Emma (39 page)

This appeal to her affections did more than all the rest. The idea of wanting gratitude and consideration for Miss Woodhouse, whom she really loved extremely, made her wretched for a while, and when the violence of grief was comforted away, still remained powerful enough to prompt to what was right and support her in it very tolerably.

“You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my life—Want gratitude to you! Nobody is equal to you! I care for nobody as I do for you! Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how ungrateful I have been!”

Such expressions, assisted as they were by everything that look and manner could do, made Emma feel that she had never loved Harriet so well, nor valued her affection so highly before now, when Harriet took Emma’s mind from unsavoury topics and entrusted Emma with the whole of Harriet’s happiness.

“There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart,” said she afterwards to herself. “There is nothing to be compared to it. Warmth and tenderness of heart, with an affectionate, open manner, will beat all the clearness of head in the world, for attraction, I am sure it will. It is tenderness of heart which makes my dear father so generally beloved—which gives Isabella all her popularity. I have it not—but I know how to prize and respect it. Harriet is my superior in all the charm and all the felicity it gives. Dear Harriet! I would not change you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-judging female breathing. Oh! The coldness of a Jane Fairfax! Harriet is worth a hundred such— And for a wife—a sensible man’s wife—it is invaluable. I mention no names, but happy the man who changes Emma for Harriet!”

Chapter Fourteen

Mrs Elton was first seen at church, but though devotion might be interrupted, curiosity could not be satisfied by a bride in a pew, and it must be left for the visits in form which were then to be paid, to settle whether she were very pretty indeed, or only rather pretty, or not pretty at all.

Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than of pride or propriety, to make her resolve on not being the last to pay her respects, and she made a point of Harriet’s going with her, that the worst of the business might be gone through as soon as possible.

She could not enter the house again, could not be in the same room to which she had with such vain artifice retreated three months ago, to lace up her boot, without
recollecting
. A thousand vexatious thoughts would recur. Compliments, charades and horrible blunders, and it was not to be supposed that poor Harriet should not be recollecting too, but she behaved very well, and was only rather pale and silent. The visit was of course short, and there was so much embarrassment and occupation of mind to shorten it, that Emma would not allow herself entirely to form an opinion of the lady, and on no account to give one, beyond the nothing-meaning terms of being “elegantly dressed, and very pleasing”.

She did not really like her. She would not be in a hurry to find fault, but she suspected that there was no elegance—ease, but not elegance. She was almost sure that for a young woman, a stranger, a bride, there was too much ease. Her person was rather good, her face not unpretty, but neither feature nor air, nor voice, nor manner were elegant. Emma thought at least it would turn out so.

As for Mr Elton, his manners did not appear—but no, she would not permit a hasty or a witty word from herself about his manners. It was an awkward ceremony at any time to be receiving wedding visits, and a man had need be all grace to acquit himself well through it. The woman was better off, she might have the assistance of fine clothes, and the privilege of bashfulness, but the man had only his own good sense to depend on, and when she considered how peculiarly unlucky poor Mr Elton was in being in the same room at once with the woman he had just married, the woman he had wanted to marry, and the woman whom he had been expected to marry, she must allow him to have the right to look as little wise, and to be as much affectedly, and as little really easy as could be.

“Well, Miss Woodhouse,” said Harriet, when they had quitted the house, and after waiting in vain for her friend to begin, “Well, Miss Woodhouse”—with a gentle sigh—“what do you think of her? Is not she very charming?”

There was a little hesitation in Emma’s answer.

“Oh! yes—very—a very pleasing young woman.”

“I think her beautiful, quite beautiful.”

“Very nicely dressed, indeed, a remarkably elegant gown.”

“I am not at all surprised that he should have fallen in love.”

“Oh! No—there is nothing to surprise one at all. A pretty fortune, and she came in his way.”

“I dare say,” returned Harriet, sighing again, “I dare say she was very much attached to him.”

“Perhaps she might, but it is not every man’s fate to marry the woman who loves him best. Miss Hawkins perhaps wanted a home, and thought this the best offer she was likely to have.”

“Yes,” said Harriet earnestly, “and well she might, nobody could ever have a better. Well, I wish them happy with all my heart. And now, Miss Woodhouse, I do not think I shall mind seeing them again. He is just as superior as ever, but being married, you know, it is quite a different thing. No, indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you need not be afraid, I can sit and admire him now without any great misery. To know that he has not thrown himself away is such a comfort! She does seem a charming young woman, just what he deserves. Happy creature! He called her ‘Augusta’. How delightful!”

When the visit was returned, Emma made up her mind. She could then see more and judge better. From Harriet’s happening not to be at Hartfield, and her father’s being present to engage Mr Elton, she had a quarter of an hour of the lady’s conversation to herself, and could composedly attend to her. And the quarter of an hour quite convinced her that Mrs Elton was a vain woman, extremely well satisfied with herself, and thinking much of her own importance—that she meant to shine and be very superior, but with manners which had been formed in a bad school, pert and familiar, that all her notions were drawn from one set of people, and one style of living, that if not foolish she was ignorant, and that her society would certainly do Mr Elton no good.

Harriet would have been a better match. If not wise or refined herself, she would have connected him with those who were. But Miss Hawkins, it might be fairly supposed from her easy conceit, had been the best of her own set. The rich brother-in-law near Bristol was the pride of the alliance, and his place and his carriages were the pride of him.

