Charades as Bawdy as Limericks: Reading Austen with my Daughter

From The History of England by Jane Austen,
illustrated by her sister, Cassandra.

This past Saturday, I spontaneously decided to read Austen's The History of England from the reign of Henry the 4th to the death of Charles the 1st to my daughter for the first time (you can access the original manuscript at the British Library's online gallery). She has been very interested in Tudors and Stuarts recently, largely thanks to Horrible Histories and the musical Six, and so the time just seemed right. She laughed at it, which pleased me to no end, and I think this might be the first time she has really appreciated an Austen text. But it had been a while since I last read it, and I had sort of forgotten about the short "sharade" towards the end: 

My first is what my second was to King James the 1st, and you tread on my whole.

On the surface, tis no great mystery that the answer is carpet, for Austen provides it before the actual riddle. She further elaborates afterward, explaining it as a reference to Robert Car, 1st Earl of Somerset, a great favorite of James I. But this is a bit weird for Austen, who normally is reluctant to spell such things out for her readers. She only provides an answer to one of the much more frequently referenced and dissected charades in Emma, but that is an original composition and an intentional narrative device, vital to both Emma and Harriet's subsequent misunderstandings. So here I am, reading this aloud to my daughter, caught unawares and suddenly blushing at this seemingly innocent charade, while my mind is running back to a blog post read many years ago at the always provocative Sharp Elves Society, which argues very convincingly that young Miss Austen was making a very bawdy joke, indeed. I have no wish to dissect the theory, which depends on the novel Fanny Hill and is really not my turf (more blushes), but it caused me to reflect on the subversive nature charades play in literature, and how they are often used to disguise pretty overt sexual references and tensions. This is true of the infamous charade scenes in both Jane Eyre and Vanity Fair, and it is also true in Austen.

In Emma, there is a hint of a very famous charade by David Garrick, published in the London Chronicle in 1771. Mr. Woodhouse struggles to recall it, but Austen's contemporary readers would have known it. I am no expert in back alley slang from the 18th century, but many with greater knowledge of this subject have elaborated on the incredibly bawdy nature of the complete poem. Here is one of the complete variations (there are a few):

Kitty, a fair, but frozen maid,

Kindled a flame I still deplore;

The hood-wink'd boy I call'd in aid,

Much of his near approach afraid,

So fatal to my suit before.

At length, propitious to my pray'r,

The little urchin came;

At once he sought the midway air,

And soon he clear'd, with dextrous care,

The bitter relicks of my flame.

To Kitty, Fanny now succeeds,

She kindles slow, but lasting fires:

With care my appetite she feeds;

Each day some willing victim bleeds,

To satisfy my strange desires.

Say, by what title, or what name,

Must I this youth address?

Cupid and he are not the same,

Tho' both can raise, or quench a flame --

I'll kiss you, if you guess.

The answer is, jokingly, chimneysweep, but the charade is about syphilis and the contemporary belief that it could be cured through sex with virgins. Yeah. Think on that for a second. I know it's heavy. Now what does it mean that Mr. Woodhouse, of all people, is the source of this "elegant extract?'

I've read a lot of proposed answers to that question over the years, from Austen not knowing what she was talking about (yeah, right), to syphilis actually being the ailment from which Mr. Woodhouse is himself suffering. A fascinating argument, but I don't subscribe to it. He is presented, after all, as a man of quite delicate sensibilities, and I find it hard to believe that he would in anyway intentionally reference this incredibly ungenteel topic before his unmarried daughter and her friend, let alone make this association: 

"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?"

He cannot be knowingly comparing his daughter to a prostitute. My belief is that Austen is using the charade to both mock Mr. Woodhouse's complete cluelessness and emphasize his inadequacies as a patriarch. The sexual content in intentional. It acts as a warning. He is utterly incapable of guiding Emma through the difficult rituals of courtship, even if he had any mind to do so, yet he is the only one legally authorized to act in such a capacity. Both Mr. Knightley and his brother might take it upon themselves to warn Emma regarding Elton, but she is in no way obligated to act on their opinions. Granted, she's pretty adept at overriding her father's dictates, particularly when it comes to feeding guests at Hartfield, but had Mr. Woodhouse said something about an inappropriate level of intimacy developing between herself and Mr. Elton, Emma must have at least reflected upon his warning. But he sees no danger. He doesn't even know of it when it comes. He is even so deluded as to lament his daughter's eventual union to Mr. Knightley, her most obvious and in every worldly way desirable match. This is a patriarchy turned upside down. Emma is the head of the household in all but name. Contemporary readers would know the literary reference and see the potential danger ahead, even while laughing. You know, like:

 

It is no accident that Austen uses charades to obscure Emma's romantic miscalculations. She lived in a society adept at deciphering such codes. In so many ways, this is her invitation to the reader to be thinking of the novel like a puzzle, to not take everything at face value, and to begin to solve the mystery at the heart of her narrative. Not all is what it appears. Not these innocent parlour games, nor the respectable Miss Austen, herself.

Anyway, to return briefly to The History of England, I found myself reading the charade and hesitating to explain the meaning. Lazily, I considered just glazing over it, but I thought better of it and explained to Eliza that James I is widely believed to have had a series of longterm male lovers, even while he enacted stringent anti-sodomy laws. I may not be ready to elaborate on the Fanny Hill theory to her quite yet, but no way is my daughter going to grow up under the false impression that Jane Austen was some prim and proper Victorian creation who knew not of such things. The Kitty charade I will explain when she is older. Much older. It's way too dark and disturbing, and I do not think it wise to distress her with such tales of abuse. Fortunately, the novel doesn't suffer greatly from not understanding this reference, though our understanding of who Jane Austen was does. We'll have this conversation. Someday.

“It was a delightful visit;—perfect, in being much too short.” – Emma, Chapter Thirteen

The following was originally posted in August 2019, pre-pandemic, after returning from our last trip to the US. I maintain some hope of getting there this year, but it's fading. Yes, it was a hard trip, but I had no idea it would be the last for two years, and I wish we had taken more time. The meaning of the title quote continues to deepen.

Gabriel Joseph de Froment, Baron de Castille, and his wife,
Princess Hermine Aline Dorothée de Rohan,
with their family. French School, 1825.

I’ve long loved travel. It’s a passion my parents sort of had to force on me, but once it took hold, I was hooked. Journeys, even short ones, have a remarkable ability to change your perceptions, even of those things most familiar and dear. I had a startling reminder of this while traveling with my family in the US for two weeks. Though we took the baby to visit family when he was four months old, I consider this our first proper overseas excursion with two children, and oh my! What a marathon we ran! It was a lot of work, but I was prepared for it, and I think we weathered it pretty well. I returned home ready to process the memories, and as always I looked to Austen for guidance. What a shock to discover that this holiday suddenly allowed me to relate to Lady Middleton! My interpretation of Austen has again undergone a metamorphosis, driven by the new set of experiences and impressions brought on by travel with kids.

Take the title quote as an example. In the oh so recent past, I celebrated it for its snark, usually invoking it after saying goodbye to houseguests. Suddenly, it imparts a coziness before unknown. In Indiana, we had two nights at the house of my in-laws, a four bedroom which slept close to twenty people over the course of our stay. Now that was a party! Then in Texas, on the banks of Lake LBJ, my aunt and uncle’s four bedroom housed over ten for two nights. It was wonderful being with so many cousins and loved ones, but covering five states in fifteen days kept each reunion short and succinct. Normally, I might have lamented this brevity, but with the two kids it was just right. My daughter wasn’t around anyone long enough to become too provocative, and the toddler (he’s a good little monkey, but very curious) didn’t have long enough to figure out how to cause any true chaos. He did attempt to abscond with all my aunt’s remote controls, but I thankfully checked the bag he stashed them in before departing.

When I now read the quote, which references a visit by Isabella and John Knightley to Hartfield, I can barely trace the sarcasm I once found in it. Yes, our travels were perfect in being much too short. We left pleased with everyone and them with us. Just another day or two to linger might have soiled my happy recollections. It was incredibly hard to say goodbye, too soon and for too long, over and over again, but boy, did we feel the love! How fortunate we are to have such a wonderful and diverse family! I’m so grateful my children got to know them all better. Living so far away makes the time together so much more precious.

On every formal visit a child ought to be of the party, by way of provision for discourse. In the present case it took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy were most like his father or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of course every body differed, and every body was astonished at the opinion of the others. – Sense and Sensibility, Chapter Six

Another favorite quote that is suddenly imbued with new resonance. I’ve felt its truth for a long time, as my daughter has for eight years provided living proof, but my little guy is much more sociable and engaging than she was, content to sit sit and immerse herself in a project. Jack likes to be in the middle of everything. It is actually rather a strain on conversations, as they are hard to maintain, but he certainly keeps things from ever getting dull.

Unfortunately, a baby can’t be charming all the time, and I was honestly too tired to protest whenever someone volunteered to chase after him for me, a scenario which allows me to empathize with Lady Middleton’s hitherto intolerable laxity.

She saw with maternal complacency all the impertinent encroachments and mischievous tricks to which her cousins submitted. She saw their sashes untied, their hair pulled about their ears, their work-bags searched, and their knives and scissors stolen away, and felt no doubt of its being a reciprocal enjoyment. It suggested no other surprise than that Elinor and Marianne should sit so composedly by, without claiming a share in what was passing.

