general would not think such beauty, and such temper, the highest claims
a woman could possess.”
“Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have, is almost
enough to make me think so too. Better be without sense, than misapply
it as you do.”
“To be sure!” cried she playfully. “I know _that_ is the feeling of
you all. I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly what every
man delights in--what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his
judgment. Oh! Harriet may pick and chuse. Were you, yourself, ever to
marry, she is the very woman for you. And is she, at seventeen, just
entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be wondered at
because she does not accept the first offer she receives? No--pray let
her have time to look about her.”
“I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,” said Mr. Knightley
presently, “though I have kept my thoughts to myself; but I now perceive
that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will puff her up
with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a claim to, that,
in a little while, nobody within her reach will be good enough for her.
Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief. Nothing
so easy as for a young lady to raise her expectations too high. Miss
Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast, though
she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever you may chuse to
say, do not want silly wives. Men of family would not be very fond of
connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity--and most prudent
men would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they might be
involved in, when the mystery of her parentage came to be revealed. Let
her marry Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy for
ever; but if you encourage her to expect to marry greatly, and teach her
to be satisfied with nothing less than a man of consequence and large
fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs. Goddard's all the rest
of her life--or, at least, (for Harriet Smith is a girl who will marry
somebody or other,) till she grow desperate, and is glad to catch at the
old writing-master's son.”
“We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there
can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more
angry. But as to my _letting_ her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible;
she has refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must prevent any
second application. She must abide by the evil of having refused him,
whatever it may be; and as to the refusal itself, I will not pretend to
say that I might not influence her a little; but I assure you there
was very little for me or for any body to do. His appearance is so much
against him, and his manner so bad, that if she ever were disposed to
favour him, she is not now. I can imagine, that before she had seen
any body superior, she might tolerate him. He was the brother of her
friends, and he took pains to please her; and altogether, having seen
nobody better (that must have been his great assistant) she might not,
while she was at Abbey-Mill, find him disagreeable. But the case
is altered now. She knows now what gentlemen are; and nothing but a
gentleman in education and manner has any chance with Harriet.”
“Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!” cried Mr.
Knightley.--“Robert Martin's manners have sense, sincerity, and
good-humour to recommend them; and his mind has more true gentility than
Harriet Smith could understand.”
Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but was
really feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone. She
did not repent what she had done; she still thought herself a better
judge of such a point of female right and refinement than he could be;
but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgment in general,
which made her dislike having it so loudly against her; and to have him
sitting just opposite to her in angry state, was very disagreeable.
Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt
on Emma's side to talk of the weather, but he made no answer. He was
thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words.
“Robert Martin has no great loss--if he can but think so; and I hope it
will not be long before he does. Your views for Harriet are best known
to yourself; but as you make no secret of your love of match-making, it
is fair to suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have;--and as
a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the man, I think it
will be all labour in vain.”
Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued,
“Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort of man,
and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make
an imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as any
body. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally. He is
as well acquainted with his own claims, as you can be with Harriet's.
He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite
wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved
moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does
not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him speak with great
animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are
intimate with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece.”
“I am very much obliged to you,” said Emma, laughing again. “If I had
set my heart on Mr. Elton's marrying Harriet, it would have been very
kind to open my eyes; but at present I only want to keep Harriet to
myself. I have done with match-making indeed. I could never hope to
equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while I am well.”
“Good morning to you,”--said he, rising and walking off abruptly. He was
very much vexed. He felt the disappointment of the young man, and was
mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he had
given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma had taken in the affair,
was provoking him exceedingly.
Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there was more
indistinctness in the causes of her's, than in his. She did not always
feel so absolutely satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced that
her opinions were right and her adversary's wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He
walked off in more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She
was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little time and
the return of Harriet were very adequate restoratives. Harriet's staying
away so long was beginning to make her uneasy. The possibility of the
young man's coming to Mrs. Goddard's that morning, and meeting with
Harriet and pleading his own cause, gave alarming ideas. The dread
of such a failure after all became the prominent uneasiness; and when
Harriet appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having any
such reason to give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction which
settled her with her own mind, and convinced her, that let Mr.
Knightley think or say what he would, she had done nothing which woman's
friendship and woman's feelings would not justify.
He had frightened her a little about Mr. Elton; but when she considered
that Mr. Knightley could not have observed him as she had done, neither
with the interest, nor (she must be allowed to tell herself, in spite of
Mr. Knightley's pretensions) with the skill of such an observer on such
a question as herself, that he had spoken it hastily and in anger, she
was able to believe, that he had rather said what he wished resentfully
to be true, than what he knew any thing about. He certainly might have
heard Mr. Elton speak with more unreserve than she had ever done, and
Mr. Elton might not be of an imprudent, inconsiderate disposition as to
money matters; he might naturally be rather attentive than otherwise
to them; but then, Mr. Knightley did not make due allowance for the
influence of a strong passion at war with all interested motives. Mr.
Knightley saw no such passion, and of course thought nothing of its
effects; but she saw too much of it to feel a doubt of its overcoming
any hesitations that a reasonable prudence might originally suggest; and
more than a reasonable, becoming degree of prudence, she was very sure
did not belong to Mr. Elton.
Harriet's cheerful look and manner established hers: she came back, not
to think of Mr. Martin, but to talk of Mr. Elton. Miss Nash had been
telling her something, which she repeated immediately with great
delight. Mr. Perry had been to Mrs. Goddard's to attend a sick child,
and Miss Nash had seen him, and he had told Miss Nash, that as he was
coming back yesterday from Clayton Park, he had met Mr. Elton, and
found to his great surprize, that Mr. Elton was actually on his road
to London, and not meaning to return till the morrow, though it was the
whist-club night, which he had been never known to miss before; and Mr.
Perry had remonstrated with him about it, and told him how shabby it
was in him, their best player, to absent himself, and tried very much to
persuade him to put off his journey only one day; but it would not
do; Mr. Elton had been determined to go on, and had said in a _very_
_particular_ way indeed, that he was going on business which he would
not put off for any inducement in the world; and something about a
very enviable commission, and being the bearer of something exceedingly
precious. Mr. Perry could not quite understand him, but he was very sure
there must be a _lady_ in the case, and he told him so; and Mr. Elton
only looked very conscious and smiling, and rode off in great spirits.
Miss Nash had told her all this, and had talked a great deal more about
Mr. Elton; and said, looking so very significantly at her, “that she did
not pretend to understand what his business might be, but she only
knew that any woman whom Mr. Elton could prefer, she should think the
luckiest woman in the world; for, beyond a doubt, Mr. Elton had not his
equal for beauty or agreeableness.”
CHAPTER IX
Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel with
herself. He was so much displeased, that it was longer than usual before
he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet, his grave looks
shewed that she was not forgiven. She was sorry, but could not repent.
On the contrary, her plans and proceedings were more and more justified
and endeared to her by the general appearances of the next few days.
The Picture, elegantly framed, came safely to hand soon after Mr.
