Bit of a Rant Regarding Mark Twain and Jane Austen

Earlier this week, Vic of Jane Austen Today quoted a Times Online review of Emma 2009 from last October by A.A. Gill, in which this gentleman (not sure that is the correct term) says some rather scathing things about our dear, beloved Jane:

Last week in this newspaper, I read that Mark Twain had said if he knew where Jane Austen was buried, he’d dig her up and beat in her skull with her own femur. My sentiments entirely. The world can be, and indeed should be, split between those for Jane and those for Twain.

Upon reading this, my first thought was, "Who is to say that fans of Mark Twain cannot be fans of Jane Austen?" I greatly enjoy Twain, though I am certainly not obsessed with his work to the degree I am with Austen's. Why must admirers of an author agree with all that said author had to say? Just because Twain, or Charlotte Bronte for that matter, didn't care for Austen, are their tastes to dictate what others enjoy? Certainly not. What would possess a writer to record such an inane proposal?

I am house/dog sitting for my parents this week, providing me with the novel and dubious luxury of not just a television, but digital cable. I woke up this morning to a TMC broadcast of The Adventures of Mark Twain (1944), a film I had never seen before but really enjoyed (once I overcame the extremely dated and offensive characterizations of African-Americans). An extremely moving portrayal of the great humorist, the movie reminded me of the great joy his work imparts to the reader. Known for his wit, cynicism, and hyperbole, I must ask if Twain really despised Austen as much as he professed. He is known, after all, to have read her books repeatedly and, based upon his character, it seems quite believable that he derided Austen in hopes of wrangling his audience.

Let's examine some of what the man had to say about Austen, beginning with this quote Mr. Gill refers to:

I haven't any right to criticise books, and I don't do it except when I hate them. I often want to criticise Jane Austen, but her books madden me so that I can't conceal my frenzy from the reader; and therefore I have to stop every time I begin. Everytime I read 'Pride and Prejudice' I want to dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shin-bone.

- Letter to Joseph Twichell, 13 September 1898

So he wants to criticize Austen, but somehow just can't manage to? I take this as an admission of not actually hating her. Could this mad frenzy be the result of an internal conflict - did he want to hate her but just couldn't quite manage it? Some ten years ago, The Virginia Quarterly Review published a fascinating essay entitled "A Barkeeper Entering the Kingdom of Heaven": Did Mark Twain Really Hate Jane Austen? in which Emily Auerbach makes the argument that Twain was really closeted Austenite by exploring one of these unfinished criticisms of Austen. She says:

Twain obviously enjoyed taking verbal pot shots at "classic" authors. In his famous essay "Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offenses," Twain lambasted Cooper for scoring "114 offenses against literary art out of a possible 115" and committing "a crime against the language" through his stilted diction and sentimentalized characterizations. Perhaps Twain planned a similar essay to pillory the much-praised Jane Austen: an incomplete and unpublished fragment called "Jane Austen" is now housed in the Mark Twain papers at the University of California-Berkeley Library. Why might Twain have become uncomfortable with a vitriolic attack on the "impossible Jane Austin"? Could it be that he found too much common ground?

It is very hard to imagine that Twain would not agree wholeheartedly with Austen's famous statement, from a letter to her niece, Fanny Knight, "Pictures of perfection, as you know, make me sick and wicked ...", but as her letters were not published until well after his death, it is doubtful he had the benefit of wholehearted agreement on this point. Still, is it possible that someone with his wry sense of humor could not see through the morality of Austen, which he professed to despise, and perceive the satire behind it? In fact this seems to be exactly what he is hinting at in this fragment of an essay analyzed by Auerbach:

Whenever I take up "Pride and Prejudice" or "Sense and Sensibility," I feel like a barkeeper entering the Kingdom of Heaven. I mean, I feel as he would probably feel, would almost certainly feel. I am quite sure I know what his sensations would be -- and his private comments. He would be certain to curl his lip, as those ultra-good Presbyterians went filing self-complacently along. ...

- from "Jane Austen", 1909

It is the images of perfection that irritate him and, as all careful reader's of Austen know, her characters are never so perfect as they might, on the surface, appear.

