Chapter V.
I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston, ” said Mr.
Knightley,“of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I
think it a bad thing. ”
“A bad thing! Do you really think it a bad thing?—why so?”
“I think they will neither of them do the other any good.”
“You surprise me! Emma must do Harriet good; and by supplying her
with a new object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good. I have
been seeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very differently
we feel! Not think they will do each other any good! This will certainly be
the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma, Mr. Knightley.”
“Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you, knowing
Weston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle.”
“Mr. Weston would undoubtedly support me, if he were here, for he
thinks exactly as I do on the subject. We were speaking of it only yesterday,
and agreeing how fortunate it was for Emma, that there should be such a
girl in Highbury for her to associate with. Mr. Knightley, I shall not allow
you to be a fair judge in this case. You are so much used to live alone, that
you do not know the value of a companion; and, perhaps, no man can be a
good judge of the comforts a woman feels in the society of one of her own
sex, after being used to it all her life. I can imagine your objection to Harriet
Smith. She is not the superior young woman which Emma’s friend ought to
be. But, on the other hand, as Emma wants to see her better informed, it will
be an inducement to her to read more herself. They will read together. She
means it, I know.”
“Emma has been meaning to read more ever since she was twelve years
old. I have seen a great many lists of her drawing up at various times of
books that she meant to read regularly through—and very good lists they
were—very well chosen, and very neatly arranged—sometimes
alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule. The list she drew up
when only fourteen—I remember thinking it did her judgment so much
credit, that I preserved it some time; and I dare say she may have made out
a very good list now. But I have done with expecting any course of steady
reading from Emma. She will never submit to any thing requiring industry
and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding. Where
Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely affirm that Harriet Smith will
do nothing. You never could persuade her to read half so much as you
wished. You know you could not.”
“I dare say,” replied Mrs. Weston, smiling, “that I thought so then; but
since we have parted, I can never remember Emma’s omitting to do any
thing I wished.”
“There is hardly any desiring to refresh such a memory as that,” said Mr.
Knightley, feelingly; and for a moment or two he had done. “But I,” he soon
added, “who have had no such charm thrown over my senses, must still see,
hear, and remember. Emma is spoiled by being the cleverest of her family.
At ten years old she had the misfortune of being able to answer questions
which puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always quick and assured;
Isabella slow and diffident. And ever since she was twelve, Emma has been
mistress of the house and of you all. In her mother she lost the only person
able to cope with her. She inherits her mother’s talents, and must have been
under subjection to her.”
“I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley, to be dependent on your
recommendation, had I quitted Mr. Woodhouse’s family and wanted another
situation; I do not think you would have spoken a good word for me to any
body. I am sure you always thought me unfit for the office I held.”
“Yes,” said he smiling. “You are better placed here, very fit for a wife, but
not at all for a governess. But you were preparing yourself to be an
excellent wife all the time you were at Hartfield. You might not give Emma
such a complete education as your powers would seem to promise; but you
were receiving a very good education from her, on the very material
matrimonial point of submitting your own will, and doing as you were bid;
and if Weston had asked me to recommend him a wife, I should certainly
have named Miss Taylor.”
“Thank you. There will be very little merit in making a good wife to such
a man as Mr. Weston.”
“Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather thrown away, and that
with every disposition to bear, there will be nothing to be borne. We will not
despair, however. Weston may grow cross from the wantonness of comfort,
or his son may plague him.”
“I hope not that. It is not likely. No, Mr. Knightley, do not foretell
vexation from that quarter.”
“Not I, indeed. I only name possibilities. I do not pretend to Emma’s
genius for foretelling and guessing. I hope, with all my heart, the young
man may be a Weston in merit, and a Churchill in fortune. But Harriet
Smith,—I have not half done about Harriet Smith. I think her the very worst
sort of companion that Emma could possibly have. She knows nothing
herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing every thing. She is a flatterer in
all her ways; and so much the worse, because undesigned. Her ignorance is
hourly flattery. How can Emma imagine she has any thing to learn herself,
while Harriet is presenting such a delightful inferiority? And as for Harriet,
I will venture to say that she cannot gain by the acquaintance. Hartfield will
only put her out of conceit with all the other places she belongs to. She will
grow just refined enough to be uncomfortable with those among whom
birth and circumstances have placed her home. I am much mistaken if
Emma’s doctrines give any strength of mind, or tend at all to make a girl
adapt herself rationally to the varieties of her situation in life. They only
give a little polish.”
