EMMA -- by Jane Austen

English humor is often an enigma to untutored American ears. Not here, but inside the actual book, TaleWins has placed an index at the back that will help you trace (or remember) the growth of the people and the places that drive and decorate this classic novel. It is set at the back so it won't get in your way before you actually need it.

Especially in a work of this size and nature TaleWins feels it is an essential service that a scoreboard be kept to give you a brief introduction and a feel for the work before you meet the people on more familiar ground as they begin coming alive inside this novel. This brief introduction to some of the characters lets you sort them out as you discover them in your reading. This section is easy enough to skip if you wish to do so. But many readers do find our introductions invaluable in keeping the characters and places straight in their own mind. In fact, many readers find that they can enhance their pleasure even more by going so far as to print out these brief introductions so as to keep them handy as they read EMMA!

Authors and writers wishing to reproduce similarly splendid work will especially value such an introduction of characters. Below you will find an introduction to our brief introductions.. when you download the complete book you will find the introduction section much enlarged. Again, it is easy to skip ahead to the actual writing.

Emma is our main character and our referee. Until proven wrong to Emma herself, all her decisions are harmless and her judgments verily applicable. In a word, we are stuck with them until events prove them wrong to herself.

Mr. Woodhouse is Emma's father, possessed of a nervous disposition that others dispassionately cater to, blissfully ignorant, we hope, what a low regard his wishes and intellect receive from those around him, rather like any wealthy personage whose wealth is appreciated while an absence of their presence would often be appreciated even more.

Hartfield is their home and it is possessed of some size significant to their neighbors even in an era and a time when homes were quite large.

Highbury is a populous village, almost large enough to be a town. Highbury is also the name of the little community to which Hartfield belongs. The area is only about 16 miles from London, but that short distance is measured over a road that isn't even blessed with a corduroy cap of civilized paving.

Miss Taylor was the passionate friend and governess of Emma and her sister Isabella from the time they lost their mother when Emma was only 5.

Mrs. Weston.. the same Miss Taylor, but now married to Mr. Weston and removed from the Hartfield home.

Mr. Weston the husband of Miss Taylor, is a man of unexceptionable character, with an easy fortune that would pave the way to a common comfort. He had once upon a time been Captain Weston. He has a son by the name of Frank, from a previous marriage.

Frank Churchill, When Mr. Weston's wife died, their son Frank was adopted into the Aunt's home and – thus acquired the Churchill name.

James, all around servant at Hartfield, much appreciated by Emma and Mr. Woodhouse.

Mr. Knightley is the elder brother of Isabella's husband, a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty years old. He lived about a mile from Highbury.

Hannah, the daughter of James. Upon the suggestion of Mr. Woodhouse she is now housemaid at the Weston home.

Mr. Elton was the young, unmarried minister that had married the Westons.

The curtain now rises..

Emma Woodhouse was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate, indulgent father that had hired Miss Taylor as governess. For 16 years Miss Taylor been less of a governess and more of a friend to them, but her favorite was Emma. Miss Taylor's relationship with Emma was more the close intimacy of sisters than that of master and student, for Miss Taylor was imbued with a sharp sense of humor and if one of them wasn't telling some subtle joke of grave misdirection then the other one was playing an openly riotous prank that had the house pealing with laughter.

Then sorrow came -- a gentle sorrow it is true—for it arrived on that auspicious day when Miss Taylor married Mr. Weston. It was immediately after the event, on the wedding-day of this beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought as she contemplated the solitude that would follow.

The wedding was over, and all the bride-people gone. All the food had been packed away in the ice house outside, the dishes hauled out into the kitchen and – in a state of mild exhaustion -- Emma and her father were left to dine over their meal together, with no prospect of a third party there that might distract them out of a long evening.

As usual, Emma's father composed himself to sleep after his meals, and she had then been relieved of all responsibilities save only to sit and think of the sisterly companionship that she had just lost. She had to admit that subsequent events had every promise of happiness for Miss Taylor, because Mr. Weston was a man of unexceptionable character, with an easy fortune that would pave the way to a common comfort.

He was of a suitable age, with clear, blue eyes, pleasant manners; and Emma had the further satisfaction in knowing that she had done her utmost with self-denying, generous friendship to promote the match; but enduring her first time of loss was nonetheless a black morning's work for her.

In the long, blink of an eye she recalled Miss Taylor's past kindness -- the kindness, the genuine affection of their past sixteen years together -- how she had taught her charges and how she had played with Emma from five years old -- how she had devoted all her powers to attach and amuse her in health -- and how she had nursed Emma 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 departure after marriage, on their being left to each other, was yet a much dearer, tenderer recollection.