This is exactly what Gill doesn't get. It pains me to print this, but let's look at what he goes on to say about Emma:

There is nobody to like. There is nobody you could even bear. The eponymous heroine is the most worthlessly loathsome in all fiction. She is manipulative, vain, selfish, arch, shallow, insensitive, capricious and a bully. Her only mitigating feature is a vaunting snobbery so absurd and overweening, so hopelessly eugenic, that it could only be a medical condition. It’s not even that she can claim to be naive or misunderstood or well meaning. She’s a knowing, arrogant little bitch, and we’re supposed to watch and care about her until she reaches a wholly undeserved happy ending and marries that wet bloke who argues with her all the time, as if you hadn’t already guessed. If you hadn’t already guessed, then I’ve just given you a reason to go and do something useful instead. Nobody in this confection of simpering is likeable or forgivable, because none of them has the guts to hack Emma’s leg off and beat her brains out with the bloody stump.

Like the most seasoned Washington politicians, Mr. Gill takes a quote out of context, spins it in an outrageous direction, and produces something completely inconsistent with the original intent. I have to imagine that his description of Emma would have left Mr. Twain aching to read the book.

Twain also said:

Jane Austen? Why I go so far as to say that any library is a good library that does not contain a volume by Jane Austen. Even if it contains no other book.

- quoted in Remembered Yesterdays, Robert Underwood Johnson

And:

Jane Austen's books, too, are absent from this library. Just that one omission alone would make a fairly good library out of a library that hadn't a book in it.

- Following the Equator

Yet he obviously read and reread at least Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility, making it hard to believe these novels were not a part of his personal library. It seems there is far more common ground between the two authors than haters of Austen would like to admit. Like Elizabeth Bennet, it Twain was apt to "find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact [were] not [his] own."





















Twain also said:

Reflections on Emma: "Poor Little Miss Smith"

I have always found it fascinating that Austen doesn't provide anything but the vaguest physical descriptions of her heroines, allowing us the freedom to engage in this fascinating debate over whether Emma should be depicted as a blonde or a brunette. Actually, we know a lot more about Emma's appearance than any of the other heroines, thanks to Mrs. Weston's description:

"Such an eye!—the true hazle eye—and so brilliant! regular features, open countenance, with a complexion! oh! what a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure! There is health, not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her glance. One hears sometimes of a child being 'the picture of health;' now, Emma always gives me the idea of being the complete picture of grown-up health. She is loveliness itself. Mr. Knightley, is not she?"

Still, this only gives us an idea of her appearance; other than her eye color, we are free to imagine Emma as we will. This is why it is so striking that Harriet Smith's appearance is described in rather precise detail:

She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump, and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness, and, before the end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased with her manners as her person, and quite determined to continue the acquaintance.

Of course, as Harriet has little to recommend her other than her appearance (unlike Austen's heroines who are defined by their personalities), her physicality takes on a heightened importance.

Louise Dylan cannot exactly be described as plump, but other than her figure she fits the description fairly well. Unfortunately, her portrayal of Harriet is that of an even bigger dimwit than she appears in the text. The scene in which she first dines at Hartfield is, frankly, embarrassing. The following exchange takes place when Mr. Elton enters the dinning room after all the other guest are already seated:

Mr. Elton: "Excuse me Miss Woodhouse. I have been delayed in the village on the errand of one whose business I hold in only just higher regard than yours."

Harriet: "On whose business?"

Mrs. Goddard (sotto voce): "The Almighty's."

Harriet: "God's? Oh, of course. God's business. Just a little more regard than Miss Woodhouse. Yes I see. How very civil.

And then Emma has to demonstrative for Harriet how to correctly use her spoon. Certainly table manners would have been included in Mrs. Goddard's curriculum, safely taught without any danger of turning her pupils into "prodigies". This would also have included instruction on not speaking out of turn, especially without an introduction, across the dinner table, as Harriet is here depicted doing. Also recall that Emma was "as much pleased with her manners as her person." Once again, the amount of license the directors took with the text stands as my biggest impediment to fully enjoying this adaptation.

