ABSTRACT

THE PROBLEM OF FEMALE RESERVE: JANE AUSTEN’S SCRIPT OF SISTERHOOD

Each of Jane Austen’s novels looks at sisterhood from a different angle, exploring varying versions of sisterhood that all point to its indisputable necessity in the lives of women. At the same time, however, Austen illustrates that female reserve frequently prevents sister relationships from reaching their full potential. Sisterly reserve is often tied to romantic interests, as women succumb to cultural pressure to hide their feelings at all costs. This thesis analyzes the complexities of the sister relationships in Austen’s six novels, tracing the struggles with silence that often result in a temporary or even permanent breakdown of female community. Through her portrayals of sisters, Austen also raises questions about moral development and female isolation, indicating that strong sisterhoods cultivate greater moral awareness, and that women without sisters still benefit from the female communities they create. The complete script that surfaces from an examination of all her novels argues that sisters and women consistently experience stronger female communities and greater participation in the world of rationality and meaning when they are able to overcome these instances of silence and jointly negotiate their experiences.

Kristen Akina May 2011

THE PROBLEM OF FEMALE RESERVE: JANE AUSTEN’S SCRIPT OF SISTERHOOD

by Kristen Akina

A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts in English in the College of Arts and Humanities California State University, Fresno May 2011 APPROVED For the Department of English:

We, the undersigned, certify that the thesis of the following student meets the required standards of scholarship, format, and style of the university and the student's graduate degree program for the awarding of the master's degree.

Kristen Akina Thesis Author

Ruth Jenkins (Chair) English

Laurel Hendrix English

Lisa Weston English

For the University Graduate Committee:

Dean, Division of Graduate Studies AUTHORIZATION FOR REPRODUCTION OF MASTER’S THESIS

X I grant permission for the reproduction of this thesis in part or in its entirety without further authorization from me, on the condition that the person or agency requesting reproduction absorbs the cost and provides proper acknowledgment of authorship.

Permission to reproduce this thesis in part or in its entirety must be obtained from me.

Signature of thesis author: ACKNOWLEDGMENTS There is a mysterious, frightening world between the moment of saying, “I think I’d like to do my thesis on Jane Austen,” and staring incredulously at the completed project. I owe thanks to those who have walked me through this strange world by helping me develop this project as well as those who have contributed to who I am as a student of literature. I am grateful to all the members of my committee, whose teaching about scholarship has been invaluable to me for this project but has also extended beyond its scope. My chair, Ruth Jenkins, has guided me through this entire process of research and writing, reading multiple drafts and showing me at each step how to broaden and deepen my scholarship. Laurel Hendrix taught me so much about academic writing in my first year of graduate school, and these lessons came full circle as she read and responded to my thesis. Lisa Weston has given me feedback on samples of my work throughout my time here, from my first seminar paper to this project, and she helped me to finish strongly when I felt I had nothing left to say. And my family has also played an important role in my work through their influence and support. My parents helped to create and then nourish my desire for reading, and introduced me to some of my favorite authors, including Jane Austen. My grandma taught me about storytelling and how to view the world through story. My in-laws have encouraged and supported me through each phase of school. And finally, I am grateful to my husband Ben, for our continual conversations about Austen, and for all his personal sacrifices while I worked on this project. This thesis is dedicated to my sister Amy, who is for me the heroine in all our stories. TABLE OF CONTENTS Page

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION ...... 1 CHAPTER 2: THE SILENCES OF “SISTERLY CONSOLATION” IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE ...... 14 CHAPTER 3: “WE HAVE NEITHER OF US ANYTHING TO TELL”: SILENCES AND FEMALE COMMUNITY IN SENSE AND SENSIBILITY ...... 39 CHAPTER 4: “ALL TO HERSELF”: EMOTIONAL ISOLATION AND SISTER RIVALRY IN MANSFIELD PARK AND PERSUASION ...... 64 CHAPTER 5: “SCHEMES OF SISTERLY HAPPINESS”: FEMALE COMMUNITY AND MORAL AWARENESS IN EMMA AND NORTHANGER ABBEY ...... 93

CHAPTER 6: CONCLUSION ...... 117

WORKS CITED ...... 121

CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION

I once thought that to have what is in general called a Freind (sic)(I mean one of my own Sex to whom I might speak with less reserve than to any other person) independant (sic) of my Sister would never be an object of my wishes, but how much was I mistaken! Charlotte is too much engrossed by two confidential Correspondents of that sort, to supply the place of one to me, and I hope you will not think me girlishly romantic, when I say that to have some kind and compassionate Freind who might listen to my Sorrows without endeavouring to console me was what I had for some time wished for… – Jane Austen, “Lesley Castle” Jane Austen wrote the above passage in the 1790s when she was in her teens, as part of an epistolary short story she dedicated to her brother. Although her six novels do not boast the satire, dramatic swoons, and murders of her very early work, they do retain and develop the above concern with sisterhood and female friendship. Each of her completed novels portrays her protagonists’ need for a sister or friend to confide in, to share experiences with, and to negotiate the world with through the exercise of reason. In her novels Austen offers different versions of sister relationships, drawing attention to the importance of sisters in the lives of her female protagonists and illustrating the moral benefits of sisterhood along with the consequences of its absence. Austen’s focus on sisters and women has prompted a wide range of critical response. From her time throughout the first half of the twentieth century, many critics judged that she wrote about women because her narrow domestic circle admitted no other knowledge or experience. In the 1970s, when feminist criticism 2

began to emerge, critics read her cutting indictments of society as repressed anger, and reasoned that her focus on women instead reflected an overt attempt to resist the patriarchal bent of her culture. While every possible middle ground between both extremes has also been covered, the debate has retained a certain sharpness and urgency as critics make varying claims about Austen’s actual opinions. The question of Austen’s feminism in particular has continued to cling tenaciously to the minds of critics. Devoney Looser in 1995 identified five primary viewpoints in the ongoing debate. The first viewpoint belongs to those who answer a resounding, unqualified yes to the question of Austen’s feminism, declaring that to be a female writer during a time when publication exposed a woman to much censure, was by default to be a feminist. The second view holds that Austen’s conservative beliefs and privileging of the traditional marriage plot prevent her from joining the ranks of proponents of true feminism. Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, representative of the third view, see subtle feminism and controlled rage in Austen’s measured prose, and the fourth argues that the entire question is moot because the term “feminism” had not yet come into use during Austen’s time (Looser 5). The fifth perspective notes Austen’s focus on female characters and the plight of women in her society, and reasons that her ability to create strong, intelligent women indicates a sense of feminism (Looser 6). More recently, Vivien Jones termed Austen a “postfeminist,” arguing that Austen includes ideas from the women’s movement of the 1790s, but incorporates them into a more conservative, individual agenda (291). Jones’s focus on Austen’s conservatism places her in Looser’s second category of critics who protest over the marriage plot, despite her term “postfeminist.” Looser ends her review of feminist criticism with a call to move away from attempts at labeling Austen and to analyze instead her portrayals of gender, 3 arguing that, “A focus on gender politics is the strength all feminist work on Austen exemplifies – and it’s a strength that one also finds in Austen’s own writings” (8). Jones has claimed that this strength is small in stature and focused on the individual: “Austen’s awareness of gender politics operates at the level of individual choice (or lack of it) rather than fueling any demand for structural social change” (285). Although this is accurate, concerns of gender permeate all of Austen’s texts, and are perhaps made more poignant by their emphasis on characters rather than causes. Women are constantly called upon to negotiate their places in the world in relation to men and other women, and I will be focusing on this within the context of sister relationships. In her emphasis on sisters, Austen automatically shows the importance of relationships between women, and through both dialogue and silences between the sisters, illustrates how their relationships with men can be mediated and understood through their closeness to one another. Therefore, my argument will center on feminist aspects of Austen’s writings and her focus on the stories of sisterhood, while avoiding any attempt to categorize or affix a label on her frequently subtle philosophies. My analysis will consider how her novels fit into or challenge her historical context, and use this as a basis to draw conclusions about her opinions on gender. An excellent examination of Austen’s social, gendered context is found in Ilona Dobosiewicz’s work, Female Relationships in Jane Austen’s Novels: A Critique of the Female Ideal Propagated in 18th Century Conduct Literature. Through her thorough analysis of Austen’s novels and comparison with the conduct books that Austen was familiar with, she argues that Austen was aware of her culture’s expectations for women and consistently sought to portray characters and events that challenged those expectations subtly yet firmly. She sums up the overarching message of the conduct literature by saying, “The assumption 4 underpinning the argument put forward in conduct books for women is that female identity is totally male-oriented, since woman is represented only as an object of male desire” (13-14). She argues that Austen places a strong emphasis on female friendships in her novels and that this reality of female relationship is completely ignored or eschewed by conduct book writers. Yet when society does admit the possibility of female relationships, they assume that women will operate as rivals, compete for male affection. This furthers the idea that female identity is bound up in the male world. Thus the argument of this book seems to fall into Looser’s fifth category as Dobosiewicz addresses Austen’s concern with women and yet argues for a feminist bent because of her resistance to established cultural scripts. Dobosiewicz’s work figures in each of the following chapters – her argument of Austen’s portrayal of women as an alternative to accepted cultural norms is particularly applicable to my analysis. Many critics have written about Austen’s focus on sisters, and some have noted that this focus argues for the value of these relationships and their ability to shape character and encourage moral growth, yet they have not addressed the fact that the sisters she creates are frequently caught in strange silences and moments of reserve. Even when sisters have been established as hitherto open with each other about their viewpoints and struggles, various threads of unexplained and sometimes unprecedented silence still appear. This is found most readily in the fact that Austen’s sisters consistently avoid discussing their feelings for men. In all her novels, this reserve about matters of the heart is a constant. Austen’s historical context can reveal whether or not the reserve she portrayed was typical of her time. Could sisters confide in one another during a time when marriage was the highest goal for females, and competition in the marriage market between women, even sisters, was a definite possibility? Yet 5 historical accounts of sisters in England during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries are difficult to find. Although there are plenty of historical and anthropological accounts of siblings, there is nothing focusing on the specifics of sister-to-sister relationships. For example, Lawrence Stone in the 1970s did an extensive study on family relationships in Europe spanning several centuries, but in his 700 pages of work, there was no mention of the sister/sister bond. This in part reflects the lack of availability of source material, but also is a result of the apparent lack of concern of the author. These findings were typical of all similar research. Many writers and critics lamented this lack of information, and therefore confirmed it. Feminist criticism offers an explanation for this lack of historical and cultural resources by pointing out that it is essential in a patriarchal system that men hold positions of power and influence in every level of society. As Nina Auerbach (5) and Toni McNaron (5) have argued, communities of women without any male present are seen as a threat to the established system. Because a woman’s great object in life is to find a husband, and then please the husband once she has him, then there is no point in cultivating or even acknowledging other relationships. Thus even a community of sisters is regarded as unimportant in the light of this one grand object, hence the absence of historical records of sisters, and the lack of material on this issue even in the conduct literature of the time. There is, however, a seemingly contradictory strand in the lack of evidence which is soon resolved. Leila May argues that nineteenth-century Britain was obsessed with the notion of sisterhood (13), and strongly valued the role of a sister within the Victorian family. And even though Austen’s work preceded the Victorian period, her world held similar concerns about the role of women as the domestic sphere became increasingly narrow. In light of this cultural emphasis, 6 the lack of records and evidence may seem strange. Yet it is perfectly consistent with my earlier argument, because the sisterhood that May examines turns out to be an ideal or myth, what she calls “pure artifice” (21). Thus it follows that scripts of the period would not contain much representation of the actual lives of sisters with sisters, but instead present a rendering of the official, prescripted version. Helena Michie echoes a similar understanding when she says: “Historical reconstructions of Victorian sisterhood run into predictable problems of methodology: the sources that are available to contemporary scholars – letters, journals, biographies, and conduct books, for example – each follow conventions of their own and produce, in effect, their own fictions of sisterhood” (22). Thus the official, sanctioned version of sisterhood, when it is even acknowledged, is that it is inferior to relationships with men. Virginia Woolf notes Austen’s original portrayal of female relationships when she writes in A Room of One’s Own: “It was strange to think that all the great women of fiction were, until Jane Austen’s day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen in relation to the other sex” (82). This assertion of Austen’s innovation is disputed by Janet Todd in her work Women’s Friendship in Literature when she says, “Woolf’s impression is a common one, but it is a mistake nonetheless. Eighteenth-century fiction is rich in presentations of female friendship, by both men and women” (1). Although this is definitely true about the fiction, and eighteenth-century novels illustrate the point that women did confide in one another, Woolf’s observation is correct when it is applied to the official script of the patriarchal society, the script that declares a woman’s life has no meaning when removed from a male context. Woolf goes on to say, “And how small a part of a woman’s life is that; and how little can a man know even of that when he observes it through the black or rosy spectacles which sex puts upon 7 his nose” (82-83). Thus in order to learn of the other parts of a woman’s life, we must turn from the official script to see what women had to say for themselves regarding sister relationships. Despite the lack of research in this area, or even documents that could be used in such study, there is still evidence to be found in novels and letters from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that present a window into certain practices of women and sisters. And although novels are not always reliable as historical artifacts, they can provide some insight into current cultural norms as well as trends in fiction. Private letters, from female authors who had no idea of their letters ever becoming public, also can serve as evidence of the amount of confidence subsisting among sisters and women in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Through my readings of novels and letters by female authors that Jane Austen read and admired, I have come to the conclusion that a precedent for openness and intimacy between close sisters and women did exist, and that Austen deviated from the norm in creating such significant moments of reserve between her characters. Certain novels did not portray sisters at all because protagonists tended to be alone and separated from their family, but these women did form close friendships with other women and confide secrets to them that they did not tell to men. Frances Burney’s Evelina (1778) is an example of this. As an epistolary novel, Evelina cannot convey any interiority of its characters that is not also shared by letter. Thus every thought of Evelina’s that is exposed to the reader must also be read by someone else in the text. While she writes most of her letters to her male guardian Rev. Villars, there is a brief period where she is staying with him and the story is told through her letters to her friend Maria Mirvan. In these letters she confides to Maria what she has not had the courage to tell Mr. Villars – 8 that the man she is interested in has (ostensibly) given her a written declaration of his love. Although this is a narrative device that allows the reader to know what is passing when Evelina is with her primary correspondent, it is still significant that here she chooses to tell Maria but does not tell Mr. Villars until much later. In Belinda, by Maria Edgeworth (1801), openness and shared secrets between women figure largely in the text. Early on in Belinda’s stay with the fashionable Lady Delacour, her ladyship makes Belinda her confidante, revealing her tragic life’s story and telling her secrets that only her maidservant and one other female friend are privy to. Lady Delacour is also aware of Belinda’s love for Clarence Hervey. Unlike Jane Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, Belinda will openly refer to the man she loves, and openly refer to her efforts to forget him. Belinda also shares this information with her friend Lady Anne Percival, giving her a “full account of her acquaintance with Clarence Hervey” and becoming “more concise when she touched upon the state of her own heart” (236). Thus moments of confidence between females are clear and detailed in the text. Also, the secrets that both Belinda and Lady Delacour know of each other spur them to act for the other’s good, successfully removing impediments to the other’s happiness. Therefore the openness the women share turns out to be very important to the resolution of the various plots, as each is a primary mover in the other’s story. This presence of confidence, this need to confide, is better borne out by Frances Burney’s Journals and Letters. At the age of fifteen, she wrote in her journal that she “must confess my every thought, must open my whole Heart!” (1). She was very close to her younger sister Susanna, and as Burney grew older and travelled more she wrote her many long letters, detailing her thoughts about her novels and plays, and opinions of the men she met. Burney shared with Susanna, 9 and occasionally other sisters, her disappointment in men, her struggles working in the court of George III, and wrote lively and detailed portraits of the literary circles she moved in. She makes it clear how important Susanna is to her as confidante when writing of her frustration over the mixed messages sent by potential suitor George Cambridge, saying in 1785, “You see, my sweetest Susan, – repository of all my most secret feelings! – You see that however unhappy I have been made, – I have not been blinded” (209). Their closeness had been such that Burney cannot regard it as anything other than loss when Susanna marries in 1782, writing, “So much has passed since I lost you – for I cannot use any other word! – that I hardly know what first to record” (180). Yet their confidence does not seem to be much marred by this event, for Burney continues her habit of long letters about her world. Thus it is clear that Burney had a true and complete confidante in her sister Susanna throughout all their lives, and there is no indication that their relationship was marred by any coldness or reserve. All of this helps to establish historical precedent for such open and sisterly communications. Austen’s own letters do not reveal any tendency to open her heart and find solace in the sympathy of a female confidante, although many of her surviving letters are addressed to her only sister Cassandra. Yet there is a very particular reason for this omission, because after Austen’s death, Cassandra Austen burned many of her sister’s letters, perhaps fearing what posterity might read (Le Faye 34). The remaining letters are full of details of their daily lives and interests, and contain many inside jokes between the sisters, but reveal nothing personal and cannot be used to measure the closeness of the sisters and their level of mutual confidence. 10

The strongest indicator that Jane Austen herself did experience the sisterly openness of her contemporaries is found in a letter Cassandra wrote shortly after Austen’s death to their niece Fanny. She writes: “I have lost such a treasure, such a Sister, such a friend, as never can have been surpassed – she was the sun of my life, the gilder of every pleasure, the soother of every sorrow, I had not a thought concealed from her, and it is as if I had lost a part of myself” (qtd. in Lanser 64). This is, (ironically, as Lanser has pointed out) much more revealing of their relationship than any of Austen’s letters that Cassandra permitted to survive. Yet it plainly points out the confidence subsisting between the sisters, and shows that Austen was accustomed to a more complete openness with her own sister than she portrayed between fictional sisters in her novels. This assertion is backed up by the known facts of Austen’s life. She and Cassandra were both unmarried, and lived together until Austen’s death. As the only children to remain at home, they shared the same suffering in the loss of their father and the care of their ailing mother. Emily Auerbach noted that their mother described them as “wedded to each other,” and that Austen herself wrote that she experienced with Cassandra “the pleasure of Friendship, of unreserved Conversation, of similarity of Taste and Opinions” (Auerbach 144). Thus it is reasonable to conclude that the two sisters were exceptionally close and knew each other’s secrets, even if written records of those secrets have not been preserved. Yet Austen’s characters withhold many secrets from close sisters and friends, and this silence becomes more conspicuous in light of the emphasis Austen places on close sister relationships and thriving female communities. Elizabeth Bennet does not tell her sister Jane that her feelings toward Darcy have changed. Fanny Price tells no one about her affection for Edmund. Anne Elliot remains silent about the fact that she still loves Captain Wentworth eight years 11

after their engagement was broken off. In every novel, a romantic interest is shrouded by silence, and yet the pages are filled with examples of women and sisters who are otherwise very close. In contrast to other eighteenth-century novels and letters that portray the openness of women, Frances Burney’s novel Camilla (1796) addresses the issue of female silence, and unlike Austen’s work, offers a direct explanation for why women were expected to be silent about their personal feelings. Burney points to cultural pressures behind these expectations, whatever the reality of female behavior might have been. Women were not supposed to confide in one another (or in anyone else) about their feelings for a man until after the man speaks. Camilla’s father tells her frankly that it is inappropriate for a female to admit to unrequited love – she must keep it as a secret (Burney 360). He tells this to Camilla in the context of a reprimand, explaining that her behavior and expressions are revealing her feelings for Edgar Mandlebert, and she must put a check on this because it is indecorous for a young lady to be so transparent. This is a clear example of patriarchal pressure on female communication. Women are constrained to submit to a code that is rarely articulated, and told to remain silent for the sake of their reputations. Whatever inclination they might have had to disclose their feelings to someone they trust is stifled because of the possibility the information might spread. The fact that in Camilla’s situation this mandate comes from her father, a (kindly) representative of the dominant culture, emphasizes how important it is for women to follow this script. Ironically, Camilla’s father does not bring this up from any desire to control her, but out of concern because of how society will interpret her behavior (Burney 361). This cultural expectation, accompanied by the consequences of a loose reputation, can prevent women from confiding in one another and building up a female community. 12

This sheds a gleam of light on these sisterly silences, but does not explain why they are so ubiquitous in Austen’s work. It is clear that this societal mandate was not always heeded – women did confide their romantic secrets to other women, especially sisters. Why then does it appear so frequently in Austen’s novels? Austen’s concern with women shows that she was not interested in propagating conduct book portraits – the very complexity and reality of the sister relationships she created contradict that idea. She also consistently illustrates the importance of sisters in the lives of her characters, pointing out that moral awareness often stems from a strong sense of sisterhood. Thus what happens is that through a variety of relationships, Austen is able to reveal the consequences of silences and lack of communication between sisters, showing the faltering steps of female communities that struggle to hold together in the face of a dominant ideology that devalues their bonds. Whether or not Austen intended to reveal the pressures of patriarchal society in her sisterly silences, they definitely emerge. Through this the cultural mandate of secrecy is exposed as a kind of false morality, one that fails to see the necessity of valuable sister relationships and instead constrains women to silence for the sake of appearance. Yet the sisterhoods that Austen portrays are much more than moments of struggle with cultural pressure, more than the spaces of silences they inhabit – they are rich, intricate portraits of the possibilities between sisters, and argue for the significance of this bond. The various versions of sisterhood that Austen creates work together to form a complete, cohesive statement that argues for the importance and necessity of sisterhood as well as its complexities, and it is this statement I will investigate. The following chapters examine the sister relationships in each of Austen’s novels, tracing the development and trajectories of these relationships, and analyzing communication between sisters in light of 13

contemporary patriarchal pressures. The novels are not discussed chronologically, but are grouped thematically, according to the facets of sisterhood Austen focuses on. Chapter 1 looks at the close sisterhood of Jane and Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, noting their intimacy early in the novel and investigating reasons for their unexpected shift into secrecy. Chapter 2 discusses Sense and Sensibility and its emphasis on Elinor and Marianne Dashwood and the interplay of their opposing personalities. It analyzes the silences and weaknesses of their female community and the mutual strength they arrive at by the end of the novel through the use of communication and openness. Chapter 3 looks at the sister relationships of minor characters in Mansfield Park and Persuasion, examining Austen’s portrayal of sisters as rivals for the affections of the same man. These two novels also have a common theme in the isolation of their protagonists, and their search for strong female friendships to replace the sisters they are lacking. And chapter 4 focuses on the personal growth of Emma Woodhouse and Catherine Morland in the novels Emma and Northanger Abbey, and argues that their ability to negotiate the world and achieve a moral understanding is advanced by their relationships with other women. And each chapter follows the thread of female silence, looking at its cultural underpinnings and tracing its appearance and effects in the lives of every Austen protagonist.

