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<anon I1="BLANK" I2="BLANK">Chapter One 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 acquaintances 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 everybody 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,1 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 our 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 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 connections 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 surprising, for we have had a vast deal of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at breakfast. I wanted them to put off the wedding." "By the bye, I have not wished you joy. Being pretty well aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling, I have been in no hurry with my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well. How did you all behave? Who cried most?" "Ah! poor Miss Taylor! 'tis a sad business." "Poor Mr. and Miss Woodhouse, if you please; but I cannot possibly say 'poor Miss Taylor.' I have a great regard for you and Emma; but when it comes to the question of dependence or independence! at any rate, it must be better to have only one to please than two." "Especially when one of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome creature!" said Emma playfully. "That is what you have in your head, I know-and what you would certainly say if my father were not by." "I believe it is very true, my dear, indeed," said Mr. Woodhouse, with a sigh. "I am afraid I am sometimes very fanciful and troublesome." "My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean you, or suppose Mr. Knightley to mean you. What a horrible idea! Oh, no! I meant only myself. Mr. Knightley loves to find fault with me, you know-in a joke-it is all a joke. We always say what we like to one another." Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who could see faults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them; and though this was not particularly agreeable to Emma herself, she knew it would be so much less so to her father, that she would not have him really suspect such a circumstance as her not being thought perfect by everybody. "Emma knows I never flatter her," said Mr. Knightley, "but I meant no reflection on anybody. Miss Taylor has been used to have two persons to please; she will now have but one. The chances are that she must be a gainer." "Well," said Emma, willing to let it pass, "you want to hear about the wedding; and I shall be happy to tell you, for we all behaved charmingly. Everybody was punctual, everybody in their best looks: not a tear, and hardly a long face to be seen. Oh, no; we all felt that we were going to be only half a mile apart, and were sure of meeting every day." "Dear Emma bears everything so well," said her father. "But, Mr. Knightley, she is really very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor, and I am sure she will miss her more than she thinks for." Emma turned away her head, divided between tears and smiles. "It is impossible that Emma should not miss such a companion," said Mr. Knightley. "We should not like her so well as we do, sir, if we could suppose it: but she knows how much the marriage is to Miss Taylor's advantage; she knows how very acceptable it must be, at Miss Taylor's time of life, to be settled in a home of her own, and how important to her to be secure of a comfortable provision, and therefore cannot allow herself to feel so much pain as pleasure. Every friend of Miss Taylor must be glad to have her so happily married." "And you have forgotten one matter of joy to me," said Emma, "and a very considerable one-that I made the match myself. I made the match, you know, four years ago; and to have it take place, and be proved in the right, when so many people said Mr. Weston would never marry again, may comfort me for anything." Mr. Knightley shook his head at her. Her father fondly replied, "Ah! my dear, I wish you would not make matches and foretell things, for whatever you say always comes to pass. Pray do not make any more matches." Excerpted from Emma by Jane Austen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.</anon>
Reviews provided by Syndetics
Library Journal Review
Though very practical, Emma Woodhouse is often a proper romantic, trying to match her protégé Harriet with a worthy spouse. While Emma sincerely cares for her hypersensitive father, endures the minister's incredibly annoying wife, and maintains close relationships with family and friends, her matchmaking, though well intended, is sometimes misguided. However, Austen rewards readers with happy endings for all the story's couples, including Emma herself. Austen's adored classic paints a charming portrait of the social constraints of 18th-century English gentry. Anna Bentinck delivers an excellent narration, infusing a varied cast of characters with lively personalities. Verdict This beloved and enduring novel is a wise choice for all library collections.-Barbara Wysocki, formerly with Cora J. Belden Lib., Rocky Hill, CT © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
School Library Journal Review
Gr 2--4--The British "Sweet Cherry Easy Classics" series adapts Jane Austen in this chapter book abridgment of the matchmaking, romantic mishap novel. The beautiful art and design will attract readers and the large type, short chapters, and wide margins are perfect for the chapter book crowd. Cartoon-like illustrations are abundant, large, and attractive. The characters tend to look alike, though context clues will help readers discern the featured characters. The publisher offers lexile and GRL levels, which will be helpful to educators. This book clocks in at a GRL W, meaning the text is above the level generally recommended for the target audience. This distinction is based on the narrative content, which centers courtship and romance. Many second and third graders may not be interested in these topics, making the book more appealing to caregivers than children. Hi-lo readers may appreciate the content, but the illustrations make the book feel younger. The main plot points of the original are a hit and Austen's narrative intent is successfully conveyed, yet the subtlety of the original, including the nuances of the title character, is lost in the abridgment. Only available in paperback, school and public library circulation will be limited. VERDICT Subject matter and format limit library use. Will appeal to well-meaning adults excited to share a beloved favorite with the young reader in their life.--Kate Nafz, Fair Lawn P.L., NJ
Kirkus Book Review
A ""fragment"" of a story called Emma appeared in a magazine shortly after Charlotte Bronte's death. And certainly there are moments in the opening chapter of this comfy 18th-century tale--about a redeemed orphan child, perfidious plots, and silver arrows of romance--that burn with the Bronte genius. After that, however, convincing period tone flattens out (phrases like ""sense of security"" creep in), though the tale remains entertaining enough through to the end. The child Matilda, a ""wretched little soul,"" is brought to the ladies' school run by Miss Wilcox--a cool lady with thin lips and a fervor for the well-being of wealthy pupils--by handsome toff Conway Fitzgerald, who is apparently Matilda's father. But weeks later it becomes obvious that Fitzgerald has disappeared for good, and poor Matilda, hitherto given ""princess"" treatment, is ordered forth in a tattered hand-me-down. Her savior is kind Mr. Ellin, ""very harmless and quiet, not always perhaps so perfectly unreserved and comprehensible as might be wished."" He whisks Matilda off to young widow Arminel Chalfort (who narrates the story), and Ellin and Mrs. Chalfort attempt to discover the child's history despite the fact that Matilda is silenced by an unknown terror. Eventually, after initial detective work by Ellin and reminiscences by Mrs. Chalfort about her grim marriage and persecution by step-children (including the dreadful Emma), Matilda becomes a cheerful, happy little girl who adores her new guardians. Finally, then, there's a kidnapping, a secret tale about a dead baby, a night visit to a tomb, flights, two deaths, and blackmail. Plus: a fairy-tale ending. Some minor fun for literary detectives, some lively diversion for romance-gothic traditionalists. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.