Jane Austen (Sarah Fanny Malden 1889)/Chapter 8
Most readers of Jane Austen will agree in thinking that in Emma she reached the summit of her literary powers. She has given us quite as charming individual characters both in earlier and later writings, but it is impossible to name a flaw in Emma; there is not a page that could with advantage be omitted, nor could any additions improve it. It has all the brilliancy of Pride and Prejudice, without any immaturity of style, and it is as carefully finished as Mansfield Park, without the least suspicion of prolixity. In Emma, too, as has been already noticed, she worked into perfection some characters which she had attempted earlier with less success, and she gave us two or three, such as Mr. Weston, Mrs. Elton, and Miss Bates, which we find nowhere else in her writings. Moreover, in Emma, above all her other works, she achieved a task in which many a great writer has failed; for she gives us there the portrait of a thorough English gentleman, drawn to the life. Edmund Bertram, indeed, is, in the best sense of the word, a gentleman, but he is a very young one; Mr. Darcy and Henry Tilney at times are on the verge of not being quite thorough-bred; but Mr. Knightley is from head to foot a gentleman, and we feel that he never could have said or done a thing unworthy of one. Jane Austen herself classed him with Edmund Bertram in her speech already given, as "far from being what I know English gentlemen often are." I think she was unjust to both her heroes, but, above all, to Mr. Knightley, for it is difficult to see how he could be surpassed. The man, who, in the full vigour of health and strength, was always patient and forbearing towards a fussy, fidgety invalid; who would not propose to the woman he loved because he believed that another younger and more attractive man was on the verge of doing so; then was ready to help and comfort her without any arrière pensée of advantage to himself, when she was deserted by her supposed lover; who took with indifference any annoyance or impertinence to himself, but whose righteous indignation was instantly roused by any slight to those whose position made them defenceless; who was refined in thought and language, sincere to friends and foes, and uncompromisingly straightforward in every transaction; surely this is a very real type of English gentleman, and few writers have drawn it so successfully. Emma Woodhouse, too, is very good. Her faults, follies, and mistakes are completely those of a warm-hearted, rather spoilt girl, accustomed to believe in herself, and to be queen of her own circle. She deserves the amount of punishment she gets, but we are glad it is no worse; and, with Mr. Knightley to look after her, she will do very well. Her position would be a spoiling one for any girl. "Emma Woodhouse, handsome, cleyer, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her. She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate indulgent father, and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage, been mistress of his house from a very early period. Her mother had died too long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of her caresses, and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman as governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection."
The story, as usual with Jane Austen, is a mere thread of the most every-day kind: the loves, hopes, fears, and rivalries of a dozen people, with all their home lives and surroundings. But every one of the characters stands out clearly from the canvas, and all are life-like and delightful. What can be quoted, when all would repay quotation? It is difficult to know where to begin, yet impossible not to give as much as space will permit.
Emma Woodhouse is, of course, the most prominent character, and a considerable part of the plot turns upon the strenuous attempts at match-making for a friend, which she takes up to amuse and occupy herself when the marriage of her beloved governess has left her alone in her father's house. This friend, Harriet Smith, is pretty, silly, and second-rate, of unknown parentage, and educated at a neighbouring boarding-school; but Emma, fascinated by her beauty and simplicity, ignores her worst defects, and resolves upon marrying her to the vicar of the parish, Mr. Elton, who is young, handsome, and a good imitation of a gentleman. Her eagerness for the marriage is quickened by finding that Harriet has a pronounced admirer in a neighbouring young farmer, whom Emma considers quite beneath her; and she directs much of her energy to quell this rising attachment on Harriet's part, honestly believing it to be a very bad connection for her. Harriet herself has never aspired higher than Mr. Robert Martin, and, but for Emma's interference, his course of true love would have run exceedingly smooth. An unexpected meeting with him out walking gives Emma an opportunity for lowering him in Harriett's eyes. "They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse must not be kept waiting; and Harriet then came running to her with a smiling face, and in a flutter of spirits, which Miss Woodhouse hoped very soon to compose.
"'Only think of our happening to meet him! how very odd! It was quite a chance, he said, that he had not gone round by Randalls; he did not think we ever walked this road. He thought we walked towards Randalls most days. He has not been able to get The Romance of the Forest yet. He was so busy the last time he was at Kingston that he quite forgot it, but he goes again to-morrow. So very odd we should happen to meet! Well, Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you expected? What do you think of him? Do you think him so very plain?'
"'He is very plain, undoubtedly, remarkably plain; but that is nothing compared with his entire want of gentility. I had no right to expect much, and I did not expect much; but I had no idea that he could be so very clownish, so totally without air. I had imagined, him, I confess, a degree or two nearer gentility.'
"'To be sure,' said Harriet, in a mortified voice, 'he is not so genteel as real gentlemen.'
