Джейн Остин
Эмма / Emma
© Матвеев С. А., подготовка текста, комментарии и словарь, 2018
© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2018
Part I
Chapter I
Emma Woodhouse[1], handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, 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 long ago.
Sixteen years had Miss Taylor[2] been in Mr. Woodhouse’s family, less as a governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly of Emma. Between them it was more the intimacy of sisters. Then Miss Taylor married. It was Miss Taylor’s loss which first brought grief. It was on the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought. The wedding was over, and the bride-people had gone, and Emma’s father and herself were left to dine together. Her father had gone to sleep after dinner, as usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost.
Mr. Weston – Miss Taylor’s husband – was a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age, and pleasant manners; but it was a black morning for Emma. She recalled Miss Taylor’s kindness – the kindness, the affection of sixteen years – how she had taught and how she had played with her from five years old – how she had devoted all her powers to attach and amuse her.
How was she to bear the change? – It was true that her friend was going only half a mile from them; but Emma was aware that great must be the difference between a Mrs. Weston, only half a mile from them, and a Miss Taylor in the house. Emma dearly loved her father, but he was no companion for her.
Mr. Woodhouse had no activity of mind or body, he was a much older man in ways[3] than in years; and his talents could not have recommended him at any time[4].
Emma’s sister Isabella[5], being settled in London, only sixteen miles off, was much beyond her daily reach.
Highbury[6], the large and populous village, to which Hartfield[7] belonged, afforded her no equals[8]. The Woodhouses were first in consequence[9] there. All looked up to them. She had many acquaintance in the place, but not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of[10] Miss Taylor for even half a day. It was a melancholy change; and Emma could not but sigh over it. Her father was a nervous man, easily depressed; hating change of every kind. Matrimony, as the origin of change, was always disagreeable; and he was by no means yet reconciled to his own daughter’s marrying, nor could ever speak of her but with compassion. He was very much disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a thing for herself as for them, and would have been a great deal happier if she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield. Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him from such thoughts; but when tea came, it was impossible for him not to say exactly as he had said at dinner,
“Poor Miss Taylor! – I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that Mr. Weston married her!”
“I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot. Mr. Weston is such a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly deserves a good wife; – and you would not have had Miss Taylor live with us for ever, when she might have a house of her own?”
“A house of her own! – But where is the advantage of a house of her own? Our house is three times as large.”
“We shall be going to see them often, and they will be coming to see us! – We shall be always meeting! We must begin; we must go and pay wedding visit very soon.”
“My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls[11] is such a distance. I could not walk half so far.”
“No, papa, nobody thought of your walking. We must go in the carriage, to be sure.”
Emma hoped, by the help of backgammon[12], to get her father tolerably through the evening. The backgammon-table was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked in and made it unnecessary.
Mr. Knightley[13], a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly connected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella’s husband. He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their relatives in London. He had returned to a late dinner, after some days’ absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well there. It animated Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which always did him good; and his many inquiries after “poor Isabella” and her children were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over, Mr. Woodhouse gratefully observed,
“It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at this late hour to call upon us[14]. I am afraid you must have had a terrible walk.”
“Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night.”
“But you must have found it very damp and dirty.”
“Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them.”
“Well! that is quite surprising, for it rained dreadfully here… Ah! poor Miss Taylor!”
“Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but I cannot possibly say ‘poor Miss Taylor.’ I have a great regard for you and Emma; but when it comes to the question of dependence or independence!”
“I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed,” said Mr. Woodhouse, with a sigh. “I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome.”
“My dearest papa! What a horrible idea! Oh no! Mr. Knightley loves to find fault with me, you know – in a joke – it is all a joke. We always say what we like to one another.”
Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who could see faults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them: and this was not particularly agreeable to Emma herself.
“Emma knows I never flatter her,” said Mr. Knightley, “but Miss Taylor has been used to have two persons to please; she will now have but one.”
“Mr. Knightley,” said Emma’s father. “Emma is really very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor, and I am sure she will miss her more and more.”
Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and smiles.
“It is impossible that Emma should not miss such a companion,” said Mr. Knightley. “But she knows how much the marriage is to Miss Taylor’s advantage; Miss Taylor is settled in a home of her own, and is secure of a comfortable provision. Every friend of Miss Taylor must be glad to have her so happily married.”
“And you have forgotten one thing,” said Emma, “and a very considerable one – that I made the match myself[15]. I made the match, you know, four years ago; when so many people said Mr. Weston would never marry again.”
Mr. Knightley shook his head at her. Her father fondly replied, “Ah! my dear, I wish you would not make matches and foretell things, for whatever you say always comes to pass. Pray do not make any more matches.”
“I promise you to make none for myself, papa; but I must, indeed, for other people. It is the greatest amusement in the world! And after such success, you know! – Everybody said that Mr. Weston would never marry again. Oh dear, no! Mr. Weston, who had been a widower so long, and who seemed so perfectly comfortable without a wife, so constantly occupied either in his business in town or among his friends here! Oh no! All manner of nonsense was talked on the subject, but I believed none of it. I planned the match, and when such success has blessed me, dear papa, you cannot think that I shall leave off match-making.”
