In
response to my last post, Jane Fox wrote: “But
doesn't a "pregnant pause" mean that the listeners wonder what the
speaker will say? In this case, no one is paying attention to Emma. So my
question is, why doesn't it bother her that no one is paying attention?”
First,
thank you once again, Jane, for reading my posts with care, and for responding
substantively—it’s always fun to engage with you in this way.
Second,
I didn’t mean that it was a literal “pregnant pause” --I meant it punningly. I.e.,
the pause occurred, because Mrs. Weston was busy trying to rescue the very
PREGNANT Jane from Mrs. Elton’s line of fire, and therefore was not paying Emma
the kind of doting attention that Emma was used to.
Third,
in answer to your final question, I don’t believe that Emma was being ignored
by the group---when she did eventually speak, Mr. Knightley immediately
responded to her. As for Mrs. Weston ignoring her in that moment, I think Emma
is not bothered by that, because Emma is so preoccupied by her own thoughts and
feelings. I.e., JA is showing (rather than telling) us that Emma is so much inside
her own head, that Emma doesn’t even register the identity of the ‘some one’ to whom Mrs. Weston is attending, let alone the
words being spoken!
This
scene is a particularly good example of one of the foundations of JA’s genius,
especially in Emma--how JA writes
polyphonically (to use an apt musical metaphor, given JA’s Mary-Bennet-like
musical ability and knowledge). Even as the “principal melody” (the heroine’s conscious
view of what is happening) engages the passive reader’s exclusive attention,
the discerning reader who listens for the “thorough-bass” and subordinate melodic
lines will always find these sorts of questions lurking on the edge.
What
we have in the excerpt I quoted is, first, Mrs. Elton hounding Jane about
getting her letters at the post office (with the coded pregnancy subtext I
suggested), then Mrs. Weston chimes in to echo Mrs. Elton but in a kinder,
non-intrusive way. Then Jane seizes that moment to turn the subject away from
her letters, to the post office in general (exactly as Mr. Knightley turns the “path”
of conversation to the footpath to Langham, when the words get dangerously heated
between John and Mr. Woodhouse), and John follows Mrs. Weston in further deflecting
Mrs. E from Jane, by immediately chiming in to support her, and ending with:
“…Isabella
and Emma, I think, do write very much alike. I have not always known their
writing apart."
Then
George K and Mr. Woodhouse toss in their comments about male vs. female handwriting,
and THAT’s when Emma is prompted to make a comment about Frank’s handwriting.
Now
the most interesting question, which only occurred to me while responding to
you, is, why does Emma think of Frank’s handwriting just then? Is it just
random? The answer becomes clear, I suggest, when we look at the giant clue
that JA provides to us, as she always does in such instances.
What
is of concern to Emma as she is
reflecting on exactly how she wants to say her piece? She pauses and worries,
for just a moment, whether she is “unequal to speaking [Frank’s] name at once
before all these people”.
Of
course! It was only a few chapters earlier, that Frank was abruptly summoned
back to Enscombe, thereby putting a hold on the Crown Inn ball. And then we
read a long paragraph in which Emma’s complex emotional reactions (while reading
Frank’s latest LETTER to Mrs. Weston) are set forth, followed by this:
“Gratifying,
however, and stimulative as was the letter in the material part, its
sentiments, she yet found, when it was folded up and returned to Mrs. Weston,
that it had not added any lasting warmth, that she could still do without the
writer, and that he must learn to do without her. Her intentions were
unchanged.”
There
is that secondary melody in the Post Office scene—Emma has listened to Jane and
John speaking about letters of friendship and letters of business, and has
observed the tear in Jane’s eye, and being the narcissist that she is, Emma immediately
recollects, and revisits, her own experience (which itself was perhaps also
tearful) while she was reading Frank’s letter. Once again, JA does not tell us this,
she shows it.
But
of course, Emma is not going to reveal to the group in Chapter 34 her internal
struggle to deny her real sadness about Frank’s abrupt departure (which attempts
boil down, basically, to a game of “I
love him. I love him not. I love him. I love him NOT.”) . She is never ever going
to reveal to the group that listening to their conversation has made her feel a
sharp pang of missing Frank. And THAT’s why Emma wonders if she’s unequal to mentioning
Frank’s name—she fears her voice may crack if she says his name, “Frank”, and
her feelings will be totally exposed to everyone. She wants to pretend to them
all that she has no feelings whatsoever for Frank, even though the opposite is
true.
And
all that from looking behind a seemingly trivial pause. Isn’t that a wonderful
example of the hidden depths of JA’s writing? Everywhere we look, there are
these sentences which open doors to treasure rooms of hidden meaning.
But I
have one last question about another one of Emma’s private thoughts during that
pause:
“…Is
it necessary for me to use any roundabout phrase?—Your Yorkshire friend—your
correspondent in Yorkshire;—that would be the way, I suppose, if I were very
bad.”
I am
puzzled. Why would calling Frank “your correspondent in Yorkshire” mean Emma was
being “very bad”? Presuming “your” means Mrs. Weston, that would be a little
stilted, sure, but why “very bad”? Emma has earlier been “very bad” in her
joking with Frank about Mr. Dixon, but I just don’t see that in either “Your
Yorkshire friend” OR “your correspondent in Yorkshire”—but I won’t be surprised
if someone responds and shows that the answer is right under MY nose, but, like
Emma, I can’t see it!
Cbeers,
ARNIE
@JaneAustenCode
on Twitter
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