Harriet Smith is one of the most victimized characters in all of Austen: Emma toys with her emotions like she is a doll, the Eltons go out of their way to snub her, and she is even besieged by Gypsys. In the new film, she is forced into even greater suffering by the extreme ridiculousness of the pose she is forced to hold while Emma takes her likeness (Ms. Dylan should be given credit for the incredible dexterity she displays when secreting away Mr. Elton's abandoned pencil while holding that impossible vase above her head). My point is that there is absolutely nothing threatening about Harriet Smith - she is all innocent complaisance - which is what makes Emma's insecurities so dramatic when she begins to perceive her as a menace. That the haughty Miss Woodhouse, safely ensconced at the pinnacle of Highbury society, should consider Miss Smith, grasping at the rungs of gentility, a rival perfectly demonstrates how effectively humbled Emma has become by the end of the book. Earlier she unthinkingly swats Mr. Knightly with the words: "Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you." When forced to consider the realities of such an arrangement, it becomes clear just how hasty Emma had spoken:

Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--It was a union to distance every wonder of the kind.--The attachment of Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax became commonplace, threadbare, stale in the comparison, exciting no surprize, presenting no disparity, affording nothing to be said or thought.--Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith!--Such an elevation on her side! Such a debasement on his! It was horrible to Emma to think how it must sink him in the general opinion, to foresee the smiles, the sneers, the merriment it would prompt at his expense; the mortification and disdain of his brother, the thousand inconveniences to himself.--Could it be?--No; it was impossible. And yet it was far, very far, from impossible.

Wrapping up these meandering thoughts, my mind turns to the cinematic depiction of Harriet that most emphasizes her heightened sense of her own worth, that makes the most of the lines:

How Harriet could ever have had the presumption to raise her thoughts to Mr. Knightley!--How she could dare to fancy herself the chosen of such a man till actually assured of it!--But Harriet was less humble, had fewer scruples than formerly.--Her inferiority, whether of mind or situation, seemed little felt.

This distinction belongs to the recently deceased Brittany Murphy, who played Tai in the modern adaptation of Emma from 1995, Clueless. Regardless of your feelings for this film (some people think it's the best Emma ever while others consider it a travesty), Brittany Murphy was a talented actress who met a tragic death, the result of her own capitulation to the outrageous physical expectations our society has for women. Like Harriet, she would have been happiest being who she was born to be - the "short, plump" brunette with "a great look of sweetness" that I first became entranced with in films like The Devil's Arithmetic and Drop Dead Gorgeous. She was only a year older than I am, on the cusp of what is proving to be the most exciting phase of life. She will be sorely missed.

Mercy's Embrace: So Lively A Chase by Laura Hile

Oh when will The Lady Must Decide be available?!? I never dreamed I would be so desperate to learn Elizabeth Elliot's fate, but as Book Two of the Mercy's Embrace series by Laura Hile ended on a total cliffhanger, it's highly likely that this question will dominate my mind until I finally have the satisfaction of holding the book in my anxious little hands.

As mentioned in my review of Book One, So Rough A Course, I was concerned that Book Two, So Lively A Chase, wouldn't live up to my expectations. While I wasn't quite as entranced with this book as I was with the first, I think that can mostly be attributed to my very high expectations. I certainly was not disappointed. My only complaint is that as I read both of these books in less than an afternoon, it seems rather unfair to have split the story into three volumes (especially as they only number about 200 pages each and sport the outrageous price tag $14.50 a pop). While such a scheme undoubtedly will generate more money for Ms. Hile, it has left me in the rather uncomfortable position of forking out nearly $45 (plus shipping) for a single days worth of reading material. Oh well. As she has me hooked, I have little choice but to submit to this outrageous cost.

