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Sense and Sensibility
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Angielska wersja językowa zgodna z wydaniem z roku 1811
SENSE AND SENSIBILITY:
A NOVEL IN THREE VOLUMES.
BY A LADY.
The family of Dashwood had been long 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 but one, 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
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. His wife had
something considerable at present, and something still more to expect hereafter from her
mother, her only surviving parent, who had much to give. 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 division of 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 affection 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 honour 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-humoured 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.
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 any body
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 every thing 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
“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 ever 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 any thing 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 above 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
“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 any 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
“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
“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
“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.
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 daughter’s
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
The contempt which she had, very early in their acquaintance, felt for her daughter-in-law, was
very much encreased 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 daughter’s continuance at Norland.
This circumstance was a growing attachment between her eldest girl and the brother of Mrs.
John Dashwood, a gentlemanlike 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
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
“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, mama, 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, mama, 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!”
“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
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
“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 aggrandisement. 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
acknowledgement 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.
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 shew
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?”
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; and beyond them were the offices and the stairs. Four bed-rooms and two
garrets formed the rest of the house. It had not been built many years and was in good repair.
In comparison of Norland, it was poor and small indeed!—but the tears which recollection
called forth as they entered the house were soon dried away. They were cheered by the joy of
the servants on their arrival, and each for the sake of the others resolved to appear happy. It was
very early in September; the season was fine, and from first seeing the place under the advantage
of good weather, they received an impression in its favour which was of material service in
recommending it to their lasting approbation.
The situation of the house was good. High hills rose immediately behind, and at no great
distance on each side; some of which were open downs, the others cultivated and woody. The
village of Barton was chiefly on one of these hills, and formed a pleasant view from the cottage
windows. The prospect in front was more extensive; it commanded the whole of the valley, and
reached into the country beyond. The hills which surrounded the cottage terminated the valley
in that direction; under another name, and in another course, it branched out again between two
of the steepest of them.
With the size and furniture of the house Mrs. Dashwood was upon the whole well satisfied; for
though her former style of life rendered many additions to the latter indispensable, yet to add
and improve was a delight to her; and she had at this time ready money enough to supply all
that was wanted of greater elegance to the apartments. “As for the house itself, to be sure,” said
she, “it is too small for our family, but we will make ourselves tolerably comfortable for the
present, as it is too late in the year for improvements. Perhaps in the spring, if I have plenty of
money, as I dare say I shall, we may think about building. These parlors are both too small for
such parties of our friends as I hope to see often collected here; and I have some thoughts of
throwing the passage into one of them with perhaps a part of the other, and so leave the
remainder of that other for an entrance; this, with a new drawing room which may be easily
added, and a bed-chamber and garret above, will make it a very snug little cottage. I could wish
the stairs were handsome. But one must not expect every thing; though I suppose it would be
no difficult matter to widen them. I shall see how much I am before-hand with the world in the
spring, and we will plan our improvements accordingly.
In the mean time, till all these alterations could be made from the savings of an income of five
hundred a-year by a woman who never saved in her life, they were wise enough to be contented
with the house as it was; and each of them was busy in arranging their particular concerns, and
endeavouring, by placing around them books and other possessions, to form themselves a home.
Marianne’s pianoforte was unpacked and properly disposed of; and Elinor’s drawings were
affixed to the walls of their sitting room.
In such employments as these they were interrupted soon after breakfast the next day by the
entrance of their landlord, who called to welcome them to Barton, and to offer them every
accommodation from his own house and garden in which theirs might at present be deficient.
Sir John Middleton was a good looking man about forty. He had formerly visited at Stanhill,
but it was too long for his young cousins to remember him. His countenance was thoroughly
good-humoured; and his manners were as friendly as the style of his letter. Their arrival seemed
to afford him real satisfaction, and their comfort to be an object of real solicitude to him. He
said much of his earnest desire of their living in the most sociable terms with his family, and
pressed them so cordially to dine at Barton Park every day till they were better settled at home,
that, though his entreaties were carried to a point of perseverance beyond civility, they could
not give offence. His kindness was not confined to words; for within an hour after he left them,
a large basket full of garden stuff and fruit arrived from the park, which was followed before
the end of the day by a present of game. He insisted, moreover, on conveying all their letters to
and from the post for them, and would not be denied the satisfaction of sending them his
newspaper every day.
