Sense and Sensibility E-Book

Jane Austen.

• Herausgeber: Madeley publishing
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Sense and Sensibility is the first novel by the English author Jane Austen, published in 1811. It was published anonymously;  By A Lady appears on the title page where the author's name might have been. It tells the story of the Dashwood sisters, Elinor (age 19) and Marianne (age 16½) as they come of age. They have an older half-brother, John, and a younger sister, Margaret (age 13).
The novel follows the three Dashwood sisters and their widowed mother as they are forced to leave the family estate at Norland Park and move to Barton Cottage, a modest home on the property of distant relative Sir John Middleton. There Elinor and Marianne experience love, romance, and heartbreak. The novel is set in South West England, London, and Sussex, probably between 1792 and 1797.

Leseprobe

Sense and Sensibility

––––––––

by Jane Austen

Madeley publishing

Contents

Jane Austen Biography

Jane Austen Novel Discussion

Jane Austen Interesting Facts

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

Vintage Illustrations

Jane Austen

Jane Austen Biography

Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775, in Steventon, Hampshire, England. While not widely known in her own time, Austen's comic novels of love among the landed gentry gained popularity after 1869, and her reputation skyrocketed in the 20th century. Her novels, including Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility, are considered literary classics, bridging the gap between romance and realism.

The seventh child and second daughter of Cassandra and George Austen, Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775, in Steventon, Hampshire, England. Jane's parents were well-respected community members. Her father served as the Oxford-educated rector for a nearby Anglican parish. The family was close and the children grew up in an environment that stressed learning and creative thinking. When Jane was young, she and her siblings were encouraged to read from their father's extensive library. The children also authored and put on plays and charades.

Over the span of her life, Jane would become especially close to her father and older sister, Cassandra. Indeed, she and Cassandra would one day collaborate on a published work.

In order to acquire a more formal education, Jane and Cassandra were sent to boarding schools during Jane's pre-adolescence. During this time, Jane and her sister caught typhus, with Jane nearly succumbing to the illness. After a short period of formal education cut short by financial constraints, they returned home and lived with the family from that time forward.

Ever fascinated by the world of stories, Jane began to write in bound notebooks. In the 1790s, during her adolescence, she started to craft her own novels and wrote Love and Freindship [sic], a parody of romantic fiction organized as a series of love letters. Using that framework, she unveiled her wit and dislike of sensibility, or romantic hysteria, a distinct perspective that would eventually characterize much of her later writing. The next year she wrote The History of England..., a 34-page parody of historical writing that included illustrations drawn by Cassandra. These notebooks, encompassing the novels as well as short stories, poems and plays, are now referred to as Jane's Juvenilia.

Jane spent much of her early adulthood helping run the family home, playing piano, attending church, and socializing with neighbours.

Steventon Church, as depicted in A Memoir of Jane Austen.

Her nights and weekends often involved cotillions, and as a result, she became an accomplished dancer. On other evenings, she would choose a novel from the shelf and read it aloud to her family, occasionally one she had written herself. She continued to write, developing her style in more ambitious works such as Lady Susan, another epistolary story about a manipulative woman who uses her sexuality, intelligence and charm to have her way with others. Jane also started to write some of her future major works, the first called Elinor and Marianne, another story told as a series of letters, which would eventually be published as Sense and Sensibility. She began drafts of First Impressions, which would later be published as Pride and Prejudice, and Susan, later published as Northanger Abbey by Jane's brother, Henry, following Jane's death.

In 1801, Jane moved to Bath with her father, mother and Cassandra. Then, in 1805, her father died after a short illness. As a result, the family was thrust into financial straits; the three women moved from place to place, skipping between the homes of various family members to rented flats. It was not until 1809 that they were able to settle into a stable living situation at Jane's brother Edward's cottage in Chawton.

Now in her 30s, Jane started to anonymously publish her works. In the period spanning 1811-16, she pseudonymously published Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice (a work she referred to as her "darling child," which also received critical acclaim), Mansfield Park and Emma.

In 1816, at the age of 41, Jane started to become ill with what some say might have been Addison's disease. She made impressive efforts to continue working at a normal pace, editing older works as well as starting a new novel called The Brothers, which would be published after her death as Sanditon. Another novel, Persuasion, would also be published posthumously. At some point, Jane's condition deteriorated to such a degree that she ceased writing. She died on July 18, 1817, in Winchester, Hampshire, England.

Jane Austen Novel Discussion

Sense and Sensibility tells the story of the impoverished Dashwood sisters. Marianne is the heroine of “sensibility”—i.e., of openness and enthusiasm. She becomes infatuated with the attractive John Willoughby, who seems to be a romantic lover but is in reality an unscrupulous fortune hunter. He deserts her for an heiress, leaving her to learn a dose of “sense” in a wholly unromantic marriage with a staid and settled bachelor, Colonel Brandon, who is 20 years her senior. By contrast, Marianne’s older sister, Elinor, is the guiding light of “sense,” or prudence and discretion, whose constancy toward her lover, Edward Ferrars, is rewarded by her marriage to him after some distressing vicissitudes.

Pride and Prejudice describes the clash between Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of a country gentleman, and Fitzwilliam Darcy, a rich and aristocratic landowner. Although Austen shows them intrigued by each other, she reverses the convention of “first impressions”: “pride” of rank and fortune and “prejudice” against the inferiority of the Bennet family hold Darcy aloof, while Elizabeth is equally fired both by the “pride” of self-respect and by “prejudice” against Darcy’s snobbery. Ultimately, they come together in love and self-understanding. The intelligent and high-spirited Elizabeth was Jane Austen’s own favourite among all her heroines and is one of the most engaging in English literature.

