第 三十三 章 · 第33章

Emma was not required, by any subsequent discovery, to retract her ill

opinion of Mrs. Elton. Her observation had been pretty correct. Such as

Mrs. Elton appeared to her on this second interview, such she appeared

whenever they met again,—self-important, presuming, familiar, ignorant,

and ill-bred. She had a little beauty and a little accomplishment, but

so little judgment that she thought herself coming with superior

knowledge of the world, to enliven and improve a country neighbourhood;

and conceived Miss Hawkins to have held such a place in society as Mrs.

Elton’s consequence only could surpass.

There was no reason to suppose Mr. Elton thought at all differently

from his wife. He seemed not merely happy with her, but proud. He had

the air of congratulating himself on having brought such a woman to

Highbury, as not even Miss Woodhouse could equal; and the greater part

of her new acquaintance, disposed to commend, or not in the habit of

judging, following the lead of Miss Bates’s good-will, or taking it for

granted that the bride must be as clever and as agreeable as she

professed herself, were very well satisfied; so that Mrs. Elton’s

praise passed from one mouth to another as it ought to do, unimpeded by

Miss Woodhouse, who readily continued her first contribution and talked

with a good grace of her being “very pleasant and very elegantly

dressed.”

In one respect Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had appeared at

first. Her feelings altered towards Emma.—Offended, probably, by the

little encouragement which her proposals of intimacy met with, she drew

back in her turn and gradually became much more cold and distant; and

though the effect was agreeable, the ill-will which produced it was

necessarily increasing Emma’s dislike. Her manners, too—and Mr.

Elton’s, were unpleasant towards Harriet. They were sneering and

negligent. Emma hoped it must rapidly work Harriet’s cure; but the

sensations which could prompt such behaviour sunk them both very

much.—It was not to be doubted that poor Harriet’s attachment had been

an offering to conjugal unreserve, and her own share in the story,

under a colouring the least favourable to her and the most soothing to

him, had in all likelihood been given also. She was, of course, the

object of their joint dislike.—When they had nothing else to say, it

must be always easy to begin abusing Miss Woodhouse; and the enmity

which they dared not shew in open disrespect to her, found a broader

vent in contemptuous treatment of Harriet.

Mrs. Elton took a great fancy to Jane Fairfax; and from the first. Not

merely when a state of warfare with one young lady might be supposed to

recommend the other, but from the very first; and she was not satisfied

with expressing a natural and reasonable admiration—but without

solicitation, or plea, or privilege, she must be wanting to assist and

befriend her.—Before Emma had forfeited her confidence, and about the

third time of their meeting, she heard all Mrs. Elton’s knight-errantry

on the subject.—

“Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming, Miss Woodhouse.—I quite rave

about Jane Fairfax.—A sweet, interesting creature. So mild and

ladylike—and with such talents!—I assure you I think she has very

extraordinary talents. I do not scruple to say that she plays extremely

well. I know enough of music to speak decidedly on that point. Oh! she

is absolutely charming! You will laugh at my warmth—but, upon my word,

I talk of nothing but Jane Fairfax.—And her situation is so calculated

to affect one!—Miss Woodhouse, we must exert ourselves and endeavour to

do something for her. We must bring her forward. Such talent as hers

must not be suffered to remain unknown.—I dare say you have heard those

charming lines of the poet,

‘Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

‘And waste its fragrance on the desert air.’

We must not allow them to be verified in sweet Jane Fairfax.”

“I cannot think there is any danger of it,” was Emma’s calm answer—“and

when you are better acquainted with Miss Fairfax’s situation and

understand what her home has been, with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, I

have no idea that you will suppose her talents can be unknown.”

“Oh! but dear Miss Woodhouse, she is now in such retirement, such

obscurity, so thrown away.—Whatever advantages she may have enjoyed

with the Campbells are so palpably at an end! And I think she feels it.

I am sure she does. She is very timid and silent. One can see that she

feels the want of encouragement. I like her the better for it. I must

confess it is a recommendation to me. I am a great advocate for

timidity—and I am sure one does not often meet with it.—But in those

who are at all inferior, it is extremely prepossessing. Oh! I assure

you, Jane Fairfax is a very delightful character, and interests me more

than I can express.”

