The teenage Jane Austen was aware of the delights and treacheries of friendships, a topic she parodies in her early short work Love and Freindship, in which the adventuresome Laura spins an absurd tale, at one point noting of a woman she meets that “her Heart was no more formed for the soft ties of Love than for the endearing intercourse of Freindship” (Minor Works 83).  Neither is Laura’s.  In her full-length novels, Austen employs friendship strategically to reveal its transformative uses.  In the challenging social world that her principal female characters traverse, a friend who not only understands one’s feelings but is perceptive about the others’ motives can be lifesaving.  What would Marianne be without Elinor?  Or Elizabeth without Jane’s calmer observational eye?  In both cases a best friend is close at hand in a sister.

Even nonrelated female friends can become “families of the heart,” to use Ann Campbell’s term for the convention of surrogate families in eighteenth-century novels.  In Sense and Sensibility, Mrs. Jennings “ultimately surprises us by a warmth and genuineness” towards the two older Dashwood sisters (Johnson xiv), revealing herself to be a true friend.  Elizabeth Bennet has clearly relied on the perceptive Charlotte Lucas for a different type of support from that her sister Jane provides.  Equally, in Charlotte’s insistence that Lizzy visit her marital home—“‘Promise me . . . to come to Hunsford’”— readers understand that protecting this friendship is one of the ways Charlotte plans to survive a loveless marriage (PP 146).  She understands the truth of the saying “Men need women, and women need women.”  In her own life, Austen “deeply valued the loyalty and companionship of those friends [like Martha Lloyd] whom she could regard almost as sisters” (Byrne 94). 

While Austen’s novels principally concern the female experience, including their intimate friendships, she has much to say as well about male friendship.  Indeed, the two forms of gendered friendship implicate and inform each other.  As Michael Kramp and other scholars have observed, shifting aspects of Regency masculinity are profoundly influential in Austen’s plots and in her characters’ progression.  This article joins a series of continuing critical responses to masculinity within Austen’s work that seek to analyze “the complexity and diversity of masculinity in her fiction” (Kramp 10). 

In Becoming the Gentleman: British Literature and the Invention of Modern Masculinity, 1660–1815, Jason Solinger argues that the writers he discusses, including Austen, conjured “new forms of masculinity” while still employing the familiar word “gentleman” (3).  Thus, Persuasion’s Captain Wentworth is both a “new masculine ideal” in his commercial successes and a traditional gentleman (9).  I wish to center a discussion of Wentworth and other Austen male characters on the issue of male friendship.  Austen’s principal men need a friend or need to be a true friend to become the men her women will, by story’s end, wish to marry. 

Claudia Johnson wisely advises readers of Sense and Sensibility not to overlook “just how much material it devotes to the manners of men of family” (344–45).  While much of that behavior is “venal,” Austen also depicts beneficial close male comradeship (Johnson 344).  These relationships might not have the surface intensity of the female friendships, but they are nevertheless quietly telling.  Stephanie Barron has argued that Austen’s women must act as “private detectives” to discover the true character of marriage prospects in a society where that decision holds such irrevocable weight (48–49).  Male friendships provide a guide of sorts in that detection:  good men in Austen are good friends to other men. 

Austen’s own family and friends gave her many contexts for observing male communities.  Five of her six brothers were at home until they left for Oxford University, the Royal Naval Academy, or the Grand Tour, and her father’s pupils, who lived in the Steventon rectory, increased the number and variety of male friendships for her to consider.  “Boys’ talk and boys’ interests dominated the [Austen] breakfast and dinner table,” Claire Tomalin notes in her biography (25). 

Austen was prescient in her delineation of how much harder life is for men without emotional connections.  Male characters without the essential resource of same-sex friendship struggle to navigate courtship difficulties.  Austen shows that the rules of the Regency marriage market privileging class and money could hurt men as well as women and suggests that those male characters who do have close friendships with other men—as seen, for example, in Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Persuasion—are at an enormous advantage.  Besides delineating the characters of her male protagonists, these friendships often instigate action.  Austen suggests that men, in fact, need men. 

