Pride and Prejudice

At the beginning of Pride and Prejudice, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet discuss the arrival of Mr. Bingley in the neighborhood. Mrs. Bennet hopes that this rich, young bachelor will marry one of her five daughters. Mr. Bennet delights in Mrs. Bennet's silliness and makes her think that he will not call on Bingley, thus making it difficult for any sort of visiting to be arranged. However, he does visit Bingley, and Bingley returns the visit, although he doesn't meet any of the daughters. They do meet at a ball following soon afterward, however, and Bingley is charmed by the eldest daughter, Jane. Jane is beautiful and sensible. The next oldest, Elizabeth, is pretty and lively and intelligent. Mary is plain, stodgy, and pompous. Kitty is silly and looks only to Lydia, the youngest, who is vivacious and active but flighty. Bingley travels with his sister and friend, Mr. Darcy. Darcy refuses to dance with Elizabeth, saying she is not attractive enough to tempt him. Elizabeth, understandably, is offended and makes fun of him.

As soon as Darcy calls her plain, he begins to find her attractive. Without meaning to, he falls in love with her, enchanted by her beauty and wit and spirit. Elizabeth doesn't realize it. One day, Jane goes to visit the Bingleys, and stays for the night because of the weather. She falls ill and Elizabeth comes to stay with the family and nurse Jane back to health. Elizabeth doesn't like Miss Bingley-- she is petty and obviously sets her sights on Darcy. Miss Bingley is aware of Darcy's growing admiration of Elizabeth and makes fun of her to him, trying to convince him that she is not worth his attention. Bingley is still very much in love with Jane. When Jane has recovered, they go home.

Lydia and Kitty spend a lot of time in town, where the militia is stationed, going to balls with officers.

Mr. Bennet receives a letter from his nephew, Mr. Collins, who will receive the estate after Mr. Bennet has died. Mr. Collins wants to come visit, and so he does. He very obviously decides to marry one of the Bennet daughters to make up for his inheritance, and decides to marry Elizabeth. Unfortunately, Mr. Collins is pompous and silly and annoying. Elizabeth is less than pleased, and when Mr. Collins finally does propose to her, she rejects him. Elizabeth's friend Charlotte Lucas, a practical girl of 28, goes after Mr. Collins and he proposes to her. Charlotte accepts. Elizabeth is horrified, but Charlotte assures her that all she wants is financial security. Elizabeth also finds herself in the middle of romantic intrigue when the family meets an officer named Mr. Wickham. They meet him in the street, as Darcy is passing by, and Elizabeth notes the discomfort of both men. Wickham tells her that he was raised by Darcy's father and was a favorite of his, and was promised a parsonage at Pemberley, Darcy's estate. However, Darcy denied him the living. Elizabeth grows even angrier at Darcy for this, and finds herself enchanted by Wickham's grace and wit and good looks. She looks for him at a ball held by Bingley, but of course he is not there. Darcy, however, asks her to dance and she is surprised enough that she accepts. She doesn't understand it. Mrs. Bennet speaks of Bingley and Jane's marriage within the hearing of Darcy.

Bingley leaves for London on business, planning to return soon. However, the rest of the party follows soon after, and Miss Bingley sends a note to Jane, telling her that they will not return. She says that she hopes Bingley will marry Miss Darcy. Jane is upset and thinks that Bingley does not love her. Elizabeth realizes the truth. The Gardiners, intelligent and well-bred relatives who deal in trade, invite Jane to visit them in London and she accepts. She is not visited by Bingley and so she believes that he must have forgotten about her. Elizabeth, at home, loses the attentions of Wickham as he begins to court a very rich young woman instead. She then goes to visit Charlotte, who has married Mr. Collins. While staying with her, she meets Mr. Collins's patron, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Lady Catherine is Darcy's aunt, and is a rude, elitist old woman. She hopes that Darcy will marry her sickly daughter. Darcy comes to visit and proposes to Elizabeth, making it very evident that his proposal is one of passion and he cannot believe that he is making such an imprudent match. Elizabeth rejects him, citing his pride, destruction of her sister's happiness, and cruelty to Wickham. The next day, Darcy gives Elizabeth a letter, explaining that Wickham actually turned down the living for a monetary compensation instead, and then tried to seduce and elope with Miss Darcy.

Elizabeth is shocked and realizes she has been wrong.

Elizabeth goes home, collecting Jane on her way. Lydia leaves for Brighton with a wife of one of the officers. The Gardiners come to visit and take Elizabeth for a short holiday in the country. While they are there, they go to visit Pemberley. Elizabeth is nervous, but is told that Darcy will not return until the next day. As they are touring the grounds, Darcy stumbles upon them. Both are mortified, but he is very kind and courteous to her and her family. Elizabeth realizes that he must still love her, and while they are in the country, he pays her visits and she comes to Pemberley. She meets Miss Darcy and finds her charming. One day, Elizabeth gets a letter saying that Lydia has eloped with Wickham, but that it's doubtful that they will marry. Elizabeth goes home, and the Gardiners return to London to search for Lydia. They meet with success-- for a very small amount of money, Wickham agrees to marry Lydia-- and the marriage takes place. Mr. Bennet knows Mr. Gardiner must have bribed him with much more money.

Lydia and Wickham come to visit their family and are met with joy only by Mrs. Bennet. Lydia reveals that Darcy had some role in what took place. Elizabeth writes to Mrs. Gardiner and asks what this might be. Mrs. Gardiner says that Darcy hunted Wickham down and bribed him to marry Lydia, paying him with cash and with a place in the military. He also attended the wedding. Elizabeth is amazingly gratified and finds herself believing she might love Darcy.

Lady Catherine unexpectedly shows up and, rather rudely, tells Elizabeth that she'd better not have her sights on Darcy. Elizabeth is offended and tells her that she will marry as she likes. Lady Catherine's sense of elitism is challenged by her impertinence and after scolding her, she storms off. Mr. Bennet receives a letter from Mr. Collins advocating Lady Catherine's case.

Bingley and Darcy come to visit. Bingley reveals that he thought Jane didn't love him, but on finding her in love, proposes and is accepted. Darcy proposes soon afterwards and is likewise accepted. After some trouble trying to prove to everyone else that she doesn't hate Darcy, all is well. There is a double wedding and Elizabeth goes to Pemberley, and the Bingleys settle nearby.

I feel like that's a pretty short summary.

Sense and Sensibility

Sense and Sensibility begins with the death of Mr. Dashwood. His estate goes to his son, John Dashwood. John Dashwood is the son of Mr. Dashwood and his first wife; however, after her death, Mr. Dashwood married again and so John has a stepmother and three half-sisters, Elinor, Marianne, and Margaret. On his deathbed, Mr. Dashwood asks John to make sure the rest of his family has money, and John agrees. John's wife, Fanny, manages to persuade him not to give his stepmother and sisters anything. Fanny is selfish, and has further reason to be displeased with the family, since her brother, Edward Ferrars, seems to be in love with Elinor.

Elinor, by the way, is the one with sense, and Marianne is the one with sensibility. Elinor is rational and polite and Marianne is passionate and enthusiastic.

Elinor is in love with Edward, but accepts it when her family is offered a small cottage by the boisterous Sir John Middleton. Mrs. Dashwood, Elinor, Marianne, and Margaret move to the cottage and are received by Sir John and his cold and insipid wife Lady Middleton. The family adjusts fairly well until one day, Marianne and Margaret go for a walk and meet John Willoughby. It has been raining and Marianne and Margaret race down a hill to get home quickly. Marianne slips and hurts her ankle, and sees her and sweeps her up in his arms and carries her home. Marianne is embarrassed but the family is pleased. He becomes a frequent visitor at the cottage, and he and Marianne fall in love. They talk of their favorite art and mock others. One of the people they mock is Colonel Brandon, a bachelor in his thirties, who has also fallen in love with Marianne. Elinor, however, esteems the Colonel and defends him.

One day, they are all together at the Middleton's home, Barton Park. Colonel Brandon receives a message from London and has to leave suddenly. Willoughby mocks him. Soon afterwards, Willoughby, too, leaves for London. Marianne is devastated, but Elinor and her mother are consoled by the thought of her engagement to Willoughby. Although no engagement has been declared, their behavior has been so intimate that if they aren't engaged, it would be improper and scandalous. More visitors come to Barton Park, some young cousins of Lady Middleton's mother, Mrs. Jennings. Mrs. Jennings is vulgar and kind and loud, and she is fond of both these new girls and the Dashwood sisters. Miss Steele, the eldest of the two girls, is silly and stupid and vulgar. Lucy Steele, the younger, is beautiful and intelligent, but ignorant and mean and vulgar, as well. When Lucy hears Elinor being teased about Edward Ferrars, she decides to confide in her. Lucy tells Elinor that she has been engaged to Edward for four years, and that it is a secret because his wealth is largely dependent on the whims of his mother. Elinor doesn't believe it at first, but Lucy produces proof and Elinor realizes that it is the truth. She hides her devastation from her family.

Mrs. Jennings offers to take Elinor and Marianne to London with her and Marianne is thrilled. She thinks only of seeing Willoughby again. Elinor consents when she sees how happy Marianne is. When they get to town, Marianne sends Willoughby several letters, but he does not responding, calling on them only when they are out. Marianne is upset, but when she sees him at a ball, immediately rushes to him. He rebuffs her, and she is stunned. The next day she sends him an angry letter, and he responds with a letter saying that he doesn't love her, and returning a lock of hair she gave him. Marianne is heartbroken and she and Elinor cry a bit. Marianne spends the next few days crying and moping. Colonel Brandon calls on them. When Colonel Brandon learns that Marianne and Willoughby will not be married, he is happy, and tells Elinor a story to console Marianne. He was in love with a woman who was very like Marianne. She was married against her will and his to his brother. She was then cast off, and they were divorced, and she disappeared and became a prostitute. Colonel Brandon finally found her, but she died and left her daughter in his care. Colonel Brandon raised this girl and let her go with some friends to Bath, but then she disappeared. When he received the message, it was to say that she had been found and was pregnant. The father is Willoughby. Colonel Brandon challenged him to a duel and they both emerged unhurt.

Elinor tells Marianne the story and Marianne is consoled. She is then heartbroken again when Willoughby marries the incredibly wealthy Miss Grey.

