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Emma
by Jane Austen
VOLUME III
CHAPTER XVII
Mrs. Weston's friends were all made happy by her safety; and if
the satisfaction of her well-doing could be increased to Emma, it
was by knowing her to be the mother of a little girl. She had been
decided in wishing for a Miss Weston. She would not acknowledge
that it was with any view of making a match for her, hereafter,
with either of Isabella's sons; but she was convinced that a daughter
would suit both father and mother best. It would be a great comfort
to Mr. Weston, as he grew older-- and even Mr. Weston might be growing
older ten years hence--to have his fireside enlivened by the sports
and the nonsense, the freaks and the fancies of a child never banished
from home; and Mrs. Weston-- no one could doubt that a daughter
would be most to her; and it would be quite a pity that any one
who so well knew how to teach, should not have their powers in exercise
again.
"She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me,"
she continued--"like La Baronne d'Almane on La Comtesse d'Ostalis,
in Madame de Genlis' Adelaide and Theodore, and we shall now see
her own little Adelaide educated on a more perfect plan."
"That is," replied Mr. Knightley, "she will indulge
her even more than she did you, and believe that she does not indulge
her at all. It will be the only difference."
"Poor child!" cried Emma; "at that rate, what will
become of her?"
"Nothing very bad.--The fate of thousands. She will be disagreeable
in infancy, and correct herself as she grows older. I am losing
all my bitterness against spoilt children, my dearest Emma. I, who
am owing all my happiness to you, would not it be horrible ingratitude
in me to be severe on them?"
Emma laughed, and replied: "But I had the assistance of all
your endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I
doubt whether my own sense would have corrected me without it."
"Do you?--I have no doubt. Nature gave you understanding:--
Miss Taylor gave you principles. You must have done well. My interference
was quite as likely to do harm as good. It was very natural for
you to say, what right has he to lecture me?-- and I am afraid very
natural for you to feel that it was done in a disagreeable manner.
I do not believe I did you any good. The good was all to myself,
by making you an object of the tenderest affection to me. I could
not think about you so much without doating on you, faults and all;
and by dint of fancying so many errors, have been in love with you
ever since you were thirteen at least."
"I am sure you were of use to me," cried Emma. "I
was very often influenced rightly by you--oftener than I would own
at the time. I am very sure you did me good. And if poor little
Anna Weston is to be spoiled, it will be the greatest humanity in
you to do as much for her as you have done for me, except falling
in love with her when she is thirteen."
"How often, when you were a girl, have you said to me, with
one of your saucy looks--`Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so;
papa says I may, or I have Miss Taylor's leave'--something which,
you knew, I did not approve. In such cases my interference was giving
you two bad feelings instead of one."
"What an amiable creature I was!--No wonder you should hold
my speeches in such affectionate remembrance."
"`Mr. Knightley.'--You always called me, `Mr. Knightley;'
and, from habit, it has not so very formal a sound.--And yet it
is formal. I want you to call me something else, but I do not know
what."
"I remember once calling you `George,' in one of my amiable
fits, about ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend
you; but, as you made no objection, I never did it again."
"And cannot you call me `George' now?"
"Impossible!--I never can call you any thing but `Mr. Knightley.'
I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton,
by calling you Mr. K.--But I will promise," she added presently,
laughing and blushing--"I will promise to call you once by
your Christian name. I do not say when, but perhaps you may guess
where;--in the building in which N. takes M. for better, for worse."
Emma grieved that she could not be more openly just to one important
service which his better sense would have rendered her, to the advice
which would have saved her from the worst of all her womanly follies--her
wilful intimacy with Harriet Smith; but it was too tender a subject.--She
could not enter on it.-- Harriet was very seldom mentioned between
them. This, on his side, might merely proceed from her not being
thought of; but Emma was rather inclined to attribute it to delicacy,
and a suspicion, from some appearances, that their friendship were
declining. She was aware herself, that, parting under any other
circumstances, they certainly should have corresponded more, and
that her intelligence would not have rested, as it now almost wholly
did, on Isabella's letters. He might observe that it was so. The
pain of being obliged to practise concealment towards him, was very
little inferior to the pain of having made Harriet unhappy.
Isabella sent quite as good an account of her visitor as could
be expected; on her first arrival she had thought her out of spirits,
which appeared perfectly natural, as there was a dentist to be consulted;
but, since that business had been over, she did not appear to find
Harriet different from what she had known her before.-- Isabella,
to be sure, was no very quick observer; yet if Harriet had not been
equal to playing with the children, it would not have escaped her.
