its. J Co
/
OF F4C5TIOJC 1
BYTHEMOST
CELEBRATED AUTHORS.
BELFAST,
SIMMS &MSINTYRE.
LONDON,
W. S.ORR &GO.
VOLUME IV.
MANSFIELD PARK.
MANSFIELD PARK:
A NOVEL
BY JANE AUSTEN,
AUTHOR OF " SENSE AND SENSIBILITY," " EMMA," ETC.
BELFAST:
SIMMS AND M'lNTYRE.
LONDON : W. S. ORR AND CO. AMEN CORNER.
1846.
BELFAST : PRINTED BY SIMMS ASD M'lHTYBB.
MANSFIELD PARK.
VOLUME THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
BOUT thirty years ago,
Miss Maria Ward of Hun-
tingdon, with only seven
thousand pounds, had the
good luck to captivate Sir
^ Thomas Bertram, of Mans-
}> ) field Park, in the county of
Northampton, and to l:e
thereby raised to the rau'c
of a baronet's lady, with
all the comforts and con-
sequences of a handsome
house and large income.
All Huntingdon exclaimed
on the greatness of tha
match; and her uncle, the lawyer, himself, allowed her to bo
at least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it.
She had two sisters to be benefitted by her elevation ; and su Ji
of their acquaintance as thought Miss Ward and Miss Frances
quite as handsome as Miss Maria, did not scruple to predict their
marrying with almost equal advantage. But there certainly are
not so many men of large fortune in the world as there are
pretty women to deserve them. Miss Ward, at the end of half-
a-dozen years, found herself obliged to be attached to the Rev.
Mr. Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law, with scarcely any
private fortune, and Miss Frances fared yet worse. Miss Ward's
match, indeed, when it came to the point, was not contemptible,
Sir Thomas being happily able to give his friend an income in
(1) A
2 MANSFIELD PARK.
the living of Mansfield ; and Mr. and Mrs. Norris began their
career of conjugal felicity -with very little less than a thousand a
year. But Miss Frances married, in the common phrase, to
disoblige her family, and by fixing on a lieutenant of marines,
without education, fortune, or connexions, did it very thoroughly.
She could hardly have made a more untoward choice. Sir
Thomas Bertram had interest, which, from principle us well as
pride, from a general wish of doing right, and a desire of seeing
all that were connected with him in situations of respectability,
he would have been glad to exert for the advantage of Lady
Bertram's sister; but her husband's profe.-sion was such as no
interest could reach; and before he had time to devise any other
method of assisting them, an absolute breach between the sisters
had taken place. It was the natural result of the conduct of
each party, and such as a very imprudent marriage almost
always produces. To save herself from useless remonstrance,
Mrs. Price never wrote to her family on the subject till actually
married. Lady Bertram, who was a woman of very tranquil
feelings, and a temper remarkably easy and indolent, would have
contented herself wit li merely giving up her sister, and thinking
no more of the matter: but Mrs. Morris had a spirit of activity,
which could not be satisfied till she had written a long and angry
letter to Fanny, to point out the folly of her conduct, and
threaten her with all its possible ill consequences. Mi>. 1'ri.e,
in her turn, was injured and angry; and an answer, which
comprehended each sister in its bitterness, and bestowed such
very disrespectful reflections on the pride of Sir Thomas, as Mrs.
Norris could not iwssibly keep to herself, put an end to all
intercourse between them for a considerable period.
Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they
moved so distinct, as almost to preclude the niean.i of ever
hearing of each other's existence during the eleven following
years, or at least to make it very wonderful to .Sir Thomas, that
Mrs. Norris should ever have it in her power to tell them, as she
now and then did in an angry voice, that Fanny had got another
child. By the end of eleven years, however, Mrs. Trice could
no longer afford to cherish pride or resentment, or to lose one
connexion that might possilily a.v-ist her. A large; and still
increasing family, a husband disabled for active service, but not
the less equal to company and good liquor, and a very small
income to supply their wants, made her eager to regain the
friends she had so carelessly sacrificed; and she addressed Lady
Bertram in a letter which spoke so much contrition and despond-
ence, such a superfluity of children, and such a want of almost
everything else, as could not but dispose them all to a recon-
ciliation. She was preparing for her ninth lying-in; and after
bewailing the circumstance, and imploring their countenance an
MANSFIELD PARK. 3
sponsors to the expected child, she could not conceal how im-
portant she felt they might be to the 'future maintenance of the
eight already in being. Her eldest was a boy of ten years old,
a fine spirited fellow, who longed to be out in the world; but
what could she do? Was there any chance of his being hereafter
useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property?
No situation would be beneath him or what did Sir Thomas
think of Woolwich? or how could a boy be sent out to the East?
The letter was not unproductive. It re-established peace and
kindness. Sir Thomas sent friendly advice and professions,
Lady Bertram dispatched money and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norris
wrote the letters.
Such were its immediate effects, and within a twelvemonth a
more important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it. Mrs.
Norris was often observing to the others, that she could not get
her poor sister and her family out of her head, and that, much as
they had all done for her, she seemed to be wanting to do more ;
and at length she could not but own it to be her wish, that poor
Mrs. Price should be relieved from the charge and expense of
one child entirely out of her great number.
" What if they were among them to undertake the care of her
eldest daughter, a girl now nine years old, of an age to require
.more attention than her poor mother could possibly give? The
trouble and expense of it to them would be nothing, compared
with the benevolence of the action." Lady Bertram agreed wi^h
her instantly. "I think we cannot do better," said she; "let
us send for the child."
Sir Thomas could not give so instantaneous and unqualified a
consent. He debated and hesitated: it was a serious charge;
. a girl so brought up must be adequately provided for, or there
would be cruelty instead of kindness in taking her from her
family. He thought of his own four children of his two sons
of cousins in love, &c.; but no sooner had he deliberately
begun to state his objections, than Mrs. Norris interrupted him
with a reply to them all, whether stated or not.
" My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you, and do
justice to the generosity and delicacy of your notions, which
indeed are quite of a piece with your general conduct; and I
entirely agree with you in the main as to the propriety of doing
everything one could by way of providing for a child one had in
a manner taken into one's own hands; and I am sure I should
be the last person in the world to withhold my mite upon such
an occasion. Having no children of my own, who should I
look to in any little matter I may ever have to !u .-stow, Lut the
children of my sisters'? and I am sure Mr. Norris is too just
but you know I am a woman of few words and professions. Do
not let us be frightened from a good deed by a trifle. Give a
4 MANSFIELD PARK.
girl an education, and introduce her properly into the world, and
ten to one but she has the means of settling well, without farther
expense to anybody. A niece of ours, Sir Thomas, I may say.
or, at least, of yours, would not grow up in this neighbourhood
without many advantages. I don't say she would be so hand-
some as her cousins. I dare say she would pot ; but she would
be introduced into the society of this country under such very
favourable circumstances as, in all human probability, would gi-t
her a creditable establishment. You are thinking of your sons
but do not you know that of all tilings upon earth that is the
least likely to happen; brought up as they would IK I , always
together like brothers and sisters? It is morally impossible. I
never knew an instance of it It is, in fact, the only sure way
of providing against the connexion. Suppose her a pretty girl,
and seen by .Tom or Edmund for the first time seven years hence,
and I dare say there woidd be mischief. The very idea of her
having been suffered to grow up at a distance from us all in
poverty and neglect, would be enough to make either of the dear,
sweet-tempered boys in love with her. But breed her up with
them from this time, and suppose her even to have the beauty of
an angel, and she will never be more to either than a sister."
" There is a great deal of truth in what you say," replied Sir
Thomas, " and far be it from me to throw any fanciful impediment.
in the way of a plan which would be so consistent with the
relative situations of each. I only meant to observe, that, it
ought not to be lightly engaged in, and that to make it really
serviceable to Mrs. Price, and creditable to ourselves, we must
secure to the child, or consider ourselves engaged to secure to
her hereafter, as circumstances may arise, the provision of a
gentlewoman, if no such establishment should offer as you are so
sanguine in expeeting."
" I thoroughly understand you," cried Mrs. Xorris; "you are
everything that is generous and considerate, and I am sure we
shall never disagree on this point. "Whatever I can do, as you
well know, I am always ready enough to do for the good of those
I love; and, though I could never feel for tliis little girl the
hundredth part of the regard I bear your own dear children, nor
consider her, in any respect, so much my own, I should hate
myself if I were capable of neglecting her. Is not she a sister's
child? and could I bear to see her want, while I had a bit of
bread to give her? My dear Sir Thomas, with all my faults I
have a warm heart ; and, poor as I am, would rather deny myself
the necessaries of life, than do an ungenerous thing. So, if you
are not against it, I will write to my poor sister to-morrow, and
make the proposal; and, as soon as matters are settled, 7 will
engage to get the child to Mansfield; you shall have no trouble
about it, My own trouble, you know, I never regard. I will
MANSFIELD PARK. 5
send Nanny to London on purpose, and she may have a bed at
her cousin's, the saddler, and the child be appointed to meet her
there. They may easily get her from Portsmouth to town by
the coach, under the care of any creditable person that may
chance to be going. I dare say there is always some reputable
tradesman's wife or other going up."
Except to the attack on Nanny's cousin, Sir Thomas no longer
made any objection, and a more respectable, though less economical
rendezvous being accordingly substituted, everything was con-
sidered as settled, and the pleasures of so benevolent a scheme
were already enjoyed. The division of gratifying sensations
ought not, in strict justice, to have been equal; for Sir Thomas
was fully resolved to be the real and consistent patron of the
selected child, and Mrs. Norris had not the least intention of
being at any expense whatever in her maintenance. As far as
walking, talking, and contriving reached, she was thoroughly
benevolent, and nobody knew better how to dictate liberality to
others; but her love of money was equal to her love of directing,
and she knew quite as well how to save her own as to spend that
of her friends. Having married on a narrower income than she
had been used to look forward to, she had, from the first, fancied
a very strict line of economy necessary ; and what was begun as
a matter of prudence, soon grew into a matter of choice, as an
object of that needful solicitude, which there were no children to
supply. Had there been a family to provide for, Mrs. Norris
might never have saved her money ; but having no care of that
kind, there was nothing to impede her frugality, or lessen the
comfort of making a yearly addition to an income which they
had never lived u\> to. Under this infatuating principle, counter-
acted by no real affection for her sister, it was impossible for her
to aim at more than the credit of projecting and arranging so
expensive a charity; though perhaps she might so h'ttle know
herself, as to walk home to the Parsonage, after this conversation,
in the happy belief of being the most liberal-minded sister and
aunt in the world.
When the subject waa brought forward again, her views were
more fully explained; and, in reply to Lady Bertram's calm
inquiry of " Where shall the child come to first, sister, to you or
to us?" Sir Thomas heard with some surprise, that it would
be totally out of Mrs. Norris's power to take any share in the
personal charge of her. He had been considering her as a
particularly welcome addition at the Parsonage, as a desirable
companion to an aunt who had no children of her own ; but ho
found himself wholly mistaken. Mrs. Norris was sorry to say,
that the little girl's staying with them, at least as things then
were, was quite out of the question. Poor Mr. Norris's indifferent
state of health made it an impossibility : he could no more bear
b MANSFIELD PARK.
the noise of a child than he could fly; if, indeed, he should ever
get well of his gouty complaints, it would be a different matter :
she should then be glad to take her turn, and think nothing of
the inconvenience; but just now, poor Mr. Norris took tip every
moment of her time, and the very mention of such a. thing she
was sure woidd distract him.
" Then she had better come to us," said Lady Bertram, with
the utmost composure. After a short pause, Sir Thomas added
with dignity, " Yes, let her home be in this house. We will
endeavour to do our duty by her, and she will at least have the
advantage of companions of her own age, and of a regular
Instructress."
" Very true," cried Mrs. Norris, " which are both very impor-
tant considerations; and it will be just the same to Miss Lee,
whether she has three girls to teach, or only two there can be
no diiFerence. I only wish I could be more useful; but you see
I do all in my power. I am not one of those that spare their
own trouble; and Nanny shall fetch her, however it may put mo
to inconvenience to have my chief counsellor away for three days.
I suppose, sister, you will put the child in the little white attic,
near the old nurseries. It will be much the best place for her,
so near Miss Lee, and not far from the girls, and close by the
housemaids, who could either of them help to dress her, you know,
and take care of her clothes, for I suppose you would not think it
fair to expect Ellis to wait on her as well as the others. Indeed,
I do not see that you could possibly place her anywhere else."
Lady Bertram made no opposition.
" I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl," continued Mrs.
Norris, " and be sensible of her uncommon good fortune in having
such friends."
" Should her disposition be really bad," said Sir Thomas, " we
must not, for our own children's sake, continue her in the family ;
but there is no reason to expect so great an evil. We shall
probably see much to wish altered in her, and must prepare
ourselves for gross ignorance, some meanness of opinions, and
very distressing vulgarity of manner; but these are not incurable
faults; nor, I trust, can they be dangerous for her associates.
Had my daughters been younger than herself, I should have
considered the introduction of such a companion as a matter of
very serious moment; but as it is, I hope there can be nothing
to fear for them, and everything to hope for her, from tha
association."
" That is exactly what I think," cried Mrs. ISTorris, "and what
I was saying to my husband this morning. It will be an
education for the child said I, only being with her cousins; if
Miss Lee taught her nothing, she would learn to be good and
clever from them."
MANSFIELD PARK. 7
" I hope sho will not tcaso my poor pus," said Lady Bertram ;
" I have but just got Julia to leave it alone."
" There will bo some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris,"
observed Sir Thomas, " as to the distinction proper to be made
between tlie girls ns they grow up: how to preserve in the minds
of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without
making them think too lowly of their cousin ; and how, without
depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is
not a Miss Bertram. I should wish to see them very good
friends, and would, on no account, authorize in my girls the
smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation; but still
they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, and expec-
tations, will always be different. It is a point of great delicacy,
and you must assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly the
right line of conduct."
Mrs. Norris was quite at his sen-ice ; and though she perfectly
agreed with him as to its being a most difficult thing, encouraged
him to hope that between them it would be easily managed.
It will be readily believed that Mrs. Norris did not write to
her sister in vain. Mrs. Price seemed rather surprised that a
girl should be fixed on, when she had so many fine boys, but
accepted the offer most thankfully, assuring them of her daugh-
ter's being a very well-disposed, good-humoured girl, and trusting
they would never have cause to throw her off. She spoke of her
farther as somewhat delicate and puny, but was sanguine in the
hope of her being materially better for change of air. Poor
woman ! she probably thought change of air might agree with
manv of her children.
CHAPTER II.
,ITE little girl performed her long journey in
v ' an( * at Northampton was met by Mrs.
? Norris, who thus regaled in the credit of
i being foremost to welcome her, and in the
I importance of leading her in to the others,
[ and recommending her to their kindness.
Fanny Price was at this time just ten
' years old, and though there might not be
much in her first appearance to captivate, there was, at least,
nothing to disgust her relations. She was small of her age,
with no glow of complexion, nor any other striking beauty;
exceedingly timid and shy, and shrinking from notice: but her
air, though awkward, was not vulgar, her voice was sweet, and
Avhen she spoke her countenance wag pretty. Sir Thomas and
8 MANSFIELD PARK.
Lady Bertram received her very kindly ; and Sir Thomas, seeing
how much she needed encouragement, tried to be all that was
conciliating : but he had to work against a most untoward gravity
of deportment ; and Lady Bertram, without taking half so much
trouble, or speaking one word where he spoke ten, by the mere
aid of a good-humoured smile, became immediately the less
awful character of the two.
The young people were all at home, and sustained their share
in the introduction very well, with much good humour, and no
embarrassment, at least on the part of the sons, who, at seventeen
and sixteen, and tall of their age, had all the grandeur of men in
the eyes of their little cousin. The two girls were more at a loss
from being younger and in greater awe of their father, who
addressed them on the occasion with rather an injudicious
particularity. But they were too much used to company and
praise, to have anything like natural shyness ; and their confi-
dence increasing from their cousin's total want of it, they were
soon able to take a full survey of her face and her frock in easy
indifference.
They were a remarkably fine family, the sons very well
looking, the daughters decidedly handsome, and all of them
well-grown and forward of their age, which produced as striking
a difference between the cousins in person, as education had given
to their address; and no one would have supposed the girls so
nearly of an age as they really were. There was in fact but
two years between the youngest and Fanny. Julia Bertram was
only twelve, and Maria but a year older. The little visiter
meanwhile was as unhappy as possible. Afraid of everybody,
ashamed of herself, and longing for the home she had left, she
knew not how to look up, and could scarcely speak to be heard,
or without crying. Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the
whole way from Northampton of her wonderful good fortune,
and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour
which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of misery was
therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing for
her not to be happy. The fatigue, too, of so long a journey,
became soon no trifling evil. In vain were the well-meant
condescensions of Sir Thomas, and all the officious prognostica-
tions of Mrs, Norris that she would be a good girl ; in vain did
Lady Bertram smile and make her sit on the sofa with hersolf and
pug, and vain was even the sight of a gooseberry tart towards
giving her comfort; she could scarcely swallow two mouthfuls
before tears interrupted her, and sleep seeming to be her likeliest
friend, she was taken to finish her sorrows in bed.
" This is not a very promising beginning," said Mrs. Norris,
when Fanny had left the room. "After all that I said to her
as we came along, I thought she would have behaved better; I
MANSFIELD PARK. 9
told her how much might depend upon her acquitting herself
well at first. I wish there may not be a little sulkiness of
temper her poor mother had a good deal: but we must make
allowances for such a child; and I do not know that her being
sorry to leave her home is really against her, for, with all its
faults, it was her home, and she cannot as yet understand how
much she has changed for the better; but then there is
moderation in all things."
It required a longer time, however, than Mrs. Norris was
inclined to allow, to reconcile Fanny to the novelty of Mansfield
Park, and the separation from everybody she had been used to.
Her feelings were very acute, and too little understood to be
properly attended to. Nobody meant to be unkind, but nobody
put themselves out of their way to secure her comfort.
The holiday allowed to the Miss Bertrams the next day, on
purpose to afford leisure for getting acquainted with, and enter-
taining their young cousin, produced little union. They could
not but hold her cheap on finding that she had but two sashes,
and had never learnt French ; and when they perceived her to
be little struck with the duet they were so good as to play, they
coidd do no more than make her a generous present of some of
their least valued toys, and leave her to herself, while they
adjourned to whatever might be the favourite holiday sport of
the moment, making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper.
Fanny, whether near or from her cousins, whether in the
school-room, the drawing-room, or the shrubbery, was equally
forlorn, finding something to fear in every person and place.
She was disheartened by Lady Bertram's silence, awed by Sir
Thomas's grave looks, and quite overcome by Mrs. Norris's
admonitions. Her elder cousins mortified her by reflections on
her size, and abashed her by noticing her shyness: Miss Lee
wondered at her ignorance, and the maid-servants sneered at her
clothes; and when to these sorrows was added the idea of the
brothers and sisters among whom she had always been important
as play-fellow, instructress, and nurse, the despondence that sunk
her little heart was severe.
The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console
her. The rooms were too large for her to move hi with ease ;
whatever she touched she expected to injure, and she crept about
in constant terror of something or other; often retreating towards
her own chamber to cry; and the little girl who was spoken of
in the drawing-room when she left it at night, as seeming so
desirably sensible of her peculiar good fortune, ended every day's
sorrows by sobbing herself to sleep. A week had passed in this
way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive
manner, when she was found one morning by her cousin-Edmund,
the youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs.
10 MANSFIELD PARK.
" My dear little cousin," said ho, with all the gentleness of an
excellent nature, " what can be the matter?" And sitting down
by her, was at great pains to overcome her shame in being so
surprised, and persuade her to speak openly. "Was she ill?
or was anybody angry with her? or had she quarrelled with
Maria and Julia? or was she puzzled about anything in her
lesson that he could explain? Did she, in short, want anything
he could possibly get her, or do for her?" For a long while no
answer could be obtained beyond a " no, no not at all no,
thank you;" but he still persevered ; and no sooner had he begun
to revert to her own home, than her increased sobs explained to
him where the grievance lay. He tried to console her.
" You are sorry to leave mamma, my dear little Fanny," said
he, " which shows you to be a very good gir! : but you must
remember that you are with relations and friends, who all love
you, and wish to make you happy. Let us walk out in the
park, and you shall tell me all about your brothers and sisters.''
On pursuing the subject, he found that dear as all these
brothers and sisters generally were, there was one among them
who ran more in her thoughts than the rest. It was William
whom she talked of most, and wanted most to see. William,
the eldest, a year older than herself, her constant companion and
friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom he was the
darling) in every distress. "William did not like she should
come away; he had told her he should miss her very much
indeed." "But William will write to you, I dare say." "Yes,
he had promised he would, but he had told her to write first."
"And when will you do it?' 1 She hung her head and answered,
hesitatingly, " She cb'd not know ; she had not any paper."
"If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you with paper
and every other material, and you may write your letter when-
ever yon choose. Would it make you happy to write to
William?"
"Yes, very."
"Then let it be done now. Come with me into the breakfast-
room, we shall find everything there, and be sure of having the
room to ourselves."
"But, cousin will it go to the post?"
"Yes, depend upon me it shall: it shall go with the other
letters; and, as your uncle will frank it, it will cost William
nothing."
"My uncle!" repeated Fanny, with a frightened look.
" Yes, when you have written the letter, I will take it to my
father to frank."
Fanny thought it a bold measure, but offered no farther
resistance; and they went together into the breakfast-room,
where Edmund prepared her paper, and ruled her lines with all
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 1
the pood-will that her brother could himself have felt, and
probably with somewhat more exactness. He continued with
her the whole time of her writing, to assist her with his penknife
or his orthography* as either were wanted ; and added to these
attentions, which she felt very much, a kindness to her brother
which delighted her beyond all the rest. He wrote witli his own
hand his love to his cousin William, and sent him half a guinea
under the seal. Fanny's feelings on the occasion were such as
she believed herself incapable of expressing ; but her countenance
and a few artless words fully conveyed all their gratitude and
delight, and her cousin began to find her an interesting object.
He talked to her more, and, from all that she said, was convinced
of her having an affectionate heart, and a strong desire of doing
right; and he could perceive her to be farther entitled to atten-
tion, by great sensibility of her situation, and great timidity.
He had never knowingly given her pain, but he now felt that
she required more positive kindness, and with that view endea-
voured, in the first place, to lessen her fears of them all, and
gave her especially a great deal of good advice as to playing
with Maria and Julia, and being as merry as possible.
From this day Fanny grew more comfortable. She felt that
she had a friend, and the kindness of her cousin Edmund gave
her better spirits with everybody else. The place became less
strange, and the people less formidable; and if there were some
amongst them whom she could not cease to fear, she began at
least to know their ways, and to catch the best manner of
conforming to them. The little rusticities and awkwardnesses
which had at first made grievous inroads on the tranquillity of
all, and not least of herself, necessarily wore away, and she was
no longer materially afraid to appear be%re her uncle, nor did
her aunt Norris's voice make her start very much. To her
cousins she became occasionally an acceptable companion. Though
unworthy, from inferiority of age and strength, to bo their
constant associate, their pleasures and schemes were sometimes
of a nature to make a third very xiseful, especially when that
third was of an obliging, yielding temper; and they could not but
OMTI, when their aunt inquired into her faults, or their brother
Edmund urged her claims to their kindness, that " Fanny was
good-natured enough."
Edmund was uniformly kind himself; and she had nothing
worse to endure on the part of Tom than that sort of merriment
which a young man of seventeen will always think fair with a
child of ten. He was just entering into life, full of spirits, and
with all the liberal dispositions of an eldest son, who feels born
only for expense and enjoyment. His kindness to his little
cousin was consistent with his situation and rights : he made her
some very pretty presents, and laughed at her
12 MANSFIELD PARK*
As her appearance and spirits improved, Sir Thomas and Mrs*
Norris thought with greater satisfaction of their benevolent plan ;
and it was pretty soon decided between them, that though far
from clever, she showed a tractable disposition, and seemed likely
to give them little trouble. A mean opinion of her abilities was
not confined to them. Fanny could read, work, and write, but
she had been taught nothing more ; and as her cousins found her
ignorant of many things with which they had been long familiar,
they thought her prodigiously stupid, and for the first two or
three weeks were continually bringing some fresh report of it
into the drawing-room. " Dear mamma, only think, my cousin
cannot put the map of Europe together or my cousin cannot
tell the principal rivers in Russia or she never heard of Asia
Minor or she does not know the difference between water-
colours and crayons! How strange! Did you ever hear any-
thing so stupid?"
" My dear," their considerate aunt would reply, " it is very
bad, but you must not expect everybody to be as forward and
quick at learning as yourself."
"But, aunt, she is really so very ignorant! Do you know,
we asked her last night, which way she would go to get to
Ireland; and she said, slie should cross to the Isle of Wight.
She thinks of nothing but the Isle of Wight, and she calls it the
Island, as if there were no other island in the world. I am sure
I should have been ashamed of myself, if I had not known better
long before I was so old as she is. I cannot remember the time
when I did not know a great deal that she has not the least
notion of yet. How long ago it is, aunt, since we used to repeat
the chronological order of the kings of England, with the dates of
their accession, and ni^t of the principal events of their reigns ! "
" Yes," added the other; "and of the Roman emperors as low
as Severus; besides a great deal of the heathen mythology, and
all the metals, semi-metals, planets, and distinguished philoso-
phers,"
"Very true, indeed, my dears, but you are blessed with
wonderful memories, and your poor cousin has probably none at
alL There is a vast deal of difference in memories, as well as in
everything else, and therefore you must make allowance for your
cousin, and pity her deficiency. And remember that, if you are
ever so forward and clever yourselves, you should always be
jnodest; for, much as you know already, there is a great deal
more for you to learn."
"Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen. But I must tell
you another thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid. Do you
know, she says she does not want to learn either music or
drawing."
" To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows
MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 13
a great want of genius and emulation. But, all things con-
sidered, I do not know whether it is not as well that it should
be so, for, though you know (owing to me) your papa and
mamma are so good as to bring her up with you, it is not at all
necessary that she should be as accomplished as you are; on
the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be a
difference."
Such were the councils by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form
her nieces' minds ; and it is not very wonderful that, with all
their promising talents and early information, they should be
entirely deficient in the less common acquirements of self-know-
ledge, generosity, and humility. In everything but disposition,
they were admirably taught. Sir Thomas did not know what
was wanting, because, though a truly anxious father, he was
not outwardly affectionate, and the reserve of his manner re-
pressed all the flow of their spirits before him.
To the education of her daughters Lady Bertram paid not the
.smallest attention. She had not time for such cares. She was
a woman who spent her days in sitting nicely dressed on a sofa,
doing some long piece of needle- work, of little use and no beauty,
thinking more of her pug than her children, but very indulgent
to the latter, when it did not put herself to inconvenience, guided
in everything important by Sir Thomas, and in smaller concerns
by her sister. Had she possessed greater leisure for the service
of her girls, she would probably have supposed it unnecessary,
for they were under the care of a governess, with proper masters,
and could want nothing more. As for Fanny's being stupid at
learning, " she could only say it was very unlucky, but some
people were stupid, and Fanny must take more pains: she did
not know what else was to be done ; and, except her being so
dull, she must add, she saw no harm in the poor little thing
and always found her very handy and quick in carrying mes-
sages, and fetcliing what she wanted."
Fanny, with all her faults of ignorance and timidity, was fixed
at Mansfield Park, and learning to transfer in its favour much of
her attachment to her former home, grew up there not unhappily
among her cousins. There was no positive ill-nature in Maria
or Julia; and though Fanny was often mortified by their treat-
ment of her, she thought too lowly of her own claims to feel
injured by it.
From about the time of her entering the family, Lady Bertram,
in consequence of a little ill-health, and a great deal of indolence,
gave up the house in town, which she had been used to occupy
every spring, and remained wholly in the country, leaving Sir
Thomas to attend his duty in Parliament, with whatever increase
or diminution of comfort might arise from her absence. In the
country, therefore, the Miss Bertrams continued to exercise their
14 MANSFIELD PAKK.
memories, practise their duets, and grow tall and womanly ; and
their father saw them becoming in person, manner, and accom-
plishments, everything that could satisfy his anxiety. His
eldest son was careless and extravagant, and had already given
him much uneasiness; but his other children promised him
nothing but good. His daughters, he felt, while they retained
the name of Bertram, must be giving it new grace, and in
quitting it, lie trusted, would extend its respectable alliances ;
and the character of Edmund, his strong good sense and up-
rightness of mind, bid most fairly for utility, honour, and
happiness to himself and all his connections. He was to be a,
clergyman.
Amid the cares and the complacency which his own children
suggested, Sir Thomas did not forget to do what he could for
the children of Mrs. Price: he assisted her liberally in the
education and disposal of her sons as they became old enough
for a determinate pursuit; and Fanny, though almost totally
separated from her family, was sensible of the truest satisfac-
tion in hearing of any kindness towards them, or of anything
at all promising in their situation or conduct. Once, and once
only in the course of many years, had she the happiness of being
with William. Of the rest she saw nothing; nobody seemed to
think of her ever going amongst them again, even for a visit,
nobody at home seemed to want her; but William determining,
soon after her removal, to be a sailor, was invited to spend a
week with his sister in Northamptonshire, before he went to sea.
Their eager affection in meeting, their exquisite delight in being
together, their hours of happy mirth, and moments of serious
conference, may be imagined ; as well as the sanguine views and
spirits of the boy even to the last, and the misery of the girl
when he left her. Luckily the visit happened in the Christinas
holidays, when she could directly look for comfort to her cousin
Edmund; and he told her such charming things of what "William
was to do, and be hereafter, in consequence of his profession, as
made her gradually admit that the separation might have some
use. Edmund's friendship never failed her: his leaving Eton for
Oxford made no change in his kind dispositions, and only af-
forded more frequent opportunities of proving them. Without
any display of doing more than the rest, or any fear of doing too
much, he was always true to her interests, and considerate of
her feelings, trying to make her good qualities understood, and
to conquer the diffidence which prevented their being more
apparent; giving her advice, consolation, and encouragement.
Kept back as she was by everybody else, his single support
could not bring her forward; but his attentions were otherwise
of the highest importance in assisting the improvement of her
miiid, and extending its pleasures. He knew her to be clever,
MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 15
to have a quick apprekensiop as well as good sense, and a fond-
ness for reading, which, properly directed, must bo an education
in itself. Miss Lee taught her French, and heard her read the
daily portion of lustory ; but he recommended the books which
charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected
her judgment: he made reading useful by talking to her of what
she read, and heightened its attraction by judicious praise.
In return for such services, she loved him better than anybody in
tin; world except William ; her heart was divided between the
two.
CHAPTER III.
-^ ^ rst CVL ' nt f an y importance in the family
was *' ie ^ cat *' f ^ r - Korris, which happened
K'H Fanny was about iifteen, and necessarily
introduced alterations and novelties. Mrs.
Xorris, on quitting the Parsonage, removed
r first to the Park, and afterwards to a small
k house of Sir Thomas's in the village, and
consoled herself for the loss of her husband
by considering that she could do very well without him; and
for her reduction of income by the evident necessity of stricter
economy.
The living was hereafter for Edmund; and, had his uncle died
a few years sooner, it would have been duly given to some
friend to hold till he were old enough for orders. But Tom's
extravagance had, previous to that event, 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. There was another family living actually held for
Edmund; but though this circumstance had made the arrange-
ment somewhat easier to Sir Thomas's conscience, he could not
but feel it to be an act of injustice, and lie earnestly tried to
impress his eldest sou with the same conviction, in the hope of
its producing a better effect than anything he had yet been able
to say or do.
" I blush for you, Tom," said he, in his most dignified man-
ner; " I blush for the expedient which I am driven on, and I trust
I may pity your feelings as a brother on the occasion. You have
robbed Edmund for ten, twenty, thirty years, perhaps for life, of
more than half the income which ought to be his. It may
hereafter be in my power, or in yours (I hope it will), to pro-
cure him better preferment ; but it must not be forgotten, that
no benefit of that sort would have been bevoud his natural claims
16 MANSFIELD 1 J AKK.
on us, and that nothing can, in fact, be an equivalent for the
certain advantage which he is now obliged to forego through the
urgency of your debts."
Tom listened with some shame and some sorrow ; but escaping
as quickly as possible, could soon with cheerful selfishness reflect,
first, that he had not been half so much in debt as some of his
friends ; secondly, that his father had made a most tiresome piece
of work of it; and, thirdly, that the future incumbent, whoever
he might be, would, in all probability, die very soon.
On Mr. Norris's death, the presentation became the right of
a Dr. Grant, who came consequently to reside at Mansfield; and
on proving to be a hearty man of forty-five, seemed likely to
disappoint Mr. Bertram's calculations. But "no, he was a
short-necked, apoplectic sort of fellow, and, plied well with good
things, would soon pop off."
He had a wife about fifteen years his junior, but no children ;
and they entered the neighbourhood with the usual fair report of
being very respectable, agreeable people.
The time was now come when Sir Thomas expected his sister-
in-law to claim her share in their niece, the change in Mrs.
Norris's situation, and the improvement in Fanny's age, seeming
not merely to do away any former objection to their living to-
gether, but even to give it the most decided eligibility; and as
his own circumstances were rendered less fair than heretofore, by
some recent losses on his West India estate, in addition to his
eldest son's extravagance, it became not undesirable to himself
to be relieved from the expense of her support, and the obligation
of her future provision. In the fulness of his belief that such a
thing must be, he mentioned its probability to his wife; and the
first time of the subject's occurring to her again, happening to be
when 'Fanny was present, she calmly observed to her, "So,
Fanny, you are going to leave us, and live with my sister.
How shall you like it?"
Fanny was too much surprised to do more than repeat her
aunt's words, "Going to leave you?"
"Yes, my dear, why should you be astonished? You have
been five years with us, and my sister always meant to take you
when Mr. Norris died. But you must come up and tack on my
patterns all the same."
The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as it had been unex-
pected. She had never received kindness from her aunt Norris,
and could not love her.
" I shall be very sorry to go away," said she, with a faltering
voice.
"Yes, I dare say you will; that's natural enough. I suppose
you have had as little to vex you since you came into this house
as any creature in the world."
MANSFIELD PAKK. 1 7
" I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt," said Fanny, modestly.
"No, my dear; I hope not. I have always found you a very
good girl."
And am I never to live here again?"
"Never, my dear; but you are sure of a comfortable home.
It can make very little difference to you, whether you arc in one
house or the other."
Fanny left the room with a very sorrowful heart: she could
not feel the difference to be so small, she could not think of living
with her aunt with anything like satisfaction. As soon as she
met with Kdmund, she told him her distv
"Cousin," said she, "something is going to happen whHi I
do not like at all ; and though you have often persuaded me into
being reconciled to things that I disliked at first, you will not be
able to do it now. I am going to live entirely with my aunt
Nbrris."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; my aunt Bertram has just told me so. It is quite
settled. I am to leave Mansfield Park, and go to the White
House, 1 suppose, as soon as she is removed there."
"Well, Fanny, and if the plan were not unpleasant to you, I
should call it an excellent one."
" Oh, cousin ! "
" It has everything else in its favour. My aunt is acting like
a sensible woman in wishing for you. She is choosing a friend
and companion exactly where she ought, and I am glad her love
of money does not interfere. You will be what you ought to be
to her. I hope it does not distress you very much, Fanny."
" Indeed it does : I cannot like it. I love tliis house and
everything in it : I shall love nothing there. You know how
uncomfortable I feel with her."
" I can say nothing for her manner to you as a child; but it
was the same with us all, or nearly so. She never knew how to
be pleasant to children. But you are now of an age to be
treated better; I think she is behaving better already; and when
you are her only companion, you mtist be important to her."
" I can never be important to any one."
"What is to prevent you?"
"Everything. My situation my foolishness and awkwardness."
"As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny,
believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using the
words so improperly. There is no reason in the world why you
should not be important where you are known. You have good
sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful
heart, that could never receive kindness without wishing to
return it. I do not know any better qualifications for a friend
and companion."
1 8 MANSF1KLD PAKK.
"You are too kind," said Fanny, colouring at such praise;
" how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for tliinking so well of
me. Oh, cousin, if I am to go away, I shall remember your
goodness to the last moment of my life."
"Why, indeed, Fanny, I should hope to be remembered at
such a distance as the White House. You speak as if you were
going two hundred miles off, instead of only across the park ; but
you will belong to us almost as much as ever. The two families
will be meeting every day in the year. The only difference will
be, that living with your aunt, you will necessarily be brought
forward as you ought to be. Here, there are too many whom
you can hide behind; but with her you will be forced to speak
for yourself."
" Oh, do not say so."
" I must say it, and say it with pleasure. Mrs. Norris is
much bettor fitted than my mother for having the charge of you
now. She is of a temper to do a great deal for anybody she
really interests herself about, and she will force you to do justice
to your natural powers."
Fanny sighed, and said, "I cannot see things as you do; but
I ought to believe you to be right rather than myself, and I am
very much obliged to you for trying to reconcile me to what
must be. If I could suppose my aunt really to care for me, it
would be delightful to feel myself of consequence to anybody !
Here, I know I am of none, and yet I love the place so well."
" The place, Fanny, is what you will not quit, though you
quit the house. You will have as free a command of the park
and gardens as ever. Even your constant little heart need not
take fright at such a nominal change. You will have the same
walks to frequent, the same library to choose from, the same
people to look at, the same horse to ride."
" Very true. Yes, dear old grey pony. Ah, cousin, when I
remember how much I used to dread riding, what terrors it gave
me to hear it talked of as likely to do me good oh, how I have
trembled at my uncle's opening his lips if horses were talked
of; and then think of the kind pains you took to reason and
persuade me out of my fears, and convince me that I should like
it after a li ttle while, and feel how right you proved to be, I
am inclined to hope you may always prophesy as well."
"And I am quite convinced that your being with Mrs. Norris
will be as good for your mind as riding has been for your
health and as much for your ultimate happiness, too."
So ended their discourse, which, for any very appropriate
service it could render Fanny, might as well have been spared, for
Mrs. Norris had not the smallest intention of taking her. It had
never occurred to her, on the present occasion, but as a thing to
be carefully avoided. To prevent its being expected, she had
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 9
fixed on the smallest habitation which could rank as gnteel
among the buildings of Mansfield parish; the White House
being only just large enough to receive herself and her servants,
and allow a spare room for a friend, of which she made a very
particular point. The spare rooms at the Parsonage had never
been wanted, but the absolute necessity of a spare room for a
friend was now never forgotten. Not all her precautions, how-
ever, could save her from being suspected of something better;
or, perhaps, her very display of the importance of a spare room
might have misled Sir Thomas to suppose it really intended for
Fanny. Lady Bertram soon brought the matter to a certainty,
by carelessly observing to Mrs. Norris,
" I think, sister, we need not keep Miss Lee any longer, when
Fanny goes to live with you."
Mrs. Norris almost started. " Live with me, dear Lady
Bertram, what do you mean?"
"'Is not she to live with you? I thought you had settled it
with Sir Thomas."
" Me! never. I never spoke a syllable about it to Sir Thomas,
nor he to me. Fanny live with me ! the last thing in the world
for me to think of, or for anybody to wish that really knows us
both. Good heaven! what could I do with Fanny?-^-Me! a
poor, helpless, forlorn widow, unfit for anything, my spirits
quite broken down ; what could I do with a girl at her time of
life, a girl of fifteen! the very age of all others to need most
attention and care, and put the cheerfullest spirits to the test.
Sure Sir Thomas could not seriously expect such a thing! Sir
Thomas is too much my friend. Nobody that wishes me well, I
am sure, would propose it. How came Sir Thomas to speak to
you about it?"
" Indeed, I do not know. I suppose he thought it best."
" But what did he say? He could not say he wished me to
take Fanny. I am sure in his heart he could not wish me to
do it."
"No; he only said he thought it very likely and I thought
so too. We both thought it would be a comfort to you. But
if you do not like it, there is no more to be said. She is no
incumbrance here."
" Dear sister! If you consider my unhappy state, how can she
be any comfort to me? Here am I, a poor desolate widow,
deprived of the best of husbands, my health gone in attending
and nursing him, my spirits still worse, all my peace in this
world destroyed, with barely enough to support me in the rank
of a gentlewoman, and enable me to live so as not to disgrace
the memory of the dear departed; what possible comfort could
I have in taking such a charge upon me as Fanny ! If I could
wish it for my own sake, I would not do so unjust a thing by
20 MANSFIELD 1'AHK.
the poor girl. She is in good hands, and sure of doing well. I
must struggle through my sorrows and difficulties as I c;:n."
" Then you will not mind living by yourself quite alone? "
"Dear Lady Bertram! what am I fit for but solitude? Now
and then I shall hope to have a friend in my little cottage (I
shall always have a bed for a friend) ; but the most part of my
future days will be spent in utter seclusion. If I can but make
both ends meet, .that's all I ask for."
" I hope, sister, things arc not so very bad with you neither
considering Sir Thomas -says you will have six hundred a year."
" Lady Bertram, I do not complain. I know I cannot live as
I have done, but I must retrench where I can, and learn to bo
a better manager. I have been a liberal housekeeper enough,
but I shall not be ashamed to practise economy now. My
situation is as much altered as my income. A great many
things were due from poor Mr. Norris as clergyman of the parish
that cannot be expected from me. It is unknown how much
was consumed in our kitchen by odd comers and goers. At the
"\Vliite House, matters must be better looked after. I must live
within my income, or I shall be miserable; and I own it woidd
give me great satisfaction to be able to do rather more to lay
by a little at the end of the year."
" I dare say you will. You always do, don't you?"
" My object, Lady Bertram, is to be of use to those that come
after me. It is for your children's good that I wish to be richer.
I have nobody else to care for ; but I should be very glad to
think I could leave a little trifle among them worth their
having."
".You are very good, but do not trouble yourself about them.
They are sure of being well provided for. Sir Thomas will take
care of that."
" Why, you know Sir Thomas's means will be rather strait-
ened, if the Antigua estate is to make such poor returns."
" Oh, that will soon be settled. Sir Thomas has been writing
about it, I know."
" Well, Lady Bertram," said Mrs. Norris, moving to go, " I
can only say that my sole desire is to be of use to your family;
and so, if Sir Thomas should ever speak again about my taking
Fanny, you will be able to say that my health and spirits put it
quite out of the question; besides that, I really should not have
a bed to give her, for I must keep a spare room for a friend."
Lady Bertram repeated enough of this conversation to her
husband to convince him how much he had mistaken his sister-
in-law's views; and she was from that moment perfectly safe
from all expectation, or the slightest allusion to it from him.
He could not but wonder at her refusing to do anything for a
niece, whom she had been so forward to adopt; but, as she took
MANSFIELD PARK. 21
early care to make him, as well as Lady Bertram, understand
that whatever she possessed was designed for their family, he
soon grew reconciled to a distinction which, at the same time that
it was advantageous and complimentary to them, would enable
him better to provide for Fanny himself.
Fanny soon learnt how unnecessary had been her fears of a
removal; and her spontaneous, untaught felicity on the dis-
covery, conveyed some consolation to Edmund for his disappoint-
ment in what he had expected to be so essentially serviceable to
her. Mrs. Norris took possession of the White House, the Grants
arrived at the Parsonage, and these events -over, everything at
Mansfield went on for some time as usual.
The Grants showing a disposition to be friendly and sociable,
gave great satisfaction in the main among their new acquaintance.
They had their faults, and Mrs. Norris soon found them out.
The Doctor was very fond of eating, and would have a good
dinner even' day; and Mrs. Grant, instead of contriving to
gratify him at little expense, gave her cook as high wages as
they did at Mansfield Park, and -was scarcely ever seen in her
offices. Mrs. Norris could not speak with any temper of such
grievances, nor of the quantity of butter and eggs that were
regularly consumed in the house. "Nobody loved plenty and
hospitality more than herself nobody more hated pitiful doings
the Parsonage, she believed, had never been wanting in
comforts of any sort, had never borne a bad character in her
time, but this was a way of going on that she could not under-
stand. A fine lady in a country parsonage was quite out of
place. Her store-room, she thought, might have been good
enough for Mrs, Grant to go into. Inquire where she would,
she could not find out that Mrs. Grant had ever had more than
five thousand pounds."
Lady Bertram listened without much interest to this sort of
invective. She could not enter into the wrongs of an economist,
but she felt all the injuries of beauty in Mrs. Grant's being so
well settled in life without being handsome, and expressed her
astonishment on that point almost as often, though not so
diffusely, as Mrs. Norris discussed the other.
These opinions had been hardly canvassed a year, before
another event arose of such importance in the family, as might
fairly claim some place in the thoughts and conversation of the
ladies. Sir Thomas found it expedient to go to Antigua himself,
for the better arrangement of his affairs, and he took his eldest
son with him, in the hope of detaching him from some bad
connexions at home. They left England with the probability of
being nearly a twelvemonth absent.
The necessity of the measure in a pecuniary light, and the
hope of its utility to his son, reconciled Sir Thomas to the effort
22 MANSFIELD PARK.
of quitting the rest of his family, and of leaving his daughters to
the direction of others at their present most interesting time of
life. He could not think Lady Bertram quite equal to supply
his place with them, or, rather, to perform what should have
been her own; but, in Mrs. Norris's watchful attention, and in
Edmund's judgment, he had sufficient confidence to make him go
without fears for their conduct.
Lady Bertram did not at all like to have her husband leave
her; but she was not disturbed by any alarm for his safety, or
solicitude for his comfort, being one of those persons who think
nothing can be dangerous, or difficult, or fatiguing, to anybody
but themselves.
The Miss Bertrams were much to be pitied on the occasion;
not for their sorrow, but for their want of it. Their father was
no object of love to them; he had never seemed the friend of
their pleasures, and his absence was unhappily most welcome.
They were relieved by it from all restraint ; and without aiming
at one gratification that would probably have been forbidden by
Sir Thomas, they felt themselves immediately at their own dis-
posal, and to have every indulgence within their reach. Fanny's
relief, and her consciousness of it, were quite equal to her
cousins'; but a more tender nature suggested that her feelings were
ungrateful, and she really grieved because she could not grieve.
" Sir Thomas, who had done so much for her and her brothers,
and who was gone perhaps never to return! that she should see
him go without, a tear! it was a shameful insensibility." He
had said to her, moreover, on the very last morning, that he
hoped she might see William again in the course of the ensuing
winter, and had charged her to write and invite him to Mansfield,
as soon as the squadron to which he belonged should be known
to be in England. "This was so thoughtful and kind!" and
would he only have smiled upon her and called her " my dear
Fanny," wliile he said it, every former frown and cold address
might have been forgotten. But he had ended his speech in a
way to sink her in sad mortification, by adding, " If William
does come to Mansfield, I hope yon may be able to convince him
that the many years which 'have passed since you parted have
not been spent on your side entirely without improvement;
though, I fear, he must find his sister at sixteen in some respects
too much like his sister at ten." She cried bitterly over this
reflection when her uncle was gone; and her cousins, on seeing
her with red eyes, set her down as a hypocrite.
MANSFIELD PARK. 23
CHAPTER IV.
OM BERTRAM had of late spent so little of his
time at home, that he could be only nominally
mis-sod; and Lady Bertram was soon astonished
to lind how very well they did even without his
father, how well Edmund could supply his place
in can-ing, talking to the steward, writing to
the attorney, settling with the servants, and
equally saving her from all possible fatigue or
exertion in every particular, but that of directing her letters.
The earliest intelligence of the travellers' safe arrival in,
Antigua, after a favourable voyage, was received; though not
before Mrs. Norris had been indulging in very dreadful fears, and
trying to make Edmund participate them whenever she could get
him alone ; and as she depended on being the first person made
acquainted with any fatal catastrophe, she had already arranged
tiie manner of breaking it to all the others, when Sir Thomas's
assurances of their both being alive and well, made it necessary
to lay by her agitation and affectionate preparatoiy speeches for
a while.
The winter came and passed without their being called for;
the accounts continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, in
promoting gaieties for her nieces, assisting their toilettes, dis-
playing their accomplishments, and looking about for their
future husbands, had so much to do as, in addition to all her
own household cares, some interference in those of her sister, and
Mrs. Grant's wasteful doings to overlook, left her very little
occasion to be occupied even in fears for the absent.
The Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the
belles of the neighbourhood; and as they joined to beauty and
brilliant acquirements a manner naturally easy, and carefully
formed to general civility and obligingness, they possessed its
favour as well as its admiration. Their vanity was in such good
order, that they seemed to be quite free from it, and gave them-
selves no airs; while the praises attending such behaviour,
secured and brought round by her aunt, served to strengthen
them in believing they had no faults.
Lady Bertram did not go into public with her daughters.
She was too indolent even to accept a mother's gratification in
witnessing their success and enjoyment at the expense of any
personal trouble, and the charge was made over to her sister,
who desired nothing better than a post of such honourable re-
presentation, and very thoroughly relished the means it afforded
her of mixing in society without having horses to hire.
24 MANSFIELD PARK.
Fanny had no share in the festivities of the season; but she
enjoyed being avowedly useful as her aunt's companion, when
they called away the rest of the family ; and, as Miss Lee had
k'ft Mansfield, she naturally became everything to Lady Bertram
during the night of a ball or a party. She talked to her, listened
to her, read to her; and the tranquillity of such evenings, her
perfect security in such a tete-a-tete from any sound of unkind-
ness, was unspeakably welcome to a mind which had seldom
know a pause hi its alarms or embarrassments. As to her
cousins' gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, especially
of the balls, and whom Edmund had danced with ; but thought
too lowly of her own situation to imagine she should ever be
admitted to the same, and listened, therefore, without an idea of
any nearer concern in them. Upon the whole, it was a com-
fortable winter to her; for though it brought no William to
England, the never-failing hope of his arrival was wortli much.
The ensuing spring deprived her of her valued friend the old
grey pony ; and for some time she was in danger of feeling the
loss in her health as well as in her affections ; for in spite of the
acknowledged importance of her riding on horseback, no measures
were taken for mounting her again, "because," as it was observed
by her aunts, " she might ride one of her cousins' horses at any
time when they did not want them;" and as the Miss Bertrams
regularly wanted their horses every fine day, and had no idea of
carrying their obliging manners to the sacrifice of any real
pleasure, that time, of course, never came. They took their
cheerful rides in the fine mornings of April and May; and Fanny
either sat at home the whole day with one aunt, or walked be-
yond her strength at the instigation of the other ; Lady Bertram
holding exercise to be as unnecessary for everybody as it was
unpleasant to herself; and Mrs. Norris, who was walking all
day, thinking everybody ought to walk as much. Edmund was
absent at this time, or the evil would have been earlier remedied.
AVhen he returned, and understood how Fanny was situated, and
perceived its ill effects, there seemed Math him but one thing to
be done; and that " Fanny must have a horse," was the resolute
declaration with which he opposed whatever could be urged by
the supineness of his mother, or the economy of his aunt, to
make it appear unimportant. Mrs. Norris could not help think-
ing that some steady old tiling might be foiuid among the
numbers belonging to the Park, that would do vastly well ; or,
that one might be borrowed of the steward; or that perhaps Dr.
Grant might now and then lend them the pony he sent to the
post. She could not but consider it as absolutely unneces ..;;! y,
and even improper, that Fanny should have a regular lady's
horse of her own in the style of her cousins. She was sure Sir
Thomas had never intended it; and she must say, that to be
MANSFIELD PARK. 25
making such a purchase in his absence, and adding to the great
expenses of his stable, at a time when a large part of his income
was unsettled, seemed to her very unjustifiable. " Fanny must
have a horse," was Edmund's only reply. Mrs. Nbrris could not
sec it in the same light. Lady Bertram did: she entirely agreed
with her son as to the necessity of it, and as to its being con-
sidered necessary by his father; she only pleaded against there
being any hurry; she only wanted him to wait till Sir Thomas's
return, and then Sir Thomas might settle it all himself. He
would be at home in September, and where would be the harm
of only waiting till September?
Though Edmund was much more displeased with his aunt
than with his mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he
could not help paying more attention to what she said, and at
length determined on a method of proceeding which would ob-
viate the risk of his father's thinking he had done too much, and
at the same time procure for Fanny the immediate means of
exercise, which he could not bear she should be without. He
had three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a
woman. Two of them were hunters ; the third, a useful road-
horse: this third he resolved to exchange for one that his cousin
might ride; he knew where such a one was to be met with; and
having once made up his mind, the whole business was soon
completed. The new mare proved a treasure ; with a very little
trouble, she became exactly calculated for the purpose, and
Fanny was then put in almost full possession of her. She had
not supposed before, that anything could ever suit her like the
old grey pony; but her delight in Edmund's mare was far be-
yond any former pleasure of the sort; and the addition it was ever
receiving in the consideration of that kindness from wlu'ch her
pleasure sprung, was beyond all her words to express. She
regarded her cousin as an example of everything good and great,
as possessing worth, which no one but herself could ever appre-
ciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from her, as no feelings
could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments towards him
were compounded of all that was respectful, grateful, confiding,
and tender. .
As the horse continued in name, as well as fact, the property
of Edmund, Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny's use ;
and had Lady Bertram ever thought about her own objection
again, he might have been excused in her eyes for not waiting
till Sir Thomas's return in September, for when September came,
Sir Thomas was still abroad, and without any near prospect of
finishing his business. Unfavourable circumstances had suddenly
arisen at a moment when he was beginning to turn all his
thoughts towards England; and the very great uncertainty in
which everything was then involved determined him on sending
26 MANSFIELD PARK.
home his son, and waiting the final arrangement by himself.
Tom arrived safely, bringing an excellent account of his father's
health; but to very little purpose, as far as Mrs. Norris was
concerned. Sir Thomas's sending away his son seemed to her
so like a parent's care, under the influence of a foreboding of evil
to himself, that she could not help feeling dreadful presentiments ;
and as the long evenings of autumn came on, was so terribly
haunted by these ideas, in the sad solitariness of her cottage, as
to be obliged to take daily refuge in the dining-room of the Park.
The return of winter engagements, however, was not without its
effect; and in the course of their progress, her mind became so
pleasantly occupied in superintending the fortunes of her eldest
niece, as tolerably to quiet her nerves. " If poor Sir Thomas
were fated never to return, it would be peculiarly consoling to
see their dear Maria well married," she very often thought;
always when they were in the company of men of fortune, and
particularly on the introduction of a young man who had re-
cently succeeded to one of the largest estates and finest places in
the country.
Mr. Rushworth was from the first struck with the beauty of
Miss Bertram, and, being inclined to marry, soon fancied him-
self in love. He was a heavy young man, with not more than
common sense; but as there was nothing disagreeable in his
figure or address, the young lady was well pleased with her
conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year, Maria Bertram
was beginning to think matrimony a duty ; and as a marriage
with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger
income than her father's, as well as ensure her the house in town,
which was now a prime object, it became, by the same rule of
moral obligation, her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if
she could. Mrs. Norris was most zealous in promoting the
match, by every suggestion and contrivance likely to enhance
its desirableness to either party; and, among other means, hy
seeking an intimacy with the gentleman's mother, who at present
lived with him, and to whom she even forced Lady Bertram to
go through ten miles of indifferent road to pay a morning visit.
It was not long before a good understanding took place between
this lady and herself. Mrs. Rushworth acknowledged herself
very desirous that her son should marry, and declared that of all
the young ladies she had ever seen, Miss Bertram seemed, by her
amiable qualities and accomplishments, the best adapted to make
him happy. Mrs. Norris accepted the compliment, and admired
the nice discernment of character which could so well distinguish
merit. Maria was indeed the pride and delight of them all .
perfectly faultless an angel ; and, of course, so surrounded 1 >v
admirers, must be difficult in her choice : but yet, as far as Mrs.
Norris could allow herself to decide on so short an acquaintance,
MANSFIELD PARK. 27
Mr. Rush worth appeared precisely the young man to deserve and
attach her.
After dancing with eacli other at a proper number of balls, the
young people justified these opinions, and an engagement, with a
due reference to the absent Sir Thomas, was entered into, much
to the satisfaction of their respective families, and of the general
lookers-on of the neighbourhood, who had, for many weeks past,
felt the expediency of Mr. Rushworth's marrying Miss Bertram.
It was some months before Sir Thomas's consent could be
received; but, in the meanwhile, as no one felt a doubt of his
most cordial pleasure in the connection, the intercourse of the
two families was earned on without restraint, and no other
attempt made at secrecy, than Mrs. Morris's talking of it every-
where as a matter not to be talked of at present.
Edmund was the only one of the family who could see a fault
in the business; but no representation of his aunt's could induce
him to find Mr. Rushworth a desirable companion. He coidd
allow his sister to be the best judge of her own happiness, but he
was not pleased that her happiness should centre in a large in-
come; nor could he refrain from saying to himself, in Mr. Rush-
worth's company, " If tlus man had not twelve thousand a year,
he would be a very stupid fellow."
Sir Thomas, however, was truly happy in the prospect of an
alliance so unquestionably advantageous, and of which he heard
nothing but the perfectly good and agreeable. It was a connec-
tion exactly of the right sort, in the same county, and the
same interest, and his most hearty concurrence was conveyed
as soon as possible. He only conditioned that the marriage
should not take place before his return, which he was again
looking eagerly forward to. He wrote in April, and had strong
hopes of settling everything to his entire satisfaction, and leaving
Antigua before the the end of the summer.
Such was the state of affairs in the month of July ; and Fanny
had just reached her eighteenth year, when the society of the
village received an addition in the brother and sister of Mrs.
Grant, a Mr. and Miss Crawford, the children of her mother by
a second marriage. They were young people of fortune. The
son had a good estate in Norfolk, the daughter twenty thousand
pounds. As children, their sister had been always very fond of
them ; but, as her own marriage had been soon followed by the
death of their common parent, which left them to the care of a
brother of the father, of whom Mrs. Grant knew nothing, she
had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle's house they had
found a kind home. Admiral and Mrs. Crawford, though
agreeing in nothing else, were united in affection for these chil-
dren, or, at least, were no farther adverse in their feelings than
that each had their favourite, to whom they showed the greatest
28 MANSFIELD PARK.
fondness of the two. The Admiral delighted in the hoy, Mrs.
Crawford doted on the girl; and it was the lady's death which
now obliged her protegee, after some months' further trial at
her uncle's house, to find another homo. Admiral Crawford was
a man of vicious conduct, who chose, instead of retaining his
niece, to bring his mistress under his own roof; and to this Mrs.
Grant was indebted for her sister's proposal of coming to her, a
measure quite as welcome on one side as it could be expe-
dient on the other ; for Mrs. Grant, having by this time run
through the usual resources of ladies residing in the country
without a family of children, having more than filled her
favourite sitting-room with pretty furniture, and made a choice
collection of plants and poultry, was very much in want of
some variety at home. The arrival, therefore, of a sister whom
she had always loved, and now hoped to retain with her as long
as she remained single, was highly agreeable; and her chief
anxiety was, lest Mansfield should not satisfy the habits of a
young woman who had been mostly used to London.
Miss Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehen-
sions, though they arose principally from doubts of her sister's
style of living and tone of society ; and it was not till after she
had tried in vain to persuade her brother to settle with her at
his own country-house, that she could resoh'e to hazard herself
among her other relations. To anything like a permanence of
abode, or limitation of society, Henry Crawford had, unluckily,
a great dislike; he could not accommodate his sister in an
article of such importance; but he escorted her, with the utmost
kindness, into Northamptonshire, and as readily engaged to fetch
her away again, at half an hour's notice, whenever she were
weary of the place.
The meeting was very satisfactory on each side. Miss Craw-
ford found a sister without preciseness or rusticity a sister's
husband who looked the gentleman, and a house commodious
and well fitted ivp ; and Mrs. Grant received in those whom she
hoped to love better than ever, a young man and woman of very
prepossessing appearance. Mary Crawford was remarkably
pretty; Henry, though not handsome, had air and countenance;
the manners of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant
immediately gave them credit for everything else. She was
delighted with each, but Mary was her dearest object ; and
having never been able to glory in beauty of her own, she
thoroughly enjoyed the power of being proud of her sister's.
She had not waited her arrival to look out for a suitable match
for her ; she had fixed on Tom Bertram ; the eldest son of a
Baronet Avas not too good for a girl of twenty thousand pounds,
with all the elegance and accomplishments which Mrs. Grant
foresaw in her; and being a warm-hearted, unreserved woman,
MANSFIELD 1'AHK. 29
Mary had not been three hours in the house before she told her
what she had planned.
Miss Crawford was glad to find a family of such consequence
so very near them, and not all displeased either at her sister's
early care, or the choice it had fallen on. Matrimony was her
object, provided she could marry well; and having seen Mr.
Bertram in town, she knew that objection could no more be made
to his person than to his situation in life. While she treated it
as a joke, therefore, she did not forget to think of it seriously.
The scheme was soon repeated to Henry.
"And now," added Mrs. Grant, " I have thought of something
to make it quite complete. I should dearly love to settle you both
in this country; and therefore, Hemy, you shall marry the
youngest Miss' Bertram, a nice, handsome, good-humoured, ac-
complished girl, who will make you very happy."
Henry bowed and thanked her.
" My dear sister," said Mary, " if you can persuade him into
anything of the sort, it will be a fresh matter of delight to me to
find myself allied to anybody so clever, and I shall only regret
that you have not half-a-dozen daughters to dispose of. If you
can persuade Henry to marry, you must have the address of a
Frenchwoman. All that English abilities can do has been tried
already. I have three very particular friends who have been all
dying for Mm in their turn ; and the pains which they, their
mothers (very clever women), as well as my dear aunt and my-
self, have taken to reason, coax, or trick him into marrying, is
inconceivable ! He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined.
If your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broken, let
them avoid Henry."
" My dear brother, I will not believe this of you."
" No, I am sure you are too good. You will be kinder than
Mary. You will allow for the doubts of youth and inexperience.
I am of a cautious temper, and unwilling to risk my happim :-s
in a hurry. Nobody Can think more highly of the matrimonial
state than myself. I consider the blessing of a wife as most
justly described in those discreet lines of the poet, ' Heaven's last
best gift,' "
" There, Mrs. Grant, you see how he dwells on one word, and
only look at his smile. I assure you he is very detestable the
Admiral's lessons have quite spoiled him."
" I pay very little regard," said Mrs. Grant, " to what any
young person says on the subject of marriage. If they profess a
disinclination for it, I only set it down that they have not yet
seen the right person."
Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford on feeling
no disinclination to the state herself..
" Oh yes,. I am not at all ashamed of it. I would have every-
30 MANSFIELD PAKK.
body marry if they can do it properly : I do not like to have
people throw themselves away ; but everybody should marry as
soon as they can do it to advantage."
CHAPTER V.
HE young people were pleased -with each
other from the first. On each side there was
5 much to attract, and their acquaintance soon
promised as early an intimacy as good
manners would warrant. Miss Crawford's
beauty did her no disservice with the Miss
Bertrams. They were too handsome them-
selves to dislike any woman for being so too,
and were almost as much charmed as their brothers with her
lively dark eye, clear brown complexion, and general prettiness.
Had she been tall, full formed, and fair, it might have been
more of a trial: but as it was, there could be no comparison;
and she was most allowably a sweet pretty girl, while they were
the finest young women in the country.
Her brother was not handsome: no, when they first saw him
he ATOS absolutely plain, black and plain ; but still he was the
gentleman, with a pleasing address. The second meeting proved
him not so very plain : he was plain, to be sure, but then he had
so much countenance, and his teeth were so good, and he was so
well made, that one soon forgot he was plain ; and after a third
interview, after dining in company with him at the Parsonage,
he was no longer allowed to be called so by anybody. He was,
in fact, the most agreeable young man the sisters had ever
known, and they were equally delighted with him. Miss
Bertram's engagement made him in equity the property of Julia,
of which Julia was full}' aware; and before he had been at
Mansfield a week, she was quite ready to be fallen in love with.
Maria's notions on the subject were more confused and indis-
tinct. She did not want to see or understand. " There could
be no harm in her liking an agreeable man everybody knew
her situation Mr. Crawford must take care of himself." Mr.
Crawford did not mean to be in any danger: the Miss Bertrams
were worth pleasing, and were ready to be pleased ; and he began
with no object but of making them like him. He did not want
them to die of love; but with sense and temper which ought to
have made him judge and feel better, he allowed himself great
latitude on such points.
" I like your Miss Bertrams exceedingly, sister," said he,
MANSFIELD PAKK. 31
as he returned from attending them to their carriage after the
said cliiiiier visit; " they are very elegant, agreeable girls."
" So they are, indeed, and I am delighted to hear you say it.
But you like Julia best."
" Oh yes, I like Julia best,"
" But do you really? for Miss Bertram is in general thought
the handsomest."
" So I should suppose. She has the advantage in every
feature, and I prefer her countenance but I like Julia best.
Miss Bertram is certainly the handsomest; and I have found her
the most agreeable, but I shall always like Julia best, because
you order me."
" I shall not talk to you, Henry, but I know you will like her
best at last."
" Do not I tell you that I like her best at first?"
"And besides, Miss Bertram is engaged. Remember that,
my dear brother. Her choice is made."
" Yes, and I like her the better for it. An engaged woman
is always more agreeable than a disengaged. She is satisfied
with herself. Her cares are over, and she feels that she may
exert all her powers of pleasing without suspicion. All is safe
with a lady engaged; no harm can be done."
" Why, as to that, Mr. Rush worth is a very good sort of
young man, and it is a great match for her."
" But Miss Bertram does not care three straws for him; that
is your opinion of your intimate friend. / do not subscribe to it.
I am sure Miss Bertram is very much attached to Mr. Eusliworth.
I could see it in her eyes, when he was mentioned. I think too
well of Miss Bertram to suppose she would ever give her hand
without her heart,"
" Mary, how shall we manage him? "
" We must leave him to himself, I believe. Talking does no
good. He will be taken in at last."
" But I would not have him taken in, I would not have him
duped ; I would have it all fair and honourable."
" Oh dear let him stand his chance and be taken in. It will
do just as well. Everybody is taken in at some period or other."
" Not always in marriage, dear Mary."
" In marriage especially. With all due respect to such of the
present company as chance to be married, my dear Mrs. Grant,
there is not one in a hundred of either sex who is not taken in
when they marry. Look where I will, I see that it is so; and
I feel that it must be so, when I consider that it is, of all trans-
actions, the one in which people expect most from others, and
are least honest themselves."
"Ah! You have been in a bad school for matrimony, in
Hill-street."
32 MANSFIELD PAKK.
" My poor aunt had certainly little cause to love the state ; but,
however, speaking from my own observation, it is a manoeuvring
business. I know so many who have married in the full expec-
tation and confidence of some one particular advantage in the
connexion, or accomplishment, or good quality in the person, who
have found themselves entirely deceived, and been obliged to put
up with exactly the reverse. What is this but a take in?"
" My dear child, there must be a little imagination here. I
beg your pardon, but I cannot quite believe you. Depend upon
it, you see but half. You see the evil, but you do not see the
consolation. There will be little rubs and disappointments
everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if
one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another:
if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better; we find
comfort somewhere and those evil-minded observers, dearest
Mary, who make much of a little, are more taken hi and deceived
than the parties themselves."
"Well done, sister! I honour your esprit du corps. When
I am a wife, I mean to be just as staunch myself; and I wish
my friends in general would be so too. It would save me many
a heart-ache."
" You are as bad as your brother, Mary ; but we will cure
you both. Mansfield shall cure you both, and without any
taking in. Stay with us, and we will cure you.''
The Crawfords, without wanting to be cured, were very
willing to stay. Mary was satisfied with the Parsonage as a
present home, and Henry equally ready to lengthen his visit.
He had come, intending to spend only a few days with them ;
but Mansfield promised well, and there was nothing to call him
elsewhere. It delighted Mrs. Grant to keep them both with
her, and Dr. Grant was exceedingly well contented to have it
so : a talking pretty young woman like Miss Crawford LJ always
pleasant society to an indolent, stay-at-home man; and Mr.
Crawford's being his guest was an excuse for drinking claret
every day.
The Miss Bertrams' admiration of Mr. Crawford was more
rapturous than anything which Miss Crawford's habits made
her likely to feel. She acknowledged, however, that the Mr.
Bertrams were very fine young men, that two such young men
were not often seen together even in London, and that their
manners, particularly those of the eldest, were very good. He
had been much in London, and had more liveliness and gallantry
than Edmund, and must, therefore, be preferred; and, indeed,
his being the eldest was another strong claim. She had felt an
early presentiment that she should like the eldest best. She
knew it was her way.
Tom Bertram must have been thought pleasant, indeed, at
MANSFIELD PARK. 33
any rate ; he was the sort of young man to be generally liked,
his agreeableness was of the kind to be oftener found agreeable
than some endowments of a higher stamp, for he had easy
manners, excellent spirits, a large acquaintance, and a great deal
to say ; and the reversion of Mansfield Park, and a baronetcy,
did no harm to all this. Miss Crawford soon felt that he and
his situation might do. She looked about her with due conside-
ration, and found almost everything in his favour, a park, a real
park five miles round, a spacious modern-built house, so' well
placed and well screened as to deserve to be in any collection of
engravings of gentlemen's seats in the kingdom, and wanting
only to be completely new furnished pleasant sisters, a quiet
mother, and an agreeable man himself with the advantage of
being tied up from much gaming at present, by a promise to his
father, and of being Sir Thomas hereafter. It might do very
well: she believed she should accept him; and she began
accordingly to interest herself a little about the horse which he
had to run at the B races.
These races were to call him away not long after their
acquaintance began ; and as it appeared that the family did not,
from his usual goings on, expect him back again for many weeks,
it would bring his passion to an early proof. Much was said on
his side to induce her to attend the races, and schemes were
made for a large party to them, with all the eagerness of incli-
nation, but it would only do to be talked of.
And Fanny, what was she doing and thinking all this while?
and what was her opinion of the new-comers? Few young ladies
of eighteen could be less called on to speak their opinion than
Fanny. In a quiet way, very little attended to, she paid her
tribute of admiration to Miss Crawford's beauty; but as she still
continued to think Mr. Crawford very plain, in spite of her two
cousins having repeatedly proved the contrary, she never men-
tioned him. The notice which she excited herself, was to this
eftect. " I begin now to understand you all, except Miss Price,"
said Miss Crawford, as she was walking with the Mr. Bertrams,
" Pray, is she out, or is she not? I am puzzled. She dined at
the Parsonage, with the rest of you, which seemed like being
out; and yet she says so little, that I can hardly suppose she is."
Edmund, to whom this was chiefly addressed, replied, " I
believe I know what you mean but I will not undertake to
answer the question. My cousin is grown up. She has the age
and sense of a woman, but the outs and not outs are beyond me."
IAnd yet, in general, nothing can be more easily ascertained.
!"he distinction is so broad. Manners as well as appearance are,
generally, speaking, so totally different. Till now, I could not
have supposed it possible to be mistaken as to a girl's being out
or not. A girl not out, has always the same sort of dress a
(1)
34 MANSFIELD PARK.
close bonnet, for instance looks very demure, and never says a
word. You may smile but it is so I assure you and except
that it is sometimes carried a little too far, it is all very proper.
Girls should be quiet and modest. The most objectionable part
is, that the alteration of manners on being introduced into
company is frequently too sudden. They sometimes pass in such
very little time from reserve to quite the opposite to confidence!
That is the faulty part of the present system. One does not
like to see a girl of eighteen or nineteen so immediately up to
everything and perhaps -when one has seen her hardly able to
speak the year before. Mr. Bertram, I dare say you have
sometimes met with such changes."
" I believe I have: but this is hardly fair; I see what you are
at. You are quizzing me and Miss Anderson."
"No, indeed. Miss Anderson! I do not know who or what
you mean. I am quite in the dark. But I will quiz you with
a great deal of pleasure, if you will tell me what about."
"Ah! you carry it off very well, but I cannot be quite so far
imposed on. You must have had Miss Anderson in your eye, in
describing an altered young lady. You paint too accurately for
mistake. It was exactly so. The Andersons of Baker-street.
We were speaking of them the other day, you know. Edmund,
you have heard me mention Charles Anderson. The circumstance
was precisely as this lady has represented it. When Anderson
first introduced me to his family, about two years ago, his sister
was not out, and I could not get her to speak to me. -I sat there
an hour one morning waiting for Anderson, with only her and a
little girl or two in the room, the governess being sick or run
away, and the mother in and out every moment with letters of
business; and I could hardly get a word or a look from the
young lady, nothing like a civil answer,-^ she screwed up her
mouth, and turned from me with such an air! I did not see her
again for a twelvemonth. She was then out. I met her at Mrs.
Holford's and did not recollect her. She came up to me, claimed
me as an acquaintance, stared me out of countenance, and talked
and laughed till I did not know which way to look. I felt that
I must be the jest of the room at the time, and Miss Crawford,
it is plain, has heard the story."
"And a very pretty story it is, and with more truth in it, I
dare say, than does credit to Miss Anderson. It is too common
a fault. Mothers certainly have not yet got quite the right way
of managing their daughters. I do not know where the error
lies. I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see that they
are often wrong."
" Those who are showing the world what female manners
should be" said Mr. Bertram, gallantly, " are doing a great
deal to set them right."
MANSFIELD PARK. 35
" The error is plain enough," said the less courteous Edmund;
" such girl.-; are ill brought up. They are given wrong notions
from the beginning. They are always acting upon motives of
viinity, and there is no more real modesty in their behaviour
before they appear in public, than afterwards."
" I do not know," replied Miss Crawford, hesitatingly. " Yes,
I cannot agree with you there. It is certainly the most modest
part of the business. It is much worse to have girls not out,
give themselves the same airs and take the same liberties as if
they were, which I have seen done. That is worse than any-
thin:; quite disgusting! "
" Yes, that is very inconvenient, indeed," said Mr. Bertram.
"It leads one astray; one does not know what to do. The
close bonnet and demure air you describe so well (and nothing
was ever juster), tell one what is expected; but I got into a
dreadful scrape last year from the want of them. I went down to
Kumsgate for a week with a friend last September, just after my
return from the West Indies. My friend Sneyd you have,
heard me speak of Sneyd, Edmund, his father and mother and
sisters were there, all new to me. When we reached Albion
1'laee they were out: we went after them, and found them on
the pier, Mrs. and the two Miss Sneyds, with others of their
acquaintance. I made my bow in form ; and as Mrs. Sneyd was
surrounded by men, attached myself to one of her daughters,
walked by her side all the way home, and made myself ns
agreeable as I could, the young lady perfectly easy in her
manners, and as ready to talk as to listen. I had not a suspicion
that I could be doing anything wrong. They looked just the
same: both well dressed, with veils and parasols like other girls;
but I afterwards found that I had been giving all my attention
to the youngest, who was not out, and had most excessively
offended the eldest. Miss Augusta ought not to have been
noticed for the next six months ; and Miss Sneyd, I believe, has
never forgiven me."
" That was bad indeed. Poor Miss Sneyd ! Though I have
no younger sister, I feel for her. To be neglected before one's
time, must be very vexatious; but it was entirely the mother's
fault. Miss Augusta should have been with her governess. Such
half and half doings never prosper. But now I must be satisfied
about Miss Price. Docs she go to balls? Does she dine out
everywhere, as well as at my sister's?"
" No," replied Edmund, " I do not think she has ever been to
a ball. My mother seldom goes into company herself, and dines
nowhere but with Mrs. Grant, and Fanny stays at home wiih
iicr."
" Oh, then the point is clear. Miss Price is not out."
36 MANSFIELD PARK.
CHAPTER VI.
R. BERTRAM set off for , and Miss Craw-
ford was prepared to find a great chasm in
their society, and to miss him decidedly in
the meetings which were now becoming
almost daily between the families; and on
their all dining together at the Park soon
after his going, she retook her chosen place
near the bottom of the table, fully expecting
to feel a most melancholy diffei-ence in the change of masters.
It would be a very flat business, she was sure. In comparison
with his brother, Edmund would have nothing to say. The soup
would be sent round in a most spiritless manner, wine drunk
without any smiles or agreeable trifling, and the venison cut up
without supplying one pleasant anecdote of any former haunch,
or a single entertaining story about "my friend such-a-one."
She must try to find amusement in what was passing at the
upper end of the table, and in observing Mr. Rush-worth, who
was now making his appearance at Mansfield for the first time
since the Crawfords' arrival. He had been visiting a friend in a
neighbouring cotinty, and that friend having recently had his
grounds laid out by an improver, Mr. Rushworth was returned
with his head full of the subject, and very eager to be improving
his own place in the same way; and, though not saying much
to the purpose, could talk of nothing else. The subject had
been already handled in the drawing-room ; it was revived in
the dining-parlour. Miss Bertram's attention and opinion was
evidently his cliief aim; and though her deportment showed
rather conscious superiority than any solicitude to oblige him, the
mention of Sothertoil Court, and the ideas attached to it, gave
her a feeling of complacency, which prevented her from being
very ungracious.
" I wish you could see Compton," said he, " it is the most
complete thing! I never saw a place so altered in my life. I
told Smith I did not know where I was. The approach, now, is
one of the finest things in the country : you see the house in the
most surprising manner. I declare, when I got back to Sotherton
yesterday, it looked like a prison quite a dismal old prison."
"Oh, for shame!" cried Mrs. Norris. "A prison, indeed!
Sotherton Court is the noblest old place in the world."
" It wants improvement, ma'am, beyond anything. I never
saw a place that wanted so much improvement in my life ; and
it is so forlorn, that I do not know what can be done with it."
" No wonder that Mr. Rushworth should think so at present,"
MANSFIELD PARK. 37
said Mrs. Grant to Mrs. Norris, with a smile; " but depend upon
it, Sotherton will have every improvement in tune which his
heart can desire."
" I must try to do something with it," said Mr. Rushworth,
"but I do not know what. I hope I shall have some good
friend to help me."
" Your best friend upon such an occasion," said Miss Bertram,
calmly, " would be Mr. Repton, I imagine."
" That is what I was thinking of. As he has done so well by
Smith, I think I had better have him at once. His terms arc
live guineas a day."
" Well, and if they were ten" cried Mrs. Norris, " I am sure
you need not regard it. The expense need not be any impedi-
ment. If I were you, I should not think of the expense. I
would have everything done in the best style, and made as nice
as possible. Such a place as Sotherton Court deserves everytliing
that taste and money can do. You have space to work upon
there, and gr&unds that will well reward you. For my own
part, if I had anything within the fiftieth part of the size of
Sotherton, I should be always planting and improving, for,
naturally, I am excessively fond of it. It would be too ridiculous
for me to attempt anything where I am now, with my little half
acre. It would be quite a burlesque. But if I had more room,
I should take a prodigious delight in improving and planting.
We did a vast deal in that way at the Parsonage: we made it
quite a different place from what it was when we first had it.
You young ones do not remember much about it, perhaps; but
if dear Sir Thomas were here, he could tell you what improve-
ments we made : and a great deal more would have been done,
but for poor Mr. Norris's sad state of health. He could hardly
ever get out, poor man, to enjoy anything, and that disheartened
me from doing several things that Sir Thomas and I used to talk
of. If it had not been for that, we should have carried on the
garden wall, and made the plantation to shut out the church-
yard, just as Dr. Grant has done. We were always doing
something as it was. It was only the spring twelvemonth
before Mr. Norris's death, that we put in the apricot against the
stable wall, which is now grown such a noble tree, and getting
to such perfection, sir," addressing herself then to Dr. Grant.
" The tree thrives well beyond a doubt, madam," replied Dr.
Grant. "The soil is good; and I never pass it without
regretting that the fruit should be so little worth the trouble of
gathering."
" Sir, it is a moor-park, we bought it as a moor-park, and it
cost us that i.s, it was a present from Sir Thomas, but I saw
the bill, and I know it cost seven shillings, and was charged as
a moor-park."
38 MANSFIELD PARK.
" You were imposed on, ma'am," replied Dr. Grant: "these
potatoes have as much the flavour of a inoor-park apricot as
the fruit from that tree. It is an insipid fruit at the best ; but a
good apricot is eatable, which none from my garden are."
