As I was enrolled in a class that focused solely on adaptation this semester (English 4167, Bill Kerwin’s Shakespeare on Film) I could not help but read Emma in this type of mindset. You’re probably thinking, an adaptation of Emma? That can only go in one direction… and yes, I am going to briefly discuss Clueless.
Unfortunately, I saw the movie before I read Austen’s text. Although I knew one was based off of the other, I did not approach the book with a mindset of, “How will each character correspond to one in the other medium?” because so many 1990’s-2000’s teen flicks claimed to be based on classic novels but rarely adhered to the original plotline without major deviations (James Cameron claiming Titanic was Romeo and Juliet, for example). I was shocked, and kind of sad, that Clueless followed even insignificant plot points down to the last detail, even things like Tess (Harriet) coming clean on objects she’d kept that reminded her of her unrequited love, Elton (Mr. Elton).
I suppose what my ultimate question is, do you think it is a positive or a negative thing that Clueless so closely adheres to the plot of Emma? I can see the issue from both ways. As someone who read the book after seeing the movie, I felt like the ending of Austen’s novel was ruined for me. I knew that Cher Horowitz would stand in front of a water fountain and exclaim, “I like Josh!”, and so I knew that Emma would marry Mr. Knightley, as profane as that comparison might sound. However, when discussing it with my roommate, she argued that it was better because it might get people who would otherwise not care about Austen’s texts to consider picking one up, since they knew the plotlines were relatable. Personally, I will maintain that if someone wasn’t interested in Austen before Clueless, they probably won’t be afterward, but I cannot fully dismiss an optimist’s opinion. What do you guys think? Is loyalty to the original text a constructive attribute to the viewer?
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Austen’s Emma: What Does it Take to Make a Villain?
Richard Jenkyns’s critical piece “Mr. Woodhouse” focuses on Austen’s cleverness for creating such an abominable creature as Mr. Woodhouse as her villain in Emma. Focusing on several incidents where Mr. Woodhouse exercised his influence in a selfish or deluded way, he ultimately claims that Mr. Woodhouse is the supreme monster and villain in Austen’s work because of his stealthy foils to the pleasure of other characters.
However, there were several key points in Jenkyn’s argument that I felt myself objecting to, the largest one being, “Couldn’t all of these accusations be attributed to another character as well?” Reading his opinion, all that could come to mind was how Mrs. Elton was every bit as villainous as Jenkyns made Mr. Woodhouse out to be, and even more so because of the obvious deliberation in which she acts.
The largest objection I had was how Jenkyns indicts Mr. Woodhouse for participating in “false solicitude” (444). What other character is more falsely solicitous than Mrs. Elton? Pretending to take a sincere interest in Jane Fairfax, she essentially signs her up for governess-ship with the Smallridges, a family she knows from Maple Grove, by refusing to take no for an answer. As Jane is originally quite clear that she does not wish to go – at least until she can speak with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, who are currently in Ireland – one can view Mrs. Elton’s intentions as clearly false. When Mrs. Elton brings up the employment yet again, Jane politely replies, “Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the subject to her; till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving any body trouble” (207). Mrs. Elton only replies, “Your inexperience really amuses me!” (207). Pushing Jane towards a future that is below her talents and beside her wishes can only be viewed as selfish. It was her connections which provided the employment; therefore she can appear martyred and tireless by the general public in her quest to help the unconnected, such as Jane. She fawns over Jane to Emma, expressing “Such talents as her’s must not be suffered to remain unknown. – I dare say you have heard those charming lines of the poet, ‘Full many a flower is born to bluish unseen,/And waste its fragrance on the desert air.’” (195). Although Mrs. Elton speaks as if with good intentions, her words are palpable with the taste of a woman who wants to be the discoverer of new talent.
Another point Jenkyns makes about Mr. Woodhouse is how “he instinctively thinks of agreeable people as objects pleasant to himself” (445). Arguably, this criticism can be applied to Mrs. Elton as well, viewing the polarity of two of Austen’s characters as pertinent to the situation. Jane Fairfax is generally a silent and agreeable person when in conversation with others, so it is no wonder she is a favorite of Mrs. Elton’s; Mrs. Elton notes, “One can see that [Jane] feels the want of encouragement. I like her the better for it. I must confess it is a recommendation to me. I am a great advocate for timidity” (195). Mrs. Elton prefers those who are easily influenced by her judgment.
In this way and in others, Jane’s character is in obvious contrast to that of Emma, and so it is no surprise that Mrs. Elton and Emma clash from their very first meeting. Emma is certainly not afraid to speak her mind, both an attribute of victory and vice for her in the novel; however, her lack of agreeableness with regards to Mrs. Elton make her very unpleasant to be around, at least in Mrs. Elton’s eyes. Throughout most of the novel, we are privy to Emma’s perspective, and we do get her snide, sarcastic comment that she heard “Mrs. Elton’s knight-errantry” on the subject of Jane Fairfax (194). Whether other characters are able to recognize it or not is unclear, but Emma obviously both understands and dismisses Mrs. Elton’s intentions. With the characters of Jane and Emma in particular, it becomes clear that seeking the company of those that are agreeable to him is a flaw that Mr. Woodhouse has in common with Mrs. Elton.
It is also claimed that Mr. Woodhouse is of the utmost villainy because “he is interested in no person but himself” (445), another character flaw that can be applied to Mrs. Elton as well. Even when planning excursions for others, to Mr. Knightley’s home at Donwell Abbey, for instance, she can only seem to picture what she will look like while she is there:
It is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; quite a simple thing. I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging on my arm. Here, - probably this basket with pink ribbon. . . There is to be no form or parade - . . . We are to walk about your gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under trees; - and whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all out of doors – a table spread in the shade, you know. (245)
She never once mentions how the group might enjoy the surroundings, or how planning the outing might enhance the pleasure of others; her focus is always inward, reflecting the woman she wishes for everyone else to see. An expedition is not for the group, but for how the group can view the private drama that is playing out inside her head. She is clearly meant to be received as selfish and inane.
Most significantly, Mrs. Elton should be viewed as far more villainous than Mr. Woodhouse because in some circumstances, her intentions are clearly to do direct emotional damage on others. Say what you will about Mr. Woodhouse, but his intentions are to help himself, generally, not hurt those around him. The most striking instance of Mrs. Elton intentionally directing pain on someone occurs at Highbury’s dance. Mr. Elton is walking around and asks Mrs. Weston to dance, to which she replies:
“There is a young lady disengaged whom I should be very glad to see dancing--Miss Smith." "Miss Smith!-oh!-I had not observed.-You are extremely obliging- and if I were not an old married man.--But my dancing days are over, Mrs. Weston. You will excuse me. Any thing else I should be most happy to do, at your command--but my dancing days are over."
