Sense & Sensibility, chapter 50: There Was Happiness Because Of You

I’ll just say it: this book needed one more chapter. Because even though this one is packed with a lot of good stuff, we don’t get to hang out with the Dashwood girls any more! Just the two of them, being neighbors and moms, MA playfully rolling her eyes at Elinor’s serious deliberation over the health of her cows and chickens …

Oh. I’m getting into fanfic territory, aren’t I? I’ll stop here.

The good news is, this last look at the Dashwoods’ story does leave us with a nice picture. Elinor gets Edward, Edward gets back into his mother’s good graces, Mrs. Jennings gets to visit the Ferrarses at the Delaford living, Col. Brandon gets Marianne, and Marianne gets a clue. I mean, a fresh outlook on life. Actually, I mean both. More on that in a minute.

The frustrating news? Lucy gets away with everything, Willoughby does not suffer for the remainder of his days, and John Dashwood is still an ineffectual, narrow-minded brother.

The biggest puzzle—the coupling of Lucy and Toothpick Bobby—at last gets an explanation. Back when Lucy was still engaged to Edward, Bobby got it in his head to “to persuade her to give up the engagement” for the sake of … family peace? His own ego? Boredom? It is notable, as he would have done this after Mrs. Ferrars had transferred Edward’s inheritance to him, and has a tinge of honorable intention to it. Believing “nothing to overcome but the affection of both, he naturally expected that one or two interviews would settle the matter,” but Lucy proved to be charmingly stubborn, and soon convinced Bobby that “he had entirely supplanted his brother” in the lump of cold steel where her heart should be. Having acquired a rich husband, Lucy works her charm (blech) on Mrs. Ferrars, who succumbs to her “humility of conduct,” “self-condemnation for [Bobby]’s offense, and gratitude for the unkindness she was treated with.”

There is something to be said for Lucy’s steely reserve and ability to withstand abuse. But despite this win, she spends most of her life in petty “jealousies” with the less forgiving Fanny and “frequent domestic disagreements” with the lazy, pompous Bobby. “[N]othing could exceed the harmony in which they all lived together,” the narrator tells us, and honestly? For people as small-minded as the Steele-Ferrarses/Ferrars-Dashwoods, that probably counts as “harmony.”

What’s more satisfying is that Mrs. Ferrars, for all her faults, does provide some money for Elinor and Edward to live on. She abandons her initial goal of talking Edward into pursuing Miss Morton instead (alas, your honorableness, we never knew ye) and reasonably accepts his choice. I doubt that her financial benevolence represents a softening of her feelings; her giving “shuffling excuses” implies that she’s aware of the impropriety of the eldest son being awarded a lesser sum than the younger.

As to securing additional fortunes, John tries to poke Elinor into playing matchmaker for MA. “[I]t would give me great pleasure to call Colonel Brandon brother,” he hints, raving about Brandon’s “property” and acreage. And “it will always be in [Elinor’s] power to set [Marianne] off to advantage” in front of Brandon. Considering that these are the last lines of dialogue in Sense & Sensibility—and those lines emphasize the greed and insensitivity of the one character whose inaction set the plot in motion—at first I thought that Austen was having a go at us. And yet, his speech reflects his role in the plot as concerned yet cowardly onlooker so well. John has no purpose because he has eschewed responsibility. The courtship of Col. Brandon and Marianne takes place no matter what he thinks. And there is comfort in that, in a way. He can plan and hope all he wants, but he has no baring on anybody’s happiness. Since he probably spends the rest of his life at the mercy of his wife’s rivalry with Lucy and anxiously overthinking his every purchase, it’s enough to make me cackle with glee.

And finally, we arrive at the other Dashwood sister and her romantic loose end. Well … turns out, it doesn’t sound romantic at all. Everybody—Mama Dashwood, Elinor, Edward (maybe Maggie, but we don’t get her perspective)—regards Marianne as “the reward” of Col. Brandon’s “sorrows and their own obligations.” And yeah, phrases like “reward” and “obligations” and the “confederacy against [Marianne]” don’t have the best connotation here, so it’s not hard to imagine that Marianne is being forced into an engagement without love. While it’s true that all she feels for Brandon is only “strong esteem and lively friendship,” there is another element at play here: MA doesn’t know Brandon is in love with her.

Remember back when she thought Mrs. J was being cruel to Col. Brandon for promoting the match? Yeah … she was still under that impression. Only now, “at last, … long after it was observable to everybody else,” does the “conviction” of his true feelings “burst on her.” As in, takes her by surprise. Rewrites the entire history of their acquaintance. And wins her over. Col. Brandon provides stability in wealth and practical matters, but we can’t overlook that he also provides stability in emotional support (the “conviction” is emblematic of his loyalty). Happily, MA’s “regard” for him gives him a jolt of energy, so he’s no longer a weary broken-hearted man acting older than his age. And to underline the success of this pairing, Austen assures us that MA becomes “devoted to her husband” and “[finds] her own happiness in forming his,” completing her arc of learning to live for others and not just herself. 

Speaking of living for yourself, Willoughby gets a mention. And what a doozy it is! Aunt Smith forgives him for his indiscretion with Eliza and presumably restores his inheritance because he married “a woman of character.” Turns out he probably would have been “happy and rich” if he’d gone ahead with marrying MA as he’d originally intended. I appreciate the knife-twisting from Aunt Smith there. But even with that knowledge, he fails to “[die] of a broken heart.” Instead he goes through life obsessed with hunting and enjoying “no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity” with wife Sophia, despite his earlier attempts to paint her as an evil harpy out to ruin his every happiness. Hm. I wonder if he ever drops his habit of disproportionately blaming all the women in his life for his troubles?

Elinor and Marianne have no such worries. Maggie is growing up just fine and Mrs. J and Sir John love having her over for parties. The sisters “live without disagreement between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands,” proving that though the undeserving may get what they want, the deserving find happiness in gratitude and family.

Sucks to be you, Henry Junior.

We’ll take one or two more looks at Sense & Sensibility before moving on through the world of Austen. See ya when I see ya!