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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/78656-0.txt b/78656-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff5756f --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2827 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78656 *** + + + + +Transcriber’s note + +Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation +inconsistencies have been silently repaired. Formatting and special +characters are indicated as follows: + +_italic_ + + + + + DUOLOGUES + FROM + JANE AUSTEN’S NOVELS + + + ARRANGED BY + ROSINA FILIPPI + + + + +(_All Rights Reserved._) + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration: DUOLOGUES AND SCENES FROM THE NOVELS OF JANE AUSTEN +ARRANGED AND ADAPTED FOR DRAWING-ROOM PERFORMANCE + +BY ROSINA FILIPPI (Mrs Dowson) + +_With Illustrations by_ Miss FLETCHER] + +LONDON: Published by J. M. DENT and COMPANY at ALDINE HOUSE in Great +Eastern Street, E.C. MDCCCXCV + + + + +[Illustration] + +PREFACE. + + +IT is an ungrateful task to write a preface, for few people, if any, +ever read one. + +“The play’s the thing,” and “a good play needs no epilogue.” So should +a good book need no preface, and for one that can boast of containing +between its two covers seven picked scenes from the pen of one of +the most charming writers in the English language—Jane Austen—no +introduction whatever is needed. But to ruthlessly tear her from the +library shelf and place her in the hands of the amateur actor demands +explanation and even apology. + +Jane Austen as a novelist has won and maintained a place in the +first rank, but as a writer of true comedy she has been too long +unrecognised. She is essentially dramatic, and her characters assume +shape, form, and colour; her plots are human, her people are alive. No +individual in any of her novels degenerates into caricature, yet there +is not one but has a touch of the humorous in his or her composition. +Her duologues and scenes are complete in themselves, and in them one +appreciates the maxim of Alexandre Dumas, who declared that the _only_ +essentials for a play were “_une passion, deux personages, et un +paravent_.” + +Keeping, therefore, to this rule, these scenes should be represented +with no scenery whatever—(by scenery, I mean stage, proscenium, +footlights, and curtain)—but it is essential that the accurate +costume of the day should be worn; for though the plot and sentiments +thoroughly appeal to the modern mind, the language belongs to a past +generation, and an incongruity would arise were it spoken in modern +dress. The period represented is from 1792-1807, and a pen and ink +sketch of the type of character and style of dress, the work of Miss +Margaret Fletcher, accompanies each scene. + +In order to make the plots clear and the duologues intelligible to +those of the audience who are unacquainted with the novels themselves, +a few words in monologue form have sometimes been added to the +text—the greatest care being taken, however, to keep as much as +possible to the spirit of the original—while for dramatic effect +and finish, the time or place of action has often been changed from +a garden or street scene to that of an interior, lest the absence of +scenery should be felt by actors or audience. + +The idea of compiling this small book arose from the dearth of good +duologues and one-act plays suitable for amateur performance. The +acting rights of the best pieces being reserved, it is difficult +for the uninitiated to obtain them; moreover, it is expensive, and +so the orange-covered book is sought, and a play neither clever nor +interesting selected, simply because it is found to contain the +requisite number of characters, and has no elaborate scenery. + +How refreshing, then, must these seven scenes be to both artists +and audience—they play themselves—the language, sentiments, and +personalities are within the reach of every cultivated amateur; and I +am convinced that Jane Austen _as a play-wright_ will fascinate her +audiences as much as she has her readers _as a novelist_. + + ROSINA FILIPPI. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + +CONTENTS. + + + I. LITERARY TASTES _Page_ 1 + DUOLOGUE BETWEEN CATHERINE MORLAND AND ISABELLA THORPE (in the Pump + Room, Bath) + “_Northanger Abbey_” + + II. THE SETTLEMENT QUESTION 15 + DUOLOGUE BETWEEN MR AND MRS JOHN DASHWOOD + “_Sense and Sensibility_” + + III. THE READING OF JANE FAIRFAX’S LETTER 31 + DUOLOGUE BETWEEN MISS BATES AND EMMA + “_Emma_” + + IV. A STRAWBERRY PICNIC 51 + DUOLOGUE BETWEEN MRS ELTON AND MR KNIGHTLEY + “_Emma_” + + V. THREE LOVES 65 + DUOLOGUES BETWEEN EMMA AND HARRIET, AND EMMA AND MR KNIGHTLEY + “_Emma_” + + VI. THE PROPOSAL OF MR COLLINS 101 + DIALOGUE BETWEEN MRS BENNET, ELIZABETH BENNET, AND MR COLLINS + “_Pride and Prejudice_” + + VII. LADY CATHERINE’S VISIT 123 + DUOLOGUE BETWEEN LADY CATHERINE AND ELIZABETH BENNET + “_Pride and Prejudice_” + + [Illustration] + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + + + COSTUMES _Frontispiece_ + ISABELLA THORPE AND CATHERINE MORLAND _Page_ 3 + MR AND MRS JOHN DASHWOOD 17 + MISS BATES AND EMMA 33 + MRS ELTON AND MR KNIGHTLEY 53 + EMMA AND HARRIET 67 + ELIZABETH BENNET AND MR COLLINS 103 + LADY CATHERINE AND ELIZABETH BENNET 125 + + + + +[Illustration] + +COSTUMES. + + +LADIES. + +The prevailing materials for the morning dresses of this period were +cambrics, India muslins, clear muslins, usually white, and often +spotted and sprigged with clear colours. The bodices were usually cut +low with short sleeves, the neck being covered with an embroidered +habit shirt or chemisette, often cut with very high collars coming up +to the ears. The arms were covered with sleeves of rucked muslin or +net. The walking dresses were worn to the ankle only, but the more +graceful house dress was worn long. “Spencers,” or short bodices, +with sleeves made of silk or cloth, were often worn over the muslin +dress out of doors; these were sometimes buttoned down the centre, +sometimes double-breasted, sometimes left open. “Spanish vests,” a +sort of Spencer, with long-pointed ends in front, were often seen. +Shawls, and long scarfs with embroidered ends, were almost invariable +accompaniments of out-door dress, and were carried over the arm or worn +draped over one shoulder, or round the neck, with long ends hanging +in front like a boa. The use of muslins, furs, China silks, sarsnets, +satins, etc., indiscriminately, was characteristic of the period. +A dress of India muslin and a fur muff and boa was not considered +incongruous. Small hats and turban-shaped caps were as much worn as +large; ostrich and herons’ feathers, satins, velvets, velvet flowers, +and even jewels were used for these. Gloves were usually of York tan +or French kid, but sometimes were of _net_. Shoes were made of varying +materials—coloured kid, often velvet or silk. The colours most in +vogue were pinks, lilacs, violets, lavender, pale primrose, pale +greens—scarlets often for pelisses—and all clear colours. Browns are +described as “cinamon,” chocolate, nut, “la boue de Paris,” Egyptian +brown, etc. All muslin dresses were worn over “slips” of silk or +cambric. In making the bodices, it should be borne in mind that of the +many ways of cutting them, the least graceful is to have a straight +line round the waist. The line should curve upwards from beneath the +bosom in front and reach the highest point between the shoulder-blades +at the back, as seen in the back view of Emma. A double curve, which +rises slightly in front as well, as seen in one of the distant figures +in the frontispiece, is very becoming. + + +GENTLEMEN. + +The men’s dress of this period had all the variety of a time of +transition—cut-away and swallow-tail coats as well as riding coats and +surtouts were worn, differing mainly from the garments of to-day in the +height of the waist, and often extravagant height of the collar. The +waistcoats were high-waisted, of the gayest colours and most varied +materials, being ornamented with fantastic buttons. Pantaloons, either +buttoned just above the ankle, or tied with a riband, were in almost +universal use; these were supplemented out of doors by top-boots or +gaiters. The pantaloons were usually of cloth, though occasionally +knitted wool was worn. High stocks and frilled shirt-fronts were usual, +but would not have reached an eccentric pitch among Miss Austen’s quiet +country folks. Hats were high-crowned, with curved brims of varying +width, and were made of beaver, felt, or straw. Knee-breeches would +be worn by the old-fashioned folk, and by clergy-men. The colouring +being centred in the waistcoat, the rest of the costume, though perhaps +slightly gayer than that of the present day, would on the whole be +sober in hue. + + + + +LITERARY TASTES. + +DUOLOGUE BETWEEN CATHERINE MORLAND AND ISABELLA THORPE. + +_From “Northanger Abbey.”_ + + + + +_Costumes._ + + +_Isabella_ is wearing a pelisse of lilac-coloured sarsanet, trimmed +with white swansdown; a French cambric frock fastened down the front +with small round pearl buttons, and with a border of gold-coloured +embroidery round the skirt, which is of walking length. The bodice is +cut low, a muslin chemisette with high collar and frill being worn to +cover the neck. + +The hat of straw or white beaver is tied under the chin by a +tan-coloured ribbon, which passes over the crown; a tuft of white +ostrich feathers on the left side; tan gloves and tan shoes. + +_Catherine_ wears a large natural-coloured straw hat, with jonguille +green ribbon and white feathers. A dress of cambric muslin spotted with +pale yellow flowers, short full sleeves, and a primrose-coloured shawl; +white or tan gloves. + +[Illustration: _Isabella Thorpe and Catherine Morland._] + + + + +LITERARY TASTES. + + +_Characters._ + +_Isabella Thorpe and Catherine Morland._ + + _N.B._—“The progress of the friendship between Catherine and + Isabella was quick as its beginning had been warm; and they passed + so rapidly through every gradation of increasing tenderness, that + there was shortly no fresh proof of it to be given to their friends + or themselves. They called each other by their Christian name, were + always arm-in-arm when they walked, pinned up each other’s train for + the dance, and were not to be divided in the set; and, if a rainy + morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were still resolute + in meeting, in defiance of wet and dirt, and shut themselves up + to read novels.... The following conversation, which took place + between the two friends in the Pump-room one morning, after an + acquaintance of eight or nine days, is given as a specimen of their + very warm attachment, and of the delicacy, discretion, originality of + thought, and literary taste which marked the reasonableness of that + attachment.”—_Northanger Abbey_, Chap. V. and VI. + + +_Scene—Part of the Pump-room at Bath._ + +_Properties required:—A sofa R.C.; a small table L., with the +visitors’ book upon it. Door L. A window up R.C. Enter Isabella Thorpe. +Having to wait a few moments, she shows every sign of impatience. Enter +Catherine Morland._ + +_Isabella_ (_rising suddenly_). My dearest creature! what can have made +you so late? (_They embrace._) I have been waiting for you at least +this age. + +_Catherine_ (_surprised_). Have you, indeed? I am very sorry for it, +but really I thought I was in very good time (_pointing to her watch or +a time-piece_); it is but just one. I hope you have not been here long? + +_Isabella._ Oh! these ten ages at least. I am sure I have been here +this half-hour; but now, let us sit down and enjoy ourselves. (_They +sit on the sofa._) I have a hundred things to say to you. In the first +place, I was so afraid it would rain this morning, just as I wanted to +set off; it looked very showery, and that would have thrown me into +agonies! Do you know, I saw the prettiest hat you can imagine in a shop +window in Milsom Street just now—very like yours, only with coquelicot +ribands instead of green; I quite longed for it. But, my dearest +Catherine, what have you been doing with yourself this morning? Have +you gone on with “Udolpho”? + +_Catherine._ Yes, I have been reading it ever since I awoke, and I am +got to the black veil. + +_Isabella._ Are you, indeed? How delightful! Oh! I would not tell you +what is behind the black veil for the world! Are you not wild to know? + +_Catherine._ Oh! yes, quite, what can it be? But do not tell me—I +would not be told upon any account. I know it must be a skeleton, I am +sure it is Laurentina’s skeleton. Oh! I am delighted with the book! I +should like to spend my whole life in reading it, I assure you; if it +had not been to meet you, I would not have come away from it for all +the world. + +_Isabella_ (_embracing Catherine impulsively_). Dear creature! how much +I am obliged to you; and when you have finished “Udolpho” we will read +the Italian together; and I have made out a list of ten or twelve more +of the same kind for you. + +_Catherine._ Have you, indeed! How glad I am! What are they all? + +_Isabella_ (_rising_). I will read you their names directly; here +they are in my pocket-book—(_takes out a small pocket-book from her +reticule and reads_), “Castle of Wolfenbach,” “Clermont,” “Mysterious +Warnings,” “Necromancer of the Black Forest,” “Midnight Bell,” “Orphan +of the Rhine,” and “Horrid Mysteries”—(_shutting the book_). There! +those will last us some time. + +_Catherine._ Yes—pretty well, but are they all horrid? are you sure +that they are all horrid? + +_Isabella_ (_leaning on the sofa, R. end_). Yes, quite sure; for a +particular friend of mine—a Miss Andrews, a sweet girl, one of the +sweetest creatures in the world, has read every one of them. I wish +you knew Miss Andrews, you would be delighted with her. She is netting +herself the sweetest cloak you can conceive. I think her as beautiful +as an angel, and I am so vexed with the men for not admiring her! I +scold them all amazingly about it. + +_Catherine._ Scold them! Do you _scold_ them for not admiring her? + +_Isabella._ Yes, that I do. There is nothing I would not do for those +who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves; +it is not my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong. I +told Captain Hunt, at one of our assemblies this winter, that if he +was to tease me all night, I would not dance with him unless he would +allow Miss Andrews to be as beautiful as an angel. The men think us +incapable of real friendship, you know, and I am determined to show +them the difference. Now, if I were to hear anybody speak slightingly +of you (_embrace_) I should fire up in a moment; but that is not at all +likely, for _you_ are just the kind of girl to be a great favourite +with the men. + +_Catherine_ (_hanging her head and turning away_). Oh! dear! how can +you say so? + +_Isabella._ Oh! I know you very well, you have so much animation, +which is exactly what Miss Andrews wants; for I must confess there is +something amazingly insipid about her. (_Sitting down again._) Oh! I +must tell you, that just after we parted yesterday I saw a young man +looking at you so earnestly. + +_Catherine_ (_turning away still more_). + +_Isabella._ I am sure he is in love with you. + +_Catherine._ Oh! Isabella! + +_Isabella_ (_laughing_). It is very true, upon my honour. But I see +how it is; you are indifferent to everybody’s admiration except that +of one gentleman, who shall be nameless. (_Suddenly serious._) Nay, +I cannot blame you, your feelings are easily understood (_rising_); +where the heart is really attached, I know very well how little one +can be pleased with the attentions of anybody else (_walking to R._); +everything is so insipid, so uninteresting, that does not relate to the +beloved object; I can perfectly comprehend your feelings. + +_Catherine._ But you should not persuade me that I think so very much +about Mr Tilney, for perhaps I may never see him again. + +_Isabella._ Not see him again! (_embracing_) my dearest creature, do +not talk of it. I am sure you would be miserable if you thought so. + +_Catherine_ (_smiling_). No, indeed, I should not. I do not pretend +to say that I was not very much pleased with him; but while I have +“Udolpho” to read, I feel as if nobody could make me miserable. Oh! +the dreadful black veil! My dear Isabella, I am sure there must be +Laurentina’s skeleton behind it. + +_Isabella_ (_taking Catherine’s arm and walking up and down_). It is +so odd to me that you should never have read “Udolpho” before; but I +suppose Mrs Morland objects to novels. + +_Catherine._ No, she does not. She very often reads “Sir Charles +Grandison” herself; but new books do not fall in our way. + +_Isabella._ “Sir Charles Grandison”! that is an amazing horrid book, is +it not? I remember Miss Andrews could not get through the first volume. + +_Catherine._ It is not like “Udolpho” at all, but yet I think it is +very entertaining. + +_Isabella._ Do you, indeed? You surprise me; I thought it had not +been readable (_stopping short_). But, my dearest Catherine, have you +settled what to wear on your head to-night? I am determined, at all +events, to be dressed exactly like you. The men take notice of _that_ +sometimes, you know. + +_Catherine_ (_innocently_). But it does not signify if they do. + +_Isabella._ Signify! Oh! Heavens! I make it a rule never to mind what +they say. They are very often amazingly impertinent if you do not treat +them with spirit, and make them keep their distance. + +_Catherine._ Are they? Well, I never observed _that_. They always +behave very well to me. + +_Isabella._ Oh! They give themselves such airs. They are the most +conceited creatures in the world, and think themselves of so much +importance. By the bye, though I have thought of it a hundred times, I +have always forgot to ask you what is your favourite complexion in a +man. Do you like them best dark or fair? + +_Catherine._ I hardly know. I never much thought about it. Something +between both, I think; brown—not fair and not very dark. + +_Isabella._ Very well, Catherine. That is exactly he. I have not forgot +your description of Mr Tilney—“A brown skin, with dark eyes and rather +dark hair.” Well, my taste is different; I prefer light eyes; and as +to complexion—do you know—I like a sallow better than any other. +But you must not betray me, if you should ever meet with one of your +acquaintance answering that description. + +_Catherine_ (_impulsively_). Betray you! what do you mean? + +_Isabella._ Nay, do not distress me—I believe I have said too much +already. Pray, let us drop the subject. + +_Catherine._ My dearest Isabella, certainly, if you wish it. (_Aside +as Isabella walks towards the door._) I wonder if it _is_ Laurentina’s +skeleton. Oh! it must be Laurentina’s skeleton. + +_Isabella_ (_coming suddenly back to Catherine, but looking over her +shoulder towards the door_). For Heaven’s sake let us move away from +this end of the room. Do you know, there are two odious young men who +have been staring at me this half hour? They really put me quite out +of countenance. Let us go and look at the arrivals in the visiting +book. They will hardly follow us there. (_They walk to the book. While +Isabella examines the book, Catherine watches the proceedings off L. +door._) They are not coming this way, are they? I hope they are not so +impertinent as to follow us. Pray let me know if they are coming. I am +determined I will not look up. + +_Catherine_ (_at door, with unaffected pleasure_). You need no longer +be uneasy; the gentlemen have just left the Pump-room. + +_Isabella_ (_turning hastily round_). And which way are they gone? One +of them was a very good-looking young man. + +_Catherine_ (_going to the window_). They are going towards the +Churchyard. + +_Isabella_ (_hastily_). Well, I am amazingly glad I have got rid of +them; and now, what say you to going to Edgar’s Buildings with me and +looking at my new hat? You said you should like to see it. + +_Catherine._ With pleasure—only—perhaps we may overtake the two young +men. + +_Isabella._ Oh! never mind that. If we make haste, we shall pass by +them presently, and I am dying to show you my hat (_taking Catherine’s +hand and drawing her towards the door._) + +_Catherine_ (_holding back_). But if we only wait a few minutes there +will be no danger of our seeing them at all. + +_Isabella_ (_with great dignity, still holding Catherine’s hand_). I +shall not pay them any such compliment, I assure you. I have no notion +of treating men with such respect. _That_ is the way to spoil them. +Come—and see my new hat. (_Exeunt Catherine and Isabella, hurriedly, +by the door._) + + +_Curtain._ + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE SETTLEMENT QUESTION. + +DUOLOGUE BETWEEN MR AND MRS JOHN DASHWOOD. + +_From “Sense and Sensibility,” Vol. I., chap. II._ + + + + +Costumes. + + +_Mrs D._ Black dress with a Spanish vest trimmed with narrow black +velvet; pointed ends in front, finished with black tassels. Skirt +trimmed with black ermine velvet to match white ermine opera tippet. + +_Mr D._ In grey and black. + +[Illustration: _Mr and Mrs John Dashwood._] + + + + +THE SETTLEMENT QUESTION. + +(A CONVERSATION.) + + +_Characters._ + +_Mr and Mrs John Dashwood_. + +_Scene—The morning room at Norlands. It is a comfortably furnished +room._ + +_Properties required:—Door R. Window C. Tables R. and L. Chairs on +either side. Books and a work basket with household mending in it._ + + _N.B._—“He (Mr John Dashwood) was not an ill-disposed young + man, unless to be rather cold-hearted, and rather selfish is to + be ill-disposed; but he was, in general, well respected, for he + conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary + duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been still + more respectable than he was; he might even have been made amiable + himself, for he was very young when he married, and very fond of + his wife. But Mrs Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself; more + narrow-minded and selfish.”—_Sense and Sensibility_, Chap. I. + +_Enter Mrs John Dashwood, Door R. She is in mourning._ + +_Mrs D._ (_going to the window and arranging the curtains._) A +comfortably appointed house—a little shabby, perhaps—but with +judicious alterations here and there, I do not doubt of making it very +fit and habitable for Mr Dashwood and myself. (_Sitting to her work._) +Yet I wish my father-in-law had not died here, and thus put me to the +inconvenience of offering a home to his widow and three daughters +till they have found a suitable house of their own. I think I made +it palpably clear to them that their stay could only be considered +in the light of a visit, by arriving with dear little Harry and our +attendants as soon as the funeral was over. The house was my husband’s +from the moment of his father’s decease, and no one could dispute +my right to come. But such is the indelicacy and selfishness of our +mother-in-law, that unless my husband finds her a home elsewhere, she +and her daughters will consider they may remain here for ever. I hope +Mr Dashwood will see that they are soon settled, and then I can take up +my proper position at Norlands. + +_Enter Mr John Dashwood. He, too, is in mourning._ + +_Mr D._ My dear, if you are at leisure I should like to speak with you +about the promise I made to my late lamented father upon his death-bed +respecting the future of my step-mother and three sisters. + +_Mrs D._ The very thing I was thinking of myself. + +_Mr D._ I am happy to see we are in such accord. The case is this. My +present income, which is not inconsiderable, will now be increased by +four thousand a-year, and the prospect has determined me to behave with +generosity. I therefore propose to give them three thousand pounds. + +_Mrs D._ (_with horror_). Three thousand pounds! + +_Mr D._ Yes. It will be liberal and handsome. I can spare so +considerable a sum with little inconvenience, and it would be enough to +make them completely easy. + +_Mrs D._ But, my dear Mr Dashwood, pray consider. To take three +thousand pounds from the fortune of our dear little boy would be +impoverishing him to the most dreadful degree. I beg you to think again +on the subject. How can you answer it to yourself to rob your child, +your only child too, of so large a sum? and what possible claims can +the Miss Dashwoods, who are related to you only by half blood, which I +consider as no relationship at all, have on your generosity to so large +an amount? It is very well known that no affection is ever supposed to +exist between the children of any man by different marriages; and why +are you to ruin yourself and our poor little Harry, by giving away all +your money to your half sisters? + +_Mr D._ It was my father’s last request to me, that I should assist his +widow and daughters. + +_Mrs D._ He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say. Ten to one +but he was light-headed at the time. Had he been in his right senses, +he could not have thought of such a thing as begging you to give away +half your fortune from your own child. + +_Mr D._ He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny; he +only requested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make their +situation more comfortable than it was in his power to do. Perhaps it +would have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself. He could +hardly suppose I should neglect them. But—as he required the promise, +I could not do less than give it—at least, I thought so at the time. +The promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed. Something +must be done for them whenever they leave Norland and settle in a new +home. + +_Mrs D._ Well, then, _let_ something be done for them; but _that_ +something need not be three thousand pounds. Consider, that when the +money is once parted with, it never can return. Your sisters will +marry, and it will be gone for ever,—if, indeed, it could ever be +restored to our poor little boy. + +_Mr D._ (_gravely_). Why, to be sure, that would make a difference. The +time may come when Harry will regret that so large a sum was parted +with. If he should have a numerous family, for instance, it would be a +very convenient addition. + +_Mrs D._ To be sure it would. + +_Mr D._ Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties if the sum +were diminished one half. Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious +increase to their fortune. + +_Mrs D._ Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth would do +half so much for his sisters, even if _really_ his sisters! And as it +is—only half blood! But you have such a generous spirit! + +_Mr D._ I would not wish to do anything mean; one had rather, on such +occasions, do too much than too little. No one, at least, can think I +have not done enough for them. Even themselves, they can hardly expect +more. + +_Mrs D._ There is no knowing what _they_ may expect. But we are not to +think of their expectations; the question is, what you can afford to +do. + +_Mr D._ Certainly; and I think I can afford to give them five hundred +pounds a-piece. As it is, without any addition of mine, they will +each have above three thousand pounds on their mother’s death—a very +comfortable fortune for any young woman. + +_Mrs D._ To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that they can +want no addition at all. They will have ten thousand pounds divided +amongst them. If they marry they will be sure of doing well, and if +they do not, they will live very comfortably together on the interest +of ten thousand pounds. + +_Mr D._ That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether, upon +the whole, it would not be more advisable to do something for their +mother while she lives, rather than for them—something of the annuity +kind I mean. My sisters would feel the good effects of it as well as +herself. A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable. + +_Mrs D._ (_hesitating_). To be sure it is better than parting with +fifteen hundred pounds at once; but then, if Mrs Dashwood should live +fifteen years, we shall be completely taken in. + +_Mr D._ Fifteen years! my dear Fanny, her life cannot be worth half +that purchase. + +_Mrs D._ Certainly not, but if you observe, people always live for +ever when there is any annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout, +and healthy, and hardly forty. An annuity is a very serious business; +it comes over and over every year, and there is no getting rid of it. +You are not aware of what you are doing. I have known a great deal of +the trouble of annuities, for my mother was clogged with the payment +of three to old superannuated servants by my father’s will, and it is +amazing how disagreeable she found it. Twice every year these annuities +were to be paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them: +and then one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned +out to be no such thing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her income +was not her own she said, with such perpetual claims upon it; and it +was the more unkind in my father, because otherwise, the money would +have been entirely at my mother’s disposal without any restriction +whatever. It has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am +sure _I_ would not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the +world. + +_Mr D._ It is certainly an unpleasant thing to have those kind of +yearly drains on one’s income. One’s fortune, as your mother justly +says, is _not_ one’s own. To be tied down to the regular payment of +such a sum, on every rent day, is by no means desirable; it takes away +one’s independence. + +_Mrs D._ Undoubtedly; and, after all, you have no thanks for it, they +think themselves secure; you do no more than what is expected, and it +raises no gratitude at all. If I were you, whatever I did should be +done at my own discretion entirely. I would not bind myself to allow +them anything yearly. It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a +hundred, or even fifty, pounds from our own expenses. + +_Mr D._ I believe you are right, my love; it will be better that there +should be no annuity in the case. Whatever I may give them occasionally +will be of far greater assistance than a yearly allowance, because +they would only enlarge their style of living if they felt sure of a +larger income, and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end +of the year. It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty +pounds now and then will prevent their ever being distressed for money, +and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to my father. + +_Mrs D._ To be sure it will. Indeed, to say the truth, I am convinced +within myself that your father had no idea of your giving them any +money at all. The assistance he thought of, I dare say, was only such +as might be reasonably expected of you; for instance, such as looking +out for a comfortable small house for them, helping them to move their +things, and sending them presents of fish and game, and so forth, +whenever they are in season. I’ll lay my life that he meant nothing +further; indeed, it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did. +Do but consider, my dear Mr Dashwood, how excessively comfortable +your step-mother and her daughters may live on the interest of seven +thousand pounds, besides the thousand pounds belonging to each of the +girls, which brings them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and of course +they will pay their mother for their board out of it. Altogether they +will have five hundred a year amongst them; and what on earth can +four women want for more than that? They will live so cheap! Their +housekeeping will be nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no +horses, and hardly any servants; they will keep no company, and can +have no expenses of any kind! Only conceive how comfortable they will +be! Five hundred a year! I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend +half of it; and as for your giving them more, it is quite absurd to +think of it. They will be much more able to give _you_ something. + +_Mr D._ Upon my word, I believe you are perfectly right. My father +certainly could mean nothing more by his request to me than what +you say. I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfil my +engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness to them as you have +described. When my step-mother removes into another house my services +shall be readily given to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little +present of furniture, too, may be acceptable then. + +_Mrs D._ Certainly; but, however, _one_ thing must be considered,—that +though the furniture goes with this house, and is therefore our own, +your father left _all_ the china, linen, and plate to your step-mother. +Her house will therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon as she +takes it. + +_Mr D._ That is a material consideration, undoubtedly; a valuable +legacy, indeed! And some of the plate would have been a very pleasant +addition to our own stock here. + +_Mrs D._ Yes, and the set of breakfast china is twice as handsome as +ours; a great deal too handsome, in my opinion, for any place _they_ +can ever afford to live in. But, however, so it is. Your father thought +only of _them_, and I must say this, that you owe no particular +gratitude to him, nor attention to his wishes; for we very well know, +that if he could he would have left almost everything in the world to +them. + +_Mr D._ My love, I am convinced of the truth of what you say. It will +not only be absolutely unnecessary, but highly indecorous to do more. +(_Looking at his watch._) Eleven o’clock; the carriage should be here. +My step-mother has not been out of doors since my father’s funeral, +and I ordered the carriage to take her and my sisters for a drive. + +_Mrs D._ (_rising and putting away her work_). My dear Mr Dashwood. +No! Here I must be firm. It is quite an unnecessary luxury, which they +must sooner or later relinquish; and if they are indulged in carriage +exercise now, how can they ever be expected to conform to the new mode +of life attendant on their reduced circumstances? It is a cruelty, not +a kindness, on your part to suggest such a thing. However, rather than +that Wilkins should have troubled to harness the horses in vain, I will +take little Harry out with me. The air will do him all the good in the +world, and you can easily explain to your mother and sisters that it is +incumbent upon me to drive round the estate in order to learn a little +of its extent and capacity. You can tell them they shall go out another +day. + +_Mr D._ My dear Fanny, you are right, your judgment of such matters +can never be at fault. Perhaps I _was_ over-hospitable. + +_Mrs D._ (_emphatically_). My dear Mr Dashwood, of that there is no +doubt. + +[_Exeunt Mr and Mrs Dashwood_. + +_End of Scene._ + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE READING OF JANE FAIRFAX’S LETTER. + +DUOLOGUE BETWEEN MISS BATES AND EMMA. + +_From “Emma,” Vol. I., Chap. XIX._ + + + + +Costumes. + + +_Emma._ Long curricle coat of jonquil green china silk, lined with +fawn-coloured sarsanet: white cambric dress, the bodice with wrap +fronts, crossing on the bosom and fastening at the middle of the +back. Opera tippet (boa of white swansdown). A cap of “tiara” form of +nut-brown silk, trimmed with pointed green leaves and tied under the +chin with nut-brown ribbons; large muff of white swansdown. + +_Miss Bates._ Dress of grey or dark brown silk striped with black; +chemisette of thick white muslin; apron of black satin; broad ribbon of +myrtle green tied round the head in a bow at the top, a black ostrich +tip fastened in the ribbon with an antique pebble brooch; an eye-glass +fastened round the neck by a long black ribbon. + +[Illustration: _Miss Bates and Emma._] + + + + +THE READING OF JANE FAIRFAX’S LETTER. + + +_Characters._ + +_Miss Bates, Mrs Bates, Emma Woodhouse._ + + _N.B._—“After these came a second set, among the most come-at-able + of whom were Mrs and Miss Bates ... almost always at the service + of an invitation from Hartfield, and who were fetched and carried + home so often that Mr Woodhouse thought it no hardship for either + James or the horses. Had it taken place only once a year it would + have been a grievance. _Mrs Bates_, the widow of a former Vicar of + Highbury, was a very old lady, almost past everything but tea and + quadrille. She lived with her single daughter in a very small way, + and was considered with all the regard and respect which a harmless + old lady, under such untoward circumstances, can excite. _Her + daughter_ enjoyed a most uncommon degree of popularity for a woman + neither young, handsome, rich, nor married. Miss Bates stood in the + very worst predicament in the world for having much of the public + favour, and she had no intellectual superiority to make atonement + to herself, or frighten those who might hate her, into outward + respect. She had never boasted either beauty or cleverness. Her youth + had passed without distinction, and her middle life was devoted to + the care of a failing mother, and the endeavour to make a small + income go as far as possible, and yet she was a happy woman, and a + woman whom no one named without good-will. It was her own universal + good-will and contented temper which worked such wonders. She loved + everybody, was interested in everybody’s happiness, quick-sighted to + everybody’s merits, thought herself a most fortunate creature, and + surrounded with blessings in such an excellent mother, and so many + good neighbours and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing. The + simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and grateful + spirit, were a recommendation to everybody, and a mine of felicity + to herself. She was a great talker upon little matters, full of + trivial communications and harmless gossip.... These were the ladies + whom _Emma_ found herself very frequently able to collect; and happy + was she, for her father’s sake, in the power; though, as far as she + herself was concerned, it was no remedy for the absence of Mrs Weston + (her former governess and best friend). The quiet gossipings of such + women made her feel that every evening so spent was indeed one of the + long evenings she had fearfully anticipated.”