His denial is obviously aimed at the partner, and not the activity, as he claims. When he returns to his wife, their “gleeful smiles” suggest the plan was Mrs. Elton’s; if not, it was encouraged by her to hurt Harriet, who had never intentionally afflicted any sort of suffering towards either of them. The act of social embarrassment and cruelty is one of the most striking in the novel because of its obvious deliberate destruction. It was not an unavoidable situation that turned out poorly because of bad judgment; it was a situation consciously set up with the sole intention of being unkind. Mr. Woodhouse never intentionally sets up and harms another character in this way, and in this circumstance Mrs. Elton is certainly the most villainous.
Finally, I found it interesting that Jenkyns noted, “[i]n Emma the first words of dialogue are given to Mr. Woodhouse” (444) and he presents this as some all-important point, paralleling him to other monstrous characters in Austen’s work and seeming to suggest that speaking first means speaking most importantly. I had to ask, then, is it not Mrs. Elton who gets the last word in the novel? The last dialogue written is Mrs. Elton’s opinion of Emma and Mr. Knightley’s wedding: “Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!” (333). Her criticism is clearly meant to be received by the reader as petty in comparison to the revered “happiness of the union” that is witnessed at the wedding by Emma’s “small band of true friends.” While Mr. Woodhouse may be heard first, Mrs. Elton is always certain to have herself heard last, a key character trait in her.
Perhaps my objections are because I am one of the simple readers who was unable to see through him, but I found Mr. Woodhouse’s character to be one of necessary comic relief. Had he been drawn in any other way but that of a doddering old fool, Emma’s character would have been much more difficult to balance. In a scenario where Mr. Woodhouse is less of a “stealthy” villain and more of an outright dictator, … Mr. Woodhouse must dodder, must play the games that he plays so Emma can play the games she plays. Theirs is a dance of mutual recognition and acceptance of their roles in society. If he masquerades nothing but concern for his daughter, he can pretend to rule without actually having to; if she goes along with his wishes by complying however she can, even with his most ridiculous fancies, she can rule Hartfield as she wishes with little actual interference from her father. Even this explanation gives Mr. Woodhouse more credit for cleverness than he deserves. Fool, yes; intentional villain, no. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Mrs. Elton. Presumptuous fool, yes; intentional villain, even more so. Despite the points that Jenkyns makes about Mr. Woodhouse, if one is to consider each of his arguments in light of Mrs. Elton as well, it will become clear who Austen’s true villain it.
However, there were several key points in Jenkyn’s argument that I felt myself objecting to, the largest one being, “Couldn’t all of these accusations be attributed to another character as well?” Reading his opinion, all that could come to mind was how Mrs. Elton was every bit as villainous as Jenkyns made Mr. Woodhouse out to be, and even more so because of the obvious deliberation in which she acts.
The largest objection I had was how Jenkyns indicts Mr. Woodhouse for participating in “false solicitude” (444). What other character is more falsely solicitous than Mrs. Elton? Pretending to take a sincere interest in Jane Fairfax, she essentially signs her up for governess-ship with the Smallridges, a family she knows from Maple Grove, by refusing to take no for an answer. As Jane is originally quite clear that she does not wish to go – at least until she can speak with Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, who are currently in Ireland – one can view Mrs. Elton’s intentions as clearly false. When Mrs. Elton brings up the employment yet again, Jane politely replies, “Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the subject to her; till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving any body trouble” (207). Mrs. Elton only replies, “Your inexperience really amuses me!” (207). Pushing Jane towards a future that is below her talents and beside her wishes can only be viewed as selfish. It was her connections which provided the employment; therefore she can appear martyred and tireless by the general public in her quest to help the unconnected, such as Jane. She fawns over Jane to Emma, expressing “Such talents as her’s must not be suffered to remain unknown. – I dare say you have heard those charming lines of the poet, ‘Full many a flower is born to bluish unseen,/And waste its fragrance on the desert air.’” (195). Although Mrs. Elton speaks as if with good intentions, her words are palpable with the taste of a woman who wants to be the discoverer of new talent.
Another point Jenkyns makes about Mr. Woodhouse is how “he instinctively thinks of agreeable people as objects pleasant to himself” (445). Arguably, this criticism can be applied to Mrs. Elton as well, viewing the polarity of two of Austen’s characters as pertinent to the situation. Jane Fairfax is generally a silent and agreeable person when in conversation with others, so it is no wonder she is a favorite of Mrs. Elton’s; Mrs. Elton notes, “One can see that [Jane] feels the want of encouragement. I like her the better for it. I must confess it is a recommendation to me. I am a great advocate for timidity” (195). Mrs. Elton prefers those who are easily influenced by her judgment.
In this way and in others, Jane’s character is in obvious contrast to that of Emma, and so it is no surprise that Mrs. Elton and Emma clash from their very first meeting. Emma is certainly not afraid to speak her mind, both an attribute of victory and vice for her in the novel; however, her lack of agreeableness with regards to Mrs. Elton make her very unpleasant to be around, at least in Mrs. Elton’s eyes. Throughout most of the novel, we are privy to Emma’s perspective, and we do get her snide, sarcastic comment that she heard “Mrs. Elton’s knight-errantry” on the subject of Jane Fairfax (194). Whether other characters are able to recognize it or not is unclear, but Emma obviously both understands and dismisses Mrs. Elton’s intentions. With the characters of Jane and Emma in particular, it becomes clear that seeking the company of those that are agreeable to him is a flaw that Mr. Woodhouse has in common with Mrs. Elton.
It is also claimed that Mr. Woodhouse is of the utmost villainy because “he is interested in no person but himself” (445), another character flaw that can be applied to Mrs. Elton as well. Even when planning excursions for others, to Mr. Knightley’s home at Donwell Abbey, for instance, she can only seem to picture what she will look like while she is there:
It is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightley; quite a simple thing. I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging on my arm. Here, - probably this basket with pink ribbon. . . There is to be no form or parade - . . . We are to walk about your gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under trees; - and whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all out of doors – a table spread in the shade, you know. (245)
She never once mentions how the group might enjoy the surroundings, or how planning the outing might enhance the pleasure of others; her focus is always inward, reflecting the woman she wishes for everyone else to see. An expedition is not for the group, but for how the group can view the private drama that is playing out inside her head. She is clearly meant to be received as selfish and inane.
Most significantly, Mrs. Elton should be viewed as far more villainous than Mr. Woodhouse because in some circumstances, her intentions are clearly to do direct emotional damage on others. Say what you will about Mr. Woodhouse, but his intentions are to help himself, generally, not hurt those around him. The most striking instance of Mrs. Elton intentionally directing pain on someone occurs at Highbury’s dance. Mr. Elton is walking around and asks Mrs. Weston to dance, to which she replies:
“There is a young lady disengaged whom I should be very glad to see dancing--Miss Smith." "Miss Smith!-oh!-I had not observed.-You are extremely obliging- and if I were not an old married man.--But my dancing days are over, Mrs. Weston. You will excuse me. Any thing else I should be most happy to do, at your command--but my dancing days are over."