“John is in such spirits today!” said she, on his taking Miss Steeles’s pocket handkerchief, and throwing it out of window–“He is full of monkey tricks.”

And soon afterwards, on the second boy’s violently pinching one of the same lady’s fingers, she fondly observed, “How playful William is!”

“And here is my sweet little Annamaria,” she added, tenderly caressing a little girl of three years old, who had not made a noise for the last two minutes; “And she is always so gentle and quiet–Never was there such a quiet little thing!”

But unfortunately in bestowing these embraces, a pin in her ladyship’s head dress slightly scratching the child’s neck, produced from this pattern of gentleness such violent screams, as could hardly be outdone by any creature professedly noisy. – Sense and Sensibility, Chapter Twenty-One

Almost without exception, repeatedly over the course of the trip, anytime I asserted something about one fo the kids, their behavior instantly contradicted me. What can you do but laugh? It’s an inescapable part of motherhood. And let’s be honest: sometimes mom is just too tired to get up and stop the tormenting child. It doesn’t make it right, but it’s true. My apologies to anyone who was screamed at, bitten, or hit during the course of our travels. Poor Lady Middleton! What a relief it must be to her to have the Misses Steeles to stay and distract the children. I’m actually feeling a bit salty with Austen here, as she is quite hard on Lady Middleton, who really isn’t a bad sort. Wow! There’s a revolution for my mind.

The journey would have been totally intolerable if not for the help of my husband. I don’t know how my mom managed me on her own, a thought which led me to reevaluate my opinion of Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth’s relationship. Persuasion has long been my favorite Austen novel, but my feelings towards Wentworth are subject to rather massive revision about once a decade (Anne I shall ever hold in the utmost and unwavering esteem). When I first read the novel, my heart was all Wentworth’s. In more recent years, I’ve found him rather petty and immature, though his letter always wins my forgiveness in the end. I still think he’s awfully childish in his behavior towards Anne upon their first reacquaintance, but the years have taught me that some men, like my husband, will always retain a certain immaturity (really wouldn’t have him any other way, though it’s challenging at times), and that the best relationships involve give and take, and a perception of the other’s needs to make that work. This is what the captain so perfectly displays when he and Anne are thrust together one morning at Uppercross Cottage. It is a scenario that I have lived innumerable times over the past few weeks.

Another minute brought another addition. The younger boy, a remarkable stout, forward child, of two years old, having got the door opened for him by some one without, made his determined appearance among them, and went straight to the sofa to see what was going on, and put in his claim to anything good that might be giving away.

There being nothing to eat, he could only have some play; and as his aunt would not let him tease his sick brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt, in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she could not shake him off. She spoke to him, ordered, entreated, and insisted in vain. Once she did contrive to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in getting upon her back again directly.

“Walter,” said she, “get down this moment. You are extremely troublesome. I am very angry with you.”

“Walter,” cried Charles Hayter, “why do you not do as you are bid? Do not you hear your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter, come to cousin Charles.”

But not a bit did Walter stir.

In another moment, however, she found herself in the state of being released from him; some one was taking him from her, though he had bent down her head so much, that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around her neck, and he was resolutely borne away, before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it. – Persuasion, Chapter Nine

He might be angry and hurt, but Wentworth must act, must do what he can to help, when he sees that Anne requires it. My husband has a similar, easy way of stepping in just when I need him to, usually while others sit nearby and admonish the problem child from afar, a la Charles Hayter. I think it is in this moment that the captain first proves his ongoing worthiness of Anne’s affections. I hope I let my husband know how much those moments mean to me.

Tinted line drawing by C.E. Brock,
courtesy of Mollands.net.

On the other side of the coin, there were moments during our travels when my husband stood there and stared at me when I most required assistance, usually after Jack fell and hurt himself (this happened at least three times a day). In one particularly striking incident, the baby fell down a flight of steps, luckily coming to a halt on a landing instead of making the rest of his way down to the bottemmom. I was there in an instant, scooping him up, and turned to see both my mother and husband staring at me in shock. What would I not give to have had an Anne Elliot on the scene? Fortunately, he was largely unscathed, but as the near disaster swarmed around me, my mind managed to drift away to Lime Regis:

“Is there no one to help me?” were the first words which burst from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of despair, and as if all his own strength were gone.

“Go to him, go to him,” cried Anne, “for heaven’s sake go to him. I can support her myself. Leave me, and go to him. Rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts; take them, take them.” – Persuasion, Chapter Twelve

I always wanted to be more like Anne, but not to the extent of being the only deer that knows how to run from the headlights. That was quite frustrating. However, it was Captain Wentworth’s cry for help that first leapt into my mind, allowing me to relate to his predicament a great deal more than I have in recent years. “Are you all just going to stand there and stare at me?” I cried. “Someone get ice!” I guess I should just count my blessings that there is a pseudo-Anne on hand, and that we’re not both befuddled in an emergency. This goes back to the give and take. We all have our strengths to bring to the team. I bet Anne and Wentowrth made a great one.

So travel, as always, has expanded my mind, and consequently my understanding of my favorite writer. This process will continue throughout my life, and who knows where it will lead me? How has your perception of Austen changed with the years?

Are you a Fanny or an Emma? Redeeming Austen's belittled heroines through partial and prejudiced personality quizes.

Back in 2016, while moderating an Emma read-along, I put together a highly biased quiz I called "Are you an Emma?" I was inspired by a desire to emphasize the character's good qualities, so often overlooked. Anyway, I stumbled upon it fairly randomly over the weekend and shared it in a Jane Austen chat group. Here it is:

Are You an Emma Quiz?

1. Do you live in a small town?

2. Do you take an active interest in your neighbors?

3. Have you ever volunteered at a soup kitchen?

4. Are you independently wealthy?

5. Has your mother passed away?

6. Are you more likely to have a few intimate friends rather than a wide acquaintance?

7. Would you feel slighted if you weren’t invited to a party thrown by a person you didn’t like?

8. Has a person you considered just a friend ever mistaken that friendship for a romance?

9. Are you artistic?

10. Have you ever given a friend a makeover?

11. Do you enjoy planning parties?

12. Are you more likely to trust your own opinion over that of others?

13. Have you ever stuck your foot in your mouth?

14. Are you imaginative?

15. Have you spent most of your life in the same place?

16. Have you ever been a caretaker?

17. Have you ever set a friend up on a date?

18. Are you able to admit it when you’re wrong?

19. Are you good at solving riddles?

20. Have you ever fallen in love with a friend?

21. Do you have hazel eyes?

22. Do you feel secure in your place in the world?

23. Have you ever been the butt of a practical joke?

24. Do you ever feel as if you are the parent and your parent is the child?

25. Have you ever had a crush on the boy/girl next door?

Uber Emma (17 – 25 yeses)

Nice to meet you, Miss Woodhouse! You’re the complete package. Your natural talents and help you thrive in this world, but that doesn’t mean you don’t blunder from time to time. When you do, kudos for learning from your mistakes and trying to make things right, but if you can keep that ego in check you’ll be less likely to find yourself in embarrassing situations. You have a sincere desire to make the world a better place, but sometimes you give up too easily. Others might resent your seeming perfection at times, but you do your best to deserve your blessings. Don’t let the haters hold you back.

Pseudo Emma (8 – 16 yeses)

You and Miss Woodhouse have a great deal in common, as you are both talented and clever, but your experiences have provided you with a broader perspective than can be attained within the confines of Highbury. Yours is a truly generous nature and your intimates can depend upon you to provide support in times of trouble, but you are reluctant to intervene in their lives. When the occasion calls for it you are an excellent manager. You have a long list of projects you’d like to complete … someday.

Not at all an Emma (0 – 7 yeses)

You and Miss Woodhouse might both human, but the similarities end there. You would never dream of meddling in the lives of those around you. You prefer to live in harmony with the world, and when troubles come you are flexible enough to roll with the punches. Aware of the power of words, you try to measure yours carefully before speaking, but this does not mean you shirk away from confrontation when it’s appropriate. Be confident in your instincts. You have much to teach the world if you will make your voice heard.

This exercise was a bit self-serving, as I myself am an Uber Emma, with 18 yeses, but I received excellent feedback, and one commenter suggested making a similar quiz for Mr. Darcy. Maybe I will do that, someday, but as his good qualities are already widely celebrated, my head flew instead to Miss Fanny Price. She is another character in need of empathy. So I did it! 

Are you a Fanny quiz?

1. Do you come from a big family?

2. Were you raised by anyone other than your parents?

3. Are you interested in astronomy?

4. Do you or have you ever had an Aunt Norris in your life?

5. Do you tire easily from physical exertion?

6. Were you ever dependent on wealthier relations?

7. Have you ever had "friend" who you really didn't like at all? 

8. Have you ever had a crush on a relation?

9. Do you prefer the company of your extended company to that of your immediate?

10. Are you often overlooked, even by those you care for most?

11. Are you sentimental?

12. Are you morally judgemental (be honest)?

13. Are you good at keeping secrets?

14. Do you have a strong sense of filial duty?

15. Do you feel misunderstood?

16. Do you find it difficult to advocate for yourself?

17. Are you invariably polite?

18. Do one or both of your parents favor other children over you?

19. Have you ever undergone a test of moral character and prevailed?

20. Are you smarter than your current/most recent partner?

21. Are you reluctant to perform in public?

22. Do you prefer the country to the city?

23. Can you enjoy displays of talent by people whom you either disapprove of or dislike?

24. Are you loyalties unwavering?

17-24 Total Fanny 

You are an asset to all those so fortunate as to be held in your regard, even if it might take a thump on the head for them to realize it. Your quiet nature shies from the spotlight, but others, even those who understand your value, might sometimes try to push you into it against your will, that the whole world might see and sing your praises. Others, jealous of your fine qualities, might try to harness them for their own ends or tarnish their shine. Do not allow it. Always remember that you are the best judge, and follow your instincts. Never compromise your formidable integrity, and forgive those of us who cannot live to your exacting standards. Those worth your time will see your example and (eventually) try to follow. 