"The truth is, ma'am," said Mrs. Grant, pretending to
whisper across the table to Mrs. Norris, " that Dr. Grant hardly
knows what the natural taste of our apricot is ; he is scarcely
ever indulged with one, for it is so valuable a fruit, with a little
assistance, and ours is such a remarkably large, fair sort, that
what with early tarts and preserves, my cook contrives to get
them all."
Mrs. Norris, who had begun to redden, was appeased; and,
for a little while, other subjects took place of the improvements
of Sotherton. Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris were seldom good
friends; their acquaintance had begun in dilapidations, and their
habits were totally dissimilar.
After a short interruption, Mr. Rushworth began again.
" Smith's place is the admiration of all the country; and it was
a mere nothing before Kepton took it in hand. I think I shall
have Repton."
"Mr. Kushworth," said Lady Bertram, "if I were you, I
would have a very pretty shrubbery. One likes to get out into
a shrubbery in fine weather."
Mr. Eushworth was eager to assure her Ladyship of his
acquiescence, and tried to make out something complimentary:
but, between his submission to her taste, and his having always
intended the same himself, with the superadded objects of pro-
fessing attention to the comfort of ladies in general, and of
insinuating, that there was one only whom he was anxious to
please, he grew puzzled, and Edmund was glad to put an end to
liis speech by a proposal of wine. Mr. Rushworth, however,
though not usually a great talker, had still more to say on the
subject next Ms heart. " Smith has not much above a hundred
acn's altogether, in his grounds, which is little enough, and
makes it more surprising that the place can have been so
improved. Now, at Sotherton, we have a good seven hundred,
without reckoning the water meadows ; so that I think, if so
much could be done at Compton, we need not despair. There
have been two or three fine old trees cut down, that grew too
near the house, and it opens the prospect amazingly, which
makes me think that Repton, or anybody of that sort, would
certainly have the avenue at Sotherton down ; the avenue that
leads from the west front to the top of the hill, you know,"
turning to Miss Bertram particularly as he spoke. But Miss
Bertram thought it most becoming to reply,
"The avenue! Oh, I do not recollect it. I really know very
little of Sotherton."
MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 39
Fanny, who was sitting on the other side of Edmund, exactly
<>l>p<site Miss Crawford, and who had been attentively listening,
now looked at him, and said, in a low voice,
"Cut down an avenue! What a pity! Does it not make
you think of Cowper? ' Ye fallen avenues, once more I mourn
your fate unmerited.' "
He smiled as he answered, " I am afraid the avenue stands a
bad chance, Fanny."
" I should like to see Sotherton before it is cut down, to see
the place as it is now, in its old state; but I do not suppose I
shall."
"Have you never been there? No, you never can; and,
unluckily, it is out of distance for a ride. I wish we could
contrive it."
" Oh, it does not signify. Whenever I do see it, you will tell
me how it has been altered."
" I collect," said Miss Crawford, " that Sotherton is an old
place, and a place of some grandeur. In any particular style of
building?"
"The house was built in Elizabeth's time, and is a large,
regular brick building heavy, but respectable looking, and has
many good rooms. It is ill placed. It stands in one of the
lowest spots of the park; in that respect, unfavourable for
improvement. But the woods are fine, and there is a stream,
which, I dare say, might be made a good deal of. Mr. Eushworth
is quite right, I think, in meaning to give it a modern dress, and
I have no doubt that it will be all done extremely well."
Miss Crawford listened with submission, and said to herself,
" He is a well bred man; he makes the best of it."
" I do not wish to influence Mr. Kushworth," he continued ;
" but, had I a place to new-fashion, I should not put myself into
the hands of an improver. I would rather have an inferior
degree of beauty, of my own choice, and acquired progressively.
I would rather abide by my own blunders, than by his."
''You would know what you were about, of course; but
that would not suit me. I have no eye or ingenuity for such
matters, but as they are before me ; and had I a place of my own
in the country, I should be most thankful to any Mr. Repton
who would undertake it, and give me as much beauty as he
could for my money ; and I should never look at it till it was
complete."
" It would be delightful to me to see the progress of it all,"
said Fanny.
"Ay, you have been brought up to it. It was no part of my
education; and the only dose I ever had, being administered by
not the first favourite in the world, has made me consider
improvements in hand as the greatest of nuisances. Three years
40 MANSFIELD PAKK.
ago, the Admiral, my honoured uncle, bought a cottage at
Twickenham for us all to spend our summers in ; and my aunt
and I went down to it quite in raptures : but it being excessively
pretty, it was soon found necessary to be improved, and for three
months we were all dirt and confusion, without a gravel walk to
step on, or a bench fit for use. I would have everything as
complete as possible in the country, shrubberies and llower-
gardens, and rustic seats innumerable : but it must be all done
without my care. Henry is different, he loves to be doing."
Edmund was sorry to hear Miss Crawford, whom he was much
disposed to admire, speak so freely of her uncle. It did not suit
his sense of propriety, and he was silenced, till induced by further
smiles and liveliness, to put the matter by for the present.
" Mr. Bertram," said she, " I have tidings of my harp at last.
I am assured that it is safe at Northampton; and there it has
. probably been these ten days, in spite of the solemn assurances
we have so often received to the contrary." Edmund expressed
his pleasure and surprise. " The truth is, that our inquiries
were too direct ; we sent a servant, we went ourselves : this will
not do seventy miles from London but this morning we heard
of it in the right way. It was seen by some farmer, and he told
the miller, and the miller told the butcher, and the butcher's
son-in-law left word at the shop."
" I am veiy glad that you have heard of it, by any means,
and hope there will be no farther delay."
"I am to have it to-morrow; but, how do you think it is to
be conveyed? Not by a waggon or cart: oh no, nothing of that
kind could be hired in the village. I might as well have asked
for porters and a hand-barrow."
"You would find it difficult, I dare say, just now, in the middle
of a very late hay harvest, to like a horse and cart?"
" I was astonished to find what a piece of work was made of
it! To want a horse and cart in the country seemed impossible,
so I told my maid to speak for one directly; and as I cannot
look out of my dressing-closet without seeing one farm-yard, nor
walk in the shrubbery without passing another, I thought it
would be only ask and have, and was rather grieved that I could
not give the advantage to all. Guess my surprise, when I found
that I had been asking the most unreasonable, most impossible
thing in . the world; had offended all the farmers, all the
labourers, all the hay in the parish. As for Dr. Grant's bailiff,
I believe I had better keep out of his way ; and my brother-in-
law himself, who is all kindness in general, looked rather black
upon me, when he found what I had been at,"
" You could not be expected to have thought on the subject
before; but when you do think of it, you must see the impor-
tance of getting in the grass. The hire of a cart at any time
MANSFIELD PAKE. 41
might not be so easy as you suppose; our farmers are not in the
habit of lotting them out: but, in harvest, it must be quite out
of their power to spare a horse."
" I shall understand all your ways in time ; but, coming down
with the true London maxim, that everything is to be got with
money, I was a little embarrassed at first by the sturdy
independence of your country customs. However, I am to have
my harp fetched to-morrow. Henry, who is good nature itself,
has offered to fetch it in his barouche. Will it not be honourably
conveyed?"
Edmund spoke of the harp as his favourite instrument, and
hoped to be soon allowed to hear her. Fanny had never heard
the harp at all, and wished for it very much.
"I shall be most happy to play to you both," said Miss
Crawford; "at least, as long as you can like to listen; probably
much longer, for I dearly love music myself, and where the
natural taste is equal, the player must always be best ofF, for she
is gratified in more ways than one. Now, Mr. Bertram, if you
write to your brother, I entreat you to tell him that my harp '*
come, he heard so much of my misery without it. And you
may say, if you please, that I shall prepare my most plaintive
airs against his return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know
his horse will lose."
"If I write, I will say whatever you wish me; but I do not,
at present, foresee any occasion for writing."
" No, I dare say, nor if he were to be gone a twelvemonth,
would you ever write to him, nor he to you, if it could be helped.
The occasion would never be foreseen. What strange creatures
brothers are ! You would not write to each other but upon the
most urgent necessity in the world ; and when obliged to take
up the pen to say that such a horse is ill, or such a relation dead,
it is done in the fewest possible words. You have but one style
among you. I know it perfectly. Henry who is in every other
respect exactly what a brother should be, who loves me, consults
me, confides in me, and will talk to me by the hour together, has
never yet turned the page in a letter; and very often it is
nothing more than, 'Dear Mary, I am just arrived. Bath
seems full, and everything as usual. Yours sincerely.' That is
the true manly style, that is a complete brother's letter."
"When they are at a distance from all their family," said
Fanny, colouring for William's sake, "they can write long
letters."
"Miss Price has a brother at sea," said Edmund, "whose
excellence as a correspondent makes her think you too severe
upon us."
"At sea, has she? In the king's service, of course."
Fanny would rather have had Edmund tell the story, but his
42 MANSFIELD PA14K.
determined silence obliged her to relate her brother's situation;
her voice was animated in speaking of liis profession, and the
foreign stations he had been on; but she could not mention the
number of years that he had been absent without tears in her
eyes. Miss Crawford civilly wished him an early promotion.
"Do you know anything of my cousin's captain?" said
Edmund; " Captain Marshall? You have a large acquaintance
in the navy, I conclude?"
"Among admirals, large enough; but," with an air of gran-
deur, " we know very little of the inferior ranks. Post-captains
may be very good sort of men, but they do not belong to us.
Of various admirals I could tell you a great deal; of them and
their flags, and the gradation of their pay, and their bickerings
and jealousies. But, in general, I can assure you that they are
all passed over, and all very ill used. Certainly, my home at
my uncle's brought me acquainted with a circle of admirals.
Of Rears and Vices, I saw enough. Now, do not be suspecting
me of a pun, I entreat,"
Edmund again felt grave, and only replied, "It is a noble
profession."
" Yes, the profession is well enough, under two circumstances :
if it make tKe fortune, and there be discretion in spending it;
but, in short, it is not a favourite profession of mine. It has
never worn an amiable form to me."
Edmund reverted to the harp, and was again very happy in
the prospect of hearing her play.
The subject of improving grounds, meanwhile, was still under
consideration among the others; and Mrs. Grant could not help
addressing her brother, though it was calling his attention from
Miss Julia Bertram.
"My dear Henry, have you nothing to say? You have been
an improver yourself, and from what I hear of Everingham, it
may vie with any place in England. Its natural beauties, I am
sure, are great, Everingham, as it used to be, was point in
my estimation ; such a happy fall of ground, and such timber !
What would I not give to see it again!"
" Nothing could be so gratifying to mo as to hear your opinion
of it," was his answer; "but I fear there would be some dis-
appointment : you would not find it equal to your present ideas.
In extent, it is a mere nothing; - you would be surprised at its
insignificance ; and, as for improvement, there was very little for
me to do too little, I should like to have been busy much
longer."
"You are fond of the sort of thing?" said Julia.
"Excessively; but what with the natural advantages of the
ground, which pointed out, even to a very young eye, what little
remained to be done, and my own consequent resolutions, I had
MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 43
not been of age three months before Everinghain was all that it
is now. My plan was laid at Westminster, a little altered,
perhaps, at Cambridge, and at one-and-twenty executed. I am
inclined to envy Mr. Rushworth for having so much happiness
yet before him. I have been a devourer of my own."
" Those who sec quickly, will resolve quickly, and act quickly,"
.said Julia. " You can never want employment. Instead of
envying Mr. Rushworth, you should assist him with your
opinion."
Mrs. Grant, hearing the latter part of this speech, enforced it
warmly, persuaded that no judgment could be equal to her
brother's; and as Miss Bertram caught at the idea likewise, and
gave, it her full support, declaring that, in her opinion, it was
infinitely better to consult with friends and disinterested advisers,
than immediately to throw the business into the hands of a
professional man, Mr. Rushworth was very ready to request the
favour of Mr. Crawford's assistance; and Mr. Crawford, after
properly depreciating his. own abilities, was quite at his service
in any way that could be useful. Mr. Rushworth then began to
propose Mr. Crawford's doing Mm the honour of coming over to
Sotherton, and taking a bed there; when Mrs. Norris, as if
reading in her two nieces' minds their little approbation of a
plan which was to take Mr. Crawford away, interposed with an
amendment.
" There can be no doubt of Mr. Crawford's willingness; but
why should not more of us go? Why shoidd not we make a
little party? Here are many that would be interested in your
improvements, my dear Mr. Rushworth, and that would like to
hear Mr. Crawford's opinion on the spot, and that might be of
some small use to you with their opinions; and for my own
part, I have been long wisliing to wait upon your good mother
again ; nothing but having no horses of my own could have made
me so remiss; but now I could go and sit a few hours with Mrs.
Rushworth, while the rest of you walked about and settled
things, and then we could all return to a late dinner here, or dine
at Sotherton, just as might be most agreeable to your mother,,
and have a pleasant drive home by moonlight. I dare say Mr.
Crawford would take my two nieces and me in his barouche,
and Edmund can go on horseback, you know, sister, and 1'anny
will stay at home with you."
Lady Bertram made no objection ; and every one concerned in
the going was forward in expressing their ready concurrence,
excepting Edmund, who heard it all and said nothing.
44 MANSFIELD PARK.
CHAPTER VII.
> ELL, Fanny, and how do you like Miss
' Crawford now ? " said Edmund the next
day, after thinking some time on the
'subject himself. "How did you like her
' yesterday?"
"Very well very much. I like to
?hear her talk. She entertains me; and
she is so extremely pretty, that I have
great pleasure in looking at her."
"It is her countenance that is so attractive. She has a
wonderful play of feature! But was there nothing in her
conversation that struck you, Fanny, as not quite right?"
" Oh yes, she ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she
did. I was quite astonished. An uncle with M r hom she has
been living so many years, and who, whatever his faults may
be, is so very fond of her brother, treating him, they say, quite
like a son. I could not have believed it! "
" I thought you would be struck. It was very wrong very
indecorous."
" And very ungrateful, I think."
" Ungrateful is a strong word. I do not know that her uncle
has any claim to her gratitude ; his wife certainly had ; and it
is the warmth of her respect for her aunt's memory which mis-
leads her here. She is awkwardly circumstanced. With such
warm feelings and lively spirits it must be difficult to do justice
to her affection for Mrs. Crawford, without throwing a shade on
the Admiral. I do not pretend to know which was most to
blame in their disagreements, though the Admiral's present con-
duct might incline one to the side of his wife; but it is natural
and amiable that Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt entirely.
I do not censure her opinions ; but there certainly is impropriety
in making them public."
" Do not you think," said Fanny, after a little consideration,
" that this impropriety is a reflection itself upon Mrs. Crawford,
as her niece has been entirely brought up by her? She cannot
have given her right notions of what was due to the Admiral."
" That is a fair remark. Yes, we must suppose the faults of
the niece to have been those of the aunt ; and it makes one more
sensible of the disadvantages she has been under. But I think
her present home must do her good. Mrs. Grant's manners are
just what they ought to be. She speaks of her brother with a
very pleasing affection."
" Yes, except as to his writing her such short letters. She
MANSFIELD PARK. 45
made mo almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very highly the
love or pood nature of a brother, who will not give himself the
trouble of writing anything worth reading, to his sisters, when
they are separated. I am sure William would never have used
me so, under any circumstances. And what right had she to
suppose, that you would not write long letters when you were
absent?"
" The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatever may
contribute to its own amusement or that of others; perfectly
allowable, when untincttired by ill humour or roughness ; and
there is not a shadow of either in the countenance or manner of
Miss Crawford, nothing sharp, or loud, or coarse. She is per-
fectly feminine, except in the instances we have been speaking of.
There she cannot be justified. I am glad you saw it all as I
did."
Having formed her mind and gained her affections, he had a
good chance of her thinking like him ; though at this period, and
on this subject, there began now to be some clanger of dissimi-
larity, for he was in a line of admiration of Miss Crawford,
which might lead him where Fanny could not follow. Miss
Crawford's attractions did not lessen. The harp arrived, and
rather added to her beauty, wit, and good humour; for she
played with the greatest obligingness, with an expression and
taste which were peculiarly becoming, and there was something
clever to be said at the close of every air. Edmund was at the
parsonage every day, to be indulged with his favourite instru-
ment : one morning secured an invitation for the next ; for the
lady could not be unwilling to have a listener, and everything
was soon in a fair train.
A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant as
herself ; and both placed near a window, cut down to the ground,
and opening on a little lawn, surrounded by shrubs in the rich
foliage of summer, was enough to catch any man's heart. The
season, the scene, the air, were all favourable to tenderness and
sentiment. Mrs. Grant tod her tambour frame were not without
their use : it was all in harmony ; and as everything will turn to
account when love is once set going, even the sandwich tray, and
Dr. Grant doing the honours of it, were worth looking at.
Without studying the business, however, or knowing what he
was about, Edmund was beginning, at the end of a week of sucli
intercourse, to be a good deal in love ; and to the credit of the
lady it may be added, that without his being a man of the world
or an elder brother, without any of the arts of flattery or the
gaieties of small talk, he began to be agreeable to her. She felt
it to be so, though she had not foreseen, and could hardly un-
derstand it; for he was not pleasant by any common rule, he
talked no nonsense, he paid no compliments, his opinions were
46 MANSFIELD PARK.
unbending, his attentions tranquil and simple. There was a
charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity,
which Miss Crawford might be equal to fee], though not equal to
discuss with herself. She did not think very much about it,
however: he pleased her for the present; she liked to have him
near her ; it was enough.
Fanny could not wonder that Edward .was at the Parsonage
every morning ; she would gladly have been there too, might she
have gone in uninvited and unnoticed, to hear the harp ; neither
could she wonder, that when the evening stroll was over, and
the two families parted again, he should think it right to attend
Mrs. Grant and her sister to their home, while Mr. Crawford
was devoted to the ladies of the Park-; but she thought it a very
bad exchange ; and if Edmund were not there to mix the wine
and water for her, would rather go without it than not. Sho
was a little surprised that he could spend so many hours with
Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sort of fault which he
had already observed, and of which she was almost always re-
minded by a something of the same nature whenever she was in
her company ; but so it was. Edmund was fond of speaking to
her of Miss Crawford, but he seemed to think it enough that the
Admiral had since been spared ; and she scrupled to point out
her own remarks to him, lest it should appear like ill nature.
The first actual pain which Miss Crawford occasioned her, was
the consequence of an inclination to learn to ride, which the
former caught soon after her being settled at Mansfield, from the
example of tho young ladies at the Park, and which, when
Edmund's acquaintance with her increased, led to his encouraging
the wish, and the offer of his own quiet mare for the purpose of
her first attempts, as the best fitted for a beginner that either
stable could furnish. No pain, no injury, however, was designed
by him to his cousin in this offer: she was not to lose a day's
exercise by it. The mare was only to be taken clown to the
Parsonage half an hour before her rides were to begin; and
Fanny, on its being first proposed, so far from feeling slighted,
was almost overpowered with gratitude that he should be asking
her leave for it.
Miss Crawford made her first essay with great credit to her-
self, and no inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund, who had taken down
the mare and presided at the whole, returned with it in excellent
time, before either Fanny or the steady old coachman, who
always attended her when she rode without her cousins, were
ready to set forward. The second day's trial was not so guilt-
less. Miss Crawford's enjoyment of riding was such, that she
did not knot,- how to leave off. Active and fearless, and, though
rather small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a horse-
woman; and to the pure genuine pleasure of the exercise
MANSFIELD PARK. 47
something was probably added in Edmund's attendance and
instructions, and something more in the conviction of very
much surpassing her sex in general by her early progress, to
make her unwilling to dismount. Fanny was ready and waiting,
and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for not being gone,
and still no horse was announced, no Edmund appeared. To
avoid her aunt, and look for him, she went out.
The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were not within
sight of each other; but by walking fifty yards from the hall
door she could look down the park, and command a view of the
Parsonage and all its demesnes, gently rising beyond the village
road; and in Dr. Grant's meadow she immediately saw the
group Edmund and Miss Crawford both on horseback, riding
side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford, with two
or three grooms, standing about and looking on. A happy party
it appeared to her all interested in one object cheerful be-
yond a doubt, for the sound of merriment ascended even to her.
It was a sound which did not make her cheerful ; she wondered
that Edmund should forget her, and felt a pang. She could not
turn her eyes from the meadow, she could not help watching all
that passed. At first Miss Crawford and her companion made
the circuit of the field, which was not small, at a foot's pace ;
then, at her apparent suggestion, they rose into a canter; and
to Fanny's timid nature it was most astonishing to see how well
she sat. After a few minutes, they stopped entirely, Edmund
was close to her, he was speaking to her, he was evidently
directing her management of the bridle, he had hold of her
hand; she saw it, or the imagination supplied what the eye
could not reach. She must not wonder at all this; what could
be more natural than that Edmund should be making himself
useful, and proving his good-nature by any one? She could not
but think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well have saved
him the trouble; that it would have been particularly proper
and becoming in a brother to have done it himself; but Mr.
Crawford, with all his boasted good-nature, and all his coach-
manship, probably knew nothing of the matter, and had no
active kindness in comparison of Edmund. She began to think
it rather hard upon the mare to have such double duty ; if she
were forgotten, the poor mare should be remembered.
Her feelings for one and the other were soon a little tranquil-
lized, by seeing the party in the meadow disperse, and Miss
Crawford still on horseback, but attended by Edmund on foot,
pass through a gate into the lane, and so into the park, and
make towards the spot where she stood. She began then to be
afraid of appearing rude and impatient; and walked to meet
them with a great anxiety to avoid the suspicion.
" My dear Miss Price," said Miss Crawford, as soon as she
48 MANSFIELD PARK.
was at all within hearing, "I am come to make my own
apologies for keeping you waiting but I have nothing in the
world to say for myself. I knew it was very late, and that I
was behaving extremely ill; and, therefore, if you please, you
must forgive me. Selfishness must always be forgiven, you
know, because there is no hope of a cure."
Fanny's answer was extremely civil, and Edmund added his
conviction that she should be in no hurry. " For there is more
than time enough for my cousin to ride twice as far as she ever
goes," said he, " and you have been promoting her comfort by
preventing her from setting off half an hour sooner : clouds are
now coming up, and she will not suffer from the heat as she
would have done then. I wish you may not be fatigued by so
much exercise. I wish you had saved yourself this "walk home."
" No part of it fatigues me but getting off this horse, I assure
you," said she, as she sprang down with his help; "I am very
strong. Nothing ever fatigues me, but doing what I do not
like. Miss Price, I give way to you with a very bad grace ;
but I sincerely hope you will have a pleasant ride, and that I
may have nothing but good to hear of this dear, delightful,
beautiful animal."
The old coachman, who had been waiting about with his own
horse, now joining them, Fanny was lifted on hers, and they set
off across another part of the park ; her feelings of discomfort not
lightened by seeing, as she looked back, that the others were
walking down the hill together to the village; nor did her at-
tendant do her much good by his comments on Miss Crawford's
great cleverness as a horsewoman, which lie had been watching
with an interest almost equal to her own.
" It is a pleasure to see a lady with such a good heart for
riding!" said he. " I never see one sit a horse better. She did
not seem to have a thought of fear. Very different from yon,
miss, when you first began, six years ago come next Easter.
Lord bless me ! how you did tremble when Sir Thomas first had
you put on ! "
In the drawing-room Miss Crawford was also celebrated.
Her merit in being gifted by nature with strength and courage
was fully appreciated by the Miss Bertrams; her delight in
riding was like their own ; her early excellence in it was like
their own, and they had great pleasure in praising it.
"I was sure she would ride well," said Julia; "she has the
make for it. Her figure is as neat as her brother's."
" Yes," added Maria, " and her spirits are as good, and she
has the same energy of character. I cannot but think that good
horsemanship has a great deal to do with the mind."
When they parted at night, Edmund asked Fanny whether
she meant to ride the next dav.
.MANSFIELD PARK. 49
" No, 1 do not know not if you want the mare," was her
answer. " I do not want her at all for myself," said he ; " but
whenever you are next inclined to stay at home, I think Mis*
Crawford would be glad to have her for a longer time for a
whole morning, in short. She has a great desire to get as far
as Mansfield Common : Mrs. Grant 'has been telling her of its
fine views, and I have no doubt of her being perfectly equal to
it. But any morning will do for this. She would be extremely
sorry to interfere with you. It would be very wrong if she did.
She rides only for pleasure, you for health."
" I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly," said Fanny; " I have
been out very often lately, and would rather stay at home. You
know I am strong enough now to walk very well."
Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny's comfort, and
the ride to Mansfield Common took place the next morning:
the party included all the young people but herself, and wag
much enjoyed at the time, and doubly enjoyed again in the
evening discussion. A successful scheme of this sort generally
brings on another; and the having been to Mansfield Common
disposed them all for going somewhere else the day after. There
were many other views to be shown ; and though the weather
was hot, there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go.
A young party is always provided with a shady lane. Four fino
mornings successively were spent in this manner, in showing the
Crawfords the country, and doing the honours of its finest spots.
Everything answered; it was all gaiety and good humour, the
heat only supplying inconvenience enough to be talked of with
pleasure till the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the
party was exceedingly clouded. Miss Bertram was the one.
Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage, and
she was excluded. It was meant and done by Mrs. Grant, with
perfect good humour, on Mr. Rushworth's account, who was
partly expected at the Park that clay; but it was felt as a
very grievous injury, and her good manners were severely taxed
to conceal her vexation and anger till she reached home. As
Mr. Rushworth did not come, the injury was increased, and she
had not even the relief of showing her power over him; she
coxild only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin, and throw
as great a gloom as possible over their dinner and dessert.
Between ten and eleven, Edmund and Julia walked into the
drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful,
the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting
there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and
Lady Bertram was half asleep ; and even Mrs. Norris, discom
posed by her niece's ill humour, and having asked one or two
questions about the dinner, which were not immediately attended
to, seemed almost determined to say no more. For ft few
(1) n
50 MANSFIELD PARS.
minutes, the brother and sister were too eager in their praise of
the night and their remarks on the stars, to think beyond them-
selves ; but when the first pause came, Edmund, looking around,
said, " But where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?"
"No, not that I know of," replied Mrs. Norris; "she was
here a moment ago."
Her own gentle voice speaking from the other end of the room,
which was a veiy long one, told them that she was on the sofa.
Mrs. Norris began Scolding.
" That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away all
the evening upon a sofa. Why cannot you come and sit here,
and employ yourself as we do? If you have no work of your
own, I can supply you from the poor basket. There is all the
new calico, that was bought last "Week, not touched yet. I am
sure I almost broke my back by cutting it out. You should
learn to think of other people; and take my word for it, it is a
shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a
sofa."
Before half this was said, Fanny was returned to her seat, at
the table, and had taken up her work again; and Julia, who was
in high good humour, from the pleasures of the day, did her the
justice of exclaiming, " I must say, ma'am, that Fanny is as
little upon the sofa as anybody in the house."
" Fanny," said Edmund, after looking at her attentively, " I
am sure you have the headach."
She could not deny it, but said it was not very bad.
" I can hardly believe you," he replied; " I know your looks
too well. How long have you had it?"
" Since a little before dinner. It is nothing but the heat."
" Did you go out in the heat?"
" Go out! to be sure she did," said Mrs. Norris: " would you
have her stay within such a fine day as this? Were not we all
out? Even your mother was out to-day for above an hour."
" Yes, indeed, Edmund," added her Ladyship, who had been
thoroughly awakened by Mrs. Norris's sharp reprimand to Fanny ;
" I was out above an hour. I sat three quarters of an hour in
the flower-garden, while Fanny cut the roses, and very pleasant
it was, I assure you, but very hot. It was shady enough in the
alcove, but I declare I quite dreaded the coming home again."
" Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?"
" Yes, and I am afraid they will be the last this year. Poor
thing! She found it hot enough; but they were so full blown
that one could not wait."
" There was no help for it, certainly," rejoined Mrs. Norris, in
a rather softened voice; "but I question whether her headach
might not be caught then, sister. There is nothing so likely to
give it as standing and stooping in a hot sun; but I dare say it
MANSFIELD PARK. 5 1
will be well to-morrow. Suppose you let her have your aromatic
vinegar; I always forget to have mine filled.''
" She has got it," said Lady Bertram ; " she has had it ever
since she came back from your house the second time."
"What!" cried Edmund; "has she been walking as well as
cutting roses; walking across the hot park to your house, and
doing it twice, ma'am? No wonder her head aches."
Mrs. Norris was talking to Julia, and did not hear.
" I was afraid it would be too much for her," said Lady
Bertram ; " but when the roses were gathered, your aunt wished
to have them, and then you know they must be taken home."
" But were there roses enough to oblige her to go twice?"
"No; but they were to be put into the spare room to dry;
and, unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the door of the room and
bring away the key, so she was obliged to go again."
Edmund got up and walked about the room, saying, "And
could nobody be employed on such an errand but Fanny? Upon
my word, ma'am, it has been a very ill-managed business."
" I am sure I do not know how it was to have been done
better," cried Mrs. Norris, unable to be longer deaf; " unless I
had gone myself, indeed ; but I cannot be in two places at once ;
and I was talking to Mr. Green at that very time about your
mother's dairymaid, by her desire, and had promised John Groom
to write to Mrs. Jefferies about his son, and the poor fellow was
waiting for me half an hour. I think nobody can justly accuse
me of sparing myself upon any occasion, but really I cannot do
everything at once. And as for Fanny's just stepping down to
my house for me, it is not much above a quarter of a mile,
I cannot think I was unreasonable to ask it. How often do I
pace it three times a-day, early and late, ay, and in all weathers
too, and say nothing about it?"
" I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma'am."
" If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she would
not be knocked up so soon. She has not been out on horseback
now this long while, and I am persuaded, that when she does
not ride, she ought to walk. If she had been riding before, I
should not have asked it of her. But I thought it would rather
do her good after being stooping among the roses ; for there is
nothing so refreshing as a walk after a fatigue of that kind ; and
though the sun was strong, it was not so very hot. Between
ourselves, Edmund,'' nodding significantly at his mother, "it
was cutting the roses, and dawdling about in the flower-garden,
that did the mischief."
" I am afraid it was, indeed," said the more candid Lady
Bertram, who had overheard her; " I am very much afraid she
caught the headach there, for the heat was enough to kill any-
body. It was as much as I could bear myself. Sitting and
52 MANSFIELD PARK.
calling to pug, and trying to keep him from the flower-beds, was
almost too much for me."
Edmund said no more to either lady; but going quietly to
another table, on which the supper tray yet remained, brought a
glass of Madeira to Fanny, and obliged her to drink the greater
part. She wished to be able to decline it; but the tears, which
a variety of feelings created, made it easier to swallow than to
speak.
Vexed as Edmund was with his mother and aunt, he was
still more angry with himself. His own forgetfulness of her was
worse than anything which they had done. Nothing of this
would have happened had she been properly considered ; but she
had been left fovir days together without any choice of companions
or exercise, and without any excuse for avoiding whatever her
unreasonable aunts might require. He was ashamed to think
that for four days together she had not had the power of riding,
and very seriously resolved, however unwilling he must be to
check a pleasure of Miss Crawford's, that it should never happen
again."
Fanny went to bed with her heart as full as on the first
evening of her arrival at the Park. The state of her spirits had
probably had its share in her indisposition; for she had been
feeling neglected, and been struggling against discontent and
envy for some days past. As she leant on the sofa, to which
she had retreated that she might not be seen, the pain of her
mind had been much beyond that in her head ; and the sudden
change which Edmund's kindness had then occasioned, made her
hardly know how to support herself.
CHAPTER VIII.
ANNT'S rides recommenced the very next
, day; and as it was a pleasant fresh-feeling
, morning, less hot than the weather had lately
)been, Edmund trusted that her losses both of
j health and pleasure would be soon made
Jgood. While she was gone, Mr. Rush worth
arrived, escorting his mother, who came to be
> civil, and to show her civility especially, in
urging the execution of the plan for visiting Sotherton, which
had been started a fortnight before, and which, in consequence of
her subsequent absence from home, had since lain dormant.
Mrs. Norris and her nieces wei'e all well pleased with its revival,
and an early day was named, and agreed to, provided Mr.
Crawford should be disengaged: the young ladies did not forget
MANSFIELD PARK. 53
that stipulation, and though Mrs. Norris would willingly have
answered for his being so, they would neither authorize the
liberty, nor run the risk; and at last, on a hint from Miss
Bertram, Mr. Rushworth discovered that the most proper thing
to be done was for him to walk down to the Parsonage directly,
and call on Mr. Crawford, and enquire whether Wednesday would
suit him or not.
Before his return Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford came in.
Having been out some time, and taken a different route to the
house, they had not met him. Comfortable hopes, however,
were given that he would find Mr. Crawford at home. The
Sotherton scheme was mentioned of course. It was hardly
possible, indeed, that anything else should be talked of, for Mrs.
Norris was in high spirits about it; and Mrs. Rushworth, a
well-meaning, civil, prosing, pompous woman, who thought
nothing of consequence, but as it related to her own and her son's
concerns, had not yet given over pressing Lady Bertram to be
of the party. Lady Bertram constantly declined it; but her
placid manner of refusal made Mrs. Rushworth still think she
wished to come, till Mrs. Norris's more numerous words and
louder tone convinced her of the truth.
" The fatigue would be too much for my sister, a great deal
too much I assure you, my dear Mrs. Rushworth. Ten miles
there, and ten back, you know. You must excuse my sister on
this occasion, and accept of our two dear girls and myself without
her. Sotherton is the only place that could give her a wish to
go so far, but it cannot be, indeed. She will have a companion in
Fanny Price, you know, so it will all do very well ; and as for
Edmund, as he is not here to speak for himself, I will answer for
his being most happy to join the party. He can go on horse-
back, you know."
Mrs. Rushworth being obliged to yield to Lady Bertram's
staying at home, could only be sorry. "The loss of her
Ladyship's company would be a great drawback, and she should
have been extremely happy to have seen the young lady too,
Miss Price, who had never been at Sothertou yet, and it was a
pity she should not see the place."
"You are very kind, you are all kindness, my dear madam,"
cried Mrs. Norris ; " but as to Fanny, she will have oppor-
tunities in plenty of seeing Sothertou. She has time enough
before her; and her going now is quite out of the question.
Lady Bertram could not possibly spare her."
" Oh no I cannot do without Fanny."
Mrs. Rushworth proceeded next, under the conviction that
even-body must be wanting to see Sotherton, to include Miss
Crawford in the invitation; and though Mrs. Grant, who had
not been at the trouble of visiting Mrs. Rushworth, on her
54 MANSFIELD PARK.
coming into the neighbourhood, civilly declined it on her own
account, she was glad to secure any pleasure for her sister; and
Mary, properly pressed and persuaded, was not long in accepting
her share of the civility. Mr. Rushworth came back from the
Parsonage successful; and Edmund made his appearance just in
time to learn what had been settled for Wednesday, to attend
Mrs. Rushworth to her carriage, and walk half way down the
park with the two other ladies.
On his return to the breakfast-room, he found Mrs. Norris
trying to make up her mind as to whether Miss Crawford's
being of the party were desirable or not, or whether her brother's
barouche would not be full without her. The Miss Bertrams
laughed at the idea, assuring her that the barouche would hold
four perfectly well, independent of the box, on which one might
go with him.
" But why is it necessary," said Edmund, " that Crawford's
carriage, or his only, should be employed? Why is no use to
be made of my mother's chaise? I could not, when the scheme
was first mentioned the other day, understand why a visit from
the family was not to be made in the carriage of the family."
"What!" cried Julia: "go box'd up three in a post-chaise
in this weather, when we may have seats in a barouche! No,
my dear Edmund, that will not quite do."
" Besides," said Maria, " I know that Mr. Crawford depends
upon taking us. After what passed at first, he would claim it
as a promise."
"And, my dear Edmund," added Mrs. Norris, "taking out
two carriages when one will do, would be trouble for nothing;
and, between ourselves, the coachman is not very fond of the
roads between this and Sotherton : he always complains bitterly
of the narrow lanes scratching his carriage, and you know one
should not like to have dear Sir Thomas, when he comes home,
find all the varnish scratched off."
" That would not be a very handsome reason for using Mr.
Crawford's," said Maria; "but the truth is, that Wilcox is a
stupid old fellow, and does not know how to drive. I will answer
for it that we shall find no inconvenience from narrow roads on
Wednesday."
" There is no hardship, I suppose, nothing unpleasant," said
Edmund, "in going on the barouche box."
" Unpleasant! " cried Maria: "oh dear, I believe it would be
generally thought the favourite seat. There can be no com-
parison as to one's view of the country. Probably, Miss Craw-
ford will choose the barouche box herself."
"There can be no objection, then, to Fanny's going with you;
there can be no doubt of your having room for her."
"Fanny!" repeated Mrs. Norris; "my dear E4mund, there
MANSFIELD PARK. 55
is no idea of her going with us. She stays with her aunt. I
told Mrs. Rushworth so. She is not expected."
"You can have no reason, I imagine, madam," said he
addressing his mother, " for wishing Fanny not to be of the
party, but as it relates to yourself, to your own comfort. If you
could do without her, you would not wish to keep her at home? "
" To be sure not, but I cannot do without her."
" You can, if I stay at home with you, as I mean to do."
There was a general cry out at this. "Yes," he continued,
" there is no necessity for my going, and I mean to stay at home.
Fanny has a great desire to see Sothertbn. I know she wishes
it very much. She has not often a gratification of the kind,
and I am sure, ma'am, you would be glad to give her the
pleasure now?"
"Oh yes, very glad, if your aunt sees no objection."
Mrs. Norris was very ready with the only objection which
could remain, their having positively assured Mrs. Rushworth
that Fanny could not go, and the very strange appearance there
would consequently be in taking her, which seemed to her a
difficulty quite impossible to be got over. It must have the
strangest appearance! It would be something so very uncere-
monious, so bordering on disrespect for Mrs. Rushworth, whose
own manners were such a pattern of good-breeding and attention,
that she really did not feel equal to it. Mrs. Norris had no
affection for Fanny, and no wish of procuring her pleasure at
any time; but her opposition to Edmund now, arose more from
partiality for her own scheme, because it was her own, than from
anything else. Sue felt that she had arranged everything
extremely well, and that any alteration must be for the worse.
When Edmund, therefore, told her in reply, as he did when she
would give him the hearing, that she need not distress herself on
Mrs. Rushworth's account, because he had taken the opportunity
as he walked with her through the hall of mentioning Miss Price
as one who would probably be of the party, and had directly
received a very sufficient invitation for her cousin, Mrs. Norris
was too much vexed to submit with a very good grace, and
would only say, " Very well, very well, just as you choose, settle
it your own way, I am sure I do not care about it."
" It seems very odd," said Maria, " that you should be staying
at home instead of Fanny."
" I am sure she ought to be very much obliged to you," added
Julia, hastily leaving the room as she spoke, from a consciousness
that she ought to offer to stay at home herself.
"Fanny will feel quite as grateful as the occasion requires,"
was Edmund's only reply, and the subject dropt.
Fanny's gratitude, when she heard the plan, was, in fact, much
greater than her pleasure. She felt Edmund's kindness with all,
56 MANSHELU PAltK.
and more than all, the sensibility which he, unsuspicious of her
fond attachment, could be aware of; but that he should forego
any enjoyment on her account gave her pain, and her own satis-
faction in seeing Sotherton would be nothing without him.
The next meeting of the two Mansfield families produced
another alteration in the plan, and one that was admitted with
general approbation. Mrs. Grant offered herself as companion
for the day to Lady Bertram in lieu of her son, and Dr. Grant
was to join them at dinner. Lady Bertram was very well
pleased to have it so, and the young ladies were in spirits again.
Even Edmund was very thankful for an arrangement which res-
tored him to his share of the party ; and Mrs. Norris thought it
an excellent plan, and had it at her tongue's end, and was on
the point of proposing it, when Mrs. Grant spoke.
Wednesday was fine, and soon after breakfast the barouche
arrived, Mr. Crawford driving his sisters; and as everybody was
ready, there was nothing to be done but for Mrs. Grant to alight,
and the others to take their places. The place of all places, the
envied seat, the post of honour, was unappropriated. To whose
happy lot was it to fall? While each of the Miss Bertrams
were meditating how best, and with the most appearance of
obliging the others, to secure it, the matter was settled by Mrs.
Grant's saying, as she stepped from the carriage, "As there are
five of you, it will be better that one should sit with Henry ; and
us you were saying lately that you wished you could drive,
Julia, I think this will be a good opportunity for you to take a
lesson."
Happy Julia! Unhappy Maria! The former was on the
barouche-box in a moment, the latter took her seat within, in
gloom and mortification; and the carriage drove off amid the
good wishes of the two remaining ladies, and the barking of pug
in his mistress's arms.
Their road was through a pleasant country; and Fanny,
whose rides had never been extensive, was soon beyond her
knowledge, and was very happy in observing all that was new,
and admiring all that was pretty. She was not often invited to
join in the conversation of the others, nor did she desire it. Her
own thoughts and reflections were habitually her best companions ;
and, in observing the appearance of the country, the bearings of
the roads, the difference of soil, the state of the harvest, the
cottages, the cattle, the children, she found entertainment that
could only have been heightened by having Edmund to speak to
of what she felt. That was the only point of resemblance between
her and the lady who sat by her; in everything but a value for
Edmund, Miss Crawford was very unlike her. She had none of
Fanny's delicacy of taste, of mind, of feeling; she saw nature,
inanimate nature, with little observation ; her attention was all
MANSFIELD PARK. 57
for men and women, her talents for the light and lively. In
looking back after Edmund, however, when there was any
stretch of road behind them, or when he gained on them in
ascending a considerable hill, they were united, and a "there he
is " broke at the same moment from them both, more than once.
For the first seven miles Miss Bertram had very little real
comfort; her prospect always ended in Mr. Crawford and her
sister sitting side by side, full of conversation and merriment ;
and to see only his expressive profile as he turned with a smile
to Julia, or to catch the laugh of the other, was a perpetual
source of irritation, which her own sense of propriety could but
just smooth over. When Julia looked back, it was with a
countenance of delight, and whenever she spoke to them, it was
in the highest spirits: "her view of the country was charming,
she wished they all could see it," &c. ; but her only offer of
exchange was addressed to Miss Crawford, as they gained the
summit of a long hill, and was not more inviting than this:
" Here is a fine burst of country. I wish you had my seat, but
I dare say you will not take it, let me press you ever so much;"
and Miss Crawford could hardly answer, before they were moving
again at a good pace.
When they came within the influence of Sotherton associa-
tions, it was better for Miss Bertram, who might be said to have
two strings to her bow. She had Rushworth-feelings, and
Crawford-feelings, and in the vicinity of Sotherton, the former
had considerable effect. Mr. Eush worth's consequence was hers.
She could not tell Miss Crawford that " those woods belonged to
Sotherton;" she could not carelessly observe that "she believed
it was now all Mr. Rushworth's property on each side of the
road," without elation of heart; and it was a pleasure to increase
with their approach to the capital freehold mansion, and ancient
manorial residence of the family, with all its rights of court-leet
and court-baron.
"Now, we shall have no more rough road, Miss Crawford, our
difficulties are over. The rest of the way is such as it ought to
be. Mr. Rushworth has made it since he succeeded to the
estate. Here begins the village. Those cottages are really a
disgrace. The church spire is reckoned remarkably handsome.
I am glad the church is not so close to the great house as often
happens in old places. The annoyance of the bells must be
terrible. There is the parsonage; a tidy looking house, and I
understand the clergyman and his wife are very decent people.
Those are alms-houses, built by some of the family. To the
right is the steward's house ; he is a very respectable man. Now,
we are coming to the lodge gates; but we have nearly a mile
through the park still. It is not ugly, you see, at this end;
there is some fine timber, but the situation of the house is
58 MANSFIELD PARK.
dreadful. We go down hill to it for half a mile, and it is a
pity, for it would not be an ill-looking place if it had a better
approach."
Miss Crawford was not slow to admire ; she pretty well guessed
Miss Bertram's feelings, and made it a point of honour to promote
her enjoyment to the utmost. Mrs. Norris was all delight and
volubility ; and even Fanny had something to say in admiration,
and might be heard with complacency. Her eye was eagerly
taking in eveiy thing within her reach ; and after being at some
pains to get a view of the house, and observing that " it was a
sort of building which she could not look at but with respect,"
she added, "Now, where is the avenue? The house fronts the
east, I perceive. The avenue, therefore, must be at the back of
it Mr. Rushworth talked of the west front."
"Yes, it is exactly behind the house; begins at a little
distance, and ascends for half-a-mile to the extremity of the
grounds. You may see something of it here something of the
more distant trees. It is oak entirely."
Miss Bertram could now speak with decided information of
what she had known nothing about, when Mr. Rushworth had
asked her opinion; and her spirits were in as happy a flutter as
vanity and pride could furnish, when they drove up to the
spacious stone steps before the principal entrance.
CHAPTER IX.
R. RUSHWORTH was at the door to receive
his fair lady; and the whole party were
welcomed by him with due attention. In
the drawing-room they were met with equal
cordiality by the mother, and Miss Bertram
. had all the distinction with each that she
could wish. After the business of arriving
was over, it was first necessary to eat, and
the doors were thrown open to admit them through one or two
intermediate rooms into the appointed dining-parlour, where a
collation was prepared with abundance and elegance. Much was
said, and much was ate, and all went well. The particular
object of the day was then considered. How would Mr. Crawford
like, in what manner would he choose, to take a survey of the
grounds? Mr. Rushworth mentioned his curricle. Mr. Crawford
suggested the greater desirableness of some carriage which might
convey more than two. "To be depriving themselves of the
advantage of other eyes and other judgments, might be an evil
even beyond the loss of present pleasure,"
MANSFIELD PARK. 59
Mrs. Rnshworth proposed that the chaise should be taken
also; but this was scarcely received as an amendment: the
young ladies neither smiled nor spoke. Her next proposition,
of showing the house to such of them as had not been there
before, was more acceptable, for Miss Bertram was pleased to
have its size displayed, and all were glad to be doing something.
The whole party rose accordingly, and under Mrs. Rushworth's
guidance were shown through a number of rooms, all lofty, and
many large, and amply furnished in the taste of fifty years back,
with shining floors, solid mahogany, rich damask, marble,
gilding, and carving, each handsome in its way. Of pictures
there were abundance, and some few good, but the larger part
were family portraits, no longer anything to anybody but Mrs.
Rushworth, who had been at great pains to learn all that the
housekeeper could teach, and was now almost equally well
qualified to show the house. On the present occasion, she
addressed herself chiefly to Miss Crawford and Fanny, but there
was no comparison in the willingness of their attention ; for Miss
Crawford who had seen scores of great houses, and cared for
none of them, had only the appearance of civilly listening, while
Fanny, to whom everything was almost as interesting as it was
new, attended with unaffected earnestness to all that Mrs.
Rushworth could relate of the family in former times, its rise
and grandeur, regal visits and loyal efforts, delighted to connect
anything with history already known, or warm her imagination
with scenes of the past
The situation of the house excluded the possibility of much
prospect from any of the rooms ; and while Fanny and some of
the others were attending Mrs. Rushworth, Henry Crawford was
looking grave and shaking his head at the windows. Every
room on the west front looked across a lawn to the beginning
of the avenue immediately beyond tall iron palisades and gates.
Having visited many more rooms than could be supposed to
be of any other use than to contribute to the window tax, and
find employment for housemaids, " Now," said Mrs. Rushworth,
" we are coming to the chapel, which properly we ought to enter
from above, and look down upon ; but as Ave are quite among
friends, I will take you in tins way, if you will excuse me."
They entered. Fanny's imagination had prepared her for
something grander than a mere spacious, oblong room, fitted up
for the purpose of devotion with nothing more striking or more
solemn than the profusion of mahogany, and the crimson velvet
cushions appearing over the the ledge of the family gallery above.
" I am disappointed," said she, in a low voice to Edmund.
" This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing awful here,
nothing melancholy, nothing grand. Here are no aisles, no
arches, no inscriptions, no banners. No banners, cousin, to be
60 MANSFIELD PARK.
' blown by the night wind of heaven.' No signs that a * Scottish
monarch sleeps below.' "
" You forget, Fanny, how lately all this has been built, and
for how confined a purpose, compared with the old chapels of
castles and monasteries. It was only for the private use of the
family. They have been buried, I suppose, in the parish church.
There you must look for the banners and the achievements."
" It was foolish of me not to think of all that, but I am
disappointed."
Mrs. Rushworth began her relation. " This chapel was fitted
up as you see it, in James the Second's time. Before that period,
as I understand, the pews were only wainscot; and there is
some reason to think that the linings and cusliions of the pulpit
and family seat were only purple cloth; but this is not quite
certain. It is a handsome chapel, and was formerly in constant
use both morning and evening. Prayers were always read in it
by the domestic chaplain, within the memory of many; but the
late Mr. Rushworth left it off."
" Every generation has its improvements," said Miss Crawford,
with a smile, to Edmund.
Mrs. Rushworth was gone to repeat her lesson to Mr. Crawford ;
nnd Edmund, Fanny, and Miss Crawford, remained in a cluster
together.
" It is a pity," cried Fanny, " that the custom should have
been discontinued. It was a valuable part of former times.
There is sometliing in a chapel and chaplain so much in character
with a great house, with one's ideas of what such a household
should be ! A whole family assembling regularly for the purpose
of prayer is fine!"
" Very fine, indeed," said Miss Crawford, laughing. " It
must do the heads of the family -a great deal of good to force all
the poor housemaids and footmen to leave business and pleasure,
and say their prayers here twice a-day, while they are inventing
excuses themselves for staying away."
" That is hardly Fanny's idea of a family assembling," said
Edmund, " If the master and mistress do not attend themselves,
there must be more harm than good in the custom."
"At any rate, it is safer to leave people to their own devices on
such subjects. Everybody likes to go their own way to choose
their own time and manner of devotion. The obligation of
attendance, the formality, the restraint, the length of time
altogether it is a formidable thing, and what nobody likes; and
if the good people who used to kneel and gape in that gallery
could have foreseen that the time would ever come when meu
and women might lie another ten minutes in bed, when they woke
with a headach, without danger of reprobation because chapel
was missed, they would have jumped Avith joy and envy. Cannot
MANSFIELD PARK. 6 1
you imagine with what unwilling feelings the former belles of
the house of Rush-worth did many a time repair to this chapel?
The young Mrs. Eleanors and Mrs. Bridgets starched up into
seeming piety, but with heads full of something very different
especially if the poor chaplain were not worth looking at and,
in those days, I fancy parsons were very inferior even to what
they are now."
For a few moments she was unanswered. Fanny coloured and
looked at Edmund, but felt too angry for speech ; and he needed
a little recollection before he could say, " Your lively mind can
hardly be serious even on serious subjects. You have given us
an amusing sketch, and human nature cannot say it was not so.
We must all feel at times the difficulty of fixing our thoughts as
we could wish; but if you are supposing it a frequent thing,
that is to say, a weakness grown into a habit from neglect, what
could be expected from the private devotions of such persons?
Do you think the minds which are suffered, which are indulged
in wanderings in a chapel, would be more collected in a closet?"
" Yes, very likely. They would have two chances at least in
their favour. There would be less to distract the attention from
without, and it would not be tried so long."
" The mind which does not struggle against itself undor one
circumstance, would find objects to distract it in the other, I
believe ; and the influence of the place and of example may often
rouse better feelings than are begun with. The greater length
of the service, however, I admit to be sometimes too hard a
stretch upon, the mind. One wishes it were not so; but I have
not yet left Oxford long enough to forget what chapel prayers
are."
While this was passing, the rest of the party being scattered
about the chapel, Julia called Mr. Crawford's attention to her
sister, by saying, " Do look at Mr. Rushworth and Maria, standing
side by side, exactly as if the ceremony were going to be per-
formed. Have not they completely the air of it? "
Mr. Crawford smiled his acquiescence, and stepping forward to
Maria, said, in a voice which she only could hear, " I do not
like to see Miss Bertram so near the altar."
Starting, the lady instinctively moved a step or two, but
recovering herself in a moment, affected to laugh, and asked him,
in a tone not much louder, " If he would give her away ? "
" I am afraid I should do it very awkwardly," was his reply,
with a look of meaning.
Julia, joining them at the moment, carried on the joke.
" Upon my word, it is really a pity that it should not take
place directly, if we had but a proper license, for here we are all
together, and nothing in the world could be more snug and
pleasant." And she talked and laughed about it with so little
62 MANSFIELD PARK*
caution, as to catch the comprehension of Mr. Rushworth and
his mother, and expose her sister to the whispered gallantries of
her lover, while Mrs. Rushworth spoke with proper smiles and
dignity of its being a most happy event to her whenever it took
place.
" If Edmund were but in orders! " cried Julia, and running to
where he stood with Miss Crawford and Fanny: "My dear
Edmund, if you were but in orders now, you might perform the
ceremony directly. How unlucky that you are not ordained;
Mr. Rushworth and Maria are quite ready."
Miss Crawford's countenance, as Julia spoke, might have
amused a disinterested observer. She looked almost aghast
under the new idea she was receiving. Fanny pitied her. " How
distressed she will be at what she said just now," passed across
her mind.
"Ordained!" said Miss Crawford: "what, are you to be a
clergyman?"
"Yes; I shall take orders soon after my father's return
probably at Christmas."
Miss Crawford rallying her spirits, and recovering her com-
plexion, replied only, " If I had known this before, I would have
spoken of the cloth with more respect," and turned the subject.
The chapel was soon afterwards left to the silence and stillness
which reigned in it, with few interruptions, throughout the year.
Miss Bertram, displeased with her sister, led the way, and all
seemed to feel that they had been there long enough.
The lower part of the house had been now entirely shown, and
Mrs. Rushworth, never weary in the cause, would have pro-
ceeded towards the principal staircase, and taken them through
all the rooms above, if her son had not interposed with a doubt
of there being time enough. " For if," said he, with the sort of
self-evident proposition which many a clearer head does not
always avoid, " we are too long going over the house, we shall
not have time for what is to be done out of doors. It is past
two, and we are to dine at five."
Mrs. Rushworth submitted; and the question for surveying
the grounds, with the who and the how, was likely to be more
fully agitated, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to arrange by what
junction of carnages and horses most could be done, when the
young people, meeting with an outward door, temptingly open on
a flight of steps which led immediately to turf and shrubs, and
all the sweets of pleasure-grounds, as by one impulse, one wish for
air and liberty, all walked out.
"Suppose we turn down here for the present," said Mrs.
Rushworth, civilly taking the hint and following them. " Here
are the greatest number of our plants, and here are the curious
MANSFIELD PARK. 63
"Query," said Mr. Crawford, looking round him, "whether
we may not find something to employ us here, before we go
farther? I see walls of great promise. Mr. Rushworth, shall
. we summon a council on tliis lawn?"
"James," said Mrs. Rushworth to her son, "I believe the
wilderness will be new to all the party. The Miss Bertrams
have never seen the wilderness yet."
No objection was made, but for some time there seemed no
inclination to move in any plan, or to any distance. All were
attracted at first by the plants or the pheasants, and all dispersed
about in happy independence. Mr. Crawford was the first to
move forward, to examine the capabilities of that end of the
house. The lawn, bounded on each side by a high wall, con-
tained beyond the first planted area a bowling-green, and beyond
the bowling-green a long terrace walk, backed by iron palisades,
and commanding a view over them into the tops of the trees of
the wilderness immediately adjoining. It was a good spot for
fault-finding. Mr. Crawford was soon followed by Miss Ber-
tram and Mr. Rushworth ; and when after a little time the others
began to form into parties, these tliree were found in busy con-
sultation on the terrace by Edmund, Miss Crawford, and Fanny,
who seemed as naturally to unite, and who after a short partici-
pation of their regrets and difficulties, left them and walked on.
The remaining three, Mrs. Rushworth, Mrs. Norris, and Julia,
were still far behind ; for Julia, whose happy star no longer pre-
vailed, was obliged to keep by the side of Mrs. Rushworth, and
restrain her impatient feet to that lady's slow pace, while her aunt,
having fallen in with the housekeeper, who was come out to feed
the pheasants, was lingering behind in gossip with her. Poor
Julia, the only one out of the nine not tolerably satisfied with their
lot, was now in a state of complete penance, and as different from
the Julia of the barouche-box as could well be imagined. The
politeness which she had been brought up to practise as a duty
made it impossible for her to escape ; while the want of that
higher species of self-command, that just consideration of others,
that knowledge of her own heart, that principle of right which
had not formed any essential part of her education, made her
miserable under it.
" This is insufferably hot, " said Miss Crawford, when they had
taken one turn on the terrace, and were drawing a second time to
the door in the middle which opened to the wilderness. " Shall
any of us object to being comfortable? Here is a nice little wood,
if one can but get into it. What happiness if the door should not
be locked! but of course it is; for in these great places, the
gardeners are the only people who can go where they like."
The door, however, proved not to be locked, and they were all
agreed in turning joyfully through it, and leaving the unmiti-
64 MANSFIELD PARK.
gated glare of day behind. A considerable flight of steps landed
them in the wilderness, which was a planted wood of about two
acres, and though chiefly of larch and laurel, and beech cut
down, and though laid out with too much regularity, was dark-
ness and shade, and natural beauty, compared with the bowling-
green and the terrace. They all felt the refreshment of it, and
for some time could only walk and admire. At length, after a
short pause, Miss Crawford began with, " So you are to be a
clergyman, Mr. Bertram. This is rather a surprise to me."
"Why should it surprise you? You must suppose me de-
signed for some profession, and might perceive that I am not a
lawyer, a soldier, or a sailor."
"Very true; but, in short, it had not occurred to me. And
you know there is generally an uncle or a grandfather to leave a
fortune to the second son."
" A very praiseworthy practice,'' said Edmund, " but not quite
universal. I am one of the exceptions, and being one, must do
something for myself.''
"But why are you to be a clergyman; I thought that was
always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to choose
before him.''
" Do you think the church itself never chosen, then?"
" Never is a black word. But yes, in the never of conversa-
tion which means not very often, I do think it. For what is to
be done in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and
in any of the other lines distinction may be gained, but not in
the church. A clergyman is nothing."
" The nothing of conversation has its gradations, I hope, as
well as the never. A clergyman cannot be high in state or
fashion. He must not head mobs, or set the ton in dress. But
I cannot call that situation nothing, which has the charge of all
that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or col-
lectively considered, temporally and eternally which has the
guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the
manners which result from their influence. No one here can
call the office nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is by
the neglect of his duty, by foregoing its just importance, and
stepping out of his place to appear what he ought not to
appear."
" You assign greater consequence to the clergyman than one
has been used to hear given, or than I can quite comprehend.
One does not see much of this influence and importance in
society, and how can it be acquired where they are so seldom
seen themselves? How can two sennons a week, even suppos-
ing them worth hearing, supposing the preacher to have the
sense to prefer Blair's to his own, do all that you speak of?
govern the conduct and fashion, the manners of a large congrega-
MANSFIELD 1'A K 1C. t ! . >
tiiiu for tlic rest of the week? One scarcely sees a clergyman
out of his pulpit."
" .Tow are speaking of London, / am speaking of the nation
at large."
" The metropolis, I imagine, is a pretty fair sample of the
rest."
" Xot, I should hope, of the proportion of virtue to vice
throughout the kingdom. We do not look in great cities for our
best morality. It is not there, that respectable people of any
denomination can do most good; and it certainly is not there
that the influence of the clergy can be most felt. A fine preacher
is followed an:l admired; but it is not in fine preaching only that
a good clergyman will bo useful in his parish and his neighbour-
hood, where the parish and neighbourhood are of a size capable
of knowing his private character, and observing his general con-
duct, which in London can rarely be the case. The clergy are
lost there in the crowds of their parishioners. They are known to
the largest part only as preachers. And with regard to their in-
fluencing public manners, Miss Crawford must not misunderstand
me, or suppose I mean to call them the arbiters of good breed-
ing, the regulators of refinement and courtesy, the masters of the
ceivmonics of life. The manners I speak of might rather be
called conduct, perhaps, the result of good principles ; the effect,
in short, of thos-j doctrines which it is their duty to teach and
recommend ; and it will, I believe, be everywhere found, that
as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the
rest of the nation."
" Certainly," said Fanny, with gentle earnestness.
"There," cried Miss Crawford, "you have quite convinced
Miss Price already."
" I wish I could convince Miss Crawford too."
" I do not think you ever will," said she, with an arch smile ;
" I am just as much surprised now as I was at first that you
should intend to take orders. You really are fit for something
better. Come, do change your mind. It is not too late. Go
into the law."
" Go into the law ! with as much ease as I was told to go into
this wilderness."
" Now you are going to say sometliing about law being the
worst wilderness of the two, but I forestall you; remember I
have forestalled you."
" You need not hurry when die object is only to prevent my
saying a bon-mot, for there is not the least wit in my nature. I
am a very matter-of-fact, plain-spoken being, and may blunder
on the borders of a repartee for half an hour together without
striking it out.'' *
A general silence succeeded. Each was thoughtful. Fanny
(1) E
66 MANSFIELD 1'AKK.
made the first interruption by saying, " I wonder that I should
be tired with only walking in this sweet wood ; but the next time
we come to a seat, if it is not disagreeable to you, I should be
glad to sit down for a little while."
" My dear Fanny," cried Edmund, immediately drawing her
arm within his, " how thoughtless I have been ! I hope you are
not very tired. Perhaps," turning to Miss Crawford, "my other
companion may do me the honour of taking an arm."
" Thank you, but I am not at all tired." She took it, how-
ever, as she spoke, and the gratification of having her do so, of
feeling such a connection for the first time, made him a little
forgetful of Fanny. " You scarcely touch me," said he. " You
do not make me of any use. What a difference in the weight of
a woman's arm from that of a man ! At Oxford I have been a
good deal used to have a man lean on me for the length of a
street, and you are only a fly in the comparison."
"I am really not tired, which I almost wonder at; for we
must have walked a mile at least in this wood. Do not you
think we have?"
" Not half a mile," was his sturdy answer ; for he was not yet
so much in love as to measure distance, or reckon time, with
feminine lawlessness.
" Oh, you do not consider how much we have wound about.
We have taken such a very serpentine course ; and the wood
itself must be half a mile long in a straight line, for we
have never seen the end of it yet, since we left the first great
path."
" But if you remember, before we left that first great path, wo
saw directly to the end of it. We looked down the whole vista,
and saw it closed by iron gates, and it could not have been more
than a furlong in length."
" Oh, I know nothing of your furlongs, but I am sure it is a
very long wood ; and that we have been winding in and out ever
since we came into it ; and therefore when I say that we have
walked a mile in it, I must speak within compass."
" We have been exactly a quarter of an hour here," said Ed-
mund, taking out his watch. " Do you think we are walking
four miles an hour ?"
" Oh, do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always
too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch."
A few steps farther brought them out at the bottom of the
very walk they had been talking of : and standing back, well
shaded and sheltered, and looking over a ha-ha into the park,
was a comfortable-sized bench, on which they all sat down.
"I am afraid you are very tired, Fanny," said Edmund, ob-
serving her; " why would not you speak sooner? This will be
a bad day's amusement for you, if you are to be knocked up.
MANSFIELD 1'ARK. 67
Every sort of exercise fatigues her so soon, Miss Crawford, ex-
cept riding."
" How abominable in you, then, to lot me engross her horse
as I did all last week ! I am ashamed of you and of myself, but
it shall never happen again."
u Four attentiveness and consideration make me inorescn.-iMo
of my own neglect. Fanny's interest seems in safer hands with
you than with me."
" That she should be tired now, however, gives me no surprise ;
for there is nothing in the course of one's duties so fatiguing as
what we have been doing this morning seeing a great house,
dawdling from one room to another straining one's eyes and
one's attention hearing what one docs not understand admi-
ring what one does not care for. It is generally allowed to be the
greatest bore in the world, and Miss Price has found it so, though
she did not know it."
" I shall soon be rested," said Fanny : " to sit in the shade
on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refresh-
ment.''
After sitting a little while, Miss Crawford was up again. "I
must move," said she, "resting fatigues me. I have looked
across the ha-ha till I am weary. I must go and look through
that iron gate at the same view, without being able to see it so
well."
Ivhmind left the seat likewise. ' " Now, Miss Crawford, if you
will look up the walk, you will convince yourself that it cannot
be half a mile long, or half half a mile."
" It is an immense distance," said she ; " I see that with a
glance.''
He still reasoned with her, but in. vain. She would not calcu-
late, si ic would not compare. She would only smile and assert.
The greatest degree of rational consistency could not have been
more engaging, and they talked with mutual satisfaction. At
last it was agreed that they should endeavour to determine the
dimensions of the wood by walking a little more about it. They
would go to one end of it, in the line they were then in (for there
was a straight green walk along the bottom by the side of the
ha-ha), and perhaps turn a little way in some other direction, if
it seemed likely to assist them, and be back in a few minutes.
Fanny said she was rested, and would have moved too, but this
was not suffered. Edmund urged her remaining where she was
with an earnestness which she could not resist, and she was left
on the bench to think with pleasure of her cousin's care, but
with great regret that she was not stronger. She watched them
till they had turned the comer, and listened till all sound of them
had ceased.
68 MANSFlJiLD PAUK.
CHAPTER X.
QUARTER of an hour, twenty minutes,
passed away, and Fanny was still thinking
; of Edmund, Miss Crawford, and herself, with-
out interruption from any one. She began (o
be surprised at being left so long, and to listen
with an anxious desire of hearing their steps
and their voices again. She listened, and at
length she heard ; she heard voices and feet
approaching ; but she had just satisfied herself that it was not
those she wanted, when Miss Bertram, Mr. Rushworth, and Mr.
Crawford, issued from the same path which she had trod herself,
and were before her.
"Miss Price all alone!' 1 and "my dear Fanny, how comes
this ?" were the first salutations. She told her story. " Poor
dear Fanny," cried her cousin, " how ill you have been used by
them ! You had better have staid with us."
Then seating herself with a gentleman on each side, she re-
sumed the conversation which had engaged them before, and dis-
cussed the possibility of improvements with much animation.
Nothing was fixed on but Henry Crawford was full of ideas
and projects, and, generally speaking, whatever he proposed was
immediately approved, first by her, and then by Mr. Rushworth,
whoso principal business seemed to be to hear the others, and
who scarcely risked an original thought of his own beyond a wuh
that they had seen his friend Smith's place.
After some minutes spent in this way, Miss Bertram observed
the iron gate, expressed a wish of passing through it into the
park, that their views and their plans might be more compre-
hensive. It was the very tiling of all others to be wished, it
was the best, it was the only way of proceeding with any ad-
vantage, in Henry Crawford's opinion ; and he directly saw a
knoll not half a mile off, which would give them exactly the
requisite command of the house. Go therefore they must to that
knoll, and through that gate ; but the gate was locked. Mr.
Rushworth wished he had brought the key ; he had been very
near thinking whether he should not bring the key ; he was de-
termined he would never come without the key again ; but still
this did not remove the present evil. They could not get
through ; and as Miss Bertram's inclination for so doing did by
no means lessen, it ended in Mr. Rushworth's declaring out-
right that he would go and fetch the key. He set off accord-
ingly.
MANSFIELD PARK. 69
" It is undoubtedly the best thing we can do now, as we are
so far from the house already," said Mr. Crawford, when lie was
gone.
" Yes, there is nothing else to be done. But now, sincerely,
do not you find the place altogether worse than you expected?"
" No, indeed, far otherwi.se. I find it better, grander, more
complete in its style, though that style may not be the best.
And to tell you the truth," speaking rather lower, " I do not
think that / shall ever see Sothcrton again with so much plea-
sure as I do now. Another summer will hardly improve it to
me."
After a moment's embarrassment the lady replied, "You are
too much a man of the world not to see with the eyes of the
world. If other people think Sotherton improved, I have no
doubt that you will."
" I am afraid I am not quite so much the man of the world as
might be good for me in some points. My feelings are not quite
so evanescent, nor my memory of the past under such easy do-
minion as one finds to be the case with men of the world."
This was followed by a short silence. Miss Bertram began
again. " You seemed to enjoy your drive here this morning. I
was glad to see you so well entertained. You and Julia were
laughing the whole way."
"Were we? Yes, I believe we were; but I have not the
least recollection at what. Oh, I believe I was relating to her
some ridiculous stories of an old Irish groom of my uncle's. Your
sister loves to laugh."
" You think her more light-hearted than I am."
" More easily amused," he replied, "consequently, you know,"
smiling, " better company. I could not have hoped to entertain
you Avith Irish anecdotes during a ten miles' drive."
" Naturally, I believe, I am as lively as Julia, but I have
more to think of new."
"You have, undoubtedly and there are situations in which
very high spirits would denote insensibility. Your prospects, how-
ever, arc too fair to justify want of spirits. You have a very
smiling scene before you."
" Do you mean literally or figuratively ? Literally, I con-
clude. Yes, certainly, the sun shines and the park looks very
cheerful. But unluckily that iron gate, that ha-ha, give me a
feeling of restraint and hardship. I cannot get out, as the star-
ling said." As she spoke, and it was with expression, she
walked to the gate : he followed her. " Mr. Rushworth is so
long fetching this key !"
" And for the world you would not get out without the key
and without Mr. Rushworth's authority and protection, or I think
you might with little difficulty pass round the edge of the gate.
70 MANSFIELD PARK.
here, with my assistance ; I think it might be done, if you really
wished to be more at largo, and could allow yourself to think it
not prohibited."
" Prohibited ! nonsense ! I certainly can get out that way, and
I will. Mr. Rushworth will be here in a moment you know
we shall not be out of sight."
" Or if we are, Miss Price will be BO good as to tell him, that
he will find vis near that knoll, the grove of oak on the knoll."
Fanny, feeling all this to be wrong, could not help making- an
effort to prevent it. " You will hurt yourself, Miss Bertram,"
she cried, " you will certainly hurt yourself against those spikes
you will tear your gown you will be in danger of slipping
into the ha-ha. You had better not go."
Her cousin was safe on the other side, while these words were
spoken, and, smiling with all the good humour of success, she
said, " Thank yon, my dear Fanny, but I and my gown are
alive and well, and so good bye."
Fanny was again left to her solitude, and with no increase of
pleasant feelings, for she was sorry for almost all that she had
seen and heard, astonished at Miss Bertram, and angry with
Mr. Crawford. By taking a circuitous, and, as it appeared to
her, very unreasonable direction to the knoll, they were soon
beyond her eye; and for some minutes longer she remained
without sight or sound of any companion. She seemed to have
the little wood all to herself. She coiild almost have thought
that Edmund and Miss Crawford had left it, but that it was
impossible for Edmund to forget her so entirely.
She was again roused from disagreeable musings by sudden
footsteps: somebody was coming at a quick pace down the
principal walk. She expected Mr. Rushworth, but it was Julia,
who, hot and out of breath, and with a look of disappointment,
cried out on seeing her, " Heyday! Where ai - e the others? I
thought Maria and Mr. Crawford were with you."
Fanny explained.
"A pretty trick, upon my word ! I cannot see them anywm-iv,' 1
looking eagerly into the park. " But they cannot be very far off,
and I think I am equal to as much as Maria, even without help."
" But, Julia, Mr. Rushworth will be here in a moment with
the key. Do wait for Mr. Rushworth."
" Not I, indeed. I have had enough of the family for one
morning. Why, child, I have but this moment escaped from
his horrible mother. Such a penance as I have been enduring,
while you were sitting here so composed and so happy ! It might
have been as well, perhaps, if you had been in my place, but you
always contrive to keep out of these scrapes."
This was a most unjust reflection, but Fanny could allow for
it, and let it pass: Julia was vexed, and her temper was hasty;
MANSriKI.P I'ABK. 71
luit she felt thiit it would not last, and therefore taking no noti.-c,
only asked lier if she had not seen Mr. liushwortli.
" Yes, yes, we saw l;im. lie was posting away as if upon
life and death, and could but just spare time to tell us his errand,
and where you all were."
' It is a pity that he should have so much trouble for nothing."
"That is Miss Maria's concern. I am not obliged to punish
myself for her sins. The mother I could not avoid, as Ion;; as
my tiresome aunt was dancing about with the housekeeper, but
the son I can get away from."
And she immediately scrambled across the fence, and walked
away, not attending to Fanny's last question of whether she had
seen anything of Miss Crawford and Edmund. The sort of dread
in which Fanny now sat of seeing Mr. liushworth, prevented her
thinking so much of their continued absence, however, as she
might have done. She felt that lie had been very 511 used, and
was quite unhappy in having to communicate what had passed.
He joined her within live minutes after Julia's exit; and though
she made the best of the story, lie was evidently mortified and
displeased in no common degree. At first he scarcely said any-
thing; his looks only expressed his extreme surprise* and vexation,
and he walked to the gate and stood there, without seeming to
know what to do.
"They desired me to stay my cousin Maria charged me to
say that you would find them at that knoll, or thereabouts."
"I do not believe I shall go any further," said he, sullenly;
'' I see nothing of them. By the time I get to the knoll, they
may be gone somewhere else. I have had walking enough."
And he sat down with a most gloomy countenance by Fanny.
" I am very sorry," said she; " it is very unlucky." And she
longed to be able to say something more to the purpose.
After an interval of silence, " I think they might as well have
staid for me," said he.
" Miss Bertram thought you would follow her."
" I should not have had to follow her if she had staid."
This could not be denied, and Fanny was silenced. After
another pause, he went on: " Pray, Miss Price, are you such a
great admirer of this Mr. Crawford as some people are? For
my part, I can see nothing in him.''
" I do not think him at all handsome."
"Handsome! Nobody can call such an under-sized man
handsome. He is not five foot nine. I should not wonder if he
was not more than live foot eight. I think he is an ill-looking
fellow. In my opinion, these Crawfords are no addition at all.
We did very well without them."
A small sigh escaped Fanny here, and she did not know how
to contradict him.
72 MANSFIELD PARK.
" If I had made ally difficulty about fetching the key, there
mi^ht have been some exc'.tse, but I went the very moment she
said she wanted it."
" Nothing could be more obliging than your manner, I am
sure, and I dare say you walked as fast as you could ; but still
it is some distance, you know, from this spot to the house, quite
into the house; and when people are waiting, they are bad judges
of time, and every half minute seems like five."
He got up and walked to the gate again, and " wished lie had
had the key about him at the time." Fanny thought she discerned
iu his standing there an indication of relenting, which encouraged
her to another attempt, and she said, therefore, " It is a pity you
should not join them. They expected to have a better view of
the house from that part of the park, and will be thinking how
it may be improved ; and nothing of that sort, you know, can be
settled without you."
She found herself more successful in sending away, than
in retaining a companion. Mr. Eushworth was worked on.
" Well," said he, " if you really think I had better go: it would
be foolish to bring the key for nothing." And letting himself
out, he walked off without further ceremony.
Fanny's thoughts were now all engrossed by the two who had
left her so long ago, and getting quite impatient, she resolved to
go in search of them. She followed their steps along the bottom
Avalk, and had just turned up into another, when the voice and
the laugh of Miss Crawford once more caught her ear; the
sound approached, and a few more windings brought them before
her. They were just returned into the wilderness from the park,
1o which a side-gate, not fastened, had tempted them very soon
ftfter their leaving her, and they had been across a portion of the
park into the very avenue which Fanny had been hoping the
whole morning to reach at last, and had been sitting down under
one of the trees, This was their history. It was evident that
they had been spending their time pleasantly, and were not
aware of the length of their absence. Fanny's best consolation
was in being assured that Edmund had wished for her very much,
and that he should certainly have come back for her, had she
not been tired already ; but this was not quite sufficient to do
away the pain of having been left a whole hour, when he had
talked of only a few minutes, nor to banish the sort of curiosity
she felt, to know what they had been conversing about all that
time ; and the result of the whole was to her disappointment and
depression, as they prepared, by general agreement, to return to
the house.
On reaching the bottom of the steps to the terrace, Mrs.
Eushworth and Mrs. Norris presented themselves at the top,
just ready for the wilderness, at the end of an hour and a half
MANSFIELD PARK. 73
from their leaving the house. Mrs. Norris had been too well
employed to move, faster. Whatever cross accidents had occurred
to intercept the pleasures of her nieces, she had found a morning
of complete enjoyment for the housekeeper, after a great many
courtesies on the subject of pheasants, had taken her to the dairy,
told her all about their cows, and given her the receipt for a
famous cream cheese; and since Julia's leaving them, they had
been met by the gardener, with whom she had made a most
satisfactory acquaintance, for she had set him right as to his
grandson's illness, convinced him it was an ague, and promised
him a charm for it; and he, in return, had shown her all his
choicest nursery of plants, and actually presented her with a very
curious specimen of heath.
On this rencontre they all returned to the house together, there
to lounge away the time as they could with sofas, and chit-chat,
and Quarterly Reviews, till the return of the others, and the
arrival of dinner. It was late before the JMiss Bertrams and the
two gentlemen came in, and their ramble did not appear to have
been more than partially agreeable, or at all productive of any-
thing useful with regard to the object of the day. By their own
accounts they had been all walking after each other, and the
junction which had taken place at last seemed, to Fanny's
observation, to have been as much too late for re-establishing
harmony, as it confessedly had been for determining on any
alteration. She felt, as she looked at Julia and Mr. Rushworth,
that hers was not the only dissatisfied bosom amongst them;
there was gloom on the face of each. Mr. Crawford and Miss
Bertram were much more gay, and she thought that he was
taking particular pains, during dinner, to do away any little
resentment of the other two, and restore general good humour.
Dinner was soon followed by tea and coffee, a ten miles' drive,
home allowed no waste of hours; and from the time of their
sitting down to table, it was a quick succession of busy nothings
till the carriage came to the door, and Mrs. Nbrris, having
fidgeted about, and obtained a few pheasant's eggs and a cream
cheese from the housekeeper, and made abundance of civil speeches
to Mrs. Rushworth, was ready to lead the way. At the same
moment Mr. Crawford approaching Julia, said, " I hope I am
not to lose my companion, unless she is afraid of the evening air
in so exposed a scat." The request had not been foreseen, but
was very graciously received, and Julia's day was likely to end
almost as well as it began. Miss Bertram had made up her
mind to something different, and was a little disappointed; but
her conviction of being really the one preferred, comforted her
under it, and enabled her to receive Mr. Rushworth's parting
attentions as she ought. He was certainly better pleased to hand
her into the barouche than to assist her in ascending the box-
and his complacency seemed confirmed by the arrangement,
74 MANSFIELD PARK.
"Well, Fanny, this has lx>cn a fine day for you, upon my
word ! " said Mr?. Xorris, as they drove through the park.
" Nothing but pleasure from beginning to end! I am sure yon
ought to be very much obliged to your aunt Bertram and me,
for contriving to let yon go. A pretty good clay's amusement
you have had ! "
Maria was ju-'t discontented enough to say directly, " I think
iiau have done pretty well yourself, ma'am. Your lap seems full
of good things, and here is <i basket of something between us,
which has been knocking my elbow unmercifully.''
' My dear, it is only a beautiful little heath, which that nice
old gardener would make me take; but if it is in your way, I
will have it in my lap directly. There, Fanny, you shall cam-
that parcel for me take great care of it do not let it fall; it
is a cream cheese, just like the excellent one we had at dinner.
Xothing would satisfy that good old Mrs. Whitaker, but my
taking one of the cheeses. I stood out as long as I could, till
the tears almost came into her eyes, and I knew it was just the
sort that my sister would be delighted with. That Mrs. Whitaker
is a treasure! She was quite shocked when I asked her whether
wine was allowed at the second table, and she has turned away
two housemaids for wearing white gowns. Take care of the
cheese, Fanny. Now I can manage the other parcel and the
basket very well."
"What else have you been spunging?" said Maria, half
pleased that Sotherton should be so complimented.
" Spunging, my dear! It is nothing but four of those beautiful
pheasant's eggs, which Mrs. Whitaker would quite force upon
me; she would not take a denial. She said it must be such an
amusement to me, as she understood I lived quite alone, to have
a few living creatures of that sort; and so to be sure it will. I
shall get tiie dairymaid to set them under the first spare hen.
and if they come to good I can have them moved to my own
house and borrow a coop; and it will be a great delight to me
in my lonely hours to attend to them. And if I have good
luck, your mother shall have some."