His denial is obviously aimed at the partner, and not the activity, as he claims. When he returns to his wife, their “gleeful smiles” suggest the plan was Mrs. Elton’s; if not, it was encouraged by her to hurt Harriet, who had never intentionally afflicted any sort of suffering towards either of them. The act of social embarrassment and cruelty is one of the most striking in the novel because of its obvious deliberate destruction. It was not an unavoidable situation that turned out poorly because of bad judgment; it was a situation consciously set up with the sole intention of being unkind. Mr. Woodhouse never intentionally sets up and harms another character in this way, and in this circumstance Mrs. Elton is certainly the most villainous.
Finally, I found it interesting that Jenkyns noted, “[i]n Emma the first words of dialogue are given to Mr. Woodhouse” (444) and he presents this as some all-important point, paralleling him to other monstrous characters in Austen’s work and seeming to suggest that speaking first means speaking most importantly. I had to ask, then, is it not Mrs. Elton who gets the last word in the novel? The last dialogue written is Mrs. Elton’s opinion of Emma and Mr. Knightley’s wedding: “Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!” (333). Her criticism is clearly meant to be received by the reader as petty in comparison to the revered “happiness of the union” that is witnessed at the wedding by Emma’s “small band of true friends.” While Mr. Woodhouse may be heard first, Mrs. Elton is always certain to have herself heard last, a key character trait in her.
Perhaps my objections are because I am one of the simple readers who was unable to see through him, but I found Mr. Woodhouse’s character to be one of necessary comic relief. Had he been drawn in any other way but that of a doddering old fool, Emma’s character would have been much more difficult to balance. In a scenario where Mr. Woodhouse is less of a “stealthy” villain and more of an outright dictator, … Mr. Woodhouse must dodder, must play the games that he plays so Emma can play the games she plays. Theirs is a dance of mutual recognition and acceptance of their roles in society. If he masquerades nothing but concern for his daughter, he can pretend to rule without actually having to; if she goes along with his wishes by complying however she can, even with his most ridiculous fancies, she can rule Hartfield as she wishes with little actual interference from her father. Even this explanation gives Mr. Woodhouse more credit for cleverness than he deserves. Fool, yes; intentional villain, no. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Mrs. Elton. Presumptuous fool, yes; intentional villain, even more so. Despite the points that Jenkyns makes about Mr. Woodhouse, if one is to consider each of his arguments in light of Mrs. Elton as well, it will become clear who Austen’s true villain it.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Batter My Heart, Three-Personed Emma: Extensions of the Id, the Ego, and the Superego in Austen’s Emma
Morality is one of many themes that Jane Austen’s novel Emma considers. What “should” be done is a question that arises often, and rarely does it evolve without a multitude of complications. What society expects of each character often differs from what is executed by them, and Emma Woodhouse, the uppermost mistress of Highbury, is certainly not exempt from this delicate societal game.
In Marilyn Butler’s critical piece “Emma,” she notes how the plot of this tale adheres to “the classic plot of the conservative novel,” and elaborates:
Essentially, a young protagonist is poised at the outset of life, with two missions to perform: to survey society, distinguishing the true values from the false; and, in the light of this new knowledge of ‘reality’, to school what is selfish, immature, or fallible in herself. (385)
Emma certainly fits all of these points well, especially with regards to being both a protagonist and a fallible character. She has the potential to lead an exemplary life, but she does “neglect rather than exploit her opportunities at Highbury” (385). She has the prospect within her of having three separate sides to her psyche: the fallible, baser woman; the day-to-day, civil and balanced Emma; and the exemplary Emma with the potential to be a heroine. This idea of a three-fold Emma may remind one of certain parallels to Sigmund Freud’s theory of the id, the ego, and the superego.
The timeline to discuss these two texts in relation to one another is obviously not linear; as Emma came before Freud’s theories were published, it would be wrong to even suggest that Austen was influenced by Freud (his birth not taking place until over 40 years after Emma was published). It would be unlikely, and I will venture to say impossible, that Freud ever read Jane Austen and became influenced by her characters in a psychological light. However, despite these chronological complications, it is not wholly unfair to consider the inherent parallels of theme that can be seen between these texts. Austen’s characters have well-developed psychological personalities that are worth diving in to more deeply.
Sigmund Freud discusses the human psyche in three distinct parts: the id, the ego, and the superego. The id, the most instinctual and biological of the three, “centers around the basic needs of humankind that compel gratification, in particular the pressures resulting from the sexual and aggressive drives” (Moore 496). The ego, tending to lean towards the everyday rationale of a person, is defined as “a coherent organization of mental processes that include reality testing, perception, memory, thinking, and adaption to reality . . . The ego mediates between the id and the outer world” (Moore 496). Freud suggests the relationship between the id and the ego as well: ‘The ego . . .which was the mechanism of repression, should hold sway. The demons, through self-knowledge, would be rationally controlled and, perhaps, repressed again.’ (Freud 22). The ego’s main employment, then, is to repress and restrict the influence of the id. Id literally means it in German; the ego was noted as das Ich, or the I (Freud 35). It versus I; even these simple pronouns seem to suggest the self battling a faceless monster.
Lastly, but certainly not the least, is the superego, defined by Freud “as the group of psychic functions having to do with ideal aspirations, moral commands, and prohibition,” is also noted as “dealing with moral issues, the superego is roughly synonymous with conscience, except for the fact that its functioning is to a very significant extent unconscious” (Moore 496).
We are therefore presented with a sliding scale of ethical conduct: Id; Ego; Superego, from one end of the spectrum representing uncontrolled, baser instincts, to the other, acting greatly on morality and refined, considerate behavior. While these are theorized as three parts of one whole, it is interesting to view the possibility of a parallel between these three ideas and three of Austen’s characters playing out these roles in an extended sort of psyche. As they are represented, it is almost as if one is a devil on Emma’s left shoulder and the other, an angel on her right, each urging her to act in some way.
With these psychoanalytic definitions, the role of three characters comes into light: Emma as herself, her own ego, mediating with her daily environment; Frank Churchill as her id, an entity that is occasionally uncivil and instinctual and influences her adversely; and Mr. Knightley as her superego, her moral compass that is not afraid to be critical of Emma’s more ignoble actions and wishes, which can be seen several times throughout the novel but most explicitly during the excursion at Box Hill. Again, as Butler notes, Emma is a “fallible heroine,” having both negative and positive qualities and being able to generally keep herself in check, but the influences of Frank and Mr. Knightley do occasionally play a significant role in her actions. Their roles are of a dual nature, however; Frank and Mr. Knightley do each have redeeming and destructive qualities, and neither can only be simply viewed a metaphorical representation of a Freudian idea. It is their actions with regards to Emma’s presence that demonstrate their true character.