9-16 Middling Fanny 

A balanced personality allows you to navigate the world with grace. Some might refer to you as zen. You are comfortable in a variety of environments and amongst diverse groupings of people, your open-mindedness freeing you from the limitations that hinder so many others. On the downside, you might sometimes acquiesce to that which you oughtn't in order to avoid conflict. Remember that part of being at one with the universe is also listening to your internal guide. It's okay to stand strong, even in the face of great opposition, when your heart and mind tell you it is the right thing to do.

1-8 Inverse Fanny

On the surface, you are the diametric opposite of Austen's most demure heroine. A more inclusive quiz might pin you as an Elizabeth Bennet, but let's be honest: don't we all have a bit of Fanny within? We have all experienced what it is like to be a scared and uncertain child. You have the advantage of having risen above such timidity, and you face the world with confidence in your own abilities. Your social skills are enviable, and others are naturally drawn to your vivacity. You'd far rather spend an evening actively engaged than gazing passively at the stars, but that doesn't mean you never pause to admire them. You are full of joie de vive. 

I'd love to get your feedback and learn my readers' results. I will, when I have a spare moment, make this pretty and postable, like the Emma quiz (below, click on it to enlarge). I add the graphic to this post when done. Please feel free to share, if you like. 

I, myself, have 11 yeses and am a middling Fanny.

Should I make more of these? Which characters would you like to see represented?

  

    

Emma (2020)

This post contains spoilers and possibly controversial opinions. Proceed at your own risk.

I finally watched the 2020 Emma. Obviously, I’ve been wanting to watch it all year, but lacking buy in from the family (I kind of burned them out on streamed Austen musicals early in the pandemic), it took this long to follow through. My patience did save me five franks, as the cost of the film has reduced since its digital release, but I had to scramble all year to not read about it, that my impressions might remain untainted. 

For the most part, I loved it. It's funny, which I very much appreciate. It's also perfectly gorgeous. I could go on about the clothing for ages. That great coat Knightley wears at the very beginning ... wow! And those scenes where they show the characters dressing: no, they’re not canon, but they are manna for costume geeks. I could write an entire post about the clothing, but Karolina Żebrowska pretty much echoes all my thoughts, while providing a wonderful tutorial on the function of costumes in film:

I thought the cast was extremely strong, though few performances were enough to topple my previous preferences (find them here). Some were reminiscent of previous versions of the characters. Mr. Woodhouse (Bill Nighy) was portrayed with a nervous energy I found very interesting and highly akin to my favorite Mr. Woodhouse, Donald Eccles, from the 1972 version. Similarly, this Miss Bates (Miranda Hart) invoked strong memories of Sophie Thompson in 1996. The Eltons (Josh O'Conner and Tanya Reynolds) were perfectly abominable, as they should be.

Anya Taylor-Joy is a phenomenal actress and definitely makes the character of Emma Woodhouse her own. I personally prefer a more sympathetic portrayal, but that's probably because I take criticism of Miss Woodhouse rather personally, finding her as relatable as I do. I reserve the right to be partial and prejudiced on such subjects.

My prejudices were set against Johnny Flynn as Mr. Knightley, but he soon toppled them. I think his performance is probably my new favorite depiction of the character. Mia Goth also stood out as Harriet Smith (the only better I have seen is Dani Marcus in the streaming musical version, my review for which was sadly lost in the AA purge).

But even when I enjoy an adaptation, it is the things that I don’t like which tend to weigh on my mind. I suppose it is the curse of the Janeite. For example, am I the only one left wondering what happened to poor Mrs. Hughes, and when/how Mr. Knighltey stole Mrs. Reynolds away from Pemberley?

I really disliked the portrayal of John and Isabella Knightley (Oliver Chris and Chloe Pirrie) as so incredibly quarrelsome and unhappy. That is not how I read their relationship in the book, and the fact that none of their closest relatives seem at all concerned by their obvious distress is heartless, reflecting poorly on all of them. As indicated above, I think Emma is mostly portrayed pretty harshly until the very end of the film, when some quick work is done to redeem her. Prior to that, we only see only fleeting glimpses of her humanity. I don’t think this was necessary or appropriate. I need to back up a bit to explain why.

Knightley’s realization that he loves Emma the night of the ball at the Crown is amply supported by the text. I even rather enjoyed his romantic struggle being more developed, but I strongly feel Emma needs to remain oblivious to her own feelings for a while longer. If she already knows she loves him and has even that vaguest reason to suspect that Mr. Knightley returns that love, then she is in the position of once again manipulating Harriet. She is supposed to have already learned this lesson. Under such circumstances, Harriet’s anger upon discovering the "mixup" is justified, but it's out of keeping with the behavior the character. This assertive transformation feels more like Tai (Britney Murphy) from Clueless than either the cannon Harriet or the one portrayed thus far in the film. More importantly, her accusations rob Emma of the opportunity for the self-realization so detrimental to her development. Instead, our heroine is sent to pay penance to Mr. Martin (playing matchmaker still!) in order to redeem herself. Why bother with all of this? As said above, it feels unnecessary. The only explanation seems to be hatred for the character. Just because Austen predicted that most people wouldn't like Emma Woodhouse, that does not justify this endless butchering of her character. Austen herself very much liked Miss Woodhouse. I wish fans would make more of an attempt to see her virtues.

And while we're altering the storyline anyway, how about updating Austen's one blatantly racist scene? We don't often dwell in the Janeite community on how offensive her portrayal of a menacing Romani presence in the neighbourhood is, but considering the current atmosphere, oughtn't we? I believe the scene could be portrayed on film quite in keeping with cannon, without whitewashing Austen's legacy, and yet free from incessant repetitions of a discriminatory word (they use it more frequently in the film than in the novel) and the perpetuation of uncontextualized racism. I think it's important to call the filmmakers out on this point. Badly done!

Back on lighter ground, I think Johnny Flynn delivered the “I cannot make speeches” speech to perfection. That he then, instead of a reply, got a nosebleed was a bit bewildering. I burst out laughing. Yes, it was cinematically beautiful, and yes, I have now read a bevy of explanations for both the planned and spontaneous aspects of the moment, but it kind of ruined what should have been an amazingly romantic moment for me. First of all, it was jarring, but it also strikes me as strange that Mr. Knightley, the one who claims to not be able to summon the correct words, has complete agency over the entire love declaration while Emma is left wordless on the subject, her blood sufficient confirmation of her feelings. Oy. It's not exactly a liberating portrayal. When a film is written and directed by women, one hopes that the resulting product will be free from such stuff. Instead, this adaptation has in it a current of female v female vindictiveness running through it, a force which always undermines our struggle. One imagines the writer saw her school bully in the heroine. The resemblance might be striking, but I still don't think Austen would approve. It strikes me as a transgression of "the duty of woman by woman" (Emma, Ch. 27).

Like all Austen adaptations, I will watch this one many times, my feelings about it will develop and grow, and the experience will add a new layer to my reading of the novel. This is why all the adaptations are worthwhile watching, even those that make me have a tantrum (looking at you, MP ‘99). Gotta relish comparative literature! It’s always broadening. I'm aching with anticipation for not one but TWO upcoming Persuasion adaptations. Surely one will finally get it right? I won't hold my breath, but still, there is hope!

On the Character of Clergymen

Following a series of hot debates last week about clergymen in Austen, particularly the problematic behavior of both Mr. Collins and Mr. Elton, I decided to repost this piece I wrote in 2016, before the Me Too movement. I think my feelings about both characters have hardened since then (dismissing Collins as a buffoon lets him off the hook for some of his more egregious transgressions), but the piece is still quite valuable in understanding Austen's representations of the clergy within her contemporary context and familial circumstances. Enjoy!

David Bamber as Mr. Collins, 1995.

“My dear Miss Elizabeth, I have the highest opinion in the world of your excellent judgment in all matters within the scope of your understanding, but permit me to say that there must be a wide difference between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those which regulate the clergy; for give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom — provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at the same time maintained. You must therefore allow me to follow the dictates of my conscience on this occasion, which leads me to perform what I look on as a point of duty. Pardon me for neglecting to profit by your advice, which on every other subject shall be my constant guide, though in the case before us I consider myself more fitted by education and habitual study to decide on what is right than a young lady like yourself.” - Pride and Prejudice

Ah, Mr. Collins: Austen’s biggest buffoon. Her most famous clergyman does not reflect well on his profession. Based on Pride and Prejudice alone, it would be easy to conclude Austen thought rather poorly of churchmen. After all, the only other character who even considers entering the church is Mr. Wickham. Yet in her other novels she provides several examples of excellence in the calling. Nearly half her heroes are clergymen, and Henry Tilney, Edward Ferrars, and Edmund Bertram are all precisely what one would wish for in a spiritual guide: sincere, compassionate, and capable. In them Austen shows us what a good parish rector ought to be. In contrast, Mr. Collins and Mr. Elton are revealed as thoroughly undeserving of their preferment, a situation that was all too common in her time.