There were countless social, professional, and military homosocial institutions that drew men together in Regency society.  But cultural mores still restrained most men from seeing another man as something more than a hunting or drinking companion—as a repository of his secrets, yearnings, or fears.  In Sense and Sensibility, the seemingly social Willoughby chooses Elinor as the uncomfortable recipient of his tortured defense of his indefensible actions regarding Marianne.  Of necessity, Regency society fostered strong networks of female friendship.  Austen suggests, through plot and character, that male friendship could provide an equally useful refuge for men, one that Willoughby lacks. 

While Regency men undoubtedly possessed “a kind of power unavailable to women,” male characters who are friendless have less power (Spacks 362).  Thus Edward, who is not close to his brother, drifts unmoored, especially after first his family and then Lucy Steele herself dump him.  His savior is male kindness—Colonel Brandon’s offer of the Delaford living. 

Sir John Middleton’s “friendly accommodation” of “a small house on very easy terms” (23) to the Dashwood women ends up making him a savior of sorts to Colonel Brandon, providing another example of male friendship substantively influencing plot and establishing character.  Early in the novel, the narrator of Sense and Sensibility informs us that Sir John’s “only resources” were hunting and shooting (32), but that observation is almost immediately contradicted when he apologizes to the visiting Dashwood sisters that, while he couldn’t get any “smart young men” over on such short notice, his “particular friend,” Colonel Brandon, will join them that evening (33).  Although Brandon “seemed no more adapted by resemblance of manner” to be Sir John’s friend, Middleton turns out to be a great friend to the Colonel.  Not only does he provide a social life for his isolated friend, he introduces the “silent and grave” Brandon to Marianne Dashwood, his future wife (34). 

When it becomes clear to him that Marianne is falling in love with Willoughby, Sir John Middleton exhibits genuine concern for his friend.  He presents a spirited defense of Brandon’s attractions to Elinor and Marianne, ignoring the latter’s increasing frustration at his direct comments.  After detailing Willoughby’s property, and acknowledging that he is “‘well worth catching,’” Sir John suggests that Elinor, rather than Marianne, pursue Willoughby:  “‘Brandon will be jealous, if she does not take care’” (44).  Ignoring Marianne’s objection to trite descriptions of romantic pursuit, Sir John remarks feelingly, “‘Poor Brandon . . . is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth setting your cap at’” (45). 

Brandon’s own efforts toward friendship go beyond Sir John’s words as he takes effective action to assist Edward Ferrars when he is suddenly impoverished.  Brandon moves Edward from acquaintance to new friend by offering him a living when Edward’s mother disinherits him.  When Elinor first informs Edward of Brandon’s gift, Edward calls him “‘a man of great worth.’”  Elinor urges that their “farther acquaintance” will confirm this sentiment, since Edward’s future life will be with Brandon as “‘very near neighbours’” (290).  By the novel’s end, Brandon and Edward are brothers-in-law, with wives whose sisterly closeness promises to foster the men’s lifelong friendship.  Brandon will finally have the close brother he lacked in his conniving older one, and Edward will have the generous brother he lacked in his self-centered younger one, and readers get another example of how “the interplay between social and marital networks” works in Austen (Carlson 145). 

In Pride and Prejudice, male friendship is a central issue throughout the narrative of Elizabeth and Darcy’s courtship.  In his emotional letter to Elizabeth following his failed proposal, Darcy responds in detail to her charge that he betrayed Wickham, “‘the companion of my youth,’” and “‘blasted’” his future “‘prospects’” (196).  The young Wickham was beloved by Darcy’s father, to whom he was godson, “‘the truest friend I ever had,’” Wickham avers (78).  Darcy senior’s friendship afforded Wickham a “‘gentleman’s education’” and the promise of “‘a valuable family living’” (200). 

While Wickham was adept at hiding his ingrained immorality from Darcy’s father, Darcy himself was undeceived.  Although Wickham’s greed and “vicious propensities” caused him to lose his youthful relationship with Darcy, even its vestiges assist him greatly later in life (200).  Between the senior Darcy’s true feelings of friendship towards the young Wickham, and his son’s sense of financial obligation to him based on his father’s directives, Wickham disproves John Knightley’s observation that “‘Business . . . may bring money, but friendship hardly ever does’” (Emma 293).  Ironically, Darcy answers Elizabeth’s charge that he is a false friend to Wickham by performing the actions of a good friend—paying his debts, effecting a respectable marriage, and purchasing his commission—despite his disdain for the man. 