The names of each character in Emma’s extended psyche are significant in and of themselves to this interpretation, especially as name play is brought up in this scene. Frank Churchill is just that: he is frank. His opinions never fail to be made candid and he lacks the inclination to filter his comments for propriety; he may dress his comments up with witty phrases, but they are still superficial and goading. Mr. Knightley, however, is more disposed towards morality and chivalry, just as one might imagine a knight would be. Even when he knows it will be unpopular, he voices his opinions of Emma’s actions and fights for what he believes is ethical. He certainly represents the parental side of the superego well, having known Emma for many years and being the only person in her life that is unwilling to give in to her. Her father allows her to arguably dominate the household, her mother has been dead for many years, her sister is married and elsewhere, unable to audit Emma’s actions, and even her governess is noted as “less as a governess than a friend” who had “hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been living together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma doing just what she liked” (5). Even the woman who was hired to discipline and teach Emma has failed to secure a respectable authority over the strong-willed girl, leaving the balance of Emma’s psychological nature entirely to Emma’s own faculties. It is revealed little by little that despite what she believes about her independence, Emma does need the influence of Mr. Knightley in her life to help keep her psyche in a moral balance.
While reading this novel, the possibility of Emma’s subconscious being extended and played out by Frank Churchill and Mr. Knightley is hinted at occasionally. However, Austen’s triumphant moment where this subliminal idea is made clear occurs when the three are amongst others on a day trip to Box Hill. This scene begins with the awareness of separation being explicitly stated; it is noted “[t]here was a languor, a want of spirits, a want of union, which could not be got over. They separated too much into parties” (253). This disharmony amongst parties, as well as Emma’s inclusion in the group where Frank Churchill is entertaining and not Mr. Knightley, is one factor that pushes her delicate psyche off balance and towards her baser societal dispositions.
Once it is established where each member of the party has found themselves congregating toward, we get Emma’s perspective:
At first it was downright dulness to Emma. She had never seen Frank Churchill so silent and stupid. He said nothing worth hearing – looked without seeing – admired without intelligence – listened without knowing what she said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet should be dull likewise, and they were both insufferable. (253)
Frank’s presence alone, even his distracted one, is already teasing out judgmental and antagonistic tendencies in Emma; these are directed not just to Frank but also towards her supposed friend, Harriet. When Frank begins to pay Emma exceptional attention, these propensities only become aggravated: “When they all sat down it was better; to her taste a great deal better, for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. Every distinguishing attention that could be paid, was paid to her” (253). Rather than participating in the civil conversation of the group, they engage in a private conversation that “must have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very well describe” (254). He indulges her vanity and allows her to neglect her position as an influential figure at the party. What is notable is that instead of resisting these sinful temptations, she encourages it, Austen notably using the word “admission” (254). Not only is Emma primarily obeying her subconscious desires towards the malevolent, but she is knowingly allowing this transgression to happen.
Frank’s pervasive, id-like influence on her continues to be suggested in their conversation as Emma notes that he is “under command,” and allows that it is not her own (254). Frank disagrees: “I can have no self-command without a motive . . . You can be always with me. You are always with me” (254). This is as close as Austen to comes to suggesting the connection between Emma and Frank by extension of psyche. One is always with the other, at least in a spiritual way, and therefore Emma must always be in control of herself. Freud himself wrote “Where id was, there ego shall be” (Freud 22), again suggesting that one can never be without the other, and that the delicate psychological balance between the two must be retained at all times.
Austen builds this action by having Frank Churchill tell Emma, “Our companions are excessively stupid,” and by telling the whole group that Emma wishes to know exactly what they are thinking (255). Hearing this comment, Mr. Knightley then interferes with Frank’s influence over Emma, albeit in a civil way: “Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all thinking of?” (255). The way it is spoken comes off as a sort of warning to Emma, almost as if cautioning her against Frank’s influence; the reader can almost hear him stress the word “sure.” As her superego, he is becoming aware of her psychological imbalance and attempting to interfere. Despite his reply to Frank’s request being “the most distinct,” (255) Emma largely ignores him and continues to humor Frank’s influence who now changes the game to a request for “one thing very clever . . . or two things moderately clever – or three things very dull indeed” from each party guest (255). Rather than stop this silly game before it goes too far – as a dominating force of the conversation, one might argue it is her duty to steer towards more civil topics – she indulges Frank’s attentions and humors his word games. With each moment she tolerates them, Emma is being led further astray from her ethical counterpart by Frank’s coquettish games.
The climactic moment of this scene – arguably one of the most climactic moments in the novel – is fueled as we are subjected to Miss Bates rambling excessively about her own propensity for dull conversation:
‘Oh! very well,’ exclaimed Miss Bates, ‘then I need not be uneasy. ‘Three things very dull indeed.’ That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan’t I? – (looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every body’s assent) – Do not you all think I shall?’ (255-256)
When she finishes, Austen sets off Emma’s one-sentence reaction to this as its own paragraph, thereby drawing more attention to it: “Emma could not resist” (256). Frank’s id-like influence over her has won out and she says what cannot be unsaid: “Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me – but you will be limited as to number – only three [dull things] at once” (256). The harmed party turns to Mr. Knightley as if she is aware she is appealing to Emma’s better nature and excuses Emma’s actions as if they are her own fault. The plight of Miss Bates is perceived acutely by the reader:
When it burst on her, it could not anger, though a slight blush showed that it could pain her. “Ah! – well – to be sure. Yes, I see what she means, (turning to Mr. Knightley,) and I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend.” (256)
It is almost as if one can feel Miss Bates’s slight blush as well. Having witnessed the ego-stroking, quite literally, that led to this event, we can clearly see the effects this insult has and cannot fail to mistake it as anything but a transgression on our heroine’s part. Emma has fallen to her baser instincts and what is worse is that she is unaware of her lowered position, in the reader’s eyes, for quite some time. Freud wrote that only “when the censorship of the ego is relaxed, can the forbidden wish successfully undertake the journey, and, then, only in disguise” (Freud 41). This is applicable here; although it was more or less Frank’s influence that pushed her to insult Miss Bates, it is Emma who appears to be at fault to everyone at the table, and this is rightly so.
The word charades continue for quite a long while, Emma then discussing with Frank how she could take a wife for him “and make her like myself,” at his insistence, of course (257). Despite the horrible injustice she has so recently shown towards Miss Bates, Emma is enough out of sync with her moral compass to still presume herself of the utmost desire. Jane and Miss Bates stand and walk away, followed quickly by Mr. Knightley; he follows the parties Emma has grievously injured as she should have followed them. Frank, seizing the opportunity of Mr. Knightley’s absence, does not allow Emma to quietly reflect on her previous snippet, but fills her head with vain, idle gossip on the Eltons, degrading her psyche even further. With his inane chatter, he does not allow her to repent, and it seems likely that without Mr. Knightley’s later influence, she never would have understood or cared to understand the harm she caused to Miss Bates.
