Emma
I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he might do much better;
and that as to a rational companion or useful helpmate, he could not do
worse. But I could not reason so to a man in love, and was willing to
trust to there being no harm in her, to her having that sort of
disposition, which, in good hands, like his, might be easily led aright
and turn out very well. The advantage of the match I felt to be all on
her side; and had not the smallest doubt (nor have I now) that there
would be a general cry-out upon her extreme good luck. Even _your_
satisfaction I made sure of. It crossed my mind immediately that you
would not regret your friend’s leaving Highbury, for the sake of her
being settled so well. I remember saying to myself, ‘Even Emma, with
all her partiality for Harriet, will think this a good match.’”
“I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to say
any such thing. What! think a farmer, (and with all his sense and all
his merit Mr. Martin is nothing more,) a good match for my intimate
friend! Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man
whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own! I wonder you
should think it possible for me to have such feelings. I assure you
mine are very different. I must think your statement by no means fair.
You are not just to Harriet’s claims. They would be estimated very
differently by others as well as myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest
of the two, but he is undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in
society.—The sphere in which she moves is much above his.—It would be a
degradation.”
“A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be married to a
respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer!”
“As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense she may
be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense. She is not to pay
for the offence of others, by being held below the level of those with
whom she is brought up.—There can scarcely be a doubt that her father
is a gentleman—and a gentleman of fortune.—Her allowance is very
liberal; nothing has ever been grudged for her improvement or
comfort.—That she is a gentleman’s daughter, is indubitable to me; that
she associates with gentlemen’s daughters, no one, I apprehend, will
deny.—She is superior to Mr. Robert Martin.”
“Whoever might be her parents,” said Mr. Knightley, “whoever may have
had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any part of
their plan to introduce her into what you would call good society.
After receiving a very indifferent education she is left in Mrs.
Goddard’s hands to shift as she can;—to move, in short, in Mrs.
Goddard’s line, to have Mrs. Goddard’s acquaintance. Her friends
evidently thought this good enough for her; and it _was_ good enough.
She desired nothing better herself. Till you chose to turn her into a
friend, her mind had no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition
beyond it. She was as happy as possible with the Martins in the summer.
She had no sense of superiority then. If she has it now, you have given
it. You have been no friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would
never have proceeded so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not
being disinclined to him. I know him well. He has too much real feeling
to address any woman on the haphazard of selfish passion. And as to
conceit, he is the farthest from it of any man I know. Depend upon it
he had encouragement.”
It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this
assertion; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject
again.
“You are a very warm friend to Mr. Martin; but, as I said before, are
unjust to Harriet. Harriet’s claims to marry well are not so
contemptible as you represent them. She is not a clever girl, but she
has better sense than you are aware of, and does not deserve to have
her understanding spoken of so slightingly. Waiving that point,
however, and supposing her to be, as you describe her, only pretty and
good-natured, let me tell you, that in the degree she possesses them,
they are not trivial recommendations to the world in general, for she
is, in fact, a beautiful girl, and must be thought so by ninety-nine
people out of an hundred; and till it appears that men are much more
philosophic on the subject of beauty than they are generally supposed;
till they do fall in love with well-informed minds instead of handsome
faces, a girl, with such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of
being admired and sought after, of having the power of chusing from
among many, consequently a claim to be nice. Her good-nature, too, is
not so very slight a claim, comprehending, as it does, real, thorough
sweetness of temper and manner, a very humble opinion of herself, and a
great readiness to be pleased with other people. I am very much
mistaken if your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such
temper, the highest claims a woman could possess.”
“Upon my word, Emma, to hear you abusing the reason you have, is almost
enough to make me think so too. Better be without sense, than misapply
it as you do.”
“To be sure!” cried she playfully. “I know _that_ is the feeling of you
all. I know that such a girl as Harriet is exactly what every man
delights in—what at once bewitches his senses and satisfies his
judgment. Oh! Harriet may pick and chuse. Were you, yourself, ever to
marry, she is the very woman for you. And is she, at seventeen, just
entering into life, just beginning to be known, to be wondered at
because she does not accept the first offer she receives? No—pray let
her have time to look about her.”
