Disease and Gender in Jane Austen's Fiction Kelly Bryan Smith

Florida State University Libraries

Electronic Theses, Treatises and Dissertations The Graduate School

2007 Solitary Rambles and Stifling Sickrooms: Disease and Gender in Jane Austen's Fiction Kelly Bryan Smith

Follow this and additional works at the FSU Digital Library. For more information, please contact [email protected]

THE FLORIDA STATE UNIVERSITY

COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES

SOLITARY RAMBLES AND STIFLING SICKROOMS:

DISEASE AND GENDER IN JANE AUSTEN’S FICTION

KELLY BRYAN SMITH

A Thesis submitted to the Department of English in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts

Degree Awarded: Spring Semester, 2007

The members of the Committee approve the Thesis of Kelly Bryan Smith defended on March 26, 2007.

______Eric Walker Professor Directing Thesis

______Margaret Kennedy Hanson Committee Member

______Candace Ward Committee Member

Approved:

______R.M. Berry, Chair, Department of English

______Joseph Travis, Dean, College of Arts and Sciences

The Office of Graduate Studies has verified and approved the above named committee members.

For my husband, my parents, my siblings, and my cats, all of whom have contributed greatly to the maintenance of my sanity over the last two years.

iii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank Dr. Eric Walker and Dr. Margaret Kennedy Hanson for their help and guidance with my writing and research. I would like to thank my husband, Matthew Smith, for his editorial assistance.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract vi

INTRODUCTION 1

I. THE SUPPOSED TAMING OF UN-PATRIARCHAL CHARACTERS BY DISEASE 6

II. THE TRANSGRESSIVE GENDER OF INVALIDS AND HYPOCHONDRIACS 20

III. THE HEALTH OF WOMEN IN PROPER RELATIONSHIPS 28

CONCLUSION 36

REFERENCES 39

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 41

ABSTRACT

Jane Austen’s use of disease in her novels is crucial to the interpretation of her work. The most current Austen scholarship continues to debate her political leanings and motivations. John Wiltshire sees an important link between illness and the fate of women in Austen’s novels. This means that the instances of disease in Austen are significant to the interpretation of gender politics in eighteenth and nineteenth century England. It is important to pay attention to indisposed women in Austen for this very reason. Illness in general, and especially feigned illness, can be seen as a source of power for women, a means used by female characters in Austen to exert control over their own lives through subversive means. Disease in Austen’s novels also serves to reflect the morals of her characters in the midst of a changing cultural landscape. Another critic, Mary Poovey, observes that proper morality was in a state of fluctuation during Jane Austen’s life, and her writings mirror this uncertainty. Many female authors before Austen reinforced the traditional role of women in society, but Austen’s ambiguity of tone and varying treatment of her heroines calls her political positions into question. In this thesis, I seek to explore the unexamined area where the readings of Wiltshire and Poovey potentially overlap. I hope to build a bridge between Wiltshire’s study of the body and Poovey’s examination of female propriety. Firstly, I examine instances in Austen’s novels of men and women who are punished or reformed by disease. I find that the narratives are not set up in such a way that Austen is condemning all supposedly improper behavior. Often the women who are punished, for example, Marianne Dashwood, are the more favorably depicted characters. At other times, those who are reformed disappear from the narrative, so that the reader cannot tell whether the behavioral changes are permanent. To bring the role of disease into sharper focus, I next look into another of its aspects, the more visible role of invalids and hypochondriacs. In Jane Austen’s works, hypochondriacs and invalids serve as examples of men and women who use disease to subvert their social roles. Some succeed while others fail. Why? Does Austen see danger in subversive behavior, or is she simply reflecting some of the values of her time? In order to try to resolve these questions, my last section examines how healthy characters are depicted in Austen’s novels. In the end, I conclude that unlimited behavioral freedom, especially for women, is problematic. In order to find physical and social health within

the society of Austen’s time, women need to have a degree of physical and intellectual in order to be more productive members of society. The healthiest women have a proper man to help guide them, but that isn’t to say that men should be in full control. The healthiest men need female guidance, too. Perhaps this is Austen’s way of trying to increase female freedom without overturning the patriarchal order altogether.

vii INTRODUCTION Jane Austen’s supposedly quiet country villages are actually replete with references to dangerous diseases such as apoplexy, gout, and typhus. Although critics of Austen as far back as Charlotte Bronte notice an “absence of the bodily in her writing” (Wiltshire, Jane Austen 1), this perception doesn’t account for her frequent attention to ill health in both her novels and her letters. Austen herself was called upon to nurse to sick nieces and nephews as well as her mother, who seems like a hypochondriac in Austen’s letters. Austen gives many details about disease in her letters, even her own ultimately fatal illness, writing, “My head was always clear, & I had scarcely any pain; my cheif sufferings were from feverish nights, weakness & Languor” (Le Faye 340). Clearly, Jane Austen is alert to the physical detail of disease. John Wiltshire, in his 1992 book Jane Austen and the Body, sees an important link between illness and “female destiny” (Wiltshire, Jane Austen 4) in Austen’s novels. As such, he believes that the instances of disease in Austen “are not to be taken at their own face value as segregated or divided from the novelist’s contemplation of social and political realities” (Wiltshire, Jane Austen 4). Disease is an effective narrative technique which can “serve to hide or displace” truths about economics, politics, and gender (Wiltshire, Jane Austen 7). It is especially important to pay attention to indisposed women in Austen for this very reason. Illness in general, and especially feigned illness, “is an especially plausible instrument for the exercise of domestic tyranny” (Wiltshire, Jane Austen 19). This “domestic tyranny” of ill health is a means used by female characters in Austen to exert control over their own lives through subversive means. Disease in Austen’s novels also served to reflect the morals of her characters in the midst of a changing cultural landscape. As Mary Poovey states in her 1984 book The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer, proper morality was in a state of fluctuation during Austen’s life, and her writings reflect this uncertainty. “Austen…lived through and wrote about the crisis of values that dominated late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century English society” (Poovey 172). Austen’s writing echoes this upheaval with the mixed messages we receive about female morality. Many female authors before Austen reinforced the traditional role of women, but Austen’s ambiguity of tone and varying treatment of her heroines calls her political positions into question. For instance, in Sense and Sensibility, it is Elinor Dashwood who abides by an established code of female conduct and her sister Marianne who flouts those rules and is reined

in only by the onset of illness. However, Marianne is often seen as being “more appealing” to readers than Elinor because of her feisty nature (Poovey 185), and this haziness of interpretation permeates Austen’s other works as well. In this thesis, I seek to explore the unexamined area where the readings of Wiltshire and Poovey potentially overlap. I hope to build a bridge between Wiltshire’s study of the body and disease and Poovey’s examination of female propriety. There are examples in Austen of women who use disease to subvert their social roles. Some of these women succeed while others fail. Why? There are instances in Austen’s novels of men and women who are punished or reformed by disease, but the narratives are not set up in such a way that Austen is condemning all supposedly improper behavior. Does Austen see danger in subversive female behavior, or is she simply reflecting some of the values of her time? The most current Austen scholarship continues to debate her political leanings and motivations. Was Austen herself a Marianne Dashwood or a Fanny Price? Cassandra Austen’s censorship of her sister’s letters handicaps that question as well. However, the ambiguous treatment of ill health in Austen’s novels underscores the intractable complexity of these questions. In Austen’s novels, disease is more of a driving force of reform in women than in men. One reason for this is the connection between women and disease in general during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. According to Judith Flanders, “Women were more concerned with illness and its effects, both because women were the ones who would have to nurse the ill and because they tended to be ill more often than men” (356). And of course today we can see a strong link between this female role of nurse and the supposed female tendency to disease. Since the task of nursing the ill most commonly fell to the females of the household, women were at greater risk of catching contagious diseases or wearing themselves out with their sickroom duties. As detailed in her letters, Austen herself constantly observed sickness in her daily life, especially among her female family members and friends. She saw the possible dangers of sickroom attendance, as evidenced in a letter she wrote to her sister Cassandra: “I trust…that you will none of you be the worse for your attendance on her” (LeFaye 3). However, nursing did not pose the only danger to female health. In addition to such exposure to sick family members, it didn’t help that many women spent most of their time in their homes, breathing stale air polluted with candles, gas lamps, and coal fires (Flanders 357). Florence Nightingale warned of this interior air pollution in her Notes

on Nursing when she wrote “Once insure that the air in a house is stagnant, and sickness is certain to follow” (25). For this reason, in Austen’s era, female illness strongly correlated with social class. Lower class women working outside the home to help the family scrape a living were often healthier than middle and upper class women who remained in the restrictive sphere of the home. Furthermore, families with less money did not have the luxury of indulging in illness. In the case of the Heywood family in Austen’s Sanditon, “the maintenance, education and fitting out of fourteen children demanded a very quiet, settled, careful course of life – and obliged them to be stationary and healthy at Willingden” (Austen, Sanditon 164). Having a large family to maintain meant that the Heywoods could not afford the extensive care of doctors, so as a result, they took care of themselves. There is also an undeniable psychological component to female disease in this era. Due to lack of both physical and mental exercise, the social restriction and physical weakness of passive women during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries predisposed them to disease. Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar notice that this female illness “that domestic confinement and female socialization seem to breed” (183) is strongly reflected in the literature of the era. Without many outlets for their energies outside of the home, many women suffered from stifled intellects and thus developed nervous disorders. Gilbert and Gubar agree “[t]hat Austen was fascinated with the sickness of her social world, especially its effect on people excluded from a life of active exertion” (183). These “people” Gilbert and Gubar mention are mainly women who are largely excluded from life in the active public sphere in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Clearly, the connection between women and disease makes sense in Austen’s novels from a historical standpoint. Yet the instances of illness in Austen’s novels seem to go beyond a simple laundry list of complaints such as “an Asthma, a Dropsy, Water in her Chest & a Liver Disorder” (LeFaye 27) which she describes in a letter about her mother’s physical complaints. Instead, Austen often uses disease as a plot device to transform the outward behavior of her characters. D.A. Miller concurs that “the body in sickness and health is thus heaped high…with moral and psychological meanings” (Miller 57). The key to unraveling these “moral and psychological meanings” in Austen’s characters and their sickrooms is to examine a number of prominent examples in the fiction. In the first section of this thesis, “The Supposed Taming of Un-Patriarchal Characters by

