You’ll never be able to unsee it.

---

“I am afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has an aunt who never holds her tongue”

---

Jane Fairfax has to be hidden in plain sight through almost all of Volume II, and with two deliberate exceptions for Emma to talk trash about Jane to Frank, Austen throws up the idea or the reality of Miss Bates any time anyone so much as thinks about Jane Fairfax…

…Until just before Volume III.
The last two sentences of Chapter 31 are: “Dear Harriet!—I would not change you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-judging female breathing. Oh! the coldness of a Jane Fairfax!—Harriet is worth a hundred such—And for a wife—a sensible man’s wife—it is invaluable. I mention no names; but happy the man who changes Emma for Harriet!”
The first sentence of Chapter 32 introduces Mrs. Elton, and Jane Fairfax—real person—is born. And born to trials and tribulations. She will still appear to be buried under Miss Bates when necessary, like at the ball, but it’s different. Because Miss Bates at the ball, with a closer look, shows Jane to us instead of obscuring her.

---

(This is going to be slow, sloppy, and ongoing)

---

CH 10

On the way to their “charitable visit” Emma tells Harriet she doesn’t want to be married, but won’t be like Miss Bates, because Miss Bates is poor.

“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.”

Harriet asks if Emma knows “Miss Bate’s niece?” and Emma launches into all the reasons Jane Fairfax tires her to death. And of course, they’re all Miss Bates talking about Jane Fairfax. Who and what Jane is stays behind the curtain.

“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.”

CH 12 🚫🎪 

Circus-less Jane.

I’m calling it. This one’s an exception.  A short, mini-exception, but exception nonetheless.
Miss Bates and Jane are very deliberately separated in this conversation. Which stands out. Austen wants to plant a little information.

The first night the Knightleys spend at Hartfield:

Isabella sits with Mr. Woodhouse and the Knightley brothers talk in their huddle, both with occasional steering from Emma and Mr. Knightley. The Bateses and Jane Fairfax are both briefly talked about but the Bateses are just filler—a literal distraction by Emma—and are separated from Jane by about 10 paragraphs and several topics.  A nice, neat wall between them. And even though Isabella technically mentions Jane’s “good old grandmother and aunt” it’s like they’ve got no connection to the women mentioned earlier. This is all about Jane. Jane, the accomplished, Jane compared with Harriet, and more tangentially, Jane and the Campbells.

First, the Bateses get their mini-moment.

Brought up by Emma to steer the conversation. And aside from Isabella planning to visit it’s just a passing nothing. Conversational filler.

“You seem to me to have forgotten Mrs. and Miss Bates,” said Emma, “I have not heard one inquiry after them.” 

“Oh! the good Bateses—I am quite ashamed of myself—but you mention them in most of your letters. I hope they are quite well. Good old Mrs. Bates—I will call upon her to-morrow, and take my children.—They are always so pleased to see my children.—And that excellent Miss Bates!—such thorough worthy people!—How are they, sir?”

Then the conversation meanders along and away from Mrs. and Miss Bates.

Mrs. Bates had a cold a month ago. – Colds are bad. – Mr. Perry says this. – Mr. Wingfield says that. – Air in Brunswick. – The children and Isabella look pale. – John Knightley looks far from well. – John Knightley’s irritation about his looks being commented on. – Emma’s intervention with the Knightley brothers about a new bailiff from Scotland.

And then we get Jane.

Jane Fairfax. Brought up by Isabella when Emma wasn’t paying attention. Emma turns around and there Jane is. Surprise! 

…And she talked in this way so long and successfully that, when forced to give her attention again to her father and sister, she had nothing worse to hear than Isabella’s kind inquiry after Jane Fairfax…

(Jane Fairfax and Jane Fairfax, heavens!)

Isabella occasionally sees Jane for a moment accidentally in town.

(Feels very relatable right now, seeing Jane for a moment, accidentally.)

Now that their daughter is married, Isabella supposes the Campbells won’t be able to part with Jane at all. 

This seems to be the general idea: the Campbells, instead of foisting Jane off to “penance and mortification forever” because she’s 21 or some such nonsense, will want to keep her closer. 

“That sweet, amiable Jane Fairfax!” said Mrs. John Knightley.—”It is so long since I have seen her, except now and then for a moment accidentally in town! What happiness it must be to her good old grandmother and excellent aunt, when she comes to visit them! I always regret excessively on dear Emma’s account that she cannot be more at Highbury; but now their daughter is married, I suppose Colonel and Mrs. Campbell will not be able to part with her at all. She would be such a delightful companion for Emma.”

I think the information about the Campbells is one purpose of this mini-intro. But that almost feels like it’s more for a reread. 

I think the primary purpose is introducing Jane in direct contrast to Harriet. 

Harriet, who is, we are about to learn, sick. And will be unable to attend the Weston’s dinner party. The dinner party that Mr Elton will propose to Emma on the ride home from.

