CHAPTER XI

"Harriet, poor Harriet!"--Those were the words; in them lay the

tormenting ideas which Emma could not get rid of, and which constituted

the real misery of the business to her. Frank Churchill had behaved very

ill by herself--very ill in many ways,--but it was not so much _his_

behaviour as her _own_, which made her so angry with him. It was the

scrape which he had drawn her into on Harriet's account, that gave the

deepest hue to his offence.--Poor Harriet! to be a second time the

dupe of her misconceptions and flattery. Mr. Knightley had spoken

prophetically, when he once said, "Emma, you have been no friend

to Harriet Smith."--She was afraid she had done her nothing but

disservice.--It was true that she had not to charge herself, in this

instance as in the former, with being the sole and original author of

the mischief; with having suggested such feelings as might otherwise

never have entered Harriet's imagination; for Harriet had acknowledged

her admiration and preference of Frank Churchill before she had ever

given her a hint on the subject; but she felt completely guilty

of having encouraged what she might have repressed. She might have

prevented the indulgence and increase of such sentiments. Her influence

would have been enough. And now she was very conscious that she ought

to have prevented them.--She felt that she had been risking her friend's

happiness on most insufficient grounds. Common sense would have directed

her to tell Harriet, that she must not allow herself to think of him,

and that there were five hundred chances to one against his ever caring

for her.--"But, with common sense," she added, "I am afraid I have had

little to do."

She was extremely angry with herself. If she could not have been angry

with Frank Churchill too, it would have been dreadful.--As for Jane

Fairfax, she might at least relieve her feelings from any present

solicitude on her account. Harriet would be anxiety enough; she need

no longer be unhappy about Jane, whose troubles and whose ill-health

having, of course, the same origin, must be equally under cure.--Her

days of insignificance and evil were over.--She would soon be well, and

happy, and prosperous.--Emma could now imagine why her own attentions

had been slighted. This discovery laid many smaller matters open. No

doubt it had been from jealousy.--In Jane's eyes she had been a rival;

and well might any thing she could offer of assistance or regard be

repulsed. An airing in the Hartfield carriage would have been the rack,

and arrowroot from the Hartfield storeroom must have been poison. She

understood it all; and as far as her mind could disengage itself from

the injustice and selfishness of angry feelings, she acknowledged that

Jane Fairfax would have neither elevation nor happiness beyond her

desert. But poor Harriet was such an engrossing charge! There was little

sympathy to be spared for any body else. Emma was sadly fearful

that this second disappointment would be more severe than the first.

Considering the very superior claims of the object, it ought; and

judging by its apparently stronger effect on Harriet's mind, producing

reserve and self-command, it would.--She must communicate the painful

truth, however, and as soon as possible. An injunction of secresy had

been among Mr. Weston's parting words. "For the present, the whole

affair was to be completely a secret. Mr. Churchill had made a point of

it, as a token of respect to the wife he had so very recently lost;

and every body admitted it to be no more than due decorum."--Emma had

promised; but still Harriet must be excepted. It was her superior duty.

In spite of her vexation, she could not help feeling it almost

ridiculous, that she should have the very same distressing and delicate

office to perform by Harriet, which Mrs. Weston had just gone through by

herself. The intelligence, which had been so anxiously announced to her,

she was now to be anxiously announcing to another. Her heart beat quick

on hearing Harriet's footstep and voice; so, she supposed, had poor Mrs.

Weston felt when _she_ was approaching Randalls. Could the event of

the disclosure bear an equal resemblance!--But of that, unfortunately,

there could be no chance.

"Well, Miss Woodhouse!" cried Harriet, coming eagerly into the room--"is

not this the oddest news that ever was?"

"What news do you mean?" replied Emma, unable to guess, by look or

voice, whether Harriet could indeed have received any hint.

"About Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear any thing so strange? Oh!--you

need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr. Weston has told me

himself. I met him just now. He told me it was to be a great secret;

and, therefore, I should not think of mentioning it to any body but you,

but he said you knew it."

"What did Mr. Weston tell you?"--said Emma, still perplexed.

"Oh! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr. Frank Churchill

are to be married, and that they have been privately engaged to one

another this long while. How very odd!"

It was, indeed, so odd; Harriet's behaviour was so extremely odd,

that Emma did not know how to understand it. Her character appeared

absolutely changed. She seemed to propose shewing no agitation, or

disappointment, or peculiar concern in the discovery. Emma looked at

her, quite unable to speak.