Disease,” I examine the sickroom, an area where the Austenian discourses of gender, disease, and space overlap, viewing it as an ambiguous space where some of the most significant action of Austen’s novels takes place. Cynthia Wall, in her article “Gendering Rooms: Domestic Architecture and Literary Acts,” inspects the importance of peripheral space in Austen’s plots, and I see the sickroom as one of these spaces. Within these critically undefined spaces, I observe the interplay between disease and recovery within the gendered patriarchal system. Ultimately, in a society where “health depended on morality” (Turner, The Body 209), the sickroom becomes a place where socially unacceptable behavior was modified to conform to patriarchal norms. In this first section, I show how illness changes behavior in Austen’s novels. To this end, I focus on some of the many relevant sickrooms in Austen’s novels, including those of Tom Bertram in Mansfield Park, Marianne Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility, and Louisa Musgrove in Persuasion. All of these characters engage in behaviors that seem to need correction. Tom Bertram’s wild habits threaten his family with financial ruin until he falls ill and emerges from his sickroom with a more subdued demeanor. Marianne Dashwood’s erratic and unacceptable public behavior is brought into line after she passes through her emotionally-wrought illness. Louisa Musgrove is similarly unfit for her place in society. Like Tom and Marianne, she acts too independently from behavioral decorum. Then illness changes their behavior, and these characters are assisted in their transformation to conventional social propriety by those nursing them back to health. For example, Louisa can’t be a proper female subject until she is injured in Lyme and nursed back to a more passive state of health by the even-tempered Mrs. Harville. In the case of Marianne, her marriage to Colonel Brandon demonstrates her alteration to submissiveness, just as the engagement of Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove results from Louisa’s shift to a more appropriate ideal of womanhood. Both have benefited from the more patriarchal values of their nurses which permeated their personalities in their sickrooms. Tom’s reform is not as well-documented in Austen’s work, but that in itself supports the idea that female submissiveness to patriarchy is the most important aspect of the system, as men had a wider scope of behavioral freedom. In the second section, “The Transgressive Gender of Invalids and Hypochondriacs,” I argue that illness reverses gender roles in Austen’s fiction. I explore the feminine qualities of male invalids, such as Mr. Woodhouse in Emma and Arthur Parker in Sanditon, as well as the

masculine qualities of female invalids and hypochondriacs, such as Mrs. Smith and Mary Musgrove in Persuasion, and most notably, Diana and Susan Parker in Sanditon. As an invalid of sorts, Mr. Woodhouse neglects his role of man of the family and lets his daughter Emma head the household. In the fragmentary novel Sanditon, the three ill Parker siblings all fall outside of their expected gender roles while suffering from invalidism and hypochondria. Arthur appears to be quite indolent and unmanly in his supposed disease, and Diana and Susan are very domineering women despite (or perhaps because of) their invalidism. Mary Musgrove and Mrs. Smith find similar power in their ill health. My third section, “The Health of Women in Proper Relationships,” outlines the theory that in Austen’s novels, a return to health results in a return to social norms. The link between healthy women and proper relationships is one crucial part of this assertion. For example, we see that in Emma, Jane Fairfax grows ill during her secret engagement to Frank Churchill and only recovers when their attachment is properly publicized according to the behavioral codes of the time. Jane Fairfax’s public engagement to Frank Churchill simultaneously raises her health and her social status. More untamed women such as Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice and Emma Woodhouse in Emma benefit physically from their deviation from the traditionally restricted space of women, but they only become socially healthy when they both are tamed in some manner by their romantic relationships with powerful men. In Persuasion, Anne Elliot similarly regains her physical health only when she fulfills her female duties and once again becomes a marriageable woman in the eyes of Captain Wentworth. Despite her personal behavioral propriety, Jane Bennet in Pride and Prejudice falls ill when her mother connives to help her spend time with Mr. Bingley, and she only finds true health and happiness when she is able to win him in a socially acceptable manner. Thus, women in relationships which balance propriety with freedom seem to be rewarded with good health.

SECTION I THE SUPPOSED TAMING OF UN-PATRIARCHAL CHARACTERS BY DISEASE Three sickrooms in Austen’s novels—Tom Bertram’s in Mansfield Park, Marianne Dashwood’s in Sense and Sensibility, and Louisa Musgrove’s in Persuasion—are important places of reform; these characters do not fit into their patriarchal gender roles until after they recover from their illnesses. Indeed, such rooms “suggest symbolically the development of character” (Schneider 227) as the personality of each character is altered by disease or injury. These sickrooms thus assume the quality of “schooling” the diseased into a sort of submission, as described by Harriet Martineau (75) later in the nineteenth century. The symptoms of Tom Bertram, Marianne Dashwood, and Louisa Musgrove are frightening and painful, but they ultimately cause “positive” behavioral reform in the end, allowing each to join society in the roles assigned to them by the patriarchal system. However, Austen herself may not have viewed this reform as a positive change, as I will discuss later in this section. Moral values were in a state of flux during Austen’s life. Standards for proper behavior were shifting. However, it was still widely accepted that the expectations for male and female behavior were different. Mary Poovey writes, “women’s behavior must significantly differ from that of men, who express their own wishes, make their own choices” (Poovey 4). It is clear from this division that men had more behavioral freedom than women. Women needed to be chaste and proper in order to maintain the patriarchal structure of patrilineal inheritance. A man needed to know that the children he was providing for were in fact his. But the importance of female purity is troublesome because it “required (a woman) to signal her virtue by a physical intactness that is by definition invisible” (Poovey 23). As a result of this need to prove their chastity, the behavior of females became an important indicator of their physical purity and emotional morality. This importance of proper female behavior is one reason why Austen does not treat all three sickrooms equally. Gender is a significant variable which affects Austen’s handling of Tom, Marianne, and Louisa. However, gender differences cannot fully explain the different locations of the sickroom within the narrative structure. In Mansfield Park, Tom Bertram is not a main character, and his illness and subsequent behavioral reform are found in the back story of volume 3 (chapters 13 through 17). The reader does not have a direct window into Tom’s sickroom. Instead, we look over Fanny Price’s shoulder as she reads letters from Mansfield Park

detailing Tom’s illness and recovery. Tom then disappears from the narrative as quickly as he appeared. Louisa Musgrove’s injury is treated in a similar manner. Her fall from the Cobb occurs in volume 1 of Persuasion, but her recovery is also largely narrated through the letters received by Anne Elliot. But the disease of the most behaviorally out-of-bounds character, Sense and Sensibility’s Marianne Dashwood, gets top billing. She behaves in an inappropriate manner in the first volume and a half and is ill for the second volume and a half. All of the main characters notice her poor behavior and try to help assuage her illness. Her sickroom is the location of the main plot for several chapters until she finally recovers physically, emotionally, and socially. As a woman like Marianne might be in danger of becoming a fallen woman like Colonel Brandon’s first love we hear about in the back story, it is important to the maintenance of the social structure that we see Marianne’s transformation into a more proper woman occurring front and center. At the beginning of Mansfield Park, Tom Bertram is a selfish man who doesn’t exhibit “the ability to manage an estate well,” which, according to Berglund, is “generally a criterion of worth in Austen’s male characters” (141). As a wastrel, Tom is a failure as a first son and must therefore be reformed before he can fulfill his proper role in society. It isn’t until Tom is nursed back to health by his more conforming brother that he reforms. Marianne Dashwood and Louisa Musgrove’s reformation follows a similar pattern: transgressive behavior followed by illness and then a recovery into a more proper place in society. We observe Sir Thomas Bertram’s distress about his son Tom from the start of Mansfield Park, when it becomes immediately clear that Tom does not observe proper behavior for his role and rank in society. Most notably, Tom is a spendthrift, which implies that once the family estate is in his control, he will spend enough to devalue or even lose the estate. Sir Thomas believes that “His eldest son was careless and extravagant, and had already given him much uneasiness” (Austen, Mansfield 19). However, Sir Thomas is concerned about more than just the management of the estate. Tom’s heavy spending habits also devalue his brother Edmund’s future living as a clergyman in the local parish. As Austen’s narrator explains, “Tom’s extravagance had…been so great, as to render a different disposal of the next presentation necessary, and the younger brother must help to pay for the pleasures of the elder” (Austen, Mansfield 21). Basically, Tom has gotten the Bertrams into so much debt that Sir Thomas must borrow against Edmund’s future income in order to pay off all of Tom’s bills. This early

irresponsibility, both for his own finances and for the financial security of the rest of the family, gives an exceedingly troubling look into what might happen once Sir Thomas dies and leaves the Mansfield estate to Tom. Tom’s behavior upon his return to Mansfield from Antigua offers further evidence of his unsuitability for the role as heir of Mansfield Park. Rather than protecting the family name, he invites some male friends over and involves his unmarried sisters in the morally questionable play Lovers’ Vows. Indeed, “Tom was so engrossed by the concerns of his theatre,…[he] saw nothing that did not immediately relate to it” (Austen, Mansfield 135) that he ignores the improper behavior exhibited by his sisters, especially the flirtation of his engaged sister Maria with the unattached Henry Crawford. Edmund advises Tom against the play from the beginning, but Tom resents Edmund’s influence and refuses to listen to his scruples (Austen, Mansfield 106). Instead, Tom pushes ahead with the play and spends a fair amount of money renovating his father’s private study in order to create a stage. It isn’t until Sir Thomas returns unexpectedly and interrupts the play that Tom shows any semblance of shame. Sir Thomas is curious to find out what has been going on, but his inquiries meet with excuses. “ ‘The all will be soon told,’ cried Tom hastily, and with affected unconcern; ‘but it is not worth while to bore my father with it now’ ” (Austen, Mansfield 151). This “affected unconcern” and the putting off of the truth clearly demonstrate Tom’s knowledge of his improper behavior, but they do not drive Tom to reform. Marianne Dashwood exhibits similar behavioral excess and lack of restraint, although her problem is presented as emotional overindulgence as opposed to Tom Bertram’s excessive spending. Her extreme sensibility leaves her susceptible to unreasonable emotions and improper behavior both in private and in public. Marianne’s imbalance is exemplified through her criticism of her more stable sister, Elinor. When Marianne comments on Elinor’s unspoken attachment to Edward Ferrars, she says, “Elinor has not my feelings, and therefore she may overlook [his lack of sensibility], and be happy with him. But it would have broke my heart had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility” (Austen, Sense 15). What Marianne doesn’t realize is that it is precisely this lack of an overt display of sensibility which makes Edward a suitable match, since his hidden feelings for Elinor are genuine and deep. Marianne’s love interest, Willoughby, is characterized by both outward sensibility and inward insincerity, which ultimately cause Marianne pain as she misreads his attentions to her. Marianne doesn’t