CHAPTER 2: THE SILENCES OF “SISTERLY CONSOLATION” IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

Austen’s presentation of an alternative perspective of sisterhood and its accompanying complexities is plainly seen in Pride and Prejudice, as she depicts a strong, mutually confiding relationship between sisters in Jane and Elizabeth Bennet. The Bennets care deeply about and display concern for one another as they traverse the difficult path of love and marriage in a society that leaves few options for women. The early part of the novel records their frequent conversations as together they try to make sense of the world around them. As their hearts become attached to men, however, and they entertain few hopes of these relationships ever materializing, they raise barriers in their communication and their sharing of thought and experience becomes stilted. Although they are still extremely close, their previously open and confiding conversations become marked by reserve and deliberate silences and omissions. While the text provides reasons for these silences, they are not adequate explanations given the level of intimacy the sisters experienced in the first part of the novel. This indicates that although the female community these sisters create is strong, it cannot entirely withstand the weight of patriarchal expectations and male relationships. The silences of Elizabeth and Jane, for whatever reason they are employed, result in a temporary breakdown of their female community, and give priority to societal norms. Ironically, however, their community comes full circle, and is restored and cultivated through the success of their relationships with men. The relationship of Jane and Elizabeth, while of definite importance in the novel, is emphasized by its placement within a large framework of sibling relationships. The novel repeatedly and consistently introduces us to a variety of sibling and sister bonds, impressing on the reader the importance of these types of 15 relationships. Ruth Perry, in her extensive work on families in nineteenth-century novels, has noted, “The entire social fabric of Pride and Prejudice is constructed out of sister relationships, from the five Bennet sisters and Mr. Bingley’s two sisters…to Mrs. Bennet’s sister Mrs. Phillips and her sister-in-law Mrs. Gardiner…The social world of this novel could not exist if it were not for the sister tie” (Novel Relations 118-19). She also mentions the role Elizabeth’s sister Lydia plays in her eventual reunion with Darcy, and how the story of Darcy’s sister is instrumental in persuading Elizabeth of Wickham’s villainy. Another critic mentioned not only the emphasis on siblings, but the connections among the various sets of siblings in relation to Jane and Elizabeth: “What makes the sibling analysis of Pride and Prejudice interesting is the way the novel explores the sisters’ interactions with other sibling groups, in particular, the Darcys, including Wickham as a sort of cuckoo in the nest, the Bingleys, and the Lucases” (Souter 183-84). All of this pointed focus on siblings, especially sisters, serves to highlight a tie that did not receive much attention in society’s official version of sibling relationships. Yet this emphasis is also used to offset and explore the central relationship of Elizabeth and Jane, who seek to make sense of the world through their discussions of these other groups they encounter. Constantly paired not only against other sibling groups but also against their three other sisters, Jane and Elizabeth are often portrayed as a unit, the sole representations of social propriety and grace in a family that is constantly giving offense in society. As the strongest female community in the text, both women possess reason and intelligence, and also share with one another their thoughts and opinions about their world. The closeness of the sisters has been frequently noted by other critics. Emily Auerbach states, “Too often labeled just a ‘courtship novel,’ Pride and Prejudice contains many passages demonstrating that Jane and 16

Elizabeth care deeply about each other…Rather than competing, they love each other wholeheartedly” (145). This is a direct divergence from the patriarchal expectation that sisters will be competitors for eligible men in social settings, and will ignore sisterly considerations in order to advance their own goal of a secure marriage. The relationship of Jane and Elizabeth presents a challenge to this official view, illustrating that the unity and affection of the sisters is stronger than the desire to succeed in the marriage market. Early in the novel, Austen creates a picture of Elizabeth experiencing the hopes and happiness of her sister, revealing the caring side of her character while setting up the significance of a relationship that will direct the course of the entire novel. While it is clear that Elizabeth also has a close friend in Charlotte Lucas, Austen deliberately establishes her intimacy with her sister Jane. In the first few scenes of the novel, Elizabeth is continually setting aside her own concerns within the socially important context of balls or assemblies to watch and reflect on Jane’s experience. For example, when Mr. Bingley is especially attentive to Jane at their first meeting, Elizabeth notices and, rather than being jealous, “felt Jane’s pleasure” (Austen 8). At the Netherfield ball, when she watches Jane and Bingley interacting, “the train of agreeable reflections which her observations gave birth to, made her perhaps almost as happy as Jane” (75). Earlier that same evening, “Jane met her with a smile of such sweet complacency, a glow of such happy expression…Elizabeth instantly read her feelings, and at that moment solicitude for Wickham, resentment against his enemies, and every thing else gave way before the hope of Jane’s being in the fairest way for happiness” (72-73). These and other similar references are consistently sprinkled throughout the text, setting up a framework for Elizabeth’s values that become more evident as the story 17

progresses. Yet through this it is also evident that Elizabeth never considers herself to be Jane’s rival and wishes only for her happiness. Elizabeth’s deep concern for her sister is not only limited to her endeavors in love, but extends to her physical well-being, along with a habitual consideration of the way other characters behave toward her. When Jane is ill at Netherfield, Elizabeth insists on walking to visit her, a feat that gives conversational fodder to the Netherfield party as they discuss what this walk says about her character. And Elizabeth’s sisterly concern impresses Darcy, again giving an indication of her values and priorities (291). Elizabeth also changes her opinion of other characters in the novel based on how they treat Jane. She is initially rather disgusted with Mr. Bingley’s sisters, and disagrees with Jane about their level of sincerity and kindness. Yet during Jane’s illness, Elizabeth “began to like them herself, when she saw how much affection and solicitude they shewed for Jane” (24). Later in the same day, when Elizabeth and Bingley’s sisters have left Jane in her room and are eating dinner, “their indifference toward Jane when not immediately before them, restored Elizabeth to the enjoyment of all her original dislike” (25). And Elizabeth is more satisfied with Mr. Bingley on this occasion because “his anxiety for Jane was evident” (25). As Ilona Dobosiewicz notes, “It is a clear sign of sisterly devotion that, in terms of Elizabeth’s values, a good person is the one who is good to Jane. Thus, Jane constitutes the center of Elizabeth’s moral system” (104). This point of view seems unconscious on Elizabeth’s part, yet is evidently ingrained by long habit and concern. Elizabeth’s fierce love for her sister also informs part of her bitter refusal of Darcy’s proposal of marriage, again illustrating that sisterly considerations can trump the societal and financial pressure that she marry. Elizabeth works herself up to an angry pitch before Darcy’s visit; having just heard from Colonel 18

Fitzwilliam of Darcy’s involvement in Bingley’s desertion, she closely rereads all of Jane’s letters and through her shrewd detection of sadness gains “a keener sense of her sister’s sufferings” (144). She is then able to directly blame Darcy for Jane’s unhappiness. And when he proposes a few minutes later, the first objection she makes is on Jane’s behalf: “Do you think any consideration would tempt me to accept the man, who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?” (146). Although Elizabeth already disliked him and would not have accepted him anyway, her concern for Jane gives her the extra sharpness and anger that is so surprising to Darcy. In a sense, Elizabeth is perhaps betraying Jane’s love for Bingley to Darcy, who had been convinced of Jane’s indifference. But it is this angry outburst that in part prompts Darcy to later encourage Bingley to try again. Susan Lanser sees Elizabeth as instrumental in the reunion of Jane and Bingley: “Elizabeth saves the older and (she believes) nobler Jane from despair by intervening, through Darcy, in Jane’s love affair with Bingley” (57). Although this might be a stretch, in a way it is Elizabeth’s outspoken resentment for what her sister suffered that helps to bring about Bingley’s eventual return. The mutual affection of Jane and Elizabeth not only affects their interactions with other people, but frequently finds expression in long conversations between the two sisters. And the reasoning and discussion they engage in does not mean that they function as one female, mindlessly agreeing on everything. In fact, much of their conversation throughout the novel consists of their differing opinions and their attempts to work them out and employ their joint perspectives to come to a greater understanding. These discussions are a way for Austen to illustrate their differences in character and disposition as well as investigate different points of view on the circumstances in the novel. And the 19 conclusions they are able to arrive at are also frequently sanctioned by the narrator, even when there are multiple errors to be worked out through the unfolding of events: “The moral center of Pride and Prejudice, that point at which the narrator and the reader agree is where what is right and what is wrong, who are Mr. Right and Mr. Wrong, is sorted out, is located within the friendship of Jane and Elizabeth” (Dabundo). Jane and Elizabeth frequently disagree about Mr. Bingley’s sisters, Mr. Darcy’s culpability in Wickham’s misfortunes, and Charlotte Lucas’ marriage to Mr. Collins. In these situations Jane typically defends while Elizabeth criticizes, yet the surmises of both are proved right and wrong by later events: “For the contrary temperaments of Elizabeth and Jane have a beneficial effect as they correct each other's excesses. Jane is too flexible, too gullible, far too trusting for her own good, Elizabeth too suspicious and stubborn” (Bonaparte 153). Although these conversations often take the form of debates, with each sister stating her point of view and providing reasons to support it, they are mediated by their mutual affection and respect, and the loving tone of their discourse often belies the difficult subject matter. For their talks often center on men and/or marriage, a matter of great importance to any young woman in their time. As another critic pointed out, in establishing Austen’s deviation from the one-dimensional female characters of her contemporaries: “Not only does Austen show young ladies talking freely with their young gentlemen, she shows them passing judgment on them as well, and not only on their breeding or income, but also on their character, intelligence, and education” (Deresiewicz 517). Together, within their rational female community, they work towards making sense of their world rather than merely accepting it at face value, struggling with its inconsistencies and pains. Margaret Kirkham remarks, “in the age in which [Austen] lived, a young woman’s ability to think rationally, to test general moral 20

principles in the light of personal experience, and to apply them impartially to conduct and character within her own domestic circle, was likely to be the most private – because least acceptable – aspect of her mental life” (173). Kirkham uses this discussion to explain some of the necessity for and purposes of Austen’s ‘indirect free style’ of narration. Yet it is also important that some of the development and exercise of this rationality happens within the spoken conversations of Jane and Elizabeth, taking the emphasis on this kind of thinking a step further. While their private conversations provide a space for disagreement and argument, Jane and Elizabeth are united against the rest of their family in both behavior and philosophy. Frequently referenced as the “two eldest,” they provide a sharp contrast to the silly behavior of their younger sisters. They often join forces to attempt to restrict the impropriety of Kitty and Lydia, although they ultimately can do little without parental authority (Austen 163). The strength behind Elizabeth’s plea to her father to prevent Lydia from going to Brighton is informed by concern for how the behavior of the two youngest affects the reputation of the two oldest. Jane and Elizabeth also must often unite to combat the irrationality of their mother, or work to distract her from making embarrassing comments. The disparity between the two oldest sisters and the rest of the family is also seen in the Bennets’ general compliance with the dominant viewpoint that marriage is the most desired end for all young ladies. Indeed, their financial situation and entailed estate seem to demand this compliance. Mrs. Bennet is constantly on the lookout for eligible young men for her daughters, considering income before she considers character, and Kitty and Lydia embrace her perspective by flirting with any man they can. Jane and Elizabeth, with their shared resolution to marry for love instead of money, resist the values and the 21 desperate approach of their mother and other sisters. Yet through this contrast, Austen presents a subtle challenge to the official script of the unqualified pursuit of prosperous marriages. It is the intelligent, rational women who represent the alternative perspective, and the silly, simpleminded women who operate under patriarchal values. Thus the sisters are further defined in opposition to their family, even as they ironically fulfill their mother’s wishes at the end and marry beyond her expectations. The first recorded conversation between the two sisters is about a man, which illustrates their tendency to discuss the men in their lives and their various reactions to them. Although it is an example of their mutual openness, it also represents the first intrusion of patriarchal values into their relationship, values which will carry greater weight with the sisters as the novel progresses. Their conversation is about Mr. Bingley, and opens with a statement that in a few short words expresses several important tenets of their relationship: “When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him” (9). Jane is willing to tell Elizabeth that she is becoming attached, and this sets the tone for later communications between the two sisters, conversations that continue to canvass the men they meet and their impressions of them. This also conveys the idea that they are one another’s closest confidante, and that Jane will share this information with no one but Elizabeth. Jane is very open with Elizabeth about her thoughts and reactions when Bingley first becomes enamored with her and is actively pursuing her, and she continues this openness for a short time even after Bingley seems to lose interest. At the Netherfield ball, “Elizabeth listened with delight to the happy, though modest hopes which Jane entertained of Bingley’s regard (73). Because it seems 22 clear that Bingley cares for Jane, she acknowledges to Elizabeth her preference of him. Even when the first moment of doubt occurs, after Miss Bingley’s first letter announcing they will all stay in London, Jane expresses her desire to be completely open with Elizabeth. After she has read aloud parts of Miss Bingley’s letter, and they have discussed their varying viewpoints on Bingley’s departure, she seeks to further persuade Elizabeth that this is a serious matter: “But you do not know all. I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from you” (90). The passage in question describes Miss Bingley’s hopes that her brother will fall for Miss Darcy. Jane openly acknowledges that this sentiment is painful to her because it implies that Bingley will not marry her. Just as she has told Elizabeth her feelings about Bingley from the beginning, so she continues even when the situation becomes more complicated. She is even able to admit she would marry Bingley if given the chance, which is in itself a statement of some of her dearest hopes and dreams. When Elizabeth introduces the idea that it is Bingley’s sisters, not Bingley himself who is against the match, and ironically suggests that Jane will have to choose between experiencing happiness with Bingley or risking his sisters’ disapproval, the answer is easy for Jane. She responds, “How can you talk so?...You must know that though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate” (92). While she never admits this to her mother who is constantly talking of and promoting their attachment, she does own it to Elizabeth. Although the conduct literature of the period tended to ignore female to female relationships in general, it did give some consideration to the mother-daughter bond (Moir 301). But all of Jane’s openness is directed to Elizabeth only, which portrays the possibilities within the frequently discounted sister relationship. 23

Elizabeth’s response to Jane reflects her willingness as a sister to fully inhabit the world of Jane’s concerns, as well as to seek to actively comfort her through her own different point of view. She completely enters into Jane’s surprise, but refuses to take the letter or its writer very seriously. This passage in the novel is an important example of their differing personalities and the effects they have on the sister relationship – for where Jane thinks Miss Bingley’s letter is a kind warning that Mr. Bingley does not care for her, Elizabeth sees it as wishful thinking on the part of Miss Bingley. And here, Elizabeth’s viewpoint is able to triumph in what she sees as Jane’s best interest: “She represented to her sister as forcibly as possible what she felt on the subject, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Jane...was gradually led to hope, though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that Bingley would return to Netherfield and answer every wish of her heart” (92). While their opposing perspectives are at work here as in many of their other conversations, Elizabeth is able to use all her gifts of reason and intelligence to persuade Jane to her way of thinking, at least for a short period of time. This illustrates the confidence and respect Jane has for Elizabeth’s opinion, even when her own is different. In this phase of the novel, these differences of opinion lead to longer and more comprehensive conversations as one or the other sister is able to argue for the correctness of her perspective. And in this space of conversation and exchange, Jane is able to temporarily change her opinion and be comforted, even though her comfort does not last. Critics have remarked not only on the closeness of Jane and Elizabeth, but also on their mutual openness and shared experience. Their lack of reserve is usually seen as an indicator of their attachment: “Loyalty and mutual exchange between Elizabeth and Jane constitute a major motif of the novel, and they are reflected both by the fact that the sisters keep very few secrets from each other, 24

and by how – notwithstanding their openness – they strive to protect each other’s feelings” (Dobosiewicz 103). Yet there has not been much discussion about the secrets they do keep from each other, and what kind of an effect this has on their relationship. From now on I will look specifically at their moments of reticence, at the silences that characterize their relationship after they become attached to men. A consideration for the feelings of the other is not always an adequate explanation for these secrets and silences. The feelings themselves, however, the pain and disappointment, seem to rise up and prevent their communication. This complete lack of reserve that marks the early part of the novel does not last beyond the first volume, and the subsequent shift in the discourse of Jane and Elizabeth follows the introduction of pain and uncertainty in matters of the heart. When Meryton begins to gossip that Bingley will never return, Jane and Elizabeth are both concerned, but they for once do not share this with each other. As the situation becomes more serious, “whatever [Jane] felt she was desirous of concealing, and between herself and Elizabeth, therefore, the subject was never alluded to” (Austen 99). This is the first instance in the text where the sisters suddenly stop sharing their thoughts and feelings with each other, and it is significant that this instance centers on a man, signaling the intrusion of the concerns of patriarchy into the sister relationship. The subject is obviously extremely painful to Jane, and Elizabeth’s desire to avoid it can partly be attributed to the pain Mrs. Bennet gives Jane by openly and incessantly dwelling on Bingley’s departure (100). Another reason for Jane’s reticence could be that discussing Bingley only creates fresh pain, and she clearly wants to try to forget him. Yet she does not fully communicate this pain to Elizabeth, although Elizabeth is aware of it, thus marking a shift in the openness of their relationship. 25

While Jane was willing enough to tell Elizabeth of her hopes, and of her first doubts, she cannot express her actual pain and loss when they become reality. The first chapter in Volume II offers a curious mix of open yet careful communication between the sisters. Jane again receives a letter from Miss Bingley, and again shares its subject matter with her sister, yet this is all. While Elizabeth thinks of it constantly and with concern, “a day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth” (104). And she only speaks because provoked by the constant grating of Mrs. Bennet’s thoughtless comments. Jane admits her pain to Elizabeth, but declares that she means to get the better of it. Elizabeth, expressing her doubts and disillusions about the inconsistency of other people, turns the subject to Mr. Collins’ marriage to Charlotte, implying that it is safer to talk about Mr. Collins than about Mr. Bingley. Yet Jane eventually brings it back to Bingley, not to dwell on him, but to defend him against Elizabeth’s implicit criticism: “I cannot misunderstand you, but I intreat you, dear Lizzy, not to pain me by thinking that person to blame, and saying your opinion of him is sunk” (105). Her unwillingness to even mention Bingley’s name here indicates her move toward reserve. Although this move is prompted by pain, it is a pain she still chooses to carry alone. The sisters’ differing perspectives about Bingley during this same conversation also result in increased reticence, whereas previously their differences led to longer and more complex conversations, and possibly even shifts of opinion. Jane reasons that Bingley never cared for her in the first place, while Elizabeth insists that he did, and that he was merely swayed by his sister and friend. But Jane cannot endure this perspective, and still has the courage to tell Elizabeth: “By supposing such an affection, you make every body acting unnaturally and wrong, and me most unhappy. Do not distress me by the idea. I 26 am not ashamed of having been mistaken – or, at least, it is slight, it is nothing in comparison of what I should feel in thinking ill of him or his sisters” (106). Although she is briefly open about her own loss, she is effectively closing the door on any further discussion or interpretation of the situation, shifting a tenet that has been present in her relationship with Elizabeth from the beginning of the novel. And in keeping with their mutual respect, “Elizabeth could not oppose such a wish; and from this time Mr. Bingley’s name was scarcely ever mentioned between them” (106). This change, at the very beginning of Volume II, lasts for the remainder of the novel, and is marked by an increasing recourse to secrecy, especially from Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s friendship with Charlotte Lucas provides a different version within the text of the move from female openness to reserve. Charlotte is described early on as Elizabeth’s “intimate friend” (12), and they also openly discuss men and marriage at the beginning of the novel. And, like Jane and Elizabeth’s relationship, their discussions are frequently distinguished by various differences of opinion, often sharper than those experienced by the sisters. The most significant divergence is of course Charlotte’s notion that marrying for security is better than marrying for love. It is Charlotte’s acting out of this opinion, contrary to Elizabeth’s expectations, that creates the rift between them. When she first tells Elizabeth of her engagement to Mr. Collins, Elizabeth blurts out her genuine shock. But delicacy requires her to dissemble, and after further reflection, “making a strong effort for it, [she] was able to assure her with tolerable firmness that the prospect of their relationship was highly grateful to her, and that she wished her all imaginable happiness” (96). Because she is unable to give her real opinion, and is forced to politely lie, this sets the tone for their friendship throughout the rest of the novel. While the movement toward reserve with Jane is 27 more gradual, with Charlotte it is instantaneous. The reserve is also described more explicitly in the text as a barrier that has dropped between them: “Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them mutually silent on the subject; and Elizabeth felt persuaded that no real confidence could ever subsist between them again” (98). This repeated yet more dramatic instance of female reserve regarding a male highlights the thematic importance of this phenomenon. It conveys the idea that the possibility of strong female community is slim within the current societal structure, and that the demands on women often push them to act in favor of their own security at the expense of female community and sometimes personal happiness. Thus as Charlotte succumbs to what she considers her only option for future provision, Elizabeth recognizes the dilemma but cannot agree with Charlotte’s actions. This different twist on the breakdown of female communication hints at its prevalence, as Elizabeth faces enforced silences from Charlotte, and to a lesser extent, Jane. The shift into spaces of silence for Jane and Elizabeth at the beginning of Volume II means that Elizabeth must use methods other than direct communication to discover how Jane is responding, which reflects contemporary realities of female silence. Whereas in the early part of the novel, Jane herself told Elizabeth her thoughts and feelings, now Elizabeth must find this out through observation and discussions with others. For example, when Elizabeth stops over in London with the Lucases on their way to Kent, she has to ask her aunt how Jane is holding up after Bingley’s desertion: “Their first subject was her sister; and she was more grieved than astonished to hear, in reply to her minute enquiries, that though Jane always struggled to support her spirits, there were periods of dejection” (118). Elizabeth takes the initiative to ask a third party about her sister, since she knows she cannot discuss these painful subjects with her directly. When 28

they have all returned home to Longbourn, Elizabeth then uses the opportunity to watch her sister and make her deductions from what she observes: “She was now, on being settled at home, at leisure to observe the real state of her sister’s spirits. Jane was not happy. She still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley” (173). It is important to note here that Elizabeth’s actual knowledge does not change much. She is able to discern that Jane is still in love with Bingley, without Jane actually telling her this as she would have before. It is the communication and the shared confidence that is cut off. Both sisters in this situation have access to the same information, but they cannot muse over it and make meaning together as they once did. This has the effect of isolating the sisters from one another at the very time when they are both struggling with their feelings about men. It also means that their struggles become mostly internal, and as the narrator only follows Elizabeth’s thoughts, the reader is left to wonder what Jane is thinking, just as Elizabeth does. This internal quality mirrors the general shift in tone in the second half of the novel – from dialogue to reflection. Yet this silencing and resulting dependence on inference can also reflect the silences of women of the period when patriarchal concerns gained the upper hand. As portrayed in Burney’s Camilla, women were not supposed to express much information about their relationships and inner worlds, and their friends and sisters were left to conjecture and deduce. Jane first initiated this strange reserve, yet Elizabeth must follow suit and begin deciding what is appropriate to tell and ask Jane. Whereas before this happened the sisters would have shared everything with each other, now Elizabeth must relay an edited version of Mr. Darcy’s proposal when she tells Jane about it. Their relationship is still strong and still exclusive – Jane is the only person Elizabeth tells about the proposal. Yet she has to make a very deliberate decision about what information to leave out. The following passage illustrates the conflict 29