Not until the group is parting ways for the evening is Mr. Knightley able to fully reprimand her in a speech strong enough to move even stubborn Emma’s currently id-tainted disposition:
I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent in your wit to a woman of her character, age, and situation? Emma, I had not thought it possible . . . Were she your equal in situation – but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. . . Her situation should secure your compassion . . . This is not pleasant to me; but I must, I will, – I will tell you truths while I can, satisfied with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and trusting that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you can do now. (259)
At first, Emma remains in denial of his criticism, attempting to defend herself: “I know there is not a better creature in the world: but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous are most unfortunately blended in her” (259). Despite her feeble attempt to preserve her pride, Mr. Knightley’s fervent words, clearly of an honorable intention, loosen the bindings that Frank has drawn around Emma, and Austen effectively notes Emma’s reconciliation with his counsel: “The truth of his representation there was no denying. She felt it at her heart” (259). The scene then draws to a close with Emma in tears the entirety of the carriage ride back to Highbury. It could not be more clear what role each character has played, nor could it be more clear who has sinned horribly.
The incident at Box Hill is extremely effective in illustrating the progressive id-ego-superego relationship as Frank-Emma-Knightley. The heart of what Austen is saying is that ultimately, Frank can only bring out the worst in Emma’s character, and Knightley the best. Perhaps she is suggesting that a person’s best match occurs when one is able to distinguish – as Butler would call it – the true values from the false. Your best spouse is the one who will help you run society in a lawful and civilized manner with every bit of respect towards your acquaintances, regardless of whether or not they are of your stature. One cannot help but be reminded of the generosity Mr. Knightley shows towards the Bates’s, in giving them baked apples he knows they will enjoy, for example. His words towards his future wife are an attempt to prompt her towards the same charitable mindset.
Although the scene at Box Hill and the events that follow it are exemplary of the id-ego-superego theory, the ending of Austen’s novel is particularly supportive of the superego and of an attachment to one’s moral compass. Emma does not marry Frank Churchill or even wish to have anything to do with him any longer; her newly realized affections for Mr. Knightley are the only thing that can truly allow her “the perfect happiness of the union” (333). It is as if Austen is suggesting the only way to truly reach your potential for happiness in life is to engage (literally) with your superego. Although this is one small grain of sand in the complexity that is her work, it can be argued that in this way, Austen demonstrates her respect for high standards of morality in her fiction.
Works Cited, besides the unpublished Emma manuscript of Dr. Justice:
Freud, Sigmund. Dictionary of Psychoanalysis. Nandor Fodor and Frank Gaynor, eds. The Philosophical Library, Inc, 1950.
Moore, Burness E. and Bernard D. Fine, eds. Psychoanalysis: The Major Concepts. Yale UP, 1999.
In Marilyn Butler’s critical piece “Emma,” she notes how the plot of this tale adheres to “the classic plot of the conservative novel,” and elaborates:
Essentially, a young protagonist is poised at the outset of life, with two missions to perform: to survey society, distinguishing the true values from the false; and, in the light of this new knowledge of ‘reality’, to school what is selfish, immature, or fallible in herself. (385)
Emma certainly fits all of these points well, especially with regards to being both a protagonist and a fallible character. She has the potential to lead an exemplary life, but she does “neglect rather than exploit her opportunities at Highbury” (385). She has the prospect within her of having three separate sides to her psyche: the fallible, baser woman; the day-to-day, civil and balanced Emma; and the exemplary Emma with the potential to be a heroine. This idea of a three-fold Emma may remind one of certain parallels to Sigmund Freud’s theory of the id, the ego, and the superego.
The timeline to discuss these two texts in relation to one another is obviously not linear; as Emma came before Freud’s theories were published, it would be wrong to even suggest that Austen was influenced by Freud (his birth not taking place until over 40 years after Emma was published). It would be unlikely, and I will venture to say impossible, that Freud ever read Jane Austen and became influenced by her characters in a psychological light. However, despite these chronological complications, it is not wholly unfair to consider the inherent parallels of theme that can be seen between these texts. Austen’s characters have well-developed psychological personalities that are worth diving in to more deeply.
Sigmund Freud discusses the human psyche in three distinct parts: the id, the ego, and the superego. The id, the most instinctual and biological of the three, “centers around the basic needs of humankind that compel gratification, in particular the pressures resulting from the sexual and aggressive drives” (Moore 496). The ego, tending to lean towards the everyday rationale of a person, is defined as “a coherent organization of mental processes that include reality testing, perception, memory, thinking, and adaption to reality . . . The ego mediates between the id and the outer world” (Moore 496). Freud suggests the relationship between the id and the ego as well: ‘The ego . . .which was the mechanism of repression, should hold sway. The demons, through self-knowledge, would be rationally controlled and, perhaps, repressed again.’ (Freud 22). The ego’s main employment, then, is to repress and restrict the influence of the id. Id literally means it in German; the ego was noted as das Ich, or the I (Freud 35). It versus I; even these simple pronouns seem to suggest the self battling a faceless monster.
Lastly, but certainly not the least, is the superego, defined by Freud “as the group of psychic functions having to do with ideal aspirations, moral commands, and prohibition,” is also noted as “dealing with moral issues, the superego is roughly synonymous with conscience, except for the fact that its functioning is to a very significant extent unconscious” (Moore 496).
We are therefore presented with a sliding scale of ethical conduct: Id; Ego; Superego, from one end of the spectrum representing uncontrolled, baser instincts, to the other, acting greatly on morality and refined, considerate behavior. While these are theorized as three parts of one whole, it is interesting to view the possibility of a parallel between these three ideas and three of Austen’s characters playing out these roles in an extended sort of psyche. As they are represented, it is almost as if one is a devil on Emma’s left shoulder and the other, an angel on her right, each urging her to act in some way.
With these psychoanalytic definitions, the role of three characters comes into light: Emma as herself, her own ego, mediating with her daily environment; Frank Churchill as her id, an entity that is occasionally uncivil and instinctual and influences her adversely; and Mr. Knightley as her superego, her moral compass that is not afraid to be critical of Emma’s more ignoble actions and wishes, which can be seen several times throughout the novel but most explicitly during the excursion at Box Hill. Again, as Butler notes, Emma is a “fallible heroine,” having both negative and positive qualities and being able to generally keep herself in check, but the influences of Frank and Mr. Knightley do occasionally play a significant role in her actions. Their roles are of a dual nature, however; Frank and Mr. Knightley do each have redeeming and destructive qualities, and neither can only be simply viewed a metaphorical representation of a Freudian idea. It is their actions with regards to Emma’s presence that demonstrate their true character.