Lucy and Miss Steele come to London to stay with Lady Middleton. John and Fanny Dashwood come to London, as well, and are introduced to the Steeles and the Middletons. They are delighted with each and invite the Steeles to stay with them. Even Mrs. Ferrars, Edward's mother, likes Lucy, but only because she wants Elinor to feel that she is disliked. The Steeles only stay with the Dashwoods for a few days, before Miss Steele reveals that Fanny and Edward are engaged. The Dashwoods kick Lucy out. Mrs. Ferrars disowns Edward, deciding to give her wealth to her younger son, Robert, instead. Colonel Brandon comes to Elinor and tells her that if Edward will take orders, he can have a living at Delaford, Brandon's estate. Elinor tells Edward and he is grateful, if embarrassed. Elinor knows that he loves her but is stuck in his engagement.

Elinor and Marianne go with Colonel Brandon, Mrs. Jennings, the Palmers (Lady Middleton's sister and her husband), and the Middletons to Cleveland, the Palmers's estate. Marianne is still very depressed about Willoughby and goes wandering around by herself outside for hours every day. One day it is particularly wet and cold, and she becomes very ill. Elinor and Marianne were to go home to Barton Cottage after staying at Cleveland, but the doctor says to send for Mrs. Dashwood, as Marianne appears to be dying. Everyone else but Mrs. Jennings and Colonel Brandon has left Cleveland, for the safety of the children. Colonel Brandon goes for Mrs. Dashwood, glad to be of use. While he is gone, Marianne's fever breaks. She is recovering when Willoughby comes to Cleveland. He has heard of Marianne's illness and, out of fear, came to see her. He only sees Elinor, and tells her that he regrets marrying for money. He loves Marianne. He hints that if his wife should die, he'd marry Marianne. Elinor sympathizes, but can do nothing, and he leaves. Colonel Brandon and Mrs. Dashwood arrive and are both relieved that Marianne will not die.

They come back to Barton. Elinor tells Marianne what Willoughby said and Marianne is satisfied, because she realizes that her behavior was improper and that she wouldn't have been really happy married to Willoughby, and that Willoughby did actually love her. Elinor confesses to Marianne the truth about Edward as well. They receive news that Lucy has married Mr. Ferrars, and Elinor is devastated. Edward shows up, and it is very awkward until he reveals that Lucy married his brother, Robert, instead, apparently for his money. Elinor is so unexpectedly happy that she bursts into tears and runs out of the room. Edward proposes to Elinor and she accepts. Colonel Brandon visits the cottage frequently and he and Marianne become good friends. She agrees to marry him.

All are married, and all settle at Delaford. They are close to their family at Barton, and Elinor and Marianne are particularly close to each other.

Suspense, narrative omniscience, and love in Pride and Prejudice

Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, is a novel of suspense. It operates on one basic question: will Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy marry? This question motivates the plot, and the novel ends when it is answered in the affirmative. Yet despite this, it isn’t a particularly suspenseful novel. Even as the possibility of marriage between Elizabeth and Darcy is imperilled, the reader knows that the two will eventually return each other’s love and marry. This certainty emerges from the intimacy of the narrator with the thoughts, emotions, and experiences of the characters. In her earlier novels, Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility, the narrator is not so omniscient, and the characters are left a greater degree of mystery. In Pride and Prejudice, the reader is usually well-informed about the experiences of the characters. The narrator’s omniscience suspends the suspense of the novel, allowing the reader’s attention to focus elsewhere, and drawing it back to romance when the omniscience fails.

Elizabeth and Darcy begin their relationship badly, but their dislike does not exist mutually for very long. When Bingley suggests that Darcy should dance with Elizabeth, Darcy says,

"She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me." (12)

Despite its cruelty, or perhaps because of it, this speech foreshadows the love that Darcy will soon feel for Elizabeth. He knows nothing of her personality and he does not approve her looks; however, once he is later acquainted with her amiability and wit, he becomes appreciative of her beauty. He says that he is “in no humour at present” to associate with or pursue Elizabeth, but that implies a temporality to his disinclination. Elizabeth is no more pleased with him, after being so insulted, and “remained with no very cordial feelings towards him” (12). They’ve only just met, but the reader is already informed clearly about the state of their feelings toward each other. Although initially, this dislike doesn’t seem promising for their love, it is interesting that the dislike emerges out of a romantic situation. They cannot like each other because they are determined not to be in love with one another. But soon afterwards, Elizabeth “herself [is] becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of [Bingley’s] friend” (23). Darcy’s dislike– or at least, neutrality towards her– lasts for only a few days, at the most. He begins their acquaintance by criticizing her appearance, “But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes” (23). Elizabeth remains as opposed to him as she was before, for “to her he was only the man who had made himself agreeable no where, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with” (23). The reader is kept very aware of the feelings of the characters and the way in which those feelings change. The suspense perhaps created by their mutual dislike is weakened by the knowledge that it no longer exists for one of the characters.

After this point, the reader is always aware at least one of the two characters being in love, and most often, that character is Darcy. Darcy, although unappealing at the beginning of the novel, is essentially an attractive man. Because the main character is Elizabeth, whom the reader can identify with, it seems like the relationship is more probable if Darcy is the character whose love is assured. Darcy’s love continues to grow, exposed through his thoughts and conversation, and sometimes conversation about his thoughts. Darcy is honest, and although he seems aware of Miss Bingley’s intentions toward him, tells her, “I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow” (27). The reader is aware of his interest in Elizabeth’s beauty, and the banter they enjoy while she stays at Netherfield to nurse Jane during her illness implies a mental engagement as well. Darcy’s feelings soon become even stronger than they previously were, and he realizes that he “had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He really believed, that were in not for the inferiority of her connections, he should be in some danger” (52). This “danger” is “the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention” (58). When he has a conversation with her, he becomes more and more aware of her intelligence, wit, and liveliness. Although he thinks that the combination of avoiding her and always being aware of her low connections will keep him safe from loving Elizabeth, the reader is aware that he already is in love. He finally cannot restrain it anymore and proposes to her.

Elizabeth refuses Darcy, but the danger to their love and marriage is soon put out of the way. She is offended at his rudeness when he tells her of “His sense of her inferiority– of its being a degradation” (189). She accuses him of pride, destroying her sister’s possible happiness with Bingley, and injuring Wickham. His response to this is to give her the letter explaining the truth of his relationship with Wickham the next day. Immediately after reading the letter, Elizabeth feels “that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd” (208). The first moment of her feelings changing is in her knowledge that she had been prejudiced. It is difficult to say whether she is now unprejudiced, or whether her prejudice has just shifted to Darcy rather than Wickham, but she begins to feel kindness and then love for Darcy. She is touched when she sees his generosity and the ways in which he changes for her. The narrator tells the reader, “If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth’s change of sentiment will be neither improbable or faulty” (279). She has undergone a “change of sentiment” from hatred to this ambiguous “affection.” However, the ambiguity of her “affection” makes it clear to the reader that what she is experiencing is love, if a complex one; it is amalgamated from her gratitude for his good deeds, attraction to him physically and mentally, and even desire to be mistress of Pemberley and financially secure. Elizabeth sometimes doubts whether Darcy could still be in love after proposing and being rejected, but when he does so much good for her family and seems to have undergone a true change, she knows that “to love, ardent love, it must be attributed” (266). Elizabeth, the narrator, and the reader all know that Mr. Darcy is still in love. This is verified near the end of the novel, when Darcy says to her, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever” (366). Elizabeth is finally able to say of Darcy near this point in the book, “I love him” (376). She accepts his second proposal and they marry. The conclusion of the story is an expected one, never truly in doubt, because the narrator gives the reader such security and access to the emotions of the characters. Except for the beginning of the book, the reader is always assured of at least one of the two characters being in love, creating a sense that eventually the other character will return that love.

This method is used again in Elizabeth’s relationship with Mr. Collins. The narrator is equally straightforward in revealing Mr. Collins’s intentions and his plan to propose to Elizabeth. When he comes to Longbourn, “he intended to marry; and in seeking a reconciliation with the Longbourn family he had a wife in view, as he meant to choose one of the daughters” (70). There is no confusion. The reader cannot possibly misunderstand Mr. Collins’s intentions, and he is so obvious about it, the other characters do not either. He first chooses Jane, for her beauty, and approaches Mrs. Bennet about it. However, Mrs. Bennet tells him of Jane’s attachment to Bingley, and so Mr. Collins “had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth– and it was soon done [...]. Elizabeth, equally next to Jane in birth and beauty, succeeded her of course” (71). Mr. Collin’s courtship of Elizabeth is, like the rest of his behavior, marked by pomposity and romanticism lacking the support of real emotion. He is so overt about it that his attentions to Elizabeth soon convince her “that she was selected from among her sisters as worthy of being the mistress of Hunsford Parsonage, and of assisting to form a quadrille table at Rosings, in the absence of more eligible visitors” (88). As with Elizabeth’s relationship with Darcy, the knowledge of the emotions of both characters leads to a certainty of outcome. The reader knows that Elizabeth will not be surprised by Mr. Collins’s proposal, and the irony of her thoughts informs the reader that she does not think kindly of it. She will not accept when he does propose, and indeed, the resulting scene is exactly as the reader would expect. The creation of this relationship works as a foil to that between Elizabeth and Darcy. If Elizabeth’s feelings toward Mr. Collins had the possibility of changing, then their relationship might also have promise. But the omniscience of the narrator allows the reader to look at why Elizabeth will reject Mr. Collins; unlike Darcy, he lacks any romantic appeal and any ability to change for the better.