Elizabeth now experiences – the desire to keep to old habits and tell Jane everything, and the wish to respect her pain and keep away from the subject of Bingley: To know that she had the power of revealing what would so exceedingly astonish Jane, and must, at the same time, so highly gratify whatever of her vanity she had not been able to reason away, was such a temptation to openness as nothing could have conquered, but the state of indecision in which she remained, as to the extent of what she should communicate; and her fear, if she once entered on the subject, of being hurried into repeating something of Bingley, which might only grieve her sister farther. (166) Here she is governed by sisterly anticipation of the shock value of her story, which is tempered by a very real concern for Jane’s feelings. This illustrates that Elizabeth’s careful and deliberate limitation of communication, although inconvenient, is motivated by love. Yet Elizabeth does tell Jane everything about her recent interaction with Darcy except what pertains to Bingley – even the information about Miss Darcy’s intended elopement with Wickham. Darcy had made it clear that this story was extremely private and confidential, yet Elizabeth makes no scruple in letting Jane know. It is not even included in the knowledge she considers keeping back. My point in bringing this up is not to argue that Elizabeth cannot be trusted, but to say that she considers telling Jane to be equivalent with keeping the secret only to herself. Jane is in some ways part of her, part of her consciousness. It is this that makes the editing of other parts of the proposal and letter seem an aberration in the usual openness of their relationship. The incident emphasizes the original closeness of the sisters and their natural tendency to divulge to one another. The 30 fact that this is Elizabeth’s instinctual response also provides an additional contrast to the deliberation she engages in when considering what information to relay to Jane. It reminds the reader that these patches of carefulness and silence are not typical. This strange reserve is extended when Elizabeth begins to fall for Darcy, and she uncharacteristically withholds this information from Jane. There would be no need to mention Bingley, so her reason of respect for Jane’s feelings does not apply here. We are given the impression that the family is so caught up in Lydia’s business that Elizabeth did not have time to fully relate to Jane her time in Derbyshire, and that Elizabeth herself had not quite worked out her feelings for Darcy, so there was no point in bringing them up. When Elizabeth finally does tell Jane everything, she explains her reason for her previous secrecy as, “the unsettled state of her own feelings” (286). Yet previously Elizabeth and Jane had together figured out and analyzed the men they encountered and their opinions of them. This habit marks many of their earlier conversations in the novel – the practice of meeting together and making sense of the world and their reactions to it. Thus unsettled feelings would provide a compelling reason to discuss the situation with Jane and work out possible answers. Not only that, but Elizabeth’s feelings were not unsettled for long. Shortly after Elizabeth and the Gardiners return to Longbourn after Lydia’s flight, we are told that Elizabeth “was by this time tolerably well acquainted with her own feelings” (227). And after the news that Wickham and Lydia had been found, Elizabeth reflects that “the proposals which she had so proudly spurned only four months ago, would now have been gladly and gratefully received!” (237). It is evident that her feelings during this stage were by no means as unsettled as she remembered them to be. Simply put, Elizabeth does not tell Jane about the change in her feelings toward Darcy because 31 she chooses not to. Thus these arguments the text produces in favor of Elizabeth’s reticence collapse on closer examination. The gap between the sisters becomes more pronounced when Bingley and Darcy suddenly return to Longbourn, for the silences of the sisters have resulted in limited knowledge of each other’s hearts, especially in Jane’s knowledge of Elizabeth. Elizabeth knows that Jane feels a flutter at seeing Bingley again, but she herself “had sources of uneasiness which could not be suspected by Jane, to whom she had never yet had courage to shew Mrs. Gardiner’s letter, or to relate her own change of sentiment towards [Darcy]” (254). Here we are told that Elizabeth does not have the “courage” to tell her closest confidante that she loves Mr. Darcy. Although the sisters have long since stopped discussing Bingley, Elizabeth is still able to ascertain what Jane is thinking and feeling through her knowledge of her sister and their previous conversations. But Jane has no idea of what is passing in Elizabeth’s head and heart. As discussed earlier, Elizabeth did tell Jane of Darcy’s letter and her subsequent reassessment of his interaction with Wickham. But she did not mention anything beyond that. While it is clear that Elizabeth thinks that nothing will come of Mr. Darcy’s attachment to her, it is not in keeping with her earlier behavior that she would omit to tell Jane of her own significant change of heart. We are never told why she would need courage to share with her closest sister her new wishes and pains, when she knows that her sister can commiserate so well. The pain of loving without any definite hope of marriage is one that Jane knows thoroughly, and Elizabeth is of course very aware of this. The text makes it clear that even at the height of their mutual reserve, however, the sisters are still each other’s closest friend. There is no coolness or resentment between them, only strange gaps in their communications. For 32

example, Elizabeth first hears of Lydia’s elopement, and all the attending fears and disgrace, in a letter from Jane, who wholeheartedly admits her desire to have Elizabeth back at Longbourn. And Elizabeth in turn resolves to return immediately, for “She was wild to be at home…to share with Jane in the cares that must now fall wholly upon her, in a family so deranged” (212). They still hold within the family their shared role of representatives of reason and propriety, and confide in each other their sorrow over Lydia, and continue their discussion of men in their conversations about Wickham. Yet they are assiduously silent about Bingley and Darcy. While shared pain is often a factor in the interaction of a female community, this is not the case with Jane and Elizabeth. Their pain over their sister Lydia is shared; their pain for the men they think they have lost is not. The shortcomings of their female community can be traced in part to the demands that a patriarchal system places on women. Although the closeness, intelligence, and moral awareness of their relationship contradict the official myth, they cannot overcome the financial necessity that they marry or the wishes of their hearts that have fixed on particular men. The combined weight of patriarchy and love seems to be enough to silence the sisters, to prevent them from walking this path together. It appears subversive of Austen at first, to present young women traveling toward traditional marriage by way of reason and intelligence, rather than merely charm and ornamentation. Thus the sisters begin this journey toward what might be called a proto-feminism, yet when their hearts become entangled, they fall silent. Is Austen showing the final end of every path within a system that will admit no other alternative? Thus she could be illustrating that even independent, witty women must wind up relying on men in the end. So the female confidence between the sisters breaks down. 33

All of this demonstrates that the female community of Jane and Elizabeth is much more complicated than a simple portrayal of close sisters or a one- dimensional challenge to current ideologies. Ilona Dobosiewicz argues: Through her detailed representation of the two sisters’ closeness, Austen questions here the patriarchal canard of female rivalry over eligible men. She demonstrates that the sororal bond between Elizabeth and Jane is the central force in their lives, and other, male- oriented relationships have to adapt to the framework constituted by their sisterhood. (102) Although this is accurate through part of the novel (consider that Elizabeth cannot accept Darcy’s proposal because he has been instrumental in hurting Jane), later in the novel their sisterhood has to adapt to the tension created by the male-oriented relationships. When relationships with men are not going well, their sisterhood, their female community, does not absorb and make meaning from it, but instead shuts down. When Bingley returns, the same reserve still exists between the sisters, although it is more a result of Jane’s unwillingness to admit her true feelings to herself, rather than from any disinclination to share them with Elizabeth. She tries to convince Elizabeth that Bingley’s return does not affect her, and Elizabeth refuses to believe her, saying, “if you persist in indifference, do not make me your confidante” (Austen 262). Yet, even though Jane’s situation looks so much more positive than it has for many months, and it would seem to make sense for the sisters to return to the same openness they had at the beginning of Bingley’s attentions, it does not happen. We are told that after Jane’s assertion of indifference “not a word passed between the sisters concerning Bingley” (263). This selective reserve they have both been practicing has become a habit, and it is 34 still less painful and less complicated to return to open discussion and acknowledgement of hopes and fears. With Bingley and Jane’s engagement and the firm establishment of Jane’s happiness, all her silences toward Elizabeth are ended. Elizabeth is the first to hear the happy news, for “Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would give pleasure” (264). This not only signals the renewal of unlimited openness from Jane, but implies that pain, the opposite of pleasure, had been a definite factor in the silences of both sisters. It is not until the uncertainty is over for Jane that she returns to openness. And she does not speak of Bingley to Elizabeth until Bingley speaks first. The convention that the male must initiate and speak first in a romantic relationship is thereby repeated in this female relationship. Before Bingley “speaks” to Jane, Jane does not “speak” of him to anyone. This is an instance of the collapse of a female community, of patriarchy subtly inserting itself through the power of habit and tradition. Even the strong, caring relationship that Jane and Elizabeth have had cannot combat the position they find themselves in within society and the necessity that they marry rich men. When this societal pressure is combined with the pain of inclination (they find rich men they actually want to marry, but think they cannot), it effectively silences them. This seems to be a slight parallel to the situation described in Camilla, where a woman must not reveal her interest before a man reveals his. Although the mandate is unspoken in this novel, it still operates as a hidden script that women must follow. Elizabeth’s own happy ending and engagement to Mr. Darcy in turn seem to end her silence toward Jane, yet the breach that her reserve resulted in takes some work to close up. Jane is justly surprised and incredulous when Elizabeth first mentions her engagement. She has been given nothing to prepare her for this 35

– Elizabeth did not even confide in her about Lady Catherine’s visit. When Jane is finally convinced, she lightly reproaches her sister for her lack of confidence in her: “But Lizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you tell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton!” (286). This implies what we have already learned from observation – that Elizabeth’s silence here was uncharacteristic, and even went beyond Jane’s original silence about Bingley. It appears that even though Elizabeth resists facets of dominant culture and refuses to place her own security over her personal happiness, she here gives in to the hidden script governing women’s disclosures and speech. Ironically, the breach in the female community of Jane and Elizabeth is repaired after both sisters are secure in their future marriages. After Jane’s engagement, as earlier stated, we are told she “could have no reserves from Elizabeth.” And when Elizabeth is telling Jane of her own engagement, it is clear that the time of secrecy is ended, and they must revisit those spaces of silence and reveal what had been hidden. With all doubt removed, now Elizabeth “would no longer conceal from her, [Darcy’s] share in Lydia’s marriage. All was acknowledged, and half the night spent in conversation” (286). Their relationship has in a sense been rescued and restored by their marriages, which will of course necessitate their physical separation. The happy outcomes of their relationships with men seem to renew the closeness of their relationship, even while they signal an upcoming time when the sisters will not be able to live together and share as much of their worlds as they once did. Yet Austen does not give up on the centrality of this sister relationship. Instead, she “strengthens the interrelationship of sister-plot and marriage-plot by making Darcy and Bingley close friends whose complementarity is not unlike that of Jane and Elizabeth, and who would naturally want to settle in neighboring shires” (Lanser 57). Bingley and Jane later move 36 close to Derbyshire, and “Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other” (Austen 295). Although their friendship is now advanced by the actions of their husbands, their female community is able to maintain a strong presence even by the very end of the story. The making and cultivating of strong sister ties does not end with Jane and Elizabeth, however, for the marriage of Elizabeth and Darcy paves the way for the creation of a new sister pair – Elizabeth and Georgiana. Although this relationship is of course encouraged by Darcy, it is still a female community: “They were able to love each other, even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion in the world of Elizabeth” (297). William Deresiewicz argues for the advancement of different kinds of community beyond marriage in Austen’s novels, as he says, “love in Austen is a form of friendship, and that friendship is an essentially communal relation” (531). Thus Austen makes it clear that this marriage does not result in exclusion, but in greater and more expansive community and mutually beneficial female relationships, particularly sister relationships. As another critic has said, “Austen continues to create structures that intertwine marriage quests with the search for sisterhood as sisterly bonds are forged, through marriage itself, between sisters-in-law” (Lanser 61). This serves as yet another reminder (in a departure from the conduct literature) that, even after a woman is married, her husband is not her sole focus. In spite of her lapses into silence, Elizabeth herself supports this value for sisterhood when disagreeing with Charlotte Lucas’ philosophy of marriage. Dobosiewicz states, “For Elizabeth, happiness is a much broader notion than just marital security: one touchstone for happiness in Jane Austen’s novels is close affiliation with other women” (129). It is Charlotte’s bid for marital security alone that actually hinders her relationship with other women, especially Elizabeth. And 37 although Elizabeth does finally achieve that security, she is still able to retain and even gain other female/sister relationships. Her focus all along has been different from Charlotte’s, and her resulting happiness and satisfaction seem to support her unwillingness to sacrifice everything for the sake of marriage. The primacy of sister relationships in the novel does at times seem to be counteracted by their later dependence on the patriarchal system of wealthy and successful marriages. Yet the fact remains that these relationships are not subsumed or even supplanted by the marriages, but valued and thriving. I believe this is Austen arguing that, although society demands that women marry, the relationship of a woman to her husband is not by any means the only significant relationship she can or will experience. The closeness of the sister relationship can last beyond marriage and each can enrich the other. Laura Vorachek, in her article that reads the novel against Fordyce’s sermons, argues that Austen invokes “a critical distance from the dominant ideology” as she upholds and yet challenges aspects of conduct literature (136). This distance, accompanied by a fair amount of rewriting of cultural scripts, is certainly present in her portrayal of married sisters. Through its consistent emphasis on the variations in the relationship of Jane and Elizabeth, Pride and Prejudice reveals that the closeness and affection of the sister relationship is of definite significance to the lives and inner worlds of women. Such a bond, rather than inviting rivalry, can help women navigate the world and even resist its values. Yet Austen complicates this portrayal and implies that there is a barrier to complete sisterly accord, and that barrier can be found in contemporary ideologies that insist that marriage is the ultimate goal and fulfillment of a woman’s life. This societal expectation hinders sisterly communication as the sisters succumb to pressure and keep the parts of their lives 38 connected with men hidden from each other. Yet even as these silences overshadow the relationship of Elizabeth and Jane, they are overcome and undone by the success of their marriages and the resulting triumph of their sisterhood. Although the reality of the limitations of a woman’s lot is always present, the sisters are able to regain and restore their intimacy and continue to build their shared view of the world. Thus the cultural expectations are simultaneously fulfilled and subverted.

CHAPTER 3: “WE HAVE NEITHER OF US ANYTHING TO TELL”: SILENCES AND FEMALE COMMUNITY IN SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

Austen’s Sense and Sensibility approaches the topic of sisterhood from a slightly different direction, emphasizing more overtly the intellectual and emotional advantages of strong female community. The novel makes its subject the relationships and the lives of two sisters, even more so than Pride and Prejudice. The focus on the opposing personalities and dispositions of the sisters is so sharp that it almost overshadows their relationships with men. At first glance, Elinor and Marianne Dashwood embody the novel’s paired extremes of sense and sensibility, yet they, like Jane and Elizabeth Bennet, are also very close to one another. The Dashwoods, however, while frequently portrayed as a single unit of intelligence and elegance within a society characterized by the ridiculous, also experience lapses in communication and deliberate omissions and silences when they become attached to men. While these omissions are simply silences to be passed over for the Bennets, for the Dashwoods they are direct sources of conflict. Despite their strong mutual affection, the female community of Elinor and Marianne begins in a position of weakness, misunderstanding, and increasing reserve about their romantic attachments. Through comparisons with minor characters and exploration of the purpose of communication, the novel portrays the Dashwoods’ movement from a fractured to a healed sisterhood. The moments when Elinor and Marianne tell their secrets to one another, and share their sorrows through words and openness signal a strengthening and restoration of their community, along with a pointed independence from the world of men. The sisterhood of Elinor and Marianne is portrayed as a complex female community that eventually brings about growth and change, and accomplishes this 40 through a variety of interactions and friction. Each sister is an intricate character who must learn to see the world a little bit differently than before, although this intricacy is only hinted at in the beginning. In the first few pages of the novel, Elinor and Marianne seem to be described as simple opposites – Elinor is cool and rational almost to a fault, while Marianne embodies the role of the emotional female abandoned to every whim of circumstance and feeling. Initially it appears that there is no common ground between these two widely divergent personalities. Yet it is important to note that the sisters are very similar in terms of intelligence and education, and even in the first paragraphs that describe them, each sister already retains aspects of the other. Austen describes Elinor’s wisdom and reason, then says, “She had an excellent heart; – her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong” – a description that could very well apply to Marianne (4). And in the following paragraph we are told, “Marianne’s abilities were, in many respects, quite equal to Elinor’s. She was sensible and clever; but eager in every thing” (4). Thus, even from the beginning, there is more to each sister than their contrasting roles of sense and sensibility. Emily Auerbach highlights that complication when she says that “Austen carefully crafts her fiction so that readers cannot, in all fairness, reduce these two sisters to mind and emotion” (101). They are presented instead as complex characters who gradually influence the perceptions of each other. Each sister retains faint aspects of the other’s personality at the beginning of the novel, but as the story progresses they must learn to meet in the middle and understand each other’s worlds, although this is only accomplished after much confusion and conflict. This focus on the gradual growth of the sisters provides an interpretation of female relationships that is very different from the weak or absent definition advanced by Austen’s culture. The 41

Dashwoods illustrate that members of a female community can help one another to triumph over sorrow and arrive at a clearer understanding of the world. The relationship of Elinor and Marianne is the novel’s primary concern, even eclipsing extremely important questions of suitors and marriage. This is a striking difference from Pride and Prejudice, for although the relationship between Jane and Elizabeth is important, it is clear that the novel’s central focus is Elizabeth and Darcy. Sense and Sensibility shifts that focus to the sister pair, which is further emphasized by the novel’s original title, Elinor and Marianne. The novel privileges conversations and interactions between Elinor and Marianne much more than interactions between either sister and her lover(s). And although the narrator provides us with more insight into Elinor’s psyche than Marianne’s, often blending free indirect discourse with Elinor’s thoughts, the fortunes and miseries of both sisters are of equal concern within the world of the novel. Thus not only their respective situations, but their relationship with each other is an important emphasis of the novel. One critic said, in acknowledging the common reader complaint that Colonel Brandon and Edward Ferrars are bland characters, “the pleasures of the narrative are all invested in the connection between Elinor and Marianne, a connection that is tried and threatened, but eventually restored and strengthened across the narrative” (Thompson). This central connection is initially portrayed in a curious way, as both sisters have great affection for one another despite their inability to share similar perspectives. It is clear from the beginning that Elinor and Marianne love each other deeply and constantly support each other in their own unique ways. Even the striking differences between them are viewed by the other not from a position of superiority and ridicule, but of compassion. Elinor is able to see “with concern, the excess of her sister’s sensibility” (Austen 5). This establishes Elinor’s sisterly 42

care for Marianne, illustrating that she does not view Marianne’s behavior with scorn, but with a quality of concern distinctive to the elder sister. A similar approach is adopted by Marianne as she has to admit to herself that Elinor cannot enjoy such glorious heights and depths of feeling as she does. As Marianne observes Elinor’s calm reaction when her lover leaves after a short, awkward visit to Barton, she is shocked and confused. Yet her love for her sister does not change: “That her sister’s affections were calm, she dared not deny, though she blushed to acknowledge it; and of the strength of her own, she gave a very striking proof, by still loving and respecting that sister, in spite of this mortifying conviction” (90). Marianne misunderstands the intensity of Elinor’s feelings and sadly concludes that her sister is not living up to Marianne’s ideals, yet she loves her anyway. The strong affection between the sisters helps to give a sense of solidity to their sisterhood that is later shaken by outside forces and events, and brings them eventually to a place of triumph. The mutual affection of the Dashwoods motivates them to act out of deep concern for one another, even if their opinions of those actions are often very different. As they mix with their new society at Barton, Elinor and Marianne involuntarily look out for each other. Mrs. Jennings loudly and mercilessly teases the girls about any lovers they left behind at Norland, and Marianne is upset “for her sister’s sake, and turned her eyes toward Elinor to see how she bore these attacks, with an earnestness which gave Elinor far more pain than could arise…from Mrs. Jennings” (29). Marianne’s sisterly concern is informed by her impulsive personality – she is worried that Mrs. Jennings is embarrassing Elinor, and is unaware that her overt looks of concern expose Elinor to such comments even more. Elinor responds to her sister with equal care, although greater discretion, as she is constantly watching out for Marianne in their new 43 environment. She pays especial attention when Willoughby comes on the scene, and suddenly two men are interested in her sister: “Colonel Brandon’s partiality for Marianne, which had so early been discovered by his friends, now first became perceptible to Elinor, when it ceased to be noticed by them” (42). Elinor’s perspective, so often coinciding with the narrator’s, is heightened by a concern for anything relating to Marianne. Thus both sisters, without intending to, present a unified front to their new and strange surroundings. Despite their differences, they attempt to protect what they know of the other’s heart, emphasizing that the sister bond can exist without any desire to compete for the same suitor or to undermine the other’s position in society. Although the sisters are equally concerned for each other, Elinor often sees circumstances more clearly than Marianne, and her view seems to receive more of the narrator’s sanction. One reason for the primacy given to Elinor is Marianne’s determination to feel everything and imagine what she does not actually know, which results in a variety of misconceptions. George Haggerty points out that, “Elinor considers private experience in relation to the public context, while Marianne can only understand private experience in relation to itself. Elinor thinks about her relation to the world, while Marianne primarily feels it” (224). This difference between the two sisters is explored in their interactions and suggests that women can negotiate their “public context” by learning from each other, as Marianne later learns from Elinor and behaves better to everyone as a result. In a novel that raises questions about how intelligent women should interact among a less intelligent society, it is Marianne who must come to Elinor’s way of thinking. Yet throughout the novel this inequity of their perspectives is often presented in tandem with the affection they feel for each other, and therefore complicated. In other words, it is difficult to completely discount Marianne. For example, Edward 44 comes to visit the Dashwoods at Barton, and Marianne sees him from a distance and hopes it is Willoughby. When she discovers it is Edward, “in her sister’s happiness [she] forgot for a time her own disappointment” (Austen 75), showing that it is only consideration of Elinor that can rouse her from her intense grief. This selfless consideration helps the reader sympathize with Marianne, yet her assumption that Elinor is happy is incorrect, as later events show that Elinor is more confused and hurt by Edward’s coldness than pleased in the visit. Marianne, however, has no idea of this. In contrast to the gaps in Marianne’s knowledge, Elinor’s loving concern for Marianne’s grief over Willoughby’s departure is accompanied by a very solid understanding of Marianne’s character: “her sister’s affliction was indubitable; and she thought with the tenderest compassion of that violent sorrow which Marianne was in all probability not giving way to as a relief, but feeding and encouraging as a duty” (66). Again, Elinor does not indulge in feelings of superiority about her greater self-control and wiser perspective, but instead sees her sister with compassion. Elinor and Marianne, despite their high opinion of each other, often work at odds when they are interacting with others, and this reveals the gaps in their relationship and the resulting shakiness of their female community. Marianne is constantly embarrassing her sister by her impassioned defense of Elinor in the face of any comment that appears to be negative, while Elinor is always watching Marianne and trying to hide her impropriety from the notice of others. In London, when Mrs. Ferrars ignores Elinor’s work expressly to praise the absent Miss Morton, who she hopes Edward will marry, Marianne is incensed. She cries, “‘This is admiration of a very particular kind! – what is Miss Morton to us? – who knows, or who cares for her? – it is Elinor of whom we think and speak’” (206). Elinor’s embarrassment at this remark shows her greater societal awareness, and 45 she must use this awareness to protect Marianne. For example, shortly after Marianne and Elinor arrive in town, Marianne tries to account for Willoughby’s continued absence by reasoning that the weather must have kept him in the country. Elinor changes the subject, “wishing to prevent Mrs. Jennings from seeing her sister’s thoughts as clearly as she did” (144). Edward Neill, referring both to Elinor’s hobby of painting screens as well as her tendency to shield Marianne, has mentioned that “Elinor ‘screens’ but Marianne (virtually) ‘screams’, the word deployed in a disturbing scene in chapter 29, after Marianne’s rejection by…John Willoughby” (115). Elinor’s tendency to shield or screen Marianne’s “screaming” impropriety holds steady until the end of the novel, when Marianne becomes more like Elinor and their roles become much more similar. Elinor’s clearer vision is shown in her ability to relate to Marianne in her grief, and to show her sympathy in a way that Marianne can understand, a reciprocation Marianne has yet to learn. This occurs when Marianne learns of Willoughby’s engagement to Miss Grey. Elinor sees Marianne lying on the bed, holding a letter and sobbing. Before Elinor even reads the letter, or knows the details of Marianne’s sorrow, she “drew near, but without saying a word; and seating herself on the bed, took her hand, kissed her affectionately several times, and then gave way to a burst of tears, which at first was scarcely less violent than Marianne’s” (Austen 158). Elinor does not often react with tears in the novel; she tends to think and observe. Yet it is significant that, although she has lost just as much as her sister, she is willing to share her sorrow in the way that is most meaningful to Marianne. This act speaks to the bonds of both circumstance and sympathy that join the sisters, and illustrates that deep understanding and empathy, not rivalry, can be present in the role of the sister. By focusing on this sister relationship and demonstrating its nuances, Austen is able to reveal that sisterhood 46 is a complicated affair. Sisters do not have to be rivals in the marriage market, but they are not always completely unified, either. The Dashwoods’ relationship is strongly informed by mutual love but still marked by strong internal differences. The female community of Elinor and Marianne, despite the wide differences within, is still frequently presented in contrast to a rather silly and thoughtless society. The Dashwood sisters are described as elegant, intelligent, and well-educated, which is quite opposite from the vulgarity of Sir John, Mrs. Jennings, and the Steeles. Lady Middleton’s opinion reflects the disparity they bring to the Barton circle: “Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton’s behavior to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical” (215). Although Elinor and Marianne are women, they are frequently presented as more rational and intelligent than many of the people they mix with, including the men. (An exception to this would be the men who fall in love with them – Colonel Brandon, Edward, and Willoughby, who are all very intelligent and at least capable of rationality). This presentation privileges both of the female protagonists, illustrating that even the female who gives way to traditional eighteenth-century sensibility has an informed and rational mind. The background and bond the sisters share, although shaky, is still stronger than the other relations of family that they see and interact with. Although their tie develops further cracks by the time they go to London, they still share their potential for ability and insight that everyone else around them seems to lack. Elinor and Marianne show this intelligence from within the inferior positions they are given in the novel. Not only as women, but as sisters – and therefore participants in a frequently 47

discounted connection – they show more clarity of perspective than many of the novel’s more socially privileged characters. The slippage in the Dashwoods’ relationship occurs in their invocation of silences and secrets, in their increasing inability to completely convey their experiences and perspectives with the other. Elinor and Marianne do not confide in each other and seek to jointly understand their shared world as consistently as Jane and Elizabeth Bennet do, yet there is a sense that they are aware of what is taking place in the other’s heart (at least at the beginning). Marianne, through her mother’s influence, is able to perceive that Elinor favors Edward, even if she does imagine much more commitment than is actually present, and Elinor (along with everyone else) witnesses Marianne’s very public attachment to Willoughby. Their lack of long, deep conversations is probably a result of their widely different personalities. For example, Marianne confronts Elinor about her feelings for Edward early in the novel, and their discussion is an example of how their opposing dispositions raise barriers to communication. Marianne assumes Elinor must be engaged while Elinor downplays her own affection (17). Marianne’s outburst at such mild feelings elicits more honesty from Elinor, yet the differences in their characters, which are much more drastic than the differences between Jane and Elizabeth, make it useless to pursue the subject further. Through the detailed interactions and conflicts of these characters, Austen is able to demonstrate that the sister relationship should not be reduced to the simple formula advanced by the dominant culture. By complicating a seemingly close bond and showing the rough spots in their communication, she presents the notion that the connection between sisters deserves a closer look. Despite this absence of intimate communication (the first dialogue between them does not take place until ten pages after they are introduced to the reader), 48 the Dashwoods’ first three recorded conversations in the novel are about men, illustrating that they did at least talk about the men they met. This also reveals that initially for the Dashwoods, men are the sites of contention while increasing the differences already present between them. Whereas Jane and Elizabeth Bennet use their differences of opinion to arrive at some kind of mutual understanding, Elinor and Marianne’s communication is fraught with sharper disagreement rooted in their widely different approaches to life. Their first conversations about men are all arguments about their level of admiration for these particular men and whether or not the men deserve it. Marianne’s first words to her sister about Edward comprise a criticism at his lack of taste, as she introduces the subject by saying, “What a pity it is, Elinor, that Edward should have no taste for drawing” (15). While Marianne tempers her criticism out of respect for Elinor when she learns that Elinor does indeed care for him, her opinion of Edward does not really change. After Colonel Brandon comes on the scene, Marianne attacks his age, implying that he is old and frail. Elinor defends him, despite Marianne’s horrified association of Brandon’s mention of flannel waistcoats with “aches, cramps, rheumatisms, and every species of ailment that can afflict the old and feeble” (33). And again, after Willoughby first visits the Dashwoods, Elinor implies that Marianne has been too transparent and too open on such a short acquaintance. Marianne responds with, “is this fair? is this just?...But I see what you mean…I have erred against every common-place notion of decorum” (40). Although this last conversation is technically more about Marianne than it is about Willoughby, it is still a reference to Willoughby’s appeal and his effect on Marianne. Throughout all of these conversations, however, as petty as they may seem, each sister is not as interested in learning from the other as she is in defending her own opinion. Thus from the very beginning, the female community of Elinor and 49