Dan Stevens as Edward Ferrars, 2008.

A man of genteel birth but not enough income to support himself had three options in the Regency world: he could join the military, study law, or take orders. It also happened to be a time in which the duties of the parish rector were being hotly debated. At issue was the custom of pluralism, or the holding of more than one living at a time. A living was the assignment (usually gifted) of a parish to a rector, which included a house and annual salary. There was a shortage of livings, which were typically held for life or until retirement, and the salaries attached to them were often not enough to live upon. About 1/5th of gentlemen in orders would spend their lives as poorly paid curates, while those that held livings often had more than one and still struggled to support their families.* As the daughter of a clergyman and the sister to two more, it is no wonder that Austen voiced her opinion on the subject in her novels.

From left to right: George Austen, his eldest son James,
and his 4th son Henry. All artists unknown.

Jane Austen’s father held two livings, as did her eldest brother upon inheriting them. So do Mr. Morland in Northanger Abbey and Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park. While offering no criticism of pluralism, she also clearly sympathizes with the plight of the curate, as illustrated in the struggles of Charles Hayter in Persuasion and, potentially, Edward Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility. However, it is only in Mansfield Park that she explicitly develops the subject. Here Edmund acts as defender of the clergy, while Mary Crawford makes her case against it.

At length, after a short pause, Miss Crawford began with, “So you are to be a clergyman, Mr. Bertram. This is rather a surprise to me.”

“Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me designed for some profession, and might perceive that I am neither a lawyer, nor a soldier, nor a sailor.”

“Very true; but, in short, it had not occurred to me. And you know there is generally an uncle or a grandfather to leave a fortune to the second son.”

Blake Ritson as Edmund Bertram, 2007.

“A very praiseworthy practice,” said Edmund, “but not quite universal. I am one of the exceptions, and being one, must do something for myself.”

“But why are you to be a clergyman? I thought that was always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to chuse before him.”

“Do you think the church itself never chosen, then?”

“Never is a black word. But yes, in the never of conversation, which means not very often, I do think it. For what is to be done in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and in either of the other lines distinction may be gained, but not in the church. A clergyman is nothing.”

“The nothing of conversation has its gradations, I hope, as well as the never. A clergyman cannot be high in state or fashion. He must not head mobs, or set the ton in dress. But I cannot call that situation nothing which has the charge of all that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or collectively considered, temporally and eternally, which has the guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the manners which result from their influence. No one here can call the office nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is by the neglect of his duty, by foregoing its just importance, and stepping out of his place to appear what he ought not to appear.”

“You assign greater consequence to the clergyman than one has been used to hear given, or than I can quite comprehend. One does not see much of this influence and importance in society, and how can it be acquired where they are so seldom seen themselves? How can two sermons a week, even supposing them worth hearing, supposing the preacher to have the sense to prefer Blair’s to his own, do all that you speak of? govern the conduct and fashion the manners of a large congregation for the rest of the week? One scarcely sees a clergyman out of his pulpit.” - Mansfield Park

J.J. Field as Henry Tilney, 2007.

Interestingly, the worldly Mary is only restating the very criticisms that the bishops of the English church had been leveling at their underlings for years. If a rector held a plurality of livings and did not live in a parish, he might only see its members on Sundays, and then only on those when the curate wasn’t performing the honors. How can a clergyman be a shepherd to his flock if he never sees it? Concerns for clerical non-residence led to the Residency Act of 1803, which required clergymen to obtain a license in order to hold the living of a parish in which they did not live. The act was amended in 1809 and 1810 to assist bishops in keeping track of resident and non-resident clergy and further distinguishing between those who performed Sunday services and those who did not. Acceptable explanations for holding a plurality of livings included the parsonage being unlivable, the salary of a parish being inadequate to live upon, or the ill-health of the clergyman.* Sense and Sensibility provides examples of the first two cases: the parsonage at Delaford is uninhabitable until Colonel Brandon institutes repairs upon it, and the salary, at only 200 pounds a year, is not enough to support a family. Thus the Colonel estimates how the living might be improved, and promises further patronage (like using his influence to procure Edward an additional living). It is only Mrs. Ferrars’ grudging gift of 10,000 pounds that provides Edward the means to marry Elinor Dashwood.

In Persuasion we have an example in Dr. Shirley, Rector of Uppercross, of how ill-health might permit non-residency. Hopes for the marriage of Charles Hayter and Henrietta Musgrove depend upon the former’s attainment of a living, and the young couple rest their best hopes on Dr. Shirley being so infirm that he will hire Charles as his curate and pay him unusually well. Henrietta even hopes he will be accommodating enough to retire to Lyme, leaving the parsonage available for their occupation. In the end, a better solution arises. Hayter is given the holding of a living until the young man for whom it is intended reaches an age to take orders. By that time, Dr. Shirley will presumably be conveniently dead and the living at Uppercross available.

Blake Ritson as Mr. Elton, 2009.

Two of Austen’s heroes, Edmund Bertram and Henry Tilney of Northanger Abbey, enter the clergy because their families hold livings for which they are destined. Despite this lack of a calling, both are well-suited to the profession and can be expected to prove model clergymen. Edward Ferrars’ decision to enter the church without any expectation of patronage, on the other hand, is extremely risky, perhaps even foolish. Edward is the only character in Austen who appears truly called to serve, and it is only Colonel Brandon’s generosity that saves him from being one of many hungry curates in need of a living. Other clergymen in Austen get lucky, too. We are not told through what means Emma’s Mr. Elton ascends to the living at Highbury (his lack of connection to the area suggests he was appointed by a bishop), but along with his additional “independent property” he is situated well enough to both marry and provide him with an inflated sense of his own importance. Certainly his callous behavior towards Harriet Smith proves he is ill-suited for the clerical life: his ego so in command that he wounds a parishioner to assuage it. Mr. Collins is even worse and even luckier, for at least Mr. Elton shows a degree of competence that can account for his preferment. Mr. Collins, on the other hand, receives ordination with no prospects on his horizon, yet just so happens to come almost immediately to Lady Catherine’s attention and rise to all the glories belonging to the rector of Hunsford, all without doing anything to merit such fortune. That patrons like Lady Catherine had the disposal of livings in their power and would choose to bestow them on sycophants like Mr. Collins was a serious problem. It is no coincidence that the same book gives us an example in Mr. Darcy of the conscientious patron: one who will not leave the moral guidance and care of his tenants to wastrel like Wickham. That Wickham even attempts to secure a living – merely a means to an annual income, with no concern whatsoever for the welfare of the parishioners – illustrates the dangers of the system. I think it safe to assert that Austen thought the appointment of undeserving clergymen to parishes a bigger concern than pluralism.

Mr. Collins makes an impromptu speech at the Netherfield Ball, elucidating for both the readers and all the guests of the house the duties and obligations of a rector, as he understands them:

“The rector of a parish has much to do. — In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible.” - Pride and Prejudice

Clearly, he does not belong to that category of clergymen receiving that iota of Mary Crawford’s approval for having the sense to not write their own sermons, instead utilizing those widely published by Hugh Blair. The parishioners of Hunsford have my heartfelt sympathy.

Hugh Blair by David Martin, 1775. The famous sermon writer
is portrayed wearing the same style of clerical collar sported
by Henry Austen and Mr. Elton above.

*For more on this subject please read Celia Easton’s essay “‘The Probability of Some Negligence’: Avoiding the Horror of the Absent Clergyman,” published in 2010 in Persuasions: No. 32. It largely inspired this blog post.

Lantern Theater Company's production of Emma

Friday night my husband and I were so fortunate as to attend a performance of Emma by the Lantern Theater Company, Philadelphia. It was spectacular! While determined to see it, I felt some trepidation, having been more disappointing than enthused by the production of Pride & Prejudice adapted by Jon Jury of Actor's Theater of Louisville, which I saw performed at Actors in 2008 (just a few months before I started blogging, which unfortunately means I have no record of my thoughts from the time). My concerns were needless. This Michael Bloom adaptation is pretty much everything I could hope for in an Emma play. Combined with stellar acting, beautiful direction, innovative costuming (particularly for the ladies), and smart set design, it was one of the most gratifying theatrical experiences I have ever had, and it has been one of the great privileges of my life to see some of the finest productions in the world.

My joy in this show might somewhat be attributable to the heavy influence of the 1996 Gwyneth Paltrow movie, which is my preferred Emma. I perceived the similarities right off the bat, particularly in the hair styling: the elegant ladies (Emma, Mrs. Weston, and later Jane Fairfax) coiffed in a more controlled, Victorian manner, while the curls associated with the Regency were only worn by the less refined (Harriet Smith, Miss Bates, Mrs. Elton), just as in Douglas McGrath's film. Then Miss Bates appeared (portrayed by Charlotte Northeast, who was also Mrs. Weston), and it was almost as if Sophy Thompson herself had walked onto stage, complete with monosyllabic blarings at Mrs. Bates in a questionable attempt to compensate for deafness. Here the influence was undeniable, but it could be more subtly detected in Lauren Sowa's depiction of Emma Woodhouse, which was fabulous.