These relationships all reach their logical conclusions of a proposal, which is either accept or refused. But what happens when a relationship is aborted without ever reaching this stage? In Pride and Prejudice, almost all possible relationships end in a proposal. Jane and Bingley are finally engaged and married. Lydia’s general interest in soldiers is embodied in Wickham, and after Darcy’s persuasion, their elopement ends in marriage. Mr. Collins proposes to Charlotte Lucas and they marry. But it is this last relationship which is troubling. It is not based on love, like the marriages of Jane and Bingley, or Elizabeth and Darcy. Charlotte is practical, and her happiness is entirely rooted in financial security and the possibility of avoiding her husband as much as possible. Mr. Collins may be in love with Charlotte, but she is certainly not in love with him. Does a marriage of convenience produce the same happiness for Charlotte that a marriage of love produces for Elizabeth? Perhaps it may. The reader might even accept this, if it weren’t for one last question: could another marriage of love have been possible? After Mr. Collins has been rejected by Elizabeth, the narrator notes that if he

"thought of paying his addresses to one of [Mrs. Bennet’s] younger girls, [...] Mary might have been prevailed on to accept him. She rated his abilities much higher than any of the others; there was a solidity in his reflections which often struck her, and though by no means so clever as herself, she thought that if encouraged to read and improve himself by such an example as her’s, he might become a very agreeable companion. But on the following morning, every hope of this kind was done away." (124)

Whose hope is this, Mrs. Bennet’s or Mary’s? Mary seems like the perfect wife for Mr. Collins, because they are so much alike. In Austen’s novels, husbands and wives are considered well-matched if they can teach and learn from one another, but are generally equal in breeding, intelligence, and talent. Mary and Mr. Collins are so base and comic, however, that any spouse that could significantly improve them would be far above their level. The best alternative, then, is in a marriage where they could find love regardless of the author’s judgments on their combined stupidity and vulgarity. Mary believes that they would be an ideal couple, based on the definition of being well-matched in Austen’s novel, because Mr. Collins could “improve himself by such an example as her’s.” Even if it weren’t true, they would believe themselves to be prosperous, happy, and in love. As the reader knows, Mary and Mr. Collins both find the greatest comfort in false appearances. They would be very pompous, but pleased in each other’s pomposity.

This marriage does not happen, and the narrator’s approach to it is very different than her approach to the other two possible relationships. At this point, the reader already knows that Mr. Collins is courting Charlotte. Mary’s interest in Mr. Collins is parallel to Mr. Collins’s interest in Elizabeth, with interest on one side but not on the other. Rather than continuing to inform the reader of Mary’s feelings after she hears of the engagement, the narrator completely removes her from the action:

"Jane confessed herself a little surprised at the match; but she said less of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness; nor could Elizabeth persuade her to consider it as improbable. Kitty and Lydia were far from envying Miss Lucas, for Mr. Collins was only a clergyman; and it affected them in no other way than as a piece of news to spread at Meryton." (127)

Elizabeth’s reaction has already been seen when Charlotte tells her the news personally. The only sister whose reaction we do not see, then, is Mary’s. Why is this? It seems to be a conscious decision on the part of the narrator, to so obviously exclude her from all of the sisters’s impressions of the marriage. We have been so intimately involved in the feelings of the characters, that it is surprising to suddenly not have access to the feelings of one who might actually be hurt by the proceedings. Is it because Mary has no feelings to expose on the matter? If so, the non-inclusion of her reaction may indicate that her character is even more shallow and serious than the reader earlier believed. However, it may be a movement of repentance on the part of the narrator. All of the other relationships hinted at end with marriage. In Mary’s expectation of Mr. Collins’s courtship, the reader is given a similar kind of expectation about the outcome of a relationship, as he or she has been given for Elizabeth and Darcy or Elizabeth and Mr. Collins. This expectation is disappointed, and perhaps the narrator’s sudden withdrawal from the emotions of the character is to lessen the impact on the reader, and to give the character some privacy in her private mourning.

The omniscience of the narrator, then, is a way of creating and alleviating suspense in the romances of the novel. The greater intimacy of the narrator with the characters acts as a lens for viewing the events of the novel. When the reader is secure in the outcome of a situation, like Mr. Collins’s courtship of Elizabeth, he or she can focus on other aspects of that relationship. The reader may ask why he or she knows that Elizabeth will reject Mr. Collins, and what in his character makes that so decided. When the reader is not secure in the outcome, as when he or she is disappointed in Mary’s interest in Mr. Collins, it creates questions about the narrator herself. Why is she omniscient? What does this omniscience do? And, finally, how does that omniscience affect the characters and the reader’s own relationship with those characters?


WORKS CITED

Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982.

Sacrifice and selfishness in Sense and Sensibility

The titular qualities of Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen, are more complex than they appear at first. Each quality is meant to embody one of the two Dashwood sisters. Elinor is the one with sense; she is rational, polite, and well-behaved. Marianne is the sister with sensibility, passionate and judgmental. However, both sisters are well-bred, intelligent, literate, and sensitive. They are complex themselves, and Austen uses this complexity to avoid a trap that the title suggests. Because the sisters are complex and interesting characters, it seems unlikely that either sister could be adequately described by one quality, sense or sensibility. Instead, Austen begins by identifying each sister with her respective quality, and as the novel progresses, each quality is invested with the personality and behavior of its respective sister, and so becomes more complex. For example, the dichotomy of sense and sensibility also becomes one of sacrifice and selfishness. If one has sense, one will see the necessity of sacrificing one’s own happiness or release for the sake of others. But how does this affect the happiness of the character with sense? This dichotomy and its association with the titular dichotomy creates an approach to one of the main problems of the story, of deciding which sister is more admirable, and which sister’s philosophy is best.

Sense and sensibility are invested with complexity due to their complete association with one sister each. This would not be possible if Austen did not immediately make this association clear and powerful. It would be easy to dismiss each quality as being a part of each character, but not being the defining quality of that character, her personality, and her behavior. For example, in Pride and Prejudice, the titular qualities are the two that divide Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy in love. The opposition is a romantic one, based on conflict between their classes and dispositions. However, these qualities do not affect their lives much in non-romantic situations In Sense and Sensibility, the opposition is between two philosophies of life, not just of love. It is a greater battle. Austen creates a greater dramatic tension in this battle by making each character representative of one quality. In the first chapter, Austen mentions Elinor for the first time, saying that she “possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment. [...] She had an excellent heart;– her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern them” (6). The title has implied that one sister must have sense, and this lists of Elinor’s traits implies that she must be that sister. The description of Marianne immediately following makes this even clearer, for “She was sensible and clever; but eager in every thing; her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: she was every thing but prudent” (6). It is interesting that Austen calls Marianne “sensible,” a word that could mean that she has either sense or sensibility. All of the qualities listed imply sensibility, but Austen creates tension with this ambiguity about the identity of each sister. The next paragraph clarifies this point: “Elinor saw, with concern, the excess of her sister’s sensibility” (7). The character herself acknowledges the dichotomy of the title, and the author’s listing of other qualities verifies it for a second time. Each character, then, is immediately described in the terms of each quality, and becomes the embodiment for that quality.

The dichotomy of sacrifice and selfishness is also established in these first pages. Elinor’s sacrifice often takes the form of forced politeness. When the reader is first introduced to Elinor, it is while she is giving her mother advice about politeness and courtesy. The father of Elinor and Marianne has just died, and immediately following his funeral, their half-brother and his wife, John and Fanny Dashwood, move into the Norland estate. Mrs. Dashwood is horrified at Fanny’s eagerness for the inheritance, and “So acutely did [she] 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” (6). Like Marianne, Mrs. Dashwood feels no need to disguise her disapproval of the actions of others. But the family does not move, because “her eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the propriety of going” (6). Elinor’s feelings, as described on this page, are just as strong as those of her mother. She, too, is indignant about Fanny’s lack of courtesy. However, Elinor “could struggle, she could exert herself” (7). Her sense indicates to her the need for politeness, in order to ensure her family’s welfare, and so she makes the sacrifice of conversation and negotiations with her brother. Marianne and her mother, in contrast, “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” (7). Their sensibility, or access to freedom of emotion and expression of that emotion, leads to a selfishness in their behavior. They are so involved in their own emotions that they refuse to listen to sense, and leave Elinor to the unhappy task of ignoring and indeed working against her own feelings.

Elinor’s association with sacrifice is most noticeable in her relationship with Edward Ferrars, and her disappointment in that relationship. At the beginning of the novel, there is “a growing attachment between [Mrs. Dashwood’s] eldest girl and the brother of Mrs. John Dashwood, a gentlemanlike and pleasing young man” (15). Elinor believes that this man, Edward Ferrars, loves her, and trusts that love to lead to an engagement. She is brutally disappointed, then, when she meets an illiterate and scheming girl named Lucy Steele, who confides in her that she and Edward have been engaged for four years. Eleanor’s sacrifice first takes the form of politeness against the natural inclination of anger and distress, as in the first chapter; when Lucy reveals her secret, Elinor responds “with a composure of voice, under which was concealed an emotion and distress beyond any thing she had ever felt before. She was mortified, shocked, confounded” (135). Elinor knows that Lucy is telling her this partially to hurt her and to claim Edward as her own, and her response aims to deny Lucy some of her pleasure. She also wants to mask any thoughts she had of an engagement or the feelings she has, for the sake of her own propriety and good name. In a situation like this, Marianne would express her anger, disgust, and sorrow by visibly expressing her emotions and leaving the room, but Elinor forces herself to stay, be calm, and learn more.

Elinor’s sacrifice is pronounced by her inability to tell anyone about her heartache. She cannot tell because the secret “had been entrusted in confidence to herself” (141). A sense of honor contributes to her silence, although it is difficult for her to mask her feelings. It is only possible because of her awareness of sense and of propriety and appropriate exertions. In addition, “it was a relief to her, to be spared the communication of what would give such affliction to them” (141). Throughout the novel, Elinor is forced to be the messenger of bad news. When others are too overcome by emotion to communicate messages, Elinor must control her own emotions and bring grief to those she loves. In this passage, Elinor seems conscious of two things. She knows that she sacrifices her emotional relief for the emotional easiness of those around her. She cannot communicate out of a fear of bringing pain to others. She is also conscious that her sister and mother will experience their pain in a far more obvious way than she does. The relief to her is in not having to experience their selfishness in this form. By not telling them, she is free to avoid their self-absorption, to some extent, and indulge her own. Their selfishness, then, is actually a cause of her sacrifice, not just a quality in opposition to it. Elinor’s sacrifice is even more present when Marianne is jilted by Willoughby. Marianne’s experience of pain after the relationship has ended is self-absorbed and all-consuming. Elinor not only avoids telling Marianne of her own grief, in fear that it will add to Marianne’s already tumultuous feelings, but acts in ways that have the possibility of increasing her own heartache in order to protect Marianne. When Mrs. Dashwood recommends that the girls extend their stay in London, Elinor agrees. She knows

"that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward entirely, [but] comforted herself by thinking, that though their longer stay would therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire." (214)

Marianne and Elinor have experienced similar losses: each believed that a man loved her and trusted that a marriage with that man was somewhere in her future. Each lost that man to another woman, after finding out that he was deceitful. Austen implies that both feel the same depth of emotion at this betrayal. However, Elinor is the one who makes the sacrifice for the other; she acknowledges the damage to her own happiness in guarding that of the other. Sense, then, and an ability for emotional restraint and the consideration of others, is a quality associated with the sacrifice for sensibility, and selfishness.