And then later Emma will have a dinner party for Mrs. Elton and invite Jane, as Harriet will be unable to attend because she doesn’t want to see Mr. Elton and the woman he married.

Anyway, Isabella says Jane “would be such a delightful companion for Emma.” 

But Mr. Woodhouse isn’t sorrowful that Emma doesn’t have Jane, because Harriet’s just as good. Maybe better.

“Our little friend Harriet Smith…”

It’s interesting that Mr. Woodhouse says “our friend.” I know the term friend was used more inclusively — it was a broader category that could encompass talking about family, older acquaintances, etc. — but here I think it’s more literally true. Harriet is genuinely a great companion for Mr. Woodhouse.

“Our little friend Harriet Smith, however, is just such another pretty kind of young person.” 

Just such another pretty young kind of person. Lol. Interchangeable with Jane Fairfax. Better, in fact! Harriet, with her riddles and charades is a great friend and companion for Mr. Woodhouse.

“Emma could not have a better companion than Harriet,” says Mr. Woodhouse.

Isabella is happy to hear it, but is all Team Jane. Very politely not moving an inch on Jane Fairfax. 

“I am most happy to hear it—but only Jane Fairfax one knows to be so very accomplished and superior!—and exactly Emma’s age.”

And then they’re onto smooth gruel and going to the wrong sea.

---

Emma brings up Mrs. and Miss Bates as a distraction, but Jane shows up when she’s not looking.

Which is just exactly what happens in Chapter 19. Emma, sick of listening to Harriet moan about Mr. Elton, decides to visit the Bates’ house as a distraction, confident that she’s safe from any troublesome interference from Jane Fairfax. But Jane Fairfax has not only written, she’s about to show up.

---

(It’s John Knightley who brings up “the young man,” Frank Churchill, in Chapter 11, FWIW. Probably totally irrelevant, but I’ll note it.)

VOLUME II

🎪

The letter we never hear is like the Big Top going up.

It feels like a grand opening to me. And for the writer of letters, it’s like the first of many playful winks.

CH 19 • (VOL II, CHAPTER ONE)

“…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 am afraid we must be running away,” said Emma, glancing at Harriet, and beginning to rise—”

I’ve never heard anyone else say it, but I was anxious to hear the letter and disappointed when I realized we wouldn’t get to. I’m sure I wasn’t alone.

But also, I didn’t think anything particular about it. Didn’t wonder why. It wasn’t until later—once the unmistakable pattern was clear—that I went, “OH MY GOD, THE LETTER! Of course! That little minx has been toying with us all along!”

Jane Fairfax is lovely, but she can’t be real to us yet. She can’t have a voice.

Meanwhile, that other Jane is going to play with us.

…though much had been forced on her against her will, though she had in fact heard the whole substance of Jane Fairfax’s letter, she had been able to escape the letter itself.

Emma, Chapter 19

CH 21 • (VOL II-CHAPTER TWO)

• Some narrator background
• Emma’s “background” on Jane, in which Miss Bates immediately intrudes with a Batesian distraction:

Emma was sorry;—to have to pay civilities to a person she did not like through three long months!—to be always doing more than she wished, and less than she ought! Why she did not like Jane Fairfax might be a difficult question to answer; Mr. Knightley had once told her it was because she saw in her the really accomplished young woman, which she wanted to be thought herself; and though the accusation had been eagerly refuted at the time, there were moments of self-examination in which her conscience could not quite acquit her. But she could never get acquainted with her: she did not know how it was, but there was such coldness and reserve—such apparent indifference whether she pleased or not—and then, her aunt was such an eternal talker!—and she was made such a fuss with by every body!—and it had been always imagined that they were to be so intimate—because their ages were the same, every body had supposed they must be so fond of each other.” These were her reasons—she had no better.

And then Jane spends the evening at Hartfield and Jane’s offenses rose again. “Emma could not forgive her” for being reserved, and in her mental explanation of Jane’s faults she immediately hops to Miss Bates’ faults, so again we never stay focused on Jane, herself. Miss Bates distracts us.

What offenses? What has Jane done?

“Well, her aunt never shuts up about workbags and bread slices.”

Before she had committed herself by any public profession of eternal friendship for Jane Fairfax, or done more towards a recantation of past prejudices and errors, than saying to Mr. Knightley, “She certainly is handsome; she is better than handsome!” Jane had spent an evening at Hartfield with her grandmother and aunt, and every thing was relapsing much into its usual state. Former provocations reappeared. The aunt was as tiresome as ever; more tiresome, because anxiety for her health was now added to admiration of her powers; and they had to listen to the description of exactly how little bread and butter she ate for breakfast, and how small a slice of mutton for dinner, as well as to see exhibitions of new caps and new workbags for her mother and herself; and Jane’s offences rose again.

“Exhibitions of new caps and new workbags for her mother and herself” kills me for reasons I cannot quite articulate. And Jane’s offenses rose again! Mutton portions are a bridge too far, but workbags are where I draw the line. Off with her head!