understand that a show of emotional excess doesn’t necessarily correlate with sincere feeling since, as Leland Warren notes in his book Sensibility in Transformation, “any quality that is valued and for which visible characteristics are recognized can be feigned” (Warren 28). Instead of realizing that appearances can differ from reality in this way, Marianne believes that only true feelings spill into outward expression. Indeed, “Marianne abhorred all concealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserved” (Austen, Sense 47). For this reason, she sees no problem with showing an open attachment to Willoughby, since he seems to be acting in a similarly unguarded manner. Such behavioral problems in Marianne and Tom indicate a failure on the part of their parents to instill in them the proper values of their society. For instance, Marianne can legitimate her own behavior in the more unguarded nature of her mother, who could also use a lesson or two in public decorum from Elinor. Tom lacks guidance because his mother is an invalid of sorts and his father leaves the child-rearing to the selfish Aunt Norris. So instead of being guided by parental concern, both Tom and Marianne are monitored more by the propriety of a sibling. For example, Elinor, not Mrs. Dashwood, knows that Marianne’s “openly shewn” feelings for Willoughby will start gossip, “and once or twice did venture to suggest the propriety of some self-command to Marianne” (Austen, Sense 47). Yet Marianne does not see her sister as a fitting role model before her illness, because she cannot relate to Elinor’s ability to hide her feelings. As a result, Marianne does not see her own emotionally extravagant behavior as improper, especially since her sentiments seem to be returned by Willoughby, and she does not heed her sister’s hints at more decorous behavior. With such impulsive, thoughtless behavior going unchecked on the part of both Tom and Marianne, it is apt that both become ill as a result of their impropriety, which fits into Austen’s method of linking disease with the need for behavioral reform. Tom’s father’s rebukes upon his return to England do not stop Tom from traveling to London to drink and gamble with his friends, and here in Mansfield Park we see a prime example of Austen’s narrative connection between bad behavior and disease. Tom experiences “a neglected fall, and a good deal of drinking, [which] had brought on a fever” (Austen, Mansfield 351), and his prior improper behavior is effectively punished by lingering disease. A doctor is able to lower Tom’s fever, but he can’t remove the lasting “hectic symptoms” that John Wiltshire implies might have related to Tom’s drinking habit (Wiltshire, “Medicine” 312-313). The sickroom is the realm of female

care, but Tom is unable to find a female nurse in order to recover properly. In Tom’s tenuous situation, “[t]here was not only the debility of recent illness to assist; there was also…nerves much affected, spirits much depressed to calm and raise; and…there must be a mind to be properly guided” (Austen, Mansfield 354-355). Thus from the outset of Tom’s disease, it is implied that if Tom survives, proper nursing will cure him not only of his disease, but also of his former bad habits. Like Tom Bertram, Marianne Dashwood shows indifference towards reining in her behavior for the sake of public propriety. We see this clearly once Willoughby first leaves Allenham and Marianne allows herself to be overtaken by her emotions. Austen describes Marianne’s lack of emotional control, writing, “She was without any power, because she was without any desire of command over herself” (Austen, Sense 72). Lacking “desire” to hide her pain, Marianne allows her whole body and mind to be controlled by it. Marianne doesn’t seem to care who notices her outward emotional displays when the man she loves is sent away by his rich relation. Flaunting her pain at the expense of both propriety and health, “she walked out by herself, and wandered about the village of Allenham, indulging the recollection of past enjoyment and crying over the present reverse for the chief of the morning” (Austen, Sense 73), which surely must attract the attention of all of their neighbors. When Marianne sees Willoughby again in London, this same emotional self-indulgence attends her behavior as she makes a scene at the ball. Elinor observes that “the feelings of her sister were instantly expressed” (Austen, Sense 149) without regard for propriety or decorum, both to Willoughby and to all of the other guests present. It is this sort of indiscreet behavior which starts to give Marianne a bad reputation. Indeed, her attachment to and her separation from Willoughby are observed and interpreted by others such as Mrs. Jennings, who exclaims, “Did not I see them together in Devonshire every day, and all day long?” (Austen, Sense 153). Her attentions to Willoughby are clearly not unnoticed. With such evidence as the unguarded time spent together and Marianne’s gifts of locks of hair and letters, and without any indication from Marianne about the truth of the situation, it is logical for outsiders to assume that the two are engaged. Since this is not true, such behavior on Marianne’s part is not socially acceptable outside of the realm of engagement or marriage. Marianne is eventually punished for her inability to stay within such prescribed behavioral boundaries. The punishment for her emotional and behavioral excess is exile in a

sickroom. Marianne allows herself to be completely overcome by her heartbreak when Willoughby marries another young woman, and she descends into “a fever brought on by emotional suffering” (McAllister 102) that is exacerbated by her wet walks around the Palmer estate once she leaves London. Rather than trying to rally her strength and spirits and find comfort in the company of her sister and her friends, Marianne allows herself to cultivate a great “indulgence of such solitary rambles” (Austen, Sense 256). When she sickens as a result of these “solitary rambles,” her sickness exemplifies the “ambivalent attitude towards female walking expressed in the novels” (Berglund 216). Marianne’s self-indulgent emotions allow her to become physically weakened after her final separation from Willoughby. And when Marianne ventures out alone in her weakened state to immerse herself in her emotions, she is physically punished by a fever as a result. Indeed, Austen tells us that “[t]wo delightful twilight walks [had]…given Marianne a cold so violent, as, though for a day or two trifles with or denied, would force itself by increasing ailments, on the concern of every body, and the notice of herself” (Austen, Sense 259). From this example, we see that by cultivating her emotional pain by indulging in lonely “twilight walks,” Marianne gets sick. Just as Marianne Dashwood’s state of emotional excess is not easily reined in by concern for propriety, her state of physical illness does not immediately make way for health. Despite her descent into a “violent” cold, Marianne refuses to submit to nursing. She initially ignores advice she receives to calm her nerves and try not to think about her emotional pain. Later in the nineteenth century, it was a common nurse’s prescription to “avoid such moral disturbance as we have not force to quell” (Martineau 144), a prescription which Elinor adheres to in her own life. Instead, Marianne revisits painful thoughts about Willoughby. Indeed, Marianne “cultivates tears as often as Elinor strives for composure” (Tanner 81) and continues to openly demonstrate her emotional pain to everyone around her. In so prolonging her misery, and thus her disease, Marianne still refuses to accept any help or advice. Once it becomes clear that she is truly ill, “Prescriptions poured in from all quarters, and as usual, were denied” (Austen, Sense 259). With her denial of help, it is as if Marianne does not want to get better. Or perhaps Marianne’s physical disease actually serves as a relief in some way to her mental and emotional suffering. She cannot publicly mourn for a non-existent engagement, but she can derive pity from the illness which her bottled-up distress has brought on.

Marianne Dashwood and Tom Bertram both suffer from self-indulgent behavioral excesses that culminate in potentially fatal diseases. They are attended by physicians during their illnesses, but in both texts, it is clear that nurses must be the ones to bring about full recovery, especially in cases such as these where there is a moral/emotional aspect that complicates the physical disease. Mrs. Beeton, a popular nineteenth century writer about household management, outlines the requirements for a nurse very succinctly: “The main requirements are good temper, compassion for suffering, sympathy with sufferers, which most women worthy of the name possess, neat-handedness, quiet manners, love of order, and cleanliness” (Beeton). Such qualities were much more commonly assumed to be possessed by women of the era, as Beeton suggests, and nursing tended to be a task that was relegated to the females of the family. None of the females in Tom’s immediate family can fill the role of Tom’s nurse. Tom’s most fitting nurse, his mother, is an unhealthy, incapable bundle of nerves herself, and her sister and husband aren’t any better suited to serving as nurses. They are unfit for caring for Tom because “[h]is aunt worried him by her cares, and Sir Thomas knew not how to bring down his conversation or his voice to the level of irritation and feebleness” (Austen, Mansfield 354). Sir Thomas can’t be expected to be proficient in the female domain of nursing, but Mrs. Norris’s deficiency in the sickroom reflects poorly on her role as the substitute matriarch of the Bertram family. During this era, “Women were generally assumed to fall into one of two groups: the nurses and the nursed” (Flanders 341). These two categories of nursing and nursed clearly excuse the sofa-dwelling Lady Bertram from the duties of nursing Tom, but since Aunt Norris and the Bertram sisters aren’t being nursed, they are falling short in their domestic duties. Tom’s next hope for proper nursing would be his two sisters, but they are both in London. Tom’s illness is such that “[i]t astonished [Fanny] that Tom's sisters could be satisfied with remaining in London at such a time, through an illness which had now, under different degrees of danger, lasted several weeks” (Austen, Mansfield 357). This negligence on the part of Tom’s sisters is just another example of the Bertram family’s unawareness of social propriety which stems from Mr. Bertram’s neglect of proper discipline or guidance. With his sisters unwilling to leave London and his cousin Fanny stranded in Portsmouth, only one person remains to do the job. The duty of nursing Tom back to health over his long convalescence thus falls to Tom’s younger brother Edmund, who fills in as “the attendant, supporter, cheerer of a suffering brother”

(Austen, Mansfield 354). With no able female volunteers at hand, Edmund becomes Tom’s nurse. Both brothers are enacting more traditionally feminine roles with Tom as an invalid and Edmund as his nurse. The feminizing force of invalidism is necessary to counteract Tom’s excessive indulgence in masculine vices, such as drinking and gambling, in order to reform him into a more proper patriarch. Edmund, already trained for his role in the clergy as well as possessing an interior moral compass, is less impacted by the feminine force of nursing. Yet because of some of his masculine traits, it is unclear how good a nurse Edmund actually is. Austen tells us that “when able to talk or be talked to, or read to, Edmund was the companion [Tom] preferred” (Austen, Mansfield 354). However, Florence Nightingale, in her later treatises on professionalized nursing, would not necessarily approve of these sickroom activities as healing or beneficial to the patient. Indeed, she says “when the sick are too ill to read to themselves, they can seldom bear to be read to” (Nightingale 55), which throws Edmund’s sickroom activities into question. Mrs. Beeton also condemns any sort of noise or talking in the sickroom (Beeton). This departure from the accepted female methods of nursing affects Tom’s recovery; “Tom’s amendment was alarmingly slow” (Austen, Mansfield 355). In fact, it isn’t until after his cousin Fanny Price arrives to help the family that Tom gets better. Is this because the patriarchal model casts women as superior nurses? The answer is not obvious in either text. What is crucial to note, though, is that those doing the nursing are already located in properly patriarchal roles. Edmund, Fanny, and Elinor can all serve as nurses because they have a moral center unknown to the likes of Maria and Julia Bertram. Another possible explanation for the duration of Tom’s illness is the news of the indecent behavior of his sisters in London, specifically Maria’s dalliance with Henry Crawford. Unconcerned with their impropriety in health, Tom in sickness is more attuned: so much so that his “complaints had been greatly heightened by the shock of his sister’s conduct, and his recovery so much thrown back by it, that even Lady Bertam had been struck by the difference” (Austen, Mansfield 373). This downfall in health as a result of ethical distress exemplifies Tom’s moral change over the course of his stay in the sickroom. His suffering is starting to teach him to feel true shame for behavior which falls outside of the accepted patriarchal norm. Marianne is in need of a similar moral cure, but she doesn’t submit to medical treatment until she is dangerously ill and can no longer insist on reveling in her own pain. Once she