"Had you any idea," cried Harriet, "of his being in love with her?--You,

perhaps, might.--You (blushing as she spoke) who can see into every

body's heart; but nobody else--"

"Upon my word," said Emma, "I begin to doubt my having any such talent.

Can you seriously ask me, Harriet, whether I imagined him attached

to another woman at the very time that I was--tacitly, if not

openly--encouraging you to give way to your own feelings?--I never

had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of Mr. Frank

Churchill's having the least regard for Jane Fairfax. You may be very

sure that if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly."

"Me!" cried Harriet, colouring, and astonished. "Why should you caution

me?--You do not think I care about Mr. Frank Churchill."

"I am delighted to hear you speak so stoutly on the subject," replied

Emma, smiling; "but you do not mean to deny that there was a time--and

not very distant either--when you gave me reason to understand that you

did care about him?"

"Him!--never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me?"

turning away distressed.

"Harriet!" cried Emma, after a moment's pause--"What do you mean?--Good

Heaven! what do you mean?--Mistake you!--Am I to suppose then?--"

She could not speak another word.--Her voice was lost; and she sat down,

waiting in great terror till Harriet should answer.

Harriet, who was standing at some distance, and with face turned from

her, did not immediately say any thing; and when she did speak, it was

in a voice nearly as agitated as Emma's.

"I should not have thought it possible," she began, "that you could have

misunderstood me! I know we agreed never to name him--but considering

how infinitely superior he is to every body else, I should not have

thought it possible that I could be supposed to mean any other person.

Mr. Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who would ever look at him in

the company of the other. I hope I have a better taste than to think of

Mr. Frank Churchill, who is like nobody by his side. And that you should

have been so mistaken, is amazing!--I am sure, but for believing that

you entirely approved and meant to encourage me in my attachment, I

should have considered it at first too great a presumption almost,

to dare to think of him. At first, if you had not told me that more

wonderful things had happened; that there had been matches of greater

disparity (those were your very words);--I should not have dared to

give way to--I should not have thought it possible--But if _you_, who

had been always acquainted with him--"

"Harriet!" cried Emma, collecting herself resolutely--"Let us understand

each other now, without the possibility of farther mistake. Are you

speaking of--Mr. Knightley?"

"To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of any body else--and so

I thought you knew. When we talked about him, it was as clear as

possible."

"Not quite," returned Emma, with forced calmness, "for all that you then

said, appeared to me to relate to a different person. I could almost

assert that you had _named_ Mr. Frank Churchill. I am sure the service

Mr. Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting you from the

gipsies, was spoken of."

"Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how you do forget!"

"My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance of what I said on

the occasion. I told you that I did not wonder at your attachment;

that considering the service he had rendered you, it was extremely

natural:--and you agreed to it, expressing yourself very warmly as to

your sense of that service, and mentioning even what your sensations had

been in seeing him come forward to your rescue.--The impression of it is

strong on my memory."

"Oh, dear," cried Harriet, "now I recollect what you mean; but I

was thinking of something very different at the time. It was not the

gipsies--it was not Mr. Frank Churchill that I meant. No! (with some

elevation) I was thinking of a much more precious circumstance--of Mr.

Knightley's coming and asking me to dance, when Mr. Elton would not

stand up with me; and when there was no other partner in the room. That

was the kind action; that was the noble benevolence and generosity; that

was the service which made me begin to feel how superior he was to every

other being upon earth."

"Good God!" cried Emma, "this has been a most unfortunate--most

deplorable mistake!--What is to be done?"

"You would not have encouraged me, then, if you had understood me? At

least, however, I cannot be worse off than I should have been, if the

other had been the person; and now--it _is_ possible--"

She paused a few moments. Emma could not speak.

"I do not wonder, Miss Woodhouse," she resumed, "that you should feel a

great difference between the two, as to me or as to any body. You must

think one five hundred million times more above me than the other. But

I hope, Miss Woodhouse, that supposing--that if--strange as it may

appear--. But you know they were your own words, that _more_ wonderful

things had happened, matches of _greater_ disparity had taken place than

between Mr. Frank Churchill and me; and, therefore, it seems as if such

a thing even as this, may have occurred before--and if I should be so

fortunate, beyond expression, as to--if Mr. Knightley should really--if

_he_ does not mind the disparity, I hope, dear Miss Woodhouse, you will

not set yourself against it, and try to put difficulties in the way. But

you are too good for that, I am sure."