—_Emma_, Chap. III. + +_Scene—Mrs Bates’ Parlour._ + + _Properties required:—One table L.C., with Jane Fairfax’s letter on + it under reticule; two chairs on either side of the table; another + table up R., with a cake upon it, and a knife to cut it; another + table up L.; in front of a cheerful fire, “a grandfather’s chair” + left of the table, with its back turned to the audience, in which Mrs + Bates is discovered sitting. In order to bring Mrs Bates on the stage + without being seen, a screen must be placed before the chair, and + when Mrs Bates is seated so as to be almost completely hidden from + the audience during the whole of the scene, Miss Bates must enter, + draw back the screen, and say in a loud voice to her mother._ + +_Miss Bates._ So kind of Mrs Cole to call upon us so early in the day, +and so interested in Jane’s letter. She was indeed, ma’am. How pleased +you will be to see dear Jane again. You must not think anything more +of her illness. There is nothing to be alarmed at in the least. She +says so herself in her letter; you remember, I read it to you—_Jane’s_ +letter. (_Miss Woodhouse’s voice heard outside._) + +_Emma_ (_outside_). Are Mrs and Miss Bates within this morning? + +_Miss Bates._ Bless me, here is Miss Woodhouse. (_Runs to door._) Oh! +come up, Miss Woodhouse, pray come up. (_Runs to Mrs Bates._) Ma’am, +ma’am, Miss Woodhouse is so kind as to be calling on us. (_Runs to +door._) Oh, Miss Woodhouse, mind the step—so very treacherous. (_Enter +Emma, who curtseys first at the door, then to Mrs Bates._) And have you +walked? All the way? I trust your shoes are not wet or damp. (_Runs +back to Mrs Bates after offering chair R. of L.C. table, in which Emma +sits._) Miss Woodhouse has walked, ma’am, all the way—so kind. And +how is dear Mr Woodhouse? I trust he is well; my mother so enjoyed her +evening with him when we were all away at Mrs Weston’s, a great deal +of chat and backgammon. Tea was made downstairs—biscuits and baked +apples; and wine before she came away; amazing luck in some of her +throws. Are you seated comfortably? Pray is that chair quite?—yes? +Let me offer you some sweet-cake (_runs to table R. and cuts piece of +cake_). Mrs _Cole_ has just been here; just called in for ten minutes, +and was so good as to sit an hour with us. She is but just gone, and +_she_ took a piece of cake and was so kind as to say she liked it very +much; therefore I hope, Miss Woodhouse, you will do me the favour to +eat a piece, too. (_Emma takes a piece of cake and eats._) + +_Miss Bates_ (_raising her voice and going to her mother_). Ma’am, Miss +Woodhouse has taken a piece of sweet-cake—(_to Emma_). Mrs Cole was so +kind as to sit some time with us, talking of my niece Jane; for as soon +as she came in, she began inquiring after her—Jane is so very great a +favourite there. Whenever she is with us, Mrs Cole does not know how +to show her kindness enough, and I must say that Jane deserves it as +much as anybody can. And so she began inquiring after her directly, +saying—“I know you cannot have heard from Jane lately, because it is +not her time for writing.” And when I immediately said—“But indeed we +have, we had a letter this very morning,” I do not know that I ever saw +anybody more surprised. “Have you, upon your honour?” said she, “well, +that is quite unexpected. Do let me hear what she says.” + +_Emma_ (_politely_). Have you heard from Miss Jane Fairfax so lately? I +am extremely happy: I hope she is well? + +_Miss Bates._ Thank you. You are so kind! (_hunting about for the +letter_). Dear! dear! where can the letter be? I had it but a moment +ago. + +_Emma_ (_aside_). How provoking: I thought I had timed my visit so as +to escape a letter from Jane Fairfax. + +_Miss Bates._ Ah! here it is. I was sure it could not be far off; but +I had put my huswife upon it, you see, without being aware, and so it +was quite hid, but I had it in my hand so very lately that I was almost +sure it must be on the table. I was reading it to Mrs Cole, and, since +she went away, I was reading it again to my mother, for it is such a +pleasure to her—a letter from Jane—that she can never hear it often +enough, so I knew it could not be far off; and here it is, only just +under my huswife. And since you are so kind as to wish to hear what she +says; but, first of all, I really must, in justice to Jane, apologise +for her writing so short a letter, only two pages, you see, hardly +two, and in general she fills the whole paper, and crosses half. + +_Emma_ (_aside_). For that at least I am thankful. + +_Miss Bates._ My mother often wonders that I can make it out so well. +She often says, when the letter is first opened, “Well, Hetty, now I +think you will be put to it to make out all that checker-work,” and +then I tell her, I am sure she would contrive to make it out herself, +if she had nobody to do it for her, every word of it—I am sure she +would pore over it till she had made out every word. And indeed, though +my mother’s eyes are not good as they were, she can see amazingly well +still, thank God! with the help of spectacles. It is such a blessing! +My mother’s are really very good indeed. Jane often says, when she is +here, “I am sure, grandmamma, you must have had very strong eyes to see +as you do, and so much fine work as you have done too!—I only wish my +eyes may last me as well.” + +_Emma._ Miss Fairfax writes such an excellent hand—it is in itself +like fine embroidery. + +_Miss Bates._ You are extremely kind, you who are such a judge, and +write so beautifully yourself. I am sure there is nobody’s praise that +could give us so much pleasure as Miss Woodhouse’s. My mother does +not hear; she is a little deaf, you know. I must tell her—(_speaking +loudly_)—Ma’am, do you hear what Miss Woodhouse is so obliging to say +about Jane’s handwriting? + +_Mrs Bates._ _Eh?_ + +_Miss Bates._ Miss Woodhouse says Jane’s handwriting is like fine +embroidery. + +_Mrs Bates._ _What, my dear?_ + +_Emma_ (_aside_). This is very trying. + +_Miss Bates_ (_louder_). Miss Woodhouse is so very kind as to say that +Jane’s handwriting is like fine embroidery. + +_Mrs Bates._ _Oh!_ + +_Miss Bates_ (_to Emma_). My mother’s deafness is very trifling, you +see, just nothing at all. By only raising my voice and saying anything, +two or three times over, she is sure to hear; but then she is used to +my voice. But it is remarkable that she should always hear Jane better +than she does me; Jane speaks so distinct! However, she will not find +her grandmamma at all deafer than she was two years ago, which is +saying a great deal, at my mother’s time of life, and it really is full +two years, you know, since she was here. We never were so long without +seeing her before, and as I was telling Mrs Cole, we shall hardly know +how to make enough of her now. + +_Emma._ Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here soon? + +_Miss Bates._ Oh, yes! next week! + +_Emma._ Indeed! that must be a very great pleasure. + +_Miss Bates._ Thank you. You are very kind. Yes, next week. Everybody +is so surprised; and everybody says the same obliging things. I am sure +she will be as happy to see her friends at Highbury as they can be to +see her. Yes, Friday or Saturday; she cannot say which, because Colonel +Campbell will be wanting the carriage himself one of those days. So +very good of them to send her the whole way! But they always do, you +know. Oh! yes, Friday or Saturday next. That is what she writes about. +That is the reason of her writing out of rule, as we call it; for, +in the common course, we should not have heard from her before next +Tuesday or Wednesday. + +_Emma._ Yes, so I imagined—I was afraid there could be little chance +of my hearing anything of Miss Fairfax to-day. + +_Miss Bates._ So obliging of you! No, we should not have heard, if +it had not been for this particular circumstance, of her being to +come here so soon. My mother is so delighted! for she is to be three +months with us at least. Three months, she says so, positively, as +I am going to have the pleasure of reading to you. The case is, you +see, the Campbells are going to Ireland. Mrs Dixon (Colonel and Mrs +Campbell’s daughter, to whom Jane was companion before her marriage), +has persuaded her father and mother to come over and see her directly. +They had not intended to go over till the summer, but she is so +impatient to see them again; for till she married, last October, she +was never away from them so much as a week, which must make it very +strange to be—in different kingdoms, I was going to say, but, however, +different countries, and so she wrote a very urgent letter to her +mother, or her father—I declare I do not know which it was, but we +shall see presently in Jane’s letter—wrote in _Mr_ Dixon’s name as +well as her own, to press their coming over directly; and they would +give them the meeting in Dublin, and take them back to their country +seat, Baly-Craig—a beautiful place, I fancy. Jane has heard a great +deal of its beauty—from Mr Dixon, I mean—I do not know that she ever +heard about it from anybody else,—but it was very natural, you know, +that he should like to speak of his own place while he was paying +his addresses,—and as Jane used to be very often walking out with +them—for Colonel and Mrs Campbell were very particular about their +daughter’s not walking out often with _only_ Mr Dixon, for which I +do not at all blame them: of course she heard everything he might be +telling Miss Campbell about his own home in Ireland; and I think she +wrote us word that he had shown them some drawings of the place, views +that he had taken himself. He is a most amiable, charming young man, I +believe. Jane was quite longing to go to Ireland from his account of +things. + +_Emma._ You must feel it very fortunate that Miss Fairfax should be +allowed to come to you at such a time. Considering the very particular +friendship between her and Mrs Dixon, you could hardly have expected +her to be excused from accompanying Colonel and Mrs Campbell. + +_Miss Bates._ Very true, very true indeed. The very thing we have +always been rather afraid of; for we should not like to have her at +such a distance from us, for months together, not able to come if +anything was to happen; but you see everything turns out for the +best. They want her (Mr and Mrs Dixon) excessively to come over with +Colonel and Mrs Campbell, quite depend upon it; nothing can be more +kind or pressing than their _joint_ invitation, Jane says, as you will +hear presently. Mr Dixon does not seem in the least backward in any +attention. He is a most charming young man. Ever since the service he +rendered Jane at Weymouth, when they were out in that party on the +water, and she, by the sudden whirling round of something or other +among the sails, would have been dashed into the sea at once, and +actually was all but gone, if he had not, with the greatest presence +of mind, caught hold of her habit,—I can never think of it without +trembling!—but ever since we had the history of that day, I have been +so fond of Mr Dixon. + +_Emma._ But, in spite of all her friends’ urgencies and her own wish +to see Ireland, Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the time to you and Mrs +Bates. + +_Miss Bates._ Yes, entirely her own doing, entirely her own choice; and +Colonel and Mrs Campbell think she does quite right—just what they +should recommend; and, indeed, they particularly _wish_ her to try her +native air, as she has not been quite so well as usual lately. + +_Emma._ I am concerned to hear of it. I think they judge wisely, but +Mrs Dixon must be very much disappointed. Mrs Dixon, I understand, is +very charming, but has no remarkable degree of personal beauty,—is not +by any means to be compared to Miss Fairfax. + +_Miss Bates._ Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how very kind! how very obliging! +I must tell my mother (_turning towards Mrs Bates, who is asleep_). +Ma’am, did you hear Miss Woodhouse’s amiable compliments (_turning to +Emma_). Ah! she is asleep; never mind, I will tell her when you are +gone—Oh! no—Certainly not—there is no comparison between them—Miss +Campbell always was absolutely plain, but extremely elegant and amiable. + +_Emma._ Yes, that of course. + +_Miss Bates._ Jane caught a bad cold, poor thing! so long ago as the +7th of November (as I am going to read to you), and has never been well +since. A long time, is it not, for a cold to hang upon her? She never +mentioned it before, because she would not alarm us. Just like her! +So considerate! But, however, she is so far from well that her kind +friends the Campbells think that she had better come home and try an +air that always agrees with her, and they have no doubt that three or +four months at Highbury will entirely cure her; and it is certainly a +great deal better that she should come here than go to Ireland if she +is unwell. Nobody could nurse her as we should do. + +_Emma._ It appears to me the most desirable arrangement in the world. + +_Miss Bates._ And so she is to come to us next Friday or Saturday, and +the Campbells leave town on their way to Holyhead the Monday following, +as you will find from Jane’s letter. So sudden! you may guess, dear +Miss Woodhouse, what a flurry it has thrown me in! If it was not for +the drawback of her illness—but I am afraid we must expect to see her +grown thin and looking very poorly. I must tell you what an unlucky +thing happened to me as to that. I always make a point of reading +Jane’s letters through to myself first before I read them aloud to my +mother, you know, for fear of there being anything in them to distress +her. Jane desired me to do it, so I always do; and so I began to-day +with my usual caution: but no sooner did I come to the mention of her +being unwell, than I burst out, quite frightened, with “Bless me! poor +Jane is ill”—which my mother, being on the watch, heard distinctly, +and was sadly alarmed at. However, when I read on, I found it was not +near so bad as I fancied at first; and I make so light of it now to +her, that she does not think much about it: but I cannot imagine how +I could be so off my guard! If Jane does not get well soon, we will +call in Mr Perry. The expense shall not be thought of; and though he is +so liberal and so fond of Jane, that I dare say he would not mean to +charge anything for attendance, we would not suffer it to be so, you +know. He has a wife and family to maintain, and is not to be _giving_ +away his time. Well now, I have just given you a hint of what Jane +writes about. We will turn to her letter, and I am sure she tells her +own story a great deal better than I can tell it for her (_turning to +the letter_). + +_Emma_ (_rising abruptly_). I am afraid I must be running away. My +father will be expecting me. I had no intention, I thought I had no +power, of staying more than five minutes when I first entered the +house. I merely called, because I would not pass the door without +enquiring after Mrs Bates; but I have been so pleasantly detained! And +now I must wish you and Mrs Bates good morning. (_Curtsies and exit._) + +_Miss Bates_ (_during Miss Woodhouse’s speech._) Dear Miss Woodhouse, +so soon—must you really go; so kind of you to come. Jane’s letter so +short, only two pages—will not take one minute to read—pray mind the +step outside. Allow me. (_Exeunt Miss Bates and Emma._) + +_Mrs Bates coughs and picks up her ball of wool. Re-enter Miss Bates._ + +_Miss Bates._ Ma’am, Miss Woodhouse assures me it is quite dry under +foot. I am sure you would enjoy a little walk up the road with me +(_helping her mother up and leading her out of the room, talking all +the time_); and I will tell you what Miss Woodhouse was so obliging as +to say about Jane’s beauty as we go—though perhaps it is hardly the +thing to repeat to everybody. She says that Mrs Dixon (_exeunt Mrs and +Miss Bates. Miss Bates’ voice fading away little by little outside_) +has no remarkable degree of beauty, and is not by any means to be +compared with our Jane—so kind of her, is it not? Ma’am, ma’am, mind +that step—no, not by any means to be compared with our Jane. + +_End of Scene._ + + + + +A STRAWBERRY PICNIC. + +DUOLOGUE BETWEEN MRS ELTON AND MR KNIGHTLEY. + +_From “Emma,” Vol. II., Chap. XLII._ + + + + +_Costumes._ + + +_Mrs Elton._ A dress of dove-coloured sarsanet with a ruche of the same +round the bottom of skirt; puffings of cream net round the neck; narrow +cherry-coloured ribbon round the bodice and down the front of the +skirt; fancy straw hat with cream feathers and cherry-coloured ribbons; +pale pink shawl to harmonise with ribbons. + +_Mr Knightley._ Buff-coloured coat, with dark velvet collar, +high stock; frilled shirt front; short waistcoat of deep blue; +cream-coloured breeches. + +[Illustration: _Mrs Elton and Mr Knightley._] + + + + +A STRAWBERRY PICNIC. + + +_Characters._ + +_Mrs Elton and Mr Knightley._ + + _N.B._—“_Mrs Elton_ was first seen in church.... Emma had feelings, + less of curiosity than of pride or propriety, to make her resolve + on not being the last to pay her respects.... She (Emma) was almost + sure that for a young woman, a stranger, a bride, there was too + much ease.... and a quarter of an hour quite convinced her that + Mrs Elton was a vain woman, extremely well satisfied with herself + and thinking much of her own importance.... Emma was not required, + by any subsequent discovery, to retract her ill opinion of Mrs + Elton. Her observation had been pretty correct—such as Mrs Elton + appeared to her on this second interview, such she appeared whenever + they met again—self-important, presuming, familiar, ignorant, and + ill-bred.”—_Emma_, Vol. II., Chap. XXXII. “You might not see one in + a hundred, with _gentleman_ so plainly written as in Mr Knightley.” + ... “Mr Knightley’s downright, decided, commanding sort of manner, + though it suits _him_ very well: his figure, and look and situation + in life seem to allow it; but if any young man were to set about + copying him, he would not be sufferable.”—_Emma_, Vol. I., Chap. IV. + +_Scene—A parlour in Mrs Weston’s house._ + +_Properties required:—A small table L.C.; a chair L. of it; a writing +table in front of a window up R.; a door R.; other chairs and sofas; a +general air of comfort and refinement. Enter Mrs Elton—who soon sits +with her back to the door._ + +_Mrs Elton._ Provoking! Everything contrives for my annoyance; first, +I agree to meet Mr Elton here, and Mrs Weston is out, and I am forced +to wait alone. Then this exploring party that I had set my heart upon +is obliged to be put off through a lame horse, then——(_enter Mr +Knightley_). Ah! you have found me out at last in my seclusion? (_turns +and sees Knightley._) Oh! Knightley, it is _you._ I have been waiting +in this room this age for my lord and master, who promised to meet me +here and pay his respects to Mrs Weston, and as she was out, I was, of +course, forced to wait alone. But now that you are come—— + +_Knightley_ (_stiffly._) I gathered from Mrs Weston’s excellent +maid that she was from home, and merely came in to write a note of +importance. I did not know you were here, or should not have intruded +myself upon you. + +_Mrs Elton._ Why do you speak of intrusion? I am delighted, and +although I cannot approve of a husband keeping his wife waiting at +any time, still I must make allowances for _Mr Elton_; for he really +is engaged from morning to night—there is no end of people’s coming +to him on some pretence or other. The magistrates and overseers and +churchwardens are always wanting his opinion. They seem not able to +do anything without him. “Upon my word, Mr E.,” I often say, “rather +you than I. I do not know what would become of my crayons and my +instrument if I had half so many applicants.” Bad enough as it is, for +I absolutely neglect them both to an unpardonable degree. But is it not +most vexatious, Knightley? and such weather for exploring. + +_Knightley._ Pardon me, I do not quite follow you. + +_Mrs Elton._ Oh! have you not heard of our lame carriage-horse? +Everything has been put off,—the exploring party to Box Hill. + +_Knightley._ Oh! yes; very annoying, to be sure; but these things will +happen, you know, Mrs Elton. + +_Mrs Elton._ I know; but when the _first_ disappointment occurred, +through Mr and Mrs Suckling not being able to visit Highbury until the +autumn, _I_ said, why should we not explore to Box Hill though the +Sucklings did _not_ come? We could go there _again_ in the autumn with +_them._ And so, as you know, my suggestion was immediately taken up; +and everything was so charmingly arranged—why, I had even settled +with Mrs Weston as to pigeon pies and cold lamb, when, all at once, +everything is thrown into uncertainty. It may be weeks before the horse +is usable, and, therefore, no preparations can be ventured upon. What +are we to do? The delays and disappointments are quite odious. The year +will wear away at this rate, and nothing done. Before this time last +year we had delightful exploring parties from Maple Grove to King’s +Weston, and— + +_Knightley_ (_lightly_). You had better explore to Donwell. That may be +done without horses. Come and eat my strawberries. They are ripening +fast. + +_Mrs E._ (_impulsively_). Oh! I should like it of all things! Donwell, +I know, is famous for its strawberry beds. You may depend upon me; I +certainly will come; name your day, and I will come; you will allow me +to bring Jane Fairfax. + +_Knightley._ I cannot name a day, till I have spoken to some others +whom I would wish to meet you. + +_Mrs Elton._ Oh! leave all that to me, only give me _carte blanche_—I +am lady Patroness, you know—It is _my_ party—I will bring friends +with me. + +_Knightley._ I hope you will bring Elton, but I will not trouble you to +give any other invitations. + +_Mrs Elton._ Oh! now you are looking very sly—but consider—you need +not be afraid of delegating power to me. Married women, you know, may +be safely authorised. It is _my_ party—leave it all to me. _I_ will +invite your guests. + +_Knightley._ No, Mrs Elton, no. There is but one married woman in +the world whom I can ever allow to invite what guests she pleases to +Donwell, and that one is— + +_Mrs Elton_ (_mortified_). Mrs Weston, I suppose. + +_Knightley._ No—Mrs Knightley, and till _she_ is in being, I will +manage such matters myself. + +_Mrs Elton_ (_satisfied to have no one preferred to herself_). Ah! +you are an odd creature; you are a humorist, and may say what you +like—quite a humorist. Well, I shall bring Jane with me—Jane Fairfax +and her aunt—the rest I leave to you,—I have no objections at all to +meeting the Hartfield family. Don’t scruple—I know you are attached +to them. + +_Knightley._ You certainly _will_ meet them if I can prevail; and I +shall call on Miss Bates on my way home. + +_Mrs Elton._ That is quite unnecessary; I see Jane every day;—but, as +you like. It is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; quite a +simple thing. I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little +baskets hanging on my arm—here—probably this basket—with pink +ribbons. Nothing can be more simple, you see. And Jane will have such +another. There is to be no form or parade—a sort of gipsy party. We +are to walk about your gardens and gather the strawberries ourselves, +or sit under the trees; and whatever else you like to provide, it is to +be all out of doors—a table spread in the shade, you know. Everything +as natural and simple as possible. Is not that your idea? + +_Knightley._ Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be +to have the table spread in the dining-room. The nature and simplicity +of gentlemen and ladies with their servants and furniture, I think, +is best observed by meals within doors. When you are tired of eating +strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house. + +_Mrs Elton._ Well, as you please; only don’t have a great +set-out—by-the-bye, can I or my housekeeper be of any use to you with +our opinion? Pray be sincere, Knightley. If you wish me to talk to Mrs +Hodges or to inspect anything— + +_Knightley._ I have not the least wish for it, thank you. + +_Mrs Elton._ Well!—but if any difficulties should arise; my +housekeeper is extremely clever— + +_Knightley._ I will answer for it, mine thinks herself full as clever, +and would spurn anybody’s assistance. + +_Mrs Elton._ I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us _all_ to +come on donkeys—Jane, Miss Bates, and me, and my _caro sposo_ walking +by my side. I really must talk to him about purchasing a donkey. In a +country life I conceive it to be a sort of necessary; for, let a woman +have ever so many resources, it is not possible for her to be always +shut up at home; and very long walks you know—in summer there is dust, +and in winter there is dirt— + +_Knightley._ You will not find either between Donwell and +Highbury.—Donwell lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. +Come on a donkey, however, if you prefer it—you can borrow Mrs Cole’s. +I would wish everything to be as much to your taste as possible. + +_Mrs Elton._ That I am sure you would. Indeed, I do you justice, my +good friend. Under that peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner, I know you +have the warmest heart. As I tell Mr E.—you are a thorough humorist. +Yes, believe me, Knightley, I am fully sensible of your attention to me +in the whole of this scheme. You have hit upon the very thing to please +me. + +_Knightley._ Do not mention it, I pray; but, if you will allow me, I +will now write my note to Mrs Weston. It is of importance. (_Bows and +goes to writing table._) + +_Mrs Elton._ Oh! don’t mind me. I have a thousand pleasant things to +think of now. Oh! by-the-bye, don’t forget to include Mr and Mrs Weston +in your invitations. Do not leave them out: that would be unpardonably +amiss—and Mrs Weston’s step-son, Frank Churchill, you must invite +_him_ (_aside_). All this is really most charming. Wright shall do my +hair in the simplest fashion. She shall dress it like a shepherdess of +the last century, and my gown shall be all white. I look well in white, +at least that foolish Elton has often told me so; besides, it is so +rural and simple. Nobody can think less of dress than I do; but upon +such an occasion as this, when everybody’s eyes will be upon me, and in +compliment to Knightley, who is giving this picnic party chiefly to do +me honour, I would not wish to be inferior to others. + +_Knightley_ (_rising from the writing table_). And now, my letter +written, I will bid you good-day, and shall soon hope to settle the day +for our strawberry feast. + +_Mrs Elton._ Must you be going, really? I cannot imagine what is become +of Mr Elton. He should have been here ages ago. He promised to come to +me as soon as he could disengage himself from his appointment at “The +Crown.” They are all shut up with him at a meeting—a regular meeting, +you know—Weston and Cole are there too; but one is apt to speak only +of those who lead, and I fancy Mr E. or yourself have everything your +own way here. By-the-bye, Knightley, how is it you are not at the +meeting? + +_Knightley._ For the simple reason that the meeting you speak of is not +until to-morrow. + +_Mrs Elton._ Ah! surely you are mistaken—the meeting is certainly +to-day. I do believe this is the most troublesome parish that ever was. +We never heard of such things at Maple Grove. Mr E. was certainly under +the impression the meeting was to-day, and depend upon it, he was so +vexed at finding out his mistake, that he has forgotten entirely his +appointment with me here, and my conjugal obedience is merely time and +patience thrown away. How provoking! Knightley, you must offer me your +arm and escort me some little way; as far as Miss Bates, and there we +can settle the precise day our charming exploring Party to Donwell +shall take place. + +_Knightley_ (_offering his arm._) With pleasure. I will ask Miss Bates +if she and Miss Fairfax will be of the party, but the day must be fixed +for the convenience of Mr Woodhouse, whom I am most anxious to receive +at my house. + +_Mrs Elton._ Oh! Out of the question. Mr Woodhouse is far too great an +invalid. You will not prevail upon him to come at all. + +_Knightley._ I still hope to do so, with his daughter’s assistance. +(_Exeunt Mr Knightley and Mrs Elton._) + +_Mrs Elton_ (_outside_). Oh! if Emma Woodhouse wishes it, poor Mr +Woodhouse will _have_ to come. + +_End of Scene._ + +[Illustration] + + + + +THREE LOVES. + +_From “Emma.”_ + + + + +_Costumes._ + + +_Emma._ Short dress of muslin, sprigged with a blue flower, trimmed +with sapphire blue velvet, under sleeves of ruched net, sapphire velvet +in the hair. + +_Harriet._ Black silk pelerine, with long ends; white cambric dress; +bonnet of white sarsnet, tied with pale rose-coloured ribbons; coral +necklace. + +_Mr Knightley._ Buff-coloured coat, with dark velvet collar, +high stock; frilled shirt front; short waistcoat of deep blue; +cream-coloured breeches. + +[Illustration: _Emma and Harriet._] + + + + +THREE LOVES. + + +_Characters._ + +_Emma Woodhouse, Harriet Smith, Mr Knightley._ + + _N.B._—“_Emma Woodhouse_, handsome, clever and rich, with a + comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the + best blessings of existence, and had lived nearly twenty-one years + in the world with very little to distress or vex her. She was the + youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate, indulgent + father; and had, in consequence of her sister’s (Isabella) marriage, + been mistress of his house from a very early period. + + The real evils, indeed, of Emma’s situation were the power of having + rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too + well of herself.”—_Emma_, Chap. I. + + “_Mr Knightley_, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, + was not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but + particularly connected with it as the elder brother of Isabella’s + husband. He lived about a mile from Hartfield, was a frequent + visitor, and always welcome.... Mr Knightley had a cheerful manner, + which always did him (Mr Woodhouse) good.... Mr Knightley, in fact, + was one of the few people who could see faults in Emma Woodhouse, and + the only one who ever told her of them.”—_Emma_, Chap. I. + + “_Harriet Smith_ was the natural daughter of somebody. Somebody + had placed her several years back at Mrs Goddard’s school, and + somebody had lately raised her from the condition of scholar to + that of parlour boarder. This was all that was generally known of + her history.... 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.... She (Emma) was not struck + by anything remarkably clever in Miss Smith’s conversation, but she + found her altogether engaging—not inconveniently shy, nor unwilling + to talk—and yet so far from pushing, showing so proper and becoming + a deference, seeming so pleasantly grateful for being admitted to + Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed by the appearance of everything + in so superior a style to what she had been used to, that she must + have good sense and deserve encouragement. Encouragement should be + given.... _She_ would notice her. She would improve her ... and + introduce her into good society; she would form her opinions and + manners.... As a walking companion, Emma had very early foreseen how + useful she might find her ... and a Harriet Smith, therefore, one + whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would be a valuable + addition to her privileges. But in every respect, as she saw + more of her, she approved her, and was confirmed in all her kind + designs.”—_Emma_, Chaps. III. and IV. + + +_Scene—The morning-room at Hartfield. It is comfortably furnished. No +special properties are required except a centre table with two chairs +on either side of it; a work frame near one of the chairs, a window at +the back, and a fireplace with a lighted fire. Enter Emma, with an open +letter in her hand._ + +_Emma._ I can scarcely believe it. Jane Fairfax engaged to Frank +Churchill! Engaged to her all the winter—secretly engaged before +either of them came to Highbury. And I have encouraged my poor friend, +Harriet Smith, to think well of him, so she will be a second time the +dupe of my misconceptions and flattery. It seems like a fatality. +No sooner do I conceive the idea of arranging a suitable marriage +for her, than the man whom I choose deliberately engages himself to +another. I ought to have felt only too thankful to have her forget the +insufferable Mr Elton so soon after his marriage, instead of trying +to rouse her affections for Frank Churchill. But what right had he to +come among us with affection and faith engaged, and with manners so +very _disengaged?_ How could he tell that he might not be making _me_ +in love with him? I cannot deny, indeed, that there was a time, in the +early period of our acquaintance, when I was very much pleased with his +attentions, when I was very much disposed to be attached to him—nay, +was attached—and how it came to cease is perhaps the wonder. + +_Harriet_ (_outside_). Miss Woodhouse, are you within, and will you see +me? + +_Emma._ Harriet! (_folding the letter hastily and putting it away_). +Yes, yes, pray come in. (_Enter Harriet, who curtseys at the door._) +You know I am always glad to see _you_, Harriet. (_Aside._) I wonder if +she has heard the news. She looks dejected. + +_Harriet_ (_with a small parcel in her hand_). Miss Woodhouse, dear +Miss Woodhouse, you are always good to me. A great deal too good—but +if you are at leisure, I have something that I should like to tell +you; a sort of confession to make, and then, you know, it will be over. + +_Emma_ (_sighs, aside_). Poor Harriet. + +_Harriet._ It is my duty, and I am sure it is my wish, to have no +reserves with you on this subject. As I am, happily, quite an altered +creature in _one respect_, it is very fit that you should have +the satisfaction of knowing it. I do not want to say more than is +necessary. I am too much ashamed of having given way as I have done, +and I daresay you understand me. + +_Emma._ I think I do, my poor Harriet—I hope I do; but it is all my +fault—all my fault. + +_Harriet._ Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do not say such a thing! How could I +so long a time be fancying myself—It seems like madness, I can see +nothing at all extraordinary in him now. + +_Emma_ (_aside_). To whom is she alluding—Mr Elton or Frank Churchill? +One never can tell. + +_Harriet._ I do not care whether I meet him or not, except that of the +two I had rather _not_ see him; and, indeed, I would go any distance +round to avoid him. But I do not envy _Mrs_ Elton in the least. + +_Emma_ (_aside_). Ah! it’s Mr _Elton_, not Frank Churchill. + +_Harriet._ She is very charming, I dare say, and all that, but I think +her very ill-tempered and disagreeable. However, I assure you, Miss +Woodhouse, I wish her no evil. No; let them be ever so happy together, +it will not give me another moment’s pang; and, to convince you that I +have been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy—what I ought to +have destroyed long ago—what I ought never to have kept: I know that +very well—However, now I will destroy it all; and it is my particular +wish to do it in your presence, that you may see how rational I am +grown (_sighs_). Cannot you guess what this parcel holds? + +_Emma._ Not the least in the world. Did he ever give you anything? + +_Harriet._ No, I cannot call them _gifts_; but they are things that I +have valued very much (_holding out the parcel to Emma_). + +_Emma_ (_taking it and reading_). “Most precious treasures.” Harriet, +are you sure you would wish me to see these treasures? + +_Harriet._ Yes, please, dear Miss Woodhouse. + +_Emma_ (_undoing the parcel, which is wrapped up in several pieces of +paper and lined with cotton wool_). A piece of court plaister!!! + +_Harriet._ Now, you _must_ recollect. + +_Emma._ No, indeed, I do not. + +_Harriet._ Dear me! I should not have thought it possible you could +forget what passed in this very room about court plaister, one of the +very last times we ever met in it. It was a very few days before I had +my sore throat—I think the very evening before. Do not you remember +his cutting his finger with your new penknife, and your recommending +court plaister? But, as you had none about you, and knew I had, you +desired me to supply him. So I took mine out and cut him a piece, but +in my agitation I cut it a great deal too large, and he had to make it +smaller, and kept playing some time with what was left before he gave +it back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could not help making a +treasure of it; so I put it by, never to be used, and looked at it now +and then as a great treat. + +_Emma_ (_putting her hands before her face_). My dearest Harriet! you +make me more ashamed of myself than I can bear. Remember it? Aye, +I remember it all now; all except your saving this relic; I knew +nothing of that till this moment; but the cutting the finger, and my +recommending court plaister and saying I had none about me—Oh! my +sins! my sins!—And I had plenty all the while in my pocket! One of my +senseless tricks! I deserve to be under a continual blush all the rest +of my life.—Well (_sitting down_), go on, what else? + +_Harriet._ And had you really some at hand yourself? I am sure I never +suspected it. You did it so naturally. + +_Emma._ And so you actually put this piece of court plaister by for +his sake. (_Aside_), Lord bless me! when should I ever have thought of +putting by in cotton a piece of court plaister that anybody had been +fingering. I shall never be equal to this. + +_Harriet._ There is something still more valuable—I mean that _has +been_ more valuable because it is what did really once belong to him, +which the court plaister never did? It is in the same box wrapped up in +another piece of silver paper. + +_Emma_ (_unfolding a very small roll_). I am quite anxious to see this +superior treasure, Harriet. What is it?—The end of an old pencil! the +part without any lead!! What is this, Harriet? + +_Harriet._ That was really his. Do not you remember one morning?—No, +I daresay you do not—but one morning—I forget exactly the day, but +perhaps it was the Wednesday or Tuesday before _that evening_, he +wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it was about spruce +beer. Mr Knightley (_hanging her head_) had been telling him something +about brewing spruce beer, and he wanted to put it down; but when he +took out his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all +away and it would not do, so you lent him another, and this was left +upon the table as good for nothing. But I kept my eye upon it, and as +soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that +moment. + +_Emma._ I do remember it. I perfectly remember it—talking of spruce +beer. Oh! yes, Mr Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr +Elton’s seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I perfectly remember +it—Stop; Mr Knightley was standing just here, was not he? I have an +idea he was standing just here. + +_Harriet_ (_confused_). I do not know. I cannot recollect. It is very +odd—but I cannot recollect where Mr Knightley was standing. Mr _Elton_ +was sitting here, I remember, much about where I am. + +_Emma._ Well, go on. + +_Harriet._ Oh! that is all. I have nothing more to show you, or to say, +except that I am now going to throw them both behind the fire, and I +wish you to see me do it. + +_Emma._ My poor dear Harriet! and have you actually found happiness in +treasuring up these things? + +_Harriet_ (_sighing_). Yes, simpleton as I was!