Elton's return, and being hung over the mantelpiece of the common
sitting-room, he got up to look at it, and sighed out his half sentences
of admiration just as he ought; and as for Harriet's feelings, they were
visibly forming themselves into as strong and steady an attachment as
her youth and sort of mind admitted. Emma was soon perfectly satisfied
of Mr. Martin's being no otherwise remembered, than as he furnished a
contrast with Mr. Elton, of the utmost advantage to the latter.
Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a great deal of
useful reading and conversation, had never yet led to more than a few
first chapters, and the intention of going on to-morrow. It was much
easier to chat than to study; much pleasanter to let her imagination
range and work at Harriet's fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge
her comprehension or exercise it on sober facts; and the only literary
pursuit which engaged Harriet at present, the only mental provision she
was making for the evening of life, was the collecting and transcribing
all the riddles of every sort that she could meet with, into a thin
quarto of hot-pressed paper, made up by her friend, and ornamented with
ciphers and trophies.
In this age of literature, such collections on a very grand scale are
not uncommon. Miss Nash, head-teacher at Mrs. Goddard's, had written out
at least three hundred; and Harriet, who had taken the first hint of it
from her, hoped, with Miss Woodhouse's help, to get a great many more.
Emma assisted with her invention, memory and taste; and as Harriet wrote
a very pretty hand, it was likely to be an arrangement of the first
order, in form as well as quantity.
Mr. Woodhouse was almost as much interested in the business as the
girls, and tried very often to recollect something worth their putting
in. “So many clever riddles as there used to be when he was young--he
wondered he could not remember them! but he hoped he should in time.”
And it always ended in “Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.”
His good friend Perry, too, whom he had spoken to on the subject,
did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind; but he
had desired Perry to be upon the watch, and as he went about so much,
something, he thought, might come from that quarter.
It was by no means his daughter's wish that the intellects of Highbury
in general should be put under requisition. Mr. Elton was the only one
whose assistance she asked. He was invited to contribute any really good
enigmas, charades, or conundrums that he might recollect; and she had
the pleasure of seeing him most intently at work with his recollections;
and at the same time, as she could perceive, most earnestly careful that
nothing ungallant, nothing that did not breathe a compliment to the
sex should pass his lips. They owed to him their two or three politest
puzzles; and the joy and exultation with which at last he recalled, and
rather sentimentally recited, that well-known charade,
My first doth affliction denote,
Which my second is destin'd to feel
And my whole is the best antidote
That affliction to soften and heal.--
made her quite sorry to acknowledge that they had transcribed it some
pages ago already.
“Why will not you write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?” said she; “that
is the only security for its freshness; and nothing could be easier to
you.”
“Oh no! he had never written, hardly ever, any thing of the kind in his
life. The stupidest fellow! He was afraid not even Miss Woodhouse”--he
stopt a moment--“or Miss Smith could inspire him.”
The very next day however produced some proof of inspiration. He
called for a few moments, just to leave a piece of paper on the table
containing, as he said, a charade, which a friend of his had addressed
to a young lady, the object of his admiration, but which, from his
manner, Emma was immediately convinced must be his own.
“I do not offer it for Miss Smith's collection,” said he. “Being my
friend's, I have no right to expose it in any degree to the public eye,
but perhaps you may not dislike looking at it.”
The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could
understand. There was deep consciousness about him, and he found
it easier to meet her eye than her friend's. He was gone the next
moment:--after another moment's pause,
“Take it,” said Emma, smiling, and pushing the paper towards
Harriet--“it is for you. Take your own.”
But Harriet was in a tremor, and could not touch it; and Emma, never
loth to be first, was obliged to examine it herself.
To Miss--
CHARADE.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
Another view of man, my second brings,
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
But ah! united, what reverse we have!
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown;
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply,
May its approval beam in that soft eye!
She cast her eye over it, pondered, caught the meaning, read it through
again to be quite certain, and quite mistress of the lines, and then
passing it to Harriet, sat happily smiling, and saying to herself, while
Harriet was puzzling over the paper in all the confusion of hope and
dulness, “Very well, Mr. Elton, very well indeed. I have read worse
charades. _Courtship_--a very good hint. I give you credit for it. This
is feeling your way. This is saying very plainly--'Pray, Miss Smith,
give me leave to pay my addresses to you. Approve my charade and my
intentions in the same glance.'
May its approval beam in that soft eye!
Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye--of all epithets, the
justest that could be given.
Thy ready wit the word will soon supply.
Humph--Harriet's ready wit! All the better. A man must be very much in
love, indeed, to describe her so. Ah! Mr. Knightley, I wish you had the
benefit of this; I think this would convince you. For once in your life
you would be obliged to own yourself mistaken. An excellent charade
indeed! and very much to the purpose. Things must come to a crisis soon
now.”
She was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations,
which were otherwise of a sort to run into great length, by the
eagerness of Harriet's wondering questions.
“What can it be, Miss Woodhouse?--what can it be? I have not an idea--I
cannot guess it in the least. What can it possibly be? Do try to find
it out, Miss Woodhouse. Do help me. I never saw any thing so hard. Is it
kingdom? I wonder who the friend was--and who could be the young lady.
Do you think it is a good one? Can it be woman?
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
Can it be Neptune?
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
Or a trident? or a mermaid? or a shark? Oh, no! shark is only one
syllable. It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it. Oh!
Miss Woodhouse, do you think we shall ever find it out?”
“Mermaids and sharks! Nonsense! My dear Harriet, what are you thinking
of? Where would be the use of his bringing us a charade made by a friend
upon a mermaid or a shark? Give me the paper and listen.
For Miss ------, read Miss Smith.
My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings,
Lords of the earth! their luxury and ease.
That is _court_.
Another view of man, my second brings;
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
That is _ship_;--plain as it can be.--Now for the cream.
But ah! united, (_courtship_, you know,) what reverse we have!
Man's boasted power and freedom, all are flown.
Lord of the earth and sea, he bends a slave,
And woman, lovely woman, reigns alone.
A very proper compliment!--and then follows the application, which
I think, my dear Harriet, you cannot find much difficulty in
comprehending. Read it in comfort to yourself. There can be no doubt of
its being written for you and to you.”
Harriet could not long resist so delightful a persuasion. She read
the concluding lines, and was all flutter and happiness. She could not
speak. But she was not wanted to speak. It was enough for her to feel.
Emma spoke for her.
“There is so pointed, and so particular a meaning in this compliment,”
said she, “that I cannot have a doubt as to Mr. Elton's intentions. You
are his object--and you will soon receive the completest proof of it. I
thought it must be so. I thought I could not be so deceived; but now, it
is clear; the state of his mind is as clear and decided, as my wishes on
the subject have been ever since I knew you. Yes, Harriet, just so long
have I been wanting the very circumstance to happen that has happened.