The names of each character in Emma’s extended psyche are significant in and of themselves to this interpretation, especially as name play is brought up in this scene. Frank Churchill is just that: he is frank. His opinions never fail to be made candid and he lacks the inclination to filter his comments for propriety; he may dress his comments up with witty phrases, but they are still superficial and goading. Mr. Knightley, however, is more disposed towards morality and chivalry, just as one might imagine a knight would be. Even when he knows it will be unpopular, he voices his opinions of Emma’s actions and fights for what he believes is ethical. He certainly represents the parental side of the superego well, having known Emma for many years and being the only person in her life that is unwilling to give in to her. Her father allows her to arguably dominate the household, her mother has been dead for many years, her sister is married and elsewhere, unable to audit Emma’s actions, and even her governess is noted as “less as a governess than a friend” who had “hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been living together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma doing just what she liked” (5). Even the woman who was hired to discipline and teach Emma has failed to secure a respectable authority over the strong-willed girl, leaving the balance of Emma’s psychological nature entirely to Emma’s own faculties. It is revealed little by little that despite what she believes about her independence, Emma does need the influence of Mr. Knightley in her life to help keep her psyche in a moral balance.
While reading this novel, the possibility of Emma’s subconscious being extended and played out by Frank Churchill and Mr. Knightley is hinted at occasionally. However, Austen’s triumphant moment where this subliminal idea is made clear occurs when the three are amongst others on a day trip to Box Hill. This scene begins with the awareness of separation being explicitly stated; it is noted “[t]here was a languor, a want of spirits, a want of union, which could not be got over. They separated too much into parties” (253). This disharmony amongst parties, as well as Emma’s inclusion in the group where Frank Churchill is entertaining and not Mr. Knightley, is one factor that pushes her delicate psyche off balance and towards her baser societal dispositions.
Once it is established where each member of the party has found themselves congregating toward, we get Emma’s perspective:
At first it was downright dulness to Emma. She had never seen Frank Churchill so silent and stupid. He said nothing worth hearing – looked without seeing – admired without intelligence – listened without knowing what she said. While he was so dull, it was no wonder that Harriet should be dull likewise, and they were both insufferable. (253)
Frank’s presence alone, even his distracted one, is already teasing out judgmental and antagonistic tendencies in Emma; these are directed not just to Frank but also towards her supposed friend, Harriet. When Frank begins to pay Emma exceptional attention, these propensities only become aggravated: “When they all sat down it was better; to her taste a great deal better, for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. Every distinguishing attention that could be paid, was paid to her” (253). Rather than participating in the civil conversation of the group, they engage in a private conversation that “must have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very well describe” (254). He indulges her vanity and allows her to neglect her position as an influential figure at the party. What is notable is that instead of resisting these sinful temptations, she encourages it, Austen notably using the word “admission” (254). Not only is Emma primarily obeying her subconscious desires towards the malevolent, but she is knowingly allowing this transgression to happen.
Frank’s pervasive, id-like influence on her continues to be suggested in their conversation as Emma notes that he is “under command,” and allows that it is not her own (254). Frank disagrees: “I can have no self-command without a motive . . . You can be always with me. You are always with me” (254). This is as close as Austen to comes to suggesting the connection between Emma and Frank by extension of psyche. One is always with the other, at least in a spiritual way, and therefore Emma must always be in control of herself. Freud himself wrote “Where id was, there ego shall be” (Freud 22), again suggesting that one can never be without the other, and that the delicate psychological balance between the two must be retained at all times.
Austen builds this action by having Frank Churchill tell Emma, “Our companions are excessively stupid,” and by telling the whole group that Emma wishes to know exactly what they are thinking (255). Hearing this comment, Mr. Knightley then interferes with Frank’s influence over Emma, albeit in a civil way: “Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all thinking of?” (255). The way it is spoken comes off as a sort of warning to Emma, almost as if cautioning her against Frank’s influence; the reader can almost hear him stress the word “sure.” As her superego, he is becoming aware of her psychological imbalance and attempting to interfere. Despite his reply to Frank’s request being “the most distinct,” (255) Emma largely ignores him and continues to humor Frank’s influence who now changes the game to a request for “one thing very clever . . . or two things moderately clever – or three things very dull indeed” from each party guest (255). Rather than stop this silly game before it goes too far – as a dominating force of the conversation, one might argue it is her duty to steer towards more civil topics – she indulges Frank’s attentions and humors his word games. With each moment she tolerates them, Emma is being led further astray from her ethical counterpart by Frank’s coquettish games.
The climactic moment of this scene – arguably one of the most climactic moments in the novel – is fueled as we are subjected to Miss Bates rambling excessively about her own propensity for dull conversation:
‘Oh! very well,’ exclaimed Miss Bates, ‘then I need not be uneasy. ‘Three things very dull indeed.’ That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan’t I? – (looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every body’s assent) – Do not you all think I shall?’ (255-256)
When she finishes, Austen sets off Emma’s one-sentence reaction to this as its own paragraph, thereby drawing more attention to it: “Emma could not resist” (256). Frank’s id-like influence over her has won out and she says what cannot be unsaid: “Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me – but you will be limited as to number – only three [dull things] at once” (256). The harmed party turns to Mr. Knightley as if she is aware she is appealing to Emma’s better nature and excuses Emma’s actions as if they are her own fault. The plight of Miss Bates is perceived acutely by the reader:
When it burst on her, it could not anger, though a slight blush showed that it could pain her. “Ah! – well – to be sure. Yes, I see what she means, (turning to Mr. Knightley,) and I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend.” (256)
It is almost as if one can feel Miss Bates’s slight blush as well. Having witnessed the ego-stroking, quite literally, that led to this event, we can clearly see the effects this insult has and cannot fail to mistake it as anything but a transgression on our heroine’s part. Emma has fallen to her baser instincts and what is worse is that she is unaware of her lowered position, in the reader’s eyes, for quite some time. Freud wrote that only “when the censorship of the ego is relaxed, can the forbidden wish successfully undertake the journey, and, then, only in disguise” (Freud 41). This is applicable here; although it was more or less Frank’s influence that pushed her to insult Miss Bates, it is Emma who appears to be at fault to everyone at the table, and this is rightly so.
The word charades continue for quite a long while, Emma then discussing with Frank how she could take a wife for him “and make her like myself,” at his insistence, of course (257). Despite the horrible injustice she has so recently shown towards Miss Bates, Emma is enough out of sync with her moral compass to still presume herself of the utmost desire. Jane and Miss Bates stand and walk away, followed quickly by Mr. Knightley; he follows the parties Emma has grievously injured as she should have followed them. Frank, seizing the opportunity of Mr. Knightley’s absence, does not allow Emma to quietly reflect on her previous snippet, but fills her head with vain, idle gossip on the Eltons, degrading her psyche even further. With his inane chatter, he does not allow her to repent, and it seems likely that without Mr. Knightley’s later influence, she never would have understood or cared to understand the harm she caused to Miss Bates.