Northanger Abbey combines a satire on conventional novels of polite society with one on Gothic tales of terror. Catherine Morland, the unspoiled daughter of a country parson, is the innocent abroad who gains worldly wisdom, first in the fashionable society of Bath and then at Northanger Abbey itself, where she learns not to interpret the world through her reading of Gothic thrillers. Her mentor and guide is the self-assured and gently ironic Henry Tilney, her husband-to-be.

In its tone and discussion of religion and religious duty, Mansfield Park is the most serious of Austen’s novels. The heroine, Fanny Price, is a self-effacing and unregarded cousin cared for by the Bertram family in their country house. Fanny emerges as a true heroine whose moral strength eventually wins her complete acceptance in the Bertram family and marriage to Edmund Bertram himself, after that family’s disastrous involvement with the meretricious and loose-living Crawfords.

Of all Austen’s novels, Emma is the most consistently comic in tone. It centres on Emma Woodhouse, a wealthy, pretty, self-satisfied young woman who indulges herself with meddlesome and unsuccessful attempts at matchmaking among her friends and neighbours. After a series of humiliating errors, a chastened Emma finds her destiny in marriage to the mature and protective George Knightley, a neighbouring squire who had been her mentor and friend.

Persuasion tells the story of a second chance, the reawakening of love between Anne Elliot and Captain Frederick Wentworth, whom seven years earlier she had been persuaded not to marry. Now Wentworth returns from the Napoleonic Wars with prize money and the social acceptability of naval rank. He is an eligible suitor acceptable to Anne’s snobbish father and his circle, and Anne discovers the continuing strength of her love for him.

Jane Austen Interesting Facts

Help from the family

When Austen penned First Impressions, the book that would become Pride and Prejudice, in 1797, her proud farther George took it to a London publisher named Thomas Cadell for review. Cadell rejected it unread. It's not clear if Jane was even aware that George approached Cadell on her behalf.

Much later, in 1810, her brother Henry would act as her literary agent, selling Sense and Sensibility to London publisher Thomas Egerton.

Anonymous publications

From Sense and Sensibility through Emma, Austen's published works never bore her name. Sense and Sensibility carried the byline of "A Lady," while later works like Pride and Prejudice featured credits like, "By the Author of Sense and Sensibility."

Backing out of marriage

The year after her family's move to the city of Bath in 1801, Austen received a proposal of marriage from Harris Bigg-Wither, a financially prosperous childhood friend.

A 10 year break

When her family moved to Bath and subsequently kept relocating following her father's death in 1805, Austen's writing habits were severely disrupted. Once prolific—she completed three of her novels by 1801—a lack of a routine kept her from producing work for roughly 10 years. It wasn't until she felt her home life was stable after moving into property owned by her brother, Edward, that Austen resumed her career.

Straight pins

For an unfinished novel titled The Watsons, Austen took the pins and used them to fasten revisions to the pages of areas that were in need of correction or rewrites. The practice dates back to the 17th century.

Home brewing

In Austen's time, beer was the drink of choice, and like the rest of her family, Austen could brew her own beer. Her specialty was spruce beer, which was made with molasses for a slightly sweeter taste.

Poison

Austen lived to see only four of her six novels published. She died on July 18, 1817 at the age of 41 following complaints of symptoms that medical historians have long felt pointed to Addison's disease or Hodgkin's lymphoma. In 2017, the British Library floated a different theory—that Austen was poisoned by arsenic in her drinking water due to a polluted supply or possibly accidental ingestion due to mismanaged medication.

Court decisions

Jurists often use Austen as a kind of shorthand to explain matters involving relationships or class distinctions. Half of the decisions used the opening line from Pride and Prejudice: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

CHAPTER 1

The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex.

Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park,

in the centre of their property, where, for many generations,

they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage

the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.

The late owner of this estate was a single man, who lived

to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his life,

had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister.

But her death, which happened ten years before his own,

produced a great alteration in his home; for to supply

her loss, he invited and received into his house the family

of his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal inheritor

of the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intended

to bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece,

and their children, the old Gentleman's days were

comfortably spent. His attachment to them all increased.

The constant attention of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Dashwood

to his wishes, which proceeded not merely from interest,

but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solid

comfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulness

of the children added a relish to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one

son: by his present lady, three daughters. The son,

a steady respectable young man, was amply provided

for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,

and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age.

By his own marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards,

he added to his wealth. To him therefore the succession

to the Norland estate was not so really important as to

his sisters; for their fortune, independent of what might

arise to them from their father's inheriting that property,

could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and their

father only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal;

for the remaining moiety of his first wife's fortune was

also secured to her child, and he had only a life-interest

in it.

The old gentleman died: his will was read, and

like almost every other will, gave as much disappointment

as pleasure. He was neither so unjust, nor so ungrateful,

as to leave his estate from his nephew;—but he left it to him

on such terms as destroyed half the value of the bequest.

Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his

wife and daughters than for himself or his son;—but to

his son, and his son's son, a child of four years old,

it was secured, in such a way, as to leave to himself

no power of providing for those who were most dear

to him, and who most needed a provision by any charge

on the estate, or by any sale of its valuable woods.

