by Jane Austen
All this has allowed Sense and Sensibility to continue attracting readers and sympathetic commentary. It contains the same vivid characters, brilliant dialogues, and skillful plot as all Austen novels. Its unique focus on two heroines, even if at the expense of developing the heroes, gives Austen scope for her most thorough exploration of the relationships between sisters, a subject she knew intimately, since throughout her life she was far closer to her sister, Cassandra, than to any other person. Elinor and Marianne present a superb picture of two sisters who are both united by profound affection and divided by profound differences of opinion. Moreover, with Marianne, Jane Austen has created her closest approximation to a true tragic heroine, someone of great abilities and virtues brought very low, to the point of death, by fatal flaws, and one whose story is capable of arousing both fear and pity in the reader. Finally, the novel offers a deeper and more sustained exploration of a controversial intellectual issue than that seen in any other Austen novels. Nor is the issue a historical relic. While the specific concept of sensibility is no longer a matter of discussion and debate, the general dichotomy of emotion versus reason, self-expression versus self-control, and individual imperatives and desires versus moral and social duties are still matters of vital concern and contention. That the novel manages to combine a serious philosophical argument about such matters with a riveting and emotionally engaging human drama is a testament to its strength, and a good reason for its persistent appeal.
* * *
1. For more on the issue of the date, see note 2. One scholar, D. W. Harding, has argued cogently, though necessarily speculatively, that this initial version was not in the form of letters. He reasons that the final version of Sense and Sensibility devotes less space to letters than most of Jane Austen’s novels, and, since there is no character to function as the recipient of a continual and frank correspondence from the main character, Elinor, it is difficult to see how the story as it now stands could have been told in this manner. Instead he guesses that the sole source for this idea, Caroline Austen—whose brief memoir My Aunt Jane was composed more than fifty years after Jane Austen’s death and relied on what she heard from others for the subject’s early life—confused Elinor and Marianne with the initial version of Pride and Prejudice (see above). The latter novel is a much better candidate for an original epistolary composition, since the completed version employs letters heavily, far more than in any other Austen novel, and provides the heroine with two characters, her sister and her aunt, who together could have received her correspondence over the course of the novel.
2. Quoted in Janet Todd, Sensibility: An Introduction (London, 1986), p. 146.
3. J. M. S. Tompkins, The Popular Novel in England, 1770–1800 (London, 1932), p. 107.
4. The principal objection to this novel as the original source of Sense and Sensibility is timing. A Gossip’s Story appeared in 1796; Elinor and Marianne, Austen’s initial draft, was supposedly composed in the same period as her sister’s engagement, identified as 1795. But this dating, based on family memories of years later, is flexible enough to allow for the possibility of a composition in 1796, after the appearance of West’s novel. Even if that is not correct, Austen’s revision of the novel in 1797 and 1798 (see above) could definitely have been influenced by West, an author whom Austen’s letters indicate she had read. The initial meeting of Marianne and her lover in A Gossip’s Story suggests some direct inspiration; he rescues Marianne from an accident—by stopping her runaway horse—and afterward calls on her. There they experience a “happy union of minds,” from discovering that their opinions completely coincide, especially in their romantic tastes and love of music. For more on this point, see J. M. S. Tompkins, “Elinor and Marianne: A Note on Jane Austen,” The Review of English Studies 16, no. 61 (Jan. 1940), pp. 33–43.
VOLUME ONE
Chapter One
The family of Dashwood had been long settled in Sussex.1 Their estate was large,2 and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner, as to engage3 the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single man, who lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his life, had a constant companion and housekeeper4 in his sister. But her death, which happened ten years before his own, produced a great alteration in his home; for to supply her loss, he invited and received into his house the family of his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritor of the Norland estate,5 and the person to whom he intended to bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece, and their children, the old Gentleman’s days were comfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased. The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest, but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solid comfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulness of the children added a relish to his existence.
