Transcriber's Note:
The Table of Contents is not part of the original book. The illustration
on page 290 is missing from the book. The Introduction ends abruptly.
Seems incomplete.
[Illustration: _Mr. Dashwood introduced him._--P. 219.]
SENSE & SENSIBILITY
BY
JANE AUSTEN
WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY
AUSTIN DOBSON
ILLUSTRATED
BY
HUGH THOMSON
LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1902
_First Edition with Hugh Thomson's Illustrations_ 1896
* * * * *
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
CHAPTER XXXIV
CHAPTER XXXV
CHAPTER XXXVI
CHAPTER XXXVII
CHAPTER XXXVIII
CHAPTER XXXIX
CHAPTER XL
CHAPTER XLI
CHAPTER XLII
CHAPTER XLIII
CHAPTER XLIV
CHAPTER XLV
CHAPTER XLVI
CHAPTER XLVII
CHAPTER XLVIII
CHAPTER XLIX
CHAPTER L
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION
With the title of _Sense and Sensibility_ is connected one of those minor
problems which delight the cummin-splitters of criticism. In the _Cecilia_
of Madame D'Arblay--the forerunner, if not the model, of Miss Austen--is a
sentence which at first sight suggests some relationship to the name of
the book which, in the present series, inaugurated Miss Austen's novels.
'The whole of this unfortunate business'--says a certain didactic Dr.
Lyster, talking in capitals, towards the end of volume three of
_Cecilia_--'has been the result of PRIDE and PREJUDICE,' and looking to
the admitted familiarity of Miss Austen with Madame D'Arblay's work, it
has been concluded that Miss Austen borrowed from _Cecilia_, the title of
her second novel. But here comes in the little problem to which we have
referred. _Pride and Prejudice_ it is true, was written and finished
before _Sense and Sensibility_--its original title for several years being
_First Impressions_. Then, in 1797, the author fell to work upon an older
essay in letters _‡ la_ Richardson, called _Elinor and Marianne_, which
she re-christened _Sense and Sensibility._ This, as we know, was her first
published book; and whatever may be the connection between the title of
_Pride and Prejudice_ and the passage in _Cecilia_, there is an obvious
connection between the title of _Pride and Prejudice_ and the title of
_Sense and Sensibility_. If Miss Austen re-christened _Elinor and
Marianne_ before she changed the title of _First Impressions_, as she well
may have, it is extremely unlikely that the name of _Pride and Prejudice_
has anything to do with _Cecilia_ (which, besides, had been published at
least twenty years before). Upon the whole, therefore, it is most likely
that the passage in Madame D'Arblay is a mere coincidence; and that in
_Sense and Sensibility_, as well as in the novel that succeeded it in
publication, Miss Austen, after the fashion of the old morality plays,
simply substituted the leading characteristics of her principal personages
for their names. Indeed, in _Sense and Sensibility_ the sense of Elinor,
and the sensibility (or rather _sensiblerie_) of Marianne, are markedly
emphasised in the opening pages of the book But Miss Austen subsequently,
and, as we think, wisely, discarded in her remaining efforts the cheap
attraction of an alliterative title. _Emma_ and _Persuasion, Northanger
Abbey_ and _Mansfield Park_, are names far more in consonance with the
quiet tone of her easy and unobtrusive art.
