So this is a piece I wrote for my 18th Century Character and Culture class. Dr. Givan asked us to write a satirical piece about the class, or something we read in the class.
We read Jane Austen's Emma, and, as much as I love Austen, there is an element in the novel that I feel is often overlooked by critics, and so I chose to illustrate it in my piece. Mr. Woodhouse's controlling nature has always grated on my nerves, and also demonstrated Austen's skill with creating ironic situations. It is always Emma's controlling nature that is focused on and I find that to be unjust.
So, below is the story that was inspired by my irritation with Mr. Woodhouse and the heavy criticism of Emma's character. Enjoy.
Everything for His Pleasure
Emma Woodhouse[1], try as she might, could not suppress the sigh that escaped her lips as she recalled the words that had set her heart pounding and the blood to her cheeks those ten years ago. Mr. Knightley had caused her so much joy, so much excitement, when he revealed his love to her. His fervor and sincerity had promised a life of great passion.
Yet now, as she sat by the fire, the picture was bleak. Out of love for her father, she had remained at Hartfield, rather than relocate to Donwell Abbey. Mr. Knightley, being the kind man that he was, had been more than amenable to taking up residence with Mr. Woodhouse so that the old gentleman could maintain possession of his beloved daughter, and so resign himself more to the concept of another marriage in the family. The situation had seemed ideal: not only would Emma be first in affection to her dear father, but now Mr. Knightley would be there as well to brighten the long and lonely days at Hartfield.
Or so Emma had imagined.
She sighed again. If there was nothing else she should have learned by the time she reached her twenty-first year when Mr. Knightley first expressed his feelings for her, it was that her fancies were often misconceived and rarely fulfilled.
Her life had continued on much as before. She cared for her father, assuring that his worries were allayed, his nerves soothed, and any thought of rich foods or pleasure on the part of others thoroughly concealed from him. She had the addition of Mr. Knightley to provide variation in the conversation, and he was such a dear and always showed the greatest concern for her father. Too much concern, at times.
Emma forced the frown from her face, composing and smoothing her expression to one of pleasant and bland contentment. No one must guess she was anything other than happy.
In ten years of marriage, Mr. Woodhouse, her dear, dear, father, was in the same condition as upon her wedding day. His discontent at her marriage had been soothed by her decision to remain at Hartfield, but his interference in her life had not paused there.
Emma was now thirty-one years of age. She had been married for ten years and remained as slender and nearly as innocent as her wedding day. Yes, she still had her beauty, but the bloom had faded. She may as well be the spinster Miss Woodhouse that Harriet had feared she would become when her resolution had been never to marry.
Mr. Woodhouse had been positively and firmly against Emma sleeping anywhere other than her own bedroom, where she had always resided. Mr. Woodhouse had also been positively and firmly against Mr. Knightley sleeping anywhere other than the room that was made over especially for him.
Emma and Mr. Knightley, out of their mutual respect for Mr. Woodhouse, remained in their respective bedrooms. Every night of their married life, they parted ways with a chaste kiss at the top of the stairs before retiring to sleep. Every night. Even the wedding night. Sleep. Alone. Nothing but sleep, at night, and alone.
Emma rose from her chair and paced to the window. Mr. Knightley was returning from a lengthy walk; she could see him coming through the park. Her heart quickened slightly. Her father was sleeping.
Over the years, Emma and Mr. Knightley had realized that their sleeping arrangement, though inconvenient, did not have to deprive them of all of the joys of the conjugal state. There were snatched moments when her father was sleeping, brief seconds when he took his walks if he chanced not to ask for company.
She rushed to meet Mr. Knightley in the hallway.
The smile froze on her lips when she realized he was not alone.
With him were Harriet Smith and Jane Fairfax.
Mr. Knightley was smiling in a way she had never quite seen.
Emma greeted them, her mind not quite knowing which way to think. She quickly shut down her fancies, reminding herself firmly that her imagination often led her astray.
They all sat together for tea, had polite conversation about the weather. Emma's eyes darted from face to face, noticing bright eyes and clandestine smiles that were quickly hidden when Emma's eyes fell on Harriet or Jane or Mr. Knightley.
When the ladies made their excuses and went on their way, Emma regarded her husband for several minutes until he lifted his eyes from the fire to meet her gaze.
Before he could speak, she said, shortly, "I should have run away with Frank Churchill."
Mr. Knightley's smile faded from his face, but he said nothing. They looked at the fire together in silence until Mr. Woodhouse woke from his sleep and they were occupied, as usual, with his entertainment and pleasure.