Other Emma films left their mark of the production. When Harriet (Angela Smith, also Mrs. Elton) poses for her portrait, she adopts the awkward Grecian posture of Louise Dylan in the 2009 mini-series, Mr. Woodhouse (Peter DeLaurier) resembles Donald Eccles (my favorite Mr. Woodhouse!) in the 1972 mini-series, and we get glimpses into Emma's fantasy life a la 1996 Kate Beckinsale, but the Hollywood depiction reigns supreme, right down to the kiss shared by Emma and Knightley at the climax. Oh Knightley ...

The entire cast of the play was superb, but Mr. Knightley particularly shown from my perspective. Perhaps this is in part due to the fact that I've never been perfectly satisfied with any of the actors who have played Mr. Knightley in the films, but I thought Harry Smith's was the best portrayal I have seen. He was magnificent, inspiring a new appreciation in myself for his character. The criticisms Mr. Smith's Knightley leveled at Emma seemed more biting than I have usually imagined them to be, and I liked him all the more for it. Fortunate for me, the same actor will be performing at the People's Light and Theater this spring in a different adaptation of Pride & Prejudice than the one I saw. Mr. Smith will be Mr. Wickham, and you better believe I'm not going to miss it for the world.

Emma runs through November 3rd. If you are anywhere near Philadelphia, I urge you to see it.

Despairing that this gem of a play may not ever make to your neck of the woods? Why not buy a copy of the script: http://www.amazon.com/Emma-Michael-Bloom/dp/0573698996/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382382417&sr=8-1&keywords=emma+by+Michael+Bloom

"And Who Can Be In Doubt Of What Followed?": Emma

Welcome to the future of Janeicillin! Some may remember my serialized stories, extending the ending chapters of Austen's novel, but anyone might read these musing in their original forms by going to the Janeicillin page of this blog, at least for now. I am in the process of editing the tales for ebook publication this spring under the new title "And Who Can Be In Doubt Of What Followed?": The Novels of Jane Austen Expanded (Persuasion reference ... get it?). To that end, I thought I would share the revised stories as I finish them, eventually replacing the old versions with the new. 

Here's Emma. I had a lot of fun with this one. If you want to read Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, or Northanger Abbey, click on the links. Enjoy! 
 

The wedding was over, the new Mrs. Martin safely placed in the midst of those who loved her, ensconced in her home at Abbey-Mill Farm, but unlike a previous occasion, when Emma lost her dear Miss Taylor, this event was not tinged by attendant sorrow. Mr. Woodhouse could deplore a marriage of any sort, but only a person of his great delicacy could find hardship in such an unexceptional marriage as Harriet Smith’s to Robert Martin. Fortunately, all the Knghtley’s were at Hartfield to help alleviate his melancholy.

“Poor Miss Smith! How I wish she were here to enjoy this repast. Mrs. Martin cannot understand the boiling of an egg as well as Serle — nobody does! What a pity Mr. Martin ever thought of our dear Miss Smith!”

“I would say that the pity lies in the abundance of poultry at Abbey-Mill. All those eggs, and the new mistress too spoiled by Serle to eat them!” retorted Mr. John Knightley, not without good humor.

“Her time at Hartfield must render life elsewhere a trial, and Mrs. Martin does not have a proper cook in her employ.“ He turned towards Isabella, “I do not know how you can bear London, my poor child. It is a dreadful thing to have you living so far off, even with the benefits of a proper staff, though I can’t say I like your Betty.”

Here was dangerous ground, but the elder Mr. Knightley was quick to take up the defense. “I plan to add an additional room to the Farm house to honor the occasion come spring. What say you, John, to accompanying William Larkins and myself on our survey of the property tomorrow? Henry and John will enjoy the outing. The apples should be ready for picking, and I am sure Martin wouldn’t mind if they pilfered a few from his trees.”

The diversion succeeded, and the brothers spent many content minutes in contemplation of the scheme, leaving the redirection of Mr. Woodhouse’s mind in the capable hands of his youngest daughter.

“We shall make our wedding visit soon, Papa. It can easily be accomplished before one of our visits to Randells, taken in upon our return route.”

But this suggestion did not sit as well with Mr. Woodhouse as Emma had hoped, he being, at present, most determined upon seeing everything, particularly regarding the subject of matrimony, in the most negative light. “I do not know the ways of Abbey-Mill Farm. Where are the poor horses to be while we are paying our visit?”

“We shall not visit long, Papa, and while the weather remains mild James can have no objection to walking them for fifteen minutes. A bride must not be neglected, you know.”

“Oh, dear me, no. I hope I shall never be guilty of not doing my duty towards a newly married woman, especially one who has been such a good companion to you, my dear Emma, as poor Miss Smith. How she will miss your company! She so delighted in her time at Hartfield!”

“I remember you saying something very similar, Papa, upon Mrs. Weston’s marriage, and look how happy she is now, with her dear little Anna. Is it not wonderful how our father dotes on the child, Isabella?”

At the mention of the baby, which inevitably conjured thoughts of her own, Mrs. Knightley was predictably sentimental. She had much to contribute on the subject, all of which can be understood from her conclusion: “Children are the greatest blessing of marriage.”

“I shall remember that, my love,” inserted his husband from the opposite end of the table. “What role has a man to play in the felicities of the matrimonial state, except to pay the doctor’s bill?” Turning towards his brother, “Most married men have cause to complain of charges to the dressmaker or milliner, but my Isabella will insist on single-handedly funding the education of all the little Wingfields.”

“The children have not been ill, have they, Isabella my dear?” asked her father in alarm. “I did not think little Emma looked quite as rosy as on her last visit. I shall have Perry look at her in the morning.”

“That is most unnecessary, sir, though I am always happy to see dear Mr. Perry. John only jests. He would make out that I coddle the children, but indeed I only call on Mr. Wingfield when there is true cause for alarm, of which we have thankfully had none this summer. And you do me an injustice, dear, in thinking I do not value your contribution. I think there could not be a more devoted wife than I!”

“I am sure he believes nothing of the sort, Isabella,” replied Emma on her brother’s behalf, as he was once again engaged in talk of land and improvements.

“One cannot be too careful with the health of the young. It is best to take no risks. As I was telling dear Mrs. Weston just the other day, one should always send for Perry if a child appears in the slightest degree disordered, be it only for a moment. One can not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often.”

“Miss Fairfax should now be comfortably settled again with the Campbells. What fascinating tales they must have to tell of their travels in Ireland!” Silently, Emma considered what a vast improvement such conversation must be over that of Miss Bates, but she schooled herself to keep such opinions confined to her own mind.

“Dear Jane Fairfax! One could not be happier for her. Such a deserving young woman, and such an unexpectedly advantageous match! Who would have thought that our own Mr. Churchill and Miss Fairfax would suit so well? It is such a satisfyingly romantic result to all our concern for her future, is it not, Papa?” beamed Isabella.

“One must be happy that poor Jane Fairfax should not be forced to make her own way in the world. The prospect was most distressing to her aunt and grandmother, as well as to myself. Yet now she is forced back into the bad air of London, and Mr. Frank Churchill as well. They would have both done better to remain in Highbury. Everyone was so happy here.”

“For shame, Papa! We must rejoice for the establishment of Miss Fairfax at Enscombe, once the Churchill’s complete their period of mourning. Only think of what it will mean for her well-being, instead of being confined to the small rooms the Bateses inhabit here. And consider also what she will be able to do to improve the comfort of your old friends — they who deserve so much, but have been forced to subsist on so little,” reasoned Emma.

“Very true, my dear. I cannot help but be glad of what must benefit my friends. The match is a necessary evil, I suppose. How I do deplore a marriage! They are silly things, and break up one’s family circle most grievously.”

This statement garnered the attention of all the table, as it bode so poorly for the two members of it with whom we are particularly concerned. Quite against his custom, but driven by a strong sense of brotherly affection, it was John Knightley who attempted to placate his father-in-law. “My dear sir, surely you cannot believe such to always be the case. Only look at the forthcoming union of your own daughter and my brother, which will consequently expand your family circle, not contract it. Think how comfortable you all will be!” He spoke well, if not perfectly honestly, for no incentive would have induced him to take a similar step as his brother proposed by residing at Hartfield.

“We are all quite comfortable as we presently are,” insisted an agitated Mr. Woodhouse. “I perceive no reason for alteration, at least not for a great while. Someday, I admit, the arrangement will be quite suitable, and it imparts a good deal of comfort to a man of my years to know his daughters will be well cared for, but at present such an abrupt change seems most unnecessary.”

Emma, always so quick to sooth her father’s spirits, had no ready reply to this. John Knightley, feeling that there was not much he could say in response to such an irrational line of argument, returned with doubled attention to his plate. As Mr. Knightley did not wish to incense the poor man anymore by defending his claim, it was to Isabella whom this onerous task fell, and she rose to the occasion, though quite inadvertently, by reaching for the oysters.

“My dear child!” exclaimed Mr. Woodhouse. “A delicate constitution such as yours cannot tolerate such rich foods! Whatever can you be thinking? No indeed, a nice bowl of thin gruel would be much more the thing, do you not agree? I recommend that we all enjoy one this evening. Shall we all partake of a small bowl of gruel, Emma dear?”

As none of the assembled family had the heart to decline, for the first time ever they all acceded to this unpalatable request. What a shock it was to Serle to receive orders for a full five bowls of gruel one can only surmise.  

**********

Hartfield was not the only house in Highbury alive with matrimonial chatter. A wedding of any sort will naturally generate a great deal of talk, especially in a small community. At Randalls, feelings were optimistic for the young couple.