In this book Elizabeth Elliot is no longer the frivolous, carefree creature Austen created but a lady facing the most difficult trials of her life - her independence infringed upon, her debts overwhelming, and her self-identity under severe strain. While she suffers and Admiral McGillvary, the hero of our tale, works to assist her while maintaining a false identity (contrived in Book One), Sir Walter and Lady Russell, in an attempt to extricate the gentleman from his increasingly impecunious situation, embark on an outrageous adventure. Mr. Elliot continues to connive, Charles and Mary Musgrove approach a dangerous dilemma in their relationship, and poor Anne and Wentworth seem destined to be caught in the middle of all this Elliot family drama.

The funniest moment in this volume is supplied by Sir Walter. When I first read this passage I was rather disturbed by the implications, but upon reading the footnote (transcribed below) I laughed as hard as I have at any book in quite sometime, possibly years:

Sir Walter continued to talk. "The face is the first to show the effects of age-it grows lank and wrinkled. The neck succumbs next and then the breast and arms. You might not realize this, but I have read extensively on the subject," he explained. "It is known as the Deficiency of the Fluids. It appears first in the highest parts. But the lowest part," he said more brightly, "that is to say, those below the waist, continue as plump and fresh as ever! Indeed, in those areas it is quite impossible to tell a young woman from an old one!"

Note: Sir Walter is indebted to Benjamin Franklin for his theory regarding the Deficiency of the Fluids (Advise on the Choice of a Mistress, 1745).

From everything I have heard about Benjamin Franklin, he would have known! This is about as raunchy as I ever intend to be on this blog and I apologize if I have offended anyone's sensibilities. Be assured that the topic of the above quote is not demonstrative of the content in the rest of these books, thus far. However, it is hilarious, is it not?

If a kind reader out there has any information regarding the release of Book Three, I would be very grateful if you would share it. In the meantime, I'm tempted to reread the first two volumes again. Well done Ms. Hile!

Reflections on Emma: Frank Chruchill

Just a quick post. Episode one is behind us and I have spent the morning reading feedback. I am sorry to learn that Rupert Evans as Frank Churchill is not to the majority's liking. The most consistent criticism I've read regards his appearance - short, pug-nosed, not dashing enough. I must come to the man's defense.

I think Mr. Evans is absolutely adorable. As Frank Churchill he is playful and charming, in my opinion. In fact, I find him far more handsome then Johnny Lee Miller (I imagine I'll get some feedback on that comment). The problem with the role in this new adaptation isn't the actor but the screenplay. In particular, this completely contrived scene in which he first meets Emma and Harriet. In this one moment, Frank Churchill becomes a far more despicable character than he ever appears in Austen, for the implication is that he has been to Highbury in order to see Jane Fairfax without paying the long overdue visit to the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Weston.

Frank Churchill is often classified amongst the rogues in Austen, a characterization I totally disagree with. He's immature and foolish, like Emma herself, but he doesn't set out to hurt anyone and certainly doesn't have the sinister nature of Wickham, Willoughby, or Henry Crawford. He may disseminate (and even enjoy it) but he is not a scoundrel. Emma forgives him and so must we all. If Austen did not like Frank Churchill, she never would have provided him with such a felicitous ending. Like Emma, he acknowledges his faults, is pardoned, and moves on. It would behoove readers to do the same.

"I have to thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for a very kind forgiving message in one of Mrs. Weston's letters. I hope time has not made you less willing to pardon. I hope you do not retract what you then said."

"No, indeed," cried Emma, most happy to begin, "not in the least. I am particularly glad to see and shake hands with you--and to give you joy in person."

He thanked her with all his heart, and continued some time to speak with serious feeling of his gratitude and happiness.

"Is not she looking well?" said he, turning his eyes towards Jane. "Better than she ever used to do?--You see how my father and Mrs. Weston doat upon her."

But his spirits were soon rising again, and with laughing eyes, after mentioning the expected return of the Campbells, he named the name of Dixon.--Emma blushed, and forbade its being pronounced in her hearing.

"I can never think of it," she cried, "without extreme shame."

"The shame," he answered, "is all mine, or ought to be. But is it possible that you had no suspicion?--I mean of late. Early, I know, you had none."

"I never had the smallest, I assure you."

