Emma (11 page)

“What can it be, Miss Woodhouse? What can it be? I have not an idea—I cannot guess it in the least. What can it possibly be? Do try to find it out, Miss Woodhouse. Do help me. I never saw anything so hard. Is it kingdom? I wonder who the friend was—and who could be the young lady. Do you think it is a good one? Can it be woman?
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Can it be Neptune?
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
Or a trident? Or a mermaid? Or a shark? Oh, no! Shark is only one syllable. It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find it out?”

“Mermaids and sharks! Nonsense! My dear Harriet, what are you thinking of? Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade made by a friend upon a mermaid or a shark? Give me the paper and listen. For Miss —, read Miss Smith.
‘My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings, Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
That is
court
.
Another view of man, my second brings Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
That is
ship
, plain as it can be. Now for the cream.
But ah! United
—courtship, you know—
what reverse we have! Man’s boasted power and freedom, all are flown. Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave, And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.’

“A very proper compliment! Then follows the application, which I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficulty in comprehending. Read it in comfort to yourself. There can be no doubt of its being written for you and to you.”

Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion. She read the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness. She could not speak. But she was not wanted to speak. It was enough for her to feel. Emma spoke for her.

“There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in this compliment,” said she, “that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr Elton’s intentions. You are his object—and you will soon receive the completest proof of it. I thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so deceived, but now it is clear, the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my wishes on the subject have been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet, just so long have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen what has happened. I could never tell whether an attachment between you and Mr Elton were most desirable or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility have really so equalled each other! I am very happy. I congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart. This is an attachment which a woman may well feel pride in creating. This is a connection which offers nothing but good. It will give you everything that you want—consideration, independence, a proper home—it will fix you in the centre of all your real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy forever. This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in either of us.”

“Dear Miss Woodhouse!” and “Dear Miss Woodhouse,” was all that Harriet, with many tender embraces could articulate at first, but when they did arrive at something more like conversation, it was sufficiently clear to her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated and remembered just as she ought. Mr Elton’s superiority had very ample acknowledgment.

“Whatever you say is always right,” cried Harriet, “and therefore I suppose and believe and hope it must be so, but otherwise I could not have imagined it. It is so much beyond anything I deserve. Mr Elton, who might marry anybody! There cannot be two opinions about
him
. He is so very superior. Only think of those sweet verses—‘To Miss —’. Dear me, how clever! Could it really be meant for me?”

“I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that. It is a certainty. Receive it on my judgement. It is a sort of prologue to the play, a motto to the chapter, and will be soon followed by matter-of-fact prose.”

“It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected. I am sure, a month ago, I had no more idea myself! The strangest things do take place!”

“When Miss Smiths and Mr Eltons get acquainted—they do indeed—and really it is strange, it is out of the common course that what is so evidently, so palpably desirable—what courts the pre-arrangement of other people should so immediately shape itself into the proper form. You and Mr Elton are by situation called together, you belong to one another by every circumstance of your respective homes. Your marrying will be equal to the match at Randalls. There does seem to be a something in the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right direction, and sends it into the very channel where it ought to flow.
The course of true love never did run smooth—
a Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that passage.”

“That Mr Elton should really be in love with me, me, of all people, who did not know him to speak to him at Michaelmas! And he, the very handsomest man that ever was, and a man that everybody looks up to, quite like Mr Knightley! His company so sought after, that everybody says he need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not choose it, that he has more invitations than there are days in the week. And so excellent in the Church! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has ever preached from since he came to Highbury. Dear me! When I look back to the first time I saw him! How little did I think! The two Abbots and I ran into the front room and peeped through the blind when we heard he was going by, and Miss Nash came and scolded us away, and stayed to look through herself, however she called me back presently, and let me look too, which was very good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he looked! He was arm-in-arm with Mr Cole.”

“This is an alliance which, whoever—whatever your friends may be, must be agreeable to them, provided at least they have common sense, and we are not to be addressing our conduct to fools. If they are anxious to see you
happily
married, here is a man whose amiable character gives every assurance of it. If they wish to have you settled in the same country and circle which they have chosen to place you in, here it will be accomplished, and if their only object is that you should, in the common phrase, be
well
married, here is the comfortable fortune, the respectable establishment, the rise in the world which must satisfy them.”

“Yes, very true. How nicely you talk, I love to hear you. You understand everything. You and Mr Elton are one as clever as the other. This charade! If I had studied a twelvemonth, I could never have made anything like it.”

“I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of declining it yesterday.”

“I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever read.”

“I never read one more to the purpose, certainly.”

“It is as long again as almost all we have had before.”

“I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour. Such things in general cannot be too short.”

Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory comparisons were rising in her mind.

“It is one thing,” said she, presently, her cheeks in a glow, “to have very good sense in a common way, like everybody else, and if there is anything to say, to sit down and write a letter, and say just what you must, in a short way, and another, to write verses and charades like this.”

Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr Martin’s prose.

“Such sweet lines!” continued Harriet. “These two last! But how shall I ever be able to return the paper, or say I have found it out? Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what can we do about that?”

“Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare say, and I will give it him back, and some nonsense or other will pass between us, and you shall not be committed. Your soft eyes shall choose their own time for beaming. Trust to me.”

“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautiful charade into my book! I am sure I have not got one half so good.”

“Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why you should not write it into your book.”

“Oh! But those two lines are—”

“The best of all. Granted, for private enjoyment, and for private enjoyment keep them. They are not at all the less written you know, because you divide them. The couplet does not cease to be, nor does its meaning change. But take it away, and all
appropriation
ceases, and a very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection. Depend upon it, he would not like to have his charade slighted, much better than his passion. A poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or neither. Give me the book, I will write it down, then there can be no possible reflection on you.”

Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts, so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a declaration of love. It seemed too precious an offering for any degree of publicity.

“I shall never let that book go out of my own hands,” said she.

“Very well,” replied Emma, “a most natural feeling, and the longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is my father coming, you will not object to my reading the charade to him. It will be giving him so much pleasure! He loves anything of the sort, and especially anything that pays women a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit of gallantry towards us all! You must let me read it to him.”

Harriet looked grave.

“My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this charade. You will betray your feelings improperly, if you are too conscious and too quick, and appear to affix more meaning, or even quite all the meaning which may be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such a little tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not have left the paper while I was by, but he rather pushed it towards me than towards you. Do not let us be too solemn on the business. He has encouragement enough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls over this charade.”

“Oh! No—I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do as you please.”

Mr Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by the recurrence of his very frequent enquiry of, “Well, my dears, how does your book go on? Have you got anything fresh?”

“Yes, papa, we have something to read you, something quite fresh. A piece of paper was found on the table this morning—dropped, we suppose, by a fairy—containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied it in.”

She read it to him, just as he liked to have anything read, slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every part as she proceeded—and he was very much pleased, and as she had foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary conclusion.

“Aye, that’s very just indeed, that’s very properly said. Very true. ‘Woman, lovely woman.’ It is such a pretty charade, my dear, that I can easily guess what fairy brought it. Nobody could have written so prettily, but you, Emma.”

Emma only nodded, and smiled. After a little thinking, and a very tender sigh, he added, “Ah! It is no difficulty to see who you take after! Your dear mother was so clever at all those things! If I had but her memory! But I can remember nothing, not even that particular riddle which you have heard me mention, I can only recollect the first stanza, and there are several—

Kitty, a fair but frozen maid,

Kindled a flame I yet deplore,

The hood-wink’d boy I called to aid,

Though of his near approach afraid,

So fatal to my suit before.

—And that is all that I can recollect of it—but it is very clever all the way through. But I think, my dear, you said you had got it.”

“Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We copied it from the Elegant Extracts. It was Garrick’s, you know.”

“Aye, very true. I wish I could recollect more of it.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.
The name makes me think of poor Isabella, for she was very near being christened Catherine after her grandmama. I hope we shall have her here next week. Have you thought, my dear, where you shall put her—and what room there will be for the children?”

“Oh! Yes—she will have her own room, of course, the room she always has, and there is the nursery for the children, just as usual, you know. Why should there be any change?”

“I do not know, my dear—but it is so long since she was here! Not since last Easter, and only for a few days. Mr John Knightley’s being a lawyer is very inconvenient. Poor Isabella! She is sadly taken away from us all! And how sorry she will be when she comes, not to see Miss Taylor here!”

“She will not be surprised, papa, at least.”

“I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much surprised when I first heard she was going to be married.”

“We must ask Mr and Mrs Weston to dine with us, while Isabella is here.”

“Yes, my dear, if there is time. But”—in a very depressed tone—“she is coming for only one week. There will not be time for anything.”

“It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer—but it seems a case of necessity. Mr John Knightley must be in town again on the twenty-eighth, and we ought to be thankful, papa, that we are to have the whole of the time they can give to the country, that two or three days are not to be taken out for the Abbey. Mr Knightley promises to give up his claim this Christmas—though you know it is longer since they were with him, than with us.”

“It would be very hard indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were to be anywhere but at Hartfield.”

Mr Woodhouse could never allow for Mr Knightley’s claims on his brother, or anybody’s claims on Isabella, except his own. He sat musing a little while, then said,

“But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go back so soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I shall try and persuade her to stay longer with us. She and the children might stay very well.”

“Ah! Papa—that is what you never have been able to accomplish, and I do not think you ever will. Isabella cannot bear to stay behind her husband.”

This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it was, Mr Woodhouse could only give a submissive sigh, and as Emma saw his spirits affected by the idea of his daughter’s attachment to her husband, she immediately led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them.