Kabanata Kabanata 6 · 第6章

Emma could not feel a doubt of having given Harriet’s fancy a proper

direction and raised the gratitude of her young vanity to a very good

purpose, for she found her decidedly more sensible than before of Mr.

Elton’s being a remarkably handsome man, with most agreeable manners;

and as she had no hesitation in following up the assurance of his

admiration by agreeable hints, she was soon pretty confident of

creating as much liking on Harriet’s side, as there could be any

occasion for. She was quite convinced of Mr. Elton’s being in the

fairest way of falling in love, if not in love already. She had no

scruple with regard to him. He talked of Harriet, and praised her so

warmly, that she could not suppose any thing wanting which a little

time would not add. His perception of the striking improvement of

Harriet’s manner, since her introduction at Hartfield, was not one of

the least agreeable proofs of his growing attachment.

“You have given Miss Smith all that she required,” said he; “you have

made her graceful and easy. She was a beautiful creature when she came

to you, but, in my opinion, the attractions you have added are

infinitely superior to what she received from nature.”

“I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but Harriet only wanted

drawing out, and receiving a few, very few hints. She had all the

natural grace of sweetness of temper and artlessness in herself. I have

done very little.”

“If it were admissible to contradict a lady,” said the gallant Mr.

Elton—

“I have perhaps given her a little more decision of character, have

taught her to think on points which had not fallen in her way before.”

“Exactly so; that is what principally strikes me. So much superadded

decision of character! Skilful has been the hand!”

“Great has been the pleasure, I am sure. I never met with a disposition

more truly amiable.”

“I have no doubt of it.” And it was spoken with a sort of sighing

animation, which had a vast deal of the lover. She was not less pleased

another day with the manner in which he seconded a sudden wish of hers,

to have Harriet’s picture.

“Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?” said she: “did you

ever sit for your picture?”

Harriet was on the point of leaving the room, and only stopt to say,

with a very interesting naïveté,

“Oh! dear, no, never.”

No sooner was she out of sight, than Emma exclaimed,

“What an exquisite possession a good picture of her would be! I would

give any money for it. I almost long to attempt her likeness myself.

You do not know it I dare say, but two or three years ago I had a great

passion for taking likenesses, and attempted several of my friends, and

was thought to have a tolerable eye in general. But from one cause or

another, I gave it up in disgust. But really, I could almost venture,

if Harriet would sit to me. It would be such a delight to have her

picture!”

“Let me entreat you,” cried Mr. Elton; “it would indeed be a delight!

Let me entreat you, Miss Woodhouse, to exercise so charming a talent in

favour of your friend. I know what your drawings are. How could you

suppose me ignorant? Is not this room rich in specimens of your

landscapes and flowers; and has not Mrs. Weston some inimitable

figure-pieces in her drawing-room, at Randalls?”

Yes, good man!—thought Emma—but what has all that to do with taking

likenesses? You know nothing of drawing. Don’t pretend to be in

raptures about mine. Keep your raptures for Harriet’s face. “Well, if

you give me such kind encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believe I shall try

what I can do. Harriet’s features are very delicate, which makes a

likeness difficult; and yet there is a peculiarity in the shape of the

eye and the lines about the mouth which one ought to catch.”

“Exactly so—The shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth—I have

not a doubt of your success. Pray, pray attempt it. As you will do it,

it will indeed, to use your own words, be an exquisite possession.”

“But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to sit. She thinks

so little of her own beauty. Did not you observe her manner of

answering me? How completely it meant, ‘why should my picture be

drawn?’”

“Oh! yes, I observed it, I assure you. It was not lost on me. But still

I cannot imagine she would not be persuaded.”

