A Charming Rake

"The gentleman offered his services, and perceiving that her modesty declined what her situation rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without further delay and carried her down the hill."

Willoughby, oh Willoughby. Such a dashing rake. No wonder Marianne falls for him in Sense and Sensibility. First, he comes to her rescue when she twists her ankle. Next, he is discovered to be graceful, uncommonly handsome, and well-spoken. In the eyes of his female admirers, Sir John's assessment of him (a decent shot, a bold rider, possessing a fine pointer as well as very pretty property) does nothing to detract from his other charms. The added intelligence that Mr. W is a tireless dancer, a talented musician, and an enthusiastic reader seals the deal. He is exactly the sort of gentleman capable of attaching Marianne's affections ... and he does so effortlessly.

In the early chapters, the reader's only hint that Willoughby may not be so perfect after all is his open contempt for Colonel Brandon. "Brandon is just the kind of man ... whom everybody speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to." His words serve as no warning for Marianne, however, since she feels the same way - a clue to her own shortcomings. Of Brandon she declares, "... he has neither genius, taste, nor spirit." Elinor objects to their cooperative character assassination, and Willoughby offers the following explanation:

"I have three unanswerable reasons for disliking Colonel Brandon: he has threatened me with rain when I wanted it to be fine; he has found fault with the hanging of my curricle; and I cannot persuade him to buy my brown mare. If it will be any satisfaction to you, however, to be told that I believe his character to be in other respects irreproachable, I am ready to confess it. And in return for an acknowledgment, which must give me some pain, you cannot deny me the privilege of disliking him as much as ever."

Well, at least he has good reasons for his prejudice. Thinking of the '95 acclaimed production, where Greg Wise whirls Kate Winslet around as he delivers a close approximation of this speech, I daresay I would have been convinced as well. I liked the above quote so much, in fact, that I included a portion of it in my second book, For Myself Alone - one of the many Jane Austen lines I managed to slip into the text. This time, it's a father disparaging the worth of his potential son-in-law:

"Upon my honor, Josephine, I had hoped to see you do better for yourself as to fortune. A man of some little property would have suited my ambitions very well. Mr. Arthur Evensong may prove a great success in the end, but as of this moment I have seen very little evidence of his genius. If it will be any satisfaction to you, however, to be told that I believe his character to be in other respects irreproachable, I am ready to confess it ..."

We can't always explain our gut-level dislike for someone, but we would fight to defend our right to our opinion, however irrational. In Willoughby's case, though, his instinctive antagonism toward the colonel is not totally misplaced, just premature, since the worthier Brandon gets the lady they both love in the end.

Leaving One's Own Fireside

"A man must have a very good opinion of himself when he asks people to leave their own fireside, and encounter such a day as this for the sake of coming to see him. He must think himself a most agreeable fellow ... Here we are setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man's house, with nothing to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be heard again tomorrow. Going in dismal weather to return probably in worse - four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home."

What a daunting indictment of hospitality! It's enough to make anyone think twice before sending out invitations. This statement, from Emma, is made by Mr. John Knightley in complaint of having to leave the warm fireside at Hartfield and travel through snow to a Christmas party at the Westons'. For this man, the glass is definitely half (or even three-quarters) empty! His lengthy diatribe, which I have taken the liberty of abbreviating, proves the character Jane Austen has already described for us: he's not altogether ill-tempered, but sometimes out of humor, sometimes acting ungraciously, and capable of saying a severe thing.

Part of the problem, of course, was purely logistical. Traveling to an evening party in those days was not a simple undertaking - no paved roads, no cars with headlights and heated leather seats. As mentioned, getting to the Westons' involved a cold carriage with horses and servants to operate it. And the party would have had to be scheduled (as all evening balls and parties were then) for a night with a tolerably good moon so they could find their way after dark. These things were taken as a matter of course by everybody except the guy with the bad attitude.

I suspect there's a little bit of Mr. John Knightly in me. He's far too harsh, but I can relate to some of what he says. I'm basically a homebody, not a party animal. Although I know I'll probably enjoy myself once I arrive at the gathering, my natural tendencies tempt me to forgo the inconvenience of going out and stay comfortably in front of my own fireside. Especially if I am tired, the idea of curling up with a thick book or a good movie may sound more appealing at that moment. Making the extra effort is worth it, however. And, lest I be omitted from all future guest lists, let me be clear. I appreciate any invitation as a sign of favor and of generous hospitality, not (as Mr. John Knightly does) as proof that the host has too high an opinion of himself.

A Well-Writen Letter

"Let us never underestimate the power of a well-written letter."

Okay, so I hear you JA aficionados saying, "Hey, where did she dig up that line?" And you're right; it is not strictly a Jane Austen quote. But it certainly could have been. She must have subscribed to this policy (as I do) because she often allowed her characters to explain themselves and express their innermost feelings in letter form. Perhaps it's a holdover from the epistle prose that had been popular before the advent of the true novel. In one of her lesser-known works, Lady Susan, Austen used this format herself, telling the story entirely through letters exchanged by a handful of interrelated people.

The line above is actually taken from the movie The Jane Austen Book Club and is said in reference to arguably the most compelling letter composed by one of her characters: the culminating note left by Captain Wentworth for Anne Elliot near the end of Persuasion. Although they had fallen in love when they first met, Anne had been forcefully "persuaded" by her family to reject the captain's proposal. Now, years later, they have a second chance.

"...You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been; weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant..."

Did I hear a collective sigh, ladies? Was there ever a more poignant plea for the ultimate consummation of long-thwarted love? I think not.