Marianne is not particularly strong or self-sufficient, although it is firmly informed by mutual love. The communication of the sisters, however faulty, is increasingly hindered when its subject is love of a man – and oddly enough, it is Marianne who enacts the most obvious and noticeable reserve. Although Elinor has been relatively silent about her affection for Edward, especially her disappointment in his coldness during his visit to Barton, her family still is aware of her feelings (to an extent) because Elinor does not actively keep any explicit secrets from them until she hears of Lucy’s engagement. Marianne’s behavior, in contrast, has been marked by her impassioned honesty and distaste for polite dissembling, along with her very open adoration of Willoughby. Yet because she acts as if she is engaged to Willoughby, her lack of discussion on the actual subject of engagement is surprising to Elinor, who considers the couple to be “maintaining an “extraordinary silence” and a “strange kind of secrecy” (61). Mrs. Dashwood, however, has a very different interpretation of the event. Despite the absence of words, she believes that “all has been uniformly open and unreserved” (69). Although Mrs. Dashwood loves to assume, and is proven wrong by later events, her different viewpoint calls into question the entire role of communication in the family. Instead of communication being either present or not, it inhabits a slippery space where it is subject to various readings by different characters. Thus even the question of whether or not a character is reserved is open to interpretation, a nebulous idea that Marianne later plays on when she and Elinor attempt to accuse each other of reserve while keeping their own secrets. As the pain and doubts of each sister increase, their relationship suffers from voluntary and involuntary silences as they drift farther apart when they should together find solace and courage in their shared sorrows. While 50

Marianne’s strange silence does not create any open conflict between the sisters, it does have the effect of estranging them in certain respects. Elinor watches Marianne in confusion and doubt, left to her own conjectures, just as Elizabeth watches Jane’s despondency with concern. Marianne isolates herself from her sister, and although Elinor can clearly observe the joy of Marianne’s initial expectations from the trip to London, and then her increasing emotional disturbance when she hears nothing from Willoughby, she cannot console her or fully enter into her feelings since she is unaware of the true nature of Marianne’s relationship with Willoughby. Marianne’s isolation is partially a result of her act of placing greater value on Willoughby than her sister, a direct reflection of the values of the dominant culture which dictate that pursuing marriage is more important than relationships with other women. The cost that this paradigm brings to Marianne is painful, and Austen reminds us that it is only through a reworking of these priorities, of according her sister a more important place in her heart and mind, that she can find peace. This direct challenge to the prevailing ideology shows the consequences of ignoring the sister tie, and suggests that this misunderstanding and isolation can be avoided. To compound the breach between the sisters, Elinor’s own reserve becomes more pronounced when she is forced into a reluctant secrecy by Lucy Steele’s deliberate confession of her engagement to Edward. Here, as in Marianne’s situation, the reserve is about a man, yet it is enjoined by another woman, a woman who places little value on the sister tie. Lucy is a representative of patriarchal beliefs who places marriage above all other societal and familial bonds, who is even willing to maim other relationships in order to get what she wants. The effects of her actions create a wedge between the Dashwood sisters, and they must for a time capitulate to the values of the dominant culture. Communication 51 between them is forbidden due to Elinor’s sense of honor, and she must pretend that her feelings for Edward are less than they are in order to prevent her mother and sister from talking about him so warmly. This false portrayal and increased reticence creates a growing rift between the sisters, as Marianne constantly misunderstands Elinor’s reserve about Edward, and attributes it to weak feelings or even a lack of honesty. Elinor is forced to present a cold front to Marianne, which confirms her already existing opinion of the shallowness of Elinor’s affections and desires. This distance between the real and perceived Elinor cause pain to Elinor and confusion to Marianne, and also results in Marianne giving Elinor direct censure as well as privileging her own sorrows when Willoughby deserts her. This shows that sister relationships are not invulnerable to the pressure of outside influences, and that society’s demands can exert a force that stifles sisterly interaction and support. Marianne’s secrecy, in contrast to Elinor’s, is never fully explained by the text, but provides an example of her misuses of speech and silence. Shortly after the Dashwoods arrive in London, Elinor is curious when she sees Marianne writing to Willoughby, but Marianne behaves as if she is “wishing to avoid any farther inquiry” (138). Thus the text makes it clear that Marianne overtly avoids communication, but never gives a reason why. While Elinor had been constrained from trying to reopen communication from delicacy (she does not want to suggest that they are not engaged and that Marianne is behaving inappropriately), and her mother’s injunction, Marianne’s growing agitation at the lack of an answer from Willoughby prompts her to point out to her sister her lack of confidence. Marianne responds by bringing up Elinor’s reserve, answering, “We have neither of us any thing to tell; you, because you communicate nothing, and I, because I conceal nothing” (147). This again moves the question of communication into 52 that nebulous space where words are not considered necessary. Yet they are necessary – for the result of their absence is that neither sister understands the other. Marianne’s response contains an accusation, which effectively prevents Elinor from asking any further questions. Thus the disagreement implicit in this scene is present because of the reserve between the sisters. Patricia Meyer Spacks describes Sense and Sensibility as a “novel of secrets” (12), and the secrets that the sisters withhold from each other certainly reveal their characters even as they produce conflict. The sisterhood of the Dashwoods becomes stronger and more self- sufficient when the secrets are removed and they begin to communicate rather than conceal. Their relationship starts to mend when Willoughby’s letter arrives and Marianne shows it to Elinor, and one major secret is cleared up and their bond becomes important again. In this packet from Willoughby all the recent history that Marianne kept secret is now laid open before Elinor – Marianne’s loving, generous notes and Willoughby’s cold response. Words have now entered their relationship again, inscribed words of print that tell the story to Elinor better than Marianne could in her wild sorrow. Yet Elinor seeks to bring spoken communication back into the equation, for after sharing in Marianne’s grief, she “encouraged her as much as possible to talk of what she felt; and before breakfast was ready, they had gone through the subject again and again” (Austen 174). Here they are at last negotiating the world and what is strange to them, together trying to make sense of Willoughby’s behavior. And for a while, it even helps Marianne. But more external communication, more answers about Willoughby, serve to stifle that for a time. After Colonel Brandon tells Marianne the story of Willoughby and Eliza Williams, and Elinor relays it to her sister, Marianne “could not bring herself to speak of what she felt even to Elinor; and brooding over her sorrows in silence, 53

gave more pain to her sister than could have been communicated by the most open and most frequent confession of them” (185). As the novel progresses, it takes time for Marianne to learn to openly talk with her sister and engage in shared meaning making. Full communication between the sisters is finally renewed (or begun) after Edward’s engagement to Lucy is made public. All that Marianne had found to perplex her in Elinor’s behavior is explained away, and their relationship moves along toward restoration. James Thompson refers to this passage as the “emotional center of the novel,” and this telling of secrets does mark a drastic shift in the relationship of Elinor and Marianne. After detailing to Marianne a long explanation of just how much she has suffered, Elinor says, “if I had not been bound to silence, perhaps nothing could have kept me entirely…from openly shewing that I was very unhappy” (230). Although Elinor acknowledges her own natural reticence, she here places all the blame for her reserve on Lucy’s confidence in her. It is interesting that Elinor’s enforced silence and its removal were both the result of external forces, not Elinor’s own choice. This outward entity has the power to affect and shape the female community of the Dashwood sisters, indicating the permeability and weakness of that community. Through the process of this invasive event, however, the sisters become closer and Marianne gains an appreciation for Elinor that she did not have before. Austen considers the openness they can now enjoy, this removal of secrets, to be the appropriate situation between the sisters, saying, “But though confidence between them was, by the public discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which either of them were fond of dwelling when alone” (235, emphasis mine). The topic is uncomfortable for each of them – for Elinor, because she is trying to forget how much Edward cares for her, and for Marianne, because she winds up 54 comparing Elinor’s behavior to her own. Yet even though they are not actively engaging in conversation, reserve and secrecy are finally gone. This state of openness is temporary, almost a tease for what they are to enjoy by the end of the novel, and again hints at the ongoing tenuous quality of female communication. Elinor again keeps a secret from Marianne, choosing not to tell her of Willoughby’s visit during her illness because she is afraid of its effect on her health (294). Yet this secret does not result in any renewal of tension or misunderstanding between the sisters, and it is very clear that Elinor plans to reveal it, but is merely waiting for the appropriate time. The situation seems to create more internal conflict for Elinor than it ever does between the sisters. Debating within herself matters of “propriety or impropriety,” she finally decides to tell her, and the last secret of the novel is removed (305). Even as the Dashwoods are able to gain closeness and comfort in a strengthened female community, the Steele sisters, as foils to the Dashwoods, undermine each other even while they operate under their own shared system of values. While this is especially evident in Austen’s description of the Steeles’ vulgarity and flattering tendencies, it is also delineated in the ways the sister pairs use words and employ secrecy. And although Lucy and Elinor are foils in the sense that they desire the same man for very different reasons, the foil relationship also holds true when the younger and the older sister sets are compared with each other. The roles that Anne and Lucy Steele play in each other’s lives serve as a negative comparison to the triumph that Elinor and Marianne are able to achieve. This comments on the sister role and the potential sisters have for influence in each other’s lives, while illustrating the underlying similarities and values that sisters tend to share despite their personality differences. 55

The older sisters Elinor Dashwood and Anne Steele employ words very differently as they interact with their younger sisters, and Anne illustrates that the wrong kind of openness can be detrimental to the sister relationship. Elinor, as earlier mentioned, is constantly trying to shield her sister’s impropriety from the notice of others. Her role is to hide and protect, and she often does so with words: by changing the subject, by averting a character’s attention. Anne, who is solemnly charged with keeping the secret of her sister’s engagement, has to be constantly reminded and goaded by Lucy into being discreet, because her impulse is to divulge. She eventually does blurt out Lucy’s secret to Fanny Dashwood, which accelerates the events in the novel (and ironically helps bring about improved interaction between Elinor and Marianne), thoughtlessly announcing the most serious secret she was entrusted with. Yet her essential betrayal of her sister, through her words, forms a sharp distinction with Elinor’s behavior toward Marianne. It also contrasts Elinor’s behavior toward Lucy, for Elinor is able to keep Lucy’s secret better than Lucy’s own sister. While Anne’s indiscretion is a useful plot device, it offsets Elinor’s behavior by drawing attention to the possibilities in the roles of older sisters and their use of language and communication as measures of sisterly consideration. The younger sisters also reveal opposing uses of speech and silence. While the younger sister Marianne, hitherto open and unreserved, clams up about her (non) engagement to Willoughby, in contrast, the younger Steele, Lucy, confides in Elinor about her engagement that is supposed to remain a complete secret. Ilona Dobosiewicz brings attention to the inappropriateness of Lucy’s disclosure when she says, “Sharing secrets is frequently a sign of true friendship; Lucy’s confidences, however, are unwarranted by the level of intimacy between herself and Elinor” (124). Lucy is motivated by the desire to simultaneously warn and 56 triumph over her rival, and she initiates this process through her “unwarranted” confidence. Lucy and Marianne both err against propriety, but do so in very different ways. Marianne errs through her thoughtless and passionate actions, while Lucy errs through her words and conversations. Thus the difference between these two younger sisters hinges on communication and the uses they make of it. Marianne later learns to effectively and properly balance expression and secrecy, but Lucy never does. Even by the end of the novel, she sends a message to the Dashwoods as “Mrs. Ferrars,” knowing they will misunderstand and assume her to be married to Edward instead of Robert (Austen 310). This further emphasizes the importance of communication to the novel as a whole and its significance within the central relationship of Elinor and Marianne. The position of communication among society in general is heightened and amplified in the closeness of the sister relationship, as the consequences of its absence shake them deeply, even while instances of its lack are mirrored in the outside world. Marianne achieves what Lucy does not, as she experiences growth and change in order to become a better sister to Elinor, and her improvement in sisterhood is a signal of the overall progress of her character. By the end of the novel, she not only learns the value of communication with her sister, but, in contrast to Lucy, must also learn the proper places and times for both speech and silence. Although her unusual silence in the matter of her engagement involves everyone, including Elinor, her habitual openness of affection and opinion is consistently misplaced, as she essentially trusts people with information they should not have. Her constant criticism of Elinor’s calm and reserved manner, along with her quick disgust and resulting rudeness toward the inferior intelligence and manners of the society she mixes in at Barton, lead Karen Stohr to conclude that Marianne has a misdirected moral imagination (388). Although her 57

imagination is keen, she cannot conceive of anyone having strong feelings and not displaying them as she does. This is the reason that, “[a]lthough she loves Elinor dearly and wants nothing more than her happiness, she cannot believe Elinor to be unhappy when she doesn’t show it…Her attitude toward emotional reserve produces not only inaccurate perceptions of what is happening in the world around her, but also outright selfishness” (Stohr 390). Thus overt, explicit words must enter the picture and clear away Marianne’s misunderstandings and restore her relationship with Elinor. It is through this gradual process of openness and communication with only Elinor (as opposed to airing her feelings for the world at large), which is helped along by her deathly illness and consequent contemplation, that Marianne arrives at her epiphany and begins her transformation of character by the end of the novel. Marianne’s extreme sensibility must also adapt to rightly understand the purpose of words and speech in societal interactions. Inger Sidrun Brodey maintains that the inability to express oneself was often thought to be an indicator of deep emotion and elite understanding during the cult of sensibility. She argues that even as early as her story “Love and Freindship” (sic), however, Austen was opposing this notion, as she “reveals that a luxurious distrust of words, convention, and authority is irresponsible as well as impractical and eventually leads to hypocrisy – as the expression of disdain for these facets of society become themselves fixed conventions” (Brodey 113). It has been critically recognized that Marianne’s behavior in general, her “own flouting of social conventions is exposed as precedented, customary, and highly conventional indeed” (Blackwell 117). Yet her specific behavior in regards to language is also called into question by her comparison with Elinor. Austen further develops this idea from “Love and Freindship” in Sense and Sensibility, where “the primary locus of heroism in the 58

novel is actually speech” (Brodey 120). Brodey cites the many instances when Elinor is forced to speak to cover up Marianne’s foibles, or exerts herself to speak to conceal her own feelings. Thus Marianne’s misunderstanding of the purpose of speech, along with the emotional excess that she is constantly pursuing, cut her off from the one person who can fully understand her grief: “In other words, it is Marianne's histrionic misery…that alienates and isolates Elinor. For the sake of an unattainable ideal of universal sincerity, Marianne hampers intimacy where it naturally exists, between the two sisters” (Brodey 120). When communication is resumed – not just on Marianne’s side, but Elinor’s as well – the sisters are finally able to enjoy mutual empathy and grow stronger as a result. Austen again draws attention to the importance of sisterhood in one’s character and how it does indeed affect other areas of life. The relationship of the Dashwood sisters is restored and improved beyond what it was at the beginning of the novel after these revelations and epiphanies. Their increasingly open use of language has brought them a long way. As they walk together past the place where Marianne fell in the rain and met Willoughby, they engage in a type of meta-communication as Marianne asks, “‘…shall we ever talk on that subject, Elinor?...Or will it be wrong? I can talk of it now, I hope, as I ought to do.’ Elinor tenderly invited her to be open” (Austen 302). Whether Marianne means that she ought to talk of Willoughby or that there is a specific way to talk of him is open to interpretation, but it is clear that in this instance, communication benefits both sisters. Their gradual return to words, to talking, has brought only good to both of them. Referring to Austen’s resistance to the “inarticulate emotional world that the Age of Sensibility had created,” George Haggerty claims that in Sense and Sensibility it is clear that, “Words are no longer to be distrusted in the English novel; rather they will come more and more to offer 59

the only context for self-realization in heroines throughout the century” (234). For Elinor and Marianne, however, words offer even more than self-realization, as important as that is; they offer a more complete realization of the other, a path to understanding the minds and hearts of the other. Just as the absence of actual words led to confusion and distrust, so the presence of words and language creates new bonds of knowledge, and therefore new bonds of sisterhood. As they finally share their knowledge and their views of the world with one another, they are able to appreciate the sufferings and experiences of the other, and so approach even the world itself with a little more sympathy. It is also significant here to note the differences between the Dashwoods and the Bennets: Elizabeth and Jane only renewed their communication after the happy endings of their love stories; while Elinor and Marianne returned to and even exceeded their previous openness after the utter failure (from their perspective) of their love relationships. When Elinor and Marianne take their confidential walk outside of Barton, Willoughby is married to someone else, and Edward is publicly engaged to Lucy. There is no possibility in either sister’s mind that she will be reunited with her lover. Thus, for these sisters, it is their sorrows that draw them together, and build up their female community from the inside. Jane and Elizabeth did not wish to dwell on their pain and possibly increase it, but the Dashwoods are able to find solace in each other for their abandonments by men (which are much more dramatic than they are for the Bennets). Thus the distance the Dashwoods travel in their relationship with one another is much farther than it is for the Bennets. While the Bennets start out closely, then pull back, and grow close again, the Dashwoods begin farther apart, and in many ways, end up even closer than the Bennets do. 60

One of the reasons that Marianne and Elinor can experience this solace is that they are for the first time sharing perspectives – Marianne has come around to Elinor’s way of thinking and behaving. Her openness with Elinor also extends to self-reproach. She says, referring to the time after she found out about Edward’s engagement and before her illness, “I, and only I, knew your heart and its sorrows; yet, to what did it influence me?” She chides herself for “regretting only that heart which had deserted and wronged me, and leaving you, for whom I professed an unbounded affection, to be miserable for my sake” (304). Here she acknowledges that openness and knowledge are not enough, but that they must be accompanied by understanding and empathy. She has learned this from the example of her sister, and ends up employing these same qualities as she interacts with Elinor, thus proving the positive and far-reaching effects of sisterhood. The female community that Elinor and Marianne (re)form in this passage is striking because no men are present, even peripherally. Jane and Elizabeth Bennet come to their mutual good understanding from within the secure positions of their engagements, so in many ways their female community is mediated and informed by their men. Yet Elinor and Marianne, as already discussed, have arrived at this point in their relationship completely outside of the realm or security of the male world. Although Colonel Brandon has by this time declared his interest in Marianne to Mrs. Dashwood, it is not clear if Marianne knows about it yet, and she certainly does not include him in the plans she draws up for her future, beyond intending to borrow books from him. Instead she avows to Elinor, “I shall now live solely for my family. You, my mother, and Margaret, must henceforth be all the world to me; you will share my affections entirely between you” (304). This “dear family party” (300) is made up entirely of females, and although it is possible to conclude that Marianne has been deeply hurt by Willoughby and that it 61 is natural she would want to retreat among women for a time, the text still points to a group of women as providing the healing and rationality that Marianne needs. And although Elinor and Marianne do both marry at the end of the novel, the fact remains that their own, primary sister relationship has been restored and strengthened independently of the male world. Even after they marry, the novel ends by focusing not on either couple, but on the two sisters. The very last sentence says, “among the merits and the happiness of Elinor and Marianne, let it not be ranked as the least considerable, that though sisters, and living almost within sight of each other, they could live without disagreement between themselves, or producing coolness between their husbands” (335). This slightly ironic tone (“though sisters”) plays off cultural expectations that sisters will be rivals, reminding us that over three hundred pages have just been directed at proving that this is not always the case. As James Thompson said, “I think that the final sly joke of Sense and Sensibility is that the husbands come in only as an afterthought: husbands are but a secondary consideration when calculating the merits and happiness of the two sisters.” The sisters, although they are now married, are still the novel’s primary concern. As if to further illustrate the primacy of this sister relationship, the novel records very few conversations between the pairs of eventual spouses, Elinor and Edward, and Marianne and Colonel Brandon. In fact, Marianne is given more dialogic time with Edward, (they even refer to each other by their first names), while Elinor talks more with Colonel Brandon. Although Elinor’s conversations with Brandon tend to revolve around either Marianne or Edward, the fact remains that she is the one interacting with him, and not Marianne. This again suggests that the two sisters and their relationship with one another are more important to the novel than their relationships with men, which is in direct opposition to 62 cultural expectations and the conduct literature of the period. It has been argued that by the end of the novel, Elinor and Marianne are nearly interchangeable characters, and might as well have married the other’s spouses (Neill 118), but I believe that it is actually the men who are almost interchangeable, at least at first glance, and indeed the personalities and characters of Edward and Colonel Brandon are very similar throughout the novel. Additionally, the closeness of the sisters is further emphasized by the fact that they maintain these friendships with the husbands of the other, and are friends with their brothers-in-law in their own right. Austen’s portrayal of female identity that is not male-oriented – as Dobosiewicz suggests – is again in opposition to her cultural norms that insisted that female worth is bound up in male presence or approval. Through her self- sufficient community of Elinor and Marianne (and by extension Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret), Austen presents a picture of happy, contented female relationships that are outside the realm of those envisioned by the conduct literature. The community does not remain male-free, and Austen does not imply that it should; rather she illustrates through the ending of her novel that the female community can remain whole and intact even with the presence of males. This perspective brings balance to eighteenth and nineteenth-century cultural standards that were threatened by the absence of males in female circles. By shifting so much of the novel’s focus solely to Elinor and Marianne, Austen can present their female community with rationality and validity. Although there has been critical debate about which sister is the heroine of the novel, a common consensus is that both Dashwoods are equally heroines. Emily Auerbach notes that, “In a novel with two heroines rather than one, it is interesting that the only time the term “heroism” appears is when both sisters are 63 present – and both progressing” (112). Auerbach cites the passage where Marianne is valiantly attempting to conceal her disapproval of Edward’s engagement to Lucy from Mrs. Jennings: “Such advances toward heroism in her sister, made Elinor feel equal to any thing herself” (Austen 230). By confining speculation about heroism to Austen’s own use of the word, we can see that the sisters, equally important to the story, are even able to see and define the heroism of one another. Marianne later admits the “merit,” “example,” and “forbearance” of Elinor (230, 304), and Elinor finds encouragement for herself in Marianne’s efforts. Thus the sisters do not develop their characters in isolation, but through interactions with one another and the examples they present to each other. They directly benefit from the growth of their shared community. The presence or absence of words and speech in Sense and Sensibility directly determines the strength and viability of the female community of Elinor and Marianne. Through their growing ability to move from reserve to openness, to share their lives more completely with one another, the sisters simultaneously find comfort as well as independence from a male-oriented world. By portraying the hurts of women and the healing they find through words, Austen displays the complete access women have to rationality and emotional self-sufficiency. Elinor and Marianne are more than mere “sense” and “sensibility”; both character traits are blended in both sisters, even as Elinor leads the way for Marianne to experience a more balanced sensibility. This complexity and blend, along with the closeness of the sisters, argues for a different view of women that gives them proficiency in a field generally confined to men – words.