I could never tell whether an attachment between you and Mr. Elton were
most desirable or most natural. Its probability and its eligibility have
really so equalled each other! I am very happy. I congratulate you, my
dear Harriet, with all my heart. This is an attachment which a woman may
well feel pride in creating. This is a connexion which offers nothing
but good. It will give you every thing that you want--consideration,
independence, a proper home--it will fix you in the centre of all your
real friends, close to Hartfield and to me, and confirm our intimacy
for ever. This, Harriet, is an alliance which can never raise a blush in
either of us.”
“Dear Miss Woodhouse!”--and “Dear Miss Woodhouse,” was all that Harriet,
with many tender embraces could articulate at first; but when they did
arrive at something more like conversation, it was sufficiently clear to
her friend that she saw, felt, anticipated, and remembered just as she
ought. Mr. Elton's superiority had very ample acknowledgment.
“Whatever you say is always right,” cried Harriet, “and therefore I
suppose, and believe, and hope it must be so; but otherwise I could not
have imagined it. It is so much beyond any thing I deserve. Mr. Elton,
who might marry any body! There cannot be two opinions about _him_. He
is so very superior. Only think of those sweet verses--'To Miss ------.'
Dear me, how clever!--Could it really be meant for me?”
“I cannot make a question, or listen to a question about that. It is a
certainty. Receive it on my judgment. It is a sort of prologue to
the play, a motto to the chapter; and will be soon followed by
matter-of-fact prose.”
“It is a sort of thing which nobody could have expected. I am sure,
a month ago, I had no more idea myself!--The strangest things do take
place!”
“When Miss Smiths and Mr. Eltons get acquainted--they do indeed--and
really it is strange; it is out of the common course that what is so
evidently, so palpably desirable--what courts the pre-arrangement of
other people, should so immediately shape itself into the proper form.
You and Mr. Elton are by situation called together; you belong to one
another by every circumstance of your respective homes. Your marrying
will be equal to the match at Randalls. There does seem to be a
something in the air of Hartfield which gives love exactly the right
direction, and sends it into the very channel where it ought to flow.
The course of true love never did run smooth--
A Hartfield edition of Shakespeare would have a long note on that
passage.”
“That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me,--me, of all people,
who did not know him, to speak to him, at Michaelmas! And he, the very
handsomest man that ever was, and a man that every body looks up to,
quite like Mr. Knightley! His company so sought after, that every body
says he need not eat a single meal by himself if he does not chuse it;
that he has more invitations than there are days in the week. And so
excellent in the Church! Miss Nash has put down all the texts he has
ever preached from since he came to Highbury. Dear me! When I look back
to the first time I saw him! How little did I think!--The two Abbots and
I ran into the front room and peeped through the blind when we heard he
was going by, and Miss Nash came and scolded us away, and staid to look
through herself; however, she called me back presently, and let me
look too, which was very good-natured. And how beautiful we thought he
looked! He was arm-in-arm with Mr. Cole.”
“This is an alliance which, whoever--whatever your friends may be, must
be agreeable to them, provided at least they have common sense; and we
are not to be addressing our conduct to fools. If they are anxious to
see you _happily_ married, here is a man whose amiable character gives
every assurance of it;--if they wish to have you settled in the same
country and circle which they have chosen to place you in, here it will
be accomplished; and if their only object is that you should, in the
common phrase, be _well_ married, here is the comfortable fortune, the
respectable establishment, the rise in the world which must satisfy
them.”
“Yes, very true. How nicely you talk; I love to hear you. You understand
every thing. You and Mr. Elton are one as clever as the other. This
charade!--If I had studied a twelvemonth, I could never have made any
thing like it.”
“I thought he meant to try his skill, by his manner of declining it
yesterday.”
“I do think it is, without exception, the best charade I ever read.”
“I never read one more to the purpose, certainly.”
“It is as long again as almost all we have had before.”
“I do not consider its length as particularly in its favour. Such things
in general cannot be too short.”
Harriet was too intent on the lines to hear. The most satisfactory
comparisons were rising in her mind.
“It is one thing,” said she, presently--her cheeks in a glow--“to have
very good sense in a common way, like every body else, and if there is
any thing to say, to sit down and write a letter, and say just what you
must, in a short way; and another, to write verses and charades like
this.”
Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin's
prose.
“Such sweet lines!” continued Harriet--“these two last!--But how shall I
ever be able to return the paper, or say I have found it out?--Oh! Miss
Woodhouse, what can we do about that?”
“Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare
say, and then I will give it him back, and some nonsense or other will
pass between us, and you shall not be committed.--Your soft eyes shall
chuse their own time for beaming. Trust to me.”
“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautiful
charade into my book! I am sure I have not got one half so good.”
“Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why you should not
write it into your book.”
“Oh! but those two lines are”--
--“The best of all. Granted;--for private enjoyment; and for private
enjoyment keep them. They are not at all the less written you know,
because you divide them. The couplet does not cease to be, nor does its
meaning change. But take it away, and all _appropriation_ ceases, and a
very pretty gallant charade remains, fit for any collection. Depend upon
it, he would not like to have his charade slighted, much better than his
passion. A poet in love must be encouraged in both capacities, or
neither. Give me the book, I will write it down, and then there can be
no possible reflection on you.”
Harriet submitted, though her mind could hardly separate the parts,
so as to feel quite sure that her friend were not writing down a
declaration of love. It seemed too precious an offering for any degree
of publicity.
“I shall never let that book go out of my own hands,” said she.
“Very well,” replied Emma; “a most natural feeling; and the longer it
lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is my father coming: you
will not object to my reading the charade to him. It will be giving him
so much pleasure! He loves any thing of the sort, and especially any
thing that pays woman a compliment. He has the tenderest spirit of
gallantry towards us all!--You must let me read it to him.”
Harriet looked grave.
“My dear Harriet, you must not refine too much upon this charade.--You
will betray your feelings improperly, if you are too conscious and too
quick, and appear to affix more meaning, or even quite all the meaning
which may be affixed to it. Do not be overpowered by such a little
tribute of admiration. If he had been anxious for secrecy, he would not
have left the paper while I was by; but he rather pushed it towards me
than towards you. Do not let us be too solemn on the business. He has
encouragement enough to proceed, without our sighing out our souls over
this charade.”
“Oh! no--I hope I shall not be ridiculous about it. Do as you please.”
Mr. Woodhouse came in, and very soon led to the subject again, by the
recurrence of his very frequent inquiry of “Well, my dears, how does
your book go on?--Have you got any thing fresh?”
“Yes, papa; we have something to read you, something quite fresh. A
piece of paper was found on the table this morning--(dropt, we suppose,
by a fairy)--containing a very pretty charade, and we have just copied
it in.”
She read it to him, just as he liked to have any thing read, slowly and
distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every
part as she proceeded--and he was very much pleased, and, as she had
foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary conclusion.
“Aye, that's very just, indeed, that's very properly said. Very true.
'Woman, lovely woman.' It is such a pretty charade, my dear, that I
can easily guess what fairy brought it.--Nobody could have written so
prettily, but you, Emma.”