—but I am quite ashamed +of it now, and wish I could forget as easily as I can burn them. It +was so wrong of me, you know, to keep any remembrance after he was +married, and when I had conceived so deep, so reverential a regard for +_another._ I knew it was, but I had not resolution enough to part with +them. + +_Emma._ But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court plaister? +I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court +plaister might be useful. + +_Harriet._ I shall be happier to burn it. It has a disagreeable look +to me. I must get rid of _everything._ I must not keep it now. It is +not right towards _him_ who is so superior in every way, so infinitely +superior. (_Emma groans._) These are no longer treasures. There they go +(_throwing them into the fire_), and there is an end, thank Heaven! of +Mr Elton. (_Turning cheerfully to Emma._) Ah! I feel happier now—much +happier! But, oh! Miss Woodhouse, is not this the oddest news that ever +was? + +_Emma_ (_perplexed_). What news do you mean? + +_Harriet._ Why, about Jane Fairfax. Did you ever hear anything so +strange? Oh! you need not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr Weston +has told me himself. I met him just now. He told me it was to be a +great secret; and therefore I should not think of mentioning it to +anybody but you, but he said you knew it. + +_Emma_ (_still perplexed_). What did Mr Weston tell you? + +_Harriet._ Oh! he told me all about it; that Jane Fairfax and Mr Frank +Churchill are to be married, and that they have been privately engaged +to one another this long while. How very odd. + +_Emma_ (_staring_). You know all about it? + +_Harriet._ Yes! Had you any idea of his being in love with her?—you +perhaps might (_hanging her head_)—you who can see into everybody’s +heart; but nobody else— + +_Emma._ Upon my word, I begin to doubt my having any such talent. +Can you seriously ask me, Harriet, whether I imagined him attached +to another woman at the very time that I was—tacitly, if not +openly—encouraging you to give way to your own feelings? I never +had the slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of Mr Frank +Churchill’s having the least regard for Jane Fairfax. You may be very +sure that, if I had, I should have cautioned you accordingly. + +_Harriet_ (_in astonishment_). Me! why should you caution me? You do +not think I care about Mr Frank Churchill? + +_Emma_ (_laughing uneasily_). I am delighted to hear you speak so +stoutly on the subject. But you do not mean to deny that there was +a time—and not very distant either—when you gave me reason to +understand that you did care about him. + +_Harriet._ _Him!_—never, never. Dear Miss Woodhouse, how could you so +mistake me? (_turning away distressed._) + +_Emma._ Harriet, what do you mean? (_A pause._) Good heaven! what do +you mean? Mistake you! am I to suppose—? + +_Harriet_ (_with her back to Emma_). I should not have thought it +possible that _you_ could have misunderstood me! I know we agreed +never to name him—but, considering how infinitely superior he is to +everybody else, I should not have thought it possible that I could be +supposed to mean any other person. Mr Frank Churchill, indeed! I do +not know who would ever look at him in the company of the other. And +that _you_ should have been so mistaken is amazing. + +_Emma_ (_collecting herself resolutely_). Harriet, let us understand +each other now, without the possibility of further mistake. (_With +great effort._) Are you speaking—of Mr Knightley? + +_Harriet._ To be sure I am. I never could have an idea of anybody +else—and so I thought you knew. When we talked about him, it was as +clear as possible. + +_Emma_ (_with forced calmness_). Not quite, for all that you then said +appeared to me to relate to a different person. I could almost assert +that you _named_ Mr Frank Churchill. + +_Harriet._ Oh! Miss Woodhouse, never—never. + +_Emma._ Well, I am sure the service Mr Frank Churchill had rendered +you, in protecting you from the gipsies, was spoken of. + +_Harriet._ Miss Woodhouse! how you do forget! + +_Emma._ My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember the substance of what +I said on the occasion. I told you that I did not wonder at your +attachment; that, considering the service he had rendered you, it was +extremely natural:—and you agreed to it, expressing yourself very +warmly as to your sense of that service, and mentioning even what your +sensations had been in seeing him come forward to your rescue. The +impression of it is strong on my memory. + +_Harriet._ Oh! dear! now I recollect what you mean; but I was thinking +of something very different at the time. It was not the gipsies.—It +was not Mr Frank Churchill that I meant. No—(_with some elevation_)—I +was thinking of a much more precious circumstance—of Mr Knightley’s +coming and asking me to dance, when Mr Elton would not stand up with +me, and when there was no other partner in the room. That was the kind +action; that was the noble benevolence and generosity; that was the +service which made me begin to feel how superior he was to any other +being upon earth. + +_Emma_ (_with emotion_). Good God! this has been a most +unfortunate—most deplorable mistake! What is to be done? + +_Harriet_ (_timidly_). You would not have encouraged me, then, if +you had understood me. At least, however, I cannot be worse off than +I should have been if Mr Churchill had been the person; and now—it +_is_ possible—for you see, that supposing—that if—strange as it may +appear—But you know they were your own words, that _more_ wonderful +things had happened; matches of _greater_ disparity had taken place +than between Mr Frank Churchill and me; and, therefore, it seems +as if such a thing even as this may have occurred before; and if I +should be so fortunate, beyond expression, as to—if Mr Knightley +should really—if _he_ does not mind the disparity, I hope, dear Miss +Woodhouse, you will not set yourself against it, and try and put +difficulties in the way. But you are too good for that, I am sure. + +_Emma._ Have you any idea of Mr Knightley’s returning your affection? + +_Harriet_ (_modestly, but not fearfully_). Yes, I must say I have. + +_Emma_ (_aside_). Good God! is it possible—is it possible that I have +been so blind even to the state of my own heart? _I_ see it all now. +Every moment of this day brings a fresh surprise, and every surprise +is a matter of humiliation to me. How improperly have I been acting by +Harriet! How inconsiderate, how irrational, how unfeeling has been my +conduct! What blindness, what madness has led me on? + +_Harriet._ Miss Woodhouse, speak to me. Why is it so much worse for me +to be in love with Mr Knightley than with Mr Frank Churchill? Everyone +thought _you_ were in love with Mr Churchill. I thought so too, but did +not like to say it. + +_Emma._ My dear Harriet (_rousing herself_), it is the suddenness of +this revelation which has bewildered me. But come, tell me all about +it. What makes you so hopeful in the conviction of Mr Knightley’s +regard for you? + +_Harriet._ Oh! it has been so marked. I have been conscious of a +difference in his behaviour ever since that dance. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, +how nobly he behaved to me when Mr Elton _refused_ to stand up with me, +and he spoke so beautifully that I was not afraid of him, and when I +spoke to him he listened so attentively, as if he quite enjoyed what I +said. + +_Emma_ (_aside_). I remember he told me that on that occasion he had +found her much superior to his expectation. (_Aloud._) Well, Harriet, +go on. + +_Harriet._ From that evening, or at least from the time of your +encouraging me to think of him (for though _you_ meant Mr Churchill, +I always meant Mr Knightley, and thought you meant him too), he has +had quite a different manner towards me—a manner of kindness and +sweetness. Latterly I have been more and more aware of it. When we have +been all walking together, he has so often come and walked by me, and +talked so very delightfully! He seemed to want to be acquainted with me. + +_Emma._ Yes, Harriet, you are right; he has told me so himself. + +_Harriet._ There, you see! And he has praised me so kindly several +times, I would rather not repeat what he said. But the two latest +occurrences, the two of strongest promise to me—you witnessed +yourself. The first was his walking with me apart from the others in +the lime-walk at Donwell when he gave the strawberry party, and he +took pains, I am convinced, to draw me from the rest to himself, and +at first he talked to me in a more particular way than he had ever +done before—in a very particular way indeed (_hanging her head_). He +seemed to be almost asking me whether my affections were engaged. But +as soon as you appeared likely to join us, he changed the subject, and +began talking of farming. The second is his having sat talking with me +here for nearly half an hour on the very last morning of his being at +Hartfield—though, when he first came in, he had said that he could not +stay five minutes, and he told me during our conversation that though +he must go to London, it was very much against his inclinations that he +left home at all. + +_Emma_ (_aside_). That is more than he acknowledged to me. + +_Harriet._ Therefore, dear Miss Woodhouse, do you not think that I have +some reason to hope? I never should have presumed to think of it at +first, but for you—you told me to observe him carefully and let his +behaviour be the rule of mine—and so I have.—But now I seem to feel +that I may deserve him; and that if he _does_ choose me, it will not be +anything so very wonderful after all. + +_Emma_ (_turning away to hide her bitter feelings_). Harriet, I will +only venture to declare that Mr Knightley is the last man in the world +who would intentionally give any woman the idea of his feeling for her +more than he really does. + +_Harriet_ (_clasping her hands_). Dear, dear Miss Woodhouse, I knew you +would give me hope. You are always so good, so encouraging. + +_Emma_ (_bending over her work_). Harriet, look out of the window;—is +not that Mr Knightley walking in the shrubbery with my father? + +_Harriet._ It cannot be—for he was not to return for another week. +(_Goes to window._) Oh! Miss Woodhouse, you are right, it _is_ Mr +Knightley, and he and Mr Woodhouse are both entering the house. Oh! +dear, I must go, I am too agitated to encounter him; I could not +compose myself—I had better go.—May I go, Miss Woodhouse? + +_Emma._ If you wish it, Harriet—go by all means. Good-bye. + +_Harriet_ (_curtseying hurriedly_). Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse, a +thousand thousand times. (_Exit._) + +_Emma._ Oh! God! that I had never seen her! Mr Knightley in love with +Harriet Smith? Such an elevation on her side! such a debasement on +his! Yet it is far, very far from impossible. Is it a new circumstance +for a man of first-rate abilities to be captivated by very inferior +powers? Is it new for one, perhaps too busy to seek, to be the prize of +a girl who would seek him? Is it new for anything in this world to be +unequal, inconsistent, or incongruous. Mr Knightley and Harriet Smith! +Oh! that I had never brought her forward!—that I had left her where I +ought, where he himself had once told me I ought!—Had I not, with a +folly which no tongue can express, prevented her marrying the farmer, +Mr Martin, who would have made her happy and respectable in a line of +life to which she ought to belong—all would be well—all would be safe +(_sitting to her work and bending down over it as Mr Knightley enters_). + +_Knightley._ Emma, I have just met Harriet Smith, who told me you were +alone, so I have left Mr Woodhouse comfortably by the fire in the +study, and I have ventured upstairs unannounced. + +_Emma_ (_rising and giving her hand_). You are returned sooner than we +hoped,—you bring good news from London? + +_Knightley_ (_sighs_). My brother and his wife are well, so are the +children (_pause—he sits_). + +_Emma._ You had a pleasant ride, I trust? + +_Knightley._ Very——(_pause_). + +_Emma_ (_aside_). He neither looks nor speaks cheerfully. Has he +communicated his plans to his brother, and been pained by their +reception? + +_Knightley._ Your father is looking well—better than when I left for +London. + +_Emma._ Yes (_a pause—she bends over her work, and he looks at her +anxiously. She continues aside_).—Perhaps he wishes to speak to me +of his attachment to Harriet, and is watching for encouragement to +begin—but I am not equal to lead the way to such a subject—he must do +it all himself—yet I cannot bear this silence,—with him, it is most +unnatural. I must say _something._ (_Aloud, with a smile._) You have +some news to hear, now you are come back, that will rather surprise you. + +_Knightley_ (_quietly, and looking at her_). Have I? of what nature? + +_Emma._ Oh! the best nature in the world—a wedding. + +_Knightley_ (_after waiting a moment as if to be sure she intended to +say no more_). If you mean Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have +heard that already. + +_Emma._ Why, how is it possible? is every one in this secret? + +_Knightley._ I had a few lines on parish business from Mr Weston +this morning, and at the end he gave me a brief account of what had +happened. That news was the cause of my early return. + +_Emma._ You probably have been less surprised than any of us, for you +had your suspicions, I have not forgotten that you once tried to give +me caution. I wish I had attended to it—but (_with a sinking voice +and a heavy sigh_) I seemed to have been doomed to blindness—(_a +pause—Knightley then lays his hand on hers and takes it kindly. Emma +looks at him in surprise_). + +_Knightley_ (_speaking low_). Time, my dearest Emma, time will heal the +wound. Your own excellent sense; your exertions for your father’s sake; +I know you will not allow yourself—(_presses her hand_). I speak from +feelings of the warmest friendship——indignation (_rising suddenly_). +Abominable scoundrel! (_Returning and bending over the table._) He will +soon be gone. They will soon be in Yorkshire. I am sorry for _her_, for +she deserves a better fate. + +_Emma._ My dear friend, you are very kind, but you are mistaken, and +I must set you right. I am not in want of that sort of compassion. +My blindness to what was going on led me to act by them in a way +that I must always be ashamed of, and I was very foolishly tempted +to say things of her to him which may well lay me open to unpleasant +conjectures, but I have no other reason to regret that I was not in the +secret earlier. + +_Knightley_ (_looking eagerly at her_). Emma, are you indeed...? +(_Checking himself._) No, no, I understand you—forgive me—I am +pleased that you can say even so much. He is no object of regret, +indeed! and it will not be very long, I hope, before that becomes the +acknowledgment of more than your reason. Fortunate that your affections +were not further entangled! I could never, I confess, from your +manners, assure myself as to the degree of what you felt. I could only +be certain that there was a preference, and a preference which I never +believed him to deserve. He is a disgrace to the name of man. And is he +to be rewarded with that sweet young woman? Jane, Jane, you will be a +miserable creature. + +_Emma._ Mr Knightley, I am in a very extraordinary situation. I cannot +let you continue in your error; and yet, perhaps, since my manners gave +such an impression, I have as much reason to be ashamed of confessing +that I never have been at all attached to the person we are speaking +of, as it might be natural for a woman to feel in confessing exactly +the reverse. But I never have. (_A pause._) I have very little to say +for my own conduct. I was tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself +to appear pleased—an old story, probably—a common case—and no more +than has happened to hundreds of my sex before. Many circumstances +assisted the temptation. But, let me swell out the causes ever so +ingeniously, they all centre in this at last—my vanity was flattered +and I allowed his attentions; but, in short, I was somehow or other +safe from him. + +_Knightley._ Hm! well, I have never had a high opinion of Frank +Churchill. I can suppose, however, that I may have underrated him; +my acquaintance with him has been but trifling, and even if I have +not underrated him hitherto, he may yet turn out well. With such a +woman he has a chance. I have no motive for wishing him ill, and for +her sake, whose happiness will be involved in his good character and +conduct, I shall certainly wish him well. + +_Emma._ I have no doubt of their being happy together. I believe them +to be very mutually and very sincerely attached. + +_Knightley_ (_with energy_). He is a most fortunate man. So early in +life—at three-and-twenty—a period when, if a man chooses a wife, he +generally chooses ill. At three-and-twenty to have drawn such a prize! +what years of felicity that man, in all human calculation, has before +him! Frank Churchill is, indeed, the favourite of fortune. He meets +with a young woman at a watering-place, gains her affection, cannot +even weary her by negligent treatment, and had he and all his family +sought round the world for a perfect wife for him, they could not have +found her superior. His aunt is in the way,—his aunt dies. He has only +to speak. His friends are eager to promote his happiness. He has used +everybody ill, and they are all delighted to forgive him. He is a +fortunate man, indeed! + +_Emma._ You speak as if you envied him. + +_Knightley._ I do envy him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my +envy. + +_Emma_ (_aside_). He means in the right to choose where he pleases. He +compares Frank Churchill to himself, Jane Fairfax to Harriet. + +_Knightley._ You will not ask me what is the point of envy. You are +determined, I see, to have no curiosity. You are wise—but _I_ cannot +be wise. Emma, I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish +it unsaid the next moment. + +_Emma_ (_eagerly_). Oh! then, don’t speak it, don’t speak it—take a +little time, consider, do not commit yourself. + +_Knightley_ (_stiffly_). Thank you. + +_Emma_ (_aside_). Oh, I have given him pain! He is wishing to confide +in me, to consult me; perhaps I might assist his resolution, or +reconcile him to it. + +_Knightley._ I fear I must be going now; good-bye. (_Puts out his hand +as he rises._) + +_Emma_ (_detaining it_). No—do not go—I stopped you ungraciously just +now, Mr Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain. But if you have +any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of +anything that you may have in contemplation—as a friend, indeed, you +may command me. I will hear whatever you like. I will tell you exactly +what I think. + +_Knightley._ As a friend! Emma, that I fear is a word—No, I have no +wish. Stay, yes, why should I hesitate? I have gone too far already for +concealment. Emma, I accept your offer, extraordinary as it may seem, I +accept it, and refer myself to you as a friend (_looking earnestly into +her eyes_). Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding? + +_Emma_ (_overcome_). Good Heaven! + +_Knightley._ My dearest Emma, for dearest you will always be, whatever +the event of this hour’s conversation, my dearest, most beloved +Emma—tell me at once. Say “No” if it is to be said. You are silent +(_with animation_), absolutely silent! at present I ask no more. + +(_Emma sinks into a chair, covering up her face with her hands._) + +_Knightley._ I cannot make speeches, Emma. If I loved you less, I +might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear +nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you and lectured you, and you +have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear +with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you +have borne with them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover. +Look up, Emma, my dearest, look at me—(_she does so_). Say that you +understand me.—Say you understand my feelings—and will return them if +you can. At present I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice. + +_Emma_ (_faintly_). Mr Knightley, what can I say? How can I say it? +When you first spoke, believe me, I had no idea, no thought of what +you wished to say. How inconsistent must my conduct have appeared in +refusing to hear you one moment, and soliciting your confidence the +next—yet could I have dared to hope that you would speak to me as you +have done, I should through very shame have silenced you for ever. + +_Knightley._ My dearest, best beloved Emma! I too had little thought +when first I entered here to try my influence. Jealousy of Frank +Churchill drove me from the country. I went to London to learn to be +indifferent; but I had gone to the wrong place. There was too much +domestic happiness in my brother’s house; but I stayed on, however, +vigorously, day after day, till this very morning’s post conveyed +the history of Jane Fairfax. Then, with the gladness which must be +felt, nay, which I did not scruple to feel, was there so much fond +solicitude, so much keen anxiety for you, that I could stay no longer. +I rode home at once and walked up here to see how this sweetest and +best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the +discovery. I found you agitated and low; Frank Churchill was a villain. +I heard you declare that you had never loved him. Frank Churchill’s +character was not so desperate; and now, tell me that you are my own +Emma by hand and word. + +_Emma_ (_putting her hands in his_). Mr Knightley, I am your own Emma, +by word and hand. + +_Knightley_ (_bending over Emma’s hands_). “Mr Knightley,” you always +called me “Mr Knightley,” and from habit it has not so very formal a +sound, and yet it is formal. I want you to call me something else, but +I do not know what. + +_Emma._ I remember once calling you “George” in one of my amiable fits, +about ten years ago. I did it because I thought it might offend you; +but, as you made no objection, I never did it again. + +_Knightley._ And cannot you call me “George” now? + +_Emma._ Impossible! I never can call you anything but “Mr Knightley.” +I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs Elton +by calling you Mr K——. But I will promise to call you once by +your Christian name. I do not say when, but perhaps you may guess +where;—in the building in which N. takes M. for better, for worse. + +_Knightley_ (_with emotion_). My Emma. + +[_Exeunt._ + +_End of Scene._ + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE PROPOSAL OF MR COLLINS. + +MRS BENNET, ELIZABETH BENNET, MR COLLINS. + +_From “Pride and Prejudice.”_ + + + + +Costumes. + + +_Mr Collins_ in black, with a high choker and cravat tied in front. + +_Elizabeth._ Pale primrose dress, the lappels of the bodice and the hem +of the skirt embroidered in gold and white; clear muslin chemisette, +rucked under-sleeves of the same. + +[Illustration: _Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Collins._] + + + + +THE PROPOSAL OF MR COLLINS. + + +_Characters._ + +_Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet, Mr Collins._ + + _N.B._—“_Her_ (_Mrs Bennet_) mind was less difficult to develope. + She was a woman of mean understanding, little information, and + uncertain temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself + nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married; + its solace was visiting and news.”—_Pride and Prejudice_, Chap. I. + + “The greatest part of his (_Mr Collins_) life had been spent under + the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father.... The subjection + in which his father had brought him up had given him originally + great humility of manner, but it was now a good deal counteracted + by the self-conceit of a weak head, living in retirement, and + the consequential feeling of early and unexpected prosperity.... + Having now a good home and a very sufficient income, he intended to + marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family + (_The Bennets_) he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one + of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable as they + were represented by common report. This was his plan of amends—of + atonement—for inheriting their father’s estate, and he thought it an + excellent one, full of eligibility and suitableness, and excessively + generous and disinterested on his own part.”—_Pride and Prejudice_, + Chap. XV., Vol. I. + + “The situation of your mother’s family, though objectionable, was + nothing in comparison of that total want of propriety so frequently, + so almost uniformly betrayed by herself, by your three younger + sisters, and occasionally even by your father,—pardon me—it pains + me to offend you. But amidst your concern for the defects of your + nearest relations, and your displeasure at this representation of + them, let it give you consolation to consider, that to have conducted + yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure, is praise + no less generally bestowed on you and your eldest sister, than it is + honourable to the sense and disposition of both.”—_Quotation from + Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth Bennet_, Vol. II., Chapter XXXV. + +_Scene.—The morning-room at Longbourne._ + +_Properties required: There is a good-sized table L. Chairs, sofas, +and other tables about the room. The furniture is good, but a little +shabby and vulgar, and formal. Door R. enter Elizabeth with household +needlework. She walks to the table._ + +_Elizabeth._ Well! if my father was hopeful of finding our cousin, Mr +Collins, far from sensible, I cannot think he is disappointed, for the +deficiencies of nature have been but little assisted by education, and +though he has belonged to one of the Universities, he evidently merely +kept the necessary terms without forming there any useful acquaintance. + +_Enter Mrs Bennet_ (_going to her work_). Well, Lizzie, what do you +think of your cousin, Mr Collins? I am sure he is a very fine young +man, in spite of his being next in the entail—though, to be sure, I +cannot bear to hear that mentioned—and I do think it is the hardest +thing in the world that your father’s estate should be entailed away +from his own children, and I am sure, if I had been him, I should have +tried long ago to do something about it. + +_Elizabeth._ My dear ma’am, let me try and explain again the nature of +an entail. + +_Mrs Bennet._ Not one word, Eliza. It is trying enough to my nerves to +know that we must submit to such a thing simply because of Mr Bennet’s +indifference to what becomes of us all when he is dead, without having +it all explained to me. However, I don’t suppose Mr Collins can help +it, and as he has seemed, since the very first day we saw him, a week +ago, willing to make amends by one or other of you girls, I am not the +person to discourage him. + +_Elizabeth._ Certainly not, my dear ma’am. + +_Mrs Bennet._ Not but what at first I thought he wanted your sister +Jane. It was quite right and proper, considering she was the eldest +and by far the best-looking of you all. But when I found that he was +thinking of her, I gave him a hint that she was not to be had for the +asking. I don’t want to spoil Jane’s chance with Bingley, and so I just +put it right, you know. + +_Elizabeth._ I have no doubt you acted wisely, ma’am. + +_Mrs Bennet._ Well, Lizzie, I did for the best. When he told me his +plans, and that he had come to Longbourne to choose a wife among you, I +said, “Mr Collins, I cannot but be very gratified by your confidence, +and as to my younger daughters, I cannot take upon myself to say—I +could not positively answer,” for I did not want to appear _too_ +pleased with his attentions, “and I do not know of any prepossessions, +but my _eldest_ daughter, I must just mention—I feel it incumbent on +me to hint—is likely to be very soon engaged,”—and it is marvellous +how soon he abandoned all idea of Jane. But hush, here he comes. + +(_Enter Mr Collins_). + +_Mr Collins._ May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair +daughter Elizabeth, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience +with her in the course of the morning. + +_Mrs Bennet_ (_starting up_). Oh! dear! yes—certainly. I am sure +Lizzie will be very happy. I am sure she can have no objection. +(_Going._) + +_Elizabeth._ Dear ma’am, do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr Collins +must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not +hear. I am going away myself. (_Also going._) + +_Mrs Bennet._ No, no, nonsense, Lizzie. I desire you will stay where +you are (_seeing that Elizabeth is determined to go_). Lizzie, I +_insist_ upon your staying, and hearing Mr Collins. (_Exit._) + +_Elizabeth_ (_aside_). Well! if it has to be—I may as well get it over +as soon and as quietly as possible. + +_Mr Collins._ Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, +so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other +perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there +_not_ been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you, that +I have your respected mother’s permission for this address. You can +hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy +may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be +mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as +the companion of my future life. But, before I am run away with by my +feelings on this subject, perhaps it would be advisable for me to state +my reasons for marrying—and, moreover, for coming into Hertfordshire +with the design of selecting a wife—as I certainly did. + +_Elizabeth (aside)._ The idea of this man being run away with by his +feelings! + +_Mr Collins._ My reasons for marrying are—first, that I think it a +right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to +set the example of matrimony in his parish; secondly, I am convinced +it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly—which perhaps +I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice +and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of +calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion +(unasked, too!) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night +before I left Hunsford, between our pools at quadrille, that she said, +“Mr Collins, you must marry—a clergyman like you must marry. Choose +properly, choose a gentlewoman for _my_ sake; and for your _own_, let +her be an active, useful sort of person not brought up high, but able +to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such +a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit +her.” Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not +reckon the notice and kindness of Lady de Burgh as among the least of +the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond +anything I can describe, and your wit and vivacity, I think, must +be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and +respect which her rank will inevitably excite. + +_Elizabeth (aside)._ How am I to stop the man? + +_Mr Collins._ This much for my general intention in favour of +matrimony; it remains to be told why my views were directed to +Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I assure you there +are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that being, as I +am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father +(_reverentially_) (who, however, may live many years longer) I could +not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his +daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible when +the melancholy event takes place, which, however, as I have already +said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair +cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And +now, nothing remains for me but to assure you, in the most animated +language, of the violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly +indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, +since I am well aware that it could not be complied with, and that one +thousand pounds in the 4 per cents., which will not be yours till after +your mother’s decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On +that head I shall, therefore, be uniformly silent; and you may assure +yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we +are married. + +_Elizabeth._ You are too hasty sir; you forget that I have made no +answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks +for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour +of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than +decline them. + +_Collins (waving his hand)._ I am not now to learn that it is usual +with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they +secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and +that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I +am, therefore, by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and +shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long. + +_Elizabeth._ Upon my word, sir, your hope is rather an extraordinary +one after my declaration. I do assure you that I am not one of those +young ladies (if such young ladies there are) who are so daring as to +risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I am +perfectly serious in my refusal; you could not make me happy, and I am +convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so. +Nay, were your friend, Lady Catherine, to know me, I am persuaded she +would find me in every respect ill qualified for the situation. + +_Collins (gravely)._ Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think +so—but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all disapprove of +you. And, you may be certain that when I have the honour of seeing her +again, I shall speak in the highest terms of your modesty, economy, and +other amiable qualifications. + +_Elizabeth._ Indeed, Mr Collins, all praise of me will be unnecessary; +you must give me leave to judge for myself, and pay me the compliment +of believing what I say: I wish you very happy and very rich, and by +refusing your hand, do all in my power to prevent your being otherwise. +In making me the offer, you must have satisfied the delicacy of your +feelings with regard to my family, and may take possession of Longbourn +estate whenever it falls without any self-reproach (_rising_). This +matter may be considered, therefore, as finally settled. + +_Mr Collins._ When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on +the subject, I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you +have now given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at +present, because I know it to be an established custom of your sex to +reject a man on the _first_ application, and perhaps you have even now +said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true +delicacy of the female character. + +_Elizabeth (warmly)._ Really, Mr Collins, you puzzle me exceedingly. +If what I have hitherto said can appear to you in the form of +encouragement, I know not how to express my refusal in such a way as +may convince you of its being one. + +_Collins (smiling)._ You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear +cousin, that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My +reasons for believing it are briefly these—It does not appear to me +that my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I +can offer would be other than highly desirable. My situation in life, +my connections with the family of De Burgh, and my relationship to your +own, are circumstances highly in my favour; and you should take it into +further consideration, that in spite of your manifold attractions, it +is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made +you—your portion is unhappily so small, that it will in all likelihood +undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I +must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of +me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love +by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females. + +_Elizabeth._ I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretension whatever +of that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable +man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. +I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your +proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in +every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as +an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a rational creature, +speaking the truth from her heart. + +_Collins (with awkward gallantry)._ You are uniformly charming! and I +am persuaded that when sanctioned by the express authority of both your +excellent parents, my proposals will not fail of being acceptable. + +_Elizabeth._ To such perseverance in wilful self-deception I can make +no reply; but if you persist in considering my repeated refusals as +flattering encouragement, I shall apply to my father, whose negative +will no doubt be uttered in such a manner as must be decisive, and +whose behaviour at least will not be mistaken for the affectation and +coquetry of an “elegant female.” (_Enter Mrs Bennet._) + +_Mrs Bennet._ Well, Mr Collins, allow me to congratulate you—and +myself. + +_Mr Collins (smiling complacently)._ I trust I have every reason to +be satisfied with the result of our interview, since the refusal with +which my fair cousin has replied to my proposals comes naturally from +her bashful modesty and the delicacy of her character. + +_Mrs Bennet._ Her refusal? Why, Lizzie, what is the meaning of this—do +you refuse Mr Collins? + +_Elizabeth._ I do indeed, ma’am. + +_Mrs Bennet._ Oh! Mr Collins, do not pay any attention to her. Depend +upon it, she shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her about it +myself privately, She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not +know her own interest; but I will _make_ her know it. + +_Mr Collins (gravely)._ Pardon me for interrupting you, madam. But if +she is really headstrong and foolish, I know not whether she would +altogether be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who +naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state. If, therefore, +Miss Elizabeth actually persists in rejecting my suit, perhaps it were +better not to force her into accepting me, because if liable to such +defects of temper, she could not contribute much to my felicity. + +_Elizabeth (interrupting)._ That is very true, Mr Collins. + +_Mrs Bennet._ Sir, you quite misunderstand me. Lizzie is only +headstrong in such matters as these. In everything else she is as +good-natured a girl as ever lived. Yes, you are, Lizzie, and I insist +on you accepting Mr Collins. + +_Elizabeth._ Ma’am, ma’am. I cannot, I do not care for him. + +_Mrs Bennet._ Now, I do insist upon it, Lizzie, that you hold your +tongue and let Mr Collins and me have a little conversation together. + +_Mr Collins (stiffly)._ My dear madam, let us be for ever silent on +this point. Far be it from me to resent the behaviour of your daughter. +Resignation to inevitable evil is the duty of us all. You will not, +I hope, consider me as showing any disrespect to your family by now +withdrawing all pretensions to your daughter’s favour. My conduct may, +I fear, be objectionable in accepting my dismission from _her_ lips +instead of your own. But we are all liable to error—I have certainly +meant well through the whole affair. My object has been to secure an +amiable companion for myself, with due consideration for the advantage +of all your family, and if my _manner_ has been at all reprehensible, I +beg here to apologise. (_Exit, with a bow._) + +_Mrs Bennet (calling after him)._ Oh! Mr Collins—(_turning angrily to +Elizabeth_), and there you stand, looking as unconcerned as may be, and +caring no more for us all than if you were at York—provided you can +have your own way. But I will tell you what, Miss Lizzie, if you take +it into your head to go on refusing every offer of marriage in this +way, you will never get a husband at all; and I am sure I do not know +who is to maintain you when your father is dead—_I_ shall not be able +to keep you, and so I warn you. I have done with you from this very +day—I shall never speak to you again, and you will find me as good as +my word—I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children. Not that +I have much pleasure, indeed, in talking to anybody. People who suffer +as I do from nervous complaints can have no great inclination for +talking. Nobody can tell what I suffer! but it is always so, those who +do not complain are never pitied—and it is all owing to you—to your +wilfulness and bad temper. + +_Elizabeth (coaxingly)._ Ah, ma’am, do not be hard on me. Think of my +sister Jane. How lovely she is. How much admired. How willing _she_ +will be to listen to Mr Bingley. Let us go and tell her about it all. +She will agree with us both. + +_Mrs Bennet (softened)._ Well, Lizzie, I suppose I must be content with +_one_ sensible girl among you all, but I should be thankful to have +_you_ off my hands. + +(_Exeunt Mrs Bennet and Elizabeth._) + +_End of Scene._ + +[Illustration] + + + + +LADY CATHERINE’S VISIT. + +_From “Pride and Prejudice,” Vol. I., Chap. XXIX._ + + +_Costumes._ + +_Lady Catherine._ Large hat trimmed with white feathers, and violet +silk handkerchief, worn over a ruched cap. Dress of cinnamon brown +satin; the bodice cut V-shaped in front; a high ruche of white muslin +round the neck; open front of bodice being frilled with white lace. +Pelisse of deep violet cloth. Silver-headed black stick; long-handled +eyeglass. + +_Elizabeth._ Dress of white Indian muslin—the bodice made high in +front and gathered in the centre of the bosom into a long gold brooch. +A Spencer waist trimmed round back and down the sides with a frill of +the muslin, sleeves tied with pale green ribbon. Pale green ribbon +girdle. + +[Illustration: _Lady Catherine and Elizabeth Bennet._] + + + + +LADY CATHERINE’S VISIT. + + +_Characters._ + +_Lady Catherine de Burgh_, _Elizabeth Bennet._ + + _N.B._—“Elizabeth’s courage did not fail her. She had heard nothing + of Lady Catherine that spoke her awful from any extraordinary talents + or miraculous virtue, and the mere stateliness of money and rank + she thought she could witness without trepidation.... Her air was + not conciliating, nor was her manner of receiving them ... such + as to make her visitors forget their inferior rank. She was not + rendered formidable by silence; but whatever she said was spoken in + so authoritative a tone as marked her self-importance ... delivering + her opinion on every subject in so decisive a manner as proved that + she was not used to have her judgment controverted.”