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 Romola Garai BBC version is excellent).
Chapter One of Jane Austen’s Emma introduces us to one of the most brilliantly likeable yet flawed heroines in English Fiction.
Here’s a lovely exercise Martin Thomasson tried out on Phoenix Writing Group last week…
Rewrite from a first person perspective:
a) Emma
b) Mrs Weston( formerly Miss Taylor)
c) Mr Woodhouse
d) Mr Knightley
I tried Emma’s first person narratorial perspective for fun!
” Of course I am delighted about Miss Taylor. Dear Miss Taylor. Dear Mr Weston. How wonderfully perfect they are together. I am truly happy for them. I’m smiling as I write this . And now as I look through my window I see a robin and a blackbird. How beautiful life can be.
I have my books, my pianoforte and my father.
I do hope though that Mr knightley will not forget us and will call soon.
In this light I can see the line of trees my grandfather planted and the long track beyond. So beautiful and familiar.
Yet why then, do I feel something inside me that I cannot name?
No matter. I shall walk to the edge of the trees as I used to with Miss Taylor before she went away.