"'I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us, you have been repeatedly in the company of some such very real gentlemen, that you must yourself be struck with the difference in Mr. Martin. At Hartfield you have had very good specimens of well-educated, well-bred men. I should be surprised if, after seeing them, you could be in company with Mr. Martin again without perceiving him to be a very inferior creature—and rather wondering at yourself for having ever thought him at all agreeable before. Do not you begin to feel that now? Were not you struck? I am sure you must have been struck by his awkward look and abrupt manner, and the uncouthness of a voice which I heard to be wholly unmodulated as I stood here.'
"'Certainly he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has not such a fine air and way of walking as Mr. Knightley. I see the difference plain enough. But Mr. Knightley is so very fine a man.'
"'Mr. Knightley's air is so remarkably good, that it is not fair to compare Mr. Martin with him. You might not see one in a hundred with gentleman so plainly written as in Mr. Knightley. But he is not the only gentleman you have been lately used to. What say you to Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton? . . . Compare their manner of carrying themselves, of walking, of speaking, of being silent. You must see the difference.'
"'Oh, yes, there is a great difference. But Mr. Weston is almost an old man. Mr. Weston must be between forty and fifty.'
"'Which makes his good manners the more valuable. The older a person grows, Harriet, the more important it is that their manners should not be bad; the more glaring and disgusting any loudness, or coarseness, or awkwardness becomes. What is passable in youth is detestable in later age. Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt; what will he be at Mr. Weston's time of life?'
"'There is no saying, indeed,' replied Harriet rather solemnly.
"'But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be a completely gross vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and thinking of nothing but profit and loss.'
"'Will he, indeed? That will be very bad.'
"'How much his business engrosses him already is very plain from the circumstance of his forgetting to inquire for the book you recommended. He was a great deal too full of the market to think of anything else—which is just as it should be for a thriving man. What has he to do with books? And I have no doubt that he will thrive, and be a very rich man in time; and his being illiterate and coarse need not disturb us.'
"'I wonder he did not remember the book,' was all Harriet's answer, and spoken with a degree of grave displeasure which Emma thought might be safely left to itself. She therefore said no more for some time. Her next beginning was—
"'In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton's manners are superior to Mr. Knightley's or Mr. Weston's. They have more gentleness. They might be more safely held up as a pattern. There is an openness, a quickness, almost a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which everybody likes in him because there is so much good humour with it—but that would not do to be copied. Neither would Mr. Knightley's downright, decided, commanding sort of manner, though it suits him very well: his figure, look, aud situation in life seem to allow it, but if any young man were to set about copying him he would not be sufferable. On the contrary, I think a young man might be very safely recommended to take Mr. Elton as a model. Mr. Elton is goodhumoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle. He seems to me to be grown particularly gentle of late. I do not know whether he has any design of ingratiating himself with either of us, Harriet, by additional softness, but it strikes me that his manners are softer than they used to be. If he means anything, it must be to please you. Did not I tell you what he said of you the other day?'
"'She then repeated some warm personal praise which she had drawn from Mr. Elton, and now did full justice to; and Harriet blushed and smiled, and said she had always thought Mr. Elton very agreeable."
Emma is persuaded that a very little encouragement will bring Mr. Elton forward as Harriet's declared suitor, and, under this belief, she throws the two together in every possible way at Hartfield. Having further convinced herself that Mr. Elton's pretty speeches, which would suit every woman equally well, are solely intended for Harriet through her, she receives them all with the utmost graciousness, quite unconscious of the presumptuous hopes for himself which he builds upon her manner to him. She begins a portrait of Harriet, which, she trusts, may some day be a wedding present to Mr. Elton, and her eyes are not opened to his real views even by his remarks upon the picture when finished.
"'Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she wanted,' observed Mrs. Weston to him not in the least suspecting that she was addressing a lover. 'The expression of the eye is most correct, but Miss Smith has not those eye-brows and eye-lashes; it is the fault of her face that she has them not.'
"'Do you think so?' replied he. 'I cannot agree with you. It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never saw such a likeness in my life. We must allow for the effects of shade, you know.'
"'You have made her too tall, Emma,' said Mr. Knightley.
"Emma knew that she had, but would not own it; and Mr. Elton warmly added—
"'Oh, no; certainly not too tall—not in the least too tall. Consider she is sitting down, which naturally presents a different—which, in short, gives exactly the idea—and the proportions must be preserved, you know. Proportions, fore-shortening—oh, no; it gives one exactly the idea of such a height as Miss Smith's—exactly so, indeed.'
"'It is very pretty,' said Mr. Woodhouse. 'So prettily done. Just as your drawings always are, my dear. I do not know anybody who draws so well as you do. The only thing I do not thoroughly like is that she seems to be sitting out of doors with only a little shawl over her shoulders; and it makes one think she must catch cold.'
"'But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer. Look at the tree.'
"'But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear.'