The whole was tied up for the benefit of this child, who,

in occasional visits with his father and mother at Norland,

had so far gained on the affections of his uncle,

by such attractions as are by no means unusual in children

of two or three years old; an imperfect articulation,

an earnest desire of having his own way, many cunning tricks,

and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh all the value

of all the attention which, for years, he had received

from his niece and her daughters. He meant not to

be unkind, however, and, as a mark of his affection

for the three girls, he left them a thousand pounds a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood's disappointment was, at first, severe;

but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he might

reasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically,

lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estate

already large, and capable of almost immediate improvement.

But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was his

only one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer;

and ten thousand pounds, including the late legacies,

was all that remained for his widow and daughters.

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known,

and to him Mr. Dashwood recommended, with all the strength

and urgency which illness could command, the interest

of his mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the

rest of the family; but he was affected by a recommendation

of such a nature at such a time, and he promised to do

every thing in his power to make them comfortable.

His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,

and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how

much there might prudently be in his power to do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to

be rather cold hearted and rather selfish is to be

ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well respected;

for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge

of his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman,

he might have been made still more respectable than he

was:—he might even have been made amiable himself; for he

was very young when he married, and very fond of his wife.

But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of himself;—

more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditated

within himself to increase the fortunes of his sisters

by the present of a thousand pounds a-piece. He then

really thought himself equal to it. The prospect of four

thousand a-year, in addition to his present income,

besides the remaining half of his own mother's fortune,

warmed his heart, and made him feel capable of generosity.—

"Yes, he would give them three thousand pounds: it would

be liberal and handsome! It would be enough to make

them completely easy. Three thousand pounds! he could

spare so considerable a sum with little inconvenience."—

He thought of it all day long, and for many days successively,

and he did not repent.

No sooner was his father's funeral over, than Mrs. John

Dashwood, without sending any notice of her intention to her

mother-in-law, arrived with her child and their attendants.

No one could dispute her right to come; the house was

her husband's from the moment of his father's decease;

but the indelicacy of her conduct was so much the greater,

and to a woman in Mrs. Dashwood's situation, with only

common feelings, must have been highly unpleasing;—

but in HER mind there was a sense of honor so keen,

a generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind,

by whomsoever given or received, was to her a source

of immoveable disgust. Mrs. John Dashwood had never

been a favourite with any of her husband's family;

but she had had no opportunity, till the present,

of shewing them with how little attention to the comfort

of other people she could act when occasion required it.

So acutely did Mrs. Dashwood feel this ungracious

behaviour, and so earnestly did she despise her

daughter-in-law for it, that, on the arrival of the latter,

she would have quitted the house for ever, had not the

entreaty of her eldest girl induced her first to reflect

on the propriety of going, and her own tender love for all

her three children determined her afterwards to stay,

and for their sakes avoid a breach with their brother.

Elinor, this eldest daughter, whose advice was

so effectual, possessed a strength of understanding,

and coolness of judgment, which qualified her,

though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother,

and enabled her frequently to counteract, to the advantage

of them all, that eagerness of mind in Mrs. Dashwood

which must generally have led to imprudence. She had

an excellent heart;—her disposition was affectionate,

and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern

them: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn;

and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught.

Marianne's abilities were, in many respects,

quite equal to Elinor's. She was sensible and clever;

but eager in everything: her sorrows, her joys, could have

no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: she

was everything but prudent. The resemblance between

her and her mother was strikingly great.

Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her

sister's sensibility; but by Mrs. Dashwood it was valued

and cherished. They encouraged each other now in the

violence of their affliction. The agony of grief

which overpowered them at first, was voluntarily renewed,

was sought for, was created again and again. They gave

themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase

of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it,

and resolved against ever admitting consolation

in future. Elinor, too, was deeply afflicted; but still

she could struggle, she could exert herself. She could

consult with her brother, could receive her sister-in-law

on her arrival, and treat her with proper attention;

and could strive to rouse her mother to similar exertion,

and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Margaret, the other sister, was a good-humored,

well-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibed

a good deal of Marianne's romance, without having

much of her sense, she did not, at thirteen, bid fair

to equal her sisters at a more advanced period of life.

CHAPTER 2

Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress

of Norland; and her mother and sisters-in-law were degraded

to the condition of visitors. As such, however, they were

treated by her with quiet civility; and by her husband

with as much kindness as he could feel towards anybody

beyond himself, his wife, and their child. He really

pressed them, with some earnestness, to consider Norland

as their home; and, as no plan appeared so eligible

to Mrs. Dashwood as remaining there till she could

accommodate herself with a house in the neighbourhood,

his invitation was accepted.

A continuance in a place where everything reminded

her of former delight, was exactly what suited her mind.

In seasons of cheerfulness, no temper could be more cheerful

than hers, or possess, in a greater degree, that sanguine

expectation of happiness which is happiness itself.

But in sorrow she must be equally carried away by her fancy,

and as far beyond consolation as in pleasure she was

beyond alloy.

Mrs. John Dashwood did not at all approve of what her

husband intended to do for his sisters. To take three

thousand pounds from the fortune of their dear little boy

would be impoverishing him to the most dreadful degree.

She begged him to think again on the subject. How could

he answer it to himself to rob his child, and his only

child too, of so large a sum? And what possible claim

could the Miss Dashwoods, who were related to him only by

half blood, which she considered as no relationship at all,

have on his generosity to so large an amount. It was very

well known that no affection was ever supposed to exist

between the children of any man by different marriages;

and why was he to ruin himself, and their poor little Harry,

by giving away all his money to his half sisters?

"It was my father's last request to me," replied

her husband, "that I should assist his widow and daughters."

"He did not know what he was talking of, I dare say;

ten to one but he was light-headed at the time.

Had he been in his right senses, he could not have thought

of such a thing as begging you to give away half your

fortune from your own child."