Harriet was soon back again, and the proposal almost immediately made;

and she had no scruples which could stand many minutes against the

earnest pressing of both the others. Emma wished to go to work

directly, and therefore produced the portfolio containing her various

attempts at portraits, for not one of them had ever been finished, that

they might decide together on the best size for Harriet. Her many

beginnings were displayed. Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths,

pencil, crayon, and water-colours had been all tried in turn. She had

always wanted to do every thing, and had made more progress both in

drawing and music than many might have done with so little labour as

she would ever submit to. She played and sang;—and drew in almost every

style; but steadiness had always been wanting; and in nothing had she

approached the degree of excellence which she would have been glad to

command, and ought not to have failed of. She was not much deceived as

to her own skill either as an artist or a musician, but she was not

unwilling to have others deceived, or sorry to know her reputation for

accomplishment often higher than it deserved.

There was merit in every drawing—in the least finished, perhaps the

most; her style was spirited; but had there been much less, or had

there been ten times more, the delight and admiration of her two

companions would have been the same. They were both in ecstasies. A

likeness pleases every body; and Miss Woodhouse’s performances must be

capital.

“No great variety of faces for you,” said Emma. “I had only my own

family to study from. There is my father—another of my father—but the

idea of sitting for his picture made him so nervous, that I could only

take him by stealth; neither of them very like therefore. Mrs. Weston

again, and again, and again, you see. Dear Mrs. Weston! always my

kindest friend on every occasion. She would sit whenever I asked her.

There is my sister; and really quite her own little elegant figure!—and

the face not unlike. I should have made a good likeness of her, if she

would have sat longer, but she was in such a hurry to have me draw her

four children that she would not be quiet. Then, here come all my

attempts at three of those four children;—there they are, Henry and

John and Bella, from one end of the sheet to the other, and any one of

them might do for any one of the rest. She was so eager to have them

drawn that I could not refuse; but there is no making children of three

or four years old stand still you know; nor can it be very easy to take

any likeness of them, beyond the air and complexion, unless they are

coarser featured than any of mama’s children ever were. Here is my

sketch of the fourth, who was a baby. I took him as he was sleeping on

the sofa, and it is as strong a likeness of his cockade as you would

wish to see. He had nestled down his head most conveniently. That’s

very like. I am rather proud of little George. The corner of the sofa

is very good. Then here is my last,”—unclosing a pretty sketch of a

gentleman in small size, whole-length—“my last and my best—my brother,

Mr. John Knightley.—This did not want much of being finished, when I

put it away in a pet, and vowed I would never take another likeness. I

could not help being provoked; for after all my pains, and when I had

really made a very good likeness of it—(Mrs. Weston and I were quite

agreed in thinking it _very_ like)—only too handsome—too flattering—but

that was a fault on the right side”—after all this, came poor dear

Isabella’s cold approbation of—“Yes, it was a little like—but to be

sure it did not do him justice. We had had a great deal of trouble in

persuading him to sit at all. It was made a great favour of; and

altogether it was more than I could bear; and so I never would finish

it, to have it apologised over as an unfavourable likeness, to every

morning visitor in Brunswick Square;—and, as I said, I did then

forswear ever drawing any body again. But for Harriet’s sake, or rather

for my own, and as there are no husbands and wives in the case _at_

_present_, I will break my resolution now.”

Mr. Elton seemed very properly struck and delighted by the idea, and

was repeating, “No husbands and wives in the case at present indeed, as

you observe. Exactly so. No husbands and wives,” with so interesting a

consciousness, that Emma began to consider whether she had not better

leave them together at once. But as she wanted to be drawing, the

declaration must wait a little longer.

She had soon fixed on the size and sort of portrait. It was to be a

whole-length in water-colours, like Mr. John Knightley’s, and was

destined, if she could please herself, to hold a very honourable

station over the mantelpiece.

The sitting began; and Harriet, smiling and blushing, and afraid of not

keeping her attitude and countenance, presented a very sweet mixture of

youthful expression to the steady eyes of the artist. But there was no

doing any thing, with Mr. Elton fidgeting behind her and watching every

touch. She gave him credit for stationing himself where he might gaze

and gaze again without offence; but was really obliged to put an end to

it, and request him to place himself elsewhere. It then occurred to her

to employ him in reading.

“If he would be so good as to read to them, it would be a kindness

indeed! It would amuse away the difficulties of her part, and lessen

the irksomeness of Miss Smith’s.”

