Episode 15: 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover--Or One Dramatic Way

Hello friends, welcome to Ents and Sensibility, the Jane Austen podcast for everyone who loves bold witty women, awkward handsome men, and dragons. I’m your host Casey Meserve.

Together we’re exploring Jane Austen’s novels one chapter at a time, doing close readings, looking at sources, talking about Jane’s life and influences, and new remixes of these classic novels–especially those with a fantasy or sci-fi flair. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Before we begin today’s chapter discussion I want to mention that Virtual Jane Con is coming up fast!

Virtual Jane Con–Radically Inclusive and Free

Virtual Jane Con is the online, free radically inclusive convention coming July 15 and 16. It will feature events, talks and projects by some of the biggest Jane and Regency fans on social media, including some of this podcast’s previous guests including Amanda-Rae Prescott, and the production team from YouTube’s hit Austen show Rational Creatures and many more that I can’t announce yet. But it’s going to be an amazing two days of presenters, talks and workshops. And did I mention it’s free? You can learn more information at virtualjanecon.com, sign up for the newsletter and jump into the fun.

Now, let’s get to today’s reading, Chapter 15 of Sense and Sensibility, and there is lots of reading in this one!

Chapter 15 Willoughby Dashes Away

At the end of Chapter 14, Willoughby was absolutely delighting in the Dashwoods’ cottage, making Mrs. D promise him never to change a single shingle of the house, which she did of course, and then invited him to dinner the next day after her morning visit to Barton Park.

Chapter 15 opens with Mrs. Dashwood, Elinor and Margaret arriving home from visiting Barton Park to the sight of Willoughby’s carriage, early for dinner, but not unexpected. Marianne had stayed home after all. Mrs. D concluded that Willoughby had promised to visit Marianne while her family was away, and was “perfectly satisfied with her remaining at home.”

marianne runs from the drawing room crying
Marianne runs from the drawing room crying after Willoughby tells her he’s leaving Barton.

They found Willoughby’s curricle and servant in waiting at the cottage, and Mrs. Dashwood was convinced that her conjecture had been just. So far it was all as she had foreseen; but on entering the house she beheld what no foresight had taught her to expect. They were no sooner in the passage than Marianne came hastily out of the parlour apparently in violent affliction, with her handkerchief at her eyes; and without noticing them ran up stairs. Surprised and alarmed they proceeded directly into the room she had just quitted, where they found only Willoughby, who was leaning against the mantelpiece with his back towards them. He turned round on their coming in, and his countenance showed that he strongly partook of the emotion which overpowered Marianne.

Well, that’s unexpected. Mrs. D fully expects Willoughby to be there with Marianne, but not to see them both crying. What just happened?

“Is anything the matter with her?” cried Mrs. Dashwood as she entered:—”is she ill?”
“I hope not,” he replied, trying to look cheerful; and with a forced smile presently added, “It is I who may rather expect to be ill—for I am now suffering under a very heavy disappointment!”


“Yes, for I am unable to keep my engagement with you. Mrs. Smith has this morning exercised the privilege of riches upon a poor dependent cousin, by sending me on business to London. I have just received my dispatches, and taken my farewell of Allenham; and by way of exhilaration I am now come to take my farewell of you.”

“To London!—and are you going this morning?”

“Almost this moment.”

“This is very unfortunate. But Mrs. Smith must be obliged, and her business will not detain you from us long I hope.”

He coloured as he replied, “You are very kind, but I have no idea of returning into Devonshire immediately. My visits to Mrs. Smith are never repeated within the twelvemonth.”

“And is Mrs. Smith your only friend? Is Allenham the only house in the neighbourhood to which you will be welcome? For shame, Willoughby, can you wait for an invitation here?”

His colour increased; and with his eyes fixed on the ground he only replied, “You are too good.”

Mrs. Dashwood looked at Elinor with surprise. Elinor felt equal amazement. For a few moments every one was silent. Mrs. Dashwood first spoke.

“I have only to add, my dear Willoughby, that at Barton cottage you will always be welcome; for I will not press you to return here immediately, because you only can judge how far that might be pleasing to Mrs. Smith; and on this head I shall be no more disposed to question your judgment than to doubt your inclination.”