_Elinor and Marianne_ was originally written about 1792. After the
completion--or partial completion, for it was again revised in
1811--of _First Impressions_ (subsequently _Pride and Prejudice_),
Miss Austen set about recasting _Elinor and Marianne_, then composed
in the form of letters; and she had no sooner accomplished this task,
than she began _Northanger Abbey_. It would be interesting to know to
what extent she remodelled _Sense and Sensibility_ in 1797-98, for we
are told that previous to its publication in 1811 she again devoted a
considerable time to its preparation for the press, and it is clear
that this does not mean the correction of proofs alone, but also a
preliminary revision of MS. Especially would it be interesting if we
could ascertain whether any of its more finished passages, _e.g._ the
admirable conversation between the Miss Dashwoods and Willoughby in
chapter x., were the result of those fallow and apparently barren
years at Bath and Southampton, or whether they were already part of
the second version of 1797-98. But upon this matter the records are
mute. A careful examination of the correspondence published by Lord
Brabourne in 1884 only reveals two definite references to _Sense and
Sensibility_ and these are absolutely unfruitful in suggestion. In
April 1811 she speaks of having corrected two sheets of 'S and S,'
which she has scarcely a hope of getting out in the following June;
and in September, an extract from the diary of another member of the
family indirectly discloses the fact that the book had by that time
been published. This extract is a brief reference to a letter which
had been received from Cassandra Austen, begging her correspondent not
to mention that Aunt Jane wrote _Sense and Sensibility._ Beyond these
minute items of information, and the statement--already referred to in
the Introduction to _Pride and Prejudice_--that she considered herself
overpaid for the labour she had bestowed upon it, absolutely nothing
seems to have been preserved by her descendants respecting her first
printed effort. In the absence of particulars some of her critics have
fallen to speculate upon the reason which made her select it, and not
_Pride and Prejudice_, for her dÈbut; and they have, perhaps
naturally, found in the fact a fresh confirmation of that traditional
blindness of authors to their own best work, which is one of the
commonplaces of literary history. But this is to premise that she
_did_ regard it as her masterpiece, a fact which, apart from this
accident of priority of issue, is, as far as we are aware, nowhere
asserted. A simpler solution is probably that, of the three novels she
had written or sketched by 1811, _Pride and Prejudice_ was languishing
under the stigma of having been refused by one bookseller without the
formality of inspection, while _Northanger Abbey_ was lying _perdu_ in
another bookseller's drawer at Bath. In these circumstances it is
intelligible that she should turn to _Sense and Sensibility_, when, at
length--upon the occasion of a visit to her brother in London in the
spring of 1811--Mr. T. Egerton of the 'Military Library,' Whitehall,
dawned upon the horizon as a practicable publisher.
By the time _Sense and Sensibility_ left the press, Miss Austen was
again domiciled at Chawton Cottage. For those accustomed to the
swarming reviews of our day, with their Babel of notices, it may seem
strange that there should be no record of the effect produced, seeing
that, as already stated, the book sold well enough to enable its
putter-forth to hand over to its author what Mr. Gargery, in _Great
Expectations_, would have described as 'a cool £150.' Surely Mr.
Egerton, who had visited Miss Austen at Sloane Street, must have later
conveyed to her some intelligence of the way in which her work had
been welcomed by the public. But if he did, it is no longer
discoverable. Mr. Austen Leigh, her first and best biographer, could
find no account either of the publication or of the author's feelings
thereupon. As far as it is possible to judge, the critical verdicts
she obtained were mainly derived from her own relatives and intimate
friends, and some of these latter--if one may trust a little anthology
which she herself collected, and from which Mr. Austen Leigh prints
extracts--must have been more often exasperating than sympathetic. The
long chorus of intelligent approval by which she was afterwards
greeted did not begin to be really audible before her death, and her
'fit audience' during her lifetime must have been emphatically 'few,'
Of two criticisms which came out in the _Quarterly_ early in the
century, she could only have seen one, that of 1815; the other, by
Archbishop Whately, the first which treated her in earnest, did not
appear until she had been three years dead. Dr. Whately deals mainly
with _Mansfield Park_ and _Persuasion_; his predecessor professed to
review _Emma_, though he also gives brief summaries of _Sense and
Sensibility_ and _Pride and Prejudice_. Mr. Austen Leigh, we think,
speaks too contemptuously of this initial notice of 1815. If, at
certain points, it is half-hearted and inadequate, it is still fairly
accurate in its recognition of Miss Austen's supreme merit, as
contrasted with her contemporaries--to wit, her skill in investing the
fortunes of ordinary characters and the narrative of common
occurrences with all the sustained excitement of romance. The Reviewer
points out very justly that this kind of work, 'being deprived of all
that, according to Bayes, goes "to elevate and surprise," must make
amends by displaying depth of knowledge and dexterity of execution.'
