Emma

Emma
by Jane Austen

VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
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 through the various illnesses of
childhood. A large debt 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. She 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 hers--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.
Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony,
being settled in London, only sixteen miles off, was much beyond her
daily reach; and many a long October and November evening must be
struggled through at Hartfield, before Christmas brought the next visit
from Isabella and