Harriet was standing at one of the windows. Emma turned round to look at

her in consternation, and hastily said,

"Have you any idea of Mr. Knightley's returning your affection?"

"Yes," replied Harriet modestly, but not fearfully--"I must say that I

have."

Emma's eyes were instantly withdrawn; and she sat silently meditating,

in a fixed attitude, for a few minutes. A few minutes were sufficient

for making her acquainted with her own heart. 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!

Her own conduct, as well as her own heart, was before her in the same

few minutes. She saw it all with a clearness which had never blessed

her before. How improperly had she been acting by Harriet! How

inconsiderate, how indelicate, how irrational, how unfeeling had been

her conduct! What blindness, what madness, had led her on! It struck her

with dreadful force, and she was ready to give it every bad name in the

world. Some portion of respect for herself, however, in spite of all

these demerits--some concern for her own appearance, and a strong sense

of justice by Harriet--(there would be no need of _compassion_ to the

girl who believed herself loved by Mr. Knightley--but justice required

that she should not be made unhappy by any coldness now,) gave Emma the

resolution to sit and endure farther with calmness, with even apparent

kindness.--For her own advantage indeed, it was fit that the utmost

extent of Harriet's hopes should be enquired into; and Harriet had done

nothing to forfeit the regard and interest which had been so voluntarily

formed and maintained--or to deserve to be slighted by the person, whose

counsels had never led her right.--Rousing from reflection, therefore,

and subduing her emotion, she turned to Harriet again, and, in a more

inviting accent, renewed the conversation; for as to the subject which

had first introduced it, the wonderful story of Jane Fairfax, that was

quite sunk and lost.--Neither of them thought but of Mr. Knightley and

themselves.

Harriet, who had been standing in no unhappy reverie, was yet very glad

to be called from it, by the now encouraging manner of such a judge, and

such a friend as Miss Woodhouse, and only wanted invitation, to give

the history of her hopes with great, though trembling delight.--Emma's

tremblings as she asked, and as she listened, were better concealed than

Harriet's, but they were not less. Her voice was not unsteady; but her

mind was in all the perturbation that such a development of self, such

a burst of threatening evil, such a confusion of sudden and perplexing

emotions, must create.--She listened with much inward suffering, but

with great outward patience, to Harriet's detail.--Methodical, or well

arranged, or very well delivered, it could not be expected to be; but it

contained, when separated from all the feebleness and tautology of

the narration, a substance to sink her spirit--especially with the

corroborating circumstances, which her own memory brought in favour of

Mr. Knightley's most improved opinion of Harriet.