reaches this transition, she has no choice but to stay in bed and “accept of help” (Martineau 144) from Elinor, who won’t leave her sister’s side in her efforts to nurse Marianne back to health. Indeed, Elinor “continued by the side of her sister with little intermission the whole afternoon, calming every fear, satisfying every enquiry of her enfeebled spirits, supplying every succour, and watching almost every look and every breath” (Austen, Sense 266). After Marianne allows herself to be cared for by her sister, she “continued to mend every day” (Austen, Sense 285). This daily recovery shows both Marianne’s shift to proper obedience and the excellent nursing skills of Elinor. Her competent nursing of Marianne and her close attention to the illness ensure that she is aware of changes in the course of the disease, and she is able to send for the doctor and for her mother at the appropriate times. With such efficient care, “Marianne’s illness, though weakening in its kind, had not been long enough to make her recovery slow” (Austen, Sense 289). Marianne’s resilience and quick recovery implies that she will not suffer long from her inappropriate attachment to Willoughby. Clearly, the female care Marianne receives from Elinor and Mrs. Dashwood is excellent, but the care she receives from the doctor doesn’t seem as positive. He can only do so much for her, possibly because of the emotional element of her ailment. The doctor has to come back several times to try different treatments, and his predictions don’t always come true. When it looks like hope is almost lost, “he still had something more to try, some fresh application, of whose success he was almost as confident as the last” (Austen, Sense 265). The doctor seems content to experiment until the last, and it is the care of Elinor and her mother which really seems essential in Marianne’s complete recovery. These two women, knowing proper sickroom care, and in the case of Elinor, knowing proper behavior, will be essential to Marianne’s recuperation. In the case of both Marianne Dashwood and Tom Bertram, the aid of a physician is only helpful in curing immediately dangerous symptoms. Since the root of the illness in each runs deeper than the physical, they both benefit more from the physical and moral changes encouraged by the long-term nursing care of the siblings more schooled in patriarchal propriety than themselves. Indeed, once Tom does finally recover, he is actually thought to be better than he ever was before. As he “gradually regained his health,” his caregivers observe that he is not “regaining the thoughtlessness and selfishness of his previous habits. He was the better for ever for his illness. He had suffered, and he had learnt to think, two advantages that he had never

known before” (Austen, Mansfield 381), probably because of his spoiled childhood. In essence, the old Tom is punished by his long disease and then reforms to be a better man than previously. He benefits from the influence of his steady brother in the sickroom, because somehow Tom “became what he ought to be, useful to his father, steady and quiet, and not living merely for himself” (Austen, Mansfield 381), which is a significant transformation. Finally, Tom’s selfish spending habits cease, and he is ready to assume his responsibilities as his father’s heir. After we hear of Tom’s reformation, we must assume that he is entirely cured and living up to all that is expected of him as the firstborn son, because we hear no more of him after we read of his physical and mental cure. Despite her overt behavioral reform, Marianne’s physical amendment is not as immediately obvious at Tom’s. It is initially uncertain in the text whether Marianne is recovered enough from her disease to be able to assume the proper role of wife. When her half brother sees her towards the beginning of her disease, he asks Elinor, “what is the matter with Marianne?— she looks very unwell, has lost her colour, and is grown quite thin” (Austen, Sense 192), reacting to Marianne’s outward appearance of ill health that springs from her emotional trauma. In Sense and Sensibility, Marianne mostly stays in her room and avoids company after her disappointment from Willoughby. Those who are close to her don’t question her appearance since they know of her dashed hopes. As a result, John Dashwood is the only outsider who sees Marianne during this time, so we have no more trustworthy authority to consult about her looks in the midst of her poor health. John is concerned, since he believes that “[a]t her time of life, anything of an illness destroys the bloom for ever!” (Austen, Sense 192) and worries that she will be unable to marry if her disease does in fact alter her appearance. John’s fear is that if Marianne’s youthful beauty is permanently spoiled by disease, it is unlikely that she will be able to attract a man of fortune, since she has little money of her own. Regardless of whether her appearance improves (or even needed improvement at all), after her recovery, Colonel Brandon still loves Marianne, and she is able to marry with great financial advantage to herself. In her sickroom, Marianne undergoes a mental cure to complement her physical improvement, which she reveals shortly after moving out of the sickroom. Marianne is prepared to improve her mind and her manners. She tells her family that “I have formed my plan, and am determined to enter on a course of serious study” (Austen, Sense 291). This new plan of improvement reflects Marianne’s total transformation. She has been chastened by her illness and

realizes the pain that she has caused everyone else. She says, “My illness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by myself by such negligence of my own health, as I had felt, even at the time, to be wrong” (Austen, Sense 293). Marianne thus accepts the blame for both her behavior and her disease. She wants to redeem herself from her own faults, and she claims, “my feelings shall be governed and my temper improved” (Austen, Sense 294). With such thoughts of “governing” her own feelings and inclinations, Marianne is ready to fit into the patriarchal society from which her excessive sensibility previously excluded her. Marianne’s marriage to Colonel Brandon proves the cure that occurs in her sickroom as we see that even her heart is transformed. Indeed, Austen writes that “her heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had once been to Willoughby” (Austen, Sense 322), and with this transfer of her affections, Marianne’s cure is complete. It is notable that after she recovers from her sickness, she “submit[s] to new attachments” (Austen, Sense 321) and grows willing to marry the man that she never would have considered as a husband in her previously healthy state because she did not love him. After her illness, Marianne acknowledges her previous behavioral mistakes. In altering her behavior to hew more closely to that of her older sister, she acknowledges the benefit of “Elinor[’s]…constant awareness of the modes of social propriety which defines her behaviour in rooms” (Johnston 202), and Marianne tries to emulate this proper public reserve. This change mirrors Tom Bertram’s shift to governance by the more socially acceptable modes of behavior followed by his brother Edmund. Marianne thus learns reform from her nurse and “is tamed and ready for ‘citizenship’ ” (Tanner 99) in a world of masculine domination. This change in Marianne is almost represented as a religious penance as Marianne grows “determined to enter on a course of serious study” (Austen, Sense 291) and make changes in her attitudes and behaviors. In his examination of a medical sociology of nineteenth century women, Bryan Turner sees disease as a means of penance through which a person can be “re- incorporated back into society through a system of retribution and forgiveness” (Turner, Medical 85). When we apply this concept to Sense and Sensibility, Marianne’s disease cleanses her of her former transgressions and uncertain reputation to allow her to become the untainted wife of Colonel Brandon. Wiltshire agrees with this assessment that “illness may serve as an unconscious mode of salvaging self-respect or gaining social leverage” (Wiltshire, Jane Austen 12), so it is clear that Marianne atones for her sins through her disease, and she becomes a proper

woman in her recovery. We read that Marianne “was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favorite maxims” (Austen, Sense 321), and this shift in her opinions exemplifies how completely she is schooled by patriarchy in this gradual retraining of her feelings. According to William Wandless, “Austen, through the depiction of Marianne, approaches sensibility as a habit to be outgrown” (Wandless 67). This idea implies that excessive emotional sensibility becomes increasingly inappropriate as a young woman leaves childhood and becomes old enough to come out in society where such behavior would surely be condemned. The question we must now ask is why we see so much more of Marianne Dashwood’s “education” when Tom Bertram essentially disappears from the text after his recovery. Why is it that Marianne’s chastisement is much more blatantly foregrounded? Her reform is proven by her marriage to Colonel Brandon, whereas we have no such proof of Tom’s behavioral amendment. The investigation of patriarchal training within sickrooms becomes more clear when we add a third sickroom to the discussion, that of Louisa Musgrove in Persuasion, where despite her disappearance from the text after her recovery, her impending marriage to Captain Benwick is a sign of her transformation into a more fitting patriarchal subject. For both Marianne and Louisa, we need proof that the transformation is complete. In Tom’s case, male subversion is not as dangerous to patriarchal structures as female subversion, so we do not need additional evidence of his alteration. After Louisa falls from the Cobb and is nursed back to health by the efficient Mrs. Harville, she becomes engaged to Captain Benwick, which surprises many of her friends. However, it is the very match between the two which proves how much Louisa has changed. Anne Elliot is shocked to imagine the engagement of the pair. At first, she can’t imagine a union of “The high-spirited, joyous talking Louisa Musgrove, and the dejected, thinking, feeling, reading Captain Benwick, seemed each of them every thing that would not suit the other” (Austen, Persuasion 148). In light of to Louisa’s previous flighty temper, this pairing would be a shock indeed. However, Anne realizes that the time Captain Benwick and Louisa spent together in her isolated sickroom in Lyme must have been an important part of the transformation. She recognizes that “[t]hey had been thrown together several weeks…they must have been depending almost entirely on each other, and Louisa, just recovering from illness, had been in an interesting state, and Captain Benwick was not inconsolable” (Austen, Persuasion 149). So not only has

Captain Benwick aided in the recovery and taming of Louisa Musgrove, but Louisa has also helped to cure Benwick of his broken heart and deep depression. With this in mind, it is not hard to imagine that “they would soon grow more alike. He would gain cheerfulness, and she would learn to be an enthusiast for Scott and Lord Byron” (Austen, Persuasion 149). The calming of Louisa and the enlivening of Captain Benwick must result from such a match, and this is a necessary transformation for both. In order to fulfill their patriarchal roles, Louisa must be less dominant and more properly feminine, and Captain Benwick must stop moping around and be more of a man. It isn’t as easy for Captain Wentworth to understand the engagement between Louisa and Captain Benwick, probably because he does not see, as Anne Elliot does, that Louisa must have undergone a significant change during her illness. He does not consider this drastic change in her character, from a silly girl to a thoughtful woman, when he feels uncertain about the suitability of the pair for each other. He tells Anne, “I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding; but Benwick is something more. He is a clever man, a reading man—and I confess that I do consider his attaching himself to her, with some surprise” (Austen, Persuasion 162). Wentworth cannot imagine how someone like the lively Louisa would end up with Captain Benwick, especially since, before her fall, she was far from the noble Fanny Harville whom Captain Benwick was engaged to previously. Captain Wentworth strongly believes that “[a] man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman!—He ought not—he does not” (Austen, Persuasion 162. However, it is this very contrast between Fanny Harville and the Louisa Musgrove of old that reinforces how much more properly feminine Louisa has become in her recovery from injury. What can we conclude from this investigation of Tom Bertram, Louisa Musgrove, and Marianne Dashwood? All three characters exhibit inappropriate behaviors which are gradually removed upon illness/injury and the entrance into a sickroom governed by those who are more socially acceptable. The transformation of Marianne and Louisa is complete upon the marriage of each to men they would not have considered in their previous excess of health. Tom, on the other hand, mysteriously disappears from the novel after we hear of all the behavioral progress he makes in the course of his recovery. This notable difference in the narrative treatment of sick men and sick women falls directly in line with established patriarchal values. Marianne Dashwood and Louisa Musgrove, as excessively high-spirited young women, pose a direct threat

to patriarchal control and must be tamed. Tom Bertram’s recovery, though, is important to the maintenance of his family rather than to the continuing dominance of the patriarchal system as a whole, so it is not important for the reader to receive direct proof of his lasting reform. The difference in Austen’s narrative treatment highlights this important distinction. According to the dominant values of her time, wayward women need to be tamed for the good of society, but wayward men have a choice about whether or not to reform. But as I will explain in later sections, Austen’s novels do not necessarily agree with this dominant value.