—_Pride and + Prejudice_, Vol I., Chap. XXIX. + + “There was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her (_Elizabeth’s_) + manner which made it difficult for her to affront anybody, and Darcy + had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.”—Vol. I., + Chap. X. + + (_Elizabeth._) “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear + to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with + every attempt to intimidate me.”—_Pride and Prejudice_, Vol. I., + Chap. XXXI. + + +_Scene—The morning-room at Longbourn. The furniture is comfortable, +but a little shabby; it also wears a faded look of gaudiness, and is +arranged in a stiff and formal manner._ + +_Properties required:—If possible a long French window at the back for +Lady Catherine to enter. If not practicable a door to the L. with a +screen in front of it, behind which the window must be imagined. Door +R._ + +_Elizabeth._ So all is settled peaceably and amicably in this turbulent +family of ours. Dear Jane has attained her wish at last, and is engaged +to Mr Bingley, and Lydia is married. Lydia, who caused us so much +unspeakable misery but a few weeks back, by eloping with Mr Wickham, is +married, and the Bennets are now acknowledged to be the luckiest family +in the world, though only a little while before we were generally +proved to be marked out by misfortune. + +How quickly and easily all this has been arranged, and by whom? By Mr +Darcy, whose character I once so misjudged, whose proposal of marriage +I treated with such scorn, but whom now my heart tells me I sincerely +love and esteem. To-morrow he is to come to see us with Bingley. +Bingley will have eyes for none but Jane. Will Mr Darcy be satisfied +to spend the time with me, or will he have too keen a remembrance +of my refusal when he was staying with Lady Catherine at Rosings? +Good heaven! were she to know what passed between us, what would her +feelings be. + +_Going to the window._ I thought I heard the sound of a carriage. Who +can it be? It is too early for visitors, and, besides, I know neither +the servant nor the livery. The horses are post, too. Good Heaven! +it is Lady Catherine de Burgh. What can she want here? She has seen +me, and evidently means to come in through the window. (_Enter Lady +Catherine de Burgh, C. through the French window or from behind the +screen. She bows stiffly to Elizabeth, who curtseys._) + +_Lady C. (sitting)._ I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. + +_Elizabeth._ Thank you, very well. Allow me to call my mother. + +_Lady C._ No, I thank you. It is you I have come all this way to see. + +_Elizabeth (surprised)._ I am greatly honoured. + +_Lady C._ You have a very small park here. + +_Elizabeth (smiling)._ It is certainly not to compare with Rosings, +but, I assure you, it is quite large enough for our use. + +_Lady C. (snifs)._ This must be a most inconvenient sitting-room for +the evening in summer; the windows are full west. + +_Elizabeth._ We only sit here in the morning. (_Aside._) Heaven! how +could I think her like her nephew. + +_Lady C._ You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason +of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience must tell you +why I come. + +_Elizabeth (with unaffected astonishment)._ Indeed, you are mistaken, +madam, I have not been at all able to account for the honour of seeing +you here. + +_Lady C. (angrily)._ Miss Bennet, you ought to know I am not to be +trifled with. But, however insincere _you_ may choose to be, you +shall not find _me_ so. My character has ever been celebrated for its +sincerity and frankness, and in a cause of such moment as this I shall +certainly not depart from it. A report of a most alarming nature +reached me two days ago. I was told that not only your elder sister was +on the point of being most advantageously married, but that _you_, that +Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards +united to my nephew—my own nephew—Mr Darcy. Though I _knew_ it must +be a scandalous falsehood—though I would not injure him so much as to +suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off +for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you. + +_Elizabeth (surprised and angry)._ If you believed it impossible to be +true, I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your +ladyship propose by it? + +_Lady C._ At once to insist upon having such a report universally +contradicted. + +_Elizabeth (coolly)._ Your coming to Longbourn to see me will be rather +a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence. + +_Lady C._ _If!_ do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not +been industriously circulated by yourselves. Do you not know that such +a report is spread abroad? + +_Elizabeth._ I never heard that it was. + +_Lady C._ And can you likewise declare that there is no _foundation_ +for it? + +_Elizabeth._ I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your +ladyship. _You_ may ask questions, which _I_ shall not choose to answer. + +_Lady C._ This is not to be borne! Miss Bennet, I insist on being +satisfied. Has he, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage? + +_Elizabeth._ Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible. + +_Lady C._ It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use +of his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of +infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all +his family. You may have drawn him in. + +_Elizabeth._ If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it. + +_Lady C._ Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed +to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in +the world, and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns. + +_Elizabeth._ But you are not entitled to know _mine_; nor will such +behaviour as this ever induce me to be explicit. + +_Lady C._ Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have +the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never; Mr Darcy is +engaged to _my daughter._ Now what have you to say? + +_Elizabeth (quietly)._ Only this, that if it is so, you can have no +reason to suppose he will make an offer to me. + +_Lady C._ The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their +infancy they have been intended for each other. It was the favourite +wish of _his_ mother as well as of hers. While in their cradles, we +planned the union, and now, at the moment when the wishes of both +sisters would be accomplished, is their marriage to be prevented by +a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and +wholly unallied to the family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of +his friends—to his tacit engagement with Miss de Burgh? Are you lost +to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say +that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin? + +_Elizabeth._ Yes! and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? +If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall +certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt +wished him to marry Miss de Burgh. You both did as much as you could, +in planning the marriage; its completion depended on others. If Mr +Darcy is neither by honour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why +is not he to make another choice? And if I am that choice, why may not +I accept him? + +_Lady C._ Because honour, decorum, prudence—nay, _interest_, forbid +it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by any +of his family or friends if you wilfully act against the inclinations +of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised by everyone +connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will +never be mentioned by any of us. + +_Elizabeth._ These are heavy misfortunes indeed. But the wife of Mr +Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily +attached to her situation that she could, upon the whole, have no cause +to repine. + +_Lady C._ Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you!—But you +are to understand me, Miss Bennet; I came here with the determined +resolution of carrying my purpose, nor will I be dissuaded from it. I +have not been used to submit to any person’s whims. I have not been in +the habit of brooking disappointment. + +_Elizabeth._ _That_ will make your ladyship’s situation at present more +pitiable, but it will have no effect on _me._ + +_Lady C._ I will not be interrupted! Hear me in silence. My daughter +and my nephew are formed for each other. They are descended, on the +maternal side, from the same noble line; and on the father’s, from +respectable, honourable, and ancient, though untitled families. Their +fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by +the voice of every member of their respective houses; and what is to +divide them?—the upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, +connections, or fortune! Is this to be endured? But it must not, shall +not be! If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to +quit the sphere in which you have been brought up. + +_Elizabeth._ In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as +quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman’s daughter: +so far we are equal. + +_Lady C._ True, you are a gentleman’s daughter; but who was your +mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of +their condition. + +_Elizabeth._ Whatever my connections may be, if your nephew does not +object to them, they can be nothing to you. + +_Lady C._ Tell me, once for all, are you engaged to him? + +_Elizabeth (after slight deliberation)._ I am not. + +_Lady C. (pleased)._ Ah! and will you promise me never to enter into +such an engagement? + +_Elizabeth._ I will make no promise of the kind. + +_Lady C._ Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find +a more reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a +belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given +me the assurance I require. + +_Elizabeth._ And I certainly _never_ shall give it. I am not to be +intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship +wants Mr Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my giving you your +wished-for promise make _their_ marriage at all more probable? +supposing him to be attached to me, would _my_ refusing to accept +his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin? Allow me to say, +Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this +extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application +was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character if you think I +can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your nephew +might approve of your interference in _his_ affairs I cannot tell, but +you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, +therefore, to be importuned no further on the subject. + +_Lady C._ Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all +the objections I have already urged, I have still another to add. I +am no stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister’s infamous +elopement. I know it all; that the young man’s marrying her was a +patched-up business—at the expense of your father and uncle. And is +such a girl to be my nephew’s sister? Heaven and earth!—of what are +you thinking? + +_Elizabeth (rising angrily)._ You can now have nothing further to say. +You have insulted me in every possible method. I must beg to be allowed +to leave you. (_Curtseys._) + +_Lady C. (rising, highly incensed)._ Stay, Miss Bennet. You have no +regard then for the honour and credit of my nephew! Unfeeling, selfish +girl! do you not consider that a connection with you must disgrace him +in the eyes of everybody. + +_Elizabeth._ Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say—you know my +sentiments. + +_Lady C._ You are then resolved to have him? + +_Elizabeth._ I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in +that manner which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, +without reference to _you_, or to any person so wholly unconnected with +me. + +_Lady C._ It is well! You refuse then to oblige me. You refuse to obey +the claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin +him in the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the +world. + +_Elizabeth._ Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude, has any possible +claim on me in the present instance. No principle of either would +be violated by my marriage with Mr Darcy. And with regard to the +resentment of his family or the indignation of the world, if the former +_were_ excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment’s +concern—and the world in general would have too much sense to join in +the scorn. + +_Lady C._ And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! +Very well, I shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, +that your ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped +to find you reasonable; but depend upon it, I will carry my point. + +_Elizabeth._ Good-day to you, Lady Catherine. + +_Lady C. (at the window or screen)._ I take no leave of you, Miss +Bennet. I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such +attention. I am most seriously displeased. (_Exit Lady Catherine._) + +_Elizabeth._ I could tell her truthfully I am _not_ engaged to Mr +Darcy, but she little guessed the rest. Yet I do not think he can +be quite indifferent to me, or surely she would not have taken the +trouble—If he comes to-morrow with Bingley, as he arranged, I shall +dare to hope (_sighs happily_). Perhaps I, too, may learn to think the +Bennet family lucky in spite of Lady Catherine de Burgh. + +[_Exit._ + +_End of Scene._ + + +PRINTED BY TURNBULL AND SPEARS, EDINBURGH. + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78656 *** diff --git a/78656-h/78656-h.htm b/78656-h/78656-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3d3fbe1 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/78656-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4217 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> + <title> + Duologues from Jane Austen’s novels | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 25%; } + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ +clear: both; } + +p {text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .5em; } +.hang {text-indent: -1em; margin-left: 1em;} +h4.hang {text-indent: -1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;} +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +.noin {text-indent: 0;} +hr { width: 33%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; +margin-left: 33.5%; margin-right: 33.5%; clear: both; } + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + + hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + + +table { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align:center;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ +/* visibility: hidden; */ position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: +small; text-align: right; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; +font-variant: normal; text-indent: 0; } /* page numbers */ + +blockquote { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; margin-left: 1%; +margin-right: 0%; text-indent: -1em;} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.small {font-size: 80%;} + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { max-width: 100%; height: auto; } img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { margin: auto; text-align: center; page-break-inside: +avoid; max-width: 100%; } + + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp48 {width: 48%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp48 {width: 100%;} +.illowp53 {width: 53%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp53 {width: 100%;} +.illowp100 {width: 100%;} +.illowp95 {width: 95%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp95 {width: 100%;} +.illowp71 {width: 71%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp71 {width: 100%;} +.illowp91 {width: 91%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp91 {width: 100%;} +.illowp73 {width: 73%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp73 {width: 100%;} +.illowp64 {width: 64%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp64 {width: 100%;} +.illowp85 {width: 85%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp85 {width: 100%;} +.illowp59 {width: 59%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp59 {width: 100%;} +.illowp83 {width: 83%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp83 {width: 100%;} +.illowp49 {width: 49%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp49 {width: 100%;} +.illowp60 {width: 60%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp60 {width: 100%;} +.illowp52 {width: 52%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp52 {width: 100%;} +.illowp62 {width: 62%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp62 {width: 100%;} + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78656 ***</div> + + +<div class="transnote"> <h3> + Transcriber’s note</h3> + +<p class="noin">Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation +inconsistencies have been silently repaired.</p></div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<h1> DUOLOGUES<br> <span class="small">FROM </span><br> JANE AUSTEN’S NOVELS</h1> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p class="center"> +<strong>DUOLOGUES</strong> <br><span class="small"><strong>FROM</strong> </span><br><strong>JANE AUSTEN’S NOVELS</strong> +</p> + +<p class="p4 center"> + ARRANGED BY<br> + + ROSINA FILIPPI +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + <p class="center"> + (<i><strong>All Rights Reserved.</strong></i>) + </p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp53" id="i_004" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_004.jpg" alt="frontispiece"> +</figure> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<figure class="figcenter illowp48" id="i_titlepage" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_titlepage.jpg" alt="titlepage"> +</figure> + +<p class="center"> + DUOLOGUES + AND SCENES + FROM THE + NOVELS OF + JANE AUSTEN + ARRANGED AND + ADAPTED FOR + DRAWING-ROOM + PERFORMANCE</p> +<p class="center p2"> + BY + <span class="smcap">Rosina Filippi</span> + (Mrs Dowson)</p> +<p class="center"> + <i>With Illustrations by</i> + Miss <span class="smcap">Fletcher</span> +</p> + + +<p class="center p2"> + LONDON: Published by <span class="smcap">J. M. Dent</span> and <span class="smcap">Company</span> + at <span class="smcap">Aldine House</span> in Great Eastern Street, E.C. + MDCCCXCV +</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[v]</span></p> +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_007" style="max-width: 18.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_007.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="PREFACE"> + PREFACE. + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">It</span> is an ungrateful task to write a preface, for +few people, if any, ever read one.</p> + +<p>“The play’s the thing,” and “a good play +needs no epilogue.” So should a good book +need no preface, and for one that can boast of +containing between its two covers seven picked +scenes from the pen of one of the most charming +writers in the English language—Jane Austen—no +introduction whatever is needed. But to +ruthlessly tear her from the library shelf +and place her in the hands of the amateur +actor demands explanation and even apology.</p> + +<p>Jane Austen as a novelist has won and maintained +a place in the first rank, but as a +writer of true comedy she has been too long +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[vi]</span>unrecognised. She is essentially dramatic, and +her characters assume shape, form, and colour; +her plots are human, her people are alive. +No individual in any of her novels degenerates +into caricature, yet there is not one but has a +touch of the humorous in his or her composition. +Her duologues and scenes are complete in +themselves, and in them one appreciates the +maxim of Alexandre Dumas, who declared +that the <i>only</i> essentials for a play were “<i>une +passion, deux personages, et un paravent</i>.”</p> + +<p>Keeping, therefore, to this rule, these scenes +should be represented with no scenery whatever—(by +scenery, I mean stage, proscenium, +footlights, and curtain)—but it is essential that +the accurate costume of the day should be +worn; for though the plot and sentiments +thoroughly appeal to the modern mind, the +language belongs to a past generation, and an +incongruity would arise were it spoken in +modern dress. The period represented is from +1792-1807, and a pen and ink sketch of the +type of character and style of dress, the work of +Miss Margaret Fletcher, accompanies each scene.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span></p> + +<p>In order to make the plots clear and the +duologues intelligible to those of the audience +who are unacquainted with the novels themselves, +a few words in monologue form have sometimes +been added to the text—the greatest care being +taken, however, to keep as much as possible +to the spirit of the original—while for dramatic +effect and finish, the time or place of action +has often been changed from a garden or +street scene to that of an interior, lest the +absence of scenery should be felt by actors +or audience.</p> + +<p>The idea of compiling this small book arose +from the dearth of good duologues and one-act +plays suitable for amateur performance. The +acting rights of the best pieces being reserved, +it is difficult for the uninitiated to obtain +them; moreover, it is expensive, and so the +orange-covered book is sought, and a play +neither clever nor interesting selected, simply +because it is found to contain the requisite +number of characters, and has no elaborate +scenery.</p> + +<p>How refreshing, then, must these seven +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span>scenes be to both artists and audience—they +play themselves—the language, sentiments, +and personalities are within the reach of every +cultivated amateur; and I am convinced that +Jane Austen <i>as a play-wright</i> will fascinate her +audiences as much as she has her readers <i>as +a novelist</i>.</p> + +<p class="right"> + ROSINA FILIPPI. +</p> +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_010" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_010.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_011" style="max-width: 18.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_011.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +</div> + +<table> + <tr><td class="tdl">I.</td> <td>LITERARY TASTES</td> +<td class="tdr"><i>Page</i> <a href="#LITERARY_TASTES">1</a></td> </tr> + <tr><td> </td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Duologue between Catherine Morland and</span> + <span class="smcap">Isabella Thorpe</span> (in the Pump Room, + Bath) </td></tr> + + <tr><td colspan="3" class="tdc">“<i>Northanger Abbey</i>”</td> </tr> + + <tr><td class="tdl">II.</td> <td>THE SETTLEMENT QUESTION</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_SETTLEMENT_QUESTION">15</a></td></tr> + <tr><td> </td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Duologue between Mr and Mrs John</span> + <span class="smcap">Dashwood</span></td></tr> + + <tr><td colspan="3" class="tdc">“<i>Sense and Sensibility</i>”</td></tr> + + <tr><td class="tdl">III.</td> <td>THE READING OF JANE FAIRFAX’S LETTER </td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_READING_OF_JANE_FAIRFAXS">31</a></td> </tr> + <tr><td> </td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Duologue between Miss Bates and Emma</span></td> </tr> + + <tr><td colspan="3" class="tdc">“<i>Emma</i>”</td> </tr> + + <tr><td class="tdl">IV.</td> <td>A STRAWBERRY PICNIC</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_STRAWBERRY_PICNIC">51</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td> </td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Duologue between Mrs Elton and Mr</span> + <span class="smcap">Knightley</span> </td></tr> + + <tr><td colspan="3" class="tdc">“<i>Emma</i>”</td></tr> + + <tr><td class="tdl">V.</td> <td>THREE LOVES +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THREE_LOVES">65</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td> </td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Duologues between Emma and Harriet, and</span> + <span class="smcap">Emma and Mr Knightley</span></td> </tr> + + <tr><td colspan="3" class="tdc">“<i>Emma</i>”</td></tr> + + <tr><td class="tdl">VI.</td> <td>THE PROPOSAL OF MR COLLINS</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_PROPOSAL_OF_MR_COLLINS">101</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td> </td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Dialogue between Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth</span> + <span class="smcap">Bennet, and Mr Collins</span></td> </tr> + + <tr><td colspan="3" class="tdc">“<i>Pride and Prejudice</i>” </td></tr> + + <tr><td class="tdl">VII.</td> <td>LADY CATHERINE’S VISIT</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#LADY_CATHERINES_VISIT">123</a></td></tr> + <tr><td> </td> + <td colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Duologue between Lady Catherine and</span> + <span class="smcap">Elizabeth Bennet</span> </td></tr> + + <tr><td colspan="3" class="tdc">“<i>Pride and Prejudice</i>”</td></tr> +</table> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_012" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_012.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"> + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + </h2> +</div> + +<table> + <tr><td><span class="smcap">Costumes</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><i><a href="#i_004">Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr> + + <tr><td><span class="smcap">Isabella Thorpe and Catherine Morland</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><i>Page</i> <a href="#i_021">3</a></td> + </tr> + <tr><td><span class="smcap">Mr and Mrs John Dashwood</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_037">17</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td><span class="smcap">Miss Bates and Emma</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_055">33</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td><span class="smcap">Mrs Elton and Mr Knightley</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_077">53</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td><span class="smcap">Emma and Harriet</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_093">67</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td><span class="smcap">Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Collins</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_131">103</a></td></tr> + + <tr><td><span class="smcap">Lady Catherine and Elizabeth Bennet</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#i_155">125</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</span></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp95" id="i_015" style="max-width: 18.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_015.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + +<h2>COSTUMES.</h2> +</div> + +<h3>LADIES.</h3> + +<p class="noin"><span class="smcap">The</span> prevailing materials for the morning dresses of +this period were cambrics, India muslins, clear muslins, +usually white, and often spotted and sprigged with +clear colours. The bodices were usually cut low +with short sleeves, the neck being covered with an +embroidered habit shirt or chemisette, often cut with +very high collars coming up to the ears. The arms +were covered with sleeves of rucked muslin or net. +The walking dresses were worn to the ankle only, +but the more graceful house dress was worn long. +“Spencers,” or short bodices, with sleeves made +of silk or cloth, were often worn over the muslin +dress out of doors; these were sometimes buttoned +down the centre, sometimes double-breasted, sometimes +left open. “Spanish vests,” a sort of Spencer, +with long-pointed ends in front, were often seen. +Shawls, and long scarfs with embroidered ends, were +almost invariable accompaniments of out-door dress, +and were carried over the arm or worn draped over +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</span>one shoulder, or round the neck, with long ends +hanging in front like a boa. The use of muslins, +furs, China silks, sarsnets, satins, etc., indiscriminately, +was characteristic of the period. A dress of India +muslin and a fur muff and boa was not considered +incongruous. Small hats and turban-shaped caps +were as much worn as large; ostrich and herons’ +feathers, satins, velvets, velvet flowers, and even +jewels were used for these. Gloves were usually of +York tan or French kid, but sometimes were of <i>net</i>. +Shoes were made of varying materials—coloured kid, +often velvet or silk. The colours most in vogue +were pinks, lilacs, violets, lavender, pale primrose, +pale greens—scarlets often for pelisses—and all clear +colours. Browns are described as “cinamon,” +chocolate, nut, “la boue de Paris,” Egyptian brown, +etc. All muslin dresses were worn over “slips” +of silk or cambric. In making the bodices, it +should be borne in mind that of the many ways of +cutting them, the least graceful is to have a +straight line round the waist. The line should curve +upwards from beneath the bosom in front and reach +the highest point between the shoulder-blades at the +back, as seen in the back view of Emma. A double +curve, which rises slightly in front as well, as seen +in one of the distant figures in the frontispiece, is +very becoming.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">[xv]</span></p> + +<h3>GENTLEMEN.</h3> + +<p>The men’s dress of this period had all the variety of +a time of transition—cut-away and swallow-tail coats +as well as riding coats and surtouts were worn, differing +mainly from the garments of to-day in the height +of the waist, and often extravagant height of the +collar. The waistcoats were high-waisted, of the +gayest colours and most varied materials, being ornamented +with fantastic buttons. Pantaloons, either +buttoned just above the ankle, or tied with a riband, +were in almost universal use; these were supplemented +out of doors by top-boots or gaiters. The pantaloons +were usually of cloth, though occasionally knitted wool +was worn. High stocks and frilled shirt-fronts were +usual, but would not have reached an eccentric pitch +among Miss Austen’s quiet country folks. Hats were +high-crowned, with curved brims of varying width, and +were made of beaver, felt, or straw. Knee-breeches +would be worn by the old-fashioned folk, and by clergy-men. +The colouring being centred in the waistcoat, +the rest of the costume, though perhaps slightly gayer +than that of the present day, would on the whole be +sober in hue.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="LITERARY_TASTES"> + LITERARY TASTES. + </h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Duologue between Catherine Morland and +Isabella Thorpe.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>From “Northanger Abbey.”</i></p> + +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + <h3 class="nobreak" id="Costumes"> + <i>Costumes.</i> + </h3> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> is wearing a pelisse of lilac-coloured sarsanet, +trimmed with white swansdown; a French cambric +frock fastened down the front with small round pearl +buttons, and with a border of gold-coloured embroidery +round the skirt, which is of walking length. The +bodice is cut low, a muslin chemisette with high +collar and frill being worn to cover the neck.</p> + +<p>The hat of straw or white beaver is tied under the +chin by a tan-coloured ribbon, which passes over the +crown; a tuft of white ostrich feathers on the left +side; tan gloves and tan shoes.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> wears a large natural-coloured straw hat, +with jonguille green ribbon and white feathers. A +dress of cambric muslin spotted with pale yellow +flowers, short full sleeves, and a primrose-coloured +shawl; white or tan gloves.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<figure class="figcenter illowp71" id="i_021" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_021.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <i>Isabella Thorpe and Catherine Morland.</i> + </figcaption> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span></p> + + <p class="center"> + LITERARY TASTES. + </p> +</div> +<h3><i>Characters.</i></h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Isabella Thorpe and Catherine Morland.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>N.B.</i>—“The progress of the friendship between +Catherine and Isabella was quick as its beginning +had been warm; and they passed +so rapidly through every gradation of increasing +tenderness, that there was shortly +no fresh proof of it to be given to their +friends or themselves. They called each +other by their Christian name, were always +arm-in-arm when they walked, pinned up +each other’s train for the dance, and were +not to be divided in the set; and, if a +rainy morning deprived them of other +enjoyments, they were still resolute in +meeting, in defiance of wet and dirt, and +shut themselves up to read novels.... +The following conversation, which took +place between the two friends in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>Pump-room one morning, after an acquaintance +of eight or nine days, is given +as a specimen of their very warm attachment, +and of the delicacy, discretion, +originality of thought, and literary taste +which marked the reasonableness of that +attachment.”—<i>Northanger Abbey</i>, Chap. V. +and VI.</p> + +<h4><i>Scene—Part of the Pump-room at Bath.</i></h4> + +<p class="hang"><i>Properties required:—A sofa R.C.; a small table L., +with the visitors’ book upon it. Door L. A +window up R.C. Enter Isabella Thorpe. +Having to wait a few moments, she shows +every sign of impatience. Enter Catherine +Morland.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"><i>Isabella</i> (<i>rising suddenly</i>). My dearest creature! +what can have made you so late? (<i>They embrace.</i>) +I have been waiting for you at least this age.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> (<i>surprised</i>). Have you, indeed? I am +very sorry for it, but really I thought I was in +very good time (<i>pointing to her watch or a time-piece</i>); +it is but just one. I hope you have not +been here long?