It was a beautiful evening, mild and still, and the drive was
as pleasant as the serenity of nature could make it; but when
Mrs. Norris ceased speaking, it was altogether a silent drive to
those within. Their spirite were in general exhausted; and to
determine whether the day had afforded most pleasure or pain,
might occupy the meditations of almost all.
MANSFIKU) 1'AIIK. 75
CHAPTER XI.
' V-- r -,-Y' -. '"' ( ' :1 . v at Siiihertoii, wilh all its imperfec-
.;,tions, afforded the Miss I!ertrams mncli more
sv^S* '"""'''' '' '''clings than were derived from the
!B 1 "<"5-K'j ' etl( ' r - s ' ri>m Antigua, which soon afterwards
^Biny! reached Mansfield. It was much pleasanter
.'.! tn think of Henry Craw ford than of their father;
^Stgpand to think of their father in England again
^>3bSlStttr Sf ^'' within a certain period, which these letters
obliged them to do, was a most unwelcome exercise.
November was the black month fixed for his return. Sir
Thomas wrote of i! with as much decision as experience and
anxiety could authorize. His business was so nearly concluded
as to justify him in proposing to take his passage in the Septem-
ber packet, and he consequently looked forward with the hope of
being with his beloved family again early in November.
Maria was more to be pitied than Julia ; for to her the father
brought a husband, and the return of the friend most solicitous
for her happiness would unite her to the lover, oa whom she had
chosen that happiness should depend. It was a gloomy prospect,
and all that she could do was to throw a mist over it, and liopo
when the mist cleared away, she should see something else. It
would hardly be early in November, there were generally delays,
a bad passage or something; that favouring something which
everybody who shuts their eyes while they look, or their under-
standings while they reason, feels the comfort of. It would
probably be the middle of November at least; the middle of
November was three months oft'. Three months comprised
thirteen weeks. Much might happen in thirteen weeks.
Sir Thomas woidd have been deeply mortified by a suspicion
of half that his daughters felt on the subject of his return, and
Avould hardly have found consolation in a knowledge of the
interest it excited in the breast of another young lady. Miss
Crav/lonl, on walking up with her brother to spend the evening
at Mansfield Park, heard the good news; and though seeming to
have no concern in the affair beyond politeness, and to have
vented all her feelings in a quiet congratulation, heard it with an
attention not so easily satisfied. Mrs. Norris gave the particulars
of the letters, and the subject was dropped ; but after tea, as Miss
( 'mwford was standing at an open window with Edmund and
Fanny looking out on a twilight scene, while the Miss Bertrams,
Mr. Iviishworth, and Henry Crawford, were all busy with candles
at the piano-forte, she suddenly revived it by turning round
76 MANSFIELD PARK.
towards the group, and saying, " How happy Mr. Rushworth
looks ! He is thinking of November."
Edmund looked round at Mr. Rushworth too, but had nothing
to say. "Your father's return will be a very interesting event."
"It will, indeed, after such an absence; an absence not only
long, but including so many dangers."
"It will be the forerunner also of other interesting events;
your sister's marriage, and your taking orders."
" Yes."
"Don't be affronted," said she, laughing; "but it docs put
me in mind of some of the old heathen heroes, who, after per-
forming great exploits in a foreign land, offered sacrifices to the
gods on their safe return."
" There is no sacrifice in the case," replied Edmund, with a
serious smile, and glancing at the piano-forte again, "it is
entirely her own doing."
" Oil yes, I know it is. I was merely joking. She has done
no more than what every young woman would do ; and I have
no doubt of her being extremely happy. My other sacrifice of
course you do not understand."
" My taking orders, I assure you, is quite as voluntary as
Maria's marrying."
" It is fortunate that your inclination and your father's con-
venience should accord so well. There is a very good living
kept for you, I understand, hereabouts.''
" Which you suppose has biassed me."
" But that I am sure it has not," cried Fanny.
" Thank you for your good word, Fanny, but it is more than
I woiild affirm myself. On the contrary, the knowing~that
there was such a provision for me probably did bias me. Nor
can I think it wrong that it should. There was no natural
disinclination to be overcome, and I see no reason why a man
should make a worse clergyman for knowing that he will have
a competence early in life. I was in safe hands. I hope I should
not have been influenced myself in a wrong way, and I am sure
my father was too conscientious to have allowed it. I have no
doubt that I was biassed, but I think it M r as blamelessly."
" It is the same sort of thing," said Fanny, after a short pause,
" as for the son of an admiral to go into the navy, or the son of a
general to be in the army, and nobody sees anything wrong in
that, Nobody wonders that they should prefer the line where
their friends can serve them best, or suspects them to be less in
earnest in it than they appear."
(t No, my dear Miss Price, and for reasons good. The pro-
fession, either navy or army, is its own justification. It has
everything in its favour; heroism, danger, bustle, fashion.
Soldiers and sailors .are always acceptable in society. Nobody
can wonder that men are soldiers and sailors."
MAN.SHELD PARK. 77
" But the motives of a man who takes orders with the certainty
of preferment may be fairly suspected, you think?" said Edmund.
" To be justified in your eyes, he must do it in the most complete
uncertainty of any provision."
"What! take orders without a living! No; that is madness
indeed, absolute madness."
" Shall I ask you how the ehurch is to be filled, if a man is
neither to take orders with a living, nor without? No; for you
certainly would not know what to say. But I must beg some
a- 1 vantage to the clergyman from your own argument. As he
cannot be influenced by those feelings which you rank highly as
temptation and reward to the soldier and sailor in their choice of
a profession, as heroism, and noise, and fashion, are all against
him, he ought to be less liable to the suspicion of wanting sin-
cerity or good intentions in the choice of his."
" Oh, no doubt he is very sincere in preferring an income
ready made, to the trouble of working for one : who has the best
intentions of doing nothing all the rest of his days but eat, drink,
and grow fat. It is indolence, Mr. Bertram, indeed. Indolence
and love of ease a want of all laudable ambition, of taste for
good company, or of inclination to take the trouble of being
agreeable, which make men clergymen. A clergyman has
nothing to do but to be slovenly and selfish read the newspaper,
watch the weather, and quarrel with his wife. -His curate does
all the work, and the business of his own life is to dine."
" There are such clergymen, no doubt, but I think they are
not so common as to justify Miss Crawford in esteeming it their
general character. I suspect that in this comprehensive and
(may I say) commonplace censure, you are not judging from
yourself, but from prejudiced persons, whose opinions you have
been in the habit of hearing. It is impossible that your own
observation can have given you much knowledge of the clergy.
You can have been personally acquainted with very few of a set
of men you condemn so conclusively. You are speaking what
you have been told at your uncle's table."
" I speak what appears to me the general opinion ; and where
an opinion is general, it is usually correct. Though 7 have not
seen much of the domestic lives of clergymen, it is seen by too
many to leave any deficiency of information."
" Where any one body of educated men, of whatever denomi-
nation, are condemned indiscriminately, there must be a deficiency
of information, or (smiling) of something else. Your uncle, and
his brother admirals, perhaps, knew little of clergymen beyond
the chaplains whom, good or bad, they were always wishing
may."
" Poor William ! He has met with great kindness from the
chaplain of the Antwerp," was a tender apostrophe of Fanny's,
78 MANSHELD VAiiK.
very much to the purpose of her own feelings, if not of the
conversation.
" 1 have been so little addicted to take my opinions from my
uncle," said Miss Crawford, "that I can hardly suppose and
since you push me so hard, I must observe, that I am not
entirely without the means of seeing what clergymen arc, being
at tliis present time the guest of my own brother, Dr. Grant.
And though Dr. Grant is most kind and obliging to me, and
though he is really a gentleman, and, I dare say, a good scholar
and clever, and often preaches good sermons, and is very re-
spectable, / see him to be an indolent, selfish ban vivant, who
must have his palate consulted in everything ; who will not stir
a linger for the convenience of any one; and who, moreover, if
the cook makes a blunder, is out of humour with his excellent
wife. To own the truth, Henry and I were partly driven out
this very evening by a disappointment about a green goose,
which he could not get the better of. My poor sister was forced
to stay and bear it."
"I do not wonder at your disapprobation, upon my word. It
is a great defect of temper, made worse by a very faulty habit of
self-Indulgence ; and to see your sister suffering from it must be
exceedingly painful to such feelings as yours. Fanny, it goes
against us. We cannot attempt to defend Dr. Grant."
"No," replied Fanny, "but we need not give up his profession
for all that; because, whatever profession Dr. Grant had chosen,
he would have taken a . not a good temper into it ; and as
he must, either in the navy or army, have had a great many
more people under his command than he has now, I think more
would have been made unhappy by him as a sailor or soldier
than as a clergyman. Besides, I cannot but suppose that
whatever there may be to wish otherwise in Dr. Grant, would
have been in a greater danger of becoming worse in a more
active and worldly profession, where he would have had less time
and obligation where he might have escaped that knowledge
of himself, the frequency, at least, of that knowledge which it is
impossible he should escape as he is now. A man a sensible
man like Dr. Grant, cannot be in the habit of teaching others
their duty every week, cannot go to church twice eveiy Sunday,
and preach such very good sermons in so good a manner as he
does, without being the better for it himself. It must make him
think; and I have no doubt that he oftener endeavours to
rest rain himself than lie would if he had been any tiling but a
clergyman."
"We cannot prove the contrary, to be sure but I wish you
a better fate, Miss Price, than to be the wife of a man whose
amiableness depends upon his own sermons; for, though he may
preach himself into a good humour every Sunday, it will be bad
MANSriELL) rAUK. 79
enough to have him quarrelling about green geese from Monday
morning till Saturday night."
" 1 think tlu> man who could often quarrel with Fanny," said
Edmund, affectionately, "must be beyond the reaeh of any
srrmons."
Fanny turned farther into the window; and Miss Crawford
had only time to say, in a pleasant manner, " 1 fancy Miss Price
has been more used to deserve praise than to hear it;" when
being earnestly invited by the Miss Bertrams to join in a glee,
she tripped off to the instrument, leaving Edmund looking after
her in an ecstasy of admiration of all her many virtues, from her
obliging manners down to her light and graceful tread.
"There goes good humour, I am sure," stiid he presently.
" There goes a temper which would never give pain! How well
she walks ! and how readily she falls hi with the inclination of
others ! joining them the moment she is asked. What a pity,"
he added, after an instant's reflection, " that she should have been
in such hands!"
Fanny agreed to it, and had the pleasure of seeing him con-
tinue at the window with her, in spite of the expected glee; and
of having his eyes soon turned, like hers, towards the scene
without, where all that Avas solemn, and soothing, and lovely,
appeared in the brilliancy of an unclouded night, and the contrast
of the deep shade of the woods. Fanny spoke her feelings.
" Here's harmony!" said she; "here's repose! Here's what may
leave all painting and all music behind, and what poetry only
can attempt to describe! Here's what may tranquillize every
care, and lift the heart to rapture ! When I look out on such a
night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor
sorrow in the world ; and there certainly would be less of both if
the sublimity of nature were more attended to, and people were
carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene."
" I like to hear your enthusiasm, Fanny. It is a lovely night,
and they are much to be pitied who have not been taught to
feel, iu some degree, as you do who have not, at least, been
given a taste for nature in early life. They lose a great deal."
" You taught me to think and feel on the subject, cousin."
" I had a very apt scholar. There's Arcturus looking very
bright,"
" Yes, and the Bear. I wish I coidd see Cassiopeia."
" We must go out on the lawn for that. Should you be
afraid?"
" Not in the least. It is a great while since we have had any
star-gazing."
" Yes; Fdo not know how it has happened." The glee began.
" We will stay till this is finished, Fanny," said lie, turning his
back on the window ; and as it advanced, she had the mortifi-
80 MANSFIELD PARK.
cation of seeing lam advance too, moving forward by gentle
degrees towards the instrument, and when it ceased, he was
close by the singers, among the most urgent in requesting to hear
the glee again.
Fanny sighed alone at the window till scolded away by Mrs.
Norris's threats of catching cold.
CHAPTER XII.
IR THOMAS was to return in November,
and his eldest son had duties to call him
earlier home. The approach of September
brought tidings of Mr. Bertram, first in a
letter to the gamekeeper, and then in a letter
. to Edmund ; and by the end of August he
arrived himself, to ba gay, agreeable, and
gallant again as occasion served, or Miss
Crawford demanded ; to tell of races and "Weymouth, and parties
and friends, to which she might have listened six weeks before
with some interest, and altogether to give her the fullest con-
viction, by the power of actual comparison, of her preferring his
younger brother.
It was very vexatious, and she was heartily sorry for it; but
so it was; and so far from now meaning to many the elder, she
did not even want to attract him beyond what the simplest
claims of conscious beauty required : his lengthened absence from
Mansfield, without anything but pleasure in view, and his own
will to consult, made it perfectly clear that he did not care about
her ; and his indifference was so much more than equalled by her
own, that were he now to step forth the owner of Mansfield Park,
the Sir Thomas complete, which he was to be in time, she did
not believe she could accept him.
The season and duties which brought Mr. Bertram back to
Mansfield took Mr. Crawford into Norfolk. Everingham could
not do without him in the beginning of September. He went
for a fortnight a fortnight of such dulness to the Miss Bertrams
as ought to have put them both on their guard, and made even
Julia admit, in her jealousy of her sister, the absolute necessity
of distrusting his attentions, and wishing him not to return ; and
a fortnight of sufficient leisure, in the intervals of shooting and
sleeping, to have convinced the gentleman that he ought to keep
longer away, had he been in the habit of examining his own
motives, and of reflecting to what the indulgence of his idle
vanity was tending; but, thoughtless and seliish from prosperity
and bad example, he would not look beyond the present moment.
*
MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 81
Tlio sisters, handsome, clever, and encouraging, were an amuse-
ment to his sated mind ; and finding, nothing in Norfolk to equal
the social pleasures of Mansfield, he gladly returned to it at the
time appointed, and was welcomed thither quite as gladly by
those, whom he came to trilie with farther.
Maria, with only Mr. liushworth to attend to her, and doomed
to the repeated details of his day's sport, good or bad, his boast
of his dogs, his jealousy of his neighbors, his doubts of their
qualification, and his zeal after poachers subjects which will not
find then- way to female feelings without some talent on one side
or some attachment on the other had missed Mr. Crawford
grievously; and Julia, unengaged and unemployed, felt all the
right of missing him much more. Each sister believed herself
the favourite. Julia might be justified in so doing by the hints
of Mrs. Grant, inclined to credit what she wished, and Maria by
the hints of Mr. Crawford himself. Every tiling returned into
the same channel as before his absence; his manners being to
each so animated and agreeable as to lose no ground with either,
and just stopping short of the consistence, the steadiness, the
solicitude, and the warmth which might excite general notice.
Fanny was the only one of the party who found anything to
dislike ; but since the day at Sothcrton, she could never see Mr.
Crawford with either sister without observation, and seldom
without wonder or censure; and had her confidence in her own
judgment been equal to her exercise of it in every other respect,
had she been sure that she was seeing clearly, and judging can-
didly, she would probably have made some important communi-
cations to her usual confidant. As it was, however, she only
hazarded a hint, and the hint was lost. "I am rather surprised,"
said she, " that Mr. Crawford should come back again so soon,
after being here so long before, full seven weeks; for I had un-
derstood he was so very fond of change and moving about, that
I thought something would certainly occur when he was once
gone, to take him elsewhere. He is used to much gayer places
than Mansfield."
" It is to his credit," was Edmund's answer, " and I dare say
it gives his sister pleasure. She does not like his unsettled
habits."
" What a favourite he is with my cousins ! "
" Yes, his manners to women are such as must please. Mrs.
Grant, I believe, suspects him of a preference for Julia; I have
never seen much symptom of it, but I wish it may be so. He
has no faults but what a serious attachment would remove."
" If Miss Bertram were not engaged," said Fanny, cautiously,
" I could sometimes almost think that he admired her more than
Julia."
" Which is, perhaps, more in favour of hid liking Julia best,
(1)
82 MANSFIELD PARK.
than you, Fanny, may be aware; for I believe it often happens,
that a man, before he has quite made up his own mind, will dis-
tinguish the sister or intimate friend of the woman he is really
thinking of, more than the woman herself. Crawford has too
much sense to stay here if he found himself in any danger from
Maria ; and I am not at all afraid for her, after such a proof as
she has given, that her feelings are not strong."
Fanny supposed she must have been mistaken, and meant to
think differently in future ; but with all that submission to Ed-
mund could do, and all the help of the coinciding looks and hints
which she occasionally noticed in some of the others, and which
seemed to say that Julia was Mr. Crawford's choice, she knew
not always what to think. She was privy, one evening, to the
hopes of her aunt Norris on this subject, as well as to her feelings,
and the feelings of Mrs. Rushworth, on a point of some similarity,
and could not help wondering as she listened; and glad would
she have been not to be obliged to listen, for it was while all the
other young people were dancing, and she sitting, most unwil-
lingly, among the chaperons at the fire, longing for the re-en-
trance of her elder cousin, on whom all her own hopes of a
partner then depended. It was Fanny's first ball, though without
the preparation or splendour of many a young lady's first ball,
being the thought only of the afternoon, built on the late acqui-
sition of a violin player in the servants' hall, and the possibility
df raising five couples with the help of Mrs. Grant and a new
intimate friend of Mr. Bertram's just arrived on a visit. It had,
however, been a very happy one to Fanny through four dances,
and she was quite grieved to be losing even a quarter of an hour.
While waiting and wishing, looking now at the dancers and now
at the door, this dialogue between the two above-mentioned ladies
was forced on her:
" I think, ma'am," said Mrs. Xorris her eyes directed towards
Mr. Rushworth and Maria, who were partners for the second
time " we shall see some happy faces again now."
" Yes, ma'am, indeed," replied the other, with a stately sim-
per, " there will be some satisfaction in looking on now, and I
think it was rather a pity they should have been obliged to part.
Young folks in their situation should be excused complying with
the common forms. I wonder my son did not propose it."
" I dare say he did, ma'am. Mr. Rushworth is never remiss.
But dear Maria has such a strict sense of propriety, so much of
that true delicacy which one seldom meets with now-a-days,
Mr*. Rushworth, that wish of avoiding particularity! Dear
ma'am, only look at her face at this moment; how different from
what it was the two last dances! "
Miss Bertram did indeed look happy, her eyes were sparkling
v,-ith pleasure, and she was speaking with great animation, for
MANSFIELD 1'AKK. 83
Julia and her partner, Mr. Crawford, were close to her; they
were all in a cluster together. How she had looked before, Fanny
could not recollect, for she had been dancing with Edmund her-
self, and had not thought about her.
Mrs. Norris continued, "It is quite delightful, ma'am, to see
young people so properly happy, so well suited, and so much the
thing! I cannot but think of dear Sir Thomas's delight. And
what do you say, ma'am, to the chance of another match? Mr.
Eushworth has set a good example, and such things are very
catching."
Mrs. Rushworth, who saw nothing but her son, was quite at
a loss. " The couple above, ma'am. Do you see no symptoms
there?"
" Oh dear Miss Julia and Mr. Crawford. Yes, indeed, a
very pretty match. What is his property?"
" .Four thousand a-year."
"Very well. Those who have not more, must be satisfied
with what they have. Four thousand a year is a pretty estate,
and he seems a very genteel, steady young man, so I hope Mis.s
Julia will be very happy."
" It is not a settled thing, ma'am, yet. We only speak of it
among friends. But I have very little doubt it will be. He is
growing extremely particular in his attentions."
Fanny could listen no farther. Listening and wondering
were nil suspended for a time, for Mr. Bertram was in the room
again ; and though feeling it would be a great honour to be asked
by him, she thought it must happen. He came towards their
ittle circle ; but instead of asking her to dance, drew a chair
icar her, and gave her an account of the present state of a sick
horse, and the opinion of the groom, from whom he had just
parted. Fanny found that it was not to be, and in the modesty
of her nature immediately felt that she had been unreasonable in
expecting it. When he had told of his horse, he took a news-
paper from the table, and looking over it said in a languid way,
If you want to dance, Fanny,! will stand up with you." With
more than equal civility the offer was declined; she did not wish
to dance. " I am glad of it," said he, in a much brisker tone,
and throwing down the newspaper again "for I am tired to death.
1 only wonder how the good people can keep it up so long. They
had need be all in love, to find any amusement in such folly
and so they are, I fancy. If you look at them you may see they
are so many couple of lovers all but Yates and Mrs. Grant-^-
and, between ourselves, she, poor woman, must want a lover as
much as any one of them. A desperate dull life hers must be
with the doctor," making a sly face as he spoke towards the chair,
the latter, who proving, however, to be close at his elbow,
instantaneous a change of expression and subject neces-
84 MANSFIELD PARK.
sary, as Fanny, in spite of everything, could hardly help laughing
at. " A strange business this in America, Dr. Grant! What is
your opinion ? I always come to you to know what I am to
think of public matters."
" My dear Tom," cried his aunt soon afterwards, " as you are
not dancing, I dare say you will have no objection to join us in
a rubber; shall you?" then leaving her seat, and coming to
liim to enforce the proposal, added in a whisper, " We want to
make a table for Mrs. Rushworth, you know. Your mother is
quite anxious about it, but cannot very well spare time to sit
down herself, because of her fringe. Now, you, and I, and l)r. Grant
will just do; and though we play but half-crowns, you know you
may bet half-guineas with him."
" I should be most happy," replied he aloud, and jumping up
with alacrity, "it would give me the greatest pleasure but
that I am this moment going to dance. Come, Fanny," taking
her hand, " do not be dawdling any longer, or the dance will be
over."
Fanny was led off very willingly, though it was impossible for
her to feel much gratitude towards her cousin, or distinguish, as
he certainly did, between the selfishness of another person and
his own.
" A pretty modest request upon my word ! '' he indignantly
exclaimed as they walked away. " To want to nail me to a
card table for the next two hours with herself and Dr. Grant,
who are always quarrelling, and that poking old woman, who
knows no more of whist than of algebra. I wish my good aunt
would be a little less busy ! And to ask me in such a way too !
without ceremony, before them all, so as to leave me no possi-
bility of refusing. That is what I dislike most particularly. It
raises my spleen more than anything, to have the pretence of
being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time ad-
dressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very thing
whatever it be! If I had not luckily thought of standing up
with you I could not have got out of it. It is a great deal too
bad. But when my aunt has got a fancy in her head, nothing
can stop her."
MANSFIELD PARK. 85
CHAPTER XIII.
HE Honourable John Yates, this new friend,
had not much to recommend him beyond ha-
bits of fashion and expense, and being the
younger son of a lord with a tolerable inde-
pendence ; and Sir Thomas would probably
have thought his introduction at Mansfield
by no means desirable. Mr. Bertram's ac-
quaintance with him had begun atWeymouth,
where they had spent ten days together in the same society, and
the friendship, if friendship it might be called, had been proved
and perfected by Mr. Yates's being invited to take Mansfield in
his way, whenever he could, and by his promising to come; and
he did come rather earlier than had been expected, in consequence
of the sudden breaking-up of a large party assembled for gaiety
at the house of another friend, which he had left "Weymouth to
join. He came on the wings of disappointment, and with his
head full of acting, for it had been a theatrical party ; and the
play, in which he had borne a part, was within two days of re-
presentation, when the sudden death of one of the nearest con-
nections of the family had destroyed the scheme and dispersed
the performers. To be so near happiness, so near fame, so near
the long paragraph in praise of the private theatricals at Eceles-
ford, the seat of the Right Hon. Lord Ravenshaw, in Cornwall,
which would of course have immortalized the whole party for at
least a twelvemonth! and being so near, to lose it all, was
an injury to be keenly felt, and Mr. Yates could talk 'of nothing
else. Ecclesford and its theatre, with its arrangements and
dresses, rehearsals and jokes, was his never -failing subject, and
to boast of the past his only consolation.
Happily for him, a love of the theatre is so general, an itch
for acting so strong among young people, that he could hardly
out-talk the interest of his hearers. From the first casting of
the parts, to the epilogue, it was all bewitching, and there were
few who did not wish to have been a party concerned, or would
have hesitated to try their skill. The play had been Lovers'
Vows, and Mr. Yates was to have been Count Cassel. "A
trifling part," said he, " and not at all to my taste, and such a
one as I certainly would not accept again ; but I was determined
to make no difficulties. Lord Ravenshaw and the duke had ap-
propriated the only two characters worth playing before I reached
Eeclesford ; and though Lord Ravenshaw offered to resign his to
me, it was impossible to take it, you know. I was sorry for him
86 MANSFIELD PARK.
that he should have so mistaken his powers, for he was no more
equal to the Baron a little man, with a weak voice, always
hoarse after the first ten minutes. It must have injured the
piece materially; but / was resolved to make no difficulties. Sir
Henry thought the duke not equal to Frederick, but that was
because Sir Henry wanted the part himself; whereas it was cer-
tainly in the best hands of the two. I was surprised to see Sir
Henry such a stick. Luckily the strength of the piece did nut
depend upon Mm. Our Agatha was inimitable, and the duke
was thought very great by many. And upon the whole it would
certainly have gone off wonderfully."
" It was a hard case, upon my word;" and, " I do think you
were very much to be pitied," were the kind responses of listen-
ing sympathy.
" It is not worth complaining about, but to be sure the poor
old dowager could not have died at a worse time ; an.l it is im-
possible to help wishing that the news-could have been suppre-~;-<l
for just the three days we wanted. It was but three days; and
being only a grandmother, and all happening two hundred miles
off, I think there would have been no great harm, and it was
suggested, I know; but Lord Kavenahaw, who I suppose is one
of the most correct men in England, would not hear of it."
"An afterpiece instead of a comedy," said Mr. Bertram.
" Lovers' Vows were at an end, and Lord and Lady Ravenshaw
left to act my Grandmother by themselves. Well, the jointure
may comfort him; and, perhaps, between friends, he began to
tremble for his credit and his lungs in the Baron, and wa not
sorry to withdraw ; and to make you amends. Yules, I think wo
must raise n little theatre at Mansfield, and ask you to be our
manager."
This, though the thought of the moment, did not end with the
moment; for the inclination to act was awakened, and in no one-
more strongly than in him who was now master of the house ;
and who having so much 1 -isure as to make almost any novelty
a certain good, had likewise such a degree of lively talents and
comic taste, as were exactly adapted to the novelty of acting.
The thought returned again and again. " Oh, for the Eccleslord
theatre and scenery to try something with! '" Each sister could
echo the wish; and Henry Crawford, to whom, in all the riot of
his gratifications it was yet an nntasted pleasure, was quite alive
at the idea. "I really believe," said he, " I could be fool enough
at this moment to undertake any character that ever was written,
from Shylock or Richard III. down to the singing hero of a farce
in his scarlet coat and cocked hat. I feel as if I could be any-
thing or everything, as if I could rant and storm, or sigh, or cut
capers in any tragedy or comedy in the English language. Let
us be doing something. Be it only half a play an act a scene;
MANSFIELD PARK. 87
Vv-hat should prevent us? Not these countenances, I am sure,"
looking towards the Miss Bertrams, "and for a theatre, what sig-
nifies a theatre? We shall be only amusing ourselves. Any room
in this house might suffice."
" We must have a curtain," said Tom Bertram, " a few yards
of green baize for a curtain, and perhaps that may be enough."
" Oh, quite enough," cried Mr. Yates, " with only just a sida
wing or two run up, doors in flat, and three or four scenes to be
let down; nothing more would be necessary on such a plan as
this. For mere amusement among ourselves, we should want
nothing more."
" I believe we must be satisfied with less," said Maria. " There
would not be time, and other difficulties would arise. We must
rather adopt Mr. Crawford's views, and make the performance,
not the theatre, our object. Many parts of our best plays are
independent of scenery."
" Nay," said Edmund, who began to listen with alarm. " Let
us do nothing by halves. If we are to act, let it be in a theatre
completely fitted up with pit, box, and gallery, and let us have a
play entire from beginning to end ; so as it be a German play, no
matter what, with a good tricking, shifting afterpiece, and a
figure-dance, and a hornpipe, and a song between the acts. If
we do not outdo Ecclesford, we do nothing."
" Now, Edmund, do not be disagreeable," said Julia. "Nobody
loves a play better than you do, or can have gone much farther
to see one."
" True, to sec real acting, good hardened real acting ; but I
would hardly walk from this room to the next to look at the
raw efforts of those who have not been bred to the trade, a set
of gentlemen and ladies, who have all the disadvantages of edu-
cation and decorum to struggle through."
After a short pause, however, the subject still continued, and
was discussed with unabated eagerness, every one's inclination
increasing by the discussion, and a knowledge of the inclination
of the rest; and though nothing was settled but that Tom Ber-
tram would prefer a comedy, and his sisters and Henry Crawford
a tragedy, and that nothing in the world could be easier than to
find a piece which would please them all, the resolution to act
something or other seemed so decided, as to make Edward quite
uncomfortable. He was determined to prevent it, if possible,
though his mother, who equally heard the conversation which
passed at table, did not evince the least disapprobation.
The same evening afforded him an opportunity of trying his
strength. Maria, Julia, Henry Crawford, and Mr. Yates, were
in the billiard-room. Tom returning from them into the draw-
ing-room, where Edmund was standing thoughtfully by the fire,
while Lady Bertram was on the sofa at a little distance, and
88 MANSFIELD PARK.
Fanny close beside her arranging her work, thus began as ho
entered,
" Such a horribly vile billiard-table as ours is not to be met
with, I believe, above ground. I can stand it no longer, and I
think, T may say, that nothing shall ever tempt me to it again ;
but one good thing I have just ascertained, it is the very room
for a theatre, precisely the shape and length for it; and tin- <
at the farther end, communicating with each other, as they may
be made to do in five minutes, by merely moving the bookcase
in my father's room, is the very thing we could have dc<i:v.l. if
if we had sat down to wish for it. And my father's room will
be an excellent green-room. It seems to join the billiard-room
on purpose."
" You are not serious, Tom, in meaning to act?" said Edmund
in a low voice, as his brother approached tlie tiro.
" Not serious! never more so, I assure yon. What is there to
surprise you in it ?"
" I think it would be very wrong. In a general light, jiriv.u
theatricals are open to some objections, but as we are ciiviini-
stanced, I must think it would lie highly injudicious, and more
than injudicious, to attempt anything <>f the kind. It would
show great want of feeling on my father's account, absent as lie
is, and in some degree of constant danger; and it Mould ! im
prudent, I think, with regard to Mario, whose situation is a very
delicate one, considering everything, extremely deliculc."
" You take up a thing so seriously! as if we were going to -.\, t
three times a week till my father's return, and invite all the
country. But it is not to be a display of that sort. We mean
nothing but a little amusement among ourselves, just to vary the
scene, and exercise our powers in something new. We want no
audience, no publicity. We may lie trusted, I think, in choosing
some play most perfectly unexceptionable ; and I can conei-h.'
no greater harm or danger to any of ns in conversing in the ele-
gant language of some respectable author than in chattering in
words of our own. I have no fears, and no scruples. And us to
my father's being absent, it is so far from an objection, that 1
consider it rather as a motive; for the expectation of his return
must be a very anxious period to my mother ; and if we can be
the means of amusing that anxiety, and keeping up her spirits
for the next few weeks, I shall think our time very well
sperilt, and so, I am sure, will he. It is a very anxious period
for her."
As he said this, each looked towards tlu-ir mother. I,adv
Bertram, sunk back in one comer of the sofa, the picture of
health, wealth, ease, and tranquillity, was just falling into a
gentle dose, while Fanny was getting through the few difficulties
of her work for her.
MANSFIELD PARK. 89
Edmund smiled and shook his head.
" By Jove ! this won't do," cried Tom, throwing himself into
a chair with a hearty laugh. " To be sure, my dear mother,
your anxiety I was unlucky there."
" What is the matter?" asked her Ladyship, in the heavy tone
of one half roused : " I was not asleep."
"Oh dear, no, ma'am nobody suspected you Well, Ed-
mund," he continued, returning to the former subject, posture,
and voice, as soon as Lady Bertram began to nod again, " but
this I u-ill maintain, that we shall be doing no harm."
" I cannot agree with you I am convinced that my father
would totally disapprove of it."
" And I am convinced to the contrary. Nobody is fonder of
the exercise of talent in young people, or promotes it more, than
my father ; and for anything of the acting, spouting, reciting kind,
I think he has always a decided taste. I am sure he encouraged
it in us as boy?. How many a time have we mourned over the
dead body of Julius C.Vosar, and to bed and not to be'd, in this
very room, for his amusement ! And I am sure, my name was
Xorral, every evening of my life through one Christmas holi-
days.''
" It was a very different thing. You must see the difference
yourself. My father wished us, as schoolboys, to speak well, but
he would never wish his grown-up daughters to be acting plays.
His sense of decorum is strict."
" I know all that," said Tom, displeased. "I know my father
as well as you do; and I'll take care that his daughters do no-
thing to distress him. Manage your own concerns, Edmund,
and I'll take care of the rest of the family."
" If you are resolved on acting," replied the persevering Ed-
mund, " I must hope it will bo in a very small and quiet wayj and
I think a theatre ought not to be attempted. It would be taking
liberties with my father's house in his absence which could not
be justified. "
" For every thing of that nature, I will be answerable," said
Tom, in a decided tone. " " His house shall not be hurt. I havu
(jink 1 as great an interest in being careful of his house as you can
have ; and as to such alterations as I was suggesting just now,
such as moving a bookcase, or unlocking a door ; or even as
using the billiard-room for the space of a week without playing
.it liilliards in it, you might just as well suppose he would object
to our sitting more in this room, and less in the breakfast-room,
than we did before he went away, or to my sister's piano-forte
being moved from one side of the room to the other. Absolute
nonsc ]]-!'."
" The innovation, if not wrong as an innovation, will be wrong
as an expense.' 1
90 MANSFIELD PAfcK.
" Yes, the expense of such nn undertaking would be prodi-
gious! Perhaps it might cost a whole twenty pounds. Some-
thing of a theatre we must have undoubtedly, but it will be on
the simplest plan ; a green curtain and a little carpenter's work,
and that's all ; and as the carpenter's work may be all done
at home by Christopher Jackson himself, it will be too absurd to
talk of expense ; and as long as Jackson is employed, every
thing will be right with Sir Thomas. Don't imagine that no-
body in this house can see or judge but yourself. Don't act
yourself, if you do not like it, but don't expect to govern every-
body else."
" No, as to acting myself," said Edmund, " that I absolutely
protest against."
Tom walked out of the room as he said it, and Edmund was
left to sit down and stir the fire in thoughtful vexation.
Fanny, who had heard it all, and borne Edmund company in
every feeling throughout the whole, now ventured to say, in her
anxiety to suggest some comfort, " Perhaps they may not be
able to find any play to suit them. Your brother's taste, and your
sisters', seem very different."
" I have no hope there, Fanny. If they persist in the scheme,
they will find something. I shall speak to my sisters and try to
dissuade them, and that is all I can do."
" I should think my aunt Norris would be on your sido."
" I dare say she would, but she has no influence with either
Tom or my sisters that could be of any use; and if I cannot
convince them myself, I shall let things take their course, with-
out attempting it through her. Family squabbling is the greatest
evil of all, and we had better do anything than be altogether by
the ears."
His sisters, to whom he had an opportunity of speaking the
next morning, were quite as impatient of his advice, quite as
unyielding to his representation, quite as determined in the cause
of pleasure, as Tom. Their mother had no objection to the plan,
and they were not in the least afraid of their father's disapproba-
tion. There could be no harm in what had been done in so many
respectable families, and by so many women of the first conside-
ration ; and it must be scrupulousness run mad, that could see
anything to censure in a plan like theirs, comprehending only
brothers and sisters, and intimate friends, and which would never
be heard of beyond themselves. Julia did seem inclined to admit
that Maria's situation might require particular caution and
delicacy but that could not extend to her she was at liberty ;
and Maria evidently considered her engagement as only raising
her so much more above restraint, and leaving her less occasion
than Julia, to consult either father or mother. Edmund had
little to hope, but he was still urging the subject, when Henry
MANSFIELD PARK. 91
Crawford entered the room, fresh from the Parsonage, calling
out, " No want of hands in our theatre, Miss Bertram. No want
of understrappers ; my sister desires her love, and hopes to be
admitted into the company, and will bo happy to take the part
of any old duenna, or tame confidant, that you may not like to do
yourselves."
Maria gave Edmund a glance, which meant, " What say you
now ? Can we be wrong if Mary Crawford feels the same ?"
And Edmund, silenced, was obliged to acknowledge that the
charm of acting might well carry fascination to the mind of
genius ; and with the ingenuity of love, to dwell more on the
obliging, accommodating purport of the message than on any-
thing else.
The scheme advanced. Opposition was vain ; and as to Mrs.
Norris, he was mistaken in supposing she would wish to make
any. She started no difficulties that were not talked down in
five minutes by her eldest nephew and niece, who were all-
powerful with her ; and, as the whole arrangement was to bring
very little expense to anybody, and none at all to herself, as
she foresaw in it all the comforts of hurry, bustle, and impor-
tance, and derived the immediate advantage of fancying herself
obliged to leave her own house, where she had been living a
month at her own cost, and take up her abode in theirs, that
every hour might be spent in their service, she was, in fact, ex-
ceedingly delighted with the project.
CHAPTER XIV.
i ANNY seemed nearer being right than Ed-
mund had supposed. The business of finding
play that would suit everybody proved- to
5 be no trifle ; and the carpenter had received
I his orders and taken his measurements, had
jgested and removed at least two sets of
difficulties, and having made the necessity of
an en i ar g em e n t of plan and expense fully
evident, was already at work, while a play was still to seek.
Other preparations were also in hand. An enormous roll of
green baize had arrived from Northampton, and been cut out by
Mrs. Norris, (with a saving by her good management, of full
three quarters of a yard,) and was actually forming into a cur-
tain by the housemaids, and still the play was wanting ; and as
two or three days passed away in this manner, Edmund began
almost to hope that none might ever be found.
There were, in fact, so many things to be attended to, so
92 MANSFIELD PARK.
many people to bo pleased, so many best characters required,
and above all, such a need that the play should be at once both
tragedy and comedy, that there did seem as little chance of a
decision as anything pursued by youth and zeal could hold
out.
On the tragic side were the Miss Bertrams, Henry Crawford,
and Mr. Yates; on the comic, Tom Bertram, not quitr alone, be-
cause it was evident that Mary Crawford's wishes, though
politely kept back, inclined the same way: but his dctenninate-
ness and his power seemed to make allies unnecessary : ami,
independent of this great irreconcileable difference, they wanted
a piece containing very few characters in the whole, but every
character first-rate, and three principal women. All the Iwst
plays were run over in vain. Neither Hamlet, nor Macbeth, nor
Othello, nor Douglas, nor the Gamester, presented nnytliiii;;-
that" could satisfy even the tragedians; and the llivals, the School
for Scandal, Wheel of Fortune, Heir at Law, and a -long et cel< m,
were successively dismissed with yet wanner objections. No
piece could be proposed that did not supply somebody with a
difficulty, and on one side or the other it was a continual repe-
tition of, " Oh, no, that will never do. Let us have no ranting
tragedies. Too many characters. Not a tolerable woman's part
in the play. Anything but that, my dear Tom. It would he
impossible to fill it up. One could not expect anybody to taUi-
such a part. Nothing but buffoonery from Ix'ginning to end.
That might do, perhaps, but for the low parts. If I must give
my opinion, I have always thought it the most insipid play in
the English language. I do not wish to make objections, I
shall be happy to be of any use, but I think we could not choose
worse."
Fanny looked on and listened, not unamu<-ed to ok-erve the
selfishness which, more or less disguised, seemed to govern them
all, and wondering how it would end. For her own gratification
she could have wished that something might lie acted, for she
had never seen even half a play, but everything of higher con-
sequence was against it.
"This will never do," said Tom Bertram at last. ' \W are
wasting time most abominably. Something must be fixed on.
No matter what, so that something is chosen. We must not he
so nice. A few characters tob many must not frighten us. We
must double them. We must descend a little. If a par! is
insignificant, the greater our credit in making anything of it.
From this moment 7 make no difficulties. I take any part you
choose to give me, so as it be comic. Let it but be comic, I
condition for nothing more."
For about the fifth time he then proposed the Heir at Law,
doubting only whether to prefer Lord Duberley or Dr. Par
MANSFIELD PARK. 93
for himself; and very earnestly, but very unsuccessfully, trying
to persuade the others that there were some tine tragic parts in
the rest of the dramatis persona.
The pause which followed this fruitless effort was ended by the
same speaker, who, taking up one of the many volumes of plays
that lay on the table, and turning it over, suddenly exclaimed,
" Lovers' Vows! And why should not Lovers' Vows do for
?<. as well as for the Ravenshaws? How came it never to be
thought of before? It strikes me as if it would do exactly.
What say you all? Here are two capital tragic parts for Yates
and Crawford, and here is the rhyming Butler for me if nobody
else wants it a trifling part, but the sort of thing I should not
dislike, and, as I said before, I am determined to take anything
and do my best. And as for the rest, they may be filled up by
anybody. It is only Count Cassel and Anhalt."
The suggestion was generally welcome. Everybody was
growing weary of indecision, and the first idea with everybody
was, that nothing had been proposed before so likely to suit them
all. Mr. Yates was particularly pleased: he had been sighing and
longing to do the Baron at Ecclesford, had grudged every rant
of Lord Ravenshaw's, and been forced to re-rant it all in his own
room. The storm through Baron Wildenheim was the height
of his theatrical ambition; and with the advantage of knowing
half the scenes by heart already, he did now, with the greatest
alacrity, offer his services for the part. To do him justice
however, he did not resolve to appropriate it for remembering
that there was some very good ranting ground in Frederick, he
professed an equal willingness for that. Henry Crawford was
ready to take either. Whichever Mr. Yates did not choose
would perfectly satisfy him, and a short parley of compliment
ensued. Miss Bertram, feeling all the interest of an Agatha in
the question, took on her to decide it, by observing to Mr. Yates,
that this was a point in which height and figure ought to be
considered, and that his being the tallest, seemed to fit him
peculiarly for the Baron. She was acknowledged to be quite
right, and the two parts being accepted accordingly, she was
certain of the proper Frederick. Three of the characters were
now cast, besides Mr. Rushworth, who was always answered for
by Maria as willing to do anything; when Julia, meaning, like
her sister, to be Agatha, began to be scrupulous on Miss
Crawford's account.
" This is not behaving well by the absent," said she. " Here
arc not women enough. Amelia and Agatha may do for Maria
and me, but here is nothing for your sister, Mr. Crawford."
Mr. Crawford desired that might not be thought of: he was
very sure his sister had no wish of acting, but as she might be
useful, and that she would not allow herself to be considered in
94 MANSFIELD PARK.
the present case. But this was immediately opposed by Tom
Bertram, who asserted the part of Amelia to be in every respect
the property of Miss- Crawford, if she would accept it. " It falls
as naturally as necessarily to her," said lie, " as Agatha does to
one or other of my sisters. It can be no sacrifice on their side,
for it is highly comic."
A short silence followed. Each sister looked anxious; for
each felt the best claim to Agatha, and was hoping to have it
pressed on her by the rest. Henry Crawford, who meanwhile
had taken up the play, and with seeming carelessness was
turning over the first act, soon settled the business.
" I must entreat Miss Julia Bertram," said he, " not to engage
in the part of Agatha, or it will be the ruin of all my solemnity.
You must not, indeed you must not (turning to her). I could
not stand your countenance dressed up in woe and paleness. The
many laughs we have had together would infallibly come across
me, and Frederick and his knapsack would be obliged to run
away."
Pleasantly, courteously it was spoken; but the manner was
lost in the matter to Julia's feelings. She saw a glance at Maria,
which confirmed the injury to herself: it was a scheme a trick;
she was slighted, Maria was preferred; the smile of triumph
which Maria was trying to suppress showed how well it Avas
understood; and before Julia could command herself enough to
speak, her brother gave his weight against her too, by saying,
" Oh yes, Maria must be Agatha. Maria will be the best
Agatha. Though Julia fancies she prefers tragedy, I would not
trust her in it. There is nothing of tragedy about her. She
has not the look of it. Her features are not tragic features, and
she walks too quick, and speaks too quick, and would not keep
her countenance. She had better do the old countrywoman
the Cottager's wife; you had, indeed, Julia. Cottager's wife is
a very pretty part, I assure you. The old lady relieves the
high-flown benevolence of her husband with a good deal of spirit.
You shall be Cottager's wife."
"Cottager's wife!" cried Mr. Yates. "What are you talking
of? The most trivial, paltry, insignificant part; the merest
commonplace not a tolerable speech in the whole. Your sister
do that! It is an insult to propose it. At Ecclesford the
governess was to have done it. We all agreed that it could not
be offered to anybody else. A little more justice, Mr. Manager,
if you please. You do not deserve the office, if you cannot
appreciate the talents of your company a little better."
" Why as to that, my good friend, till I and my company
have really acted there must be some guess-work; but I mean
no disparagement to Julia. We cannot have two Agathas, and
we must have one Cottager's wife; and I am sure I set her the
MANSFIELD PAKK. 95
example of moderation myself in being satisfied with the old
Butler. If the part is trifling she will have more credit in
making something of it; and if she is so desperately bent against
everything humourous, let her take Cottager's speeches instead
of Cottager's wife's, and so change the parts all through ; he is
solemn and pathetic enough, I am sure. It could make no
dillerence in the play ; and as for Cottager himself, when he has
got his wife's speeches, / would undertake him with all my
heart."
"With all your partiality for Cottager's wife," said Henry
Crawford, " it will be impossible to make anything of it lit for
your sister, and we must not suffer her good nature to be imposed
on. We must not allow her to accept the part. She must not
be left to her own complaisance. Her talents will be wanted in
Amelia. Amelia is a character more difficult to be well repre-
sented than even Agatha. I consider Amelia as the most difficult
character in the whole piece. It requires great powers, great
nicety, to give her playfulness and simplicity without extrava-
gance. I have seen good actresses fail in the part. Simplicity,
indeed, is beyond the reach of almost every actress by profession.
It requires a delicacy of feeling which they have not. It requires
a gentlewoman a Julia Bertram. You will undertake it, I
hope?" turning to her with a look of anxious entreaty, which
softened her a little; but while she hesitated what to say,
her brother again interposed with Miss Crawford's better
claim.
'' No, no, Julia must not be Amelia. It is not at all the part
for her. She would not like it. She would not do well. She
is too tall and robust. Amelia should be a small, light, girlish,
skipping figure. It is fit for Miss Crawford and Miss Crawford
only. She looks the part, and I am persuaded will do it
admirably."
Without attending to this, Henry Crawford continued his
supplication. " You must oblige us," said he, " indeed you
must. When you have studied the character, I am sure you
will feel it suit you. Tragedy may be your choice, but it will
certainly appear that comedy chooses you. You will be to visit
me in prison with a basket of provisions ; you will not refuse to
visit me in prison? I think I see you coming in with your
basket."
The influence of his voice was felt. Julia wavered; but was
he only trying to soothe and pacify her, and make her overlook
the previous affront? She distrusted him. The slight had been
most determined. He was, perhaps, but at treacherous play
with her. She looked suspiciously at her sister; Maria's counte-
nance was to decide it; if she were vexed and alarmed but
Maria looked all serenity and satisfaction, and Julia well knew
96 MANSFIELD PARK.
that on this ground Maria could not be happy but at her expense.
With hasty indignation, therefore, and a tremulous voice, she
said to him, "You do not seem afraid of not keeping your
countenance when I come in with a basket of provisions though
one might have supposed but it is only as Agatha that I was
to be so overpowering! " She stopped Henry Crawford looked
rather foolish, and as if he did not know what to say. Toin
Bertram began again,
" Miss Crawford must be Amelia. She will be an excellent
Amelia."
" Do not be afraid of my wanting the character," cried Julia,
with angry quickness : " I am not to be Agatha, and I am sure
I will do nothing else; and as to Amelia, it is of all parts in the
world the most disgusting to me. I quite detest her. An
odious, little, pert, unnatural, impudent girl. I have always
protested against comedy, and this is comedy in its worst form."
And so saying, she walked hastily out of the room, leaving
awkward feelings to more than one, but exciting small compas-
sion in any except Fanny, who had been a quiet auditor of the
whole, and who could not think of her as under the agitations of
jealousy without great pity.
A short silence succeeded her leaving them ; but her brother
soon returned to business and Lovers' Vows, and was eagerly
looking over the play, with Mr. Yates's help, to ascertain what
scenery would be necessary while Maria and Henry Crawford
conversed together in an under voice, and the declaration with
which she began of, " I am sure I would give up the part to
Julia most willingly, but that though I shall probably do it very
ill, I feel persuaded she Avould do it worse," was doubtless recei-
ving all the compliments it called for.
When this had lasted some time, the division of the party was
completed by Tom Bertram and Mr. Yates walking off together
to consult farther in the room now beginning to be called the
Theatre, and Miss Bertram's resolving to go down to the Parson-
age herself with the offer of Amelia to Miss Crawford ; and Fanny
remained alone.
The first use she made of her solitude was to take iip the
volume which had been left on the table, and begin to acquaint
herself with the play of which she had heard so much. Her
curiosity was all awake, and she ran through it with an eagerness
which was suspended only by intervals of astonishment, that it
could be chosen in the present instance that it could be pro-
posed and accepted in a private theatre! Agatha and Amelia
appeared to her in their different ways so totally improper for
home representation the situation of one, and the language of
the other, so unfit to be expressed by any woman of modesty,
that she could hardly suppose her cousins could be aware of what
MANSFIELD PARK. 97
they were engaging in ; and longed to have them roused as soon
as possible by the remonstrance which Edmund would certainly
make.
CHAPTER XV.
ISS CRAWFORD accepted the part very
readily; and soon after Miss Bertram's return
from the Parsonage, Mr. Rushworth arrived,
and another character was consequently cast.
He had the offer of Count Cassel and Anhalt,
and at first did not know which to choose,
and wanted Miss Bertram to direct him ; but
upon being made to understand the different
style of the characters, and which was which, and recollecting
that he had once seen the play in London, and had thought
Anhalt a very stupid fellow, he soon decided for the Count.
Miss Bertram approved the decision, for the less he had to learn
the better ; and though she could not sympathise in his wish that
the Count and Agatha might be to act together, nor wait very
patiently while he was slowly turning over the leaves with the
hope of still discovering such a scene, she very kindly took his
part in hand, and curtailed eveiy speech that admitted being
shortened; besides pointing out the necessity of his being very
much dressed, and choosing his colours. Mr. Rushworth liked
the idea of his finery very well, though affecting to despise it;
and was too much engaged with what his own appearance would
be to think of the others, or draw any of those conclusions, or
feel any of that displeasure which Maria had been half prepared
for.
Tims much was settled before Edmund, who had been out ajl
the morning, knew anything of the matter ; but when he entered
the drawing-room before dinner, the buzz of discussion was high
between Tom, Maria, and Mr. Yates ; and Mr. Rushworth stepped
forward with great alacrity to tell him the agreeable news.
"We have got a play," said he. "It is to be Lover's Vows;
and I am to be Count Cassel, and am to come in first with a blue
dress, and a pink satin cloak, and afterwards am to have another
fine fancy suit by way of a shooting-dress. I do not know how
I shall like it."
Fanny's eyes followed Edmund, and her heart beat for him as
she heard this speech, and saw his look, and felt what his sen-
sations must be.
" Lovers' Vows!" in a tone of the greatest amazement, was his
only reply to Mr. Rushworth, and he turned towards his brother
and sisters as if hardly doubting a contradiction.
(1) o
98 MANSFIELD PARK.
"Yes," cried Mr. Yates. "After all our debatings and diffi-
culties, we find there is nothing that will suit us altogether so
well, nothing so unexceptionable, as Lovers' Vows. The wonder
is, that it should not have been thought of before. My stupidity
was abominable, for here we have all the advantage of what I
saw at Ecclesford; and it is so useful to have anything of a
model! We have cast almost every part."
"But what do you do for women?" said Edmund, gravely,
and looking at Maria.
Maria blushed in spite of herself as she answered, " I take the
part which Lady Ravenshaw was to have done, and (with a
bolder eye) Miss Crawford is to be Amelia."
" I should not have thought it the sort of play to be so easily
filled up with us," replied Edmund, turning away to the fire
where sat his mother, aunt, and Fanny, and seating himself with
a look of great vexation.
Mr. Rushworth followed him to say, " I come in three times,
and have two-and-forty speeches. That's something, is not it?
But I do not much like the idea of being so fine. I shall hardly
know myself in a blue dress, and a pink satin cloak."
Edmund could not answer him. In a few rniimtes Mr.
Bertram was called out of the room to satisfy some doubts of the
carpenter ; and being accompanied by Mr. Yates, and followed
soon afterwards by Mr. Rushworth, Edmund almost immediately
took the opportunity of saying, " I cannot before Mr. Yates
speak what I feel as to this play, without reflecting on his friends
at Ecclesford; but I must now, my dear Maria, tell you, that I
think it exceedingly unfit for private representation, and that I
hope you will give it up. I cannot but suppose you will when
you have read it carefully over. Read only the first act aloud
to either your mother or aunt, and see how you can approve it.
It will not be necessary to send you to your father's judgment, I
am convinced."
" We see things very differently," cried Maria. " I am per-
fectly acquainted with the play, I assure you; and with a very
few omissions, and so forth, which will be made, of course, I can
see nothing objectionable in it; and / am not the only young
woman you find, who thinks it very fit for private representation."
" I am sorry for it," was his answer ; " but in this matter it is
you who arc to lead. You must set the example. If others
have blundered, it is your place to put them right, and show
them what true delicacy is. In all points of decorum, your con-
duct must be law to the rest of the party."
This picture of her consequence had some effect, for no one
loved better to lead than Maria; and with far more good humour
she answered, " I am much obliged to you, Edmund; you mean
very well, I am sure: but I still think you see things too
MANSFIELD PARK. 99
strongly; and I cannot undertake to harangue all the rest upon
a subject of this kind. There would be the greatest indecorum,
I think."
" Do you imagine that I could have such an idea in my head?
No: let your conduct be the only harangue. Say that, on
examining the part, you feel yourself unequal to it; that you find
it requiring more exertion and confidence than you can be sup-
posed to have. Say this with firmness, and it will be quite
enough. All who can distinguish will understand your motive.
The play will be given up, and your delicacy honoured as it
ought."
" Do not act anything improper, my dear," said Lady Bertram :
" Sir Thomas would not like it Fanny, ring the bell ; I must
have my dinner. To be sure Julia is dressed by this time."
" I am convinced, madam," said Edmund, preventing Fanny,
" that Sir Thomas would not like it."
"There, my dear, do you hear what Edmund says?"
" If I were to decline the part," said Maria, with renewed zeal,
" Julia would certainly take it."
"What!" cried Edmund, "if she knew your reasons!"
" Oh, she might think the difference between us the difference
in our situations that she need not be so scrupulous as / might
feel necessary. I am sure she would argue so. No: you must
excuse me; I cannot retract my consent; it is too far settled,
everybody would be so disappointed, Tom would be quite angry ;
and if we are so very nice, we shall never act anything."
" I was just going to say the very same tiling," said Mrs.
Norris. " If every play is to be objected to, you will act nothing,
and the preparations will be all so much money thrown away,
and I am sure that would be a discredit to iis all. I do not
know the play; but, as Maria says, if there is anything a little
too warm (and it is so with most of them) it can be easily left
out. "We must not be over precise, Edmund. As Mr. Rushworth
is to act too, there can be no harm. I only wish Tom had
known his own mind when the carpenters began, for there was
the loss of half a day's work about those side-doors. The curtain
will be a good job, however. The maids do their work very well,
and I think we shall be able to send back some dozens of the
rings. There is no occasion to put them so very close together.
I am of some use, I hope, in preventing waste and making the
most of things. There should always be one steady head to
superintend so many young ones. I forgot to tell Tom of some-
thing that happened to me this very day. I had been looking
about me in the poultry yard, and was just coming out, when
who should I see but Dick Jackson making up to the servants'
hall-door with two bits of deal board in his hand, bringing them
to father, you may be sure; mother had chanced to send him of
100 MANSFIELD PARK.
a message to Either, and then father had bid him bring up them"
two bits of board, for he could not no how do without them. I
knew what all this meant, for the servants' dinner-bell was
ringing at the very moment over our heads ; and as I hate such
encroacliing people (the Jacksons are very encroaching, I have
always said so just the sort of people to get all they can), I
said to the boy directly (a great lubberly fellow of ten years old,
you know, who ought to be ashamed of himself) ' I'll take the
boards to your father, Dick, so get you home again as fast as you
can.' The boy looked very silly, and turned away without
offering a word, for I believe I might speak pretty sharp ; and I
dare say it will cure him of coming marauding about the house
for one while. I hate such greediness so good as your father is
to the family, employing the man all the year round!"
Nobody was at the trouble of an answer; the others soon
returned ; and Edmund found that to have endeavoured to set
them right must be his only satisfaction.
Dinner passed heavily. Mrs. Norris related again her triumph
over Dick Jackson, but neither play nor preparation were
otherwise much talked of, for Edmund's disapprobation was felt
even by his brother, though he would not have owned it. Maria,
wanting Henry Crawford's animating support, thought the sub-
ject better avoided. Mr. Yates, who was trying to make himself
agreeable to Julia, found her gloom less impenetrable on any topic
than that of his regret at her secession from their company; and
Mr. Rushworth, having only his own part and his own dress in
his head, had soon talked away all that could be said of either.
But the concerns of the theatre were suspended only for an
hour or two: there was still a great deal to be settled; and the
spirits of evening giving fresh courage, Tom, Maria, and Mr.
Yates, soon after being reassembled in the drawing-room, seated
themselves in committee at a separate table, with the play open
before them, and were just getting deep in the subject, when a
most welcome interruption was given by the entrance of Mr. and
Miss Crawford, who, late and dark, and dirty as it was, could not
help coming, and were received with the most grateful joy.
"Well, how do you go on?" and "What have you settled?"
and " Oh, we can do nothing without you," followed the first
salutations ; and Henry Crawford was soon seated with the other
three at the table, while his sister made her way to Lady Bertram,
and with pleasant attention was complimenting her. " I must
really congratulate your Ladyship," said she, " on the play being
chosen ; for though you have borne it with exemplary patience,
I am sure you must be sick of all our noise and difficulties. The
actors may be glad, but the by-standers must be infinitely more
thankful for a decision ; and I do sincerely give you joy, madam,
as well as Mrs. Norris, and everybody else who is in the same
MANSFIELD PARK. 101
predicament," glancing half fearfully, half slily, beyond Fanny
to Edmund.
She was very civilly answered by Lady Bertram, but Edmund
said nothing. His being only a by-stander was not disclaimed.
After continuing in chat with the party round the fire a few
minutes, Miss Crawford returned to the party round the table ;
and standing by them, seemed to interest herself in their arrange-
ments till, as if struck by a sudden recollection, she exclaimed,
" My good friends, you are most composedly at work upon these
cottages and ale-houses, inside and out but pray let me know
my fate in the meanwhile. Who is to be Anhalt? What
gentleman among you am I to have the pleasure of making
love to?"
For a moment no one spoke; and then many spoke together
to tell the same melancholy truth that they had not got any
Anhalt. " Mr. Rushworth was to be Count Cassel, but no one
had yet undertaken Anhalt."
" I had my choice of the parts," said Mr. Rushworth ; " but I
thought I should like the Count best though I do not much
relish the finery I am to have."
"You chose very wisely, I am sure," replied Miss Crawford,
with a brightened look, "Anhalt is a heavy part."
" The Count has two-and-forty speeches," returned Mr. Rush-
worth, " which is no trifle."
" I am not at all surprised," said Miss Crawford, after a short
pause, "at this want of an Anhalt. Amelia deserves no better.
Such a forward young lady may well frighten the men."
" I should be but too happy in taking the part, if it were
possible," cried Tom; " but, unluckily, the Butler and Anhalt are
in together. I will not entirely give it up, however-; I will try
what can be done I will look it over again."
"Your brother should take the part," said Mr. Yates, in a low
voice. " Do not you think he would?"
" 7 shall not ask him," replied Tom, in a cold, determined
manner.
Miss Crawford talked of something else, and soon afterwards
rejoined the party at the fire.
"They do not want me at all," said she, seating herself. "I
only puzzle them, and oblige them to make civil speeches. Mr.
Edmund Bertram, as you do not act yourself, you will be a
disinterested adviser ; and, therefore, I apply to you. What shall
we do for an Anhalt? Is it practicable for any of the others to
double it? What is your advice?"
"My advice," said he, calmly, "is that you change the play."
" / should have no objection," she replied; for though I should
not particularly dislike the part of Amelia if well supported
that is, if everything went well I shall be sorry to be an in-
102 MANSFIELD PARK.
convenience but as they do not choose to hear your advice at
that table (looking round) it certainly will not be taken."
Edmund said no more.
" If any part could tempt you to act, I suppose it would be
Anhalt," observed the lady, archly, after a short pause ; "for he
is a clergyman, you know."
" That circumstance would by no means tempt me," he re-
plied, " for I should be sorry to make the character ridiculous
by bad acting. It must be very difficult to keep Anhalt from
appearing a formal, solemn lecturer; and the man who chooses
the profession itself, is, perhaps, one of the last who would wish
to represent it on the stage."
Miss Crawford was silenced; and with some feelings of re-
sentment and mortification, moved her chair considerably nearer
the tea-table, and gave all her attention to Mrs. Norris, who was
presiding there.
" Fanny," cried Tom Bertram, from the other table, where
the conference was eagerly carrying on, and the conversation
incessant, " we want your services."
Fanny was up in a moment, expecting some errand ; for the
habit of employing her in that Avay was not yet overcome, in
spite of all that Edmund could do.
" Oh, we do not want to disturb you from your seat. We do
not want your present services. We shall only want you in our
play. You must be Cottager's wife."
" Me! " cried Fanny, sitting down again with a most frightened
look. " Indeed you must excuse me. I could not act anything
if you were to give me the world. No., indeed, I cannot act."
" Indeed, but you must, for we cannot excuse you. It need
not frighten you ; it is a nothing of a part, a mere nothing, not
above half-a- dozen speeches altogether, and it will not much
signify if nobody hears a word you say, so you may be as creep-
mouse as you like, but we must have you to look at."
" If you are afraid of half-a-dozen speeches," cried Mr. Rush-
worth, " what would you do with such a part as mine ? I have
forty-two to learn."
" It is not that I am afraid of learning by heart," said Fanny,
shocked to find herself at that moment the only speaker in the
room, and to feel that almost every eye was upon her; " but I
really cannot act."
" Yes, yes, you can act well enough for us. Learn your part,
and we will teach you all the rest. You have only two scenes,
and as I shall be Cottager, I'll put you in and push you about ;
and you will do it very well, I'll answer for it."
" No, indeed, Mr. Bertram, you must excuse me. You can-
not have an idea. It would be absolutely impossible for inc.
If / were to undertake it, I should only disappoint you."
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 03
" Phoo! Phoo! Do not be so shamefaced. You'll lo it very
w;ll. Every allowance will be made for you. W do not ex-
pect perfection. You must get a brown gown, and a white
apron, and a mob cap, and we must make you a few wrinkles,
and a little of the crowsfoot at the corner of your eyes, and you
will be a very proper, little old woman."
" You must excuse me, indeed you must excuse me," cried
Fanny, growing more and more red from excessive agitation,
and looking distressfully at Edmund, who was kindly observing
her; but unwilling to exasperate his brother by interference,
gave her only an encouraging smile. Her entreaty had no
effect on Tom : he only said again what he had said before,
and it was not merely Tom, for the requisition was now
backed by Maria, and Mr. Crawford, and Mr. Yates, with an
urgency which differed from his, but in being more gentle or
more ceremonious, and which altogether was quite overpowering
to Fanny; and before she could breathe after it, Mrs. Norris
completed the whole, by thus addressing her in a whisper at
once angry and audible: " What a piece of work here is about
nothing, I am quite ashamed of you, Fanny, to make such a
difficulty of obliging your cousins in a trifle of this sort, so
kind as they are to you ! Take the part with a good grace, and
let us hear no more of the matter, I entreat."
" Do not urge her, madam," said Edmund. " It is not fair
to urge her in this manner. You see she does not like to act.
Let her choose for herself as well as the rest of us. Her judg-
ment may be quite as safely trusted. Do not urge her any
more."
" I am not going to urge her," replied Mrs. Norris, sharply;
" but I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl, if she
does not do what her aunt and cousins wish her very ungrate-
ful, indeed, considering who and what she is."
Edmund was too angry to speak ; but Miss Crawford looking
for a moment with astonished eyes at Mrs. Norris, and then at
Fanny, whose tears were beginning to show themselves, imme-
diately said, with some keenness, " I do not like my situation;
this place is too hot for me," and moved away her chair to the
opposite side of the table close to Fanny, saying to her, in a kind
low whisper, as she placed herself, " Never mind, my dear Miss
Price this is a cross evening, everybody is cross and teasing
but do not let us mind them;" and with pointed attention
continued to talk to her and endeavour to raise her spirits, in
spite of being out of spirits herself. By a look at her brother,
she prevented any farther entreaty frcftn the theatrical board,
and the really good feelings by which she was almost purely
governed, were rapidly restoring her to all the little she had lost
in Edmund's favour.
104 MANSFIELD PARK.
Fanny did not love Miss Crawford: but she felt very much
obliged to her for her present kindness ; and when, from taking
notice of her work, and wishing she could work as well, and
begging for the pattern, and supposing Fanny was now preparing
for her appearance, as of course she would come out when her
consul was married, Bliss Crawford proceeded to enquire if she
had heard lately from her brother at sea, and said that she had
quite a curiosity to see him, and imagined him a very fine young
man, and advised Fanny to get his picture drawn before he went
to sea again, she could not help admitting it to be very agree-
able flattery, or help listening, and answering with more anima-
tion than she had intended.
The consultation on the play still went on ; and Miss Craw-
ford's attention was called from Fanny by Tom Bertram's telling
her, with infinite regret, that he found it absolutely impossible
for Mm to undertake the part of Anhalt in addition to the Butler :
he had been most anxiously trying to make it out to be feasible,
but it would not do, he must give it up. " But there will
not be the smallest difficulty in filling it," he added. " We have
but to speak the word; we may pick and choose. I could name
at this moment at least six young men within six miles of us,
Who are wild to be admitted into our company, and there are
one or two that would not disgrace us, I should not be afraid
to trust either of the Olivers or Charles Maddox. Tom Oliver
is a very clever fellow, and Charles Maddox is as gentleman-
like a man as you will see anywhere, so I will take my horse
early to-morrow morning, and ride over to Stoke, and settle
with one of them."
While he spoke, Maria was looking apprehensively round at
Edmund in full expectation that he must oppose such an enlarge-
ment of the plan as this so contrary to all their first protesta-
tions; but Edmund said 'nothing. After a moment's thought,
Miss Crawford calmly replied, "As far as I am concerned, I can
have no objection to anything that you all think eligible. Have
I ever seen either of the gentlemen ? Yes, Mr. Charles Maddox
dined at my sister's one day, did not he, Henry? A quiet-look-
ing young man. I remember him. Let him be applied to, if
you please, for it will be less unpleasant to me than to have a
perfect stranger."
Charles Maddox was to be the man. Tom repeated his reso-
lution of going to Mm early on the morrow; and though Julia,
who had scarcely opened her lips before, observed, in a sarcastic
manner, and with a glance first at Maria, and then at Edmund,
that " the Mansfield theatricals would enliven the whole neigh-
bourhood exceedingly," Edmund still held his peace, and showed
his feelings only by a determined gravity.
" I am not very sanguine as to our play," said Miss Crawford,
MANSFIELD PARK. 105
in an under voice, to Fanny, after some consideration; "and I
can tell Mr. Macldox, that I shall shorten some of his speeches,
and a great many of my own, before we rehearse together. It
will be very disagreeable, and by no means what I expected."
CHAPTER XVI.
T was not in Miss Crawford's power to talk
Fanny into any real forgetfulness of what had
passed. When the evening was over, she
went to bed full of it, her nerves still agitated
' by the shock of such an attack from her
cousin Tom, so public and so persevered In,
and her spirits sinking under her aunt's un-
kind reflection and reproach. To be called
into notice in such a manner, to hear that it was but the prelude
to something so infinitely worse, to be told that she must do
what was so impossible as to act; and then to have the charge
of obstinacy and ingratitude" follow it, enforced with such a hint
at the dependence of her situation, had been too distressing at
the time to make the remembrance when she was alone much
less so, especially with the superadded dread of what the mor-
row might produce in continuation of the subject. Miss Craw-
ford had protected her only for the time ; and if she were applied
to again among themselves with all the authoritative urgency that
Tom and Maria were capable of, and Edmund perhaps away, what
should she do? She fell asleep before she could answer the ques-
tion, and found it quite as puzzling when she awoke the next
morning. The little white attic, which had continued her sleep-
ing-room ever since her first entering the family, proving in-
competent to suggest any reply, she had recourse, as soon as she
was dressed, to another apartment more spacious and more meet
for walking about in and thinking, and of which she had now
for some time been almost equally mistress. It had been their
school-room; so called till the Miss Bertrams would not allow it
to be called so any longer, and inhabited as such to a later period.
There Miss Lee had lived, and there they had read and written,
and talked and laughed, till within the last three years, when she
had quitted them. The room had then become useless, and for
some time was quite deserted, except by Fanny, when she visited
her plants, or wanted one of the books, which she was still glad
to keep there, from the deficiency of space and accommodation in
her little chamber above: but gradually, as her value for the
comforts of it increased, she had added to her possessions, and
spent more of her time there; and having nothing to oppose her,
1 06 MANSFIELD PARK.
had so naturally and so artlessly worked herself into it, that it
was now generally admitted to be hers. The East room, as it
had been called ever since Maria Bertram was sixteen, was now
considered Fanny's almost as decidedly as the white attic : the
smallness of the one making the use of the other so evidently
reasonable, that the Miss Bertrams, with every superiority in
their own apartments, which their own sense of superiority could
demand, were entirely approving it ; and Mrs. Norris, having
stipulated for there never being a fire in it on Fanny's account,
was tolerably resigned to her having the use of what nobody else
wanted, though the terms in which she sometimes spoke of the
indulgence seemed to imply that it was the best room in the
house.
The aspect was so favourable, that even without a fire it was
habitable in many an early spring and late autumn morning, to
such a willing mind as Fanny's; and while there was a gleam
of sunshine, she hoped not to be driven from it entirely, even
when winter came. The comfort of it in her hours of leisure was
extreme. She could go there after anything unpleasant below,
and find immediate consolation in some pursuit, or some train of
thought at hand. Her plants, her 1x>oks of which she had been
a collector, from the first hour of her commanding a shilling
her writing-desk, and hrr works of charity and ingenuity, <MM
all within her reach; or if indisposed for employment! if nothing
but musing would do, she could scarcely see an object in that
room which had not an interesting remembrance connected with
it. Everything was a friend, or bore her thoughts to a friend ;
ami though there had been sometimes much of suffering to her,
though her motives had been often misunderstood, her feelings
disregarded, and her compreliension undervalued, though she
had known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet
almost every recurrence of either had led to something consola-
tory; her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had
been encouraging, or what was yet more frequent or more dear
Edmund had been her champion and her friend; he had
supported her cause or explained her meaning, he had told her
not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which made
her tears delightful, and the whole was now so blended together,
so harmonised by distance, that every former affliction had its
charm. The room was most dear to her, and she would not have
changed its furniture for the handsomest in the house, though
what had been originally plain had suffered all the ill-usage of
children^ and its greatest elegancies and ornaments were a faded
footstool of Julia's work, too ill done for the drawing-room, three
transparencies, made in a rage for transparencies, for the three
lower panes of one window, where Tintern Abbey held its station
between a cave in Italy and a moonlight lake in Cumberland, a
MANSFIELD PARK. 107
collection of family profiles, thought unworthy of being anywhere
else, over the mantelpiece, and by their side, and pinned against
the wall, a small sketch of a ship sent four years ago from the
Mediterranean by William, with H. M. S. Antwerp at the bot-
tom, in letters as tall as the mainmast.
To this nest of comforts Fanny now walked down to try its
influence on an agitated, doubting spirit to see if by looking at
Edmund's profile she could catch any of his counsel, or by giving
air to her geraniums she might inhale a breeze of mental strength
herself. But she had more than fears of her own perseverance
to remove : she had begun to feel undecided as to what she ought
to do; and as she walked round the room her doubts were in-
creasing. Was she right in refusing what was so warmly asked,
so strongly wished for ? What might be so essential to a scheme
on which some of those to whom she owed the greatest com-
plaisance had set their hearts? Was it not ill-nature selfish-
ness and a fear of exposing herself? And would Edmund's
judgment, would his persuasion of Sir Thomas's disapprobation
of the whole, be enough to justify her in a determined denial in
spite of all the rest? It would be so horrible to her to act, that
she was inclined to suspect the truth and purity of her own
scruples ; and as she looked around her, the claims of her cousins
to being obliged were strengthened by the sight of present upon
present that she had received from them. The table between the
windows was covered with work-boxes and netting-boxes which
had been given her at different times, principally by Tom ; and
she grew bewildered as to the amount of the debt which all these
kind remembrances produced. A tap at the door roused her in
the midst of this attempt to find her way to her duty, and her
gentle " come in" was answered by the appearance of one, before
whom all her doubts were wont to be laid. Her eyes brightened
at the sight of Edmund.
"Can I speak with you, Fanny, for a few minutes?" said
he.
" Yes, certainly."
" I want to consult I want your opinion."
"My opinion!" she cried, shrinking from such a compliment,
liighly as it gratified her.
" Yes, your advice and opinion. I do not know what to do.
This acting scheme gets worse and worse, you see. They have
chosen almost as bad a play as they could: and now, to complete
the business, are going to ask the help of a young man very
slightly known to any of us. This is the end of all the privacy
and propriety which was talked about at first. I know no harm
of Charles Maddox; but the excessive intimacy which must
spring from his being admitted among us in this manner is
highly objectionable, the more than intimacy the familiarity.
108 MANSFIELD PABK.
I cannot think of it -with any patience ; and it does appear to me
an evil of such magnitude as must, if possible, be prevented.
Do not you see it in the same light?"
"Yes; hut what can be done? Your brother is so deter-
mined ? "
" There is but one thing to be done, Fanny. I must take
Anhalt myself. I am well aware that nothing else will quiet
Tom."
Fanny could not answer him.
" It is not at all what I like," he continued. " No man can
like being driven into the appearance of such inconsistency.
After being known to oppose the scheme from the beginning,
there is absurdity in the face of my joining them now, when they
are exceeding their first plan in every respect ; but I can think of
no other alternative. Can you, Fanny?"
" No," said Fanny, slowly, " not immediately but "
" But what? I see your judgment is not with me. Think it
a little over. Perhaps you are not so much aware as I am of
the mischief that may, of the unpleasantness that must, arise
from a young man's being received in this manner domesticated
among us authorized to come at all hours and placed suddenly
on a footing which must do away all restraints. To think only
of the license which every rehearsal must tend to create. It is
all very bad! Put yourself in Miss Crawford's placo, Fanny.
Consider what it would be to act Amelia with a stranger. She
has a right to be felt for, because she evidently feels for herself.
I heard enough of what she said to you last night, to understand
her unwillingness to be acting with a stranger ; and as she pro-
bably engaged in the part with different expectations perhaps
without considering the subject enough to know what was likely
to be it would be ungenerous, it would be really wrong to ex-
pose her to it Her feelings ought to be respected. Does it not
strike you so, Fanny ? You hesitate."
" I am sorry for Miss Crawford ; but I am more sorry to see
you drawn in to do what you have resolved against, and what you
are known to think will be disagreeable to my uncle. It will be
sucli a triumph to the others !"
" They will not have much cause of triumph when they see
how infamously I act. But, however, triumph there certainly will
be, and I must brave it. But If I can be the means of restrain-
ing the publicity of the business, of limiting the exhibition, of
concentrating our folly, I shall be well repaid. As I am now, I
have no influence, I can do notliing : I have offended them, and
they will not hear me ; but when I have put them in good
humour by this concession, I am not without hopes of persuading
them to confine the representation within a much smaller circle
than they are now in the high road for. This will be a material
MANSFIELD PARK. 109
gain. My object is to confine it to Mrs. Rushvrorth and the
Grants. Will not this be worth gaining ?"
" Yes, it will be a great point."
" But still it has not your approbation. Can you mention any
other measure by which I have a chance of doing equal good ?"
" No, I cannot think of anything else."
" Give me your approbation, then, Fanny. I am not comfort-
able without it."
"Oh, cousin."
" If you are against me, I ought to distrust myself and yet
But it is absolutely impossible to let Tom go on in this
way, riding about the country in quest of anybody who can be
persuaded to act no matter whom : the look of a gentleman is
to be enough. I thought you would have entered more into Miss
Crawford's feelings."
" No doubt she will be very glad. It must be a great relief
to her," said Fanny, trying for greater warmth of manner.
" She never appeared more amiable than in her behaviour
to you last night. It gave her a very strong claim on my good-
will."
" She was very kind, indeed, and I am glad to have her
spared "
She could not finish the generous effusion. Her conscience
stopped her in the'middle, but Edmund was satisfied.
" I shall walk down immediately after breakfast," said he,
" and am sure of giving pleasure there. And now, dear Fanny,
I will not interrupt you any longer. You want^ to be reading.
But I could not be easy till I had spoken to you, and come to a
decision. Sleeping or waking, my head has been full of tliis
matter all night. It is an evil but I am certainly making it
less than it might be. If Tom is up, I shall go to him directly
and get it over, and when we meet at breakfast we shall be all
in high good humour at the prospect of acting the fool together
with such unanimity. You in the meanwhile will be taking a
trip into China, I suppose. How does Lord Macartney go on ?
(opening a volume on the table and then taking up some others.)
And here are Crabbe's Talcs, and the Idler, at hand to relieve
you, if you tire of your great book. I admire your little estab-
lishment exceedingly; and as soon as I am gone, you will empty
your head of all this nonsense of acting, and sit comfortably down
to your table. But do not stay here to be cold."
He went ; but there was no reading, no China, no composure
for Fanny. He had told her the most extraordinary, the most
inconceivable, the most unwelcome news ; and she could think of
nothing else. To be acting ! After all his objections objec-
tions so just and so public ! After all that she had heard him
say, and seen him look, and known him to be feeling. Could it
110
be possible ? Edmund so inconsistent. Was he not deceiving
himself? Was he not wrong? Alas ! it was all Miss Craw-
ford's doings. She had seen her influence in every speech, and
was miserable. The doubts and alarms as to her own conduct,
which had previously distressed her, and which had all slept
while she listened to him, were become of little consequence now.
This deeper anxiety swallowed them up. Things should take
their course ; she cared not how it ended. Her cousins might
attack, but could hardly tease her. She was beyond their reach ;
and if at last obliged to yield no matter it was all misery
CHAPTER XVII.
T was, indeed, a triumphant day to Mr.
Bertram and Maria. Such a victory over
' Edmund's discretion had been beyond their
hopes, and was most delightful. There was
?no longer anything to disturb them in their
darling project, and they congratulated each
other in private on the jealous weakness to
which they attributed the change, with all
the glee of feelings gratified in every way. Edmund might still
look grave, and say he did not like the scheme in general, and
must disapprove the play in particular ; their point was gained ;
he was to act, and he was driven to it by the force of selfish in-
clinations only. Edmund had descended from that moral eleva-
tion which he had maintained before, and they were both as
much the better as the happier for their descent.
They behaved very well, however, to him on the occasion,
betraying no exultation beyond the lines about the corners of
the mouth, and seemed to think it as great an escape to be quit
of the intrusion of Charles Maddox, as if they had been forced
into admitting him against their inclination. " To have it quite
in their own family circle was what they had particularly wished.
A stranger among them would have been the destruction of all
their comfort ;" and when Edmund, pursuing that idea, gave a
hint of his hope as to the limitation of the audience, they were
ready, in the complaisance of the moment, to promise anything.
