The family of Dashwood had long been 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 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 existence.
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. 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 charge on 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 affections 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 honor so keen, a
generosity so romantic, that any offence of the kind, by whomsoever given or
received, was to her a source of immovable 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 showing 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-humored, 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.