SECTION II THE TRANSGRESSIVE GENDER OF INVALIDS AND HYPOCHONDRIACS In Austen’s novels, disease is not only a taming force. It is also used as a means of freedom, a plot device through which gender roles are reversed. For female characters, the physical expression of disease creates a subversive opportunity for gaining social control. For male characters in Austen, the opposite appears to be true. Men suffering from long-term illnesses tend to give up their male dominance, which is not necessarily problematic to patriarchy in itself, but it creates a power vacuum which sometimes serves to give the women in their lives more power. Invalidism also has a strong relationship to social class in a society with “a middle class whose income permits indulgence” (Miller 73). Such “indulgence” in disease seems to be linked to power in Austen’s females and laziness or incapacity in Austen’s males. This section will first examine the interplay between Mrs. Smith and Mary Musgrove in Persuasion. Mrs. Smith finds power in her actual illness after the death of her husband, whereas Mary Musgrove seems to lose power and respect with each incidence of her hypochondria. When we bring in the Parker sisters from Sanditon, we see that they are female hypochondriacs who successfully find power, but they are treated with disdain in Austen’s narration. Their brother Arthur Parker, on the other hand, loses power in his hypochondria and is dominated by his sisters. Similarly, in Emma, Mr. Woodhouse, as a lifelong valetudinarian, has given control of the household to his daughter, Emma. All of these gender roles mutate in relation to real or feigned disease. Austen’s treatment of these characters varies and is not consistent relative to gender. These examples demonstrate Austen’s recognition of disease and hypochondria as possible loopholes to patriarchal authority, even though not everyone is able to use these loopholes successfully. Upon her husband’s premature death, Anne Elliot’s old school friend Mrs. Smith in Persuasion loses her health, but she begins to find power of her own. She has spent many years with a husband who did not keep her informed as to the state of their finances, and upon his death, she finds herself penniless. After this sad event, “[s]he had difficulties of every sort to contend with, and in addition to these distresses, had been afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever, which finally settling in her legs, had made her for the present a cripple” (Austen, Persuasion 136). Mrs. Smith may evoke some degree of pity in her current physical and financial state, but interestingly enough, it is through this illness following her husband’s death

that she finally finds her own voice and moral center. With her new voice and the aid of her nurse, nurse Rooke, Mrs. Smith makes money by selling crafts to recovering patients who can’t say no to a bit of charity. Mrs. Smith explains to Anne that “ ‘[e]very body’s heart is open, you know, when they have recently escaped from severe pain, or are recovering the blessing of health, and nurse Rooke thoroughly understands when to speak’” (Austen, Persuasion 139). With the aid of nurse Rooke, Mrs. Smith also finds herself privy to the circle of gossip in Bath. Gossip affords further opportunities for female power in the sickroom because it provides women with information they can act on from the sick bed. Consequently, with what she learns from nurse Rooke, Mrs. Smith is empowered to help Anne Elliot avoid what might have been a disastrous attachment to the slick Mr. Elliot. Her information from the circle of sickroom gossip helps her aid her friend, and her friend is then indebted to help her in return. But how is it that Mrs. Smith finds power? Mrs. Smith’s convalescence occurs in Bath, a popular resort/sickroom for the wealthy of Georgian England. As a whole town of invalids, Bath must have been full of women who had more of a claim to female power than Mrs. Smith, who finds herself poor and with few social connections. It would have been much more likely for some of these rich female invalids to find new power in Bath. Yet, Mrs. Smith does find social power in her sickness through the circle of sickroom gossip and her friendship with the more well-connected Anne Elliot, who marries a man with the power to help solve Mrs. Smith’s financial woes. In Austen’s novels, disease is sometimes a means of exacting control over one’s life, especially for women without other freedoms. Persuasion’s Mary Musgrove, for example, lives a quiet country life with two young children, a husband who spends much of his time hunting, and in-laws who do not pay her the kind of attention and respect that she feels she is entitled to as an Elliot. In response to such disappointments, Mary often fancies herself ill in order to get attention and sympathy. For instance, “Mary, often a little unwell, [was] always thinking a great deal of her own complaints, and always in the habit of claiming [her sister] Anne when any thing was the matter” (Austen, Persuasion 30). For Mary Musgrove, feigning illness is a way of having some semblance of control over her own life, with herself as the puppeteer trying desperately to control those around her in the sickroom. In some sense, all of Uppercross Cottage grows to be a sickroom with Mary Musgrove’s frequent physical complaints. Her healthy husband Charles flees the sickroom as often as

possible to hunt and wander the countryside. In his absence, Mary feels neglected and put upon, and she complains when she is not invited to participate in walks and visits to the great house. Her friends and family think she might be too indisposed to join in, but since it is attention which she truly craves, Mary responds to being left out “with some jealousy” (Austen, Persuasion 75). From this insight into Mary’s feelings, we see that just as her physical complaints are conveniently self-serving, so are her physical exertions. It should not be a surprise that with such frequent complaints, “ ‘Every body is always supposing that I am not a good walker!’” (Austen, Persuasion 75). Such behavior on the part of Mary’s family and friends can be explained by the fact that it could be seen as rude to continue to invite an invalid to participate in physical activities. But self-centered Mary does not see this. When there is something interesting going on, Mary wants to participate. When she loses interest, she is ready to go home and play sick. After wheedling an invitation to walk with her husband, Anne, Captain Wentworth, and the Miss Musgroves, Mary is having a nice time until they reach the village of Charles Hayter, a Musgrove cousin of whom Mary does not approve. Some of the party wishes to go visit him, but all of a sudden, Mary is “excessively tired” (Austen, Persuasion 77) and wishes to turn back. Nobody else’s desires concern Mary. The fun is over, and she is ready to go home to her sofa. But a short while later, when Admiral and Mrs. Croft drive up and offer someone a ride home, Mary is no longer tired or in any need of assistance. Clearly, this buoying energy level is a matter of convenience to Mary’s desires rather than a reflection of her actual physical state. It is not clear from the novel that this behavior is even a conscious decision on Mary’s part. Instead, based on her own words, it seems as though she has hidden her hypochondria from herself and truly believes herself to be a sick woman who is always putting on a brave face for the benefit of those around her. As Mary tells Anne, “I made the best of it; I always do; but I was very far from well at the time; and I do not think I was ever so ill in my life as I have been all this morning—very unfit to be left alone, I am sure” (Austen, Persuasion 33). From this speech, it seems that Mary really does believe in her own poor constitution, but she also recognizes her need for attention on some level, even if it is attention directed at her disease rather than at her boredom or dissatisfaction. Mary’s sister Anne Elliot has enough experience with Mary’s “illness” that she knows just what to do when she arrives. Austen writes, “A little farther perseverance in patience, and forced cheerfulness on Anne’s side, produced nearly a cure on Mary’s” (Austen, Persuasion 35).

If Mary had truly been ill, Anne’s “cheerful” attention would not have been sufficient to cure the patient of her mental maladies. Yet, as it is, Austen writes that “Mary’s ailments lessened by having a constant companion” (Austen, Persuasion 42), which highlights Mary’s need for attention from others and a degree of control over those around her in order to feel healthy and happy. We see a similar phenomenon in Austen’s letters. Jane Austen’s mother was sick for several days, but upon the arrival of her son for a visit, “my Mother was well enough to talk very cheerfully to him” (LeFaye 16). Her symptoms mysteriously disappear upon the arrival of a cherished guest. Perhaps this is unconscious, but it is a form of social control. When she is happy or entertained, she is well. If she is not happy or entertained, then she feels ill and derives attention from her ill health. The need for control is even stronger in Diana and Susan Parker of Austen’s incomplete novel Sanditon. Despite their supposed proximity to death’s door, the two women manage the affairs of others both in person and with their letters from afar. According to their healthy brother, “ ‘They have wretched health…and are subject to a variety of very serious disorders…They have only weaker constitutions and stronger minds than are often met with, either separate or together’” (Austen, Sanditon 174). The Parker sisters do indeed have strong minds, and they also have strong wills which they impose on themselves and others. For instance, rather than putting themselves in the care of a qualified doctor or nurse, they seek to doctor themselves. As Diana says, “ ‘We have entirely done with the whole medical tribe. We have consulted physician after physician in vain, till we are quite convinced that they can do nothing for us and that we must trust to our own knowledge of our own wretched constitutions for any relief’” (Austen, Sanditon 175). Perhaps the reason that doctors cannot do anything for the Parker sisters is that there is nothing physically wrong with them, which seems like a likely scenario based on the views of Charlotte Heywood, who is set up as a voice of reason in the fragmentary novel. But instead of considering the possibility of hypochondria or even mere boredom as a source of their complaints, the sisters amuse themselves by putting leeches on each other and pulling out teeth (Austen, Sanditon 175-176). This self-doctoring (or self-mutilation) seems to be in response to imagined rather than actual physical needs, or perhaps their self- doctoring is due to a deeper psychological need for control in their lives. Indeed, we have the corroboration of the visiting Charlotte Heywood, who cannot see anything physically wrong with the Parker invalids. In observing the complaints of the Parkers,