Not until the group is parting ways for the evening is Mr. Knightley able to fully reprimand her in a speech strong enough to move even stubborn Emma’s currently id-tainted disposition:
I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent in your wit to a woman of her character, age, and situation? Emma, I had not thought it possible . . . Were she your equal in situation – but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. . . Her situation should secure your compassion . . . This is not pleasant to me; but I must, I will, – I will tell you truths while I can, satisfied with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and trusting that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you can do now. (259)
At first, Emma remains in denial of his criticism, attempting to defend herself: “I know there is not a better creature in the world: but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous are most unfortunately blended in her” (259). Despite her feeble attempt to preserve her pride, Mr. Knightley’s fervent words, clearly of an honorable intention, loosen the bindings that Frank has drawn around Emma, and Austen effectively notes Emma’s reconciliation with his counsel: “The truth of his representation there was no denying. She felt it at her heart” (259). The scene then draws to a close with Emma in tears the entirety of the carriage ride back to Highbury. It could not be more clear what role each character has played, nor could it be more clear who has sinned horribly.
The incident at Box Hill is extremely effective in illustrating the progressive id-ego-superego relationship as Frank-Emma-Knightley. The heart of what Austen is saying is that ultimately, Frank can only bring out the worst in Emma’s character, and Knightley the best. Perhaps she is suggesting that a person’s best match occurs when one is able to distinguish – as Butler would call it – the true values from the false. Your best spouse is the one who will help you run society in a lawful and civilized manner with every bit of respect towards your acquaintances, regardless of whether or not they are of your stature. One cannot help but be reminded of the generosity Mr. Knightley shows towards the Bates’s, in giving them baked apples he knows they will enjoy, for example. His words towards his future wife are an attempt to prompt her towards the same charitable mindset.
Although the scene at Box Hill and the events that follow it are exemplary of the id-ego-superego theory, the ending of Austen’s novel is particularly supportive of the superego and of an attachment to one’s moral compass. Emma does not marry Frank Churchill or even wish to have anything to do with him any longer; her newly realized affections for Mr. Knightley are the only thing that can truly allow her “the perfect happiness of the union” (333). It is as if Austen is suggesting the only way to truly reach your potential for happiness in life is to engage (literally) with your superego. Although this is one small grain of sand in the complexity that is her work, it can be argued that in this way, Austen demonstrates her respect for high standards of morality in her fiction.
Works Cited, besides the unpublished Emma manuscript of Dr. Justice:
Freud, Sigmund. Dictionary of Psychoanalysis. Nandor Fodor and Frank Gaynor, eds. The Philosophical Library, Inc, 1950.
Moore, Burness E. and Bernard D. Fine, eds. Psychoanalysis: The Major Concepts. Yale UP, 1999.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
“An Imaginist Like Herself”? or a Rich, Powerful Woman Like Herself?
Emily Averbach’s critical piece “An Imaginist Like Herself” primarily discusses the function of marriage in Austen’s Emma. Averbach appears to present this function as having give-and-take value, with a compatible match being made out of dissimilar men and women who each have something to bring to the relationship:
Austen presents her happiest marriages in Emma as those where the union benefits both partners, like a completion of self. Presumably Emma, Harriet Smith, and Frank Churchill will acquire discipline and rationality; in turn, Mr. Knightley, Robert Martin, and Jane Fairfax may gain imagination and playfulness. (440)
I do not believe Averbach is fully wrong about this; a symbiotic marriage is obviously going to bring more “happiness of the union” than one of two characters who are far too alike, like Emma and Frank Churchill, for instance (333). However, her presentation here is a bit flat and sugar-coated with regards as to what some characters gain.
In the Emma-Mr. Knightley union, it is fairly obvious that Emma will not be much more disciplined than she chooses, and the magnanimous Mr. Knightley seems no more disposed towards playfulness (other than the occasional witty banter with Emma) than his brother John might be. To suggest otherwise is to ignore the ingrained personalities of both characters, and even Averbach herself notes that “Austen adds a feminist twist to the ending of Emma by implying that her bossy, competitive heroine may still be scheming to stay more in control of her life than most married women” (440). What is secured in the Knightley’s new marriage is an assurance that the wealth, land, and power in Highbury remain where they always have been. I am not arguing that Emma and Mr. Knightley do not love one another, nor am I arguing against Austen’s assertion that they will be happy in their marriage, but I am arguing that they did not marry solely for love, nor would love alone have moved them to join with one another.
The most significant suggestion that there is something other than love behind the marriage of Emma is when Harriet Smith is telling Emma she believes herself to be in love with Mr. Knightley, and that she is under the impression her feelings are being reciprocated. Austen writes: “It darted through her, with the speed of an arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself!” (281). It is not written that it darted through Emma that she was in love with Mr. Knightley, or that Emma was struck with a realization that she had loved Mr. Knightley all of her life. That Mr. Knightley must marry her is synonymous with an obligation, a duty, or a requirement, all of these implications lacking passion or “playfulness.”
The circumstance is that even despite their affections, neither character would be primarily disposed to make a match had an equal social station not been possessed by the other. They might truly be in love with one another by the end of the novel, but that love would never have bloomed if either of them was of a much lower social class. Mr. Knightley, being single even into what we can calculate to be his mid-life, is clearly not in a rush to marry the first beautiful, witty woman who comes along; and Emma, until realizing that other women might be interested in him, is not disposed to marry at all, even believing that he wouldn’t be either and that his power must be inherited by her nephews. Not until her fear of his marrying might be realized does her jealousy prompt her to grasp her affections.
Money and power are truly all there is to have in Highbury, and a match between Emma and Mr. Knightley most conveniently ties that fortune up permanently in their two families.
The marriage of Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill may also be called into question in light of the “why?” of their matrimony. At best, Frank Churchill has moral potential, and at worst, Jane Fairfax occasionally lets her emotions get the best of her. Averbach suggests Frank may gain discipline in their match, but to assume so would also be in contrary to the Frank that we know as readers. Even despite his letter to his new step-mother that she accepts, it is fairly obvious he hasn’t actually learned much from his ignoble actions.
To suggest that Jane will gain anything from their match is of course valid, but playfulness is neither what she will gain nor what she needs. What Frank has, and what will help her escape a life of governess-ship, is wealth and independence (once his mother passes, that is). Even if one views their situation with critical eyes, Frank’s ability to rescue her from the horrors of the Smallridge children and take her to a home where she will live very comfortably, can only be viewed as a knight-in-shining-armor act.
After how Jane was treated by Frank with regards to his flirtatious behavior with Emma, love alone could not move the Jane that we have known to forgive him. If Frank was inferior to her social situation, she never could have, but I believe his wealth made his apology impossible to refuse. Until this moment in the novel, we can only see her as an upright woman of fine values and a decent upbringing. Her sudden forgiveness of the man who has slighted her all along is all too convenient when accompanied by his newfound liberation from his mother. Again, love may be a driving force in their relationship; however, it cannot possibly be the only force that commits them to marriage.