Marianne’s selfishness originates in her powerful sensibility. She experiences her emotions in a way such that she thinks the emotional experiences of others do not compare. Because Elinor is more restrained, Marianne thinks that she must feel less. When Marianne receives the letter of rejection from Willoughby, Elinor watches as “covering her face with her handkerchief, [Marianne] almost screamed with grief” (182). This primal emotional reaction is one of the most chilling moments in the book; here, Marianne’s experience of her feelings is physical and painful. Elinor sits near her, having already shed her tears, and watches with sympathy but without much outward display of it. Elinor is far more self-possessed and calm than Marianne is. She appears the same to the outside world in grief as she does in joy. Because of this, Marianne does not realize Elinor’s unhappiness. Perhaps Marianne’s judgment should be more acute; perhaps Elinor’s behavior has shifted enough that a sister more sensitive to the moods of others would notice it. However, Marianne is self-absorbed enough, or Elinor is sacrificial enough, that Marianne does not realize that anything has changed. She cries, “Oh! how easy for those who have no sorrow of their own to talk of exertion! Happy, happy Elinor, you cannot have an idea of what I suffer” (185). Marianne here makes a comparison: grief outweighs happiness. It is possible that grief is only the more powerful emotion because Marianne is the one who is experiencing it. She also ignores any uncertainties of Elinor’s own situation, which seems like an odd mistake for her to make; she herself has just lost her love and learned the pain of an uncertain romantic situation. Marianne may be eager to think of Elinor as happy because this is her last remaining comfort, but even this is selfish. Elinor is left to reply, “Do you call me happy, Marianne? Ah! if you knew!– And can you believe me to be so, while I see you so wretched” (185). Elinor begins with a hint at her true feelings and a defense of her own grief, but then quickly hides it again by saying that her grief is rooted only in Marianne’s own sadness. Once more, Elinor sacrifices her relief for Marianne’s selfishness.

Near the end of the book, the characters undergo a dramatic change in their relationship to sense and sensibility. Elinor has always had some connection to sensibility in that she experiences strong emotions but doesn’t display them. However, at the end of the novel, her character truly embraces sensibility, out of necessity. Her emotional sacrifice and caution throughout the novel builds up to a point where it cannot last any longer. In the course of one conversation, extreme grief gives way to extreme happiness, and this is when Elinor’s self-control fails her. She learns that Edward Ferrars will not marry Lucy Steele, and in this moment, can hardly mask her true feelings. Then, she “could sit it no longer. She almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease” (360). This is behavior very characteristic of Marianne; the violent expression of feeling and rapid exit of rooms with guests is not at all like Elinor. Elinor’s self-control is so vanished that she must physically remove herself from the room to preserve any appearance of calmness. Marianne, in contrast, suddenly gains access to sense in a way she never has before. Her illness gives her this access; she is never as sentimental or identified with sensibility after she has recovered. She tells Elinor,

"My illness has made me think– It has given me leisure and calmness for serious recollection. [...] I saw in my own behaviour since the beginning of our acquaintance with [Willoughby] last autumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of kindness to others. I saw that my own feelings had prepared my sufferings." (345)

Marianne acknowledges the similar trials that Elinor faced, and how much more admirably she acted in those situations. Her sensibility actually becomes a source of pain to her, and she renounces what was previously the governing philosophy of her life. She decides to act with more sense and generosity in the future.

As might be expected, the two sisters also undergo a change in their relationship to sacrifice and selfishness. Elinor never becomes selfish in the blatant way of Marianne earlier in the novel; the closest example to that is in the scene mentioned above, when she disregards propriety by running out of the room and crying noisily in the hall. However, Elinor’s selfishness is implied in Marianne’s new ability for sacrifice. Like Elinor, Marianne, when she has sense, is not unwilling to make her sacrifices. Sense leads her to believe that these sacrifices are necessary and most beneficial for all. Marianne makes her sacrifice in her marriage to Colonel Brandon. Although “in time, [Marianne’s heart became] as much devoted to her husband, as it had once been to Willoughby” (379), Marianne begins the marriage with no more than esteem and friendship for Colonel Brandon. She is encouraged in this marriage by all of her family and friends:

"To see Marianne settled at the mansion-house was equally the wish of Edward and Elinor. They each felt his sorrows, and their own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the reward of all. With such a confederacy against her– [...] what could she do?" (378)

Marianne enters into the marriage willingly, but it is a sacrifice. Elinor loves her sister and wants the best for her, but she also objectifies her. Marianne “was to be the reward of all” of Colonel Brandon’s good deeds and qualities. Her family and friends do not force her to marry Colonel Brandon, although they encourage it strongly. Instead, she is forced into a marriage by sense, “Instead of falling a sacrifice to an irresistible passion, as once she had fondly flattered herself with expecting” (378). It is ironic that Marianne should be a sacrifice in either case, to sense or to sensibility. In love, which is perhaps the most appropriate application for sensibility, Marianne renounces sensibility and looks instead to sense. Sense includes the rational process of making one’s needs equivalent with the needs of others, and for this reason, demands sacrifices like Marianne’s. At the end of the novel, she pays penance for her earlier sensibility by sacrificing her desire for a passionate marriage.

Elinor is described as the role model for the reader, but the complexities of sacrifice and selfishness, and sense and sensibility bring this into question. Marianne says to Elinor, “Your example was before me: but to what avail?– Was I more considerate of you and your comfort?” (346). Elinor is the example we should all follow, the woman who is capable of restraining emotions with intellect and better judgment. But having this example doesn’t lead Marianne to follow it, for much of the novel, and doesn’t help Elinor at all. Marianne ends the story married to a wealthy man, who loves her deeply and has taken an active part in pursuing her, and with the assurance that another man she loved has loved her in return. Both of Marianne’s suitors are appealing and engaging. Edward, in contrast, has been an honorable but passive hero throughout the novel, and seems to be much less than Elinor deserves. Marianne’s indulgence, as well as her sacrifice, doesn’t seem to have materially hindered her. What does this mean? The novel could be viewed as a “problem novel,” since it ends with Marianne entering into a passionless marriage and sacrificing her happiness. Her acceptance of sense may be a defeat. Neither sister, then, could truly be admired. A second option is that Marianne may, in contrast to Elinor, better know when to use sense and when to use sensibility. She may be better suited for happiness because she is cannier in her use of philosophies. Marianne, then, is more admirable. Whereas Elinor is often boring, Marianne is interesting, and does it in a way that helps her. Many possibilities are available, one of which, of course, is that Austen does in fact intend the reader to admire Elinor rather than Marianne.

The dichotomy of sacrifice and selfishness is one that does not immediately draw sympathy for a character with either quality. Although the reader can admire sacrifice, it is not in a way such that the reader would ever like to be the character who makes the sacrifice. Selfishness is also unappealing, but compared to sacrifice, becomes a better option. It is a dichotomy that enriches the titular pair of traits, making it more complex and thus making our exploration of the characters who embody those traits more complex. Because of this added depth, the reader can better evaluate the two opposing philosophies and judge the fate and behavior of the sisters with more ease.


WORKS CITED

Austen, Jane. Sense and Sensibility. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982.

We are the Champions

I've paid my dues
Time after time
I've done my sentence
But committed no crime
And bad mistakes
I've made a few
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face
But I've come through

We are the champions, my friends
And we'll keep on fighting, 'til the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions of the world

I've taken my bows
And my curtain calls
You brought me fame and fortune and everything that goes with it
I thank you all

But it's been no bed of roses
No pleasure cruise
I consider it a challenge before the whole human race
And I ain't gonna lose

We are the champions, my friends
And we'll keep on fighting, 'til the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions of the world

Eye of the Tiger

Risin' up, back on the street
Did my time, took my chances
Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet
Just a man and his will to survive

So many times, it happens too fast
You trade your passion for glory
Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past
You must fight just to keep them alive

It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight
Risin' up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger

Face to face, out in the heat
Hangin' tough, stayin' hungry
They stack the odds, till we take to the street
For the kill with the skill to survive

It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight
Risin' up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger

Risin' up, straight to the top
Had the guts, got the glory
Went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop
Just a man and his will to survive

It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight
Risin' up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he's watchin' us all with the eye of the tiger

The eye of the tiger
The eye of the tiger
The eye of the tiger

Al Pacino's speech, typed as we read it

Three minutes
to the biggest battle of our professional lives,
all comes down to today.
Either
we heal
as a team
or we are going to crumble.
Inch by inch,
play by play,
till we're finished.
But we can climb out of hell.
One inch, at a time.
You find out that life is just a game of inches.
So is football.
Because in either game,
life or football,
the margin for error is so small.
The inches we need are everywhere around us.
They are in every break of the game,
every minute, every second.
On this team, we fight for that inch.
On this team, we tear ourselves, and everyone around us
to pieces for that inch.
Cause we know
when we add up all those inches
that's going to make the f*cking difference
between WINNING and LOSING,
between LIVING and DYING.
I'll tell you this:
in any fight,
it is the guy who is willing to die
who is going to win that inch.
You gotta look at the guy next to you.
Look into his eyes.
Now I think you are going to see a guy who will go that inch with you.
You are going to see a guy
who will sacrifice himself for this team,
because he knows when it comes down to it,
you are gonna do the same thing for him.
That's a team, gentlemen,
and either we heal now, as a team,
or we will die as individuals.
That's football, guys.
That's all it is.
Now, whattaya gonna do?

Any Given Sunday

Speech from Braveheart

William Wallace: Yes, yes, I've heard. He kills men by the hundreds, and if he were here he'd consume the English with fireballs from his eyes and bolts of lightning from his arse. I am William Wallace, and I see a whole army of my countrymen here in defiance of tyranny. You have come to fight as free men, and free men you are. What will you do with that freedom? Will you fight?