“[i]t was impossible for Charlotte not to suspect a good deal of fancy in such an extraordinary state of health. – Disorders and recoveries so very much out of the common way, seemed more like the amusement of eager minds in want of employment than of actual afflictions and relief” (Austen, Sanditon 198). Charlotte’s thought that Susan and Diana Parker invented illnesses out of boredom is certainly in line with Gilbert and Gubar’s writing about the dangers of female confinement. From Diana Parker’s own mouth, we discover that she is not ill when she is busy. She says, “While I have been traveling, with this object [of bringing other invalids to Sanditon] in view, I have been perfectly well” (Austen, Sanditon 196). This statement is very telling indeed. When Diana is occupied with useful tasks, she is not ill, probably because her mind is occupied in other things besides her health. Perhaps the fresh air and change of scenery brought about by travel also play an important role here. Charlotte Heywood’s idea for a cure centers simply around the fresh air that so many women of Austen’s era lacked. We read that “Charlotte could perceive no symptoms of illness which she, in the boldness of her own good health, would not have undertaken to cure, by putting out the fire, opening the window, and disposing of the drops and the salts by means of one or the other” (Austen, Sanditon 199). Yes, “opening the window” for fresh air might be the solution for Susan and Diana Parker, but only if they wanted to be healthy. Their feigned invalidism serves as an effective cover for their dominant natures and allows them to accomplish more than they might have been able to if they appeared to be women in perfect health. Invalidism frees the Parker sisters from the social necessity of marriage and childbirth. In this way, illness frees them to pursue their own interests at their leisure. Their brother Arthur Parker also seems to act the part of an invalid in order to avoid his social responsibilities within the patriarchal structure. However, his ill health allows him to avoid power, while his sisters are able to increase their power over both their own lives and that of Arthur. Mr. Parker, Arthur’s older brother, relates that Arthur “ ‘is so delicate that he can engage in no profession’” (Austen, Sanditon 174). What a convenient excuse to avoid working! Under the care of his two sisters, Arthur is able to spend his days lying around and eating. He claims that his health is greatly improved by wine in moderation and weak cocoa (Austen, Sanditon 201-202), but we get another side of this story from his sisters who chide him by saying, “ ‘Arthur, you get your cocoa stronger and stronger every evening’” (Austen, Sanditon 202). If his domineering invalid sisters had their way, then Arthur would eat and drink very

little. Indeed, “Arthur was by no means so fond of being starved as they could desire” (Austen, Sanditon 202). He feels that his wine, cocoa, and of course, buttered toast, do a world of good for his health. In discussing his eating habits with Charlotte, he says, “ ‘Without a little butter to soften it, it hurts the coats of the stomach. I am sure it does’” (Austen, Sanditon 202), and then proceeds to lather his toast with an excess of butter. Arthur’s supposed invalidism does not affect his strong appetite, and eating and loafing by the fire are some of his greatest joys, based on the glimpse of him which Austen gives us. The Parker siblings fit right in when they come to Sanditon, the seaside convalescent resort masterminded in part by their brother Mr. Parker. It was common during this era for people wishing to improve their health to come and bathe in the sea or in hot springs, such as in Bath. In the novel, the whole town of Sanditon functions as a sickroom of sorts, and even Charlotte Heywood, who is the picture of health, “was to go,—with excellent health, to bathe and be better if she could” (Austen, Sanditon 164). But how can a sickroom improve someone “with excellent health” who is already well? Couldn’t it, in fact, do the opposite? Is it possible, or even probable, that the healthy Charlotte Heywood could catch a contagious disease or could learn the habits of hypochondria from residents such as the Parker siblings? It seems that at a resort for those who can afford to indulge in their illness, there is little danger of Charlotte encountering dangerous diseases. And as for the bad influence of the Parkers, it seems as though Charlotte is the one who is trying to reform them in the sickroom with her treatment advice. Charlotte has a sensible nature which she most likely inherited from her practical parents. Arthur does try to draw her in with imaginary complaints, but she is able to hold her own. Arthur asks, “ ‘You are not rheumatic, I suppose?...But perhaps you are nervous’” (Austen, Sanditon 201). Instead of suffering from the power of suggestion, Charlotte turns the conversation towards the validity of Arthur Parkers’s own complaints. In a conversation with him, she asserts “ ‘As far as I can understand what nervous complaints are, I have a great idea of the efficacy of air and exercise for them…and I should recommend rather more of it to you than I suspect you are in the habit of taking’” (Austen, Sanditon 201). Basically, Charlotte sees the need to try to reform Arthur in his sickroom, and in effect, she assumes power over him as a healthy nurse giving advice to her ill patient. Arthur Parker has given up his patriarchal control, so it seems likely that if the novel had been completed, he might have been overpowered by Charlotte and ultimately driven to reform.

In his ill health and subsequent blinding to the real world, Mr. Woodhouse also falls short of his patriarchal duties and hands control to a female in Emma. Mr. Woodhouse, “a valetudinarian all his life, without activity of mind or body…was a much older man in ways than in years” (Austen, Emma 9) and has let his daughter Emma take on the role of parent and head of their household. He spends more time worrying about the diet of his guests than about the propriety of his daughter’s behavior and her future prospects. He is very self-centered in this regard. “What was unwholesome to him, he regarded as unfit for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to dissuade them from having any wedding-cake at all” (Austen, Emma 20). In this example, Mr. Woodhouse is more concerned with what Mrs. Weston’s wedding guests are eating than with the emotional state of his daughter, the concern which should be forefront in his mind. Instead, he acts like his daughter Isabella, essentially mothering all of those around him. The one person he does not think to mother, though, is his daughter Emma. Illness has made Mr. Woodhouse shortsighted to his daughter’s needs and has further separated him from a dominant parenting role. In the absence of parental control by Mr. Woodhouse, it is the younger Mr. Knightley who plays a large role in guiding Emma’s behavior. Mr. Woodhouse’s invalidism extends beyond just his own behavior to affect his entire house. In effect, all of Hartfield is a sickroom where Mr. Woodhouse attempts to impose a diet of the infirm upon all who enter. Whenever he and Emma have guests, “his conviction of suppers being very unwholesome made him rather sorry to see any thing put on it” (Austen, Emma 25). Emma, on the other hand, does not share Mr. Woodhouse’s fear of food. The sickroom of Hartfield is her rightful dominion, and she “supplied her visitors in a much more satisfactory style” (Austen, Emma 25). Emma is in charge, and she overrides Mr. Woodhouse’s concerns to decide for herself what to serve to their guests. Her presence in the sickroom also extends to an attendance on her invalid father wherever he is. Mr. Knightley fills a room at Donwell Abbey for Mr. Woodhouse’s entertainment when he comes for a visit. There, Emma allows him to show her Mr. Knightley’s “books of engravings, drawers of medals, cameos, corals, shells, and every other family collection” (Austen, Emma 339). Mr. Woodhouse’s ability to be amused by collections of trinkets in his portable sickroom further exemplifies the role reversal of him as the child and Emma as his parent and nurse. With the use of such examples, Austen examines the relationship between disease and proper gender roles in her novels. In the case of women such as Mrs. Smith, Mary Musgrove,

and the Parker sisters, illness serves as one of the only ways to control their own destinies within the patriarchal value system. This much is clear. But what is the result of such subversive behavior? In the case of Mrs. Smith, she is rewarded for her participation in nurse Rooke’s sickroom gossip circle by the friendship and patronage of the well-connected Anne Elliot. Mary Musgrove, on the other hand, does not really benefit from her feigned illnesses. Even when her behavior gets attention at that moment, each incidence of hypochondria drives her further from the understanding of her husband and his family. Her attempts at gaining social control may backfire because unlike the Parker sisters, Mary has already accepted the role of wife and mother in society, and her illness, real or feigned, causes her to neglect those important duties. However, this phenomenon of female invalidism was not uncommon during Austen’s time. Many women realized that “[i]t was a way of imposing themselves on the household without breaching their role as the duty-loving, self-denying angel in the house” (Flanders 358). So why isn’t Mary Musgrove’s use of the ploy successful? Perhaps it is as simple as her overuse of illness or her openly selfish attitudes surrounding her supposed incapacity. The positive or negative effects of Diana and Susan Parker in Sanditon cannot be read as clearly, since the novel exists only in fragmentary form. However, the scorn which Charlotte Heywood has for the complaints of the Parker sisters seems to be largely mirrored in Austen’s narration. Perhaps Austen is mocking their more obvious attempts to control not only their own lives (like Mrs. Smith or Mary Musgrove), but the lives of those around them as well. And what about the invalid men? Arthur Parker is able to live his life of gluttony and indolence, but he is subject to the continued interference of his more dominant sisters. Mr. Woodhouse does not seem to suffer for his lack of parenting skills, and perhaps it is Mr. Knightley’s attention to Emma’s upbringing which negates the ill effects of Mr. Woodhouse’s negligence. All of these examples point to a space of gender and power ambiguity through actual or assumed disease. Unlike in section I, where disease was a punishment or a means to behavioral reform for unruly characters, section II shows disease as a means of gaining power or stepping outside of the boundaries of expected behavior. And unlike Marianne Dashwood or Louisa Musgrove, these characters are not always punished for their wayward behavior. Section III pushes this contradiction between punishment and power even further with examples of women who find power rather than punishment through an excess of health, although they must have male guidance in order to do so.

SECTION III THE HEALTH OF WOMEN IN PROPER RELATIONSHIPS The healthiest women in Jane Austen’s novels seem to be those who are able to combine behavioral propriety with a degree of freedom in their lives. The ideal seems to be women who have hope of finding freedom within their marriages, since among Austen’s characters, married or at least marriageable women seem to be in better health than overly flirtatious single women, old maids, or other women who fall outside of the patriarchal expectations for women to marry and have children. As such, women who are protected by proper men are healthier than those who allow themselves to be controlled by other women. However, the extreme of total male domination is also unhealthy for the females involved. Basically, those women who are able to strike a balance between freedom and propriety are the ones who are rewarded with good health. In Pride and Prejudice, Jane Bennet’s health suffers despite her behavioral propriety because she has a father who gives her no guidance and a mother who gives her too much guidance. Jane’s physical suffering is mirrored by Anne Elliot’s in Persuasion. Anne’s health deteriorates after she is persuaded by Lady Russell to refuse a marriage proposal, even though this goes against Anne’s heart. Both Jane Bennet and Anne Elliot only regain their health once the women in their lives stop interfering and allow them to win marital partners on their own terms. In Emma, Jane Fairfax becomes ill after agreeing to a secret engagement. A man concerned with social propriety would not have asked Jane to make such a promise, and thus Jane begins to suffer at the hands of her flirtatious fiancé. She cannot recover her health and spirits until the truth about the attachment between herself and Frank Churchill is brought out into the open, thus transforming Jane into a woman fulfilling her role in the patriarchal marriage structure. Women who have already found their proper place are blessed with good health as a result. The best example of this in Austen’s novels is Persuasion’s Mrs. Croft, who is cheerful and happy as she accompanies her husband on his naval vessels. Her freedom of movement combined with the protection of her husband assures her health. Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice and Emma Woodhouse in Emma echo Mrs. Croft’s health and spirits, but both run the risk of impropriety because they have neither proper fathers nor husbands to guide their behavior. Based on all of these examples, we can form a model in which a woman who behaves properly is rewarded by health, but only with the assistance of male guidance. If a woman submits to female direction, then she may suffer ill health as a consequence. Thus, we read

