Sense & Sensibility, chapter 43: Heart-Sick
Col. Brandon is the first to raise the alarm after MA shows signs of lethargy and weakness. After an apothecary* is called to the house and “pronounc[es] her disorder to have a putrid tendency, and allow[es] the word "infection" to pass his lips,” the Palmers decide to vacate for the sake of their newborn. And then, once MA’s symptoms take a turn for the worse, Elinor finally wakes up to the real danger of her illness. Particularly alarming is when MA, in a feverish state, wants to warn Mama Dashwood to stay away from London (though given MA’s experience there, I can see why she’d try to warn the people she loves to avoid it).
Col. Brandon, flannel vest flapping in the breeze (sorry I couldn’t help myself), offers to fetch Mama Dashwood himself. Mrs. J, meanwhile, does her best to watch over MA and relieve Elinor of nursing duties. And here again, we see a new facet of Mrs. J, as she doubts that MA will come out of this at all (hence she feels she “[cannot] offer the comfort of hope” to an anxious Elinor), and at the same time reflects with “concern” that MA’s troubles began while she had been “under [Mrs. J’s] care.” And in comparing her love for Charlotte with Mama Dashwood’s love for MA, she demonstrates both acute sensibility and empathy, proving again that first impressions really don’t give you the whole picture.
And then there’s Elinor. Poor, unhappy Elinor. Though she has the temperament to nurse her sister while outwardly maintaining her composure, she’s beating herself up on the inside. She was, after all, the last person to take MA’s symptoms seriously, so she’s dealing with that guilt. Even worse, she agrees with Mrs. J when the older woman “attribute[s] the severity and danger of this attack to the many weeks of previous indisposition which Marianne’s disappointment had brought on.” Had Elinor requested to leave London sooner, a lot of this might have been prevented—so she’s got that hanging over her head, too. (Not that any of this is her fault, but she feels these things acutely.) Her spirits finally improve when MA’s pulse returns and Mr. Harris confirms that she’s on the mend, but up to that point, Elinor’s eaten up with “cruel anxiety.”
When MA gets better, we get, I think, a comprehensive look at Elinor’s emotional process. “Her joy” doesn’t translate into “gaiety,” which tracks with what we know of her so far. MA’s “health” and happiness “fill[s] her heart with sensations of exquisite comfort,” but “[leads] to no outward demonstrations of joy, no words, no smiles.” It’s no wonder that so many characters project their own values and feelings on her—especially if she’s surrounded by people who are constantly turned up to 11. Also quite Fanny-esque.
But why put Elinor through all that anxiety? Why put us through it? What purpose does MA’s illness serve in the bigger picture?
Well, it’s not that MA is being punished. It’s easy to see it that way, but I don’t think that’s the whole story. The severity of her fever—the threat it poses to her health and to Elinor’s peace of mind—illustrates the effects of MA’s extreme behavior. Mrs. J said it herself: MA’s self-indulgence in agony has no health benefits. Her self-centered attitude must manifest in hurtful ways, and here they are.
Also, it gives Col. Brandon something to do. He has the added bonus of being justified in his early anxiety for MA’s health, which makes him look proactive and helpful. (Also, is it possible he’s having flashbacks to Eliza the Elder’s last days? Like I said, this guy has lived about four lifetimes already.)
But in the short-term, the most urgent purpose this illness episode serves is to justify (at least on an emotional level) the sudden appearance of Willoughby. Oh, yeah, Willoughby comes back, guys (in one of Austen’s best-ever cliffhangers), spurred by the news of MA’s condition. But I’ll leave that there, because next week’s entry is gonna be a doozy.
It’s all Willoughby, Willoughby, Willoughby.
Credit for the above illustration goes to Santiago Caruso.
*Additional context provided by David Shapard: “Physicians [not apothecaries] were the only medical men who had undergone formal study.” This accounts partly for Mr. Harris’s struggle in trying to diagnose and treat MA.
Thinking of Marianne's illness in the context of the whole book, I wonder if there is another purpose to it: To show Marianne that life is worth living, even post-Willoughby. We will get more of this in the following chapters, but up until now, Marianne has displayed almost suicidal tendencies - barely eating, barely sleeping, encouraging herself to cry and be miserable, and finally walking in the damp and staying in wet shoes and stockings. It will take her illness - and perhaps the concern and fear of these around her, particularly Elinor - to make her realize that she actually wants to live.
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