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 her husband, and their little children, to fill the house, and give her pleasant society again.
Highbury, 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, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses were first in consequence there. All looked up to them. She had many acquaintance in the place, for her father was universally civil, but not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for even half a day. It was a melancholy change; and Emma could not but sigh over it, and wish for impossible things, till her father awoke, and made it necessary to be cheerful. His spirits required support. He was a nervous man, easily depressed; fond of every body that he was used to, and hating to part with them; hating change of every kind. Matrimony, as the origin of change, was always disagreeable; and he was by no means yet reconciled to his own daughter's marrying, nor could ever speak of her but with compassion, though it had been entirely a match of affection, when he was now obliged to part with Miss Taylor too; and from his habits of gentle selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that other people could feel differently from himself, he was very much disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a thing for herself as for them, and would have been a great deal happier if she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield. Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him from such thoughts; but when tea came, it was impossible for him not to say exactly as he had said at dinner,
"Poor Miss Taylor!—I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that Mr. Weston ever thought of her!"
"I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot. Mr. Weston is such a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly deserves a good wife;—and you would not have had Miss Taylor live with us for ever, and bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of her own?"
"A house of her own!—But where is the advantage of a house of her own? This is three times as large.—And you have never any odd humours, my dear."
"How often we shall be going to see them, and they coming to see us!—We shall be always meeting! We must begin; we must go and pay wedding visit very soon."
"My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such a distance. I could not walk half so far."
"No, papa, nobody thought of your walking. We must go in the carriage, to be sure."
"The carriage! But James will not like to put the horses to for such a little way;—and where are the poor horses to be while we are paying our visit?"
"They are to be put into Mr. Weston's stable, papa. You know we have settled all that already. We talked it all over with Mr. Weston last night. And as for James, you may be very sure he will always like going to Randalls, because of his daughter's being housemaid there. I only doubt whether he will ever take us anywhere else. That was your doing, papa. You got Hannah that good place. Nobody thought of Hannah till you mentioned her—James is so obliged to you!"
"I am very glad I did think of her. It was very lucky, for I would not have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account; and I am sure she will make a very good servant: she is a civil, pretty-spoken girl; I have a great opinion of her. Whenever I see her, she always curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner; and when you have had her here to do needlework, I observe she always turns the lock of the door the right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will be an excellent servant; and it will be a great comfort to poor Miss Taylor to have somebody about her that she is used to see. Whenever James goes over to see his daughter, you know, she will be hearing of us. He will be able to tell her how we all are."
Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier flow of ideas, and hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her father tolerably through the evening, and be attacked by no regrets but her own. The backgammon-table was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked in and made it unnecessary.
Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly connected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella's husband. He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their mutual connexions in London. He had returned to a late dinner, after some days' absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well in Brunswick Square. It was a happy circumstance, and animated Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which always did him good; and his many inquiries after "poor Isabella" and her children were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over, Mr. Woodhouse gratefully observed, "It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at this late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must have had a shocking walk."
"Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild that I must draw back from your great fire."
"But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may not catch cold."
"Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them."
"Well! that is quite
เอ็มม่า Woodhouse หล่อ ฉลาด และ รวย มีความสะดวกสบายภายในบ้าน และมีความสุขครอบครอง ประจักษ์สมานของพรที่ดีที่สุดของการดำรงอยู่ และมีอยู่เกือบปีที่เมืองทองธานีในโลกมากน้อยด้วยความทุกข์ หรือกวนเธอเธอเป็นคนสุดท้องของธิดาทั้งสองของพ่อสุภาพที่สุด ผ่อนปรน และ in consequence of แต่งงานของน้องสาวของเธอ ได้เล็กของบ้านของเขาจากระยะเนิ่น ๆ แม่ของเธอเสียชีวิตนานเกินไปสำหรับเธอมากขึ้นกว่าการรำลึก indistinct ของเธอ caresses และมีการให้เธอเป็นผู้หญิงที่ดีเป็น governess ซึ่งได้ตกลง little short of แม่ในจิตสิบหกปีนางสาว Taylor ได้ในครอบครัวนาย Woodhouse น้อยเป็นการ governess กว่าเพื่อน รักของธิดาทั้งสอง แต่โดยเฉพาะอย่างยิ่งของเอ็มม่า ระหว่างนั้น ก็มากขึ้นเป็นกันเองของน้องสาว ก่อนนางสาว Taylor ได้หยุดลงกุม governess สำนักระบุ mildness ของอารมณ์ของเธอได้แทบไม่อนุญาตให้เธอไปกำหนดความยับยั้งชั่งใจใด ๆ และเงาของถูกตอนนี้ยาวนานผ่านไป พวกเขาอาศัยกันเป็นเพื่อน และเพื่อนร่วมแนบมาก และเอ็มม่าทำเพียงสิ่งชอบ แต่สูง esteeming พิพากษานางสาว Taylor โดยตรงส่วนใหญ่ ด้วยตนเองความชั่วร้ายที่แท้จริง จริง สถานการณ์ของ Emma มีอำนาจมีวิธีของตนเองค่อนข้างมาก และครอบครองคิดดีเกินไปเล็กน้อยของตัวเอง เหล่านี้มีข้อเสียที่ขู่สัมฤทธิ์การนั่งของเธอมาก อันตราย อย่างไรก็ตาม เป็นที่ปัจจุบันดังนั้น unperceived พวกเขาได้ไม่ โดยใด ๆ หมายถึง อันดับเป็น misfortunes กับเธอความเสียใจมาซึ่งความเสียใจอ่อนโยน — แต่ไม่ ในรูปของการไม่สำนึก — นางสาวเทย์เลอร์แต่งงาน ขาดทุนนางสาว Taylor ซึ่งก่อน นำความเศร้าโศกได้ ได้ในวันแต่งงานของเพื่อนรักนี้ที่เอ็มม่าเสาร์แรกใน mournful คิดของต่อเนื่องใด ๆ แต่งงานเหนือ และ คนสาวที่หายไป พ่อของเธอ และตัวเธอเองถูกปล่อยไปทานอาหารร่วมกัน กับไม่โน้มสามโห่เย็นนาน พ่อของเธอด้วยตัวเองหลังอาหารเย็น ตามปกติ และเธอมีแล้วเท่านั้นจะนั่ง และคิดว่า สิ่งที่เธอได้หายไปเหตุการณ์มีสัญญาทุกความสุขให้เพื่อน นาย Weston มาอักขระ unexceptionable ฟอร์จูนง่าย อายุที่เหมาะสม และ มารยาทดี และมีความพึงพอใจบางอย่างในการพิจารณา ด้วยมิตรภาพอะไร denying ตัวเอง ใจกว้างเธอได้เสมอปรารถนา และส่งเสริมการแข่งขัน แต่มันเป็นงานเช้าสีดำของเธอ ต้องของ Taylor นางสาวจะรู้สึกทุกชั่วโมงของทุกวัน เธอยกเลิกเธอเลยเมตตา — บุญ โรคสิบหกปี — ว่าเธอได้สอนและว่าเธอได้เล่นกับเธอจากห้าปี — ว่าเธอได้ทุ่มเททั้งหมดอำนาจของเธอแนบ และตลกเธอสุขภาพ — และวิธี nursed เธอผ่านเจ็บป่วยต่าง ๆ ของเด็ก มี owing หนี้ขนาดใหญ่ของความกตัญญูที่นี่ แต่มีเพศสัมพันธ์ของเจ็ดปี หลักเท่า และ unreserve โกซึ่งเร็ว ๆ นี้ก็ตามงานแต่งงานของอิซาเบลลา บนของพวกเขาที่ถูกทิ้งกัน มี แต่เลือน dearer, tenderer เธอได้เพื่อนและสหายเช่นน้อยมอบ: อัจฉริยะ ทราบดี มีประโยชน์ อ่อนโยน รู้วิธีของครอบครัว สนใจในความกังวลของทั้งหมด และศาสนาสนใจในตัวเอง ความสุขทุก ทุกแผนของเธอ — หนึ่งที่เธอสามารถพูดทุกความคิดมันเกิดขึ้น และที่มีเป็นโรคของเธอที่เป็นไม่พบข้อบกพร่องวิธีเธอต้องแบกเปลี่ยน? — มันเป็นความจริงว่า เพื่อนของเธอกำลังเพียงครึ่งไมล์จาก แต่เอ็มม่าก็ทราบดีว่าต้องการความแตกต่างระหว่างนาง Weston เพียงครึ่งไมล์จากพวกเขา และ Taylor นางสาวบ้าน และ ด้วยข้อดีของเธอทั้งหมด ประเทศ และธรรมชาติเธอตอนนี้ในอันตรายของการทุกข์ทรมานจากความสันโดษทางปัญญา เธอลองรักพ่อของเธอ แต่เขาเป็นเพื่อนเธอไม่ เขาอาจไม่ตอบสนองเธอในการสนทนา เชือด หรือขี้เล่นความชั่วร้ายของ disparity จริงในวัยของพวกเขา (และนาย Woodhouse ได้แต่งเร็ว) มากขึ้น โดยรัฐธรรมนูญของเขาและนิสัย สำหรับมี valetudinarian กับเขาตลอดชีวิต ไม่ มีกิจกรรมของจิตใจหรือร่างกาย เขามามากเก่าวิธีกว่าปี และแม้ว่าทุกคนที่รักการเป็นมิตรของหัวใจและอารมณ์ของเขาน่ารัก ๆ พรสวรรค์ของเขาอาจไม่ได้แนะนำเขาตลอดเวลาน้องสาวของเธอ แต่ดีอย่างหนึ่งแต่เอาน้อยโดย matrimony จ่ายในลอนดอน สิบหกไมล์ออก ถูกมากเกินทุกวันเธอถึง และหลายความยาวเดือนตุลาคมและพฤศจิกายนเย็นต้องสามารถต่อสู้ผ่านที่ Hartfield ก่อนคริสมาสต์มาชม จากอิซาเบลลา และสามี ลูกน้อย ใส่บ้าน และให้สังคมที่ดีของเธออีกต่อไปHighbury, 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, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses were first in consequence there. All looked up to them. She had many acquaintance in the place, for her father was universally civil, but not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for even half a day. It was a melancholy change; and Emma could not but sigh over it, and wish for impossible things, till her father awoke, and made it necessary to be cheerful. His spirits required support. He was a nervous man, easily depressed; fond of every body that he was used to, and hating to part