Oh, and also she’s reserved. She should tell her aunt to shut up and answer my questions.

They had music; Emma was obliged to play; and the thanks and praise which necessarily followed appeared to her an affectation of candour, an air of greatness, meaning only to shew off in higher style her own very superior performance. She was, besides, which was the worst of all, so cold, so cautious! There was no getting at her real opinion. Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined to hazard nothing. She was disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved. If any thing could be more, where all was most, she was more reserved on the subject of Weymouth and the Dixons than any thing.

An important point that I’ve made other places is that aside from Miss Bates talking about Jane Fairfax being the primary source of Emma’s supposed dislike of Jane—(as well as a purposeful blind)—Jane’s actual, real “reserve” is about 90% being stiff when she’s with Miss Bates. For whatever reason. Because what we see every time we get her alone is that she’s a much different person. Still quiet, but sweet and open.

Yes, Jane is extra “reserved” about Weymouth and Frank Churchill, but she literally never acts real—natural, open—with Miss Bates there. And neither does anyone else, with the single exception of Mr. Knightley. (Or Jane at the piano. Jane at the piano is the most Jane Jane gets, no matter who is around.)

And Mr. Woodhouse basically clues us into this rule right away, because when Mr. Knightley and Emma are kind of talking in code about Jane’s reserve, Mr. Woodhouse jumps in with just how chatty Miss Bates was for the visit. Very chatty.

Like, chattier than usual? Because. Um—

“Oh! no; I was pleased with my own perseverance in asking questions; and amused to think how little information I obtained.”

“I am disappointed,” was his only answer.

“I hope every body had a pleasant evening,” said Mr. Woodhouse, in his quiet way. “I had. “Once, I felt the fire rather too much; but then I moved back my chair a little, a very little, and it did not disturb me. Miss Bates was very chatty and good-humoured, as she always is, though she speaks rather too quick. However, she is very agreeable…

---

I’m telling you, it’s all there. Miss Jane Austen constructed this novel with serious care.

---

CH 22

“… but one never does form a just idea of any body beforehand. One takes up a notion, and runs away with it.”

Miss Bates doesn’t know Mr. Dixon, and you know how it is • One of those interesting Miss Bates non sequiturs that seems to apply to more than just herself • “Emma,” Chapter 22

The Statue Scene

This is the first time we see Jane Fairfax “live”—with the news of Mr. Elton getting engaged—and she is basically a statue. But because Emma is focused on her and the reader is curious, we don’t forget her as much. We are allowed to focus on her for a few moments, but it is so unfulfilling and she is so uninteresting that now we can safely begin to forget her again. (Except as a fantasy of Emma’s.)

.. He had time only to say, “No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls,” when the door was thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into the room. Full of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest. Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment, and that not another syllable of communication could rest with him.

“Oh! my dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Woodhouse—I come quite over-powered. Such a beautiful hind-quarter of pork! You are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to be married.”

But we also get our first glimpse of Jane wanting to escape that enclosed space with her aunt—and Frank is not in town yet, so it’s all escape from and not escape to.

“…for I had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out—I was only gone down to speak to Patty again about the pork—Jane was standing in the passage—were not you, Jane?—for my mother was so afraid that we had not any salting-pan large enough. So I said I would go down and see, and Jane said, ‘Shall I go down instead? for I think you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen.’—’Oh! my dear,’ said I—well, and just then came the note..So I said I would go down and see, and just then came the note. A Miss Hawkins—that’s all I know…”

Then Emma tells poor Jane—the mortified charity case in her livingroom trying to keep some dignity and probably wanting to melt into the floor while her aunt bounces between exclaiming about Mr. Elton and zealous gratitude for a side of pork—that she won’t be excused from having an opinion about two people she doesn’t know getting engaged.

“You are silent, Miss Fairfax—but I hope you mean to take an interest in this news. You, who have been hearing and seeing so much of late on these subjects, who must have been so deep in the business on Miss Campbell’s account—we shall not excuse your being indifferent about Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins.”

“When I have seen Mr. Elton,” replied Jane, “I dare say I shall be interested—but I believe it requires that with me. And as it is some months since Miss Campbell married, the impression may be a little worn off.”

CH 23

Frank’s here!

Frank Churchill’s very first mention of Jane in his introductory meeting with Emma cannot pass without Mr. Weston tossing out the image of Miss Bates in the window of Jane’s home, as if to block our view of the woman inside.

“… I shall have no difficulty, I suppose, in finding the house; though Fairfax, I believe, is not the proper name—I should rather say Barnes, or Bates. Do you know any family of that name?”

“To be sure we do,” cried his father; “Mrs. Bates—we passed her house—I saw Miss Bates at the window. True, true, you are acquainted with Miss Fairfax…”

And in response to Frank’s understated agreement to Jane Fairfax being elegant, again, the circus comes to town.