The very first subject after being seated was Maple Grove—“My brother Mr Suckling’s seat”—a comparison of Hartfield to Maple Grove. The grounds of Hartfield were small, but neat and pretty, and the house was modern and well-built. Mrs Elton seemed most favourably impressed by the size of the room, the entrance, and all that she could see or imagine. Very like Maple Grove indeed! She was quite struck by the likeness! That room was the very shape and size of the morning room at Maple Grove, her sister’s favourite room. Mr Elton was appealed to. Was not it astonishingly like? She could really almost fancy herself at Maple Grove.

“And the staircase— You know, as I came in, I observed how very like the staircase was, placed exactly in the same part of the house. I really could not help exclaiming! I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is very delightful to me, to be reminded of a place I am so extremely partial to as Maple Grove. I have spent so many happy months there!” With a little sigh of sentiment. “A charming place, undoubtedly. Everybody who sees it is struck by its beauty, but to me, it has been quite a home. Whenever you are transplanted, like me, Miss Woodhouse, you will understand how very delightful it is to meet with anything at all like what one has left behind. I always say this is quite one of the evils of matrimony.”

Emma made as slight a reply as she could, but it was fully sufficient for Mrs Elton, who only wanted to be talking herself.

“So extremely like Maple Grove! And it is not merely the house—the grounds, I assure you, as far as I could observe, are strikingly like. The laurels at Maple Grove are in the same profusion as here, and stand very much in the same way—just across the lawn, and I had a glimpse of a fine large tree, with a bench round it, which put me so exactly in mind! My brother and sister will be enchanted with this place. People who have extensive grounds themselves are always pleased with anything in the same style.”

Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment. She had a great idea that people who had extensive grounds themselves cared very little for the extensive grounds of anybody else, but it was not worthwhile to attack an error so double-dyed, and therefore only said in reply, “When you have seen more of this country, I am afraid you will think you have overrated Hartfield. Surrey is full of beauties.”

“Oh! Yes, I am quite aware of that. It is the garden of England, you know. Surrey is the garden of England.”

“Yes, but we must not rest our claims on that distinction. Many counties, I believe, are called the garden of England, as well as Surrey.”

“No, I fancy not,” replied Mrs Elton, with a most satisfied smile. “I never heard any county but Surrey called so.”

Emma was silenced.

“My brother and sister have promised us a visit in the spring, or summer at farthest,” continued Mrs Elton, “and that will be our time for exploring. While they are with us, we shall explore a great deal, I dare say. They will have their barouche-landau, of course, which holds four perfectly, and therefore, without saying anything of
our
carriage, we should be able to explore the different beauties extremely well. They would hardly come in their chaise, I think, at that season of the year. Indeed, when the time draws on, I shall decidedly recommend their bringing the barouche-landau, it will be so very much preferable. When people come into a beautiful country of this sort, you know, Miss Woodhouse, one naturally wishes them to see as much as possible, and Mr Suckling is extremely fond of exploring. We explored to King’s Weston twice last summer, in that way, most delightfully, just after their first having the barouche-landau. You have many parties of that kind here, I suppose, Miss Woodhouse, every summer?”

“No, not immediately here. We are rather out of distance of the very striking beauties which attract the sort of parties you speak of, and we are a very quiet set of people, I believe, more disposed to stay at home than engage in schemes of pleasure.”

“Ah! There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. Nobody can be more devoted to home than I am. I was quite a proverb for it at Maple Grove. Many a time has Selina said, when she has been going to Bristol, ‘I really cannot get this girl to move from the house. I absolutely must go in by myself, though I hate being stuck up in the barouche-landau without a companion, but Augusta, I believe, with her own goodwill, would never stir beyond the park paling.’ Many a time has she said so, and yet I am no advocate for entire seclusion. I think, on the contrary, when people shut themselves up entirely from society, it is a very bad thing, and that it is much more advisable to mix in the world in a proper degree, without living in it either too much or too little. I perfectly understand your situation, however, Miss Woodhouse”—looking towards Mr Woodhouse—“Your father’s state of health must be a great drawback. Why does not he try Bath? Indeed he should. Let me recommend Bath to you. I assure you I have no doubt of its doing Mr Woodhouse good.”

“My father tried it more than once, formerly, but without receiving any benefit, and Mr Perry, whose name, I dare say, is not unknown to you, does not conceive it would be at all more likely to be useful now.”

“Ah! That’s a great pity, for I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, where the waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the relief they give. In my Bath life, I have seen such instances of it! And it is so cheerful a place, that it could not fail of being of use to Mr Woodhouse’s spirits, which, I understand, are sometimes much depressed. And as to its recommendations to
you
, I fancy I need not take much pains to dwell on them. The advantages of Bath to the young are pretty generally understood. It would be a charming introduction for you, who have lived so secluded a life, and I could immediately secure you some of the best society in the place. A line from me would bring you a little host of acquaintance, and my particular friend, Mrs Partridge, the lady I have always resided with when in Bath, would be most happy to show you any attentions, and would be the very person for you to go into public with.”

It was as much as Emma could bear without being impolite. The idea of her being indebted to Mrs Elton for what was called an
introduction
—of her going into public under the auspices of a friend of Mrs Elton’s—probably some vulgar, dashing widow, who, with the help of a boarder, just made a shift to live! The dignity of Miss Woodhouse, of Hartfield, was sunk indeed!

She restrained herself however from any of the reproofs she could have given, and only thanked Mrs Elton coolly, but their going to Bath was quite out of the question, and she was not perfectly convinced that the place might suit her better than her father. Then, to prevent farther outrage and indignation, changed the subject directly.

“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 dotingly 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
mediocre
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.