And in these qualities, even with such living competitors of her own
sex as Miss Edgeworth and Miss Brunton (whose _Self-control_ came out
in the same year as _Sense and Sensibility_), he does not scruple to
declare that 'Miss Austen stands almost alone.' If he omits to lay
stress upon her judgment, her nice sense of fitness, her restraint,
her fine irony, and the delicacy of her artistic touch, something must
be allowed for the hesitations and reservations which invariably beset
the critical pioneer.
To contend, however, for a moment that the present volume is Miss
Austen's greatest, as it was her first published, novel, would be a
mere exercise in paradox. There are, who swear by _Persuasion_; there
are, who prefer _Emma_ and _Mansfield Park_; there is a large
contingent for _Pride and Prejudice_; and there is even a section
which advocates the pre-eminence of _Northanger Abbey_. But no one, as
far as we can remember, has ever put _Sense and Sensibility_ first,
nor can we believe that its author did so herself. And yet it is she
herself who has furnished the standard by which we judge it, and it is
by comparison with _Pride and Prejudice_, in which the leading
characters are also two sisters, that we assess and depress its merit.
The Elinor and Marianne of _Sense and Sensibility_ are only inferior
when they are contrasted with the Elizabeth and Jane of _Pride and
Prejudice_; and even then, it is probably because we personally like
the handsome and amiable Jane Bennet rather better than the obsolete
survival of the sentimental novel represented by Marianne Dashwood.
Darcy and Bingley again are much more 'likeable' (to use Lady
Queensberry's word) than the colourless Edward Ferrars and the
stiff-jointed Colonel Brandon. Yet it might not unfairly be contended
that there is more fidelity to what Mr. Thomas Hardy has termed
'life's little ironies' in Miss Austen's disposal of the two Miss
Dashwoods than there is in her disposal of the heroines of _Pride and
Prejudice_. Every one does not get a Bingley, or a Darcy (with a
park); but a good many sensible girls like Elinor pair off contentedly
with poor creatures like Edward Ferrars, while not a few enthusiasts
like Marianne decline at last upon middle-aged colonels with flannel
waistcoats. George Eliot, we fancy, would have held that the fates of
Elinor and Marianne were more probable than the fortunes of Jane and
Eliza Bennet. That, of the remaining characters, there is certainly
none to rival Mr. Bennet, or Lady Catherine de Bourgh, or the
ineffable Mr. Collins, of _Pride and Prejudice_, is true; but we
confess to a kindness for vulgar matchmaking Mrs. Jennings with her
still-room 'parmaceti for an inward bruise' in the shape of a glass of
old Constantia; and for the diluted Squire Western, Sir John
Middleton, whose horror of being alone carries him to the point of
rejoicing in the acquisition of _two_ to the population of London.
Excellent again are Mr. Palmer and his wife; excellent, in their
sordid veracity, the self-seeking figures of the Miss Steeles. But the
pearls of the book must be allowed to be that egregious amateur in
toothpick-cases, Mr. Robert Ferrars (with his excursus in chapter
xxxvi. on life in a cottage), and the admirably-matched Mr. and Mrs.
John Dashwood. Miss Austen herself has never done anything better than
the inimitable and oft-quoted chapter wherein is debated between the
last-named pair the momentous matter of the amount to be devoted to
Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters; while the suggestion in chapters
xxxiii. and xxxiv. that the owner of Norland was once within some
thousands of having to sell out at a loss, deserves to be remembered
with that other memorable escape of Sir Roger de Coverley's ancestor,
who was only not killed in the civil wars because 'he was sent out of
the field upon a private message, the day before the battle of
Worcester.'