…yet there must be a very distinct sort of elegance for the fashionable world, if Jane Fairfax could be thought only ordinarily gifted with it.

“If you were never particularly struck by her manners before,” said she, “I think you will to-day. You will see her to advantage; see her and hear her—no, I am afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has an aunt who never holds her tongue.”

It’s like Jane Austen is winking at us.

“I am afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has an aunt who never holds her tongue.”

😉

CH 24

A stroll in Highbury and some gloves at Ford’s

The next day Mrs. Weston and Frank come by and they go on a walk. Frank asks, do you do much dancing? Do you have balls in Highbury?

And then they pass “the house where the Bateses lodged,” prompting Emma to ask about his visit the day before. When Frank was about to visit Jane Fairfax yesterday he pretended not to know the name of Bates, but today the juggling, talking aunt gets thrown up in front of Jane.

Emma recollected his intended visit the day before, and asked him if he had paid it.

“Yes, oh! yes”—he replied; “I was just going to mention it. A very successful visit:—I saw all the three ladies; and felt very much obliged to you for your preparatory hint. If the talking aunt had taken me quite by surprize, it must have been the death of me…”

And what makes this even more amazing is that this leads into the big talk about Jane Fairfax between Emma and Frank, but somehow we still don’t get the image of Frank and Jane Fairfax visiting yesterday, let alone inspect this conversation with that just-mentioned-visit in mind. There’s too much else going on, and if you haven’t noticed by now, Miss Bates is a rule for almost every pre-reveal scene with Jane Fairfax, with some very few and very purposeful exceptions. Otherwise Miss Bates will only occasionally slip into the background, and never for long.

But before Frank answers Emma’s “Did you see her often at Weymouth?” he escapes into Ford’s. “I dare say they sell gloves.”

“Did you see her often at Weymouth? Were you often in the same society?” At this moment they were approaching Ford’s, and he hastily exclaimed,

“Ha! this must be the very shop that every body attends every day of their lives, as my father informs me. He comes to Highbury himself, he says, six days out of the seven, and has always business at Ford’s. If it be not inconvenient to you, pray let us go in, that I may prove myself to belong to the place, to be a true citizen of Highbury. I must buy something at Ford’s. It will be taking out my freedom.—I dare say they sell gloves.”

“Oh! yes, gloves and every thing.”

The last thing we see in the store is the “sleek, well-tied parcels of ‘Men’s Beavers’ and ‘York Tan’” before Frank renews the question about how well he knows Jane, and after that we’re lost in their talk—with Mrs. Weston even wandering off—and they’re totally engaged in deep conversation when “the gloves were bought,” and you get the feeling that Emma wasn’t paying a bit of attention to anything but what she and Frank were saying to each other and how they were “thinking so much alike.” (The gloves aren’t important per se, but they are at least a curiosity. Something between a clue and a cue. Miss Austen having fun.)

The conversation between Mrs. Weston, Mr. Knightley and Emma about why Jane Fairfax “consents to be with the Eltons” in which Emma calls EVERY SINGLE POINT right can lead me into what I need to say about Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’

“And now that I understand your question, I must pronounce it to be a very unfair one. It is always the lady’s right to decide on the degree of acquaintance…”

…

“I certainly do forget to think of her,” said Emma, “as having ever been any thing but my friend and my dearest friend.”

He looked as if he fully understood and honoured such a sentiment.

When the gloves were bought, and they had quitted the shop again, “Did you ever hear the young lady we were speaking of, play?” said Frank Churchill.

• I know I should go through all of this initial conversation about Jane between Emma and Frank, especially considering its twists and lasting impacts—there are certainly things I want to say about it—but at the moment I’m trying hard not to get bogged down and am prioritizing Jane’s world and the blind of Miss Bates so I can actually post this.

The important and unusual thing about this term-setting conversation—literally excluding the obvious narrative importance of Emma sharing her suspicions with Frank and all the information imparted by Frank—is that Miss Bates is nowhere to be seen. Nowhere. It’s a dense and sinewy chunk of plotline that Austen wants us fully focused on. (You may not be impressed yet with this total lack of circus, but it won’t take long for you comprehend the wild rarity of Jane on the page without the constant traveling interference.)

“Intimacy between Miss Fairfax and me is quite out of the question.”

“Emma” • Chapter 24

CH 25

A “haircut” and the welcome insult of a dinner invitation

There is only one commonly oblique direct reference to Jane in this chapter, with the default fill-in: “the Bateses.” “The Bateses” will be at the Coles’ dinner party.

…as the idea of the party to be assembled there, consisting precisely of those whose society was dearest to her, occurred again and again, she did not know that she might not have been tempted to accept. Harriet was to be there in the evening, and the Bateses. They had been speaking of it as they walked about Highbury the day before, and Frank Churchill had most earnestly lamented her absence.

