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SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
by Jane Austen (1811)
Chapter 37
Mrs. Palmer was so well at the end of a
fortnight, that her mother felt it no
longer necessary to give up the whole of
her time to her; and, contenting herself
with visiting her once or twice a day,
returned from that period to her own home,
and her own habits, in which she found the
Miss Dashwoods very ready to resume their
former share.
About the third or fourth morning after
their being thus resettled in Berkeley
Street, Mrs. Jennings, on returning from
her ordinary visit to Mrs. Palmer, entered
the drawing-room, where Elinor was sitting
by herself, with an air of such hurrying
importance as prepared her to hear
something wonderful; and giving her time
only to form that idea, began directly to
justify it, by saying,
"Lord! my dear Miss Dashwood! have you
heard the news?"
"No, ma'am.
What is it?"
"Something so strange!
But you shall hear it all.-- When I got to
Mr. Palmer's, I found Charlotte quite in a
fuss about the child.
She was sure it was very ill--it cried, and
fretted, and was all over pimples.
So I looked at it directly, and, 'Lord! my
dear,' says I, 'it is nothing in the world,
but the red gum--' and nurse said just the
same.
But Charlotte, she would not be satisfied,
so Mr. Donavan was sent for; and luckily he
happened to just come in from Harley
Street, so he stepped over directly, and as
soon as ever Mama, he said just as we did,
that it was nothing in the world but the
red gum, and then Charlotte was easy.
And so, just as he was going away again, it
came into my head, I am sure I do not know
how I happened to think of it, but it came
into my head to ask him if there was any
news.
So upon that, he smirked, and simpered, and
looked grave, and seemed to know something
or other, and at last he said in a whisper,
'For fear any unpleasant report should
reach the young ladies under your care as
to their sister's indisposition, I think it
advisable to say, that I believe there is
no great reason for alarm; I hope Mrs.
Dashwood will do very well.'"
"What! is *** ill?"
"That is exactly what I said, my dear.
'Lord!' says I, 'is Mrs. Dashwood ill?'
So then it all came out; and the long and
the short of the matter, by all I can
learn, seems to be this.
Mr. Edward Ferrars, the very young man I
used to joke with you about (but however,
as it turns out, I am monstrous glad there
was never any thing in it), Mr. Edward
Ferrars, it seems, has been engaged above
this twelvemonth to my cousin Lucy!--
There's for you, my dear!--And not a
creature knowing a syllable of the matter,
except Nancy!--Could you have believed such
a thing possible?-- There is no great
wonder in their liking one another; but
that matters should be brought so forward
between them, and nobody suspect it!--THAT
is strange!--I never happened to see them
together, or I am sure I should have found
it out directly.
Well, and so this was kept a great secret,
for fear of Mrs. Ferrars, and neither she
nor your brother or sister suspected a word
of the matter;--till this very morning,
poor Nancy, who, you know, is a well-
meaning creature, but no conjurer, popt it
all out.
'Lord!' thinks she to herself, 'they are
all so fond of Lucy, to be sure they will
make no difficulty about it;' and so, away
she went to your sister, who was sitting
all alone at her carpet-work, little
suspecting what was to come--for she had
just been saying to your brother, only five
minutes before, that she thought to make a
match between Edward and some Lord's
daughter or other, I forget who.
So you may think what a blow it was to all
her vanity and pride.
She fell into violent hysterics
immediately, with such screams as reached
your brother's ears, as he was sitting in
his own dressing-room down stairs, thinking
about writing a letter to his steward in
the country.
So up he flew directly, and a terrible
scene took place, for Lucy was come to them
by that time, little dreaming what was
going on.
Poor soul!
I pity HER.
And I must say, I think she was used very
hardly; for your sister scolded like any
fury, and soon drove her into a fainting
fit.
Nancy, she fell upon her knees, and cried
bitterly; and your brother, he walked about
the room, and said he did not know what to
do.
Mrs. Dashwood declared they should not stay
a minute longer in the house, and your
brother was forced to go down upon HIS
knees too, to persuade her to let them stay
till they had packed up their clothes.
THEN she fell into hysterics again, and he
was so frightened that he would send for
Mr. Donavan, and Mr. Donavan found the
house in all this uproar.
