Emma

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Harriet Smith's intimacy at Hartfield was soon a settled thing.

Quick and decided in her ways, Emma lost no time in inviting,

encouraging, and telling her to come very often; and as their

acquaintance increased, so did their satisfaction in each other. As

a walking companion, Emma had very early foreseen how useful she

might find her. In that respect Mrs. Weston's loss had been

important. Her father never went beyond the shrubbery, where two

divisions of the ground sufficed him for his long walk, or his

short, as the year varied; and since Mrs. Weston's marriage her

exercise had been too much confined. She had ventured once alone to

Randalls, but it was not pleasant; and a Harriet Smith, therefore,

one whom she could summon at any time to a walk, would be a

valuable addition to her privileges. But in every respect, as she

saw more of her, she approved her, and was confirmed in all her

kind designs.

Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile,

grateful disposition, was totally free from conceit, and only

desiring to be guided by any one she looked up to. Her early

attachment to herself was very amiable; and her inclination for

good company, and power of appreciating what was elegant and

clever, shewed that there was no want of taste, though strength of

understanding must not be expected. Altogether she was quite

convinced of Harriet Smith's being exactly the young friend she

wanted—exactly the something which her home required. Such a friend

as Mrs. Weston was out of the question. Two such could never be

granted. Two such she did not want. It was quite a different sort

of thing, a sentiment distinct and independent. Mrs. Weston was the

object of a regard which had its basis in gratitude and esteem.

Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful. For Mrs.

Weston there was nothing to be done; for Harriet every thing.

Her first attempts at usefulness were in an endeavour to find

out who were the parents, but Harriet could not tell. She was ready

to tell every thing in her power, but on this subject questions

were vain. Emma was obliged to fancy what she liked—but she could

never believe that in the same situation she should not have

discovered the truth. Harriet had no penetration. She had been

satisfied to hear and believe just what Mrs. Goddard chose to tell

her; and looked no farther.

Mrs. Goddard, and the teachers, and the girls and the affairs of

the school in general, formed naturally a great part of the

conversation—and but for her acquaintance with the Martins of

Abbey-Mill Farm, it must have been the whole. But the Martins

occupied her thoughts a good deal; she had spent two very happy

months with them, and now loved to talk of the pleasures of her

visit, and describe the many comforts and wonders of the place.

Emma encouraged her talkativeness—amused by such a picture of

another set of beings, and enjoying the youthful simplicity which

could speak with so much exultation of Mrs. Martin's having "two

parlours, two very good parlours, indeed; one of them quite as

large as Mrs. Goddard's drawing-room; and of her having an upper

maid who had lived five-and-twenty years with her; and of their

having eight cows, two of them Alderneys, and one a little Welch

cow, a very pretty little Welch cow indeed; and of Mrs. Martin's

saying as she was so fond of it, it should be called her cow; and

of their having a very handsome summer-house in their garden, where

some day next year they were all to drink tea:—a very handsome

summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen people."

For some time she was amused, without thinking beyond the

immediate cause; but as she came to understand the family better,

other feelings arose. She had taken up a wrong idea, fancying it

was a mother and daughter, a son and son's wife, who all lived

together; but when it appeared that the Mr. Martin, who bore a part

in the narrative, and was always mentioned with approbation for his

great good-nature in doing something or other, was a single man;

that there was no young Mrs. Martin, no wife in the case; she did

suspect danger to her poor little friend from all this hospitality

and kindness, and that, if she were not taken care of, she might be

required to sink herself forever.

With this inspiriting notion, her questions increased in number

and meaning; and she particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr.

Martin, and there was evidently no dislike to it. Harriet was very

ready to speak of the share he had had in their moonlight walks and

merry evening games; and dwelt a good deal upon his being so very

good-humoured and obliging. He had gone three miles round one day

in order to bring her some walnuts, because she had said how fond

she was of them, and in every thing else he was so very obliging.