However, now that we’re building a world seen through Jane’s eyes, Emma’s ridiculous snobbishness suddenly turns into important information. And thankfully we don’t just get it in this chapter, because the Coles have been particularly irritating to Emma from the beginning. They’re a threat to her, and are just now extending their reach beyond the single men of any of the “regular and best families.” And while we may think all that crap is stupid and petty, the Coles don’t, because they’re going to take their unusually socially stratified mix of guests and mark out some as worthy and a few others as not, and will keep the designated peasantry hidden away until all the superior people have finished eating. Then the inferior females will be permitted to enter separately for tea and talk, and they won’t feel embarrassed at all.

The Coles were very respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it was not for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families would visit them…

CH 26

The Coles’ dinner party

The Coles had been settled some years in Highbury, and were very good sort of people—friendly, liberal, and unpretending; but, on the other hand, they were of low origin, in trade, and only moderately genteel…

Mrs. Bates stays behind with Mrs. Goddard, both with large pieces of cake and full wine glasses when Emma leaves for the Coles’ house.

Emma meets Mr. Knightley outside, not knowing that Jane and Miss Bates have just left the carriage for whatever weird holding room the Coles’ have assigned for them to stay tucked away in. Emma walks in reveling in all her importance, escorted by Mr. Knightley and met with a properly deferential reception.

She was received with a cordial respect which could not but please, and given all the consequence she could wish for.

She finds a lot of people at the dinner table. It’s not like Miss Fairfax was only subjected to the humiliation of being ranked as “inferior’ by the social-climbing Coles and relegated to the subjection of parading in for the drawing-room tea because they wanted to keep their dinner guest list extra-exclusive. In fact, it was “too numerous for any subject of conversation to be general,” and included all the “vulgar” male Coxes and some random “unobjectionable country family” Emma can’t name.

The party was rather large, as it included one other family, a proper unobjectionable country family, whom the Coles had the advantage of naming among their acquaintance, and the male part of Mr. Cox’s family, the lawyer of Highbury. The less worthy females were to come in the evening, with Miss Bates, Miss Fairfax, and Miss Smith; but already, at dinner, they were too numerous for any subject of conversation to be general…

Miss Bates’ name is all over Mrs. Cole’s talk of the pianoforte—in her secondary role, not as distraction but as a sort of unnoticed prophylactic white lie purveyor—shielding Jane’s true feelings while making us believe it’s Jane’s thoughts we’re learning. But then we get another rare Miss Bates absence for Emma’s cornering of an over-ecstatic Frank with her most credibility-stretching openness.

Good rule of thumb: If something is happening in a scene that is any way related to Jane Fairfax’s storyline and Miss Bates is silent, **pay attention.**
But you may say, “Jane Fairfax is talked about all the time when Miss Bates isn’t around.” She’s actually not. Miss Bates, in thought or word, almost always shows up.

What I mean by “Miss Bates is silent”:
– Miss Bates is physically close to Jane but not talking
– Miss Bates is, by some unusual measure, physically separated from Jane, (or)
– Jane is being talked about or thought of and Miss Bates does not intrude.
. . .
Miss Bates never “leaves” Jane for long and when she does some important information is always being conveyed.

From The “Piano Scene” Through Jane’s Eyes ❦ On “Emma,” Chapter 28

First, Mrs. Cole with the scoop on the piano, and throughout Jane’s thoughts and feelings are largely sheltered behind the aunt with all the words. It’s impressive that Austen works “Miss Bates” into the substance of the tale three times, compared with a single “Jane” in a story about Jane getting a surprise piano.
But to be fair, Mrs. Cole will say enough about the “mistress of music” to call her “Jane” again, as if she’s referring to one of her scullery maids. (It really burns me. I get legitimately offended on Jane’s account when she’s treated as inferior, especially in front of other people. It’s gross.)

Mrs. Cole was telling that she had been calling on Miss Bates, and as soon as she entered the room had been struck by the sight of a pianoforte—a very elegant looking instrument—not a grand, but a large-sized square pianoforte; and the substance of the story, the end of all the dialogue which ensued of surprize, and inquiry, and congratulations on her side, and explanations on Miss Bates’s, was, that this pianoforte had arrived from Broadwood’s the day before, to the great astonishment of both aunt and niece—entirely unexpected; that at first, by Miss Bates’s account, Jane herself was quite at a loss, quite bewildered to think who could possibly have ordered it—but now, they were both perfectly satisfied that it could be from only one quarter;—of course it must be from Colonel Campbell.”

CH 26

Then we’re back to suspend disbelief as Frank’s joy turns to pique that Emma bulldozes over with zero hesitation so she can confess all her most inappropriate suspicions.

“Why do you smile?” said she.

“Nay, why do you?”

And then Frank’s all, “We’re super good friends, I hang out with her all the time, I’m close to the whole family and the newlyweds too.”

And Emma’s like, “I do not mean to reflect upon the good intentions of either Mr. Dixon or Miss Fairfax… but there’s definitely something going on between her and her best friend’s husband.”

Which is a little much even for Emma. But she’s on a roll.