Veteran soldier: Fight against that? No, we will run, and we will live.

William Wallace: Aye, fight and you may die, run and you'll live. At least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom?!

Braveheart

Maximus addresses the Coliseum

"My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius,
Commander of the Armies of the North,
General of the Felix Legions,
loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius,
father to a murdered son,
husband to a murdered wife,
and I will have my vengeance, in this life--
or the next."

Gladiator

The establishment of a new kind of heroine in Northanger Abbey

Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey takes place in two main settings: Bath and Northanger Abbey. These two settings differentiate two different styles present in the novel, as a comedy of manners and as a parody of the Gothic novel, in Bath and Northanger Abbey respectively. However, it is by its use of parody alone that the novel is often defined, and the allusions to Gothic novels are not confined to the part of the novel in which Catherine is at Northanger Abbey. In the first pages, Austen begins to create a new kind of heroine. Catherine Morland, is described as not being very like a heroine at all, yet her imagination creates scenarios that mirror those of traditional Gothic novels. By writing in opposition to the Gothic style, Austen is doing something interesting and different: she is creating a romance of reality. Her heroine is not perfect like Adeline, the heroine of Ann Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest, and her adventures are not as dramatic and fantastic. For these reasons, the story becomes one the reader can enter into without a suspension of reality; the reader can identify with the heroine and her life in the most accepting manner.

Austen immediately establishes Catherine as unlike the traditional heroine. In The Romance of the Forest, “The observations and general behaviour of Adeline [...] bespoke a good understanding and an amiable heart, but she had yet more– she had genius” (Radcliffe 29). Adeline possesses something that elevates her above the common woman. Radcliffe never elaborates on what this “genius” might be– whether it is a brilliant mind, talent, or sympathy for others– but leaves it for the reader to decide. By leaving it so ambiguous, she also allows the reader the opportunity to decide that Adeline’s “genius” extends to every possible area or subject. “Genius” becomes a word that encompasses all, and fails to truly express, in detail, any. Adeline is a heroine whose talents are so undefined but thoroughly perfect that she becomes almost goddess-like. Unlike Adeline, “No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be a heroine. Her situation in life, the character of her father and mother, her own person and disposition, were all equally against her” (Austen 1). Austen, like Radcliffe, lists the qualities that make up a character, and keeps each item on that list an ambiguous term. Catherine’s “person and disposition” is here as ambiguous and unhelpful as Adeline’s “genius.” Adeline’s “genius” seems to determine that she is a heroine– if she simply had “good understanding and an amiable heart,” she would be like many other women, but Adeline “had yet more.” Her “genius” makes her special. Catherine, however, is determined not to be a heroine by her “person and disposition.” Austen reverses Radcliffe’s definition of a special quality that makes a heroine to a special quality that makes an un-heroine.

Austen gives the reader more specific reasons for Catherine’s inability to be a heroine. A good part of this is physical, just as a good part of Adeline’s ability to be a heroine is physical. Much of Adeline’s “genius” is manifested physically in her beauty: it captivates her lovers and increases her overall perfection. If Adeline were ugly or plain, she would probably not qualify as a heroine. This does not mean that a heroine must be beautiful, but simply that a heroine is beautiful. It seems to emerge as a rule of nature rather than a rule of crafting the character. Adeline is “in her nineteenth year; her figure of the middling size, and turned to the most exquisite proportion; her hair was dark auburn, her eyes blue, and whether they sparkled with intelligence, or melted with tenderness, they were equally attractive” (Radcliffe 29). Adeline’s eyes seem particularly expressive of her “genius” here, conveying two opposite qualities with such power that “they were equally attractive” in both states. Adeline’s beauty, like her mental and emotional qualities, possesses something common that is elevated to the special. “Her figure [is] of the middling size,” average and neither too tall or too short, too wide or too thin. It seems surprising that anything about her should be called middling. But then Radcliffe says that Adeline’s figure is “turned to the most exquisite proportion.” Although it may be “of the middling size,” her figure is so well-proportioned that it creates the divine out of something normal. Her appearance demonstrates the rules that makes her a heroine, in a physical way. Catherine, in contrast, “[was] for many years of her life, as plain as any. She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair, and strong features” (Austen 1). Again, the description of Catherine illustrates an inversion of Radcliffe’s description of Adeline. Whereas Adeline’s figure is “turned to the most exquisite proportion,” Catherine has “a thin awkward figure.” Like Radcliffe, Austen writes of geometric beauty, but on Catherine, the angles are turned inward to make her “thin [and] awkward.” Her hair lacks a distinct color and her skin is unhealthy and pale. In every way, she contrasts to Adeline’s beauty. Austen also couples the description of beauty with the description of personality, saying immediately afterward that “not less propitious for heroism seemed her mind” (1). Again, Catherine is described as a character who goes against the rules of being a heroine in every way, and yet still seems to destined to be one later in the novel.

Catherine, unlike Adeline, is financially and emotionally secure at the beginning of the novel, and is never really in danger at any point throughout. At the beginning of the novel, Adeline is essentially an orphan, and for the rest of the story is always searching for a family to attach herself to. When she gives the story of her life at the beginning of the novel, she says,

"Of my mother I have a faint remembrance: I lost her when I was only seven years old, and that was my first misfortune. At her death, my father gave up housekeeping, boarded me in a convent, and quitted Paris. Thus was I, at this early period of my life, abandoned to strangers." (Radcliffe 36)

The loss of her family gives Adeline something to search for and motivates the novel. It is both the internal motivation of the character of Adeline, as she searches for people to love and a place to call home, and the motivation of the external plot, when Adeline is rather roughly thrown into the care of the La Mottes when her supposed father betrays her. However, it also allows the reader to identify with Adeline; as an orphan, she is deprived of a historical past, and truly begins the story of her life when the novel begins. Thus the reader, beginning to read the novel, is in a situation analogous to that of Adeline, beginning the story without a past related to it. Austen alludes to this when she says that “No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine.” She begins with the character as an infant, in the early stages of her story and of life. Like Adeline, at this point, she is simultaneously new to the world and new to the reader. However, Catherine quickly moves past this stage. She lives happily with her family, and this is part of why “the character of her father and mother” seems to prevent her from being a heroine. Catherine’s father is a clergyman and

"had a considerable independence, besides two good livings– and he was not in the least addicted to locking up his daughters. Her mother was a woman of useful plain sense, with a good temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a good constitution. [...] Instead of dying in bring the latter [Catherine] into the world, as any body might expect, she still lived on." (Austen 1)

Catherine Morland is a member of a large family, with both of her parents still alive and well, and is loved and provided for. Austen plainly alludes to The Romance of the Forest, in which Adeline’s father does seem “addicted to locking up his daughters.” Because she is so well-situated and lacks the drama and newness of Adeline’s situation, Austen implies that Catherine seems ill-disposed to be a heroine. It should prevent the reader from identifying with her in the same way, and certainly removes a large force of tension that maintains Radcliffe’s novel.

However, it is these ways in which Catherine does not comply with the Gothic standards of a heroine that make her so engaging for the reader and so essential to Austen’s style of romantic realism. The reader is not able to identify with Catherine in the same way as he or she does with Adeline– the reader and Catherine do not begin on an equal par within the novel itself. However, Catherine is more easily identified with by the reader through her experiences, as compared to the reader’s experiences in reality. The more ordinary situation of Catherine allows the reader to accept her as a heroine, because the reader can displace her with himself or herself. Catherine’s lack of “genius,” as Radcliffe describes that indefinable quality, is also oddly approached by Austen in a way that enhances this identification. Austen begins the novel by saying that Catherine does not have “genius,” and that she is not likely to be a heroine. However, with a few years’s time, Catherine changes, physically, mentally, and emotionally. When she is “fifteen, appearances were mending; she began to curl her hair and long for balls; her complexion improved, her features were softened by plumpness and colour, her eyes gained more animation, and her figure more consequence” (2). Austen does not say that Catherine has become a beauty: she is only “mending” and her looks are “improved” and “softened.” Her parents have a conversation about her that seems to narrowly avoid being cruel:

"'Catherine grows quite a good-looking girl,– she is almost pretty today,' were words which caught her ears now and then; and how welcome were the sounds! To look almost pretty, is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has been looking plain the first fifteen years of her life, than a beauty from her cradle can ever receive." (2)

Adeline is the “beauty” mentioned here, and the reader immediately sympathizes with Catherine and is displeased with this spoiled woman, blessed with good looks for all of her life. It is an ambiguous sort of sympathy, however. Catherine herself is not clearly defined; her physical appearance is left undecided. What is “almost pretty”? Catherine’s looks only improve throughout the book, and sometimes she is complimented on her beauty. However, Austen also describes her as being plain. The reader is given a good idea of what Catherine used to look like, but not a very thorough one of how she has changed. This parallels Adeline’s “genius,” but in a lesser way. Because Catherine begins from an appearance and a personality that are acknowledged by the author as unappealing and unattractive, the change has the possibility of not being very great. However, the change may equally well be overwhelming. Catherine’s appearance and personality are left undefined enough that the reader can adjust her to fit what they want, and so better insert himself or herself into the story. Austen has created a heroine whose ambiguities create a sense of identification between the reader and the character, rather than hindering it.

In the first few pages of Northanger Abbey, Austen creates a sense of the parody to come through the establishment of Catherine’s character. This is particularly evident through the comparison of Catherine to Adeline, the heroine of The Romance of the Forest. Adeline is a perfect heroine, whose perfection actually forms a barrier between the reader and the character; although the reader can be intensely interested in the dramatic story, and can identify with the character in some limited way, she is too virtuous and angelic to displace. Austen hints at the creation of her new style in her parody of the Gothic– by making Catherine a heroine who is meant to be nothing like Adeline and yet becomes something like her, she creates a character who is easier for the reader to displace, and so immediately become a part of the story as soon as it begins. Her style is realism, formed through parody of the Gothic.


WORKS CITED

Austen, Jane. Northanger Abbey. New York: Dover, 2000.

Radcliffe, Ann. The Romance of the Forest. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999.