“It is a highly satisfying match. I'm sure no one could think otherwise. Not so great as Frank and Jane's, of course, but I suppose no one ever thought of Miss Smith taking a place amongst society, while our Jane was clearly born to play such a role,” mused a contented Mr. Weston.

“I do think Emma aimed higher for her friend at one point, but she certainly seems content with the match now. Mr. Knightley once predicted that their friendship would cause Harriet to grow uncomfortable with those whom birth and circumstances had placed her. The conversation seems ages ago, so much has happened since! How wrong he was, and how little he knew then where his own heart would lead him in the course of a mere year.”

“Now there is a fine match. One could not conceive a more appropriate pairing, and if Mr. Knighltey did not see it coming, he was blinder than I would ever credit. Why, Emma was made for him, and he for her, for that matter. Anyone might depend upon it.”

Mrs. Weston did not deem it necessary to remind her husband of the hopes they once harbored for a match between Emma and Frank, instead turning her attention to the baby. “Someday, my little darling, it will be your turn to stand at the alter,” cooed Mrs. Weston to the infant in her arms.

“Let's not be so hasty, Mrs. Weston. There are a good many years before any such event need be contemplated.”

“Do you not wish for Anna to be well established in life?” questioned his wife, all too familiar with the import of marriage to a female.

“Yes, yes. Of course I do, my dear, but it doesn’t hinder my joy at having a young Weston around once more! I do not think I can help being a bit sorry when the day comes that she must take on a new identity. I don’t begrudge Frank his name, nor the care the Churchill's have provided him, but it is nice to have an offspring that bears my own.”

Mrs. Weston smiled at her husband in sympathy, her heart touched by his gentleness. “Perhaps someday you will have another son to carry on the Weston name.”

Mr. Weston's eyes lit with the thought. “Indeed, my dear. Perhaps we may.”

At the parsonage, sentiments were of a rather different nature. For two individuals who professed to think little of a Miss Smith, a Mrs. Martin provoked a great deal of interest for Mr. and Mrs. Elton.

“Her dress was not out of the ordinary, as befit her situation, of course, but I do believe Martin is quite pleased with his bride. Indeed, it is a good match for a young farmer. Her father has behaved quite handsomely, I understand, and Martin has use for the capital. I suppose we must be thankful her hand is safely bestowed, and before Miss Woodhouse succeeded in foisting her off on some unsuspecting gentleman.”

“Exactly so, Mr. E. I suppose Miss Woodhouse will drop the connection now, as I cannot imagine her visiting at Abbey-Mill. Quite surprising she even stood up with the poor girl, but it would have been rather awkward to abandon her protégée now. We shall see if Mrs. Martin attends Miss Woodhouse's wedding. How could poor Knightley be so taken in?”

“The young lady's pride should now be contented. I suppose she always meant to catch Knightley if she could.”

“This will be the end of all pleasant intercourse with him, you know. A disagreeable wife's personality will have adverse effects on a susceptible husband.”

“Exactly so, my dear.”

“I am extremely concerned for him, for, though eccentric, he has a thousand good qualities. I do not think him at all in love – not in the least. Poor fellow! It is a sad business for him.”

“Weston tells me they plan on living at Hartfield, at least until the old gentleman dies. Miss Woodhouse would not be parted from her father. A strange arrangement, I thought, but Weston seems to think it a blessing.”

“A shocking plan! What can they mean, living all together in such a manner? It will never do, Mr. E, mark my words! I know a family near Maple Grove who attempted it, and they were obliged to separate before the end of the first quarter. Poor Knightley! It is worse than I thought! I wonder how she convinced him to agree to such a notion?”

“Rather him than I!”

Mrs. Elton did not find this response particularly satisfying, as all reminders of her husband's prior interest in Miss Woodhouse rankled. She turned the discussion to the demerits of the Donwell housekeeper, to which Mr. Elton had little option but to add his assent.

Let us return to those more charitably inclined, both towards the newlyweds and the newly engaged, by listening in on the entirely one-sided discourse Miss Bates maintained on the subject with her mother:

“Mrs. Cole saw Mr. Elton after the ceremony, and he told her that it all went off very well. Dear little Miss Smith! It does one good to see such a sweet creature happily settled. I am sure Miss Woodhouse must be content with the match, such care she has shown towards her! So kind, so obliging is Miss Woodhouse. As I was saying to Mrs. Cole when I saw her outside of Ford's, where she had just purchased some new trim for her blue spotted muslin – you know the gown I mean, Ma'am? Such a becoming gown, and I am certain it will be born again with the red trim she bought. I told her so much. I said, 'My dear Mrs. Cole, though the gown is perfectly lovely in its current state, I am sure it will be the height of elegance once you have transformed it!' Such a fashionable notion! Why, I do believe even our dear Jane would be enthused on the subject. I must tell her all about it when I next write. I understand Miss Smith wore white muslin — so appropriate for a bride! I am sure she looked perfectly lovely. Such a pretty girl! And after I parted from Mrs. Cole, I bumped into Mr. Weston, just as he was leaving the Crown. 'My dear Mr. Weston!' I said. 'Have you heard about the wedding? Mrs. Cole assures me it was most elegant.' And Mr. Weston, having just been at Hartfield, was able to confirm it was. Such a kind man! As you may expect, Ma'am, we soon fell into conversation about Jane and Mr. Churchill – he had not yet heard about their recent evening at the theater, for dear Mr. Churchill cannot be expected to be the correspondent Jane is – and though I urged him to come inside and read Jane's letter for himself, he was so anxious to return to Randalls and little Anna that he deferred, promising to call on us tomorrow. Is that not something to look forward to? Perhaps he will have more news of Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley's plans, as today he was still unable to confirm if they had set a date or not. What a happy notion for dear Mr. Woodhouse! I am sure he must be thrilled by the match. Can you imagine anything more perfect? Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley! Why, it is almost as exciting as Jane's engagement! I will write to her directly and share all our news. She will be most interested to learn that they have still not decided on a date.”

Emma could wish for some of Miss Bates’ optimism regarding her prospects, which were beginning to appear grim. Neither of the Mr. Knightleys had the heart to broach the subject again with Mr. Woodhouse, as one could not wish to be subjected to another round of gruel, leaving Emma to carry forth her cause virtually unaided. As she was undoubtedly the most skilled handler of her father, this state of affairs had not at first overly troubled her. Though her once perfect confidence in her ability to manage the hearts of others had been sadly shaken, she still retained faith in her capacity to see to her own, or at least so she told herself. She and George (a name that still sat awkwardly on her tongue) had determined their marriage ought to be concluded while John and Isabella were still at Hartfield, as their presence would allow the newlyweds a fortnight's absence to tour the seaside in way of a honeymoon, but as the days slipped by, September making way for October, and Mr. Woodhouse continued unhappy, Emma’s courage began to fail. She could not bear to see him suffering – to know him fancying himself neglected – and though her understanding almost acquiesced to the assurances of both the Mr. Knightleys that when once the event was over, his distress would soon be over too, she hesitated. As she could not proceed to urge him when it caused him so much pain, the once resourceful young woman was left with little recourse but to hope that some unforeseen event would intercede on her behalf.

**********

Fate, so unaccountable and never to be relied upon, will on occasion prove surprisingly accommodating. I fear that the fervency of Emma's hopes had little to do with their fulfillment, and action is always more dependable than desire in the achievement of one's goals, but as, in this particular case, action, persuasion, and even mild coercion had all proved equally ineffective in moving Mr. Woodhouse, it is highly felicitous that Fate chose to intervene on our heroine's behalf.

The mechanism though which the marriage of Miss Woodhouse to Mr. Knightley was enabled to proceed was as auspicious as a man wearing one sandal. News of the couple's good fortune (though they little recognized it at the time) was first relayed to Emma by the new Mrs. Martin, in the course of her wedding visit to Abbey-Mill Farm. With great joy did she show Emma her new domain, not forgetting the smaller parlor, the summer-house, and most particularly, the Welch cow that was now truly Harriet's own. Mr. Woodhouse and Isabella were not asked to brave the pasturage, instead enjoying the comforts of the large parlor with the dowager. While the apple tart offered to Mr. Woodhouse in way of refreshment caused him no little concern for the fate of the bride's digestive tract in her new surroundings, even Mr. Woodhouse had to admit, upon their departure, that “poor Miss Smith” seemed happily settled. The only true care that marred Harriet's marriage, thus far, was what appeared to be an attempt to break in to the Martin's poultry-yard. William Larkins, always attentive, had heard a disturbance and investigated before any damage occurred, and it was largely believed by the residents of Donwell that the incident was either the work of a fox, or that of a young rascal. As no harm had been done, the occurrence was not deemed of significance, and Emma was careful not to allow it to come to Mr. Woodhouse's ears. She did, however, discuss it at length with Mr. Knightley, who had taken the measure of increasing surveillance on both his property and at Hartfield, just in case more mischief arose.

Fortunately, it did. Rain on the next morning prevented Mr. Woodhouse from risking his horses on a trip to Randalls, but as the skies cleared in the afternoon, Hartfield was honored with a most loquacious visitor.

