Sense & Sensibility, chapter 34: Pity Party

We haven’t gotten a lot of Elinor time lately. Neither has Elinor, come to think of it, though I think she’s rather used to that.

In a way, though, time away from her own drama has served her well—time and the secret of Lucy’s engagement with Edward. While it pains Elinor’s heart, the knowledge strengthens her mental state: because she has let go of any expectations of a relationship with Edward, “she could now meet Edward’s mother without that strong anxiety which had once promised to attend such an introduction.”

Oh, yes. The Ferrars are giving a dinner party, and you’re all invited. Be grateful.

By this time, everyone has met just about everyone else. John Dashwood has met Mrs. J and Col. Brandon; Fanny Dashwood has met Lady Middleton (the two match “each other in an insipid propriety of demeanor, and a general want of understanding”); and Sir John approves of everyone concerned, because of course he does. Fanny makes it clear to Elinor that she still resents her for attracting Edward; Lucy makes it clear to Elinor that she still feels threatened by her; and MA makes it clear that doesn’t give a darn about anything that’s going on, and she’s not entirely wrong to feel that way. But we’ll parse that out later.

Lucy has the upper hand at first, as she is able to inform Elinor that Edward is in town—proof that he continues to write to her. Her claim that his inability to visit her speaks to his “impatience” to be with her is much weaker, and is eroded entirely when Elinor sees Edward’s visiting card twice (a kind of letter in and of itself, and communicative of his eagerness to see her). When they’re both invited to the Ferrars party, Lucy hopes to “[inflict] a severe disappointment” to Elinor by relaying the news that Edward won’t be there, which only results in soothing Elinor’s anxiety. And then, as the cherry on top, Lucy dramatically begs for Elinor’s pity and gets exactly what she asked for—which, of course, she didn’t want at all.

It seems likely that even if Elinor’s first meeting with Mrs. Ferrars had taken place during a courtship with Edward, Elinor wouldn’t have been impressed with the matriarch. There’s shades of The Meeting Of Lady Catherine here,* with the narrator emphasizing Mrs. Ferrars’s self-importance: “a lucky contraction of the brow had rescued her countenance from the disgrace of insipidity, by giving it the strong characters of pride and ill-nature.” I love that word, “rescued.” You really get a sense of desperation and weakness, which are only enforced by her extreme behavior toward Elinor and Lucy.

The evil Dashwoods (look, I call ’em like I see ’em) are so determined to give Elinor the cold shoulder that they shower Lucy, professional brownnoser, with “graciousness.” The irony of Mrs. Ferrars bestowing her kindness on Lucy isn’t lost on Elinor: if Mrs. Ferrars or Fanny knew that it was Lucy, not Elinor, who had hooked Edward, they’d be whistling a different tune. John, meanwhile, tries to play matchmaker between Elinor and Col. Brandon, partly to give reassurance to his testy in-law that Elinor isn’t a threat.

It strikes me how so many people are threatened by Elinor, but for the wrong reasons. Not only is she calm, cool, and collected during this entire (not-uneventful) dinner, but also she has quite rightly put her faith in her ability to access the situation for what it is and people for who they really are. We’re told that Mrs. Ferrars’s rudeness would have “hurt” her, had the circumstances been different, but I question the degree to which Mrs. Ferrars's disrespect would hurt her on a personal level. And she refuses to play into the politics of the height contest that ensues between Harry and Lady Middleton’s absent son, unlike the eager Steeles. (MA also refuses to play along, and although some of this springs from her self-absorption, it’s not the grave insult everyone’s reaction makes it out to be.)

The one sour note of the evening, at least for Elinor, comes when John starts passing around a couple of Elinor’s illustrated screens. Mrs. Ferrars genuinely admires them until informed that Elinor drew them, whereupon she immediately disregards them. Fanny tries to save the moment by mentioning Miss Morton’s skill with the brush. MA, “provoked” by this insult toward her sister, gives a loud “who cares” and takes the screens out of Fanny’s hands. Oh, the irony of woe-is-me Marianne Dashwood calling someone else out on their tactless behavior. This infuriates the Ferrars (they may be humorless, petty hypocrites but that’s no reason to be rude back to them) and distresses Elinor, but Col. Brandon remains MA’s biggest fan.

Then MA has an emotional breakdown as she tries to comfort Elinor (“urged by a strong impulse of affectionate sensibility”). Par for the course. Mrs. J, who has been this chapter’s secret MVP,** tends to MA without drawing attention to either of them. Unfortunately, this subtlety gets thrown out the window because Sir John takes it upon himself to blab about the whole Willoughby thing to his seatmate, who happens to be Lucy Steele. John Dashwood picks this moment to awkwardly offset one sister’s affliction with the other’s composure in his matchmaking effort (stick to landowning, John—it’s the only thing you’re good at).

How fitting that all of the people making Elinor’s life difficult are either mothers or sisters. Fanny, her sister-in-law, helped her husband deny the Dashwoods money to live on; Lucy, a callous sister herself, has taken away the man she loves and her peace; and even MA, whose support is never in doubt, nonetheless can’t rein in her selfish tendencies long enough to consider what her sister actually needs.

Next time, when Lucy comes to call, an unexpected visitor creates all kinds of confusion.

*Complete with John Dashwood taking over the Mr. Collins role of servile suck-up.

**She earlier clocks Fanny Dashwood as “nothing more than a little proud-looking woman of uncordial address” and takes note of her coldness toward MA and Elinor.