CHAPTER 4: “ALL TO HERSELF”: EMOTIONAL ISOLATION AND SISTER RIVALRY IN MANSFIELD PARK AND PERSUASION

In later novels, Austen continues to explore the intricacies of the sister relationship and the consequences of its absence by looking at sisters from differing angles that also include minor characters. In Mansfield Park and Persuasion, she creates various webs of sibling relationships that through different presentations emphasize the value of what she refers to in Mansfield Park as the “fraternal tie.” She also provides a contrast to the mutually loving relationships of Jane and Elizabeth Bennet and Elinor and Marianne Dashwood by playing with the traditional idea of sisters as rivals. Sister pairs Maria and Julia Bertram in Mansfield Park, and Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove in Persuasion, compete for the attentions of the same man, in the first case with disastrous results. While the relationship between sisters does not constitute the main drama as in Sense and Sensibility, sister bonds do form much of the backdrop to the novels and perpetuate several of their primary tensions. By creating a new interpretation of the sister role through portrayals of competitive or indifferent sisters, Austen illustrates that the patriarchal view of young women only as potential wives can harm their relationships as sisters, and in turn damage the people they become. She also presents the costs inherent in the protagonists’ lack of close sisters and the agency necessary to overcome their disadvantages and replace what is missing in their lives. Her depiction of regular and open communication as an indicator of the strength of the sister bond finds a powerful argument through negative examples, as she illustrates the consequences of absolute silences between sisters. Mansfield Park begins as a tale of three sisters, laying the groundwork for the family of Fanny Price and its concerns with the strong (and often negative) 65 effects of fraternal and sororal bonds. It is not a happy tale. The three Ward sisters all marry, but marry into very different worlds. Frances Ward runs off and marries a poor man and becomes Mrs. Price, which results in “an absolute breach between the sisters” (Austen 6). Communication remains cut off for eleven years, when it is renewed by Mrs. Price who is desperate for some assistance from her richer relatives. This brief story of the Wards not only explains why Fanny Price comes to live at Mansfield Park, but functions as a preview of the world of sisters Austen creates in this novel. Austen presents various versions of sister relationships through the Prices, the Bertrams, and the Grants/Crawfords. The complicated sibling network also provides the context for some of Austen’s frequently quoted expressions of the importance of the sibling bond. In the middle of the novel, when describing the brother and sister relationship of William and Fanny Price, she remarks: “An advantage this, a strengthener of love, in which even the conjugal tie is below the fraternal. Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply” (217). This illustrates that Mansfield Park is centrally concerned with sibling and fraternal relationships, even though it posits its most striking examples in largely negative terms. Austen qualifies her rosy statement by explaining, “it must be by a long or unnatural estrangement, by a divorce which no subsequent connection can justify, if such precious remains of the earliest attachments are ever entirely outlived. Too often, alas! it is so. – Fraternal love, sometimes almost every thing, is at others worse than nothing” (217). While William and Fanny are an instance of the advantages of the fraternal tie, Austen illustrates the negative aspects through her emphasis on the Ward sisters and the Bertram sisters, providing an optimistic illustration only toward the end with the relationship of Fanny and Susan Price. 66

The early antagonism between Mrs. Price and her sisters finds an analogue in the conflicts of Maria and Julia Bertram in the next generation (Folsom), and later events prove that both the Bertrams and the Wards have no affection for each other. The Bertram sisters, although minor characters, are distinctly developed as an example of an unhealthy sister bond, an example of a knife turned inward. This development, however, takes time, and its causes are not revealed until the end of the novel. When Fanny Price arrives at Mansfield Park, Maria and Julia Bertram, her two female cousins, view her with all the disdain of superior wealth and class. Fanny is timid and isolated, yet they do nothing to rescue her from loneliness and make her welcome to their family. Although their response to Fanny is a window into their characters, the way the narrative portrays and describes them is even more telling. They are not differentiated – they are always introduced as a single unit, and seem practically interchangeable during their childhood (Folsom). One Bertram sister is never mentioned without the other, and when they speak, there is no attribution to indicate who specifically is speaking, because it is not particularly important. For example, when Maria and Julia complain to Mrs. Norris about Fanny’s ignorance and lack of education, we are never told which sister is talking (Austen 18-19). Often contrasted with Fanny, they are referred to as “the Miss Bertrams” (20). They think and behave as one and are equally fashionable and mundane. This indicates their lack of awareness of self and awareness of the other, and foreshadows their later failings as sisters. In fact, there is little differentiation between Maria and Julia until they fall in love with the same man. The sisters become rivals as their desire for Henry Crawford becomes something that they cannot share, and reveals their lack of moral awareness. The extreme similarity of the two sisters perhaps predisposes them to both be 67 mesmerized by Mr. Crawford, and their reactions are indeed lumped together at first: “He was, in fact, the most agreeable young man the sisters had ever known, and they were equally delighted with him” (42). By this time Maria is engaged to Mr. Rushworth, yet it is clear that it is a marriage of convenience, and we can assume that Mr. Rushworth fixed on Maria because she is simply the older sister. The first direct contrast between the sisters is drawn as their rivalry begins to separate them, when the Mansfield party is leaving for an outing to Sotherton, and there is a question of who will sit with Henry Crawford in the front of the barouche. The sisters are again portrayed as one, but in silent competition for a single seat: “each of the Miss Bertrams were meditating on how best, and with an appearance of obliging the others, to secure it…” (75). When Mrs. Grant suddenly decides that Julia should sit in the front, the narrator makes the first explicit distinction between the sisters by exclaiming, “Happy Julia! Unhappy Maria! The former was on the barouche box in a moment, the latter took her seat within, in gloom and mortification” (75-76). The sisters can no longer occupy the same space as they have thus far in the novel – yet their differentiation is imposed by outside forces, rather than their own decision. Instead of developing as two distinct individuals who genuinely care for each other, they begin to vie for the same physical and emotional space. This implies (as Austen has already hinted) the morality that is missing from their education and development, and that their male-centered focus excludes any sisterly consideration. The space they compete for is Mr. Crawford’s heart, and the fact that a man is the cause of their rupture reveals the frailty of the ties that bound them together. They are not accustomed to considering one another, only the wishes of their own hearts and their desire for future security. Their wishes center on the same man, and subsequently their moral framework falls to pieces over him. 68

Maria and Julia never attempt any direct communication with each other and therefore allow their rivalry to continue unchecked and undefined, aptly illustrating through their failure the importance of conversation in any sister relationship. Even as the Sotherton scene progresses, the happiness of each sister directly depends on Mr. Crawford’s attention, and they become silent rivals for his notice and preference. Yet they never openly discuss him with each other; their behavior consists only of passive reactions to his treatment of each of them. For example, when everyone is gathered to admire the chapel at Sotherton, Julia reacts to Mr. Crawford’s flirtations with Maria by mentioning Maria’s upcoming marriage, talking “with so little caution as to catch the comprehension of Mr. Rushworth and his mother, and expose her sister to the whispered gallantries of her lover” (83). Maria later punishes her by climbing the fence of the park with Mr. Crawford and going off alone with him while Mr. Rushworth fetches the key. Julia is furious, but is placated when Mr. Crawford invites her to sit with him again on the return journey to Mansfield. The following description of Maria’s reaction to Julia’s invitation is an indicator of the very internal nature of the sisters’ hostility: “Miss Bertram had made up her mind to something different, and was a little disappointed – but her conviction of being really the one preferred, comforted her under it, and enabled her to receive Mr. Rushworth’s parting attentions as she ought” (98). If the sisters had moved the rivalry into the realm of direct speech, if they had been able to talk about it or even openly argue, such rivalry could never have continued, for the engaged Maria would not have been able to admit that she was competing with her sister for another man. But the sisters are not able to bring themselves to discuss their hearts, to discuss the man they have fallen for. This inability in the Bertrams reflects the same limitations of closer sister pairs in Austen, and by this time is almost a predictable result of 69 societal pressure to gain a male companion at the expense of any other tie. Thus the Bertrams’ competition is sustained through their mutual silence, and therefore becomes sharper and more dangerous. Each sister’s perspective of her relationship with Mr. Crawford is compared with the very different reality offered by the narrator, and serves as an example of the paradox of interchangeability, illustrating that it is impossible for two people to occupy the same space. Henry Crawford ignores this paradox for a while and reinforces their rivalry as he disregards their sisterhood and dismisses the fact that he is playing with their hearts. Yet he views the Bertram sisters as interchangeable, at least at first. When he is obliged to leave Mansfield briefly at the height of his flirtation, he is anxious to return, for “the sisters, handsome, clever, and encouraging, were an amusement to his sated mind” (108). As he is only planning to entertain himself, he has no stated preference of either sister, although “[e]ach sister believed herself the favourite” (108). Thus the sisters believe they occupy this fictional space even though they obviously cannot. Mr. Crawford’s encouragement of this false position through his mixed messages and initial lack of differentiation also indicates his lack of moral awareness. The sisters continue to react to one another visually, as the text records many looks and glances between them, but no dialogue. Their competition is carried on by observation and insinuation, and is never made explicit or brought into the open. They are actively wishing for the unhappiness of the other, and they use visual cues to determine the success of their schemes. One of the most striking examples occurs when the young people are casting roles for a play in their private theatre, and Mr. Crawford suggests that Maria play the role opposite him. He reasons that Julia is too funny, and should play another role where she comes to visit him in prison. Although he is trying to flatter her, Julia is for once 70

not convinced, and looks to Maria’s expression to understand the true state of the situation: “She looked suspiciously at her sister; Maria’s countenance was to decide it; if she were vexed and alarmed – but Maria looked all serenity and satisfaction, and Julia well knew that on this ground Maria could not be happy but at her expense” (127). Although not a word passes between the sisters, they both understand the position of the other, and deliberately work to make each other unhappy. Laura Dabundo notes that “Maria and Julia are like Lydia and Kitty Bennet but with money and pitted against each other as they seek to satisfy their selfish urges. Thus, we have an instance of a negative sorority, a breached sisterhood. They are sisters, but they are not sisterly.” This competitive breach between the sisters illustrates that there is more to sisterhood than sharing an upbringing and a last name, and that Maria and Julia do not possess this quality. Their visual exchanges allow them to use the knowledge they have of one another as sisters who have grown up together, but their lack of words and language reinforces their fierce opposition as well as the absence of any true affection. The increasing rift between the sisters continues to argue for their lack of morality and inability to think beyond their own desires. Through his expressed wish to share the stage with Maria, Mr. Crawford finally differentiates between the sisters and declares his favorite. While the rivalry is essentially ended, its effects are not, and the sisters continue to despise each other. By presenting Julia as the suffering sister, the text also continues to separate the characters of the two sisters, and explain the differences in their personalities and situations. The involvement of Mr. Crawford in their lives has not only drawn distinctions between them, but hindered their relationship with each other: The sister with whom [Julia] was used to be on easy terms, was now become her greatest enemy; they were alienated from each 71

other…With no material fault of temper, or difference of opinion, to prevent their being very good friends while their interests were the same, the sisters, under such a trial as this, had not affection or principle enough to make them merciful or just, to give them honour or compassion. (Austen 150) While Mr. Crawford’s flirtation with the Bertrams functions within the text to reveal the moral failings of the man who is eventually to address Fanny, it also serves as commentary on the sister relationship. Maria and Julia are not close and do not particularly care for each other, and their alienation and absence of affection is here reflective of a moral lack, a lack of principle. By making their behavior to each other a question of morality, Austen can show that the cultural belief that sisters will be rivals and the expectation that young women should be moral beings are diametrically opposed. The selfishness of the Bertrams and their lack of awareness of the other are contrasted with the loving concern of the Bennets or the Dashwoods (even Marianne). Austen is able throughout the course of the novel to trace their bitter rivalry to failings in their moral education received from both Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris. Thus these features of broken sisterhood can be attributed not to an inherent quality in women, but to upbringing and context. Before Mr. Crawford appeared in their lives, the Bertram sisters were simply convenient companions without much real affection for each other, and they revert back to this bland state of sisterhood after he leaves. His departure and Maria’s marriage contribute much toward closing the rift between the sisters, showing that when there is no external hindrance, nothing to overcome in their relationship, they can return to a surface friendship. Although dialogue between them is still conspicuously absent from the text, Julia accompanies the newly 72 married Maria on her honeymoon: “Since rivalry between the sisters had ceased, they had been gradually recovering much of their former good understanding; and were at least sufficiently friends to make each of them exceedingly glad to be with the other at such a time (189). It is clear from this passage that, unlike Elinor and Marianne Dashwood, the suspension of communication and its renewal does not result in a closer friendship. There is also a hint, however, that sisterhood is needed, and that the Bertrams can find comfort even in a fragile female community “at such at time” as Maria’s sacrifice to cultural expectations. Yet even when restored to their pre-hostility stage they still do not display the sisterly characteristics that Austen valued. Maria’s affair with Henry Crawford near the end of the novel completes the separation between the two sisters, as Maria is now ruined and Julia merely foolish for eloping with Mr. Yates. The narrator brings this differentiation full circle by looking back and finally describing the differences in the Bertrams’ dispositions even in childhood, and revealing Mrs. Norris’ preferential treatment of Maria over Julia (432-33). It is clear that even before the affair takes place, the rivalry between the sisters is truly over, because Julia’s eyes are opened to Mr. Crawford’s character. When he re-enters the scene, she has the sense to remove herself and visit other friends – but she and Maria are not in such a position of mutual confidence that Julia can warn her to be careful of Mr. Crawford. Again, the sisters cannot talk of men. Yet even without overt communication, one sister manages to affect the other, and Maria’s affair encourages Julia’s elopement. Concerned that Maria’s indiscretion will make her father more strict at home, Julia seeks to leave that home forever: “…had not her sister’s conduct burst forth as it did…it is probable that Mr. Yates would never have succeeded…Maria’s guilt had induced Julia’s folly” (433). The sisters are never actually redeemed even though 73

Julia is repentant, and Maria’s status as a fallen woman cements their final separation. By making the notion of sisters as rivals true only of minor characters Austen seems to argue that this is not the most common or the most desirable version of sisterhood. Competing sisters represent the traditional patriarchal interpretation of sisterhood, but this portrayal is merely in the background of Mansfield Park, and is compared with many positive presentations of sisters in Austen’s other novels. It is even addressed in Austen’s unfinished novel The Watsons. Emma Watson hears a tale of sisterly competition and responds by saying, “Could a sister do such a thing? – Rivalry, treachery between sisters! – I shall be afraid of being acquainted with her” (Austen, The Watsons 109). Again, the Bertram style of interaction between sisters is not the norm. This indicates a challenge to the dominant tradition, a retelling of the stories of sisterhood. Austen also couches the Bertram rivalry firmly in the failure of their moral education, indicating that such hostility is not the default outcome of sisterhood. At the end of Mansfield Park, Sir Thomas Bertram must confront the idea that educating his daughters simply to be accomplished and ornamental did not prepare them to handle the reality of the world around them (430). By pointing out the gaps in nineteenth-century female education, Austen illustrates that women who by contrast have a moral understanding of the world can inhabit it as rational beings and create their own female communities of support and encouragement. In contrast to Maria and Julia is Fanny Price, who is isolated from all close female ties at Mansfield Park, despite her many sisters left behind in Portsmouth. Laura Dabundo notes that, “The protagonists of Northanger Abbey, Mansfield Park, and Persuasion all have sisters, but most of the central action of their novels takes place away from them. The isolation, in fact, is crucial to the plots.” As a 74 dependent cousin, Fanny also does not have access to the same genteel education given to Maria and Julia. She only has her cousin Edmund to teach her and become her confidante, and this becomes a rather complicated situation when she falls in love with him, and he in turn falls for Mary Crawford. Thus Fanny becomes cut off from almost every other character in the novel, male or female, and this is an important feature in the development of her character. Fanny may not always appear isolated because of her emotional closeness with her brother William, yet he is often far away and their relationship does not meet all of Fanny’s needs. William visits his sister at Mansfield Park whenever he can, yet he is a brother, and although their relationship is close, it dwells on fond memories of the past instead of negotiating the problems of the present. Thus Fanny’s lack of strong female companionship contributes to her excessive timidity and social awkwardness (Dobosiewicz 107). She is not able to discuss her perceptions of the world with another rational woman. Even within her isolation (or perhaps because of it, since she was not educated like the Bertram sisters), Fanny has developed a strong moral awareness, and it is this that allows her to evaluate the actions of the Bertram sisters and the Crawfords. It also causes her to repudiate sisterhood when it does not meet her standards. Mary Crawford, however flawed her character is in other respects, manages to detect Fanny’s worth when others (like Maria and Julia) have thoughtlessly dismissed her, and she actively seeks a closer friendship with Fanny. Mary eagerly takes Fanny to her heart as a sister after Henry Crawford proposes, declaring, “Who says we shall not be sisters? I know we shall. I feel we are born to be connected” (Austen 333). But this is not enough for Fanny, who is not desperate in her isolation. Deidre Coleman, citing the above quote, mentions that, “But for all Mary’s protestations to Fanny…she is, as far as Fanny is concerned, 75 entirely deficient in proper feelings of sisterly solidarity” (302). Fanny sees Mary’s shortcomings more clearly than anyone else in the novel does and cannot be persuaded to find a confidante in her. In this way, Fanny echoes Austen’s concerns about trust and confidence (or their lack) between sister figures. Thus Fanny continues in her emotional isolation until she renews her relationship with her sister Susan. Occurring late in the story, Fanny’s discovery of a friend in her younger sister marks an ending to her isolation that is furthered by Sir Thomas’ acceptance of Fanny as daughter and her marriage to Edmund. It also signals the importance of the sister tie and brings to light what Fanny has been missing at Mansfield Park. While the relationship between Fanny and Susan never approaches the intimacy of the Bennets or the Dashwoods, it promises further development outside the scope of the novel. Fanny is rewarded for her willingness to look beyond first impressions, because when she first meets Susan after an absence of ten years, she is shocked at “the determined character of her general manners” (Austen 367). But when Fanny realizes that Susan is merely trying to create peace and order in the chaotic home environment, she is instead impressed that Susan was able to arrive at such conclusions about her family completely on her own. It is significant that “The first solid consolation which Fanny received for the evils at home…was in a better knowledge of Susan, and a hope of being of service to her” (367). Fanny’s first comfort in the strange world of Portsmouth is the acquisition of a sister, something she has been lacking at Mansfield all along. Fanny’s new foray into sisterhood helps her move from her mindset of passive dependency to a position of agency, a change she is able to note and appreciate in herself. She approaches her relationship to Susan from a position of superiority rather than equality, reasoning that she can teach her proper manners 76

and expose her to basic education, yet the friendship is still mutually beneficial: “The intimacy thus begun between them, was a material advantage to each. By sitting together up stairs, they avoided a great deal of the disturbance of the house” (369). Fanny certainly does assist Susan by giving her education and friendship, yet Susan is also able to inadvertently influence Fanny in a positive way. For the first time in the novel, Fanny becomes an agent and has the ability to direct her own decisions. She is surprised at herself as she subscribes to the library and selects her own books, “amazed at being anything in propria persona” (370). Yet she recognizes this new agency and enjoys it. This change happens in Fanny directly because of her relationship with Susan and her desire to do something for her benefit. Sisterly communication is important in the relationship of Fanny and Susan, yet it bears the same accompanying limitations that are linked to other pairs of sisters in Austen’s novels. Fanny and Susan communicate often, in contrast to Maria and Julia. Part of their time upstairs is spent “working and talking” (370), and “their conversations” frequently veer from Fanny’s program of morals and history to a discussion of life at Mansfield Park (388). There is no suggestion that Fanny confides in Susan about Henry Crawford’s attentions or her love for Edmund. This is reasonable as Susan is after all only fourteen, and the sisters are still recent friends, yet it echoes other patterns in Austen’s novels of the inability of women to tell their sisters of their lovers. Fanny is in this instance like the Bertram sisters as she keeps her heart all to herself and refuses to discuss it. Her situation is actually somewhat similar to Julia’s, for she must watch the man she loves fall in love with someone else, yet she does not even attempt to speak of her absence of hope. Fanny is able to see this parallel between her loss and Julia’s 77

(150), yet this does not induce her to break her silence and bring any other female, even her sister, into her confidence. Despite Fanny’s particular silence, her friendship with Susan grows, and Austen offsets this by renewing her discussion of the original three Ward sisters, again drawing attention to her focus on the complexity of sibling, especially sister relationships. When Fanny first arrives at her parents’ home, the narrator provides a comparison of Mrs. Price to her sisters Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris, who by now the reader is much more acquainted with (361-62). This serves as a reminder that the novel began with these sisters and has continued to trace the fortunes of their children, yet this particular sister tie is later revealed to be empty and meaningless. During Fanny’s visit to Portsmouth, Tom Bertram falls dangerously ill, and Mrs. Price is only mildly and occasionally concerned for the distress that her sister Lady Bertram must be feeling. The narrator here states: “So long divided, and so differently situated, the ties of blood were little more than nothing. An attachment, originally as tranquil as their tempers, was now become a mere name” (397). The earlier statement that the fraternal tie can become “worse than nothing” is now echoed in this description of what time and estrangement, along with a lack of concern, have done to the Ward sisters. The Bertrams illustrated that the lack of morality in upbringing can harm the sister relationship and have negative consequences later on, yet the converse is also true. As the Wards demonstrate, a tainted or frayed sister relationship can also indicate a lack of morality. The sisters are estranged and cease to care for one another, yet their moral frailty is seen in their adult lives, as they all become self-absorbed in their own ways. Ilona Dobosiewicz remarks that, “For Austen, a good woman is invariably a good sister, and a woman’s moral and emotional shortcomings are frequently 78

signaled by her lack of sisterly concern” (93). This is true of the sisters in Mansfield Park – women who portray questionable morality, or mere selfishness, are cast as hostile or indifferent sisters. The presence or absence of communication between sisters also marks their closeness and concern. The “bad” sisters rarely speak to each other and are cut off from one another, emotionally or physically, or both, and the consequences of their estrangement can be sad or dire. Because they are not connected through the most basic method of communicating and sharing their lives, something goes wrong. As Dobosiewicz observes of Maria and Julia Bertram, “Indeed, had they been better sisters to each other, their downfall would not have happened” (107). This lack of sisterly care indicates a moral failing, whether it is Maria’s affair, Lady Bertram’s indolence, or Mrs. Norris’s self-seeking manipulations of the Bertram family. Deidre Coleman notes, “despite the many sets of sisters, both literal and figurative, in Mansfield Park there is very little sisterly solidarity” (295). Yet this broken or fragmented communication is also a result of the tensions that arise from a patriarchal system that ignores the necessity for female community and openness. These sisters do not communicate their thoughts or hopes that are related to any male, for it is only on the male that the fulfillment of those hopes can rest. In contrast to the other sets of sisters, Fanny, the moral center of the novel, displays deep sisterly concern when she is reunited with Susan. Yet even she does not surmount the inevitable silences that accompany an engaged heart, and she keeps her secret from all other women in the novel. Even with these limitations, however, the extensive portrayals of faulty sisterhoods, briefly contrasted with a healthy example, continue to illustrate Austen’s focus on the vital importance of the sister relationship to the early nineteenth-century female living in a culture that demands that she identify with the male world. Even though the novel ends with Fanny’s 79

happy marriage, it still suggests through these various examples of sisters that female communities are an essential element in the lives of women, and that female moral development is incomplete without such a community.