"That appears quite wonderful. I was once very near--and I wish I had--it would have been better. But though I was always doing wrong things, they were very bad wrong things, and such as did me no service.--It would have been a much better transgression had I broken the bond of secrecy and told you every thing."

"It is not now worth a regret," said Emma.

Longbourn's Unexpected Matchmaker by Emma Hox

Longbourn's Unexpected Matchmaker is a "What If?" tale whose premise is remarkably like my own, in that Darcy and Elizabeth get off to a much more promising start, dancing together at the Meryton Assembly. Here is where the similarity ends (other than the fact that both stories, of course, end in the couple finding happiness together). Emma Hox uses two characters to help facilitate their understanding: Colonel Fitzwilliam, who accompanies Darcy and Bingley to Netherfield, and Mr. Bennet, the "unexpected matchmaker" of the tale.

The story is really one of redemption for Mr. Bennet who, in Pride and Prejudice, though a loving father, neglects his family as a means of securing his own, rather selfish, comfort. Some "What If?" stories (Chance Encounters by Linda Wells most notably) expand on his shortcomings almost to the point of villanizing the man, something I always perceived as a bit unjust. There is nothing in the original text to suggest that Mr. Bennet is malicious, just indolent. Ms. Hox makes clear her intentions for the novel on the back cover of the book, "Emma has for a long time been disappointed in Mr. Bennet. Longbourn's Unexpected Matchmaker gives Mr. Bennet the personality Emma always envisioned the witty father of Elizabeth Bennet should truly have."

The concept is fun and the book is a fast, entertaining read, but I must admit to being rather frustrated with this story. There is a lack of adherence to the details of the original text that I find aggravating. Some of this might be editing mistakes, of which there are a multitude, like calling Mrs. Hurst Louise instead of Louisa, but they nonetheless interfered with my enjoyment of the story. Also, while Ms. Hox goes to great lengths to redeem Mr. Bennet, through rather far fetched means, she punishes Lady Catherine in a manner I find completely unbelievable and rather outrageous. And I ask you, fellow Austenites, would Mr. Darcy ever use the expression "amen to that, brother"? He does so twice in the course of this text.

Despite my qualms, I must say I highly approve of Ms. Hox's tasteful handling of Darcy and Lizzy's relationship, by which I mean there are no invasions of their privacy: no explicit depictions of amorous encounters. I also found her characterization of Elizabeth as a tree climber rather fascinating - certainly an unorthodox pastime for a lady of the time but rather charming nonetheless. Georgiana is far more daring and adventurous than usually portrayed, which is fun, and Anne De Bourgh is given the opportunity to shine in a manner usually denied her. If you are, like me, addicted to the "What If?" concept, then this book is an appropriate addition to your JAFF library. On the other hand, if you are an Austen purist, I think this novel will likely be the source of more spleen than joy.

Reflections on Emma: Mr. Elton

Tonight's the night that the fun begins and one of the things I am most anticipating is the joy of watching the very handsome Blake Ritson (who we remember in the role of Edmund Bertram, a very different clergyman, in the 2007 ITV production of Mansfield Park) play Mr. Elton. In my opinion, his is the outstanding performance of the cast, capturing Mr. Elton in a manner no one else yet has. He's a tricky character to portray, much more difficult than his Pride and Prejudice counterpart, Mr. Collins, who only has to be a buffoon. Mr. Elton is far more complex. At his core, he and Mr. Collins are very much alike: both are clergyman, both think rather too highly of themselves, and both are overly gallant to the ladies. They share the status of rejected suitor and respond with resentment, rushing off to sooth their indignation through marriage to the next available female. But Mr. Elton must first appear perfectly amiable, only slowly revealing his absurdities until, upon marriage, he fully exposes his lack of gentility and ill-nature. Blake Ritson does this phenomenally.

When Emma first describes Mr. Elton, it is in terms that he would heartily agree with ("There is nobody in Highbury who deserves him"), and she goes on to endow him with a multitude of characteristics that later prove almost entirely imaginary:

Mr. Elton's situation was most suitable, quite the gentleman himself, and without low connexions; at the same time, not of any family that could fairly object to the doubtful birth of Harriet. He had a comfortable home for her, and Emma imagined a very sufficient income; for though the vicarage of Highbury was not large, he was known to have some independent property; and she thought very highly of him as a good-humoured, well-meaning, respectable young man, without any deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of the world.