“I do not understand what you mean by ‘success,’” said Mr. Knightley. “Success supposes endeavour. Why do you talk of success? Where is your merit? What are you proud of? You made a lucky guess; and that is all that can be said.”
“And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess? – I pity you. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston’s visits here, and given many little encouragements, and smoothed many little matters, it might not have come to anything after all[16].”
“Emma, my dear,” said Mr. Woodhouse, “pray do not make any more matches; they are silly things, and break up one’s family circle grievously.”
“Only one more, papa; only for Mr. Elton[17]. Poor Mr. Elton! You like Mr. Elton, papa, – I must look about for a wife for him. There is nobody in Highbury who deserves him. I think very well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I have of doing him a service.”
“Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very good young man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want to show him any attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That will be a much better thing.”
Chapter II
Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family, which for the last two or three generations had been rising into gentility and property. When the chances of his military life had introduced him to Miss Churchill[18], of a great Yorkshire[19] family, and Miss Churchill fell in love with him, nobody was surprized, except her brother and his wife, who had never seen him, and who were full of pride and importance.
Miss Churchill, however, being of age, and with the full command of her fortune, was not to be dissuaded from the marriage, and it took place, to the infinite mortification of Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who threw her off with due decorum. It was an unsuitable connexion, and did not produce much happiness. Mrs. Weston did not cease to love her husband, but she wanted at once to be the wife of Captain Weston, and Miss Churchill.
When Captain Weston’s wife died, after a three years’ marriage, he was rather a poorer man than at first, and with a child to maintain. From the expense of the child, however, he was soon relieved. Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, having no children of their own, offered to take the whole charge of the little Frank[20] soon after his mother’s decease.
A complete change of life became desirable. Mr. Weston engaged in trade. He had a small house in Highbury, where most of his leisure days were spent; and between useful occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty years of his life passed cheerfully away. He had, by that time, purchased a little estate adjoining Highbury, enough to marry a woman as Miss Taylor, and to live happily.
As to Frank, he took name of Churchill. It was most unlikely, therefore, that he should ever want his father’s assistance. The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed her husband entirely. Mr. Weston saw his son every year in London, and was proud of him.
Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury. His coming to visit his father had been often talked of but never achieved. Now, upon his father’s marriage, it was very generally proposed, that the visit should take place.
Chapter III
Mr. Woodhouse was fond of society in his own way. He liked to command the visits of his own little circle, in a great measure, as he liked. He had not much intercourse with any families beyond that circle. Real regard brought the Westons and Mr. Knightley; after these came Mrs. and Miss Bates[21], and Mrs. Goddard[22], three ladies almost always at the service of an invitation from Hartfield; and Mrs. Bates, the widow of a former vicar of Highbury. She was a very old lady, she lived with her single daughter in a very small way[23]. Her daughter was neither young, handsome, rich, nor married. She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness. And yet she was a happy woman. She loved everybody, was interested in everybody’s happiness. The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful spirit, were a recommendation to everybody.
These were the ladies whom Emma found herself very frequently able to collect; but it was no remedy for the absence of Mrs. Weston. As she sat one morning, a note was brought from Mrs. Goddard, requesting, in most respectful terms, to be allowed to bring Miss Smith with her; a most welcome request: for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen, whom Emma knew very well by sight[24].
Harriet Smith[25] was the natural daughter[26] of somebody. Somebody had placed her, several years back, at Mrs. Goddard’s school. This was all that was generally known of her history. She had no visible friends, and was now just returned from a long visit in the country to some young ladies who had been at school there with her.
She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness, and Emma was much pleased with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the acquaintance. And the acquaintance she had already formed were unworthy of her. The friends from whom she had just parted, though very good sort of people, must be doing her harm. They were a family of the name of Martin, whom Emma well knew by character[27], as renting a large farm of Mr. Knightley, and residing in the parish of Donwell[28] – very creditably, she believed – she knew Mr. Knightley thought highly of them – but they must be coarse and unpolished, and very unfit to be the intimates of a girl who wanted only a little more knowledge and elegance to be quite perfect. Yes, she would improve her; she would detach her from her bad acquaintance, and introduce her into good society; she would form her opinions and her manners. It would be an interesting, and certainly a very kind undertaking.
Chapter IV
Quick and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time in inviting, encouraging, and telling Harriet Smith to come very often; and as their acquaintance increased, so did their satisfaction in each other. As a walking companion, Emma had very early foreseen how useful she might find her. Her father never went beyond the shrubbery; and Harriet Smith, therefore, could be a valuable friend for Emma. In every respect, as she saw more of her, she approved her.
Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful disposition, was totally free from conceit, and only desiring to be guided. Her attachment to Emma was very amiable; and her inclination for good company was great. And Emma was quite convinced of Harriet Smith’s being exactly the young friend she wanted – exactly the something which her home required. Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was out of the question. It was quite a different sort of thing. Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful. For Mrs. Weston there was nothing to be done; for Harriet everything.
