<p><SPAN name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"></SPAN></p>
<h2> CHAPTER IX </h2>
<p>Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel with
herself. He was so much displeased, that it was longer than usual before
he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet, his grave looks shewed
that she was not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not repent. On the
contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and more justified and
endeared to her by the general appearances of the next few days.</p>
<p>The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon after Mr. Elton's
return, and being hung over the mantelpiece of the common sitting-room, he
got up to look at it, and sighed out his half sentences of admiration just
as he ought; and as for Harriet's feelings, they were visibly forming
themselves into as strong and steady an attachment as her youth and sort
of mind admitted. Emma was soon perfectly satisfied of Mr. Martin's being
no otherwise remembered, than as he furnished a contrast with Mr. Elton,
of the utmost advantage to the latter.</p>
<p>Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a great deal of useful
reading and conversation, had never yet led to more than a few first
chapters, and the intention of going on to-morrow. It was much easier to
chat than to study; much pleasanter to let her imagination range and work
at Harriet's fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge her comprehension or
exercise it on sober facts; and the only literary pursuit which engaged
Harriet at present, the only mental provision she was making for the
evening of life, was the collecting and transcribing all the riddles of
every sort that she could meet with, into a thin quarto of hot-pressed
paper, made up by her friend, and ornamented with ciphers and trophies.</p>
<p>In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scale are not
uncommon. Miss Nash, head-teacher at Mrs. Goddard's, had written out at
least three hundred; and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it from
her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse's help, to get a great many more. Emma
assisted with her invention, memory and taste; and as Harriet wrote a very
pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement of the first order, in
form as well as quantity.</p>
<p>Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the girls,
and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting in. "So
many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young—he
wondered he could not remember them! but he hoped he should in time." And
it always ended in "Kitty, a fair but frozen maid."</p>
<p>His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the subject, did not
at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind; but he had desired
Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went about so much, something, he
thought, might come from that quarter.</p>
<p>It was by no means his daughter's wish that the intellects of Highbury in
general should be put under requisition. Mr. Elton was the only one whose
assistance she asked. He was invited to contribute any really good
enigmas, charades, or conundrums that he might recollect; and she had the
pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his recollections; and
at the same time, as she could perceive, most earnestly careful that
nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the sex
should pass his lips. They owed to him their two or three politest
puzzles; and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled, and
rather sentimentally recited, that well-known charade,</p>
<p>My first doth affliction denote,<br/>
Which my second is destin'd to feel<br/>
And my whole is the best antidote<br/>
That affliction to soften and heal.—<br/></p>
<p>made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed it some
pages ago already.</p>
<p>"Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?" said she; "that
is the only security for its freshness; and nothing could be easier to
you."</p>
<p>"Oh no! he had never written, hardly ever, any thing of the kind in his
life. The stupidest fellow! He was afraid not even Miss Woodhouse"—he
stopt a moment—"or Miss Smith could inspire him."</p>
<p>The very next day however produced some proof of inspiration. He called
for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table containing,
as he said, a charade, which a friend of his had addressed to a young
lady, the object of his admiration, but which, from his manner, Emma was
immediately convinced must be his own.</p>
<p>"I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection," said he. "Being my
friend's, I have no right to expose it in any degree to the public eye,
but perhaps you may not dislike looking at it."</p>
<p>The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could understand.