The false narrative that Wickham spins for Elizabeth about his friendship with Darcy plays out for readers who already know that Darcy has a loyal “‘great friend’” in Charles Bingley (184).  Jane confirms to Elizabeth that, while Bingley told her he didn’t know all of Darcy and Wickham’s history, Bingley “will vouch for the good conduct, the probity and honour of his friend” (95).  When Bingley leaves Netherfield, Elizabeth declares to her aunt that he has done so under Darcy’s influence: “‘Mr. Bingley never stirs without him’” (141).  As readers grow to like his eager and warm friend Bingley, we suspect that Darcy might deserve at least our reserved judgment.  Elizabeth, of course, eventually realizes the truth about Darcy’s character.  In her mortified reflections after reading his letter concerning Wickham, she understands that it was “incomprehensible” that “such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley” could be friends with the Darcy that Wickham had described to her (208).  Equally, that readers like Elizabeth so much and follow her line of thinking on Darcy for so long makes Austen’s slow reveal of his kindness even more satisfying.  The strength of Darcy and Bingley’s “very steady friendship” (16) is reaffirmed at the novel’s end when Darcy apologizes to him for his misguided interference regarding Jane, and Jane tells Elizabeth that “‘as Bingley’s friend and your husband, there can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me’” (374). 

Another close friend of Darcy’s, Colonel Fitzwilliam, “a well-bred man,” who “talked very pleasantly,” is clearly as loyal to him as Bingley is, especially due to their relationship as cousins who share the guardianship of Darcy’s sister, Georgiana (171).  Their friendship provides yet another testimony to Darcy’s true character.  Darcy and Fitzwilliam have shared the horror of their charge’s near-elopement at fifteen with the fortune-hunting Wickham.  Darcy’s letter to Elizabeth notes his “‘near relationship and constant intimacy’” with the Colonel, and he calls upon that close friendship for the “testimony” of the truth of his shocking epistolary revelations (202–03).  It is, of course, Colonel Fitzwilliam who has inadvertently informed Elizabeth of Darcy’s plotting to curtail Bingley’s courtship of Jane.  That the colonel knows of Darcy’s action testifies to their closeness. 

In Emma, it is not only Mr. Knightley’s name that indicates that he will be the one to save the title character from her own worst instincts.  His web of friendships with a number of very different men reveals his thoughtfulness and emotional depth, qualities that Emma eventually realizes that she herself has relied on in her friend and that she wants in a husband. 

Austen’s flawed title character needs a partner who loves her despite her “disposition to think a little too well of herself” (5) and to bully others.  Emma states she has “‘little intention of ever marrying,’” that she must “‘see somebody very superior to any one I have seen yet’” (84).  Thus, Emma must slowly discover just why Mr. Knightley is that superior person.  A principal narrative technique that Austen employs to guide her to that discovery is highlighting Knightley’s warm friendships with men:  Emma’s father, Mr. Woodhouse; his brother, John Knightley; and his tenant Robert Martin. 

Those friendships vary, but all establish Mr. Knightley as a gentleman who merits friends.  Mr. Woodhouse’s desire to remain at home and complain of his worries about health does nothing to deter his neighbor Mr. Knightley’s constant companionship.  Knightley’s visits with his older friend bookend the novel, suggesting how essential that relationship is to his happy marriage with Emma. 

George Knightley also has a friend in his younger brother.  His warm fraternal feelings towards John are obvious in their first greeting during John’s family’s visit to Hartfield.  Although the brothers’ manner might suggest “indifference,” in fact their “real attachment . . . would have led either of them, if requisite, to do every thing for the good of the other” (99–100).  Part of what John does for his brother is provide a refuge in his London home when George feels certain he has lost Emma forever.  Mr. Knightley leaves Highbury for London “to spend a few days with John and Isabella” (385).  While we aren’t told whether the brothers speak directly about George’s pressing concern, we suspect they do because of how quickly Mr. Knightley will write announcing his “intended marriage,” with Mr. Knightley assuring Emma that “‘John enters like a brother into my happiness’” (464).  Despite their different temperaments, the brothers are close friends who wind up being married to sisters. 