“I have always thought it a very foolish intimacy,” said Mr. Knightley
presently, “though I have kept my thoughts to myself; but I now
perceive that it will be a very unfortunate one for Harriet. You will
puff her up with such ideas of her own beauty, and of what she has a
claim to, that, in a little while, nobody within her reach will be good
enough for her. Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of
mischief. Nothing so easy as for a young lady to raise her expectations
too high. Miss Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so
fast, though she is a very pretty girl. Men of sense, whatever you may
chuse to say, do not want silly wives. Men of family would not be very
fond of connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity—and most
prudent men would be afraid of the inconvenience and disgrace they
might be involved in, when the mystery of her parentage came to be
revealed. Let her marry Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable,
and happy for ever; but if you encourage her to expect to marry
greatly, and teach her to be satisfied with nothing less than a man of
consequence and large fortune, she may be a parlour-boarder at Mrs.
Goddard’s all the rest of her life—or, at least, (for Harriet Smith is
a girl who will marry somebody or other,) till she grow desperate, and
is glad to catch at the old writing-master’s son.”
“We think so very differently on this point, Mr. Knightley, that there
can be no use in canvassing it. We shall only be making each other more
angry. But as to my _letting_ her marry Robert Martin, it is
impossible; she has refused him, and so decidedly, I think, as must
prevent any second application. She must abide by the evil of having
refused him, whatever it may be; and as to the refusal itself, I will
not pretend to say that I might not influence her a little; but I
assure you there was very little for me or for any body to do. His
appearance is so much against him, and his manner so bad, that if she
ever were disposed to favour him, she is not now. I can imagine, that
before she had seen any body superior, she might tolerate him. He was
the brother of her friends, and he took pains to please her; and
altogether, having seen nobody better (that must have been his great
assistant) she might not, while she was at Abbey-Mill, find him
disagreeable. But the case is altered now. She knows now what gentlemen
are; and nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any chance
with Harriet.”
“Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!” cried Mr.
Knightley.—“Robert Martin’s manners have sense, sincerity, and
good-humour to recommend them; and his mind has more true gentility
than Harriet Smith could understand.”
Emma made no answer, and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but was
really feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone. She
did not repent what she had done; she still thought herself a better
judge of such a point of female right and refinement than he could be;
but yet she had a sort of habitual respect for his judgment in general,
which made her dislike having it so loudly against her; and to have him
sitting just opposite to her in angry state, was very disagreeable.
Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt
on Emma’s side to talk of the weather, but he made no answer. He was
thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words.
“Robert Martin has no great loss—if he can but think so; and I hope it
will not be long before he does. Your views for Harriet are best known
to yourself; but as you make no secret of your love of match-making, it
is fair to suppose that views, and plans, and projects you have;—and as
a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the man, I think it
will be all labour in vain.”
Emma laughed and disclaimed. He continued,
“Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort of man,
and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make
an imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as any
body. Elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally. He is
as well acquainted with his own claims, as you can be with Harriet’s.
He knows that he is a very handsome young man, and a great favourite
wherever he goes; and from his general way of talking in unreserved
moments, when there are only men present, I am convinced that he does
not mean to throw himself away. I have heard him speak with great
animation of a large family of young ladies that his sisters are
intimate with, who have all twenty thousand pounds apiece.”
“I am very much obliged to you,” said Emma, laughing again. “If I had
set my heart on Mr. Elton’s marrying Harriet, it would have been very
kind to open my eyes; but at present I only want to keep Harriet to
myself. I have done with match-making indeed. I could never hope to
equal my own doings at Randalls. I shall leave off while I am well.”
“Good morning to you,”—said he, rising and walking off abruptly. He was
very much vexed. He felt the disappointment of the young man, and was
mortified to have been the means of promoting it, by the sanction he
had given; and the part which he was persuaded Emma had taken in the
affair, was provoking him exceedingly.
Emma remained in a state of vexation too; but there was more
indistinctness in the causes of her’s, than in his. She did not always
feel so absolutely satisfied with herself, so entirely convinced that
her opinions were right and her adversary’s wrong, as Mr. Knightley. He
walked off in more complete self-approbation than he left for her. She
was not so materially cast down, however, but that a little time and
the return of Harriet were very adequate restoratives. Harriet’s
staying away so long was beginning to make her uneasy. The possibility
of the young man’s coming to Mrs. Goddard’s that morning, and meeting
with Harriet and pleading his own cause, gave alarming ideas. The dread
of such a failure after all became the prominent uneasiness; and when
Harriet appeared, and in very good spirits, and without having any such
reason to give for her long absence, she felt a satisfaction which