The carriage was at the door ready to take
my poor cousins away, and they were just
stepping in as he came off; poor Lucy in
such a condition, he says, she could hardly
walk; and Nancy, she was almost as bad.
I declare, I have no patience with your
sister; and I hope, with all my heart, it
will be a match in spite of her.
Lord! what a taking poor Mr. Edward will be
in when he hears of it!
To have his love used so scornfully! for
they say he is monstrous fond of her, as
well he may.
I should not wonder, if he was to be in the
greatest passion!--and Mr. Donavan thinks
just the same.
He and I had a great deal of talk about it;
and the best of all is, that he is gone
back again to Harley Street, that he may be
within call when Mrs. Ferrars is told of
it, for she was sent for as soon as ever my
cousins left the house, for your sister was
sure SHE would be in hysterics too; and so
she may, for what I care.
I have no pity for either of them.
I have no notion of people's making such a
to-do about money and greatness.
There is no reason on earth why Mr. Edward
and Lucy should not marry; for I am sure
Mrs. Ferrars may afford to do very well by
her son, and though Lucy has next to
nothing herself, she knows better than any
body how to make the most of every thing; I
dare say, if Mrs. Ferrars would only allow
him five hundred a-year, she would make as
good an appearance with it as any body else
would with eight.
Lord! how snug they might live in such
another cottage as yours--or a little
bigger--with two maids, and two men; and I
believe I could help them to a housemaid,
for my Betty has a sister out of place,
that would fit them exactly."
Here Mrs. Jennings ceased, and as Elinor
had had time enough to collect her
thoughts, she was able to give such an
answer, and make such observations, as the
subject might naturally be supposed to
produce.
Happy to find that she was not suspected of
any extraordinary interest in it; that Mrs.
Jennings (as she had of late often hoped
might be the case) had ceased to imagine
her at all attached to Edward; and happy
above all the rest, in the absence of
Marianne, she felt very well able to speak
of the affair without embarrassment, and to
give her judgment, as she believed, with
impartiality on the conduct of every one
concerned in it.
She could hardly determine what her own
expectation of its event really was; though
she earnestly tried to drive away the
notion of its being possible to end
otherwise at last, than in the marriage of
Edward and Lucy.
What Mrs. Ferrars would say and do, though
there could not be a doubt of its nature,
she was anxious to hear; and still more
anxious to know how Edward would conduct
himself.
For HIM she felt much compassion;--for Lucy
very little--and it cost her some pains to
procure that little;--for the rest of the
party none at all.
As Mrs. Jennings could talk on no other
subject, Elinor soon saw the necessity of
preparing Marianne for its discussion.
No time was to be lost in undeceiving her,
in making her acquainted with the real
truth, and in endeavouring to bring her to
hear it talked of by others, without
betraying that she felt any uneasiness for
her sister, or any resentment against
Edward.
Elinor's office was a painful one.--She was
going to remove what she really believed to
be her sister's chief consolation,--to give
such particulars of Edward as she feared
would ruin him for ever in her good
opinion,-and to make Marianne, by a
resemblance in their situations, which to
HER fancy would seem strong, feel all her
own disappointment over again.
But unwelcome as such a task must be, it
was necessary to be done, and Elinor
therefore hastened to perform it.
She was very far from wishing to dwell on
her own feelings, or to represent herself
as suffering much, any otherwise than as
the self-command she had practised since
her first knowledge of Edward's engagement,
might suggest a hint of what was
practicable to Marianne.
Her narration was clear and simple; and
though it could not be given without
emotion, it was not accompanied by violent
agitation, nor impetuous grief.--THAT
belonged rather to the hearer, for Marianne
listened with horror, and cried
excessively.
Elinor was to be the comforter of others in
her own distresses, no less than in theirs;
and all the comfort that could be given by
assurances of her own composure of mind,
and a very earnest vindication of Edward
from every charge but of imprudence, was
readily offered.
But Marianne for some time would give
credit to neither.
Edward seemed a second Willoughby; and
acknowledging as Elinor did, that she HAD
loved him most sincerely, could she feel
less than herself!
As for Lucy Steele, she considered her so
totally unamiable, so absolutely incapable
of attaching a sensible man, that she could
not be persuaded at first to believe, and
afterwards to pardon, any former affection
of Edward for her.
She would not even admit it to have been
natural; and Elinor left her to be
convinced that it was so, by that which
only could convince her, a better knowledge
of mankind.