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span></p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Oh! these ten ages at least. I am +sure I have been here this half-hour; but now, +let us sit down and enjoy ourselves. (<i>They sit +on the sofa.</i>) I have a hundred things to say +to you. In the first place, I was so afraid +it would rain this morning, just as I wanted to +set off; it looked very showery, and that would +have thrown me into agonies! Do you know, +I saw the prettiest hat you can imagine in a +shop window in Milsom Street just now—very +like yours, only with coquelicot ribands instead +of green; I quite longed for it. But, my +dearest Catherine, what have you been doing +with yourself this morning? Have you gone +on with “Udolpho”?</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> Yes, I have been reading it ever +since I awoke, and I am got to the black veil.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Are you, indeed? How delightful! +Oh! I would not tell you what is behind the +black veil for the world! Are you not wild to +know?</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> Oh! yes, quite, what can it be? +But do not tell me—I would not be told upon +any account. I know it must be a skeleton, I +am sure it is Laurentina’s skeleton. Oh! I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>am delighted with the book! I should like +to spend my whole life in reading it, I assure +you; if it had not been to meet you, I would +not have come away from it for all the world.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> (<i>embracing Catherine impulsively</i>). Dear +creature! how much I am obliged to you; and +when you have finished “Udolpho” we will +read the Italian together; and I have made +out a list of ten or twelve more of the same +kind for you.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> Have you, indeed! How glad I +am! What are they all?</p> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> (<i>rising</i>). I will read you their names +directly; here they are in my pocket-book—(<i>takes +out a small pocket-book from her reticule +and reads</i>), “Castle of Wolfenbach,” “Clermont,” +“Mysterious Warnings,” “Necromancer of the +Black Forest,” “Midnight Bell,” “Orphan of +the Rhine,” and “Horrid Mysteries”—(<i>shutting +the book</i>). There! those will last us some time.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> Yes—pretty well, but are they all +horrid? are you sure that they are all horrid?</p> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> (<i>leaning on the sofa, R. end</i>). Yes, quite +sure; for a particular friend of mine—a Miss +Andrews, a sweet girl, one of the sweetest +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>creatures in the world, has read every one of +them. I wish you knew Miss Andrews, you +would be delighted with her. She is netting +herself the sweetest cloak you can conceive. I +think her as beautiful as an angel, and I am +so vexed with the men for not admiring her! +I scold them all amazingly about it.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> Scold them! Do you <i>scold</i> them +for not admiring her?</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Yes, that I do. There is nothing I +would not do for those who are really my +friends. I have no notion of loving people by +halves; it is not my nature. My attachments +are always excessively strong. I told Captain +Hunt, at one of our assemblies this winter, that +if he was to tease me all night, I would not +dance with him unless he would allow Miss +Andrews to be as beautiful as an angel. +The men think us incapable of real friendship, +you know, and I am determined to show them +the difference. Now, if I were to hear anybody +speak slightingly of you (<i>embrace</i>) I should fire +up in a moment; but that is not at all likely, +for <i>you</i> are just the kind of girl to be a +great favourite with the men.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span></p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> (<i>hanging her head and turning away</i>). +Oh! dear! how can you say so?</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Oh! I know you very well, you have +so much animation, which is exactly what Miss +Andrews wants; for I must confess there is +something amazingly insipid about her. (<i>Sitting +down again.</i>) Oh! I must tell you, that +just after we parted yesterday I saw a young +man looking at you so earnestly.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> (<i>turning away still more</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> I am sure he is in love with you.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> Oh! Isabella!</p> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> (<i>laughing</i>). It is very true, upon my +honour. But I see how it is; you are indifferent +to everybody’s admiration except that of one +gentleman, who shall be nameless. (<i>Suddenly +serious.</i>) Nay, I cannot blame you, your feelings +are easily understood (<i>rising</i>); where the heart +is really attached, I know very well how little +one can be pleased with the attentions of anybody +else (<i>walking to R.</i>); everything is so +insipid, so uninteresting, that does not relate to +the beloved object; I can perfectly comprehend +your feelings.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> But you should not persuade me +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>that I think so very much about Mr Tilney, +for perhaps I may never see him again.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Not see him again! (<i>embracing</i>) my +dearest creature, do not talk of it. I am sure +you would be miserable if you thought so.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> (<i>smiling</i>). No, indeed, I should not. +I do not pretend to say that I was not very +much pleased with him; but while I have +“Udolpho” to read, I feel as if nobody could +make me miserable. Oh! the dreadful black +veil! My dear Isabella, I am sure there must +be Laurentina’s skeleton behind it.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> (<i>taking Catherine’s arm and walking up +and down</i>). It is so odd to me that you should +never have read “Udolpho” before; but I suppose +Mrs Morland objects to novels.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> No, she does not. She very often +reads “Sir Charles Grandison” herself; but new +books do not fall in our way.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> “Sir Charles Grandison”! that is +an amazing horrid book, is it not? I remember +Miss Andrews could not get through the first +volume.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> It is not like “Udolpho” at all, +but yet I think it is very entertaining.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span></p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Do you, indeed? You surprise me; +I thought it had not been readable (<i>stopping +short</i>). But, my dearest Catherine, have you +settled what to wear on your head to-night? +I am determined, at all events, to be dressed +exactly like you. The men take notice of +<i>that</i> sometimes, you know.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> (<i>innocently</i>). But it does not signify if +they do.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Signify! Oh! Heavens! I make it +a rule never to mind what they say. They +are very often amazingly impertinent if you +do not treat them with spirit, and make them +keep their distance.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> Are they? Well, I never observed +<i>that</i>. They always behave very well to me.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Oh! They give themselves such +airs. They are the most conceited creatures +in the world, and think themselves of so much +importance. By the bye, though I have thought +of it a hundred times, I have always forgot +to ask you what is your favourite complexion +in a man. Do you like them best dark or +fair?</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> I hardly know. I never much +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>thought about it. Something between both, +I think; brown—not fair and not very +dark.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Very well, Catherine. That is +exactly he. I have not forgot your description +of Mr Tilney—“A brown skin, with dark +eyes and rather dark hair.” Well, my taste is +different; I prefer light eyes; and as to +complexion—do you know—I like a sallow +better than any other. But you must not +betray me, if you should ever meet with one +of your acquaintance answering that description.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> (<i>impulsively</i>). Betray you! what do +you mean?</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Nay, do not distress me—I believe +I have said too much already. Pray, let us drop +the subject.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> My dearest Isabella, certainly, if you +wish it. (<i>Aside as Isabella walks towards the door.</i>) +I wonder if it <i>is</i> Laurentina’s skeleton. Oh! it +must be Laurentina’s skeleton.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> (<i>coming suddenly back to Catherine, but +looking over her shoulder towards the door</i>). For +Heaven’s sake let us move away from this end +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>of the room. Do you know, there are two +odious young men who have been staring at +me this half hour? They really put me quite +out of countenance. Let us go and look at +the arrivals in the visiting book. They will +hardly follow us there. (<i>They walk to the book. +While Isabella examines the book, Catherine watches +the proceedings off L. door.</i>) They are not coming +this way, are they? I hope they are not so +impertinent as to follow us. Pray let me know +if they are coming. I am determined I will +not look up.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> (<i>at door, with unaffected pleasure</i>). You +need no longer be uneasy; the gentlemen have +just left the Pump-room.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> (<i>turning hastily round</i>). And which way +are they gone? One of them was a very good-looking +young man.</p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> (<i>going to the window</i>). They are going +towards the Churchyard.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> (<i>hastily</i>). Well, I am amazingly glad I +have got rid of them; and now, what say you to +going to Edgar’s Buildings with me and looking +at my new hat? You said you should like to +see it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span></p> + +<p><i>Catherine.</i> With pleasure—only—perhaps we +may overtake the two young men.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella.</i> Oh! never mind that. If we make +haste, we shall pass by them presently, and I +am dying to show you my hat (<i>taking Catherine’s +hand and drawing her towards the door.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Catherine</i> (<i>holding back</i>). But if we only wait a +few minutes there will be no danger of our +seeing them at all.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella</i> (<i>with great dignity, still holding Catherine’s +hand</i>). I shall not pay them any such compliment, +I assure you. I have no notion of treating men +with such respect. <i>That</i> is the way to spoil +them. Come—and see my new hat. (<i>Exeunt +Catherine and Isabella, hurriedly, by the door.</i>)</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>Curtain.</i></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp91" id="i_033" style="max-width: 18.75em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_033.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SETTLEMENT_QUESTION"> + THE SETTLEMENT QUESTION. + </h2> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Duologue between Mr and Mrs John Dashwood.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>From “Sense and Sensibility,” Vol. I., chap. II.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span></p> + + + <h3> + Costumes. + </h3> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> Black dress with a Spanish vest trimmed +with narrow black velvet; pointed ends in front, +finished with black tassels. Skirt trimmed with black +ermine velvet to match white ermine opera tippet.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> In grey and black.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span></p> +<figure class="figcenter illowp73" id="i_037" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_037.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <i>Mr and Mrs John Dashwood.</i> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p> + + + <p class="center"> + THE SETTLEMENT QUESTION. + </p> + +<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">A Conversation.</span>)</p> + + +<h3><i>Characters.</i></h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Mr and Mrs John Dashwood</i>.</p> + +<h4 class="hang"><i>Scene—The morning room at Norlands. It is a +comfortably furnished room.</i></h4> + +<p class="hang"><i>Properties required:—Door R. Window C. Tables +R. and L. Chairs on either side. Books and +a work basket with household mending in it.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>N.B.</i>—“He (Mr John Dashwood) was not an +ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather +cold-hearted, and rather selfish is to be ill-disposed; +but he was, in general, well +respected, for he conducted himself with +propriety in the discharge of his ordinary +duties. Had he married a more amiable +woman, he might have been still more +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>respectable than he was; he might even +have been made amiable himself, for he +was very young when he married, and very +fond of his wife. But Mrs Dashwood was +a strong caricature of himself; more narrow-minded +and selfish.”—<i>Sense and Sensibility</i>, +Chap. I.</p> + +<p class="center p2"><i>Enter Mrs John Dashwood, Door R. She is in +mourning.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> (<i>going to the window and arranging +the curtains.</i>) A comfortably appointed house—a +little shabby, perhaps—but with judicious +alterations here and there, I do not doubt of +making it very fit and habitable for Mr Dashwood +and myself. (<i>Sitting to her work.</i>) Yet +I wish my father-in-law had not died here, +and thus put me to the inconvenience of offering +a home to his widow and three daughters till +they have found a suitable house of their own. +I think I made it palpably clear to them that +their stay could only be considered in the light +of a visit, by arriving with dear little Harry and +our attendants as soon as the funeral was over. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>The house was my husband’s from the moment +of his father’s decease, and no one could dispute +my right to come. But such is the indelicacy +and selfishness of our mother-in-law, that unless +my husband finds her a home elsewhere, she +and her daughters will consider they may remain +here for ever. I hope Mr Dashwood will see +that they are soon settled, and then I can take +up my proper position at Norlands.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Enter Mr John Dashwood. He, too, is in mourning.</i></p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> My dear, if you are at leisure I should +like to speak with you about the promise I made +to my late lamented father upon his death-bed +respecting the future of my step-mother and +three sisters.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> The very thing I was thinking of +myself.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> I am happy to see we are in such +accord. The case is this. My present income, +which is not inconsiderable, will now be increased +by four thousand a-year, and the +prospect has determined me to behave with +generosity. I therefore propose to give them +three thousand pounds.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span></p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> (<i>with horror</i>). Three thousand +pounds!</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> Yes. It will be liberal and handsome. +I can spare so considerable a sum with +little inconvenience, and it would be enough +to make them completely easy.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> But, my dear Mr Dashwood, pray +consider. To take three thousand pounds +from the fortune of our dear little boy would +be impoverishing him to the most dreadful +degree. I beg you to think again on the +subject. How can you answer it to yourself +to rob your child, your only child too, of so +large a sum? and what possible claims can +the Miss Dashwoods, who are related to you +only by half blood, which I consider as no +relationship at all, have on your generosity to +so large an amount? It is very well known +that no affection is ever supposed to exist +between the children of any man by different +marriages; and why are you to ruin yourself +and our poor little Harry, by giving away all +your money to your half sisters?</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> It was my father’s last request to me, +that I should assist his widow and daughters.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span></p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> He did not know what he was +talking of, I dare say. Ten to one but he +was light-headed at the time. Had he been +in his right senses, he could not have thought +of such a thing as begging you to give away +half your fortune from your own child.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> He did not stipulate for any particular +sum, my dear Fanny; he only requested +me, in general terms, to assist them, and make +their situation more comfortable than it was in +his power to do. Perhaps it would have been +as well if he had left it wholly to myself. +He could hardly suppose I should neglect +them. But—as he required the promise, I +could not do less than give it—at least, I +thought so at the time. The promise, therefore, +was given, and must be performed. +Something must be done for them whenever +they leave Norland and settle in a new +home.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> Well, then, <i>let</i> something be done +for them; but <i>that</i> something need not be +three thousand pounds. Consider, that when +the money is once parted with, it never can +return. Your sisters will marry, and it will +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>be gone for ever,—if, indeed, it could ever +be restored to our poor little boy.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> (<i>gravely</i>). Why, to be sure, that would +make a difference. The time may come when +Harry will regret that so large a sum was +parted with. If he should have a numerous +family, for instance, it would be a very convenient +addition.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> To be sure it would.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> Perhaps, then, it would be better +for all parties if the sum were diminished one +half. Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious +increase to their fortune.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> Oh! beyond anything great! +What brother on earth would do half so +much for his sisters, even if <i>really</i> his sisters! +And as it is—only half blood! But you have +such a generous spirit!</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> I would not wish to do anything +mean; one had rather, on such occasions, do +too much than too little. No one, at least, can +think I have not done enough for them. Even +themselves, they can hardly expect more.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> There is no knowing what <i>they</i> may +expect. But we are not to think of their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>expectations; the question is, what you can +afford to do.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> Certainly; and I think I can afford +to give them five hundred pounds a-piece. +As it is, without any addition of mine, they +will each have above three thousand pounds +on their mother’s death—a very comfortable +fortune for any young woman.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> To be sure it is; and, indeed, it +strikes me that they can want no addition +at all. They will have ten thousand pounds +divided amongst them. If they marry they +will be sure of doing well, and if they do +not, they will live very comfortably together +on the interest of ten thousand pounds.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> That is very true, and, therefore, I +do not know whether, upon the whole, it would +not be more advisable to do something for +their mother while she lives, rather than for +them—something of the annuity kind I mean. +My sisters would feel the good effects of it +as well as herself. A hundred a year would +make them all perfectly comfortable.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> (<i>hesitating</i>). To be sure it is better than +parting with fifteen hundred pounds at once; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>but then, if Mrs Dashwood should live fifteen +years, we shall be completely taken in.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> Fifteen years! my dear Fanny, her +life cannot be worth half that purchase.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> Certainly not, but if you observe, +people always live for ever when there is any +annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout, +and healthy, and hardly forty. An annuity is +a very serious business; it comes over and over +every year, and there is no getting rid of it. +You are not aware of what you are doing. +I have known a great deal of the trouble of +annuities, for my mother was clogged with the +payment of three to old superannuated servants +by my father’s will, and it is amazing how +disagreeable she found it. Twice every year +these annuities were to be paid; and then +there was the trouble of getting it to them: +and then one of them was said to have died, +and afterwards it turned out to be no such +thing. My mother was quite sick of it. Her +income was not her own she said, with such +perpetual claims upon it; and it was the more +unkind in my father, because otherwise, the +money would have been entirely at my mother’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>disposal without any restriction whatever. It +has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, +that I am sure <i>I</i> would not pin myself down +to the payment of one for all the world.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> It is certainly an unpleasant thing +to have those kind of yearly drains on one’s +income. One’s fortune, as your mother justly +says, is <i>not</i> one’s own. To be tied down to +the regular payment of such a sum, on every +rent day, is by no means desirable; it takes +away one’s independence.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> Undoubtedly; and, after all, you have +no thanks for it, they think themselves secure; +you do no more than what is expected, and +it raises no gratitude at all. If I were you, +whatever I did should be done at my own +discretion entirely. I would not bind myself +to allow them anything yearly. It may be +very inconvenient some years to spare a hundred, +or even fifty, pounds from our own expenses.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> I believe you are right, my love; +it will be better that there should be no annuity +in the case. Whatever I may give them +occasionally will be of far greater assistance +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>than a yearly allowance, because they would +only enlarge their style of living if they felt +sure of a larger income, and would not be +sixpence the richer for it at the end of the +year. It will certainly be much the best way. +A present of fifty pounds now and then will +prevent their ever being distressed for money, +and will, I think, be amply discharging my +promise to my father.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> To be sure it will. Indeed, to say +the truth, I am convinced within myself that +your father had no idea of your giving them +any money at all. The assistance he thought +of, I dare say, was only such as might be +reasonably expected of you; for instance, such +as looking out for a comfortable small house +for them, helping them to move their things, +and sending them presents of fish and game, +and so forth, whenever they are in season. +I’ll lay my life that he meant nothing further; +indeed, it would be very strange and unreasonable +if he did. Do but consider, my dear Mr +Dashwood, how excessively comfortable your +step-mother and her daughters may live on +the interest of seven thousand pounds, besides +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>the thousand pounds belonging to each of the +girls, which brings them in fifty pounds a year +a-piece, and of course they will pay their mother +for their board out of it. Altogether they will +have five hundred a year amongst them; and +what on earth can four women want for more +than that? They will live so cheap! Their +housekeeping will be nothing at all. They +will have no carriage, no horses, and hardly +any servants; they will keep no company, and +can have no expenses of any kind! Only conceive +how comfortable they will be! Five +hundred a year! I am sure I cannot imagine +how they will spend half of it; and as for +your giving them more, it is quite absurd to +think of it. They will be much more able +to give <i>you</i> something.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> Upon my word, I believe you are perfectly +right. My father certainly could mean nothing +more by his request to me than what you +say. I clearly understand it now, and I will +strictly fulfil my engagement by such acts of +assistance and kindness to them as you have +described. When my step-mother removes into +another house my services shall be readily given +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>to accommodate her as far as I can. Some +little present of furniture, too, may be acceptable +then.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> Certainly; but, however, <i>one</i> thing +must be considered,—that though the furniture +goes with this house, and is therefore our +own, your father left <i>all</i> the china, linen, and +plate to your step-mother. Her house will +therefore be almost completely fitted up as soon +as she takes it.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> That is a material consideration, undoubtedly; +a valuable legacy, indeed! And +some of the plate would have been a very +pleasant addition to our own stock here.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> Yes, and the set of breakfast china +is twice as handsome as ours; a great deal +too handsome, in my opinion, for any place +<i>they</i> can ever afford to live in. But, however, +so it is. Your father thought only of +<i>them</i>, and I must say this, that you owe no +particular gratitude to him, nor attention to +his wishes; for we very well know, that if +he could he would have left almost everything +in the world to them.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> My love, I am convinced of the truth +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>of what you say. It will not only be absolutely +unnecessary, but highly indecorous to do more. +(<i>Looking at his watch.</i>) Eleven o’clock; the carriage +should be here. My step-mother has not +been out of doors since my father’s funeral, +and I ordered the carriage to take her and my +sisters for a drive.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> (<i>rising and putting away her work</i>). +My dear Mr Dashwood. No! Here I must be +firm. It is quite an unnecessary luxury, which +they must sooner or later relinquish; and if they +are indulged in carriage exercise now, how can +they ever be expected to conform to the new +mode of life attendant on their reduced circumstances? +It is a cruelty, not a kindness, on your +part to suggest such a thing. However, rather +than that Wilkins should have troubled to harness +the horses in vain, I will take little Harry +out with me. The air will do him all the good +in the world, and you can easily explain to your +mother and sisters that it is incumbent upon me +to drive round the estate in order to learn a +little of its extent and capacity. You can tell +them they shall go out another day.</p> + +<p><i>Mr D.</i> My dear Fanny, you are right, your +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>judgment of such matters can never be at fault. +Perhaps I <i>was</i> over-hospitable.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs D.</i> (<i>emphatically</i>). My dear Mr Dashwood, +of that there is no doubt.</p> + +<p class="right"> + [<i>Exeunt Mr and Mrs Dashwood</i>. +</p> + + +<p class="center"> + <i>End of Scene.</i> +</p> +<figure class="figcenter illowp64" id="i_052" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_052.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_READING_OF_JANE_FAIRFAXS"> + THE READING OF JANE FAIRFAX’S + LETTER. + </h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Duologue between Miss Bates and Emma.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>From “Emma,” Vol. I., Chap. XIX.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + <h3> + Costumes. + </h3> + + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Long curricle coat of jonquil green china +silk, lined with fawn-coloured sarsanet: white cambric +dress, the bodice with wrap fronts, crossing on the +bosom and fastening at the middle of the back. Opera +tippet (boa of white swansdown). A cap of “tiara” +form of nut-brown silk, trimmed with pointed green +leaves and tied under the chin with nut-brown ribbons; +large muff of white swansdown.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Dress of grey or dark brown silk striped +with black; chemisette of thick white muslin; apron of +black satin; broad ribbon of myrtle green tied round the +head in a bow at the top, a black ostrich tip fastened +in the ribbon with an antique pebble brooch; an eye-glass +fastened round the neck by a long black ribbon.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<figure class="figcenter illowp85" id="i_055" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_055.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <i>Miss Bates and Emma.</i> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span></p> + + + <p class="center"> + THE READING OF JANE FAIRFAX’S + LETTER. + </p> + + +<h3><i>Characters.</i></h3> + +<p class="center"> + <i>Miss Bates, Mrs Bates, Emma Woodhouse.</i> +</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>N.B.</i>—“After these came a second set, among +the most come-at-able of whom were Mrs +and Miss Bates ... almost always at the +service of an invitation from Hartfield, +and who were fetched and carried home +so often that Mr Woodhouse thought it +no hardship for either James or the +horses. Had it taken place only once a +year it would have been a grievance. <i>Mrs +Bates</i>, the widow of a former Vicar of +Highbury, was a very old lady, almost +past everything but tea and quadrille. +She lived with her single daughter in a +very small way, and was considered with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>all the regard and respect which a harmless +old lady, under such untoward circumstances, +can excite. <i>Her daughter</i> enjoyed a +most uncommon degree of popularity for +a woman neither young, handsome, rich, +nor married. Miss Bates stood in the very +worst predicament in the world for having +much of the public favour, and she had +no intellectual superiority to make atonement +to herself, or frighten those who +might hate her, into outward respect. +She had never boasted either beauty or +cleverness. Her youth had passed without +distinction, and her middle life was devoted +to the care of a failing mother, and the +endeavour to make a small income go as +far as possible, and yet she was a happy +woman, and a woman whom no one named +without good-will. It was her own +universal good-will and contented temper +which worked such wonders. She loved +everybody, was interested in everybody’s +happiness, quick-sighted to everybody’s +merits, thought herself a most fortunate +creature, and surrounded with blessings +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>in such an excellent mother, and so many +good neighbours and friends, and a home +that wanted for nothing. The simplicity +and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented +and grateful spirit, were a recommendation +to everybody, and a mine of +felicity to herself. She was a great talker +upon little matters, full of trivial communications +and harmless gossip.... These +were the ladies whom <i>Emma</i> found herself +very frequently able to collect; and happy +was she, for her father’s sake, in the power; +though, as far as she herself was concerned, +it was no remedy for the absence +of Mrs Weston (her former governess +and best friend). The quiet gossipings +of such women made her feel that every +evening so spent was indeed one of the +long evenings she had fearfully anticipated.”—<i>Emma</i>, +Chap. III.</p> + +<h4><i>Scene—Mrs Bates’ Parlour.</i></h4> + +<p class="hang"><i>Properties required:—One table L.C., with Jane +Fairfax’s letter on it under reticule; two +chairs on either side of the table; another +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>table up R., with a cake upon it, and a knife +to cut it; another table up L.; in front of a +cheerful fire, “a grandfather’s chair” left of +the table, with its back turned to the audience, +in which Mrs Bates is discovered sitting. +In order to bring Mrs Bates on the stage +without being seen, a screen must be placed +before the chair, and when Mrs Bates is +seated so as to be almost completely hidden +from the audience during the whole of the +scene, Miss Bates must enter, draw back +the screen, and say in a loud voice to her +mother.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"><i>Miss Bates.</i> So kind of Mrs Cole to call upon +us so early in the day, and so interested in Jane’s +letter. She was indeed, ma’am. How pleased +you will be to see dear Jane again. You must +not think anything more of her illness. There +is nothing to be alarmed at in the least. She +says so herself in her letter; you remember, I +read it to you—<i>Jane’s</i> letter. (<i>Miss Woodhouse’s +voice heard outside.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>outside</i>). Are Mrs and Miss Bates +within this morning?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span></p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Bless me, here is Miss Woodhouse. +(<i>Runs to door.</i>) Oh! come up, Miss +Woodhouse, pray come up. (<i>Runs to Mrs +Bates.</i>) Ma’am, ma’am, Miss Woodhouse is so +kind as to be calling on us. (<i>Runs to door.</i>) Oh, +Miss Woodhouse, mind the step—so very +treacherous. (<i>Enter Emma, who curtseys first +at the door, then to Mrs Bates.</i>) And have you +walked? All the way? I trust your shoes +are not wet or damp. (<i>Runs back to Mrs Bates +after offering chair R. of L.C. table, in which +Emma sits.</i>) Miss Woodhouse has walked, +ma’am, all the way—so kind. And how is +dear Mr Woodhouse? I trust he is well; my +mother so enjoyed her evening with him when +we were all away at Mrs Weston’s, a great +deal of chat and backgammon. Tea was made +downstairs—biscuits and baked apples; and wine +before she came away; amazing luck in some of +her throws. Are you seated comfortably? Pray +is that chair quite?—yes? Let me offer you +some sweet-cake (<i>runs to table R. and cuts piece +of cake</i>). Mrs <i>Cole</i> has just been here; just +called in for ten minutes, and was so good as +to sit an hour with us. She is but just gone, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>and <i>she</i> took a piece of cake and was so kind +as to say she liked it very much; therefore I +hope, Miss Woodhouse, you will do me the +favour to eat a piece, too. (<i>Emma takes a piece +of cake and eats.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates</i> (<i>raising her voice and going to her +mother</i>). Ma’am, Miss Woodhouse has taken a +piece of sweet-cake—(<i>to Emma</i>). Mrs Cole +was so kind as to sit some time with us, +talking of my niece Jane; for as soon as she +came in, she began inquiring after her—Jane +is so very great a favourite there. Whenever +she is with us, Mrs Cole does not know how +to show her kindness enough, and I must say +that Jane deserves it as much as anybody can. +And so she began inquiring after her directly, +saying—“I know you cannot have heard from +Jane lately, because it is not her time for +writing.” And when I immediately said—“But +indeed we have, we had a letter this +very morning,” I do not know that I ever +saw anybody more surprised. “Have you, +upon your honour?” said she, “well, that is +quite unexpected. Do let me hear what she +says.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span></p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>politely</i>). Have you heard from Miss +Jane Fairfax so lately? I am extremely happy: +I hope she is well?</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Thank you. You are so kind! +(<i>hunting about for the letter</i>). Dear! dear! where +can the letter be? I had it but a moment +ago.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). How provoking: I thought I +had timed my visit so as to escape a letter from +Jane Fairfax.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Ah! here it is. I was sure it +could not be far off; but I had put my huswife +upon it, you see, without being aware, and so +it was quite hid, but I had it in my hand so very +lately that I was almost sure it must be on +the table. I was reading it to Mrs Cole, and, +since she went away, I was reading it again to +my mother, for it is such a pleasure to her—a +letter from Jane—that she can never hear it +often enough, so I knew it could not be far +off; and here it is, only just under my huswife. +And since you are so kind as to wish +to hear what she says; but, first of all, I really +must, in justice to Jane, apologise for her +writing so short a letter, only two pages, you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>see, hardly two, and in general she fills the +whole paper, and crosses half.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). For that at least I am thankful.