"'You, sir, may say anything,' cried Mr. Elton, 'but I must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing Miss Smith out of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit. Any other situation would have been much less in character. The naïveté of Miss Smith's manners, and, altogether—oh, it is most admirable; I cannot keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness.'
"The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were a few difficulties. . . . But no sooner was the distress known to Mr. Elton than it was removed. His gallantry was always on the alert. Might he be trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasure should he have in executing it! He could ride to London at any time. It was impossible to say how much he should be gratified by being employed on such an errand.
"'He was too good!—she could not endure the thought!—she would not give him such a troublesome office for the world,' brought on the desired repetition of entreaties and assurances, and a very few minutes settled the business. Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, choose the frame, and give the directions; and Emma thought she could so pack it AS to ensure its safety without much incommoding him, while he seemed mostly fearful of not being incommoded enough.
"'What a precious deposit!' said he with a tender sigh as he received it.
"'This man is almost too gallant to be in love,' thought Emma; 'I should say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different ways of being in love. He is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet exactly; it will be an "exactly so," as he says himself; but he does sigh and languish and study for compliments rather more than I could endure as a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as a second. But it is his gratitude on Harriet's account.'"
Perhaps Mr. Robert Martin hears enough of what is passing at Hartfield to alarm him; at all events, he determines to put his fate to the touch; and the very day of Mr. Elton's going to London Harriet comes to Emma "with an agitated hurried look, announcing something extraordinary to have happened which she was longing to tell. Half a minute brought it all out. She had heard, as soon as she had got back to Mrs. Goddard's, that Mr. Martin had been there an hour before . . . had left a little parcel for her from one of his sisters, and gone away; and, on opening this parcel, she had actually found, besides the two songs which she had lent Elizabeth to copy, a letter to herself, and this letter was from him—from Mr. Martin—and contained a direct proposal of marriage. 'Who could have thought it? She was so surprised, she did not know what to do. Yes, quite a proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, at least, she thought so. And he wrote as if he really loved her very much—but she did not know—and so she had come as fast as she could to ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.'
It is clear enough what she wants to do; but Emma, still bent upon saving her friend from a supposed mésalliance, is indignant with Mr. Martin's presumption, and only wishes Harriet to lose no time in giving him his dismissal.
"'You think I ought to refuse him then?' said Harriet looking down.
"'Ought to refuse him! My dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are you in any doubt as to that? I thought—but I beg your pardon, perhaps I have been under a mistake. I certainly have been misunderstanding you if you feel in doubt as to the purport of your answer. I had imagined you were consulting me only as to the wording of it.'
"Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner, Emma continued:
"'You mean to return a favourable answer, I collect.'
"'No; I do not, that is, I do not mean—what shall I do? What would you advise me to do? Pray, dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what I ought to do.'
"'I shall not give you any advice, Harriet. I will have nothing to do with it. This is a point which you must settle with your own feelings.'
"'I had no notion that he liked me so very much,' said Harriet, contemplating the letter. For a little while Emma persevered in her silence, but, beginning to apprehend the bewitching flattery of that letter might be too powerful, she thought it best to say—
"'I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him. If she can hesitate as to "Yes," she ought to say "No" directly. It is not a state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half a heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself, to say thus much to you. But do not imagine that I want to influence you.'
"'Oh, no; I am sure you are a great deal too kind to—but if you would just advise me what I had best do—no, no, I do not mean that—as you say, one's mind ought to be quite made up—one should not be hesitating—it is a very serious thing. It will be safer to say "No," perhaps. Do you think I had better say "No"?'
"'Not for the world,' said Emma, smiling graciously, 'would I advise you either way. You must be the best judge of your own happiness. If you prefer Mr. Martin to every other person, if you think him the most agreeable man you have ever been in company with, why should you hesitate? You blush, Harriet. Does anybody else occur to you at this moment under such a definition? Harriet, Harriet, do not deceive yourself; do not be run away with by gratitude and compassion. At this moment whom are you thinking of?'
"The symptoms were favourable. Instead of answering, Harriet turned away confused, and stood thoughtfully by the fire; and, though the letter was still in her hand, it was now mechanically twisted about without regard. Emma waited the result with impatience, but not without strong hopes. At last, with some hesitation Harriet said—
"'Miss Woodhouse, as you will not give me your opinion, I must do as well as I can by myself; and I have now quite determined, and really almost made up my mind to refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I am right?'
"'Perfectly, perfectly right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing just what you ought. While you were at all in suspense, I kept my feelings to myself; but now that you are so completely decided, I have no hesitation in approving. Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would have grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin. While you were in the smallest degree wavering, I said nothing about it, because I would not influence, but it would have been the loss of a friend to me. I could not have visited Mrs. Robert Martin of Abbey Mill Farm. Now I am secure of you for ever.'"
