Volume I: Chapter XII

by Jane Austen

　　Mr. Knightley was to dine with them--rather against the inclinationof Mr. Woodhouse, who did not like that any one should share with himin Isabella's first day. Emma's sense of right however had decided it;and besides the consideration of what was due to each brother,she had particular pleasure, from the circumstance of the latedisagreement between Mr. Knightley and herself, in procuring himthe proper invitation.

　　She hoped they might now become friends again. She thought itwas time to make up. Making-up indeed would not do. She certainlyhad not been in the wrong, and he would never own that he had.Concession must be out of the question; but it was time to appearto forget that they had ever quarrelled; and she hoped it might ratherassist the restoration of friendship, that when he came into the roomshe had one of the children with her--the youngest, a nice little girlabout eight months old, who was now making her first visit to Hartfield,and very happy to be danced about in her aunt's arms. It did assist;for though he began with grave looks and short questions, he was soonled on to talk of them all in the usual way, and to take the childout of her arms with all the unceremoniousness of perfect amity.Emma felt they were friends again; and the conviction givingher at first great satisfaction, and then a little sauciness,she could not help saying, as he was admiring the baby,

　　"What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our nephews and nieces.As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different;but with regard to these children, I observe we never disagree."

　　"If you were as much guided by nature in your estimate of menand women, and as little under the power of fancy and whim in yourdealings with them, as you are where these children are concerned,we might always think alike."

　　"To be sure--our discordancies must always arise from my beingin the wrong."

　　"Yes," said he, smiling--"and reason good. I was sixteen yearsold when you were born."

　　"A material difference then," she replied--"and no doubt you weremuch my superior in judgment at that period of our lives; but doesnot the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandingsa good deal nearer?"

　　"Yes--a good deal nearer."

　　"But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being right,if we think differently."

　　"I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years' experience, and bynot being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my dear Emma,let us be friends, and say no more about it. Tell your aunt, little Emma,that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewingold grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now."

　　"That's true," she cried--"very true. Little Emma, grow upa better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer and nothalf so conceited. Now, Mr. Knightley, a word or two more, and Ihave done. As far as good intentions went, we were both right,and I must say that no effects on my side of the argument have yetproved wrong. I only want to know that Mr. Martin is not very,very bitterly disappointed."

　　"A man cannot be more so," was his short, full answer.

　　"AhCome, shake hands with me."

　　This had just taken place and with great cordiality, when JohnKnightley made his appearance, and "How d'ye do, George?" and "John,how are you?" succeeded in the true English style, burying undera calmness that seemed all but indifference, the real attachmentwhich would have led either of them, if requisite, to do every thingfor the good of the other.

　　The evening was quiet and conversable, as Mr. Woodhouse declinedcards entirely for the sake of comfortable talk with hisdear Isabella, and the little party made two natural divisions;on one side he and his daughter; on the other the two Mr. Knightleys;their subjects totally distinct, or very rarely mixing--and Emmaonly occasionally joining in one or the other.

　　The brothers talked of their own concerns and pursuits, but principallyof those of the elder, whose temper was by much the most communicative,and who was always the greater talker. As a magistrate, he hadgenerally some point of law to consult John about, or, at least,some curious anecdote to give; and as a farmer, as keeping in handthe home-farm at Donwell, he had to tell what every field was to bearnext year, and to give all such local information as could not failof being interesting to a brother whose home it had equally beenthe longest part of his life, and whose attachments were strong.The plan of a drain, the change of a fence, the felling of a tree,and the destination of every acre for wheat, turnips, or spring corn,was entered into with as much equality of interest by John, as hiscooler manners rendered possible; and if his willing brother everleft him any thing to inquire about, his inquiries even approacheda tone of eagerness.

　　While they were thus comfortably occupied, Mr. Woodhouse was enjoyinga full flow of happy regrets and fearful affection with his daughter.

　　"My poor dear Isabella," said he, fondly taking her hand,and interrupting, for a few moments, her busy labours for some oneof her five children--"How long it is, how terribly long since youwere here! And how tired you must be after your journey! You mustgo to bed early, my dear--and I recommend a little gruel to youbefore you go.--You and I will have a nice basin of gruel together.My dear Emma, suppose we all have a little gruel."

　　Emma could not suppose any such thing, knowing as she did,that both the Mr. Knightleys were as unpersuadable on that articleas herself;--and two basins only were ordered. After a littlemore discourse in praise of gruel, with some wondering at itsnot being taken every evening by every body, he proceeded to say,with an air of grave reflection,

　　"It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending the autumnat South End instead of coming here. I never had much opinionof the sea air."

　　"Mr. Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir--or weshould not have gone. He recommended it for all the children,but particularly for the weakness in little Bella's throat,--both sea air and bathing."