Her first communication had reached no
farther than to state the fact of the
engagement, and the length of time it had
existed.--Marianne's feelings had then
broken in, and put an end to all regularity
of detail; and for some time all that could
be done was to soothe her distress, lessen
her alarms, and combat her resentment.
The first question on her side, which led
to farther particulars, was,--
"How long has this been known to you,
Elinor? has he written to you?"
"I have known it these four months.
When Lucy first came to Barton Park last
November, she told me in confidence of her
engagement."
At these words, Marianne's eyes expressed
the astonishment which her lips could not
utter.
After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed--
"Four months!--Have you known of this four
months?"
Elinor confirmed it.
"What!--while attending me in all my
misery, has this been on your heart?--And I
have reproached you for being happy!"--
"It was not fit that you should then know
how much I was the reverse!"
"Four months!"--cried Marianne again.--"So
calm!--so cheerful!--how have you been
supported?"--
"By feeling that I was doing my duty.--My
promise to Lucy, obliged me to be secret.
I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid
giving any hint of the truth; and I owed it
to my family and friends, not to create in
them a solicitude about me, which it could
not be in my power to satisfy."
Marianne seemed much struck.
"I have very often wished to undeceive
yourself and my mother," added Elinor; "and
once or twice I have attempted it;--but
without betraying my trust, I never could
have convinced you."
"Four months!--and yet you loved him!"--
"Yes. But I did not love only him;--and
while the comfort of others was dear to me,
I was glad to spare them from knowing how
much I felt.
Now, I can think and speak of it with
little emotion.
I would not have you suffer on my account;
for I assure you I no longer suffer
materially myself.
I have many things to support me.
I am not conscious of having provoked the
disappointment by any imprudence of my own,
I have borne it as much as possible without
spreading it farther.
I acquit Edward of essential misconduct.
I wish him very happy; and I am so sure of
his always doing his duty, that though now
he may harbour some regret, in the end he
must become so.
Lucy does not want sense, and that is the
foundation on which every thing good may be
built.--And after all, Marianne, after all
that is bewitching in the idea of a single
and constant attachment, and all that can
be said of one's happiness depending
entirely on any particular person, it is
not meant--it is not fit--it is not
possible that it should be so.-- Edward
will marry Lucy; he will marry a woman
superior in person and understanding to
half her sex; and time and habit will teach
him to forget that he ever thought another
superior to HER."--
"If such is your way of thinking," said
Marianne, "if the loss of what is most
valued is so easily to be made up by
something else, your resolution, your self-
command, are, perhaps, a little less to be
wondered at.--They are brought more within
my comprehension."
"I understand you.--You do not suppose that
I have ever felt much.--For four months,
Marianne, I have had all this hanging on my
mind, without being at liberty to speak of
it to a single creature; knowing that it
would make you and my mother most unhappy
whenever it were explained to you, yet
unable to prepare you for it in the least.-
- It was told me,--it was in a manner
forced on me by the very person herself,
whose prior engagement ruined all my
prospects; and told me, as I thought, with
triumph.-- This person's suspicions,
therefore, I have had to oppose, by
endeavouring to appear indifferent where I
have been most deeply interested;--and it
has not been only once;--I have had her
hopes and exultation to listen to again and
again.-- I have known myself to be divided
from Edward for ever, without hearing one
circumstance that could make me less desire
the connection.--Nothing has proved him
unworthy; nor has anything declared him
indifferent to me.-- I have had to contend
against the unkindness of his sister, and
the insolence of his mother; and have
suffered the punishment of an attachment,
without enjoying its advantages.-- And all
this has been going on at a time, when, as
you know too well, it has not been my only
unhappiness.-- If you can think me capable
of ever feeling--surely you may suppose
that I have suffered NOW.
The composure of mind with which I have
brought myself at present to consider the
matter, the consolation that I have been
willing to admit, have been the effect of
constant and painful exertion;--they did
not spring up of themselves;--they did not
occur to relieve my spirits at first.-- No,
Marianne.--THEN, if I had not been bound to
silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me
entirely--not even what I owed to my
dearest friends--from openly shewing that I
was VERY unhappy."--
Marianne was quite subdued.--
"Oh! Elinor," she cried, "you have made me
hate myself for ever.--How barbarous have I
been to you!--you, who have been my only
comfort, who have borne with me in all my
misery, who have seemed to be only
suffering for me!--Is this my gratitude?--
Is this the only return I can make you?--
Because your merit cries out upon myself, I
have been trying to do it away."