Very soon, however, the careful reader will observe the inanity of Mr. Elton's compliments, as even Emma begins to notice his shortcomings, though she is still inclined to indulge him for Harriet's sake and is totally blinded to his real purpose:

"This man is almost too gallant to be in love," thought Emma. "I should say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different ways of being in love. He is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet exactly; it will be an 'Exactly so,' as he says himself; but he does sigh and languish, and study for compliments rather more than I could endure as a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as a second. But it is his gratitude on Harriet's account."

It is Mr. John Knightley who first exposes the man for who he really is: a flatterer of the worst kind, as imbecilic as Mr. Collins, "suggesting and arranging such little elegant compliments as may be adapted to ordinary occasions" with the aim of ingratiating himself with the "fairer" sex:

"I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. Elton. It is downright labour to him where ladies are concerned. With men he can be rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please, every feature works."

Not long after this assessment, Emma is forced to acknowledge the justice of this assessment. Following Mr. Elton's ill-fated proposal, she becomes fully cognizant of his true character, though the depths of his depravity have yet to be revealed:

Certainly she had often, especially of late, thought his manners to herself unnecessarily gallant; but it had passed as his way, as a mere error of judgment, of knowledge, of taste, as one proof among others that he had not always lived in the best society, that with all the gentleness of his address, true elegance was sometimes wanting; but, till this very day, she had never, for an instant, suspected it to mean any thing but grateful respect to her as Harriet's friend.

To Mr. John Knightley was she indebted for her first idea on the subject, for the first start of its possibility. There was no denying that those brothers had penetration. She remembered what Mr. Knightley had once said to her about Mr. Elton, the caution he had given, the conviction he had professed that Mr. Elton would never marry indiscreetly; and blushed to think how much truer a knowledge of his character had been there shewn than any she had reached herself. It was dreadfully mortifying; but Mr. Elton was proving himself, in many respects, the very reverse of what she had meant and believed him; proud, assuming, conceited; very full of his own claims, and little concerned about the feelings of others.

But it is not until he marries his lovely wife (and she really is lovely in this version, to look at I mean, portrayed by Christina Cole, the sexual ambiguous Miss Bingley of Lost in Austen) that Mr. Elton fully exposes his ungentlemanly qualities, establishing the couple as one of the most hateful in all of Austen. The great authoress revels in exposing character through action and it is Mr. Elton's intentional snub of Harriet - indeed, a snub almost as studied as his former compliments - that allows the people of Highbury, as well as the reader, to truly understand him:

"Escape, however, was not his plan. He came to the part of the room where the sitters-by were collected, spoke to some, and walked about in front of them, as if to shew his liberty, and his resolution of maintaining it. He did not omit being sometimes directly before Miss Smith, or speaking to those who were close to her.--Emma saw it. She was not yet dancing; she was working her way up from the bottom, and had therefore leisure to look around, and by only turning her head a little she saw it all. When she was half-way up the set, the whole group were exactly behind her, and she would no longer allow her eyes to watch; but Mr. Elton was so near, that she heard every syllable of a dialogue which just then took place between him and Mrs. Weston; and she perceived that his wife, who was standing immediately above her, was not only listening also, but even encouraging him by significant glances.--The kind-hearted, gentle Mrs. Weston had left her seat to join him and say, "Do not you dance, Mr. Elton?" to which his prompt reply was, "Most readily, Mrs. Weston, if you will dance with me."

"Me!--oh! no--I would get you a better partner than myself. I am no dancer."

"If Mrs. Gilbert wishes to dance," said he, "I shall have great pleasure, I am sure--for, though beginning to feel myself rather an old married man, and that my dancing days are over, it would give me very great pleasure at any time to stand up with an old friend like Mrs. Gilbert."

