In
followup to my post a few days ago about the hidden “Prince of Whales” answer
to the Emma charade (and thank you
Diane and Elaine for your substantive, positive replies), I have a question for
you all (but especially for Anielka, in light of your recent posts about the
royal family allusions in Emma):
What do all of the following passages in Emma have to do with one particular, and very important
element of the covert satire of the Prince Regent in Emma?
HINT:
In some of these following passages, it is specific verbiage that connects to
that element, in others it is the lines under the words, as Lydia Bennet would
have put it.
As
usual, I’ll post my answer in two days, to give, to anyone who wishes, a chance
to respond:
Ch. 1: Emma
Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition,
seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly
twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.
Ch. 7:
"Yes,
indeed, a very good letter," replied Emma rather slowly—"so good a
letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I think one of his sisters must
have helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom I saw talking with you
the other day could express himself so well, if left quite to his own powers,
and yet it is not the style of a woman; no, certainly, it is too strong and
concise; not diffuse enough for a woman. No doubt he is a sensible man, and I
suppose may have a natural talent for—thinks strongly and clearly—and when he
takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so with
some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind. Vigorous, decided, with
sentiments to a certain point, not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet (returning
it,) than I had expected."
"Well," said the still
waiting Harriet;—"well—and—and what shall I do?"
"What shall you do! In what
respect? Do you mean with regard to this letter?"
"Yes."
"But what are you in doubt of?
You must answer it of course—and speedily."
"Yes. But what shall I say?
Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me."
"Oh no, no! the letter had much
better be all your own. You will express yourself very properly, I am sure.
There is no danger of your not being intelligible, which is the first thing.
Your meaning must be unequivocal; no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of
gratitude and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires,
will present themselves unbidden to your mind, I am persuaded.
You need not be prompted to write with the appearance of sorrow for his
disappointment."
Ch. 8:
"Pray,
Mr. Knightley," said Emma, who had been smiling to herself through a great
part of this speech, "how do you know that Mr. Martin did not speak
yesterday?"
"Certainly,"
replied he, surprized, "I do not absolutely know it; but it may be
inferred. Was not she the whole day with you?"
"Come,"
said she, "I will tell you something, in return for what you have told me.
He did speak yesterday—that is, he wrote, and was refused."
This
was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed; and Mr. Knightley
actually looked red with surprize and displeasure, as he stood up, in tall
indignation, and said,
"Then
she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. What is the foolish girl
about?"
"Oh!
to be sure," cried Emma, "it is always incomprehensible to a man that
a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always imagines a woman
to be ready for any body who asks her."
"Nonsense!
a man does not imagine any such thing. But what is the meaning of this? Harriet
Smith refuse Robert Martin? madness, if it is so; but I hope you are
mistaken."
"I
saw her answer!—nothing could be clearer."
"You
saw her answer!—you wrote her answer too. Emma, this is your doing. You
persuaded her to refuse him."
"And
if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing) I should not feel that I had
done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, but I cannot admit him
to be Harriet's equal; and am rather surprized indeed that he should have
ventured to address her. By your account, he does seem to have had some
scruples. It is a pity that they were ever got over."
"Not
Harriet's equal!" exclaimed Mr. Knightley loudly and warmly...
Chs. 20-21:
The like
reserve prevailed on other topics. She and Mr. Frank Churchill had been at
Weymouth at the same time. 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.
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 behaviour 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 plain enough to be very intelligible to
Emma. He had been used to think her unjust to Jane, and had now great pleasure
in marking an improvement.
Ch. 39:
In the
few minutes' conversation which she had yet had with him, while Harriet had
been partially insensible, he had spoken of her terror, her naivete, her
fervour as she seized and clung to his arm, with a sensibility amused and
delighted; and just at last, after Harriet's own account had been given, he had
expressed his indignation at the abominable folly of Miss Bickerton in the warmest
terms.
Ch. 48:
"Wrong!
No one, I believe, can blame her more than she is disposed to blame herself.
'The consequence,' said she, 'has been a state of perpetual suffering to me;
and so it ought. But after all the punishment that misconduct can bring, it is
still not less misconduct. Pain is no expiation. I never can be blameless….”
Ch. 49:
"Time,
my dearest Emma, time will heal the wound.—Your own excellent sense—your
exertions for your father's sake—I know you will not allow yourself—." Her
arm was pressed again, as he added, in a more broken and subdued accent,
"The feelings of the warmest friendship—indignation—abominable scoundrel!"—And in a louder, steadier
tone, he concluded with, "He will soon be gone. They will soon be in
Yorkshire. I am sorry for her.
She deserves a better fate."
Ch. 50:
“…I
must still add to this long letter. You have not heard all that you ought to
hear. I could not give any connected detail yesterday; but the suddenness, and,
in one light, the unseasonableness with which the affair burst out, needs
explanation; for though the event of the 26th ult., as you will conclude,
immediately opened to me the happiest prospects, I should not have presumed on
such early measures, but from the very particular circumstances, which left me
not an hour to lose. I should myself have shrunk from any thing so hasty, and
she would have felt every scruple of mine with multiplied strength and
refinement.—But I had no choice. The hasty engagement she had entered into with
that woman—Here, my dear madam, I was obliged to leave off abruptly, to
recollect and compose myself.—I have been walking over the country, and am now,
I hope, rational enough to make the rest of my letter what it ought to be…..”
Ch. 55:
…Frank
Churchill caught the name. "Perry!" said he to Emma, and trying, as
he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax's eye. "My friend Mr. Perry! What are they
saying about Mr. Perry?—Has he been here this morning?—And how does he travel
now?—Has he set up his carriage?"
Emma
soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was
evident from Jane's countenance that she too was really hearing him, though
trying to seem deaf.
"Such
an extraordinary dream of mine!" he cried. "I can never think of it
without laughing.—She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her
cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that,
at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report,
is passing under her eye—that the whole blunder is spread before her—that she
can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?"
Jane
was forced to smile completely, for a moment; and the smile partly remained as
she turned towards him, and said in a conscious, low, yet steady voice, "How
you can bear such recollections, is astonishing to me!—They will sometimes
obtrude—but how you can court them!"
He had
a great deal to say in return, and very entertainingly…
Cheers,
ARNIE
@JaneAustenCode
on Twitter
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