members of the outing. Even Frank is “silent ... stupid ... and dull,” at least in Emma’s eyes. Eventually he becomes talkative by turning to Emma and flirting with her intensely, openly, “and excessively.” Although to Emma this now “meant nothing,” she nonetheless responds in kind. At the same time, she is aware of a counter-tendency in herself. “Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than she had expected. She laughed because she was disappointed” (p. 334). They exchange sallies of wit, and Emma comments that Frank is currently in “command” of his temper, although he had not been the day before at Donwell Abbey, where his behavior had “ ‘broken bounds.’ ” He then turns to the sulky and silent gathering, and “with lively impudence” tries to get them talking; he announces that Emma, as the presiding presence, “ ‘desires to know what you are all thinking of.’ ” Among the mixed replies is Knightley’s query whether Emma is really sure that she wants to know this. Emma at once answers, laughingly, of course not: “ ‘It is the very last thing I would stand the brunt of just now. Let me hear any thing rather than what you are all thinking of’ ” (p. 335).
Mrs. Elton is incoherently affronted, as are some others, so Frank changes his tack and proclaims that Emma wants instead to hear from each of them one “very clever” thing, or two “things moderately clever,” or “‘three things very dull indeed.’ ” Miss Bates, with her eternal humility and good humor, observes that this is just right for her, for as soon as she opens her mouth three dull things will surely pop out. “Emma could not resist. ‘Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me—but you will be limited as to number,—only three at once’ ” (p. 336). Miss Bates does not at first get it, but she does a double take, and is clearly hurt, and says to Knightley that she must really “ ‘make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend’ ” (p. 336). Emma has been teasing Frank about losing his “self-command,” but it is she who cannot control herself and lets herself go in order to turn a cruel piece of wit, in order not to pass up a one-liner. xxvii It was Emma who said that she did not want to hear what people were thinking, but it is she who gives uncensored expression to her private and hypercritical opinion of Miss Bates. Instead of talking to herself as she customarily does, Emma has turned off that inner interlocutor, and out has come frigid wit and withering resentment and aggression. Catastrophe.
The party continues to fall apart. Mr. Weston makes a well-meaning ass of himself, Mrs. Elton carries on as usual, and Frank goes on in his deplorable way. (At this point, Jane silently decides to pack it in and go for martyrdom as a governess.) The party breaks up as raggedly as it began. As Emma is waiting for her carriage, Knightley comes up to her and, seeing that they are alone, lets her have it. “ ‘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’ ” (p. 340). Emma at first tries to “laugh it off,” but Knightley pursues her relentlessly and advances a full bill of particulars about Miss Bates and Emma that is both irresistible and crushing. For Miss Bates does represent a principle; in Emma’s mistreatment of her, the personal and the moral, the social and the cultural-political, are fused. Emma is for once utterly silenced.
She feels virtually undone. She weeps uncontrollably almost all the way home. She is “agitated, mortified, grieved” as never before. For the first time she really feels guilt about something she has done. She cannot shrug it off, nor will she feel better about it later on. “The truth of his [Knightley’s] representation
Mrs. Elton is incoherently affronted, as are some others, so Frank changes his tack and proclaims that Emma wants instead to hear from each of them one “very clever” thing, or two “things moderately clever,” or “‘three things very dull indeed.’ ” Miss Bates, with her eternal humility and good humor, observes that this is just right for her, for as soon as she opens her mouth three dull things will surely pop out. “Emma could not resist. ‘Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me—but you will be limited as to number,—only three at once’ ” (p. 336). Miss Bates does not at first get it, but she does a double take, and is clearly hurt, and says to Knightley that she must really “ ‘make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend’ ” (p. 336). Emma has been teasing Frank about losing his “self-command,” but it is she who cannot control herself and lets herself go in order to turn a cruel piece of wit, in order not to pass up a one-liner. xxvii It was Emma who said that she did not want to hear what people were thinking, but it is she who gives uncensored expression to her private and hypercritical opinion of Miss Bates. Instead of talking to herself as she customarily does, Emma has turned off that inner interlocutor, and out has come frigid wit and withering resentment and aggression. Catastrophe.
The party continues to fall apart. Mr. Weston makes a well-meaning ass of himself, Mrs. Elton carries on as usual, and Frank goes on in his deplorable way. (At this point, Jane silently decides to pack it in and go for martyrdom as a governess.) The party breaks up as raggedly as it began. As Emma is waiting for her carriage, Knightley comes up to her and, seeing that they are alone, lets her have it. “ ‘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’ ” (p. 340). Emma at first tries to “laugh it off,” but Knightley pursues her relentlessly and advances a full bill of particulars about Miss Bates and Emma that is both irresistible and crushing. For Miss Bates does represent a principle; in Emma’s mistreatment of her, the personal and the moral, the social and the cultural-political, are fused. Emma is for once utterly silenced.
She feels virtually undone. She weeps uncontrollably almost all the way home. She is “agitated, mortified, grieved” as never before. For the first time she really feels guilt about something she has done. She cannot shrug it off, nor will she feel better about it later on. “The truth of his [Knightley’s] representation
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