Chapter VI.
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 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 super-added
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 stopped 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. Eiton,—“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 mamma’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 c 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,”—un-closing 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
visiter 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 mantle-
piece.
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 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, choose 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.”