The tenderest caresses followed this
confession.
In such a frame of mind as she was now in,
Elinor had no difficulty in obtaining from
her whatever promise she required; and at
her request, Marianne engaged never to
speak of the affair to any one with the
least appearance of bitterness;--to meet
Lucy without betraying the smallest
increase of dislike to her;--and even to
see Edward himself, if chance should bring
them together, without any diminution of
her usual cordiality.-- These were great
concessions;--but where Marianne felt that
she had injured, no reparation could be too
much for her to make.
She performed her promise of being
discreet, to admiration.--She attended to
all that Mrs. Jennings had to say upon the
subject, with an unchanging complexion,
dissented from her in nothing, and was
heard three times to say, "Yes, ma'am."--
She listened to her praise of Lucy with
only moving from one chair to another, and
when Mrs. Jennings talked of Edward's
affection, it cost her only a spasm in her
throat.--Such advances towards heroism in
her sister, made Elinor feel equal to any
thing herself.
The next morning brought a farther trial of
it, in a visit from their brother, who came
with a most serious aspect to talk over the
dreadful affair, and bring them news of his
wife.
"You have heard, I suppose," said he with
great solemnity, as soon as he was seated,
"of the very shocking discovery that took
place under our roof yesterday."
They all looked their assent; it seemed too
awful a moment for speech.
"Your sister," he continued, "has suffered
dreadfully.
Mrs. Ferrars too--in short it has been a
scene of such complicated distress--but I
will hope that the storm may be weathered
without our being any of us quite overcome.
Poor ***! she was in hysterics all
yesterday.
But I would not alarm you too much.
Donavan says there is nothing materially to
be apprehended; her constitution is a good
one, and her resolution equal to any thing.
She has borne it all, with the fortitude of
an angel!
She says she never shall think well of
anybody again; and one cannot wonder at it,
after being so deceived!--meeting with such
ingratitude, where so much kindness had
been shewn, so much confidence had been
placed!
It was quite out of the benevolence of her
heart, that she had asked these young women
to her house; merely because she thought
they deserved some attention, were
harmless, well-behaved girls, and would be
pleasant companions; for otherwise we both
wished very much to have invited you and
Marianne to be with us, while your kind
friend there, was attending her daughter.
And now to be so rewarded!
'I wish, with all my heart,' says poor
*** in her affectionate way, 'that we had
asked your sisters instead of them.'"
Here he stopped to be thanked; which being
done, he went on.
"What poor Mrs. Ferrars suffered, when
first *** broke it to her, is not to be
described.
While she with the truest affection had
been planning a most eligible connection
for him, was it to be supposed that he
could be all the time secretly engaged to
another person!--such a suspicion could
never have entered her head!
If she suspected ANY prepossession
elsewhere, it could not be in THAT quarter.
'THERE, to be sure,' said she, 'I might
have thought myself safe.'
She was quite in an agony.
We consulted together, however, as to what
should be done, and at last she determined
to send for Edward.
He came.
But I am sorry to relate what ensued.
All that Mrs. Ferrars could say to make him
put an end to the engagement, assisted too
as you may well suppose by my arguments,
and ***'s entreaties, was of no avail.
Duty, affection, every thing was
disregarded.
I never thought Edward so stubborn, so
unfeeling before.
His mother explained to him her liberal
designs, in case of his marrying Miss
Morton; told him she would settle on him
the Norfolk estate, which, clear of land-
tax, brings in a good thousand a-year;
offered even, when matters grew desperate,
to make it twelve hundred; and in
opposition to this, if he still persisted
in this low connection, represented to him
the certain penury that must attend the
match.
His own two thousand pounds she protested
should be his all; she would never see him
again; and so far would she be from
affording him the smallest assistance, that
if he were to enter into any profession
with a view of better support, she would do
all in her power to prevent him advancing
Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of
indignation, clapped her hands together,
and cried, "Gracious God! can this be
possible!"
"Well may you wonder, Marianne," replied
her brother, "at the obstinacy which could
resist such arguments as these.