Emma only nodded, and smiled.--After a little thinking, and a very
tender sigh, he added,
“Ah! it is no difficulty to see who you take after! Your dear mother
was so clever at all those things! If I had but her memory! But I can
remember nothing;--not even that particular riddle which you have
heard me mention; I can only recollect the first stanza; and there are
several.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid,
Kindled a flame I yet deplore,
The hood-wink'd boy I called to aid,
Though of his near approach afraid,
So fatal to my suit before.
And that is all that I can recollect of it--but it is very clever all
the way through. But I think, my dear, you said you had got it.”
“Yes, papa, it is written out in our second page. We copied it from the
Elegant Extracts. It was Garrick's, you know.”
“Aye, very true.--I wish I could recollect more of it.
Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.
The name makes me think of poor Isabella; for she was very near being
christened Catherine after her grandmama. I hope we shall have her here
next week. Have you thought, my dear, where you shall put her--and what
room there will be for the children?”
“Oh! yes--she will have her own room, of course; the room she always
has;--and there is the nursery for the children,--just as usual, you
know. Why should there be any change?”
“I do not know, my dear--but it is so long since she was here!--not
since last Easter, and then only for a few days.--Mr. John Knightley's
being a lawyer is very inconvenient.--Poor Isabella!--she is sadly taken
away from us all!--and how sorry she will be when she comes, not to see
Miss Taylor here!”
“She will not be surprized, papa, at least.”
“I do not know, my dear. I am sure I was very much surprized when I
first heard she was going to be married.”
“We must ask Mr. and Mrs. Weston to dine with us, while Isabella is
here.”
“Yes, my dear, if there is time.--But--(in a very depressed tone)--she
is coming for only one week. There will not be time for any thing.”
“It is unfortunate that they cannot stay longer--but it seems a case of
necessity. Mr. John Knightley must be in town again on the 28th, and we
ought to be thankful, papa, that we are to have the whole of the time
they can give to the country, that two or three days are not to be taken
out for the Abbey. Mr. Knightley promises to give up his claim this
Christmas--though you know it is longer since they were with him, than
with us.”
“It would be very hard, indeed, my dear, if poor Isabella were to be
anywhere but at Hartfield.”
Mr. Woodhouse could never allow for Mr. Knightley's claims on his
brother, or any body's claims on Isabella, except his own. He sat musing
a little while, and then said,
“But I do not see why poor Isabella should be obliged to go back so
soon, though he does. I think, Emma, I shall try and persuade her to
stay longer with us. She and the children might stay very well.”
“Ah! papa--that is what you never have been able to accomplish, and I
do not think you ever will. Isabella cannot bear to stay behind her
husband.”
This was too true for contradiction. Unwelcome as it was, Mr. Woodhouse
could only give a submissive sigh; and as Emma saw his spirits affected
by the idea of his daughter's attachment to her husband, she immediately
led to such a branch of the subject as must raise them.
“Harriet must give us as much of her company as she can while my brother
and sister are here. I am sure she will be pleased with the children.
We are very proud of the children, are not we, papa? I wonder which she
will think the handsomest, Henry or John?”
“Aye, I wonder which she will. Poor little dears, how glad they will be
to come. They are very fond of being at Hartfield, Harriet.”
“I dare say they are, sir. I am sure I do not know who is not.”
“Henry is a fine boy, but John is very like his mama. Henry is the
eldest, he was named after me, not after his father. John, the second,
is named after his father. Some people are surprized, I believe, that
the eldest was not, but Isabella would have him called Henry, which I
thought very pretty of her. And he is a very clever boy, indeed. They
are all remarkably clever; and they have so many pretty ways. They will
come and stand by my chair, and say, 'Grandpapa, can you give me a bit
of string?' and once Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives
were only made for grandpapas. I think their father is too rough with
them very often.”
“He appears rough to you,” said Emma, “because you are so very gentle
yourself; but if you could compare him with other papas, you would not
think him rough. He wishes his boys to be active and hardy; and if
they misbehave, can give them a sharp word now and then; but he is an
affectionate father--certainly Mr. John Knightley is an affectionate
father. The children are all fond of him.”
“And then their uncle comes in, and tosses them up to the ceiling in a
very frightful way!”
“But they like it, papa; there is nothing they like so much. It is such
enjoyment to them, that if their uncle did not lay down the rule of
their taking turns, whichever began would never give way to the other.”
“Well, I cannot understand it.”
“That is the case with us all, papa. One half of the world cannot
understand the pleasures of the other.”
Later in the morning, and just as the girls were going to separate
in preparation for the regular four o'clock dinner, the hero of this
inimitable charade walked in again. Harriet turned away; but Emma could
receive him with the usual smile, and her quick eye soon discerned in
his the consciousness of having made a push--of having thrown a die;
and she imagined he was come to see how it might turn up. His ostensible
reason, however, was to ask whether Mr. Woodhouse's party could be made
up in the evening without him, or whether he should be in the smallest
degree necessary at Hartfield. If he were, every thing else must give
way; but otherwise his friend Cole had been saying so much about his
dining with him--had made such a point of it, that he had promised him
conditionally to come.
Emma thanked him, but could not allow of his disappointing his friend
on their account; her father was sure of his rubber. He re-urged--she
re-declined; and he seemed then about to make his bow, when taking the
paper from the table, she returned it--
“Oh! here is the charade you were so obliging as to leave with us; thank
you for the sight of it. We admired it so much, that I have ventured
to write it into Miss Smith's collection. Your friend will not take it
amiss I hope. Of course I have not transcribed beyond the first eight
lines.”
Mr. Elton certainly did not very well know what to say. He looked rather
doubtingly--rather confused; said something about “honour,”--glanced at
Emma and at Harriet, and then seeing the book open on the table, took
it up, and examined it very attentively. With the view of passing off an
awkward moment, Emma smilingly said,
“You must make my apologies to your friend; but so good a charade
must not be confined to one or two. He may be sure of every woman's
approbation while he writes with such gallantry.”
“I have no hesitation in saying,” replied Mr. Elton, though hesitating
a good deal while he spoke; “I have no hesitation in saying--at least
if my friend feels at all as _I_ do--I have not the smallest doubt that,
could he see his little effusion honoured as _I_ see it, (looking at the
book again, and replacing it on the table), he would consider it as the
proudest moment of his life.”
After this speech he was gone as soon as possible. Emma could not think
it too soon; for with all his good and agreeable qualities, there was
a sort of parade in his speeches which was very apt to incline her to
laugh. She ran away to indulge the inclination, leaving the tender and
the sublime of pleasure to Harriet's share.
CHAPTER X
Though now the middle of December, there had yet been no weather to
prevent the young ladies from tolerably regular exercise; and on the
morrow, Emma had a charitable visit to pay to a poor sick family, who
lived a little way out of Highbury.
Their road to this detached cottage was down Vicarage Lane, a lane
leading at right angles from the broad, though irregular, main street of
the place; and, as may be inferred, containing the blessed abode of Mr.