　　"Ah! my dear, but Perry had many doubts about the sea doing herany good; and as to myself, I have been long perfectly convinced,though perhaps I never told you so before, that the sea is veryrarely of use to any body. I am sure it almost killed me once."

　　"Come, come," cried Emma, feeling this to be an unsafe subject, "I mustbeg you not to talk of the sea. It makes me envious and miserable;--I who have never seen it! South End is prohibited, if you please.My dear Isabella, I have not heard you make one inquiry aboutMr. Perry yet; and he never forgets you."

　　"Oh! good Mr. Perry--how is he, sir?"

　　"Why, pretty well; but not quite well. Poor Perry is bilious,and he has not time to take care of himself--he tells me he hasnot time to take care of himself--which is very sad--but he isalways wanted all round the country. I suppose there is not a manin such practice anywhere. But then there is not so clever a manany where."

　　"And Mrs. Perry and the children, how are they? do the children grow?I have a great regard for Mr. Perry. I hope he will be calling soon.He will be so pleased to see my little ones."

　　"I hope he will be here to-morrow, for I have a question or two to askhim about myself of some consequence. And, my dear, whenever he comes,you had better let him look at little Bella's throat."

　　"Oh! my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I have hardlyany uneasiness about it. Either bathing has been of the greatestservice to her, or else it is to be attributed to an excellentembrocation of Mr. Wingfield's, which we have been applyingat times ever since August."

　　"It is not very likely, my dear, that bathing should have beenof use to her--and if I had known you were wanting an embrocation,I would have spoken to--

　　"You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs. and Miss Bates," said Emma,"I have not heard one inquiry after them."

　　"Oh! the good Bateses--I am quite ashamed of myself--but youmention them in most of your letters. I hope they are quite well.Good old Mrs. Bates--I will call upon her to-morrow, and takemy children.--They are always so pleased to see my children.--And that excellent Miss BatesHow are they, sir?"

　　"Why, pretty well, my dear, upon the whole. But poor Mrs. Bateshad a bad cold about a month ago."

　　"How sorry I am! But colds were never so prevalent as they have beenthis autumn. Mr. Wingfield told me that he has never known themmore general or heavy--except when it has been quite an influenza."

　　"That has been a good deal the case, my dear; but not to the degreeyou mention. Perry says that colds have been very general,but not so heavy as he has very often known them in November.Perry does not call it altogether a sickly season."

　　"No, I do not know that Mr. Wingfield considers it very sickly except--

　　"Ah! my poor dear child, the truth is, that in London it is alwaysa sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London, nobody can be.It is a dreadful thing to have you forced to live there! so far off!--and the air so bad!"

　　"No, indeed--we are not at all in a bad air. Our part of London isvery superior to most others!--You must not confound us with Londonin general, my dear sir. The neighbourhood of Brunswick Squareis very different from almost all the rest. We are so very airy!I should be unwilling, I own, to live in any other part of the town;--there is hardly any other that I could be satisfied to have mychildren in: but we are so remarkably airy!--Mr. Wingfield thinksthe vicinity of Brunswick Square decidedly the most favourable asto air."

　　"Ah! my dear, it is not like Hartfield. You make the best of it--but after you have been a week at Hartfield, you are all of youdifferent creatures; you do not look like the same. Now I cannot say,that I think you are any of you looking well at present."

　　"I am sorry to hear you say so, sir; but I assure you, excepting thoselittle nervous head-aches and palpitations which I am never entirelyfree from anywhere, I am quite well myself; and if the children wererather pale before they went to bed, it was only because they werea little more tired than usual, from their journey and the happinessof coming. I hope you will think better of their looks to-morrow;for I assure you Mr. Wingfield told me, that he did not believehe had ever sent us off altogether, in such good case. I trust,at least, that you do not think Mr. Knightley looking ill,"turning her eyes with affectionate anxiety towards her husband.

　　"Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you. I think Mr. JohnKnightley very far from looking well."

　　"What is the matter, sir?--Did you speak to me?" cried Mr. JohnKnightley, hearing his own name.

　　"I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think youlooking well--but I hope it is only from being a little fatigued.I could have wished, however, as you know, that you had seenMr. Wingfield before you left home."

　　"My dear Isabella,"--exclaimed he hastily--"pray do not concernyourself about my looks. Be satisfied with doctoring and coddlingyourself and the children, and let me look as I chuse."

　　"I did not thoroughly understand what you were telling your brother,"cried Emma, "about your friend Mr. Graham's intending to have a bailifffrom Scotland, to look after his new estate. What will it answer?Will not the old prejudice be too strong?"

　　And she talked in this way so long and successfully that, when forcedto give her attention again to her father and sister, she had nothingworse to hear than Isabella's kind inquiry after Jane Fairfax;and Jane Fairfax, though no great favourite with her in general,she was at that moment very happy to assist in praising.