Of local colouring there is as little in _Sense and Sensibility_ as in
_Pride and Prejudice_. It is not unlikely that some memories of
Steventon may survive in Norland; and it may be noted that there is
actually a Barton Place to the north of Exeter, not far from Lord
Iddesleigh's well-known seat of Upton Pynes. It is scarcely possible,
also, not to believe that, in Mrs. Jennings's description of
Delaford--'a nice place, I can tell you; exactly what I call a nice
old-fashioned place, full of comforts and conveniences; quite shut in
with great garden walls that are covered with the best fruit-trees in
the country; and such a mulberry tree in one corner!'--Miss Austen had
in mind some real Hampshire or Devonshire country house. In any case,
it comes nearer a picture than what we usually get from her pen. 'Then
there is a dovecote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a very pretty
canal; and everything, in short, that one could wish for; and,
moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile
from the turnpike-road, so 'tis never dull, for if you only go and sit
up in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see all the
carriages that pass along.' The last lines suggest those quaint
'gazebos' and alcoves, which, in the coaching days, were so often to
be found perched at the roadside, where one might sit and watch the
Dover or Canterbury stage go whirling by. Of genteel accomplishments
there is a touch In the 'landscape in coloured silks' which Charlotte
Palmer had worked at school (chap, xxvi.); and of old remedies for the
lost art of swooning, in the 'lavender drops' of chapter xxix. The
mention of a dance as a 'little hop' in chapter ix. reads like a
premature instance of middle Victorian slang. But nothing is new--even
in a novel--and 'hop,' in this sense, is at least as old as _Joseph
Andrews_.
* * * * *
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Mr. Dashwood introduced him _Frontispiece_
His son's son, a child of four years old
"I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it"
So shy before company
They sang together
He cut off a long lock of her hair
"I have found you out in spite of all your tricks"
Apparently In violent affliction
Begging her to stop
Came to take a survey of the guest
"I declare they are quite charming"
Mischievous tricks
Drinking to her best affections
Amiably bashful
"I can answer for it," said Mrs. Jennings
At that moment she first perceived him
"How fond he was of it!"
Offered him one of Folly's puppies
A very smart beau
Introduced to Mrs. Jennings
Mrs. Jennings assured him directly that she should not stand
upon ceremony
Mrs. Ferrars
Drawing him a little aside
In a whisper
"You have heard, I suppose"
Talking over the business
"She put in the feather last night"
Listening at the door
Both gained considerable amusement
"Of one thing I may assure you"
Showing her child to the housekeeper
The gardener's lamentations
Opened a window-shutter
"I entreat you to stay"
"I was formally dismissed"
"I have entered many a shop to avoid your sight"
"And see how the children go on"
"I suppose you know, ma'am, that Mr. Ferrars is married"
It _was_ Edward
"Everything in such respectable condition"
* * * * *
CHAPTER I
The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. Their estate
was large, 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 engage 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 housekeeper 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, 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. By his own
marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his
wealth. 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.
The old gentleman died: his will was read, and like almost every
other will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure. 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, or by any sale of its valuable woods. The whole was tied up
for the benefit of this child, who, in occasional visits with his
father and mother at Norland, 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. 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. 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.
His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known, and to him Mr.
Dashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness
could command, the interest of his mother-in-law 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.
[Illustration: _His son's son, a child of four years old._]
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 respectable than he was: he might even have
been made amiable 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-minded 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, warmed his
heart, and made him feel capable of generosity. "Yes, he would give
them three thousand pounds: it would be liberal and handsome! It would
be enough to make them completely easy. 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.
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. But in _her_ mind there
was a sense of honor so keen, a generosity so romantic, that any
offence of the kind, by whomsoever given or received, was to her a
source of immovable disgust. 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 showing 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, 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, 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: 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.
She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything: her sorrows, her
joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable,
interesting: she was everything but prudent. The resemblance between
her and her mother was strikingly great.
Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister's sensibility; 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. They gave themselves up wholly to
their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection
that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting 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-humored, well-disposed girl;
but as she had already imbibed a good deal of Marianne's romance,
without having much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair
to equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.