“You appear to feel a great deal—but I am not aware how you or any of

Miss Fairfax’s acquaintance here, any of those who have known her

longer than yourself, can shew her any other attention than”—

“My dear Miss Woodhouse, a vast deal may be done by those who dare to

act. You and I need not be afraid. If _we_ set the example, many will

follow it as far as they can; though all have not our situations. _We_

have carriages to fetch and convey her home, and _we_ live in a style

which could not make the addition of Jane Fairfax, at any time, the

least inconvenient.—I should be extremely displeased if Wright were to

send us up such a dinner, as could make me regret having asked _more_

than Jane Fairfax to partake of it. I have no idea of that sort of

thing. It is not likely that I _should_, considering what I have been

used to. My greatest danger, perhaps, in housekeeping, may be quite the

other way, in doing too much, and being too careless of expense. Maple

Grove will probably be my model more than it ought to be—for we do not

at all affect to equal my brother, Mr. Suckling, in income.—However, my

resolution is taken as to noticing Jane Fairfax.—I shall certainly have

her very often at my house, shall introduce her wherever I can, shall

have musical parties to draw out her talents, and shall be constantly

on the watch for an eligible situation. My acquaintance is so very

extensive, that I have little doubt of hearing of something to suit her

shortly.—I shall introduce her, of course, very particularly to my

brother and sister when they come to us. I am sure they will like her

extremely; and when she gets a little acquainted with them, her fears

will completely wear off, for there really is nothing in the manners of

either but what is highly conciliating.—I shall have her very often

indeed while they are with me, and I dare say we shall sometimes find a

seat for her in the barouche-landau in some of our exploring parties.”

“Poor Jane Fairfax!”—thought Emma.—“You have not deserved this. You may

have done wrong with regard to Mr. Dixon, but this is a punishment

beyond what you can have merited!—The kindness and protection of Mrs.

Elton!—‘Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax.’ Heavens! Let me not suppose

that she dares go about, Emma Woodhouse-ing me!—But upon my honour,

there seems no limits to the licentiousness of that woman’s tongue!”

Emma had not to listen to such paradings again—to any so exclusively

addressed to herself—so disgustingly decorated with a “dear Miss

Woodhouse.” The change on Mrs. Elton’s side soon afterwards appeared,

and she was left in peace—neither forced to be the very particular

friend of Mrs. Elton, nor, under Mrs. Elton’s guidance, the very active

patroness of Jane Fairfax, and only sharing with others in a general

way, in knowing what was felt, what was meditated, what was done.

She looked on with some amusement.—Miss Bates’s gratitude for Mrs.

Elton’s attentions to Jane was in the first style of guileless

simplicity and warmth. She was quite one of her worthies—the most

amiable, affable, delightful woman—just as accomplished and

condescending as Mrs. Elton meant to be considered. Emma’s only

surprize was that Jane Fairfax should accept those attentions and

tolerate Mrs. Elton as she seemed to do. She heard of her walking with

the Eltons, sitting with the Eltons, spending a day with the Eltons!

This was astonishing!—She could not have believed it possible that the

taste or the pride of Miss Fairfax could endure such society and

friendship as the Vicarage had to offer.

“She is a riddle, quite a riddle!” said she.—“To chuse to remain here

month after month, under privations of every sort! And now to chuse the

mortification of Mrs. Elton’s notice and the penury of her

conversation, rather than return to the superior companions who have

always loved her with such real, generous affection.”

Jane had come to Highbury professedly for three months; the Campbells

were gone to Ireland for three months; but now the Campbells had

promised their daughter to stay at least till Midsummer, and fresh

invitations had arrived for her to join them there. According to Miss

Bates—it all came from her—Mrs. Dixon had written most pressingly.

Would Jane but go, means were to be found, servants sent, friends

contrived—no travelling difficulty allowed to exist; but still she had

declined it!

“She must have some motive, more powerful than appears, for refusing

this invitation,” was Emma’s conclusion. “She must be under some sort

of penance, inflicted either by the Campbells or herself. There is

great fear, great caution, great resolution somewhere.—She is _not_ to

be with the _Dixons_. The decree is issued by somebody. But why must

she consent to be with the Eltons?—Here is quite a separate puzzle.”

Upon her speaking her wonder aloud on that part of the subject, before

the few who knew her opinion of Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Weston ventured this

apology for Jane.

“We cannot suppose that she has any great enjoyment at the Vicarage, my

dear Emma—but it is better than being always at home. Her aunt is a

good creature, but, as a constant companion, must be very tiresome. We

must consider what Miss Fairfax quits, before we condemn her taste for

what she goes to.”

“You are right, Mrs. Weston,” said Mr. Knightley warmly, “Miss Fairfax

is as capable as any of us of forming a just opinion of Mrs. Elton.

Could she have chosen with whom to associate, she would not have chosen

her. But (with a reproachful smile at Emma) she receives attentions

from Mrs. Elton, which nobody else pays her.”

Emma felt that Mrs. Weston was giving her a momentary glance; and she

was herself struck by his warmth. With a faint blush, she presently

replied,

“Such attentions as Mrs. Elton’s, I should have imagined, would rather

disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton’s invitations I should

have imagined any thing but inviting.”