She’s like, “Mr. Dixon saved her from falling overboard. That proves it!”

And Frank’s like, “I was there when it happened. You know, hanging out with my good friends. That you’re currently talking shit about.”

But instead of even breathing or asking some nosy questions to find more out and further feed her little fantasies, Emma’s like, “Well, if you weren’t so thick you would’ve noticed the obvious signs of illicit attraction in your close friends that I, who have never seen these people in my life, am certain were there.”

But we must suspend disbelief a little longer. Once we make it through this, we will not again encounter a pill that is quite so hard to swallow. Still, it simply beggars belief that Emma would insult anyone to their friend, and despite Frank’s vacillating lukewarmness on Jane he has been unwavering and unqualified about his friendship with the rest.

“And then, he saved her life. Did you ever hear of that?—A water party; and by some accident she was falling overboard. He caught her.”

“He did. I was there—one of the party.”

“Were you really?—Well!—But you observed nothing of course, for it seems to be a new idea to you.—If I had been there, I think I should have made some discoveries.”

For a moment Frank gets downright prickly. It is, after all, his Jane she’s slandering. Jane and her adopted family, who are his friends that he holds in high esteem. Plus, he is absolutely dying to see Jane for the first time since her piano came. Always keep that letter he wrote to Mrs. Weston in mind, and remember how absolutely obsessed with Jane he is. She is a goddess to him. She is all he thinks about. He’s wild with love and lust and delights in feeling every torturous feeling to its height. And he’s just done this insanely romantic thing for her, he loves her so much and just wants to see her face. Wants to see her gray eyes fill up with tears. Wants her to tell him she loves him in a “thousand and a thousand” secret ways in a room full of people. And he’s at least had the pleasure of listening to everyone talking about it, and talking about Jane, and now Emma is dousing his joy with discreditable nonsense that he has to pretend to humor. So when Emma acts like he’s just not discerning enough to catch his friends’ secret love thang, he starts out a little sour.

“I dare say you would; but I, simple I, saw nothing but the fact that Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from the vessel and that Mr. Dixon caught her.—It was the work of a moment. And though the consequent shock and alarm was very great and much more durable—indeed I believe it was half an hour before any of us were comfortable again…”

And then he recovers his mask.

“… —yet that was too general a sensation for any thing of peculiar anxiety to be observable. I do not mean to say, however, that you might not have made discoveries.”

Still, he’s not yet totally willing to cede the point.

Emma said, “The arrival of this pianoforte is decisive with me. I wanted to know a little more, and this tells me quite enough. Depend upon it, we shall soon hear that it is a present from Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.”

“And if the Dixons should absolutely deny all knowledge of it we must conclude it to come from the Campbells.”

But Emma bulldozes through and Frank fully surrenders.

“No, I am sure it is not from the Campbells. Miss Fairfax knows it is not from the Campbells, or they would have been guessed at first. She would not have been puzzled, had she dared fix on them. I may not have convinced you perhaps, but I am perfectly convinced myself that Mr. Dixon is a principal in the business.”

“Indeed you injure me if you suppose me unconvinced. Your reasonings carry my judgment along with them entirely.”

So the ladies go into the drawingroom and Jane is now permitted in with the other ladies of inferior rank who have been flattered with an invitation to drink tea with their superior neighbors.

The ladies had not been long in the drawing-room, before the other ladies, in their different divisions, arrived.

They enter, and while Emma thinks some more discreditable things about her, Miss Fairfax is politely mobbed by all the curious women about her surprise piano. Mrs. Weston is especially full of questions, and Emma thinks it’s amusing that Mrs. Weston is so unsuspicious of Jane’s obvious guilt.

Oh, and if you didn’t know better you’d think Miss Bates didn’t enter with Harriet and Jane. She’s not mentioned until they’re sitting down together.

Maybe she wasn’t very chatty.

Frank is the first male in, speaks to “Miss Bates and her niece” as he makes his way to Emma who is sitting directly opposite them. Frank stands until he can find a seat by her. Emma introduces Harriet.

Then—

Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gentleman on first glancing towards Miss Fairfax; but it was most prudent to avoid speech. He told her that he had been impatient to leave the dining-room—hated sitting long—was always the first to move when he could…

Emma asks questions about Enscombe and Frank says that with one or two exceptions, he can convince his aunt of most everything. One of those things he couldn’t convince her of was him going out of the country, as he’d wanted to do last year.

A thousand and a thousand thanks for all the kindness you have ever shewn me, and ten thousand for the attentions your heart will dictate towards her.—If you think me in a way to be happier than I deserve, I am quite of your opinion.

“Emma,” Frank Churchill’s letter to Mrs. Weston • Chapter 50

Frank moans that his fortnight is almost up.

“Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent one whole day, out of so few, in having your hair cut.”

Surprising his Jane with a piano? Seeing her face right now?

“No,” said he, smiling, “that is no subject of regret at all.”

