet been seen, the old Abbey fish-ponds; perhaps
get as far as the clover, which was to be begun cutting on the morrow,
or, at any rate, have the pleasure of being hot, and growing cool
again.--Mr. Woodhouse, who had already taken his little round in
the highest part of the gardens, where no damps from the river were
imagined even by him, stirred no more; and his daughter resolved
to remain with him, that Mrs. Weston might be persuaded away by
her husband to the exercise and variety which her spirits seemed
to need.
Mr. Knightley had done all in his power for Mr. Woodhouse's entertainment.
Books of engravings, drawers of medals, cameos, corals, shells,
and every other family collection within his cabinets, had been
prepared for his old friend, to while away the morning; and the
kindness had perfectly answered. Mr. Woodhouse had been exceedingly
well amused. Mrs. Weston had been shewing them all to him, and now
he would shew them all to Emma;--fortunate in having no other resemblance
to a child, than in a total want of taste for what he saw, for he
was slow, constant, and methodical.--Before this second looking
over was begun, however, Emma walked into the hall for the sake
of a few moments' free observation of the entrance and ground-plot
of the house--and was hardly there, when Jane Fairfax appeared,
coming quickly in from the garden, and with a look of escape.--
Little expecting to meet Miss Woodhouse so soon, there was a start
at first; but Miss Woodhouse was the very person she was in quest
of.
"Will you be so kind," said she, "when I am missed,
as to say that I am gone home?--I am going this moment.--My aunt
is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have been absent--but
I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am determined to go directly.--I
have said nothing about it to any body. It would only be giving
trouble and distress. Some are gone to the ponds, and some to the
lime walk. Till they all come in I shall not be missed; and when
they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am gone?"
"Certainly, if you wish it;--but you are not going to walk
to Highbury alone?"
"Yes--what should hurt me?--I walk fast. I shall be at home
in twenty minutes."
"But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone.
Let my father's servant go with you.--Let me order the carriage.
It can be round in five minutes."
"Thank you, thank you--but on no account.--I would rather
walk.-- And for me to be afraid of walking alone!--I, who may so
soon have to guard others!"
She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very feelingly replied,
"That can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now.
I must order the carriage. The heat even would be danger.--You are
fatigued already."
"I am,"--she answered--"I am fatigued; but it is
not the sort of fatigue--quick walking will refresh me.--Miss Woodhouse,
we all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine,
I confess, are exhausted. The greatest kindness you can shew me,
will be to let me have my own way, and only say that I am gone when
it is necessary."
Emma had not another word to oppose. She saw it all; and entering
into her feelings, promoted her quitting the house immediately,
and watched her safely off with the zeal of a friend. Her parting
look was grateful--and her parting words, "Oh! Miss Woodhouse,
the comfort of being sometimes alone!"--seemed to burst from
an overcharged heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual
endurance to be practised by her, even towards some of those who
loved her best.
"Such a home, indeed! such an aunt!" said Emma, as she
turned back into the hall again. "I do pity you. And the more
sensibility you betray of their just horrors, the more I shall like
you."
Jane had not been gone a quarter of an hour, and they had only
accomplished some views of St. Mark's Place, Venice, when Frank
Churchill entered the room. Emma had not been thinking of him, she
had forgotten to think of him--but she was very glad to see him.
Mrs. Weston would be at ease. The black mare was blameless; they
were right who had named Mrs. Churchill as the cause. He had been
detained by a temporary increase of illness in her; a nervous seizure,
which had lasted some hours--and he had quite given up every thought
of coming, till very late;--and had he known how hot a ride he should
have, and how late, with all his hurry, he must be, he believed
he should not have come at all. The heat was excessive; he had never
suffered any thing like it--almost wished he had staid at home--nothing
killed him like heat--he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but
heat was intolerable--and he sat down, at the greatest possible
distance from the slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse's fire, looking
very deplorable.
"You will soon be cooler, if you sit still," said Emma.
"As soon as I am cooler I shall go back again. I could very
ill be spared--but such a point had been made of my coming! You
will all be going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up. I
met one as I came--Madness in such weather!--absolute madness!"
Emma listened, and looked, and soon perceived that Frank Churchill's
state might be best defined by the expressive phrase of being out
of humour. Some people were always cross when they were hot.Such
might be his constitution; and as she knew that eating and drinking
were often the cure of such incidental complaints, she recommended
his taking some refreshment; he would find abundance of every thing
in the dining-room--and she humanely pointed out the door.
"No--he should not eat. He was not hungry; it would only make
him hotter." In two minutes, however, he relented in his own
favour; and muttering something about spruce-beer, walked off. Emma
returned all her attention to her father, saying in secret--
"I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should not
like a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning. Harriet's
sweet easy temper will not mind it."
He was gone long enough to have had a very comfortable meal, and
came back all the better--grown quite cool--and, with good manners,
like himself--able to draw a chair close to them, take an interest
in their employment; and regret, in a reasonable way, that he should
be so late. He was not in his best spirits, but seemed trying to
improve them; and, at last, made himself talk nonsense very agreeably.
They were looking over views in Swisserland.
"As soon as my aunt gets well, I shall go abroad," said
he. "I shall never be easy till I have seen some of these places.
You will have my sketches, some time or other, to look at--or my
tour to read--or my poem. I shall do something to expose myself."
"That may be--but not by sketches in Swisserland. You will
never go to Swisserland. Your uncle and aunt will never allow you
to leave England."
"They may be induced to go too. A warm climate may be prescribed
for her. I have more than half an expectation of our all going abroad.
I assure you I have. I feel a strong persuasion, this morning, that
I shall soon be abroad. I ought to travel. I am tired of doing nothing.
I want a change. I am serious, Miss Woodhouse, whatever your penetrating
eyes may fancy--I am sick of England-- and would leave it to-morrow,
if I could."
"You are sick of prosperity and indulgence. Cannot you invent
a few hardships for yourself, and be contented to stay?"
"I sick of prosperity and indulgence! You are quite mistaken.
I do not look upon myself as either prosperous or indulged. I am
thwarted in every thing material. I do not consider myself at all
a fortunate person."
"You are not quite so miserable, though, as when you first
came. Go and eat and drink a little more, and you will do very well.
Another slice of cold meat, another draught of Madeira and water,
will make you nearly on a par with the rest of us."
"No--I shall not stir. I shall sit by you. You are my best
cure."
"We are going to Box Hill to-morrow;--you will join us. It
is not Swisserland, but it will be something for a young man so
much in want of a change. You will stay, and go with us?"
"No, certainly not; I shall go home in the cool of the evening."
"But you may come again in the cool of to-morrow morning."
"No--It will not be worth while. If I come, I shall be cross."
"Then pray stay at Richmond."
"But if I do, I shall be crosser still. I can never bear to
think of you all there without me."
"These are difficulties which you must settle for yourself.
Chuse your own degree of crossness. I shall press you no more."
The rest of the party were now returning, and all were soon collected.
With some there was great joy at the sight of Frank Churchill; others
took it very composedly; but there was a very general distress and
disturbance on Miss Fairfax's disappearance being explained. That
it was time for every body to go, concluded the subject; and with
a short final arrangement for the next day's scheme, they parted.
Frank Churchill's little inclination to exclude himself increased
so much, that his last words to Emma were,
"Well;--if you wish me to stay and join the party, I will."
She smiled her acceptance; and nothing less than a summons from
Richmond was to take him back before the following evening.
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