“My engagements at present,” replied Willoughby, confusedly, “are of such a nature—that—I dare not flatter myself—”

He stopped. Mrs. Dashwood was too much astonished to speak, and another pause succeeded. This was broken by Willoughby, who said with a faint smile, “It is folly to linger in this manner. I will not torment myself any longer by remaining among friends whose society it is impossible for me now to enjoy.”

He then hastily took leave of them all and left the room. They saw him step into his carriage, and in a minute it was out of sight.

Mrs. Dashwood felt too much for speech, and instantly quitted the parlour to give way in solitude to the concern and alarm which this sudden departure occasioned.

Wow. Let’s back up to the start of this reading. Mrs. D immediately thinks that something is wrong with Marianne. She must be ill to act like that with Willoughby in the house. But she’s not, or at least Willoughby hopes she’s not. But then he immediately focuses their attention away from Marianne and onto himself.

“I am now suffering under a very heavy disappointment!”

Willoughby is all about himself. Just like last night, he’s getting all the Dashwoods to focus on himself and his distress rather than Marianne’s.
He’s more worried about leaving Devonshire than about Marianne’s reaction.

London of course is quite a distance from Devonshire. In episode 13 Colonel Brandon had to rush to London to take care of a “non-emergency” that was definitely an emergency. We guessed it was about 170 miles or 280 kilometers from Exeter to London. It would take Brandon about 26 hours to get there if he made the noontime post coach at Honiton–and I am very grateful to Anne for her work on the carriage roads and post routes through Regency England, it’s an amazing piece of research.

Willoughby is saying he also has to immediately go to London for Mrs. Smith, but he’s not planning to come back.

So his and Marianne’s reactions aren’t surprising for either of them. He says he only visits Mrs. Smith once a year, which means he and Marianne won’t see each other unless something extraordinary happens. But he never even mentions Marianne’s obvious distress.

Of course Mrs. Dashwood’s response is a little more moderate than Marianne’s. She’s very surprised, but tries to maintain her polite demeanor. She invites him to stay with them, now this isn’t too unusual for the time, despite Marianne and Willoughby not being publicly engaged. But Willoughby is oddly silent here. Now, it could be because he’s hesitant to accept because Mrs. Smith–who holds his future fortune, could think Willoughby is rude to stay with another family so close to her own house. .

Willoughby’s silence after so loudly expressing his love for Barton Cottage and the Dashwoods the day before is palpable. Compare what he says and how he acts here and what he said and how he acted the night before. Something more has happened that Willoughby isn’t sharing, but what?

Then Mrs. D again very politely says that he is always welcome at Barton cottage but she won’t push him to return quickly because he’s beholden to Mrs. Smith as her heir. She could easily take away his future income, change her will and leave her home and wealth to some other relative. Mrs. D knows this. It literally just happened to her and her daughters.

Willoughby tries to refuse politely, but he can’t get the words out. The guy was gushing the night before and now he can’t speak a full sentence. Then he just leaves.

Mrs. Dashwood is too emotional to speak and leaves the parlor. Elinor on the other hand, let’s her anxiety run free.
Now let’s get back to the text and see how the Dashwoods react to Willoughby’s departure.

Elinor’s uneasiness was at least equal to her mother’s. She thought of what had just passed with anxiety and distrust. Willoughby’s behaviour in taking leave of them, his embarrassment, and affectation of cheerfulness, and, above all, his unwillingness to accept her mother’s invitation—a backwardness so unlike a lover, so unlike himself—greatly disturbed her. One moment she feared that no serious design had ever been formed on his side; and the next that some unfortunate quarrel had taken place between him and her sister. The distress in which Marianne had quitted the room was such as a serious quarrel could most reasonably account for, though when she considered what Marianne’s love for him was, a quarrel seemed almost impossible.

But whatever might be the particulars of their separation, her sister’s affliction was indubitable; and she thought with the tenderest compassion of that violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability not merely giving way to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a duty.

