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were most anxiously attentive to her comfort, it was
impossible for them, if they spoke at all, to keep clear
of every subject which her feelings connected with
him.
Marianne would have thought herself very
inexcusable had she been able to sleep at all the first
night after parting from Willoughby. . . . But the
feelings which made such composure a disgrace, left
her in no danger of incurring it. . . . She got up with a
headache, was unable to talk, and unwilling to take
any nourishment; giving pain every moment to her
mother and sisters, and forbidding all attempt at
consolation from either. Her sensibility was potent
enough! (Austen, 2006: 95-96)
On the face of it, this passage discusses Marianne’s passions
and represents one of a few occasions in the novel where the
title key word “sensibility” occurs. Indicating an ability to feel
strongly for another party, be it a human being, an animal, a
piece of art or natural landscape, sensibility in Austen’s age
evokes sympathetic interaction, one that bridges the artificial
distances of gender, class, race and age.
This passage,
however, casts doubt on the usual assumption that sensibility is
the crucial concern in this novel, not least because sympathetic
exchange, the hallmark of the eighteenth-century sentimental
culture, is conspicuously absent here.
For one thing, an invisible wall is established between
Marianne and her family as Marianne shuts down all avenues
of communication. She is “unable to talk” and “forbid[s] all
attempt at consolation from” her friends. Moreover, absorbed
in her sorrow, Marianne shows no concern for the discomfort
she causes her family. This absence of reciprocal sympathy
suggests that unconcern is Austen’s real narrative focus. Austen
7
Julie Ellison, for instance, argues that “sensibility mattered because it
provided a way to feel toward others across distances of place, time, race,
and social class” (2012: 41).