By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son: by his present lady, three daughters. The son, a steady respectable young man, was amply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large, and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.6 By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his wealth.7 To him therefore the succession to the Norland estate was not so really important as to his sisters; for their fortune, independent of what might arise to them from their father’s inheriting that property, could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and their father only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal; for the remaining moiety of his first wife’s fortune was also secured to her child, and he had only a life interest in it.8
The old Gentleman died; his will was read, and like almost every other will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure.9 He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave his estate from his nephew;—but he left it to him on such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest. Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife and daughters than for himself or his son:—but to his son, and his son’s son, a child of four years old, it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himself no power of providing for those who were most dear to him, and who most needed a provision, by any charge on the estate,10 or by any sale of its valuable woods.11 The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child,12 who, in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland,13 had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by such attractions as are by no means unusual in children of two or three years old; an imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the value of all the attention which, for years, he had received from his niece and her daughters.14 He meant not to be unkind however, and, as a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.
Mr. Dashwood’s disappointment was, at first, severe; but his temper was cheerful and sanguine, and he might reasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically, lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estate already large, and capable of almost immediate improvement.15 But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was his only one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer; and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies, was all that remained for his widow and daughters.16
His son was sent for, as soon as his danger was known,17 and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness could command, the interest of his mother-in-law18 and sisters.
Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at such a time, and he promised to do every thing in his power to make them comfortable. His father was rendered easy by such an assurance, and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how much there might prudently be in his power to do for them.
He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted, and rather selfish, is to be ill-disposed:
but he was, in general, well respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have been made still more respectable19 than he was:—he might even have been made amiable20 himself; for he was very young when he married, and very fond of his wife. But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;—more narrow-minded21 and selfish.
When he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself to increase the fortunes of his sisters by the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He then really thought himself equal to it. The prospect of four thousand a-year, in addition to his present income, besides the remaining half of his own mother’s fortune,22 warmed his heart and made him feel capable of generosity.23—“Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it would be liberal24 and handsome! It would be enough to make them completely easy.25 Three thousand pounds! he could spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience.”—He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively, and he did not repent.26
No sooner was his father’s funeral over, than Mrs. John Dashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to her mother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants. No one could dispute her right to come; the house was her husband’s from the moment of his father’s decease; but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater, and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood’s situation, with only common feelings, must have been highly unpleasing,27—but in her mind there was a sense of honour so keen, a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind, by whomsoever given or received, was to her a source of immoveable disgust.28 Mrs. John Dashwood had never been a favourite with any of her husband’s family; but she had had no opportunity, till the present, of shewing them with how little attention to the comfort of other people she could act when occasion required it.
So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious behaviour, and so earnestly did she despise her daughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter, she would have quitted the house for ever,29 had not the entreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the propriety of going, and her own tender love for all her three children determined her afterwards to stay, and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.
Elinor, this eldest daughter whose advice was so effectual, possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment, which qualified her, though only nineteen,30 to be the counsellor of her mother, and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantage of them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwood which must generally have led to imprudence. She had an excellent heart;—her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern them:31 it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn, and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.
Marianne’s abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor’s.32 She was sensible and clever; but eager in every thing; her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting:33 she was every thing but prudent. The resemblance between her and her mother was strikingly great.
Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister’s sensibility;34 but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valued and cherished. They encouraged each other now in the violence of their affliction. The agony of grief which overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed, was sought for, was created again and again.35 They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it,36 and resolved against ever admitting37 consolation in future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could struggle, she could exert herself. She could consult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-law on her arrival, and treat her with proper attention; and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion, and encourage her to similar forbearance.
Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humoured well-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne’s romance,38 without having much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair to equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.
Chapter Two
Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of Norland; and her mother and sisters-in-law were degraded to the condition of visitors. As such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility;1 and by her husband with as much kindness as he could feel towards any body beyond himself, his wife, and their child. He really pressed them, with some earnestness, to consider Norland as their home; and, as no plan appeared so eligible to Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till she could accommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood, his invitation was accepted.