proper male-female (father-daughter and husband-wife) relationships as a taming force and a proper route to health for women in Austen’s novels. Jane Bennet is not in need of taming because of her own behavior but because of her submission to her mother’s inappropriate whims. Despite Jane Bennet’s general behavioral propriety, she falls ill when her mother forces her to be too forward in not taking a carriage on a rainy day visit to Netherfield, in hopes that she will be forced to stay overnight and impose on Mr. Bingley’s hospitality. Jane asks for the use of the carriage, but Mrs. Bennet says, “ ‘No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to rain; and then you must stay all night’” (Austen, Pride 77). Jane is a submissive character, so she does not argue with her mother’s improper suggestion. As a result, Jane does indeed grow ill, but her sweet- nature does not allow herself to directly blame her mother or to relay the seriousness of the situation. In a letter to her sister Elizabeth, Jane writes, “ ‘I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to getting wet through yesterday’” (Austen, Pride 78). Elizabeth sets off at once on foot to attend her sick sister, and once she arrives, “Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment, nor were the other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had in fact nothing to do elsewhere’” (Austen, Pride 80). Elizabeth’s desire to take care of her sister is clearly contrasted here with the intentions of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who see Jane’s malaise as entertainment rather than feeling true concern for her welfare. Mr. Bingley sees Elizabeth’s good intentions and says, “ ‘In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure…and I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well’” (Austen, Pride 83). Elizabeth’s public propriety is increased by her faithful attendance of her sister, but Jane’s health does not fully improve until the end of the novel when she is finally able to win Mr. Bingley’s heart according to her own good graces and independent from the interference of family and friends. In her marriage to Mr. Bingley, Jane gains independence from the poor behavior and improper demands of her mother, and thus she finds a degree of freedom which allows her to pursue a healthy relationship with her husband. Even if Jane must submit to Mr. Bingley in marriage, female submission to male domination is an important part of the patriarchal system. Female submission to other females is not. Like Jane Bennet, Persuasion’s Anne Elliot suffers from poor health when she gives in to the control of her female role model, Lady Russell. Anne becomes an old maid of sorts after she is coerced into refusing the proposal of Captain Frederick Wentworth. She loses her beauty once

her prospects for love have diminished. Austen writes that “A few years before, Anne Elliot had been a very pretty girl, but her bloom had vanished early” (Austen, Persuasion 7), most likely because of her failed relationship with Captain Wentworth years before. Since she loses her bloom after she loses her first love, Anne becomes less likely to find love again. When Captain Wentworth returns years later, he does not even recognize her, which we know from her sister Mary’s authority when she tells Anne, “ ‘You were so altered he should not have known you again’” (Austen, Persuasion 54). However, once Captain Wentworth finds Anne to be worthy of his interest and affection once more, her looks improve. Even her father, typically very critical of the looks of others, notices the change. We see that “[i]n the course of the same morning, Anne and her father chancing to be alone together, he began to compliment her on her improved looks; he thought her ‘less thin in her person, in her cheeks; her skin, her complexion, greatly improved—clearer, fresher” (Austen, Persuasion 130). As the look of health returns to Anne’s physique and is noticed by her family and friends, she becomes eligible for marriage once more. Anne is also able to maintain her looks because of her refusal to overindulge in her feelings like Marianne Dashwood. Rather than succumb to blushes and tears when she hears the name of Captain Wentworth, Anne “left the room, to seek the comfort of cool air for her flushed cheeks” (Austen, Persuasion 23). Unlike Marianne, Anne seeks to quell the symptoms of passion in her body rather than to cultivate them. When she finds herself in uncomfortable situations, she takes time afterwards to calm herself. In one such instance, “She was ashamed of herself, quite ashamed of being so nervous, so overcome by such a trifle; but so it was; and it required a long application of solitude and reflection to recover her” (Austen, Persuasion 73). Anne has the ability to nurse her own emotional upset with “solitude and reflection,” which allows her to maintain her physical health through the avoidance of emotional excess. In addition to her returning bloom of health, Anne Elliot’s abilities as a good nurse help fuel the fires of Frederick Wentworth’s returning affections. Even though Anne may look sad and ill at the beginning of the novel, she is still more capable than everyone around her. However, when she is stuck at Kellynch Hall with a father and sister who find her presence useless, she cannot benefit from her own skills. During her visit to Uppercross Cottage, Anne finds useful occupation in administering to Mary and then to Mary’s injured child. Mary is upset when her husband Charles wishes to dine out after the injury of their young child, but Anne reminds her that “ ‘Nursing does not belong to a man, it is not his province. A sick child is

always the mother’s property, her own feelings generally make it so’” (Austen, Persuasion 51). Anne’s knowledge of proper nursing does not rub off on her sister, however, and when Louisa Musgrove is injured at Lyme, it is again Anne who is in control of the crisis. She commands Captain Benwick thus, “ ‘Leave me, and go to him. Rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts—take them, take them’” (Austen, Persuasion 99). The knowledge of how to revive Louisa falls within the range of female capability. Anne has the knowledge and the composure to take charge in these emergency situations, and both Charles Musgrove and Captain Wentworth “seemed to look to her for directions” (Austen, Persuasion 99). As such, it is clear that nursing can present a form of female power, as it is women who are in charge in the sickroom. Later, as the males of the party discuss what is to be done for Louisa, Captain Wentworth gives a high compliment when he says that there is “ ‘no one so proper, so capable as Anne!’” (Austen, Persuasion 102). It is clear from this compliment regarding Anne’s competence that Captain Wentworth’s regard for Anne is beginning to return, and it is influenced in part by her ability to take control of situations which properly fall under the dominion of female expertise. In her demonstration of female expertise (and subsequent return to marriageability), Anne is able to win back the affections of Captain Wentworth and return to a state of health. Anne Elliot’s health also improves with the prospect of moving within less restricted spaces. At Kellynch Hall, Uppercross Cottage, and Camden-Place, Anne is a powerless guest to her family members who lack appreciation for her. She starts to find freedom and fresh air at Lyme, when she is a guest, because she is a visitor on equal terms with the rest of her party. Anne pushes her freedom further when she insists on visiting her friend Mrs. Smith in a lower- class area of Bath, despite her father’s qualms. Upon marriage to Captain Wentworth, Anne will truly be free from her previously restricted movement. The reader is left to guess where Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth will begin their “settled life” (Austen, Persuasion 221) together, but since Captain Wentworth has no family estate that we know of, Anne also finds herself free of the constraints of the typical landed patriarchal structure. Such freedom will also benefit her health. Like Anne Elliot, Jane Fairfax in Emma displays a behavioral decorum which is undisturbed by emotional outbursts before her engagement. However, she does allow herself to become entangled in a secret engagement with the flirtatious Frank Churchill, which ends up being problematic for her emotional and physical health. “Making Jane Fairfax unhappy, Frank

Churchill finally makes her ill” (Miller 56). Frank’s power over Jane’s emotions spills into a power over her body when she begins to neglect her body in the midst of her emotional trauma. The most basic example of this occurs when her anxiety for correspondence from her fiancé allows her to walk to the post office alone in the rain, much to the concern of her friends (Austen, Emma 273). But even more than exposing her body to the elements, Jane’s secret engagement allows her to expose herself to dangerously pent-up emotions which express themselves through physical disorders. When Frank Churchill arrives in town, her health actually suffers even more in his presence as he flirts with Emma Woodhouse and doesn’t give Jane any concrete hope of marriage. As a result of Frank’s seeming indifference, Jane decides to accept a position as a governess, but before she can leave to assume her post, she becomes ill. “Her health seemed for the moment completely deranged—appetite quite gone—and though there were no absolutely alarming symptoms,…Mr. Perry was uneasy about her” (Austen, Emma 365). The diagnosis for Jane’s complaints is clear in this passage. There is nothing physically wrong with her, but her emotional suffering has physically manifested itself. Indeed, Jane’s problem is that “Her spirits seemed overcome” (Austen, Emma 365). And, unfortunately for Jane, being nursed by her talkative aunt Miss Bates is not the ideal cure for one with such emotional upset. Her doctor feared that “Miss Fairfax derived more evil than good” (Austen, Emma 365) from her aunt’s care. It seems for a while like there is no cure for Jane, because in addition to hiding her engagement, she hides her pain and her contemplation of becoming a governess from her fiancé. When Frank Churchill finds out, he “put an end to the miserable state of concealment that had been carrying on so long” (Austen, Emma 373). Once the engagement is out in the open, Jane’s feelings (and thus her health) are able to recover. Additionally, when Jane abandons the idea of becoming a governess (and thus falling outside of patriarchal norms by caring for the children of others within the space of someone else’s home rather than creating a family of her own), she improves in both health and social standing as a properly marriageable woman. The examples of Anne Elliot and Jane Fairfax lend credence to the idea that in order for a woman to be healthy, she must be marriageable or married in a relationship which allows for a degree of freedom, happiness, and usefulness. Mrs. Croft, the wife of Admiral Croft in Persuasion, makes this idea even more compelling. Mrs. Croft is a woman who has accompanied her husband on most of his naval voyages, and when on dry land, she goes with

him on extensive walks and drives. Perhaps as a result of her freedom of movement or her loving marriage, she has “ ‘always been blessed with excellent health’” (Austen, Persuasion 64). And despite her time spent on ships in war zones, Mrs. Croft further claims that “as long as we could be together, nothing ever ailed me, and I never met with the smallest inconvenience’” (Austen, Persuasion 64). The health of Mrs. Croft in spite of (or perhaps because of) her extensive travels seems to point towards Austen’s awareness of a nervous root of female disease and the role of isolation and dependence on female maladies. Since Mrs. Croft has freedom of movement and expression in her marriage, she is free from the very things which tend to ail confined women. She is not chained to a home which can be like a sickroom. Instead, she finds herself on the open seas, visiting different ports of call, benefiting from fresh air and occupation. Mrs. Croft’s freedom is acceptable because she has a husband to protect her and rein her in as necessary. So how then do we read such women as Elizabeth Bennet and Emma Woodhouse, who both have allowed themselves freedom of movement and expression without the protection of a proper spouse or parent? Elizabeth Bennet does walk three miles alone through the mud to visit her sick sister who is stranded at Netherfield, much to the shock of some of its inhabitants. On the other hand, Mr. Darcy privately shows “admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion” (Austen, Pride 79) and he begins to fall in love with Elizabeth’s independent spirit, which was a rare female possession during Austen’s time. In the end, since Elizabeth’s freedoms do not extend into full-fledged behavioral impropriety (like that which we observe in Lydia Bennet) but rather a refreshing breath of female spirit and intelligence, she is able to (unconsciously) win the affection of the rich and powerful Mr. Darcy. In the course of their interactions, Elizabeth does say some rude things to him “with so little endeavor at civility” (Austen, Pride 222) which she grows to regret, but by the end of the novel, she tames herself to some degree as a result of the realization of some of her mistakes and prejudices. In fact, “her sentiments had undergone so material a change…as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure, his present assurances” (Austen, Pride 375). This “change” in Elizabeth’s opinions shows the reader an ability to learn from and apologize for her prejudices and mistakes, which is not a skill we see taught by either Mr. or Mrs. Bennet. Therefore, by the end of the novel, it seems clear that Elizabeth will benefit not only from Mr. Darcy’s guidance, but from her own, and Mr. Darcy will benefit from her moral and intellectual health as well. In this way, both husband and wife are able to forge a healthful relationship together.