As for the marriage of Harriet Smith and Robert Martin: I would have to throw Averbach the proverbial bone in admitting that of the three, only their marriage could potentially be made exclusive of power and money. After all, while Robert’s station is probably secure, more or less, as a humble farmer, Harriet is a social wild card. Throughout most of the novel – even when Martin had proposed to her to begin with – we are unaware what her lineage or economic standing is, other than she is a student at Mrs. Goddard’s. Emma imagines she may be the wealthy daughter of a nobleman, but we all know where Emma’s imagination may lead us and may be inclined to agree with Mr. Knightley’s assessment that it is a wild assumption to conclude it as a real possibility. Without knowing or understanding Harriet’s standing – and clearly without even caring – Martin committed himself to Harriet, proving his love for her is exclusive of her social standing. And what is more, without Emma’s influence otherwise, Harriet clearly would have married Martin, acknowledging affection and a sense of comfort both with him and with his sisters. Their lower position in society may lead one to believe that the only thing they have to lose is one another.
While Averbach makes some valid points on the function of marriage in Austen’s novel, I would ultimately have to rule her interpretation of the give-and-take match between these three couples is simplistic at best. There are complications that she does not address, though she does backtrack a bit at the end while discussing the conversation about celibacy and marriage between Emma and Harriet; her assessment is, “Remove poverty as a factor and women acquire the freedom to say no” (441), therefore admitting in a roundabout way that overall, money and power have the ultimate influence on marriage.
Austen presents her happiest marriages in Emma as those where the union benefits both partners, like a completion of self. Presumably Emma, Harriet Smith, and Frank Churchill will acquire discipline and rationality; in turn, Mr. Knightley, Robert Martin, and Jane Fairfax may gain imagination and playfulness. (440)
I do not believe Averbach is fully wrong about this; a symbiotic marriage is obviously going to bring more “happiness of the union” than one of two characters who are far too alike, like Emma and Frank Churchill, for instance (333). However, her presentation here is a bit flat and sugar-coated with regards as to what some characters gain.
In the Emma-Mr. Knightley union, it is fairly obvious that Emma will not be much more disciplined than she chooses, and the magnanimous Mr. Knightley seems no more disposed towards playfulness (other than the occasional witty banter with Emma) than his brother John might be. To suggest otherwise is to ignore the ingrained personalities of both characters, and even Averbach herself notes that “Austen adds a feminist twist to the ending of Emma by implying that her bossy, competitive heroine may still be scheming to stay more in control of her life than most married women” (440). What is secured in the Knightley’s new marriage is an assurance that the wealth, land, and power in Highbury remain where they always have been. I am not arguing that Emma and Mr. Knightley do not love one another, nor am I arguing against Austen’s assertion that they will be happy in their marriage, but I am arguing that they did not marry solely for love, nor would love alone have moved them to join with one another.
The most significant suggestion that there is something other than love behind the marriage of Emma is when Harriet Smith is telling Emma she believes herself to be in love with Mr. Knightley, and that she is under the impression her feelings are being reciprocated. Austen writes: “It darted through her, with the speed of an arrow, that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself!” (281). It is not written that it darted through Emma that she was in love with Mr. Knightley, or that Emma was struck with a realization that she had loved Mr. Knightley all of her life. That Mr. Knightley must marry her is synonymous with an obligation, a duty, or a requirement, all of these implications lacking passion or “playfulness.”
The circumstance is that even despite their affections, neither character would be primarily disposed to make a match had an equal social station not been possessed by the other. They might truly be in love with one another by the end of the novel, but that love would never have bloomed if either of them was of a much lower social class. Mr. Knightley, being single even into what we can calculate to be his mid-life, is clearly not in a rush to marry the first beautiful, witty woman who comes along; and Emma, until realizing that other women might be interested in him, is not disposed to marry at all, even believing that he wouldn’t be either and that his power must be inherited by her nephews. Not until her fear of his marrying might be realized does her jealousy prompt her to grasp her affections.
Money and power are truly all there is to have in Highbury, and a match between Emma and Mr. Knightley most conveniently ties that fortune up permanently in their two families.
The marriage of Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill may also be called into question in light of the “why?” of their matrimony. At best, Frank Churchill has moral potential, and at worst, Jane Fairfax occasionally lets her emotions get the best of her. Averbach suggests Frank may gain discipline in their match, but to assume so would also be in contrary to the Frank that we know as readers. Even despite his letter to his new step-mother that she accepts, it is fairly obvious he hasn’t actually learned much from his ignoble actions.
To suggest that Jane will gain anything from their match is of course valid, but playfulness is neither what she will gain nor what she needs. What Frank has, and what will help her escape a life of governess-ship, is wealth and independence (once his mother passes, that is). Even if one views their situation with critical eyes, Frank’s ability to rescue her from the horrors of the Smallridge children and take her to a home where she will live very comfortably, can only be viewed as a knight-in-shining-armor act.
After how Jane was treated by Frank with regards to his flirtatious behavior with Emma, love alone could not move the Jane that we have known to forgive him. If Frank was inferior to her social situation, she never could have, but I believe his wealth made his apology impossible to refuse. Until this moment in the novel, we can only see her as an upright woman of fine values and a decent upbringing. Her sudden forgiveness of the man who has slighted her all along is all too convenient when accompanied by his newfound liberation from his mother. Again, love may be a driving force in their relationship; however, it cannot possibly be the only force that commits them to marriage.
As for the marriage of Harriet Smith and Robert Martin: I would have to throw Averbach the proverbial bone in admitting that of the three, only their marriage could potentially be made exclusive of power and money. After all, while Robert’s station is probably secure, more or less, as a humble farmer, Harriet is a social wild card. Throughout most of the novel – even when Martin had proposed to her to begin with – we are unaware what her lineage or economic standing is, other than she is a student at Mrs. Goddard’s. Emma imagines she may be the wealthy daughter of a nobleman, but we all know where Emma’s imagination may lead us and may be inclined to agree with Mr. Knightley’s assessment that it is a wild assumption to conclude it as a real possibility. Without knowing or understanding Harriet’s standing – and clearly without even caring – Martin committed himself to Harriet, proving his love for her is exclusive of her social standing. And what is more, without Emma’s influence otherwise, Harriet clearly would have married Martin, acknowledging affection and a sense of comfort both with him and with his sisters. Their lower position in society may lead one to believe that the only thing they have to lose is one another.
While Averbach makes some valid points on the function of marriage in Austen’s novel, I would ultimately have to rule her interpretation of the give-and-take match between these three couples is simplistic at best. There are complications that she does not address, though she does backtrack a bit at the end while discussing the conversation about celibacy and marriage between Emma and Harriet; her assessment is, “Remove poverty as a factor and women acquire the freedom to say no” (441), therefore admitting in a roundabout way that overall, money and power have the ultimate influence on marriage.
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