Emma, perhaps more than any of Jane Austen’s other novels, seems peculiarly interested in offering a window into a larger social world—it presents frequent glimpses of servants, farmers, gypsies, and impoverished gentlewomen. One could argue these mundane characters exist only to brighten the spotlight on the titular hero, who dominates the novel with her manipulative cunning and spirited personality. After all, the bigger Emma’s domain seems, the more power she appears to wield. Her marriage to Mr. Knightley also seems to reinforce her position as a member of the gentry at the top of the hierarchy. However, this conservative view fails to consider the subversive undertones of two scenes of robbery, during which the lower classes come to the forefront of the novel. These radical breaches prove that the hierarchy is not unassailable. Although the novel affirms the social order with its series of ending marriages, the two scenes of thievery threaten to puncture this perfect arrangement. Through them, Austen symbolically reveals an anxiety of the upper class—a fear that middle class marriages into the gentry are a theft that imperils the rigid societal structure.

The first thieves to infringe on the novel are the gypsies, who frighten Emma’s protégé Harriet Smith. She and her fellow parlor-boarder Miss Bickerton encounter the gypsies along “the Richmond road, which, though apparently public enough for safety, [leads] them into alarm” (229). Interestingly, the road’s “public” status makes the episode more frightening to the inhabitants of Highbury. By trespassing on a public area, the gypsies threaten society as a whole. They prove that the community’s physical and metaphorical bubble can be penetrated, and its ideal model of social order can be breached. Austen’s early description of Highbury increases the significance of this moment, for she characterizes it as “the large and populous village almost amounting to a town, to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn and shrubberies and name, did really belong” (6-7). Highbury represents a unique evolution point between rural and urban, between old and new, and the gypsies’ entrance onto the scene foreshadows some of the dangers that change might pose to the gentry. In Austen’s time, the rising middle class was beginning to blur boundaries, and social groups were no longer as strictly stratified as they once were. The gypsies herald this change in Highbury, a village at risk because it is on the cusp of transitioning to a modern town. Hartfield, symbolic of the gentry, is already inseparable from the rest of the village. Thus, any gypsy attack which happens in the public space of Highbury poses a risk to Hartfield by extension. As might be expected, Mr. Woodhouse reacts fearfully and instinctively tries to reassert the boundary; he wishes his daughter “never to go beyond the shrubbery again” (231). Mr. Woodhouse, as a member of the gentry, embodies the desire to retain divisions between classes, which the gypsies symbolically endanger when they encroach onto the space of Highbury.

Emma’s response to the gypsy incident, although less extreme than her father’s, still evinces a conservative perspective. Importantly, Emma believes at this point that Harriet belongs to the gentry. She tells Harriet, “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” (23). Thus, Emma regards the thieving gypsies who assault Harriet as a threat to the gentry. Interestingly, Emma immediately trusts that the episode will bring Harriet and her rescuer Frank Churchill together: “It was not possible that the occurrence should not be strongly recommending each to the other” (231). As Emma sees it, the attempted theft will certainly propel the two of them to a marriage. Her prediction indicates that the literal gypsy thieves might stand in for another “thieving” group that frightens the gentry—the middle class. Emma, confident that Harriet is a gentleman’s daughter, latches onto a marriage between Harriet and Frank Churchill as the logical counterattack to middle class thieves who try to marry into the gentry.

The reveal of Harriet’s parentage lays out the gentry’s anxiety about the middle class most clearly. Emma’s prior assumptions are disproved, and she expresses horror that she nearly elevated Harriet to a position too lofty for a tradesman’s illegitimate daughter:

—Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!—It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connection had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley—or for the Churchills—or even for Mr. Elton!—The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. (331-332)