A continuance in a place where every thing reminded her of former delight, was exactly what suited her mind. In seasons of cheerfulness, no temper could be more cheerful than hers, or possess, in a greater degree, that sanguine expectation of happiness which is happiness itself. But in sorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy, and as far beyond consolation as in pleasure she was beyond alloy.
Mrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what her husband intended to do for his sisters. To take three thousand pounds from the fortune of their dear little boy, would be impoverishing him to the most dreadful degree. She begged him to think again on the subject. How could he answer it to himself to rob his child, and his only child too, of so large a sum?2 And what possible claim could the Miss Dashwoods, who were related to him only by half blood, which she considered as no relationship at all, have on his generosity to so large an amount. It was very well known that no affection was ever supposed to exist between the children of any man by different marriages; and why was he to ruin himself, and their poor little Harry, by giving away all his money to his half sisters?
“It was my father’s last request to me,” replied her husband, “that I should assist his widow and daughters.”
“He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say; ten to one but he was light-headed at the time. Had he been in his right senses, he could not have thought of such a thing as begging you to give away half your fortune from your own child.”3
“He did not stipulate for any particular sum, my dear Fanny;4 he only requested me, in general terms, to assist them, and make their situation more comfortable than it was in his power to do. Perhaps it would have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself. He could hardly suppose I should neglect them. But as he required the promise, I could not do less than give it: at least I thought so at the time. The promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed. Something must be done for them whenever they leave Norland and settle in a new home.”
“Well, then, let something be done for them; but that something need not be three thousand pounds. Consider,” she added, “that when the money is once parted with, it never can return. Your sisters will marry, and it will be gone for ever.5 If, indeed, it could ever be restored to our poor little boy—”6
“Why, to be sure,” said her husband, very gravely, “that would make a great difference. The time may come when Harry will regret that so large a sum was parted with. If he should have a numerous family, for instance, it would be a very convenient addition.”
“To be sure it would.”
“Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties if the sum were diminished one half.—Five hundred pounds would be a prodigious increase to their fortunes!”
“Oh! beyond any thing great! What brother on earth would do half so much for his sisters, even if really his sisters!7 And as it is—only half blood!—But you have such a generous spirit!”
“I would not wish to do any thing mean,”8 he replied. “One had rather, on such occasions, do too much than too little. No one, at least, can think I have not done enough for them: even themselves, they can hardly expect more.”
“There is no knowing what they may expect,” said the lady, “but we are not to think of their expectations: the question is, what you can afford to do.”
“Certainly—and I think I m
ay afford to give them five hundred pounds a-piece. As it is, without any addition of mine, they will each have above three thousand pounds on their mother’s death—a very comfortable fortune for any young woman.”9
“To be sure it is: and, indeed, it strikes me that they can want no addition at all. They will have ten thousand pounds divided amongst them. If they marry, they will be sure of doing well, and if they do not, they may all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten thousand pounds.”
“That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether, upon the whole, it would not be more advisable to do something for their mother while she lives rather than for them—something of the annuity kind I mean.—My sisters would feel the good effects of it as well as herself. A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable.”
His wife hesitated a little, however, in giving her consent to this plan.
“To be sure,” said she, “it is better than parting with fifteen hundred pounds at once. But then if Mrs. Dashwood should live fifteen years, we shall be completely taken in.”
“Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot be worth half that purchase.”10
“Certainly not; but if you observe, people always live for ever when there is any annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout11 and healthy, and hardly forty. An annuity is a very serious business; it comes over and over every year, and there is no getting rid of it. You are not aware of what you are doing. I have known a great deal of the trouble of annuities; for my mother was clogged12 with the payment of three to old superannuated servants by my father’s will,13 and it is amazing how disagreeable she found it. Twice every year these annuities were to be paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be no such thing. My mother was quite sick of it.14 Her income was not her own, she said, with such perpetual claims on it; and it was the more unkind in my father, because, otherwise, the money would have been entirely at my mother’s disposal, without any restriction whatever.15 It has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am sure I would not pin myself down to the payment of one for all the world.”