The Romance of the Forest

We open with La Motte, a falling nobleman who is fleeing Paris for debt. He takes with him his wife, Madame La Motte, and faithful servants Peter and Annette. La Motte is basically a good guy, although his scruples have taken a beating in the last few years, as he sinks into dissipation. When night approaches, Peter can no longer direct the carriage, and La Motte goes to the only house in sight in the desolate wilderness to ask for directions. He is invited inside, and then realizes that he is in the company of criminals! The criminals agree to let him go, but only if he takes a beautiful, young, innocent girl named Adeline with him and promises never to return. So La Motte does. Life with a beautiful girl or death without-- a difficult choice to make, but he makes it.

They flee through the darkness and stop at an inn. Adeline falls ill and the trip is delayed, to La Motte's chagrin. However, she is so sweet and beautiful and kind that the whole family is immediately besotted with her. When she recovers, the family goes on their way once more. They reach a forest in the wilds of France, and stumble upon a deserted abbey in the middle of the forest. Since it seems that the abbey is no longer inhabited, La Motte decides to fit up some of the nicer chambers and live there, free from the persecution of those he is indebted to.

But he needs money. So he wounds and robs a passing Marquis. No one else realizes that he has done this. Madame La Motte thinks he just has a remarkable store of money left.

And La Motte's decision to live in the abbey is made despite his discovery of a skeleton locked in a chest in one of the chambers. Go figure.

La Motte hides his booty in the forest, and often goes to look at the store of gold and jewels hidden in the ruins beyond the abbey. He refuses to tell Madame La Motte what he has been up to. Because the lovely Adeline often goes for walks in the forest-- and there breaks into spontaneous poetry or song called "Birches" or "Willows" or "Night" or "Lark" or even just "Sonnet"-- Madame La Motte immediately comes to the realization that the two of them must be having an affair. She becomes suspicious and mean to Adeline. Adeline is upset. Then the son of the La Mottes, Louis, comes to visit. He falls in love with Adeline. Adeline rejects him, for she cannot love him, although she esteems him most highly, sir.

And then, one night, the Marquis comes. La Motte is horrified to find that he is survived. The Marquis agrees not to have him arrested for trespassing and robbery and assault, if La Motte will grant him open sexual access to Adeline. La Motte agrees, but says that Adeline is so virtuous a route other than rape might be more effective. The Marquis declares his love to Adeline and asks her to be his mistress. She is appalled. The Marquis declares his love to Adeline and asks her to be his wife-- although he is already married. She is still appalled. So the Marquis abducts her one night, and she is taken to his chateau.

In the mean time, Adeline has met a dashing young chevalier in service to the Marquis. This chevalier's name is Theodore and he is her One True Love. She has also found the manuscript and, upon reading it, discovered that a man died in the abbey many years ago.

Adeline manages to jump out of a window in the chateau and escapes into the garden. Theodore saves her in the garden, and the two of them climb a ladder propped against the wall and hop into his carriage. Along the way, Adeline faints many times and blushes several times. These are two of her greatest talents, and she does them both as naturally and as frequently as breathing. In the carriage, Theodore confesses his love. He also confesses that he knew of the plans of the Marquis, and deserted the military to save her. Adeline is appropriately flattered. The two of them go to an inn where Adeline falls ill (something else she does frequently). Soldiers come to arrest Theodore. He is wounded. He recovers in the inn. The Marquis comes. Theodore wounds him. Theodore is arrested and Adeline is sent back to the abbey. She knows that La Motte betrayed her and cannot trust him.

Which is really, you know, about right, because the Marquis tells La Motte to kill Adeline. And La Motte is going to. But he feels pity and sends Adeline off in the dead of night with the trusty Peter. The two depart for the home of Peter's sister in Savoy. When they arrive, Adeline falls ill again. She faints dead away and when she wakes up, she is no longer in the cramped house of the sister. Instead, she is in a spacious and elegant villa near a lake. La Luc, the local clergyman, has taken her in, because his maiden sister is a skilled healer. Once Adeline has recovered, she becomes a part of the family and gets along marvelously well with everyone, including the daughter Clara. Yet she cannot forget Theodore.

La Luc is very ill and his physician advises traveling abroad. La Luc, Clara, Adeline, and Peter all set out but before they've been gone for very long, run into Louis La Motte. Louis reveals to Adeline that Theodore has been sentenced to death and that he is on his way to tell Theodore's father. Adeline says she has just come from Savoy. "Oh," says Theodore, "Then perhaps you know La Luc." Could it be? Could Adeline's true love be related to the family that has taken her in and become so close to her? Indeed, he is an absent son, gone for the last four years. The whole family goes to visit Theodore in prison, despite La Luc's poor health. La Luc believes that perhaps he can beg the king to spare Theodore's life and leaves for Paris.

La Motte is currently on trial in Paris. The Marquis lost his temper when Adeline ran away and decided to have La Motte arrested. Although no one likes the Marquis, he is held in high esteem by the king. When La Luc begs for his son, the Marquis contradicts his word, and the king decides not to grant the pardon. But then, one man surfaces for the trial of La Motte. He is one of the criminals from the night at the beginning of the book. He reveals that the Marquis is actually Adeline's father, and that her whole life before the beginning of the book was an elaborately-constructed lie. INCEST! RAPE! INCESTUOUS RAPE! Then another man surfaces and it is revealed that the Marquis is not her father, but her uncle. His brother was her father. And the Marquis murdered him. In fact, the manuscript that Adeline read earlier in the book was written by her father. After such brutal testimony, the Marquis knows that his character has been damaged beyond repair and that he will surely be sentenced for murder. He poisons himself, but leaves a full confession behind and wills a considerable fortune to Adeline.

La Luc makes a full recovery.

Theodore is pardoned.

La Motte is exiled, but not killed.

Adeline is suddenly wealthy, with a grand title and a real family. She marries Theodore (in a double wedding with Clara and her suitor) and they move to the lake of Geneva, just a few miles away from La Luc's home.

Louis realizes he isn't in love with Adeline, but still thinks of her with the greatest esteem and friendship, and is best buddies with Theodore. He buys a house right next door on the lake of Geneva.

And everyone was happy, for they were virtuous and honest. And that is The Romance of the Forest.

Northanger Abbey

The heroine is Catherine Morland. She's eighteen years old, a little silly, innocent, enthusiastic, good-natured, and honest. Sometimes she's pretty, sometimes she's plain; sometime's she's smart, sometimes she's stupid. It changes a lot. Catherine is in a family of ten in the countryside, and jumps at the chance to visit Bath with two friends of the family, Mr. and Mrs. Allen. They are very wealthy and childless. It's a traditional Austen pairing of the sensible man with the silly woman-- Mr. Allen gives Catherine a lot of good advice, but Mrs. Allen only ever thinks about clothing. For a while, Mrs. Allen and Catherine are fairly uncomfortable in Bath. They have no friends at balls or in the Assembly Rooms. Luckily, they are soon introduced to a young man named Henry Tilney. He is 26 years old, moderately handsome, intelligent, well-read, witty, and a little condescending. Catherine dances with him and immediately is taken with him, but little happens to advance the relationship for a while, as he rather suddenly leaves Bath.

Mrs. Allen runs into a school-friend named Mrs. Thorpe. Mrs. Thorpe has several daughters and a son, John Thorpe, who turns out to be a school-friend of Catherine's brother James. One of these daughters, Isabella, is incredibly beautiful and incredibly insincere. Catherine is blind to the insincerity and the two of them quickly become fast friends. One of their favorite pasttimes is reading Gothic novels, like The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe. Austen gives a spirited rant in support of the novel, calling all female novelists to support one another. While Catherine and Isabella are talking in the Pump-Room, Isabella spies two young men looking at her. She is angry at their impertinence. When they leave the room, she immediately resolves to show how impervious she is to their impertinence by following them. However, as Catherine and Isabella are crossing the street, they run into John Thorpe and James Morland. They all go home, and Catherine is put off by John Thorpe's vulgar manners. That night, the whole party attends a ball at the Upper-Rooms. Catherine agrees to be John Thorpe's partner for the night, and so is mortified when Henry Tilney comes to the ball and asks her to dance, and she must refuse him. She is pleased, however, to meet his sister Eleanor. The evening is unpleasant for Catherine, but she starts the next day full of hope.

She plans to go to the Pump-Room to try to find Miss Tilney and continue their acquaintance, but her brother and John and Isabella Thorpe come in the early afternoon to collect her for a ride. John continues to be vulgar during the ride, first asking Catherine about Mr. Allen's wealth and then professing himself a fan of getting drunk. The drive doesn't go anywhere in particular, and Catherine is miserable-- only to grow more miserable when she returns home and Mrs. Allen tells her that she met the Tilneys out walking earlier that day. The next day they all go to the theatre and the Pump-Room, where Catherine sees Miss Tilney. The two of them talk and get along very well, and Catherine accidentally reveals to Miss Tilney her love for Henry-- "they parteed-- on Miss Tilney's side with some knowledge of her new acquaintance's deelings, and on Catherine's, without the smallest consciousness of having explained them" (46). By the way, what a well-constructed sentence. All goes even better at the ball the next evening, because Henry asks Catherine to dance again and now she is free to accept. John Thorpe annoys her a bit, causing Henry to liken him to an adulterer-- he says that a couple dancing together is like one married. Catherine sees General Tilney, Eleanor and Henry's father, and is invited to go for a walk with Eleanor and Henry the next day, if it does not rain.

It does rain briefly the next day. When the Tilneys do not come for her, Catherine resolves to wait, thinking that the mud might have put them off. But her brother and the Thorpes come to claim her for another ride. Catherine tries to refuse them, but is forced to come-- literally-- when John Thorpe tells her that he saw the Tilneys driving out of town on his way to pick Catherine up. Catherine believes that they are not coming to collect her, then, and decides to come with the other party. However, as they drive down the street, they pass the Tilneys walking by, who both look at Catherine with some surprise. Catherine immediately tells John Thorpe to stop and let her out, but he only speeds up. Catherine is horrified and angry and miserable, and the party doesn't even reach the castle they meant to go to. They all spend the evening at the Thorpes's house, and Catherine spends most of the time very discontent.

