"Emma could not forgive her": The Reserve and Precarity of Jane Fairfax

*Emma* Reading Challenge, week three

Amber Anderson as Jane Fairfax in the 2020 adaptation of Emma

Early in Volume Two, Emma is trying to make conversation with Jane Fairfax, who has recently arrived in Highbury, without much success. Specifically, Emma wants to know about her impressions of the mysterious and compelling Frank Churchill, whom Jane has met:

It was known that they were a little acquainted; but not a syllable of real information could Emma procure as to what he truly was. "Was he handsome?"—"She believed he was reckoned a very fine young man." "Was he agreeable?"—"He was generally thought so." "Did he appear a sensible young man; a young man of information?"—"At a watering-place, or in a common London acquaintance, it was difficult to decide on such points. Manners were all that could be safely judged of, under a much longer knowledge than they had yet had of Mr. Churchill. She believed every body found his manners pleasing." Emma could not forgive her. (117)

There is so much going on in this passage. (Make a note: this passage ends chapter two, and the first clause of chapter three repeats the words "Emma could not forgive her"; we will return to this repetition.) Emma has decided that her earlier dislike of Jane was unjustified and has determined to be more friendly with her. This intention combines with her curiosity about Frank, as she thinks that an amiable and handsome young man of Jane's acquaintance will encourage her into some lively conversation. But Jane is reserved—partly for reasons that I should not yet reveal, but also because of her precarity. Unlike Emma, Jane has no fortune, nor any prospects for a life more elevated than that of a governess—this despite her reportedly expansive intellect and talent.

This threatens Emma's complacency. That one born without her privileges should be so accomplished is a reminder of her own lack of endeavor and application—all of those books she has intended to read, all of that practicing at the keyboard that she meant to perform. Mr. Knightley has suggested exactly this to Emma—that the source of her dislike of Jane may be "because she saw in her the really accomplished young woman, which she wanted to be thought herself; and though the accusation had been eagerly refuted at the time, there were moments of self-examination in which her conscience could not quite acquit her" (115).

If this were a book by a Brontë sister, Jane Fairfax would probably be the heroine—an intelligent young woman with no prospects. (There would also be a lot more drama: house fires, women in attics, ghosts at windows, etc.) Jane Eyre would be even less likely to make friends with Emma than would Jane Fairfax.

Now, don't get me wrong: I love Jane Eyre (though Charlotte Brontë famously disliked Austen's novels), but it is a novel that sets an easier task for the reader than does Emma. We are to feel empathy for a young woman who has nothing, who lives in a precarious state, at the mercy of those with authority over her, with nothing but her strong will and moral sensibilities to get her through life. The reader also has complete access to her consciousness. In Emma, on the other hand, first the privileged heroine must learn to feel empathy for those who have less than her (Harriet, Jane, Miss Bates), and then the reader learns to feel empathy for the privileged heroine. Meanwhile, we as readers have no access to Jane Fairfax's consciousness whatsoever. It is a much more difficult literary performance, and (as we have already discussed) it doesn't work with all readers.

In other words, it is primarily the heroine's empathy that is in question, and the reader’s empathy is dependent on it. We have seen her being good to the poor, and we have seen her with a young woman who admires her (Harriet). But in both of these cases, Emma receives the gratitude of the others. In the case of Jane Fairfax, on the other hand, not only is the other not grateful to her, she seems to want nothing to do with her at all, and, furthermore, she is arguably a more accomplished and talented woman than is Emma herself.

You see the problem: this arc is going to require a lot more narrative work from our author, and much more growth on the part of Emma herself, as well as more tolerance from the reader.

With this in mind, let's go back to that concluding sentence of Volume Two, chapter two to see the initiation of that virtuosic authorial performance: "Emma could not forgive her."

This sentence is in free-indirect style: we have Emma's thought without quotation marks, as the narrator conveys the thought to us indirectly. (For more on free-indirect discourse, see this post.) Now, let's look at the beginning of the next chapter, as the narrator repeats the same words in the opening clause:

Emma could not forgive her;—but as neither provocation nor resentment were discerned by Mr. Knightley, who had been of the party, and had seen only proper attention and pleasing behavior on each side, he was expressing the next morning, being at Hartfield again on business with Mr. Woodhouse, his approbation of the whole; not so openly as he might have done had her father been out of the room, but speaking plainly enough to be very intelligible to Emma. (118)

This is dazzling writing. Austen has pulled off an extraordinary pivot in tone and mode with the same words used in repetition across a chapter break. You try doing that. Go ahead. I'll wait.

What's the big deal? you may ask. After all, she has just repeated a sentence.

Read it again. In the first occurrence, the clause is in free-indirect style, but in the repetition the same words are in third-person detached. What was Emma's thought at the end of the previous chapter has become an established narrative fact at the beginning of the next. What's more, it is a fact that the reader knows but Mr. Knightley does not. This is ironic in a number of ways: you may remember that at the end of Volume One, Mr. Knightley suggests that Frank Churchill has good manners (is "aimable," like the French) but is not sincere (is not "amiable," like the English) (see page 105, and last week's post for premium subscribers.) But now he is praising Emma for what he assumes is sincere behavior, while we know that she is merely being aimable.

This is, therefore, where Emma's personal growth stands at the beginning of Volume Two: she is able to feel for the suffering poor; she is able to feel for Harriet, who admires her. She has also, because of her earlier misreadings, learned to question her own judgment—to an extent. She is not, however, capable as of yet of feeling for the orphaned Jane Fairfax, nor, by the way, is she able to feel anything other than annoyance regarding the talkative but vulnerable Miss Bates, another woman who has nothing and depends on the kindness and charity of others.

Now we begin to understand that the drama of this book is primarily Emma's internal drama, but it also reaches outward to the reader. In the next two volumes, will Emma gain the self-awareness necessary to feel for the likes of Jane Fairfax and Miss Bates? Will the reader grow along with her and learn to feel for Emma herself? The drama is ours as well as Emma's.

Now, what about this Frank Churchill fellow? We’ll discuss him next time. Here is a link to our reading schedule.

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Thanks for reading, from my fancy internet typewriter to yours.

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