Mrs. D leaves the room, Margaret is who knows where, and Elinor is left in the parlor to think with “anxiety and distrust.” And this girl’s thoughts start spinning.

Willoughby’s behavior–his embarrassment, his silence, his attempt to deflect their attention away from Marianne and onto himself, and his unwillingness to accept Mrs. D’s invitation is so unlike Willoughby that it really bothers Elinor.

We’ve talked for a few episodes about how Elinor is unsure about how attached Willoughby is to her sister, and now he is not acting like a lover and that’s what bothers her the most. She doubted the seriousness of their relationship because they hadn’t announced an engagement. But then she thinks about Marianne running out of the room crying and thinks that maybe they argued. But knowing the two of them and how agreeable they are with whatever the other says, that seems impossible.

And she feels pity and compassion for Marianne, who is obviously distraught, but ironically she also realizes that Marianne feels she has to feed into her feelings and encourage them as her duty to sensibility. Which was how Marianne and Mrs. D acted after Mr. D died.

Now let’s see what Mrs. D thinks.

In about half an hour her mother returned, and though her eyes were red, her countenance was not uncheerful.

“Our dear Willoughby is now some miles from Barton, Elinor,” said she, as she sat down to work, “and with how heavy a heart does he travel?”

“It is all very strange. So suddenly to be gone! It seems but the work of a moment. And last night he was with us so happy, so cheerful, so affectionate? And now, after only ten minutes notice,—gone too without intending to return! Something more than what he owned to us must have happened. He did not speak, he did not behave like himself. You must have seen the difference as well as I. What can it be? Can they have quarrelled? Why else should he have shown such unwillingness to accept your invitation here?”
“It was not inclination that he wanted, Elinor; I could plainly see that. He had not the power of accepting it. I have thought it all over I assure you, and I can perfectly account for every thing that at first seemed strange to me as well as to you.”
“Can you, indeed!”
“Yes. I have explained it to myself in the most satisfactory way; but you, Elinor, who love to doubt where you can—it will not satisfy you, I know; but you shall not talk me out of my trust in it. I am persuaded that Mrs. Smith suspects his regard for Marianne, disapproves of it, (perhaps because she has other views for him,) and on that account is eager to get him away; and that the business which she sends him off to transact is invented as an excuse to dismiss him. This is what I believe to have happened. He is, moreover, aware that she does disapprove the connection, he dares not therefore at present confess to her his engagement with Marianne, and he feels himself obliged, from his dependent situation, to give into her schemes, and absent himself from Devonshire for a while. You will tell me, I know, that this may or may not have happened; but I will listen to no cavil, unless you can point out any other method of understanding the affair as satisfactory at this. And now, Elinor, what have you to say?”
“Nothing, for you have anticipated my answer.”

Mrs. D voices some of the same concerns Elinor has, which shows by the way that Mrs. D is more sensible than Elinor may sometimes think, or maybe Eilnor isn’t as sensible as she thinks she is?

Anyways, Mrs. D gets through all her initial thoughts and insists that Willoughby didn’t actually want to leave them. Then she presents her own theory. She believes that Mrs. Smith forced Willoughby to leave after learning of his relationship with Marianne. Mrs. Smith has never met Marianne, but she’s heard about the Dashwoods, and their comparative poverty, and she refuses to let Willoughby continue a relationship with a girl who has no dowry. That’s what Mrs. D believes anyways. She thinks the old lady has ideas for Willoughby’s marriage. And rich people had plans for their heirs, ambitions and goals, exactly like Edward Ferras’s mother had for her son, to drive a barouche and stand for Parliament.
Mrs. D believes Mrs. Smith invented errands as a way to force Willoughby away from Marianne. And Mrs. D will not listen to any objections to her idea, then asks Elinor what she thinks.
Elinor doesn’t seem to believe this. Her focus during her musings was on the couple and not outside influences. But she won’t argue with her mother because she doesn’t have an answer to it, and anyways her mother anticipated an argument so Elinor won’t give her one because Mrs. D refused to here arguments!