It was all good humour and encouragement. Mrs. Norris offered
to contrive his dress, Mr. Yates assured him that Anhalt's last
scene with the Baron admitted a good deal of action and emphasis,
and Mr. Rushworth undertook to count his speeches.
" Perhaps," said Tom, "Fanny may be more disposed to oblige
us now. Perhaps you may persuade her."
MANSFIELD PARK. Ill
" No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not act."
" Oh, very well." And not another word was said; but Fanny
felt herself again hi danger, and her indifference to the danger
was beginning to fail her already.
There were not fewer smiles at the Parsonage than at the Park
on this change in Edmuud ; Miss Crawford looked very lovely in
hers, and entered with such an instantaneous renewal of cheer-
fulness into the whole affair, as could have but one effect on him.
" He was certainly right in respecting such feelings; she was glad
he had determined on it." And the morning wore away in satis-
factions very sweet, if not very sound. One advantage resulted
from it to Fanny ; at the earnest request of Miss Crawford, Mrs.
Grant had, with her usual good humour, agreed to undertake the
part for which Fanny had been wanted ; and this was all that
occurred to gladden her heart during the day ; and even this,
when imparted by Edmund, brought a pang with it, for it was
Miss Crawford to whom she was obliged, it was Miss Crawford
whose kind exertions were to excite her gratitude, and whose
merit in making them was spoken of with a glow of admiration.
She was safe ; but peace and safety were unconnected here. Her
mind had been never farther from peace. She could not feel that
she had done wrong herself, but she was disquieted in every other
way. Her heart and her judgment were equally against Ed-
mund's decision : she could not acquit his unsteadiness ; and his
happiness under it made her wretched. She was full of jealousy
and agitation. Miss Crawford came with looks of gaiety which
seemed an insult, with friendly expressions towards herself which
she could hardly answer calmly. Everybody around her was
gay and busy, prosperous and important ; each had their object
of interest, their part, their dress, their favourite scene, their
friends and confederates all were finding employment in consult-
ations and comparisons, or diversion in the playful conceits they
suggested. She alone was sad and insignificant ; she had no
share in anything ; she might go or stay, she might be in the
midst of their noise, or retreat from it to the solitude of the east
room, without being seen or missed. She could almost think
anything would have been preferable to this. Mrs. Grant was of
consequence : her good-nature had honourable mention her taste
and her time were considered her presence was wanted she
was sought for, and attended, and praised ; and Fanny was at
first in some danger of envying her the character she had ac-
cepted. But reflection brought better feelings, and showed her
that Mrs. Grant was entitled to respect, which could never have
belonged to her ; and that had she received even the greatest,
she could never have been easy in joining a scheme which, con-
sidering only her uncle, she must condemn altogether.
Fanny's heart was not absolutely the only saddened one
112 MANSFIELD PARK.
amongst them, as she soon began to acknowledge herself. Julia
was a sufferer, too, though not quite so blamelessly.
Henry Crawford had trifled with her feelings : but she had
very long allowed and even sought his attentions, with a jealousy
of her sister so reasonable as ought to have been their cure ; and
now that the conviction of his preference for Maria had been
forced on her, she submitted to it without any alarm for Maria's
situation, or any endeavoiir at rational tranquillity for herself.
She either sat in gloomy silence, wrapt in such gravity as nothing
could subdue, no curiosity touch, no wit amuse ; or allowing the
attentions of Mr. Yates, was talking with forced gaiety to him
alone, and ridiculing the acting of the others.
For a day or two after the affront was given, Henry Crawford
had endeavoured to do it away by the usual attack of gallantry
and compliment, but he had not cared enough about it to perse-
vere against a few repulses ; and becoming soon too busy with his
play to have time for more than one flirtation, he grew indifferent
to the quarrel, or rather thought it a lucky occurrence, as quietly
putting an end to what might ere long have raised expectations
in more than Airs. Grant. She was not pleased to see Julia ex-
cluded from the play, and sitting -by disregarded ; but as it was
not a matter which really involved her happiness, as Henry must
be the best judge of his own, and as he did assure her, with a
most persuasive smile, that neither he nor Julia had ever had a
serious thought of each other, she could only renew her former
caution as to the elder sister, entreat him not to risk his tran-
quillity by too much admiration there, and then gladly take her
share in anything that brought cheerfulness to the young people
in general, and that did so particularly promote the pleasure of
the two so dear to her.
" I rather wonder Julia is not in love with Henry," was her
observation to Mary.
" I dare say she is," replied Mary, coldly. " I imagine both
sisters are."
" Both ! no, no, that must not be. Do not give him a hint of
it. Think of Mr. Rushworth."
" You had better tell Miss Bertram to think of Mr. Rushworth.
It may do her some good. I often think of Mr. Rushworth's
property and independence, and wish them in other hands ; but
I never think of him. A man might represent the county with
such an estate ; a man might escape a profession and represent
the county."
" I dare say he will be in parliament soon. When Sir Thomas
comes, I dare say he will be in for some borough, but there has
been nobody to put him in the way of doing anything yet."
" Sir Thomas is to achieve many mighty things when he
comes home," said Mary, after a 'pause. " Do you remember
MANSFIELD PAKK. ] 1 3
Hawkins Browne's 'Address to Tobacco,' in imitation of Pope?
' Blest leaf ! whose aromatic gales dispense
To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense.'
I will parody them :
Blest Knight ! whose dictatorial looks dispense
To Children affluence, to Rushworth sense.
Will not that do, Mrs. Grant ? Everything seems to depend
upon Sir Thomas's return."
"You will find his consequence very just and reasonable when
you see him in his family, I assure you. I do not think we do
so well without him. lie has a fine dignified manner, which
suits the head of such a house, and keeps everybody in their
place. Lady Bertram seems more of a cipher now than
when he is at home; and nobody else can keep Mrs. Norris in
order. But, Mary, do not fancy that Maiia Bertram cares for
Henry. I am sure Julia does not, or she would not have flirted
as she did last night with Mr. Yates; and though he and Maria
are very good friends, 1 think she likes Sotherton too well to be
inconstant."
" I would not give much for Mr. Bushworth's chance, if Henry
stepped in before the articles were signed."
"If you have such a suspicion, something must be done; and
as soon as the play is all over, we will talk to him seriously, and
make him know his own mind ; and if he means nothing, we will
send him off, though he is Henry, for a time."
Julia did suffer, however, though Mrs. Grant discerned it not,
and though it escaped the notice of many of her own family like-
wise. She had loved, she did love still, and she had all the suf-
fering which a warm temper and a high spirit were likely to
endure under the disappointment of a dear, though irrational
hope, with a strong sense of ill usage. Her heart was sore and
angry, and she was capable only of angry consolations. The
sister with whom she was used to be on easy terms was now be-
come her greatest enemy: they were alienated from each other;
and Julia was not superior to the hope of some distressing end to
the attentions which were still carrying on there, some punish-
ment to Maria for conduct so shameful towards herself as Avell as
towards Mr. Rushworth. With no material fault of temper, or
difference of opinion, to prevent their being very good friends
while their interests were the same, the sisters, under such a trial
as this, had not affection or principle enough to make them mer-
ciful or just, to give them honour or compassion. Maria felt her
triumph, and pursued her purpose, careless of Julia; and Julia
could never see Maria distinguished by Henry Crawford without
trusting that it would create jealousy, and bring a public distur-
bance at last.
CD H
114 MANSFIELD PARK.
Fanny saw and pitied much of this in Julia ; but there was no
outward fellowship between them. Julia made no communica-
tion, and Fanny took no liberties. They were two solitary suf-
ferers, or connected only by Fanny's consciousness.
The inattention of the two brothers and the aunt to Julia's
discomposure, and their blindness to its true cause, must be im-
puted to the fulness of their own minds. They were totally
preoccupied. Tom was engrossed by the' concerns of his theatre,
and saw nothing that did not immediately relate to it. Edmund,
between his theatrical and his real part, between Miss Crawford's
claims and his own conduct, between love and consistency, was
equally unobservant; and Mrs. Norris was too busy in contriving
and directing the general little matters of the company, superin-
tending their various dresses with economical expedient, for which
nobody thanked her, and saving, with delighted integrity, half-
a,-crown here and there to the absent Sir Thomas, to have leisure
for watching the behaviour, or guarding the happiness, of his
daughters.
CHAPTER XVIII.
VERYTHING was now in a regular train ;
'theatre, actors, actresses, and dresses, were
all getting forward ; but though no other
great impediments arose, Fanny found, before
many days were past, that it was not all un-
, interrupted enjoyment to the party themselves,
1 and that she had not to witness the continu-
ance of such unanimity and delight, as had
been almost too much for her at first. Everybody began to have
their vexation. Edmund had many. Entirely against his judg-
ment, a scene-painter arrived from town, and was at work, much
to the increase of the expenses, and, what was worse, of the eclat
of their proceedings; and his brother, instead of being really
guided by him as to the privacy of the representation, was giving
an invitation to every family who came in his way. Tom liim-
self began to fret over the scene-painter's slow progress, and to
feel the miseries of waiting. He had learned his part all his
parts for he took every trifling part that could be united with
the Butler, and began to be impatient to be acting; and every
day thus unemployed was tending to increase his sense of the
insignificance of all his parts together, and make him more ready
to regret that some other play had not been chosen.
Fanny, being always a very courteous listener, and often the
only listener at hand, came in for the complaints and distresses
MANSFIELD PARK. 115
of most of them. She knew that Mr. Yates was in general
thought to rant dreadfully; that Mr. Yates was disappointed in
Henry Crawford ; that Tom Bertram spoke so quick he would be
unintelligible; that Mrs. Grant spoiled everything by laughing;
that Edmund was behind-hand with his part, and that it was
misery to have anything to do with Mr. Bushworth, who was
wanting a prompter through every speech. She knew, also, that
poor Mr. Eushworth could seldom get anybody to rehearse with
him: his complaint came before her as well as the rest; and so
decided to her eye was her cousin Maria's avoidance of him, and
so needlessly often the rehearsal of the first scene between her
and Mr. Crawford, that she had soon all the terror of other com-
plaints from him. So for from being all satisfied and all enjoy-
ing, she found everybody requiring something they had not, and
giving occasion of discontent to the others. Everybody had a
part either too long or too short; nobody would attend as they
ought, nobody would remember on which side they were to
come in, nobody but the complainer would observe any direc-
tions.
Fanny believed herself to derive as much innocent enjoyment
fropi the play as any of them ; Henry Crawford acted well, and
it was a pleasure to her to creep into the theatre, and attend the
rehearsal of the first act in spite of the feelings it excited in
some speeches for Maria. Maria she also thought acted well
too well ; and after the first rehearsal or two, Fanny began to
be their only audience, and sometimes as prompter, sometimes
as spectator, was often very useful. As far as she could judge,
Mr. Crawford was considerably the best actor of all; he had
more confidence than Edmund, more judgment than Tom, more
talent and taste than Mr. Yates. She did not like him as a man,
but she must admit him to be the best actor, and on this point
there were not many who differed from her. Mr. Yates, indeed,
exclaimed against his tameness and insipidity ; and the day came
at last, when Mr. Eushworth turned to her with a black look,
and said, " Do you think there is anything so very fine in all
this? For the life and soul of me, I cannot admire him; and
between ourselves, to see such an undersized, little, mean-looking
man, set up for a fine actor, is very ridiculous in my opinion."
From this moment there was a return of his former jealousy,
which Maria, from increasing hopes of Crawford, was at little
pains to remove; and the chances of Mr. Eushworth's ever at-
taining to the knowledge of his two-and-forty speeches became
much less. As to his ever making anything tolerable of them,
nobody had the smallest idea of that except his mother; she,
indeed, regretted that his part was not more considerable, and
deferred coming over to Mansfield till they were forward enough
in their rehearsal to comprehend all his scenes ; but the others
116 MANSFIELD PARK.
aspired at nothing beyond his remembering the catchword, and
the first line of his speech, and being able to follow the prompter
through the rest. Fanny, in her pity and kind-heartedness, was
at great pains to teach him how to learn, giving him all the helps
and directions in her power, trying to make an artificial memory
for him, and learning every word of his part herself, but Avitliout
his being much the forwarder.
Many uncomfortable, anxious, apprehensive feelings she cer-
tainly had ; but with all these, and other claims on her time and
attention, she was as far from finding herself without employment
or utility amongst them, as without a companion in uneasiness;
quite as far from having no demand on her leisure as on her
compassion. The gloom of her first anticipations was proved to
have been unfounded. She was occasionally useful to all ; she
was perhaps as much at peace as any.
There was a great deal of needlework to be done, moreover,
in which her help was wanted ; and that Mrs. Norris thought her
quite as well off as the rest, was evident by the manner in which
she claimed it: "Come, Fanny," she cried, "these are fine
times for you, but you must not be always walking from one
room to the other and doing the looldngs-on, at your ease, in
this way, I want you here. I have been slaving myself till I
can hardly stand, to contrive Mr. Rushworth's cloak without
sending for any more satin ; and now I think you may give me
your help in putting it together. There are but three seams,
you may do them in a trice. It would be lucky for me if 1 had
nothing but the executive part to do. You are best ofl^ I can
tell you ; but if nobody did more than you, we should not get on
very fast."
Fanny took the work very quietly, without attempting any
defence; but her kinder aunt Bertram observed on her behalf,
" One cannot wonder, sister, that Fanny should be delighted :
it is all new to her, you know: you and I used to be very fond
of a play ourselves and so am I still and as soon as I am a
little more at leisure, 7 mean to look in at their rehearsals too.
"What is the play about, Fanny, you have never told me?"
"Oh, sister, pray do not ask her now; for Fanny is not one of
those who can talk and work at the same time. It is about
Lovers' Vows."
" I believe," said Fanny to her aunt Bertram, " there will be
three acts rehearsed to-morrow evening, and that will give yon
an opportunity of seeing all the actors at once."
" You had better stay till the curtain is hung," interposed Mrs.
Norris " the curtain will be hung in a day or two, there is
very little sense in a play without a curtain and I am much
mistaken if you do not find it draw up into very handsome
festoons."
MANSFIELD PARK. 117
l,ady l.erlnim seemed quite resigned to waiting. Fanny did
not share her aunt's composure ; she thought of the morrow a
great deal, for if the three acts were rehearsed, Edmund and Miss
Crawford would then be acting together for the first time; the
third act would bring a scene between them which interested her
most particularly, and which she was longing and dreading to
sec how they would perform. The whole su!>je<-t of it was love
a marriage of love was to be described by the gentleman, and
very little short of a declaration of love be made by the lady. -
She had read, and read the scene again with many painful,
many wondering emotions, and looked forward to their represen-
tation of it as a circumstance almost too interesting. She did
not In-Iicrc they had yet rehearsed it, even in private.
The morrow came, the plan for the evening continued, and
Fanny's consideration of it did not become less agitated. She
worked very diligently under her aunt's directions, but her dili-
gence and her silence concealed a very absent, anxious mind;
and about noon she made her escape with her work to the east
room, that she might have no concern in another, and, as she
deemed it, most unnecessary rehearsal of the first act, which
Henry Crawford was just proposing, desirous at once, of having
her time to herself, and of .avoiding the sight of Mr. Rushworth.
A glimpse, as she passed through the hall, of the two ladies
walking up from the Parsonage, made no change in her wish of
retreat, and she worked and meditated in the east room, undis-
turbed, for a quarter of an hour, when a gentle tap at the door
was followed by the entrance of Miss Crawford.
"Am I right? Yes; this is the east room. My dear Miss
Price, I beg your pardon, but I have made my way to you on
purpose to entreat your help."
Fanny, quite surprised, endeavoured to show herself mistress
of the room by her civilities, and looked at the bright bars of
her empty grate with concern.
" Thank you I am quite warm very warm. Allow me to
stay here a little while, and do have the goodness to hear me my
third act. I have brought my book, and if you would but re-
hearse it with me, I should be so obliged! I came here to-day
intending to rehearse it with Edmund by ourselves against the
evening, but he is not in the way; and if he were, I do not think
I could go through it with Mm, till I have hardened myself a
little, for really there is a speech or two You will be so
good, won't you?"
Fanny was most civil in her assurances, though she could
not give them in a very steady voice.
" Have you ever happened to look at the part I mean?" con-
tinued Miss Crawford, opening her book. " Here it is. I did
not think much of it at first but, upon my word There,
118 MANSFIELD PARK.
look at that speeeh, and that, and that. How am I ever to look
him in the face and say such tilings? Could you do it? But
then he is your cousin, which makes all the difference. You must
rehearse it with me, that I may fancy you him, and get on by
degrees. You have a look of his sometimes."
" Have I? I will do my best with the greatest readiness
but I must read the part, for I can say very little of it."
" None of it, I suppose. You are to have the book, of course.
Now for it. We must have two chairs at hand for you to bring
forward to the front of the stage. There very good school-room
chairs, not made for a theatre, I dare say ; much more fitted for
little girls to sit and kick their feet against when they are learn-
ing a lesson. What would your governess and your uncle say to
see them used for such a purpose? Could Sir Thomas look in
upon us just now, he would bless himself, for we are rehearsing
all over the house. Yates is storming away in the dining-room.
I heard him as I came up stairs, and the theatre is engaged of
course by those indefatigable rehearsers, Agatha and Frederick.
If they are not perfect, I shall be surprised. By the bye, I looked
in upon them five minutes ago, and it happened to be exactly at
one of the times when they were trying not to embrace, and Mr.
Rushworth was with me. I thought he began to look a little
queer, so I turned it off as well as I could, by whispering to
him, ' We shall have an excellent Agatha, there is something so
maternal in her manner, so completely maternal in her voice
and countenance.' Was not that well done of me? He brigh-
tened up directly. Now for my soliloquy."
She began, and Fanny joined in with all the modest feeling
which the idea of representing Edmund was so strongly calcu-
lated to inspire; but with looks and voice so truly feminine, as to
be no very good picture of a man. With such an Anhalt, how-
ever, Miss Crawford had courage enough ; and they had got
through half the scene, when a tap at the door brought a pause,
and the entrance of Edmund, the next moment, suspended it all.
Surprise, consciousness, and pleasure, appeared in each of the
three on this unexpected meeting; and as Edmund was come on
the very same business that had brought Miss Crawford, con-
sciousness and pleasure were likely to be more than momentary
in them. He, too, had his book, and was seeking Fanny, to ask
her to rehearse with him, and help him to prepare for the evening,
without knowing Miss Crawford to be in the house; and great
was the joy and animation of being thus thrown together of
comparing schemes and sympathising in praise of Fanny's kind
offices.
She could not equal them in their warmth. Her spirits sank
under the glow of theirs, and she felt herself becoming too nearly
nothing to both, to have any comfort in having been sought by
MANSFIELD PAKK. 119
either. They must now rehearse together. Edmftnd proposed,
urged, entreated it till the lady, not very unwilling at first,
could refuse no longer and Fanny -was wanted only to pfol&pt
and observe them. She was invested, indeed, with the office of
judge and critic, and earnestly desired to exercise it and tell
them all their faults ; but from doing so every feeling within her
shrank, she could not, would not, dared not attempt it : had sliS
been otherwise qualified for criticism, her conscience must have
restrained her from venturing at disapprobation. She tclieved
herself to feel too much of it in the aggregate for honesty ov
safety in particulars. To prompt them must be enough for her;
and it was sometimes more than enough ; for she could not al-
ways pay attention to the book. In watching them she forgot
herself; and, agitated by the increasing spirit of Edmund's man-
ner, had once closed the page and turned away exactly as ho
wanted help. It was imputed to very reasonable weariness, and
she was thanked and pitied ; but she deserved their pity more
than she hoped they would ever surmise. At last the scene was
over, and Fanny forced herself to add her praise to the compli-
ments each was giving the other; and when again alone, and
able to recall the whole, she was inclined to believe their perfor-
mance would, indeed, have such nature and feeling in it as must
ensure their, credit, and make it a very suffering exhibition to
herself. Whatever might be its effect, however, she must stand
the brunt of it again that very day.
The first regular rehearsal of the three first acts was certainly
to take place in the evening: Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords were
engaged to return for that purpose as soon as they could after
dinner; and every one concerned was looking forward with
eagerness. There seemed a general diffusion of cheerfulness on
the occasion: Tom was enjoying such an advance towards the
end, Edmund was in spirits from the morning's rehearsal, and
little vexations seemed everywhere smoothed away. All were
alert and impatient; the ladies moved soon, the gentlemen soon
followed them, and, with the exception of Lady Bertram, Mrs.
Norris, and Julia, everybody was hi the theatre at an early hour,
and, having lighted it up as well as its unfinished state admitted,
were waiting only the arrival of Mrs. Grant and the Crawfords
to begin.
They did not wait long for the Crawfords, but there was no
Mrs. Grant. She could not come. Dr. Grant, professing an in-
disposition, for which he had little credit with his fair sister-in-
law, coidd not spare his wife.
" Dr. Grant is ill," said she, with mock solemnity. " He has
been ill ever since he did not eat any of the pheasant to-day.
He fancied it tough sent away his plate and has been suffer-
ing ever since,"
120 MANSFIELD PARK.
Here was disappointment ! Mrs. Grant's non-attendance was
sad indeed. Her pleasant manners and cheerful conformity made.
her always valuable amongst them but now she was absolutely
necessary. They could not act, they could not rehearse with any
.satisfaction without her. The comfort of the whole evening was
destroyed. What was to be done? Tom, as Cottager, was in
despair. After a pause of perplexity, some eyes began to be
turned towards Fanny, and a voice or two to say, '' If Miss Price
would be so good as to read the part." She was immediately
surrounded by supplications, everybody asked it, even Ed-
mund said, " Do Fanny, if it is not very disagreeable to you."
But Fanny still hung back. She could not endure the idea of
it. Why was not Miss Crawford to be .applied to as well ? Or
why had not she rather gone to her own room, as she had felt to
be safest, instead of attending the rehearsal at all? She had
known it would irritate and distress her she had known it her
duty to keep away. She was properly punished.
" You have only to read the part," said Henry Crawford, with
renewed entreaty.
" And I do believe she can say every word of it," added Maria,
" for she could put Mrs. Grant right the other day in twenty
places. Fanny, I am sure you know the part."
Fanny could not say she did not; -and as they all persevered,
as Edmund repeated his wish, and with a look of even fond
dependence on her good-nature, she must yield. She would do
her best. Everybody was satisfied; and she was left to the
tremors of a most palpitating heart, while the others prepared to
begin.
They did begin ; and, being too much engaged in their own
noise to be struck by any usual noise in the other part of the
house, had proceeded some way, when the door of the room was
thrown open, and Julia, appearing at it, with a face all aghast,
exclaimed, "My father is come! He is in the hall at this
moment."
1CND OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
it!
VOLUMK THE SECOND.
CHAPTER I.
; OW is the consternation of the party to be
described? To the greater number it was a
j moment of absolute horror. Sir Thomas in
the house! All felt the instantaneous con-
iviction. Not a hope of imposition or mistake
/was harboured anywhere. Julia's looks were
an evidence of the fact that made it indis-
putable; and after the first starts and excla-
mations, not a word was spoken for half a minute ; each with an
altered countenance was looking at some other, and almost each
was feeling it a stroke the most unwelcome, most ill-timed, most
appalling! Mr. Yates might consider it only as a vexatious
interruption for the evening, and Mr. Kushworth might imagine
it a blessing; but every other heart was sinking under some
degree of self-condemnation or undefined alarm, every other
heart was suggesting "What will become of us? what is to be
done now?" It was a terrible pause; and terrible to every ear
were the corroborating sounds of opening doors and passing
footsteps.
Julia was the first to move and speak again. Jealousy and
bitterness had been suspended: selfishness was lost in the com-
mon cause ; but at the moment of her appearance, Frederick was
listening with looks of devotion to Agatha's narrative, and press-
ing her hand to his heart; and as soon as she could notice this,
and see that, in spite of the shock of her words, he still kept his
station and retained her sister's hand, her wounded heart swelled
again with injury, and looking as red as she had been white
before, she turned out of the room, saying, " / need not be afraid
of appearing before him."
Her going roused the rest; and at the same moment the two
122 MANSFIELD PARK.
brothers stepped forward, feeling the necessity of doing some-
thing. A very few words between them were sufficient. The
case admitted no difference of opinion ; they must go to the draw-
ing-room directly. Maria joined them with the same intent,
just then the stoutest of the three; for the very circumstance
which had driven Julia away was to her the sweetest support.
Henry Crawford's retaining her hand at such a moment, a
moment of such peculiar proof and importance, was worth ages
of doubt and anxiety. She hailed it as an earnest of the
most serious determination, and was equal even to encounter
her father. They walked off, utterly needless of Mr. Rush-
worth's repeated question of, " Shall I go too ? Had not I better
go too? Will not it be right for me to go too?" but they were
no sooner through the door than Henry Crawford undertook to
answer the anxious inquiry, and, encouraging him by all means
to pay his respects to Sir Thomas without delay, sent him after
the others with delighted haste.
Fanny was left with only the Crawfords and Mr. Yates. She
had been quite overlooked by her cousins; and as her own
opinion of her claims on Sir Thomas's affection was much too
humble to give her any idea of classing herself with his children,
she was glad to remain behind and gain a little breathing-time.
Her agitation and alarm exceeded all that was endured by the
rest, by the right of a disposition which not even innocence could
keep from suffering. She was nearly fainting: all her former
habitual dread of her uncle was returning, and with it compassion
for him and for almost every one of the party on the develope-
mcnt before him with solicitude on Edmund's account inde-
scribable. She had found a seat, where in excessive trembling
she was enduring all those fearful thoughts, while the other three,
no longer under any restraint, were giving vent to their feelings
of vexation, lamenting over such an unlooked-for premature
arrival as a most untoward event, and without mercy wishing
poor Sir Thomas had been twice as long on his passage, or were
still in Antigua.
The Crawfords were more warm on the subject than Mr. Yates,
from better understanding the family, and judging more clearly
of the mischief that must ensue. The ruin of the play was to
them a certainty : they felt the total destruction of the scheme to
be inevitably at hand ; wlrile Mr. Yates considered it only as a
temporary interruption, a disaster for the evening, and could even
suggest the possibility of the rehearsal being renewed after tea,
when the bustle of receiving Sir Thomas was over, and he might
be at leisure to be amused by it. The Crawfords laughed at the
idea ; and having soon agreed on the propriety of their walking
quietly home and leaving the family to themselves, proposed Mr.
Vates's accompanying them and spending the evening at the
MANSFIELD PARK. 123
Parsonage. But Mr. Yates, having never been with those who
thought much of parental claims, or family confidence, could not
perceive that anything of the kind was necessary ; and therefore,
thanking them, said, "he preferred remaining where he was, that
lie might pay his respects to the old gentleman handsomely since
he was come; and besides, he did not think it would be fair by
the others to have everybody run away."
Fanny was just beginning to collect herself, and to feel that if
she staid longer behind it might seem disrespectful, when this
point was settled, and being commissioned with the brother and
sister's apology, saw them preparing to go as she quitted the
room herself to perform the dreadful duty of appearing before
her uncle.
Too soon did she find herself at the drawing-room door; and
after pausing a moment for what she knew would not come, for
a courage which the outside of no door had ever supplied to her,
she turned the lock in desperation, and the lights of the drawing-
room and all the collected family were before her. As she
entered, her own name caught her ear. Sir Thomas was at that
moment looking round him, and saying, " But where is Fanny?
Why do not I see my little Fanny?" and, on perceiving her,
came forward with a kindness which astonished and penetrated
her, calling her his dear Fanny, kissing her affectionately, and
observing with decided pleasure how much she was grown!
Fanny knew not how to feel, nor where to look. She was quite
oppressed. He had never been so kind, so very kind to her in
his life. His manner seemed changed ; his voice was quick from
the agitation of joy; and all that had been awful in his dignity
seemed lost in tenderness. He led her nearer the light and looked
at her again enquired particularly after her health, and then
correcting himself, observed, that he need not enquire, for her
appearance spoke sufficiently on that point A fine blush having
succeeded the previous paleness of her face, he was justified in
his belief of her equal improvement in health and beauty. He
enquired next after her family, especially William ; and his kind-
ness altogether was such as made her reproach herself for loving
him so little, and thinking his return a misfortune ; and when,
on having courage to lift her eyes to Ids face, she saw that he
was grown thinner, and had the burnt, fagged, worn look of
fatigue and a hot climate, eveiy tender feeling was increased,
and she was miserable in considering how much unsuspected
vexation was probably ready to burst on him.
Sir Thomas was indeed the life of the party, who at his sug-
gestion now seated themselves round the fire. He had the best
right to be the talker; and the delight of his sensations in being
again in his own house, in the centre of his family, after such a
separation, made him communicative and chatty in a very unusual
1 24 MAN8F1ELD PAKK.
degree; and he was ready to give every information as to his
voyage, and answer ever}' question of his two sons almost before
it was put. His business in Antigua had latterly been pros-
perously rapid, and he came directly from Liverpool, having had
an opportunity of making his passage thither in a private vi-s-el,
instead of waiting for the packet; and all the little particulars of
his proceedings and events, his arrivals and departures, wen-
most promptly delivered, as he sat by Lady Bertram am! looked
with heartfelt satisfaction on the faces around him interrupting
himself more than once, however, to remark on his good fortune
in finding them all at home coining unexpectedly as he did
all collected together exactly as he could have wished, but dared
not depend on. Mr. Kushworth was not forgotten: a most
friendly reception and warmth of hand-shaking had already met
him, and with pointed attention* he was now included in the
objects most intimately connected with Mansfield. There was
nothing disagreeable in Mr. Rushworth's appearance, and Sir
Thomas was liking him already.
By not one of the circle was he listened to with such unbroken,
unalloyed enjoyment as by his wife, who was really extremely
happy to see him, and whose feelings were so warmed by his
sudden arrival, as to place her nearer agitation than she had bcea
for the last twenty years. She had been almost fluttered for a
few minutes, and still remained so sensibly animated as to put
away her work, move pug from her side, and give all her atten-
tion and all the rest of her sofa to her husband. She had no
anxieties for anj r body to cloud her pleasure: her own time had
been irreproachably spent during his absence: she had done a
great deal of carpet- ivork, and made many yards of fringe ; and
she would have answered as freely for the good conduct and
useful pursuits of all the young people as for her own. It was
so agreeable to her to see him again, and hear him talk, to have
her ear amused and her whole comprehension filled by his
narratives, that she began particularly to feel how dreadfully she
must have missed him, and how impossible it would have been
for her to bear a lengthened absence.
Mrs. Norris was by no means to be compared in happiness to
her sister. Not that she was incommoded by many fears of Sir
Thomas's disapprobation when the present state of his house
should be known, for her judgment had been so blinded that,
except by the instinctive caution with which she had whisked
away Mr. Kushworth's pink satin cloak as her brother-in-law
entered, she could hardly be said to show any sign of alarm ; but
she was vexed by the manner of his return. It had left her
nothing to do. Instead of being sent for out of the room, and
seeing him first, and having to spread the happy news through
the house, Sir Thomas, with a very reasonable dependence.
MANSFIELD PARK. 125
perhaps, on the nerves of his wife and children, had sought no
confidant Imt the butler, and had been following him almost
instantaneously into the drawing-room. Mrs. Korris felt herself
defrauded of an office on which she had always depended, whether
Iiis arrival or his death were to be the thing unfolded ; and was
now trying to be in a bustle without having anything to bustle
about, and labouring to be important where nothing; was wanted
but tranquillity and silence. Would Sir Thomas have consented
to eat, she might have gone to the housekeeper with troublesome
directions, and insulted the footmen with injunctions of despatch;
but Sir Thomas resolutely declined all dinner: he would take
nothing, nothing till tea came he would rather wait for tea.
Still Mrs. Norris was at intervals urging something different;
and in the most interesting moment of his passage to England,
when the alarm of a French" privateer was at the height, she
burst through his recital with the proposal of soup. "Sure, my
dear Sir Thomas, a basin of soup would be a much better thing
for you than tea. Do have a basin of soup."
Sir Thomas could not be provoked. " Still the same anxiety
for everybody's comfort, my dear Mrs. Norris," was his answer.
"But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea."
' : \\Vil, then, Lady Bertram, suppose you speak for tea
directly, suppose you hurry Baddeley a little, he seems behind-
hand to night." She carried this point, and Sir Thomas's nar-
rative proceeded.
At length there was a pause. His immediate communications
were exhausted, and it seemed enough to be looking joyfully
around him, now at one, now at another of the beloved circle ;
but the pause was not long: in the elation of her spirits Lady
Bertram became talkative, and what were the sensations of her
children upon hearing her say, " How do you think the young
people have been amusing themselves lately, Sir Thomas? They
have been acting. We have been all alive with acting."
" Indeed ! and what have you been acting?"
" Oh, they'll tell you all about it."
" The all will be soon told," cried Tom, hastily, and with
affected unconcern; "but it is not worth while to bore my fat her
with it now. You will hear enough of it to-morrow, sir. We
have just been trying, by way of doing something, and amusing
my mother, just within the last week, to get up a few scenes, a
mere trifle. We have had such incessant rains almost since
October began, that we have been nearly confined to the house
for days together. I have hardly taken out a gun since the 3d.
Tolerable sport the first three days, but there has been no
attempting anything since. The first day I went over Mansfield
Wood, and Kdmund took the copses beyond Easton, and we
brought home six brace between us, and might each have killed
126 MANSFIELD PARK.
six times as many; but we Respect your pheasants, sir, I assure
you, as much as you could desire. I do not think you will find
your woods by any means worse stocked than they were. /
never saAV Mansfield Wood so full of pheasants in my life as this
year. I hope you will take a day's sport there yourself, sir,
soon."
For the present the danger was over, and Fanny's sick feelings
subsided; but when tea was soon afterwards brought in, and Sir
Thomas, getting up, said that he found he could not be any
longer in the house without just looking into his own dear room,
every agitation was returning. He was gone before anything
had been said to prepare him for the change he must find there;
and a pause of alarm followed his disappearance. Edmund was
the first to speak:
" Something must be done," said he.
" It is time to think of our visitors," said Maria, still feeling
her hand pressed to Henry Crawford's heart, and caring little
for anything else. "Where did you leave Miss Crawford,
Fanny?"
Fanny told of their departure, and delivered their message.
" Then poor Yates is all alone," cried Tom. " I will go and
fetch him. He will be no bad assistant when it all comes out."
To the theatre he went, and reached it just in time to witness
the first meeting of his father and his friend. Sir Thomas had
been a good deal surprised to find candles burning in his room;
and on casting his eye round it, to see other symptoms of recent
habitation and a general air of confusion in the furniture. The
removal of the book-case from the billiard-room door struck him
especially, but he had scarcely more than time to feel astonished
at all this, before there were sounds from the billiard-room to
astonish him still further. Some one was talking there in a veiy
loud accent he did not know the voice more than talking
almost hallooing. He stept to the door, rejoicing at that moment
in having the means of immediate communication, and, opening
it, found himself on the stage of a theatre, and opposed to a
ranting young man, who appeared likely to knock him down
backwards. At the very moment of Yates perceiving Sir
Thomas, and giving perhaps the very best start he had ever
given in the whole course of his rehearsals, Tom Bertram entered
at the other end of the room ; and never had he found greater
difficulty in keeping his countenance. His father's looks of
solemnity and amazement on this his first appearance on any
stage, and the gradual metamorphosis of the impassioned Baron
Wildenheim into the well-bred and easy Mr. Yates, making his
bow and apology to Sir Thomas Bertram, was such an exhibition,
such a piece of true acting as he would not have lost upon any
account. It would be the last in all probability the last scene
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 27
on that stage ; but he was sure there could not be a finer. The
house would close with the greatest eclat.
There was little time, however, for the indulgence of any
images of merriment. It was necessary for him to step forward,
too, and assist the introduction, and with many awkward sensa-
tions he did his best. Sir Thomas received Mr. Yates with all
the appearance of cordiality which was due to his own character,
but was really as far from pleased with the necessity of the
acquaintance as with the manner of its commencement. Mr.
Yates's family and connections were sufficiently known to him,
to render his introduction as the " particular friend," another of
the hundred particular friends of his son, exceedingly unwelcome;
and it needed all the felicity of being again at home, and all the
forbearance it could supply, to save Sir Thomas from anger on
finding himself thus bewildered in his own house, making part
of a ridiculous exhibition in the midst of theatrical nonsense, and
forced in so untoward a moment to admit the acquaintance of a
young man whom he felt sure of disapproving, and whose easy
indifference and volubility in the course of the first five minutes
seemed to mark him the most at home of the two.
Tom understood his father's thoughts, and heartily wishing he
might be always as well disposed to give them but partial
expression, began to see more clearly than he had ever done
before, that there might be some ground of offence that there
might be some reason for the glance his father gave towards the
ceiling and stucco of the room ; and that when he inquired with
mild gravity after the fate of the billiard-table, he was not
proceeding beyond a very allowable curiosity. A few minutes
were enough for such unsatisfactory sensations on each side ; and
Sir Thomas, having exerted himself so far as to speak a few
words of calm approbation in reply to an eager appeal of Mr.
Yates, as to the happiness of the arrangement, the three gentlemen
returned to the drawing-room together, Sir Thomas with an
increase of gravity which was not lost on all.
" I come from your theatre," said he, composedly, as he sat
down; " I found myself in it rather unexpectedly. Its vicinity
to my own room but in every respect, indeed, it took me by
surprise, as I had not the smallest suspicion of your acting having
assumed so serious a character. It appears a neat job, however,
as far as I could judge by candlelight, and does my friend
Christopher Jackson credit." And then he would have changed
the subject, and sipped his coffee in peace over domestic matters
of a calmer hue ; but Mr. Yates, without discernment to catch
Sir Thomas's meaning, or diffidence, or delicacy, or discretion
enough to allow him to lead the discourse while he mingled
among the others with the least obtrusiveness himself, would
keep him on the topic of the theatre, would torment him with
128 MANSFIELD PARK.
questions and remarks relative to it, and finally would make him
hear the whole history of liis disappointment at Ecclesford. Sir
Thomas listened most politely, but found much to offend his
ideas of decorum, and confirm his ill opinion of Mr. Yates's habits
of tli inking, from the beginning to the end of tiie story; and
when it was over, could give him no other assurance of sympathy
than what a slight bow conveyed.
" This was, in fact, the origin of unr acting," said Tom, after a
moment's thought. "My friend Yates brought the infection from
Ecclcsford, and it spread as those things always spread, you
know, sir the faster, probably from your having so often en-
couraged the sort of thing in us formerly. It was like treading
old ground again."
Mr. Yates took the subject from his friend as soon as possible,
and immediately gave Sir Thomas an account of what they had
done and were doing ; told him of the gradual increase of their
views, the happy conclusion of their first difficulties, and present
promising state of affairs ; relating everything with so blind an inte-
rest as made him not only totally unconscious of the uneasy move-
ments of many of his friends as they sat, the change of countenance,
the fidget, the hem ! of unquietness, but prevented him even from
seeing the expression of the face on which his own eyes were
fixed from seeing Sir Thomas's dark brow contract as he looked
with enquiring earnestness at his daughters and Edmund, dwell-
ing particularly on the latter, and speaking a language, a remon-
strance, a reproof, which he felt at his heart. Not less acutely
was it felt by Fanny, who had edged back her chair behind her
aunt's end of the sofa, and, screened from notice herself, saw all
that was passing before her. Such a look of reproach at Edmund
from his father she coidd never have expected to witness ; and to
feel that it was in any degree deserved was an aggravation in-
deed. Sir Thomas's look implied, "On your judgment, Edmund,
I depended; what have you been about?" She knelt in spirit to
her uncle, and her bosom swelled to utter, " Oh, not to him !
Look so to all the others, but not to /<;//"
Mr. Yates was still talking. " To own the truth, Sir Thomas,
we were in the middle of a rehearsal when you arrived this even-
ing. "We were going through the three first acts, and not unsuc-
cessfully upon the whole. Our company is no^v* so dispersed,
from the Crawfords being gone home, that nothing more can be
done to-night; but if you will give us the honour of your com-
pany to-morrow evening, I should not be afraid of the result.
We bespeak your indulgence, you understand, as young per-
formers; we bespeak your indulgence."
"My indulgence shall be given, sir," replied Sir Thomas
gravely, " but without any other rehearsal." And witli a re-
lenting smile he added, " I come home to be happy and indul-
MANSFIELD 1>A11K. 1 2'J
gent." Then turning away towards any or all of the rest, he
tranquilly said, " Mr. and Miss Crawford were mentioned in my
last letters from Mansfield. Do you find them agreeable ac-
quaintances?"
Tom was the only one at all ready with an answer, but ho
being entirely without particular regard for either, without jca-
loi i*y either in love or acting, could speak very handsomely of
both. " Mr. Crawford was a most pleasant gentlemanlike man ;
his sister a sweet, pretty, elegant, lively girl."
Mr. liushworth could be silent no longer. " I do not say he
is not gentlemanlike, considering; but you should tell your fa-
ther he is not above five feet tight, or he will be expecting a
well -looking man.''
Sir Thomas did not quite understand this, and looked with
some surprise at the speaker.
"If I must say what I think,'' continued Mr. Rush worth, "ir
my opinion it is very disagreeable to be. always rehearsing. It
is having too much of a good thing. I am not so fond of acting
as I was at first. I think we are a great deal better employed,
sitting comfortably here among ourselves, and doing nothing."
Sir Thomas looked again, and then replied with an approving
s-.uile, " I am happy to find our sentiments on this subject so
much the same. It gives me sincere satisf.iction. That I should
be cautious and quick-sighted, and feel many scruples which my
children do not feel, is perfectly natural; and equally so that ;//
value for domestic tranquillity, for a home which shuts out noisy
pleasures, should much exceed theirs. But at your time of life
to feel all this, is a most favourable circumstance for yourself and
for everybody connected with you; and I am sensible of the im-
portance if having an ally of such weight."
Sir Thomas meant to be giving Mr. Rushworth's opinion in
better words than he could find himself. He was aware that he
must not expect a genius in Mr. Kuslnvorth; but as a well-
judging, steady young man, with better notions than his elocu-
tion would do justice to, he intended to value him very highly.
It was impossible for many of the others not to smile. Mr.
Rushworth hardly knew what to do with so much meaning;
but by looking, as he really felt, most exceedingly pleased with
Sir Thomas's good opinion, and saying scarcely anything, he did
Ins best towards preserving that good opinion a little longer.
(1)
130 MANSFIELD PAEK.
CHAPTER II.
DMUND'S first object the next morning was
to see his father alone, and give him a fair
statement of the whole acting scheme, de-
fending his own share in it as far only as he
could then, in a soberer moment, feel his mo-
t tives to deserve, and acknowledging, with
> perfect ingenuousness, that his concession had
< been attended with such partial good as to
make his judgment in it very doubtful. He was anxious, while
vindicating himself, to say nothing unkind of the others; but
there was only one amongst them whose conduct he could men-
tion without some necessity of defence or palliation. " We have
all been more or less to blame," said he, " every one of us, ex-
cepting Fanny. Fanny is the only one who has judged rightly
throughout; who has been consistent. Her feelings have been
steadily against it from first to last. She never ceased to think
of what was due to you. You will find Fanny everything you
could wish."
Sir Thomas saw all the impropriety of such a scheme among
, such a party, and at such a time, as strongly as his son had ever
supposed he must ; he felt it too much, indeed, for many words ;
and having shaken hands with Edmund, meant to try to lose
the disagreeable impression, and forget how much "he had been
forgotten himself as soon as he could, after the house had been
cleared of every object enforcing the remembrance, and restored
to its proper state. He did not enter into any remonstrance with
his other children : he was more willing to believe they felt their
error, than to run the risk of investigation. The reproof of an
immediate conclusion of everything, the sweep of every prepara-
tion, would be sufficient.
There was one person, however, in the house, whom he could
not leave to learn his sentiments merely through his conduct.
He could not help giving Mrs. Norris a hint of his having hoped,
that her advice might have been interposed to prevent what her
judgment must certainly have disapproved. The young people
had been very inconsiderate in forming the plan; they ought to
have been capable of a better decision themselves ; but they were
young, and, excepting Edmund, he believed, of unsteady charac-
ters; and with greater surprise, therefore, he must regard her ac-
quiescence in their wrong measures, her countenance of their un-
safe amusements, than that such measures and such amusements
should have been suggested. Mrs. Norris was a little confounded
MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 131
and as nearly being silenced as ever she haU been in her life;
lor she was ashamed to confess having never seen any of the
impropriety which was so glaring to Sir Thomas, and would not
have admitted that her influence was insufficient that she might
have talked in vain. Her only resource was to get out of the
subject as fast as possible, and turn the current of Sir Thomas's
ideas into a happier channel. She had a great deal to insinuate,
in her own praise as to general attention to the interest and com-
fort of his family, much exertion and many sacrifices to glance
at in the form of hurried walks and sudden removals from hut-
own fireside, and many excellent hints of distrust and economy
to Lady Bertram and Edmund to detail, whereby a most con-
siderable saving had always arisen, and more than one bad ser-
vant been detected. But her chief strength lay in Sotherton.
Her greatest support and glory was in having formed the con-
nection with the Rushworths. There she was impregnable.
She took to herself all the credit of bringing Mr. liushworth's
admiration of Maria to any effect. " If I had not been active,"
said she, " and made a point of being introduced to his mother,
and then prevailed on my sister to pay the iirst visit, I am as
certain as I sit here that nothing would have come of it for
Mr. Rushworth is the sort of amiable modest young man who
wants a great deal of encouragement, and there were girls enough
on the catch for him if we had been idle. But I left no stone
unturned. I was ready to move heaven and earth to persuade;
my sister, and at last I did persuade her. You know the dis-
tance to Sotherton ; it Weis in the middle of winter, and tho
roads almost impassable, but I did persuade her."
" I know how great, how justly great your influence is with
Lady Bertram and her children, and am the more concerned that
it should not have been "
" My dear Sir Thomas, if you had seen the state of the roads
that day ! I thought we should never have got through them,
though, we had the four horses of course ; and poor old coachman
would attend us, out of his great love and kindness, though he
was hardly able to sit the box on account of the rheumatism
which I had been doctoring him for ever since Michaelmas. I
cured him at last; but he was very bad all the winter and this
was such a day, I could not help going to him up in his room
before we set off to advise him not to venture: he was putting
on his wig so I said, ' Coachman, you had much better not go,
your Lady and I shall be very safe; you know how steady
Stephen is,, and Charles has been upon the leaders so often now,
* that I am sure there is no fear.' But, however, I soon found it
would not do; he was bent upon going, and as I hate to be
worrying and officious, I said no more; but my heart quite
ached for him at every jolt, and when we got into the rough
132 JLVNaHKLD i'AUK.
lanes about Stoke, -(there \vliat with frost and snow upon beds of
stones, it was worse than anything you can imagine, I was quite
in an agony about him. And then the poor horses too! To see
them straining away ! You know how I always feel for the
hordes. And when we got to the bottom of Sanderoft Hill, what
do you think I did ? You will laugh at me but I got out and
walked up. I did indeed. It might not be saving them much,
but it was something, and I eould not bear to sit at my ease, and
be dragged up at the expense of those noble animals. I caught
a dreadful cold, but that I did not regard. My object was ac-
complished in the visit."
"I hope we shall always think the acquaintance worth any
trouble that might be taken to establish it. There is nothing
very striking in Mr. llushworth's manners, but I was pleased
last night with what appeared to be his opinion on one subject
his decided preference of a quiet family-party to the bustle and
confusion of acting. He seemed to feel exactly as one could
wish."
" Yes, indeed, and the more you know of him the better you
wiil like him. He is not a shining character, but he has a
thousand good qualities; and is so disposed to look up to you,
that I am quite laughed at about it, for everybody considers it as
my doing. ' Upon my word, Mrs. Norris,' said Mrs. Grant, the
other day, 'if Mr. liushworth were a, son of your own he could
not hold Sir Thomas in greater respect.' "
Sir Thomas gave up the point, foiled by her evasions, dis-
armed by her flattery ; and was obliged to rest satislied with
the conviction that where the present pleasure of those she loved
was at stake, her ki ;duess did sometimes overpower her judgment.
It was a busy morning with him. Conversation with any of
them occupied but a small part of it. He had to reinstate him-
self in all the wonted concerns of his Manslield lift-, to sec his
steward and hi-s bailiff to examine a d compute and, in the
intervals of business, to walk into his stables and his gardens, and
nearest plantations; but active and methodical, he had not only
done all th's bei'i re he resumed his seat as master of the house at
dinner, he had also set tha carpenter to work in pulling down
what had been so lately put up in the billiard- room, and given
the scene-painter his dismissal, long enough to justify the pleas-
ing belief of his being then at least us far off as Northampton.
The scene-painter was gone, having spoiled only the floor of one
room, ruined all the coachman's sponge?, and made five of the
under-servants idle and dissatisfied; and Sir Thomas was in
hopes that another day or two would suffice to wipe away every '
outward memento of what had been, even to the destruction of
every unbound copy of Lover's Vows in the house, for he was
burning all that met his eye.
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 38
Mr. Yates was beginning now to understand Sir Tlioma*^ in-
tentions, though as far as ever from understanding their source.
lie and his friend liad been out witli their guns the chief of the
morning, and Tom had taken the opportunity of explaining,
with proper apologies for hi.s father's particularity, what was to
be expected. Mr. Yates felt it as acutely as might be sup-
posed. To be a second time disappointed in the same way
was an instance of very severe ill-luck ; and his indignation was
such, that had it not been for delicacy towards his friend, and
his friend's youngest sister, he believed he should certainly at-
tack the Baronet on the absurdity of his proceedings, and argue
him into a little more rationality. He believed this very stoutly
while he was in Mansfield Wood, and all the way home; but
there was a something in Sir Thomas, when they sat round the
same table, which made Mr. Yates think it wiser to let him
pursue his own way, and feel the 'foil}- of it without opposition.
He had known many disagreeable fathers before, and often been
struck with the inconveniences they occasioned, but never, in
the whole course of his life, had he seen one of that class, so
unintelligibly moral, so infamously tyrannical as Sir Thomas.
He was not a man to be endured but for his children's sake, and he
might be thankful to his fair daughter Julia that Mr. Yates did
yet mean to stay a few days longer under his roof.
The evening passed with external smoothness, though almost
every mind was ruffled ; and the music which Sir Thomas called
for from his daughters helped to conceal the want of real har-
mony. Maria was in a good deal of agitation. It was of the
utmost consequence to her that Crawford should now lose no
time in declaring himself, and she wns disturbed that even a day
should be gone by without seeming to advance that point. She
had been expecting to see him the whole morning and all
the evening, too, was still expecting him. Mr. Uushworth bad
set off early with the great news for Sotherton; and she had
fondly hoped for such an immediate eclaircissement as might
save him the trouble of ever coming back again. Hut they had
seen no one from the Parsonage not a creature, and had heard
no tidings beyond a friendly note of congratulation and inquiry
from Mrs. Grant to I>ady Uertram. It was the first day for
many, many weeks, in which the families had been wholly di-
vided. Fonr-and-twenty hours had never passed before, since
August began, without bringing them together in some way or
other. It was a sad anxious day; and the morrow, though
differing in the sort of evil, did by no means bring less. A few
moments of feverish enjoyment were followed by hours of acute
suffering. Henry Crawford was again in the house: he walked
up with Dr. Grant, who was anxious to pay LU respects to Sir
Thomas, and at rather an early hour they were ushered into the
breakfast-room, where were most of- the familv. Sir Thomas
134 MANSFIELD PARK.
soon appeared, and Maria saw with delight and agitation the
introduction of the man she loved to her father. Her sensations
were indefinable, and so were they a few minutes afterwards
upon hearing Henry Crawford, who had a chair between herself
and Tom, ask the latter in an under voice, whether there were
any plan for resuming the play after the present happy inter-
ruption (with a courteous glance at Sir Thomas), because, in
that case, he should make a point of returning to Mansfield at
any time required by the party : he was going away immediate-
ly, being to meet his uncle at Bath without delay ; but if there
were any prospect of a renewal of Lovers' Yows, he should hold
himself positively engaged, he should break through every other
claim, he should absolutely condition with his uncle for attend-
ing them whenever he might be wanted. The play should not
be lost by his absence.
"From Bath, Norfolk, London, York, wherever I may be,"
Said he, " I will attend you from any place in England, at an
hour's notice."
It was well at that moment that Tom had to speak and not
his sister. He could immediately say with easy fluency, " I am
sorry you are going but as to our play, that is all over en-
tirely at an end (looking significantly at his father). The
painter was sent off yesterday, and very little will remain of the
theatre to-morrow. I knew how that would be from the first.
It is early for Bath. You will find nobody there."
" It is about my uncle's usual time."
" When ilo you think of going?"
" I may, perhaps, get as far as Banbury to-day."
" Whose stables do you use at Bath?" was the next question ;
and while this branch of the subject was under discussion, Maria,
who wanted neither pride nor resolution, was preparing to en-
counter her share of it with tolerable calmness.
To her he soon turned, repeating much of what he had al-
ready said, with only a softened air and stronger expressions of
regret. But what availed his expressions or his air? He was
going and if not voluntarily going, voluntarily intending to
stay away ; for, excepting what might be due to his uncle, his
engagements were all self-imposed. He might talk of necessity,
but she knew his independence. The hand which had so pressed
hers to his heart ! the hand and the heart were alike motionless
and passive now ! Her spirits supported her, but the agony of
her mind was severe. She had not long to endure what arose
from listening to language which his actions contradicted, or to
bury the tumult of her feelings under the restraint of society;
for general civilities soon called his notice from her, and the
farewell visit, as it then became openly acknowledged, was a very
short one. He was gone he had touched her hand for a short
MANSFIELD PARK. 135
time, he had made his parting bow, and she might seek directly
all that solitude could do for her. Henry Crawford was gone
gone from the house, and witliin two hours afterwards from the
parish, and so ended all the hopes his selfish vanity had raised
in Maria and Julia Bertram.
Julia could rejoice that he was gone. His presence was be-
ginning to be odious to her ; and if Maria gained him not, she
was now cool enough to dispense with any other revenge. She
did not want exposure to be added to desertion. Henry
Crawford gone, she could even pity her sister.
With a purer spirit did Fanny rejoice in the intelligence. She
heard it at dinner, and felt it a blessing. ,By all the others it
was mentioned with regret ; and his merits honoured with due
gradation of feeling, from the sincerity of Edmund's too partial
regard, to the unconcern of his mother speaking entirely by rote.
Mrs. Norris began to look about her and wonder that his falling
in love with Julia had come to nothing; and could almost fear
that she had been remiss herself in forwarding it; but with so
many to care for, how was it possible for even her activity to
keep pace with her wishes ?
Another day or two, and Mr. Yates was gone likewise. In
his departure Sir Thomas felt the chief interest: wanting to be
alone with his family, the presence of a stranger superior to Mr.
Yates must have been irksome; but of him, trifling and confident,
idle and expensive, it was every way vexatious. In himself he
was wearisome, but as the friend of Tom and the admirer of
Julia he became offensive. Sir Thomas had been quite indifferent
to Mr. Crawford's going or staying but his good wishes for Mr.
Yates's having a pleasant journey, as he walked with him to the
hall door, were given with genuine satisfaction. Mr. Yates had
staid to see the destruction of every theatrical preparation at
Mansfield, the removal of everything appertaining to the play :
he left the house in all the soberness of its general character ;
and Sir Thomas hoped, in seeing him out of it, to be rid of the
worst object connected with the scheme, and the last that must
be inevitably reminding him of its existence.
Mrs. Norris contrived to remove one article from his sight that
might have distressed him. The curtain over which she had
presided with such talent and such success went off with her to
her cottage, where she happened to be particularly in want of
green baize.
1 36 MANSFIELD PARK.
CHAPTER III.
IR THOMAS'S return made a striking change
in the ways of the family, independent of
Lovers' Vows. Under his government, Mans-
field was an altered place. Some members
of their society sent away, and the spirits of
many others saddened, it was all sameness
and gloom, compared with the past a sombre
family party rarely enlivenedt There was
little intercourse with the Parsonage. Sir Thomas, drawing back
from intimacies in general, was paiticularly disinclined, at this
time, for any engagements but in one quarter. The Kushwortbs
were the only addition to his own domestic circle which he could
solicit.
Edmund did not wonder that such should be his father's
feelings, nor could he regret anything but the exclusion of the
Grants. "But they," he observed to Fanny, "have a claim.
They seem to belong to us they seem to be part of ourselves.
I could wish my father were more sensible of their very great
attention to my mother and sisters while he was away. I am
afraid they may feel themselves neglected, but the truth is, that
my father hardly knows them. They had not been here a
twelvemonth when he left England. If he knew them better,
he would value their society as it deserves, for they are, in fact,
exactly the sort of people he would like. V"e are sometimes a
little in want of animation among ourselves: my sisters seem
out of spirits, and Tom is certainly not at his ease. Dr. and
Mrs. Grant would enliven us, and make our evenings pass away
Avith more enjoyment even to my father."
"Do you think so?" said Fanny: "in my opinion, my uncle
would not like any addition. I think he values the very quiet-
ness you speak of, and that the repose of his own family circle is
all he wants. And it does not appear to me that we are more
serious than we used to be I mean before my uncle went abroad.
As well as I can recollect, it was always much the same. There
was never much laughing in his presence; or, if there is any
difference, it is not more I think than such an absence has a
tendency to produce at first. There must be a sort of shyness;
but I cannot recollect that our evenings formerly were ever merry ,
except when my uncle was in town. No young people's are, I
suppose, when those they look up to are at home."
" I believe you are right, Fanny," was his reply, after a short
consideration. " I believe our evenings are rather returned to
what they were, than assuming a new character. The novelty
MANSFIELD PARK. 13?
was in their being lively. Yet, how strong the impression that
only a few weeks will give! I have been feeling as if we had
never lived so before."
" I suppose I am graver than other people," said Fanny.
" The evenings do not appear long to me. I love to hear my
uncle talk of the West Indies. I could listen to him for an hour
together. It entertains me more than many other tilings have
done but then I am unlike other people, I c'aro say."
"Why should you dare say that? (smiling) Do you want
to be told that you are only unlike other people in being mure
wise and discreet? But when did you, or anybody, ever get a
compliment from me, Fanny? (Jo to my father if you want t;>
be complimented. He will satisfy you. Ask your uncle what
he thinks, and you will hear compliments enough; and though
they may be chiefly on your person, you must put up with it,
and trust to his seeing as much beauty of mind in time."
Such language was so new to Fanny that it quite embarrassed
her.
" Your uncle thinks yon very pretty, dear Fanny and that is
the long and the short of the matter. Anybody but myself would
have made something more of it, and anybody but you would
resent that you had not been thought very pretty before; but
the truth is, that your irhcle never did admire you till now and
now he does. Your complexion is so improved ! and you have
gained so much countenance! and your iigure nay, Fanny, do
not turn away about it it is but an uncle If you cannot bear
an uncle's admiration, what is to become of you? You must
really begin to harden yourself to the idea of being worth looking
at. You must try not to mind growing up into a pretty woman."
" Oh, don't talk so, don't talk so," cried Fanny, distressed by
more feelings than he was aware of; but seeing that she was
distressed, he had done with the subject, and only added mor^
seriously,
" Your uncle is disposed to be pleased with you in every
respect; and I only wish you would talk to him more. You are
one of those who are too silent in the evening circle."
" But I do talk to him more than I used. I am sure I do.
Did not you hear me ask him about the slave trade last night?''
" I did and was in hopes the question would be followed up
by others. It would have pleased your uncle to be inquired of
farther."
"And I longed to do it but there was such a dead silence!
And while my cousins were sitting by without speaking a word,
or seeming at all interested in the subject, I did not like I
thought it would appear as if I wanted to set myself oft' at their
expense, by showing a curiosity and pleasure in his information
which lie must wish his own daughters to feel "
138 MANSFIELD PARK.
" Miss Crawford was very right in what she said of you the
other day that you seemed almost as fearful of notice and
praise as other women were of neglect. We were talking of you
at the Parsonage, and those were her words. She has great
cliscernmenti I know nobody who distinguishes characters
better. For so young a woman, it is remarkable ! She certainly
understands you better than you arc understood by the greater
part of those who have known you so long ; and with regard to
some others, I can perceive, from occasional lively hints, the
unguarded expressions of the moment, that she could define
many as accurately, did not delicacy forbid it I wonder what
she thinks of my father! She must admire him as a fine-looking
man, with most gentlemanlike, dignified, consistent manners;
but, perhaps, having seen him so seldom, his reserve may be a
little repulsive. Could they be much together, I feel sure of
their liking each other. He would enjoy her liveliness and
she has talents to value his powers, I wish they met more
frequently! I hope she does not suppose there is any dislike on
his side."
" She must know herself too secure of the regard of all the
rest of you," said Fanny, with half a sigh, " to have any such
apprehension. And Sir Thomas's wishing just at first to be only
with his family, is so very natural, tfiat she can argue nothing
from that. After a little while I dare say we shall be meeting
again in the same sort of way, allowing for the difference of the
time of year."
" This is the first October that she has passed in the country
since her infancy. I do not call Tunbridge or Cheltenham the
country ; and November is a still more serious month, and I can
see that Mrs. Grant is very anxious for her not finding Mansfield
dull as winter comes on."
Fanny could have said a great deal, but it was safer to say
nothing, and leave untouched all Miss Crawford's resources, her
accomplishments, her spirits, her importance, her friends, lest it
should betray her into any observations seemingly unhandsome.
Miss Crawford's kind opinion of herself deserved at least a grate-
ful forbearance, and she began to talk of something else.
" To-morrow, I think, my uncle dines at Sotherton, and you
and Mr. Bertram too. We shall be quite a small party at home.
I hope my uncle may continue tp like Mr. Rushworth."
" That is impossible, Fanny. He must like him less after
to-morrow's visit, for we shall be five hours in his company. I
should dread the stupidity of the day, if there were not a much
greater evil to follow the impression it must leave on Sir
Thomas. He cannot much longer deceive himself. I am sorry
for them all, and would give something that Rushworth and
Maria had never met."
MANSFIELD PARK. 139
In fli is quarter, indeed, disappointment was impending over
Sir Thomas. Not all his good-will for Mr. Rushworth, not all
Mr. Rushworth's deference for him, could prevent him from soon
discerning some part of the truth that Mr. Rushworth was an
inferior young man, as ignorant in business as in books, with
opinions in general unfixed, and without seeming much aware
of it himself.
He had expected a veiy different son-in-law : and beginning
to feel grave on Maria's account, tried to understand her feelings.
Little observation there was necessary to tell him that indifference
was the most favourable state they could be in. Her behaviour
to Mr. Rushworth was careless and cold. She could not, did
not like him. Sir Thomas resolved to speak seriously to her.
Advantageous as would be the alliance, and long standing and
public as was the engagement, her happiness must not be sacri-
ficed to it. Mr. Rushworth had, perhaps, been accepted on too
short an acquaintance, and, on knowing him better, she was
repenting.
With solemn kindness Sir Thohias addressed her; told her his
fears, inquired into her wishes, entreated her to be open and
sincere, and assured her that every inconvenience should be
braved, and the connexion entirely given up, if she felt herself
unhappy in the prospect of it. He would act for her and release
her. Maria had a moment's struggle as she listened, and only a
moment's: when her father ceased, she was able to give her
answer immediately, decidedly, and with no apparent agitation.
She thanked him for his great attention, his paternal kindness,
but he was quite mistaken in supposing she. had the smallest
desire of breaking through her engagement, or was sensible of
any change of opinion or inclination since her forming it. She
had the highest esteem for Mr. Rushworth's character and dis-
position, and could not have a doubt of her happiness with him.
Sir Thomas was satisfied; too glad to be satisfied, perhaps, to
urge the matter quite so far as his judgment might have dictated
to others. It was an alliance which he could not have relin-
quished without pain; and thus lie reasoned. Mr. Rushworth
was young enough to improve : Mr. Rushworth must and would
improve in good society; and if Maria could now speak so
securely of her happiness with him, speaking certainly without
the prejudice, the blindness of love, she ought to be believed.
Her feelings, probably, were not acute; he had never supposed
them to be so: but her comforts might not be less on that
account; and if she could dispense with seeing her husband a
leading, shining character, there would certainly be everything
else in her favour. A well-disposed young woman, who did not
marry for love, was in general but the more attached to her own
family ; and the nearness of Sotherton to Mansfield must naturally
1 40 MANSFIELD PARK.
hold out the greatest temptation, and would, in all probability,
be a continual supply of the most amiable and innocent enjoy-
ments. Such and such-like were the reasonings of Sir Thomas
happy to escape the embarrassing evils of a rupture, the wonder,
the reflections, the reproach that must attend it; happy to secure
a marriage which would bring him such an addition of respect-
ability and inmu'iice, and very happy to think anything of his
daughter's disposition that was most favourable for the purpose.
To her the conference clos-'d sis satisfactorily as to him. She
was in a stale of mind to be glad that she had secured her fata
iK'vond recall that she had pledged herself anew to Sotherton
that she was safe from the possibility of giving Crawford the
triumph of governing her actions, and destroying her prospects;
and retired in proud resolve, determined only to behave inord
cautiously to Mr. Rushworth in future, that her father might
not be again suspecting her.
Had Sir Thomas applied to his daughter within t!ie first three
or four days after Henry Crawford's leaving Mansfield, before her
feelings were at all tranquillized, before she had given up every
hope of him, or absolutely resolved on enduring his rival, her
answer might have been different; but after another three or four
days, when there was no return, no letter, no message no
symptom of a softened heart no hope of advantage from
separation her mind ttecame cool enough to seek all the comfort
that pride and self-revenge could give.
Henry Crawford had destroyed her happiness, but he should
not know that lie had done it; lie should not destroy her credit,
her appearance, her prosperity, too. He should not have to
think of her as pining in the retirement of Mansfield for /</,
rejecting Sotherton and London, independence and splendour, f..r
liix sake. Independence was more needful than ever; the want
of it at Mansfield more sensibly felt. She was less and less
able to endure the restraint which her father imposed. The
liberty which his absence had given was now become absolutely
necessary. She must escape from him and Mansfield as soon as
possible, and find consolation in fortune and consequence, bustle
and the world, for a wounded spirit. Her mind was quite
determined, and varied not.
To such feelings delay, even the delay of much preparation,
would have been an evil, and Mr. Uusliworth could hardly be
more impatient for the marriage than herself. In all the impor-
tant preparations of the mind she was complete: being prepared
for matrimony by a hatred of home, restraint, and tranquillity;
by the misery of disappointed affection, and contempt of the man
she was to marry. The rest might wait. The preparations of
new carriages anil furniture might wait for London and spring,
wiu-n her own taste could have fairer play.
MANSFIELD 1'AKK. 1 4 1
The principals being all agreed in this respect, it soon appeared
that a very few weeks would be sufficient for such arrangements
as must precede the wedding.
Mrs. Kushworth was quite ready to retire, and make way for
the fortunate young woman whom her dear son had selected;
and very early in November removed herself, her maid, her
footman, and her chariot, with true dowager propriety, to Bath
there to parade over the wonders ofSothcrton in her evening
parties enjoying them as thoroughly, perhaps, in the animation
of a card-table as she had overdone on the spot and before the
middle of t!ie same month the ceremony had taken place which
gave Sotherton another mistress.
It was a very proper wedding. The bride was elegantly
dressed the two bridemuids were duly inferior her father gave
her away her mother stood with salts in her hand, expecting
to be agitated her aunt tried to cry and the service was im-
pressively read by Dr. Grant. Nothing could be objected to when
it came under the discussion of the neighbourhood, except that
the carriage-whieh eonvej'etl the bride and bridegroom and Julia
from the church door to Sotherton was the same chaise which
Mr. Kushworth had used for a twelvemonth before. In every-
thing else the etiquette of the day might stand the strictest
investigation.
It was done, and they were gone. Sir Thomas felt as an
anxious father must feel, and was indeed experiencing much of
the agitation which his wife had been apprehensive offer herself,
but had fortunately escaped. Mrs. Norris, most happy to assist
in the duties of the day, by spending it at the Park to support
her sister's spirits, and drinking the health of Mr. and Mrs.
Kush worth in a supernumerary glass or two, was all joyous
delight for she had made the match she had done everything
and no one would have supposed, from her confident triumph,
that she had ever heard of conjugal infelicity in her life, or could
have the smallest insight into the disposition of the niece who
had been brought up under her eye.
The plan of the young couplu was to proceed, after a few days,
to Brighton, a d take a house there for some weeks. Every
public place was new to Maria, and Brighton is almost as gay in
winter as in summer. "Whon the novelty of amusement there
was over, it would be time for the wider range of London.
Julia was to go with them to Brighton. Since rivalry between
the sisters had ceased, they had been gradually recovering much
of their former good understanding; and were at least sufficiently
friends to make each of them exceedingly glad to be with the
ether at such a time. Some other companion than Mr. Rush-
worth was of the first consequence to his lady ; and Julia was
quite as eager for novelty and pleasure as Maria, though she
142 MANSFIELD PAliK.
might not have struggled through so much to obtain them, and
could better bear a subordinate situation.
Their departure made another material change at Mansfield,
a chasm which required some time to till up. The family circle
became greatly contracted; and though the Miss Bertrams had
latterly added little to its gaiety, they could not but be missed.
Even their mother missed them and how much more their
tender-hearted cousin, who wandered about the house, and thought
of them, and felt for them, with a degree of affectionate regret
which they had never done much to deserve!
CHAPTER IV.
I ANNY'S consequence increased on the dc-
| parture of her cousins. Becoming, as she
then did, the only young woman in the
^drawing-room, the only occupier of that iu-
! teresting division of a family in which -she
'had hitherto held so humble a third, it was
impossible for her not to be more looked at,
'more thought of and attended to, than she
had ever been before ; and " where is Fanny ?" became no un-
common question, even without her being wanted for any one's
convenience.
Not only at home did her value increase, but at the Parsonage
too. In that house which she had hardly entered twice a year
since Mr. Norris's death, she became a welcome, an invited
guest ; and in the gloom and dirt of a November day, most ac-
ceptable to Mary Crawford. Her visits there, beginning by
chance, were continued by solicitation. Mrs. Grant, really
eager to get any change for her sister, could, by the easiest self-
deceit, persuade herself that she was doing the kindest thing by
Fanny, and giving her the most important opportunities of im-
provement hi pressing her frequent calls.
Fanny, having been sent into the village on some errand by
her aunt Norris, was overtaken by a heavy shower close to the
Parsonage; and being descried from one of the windows endea-
vouring to find shelter under the branches and lingering leaves
of an oak just beyond their premises, was forced, though not
without some modest reluctance on her part, to come in. A civil
servant she had withstood: but when Dr. Grant himself went
out with an umbrella, there was nothing to be done but to be
very much ashamed and to get into the house as fast as possible;
and to poor Miss Crawford, who had just been contemplating the
dismal rain in a very desponding state of mind, sighiug over the
MANSFIELD PARK. 143
ruin of all her plan of exercise for that morning, and of every
chance of seeing a single creature beyond themselves for the next
twenty -four hours, the sound of a little bustle at the front door,
and the sight of Miss Price dripping with wet in the vestibule,
was delightful. The value of an event on a wet day in the
country was most forcibly brought before her. She was all alive
again directly, and among the most active in being useful to
Fanny, in detecting her to be wetter than she would at first
allow, . and providing her with dry clothes ; and Fanny, after
being obliged to submit to all this attention, and to being assisted
and waited on by mistresses and maids, being also obliged, on
returning down stairs, to be fixed in their drawing-room for an
hour while the rain continued, the blessing of something fresh to
see and think of was thus extended to Miss Crawford, and might
carry on her spirits to the period of dressing and dinner.
The two sisters were so land to her, and so pleasant, that
Fanny might have enjoyed her visit could she have believed her-
self not in the way, and could she have foreseen that the weather
would certainly clear at the end of the hour, and save her from
the shame of having Dr. Grant's carriage and horses out to take
her home, with which she was threatened. As to anxiety for
any alarm that her absence in such weather might occasion at
home, she had nothing to suffer on that score; for as her being
out was known only to her two aunts, she was perfectly aware
that none would be felt, and that in whatever cottage aunt Norris
might choose to establish her during the rain, her being in such
cottage would be indubitable to aunt Bertram.
It was beginning to look brighter, when Fanny, observing a
harp in the room, asked some questions about it, which soon led
to an acknowledgment of her wishing very much to hear it, and
a confession, which could hardly be believed, of her having never
yet heard it since its being in Mansfield. To Fanny herself it
appeared a very simple and natural circumstance. She had
scarcely ever been at the Parsonage since the instrument's arrival,
there had been no reason that she should; but Miss Crawford,
calling to mind an early expressed wish on the subject, was con-
cerned at her own neglect; and " shall I play to you now ?" and
"what will you have?" were questions immediately following
with the readiest good humour.
She played accordingly; happy to have a new listener, and a
listener who seemed so much obliged, so full of -wonder at the
performance, and who showed herself not wanting in taste. She
played till Fanny's eyes, straying to the window on the weather's
being evidently fair, spoke what she felt must be done.
" Another quarter of an hour," said Miss Crawford, " and we
shall see how it Will be. Do not run away the first moment of
its holding up. Those clouds look alarming."
141 MAXSFIEJLL) PARK.
" But tliey are passed over," said Fanny. " I have been
watching them. This weather is all from the south."
"' South or north, I know a black cloud when I sec it; and
you must not set forward while it is so threatening. And besides
I want to play something more to you a very pretty piece
and your cousin Edmund's prime favourite. You must st;iv and
l.car your cousin's favourite."
Fanny felt that she must ; and though she had not Availed for
that sentence to be thinking of Kdniund, such a memento made
her particularly awake to his idea, and she fancied him sitting in
that room again and again, perhaps in the very spot where she sat
now, listening with constant delight to the favourite air, played,
as it appeared to her, with superior tone and expression; and
tliough pleased with it herself, and glad to like whatever was
liked by him, she was more sincerely impatient to go away at
the conclusion of it than she had been before; and on this being
evident, she was so kindly asked to call again, to take them in
her walk whenever she could, to come and hear more of the harp,
that she felt it necessary to be done, if no objection arose at
home.
Such was the origin of the sort of intimacy which took place
between them within the first fortnight after the Miss Bertrams'
going away, an intimacy resulting principally from Miss Craw-
ford's desire of something new, and wh ch had little reality in
Fanny's feelings. Fanny went to her every two or three days :
it seemed a kind of fascination: she could not be easy without
going, and yet it was without loving her, without ever thinking
like her, without any sense of obligation for being sought after
now when nobody else was to be had ; and deriving no higher
pleasure from her conversation than occasional amusement, and
that often .at the expense of her judgment, when it was raised by
pleasantry on people or subjects which she wished to be respected.
She went, however, and they sauntered about together many a
half hour in Mrs. Grant's shrubbery, the weather being unusually
mild for the time of year; and venturing sometimes even to sit
down on one of the bench.es now comparatively unsheltered, re-
maining there perhaps till, in the midst of some tender ejacula-
tion of Fanny's, on the sweets of so protracted an autumn, they
were forced by the sudden swell of a cold gust shaking down the
last few yellow leaves about them, to jump up and walk for
warmth.
" This is pretty, very pretty," said Fanny, looking around her
as they were thus sitting together one day: "every time I come
into this shrubbery I am more struck with its growth and beauty.
Three years ago, this was nothing but a rough hedgerow along
the upper side of the lield, never thought of as anything, or
capable of becoming anything; and now it is converted into a
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 45
walk, and it would be dilficult to say whether most valuable as
a convenience or an ornament; and, perhaps, in another three
years we may be forgetting almost forgetting what it was be-
fore. How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of
time, and the changes of the human mind!" And following the
latter train of thought, she soon afterwards added: "If any one
faculty of our nature may bo called more wonderful than the rest,
I do think it is memory. There seems something more speak-
ingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequali-
ties of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The
memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient : at
others, so bewildered and so weak ; and at others again, so tyran-
nic, so beyond control! \Vc are, to be sure, a miracle every way
but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem pe-
culiarly past rinding out."
Miss Crawford, untouched and inattentive, had nothing to say ;
and Fanny, perceiving it, brought back her own mind to what
she thought must interest.
" It may seem impertinent in me to praise, but I must admire
the taste Mrs. Grant has shown in all this. There is such a
quiet simplicity in the plan of the walk! not too much
attempted !"
" Yes," replied Miss Crawford, carelessly, " it does very well
for a place of this sort. One does not think of extent here; and
between ourselves, till I came to Mansfield, I had not imagined
a country parson ever aspired to a shrubbery, or anything of the
kind."
" I am so glad to see the evergreens thrive !" said Fanny, in
reply. " My uncle's gardener always says the soil here is better
than his own, and so it appears from the growth of the laurels
and evergreens in general. The evergreen ! How beautiful, how
welcome, how wonderful the evergreen! When one thinks of it,
how astonishing a variety of nature ! In some countries we
know the tree that sheds its leaf is the variety, but that does Mot
make it less amazing, that the same soil and the same sun should
nurture plants differing in the first rule and law of their exis-
tence. You will think me rhapsodising; but when I am out of
doors, especially when I am sitting out of doors, I am very apt
to get into this sort of wondering strain. One cannot fix one's
eyes on the commonest natural production without finding food
for a rambling fancy."
"To say the truth," replied Miss Crawford, " I am something
like tha famous Doge at the court of Lewis XIV. ; and may
declare that I see no wonder in this shrubbery equal to seeing
myself in it. If anybody had told me a year ago that this place
would be my home, that I should be spending month after
month here, as I have done, I .certainly should not have believed
(1) K
1 46 MANSFIELD PAUK.
them. I have now been here nearly five mouths; and, moreover,
the quietest five months I ever passed."
" Too quiet for you, I believe."
" I should have thought so theoretically myself, but," and her
eyes brightened as she spoke, " take it all and all, I never spent
so happy a summer. But then, "with a more thoughtful air and
lowered voice, " there is no saying what it may lead to."
Fanny's heart beat quick, and she felt quite unequal to sur-
mising or soliciting any tiling more. Miss Crawford, however,
with renewed animation, soon went on :
" I am conscious of being far better reconciled to a country
residence than I had ever expected to be. I can even suppose it
pleasant to spend half the year hi the country, under certain
circumstances very pleasant. An elegant, moderate sized house
in the centre of family connections ; continual engagements among
them ; commanding the first society in the neighbourhood ;
looked up to, perhaps, as leading it even more than those of
larger fortune, and turning from the cheerful round of such
amusements to nothing worse than a tete-a-tete with the person
one feels most agreeable in the world. There is nothing fright-
ful in such a picture, is there, Miss Price? One need not envy
the new Mrs. Rushworth with such a home as that.' 11 " Envy
Mrs. Rushworth!" was all that Fanny attempted to say
" Come, come, it would be very unhandsome in us to be severe
on Mrs. Rushworth, for I look forward to our owing her a great
many gay, brilliant, happy hours. I expect we shall be all very
much at Sotherton another year. Such a match as Miss Ber-
tram has made is a public blessing; for the first pleasures of Mr.
Rushworth's wife must be to fill her house, and give the best
balls in the country."
Fanny was silent, and Miss Crawford relapsed into thought -
fulness, till suddenly looking up at the end of a few minutes, she
exclaimed, " Ah ! here he is." It was not Mr. Rushworth, how-
ever, but Edmund, who then appeared walking towards them
with Mrs. Grant. " My sister and Mr. Bertram. I am so glad
your eldest cousin is gone, that he may be Mr. Bertram again.
There is something in the sound of Mr. Edmund Bertram so
formal, so pitiful, so younger -brother- like, that I detest it."
"How differently we feel!" cried Fanny. "To me, the
sound of Mr. Bertram is so cold and nothing-meaning, so en-
tirely without warmth or character! It just stands for a gentle-
man, and that's all. But there is nobleness in the name of
Edmund. It is a name of heroism and renown; of kings,
princes, and knights; and seems to breathe the spirit of chivalry
and warm affections."