Your exclamation is very natural."
Marianne was going to retort, but she
remembered her promises, and forbore.
"All this, however," he continued, "was
urged in vain.
Edward said very little; but what he did
say, was in the most determined manner.
Nothing should prevail on him to give up
his engagement.
He would stand to it, cost him what it
might."
"Then," cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt
sincerity, no longer able to be silent, "he
has acted like an honest man!
I beg your pardon, Mr. Dashwood, but if he
had done otherwise, I should have thought
him a rascal.
I have some little concern in the business,
as well as yourself, for Lucy Steele is my
cousin, and I believe there is not a better
kind of girl in the world, nor one who more
deserves a good husband."
John Dashwood was greatly astonished; but
his nature was calm, not open to
provocation, and he never wished to offend
anybody, especially anybody of good
fortune.
He therefore replied, without any
resentment,
"I would by no means speak disrespectfully
of any relation of yours, madam.
Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very
deserving young woman, but in the present
case you know, the connection must be
impossible.
And to have entered into a secret
engagement with a young man under her
uncle's care, the son of a woman especially
of such very large fortune as Mrs. Ferrars,
is perhaps, altogether a little
extraordinary.
In short, I do not mean to reflect upon the
behaviour of any person whom you have a
regard for, Mrs. Jennings.
We all wish her extremely happy; and Mrs.
Ferrars's conduct throughout the whole, has
been such as every conscientious, good
mother, in like circumstances, would adopt.
It has been dignified and liberal.
Edward has drawn his own lot, and I fear it
will be a bad one."
Marianne sighed out her similar
apprehension; and Elinor's heart wrung for
the feelings of Edward, while braving his
mother's threats, for a woman who could not
reward him.
"Well, sir," said Mrs. Jennings, "and how
did it end?"
"I am sorry to say, ma'am, in a most
unhappy rupture:-- Edward is dismissed for
ever from his mother's notice.
He left her house yesterday, but where he
is gone, or whether he is still in town, I
do not know; for WE of course can make no
inquiry."
"Poor young man!--and what is to become of
him?"
"What, indeed, ma'am!
It is a melancholy consideration.
Born to the prospect of such affluence!
I cannot conceive a situation more
deplorable.
The interest of two thousand pounds--how
can a man live on it?--and when to that is
added the recollection, that he might, but
for his own folly, within three months have
been in the receipt of two thousand, five
hundred a-year (for Miss Morton has thirty
thousand pounds,) I cannot picture to
myself a more wretched condition.
We must all feel for him; and the more so,
because it is totally out of our power to
assist him."
"Poor young man!" cried Mrs. Jennings, "I
am sure he should be very welcome to bed
and board at my house; and so I would tell
him if I could see him.
It is not fit that he should be living
about at his own charge now, at lodgings
and taverns."
Elinor's heart thanked her for such
kindness towards Edward, though she could
not forbear smiling at the form of it.
"If he would only have done as well by
himself," said John Dashwood, "as all his
friends were disposed to do by him, he
might now have been in his proper
situation, and would have wanted for
nothing.
But as it is, it must be out of anybody's
power to assist him.
And there is one thing more preparing
against him, which must be worse than all--
his mother has determined, with a very
natural kind of spirit, to settle THAT
estate upon Robert immediately, which might
have been Edward's, on proper conditions.
I left her this morning with her lawyer,
talking over the business."
"Well!" said Mrs. Jennings, "that is HER
revenge.
Everybody has a way of their own.
But I don't think mine would be, to make
one son independent, because another had
plagued me."
Marianne got up and walked about the room.
"Can anything be more galling to the spirit
of a man," continued John, "than to see his
younger brother in possession of an estate
which might have been his own?
Poor Edward!
I feel for him sincerely."
A few minutes more spent in the same kind
of effusion, concluded his visit; and with
repeated assurances to his sisters that he
really believed there was no material
danger in ***'s indisposition, and that
they need not therefore be very uneasy
about it, he went away; leaving the three
ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the
present occasion, as far at least as it
regarded Mrs. Ferrars's conduct, the
Dashwoods', and Edward's.
Marianne's indignation burst forth as soon
as he quitted the room; and as her
vehemence made reserve impossible in
Elinor, and unnecessary in Mrs. Jennings,
they all joined in a very spirited critique
upon the party.