There was deep consciousness about him, and he found it easier to meet her
eye than her friend's. He was gone the next moment:—after another
moment's pause,</p>
<p>"Take it," said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper towards Harriet—"it
is for you. Take your own."</p>
<p>But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it; and Emma, never loth
to be first, was obliged to examine it herself.</p>
<p>To Miss—<br/>
<br/>
CHARADE.<br/>
<br/>
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,<br/>
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.<br/>
Another view of man, my second brings,<br/>
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!<br/>
<br/>
But ah! united, what reverse we have!<br/>
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown;<br/>
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,<br/>
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.<br/>
<br/>
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply,<br/>
May its approval beam in that soft eye!<br/></p>
<p>She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning, read it through
again to be quite certain, and quite mistress of the lines, and then
passing it to Harriet, sat happily smiling, and saying to herself, while
Harriet was puzzling over the paper in all the confusion of hope and
dulness, "Very well, Mr. Elton, very well indeed. I have read worse
charades. <i>Courtship</i>—a very good hint. I give you credit for
it. This is feeling your way. This is saying very plainly—'Pray,
Miss Smith, give me leave to pay my addresses to you. Approve my charade
and my intentions in the same glance.'</p>
<p>May its approval beam in that soft eye!<br/></p>
<p>Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye—of all epithets,
the justest that could be given.</p>
<p>Thy ready wit the word will soon supply.<br/></p>
<p>Humph—Harriet's ready wit! All the better. A man must be very much
in love, indeed, to describe her so. Ah! Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the
benefit of this; I think this would convince you. For once in your life
you would be obliged to own yourself mistaken. An excellent charade
indeed! and very much to the purpose. Things must come to a crisis soon
now."</p>
<p>She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations, which
were otherwise of a sort to run into great length, by the eagerness of
Harriet's wondering questions.</p>
<p>"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 any thing 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?</p>
<p>And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.<br/></p>
<p>Can it be Neptune?</p>
<p>Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!<br/></p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>For Miss ———, read Miss Smith.</p>
<p>My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,<br/>
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.<br/></p>
<p>That is <i>court</i>.</p>
<p>Another view of man, my second brings;<br/>
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!<br/></p>
<p>That is <i>ship</i>;—plain as it can be.—Now for the cream.</p>
<p>But ah! united, (<i>courtship</i>, you know,) what reverse we have!<br/>
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown.<br/>
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,<br/>
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.<br/></p>
<p>A very proper compliment!—and 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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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 connexion which offers nothing but good.
It will give you every thing 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
for ever. This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in
either of us."</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"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 any thing I deserve. Mr. Elton, who
might marry any body! There cannot be two opinions about <i>him</i>. He is
so very superior. Only think of those sweet verses—'To Miss ———.'
Dear me, how clever!—Could it really be meant for me?"</p>
<p>"I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that. It is a
certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It is a sort of prologue to the
play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soon followed by matter-of-fact
prose."</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>The course of true love never did run smooth—<br/></p>
<p>A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that
passage."</p>
<p>"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 every body looks up to, quite
like Mr. Knightley! His company so sought after, that every body says he
need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not chuse 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 staid 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."</p>
<p>"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 <i>happily</i> 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 <i>well</i> married, here is the comfortable fortune,
the respectable establishment, the rise in the world which must satisfy
them."</p>
<p>"Yes, very true. How nicely you talk; I love to hear you. You understand
every thing. You and Mr. Elton are one as clever as the other. This
charade!—If I had studied a twelvemonth, I could never have made any
thing like it."</p>
<p>"I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of declining it
yesterday."</p>
<p>"I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever read."</p>
<p>"I never read one more to the purpose, certainly."</p>
<p>"It is as long again as almost all we have had before."</p>
<p>"I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour. Such things
in general cannot be too short."</p>
<p>Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory
comparisons were rising in her mind.</p>
<p>"It is one thing," said she, presently—her cheeks in a glow—"to
have very good sense in a common way, like every body else, and if there
is any thing 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."</p>
<p>Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin's
prose.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare say,
and then 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
chuse their own time for beaming. Trust to me."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why you should not
write it into your book."</p>
<p>"Oh! but those two lines are"—</p>
<p>—"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 <i>appropriation</i> 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, and then there can be no
possible reflection on you."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"I shall never let that book go out of my own hands," said she.</p>
<p>"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 any thing of the sort, and especially any thing
that pays woman a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit of gallantry
towards us all!—You must let me read it to him."</p>