Emma's comforts and hopes were most agreeably carried on, by Harriet's
being to stay longer; her fortnight was likely to be a month at
least. Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley were to come down in August,
and she was invited to remain till they could bring her back.
"John does not even mention your friend," said Mr. Knightley.
"Here is his answer, if you like to see it."
It was the answer to the communication of his intended marriage.
Emma accepted it with a very eager hand, with an impatience all
alive to know what he would say about it, and not at all checked
by hearing that her friend was unmentioned.
"John enters like a brother into my happiness," continued
Mr. Knightley, "but he is no complimenter; and though I well
know him to have, likewise, a most brotherly affection for you,
he is so far from making flourishes, that any other young woman
might think him rather cool in her praise. But I am not afraid of
your seeing what he writes."
"He writes like a sensible man," replied Emma, when she
had read the letter. "I honour his sincerity. It is very plain
that he considers the good fortune of the engagement as all on my
side, but that he is not without hope of my growing, in time, as
worthy of your affection, as you think me already. Had he said any
thing to bear a different construction, I should not have believed
him."
"My Emma, he means no such thing. He only means--"
"He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the
two," interrupted she, with a sort of serious smile--"much
less, perhaps, than he is aware of, if we could enter without ceremony
or reserve on the subject."
"Emma, my dear Emma--"
"Oh!" she cried with more thorough gaiety, "if you
fancy your brother does not do me justice, only wait till my dear
father is in the secret, and hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he
will be much farther from doing you justice. He will think all the
happiness, all the advantage, on your side of the question; all
the merit on mine. I wish I may not sink into `poor Emma' with him
at once.-- His tender compassion towards oppressed worth can go
no farther."
"Ah!" he cried, "I wish your father might be half
as easily convinced as John will be, of our having every right that
equal worth can give, to be happy together. I am amused by one part
of John's letter-- did you notice it?--where he says, that my information
did not take him wholly by surprize, that he was rather in expectation
of hearing something of the kind."
"If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your
having some thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of me. He seems
perfectly unprepared for that."
"Yes, yes--but I am amused that he should have seen so far
into my feelings. What has he been judging by?--I am not conscious
of any difference in my spirits or conversation that could prepare
him at this time for my marrying any more than at another.-- But
it was so, I suppose. I dare say there was a difference when I was
staying with them the other day. I believe I did not play with the
children quite so much as usual. I remember one evening the poor
boys saying, `Uncle seems always tired now.'"
The time was coming when the news must spread farther, and other
persons' reception of it tried. As soon as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently
recovered to admit Mr. Woodhouse's visits, Emma having it in view
that her gentle reasonings should be employed in the cause, resolved
first to announce it at home, and then at Randalls.-- But how to
break it to her father at last!--She had bound herself to do it,
in such an hour of Mr. Knightley's absence, or when it came to the
point her heart would have failed her, and she must have put it
off; but Mr. Knightley was to come at such a time, and follow up
the beginning she was to make.--She was forced to speak, and to
speak cheerfully too. She must not make it a more decided subject
of misery to him, by a melancholy tone herself. She must not appear
to think it a misfortune.--With all the spirits she could command,
she prepared him first for something strange, and then, in a few
words, said, that if his consent and approbation could be obtained--which,
she trusted, would be attended with no difficulty, since it was
a plan to promote the happiness of all-- she and Mr. Knightley meant
to marry; by which means Hartfield would receive the constant addition
of that person's company whom she knew he loved, next to his daughters
and Mrs. Weston, best in the world.
Poor man!--it was at first a considerable shock to him, and he
tried earnestly to dissuade her from it. She was reminded, more
than once, of having always said she would never marry, and assured
that it would be a great deal better for her to remain single; and
told of poor Isabella, and poor Miss Taylor.--But it would not do.
Emma hung about him affectionately, and smiled, and said it must
be so; and that he must not class her with Isabella and Mrs. Weston,
whose marriages taking them from Hartfield, had, indeed, made a
melancholy change: but she was not going from Hartfield; she should
be always there; she was introducing no change in their numbers
or their comforts but for the better; and she was very sure that
he would be a great deal the happier for having Mr. Knightley always
at hand, when he were once got used to the idea.--Did he not love
Mr. Knightley very much?-- He would not deny that he did, she was
sure.--Whom did he ever want to consult on business but Mr. Knightley?--Who
was so useful to him,who so ready to write his letters, who so glad
to assist him?-- Who so cheerful, so attentive, so attached to him?--Would
not he like to have him always on the spot?--Yes. That was all very
true. Mr. Knightley could not be there too often; he should be glad
to see him every day;--but they did see him every day as it was.--Why
could not they go on as they had done?