"He did not stipulate for any particular sum,

my dear Fanny; he only requested me, in general terms,

to assist them, and make their situation more comfortable

than it was in his power to do. Perhaps it would

have been as well if he had left it wholly to myself.

He could hardly suppose I should neglect them.

But as he required the promise, I could not do less

than give it; at least I thought so at the time.

The promise, therefore, was given, and must be performed.

Something must be done for them whenever they leave Norland

and settle in a new home."

"Well, then, LET something be done for them;

but THAT something need not be three thousand pounds.

Consider," she added, "that when the money is once

parted with, it never can return. Your sisters will marry,

and it will be gone for ever. If, indeed, it could

be restored to our poor little boy—"

"Why, to be sure," said her husband, very gravely,

"that would make great difference. The time may come when

Harry will regret that so large a sum was parted with.

If he should have a numerous family, for instance, it would

be a very convenient addition."

"To be sure it would."

"Perhaps, then, it would be better for all parties,

if the sum were diminished one half.—Five hundred pounds

would be a prodigious increase to their fortunes!"

"Oh! beyond anything great! What brother on earth

would do half so much for his sisters, even if REALLY

his sisters! And as it is—only half blood!—But you

have such a generous spirit!"

"I would not wish to do any thing mean," he replied.

"One had rather, on such occasions, do too much than

too little. No one, at least, can think I have not

done enough for them: even themselves, they can hardly

expect more."

"There is no knowing what THEY may expect,"

said the lady, "but we are not to think of their

expectations: the question is, what you can afford to do."

"Certainly—and I think I may afford to give them five

hundred pounds a-piece. As it is, without any addition

of mine, they will each have about three thousand pounds

on their mother's death—a very comfortable fortune

for any young woman."

"To be sure it is; and, indeed, it strikes me that

they can want no addition at all. They will have ten

thousand pounds divided amongst them. If they marry,

they will be sure of doing well, and if they do not,

they may all live very comfortably together on the interest

of ten thousand pounds."

"That is very true, and, therefore, I do not know whether,

upon the whole, it would not be more advisable to do

something for their mother while she lives, rather than

for them—something of the annuity kind I mean.—My sisters

would feel the good effects of it as well as herself.

A hundred a year would make them all perfectly comfortable."

His wife hesitated a little, however, in giving

her consent to this plan.

"To be sure," said she, "it is better than parting with

fifteen hundred pounds at once. But, then, if Mrs. Dashwood

should live fifteen years we shall be completely taken in."

"Fifteen years! my dear Fanny; her life cannot

be worth half that purchase."

"Certainly not; but if you observe, people always

live for ever when there is an annuity to be paid them;

and she is very stout and healthy, and hardly forty.

An annuity is a very serious business; it comes over

and over every year, and there is no getting rid

of it. You are not aware of what you are doing.

I have known a great deal of the trouble of annuities;

for my mother was clogged with the payment of three

to old superannuated servants by my father's will,

and it is amazing how disagreeable she found it.

Twice every year these annuities were to be paid; and then

there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then one

of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned

out to be no such thing. My mother was quite sick of it.

Her income was not her own, she said, with such perpetual

claims on it; and it was the more unkind in my father,

because, otherwise, the money would have been entirely at

my mother's disposal, without any restriction whatever.

It has given me such an abhorrence of annuities, that I am

sure I would not pin myself down to the payment of one for

all the world."

"It is certainly an unpleasant thing," replied Mr. Dashwood,

"to have those kind of yearly drains on one's income.

One's fortune, as your mother justly says, is NOT one's own.

To be tied down to the regular payment of such a sum,

on every rent day, is by no means desirable: it takes away

one's independence."

"Undoubtedly; and after all you have no thanks for it.

They think themselves secure, you do no more than what

is expected, and it raises no gratitude at all. If I were you,

whatever I did should be done at my own discretion entirely.

I would not bind myself to allow them any thing yearly.

It may be very inconvenient some years to spare a hundred,

or even fifty pounds from our own expenses."

"I believe you are right, my love; it will be better

that there should by no annuity in the case; whatever I

may give them occasionally will be of far greater assistance

than a yearly allowance, because they would only enlarge

their style of living if they felt sure of a larger income,

and would not be sixpence the richer for it at the end

of the year. It will certainly be much the best way.

A present of fifty pounds, now and then, will prevent

their ever being distressed for money, and will, I think,

be amply discharging my promise to my father."

"To be sure it will. Indeed, to say the truth,

I am convinced within myself that your father had no idea

of your giving them any money at all. The assistance

he thought of, I dare say, was only such as might be

reasonably expected of you; for instance, such as looking

out for a comfortable small house for them, helping them

to move their things, and sending them presents of fish

and game, and so forth, whenever they are in season.

I'll lay my life that he meant nothing farther; indeed,

it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did.

Do but consider, my dear Mr. Dashwood, how excessively

comfortable your mother-in-law and her daughters may live

on the interest of seven thousand pounds, besides the

thousand pounds belonging to each of the girls, which brings

them in fifty pounds a year a-piece, and, of course,

they will pay their mother for their board out of it.

Altogether, they will have five hundred a-year amongst them,

and what on earth can four women want for more than

that?—They will live so cheap! Their housekeeping will

be nothing at all. They will have no carriage, no horses,

and hardly any servants; they will keep no company,

and can have no expenses of any kind! Only conceive

how comfortable they will be! Five hundred a year! I am

sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it;

and as to your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think

of it. They will be much more able to give YOU something."