He had his shepherd's son into the parlour one night on purpose to

sing to her. She was very fond of singing. He could sing a little

himself. She believed he was very clever, and understood every

thing. He had a very fine flock, and, while she was with them, he

had been bid more for his wool than any body in the country. She

believed every body spoke well of him. His mother and sisters were

very fond of him. Mrs. Martin had told her one day (and there was a

blush as she said it,) that it was impossible for any body to be a

better son, and therefore she was sure, whenever he married, he

would make a good husband. Not that she wanted him to marry. She

was in no hurry at all.

"Well done, Mrs. Martin!" thought Emma. "You know what you are

about."

"And when she had come away, Mrs. Martin was so very kind as to

send Mrs. Goddard a beautiful goose—the finest goose Mrs. Goddard

had ever seen. Mrs. Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked

all the three teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss

Richardson, to sup with her."

"Mr. Martin, I suppose, is not a man of information beyond the

line of his own business? He does not read?"

"Oh yes!—that is, no—I do not know—but I believe he has read a

good deal—but not what you would think any thing of. He reads the

Agricultural Reports, and some other books that lay in one of the

window seats—but he reads all them to himself. But sometimes of an

evening, before we went to cards, he would read something aloud out

of the Elegant Extracts, very entertaining. And I know he has read

the Vicar of Wakefield. He never read the Romance of the Forest,

nor The Children of the Abbey. He had never heard of such books

before I mentioned them, but he is determined to get them now as

soon as ever he can."

The next question was—

"What sort of looking man is Mr. Martin?"

"Oh! not handsome—not at all handsome. I thought him very plain

at first, but I do not think him so plain now. One does not, you

know, after a time. But did you never see him? He is in Highbury

every now and then, and he is sure to ride through every week in

his way to Kingston. He has passed you very often."

"That may be, and I may have seen him fifty times, but without

having any idea of his name. A young farmer, whether on horseback

or on foot, is the very last sort of person to raise my curiosity.

The yeomanry are precisely the order of people with whom I feel I

can have nothing to do. A degree or two lower, and a creditable

appearance might interest me; I might hope to be useful to their

families in some way or other. But a farmer can need none of my

help, and is, therefore, in one sense, as much above my notice as

in every other he is below it."

"To be sure. Oh yes! It is not likely you should ever have

observed him; but he knows you very well indeed—I mean by

sight."

"I have no doubt of his being a very respectable young man. I

know, indeed, that he is so, and, as such, wish him well. What do

you imagine his age to be?"

"He was four-and-twenty the 8th of last June, and my birthday is

the 23rd just a fortnight and a day's difference—which is very

odd."

"Only four-and-twenty. That is too young to settle. His mother

is perfectly right not to be in a hurry. They seem very comfortable

as they are, and if she were to take any pains to marry him, she

would probably repent it. Six years hence, if he could meet with a

good sort of young woman in the same rank as his own, with a little

money, it might be very desirable."

"Six years hence! Dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be thirty years

old!"

"Well, and that is as early as most men can afford to marry, who

are not born to an independence. Mr. Martin, I imagine, has his

fortune entirely to make—cannot be at all beforehand with the

world. Whatever money he might come into when his father died,

whatever his share of the family property, it is, I dare say, all

afloat, all employed in his stock, and so forth; and though, with

diligence and good luck, he may be rich in time, it is next to

impossible that he should have realised any thing yet."

"To be sure, so it is. But they live very comfortably. They have

no indoors man, else they do not want for any thing; and Mrs.

Martin talks of taking a boy another year."

"I wish you may not get into a scrape, Harriet, whenever he does

marry;—I mean, as to being acquainted with his wife—for though his

sisters, from a superior education, are not to be altogether

objected to, it does not follow that he might marry any body at all

fit for you to notice. The misfortune of your birth ought to make

you particularly careful as to your associates. There can be no

doubt of your being a gentleman's daughter, and you must support

your claim to that station by every thing within your own power, or

there will be plenty of people who would take pleasure in degrading

you."

"Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are. But while I visit at

Hartfield, and you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse, I am not

afraid of what any body can do."

"You understand the force of influence pretty well, Harriet; but

I would have you so firmly established in good society, as to be

independent even of Hartfield and Miss Woodhouse. I want to see you

permanently well connected, and to that end it will be advisable to

have as few odd acquaintance as may be; and, therefore, I say that

if you should still be in this country when Mr. Martin marries, I

wish you may not be drawn in by your intimacy with the sisters, to

be acquainted with the wife, who will probably be some mere

farmer's daughter, without education."

"To be sure. Yes. Not that I think Mr. Martin would ever marry

any body but what had had some education—and been very well brought

up. However, I do not mean to set up my opinion against your's—and

I am sure I shall not wish for the acquaintance of his wife. I

shall always have a great regard for the Miss Martins, especially

Elizabeth, and should be very sorry to give them up, for they are

quite as well educated as me. But if he marries a very ignorant,

vulgar woman, certainly I had better not visit her, if I can help

it."

Emma watched her through the fluctuations of this speech, and

saw no alarming symptoms of love. The young man had been the first

admirer, but she trusted there was no other hold, and that there

would be no serious difficulty, on Harriet's side, to oppose any

friendly arrangement of her own.

They met Mr. Martin the very next day, as they were walking on

the Donwell road. He was on foot, and after looking very

respectfully at her, looked with most unfeigned satisfaction at her

companion. Emma was not sorry to have such an opportunity of

survey; and walking a few yards forward, while they talked

together, soon made her quick eye sufficiently acquainted with Mr.

Robert Martin. His appearance was very neat, and he looked like a

sensible young man, but his person had no other advantage; and when

he came to be contrasted with gentlemen, she thought he must lose

all the ground he had gained in Harriet's inclination. Harriet was

not insensible of manner; she had voluntarily noticed her father's

gentleness with admiration as well as wonder. Mr. Martin looked as

if he did not know what manner was.

They remained but a few minutes together, as Miss Woodhouse must

not be kept waiting; and Harriet then came running to her with a

smiling face, and in a flutter of spirits, which Miss Woodhouse

hoped very soon to compose.

"Only think of our happening to meet him!—How very odd! It was

quite a chance, he said, that he had not gone round by Randalls. He

did not think we ever walked this road. He thought we walked

towards Randalls most days. He has not been able to get the Romance

of the Forest yet. He was so busy the last time he was at Kingston

that he quite forgot it, but he goes again to-morrow. So very odd

we should happen to meet! Well, Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you

expected? What do you think of him? Do you think him so very

plain?"

"He is very plain, undoubtedly—remarkably plain:—but that is

nothing compared with his entire want of gentility. I had no right

to expect much, and I did not expect much; but I had no idea that

he could be so very clownish, so totally without air. I had

imagined him, I confess, a degree or two nearer gentility."

"To be sure," said Harriet, in a mortified voice, "he is not so

genteel as real gentlemen."

"I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with us, you have

been repeatedly in the company of some such very real gentlemen,

that you must yourself be struck with the difference in Mr. Martin.

At Hartfield, you have had very good specimens of well educated,

well bred men. I should be surprized if, after seeing them, you

could be in company with Mr. Martin again without perceiving him to

be a very inferior creature—and rather wondering at yourself for

having ever thought him at all agreeable before. Do not you begin

to feel that now? Were not you struck? I am sure you must have been

struck by his awkward look and abrupt manner, and the uncouthness

of a voice which I heard to be wholly unmodulated as I stood

here."

"Certainly, he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has not such a fine

air and way of walking as Mr. Knightley. I see the difference plain

enough. But Mr. Knightley is so very fine a man!"