“My dear sir, how are you this morning? Quite dreadful weather, is it not? And Miss Woodhouse, Mr. and Mrs. Knightley, how does this day find you? The children are well, I am sure! Young Henry and John quite made mother's day when you were so obliging as to bring them by. She does so love children. Have you heard the news? Shocking, that such things could occur in Highbury! Never was I more taken aback. When Mrs. Cole told me I was stunned, thoroughly stunned! What can one say upon hearing such news? And I hear that the Perrys, the Coxs, and the Westons all suffered similar intrusions. What can one do, Miss Woodhouse? Such goings on are unheard of, except on that one occasion, of so many years ago, when Mr. Johnson – you remember our old curate, do you not, Mr. Woodhouse? – when Mr. Johnson mislaid the tithes, and we were all convinced they had been stolen, but then they were found again, and in the most unusual location, though I cannot recall where. I must ask my mother, as she will surely remember.”

Though no real sense of what the shocking news Miss Bates was trying to convey was thus attainable, the content of her speech was sufficient to cause a most alarmed look upon Mr. Woodhouse's face. Emma hesitated to seek clarity, remembering her determination to be patient with Miss Bates, but she had just reached the point of intervening, lest her father suffer apoplexy, when her brother-in-law performed that office on the lady’s behalf.

“Am I to understand, Miss Bates, that some sort of burglary has taken place?”

“Burglary, Mr. Knightley? I'm not sure that is the word I would have chosen, as it does convey as sense of housebreaking, does it not? I do not want to cause any undo alarm, and no person has been molested in last night's occurrences. A chicken cannot be thought a person, but it is most certainly true that several poultry-yards have been pilfered, and that all of Mrs. Weston's turkeys are gone!”

“Oh dear me,” cried Isabella, heedless of the impact of her words upon her trembling father. “What is to be done? We hear of such happenings in London, of course, but never in the vicinity of Brunswick Square! Are we not safe in my own home, John? What about the children?”

“Calm my dear. There is a dramatic difference between a pilfered chicken coop and a housebreak. As Miss Bates just explained, a chicken cannot be thought a person, and therefore it cannot claim similar rights and privileges under the law.”

“I do not see the difference,” declared an extremely pale Mr. Woodhouse. “Oh dear! Why, this is dreadful! Poor Mrs. Weston! And Perry! Are none of us our beyond reach of such assault? Poor Mrs. Weston, and dear little Miss Weston! If Randalls is vulnerable, can any house be sound?”

“My dear sir,” assured his son-in-law, setting aside his amusement in the wake of Mr. Woodhouse’s distress, “be not alarmed. Surely George has already been informed of the situation, and if he does not apprehend the culprits he will certainly insure that no such further events can occur within his jurisdiction. If the perpetrators are local, they will most certainly be caught, and if they are not, they are undoubtedly hurrying themselves as far from this neighborhood as they can get, in order to avoid arrest. They will not return.”

Both Isabella and Mr. Woodhouse seemed somewhat assuaged by his words, but Emma was still hurrying to have the fire built up, and securing an additional blanket for her father, knowing very well that his physical comfort would contribute directly to his mental well-being. While a housemaid saw to her mistress' immediate orders, Emma was on the verge of taking it upon herself to procure refreshments, of precisely the nature to most alleviate her father's tremors, when Miss Bates uttered these highly felicitous words: “How comforting to you, Mr. Woodhouse, must be the knowledge of our good Mr. Knightleys' protection. With either in the house, you surely have nothing to fear.”

Never had a pronouncement of Miss Bates' resonated so well with Emma. Against all her previous endeavors, so calculated to restore her father's calm, she now spoke to heighten his alarm. “Indeed, Papa, we must be grateful that John and Isabella are with us at such a time, but what, sir, are we to do when they must return to London? I believe you may only remain with us until November, is that not correct?”

John, always quick to comprehend, and in no doubt that Emma was fully aware of their intended departure time, rallied to her cause. “Yes, I must get back to my offices, but surely my brother is capable of seeing to Hartfield's safety from Donwell. Why, it is not more than a mile away.”

“A mile away, sir!” cried the distraught Mr. Woodhouse. “At a distance of a mile, in no telling what sort of weather, how might your brother be of service?”

“But surely Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley do not intend to wait so very long before marrying?” Miss Bates asked. “I was of the opinion, that is I understood, that there were no great reasons for delay. When young people of good fortune are in love, there is no need to wait.”

Emma could have embraced Miss Bates. Never before had she so appreciated that lady's lack of perception, nor found it so to the point! Mr. Woodhouse, although taken aback by his old friend's words, was quick to adopt the idea. “Yes, Emma dear, you must speak to Mr. Knightley at once. I know you feel no haste to marry, for how could anyone so comfortably situated as you wish to alter their state, my dear, but there must be no delay.”

“Mr. Knightley, as you recall, sir, will be dining with us this evening. I will certainly take the opportunity to discuss the situation with him. I foresee no reason why he should not be happy to comply with your wishes. He is always so concerned for your comfort, Papa.”

“Indeed, my brother is most self-sacrificing. And if you can manage your arrangements promptly, Emma, perhaps you and he might even be able to take that journey to the seaside you discussed, and all before Isabella and I need to depart.”

“The seaside! I do not know why Emma would wish to journey so far from Hartfield, but if anyone can manage an affair with speed, it is certainly my Emma,” Mr. Woodhouse defended his daughter from the perceived slight, torn between his conviction of her perfections and a rooted dislike of travel, but it was enough to secure her happiness. The wedding would take place as planned, and the event would, remarkably, bring her father relief rather than distress. Never had lost poultry so pleased.

**********

It took all of Emma's notable contrivance to greet her fiancé alone that evening, but being determined to share with him the good news herself, it was well worth the exertion. Her father was easily left in his usual chair in the parlor, happily ensconced near a comfortable fire. John and Isabella needed only to be asked and happily joined Mr. Woodhouse there. But as for the many nieces and nephews, whose presence at Hartfield Emma had never before begrudged, it took no little amount of stratagem to ensure they were safely employed in the nursery and not underfoot. For the little ones the feat was not so monumental, a simple game of spillikins, to which she had abandoned them, serving to suffice, but Henry and John proved far more difficult to manage. Emma was ashamed to admit that she had at last resorted to bribery, but no other means in her arsenal proved effective, the boys rather desiring to tell Uncle George of the man they had dubbed the “fowl thief” themselves. She would pay the price on the morrow, no doubt spending what Mr. Woodhouse would deem an unconscionable amount of time gallivanting around the park on whatever adventure the boys devised. Yet as that was tomorrow's concern, she relished her ability to usher Mr. Knightley into one of the smaller sitting rooms as soon as he arrived for dinner, in order to indulge in a few precious moments alone.

“Emma, my dear, what is all this? Not that I am sorry to find you alone, but you look as if you might burst with news. What is it?”

“You have of course heard of the events of last night, have you not Mr. Knightley?”

“I presume you refer to the mysterious disappearance of poultry from the neighborhood?”

“Precisely. You have no notion how advantageous this event has been in our favor.”

In fact, Mr. Knightley had a very good notion. He had met Miss Bates in Highbury following her visit to Hartfield, and that good lady made short work of Emma’s contrivances, as she quickly spread the word throughout the neighborhood. Most of the residents duly rejoiced, except for Mrs. Elton, who continued to lament Mr. Knightley's fate. Mrs. Weston was quite tempted to disregard both weather and missing turkeys to rush to Hartfield and express her joy, but Mr. Knightley's timely arrival at Randalls prevented this occurrence, as, accurately convinced Emma would be quite anxious to impart their good fortune herself, he convinced the good lady that revealing how widespread the knowledge was would ruin some of the excitement for her favorite. However, as he had no intention of betraying his lack of ignorance on the subject, he replied quite convincingly, “Indeed? How could such an unfortunate act possibly bring any one good? It has already been the cause of a great deal of inconvenience to myself, as I was forced to spend the day investigating the matter, when I had much rather have spent it with you.”

At this Emma laughed. “Oh yes, I am sure, as if William Larkins would not have had something to say about such a notion. He must already deplore our engagement as the downfall of Donwell. You neglect your duties for Hartfield, and marriage will only worsen the matter.”

“William is not my keeper, despite what you think, Emma, and what duty has gone neglected, may I ask?”

“I am sure Mr. Larkins would be quite happy to furnish a list of offenses if pressed, Mr. Knightley.”

“Well, we had best not importune him in that case, and do call me George, Emma.”

“Very well, George, I will try, but the habits of a lifetime cannot be expected to disappear overnight. But you have distracted me from my purpose. The incident at Randalls quite over set my father's piece of mind, as you can well imagine. Miss Bates broke it upon him most unceremoniously, and I was rather vexed with the creature, as I am sure you may well imagine, until she made everything right, and more so. Never before has she stood so high in my good graces. We are eternally indebted to her.”

“Are we indeed?” he responded with an amused smile. “And how has this miracle occurred?”

“When Miss Bates first arrived and rambled on for several minutes about shocking going-ons, intrusions, and long forgotten mysteries, I felt all my old impatience for her. My father was notably upset, and I was bent on putting an end to conversation posthaste until she burst out with the least silly thing I have ever heard her say, informing Papa what comfort it must be to him to have the Mr. Knightleys in residence for protection. Well, he clung to this notion so fiercely that he practically ordered me to marry at once! Not what have you to say to my fine news?”

Mr. Knightley laughed and embraced Emma, “I have merely to ask what stretch of ocean it most behooves you to visit. My dear Emma, these are superior tidings! And to think we owe it all to Miss Bates! I always knew you would come to appreciate her one day.”