Mr. Elton was only too happy. Harriet listened, and Emma drew in peace.

She must allow him to be still frequently coming to look; any thing

less would certainly have been too little in a lover; and he was ready

at the smallest intermission of the pencil, to jump up and see the

progress, and be charmed.—There was no being displeased with such an

encourager, for his admiration made him discern a likeness almost

before it was possible. She could not respect his eye, but his love and

his complaisance were unexceptionable.

The sitting was altogether very satisfactory; she was quite enough

pleased with the first day’s sketch to wish to go on. There was no want

of likeness, she had been fortunate in the attitude, and as she meant

to throw in a little improvement to the figure, to give a little more

height, and considerably more elegance, she had great confidence of its

being in every way a pretty drawing at last, and of its filling its

destined place with credit to them both—a standing memorial of the

beauty of one, the skill of the other, and the friendship of both; with

as many other agreeable associations as Mr. Elton’s very promising

attachment was likely to add.

Harriet was to sit again the next day; and Mr. Elton, just as he ought,

entreated for the permission of attending and reading to them again.

“By all means. We shall be most happy to consider you as one of the

party.”

The same civilities and courtesies, the same success and satisfaction,

took place on the morrow, and accompanied the whole progress of the

picture, which was rapid and happy. Every body who saw it was pleased,

but Mr. Elton was in continual raptures, and defended it through every

criticism.

“Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she

wanted,”—observed Mrs. Weston to him—not in the least suspecting that

she was addressing a lover.—“The expression of the eye is most correct,

but Miss Smith has not those eyebrows and eyelashes. It is the fault of

her face that she has them not.”

“Do you think so?” replied he. “I cannot agree with you. It appears to

me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never saw such a

likeness in my life. We must allow for the effect of shade, you know.”

“You have made her too tall, Emma,” said Mr. Knightley.

Emma knew that she had, but would not own it; and Mr. Elton warmly

added,

“Oh no! certainly not too tall; not in the least too tall. Consider,

she is sitting down—which naturally presents a different—which in short

gives exactly the idea—and the proportions must be preserved, you know.

Proportions, fore-shortening.—Oh no! it gives one exactly the idea of

such a height as Miss Smith’s. Exactly so indeed!”

“It is very pretty,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “So prettily done! Just as

your drawings always are, my dear. I do not know any body who draws so

well as you do. The only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she

seems to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her

shoulders—and it makes one think she must catch cold.”

“But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer.

Look at the tree.”

“But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear.”

“You, sir, may say any thing,” cried Mr. Elton, “but I must confess

that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out

of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any

other situation would have been much less in character. The naïveté of

Miss Smith’s manners—and altogether—Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot

keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness.”

The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were a

few difficulties. It must be done directly; it must be done in London;

the order must go through the hands of some intelligent person whose

taste could be depended on; and Isabella, the usual doer of all

commissions, must not be applied to, because it was December, and Mr.

Woodhouse could not bear the idea of her stirring out of her house in

the fogs of December. But no sooner was the distress known to Mr.

Elton, than it was removed. His gallantry was always on the alert.

“Might he be trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasure should

he have in executing it! he could ride to London at any time. It was

impossible to say how much he should be gratified by being employed on

such an errand.”

“He was too good!—she could not endure the thought!—she would not give

him such a troublesome office for the world,”—brought on the desired

repetition of entreaties and assurances,—and a very few minutes settled

the business.

Mr. Elton was to take the drawing to London, chuse the frame, and give

the directions; and Emma thought she could so pack it as to ensure its

safety without much incommoding him, while he seemed mostly fearful of

not being incommoded enough.

“What a precious deposit!” said he with a tender sigh, as he received

it.

“This man is almost too gallant to be in love,” thought Emma. “I should

say so, but that I suppose there may be a hundred different ways of

being in love. He is an excellent young man, and will suit Harriet

exactly; it will be an ‘Exactly so,’ as he says himself; but he does

sigh and languish, and study for compliments rather more than I could

endure as a principal. I come in for a pretty good share as a second.

But it is his gratitude on Harriet’s account.”