This reflection, relayed à la free indirect discourse, unearths Emma’s commitment to maintaining the social hierarchy. Yet, even as her conservative notions are exposed, a subtle undercurrent of irony runs through them. She concedes that Harriet’s blood is “likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman,” a line oddly incongruous with the rest of the passage because it insinuates that distinctions of rank are artificial—mixing between classes has already jeopardized the purity of the gentry. This fleeting concession paradoxically degrades the very “blood” that Emma seems to cherish in the same instant. Emma’s stream of thought, otherwise smooth, unexpectedly bubbles with the subconscious anxiety that she experiences as a representative of the upper class. Punctuation further enhances this effect. Exclamation marks convey a sense of scandal, but Emma’s passion gets interpolated with a colon. Not only does the colon flag the important interruption—it also intimates that Emma’s apprehension continues. A period would suggest a finished or fully dismissed thought, but the colon gives the impression of incompletion. Hence, Emma’s musing provides insight into the gentry’s constant fear that intermarriage will pollute upper class blood. Significantly, Emma also thinks the gentry’s blood has already been contaminated. If blood is the standard for rank, there is nothing concrete keeping the social structure in place, and the hierarchy could come toppling down at any moment. Preserving order then requires marriages between the gentry that will keep the artificial hierarchy established and combat any breakdown that might occur via “theft.”

Returning to the gypsy scene with the knowledge of Harriet’s parentage further illuminates the connection between the thieving gypsies and the middle class. Harriet, the illegitimate daughter of a tradesman, mirrors the poor and nameless gypsy child that comes forward to beg; there is a certain affinity between the two of them. Harriet, as the “natural daughter of somebody,” possesses no family name of her own (18). Unless she marries, she will be just as anonymous as the gypsy child. The child, trying to obtain money from passersby, offers a picture of Harriet as someone reaching above her station in order to marry and avoid poverty. Moreover, the single child quickly increases to “half a dozen children, headed by a stout woman and a great boy,” and Harriet is “followed, or rather surrounded, by the whole gang” (229-230). This overwhelming and fast-paced multiplication depicts a larger social anxiety about what will happen if one begging child is indulged. If a single person, like Harriet, succeeds in marrying above her station, there will inevitably be more who believe they are entitled to the same right. This scene manifests the anxiety of the upper class, who perhaps worry that by generously allowing occasional marriages into the gentry, they open themselves up to increased attempts to cross boundaries. The fear is that the effect will snowball until one gets swallowed by the crowd of gypsies—until distinctions between classes disappear.

The style and repetition of the gypsy narrative also seem to be of paramount importance in connecting this incident with the middle-class “thievery” that Emma abhors. The story initially “engage[s] those who must talk most, the young and the low,” but it ultimately persists in only one quarter: “in [Emma’s] imagination it maintained its ground, and Henry and John were still asking every day for the story of Harriet and the gipsies” (231). The enthusiastic young boys and their aunt Emma are the key exception to the village’s collective forgetfulness. It is the gentry, rather than the “young and the low,” who prevent the gypsies from being entirely erased, suggesting that thievery holds a fascinating pull on the upper class. While regaling her nephews, one can imagine that Emma shapes the narrative to her purposes, perhaps by emphasizing the high stakes, painting the gypsies as merciless villains, and glorifying Frank Churchill to heroic status. Interestingly, the reader does not witness the gypsy event directly. Because of Austen’s tendency to interweave free indirect discourse with the narrator’s description, the story is filtered, not only through Frank Churchill and Harriet, but also through Emma. The audience then, receives a version of the story that mirrors the one Henry and James receive.

With the knowledge of this distortion, certain details in the scene deflate the initially thrilling danger: for instance, the thievery is not actually successful. Harriet offers the gypsies a shilling, and they crowd her and beg more—but nothing else ever happens (229-230). However, words in the text like “attack,” “assailed,” “frightened,” “terror,” “demanding,” and “insolent” amplify the alarm, as though to make it clear the gypsies are only prevented from true theft by Frank Churchill’s entrance onto the scene. If free indirect discourse introduces a certain bias, then perhaps this dramatization echoes the way in which the gentry magnifies the threat of the middle class. There is also a compulsion to re-tell the gypsy story over and over in the same vein, which makes sense in the context of the gentry’s anxiety. Emma’s repetition of the tale to the little boys—the future generation—passes on this fear, and their determination to hear the exact same terrifying story each time demonstrates that they have internalized the message.