“I should not wonder,” said Mrs. Weston, “if Miss Fairfax were to have

been drawn on beyond her own inclination, by her aunt’s eagerness in

accepting Mrs. Elton’s civilities for her. Poor Miss Bates may very

likely have committed her niece and hurried her into a greater

appearance of intimacy than her own good sense would have dictated, in

spite of the very natural wish of a little change.”

Both felt rather anxious to hear him speak again; and after a few

minutes silence, he said,

“Another thing must be taken into consideration too—Mrs. Elton does not

talk _to_ Miss Fairfax as she speaks _of_ her. We all know the

difference between the pronouns he or she and thou, the plainest spoken

amongst us; we all feel the influence of a something beyond common

civility in our personal intercourse with each other—a something more

early implanted. We cannot give any body the disagreeable hints that we

may have been very full of the hour before. We feel things differently.

And besides the operation of this, as a general principle, you may be

sure that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs. Elton by her superiority both of mind

and manner; and that, face to face, Mrs. Elton treats her with all the

respect which she has a claim to. Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably

never fell in Mrs. Elton’s way before—and no degree of vanity can

prevent her acknowledging her own comparative littleness in action, if

not in consciousness.”

“I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,” said Emma. Little Henry

was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and delicacy made her

irresolute what else to say.

“Yes,” he replied, “any body may know how highly I think of her.”

“And yet,” said Emma, beginning hastily and with an arch look, but soon

stopping—it was better, however, to know the worst at once—she hurried

on—“And yet, perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it

is. The extent of your admiration may take you by surprize some day or

other.”

Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick

leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together, or

some other cause, brought the colour into his face, as he answered,

“Oh! are you there?—But you are miserably behindhand. Mr. Cole gave me

a hint of it six weeks ago.”

He stopped.—Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Weston, and did not

herself know what to think. In a moment he went on—

“That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss Fairfax, I dare

say, would not have me if I were to ask her—and I am very sure I shall

never ask her.”

Emma returned her friend’s pressure with interest; and was pleased

enough to exclaim,

“You are not vain, Mr. Knightley. I will say that for you.”

He seemed hardly to hear her; he was thoughtful—and in a manner which

shewed him not pleased, soon afterwards said,

“So you have been settling that I should marry Jane Fairfax?”

“No indeed I have not. You have scolded me too much for match-making,

for me to presume to take such a liberty with you. What I said just

now, meant nothing. One says those sort of things, of course, without

any idea of a serious meaning. Oh! no, upon my word I have not the

smallest wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane any body. You

would not come in and sit with us in this comfortable way, if you were

married.”

Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his reverie was, “No,

Emma, I do not think the extent of my admiration for her will ever take

me by surprize.—I never had a thought of her in that way, I assure

you.” And soon afterwards, “Jane Fairfax is a very charming young

woman—but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She has a fault. She has

not the open temper which a man would wish for in a wife.”

Emma could not but rejoice to hear that she had a fault. “Well,” said

she, “and you soon silenced Mr. Cole, I suppose?”

“Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint; I told him he was mistaken;

he asked my pardon and said no more. Cole does not want to be wiser or

wittier than his neighbours.”

“In that respect how unlike dear Mrs. Elton, who wants to be wiser and

wittier than all the world! I wonder how she speaks of the Coles—what

she calls them! How can she find any appellation for them, deep enough

in familiar vulgarity? She calls you, Knightley—what can she do for Mr.

Cole? And so I am not to be surprized that Jane Fairfax accepts her

civilities and consents to be with her. Mrs. Weston, your argument

weighs most with me. I can much more readily enter into the temptation

of getting away from Miss Bates, than I can believe in the triumph of

Miss Fairfax’s mind over Mrs. Elton. I have no faith in Mrs. Elton’s

acknowledging herself the inferior in thought, word, or deed; or in her

being under any restraint beyond her own scanty rule of good-breeding.

I cannot imagine that she will not be continually insulting her visitor

with praise, encouragement, and offers of service; that she will not be

continually detailing her magnificent intentions, from the procuring

her a permanent situation to the including her in those delightful

exploring parties which are to take place in the barouche-landau.”

“Jane Fairfax has feeling,” said Mr. Knightley—“I do not accuse her of

want of feeling. Her sensibilities, I suspect, are strong—and her

temper excellent in its power of forbearance, patience, self-control;

but it wants openness. She is reserved, more reserved, I think, than

she used to be—And I love an open temper. No—till Cole alluded to my

supposed attachment, it had never entered my head. I saw Jane Fairfax

and conversed with her, with admiration and pleasure always—but with no

thought beyond.”

“Well, Mrs. Weston,” said Emma triumphantly when he left them, “what do

you say now to Mr. Knightley’s marrying Jane Fairfax?”

“Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so very much occupied by the

idea of _not_ being in love with her, that I should not wonder if it

were to end in his being so at last. Do not beat me.”