Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich,
with a comfortable home and happy disposition,
seemed to unite some of the best blessings of
existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in
the world with very little to distress or vex her.
She was the youngest of the two daughters of a
most affectionate, indulgent father, and had, in
consequence of her sister’s marriage, been mistress of
his house from a very early period. Her mother had
died too long ago for her to have more than an
indistinct remembrance of her caresses, and her
place had been supplied by an excellent woman as
governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in
affection.
Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in
Mr. Woodhouse’s family, less as a governess than a
friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly
of Emma. Between them it was more the intimacy of
sisters. Even before Miss Taylor had ceased to hold
the nominal office of governess, the mildness of her
temper 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; highly esteeming
Miss Taylor’s judgment, but directed chiefly by
her own.
The real evils indeed of Emma’s situation were the
power of having rather too much her own way, and a
disposition to think a little too well of herself; these
were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her
many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at
present so unperceived, that they did not by any
means rank as misfortunes with her.
Sorrow came—a gentle sorrow—but not at
all in the shape of any disagreeable
consciousness. —Miss Taylor married. It was
Miss Taylor’s loss which first brought grief. It was on
the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Emma
first sat in mournful thought of any continuance.
The wedding over and the bride-people gone, her
father and herself were left to dine together, with no
prospect of a third to cheer a long evening. Her
father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as
usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what
she had lost.
The event had every promise of happiness for her
friend. Mr. Weston was a man of unexceptionable
character, easy fortune, suitable age and pleasant
manners; and there was some satisfaction in
considering with what self-denying, generous
friendship she had always wished and promoted the
match; but it was a black morning’s work for her.
The want of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of
every day. She recalled her past kindness—the
kindness, the affection of sixteen years—how she had
taught and how she had played with her from five
years old—how she had devoted all her powers to
attach and amuse her in health—and how nursed her
60 through the various illnesses of childhood. ebt of gratitude was owing here; but the intercourse
of the last seven years, the equal footing and perfect
unreserve which had soon followed Isabella’s
marriage on their being left to each other, was yet a
dearer, tenderer recollection. It had been a friend and
companion such as few possessed, intelligent,
well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of
the family, interested in all its concerns, and
peculiarly interested in herself, in every pleasure,
every scheme of her’s; —one to whom she could
speak every thought as it arose, and who had such an
affection for her as could never find fault.
How was she to bear the change? —It was true that
her friend was going only half a mile from them; but
Emma was aware that great must be the difference
between a Mrs. Weston only half a mile from them,
and a Miss Taylor in the house; and with all her
advantages, natural and domestic, she was now in
great danger of suffering from intellectual solitude.
She dearly loved her father, but he was no
companion for her. He could not meet her in
conversation, rational or playful.
The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and
Mr. Woodhouse had not married early) was much
increased by his constitution and habits; for having
been a valetudinarian* all his life, without activity of
mind or body, he was a much older man in ways
than in years; and though everywhere beloved for the
friendliness of his heart and his amiable temper, his
talents could not have recommended him at
any time
Emma
Woodhouse
, handsome, clever, and rich,
with a comfortable home and happy disposition,
seemed to unite
some
of the best blessings of
existence; and had
lived
nearly
twenty-one years in
the world with
very
little
to distress or vex her.
She was the youngest of the two daughters of a
most affectionate, indulgent father, and had, in
consequence of her sister’s marriage, been mistress of
his
house
from a
very
early period. Her mother had
died
too long ago for her to have more than an
indistinct remembrance of her caresses, and her
place had
been supplied
by an excellent woman as
governess, who had fallen
little
short of a mother in
affection.
Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in
Mr.
Woodhouse
’s family, less
as
a governess than a
friend,
very
fond of both daughters,
but
particularly
of Emma. Between them it was more the intimacy of
sisters. Even
before
Miss Taylor had ceased to hold
the nominal office of governess, the mildness of her
temper 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;
highly
esteeming
Miss Taylor’s judgment,
but
directed
chiefly
by
her
own
.
The real evils
indeed
of Emma’s situation were the
power of having
rather
too much her
own
way, and a
disposition to
think
a
little
too well of herself; these
were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her
many
enjoyments. The
danger
,
however
, was at
present
so
unperceived, that they did not by any
means rank as misfortunes with her.
Sorrow came—a gentle sorrow—
but
not at
all in the shape of any disagreeable
consciousness. —Miss Taylor married. It was
Miss Taylor’s loss which
first
brought grief. It was on
the wedding-day of this beloved
friend
that Emma
first
sat in mournful
thought
of any continuance.
The wedding over and the bride-
people
gone, her
father and herself were
left
to dine together, with no
prospect of a third to cheer a long evening. Her
father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as
usual, and she had then
only
to sit and
think
of what
she had lost.
The
event
had every promise of happiness for her
friend. Mr. Weston was a
man
of unexceptionable
character, easy fortune, suitable age and pleasant
manners; and there was
some
satisfaction in
considering with what self-denying, generous
friendship she had always wished and promoted the
match;
but
it was a black morning’s work for her.
The want of Miss Taylor would
be felt
every hour of
every day. She recalled her past kindness—the
kindness, the affection of sixteen years—how she had
taught and how she had played with her from five
years
old
—how she had devoted all her powers to
attach and amuse her in health—and how nursed her
60 through the various illnesses of childhood.
ebt
of gratitude was owing here;
but
the intercourse
of the last seven years, the equal footing and perfect
unreserve
which had
soon
followed Isabella’s
marriage on their being
left
to each other, was
yet
a
dearer, tenderer recollection. It had been a
friend
and
companion such as few possessed, intelligent,
well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of
the family, interested in all its concerns, and
peculiarly
interested in herself, in every pleasure,
every scheme of
her’s
; —one to whom she could
speak every
thought
as it arose, and who had such an
affection for her as could never find fault.
How was she to bear the
change
? —It was true that
her
friend
was going
only
half a mile from them;
but
Emma was aware that great
must
be the difference
between a Mrs. Weston
only
half a mile from them,
and a Miss Taylor in the
house
; and with all her
advantages, natural and domestic, she was
now
in
great
danger
of suffering from intellectual solitude.
She
dearly
loved
her father,
but
he was no
companion for her. He could not
meet
her in
conversation, rational or playful.
The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and
Mr.
Woodhouse
had not married early) was much
increased by his constitution and habits; for having
been a valetudinarian* all his life, without activity of
mind or body, he was a much older
man
in ways
than in years; and though everywhere beloved for the
friendliness of his heart and his amiable temper, his
talents could not have recommended him at
any time
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