The Martins occupied Harriet’s thoughts a good deal; she had spent two very happy months with them, and now loved to talk of the pleasures of her visit, and describe the many comforts and wonders of the place. Emma encouraged her talkativeness; but when it appeared that the Mr. Martin was a single man; that there was no young Mrs. Martin, no wife in the case; she did suspect danger to her poor little friend from all this hospitality and kindness.
Emma urged Harriet to talk more of Mr. Martin, and Harriet was very ready to speak of the share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry evening games; and mentioned his being so very good-humoured and obliging. He had gone three miles round one day in order to bring her some walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of them, and in everything else he was so very obliging. He had his shepherd’s son into the parlour one night on purpose to sing to her. She was very fond of singing. He could sing a little himself. She believed he was very clever, and understood everything. She believed everybody spoke well of him. His mother and sisters were very fond of him.
“And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so very kind as to send Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose – the finest goose Mrs. Goddard had ever seen. Mrs. Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the three teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson, to sup with her.”
“Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information beyond the line of his own business? He does not read?” asked Emma.
“Oh yes! – that is, no – I do not know – but I believe he has read a good deal. He reads the Agricultural Reports[29], and some other books that lay in one of the window seats. But sometimes, before we went to cards, he would read something aloud out of the Elegant Extracts[30], very entertaining. And I know he has read the Vicar of Wakefield[31]. He never read the Romance of the Forest[32], nor The Children of the Abbey. He had never heard of such books before I mentioned them.”
The next question was —
“What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin?”
“Oh! not handsome – not at all handsome. But did you never see him? He comes to Highbury often. He has passed you very often.”
“That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times, but without having any idea of his name. A young farmer, whether on horseback or on foot, is the last person to raise my curiosity. The yeomanry are precisely the order of people with whom I feel I can have nothing to do. I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young man. I know, indeed, that he is so, and, as such, wish him well. What do you imagine his age to be?”
“He was four-and-twenty the 8th of last June, and my birthday is the 23rd just a fortnight and a day’s difference – which is very odd.”
“Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to marry, I think. Six years after, if he could meet with a young woman in the same rank as his own, with a little money, it might be very desirable.”
“Six years after! Dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be thirty years old!”
“Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to marry. Mr. Martin, I imagine, is not rich at all.”
“To be sure, so it is. But they live very comfortably.”
“I wish you may not get into a scrape[33], Harriet, whenever he does marry; – I mean, as to being acquainted with his wife. The misfortune of your birth ought to make you particularly careful as to your associates. There can be no doubt of your being a gentleman’s daughter, and you must support your claim to that station by everything, or there will be plenty of people who would take pleasure in degrading you.”
“Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are. But while I visit at Hartfield, and you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse, I am not afraid of what anybody can do.”
“Dear Harriet, I would have you so firmly established in good society. I want to see you permanently well connected.”
Emma saw no alarming symptoms of love. The young man had been the first admirer and no more, and that there would be no serious difficulty, on Harriet’s side, to oppose any friendly arrangement of her own.
They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were walking on the Donwell road. He was on foot, and after looking very respectfully at her, looked with most unfeigned satisfaction at her companion. Robert Martin’s appearance was very neat, and he looked like a sensible young man, but his person had no other advantage.
They remained but a few minutes together; and Harriet then came running to Emma with a smiling face.
“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. Well, Miss Woodhouse, what do you think of him?”
“He is very plain, undoubtedly – remarkably plain: – but that is nothing compared with his entire want of gentility[34]. I did not expect much; but I had no idea that he could be so very clownish.”
“To be sure,” said Harriet, “he is not so genteel as real gentlemen.”
“I think, Harriet, at Hartfield, you have seen well educated, well bred[35] men. I should be surprized if, after seeing them, you could be in company with Mr. Martin again without perceiving him to be a very inferior creature. I am sure you must have been struck by his awkward look and abrupt manner.”
“Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley. I see the difference plain enough.”
“Mr. Knightley’s air is so remarkably good that it is not fair to compare Mr. Martin with him. But he is not the only gentleman you have been lately used to. What about Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton? Compare Mr. Martin with either of them. 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. 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.”
“I think his being illiterate and coarse need not disturb us. But, perhaps, Mr. Elton’s manners are superior to Mr. Knightley’s or Mr. Weston’s. They have more gentleness. There is an openness, a quickness, almost a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which everybody likes in him. I think a young man might be very safely recommended to take Mr. Elton as a model. Mr. Elton is good-humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle. 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 Harriet blushed and smiled, and said she had always thought Mr. Elton very agreeable.
Emma thought that Mr. Elton was the very person for driving the young farmer out of Harriet’s head. She thought it would be an excellent match – desirable, natural, and probable. The longer she considered it, the greater was her sense of its expediency. Mr. Elton’s situation was most suitable, quite the gentleman himself, and without low connexions. He had a comfortable home for her, and Emma imagined a very sufficient income; for though the vicarage of Highbury was not large, he was known to have some independent property; and she thought very highly of him as a good-humoured, well-meaning, respectable young man, without any deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of the world.