There can be no better picture of a strong, decided nature bearing down a weak, vacillating one, yet entirely unconscious of its own tyranny. But Emma's triumph is of short duration. She has first to endure a sharp lecture from Mr. Knightley, who, from his position in the family as brother to her sister's husband, is on terms of full intimacy with her and her father, and is, moreover, "one of the few people who could see faults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them." Robert Martin has confided his hopes to him, and, when they are crushed, Mr. Knightley is much grieved for him, and, guessing the part which Emma has had in the business, is much annoyed with her for dissuading Harriet from a safe and respectable connection. Emma has hardly tranquilized him, when, to her intense vexation, Mr. Elton declares himself her lover, and she then perceives the truth, to which she has been so blind, and sees how all her efforts for Harriet have been set down by him to dawning attachment on her own part. Of course Harriet has to be comforted and talked out of love—a far harder task than talking her into it; and even Mr. Elton's very speedy engagement to "a Miss Hawkins of Bath" has not all the success Emma has hoped for.
In the interval before his marriage, we are introduced to Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill, who may be considered the secondary hero and heroine of the story. She is the grand-daughter of a Mr. Bates, a former clergyman of Highbury.
Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax have met at the house of a friend, and he having fallen violently in love, and being a young man with little regard for anyone's feelings but his own, has persuaded her, against her better judgment, into a secret engagement. The plea for it is that his family might disinherit him if they knew of the engagement too soon, and, for a time, the secret is easy enough to keep; but when Jane comes for her usual visit to her grandmother and aunt at Highbury, Frank Churchill immediately finds the opportunity for a visit to his father there, and the connection between him and his fiancée necessitates an amount of double-dealing which is very painful to her though it greatly amuses him. Emma narrowly escapes being a sufferer by this.
"In spite of Emma's resolution of never marrying, there was something in the name, in the idea, of Mr. Frank Churchill which always interested her. She had frequently thought—especially since his father's marriage with Miss Taylor—that if she were to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, character, and condition. He seemed, by this connection between the families, quite to belong to her. She could not but suppose it to be a match that everybody who knew them must think of. That Mr. and Mrs. Weston did think of it, she was very strongly persuaded; and though not meaning to be induced by him or by anybody else to give up a situation which she believed more replete with good than any she could change it for, she had a great curiosity to see him, a decided intention of finding him pleasant, of being liked by him, to a certain degree, and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their friends' imaginations."
When Mr. Frank Churchill appears, he is pleasant, lively, and well-bred, quite willing to carry on a graceful flirtation with Emma in order to cover his real attraction at Highbury; and both the Westons and Emma believe him to be seriously falling in love with the latter. Emma, having much time on her hands, and a lively imagination, tries to convince herself that she is falling in love with him; and her attempt at this is an excellent passage in the book. She is quite unsuspicious of his secret engagement, in spite of the sharp-sightedness on which she prides herself, but the real superiority of her own nature enables her to see a certain shallowness in his. Quite unconsciously to herself, she is always comparing him with Mr. Knightley, and the comparison is not favourable to Frank; but, having made up her mind that she will not marry at present, and that Frank is in love with her, she magnanimously decides not to give him any further encouragement, and begins to consider if he could be induced to fall in love with Harriet Smith. On her own side she honestly believes that she has fallen in love with him—which she has never done for a moment—and considers herself heroic for determining not to leave her father. Meanwhile Mr. Elton has returned to Highbury with his bride, and Emma feels bound to call upon her. Mrs. Elton duly returns the visit, and Emma tries to be civil.
"'I do not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton; upon these occasions a lady's character generally precedes her, and Highbury has long known that you are a superior performer.'
"'Oh, no, indeed; I must protest against any such idea, A superior performer!—very far from it, I assure you; consider from how partial a quarter your information came. I am doatingly fond of music—passionately fond; and my friends say I am not entirely devoid of taste; but as to anything else, upon my honour, my performance is médiocre to the last degree. You, Miss Woodhouse, I well know, play delightfully. I assure you, it has been the greatest satisfaction comfort, and delight to me to hear what a musical society I am got into. I absolutely cannot do without music; it is a necessary of life to me; and, having always been used to a very musical society, both at Maple Grove and in Bath, it would have been a most serious sacrifice. I honestly said as much to Mr. E. when he was speaking of my future home, and expressing his fears lest the retirement of it should be disagreeable; and the inferiority of the house, too—knowing what I had been accustomed to—of course he was not wholly without apprehension. When he was speaking of it in that way, I honestly said that the world I could give up—parties, balls, plays—for I had no fear of retirement. Blessed with so many resources within myself, the world was not necessary to me. I could do very well without it. To those who had no resources it was a different thing, but my resources made me quite independent. And as to smaller-sized rooms than I had been used to, I really could not give it a thought. I hoped I was perfectly equal to any sacrifice of that description. Certainly I had been accustomed to every luxury at Maple Grove, but I did assure him that two carriages were not necessary to my happiness, nor were spacious apartments. "But," said I, "to be quite honest, I do not think I can live without something of a musical society. I condition for nothing else; but without music, life would be a blank to me."'