　　"That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!" said Mrs. John Knightley.--"It is so long since I have seen her, except now and then for a momentaccidentally in town! What happiness it must be to her good oldgrandmother and excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them!I always regret excessively on dear Emma's account that she cannotbe more at Highbury; but now their daughter is married, I supposeColonel and Mrs. Campbell will not be able to part with her at all.She would be such a delightful companion for Emma."

　　Mr. Woodhouse agreed to it all, but added,

　　"Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such anotherpretty kind of young person. You will like Harriet. Emma couldnot have a better companion than Harriet."

　　"I am most happy to hear it--but only Jane Fairfax one knows to beso very accomplished and superior!--and exactly Emma's age."

　　This topic was discussed very happily, and others succeeded ofsimilar moment, and passed away with similar harmony; but the eveningdid not close without a little return of agitation. The gruel cameand supplied a great deal to be said--much praise and many comments--undoubting decision of its wholesomeness for every constitution,and pretty severe Philippics upon the many houses where it wasnever met with tolerable;--but, unfortunately, among the failureswhich the daughter had to instance, the most recent, and thereforemost prominent, was in her own cook at South End, a young womanhired for the time, who never had been able to understand what shemeant by a basin of nice smooth gruel, thin, but not too thin.Often as she had wished for and ordered it, she had never been ableto get any thing tolerable. Here was a dangerous opening.

　　"Ah!" said Mr. Woodhouse, shaking his head and fixing his eyes onher with tender concern.--The ejaculation in Emma's ear expressed,"Ah! there is no end of the sad consequences of your going toSouth End. It does not bear talking of." And for a little whileshe hoped he would not talk of it, and that a silent ruminationmight suffice to restore him to the relish of his own smooth gruel.After an interval of some minutes, however, he began with,

　　"I shall always be very sorry that you went to the sea this autumn,instead of coming here."

　　"But why should you be sorry, sir?--I assure you, it did the childrena great deal of good."

　　"And, moreover, if you must go to the sea, it had better nothave been to South End. South End is an unhealthy place.Perry was surprized to hear you had fixed upon South End."

　　"I know there is such an idea with many people, but indeed it isquite a mistake, sir.--We all had our health perfectly well there,never found the least inconvenience from the mud; and Mr. Wingfieldsays it is entirely a mistake to suppose the place unhealthy;and I am sure he may be depended on, for he thoroughly understandsthe nature of the air, and his own brother and family have beenthere repeatedly."

　　"You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went anywhere.--Perry was a week at Cromer once, and he holds it to be the bestof all the sea-bathing places. A fine open sea, he says, and verypure air. And, by what I understand, you might have had lodgings therequite away from the sea--a quarter of a mile off--very comfortable.You should have consulted Perry."

　　"But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey;--only consider howgreat it would have been.--An hundred miles, perhaps, instead of forty."

　　"Ah! my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake, nothing elseshould be considered; and if one is to travel, there is not muchto chuse between forty miles and an hundred.--Better not move at all,better stay in London altogether than travel forty miles to getinto a worse air. This is just what Perry said. It seemed to hima very ill-judged measure."

　　Emma's attempts to stop her father had been vain; and when hehad reached such a point as this, she could not wonder at herbrother-in-law's breaking out.

　　"Mr. Perry," said he, in a voice of very strong displeasure,"would do as well to keep his opinion till it is asked for.Why does he make it any business of his, to wonder at what I do?--at my taking my family to one part of the coast or another?--I maybe allowed, I hope, the use of my judgment as well as Mr. Perry.--I want his directions no more than his drugs." He paused--and growing cooler in a moment, added, with only sarcastic dryness,"If Mr. Perry can tell me how to convey a wife and five childrena distance of an hundred and thirty miles with no greater expenseor inconvenience than a distance of forty, I should be as willing toprefer Cromer to South End as he could himself."

　　"True, true," cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready interposition--"very true. That's a consideration indeed.--But John, as to what Iwas telling you of my idea of moving the path to Langham, of turningit more to the right that it may not cut through the home meadows,I cannot conceive any difficulty. I should not attempt it,if it were to be the means of inconvenience to the Highbury people,but if you call to mind exactly the present line of the path. . . .The only way of proving it, however, will be to turn to our maps.I shall see you at the Abbey to-morrow morning I hope, and then wewill look them over, and you shall give me your opinion."

　　Mr. Woodhouse was rather agitated by such harsh reflections onhis friend Perry, to whom he had, in fact, though unconsciously,been attributing many of his own feelings and expressions;--but the soothing attentions of his daughters gradually removedthe present evil, and the immediate alertness of one brother,and better recollections of the other, prevented any renewal of it.