<p>Harriet looked grave.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"Oh! no—I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do as you
please."</p>
<p>Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by the
recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of "Well, my dears, how does your
book go on?—Have you got any thing fresh?"</p>
<p>"Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something quite fresh. A piece
of paper was found on the table this morning—(dropt, we suppose, by
a fairy)—containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied
it in."</p>
<p>She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing 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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>Emma only nodded, and smiled.—After a little thinking, and a very
tender sigh, he added,</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>Kitty, a fair but frozen maid,<br/>
Kindled a flame I yet deplore,<br/>
The hood-wink'd boy I called to aid,<br/>
Though of his near approach afraid,<br/>
So fatal to my suit before.<br/></p>
<p>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."</p>
<p>"Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We copied it from the
Elegant Extracts. It was Garrick's, you know."</p>
<p>"Aye, very true.—I wish I could recollect more of it.</p>
<p>Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.<br/></p>
<p>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?"</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>"I do not know, my dear—but it is so long since she was here!—not
since last Easter, and then 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!"</p>
<p>"She will not be surprized, papa, at least."</p>
<p>"I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much surprized when I first
heard she was going to be married."</p>
<p>"We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us, while Isabella is here."</p>
<p>"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
any thing."</p>
<p>"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 28th, 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."</p>
<p>"It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were to be
anywhere but at Hartfield."</p>
<p>Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley's claims on his brother,
or any body's claims on Isabella, except his own. He sat musing a little
while, and then said,</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can while my brother
and sister are here. I am sure she will be pleased with the children. We
are very proud of the children, are not we, papa? I wonder which she will
think the handsomest, Henry or John?"</p>
<p>"Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how glad they will be to
come. They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet."</p>
<p>"I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know who is not."</p>
<p>"Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mama. Henry is the eldest,
he was named after me, not after his father. John, the second, is named
after his father. Some people are surprized, I believe, that the eldest
was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which I thought very
pretty of her. And he is a very clever boy, indeed. They are all
remarkably clever; and they have so many pretty ways. They will come and
stand by my chair, and say, 'Grandpapa, can you give me a bit of string?'
and once Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives were only made
for grandpapas. I think their father is too rough with them very often."</p>
<p>"He appears rough to you," said Emma, "because you are so very gentle
yourself; but if you could compare him with other papas, you would not
think him rough. He wishes his boys to be active and hardy; and if they
misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then; but he is an
affectionate father—certainly Mr. John Knightley is an affectionate
father. The children are all fond of him."</p>
<p>"And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceiling in a
very frightful way!"</p>
<p>"But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so much. It is such
enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did not lay down the rule of their
taking turns, whichever began would never give way to the other."</p>
<p>"Well, I cannot understand it."</p>
<p>"That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the world cannot
understand the pleasures of the other."</p>
<p>Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to separate in
preparation for the regular four o'clock dinner, the hero of this
inimitable charade walked in again. Harriet turned away; but Emma could
receive him with the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in his
the consciousness of having made a push—of having thrown a die; and
she imagined he was come to see how it might turn up. His ostensible
reason, however, was to ask whether Mr. Woodhouse's party could be made up
in the evening without him, or whether he should be in the smallest degree
necessary at Hartfield. If he were, every thing else must give way; but
otherwise his friend Cole had been saying so much about his dining with
him—had made such a point of it, that he had promised him
conditionally to come.</p>
<p>Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing his friend on
their account; her father was sure of his rubber. He re-urged—she
re-declined; and he seemed then about to make his bow, when taking the
paper from the table, she returned it—</p>
<p>"Oh! here is the charade you were so obliging as to leave with us; thank
you for the sight of it. We admired it so much, that I have ventured to
write it into Miss Smith's collection. Your friend will not take it amiss
I hope. Of course I have not transcribed beyond the first eight lines."</p>
<p>Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say. He looked rather
doubtingly—rather confused; said something about "honour,"—glanced
at Emma and at Harriet, and then seeing the book open on the table, took
it up, and examined it very attentively. With the view of passing off an
awkward moment, Emma smilingly said,</p>
<p>"You must make my apologies to your friend; but so good a charade must not
be confined to one or two. He may be sure of every woman's approbation
while he writes with such gallantry."</p>
<p>"I have no hesitation in saying," replied Mr. Elton, though hesitating a
good deal while he spoke; "I have no hesitation in saying—at least
if my friend feels at all as <i>I</i> do—I have not the smallest
doubt that, could he see his little effusion honoured as <i>I</i> see it,
(looking at the book again, and replacing it on the table), he would
consider it as the proudest moment of his life."</p>
<p>After this speech he was gone as soon as possible. Emma could not think it
too soon; for with all his good and agreeable qualities, there was a sort
of parade in his speeches which was very apt to incline her to laugh. She
ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the tender and the sublime of
pleasure to Harriet's share.</p>
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