“She has performed for us a most invaluable service. I had already resolved to never say another uncharitable thing about her again, but now that I am quite in her debt, I shall rather sing her praises to the entire neighborhood. I will make a point of visiting her regularly, and on the day she expects her letter from Jane Fairfax, too, that she may enjoy the felicity of both describing all of its content as well as reciting the note itself, and I will be thankful to have brought her the opportunity of doing so.”

Such altruistic feelings on his intended's part only doubled Mr. Knightley's gratitude that she remained ignorant of the rapidity with which Miss Bates had managed to spread her announcement. “But where shall we go, Emma? You who have traveled so very little must have a particular notion as to our destination.”

“Well, while Papa is now thoroughly reconciled, even desirous, of our expeditious union, he is not so enthused about the notion of my traveling. We had best not venture too far, so as to spare his nerves some anxiety, though we are all so well aware of Mr. Perry's predilection for Cromer. Besides, John and Isabella must depart by November, so we haven't much time for a long journey.”

“True. Shall I consult with Perry as to his nearest recommendation?”

“I think I had rather that we choose a location ourselves and then inform Mr. Perry of how salubrious he finds it, before sharing our plans with my father.”

“Brilliant notion. What shall it be then? Brighton? Mrs. Elton will be all envy.”

Emma made a face. “I think we can enjoy ourselves quite thoroughly without engaging Mrs. Elton's better instincts. Though Brighton should be growing quieter at this time of year, I think some place rather less showy might better fit our tastes, do you not agree?”

“You know I do. Personally, I had much rather go to Worthing. Still very fashionable and elegant, but not the crush it was a few years ago. To travel there would be easy, and as I have a friend residing in the district, we can receive very good guidance as to where to stay. Besides, as I have never been there either, we will be discovering it together, which notion rather pleases me.”

“Then Worthing it shall be. How soon can you speak to Mr. Perry? It is very likely that he shall be here in the morning, and I would not like Papa to consult him before we have our say.”

“I shall send him a note immediately, if you will be so kind as to supply me with writing materials.”

“I am at your beck and call, Mr. Kni – George, I mean to say.”

“Much better, my dear. It shall be rolling off your tongue in no time.”

Emma laughed. “Do not presume too much, Mr. Knightley, lest you see my tongue regress.”

The dinner that evening found everyone at Hartfield in high spirits except Mr. Woodhouse. The fright of morning had left him shaken, but none of his fidgets and worries could dampen the atmosphere, no matter how acute Emma’s guilty feelings regarding her happiness at his expense. The Knightleys, both present and future, did not openly gloat over the setting of a wedding date, but having the matter finally resolved, and so conveniently for all involved, left them feeling both satisfied and agreeable. Even Mr. John Knightley showed unusual patience with his father-in-law, going so far as to suggest a game of backgammon to him, an occupation he cheerfully kept up until Mr. Woodhouse had his fill, and Isabella, catching her husband's good humor, never once showed the slightest concern for the health and well-being of any member of her brood. All this goodwill eventually had its effect on Mr. Woodhouse, and he too began to forget his fears. Those of us who know the players involved cannot expect that such a happy family party could become the norm, but a stranger looking in on that evening would never have guessed that peace and harmony did not always reign amongst those gathered together.

**********

It has been said that when any two young people take it into their heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point, particularly when the couple in question is so lucky as to be possessed of two independent fortunes between them, with no familial obstacles to overcome. Once Mr. Woodhouse threw his rather urgent support behind the notion of Emma's marriage, what remained to be done other than make haste to the alter? In a very few weeks the town of Highbury was gratified by the marriage of two of its most prominent citizens: the lady whose example set the fashions, and the gentleman whose counsel and support ensured both their well-being and prosperity. Few were not gratified. Though Mrs. Elton felt some personal chagrin at this consolidation of power, her better judgment (and personal ambition) told her to confine her more adamant criticisms to the parsonage. Within the security of her own home, her irritation was profusely expressed, yet no amount of vexation would have hindered her from accepting an invitation to the ceremony, had she been so fortunate as to receive one. Instead she had to watch her friends, the Bateses, set forth to the church without her, leaving her behind to ponder the injustice of her exclusion.

The sun shown warmly upon the attendees that October morning, as if the heavens were determined to share their approbation for the blessed event. The closest friends and family of the bride and groom gathered within the church, while a great deal of the townspeople assembled outside, excitedly awaiting their first glimpse of the married couple. Mrs. Bates was happily ensconced next to her old friend, Mr. Woodhouse, while her daughter happily chatted away to all who would listen about how very pleased she was with the match, and share her enthusiasm for her dear Jane's upcoming nuptials, which the present occasion could not help but inflame. Mr. and Mrs. Martin sat behind these ladies, Harriet all aglow with contentment. Clearly her former infatuation for the groom was long forgotten. The Weston's, of course, were also in attendance, and though Mrs. Weston had left little Anna in the care of her nurse, she had her hand's full with the young Knightleys, each of whom was determined to play an instrumental role in the days festivities, except the still mute baby, who had fortunately not yet found a voice with which to demand her rights. The marriage of an aunt to an uncle was no ordinary occasion, and it took all of Mrs. Westons' notable skills to contain their enthusiasm. The Perrys, invited at Mr. Woodhouse's insistence, and a stern looking William Larkins, intent on displaying his sense of the moment's gravity, completed the party. Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley attended the bride and groom. Overall, it was a convivial gathering, as befit the occasion, and if the Rector did not officiate with as much zeal as might have been desired, no one, least of all the happy couple, took notice.

Truth be told, Mr. Elton could not be happy about his task that day. He had long since purged his heart of any lingering affection it once harbored towards Miss Woodhouse, wounded pride having served as a useful aid in converting professed ardor into resentment, yet the same pained dignity that had proven so beneficial now caused chagrin, for he could not see the man whom the lady deemed worthy of her hand without acknowledging that his own person did not quite measure up. As the possessor of a respectable living, an independent property, and no small quantity of personal charm, he had fancied himself the equal of the local heiress, but when compared to the worldly position of Mr. Knightley, owner of Donwell Abbey and all its attendant honors, even he had to admit that this was a more appropriate choice of groom for a lady of 30,000 pounds. He did not share his thoughts with his wife, who, perhaps sensing his hidden humiliation, talked at great length about the disadvantages of the marriage, but he did regale Augusta with many a detail of dress and decoration, knowing that her disdain for the proceedings would help to assuage his troubled sensibilities.

After the ceremony concluded and Emma signed the registry, using her maiden name one last time, the guests repaired to Hartfield for the wedding breakfast. In keeping with his sense of hospitality, Mr. Woodhouse had instructed Serle to provided all the delicacies the occasion required, including the essential cake, though its presence caused him no small amount of anxiety. The overall consensus of the guests was that “nothing could be more complete, everything the best of its kind, the hospitality of Hartfield always surpassing one's expectations.” Despite the host’s best efforts to urge attendees towards more wholesome fare, the cake somehow managed to be entirely consumed, thanks in no small part to Mr. John Knightley's determined efforts to keep his brood well supplied with the delicacy.

Soon the new Mr. and Mrs. Knightley took their leave, it being their intention to travel as far as Horsham that evening. The couple had enjoyed their day and appreciated the well-wishes of their friends and family, but the luxury of finally being alone, ensconced in the privacy of the new carriage with which Mr. Knightley surprised his bride, was temptingly beckoning them both. Mr. Woodhouse showed some agitation upon the leave taking, he not being accustomed to parting with his dear Emma, but the notion that the sooner she left, the sooner she would return, was found efficacious in comforting his distress.

Emma was happy for once to leave the task of alleviating his nerves to Isabella, and only allowed her mind to passingly hope that John would not prove a barrier to his wife's efforts. Waving goodbye as long as Hartfield remained in sight, the married couple finally turned to each other, an unaccustomed sense of shyness pervading the carriage as the reality of their new relationship sunk in. Mr. Knightley cleared his throat and, not knowing what else to do, spoke in such a way as to restore their normal banter. “Well Mrs. Knightley, am I not to hear of your approbation for this very proper conveyance? I did not think you would approve of us journeying on horseback.”

“Certainly no mode of transport so properly suits a Mrs. Knightley. Could that really be my name? It all seems so odd and unaccustomed.”

“Then I will just have to remind you of it often by using it with the utmost frequency, Mrs. Knightley.”

“Very good, as it gives me an excellent excuse to continue referring to you as Mr. Knightley.”

“Now that will not do at all. I shall have to rely on innkeepers and my fellow travelers to enforce your new title. You must remain Emma to me.”

“Certainly, Mr. Knightley. I fancy I am rather like my father, in that I cling to old ways.”

Though the couple temporarily left Highbury behind, their names remained the most often spoken for weeks to come. Mrs. Elton’s verdict of the wedding proved precisely what her husband predicted: “Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business! Selina would stare when she heard of it.” Such sentiments were quickly conveyed to the mistress of Maple Grove, whose approval or disapproval must have been engaged in one direction or the other, though to little effect, for the catalogue of fanfare deficiency proved no barrier to the perfect happiness of the union, which proved just what Emma and Mr. Knightley’s true friends most hoped. It should be further noted that, despite Mrs. Elton's disdain, the material used for Emma's wedding gown, proudly displayed to the neighborhood by Mrs. Ford, was declared to be the best selling fabric that notable shop had ever stocked.

The End