Miss Taylor had been a friend and companion such as few were fortunate enough to possess in a lifetime: intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly interested in Emma's social progress, in every pleasure, every scheme of hers -- one to whom Emma could speak every thought as it arose, and who had such an affection for Emma as could never find fault with her friend.

For just that one brief moment, Emma wondered how was she to bear this sudden brace of loneliness? -- It was true that Miss Taylor would only be half a mile from them; but Emma was already aware that great must be the difference between a Mrs. Weston, only half a mile from them, and a familiar Miss Taylor living right there in the house; and she marshaled in all the strength of her advantages, natural and domestic. Thus, Emma was now in great danger of suffering from intellectual solitude.

She dearly loved her father, but she and Miss Taylor had long ago discovered it true that he had no sense of humor, no sense of timing even, and neither was he the mentally challenging companion Emma required. His mind could not meet hers in sparkling wit conversation, either rational dissertations or in playful wit.

Mr. Woodhouse had not married early; the evil of the actual disparity in their ages was much increased by his natural constitution and habits. Having been a valetudinarian all his life, rather choosing inactivity of mind and body, he was a much older man in his molded ways than in his actual years -- yet throughout the community he was everywhere beloved for the light friendliness of his heart and his amiable temper, otherwise, his talents could not have recommended him at any time as a long term companion for anyone.

Emma's sister, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony, was in fact, only sixteen miles off, being settled in nearby London, and therefore she was much beyond Emma's 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 with holiday cheer, 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 there was not one among them who could be accepted in lieu of Miss Taylor for even half a day of continuous company.

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 for her to be cheerful. He was a nervous man, easily depressed by events; 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 to him most disagreeable; and he was by no means yet reconciled to his own daughter's first getting married, then leaving the house, nor could he 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 at such a quaint thought, and chatted as cheerfully as she could, to keep him from thinking along such lines; 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!"

Emma smiled up at him over her cup of tea. "I cannot agree with you, papa; you know I cannot. Mr. Weston is such a good-humoured, pleasant, and 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 home is three times as large. -- And besides, you have never had any odd humours, my dear."

"Think 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,” he asked sharply. “How am I to get so far as Randalls? It is such a distance; I could not walk half so far."

"No, papa, nobody has thought of your walking. We must go in the carriage, to be sure."

"The carriage! Why, that's an outlandish idea. James will not like to harness the horses for such a little way; -- and where are the poor horses to be maintained 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 again 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 should be so obliged to you! But, what made you think she would make a good servant?"

Mr. Woodhouse nodded. “I have always had a great opinion of Hannah. Whenever I see her, she would always curtsey and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner; and I also noticed that when you have had her here to do needlework, I observed she always turns the lock of the door the right way and never bangs it. Is it any wonder then that I am so sure she will be an excellent servant? Besides, it will be a great comfort to poor Miss Taylor to have somebody about her that she is used to see. I am very glad I did think of Hannah. It was very lucky, for I would not have had poor James think himself slighted upon any account. I doubt Miss Taylor will miss us very much at all because whenever James goes over to see his daughter, you know, she will be hearing of us. James 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 a game of backgammon, to get her father tolerably through the evening, so that she would be attacked by no regrets but her own. Consequently, the backgammon-table was soon placed; but a visitor immediately afterwards walked in and made the ruse 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 he was the elder brother of Isabella's husband. He lived about a mile from Highbury, was a frequent visitor, and had found that he was always welcome, and at this time he discovered he was more welcome than usual, as he was coming to them 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 their conversation animated Mr. Woodhouse for some time.

Mr. Knightley was blessed with a cheerful manner, which always did Emma's father good; and his many inquiries after "poor Isabella" and her children were answered most satisfactorily. When this formality was over, Emma's father 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, though."

"Not at all, sir. It is a beautiful moonlight night; and so mild that even now I must draw back from the warmth of your great, blazing fire."

"But you must have found the walk very damp and dirty. I say this only because I wish you may not catch cold."

"Dirty, sir! Look at my shoes. There is not a speck on them."

Mr. Woodhouse studied the evidence on the shoes for a long moment and he reluctantly admitted they were not damp or dirty. "Well! that is quite surprising though, for we have had a vast deal of rain here. It rained dreadfully hard for half an hour while we were at breakfast this morning. I wanted them to put off the wedding on account of the rain."

"By the bye,” said Mr. Knightley as he put his cup down. “I have not wished you joy. I am well aware of what sort of joy you must both be feeling, and I have been in no hurry with my congratulations; but I hope it all went off tolerably well.
“Who cried most?"