“I either depend more upon Emma’s good sense than you do, or am more
anxious for her present comfort; for I cannot lament the acquaintance. How
well she looked last night.”
“Oh, you would rather talk of her person than her mind, would you? Very
well; I shall not attempt to deny Emma’s being pretty.”
“Pretty! say beautiful rather. Can you imagine any thing nearer perfect
beauty than Emma altogether—face and figure?”
“I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I have seldom
seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. But I am a partial old
friend.”
“Such an eye!—the true hazel eye—and so brilliant! regular features,
open countenance, with a complexion—oh, what a bloom of full health, and
such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure. There is health,
not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her glance. One hears
sometimes of a child being ‘the picture of health;’ now Emma always gives
me the idea of being the complete picture of grown-up health. She is
loveliness itself. Mr. Knightley, is not she?”
“I have not a fault to find with her person,” he replied. “I think her all you
describe. I love to look at her; and I will add this praise, that I do not think
her personally vain. Considering how very handsome she is, she appears to
be little occupied with it; her vanity lies another way. Mrs. Weston, I am not
to be talked out of my dislike of her intimacy with Harriet Smith, or my
dread of its doing them both harm.”
“And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of its not doing
them any harm. With all dear Emma’s little faults, she is an excellent
creature. Where shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder sister, or a truer
friend? No, no; she has qualities which may be trusted; she will never lead
any one really wrong; she will make no lasting blunder; where Emma errs
once, she is in the right a hundred times.”
“Very well; I will not plague you any more. Emma shall be an angel, and I
will keep my spleen to myself till Christmas brings John and Isabella. John
loves Emma with a reasonable and therefore not a blind affection, and
Isabella always thinks as he does, except when he is not quite frightened
enough about the children. I am sure of having their opinions with me.”
“I know that you all love her really too well to be unjust or unkind; but
excuse me, Mr. Knightley, if I take the liberty, (I consider myself, you
know, as having somewhat of the privilege of speech that Emma’s mother
might have had,) the liberty of hinting, that I do not think any possible good
can arise from Harriet Smith’s intimacy being made a matter of much
discussion among you. Pray excuse me; but supposing any little
inconvenience may be apprehended from the intimacy, it cannot be
expected that Emma, accountable to nobody but her father, who perfectly
approves the acquaintance, should put an end to it, so long as it is a source
of pleasure to herself. It has been so many years my province to give
advice, that you cannot be surprised, Mr. Knightley, at this little remains of
office.”
“Not at all,” cried he; “I am much obliged to you for it. It is very good
advice, and it shall have a better fate than your advice has often found; for it
shall be attended to.”
“Mrs. John Knightley is easily alarmed, and might be made unhappy
about her sister.”
“Be satisfied,” said he, “I will not raise any outcry. I will keep my ill-
humour to myself. I have a very sincere interest in Emma. Isabella does not
seem more my sister: has never excited a greater interest; perhaps hardly so
great. There is an anxiety, a curiosity in what one feels for Emma. I wonder
what will become of her.”
“So do I,” said Mrs. Weston, gently, “very much.”
“She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just
nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she cared
for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a
proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a
return: it would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts to attach her;
and she goes so seldom from home.”
“There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to break her resolution at
present,” said Mrs. Weston, “as can well be; and while she is so happy at
Hartfield, I cannot wish her to be forming any attachment which would be
creating such difficulties, on poor Mr. Woodhouse’s account. I do not
recommend matrimony at present to Emma, though I mean no slight to the
state, I assure you.”
Part of her meaning was to conceal some favorite thoughts of her own and
Mr. Weston’s on the subject as much as possible. There were wishes at
Randalls respecting Emma’s destiny, but it was not desirable to have them
suspected; and the quiet transition which Mr. Knightley soon afterwards
made to “What does Weston think of the weather?—shall we have rain?”—
convinced her that he had nothing more to say or surmise about Hartfield.