Elton. A few inferior dwellings were first to be passed, and then, about
a quarter of a mile down the lane rose the Vicarage, an old and not
very good house, almost as close to the road as it could be. It had
no advantage of situation; but had been very much smartened up by the
present proprietor; and, such as it was, there could be no possibility
of the two friends passing it without a slackened pace and observing
eyes.--Emma's remark was--
“There it is. There go you and your riddle-book one of these
days.”--Harriet's was--
“Oh, what a sweet house!--How very beautiful!--There are the yellow
curtains that Miss Nash admires so much.”
“I do not often walk this way _now_,” said Emma, as they proceeded, “but
_then_ there will be an inducement, and I shall gradually get intimately
acquainted with all the hedges, gates, pools and pollards of this part
of Highbury.”
Harriet, she found, had never in her life been inside the Vicarage,
and her curiosity to see it was so extreme, that, considering exteriors
and probabilities, Emma could only class it, as a proof of love, with
Mr. Elton's seeing ready wit in her.
“I wish we could contrive it,” said she; “but I cannot think of any
tolerable pretence for going in;--no servant that I want to inquire
about of his housekeeper--no message from my father.”
She pondered, but could think of nothing. After a mutual silence of some
minutes, Harriet thus began again--
“I do so wonder, Miss Woodhouse, that you should not be married, or
going to be married! so charming as you are!”--
Emma laughed, and replied,
“My being charming, Harriet, is not quite enough to induce me to marry;
I must find other people charming--one other person at least. And I
am not only, not going to be married, at present, but have very little
intention of ever marrying at all.”
“Ah!--so you say; but I cannot believe it.”
“I must see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet, to be
tempted; Mr. Elton, you know, (recollecting herself,) is out of the
question: and I do _not_ wish to see any such person. I would rather not
be tempted. I cannot really change for the better. If I were to marry, I
must expect to repent it.”
“Dear me!--it is so odd to hear a woman talk so!”--
“I have none of the usual inducements of women to marry. Were I to fall
in love, indeed, it would be a different thing! but I never have been in
love; it is not my way, or my nature; and I do not think I ever shall.
And, without love, I am sure I should be a fool to change such a
situation as mine. Fortune I do not want; employment I do not want;
consequence I do not want: I believe few married women are half as much
mistress of their husband's house as I am of Hartfield; and never, never
could I expect to be so truly beloved and important; so always first and
always right in any man's eyes as I am in my father's.”
“But then, to be an old maid at last, like Miss Bates!”
“That is as formidable an image as you could present, Harriet; and if
I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates! so silly--so satisfied--so
smiling--so prosing--so undistinguishing and unfastidious--and so apt
to tell every thing relative to every body about me, I would marry
to-morrow. But between _us_, I am convinced there never can be any
likeness, except in being unmarried.”
“But still, you will be an old maid! and that's so dreadful!”
“Never mind, Harriet, I shall not be a poor old maid; and it is poverty
only which makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public! A single
woman, with a very narrow income, must be a ridiculous, disagreeable old
maid! the proper sport of boys and girls, but a single woman, of good
fortune, is always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant
as any body else. And the distinction is not quite so much against the
candour and common sense of the world as appears at first; for a very
narrow income has a tendency to contract the mind, and sour the temper.
Those who can barely live, and who live perforce in a very small, and
generally very inferior, society, may well be illiberal and cross. This
does not apply, however, to Miss Bates; she is only too good natured and
too silly to suit me; but, in general, she is very much to the taste
of every body, though single and though poor. Poverty certainly has not
contracted her mind: I really believe, if she had only a shilling in the
world, she would be very likely to give away sixpence of it; and nobody
is afraid of her: that is a great charm.”
“Dear me! but what shall you do? how shall you employ yourself when you
grow old?”
“If I know myself, Harriet, mine is an active, busy mind, with a great
many independent resources; and I do not perceive why I should be more
in want of employment at forty or fifty than one-and-twenty. Woman's
usual occupations of hand and mind will be as open to me then as they
are now; or with no important variation. If I draw less, I shall read
more; if I give up music, I shall take to carpet-work. And as for
objects of interest, objects for the affections, which is in truth the
great point of inferiority, the want of which is really the great evil
to be avoided in _not_ marrying, I shall be very well off, with all the
children of a sister I love so much, to care about. There will be enough
of them, in all probability, to supply every sort of sensation that
declining life can need. There will be enough for every hope and every
fear; and though my attachment to none can equal that of a parent, it
suits my ideas of comfort better than what is warmer and blinder. My
nephews and nieces!--I shall often have a niece with me.”
“Do you know Miss Bates's niece? That is, I know you must have seen her
a hundred times--but are you acquainted?”
“Oh! yes; we are always forced to be acquainted whenever she comes to
Highbury. By the bye, _that_ is almost enough to put one out of conceit
with a niece. Heaven forbid! at least, that I should ever bore people
half so much about all the Knightleys together, as she does about Jane
Fairfax. One is sick of the very name of Jane Fairfax. Every letter from
her is read forty times over; her compliments to all friends go round
and round again; and if she does but send her aunt the pattern of a
stomacher, or knit a pair of garters for her grandmother, one hears of
nothing else for a month. I wish Jane Fairfax very well; but she tires
me to death.”
They were now approaching the cottage, and all idle topics were
superseded. Emma was very compassionate; and the distresses of the poor
were as sure of relief from her personal attention and kindness, her
counsel and her patience, as from her purse. She understood their ways,
could allow for their ignorance and their temptations, had no romantic
expectations of extraordinary virtue from those for whom education had
done so little; entered into their troubles with ready sympathy, and
always gave her assistance with as much intelligence as good-will. In
the present instance, it was sickness and poverty together which she
came to visit; and after remaining there as long as she could give
comfort or advice, she quitted the cottage with such an impression of
the scene as made her say to Harriet, as they walked away,
“These are the sights, Harriet, to do one good. How trifling they make
every thing else appear!--I feel now as if I could think of nothing but
these poor creatures all the rest of the day; and yet, who can say how
soon it may all vanish from my mind?”
“Very true,” said Harriet. “Poor creatures! one can think of nothing
else.”
“And really, I do not think the impression will soon be over,” said
Emma, as she crossed the low hedge, and tottering footstep which ended
the narrow, slippery path through the cottage garden, and brought them
into the lane again. “I do not think it will,” stopping to look once
more at all the outward wretchedness of the place, and recall the still
greater within.
“Oh! dear, no,” said her companion.
They walked on. The lane made a slight bend; and when that bend was
passed, Mr. Elton was immediately in sight; and so near as to give Emma
time only to say farther,
“Ah! Harriet, here comes a very sudden trial of our stability in good
thoughts. Well, (smiling,) I hope it may be allowed that if compassion
has produced exertion and relief to the sufferers, it has done all that
is truly important. If we feel for the wretched, enough to do all we can
for them, the rest is empty sympathy, only distressing to ourselves.”
Harriet could just answer, “Oh! dear, yes,” before the gentleman joined
them. The wants and sufferings of the poor family, however, were the
first subject on meeting. He had been going to call on them. His visit
he would now defer; but they had a very interesting parley about
what could be done and should be done. Mr. Elton then turned back to
accompany them.