But Mrs. D thinks she knows what Elinor would say, and we go back to the next paragraph:

“Then you would have told me, that it might or might not have happened. Oh, Elinor, how incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather take evil upon credit than good. You had rather look out for misery for Marianne, and guilt for poor Willoughby, than an apology for the latter. You are resolved to think him blamable, because he took leave of us with less affection than his usual behaviour has shown. And is no allowance to be made for inadvertence, or for spirits depressed by recent disappointment? Are no probabilities to be accepted, merely because they are not certainties? Is nothing due to the man whom we have all such reason to love, and no reason in the world to think ill of?—to the possibility of motives unanswerable in themselves, though unavoidably secret for a while? And, after all, what is it you suspect him of?”

“I can hardly tell myself. But suspicion of something unpleasant is the inevitable consequence of such an alteration as we just witnessed in him. There is great truth, however, in what you have now urged of the allowances which ought to be made for him, and it is my wish to be candid in my judgment of every body. Willoughby may undoubtedly have very sufficient reasons for his conduct, and I will hope that he has. But it would have been more like Willoughby to acknowledge them at once. Secrecy may be advisable; but still I cannot help wondering at its being practiced by him.”

“Do not blame him, however, for departing from his character, where the deviation is necessary. But you really do admit the justice of what I have said in his defence?—I am happy—and he is acquitted.”

“Not entirely. It may be proper to conceal their engagement (if they are engaged) from Mrs. Smith; and if that is the case, it must be highly expedient for Willoughby to be but little in Devonshire at present. But this is no excuse for their concealing it from us.”

“Concealing it from us! my dear child, do you accuse Willoughby and Marianne of concealment? This is strange indeed, when your eyes have been reproaching them every day for incautiousness.”

“I want no proof of their affection,” said Elinor; “but of their engagement I do.”

“I am perfectly satisfied of both.”

“Yet not a syllable has been said to you on the subject, by either of them.”

“I have not wanted syllables where actions have spoken so plainly. Has not his behaviour to Marianne and to all of us, for at least the last fortnight, declared that he loved and considered her as his future wife, and that he felt for us the attachment of the nearest relation? Have we not perfectly understood each other? Has not my consent been daily asked by his looks, his manner, his attentive and affectionate respect? My Elinor, is it possible to doubt their engagement? How could such a thought occur to you? How is it to be supposed that Willoughby, persuaded as he must be of your sister’s love, should leave her, and leave her perhaps for months, without telling her of his affection,—that they should part without a mutual exchange of confidence?”

“I confess,” replied Elinor, “that every circumstance except one is in favour of their engagement; but that one is the total silence of both on the subject, and with me it almost outweighs every other.”

“How strange this is! You must think wretchedly indeed of Willoughby, if, after all that has openly passed between them, you can doubt the nature of the terms on which they are together. Has he been acting a part in his behaviour to your sister all this time? Do you suppose him really indifferent to her?”

“No, I cannot think that. He must and does love her I am sure.”

“But with a strange kind of tenderness, if he can leave her with such indifference, such carelessness of the future, as you attribute to him.”

“You must remember, my dear mother, that I have never considered this matter as certain. I have had my doubts, I confess; but they are fainter than they were, and they may soon be entirely done away. If we find they correspond, every fear of mine will be removed.”

“A mighty concession indeed! If you were to see them at the altar, you would suppose they were going to be married. Ungracious girl! But I require no such proof. Nothing in my opinion has ever passed to justify doubt; no secrecy has been attempted; all has been uniformly open and unreserved. You cannot doubt your sister’s wishes. It must be Willoughby therefore whom you suspect. But why? Is he not a man of honour and feeling? Has there been any inconsistency on his side to create alarm? can he be deceitful?”