" I grant you the name is good in itself, and Lord Edmund
or Sir Edmund sounds delightfully; but sink it under the chill,
MANSFIELD PAUK. 147
the annihilation of a Mr. and Mr. Edmund is no more than Mr.
John or Mr. Thomas. Well, shall we join and disappoint them
of half their lecture upon sitting down out of doors at this time
of year, by being up before they can begin?"
Edmund met them with particular pleasure. It was the first
time of his seeing them together since the beginning of that bet-
ter acquaintance which he had been hearing of with great
satisfaction. A friendship between two so very dear to him
was exactly what he could have wished: and to the credit of
the lover's understanding be it stated, that he did not by any
means consider Fanny as the only, or even as the greater gainer
by such a friendship.
" Well," said Miss Crawford, " and do not you scold us for our
imprudence ? What do you think we have been sitting down for
but to be talked to about it, and entreated and supplicated never
to do so again?"
" Perhaps I might have scolded," said Edmund, " if either of
you had been sitting down alone; but while you do wrong to-
gether, I can overlook a great deal."
" They cannot have been sitting long," cried Mrs. Grant, " for
when I went up for my shawl I saw them from the staircase
window, and then they were walking."
" And really," added Edmund, " the day is so mild, that your
sitting down for a few minutes can be hardly thought imprudent.
Our weather must not always be judged by the calendar. We
may sometimes take greater liberties in November than in May."
" Upon my word." cried Miss Crawford, " you are two of the
most disappointing and unfeeling kind friends I ever met with !
There is no giving you a moment's uneasiness. You do not
know how much we have been sufFering, nor what chills we have
felt! But I have long thought Mr. Bertram one of the worst
subjects to work on, in any little manoeuvre against common
sense that a woman could be plagued with. I had very little
hope of him from the first ; but you, Mrs. Grunt, my sister, my
own sister, I think I had a right to alarm you a little."
" Do not flatter yourself, my dearest Mary. You have not
the smallest chance of moving me. I have my alarms, but they
are quite in a different quarter ; and if I could have altered the
weather, you would have had a good sharp east- wind blowing on
you the whole time for here are some of my plants which Uobert
wifl leave out because the nights are so mild, and I know the end
of it will be, that we shall have a sudden change of weather, a
hard frost setting in all at once, taking everybody (at least Robert)
by surprise and I shall lose every one ; and what is worse, cook
has just been telling me that the turkey, which I particularly
wished not to be dressed till Sunday, because I know how much
more Dr. Grant would ejoy it on Sunday after the fatigues of
148 MANSFIELD PARK.
the day, will not keep beyond to-morrow. These are something
like grievances, and make me think the weather most unseason-
ably close."
" The sweets of housekeeping in a country village !'' said Miss
Crawford, archly. " Commend me to the nurseryman and the
poulterer."
" My dear child, commend Dr. Grant to the deanery of West-
minster or St Paul's, and I should be as glad of your nursery-
man and poulterer as you could be. But we have no such people
in Mansfield. What would you have me do ?"
" Oh, you can do nothing but what you do already; be plagued
very often, and never lose your temper."
" Thank you but there is no escaping these little vexations,
Mary, live where we may ; and when you are settled in town
and I couie to see you, I dare say I shall find you with yours,
in spite of the nurseryman and the poulterer or perhaps on their
very account, Their remoteness and unpunctuality, or their
exorbitant charges and frauds, will be drawing forth bitter lamen-
tations."
" I mean to be too rich to lament or to feel anything of the
sort A large income is the best recipe for happiness I ever
heard of. It certainly may secure all the myrtle and turkey part
of it."
" You intend to be very rich?" said Edmund, with a look
which, to Fanny's eye, had a great deal of serious meaning.
" To be sure. Do not you? Do not we all?"
" I cannot intend anything wliich it must be so completely
beyond my power to command. Miss Crawford may choose her
degree of wealth. She has only to fix on her number of
thousands a year, and there can be no doubt of their coming.
My intentions are only not to be poor."
"By moderation and economy, and bringing down your wants
to your income, and all that. I understand you, and a very
proper plan it is for a person at your time of life, with such limited
means and indifferent connections What can you want but a
decent maintenance? You have not much time before you ; and
your relations are in no situation to do anything for you, or to
mortify you by the contrast of their own wealth and consequence.
Be honest and poor, by all means but I shall not envy you ; I
do not much think I shall even respect you. I have a much
greater respect for those that are honest and rich."
" Your degree of respect for honesty, rich or poor, is precisely
what I have no manner of concern with. I do not mean to be
poor. Poverty is exactly what I have determined against.
Honesty, in the something between, in the middle state of worldly
circumstances, is all tliat I am anxious for your not looking down
on."
MANSFIELD PARK. 149
" But I do look down upon it, if it might have been higher.
I must look down upon anything contented with obscurity when
it might rise to distinction."
" But how may it rise? How may my honesty at least rise
to any distinction."
This was not so very easy a question to answer, and occasioned
an " Oh!" of some length from the lady before she could add, "You
ought to be in parliament, or you should have gone into the army
ten years ago."
" That is not so much to the purpose now ; and as to my being
in parliament, I believe I must wait till there is an especial as-
sembly for the representation of younger sons who have little to
live on. No, Miss Crawford," he added, in a more serious tone,
" there are distinctions which I should be miserable if I thought
myself without any chance absolutely without chance or possi-
bility of obtaining but they are of a different character."
A look of consciousness, as he spoke, and what soomed a con-
sciousness of manner on Miss Crawford's side as sV ; made some
laughing answer, was sorrowful food for Fanny's observation ;
and finding herself quite unable to attend as she o; gut to Mrs.
Grant, by whose side she was now following the othoi ?, she had
nearly resolved on going home immediately, and only A aited for
courage to say so, when the sound of the great clock at ^iansfield
Park, striking three, made her feel that she had really beiVi much
longer absent than usual, and brought the previous self-inquiry
of whether she should take leave or not just then, and how, to a
very speedy issue. With undoubting decision she directly began
her adieus ; and Edmund began at the same time to recollect,
that his mother had been inquiring for her, and that he had
walked down to the Parsonage on purpose to bring her back.
Fanny's hurry increased ; and without in the least expecting
Edmund's attendance, she would have hastened away alone ; but
the general pace was quickened, and they all accompanied her
into the house through which it was necessary to pass. Dr._
Grant was in the vestibule, and as they stopped to speak to him
she found, from Edmund's manner, that he did mean to go witli
her. He, too, was taking leave. She could not but be thankful.
In the moment of parting, Edmund was invited by Dr. Grant to
eat his mutton with him the next day ; and Fanny had barely
time for an unpleasant feeling on the occasion, when Mrs. Grant,
with sudden recollection, turned to her, and asked for the pleasure
of her company too. This was so new an attention, so perfectly
new a circumstance in the events of Fanny's life, that she was <;11
surprise and embarrassment; and while stammering out her great
obligation, and her " but she did not suppose it would be in
her power," was looking at Edmund for his opinion and help.
But Edmund, delighted with her having such a happiness offered,
150 MANSFIELD PARK.
and ascertaining with half a look, and half a sentence, that she
had no objection but on her aunt's account, could not imagine that
his mo- her would make any difficulty of sparing her, and there-
fore ga ,'t his decided opcn advice that the invitation should be
accept '1; and though Fanny would not venture, even on his en-
courag >ment, to such a flight of audacious independence, it was
soon .'.-Itled, that if nothing were heard to the contrary, Mrs.
Grant night expect her.
" And you know what your dinner will be," said Mrs. Grant,
smiling " the turkey, and I assure you a very fine one ; for,
my dear," turning to her husband, " cook insists upon the turkey's
being dressed to-morrow."
" Very well, very well," cried Dr. Grant, " all the better ; I
am glad to hear you have anything so good in the house. But
Miss Price and Mr. Edmund Bertram, I dare say, would take
their chance. We none of us want to hear the bill of fare. A
friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, is all we have in view.
A turkey, or a goose, or a leg of mutton, or whatever you and
your cook choose to give us."
The two cousins walked home together ; and, except in the
immediate discussion of this engagement, which Edmund spoke
of with the warmest satisfaction, as so particularly desirable for
her in the intimacy which he saw with so much pleasure estab-
lished, it was a silent walk ; for having finished that subject, he
grew thoughtful and indisposed for any other.
CHAPTER V.
TIT why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?" said
1 Lady Bertram. " How came she to think of
) asking Fanny? Fanny never dines there, you
know, in this sort of way. I cannot spare
her, and I am sure she does not want to go.
Fanny, you do not Avant to go, do you?"
"If you put such a question to her," cried
Edmund, preventing his cousin's speaking,
"Fanny will immediately say, No; but I am sure, my dear
mother, she would like to go; and I can sec no reason why she
should not."
"1 cannot imagine why Mrs. Grant should think of asking
her? She never did before. She used to ask your sisters now
and then, but she never asked Fanny."
" If you cannot do without me, ma'am " said Fanny, in a
self-denvinsr tone.
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 5 1
"But my mother will have my father with her all the
evening."
" To be sure, so I shall."
" Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am."
"That's well thought of. So I will, Edmund. I will ask
Sir Thomas, as soon as he comes in, whether I can do without
her."
" As you please, ma'am, on that head; but I meant my father's
opinion as to the propriety of the invitation's being accepted or
not; and I think he will consider it a right thing by Sirs. Grant,
as well as by Fanny, that being the first invitation it should be
accepted."
" I do not know. We will ask him. But he will be very
much surprised that Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all."
There was nothing more to be said, or that could be said, to
any purpose, till Sir Thomas were present ; but the subject in-
volving, as it did, her own evening's comfort for the morrow,
was so much uppermost in Lady Bertram's mind, that half an
hour afterwards, on his looking in for a minute in his way from
his plantation to his dressing-room, she called him back again,
when he had almost closed the door, with " Sir Thomas, stop a
moment I have something to say to you."
Her tone of calm languor, for she never took the trouble of
raising her voice, was always heard and attended to; and Sir
Thomas came back. Her story began ; and Fanny immediately
slipped out of the roomj for to hear herself the subject of any
discussion with her uncle was more than her nerves cpuld bps;:,
She was anxious, she knew more anxiovis perhaps than she
ought to be for what was it after all whether she went or staid?
but if her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding,
and with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed to her,
and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear
properly submissive and indifferent. Her cause, meanwhile, wenp
on well. It began, on Lady Bertram's part, with-^-" I hav
something to tell you that will surprise you. Mrs, Grant lias
asked Fanny to dinner."
" "Well," said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the
surprise.
"Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?"
" She will be late," said Sir Thomas, taking out his watch ;
"but what is your difficulty?"
Edmund found himself obliged to speak and fill up the blanks
in his mother's story. He told the whole; and she had only to
add, " So strange ! for Mrs. Grant never used to aslc her."
" But is it not very natural," observed Edmund, " that Mrs.
Grant should wish to procure so agreeable a visiter for her
sister?"
152 MANSFIELD PARK.
"Nothing can be more natural," said Sir Thomas, after a
short deliberation; "nor, were there no sister in the case, could
anything, in my opinion, be more natural. Mrs. Grant's show-
ing civility to Miss Price, to Lady Bertram's niece, could never
want explanation. The only surprise I can feel is, that this
should be the first time of its being paid. Fanny was perfectly
right in giving only a conditional answer. She appears to feel
as she ought. But as I conclude that she must wish to go,
since all young people like to be together, I can see no reason
why she should be denied the indulgence."
"But can I do without her, Sir Thomas?"
" Indeed I think you may/'
" She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not
here."
" Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to spend the day
with us, and I shall certainly be at home."
"Very well, then, Fanny may go, Edmund."
The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her
door in his way to his own.
" Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled, and without the small-
est hesitation on your uncle's side. He had but one opinion.
You are to go."
"Thank you, lam so glad," was Fanny's instinctive reply;
though when she had turned from him and shut the door, she
could not help feeling, "And yet why should I be glad? for
am I not certain of seeing or hearing something there to pain
me?"
In spite of this conviction, however, she was glad. Simple as
such an engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty
arjd importance in hers, for excepting the day at Sotherton, she
had scarcely ever dined out before; and though now going only
half a mile, and only to three people, still it was dining out, and
all the little interests of preparation were enjoyments in them-
selves. She had neither sympathy nor assistance from those who
ought to have entered into her feelings and directed her taste ;
for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to anybody, and
Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, in consequence of
an early call and invitation from Sir Thomas, was in a very ill
humour, and seemed intent only on lessening her niece's pleasure,
both present an 1 future, as much as possible.
" Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck to meet with
such attention and indulgence ! You ought to be very much
obliged to Mrs. Grant for thinking of you, and to your aunt for
letting you go, and you ought to look upon it as something ex-
traordinary: for I hope you are aware that there is no real occa-
sion for your going into company in this sort of way, or ever
dining out at all; and it is what you must not depend upon ever
MANSFIELD PARK. 153
being repeated. Nor must you be fancying, that the invitation is
meant as any particular compliment to yoic; the compliment is
intended to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it
a civility due to us to take a little notice of you, or else it would
never have come into her head, and you may be very certain,
that if your cousin Julia had been at home, you would not have
been asked at all."
Mrs. Norris had now so ingeniously done away all Mrs.
Grant's part of the favour, that Fanny, who found herself ex-
pected to speak, could only say that she was very much obliged
to her aunt Bertram for sparing her, and that she was endea-
vouring to put her aunt's evening work in such a state as to
prevent her being missed.
" Oh, depend upon it, your aunt can do very well without you,
or you would not be allowed to go. / shall be here, so you may
be quite easy about your aunt. And I hope you will have a
very agreeable day, and find it all mighty delightful. But I
must observe, that five is the very awkwardest of all possible
numbers to sit down to table ; and I cannot but be surprised that
such an elegant lady as Mrs. Grant should not contrive better!
And round their enormous great wide table, too, which fills up
the room so dreadfully ! Had the Doctor been contented to take
my clining-table when I came away, as anybody in their senses
would have done, instead of having that absurd new one of his
own, which is wider, literally wider than the dinner-table here .
how infinitely better it would have been ! and how much mope
he would have been respected ! for people are never respected
when they step out of their proper sphere. Remember that,
Fanny. Five, only five to be sitting round that table. However,
you will have dinner enough on it for ten, I dare say."
Mrs. Norris fetched breath and went on again.
" The nonsense and folly of people's stepping out of their rank
and trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right
to give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company
Avithout any of us ; and I do beseecli and entreat you not to be
putting yourself forward, and talking and giving yoiir opinion
as if you were one of your cousins as if you were dear Mrs.
Kushworth or Julia. That will never do, believe me. Remember,
wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last ; and though
Mi.ss Crawford is in a manner at home, at the Parsonage, you
are not to be taking place of her. And as to coming away at
night, you are to stay just as long as Edmund chooses. Leave
him to settle, that."
" Yes, ma'am, I should not thing of anything else."
" And if it should rain which I think exceedingly likely, for
I never saw it more threatening for a wet evening in my life
you must manage as well as you can, and not be expecting the
154 MANSFIELD PARK.
carriage to be sent for you. I certainly do not go home to-night,
and, therefore, the carriage will not be out on my account; so
you must make up your mind to what may happen, and take
your things accordingly."
Her niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own
claim* to comfort as low even as Mrs. Norris could; and when
Sir Thomas, soon afterwards, just opening the door, said, "Fanny,
at what time would you have the carriage come round?" she felt
a degree of astonishment which made it impossible for her to
speak.
"My dear Sir Thomas!'' cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger,
" Fanny can walk."
"Walk!' 1 repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable
dignity, and coming farther into the room. "My niece walk to
a dinner engagement, at this time of the year! AVill twenty
minutes after four suit you?"
" Yes, sir," was Fanny's humble answer, given with the feelings
almost of a criminal towards Mrs. Jf orris; and not bearing to
remain with her in what might seem a state of triumph, she
followed her uncle out of the room, having staid behind him only
long enough to hear these words spoken in angry agitation : -
" Quite unnecessary ! a great deal too kind ! Hut Edmund
goes; true it is upon Edmund's account. I observed he was
hoarse on Thursday night,"
But this could not impose on Fanny. She felt that the car^
riage was for herself, and herself alone; and her uncle's con-
sideration of her, comjng immediately after such representations
from her aunt, cost her some tears of gratitude lyhen she was
alone.
The coachman drove round to a minute; another minute
brought down the gentleman; and as the lady had, with a most
scrupulous fear of being late, been many minutes seated in the
drawing-room, Sir Thomas saw them off in as good time as his
own correctly punctual habits required.
" Now I must look at you, Fanny," said Edmund, with the
Uind smjle of an affectionate brother, " and tell you how I like
you; and as well as J can judge by this light, you look very
nicely indeed. What have you got on ?"
" The new dress that my uncle was so good as to give me on
my cousin's marriage. I hope it is not too fine; but I thought
I ought to wear it as soon as I could, and that I might, not have
such another opportunity all the winter. I hope you do not
think me too fine."
"A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white.
No, I ses no finery about you; nothing but what is perfectly
proper. Your gown seems very pretty. I like these glossy
spots. Has not Miss Crawford a gown something the same?"
MANSFIELD PATJK. 1 55
In approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable-
yard and coach-house.
" Hey-day T' said Edmund, "here's company, here's a carriage!
who have they got to meet us?' ! And letting down the side-
glass to distinguish, "Tis Crawford's, Crawford's barouche, I
protest! There are his own two men pushing it back into its
old quarters. He is here, of cours->. This is quite a surprise,
Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him."
There was no occasion, there was no time for Fanny to say
how very differently she felt; but the idea of having such another
to observe her, was a great increase of the trepidation with which
she performed tlu: very awful ceremony of walking into the
drawing-room.
In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was ; having
been just long enough arrived to be ready for dinner; and the
smiles and pleased looks of the three others standing round him,
showed how welcome was his sudden resolution of coming to
them for a few days on leaving Bath. A very cordial meeting
passed between him and Edmund; and, with the exception of
Fanny, the pleasure was general; and even to her, there might
be some advantage in his presence, since every addition to the
party must rather forward her favourite indulgence of being
suffered to sit silent and unattended to. She was soon aware of
this herself; for though she must submit, as her own propriety
of mind directed, in spite of her aunt Xorris's opinion, to being
the principal lady in company, and to all the little distinctions
consequent thereon, she found, while they were at table, such a
happy flow of conversation prevailing in which she was not
required to take any part there was so much to be said between
the brother and sister about Bath, so much between the two
young men about hunting, so much of polities between Mr.
Crawford and Dr. Grant, and of everything and all together
between Mr. Crawford and Mrs. Grant, as to leave her the fairest
prospect of having only to listen in quiet, and of passing a very
agreeable day. She could not compliment the newly-arrived
gentleman, however, with any appearance of interest jn a scheme
for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending for his hunter*
from Norfolk, which, suggested by Dr. Grant, advised by
Edmund, and warmly urged by the two sisters, was soon in
possession of his mind, and which lie seemed to want to be
encouraged even by her to resolve on. Her opinion was sought
as to the probable continuance of the open weather, but her
answers were as short and indifferent a^ civility allowed. She
could not wish him to stay, and would much rather not have him
speak to her.
Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her
thoughts on seeing him; but no embarrassing remembrance
156 MANSFIELD PARK.
affected his spirits. Here he was again on the same ground
where all had passed before, and apparently as willing to stay
and be happy without the Miss Bertrams, as if he had never
known Mansfield in any other state. She heard them spoken of
by him only in a general way, till they were all reassembled in
the drawing-room, when Edmund, being engaged apart in some
matter of business with Dr. Grant, which seemed entirely to
engross them, and Mrs. Grant occupied at the tea-table, he began
talking of them with more particularity to his other sister.
With a significant smile, which made Fanny quite hate him, he
said, " So Rushworth and his fair bride are at Brighton, I under-
stand happy man!"
" Yes, they have been there about a fortnight, Miss Price,
have they not? And Julia is with them."
" And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off."
" Mr. Yates ! Oh, we hear nothing of Mr. Yates. I do not
imagine he figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park ; do
yon, Miss Price? I think my friend Julia knows better than to
entertain her father with Mr. Yates."
"Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches!" continued
Crawford. "Nobody can ever forget them. Poor fellow! I
see him now his toil and his despair. Well, I am much mis-
taken if his lovely Maria will ever want him to make two-and-
forty speeches to her;" adding, with a momentary seriousness,
" She is too good for him much too good." And then changing
his tone again to one of gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny,
lie said, " You were Mr. Rushworth's best friend. Your kind-
ness and patience can never be forgotten, your indefatigable
patience in trying to make it possible for him to learn his part
in trying to give him a brain which nature had denied to mix
up an understanding for him out of the superfluity of your own !
He might not have sense enough himself to estimate your kind-
ness, but I may venture to say that it had honour from all the
rest of the party."
Fanny coloured, and said nothing.
"It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!" he exclaimed, breaking
forth again, after a few minutes' musing. " I shall always look
back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was
such an interest, such an animation, such a spirit diffused.
Everybody felt it. We were all alive. There was employment,
hope, solicitude, bustle, for every hour of the day. Always some
little objection, some little doubt, some little anxiety to be got
over. I never was happier."
" With silent indignation, Fanny repeated to herself, " Never
happier! never happier than when doing what you must know
was not justifiable! never happier than when behaving so dis-
honourably and unfeelingly!. Oh, what a corrupted mind!"
MANSFIELD PARK. 157
" We were unlucky, Miss Price," he continued, in a lower
tone, to avoid the possibility of being heard by Edmund, and not
at all aware of her feelings, " we certainly were very unlucky.
Another week, only one other week, would have been enough for
us. I think if we had had the disposal of events if Mansfield
Park had had the government of the winds just for a week or
two about the equinox, there would have been a difference. Not
that we would have endangered his safety by any tremendous
weather but only by a steady contrary wind, or a calm. I
think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a
week's calm in the Atlantic at that season."
He seemed determined to be answered; and Fanny, averting
her face, said with a firmer tone than usual, "As far as / am
concerned, sir, I would not have delayed his return for a day.
My uncle disapproved it all so entirely when he did arrive, that
in my. opinion everything had gone quite far enough."
She had never spoken so much at once to him in her life
before, and never so angrily to any one ; and when her speech
was over, she trembled and blushed at her own daring. He was
surprised; but after a few moments' silent consideration of her,
replied in a calmer, graver tone, and as if the candid result of
conviction, " I believe you are right. It was more pleasant than
prudent. We were getting too noisy." And then turning the
conversation, he would have engaged her on some other subject,
but her answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not
advance in any.
Miss Crawford, who had heen repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant
and Edmund, now observed, " Those gentlemen must have some
very interesting point to discuss."
" The most interesting in the world," replied her brother
" how to make money how to turn a good income into a better.
Dr. Grant is giving Bertram instructions about the living he is
to step into so soon. I find he takes orders in a few weeks.
They were at it in the dming-parlour. I am glad to hear Ber-
tram will be so well off. He will have a very pretty income to
make ducks and drakes with, and eanied without much trouble.
I apprehend he will not have less than seven hundred a year.
Seven hundred a year is a fine thing for a younger brother; and
as of course he will still live at home, it will be all for his menus
plaisirs ; and a sermon at Christmas and Easter, I suppose, will
be the sum total of sacrifice."
His sister tried to laugh off her feelings by saying, " Nothing
amuses me more than the easy manner with which everybody
settles the abundance of those who have a great deal less than
themselves. You would look rather blank, Henry, if your
menus plaisirs were to be limited to seven hundred a year."
"Perhaps I might; but all that you know is entirely com-
158 MANSFIELD PA11K.
parativc. Birthright and habit must settle the business. Ber-
tram is certainly well off for a cadet of even a Baronet's family.
By the time he is four or rive and twenty lie will have seven
hundred a year, and nothing to do for it."
Miss Crawford could have said that there would be something
to do and to suffer for it, which she could not think lightly of;
but she checked herself and let it pass ; and tried to look calm
and unconcerned when the two gentlemen shortly afterwards
joined them.
" Bertram," said Henry Crawford, " I shall make a point of
coining to Mansfield to hear you preach your first sermon. I
shall come on purpose to encourage a young beginner. When
is it to be? Miss Price, will not you join me in encouraging
your cousin? Will not you engage to attend witli your eyes
steadily fixed on him the whole time as I shall do not to lose
a word; or only looking off just to note down any sentence
pre-eminently beautiful? We will provide ourselves with tablets
and a pencil. When will it be? You must preach at Mansfield,
you know, that Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram may hear you."
"I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can," said
Edmund; "for you would be more likely to disconcert me, and
I should be more sorry to see you trying at it, than almost any
other man."
"Will he not feel this?" thought Fanny. "No, he can feel
nothing as he ought."
The party being now all united, and the chief talkers attracting
each other, she remained in tranquillity; and as a whist table
was formed after tea formed really for the amusement of Dr.
Grant, by his attentive wife, though it was not to be supposed
so and Miss Crawford took her harp she had nothing to do
but to listen ; and her tranquillity remained undisturbed the rest
of the evening, except when Mr. Crawford now and then ad-
dressed to her a question or observation, which she could not
avoid answering. Miss Crawford was too much vexed by what
had passed to be in a humour for anything but music. With
that she soothed herself and amused her friend.
The assurance of Edmund's being so soon to take orders,
coming upon her like a blow that had been suspended, and still
hoped uncertain and at a distance, w;<s felt with resentment and
mortification. She was very angry with him. She had thought
her influence more. She had begun to think of him she felt
that she had with great regard, with almost decided intentions ;
but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings. It
was plain that he could have no serious views, no true attach-
ment, by fixing himsalf in a situation which he must know she
would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his
indifference. She would henceforth admit his attentions without
15 ( J
any idea beyond immediate amusement. It' he could so com-
mand hia affections, hers should do her 110 harm.
CHAPTER VI.
CRAWFORD had quite made up his
. mind by the next morning to give another
fortnight to Mansfield, and having sent for
his hunters, and written a few lines of ex-
planation to the Admiral, he looked round at
sister as he staled and threw the letter
from him, and seeing the coast clear of the
rest of the family, said, with a smile, " And
how do you think I mean to am us;? myself, Mary, on the days
that I do not hunt? I am grown too old to go out more than
three times a week; but I have a plan for the intermediate days,
and what do you think it is?"
" To walk and ride with me, to be sure."
" Not exactly, though I shall bo happy to do both, but that
would be exercise only to my body, and I must take care of my
mind. Besides, that would be all recreation and indulgence,
without the wholesome alloy of labour, and I do not like to eat
the bread of idleness. No, my plan is to make Fanny Price in
love with me."
" Fanny Price ! Nonsense ! No, no. You ought to be satis-
tied with her two cousins."
" But I cannot be satisfied without Fanny Price, without
making a small hole in Fanny Price's heart. You do not seem
properly aware of her claims to notice. When we talked of her
last night, you none of you seemed sensible of the wonderful
improvement that has taken place in her looks within the last
six weeks. You see her every day, and therefore do not notice
it; but I assure you, she is quito a different creature from what
she was in the autumn. She was then merely a quiet, modest,
iv.;t plain-looking girl, but she is now absolutely pretty. I used
to think she had neither complexion or countenance; but in that
soft skin of hers, so frequently tinged with a blush as it was
yesterday, there is decided beauty; and from what I observed of
her eyes and mouth, I do not despair of their being capable
of expression enough when she has anything to express.
And then her air, her manner, her tout ensemble, is so
indescribably improved! She must be grown two inches,
at least, since October."
"Phoo! phoo! This is only because there were no tall
women to compare her with, mid because she has got a new
1 60 MANSFIELD PARK.
gown, and you never saw her so well dressed before. She is just
what she was in October, believe me. The truth is, that she
was the only girl in company for you to notice, and you must
have a somebody. I have always thought her pretty not
strikingly pretty but ' pretty enough ' as people say ; a sort of
beauty that grows on one. Her eyes should be darker, but she
lias a sweet smile; but as for this wonderful degree of improve-
ment, I am sure it may all be resolved into a better stylo of
dress, and your having nobody else to look at ; and therefore if
you do set about a flirtation with her, you never will persuade
me that it is in compliment to her beauty, or that it proceeds
from anything but your own idleness and folly."
Her brother gave only a smile to this accusation, and soon
afterwards said, " I do not quite know what to make of Miss
Fanny. I do not understand her. I could not tell what she
would be at yesterday. What is her character? Is she solemn?
Is she queer? Is she prudish? Why did she draw back and
look so grave at me? I could hardly get her to speak. I never
was so long in company with a girl in my life trying to enter-
tain her and succeed so ill ! Never met with a girl who looked
so grave on me ! I must try to get the better of this. Her
looks say, ' I will not like you, I am determined not to like you,'
and I say, she shall."
"Foolish fellow! And so this is her attraction after all!
This it is her not caring about you which gives her such a soft
skin, and makes her so much taller, and produces all these
charms and graces ! I do desire that you will not be making
her really unhappy; a little love, perhaps, may animate and do
her good, but I will not have you plunge her deep, for she is as
good a little creature as ever lived, and has a great deal of
feeling."
"It can be but for a fortnight," said Henry; "and if a
fortnight will kill her, she must have a constitution which
uotliing could save. No, I will not do her any harm, dear little
soul! I only want her to look kindly on me, to give me smiles
as well as blushes, to keep a chair for me by herself wherever
we are, and be all animation when I take it and talk to her ; to
think as I think, be interested in all my possessions and plea-
sures, try to keep me longer at Mansfield, and feel when I
go away that she shall never be happy again. I want nothing
more."
" Moderation itself!" said Mary. " I can have no scruples
now. Well, you will have opportunities enough of endeavouring
to recommend yourself, for we are a great deal together."
And without attempting any further remonstrance, she left
Fanny to her fate a fate which, had not Fanny's heart been
guarded in a way unsuspected by Miss Crawford, might have
MANSFIELD PARK. 161
been a little harder than she deserved ; for although there doubt-
less are such unconquerable young ladies of eighteen (or one
should not read about them) as are never to be persuaded into
love against their judgment by all that talent, manner, atten-
tion, and flattery can do, I have no inclination to believe Fanny
one of them, or to think that with so much tenderness of dispo-
sition, and so much taste as belonged to her, she could have
escaped heart-whole from the courtship (though the courtship
only of a fortnight) of such a man as Crawford, in spite of there
being some previous ill opinion of him to be overcome, had not
her affection been engaged elsewhere. With all the security
which love of another and dis-esteem of him could give to the
peace of mind he was attacking, his continued attentions con-
tinued, but not obtrusive, and adapting themselves more and
more to the gentleness and delicacy of her character, obliged
her very soon to dislike him less than formerly. She had by no
means forgotten the past, and she thought as ill of him as ever ;
but she felt his powers : he was entertaining ; and his manners
were so improved, so polite, so seriously and blamelessly polite,
that it was impossible not to be civil in return.
A very few days were enough to effect this; and at the end of
those few days, circumstances arose which had a tendency rather
to forward his views of pleasing her, inasmuch as they gave her
a degree of happiness which must dispose her to be pleased with
everybody. William, her brother, the so long absent and dearly
loved brother, was in England again. She had a letter from him
herself, a few hurried happy lines, written as the ship came up
Channel, and sent into Portsmouth, with the first boat that left
the Antwerp, at anchor, in Spithead ; and when Crawford walked
up with the newspaper in his hand, which he had hoped would
bring the first tidings, he found her trembling with joy over
this letter, and listening with a glowing, grateful countenance to
the kind invitation which her uncle was most collectedly dic-
tating in reply.
It was but the day before, that Crawford had made himself
thoroughly master of the subject, or had in fact become at all
aware of her having such a brother, or his being in such a ship,
but the interest then excited had been very properly lively, de-
termining him on his return to town to apply for information as
to the probable period of the Antwerp's return from the Mediter-
ranean, &c. ; and the good luck which attended his early exami-
nation of ship news the next morning, seemed the reward of Iris
ingenuity in finding out such a method of pleasing her, as well
as of his dutiful attention to the Admiral, in having for many
years taken in the paper esteemed to have the earliest naval
intelligence. He proved, however, to be too late. All those fine
first feelings, of which he had hoped to be the exciter, were al-
(1) T.
1 62 MANSFIELD t>ARK.
ready given. P>ut his intention the kindness of his intention
was thankfully acknowledged quite thankfully and warmly,
for she was elevated beyond the common timidity of her mind by
the flow of her love for William.
This clear William would soon be amongst them. There
could be no doubt of his obtaining leave of absence immediately,
for he was still only a midshipman ; and as his parents, from living
on the spot, must already have seen him and be seeing him per-
haps daily, his direct holidays might with justice be instantly
given to the sister, who had been his best correspondent through
a period of seven years, and the uncle who had done most for
his support and advancement ; and accordingly the reply to her
reply, fixing a very early day for his arrival, came as soon as
possible ; and scarcely ten days had passed since Fanny had been
in the agitation of her first dinner visit, when she found herself
in an agitation of a higher nature watching in the hall, in the
lobby, on the stairs, for the first sound of the carriage which was
to bring her a brother.
It came happily while she was thus waiting; and there being
neither ceremony nor fearfulness to delay the moment of meet-
ing, she was with him as lie entered the house, and the first
minutes of exquisite feeling had no interruption and no wit-
nesses, imless the servants chiefly intent upon opening the proper
doors could be called such. This was exactly what Sir Thomas
and Edmund had been separately conniving at, as each proved
to the other by the sympathetic alacrity with which they both
advised Mrs. Norris's continuing where she was, instead of rush-
ing out into the hull as soon as the- noises of the arrival reached
them.
William and Fanny soon showed themselves; and Sir Thomas
had the pleasure of receiving, in Ins protege, certainty a very differ-
ent person from the one he had equipped seven years ago, but a
young man of an open, pleasant countenance, and frank, un-
studied, but feeling and respectful manners, and such as con-
firmed him his friend.
It was long before Fanny could recover from the agitating
happiness of such an hour as was formed by the last thirty
minutes of expectation, and the first of fruition ; it was some
time even before her happiness could be said to make her happy,
before the disappointment inseparable from the alteration of per-
son, had vanished, and she could see in him the same William as
before, and talk to him, as her heart had been yearning to do,
through many a past year. That time, however, did gradually
come, forwarded by an affection on his side as warm as her own,
and much less encumbered by refinement or self-distrust. She
was the first object of his love, but it was a love which his
stronger spirits, and bolder temper, made it as natural for him to
MANSFIELD PARK. 163
express as to feel. On the morrow, they were walking about
together with true enjoyment, and every succeeding morrow re-
newed a tete-a-tete, which Sir Thomas could not but observe
with complacency, even before Edmund had pointed it out to
him.
Excepting the moments of peculiar delight, which any marked
or unlooked-for instance of Edmund's consideration of her in the
last few months had excited, Fanny had never known so much
felicity in her life, as in tins unchecked, equal, fearless intercourse
with the brother and friend, who was opening all his heart to
her, telling her all his hopes and fears, plans, and solicitudes
respecting that long thought of, dearly earned, and justly valued
blessing of promotion who could give her direct and minute
information of the father and mother, brothers and sisters, of
whom she very seldom heard who was interested in all the
comforts and all the little hardships of her home, at Mansfield
ready to think of every member of that home as she directed, or
differing only by a less scrupulous opinion, and more noisy abuse
of their aunt Norris and with whom (perhaps the dearest
indulgence of the whole) all the evil and good of their earliest
years could be gone over again, and every former united pain
and pleasure retraced with the fondest recollection. An advan-
tage this, a strengthener of love, in which even the conjugal tie
is beneath the fraternal. Children of the same family, the same
blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some
means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent con-
nexions can supply; and it must be by a long and unnatural
estrangement, by a divorce which no subsequent connexion can
justify, if such precious remains of the earliest attachments are
ever entirely outlived. Too often, alas, it is so. Fraternal love,
sometimes almost everything, is at others worse than nothing.
But with William and Fanny Price it was still a sentiment in
all its prime and freshness, wounded by no opposition of interest,
cooled by no separate attachment, and feeling the influence of
time and absence only in its increase.
An affection so amiable was advancing each in the opinion of
all who had hearts to value anything good. Henry Crawford
was as much struck with it as any. He honoured the warm-
hearted, blunt fondness of the young sailor, which led him to say,
with his hands stretched towards Fanny's head, " Do you know,
I begin to like that queer fashion already, though when I first
heard of such things being done in England I could not believe
it, and when Mrs. Brown, and the other women, at the Commis-
sioner's, at Gibraltar, appeared in the same trim, I thought they
were mad; but Fanny can reconcile me to anything;" and saw,
with lively admiration, the glow of Fanny's cheek, the brightness
of her eye, the deep interest, the absorbed attention, while her
164 MANSFIELD PARK.
brother was describing any of the imminent hazards, or terrific
scenes, which such a period, at sea, must supply.
It was a picture which Henry Crawford had moral taste
enough to value. Fanny's attractions increased increased two-
fold; for the sensibility which beautified her complexion and
illumined her countenance was an attraction in itself. He was
no longer in doubt of the capabilities of her heart. She had
feeling, genuine feeling. It would be something to be loved by
such a girl, to excite the first ardours of her young, unsophis-
ticated mind! She interested him more than he had foreseen.
A fortnight was not enough. His stay became indefinite.
William was often called on by his uncle to be t!ic talker.
His recitals were amusing in themselves to Sir Thomas, but the
chief object in seeking them, was to understand the reriter, to
know the young man by his histories; and he listened to his
clear, simple, spirited details with full satisfaction seeing in
them the proof of good principles, professional knowledge, energy,
courage, and cheerfulness everything that conld deserve or
promise well. Young as he was, William had already seen a
great deal. He had been in the Mediterranean in the West
Indies in the Mediterranean again had been often taken on
shore by the favour of his captain, and in the course of seven
years had known every variety of danger which sea and war
together could offer. With such means in his power he had a
right to be listened to; and though Mrs. Norris could fidget
about the room, and disturb everybody in quest of two needlefuls
of thread or a second-hand shirt button in the midst of her
nephew's account of a shipwreck or an engagement, everybody
else was attentive; and even Lady Bertram could not hear of
such horrors unmoved, or without sometimes lifting her eyes
from her work to say, " Dear me! how disagreeable! I wonder
anybody can ever go to sea."
To Henry Crawford they gave a different feeling. He longed
to have been at sea, and seen and done and suffered as much.
His heart was warmed, his fancy fired, and he felt the highest
respect for a lad who, before he was twenty, had gone through
such bodily hardships, and given such proofs of mind. The
glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made
his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast ;
and he wished he had been a William Price, distinguishing
himself and working his way to fortune and consequence with
so much self-respect and happy ardour, instead of what he was!
The wish was rather eager than lasti: g. He was roused
from the reverie of retrospection and regret produced by it, by
some inquiry from Edmund as to his plans for the next day's
hunting; and he found it was as well to be a man of fortune at
once with horses and grooms at his command. In one respect
MANSFIELD PARK. 165
it was better, as it gave him the means of conferring a kindness
where he wished to oblige. With spirits, courage, and curiosity
up to anything, William expressed an inclination to hunt; and
Crawford could mount him without the slightest inconvenience
to himself, and with only some scruples to obviate in Sir Thomas,
who knew better than his nephew the value of such a loan, and
some alarms to reason away in Fanny. She feared for William ;
by no means convinced by all that he could relate of his own
horsemanship in various countries, of the scrambling parties in
which he had been engaged, the rough horses and mules he had
ridden, or liis many narrow escapes from dreadful falls, that he
was at all equal to the management of a high-fed hunter in an
English fox-chase; nor till he returned safe and well, without
accident or discredit, could she be reconciled to the risk, or feel
any of that obligation to Mr. Crawford, for lending the horse,
which he had fully intended it should produce. When it was
proved, however, to have done William no harm, she could
allow it to be a kindness, and even reward the owner with a
smile when the animal was one minute tendered to his use again ;
and the next with the greatest cordiality, and in a manner not
to be resisted, made over to his use entirely so long as he remained
in Northamptonshire.
CHAPTER VII.
V HE intercourse of the two families was at
s period more nearly restored to what it
rhad been in the autumn, than any member
M of the old intimacy had thought ever likely
f to be again. The return of Henry Crawford,
W'A and the arrival of William Price, had much
to ^ w * tn **' ** ut muc h was st '^ owing to
Sir Thomas's more than toleration of the
neighbourly attempts at the Parsonage. His mind, now dis-
engaged from the cares which had pressed on him at first, was at
leisure to find the Grants and their young inmates really Avorth
visiting; and though infinitely above scheming or contriving for
any the most advantageous matrimonial establishment that
could be among the apparent possibilities of any one most dear
to him, and disdaining even as a littleness the being quick-sighted
on such points, he could not avoid perceiving, in a grand and
careless way, that Mr. Crawford was somewhat distinguishing
his niece nor perhaps refrain (though unconsciously) from
giving a more willing assent to invitations on that account.
His readiness, however, in agreeing to dine at the Parsonage,
166 MANSFIELD PARK.
when the general invitation was at last hazarded, after many
debates and many doubts as to whether it were worth while,
" because Sir Thomas seemed so ill inclined! and Lady Bertram
was so indolent!" proceeded from good breeding and good-will
alone, and had nothing to do with Mr. Crawford, but as being
one in an agreeable group; for it was in the course of that very
visit, that he first began to think, that any one in the habit of
such idle observations would hare thought that Mr. Crawford
was the admirer of Fanny Price.
The meeting was generally felt to be a pleasant one, being
composed in a good proportion of those who would talk and those
who would listen ; and the dinner itself was elegant and plentiful,
according to the usual style of the Grants, and too much accord-
ing to the usual habits of all to raise any emotion except in
Mrs. Norris, who could never behold either the wide table or the
number of dishes on it with patience, and who did always
contrive to experience some evil from the passing of the sen-ants
behind her chair, and to bring away some fresh conviction of its
being impossible among so many dishes but that some must be
cold.
In the evening it was found, according to the predetermination
of Mrs. Grant and her sister, that after making up the whist
table there would remain sufficient for a round game, and every-
body being as perfectly complying and without a choice as on
such occasions they always are, speculation was decided on almost
as soon as whist ; and Lady Bertram soon found herself in the
critical situation of being applied to for her own choice between
the games, and being required either to draw a card for whist or
not She hesitated. Luckily Sir Thomas was at hand.
"What shall I do, Sir Thomas? Whist and speculation ;
which will amuse me most?"
Sir Thomas, after a moment's thought, recommended specula-
tion. He was a whist player himself, and perhaps might feel
that it would not much amuse him to have her for a partner.
"Very well," was her Ladyship's contented answer "then
speculation, if you please, Mrs. Grant. I know nothing about it,
but Fanny must teach me."
Here Fanny interposed, however, with anxious protestations
of her own equal ignorance ; she had never played the game nor
seen it played in her life ; and Lady Bertram felt a moment's in-
decision again but upon everybody's assuring her that nothing
could be so easy, that it was the easiest game on the cards, and
Henry Crawford's stepping forward with a most earnest request
to be allowed to sit between her Ladyship and Miss Price, and
teach them both, it was so settled ; and Sir Thomas, Mrs. Norris,
and Dr. and Mrs. Grant being seated at the table of prime intel-
lectual state and dignity, the remaining six, under Miss Craw-
MANSFIELD PARK. 167
ford's direction, were arranged round the other. It was a fine
arrangement for Henry Crawford, who was close to Fanny, and
with his hands full of business, having two persons' cards to
manage as well as his own for though it was impossible fin-
Fanny not to feel herself mistress of the rules of the game in three
minutes, lie had yet to inspirit her play, sharpen her avarice,
and harden her heart, which, especially in any competition with
William, was a work of some difficulty; and as for Lady Ber-
tram, he must continue in charge of all her fame and fortune
through the' whole evening; and if quick enough to keep her
from looking at her cards when the deal began, must direct her in
whatever was to be done with them at the end of it.
lie was in high spirits, doing everything with happy ease,
and pre-eminent in all the lively turns, quick resources, and pjay-
ful impudence that could do honour to the game ; and the round
table was altogether a very comfortable contrast to the steady
sobriety and orderly silence of the other.
Twice had Sir Thomas enquired into the enjoyment and suc-
cess of his lady, but in vain; no pause was long enough for the
time his measured manner needed ; and very little of her state
could be known till Mrs. Grant was able, at the end of the first
rubber, to go to her and play her compliments.
" I hope your Ladyship is pleased with the, game."
" Qh dear, yes. Very entertaining, indeed. A very odd game.
I do not know what it is all about. I am never to see my cards;
and Mr. Crawford does all the rest."
"Bertram," said Crawford, some time afterwards, taking the
opportunity of a little languor in the game, " I have never told
you what happened to me yesterday in my ride home." They
had been hunting together, and were in the midst of a good run,
and at some distance from Mansfield, when his horse being found
to have flung- a shoe, Henry Crawford had been obliged to give
up, and make the best of his way back. "I told you I lost 'my
way after passing that old farm-house, with the yew-trees, be-
cause I can never bear to ask; but I have not told you that, with
my usual luck for I never do wrong without gaining by it I
found myself hi due time in the very place which I had a curiosity
to see. I was suddenly, upon turning the corner of a steepish
downy field, in the midst of a retired little village between gently
rising hills ; a small stream before me to be forded, a church
standing on a sort of knoll to my right which church was
strikingly large and handsome for the place, and not a gentleman
or half a gentleman's house to be seen excepting one to be pre-
sumed the Parsonage, within a stone's throw of the said knoll
and church. I found myself, in short, in Thornton Laccy."
" It sounds like it," said Edmund; "but which way did you
turn after passing Scwcll's farm ?"
168 MANSFIELD PARK.
" I answer no such irrelevant and insidious questions; though
were I to answer all that you could put in the course of an hour,
you would never be able to prove that it was not Thornton Lacey
for such it certainly was."
"You enquired then?"
" No, I never inquire. But I told a man mending a hedge
that it was Thornton Lacey, and he agreed to it."
" You have a good memory. I had forgotten having ever told
you half so much of the place."
Thornton Lacey was the name of his impending living, as Miss
Crawford well knew ; and her interest hi a negotiation for William
Price's knave increased.
"Well," continued Edmund, "and how did you like what you
saw ?"
" Very much, indeed. You are a lucky fellow. There will
be work for five summers at least before the place is live-able."
" No, no, not so bad as that. The farm-yard must be moved,
I grant you ; but I am not aware of anything else. The house
is by no means bad, and when the yard is removed, there may
be a very tolerable approach to it."
" The farm-yard must be cleared away entirely, and planted
up to shut out the blacksmith's shop. The house must be
turned to front the east instead of the north the entrance and
principal rooms, I mean, must be on that side, where the view is
really very pretty ; I am sure it may be done. And there must
be your approach through what is at present the garden. You
must make a new garden at what is now the back of the house ;
which will be giving it the best aspect in the world sloping to
the south-east. The ground seems precisely formed for it. I
rode fifty yards up the lane between the church and the house in
order to look about me; and saw how it might all be. Nothing
can be easier. The meadows beyond what will be the garden, as
well as what now is, sweeping round from the lane I stood in to
the north-east, that is, to the principal road through the village,
must be all laid together of course ; very pretty meadows they
are, finely sprinkled with timber. They belong to the living, I
suppose. If not, you must purchase them. Then the stream
something must be done with the stream ; but I could not quite
determine what. I hsul two or three ideas."
"And I have two or three ideas also," said Edmund, "and
one of them is, that very little of your plan for Thornton Lacey
will ever be put in practice. I must be satisfied with rather less
ornament and beauty. I think the house and premises may be
made comfortable, and given the air of a gentleman's residence
without any very heavy expense, and that must suffice me ; and
I hope may suffice all who care about me."
Bliss Crawford, a little suspicious and resentful of a certain
MANSFIELD PARK. 169
tone of voice and a certain half-look attending the last expression
of liis hope, made a hasty finish of her dealings with William
Price ; and securing his knave at an exorbitant rate, exclaimed,
" There, I will stake my last like a woman of spirit. No cold
prudence for me. I am not born to sit still and do nothing. If
I lose the game, it shall not be from not striving for it."
The game was hers, and only did not pay her for what she
had given to secure it. Another deal proceeded, and Crawford
began again about Thornton Lacey.
"My plan may not be the best possible; I had not many
minutes to form it in : but you must do a good deal. The place
deserves it, and you will find yourself not satisfied with much
less than it is capable of. (Excuse me, your Ladyship must
not see your cards. There, let them lie just before you.) The
place deserves it, Bertram. You talk of giving it the air of a
gentleman's residence. That will be done, by the removal of the
farm-yard ; for, independent of that terrible nuisance, I never
saw a house of the kind which had in itself so much the air of a
gentleman's residence, so much the look of a something above a
mere parsonage house above the expenditure of a few hundreds
a-year. It is not a scrambling collection of low single rooms,
with as many roofs as windows it is not cramped into the
vulgar compactness of a square farm-house it is a solid, roomy,
mansion-like looking house, such as one might suppose a respect-
able old country family had lived in from generation to genera-
tion, through two centuries at least, and were now spending
from two to three thousand a year in." Miss Crawford listened,
and Edmund agreed to this. " The air of a gentleman's residence,
therefore, you cannot but give it, if you do anything. But it is
capable of much more. (Let me see, Mary ; Lady Bertram
bids a dozen for that queen ; no, no, a dozen is more than it is
worth. Lady Bertram does not bid a dozen. She will have
nothing to say to it. Go on, go on.) By some such improve-
ments as I have suggested, (I do not really require you to proceed
upon my plan, though, by-the-bye, I doubt anybody's striking
out a better,) you may give it a higher character. You may
raise it into a place. From being the mere gentleman's residence,
it becomes, by judicious improvement, the residence of a man of
education, taste, modern manners, good connections. All this
may be stamped on it ; and that house receive such an air as to
make its owner be set down as the great landholder of the parish,
by every creature travelling the road ; especially as there is no
real squire's house to dispute the point ; a circumstance, between
ourselves, to enhance the value of such a situation in point of
privilege and independence beyond all calculation. You think
with me, I hope (turning with a softened voice to Fanny.)
Have you ever seen the place?"
1TO MANSFIELD PARK.
Fanny gave a quick negative, and tried to hide her interest in
the subject by an eager attention to her brother, who was driving
as hard a bargain, and imposing on her as much as he could ;
but Crawford pursued with "No, no, you must not part with the
queen. You have bought her too dearly, and your brother does
not offer half her value. No, no, sir, hands off hands off.
Your sister does not part with the queen. She is quite deter-
mined. The game will be yours," turning to her again "it
will certainly be yours."
"And Fanny had much rather it were William's," said
Edmund, smiling at her. " Poor Fanny ! not allowed to cheat
herself as she wishes !"
" Mr. Bertram," said Miss Crawford, a few minutes afterwards,
"you know Henry to be such a capital improver, that you can-
not possibly engage in anything of the sort at Thornton Lacey
without accepting his help. Only think how useful he was at
Sotherton ! Only think what grand things were produced there
by our all going with him one hot day in August to drive about
the grounds, and see his genius take fire. There we went, and
there we came home again ; and what was done there is not
to be told !"
Fanny's eyes were turned on Crawford for a moment with an
expression more than grave even reproachful ; but on catching
his, were instantly withdrawn. With something of conscious-
ness, he shook his head at his sister, and laughingly replied, " I
cannot say there was much done at Sotherton ; but it was a hot
day, and we were all walking after each other, and bewildered."
As soon as a general buzz gave him shelter, he added, in a low
voice, directed solely at Fanny, " I should be sorry to have my
powers of planning judged of by the day at Sotherton. I see
things very differently now. Do not think of me as I appeared then . "
Sotherton was a word to catch Mrs. Norris, and being just
then in the happy leisure which followed securing the odd trick
by Sir Thomas's capital play and her own, against Dr. and Mrs.
Grant's great hands, she called out, in high good-humour,
" Sotherton! Yes, that is a place, indeed, and we had a charm-
ing day there. William, you are quite out of luck : but the next
time you come, I hope dear Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth will be at
home, and I am sure I can answer for your being kindly received
by both. Your cousins are not of a sort to forget their rela-
tions, and Mr. Rushworth is a most amiable man. They are at
Brighton now, you know in one of the best houses there, as
Mr. Rushworth's fine fortune gives them a right to be. I do not
exactly know the distance, but when you get back to Portsmouth,
if it is not very far off, you ought to go over, and pay your
respects to them ; and I could send a little parcel by you that I
want to get conveyed to your cousins."
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 7 1
" I should bo very happy, aunt but Brighton is almost by
Beaehey Head; and if I could get so far, I could not expect to
be welcome in such a smart place as that poor scrubby mid-
shipman as I am."
Mrs. Nbrris was beginning an eager assurance of the affa-
bility he might depend on, when she was stopped by Sir Tho-
mas's saying with authority, " I do not advise your going to
Brighton, William, as I trust you may soon have more conve-
nient opportunities of meeting; but my daughters would be
happy to see their cousins anywhere ; and you will find Mr.
Bushworth most sincerely disposed to regard all the connexions
of our family as his own."
" I would rather find him private secretary to the First Lord
than anything else," was William's only answer, in an under
voice, not meant to reach far, and the subject dropped.
As yet Sir Thomas had seen nothing to remark in Mr. Craw-
ford's behaviour ; but when the whist table broke up at the end
of the second rubber, and leaving Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris to
dispute over their last play, he became a looker-on at the other,
he found his niece the object of attentions, or rather of profes-
sions of a somewhat pointed character.
Henry Crawford was in the first glow of another scheme about
Thornton Lacey ; and not being able to catch Edmund's ear, was
detailing it to his fair neighbour with a look of considerable ear-
nestness. His scheme was to rent the house himself the follow-
ing winter, that he might have a home of his own in that neigh-
bourhood ; and it was not merely for the use of it in the hunting
season (as he was then telling her), though that consideration
had certainly some weight, feeling as he did that, in spite of all
Dr. Gra-.t's very great kindness, it was impossible for him and
his horses to be accommodated where they now were without
material inconvenience ; but his attachment to that neighbour-
hood did not depend upon one amusement or one season of the
year : he had set his heart upon having a something there that
he could come to at any time, a little homestall at his command,
where all the holidays of his year might be spent, and he might
find himself continuing, improving, and perfecting that friendship
and intimacy with the Mansfield Park family which was increas-
ing in value to him every day. Sir Thomas heard and was not
offended. There was no want of respect in the young man's ad-
dress ; and Fanny's reception of it was so proper and modest, so
calm and uninviting, that he had nothing to censure in her.
She said little, assented only here and there, and betrayed no
inclination either of appropriating any part of the compliment to
herself, or of strengthening his views in favour of Northampton-
shire. Finding by whom he was observed, Henry Crawford
addressed himself on the same subject to Sir Thomas, in a more
every-day tone, but still with feeling.
172 MANSFIELD PARK.
" I want to be your neighbour, Sir Thomas, as you have, per-
haps, heard me telling Miss Price. May I hope for your acqui-
escence, and for your not influencing your son against such a
tenant?"
Sir Thomas, politely bowing, replied, "It is the only way, sir,
in which I could not wish you established as a permanent neigh-
bour ; but I hope, and believe, that Edmund will occupy his own
house at Thornton Lacey. Edmund, am I saying too much ?"
Edmund, on this appeal, had first to hear what was going on ;
but, on understanding the question, was at no loss for an
answer.
" Certainly, sir, I have no idea but of residence. But, Craw-
ford, though I refuse you as a tenant, come to me as a friend.
Consider the house as half your own every winter, and we will
add to the stables on your own improved plan, and with all the
improvements of your improved plan that may occur to you this
spring."
" We shall be the losers;" continued Sir Thomas. " His
going, though only eight miles, will be an unwelcome contrac-
tion of our family circle ; but I should have been deeply morti-
fied, if any son of mine could reconcile himself to doing less. It
is peifectly natural that you should not have thought much on
the subject, Mr. Crawford. But a parish has wants and claims
which can be known only by a clergyman constantly resident,
and which no proxy can be capable of satisfying to the same
extent. Edmund might, in the common phrase, do the duty of
Thornton, that is, he might read prayers and preach, without
giving up Mansfield Park ; he might ride over, every Sunday, to
a house nominally inhabited, and go through divine service ; he
might be the clergyman of Thornton Lacey every seventh day,
for three or four hours, if that would content him. But it will
not. He knows that human nature needs more lessons than a
weekly sermon can convey ; and that if he does not live among
his parishioners, and prove himself, by constant attention, their
well-wisher and friend, he does very little either for their good or
his own."
Mr. Crawford bowed his acquiescence.
" I repeat again," added Sir Thomas, " that Thornton Lacey
is the only house in the neighbourhood in which I should not be
happy to wait on Mr. Crawford as occupier."
Mr. Crawford bowed his thanks.
" Sir Thomas," said Edmund, " undoubtedly understands the
duty of a parish priest. We must hope Ins son may prove that
he knows it too."
Whatever effect Sir Thomas's little harangue might really
produce on Mr. Crawford, it raised some awkward sensations in
two of the others, two of his most attentive listeners, Miss Craw-
ford and Fanny. One of whom, having never before understood
MANSFIELD PARK. 173
that Thornton was so soon and so completely to be his home,
was pondering with downcast eyes on what it would be, not to
see Edmund every day ; and the other, startled from the agree-
able fancies she had been previously indulging on the strength of
her brother's description, no longer able, in the picture she had
been forming of a future Thornton, to shut out the church, sink
the clergyman, and see only the respectable, elegant, modernised,
and occasional residence of a man of independent fortune was
considering Sir Thomas, with decided ill-will, as the destroyer of
all this, and suffering the more from that involuntary forbearance
which his character and manner commanded, and from not
daring to relieve herself by a single attempt at throwing ridicule
on his cause.
All the agreeable of her speculation was over for that hour.
It was time to have done with cards, if sermons prevailed ; and
she was glad to find it necessary to come to a conclusion, and be
able to refresh her spirits by a change of place and neighbour.
The chief of the party were now collected irregularly round
the lire, and waiting the final break-up. William and Fanny
were the most detached. They remained together at the other-
wise deserted card-table, talking very comfortably, and not
thinking of the rest, till some of the rest began to think of them.
Henry Crawfofd's chair was the first to be given a direction
towards them, and he sat silently observing them for a few
minutes; himself, in the meanwhile, observed by Sir Thomas,
who was standing in chat with Dr. Grant.
" This is the assembly night," said William. " If I were at
Portsmouth, I should be at it, perhaps."
" But you do not wish yourself at Portsmouth, William?"
" No, Fanny, that I do not. I shall have enough of Ports-
mouth and of dancing, too, when I cannot have you. And I do
not know that there would be any good in going to the assembly,
for I might not get a partner. The Portsmouth girls turn up
their noses at anybody who has not a commission. One might
as well be nothing as a midshipman. One is nothing, indeed.
You remember the Gregorys ; they are grown up amazing fine
girls, but they will hardly speak to me, because Lucy is courted
by a lieutenant."
" Oh, shame, shame ! But never mind it, WiUiani"(her own
cheeks in a glow of indignation as she spoke). It is not worth
minding. It is no reflection on you; it is no more than what
the greatest admirals have all experienced, more or less, in their
time. You must think of that ; you must try to make up your
mind to it as one of the hardships which fall to every sailor's
share like bad weather and hard living only with this advan-
tage, that there will be an end to it, that there will come a time
when you will have nothing of that sort to endure. When you
174 MANSFIELD PARK.
are a lieutenant ! only think, William, when you are a lieute-
nant, how little you will care for any nonsense of this kind."
" I begin to think I shall never be a lieutenant, Fanny.
Everbody gets made but me."
" Oh, my dear William, do not talk so, do not be so desponding.
My uncle says nothing, but I am sure he will do everything in
his power to get you made. He knows, as well as you do, of
what consequence it is."
She was checked by the sight of her uncle much nearer to
them than she had any suspicion of, and each found it necessary
to talk of something else.
"Are you fond of dancing, Fanny?"
" Yes, very ; only I am soon tired."
" I should like to go to a ball with you and see you dance.
Have you never any balls at Northampton ? J should like
to see you dance, and I'd dance with you if you would, for
nobody would know who I was here, and I should like to be
your partner once more. We used to jump about together
many a time, did not we? when the hand-organ was in the
street? I am a pretty good dancer in my way, but I dare
say you are a better." And turning to his uncle, who was now
close to them, " Is not Fanny a very good dancer, sir ?"
Fanny, in dismay at such an unprecedented question, did not
know which way to look, or how to be prepared for the answer.
Some very grave reproof, or at least the coldest expression of
indifference, must be coming to distress her brother, and sink her
to the ground. But, on the contrary, it was no worse than, " I
am sorry to say that I am unable to answer your question. I
have never seen Fanny dance since she was a little girl ; but I
trust we shall both think she acquits herself like a gentlewoman
when we do see her, which, perhaps, we may have an opportu-
nity of doing ere long."
" I have had the pleasure of seeing your sister dance, Mr.
Price," said Henry Crawford, leaning forward, " and will engage
to answer every inquiry which you can make on the subject, to
your entire satisfaction. But I believe (seeing Fanny look
distressed) it must be at some other time. There is one
person in company who does not like to have Miss Price
spoken of."
True enough, he had once seen Fanny dance ; and it was
equally true that he would now have answered for her gliding
about with quiet, light elegance, and in admirable time : but in
fact he could not for the life of him recall what her dancing had
been, and rather took it for granted that she had been present
than remembered anything about her.
He passed, however, for an admirer of her dancing ; and Sir
Thomas, by no means displeased, prolonged the conversation on
MANSFIELD PARK. 175
in general, and was so well engaged in describing the
balls of Antigua, and listening to what his nephew could relate
of the different modes of dancing which had fallen within his
observation, that ho had not heard his carriage announced, and
was first called to the knowledge of it by the bustle of Mrs.
Norris.
"Come, Fanny, Fanny, what are you about? We are going.
Do not you see your aunt is going? Quick, quick. I cannot
bear to keep good old Wilcox waiting. You should always
remember the coachman and horses. My dear Sir Thomas, we
have settled it that the carriage should come back for you, and
Edmund, and William."
Sir Thomas could not dissent, as it had been his own arrange-
ment, previously communicated to his wife and sister; but that
seemed forgotten by Mrs. Norris, who must fancy that she settled
it all herself.
Fanny's last feeling in the visit was disappointment for the
shawl which Edmund was quietly taking from the servant to
bring and put round her shoulders was seized by Mr. Crawford's
quicker hand, and she was obliged to be indebted to his more
prominent attention.
CHAPTER VIII.
i ILLIAM'S desire of seeing Fanny dance
' made more than a momentary impression on
his uncle. The hope of an opportunity, which
Sir Thomas had then given, was not given
to be thought of no more. He remained
-steadily inclined to gratify so amiable a
, feeling to gratify anybody else who might
wish to see Fanny dance, and to give pleasure
to the young people in general ; and having thought the matter
over, and taken his resolution in quiet independence, the result
of it appeared the next morning at breakfast, when, after recalling
and commending what his nephew had said, he added, " I do not
like, William, that you should leave Northamptonshire without
this indulgence. It would give me pleasure to see you both
dance. You spoke of the balls at Northampton. Your cousins
have occasionally attended them ; but they would not altogether
suit us now. The fatigue would be too much for your aunt. I
believe, we must not think of a Northampton ball. A dance at
home would be more eligible ; and if "
"Ah, my dear Sir Thomas," interrupted Mrs. Norris, "I knew
what was coming. I knew what you were going to say. If
176 MANSFIELD PARK.
dear Julia were at home, or dearest Mrs. Rushworth at Sotherton,
to afford a reason, an occasion for such a thing, you would be
tempted to give the young people a dance at Mansfield. I know
you would. If they were at home to grace the ball, a ball you
would have this very Christmas. Thank your uncle, "William,
thank your uncle."
"My daughters," replied Sir Thomas, gravely interposing,
" have their pleasures at Brighton, and I hope are very happy ;
but the dance which I think of giving at Mansfield will be for
their cousins. Could we be all assembled, our satisfaction would
undoubtedly be more complete, but the absence of some is not to
debar the others of amusement."
Mrs. Norris had not another word to say. She saw decision
in his looks, and her surprise and vexation required some minutes'
silence to be settled into composure. A ball at such a time !
His daughters absent and herself not consulted! There was
comfort, however, soon at hand. She must be the doer of every-
thing; Lady Bertram would of course be spared all thought and
exertion, and it would all fall upon her. She should have to do
the honours of the evening : and this reflection quickly restored
so much of her good humour as enabled her to join in with the
others, before their happiness and thanks were all expressed.
Edmund, William, and Fanny, did, in their different ways,
look and speak as much grateful pleasure in the promised ball,
as Sir Thomas could desire. Edmund's feelings were for the
other two. His father had never conferred a favour or shown a
kindness more to his satisfaction.
Lady Bertram was perfectly quiescent and contented, and had
no objection to make. Sir Thomas engaged for its giving her
very little trouble; and she assured him "that she was not at
all afraid of the trouble, indeed she could not imagine tYierc
would be any."
Mrs. Norris was ready with her suggestions as to the rooms
he would think fittest to be used, but found it all pre-arranged ;
and when she would have conjectured and hinted about the day,
it appeared that the day was settled too. Sir Thomas had been
amusing himself witli shaping a very complete outline of the
business; and as soon as she would listen quietly, could read his
list of the families to be invited, from whom he calculated, with
all necessary allowance for the shortness of the notice, to collect
young people enough to form twelve or fourteen couple; and
could detail the considerations which had induced him to fix on
the 22d, as the most eligible day. William was required to be
at Portsmouth on the 24th ; the 22d would therefore be the last
day of his visit ; but where the days were so few it would be
unwise to fix on any earlier. Mrs. Norris was obliged to be
satisfied with thinking just the same, and with having been on
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 77
the point of proposing the 22d herself, as by far the best day for
the purpose.
The ball was now a settled thing, and before the evening a
proclaimed thing to all whom it concerned. Invitations were
sent with despatch, and many a young lady went to bed that
night with her head full of happy cares as well as Fanny. To
her, the cares were sometimes almost beyond the happiness;
for young and .inexperienced, with small means of choice, and no
confidence in her own taste the "how she should be dressed"
was a point of painful solicitude; and the almost solitary orna-
ment in her possession, a very pretty amber cross which William
had brought her from Sicily, was the greatest distress of all, for
she had nothing but a bit of riband to fasten it to ; and though
she had worn it in that manner once, would it be allowable at
such a time, in the midst of all the rich ornaments which she
supposed all the other young ladies would appear in? And yet
not to wear it! William had wanted to buy her a gold chain
too, but the purchase had been beyond his means, and therefore
not to wear the cross might be mortifying him. These were
anxious considerations; enough to sober her spirits even under
the prospect of a ball given principally for her gratification.
The preparations meanwhile went on, and Lady Bertram con-
tinued to sit on her sofa without any inconvenience from them.
She had some extra visits from the housekeeper, and her maid
was rather hurried in making up a new dress for her: Sir Thomas
gave orders, and Mrs. Norris ran about ; but all this gave her
no trouble, and, as she had foreseen, "there was, in fact, no
trouble in the business."
Edmund was at this time particularly full of cares; his mind
being deeply occupied in the consideration of two important events
now at hand, which were to fix his fate in life ordination and
matrimony events of such a serious character as to make the
ball, which would be very quickly followed by one of them,
appear of less moment in his eyes than in those of any other
person in the house. On the 23d he was going to a friend near
Peterborough in the same situation as himself, and they were to
receive ordination in the course of the Christmas week. Half
his destiny would then be determined but the other half might
not be so very smoothly wooed. His duties would be established,
but the wife who was to share, and animate, and reward those
duties, might yet be unattainable. He knew his own mind, but
he was not always perfectly assured of knowing Miss Crawford's.
There'were points on which they did not quite agree; there were
moments in which she did not seem propitious; and though
trusting altogether to her affection, so far as to be resolved
(almost resolved) on bringing it to a decision, within a very
short tune, as soon as the variety of business before him were
(1) M
178 MANSFIELD PARK.
arranged, and he knew what lie had to offer her he had many
anxious feelings, many doubting hours as to the result. His
conviction of her regard for him was sometimes very strong ; he
could look back on a long course of encouragement, and she was
as perfect in disinterested attachment as in everything else. But
at other times doubt and alarm intermingled with his hopes; and
when he thought of her acknowledged disinclination for privacy
and retirement, her decided preference of a London life what
could he expect but a determined rejection? unless it were an
acceptance even more to be deprecated, demanding such sacrifices
of situation and employment on his side as conscience must
forbid.
The issue of all depended on one question. Did she love him
well enough to forego what had used to be essential points did
she love him well enough to mak-j them no longer essential?
And this question, which he was continually repeating to him-
self, though oftenest answered with a " Yes," had sometimes
its "No."
Miss Crawford was soon to leave Mansfield, and on this cir-
cumstance the "no" and the "yes" had been very recently in
alternation. lie had seen her eyes sparkle as she spoke of the
dear friend's letter, which claimed a long visit from her in
London, and of the kindness of Henry, in engaging to remain
where he was till January, that he might convey her thither; he
had heard her speak of the pleasure of such a journey with a'i
animation which had "no" in every tone. 15ut this had
occurred on the first day of its being settled, within the (ir.^t
hour of the burst of such enjoyment, when nothing but the
friends she was to visit was before her. He had since heard her
express herself differently with other feelings more checkered
feelings; he had heard her tell Mrs. Grant that she should leave
her with regret ; that she began to believe neither the friends
nor the pleasures she was going to were worth those she left
behind; and that though she felt she must go, and knew she
should enjoy herself when once away, she was already looking
forward to being at Mansfield again. AVas there not a "yes" in
all this?
With such matters to ponder over, and arrange, and rearrange,
Edmund could not, on his own account, think very much of the
evening, which the rest of the family were looking forward to
with a more equal degree of strong interest. Independent of his
two cousins' enjoyment in it, the evening was to him of no higher
value ^than any other appointed meeting of the two families
might be. In every meeting there was a hope of receiving
further confirmation of Miss Crawford's attachment; but the
whirl of a ball-room, perhaps, was not particularly favourable to
the excitement or expression of serious feelings. To engage her
MANSFIELD PARK. 179
early for the two first dances, was all the command of individual
happiness which lie felt in his power, and the only preparation
for the hall which he could enter into, in spite of all that was
passing around him on the subject, from morning till night.
Thursday was the day of the ball, and on Wednesday morn-
ing, Fanny, still unable to satisfy herself as to what she ought
to wear, determined to seek the counsel of the more enlightened,
and apply to Mrs. Grant and her sistc]-, whose acknowledged
taste would certainly bear her blameless ; ni:d as Kdiinmd :md
William were gone to Northampton, and she had reason to think
Mr. Crawford likewise nut, she walked down to the Parsonage
without much fear of wanting :<n opportunity for private dis-
cussion; and the privacy of sikh a discussion was a mo.--t
important part of it to Fanny, being more than half ashamed of
her own solicitude.
She met Miss Crawford within a few yards of the Parsonage,
just setting out to call on her, and as it seemed to her, that In r
friend, though obliged to insist on turning back, was unwilling
to lose her walk, she explained her business at once, and observed,
that if she would be so kind as to give her opinion, it might be
all talked over as well without doors as within. Miss Crawford
appeared gratified by the application, and after a momem's
thought urged Fanny's returning with her in a much more
cordial manner than before, and proposed their going up into her
room, where they might have a comfortable coze, without dis-
turbing Dr. and Mrs. Grant, who were together in the drawing
room. It was just the plan to suit Fanny; and with a great
deal of gratitude on her side for such ready and kind attention,
they proceeded in-doors and up-stairs, and were soon deep in fie
interesting subject. Miss Crawford, pleased with the appeal,
gave her all her best judgment and taste, made everything easy
by her suggestions, and tried to make everything agreeable by
her encouragement. The dress being settled in all its grander
parts, " But what shall you have by way of necklace?" said
iMiss Crawford. "Shall not you wear your brother's cross?"
And as she spoke she was undoing a small parcel, which Fanny
had observed in her hand when they met. Fanny acknowledged
her wishes and doubts on this point; she did not know how
either to wear the cross, or to refrain from wearing it. She w:is
answered by having a small trinket-box placed before her, and
being requested to choose from among several gold chains and
necklaces. Such had been the parcel with which Miss Crawford
was provided, and such the object of her intended visit; and in
the kindest manner she now urged Fanny's taking one for the
cross and to keep for her sake, saying everything she could think
of to obviate the scruples which were making Fanny start back
at first with a look of horror at the proposal.
1 80 MANSFIELD PARK.
" You see what a collection I have," said she, " more by half
than I ever use or think of. I do not ofl'er them as new. I
otter nothing but an old necklace. You must forgive the liberty,
and oblige me."
Fanny still resisted, and from her heart. The gift was too
valuable. But Miss Crawford persevered, and argued the case
with so much affectionate earnestness through all the heads of
William and the cross, and the ball, and herself, as to be finally
successful. Fanny found herself obliged to yield, that she might
not be accused of pride or indifference, or some other littleness ;
and having with modest reluctance given her consent, proceeded
to make the selection. She looked and looked, longing to know
which might be least valuable ; and was determined in her choice
at last, by fancying there was one necklace more frequently
placed before her eyes than the rest. It was of gold, prettily
worked; and though Fanny would have preferred a longer and
a plainer chain as more adapted for her purpose, she hoped, in
fixing on this, to be choosing what Miss Crawford least wished
to keep. Mi.ss Crawford smiled her perfect approbation; and
hastened to complete the gift by putting the necklace round her,
and making her see how well it looked. Fanny had not a word
to say against its becomingness, and excepting what remained
of her scruples, was exceedingly pleased with an acquisition so
very apropos. She would rather perhaps have been obliged to
some other person. l>ut this was an unworthy feeling. Miss
Crawford had anticipated her wants with a kindness which
proved her a real friend. " When I wear this necklace I shall
always think of you," said she, "and feel how very kind you
were.''
" You must think of somebody else, too, when you wear that
necklace," replied Miss Crawford. " You must think of Henry,
for it was his choice in the first place. He gave it to me, and
with the necklace I make over to you all the duty of remembering
the original giver. It is to be a family remembrancer. The
sister is not to be in your mind without bringing the brother
too."
Fanny, in great astonishment and confusion, would have
returned the present instantly. To take what had been the gift
of another person of a brother too, impossible! it must not
be! and with an eagerness and embarrassment quite diverting
to her companion, she laid down the necklace again on its
cotton, and seemed resolved either to take another or none at all.
Miss Crawford thought she had never seen a prettier conscious-
ness. " My dear child," said she, laughing, " what are you
afraid of? Do you think Henry will claim the necklace as
mine, and fancy you did not come honestly by it? or are you
imagining he would be too much flattered by seeing round your
MANSFIELD PARK. 181
lovely throat an ornament which his money purchased three
years ago, before he knew there was such a throat in the world?
or perhaps looking archly you suspect a confederacy between
us, ami that what I am now doing is with his knowledge and at
his desire V
With the deepest blushes Fanny protested against such a
thought.
" Well, then," replied Miss Crawford, more seriously but with-
out at all believing her, " to convince me that you suspect no
trick, and arc as unsuspicious of compliment as I have always
found you, take the necklace, and say no more about it. Its
bring a gift of my brother's need not make the smallest difference
in your accepting it, as I assure you it makes none in my
willingness to part with it. He is always giving me something
or other. I have such innumerable presents from him that it is
quite impossible for me to value, or for him to remember half.
And as for this necklace, I do not suppose I have worn it six
times: it is very pretty but I never think of it; and though
you would be most heartily welcome to any other in my trinket-
box, you have happened to fix on the very one which, if I have
a choice, I would rather part with and see in your possession
than any other. Say no more against it, I intreat you. Such
a trifle is not worth half so many words."
Fanny dared not make any further opposition; and with
renewed but less happy thanks accepted the necklace again, for
there was an expression in Miss Crawford's eyes which she could
not be satisfied with.
It was impossible for her to be insensible of Mr. Crawford's
change of manners. She had long seen it. He evidently tried
to please her he was gallant he was attentive he was some-
thing like what he had been to her cousins: he wanted, she
supposed, to cheat her of her tranquillity as he had cheated them ;
and whether he might not have some concern in this necklace !
She could not be convinced that he had not, for Miss Crawford,
complaisant as a sister, was careless as a woman and a friend.
Heflecting and doubting, and feeling that the possession of what
she had so much wished for did not bring much satisfaction, she
now walked home again with a change rather than a diminu-
tion of cares since her treading that path before.
182
MANSFIELD PAKK.
CHAPTER IX.
N reaching home, Fanny went immediately
up ftairs to deposit this unexpected acquisi-
tion, this doubtful good of a necklace, in some
favourite box in the east room which held all
her smaller treasures; but on opening the
door, what was her surprise to find her cousin
Edmund there writing at the table! Such a
sight having never occurred before, was almost
as wonderful as it was welcome.
" Fanny," said he directly, leaving his scat and his pen, and
meeting her with something in his hand, " I beg your pardon
for being here. I came to look for you, and after waiting a little
while in hope of your coining in, was making use of your ink-
stand to explain my errand. You will find the beginning of a
note to yourself; but I can now speak my business, Avhich is
merely to beg your acceptance of this little trifle a chain for
William's cross. You ought to have had it a week ago, but
there has been a delay from my brother's not being in town by
several days so soon as I expected; and I have only just now
received it at Northampton. I hope you will like the chain
itself, Fanny. I endeavoured to consult the simplicity of your
t.iste; but at any rate I know you will be kind to my intentions,
and consider it, as it really is, a token of the love of one of your
oldest friends."
And so saying, he was hurrying away, before Fanny, over-
powered by a thousand feelings of pain and pleasure, could
iittempt to speak; but quickened by one sovereign wish she then
called out, "Oh, cousin, stop a moment, pray stop!"
lie turned back.
" I cannot attempt to thank you," she continued, in a very
agitated manner, " thanks are out of the question. I feel much
more than I can possibly express. Your goodness in thinking
of me in such a way is beyond "
" If this is all you have to say, Fanny " smiling and
turning away again.
" No, no, it is not. I want to consult you."
Almost unconsciously she had now undone the parcel he had
just put into her hand, and seeing before her, in all the niceness
of jewellers' packing, a plain gold chain perfectly simple and
neat, she could not help bursting forth again, "Oh, this is
beautiful, indeed! this is the very thing, precisely what 1 wished
for! this is the only ornament I have ever had a desire to possess.
It will exactly suit my cross. They must and shall be worn
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 83
together. It comes, too, in such an acceptable moment. Oh,
cousin, you do not know how acceptable it is."
" My dear Fanny, you feel these things a great deal too much.
I am most happy that you like the chain, and that it should be
here in time for to-morrow; but your thanks are far beyond the
occasion. Believe me, I have no pleasure in the world superior
to that of contributing to yours. No, I can safely say, I have no
pleasure so complete, so unalloyed. It is without a drawback."
Upon such expressions of affection, Fanny could have lived
an hour without saying another word; but Edmund, after
waiting a moment, obliged her to bring down her mind from its
heavenly flight by saying, " But what is it that you want to
consult me about?"
It was about the necklace, which she was now most earnestly
longing to return, and hoped to obtain his approbation of her
doing. She gave the history of her recent visit, and now her
raptures might well be over; for Edmund was so struck with
the circumstance, so delighted with what Miss Crawford had
done, so gratified by such a coincidence of conduct between them,
that Fanny could not but admit tfie superior power of one pleasure
over his own mind, though it might have its drawback. It was
some time before she could get his attention to her plan, or any
answer to her demand of his opinion: he was in a reverie of fond
reflection, uttering only now and then a few half sentences of
praise: but when ho did awake, and understand, he was very
decided in opposing what she wished.
" Keturn the necklace! Xo, my dear Fanny, upon no account.
It would be mortifying her severely. There can hardly be a
more unpleasant sensation than the having anything returned on
our hands, which wo have given with a reasonable hope of its
contributing to the comfort of a friend. Why should she lose a
pleasure which he has shown herself so deserving of?"
" If it had been given to me in the lirst instance,'' said Fanny,
"I should not have thought of returning it; but being her
brother's present^ is not it fair to suppose that she would rather
not part with it, when it is not wanted?"
" She must not suppose it not wanted, not acceptable at least;
and its having been originally her brother's gift makes no differ-
ence, for as she was not prevented from offering, nor you from
taking it on that account, it ought not to affect your keeping it.