with them; hating change of every kind. Matrimony, as the origin of change, was always disagreeable; and he was by no means yet reconciled to his own daughter's marrying, nor could ever speak of her but with compassion, though it had been entirely a match of affection, when he was now obliged to part with Miss Taylor too; and from his habits of gentle selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that other people could feel differently from himself, he was very much disposed to think Miss Taylor had done as sad a thing for herself as for them, and would have been a great deal happier if she had spent all the rest of her life at Hartfield. Emma smiled and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him from such thoughts; but when tea came, it was impossible for him not to say exactly as he had said at dinner,"Poor Miss Taylor!—I wish she were here again. What a pity it is that Mr. Weston ever thought of her!""I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot. Mr. Weston is such a good-humoured, pleasant, excellent man, that he thoroughly deserves a good wife;—and you would not have had Miss Taylor live with us for ever, and bear all my odd humours, when she might have a house of her own?""A house of her own!—But where is the advantage of a house of her own? This is three times as large.—And you have never any odd humours, my dear.""How often we shall be going to see them, and they coming to see us!—We shall be always meeting! We must begin; we must go and pay wedding visit very soon.""My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such a distance. I could not walk half so far.""No, papa, nobody thought of your walking. We must go in the carriage, to be sure.""The carriage! But James will not like to put the horses to for such a little way;—and where are the poor horses to be while we are paying our visit?""They are to be put into Mr. Weston's stable, papa. You know we have settled all that already. We talked it all over with Mr. Weston last night. And as for James, you may be very sure he will always like going to Randalls, because of his daughter's being housemaid there. I only doubt whether he will ever take us anywhere else. That was your doing, papa. You got Hannah that good place. Nobody thought of Hannah till you mentioned her—James is so obliged to you!""I am very glad I did think of her. It was very lucky, for I would not have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account; and I am sure she will make a very good servant: she is a civil, pretty-spoken girl; I have a great opinion of her. Whenever I see her, she always curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner; and when you have had her here to do needlework, I observe she always turns the lock of the door the right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will be an excellent servant; and it will be a great comfort to poor Miss Taylor to have somebody about her that she is used to see. Whenever James goes over to see his daughter, you know, she will be hearing of us. He will be able to tell her how we all are."
Emma spared no exertions to maintain this happier flow of ideas, and hoped, by the help of backgammon, to get her father tolerably through the evening, and be attacked by no regrets but her own. The backgammon-table was placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked in and made it unnecessary.
Mr. Knightley, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty, was not only a very old and intimate friend of the family, but particularly connected with it, as the elder brother of Isabella's husband. He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and always welcome, and at this time more welcome than usual, as coming directly from their mutual connexions in London. He had returned to a late dinner, after some days' absence, and now walked up to Hartfield to say that all were well in Brunswick Square. It was a happy circumstance, and animated Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had a cheerful manner, which always did him good; and his many inquiries after "poor Isabella" and her children were answered most satisfactorily. When this was over, Mr. Woodhouse gratefully observed, "It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at this late hour to call upon us. I am afraid you must have had a shocking walk."
"Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild that I must draw back from your great fire."
"But you must have found it very damp and dirty. I wish you may not catch cold."
"Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. Not a speck on them."
"Well! that is quite
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