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> My mother often wonders that +I can make it out so well. She often says, +when the letter is first opened, “Well, Hetty, +now I think you will be put to it to make out +all that checker-work,” and then I tell her, I +am sure she would contrive to make it out +herself, if she had nobody to do it for her, +every word of it—I am sure she would pore +over it till she had made out every word. And +indeed, though my mother’s eyes are not good +as they were, she can see amazingly well still, +thank God! with the help of spectacles. It is +such a blessing! My mother’s are really very +good indeed. Jane often says, when she is +here, “I am sure, grandmamma, you must +have had very strong eyes to see as you do, +and so much fine work as you have done too!—I +only wish my eyes may last me as well.”</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Miss Fairfax writes such an excellent +hand—it is in itself like fine embroidery.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> You are extremely kind, you who +are such a judge, and write so beautifully +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>yourself. I am sure there is nobody’s praise +that could give us so much pleasure as Miss +Woodhouse’s. My mother does not hear; she +is a little deaf, you know. I must tell her—(<i>speaking +loudly</i>)—Ma’am, do you hear what +Miss Woodhouse is so obliging to say about +Jane’s handwriting?</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bates.</i> <i>Eh?</i></p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Miss Woodhouse says Jane’s +handwriting is like fine embroidery.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bates.</i> <i>What, my dear?</i></p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). This is very trying.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates</i> (<i>louder</i>). Miss Woodhouse is so +very kind as to say that Jane’s handwriting is +like fine embroidery.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bates.</i> <i>Oh!</i></p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates</i> (<i>to Emma</i>). My mother’s deafness is +very trifling, you see, just nothing at all. By +only raising my voice and saying anything, two +or three times over, she is sure to hear; but +then she is used to my voice. But it is remarkable +that she should always hear Jane better +than she does me; Jane speaks so distinct! +However, she will not find her grandmamma +at all deafer than she was two years ago, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>which is saying a great deal, at my mother’s +time of life, and it really is full two years, you +know, since she was here. We never were so +long without seeing her before, and as I was +telling Mrs Cole, we shall hardly know how to +make enough of her now.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Are you expecting Miss Fairfax here +soon?</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Oh, yes! next week!</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Indeed! that must be a very great +pleasure.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Thank you. You are very kind. +Yes, next week. Everybody is so surprised; +and everybody says the same obliging things. +I am sure she will be as happy to see her +friends at Highbury as they can be to see her. +Yes, Friday or Saturday; she cannot say which, +because Colonel Campbell will be wanting the +carriage himself one of those days. So very +good of them to send her the whole way! +But they always do, you know. Oh! yes, +Friday or Saturday next. That is what she +writes about. That is the reason of her writing +out of rule, as we call it; for, in the +common course, we should not have heard +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>from her before next Tuesday or Wednesday.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Yes, so I imagined—I was afraid +there could be little chance of my hearing anything +of Miss Fairfax to-day.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> So obliging of you! No, we +should not have heard, if it had not been for +this particular circumstance, of her being to +come here so soon. My mother is so delighted! +for she is to be three months with us at least. +Three months, she says so, positively, as I am +going to have the pleasure of reading to you. +The case is, you see, the Campbells are going +to Ireland. Mrs Dixon (Colonel and Mrs Campbell’s +daughter, to whom Jane was companion +before her marriage), has persuaded her father +and mother to come over and see her directly. +They had not intended to go over till the +summer, but she is so impatient to see them +again; for till she married, last October, she +was never away from them so much as a +week, which must make it very strange to be—in +different kingdoms, I was going to say, +but, however, different countries, and so she +wrote a very urgent letter to her mother, or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>her father—I declare I do not know which it +was, but we shall see presently in Jane’s letter—wrote +in <i>Mr</i> Dixon’s name as well as her +own, to press their coming over directly; and +they would give them the meeting in Dublin, +and take them back to their country seat, +Baly-Craig—a beautiful place, I fancy. Jane +has heard a great deal of its beauty—from +Mr Dixon, I mean—I do not know that she +ever heard about it from anybody else,—but +it was very natural, you know, that he should +like to speak of his own place while he was +paying his addresses,—and as Jane used to be +very often walking out with them—for Colonel +and Mrs Campbell were very particular about +their daughter’s not walking out often with +<i>only</i> Mr Dixon, for which I do not at all blame +them: of course she heard everything he might +be telling Miss Campbell about his own home +in Ireland; and I think she wrote us word that +he had shown them some drawings of the +place, views that he had taken himself. He +is a most amiable, charming young man, I +believe. Jane was quite longing to go to +Ireland from his account of things.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span></p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> You must feel it very fortunate that +Miss Fairfax should be allowed to come to +you at such a time. Considering the very particular +friendship between her and Mrs Dixon, +you could hardly have expected her to be +excused from accompanying Colonel and Mrs +Campbell.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Very true, very true indeed. The +very thing we have always been rather afraid +of; for we should not like to have her at such +a distance from us, for months together, not +able to come if anything was to happen; but +you see everything turns out for the best. +They want her (Mr and Mrs Dixon) excessively +to come over with Colonel and Mrs +Campbell, quite depend upon it; nothing can +be more kind or pressing than their <i>joint</i> invitation, +Jane says, as you will hear presently. +Mr Dixon does not seem in the least backward +in any attention. He is a most charming young +man. Ever since the service he rendered Jane +at Weymouth, when they were out in that +party on the water, and she, by the sudden +whirling round of something or other among +the sails, would have been dashed into the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>sea at once, and actually was all but gone, if +he had not, with the greatest presence of +mind, caught hold of her habit,—I can never +think of it without trembling!—but ever since +we had the history of that day, I have been +so fond of Mr Dixon.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> But, in spite of all her friends’ +urgencies and her own wish to see Ireland, +Miss Fairfax prefers devoting the time to you +and Mrs Bates.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Yes, entirely her own doing, +entirely her own choice; and Colonel and Mrs +Campbell think she does quite right—just what +they should recommend; and, indeed, they +particularly <i>wish</i> her to try her native air, +as she has not been quite so well as usual +lately.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> I am concerned to hear of it. I +think they judge wisely, but Mrs Dixon must +be very much disappointed. Mrs Dixon, I +understand, is very charming, but has no remarkable +degree of personal beauty,—is not +by any means to be compared to Miss Fairfax.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how +very kind! how very obliging! I must tell +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>my mother (<i>turning towards Mrs Bates, who +is asleep</i>). Ma’am, did you hear Miss Woodhouse’s +amiable compliments (<i>turning to Emma</i>). Ah! she +is asleep; never mind, I will tell her when you +are gone—Oh! no—Certainly not—there is +no comparison between them—Miss Campbell +always was absolutely plain, but extremely +elegant and amiable.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Yes, that of course.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Jane caught a bad cold, poor +thing! so long ago as the 7th of November +(as I am going to read to you), and has never +been well since. A long time, is it not, for a +cold to hang upon her? She never mentioned +it before, because she would not alarm us. +Just like her! So considerate! But, however, +she is so far from well that her kind friends +the Campbells think that she had better come +home and try an air that always agrees with +her, and they have no doubt that three or +four months at Highbury will entirely cure +her; and it is certainly a great deal better +that she should come here than go to Ireland +if she is unwell. Nobody could nurse her +as we should do.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span></p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> It appears to me the most desirable +arrangement in the world.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> And so she is to come to us +next Friday or Saturday, and the Campbells +leave town on their way to Holyhead the +Monday following, as you will find from Jane’s +letter. So sudden! you may guess, dear Miss +Woodhouse, what a flurry it has thrown me +in! If it was not for the drawback of her illness—but +I am afraid we must expect to see +her grown thin and looking very poorly. I +must tell you what an unlucky thing happened +to me as to that. I always make a point of +reading Jane’s letters through to myself first +before I read them aloud to my mother, you +know, for fear of there being anything in +them to distress her. Jane desired me to do +it, so I always do; and so I began to-day +with my usual caution: but no sooner did I +come to the mention of her being unwell, +than I burst out, quite frightened, with “Bless +me! poor Jane is ill”—which my mother, being +on the watch, heard distinctly, and was sadly +alarmed at. However, when I read on, I found +it was not near so bad as I fancied at first; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>and I make so light of it now to her, that she +does not think much about it: but I cannot +imagine how I could be so off my guard! +If Jane does not get well soon, we will call +in Mr Perry. The expense shall not be thought +of; and though he is so liberal and so fond +of Jane, that I dare say he would not mean +to charge anything for attendance, we would +not suffer it to be so, you know. He has a +wife and family to maintain, and is not to be +<i>giving</i> away his time. Well now, I have just +given you a hint of what Jane writes about. +We will turn to her letter, and I am sure +she tells her own story a great deal better +than I can tell it for her (<i>turning to the letter</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>rising abruptly</i>). I am afraid I must be +running away. My father will be expecting +me. I had no intention, I thought I had no +power, of staying more than five minutes +when I first entered the house. I merely +called, because I would not pass the door +without enquiring after Mrs Bates; but I have +been so pleasantly detained! And now I +must wish you and Mrs Bates good morning. +(<i>Curtsies and exit.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span></p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates</i> (<i>during Miss Woodhouse’s speech.</i>) +Dear Miss Woodhouse, so soon—must you +really go; so kind of you to come. Jane’s +letter so short, only two pages—will not take +one minute to read—pray mind the step outside. +Allow me. (<i>Exeunt Miss Bates and Emma.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bates coughs and picks up her ball of wool. +Re-enter Miss Bates.</i></p> + +<p><i>Miss Bates.</i> Ma’am, Miss Woodhouse assures +me it is quite dry under foot. I am sure +you would enjoy a little walk up the road +with me (<i>helping her mother up and leading her +out of the room, talking all the time</i>); and I will +tell you what Miss Woodhouse was so obliging +as to say about Jane’s beauty as we go—though +perhaps it is hardly the thing to repeat to everybody. +She says that Mrs Dixon (<i>exeunt Mrs +and Miss Bates. Miss Bates’ voice fading away +little by little outside</i>) has no remarkable degree of +beauty, and is not by any means to be compared +with our Jane—so kind of her, is it not? Ma’am, +ma’am, mind that step—no, not by any means to +be compared with our Jane.</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>End of Scene.</i></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="A_STRAWBERRY_PICNIC"> + A STRAWBERRY PICNIC. + </h2> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Duologue between Mrs Elton and Mr Knightley.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>From “Emma,” Vol. II., Chap. XLII.</i></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + <h3> + <i>Costumes.</i> + </h3> + + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> A dress of dove-coloured sarsanet with +a ruche of the same round the bottom of skirt; puffings +of cream net round the neck; narrow cherry-coloured +ribbon round the bodice and down the front of the +skirt; fancy straw hat with cream feathers and cherry-coloured +ribbons; pale pink shawl to harmonise with +ribbons.</p> + +<p><i>Mr Knightley.</i> Buff-coloured coat, with dark velvet +collar, high stock; frilled shirt front; short waistcoat +of deep blue; cream-coloured breeches.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<figure class="figcenter illowp59" id="i_077" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_077.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <i>Mrs Elton and Mr Knightley.</i> + </figcaption> +</figure> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span></p> + + + <p class="center"> + A STRAWBERRY PICNIC. + </p> + +<h3><i>Characters.</i></h3> + +<p class="center"> + <i>Mrs Elton and Mr Knightley.</i> +</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>N.B.</i>—“<i>Mrs Elton</i> was first seen in church.... +Emma had feelings, less of curiosity than +of pride or propriety, to make her resolve +on not being the last to pay her +respects.... She (Emma) was almost +sure that for a young woman, a stranger, +a bride, there was too much ease.... +and a quarter of an hour quite convinced +her that Mrs Elton was a vain woman, +extremely well satisfied with herself and +thinking much of her own importance.... +Emma was not required, by any +subsequent discovery, to retract her ill +opinion of Mrs Elton. Her observation +had been pretty correct—such as Mrs +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>Elton appeared to her on this second +interview, such she appeared whenever +they met again—self-important, presuming, +familiar, ignorant, and ill-bred.”—<i>Emma</i>, +Vol. II., Chap. XXXII. “You +might not see one in a hundred, with +<i>gentleman</i> so plainly written as in Mr +Knightley.” ... “Mr Knightley’s downright, +decided, commanding sort of manner, +though it suits <i>him</i> very well: his +figure, and look and situation in life seem +to allow it; but if any young man were +to set about copying him, he would not +be sufferable.”—<i>Emma</i>, Vol. I., Chap. IV.</p> + +<h4><i>Scene—A parlour in Mrs Weston’s house.</i></h4> + +<p class="hang"><i>Properties required:—A small table L.C.; a chair +L. of it; a writing table in front of a window +up R.; a door R.; other chairs and sofas; a +general air of comfort and refinement. Enter +Mrs Elton—who soon sits with her back to +the door.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Provoking! Everything contrives +for my annoyance; first, I agree to meet +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>Mr Elton here, and Mrs Weston is out, and I +am forced to wait alone. Then this exploring +party that I had set my heart upon is obliged +to be put off through a lame horse, then——(<i>enter +Mr Knightley</i>). Ah! you have found +me out at last in my seclusion? (<i>turns and sees +Knightley.</i>) Oh! Knightley, it is <i>you.</i> I have +been waiting in this room this age for my +lord and master, who promised to meet me +here and pay his respects to Mrs Weston, +and as she was out, I was, of course, forced +to wait alone. But now that you are come——</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>stiffly.</i>) I gathered from Mrs +Weston’s excellent maid that she was from +home, and merely came in to write a note of +importance. I did not know you were here, +or should not have intruded myself upon you.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Why do you speak of intrusion? +I am delighted, and although I cannot approve +of a husband keeping his wife waiting at any +time, still I must make allowances for <i>Mr +Elton</i>; for he really is engaged from morning +to night—there is no end of people’s coming +to him on some pretence or other. The magistrates +and overseers and churchwardens are +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>always wanting his opinion. They seem not +able to do anything without him. “Upon my +word, Mr E.,” I often say, “rather you than +I. I do not know what would become of my +crayons and my instrument if I had half so +many applicants.” Bad enough as it is, for I +absolutely neglect them both to an unpardonable +degree. But is it not most vexatious, +Knightley? and such weather for exploring.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> Pardon me, I do not quite follow +you.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Oh! have you not heard of our +lame carriage-horse? Everything has been +put off,—the exploring party to Box Hill.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> Oh! yes; very annoying, to be +sure; but these things will happen, you know, +Mrs Elton.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> I know; but when the <i>first</i> disappointment +occurred, through Mr and Mrs +Suckling not being able to visit Highbury until +the autumn, <i>I</i> said, why should we not explore +to Box Hill though the Sucklings did +<i>not</i> come? We could go there <i>again</i> in the +autumn with <i>them.</i> And so, as you know, +my suggestion was immediately taken up; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> +everything was so charmingly arranged—why, +I had even settled with Mrs Weston as to +pigeon pies and cold lamb, when, all at once, +everything is thrown into uncertainty. It may +be weeks before the horse is usable, and, therefore, +no preparations can be ventured upon. +What are we to do? The delays and disappointments +are quite odious. The year will +wear away at this rate, and nothing done. +Before this time last year we had delightful +exploring parties from Maple Grove to King’s +Weston, and—</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>lightly</i>). You had better explore to +Donwell. That may be done without horses. +Come and eat my strawberries. They are +ripening fast.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs E.</i> (<i>impulsively</i>). Oh! I should like it of +all things! Donwell, I know, is famous for its +strawberry beds. You may depend upon me; I +certainly will come; name your day, and I will +come; you will allow me to bring Jane Fairfax.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> I cannot name a day, till I have +spoken to some others whom I would wish to +meet you.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Oh! leave all that to me, only +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>give me <i>carte blanche</i>—I am lady Patroness, +you know—It is <i>my</i> party—I will bring friends +with me.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> I hope you will bring Elton, but +I will not trouble you to give any other invitations.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Oh! now you are looking very +sly—but consider—you need not be afraid of +delegating power to me. Married women, you +know, may be safely authorised. It is <i>my</i> +party—leave it all to me. <i>I</i> will invite your +guests.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> No, Mrs Elton, no. There is but +one married woman in the world whom I can +ever allow to invite what guests she pleases to +Donwell, and that one is—</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton</i> (<i>mortified</i>). Mrs Weston, I suppose.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> No—Mrs Knightley, and till <i>she</i> is +in being, I will manage such matters myself.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton</i> (<i>satisfied to have no one preferred to +herself</i>). Ah! you are an odd creature; you are +a humorist, and may say what you like—quite +a humorist. Well, I shall bring Jane with me—Jane +Fairfax and her aunt—the rest I leave +to you,—I have no objections at all to meeting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>the Hartfield family. Don’t scruple—I know +you are attached to them.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> You certainly <i>will</i> meet them if I +can prevail; and I shall call on Miss Bates on +my way home.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> That is quite unnecessary; I +see Jane every day;—but, as you like. It is +to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; +quite a simple thing. I shall wear a large +bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets +hanging on my arm—here—probably this +basket—with pink ribbons. Nothing can be +more simple, you see. And Jane will have +such another. There is to be no form or +parade—a sort of gipsy party. We are to +walk about your gardens and gather the +strawberries ourselves, or sit under the trees; +and whatever else you like to provide, it is +to be all out of doors—a table spread in the +shade, you know. Everything as natural and +simple as possible. Is not that your idea?</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> Not quite. My idea of the simple +and the natural will be to have the table spread +in the dining-room. The nature and simplicity +of gentlemen and ladies with their servants and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>furniture, I think, is best observed by meals +within doors. When you are tired of eating +strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold +meat in the house.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Well, as you please; only don’t +have a great set-out—by-the-bye, can I or my +housekeeper be of any use to you with our +opinion? Pray be sincere, Knightley. If you +wish me to talk to Mrs Hodges or to inspect +anything—</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> I have not the least wish for it, +thank you.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Well!—but if any difficulties +should arise; my housekeeper is extremely +clever—</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> I will answer for it, mine thinks +herself full as clever, and would spurn anybody’s +assistance.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> I wish we had a donkey. The +thing would be for us <i>all</i> to come on donkeys—Jane, +Miss Bates, and me, and my <i>caro sposo</i> +walking by my side. I really must talk to him +about purchasing a donkey. In a country life +I conceive it to be a sort of necessary; for, let +a woman have ever so many resources, it is not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>possible for her to be always shut up at home; +and very long walks you know—in summer +there is dust, and in winter there is dirt—</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> You will not find either between +Donwell and Highbury.—Donwell lane is never +dusty, and now it is perfectly dry. Come on a +donkey, however, if you prefer it—you can +borrow Mrs Cole’s. I would wish everything +to be as much to your taste as possible.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> That I am sure you would. Indeed, +I do you justice, my good friend. Under +that peculiar sort of dry, blunt manner, I know +you have the warmest heart. As I tell Mr E.—you +are a thorough humorist. Yes, believe +me, Knightley, I am fully sensible of your +attention to me in the whole of this scheme. +You have hit upon the very thing to please me.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> Do not mention it, I pray; but, if +you will allow me, I will now write my note to +Mrs Weston. It is of importance. (<i>Bows and +goes to writing table.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Oh! don’t mind me. I have a +thousand pleasant things to think of now. Oh! +by-the-bye, don’t forget to include Mr and Mrs +Weston in your invitations. Do not leave them +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>out: that would be unpardonably amiss—and Mrs +Weston’s step-son, Frank Churchill, you must invite +<i>him</i> (<i>aside</i>). All this is really most charming. +Wright shall do my hair in the simplest fashion. +She shall dress it like a shepherdess of the last +century, and my gown shall be all white. I +look well in white, at least that foolish Elton +has often told me so; besides, it is so rural and +simple. Nobody can think less of dress than +I do; but upon such an occasion as this, when +everybody’s eyes will be upon me, and in +compliment to Knightley, who is giving this +picnic party chiefly to do me honour, I would +not wish to be inferior to others.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>rising from the writing table</i>). And +now, my letter written, I will bid you good-day, +and shall soon hope to settle the day for our +strawberry feast.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Must you be going, really? I +cannot imagine what is become of Mr Elton. +He should have been here ages ago. He promised +to come to me as soon as he could +disengage himself from his appointment at +“The Crown.” They are all shut up with +him at a meeting—a regular meeting, you know—Weston +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>and Cole are there too; but one is +apt to speak only of those who lead, and I fancy +Mr E. or yourself have everything your own +way here. By-the-bye, Knightley, how is it +you are not at the meeting?</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> For the simple reason that the +meeting you speak of is not until to-morrow.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Ah! surely you are mistaken—the +meeting is certainly to-day. I do believe +this is the most troublesome parish that ever +was. We never heard of such things at Maple +Grove. Mr E. was certainly under the impression +the meeting was to-day, and depend +upon it, he was so vexed at finding out his +mistake, that he has forgotten entirely his +appointment with me here, and my conjugal +obedience is merely time and patience thrown +away. How provoking! Knightley, you must +offer me your arm and escort me some little +way; as far as Miss Bates, and there we can +settle the precise day our charming exploring +Party to Donwell shall take place.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>offering his arm.</i>) With pleasure. +I will ask Miss Bates if she and Miss Fairfax +will be of the party, but the day must be fixed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>for the convenience of Mr Woodhouse, whom +I am most anxious to receive at my house.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton.</i> Oh! Out of the question. Mr +Woodhouse is far too great an invalid. You +will not prevail upon him to come at all.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> I still hope to do so, with his +daughter’s assistance. (<i>Exeunt Mr Knightley +and Mrs Elton.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Elton</i> (<i>outside</i>). Oh! if Emma Woodhouse +wishes it, poor Mr Woodhouse will <i>have</i> to +come.</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>End of Scene.</i></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp83" id="i_090" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_090.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="THREE_LOVES"> + THREE LOVES. + </h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From “Emma.”</i></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + <h3> + <i>Costumes.</i> + </h3> + + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Short dress of muslin, sprigged with a +blue flower, trimmed with sapphire blue velvet, +under sleeves of ruched net, sapphire velvet in the hair.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Black silk pelerine, with long ends; white +cambric dress; bonnet of white sarsnet, tied with +pale rose-coloured ribbons; coral necklace.</p> + +<p><i>Mr Knightley.</i> Buff-coloured coat, with dark velvet +collar, high stock; frilled shirt front; short waistcoat +of deep blue; cream-coloured breeches.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp49" id="i_093" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_093.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <i>Emma and Harriet.</i> + </figcaption> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span></p> + + + <p class="center"> + THREE LOVES. + </p> + + +<h3><i>Characters.</i></h3> + +<p class="center"> + <i>Emma Woodhouse, Harriet Smith, Mr Knightley.</i> +</p> + +<p class="hang"><i>N.B.</i>—“<i>Emma Woodhouse</i>, handsome, clever and +rich, with a comfortable home and happy +disposition, seemed to unite some of the +best blessings of existence, and had lived +nearly twenty-one years in the world with +very little to distress or vex her. She was +the youngest of the two daughters of a +most affectionate, indulgent father; and +had, in consequence of her sister’s (Isabella) +marriage, been mistress of his house from +a very early period.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>The real evils, indeed, of Emma’s situation +were the power of having rather too +much her own way, and a disposition to +think a little too well of herself.”—<i>Emma</i>, +Chap. I.</p></blockquote> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span></p> + +<p>“<i>Mr Knightley</i>, a sensible man about seven +or eight-and-thirty, was not only a very +old and intimate friend of the family, +but particularly connected with it as the +elder brother of Isabella’s husband. He +lived about a mile from Hartfield, was a +frequent visitor, and always welcome.... +Mr Knightley had a cheerful manner, which +always did him (Mr Woodhouse) good.... +Mr Knightley, in fact, was one of the few +people who could see faults in Emma +Woodhouse, and the only one who ever +told her of them.”—<i>Emma</i>, Chap. I.</p> + +<p>“<i>Harriet Smith</i> was the natural daughter +of somebody. Somebody had placed her +several years back at Mrs Goddard’s school, +and somebody had lately raised her from +the condition of scholar to that of parlour +boarder. This was all that was generally +known of her history.... 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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>light hair, regular features, and a look of +great sweetness.... She (Emma) was +not struck by anything remarkably clever +in Miss Smith’s conversation, but she +found her altogether engaging—not inconveniently +shy, nor unwilling to talk—and +yet so far from pushing, showing so +proper and becoming a deference, seeming +so pleasantly grateful for being admitted +to Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed +by the appearance of everything in so +superior a style to what she had been +used to, that she must have good sense +and deserve encouragement. Encouragement +should be given.... <i>She</i> would +notice her. She would improve her ... +and introduce her into good society; she +would form her opinions and manners.... +As a walking companion, Emma had very +early foreseen how useful she might find +her ... and a Harriet Smith, therefore, one +whom she could summon at any time to a +walk, would be a valuable addition to her +privileges. But in every respect, as she saw +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>more of her, she approved her, and was +confirmed in all her kind designs.”—<i>Emma</i>, +Chaps. III. and IV.</p> + + +<h4 class="hang"><i>Scene—The morning-room at Hartfield. It is +comfortably furnished. No special properties +are required except a centre table with two +chairs on either side of it; a work frame near +one of the chairs, a window at the back, and +a fireplace with a lighted fire. Enter Emma, +with an open letter in her hand.</i></h4> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> I can scarcely believe it. Jane +Fairfax engaged to Frank Churchill! Engaged +to her all the winter—secretly engaged before +either of them came to Highbury. And +I have encouraged my poor friend, Harriet +Smith, to think well of him, so she will be +a second time the dupe of my misconceptions +and flattery. It seems like a fatality. No +sooner do I conceive the idea of arranging +a suitable marriage for her, than the man +whom I choose deliberately engages himself +to another. I ought to have felt only too +thankful to have her forget the insufferable +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>Mr Elton so soon after his marriage, instead +of trying to rouse her affections for Frank +Churchill. But what right had he to come +among us with affection and faith engaged, +and with manners so very <i>disengaged?</i> How +could he tell that he might not be making +<i>me</i> in love with him? I cannot deny, indeed, +that there was a time, in the early +period of our acquaintance, when I was +very much pleased with his attentions, when +I was very much disposed to be attached to +him—nay, was attached—and how it came +to cease is perhaps the wonder.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>outside</i>). Miss Woodhouse, are you +within, and will you see me?</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Harriet! (<i>folding the letter hastily and +putting it away</i>). Yes, yes, pray come in. +(<i>Enter Harriet, who curtseys at the door.</i>) You +know I am always glad to see <i>you</i>, Harriet. +(<i>Aside.</i>) I wonder if she has heard the news. +She looks dejected.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>with a small parcel in her hand</i>). Miss +Woodhouse, dear Miss Woodhouse, you are +always good to me. A great deal too good—but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>if you are at leisure, I have something that +I should like to tell you; a sort of confession +to make, and then, you know, it will be over.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>sighs, aside</i>). Poor Harriet.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> It is my duty, and I am sure it is +my wish, to have no reserves with you on this +subject. As I am, happily, quite an altered +creature in <i>one respect</i>, it is very fit that you +should have the satisfaction of knowing it. I +do not want to say more than is necessary. I +am too much ashamed of having given way as +I have done, and I daresay you understand me.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> I think I do, my poor Harriet—I hope +I do; but it is all my fault—all my fault.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do not say +such a thing! How could I so long a time be +fancying myself—It seems like madness, I can +see nothing at all extraordinary in him now.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). To whom is she alluding—Mr +Elton or Frank Churchill? One never +can tell.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> I do not care whether I meet him +or not, except that of the two I had rather <i>not</i> +see him; and, indeed, I would go any distance +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>round to avoid him. But I do not envy <i>Mrs</i> +Elton in the least.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). Ah! it’s Mr <i>Elton</i>, not Frank +Churchill.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> She is very charming, I dare say, +and all that, but I think her very ill-tempered +and disagreeable. However, I assure you, +Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil. No; +let them be ever so happy together, it will +not give me another moment’s pang; and, to +convince you that I have been speaking truth, +I am now going to destroy—what I ought to +have destroyed long ago—what I ought never +to have kept: I know that very well—However, +now I will destroy it all; and it is my +particular wish to do it in your presence, that +you may see how rational I am grown (<i>sighs</i>). +Cannot you guess what this parcel holds?</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Not the least in the world. Did he +ever give you anything?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> No, I cannot call them <i>gifts</i>; but +they are things that I have valued very much +(<i>holding out the parcel to Emma</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>taking it and reading</i>). “Most precious +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>treasures.” Harriet, are you sure you would +wish me to see these treasures?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Yes, please, dear Miss Woodhouse.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>undoing the parcel, which is wrapped up in +several pieces of paper and lined with cotton wool</i>). A +piece of court plaister!!!</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Now, you <i>must</i> recollect.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> No, indeed, I do not.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Dear me! I should not have thought +it possible you could forget what passed in this +very room about court plaister, one of the very +last times we ever met in it. It was a very few +days before I had my sore throat—I think the +very evening before. Do not you remember +his cutting his finger with your new penknife, +and your recommending court plaister? But, as +you had none about you, and knew I had, you +desired me to supply him. So I took mine out +and cut him a piece, but in my agitation I cut it +a great deal too large, and he had to make it +smaller, and kept playing some time with what +was left before he gave it back to me. And so +then, in my nonsense, I could not help making +a treasure of it; so I put it by, never to be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>used, and looked at it now and then as a great +treat.