“To fall in with each other on such an errand as this,” thought Emma;
“to meet in a charitable scheme; this will bring a great increase
of love on each side. I should not wonder if it were to bring on the
declaration. It must, if I were not here. I wish I were anywhere else.”
Anxious to separate herself from them as far as she could, she soon
afterwards took possession of a narrow footpath, a little raised on one
side of the lane, leaving them together in the main road. But she had
not been there two minutes when she found that Harriet's habits of
dependence and imitation were bringing her up too, and that, in short,
they would both be soon after her. This would not do; she immediately
stopped, under pretence of having some alteration to make in the lacing
of her half-boot, and stooping down in complete occupation of the
footpath, begged them to have the goodness to walk on, and she would
follow in half a minute. They did as they were desired; and by the time
she judged it reasonable to have done with her boot, she had the comfort
of farther delay in her power, being overtaken by a child from the
cottage, setting out, according to orders, with her pitcher, to fetch
broth from Hartfield. To walk by the side of this child, and talk to
and question her, was the most natural thing in the world, or would have
been the most natural, had she been acting just then without design;
and by this means the others were still able to keep ahead, without
any obligation of waiting for her. She gained on them, however,
involuntarily: the child's pace was quick, and theirs rather slow;
and she was the more concerned at it, from their being evidently in
a conversation which interested them. Mr. Elton was speaking with
animation, Harriet listening with a very pleased attention; and Emma,
having sent the child on, was beginning to think how she might draw back
a little more, when they both looked around, and she was obliged to join
them.
Mr. Elton was still talking, still engaged in some interesting detail;
and Emma experienced some disappointment when she found that he was only
giving his fair companion an account of the yesterday's party at his
friend Cole's, and that she was come in herself for the Stilton cheese,
the north Wiltshire, the butter, the celery, the beet-root, and all the
dessert.
“This would soon have led to something better, of course,” was her
consoling reflection; “any thing interests between those who love; and
any thing will serve as introduction to what is near the heart. If I
could but have kept longer away!”
They now walked on together quietly, till within view of the vicarage
pales, when a sudden resolution, of at least getting Harriet into the
house, made her again find something very much amiss about her boot, and
fall behind to arrange it once more. She then broke the lace off short,
and dexterously throwing it into a ditch, was presently obliged to
entreat them to stop, and acknowledged her inability to put herself to
rights so as to be able to walk home in tolerable comfort.
“Part of my lace is gone,” said she, “and I do not know how I am to
contrive. I really am a most troublesome companion to you both, but I
hope I am not often so ill-equipped. Mr. Elton, I must beg leave to stop
at your house, and ask your housekeeper for a bit of ribband or string,
or any thing just to keep my boot on.”
Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this proposition; and nothing could
exceed his alertness and attention in conducting them into his house and
endeavouring to make every thing appear to advantage. The room they were
taken into was the one he chiefly occupied, and looking forwards; behind
it was another with which it immediately communicated; the door between
them was open, and Emma passed into it with the housekeeper to receive
her assistance in the most comfortable manner. She was obliged to leave
the door ajar as she found it; but she fully intended that Mr. Elton
should close it. It was not closed, however, it still remained ajar; but
by engaging the housekeeper in incessant conversation, she hoped to make
it practicable for him to chuse his own subject in the adjoining
room. For ten minutes she could hear nothing but herself. It could be
protracted no longer. She was then obliged to be finished, and make her
appearance.
The lovers were standing together at one of the windows. It had a most
favourable aspect; and, for half a minute, Emma felt the glory of having
schemed successfully. But it would not do; he had not come to the point.
He had been most agreeable, most delightful; he had told Harriet that
he had seen them go by, and had purposely followed them; other little
gallantries and allusions had been dropt, but nothing serious.
“Cautious, very cautious,” thought Emma; “he advances inch by inch, and
will hazard nothing till he believes himself secure.”
Still, however, though every thing had not been accomplished by her
ingenious device, she could not but flatter herself that it had been
the occasion of much present enjoyment to both, and must be leading them
forward to the great event.
CHAPTER XI
Mr. Elton must now be left to himself. It was no longer in Emma's power
to superintend his happiness or quicken his measures. The coming of her
sister's family was so very near at hand, that first in anticipation,
and then in reality, it became henceforth her prime object of interest;
and during the ten days of their stay at Hartfield it was not to be
expected--she did not herself expect--that any thing beyond occasional,
fortuitous assistance could be afforded by her to the lovers. They might
advance rapidly if they would, however; they must advance somehow or
other whether they would or no. She hardly wished to have more leisure
for them. There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they
will do for themselves.
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having been longer than usual absent
from Surry, were exciting of course rather more than the usual interest.
Till this year, every long vacation since their marriage had been
divided between Hartfield and Donwell Abbey; but all the holidays of
this autumn had been given to sea-bathing for the children, and it was
therefore many months since they had been seen in a regular way by their
Surry connexions, or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be
induced to get so far as London, even for poor Isabella's sake; and
who consequently was now most nervously and apprehensively happy in
forestalling this too short visit.
He thought much of the evils of the journey for her, and not a little
of the fatigues of his own horses and coachman who were to bring some
of the party the last half of the way; but his alarms were needless;
the sixteen miles being happily accomplished, and Mr. and Mrs. John
Knightley, their five children, and a competent number of nursery-maids,
all reaching Hartfield in safety. The bustle and joy of such an arrival,
,
,
1
.
»
2
3
«
,
,
,
4
.
,
5
.
»
6
7
«
!
»
.
«
8
.
9
-
-
10
.
!
.
,
,
11
,
.
,
,
12
,
,
13
?
-
-
14
.
»
15
16
«
,
»
.
17
,
«
;
18
.
19
,
,
,
20
,
.
21
,
.
22
.
23
,
24
.
,
25
,
.
26
-
-
27
28
,
.
29
,
,
,
30
;
,
31
32
,
-
.
'
33
-
-
,
,
(
34
,
)
,
35
-
'
.
»
36
37
«
,
.
,
38
.
39
.
,
;
40
,
,
,
41
.
,
42
;
,
43
;
44
.
45
,
,
46
,
.
,
47
,
.
48
,
;
,
49
(
)
,
50
-
,
.
51
.
;
52
.
»
53
54
«
,
,
!
»
.
55
.
-
-
«
'
,
,
56
-
;
57
.
»
58
59
,
,
60
.
61
;
62
;
63
,
64
;
65
,
.
66
,
67
'
,
.
68
.
.
69
70
«
-
-
;
71
.
72
;
-
,
73
,
,
;
-
-
74
,
75
.
»
76
77
.
,
78
79
«
,
.
,
80
,
81
.
82
.
,
.
83
,
'
.
84
,
85
;
86
,
,
87
.
88
89
,
.
»
90
91
«
,
»
,
.
«
92
.
'
,
93
;
94
.
-
.
