Sense and Sensibility, Volume the Third, Chapters Nine and Ten

In which the Dashwood family is happily reunited and returns to Barton, where Marianne continues to recover her strength and settle her spirits, and is made acquainted with Willoughby's story.



And now we're barreling towards our presumably happy ending (unless Marianne pulls a Beth March on us). Marianne's brush with death has apparently taught her a bit of a lesson, re: her feelings, and indulgence thereof. But no one we like has gotten married yet! I assume that will be taken care of soon. ROMANCE.

No illustrations of the happy Dashwoods together again; no, we'll see "how the children go on," or something:

18:16 - "And see how the children go on."

If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg, and high-res copies of the Thompson illustrations can be found in the British Library's Flickr stream. No reading ahead, though!

Sense and Sensibility, Volume the Third, Chapter Eight

In which Willoughby attempts to justify his actions, and... and that's about it, actually.



Aww, don't you feel bad for poor Willoughby now? It's not that he didn't care about Marianne, he just cared about money more! Because he had such a tendency to spend beyond his means!

And look at this, while the tiniest violin in the world plays during this one chapter, Willoughby manages to get three whole illustrations:

2:02 - "I entreat you to stay."

In case anyone thought I simply mispronounced the word "luncheon" at 4:49, I did indeed say "nunchion." That is, in fact, the word that "luncheon" came from in the first place, meaning a light meal in the middle of the day or between larger meals, and coming itself (naturally enough) in part from the word "noon."

13:45 - "I was formally dismissed."

20:21 - "I have entered many a shop to avoid your sight."

When Willoughby says that he encountered Sir John in Drury Lane lobby at 27:44, he's referring to the lobby of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, a huge and well-known theater of the time. If I'm not mistaken, its concessions were supplied by a mysterious gentleman known only as "the Muffin Man."

And, I must say, I absolutely love the fact that Sir John brings up the issue of the puppy again, so many chapters later.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg, and high-res copies of the Thompson illustrations can be found in the British Library's Flickr stream. No reading ahead, though!

Sense and Sensibility, Volume the Third, Chapters Six and Seven

In which Elinor and Marianne arrive at the Palmers' residence, where Marianne takes dreadfully ill, everyone is very concerned and Colonel Brandon is dispatched to fetch Mrs. Dashwood; and in which there is a shocking twist!



Drama! Yes, we've come to the part that fans of the book have most likely been waiting for, where everything actually comes to a head, and we see that, while an excess of sensibility (here defined as feeling and expressing all emotions most intensely) can be dangerous, an excess of calmness and tranquility (or "sense") can sometimes lead to inaction when action may very much be needed. I wonder if any sort of lesson will be learned by either or both of the sisters?

Oh, crap. I have to use the "tedious moralizing" tag on myself, now.

4:46 - Showing her child to the housekeeper.

5:49 - The gardener's lamentations.

The only note I've got is at 15:07, where we hear about another card game. Mrs. Jennings insists that Colonel Brandon stay during Marianne's illness in order to keep her company while Elinor was sitting with Marianne, and "play at piquet of an evening," a pretense Mrs. Jennings thought necessary as to not separate Colonel Sad-eyes from Elinor, and which he was more than willing to accept so as not to be separated from Marianne. Well, piquet (in which the "t" is pronounced, because what are we, French?) is a trick-taking card game, like whist is (y'all remember whist, right?), but for only two players. It seems a bit complicated, involving a 32-card deck that had the 2-6 cards of each suit removed. Each player gets 12 cards, but then gets a chance to exchange up to five of them with cards from the remaining eight cards of the deck. Once both have exchanged, one declares what points they can make with their hand (like, "Point of four," meaning four of one suit). The other one then sees if they can beat it, and points are scored accordingly. You apparently want to do this without revealing too much of the specifics of what you actually have in your hand. Once this "declaration" phase is over and scored, they move into "play," which is fairly standard trick-taking: one lays down a card, the other lays down a card of the same suit. Whoever lays down the higher card wins the trick and scores. There are other ways to score as well, involving who does what first and who's dealing and such. Ultimately, whoever makes it to 100 points first wins.

