Sense & Sensibility, chapter 42: Country Living

The months that the Dashwood girls spent in London are not what I’d call a good time. If anything, all that bustle and activity just meant that they got bad news faster. Or perhaps I’m relating a little too much to MA, who had a pretty bad time of it (even though it can be argued that her obsessive behavior rather added to her troubles). Does Sense & Sensibility present the worst representation of London in literature? 

Elinor might say that I’m being overdramatic. Although she has to field insincere invitations from both Fanny and Lucy to visit them, she maintains enough perspective to be “amused” that John Dashwood and Mrs. J expect to see her as the mistress of Delaford. Mrs. J is still convinced that Col. Brandon has set his sights on Elinor; with John, it’s more like wishful thinking (he’s very into the power of “yes,” as long as someone is asking something for the universe to provide, rather than him.) For Elinor, leaving London means freedom from Lucy’s “persecution,” squirreling MA away from the now-married Willoughby, and getting closer to home.

MA remains determined to continue the grieving process (as you’ll recall, as much as she misses Willoughby, she even moreso is frightened by the idea that he had dangerous designs on her). Berkeley Street will now be remembered as the place where she endured heartbreak; London is now the city where “Willoughby [remains] busy in new engagements, and new schemes, in which she could have no share.” Surely a change of scenery will go some way in a change in attitude …

Um, sort of? Cleveland, home of the Palmers, definitely sounds nice: the “modern-built house” boasts a great view; manicured grounds that aren’t so fine that a nature-lover would be offended; and woods containing “the fir, the mountain-ash, and the acacia, and a thick screen of them altogether, interspersed with tall Lombardy poplars.” In other words, this place is lousy with romantically dead leaves. MA begins “wandering from place to place in free and luxurious solitude” right away, mostly to indulge in her “invaluable misery” while also “feeling all the happy privilege of country liberty” (something something contains multitudes). This has the added benefit of allowing her to ignore her hosts, a luxury that Elinor noticeably does not indulge in.

Speaking of the Palmers, how do they fare on a second impression? Well, the results are mixed. Mrs. Palmer remains happy-go-lucky in the face of “the loss of her favorite plants” and “the rapid decease of a promising young brood [of chickens].” And I have to say, intentional or not, the fact that nothing can grow or expand in the Charlotte Palmer household is a pretty fitting metaphor for her own lack of character growth. I think my opinion of her is softened somewhat by Mr. Palmer’s change in attitude: he’s a lot more comfortable in his home, “perfectly the gentleman” (he’s “only occasionally rude” to the Jennings women), and seems to actually like his newborn child. However, like his wife, he’s not great at this whole landowning business, as he wiles away his free time at billiards. Elinor even contrasts him with Edward, which heavily suggests that Mr. Palmer is not much older than her would-be beau (and that, like Edward, Mr. Palmer’s lack of polished manners hides his better qualities). In recalling “Edward’s generous temper, simple taste, and diffident feelings,” she seems to be thinking about his kindness toward her family and his sensitivity for their grief.

Once Col. Brandon arrives, Elinor has someone else to talk to (MA, not only determined to get her steps in, also spends her time with her nose stuck in a book). He describes more of the Delaford living to her, treating her as a “kind confidante” who naturally would want to know more about her “disinterested friend”’s future. Interestingly, the narrator points out that this attention “might very well justify Mrs. Jennings’s persuasion of his attachment, and would have been enough, perhaps, ... to make her suspect it herself.”* But since Elinor is “the nicest [that is, more discerning] observer of the two,” she sees in “[Col. Brandon’s] looks of anxious solicitude on Marianne’s feeling, in her head and throat the beginning of an heavy cold … the quick feelings and needless alarm of a lover.” Honest question: do you consider Brandon and Elinor to be a good pairing? Do you think Elinor would consider that, had Edward not been in the picture (even with that ditty about “thirty-five and seventeen had better not have anything to do together”)?

Oh … right … MA has a cold now, due to walking around areas where “the grass was the longest and wettest” and indulging in the “imprudence of sitting in her wet shoes and stockings.” Oh, and she’s been doing this for two days straight (and maybe probably because she’s trying to get a good look at Combe Magna, Willoughby’s estate). Elinor at last makes MA take one of the “simpler remedies” for colds before going to bed.

Discerning as Elinor is, pretty soon she’s going to eat her words about Col. Brandon’s “needless alarm.” And for once, I’m not getting ahead of myself.

*This is the one instance where Edmund Bertram’s intriguing assessment of single men hanging out with the close relation of their actual crush has a ring of truth to it. However, even here Edmund is wrong in the details: Col. Brandon distinguishing Elinor illustrates his respect for the Dashwoods rather than uncertainty as to which sister he loves.

Next time: Get your flu shot.

Credit for the above illustration goes to Chris Hammond.