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>putting her hands before her face</i>). +My dearest Harriet! you make me more ashamed +of myself than I can bear. Remember it? Aye, +I remember it all now; all except your saving +this relic; I knew nothing of that till this +moment; but the cutting the finger, and my +recommending court plaister and saying I had +none about me—Oh! my sins! my sins!—And +I had plenty all the while in my pocket! One +of my senseless tricks! I deserve to be under +a continual blush all the rest of my life.—Well +(<i>sitting down</i>), go on, what else?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> And had you really some at hand +yourself? I am sure I never suspected it. You +did it so naturally.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> And so you actually put this piece +of court plaister by for his sake. (<i>Aside</i>), Lord +bless me! when should I ever have thought +of putting by in cotton a piece of court plaister +that anybody had been fingering. I shall never +be equal to this.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> There is something still more valuable—I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>mean that <i>has been</i> more valuable because +it is what did really once belong to him, which +the court plaister never did? It is in the same +box wrapped up in another piece of silver paper.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>unfolding a very small roll</i>). I am quite +anxious to see this superior treasure, Harriet. +What is it?—The end of an old pencil! the +part without any lead!! What is this, Harriet?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> That was really his. Do not you +remember one morning?—No, I daresay you do +not—but one morning—I forget exactly the +day, but perhaps it was the Wednesday or +Tuesday before <i>that evening</i>, he wanted to +make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it was +about spruce beer. Mr Knightley (<i>hanging her +head</i>) had been telling him something about +brewing spruce beer, and he wanted to put it +down; but when he took out his pencil, there +was so little lead that he soon cut it all away +and it would not do, so you lent him another, +and this was left upon the table as good for +nothing. But I kept my eye upon it, and as +soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted +with it again from that moment.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span></p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> I do remember it. I perfectly remember +it—talking of spruce beer. Oh! yes, +Mr Knightley and I both saying we liked it, +and Mr Elton’s seeming resolved to learn to like +it too. I perfectly remember it—Stop; Mr +Knightley was standing just here, was not he? +I have an idea he was standing just here.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>confused</i>). I do not know. I cannot +recollect. It is very odd—but I cannot recollect +where Mr Knightley was standing. Mr +<i>Elton</i> was sitting here, I remember, much about +where I am.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Well, go on.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Oh! that is all. I have nothing +more to show you, or to say, except that I am +now going to throw them both behind the fire, +and I wish you to see me do it.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> My poor dear Harriet! and have you +actually found happiness in treasuring up these +things?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>sighing</i>). Yes, simpleton as I was!—but +I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I +could forget as easily as I can burn them. It +was so wrong of me, you know, to keep any +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>remembrance after he was married, and when I +had conceived so deep, so reverential a regard +for <i>another.</i> I knew it was, but I had not resolution +enough to part with them.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn +the court plaister? I have not a word to say +for the bit of old pencil, but the court plaister +might be useful.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> I shall be happier to burn it. It has +a disagreeable look to me. I must get rid of +<i>everything.</i> I must not keep it now. It is not +right towards <i>him</i> who is so superior in every +way, so infinitely superior. (<i>Emma groans.</i>) +These are no longer treasures. There they +go (<i>throwing them into the fire</i>), and there is +an end, thank Heaven! of Mr Elton. (<i>Turning +cheerfully to Emma.</i>) Ah! I feel happier +now—much happier! But, oh! Miss Woodhouse, +is not this the oddest news that ever +was?</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>perplexed</i>). What news do you mean?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Why, about Jane Fairfax. Did you +ever hear anything so strange? Oh! you need +not be afraid of owning it to me, for Mr Weston +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>has told me himself. I met him just now. He +told me it was to be a great secret; and therefore +I should not think of mentioning it to anybody +but you, but he said you knew it.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>still perplexed</i>). What did Mr Weston +tell you?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Oh! he told me all about it; that +Jane Fairfax and Mr Frank Churchill are to be +married, and that they have been privately engaged +to one another this long while. How +very odd.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>staring</i>). You know all about it?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Yes! Had you any idea of his being +in love with her?—you perhaps might (<i>hanging +her head</i>)—you who can see into everybody’s +heart; but nobody else—</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Upon my word, I begin to doubt my +having any such talent. Can you seriously ask +me, Harriet, whether I imagined him attached +to another woman at the very time that I was—tacitly, +if not openly—encouraging you to give +way to your own feelings? I never had the +slightest suspicion, till within the last hour, of +Mr Frank Churchill’s having the least regard +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>for Jane Fairfax. You may be very sure +that, if I had, I should have cautioned you +accordingly.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>in astonishment</i>). Me! why should +you caution me? You do not think I care +about Mr Frank Churchill?</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>laughing uneasily</i>). I am delighted to +hear you speak so stoutly on the subject. But +you do not mean to deny that there was a time—and +not very distant either—when you gave +me reason to understand that you did care about +him.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> <i>Him!</i>—never, never. Dear Miss +Woodhouse, how could you so mistake me? +(<i>turning away distressed.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Harriet, what do you mean? (<i>A pause.</i>) +Good heaven! what do you mean? Mistake you! +am I to suppose—?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>with her back to Emma</i>). I should not +have thought it possible that <i>you</i> could have misunderstood +me! I know we agreed never to +name him—but, considering how infinitely +superior he is to everybody else, I should +not have thought it possible that I could be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>supposed to mean any other person. Mr +Frank Churchill, indeed! I do not know who +would ever look at him in the company of +the other. And that <i>you</i> should have been so +mistaken is amazing.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>collecting herself resolutely</i>). Harriet, let +us understand each other now, without the +possibility of further mistake. (<i>With great +effort.</i>) Are you speaking—of Mr Knightley?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> To be sure I am. I never could +have an idea of anybody else—and so I thought +you knew. When we talked about him, it was +as clear as possible.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>with forced calmness</i>). Not quite, for +all that you then said appeared to me to relate +to a different person. I could almost assert +that you <i>named</i> Mr Frank Churchill.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Oh! Miss Woodhouse, never—never.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Well, I am sure the service Mr +Frank Churchill had rendered you, in protecting +you from the gipsies, was spoken of.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Miss Woodhouse! how you do +forget!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> My dear Harriet, I perfectly remember +the substance of what I said on the +occasion. I told you that I did not wonder +at your attachment; that, considering the +service he had rendered you, it was extremely +natural:—and you agreed to it, expressing +yourself very warmly as to your sense of that +service, and mentioning even what your sensations +had been in seeing him come forward to +your rescue. The impression of it is strong +on my memory.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Oh! dear! now I recollect what +you mean; but I was thinking of something +very different at the time. It was not the +gipsies.—It was not Mr Frank Churchill that +I meant. No—(<i>with some elevation</i>)—I was +thinking of a much more precious circumstance—of +Mr Knightley’s coming and asking me +to dance, when Mr Elton would not stand up +with me, and when there was no other partner +in the room. That was the kind action; that +was the noble benevolence and generosity; that +was the service which made me begin to feel how +superior he was to any other being upon earth.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span></p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>with emotion</i>). Good God! this has +been a most unfortunate—most deplorable mistake! +What is to be done?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>timidly</i>). You would not have encouraged +me, then, if you had understood me. +At least, however, I cannot be worse off than +I should have been if Mr Churchill had been +the person; and now—it <i>is</i> possible—for you +see, that supposing—that if—strange as it may +appear—But you know they were your own +words, that <i>more</i> wonderful things had happened; +matches of <i>greater</i> disparity had taken +place than between Mr Frank Churchill and +me; and, therefore, it seems as if such a thing +even as this may have occurred before; and if +I should be so fortunate, beyond expression, +as to—if Mr Knightley should really—if <i>he</i> +does not mind the disparity, I hope, dear +Miss Woodhouse, you will not set yourself +against it, and try and put difficulties in +the way. But you are too good for that, I +am sure.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Have you any idea of Mr Knightley’s +returning your affection?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span></p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>modestly, but not fearfully</i>). Yes, I must +say I have.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). Good God! is it possible—is +it possible that I have been so blind even to +the state of my own heart? <i>I</i> see it all now. +Every moment of this day brings a fresh +surprise, and every surprise is a matter of +humiliation to me. How improperly have I +been acting by Harriet! How inconsiderate, +how irrational, how unfeeling has been my +conduct! What blindness, what madness has +led me on?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Miss Woodhouse, speak to me. +Why is it so much worse for me to be in +love with Mr Knightley than with Mr Frank +Churchill? Everyone thought <i>you</i> were in love +with Mr Churchill. I thought so too, but did +not like to say it.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> My dear Harriet (<i>rousing herself</i>), it +is the suddenness of this revelation which has +bewildered me. But come, tell me all about +it. What makes you so hopeful in the conviction +of Mr Knightley’s regard for you?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Oh! it has been so marked. I have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>been conscious of a difference in his behaviour +ever since that dance. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, +how nobly he behaved to me when Mr Elton +<i>refused</i> to stand up with me, and he spoke +so beautifully that I was not afraid of him, +and when I spoke to him he listened so attentively, +as if he quite enjoyed what I said.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). I remember he told me that on +that occasion he had found her much superior +to his expectation. (<i>Aloud.</i>) Well, Harriet, go on.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> From that evening, or at least from +the time of your encouraging me to think of +him (for though <i>you</i> meant Mr Churchill, I +always meant Mr Knightley, and thought you +meant him too), he has had quite a different +manner towards me—a manner of kindness +and sweetness. Latterly I have been more and +more aware of it. When we have been all +walking together, he has so often come and +walked by me, and talked so very delightfully! +He seemed to want to be acquainted with me.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Yes, Harriet, you are right; he has +told me so himself.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> There, you see! And he has praised +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>me so kindly several times, I would rather +not repeat what he said. But the two latest +occurrences, the two of strongest promise to +me—you witnessed yourself. The first was +his walking with me apart from the others +in the lime-walk at Donwell when he gave +the strawberry party, and he took pains, I am +convinced, to draw me from the rest to himself, +and at first he talked to me in a more +particular way than he had ever done before—in +a very particular way indeed (<i>hanging her head</i>). +He seemed to be almost asking me whether +my affections were engaged. But as soon as +you appeared likely to join us, he changed +the subject, and began talking of farming. +The second is his having sat talking with me +here for nearly half an hour on the very last +morning of his being at Hartfield—though, +when he first came in, he had said that he +could not stay five minutes, and he told me +during our conversation that though he must +go to London, it was very much against his +inclinations that he left home at all.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). That is more than he acknowledged +to me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span></p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> Therefore, dear Miss Woodhouse, do +you not think that I have some reason to hope? +I never should have presumed to think of it +at first, but for you—you told me to observe +him carefully and let his behaviour be the +rule of mine—and so I have.—But now I seem +to feel that I may deserve him; and that if he +<i>does</i> choose me, it will not be anything so +very wonderful after all.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>turning away to hide her bitter feelings</i>). +Harriet, I will only venture to declare that +Mr Knightley is the last man in the world who +would intentionally give any woman the idea +of his feeling for her more than he really does.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>clasping her hands</i>). Dear, dear Miss +Woodhouse, I knew you would give me hope. +You are always so good, so encouraging.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>bending over her work</i>). Harriet, look +out of the window;—is not that Mr Knightley +walking in the shrubbery with my father?</p> + +<p><i>Harriet.</i> It cannot be—for he was not to +return for another week. (<i>Goes to window.</i>) +Oh! Miss Woodhouse, you are right, it <i>is</i> Mr +Knightley, and he and Mr Woodhouse are both +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>entering the house. Oh! dear, I must go, I +am too agitated to encounter him; I could not +compose myself—I had better go.—May I +go, Miss Woodhouse?</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> If you wish it, Harriet—go by all +means. Good-bye.</p> + +<p><i>Harriet</i> (<i>curtseying hurriedly</i>). Thank you, dear +Miss Woodhouse, a thousand thousand times. +(<i>Exit.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Oh! God! that I had never seen +her! Mr Knightley in love with Harriet +Smith? Such an elevation on her side! such +a debasement on his! Yet it is far, very +far from impossible. Is it a new circumstance +for a man of first-rate abilities to be +captivated by very inferior powers? Is it +new for one, perhaps too busy to seek, to be +the prize of a girl who would seek him? +Is it new for anything in this world to be +unequal, inconsistent, or incongruous. Mr +Knightley and Harriet Smith! Oh! that I had +never brought her forward!—that I had +left her where I ought, where he himself +had once told me I ought!—Had I not, with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>a folly which no tongue can express, prevented +her marrying the farmer, Mr Martin, +who would have made her happy and respectable +in a line of life to which she ought to +belong—all would be well—all would be safe +(<i>sitting to her work and bending down over it as +Mr Knightley enters</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> Emma, I have just met Harriet +Smith, who told me you were alone, so I have +left Mr Woodhouse comfortably by the fire in +the study, and I have ventured upstairs unannounced.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>rising and giving her hand</i>). You are +returned sooner than we hoped,—you bring +good news from London?</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>sighs</i>). My brother and his wife +are well, so are the children (<i>pause—he sits</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> You had a pleasant ride, I trust?</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> Very——(<i>pause</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). He neither looks nor speaks +cheerfully. Has he communicated his plans to +his brother, and been pained by their reception?</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> Your father is looking well—better +than when I left for London.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span></p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Yes (<i>a pause—she bends over her work, +and he looks at her anxiously. She continues aside</i>).—Perhaps +he wishes to speak to me of his +attachment to Harriet, and is watching for +encouragement to begin—but I am not equal +to lead the way to such a subject—he must +do it all himself—yet I cannot bear this +silence,—with him, it is most unnatural. I +must say <i>something.</i> (<i>Aloud, with a smile.</i>) +You have some news to hear, now you are +come back, that will rather surprise you.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>quietly, and looking at her</i>). Have +I? of what nature?</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Oh! the best nature in the world—a +wedding.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>after waiting a moment as if to be +sure she intended to say no more</i>). If you mean +Miss Fairfax and Frank Churchill, I have heard +that already.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Why, how is it possible? is every +one in this secret?</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> I had a few lines on parish business +from Mr Weston this morning, and at the end +he gave me a brief account of what had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>happened. That news was the cause of my +early return.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> You probably have been less surprised +than any of us, for you had your +suspicions, I have not forgotten that you once +tried to give me caution. I wish I had attended +to it—but (<i>with a sinking voice and a heavy sigh</i>) +I seemed to have been doomed to blindness—(<i>a +pause—Knightley then lays his hand on hers and +takes it kindly. Emma looks at him in surprise</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>speaking low</i>). Time, my dearest +Emma, time will heal the wound. Your own +excellent sense; your exertions for your father’s +sake; I know you will not allow yourself—(<i>presses +her hand</i>). I speak from feelings of +the warmest friendship——indignation (<i>rising +suddenly</i>). Abominable scoundrel! (<i>Returning +and bending over the table.</i>) He will soon be +gone. They will soon be in Yorkshire. I +am sorry for <i>her</i>, for she deserves a better +fate.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> My dear friend, you are very kind, +but you are mistaken, and I must set you right. +I am not in want of that sort of compassion. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>My blindness to what was going on led me +to act by them in a way that I must always +be ashamed of, and I was very foolishly +tempted to say things of her to him which +may well lay me open to unpleasant conjectures, +but I have no other reason to regret +that I was not in the secret earlier.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>looking eagerly at her</i>). Emma, are +you indeed...? (<i>Checking himself.</i>) No, no, I +understand you—forgive me—I am pleased that +you can say even so much. He is no object of +regret, indeed! and it will not be very long, +I hope, before that becomes the acknowledgment +of more than your reason. Fortunate that +your affections were not further entangled! I +could never, I confess, from your manners, assure +myself as to the degree of what you felt. I +could only be certain that there was a preference, +and a preference which I never believed +him to deserve. He is a disgrace to the name +of man. And is he to be rewarded with that +sweet young woman? Jane, Jane, you will +be a miserable creature.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Mr Knightley, I am in a very extraordinary +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>situation. I cannot let you continue in +your error; and yet, perhaps, since my manners +gave such an impression, I have as much reason +to be ashamed of confessing that I never have been +at all attached to the person we are speaking of, +as it might be natural for a woman to feel in +confessing exactly the reverse. But I never +have. (<i>A pause.</i>) I have very little to say +for my own conduct. I was tempted by his +attentions, and allowed myself to appear pleased—an +old story, probably—a common case—and +no more than has happened to hundreds of my +sex before. Many circumstances assisted the +temptation. But, let me swell out the causes +ever so ingeniously, they all centre in this at +last—my vanity was flattered and I allowed his +attentions; but, in short, I was somehow or +other safe from him.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> Hm! well, I have never had a +high opinion of Frank Churchill. I can +suppose, however, that I may have underrated +him; my acquaintance with him has +been but trifling, and even if I have not +underrated him hitherto, he may yet turn out +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>well. With such a woman he has a chance. +I have no motive for wishing him ill, and +for her sake, whose happiness will be involved +in his good character and conduct, I shall +certainly wish him well.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> I have no doubt of their being happy +together. I believe them to be very mutually +and very sincerely attached.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>with energy</i>). He is a most fortunate +man. So early in life—at three-and-twenty—a +period when, if a man chooses a wife, he generally +chooses ill. At three-and-twenty to have +drawn such a prize! what years of felicity +that man, in all human calculation, has before +him! Frank Churchill is, indeed, the favourite +of fortune. He meets with a young woman +at a watering-place, gains her affection, cannot +even weary her by negligent treatment, and +had he and all his family sought round the +world for a perfect wife for him, they could +not have found her superior. His aunt is +in the way,—his aunt dies. He has only to +speak. His friends are eager to promote his +happiness. He has used everybody ill, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>they are all delighted to forgive him. He is +a fortunate man, indeed!</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> You speak as if you envied him.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> I do envy him, Emma. In one +respect he is the object of my envy.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). He means in the right to +choose where he pleases. He compares Frank +Churchill to himself, Jane Fairfax to Harriet.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> You will not ask me what is the +point of envy. You are determined, I see, +to have no curiosity. You are wise—but <i>I</i> +cannot be wise. Emma, I must tell you what +you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid +the next moment.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>eagerly</i>). Oh! then, don’t speak it, +don’t speak it—take a little time, consider, +do not commit yourself.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>stiffly</i>). Thank you.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>aside</i>). Oh, I have given him pain! +He is wishing to confide in me, to consult +me; perhaps I might assist his resolution, or +reconcile him to it.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> I fear I must be going now; good-bye. +(<i>Puts out his hand as he rises.</i>)</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span></p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>detaining it</i>). No—do not go—I stopped +you ungraciously just now, Mr Knightley, and, +I am afraid, gave you pain. But if you have +any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, +or to ask my opinion of anything that you may +have in contemplation—as a friend, indeed, +you may command me. I will hear whatever +you like. I will tell you exactly what I +think.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> As a friend! Emma, that I fear +is a word—No, I have no wish. Stay, yes, +why should I hesitate? I have gone too far +already for concealment. Emma, I accept your +offer, extraordinary as it may seem, I accept +it, and refer myself to you as a friend (<i>looking +earnestly into her eyes</i>). Tell me, then, have +I no chance of ever succeeding?</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>overcome</i>). Good Heaven!</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> My dearest Emma, for dearest +you will always be, whatever the event of +this hour’s conversation, my dearest, most +beloved Emma—tell me at once. Say “No” +if it is to be said. You are silent (<i>with animation</i>), +absolutely silent! at present I ask no more.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span></p> + +<p>(<i>Emma sinks into a chair, covering up her +face with her hands.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> I cannot make speeches, Emma. +If I loved you less, I might be able to talk +about it more. But you know what I am. +You hear nothing but truth from me. I have +blamed you and lectured you, and you have +borne it as no other woman in England would +have borne it. Bear with the truths I would +tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as +you have borne with them. God knows, I +have been a very indifferent lover. Look up, +Emma, my dearest, look at me—(<i>she does so</i>). +Say that you understand me.—Say you understand +my feelings—and will return them if +you can. At present I ask only to hear, once +to hear your voice.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>faintly</i>). Mr Knightley, what can I say? +How can I say it? When you first spoke, +believe me, I had no idea, no thought of what +you wished to say. How inconsistent must +my conduct have appeared in refusing to hear +you one moment, and soliciting your confidence +the next—yet could I have dared to hope that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>you would speak to me as you have done, I +should through very shame have silenced you +for ever.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> My dearest, best beloved Emma! +I too had little thought when first I entered +here to try my influence. Jealousy of Frank +Churchill drove me from the country. I went +to London to learn to be indifferent; but I +had gone to the wrong place. There was +too much domestic happiness in my brother’s +house; but I stayed on, however, vigorously, +day after day, till this very morning’s post +conveyed the history of Jane Fairfax. Then, +with the gladness which must be felt, nay, +which I did not scruple to feel, was there so +much fond solicitude, so much keen anxiety +for you, that I could stay no longer. I rode +home at once and walked up here to see how +this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless +in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery. +I found you agitated and low; Frank Churchill +was a villain. I heard you declare that you +had never loved him. Frank Churchill’s +character was not so desperate; and now, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>tell me that you are my own Emma by hand +and word.</p> + +<p><i>Emma</i> (<i>putting her hands in his</i>). Mr Knightley, +I am your own Emma, by word and +hand.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>bending over Emma’s hands</i>). “Mr +Knightley,” you always called me “Mr +Knightley,” and from habit it has not so very +formal a sound, and yet it is formal. I want +you to call me something else, but I do not +know what.</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> I remember once calling you “George” +in one of my amiable fits, about ten years ago. +I did it because I thought it might offend +you; but, as you made no objection, I never +did it again.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley.</i> And cannot you call me “George” +now?</p> + +<p><i>Emma.</i> Impossible! I never can call you +anything but “Mr Knightley.” I will not +promise even to equal the elegant terseness +of Mrs Elton by calling you Mr K——. But +I will promise to call you once by your +Christian name. I do not say when, but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>perhaps you may guess where;—in the +building in which N. takes M. for better, +for worse.</p> + +<p><i>Knightley</i> (<i>with emotion</i>). My Emma.</p> + +<p class="right"> + [<i>Exeunt.</i> +</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>End of Scene.</i></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp83" id="i_128" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_128.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_PROPOSAL_OF_MR_COLLINS"> + THE PROPOSAL OF MR COLLINS. + </h2> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet, Mr Collins.</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>From “Pride and Prejudice.”</i></p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + <h3> + Costumes. + </h3> + + +<p><i>Mr Collins</i> in black, with a high choker and cravat +tied in front.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Pale primrose dress, the lappels of the +bodice and the hem of the skirt embroidered in gold +and white; clear muslin chemisette, rucked under-sleeves +of the same.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<figure class="figcenter illowp60" id="i_131" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_131.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <i>Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Collins.</i> + </figcaption> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span></p> + + + <p class="center"> + THE PROPOSAL OF MR COLLINS. + </p> + +<h3><i>Characters.</i></h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet, Mr Collins.</i></p> + + +<p class="hang"><i>N.B.</i>—“<i>Her</i> (<i>Mrs Bennet</i>) mind was less +difficult to develope. She was a woman +of mean understanding, little information, +and uncertain temper. When she was +discontented, she fancied herself nervous. +The business of her life was to get her +daughters married; its solace was visiting +and news.”—<i>Pride and Prejudice</i>, Chap. I.</p> + +<p>“The greatest part of his (<i>Mr Collins</i>) +life had been spent under the guidance +of an illiterate and miserly father.... +The subjection in which his father had +brought him up had given him originally +great humility of manner, but it was +now a good deal counteracted by the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>self-conceit of a weak head, living in +retirement, and the consequential feeling +of early and unexpected prosperity.... +Having now a good home and a very +sufficient income, he intended to marry; +and in seeking a reconciliation with the +Longbourn family (<i>The Bennets</i>) he had a +wife in view, as he meant to choose one +of the daughters, if he found them as +handsome and amiable as they were represented +by common report. This was +his plan of amends—of atonement—for +inheriting their father’s estate, and he +thought it an excellent one, full of eligibility +and suitableness, and excessively +generous and disinterested on his own +part.”—<i>Pride and Prejudice</i>, Chap. XV., +Vol. I.</p> + +<p>“The situation of your mother’s family, +though objectionable, was nothing in comparison +of that total want of propriety so +frequently, so almost uniformly betrayed +by herself, by your three younger sisters, +and occasionally even by your father,—pardon me—it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>pains me to offend you. +But amidst your concern for the defects +of your nearest relations, and your displeasure +at this representation of them, +let it give you consolation to consider, +that to have conducted yourselves so as +to avoid any share of the like censure, +is praise no less generally bestowed on +you and your eldest sister, than it is +honourable to the sense and disposition +of both.”—<i>Quotation from Darcy’s letter to +Elizabeth Bennet</i>, Vol. II., Chapter XXXV.</p> + +<h4><i>Scene.—The morning-room at Longbourne.</i></h4> + +<p class="hang"><i>Properties required: There is a good-sized table L. +Chairs, sofas, and other tables about the room. +The furniture is good, but a little shabby and +vulgar, and formal. Door R. enter Elizabeth +with household needlework. She walks to the +table.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"><i>Elizabeth.</i> Well! if my father was hopeful +of finding our cousin, Mr Collins, far from +sensible, I cannot think he is disappointed, for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>the deficiencies of nature have been but little +assisted by education, and though he has belonged +to one of the Universities, he evidently +merely kept the necessary terms without forming +there any useful acquaintance.</p> + +<p><i>Enter Mrs Bennet</i> (<i>going to her work</i>). Well, +Lizzie, what do you think of your cousin, Mr +Collins? I am sure he is a very fine young man, +in spite of his being next in the entail—though, +to be sure, I cannot bear to hear that mentioned—and +I do think it is the hardest thing in the +world that your father’s estate should be +entailed away from his own children, and I am +sure, if I had been him, I should have tried +long ago to do something about it.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> My dear ma’am, let me try and +explain again the nature of an entail.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet.</i> Not one word, Eliza. It is trying +enough to my nerves to know that we must +submit to such a thing simply because of Mr +Bennet’s indifference to what becomes of us +all when he is dead, without having it all explained +to me. However, I don’t suppose Mr +Collins can help it, and as he has seemed, since +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>the very first day we saw him, a week ago, +willing to make amends by one or other of +you girls, I am not the person to discourage +him.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Certainly not, my dear ma’am.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet.</i> Not but what at first I thought +he wanted your sister Jane. It was quite right +and proper, considering she was the eldest and +by far the best-looking of you all. But when +I found that he was thinking of her, I gave +him a hint that she was not to be had for the +asking. I don’t want to spoil Jane’s chance +with Bingley, and so I just put it right, you +know.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I have no doubt you acted wisely, +ma’am.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet.</i> Well, Lizzie, I did for the best. +When he told me his plans, and that he had +come to Longbourne to choose a wife among +you, I said, “Mr Collins, I cannot but be +very gratified by your confidence, and as to +my younger daughters, I cannot take upon +myself to say—I could not positively answer,” +for I did not want to appear <i>too</i> pleased with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>his attentions, “and I do not know of any +prepossessions, but my <i>eldest</i> daughter, I must +just mention—I feel it incumbent on me to +hint—is likely to be very soon engaged,”—and +it is marvellous how soon he abandoned +all idea of Jane. But hush, here he comes.</p> + +<p class="center">(<i>Enter Mr Collins</i>).</p> + +<p><i>Mr Collins.</i> May I hope, madam, for your +interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth, +when I solicit for the honour of a private +audience with her in the course of the morning.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet</i> (<i>starting up</i>). Oh! dear! yes—certainly. +I am sure Lizzie will be very +happy. I am sure she can have no objection. +(<i>Going.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Dear ma’am, do not go. I beg you +will not go. Mr Collins must excuse me. +He can have nothing to say to me that anybody +need not hear. I am going away myself. +(<i>Also going.