"Upon my word," said Mr. Dashwood, "I believe you

are perfectly right. My father certainly could mean

nothing more by his request to me than what you say.

I clearly understand it now, and I will strictly fulfil

my engagement by such acts of assistance and kindness

to them as you have described. When my mother removes

into another house my services shall be readily given

to accommodate her as far as I can. Some little present

of furniture too may be acceptable then."

"Certainly," returned Mrs. John Dashwood. "But, however,

ONE thing must be considered. When your father and mother

moved to Norland, though the furniture of Stanhill

was sold, all the china, plate, and linen was saved,

and is now left to your mother. Her house will therefore

be almost completely fitted up as soon as she takes it."

"That is a material consideration undoubtedly.

A valuable legacy indeed! And yet some of the plate would

have been a very pleasant addition to our own stock here."

"Yes; and the set of breakfast china is twice

as handsome as what belongs to this house. A great

deal too handsome, in my opinion, for any place THEY

can ever afford to live in. But, however, so it is.

Your father thought only of THEM. And I must say this:

that you owe no particular gratitude to him, nor attention

to his wishes; for we very well know that if he could,

he would have left almost everything in the world to THEM."

This argument was irresistible. It gave to his

intentions whatever of decision was wanting before; and he

finally resolved, that it would be absolutely unnecessary,

if not highly indecorous, to do more for the widow

and children of his father, than such kind of neighbourly

acts as his own wife pointed out.

CHAPTER 3

Mrs. Dashwood remained at Norland several months;

not from any disinclination to move when the sight of every

well known spot ceased to raise the violent emotion which it

produced for a while; for when her spirits began to revive,

and her mind became capable of some other exertion than that

of heightening its affliction by melancholy remembrances,

she was impatient to be gone, and indefatigable in her inquiries

for a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Norland;

for to remove far from that beloved spot was impossible.

But she could hear of no situation that at once answered

her notions of comfort and ease, and suited the prudence

of her eldest daughter, whose steadier judgment rejected

several houses as too large for their income, which her

mother would have approved.

Mrs. Dashwood had been informed by her husband of the

solemn promise on the part of his son in their favour,

which gave comfort to his last earthly reflections.

She doubted the sincerity of this assurance no more than he

had doubted it himself, and she thought of it for her daughters'

sake with satisfaction, though as for herself she was

persuaded that a much smaller provision than 7000L would

support her in affluence. For their brother's sake, too,

for the sake of his own heart, she rejoiced; and she

reproached herself for being unjust to his merit before,

in believing him incapable of generosity. His attentive

behaviour to herself and his sisters convinced her that

their welfare was dear to him, and, for a long time,

she firmly relied on the liberality of his intentions.

The contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance,

felt for her daughter-in-law, was very much increased

by the farther knowledge of her character, which half

a year's residence in her family afforded; and perhaps

in spite of every consideration of politeness or maternal

affection on the side of the former, the two ladies might

have found it impossible to have lived together so long,

had not a particular circumstance occurred to give

still greater eligibility, according to the opinions

of Mrs. Dashwood, to her daughters' continuance at Norland.

This circumstance was a growing attachment between

her eldest girl and the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood,

a gentleman-like and pleasing young man, who was introduced

to their acquaintance soon after his sister's establishment

at Norland, and who had since spent the greatest part

of his time there.

Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from

motives of interest, for Edward Ferrars was the eldest son

of a man who had died very rich; and some might have repressed

it from motives of prudence, for, except a trifling sum,

the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his mother.

But Mrs. Dashwood was alike uninfluenced by either consideration.

It was enough for her that he appeared to be amiable,

that he loved her daughter, and that Elinor returned

the partiality. It was contrary to every doctrine of

her's that difference of fortune should keep any couple

asunder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition;

and that Elinor's merit should not be acknowledged

by every one who knew her, was to her comprehension impossible.

Edward Ferrars was not recommended to their good

opinion by any peculiar graces of person or address.

He was not handsome, and his manners required intimacy

to make them pleasing. He was too diffident to do justice

to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome,

his behaviour gave every indication of an open,

affectionate heart. His understanding was good,

and his education had given it solid improvement.

But he was neither fitted by abilities nor disposition

to answer the wishes of his mother and sister, who longed

to see him distinguished—as—they hardly knew what.

They wanted him to make a fine figure in the world in some

manner or other. His mother wished to interest him in

political concerns, to get him into parliament, or to see

him connected with some of the great men of the day.

Mrs. John Dashwood wished it likewise; but in the mean while,

till one of these superior blessings could be attained, it would

have quieted her ambition to see him driving a barouche.

But Edward had no turn for great men or barouches.

All his wishes centered in domestic comfort and the quiet

of private life. Fortunately he had a younger brother

who was more promising.

Edward had been staying several weeks in the house

before he engaged much of Mrs. Dashwood's attention;

for she was, at that time, in such affliction as rendered

her careless of surrounding objects. She saw only that he

was quiet and unobtrusive, and she liked him for it.

He did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind by

ill-timed conversation. She was first called to observe

and approve him farther, by a reflection which Elinor

chanced one day to make on the difference between him

and his sister. It was a contrast which recommended him

most forcibly to her mother.

"It is enough," said she; "to say that he is unlike

Fanny is enough. It implies everything amiable.

I love him already."

"I think you will like him," said Elinor, "when you

know more of him."

"Like him!" replied her mother with a smile.

"I feel no sentiment of approbation inferior to love."

"You may esteem him."

"I have never yet known what it was to separate

esteem and love."

Mrs. Dashwood now took pains to get acquainted with him.