“I hope not, I believe not,” cried Elinor. “I love Willoughby, sincerely love him; and suspicion of his integrity cannot be more painful to yourself than to me. It has been involuntary, and I will not encourage it. I was startled, I confess, by the alteration in his manners this morning; he did not speak like himself, and did not return your kindness with any cordiality. But all this may be explained by such a situation of his affairs as you have supposed. He had just parted from my sister, had seen her leave him in the greatest affliction; and if he felt obliged, from a fear of offending Mrs. Smith, to resist the temptation of returning here soon, and yet aware that by declining your invitation, by saying that he was going away for some time, he should seem to act an ungenerous, a suspicious part by our family, he might well be embarrassed and disturbed. In such a case, a plain and open avowal of his difficulties would have been more to his honour I think, as well as more consistent with his general character;—but I will not raise objections against any one’s conduct on so illiberal a foundation, as a difference in judgment from myself, or a deviation from what I may think right and consistent.”

“You speak very properly. Willoughby certainly does not deserve to be suspected. Though we have not known him long, he is no stranger in this part of the world; and who has ever spoken to his disadvantage? Had he been in a situation to act independently and marry immediately, it might have been odd that he should leave us without acknowledging everything to me at once: but this is not the case. It is an engagement in some respects not prosperously begun, for their marriage must be at a very uncertain distance; and even secrecy, as far as it can be observed, may now be very advisable.”

Let’s summarize this argument. Mrs. D says Elinor suspects Willoughby of some wrongdoing because of his attitude that morning, and the fact that he and Marianne have never announced an engagement. Mrs. D says of course he was downcast, he’s leaving his love and not sure when he’ll be able to return without annoying his patroness. And as far as Mrs. D is concerned, they are definitely engaged and she doesn’t need words, she doesn’t even need to voice her approval, it’s all in the actions for her.

Elinor says that if she learns that Marianne and Willoughby are writing to each other that her fears will be allayed. But Mrs. D throws back saying Elinor would only believe they were engaged when she saw them at the altar. It was, by the way, highly improper for unengaged young people to write to each other.

Elinor finally gets to voice all the doubts she’s had for a couple chapters, and thought of while she sat alone with Margaret. But Mrs. D is a little unkind to her. She dismisses all of Elinor’s fears and concerns and says Willoughby cares deeply for Marianne, they are definitely engaged, and Willoughby hasn’t done anything to cause Elinor to suspect him.
And Mrs. D’s reasoning is good to a certain extent. She’s seen the two kids together (kids, Willoughby is 25). She approves of Willoughby. He’s got great prospects as the heir to the local manor. She understands that Willoughby can’t afford to irk Mrs. Smith by flaunting his relationship to Marianne–a girl with very little dowry and whose family history is definitely known to Mrs. Smith. If Willoughby was independent, leaving suddenly would be suspicious, but he’s not.

So suddenly, Margaret comes into the room and the tête-à-tête is broken up.

Elinor was then at liberty to think over the representations of her mother, to acknowledge the probability of many, and hope for the justice of all.

They saw nothing of Marianne till dinner time, when she entered the room and took her place at the table without saying a word. Her eyes were red and swollen; and it seemed as if her tears were even then restrained with difficulty. She avoided the looks of them all, could neither eat nor speak, and after some time, on her mother’s silently pressing her hand with tender compassion, her small degree of fortitude was quite overcome, she burst into tears and left the room.

This violent oppression of spirits continued the whole evening. She was without any power, because she was without any desire of command over herself. The slightest mention of anything relative to Willoughby overpowered her in an instant; and though her family were most anxiously attentive to her comfort, it was impossible for them, if they spoke at all, to keep clear of every subject which her feelings connected with him.

Poor Marianne. How can you not empathize with her? She’s a wreck. Eyes all red and puffy from crying, can’t eat, can’t speak. And her mother is just watching her, holding her hand and silently sympathizing with her. Which might make it worse? The narrator says she can’t control herself because she doesn’t want to control herself. Recall that this was exactly how Marianne and Mrs. D acted for six months after Mr. Dashwood died. And for the rest of the night Marianne’s behavior makes the rest of the family miserable because they can’t talk about anything that might remind Marianne of Willoughby–and of course everything is going to remind her of Willoughby. So it sounds like this was a pretty miserable night for everyone until it was time to go to bed.

Well, here we are at the end of another chapter, and another episode. Thank you for listening to Ents and Sensibility. Today’s episode was written and edited by me, Casey Meserve.

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