"'We cannot suppose,' said Emma, smiling, 'that Mr. Elton would hesitate to assure you of there being a very musical society in Highbury; and I hope you will not find he has outstepped the truth more than may be pardoned, in consideration of the motive.'
"'No, indeed, I have no doubts at all on that head. I am delighted to find myself in such a circle: I hope we shall have many sweet little concerts together. I think, Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish a musical club, and have regular weekly meetings at your house, or ours. Will it not be a good plan? If we exert ourselves, I think we shall not be long in want of allies. Something of that nature would be particularly desirable for me as an inducement to keep me in practice; for married women, you know—there is a sad story against them in general. They are but too apt to give up music. . . . I used to be quite angry with Selina; but really I begin now to comprehend that a married woman has many things to call her attention. I believe I was half an hour this morning shut up with my house-keeper.'
"'But everything of that kind,' said Emma, 'will soon be in so regular a train'
"'Well,' said Mrs. Elton, laughing, 'we shall see.'
"Emma, finding her so determined upon neglecting her music, had nothing more to say; and, after a moment's pause, Mrs. Elton chose another subject.
"'We have been calling at Randalls,' said she, 'and found them both at home; and very pleasant people they seem to be. I like them extremely. Mr. Weston seems an excellent creature, quite a first-rate favourite with me already, I assure you. And she appears so truly good; there is something so motherly and kind-hearted about her that it wins upon one directly. She was your governess, I think?'
"Emma was almost too much astonished to answer; but Mrs. Elton hardly waited for the affirmative before she went on.
"'Having understood as much, I was rather astonished to find her so very lady-like. But she is really quite the gentlewoman.'
"'Mrs. Weston's manners,' said Emma, 'were always particularly good; their propriety, simplicity, and elegance would make them the safest model for any young woman.'
"'And who do you think came in while we were there?'
"Emma was quite at a loss. The tone implied some old acquaintance, and how could she possibly guess?
"'Knightley,' continued Mrs. Elton; 'Knightley himself. Was it not lucky? For not being within when he called the other day, I had never seen him before; and, of course, as so particular a friend of Mr. E.'s, I had a great curiosity. "My friend Knightley" had been so often mentioned that I was really impatient to see him; and I must do my caro sposo the justice to say that he need not be ashamed of his friend. Knightley is quite the gentleman; I like him very much. Decidedly, I think, a very gentlemanlike man.'
"Happily it was now time to be gone. They were off, and Emma could breathe."
Mrs. Elton and Miss Bates are well contrasted; both are great talkers, but the conversation of the one is all vulgar egotism, while the other merely talks from inability to hold her tongue, and her chatter is always simple-minded and kind-hearted.
A ball is given by the Westons, to which, of course, everyone is invited, and Miss Bates is there to chaperon her niece. As the door opened, she was heard—"'So very obliging of you!—No rain at all. Nothing to signify. I do not care for myself. Quite thick shoes. And Jane declares. Well!' (as soon as she was within the door) 'well! This is brillant, indeed! This is admirable! Excellently contrived, upon my word. Nothing wanting. Could not have imagined it. So well lighted up! Jane, Jane, look! Did you ever see anything? Oh, Mr. Weston, you must really have had Aladdin's lamp. Good Mrs. Stokes would not know her own room again. I saw her as I came in; she was standing in the entrance. "Oh, Mrs. Stokes," said I—but I had not time for more.'" She was now met by Mrs. Weston. "'Very well, I thank you. Ma'am; I hope you are quite well. Very happy to hear it. So afraid you might have a headache, seeing you pass by so often, and knowing how much trouble you must have. Delighted to hear it, indeed.—Ah, dear Mrs. Elton, so obliged to you for the carriage; excellent time; Jane and I quite ready. Did not keep the horses a moment. Most comfortable carriage. Oh! and I am sure our thanks are due to you, Mrs. Weston, on that score. Mrs. Elton had most kindly sent Jane a note or we should have been. But two such offers in one day! Never were such neighbours. I said to my mother, 'Upon my word, Ma'am'.—Thank you, my mother is remarkably well; gone to Mr. Woodhouse's. I made her take her shawl—for the evenings are not warm—her large new shawl, Mrs. Dixon's wedding present. So kind of her to think of my mother. Bought at Weymouth, you know; Mr. Dixon's choice. There were three others, Jane says, which they hesitated about some time. Colonel Campbell rather preferred an olive.—My dear Jane, are you sure you did not wet your feet? It was but a drop or two, but I am so afraid; but Mr. Frank Churchill was so extremely—and there was a mat to step on. I shall never forget his extreme politeness. Oh! Mr. Frank Churchill, I must tell you my mother's spectacles have never been in fault since: the rivet never came out again. My mother often talks of your good nature; does not she, Jane? Do not we often talk of Mr. Frank Churchill? Ah! here's Miss Woodhouse. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how do you do? Very well, I thank you, quite well. This is meeting quite in fairyland: such a transformation! Must not compliment, I know (eyeing Emma most complacently), but upon my word, Miss Woodhouse, you do look—how do you like Jane's hair? You are a judge. She did it all herself. Quite wonderful how she does her hair! No hairdresser from London I think could—Ah! Dr. Hughes, I declare, and Mrs. Hughes. Must go and speak to Dr. and Mrs. Hughes for a moment. How do you do? How do you do? Very well, I thank you. This is delightful, is not it? Where's dear Mr. Richard? Oh, there he is. Don't disturb him. Much better employed talking to the young ladies. How do you do, Mr. Richard? I saw you the other day as you rode through the town. Mrs. Otway, I protest, and good Mr. Otway, and Miss Caroline. Such a host of friends I and Mr. George and Mr. Arthur. How do you do? How do you all do? Quite well, I am much obliged to you. Never better. Don't I hear another carriage? Who can this be?—very likely the worthy Coles. Upon my word, this is charming, to be standing about among such friends! And such a noble fire! I am quite roasted. No coffee, I thank you, for me; never take coffee. A little tea, if you please, sir, by-and-bye; no hurry. Oh, here it comes. Everything is so good.'"