Mr. Woodhouse could not be soon reconciled; but the worst was overcome,
the idea was given; time and continual repetition must do the rest.--
To Emma's entreaties and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley's, whose
fond praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome; and
he was soon used to be talked to by each, on every fair occasion.--
They had all the assistance which Isabella could give, by letters
of the strongest approbation; and Mrs. Weston was ready, on the
first meeting, to consider the subject in the most serviceable light--first,
as a settled, and, secondly, as a good one-- well aware of the nearly
equal importance of the two recommendations to Mr. Woodhouse's mind.--It
was agreed upon, as what was to be; and every body by whom he was
used to be guided assuring him that it would be for his happiness;
and having some feelings himself which almost admitted it, he began
to think that some time or other-- in another year or two, perhaps--it
might not be so very bad if the marriage did take place.
Mrs. Weston was acting no part, feigning no feelings in all that
she said to him in favour of the event.--She had been extremely
surprized, never more so, than when Emma first opened the affair
to her; but she saw in it only increase of happiness to all, and
had no scruple in urging him to the utmost.--She had such a regard
for Mr. Knightley, as to think he deserved even her dearest Emma;
and it was in every respect so proper, suitable, and unexceptionable
a connexion, and in one respect, one point of the highest importance,
so peculiarly eligible, so singularly fortunate, that now it seemed
as if Emma could not safely have attached herself to any other creature,
and that she had herself been the stupidest of beings in not having
thought of it, and wished it long ago.--How very few of those men
in a rank of life to address Emma would have renounced their own
home for Hartfield! And who but Mr. Knightley could know and bear
with Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make such an arrangement desirable!--
The difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. Woodhouse had been always
felt in her husband's plans and her own, for a marriage between
Frank and Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe and Hartfield
had been a continual impediment--less acknowledged by Mr. Weston
than by herself--but even he had never been able to finish the subject
better than by saying--"Those matters will take care of themselves;
the young people will find a way." But here there was nothing
to be shifted off in a wild speculation on the future. It was all
right, all open, all equal. No sacrifice on any side worth the name.
It was a union of the highest promise of felicity in itself, and
without one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay it.
Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections
as these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If any thing
could increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would
soon have outgrown its first set of caps.
The news was universally a surprize wherever it spread; and Mr.
Weston had his five minutes share of it; but five minutes were enough
to familiarise the idea to his quickness of mind.-- He saw the advantages
of the match, and rejoiced in them with all the constancy of his
wife; but the wonder of it was very soon nothing; and by the end
of an hour he was not far from believing that he had always foreseen
it.
"It is to be a secret, I conclude," said he. "These
matters are always a secret, till it is found out that every body
knows them. Only let me be told when I may speak out.--I wonder
whether Jane has any suspicion."
He went to Highbury the next morning, and satisfied himself on
that point. He told her the news. Was not she like a daughter, his
eldest daughter?--he must tell her; and Miss Bates being present,
it passed, of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Perry, and Mrs. Elton,
immediately afterwards. It was no more than the principals were
prepared for; they had calculated from the time of its being known
at Randalls, how soon it would be over Highbury; and were thinking
of themselves, as the evening wonder in many a family circle, with
great sagacity.
In general, it was a very well approved match. Some might think
him, and others might think her, the most in luck. One set might
recommend their all removing to Donwell, and leaving Hartfield for
the John Knightleys; and another might predict disagreements among
their servants; but yet, upon the whole, there was no serious objection
raised, except in one habitation, the Vicarage.--There, the surprize
was not softened by any satisfaction. Mr. Elton cared little about
it, compared with his wife; he only hoped "the young lady's
pride would now be contented;" and supposed "she had always
meant to catch Knightley if she could;" and, on the point of
living at Hartfield, could daringly exclaim, "Rather he than
I!"-- But Mrs. Elton was very much discomposed indeed.--"Poor
Knightley! poor fellow!--sad business for him.--She was extremely
concerned; for, though very eccentric, he had a thousand good qualities.--
How could he be so taken in?--Did not think him at all in love--
not in the least.--Poor Knightley!--There would be an end of all
pleasant intercourse with him.--How happy he had been to come and
dine with them whenever they asked him! But that would be all over
now.-- Poor fellow!--No more exploring parties to Donwell made for
her. Oh! no; there would be a Mrs. Knightley to throw cold water
on every thing.--Extremely disagreeable! But she was not at all
sorry that she had abused the housekeeper the other day.--Shocking
plan, living together. It would never do. She knew a family near
Maple Grove who had tried it, and been obliged to separate before
the end of the first quarter.
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