Sense & Sensibility, chapter 48: A Clear(ed) Path

I hope everyone here understands that I’m not trying to override other interpretations or ignore them outright. I mean, I do think you guys understand that. We have different opinions and that’s fine. I acknowledge your feelings about Sense & Sensibility and the perspective they give me. My main goal is to articulate why I’ve arrived to specific conclusions about characters and writing choices and suchlike. And if I’ve failed to do that, it’s due to my sloppy writing (which I hope to clarify in a final essay or two). I make no claim that I have special insight in Jane Austen’s writer mind.

Actually, I have one claim to make—specifically, that this chapter is really short because she wanted to end this novel on a nice round number. Because holy crap you guys, I almost didn’t know what to do with this one.

We begin in an odd place—wishful thinking from Elinor! Who’d have thunk? Now that she’s heard about the (alleged) union of Lucy and Edward, she realizes “in spite of herself” that she harbored “a hope, while Edward remained single, that something would occur to prevent his marrying Lucy [ugh].” She’s surprised that the two married before Edward could legally claim the Delaford living, suspecting Lucy acted “in her self-provident care” to “secure him” ASAP.  Unfortunately, Elinor can’t just ask me who’s read this story already, so she must live in suspense (though she comes close to guessing right hoping that Lucy might have found “some more eligible opportunity of establishment”). Austen, sometimes I hope you do turn in your grave, considering how you love to torture your characters.

The picture that Elinor paints of Lucy Ferrars (ugh), local clergyman’s wife, is enough to make me cringe: “pursuing her own interest in every thought, courting the favor of Colonel Brandon, of Mrs. Jennings, and of every wealthy friend.” On friendly terms with the colonel? Perish the thought! But even more agonizing is Elinor’s anxiety over Edward: “she knew not what she saw, nor what she wished to see;—happy or unhappy—nothing pleased her.” If he’s happy, then Elinor would be disappointed in his character; but she would be wrong to wish him to be unhappy. And we wouldn’t like Elinor as much if she was bitter enough to hope that Edward is miserable for the rest of his life.

But we aren’t given time to consider any of this before Edward himself shows up at Barton Cottage. It happens so suddenly—at first he’s mistaken for Col. Brandon, but then Elinor recognizes Edward’s gait and posture (girl’s got it bad). She assumed that they would only hear of Edward and Lucy (ugh) via letter, so this visit was not on her agenda. Mama Dashwood and Marianne are also surprised, but Elinor is too shocked to convey “that she hope[s] no coolness, no slight, would appear in their behavior to him.” Mama Dashwood, however, correctly intuits Elinor’s feelings and welcomes Edward kindly, though “with a look of forced complacency.” MA “retreat[s] as much as possible out of sight, to conceal her distress” and I wonder if she’s thinking about her word-vomiting over Edward in their last encounter. Little sis Maggie doesn’t quite get the nuance of the situation, but makes a decent attempt to act “dignified” by staying quiet. 

So the Dashwood girls all must balance their intense private feelings with the expectation of behaving properly. Giving them a taste of every single instance where Elinor had to do the exact same thing I mean my God.

Edward, meanwhile … is sort of the same at first (especially once Elinor starts addressing him). He acts doubtful, even fearful. He makes no eye contact. They make pitiful small talk about the weather. He stutters, he blushes, he’s tongue-tied. Mama Dashwood asks after Mrs. Ferrars, and he’s like, wait, you want to know what my mother’s up to? Then Elinor clarifies, “Mrs. Edward Ferrars,” and he’s like, wait, you’re not talking about MRS. TOOTHPICK BOBBY, are you? And MA’s like, wait, are you talking about Mrs. Toothpick Bobby?

And in the most surface-level example of a metaphor in perhaps all of Austen’s prose, Edward toys with some sewing scissors and fabric as he explains that he has cut all romantic ties to Lucy Steele.

Elinor can’t handle it. She runs to her room and “burst[s] into tears of joy.”* Witnessing this outpour of emotion rocks Edward, who sits in astonishment as he contemplates what this means for him. Though he leaves the Dashwood girls in a state of suspense, too, which sort of mirrors Willoughby’s parting. But—spoilers—he will stick around to actually propose.

And let’s let Elinor have her moment! All her secrets hopes have come true. Miracles can happen! 

Is this a reasonable conclusion to all events? Well, we’ll discuss that anon. 

Credit for the above illustration goes to the always lovely Flominowa.

*Shapard endearingly notes that her “self-control” allows her to “close the door after herself, the correct behavior whenever leaving a room.”