The secret of Frank Churchill's engagement at last comes out unexpectedly, and is a very startling revelation to a good many people, even to Emma, though not in the way she might have expected. In his effort to conceal his real attachment, Frank Churchill has flirted with Emma to an extent that has exasperated Jane Fairfax, whose nerves are over-wrought and irritable beyond measure, and she at length hastily decides on taking a situation as a governess which has been offered to her by friends of Mrs. Elton. She has carefully concealed this step from her lover up to the last moment; but when he learns it, all his better feelings are roused, and he announces the engagement to his family, determined to brave all possible consequences. Emma, in addition to being much displeased at this secrecy, which is so repugnant to her whole nature, is sincerely grieved for Harriet Smith, who, she believes, is as much attached to Frank Churchill as she can be to any one. For some time past it has been clear that there is a successor to Mr. Elton in Harriet's somewhat unstable affections; and though Emma, taught by experience, has resolutely held her tongue on the subject, she has been delighted at a prospect which promised so much happiness to her friend. Now, when the truth is known, she is preparing to pity and sympathise with Harriet over Frank Churchill's unjustifiable concealment, when, to her amazement, she finds herself again completely mistaken, and learns with dismay that Mr. Knightley is the man on whom Harriet's present ideas are fixed.
"A mind like hers, once opening to suspicion, made rapid progress; she touched, she admitted, she acknowledged the whole truth. Why was it so much worse that Harriet should be in love with Mr. Knightley than with Frank Churchill? Why was the evil so dreadfully increased by Harriet's having some hope of a return? It darted through her with the speed of an arrow that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself! . . .
"The rest of the day, the following night, were hardly enough for her thoughts. She was bewildered amidst the confusion of all that had rushed on her within the last few hours. Every moment had brought a fresh surprise: and every surprise must be matter of humiliation to her. How to understand it all! how to understand the deceptions she had been thus practising on herself and living under! The blunders, the blindness of her own head and heart. She sat still, she walked about, she tried her own room, she tried the shrubbery—in every place, every posture, she perceived that she had acted most weakly, that she had been imposed on by others in a most mortifying degree, that she had been imposing on herself in a degree yet more mortifying, that she was wretched, and should probably find this day but the beginning of wretchedness. . . . With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the secret of everybody's feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed to arrange everybody's destiny. She was proved to have been universally mistaken, and she had not quite done nothing—for she had done mischief. She had brought evil on Harriet, on herself, and, as she too much feared, on Mr. Knightley. Were this most unequal of all connections to take place, on her must rest all the reproach of having given it a beginning; for his attachment she must believe to be produced only by a consciousness of Harriet's;—and even were this not the case, he would never have known Harriet at all but for her folly. . . . Could it be? No, it was impossible. And yet it was far, very far from impossible. Was it a new circumstance for a man of first-rate abilities to be captivated by very inferior powers? Was it new for one, perhaps too busy to seek, to be the prize of a girl who would seek him? . . . Oh! had she never brought Harriet forward! Had she left her where she ought, and where he had told her she ought! Had she not, with a folly which no tongue could express, prevented her marrying the unexceptionable young man who would have made her happy and respectable in the line of life to which she ought to belong, all would have been safe; none of this dreadful sequel would have been. How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise her thoughts to Mr. Knightley! How she could dare to fancy herself the chosen of such a man till actually assured of it! But Harriet was less humble, had fewer scruples than formerly. Her inferiority, whether of mind or situation, seemed little felt. She had seemed more sensible of Mr. Elton's being to stoop in marrying her than she now seemed of Mr. Knightley's. Alas! was not that her own doing too? Who had been at pains to give Harriet notions of self-consequence but herself? Who but herself had taught her that she was to elevate herself if possible, and that her claims were great to a high worldly establishment? If Harriet, from being humble, were grown vain, it was her doing too."