The themes of isolation, communication, and sisterly rivalry present in Mansfield Park are resumed in Persuasion. Anne Elliot, although she has two sisters, is essentially alone. Neither of her sisters respects or loves her, and she cannot confide in them. Ilona Dobosiewicz argues that “Anne Elliot remains the only Austen heroine completely alienated from her two sisters” (110). She goes on to say that, “Whereas the differences between sisters in the earlier novels have been largely temperamental, the differences between the Elliot sisters are fundamental: social rank constitutes the center of Elizabeth’s and Mary’s system of values, whereas Anne appreciates others for their intellect and morals” (111). The first few chapters of the novel describe Anne’s unimportance in her own home, and portray these differences in values as her father and older sister Elizabeth constantly ignore or affront her. Her younger sister, Mary, who is married, at least appreciates Anne’s presence, but only in the context of her usefulness – she is constantly demanding that Anne take care of her or assist with her children. When the Elliots decide to rent out their estate and move to Bath, the conversation that ensues between Anne’s sisters indicates their personalities as well as their relation to Anne: “ ‘I cannot possibly do without Anne,’ is Mary’s reasoning; and Elizabeth replies, ‘Then I am sure Anne had better stay, for nobody will want her in Bath’” (Austen 24). Yet although Mary is selfish and thinks only of her own needs, Anne prefers Mary’s company as the lesser of two evils: “Mary was not so repulsive and unsisterly as Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible to all influence of hers” (30). Even with this caveat, however, the novel takes pains to 80 draw these sharp contrasts between Anne and her sisters, and to reiterate that Anne cannot enjoy the intimacy of the Bennet sisters or the Dashwood sisters. For example, Anne cannot talk with her sisters about her engagement to Captain Wentworth that took place eight years earlier. Elizabeth treats the subject with disdain and refuses to mention it, and Mary does not even know. Thus Anne is pointedly isolated from both her sisters. And unlike other novels such as Sense and Sensibility and Mansfield Park, there is no joyful sisterly reunion by the end; the sisters remain emotionally estranged. The Musgrove sisters provide a direct contrast to the chilliness of the Elliots. Even as minor characters, they offer an alternate view of sisters as warm and friendly companions. Anne, very aware of her lack of strong sister ties, looks with envy on the camaraderie of Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove, Mary’s in-laws, and is only saved from being completely jealous of them by an awareness of her own stronger intellect. She views them as “some of the happiest creatures of her acquaintance,” and notices “that seemingly perfect good understanding and agreement together, that good-humoured mutual affection, of which she had known so little herself with either of her sisters” (29). This disparity between the Musgrove and the Elliot sisters further highlights Austen’s focus on the importance of close sisters. The frequent interaction of the Musgroves and Anne emphasizes the point that strong sister ties exist in close proximity to Anne, yet still remain outside her reach. Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove are a sister pair that, despite their mutual good will, for a short time compete for the attentions of the same man. Austen here gives a different twist on the trope of sisters as rivals, suggesting that even the expected state of competition does not need to make sisters into enemies. The story of Captain Wentworth and the Musgrove sisters is in many ways a retelling 81 of the story in Mansfield Park – two sisters compete for a man who later proposes to the novel’s heroine. Yet Austen chose to reimagine this situation with several significant differences, as if to explore the possibilities within sister relationships. Like the Bertrams and Henry Crawford, the Musgroves are captivated by Captain Wentworth. But unlike the Bertrams, their shared interest is short, mild, and without bitterness. For one thing, the Musgrove sisters begin in a place of more mutual friendliness and congeniality than the Bertram sisters do. Although they are minor characters and thus not provided with much dialogue or interiority (or intelligence), they are in many ways the makeshift model of sisterhood for the novel, especially when contrasted with Anne and her sisters. They are never described as alienated from each other or as enemies, as the Bertrams are. The Musgroves’ first reaction to Captain Wentworth is exactly the same, and it is very much an infatuation with his person and his manners: “And, in short, he had looked and said everything with such exquisite grace that they could assure them all, their heads were both turned by him!” (39). Yet as Anne watches them interact, and watches the Musgroves’ opinion of Captain Wentworth become more favorable, she concludes that their enthusiasm for him has not damaged their relationship: “…as for Henrietta and Louisa, they both seemed so entirely occupied by him that nothing but the appearance of the most perfect goodwill between themselves could have made it credible that they were not decided rivals” (51). This is different from the situation with the Bertrams, because although there is no verbal hostility between them, there certainly is not even the appearance of goodwill. But the Musgroves are also not particularly in love with Captain Wentworth, whereas both Maria and Julia Bertram do indeed fall for Henry Crawford. Anne reasons that Captain Wentworth is likely not in love with either sister yet, and then concludes (in a voice that is also the narrator’s), “They 82

were more in love with him; yet there it was not love. It was a little fever of admiration, but it might, probably must, end in love with some” (58). Thus the mildness of their infatuation, coupled with the relatively strong relationship they start out with, determine their marked lack of hostility even at the height of their admiration of Captain Wentworth. Yet, even with these differences between the Musgroves and the Bertrams, the text seems to lump the Musgroves together just as Mansfield Park does with the Bertrams, subtly remarking on their surface similarities and lack of depth. The text makes few differentiations between their characters, just as Captain Wentworth seems to view them both equally. He, like Henry Crawford, at first seems to treat the sisters almost interchangeably: “Which of the two sisters was preferred by Captain Wentworth was as yet quite doubtful, as far as Anne’s observation reached” (53). Although they are not fiercely competing for the same space as the Bertrams are, the text seems to assume that shared space for them. Even Anne, who knows them fairly well, categorizes them as interchangeable, thinking to herself that, “Either of them would, in all probability, make him an affectionate, good-humoured wife” (55). This serves as a commentary on the relative similarities among early nineteenth-century females who were brought up “to be fashionable, happy, and merry” (29), illustrating the emptiness of such an education and its resulting expectations for women. There seems to be little difference between the sisters because they were essentially brought up to be the same person. The intellectual individuality that is so important to Anne is simply not valued. Therefore when sisters are so alike and superficial, there is no opportunity for depth of sisterhood and true female community. The differentiation between the sisters finally occurs not in a strong disagreement as it does for the Bertrams but in a description of personality and 83 inclination, which interestingly is not revealed until observed by a male. The sisters continue to be described in similar terms until Anne overhears the conversation between Captain Wentworth and Louisa about firmness of will. Captain Wentworth, remembering Anne’s pliability eight years before, expresses great enthusiasm for Louisa’s ability to decide quickly and to always adhere to a resolution once she has made it, and contrasts this with Henrietta’s indecision. This conversation, and Captain Wentworth’s favoring of Louisa, coincides with Henrietta’s reunion with Charles Hayter and clear withdrawal from Captain Wentworth, and Anne concludes that, “Everything now marked out Louisa for Captain Wentworth” (63). In this passage, the sisters are finally differentiated, just as Captain Wentworth seems to choose a favorite. While, as earlier stated, the Musgroves appear in many ways to be a model of sisterhood for the novel, they do not seem to share the same intimacy as the Bennets or the Dashwoods. There is no description or indicator of any particularly strong mutual affection – it is all merely goodwill and cheeriness. While they both talk enthusiastically to their family and friends of Captain Wentworth’s charms, there is no suggestion that they discuss their own personal feelings with each other. They are never avowed rivals, just sharers of the same enthusiasm. The goodwill and friendliness they enjoy wins the day, in direct contrast to the Bertram sisters. Even with the positive outcome, however, the sisterhood is shown to be not entirely ideal. The women themselves seem somewhat superficial, certainly not capable of the depth and complexity that accompany Anne’s silent reflections. As another sister pair to add to Austen’s already extensive gallery, the Musgroves illustrate the limitations that accompany mere gaiety and lightheartedness when sober and reflective tendencies are lacking (although Louisa does become more serious after her fall). 84

Anne’s isolation spurs her to search for strong female relationships elsewhere, to create her own female community. Her sisters (especially Elizabeth) play only minor roles in the novel, yet it is clear that it is partly because of their treatment of Anne that she finds so much solace in the company of Lady Russell and Mrs. Smith. Anne’s quest for female friendship emphasizes Austen’s focus on the importance, even the necessity of female relationships for women. Although it seems through her novels that she favors the sister relationship, she illustrates what happens when those first and closest relationships turn sour, just as she does with the Ward sisters in Mansfield Park. Persuasion seems to argue that women do not have to be limited to the families they are born into or even marry into, but can turn outward, for “friendship’s increased social significance makes it a stronger tie than that of blood and allows it to stand in for deficient family relations” (Sodeman 794). Even though much of Anne’s inner world is taken up by Captain Wentworth, she is able to observe the happier Musgrove sisters and actively take advantage of opportunities to spend time with other women she values. The relationships that Anne pursues are significantly different from her relationships with her own sisters as well as what she sees with the Musgroves, and they inhabit various levels of authorial approval in the novel. Her closest friend is Lady Russell, a friend of her deceased mother, who appreciates Anne’s intelligence and disapproves of the Elliots’ continual rejection of Anne’s abilities. Yet this friendship is by no means a relationship of equality or complete openness. Because Lady Russell played an integral role in persuading Anne to break off her engagement with Captain Wentworth at the age of nineteen, she is by default at least partially culpable for Anne’s suffering and loneliness over the ensuing eight years. Although Anne does not blame Lady Russell, she later believes that it 85 would have been better to keep the engagement and to marry at that time. But of course she cannot tell Lady Russell about this: “They knew not each other’s opinion, either its constancy or its change, on the one leading point of Anne’s conduct, for the subject was never alluded to” (Austen 21). Thus there is a decided and deliberate gap in the communication of these women, and just like in the other novels, it centers on a man. This lapse in the communication of this particular female community, however, rather than appearing as an aberration (as it is for Jane and Elizabeth Bennet), is instead indicative of other inequalities in their relationship. Lady Russell, as fond as she is of Anne, is in many ways more like a surrogate mother than a friend or a sister, and appreciates Anne because of her similarity to her dead mother (5). She is more of an ally to Anne’s interests in a family that exposes her to “injustice and all the discredit of the selfish arrangements which shut her out” (12), yet her support of Anne is often mistaken and misguided. From her persuasion of Anne to end her engagement with Captain Wentworth, to her encouragement of Anne to marry Mr. Elliot, Lady Russell is much less clear- sighted than Anne despite her experience and good intentions. And unlike other female communities of blood sisters, of close sisters, they do not talk things over and negotiate their differences through conversation. Thus Anne remains isolated from female understanding and sympathy. This restraint between Anne and Lady Russell is a clear weakness in their relationship and widens the gap between them. The huge emotional upheaval that Anne undergoes when Captain Wentworth returns and becomes friends with the Musgrove family cannot be shared with Lady Russell. Anne ends her visit with the Musgroves at Uppercross to go and stay with Lady Russell, and there is an immediate tension between them that is never addressed: “There was some anxiety 86 mixed with Lady Russell’s joy in meeting her. She knew who had been frequenting Uppercross” (87). And Anne must submerge all her concern for Louisa Musgrove’s head injury, and her thoughts of all that family (and Captain Wentworth), and pretend to be interested in everything Lady Russell has to relate of the Elliots. This passage is sprinkled with indicators of the restraint behind their conversation in phrases such as: “[Anne] was actually forced to exert herself” and, “There was a little awkwardness at first in their discourse” (87), which show the desperate attempts of both women to maintain appearances and say nothing about what they are really thinking. Thus Anne’s interiority, which the reader is privy to through the novel’s free indirect discourse, must not be disclosed. Austen focuses on Lady Russell’s studied avoidance of Anne’s heart and mind, illustrating that these silences between women are not ideal and are often painful. Lady Russell completely passes over any occasion to inquire after or even acknowledge Anne’s inner world, and this creates discomfort in their outer world. As Lady Russell, in company with Anne, sees Captain Wentworth walk by on the streets of Bath, she turns the subject, signaling that the topic is still forbidden, whatever it might mean to Anne. Anne sees Captain Wentworth long before Lady Russell does, and the passage builds up tension as Anne wonders what Lady Russell will think and whether or not she will mention him. Lady Russell does eventually notice him, and looks at him for a long time in silence, but when she turns away she explains to Anne that she has merely been looking for a particular set of curtains in the windows across the street. This deliberate evasion of open communication is more overt and controlling than what occurs in Pride and Prejudice, for example, as Elizabeth merely omits certain information from her conversations with Jane. Anne’s reaction to this illustrates the complications and contradictions within her own heart, as she “sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity 87 and disdain, either at her friend or herself” (127). She knows that Lady Russell’s silent disapproval has not influenced her own opinion of Captain Wentworth, yet she cannot combat it. Her thoughts and reactions must remain as internal as possible, even though external circumstances are practically begging for comment. Anne’s inner world reflects not only the anxiety she encounters but the clear recognition that it cannot be shared, that sympathy and conversation are not options for her. After Anne learns the truth about Mr. Elliot from Mrs. Smith, she is troubled and distressed. She fully intends to tell Lady Russell, to undeceive her (although she is prevented from doing so by meeting the Musgroves), yet she has to admit to herself that “her greatest want of composure would be in that quarter of the mind which could not be opened to Lady Russell, in that flow of anxieties and fears which must be all to herself” (151). Anne’s anxieties are rooted in concerns that Mr. Elliot’s officious attentions toward her have discouraged Captain Wentworth and essentially driven him away just when he was intending to renew their relationship, but she can tell this to no one, least of all her friend. This significant failing in the female community of Anne and Lady Russell, along with Anne’s continuing isolation, indicate that Anne has not yet been successful in finding the female companionship she is lacking. This isolation, however, does not mean that Anne is not capable of such relationships, but rather reveals the failure in her family and limited social circle. Anne makes another attempt at female companionship in her friendship with Mrs. Smith in Bath, which proves to be a satisfying relationship that benefits both women. Although Anne goes to visit her almost out of a sense of obligation, for the sake of what had been many years ago, Mrs. Smith is shown to be well worthy of Anne’s friendship: “Anne found in Mrs. Smith the good sense and agreeable manners which she had almost ventured to depend on, and a disposition 88

to converse and be cheerful beyond her expectation” (108). Anne continues the friendship despite the snobbish deprecations of her father and sister. At home she finds neither good sense nor agreeable manners, so her choice to renew this friendship after many years can be seen as a natural tendency to look for a sister tie. She is asserting her own agency, recognizing and exercising her right to create a female community independent from her family, since it is their fault she is deprived in the first place. Anne shares more equality with Mrs. Smith than she does with Lady Russell, despite Mrs. Smith’s desperate financial and social situation. They are much closer in age, and converse on fairly equal terms. While the text describes some awkwardness in the first few minutes of their meeting each other for the first time in twelve years, it is also clear that it does not take long for this awkwardness and discomfort to pass and be replaced by genuine friendship (108). This is indicated not only by descriptions and statements in the text but also by its recording of long conversations between the two. While the conversations are frequently about Mrs. Smith’s situation, they are laced with the rationality and keenness of observation that both women possess. This display of friendship and closeness through conversation contrasts with Anne’s relationship with both her sisters, as well as that of the Musgrove sisters. The Musgroves, while congenial and good-humored, never seem to get to this point, or to have quite so much to talk about. It is a conversation between Anne and Mrs. Smith that reveals the villain of the novel, which points to the significance of the friendship as well their level of confidence in each other. Mrs. Smith is able to confide in Anne about Mr. Elliot’s history and his role in the ruin of her husband (137). This is the longest recorded conversation between the two friends, and like various conversations between 89 sisters/friends in other novels, it is about a man. Mrs. Smith’s confidence in Anne leads to the opening of Anne’s eyes, and plays an important function in the plot of the novel by exposing Mr. Elliot to Anne and the reader. Yet Mrs. Smith is not able to instantly make this communication; instead, she falsely congratulates Anne for her rumored engagement to Mr. Elliot and declares she will be very happy. Melissa Sodeman points out that “Mrs. Smith’s ability to speak freely has been compromised by an unwillingness to breach the outward appearance of familial solidarity” (795). Here social conventions intrude and impose their weight on the friendship, which is ironic because Anne is not bound to her family either emotionally or ideologically, and must disclaim the strength of her family ties. Thus Mrs. Smith’s confidence takes place only after Anne’s solemn assurances that she does not intend to marry Mr. Elliot, a reversal from Elizabeth Bennet’s attempts to convince Jane that she will marry Mr. Darcy. Yet this proves to be an effective way of removing this social barrier and returning to the importance of their conversation. Anne’s claim allows Mrs. Smith “the comfort of telling the whole story her own way” (Austen 149), rather than with the kind of omissions and silences that have characterized other conversations in Austen’s novels, and Mrs. Smith does so with an increasing lack of restraint. This comfort and lack of reserve appear to stem from the strength of their friendship and the openness and honesty they have established in their female community. Additionally, it is a relief for Mrs. Smith to tell her pent-up tale (149), and she is able to find this safe and welcoming space for communication in the presence of a female friend. The conversations between Anne and Mrs. Smith directly benefit both women, pointing to the positive effects of a trusting female community. Mrs. Smith’s advantage from her confidence in Anne comes in Captain Wentworth’s intervention on her behalf to restore her husband’s property in the West Indies, 90 which results in a better style of living and better health for her (179). Anne’s valuable knowledge gained from the conversation is described as a “reward” for her kindness to her old friend (151), and Mrs. Smith’s contribution as “her recent good offices by Anne” (179). Thus their friendship and actual dialogue in the novel bring them material and emotional gains, indicating that such relationships not only have value in themselves, but can actually work for good in the lives of the characters. This defies traditional eighteenth and nineteenth-century representations of women as either rivals or simply unimportant to each other, by presenting an alternative, plausible situation where women have positive and lasting effects on each other’s lives. Anne’s marriage to Captain Wentworth is in some ways an extension of the community she begins with Mrs. Smith, for it not only ends her isolation but also brings her new family. For Anne, “family has come to signify a community drawn together by ties of the heart rather than by those of blood” (Sodeman 788), and her marriage solidifies this new community. Even though the end of the novel does not explicitly discuss her relationship with Captain Wentworth’s sister Mrs. Croft, there has been constant mention throughout the text of Anne’s appreciation of both Admiral and Mrs. Croft, and of her stronger identification with them than with her own family. For example, after observing them at Kellynch and becoming familiar with their tendency to do everything together, she watches them at Bath, and, “Knowing their feelings as she did, it was a most attractive picture of happiness to her. She always watched them as long as she could; delighted to fancy she understood what they might be talking of” (Austen 119). Thus Anne is pleased to gain the Crofts as family and experiences nothing but the “worth and prompt welcome which met her in his brothers and sisters” (179). Ruth Perry, in her article arguing that Austen tends to favor matrilineal kin, points out that 91 because Mrs. Croft moves into the neighborhood and invites her brother to visit, this particular sister becomes partially responsible for Anne’s entrance into the family: “And, in the end, [Anne] decamps altogether with Captain Wentworth and leaves her father and his values behind. It is worth noting that her connection to Captain Wentworth this time around is through his sister, Mrs. Croft, wife of her father’s tenant” (“Family Matters” 327). Anne essentially leaves her actual sisters and forms new sister ties. She retains the friendships of Lady Russell and Mrs. Smith, and gains sisters-in-law who we assume appreciate and value her much more than her blood sisters do. The necessity of the sister bond in Persuasion, and to a lesser extent in other novels, is emphasized by its utter absence in the world of the female protagonist. Yet in this novel Anne is keenly aware of this deficiency and possesses enough inner strength and agency to attempt to cultivate female friends and forge her own bond of sisterhood. The examination of sisters does not stop with the Elliots, however, as the Musgroves offer an example of sisterhood that is characterized by nothing more than good nature and friendliness. Austen does not hesitate to demonstrate the particular intellectual limitations of this kind of sisterhood, all the while indicating through Anne’s search and eventual friendship with Mrs. Smith that women are often capable of thoughts and impressions beyond cultural expectations. Additionally, the portrayal of the Musgrove sisters as temporary rivals provides a new version of the story told in Mansfield Park – and again shows there is more to sister relationships than the mere patriarchal assumptions that they must compete in the marriage market. Thus the varying threads of sisterhood in the novel come together to present ideal possibilities blended with the more limiting realities of nineteenth-century society. 92

The connection between sisterly inclination and behavior to moral awareness is apparent in both Mansfield Park and Persuasion. Austen challenges the notion that concern for a sister must be secondary to the appeal of a male suitor. By exploring a range of consequences that result from the behavior of selfish or indifferent sisters among minor characters and protagonists, Austen argues that a close sister relationship is not only an indicator of the moral fabric of the character, but helps to create it. But even with this necessity, women are not always dependent on their families or environments for sisterhood. In these novels, emotional isolation and the desire for a sisterly connection drive the protagonists toward a greater sense of agency, giving them the power to act for themselves and replace the tie that is missing.