Lady Middleton had sent a very civil message by him, denoting her intention of waiting on Mrs.
Dashwood as soon as she could be assured that her visit would be no inconvenience; and as this
message was answered by an invitation equally polite, her ladyship was introduced to them the
They were, of course, very anxious to see a person on whom so much of their comfort at Barton
must depend; and the elegance of her appearance was favourable to their wishes. Lady
Middleton was not more than six or seven and twenty; her face was handsome, her figure tall
and striking, and her address graceful. Her manners had all the elegance which her husband’s
wanted. But they would have been improved by some share of his frankness and warmth; and
her visit was long enough to detract something from their first admiration, by shewing that,
though perfectly well-bred, she was reserved, cold, and had nothing to say for herself beyond
the most common-place inquiry or remark.
Conversation however was not wanted, for Sir John was very chatty, and Lady Middleton had
taken the wise precaution of bringing with her their eldest child, a fine little boy about six years
old, by which means there was one subject always to be recurred to by the ladies in case of
extremity, for they had to enquire his name and age, admire his beauty, and ask him questions
which his mother answered for him, while he hung about her and held down his head, to the
great surprise of her ladyship, who wondered at his being so shy before company, as he could
make noise enough at home. On every formal visit a child ought to be of the party, by way of
provision for discourse. In the present case it took up ten minutes to determine whether the boy
were most like his father or mother, and in what particular he resembled either, for of course
every body differed, and every body was astonished at each other’s opinion.
An opportunity was soon to be given to the Dashwoods of debating on the rest of the children,
as Sir John would not leave the house without securing their promise of dining at the park the
Barton Park was about half a mile from the cottage. The ladies had passed near it in their way
along the valley, but it was screened from their view at home by the projection of a hill. The
house was large and handsome; and the Middletons lived in a stile of equal hospitality and
elegance. The former was for Sir John’s gratification, the latter for that of his lady. They were
scarcely ever without some friends staying with them in the house, and they kept more company
of every kind than any other family in the neighbourhood. It was necessary to the happiness of
both; for however dissimilar in temper and outward behaviour, they strongly resembled each
other in that total want of talent and taste which confined their employments, unconnected with
such as society produced, within a very narrow compass. Sir John was a sportsman, Lady
Middleton a mother. He hunted and shot, and she humoured her children; and these were their
only resources. Lady Middleton had the advantage of being able to spoil her children all the
year round, while Sir John’s independent employments were in existence only half the time.
Continual engagements at home and abroad, however, supplied all the deficiencies of nature
and education; supported the good spirits of Sir John, and gave exercise to the good breeding
of his wife.
Lady Middleton piqued herself upon the elegance of her table, and of all her domestic
arrangements; and from this kind of vanity was her greatest enjoyment in any of their parties.
But Sir John’s satisfaction in society was much more real; he delighted in collecting about him
more young people than his house would hold, and the noisier they were the better was he
pleased. He was a blessing to all the juvenile part of the neighbourhood, for in summer he was
for ever forming parties to eat cold ham and chicken out of doors, and in winter his private balls
were numerous enough for any young lady who was not suffering under the insatiable appetite
The arrival of a new family in the country was always a matter of joy to him, and in every point
of view he was charmed with the inhabitants he had now procured for his cottage at Barton.
The Miss Dashwoods were young, pretty, and unaffected. It was enough to secure his good
opinion; for to be unaffected was all that a pretty girl could want to make her mind as captivating
as her person. The friendliness of his disposition made him happy in accommodating those,
whose situation might be considered, in comparison with the past, as unfortunate. In shewing
kindness to his cousins therefore he had the real satisfaction of a good heart; and in settling a
family of females only in his cottage, he had all the satisfaction of a sportsman; for a sportsman,
though he esteems only those of his sex who are sportsmen likewise, is not often desirous of
encouraging their taste by admitting them to a residence within his own manor.
Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters were met at the door of the house by Sir John, who welcomed
them to Barton Park with unaffected sincerity; and as he attended them to the drawing room
repeated to the young ladies the concern which the same subject had drawn from him the day
before, at being unable to get any smart young men to meet them. They would see, he said, only
one gentleman there besides himself; a particular friend who was staying at the park, but who
was neither very young nor very gay. He hoped they would all excuse the smallness of the party,
and could assure them it should never happen so again. He had been to several families that
morning in hopes of procuring some addition to their number, but it was moonlight and every
body was full of engagements. Luckily Lady Middleton’s mother had arrived at Barton within
the last hour, and as she was a very cheerful agreeable woman, he hoped the young ladies would
not find it so very dull as they might imagine. The young ladies, as well as their mother, were
perfectly satisfied with having two entire strangers of the party, and wished for no more.
Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton’s mother, was a good humoured, merry, fat, elderly woman,
who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and rather vulgar. She was full of jokes and
laughter, and before dinner was over had said many witty things on the subject of lovers and
husbands; hoped they had not left their hearts behind them in Sussex, and pretended to see them
blush whether they did or not. Marianne was vexed at it for her sister’s sake, and turned her
eyes towards Elinor to see how she bore these attacks, with an earnestness which gave Elinor
far more pain than could arise from such common-place raillery as Mrs. Jennings’s.
Colonel Brandon, the friend of Sir John, seemed no more adapted by resemblance of manner to
be his friend, than Lady Middleton was to be his wife, or Mrs. Jennings to be Lady Middleton’s
mother. He was silent and grave. His appearance however was not unpleasing, in spite of his
being in the opinion of Marianne and Margaret an absolute old bachelor, for he was on the
wrong side of five and thirty; but though his face was not handsome, his countenance was
sensible, and his address was particularly gentlemanlike.
There was nothing in any of the party which could recommend them as companions to the
Dashwoods; but the cold insipidity of Lady Middleton was so particularly repulsive, that in
comparison of it the gravity of Colonel Brandon, and even the boisterous mirth of Sir John and
his mother-in-law was interesting. Lady Middleton seemed to be roused to enjoyment only by
the entrance of her four noisy children after dinner, who pulled her about, tore her clothes, and
put an end to every kind of discourse except what related to themselves.
In the evening, as Marianne was discovered to be musical, she was invited to play. The
instrument was unlocked, every body prepared to be charmed, and Marianne, who sang very
well, at their request went through the chief of the songs which Lady Middleton had brought
into the family on her marriage, and which perhaps had lain ever since in the same position on
the pianoforté, for her ladyship had celebrated that event by giving up music, although by her
mother’s account, she had played extremely well, and by her own was very fond of it.
Marianne’s performance was highly applauded. Sir John was loud in his admiration at the end
of every song, and as loud in his conversation with the others while every song lasted. Lady
Middleton frequently called him to order, wondered how any one’s attention could be diverted
from music for a moment, and asked Marianne to sing a particular song which Marianne had
just finished. Colonel Brandon alone, of all the party, heard her without being in raptures. He
paid her only the compliment of attention; and she felt a respect for him on the occasion, which
the others had reasonably forfeited by their shameless want of taste. His pleasure in music,
though it amounted not to that extatic delight which alone could sympathize with her own, was
estimable when contrasted against the horrible insensibility of the others; and she was
reasonable enough to allow that a man of five and thirty might well have outlived all acuteness
of feeling and every exquisite power of enjoyment. She was perfectly disposed to make every
allowance for the colonel’s advanced state of life which humanity required.
Mrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure. She had only two daughters, both of whom
she had lived to see respectably married, and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry
all the rest of the world. In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, as far as her
ability reached; and missed no opportunity of projecting weddings among all the young people
of her acquaintance. She was remarkably quick in the discovery of attachments, and had
enjoyed the advantage of raising the blushes and the vanity of many a young lady by
insinuations of her power over such a young man; and this kind of discernment enabled her
soon after her arrival at Barton decisively to pronounce that Colonel Brandon was very much
in love with Marianne Dashwood. She rather suspected it to be so, on the very first evening of
their being together, from his listening so attentively while she sang to them; and when the visit
was returned by the Middletons’ dining at the cottage, the fact was ascertained by his listening
to her again. It must be so. She was perfectly convinced of it. It would be an excellent match,
for he was rich, and she was handsome. Mrs. Jennings had been anxious to see Colonel Brandon
well married, ever since her connection with Sir John first brought him to her knowledge; and
she was always anxious to get a good husband for every pretty girl.
The immediate advantage to herself was by no means inconsiderable, for it suppl
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