"Ah! poor Miss Taylor did! 'This marriage is a sad business."

"Oh come, call them 'Poor Mr. and Miss Weston,' 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 person to please than two."

"Especially when _one_ of those two is such a fanciful, troublesome creature!" Emma responded playfully. "That is what you have in your head, I know -- and what you would certainly say if my father were not nearby."

"Oh, 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 to you."

"My dearest papa! You do not think I could mean _you_, nor could you 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—this was all, a joke. We always say what we like to one another."

Emma had long held the opinion that Mr. Knightley, in fact, was one of the few people who could imagine there were any faults in her, and he was 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 every body that knew her.

"Emma knows I never flatter her," Mr. Knightley said proudly. His eyes sparkled as he added, "but I meant no reflection on any body here. What I meant was that Miss Taylor has been used to having two persons about her to please; and she will now have but one. The chances are that she must be a gainer."

"Well," said Emma, willing herself to gather in her temper and let it pass -- "you want to hear about the wedding; and I shall be happy to tell you, for we all behaved charmingly, as it is best to do at a wedding. Every body was punctual, every body arrived 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 again every day."

"Dear Emma bears every thing so well," her father remarked. "But, Mr. Knightley, I know she is really very sorry to lose poor Miss Taylor to matrimony, and I am sure she will miss her even more than she thinks for now."

Emma turned away her head, her heart almost equally divided between a need for tears, and smiles.

"I agree it is impossible that Emma should not miss such a wonderful companion," said Mr. Knightley. "We should not like her so well as we do, sir, if we could suspect something like that of her; but she also knows how much this marriage is made to Miss Taylor's advantage; she knows how very acceptable it must be, at Miss Taylor's time of life, to be suddenly settled in a home of her own, and how important to her to be secure of a comfortable provision, and therefore Emma cannot allow herself to feel so much pain as pleasure. It is obvious that every friend of Miss Taylor must be glad to have her so happily married."

"Ever since the day -- about four years ago -- that Miss Taylor and I met with Mr. Weston in Broadway Lane, when, because it began to drizzle, he darted away with so much gallantry, and borrowed two umbrellas for us from Farmer Mitchell's, I made up my mind to match them up in marriage from that very hour and as you can see, I have been very successful.”

"I do not understand what you mean by 'success,'" said Mr. Knightley. "The word supposes some endeavour on your part. Your time has been properly and delicately spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring about this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady's mind! But if, which I rather imagine, your making the match, as you call it, means only your hoping it would happen, or your saying to yourself one idle day, 'I think it would be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to marry her,' and saying it again to yourself every few months afterwards, why do you talk of success? Where is your merit? What have you to be proud of?
“You have simply made a lucky guess; and that is all that can be said for your endeavours."

"And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess, Mr. Knightley? -- I pity you. -- I thought you cleverer than that -- for, depend upon it, a lucky guess is never me rely luck. There is always some talent in it. And as to my poor word 'success,' which you quarrel with, I do not know that I am so entirely without any claim to it. You have drawn two pretty pictures; but I think there may be a third -- a something between the do-nothing and the do-all. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston's visits here at every opportunity, and not given many little encouragements, and smoothed many little matters, it might not have come to any thing after all. I think that even you must know Hartfield enough to comprehend that."

"A straightforward, open-hearted man like Weston, and a rational, unaffected woman like Miss Taylor, may be safely left to manage their own concerns, Thank You.
“You were more likely to have done harm to yourself, than good to them, by your interference."

"Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good for others," rejoined Mr. Woodhouse, understanding them only in part. "But, my dear, pray do not make any more matches, will you; they are silly things at best, and you can see how they break up one's family circle grievously."

"I shall do only one more, papa; only one -- for Mr. Elton. Poor Mr. Elton! You like Mr. Elton, papa, -- I must look about for a wife for him. There is nobody in Highbury who deserves him -- and he has been here a whole year now, and has fitted up his house so comfortably, that it would be a shame to have him single any longer -- and I thought when he was joining their hands to-day, he looked so very much as if he would like to have the same kind office done for him! I think very well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I have of doing him a service."

"Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very good young man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want to shew him any attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That will be a much better thing. I dare say Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to meet him and extend the invitation for us."

"With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time," said Mr. Knightley, laughing at Emma's discomfiture, "and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much better thing this way. You can invite him to dinner, Emma, and you can help him to discover the best of the fish and the chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife. Depend upon it, a man of seven-and-twenty can take care of such matches himself."

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