"Mrs. Gilbert does not mean to dance, but there is a young lady disengaged whom I should be very glad to see dancing--Miss Smith."

"Miss Smith!--oh!--I had not observed.--You are extremely obliging--and if I were not an old married man.--But my dancing days are over, Mrs. Weston. You will excuse me. Any thing else I should be most happy to do, at your command--but my dancing days are over."

Mrs. Weston said no more; and Emma could imagine with what surprize and mortification she must be returning to her seat. This was Mr. Elton! the amiable, obliging, gentle Mr. Elton.--She looked round for a moment; he had joined Mr. Knightley at a little distance, and was arranging himself for settled conversation, while smiles of high glee passed between him and his wife."

Yes that was Mr. Elton, his colors flying high for all to see - completely devoid of good-nature and composed of nothing but the pettiness of those who delight in tormenting easy targets. This is the transformation, or perhaps it is more appropriate to say slide, that Blake Ritson so accurately portrays.

My favorite scene with him will air tonight, 9:00 on PBS. Emma and Harriet are improving themselves by painting landscapes on the grounds at Hartfield when Mr. Elton arrives. He studies Harriet's work over her shoulder before declaring, with great solemnity and an out stretched finger, "That is a very good tree." Just thinking of the absurdity of the moment (increased by the very deficient nature of said tree) leaves me chuckling. Enjoy it everyone!

"The finest child in the world"

So I planned to write another post about Emma today - either about the role of blunders in the story, Mr. Elton, or Harriet Smith - but instead I have some news that I am most anxious to share with all my Janeite friends. I am pregnant with my first child, due in September. Since I found out I have absolutely no concentration for anything other than babies (even Austen is on the back burner) so you'll have to forgive my flightiness until I finally settle back down into a semi-normal routine. Between the book, the house, and now a baby, my cup is truly running over. What can I do but ransack Austen in search of baby references?

My thoughts turn immediately to Mr. and Mrs. Palmer of Sense and Sensibility and that gentleman's unreasonable attitude to his first-born offspring:

"Mr. Palmer maintained the common, but unfatherly opinion among his sex, of all infants being alike; and though she could plainly perceive, at different times, the most striking resemblance between this baby and every one of his relations on both sides, there was no convincing his father of it; no persuading him to believe that it was not exactly like every other baby of the same age; nor could he even be brought to acknowledge the simple proposition of its being the finest child in the world."

I have great hopes that my husband, who is actually more excited than I am, will be far more natural in his praise of our child as the most perfect amongst its kind. He has had some rather troubling opinions of infants in the past, likening them to little, pink ... best not quote him. As I dare not pollute this forum with such an ugly word, let's just say it's thoroughly uncharitable. I hold to my belief, nonetheless, that once he gazes upon his own child his opinion will forever alter. Besides, I always thought Mr. Palmer said such things just to be provoking and really did delight in his baby (an impression enhanced by Hugh Laurie's portrayal of the character in 1995).

A bit back on the topic of the week, Emma provides far more gratifying images of parenthood. The Westons are equally pleased with their child, and I simple adore this depiction of the lady:

Mrs. Weston, with her baby on her knee, indulging in such reflections as these, was one of the happiest women in the world. If any thing could increase her delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have outgrown its first set of caps.

Now this is how it should be. I hope to find in motherhood a kind of joy far surpassing all I have previously experienced. In my own home, with my own child (having also long been in the field of taking care of other people's children), I intend to at least equate, if not surpass, her contentment.

Another lovely picture, certainly one more in keeping with my present circumstances, is that of Emma and Knightley as they dote on their little niece. I love this exchange:

"Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now."

"That's true," she cried—"very true. Little Emma, grow up a better woman than your aunt. Be infinitely cleverer and not half so conceited."

Yes little baby, heed Auntie Emma's words and be better than both she and your mother. This is my earnest hope for the future and I will do my best to make it so.

One last thing - I have no idea what the child will be named if it's a boy, but we long ago decided that we have a girl she will be Eliza, named in honor of two of my favorite characters, Eliza Doolittle and Elizabeth Bennet. And yes, we will call her Lizzy.