Emma turns to talk to Mr. Cole for a minute and turns back around to Frank not regretting anything as he looks at Jane, and for the first time Frank Churchill finds Emma’s nonsense very useful.

“I believe I have been very rude; but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a way—so very odd a way—that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw any thing so outree!—Those curls!—This must be a fancy of her own. I see nobody else looking like her!—I must go and ask her whether it is an Irish fashion. Shall I?—Yes, I will—I declare I will—and you shall see how she takes it;—whether she colours.”

He was gone immediately…

And he never comes back.

By the way, Jane looked hot as hell. Literally and figuratively.
Mrs. Weston says:

“And as I looked at her, though I never saw her appear to more advantage, it struck me that she was heated…”

Mrs. Weston tells Emma of her suspicions about Mr. Knightley and Jane.

“…while Miss Bates was speaking, a suspicion darted into my head, and I have never been able to get it out again. The more I think of it, the more probable it appears. In short, I have made a match between Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax.”

And Emma’s like, “What about little Henry?”

And Mrs. Weston says, “but if he really loves her—”

And Emma’s like, “What about Miss Bates, though??!”

“… How would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him?—To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane?—‘So very kind and obliging!—But he always had been such a very kind neighbour!’ And then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother’s old petticoat. ‘Not that it was such a very old petticoat either—for still it would last a great while—and, indeed, she must thankfully say that their petticoats were all very strong.’”

“For shame, Emma! Do not mimic her. You divert me against my conscience. And, upon my word, I do not think Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed by Miss Bates.”

I have to stop laughing before I can continue.

“Frank Churchill, of whom, in the eagerness of her conversation with Mrs. Weston, she had been seeing nothing, except that he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax…”

…adds his “very pressing entreaties” to Mr. Cole’s request that Emma play the piano.

Emma plays and sings, and Frank sings with her. After two songs Emma “would resign her seat to Miss Fairfax.”

If you’ve read much Jane Austen, you know the drill. Two songs each. That’s the polite, accepted thing.

So next, “Miss Fairfax, whose performance, both vocal and instrumental, she never could attempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely superior to her own,” gets to sing with Frank. It must be like heaven for them. There’s nothing like singing with someone. It’s such a strange bond.

But here, Austen uses her most effective tool for distracting us, Emma’s thoughts.

With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance from the numbers round the instrument, to listen. Frank Churchill sang again. They had sung together once or twice, it appeared, at Weymouth. But the sight of Mr. Knightley among the most attentive, soon drew away half Emma’s mind; and she fell into a train of thinking on the subject of Mrs. Weston’s suspicions, to which the sweet sounds of the united voices gave only momentary interruptions. Her objections to Mr. Knightley’s marrying did not in the least subside. She could see nothing but evil in it…

Then Mr. Knightley comes over and they talk charitable uses of carriages, he says surprises are foolish, and we’re still probably pretty focused on what Mr. Knightley is saying and what Emma is thinking about it, when a good bit of information comes our way about Jane and Frank. It may not seem that important, and it’s certainly not presented as if it’s important, but Austen knows what she’s doing, and this seeming tidbit of information has surprised me several times by helping me to answer other questions. It seems small on first glance, but it opens up a window into Frank and Jane’s relationship like few other things do.

Frank and Jane: Some Assembly Required

First, you’ve got Emma’s worries about Mr. Knightley making their conversation even more attention-focusing.

From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath that Mr. Knightley had had no concern in giving the instrument. But whether he were entirely free from peculiar attachment—whether there were no actual preference—remained a little longer doubtful…

And then we drift back to the performance with Jane’s voice growing “thick” towards the end of her second song.

Towards the end of Jane’s second song, her voice grew thick.

Now, this first time through I’m excising Mr. Knightley.

Another song, however, was soon begged for. “One more;—they would not fatigue Miss Fairfax on any account, and would only ask for one more.”

Jane Austen follows the rules of fair play very devoutly. She gives us everything we need. It’s always there. She just has three different things happening around the important pieces of puzzle so that we tend not to catch them, or probably more accurately, we tend not to assign importance to them because none of the “pay attention” cues we are so well trained to respond to are there.

I did notice at first, as did probably most people, that Frank and Jane have got a repertoire seriously down. Which is important in itself.
But although I must have clocked the rest in some technical way, between Emma watching Mr. Knightley and Mr. Knightley’s attention and actions keeping the spotlight on them, a fulsome picture of what he is actually responding to kind of gets shuffled back. You may know it, but you know lots of extraneous stuff.

I am not an Austen scholar by any means, not even close, but in my shallow memory bank I do not recall another piano player in a situation like this one, with a mixed group at some formal event like a dinner or other party, suddenly being begged for encores. This is the first time I can remember the polite, accepted, two-songs-and-done etiquette being totally upended in the exuberance of an audience wanting more. Begging for more.

“Encore!”