No doubt it is handsomer than mine, and fitter for a ball-room."
" No, it is not handsomer, not at all handsomer in its way,
and for my purpose not half so fit. The chain will agree with
William's cross beyond all comparison better than the necklace."
" For one night, Fanny, for only one night, if it be a sacrifice
I am sure you will, upon consideration, make that sacrifice
rather than give paiu to one who has been so studious of your
1 84 MANSFIELD PARK.
comfort. Miss Crawford's attentions to you have been not
more than you were justly entitled to I am the last person to
think that could be but they have been invariable; and to be
returning them with what must have something the air of in-
gratitude, though I know it could never have the meaning, is
not in your nature, I am sure. Wear the necklace, as you are
engaged to do to-morrow evening, and let the chain, which was
not ordered with any reference to the ball, be kept for commoner
occasions. This is my advice. I would not have the shadow
of a coolness between the two whose intimacy I have been ob-
serving with the greatest pleasure, and in whose characters there
is so much general resemblance in true generosity and natural
delicacy as to make the few slight differences, resulting principally
from situation, no reasonable hinderance to a perfect friendship,
I would not have the shadow of a coolness arise," he repeated,
his voice sinking a little, " between the two dearest objects I
have on earth."
He was gone as he spoke; and Fanny remained to tranquillise
herself as she could. She was one of his two dearest that must
support her. But the other! the first! She had never heard
him speak so openly before, and though it told her no more than
what she had long perceived, it was a stab; for it told of his
own convictions and views. They were decided. He would
marry Miss Crawford. It was a stab, in spite of every long-
standing expectation; and she was obliged to repeat again and
again, that she was one of his two dearest, before the words gave
her any sensation. Could she believe Miss Crawford to deserve
him, it would be oh, how different would it be how far more
tolerable! But he was deceived in her; he gave her merits
which she had not ; her faults were what they had ever been,
but he saw them no longer. Till she had shed many tears over
this deception, Fanny could not subdue her agitation; and the
dejection which followed could only be relieved by the influence
of fervent prayers for Ms happiness.
It was her intention, as she felt it to be her duty, to try to
overcome all that was excessive, all that bordered on selfishness
in her affection for Edmund. To call or to fancy it a loss, a
disappointment, would be a presumption ; for which she had not
words strong enough to satisfy her own humility. To think of
him as Miss Crawford might be justified in thinking, would in
her be insanity. To her, he could be nothing under any circum-
stances nothing dearer than a friend. Why did such an idea
occur to her even enough to be reprobated and forbidden ? It
ought not to have touched on the confines of her imagination.
She would endeavour to be rational, and to deserve the right of
judging of Miss Crawford's character and the privilege of true
solicitude for him by a sound intellect and an honest heart.
MANSFIELD PABK. J 85
She had all the heroism of principle, and was determined to do
-her duty; but having also many of the feelings of youth and
nature, let her not be much wondered at, if, after making all
these good resolutions on the side of self-government, she seized
the scrap of paper on which Edmund had begun writing to her,
as a treasure beyond all her hopes, and reading with the tenderest
emotion these words, " My very dear Fanny, you must do me
the favour to accept " locked it up with the chain, as the
dearest part of the gift. It was the only thing approaching to a
letter which she had ever received from him ; she might never
receive another; it was impossible that she ever should receive
another so perfectly gratifying in the occasion and the style.
Two lines more prized had never fallen from the pen of the most
distinguished author never more completely blessed the re-
searches of the fondest biographer. The enthusiasm of a woman's
love is even beyond the biographer's. To her, the handwriting
itself, independent of anything it may convey, is a blessedness.
Never were such characters cut by any other human being, as
Edmund's commonest hand-writing gave ! This specimen, written
in haste as it was, had not a fault ; and there was a felicity in
the flow of the first four words, in the arrangement of " My very
dear Fanny," which she could have looked at for ever.
Having regulated her thoughts and comforted her feelings by
this happy mixture of reason and weakness, she was able, in
due time, to go down and resume her usual employments near
her aunt Bertram, and pay her the usual observances without
any apparent want of spirits.
Thursday, predestined to hope and enjoyment, came ; and
opened with more kindness to Fanny than such self-willed, un-
manageable days often volunteer, for soon after breakfast a very
friendly note was brought from Mr. Crawford to William, stating
that as he found himself obliged to go to London on the morrow
for a few days, he could not help trying to procure a companion ;
and therefore hoped that if William could make up his mind to
leave Mansfield half a day earlier than had been proposed, he
would accept a place in his carriage. Mr. Crawford meant to be
in town by his uncle's accustomary late dinner hour, and William
was invited to dine with him at the Admiral's. The proposal
was a very pleasant one to William himself, who enjoyed the
idea of travelling post with four horses and such a good-
humoured, agreeable friend ; and in likening it to going up with
despatches, was saying at once everything in favour of its happi-
ness and dignity which his imagination could suggest; and
Fanny, from a different motive, was exceedingly pleased : for the
original plan was that William should go up by the mail from
Northampton the following night, which would not have allowed
him an hour's rest before he must have got into a Portsmouth
1 86 MAKSHELD PARK.
coach ; and though this offer of Mr. Crawford's would rob her
of many hours of his company, she was too happy in having
William spared from the fatigue of such a journey, to think of
anything else. Sir Thomas approved of it for another reason.
His nephew's introduction to Admiral Crawford might be of
service. The Admiral, he believed, had interest. Upon the
whole, it was a very joyous note. Fanny's spirits lived on it
half the morning, deriving some accession of pleasure from its
writer being himself to go away.
As for the ball so near at hand, she had too many agitations
and fears to have half the enjoyment in anticipation which she
ought to have had, or must have been supposed to have, by the,
many young ladies looking forward to the same event in situa-
tions more at ease, but und-r circumstances of less novelty, less
interest, less peculiar gratification than would be attributed to
hf. Miss Price, known only by name to half the people
invited, was now to make her first appearance, and must be re-
g.irded as the Queen of the evening. Who could be happier than
Mi.<s Price? But Miss Price had not been brought up to the
trade of coming out ; and had she known in what light this ball
wit.-, in general, considered respecting her, it would very much
hav ; lessened her comfort by increasing the fears she already
ha-1, of doing wrong and being looked at. To dance without
much observation or any extraordinary fatigue, to have strength
and partners for about half the evening, to dance a little with
Edmund, and not a great deal with Mr. Crawford, to see
William enjoy himself, and be able to keep away from her aunt
Xorris, was the height of her ambition, and seemed to compre-
hend her greatest possibility of happiness. As these were the
best of her hopes, they could not always prevail ; and in the
course of a long morning, spent principally with her two aunts,
she was often under the influence of much less sanguine views.
William, determined to niiike this last clay a day of thorough
enjoyment, was out snipe shooting ; Edmund, she had too much
reason to suppose, was at the Parsonage; and left alone to bear
the worrying of Mrs. Norris, who was cross because the house-
keeper would have her own way with the supper, and whom she
could not avoid though the housekeeper might, Fanny was worn
down at last to think everything an evil belonging to the ball,
and when sent off with a parting worry to dress, moved as
languidly towards her own room, and felt as incapable of happi-
ness as if she had been allowed no share in it.
As she walked slowly up stairs she thought of yesterday ; it
had been about the same hour that she had returned from the.
Parsonage, and found Edmund in the east-room. " Suppose I
were to find him there again to-day!" said she to herself, in a
fond indulgence of fancy.
MANSFIELD 1'AKK. 1 87
" Fanny," said a voice at that moment near her. Starting
find looking up, she saw across the lobby she had just reached
Edmund himself, standing at the head of a different staircase.
He came towards her. " You look tired and fagged, Fanny.
You have been walking too far."
" No, I have not been out at all."
" Then you have had fatigues within doors, which are worse.
You hud better have gone out."
Fanny, not liking to complain, found it easiest to make no
answer; and though he looked at her with his usual kindness,
she believed he had soon ceased to think of her countenance. He
did not appear in spirits ; something unconnected with her was
probably amiss. They proceeded up stairs together, their rooms
being on the same floor above.
" I come from Dr. Grant's," said Edmund, presently. " You
may guess my errand then 1 , Fanny." And he looked so conscious,
that Fanny could think but of one errand, which turned her too
sick for speech. " I wished to engage Miss Crawford for the
two first dances," was the explanation that followed, and brought
Fanny to life again, enabling her, as she found she was expected
to speak, to utter something lik;- an inquiry as to the result.
"Yes," he answered, "she i.s engaged to me; but (with a
smile that did not sit easy) s'.ie says it is to be the last time that
she ever will dance with me. She is not serious. I think, I
hope, I am sure she is not scions but I would rather not hear
it. She never has danced with a clergyman, she says, and she
never will. For my own sake, I could wish there had been no
ball just at I mean not this very week, this very day to-
morrow I leave home."
Fanny struggled for speech, and said, " I am very sorry that
anything lias occurred to distress you. This ought to be a day
of pleasure. My uncle meant it so."
" Oil yes, yes, and it will be a day of pleasure. It will all end
right. I am only vexed for a moment. In fact, it is not that
I consider the ball as ill-timed; what does it signify? But,
Fanny," stopping her, by taking her hand, and speaking low and
seriously, " you know what all this means. You see how it is ;
and could tell me, perhaps better than I could tell you, how and
why I am vexed. Let me talk to you a little. You are a kind,
kind listener. I have been pained by her manner this morning,
and cannot get the better of it. I know her disposition to be as
sweet and faultless as your own, but the influence of her former
companions makes her seem gives to her conversation, to her
professed opinions, sometimes a tinge of wrong. She does not
think evil, but she speaks it speaks it in playfulness and
though I know it to be playfulness, it grieves me to the soul."
" The effect of education," said Fanny, gently.
188 MANSFIELD PARK.
Edmund could not but agree to it. " Ye.*, that uncle and
aunt! They have injured the finest mind! for sometimes, Fanny,
I own to you, it does appear more than manner; it appears as if
the mind itself was tainted."
Fanny imagined this to be an appeal to her judgment, and
therefore, after a moment's consideration, said, " If you only
want me as a listener, cousin, I will be as useful as I can ; but I
am not qualified for an adviser. Do not ask advice of me. I
am not competent."
" You are right, Fanny, to protest against such an office, but
you need not be afraid. It is a subject on which I should never
ask advice; it is the sort of subject on which it had better never
be asked; and few, I imagine, do ask it, but when they want to
be influenced against their conscience. I only want to talk to
you."
"One thing more. Excuse the liberty but take care how
you talk to me. Do not tell me anything now, which hereafter
you may be sorry for. The time may come "
The colour rushed into her eyes as she spoke.
"Dearest Fanny!" cried Edmund, pressing her hand to his
lips, with almost as much warmth as if it had been Miss Craw-
ford's, " you are all considerate thought! But it is unnecessary
here. The time will never come. No such time as you allude
to will ever come. I begin to think it most improbable; the
chances grow less and less: and even if it should there will be
nothing to be remembered by either you or me that we need be
afraid of, for I can never be ashamed of my own scruples; and
if they are removed, it must be by changes that will only raise
her character the more by the recollection of the faults she once
had. You are the only being npon earth to whom I should say
what I have said; but you have always known my opinion of
her; you can bear me witness, Fanny, that I have never been
blinded. How many a time have we talked over her little
errors! You need not fear me; I have almost given up every
serious idea of her; but I must be a blockhead indeed if, what-
ever befell me, I could think of your kindness and sympathy
without the sincerest gratitude."
He had said enough to shake the experience of eighteen. He
had said enough to give Fanny some happier feelings than she
had lately known, and with a brighter look, she answered, '' Yes,
cousin, I am convinced that you would be incapable of anything
else, though perhaps some might not. I cannot be afraid of
hearing anything you wish to say. Do not check yourself.
Tell me whatever you like."
They were now on the second floor, and the appearance of a
housemaid prevented any further conversation. For Fanny's
present comfort it was concluded, perhaps, at the happiest
MANSFIELD PARK. 1 89
moment: had he been able to talk another five minutes, there is
no saying that he might not have talked away all Miss Craw-
ford's faults and his own despondence. But as it was, they
parted with looks on his side of grateful affection, and with some
very precious sensations on hers. She had felt nothing like it for
hours. Since the first joy from Mr. Crawford's note to William
had worn away, she had been in a state absolutely the reverse;
there had been no comfort around, no hope within her. Xow,
everything was smiling. William's good fortune returned again
upon her mind, and seemed of greater value than at first. The
ball, too such an evening of pleasure before her! It was now
a real animation; and she began to dress for it with much of the
happy flutter which belongs to a ball. All went well she did
not dislike her own looks; and when she came to the necklaces
again, her good fortune seemed complete, for upon trial the one
given her by Miss Crawford would by no means go through the
ring of the cross. She had, to oblige Edmund, resolved to wear
it; but it was too large for the purpose. His, therefore, must
iie worn; and having, with delightful feelings, joined the chain
:iiid the cross, those memorials of the two most beloved of her
heart, those dearest tokens so formed for each other by everything
real and imaginary and put them round her neck, and seen and
felt how full of William and Edmund they were, she was able,
without an effort, to resolve on wealing Miss Crawford's necklace
too. She acknowledged it to be right. Miss Crawford had a
claim; and when it was no longer to encroach on, to interfere
witli the stronger "claims, the truer kindness of another, she could
do her justice even with pleasure to herself. The necklace really
looked very well; and Fanny left her room at last, comfortably
satisfied with herself and all about her.
Her aunt Bertram had recollected her on this occasion, with
an unusual degree of wakefuluess. It had really occurred to her,
unprompted, that Fanny, preparing for a ball, might be glad of
better help than the upper housemaid's, and when dressed herself,
she actually sent her own maid to assist her; too late, of course,
to be of any use. Mrs. Chapman had just reached the attic
floor, when Miss Price came out of her room completely dressed,
and only civilities were necessary; but Fanny felt her aunt's
attention almost as much as Lady Bertram or Mrs. Chapman
could do themselves.
1 90
MANSFIELD PARK.
CHAPTER X.
TCI! uncle and both her aunts were in the
drawing-room when Fanny Avon t down. To
the former she was an inn resting object, and
he saw with pleasure the general elegance of
!i'T appearance, and her being in remarkablv
good looks. The neatness and propriety of her
3 dress was all that lie would allow himself to
commend in her presence, but upon her leaving
th room again soon afterwards, he spoke of her beauty with very
decided praise..
" Yes," said I-ady Bertram, " she looks very well. I sent
Chapman to her."
"Look well! Oh, yes," eried Mrs. Norris, "she has good
reason to look well with all her advantage s ; brought up in this
family as she has Ix-en, with all the benefit of her cousins' man-
ners before her. Only think, my dear Sir Thomas, what extra-
ordinary advantages you and I have been the means of giving
her. The very gown you have been taking notice of is your own
generous present to her when dear Mrs. Kushworth married.
What would she have been if we had not taken her by the
hand?"
Sir Thomas said no more; but when they sat down to table the
eyes of the two young men assured him, that the subject might
l>e gently touched again when the ladies withdrew, with more
success. Fanny saw that she was approved ; and the conscious-
ness of looking well made her look still better. From a variety
of causes she was happy, and she was soon made still happier ;
for in following her aunts out of the room, Edmund, who was
holding open the door, said, as she passed him, " You must dance
with me, Fanny; you must keep two dances for me; any two
that you like, except the first." She had nothing more to wish
for. She had hardly ever been in a stats so nearly approaching
high spirits in her life. Her cousins' former gaiety on the day
of a ball was no longer surprising to her; she felt it to be indeed
very charming, nd was actually practising her steps about the
drawing-room as long as she could be safe from the notice of her
aunt Norris, who was entirely taken up at lirst in fresh arrang-
ing and injuring the noble fire which the butler had prepared.
Half an hour followed, that would have been at least languid
itnder any other circumstances, but Fanny's happiness still pre-
vailed. It was but to think of her conversation with Edmund ;
and what was the restlessness of Mrs. Norris ? What were the
yawns of Lady Bertram ?
MANSFIELD PAHK. 191
The gentlemen joined them ; and soon after began the sweet
expectation of a carriage, when a general spirit of case and en-
joyment seemed diffused, and they all stood about and talked and
laughed, and every moment had its pleasure and its hope. Fanny
felt that there must be a struggle in Edmund's cheerfulness, but
it was delightful to see the efibrt so successfully made.
When the carriages were really heard, when the guests began
really to assemble, her own gaiety of heart was much subdued :
tlu- sight of so many si rangers threw her back into herself; and
besides the gravity and formality of the. lir.-t great circle, which
the manners of neither Sir Thomas nor Lady Bertram were of a
kind to do away, slie found herself occasionally called on to in-
dnre something worse. She was introduced here and there by
her uncle, and forced to be spoken to, and to courtesy, and t,>
speak again. This was a hard duty, and she was never sum-
moned to it, without looking at \Villiam, as he walked about at
his ease in the background of the scene, and longing to be with
him.
The entrance of the Grants and Crawfords was a favourable
epocl!. The stillness of the meeting soon gave way before their
popular manners and more diffused intimacies: little groups
were formed, and everybody grew comfortable. Fanny felt the
advantage; and, drawing back from the toils of civility, would
have been again most happy, could she have kept her eyes from
wandering between Edmund and Mary Crawford. She looked
all loveliness and what might not be the end of it? Her own
musings were brought to an end on perceiving Mr. Crawford
U'fore her, and her thoughts were put into another channel by
his engaging her almost instantly for the two first dances. Her
happiness on this occasion was very much a-Ia-mortal, finely
checkered. To be secure of a partner at first was a most essen-
tial good for the moment of beginning was now growing seri-
ously near ; and she so little understood her own claims as to
think that if Mr. Crawford had not asked her, she must have
been the last to be sought after, and should have received a
partner only through a series of inquiry, and bustle, and inter-
ference, which would have been terrible; but at the same time
there was a pointedness in his manner of asking her, which she
did not like, and she saw his eye gland 'g for a moment at her
necklace with a smile she thought there was a smile wl.ic.li
made her blush and feel wretched. And though there was no
second glance to disturb her, though his object seemed then to be
only quietly agreeable, she could not get the better of her em-
barrassment, heightened as it was by the idea of his perceiving
it, and had no composure till he turned away to some one else.
Then she could gradually rise up to the genuine satisfaction of
having a partner, a voluntary partner secured against the
dancing bewail.
192 MANSFIELD PARK.
When the company were moving into the ball-room, she found
herself for the first time near Miss Crawford, whose eyes and
smiles were immediately and more unequivocally directed as her
brother's had been, and who was beginning to speak on the sub-
ject, when Fanny, anxious to get the story over, hastened to give
the explanation of the second necklace the real chain. Miss
Crawford listened ; and all her intended compliments and insinu-
ations to Fanny were forgotten : she felt only one thing; and her
eyes, bright as they had been before, showing they could yet be
brighter, she exclaimed with eager pleasure, " Did he ? Did
Jvlmund? That was like himself. Xo other man would have
thought of it. I honour him beyond expression." And she
looked around as if longing to tell him so. He was not near, he
was attending a party of ladies out of the room ; and Mrs. Grant
coming up to the two girls, and taking an arm of each, they
followed with the rest.
Fanny's heart sunk, but there was no leisure for thinking long
even of Miss Crawford's feelings. They were in the ball-room,
the violins were playing, and her mind was in a flutter that for-
bade its fixing on anything serious. She must watch the general
arrangements, and see how everything was done.
In a few minutes Sir Thomas came to her, and asked if she
were engaged; and the "Yes, sir, to Mr. Crawford," was exactly
what he intended to hear. Mr. Crawford was not far off; Sir
Thomas brought him to her, saying something which discovered
to Fanny, that she was to lead the way and open the ball ; an
idea that had never occurred to her before. Whenever she had
thought on the minutiae of the evening, it had been as a matter
of course that Edmund would begin with Miss Crawford ; and
the impression was so strong, that though her uncle spoke the
contrary, she could not help an exclamation of surprise, a hint
of her unfitness, an entreaty even to be excused. To be urging
her opinion against Sir Thomas's, was a proof of the extremity
of the case ; but such was her horror at the first suggestion, that
she could actually look him in the face and say that she hoped it
might be settled otherwise ; in vain, however : Sir Thomas
smiled, tried to encourage her, and then looked too serious, and
said too decidedly " It must be so, my dear," for her to hazard
another word ; and she found herself the next moment conducted
by Mr. Crawford to the top of the room, and standing there to
be joined by the rest of the dancers, couple after couple as they
were formed.
She could hardly believe it. To be placed above so many
elegant young women! The distinction was too great. It was
treating her like her cousins! And her thoughts flew to those
absent cousins with most unfeigned and truly tender regret,
that they were not at home to take their own place in the room,
MANSFIELD PAltK. 1 93
and have their share of a pleasure which would have beea so
very delightful to them. So often as she had heard them wish
for a ball at home as the greatest of all felicities! And to have
them away when it was given and for her to be opening the
ball and with Mr. Crawford too! She hoped they would not
envy her that distinction now ; but when she looked back to the
st.-ite of things in the autumn, to what they had all been to each
other when once dancing in that house before, the present arrange-
ment was almost more than she could understand herself.
The ball began. It was rather honour than happiness to
Fawny, for the first dance at least : her partner was in excellent
spirits, and tried to impart them to her ; but she was a great
deal too much frightened to Lave any enjoyment, till she could
suppose herself no longer looked at. Young, pretty, and gentle,
however, she had no awkwardnesses that were not as good as
graces, and there were few persons present that were not dis-
posed to praise her. She was attractive, she was modest, she
was Sir Thomas's niece, and she was soon said to be admired by
Mr. Crawford. It was enough to give her general favour. Sir
Thomas himself was watching her progress down the dance witli
much complacency: he was proud of his niece; and without at-
tributing all her personal beauty, as Mrs. Norm seemed to do,
to her transplantation to Mansfield, he was pleased with himself
for having supplied everything else education and manners she
owed to him.
Miss Crawford saw much of Sir Thomas's thoughts as he stood ;
and having in spite of all his wrongs towards her, a general
prevailing desire of recommending herself to him, took an op-
portunity of stepping aside to say some-thing agreeable of Fanny.
Her praise was warm, anil he received it as. sho could wish,
joining in it as far as discretion, and politeness, and slowness of
speech would allow, a:id certainly appearing to greater advan-
tage on the subject than his lady did soon afterwards, when
Mary, perceiving her on a. sofa very near, turned round before
she began to dar.ee, to compliment her on Miss Price's looks.
" Yes, she does look very well," was Lady Bertram's placid
reply. " Chapman helped her to dress. I sent Chapman to her."
Not but that she was really pleased to have Fanny admired;
but she was so much more struck with her own kindness in
sending Chapman to her, that she could not get it out of her
head.
Miss Crawford knew Mrs. Norris too well to think of gratify-
ing her by commendation of Fanny; to her, it was as the oc-
casion offered. " Ah, ma'am, how much we want dear Mrs.
liushworth and Julia to-night!" and Mrs. Norris paid her with
as many smiles and courteous words as she had time for, amid
so much occupation as she found for heraciv n making up card-
0)
1 94 MANSFIELD PARK.
tables, giving hints to Sir Thomas, and trying to move all the
chaperons to a better part of the room.
Miss Crawford blundered most towards Fanny herself in her
intentions to please. She meant to be giving her little heart a
happy flutter, and filling her with sensations of delightful self-
consequence ; and misinterpreting Fanny's blushes, still thought
.she must be doing so when she went to her after the two first
dances, and said, with a significant look, "Perhaps you can tell
me why my brother goes to town to-morrow ? He says he has
business there, but will not tell me what. The first time he
ever denied me his confidence ! But this is what we all come to.
All are supplanted sooner or later. Now, I must apply to you
for information. Pray, what is Henry going for?"
Fanny protested her ignorance as steadily as her embarrass-
ment allowed.
" Well, then," replied Miss Crawford, laughing, " I must sup-
pose it to be purely for the pleasure of conveying your brother,
and talking of you by the way."
Fanny was confused, but it was the confusion of discontent;
while Miss Crawford wondered she did not smile, and thought
her over-anxious, or thought her odd, or thought her anything
rather than insensible of pleasure in Henry's attentions. Fanny
had a good deal of enjoyment in the course of the evening; but
Henry's attentions had very little to do with it. She would
much rather not have been asked by him again so very soon,
and she wished she had not been obliged to suspect that his
previous inquiries of Mrs. Norris, about the supper hour, were
all for the sake of securing her at that part of the evening. But
it was not to be avoided : he made her feel that she was the ob-
ject of all ; though she could not say that it was unpleasantly
.done, that there was indelicacy or ostentation in his manner
and sometimes, when he talked of William, he was really not
unagreeable, and showed even a warmth of heart which did him
credit. But still his attentions made no part of her satisfaction.
She was happy whenever she looked at William, and saw how
perfectly he was enjoying himself, in every five minutes that she
could walk about with him and hear his account of his partners ;
she was happy in knowing herself admired ; and she was happy in
having the two dances with Edmund still to look forward to, during
the greatest part of the evening, her hand being so eagerly sought
after, that her indefinite engagement with him was in continual
perspective. She was happy even when they did take place ;
but not from any flow of spirits on his side, or any such ex-
pressions of tender gallantry as had blessed the morning. His
mind was fagged, and her happiness sprung from being the
friend with whom it could find repose. " I am worn out with
civility," said he. " I have been talking incessantly all night,
MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 195
and with nothing to say. But with you, Fanny, there may be
peace. You will not want to be talked to. Let us have the
luxury of silence." Fanny would hardly even speak her agree-
ment. A weariness, arising probably, in great measure, from
the same feelings which he had acknowledged in the morning,
was peculiarly to be respected, and they went down their two
dances together with such sober tranquillity as might satisfy any
looker-on, that Sir Thomas had been bringing up no wife for his
younger son.
The evening had afforded Edmund little pleasure. Miss
Crawford had been in gay spirits when they iirst danced to-
gether, but it was not her gaiety that could do him good ; it
rather sank than raised his comfort: and afterwards for he
found himself still impelled to seek her again she had absolutely
pained him by her manner of speaking of the profession to which
he was now on the point of belonging. They had talked and
they had been silent he had reasoned she had ridiculed and
they had parted at last with mutual vexation. Fanny, not able
to refrain entirely from observing them, had seen enough to be
tolerably satisfied. It was barbarous to be happy when Edmund
was suffering; yet some happiness must and would arise from
the very conviction that he did suffer.
When her two dances with him were over, her inclination and
strength for more were pretty well at an end; and Sir Thomas,
having seen her rather walk than dance down the shortening
set, breathless, and with her hand at her side, gave his orders for
her sitting down entirely. From that time Mr. Crawford sat
down likewise.
" Poor Fanny !" cried William, coming for a moment to visit
her, and working away his partner's fan as if for life : " how
soon she is knocked up! Why the sport is but just begun. I
hope we shall keep it up these two hours. How can you be
tired so soon ?"
" So soon ! my good friend," said Sir Thomas, producing his
watch with all necessary caution " it is three o'clock, and j-our
sister is not iised to this sort of hours."
" Well, then, Fanny, you shall not get up to-morrow before I
go. Sleep as long as you can, and never mind me."
" Oh, William."
" What! Did she think of being up before you set off?"
" Oh yes, sir," cried Fanny, rising eagerly from her seat to
be nearer her uncle ; "I must get up and breakfast with him.
It will be the last time, you know the last morning."
" You had better not. He is to have breakfasted and be gone
by half-past nine. Mr. Crawford, I think you call for him at
half-past nine?"
Fanny was too urgent, however, and had too many tears in
1 96 MANSFIELD PARK.
her eyes for denial; and it ended in a gracious "Well, well,"
which was permission.
" Yes, half-past nine," said Crawford to William, as the latter
was leaving them, " and I shall be punctual, for there will be no
kind sister to get up for me." And in a lower tone to Fanny,
" I shall have only a desolate house to hurry from. Your
brother will find my ideas of time and his own very different
to-morrow."
After a short consideration, Sir Thomas asked Crawford to
join the early breakfast party in that house instead of eating
alone; he should himself be of it; and the readiness with which
his invitation was accepted convinced him that the suspicions
whence, he must confess to himself, this very ball had in a great
measure sprung, were well founded. Mr. Crawford was in love
with Fanny. He had a pleasing anticipation of what would be.
His niece, meanwhile, did not thank him for what he had just
done. She had hoped to have William all to herself, the last
morning. It would have been an unspeakable indulgence. But
though her wishes were overthrown, there was no spirit of mur-
muring within her. On the contrary, she was so totally unused
to have her pleasure consulted, or to have anything take place at
all in the way she could desire, that she was more disposed to
wonder and rejoice in having carried her point so far, than to
repine at the counteraction which followed.
Shortly afterwards, Sir Thomas was again interfering a little
with her inclination, by advising her to go immediately to bed.
" Advise" was his word, but it was the advice of absolute power,
and she had only to rise and, with Mr. Crawford's very cordial
adieus, pass quietly away; stopping at the entrance door, like
the Lady of Branxholm Hall, " one moment and no more," to
view the happy scene, and take a last look at the five or six
determined couple, who were still hard at work and then,
creeping slowly up the principal staircase, pursued by the cease-
less country-dance, feverish with hopes and fears, soup and negus,
sore-footed and fatigued, restless and agitated, yet feeling, in
spite of everything, that a ball was indeed delightful.
In thus sending her away, Sir Thomas perhaps might not be
thinking merely of her health. It might occur to him, that
Mr. Crawford had been sitting by her long enough, or he might
mean to recommend her as a wife by showing her persuadableness.
MANSFIELD PARK. 197
CHAPTER XI.
HE ball was over and the breakfast was
soon over too; the last kiss was given, and
William was gone. Mr. Crawford had, as he
foretold, been very punctual, and short and
pleasant had been the meal.
: After seeing William to the last moment,
Jff$-$ Fanny walked back into the breakfast-room
with a very saddened heart to grieve over the
melancholy change ; and there her uncle kindly left her to cry in
peace, conceiving, perhaps, that the deserted chair of each young
man might exercise her tender enthusiasm, and that the remain-
ing cold pork bones and mustard in William's plate, might but
divide her feelings with the broken egg-shells in Mr. Crawford's.
She sat and cried con amore as her uncle intended, but it was
con amore fraternal and no other. William was gone, and she
now felt as if she had wasted half his visit in idle cares and
selfish solicitudes unconnected with him.
Fanny's disposition was such that she could never even think
of her aunt Norris in the meagrencss and cheerlessness of her
own small house, without reproaching herself for some little
want of attention to her when they had been last together;
much less could her feelings acquit her of having done and said
and thought everything by William, that was due to him for a
whole fortnight.
It was a heavy, melancholy day. Soon after the second
breakfast, Edmund bade them good-bye for a week, and mounted
his horse for Peterborough, and then all were gone. Nothing
remained of last night but remembrances, which she had nobody
to share in. She talked to her aunt Bertram she must talk to
somebody of the ball ; but her aunt had seen so little of what
had passed, and had so little curiosity, that it was heavy work.
Lady Bertram was not certain of anybody's dress or anybody's
place at supper, but her own. " She could not recollect what it
was that she had heard about one of the Miss Maddoxes, or what
it was that Lady Prescott had noticed in Fanny : she was not
sure whether Colonel Harrison had been talking of Mr. Crawford
or of William, when he said he was the finest young man in the
room; somebody had whispered something to her, she had
forgot to ask Sir Thomas what it could be." And these were
her longest speeches and clearest communications: the rest was
only a languid "Yes yes very well did you? did he? I
did not see that I should not know one from the other." This
198 MANSFIELD PARK.
was very bad. It was only better than Mrs. Norris's sharp
answers would have been ; but she being gone home with all the
supernumerary jellies to nurse a sick maid, there was peace and
good humour in their little party, though it could not boast much
beside.
The evening was heavy like the day: " I cannot think what
is the matter with me," said Lady Bertram, when the tea-things
were removed. " I feel quite stupid. It must be sitting up so
late last night. Fanny, you must do something to keep me
awake. I cannot work. Fetch the cards, I feel so very
stupid."
The cards were brought, and Fanny played at cribbage with
her aunt till bedtime ; and as Sir Thomas was reading to himself,
no sounds were heard in the room for the next two hours beyond
(he reckonings of the game: " And that makes thirty-one; four
in hand and eight in crib. You are to deal, ma'am; shall I
deal for you?" Fanny thought and thought again of the
difference which twenty-four hours had made in that room, and
all that part of the house. Last night it had been hope and
smiles, bustle and motion, noise and brilliancy, in the drawing-
room, and out of the drawing-room, and everywhere. Now it
was languor, and all but solitude.
A good night's rest improved her spirits. She could think of
William the next day more cheerfully; and as the morning
afforded her an opportunity of talking over Thursday night witli
Mrs Grant and Miss Crawford, in a very handsome style, with
all the heightenings of imagination and all the laughs of play-
fulness which are so essential to the shade of a departed ball,
she could afterwards bring her mind without much effort into its
every-day state, and easily conform to the tranquillity of the
present quiet week.
They were indeed a smaller party than she had ever known
there for a whole day together, and he was gone on whom the
comfort and cheerfulness of every family meeting and every meal
chiefly depended. But this must be learned to be endured. He
would soon be always gone; and she was thankful that she
could now sit in the same room with her uncle, hear his voice,
receive his questions, and even answer them without such
wretched feelings as she had formerly known.
" We miss our two young men," was Sir Thomas's observation
on both the first and second day, as they formed their very
reduced circle after dinner; and in consideration of Fanny's
swimming eyes, nothing more was said on the first day tlian to
drink their good health ; but on the second it led to something
farther. William was kindly commended and his promotion
hoped for. "And there is no reason to suppose," added Sir
Thomas, " but that his visits to us may now be tolerably frequent.
MANSFIELD PARK. 199
As to Edmund, we must learn to do without him. This will be
the last winter of his belonging to us, as he has done."
" Yes," said Lady Bertram, " but I wish he was not going
away. They are all going away, I think. I wish they would
stay at home."
This wish was levelled principally at Julia, who had just
applied for permission to go to town with Maria ; and as Sir
Thomas thought it best for each daughter that the permission
should be granted, Lady Bertram, though in her own good-
nature she would not have prevented it, was lamenting the
change it made in the prospect of Julia's return, which would
otherwise have taken place about this time. A great deal of
good sense followed on Sir Thomas's side, tending to reconcile
his wife to the arrangement. Everything that a considerate
parent ought to feel was advanced for her use; and everything
that an affectionate mother must feel in promoting her children's
enjoyment was attributed to her nature. Lady Bertram agreed
to it all with a calm "Yes;" and at the end of a quarter of an
hour's silent consideration spontaneously observed, " Sir Thomas,
1 have been thinking and I am very glad we took Fanny as
we did, for now the others are away we feel the good of it."
Sir Thomas immediately improved this compliment by adding,
" Very true. "We show Fanny what a good girl we think her
by- praising her to her face she is now a very valuable com-
panion. If we have been kind to her, she is now quite as
necessary to us."
" Yes," said Lady Bertram, presently ; " and it is a comfort
to think that we shall always have her."
Sir Thomas paused, half smiled, glanced at his niece, and
gravely replied, " She will never leave us, I hope, till invited
to some other home that may reasonably promise her greater
happiness than she knows here."
" And that is not very likely to be, Sir Thomas. "Who should
invite her? Maria might be very glad to see her at Sotherton
now and then, but she would not think of asking her to live
there and I am sure she is better off here and besides, I cannot
do without her."
The week which passed so quietly and peaceably at the great
house in Mansfield had a very different character at the Parsonage.
To the young lady at least in each family it brought very
different feelings. What was tranquillity and comfort to Fanny
was tedionsness and vexation to Mary. Something arose from
difference, of disposition and habit one so easily satisfied, the
other so unused to endure; but still more might be imputed to
difference of circumstances. In some points of interest they were
exactly opposed to each other. To Fanny's mind, Edmund's
absence was really in its cause and its tendency a relief. To
200 MANSFIELD
Mary it was every way painful. She felt the want of his society
every day, almost every hour, and was too much in want of it
to derive anything but irritation from considering the object for
which he went. He could not have devised anything more
likely to raise his consequence than this Aveek's absence, occurring
as it did at the very time of her brother's going away, of William
Price's going too, and completing the sort of general break-up of
a party which had been so animated. She felt it keenly. They
were now a miserable trio, confined within doors by a series of
rain and snow, with nothing to do and no variety to hope for.
Angry as she was with Edmund for adhering to his own notions,
and acting on them in defiance of her (and she had been so angry
that they had hardly parted friends at the ball), she could not
help thinking of him continually when absent, dwelling on his
merit and affection, and longing again for the almost daily
meetings they lately had. His absence was unnecessarily long.
He should not have planned such an absence he should not
have left home for a week, when her own departure from Mans-
field was so near. Then she began to blame herself. She wished
she had not spoken so warmly in their last conversation. She
was afraid she had used some strong, some contemptuous expres-
sions in speaking of the clergy, and that should not have been.
It was ill-bred it was wrong. She wished such words unsaid
with all her heart.
Her vexation did not end with the week. All this was bad,
but she had still more to feel when Friday came round again and
brought no Edmund when Saturday came and still no Edmund
. and when, through the slight communication with the other
family which Sunday produced, she learned that he had actually
written home to defer his return, having promised to remain
some days longer with his friend.
If she had felt impatience and regret before, if she had been
sorry for what she said, and feared its too strong effect on him,
she now felt and feared it all tenfold more. She had, more-
over, to contend with one disagreeable emotion entirely new to
her jealousy. His friend Mr. Owen had sisters he might find
them attractive. But at any rate his staying away at a time
when, according to all preceding plans, she was to remove to
London, meant something that she could not bear. Had Henry
returned, as he talked of doing, at the end of three or four days,
she should now have been leaving Mansfield. It became abso-
Jftfely necessary for her to get to Fanny and try to learn
spmefhuig more. She could not live any longer in such*6olitary
wretchedness and she made her way to the Park, through difti-
ulties of walking y/hich she had deemed unconquerable a week
Before, for the chance p.f hearing a little in addition, for the sake
flf at Je^st jiearmg his name.
MANSFIELD PARK. 201
The first half hour was lost, for Fanny and Lady Bertram
were together, and unless she had Fanny to herself she could hope
for nothing. But at last Lady Bertram left the room and then
almost immediately Miss Crawford thus began, with a voice as
well regulated as she could: "And how do you like your
cousin Edmund's staying away so long? Being the only
young person at home, I consider you as the greatest sufferer.
You must miss him. Does his staying longer surprise you ?"
"I do not "know," said Fanny, hesitatingly. "Yes I had
not particularly expected it."
" Perhaps he will always stay longer than he talks of. It is
the general way all young men do."
"He did not, the only time he went to see Mr. Owen be-
fore. "
" He finds the house more agreeable now. He is a very a
very pleasing young man himself, and I cannot help being
rather concerned at not seeing him again before I go to London,
as will now undoubtedly be the case. I am looking for Henry
every day, and as soon as he conies there will be nothing to de-
tain me at Mansfield. I should like to have seen him once more,
I confess. But you must give my compliments to him. Yes
I think it must be compliments. Is not there a something
wanted, Miss Price, in our language a something between
compliments and and love to suit the sort of friendly ac-
quaintance we have had together? So many months' acquaint-
ance ! But compliments may be sufficient here. Was his letter
a long one? Does he give you much account of what he is
doing? Is it Christmas gaieties that he is staying for?"
" I only heard a part of the letter: it was to my uncle but I
believe it was very short; indeed I am sure it was but a few
lines. All that I heard was that his friend had pressed him to
stay longer, and that he had agreed to do so. A few days
longer, or some days longer, I am not quite sure which."
" Oh, if he wrote to his father but I thought it might have
been to Lady Bertram or you. But if he wrote to his father, no
wonder he was concise. Who could write chat to Sir Thomas ?
If he had written to you, there would have been more particu-
lars. You would have heard of balls and parties. He would
have sent you a description of everything and everybody. How
many Miss Owens are there?"
" Three grown up."
" Are they musical ?"
" I do not at all know. I never heard."
" That is the first question, you know," said Miss Crawford,
trying to appear gay and unconcerned, "which every woman
who plays herself is sure to ask about another. But it is very
foolish to ask questions about any young ladies about any three
202 MANSFIELD PARK.
sisters just grown up ; for one knows, without being told, exactly
what they are all very accomplished and pleasing, and one
very pretty. There is a beauty in every family, it is a regular
thing. Two play on the piano-forte, and one on the harp and
all sing or would sing if they were taught or sing all the
better for not being taught or something like it."
" I know nothing of the Miss Owens," said Fanny, calmly.
" You know nothing and you care less, as people say. Never
did tone express indifference plainer. Indeed, how can one care
for those one has never seen? Well, when your cousin comes
back, he will find Mansfield very quiet ; all the noisy ones gone,
your brother and mine and myself. I do not like the idea of
leaving Mrs. Grant now the time draws near. She does not like
my going."
Fanny felt obliged to speak. "You cannot doubt your being
missed by many," said she. " You will be very much missed."
Miss Crawford turned her eye on her, as if wanting to hear or
see more, and then laughingly said, " Oh yes, missed as every
noisy evil is missed when it is taken away ; that is, there is a
great difference felt. But I am not fishing ; don't compliment
me. If I am missed, it will appear. I may be discovered by
those who want to see me. I shall not be in any doubtful, or
distant, or unapproachable region."
Now Fanny could not bring herself to speak, and Miss Craw-
ford was disappointed ; for she had hoped to hear some pleasant
assurance of her power, from one who she thought must know :
and her spirits were clouded again.
"The Miss Owens," said she, soon afterwards, "suppose you
were to have one of the Miss Owens settled at Thornton Lacey :
how should you like it? Stranger things have happened. I
dare say they are trying for it. And they are quite in the right,
for it would be a very pretty establishment for them. I do
not at all wonder or blame them. It is everybody's duty to do
as well for themselves as they can. Sir Thomas Bertram's son
is somebody ; and now he is in their own line. Their father is
a clergyman, and their brother is a clergyman, and they are all
clergymen together. He is their lawful property, he fairly
belongs to them. You don't speak, Fanny Miss Price you
don't speak. But honestly now, do not you rather expect it
than otherwise ?"
" No," said Fanny, stoutly, " I do not expect it at all."
" Not at all !" cried Miss Crawford, with alacrity. " I wonder
at that. But I dare say you know exactly I always imagine
you are perhaps you do not think him likely to marry at all
or not at present."
" No, I do not," said Fanny, softly, hoping she did not err
either in the belief or the acknowledgment.
MANSFIELD PA&K. 203
Her companion looked at her keenly ; and gathering greater
spirit from the blush soon produced from such a look, only said,
" He is best oft' as he is," and turned the subject.
CHAPTER XII.
ISS CRAWFORD'S uneasiness was much
lightened by this conversation, and she
walked home again in spirits which might
have defied almost another week of the same
small party in the same bad weather, had
they been put to the proof; but as that very
evening brought her brother down from Lon-
don again in quite, or rather' more than
quite, his usual cheerfulness, she had nothing further to try her
own. His still refusing to tell her what he had gone for was but
the promotion of gaiety; a day before it might have irritated,
but now it was a pleasant joke suspected only of concealing
something planned as a pleasant surprise to herself. And
the next day did bring a surprise to her. Henry had said
he should just go and ask the Bertrams how they did, and be
back in ten minutes but he was gone above an hour; and when
his sister, who had been waiting for him to walk with her in the
garden, met him at last most impatiently in the sweep, and cried
out, " My dear Henry, where can you possibly have been all
this time?" he had only to say that he had been sitting with
Lady Bertram and Fanny.
" Sitting with them an hour and a half!" exclaimed Mary.
But this was only the beginning of her surprise.
" Yes, Mary," said he, drawing her arm within his, and walk-
ing along the sweep as if not knowing where he was " I could
not get away sooner Fanny looked so lovely! I am quite de-
termined, Mary. My mind is entirely made up. Will it as-
tonish you? No: you must be aware that I am quite determined
to marry Fanny Price."
The surprise was now complete; for, in spite of whatever his
consciousness might suggest, a suspicion of his having any such
views had never entered his sister's imagination ; and she looked
so truly the astonishment she felt, that he was obliged to repeat
what he had said, and more fully and more solemnly. The con-
viction of his determination once admitted, it was not unwelcome.
There was even pleasure with the surprise. Mary was in a state
of mind to rejoice in a connexion with the Bertram family, and
to be not displeased with her brother's marrying a little beneath
him.
MANSFIELD PARK.
" Yes, Mary," was Henry's concluding assurance. " I am
fairly caught. You know with what idle designs I began but
this is the end of them. I have (I natter myself) made no in-
considerable progress in her affections ; but my own are entirely
fixed."
" Lucky, lucky girl !" cried Mary, as soon as she could speak
" what a match for her! My dearest Henry, this must be my
first feeling; but my second, which you shall have as sincerely,
is, that I approve your choice from my soul, and foresee your
happiness as heartily as I wish and desire it. You will have
a sweet little wife ; all gratitude and devotion. Exactly what
you deserve. What an amazing match for her! Mrs. Norris
often talks of her luck ; what will she say now? The delight of
all the family, indeed ! And she has some true friends in it.
How they will rejoice! But tell me all about it. Talk
to me for ever. When did you begin to think seriously about
her?"
Nothing could be more impossible than to answer such a
question, though nothing can be more agreeable than to have it
asked. " How the pleasing plague had stolen on him " he could
not say; and before he had expressed the same sentiment with a
little variation of words three times over, his sister eagerly inter -
mpted him with " Ah, my dear Henry, and this is what took
you to London ! This was your business ! You chose to con-
sult the Admiral, before you made up your mind."
But this he stoutly den'ed. He knew his uncle too well to
consult him on any matrimonial scheme. The Admiral hated
marriage, and thought it never pardonable in a young man of
independent fortune.
" When Fanny is known to him," continued Henry, " he will
dote on her. She is exactly the woman to do away every pre-
judice of such a man as the Admiral, for she is exactly such a
woman as he thinks does not exist in the world. She is the very
impossibility he would describe if indeed he has now delicacy
of language enough to embody his own ideas. But till it is ab-
solutely settled settled beyond all interference he shall know
nothing of the matter. No, Man,', you are quite mistaken. You
have not discovered my business yet."
" Well, well, I am satisfied. I know now to whom it must
relate, and am in no hurry for the rest. Fanny Price wonder-
ful quite wonderful! That Mansfield should have done so
much for that you should have found your fate in Mansfield !
But you are quite right, you could not have chosen better.
There is not a better girl in the world, and you do not want for
fortune; and as to her connexions, they are more than good.
The Bertrams are undoubtedly some of the first people in this
country. She is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram; that will be
MANS11ELD 1'AKK. 205
enough for the world. But go on, go on. Tell me more. What
are your plans? Docs she know her own happiness?"
" No."
" What are you waiting for?"
" For for very little more than opportunity. Mary, she is
not like her cousins; but I think I shall not ask in vain."
" Oh no, you cannot. Were you even less pleasing supposing
her not to love you already (of which, however, I can have little
doubt), you would be safe. The gentleness and gratitude of
her disposition would secure her all your own immediately.
From my soul I do not think she would many you without love;
that is, if there is a girl in the world capable of being uninflu-
enced by ambition, I can suppose it her; but ask her to love
you, and she will never have the heart to refuse."
As soon as her eagerness could rest in silence, he was as happy
to tell as she could be to listen : and a conversation followed
almost as deeply interesting to her as to himself, though he had
in fact nothing to relate but his own sensations, nothing to dwell
on but Fanny's charms. Fanny's beauty of face and figure,
Fanny's graces of manner and goodness of heart, were the ex-
haustless theme. The gentleness, modest}', and sweetness of her
character were warmly expatiated on, that sweetness which
makes so essential a part of every woman's worth in the judg-
ment of man, that though he sometimes loves where it is not, he
can never believe it absent. Her temper he had good reason to
depend on and to praise. He had often seen it tried. Was there
one of the family, excepting Edmund, who had not in some way
or other continually exercised her patience and forbearance?
Her affections were evidently strong. To see her with her
brother ! What could more delightfully prove that the warmth
of her heart was equal to its gentleness ? What could be more
encouraging to a man who had her love in view? Then, her
understanding was beyond every suspicion, quick and clear: and
her manners were the mirror of her own modest and elegant
mind. Nor was this all. Henry Crawford had too much sense
not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was
too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their
proper name; but when lie talked of her having such a steadi-
ness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and
such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the
fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what
was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and
religious.
" I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her," said he,
" a .d that is what I want."
Well might his sister, believing as she really did that his opi-
nion of Fanny Price was scarcely beyond her merits, rejoice in
her prospects.
206 MANSFIELD PARK.
" The more I think of it," she cried, " the more am I con-
vinced that you are doing quite right ; and though I should
never have selected Fanny Price as the girl most likely to attach
you, I am now persuaded she is the very one to make you
happy. Your wicked project upon her peace turns out a clever
thought indued. You will both find your good in it."
" It was bad, very bad in me against such a creature ; but I
did not know her then. And she shall have no reason to lament
the hour that first put it into my head. I will make her very
happy, Mary, happier than she has ever yet been herself, or ever
seen anybody else. I will not take her from Northamptonshire.
I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood ;
perhaps Stanwix lodge. I shall let a seven years' lease of
Everingham. I am sure of an excellent tenant at half a word.
I could name three people now, who would give me my own
terms and thank me."
"Ha! cried Mary; "settle in Northamptonshire! That is
pleasant! Then we shall be all together,"
When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and wished it
unsaid ; but there was no need of confusion ; for her brother saw ,
her only as the supposed inmate of Mansfield parsonage, and re-
plied but to invite her in the kindest manner to his own house,
and to claim the best right in her.
" You must give us more than half your time," said he. " I
cannot admit Mrs. Grant to have an equal claim with Fanny
and myself, for we shall both have a right in you. Fanny will
be so truly your sister !"
Mary had only to be grateful and give general assurances ;
but she was now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither
brother nor sister many months longer.
" You will divide your year between London and Northamp-
tonshire?"
" Yes."
" That's right; and in London, of course, a house of your
own ; no longer with the Admiral. My dearest Henry, the ad-
vantage to you of getting aM 7 ay from the Admiral before your
manners are hurt by the contagion of his, before you have con-
tracted any of his foolish opinions, or learned to sit over your
dinner, as if it were the best blessing of life ! You are not
sensible of the gain, for your regard for him has blinded you ;
but, in my estimation, your marrying early may be the saving
of you. To have seen you grow like the Admiral in word or
deed, look or gesture, would have broken my heart."
" Well, well, we do not think quite alike here. The Admiral
has his faults, but he is a very good man, and has been more
than a father to me. Few fathers would have let me have my
own way half so much. You must not prejudice Fanny against
him. I must have them love one another."
MANSFIELD PAKK. 207
Mary refrained from saying what she felt, that there could
not be two persons in existence whose characters and manners
were less accordant : time would discover it to him ; but she
could not help this reflection on the Admiral. " Henry, I think so
highly of Fanny Price, that if I could suppose the next Mrs. Craw-
ford would have half the reason which my poor ill used aunt had to
abhor the very name, I would prevent the marriage, if possible ;
but I know you ; I know that a wife you loved would be the
happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, she
would yet find in you the liberality and good-breeding of a gen-
tleman."
The impossibility of not doing everything in the world to
make Fanny Price happy, or of ceasing to love Fanny Price,
was of course the groundwork of his eloquent answer.
" Had you seen her this morning, Mary," he continued, " at-
tending with such ineffable sweetness and patience to all the
demands of her aunt's stupidity, working with her, and for her,
her colour beautifully heightened as she leant over the work,
then returning to her seat to finish a note which she was pre-
viously engaged in writing for that stupid woman's service, and
all this with such unpretending gentleness, so much as if it were
a matter of course that she was not to have a moment at her own
command, her hair arranged as neatly as it always is, and one
little curl falling forward as she wrote, which she now and then
shook back, and in the midst of all this, still speaking at inter-
vals to me, or listening, and as if she liked to listen to what I
said. Had you seen her so, Man', you would not have implied
the possibility of her power over my heart ever ceasing."
" My dearest Henry," cried Mary, stopping short, and smiling
in his face, " how glad I am to see you so much in love ! It
quite delights me. But what will Mrs. Rushworth and Julia
say?"
" I care neither what they say nor what they feel. They will
now see what sort of woman it is that can attach me, that can
attach a man of sense. I wish the discovery may do them any
good. And they wall now see their cousin treated as she ought
to be, and I wish they may be. heartily ashamed of their own
abominable neglect and unkindness. They will be angry," he
added, after a moment's silence, and in a cooler tone, " Mrs.
Kushworth will be very angry. It will be a bitter pill to her ; that
is, like other bitter pills, it will have two moments' ill flavour,
and then be swallowed and forgotten ; for I am not such a cox-
comb as to suppose her feelings more lasting than other women's,
though /was the object of them. Yes, Mary, my Fanny will
feel a difference indeed, a daily, hourly difference, in the behaviour
of every being who approaches her ; and it will be the com-
pletion of my happiness to know that I am the doer of it, that
208 MANSFIELD PAIIK.
I am the person to give the consequence so justly her due. Now
she is dependent, helpless, friendless, neglected, forgotten."
" Nay, Henry, not by all ; not forgotten by all ; not friendless
or forgotten. Her cousin Kdmund never forgets her."
" Edmund True, I believe he is (generally speaking) kind to
her ; and so is Sir Thomas in his way, but it is the way of a (
rich, superior, longworded, arbitrary uncle. What can Sir
Thomas and Edmund together do, what do they do for her happi-
ness, comfort, honour, and dignity in the world to what I shall
do?"
CHAPTER XIII.
.ENRY CRAWFORD was at Mansfield Park
again the next morning, and at an earlier
hour than common visiting warrants. The
two ladies were together in the breakfast-
room, and fortunately for him Lady Ber-
' tram was on the very point of quitting it as
^> he entered. She was almost at the door, and
not choosing by any means to take so much
trouble in vain, she still went on, after a civil reception, a short
sentence about being waited for, and a " Let Sir Thomas know,"
to the sen-ant.
Henry, overjoyed to have her go. bowed and watched her off,
and without losing another moment, turned instantly to Fanny,
and, taking out some letters, said, with a most animated look,
" I must acknowledge myself infinitely obliged to any creature
who gives me such an opportunity of seeing you alone : I have
been wishing it more than you can have any idea. Knowing as I
do what your feelings as a sister are, I could hardly have borne
that any one in the house should share with you in the first know-
ledge of the news I now bring. He is made. Your brother is
a lieutenant. I have the infinite satisfaction of congratulating
you on your brother's promotion. Here are the letters which
announce it, this moment come to hand. You will, perhaps, like
to see them."
Fanny could not speak, but he did not want her to speak. To
see the expression of her eyes, the change of her complexion,
the progress of her feelings, their doubt, confusion, and felicity
was enough. She took the letters as he gave them. The first
was from the Admiral to inform his nephew, in a few words, of
his having succeeded in the object he had undertaken, the pro-
motion of young Price, and enclosing two more, one from the
Secretary of the First Lord to a friend, whom the Admiral had
MANSFIELD PARK. 209
Kefc to work in the business, the other from that friend to himself,
by which it appeared that his Lordship had the very great hap-
piness of at I ''in ling to the recommendation of Sir Charles; that
Sir Charles was much delighted in having such an opportunity
of proving his regard for Admiral Crawford, and that the cir-
cumstance of Mr. William Price's commission as Second Lieu-
tenant of II. M. Sloop Thrush being made out was spreading
general joy through a wide circle of great people.
\Yhi'c !n r hand was trembling under these letters, her eye
running from one to the other, and her heart swelling with emo-
tion, Crawford thus continued, with unfeigned eagerness, to ex-
press his interest in the event :
" I Avill not talk of my own happiness," said he, " great as it
is, for I think only of yours. Compared with you, who has a
right to be happy ? I have almost grudged myself my own
prior knowledge of what you ought to have known before all the
world. I have not lost a moment, however. The post was late
this morning, but there has not been since a moment's delay.
How impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been on the sub-
ject, I will not attempt to describe ; how severely mortified, how
cruelly disappointed, in not having it finished while I was in
London ! I was kept there from day to day in the hope of it,
for nothing less dear to me than such an object would have
detained me half the time from Mansfield. But though my
uncle entered into my wishes with all the warmth I could desire,
and exerted himself immediately, there were difficulties from
the absence of one friend, and the engagements of another, which
at last I could no longer bear to stay the end of, and knowing in
what good hands I left the cause, I came away on Monday,
trusting that many posts would not pass before I should be fol-
lowed by such very letters as these. My uncle, who is the very
best man in the world, has exerted himself, as I knew he would,
after seeing your brother. He was delighted with him. I would
not allow myself, yesterday, to say how delighted, or to repeat
half that the Admiral said in his praise. I deferred it all till
his praise should be proved the praise of a friend, as this
day does prove it. Now I may say that even 7 could not re-
quire William Price to excite a greater interest, or be followed
by warmer wishes and higher commendation, than were most
voluntarily bestowed by my uncle after the evening they passed
together."
"Has this been all your doing, then?" cried Fanny. "Good
Heaven ! how very, very kind ! Have you really was it by your
desire ? I beg your pardon, but I am bewildered. Did Admiral
Crawford apply? how was it? I am stupefied."
Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible, by begin-
ning at "an earlier stage, and explaining very particularly what
(1) o
210 MANSFIELD PAEK.
he had done. His last journey to London had been undertaken
with no other view than that of introducing her brother in Hill
Street, and prevailing on the Admiral to exert whatever interest
he might have for getting him on. This had been his business.
He had communicated it to no creature ; he had not breathed a
syllable of it even to Mary ; while uncertain of the issue, he
could not have borne any participation of his feelings, but this '
had been his business ; and he spoke with such a glow of what
his solicitude had been, and used such strong expressions, was
so abounding in the deepest interest, in twofold motives, in views
and wishes more than could be told, that Fanny could not have
remained insensible of his drift, had she been able to attend ; but
her heart was so full and her senses still so astonished, that she
could listen but imperfectly even to what he told her of William,
and saying only when he pauseJ, " How kind ! how very kind !
Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you. Dearest,
dearest William!" She jumped up and moved in haste towards
the door, crying out, " I will go to my uncle. My uncle ought
to know it as soon as possible." lint this could not be suffered.
The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. He
was after her immediately. " She must not go, she must allow
him five minutes longer," and he took her hand and led her back
to her seat, and was in the middle of his further explanation,
before she had suspected for what she was detained. When she
did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe
that she had created sensations which his heart had never known
before, and that every tiling he had done for William was to !
placed to the account of his excessive and unequalled attachment
to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for so me moments unable
to speak. She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling and
gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour ; she could
not but feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily,
and in such a way as she had not deserved ; but it was like him-
self, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before ; and
she would not allow herself to show half the displeasure she felt,
because he had been conferring an obligation, which no want of
delicacy on his part could make a trills to her. While her heart
was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf,
she could not bi severely resentful of anything that injured
only herself; and after having twice drawn back her hand, and
twice attempted in vain to turn away from him, she got up, and
said only, with much agitation, " Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray
don't. I beg you would not. This is a sort of talking
wliieh is very unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot
boar it." But he was still talking on, describing his affection,
soliciting a return, and, finally, in words so plain as lo bear but
pne meaning even to !'.ri; ofiering hansel'', hand, for*unc, every-
MANSFIELD PAHK. 2i\
thing to her acceptance. It was so ; he had said il. Her astonish-
ment and confusion increased ; and though still not knowing
how to suppose him serious, she could hardly stand. He pressed
for an answer.
"No, no, no," she cried, hiding her faee. " This is all non-
sense. Do not distress me. I can hear no more of this. Your
kindness to William makes me more obliged to you than words
can express ; but I do not want, I cannot bear, I must not listen
to such No, no, don't think of me. But you are not thinking
of me. I know it is all nothing."
She had burst away from him, and at that moment Sir Thomas
was heard speaking to a servant in his way towards the room
they were in. It was no time for further assurances or entreaty,
though to part with her at a moment when her modesty alone
seemed to his sanguine and preassured mind to stand in the way
of the happiness he sought was a cruel necessity. She rushed
out at an opposite door from the one her uncle was approaching,
and was walking up and down the east room in the utmost con-
fusion of contrary feeling, before Sir Thomas's politeness or
apologies were over, or he had reached the beginning of the joy-
ful intelligence which his visiter came to communicate.
She was feeling, thinking, trembling, about everything ; agi-
tated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry. It
was all beyond belief ! He was inexcusable, incomprehensible !
But such were his habits, that he could do nothing without a
mixture of evil. He had previously made her the happiest of
human beings, and now he had insulted she knew not what to
say how to class, or how to regard it. She would not have
him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such words
and oilers, if they meant but to trille?
But William was a lieutenant. That was a fact beyond a
doubt, and without an alloy. She would think of it for ever
and forget all the rest. Mr. Crawford would certainly never
address her so again: he must have seen how unwelcome it was
to her; and in that case, how gratefully she could esteem him
for his friendship to William !
She would not stir farther from the east room than the head
of the great staircase, till she had satisfied herself of Mr. Craw-
ford's having left the house; but when convinced of his being
gone, she was eager to go down and be with her uncle, and have
all the happiness of his joy as well as her own, and all the benefit
of his information or his conjectures as to what would now be
William's destination. Sir Thomas was as joyful as she coidd
desire, and very kind and communicative ; and she had so com-
fortable a talk with him about William as to make her feel as if
nothing had occurred to vex her, till she found, towards the
close, that Mr, Crawford was engaged to return and dine there
212 MANSFIELD 1 J AKK.
that very day. This was a most unwelcome hearing, lor though
he might think nothing of what had passed, it would be quite
distressing to her to see him again so soon.
She tried to get the better of it; tried very hard, as the dinner
hour approached, to feel and appear as visual; but it was quite
impossible for her not to look most shy and uncomfortable when
their visitor entered the room She could not have supposed it
in the power of any concurrence of circumstances to give her so
many painful sensations on the first day of hearing of William's
promotion.
Mr. Crawford was not only in the room he was soon close to
her. HQ had a note to deliver from his sister. Fanny could not
look at him, but there was no consciousness of past folly in his
voice. She opened her note immediately, glad to have anything
to do, and happy, as she read it, to feel that the fidgettings of
her aunt Norris, who was aLo to dine there, screened her a little
from view.
" MY- DKAII FAXNY, for so I may now always call you, to
the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at Miss
Price for at least the last six weeks, I cannot let my brother
go without sending you a few lines of general congratulation,
and giving niy most joyful consent and approval. Go on, my
dear Fanny, and without fear; there can be no difficulties 'worth
naming. I choose to suppose that the assurance of my consent
will be something; so you may smile upon him with your sweetest
.smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even happier than
he goes,
" Yours affectionately,
" M. C."
These were not expressions to do Fanny any good; for though
she read in too much haste and confusion to form the clearest
judgment of Miss Crawford's meaning, it was evident that she
meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and even
to appear to believe it serious. Shs did not know what to do,
or what to think. Them was wretchedness in the idea of its
1) 'ing serious; there was perplexity and agitation every way.
She was distressed whenever Mr. Crawford spoke to her, and ho
spoke to her much too often ; and she was afraid there was a some-
thing in his voice and manner in addressing her very different
from what they were when he talked to the others. Her com-
fort in that day's dinner was quite destroyed: she could hardly
eat anything ; and when Sir Thomas good humouredly observed,
that joy had taken away her appetite, she was ready to sink with
shame, from the dread of Mr. Crawford's interpretation ; for
though nothing could have tempted her to turn her eyes to the
right hand, where he sat, she felt that his were immediately di-
rected towards her
MANSFIELD PARK. 213
She was more silent tlian ever. She would hardly join even
when William vras the subject, for his commission came all from
the right hand too, and there was pain in the connection.
She thought Lady Bertram sat longer than ever, and began
to be in despair of ever getting away; but at last they went
in the drawing-room, and she was able to think as she would,
while her aunts finished the subject of William's appointment in
their own style.
Mrs. Norris seemed as much delighted with the saving it
would lie to Sir Thomas as with any part of it. " Now William
would be able to keep himself, which would make a vast difference
to his uncle, for it was known how much he had cost his
uncle; and, indeed, it would make some difference in hi r
presents, too. She was very glad that she had given William
what she did at parting, very glad, indeed, that it had been in
h'T i tower, without material inconvenience, just at that time to
give him something rather considerable ; that is, for her, with
her limited means, for now it would all be useful in helping to
lit ii]) his cabin. She knew he must be at some expense, that he
would have many things to buy, though to be sure his father
and mother would be able to put him in the way of getting every-
thing very cheap but she was very glad she had contributed
her mite towards it."
" I am glad you gave him something considerable," said Lady
Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness, " for / gave him
only 10."
" Indeed !" cried Mrs. Norris, reddening. " Upon my word,
he must have gone off with his pockets well lined ! and at no
expense for his journey to London either !''
" Sir Thomas told me 10 would be enough."
Mrs. Xonis being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency,
began to take the matter in another point.
" It is jiuijixii.g, 1 ' said she, " how much young people cost their
friends, what with bringing tiirm up and putting them out in tl>e
world ! They little think how much it comes to, or what their
parents, or their uncles nnd aunts, pay for them in th> course <:'
the year. Now, here are my sister Price's children; take th; 1:1
altogether, I dare say nobody would believe what a sum thi-y
cost Sir Thomas every year, to say nothing of what I do for
them."
" Very true, sister, as you say. But, poor things ! they can-
not help it; and you know it makes very little difference to Sir
Thomas. Fanny, William must not forget my shawl, if he goes
to the East Indies; arid I shall give him a commission for any
thing else that is worth having. I wish he may go to the Ka.-t
Indies, that I may have my shawl. I think I will have two
shawls, Fanny."
214 MANSFIELD PARK.
Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not help it,
was very earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss
Crawford were at. There was everything in the world against
their being serious, but his words and manner. Everything
natural, probable, reasonable, was against it; all their habits and
ways of thinking, and all her own demerits. How could she
have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many,
and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely
her superiors who seemed so little open to serious impressions,
even where pains had been taken to please him who thought
so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points who
was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential
to Mm ? And further, how could it .be supposed that his sister,
with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be
forwarding anything of a serious nature in such a quarter ?
Nothing could be more unnatural in either. Fanny was ashamed
of her own doubts. Everything might be possible rather than
serious attachment, or serious approbation of it toward her.
She had quite convinced herself of this before Sir Thomas and
Mr. Crawford joined them. The difficulty was in maintaining
the conviction quite so absolutely after Mr. Crawford was in the
room ; for once or twice a look seemed forced on her which she
did not know how to class among the common meaning ; in any
other man, at least, she would have said that it meant something
very earnest, very pointed. But she still tried to believe it no
more than what he might often have expressed towards her
cousins and fifty other women.
She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by the
rest. She fancied he was trying for it the whole evening at
intervals, whenever Sir Thomas was out of the room, or at all
engaged with Mrs. Norris, and she carefully refused him evcrj r
opportunity.
At lastit seemed an at last to Fanny's nervousness, though
not remarkably late he began to talk of going away ; but the
comfort of the sound was impaired by his turning to her the next
moment, and saying, " Have you nothing to send to Mary ?
No answer to her note? She will be disappointed if she receives
nothing from you. Pray write to her, if it be only a line."
" Oh yes, certainly," cried Fanny, rising in haste, the haste of
embarrassment and of wanting to get away, " I will write
directly."
She went accordingly to the table, where she was in the habit
of writing for her aunt, and prepared her materials without
knowing what in the world to say. She had read Miss Craw-
ford's note only once: and how to reply to anything so imper-
fectly understood was most distressing. Quite unpractised in
such sort of note-writing, had there been time for scruples and
MANSFIELD PARK. 2 1 5
fears as to style she would have felt them in abundance : but
something must be instantly written ; and with only one decided
feeling, [that of wishing not to appear to think anything really
intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of spirits and
hand :
" I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss Crawford,
for your kind congratulations, as far as they relate to my dearest
William. The rest of your note I know means nothing ; but I
am so unequal to anything of the sort, that I hope you will ex-
cuse my begging you to take no further notice. I have seen too
much of Mr. Crawford not to understand his manners ; if lie
understood me as well, he would, I dare say, behave differently.
I do not know what I write, but it would be a great favour of
you never to mention the subject again. With thanks for the
honour of your note,
" I remain, dear Miss Crawford,
" &c. fcc,"
The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing fright,
for she found that Mr. Crawford, under pretence of receiving the
note, was coming towards her.
" You cannot think I mean to hurry you," said he, in an un-
der voice, perceiving the amazing trepidation with which she
made up the note; "you cannot think I have any such object.
Do not hurry yourself, I entreat."
" Oh, I thank you, I have quite done, just done it will be
ready in a moment I am very much obliged to you if you
will be so good as to give that to Miss Crawford."
The note was held out, and must be taken; and as she in-
stantly and with averted eyes walked towards the fireplace,
where sat the others, he had nothing to do but to go in good
earnest.
Fanny thought she had never known a day of greater agita-
tion, both of pain and pleasure; but happily, the pleasure was
not of a sort to die with the day for every day would restore
the knowledge of William's advancement, whereas the pain, she
hoped, would return no more. She had no doubt that her note
must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would
disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no arrangement ;
but at least it would assure them both of her being neither im-
posed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.
END OF THK SKCON'D VOLUME,
21G
MANSFIELD PARK.
VOLUME THE THIRD.
CHAPTER I.
i ANXY had by no means forgotten ?..>.
Crawford when she awoke the next morning ;
jbut she remembered the purport of her note,
Dand was not less sanguine, as to its effects,
|?than she had been the night before. If Mr.
'Crawford would but go away! That was
what she most earnestly desired; go and
'take his sister with him, as he was to do,
and as he returned to Mansfield on purpose to do. And why it
was not done already she could not devise, for Miss Crawford
certainly wanted no delay. Fanny had hoped, in the course of
his yesterday's visit, to hear the day named; but he had only
spokeii of their journey as what would take place ere long.
Having so satisfactorily settled the conviction her note would
convev, she could not but be astonished to see Mr. Crawford, as
she accidentally did, coming up to the house again, and at an hour
as early as the day before. His coming might have nothing to
do with her, but she must avoid seeing him if possible; and
being then in her way up stairs, she resolved there to remain,
during the whole of his visit, unless actually sent for; and as
Mrs. Norris was still i.i the house, there seemed little danger of
her being wanted.
She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening,
t rumbling, and fearing to be sent for every moment; but as no
footsteps approached the east room, she grew gradually composed,
could sit down, and be able to employ herself, and able to hope
that Mr. Crawford had come, and would go without her being
obliged to know anything of the matter.
Xearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very
comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a step in regular
approach was heard a heavy step, an unusual stop in that part
of the house ; it was her uncle's ; she knew it as well as his voice ;
MANSFIELD PARK. 217
she had trembled at it as often, and began to tremble again, at
the idea of his coming up to speak to her, whatever might be
the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas, who opened the door
and asked if she were there, and if lie might come in. The
terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all
renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again
in French and English.
She was all attention, however, in placing a chair for him,
and trying to appear honoured; and in her agitation, had quite
overlooked the deficiencies of her apartment, till he, stopping
short is he entered, said, with much surprise, " Why have you
no fire to-day?"
There was .snow on the ground, and she was sitting iu a shawl.
She hesitated.
" I am not cold, sir I never sit here long at this time of
year."
" But you have a fire in general?"
" No, sir."
"Haw comes this about; here must be some mistake. I
understood that you had the use of this room by way of making
you perfectly comfortable. In your bedchamber I know you
cannot have a fire. Here is some great misapprehension which
must be rectified. It is highly unfit for you to sit. be it only
half an hour a day, without a fire. You are not strong. You
are chilly. Your aunt cannot be aware of this."
Fanny would rather have been silent; but being obliged to
speak, she could not forbear, in justice to the aunt she loved best,
from saying something in which the words " my aunt Norria "
were distinguishable.
" I understand," cried her uncle, recollecting himself, and not
wanting to hear more " I understand. Your aunt Norris has
always been an advocate, and very judiciously, for young people's
being brought up without unnecessary indulgences; but there
should be moderation in everything. She is also vory hardy
herself, which of course will influence her in her opinion of the
wants of others. And on another account, too, I can perfectly
comprehend. I know what her sentiments have always been.
The principle was good in itself, but it may have been, and I
bc-lieve has been, carried too far in your case. I am aware that
there has been sometimes, in some points, a misplaced distinction;
but I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose you will ever
harbour resentment on that account. You have an under-
standing which wiil prevent you from receiving things only in
part, and judging partially by the event. You will take in the
whole of the past, you will consider times, persons, and proba-
bilities, an<l you will feel that they were not least your friends
who were educating find preparing you fur that mediocrity of
2 18 MANSFIELD PARK.
condition which seemed to be your lot. Though their caution
may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant ; and of
this you may be assured, that every advantage of affluence will
be doubled by the little privations and restrictions that may have
been imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion of
you, by failing at any time to treat your aunt Norris with the
respect and attention that are due to her. But enough of this.
Sit down, my dear. I must speak to you for a few minutes,
but I will not detain you long."
Fanny obeyed, with eyes cast down and colour rising. After
a moment's pause, Sir Thomas, trying to suppress a smile, went
on.
" You are not aware, perhaps, that I have had a visitor this
morning. I had not been long in my own room, after breakfast,
when Mr. Crawford was shown in. His errand you may pro-
bably conjecture."
Fanny's colour grew deeper and deeper; and her uncle, per-
ceiving that she was embarrassed to a degree that made either
speaking or looking up quite impossible, turned away his own
eyes, and without any farther pause proceeded in his account of
Mr. Crawford's visit.
Mr. Crawford's business had been to declare himself the lover
of Fanny, make decided proposals for her, and entreat the sanction
of the uncle, who seemed to stand in the place of her parents ;
and he had done it all so well, so openly, so liberally, so properly,
that Sir Thomas, feeling, moreover, his own replies, and his own
remarks to have been very much to the purpose, was exceedingly
happy to give the particulars of their conversation, and little
aware of what was passing in his niece's mind, conceived that by
such details he must be gratifying her far more than himself. He
talked, therefore, for several minutes without Fanny's daring to
interrupt him. She had hardly even attained the wish to do it.
Jler mind was in too much confusion. She had changed her
position; and, with her eyes fixed intently on one of the windows,
was listening to her uncle in the utmost perturbation and dismay.
For a moment he ceased, but she had barely become conscious of
it, when, rising from his chair, he said, "And now, Fanny,
having performed one part of my commission, and shown you
everything placed on a basis the most assured and satisfactory,
I may execute th remainder by prevailing on you to accompany
me down stairs, where, though I cannot but presume on having
been no unacceptable companion myself, I must submit to your
finding one still better worth listening to. Mr. Crawford, as
you have perhaps foreseen, is yet in the house. He is in my
room, and hoping to see you there."
There was a look, a start, an exclamation, on hearing this,
which astonished Sir Thomas; but what was his increase of
MANSFIELD PARK. 219
astonishment on hearing her exclaim: "Oh no, sir, I cannot,
indeed I cannot go down to him. Mr. Crawford ought to know
he must know that I told him enough yesterday to convince
him he spoke to me on this subject yesterday and I told him
without disguise that it was very disagreeable to me, and quite
out of my power to return his good opinion."
" I do not catch your meaning," said Sir Thomas, sitting down
again. "Out of your power to return his good opinion! what
is all this? I know lie spoke to you yesterday, and (as far as I
understand) received as much encouragement to proceed as a
well-judging young woman could permit herself to give. I was
very much pleased with what I collected to have been your
behaviour on the occasion ; it showed 4 discretion highly to be
commended. But now, when he has made his overtures so
properly, and honourably what are your scruples now ?"
" You are mistaken, sir," cried Fanny, forced by the anxiety
of the moment even to tell her uncle that he was wrong, " you
are quite mistaken. How could Mr. Crawford say such n thing?
I gave him no encouragement yesterday. On the contrary, I
told him I cannot recollect my exact words but I am sure I
told him that I would not listen to him, that it was very un-
pleasant to me in every respect, and that I begged him never to
talk to me in that manner again. I am sure I said as much as
that and more ; and I should have said still more, if I had been
quite certain of his meaning anything seriously; but I did not
like to be I could not bear to be imputing more than might
be intended. I thought it might all pass for nothing with him."
She could say no more ; her breath was almost gone.
"Am I to understand," said Sir Thomas, after a few moments'
silence, " that you mean to refuse Mr. Crawford?"
" Yes, sir."
" Refuse him?"
" Yes, sir."
"Refuse Mr. Crawford! Upon what plea? For what
reason?"
" I I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him."
" This is very strange!" said Sir Thomas, in a voice of calm
displeasure. " There is something in this which my comprehen-
sion does not reach. Here is a young man wishing to pay his
addresses to you, with everything to recommend him; not merely
situation in life, fortune, and character, but with more than
common agreeableness, with address and conversation pleasing
to everybody. And he is not an acquaintance of to-day, you
have now known him some time. His sister, moreover, is your
intimate friend, and he has been doing that for your brother,
which I should suppose would have been almost sufficient
recommendation to you, had there been no other. It is very
220 MANSFIELD PARK.
uncertain when my interest might have got William on. He
has done it already."
"Yes," said Fanny, in a faint voice, and looking down with
fresh shame; and she did feel almost ashamed of herself, after
such a picture as her uncle had drawn, for not liking Mr.
Crawford.
" You must have been aware," continued Sir Thomas pre-
sently, " you must have been some time aware of a particularity
in Mr. Crawford's manners to you. This cannot have taken you
by surprise. You must have observed his attentions; and
though you always received them very properly (I have no ac-
cusation to make on that head), I never perceived them to be
unpleasant to you. I am half inclined to think, Fanny, that
you do not quite know your own feelings."
" Oh yes, sir, indeed I do. His attentions were always
what I did not like."
Sir Thomas looked at her with deeper surprise. " This is
beyond me," said he. " This requires explanation. Young as
you are, and having seen scarcely any one, it is hardly possible
that your affections "
He paused and eyed her fixedly. He saw her lips formed into
a no, though the sound was inarticulate, but her face was like
scarlet. That, however, in so modest a girl might be very com-
patible with innocence ; and choosing at least to appear satisiied,
he quickly added, "No, no, I know that is quite out of the ques-
tion quite impossible. Well, there is nothing more to be said."
And for a few minutes he did say nothing. Pie was deep in
thought. His niece was deep in thought likewise, trying to
harden and prepare herself against farther questioning. She
would rather die than own the truth ; and she hoped by a little
reflection to fortify herself beyond betraying it.
" Independently of the interest which Mr. Crawford's choice
seemed to justify," said Sir Thomas, beginning again, and very
composedly, " his wishing to marry at all so early is recommend-
atory to me. I am an advocate for early marriages, where tlu-re
are means in proportion, and would have every young man, with
a sufficient income, settle as soon after four-and-twenty us he
can. This is so much my opinion, that I am sorry to think
how little likely my own eldest son, your cousin, Mr. Bertram,
is to marry early; but at present, as far as I can judge, matri-
mony makes no part of his plans or thoughts. I wish he wore
more likely to fix." Here was a glance at Fanny. " Edmund
I consider from his dispositions and habits as much more likely
to marry early than his brother. He, indeed, I have lati-ly
thought has seen the woman lie could love, which, I am con-
vinced, my eldest son has not. Am I right '? Do you agree
with nit', my dear?"
MANbllELD 1'AUK. 221
" Yes, sir."
It was gently, but it was calmly said, and Sir Thomas was
(Msy on th ._ score of the cousins. 15ut the removal of his alarm
ilid I'.is in'.'re no service: as her unaccountableness was confirmed
his di.spK-asure increased; and getting up and walking about the
room, with a frown, which Fanny could picture to herself, though
si-.;' dared not lift up her eyes, he shortly afterwards, and in a
voice of authority, said, "Have you any reason, child, to think
ill of Mr. Crawford's temper ?"
" No, sir."
