Emma
_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.” And 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 doatingly fond of
music—passionately fond;—and my friends say I am not entirely devoid of
taste; but as to any thing 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. 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 not it 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.”
“But you, who are so extremely fond of it—there can be no danger,
surely?”
“I should hope not; but really when I look around among my
acquaintance, I tremble. Selina has entirely given up music—never
touches the instrument—though she played sweetly. And the same may be
said of Mrs. Jeffereys—Clara Partridge, that was—and of the two
Milmans, now Mrs. Bird and Mrs. James Cooper; and of more than I can
enumerate. Upon my word it is enough to put one in a fright. 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 housekeeper.”
“But every thing 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 not it
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
cara 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 gentleman-like man.”
Happily, it was now time to be gone. They were off; and Emma could
breathe.
“Insufferable woman!” was her immediate exclamation. “Worse than I had
supposed. Absolutely insufferable! Knightley!—I could not have believed
it. Knightley!—never seen him in her life before, and call him
Knightley!—and discover that he is a gentleman! A little upstart,
vulgar being, with her Mr. E., and her _caro_ _sposo_, and her
resources, and all her airs of pert pretension and underbred finery.
Actually to discover that Mr. Knightley is a gentleman! I doubt whether
he will return the compliment, and discover her to be a lady. I could
not have believed it! And to propose that she and I should unite to
form a musical club! One would fancy we were bosom friends! And Mrs.
Weston!—Astonished that the person who had brought me up should be a
gentlewoman! Worse and worse. I never met with her equal. Much beyond
my hopes. Harriet is disgraced by any comparison. Oh! what would Frank
Churchill say to her, if he were here? How angry and how diverted he
would be! Ah! there I am—thinking of him directly. Always the first
person to be thought of! How I catch myself out! Frank Churchill comes
as regularly into my mind!”—
All this ran so glibly through her thoughts, that by the time her
father had arranged himself, after the bustle of the Eltons’ departure,
and was ready to speak, she was very tolerably capable of attending.
“Well, my dear,” he deliberately began, “considering we never saw her
before, she seems a very pretty sort of young lady; and I dare say she
was very much pleased with you. She speaks a little too quick. A little
quickness of voice there is which rather hurts the ear. But I believe I
am nice; I do not like strange voices; and nobody speaks like you and
poor Miss Taylor. However, she seems a very obliging, pretty-behaved
young lady, and no doubt will make him a very good wife. Though I think
he had better not have married. I made the best excuses I could for not
having been able to wait on him and Mrs. Elton on this happy occasion;
I said that I hoped I _should_ in the course of the summer. But I ought
to have gone before. Not to wait upon a bride is very remiss. Ah! it
shews what a sad invalid I am! But I do not like the corner into
Vicarage Lane.”
“I dare say your apologies were accepted, sir. Mr. Elton knows you.”
“Yes: but a young lady—a bride—I ought to have paid my respects to her
if possible. It was being very deficient.”
“But, my dear papa, you are no friend to matrimony; and therefore why
should you be so anxious to pay your respects to a _bride_? It ought to
be no recommendation to _you_. It is encouraging people to marry if you
make so much of them.”
“No, my dear, I never encouraged any body to marry, but I would always
wish to pay every proper attention to a lady—and a bride, especially,
is never to be neglected. More is avowedly due to _her_. A bride, you
know, my dear, is always the first in company, let the others be who
they may.”
“Well, papa, if this is not encouragement to marry, I do not know what
is. And I should never have expected you to be lending your sanction to
such vanity-baits for poor young ladies.”
“My dear, you do not understand me. This is a matter of mere common
politeness and good-breeding, and has nothing to do with any
encouragement to people to marry.”
Emma had done. Her father was growing nervous, and could not understand
_her_. Her mind returned to Mrs. Elton’s offences, and long, very long,
did they occupy her.
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