Chapters 39-44

The Dashwood sisters are finally going to make their way back to Barton Cottage. But, before they leave, a few more awkward encounters.

Colonel Brandon, hearing of Edward’s misfortunes, meets with Elinor to gauge Edward’s interest in the living at his estate, Delaford. Colonel Brandon apologizes for the small size of the rectory, but Elinor assures him Edward will be beyond grateful. Colonel Brandon leaves the task of informing Edward to Elinor, as Colonel Brandon is barely acquainted with him. This leaves Elinor the unhappy task of telling Edward he has obtained a living and will now be able to marry Lucy sooner than expected. She settles on writing him a letter, but he shows up in the sitting room after seeing Mrs. Jennings (who can’t help but send him up after running into him outside). Edward expresses his highest gratitude, yet remains rather subdued in spirit. Happiness abounds for Lucy and Mrs. Jennings – plans to spend the holidays at Delaford and the rectory are immediately put in motion.

Elinor also feels it necessary to visit her brother before leaving town. This visit does nothing but reinforce how awful a person John Dashwood is. He cannot believe that Colonel Brandon has given the living to Edward, having virtually no connection to him. Give something away?! When it could be sold? Money left on the table? He just cannot fathom the fact that someone would do something nice for someone else expecting nothing in return. He is also adamant that Miss Morton will now marry Mr. Robert Ferrars as Edward has been disowned, because, really, there is no difference. Edward was the eldest son and now, for all intents and purposes, Robert is the oldest son. Miss Morton will see no difference.

Finally, the sisters are off! Kind of. They are going home by way of Cleveland, the home of Mrs. Jennings daughter and son-in-law, the Palmers. This course will save the Dashwood sisters some travel expenses, but Cleveland is in Somersetshire. The same area in which sits the home, Comb Magna, Marianne expected to settle with Willoughby. On arrival, Marianne leans fully into her melancholia, taking long, solo walks around the grounds of Cleveland, imagining she can see Combe Magna in the distance. Unfortunately walks in the damp grass and sitting in wet stockings cause Marianne to fall ill with a “heavy cold.” It appears at first, she will recover quickly. But her illness worsens quickly, and she is soon confined to her bed restless and feverish. The doctor is called and concern for her poor condition grows such that the Palmers leave with their baby to keep him from becoming sick as well.

How did this progress so quickly? How had wet stockings resulted in an illness so severe, Colonel Brandon was sent to collect Mrs. Dashwood from Barton because of fears for Marianne’s life? When Marianne is at her most sick, we get a glimpse into Elinor’s thoughts: “…her spirits oppressed to the utmost by the conversation of Mrs. Jennings, who scrupled not to attribute the severity and danger of this attack, to the many weeks of previous indisposition which Marianne’s disappointment had brought on.” I couldn’t help but think about the various illnesses and conditions I experienced while pursuing my PhD. Never in my life have I been sick as frequently or as severely as I was over the last four years. And I could chalk it up to coincidence, but I watched my classmates suffer too, and the women disproportionately. It was the typical illnesses – colds, flu, stomach bugs, other upper respiratory illnesses. But there were also migraines, chest pain, dizziness, extreme fatigue, heart palpitations, and mental health diagnoses. If I didn’t believe in the mind-body connection before, I certainly do now. In addition to all the usual stressors of a PhD – teaching, research, presentations, journal submissions, grant applications – the women in my program consistently took on the additional loads of serving on various committees (and taking leadership roles on those committees) as well as planning the annual doctoral student conference held at our university. The effects of stress and a high mental load are no joke, and I couldn’t help but see the parallel with Marianne.

Elinor sits vigil by Marianne’s bed, reflecting on the past months and hoping for improvement in Marianne’s condition. Against all odds, Marianne starts to show signs of improvement. Elinor finally allows herself to breathe again, hopeful because Marianne is getting better and because Colonel Brandon is expected that evening with Mrs. Dashwood. Elinor is surprised when she hears a horse and carriage hours earlier than anticipated, but happy, nonetheless. She rushes downstairs to meet them, but finds Willoughby in the foyer instead.

I must say, I give Elinor credit for her poise in this situation. I would have punched Willoughby in the face, and I don’t know the first thing about throwing punches. Willoughby – the sponsor of all of Marianne’s misery – has heard of Marianne’s grave illness and come to – make himself feel better? That’s really the only object I can discern from his visit. He wants reassurances that, despite how horribly he has behaved, they still like him. He does seem truly upset about Marianne’s illness and her near death experience, yet once he knows she is safe, he looks for pity from Elinor on his circumstances. Namely that he is now suffering knowing how much he cared for Marianne, but will never be able to have her.

He chronicles his side of the story, attempting to talk his way out of/claim ignorance of Eliza’s situation. He entreats Elinor to remember who she heard the story from – can he (Colonel Brandon) truly be impartial in his account?? When he did hear of Eliza’s condition, Mrs. Smith (from whom he was to inherit) also heard of it. She offered to forgive him if he married Eliza, but he refused, and she cut him off. He thus had to find a wealthy woman to marry – enter Miss Grey. He owns up to purposefully avoiding them in town, as things were “just settled” between Miss Grey and him. After he could not avoid them at the party, Miss Grey wrote the infamously awful letter to Marianne. Well, she dictated it, and he wrote it. He was “forced” to give up all of Marianne’s letters and the trinkets and lock of hair she had given him. He is imploring for sympathy at this point, but Elinor refuses to give him an inch, “You are very wrong, Mr. Willoughby, very blameable…You have made your own choice. It was not forced on you.” Mr. Willoughby brushes this aside and begs Elinor to tell Marianne all that he has told her. That his heart was “never inconstant to her.” But it was!! He said himself that after leaving Barton, “time and London,” “business and dissipation,” had “quieted” the feelings he experienced for Marianne. Talk about inconsistency of character…

On his way out the door, he asks Elinor if she thinks, “something better of me than you did?” She assures him she does. That she forgives him, pities him, wishes him well. But his response further demonstrates his lack of character. He states he will never have domestic bliss, but if he could think “you and yours feel an interest in my fate and actions,” perhaps he could hope that, you know, should the opportunity ever happen to arise, if his marriage ends, etc. etc., he may have another chance with Marianne…? Elinor shuts this down quickly and sends him on his way.

I’ll leave you with this dissection of Willoughby’s character by Elinor:

“The world had made him extravagant and vain – Extravagance and vanity had made him cold-hearted and selfish. Vanity, while seeking its own guilty triumph at the expense of another, had involved him in a real attachment, which extravagance… had required to be sacrificed.”