It’s easy to imagine how good Jane and Frank are together. He’s all razzle dazzle and charm, outgoing and an excellent reader of people. Her perfect Performance-Other-Half. She’s not a talker, but with her piano she loses all nervousness. There has never been so much as a hint of her being shy when it comes to playing and singing along with her piano, and I can just feel them clicking. (In Chapter 28, what I call “the piano scene” that everyone seems to read as Frank being awful to Jane, actually helped me to get an even better picture of them.)

But this is enough.

And knowing how good they are gives me a whole new dimension of understanding them. I know what it’s like to sing with someone, and what it’s like to play with someone. I remember how a stage became a sort of crackling magic when Donna Lynn and I first picked an improv topic out of the hat and absolutely set the auditorium on fire, reading each other’s thoughts, anticipating each other’s words, and the joy of feeling that perfect CLICK. Never knowing exactly how it worked, but drawing on it again and again, for far more than just improv.

That’s the sense I get with Frank and Jane. We only get a peek, but everything we do see tells us they’re completely natural with each other, and an easy competence is also displayed here, too. These two are seriously good. The real deal.

Frank and Jane are kept apart in thought and deed for so much of the book that it’s very hard to see them, let alone like them and accept them, as a couple. But this does tell us something. Not that they’re going to start doing stage shows, but that they really, really click. That they have a vibe. They get each other, and love making music together. And all their friends would have, and will be, spending many happy hours with Jane and Frank at the piano. And that those hours —and the years those hours become— will be very happy for Jane and Frank.

Let’s bring Mr. Knightley back in to break up all this joy.

(Or to get Miss Bates to break it up for him.)

“That will do,” said he, when it was finished, thinking aloud—”you have sung quite enough for one evening—now be quiet.”

Another song, however, was soon begged for. “One more;—they would not fatigue Miss Fairfax on any account, and would only ask for one more.” And Frank Churchill was heard to say, “I think you could manage this without effort; the first part is so very trifling. The strength of the song falls on the second.”

Mr. Knightley grew angry.

Mr. Knightley’s mistakes are so few and so defensible, even when he is wrong, that I always feel guilty criticizing him at all, especially alongside being forgiving of Frank, but I really do wish everyone would just leave Jane alone and let her be an adult. It’s one thing to offer a carriage and another to interfere with her decision to sing. But Jane is going to have to put up with a lot more than Mr. Knightley’s well-meaning—if jealousy-tainted—interference soon.

“That fellow,” said he, indignantly, “thinks of nothing but shewing off his own voice. This must not be.” And touching Miss Bates, who at that moment passed near—“Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing herself hoarse in this manner? Go, and interfere. They have no mercy on her.”

Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly stay even to be grateful, before she stept forward and put an end to all farther singing.

So Mr. Knightley’s solution is to send poor Miss Bates in to stop it.
Which is hilarious.

“This must not be! Miss Bates, you go do something about it while I sit here!”

Poor Jane. Poor Frank. Poor Miss Bates! But Frank has another idea. “Dancing!” He just needs to be close to Jane.

Here ceased the concert part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse and Miss Fairfax were the only young lady performers; but soon (within five minutes) the proposal of dancing—originating nobody exactly knew where—was so effectually promoted by Mr. and Mrs. Cole…

But Frank has to dance with Emma first, and “two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be allowed.”
Miss Bates, you see, was accidentally intent on keeping the lovers apart. “It was growing late, and Miss Bates became anxious to get home…”

“Perhaps it is as well,” said Frank Churchill, as he attended Emma to her carriage. “I must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing would not have agreed with me, after yours.”

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CH 27

…Is going to take awhile. There’s a lot.

But I have done everything before Mr. Knightley arrives at the window in Chapter 28. And it’s a lot. And an important scene.

CH 28

The Piano Scene

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[still working on all the bits before they get to the house and many after this, but I must accept this as unfinished and ongoing so I’ll leave some of the mess here]

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(END CH 27/BEGINNING CH 28)

I love Miss Bates announcing their entrance.

CH 29

Checking out The Crown for the ball:

We don’t get actual dialogue from Miss Bates or Jane Fairfax here, but it’s another place where it’s easy to forget Jane. Frank goes to ask Miss Bates to their counsel and is advised by Mr. Weston to bring “the niece,” but she gets very little notice, with only “…and her elegant niece” as her only mention before blending into the background again.

Long before he reappeared, attending the short, neat, brisk-moving aunt, and her elegant niece… Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree that it must. As a counsellor she was not wanted; but as an approver, (a much safer character,) she was truly welcome. Her approbation, at once general and minute, warm and incessant, could not but please; and for another half-hour they were all walking to and fro, between the different rooms, some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy enjoyment of the future.

CH 30

Like a small dress rehearsal, we get the first signs of life from Jane Fairfax right before Frank gets yanked home.

“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball. What a disappointment it would be! I do look forward to it, I own, with very great pleasure.”

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“He is a very liberal thanker, with his thousands and tens of thousands.—’”

“Emma,” Mr. Knightley • Chapter 51