Poor Emma! It is impossible not to feel for her in her agony of self-revelation and self-reproach, and to hope that her sufferings may not last long, as, indeed, they do not. Mr. Knightley, who is away in London at his brother's, hears, while there, of Frank Churchill's engagement. He has always had some suspicion of the real state of affairs between Mr. Churchill and Miss Fairfax, and has even tried to warn Emma, who had repelled the suggestion with scorn; but he has feared that Emma's own affections were ensnared, and he has suffered much from the belief that his own cause was hopeless. Now all other feelings are swallowed up in his distress for what he supposes Emma is suffering; and when he makes his way to Hartfield, and sees her melancholy and depressed, his belief in her heart-broken state is confirmed. Nevertheless, during a walk in the garden, he is undeceived as to her supposed attachment for Frank Churchill, and, in the rush of delight that follows upon such a discovery, he cannot resist speaking for himself, with what rapturous results for both may be imagined.
"This one half-hour had given to each the same precious certainty of being beloved, had cleared from each the same degree of ignorance, jealousy, or distrust. On his side there had been a long-standing jealousy, old as the arrival, or even the expectation, of Frank Churchill. He had been in love with Emma and jealous of Frank Churchill from about the same period, one sentiment haying probably enlightened him as to the other. It was his jealousy of Frank Churchill that had taken him from the country. . . . He had gone to learn to be indifferent, but he had gone to a wrong place. . . . He had stayed on, however, vigorously, day after day,—till this very morning's post had conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax. Then, with the gladness which must be felt—nay, which he did not scruple to feel, having never believed Frank Churchill to be at all deserving Emma—was there so much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety for her that he could stay no longer. He had ridden home through the rain; and had walked up directly after dinner to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery. He had found her agitated and low. Frank Churchill was a villain. He heard her declare that she had never loved him. Frank Churchill's character was not desperate. She was his own Emma by hand and word when they returned into the house; and if he could have thought of Frank Churchill then, he might have deemed him a very good sort of fellow."
Emma's one remaining piece of compunction must be for her unlucky little protégée, Harriet Smith; but even this difficulty is surprisingly soon smoothed out of her way. Harriet, while on a visit to Emma's sister, Mrs. John Knightley, in London, again comes across Robert Martin, and, as he has always been faithful to her, the result is easily guessed; although Emma, true to her mistaken estimates of character, is greatly amazed when the engagement is announced. She is pacified, however, and accepts Mr. Knightley's quiet opinion of the story. "You ought to know your friend best, but I should say she was a good-tempered, soft-hearted girl, not likely to be very determined against any young man who told her he loved her"; which is, of course, the precise truth.
The three marriages of the story take place within a very short time of each other, Harriet Smith's being the first; "and Mr. Elton was called on within a month from the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin to join the hands of Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse. The wedding was very much like other weddings where the parties have no taste for finery or parade; and Mrs. Elton, from the particulars detailed by her husband, thought it all extremely shabby, and very inferior to her own. 'Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business! Selina would stare when she heard of it.' But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of the true friends who witnessed the ceremony were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union."
For some reason or other—perhaps the beginning of ill health, which may have made her despondent—Jane Austen was convinced that Emma would not be popular, her remark being, "I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like." Nevertheless, it was apropos of Emma that she received the only compliment ever paid her in her life-time by any distinguished person, and it must have been to her a very unexpected source for compliments. She had gone to stay with her brother Henry in London to superintend the bringing out of Emma, when he fell dangerously ill; and she remained to nurse him. The doctor in attendance was the Prince Regent's physician, and knew the Prince to be an enthusiastic admirer of Jane Austen's works, even to the extent of keeping duplicate copies of them at his various houses. He told the Regent of her being in London, whereupon the Prince's librarian was sent next day to call upon Miss Austen, and invite her to pay a visit to Carlton House if she would like to view the apartments, &c. Accordingly she went. It does not seem to have occurred to the Prince to be there in person; perhaps this could hardly have been expected; but she was received with great cordiality by the librarian, Mr. Clarke, and during the visit he told her that, if she cared to do so, the Prince would be happy to accept the dedication of any future novel of hers. The idea of such a dedication strikes us now as half pathetic, half ludicrous. Perhaps it so struck Jane, for she wrote shortly after to make sure that the Regent really wished it. The answer she got fully confirmed the fact; and Mr. Clarke, who would seem to have been an amiable and well-read man, but deficient in a sense of humour, seized the opportunity of making her a very curious suggestion.
