Chapter XV.
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 show 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 lady-like—
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 talents as hers must not be suf fered
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. ’15
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 show 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.
Eiton!—‘Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax.’ Heavens! let me not suppose that
she dares go about Emma Woodhouse-ing me! But, upon my honour, there
seem 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 surprise 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 choose to remain here
month after month, under privations of every sort. And now to choose 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 surprise 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 behind-hand. 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
showed 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 surprise. 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 surprised 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 visiter 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.”