95
.
.
»
96
97
«
,
»
-
-
,
.
98
.
,
99
,
100
;
,
101
.
102
103
;
104
'
,
.
105
,
106
'
,
.
.
107
-
.
108
,
,
109
.
'
110
.
111
'
.
'
,
112
,
.
113
;
114
,
,
115
,
116
,
,
.
117
,
'
118
'
.
119
120
.
;
121
.
,
122
,
(
,
123
.
'
)
124
,
,
125
,
126
,
.
127
.
,
128
.
,
129
;
130
;
,
.
131
.
.
132
,
133
;
134
;
135
,
,
136
.
.
137
138
'
:
,
139
.
,
.
.
140
,
141
.
.
.
'
,
142
,
,
143
,
.
,
144
,
.
145
,
,
146
-
,
;
.
147
,
148
,
,
,
149
;
150
;
.
,
151
,
152
;
153
,
154
.
.
,
155
,
;
.
156
,
.
157
,
158
.
;
,
,
«
159
,
160
.
,
161
;
,
,
.
162
.
»
163
164
165
166
.
,
167
.
,
168
;
,
169
.
,
.
170
,
171
.
172
173
,
,
.
174
'
,
175
-
,
,
176
;
'
,
177
178
.
179
.
'
,
180
.
,
.
181
182
'
,
183
,
184
,
-
.
185
;
186
'
,
187
;
188
,
189
,
190
,
191
-
,
,
192
.
193
194
,
195
.
,
-
.
'
,
196
;
,
197
,
,
'
,
.
198
,
;
199
,
200
,
.
201
202
.
203
,
204
.
«
-
-
205
!
.
»
206
«
,
.
»
207
208
,
,
,
209
;
210
,
,
211
,
,
.
212
213
'
214
.
.
215
.
216
,
,
;
217
;
218
,
,
219
,
220
.
221
;
,
222
,
-
,
223
224
,
225
'
226
227
.
-
-
228
229
230
.
231
232
«
,
.
?
»
;
«
233
;
234
.
»
235
236
«
!
,
,
237
.
!
»
-
-
238
-
-
«
.
»
239
240
.
241
,
242
,
,
,
243
,
,
,
244
,
.
245
246
«
'
,
»
.
«
247
'
,
,
248
.
»
249
250
,
251
.
,
252
'
.
253
:
-
-
'
,
254
255
«
,
»
,
,
256
-
-
«
.
.
»
257
258
,
;
,
259
,
.
260
261
-
-
262
263
.
264
265
,
266
!
.
267
,
,
268
,
!
269
270
!
,
!
271
'
,
;
272
,
,
273
,
,
.
274
275
,
276
!
277
278
,
,
,
279
,
,
280
,
,
,
281
282
,
«
,
.
,
.
283
.
-
-
.
.
284
.
-
-
'
,
,
285
.
286
.
'
287
288
!
289
290
.
-
-
,
291
.
292
293
.
294
295
-
-
'
!
.
296
,
,
.
!
.
,
297
;
.
298
.
299
!
.
300
.
»
301
302
,
303
,
304
'
.
305
306
«
,
?
-
-
?
-
-
307
.
?
308
,
.
.
.
309
?
-
-
.
310
?
?
311
312
,
,
.
313
314
?
315
316
,
!
317
318
?
?
?
,
!
319
.
,
.
!
320
,
?
»
321
322
«
!
!
,
323
?
324
?
.
325
326
-
-
-
-
-
-
,
.
327
328
,
329
!
.
330
331
.
332
333
,
;
334
,
!
335
336
;
-
-
.
-
-
.
337
338
!
,
(
,
,
)
!
339
'
,
.
340
,
,
341
,
,
.
342
343
!
-
-
,
344
,
,
345
.
.
346
.
»
347
348
.
349
,
.
350
.
.
.
351
.
352
353
«
,
,
»
354
,
«
.
'
.
355
-
-
.
356
.
;
,
357
;
,
358
.
,
,
359
.
360
.
361
.
362
!
.
,
363
,
.
364
.
365
.
-
-
,
366
,
-
-
367
,
,
368
.
,
,
369
.
»
370
371
«
!
»
-
-
«
,
»
,
372
;
373
,
374
,
,
,
375
.
.
'
.
376
377
«
,
»
,
«
378
,
,
;
379
.
.
.
,
380
!
.
381
.
-
-
'
-
-
-
-
-
-
.
'
382
,
!
-
-
?
»
383
384
«
,
.
385
.
.
386
,
;
387
-
-
.
»
388
389
«
.
,
390
,
!
-
-
391
!
»
392
393
«
.
-
-
-
-
394
;
395
,
-
-
-
396
,
.
397
.
;
398
.
399
.
400
401
,
.
402
403
-
-
404
405
406
.
»
407
408
«
.
,
-
-
,
,
409
,
,
!
,
410
,
,
411
.
!
,
412
;
413
.
414
!
415
.
!
416
!
!
-
-
417
418
,
,
419
;
,
,
420
,
-
.
421
!
-
-
.
.
»
422
423
«
,
-
-
,
424
,
;
425
.
426
,
427
;
-
-
428
,
429
;
,
430
,
,
,
431
,
432
.
»
433
434
«
,
.
;
.
435
.
.
.
436
!
-
-
,
437
.
»
438
439
«
,
440
.
»
441
442
«
,
,
.
»
443
444
«
,
.
»
445
446
«
.
»
447
448
«
.
449
.
»
450
451
.
452
.
453
454
«
,
»
,
-
-
-
-
«
455
,
,
456
,
,
457
,
;
,
458
.
»
459
460
.
'
461
.
462
463
«
!
»
-
-
«
!
-
-
464
,
?
-
-
!
465
,
?
»
466
467
«
.
.
,
468
,
,
469
,
.
-
-
470
.
.
»
471
472
«
!
,
473
!
.
»
474
475
«
,
476
.
»
477
478
«
!
»
-
-
479
480
-
-
«
.
;
-
-
;
481
.
,
482
.
,
483
.
,
,
484
,
.
485
,
,
486
.
,
487
.
,
,
488
.
»
489
490
,
,
491
492
.
493
.
494
495
«
,
»
.
496
497
«
,
»
;
«
;
498
,
.
:
499
.
500
!
,
501
.
502
!
-
-
.
»
503
504
.
505
506
«
,
.
-
-
507
,
508
,
,
509
.
510
.
,
511
;
512
.
.
513
,
514
.
»
515
516
«
!
-
-
.
.
»
517
518
.
,
,
519
«
,
,
520
?
-
-
?
»
521
522
«
,
;
,
.
523
-
-
(
,
,
524
)
-
-
,
525
.
»
526
527
,
,
528
,
,
529
-
-
,
,
530
,
.
531
532
«
,
'
,
,
'
.
.
533
'
,
.
'
,
,
534
.
-
-
535
,
,
.
»
536
537
,
.
-
-
,
538
,
,
539
540
«
!
!
541
!
!
542
;
-
-
543
;
;
544
.