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet.</i> No, no, nonsense, Lizzie. I +desire you will stay where you are (<i>seeing that +Elizabeth is determined to go</i>). Lizzie, I <i>insist</i> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>upon your staying, and hearing Mr Collins. +(<i>Exit.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth</i> (<i>aside</i>). Well! if it has to be—I +may as well get it over as soon and as quietly +as possible.</p> + +<p><i>Mr Collins.</i> Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, +that your modesty, so far from doing you +any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. +You would have been less amiable in +my eyes had there <i>not</i> been this little unwillingness; +but allow me to assure you, that I have +your respected mother’s permission for this +address. You can hardly doubt the purport +of my discourse, however your natural delicacy +may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have +been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as +soon as I entered the house, I singled you +out as the companion of my future life. But, +before I am run away with by my feelings on +this subject, perhaps it would be advisable for +me to state my reasons for marrying—and, +moreover, for coming into Hertfordshire with +the design of selecting a wife—as I certainly +did.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span></p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (aside).</i> The idea of this man being +run away with by his feelings!</p> + +<p><i>Mr Collins.</i> My reasons for marrying are—first, +that I think it a right thing for every +clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) +to set the example of matrimony in his parish; +secondly, I am convinced it will add very greatly +to my happiness; and thirdly—which perhaps I +ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the +particular advice and recommendation of the +very noble lady whom I have the honour of +calling patroness. Twice has she condescended +to give me her opinion (unasked, too!) on this +subject; and it was but the very Saturday night +before I left Hunsford, between our pools at +quadrille, that she said, “Mr Collins, you must +marry—a clergyman like you must marry. +Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for <i>my</i> +sake; and for your <i>own</i>, let her be an active, +useful sort of person not brought up high, +but able to make a small income go a good way. +This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon +as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will +visit her.” Allow me, by the way, to observe, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice +and kindness of Lady de Burgh as among the +least of the advantages in my power to offer. +You will find her manners beyond anything +I can describe, and your wit and vivacity, +I think, must be acceptable to her, especially +when tempered with the silence and respect +which her rank will inevitably excite.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (aside).</i> How am I to stop the man?</p> + +<p><i>Mr Collins.</i> This much for my general intention +in favour of matrimony; it remains to be +told why my views were directed to Longbourn +instead of my own neighbourhood, where I +assure you there are many amiable young +women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, +to inherit this estate after the death of your +honoured father (<i>reverentially</i>) (who, however, +may live many years longer) I could not +satisfy myself without resolving to choose a +wife from among his daughters, that the loss to +them might be as little as possible when the +melancholy event takes place, which, however, +as I have already said, may not be for several +years. This has been my motive, my fair +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink +me in your esteem. And now, nothing remains +for me but to assure you, in the most animated +language, of the violence of my affection. To +fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall +make no demand of that nature on your +father, since I am well aware that it could +not be complied with, and that one thousand +pounds in the 4 per cents., which will not +be yours till after your mother’s decease, is +all that you may ever be entitled to. On +that head I shall, therefore, be uniformly +silent; and you may assure yourself that no +ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips +when we are married.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> You are too hasty sir; you forget +that I have made no answer. Let me do it +without further loss of time. Accept my +thanks for the compliment you are paying me. +I am very sensible of the honour of your +proposals, but it is impossible for me to do +otherwise than decline them.</p> + +<p><i>Collins (waving his hand).</i> I am not now to +learn that it is usual with young ladies to reject +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>the addresses of the man whom they secretly +mean to accept, when he first applies for their +favour; and that sometimes the refusal is +repeated a second or even a third time. I am, +therefore, by no means discouraged by what you +have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the +altar ere long.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Upon my word, sir, your hope is +rather an extraordinary one after my declaration. +I do assure you that I am not one of those +young ladies (if such young ladies there are) +who are so daring as to risk their happiness +on the chance of being asked a second time. +I am perfectly serious in my refusal; you could +not make me happy, and I am convinced that I +am the last woman in the world who could +make you so. Nay, were your friend, Lady +Catherine, to know me, I am persuaded she +would find me in every respect ill qualified for +the situation.</p> + +<p><i>Collins (gravely).</i> Were it certain that Lady +Catherine would think so—but I cannot imagine +that her ladyship would at all disapprove of +you. And, you may be certain that when I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>have the honour of seeing her again, I shall +speak in the highest terms of your modesty, +economy, and other amiable qualifications.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Indeed, Mr Collins, all praise of +me will be unnecessary; you must give me +leave to judge for myself, and pay me the +compliment of believing what I say: I wish +you very happy and very rich, and by refusing +your hand, do all in my power to prevent your +being otherwise. In making me the offer, you +must have satisfied the delicacy of your feelings +with regard to my family, and may take possession +of Longbourn estate whenever it falls +without any self-reproach (<i>rising</i>). This matter +may be considered, therefore, as finally settled.</p> + +<p><i>Mr Collins.</i> When I do myself the honour of +speaking to you next on the subject, I shall +hope to receive a more favourable answer than +you have now given me; though I am far +from accusing you of cruelty at present, because +I know it to be an established custom +of your sex to reject a man on the <i>first</i> +application, and perhaps you have even now +said as much to encourage my suit as would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>be consistent with the true delicacy of the +female character.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (warmly).</i> Really, Mr Collins, you +puzzle me exceedingly. If what I have +hitherto said can appear to you in the form of +encouragement, I know not how to express my +refusal in such a way as may convince you of +its being one.</p> + +<p><i>Collins (smiling).</i> You must give me leave to +flatter myself, my dear cousin, that your refusal +of my addresses is merely words of course. +My reasons for believing it are briefly these—It +does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy +your acceptance, or that the establishment +I can offer would be other than highly +desirable. My situation in life, my connections +with the family of De Burgh, and my relationship +to your own, are circumstances highly +in my favour; and you should take it into +further consideration, that in spite of your +manifold attractions, it is by no means certain +that another offer of marriage may ever be +made you—your portion is unhappily so small, +that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As +I must therefore conclude that you are not +serious in your rejection of me, I shall choose +to attribute it to your wish of increasing my +love by suspense, according to the usual practice +of elegant females.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I do assure you, sir, that I have +no pretension whatever of that kind of elegance +which consists in tormenting a respectable man. +I would rather be paid the compliment of +being believed sincere. I thank you again +and again for the honour you have done me +in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely +impossible. My feelings in every respect +forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider +me now as an elegant female, intending to +plague you, but as a rational creature, speaking +the truth from her heart.</p> + +<p><i>Collins (with awkward gallantry).</i> You are +uniformly charming! and I am persuaded that +when sanctioned by the express authority of +both your excellent parents, my proposals will +not fail of being acceptable.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> To such perseverance in wilful +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>self-deception I can make no reply; but if +you persist in considering my repeated refusals +as flattering encouragement, I shall apply to +my father, whose negative will no doubt be +uttered in such a manner as must be decisive, +and whose behaviour at least will not be mistaken +for the affectation and coquetry of an +“elegant female.” (<i>Enter Mrs Bennet.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet.</i> Well, Mr Collins, allow me to +congratulate you—and myself.</p> + +<p><i>Mr Collins (smiling complacently).</i> I trust I +have every reason to be satisfied with the result +of our interview, since the refusal with which +my fair cousin has replied to my proposals +comes naturally from her bashful modesty and +the delicacy of her character.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet.</i> Her refusal? Why, Lizzie, +what is the meaning of this—do you refuse +Mr Collins?</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I do indeed, ma’am.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet.</i> Oh! Mr Collins, do not pay +any attention to her. Depend upon it, she +shall be brought to reason. I will speak to +her about it myself privately, She is a very +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know +her own interest; but I will <i>make</i> her +know it.</p> + +<p><i>Mr Collins (gravely).</i> Pardon me for interrupting +you, madam. But if she is really headstrong +and foolish, I know not whether she +would altogether be a very desirable wife to a +man in my situation, who naturally looks for +happiness in the marriage state. If, therefore, +Miss Elizabeth actually persists in rejecting my +suit, perhaps it were better not to force her into +accepting me, because if liable to such defects of +temper, she could not contribute much to my +felicity.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (interrupting).</i> That is very true, +Mr Collins.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet.</i> Sir, you quite misunderstand me. +Lizzie is only headstrong in such matters as these. +In everything else she is as good-natured a girl +as ever lived. Yes, you are, Lizzie, and I +insist on you accepting Mr Collins.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Ma’am, ma’am. I cannot, I do not +care for him.</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet.</i> Now, I do insist upon it, Lizzie, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>that you hold your tongue and let Mr Collins +and me have a little conversation together.</p> + +<p><i>Mr Collins (stiffly).</i> My dear madam, let us +be for ever silent on this point. Far be it from +me to resent the behaviour of your daughter. +Resignation to inevitable evil is the duty of +us all. You will not, I hope, consider me +as showing any disrespect to your family by +now withdrawing all pretensions to your +daughter’s favour. My conduct may, I fear, +be objectionable in accepting my dismission +from <i>her</i> lips instead of your own. But we +are all liable to error—I have certainly meant +well through the whole affair. My object +has been to secure an amiable companion for +myself, with due consideration for the advantage +of all your family, and if my <i>manner</i> has been +at all reprehensible, I beg here to apologise. +(<i>Exit, with a bow.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet (calling after him).</i> Oh! Mr +Collins—(<i>turning angrily to Elizabeth</i>), and there +you stand, looking as unconcerned as may be, +and caring no more for us all than if you were +at York—provided you can have your own +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>way. But I will tell you what, Miss Lizzie, +if you take it into your head to go on refusing +every offer of marriage in this way, you will +never get a husband at all; and I am sure I +do not know who is to maintain you when your +father is dead—<i>I</i> shall not be able to keep you, +and so I warn you. I have done with you +from this very day—I shall never speak to you +again, and you will find me as good as my +word—I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful +children. Not that I have much pleasure, +indeed, in talking to anybody. People who +suffer as I do from nervous complaints can +have no great inclination for talking. Nobody +can tell what I suffer! but it is always so, +those who do not complain are never pitied—and +it is all owing to you—to your wilfulness +and bad temper.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (coaxingly).</i> Ah, ma’am, do not be +hard on me. Think of my sister Jane. How +lovely she is. How much admired. How +willing <i>she</i> will be to listen to Mr Bingley. +Let us go and tell her about it all. She +will agree with us both.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span></p> + +<p><i>Mrs Bennet (softened).</i> Well, Lizzie, I +suppose I must be content with <i>one</i> sensible +girl among you all, but I should be thankful to +have <i>you</i> off my hands.</p> + +<p class="right"> + (<i>Exeunt Mrs Bennet and Elizabeth.</i>) +</p> + + +<p class="center"><i>End of Scene.</i></p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp52" id="i_151" style="max-width: 12.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_151.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="LADY_CATHERINES_VISIT"> + LADY CATHERINE’S VISIT. + </h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From “Pride and Prejudice,” Vol. I., Chap. XXIX.</i></p> +</div> + +<h3><i>Costumes.</i></h3> + +<p><i>Lady Catherine.</i> Large hat trimmed with white +feathers, and violet silk handkerchief, worn over a +ruched cap. Dress of cinnamon brown satin; the +bodice cut V-shaped in front; a high ruche of white +muslin round the neck; open front of bodice being +frilled with white lace. Pelisse of deep violet cloth. +Silver-headed black stick; long-handled eyeglass.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Dress of white Indian muslin—the bodice +made high in front and gathered in the centre of the +bosom into a long gold brooch. A Spencer waist +trimmed round back and down the sides with a frill of +the muslin, sleeves tied with pale green ribbon. Pale +green ribbon girdle.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<figure class="figcenter illowp62" id="i_155" style="max-width: 37.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_155.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <i>Lady Catherine and Elizabeth Bennet.</i> + </figcaption> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span></p> + + <p class="center"> + LADY CATHERINE’S VISIT. + </p> + + +<h3><i>Characters.</i></h3> + +<p class="center"><i>Lady Catherine de Burgh</i>, <i>Elizabeth Bennet.</i></p> + +<p class="hang"><i>N.B.</i>—“Elizabeth’s courage did not fail her. +She had heard nothing of Lady Catherine +that spoke her awful from any extraordinary +talents or miraculous virtue, and +the mere stateliness of money and rank she +thought she could witness without trepidation.... +Her air was not conciliating, +nor was her manner of receiving them +... such as to make her visitors forget +their inferior rank. She was not rendered +formidable by silence; but whatever she +said was spoken in so authoritative a +tone as marked her self-importance ... +delivering her opinion on every subject +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>in so decisive a manner as proved that she +was not used to have her judgment controverted.”—<i>Pride +and Prejudice</i>, Vol I., Chap. +XXIX.</p> + +<p>“There was a mixture of sweetness and +archness in her (<i>Elizabeth’s</i>) manner which +made it difficult for her to affront anybody, +and Darcy had never been so +bewitched by any woman as he was by +her.”—Vol. I., Chap. X.</p> + +<p>(<i>Elizabeth.</i>) “There is a stubbornness +about me that never can bear to be +frightened at the will of others. My +courage always rises with every attempt +to intimidate me.”—<i>Pride and Prejudice</i>, +Vol. I., Chap. XXXI.</p> + + +<h4 class="hang"><i>Scene—The morning-room at Longbourn. The +furniture is comfortable, but a little shabby; +it also wears a faded look of gaudiness, and is +arranged in a stiff and formal manner.</i></h4> + +<p class="hang"><i>Properties required:—If possible a long French +window at the back for Lady Catherine to +enter. If not practicable a door to the L. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>with a screen in front of it, behind which +the window must be imagined. Door R.</i></p> + +<p class="p2"><i>Elizabeth.</i> So all is settled peaceably and +amicably in this turbulent family of ours. +Dear Jane has attained her wish at last, and +is engaged to Mr Bingley, and Lydia is married. +Lydia, who caused us so much unspeakable +misery but a few weeks back, by eloping with +Mr Wickham, is married, and the Bennets are +now acknowledged to be the luckiest family +in the world, though only a little while before +we were generally proved to be marked out by +misfortune.</p> + +<p>How quickly and easily all this has been +arranged, and by whom? By Mr Darcy, whose +character I once so misjudged, whose proposal +of marriage I treated with such scorn, but +whom now my heart tells me I sincerely love +and esteem. To-morrow he is to come to +see us with Bingley. Bingley will have eyes +for none but Jane. Will Mr Darcy be satisfied +to spend the time with me, or will he +have too keen a remembrance of my refusal +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>when he was staying with Lady Catherine at +Rosings? Good heaven! were she to know +what passed between us, what would her feelings +be.</p> + +<p><i>Going to the window.</i> I thought I heard the +sound of a carriage. Who can it be? It is +too early for visitors, and, besides, I know +neither the servant nor the livery. The +horses are post, too. Good Heaven! it is +Lady Catherine de Burgh. What can she want +here? She has seen me, and evidently means +to come in through the window. (<i>Enter Lady +Catherine de Burgh, C. through the French window +or from behind the screen. She bows stiffly to +Elizabeth, who curtseys.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Lady C. (sitting).</i> I hope you are well, Miss +Bennet.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Thank you, very well. Allow me +to call my mother.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> No, I thank you. It is you I have +come all this way to see.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (surprised).</i> I am greatly honoured.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> You have a very small park +here.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span></p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (smiling).</i> It is certainly not to compare +with Rosings, but, I assure you, it is +quite large enough for our use.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C. (snifs).</i> This must be a most inconvenient +sitting-room for the evening in +summer; the windows are full west.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> We only sit here in the morning. +(<i>Aside.</i>) Heaven! how could I think her +like her nephew.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, +to understand the reason of my journey hither. +Your own heart, your own conscience must +tell you why I come.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (with unaffected astonishment).</i> Indeed, +you are mistaken, madam, I have not been at +all able to account for the honour of seeing +you here.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C. (angrily).</i> Miss Bennet, you ought +to know I am not to be trifled with. But, +however insincere <i>you</i> may choose to be, you +shall not find <i>me</i> so. My character has ever +been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness, +and in a cause of such moment as this I shall +certainly not depart from it. A report of a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>most alarming nature reached me two days ago. +I was told that not only your elder sister was +on the point of being most advantageously +married, but that <i>you</i>, that Miss Elizabeth +Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon +afterwards united to my nephew—my own +nephew—Mr Darcy. Though I <i>knew</i> it must +be a scandalous falsehood—though I would +not injure him so much as to suppose the +truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on +setting off for this place, that I might make +my sentiments known to you.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (surprised and angry).</i> If you believed +it impossible to be true, I wonder you took the +trouble of coming so far. What could your +ladyship propose by it?</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> At once to insist upon having such +a report universally contradicted.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (coolly).</i> Your coming to Longbourn +to see me will be rather a confirmation of it; +if, indeed, such a report is in existence.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> <i>If!</i> do you then pretend to be +ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously +circulated by yourselves. Do you not know +that such a report is spread abroad?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span></p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I never heard that it was.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> And can you likewise declare that +there is no <i>foundation</i> for it?</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I do not pretend to possess equal +frankness with your ladyship. <i>You</i> may ask +questions, which <i>I</i> shall not choose to +answer.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> This is not to be borne! Miss +Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has he, +has my nephew, made you an offer of +marriage?</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Your ladyship has declared it to +be impossible.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> It ought to be so; it must be so, +while he retains the use of his reason. But +your arts and allurements may, in a moment +of infatuation, have made him forget what +he owes to himself and to all his family. +You may have drawn him in.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> If I have, I shall be the last person +to confess it.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> Miss Bennet, do you know who +I am? I have not been accustomed to such +language as this. I am almost the nearest +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>relation he has in the world, and am entitled +to know all his dearest concerns.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> But you are not entitled to know +<i>mine</i>; nor will such behaviour as this ever induce +me to be explicit.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> Let me be rightly understood. +This match, to which you have the presumption +to aspire, can never take place. No, +never; Mr Darcy is engaged to <i>my daughter.</i> +Now what have you to say?</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (quietly).</i> Only this, that if it is so, +you can have no reason to suppose he will +make an offer to me.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> The engagement between them is of +a peculiar kind. From their infancy they +have been intended for each other. It was +the favourite wish of <i>his</i> mother as well as +of hers. While in their cradles, we planned +the union, and now, at the moment when +the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished, +is their marriage to be prevented by +a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance +in the world, and wholly unallied +to the family! Do you pay no regard to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>the wishes of his friends—to his tacit engagement +with Miss de Burgh? Are you lost to +every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have +you not heard me say that from his earliest +hours he was destined for his cousin?</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Yes! and I had heard it before. +But what is that to me? If there is no other +objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall +certainly not be kept from it by knowing that +his mother and aunt wished him to marry Miss +de Burgh. You both did as much as you could, +in planning the marriage; its completion depended +on others. If Mr Darcy is neither +by honour nor inclination confined to his +cousin, why is not he to make another choice? +And if I am that choice, why may not I accept +him?</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> Because honour, decorum, prudence—nay, +<i>interest</i>, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, +interest; for do not expect to be noticed by +any of his family or friends if you wilfully +act against the inclinations of all. You will +be censured, slighted, and despised by everyone +connected with him. Your alliance will be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>a disgrace; your name will never be mentioned +by any of us.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> These are heavy misfortunes indeed. +But the wife of Mr Darcy must have such +extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily +attached to her situation that she could, upon +the whole, have no cause to repine.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am +ashamed of you!—But you are to understand +me, Miss Bennet; I came here with the determined +resolution of carrying my purpose, nor +will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been +used to submit to any person’s whims. I +have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> <i>That</i> will make your ladyship’s +situation at present more pitiable, but it will +have no effect on <i>me.</i></p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> I will not be interrupted! Hear +me in silence. My daughter and my nephew +are formed for each other. They are descended, +on the maternal side, from the same noble line; +and on the father’s, from respectable, honourable, +and ancient, though untitled families. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They +are destined for each other by the voice of +every member of their respective houses; and +what is to divide them?—the upstart pretensions +of a young woman without family, +connections, or fortune! Is this to be endured? +But it must not, shall not be! If you were +sensible of your own good, you would not +wish to quit the sphere in which you have been +brought up.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> In marrying your nephew, I should +not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He +is a gentleman; I am a gentleman’s daughter: +so far we are equal.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> True, you are a gentleman’s +daughter; but who was your mother? Who +are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine +me ignorant of their condition.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Whatever my connections may be, +if your nephew does not object to them, they +can be nothing to you.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> Tell me, once for all, are you +engaged to him?</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (after slight deliberation).</i> I am not.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span></p> + +<p><i>Lady C. (pleased).</i> Ah! and will you promise +me never to enter into such an engagement?</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I will make no promise of the kind.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> Miss Bennet, I am shocked and +astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable +young woman. But do not deceive yourself +into a belief that I will ever recede. I +shall not go away till you have given me the +assurance I require.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> And I certainly <i>never</i> shall give +it. I am not to be intimidated into anything so +wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr +Darcy to marry your daughter; but would my +giving you your wished-for promise make <i>their</i> +marriage at all more probable? supposing him +to be attached to me, would <i>my</i> refusing to +accept his hand make him wish to bestow it +on his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady +Catherine, that the arguments with which you +have supported this extraordinary application +have been as frivolous as the application was +ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my +character if you think I can be worked on +by such persuasions as these. How far your +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>nephew might approve of your interference in +<i>his</i> affairs I cannot tell, but you have certainly +no right to concern yourself in mine. I must +beg, therefore, to be importuned no further on +the subject.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> Not so hasty, if you please. I have +by no means done. To all the objections I +have already urged, I have still another to add. +I am no stranger to the particulars of your +youngest sister’s infamous elopement. I know +it all; that the young man’s marrying her was +a patched-up business—at the expense of your +father and uncle. And is such a girl to be my +nephew’s sister? Heaven and earth!—of what +are you thinking?</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth (rising angrily).</i> You can now have +nothing further to say. You have insulted me +in every possible method. I must beg to be +allowed to leave you. (<i>Curtseys.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Lady C. (rising, highly incensed).</i> Stay, Miss +Bennet. You have no regard then for the +honour and credit of my nephew! Unfeeling, +selfish girl! do you not consider that a connection +with you must disgrace him in the +eyes of everybody.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span></p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Lady Catherine, I have nothing +further to say—you know my sentiments.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> You are then resolved to have him?</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I have said no such thing. I am +only resolved to act in that manner which will, +in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, +without reference to <i>you</i>, or to any person so +wholly unconnected with me.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> It is well! You refuse then to +oblige me. You refuse to obey the claims of +duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined +to ruin him in the opinion of all his +friends, and make him the contempt of the +world.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Neither duty, nor honour, nor +gratitude, has any possible claim on me in the +present instance. No principle of either would +be violated by my marriage with Mr Darcy. +And with regard to the resentment of his family +or the indignation of the world, if the former +<i>were</i> excited by his marrying me, it would not +give me one moment’s concern—and the world +in general would have too much sense to join +in the scorn.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span></p> + +<p><i>Lady C.</i> And this is your real opinion! This +is your final resolve! Very well, I shall now +know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, +that your ambition will ever be gratified. I +came to try you. I hoped to find you reasonable; +but depend upon it, I will carry my +point.</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> Good-day to you, Lady Catherine.</p> + +<p><i>Lady C. (at the window or screen).</i> I take no +leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments +to your mother. You deserve no such +attention. I am most seriously displeased. (<i>Exit +Lady Catherine.</i>)</p> + +<p><i>Elizabeth.</i> I could tell her truthfully I am <i>not</i> +engaged to Mr Darcy, but she little guessed the +rest. Yet I do not think he can be quite indifferent +to me, or surely she would not have taken the +trouble—If he comes to-morrow with Bingley, +as he arranged, I shall dare to hope (<i>sighs +happily</i>). Perhaps I, too, may learn to think +the Bennet family lucky in spite of Lady +Catherine de Burgh.</p> + +<p class="right"> + [<i>Exit.</i> +</p> + +<p class="center"><i>End of Scene.</i></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p class="center"> + PRINTED BY<br> + TURNBULL AND SPEARS,<br> + EDINBURGH. +</p> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78656 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78656-h/images/cover.jpg b/78656-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9cdeb6 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_004.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..419e594 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_004.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_007.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_007.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1ce1042 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_007.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_010.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_010.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..06ba902 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_010.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_011.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_011.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6665311 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_011.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_012.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_012.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e486d90 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_012.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_015.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_015.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..afed3d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_015.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_021.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_021.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..715bc6b --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_021.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_033.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_033.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ccbe4f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_033.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_037.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_037.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..940e8be --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_037.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_052.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_052.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0eb0e8 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_052.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_055.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_055.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d0150d --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_055.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_077.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_077.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f32248f --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_077.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_090.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_090.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..db20097 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_090.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_093.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_093.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..afa0190 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_093.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_128.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_128.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..358d863 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_128.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_131.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_131.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3751e25 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_131.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_151.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_151.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fabefe4 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_151.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_155.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_155.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..61b0c58 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_155.jpg diff --git a/78656-h/images/i_titlepage.jpg b/78656-h/images/i_titlepage.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d356a38 --- /dev/null +++ b/78656-h/images/i_titlepage.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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