Sense and Sensibility 195protect oneself and one’s family from scrutiny and,
perhaps, pain.
As though hers were the yardstick by which oth-
ers’ conduct might be measured, we are presented
with Elinor’s example first. Though it is clear to
all in the newly enlarged Norland household that
Elinor and Edward Ferrars have formed a strong
attachment, when Marianne presses Elinor for
details, Elinor says, “I do not attempt to deny...
that I think very highly of him—that I greatly
esteem, that I like him.” Marianne is horrified. How
could Elinor, who clearly loves Edward, speak of
him in such bland terms? Elinor recognizes the
significant obstacles that stand in the way of any
romantic relationship with Edward—namely, his
family and her lack of fortune. She is not unfeel-
ing; she is discreet. Experience is not cold; it is only
realistic. At least if Elinor keeps her feelings private,
none may participate in her disappointment but
herself. She protects herself, Edward, and her family
with her prudence.
When Marianne falls in love, however, her con-
duct is vastly different from Elinor’s. Believing that
to hide her emotions is to admit some shame for
them, trusting implicitly in Willoughby, and oblivi-
ous to the possibility of disappointment, Marianne
has no scruples about putting herself and her feel-
ings on display. The lovers’ conduct makes them the
object of laughter, “but ridicule could not shame, and
seemed hardly to provoke them.” Therefore, when
Willoughby abandons Marianne, everyone partici-
pates in her loss, and on some level, the loss may be
felt more deeply by her because she is so unpracticed
at veiling her feelings and moving on.
Discussions between Elinor and Colonel Bran-
don shed light on the happy aspects of a nature
such as Marianne’s; she is all warmth, sincerity,
and impulse because she does not reflect, and her
own opinions have not yet given way to more
general ones. There is something lovely about this
innocence. However, Willoughby’s example reveals
what can happen when such a nature is permitted
to persist for too long: “The world had made him
extravagant and vain; extravagance and vanity had
made him cold-hearted and selfish.” Growing up
can be sad, but one cannot remain a child forever,
and indulgence such as Willoughby has received
makes for self-centered, unscrupulous adults.
Marianne’s illness increases her sense of pro-
priety, as though it finally enables her to see how
her trials affect her loved ones as well as how
unrestricted emotion can be deleterious to her
own body and soul. When the family returns to
Barton Cottage, Elinor “trace[s] the direction of
a mind awakened to reasonable exertion” as Mari-
anne attempts to accustom herself to the sight of
objects associated with Willoughby. She notices the
remnants of Marianne’s tears, shed discreetly rather
than publicly. Finally, Marianne is able to admit that
she has “nothing to regret—nothing but [her] own
folly.” She is blameless, of course, for Willoughby’s
behavior, but culpable for her own and the ways in
which it has negatively affected her family. In the
end, she forms a “second attachment,” a feeling she
previously thought impossible, to Colonel Brandon,
proving, once and for all, that she has acquired the
level of experience necessary not only to survive but
to be genuinely happy in the world. This happiness
is possible because she sees the world now for what
it is, and such a feeling permits her to feel gratitude,
to recognize her mistakes, and to learn from them.
Laura L. GuggenheimlOve in Sense and Sensibility
In Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen champions
rational rather than erotic love and insists that such
love is absolutely necessary in order for a couple to
achieve the most successful, and happiest, kind of
marriage. Without this love, a couple can grow as
cold and distant from each other as Sir John and
Lady Middleton do, with nothing in common other
than family. With it, a couple can hope to endure, to
have their feelings grow stronger rather than stale as
they grow old and as the more heated, obvious pas-
sion of youth passes.
From the outset, Marianne Dashwood’s roman-
tic sensibilities color her perceptions of love, both in
her own life and in others’. She believes that only
the young can aspire to feel or excite passion, that a
woman of 27 years, for example, no longer has any
hope or prospects of inciting another’s love. She
does not believe in “second attachments,” presum-
ably because real attachment can never be dupli-