545
546
,
,
547
,
548
-
'
,
549
,
550
.
551
552
-
-
553
.
,
,
.
»
554
555
«
,
,
.
556
.
'
,
.
»
557
558
«
,
.
-
-
.
559
560
,
.
561
562
;
563
.
564
.
,
,
-
-
565
?
»
566
567
«
!
-
-
,
;
568
;
-
-
,
-
-
,
569
.
?
»
570
571
«
,
-
-
!
-
-
572
,
.
-
-
.
'
573
.
-
-
!
-
-
574
!
-
-
,
575
!
»
576
577
«
,
,
.
»
578
579
«
,
.
580
.
»
581
582
«
.
.
,
583
.
»
584
585
«
,
,
.
-
-
-
-
(
)
-
-
586
.
.
»
587
588
«
-
-
589
.
.
,
590
,
,
591
,
592
.
.
593
-
-
,
594
.
»
595
596
«
,
,
,
597
.
»
598
599
.
.
'
600
,
'
,
.
601
,
,
602
603
«
604
,
.
,
,
605
.
.
»
606
607
«
!
-
-
,
608
.
609
.
»
610
611
.
,
.
612
;
613
'
,
614
.
615
616
«
617
.
.
618
,
,
?
619
,
?
»
620
621
«
,
.
,
622
.
,
.
»
623
624
«
,
.
.
»
625
626
«
,
.
627
,
,
.
,
,
628
.
,
,
629
,
,
630
.
,
.
631
;
.
632
,
,
'
,
633
?
'
,
634
.
635
.
»
636
637
«
,
»
,
«
638
;
,
639
.
;
640
,
;
641
-
-
.
642
.
.
»
643
644
«
,
645
!
»
646
647
«
,
;
.
648
,
649
,
.
»
650
651
«
,
.
»
652
653
«
,
.
654
.
»
655
656
,
657
'
,
658
.
;
659
,
660
-
-
;
661
.
662
,
,
.
'
663
,
664
.
,
665
;
666
-
-
,
667
.
668
669
,
670
;
.
-
-
-
671
-
;
,
672
,
-
-
673
674
«
!
;
675
.
,
676
'
.
677
.
678
.
»
679
680
.
.
681
-
-
;
«
,
»
-
-
682
,
,
683
,
.
684
,
,
685
686
«
;
687
.
'
688
.
»
689
690
«
,
»
.
,
691
;
«
-
-
692
-
-
,
693
,
(
694
,
)
,
695
.
»
696
697
.
698
;
,
699
700
.
,
701
'
.
702
703
704
705
,
706
;
707
,
,
708
.
709
710
,
711
,
,
712
;
,
,
.
713
.
,
,
714
,
715
,
.
716
;
717
;
,
,
718
719
.
-
-
'
-
-
720
721
«
.
-
722
.
»
-
-
'
-
-
723
724
«
,
!
-
-
!
-
-
725
.
»
726
727
«
,
»
,
,
«
728
,
729
,
,
730
.
»
731
732
,
,
,
733
,
,
734
,
,
,
735
.
'
.
736
737
«
,
»
;
«
738
;
-
-
739
-
-
.
»
740
741
,
.
742
,
-
-
743
744
«
,
,
,
745
!
!
»
-
-
746
747
,
,
748
749
«
,
,
;
750
-
-
.
751
,
,
,
752
.
»
753
754
«
!
-
-
;
.
»
755
756
«
,
757
;
.
,
,
(
,
)
758
:
.
759
.
.
,
760
.
»
761
762
«
!
-
-
!
»
-
-
763
764
«
.
765
,
,
!
766
;
,
;
.
767
,
,
768
.
;
;
769
:
770
'
;
,
771
;
772
'
'
.
»
773
774
«
,
,
!
»
775
776
«
,
;
777
!
-
-
-
-
778
-
-
-
-
-
-
779
,
780
-
.
,
781
,
.
»
782
783
«
,
!
'
!
»
784
785
«
,
,
;
786
!
787
,
,
,
788
!
,
,
789
,
,
790
.
791
;
792
,
.
793
,
,
794
,
,
.
795
,
,
;
796
;
,
,
797
,
.
798
:
,
799
,
;
800
:
.
»
801
802
«
!
?
803
?
»
804
805
«
,
,
,
,
806
;
807
-
-
.
'
808
809
;
.
,
810
;
,
-
.
811
,
,
812
,
813
,
,
814
,
.
815
,
,
816
.
817
;
,
818
.
819
!
-
-
.
»
820
821
«
'
?
,
822
-
-
?
»
823
824
«
!
;
825
.
,
826
.
!
,
827
,
828
.
.
829
;
830
;
831
,
,
832
.
;
833
.
»
834
835
,
836
.
;
837
,
838
,
.
,
839
,
840
841
;
,
842
-
.
843
,
844
;
845
,
846
,
,
847
848
«
,
,
.
849
!
-
-
850
;
,
851
?
»
852
853
«
,
»
.
«
!
854
.
»
855
856
«
,
,
»
857
,
,
858
,
,
859
.
«
,
»
860
,
861
.
862
863
«
!
,
,
»
.
864
865
.
;
866
,
.
;
867
,
868
869
«
!
,
870
.
,
(
,
)
871
,
872
.
,
873
,
,
.
»
874
875
,
«
!
,
,
»
876
.
,
,
877
.
.
878
;
879
.
.
880
.
881
882
«
,
»
;
883
«
;
884
.
885
.
,
.
.
»
886
887
,
888
,
889
,
.
890
'
891
,
,
,
892
.
;
893
,
894
-
,
895
,
,
896
.
;
897
,
898
,
899
,
,
,
,
900
.
,
901
,
,
902
,
;
903
,
904
.
,
,
905
:
'
,
;
906
,
907
.
.
908
,
;
,
909
,
910
,
,
911
.
912
913
.
,
;
914
915
'
916
'
,
,
917
,
,
,
-
,
918
.
919
920
«
,
,
»
921
;
«
;
922
.
923
!
»
924
925
,
926
,
,
927
,
,
928
.
,
929
,
930
,
931
.
932
933
«
,
»
,
«
934
.
,
935
-
.
.
,
936
,
,
937
.
»
938
939
.
;
940
941
.
942
,
;
943
;
944
,
945
.
946
;
.
947
.
,
,
;
948
,
949
950
.
.
951
.
,
952
.
953
954
.
955
;
,
,
956
.
;
.
957
,
;
958
,
;
959
,
.
960
961
«
,
,
»
;
«
,
962
.
»
963
964
,
,
965
,
966
,
967
.
968
969
970
971
.
.
'
972
.
973
'
,
,
974
,
;
975
976
-
-
-
-
,
977
.
978
,
;
979
.
980
.
,
,
981
.
982
983
.
.
,
984
,
.
985
,
986
;
987
-
,
988
989
,
.
,
990
,
'
;
991
992
.
993
994
,
995
996
;
;
997
,
.
.
998
,
,
-
,
999
.
,
1000