CHAPTER 5: “SCHEMES OF SISTERLY HAPPINESS”: FEMALE COMMUNITY AND MORAL AWARENESS IN EMMA AND NORTHANGER ABBEY

Throughout her variations on the theme of the complexities and importance of sisterhood, Austen further demonstrates her protagonists’ struggles with isolation from a female community through their attempts to create their own sisterhoods. Additionally, the protagonists’ relationships with other women serve as indicators of moral growth and awareness, again highlighting the importance of female relationships and defining women as moral agents. In Emma, Austen portrays her eponymous protagonist’s search for a female companion to replace first the sister and then the governess she lost to marriage, tracing her inadvertent mistakes against women, her accidental insults and injuries. In Northanger Abbey, Catherine Morland leaves the protection of her family and enters Bath society and learns to evaluate people through the widely different friendships of Eleanor Tilney and Isabella Thorpe. In both novels, Austen portrays the consequences of the lack of sisterhood and female companionship, along with the moral growth of her protagonists in relation to other women. Yet even growing sisterhoods are limited by the female tendency to maintain reticence about their affections for men. As they mediate the space between complete openness and utter reserve, both heroines must significantly revise their understandings of the world around them and their places in it through interactions with these other women. The first few pages of Emma are very concerned with the idea of female companionship. Emma has been spoiled by her governess and her father, but the loss of her governess to marriage and the resulting possibility of “intellectual solitude” (Austen 2) is indeed a serious problem for a young single female who is intelligent and well-informed. Thus even in the life of an independent, wealthy 94

heiress, who is much better off financially than most of Austen’s heroines, Austen can show a significant lack in the realm of female friendship. Austen takes pains to establish the importance of Miss Taylor to Emma’s world, and to describe their relationship in the most favorable terms. Miss Taylor was more of a friend to Emma than a governess, and in the beginning of this description Austen invokes the language of sisterhood: “Between them it was more the intimacy of sisters” (1). Emma’s own sister Isabella is much older, married, and living in London, and is “too preoccupied with her family life to maintain a strong bond with Emma” (Dobosiewicz 109). Miss Taylor, however, seems to fill the void left by Isabella. Because of their difference in age and intellect, Isabella and Emma were never very close, but Miss Taylor was “a friend and companion such as few possessed: intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly interested in herself” (Austen 2). Their friendship is also described in terms of “equal footing and perfect unreserve” (2), calling to mind sister pairs in earlier novels such as Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. Thus this relationship, of utmost importance to Emma, is to change drastically when Miss Taylor moves a mere half mile away and becomes Mrs. Weston. Although the two women will still be close friends, Emma is now left with the very real need for a female companion. This new lack in Emma’s world and her search for a sisterhood, for a female community, drives the rest of the plot, for “the absolute necessity of sisterhood to the development of the heroine’s identity is underscored…by the sisterhood’s very absence since the novel derives its momentum from faults in Emma’s character that result from the want of a sororal bond” (Dobosiewicz 110). By focusing so early and so insistently on this need and Emma’s subsequent search, Austen again highlights the importance of female community that proves to be paramount in all her novels. 95

Emma continues to visit her friend after she has moved to her new home at Randalls, and even though Mrs. Weston can no longer be her constant companion, their friendship is still strong and characterized by openness. At Mr. Weston’s Christmas party, for example, Emma is genuinely pleased to be there because “there was not a creature in the world to whom she spoke with such unreserve as to his wife; not any one, to whom she related with such conviction of being listened to, and understood, of being always interesting and always intelligible, the little affairs, arrangements, perplexities, and pleasures of her father and herself” (Austen 83). As the novel progresses, Emma is also able to tell Mrs. Weston her honest opinion of Mrs. Elton and Jane Fairfax, thoughts that she cannot fully share with her friend Harriet Smith because Harriet cannot understand them. Thus it seems that through Mrs. Weston’s marriage Emma does not necessarily lose a friend, but she does lose a constant female companion. Even Emma’s friendship with Miss Taylor, however, despite its glowing description in the novel, is not ideal. The novel later criticizes the vocation of a governess through Jane Fairfax’s situation, describing it as “the sale of human intellect” (215), and it is clear that Miss Taylor has been more fortunate in achieving a real friendship as a governess than Jane ever expects to be. Yet even so, Miss Taylor’s status as governess means that she and Emma can never fully experience “equal footing.” In the quote earlier mentioned, Emma valued Miss Taylor’s companionship so much partly because she was “peculiarly interested in herself” (2). Emma’s world, even with her friend, revolves around her own set of issues and concerns as the more privileged of the two. The novel later signals problematic areas in this ideal friendship, such as Miss Taylor’s inability to persuade Emma to do anything she did not want to do, and her permissiveness in general about Emma’s whims: “Whereas true friends educate and improve each 96 other, Emma does not change in any significant way” through her interactions with Miss Taylor (Dobosiewicz 135). Yet even with these indicators of inequality, the friendship is still important to both women and greatly valued by them. Mrs. Weston herself, in a surprising defense of female friendship, says as much to Mr. Knightley when he is questioning Emma’s friendship with Harriet. She tells him bluntly, “perhaps, no man can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the society of one of her own sex, after being wed to it all her life” (Austen 24). This is a direct address to patriarchal fears of female community, citing the significance of comfort and familiarity. Thus the friendship of Mrs. Weston and Emma is, despite its hiccups, worthwhile, and certainly much better for Emma than what she is able to achieve with Harriet Smith. Emma’s intelligence and wit heighten her sense of isolation, and increase her danger of “intellectual solitude.” Margaret Tate remarks that “Emma’s talents, not only her wealth and consequence, put her in danger of having no worthy companions” (325). Emily Auerbach broadens the scope of this idea by noting, “Emma is a portrait of an intelligent, strong, artistic woman in a society offering women no encouragement to use gifts of this kind” (214). While it is true that Emma does not have much of an outlet for her talents, the problem is compounded by the fact that she cannot find a friend, an equal to share them with. This has, in a sense, been a difficulty for her all her life. Her sister Isabella, we find, is “not a woman of strong understanding, or any quickness” (Austen 66), and that Emma “at ten years old…had the misfortune of being able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen” (24). Thus Emma, separated from her sister in their youth by her superior intelligence, is also alienated from her new friend Harriet Smith, who “certainly was not clever” (16). 97

Emma’s friendship with Harriet is in many ways a disaster, proving to be harmful and damaging to both women, and it is not the institution of female friendship itself that is to blame but the huge disparities between the two women of upbringing and intellect. Emma begins the friendship aware of this inequality and bases everything on it. The disproportion between them of “sense and situation” (42) is much greater than with Emma and Mrs. Weston (while Mrs. Weston’s situation is only slightly lower, she is equal to Emma in sense), as Harriet is illegitimate, and hopelessly stupid. Emma seeks to cultivate a friendship with Harriet, reasoning that she can act as a patroness and introduce her into the circles Emma herself moves in. And while all of Emma’s intentions toward Harriet are philanthropic (she graciously believes that Harriet is a gentleman’s daughter), they are not rooted in any sense of an “equal footing” or a mutually beneficial relationship. She reasons to herself, “Such a friend as Mrs. Weston was out of the question. Two such could never be granted. Two such she did not want. It was quite a different sort of thing, a sentiment distinct and independent. Mrs. Weston was the object of a regard which has its basis in gratitude and esteem. Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful” (16). Thus Harriet is not to be valued for herself, but as someone who Emma can merely help; she becomes “a project as opposed to an equal friend” (Tate 326). Emma believes that since Mrs. Weston did so much for her, the logical thing to do is to turn around and altruistically act in another’s interest. Yet her attempts are misguided and she misunderstands the roles of friendship. Instead of engaging in a friendship of mutual exchange and shared meaning making, as Elizabeth and Jane Bennet do, Emma assumes a dictatorial role in her friendship with Harriet. Motivated by her attempt to improve Harriet, she denies Harriet’s obvious preference for Robert Martin and creates feelings for Mr. Elton. 98

Janet Todd points out that, “Emma offers Harriet a vertical relationship across class which no intellectual similarity justifies, and the impropriety colors all her pedagogy” (282). Yet throughout Emma’s overt manipulation of Harriet, we never really doubt her good intentions. Her many blunders here are partly the result of her lack of a female companion she can call her equal. She tries to manufacture one for herself, but her relationship with Harriet is too contrived, too forced to actually fill this need for her. While Emma is certainly culpable for playing thoughtlessly with Harriet’s heart, in a way her own isolated context is also to blame. The relationship between Emma and Harriet is neither a cautionary tale nor a conduct book example of the pitfalls of female friendship, but a presentation of the necessity of rational female companionship among equals. In other words, Austen is highlighting Emma’s need for a sister. Jane Fairfax is introduced as a more logical companion for Emma than Harriet. Although brought up to be a governess for financial reasons, Jane is well suited to Emma because she is intelligent and well-educated. They are exactly the same age (whereas Harriet is several years younger than Emma) and from the same community where their origins and backgrounds are equally known. Early in the novel, however, it is clear that Emma feels threatened by Jane’s feminine accomplishments because they expose her own lack of discipline (Austen 117, 119). She prefers to inhabit the superior position of a mentor to Harriet rather than be a friend to Jane. The pathos of Jane’s story and her future destiny as governess also seem to irritate Emma. But to do Emma justice, she responds humbly when Mr. Knightley reproaches her for her lack of attention to Jane (208). And she eventually tries to establish some kind of friendship with Jane, but is repudiated by Jane’s reserve and obvious refusal to enter any meaningful conversation. Jane’s reason for this is of course her secret engagement to Frank Churchill. So it seems 99

that events transpire to prevent Jane and Emma from forming the friendship that their “sense and situation” have prepared them for, thus keeping Emma emotionally and intellectually isolated. Communication and reserve play conflicting roles in Emma’s interactions with both Harriet and Jane, yet these different positions serve to emphasize the importance of communication as the true exchange of ideas and meaning. The friendship of Emma and Harriet is at first characterized by an unhealthy openness that obsesses over men and yet lacks honesty. Emma and Harriet have no secrets from one another in the early part of the novel. Harriet tells Emma all of her feelings that she understands, and Emma seeks to create additional feelings for her. Because their relationship is dysfunctional, the level of openness they engage in is harmful. Emma constantly talks about the man she thinks Harriet is/should be interested in, insinuating and reshaping what has happened to fit the view she prefers. This indulgence is harmful for Harriet because it causes her to form affections that cannot be returned. By continually talking of Mr. Elton and openly imagining what he must be thinking or feeling about Harriet, Emma fails to see that he is in fact in love with her. Mr. Elton’s proposal to Emma and her sudden realization that she has been misleading Harriet prompt her to resolve to curb their conversations about men, yet this noble decision backfires through an avoidable miscommunication later in the novel. Emma, who has been secretly scheming that Harriet and Frank Churchill would make a lovely couple, is surprised when Harriet declares she will never marry because the one she loves is so far above her socially, and assumes Harriet must be hopelessly in love with Frank. In keeping with her resolution, Emma deliberately asks Harriet as little as possible: “against anything like such an unreserve as had been, such an open and frequent discussion of hopes and 100 chances, she was perfectly resolved…Plain dealing was always best” (245). After a vague conversation that does not even mention the name of Harriet’s beloved, Emma says, “I give you this caution now, because I shall never speak to you again on the subject. I am determined against all interference. Henceforward I know nothing of the matter” (245). Yet this opposite extreme, this deliberate avoidance of conversation results in Emma’s complete ignorance of the fact that Harriet has actually fallen in love with Mr. Knightley, and her inadvertent encouragement leads Harriet to mistakenly believe that Mr. Knightley also loves her. Emma is still missing the point and failing to engage in any sort of meaningful communication. Yet Emma and Harriet dutifully practice their program of restricted conversation. After Mrs. Churchill’s death, which leaves Frank free to marry whom he pleases, Emma still thinks that Harriet is in love with Frank: “Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion – with great self- command…Emma…refrained from any allusion that might endanger its maintenance. They spoke, therefore, of Mrs. Churchill’s death with mutual forbearance” (279). The joke is that the forbearance is actually all Emma’s, because Frank’s freedom is of course a matter of indifference to Harriet. Thus Emma is unable to achieve an ideal state of communication with Harriet, probably because they are so mismatched to begin with. Swinging from telling everything to telling almost nothing, they continually misunderstand and misinterpret their shared world, until they end up in completely different positions. The one-sided nature of the communication between Harriet and Emma is another indicator of their flawed friendship, again emphasizing the importance of balanced and sincere openness. Never in love herself, Emma has nothing to confide, so they constantly discuss only Harriet’s heart. And at the end of the 101 novel, when Harriet confesses to Emma her feelings for Mr. Knightley, Emma does not reciprocate Harriet’s confidence (for obvious reasons) and mention that she has just discovered her own long-standing affection for Mr. Knightley. Without thinking, without conscious decision, she keeps it secret from everyone. She does not even tell Mrs. Weston, whose recent courtship and marriage might put her in a position of understanding (and thus the “perfect unreserve” between them does not last). Like a true Austen heroine, Emma keeps the state of her heart to herself until her lover speaks. Here again the patriarchal conventions intrude, and the female protagonist considers that it is not worthwhile to tell any other woman about her feelings, that they must not be shared with anyone. Whether Emma’s motivation is the concern for propriety expressed in Frances Burney’s Camilla, or an unwillingness to share her hopes and fears, the result is the same and she remains silent. Again, as in Austen’s other novels, female friendship cannot overcome this implicit barrier of reserve. Emma’s uncomfortable interactions with Jane Fairfax, while they raise questions about the possibility of a friendship between equals that is not yet realized, also illustrate the frustrations that arise from extensive reserve between women. This, along with Emma’s friendship with Harriet, indicates that balance should be sought in communication, and that women cannot have a friendship without sharing their worlds at least minimally. Emma becomes disgusted with Jane’s extreme reserve and her smooth, veneered responses to people around her. Even Mr. Knightley explains to Emma and Mrs. Weston, as they accuse him of partiality for Jane, that he could never love a woman who is not open (206). Yet Emma, again misguided, falsely attributes Jane’s reserve to an illicit affection for the married Mr. Dixon. She shares this theory with Frank Churchill, and later feels pangs for this: “She doubted whether she had not transgressed the duty of 102 woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of Jane Fairfax’s feelings to Frank Churchill (165). Although Jane has at this point cut Emma off, the text still hints at an underlying, implicit female community, with its own codes and responsibilities. Part of Emma’s growth throughout the novel consists in her attempts to define for herself the qualities she values in a female friend. She compares Harriet to Jane, and temporarily decides to prefer Harriet’s sweet nature to Jane’s more educated and discerning mind. She exclaims to herself, “There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart…Harriet is my superior in all the charm and felicity it gives. Dear Harriet! I would not change you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-judging female breathing. Oh, the coldness of a Jane Fairfax!” (192). In this passage, Emma is harshly critical of Harriet’s ability to think things through and judge rightly. Yet, flattered by Harriet’s sincere professions of friendship, she decides that intellectual qualities do not matter. Emma later changes her opinion when she is forcefully confronted with their inequality and realizes the harm she has brought to Harriet’s more simple mind, and this is her most significant step toward maturity in the whole novel (298). She finally understands that her seemingly benevolent attempts to raise Harriet from her station had little to do with actual friendship. Emma also must revise her opinion of Jane Fairfax when she learns of the engagement between Frank and Jane. Yet this change is materially assisted by Jane’s sudden abandonment of her previous reserve. Mrs. Weston later relates to Emma her first conversation with her future daughter-in-law about the engagement, explaining that she had let Jane talk as long as she wished, “convinced that such conversation must be the greatest relief to her companion, pent up within her own mind as everything had so long been, and was very much 103 pleased with all that she had said on the subject” (301). Again the novel is emphasizing the importance of communication, especially between women, and illustrating the proper kind of openness (in contrast to the extreme openness Emma and Harriet engaged in). The subsequent good understanding between Emma and Jane is helped along by Jane’s apology to Emma, which is again an instance of openness, of confession: “You are very kind, but I know what my manners were to you. So cold and artificial! I had always a part to act” (332). A little later Emma responds, “Oh! if you knew how much I love everything that is decided and open! (332). Thus Emma and Jane “can only begin to become friends when both admit to jealousy, vulnerability, and error” (E. Auerbach 219). The error on Jane’s side, which she openly acknowledges, is that she has been too reserved. Through this process Emma is able to further define what is important to her in a friend, returning to the openness and intelligence she had valued in Mrs. Weston all along. The notion of sisterhood and relationships with women is also used in the novel to measure moral awareness and growth, again indicating that women play a part in each other’s moral lives. Ilona Dobosiewicz argues that much of Emma’s moral growth happens as she faces up to wrongs she has done to other women, such as Miss Bates, Jane Fairfax, and Harriet (138). Although Mr. Knightley helps to confront her with some of these mistakes, it is still true that other females provide her this chance for growth: “Emma’s moral life is realized chiefly through her interactions with other women, which fact attests to the significance of female relationships in the development of her identity” (Dobosiewicz 138). These women in the novel not only provide this litmus test of moral growth, but they also signal Emma’s readiness to essentially be a sister. As Laura Dabundo put it, “Emma is not ready for true sisterhood, in which there are sharing and empathy 104

and even criticism, at times. Her experiences through the novel will bring her to the point of acknowledging her love for Mr. Knightley as well as to realizing her ability to be a sister. In other words, in the novel(s), to be able to be a sister is also to be able to have a mate.” It is important to note that the critics are not arguing that relationships with other women, with sisters, simply prepare Emma for wifehood. Rather, these female relationships are equally as important to Emma as her relationship with Mr. Knightley in contributing to the kind of person she becomes by the end of the novel. Emma learns to value intellectual equality and relatively open communication throughout the course of the novel. The women from Highbury who cross her path help her to understand the responsibility women bear to one another, in addition to preparing her for sisterhood. Yet even sisterhood has its limitations in Austen’s world as Emma chooses to tell no one about her feelings for Mr. Knightley until she can announce an actual engagement. Thus this portrayal of female community, while strongly in favor of close friendships between women, is still shaped by the reality of nineteenth-century dominant culture. Even as the novel argues for the viability of female relationships, it also works within the limitations of its current context. Participation in a healthy, vibrant female community can result in keener moral sensibility, yet women must remain within the sphere of proper femininity as dictated by contemporary society even as they push its boundaries with the presence of such a community.

Northanger Abbey focuses on important themes that come up later in Emma, as it emphasizes the significance of female community in a character’s moral and social growth, but takes a different approach by presenting the story as a bildungsroman. Catherine Morland’s story about coming of age and entering the 105 world is strongly informed by her relationships with two women, Isabella Thorpe and Eleanor Tilney. Through her interactions with these women Catherine learns to read people and to judge character. In what has been described as a highly self- conscious novel (E. Auerbach 73), Austen consistently questions established expectations about friendships between women, gradually teasing out what it means to be a sister and a friend. Although this is the earliest of Austen’s six completed novels, she quickly establishes what becomes an ongoing concern with female community and the important effects of speech and silence. She pokes fun at literary conventions through her description of Catherine and the people she meets, yet develops an approved definition of reading, judging, and establishing intimacy by the end of the novel. This definition, however, reflects the limitations existing within a patriarchal system, as some portions of the lives of the women must remain unspoken. The novel opens with a protagonist who is emotionally isolated from other characters, although not to the degree that Anne Elliot is in Persuasion. As she leaves the small, familiar world of her family at Fullerton, Catherine is naïve and unassuming when she is introduced to Bath society. Although her home is happy, she is slightly neglected due to the large size of her family, and there is never any indication that she is especially close to her sisters, or has much in common with any of them. Austen toys with the assumption that, by default, Catherine should be best friends with her next youngest sister, and give her sister a chance to experience Bath vicariously through her letters, since she is too young to go herself: “Sally…must from situation be at this time the intimate friend and confidante of her sister. It is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted on Catherine’s writing by every post, nor exacted her promise of transmitting the character of every new acquaintance, nor a detail of every interesting conversation 106 that Bath might produce” (Austen 17-18). As Austen remarks, Sally is not the intimate friend and confidante of Catherine. She is no Maria Mirvan to Evelina, and thus Catherine cannot be expected to write her detailed, juicy letters of her time in Bath. Mrs. Allen, who accompanies Catherine to Bath, is also not the kind of person that Catherine can confide in, since she is rather dimwitted and obsessed with her clothes. Yet Catherine’s emotional isolation proves important to the development of the plot, for she must fend for herself in Bath, and independently evaluate the people she interacts with and judge the differences between good and unworthy friends. Catherine’s friendship with Isabella Thorpe serves as an early example of an artificial type of intimacy and closeness between women. When Catherine meets Isabella, she is immediately drawn to her by Isabella’s superior knowledge of Bath society, as well as her personal confidence and professions of undying friendship. Austen points out how quickly they become close without knowing much about each other, how quickly they tell each other secrets (30). Catherine and Isabella, like so many other pairs of sisters and friends in Austen’s novels, demonstrate their closeness by constant and open communication, and frequently talk about men. Shortly after they first meet, they escape from the crowded Pump Room to the Royal Crescent, and “Here Catherine and Isabella, arm in arm, again tasted the sweets of friendship in an unreserved conversation; – they talked much, and with much enjoyment” (32). Catherine soon tells her new friend of her interest in Henry Tilney, and they talk of him frequently and enthusiastically: “It was a subject…in which she often indulged with her fair friend; from whom she received every possible encouragement to continue to think of him” (32). Thus the friends appear to be an example of classic openness and intimacy. 107

There is a darker side, however, to Isabella’s friendship. This is conveyed through the complete disconnect between Isabella’s dialogue and actions. Much of what Isabella says is a misrepresentation of herself, and of Catherine, too; therefore her communication cannot be trusted. She talks constantly, but nearly everything she says turns out to be a fiction. For example, she declares she will avoid the two men in the Pump Room who may have looked at her, but then assiduously follows them down the street when they leave (40). She also vows that she and her new fiancé James Morland can be very contented with a small income, but when his father gives them much less than she expects, she complains and accuses Mr. Morland of stinginess (121). Isabella’s misrepresentation of Catherine involves describing Catherine as she wishes her to be, not as she actually is. As she tries to tell Catherine of her engagement to James, she says, “Yes, my dear Catherine, it is so indeed; your penetration has not deceived you. – Oh! that arch eye of yours! – It sees through every thing” (105). Since Catherine had never suspected their attachment, this is no accurate description of her ability to read people or even to see what is in front of her. It is also clear that true communication does not take place between the two women, and this reveals the reality behind their friendship, its lack of strength. There is a gap between the narrator’s glowing comments about the friendship of Catherine and Isabella, and the actual manner in which the friendship is conducted, which reveals the narrator’s ironic tone. When Catherine confides in Isabella about her initial preference for Henry Tilney, the self-centered Isabella quickly loses interest. Isabella, in her own way, tries to confide in Catherine about her interest in Catherine’s brother, but, as already mentioned, Catherine misses the significance of all her hints and allusions. For example, when Isabella mentions she is partial to clergymen, Catherine does not think to follow up on the 108 insinuation, for “she was not experienced enough in the finesse of love, or the duties of friendship, to know when delicate raillery was properly called for, or when a confidence should be forced” (33). In other words, Catherine does not know the conventions of insincere conversation, nor does she know how to navigate the grounds of a shallow friendship. The “duties of friendship” are in this case shown to be meaningless, a far cry from the true exchange of self that happens between the Bennet sisters, or even Emma and Mrs. Weston. Austen’s irony about the popular conventions of female friendship is not limited to her comments on Catherine and Isabella. Her portrayal of the acquaintance of Mrs. Thorpe and Mrs. Allen also exposes the vapid emptiness the women bring to their interactions. They spend most of the day “in what they called conversation, but in which there was scarcely ever any exchange of opinion, and not often any resemblance of subject, for Mrs. Thorpe talked chiefly of her children, and Mrs. Allen of her gowns” (33). Even by portraying female friendships that are less than ideal, Austen is not falling into the patriarchal tendency to view female communities as a threat. In the case of Mrs. Thorpe and Mrs. Allen, she reveals the bland harmlessness and nothingness of their conversation, yet she also reveals what is expected of women and what women are encouraged to become. And although the friendship of Catherine and Isabella is shown to be a matter of concern, it is not because of the friendship itself but because of Isabella’s desire to use Catherine to gain a husband. Isabella is not interested in female community for its own sake, but rather as a means to a mercenary end. Isabella’s brand of friendship is self-conscious, yet reveals its insincerity and failure to participate in a meaningful female community. In her spoken version of her character, she claims that she never loves by halves. She tells 109