The next day, Catherine goes to the Tilneys's lodgings and is told that Miss Tilney is out. She leaves her card, and sees General and Miss Tilney leaving as she heads down the street. She is mortified that she has offended Miss Tilney so. That night, she goes to the theatre with the Allens, and sees Henry Tilney in another box. He bows to her coldly, without a smile, and comes around to their box when the play is over. Catherine is eager to explain her mistake:

"'Oh! Mr. Tilney, I have been quite wild to speak to you, and make my apologies. You must have thought me so rude; but indeed it was not my own fault,-- was it, Mrs. Allen? Did not they tell me that Mr. Tilney and his sister were gone out in a phaeton together? and then what could I do? But I had ten thousand times rather have been with you; now had not I, Mrs. Allen?'

'My dear, you tumble my gown,' was Mrs. Allen's reply." (61)

Henry Tilney appreciates her honesty and earnestness, and soon forgives her-- "Is there a Henry in the world who could be insensible to such a declaration?" (61) He also explains that Eleanor only left the house in such a strange fashion because she and the general were just leaving as Catherine arrived, and he told Eleanor to have the servant say that they were not at home. The two get on very well, and the walk is planned to take place soon. Catherine looks at the Tilneys's box, and sees John Thorpe speaking to the general. Henry leaves her and John Thorpe comes back, and says that the general is impressed with Catherine.

In a few days, James Morland and the Thorpes decide that another drive should take place. Catherine is talking to Miss Tilney, and has just decided to go for the walk on the same day as the planned drive. When she tells the others this, they tell her to change her plans and come with them, but Catherine refuses to act against her wishes and be so incivil a second time. John Thorpe steals away and tells the Tilneys that Catherine can't make it, and then returns to the group and gladly tells them that Catherine's excuses have been made. Catherine is, understandably, livid and immediately goes back to the Tilneys to tell them that a mistake was made and she will be coming with them on the walk. The Thorpes try to stop her, of course, and say that the Tilneys are long gone and she cannot catch up with them. Catherine says, "Then I will go after them, [...] wherever they are I will go after them. It does not signify talking" (67). And she does indeed go, running down the street. She catches up with them and is introduced to the general and invited to dinner, which she refuses because the Allens are expecting her.

The next day, Catherine and the Tilneys go for the walk on the Beechen Cliff. They discuss books and Henry says that he reads novels. The day is perfect. The next day, Isabella meets with Catherine to make her apologies and tells her that she and James are engaged. Catherine is thrilled. James Morland rides off to visit his family and gain their permission to marry Isabella. He soons returns with their blessing. John Thorpe corners Catherine and hints at his own love of her and desire to marry, which she does not understand and dismisses. Catherine soon goes to visit the Tilneys, to dine with them, and is disappointed by General Tilney. He stifles his children and makes her feel uncomfortable; he is very stately, but also cold and flatters her bizarrely often.

Catherine's brother does return soon, but has not returned yet-- and Isabella proves how inconstant she is immediately. Henry Tilney's brother, Captain Tilney, arrives and is very suave and handsome. He is introduced to Isabella at the ball, and although she pretends that she does not want to dance, she finally agrees to it. Catherine expresses her surprise and disappointment to Henry, and Henry admires her innocence. Isabella receives a letter from James the next day. His father has consented, and he has received four hundred pounds a year. It's not a massive amount of wealth, but for one of ten children, it's not bad. Isabella is disappointed by it, however, and does little to mask her feelings. Catherine becomes nervous, but Isabella then blames her feelings on having to wait, when she would like to marry so much sooner, and Catherine is less uneasy. James comes back to Bath.

The Allens's visit is drawing to an end, but they decide to extend it for a little bit longer, and Catherine is ecstatic. Then Miss Tilney reveals that she and her family are leaving for Northanger Abbey, their country home, and Catherine is sad. Then Catherine is invited by Miss Tilney to come to Northanger Abbey, and Catherine is ecstatic again. Isabella tells Catherine that John is in love with her and Catherine is shocked. Catherine is even more shocked when she hears Isabella flirting with Captain Tilney in a way unsuitable for an engaged woman. Henry attempts to reassure her, although not in the most reassuring fashion, and Catherine is put at ease-- kind of.

She soon leaves for Northanger Abbey with the Tilneys. General Tilney still makes her feel uncomfortable. Henry feeds on Catherine's romantic associations with the word "abbey," creating in her mind all sorts of Gothic scenarios that could happen in her new home. Catherine's first mistake, based on Henry's stories, is when she sees a heavy chest in her bedroom. Expecting a skeleton or something of the sort inside, she opens it with trembling fingers, and finds it full of spare sheets. That night is stormy, and Catherine is frightened-- she is even more frightened when she sees an old wardrobe in a corner matching the description of one from Henry's story. She finds some paper in the wardrobe, and believes it to be a manuscript. Her candle goes out!

The next morning, she realizes that the paper is a laundry receipt.

She has a conversation with Henry about the ability to learn, particularly learning to love. Henry says, "I am pleased you have learnt to love a hyacinth. The mere habit of learning to love is the thing; and a teachableness of disposition in a young lady is a great blessing.-- Has my sister a pleasant mode of instruction?" (122) Subtle, Jane Austen. Subtle. Henry leaves for his own home in Woodston for a few days, and General Tilney shows Catherine around the house. Eleanor intends to show Catherine her dead mother's room, but the general stops her. Catherine asks Eleanor to do it later, but this is again interrupted. Catherine by this time believes that General Tilney murdered his wife and sneaks into the rooms by herself. Suddenly, Henry Tilney comes up the stairs into the room and Catherine exclaims, "Mr. Tilney! [...] Good God! [...] How came you here?-- how came you up that staircase?" (137). He, of course, takes the staircase because it is the shortest route to his room. He has returned unexpectedly early from Woodston. He knows why she is there, and she is ashamed, and chastises herself for her thoughts. Austen gives the basic premise of her book in the next few pages-- that this is not a Gothic novel, and why it cannot be.

Catherine receives a letter from her brother, informing her that Isabella and he have dissolved the engagement, based on her flirtation with Captain Tilney. The Tilneys note Catherine's distress and question her on it, and she hints at what has happened and then confesses all. The Tilneys know their brother will not marry Isabella, although Catherine thinks that he must. Henry leaves for Woodston again, but invites the family to come visit him, which they do. Catherine is enchanted by it. Soon after they return to Northanger Abbey, General Tilney expels Catherine from it with no courtesy. Eleanor doesn't understand it. Catherine goes home, ashamed of being left, and wishing that Henry weren't still at Woodston. Her parents are glad to have her back, and are dismayed at General Tilney's rudeness. Catherine receives a letter from Isabella begging forgiveness, but dismisses it, as she now sees Isabella for what she truly is. Henry Tilney comes and proposes to Catherine-- he tells her that his father thought she was rich (he was told so by John Thorpe) and expelled her when he learned that she was not so, and when Henry arrived back at Northanger Abbey and found out what had happened, he was indignant and went after her for his love and a sense of honor. Catherine accepts, and her family is happy but refuses to allow the marriage until General Tilney gives his consent. He finally does, and Eleanor marries happily, and so do Catherine and Henry.

Books taken from the library. Oh happy day.

The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus
Existentialism & Humanism by Jean-Paul Sartre
The Stranger by Albert Camus
Memoires d'une jeune fille rangee by Simone de Beauvoir
Mother Courage and her Children by Bertolt Brecht
Marat/Sade by Peter Weiss
Macbeth by William Shakespeare
The Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare
Paradise Lost by John Milton
As You Like It by William Shakespeare
Richard II by William Shakespeare
Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare
Richard III by William Shakespeare
Persuasion by Jane Austen
Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre
The Professor by Charlotte Bronte
The Penguin Dictionary of Architecture
Old Times, No Man's Land, Betrayal, Monologue, and Family Voices by Harold Pinter
Life of Galileo, The Resistable Rise of Arturo Ui, and The Caucasian Chalk Circle by Bertolt Brecht

The importance of the family in The Romance of the Forest

Adeline, the heroine of Ann Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest, is a character with few goals for the end of her story. She knows what she does not want, and that is embodied in a life of the convent. She cannot accept a life where she is “Excluded from the cheerful intercourse of society– from the pleasant view of nature– almost from the light of day– condemned to silence– rigid formality– abstinence and penance– condemned to forego the delights of [the] world” (37). These basic needs are more than met by the end of the story when she is rewarded with wealth, love, and title. The common factor between these three is the relationship they all have to family. Family becomes the unnamed goal for Adeline and the focal point of the story: it has the power to accelerate the events of the novel and creates the sense of interconnectedness and fortunate coincidence so important to the ending.

At the beginning of the novel, Adeline is described as essentially an orphan, with few bonds left to connect her to her family. She meets La Motte under mysterious circumstances, put under his charge when he is trapped by bandits in the countryside late one night. When she tells Madame La Motte the story of her life in the third chapter, she says,

"I am the only child [...] of Louis de St. Pierre, a chevalier of reputable family, but of small fortune, who for many years resided at Paris. Of my mother I have a faint remembrance: I lost her when I was only seven years old, and that was my first misfortune. At her death, my father gave up housekeeping, boarded me in a convent, and quitted Paris. Thus was I, at this early period of my life, abandoned to strangers." (36)

A part of her abandonment to strangers is in her present relationship with La Motte, a source of anxiety for her throughout the first half of the book. She tells him, “I have no friend in the world, if I do not find one in you” (7). Thus, at the beginning of the novel, Adeline is without money or a home. Her father leaves her in a convent in Paris, and sees her rarely afterwards. She has literally been orphaned by death in one parent, her mother. In this way, she loses the sympathetic and nurturing maternal figure so important to female characters in fairy tales. She is orphaned figuratively by the disinterest of the other parent, her father. He wants her to take the veil in the convent, and so become no longer a responsibility of his. Adeline does not want this life. Although she is virtuous, she is too interested in the sensual and intellectual pleasures of the outside world to become a nun. She confides in Madame La Motte, “You [...] can form little idea of the wretchedness of my situation, condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and imprisonment of the most dreadful kind, or to the vengeance of a father, from whom I had no appeal” (37). It is Adeline’s family history that renders her so much a tragic heroine: because she has no family, she has nothing. The indifference of her father stripped her of a happy childhood, and his cruelty leaves her in the care of the La Mottes. The criminals she is left with in the countryside say her father “ordered [her] to be confined in [her] chamber” (41) and then tell La Motte to remove her and not return, under fear of death. Because her family has prevented her from ever knowing happiness, Adeline’s story begins with her having everything to gain.