Harriet had been conscious of a difference in his behaviour ever since

those two decisive dances.--Emma knew that he had, on that occasion,

found her much superior to his expectation. From that evening, or at

least from the time of Miss Woodhouse's encouraging her to think of him,

Harriet had begun to be sensible of his talking to her much more than he

had been used to do, and of his having indeed quite a different manner

towards her; a manner of kindness and sweetness!--Latterly she had been

more and more aware of it. When they had been all walking together,

he had so often come and walked by her, and talked so very

delightfully!--He seemed to want to be acquainted with her. Emma knew it

to have been very much the case. She had often observed the change, to

almost the same extent.--Harriet repeated expressions of approbation

and praise from him--and Emma felt them to be in the closest agreement

with what she had known of his opinion of Harriet. He praised her for

being without art or affectation, for having simple, honest, generous,

feelings.--She knew that he saw such recommendations in Harriet; he

had dwelt on them to her more than once.--Much that lived in Harriet's

memory, many little particulars of the notice she had received from

him, a look, a speech, a removal from one chair to another, a compliment

implied, a preference inferred, had been unnoticed, because unsuspected,

by Emma. Circumstances that might swell to half an hour's relation,

and contained multiplied proofs to her who had seen them, had passed

undiscerned by her who now heard them; but the two latest occurrences to

be mentioned, the two of strongest promise to Harriet, were not without

some degree of witness from Emma herself.--The first, was his walking

with her apart from the others, in the lime-walk at Donwell, where they

had been walking some time before Emma came, and he had taken pains (as

she was convinced) to draw her from the rest to himself--and at first,

he had talked to her in a more particular way than he had ever done

before, in a very particular way indeed!--(Harriet could not recall

it without a blush.) He seemed to be almost asking her, whether her

affections were engaged.--But as soon as she (Miss Woodhouse) appeared

likely to join them, he changed the subject, and began talking about

farming:--The second, was his having sat talking with her nearly half

an hour before Emma came back from her visit, the very last morning of

his being at Hartfield--though, when he first came in, he had said that

he could not stay five minutes--and his having told her, during their

conversation, that though he must go to London, it was very much against

his inclination that he left home at all, which was much more (as

Emma felt) than he had acknowledged to _her_. The superior degree of

confidence towards Harriet, which this one article marked, gave her

severe pain.

On the subject of the first of the two circumstances, she did, after a

little reflection, venture the following question. "Might he not?--Is

not it possible, that when enquiring, as you thought, into the state of

your affections, he might be alluding to Mr. Martin--he might have

Mr. Martin's interest in view? But Harriet rejected the suspicion with

spirit.

"Mr. Martin! No indeed!--There was not a hint of Mr. Martin. I hope I

know better now, than to care for Mr. Martin, or to be suspected of it."

When Harriet had closed her evidence, she appealed to her dear Miss

Woodhouse, to say whether she had not good ground for hope.

"I never should have presumed to think of it at first," said she, "but

for you. You told me to observe him carefully, and let his behaviour

be the rule of mine--and so I have. But now I seem to feel that I may

deserve him; and that if he does chuse me, it will not be any thing so

very wonderful."

The bitter feelings occasioned by this speech, the many bitter feelings,

made the utmost exertion necessary on Emma's side, to enable her to say

on reply,

"Harriet, I will only venture to declare, that Mr. Knightley is the last

man in the world, who would intentionally give any woman the idea of his

feeling for her more than he really does."

Harriet seemed ready to worship her friend for a sentence so

satisfactory; and Emma was only saved from raptures and fondness, which

at that moment would have been dreadful penance, by the sound of her

father's footsteps. He was coming through the hall. Harriet was too

much agitated to encounter him. "She could not compose herself--

Mr. Woodhouse would be alarmed--she had better go;"--with most ready

encouragement from her friend, therefore, she passed off through another

door--and the moment she was gone, this was the spontaneous burst of

Emma's feelings: "Oh God! that I had never seen her!"

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 surprize; and every surprize 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.

To understand, thoroughly understand her own heart, was the first

endeavour. To that point went every leisure moment which her father's

claims on her allowed, and every moment of involuntary absence of mind.

How long had Mr. Knightley been so dear to her, as every feeling

declared him now to be? When had his influence, such influence begun?--

When had he succeeded to that place in her affection, which Frank

Churchill had once, for a short period, occupied?--She looked back;

she compared the two--compared them, as they had always stood in her

estimation, from the time of the latter's becoming known to her--and as

they must at any time have been compared by her, had it--oh! had it, by

any blessed felicity, occurred to her, to institute the comparison.--She

saw that there never had been a time when she did not consider Mr.

Knightley as infinitely the superior, or when his regard for her had not

been infinitely the most dear. She saw, that in persuading herself,

in fancying, in acting to the contrary, she had been entirely under a

delusion, totally ignorant of her own heart--and, in short, that she had

never really cared for Frank Churchill at all!

This was the conclusion of the first series of reflection. This was

the knowledge of herself, on the first question of inquiry, which

she reached; and without being long in reaching it.--She was most

sorrowfully indignant; ashamed of every sensation but the one revealed

to her--her affection for Mr. Knightley.--Every other part of her mind

was disgusting.

With insufferable vanity had she believed herself in the secret of every

body's feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed to arrange every

body'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 she too much feared, on Mr.

Knightley.--Were this most unequal of all connexions 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.

Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--It was a union to distance every

wonder of the kind.--The attachment of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax

became commonplace, threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no

surprize, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be said or

thought.--Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--Such an elevation on her

side! Such a debasement on his! It was horrible to Emma to think how it

must sink him in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the sneers,

the merriment it would prompt at his expense; the mortification and

disdain of his brother, the thousand inconveniences to himself.--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?--Was

it new for any thing in this world to be unequal, inconsistent,

incongruous--or for chance and circumstance (as second causes) to direct

the human fate?

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.