If the first scene of thievery exposes a certain anxiety about middle-class marriages into the gentry, the second scene of theft offers an appropriate countermeasure. Mr. Woodhouse, formerly a great obstacle to Emma’s marriage, suddenly experiences a change of heart when he learns of a threat to the neighborhood:

Mrs. Weston’s poultry-house was robbed one night of all her turkies—evidently by the ingenuity of man. Other poultry-yards in the neighbourhood also suffered.—Pilfering was house-breaking to Mr. Woodhouse’s fears.—He was very uneasy; and but for the sense of his son-in-law’s protection, would have been under wretched alarm every night of his life. (333)

Numerous dashes visually rupture the passage; the cracks in the text damage the wholeness of the final page. This physical illustration reinforces the poultry theft as a significant danger to the narrative of the gentry. The italicized word “house-breaking” complements this literal breaking of the passage in addition to linking it to the gypsy event in two ways. For one, it recalls Mr. Woodhouse’s desire to solidify the boundaries of his property following the incident. Secondly, it provides an interesting connection to Harriet’s “namelessness.” Mr. Woodhouse’s name includes “house” in it. A name, or rather the reputation attached to it, distinguishes a gentleman from others of a similar economic standing. Therefore, when Mr. Woodhouse considers the theft an act of “house-breaking,” dangers to his name and his rank as a gentleman are implicit in the anxiety. Together, these textual details indicate that the theft is not just a last example of Mr. Woodhouse’s comedic paranoia, but also a final subversive breakthrough in the novel, once more representing potential theft by the middle class.

Mr. Woodhouse’s terror not only enables Emma and Mr. Knightley to marry—it also facilitates the narrative’s denouement. The stealing of turkeys precedes the marriage, situating the latter as a reaction to the former. This juxtaposition further affirms the idea that scenes of thievery represent holes in the ordered hierarchy which must be swiftly patched up. However inconsequential the pilfering of “turkies” may appear to be, this episode disturbs the end of the narrative and necessitates a hasty transition to the details of Emma’s marriage and the “perfect happiness of the union” which concludes the novel (333). In this context, the “union” presents itself as the solution to both literal and metaphorical theft. After the gypsy attack, Emma predicts a marriage between Harriet and Frank Churchill, but Harriet proves to be one of the prospective “thieves.” As a result, Emma herself must marry in order to conserve order. Emma and Mr. Knightley are both members of the gentry, and by uniting they keep their circle closed, forestalling possible lowly invaders. They keep their anxiety at bay with a marriage that upholds the hierarchy.

Episodes involving thieves, even if they seem trivial and insignificant in the context of the larger novel, are essential to a deeper understanding of it. These scenes, although brief, function as vehicles for the plot. When gypsies accost Harriet, Emma’s resulting assumption triggers a sequence of events that lead to Knightley’s proposal. When pilferers rob Mrs. Weston’s poultry yard, Emma and Mr. Knightley succeed in marrying at last. Although the novel ends with the power of the gentry solidified and its conservative stance upheld, a question remains about who is really driving the narrative. Ostensibly, it is the gentry who commandeer it, but this pretense ignores the groups that pressure the hierarchy from below, especially the middle class which threatens to “taint” bloodlines. The gentry, fearful of the rising middle class and its perceived “theft” of status, are powerless to stop the disintegration of the social structure, even as they maintain the artificial appearance of control. Emma and Mr. Knightley perhaps imagine that they strengthen the hierarchy with their marriage, but by responding to theft in such a way, they only acknowledge that the lower classes have significant power. Austen uses thievery to illustrate how much the lower classes influence the events of Emma, just as they shape the society in which it takes place.