Anyway, piquet was developed in France and was enormously popular there for a long time. It went in and out of fashion among Britain's upper crust for a couple of hundred years, until roughly a century ago when Bridge knocked it down into obscurity. And if you want to play it, there's an app for that. Because of course there is. Free on Android, and... $7.99 on iOS? Dang. You Apple folks are getting shafted in the archaic card game department.

28:55 - Opened a window-shutter.

If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg, and high-res copies of the Thompson illustrations can be found in the British Library's Flickr stream. No reading ahead, though!

Sense and Sensibility, Volume the Third, Chapters Four and Five

In which Mrs. Jennings and Elinor continue to play Mr. Roper and Jack Tripper, respectively; Elinor makes the Colonel's offer to Edward in a scene of much awkwardity; and we revisit Mr. John Dashwood and our narrator's favorite, Mr. Robert Ferrars, to hear their reactions to the whole affair.



Yup, rushing around again today, sneaking a recording in a conference room at work. No notes, but two illustrations:

14:33 - Both gained considerable amusement.

 Maybe not a note, but perhaps it should be pointed out in case it wasn't clear: Mrs. Jenning's confusion, whereby she thinks that Edward is to be "the man," is that she thinks Colonel Brandon and Elinor intend to have him be the officiant for their wedding, explaining why they want to wait for him to take orders, and why she thinks it silly for them to put off their marriage for two or three months just to give him a gig. Really, if that were the case, he should just get ordained by the Universal Life Church, like my officiant did. Why, he could've been ready in a matter of minutes!
 

22:58 - "Of one thing I may assure you."

If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg, and high-res copies of the Thompson illustrations can be found in the British Library's Flickr stream. No reading ahead, though!

Sense and Sensibility, Volume the Third, Chapters Two and Three

In which communications are heard from both Misses Steele: nosily from the elder -- now apparently named Anne? -- and triumphantly from the younger; and Colonel Brandon offers Elinor a home and living for Edward, which Mrs. Jennings overhears and Three's Companys into an offer of marriage.



In a hurry, sorry! This was recorded in a commandeered conference room at work, and is being written up at a play rehearsal, so I gotta be quick! Two illustrations:

5:30 - "She put the feather in last night."

9:59 - Listening at the door.

And one note: at 11:09, Miss Steele mentions that she feared that Fanny Dashwood would take back the huswifes she had made the Misses Steele, and so "took care to keep [hers] out of sight." Looking it up, a huswife is an obsolete term for, naturally, "housewife." It seems that the term took somewhat of a turn over the centuries, though, to come to mean "a worthless woman," which is of course where we also get the more familiar word "hussy." Now, why Mrs. Dashwood should take to give the Steeles a pair of such women, and how exactly Miss Steele went about hiding hers in front of Mrs. Dashwood, I don't... what? Oh, the third definition, "A small case containing scissors, thread, needles and other sewing things." Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I prefer my version.

UPDATE: Listener Christy has helpfully researched -- i.e., done the seconds of Googling I couldn't be arsed to do -- and cleared up that the name "Nancy" was originally a diminutive of "Anne, " explaining why the elder Miss Steele is referred to by both names. Thanks, Christy!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg, and high-res copies of the Thompson illustrations can be found in the British Library's Flickr stream. No reading ahead, though!

Sense and Sensibility, Volume the Third, Chapter One

In which the secret engagement of Edward Ferrars and Lucy Steele is revealed to the great consternation of his mother and sister, we see that Mrs. Jennings may be a ridiculous old busybody but she is still a good sort, and Elinor can now finally come clean to Marianne about her feeeeelings, mainly about how she has them.



All right, we've entered the final third of the novel now, and all secret engagements have now been revealed! OR HAVE THEY? They probably have. Only a single chapter, but three illustrations to go with it, and one note: round abouts 2:50, Mrs. Jennings declares that her new grandchild has "the red gum," which a footnote in my edition of the book helpfully explains means "teething rash," a fact that I share in the recording before digressing into wondering how teething would cause pimples, and ending in a Btterfly McQueen impression for some reason. Well, as it turns out I was right to doubt my baby-knowledge, as teething rash is indeed a skin rash caused by skin irritation from excessive drooling due to teething. And now you know!

3:04 - In a whisper.

16:15 - "You have heard, I suppose."

22:24 - Talking over the business.

If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg, and high-res copies of the Thompson illustrations can be found in the British Library's Flickr stream. No reading ahead, though!