As such, it seems clear that Elizabeth Bennet will bring a breath of fresh air to Mr. Darcy’s ancestral home of Pemberley, thus making it a healthier place to reside. Elizabeth has a “lively, sportive, manner of talking” (Austen, Pride 395) to her husband, which is surprising to Mr. Darcy’s sister Georgiana. Such “liberties” (Austen, Pride 395) on Elizabeth’s part begin to show Georgiana a new paradigm for marriage in which there is an interplay between husband and wife rather than total masculine domination. This new idea brings fresh air and health into a house which had previously been inhabited by more staunch patriarchal values. A similar situation occurs in the case of Emma Woodhouse. At the beginning of the novel, she is perhaps too healthy because she has become unwomanly with the lack of guidance from her invalid father. Family friend Mr. Knightley observes that Emma “ ‘will never submit to any thing requiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding’” (Austen, Emma 36). In addition to being too masculine in her behavior, she also has strong childish streaks. Emma Woodhouse thinks that she knows her own head and heart, but because of her immaturity (which she is oblivious to), her friends do not believe her declarations concerning her own character. According to Mr. Knightley, “ ‘She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just nothing at all’” (Austen, Emma 39). And indeed, Mr. Knightley is right. After many shows of flawed judgment and lack of supervision, Emma realizes that she loves Mr. Knightley, and she tries to modify her own behavior to please him. As in the case of Elizabeth Bennet, we leave the novel with the hope that Emma Woodhouse has gained the ability to judge her own behavior, with a little help from Mr. Knightley, her future husband and surrogate father. These examples of female health deriving from a source of male guidance rather than female advice reflect the language of taming and reform from section I’s sickrooms. However, it would certainly be overstating the case to say that Austen’s novels are advocating the maintenance of absolute patriarchal authority. Indeed, there are many examples which work against that idea. What Austen is doing here is characterizing disease and health as spaces within which gender roles can be examined more fully than is usually possible. The fact that Elizabeth Bennet does alter her behavior over the course of her interactions with Mr. Darcy does not mean he is always right. Elizabeth’s behavior can’t have been so wrong if she is rewarded with marriage to Mr. Darcy. What is really going on here is that the spirited Elizabeth Bennet

needs the protection of Mr. Darcy in order to appear more proper in the eyes of society while maintaining her intellectual independence.

CONCLUSION Austen’s use of illness in her novels is ambiguous in its treatment of male and female characters. She uses disease to reinforce patriarchal gender roles as well as to subvert them. In other words, by interrupting the normal flow of the social system, disease opens a window through which we can look into the inner workings of patriarchy and make judgments with more clarity. At times, disease does afflict those in need of reform and thus functions as a reinforcement mechanism which is essential for the perpetuation of patriarchy. At other times, disease can backfire to push its victims or allow its victims to push themselves beyond the gender boundaries which ill health sometimes maintains. In the sickrooms in section I, disease can be seen to function most generally as a means of pointing out characters who deviate from cultural norms. Many of these characters reform after experiencing illness, but many do not. Some of Austen’s characters are able to rein in their actions of their own accord. Others—more often men than women—never change. A closer look into the sickrooms of three Austen novels in section I shows us the realm of the sickroom as a space which allows for, but does not guarantee, behavioral transformation. Tom Bertram, Louisa Musgrove, and Marianne Dashwood emerge from their sickrooms as very different people: more disciplined, less selfish, and prepared to assume their proper patriarchal roles of heir and wives, respectively. They are schooled by their pain and by the care of their more socially acceptable siblings or friends to sacrifice their own self interest for the sake of the larger good. Or are they? We never see Tom again after his reported recovery, so it is possible that offstage he relapses into his old habits or that he tends towards a more tyrannical patriarchy in the model of his father rather than of Edmund. Either way, Tom’s changes, as a male, are not the ones most necessary for the maintenance of patriarchy. Instead, it is the transgressive female behavior which must be overtly corrected by more proper characters. In the case of Marianne, her marriage to Colonel Brandon demonstrates her transformation to submissiveness, just as the engagement of Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove results from Louisa’s shift to a more appropriate womanhood. Both have “benefited” from the more patriarchal values of their nurses which permeated their personalities in their sickrooms. It is clear that both Marianne and Louisa have changed in such a way that they fit into the proper societal values of their time. What is unclear throughout Austen’s novels is whether this taming to patriarchal structures in female sickrooms is something that Austen considered to be beneficial. Her novels

end with engagements (Persuasion) and weddings (Sense and Sensibility), before we get a sense of the happiness of these marriages. Perhaps this effective obscurity after engagement in marriage is a clue that taming and silencing is not really what these young women deserve, but that they are each forced to face the practical necessity of marriage within their patriarchal society. Section II demonstrates how illness invites gender transgression. Women such as Mrs. Smith and Mary Musgrove in Persuasion and Diana and Susan Parker in Sanditon are accustomed to using infirmity as a form of control over their lives, to varying degrees of success and sympathy. Their success depends to some degree on how skilled they are at hiding this hypocrisy. Male invalids, on the other hand, are men such as Arthur Parker in Sanditon and Mr. Woodhouse in Emma who have given up control to women in the course of their real or imagined illnesses. As such, illness reverses gender roles in Austen’s fiction. And for both genders, disease allows its victims to shirk their patriarchal duties without coming under the social microscope. Obviously, disease can give power to those who know how to use it. What is perhaps less clear is what Austen might have been trying to tell us about this. Austen’s last novel, the incomplete Sanditon, offers the best clues. The three Parker hypochondriacs are ridiculed by the narrator and by the heroine, Charlotte Heywood, even though Jane Austen herself was suffering from a long-term illness which would kill her as she wrote this novel. Perhaps this shows Austen’s disdain for those who were not really suffering but were using disease for their own personal gain. Or perhaps these examples are mainly important in countering the language of sickroom reform from section I. In section III, I demonstrate the strong connection between health and proper relationships and a degree of female freedom. Improper relationships, such as Jane Fairfax’s secret engagement to Frank Churchill in Emma, result in ill health. On the other hand, relationships with a healthy give-and-take, such as the marriage between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, bring increased health to both spouses. Freedom of expression and freedom of movement, as long as they remain within the bounds of behavioral propriety, can also benefit female health, as can limited guidance by a proper man. Yes, the health of women does depend on their relationships with men. Women who are married or marriageable (not, for example, governesses or old maids), are healthy members of the patriarchal order, especially when they are married to men who allow them room to grow. Unlimited freedom is problematic

(as exemplified by Pride and Prejudice’s Lydia Bennet or Sense and Sensibility’s Eliza), but limited female physical and intellectual freedom allows for healthier women who are more productive members of society. Perhaps this is Austen’s way of trying to increase female freedom without overturning the patriarchal order altogether.

REFERENCES Austen, Jane. Emma. New York: Penguin Books, 2003.

Austen, Jane. Lady Susan/The Watsons/Sanditon. New York: Penguin Books, 1974.

Austen, Jane. Mansfield Park. New York: Penguin Books, 1996.

Austen, Jane. Persuasion. New York: Penguin Books, 1998.

Austen, Jane. Sense and Sensibility. New York: Penguin Books, 1995.

Beeton, Isabella. The Book of Household Management. 1861. eBooks@Adelaide. 2004. University of Adelaide. 19 Apr. 2006. .

Berglund, Birgitta. Woman’s Whole Existence: The House as an Image in the Novels of Ann Radcliffe, Mary Wollstonecraft, and Jane Austen. Lund: Lund University Press, 1993.

Flanders, Judith. Inside the Victorian Home: A Portrait of Domestic Life in Victorian England. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2003.

Gilbert, Sandra and Susan Gubar. The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000.

Johnston, Freya. “Public and Private Space in Jane Austen.” English 46.186 (1997): 193-212.

Le Faye, Deirdre, ed. Jane Austen’s Letters. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997.

McAllister, Marie. “ ‘Only to Sink Deeper’: Venereal Disease in Sense and Sensibility.” Eighteenth Century Fiction 17.1 (2004): 87-110.

Martineau, Harriet. Life in the Sick-Room. Toronto: Broadview Literary Texts, 2003.

Miller, D.A. “The Late Jane Austen.” Raritan 10 (1990): 55-79.

Nightengale, Florence. Notes on Nursing. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1969.

Poovey, Mary. The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1984.

Schneider, M. Lucy. “The Little White Attic and the East Room: Their Function in Mansfield Park.” Modern Philology 63 (1965): 227-235.

Tanner, Tony. Jane Austen. London: Macmillan, 1986.

Turner, Bryan. The Body and Society. 2nd ed. Thousand Oaks: SAGE Publications, Inc, 1996.

Turner, Bryan. Medical Power and Social Knowledge. 2nd ed. Thousand Oaks: SAGE Publications Inc, 1995.

Wall, Cynthia. “Gendering Rooms: Domestic Architecture and Literary Acts.” Eighteenth- Century Fiction 5.4 (1993): 349-372.

Wandless, William. “Narrative Pain and the Moral Sense: Toward an Ethics of Suffering in the Long Eighteenth Century.” Literature and Medicine. 24.1 (2005): 51-69.

Warren, Leland E. “The Conscious Speakers: Sensibility and the Art of Conversation Considered.” Sensibility in Transformation: Creative Resistance to Sentiment from the Augustans to the Romantics. Ed. Syndy McMillen Conger. Toronto: Associated University Presses, 1990. 25-42.

Wiltshire, John. Jane Austen and the Body. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992.

Wiltshire, John. “Medicine, illness and disease.” Jane Austen in Context. Ed. Janet Todd. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005. 306-316.

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Kelly Bryan Smith was born in Roanoke, Virginia, on September 3, 1981, and grew up in Richmond, Virginia. She attended the College of William and Mary, where she met her husband, and graduated with a BA in English from Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, Virginia. Upon completion of her MA in Literature at Florida State University, Kelly will earn her MBA at Millsaps College in Jackson, Mississippi.