Читать книгу Heroines Of Fiction - William Dean Howells - Страница 29

"Sense and Sensibility " is the most conventional, the most mechanical of the author's novels. The title, like that of " Pride and Prejudice',' implies the task of developing two opposite characters in the antithesis which suggests itself; but Elinor and Marianne Dashwood are contrasted much more directly and obviously than Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. These, indeed, are often interchangeably proud and prejudiced; but Elinor is always a person of sense, and Marianne is always a person of sensibility. One sister always looks the facts of life in the face; the other always sees them through a cloud of romantic emotions. It is not pretended that the wise virgin escapes suffering any more than the foolish, and so far, the novel attests itself the effect of Jane Austen's clear perception and faithful observation. It abounds in the truth and courage which distinguish everything she did, and it is perhaps more humorously just and more unsparingly exigent of true ideals than some other books of hers. But it is built more than her other books upon the lines of the accepted fiction of her time, or of the times before hers. In the affair of Marianne's false-hearted lover Willoughby there is almost a reversion to the novel in which young men habitually sought the love of trusting girls and betrayed it. It was in fact her earliest novel and she first wrote it in the form of letters. Then, after she had practiced her 'prentice hand to mastery in "Pride and Prejudice," she recast " Sense and Sensibility " in its present shape. It is only inferior to her other novels; compared with most of the novels that had gone before hers, this least of Jane Austen's is a masterpiece; and the romantic Marianne, even more than the matter-of-fact Elinor, is a picture of girlhood touched in with tender truth, and with the caressing irony which still leaves the character pleasing.

The story is distinctively modern in giving a description of the sister heroines, which was probably an afterthought, and occurred to the author in the making over. "Miss Dashwood," she says, "had a delicate complexion, regular features, and a remarkably pretty figure. Marianne was still handsomer. Her form, though not so correct as her sister's, in having the advantage of height, was more striking. . . . Her skin was very brown, but from its transparency, her complexion was uncommonly brilliant; her features were all good; her smile sweet and attractive, and in her eyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness, which could hardly be seen without delight." Marianne's mother is as romantic as the girl herself, and it is by her connivance that the girl thinks it a kind of merit to be a credulous simpleton, and to believe more in the love of the cruel scoundrel who flatters and jilts her than he openly asks her to do. When she finds herself in London, shortly after their parting in the country with all the forms of tacit devotion, on his part, and he snubs her at their first meeting in society, she owns in her shame and grief, that there has been no engagement. " ' It was every day implied, but never professedly declared. Sometimes I thought it had been—but it never was.' Yet with a faith in his unplighted truth as absolute as the sense of her own loyalty to him, she would have been ready to seize upon him, and claim all his remembered tenderness, if her sister had not prevented her.

"'Good Heaven!' she exclaimed, 'he is there, he is there! Oh! why does he not look at me? Why cannot I speak to him?' 'Pray, pray, be composed,' cried Elinor, 'and do not betray what you feel to everyone present. Perhaps he has not observed you yet.' This, however, was more than she could believe herself, and to be composed at such a moment was not only beyond the reach of Marianne, it was beyond her wish. She sat in an agony of impatience that affected every feature. At last he turned round again, and regarded them both; she started up, and pronouncing his name in a tone of affection, held out her hand to him. He approached, and, addressing himself rather to Elinor than Marianne, inquired in a hurried manner after Mrs. Dashwood, and asked how long they had been in town. Elinor was robbed of all presence of mind by such an address. . . . The feelings of her sister were instantly expressed. . . . 'Good God, Willoughby! what is the meaning of this? Have you not received my letters? Will you not shake hands with me?' He could not then avoid it, but her touch seemed painful to him, and he held her hand only for a moment. ' I did myself the honor of calling in Berkeley Street, last Tuesday. . . . My card was not lost, I hope?' ' But have you not received my notes?' cried Marianne, in the wildest anxiety. . . . 'Tell me, Willoughby—for Heaven's sake, tell me, what is the matter?' He made no reply; his complexion changed, and all his embarrassment returned; but as if, on catching the eye of the young lady with whom he had been previously talking, he felt the necessity of instant exertion, he recovered himself again, and after saying, ' Yes, I had the pleasure of receiving the information of your arrival in town, which you were so good as to send me,' turned hastily away with a slight bow, and joined his friend. Marianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable to stand, sunk into her chair. . . . 'Go to him, Elinor,' she said, as soon as she could speak, ' and force him to come to me. . . . I cannot rest, I cannot have a moment's peace, till this is explained—some dreadful misapprehension or other. Oh, go to him this moment.' 'How can that be done? No, my dearest Marianne, you must wait. This is not a place for explanations ' . . . Marianne continued incessantly to give way ... in exclamations of wretchedness. In a short time Elinor saw Willoughby quit the room . . . and telling Marianne that he was gone, urged the impossibility of speaking to him again that evening."