Her manners were attaching, and soon banished his reserve.

She speedily comprehended all his merits; the persuasion

of his regard for Elinor perhaps assisted her penetration;

but she really felt assured of his worth: and even that

quietness of manner, which militated against all her

established ideas of what a young man's address ought to be,

was no longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be

warm and his temper affectionate.

No sooner did she perceive any symptom of love

in his behaviour to Elinor, than she considered their

serious attachment as certain, and looked forward

to their marriage as rapidly approaching.

"In a few months, my dear Marianne." said she,

"Elinor will, in all probability be settled for life.

We shall miss her; but SHE will be happy."

"Oh! Mamma, how shall we do without her?"

"My love, it will be scarcely a separation.

We shall live within a few miles of each other, and shall

meet every day of our lives. You will gain a brother,

a real, affectionate brother. I have the highest opinion

in the world of Edward's heart. But you look grave,

Marianne; do you disapprove your sister's choice?"

"Perhaps," said Marianne, "I may consider it

with some surprise. Edward is very amiable, and I love

him tenderly. But yet—he is not the kind of young

man—there is something wanting—his figure is not striking;

it has none of that grace which I should expect

in the man who could seriously attach my sister.

His eyes want all that spirit, that fire, which at once

announce virtue and intelligence. And besides all this,

I am afraid, Mamma, he has no real taste. Music seems

scarcely to attract him, and though he admires Elinor's

drawings very much, it is not the admiration of a person

who can understand their worth. It is evident, in spite of

his frequent attention to her while she draws, that in fact

he knows nothing of the matter. He admires as a lover,

not as a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters

must be united. I could not be happy with a man whose

taste did not in every point coincide with my own.

He must enter into all my feelings; the same books,

the same music must charm us both. Oh! mama, how spiritless,

how tame was Edward's manner in reading to us last night!

I felt for my sister most severely. Yet she bore it

with so much composure, she seemed scarcely to notice it.

I could hardly keep my seat. To hear those beautiful lines

which have frequently almost driven me wild, pronounced

with such impenetrable calmness, such dreadful indifference!"—

"He would certainly have done more justice to

simple and elegant prose. I thought so at the time;

but you WOULD give him Cowper."

"Nay, Mamma, if he is not to be animated by Cowper!—

but we must allow for difference of taste. Elinor has

not my feelings, and therefore she may overlook it, and

be happy with him. But it would have broke MY heart,

had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility.

Mama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convinced

that I shall never see a man whom I can really love.

I require so much! He must have all Edward's virtues,

and his person and manners must ornament his goodness

with every possible charm."

"Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen.

It is yet too early in life to despair of such a happiness.

Why should you be less fortunate than your mother? In

one circumstance only, my Marianne, may your destiny be

different from her's!"

CHAPTER 4

"What a pity it is, Elinor," said Marianne,

"that Edward should have no taste for drawing."

"No taste for drawing!" replied Elinor, "why should

you think so? He does not draw himself, indeed, but he has

great pleasure in seeing the performances of other people,

and I assure you he is by no means deficient in natural taste,

though he has not had opportunities of improving it.

Had he ever been in the way of learning, I think he would

have drawn very well. He distrusts his own judgment

in such matters so much, that he is always unwilling

to give his opinion on any picture; but he has an innate

propriety and simplicity of taste, which in general

direct him perfectly right."

Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no more

on the subject; but the kind of approbation which Elinor

described as excited in him by the drawings of other

people, was very far from that rapturous delight, which,

in her opinion, could alone be called taste. Yet, though

smiling within herself at the mistake, she honoured

her sister for that blind partiality to Edward which produced it.

"I hope, Marianne," continued Elinor, "you do not

consider him as deficient in general taste. Indeed, I think

I may say that you cannot, for your behaviour to him

is perfectly cordial, and if THAT were your opinion,

I am sure you could never be civil to him."

Marianne hardly knew what to say. She would

not wound the feelings of her sister on any account,

and yet to say what she did not believe was impossible.

At length she replied:

"Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him

is not in every thing equal to your sense of his merits.

I have not had so many opportunities of estimating the minuter

propensities of his mind, his inclinations and tastes,

as you have; but I have the highest opinion in the world

of his goodness and sense. I think him every thing that is

worthy and amiable."

"I am sure," replied Elinor, with a smile,

"that his dearest friends could not be dissatisfied

with such commendation as that. I do not perceive

how you could express yourself more warmly."

Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased.

"Of his sense and his goodness," continued Elinor,

"no one can, I think, be in doubt, who has seen him

often enough to engage him in unreserved conversation.

The excellence of his understanding and his principles

can be concealed only by that shyness which too often

keeps him silent. You know enough of him to do justice

to his solid worth. But of his minuter propensities,

as you call them you have from peculiar circumstances

been kept more ignorant than myself. He and I have

been at times thrown a good deal together, while you

have been wholly engrossed on the most affectionate

principle by my mother. I have seen a great deal of him,

have studied his sentiments and heard his opinion on

subjects of literature and taste; and, upon the whole,

I venture to pronounce that his mind is well-informed,

enjoyment of books exceedingly great, his imagination lively,

his observation just and correct, and his taste delicate

and pure. His abilities in every respect improve

as much upon acquaintance as his manners and person.

At first sight, his address is certainly not striking;

and his person can hardly be called handsome, till the

expression of his eyes, which are uncommonly good,

and the general sweetness of his countenance, is perceived.

At present, I know him so well, that I think him

really handsome; or at least, almost so. What say you,

Marianne?"