"Dear Madam, (Nov. 16, 1815.)
"It is certainly not incumbent on you to dedicate your work now in the press to His Royal Highness; but if you wish to do the Regent that honour, either now or at any future period, I am happy to send you that permission which need not require any more trouble or solicitation on your part.
"Your late works, Madam, and, in particular, Mansfield Park, reflect the highest honour on your genius and your principles. In every new work your mind seems to increase its energy and power of discrimination. The Regent has read and admired all your publications.
"Accept my best thanks for the pleasure your volumes have given me. In the perusal of them I felt a great inclination to write and say so. And I also, dear Madam, wished to be allowed to ask you to delineate in some future work the habits of life, and character, and enthusiasm of a clergyman, who should pass his time between the metropolis and the country, who should be something like Beattie's Minstrel—
"'Silent when glad, affectionate tho' shy,
And in his looks was most demurely sad;
And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why.'
"Neither Goldsmith nor La Fontaine in his Tableau de Famille have, in my mind, quite delineated an English clergyman, at least of the present day, fond of and entirely engaged in literature, no man's enemy but his own. Pray, dear Madam, think of these things.
"Believe me at all times, with sincerity and respect,
"Your faithful and obliged servant.
"J. S. Clarke, Librarian."
Jane Austen must have received this proposal with great amazement and some amusement, but, with her usual simple-mindedness, she answered him as follows:—
"Dear Sir,
"My Emma is now so near publication that I feel it right to assure you of my not having forgotten your kind recommendation of an early copy for Carlton House, and that I have Mr. Murray's promise of its being sent to His Royal Highness under cover to you, three days previous to the work being really out. I must make use of this opportunity to thank you, dear Sir, for the very high praise you bestow on my other novels. I am too vain to wish to convince you that you have praised them beyond their merits. My greatest anxiety at present is that this fourth work should not disgrace what was good in the others. But on this point I will do myself the justice to declare that, whatever may be my wishes for its success, I am strongly haunted with the idea that to those readers who have preferred Pride nnd Prejudice, it will appear inferior in wit, and to those who have preferred Mansfield Park, inferior in good sense. Such as it is, however, I hope you will do me the favour of accepting a copy. Mr. Murray will have directions for sending one. I am quite honoured by your thinking me capable of drawing such a clergyman as you gave the sketch of in your note of Nov. 16. But I assure you I am not. The comic part of the character I might be equal to, but not the good, the enthusiastic, the literary. Such a man's conversation must at times be on subjects of science and philosophy, of which I know nothing; or at least be occasionally abundant in quotations and allusions which a woman who, like me, knows only her own mother tongue, and has read little in that, would be totally without the power of giving. A classical education, or, at any rate, a very extensive acquaintance with English literature, ancient and modem, appears to me quite indispensable for the person who would do any justice to your clergyman, and I think I may boast myself to be, with all possible vanity, the most unlearned and uninformed female who ever dared to be an authoress.
"Believe me, dear Sir,
"Your obliged and faithful humbl servt.,
Possibly the tone of the letter led Mr. Clarke to believe seriously that Jane Austen was only prevented by diffidence from carrying out his suggestion, or perhaps it was only from a wish of pleasing his royal master that he rather later on offered her another idea. Prince Leopold, who was on the eve of his marriage to Princess Charlotte, had appointed Mr. Clarke his private secretary and librarian, and the well-meaning man then wrote to suggest to Jane Austen that "an historical romance, illustrative of the august house of Cobourg, would just now be very interesting," and that she might dedicate it to the royal bridegroom. It must have taxed all Jane's powers of politeness to reply with such grave courtesy as she did in the following letter:—
"My Dear Sir,
"I am honoured by the Prince's thanks and very much obliged to yourself for the kind manner in which you mention the work. I have also to acknowledge a former letter forwarded to me from Hans Place. I assure you I felt very grateful for the friendly tenor of it, and hope my silence will have been considered, as it was truly meant, to proceed only from an unwillingness to tax your time with idle thanks. Under every interesting circumstance which your own talents and literary labours have placed you in, or the favour of the Regent bestowed, you have my best wishes. Your recent appointments, I hope, are a step to something still better. In my opinion, the service of a Court can hardly be too well paid, for immense must be the sacrifice of time and feeling required by it. You are very kind in your hints as to the sort of composition which might recommend me at present, and I am fully sensible that an historical romance founded on the House of Saxe Cobourg, might be much more to the purpose of profit and popularity than such pictures of domestic life in country villages as I deal in. But I could no more write a romance than an epic poem. I could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life; and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and never relax into laughing at myself or at other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter. No, I must keep to my own style, and go on in my own way; and though I may never succeed again in that, I am convinced that I should totally fail in any other.
"I remain, my dear Sir,
"Your very much obliged and sincere friend,
"April 1, 1816."