Another friend of Mr. Knightley’s is the farmer Robert Martin, who rents land from him.  In love with Harriet Smith, Emma’s new friend, Martin goes to his landlord and mentor for advice on a possible engagement.  In Mr. Knightley Austen provides a character to whom readers across centuries are attracted, one whose friendships cross both age and class boundaries.  When Emma plots to part Harriet from Martin, she and Mr. Knightley argue as he stands up for his friend:  “‘He knows I have a thorough regard for him . . . and, I believe, considers me as one of his best friends’” (59). 

Mr. Knightley’s impatience with Emma stems not just from her wrongful interference but from its hurtful effects on a male friend whom he has encouraged in a relationship he thinks would be a happy one.  Emma is a class snob, calling Martin a “‘vulgar farmer’” (33); Knightley is a friend to all men of merit.  Since Austen’s “male characters remain somewhat reticent” (Kramp 10), Austen lets friendships such as Knightley’s speak for them, including to the women interested in them.  Knightley patiently listens when needed, as shown particularly in his friendships with Mr. Woodhouse and Robert Martin—an attractive characteristic the effusive Emma will realize she values. 

Although women “‘live at home, quiet, confined,’” as Persuasion’s Anne Elliot points out (232), Regency men are thrown together by business affairs and sporting activities.  While they may not suffer from social isolation, they often do from emotional isolation.  In this novel Austen once again uses close male friendship—this time from Captain Wentworth’s naval life, which has fostered unusually close male friendships—as a device to reveal Wentworth’s constancy, even before his heartfelt letter to Anne proves the same at novel’s end. 

Although Persuasion focuses on Anne’s loneliness, Wentworth is the one who feels rejected.  In Lyme we learn that male friendship is one way that he has assuaged his isolation.  There he visits sailor friends Captains Harville and Benwick, and simultaneously comforts Benwick, whose fiancée, Harville’s sister, has recently died.  Captain Harville has taken the bereaved Benwick into his snug marital home—with “rooms so small” (98)—to comfort him.  Although “no reader” himself, Harville has made bookshelves for his literature-loving friend (99).  The close spaces of Harville’s home, which he opens to Benwick and to which he welcomes Wentworth, represent their emotional closeness.  Wentworth’s initial visit to Lyme results in a return visit with the Musgroves and Anne.  Louisa Musgrove observes of the three men that “their friendliness, their brotherliness,” convinces her “of sailors having more worth and warmth than any other set of men in England” (99).  Through the active investment of these male protagonists in their friendships, Austen signals that these men are special and valuable.  These are also men who value women in a culture that doesn’t. 

Anne’s acute sensitivity to Wentworth allows her understanding of the three men’s unusual closeness and kindness towards each other.  Just before Louisa’s accident on the Cobb, Captain Harville tells Anne that Wentworth had been the one to perform the heartbreaking task of informing Captain Benwick that his fiancée was dead.  “‘Nobody could do it, but that good fellow,’” Harville tells her of Wentworth (108).  These men are clearly not afraid to publicly signal their caring for each other, suggesting their value to a future wife.  Captain Harville’s emotional conversation with Anne at the White Hart, where he argues for the depth of men’s feelings, spurs Wentworth to declare to Anne, “‘You pierce my soul’” (237). 

The men’s friendships stand in contrast to that between Anne’s cousin William Walter Elliot and Mr. Charles Smith, the deceased husband of Anne’s old friend Mrs. Smith.  Anne is eventually informed by her friend that William Elliot was “‘the intimate friend of my dear husband, who trusted and loved him’” (199)—but that Mr. Elliot betrayed that trust by not assisting his friend’s destitute widow, although he had been appointed Mr. Smith’s executor (209).  Although Mr. Elliot desires to marry Anne, Austen has made clear that a bad friend would make an equally bad husband. 

Sarah Ailwood argues that Austen “demonstrates that both women and men benefit from developing a relational rather than an isolated self.”  Indeed they do.  Her novels show the benefits of men befriending other men and of the ways those close associations can reveal and shape character.  Austen was prescient in illustrating in her novels the value of male friendships, of being a good friend to another man rather than seeing him as competition.  She portrays these same-sex friendships as essential life resources providing not just companionship but also someone to confide in and rely on in difficult moments—the same benefits female friendships provide.  Through observing how her male characters act towards their male friends, both female protagonists and readers are moved inexorably towards an understanding of the men’s moral character and, in many instances, the type of supportive marital companionship they will offer Austen’s heroines.