"I shall very soon think him handsome, Elinor, if I

do not now. When you tell me to love him as a brother,

I shall no more see imperfection in his face, than I now do

in his heart."

Elinor started at this declaration, and was sorry for

the warmth she had been betrayed into, in speaking of him.

She felt that Edward stood very high in her opinion.

She believed the regard to be mutual; but she required

greater certainty of it to make Marianne's conviction

of their attachment agreeable to her. She knew that

what Marianne and her mother conjectured one moment,

they believed the next—that with them, to wish was to hope,

and to hope was to expect. She tried to explain the real

state of the case to her sister.

"I do not attempt to deny," said she, "that I think

very highly of him—that I greatly esteem, that I like him."

Marianne here burst forth with indignation—

"Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Elinor! Oh!

worse than cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise.

Use those words again, and I will leave the room this moment."

Elinor could not help laughing. "Excuse me,"

said she; "and be assured that I meant no offence to you,

by speaking, in so quiet a way, of my own feelings.

Believe them to be stronger than I have declared;

believe them, in short, to be such as his merit, and the

suspicion—the hope of his affection for me may warrant,

without imprudence or folly. But farther than this you must

not believe. I am by no means assured of his regard for me.

There are moments when the extent of it seems doubtful;

and till his sentiments are fully known, you cannot wonder

at my wishing to avoid any encouragement of my own partiality,

by believing or calling it more than it is. In my heart

I feel little—scarcely any doubt of his preference.

But there are other points to be considered besides

his inclination. He is very far from being independent.

What his mother really is we cannot know; but, from Fanny's

occasional mention of her conduct and opinions, we have

never been disposed to think her amiable; and I am very

much mistaken if Edward is not himself aware that there

would be many difficulties in his way, if he were to wish

to marry a woman who had not either a great fortune or

high rank."

Marianne was astonished to find how much the imagination

of her mother and herself had outstripped the truth.

"And you really are not engaged to him!" said she.

"Yet it certainly soon will happen. But two advantages

will proceed from this delay. I shall not lose you so soon,

and Edward will have greater opportunity of improving

that natural taste for your favourite pursuit which must

be so indispensably necessary to your future felicity.

Oh! if he should be so far stimulated by your genius as to

learn to draw himself, how delightful it would be!"

Elinor had given her real opinion to her sister.

She could not consider her partiality for Edward

in so prosperous a state as Marianne had believed it.

There was, at times, a want of spirits about him which,

if it did not denote indifference, spoke of something almost

as unpromising. A doubt of her regard, supposing him

to feel it, need not give him more than inquietude.

It would not be likely to produce that dejection of mind

which frequently attended him. A more reasonable cause

might be found in the dependent situation which forbade

the indulgence of his affection. She knew that his mother

neither behaved to him so as to make his home comfortable

at present, nor to give him any assurance that he might form

a home for himself, without strictly attending to her views

for his aggrandizement. With such a knowledge as this,

it was impossible for Elinor to feel easy on the subject.

She was far from depending on that result of his preference

of her, which her mother and sister still considered

as certain. Nay, the longer they were together the more

doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and sometimes,

for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more

than friendship.

But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough,

when perceived by his sister, to make her uneasy,

and at the same time, (which was still more common,)

to make her uncivil. She took the first opportunity of

affronting her mother-in-law on the occasion, talking to

her so expressively of her brother's great expectations,

of Mrs. Ferrars's resolution that both her sons should

marry well, and of the danger attending any young woman

who attempted to DRAW HIM IN; that Mrs. Dashwood could

neither pretend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to be calm.

She gave her an answer which marked her contempt,

and instantly left the room, resolving that, whatever might

be the inconvenience or expense of so sudden a removal,

her beloved Elinor should not be exposed another week

to such insinuations.

In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered

to her from the post, which contained a proposal

particularly well timed. It was the offer of a small house,

on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of her own,

a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire.

The letter was from this gentleman himself, and written

in the true spirit of friendly accommodation.

He understood that she was in need of a dwelling;

and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage,

he assured her that everything should be done to it which

she might think necessary, if the situation pleased her.

He earnestly pressed her, after giving the particulars

of the house and garden, to come with her daughters to

Barton Park, the place of his own residence, from whence

she might judge, herself, whether Barton Cottage, for the

houses were in the same parish, could, by any alteration,

be made comfortable to her. He seemed really anxious to

accommodate them and the whole of his letter was written

in so friendly a style as could not fail of giving pleasure

to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was

suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of her

nearer connections. She needed no time for deliberation

or inquiry. Her resolution was formed as she read.

The situation of Barton, in a county so far distant from

Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours before,

would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every

possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its

first recommendation. To quit the neighbourhood of Norland

was no longer an evil; it was an object of desire;

it was a blessing, in comparison of the misery of continuing

her daughter-in-law's guest; and to remove for ever

from that beloved place would be less painful than to

inhabit or visit it while such a woman was its mistress.

She instantly wrote Sir John Middleton her acknowledgment

of his kindness, and her acceptance of his proposal;

and then hastened to shew both letters to her daughters,

that she might be secure of their approbation before her

answer were sent.

Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent

for them to settle at some distance from Norland,

than immediately amongst their present acquaintance.

On THAT head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose

her mother's intention of removing into Devonshire.

The house, too, as described by Sir John, was on so

simple a scale, and the rent so uncommonly moderate,

as to leave her no right of objection on either point;

and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought

any charm to her fancy, though it was a removal from

the vicinity of Norland beyond her wishes, she made

no attempt to dissuade her mother from sending a letter

of acquiescence.