She longed to add, " but of his principles I have ;" but her
heart sunk under the appalling prospect of discussion, explana-
tion, and probably non-conviction. Her ill opinion of him was
founded chiefly on observations, which, for her cousins' sake, she
could scarcely dare mention to their father. Maria and Julia,
and especially Maria, were so closely implicated in Mr. Craw-
lord's misconduct, that she could not give his character, such as
she believed it, without betraying them. She had hoped that to a
man like her uncle, so discerning, so honourable, so good, the
simple acknowledgment of settled dislike on her side, would
have been sufficient. To her infinite grief she found it was not.
Sir Thomas came towards the table where she sat in tremb-
ling wretchedness, and with a good deal of cold sternness, said,
" It is of no use, I perceive, to talk to you. We had better put
an en I to this most mortifying conference. Mr. Crawford must
nut bo kept longer waiting. I will, therefore, only add, as
thinking it my duty to mark my opinion of your conduct, that
you have disappointed every expectation I had formed, and
proved yourself of a character the very reverse of what I had
supposed. For I had, Fanny, as I think ray behaviour must
have shown, formed a very favourable opinion of you from the
period of my return to England. I had thought you peculiarly
free from wilfulness of temper, self-conceit, and every tendency
to that independence of spirit which prevails so much in modern
days, even in young women, and which in young women is
offensive and disgusting beyond all common offence. But you
have now shown me that you can be wilful and perverse, tliat
you can and will decide for yourself, without any consideration
or deference for those who have surely some right to guide you
without even asking their advice. You have shown yourself
very, very different from anything that I had imagined; The
advantage or disadvantage of your family of your parents
your brothers and sisters never seems to have had a moment's
share in your thoughts on this occasion. How they might be
benefitted, how they must rejoice in such an establishment for
you, is nothing to you. You think only of yourself; and be-
cause you do not feel for Mr. Crawford exactly what a young,
222 MANSFIELD PAKK.
heated fancy imagines to be necessary for happiness, you resolve
to refuse him at once, without wishing even for a little time to
consider of it, a little more time for cool consideration, and for
really examining your own inclinations, and are, in a wild lit
of folly, throwing away from you such an opportunity of being
settled in life, eligibly, honourably, nobly settled, as will, pro-
bably, never occur to you again. Here is a young man of sense,
of character, of temper, of manners, and of fortune, exceedingly
attached to you, and seeking your hand in the most handsome
and disinterested way; and let me tell you, Fanny, that you
may live eighteen years longer in the world, without being ad-
dressed by a man of half Mr. Crawford's estate or a tenth part
of his merits. Gladly would I have bestowed either of my own
daughters on him. Maria is nobly married ; but had Mr. Craw-
ford sought Julia's hand, I should have given it to him with
superior and more heartfelt satisfaction than I gave Maria's to
Mr. Rush worth." After half a moment's pause "And I should
have been very much surprised had either of my daughters, on
receiving a proposal of marriage at any time which might carry
with it only half the eligibility of this, immediately and peremp-
torily, and without paying my opinion or my regard the com-
pliment of any consultation, put a decided negative on it. I
should have been much surprised and much hurt, by such a
proceeding. I should have thought it a gross violation of duty
and respect. You are not to be judged by the same rule. You
do not owe me the duty of a child, lint, Fanny, if your heart
can acquit you of ingratitude "
He ceased. Fanny was by this time crying so bitterly, that,
angry as he was, he would not press that article farther. Her
heart was almost broken by such a picture of what she appeared
to him ; by such accusations, so heavy, so multiplied, so rising
in dreadful gradation ! Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and un-
grateful. He thought her all this. She had deceived his
expectations; she had lost his good opinion. What was to
become of her ?
" I am very sorry," said she, inarticulately, through her tears,
"I am very sorry, indeed."
" Sorry ! yes, I hope you are sorry ; and you will probably
have reason to be long sorry for this day's transactions."
"If it were possible for me 'to do otherwise," said she, with
another strong effort, " but I am so perfectly convinced that I
could never make him happy, and that I should be miserable
myself."
Another burst of tears ; but in spite of that burst, and in spite
of that great black word miserable, which served to introduce it,
Sir Thomas began to think a little relenting, a little change of
inclination, might have something to do with it ; and to augur
MANSFIELD PAKK. 223
favourably from the personal entreaty of the young man him-
self. He knew her to be very timid, and exceedingly nervous ;
and thought it not improbable that her mind might be in such a
state as a little time, a little pressing, a little patience, and a
little impatience, a judicious mixture of all on the lover's side,
might work their usual effect on. If the gentleman would but
persevere if he had but love enough to persevere Sir Thomas
began to have hopes ; and these reflections having passed across
his mind and cheered it, " Well," said he, in a tone of becoming
gravity, but of less anger, " well, child, dry up your tears.
There is no use iu the.se tear.;; they can do no good. You must
now come down stairs with me. Mr. Crawford has been kept
waiting too long already. You must give him your own answer:
we cannot expect him to be satisfied with less ; and you only can
explain to him the grounds of that misconception of your senti-
ments, which, unfortunately for himself, he certainly has imbibed.
I am totally unequal to it."
But Fanny showed such reluctance, such misery, at the idea
of going down to him, that Sir Thomas, after a little considera-
tion, judged it better to indulge her. His hopes from both gentle-
man and lady suffered a small depression in consequence ; but
when he looked at his niece, and saw the state of feature
and complexion which her crying had brought her into, he
thought there might be as much lost as gained by an immediate
interview. With a few words, therefore, of no particular mean-
ing, he walked oft' by himself, leaving his poor niece to sit and
cry over what had passed with very wretched feelings.
Her mind was all disorder. The past, present, future, every-
thing was terrible. But her uncle's anger gave her the severest
pain of all. Selfish and ungrateful ! to have appeared so to him!
She. was miserable for ever. She had no one to take her part, to
counsel, or speak for her. Her o:;ly friend was absent. He
might have softened his father; but all, perhaps all, would think
her selfish and ungrateful. She might have to endure the re-
proach again and again ; she might hear it, or see it, or know it to
exist for ever in every connection about her. She could not but
feel some resentment against Mr. Crawford; yet, if he really
loved her, and were unhappy too ! it was all wretchedness
together.
In about a quarter of an hour lier uncle returned ; she was
almost ready to faint at the sight of him. He spoke calmly,
however, without austerity, without reproach, and she revived a
little. There was comfort, too, in his words, as well as his manner,
for he began with, " Mr. Crawford is gone ; he has just left me.
I need not repeat what has passed. I do not want to add to any-
thing you may now be feeling, by an account of what he has felt.
Suflice it, tjiat he has behaved in the most gentlemanlike and
224 MANSFIELD PAUK.
generous manner ; and has confirmed me in a most favourable
(.pinion of his understanding, heart, and temper. Upon my re-
presentation of what you were suffering, he immediately, and
with the greatest delicacy, ceased to urge to see you for the
present."
Here Fanny, who had looked up, looked down again.
" Of course," continued her uncle, "it cannot be supposed but
that he should request to speak with you alone, be it only for
live minutes; a request too natural, a claim too just to be denied.
But there is no time fixed, perhaps to-morrow, or whenever your
spirits are composed enough. For the present you have only to
tranquillise yourself. Check these tears; they do but exhaust
you. If, as I am willing to suppose, you wish to show me any
observance, you will not give way to these emotions, but
endeavour to reason yourself into a stronger frame of mind. I
advise you to go out, the air will do you good; go out for an
hour on the gravel, you will have the shrubbery to yourself, and
will be the better for air and exercise. And, Fanny (turning
back again for a moment), I shall make no mention below of
what has passed; I shall not even tell your aunt Bertram,
There is no occasion for spreading the disappointment; say
nothing about it yourself."
This was an order to be most joyfully obeyed; this was an
act of kindness which Fanny felt at her heart. To be spared
from her aunt Morris's interminable reproaches! he left her in
a glow of gratitude. Anything might be bearable rather than
such reproache;. Even to see Mr. Crawford would be less
overpowering.
She Avalked out directly, as her uncle recommended, and
followed his advice throughout, as far as she could ; did check
her tear?, did earnestly try to compose her spirits, and strengthen
her mind. She wished to prove to him that she did desire his
comfort, and sought to regain his favour; and he had given her
another strong motive for exertion, in keeping the whole affair
from the knowledge of her aunts. Not to excite suspicion by
her look or manner was now an object worth attaining; and she
felt equal to almost anything that might save her from her
aunt Norris.
She was. struck, quite struck, when, on returning from her
walk, and going into the east room again, the first thing which
caught her eye was a fire lighted and burning. A fire ! it seemed
too much; just at that time to be giving her such an indulgence,
was exciting even painful gratitude. She wondered that Sir
Thomas could have leisure to think of such a trifle again; but
she soon found, from the voluntary information of the housemaid,
who came in to attend it, that so it was to be every day. Sir
Thomas had given orders for it.
MANSFIELD PARK. 225
" I must be a brute, indeed, if I can be really ungrateful!' 1
said she, in soliloquy. " Heaven defend me from being un-
grateful!"
She saw nothing more of her unele, nor of her aunt Norns,
till they met at dinner. Her uncle's behaviour to her was then
as nearly as possible what it had been before; she was sure he
did not mean there should be any change, and that it was only
her own conscience that could fancy any : but her aunt was soon
quarrelling with her; and when she found how much and how
unpleasantly her having only walked out without her aunt's
knowledge could be dwelt on, she felt all the reason she had to
bless the kindness which saved her from the same spirit of
reproach, exerted her on a more momentous subject.
" If I had known you were going out, I should have got you
just to go as far as my house with some orders for Nanny," said
she, "which I have since, to my very great inconvenience, been
obliged to go and carry myself. I could very ill spare the time,
and you might have saved me the trouble, if you would only
have been so good as to let us know you were going out. It
would have made no difference to you, I suppose, whether you
had walked in the shrubbery or gone to my house."
" I recommended the shrubbery to Fanny as the driest place,"
said Sir Thomas.
" Oh," said Mrs. Norris, with a moment's check, " that was
very kind of you, Sir Thomas ; but you do not know how dry
the path is to my house. Fanny would have had quite as good
a walk there, I assure you ; with the advantage of being of some
use, and obliging her aunt: it is all her fault. If she would but
have let us know she was going out but there is a something
about Fanny, I have often observed it before she likes to go her
own way to work; she docs not like to be dictated to; she takes
her own independent walk, whenever she can: she certainly has
a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, and nonsense, about
her, which I would advise her to get the better of."
As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir Thomas thought nothing
could be more unjust, though he had been so lately expressing
the same sentiments himself, and he tried to turn the conversa-
tion; tried repeatedly before he could succeed; for Mrs. Norris
had not discernment enough to perceive, either now, or at any
other time, to what degree he thought well of his niece, or how
very far lie was from wishing to have his own children's merits
set oft' by the depreciation of hers. She was talking at Fanny,
and resenting this private walk half through the dinner.
It was over, however, at last; and the evening set in with
more composure to Fanny, and more cheerfulness of spirits than
she could have hoped for after so stormy a morning: but she
trusted, in the first place, that she had done right, that her
(1)
226 MANSFIELD PARK.
judgment had not misled her; for the purity of her intentions
she could answer; and she was willing to hope, secondly, that
her uncle's displeasure was abating, and would abate farther as
he considered the matter with more impartiality, and felt, as a
good man must feel, how wretched, and how unpardonable, how
hopeless, and how wicked it was, to marry without affection.
When the meeting with which she was threatened for the
morrow was past, she could not but flatter herttelf that the sub-
ject would be finally concluded, and Mr. Crawford once gone
from Mansfield, that everything would soon be as if no such
subject had existed. She would not, could not believe, that Mr.
Crawford's affection for her could distress him long ; his mind
was not of that sort. London would soon bring its cure. In
London he would soon learn to wonder at his infatuation, and be
thankful for the right reason in her, which had saved him from
its evil consequences.
While Fanny's mind was engaged in this sort of hopes, her
uncle was soon after tea called out of the room ; an occurrence
too common to strike her, and she thought nothing of it till the
butler reappeared ten minutes afterwards, and advancing decidedly
towards herself, said, " Sir Thomas wishes to speak with you,
ma'am, in his own room." Then it occurred to her what might
be going on ; a suspicion rushed over her mind which drove the
colour from her cheeks ; but instantly rising, she was preparing
to obey, when Mrs. Norris called out, " Stay, stay, Fanny! what
are you about? where are you going? don't be in such a hurry.
Depend upon it, it is not you that are wanted; depend upon it,
it is me (looking at the butler) ; but you are so very eager to
put yourself forward. What should Sir Thomas want you for?
It is me, Baddeley, you mean; I am coming this moment. You
mean me, Baddeley, I am sure ; Sir Thomas wants me, not Miss
Price."
But Baddeley was stout. " No, ma'am, it is Miss Price : I
am certain of its being Miss Price." And there was a half smile
with the words which meant, " I do not think you would answer
the purpose at all."
Mrs. Norris, much discontented, was obliged to compose her-
self to work again; and Fanny, walking oft" in agitating con-
sciousness, found herself, as she anticipated, in another minute
alone with Mr. Crawford.
MANSFIELD PARK.
CHAPTER II.
conference was neither so short, nor so
3 conclusive, as the lady had designed. The
P gentleman was not so easily satisfied. He
i had all the disposition to persevere that Sir
'Thomas could wish him. He had vanity,
[ which strongly inclined him, in the first place,
'to think she did love him, though she might
not know it herself; and which, secondly,
when constrained at last to admit that she did know her owu
present feelings, convinced him that he should be able in time to
make those feelings what he wished.
He was in love, very much in love; and it was a love which,
operating on an active, sanguine spirit, of more warmth than
delicacy, made her affection appear of greater consequence, because
it was withheld, and determined him to have the glory, as well
as the felicity, of forcing her to love him.
He would not despair: he would not desist. He had every
well-grounded reason for solid attachment; he knew her to ha\v
all the worth that could justify the warmest hopes of lasting
happiness with her: her conduct at this very time, by speaking
the disinterestedness and delicacy of her character (quail !!<;>
which lie believed most rare indeed), was of a sort to heighten
all his wishes, and confirm all his resolutions. He knew not
that he had a pre-engaged heart to attack. Of that he had no
suspicion. He considered her rather as one who had never
thought on the subject enough to be in danger; who had he; n
guarded by youth, a youth of mind as lovely as of person ; whose
modesty had prevented her from understanding his attentions,
and who was still overpowered by the suddenness of addresses so
wholly unexpected, and the novelty of a situation which her
fancy had never taken into account.
Must it not follow of course, that, when he was understood, ha
should succeed? he believed it fully. Love such as Ids, in a
man like himself, must with perseverance secure a return, and at
no great distance ; and he had so much delight in the idea of
obliging her to love him in a very short time, that her not loving
him now was scarcely regretted. A little difficulty to l>e over-
come was no evil to Henry Crawford. He rather derived spirits
from it. He had been apt to gain hearts too easily. His situa-
tion was new and animating.
To Fanny, however, who had known too much opposition all
her life to find any charm in it, all tlus was unintelligible. She
found that he did mean to persevere; but how he could, after
such language from her as she felt herself obliged to use, was
228 MANSFIELD PARK.
not to be understood. She told him that she did not love him,
could not love him, was sure she never should love him : that
such a change was quite impossible ; that the subject was most
painful to her ; that she must entreat him never to mention it
again, to allow her to leave him at once, and let it be considered
as concluded for ever. And when farther pressed, had added,
that in her opinion their dispositions were so totally dissimilar, as
to make mutual affection incompatible; and that they were un-
fitted for each other by nature, education, and habit. All this
she had said, and with the earnestness of sincerity ; yet this was
not enough, for he immediately denied there being anything un-
congenial in their characters, or anything unfriendly in their
situations ; and positively declared, that he would still love, and
still hope!
Fanny knew her own meaning, but was no judge of her own
manner. Her manner was incurably gentle ; and she was not
aware how much it concealed the sternness of her purpose. Her
diffidence, gratitude, and softness, made every expression of in-
difference seem almost an effort of self-denial ; seem, at least, to
give nearly as much pain to herself as to him. Mr. Crawford
was no longer the Mr. Crawford who, as the clandestine, insi-
dious, treacherous admirer of Maria Bertram, had been her ab-
horrence, whom she had hated to see or to speak to, in whom
she could believe no good quality to exist, and whose power,
even of being agreeable, she had barely acknowledged. He was
now the Mr. Crawford who was addressing herself with ardent,
disinterested love; whose feelings were apparently become all
that was honourable and upright, whose views of happiness were
all fixed on a marriage of attachment ; who was pouring out his
sense of her merits, describing and describing again his affection,
proving, as far as words could prove it, and in the language,
tone, and spirit of a man of talent, too, that he sought her for
her gentleness and her goodness ; and to complete the whole,
he was now the Mr. Crawford who had procured William's pro-
motion !
Here was a change, and here were claims which could not but
operate! She might have disdained him in all the dignity of
angry virtue, in the grounds of Sotherton, or the theatre at
Mansfield Park; but he approached her now with rights that
demanded different treatment. She must be courteous, and she
must be compassionate. She must have a sensation of being
honoured, and whether thinking of herself or her brother, she
must have a strong feeling of gratitude. The effect of the
whole was a manner so pitying and agitated, and words inter-
mingled with her refusal so expressive of obligation and con-
cern, that to a temper of vanity and hope like Crawford's, the
truth, or at least the strength of her indifference, might well be
MAXS11ELD 1'AUK. '22<J
questionable : and be was not so irrational as Fanny considered
him, in the professions of persevering, assiduous, and not de-
sponding attachment which closed the interview.
It was with reluctance that he suffered her to go ; but there
was no look of despair in parting to belie his words, or give her
hopes of his being less unreasonable than he professed himself.
Now she was angry. Some resentment did arise at a perse-
verance so selfish and ungenerous. Here was again a want of
delicacy and regard for others which had formerly so struck and
disgusted her. Here was again a something of the same Mr.
Crawford whom she had so reprobated before. How evidently
was there a gross want of feeling and humanity where his own
pleasure was concerned ; and alas ! how always known no prin-
ciple to supply as a duty what the heart was deficient in. Had
her own affections been as free as perhaps they ought to have
been he never could have engaged them.
So thought Fanny in good truth and sober sadness, as she sat
musing over that too great indulgence and luxury of a fire up-
stairs wondering at the past and present, wondering at what
was yet to come, and in a nervous agitation which made nothing
clear to her but the persuasion of her being never under any
circumstances able to love Mr. Crawford, and the felicity of
having a fire to sit over and think of it.
Sir Thomas was obliged or obliged himself to wait till the
morrow for a knowledge of what had passed between the young
people. He then saw Mr. Crawford, and received his account.
The first feeh'ng was disappointment : he had hoped better
things ; he had thought that an hour's entreaty from a young
man like Crawford could not have worked so little change on a
gentle-tempered girl like Fanny ; but there was speedy comfort
in the determined views and sanguine perseverance of the lover;
and when seeing such confidence of success in the principal, Sir
Thomas Avas soon able to depend on himself.
Nothing was omitted, on his side, of civility, compliment, or
kindness, that might assist the plan. Mr. Crawford's steadiness
was honoured, and Fanny was praised, and the connexion was
still the more desirable in the world. At Mansfield Park, Mr.
Crawford would always be welcome ; he had only to consult his
own judgment and feelings as to the frequency of his visits, at
present or in future. In all the niece's family and friends, there
could be but one opinion, one wish on the subject ; the influence
of all who loved her must incline one way.
Everything was said that could encourage, every encourage-
ment received with grateful joy, and the gentlemen parted the
best of friends.
Satisfied that the cause was now on a footing the most proper
and hopeful, Sir Thomas resolved to abstain from all farther
MANSFIELD PAKK.
importunity with his niece, and to show no open interference.
Upon her disposition he believed kindness might be the best way
of working. Entreaty shoidd be from one quarter only. The
forbearance of her family on a point, respecting which she could
be in no doubt of their wishes, might be their surest means o for-
warding it. Accordingly, on this principle Sir Thomas took the
lirst opportunity of saying to her, with a mild gravity, intended to
be overcoming, " Well, Fanny, I have seen Mr. Crawford again,
;;nd learn from him exactly how matters stand between you.
He is a most extraordinary young man, and whatever be the
event, you must feel that you have created an attachment of no
common character; though, young as you are, and little ac-
quainted with the transient, varying, unsteady nature of love,
as it generally exists, you cannot bo struck as I am with all
that is wonderful in a perseverance of this sort against discou-
ragement. With him, it is entirely a matter of feeling: he
claims no merit in it, perhaps is entitled to none. Yet, having
chosen so well, his constancy has a respectable stamp. Had his
choice been less unexceptionable, I should have condemned his
persevering."
" Indeed, sir," said Fanny, " I am very sorry that Mr. Craw-
f.ird should continue to I know that it is paying me a very
; :reat compliment, and I feel most undeservedly honoured, but I
;iiii so perfectly convinced, and I have told him so, that it never
v/ill be in my power "
" My dear," interrupted Sir Thomas, " there is no occasion for
tiiis. Your feelings are as well known to me as my wishes and
ivgrets must be to you. There is nothing more to be said or
i lone. From this hour, the subject is never to be revived
lutwcen us. You will have nothing to fear, or to be agitated
;:bout. You cannot suppose me capable of trying to persuade
you to marry against your inclinations. Your happiness and
advantage are all that I have in view, and nothing is required
of you but to bear with Mr. Crawford's endeavours to convince
you that they may not he incompatible with his. He proceeds
at his own risk. You are on safe ground. I have engaged for
your seeing him whenever he calls, as you might have done had
nothing of this sort occurred. You will see him with the rest of
us, in the same manner, and, as much as you can, dismissing the
recollection of everything unpleasant. He leaves Northampton-
shire so soon, that even this slight sacrifice cannot be often de-
manded. The future must be very uncertain. And now, my
dear Fanny, this subject is closed between us."
The promised departure was all that Fanny could think of
with much satisfaction. Her uncle's kind expressions, however,
and forbearing manner, were sensibly felt ; and when she con-
sidered how much of the truth was unknown to him, she be-
MANSFIELD PARK. 23 1
lioved she had no right to wonder at the line of conduct he
pursued. He who had married a daughter to Mr. Rush-worth.
Romantic delicacy was certainly not to be expected from him.
She must do her duty, and trust that time might make her duty
easier than it now was.
She could not, though only eighteen, suppose Mr. Crawford's
attachment would hold out for ever ; she could not but imagine
that steady, unceasing discouragement from herself would put an
end to it in time. How much time she might, in her own
fancy, allot fur its dominion, is another concern. It would not
be fair to inquire into a young lady's exact estimate of her own
perfections.
In spite of his intended silence, Sir Thomas found himself once
more obliged to mention the subject to his niece, to prepare her
briefly for its being imparted to her aunts ; a measure which he
vrotild still have avoided, if possible, but which became neces-
sary from the totally opposite feelings of Mr. Crawford, as to
any secrecy of proceeding. He had no idea of concealment. It
was all known at the Parsonage, where he loved to talk over the
future with both his sisters : and it would be rather gratifying to
him to have enlightened witnesses of the progress of his success.
When Sir Thomas understood this, he felt the necessity of
making his own wife and sister-in-law acquainted with the
business without delay; though, on Fanny's account, he almost
dreaded the effect of the communication to Mrs. Norris as much
as Fanny herself. He deprecated her mistaken, but well-mean-
ing zeal. Sir Thomas, indeed, was, by this time, not very far
from classing Mrs. Xorris as one of those well-meaning people
who are always doing mistaken and very disagreeable things.
Mrs. Xorris, however, relieved him. He pressed for the
strictest forbearance and silence towards their niece ; she not only
promised, but did observe it. She only looked her increased
ill-will. Angry she was bitterly angry; but she was more
angry with Fanny for having received such an offer, than for
refusing it. It was an injury and affront to Julia, who ought
to have been Mr. Crawford's choice; and, independently of that,
she disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her; and she
would have grudged such an elevation to one whom she had
been always trying to depress.
Sir Thomas gave her more credit for discretion on the occasion
than she deserved ; and Fanny could have blessed her for allow-
ing her only to see her displeasure, and not to hear it.
Lady Bertram took it differently. She had been a beauty,
and a prosperous beauty, all her life; and beauty and wealth
were all that excited her respect. To know Fanny to be sought,
in marriage by a man of fortune, raised her, therefore, very
much in her opinion. By convincing her that Fanny was very
232 MANSFIELD PAKK.
pretty, which she had been doubting about before, and that she
would be advantageously married, it made her feel a sort of
credit in calling her niece.
" "Well, Fanny," said she, as soon as they were alone together
afterwards, and she really had known something like impatience
to be alone with her, and her countenance, as she spoke, had ex-
traordinary animation, ""Well, Fanny, I have had a very
agreeable surprise this morning. I must just speak of it once,
I told Sir Thomas I must once, and then I shall have done. I
give you joy, my dear niece." And looking at her complacently,
she added, " Humph we certainly are a handsome family."
Fanny coloured, and doubted at first what to say; when
hoping to assail her on her vulnerable side, she presently an-
swered,
" My dear aunt, you cannot wish me to do differently from
what I have done, I am sure. You cannot wish me to marry ;
for you would miss me, should not you? Yes, I am sure you
would miss me too much for that."
" No, my dear, I should not think of missing you, when such
an offer as this comes in your way. I could do very well with-
out you, if you were married to a man of such good estate as Mr.
Crawford. And you must be aware, Fanny, that it is every
young woman's duty to accept such a very unexceptionable offer
as this."
This was almost the only rule of conduct, the only piece of
advice, which Fanny had ever received from her aunt in the
course of eight years and a half. It silenced her. She felt how
unprofitable contention would be. If her aunt's feelings were
against her, nothing could be hoped from attacking her under-
standing. Lady Bertram was quite talkative.
" I will tell you what, Fanny," said she, "I am sure he fell
in love with you at the ball ; I am sure the miscliief was done
that evening. You did look remarkably well. Everybody said
so. Sir Thomas said so. And you know you had Chapman to
help you dress. I am very glad I sent Chapman to you. I shall
tell Sir Thomas that I am sure it was done that evening." And
still pursuing the same cheerful thoughts, she soon afterwards
added, " And I will tell you what, Fanny which is more than
I did for Maria the next time pug has a litter you shall have a
puppy."
MANSFIELD 1'AJiK. 233
CHAPTER III.
DMUND had great tilings to hear on his re-
'turn. Many surprises were awaiting him.
The first that occurred was not least in in-
terest, the appearance of Henry Crawford
and his sister walking together through the
, village as he rode into it. He had concluded
> he had meant them to be far distant. His
absence had been extended beyond a fortnight
purposely to avoid Miss Crawford, He was returning to Mans-
field with spirits ready to feed on melancholy remembrances, and
tender associations, when her own fair self was before him, leaning
on her brother's arm ; and ho found himself receiving a welcome,
unquestionably friendly from the woman whom, two moments
before, he had been thinking of as seventy miles off, and as far-
ther, much farther from him in inclination than any distance
could express.
Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have
hoped for, had he expected to see her. Coming as he did from
such a purport fulfilled as had taken him away, he would have
expected anything rather than a look of satisfaction, and words
of simple, pleasant meaning. It was enough to set his heart in
a glow, and to bring him home in the most proper state for feeling
the full value of the other joyful surprises at hand.
William's promotion, with all its particulars, he was soon
master of; and with such a secret provision of comfort within
his own breast to help the joy, he found in it a source of
most gratifying sensation, and unvarying cheerfulness all dinner--
time.
After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had
Fanny's history ; and then all the great events of the last fort-
night, and the present situation of matters at Mansfield were
known to him.
Fanny suspected what was going on. They sat so much
longer than usual in the dining-parlour, that she was sure they
must be talking of her; and when tea at last brought them away,
and she was to be seen by Edmund again, she felt dreadfully
guilty. He came to her, sat down by her, took her hand, and
pressed it kindly ; and at that moment she thought that, but for
the occupation and the scene which the tea-things afforded, she
must have betrayed her emotion in some unpardonable excess.
He was not intending, however, by such action, to be con*
veying to her that unqualified approbation and encouragement
which her hopes drew from it. It was designed only to express
234 MANSFIELD PAUK.
his participation in all that interested her, and to tell her that he
had been hearing what quickened every feeling of affection. He
was, in fact, entirely on his father's side of the question. His
surprise was not so great as his father's, at her refusing Craw-
ford, because, so far from supposing her to consider him with
anything like a preference, he had always believed it to be
rather the reverse, and could imagine her to be taken perfectly
unprepared, but Sir Thomas could not regard the connection as
more desirable than he did. It had every recommendation to
him ; and while honouring her for what she had done under the
influence of her present indifference, honouring her in rathei
stronger terms than Sir Thomas could quite echo, he was most
earnest in hoping, and sanguine in believing, that it would be a
match at last, and that, united by mutual affection, it would
appear that their dispositions were as exactly fitted to make them
Messed in each other, as he was now beginning seriously to con-
sider them. Crawford had been too precipitate. He had not
given her time to attach herself. He had begun at the wrong
end. With such powers as his, however, and such a disposition
as hers, Edmund trusted that everything would work out a happy
conclusion. Meanwhile, he saw enough of Fanny's embarrass-
ment to make him scrupulously guard against exciting it a
second time, by any word, or look, or movement.
Crawford called the next day, and on the score of Edmund's
return, Sir Thomas felt himself more than licensed to ask him to
stay dinner ; it was really a necessary compliment. He stayed
of course, and Edmund had then ample opportunity for observing
how he sped with Fanny, and what degree of immediate en-
couragement for him might be extracted from her manners ; and
it was so little, so very, very little, (every chance, every possi-
bility of it, resting upon her embarrassment only, if there was
not hope in her confusion, there was hope in nothing else), that
he was almost ready to wonder at his friend's perseverance.
Fanny was worth it all ; be held her to be worth every effort of
patience, every exertion of mind but he did not think he could
have gone on himself with any woman breathing, without some-
thing more to warm his courage than his eyes could discern in
hers. He was very willing to hope that Crawford saw clearer ;
and this was the most comfortable conclusion for his friend that
lie could come to from all that he observed to pass before, and at,
and after dinner.
In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thought
more promising. When he and Crawford walked into the draw-
ing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting as intently and
silently at work as if thTe were nothing else to care for.
Edmund could not help noticing their apparently deep tran-
quillity,
MAJS'SFIKLD 1'AUK. 235
" We have not been so silent all the time," replied hi.s mother.
' Fanny has been reading to me, and only put the book down
upon hearing you coming." And sure enough there was a book
<>n the table which had the air of being very recently closed, a
volume of Shakspeare. " She often reads to me out of those
books ; and she was in the middle of a very line speech of that
man's what's his name, Fanny? when we heard your footsteps."
Cnuvford took the volume. "Let me have the pleasure of
finishing that speech to your Ladyship," said he. " I shall find
it immediately." And by carefully giving way to the inclina-
tion of the leaves, he did find it, or within a page or two, quite
near enough to satisfy Lady Bertram, who assured him, as soon
as he mentioned the name of Cardinal Wolsey, that he had got
the very speech. Not a look, or an offer of help had Fanny
given ; not a syllable for or against. All her attention was for
her work. She seemed determined to be interested by nothing
else. But taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract
her mind five minutes; she was forced to listen; his reading was
capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme. To good
reading, however, she had been long used; her uncle read well
her cousins all Edmund very well ; but in Mr. Crawford's
rc'iding there was a variety of excellence beyond what she had
ever met with. The King, the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey,
Cromwell, all were given in turn ; for with the happiest knack,
the happiest power of jumping and guessing, he coidd always
light, at will, on the best scene, or the best speeches of each ;
and whether it were dignity or pride, or tenderness or remorse,
or whatever were to be expressed, he could do it with equal
bjauty. It was truly dramatic. His acting had first taught
Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his reading brought
all his lieting before her again; nay, perhaps with greater enjoy-
ment, for it came unexpectedly, and with no such drawback
as she had been used to suffer in seeing him on the stage with
.Mi.-.s Fieri ram.
F.dmund watched the progress of her attention, and was
amused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened- in
the needlework, which, at the beginning, seemed to occupy her
totally ; how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless over
it and at last, how the eyes which had appeared so studiously
to avoid him throughout the day were turned and fixed on
Crawford, fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him, in short, till
the attraction drew Crawford's upon her, and the book was
closed, and the charm was broken. Then she was shrinking
again into herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever;
but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his
friend, and as he cordially thanked him, he hoped to be expressing
Fanny's secret feelings too.
236 MANSFIELD PAKK.
"That play must be a i'avourite with you," said he; "you
read as if you knew it well."
" It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour," replied
Crawford: " but I do not think I have had a volume of Shak-
speare in my hand before since I was fifteen. I once saw Henry
the Eighth acted, or I have heard of it from somebody who
did I am not certain which. But Shakspeare one gets ac-
quainted with without knowing how. It is a part of an English-
man's constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread
abroad that one touches them every where; one is intimate with
him by instinct. No man of any brain can open at a good part
of one of his plays without falling into the flow of his meaning
immediately."
" No doubt one is familiar with Shakspeare in a degree," said
Edmund, "from cne's earliest years. His celebrated passages
are quoted by everybody : they are in half the books we open,
and we all talk Shakspeare, use his similies, and describe with
his descriptions ; but this is totally distinct from giving his sense
as you gave it. To know him in bits and scraps is common
enough; to know him pretty thoroughly is perhaps, not un-
common ; but to read him well aloud is no every -day talent."
" Sir, you do me honour," was Crawford's answer, with a bow
of mock gravity.
Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a word of
accordant praise could be extorted from her; yet botli feeling
that it could not be. Her praise had been given in her attention ;
that must content them.
Lady Bertram's admiration was expressed, and strongly too.
" It was really like being at a play," said she. " I wish Sir
Thomas had been here."
Crawford was excessively pleased. If Lady Bertram, with
with all her incompetency and languor, could feel this, the
inference of what her niece, alive and enlightened as she was,
must feel, was elevating.
" You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford,"
said her Ladyship soon afterwards " and I will tell you what, I
think you will have a theatre, some time or other, at your house
in Norfolk. I mean when you are settled there. I do, indeed.
I think you will fit up a theatre at your house in Norfolk."
" Do you, ma'am?" cried he, with quickness. " No, no, that
will never be. Your Ladyship is quite mistaken. No theatre
at Everingham ! Oh, no." And he looked at Fanny with an
expressive smile, which evidently meant, " that lady will never
allow a theatre at Everingham."
Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined not to see
it, as to make it clear that the voice was enough to convey the
full meaning of the protestation ; and such a quick consciousness
MANSFIELD PARK. 237
of compliment, such a ready comprehension of a hint, he thought,
was rather favourable than not.
The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed. The two
young men were the only talkers, but they, standing by the fire,
talked over the too common neglect of the qualification, the total
inattention to it, in the ordinary school-system for boys, the
consequently natural, yet in some instances almost unnatural,
degree of ignorance and uncouthness of men, of sensible and well-
informed men, when suddenly called to the necessity of reading
aloud, which had fallen within their notice, giving instances of
blunders, and failures with their secondary causes, the want of
management of the voice, of proper modulation and emphasis, of
foresight and judgment, all proceeding from the first cause, want
of early attention and habit; and Fanny was listening again
with great entertainment.
" Even in my profession," said Edmund, with a smile, " how
little the art of reading has been studied! how little a clear
manner, and good delivery, have been attended to! I speak
rather of the past, however, than the present There is now a
spirit of improvement abroad; but among those who were
ordained twenty, thirty, forty years ago, the larger number, to
judge by their performance, must have thought reading was
reading, and preaching was preaching. It is different now.
The subject is more justly considered. It is felt that distinctness
and energy may have weight in recommending the most solid
truths; and, besides, there is more general observation and taste,
a more critical knowledge diffused than formerly; in every congre-
gation there is a larger proportion who know a little of the
matter, and who can judge and criticise."
Edmund had already gone through the service once since his
ordination; and upon this being understood, he had a variety of
questions from Crawford as to his feelings and success ; questions
which being made though with the vivacity of friendly interest
and quick taste without any touch of that spirit of banter or
air of levity which Edmund knew to be most offensive to Fanny,
he had true pleasure in satisfying ; and when Crawford proceeded
to ask his opinion and give his own as to the most proper manner
in which particular passages in the r.ervice should be delivered,
showing it to be a subject on which he had thought before, and
thought with j udgment, Edmund was still more and more pleased.
This would be the way to Fanny's heart. She was not to be
won by all that gallantry and wit, and good-nature together,
could do ; or at least, she would not be won by them nearly so
soon, without the assistance of sentiment and feeling, and
seriousness on serious subjects.
" Our liturgy," observed Crawford, " has beauties, which not
even a careless, slovenly style of reading can destroy ; but it has
238 MANSFIELD PARK.
also redundancies and repetitions which require good reading not
to be felt. For myself, at least, I must confess being not always
so attentive as I ought to be (here was a glance at Fanny); that
nineteen times out of twenty, I am tliinking how such a prayer
ought to be read, and longing to have it to read myself. Djd
you speak?" stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing her in
a softened voice; and upon her saying, "No," he added, "Are
you sure you did not speak? I saw your lips move. I fancied
you might be going to tell me I might to be more attentive, and
not allow my thoughts to wander. Are not you going to tell
me so?"
" No, indeed, you know your duty too well for ine to even
supposing '
She stopped, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be
prevailed on to add another word, not by dint of several minutes
of supplication and waiting. lie then returned to his fornv. r
station, and went on as if there had been no such tender inter-
ruption.
"A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than
prayers well read. A sermon, good in itself, is no rare thing.
It is more difficult to speak well than to compose well; that is,
the rules and trick of composition are oftcner an object of study.
A thoroughly good sermon, thoroughly well delivered, isaci.pilal
gratification. I can never hear such a one without the greatest
admiration and respect, and more than half a mind to take orders
and preach myself. There is something in the eloquence of the
pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitled to the highest
praise and honour. The preacher who can touch and affect such
a heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long
worn thread-bare in all common hands; who can say anything
new or striking, anything that rouses the attention, without
offending the taste, or wearing out the feelings of his hearers,
is a man whom one could not (in his public capacity) honour
enough. I should like to be such a man."
Edmund laughed.
" I should indeed. I never listened to a distinguished preacher
in my life without a sort of envy. But then, I must have a
London audience. I could not preach, but to the educated ; to
those who were capable of estimating my composition. And I
do not know that I should be fond of preaching often ; now and
then, perhaps, once or twice in the spring, after being anxiously
expected for half-a-dozen Sundays together; but not for a con-
stancy; it would not do for a constancy."
Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily shook her
head, and Crawford was instantly by her side again, enlreatiiu;
to know her meaning; and as Edmund perceived, by his d raw in;;'
in a chair, and sitting down close by her, that it was to be a very
MANSFIELD PARK. 239
thorough attack, that looks and undertones were to be well tried,
lie sank as quietly as possible into a corner, turned his back, and
took up a newspaper, very sincerely wishing that dear little
Fanny might be persuaded into explaining away that shake of
the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover; and as earnestly
trying to bury every sound of the business from himself in
murmurs of his own, over the various advertisements of "A most
desirable Estate in South Wales" " To Parents and Guardians"
and a " Capital season'd Hunter."
Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself for not having been as
motionless as she was speechless, and grieved to the heart to .sec-
Edmund's arrangements, was trying, by everything in the powt-r
of her modest, gentle nature, to repulse Mr. Crawford, and avoid
both his looks and inquiries ; and he, unrepulsable, was persisting
in both.
" What did that shake of the head mean ?" said lie. "What
was it meant to express? Disapprobation, I fear. But of what?
What had I been saying to displease you? Did you think mo
speaking improperly, lightly, irreverently on the subject?
Only tell me if I was. Only tell me if I was wrong. I want
to be set right. Nay, nay, I entreat you; for one moment put
down your work. What did that shake of the head mean?"
In vain was her "Pray, sir, don't pray, Mr. Crawford"
repeated twice over; and in vain did she try to move away. In
the same low, eager voice, and the same close neighbourhood, he
went on, re-urging the same questions as before. She grew more
agitated and displeased.
" How can you, sir? You quite astonish me I wonder ho\v
you can
" Do 1 astonish you?" said he. " Do you wonder? Is there
anything in my present intreaty that you do not understand ?
I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in
this manner, all that gives me an interest in what you look and
do, and excites my present curiosity. I will not leave you to
wonder long."
In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but she
said nothing.
" You shook your head at my acknowledging that I should
not like to engage in the duties of a clergyman always for a
constancy. Yes, that was the word. Constancy. I am not afraid
of the word. I would spell it, read it, write it with anybody.
I see nothing alarming in the word. Did you think I ought?"
" Perhaps, sir," said Fanny, wearied at last into speaking
" perhaps, sir, I thought it was a pity you did not always know
yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment."
Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was de-
termined to keep it up ; and poor Fanny, who had hoped to silence
240 MANSFIELD PARK.
him by such an extremity of reproof, found herself sadly mis-
taken, and that it was only a change from one object of curi-
osity and one set of words to another. He had always some-
thing to entreat the explanation of. The opportunity was too
fair. None such had occurred since his seeing her in her uncle's
room, none such might occur again before his leaving Mansfield.
Lady Bertram's being just on the other side of the table was a
trifle, for she might always be considered as only half awake,
and Edmund's advertisements were still of the first utility.
" Well," said Crawford, after a course of rapid questions and
reluctant answers " I am happier than I was, because I now
understand more clearly your opinion of me. You think me
unsteady easily swayed by the whim of the moment easily
tempted easily put aside. With such an opinion, no wonder
that But we shall see. It is not by protestations that I
shall endeavour to convince you I am wronged, it is not by tell-
ing you that my affections are steady. My conduct shall speak
for me absence, distance, time shall speak for me. They shall
prove that, as far as you can be deserved by anybody, I do de-
serve you. You are infinitely my superior in merit ; all that I
know. You have qualities which I had not before supposed to
exist in such a degree in any human creature. You have some
touches of the angel in you beyond what not merely beyond
what one sees, because one never sees anything like it ; but be-
yond what one fancies might be. But still I am not frightened.
It is not by equality of merit that you can be won. That is
out of the question. It is he who sees and worships your merit
the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best
right to a return. There I build my confidence. By that right
I do and will deserve you ; and when once convinced that my
attachment is what I declare it, I know you too well not to en-
tertain the warmest hopes Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny
Nay (seeing her draw back displeased) forgive me. Perhaps
I have as yet no right but by what other name can I call you ?
Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under
any other ? No, it is ' Fanny' that I think of all day, and
dream of all night. You have given the name such reality of
sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptive of you."
Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or have
refrained from at least trying to get away in spite of all the too
public opposition she foresaw to it, had it not been for the sound
of approaching relief, the very sound which she had been long
watching for. and long thinking strangely delayed.
The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of tea-board,
urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her
from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind. Mr. Crawford
was obliged to move. She was at liberty, she was busy, she
was protected.
MANSFIELD i'Afcit. 241
Edmund was not rorry to be admitted again among the miin-
licr of those who might speak and hear. Hut though the con-
ference had seemed full long to him, and though on looking at
Fanny he saw rather a Hush of vexation, he inclined to hope
that so much could not have been s;\M and listened to, without
some profit to the speaker.
CHAPTER IV.
-j, DMUND had determined that it belonged
: ^f entirely to Fanny to choose whether her situ-
"ift, ation with regard to Crawford should be
mentioned between them or not ; and that if
she did not lead the way, it should never be
touched on by him ; but after a day or two
of mutual reserve, he was induced by Ins
father to change his mind, and try what his
influence might do for kis friend.
A daj-, and a very early day, was actually fixed for the
Crawfords' departure ; and Sir Thomas thought it might be as
well to make one more effort for the young man before he left
Mansfield, that all his professions and vows of unshaken attach-
ment might have as much hope to sustain them as possible.
Sir Thomas was most cordially anxious for the perfection of
Mr. Crawford's character in that point. He wished him to be
a model of constancy ; and fancied the best means of effecting
it would be by not trying him too long.
Edmund was not unwilling to be persuaded to engage in the
business ; he wanted to know Fanny's feelings. She had been
used to consult him in every difficulty, and he loved her too well
to bear to be denied her confidence now; he hoped to he of ser-
vice to her, he thought he must be of service to her whom else
had she to open her" heart to ? If she did not need counsel, she
must need the comfort of communication. Fanny estranged
from him, silent, and reserved, was an unnatural state of things ;
a state which he must break through, and which he could easily
learn to think she was wanting him to break through.
" I will speak to her, sir ; I will take the first opportunity of
speading to her alone," was the result of such thoughts as these ;
find upon Sir Thomas's information of her being at that very
time walking alone in the shrubbery, he instantly joined her. ^
" I am come to walk with you, Fanny," said he. " Shall I ?"
(drawing her arm within his,) " it is a long while since we
have had a comfortable walk together."
She assented to it all rather by look than word. Her Fpirits
were low. CJ
242 MANSFIELD
" But, Fanny," he presently added, " in order to have a coiri-
fortable walk, something more is necessary than merely pacing
this gravel together. You must talk to me. I know you have
something on your mind. I know what you are thinking of.
You cannot suppose me uninformed. Am I to hear of it from
everybody but Fanny herself?"
Fanny, at once agitated and dejected, replied, " If you hear
of it from everybody, cousin, there can be nothing for me to
tell."
" Not of facts, perhaps ; but of feelings, Fanny. No one but
you can tell me them. I do not mean to press you, however.
If it is not what you wish yourself, I have done. I had thought
it might be a relief."
" I am afraid we think 'too differently, for me to find any re-
lief in talking of what I feel."
" Do you suppose that we think differently ? I have no idea of
it. I dare say, that on a comparison of our opinions, they would
be found as much alike as they have been used to be : to the
point I consider Crawford's proposals as most advantageous and
desirable, if you could return his affection. I consider it as most
natural that all your family should wish you could return it ;
but that as you cannot, you have done exactly as you ought in
refusing him. Can there be any disagreement between us
here ?"
" Oh, no ! But I thought you blamed me. I thought you
were against me. This is such a comfort !"
" This comfort you might have had sooner, Fanny, had you
sought, it. But how could you possibly suppose me against you ?
How could you imagine me an advocate for marriage without
love ? Were I even careless in general on such matters, how
could you imagine me so where your happiness was at stake ?"
" My uncle thought me wrong and I knew he had been talk-
ing to you."
" As far as yon have gone, Fanny, I think you perfectly right.
I may be sorry, I may be surprised though hardly that, for
vou had not had time to attach yourself: but I think you per-
fectly right. Can it admit of a question ? It is disgraceful to
vt if it docs. You did not love him nothing could have justi-
fi d your accepting him."
Fanny had not felt so comfortable for days and days.
" So far your conduct has been faultless, and they were quite
mistaken who wished you to do otherwise. But the matter does
not end here. Crawford's is no common attachment ; he perse-
veres, with the hope of creating that regard which had not been
created before. This, we know, must be a work of time. But
(with an affectionate smile), let him succeed at last, Fanny, let
him succeed at last. You have proved yourself upright and
MANSFIELD PARK. 243
disinterested, prove yourself grateful and tender-hearted ; and
then you will be the perfect model of a woman, rrl.ich I have
always believed you born for."
"Oh! never, never, never; he never will succeed with me."
And she spoke with a warmth which quite astonished Edmund,
and when she blushed at the recollection of herself, when she
saw his look, and heard him reply, "Never! Fanny: so very
determined and positive ! This is not like yourself, your ra-
tional self."
" I mean," she cried, sorrowfully correcting herself, " that I
think I never shall, as far as the future can be answered for
I think I never shall return his regard."
" I must hope better things. I am aware, more aware than
Crawford can be, that the man who means to make you love
him (you have due notice of his intentions), must have very up-
hill work, for there are all your early attachments and habits in
battle array ; and before he can get your heart for his own use
he has to unfasten it from all the holds upon things animate and
inanimate, which so many years' growth have confirmed, and
which are considerably tightened for the moment by the very
idea of separation. I know that the apprehension of being
forced to quit Mansfield will for a time be arming you against
him. I wish he had not been obliged to tell you what he was
trying for. I wish he had known you as well as I do, Fanny.
Between us, I think we should have won you. My theoretical
and his practical knowledge together, could not have failed. He
should have worked upon my plans. I must hope, however,
that time proving him (as I firmly believe it will), to deserve
you by his steady affection will give him his reward. I cannot
suppose that you have not the wish to love him the natural
wish of gratitude. You must have some feeling of that sort.
You must be sorry for your own indifference.*
" We are so totally unlike," said Fanny, avoiding a direct
answer, " we are so very, very different in all our inclinations
and ways, that I consider it as quite impossible we should ever
be tolerably happy together, even if I could like him. There
never were two people more dissimilar. We have not one taste
hi common. We should be miserable."
" You are mistaken, Fanny. The dissimilarity is not so
strong. You are quite enough alike. You have tastes in com-
mon. You have moral and literary tastes in common. You
have both warm hearts and benevolent feelings; and, Fanny,
who that heard him read, and saw you listen to Shakspeare the
other night, will think you unfitted as companions? You for-
get yourself: there is a decided difference in your tempers, I al-
low, lie is lively, you are serious ; but so much the better; his
spirits will support yours. It is your disposition to be easily de-
244 MANSFIELD PARK.
j'.'cted and to fancy difficulties greater than they are. His cheer-
fulness will counteract this. He sees difficulties nowhere ; and
his pleasantness and gaiety will be a constant support to you.
Your being so far unlike, Fanny, does not in the smallest degree
make against the probability of your happiness together do not
imagine it. I am myself convinced that it is rather a favourable
circumstance. I am perfectly persuaded that the tempers had
bolter be unlike I mean unlike in the flow of the spirits, in the
manners, in the inclination for much or little company, in the
propensity to talk or to be silent, to be grave or to be gay. Some
opposition here is, I am thoroughly convinced, friendly to ma-
trimonial happiness. I exclude extremes, of course ; and a very
close resemblance in all those points would be the likeliest way
to produce an extreme. A counteraction, gentle and continual,
is the best safeguard of manners and conduct."
Full well could Fanny guess where his thoughts were now.
Miss Crawford's power was all returning. He had been speak-
ing of her cheerfully from the hour of his coming home. His
avoiding her was quite at an end. He had dined at the Parson-
age only the preceding day.
After leaving him to his happier thoughts for some minute;?,
Fanny feeling it due to herself, returned to Mr. Crawford, and
stsid, " It is not merely in temper that I consider him as totally
unsuited to myself though, in that respect, I think the difference
Ixitween us too great, infinitely too great ; his spirits often oppress
mo but there is something in him which I object to still more.
I must say, cousin, that I cannot approve his character. I have
not thought well of him from the time of the play. I then saw
him behaving, as it appeared to me, so very improperly and un-
!'. rliugly I may speak of it now because it is all over so im-
properly by poor Sir. Rushwo-th, not seeming to care how he
exposed or hurt him, and paying attentions to my cousin Maria,
wliich in short, at the time of the play, I received an impres-
sion which will never be got over."
" My dear Fanny," replied Edmund, scarcely hearing her to
the end, " let us not, any of us, be judged by what we appeared
at that period of general folly. The time of the play is a time
which I hate to recollect. Maria was wrong, Crawford was
wrong, we were all wrong together ; but none so wrong as my-
self. Compared with me, all the rest were blameless. I was
playing the fool with my eyes open."
" As a by-stander," said Fanny, " perhaps I saw more than
you did ; and I do think that Mr. Rushworth was sometimes very
jealous."
" Very possibly. No wonder. Nothing could be more im-
proper than the whole business. I am shocked whenever I think
that Maria could be capable of it; but, if she could undertake
the part, we must not be surprised at the rest,"
MANSFIELD PAUK. 245
" Before the play, I am much mistaken, if Julia did not think
lie was paying her attentions."
"Julia! I have heard before from some one of his being in
love with Julia ; but I could never see anything of it. And,
Fanny, though I hope I do justice to my sisters' good qualities, I
think it very possible that they might, one or both, be more de-
sirous of being admired by Crawford, and might shew that de-
sire rather more unguardedly than was perfectly prudent. I can
remember that they were evidently fond of his society ; and with
such encouragement, a man like Crawford, lively, and it may be
a little unthinking, might be led on to there could be nothing
very striking, because it is clear that he had no pretensions : his
heart was reserved for you. And I must say, that its being
for you has raised him inconceivably in my opinion. It does
him the highest honour ; it shows his proper estimation of
the blessing of domestic happiness and pure attachment. It
proves him unspoiled by his uncle. It proves him, in short,
everything that I had been used to wish to believe him. and feared
he was not."
" I am persuaded that he does not think, as he ought, on se-
rious subjects."
" Say, rather, that he has not thought at all upon serious sub-
jects, which I believe to be a good deal the case. How could it
be otherwise, with such an education and adviser? Under the
disadvantages, indeed, which both have had, is it not wonderful
that they should be what they are ? Crawford's feelings, I am
ready to acknowledge, have hitherto been too much his guides.
Happily, those feelings have been generally good. You will sup-
ply the rest ; and a most fortunate man he is to attach himself
to such a creature to a woman, who firm as a rock in her own
principles, has a gentleness of character so well adapted to re-
commend them. He has chosen his partner, indeed, with rare
felicity. He will make yon happy, Fanny, I know he will make
you happy ; but you will make him everything."
" I would not engage in such a charge," cried Fanny, in a
shrinking accent "in such an office of high responsibility!"
" As usual, believing yourself unequal to anything ! fancying
everything too much for you ! Well, though I may not be able
to persuade you into different feelings, you will be persuaded into
them, I trust. I confess myself sincerely anxious that you may.
I have no common interest in Crawford's well-doing. Next to
your happiness, Fanny, his has the first claim on me. You arc
aware of my having no common interest in Crawford."
Fanny was too well aware of it to have anything to say ;
and they walked on together some fifty yards in mutual silence
and abstraction. Edmund first began again :
" I was very much pleased by her manner of speaking of it
yesterday, particularly pleased, because I had not depended upon
246 MANSFIELD PARK.
her seeing everything in so just a light. I knew she was very
fond of you; but yet I was afraid of her not estimating your
worth to her brother quite as it deserved, and of her regretting
that he had not rather fixed on some woman of distinction or
fortune. I was afraid of the bias of those worldly maxims,
which she has been too much used to hear. But it was very dif-
ferent. She spoke of you, Fanny, just as she ought. She de-
sires the connexion as Avarmly as your uncle or myself. We had
a long talk about it. I should not have mentioned the subject,
though very anxious to know her sentiments ; but I had not
been in the room live minutes, before she began introducing it
with all that openness of heart, and sweet peculiarity of manner,
that spirit and ingenuousness which are so much a part of her-
self. Mrs. Grant laughed at her for her rapidity."
" Was Mrs. Grant in the room, then ?"
" Yes, when I reached the house, I found the two sisters toge-
ther by themselves; and when once we had begun, we had not
done with you, Fanny, till Crawford and Dr. Grant came in."
" It is above a week since I saw Miss Crawford."
" Yes, she laments it ; yet owns it may have been best. You
will see her, however, before she goes. She is very angry with
you, Fanny ; you must be prepared for that. She calls herself very
angry, but you can imagine her anger. It is the regret and dis-
appointment of a sister, who thinks her brother has a right to
everything he may wish for, at the first moment. She is hurt,
as you would be for William ; but she loves and esteems you
with all her heart."
" I knew she would be very angry with me."
" My dearest Fanny," cried Edmund, pressing her arm closer
to him, " do not let the idea of her anger distress you. It is
anger to be talked of rather than felt. Her heart is made for
love and kindness, not for resentment. I wish you could have
overheard her tribute of praise ; I wish you could have seen her
countenance, when she said that you should be Henry's wife.
And I observed, that she always spoke of you as ' Fanny,' which
she was never used to do ; and it had a sound of most sisterly
cordiality."
" And Mrs. Grant, did she say did she speak was she there
all the time?"
" Yes, she was agreeing exactly with her sister. The surprise
of your refusal, Fanny, seems to have been unbounded. That you
could refuse such a man as Henry Crawford, seems more than
they can understand. I said what I could for you ; but in good
truth, as they stated the case you must prove yourself to be in
your senses as soon as you can, by a different conduct ; nothing
else will satisfy them. But this is teasing you. I have done.
Do not turn away from me."
MANSFIELD PARK. 247
u I should have thought," said Fanny, after a pause of recol-
lection and exertion, " that every woman must have felt the pos-
sibility of a man's not being approved, not being loved by some
one of her sex, at least, let him be ever so generally agreeable.
Let him have all the perfections in the world, I think it ought
not to be set down as certain, that a man must be acceptable to
every woman he may happen to like himself. But, even sup-
posing it is so, allowing Mr. Crawford to have all the claims
which his sisters think he has, how was I to be prepared to meet
him with any feeling answerable to his own? He took me
wholly by surprise. I had not an idea that his behaviour to
me before had any meaning ; and surely I was not to be teach-
ing myself to like him only because he was taking what seemed
very idle notice of me. In my situation, it would have been the
extreme of vanity to be forming expectations on Mr. Crawford.
I am sure his sisters, rating him as they do, must have thought
it so, supposing lie had meant nothing. How, then, was I to
be to be in love with him the moment he said he was with me ?
How was I to have an attachment at his service, as soon as it
was asked for? His sisters should consider me as well as him.
The higher his deserts, the more improper for me ever to have
thought of him. And, and we think very differently of the
nature of women, if they can imagine a woman so very soon
capable of returning an affection, as this seems to imply."
" My dear, dear Fanny, now I have the truth. I know this
to be the truth ; and most worthy of you are such feelings. I
had attributed them to you before. I thought I could under-
stand you. You have now given exactly the explanation which
I ventured to make for you to your friend and Mrs. Grant, and
they were both better satisfied, though your warm-hearted friend
was still run away with a little, by the enthusiasm of her fond-
ness for Henry. I told them, that you were of all human
creatures the one over whom habit had most power and novelty
least; and that the very circumstance of the novelty of Crawford's
addresses was against him. Their being so new and so recent
was all in their disfavour ; that you could tolerate nothing that
you were not used to ; and a great deal more to the same purpose,
to give them a knowledge of your character. Miss Crawford
made us laugh by her plans of encouragement for her brother.
She meant to urge him to persevere in the hope of being loved in
time, and of having his addresses most kindly received at the
end of about ten years' happy marriage."
Fanny could with difficulty give the smile that was here
asked for. Her feelings were all in revolt. She feared she had
been doing wrong, saying too much, overacting the caution
which she had been fancying necessary, in guarding against one
evil laying herself open to another; and to have Miss Crawford's
248
MANSFIELD
liveliness repeated to her at such a moment, and on such a sub-
ject, was a bitter aggravation.
Edmund saw weariness and distress in her face, and imme-
diately resolved to forbear all farther discussion ; and not even
to mention the name of Crawford again, except as it might be
connected with what must be agreeable to her. On this prin-
ciple, lie soon afterwards observed,
" They go on Monday. You are sure, therefore, of seeing
your friend either to-morrow or Sunday. They really go on
Monday ; and I was within a trifle of being persuaded to stay at
Lessingby till that very day ! I had almost promised it. What
a difference it might have made! Those five or six days more
at Lessingby might have been felt all my life!"
" You were near staying there?"
" Very. I was most kindly pressed, and had nearly consented.
I Tad I received any letter from Mansfield, to tell me how you
wore all going on, I believe I should certainly have stayed ; but
I knew nothing that had happened here for a fortnight, and felt
that I had been away long enough."
" You spent your time pleasantly there?"
"Yes; that is, it was the fault of my own mind if I did not.
They were all very pleasant. I doubt their finding me so. I
took uneasiness with me, and there was no getting rid of it till I
was in Mansfield again."
" The Miss Owens you liked them, did not you?"
" Yes, very well. Pleasant, good-humoured, unaffected girls.
But I am spoiled, Fanny, for common female society. Good-
humoured, unaffected girls, will not do for a man who has beon
used to sensible women. They are two distinct orders of being.
You and Miss Crawford have made me too nice."
Still, however, Fanny was oppressed and wearied; he saw it
in her looks, it could not be talked away ; and attempting it no
more, he led her directly, with the kind authority of a privileged
guardian, into the house.
MANSFIELD 1'AUK. 249
CHAPTER V.
DMUND now believed himself perfectly
' acquainted with all that Fanny could tell, or
could leave to be conjectured of her sentiments,
and he was satisfied. It had been, as he
before presumed, too hasty a measure on
Crawford's side, and time must be given to
make the idea first familiar, and then agree-
able to her. She must be used to the con-
m deration of his being in love with her, and then a return of
all'tviion might not be very distant.
lie gave this opinion as the result of the conversation to his
fatlii'r; and recommended there being nothing more said to her,
no farther attempts to influence or persuade; but that everything
should be left to Crawford's assiduities, and the natural workings
of her own mind.
Sir Thomas promised that it should be so. Edmund's account
of Fanny's disposition he could believe to be just; he supposed
she had all those feelings, but he must consider it as very unfor-
tunate that she had; for, less willing than his son to trust to
the future, he could not help fearing that if such very long
allowances of time and habit were necessary for her, she might
not have persuaded herself into receiving his addresses properly,
before the young man's inclination for paying them were over.
There was nothing to be done, however, but to submit quietly
and hope the best.
The promised visit from "her friend," as Edmund called Miss
Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in
continual terror of it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and
so little scrupulous of what she said, and in another light so
triumphant and secure, she was in every way an object of painful
alarm. Her displeasure, her penetration, and her happiness,
were all fearful to encounter; and the dependence of having
others present when they met, was Fanny's only support in
looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible
from Lady Bertram, kept away from the east room, and took no
solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any
sudden attack.
She succeeded. She was safe in the breakfast room, with her
aunt, when Miss Crawford did come; and the first misery over,
and Miss Crawford looking and speaking with much less parti-
cularity of expression than she had anticipated, Fanny began to
hope there would be nothing worse to be endured than a half
hour of moderate agitation. But here she hoped too much ;
(O R
250 MANSFIELD PAKK.
Miss Crawford was not the slave of opportunity. She was
determined to see Fauuy alone, and therefore said to her tolerably
soon, in a low voice, " I must speak to you for a few minutes
somewhere;" words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her
pulses and all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits
of ready submission, on the contrary, made her almost instantly
rise and lead the way out of the room. She did it with wretched
feelings, but it was inevitable.
They were no sooner in the hall than all restraint of counte-
nance was over on Miss Crawford's side. She immediately
shook her head at Fanny with arch, yet affectionate reproach,
and taking her hand, seemed hardly able to help beginning
directly. She said nothing, however, but, " Sad, sad girl ! I do
not know when I shall have done scolding you," and had
discretion enough to reserve the rest till they might be secure of
having four walls to themselves. Fanny naturally turned up
stairs, and took her guest to the apartment which was now
always fit for comfortable use; opening the door, however, with
a most aching heart, and feeling that she had a more distressing
scene before her than ever that spot had yet witnessed. But the
evil ready to burst on her, was at least delayed by the sudden
change in Miss Crawford's ideas ; by the strong effect on her
mind which the finding herself in the east room again produced.
"Ha!" she cried, with instant animation, "am I here again?
The east room. Once only was I in this room before," and after
stopping to look about her, and seemingly to retrace all that had
then passed, she added, " once only before. Do you remember
it? I came to rehearse. Your cousin came too; and we had a
rehearsal. You were our audience and prompter. A delightful
rehearsal. I shall never forget it. Here we were, just in this
part of the room ; here was your cousin, here was I, here were
the chairs. Oh, why will such things ever pass away?''
Happily for her companion, she wanted no answer. Her
mind was entirely self-engrossed. She was in a reverie of sweet
remembrances.
" The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable ! The
subject of it so very very what shall I say? He was to be
describing and recommending matrimony to me. I think I see
him now, trying to be as demure and composed as Anhalt ought,
through the two long speeches. ' When two sympathetic hearts
meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy
life.' I suppose no time can ever wear out the impression I have
of his looks and voice, as he said those words. It was curious,
very curious, that we should have such a scene to play ! If I
had the power of recalling any one week of my existence, it
should be that week, that acting week. Say what you would,
Fanny, it should be that; for I never knew such exquisite
MANSFIELD PAKK. 25 1
happiness in any other. His sturdy spirit to bend as it did !
Oh, it was sweet beyond expression. But alas, that very evening
destroyed it all. That very evening brought your most unwel-
come uncle. Poor Sir Thomas, who was glad to see you ? Yet,
.Fanny, do not imagine I would now speak disrespectfully of
Sir Thomas, though I certainly did hate him for many a week.
No, I do him justice now. He is just what the head of such a
family should be. Nay, in sober sadness, I believe 1 now love
you all." And having said so, with a degree of tenderness and
consciousness which Fanny had never seen in her before, and
now thought only too becoming, she turned away for a moment
to recover herself. " I have had a little lit since I came into
this room, as you may perceive," said she presently, with a
playful smile, " but it is over now ; so let us sit down and be
comfortable; for as to scolding you, Fanny, which I came fully
intending to do, I have not the heart for it when it comes to the
point." And embracing her very affectionately, " Good, gentle
Fanny ! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you
for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do any-
thing but love you."
Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this,
and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence
of the word " last." She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford
more than she possibly could; and Miss Crawford, yet farther
softened by the sight of such emotion, hung about her with fond-
ness, and said, " I hate to leave you. I shall see no one half so
amiable where I am going. Who says we shall not be sisters?
I know we shall. I feel that we are born to be connected; and
those tears convince me that you feel it too, dear Fanny."
Fanny roused herself, and replying only in part, said, " But
you are only going from one set of friends to another. You are
going to a very particular friend."
" Yes, very true. Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend
for years. But I have not the least inclination to go near her.
I can think only of the friends I am leaving; my excellent
sister, yourself, and the Bertrams in general. You have all so
much more heart among you than one finds in the world at
large. You all give me a feeling of being able to trust and con-
fide in you ; which, in common intercourse, one knows nothing
of. I wish I had settled with Mrs. Fraser not to go to her till
after Easter, a much better time for the visit but now I cannot
put her off. And when I have done with her, I must go to her
sister, Lady Stornaway, because she was rather my most par-
ticular friend of the two; but I have not cared much for her
these three years."
After this speech, the two girls sat many minutes silent, each
thoughtful ; Fanny meditating on the different sorts of friend -
252 JIANSl'lELD PAKK.
ship in the world, Mary on something of less philosophic ten-
dency. She first spoke again.
" How perfectly I remember my resolving to look for you up
stairs ; and setting off to find my way to the east room, without
having an idea whereabouts it was! How well I remember
what I was thinking of as I came along; and my looking in and
seeing you here, sitting at this table at work; and then your
cousin's astonishment, when he opened the door, at seeing me
here ! To be sure, your uncle's returning that very evening!
There never was anything quite like it."
Another short fit of abstraction followed; when, shaking it
off, she thus attacked her companion.
- " Why, Fanny, you are absolutely in a reverie! Thinking,
I hope, of one who is always thinking of you. Oh! that I could
transport you for a short time into our circle in town, that you
might understand how your power over Henry is thought of
there! Oh, the envyings and heartburnings of dozens and
dozens ! the wonder, the incredulity that will be felt at hearing
what you have done ! For as to secrecy, Henry is quite the
hero of an old romance, and glories in his chains. You should
come to London to know how to estimate your conquest. If
you were to seo how he is courted, and how I am courted for his
sake ! Now, I am well aware that I shall not be half so wel-
come to Mrs. Frascr in consequence of his situation with you.
When she comes to know the truth, she will, very likely, wish
me in Northamptonshire again ; for there is a daughter of Mr.
Fraser, by a first wife, whom she is wild to get married, and
wants Henry to take. Oh, she has been trying for him to such
a degree! Innocent and quiet as you sit here, you cannot have
an idea of the sensation that you will be occasioning, of the
curiosity there will be to see you, of the endless questions I shall
have to answer ! Poor Margaret Fraser will be at me for ever
about your eyes and your teeth, and how you do your hair, and
who makes your shoes. I wish Margaret were married, for my
poor friend's sake, for I look upon the Frasers to be about as
unhappy as most other married people. And yet it was a most
desirable match for Janet at the time. We were all delighted.
She could not do otherwise than accept him, for he was rich,
and she had nothing; but lie turns out ill-tempered and exigeant;
and wants a young woman, a beautiful young woman of five-
and twenty, to be as steady as himself. And my friend does not
manage him well: she does not seem to know how to make the
best of it. There is a spirit of irritation which, to say nothing
worse, is certainly very ill-bred. In their house I shall call to
mind the conjugal manners of Mansfield parsonage with respect.
Even Dr. Grant does not show a thorough confidence in my sister,
and a certain consideration for her judgment, which makes one
MANSFIELD PARK. 253
feel there is attachment; but of that I shall see nothing with the
Erasers. I shall be at Mansfield, for ever, Fanny. My own
sister as a wife, Sir Thomas Bertram as a husband, are my stan-
dards of perfection. Poor Janet has been sadly taken in; and
yet there was nothing improper on her side ; she did not run
into the match inconsiderately; there was no want of foresight.
She took three days to consider of his proposals ; and during
those three days asked the advice of everybody connected with
her, whose opinion was worth having; and especially applied to
my late dear aunt, whose knowledge of the world made her
judgment very generally and deservedly looked up to by all the
young people of her acquaintance; and she was decidedly in
favour of Mr. Fraser. This seems as if nothing were a security
for matrimonial comfort. I have not so much to say for my
friend Flora, who jilted a very nice young man in the Blues, for
the sake of that horrid Lord Stornaway, who has about as much
sense, Fanny, as Mr. IJushworth, but much worse looking, and
with a blackguard character. I had my doubts at the time
about her being right, for he has not even the air of a gentleman,
and now I am sure she was wrong. By the bye, Flora Ross was
dying for Henry the first winter she came out. But were I to
attempt to tell you of all the women whom I have known to be
in love with him, I should never have done. It is you only,
you, insensible Fanny, who can think of him with anj- thing like
indifference. But are you so insensible as you profess yourself?
No, no, I see you are not."
There was, indeed, so deep a blush over Fanny's face at that
moment, as might warrant strong suspicion in a predisposed
mind.
"Excellent creature! I will not tease you. Everything
shall take its course. But, dear Fanny, you must allow that
you were not so absolutely unprepared to have the question
asked as your cousin fancies. It is not possible but that you
must have had some thoughts on the subject, some surmises as
to what might be. You must have seen that he was trying to
please you, by every attention in his power. Was not he de-
voted to you at the ball? And then before the ball, the neck-
lace! Oh, you received it just as it was meant. You were as
conscious as heart could desire. I remember it perfectly."
" Do you mean, then, that your brother knew of the necklace
beforehand? Oh, Miss Crawford, that was not fair."
" Knew of it! it was his own doing entirely, his own thought.
I am ashamed to say, that it had never entered my head ; but I
was delighted to act on his proposal for both your sakes."
" I will not say," replied Fanny, " that I was not half afraid
at the time of its being so ; for there was something in your look
that frightened me but not at first I was as unsuspicious of it
254 MASSFIELD PARK.
at first ; indeed, indeed I was. It is as true as that I sit here.
And had I had an idea of it, nothing should have induced me to
accept the necklace. As to your brother's behaviour, certainly
I was sensible of a particularity; I had been sensible of it some
little time, perhaps two or three weeks ; but then I considered it
as meaning nothing; I put it down as simply being his way, and
was as far from supposing as from wishing him to have any
serious thoughts of me. I had not, Miss Crawford, been an in-
attentive observer of what was passing between him and some
part of this family in the summer and autumn. I was quiet, but
I was not blind. I could not but see that Mr. Crawford
allowed himself in gallantries which (.lid mean nothing."
"Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad
flirt, and cared very little for the havoc he might bj making
in young ladies' affections. I have often scolded him for it, hut
it is his only fault ; and there is this to be said, that very few
young ladies have any affections worth caring for. And then,
I'anny, the glory of fixing one who has been shot at by so
many; of having it in one's power to pay off the debts of one's
sex ! Oh ! I am sure it is not in woman's nature to refuse such
a triumph."
Fanny shook her head. " I cannot think well of a man who
sports with any woman's feelings ; and there may often be a
great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of."
" I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy;
and when he has got you at Everingham, I do not care how
much you lecture him. But this I will say, that liis fault, the
liking to make girls a little in love with him, is not half so
dangerous to a wife's happiness, as a tendency to fall in love him-
self, which he has never been addicted to. And I do seriously
and truly believe that he is attached to you in a way that he
never was to any woman before: that he loves you with all his
heart, and will love you as nearly for ever as possible. If any
man ever loved a woman for ever,I think Henry will do as much
for you."
Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say.
" I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier," con-
tinued Mary, presently, " than when he had succeeded in getting
your brother's commission."
She had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here.
. " Oh, yes. How very, very kind of him !"
" I know he must have exerted himself very much, for I know
the parties he had to move. The Admiral hates trouble, and
scorns asking favours ; and there are so many young men's
claims to be attended to in the same way, that a friendship and
energy, not very determined, is easily put by. What a happy
creature William must be! I wish we could see him."
Poor Fanny's mind was thrown into the most distressing of
MANSFIELD PARK. 255
all its varieties. The recollection of what had been done for
William was always the most powerful disturber of every deci-
sion against Mr. Crawford; and she sat thinking deeply of it till
Mary, who had been at first watching her complacently, and
then musing on something else, suddenly called her attention by
saying, " I should like to sit talking with you here all day, but
we must not forget the ladies below, and so good-bye, my dear,
my amiable, my excellent Fanny, for though .we shall nomi-
nally part in the breakfast parlour, I must take leave of
you here. And I do take leave, longing for a happy re-
union, and trusting that when we meet again, it will be under
circumstances which may open our hearts to each other, without
any remnant or shadow of reserve."
A very, very kind embrace, and some agitation of manner,
accompanied these words.
" I shall see your cousin in town soon : he talks of being there
tolerably soon ; and Sir Thomas, I dare say, in the course of the
spring ; and your eldest cousin, and the Rushworths, and Julia,
1 am sure of meeting again and again, and all but you. I have
two fSvours to ask, Fanny one is your correspondence. You
must write to me. And the other, that you Avill often call on
Mrs. Grant, and make her amends for my being gone."
The first, at least, of these favours Fanny would rather not
have been asked ; but it was impossible for her to refuse the
correspondence ; it was impossible for her even not to accede to
it more readily than her own judgment authorised. There was
no resisting so much apparent affection. Her disposition was
peculiarly calculated to value a fond treatment, and from having
hitherto known so little of it, she was the more overcome by Miss
Crawford's. Besides, there was gratitude towards her, for
having made their tete-h-tete so much less painful than her fears
had predicted.
It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches and with-
out detection. Her secret was still her own ; and while that was the
case, she thought she could resign herself to almost everything.
In the evening there was another parting. Henry Crawford
came and sat some time with them; and her spirits not being
previously in the strongest state, her heart was softened for a
little while towards him because he really seemed to feel. Quite
unlike his usual self, he scarcely said anything. He was evi-
dently oppressed, and Fanny must grieve for him, though hoping
she might never see him again, till he were the husband of some
other woman.
When it came to the moment of parting, he would take her
hand, he would not be denied it; he said nothing, however, or
nothing that she heard, and when he had k-ft the room, she was
better pleased that such a token of friendship had passed.
On the morrow the Crawfords were gone.
256 MANSFIELD PARK.
CHAPTER VI.
R. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas's next object
was, that he should be missed; and he enter-
tained great hope that his niece would find a
blank in the loss of those attentions which at
the time she had felt, or fancied an evil. She
had tasted of consequence in its most flattering
form ; and he did hope that the loss of it, the
sinking again into nothing, would aM'aken
very wholesome regrets in her mind. He watched her with this
idea but he could hardly tell with what success. He hardly
knew whether there were any difference in her spirits or not. She
was always so gentle and retiring, that her emotions were beyond
his discrimination. He did not imderstand her: he felt that he did
not ; and therefore applied to Edmund to tell him how she, stood
affected on the present occasion, and whether she were more or
less happy than she had been.
Edmund did not disceni any symptom of regret, and thought
hia father a little unreasonable in supposing the first three or four
days could produce any.
What chiefly surprised Edmund was, that Crawford's sister,
the friend and companion, who had been so much to her, should
not be more visibly regretted. He wondered that Fanny spoke
60 seldom of her, and had so little voluntarily to say of her con-
cern at this separation.
Alas! it was this sister, this friend and companion, who was
now the chief bane of Fanny's comfort. If she could have be-
lieved Mary's future fate as unconnected with Mansfield as she
was determined the brother's should be, if she could have hoped
her return thither to be as distant as she was much inclined to
think his, she would have been light of heart indeed; but the
more she recollected and observed, the more deeply was she con-
vinced that everything was now in a fairer train for Miss Craw-
ford's marrying Edmund than it had ever been before. On his
side the inclination was stronger, on hers less equivocal. His
objections, the scruples of his integrity, seemed all done away
nobody could tell how ; and the doubts and hesitations of her
ambition were equally got over and equally without apparent
reason. It could only be imputed to increasing attachment. His
good and her bad feelings yielded to love, and such love must
rnite them. He was to go to town, as soon as some business
elative to Thornton Lacey was completed perhaps, within a
ortnight he talked of going, he loved to talk of it; and when
MANSFIELD PARK. 257
once with her again, Fanny could not doubt the rest. Her ac-
ceptance must be as certain, as his offer ; and yet there were
bad feelings still remaining which made the prospect of it most
sorrowful to her, independently, she believed, independently of
self.
In their very last conversation, Miss Crawford, in spite of some
amiable sensations, and much personal kindness, had still been
Miss Crawford, still shown a mind led astray and bewildered,
and without any suspicion of being so ; darkened, yet fancying
itself light. She might love, but she did not deserve Edmund
by any other sentiment. Fanny believed there was scarcely a
second feeling in common between them ; and she may be for-
given by older sages, for looking on the chance of Miss Craw-
ford's future improvement as nearly desperate, for thinking that
if Edmund's influence in this season of love had already done so
little in clearing her judgment, and regulating her notions, his
worth would be finally wasted on her even in years of matri-
mony.
Experience might have hoped more for any young people, so
circumstanced, and impartiality would not have denied to Miss
Crawford's nature that participation of the general nature of
women wliich would lead her to adopt the opinions of the man she
loved and respected as her own. But as such were Fanny's per-
suasions, she suffered very much from them, and could never
speak of Miss Crawford without pain.
Sir Thomas, meanwhile, went on with his own hopes, and his
own observations, still feeling a right, by all his knowledge of
human nature, to expect to see the effect of the loss of power
and consequence, on his niece's spirits, and the past attentions of
the lover producing a craving for their return ; and he was soon
afterwards able to account for his not yet completely and indu-
bitably seeing all this, by the prospect of another visiter, whose
approach he could allow to be quite enough to support the spirits
he was watching. William had obtained a ten days' leave of
absence to be given to Northamptonshire, and was coming, the
happiest of lieutenants, because the latest made, to show his
happiness and describe his uniform.
He came ; and he would have been delighted to show his
uniform there too, had not cruel custom prohibited its appear-
ance except on duty. So the uniform remained at Portsmouth,
and Edmund conjectured that before Fanny had any chance of
seeing it, all its own freshness, and all the freshness of its wearer's
feelings must be worn away. It would be sunk into a badge of
disgrace; for what can be more unbecoming, or more worthless,
than the uniform of a lieutenant, who has been a lieutenant
a year or two, and sees others made commanders before him ?
So reasoned Edmund, till his father made him the confidant of a
MANSFIELD PARK.
scheme which placed Fanny's chance of seeing the 2d lieutenant
of H. M. S. Thrush in all his glory in another light.
This scheme was that she should accompany her brother back
to Portsmouth, and spend a little time with her own family. It
had occurred to Sir Thomas, in one of his dignified musings, as a
right and desirable measure ; but before he absolutely made up
his mind, he consulted his son. Edmund considered it every way,
and saw nothing but what was right. The thing was good in
itself, and could not be done at a better time ; and he had no
doubt of its being highly agreeable to Fanny. This was enough
to determine Sir Thomas ; and a decisive " then so it shall be "
closed that stage of the business; Sir Thomas retiring from it with
some feelings of satisfaction, and views of good over and above what
he had communicated to his son; for his prime motive in sending
her away had very little to do with the propriety of her seeing
her parents again, and nothing at all with any idea of making
her happy. He certainly wished her to go willingly, but he as
certainly wished her to be heartily sick of home before her visit
ended; and that a little abstinence from the elegancies and
luxuries of Mansfield Park would bring her mind into a sober
state, and incline her to a juster estimate of the value of that
home of greater permanence, and equal comfort, of which she had
the offer.