"Mr. Knightley's air is so remarkably good that it is not fair

to compare Mr. Martin with him. You might not see one in a hundred

with gentleman so plainly written as in Mr. Knightley. But he is

not the only gentleman you have been lately used to. What say you

to Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton? Compare Mr. Martin with either of

them. Compare their manner of carrying themselves; of walking; of

speaking; of being silent. You must see the difference."

"Oh yes!—there is a great difference. But Mr. Weston is almost

an old man. Mr. Weston must be between forty and fifty."

"Which makes his good manners the more valuable. The older a

person grows, Harriet, the more important it is that their manners

should not be bad; the more glaring and disgusting any loudness, or

coarseness, or awkwardness becomes. What is passable in youth is

detestable in later age. Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt; what

will he be at Mr. Weston's time of life?"

"There is no saying, indeed," replied Harriet rather

solemnly.

"But there may be pretty good guessing. He will be a completely

gross, vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and

thinking of nothing but profit and loss."

"Will he, indeed? That will be very bad."

"How much his business engrosses him already is very plain from

the circumstance of his forgetting to inquire for the book you

recommended. He was a great deal too full of the market to think of

any thing else—which is just as it should be, for a thriving man.

What has he to do with books? And I have no doubt that he will

thrive, and be a very rich man in time—and his being illiterate and

coarse need not disturb us."

"I wonder he did not remember the book"—was all Harriet's

answer, and spoken with a degree of grave displeasure which Emma

thought might be safely left to itself. She, therefore, said no

more for some time. Her next beginning was,

"In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton's manners are superior to

Mr. Knightley's or Mr. Weston's. They have more gentleness. They

might be more safely held up as a pattern. There is an openness, a

quickness, almost a bluntness in Mr. Weston, which every body likes

in him, because there is so much good-humour with it—but that would

not do to be copied. Neither would Mr. Knightley's downright,

decided, commanding sort of manner, though it suits him very well;

his figure, and look, and situation in life seem to allow it; but

if any young man were to set about copying him, he would not be

sufferable. On the contrary, I think a young man might be very

safely recommended to take Mr. Elton as a model. Mr. Elton is

good-humoured, cheerful, obliging, and gentle. He seems to me to be

grown particularly gentle of late. I do not know whether he has any

design of ingratiating himself with either of us, Harriet, by

additional softness, but it strikes me that his manners are softer

than they used to be. If he means any thing, it must be to please

you. Did not I tell you what he said of you the other day?"

She then repeated some warm personal praise which she had drawn

from Mr. Elton, and now did full justice to; and Harriet blushed

and smiled, and said she had always thought Mr. Elton very

agreeable.

Mr. Elton was the very person fixed on by Emma for driving the

young farmer out of Harriet's head. She thought it would be an

excellent match; and only too palpably desirable, natural, and

probable, for her to have much merit in planning it. She feared it

was what every body else must think of and predict. It was not

likely, however, that any body should have equalled her in the date

of the plan, as it had entered her brain during the very first

evening of Harriet's coming to Hartfield. The longer she considered

it, the greater was her sense of its expediency. Mr. Elton's

situation was most suitable, quite the gentleman himself, and

without low connexions; at the same time, not of any family that

could fairly object to the doubtful birth of Harriet. He had a

comfortable home for her, and Emma imagined a very sufficient

income; for though the vicarage of Highbury was not large, he was

known to have some independent property; and she thought very

highly of him as a good-humoured, well-meaning, respectable young

man, without any deficiency of useful understanding or knowledge of

the world.

She had already satisfied herself that he thought Harriet a

beautiful girl, which she trusted, with such frequent meetings at

Hartfield, was foundation enough on his side; and on Harriet's

there could be little doubt that the idea of being preferred by him

would have all the usual weight and efficacy. And he was really a

very pleasing young man, a young man whom any woman not fastidious

might like. He was reckoned very handsome; his person much admired

in general, though not by her, there being a want of elegance of

feature which she could not dispense with:—but the girl who could

be gratified by a Robert Martin's riding about the country to get

walnuts for her might very well be conquered by Mr. Elton's

admiration.