CHAPTER 5

No sooner was her answer dispatched, than Mrs. Dashwood

indulged herself in the pleasure of announcing to her

son-in-law and his wife that she was provided with a house,

and should incommode them no longer than till every thing were

ready for her inhabiting it. They heard her with surprise.

Mrs. John Dashwood said nothing; but her husband civilly

hoped that she would not be settled far from Norland.

She had great satisfaction in replying that she was going

into Devonshire.—Edward turned hastily towards her,

on hearing this, and, in a voice of surprise and concern,

which required no explanation to her, repeated,

"Devonshire! Are you, indeed, going there? So far from hence!

And to what part of it?" She explained the situation.

It was within four miles northward of Exeter.

"It is but a cottage," she continued, "but I hope

to see many of my friends in it. A room or two can

easily be added; and if my friends find no difficulty

in travelling so far to see me, I am sure I will find

none in accommodating them."

She concluded with a very kind invitation to

Mr. and Mrs. John Dashwood to visit her at Barton;

and to Edward she gave one with still greater affection.

Though her late conversation with her daughter-in-law had

made her resolve on remaining at Norland no longer than

was unavoidable, it had not produced the smallest effect

on her in that point to which it principally tended.

To separate Edward and Elinor was as far from being her

object as ever; and she wished to show Mrs. John Dashwood,

by this pointed invitation to her brother, how totally she

disregarded her disapprobation of the match.

Mr. John Dashwood told his mother again and again

how exceedingly sorry he was that she had taken a house at

such a distance from Norland as to prevent his being of any

service to her in removing her furniture. He really felt

conscientiously vexed on the occasion; for the very exertion

to which he had limited the performance of his promise to

his father was by this arrangement rendered impracticable.—

The furniture was all sent around by water. It chiefly

consisted of household linen, plate, china, and books,

with a handsome pianoforte of Marianne's. Mrs. John

Dashwood saw the packages depart with a sigh: she could

not help feeling it hard that as Mrs. Dashwood's income

would be so trifling in comparison with their own,

she should have any handsome article of furniture.

Mrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it was

ready furnished, and she might have immediate possession.

No difficulty arose on either side in the agreement; and she

waited only for the disposal of her effects at Norland,

and to determine her future household, before she set

off for the west; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid

in the performance of everything that interested her,

was soon done.—The horses which were left her by her husband

had been sold soon after his death, and an opportunity

now offering of disposing of her carriage, she agreed

to sell that likewise at the earnest advice of her

eldest daughter. For the comfort of her children, had she

consulted only her own wishes, she would have kept it;

but the discretion of Elinor prevailed. HER wisdom

too limited the number of their servants to three;

two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily provided

from amongst those who had formed their establishment

at Norland.

The man and one of the maids were sent off immediately

into Devonshire, to prepare the house for their mistress's

arrival; for as Lady Middleton was entirely unknown

to Mrs. Dashwood, she preferred going directly to the

cottage to being a visitor at Barton Park; and she relied

so undoubtingly on Sir John's description of the house,

as to feel no curiosity to examine it herself till she

entered it as her own. Her eagerness to be gone from Norland

was preserved from diminution by the evident satisfaction

of her daughter-in-law in the prospect of her removal;

a satisfaction which was but feebly attempted to be concealed

under a cold invitation to her to defer her departure.

Now was the time when her son-in-law's promise to his

father might with particular propriety be fulfilled.

Since he had neglected to do it on first coming to

the estate, their quitting his house might be looked

on as the most suitable period for its accomplishment.

But Mrs. Dashwood began shortly to give over every

hope of the kind, and to be convinced, from the general

drift of his discourse, that his assistance extended no

farther than their maintenance for six months at Norland.

He so frequently talked of the increasing expenses

of housekeeping, and of the perpetual demands upon his purse,

which a man of any consequence in the world was beyond

calculation exposed to, that he seemed rather to stand

in need of more money himself than to have any design of

giving money away.

In a very few weeks from the day which brought Sir

John Middleton's first letter to Norland, every thing was

so far settled in their future abode as to enable

Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters to begin their journey.

Many were the tears shed by them in their last

adieus to a place so much beloved. "Dear, dear Norland!"

said Marianne, as she wandered alone before the house,

on the last evening of their being there; "when shall I cease

to regret you!—when learn to feel a home elsewhere!—Oh!

happy house, could you know what I suffer in now viewing

you from this spot, from whence perhaps I may view

you no more!—And you, ye well-known trees!—but you

will continue the same.—No leaf will decay because we

are removed, nor any branch become motionless although we

can observe you no longer!—No; you will continue the same;

unconscious of the pleasure or the regret you occasion,

and insensible of any change in those who walk under your

shade!—But who will remain to enjoy you?"

CHAPTER 6

The first part of their journey was performed in too

melancholy a disposition to be otherwise than tedious

and unpleasant. But as they drew towards the end of it,

their interest in the appearance of a country which they

were to inhabit overcame their dejection, and a view of

Barton Valley as they entered it gave them cheerfulness.

It was a pleasant fertile spot, well wooded, and rich

in pasture. After winding along it for more than a mile,

they reached their own house. A small green court was

the whole of its demesne in front; and a neat wicket gate

admitted them into it.

As a house, Barton Cottage, though small, was comfortable

and compact; but as a cottage it was defective, for the

building was regular, the roof was tiled, the window

shutters were not painted green, nor were the walls covered

with honeysuckles. A narrow passage led directly through

the house into the garden behind. On each side of the

entrance was a sitting room, about sixteen feet square;