Adeline does begin the novel with the characteristics that enable her to eventually overcome her troubles and become happy. When La Motte first meets Adeline, he is moved by her innocence and beauty. Madame La Motte notes her sweetness when she is ill. But Radcliffe does not give a thorough, physically- and characteristically-specific description of Adeline until the family has taken up residence in the abbey. She says that

"The observations and general behaviour of Adeline already bespoke a good understanding and an amiable heart, but she had yet more– she had genius. She was now in her nineteenth year; her figure of the middling size, and turned to the most exquisite proportion; her hair was dark auburn, her eyes blue, and whether they sparkled with intelligence, or melted with tenderness, they were equally attractive. [...] The captivations of her beauty were heightened by the grace and simplicity of her manners. (29)

Adeline is a perfect heroine. She has had a childhood sheltered in a convent where she confesses everyone was unhappy and oppressed, yet she has developed sweetness, amiability, and charming manners. She is a noblewoman without very strong claims to that title based on her birth, as the reader knows it, and without the appropriate upbringing for it. Her character, like her beauty, is something innate. These qualities do not compensate for the setbacks of her family, in the life of a heroine; instead, the setbacks of her family contribute to her status as heroine, with her good qualities as enhancement for her story. The tragedy she has to overcome lends her dramatic substance, and creates an ability for hope in her. When the family moves to the abbey, Adeline cannot be too upset, because she “had no retrospect of past delight to give emphasis to present calamity”(32). As mentioned before, she is completely open to the possibilities of happiness because she has been deprived in the past, and the qualities she possesses help her to find that happiness.

The La Mottes become her adopted family and, under their care, she begins to travel the path that will eventually end in her happiness. Soon after they have settled in the abbey, Adeline “began to feel an interest in the concerns of her companions, and for Madame La Motte she felt more; it was the warm emotion of gratitude and affection” (25). This soon changes to “the affection of a daughter” (44). The La Mottes are Adeline’s source of security in a world where she has previously only known misfortune, a lack of love, and danger. However, her relationship with this family soon deteriorates for the purpose of accelerating her story. If Radcliffe had allowed Adeline to find happiness with the La Mottes, living as their daughter in filial harmony, she would not have gained all that the virtuous heroine deserves. Radcliffe must deny the heroine comfort with one family for a greater achievement. When La Motte suddenly begins to leave the abbey for long stretches of time without giving satisfactory reasons for doing so, Madame La Motte is suspicious and decides “that Adeline was the object of her husband’s attachment. Her beauty out of the question, who else, indeed, could it be in a spot thus secluded from the world?” (46) Her manner changes towards Adeline, and the relationship between them declines quickly. When the son of the La Mottes, Louis, comes to the abbey and falls in love with Adeline, “a perception of the growing partiality of Louis co-operated with the canker of suspicion, to destroy in Madame La Motte that affection which pity and esteem had formerly excited for Adeline” (74). The heroine’s relationship with her first adopted family begins to deteriorate beginning with the member she cares for the most. It is ironic that while romantic love is essential for Adeline’s happiness and reward, it is the development and suspicion of it that leads to the destruction of Adeline’s first adopted family.

As Adeline’s relationship with the La Mottes dissolves, her story accelerates into the persecution she will face throughout the story at the hands of the Marquis. This relationship itself is the result of her interaction with the La Mottes. La Motte owes a debt to the Marquis for his secrecy about the robbery reported at the end of the novel, and that debt is repaid by allowing the Marquis open access to Adeline. All three members of the family destroy their relationship with Adeline in some way: La Motte betrays her, Madame La Motte regards her with mixed affection and suspicion, and Louis reveals his love in an unwanted declaration. Romance forces itself on Adeline: the fate that the story demands meets her at every step. Thus far in the novel, she has two suitors, Louis and the Marquis. Adeline does eventually succumb to the inevitable. When she first meets her destined lover, a chevalier named Theodore who is serving under the Marquis, “she indulged, without scruple, the remembrance of that dignified air and manner which so much distinguished the youth she had seen” (76). This is perhaps the first time that Adeline has done anything in the book “without scruple”; her love comes upon her in a way that sweeps away her sense of restraint and virtue, at least in thought, if not in deed. Adeline’s acquaintance and residence with the La Mottes initially exposes her to the three lovers that she will have in the course of the book. Her relationship with the family completely breaks down when the Marquis abducts Adeline. Although Theodore saves her, he is soon arrested for attacking the Marquis and she is sent back to the abbey. The Marquis tells La Motte to kill her, but La Motte instead sends her to the village of Leloncourt, in Savoy, with the servant Peter.

In Savoy, Adeline attaches herself to the family of La Luc, the local clergyman. She falls ill in the house of Peter’s sister and is removed to the house of La Luc for the better conditions and nursing to be obtained there. His family seems similar to the one claimed by Adeline earlier in the book, “an ancient family of France, whose decayed fortunes occasioned them to seek a retreat in Switzerland” (245). La Luc’s family, consisting of “one son and a daughter, who were too young, when their mother died, to lament their loss” (246), is described as virtuous, educated, and intellectual. Although the son was brought up to be a clergyman, he has left for the military in France four years before Adeline arrives in Savoy. Adeline quickly bonds with the rest of the family, however, and soon after her recovery from her illness, she is left in the state of being

"considered as a part of the family, and in the parental kindness of La Luc, the sisterly affection of Clara, and the steady and uniform regard of Madame, she would have been happy as she was thankful, had not unceasing anxiety for the fate of Theodore, of whom in this solitude she was less likely than ever to hear, corroded her heart." (259)

Perhaps Adeline is correct; she is in extreme solitude in the small village and, as far as she knows, unlikely to see her lover outside France. However, La Luc soon becomes very ill and the family goes abroad for his health and recovery. While abroad, they meet Louis La Motte, who is, coincidentally, on his way to Savoy. He tells Adeline that Theodore is in prison and soon to be executed. It is during this confession that she learns that Theodore is actually the absent son of La Luc. The family in which she has already become as a sister is actually the one that her marriage to her lover would make her a sister-in-law in. This is rather strongly foreshadowed earlier in the book, when Adeline waits for Theodore’s recovery from a wound. The physician says to her, “You are a sister of the gentleman’s, I presume, Madam; his sister, perhaps. [...] Perhaps, Madam, you are more nearly related, [...] perhaps you are his wife” (179). She, in fact, seems to become both in separate and individual situations. The adopted family she creates becomes her means for seeing Theodore again and for learning of the fate that he must meet, and for the beginning of circumstances that will eventually lead to the end of Adeline’s sorrows and to her reward.

Her reward comes when the characters of the novel have solved the mystery of her true family, and bring justice to the Marquis. Adeline travels to Paris to testify against the Marquis, and to possibly save the lives of both Theodore and La Motte, who has been arrested for his earlier attack on and robbery of the Marquis. Du Bosse, one of the criminals who gave Adeline to La Motte at the beginning of the novel, has revealed information that casts a serious doubt on the character of the Marquis. He says that Adeline is the Marquis’s daughter and was entrusted to a man named Jean d’Aunoy, who raised her as his own child. The first moment of justice, then, comes in the acknowledgment that the Marquis almost committed incest with his daughter, and that incest almost came in the form of rape. It is a shock to the characters as well as the reader: “when he [La Motte] knew that Adeline was the daughter of the Marquis, and remembered the crime to which he had once devoted her, his frame thrilled with horror” (334). Radcliffe gives the history of Adeline in the testimony of Du Bosse, and it is as detailed as the history that Adeline relates herself, although one that runs completely contradictory to what she says. It is another coincidence that her father should feel such lust for his own daughter without knowing it, and that the family the child was given to should accidentally conduct her to him. However, this story is soon overturned by the testimony of Jean d’Aunoy, who reveals that the Marquis is not actually Adeline’s father, but her uncle. Instead, the brother of the Marquis, Henry, is the father of Adeline. He was killed by the Marquis in the abbey, leaving behind a manuscript later found and read by Adeline. The Marquis knows that with this evidence, he will be condemned to death, and becomes penitent in the last moments of his life. He poisons himself and leaves a full confession behind.

Adeline’s story is completed in the last pages of the novel. She begins the novel in destitution– the only riches she possesses being those of her beauty and her character– and by the end, she has become incredibly wealthy. Her father, Henry, “received from his ancestors a patrimony very inadequate to support the splendour of his rank; but he had married the heiress of an illustrious family, whose fortune amply supplied the deficiency of his own” (343). She not only receives the fortune of her mother and the good name of her father, but is willed a “considerable legacy” (353) by the Marquis in his final moments. She is acquainted with members of her true family and finally knows what it is to have relations who welcome and love her. Thus her establishment of an extended, temporary family with the La Mottes at the beginning of the story and with the family of La Luc in the middle of the story, leads to security in a real family and a reward befitting her nature. However, Adeline does not simply rely on what she is given. She continues to create an extended family, and “in the society of friends so beloved, [she] lost the impression of that melancholy which the fate of her parent had occasioned” (357). Her experiences have taught her the importance of human relationships, and although now satisfied with a history and all that brings to her, she looks more to the family created by friends. She marries Theodore and they move to the lake of Geneva, near Leloncourt, where they can be near La Luc, who has made a complete recovery from his illness. The passion of Louis for Adeline eventually fades and, as he is a good friend of Theodore, he moves to the lake as well. Finally happy, Adeline is reunited with branches of all of the families that she has come to care for, all three of which have had some contribution to her ultimate reward.

The Romance of the Forest is a novel of “virtues greatly rewarded” (363) and of deserving natures receiving all that Radcliffe believes them entitled to. However, the “former lives [of Theodore and Adeline] afforded an example of trials well endured” (363), a hint that part of this virtue lies in the ability to overcome evil. It is a book of instruction about the importance of family, including extended ones. To endure well is to withstand the trial and to look farther past it; Adeline is hopeful and forms families when they are not to be found. Coincidence plays an important role in the creation of her happiness, but the consequence of her own action is equally important.


WORKS CITED

Radcliffe, Ann. The Romance of the Forest. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999.