Catherine, “The men think us incapable of real friendship you know, and I am determined to shew them the difference” (37). Ironically, the first part of Isabella’s statement is true, echoed in the conduct literature and the patriarchal assumption that female communities are meaningless or even dangerous. Austen’s novels do show a different interpretation, and indicate that female friendships can be constructive, and just as important in a woman’s life as her marriage. Yet Isabella herself does not show this. She proves herself to be, contrary to her own definition, incapable of real friendship because she is much more interested in landing an advantageous marriage. Her use of Catherine toward this end shows her misunderstanding of what it means to be both a friend and a sister. Isabella directs the terms of the friendship, and insists on having her way. Thus she “does not establish female comradeship but dominance” (Benedict). Even the parallels between Isabella’s and Catherine’s situations reinforce the idea that Catherine is in pursuit of actual friendship, whereas Isabella is not. Isabella seeks Catherine’s friendship only because she is the sister of the man she means to marry. Catherine’s later attempts to make friends with Eleanor Tilney are rooted in different motives. Henry Tilney might be a factor in Catherine’s desire to have Eleanor as a friend, but she also appreciates Eleanor for her own sake, and considers her worth knowing. Isabella’s perspective on sisterhood also reflects her self-interest and desire to secure a husband, illustrating that she places the greater value on a community where men figure prominently. She openly slights her own sisters, and claims to love Catherine more, declaring: “You will be so infinitely dearer to me, my Catherine, than either Anne or Maria: I feel that I shall be so much more attached to my dear Morland’s family than to my own” (Austen 105). Yet Catherine, in contrast, values female community, and is genuinely excited at the prospect of 110 gaining Isabella as a sister: “The happiness of having such a sister was [her feelings’] first effusion, and the fair ladies mingled in embraces and tears of joy” (105). Yet Isabella’s tears of joy are shown to be false, as Austen’s ironic tone continues: “The two friends, with hearts now more united than ever, were inseparable for the day; and in schemes of sisterly happiness the hours flew along” (108). Since it is fairly clear (if only to the reader) that their hearts have never been united, true sisterly happiness does not follow, and Catherine’s eventual discovery of Isabella’s duplicity leads to the rupture of the friendship. Isabella is not successful in achieving sisterhood with Catherine because she fails to value her own sisters, and “her shallowness and lack of moral principles are exemplified by her declaration that she is eager to transfer her love from her sisters to Catherine. She is a bad sister, and she turns out to be a bad woman” (Dobosiewicz 95). In fact, Isabella’s sisters are not even mentioned by name in the novel in the first hundred pages, signaling their unimportance and Isabella’s indifference. This dismissive attitude further illustrates her underlying contempt for female community, which, as Dobosiewicz points out, also calls into question her moral fiber. Thus it is clear that Isabella and Catherine are mismatched – not like Emma and Harriet in terms of class or even intelligence, but in intention, perspective, and morality. The Thorpe family as a whole devalues the bonds of sisterhood, placing emphasis instead on seeking marriage as a security and a commodity. Thus Isabella is not the only Thorpe to slight the younger sisters. John Thorpe, who is trying to woo Catherine, is upset when she cannot go on an outing with the Thorpes because of a prior engagement with the Tilneys. He resists the idea of driving with one of his younger sisters, saying, “I did not come to Bath to drive my sisters about, and look like a fool” (Austen 89). Since Catherine’s insistence 111 on keeping her appointment with the Tilneys does force John to invite a sister, he picks Maria instead of Anne, because Anne has “such thick ancles” (104). Thus the younger Thorpes are viewed by the older as embarrassing and superfluous. Although they fulfill their role as petty younger sisters, that role has been assigned to them by others. The older Thorpes also prevent the younger from having complete access to the joys and concerns of the family – they restrict communication with them and openly triumph about their more privileged status. Isabella’s engagement is at first only known to her mother and John, because they are waiting for Mr. Morland’s consent. After telling Catherine they indulge in “significant looks and mysterious expressions to fill up the measure of curiosity to be raised in the unprivileged younger sisters. To Catherine’s simple feelings, this odd sort of reserve seemed neither kindly meant, nor consistently supported” (108). The younger sisters, however, fight back by claiming to know what all the fuss is about (and it certainly would not be difficult to guess), and the result is a war over the privileged secret, what Austen calls a “display of family ingenuity” (108). Everything the Thorpe women do is calculated to get a man, and when it works for Isabella, she triumphs over her sisters instead of with them, fighting over knowledge instead of sharing it. There is no sense that as sisters they need to band together and support one another in a harsh world, for “[they] are so thoroughly indoctrinated into believing in the centrality of male-oriented relationships that they neglect one another’s needs and emotions” (Dobosiewicz 95). Rather, they exploit each other’s needs and emotions for their own gain as they seek to advance in the marriage market. Thus the Thorpes, certainly not the model family of the novel, further illustrate their questionable morality through their treatment of each other, and especially through the assigned roles of the younger sisters within the family. 112

Catherine’s observations of Isabella’s inconsistencies and sisterly failings, along with her growing affection for Henry Tilney, combine and result in an emotional withdrawal from Isabella. Catherine gradually reveals less of her feelings for Henry to Isabella, and confides in no one else around her. Granted, Isabella has plainly lost interest, but Catherine seems to eventually understand that Isabella is not to be trusted, even though she does not express it to herself until Isabella’s letter. Thus she, like other Austen heroines, stops talking as she develops feelings for a man. Janet Todd argues that Catherine “learns to withhold herself from Isabella,” stating that “involvement with a man requires the change” (298). She takes this observation a step further by arguing that “complete female candor seems the first sacrifice to adult heterosexual union” (Todd 298). While this is true across Austen’s work, it is not exactly the case here, for complete female candor never did exist between Catherine and Isabella, although it seemed to. Yet it is correct that in the process of falling in love with Henry, Catherine clams up. She never tells Eleanor Tilney, or her own mother or sisters. In fact, Catherine’s mother is left to wonder about the cause for Catherine’s moping after she returns home. Even when Henry comes to Fullerton, Catherine’s sister Sally fails to see that Henry is asking the way to Mr. Allen’s only because he wants to be alone with Catherine (Austen 211). Catherine has kept this part of her heart carefully tucked away from her family, and they have no idea of what she is feeling. This is an example of the limitation in Austen’s positive presentation of female relationships, of the patriarchal hurdle they simply cannot overcome. Moral growth and the ability to read character happen in female communities, but full disclosure of the heart cannot always take place. The women do not risk sharing their hopes about what they might never gain. 113

Along with her new propensity for silence, Catherine’s movement from the Thorpes to the Tilneys signals her growing maturity and her increasing ability to read character, and much of that is mediated by her relationships with the women. Catherine is wooed by Isabella’s friendliness and words of loyalty, but she is drawn to Eleanor Tilney because of her character. As she is beginning her acquaintance with Eleanor, she starts to realize some of the indiscretions of the Thorpes, and although she is initially too naïve to understand their characters (she assumes their indiscretions are the result of unawareness), she compares the Thorpes and the Tilneys and begins to note their differences. Critics have pointed out that Catherine’s growth as a reader of novels is paralleled by her growth as a friend and a reader of character. Joseph Wiesenfarth argues that “After Catherine learns how to read Mrs. Radcliffe, for instance, she learns how to read Isabella. To put it in other terms, after she learns how to read fiction, she learns how to read life.” Although Catherine’s readings of gothic novels are influenced by her increasingly rational reflections on her own reactions, as well as Henry Tilney’s embarrassing intervention in her imaginative fancies, her readings of character are influenced by her comparisons of the Tilneys and the Thorpes, and the friendships she experiences with Eleanor and Isabella. In other words, it is simple experience with different sets of people that enables a previously isolated Catherine to make these judgments, and her maturity is reflected in the set of people she chooses, in the friends she keeps, particularly the women. Catherine’s ability to “read” Isabella is also helped along by the fact that she is physically reading a letter from her when she makes her final judgment. The letter gives her a chance to sit back and interpret what she sees, for “the written letter creates a space in which the recipient may supply what the lines avoid saying” (Hinnant 302). Hinnant contrasts this with face to face communication, where response must be 114 immediate. Catherine can take the time to read all the implications of Isabella’s letter and internally respond to her claims. Thus Catherine’s act of reading on multiple levels and her growing ability to reflect, helped along by her friends, leads her to an improved discernment of character. Catherine’s growing appreciation of Eleanor hints at an increasing understanding of friendship, which she is then able to enact. Eleanor herself is isolated – living in the abbey with only her tyrannical father, she is much more alone than Catherine is. Eleanor herself never asks for pity for her isolated state, but her brother notices it, and thanks Catherine for her friendship to Eleanor on the drive to Northanger. Catherine hears her visit “ranked as real friendship, and described as creating real gratitude.” Henry goes on to tell her that his sister “was uncomfortably circumstanced – she had no female companion – and, in the frequent absence of her father, was sometimes without any companion at all” (Austen 137). Even though Catherine and Eleanor are not intellectual equals, since Eleanor is a little older and has received a better education, they find common ground in their mutual goodwill and general common sense. Catherine is smart enough not to reveal her flights into gothic fantasy to Eleanor, and she continues to grow in maturity and in her ability to read people. Catherine herself finds in Eleanor the female companion that Isabella never was – a rational friend to share her life with. And Eleanor gains a friend in Catherine, who later becomes her sister when she marries Henry, creating the type of sisterhood that Isabella claimed to want. Thus both Catherine and Eleanor benefit one another, for “in Austen’s novels, a true friendship is reciprocal” (Dobosiewicz 122). Catherine and Eleanor also engage in a more balanced communication as a marker of real friendship, and although they are able in some respects to move beyond simply talking, even their conversations reflect the limitations of their 115 dominant culture. Their communication, however, comes closer to the exchange of ideas and meaning, especially when compared to the incessant talking and self- defining that characterized the friendship of Catherine and Isabella. It is evident, especially near the end of the novel, that Catherine and Eleanor talk a great deal, even though many of their conversations without Henry are not actually recorded. Yet they discuss their views of the world around them, and it is through conversation with both Henry and Eleanor that Catherine is able to adjust her opinion of Isabella. However, there are limits to their openness. For example, as she keeps the reticence she learned from her interactions with Isabella, Catherine never openly confides in Eleanor about her affection for Henry, who is after all Eleanor’s brother. Yet Eleanor is able to figure out Catherine’s feelings early in their acquaintance because of Catherine’s simplicity and transparence, and Catherine has no idea that any communication has taken place (Austen 66-67). This illustrates that communication in this novel is about more than the words exchanged, but is about conveying meaning and reading others. Although they never discuss it, Eleanor seems to want Catherine for a sister, and makes excuses for her brother in Catherine’s hearing (101). One of the causes of the restrictions in communication between the two women, though, is bad news. Eleanor and Catherine barely speak when confronted with General Tilney’s shameful behavior in kicking Catherine out of Northanger Abbey. They are too shocked, and as Eleanor helps Catherine prepare to leave, they take refuge in wordlessness: “Very little passed between them on meeting; each found her greatest safety in silence, and few and trivial were the sentences exchanged while they remained up stairs” (198). Here communication is limited, because they cannot say what they think about Eleanor’s father, yet their friendship is strong enough at this point to move past these restrictions, as “a long and affectionate embrace supplied the place of 116 language in bidding each other adieu” (200). The friends do not meet again until they have learned they will be sisters, and the novel does not offer any of these scenes, but it is fairly evident that subsequent events create more openness between the two. Catherine’s ability to read people comes as her isolation is ended and her interactions with others increase. Yet her foray into friendship, even her successful friendship with Eleanor, is affected by an unspoken code of female reserve that does not allow for complete confidence. Like Emma, Catherine must learn the qualities of real friendship and female community, but lapses into silence when her heart becomes attached. The pressures and imposed silences of traditional culture emerge in the lives of both women, and they must negotiate their development within the bounds of patriarchal expectations. Thus facets of their lives and hearts remain hidden from the view of other females, and complete openness is not possible. Even with this caveat, however, Austen is able to portray the paramount importance of female community in the lives of women, and its significant role in developing women as moral agents.

CHAPTER 6: CONCLUSION

Each of Austen’s novels looks at the underlying cultural question of sisterhood from a different angle, exploring varying versions of sisterhood that all point to its indisputable necessity in the lives of women, yet showing how silences frequently prevent those relationships from reaching their full potential. The complete script that surfaces from an examination of all her novels argues for the urgent importance of sisterhood, and repeatedly illustrates that a male-centered society is not sufficient for the moral, emotional, or intellectual well-being of women. This argument does not mesh well with the official cultural script of Austen’s time, indicating that although her presentation is certainly subtle, she was at least aware of the conflicts caused by society’s strictures on women. In fact, her very subtlety argues for a keen awareness of societal limitations and consequences that accompany any stepping over of those boundaries. Thus Austen shows the reality of the cultural shadows that fall across women, and their complicated attempts to build meaningful relationships within those shadows. In this way she is different from many of the novelists who preceded her. She does not write one-dimensional portraits of women who simply ignore societal mandates and enjoy happy, confiding friendships with other women. Instead, she presents the costs of female community as her characters struggle with the development of their sisterhoods, often having to figure out on their own how to cultivate sister relationships in a society that devalues them. It is likely (as evidenced by the lives of Frances Burney, and Austen herself) that nineteenth-century women could and did experience meaningful friendships with sisters. But Austen investigates the complications, the cultural pressures that could shape the enacting of those friendships. In her work, sisters constantly seek to balance the growth of their female communities with their forays into 118 patriarchal silence. In each of her novels different emphases emerge on this same theme, and she offers a range of possible responses for women working within that dominant system. Thus it is clear that Austen is addressing an issue of importance and relevance within her society, a concern that was often unspoken but still carried weight in the actual lives of women. Common threads in Austen’s varied portrayal of sisters point to the way she explores the contemporary complications in the sister relationship. Taken together, these threads also argue for not only the general importance of sisterhood but also its influence on women as rational members of society. Austen consistently indicates that communication and openness are important elements in any sister relationship, and their absence can lead to estrangement and misunderstanding. She furthers this notion by showing that conversations between sisters also help to create a sense of equality and substance – as they reason through their shared worlds, they are often able to achieve greater understanding and meaning. This dimension goes beyond mere friendly feelings and common interests, and points to (and possibly helps create) depth of character. And this leads to the moral aspect of these relationships, which is a significant concern in Austen’s work. Sisters that combine all the above elements often experience an increased moral awareness, which is in turn frequently indicated in the way sisters view and treat each other. Thus through this interplay of conversation, rationality, and moral growth, Austen is able to show how these elements reside in sisterhood and build the characters of her protagonists. Elizabeth and Jane Bennet in Pride and Prejudice serve almost as a template for close, mutually confiding sisters whose relationship is shadowed by inexplicable silences. Their conversations contribute to their intellectual growth but become stifled by secrets. A similar model appears with the Dashwood sisters 119 in Sense and Sensibility, but this novel instead traces the sister relationship as they move from estrangement toward confidence and female community. These are largely positive portrayals that focus on the negative effects of female silence. But Austen in turn shows the necessity for sisterhood through its absence in the lives of Fanny Price in Mansfield Park and Anne Elliot in Persuasion, at the same time exploring the moral fallout that occurs when women disregard their sisters, as in the case of the Bertrams and the Wards. And through all this Austen does not neglect the question of silence, but keeps tracing it through her different versions of sisterhood, illustrating that sisters are stronger when they are able to at least partially overcome their silences. She further develops the argument of the importance of sisterhood as Emma Woodhouse in Emma and Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey search for sister figures and through the process grow in moral awareness and in their understanding of the world. Thus from the whole an argument is presented for the clear necessity of strong sisterhoods, and the inherent conflicts with patriarchal society that occur when these sisterhoods begin to develop. And through this varied tapestry of sisters emerges a concept of the complexity of the cultural reality of sisterhood, a perception that is certainly more developed in Austen than in the work of eighteenth-century novelists. As earlier mentioned, Austen’s deviation from her literary predecessors and her unique treatment of female silence is often unremarked by critics. Simply debating whether or not the label of feminist should be attached to her work in many ways sidesteps the complexity of both the cultural issue of female community and her own interaction with it. It is important to recognize instead that her prevailing concern with sisterhood stresses its historical currency and works to fill a gap in her culture’s narrative. As many critics have noted, she does seem to uphold contemporary values of morality, marriage, and social 120 conservatism, but her novels do not sanction the male-centered focus of her culture’s interpretation of these beliefs. Instead, they uphold the above list but insist on female community or sisterhood as a necessary element. Thus the basic question of Austen’s feminism becomes too narrow. The intricacy of her portrayals moves the question into the intersection of gender concerns (as Devoney Looser argued) and historical/cultural studies. Feminist studies of Austen could benefit from further examination into how her novels both endorse and challenge her historical context, continuing to investigate the complexity in her interactions with her own cultural framework. As a whole, Austen’s work reveals the definite advantages found in female community, along with multiple possibilities for its embodiment within the restrictions of nineteenth-century society. Furthermore, her portrait challenges the dominant view by showing that women can function as rational beings in meaningful female communities that they contribute to and gain from, offering an alternative perspective that shows the valuable strength to be found in such communities. And when women do happen to fit the patriarchal formula (as the Bertrams do), their position is the result of listening too uncritically to a society that diminishes the sister tie. Thus Austen consistently creates sisters who move toward female community and a stronger morality, yet must face the restraints of cultural silence. And while she writes candidly of the difficulties of the paths they must negotiate, she still calls attention to their triumphs.

WORKS CITED

Auerbach, Emily. Searching for Jane Austen. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 2004. Print.

Auerbach, Nina. Communities of Women: An Idea in Fiction. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1978. Print.

Austen, Jane. Emma. 1815. Ware: Wordsworth, 2000. Print.

---. Lady Susan, The Watsons and Sanditon. Ed. Margaret Drabble. New York: Penguin, 2003. Print.

---. “Lesley Castle.” Catharine and Other Writings. Ed. Margaret Anne Doody and Douglas Murray. New York: Oxford UP, 1993. Print.

---. Mansfield Park. 1814. New York: Penguin. 2003. Print.

---. Northanger Abbey. 1818. New York: Penguin, 1995. Print.

---. Persuasion. 1817. Ware: Wordsworth Classics, 1993. Print.

---. Pride and Prejudice. 1813. New York: Oxford UP, 1998. Print.

---. Sense and Sensibility. 1811. New York: Oxford UP, 1998. Print.

Benedict, Barbara. “Reading by the Book in Northanger Abbey.” Persuasions Online. 20.1 (1999): n. pag. Web. 6 Sept 2010.

Blackwell, Mark. “‘The Setting Always Casts a Different Shade on It’: Allusion and Interpretation in Sense and Sensibility.” Eighteenth-Century Fiction. 17.1 (2004): 111-125. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 4 Aug 2010.

Bonaparte, Felicia. “Conjecturing Possibilities: Reading and Misreading Texts in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.” Studies in the Novel. 37.2 (2005): 141- 161. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 11 June 2010.

Brodey, Inger Sidrun. “Adventures of a Female Werther: Jane Austen’s Revision of Sensibility.” Philosophy and Literature. 23.1 (1999): 110-126. Project Muse. Web. 4 Aug 2010.

Burney, Frances. Camilla. 1796. New York: Oxford UP, 1972. Print. 122 ---. Evelina. 1778. Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 1997. Print.

---. Journals and Letters. Ed. Peter Sabor and Lars E. Triode. New York: Penguin, 2001. Print.

Coleman, Deidre. “Imagining Sameness and Difference: Domestic and Colonial Sisters in Mansfield Park.” A Companion to Jane Austen. Ed. Claudia L. Johnson and Clara Tuite. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. 292-303. Print.

Dabundo, Laura S. “The City of Sisterly Love: Jane Austen’s Community as Sorority.” Persuasions Online. 30.1 (2009): n. pag. Web. 15 February 2010.

Deresiewicz, William. “Community and Cognition in Pride and Prejudice.” ELH. 64.2 (1997): 503-535. JSTOR. Web. 11 June 2010.

Dobosiewicz, Ilona. Female Relationships in Jane Austen’s Novels: A Critique of the Female Ideal Propagated in 18th Century Conduct Literature. Opole: Uniwersytet Opolski, 1997. Print.

Edgeworth, Maria. Belinda. 1801. New York: AMS Press, 1967. Print.

Folsom, Marcia McClintock. “Inherited and Living Variables: The Choices of Sisters and Brothers in Mansfield Park.” Persuasions Online. 30.1 (2009): n. pag. Web. 12 Aug 2010.

Haggerty, George E. “The Sacrifice of Privacy in Sense and Sensibility.” Tulsa Studies in Women's Literature. 7.2 (1988): 221-237. JSTOR. Web. 21 Jan 2010.

Hinnant, Charles H. “Jane Austen’s ‘Wild Imagination’: Romance and the Courtship Plot in the Six Canonical Novels.” Narrative. 14.3 (2006): 294- 310. Project Muse. Web. 6 Sept 2010.

Jones, Vivien. “Feminisms.” A Companion to Jane Austen. Ed. Claudia L. Johnson and Clara Tuite. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. 282-291. Print.

Kirkham, Margaret. Jane Austen, Feminism, and Fiction. Totowa: Barnes and Noble, 1983. Print.

Lanser, Susan Sniader. “No Connections Subsequent: Jane Austen’s World of Sisterhood.” The Sister Bond: A Feminist View of a Timeless Connection. Ed. Toni A.H. McNaron. New York: Pergamon Press, 1985. 51-67. Print. 123 Le Faye, Deidre. “Letters.” Jane Austen in Context. Ed. Janet Todd. New York: Cambridge UP, 2005. 33-40. Print.

Looser, Devoney. Jane Austen and Discourses of Feminism. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995. Print.

May, Leila Silvana. Disorderly Sisters: Sibling Relations and Sororal Resistance in Nineteenth-Century British Literature. Lewisburg: Bucknell UP, 2001. Print.

McNaron, Toni A. H. “How Little We Know and How Much We Feel.” The Sister Bond: A Feminist View of a Timeless Connection. Ed. Toni McNaron. New York: Pergamon, 1985. Print.

Michie, Helena. Sororophobia: Differences Among Women in Literature and Culture. New York: Oxford UP, 1992. Print.

Moir, John. Female Tuition, or An Address to Mothers on the Education of Daughters. 1786. Conduct Literature for Women 1770-1830,Vol 1. Ed. Pam Morris. London: Pickering and Chatto, 2005. 261-374. Print.

Neill, Edward. “‘What Edward Promises He Will Perform’: ‘How to Do Things With Words’ in Sense and Sensibility.” Textual Practice 21.1 (2007): 113- 134. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 4 Aug 2010.

Perry, Ruth. “Family Matters.” A Companion to Jane Austen. Ed. Claudia L. Johnson and Clara Tuite. Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009. 323-331. Print.

---. Novel Relations: The Transformation of Kinship in English Literature and Culture, 1748-1818. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004. Print.

Sodeman, Melissa. “Domestic Mobility in Persuasion and Sanditon.” SEL Studies in English Literature 1500-1900. 45.4 (2005): 787-812. Project Muse. Web. 10 Aug 2010.

Souter, Kay Tourney. “Heads and Arms and Legs Enough: Jane Austen and Sibling Dynamics.” Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal. 176-187. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 18 February 2010.

Spacks, Patricia Meyer. “Privacy, Dissimulation, and Propriety: Frances Burney and Jane Austen.” Eighteenth-Century Fiction. 12.4 (2000): 1-18. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 4 Aug 2010. 124 Stohr, Karen. “Practical Wisdom and Moral Imagination in Sense and Sensibility.” Philosophy and Literature. 30.2 (2006): 378-394. Project Muse. Web. 4 Aug 2010.

Stone, Lawrence. The Family, Sex and Marriage in England, 1500-1800. New York: Harper and Row, 1977.

Tate, Margaret Watkins. “Resources for Solitude: Proper Self-Sufficiency in Jane Austen.” Philosophy and Literature. 31 (2007): 323-343. Project Muse. Web. 25 March 2010.

Thompson, James. “Sororadelphia, or ‘Even the Conjugal Tie is Beneath the Fraternal.’” Persuasions Online. 30.1 (2009): n. pag. Web. 15 Feb 2010.

Todd, Janet. Women’s Friendship in Literature. New York: Columbia UP, 1980. Print.

Vorachek, Laura. “Intertextuality and Ideology: Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and James Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women.” New Windows on a Woman’s World: Essays for Jocelyn Harris. v.2 . Ed. Colin Gibson and Lisa Marr. Dunedin: U of Otago, 2005. 129-137. Print.

Wiesenfarth, Joseph. “The Invention of Civility in Northanger Abbey.” Persuasions Online. 20.1 (1999): n. pag. Web. 6 Sept 2010.

Woolf, Virginia. A Room of One’s Own. 1929. New York, Harcourt, 1981. Print California State University, Fresno

Non-Exclusive Distribution License (to make your thesis available electronically via the library’s eCollections database)

By submitting this license, you (the author or copyright holder) grant to CSU, Fresno Digital Scholar the non-exclusive right to reproduce, translate (as defined in the next paragraph), and/or distribute your submission (including the abstract) worldwide in print and electronic format and in any medium, including but not limited to audio or video.

You agree that CSU, Fresno may, without changing the content, translate the submission to any medium or format for the purpose of preservation.

You also agree that the submission is your original work, and that you have the right to grant the rights contained in this license. You also represent that your submission does not, to the best of your knowledge, infringe upon anyone’s copyright.

If the submission reproduces material for which you do not hold copyright and that would not be considered fair use outside the copyright law, you represent that you have obtained the unrestricted permission of the copyright owner to grant CSU, Fresno the rights required by this license, and that such third-party material is clearly identified and acknowledged within the text or content of the submission.

If the submission is based upon work that has been sponsored or supported by an agency or organization other than California State University, Fresno, you represent that you have fulfilled any right of review or other obligations required by such contract or agreement.

California State University, Fresno will clearly identify your name as the author or owner of the submission and will not make any alteration, other than as allowed by this license, to your submission. By typing your name and date in the fields below, you indicate your agreement to the terms of this distribution license.

Kristen Akina Type full name as it appears on submission

April 5, 2011

Date