It was a medicinal project upon his niece's understanding,
which he must consider as at present diseased. A residence of
eight or nine years in the abode of wealth and plenty had a little
disordered her powers of comparing and judging. Her father's
house would, in all probability, teach her the value of a
good income; and he trusted that she would be the wiser
and happier woman, all her life, for the experiment he had
devised.
Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must have
had a strong attack of them, when she first understood what was
intended, when her uncle first made her the offer of visiting the
parents, and brothers and sisters, from whom she had been
divided, almost half her life; of returning for a couple of months
to the scenes of her infancy, with William for the protector and
companion of her journey ; and the certainty of continuing to see
William to the last hour of his remaining on land. Had she
ever given way to bursts of delight, it must have been then, for
she was delighted, but her happiness was of a quiet, deep, heart-
swelling sort, and though never a great talker, she was always
more inclined to silence when feeling most strongly. At the
moment she could only thank and accept. Afterwards, when
familiarised with the visions of enjoyment so suddenly opened,
she could speak more largely to William and Edmund of what
she felt; but still there were emotions of tenderness that could
MANSFIELD PARK. 259
not be clothed in words. The remembrance of all her earliest
pleasures, and of what she had suffered in being torn from them,
came over her with renewed strength, and it seemed as if to be
at home again would heal every pain that had since grown out
of separation. To be in the centre of such a circle, loved by so
many, and more loved by all than she had ever been before; to
feel affection without fear or restraint ; to feel herself the equal
of those who surrounded her; to be at peace from all mention of
the Crawford.*, safe from every look which could be fancied a
reproach on their account. This was a prospect to be dwelt on
with a fondness that could be but half acknowledged.
Edmund, -too to be two months from him (and perhaps she
might be allowed to make her absence three) must do her good
At a distance, unassailed by his looks or his kindness, anil sal','
from the perpetual irritation of knowing his heart, and striving
to avoid his confidence, she should be able to reason herself into a
more proper state; she should be able to think of him as in London,
and arranging everything there, without wretchedness. What
might have been hard to bear at Mansfield was to become a
slight evil at Portsmouth.
The only drawback was the doubt of her aunt Bertram's
being comfortable without her. She was of use to no one else ;
but there she might be missed to a degree that she did not like
to think of; and that part of the arrangement was, indeed, the
hardest for Sir Thomas to accomplish, and what only he could
have accomplished at all.
But he was master at Mansfield Park. When he had really
icsolved on any measure, he could always carry it through ; and
now by dint of long talking on the subject, explaining and
dwelling on the duty of Fanny's sometimes seeing her family, he
did induce his wife to let her go ; obtaining it rather from sub-
mission, however, than conviction, for Lady Bertram was con-
vinced of very little more than that Sir Thomas thought Fanny
ought to go, and therefore that she must. In the calmness of
her own dressing-room, in the impartial flow of her own medita-
tions, unbiassed by his bewildering statements, she could not
acknowledge any necessity for Fanny's ever going near a father
and mother who had done without her so long, while she was
so usefid to herself. And as to the not missing her, which under
Mrs. Xorris's discussion was the point attempted to be proved,
she set herself very steadily against admitting any such thing.
Sir Thomas had appealed to her reason, conscience, and dignity.
He called it a sacrifice, and demanded it of her goodness and
self-command as such. But Mrs. Norris wanted to persuade her
that Fanny could be very well spared (she being ready to give
up all her own time to her as requested), and, in short, could
not really be wanted or missed.
260 MANSFIELD PARK.
" That may be, sister," was all Lady Bertram's reply. " I
dare say you are very right ; but I am sure I shall miss her very
much."
The next step was to communicate with Portsmouth. Fanny
wrote to offer herself; and her mother's answer, though short,
was so kind a few simple lines expressed so natural and mo-
therly a joy in the prospect of seeing her child again, as to con-
firm all the daughter's views of happiness in being with her
convincing her that she should now find a warm and affectionate
friend in the " mamma" who had certainly shown no remarkable
fondness for her formerly ; but this she could easily suppose to
have been her own fault, or her own fancy. She had probably
alienated love by the helplessness and fretfulness of a fearful
temper, or been unreasonable in wanting a larger share than
any one among so many could deserve. Now, when she knew
better how to be useful, and how to forbear, and when her mother
could be no longer occupied by the incessant demands of a house
full of little children, there would be leisure and inclination for
every comfort, and they should soon be what mother and daugh-
ter ought to be to each other.
William was almost as happy in the plan as his sister. It
would be the greatest pleasure to him to have her there to the
last moment before he sailed, and perhaps find her there still
when he came in from his first cruise. And, besides, he wanted
her so very much to see the Thrush before she went out of
harbour (the Thrush was certainly the finest sloop in the ser-
vice). And there were several improvements in the dock-yard,
too, which he quite longed to show her.
He did not scruple to add, that her being at home for a while
would be a great advantage to everybody.
" I do not know how it is," said he ; " but we seem to want
some of your nice ways and orderliness at my father's. The
house is always in confusion. You will set things going in a
better way, I am sure. You will tell my mother how it all
ought to be, and you will be so useful to Susan, and you will
teach Betsey, and make the boys love and mind you. How
right and comfortable it will all be!"
By the time Mrs. Price's answer arrived, there remained but
a very few days more to be spent at Mansfield ; and for part of
one of those days, the young travellers were in a good deal of
alarm on the subject of their journey, for when the mode of it
came to be talked of, and Mrs. Norris found that all her anxiety
to save her brother-in-law's money was vain, and that in spite
of her wishes and hints for a less expensive conveyance of Fanny,
they were to travel post, when she saw Sir Thomas actually give
William notes for the purpose, she was struck with the idea of
there being room for a third in the carriage, and suddenly seized
MANSFIELD 1'AUK. "26 I
with a strong inclination to go with them to go and see her
poor dear sister Price. She proclaimed her thoughts. She must
say that she had more than half a mind to go with the young
people ; it would be such an indulgence to her; she had not seen
her poor dear sister Price for more than twenty years; and it
would be a help to the young people in their journey, to have
her older head to manage for them ; and she could not help
thinking her poor dear sister Price would feel it very unkind of
her not to come by such an opportunity.
William and Fanny were horrorstruck at the idea.
All the comfort of their comfortable journey would be de-
stroyed at once. With woeful countenances they looked at each
other. Their suspense lasted an hour or two. No one inter-
fered to encourage or dissuade. Mrs. Norris was left to settle
the matter by herself; and it ended, to the infinite joy of her ne
phew and niece, in the recollection that she could not possibly be
spared from Mansfield Park at present ; that she waa a great
deal too necessary to Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram for her to
be able to answer it to herself to leave them even for a week,
and, therefore, must certainly sacrifice every other pleasure to
that of being useful to them.
It had, in fact, occurred to her, that, though taken to Ports-
mouth for nothing, it would be hardly possible for her to avoid
paying her own expenses back again. So her poor dear sister
Price was left to all the disappointment of her missing such an
opportunity ; and another twenty years' absence, perhaps, begun.
Edmund's plans were affected by this Portsmouth journey,
this absence of Fanny's. He, too, had a sacrifice to make to
Mansfield Park, as well as his aunt. He had intended, about
this time, to be going to London ; but he could not leave his
father and mother just when everybody else of most importance
to their comfort was leaving them : and with an effort, felt but
not boasted of, he delayed for a week or two longer a journey
which he was looking forward to with the hope of its fixing his
happiness for ever.
He told Fanny of it. She knew so much already, that she
must know everything. It made the substance of one other
confidential discourse about Miss Crawford ; and Fanny was the
more affected from feeling it to be the last time in which Miss
Crawford's name would ever be mentioned between them with
any remains of liberty. Once afterwards she was alluded to by
him. Lady Bertram had been telling her niece, in the evening,
to write to her soon and often, and promising to be a good cor-
respondent herself; and Edmund, at a convenient moment, then
added, in a whisper, "And /shall write to you, Fanny, when I have
anything worth writing about, anything to say that I think you
will like to hear, and that you will not hear so soon from any
262 MANSFIELD PARK.
other quarter." Had she doubted his meaning while she lis-
tened, the glow in his face, when she looked up at him, would
have been decisive.
For this letter she must try to arm herself. That a letter
from Edmund should be a subject of terror! She began to feel
that she had not yet gone through all the changes of opinion and
sentiment which the progress of time and variation of circum-
stances occasion in this world of changes. The vicissitudes of
the human mind had not yet been exhausted by her.
Poor Fanny ! though going, as she did, willingly and eagerly,
the last evening at Mansfield Park must still be wretchedness.
Her heart was completely sad at parting. She had tears for
every room in the house, much more for every beloved inhabi-
tant. She clung to her aunt, because she would miss her; she
kissed the hand of her uncle with struggling sobs, because she
had displeased him; and as for Edmund, she could neither
speak, nor look, nor think, when the last moment came with
him ; and it was not till it was over .that she knew he was giving
her the affectionate farewell of a brother.
All this passed over night, for the journey was to begin very
early in the morning ; and when the small, diminished party-met
at breakfast, William and Fanny were talked of as already
advanced one stage.
CHAPTER VII.
^ HE novelty of travelling, and the happiness
being with William, soon produced their
v natural effect on Fanny's spirits, when JMans-
r| field Park was fairly left behind ; and by the
! time their first stage was ended, and they
' were to quit Sir Thomas's carriage, she was
' able to take leave of the old coachman, and
send back proper messages, witli cheerful
looks.
Of pleasant talk between the brother and sister, there was no
end. Everything supplied an amusement to the high glee of
William's mind, and he was full of frolic and joke in the intervals
of their higher-toned subjects, all of which ended, if they did not
begin, in praise of the Thrush, conjectures how she would be
employed, schemes for an action with son^ superior force, which
(supposing the first lieutenant out of the way and William
was not very merciful to the first lieutenant) was to give himself
the next step as soon as possible, or speculations upon prize-
money, which was to be generously distributed at home, with
MANSFIELD PAKK. 263
only the reservation of enough to make the little cottage com-
fortable', in which he and Fanny were to pass all their middle
and latter life together.
Fanny's immediate concerns, as far as they involved Mr.
Crawford, made no part of their conversation. William knew
what hud passi-d, and from his heart lamented that his sister's
feelings should be so cold towards a man whom he must consider
as the first of human characters; but he was of an age to be all
for love, and therefore unable to blame; and knowing her wish
on the subject, he would not distress her by the slightest allusion.
She had reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten by }Ir.
Crawford. She had heard repeatedly from his sister within the
three weeks which had passed since their leaving Mansfield, and
in each letter there had been a few lines from himself, warm and
determined like his speeches. It was a correspondence which
Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she had feared. Miss
Crawford's style of writing, lively and affectionate, was itself an
evil, independent of what she was thus forced into reading from
the brother's pen, for Edmund would never rest till she had read
the chief of the letter to him ; and then she had to listen to his
admiration of her language, and the warmth of her attachments.
There had, in fact, been so much of message, of allusion, of
recollection, so much of Mansfield in every letter, that Fanny
could not but suppose it meant for him to hear; and to tind her-
self forced into a purpose of that kind, compelled into a corres-
pondence which was bringing her the addresses of the man she
did not love, and obliging her to administer to the adverse passion
of the man she did, was cruelly mortifying. Here, too, her
present removal promised advantage. When no longer under
the same roof with Edmund, she trusted that Miss Crawford
would have no motive for writing strong enough to overcome
the trouble, and that at Portsmouth their correspondence would
dwindle into nothing.
With such thoughts as these, among ten hundred others,
Fanny proceeded in her journey safely and cheerfully, and as
expeditiously as could rationally be hoped in the dirty month of
February. They entered Oxford, but she could take only a
hasty glimpse of Edmund's college as they passed along, and
made no stop anywhere, till they reached Newbury, where a
comfortable meal, uniting dinner and supper, wound up the
enjoyments and fatigues of the day.
The next morning saw them off again at an early hour; and
with no events, and no delays, they regularly advanced, and
were in the environs of Portsmouth while there was yet daylight
for Fanny to look around her, and wonder at the new buildings.
They passed the Drawbridge, and entered the town; and the
light was only beginning to fail, as, guided by William's powerful
264 MANSFIELD PAKK.
voice, they were rattled into a narrow street, leading from the
High Street, and drawn up before the door of a small house now
inhabited by Mr. Price.
Funny was all agitation and flutter all hope and apprehen-
sion. The moment they stopped, a trollopy-looking maid-
servant, seemingly in waiting for them at the door, stepped
forward, and more intent on telling the news than giving them
any help, immediately began with " The Thrush is gone out of
harbour, please sir, and one of the officers has been here to "
She was interrupted by a fine tall boy of eleven years old, who,
rushing out of the house, pushed the maid aside, and while
William was opening the chaise-door himself, called out, " You
are just in time. We have been looking for you this half hour.
The Thrush went out of harbour this morning. I saw her. It
was a beautiful sight. And they think she will have her orders
in a day or two. And Mr. Campbell was here at four o'clock to
ask for you : he has got one of the Thrush's boats, and is going
off to her at six, and hoped you would be here in time to go with
him."
A stare or two at Fanny, as William helped her out of the
carriage, was all the voluntary notice which this brother bestowed ;
but he made no objection to her kissing him, though still entirely
engaged in detailing farther particulars of the Thrush's going
out of harbour, in which he had a strong right of interest, being
to commence liis career of seamanship in her at this very time.
Another moment, and Fanny was in the narrow entrance-
passage of the house, and in her mother's arms, who met her
there with looks of true kindness, and with features which Fanny
loved the more, because they brought her aunt Bertram's before
her; and there were her two sisters, Susan, a well-grown fine
girl of fourteen, and Betsey, the youngest of the family, about
five both glad to see her in their way, though with no advan-
tage of manner in receiving her. But manner Fanny did not
want. Would they but love her, she should be satisfied.
She was then taken into a parlour, so small that her first
conviction was of its being only a passage-room to something
better, and she stood for a moment expecting to be invited on ;
but when she saw there was no other door, and that there were
signs of habitation before her, she called back her thoughts,
reproved herself, and grieved lest they should have been suspected.
Her mother, however, could not stay long enough to suspect
anything. She was gone again to the street-door, to welcome
William. " Oh, my dear William, how glad I am to see you.
But have you heard about the Thrush? She is gone out of
harbour already, three days before we had any thought of it;
and I do not know what I am to do about Sam's things, they
will never be ready in time ; for she may have her orders to-
MANSFIELD PAKK. 2fM
morrow, perhaps. It takes me quite unawares. Ami now you
must be oft' for Spithead too. Campbell has been here, quite in
a worry about you; and now what shall we do? I thought to
have had such a comfortable evening with you, and here every-
thing comes upon me at once."
Her son answered cheerfully, telling her that everything was
always for the best; and making light of his own inconvenience,
in being obliged to hurry away so soon.
" To be sure, I had much rather she had stayed in harbour,
that I might have sat a few hours with you in comfort; but as
there is a boat ashore, I had better go off at once, and there is
no lialp for it. Whereabouts does the Thrush lie at Spithead V
Xear the Canopus? Hut no matter here's Fanny in the parlour,
and why should we stay in the passage? Come, mother, you
have hardly looked at your own dear Fanny yet."
In they both came, and Mrs. Price having kindly kissed her
daughter again, and commented a little on her growth, began
with very natural solicitude to feel for their fatigues and wants
as travellers.
" Poor dears! how tired you must both be! and now, what will
you have? I began to think you would never come. Betsey
and I have been watching for you this half hour. And when
did you get anything to eat? And what would you like to have
now? I could not tell whether you would be for some meat, or
only a dish of tea after your journey, or else I woidd have got
something ready. And now I am afraid Campbell will be here,
before there is time to dress a steak, and we have no butcher at
hand. It is very inconvenient to have no butcher in the street.
We were better off in our last house. Perhaps you would like
some tea, as soon as it can be got."
They both declared they should prefer it to anything. " Then,
Betsey, my dear, run into the kitchen, and see if Rebecca has
put the water on ; and tell her to bring in the tea-things as soon
as she can. I wish we could get the bell mended but Betsey
is a very handy little messenger."
Betsey went with alacrity, proud to show her abilities before
her fine new sister.
" Dear me!" continued the anxious mother, " what a sad fire
we have got, and I dare say you are botli starved with cold.
Draw your chair nearer, my dear. I cannot think what Rebecca
has been about. I am sure I told her to bring some coals half
an hour ago. Susan, you should have taken care of the fire."
" I was up stairs, mamma, moving my things," said Susan,
in a fearless, self-defending tone, which startled Fanny. " You
know you had but just settled that my sister Fanny and I should
have the other room ; and I could not get Rebecca to give me
any help."
(1) s
266 MANSFIELD PAKK.
Farther discussion was prevented by various bustles; first, the
driver came to be paid then there was a squabble between Sam
and Rebecca, about the manner of carrying xip his sister's trunk,
which he would manage all his own way ; and, lastly, in walked
Mr. Price himself, his own loud voice preceding him, as with
something of the oath kind he kicked away his son's portmanteau,
and his daughter's band-box in the passage, and called out for a
candle; no candle was brought, however, and he walked into
the room.
Fanny with doubting feelings had risen to meet him, but sank
down again on finding herself undistinguished in the dusk, and
unthought of. With a friendly shake of his son's hand, and an
eager voice, he instantly began " Ha! welcome back, my boy.
Glad to see you. Have you heard the news? The Thrush went
out of harbour this morning. Sharp is the word, you see. By
G , you are just in time. The doctor has been here inquiring
for you: he lias got one of the boats, and is to be off for Spit-
head by six, so you had better go with him. I have been to
Turner's about your mess; it is all in a way to be done. I
should not wonder if you had your orders to-morrow: but you
cannot sail with this wind, if you are to cruise to the westward ;
and Captain Walsh thinks you will certainly have a cruise to
the westward, with the Elephant. By G , I wish you may.
But old Scholey was saying, just now, that he thought you
would be sent first to the Texel. Well, well, we are ready,
whatever happens. But by G , you lost a fine sight by not
being here in the morning to see the Thrush go out of harbour.
I would not have been out of the way for a thousand pounds.
Old Scholey ran in at breakfast-time, to say she had slipped her
moorings and was coming out, I jumped up, and made but two
steps to the platform. If ever there was a perfect beauty afloat,
she is one; and there she lies at Spithead, and anybody in England
would take her for an eight-and-twenty. I was upon the plat-
form two hours this afternoon looking at her. She lies close to
the Endymion, between her and the Cleopatra, just to the east-
ward of the sheer hulk."
" Ha !" cried William, " that's just where I should have put
her myself. It's the best birth at Spithead. But here is my
sister, sir, here is Fanny," turning and leading her forward; "it
is so dark you do not see her."
With an acknowledgment that he had quite forgotten her, Mr.
Price now received his daughter ; and having given her a cordial
hug, and observed that she was grown into a woman, and he
supposed would be wanting a husband soon, seemed very much
inclined to forget her again.
Fanny shrunk back to her seat, with feelings sadly pained by
his language and his smell of spirits ; and he talked on only to his
son, and only of the Thrush, though William, warmly interested,
as he was, in that subject, more than once tried to make his
father think of Fanny, and her long absence and long journey.
After sitting some time longer, a candle was obtained ; but,
as there was still no appearance of tea, nor, from Betsey's re-
ports from the kitchen, much hope of any under a considerable
period, William determined to go and change his dress, and
make the necessary preparations for his removal on board directly
that he might have his tea in comfort aftenvan's.
As he left the room, two rosy-faced boys, ragged and dirty,
about eight and nine years old, rushed into it just released from
school, and coming eagerly to see their sister, and tell that the
Thrush was gone out of harbour ; Tom and Charles : Charles
had been born since Fanny's going away, but Tom she had often
helped to nurse, and now felt a particular pleasure in seeing
again. Both were kissed very tenderly, but Tom she wanted to
keep by her, to try to trace the features of the baby she had
loved, and talked to, of his infant preference of herself. Tom,
however, had no mind for such treatment : he came home, not
to stand and be talked to, but to run about and make a noise ;
and both boys had soon burst away from her, aud slammed the
parlour door till her temples ached.
She had now seen all that were at home ; there remained only
two brothers between herself and Susan, one of whom was a
clerk in a public office in London, and the other midshipman on
board an Indiaman. But though she had seen all the members
of the family, she had not yet heard all the noise they could
make. Another quarter of an hour brought her a great deal
more. William was soon calling out, from the landing-place of
the second story, for his mother and for Rebecca, He was in
distress for something that he had left there, and did not find
again. A key was mislaid, Betsey accused of having got at his
new hat, and some slight, but essential alteration of his uniform
waistcoat, which he had been promised to have done for him,
entirely neglected.
Mrs. Price, Rebecca, and Betsey, all went up to defend them-
selves, all talking together, but Rebecca loudest, and the job
was to be done, as well as it could, in a great hurry ; William
trying in vain to send Betsey down again, or keep her from be-
ing troublesome where she was ; the whole of which, as almost
every door in the house was open, could be plainly distinguished
in the parlour, except when drowned at intervals by the supe-
rior noise of Sam, Tom, and Charles chasing each other up and
down stair?, and tumbling about and hallooing.
Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the house and
thinness of the walls brought everything so close to her, that,
added to the fatigue of her journey, and all her recent agitation,
268 MANSFIELD PARK.
she hardly knew how to bear it. Within the room all was tran-
quil enough, for Susan having disappeared with the others, there
were soon only her father and herself remaining ; and he taking
out a newspaper, the accustomary loan of a neighbour, applied
himself to studying it, without seeming to recollect her existence.
The solitary candle was held between himself and the paper,
without any reference to her possible convenience ; but she had
nothing to do, and was glad to have the light screened from her
aching head, as she sat in bewildered, broken, sorrowful con-
templation.
She was at home. But, alas ! it was not such a home, she
had not such a welcome, as she checked herself ; she was un-
reasonable. What right had she to be of importance to her
family ? She could have none, so long lost sight of ! William's
concerns must be dearest they always had been and he had
every right. Yet to have so little said or asked about herself
to have scarcely an inquiry made after Mansfield ! It did pain
her to have Mansfield forgotten ; the friends who had done so
much the dear, dear friends ! But here, one subject swallowed
up all the rest. Perhaps it must be so. The destination of the
Thrush must be now pre-eminently interesting. A day or two
might show the difference. She only was to blame. Yet she
thought it would not have been so at Mansfield. No, in her
uncle's house there would have been a consideration of times and
seasons, a regulation of subject, a propriety, an attention towards
everybody which there was not here.
The only interruption which thoughts like these received for
nearly half an hour was from a sudden burst of her father's, not
at all calculated to compose them. At a more than ordinary pitch
of thumping and hallooing in the passage, he exclaimed, " Devil
take those young dogs ! How they are singing out ! Ay, Sam's
voice louder than all the rest ! That boy is fit for a boatswain.
Holloa you there Sam stop your confounded pipe, or I shall
be after you."
This threat was so palpably disregarded, that though within
five minutes afterwards the three boys all burst into the room
together and sat down, Fanny could not consider it as a proof of
anything more than their being for the time thoroughly fagged,
which their hot faces and panting breaths seemed to prove
especially as they were still kicking each other's shins, and hal-
looing out at sudden starts immediately under their father's
eye.
The next opening of the door brought something more wel-
come ; it was for the tea-things, which she had begun almost to
despair of seeing that evening. Susan and an attendant girl,
whose inferior appearance informed Fanny, to her great surprise,
that she had previously seen the upper servant, brought in
MANSFIELD PARK. 269
everything necessary for the meal ; Susan looking as she put the
kettle on the fire and glanced at her sister, as if divided between
the agreeable triumph of showing her activity and usefulness,
and the dread of being thought to demean herself by such an
ortice. " She had been into the kitchen," she said, " to hurry
Sally and help to make the toast, and spread the bread and
butter or she did not know when they should have got tea
and she was sure her sister must want something after her
journey."
Fanny was very thankful. She could not but own that she
should be very glad of a little tea, and Susan immediately set
about making it, as if pleased to have the employment all to
herself; and with only a little unnecessary bustle, and some few
injudicious attempts at keeping her brothers in better order than
she could, acquitted herself very well. Fanny's spirit was as
much refreshed as her body; her head and heart were soon the
better for such well-timed kindness. Susan had an open, sensible
countenance; she was like William and Fanny hoped to find
her like him in disposition and good will towards herself.
In this more placid state of things William re-entered, fol-
lowed not far behind by his mother and Betsy. He, complete in
his lieutenant's uniform, looking and moving all the taller,
firmer, and more graceful for it, and with the happiest smile
over his face, walked up directly to Fanny, who, rising from her
seat, looked at him for a moment in speechless admiration, and
then threw her arms round his neck to sob out her various emo-
tions of pain and pleasure.
Anxious not to appear unhappy, she soon recovered herself;
and wiping away her tears was able to notice and admire all
the striking parts of his dress listening with reviving spirits to
his cheerful hopes of being on shore some part of every day before
they sailed, and even of getting her to Spithead to see the
sloop.
The next bustle brought in Mr. Campbell, the surgeon of the
Thrush, a very well behaved young man, who came to call for
his friend, and for whom there was with some contrivance found a
chair, and with some hasty washing of the young tea-maker's,
a cup and saucer; and after another quarter of an hour of
earnest talk between the gentlemen, noise rising upon noise, and
bustle upon bustle, men and boys at last all in motion together,
the moment came for setting off; everything was ready, William
took leave, and all of them were gone for the three boys, hi
spite of their mother's entreaty, determined to see their brother
and Mr. Campbell to the sally-port; and Mr. Price walked off at
the same time to carry back his neighbour's newspaper.
Something like tranquillity might now be hoped for; and ac-
cordingly, when Kebecca had been prevailed on to carry away
270 MANSFIELD PARK.
the tea-things, and Mrs. Price had walked about the room some
time looking for a shirt sleeve, which Betsey at last hunted out
from a drawer in the kitchen, the small party of females were
pretty well composed, and the mother having lamented again
over the impossibility of getting Sam ready in time, was at
leisure to think of her eldest daughter and the friends she had
come from.
A few inquiries began: but one of the earliest "How did
her sister Bertram manage about her servants? Was she as
much plagued as herself to get tolerable servants?" soon led
her mind away from Northamptonshire, and fixed it on her own
domestic grievances; and the shocking character of all the
Portsmouth servants, of whom she believed her own two were
the very worst, engrossed her completely. The Bertrams were
all forgotten in detailing the faults of Rebecca, against whom
Susan had also much to depose, and little Betsey a great deal
more, and who did seem so thoroughly without a single recom-
mendation, that Fanny could not help modestly presuming that
her mother meant to part with her when her year was up.
" Her year!" cried Mrs. Price; " I am sure I hope I shall be
rid of her before she has stayed a year, for that will not be up
till November. Servants are come to such a pass, my dear, in
Portsmouth, that it is quite a miracle if one keeps them more
than half a year. I have no hope of ever being settled ; and if
I was to part with Rebecca, I should only get something worse.
And yet I do not think I am a very difficult mistress to please ;
and I am sure the place is easy enough, for there is always a
girl under her, and I often do half the work myself."
Fanny was silent; but not from being convinced that there
might not be a remedy found for some of these evils. As she
now sat looking at Betsey, she could not but think particularly
of another sister, a very pretty little girl, whom she had left
there not much younger when she went into Northamptonshire,
who had died a few years afterwards. There had been some-
thing remarkably amiable about her. Fanny, in those earl}'
days, had preferred her to Susan ; and when the news of her
death had at last reached Mansfield, had for a short time been
quite afflicted. The sight of Betsey brought the image of little
Mary back again, but she would not have pained her mother by
alluding to her for the world. While considering her with these
ideas, Betsey, at a small distance, was holding out something to
catch her eyes, meaning to screen it at the same time from
Susan's.
"What have you got there, my love?" said Fanny, "come
and show it to me."
It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan, claiming it as her
own, and trying to get it away ; but the child ran to her
MANSFIELD PARK. 271
mother's protection, and Susan could only reproach, which she
did very warmly, and evidently hoping to interest Fanny on her
side. " It was very hard that she was not to have her otvn
knife; it was her own knife; little sister Mary had left it to her
upon her death-bed, and she ought to have had it to keep her-
self long ago. But mamma kept it from her, and was always
letting Betsey get hold of it ; and the end of it would be that
Betsey would spoil it, and get it for her own, though mamma
had promised her that Betsey should not have it in her own
hands."
Fanny was quite shocked. Every feeling of duty, honour,
and tenderness was wounded by her sister's speech and her
mother's reply.
" Now, Susan," cried Mrs. Price in a complaining voice, "now,
how can you be so cross? You are always quarrelling about
that knife. I wish you would not be so quarrelsome. Poor
little Betsey; how cross Susan is to you! But you should not
have taken it out, my dear, when I sent you to the drawer.
You know I told you not to touch it, because Susan is so cross
about it. I must hide it another time, Betsey. Poor Mary
little thought it would be such a bone of contention when she gave
it me to keep, only two hours before she died. Poor little soul!
she could but just speak to be heard, and she said so prettily,
' Let sister Susan have my knife, mamma, when I am dead and
buried.' Poor little dear! she was so fond of it, Fanny, that
she would have it lie by her in bed, all through her illness. It
was the gift of her good godmother, old Mrs. Admiral Maxwell,
only six weeks before she was taken for death. Poor little sweet
creature ! Well, she was taken away from evil to come. My
own Betsey (fondling her), you have not the luck of such a
good godmother. Aunt Norris lives too far off to think of such
little people as you."
Fanny had indeed nothing to convey from aunt Norris, but a
message to say she hoped her god-daughter was a good girl, and
learned her book, There had been at one moment a slight
murmur in the drawing-room at Mansfield Park, about sending
her a prayer-book ; but no second sound had been heard of such
a purpose. Mrs. Norris, however, had gone home and taken
down two old prayer-books of her husband with that idea; but,
upon examination, the ardor of generosity went off. One was
found to have too small a print for a child's eyes, and the other
to be too cumbersome for her to carry about,
Fanny, fatigued and fatigued again, was thankful to accept the
first invitation of going to bed ; and before Betsey had finished
her cry at being allowed to sit up only one hour extraordinary
in honour of sister, she was off, leaving all below in confusion
and noise again, the boys begging for toasted cheese, her father
272 MANSFIELD PARK.
calling out for his rum and water, and Rebecca never where she
ought to be.
There was nothing to raise her spirits in the confined and
scantily-furnished chamber that she was to share with Susan.
The smallness of the rooms above and below, indeed, and the
narrowness of the passage and staircase, struck her beyond her
imagination. She soon learned to think with respect of her own
little attic at Mansfield Park, in that house reckoned too small
for anybody's comfort.
CHAPTER VIII.
OULD Sir Thomas have seen all his niece's
feelings, when she wrote her first letter to her
aunt, he would not have despaired; for though
a good night's rest, a pleasant morning, the
hope of soon seeing William again, and the
comparatively quiet state of the house, from
Tom and Charles being gone-to school, Sam
on some project of his own, and her father on
his usual lounges, enabled her to express herself cheerfully on
the subject of home, there were still, to her own perfect consci-
ousness, many drawbacks suppressed. Could he have seen only
half that she felt before the end Of a week, he would have thought
Mr. Crawford sure of her, and been delighted with his own
sagacity.
Before the week ended, it was all disappointment. In the first
place, William was gone. The Thrush had had her orders, the
wind had changed, and he was sailed within four days from their
reaching Portsmouth; and during those days she had seen him
only twice, in a short and hurried way, when he had come
ashore on duty. There had been no free conversation, no walk
on the ramparts, no visit to the dock-yard, no acquaintance witli
the Thrush nothing of all that they had planned and depended
on. Everything in that quarter failed her, except William's
affection. His last thought on leaving home was for her. He
stepped back again to the door to say, " Take care of Fanny,
mother. She is tender, and not used to rough it like the rest
of us. I charge you, take care of Fanny."
William was gone ; and the home he had left her in wa^
Fanny could not conceal it from her herself in almost cveiy
respect the very reverse of what she could have wished. It was
the abode of noise, disorder, and impropriety. Nobody was in
their right place, nothing was done as it ought to be. She could
MANSFIELD PARK. 273
not respect her parents as she had hoped. On her father, her
confidence had not been sanguine, but he was more negligent of
his family, his habits were worse, and his manners coarser, than
she had been prepared for. He did not want abilities; but he
had no curiosity, and no information beyond his profession; he
read only the newspaper and the navy list ; he talked only of
the dock-yard, the harbour, Spithead, and the Motherbaiik; lie
swore a!iil he drank, he was dirty and gross. She had never
been able to recall anything approaching to tenderness in his
former treatment of herself. There had remained only a general
impression of roughness and loudness; and now he scarcely ever
noticed her, but to make her the object of a coarse joke.
Her disappointment in her mother was greater; there she had
hoped much, and found almost nothing. Every flattering
scheme of being of consequence to her soon fell to the ground.
Mrs. Price was not unkind; but, instead of gaining on her
affection and confidence, and becoming more and more dear, her
daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the
first day of her arrival. The instinct of nature was soon satis-
fied, and Mrs. Price's attachment had no other source. Her
heart and her time were already quite full; she had neither
leisure nor affection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never
had been much to her. She was fond of her sons, especially of
William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had
ever much regarded. To her she was most injudiciously indul-
gent. William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John,
Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles, occupied all the rest of her
maternal solicitude, alternately her worries and her comforts.
These shared her heart ; her time was given chiefly to her house
and her servants. Her days were spent in a kind of slow bustle ;
all was busy without getting on, always behind hand and
lamenting it, without altering her ways; wishing to be an
economist, without contrivance or regularity; dissatisfied with
her servants, without skill to make them better, and whether
helping, or reprimanding, or indulging them, without any power
of engaging their respect.
Of her two sisters, Mrs. Price very much more resembled
Lady Bertram than Mrs. Norris. She was a manager by
necessity, without any of Mrs. Norris's inclination for it, or any
of her activity. Her disposition was naturally easy and indolent,
like Lady Bertram's ; and a situation of similar affluence and
do-nothing-ness would have been much more suited to her
capacity than the exertions and self-denials of the one which her
imprudent marriage had placed her in. She might have made
just as good a woman of consequence as Lady Bertram, but Mrs.
Norris would have been a more respectable mother of nine
children on a small income.
274 MANSFIELD PARK.
Much of all this Fanny could not but be sensible of. She
might scruple to make use of the words, but she must and did
feel that her mother was a partial, ill-judging parent, a dawdle,
a slattern, who neither taught nor restrained her children, whose
house was the scene of mismanagement and discomfort from
beginning to end, and who had no talent, no conversation, no
affection towards herself ; no curiosity to know her better, no
desire of her friendship, and no inclination for her company that
could lessen her sense of such feelings.
Fanny was very anxious to be useful, and not to appear above
her home, or in any way disqualified or disinclined, by her
foreign education, from contributing her help to its comforts, and
therefore set about working for Sam immediately, and by working
early and late, with perseverance and great despatch, did so
much, that the boy was shipped off at last, with more than
half his linen ready. She had great pleasure in feeling her
usefulness, but could not conceive how they would have managed
without her.
Sam, loud and overbearing as he was, she rather regretted
when he went, for he was clever and intelligent, and glad to be
employed in any errand in the town; and though spurning the
remonstrances of Susan, given as they were though very rea-
sonable in themselves with ill-timed and powerless warmth,
was beginning to be influenced by Fanny's services, and gentle
persuasions; and she found that the best of the three younger
ones was gone in him ; Tom and Charles being at least as many
years as they were his juniors distant from that age of feeling
and reason, which might suggest the expediency of making
friends, and of endeavouring to be less disagreeable. Their sister
soon despaired of making the smallest impression on them ; they
were quite untameable by any means of address which she had
spirits or time to attempt. Every afternoon brought a return
of their riotous games all over the house; and she very early
learned to sigh at the approach of Saturday's constant half
holiday.
Betsey, too, a spoiled child, trained up to think the alphabet
her greatest enemy, left to be with the servants at her pleasure,
and then encouraged to report any evil of them, she was almost
as ready to despair of being able to love or assist ; and of Susan's
temper she had many doubts. Her continual disagreements
with her mother, her rash squabbles with Tom and Charles, and
petulance with Betsey, were at least so distressing to Fanny,
that though admitting they were by no means without provo -
cation, she feared the disposition that could push them to such
length must be far from amiable, and from affording any repose
to herself.
Such was the home which was to put Mansfield out of her
MANSFIELD PARK. 275
head, and teach her to think of her cousin Edmund with mode-
rated feelings. On the contrary, she could think of nothing but
Mansfield, its beloved inmates, its happy ways. Everything
where she now was was in full contrast to it. The elegance,
propriety, regularity, harmony, and perhaps, above all, the
peace and tranquillity of Mansfield, were brought to her remem-
brance every hour of the day, by the prevalence of everything
opposite to them here.
The living in incessant noise was, to a frame and temper
delicate and nervous like Fanny's, an evil which no superadded
elegance or harmony could have entirely atoned for. It was the
greatest misery of all. At Mansfield, no sounds of contention,
no raised voice, no abrupt bursts, no tread of violence was ever
heard ; all proceeded in a regular course of cheerful orderliness ;
everybody had their due importance ; everybody's feelings were
consulted. If tenderness could be ever supposed wanting, good
sense and good breeding supplied its place ; and as to the little
irritations, sometimes introduced by aunt Norris, they were
t riding, they were as a drop of water to the ocean, compared
with the ceaseless tumult of her present abode. Here, everybody
was noisy, every voice was loud (excepting, perhaps, her mother's,
which resembled the soft monotony of Lady Bertram's, only worn
into fretfulness). Whatever was wanted was hallooed for, and
the servants hallooed out their excuses from the kitchen. The
doors were in constant banging, the stairs were never at rest,
nothing was done without a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody
could command attention when they spoke.
In a review of the two houses, as they appeared to her before
the end of a week, Fanny was tempted to apply to them Dr.
Johnson's celebrated judgment as to matrimony and celibacy,
and say, that though Mansfield Park might have some pains,
Portsmouth could have no pleasures.
276 MANSFIELD PARK.
CHAPTER IX.
i ANNY was right enough in not expecting to
hear from Miss Crawford now, at the rapid
f rate in which their correspondence had begun ;
) Mary's next letter was after a decidedly
! longer interval than the last, but she was not
'right in supposing that such an interval
1 would be felt a great relief to herself. Here
'was another strange revolution of mind!
She was really glad to receive the letter when it did come.
In her present exile from good society, and distance from
everything that had been wont to interest her, a letter from one
belonging to the set where her heart lived, written with affection,
and some degree of elegance, was thoroughly acceptable. The
usual plea of increasing engagements was made in excuse for not
having written to her earlier; "and now that I have begun,"
she continued, " my letter will not be worth your reading, for
there will be no little offering of love at the end, no three or four
lines passionnees from the most devoted H. C. in the world, for
Henry is in Norfolk ; business called him to Everingham ten
days ago, or perhaps he only pretended the call, for the sake of
being travelling at the same time that you were. But there he
is, and, by the bye, his absence may sufficiently account for any
remissness of his sister's in writing, for there has been no
' Well, Mary, when do yon write to Fanny? Is not it time
for you to write to Fanny?' to spur me on. At last, after
various attempts at meeting, I have Seen your cousins, ' dear
Julia and dearest Mrs. Rushworth;' they found me at home
yesterday, and we were glad to see each other again. We seemed
very glad to see each other, and I do really think we were a
little. We had a vast deal to say. Shall I tell you how Mrs.
Rushworth looked when your name was mentioned? I did not
use to think her wanting in self-possession, but she had not
quite enough for the demands of yesterday. Upon the whole
Julia was in the best looks of the two, at least after you were
spoken of. There was no recovering the complexion from the
moment that I spoke of ' Fanny,' and spoke of her as a sister
should. But Mrs. Rushworth's day of good looks will come ;
we have cards for her first party on the 28th. Then she will be
in beauty, for she will open one of the best houses in Wimpole
Street. I was in it two years ago, when it was Lady Lascelles's,
and prefer it to almost any I know in London, and certainly she
will then feel to use a vulgar phrase that she has got her
pennyworth for her penny. Henry could not have afforded her
MANSFIELD PA11K. 277
such a house. I hope she will recollect it, and he satisfied, aa
well as she may, with moving the queen of a palace, though the
king may appear best in the background; and as I have no
desire to tease her, I shall never force your name upon her again.
She will grow sober by degrees. From all that I hear and
guess, Baron Witdenhaim's attentions to Julia continue, but I do
not know that he has any serious encouragement. She ought to
do better. A poor honourable is no catch, and I cannot imagine
any liking in the case, for, take away his rants, and the poor
Baron has nothing. What a difference a vowel makes! if his
rents were but equal to his rants! Your cousin Edmund moves
slowly; detained, perchance, by parish duties. There may be
some old woman at Thornton Lacey to be converted. I am
unwilling to fancy myself neglected for a young one. Adieu, iny
dear sweet Fanny, this is a long letter from London : write me
a pretty one in reply to gladden Henry's eyes, when he comes
back, and send me an account of all the dashing young captains
whom you disdain for his sake."
There was great food for meditation in this letter, and chiefly
for unpleasant meditation ; and yet, with all the uneasiness it
supplied, it connected her with the absent, it told her of people
and things about whom she had never felt so much curiosity as
now, and she would have been glad to have been sure of such a
letter every week. Her correspondence with her aunt Bertram
was her only concern of higher interest.
As for any society in Portsmouth, that could at all make
amends for deficiencies at home, there were none within the cir-
cle of her father's and mother's acquaintance to afford her the
smallest satisfaction: she saw nobody in whose favour she could
wish to overcome her own shyness and reserve. The men ap-
peared to her all coarse, the women all pert, everybody under-
bred; and she gave as little contentment as she received from
introductions either to old or new acquaintance. The young
ladies who approached her at first with some respect, in consi-
deration of her coming from a baronet's family, were soon of-
fended by what they termed " airs ;" for, as she neither played
on the pianoforte, nor wore fine pelisses, they could, on farther
observation, admit no right of superiority.
The first solid consolation which Fanny received for the evils
of home, the first which her judgment could entirely approve,
and which gave any promise of durability, was in a better know-
ledge of Susan, and a hope of being of service to her. Susan
had always behaved pleasantly to herself, but the determined
character of her general manners had astonished and alarmed
her, and it was at least a fortnight before she began to undci--
stand a disposition so totally different from her own. Susan saw
that much was wrong at home, and wanted to set it right. That
278 MANSFIELD 1'ARK.
a girl of fourteen, acting only on her own unassisted reason,
should err iii the method of reform was not wonderful; and
Fanny soon became more disposed to admire the natural light of
the mind which could so early distinguish justly, than to censure
severely the faults of conduct to which it led. Susan was only
acting on the same truths, and pursuing the saifle system, which
her own judgment acknowledged, but which her more supine
and yielding temper would have shrunk from asserting. Susan
tried to be useful, where she could only have gone away and
cried; and that Susan was useful she could perceive; that things,
bad as they were, would have been worse but for such interposi-
tion, and that both her mother and Betsey were restrained from
some excesses of very offensive indulgence and vulgarity.
Iii every argument with her mother, Susan had in point of
reason the advantage, and never was there any maternal tender-
ness to buy her off. The blind fondness which was for ever
producing evil around her she had never known. There was no
gratitude for affection past or present to make her better bear
with its excesses to the others.
All this became gradually evident, and gradually placed Susan
before her sister as an object of mingled compassion and respect.
That her manner was wrong, however, at times very wrong, her
measures often ill-chosen and ill-timed, and her looks and lan-
guage very often indefensible, Fanny could not cease to feel ; but
she began to hope they might be rectified. Susan, she found,
looked up to her and wished for her good opinion ; and new as
anything like an office of authority was to Fanny, new as it was
to imagine herself capable of guiding or informing any one, she
did resolve to give occasional hints to Susan, and endeavour to
exercise for her advantage the juster notions of what was due to
everybody, and what would be wisest for herself, which her own
more favoured education had fixed in her.
Her influence, or at least the consciousness and use of it, ori-
ginated in an act of kindness by Susan, which, after many hesi-
tations of delicacy, she at last worked herself up to. It had
very early occurred to her that a small sum of money might,
perhaps, restore peace for ever on the sore subject of the silver
knife, canvassed as it now was continually, and the riches which
lie was in possession of herself, her uncle having given her
lQ at parting, made her as able as she was willing to be gene-
in. But she was so wholly unused to confer favours, except
n; he very poor, so unpractised in removing evils, or bestowing
kindnesses among her equals, and so fearful of appearing to
elevate herself as a great lady at home, that it took some time
to determine that it would not be unbecoming in her to make
such a present. It was made, however, at last ; a silver knife
was bought for Betsey, and accepted with great delight, its new-
MANSFIELD PARK. 279
ness giving it every advantage over the other that could be
desired ; Susan was established in the full possession of her own,
Betsey handsomely declaring that now she had got one so much
prettier herself, she should never want that again and no re-
proach seemed conveyed to the equally satisfied mother, which
Fanny had almost feared to be impossible. The deed thoroughly
answered; a source of domestic altercation was entirely done
away, and it was the means of opening Susan's heart to her, and
giving her something more to love and be interested in. Susan
showed that she had delicacy: pleased as she was to be mistress
of property which she had been struggling for at least two years,
she yet feared that her sister's judgment had been against her,
and that a reproof was designed her for having so struggled as
to make the purchase necessary for the tranquillity of the house.
Her temper was open. She acknowledged her fears, blamed
herself for having contended so warmly; and from that hour
Fanny, understanding the worth of her disposition, and perceiv-
ing how fully she was inclined to seek her good opinion and re-
fer to her judgment, began to feel again the blessing of affection,
and to entertain the hope of being useful to a mind so much in
need of help, and so much deserving it. She gave advice ad-
vice too sound to be resisted by a good understanding, and given
so mildly and considerately as not to irritate an imperfect tem-
per; and she had the happiness of observing its good effects not
unf requently ; more was not expected by one, who, while seeing
all the obligation and expediency of submission and forbearance,
saw also with sympathetic acuteness of feeling all that must be
hourly grating to a girl like Susan. Her greatest wonder on the
subject soon became not that Susan should have been provoked
into disrespect and impatience against her better knowledge
but that so much better knowledge, so many good notions should
have been hers at all; and that, brought up in the midst of
negligence and error, she should have formed such proper opi-
nions of what ought to be she, who had had no cousin Edmund
to direct her thoughts or fix her principles.
The intimacy thus begun between them was a material ad-
vantage to each. By sitting together up stairs, they avoided a
great deal of the disturbance of the house; Fanny had peace,
and Susan learned to think it no misfortune to be quietly em-
ployed. They sat without a fire; but that was a privation fami-
liar even to Fanny, and she suffered the less because reminded by
it of the east room. It was the only point of resemblance. In
space, light, furniture, and prospect, there was nothing alike in
the two apartments; and she often heaved a sigh at the remem-
brance of all her books and boxes, and various comforts there.
By degrees the girls came to spend the chief of the morning up
stairs, at first only in working and talking ; but after a few days,
280 MANSFIELD PARK.
the remembrance of the said books grew so potent and stimula-
tive, that Fanny found it impossible not to try for books again.
There were none in her father's house ; but wealth is luxurious
and daring; and* some of hers found its way to a circulating
library. She became a subscriber; amazed at being anything
inpropria persona, amazed at her own doings in every way; to
be a renter, a chooser of books ! And to be having any one's
improvement in view in her choice! But so it was. Susan had
read nothing, and Fanny longed to give her a share in her own
first pleasures, and inspire a taste for the biography and poetry
which she delighted in herself.
In this occupation she hoped, moreover, to bury some of the
recollections of Mansfield, which were too apt to seize her mind if
her fingers only were busy; and, especially at this time, hoped
it might be useful in diverting her thoughts from pursuing Ed-
mund to London, whither, on the authority of her aunt's last
letter, she knew he was gone. She had no doubt of what would
ensue. The promised notification was hanging over her head. The
postman's knock within the neighbourhood was beginning to
bring its daily terrors, and if reading could banish the idea for
even half an hour, it was something gained.
CHAPTER X.
"WEEK was gone since Edmund might be
supposed in town, and Fanny heard nothing
of him. There were three different conclu-
sions to be drawn from his silence, between
which her mind was in fluctuation ; each of
them at times being held the most probable.
Either his going had been again delayed, or
he had yet procured no opportunity of seeing
Miss Crawford alone, or he was too happy for letter- writing !
One morning, about this time, Fanny having now been nearly
four weeks from Mansfield a point which she never failed
to think over and calculate every day as she and Susan were
preparing to remove, as usual, up stairs, they were stopped by
the knock of a visiter, whom they felt they could not avoid, from
Rebecca's alertness in going to the door, a duty which always
interested her beyond any other.
It was a gentleman's voice ; it was a voice that Fanny was
just turning pale about, when Mr. Crawford walked into the
room,
Good sense, like hers, will always act when really called upon ;
and she found that she had been able to name him to her mother.
MANSFIELD PARK. 281
and recall her remembrance of the name, as that of " William's
friend," though she could not previously have believed herself
capable of uttering a syllable at such a moment. The consci-
ousness of his being known there only as William's friend was
some support. Having introduced him, however, and being all
reseated, the terrors that occurred of what this visit might lead
to were overpowering, and she fancied herself on the point of
fainting away.
While trying to keep herself alive, their visiter, who had at
first approached her with as animated a countenance as ever, was
wisely and kindly keeping his eyes away, and giving her time
to recover, while he devoted himself entirely to her mother,
addressing her, and attending to her with the utmost politeness
and propriety, at the same time with a degree of friendliness, of
interest at least, which was making his manner perfect.
Mrs. Price's manners were also at their best. Warmed by
the sight of such a friend to her son, and regulated by the wish
of appearing to advantage before him, she was overflowing with
gratitude, artless, maternal gratitude, which could not be un-
pleasing. Mr. Price was out, which she regretted very much.
Fanny was just recovered enough to feel that she could not
regret it ; for to her many other sources of uneasiness was added
the severe one of shame for the home in which he found her.
She might scold herself for the weakness, but there was no
scolding it away. She was ashamed, and she would have been
yet more ashamed of her father than all the rest.
They talked of William, a subject on which Mrs. Price could
never tire ; and Mr. Crawford was as warm in his commendation
as even her heart could wish. She felt that she had never seen
so agreeable a man in her life; and was only astonished to find,
that so great and so agreeable as he was, he should be come
down to Portsmouth neither on a visit to the Port-admiral, nor
the Commissioner, nor yet with the intention of going over to
the island, nor of seeing the dock-yard. Nothing of all that she
had been used to think of as the proof of importance, or the
employment of wealth, had brought him to Portsmouth. He
had reached it late the night before, was come for a day or two,
was staying at the Crown, had accidentally met with a navy
officer or two of his acquaintance since his arrival, but had no
olijoi-t of that kind in coming.
By the time he had given all this information, it was not un-
reasonable to suppose, that Fanny might be looked at and spoken
to ; and she was tolerably able to bear his eye, and hear that he
had spent half an hour with his sister, the evening before his
leaving London; that she had sent her best and kindest love, but
had had no time for writing; that he thought himself lucky in
seeing Mary for even half an hour, having spent scarcelv twenty-
'(1)
282 MANSFIELD PARK.
four hours in London, after his return from Xorfolk, before he set
off again; that her cousin Edmund was in town, had been in
town, he understood, a few days; that he had not seen him him-
self, but that he was well, had left them all well at Mansfield,
and was to dine, as yesterday, with the Erasers.
Fanny listened collectedly, even to the last-mentioned circum-
stance; nay, it seemed a relief to her wo'rn mind to be at any cer-
tainty; and the words, " then by this time it is all settled," passed
internally, without more evidence of emotion than a faint blush.
After talking a little more about Mansfield, a subject in which
her interest was most apparent, Crawford began to hint at the
expediency of an early walk. " It was a lovely morning, and
at that season of the year a fine morning so often turned off,
that it was wisest for everybody n'ot to delay their exercise;"
and such hints producing nothing, he soon proceeded to a positive
recommendation to Mrs. Price and her daughters, to take their
walk without loss of time. Now they came to an understanding.
Mrs. Price, it appeared, scarcely ever stirred Out of doors, except
on a Sunday; she owned she could seldom, with her large family,
find time for a walk. " Would she not, then, persuade her
daughters to take advantage of such weather, and allow him the
pleasure of attending them?" Mrs. Price was greatly obliged
and very complying. " Her daughters were very much confined
Portsmouth was a sad place they did not often get out and
she knew they had Some errands in the town, which they would
be very glad to do." And the consequence was, that Fanny,
strange as it was strange, awkward, and distressing found
herself and Susan, within ten minutes, walking towards the
High Street, with Mr. Crawford.
It was soon pain upon pain, confusion upon confusion; for
they were hardly in the High Street, before they met her father,
whose appearance was not the better from its being Saturday.
He stopped; and, ungentlemanlike as he looked, Fanny was
obliged to introduce him to Mr. Crawford. She could not have
a doubt of the manner in which Mr. Crawford must be struck.
He must be ashamed and disgusted altogether. He must soon
give her up, and cease to have the smallest' inclination for the
match; and yet, though she had been so much wanting his
affection to be cured, this was a sort of cure that would be almost
as bad as the complaint; and I believe there is scarcely a young
lady in the United Kingdoms who would not rather put up with
the misfortune of being sought by a clever, agreeable man, than
have him driven away by the vulgarity of her nearest relations.
Mr. Crawford, probably could not regard his future father-in-
law with any idea of taking him for a model in dress; but (as
Fanny instantly, and to her great relief,' discerned,) her father
was a very different man, a very different Mr. Price in his
MANSFIELD PARK. 283
behavkmr to this most highly respected stranger, from what he
was in his own family at home. His manners now, though not
polished, were more than passable ; they were grateful, animated,
manly; his expressions were those of an attached father, and a
sensible man ; his loud tones 'did very well in the open air, and
there was not a single oatli to be heard. Such was his instinctive
compliment to the good manners of Mr. Crawford ; and be the
consequence what it might, Fanny's immediate feelings were
infinitely soothed.
The conclusion of the two gentlemen's civilities was an offer
of Mr. Price's to take Mr. Crawford into the duck-yard, which
Mr. Crawford, desirous of accepting as a favour what was in-
tended as such, though he had seen the dock-yard pgam and
again, and hoping to be so much the longer with Fanny, was
very gratefully disposed to avail himself of, if the Miss Prices
were not afraid of the fatigue; and as it was somehow or other
ascertained, or inferred, or at least acted upon, that they were
not at all afraid, to the dock-yard they were all to go ; and, but
for Mr. Crawford, Mr. Price would have turned thither directly,
without the smallest consideration for his daughter's errands in
the High Street. He took care, however, that they should be
allowed to go to the shops they came out expressly to visit; and
it did not delay them long, for Fanny could so little bear to
excite impatience, or be waited for, that before the gentlemen,
as they stood at the door, could do more than begin upon the
last naval regulations, or settle the number of three-deckers now
in commission, their companions were ready to proceed.
They were then to set forward for the dock-yard at once, and
the walk would have been conducted (according to Mr. Craw-
ford's opinion) in a singular manner, had Mr. Price been allowed
the entire regulation of it, as the two girls, he found, would have
been left to follow, and keep up with them, or not, as they could,
while they walked on together at their own hasty pace. He was
able to introduce some improvement occasionally, though by no
means to the extent he wished; he absolutely would not walk
away from them; and, at any crossing, or any crowd, when Mr.
Price was only calling out, " Come, girls come, Fan come,
Sue take care of yourselves keep a sharp look-out," he would
give them his particular attendance.
Once fairly in the dock-yard, he began to reckon upon some
happy intercourse with Fanny) as they were very soon joined by
a brother lounger of Mr. Price's, who was come to take his daily
survey of how things went on, and who must prove a far
more worthy companion than himself; and after a time the two
officers seemed very well satisfied in going about together and
discussing matters of equal and never-failing interest, while the
young people sat down upon some timbers in the yard, or found
284 MANSFIELD PARK.
a seat on board a vessel in the stocks which they all went to
look at. Fanny was most conveniently in want of rest. Craw-
ford could not have wished her more fatigued or more ready to
sit down ; but he could have wished her sister away. A quick
looking girl of Susan's age was the very worst third in the
world totally different from Lady Bertram all eyes and ears;
and there was no introducing the main point before her. He
must content himself with being only generally agreeable, and
letting Susan have her share of entertainment, with the indul-
gence, now and then, of a look or hint for the better informed
and conscious Fanny. Norfolk was what he had mostly to talk
of: there he had been some time, and everything there was
rising in importance from his present schemes. Such a man
could come from no place, no society, without importing some-
thing to amuse; his journeys and his acquaintance were all of
use, and Susan was entertained in a way quite new to her. For
Fanny, somewhat more was related than the accidental agree-
ableness of the parties he had been in. For her approbation,
the particular reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this
unusual time of year, was given. It had been real business,
relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large
and (he believed) industrious family was at stake. He had
suspected his agent of some underhand dealing of meaning to
bias him against the deserving and he had determined to go
himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. lie
had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had
been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and
was now able to congratulate himself upon it, and to feel, that
in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for
his own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants,
whom he had never seen before ; he had begun making acquain-
tance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own
estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. This was aimed,
and well aimed, at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak
so properly; here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be
the friend of the poor and oppressed ! Nothing could be more
grateful to her; and she was on the point of giving him an
approving look when it was all frightened off, by his adding a
something too pointed of his hoping soon to have an assistant,
a friend, a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Evering-
ham, a somebody that would make Everingham and all about it
a dearer object than it had ever been yet.
She turned away, and wished he would not say such tilings.
She was willing to allow he might have more good qualities than
she had been wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility
of his turning out well at last ; but he was and must ever be
completely nnsnited to her, and ought not to think of her.
MANSF1KLJD PAUK. 285 .
He perceived that enough had been said of Everingham, and
that it would be as well to talk of something else, and turned to
Mansfield. He could not have chosen better; that was a topic
to bring back her attention and her looks almost instantly. It
was a real indulgence to her to hear or to speak of Mansfield.
Now so long divided from everybody who knew the place, she
felt it quite the voice of a friend when he mentioned it, and led
the way to her fond exclamations in praise of its beauties and
comforts, and by his honourable tribute to its inhabitants allowed
her to gratify her own heart in the warmest eulogium, in speaking
of her uncle as all that was clever and good, and her aunt as
having the sweetest of all sweet tempers.
He had a great attachment to Mansfield himself; he said so; he
looked forward with the hope of spending much, very much, of his
time there ; always there, or in the neighbourhood. He particularly
built upon a very happy summer and autumn there this year; he felt
that it would be so ; he depended upon it ; a summer and autumn
infinitely superior to the last. As animated, as diversified, as
social but with circumstances of superiority indescribable.
" Mansfield, Sotherton, Thornton Lacey," he continued, " what
a society will be comprised in those houses ! And at Michaelmas,
perhaps, a fourth may be added, some small hunting-box in the
vicinity of everything so dear ; for as to any partnership in
Thornton Lacey, as Edmund Bertram once good-humouredly
proposed, I hope I foresee two objections, two fair, excellent,
irresistible objections to that plan."
Fanny was doubly silenced here ; though when the moment
was passed, could regret that she had not forced herself into the
acknowledged comprehension of one half of his meaning, and en-
couraged him to say something more of his sister and Edmund.
It was a subject which she must learn to speak of, and the weak-
ness that shrunk from it would soon be quite unpardonable.
When Mr. Price and his friend had seen all that they wished,
or had time for, the others were ready to return ; and in the
course of their walk back, Mr. Crawford contrived a minute's
privacy for telling Fanny that his only business in Portsmouth
was to see her, that he was come down for a couple of days on her
account and hers only, and because he could not endure a longer
total separation. She was sorry, really sorry; and yet, in spite
of this and the two or three other things which she wished he had
not said, she thought him altogether improved since she had seen
him; he was much more gentle, obliging, and attentive to other
people's feelings than he had ever been at Mansfield ; she had
never seen him so agreeable so near being agreeable ; his be-
haviour to her father could not offend, and there was something
particularly kind and proper in the notice he took of Susan. He
was decidedly improved. She wished the next day over, she
286 MANSFIELD PARK.
wished he had come only for one day ; but it was not so very
bad as she. would ,have expected, the pleasure of talking of
Mansfield was so very great !
Before they parted, she had to thank him for another pleasure,
and. one of no trivial kind. Her father asked him to do them the
honour of taking his mutton with them, and fanny, had time for
only one thrill of horror, before he declared himself prevented by
a prior engagement. He was engaged to dinner already both, for
that day and the next ; he had met with some acquaintance at the
Crown who would not be denied.; he should have the honour,
however, of waiting on them again on the morrow, &c. and so
they parted Fanny in a state of actual felicity from escaping so
horrible, an evil !
To have, had him join their family dinner-party, and see all
their deficiencies, would have been dreadful ! Rebecca's cookery
and Rebecca's waiting) and Betsey's gating at table without
restraint, and pulling everything about as she chose, were what
Fanny herself was not yet enough inured to, for her often to
make a tolerable meal. She was nice only from natural delicacy,
but he had been brought up in a school of luxury and epicurism.
CHAPTER XI.
^ HE Prices were just setting oft' for church the
" next day wh(jn Mr. Crawford appeared again.
He came not to stop but to join them ; he
was asked to go with them to the Garrison
chapel, which was exactly what he intended,
'and they all walked thither together,
^ssytqgj' The family were BOW seen to advantage.
'"^^"^ Nature had given them .no inconsiderable
share of beauty, a#d every Sunday dressed them in their cleanest
skins and best attire. Sunday always brought this comfort to
Fanny, and on this Sunday she felt it more than ever. Her poor
mother now did not look .so very unworthy, of being Lady : Ber-
tram's sister as she was but too apt to look. It often .grieved
her to the heart, to think of the contrast between them to think
that where nature had made so little difference circumstances
should have made so much, and that her mother, as handspme as
Lady Bertram, and some years .her junior, should have an appear-
ance so much more worn and faded, so comfortless, so slatternly, so
shabby. But Sunday made her a very creditable and tolerably
cheerful-looking Mrs. Price, coming abroad with a fine family of
children, feeling a little respite of her weekly cares, and only dis-
MANSFIELD PAKK. 287
composed if she saw her boys run into danger, or Kebecca pass
by with a flower in her hat.
In chapel they were obliged to divide, but Mr. Crawford took
care not to be divided from the female branch ; and after chapel
he still continued with them, and made one in the family party
on the ramparts.
Mrs. Price took her weekly walk on the ramparts every fine
Sunday throughout the year, always going directly after morning
service and staying till dinner-time. It was her public place :
there she met -her acquaintance, heard a little news, talked over
the badness of the Portsmouth servants, and wound up her spirits
for the six days ensuing.
Thither they now went ; Mr. Crawford most happy to con:
sider the Miss Prices as his peculiar charge ; and before they had
been there long somehow or other there was no saying how
Fanny could not have believed it but he was walking between
them with an arm of each under his, and she did not know how
to prevent or put an end to it. It made her uncomfortable for a
time but yet there were enjoyments in the day and in the view
which would be felt.
The day was uncommonly lovely. It was really March ; but
it was April in its mild air, brisk soft wind, and bright sun, oc-
casionally clouded for a minute ; and everything looked so
beautiful under the influence of such a sky, the effects of the
shadows pursuing each other, on the ships at Spithead and the
island beyond, with the ever- varying hues of the sea now at high
water, dancing in its glee and dashing against the ramparts with
so tine a sound, produced altogether such a combination of charms
for Fanny, as made her gradually almost careless of the circum-
stances under which she felt them. Nay. had she been without
his arm, she would soon have known that she needed it, for she
wanted strength for a two hours' saunter of this kind, coming, as
it generally did, upon a week's previous inactivity. Fanny was
beginning to feel the effect of being debarred from her usual,
regular exercise : she had lost ground as to health since her
being in Portsmouth ; and but for Mr. Crawford and the beauty
of the weather, would soon have been knocked up now.
The loveliness of the day, and of the view, he felt like herself.
They often stopped with the same sentiment and taste, leaning
against the wall, some minutes, to look and admire ; and coiisi-
sidering he was not Edmund, Fanny could not but allow that he
was sufficiently open to the charms of nature, and very well able
to express his admiration. She had a few tender reveries now
and then, which he could sometimes take advantage of, to look in
her face without detection ; and the result of these looks was,
that, though as bewitching as ever, her face was less blooming
than it ought to be. She said she was very well, and did not like
288 MANSFIELD PAliK.
to be supposed otherwise ; but take it all in all, he was convinced
that her present residence could not be comfortable, and, there-
fore could not be salutary for her, and he was growing anxious
for her being again at Mansfield, where her own happiness, and
his in seeing her, must be so much greater.
" You have been here a month, I think ?" said he.
"Xo ; not quite a month. It is only four weeks to-morrow
since I left Mansfield."
" You are a most accurate and honest reckoner. I should call
that a month."
" I did not arrive here till Tuesday evening."
" And it is to be a two months' visit, is it not ?"
" Yes. My uncle talked of two months. I suppose it will not
be less."
"And how are you to be conveyed back again ? Who comes
for you ?"
" I do not know- I have heard nothing about it yet from my
aunt Perhaps I may be to stay longer. It may not be con-
venient for me to be fetched exactly at the two months' end."
After a moment's reflection, Mr. Crawford replied, " I know
Mansfield, I know its way, I know its faults towards you. I
know the danger of your being so far forgotten, as to have your
comforts give way to the imaginary convenience of any single
being in the family. I am aware that ypu may be left here week
after week, if Sir Thomas cannot settle everything for coming
himself, or sending your aunt's maid for you, without involving
the slightest alteration of the arrangements which he may have
laid down for the next quarter of a year. This will not do.
Two months is an ample allowance, I should think six weeks
quite enough I am considering your sister's health," said he,
addressing himself to Susan, " which I think the confeiement of
Portsmouth unfavourable to. She requires constant air and
exercise. When you know her as well as I do, I am sure you
will agree that she does, and that she ought never to JKJ long
banished from the free air and liberty of the country. If, there-
fore, (turning again to Fanny,) you find yourself growing un-
well, and any difficulties arise about your returning to Mansfield
without waiting for the two months to be ended that must
not be regarded as of any consequence, if you feel yourself at all
less strong or comfortable than usual, and will only let my sister
know it, give her only the slightest hint, she and I will imme-
diately come down, and take you back to Mansfield. You know
the ease and the pleasure with which tiiis would be done. You
know all that would be felt on the occasion."
Fanny thanked him, but tried to laugh it off.
" I am perfectly serious," he replied, " as you perfectly
know. And I hope you will not be cruelly concealing any ten-
MANSFIELD PAKK. 289
clency to indisposition. Indeed, you shall not it shall not be in
your power ; for so long only as you positively say, in every
letter to Mary, ' I am well' and I know you cannot speak or
write a falsehood so long only shall you be considered as well."
Fanny thanked him again, but was affected and distressed to
a degree that made it impossible for her to say much, or even to
be certain of what she ought to say. This was towards the
close of their walk. He attended them to the last, and left them
only at the door of their own house, when he knew them to be
going to dinner, and therefore pretended to be waited for else-
where.
" I wish you were not so tired," said he, still detaining Fanny
after all the others were in the house " I wish I left you in
stronger health. Is there anything I can do for you in town ?
I have half an idea of going into Norfolk again soon. I am
not satisfied about Maddison. I am sure he still means to impose
on me if possible, and get a cousin of his own into a certain mill,
which I design for somebody else. I must come to an under-
standing with him. I must make him know that I will not be
tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than on the
north that I will be master of my own property. I was not
explicit enough with him before. The mischief such a man does
on an estate, both as to the credit of his employer and the welfare
of the poor, is inconceivable. I have a great mind to go back
into Norfolk directly, and put everything at once on such a foot-
ing as cannot be afterwards swerved from. Maddison is a clever
fellow ; I do not wish to displace him provided he does not try
to displace me ; but it would be simple to be duped by a man
who has no right of creditor to dupe me, and worse than simple
to let him give me a hard-hearted, griping fellow for a tenant,
instead of an honest man, to whom I have given half a promise
already. Would it not be worse than simple ? Shall I go ? Do
you advise it?"
" I advise ! you know very well what is right"
" Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know what
is right. Your judgment is my rule of right."
" Oh, no ! do not say so. We have all a better guide in our-
selves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.
Good-bye ; I wish you a pleasant journey to-morrow."
" Is there nothing I can do for you in town?"
" Nothing, I am much obliged to you."
" Have you no message for anybody?"
" My love to your sister, if you please ; and when you see my
cousin my cousin Edmund I wish you would be so good as to
say that I suppose I shall soon hear from him."
" Certainly ; and if he is lazy or negligent, I will write his
excuses myself "
MANSFIELD PARK.
He could say no more, for Fanny would be no longer, detained.
He pressed her hand,, looked at her, and was gone. He went to
while away the next three hours as he could, with his .other
acquaintance, till the. best dinner that a capital inn afforded was
ready for their enjoyment, and she turned in to her more simple
one immediately.
Their general fare bore, a very different character ; and could
he have suspected how many privations, besides that of exercise,
she endured in her father's house, lie would have wondered that
her looks were not much more affected than he found them. She
was so little .equal to Rebecca's puddings and. Rebecca's hashes,
brought to table, as they all were, with such accompaniments of
half-cleaned plates, and not half-cleaned knives and forks, ttyat
she was very often constrained to defer her heartiest meal till
she could send her brothers in the evening for biscuits and bunn.^
After being nursed up at Mansfield, it was too late in the day to
be hardened at Portsmouth ; and though Sir Thomas, had he
known all, might haye thought his niece in the most promising
way of being starved, both mind and body, into a much juster
value for Mr. Crawford's good company and good fortune, be
woidd probably have feared to push his experiment farther, lest
she might die under the cure.
Fanny was out of spirits all the rest of the .day. Though to-
lerably secure of not seeing Mr. Crawford again, she could not
help being low. It was parting with somebody of the nature of
a Mend ; and though, in one light, glad to have him gone, it
seemed as if s)ie was now deserted by everybody ; it was a sort
of renewed separation from Mansfield ; and she could not think
of his returning to town, and being frequently with Mary and
Edmund, without feelings so near akin to envy as made her hate
herself for having them.
Her dejection had no abatement from anything passing around
her ; a friend or two of her father's, as always happened if he
was not with them, spent the long, long evening there; and, from
six o'clock till half-past nine, there was little intermission of nois,e
or grog. She was very. low. The wonderful improvement which
she still fancied in Mr. Crawford was the nearest to administering
comfort of anything within the current of her thoughts. ISpt
considering in how different a circle she had been just seeing him,
nor how much might be owing to contrast, she was quite per-
suaded of his being astonishingly more gentle and regardful of
others than formerly. And, if in little things, must it not be so
in great? So anxious for her health and comfort, so very feeling
as he now expressed himself, and really seemed, might not it be
fairly supposed that he would not much longer persevere in a
suit so distressing to her?
291
CHAPTER XII.
T was presumed that Mr. Crawford was tra-
velling back to London, on the morrow, for
nothing more was seen of him at Mr Price's ;
and, two days afterwards, it was a fact ascer-
jg tained to Fanny by the following letter from
his sister, opened and read by her, on another
account, with the most anxious curiosity :
" I have to inform you, my dearest Fanny,
that Henry has been down to Portsmouth to see you ; that he
had a delightful with you to the dock-yard, last Saturday, and
one still more to be dwelt on the next day, on the ramparts ;
when the balmy air, the sparkling sea, and your sweet looks and
conversation were altogether in the most delicious harmony, and
afforded sensations which are to raise ecstasy even in retrospect.
Tliis, as well as I understand, is to be the substance of my infor-
mation. He makes me write, but I do not know what else is to
be communicated, except this said visit to Portsmouth, and these
two said walks, and his introduction to your family, especially
to a fair sister of yours, a fine girl of fifteen, who was of the
party on the ramparts, taking her first lesson, I presume, in love.
I have not time for writing much, but it would be out of place
if I had, for this is to be a mere letter of business, penned for the
purpose of conveying necessary information, which could not be
delayed without risk of evil.. Mydear, dear Fanny, if I had you
here, how I would talk to you! You should listen to me till you
were tired, and advise me till you were still tired more; but it
is impossible to put. a hundredth part of my great mind on paper,
so I will abstain altogether, -and leave you to guess what you
like. I have no news for you. You have politics, of course ;
and it would be too bad to plague you with the names of people and
parties that fill up my time. I ought to have sent you an ac r
count of your cousin's first party, but I was lazy, and now it is
too long ago ; suffice it, that everything was just as it ought to
be, in a style that any of her connexions must have been grati-
fied to witness, and that her own dress and manners did her the
greatest credit. My friend, Mrs. Fraser, is mad for such a house,
and it would not make me miserable. I go to Lady Stornaway
after Easter : she seems in high spirits, and very happy. I fancy
Lord S. is very good-humoured and pleasant in his own family,
and I do not think him so very ill-looking as I did at least,
one sees many worse. He will not do by the side of your cousin
Edmund. Of the last-mentioned hero, what shall I say? If I
avoided his name entirely, it would look suspicious. I will say,
292 MANSFIELD PARK.
then, that we have seen him two or three times, and that my
friends here are very much struck with his gentlemanlike ap-
pearance. Mrs. Fraser (no bad judge) declares she knows but
three men in town who have so good a person, height, and
air ; and I must confess, when he dined here the other day, there
were none to compare with him, and we were a party of sixteen.
Luckily there is no distinction of dress now-a-days to tell tales
butbut but
" Yours, affectionately.
" I had almost forgot (it was Edmund's fault, he gets into uiy
head more than does me good) one very material thing I had to
say from Henry and myself I mean about our taking you back
into Northamptonshire. My dear little creature, do not stay at
Portsmouth to lose your pretty looks. Those vile sea-breezes
are the ruin of beauty and health. My poor aunt always felt
affected if within ten miles of the sea, which the Admiral of
course never believed, but I know it was so. I am at your ser-
vice and Henry's, at an hour's notice. I should like the scheme,
and we would make a little circuit, and shew you Everingham
in our way, and perhaps you would not mind passing through
London, and seeing the inside of St. George's, Hanover-square.
Only keep your cousin Edmund from me at such a time I
should not l ? ke to be tempted. What a long letter ! one word
more. He^ry, I find, has some idea of going into Norfolk again
upon some business that you approve ; but this cannot possibly
be permitted before the middle of next week that is, he cannot
any how be spared till after the 14th, for we have a party that
evening. The value of a man like Henry, on such an occasion,
is what you can have no conception of ; so you must take it upon
my word to be inestimable. He will see the Eushworths, which
I own I am not sorry for having a little curiosity, and so I
think has he though he will not acknowledge it."
This was a letter to be run through eagerly, to be read deli-
berately, to supply matter for much reflection, and to leave every-
thing in greater suspense than ever. The only certainty to be
drawn from it was, that nothing decisive had yet taken place.
Edmund had not yet spoken. How Miss Crawford really felt
how she meant to act, or might act without or against her
meaning whether his importance to her were quite what it
I?:K! been before the last separation whether, if lessened, it were
likely to lessen more, or to recover itself, were subjects for end-
less conjecture, and to be thought of on that day and many days
to come, without producing any conclusion. The idea that re-
turned the oftenest was that Miss Crawford, after proving herself
cooled and staggered by a return to London habits, would yet
prove herself in the end too much attached to him, to give him
up. She would try to be more ambitious than her heart would
MANSFIELD PARK. 293
allow. She would hesitate, she -would teaze, she would condi-
tion, she would require ;i great deal, but she would finally accept.
This was Fanny's most frequent expectations. A house in
town ! that she thought must be impossible. Yet there was no
saying what Miss Crawford might not ask. The prospect for
her cousin grew worse and worse. The woman who could speak
of him, and speak only of his appearance ! What an unworthy
attachment! To be deriving support from the commendations of
Mrs. Fraser! She who had known him intimately half a year!
Fanny was ashamed of her. Those parts of the letter which re-
lated only to Mr. Crawford and herself touched her, in compa-
rison, slightly. Whether Mr. Crawford went into Norfolk before
or after the 14th was certainly no concern of hers, though, every-
thing considered, she thought lie would go without delay. That
Miss Crawford should endeavour to secure a meeting between
him and Mrs. Ilushworth, was all in her worst line of conduct,
and grossly unkind and ill-judged; but she hoped he would not
be actuated by any such degrading curiosity. He acknowledged
no such inducement, and his sister ought to have given him credit
for better feelings than her own.
She was yet more impatient for another letter from town after
receiving this than she had been before ; and for a few days was
so unsettled by it altogether, by what had come, and what
might come, that her usual readings and conversations with
Susan were much suspended. She could not command her at-
tention as she wished. If Mr. Crawford remembered her mes-
sage to her cousin, she thought it very likely, mo:t likely, that
he would write to her at all events; it would be most consistent
with his usual kindness; and till she got rid of this idea, till it
gradually wore off, by no letters appearing in the course of three
or four days more, she was in a most restless, anxious state.
At length, a something like composure succeeded. Suspense
must be submitted to, and must not be allowed to wear her out,
and make her useless. Time did something, her own exertions
something more, and she resumed her attentions to Susan, and
again awakened the same interest in them.
Susan was growing very fond of her, and though without any
of the early delight in books, which had been so strong in Fanny,
with a disposition much less inclined to sedentaiy pursuits, or to
information for information's sake, she had so strong a desire of
not appearing ignorant, as, with a good clear understanding,
made her a most attentive, profitable, thankful pupil. Fanny
was her oracle. Fanny's explanations and n'ir.arks were a most
important addition to every essay, or every chapter of history.
What Fanny told her of former times dwelt more on her mind
than the pages of Goldsmith ; and she paid her sister the com-
pliment of preferring her style to that of any printed author.
The early habit of reading was wanting.
294 MANSFIELD PARK.
Their conversations, however, were not always on subjects so
high as history or morals. Others had their hour; and of lesser
matters, none returned so often, or remained so long between
them, as Mjansfield Park, a description of the people, the man-
ners, the amusements, the ways of Mansfield Papk. Susan, who
had an innate taste for the genteel and well-appointed, was eager
to hear, and Fanny could not but indulge herself in dwelling on
go beloved a theme. She hoped it was not wrong ; though, after
a time, Susan's very great admiration of everything said or done
in her uncle's house, and earnest longing to go into Northamp-
tonshire, seemed almost to blame her for exciting feelings which
could not be gratified.
Poor Susan was very little better fitted for home than her
elder sister; and as Fanny grew thoroughly to understand this,
she b-'gan to feel that when her own release from Portsmouth
came, her happiness would have a material drawback in leaving
Susan behind. That a girl so capable of being made everything
good should be left in such hands, distressed her more and more.
Were she likely to have a home to invite her to, what a blessing
it would be ! And had it been possible for her to return Mr.
Crawford's regard, the probability of his being very far from
objecting to such a measure would have been the greatest
increase of all her own comforts. She thought he was really
good-tempered, and could fancy his entering into a plan of that
sort most pleasantly.
CHAPTER XIII.
EVEN weeks of the two months were
very nearly gone, when the ona letter, the
letter from Edmund so long expected, was
put into Fanny's hands. As she opened and
saw its length, she prepared herself for a
minute detail of happiness and a profusion of
love and praise towards the fortunate crea-
ture, who was now mistress of his fate.
These were the contents.
" Mansfield Park.
" My dear Fanny,
" Excuse me that I have not written before. Crawford told
me that you were wishing to hear from me, but I found it im-
possible to write from London, and persuaded myself that you
would understand my silence. Could I have sent a few happy
lines, they should not have been wanting, but nothing of that
nature was ever in my power. I am returned to Mansfield in a
less assured state than when I left it. My hopes are much
MANSFIELD PARK. 295
weaker You are probably aware of this already. So very fond
of you as Miss Crawford is, it is most natural that she should
tell you enough of her own feelings, to furnish a tolerable guess
at mine -I will not be prevented, however, from making my
own communication. Our confidences in you need not clash.
I ask no questions. There is something soothing in the idea
that we have the same friend, and that whatever unhappy differ-
ences of opinion may exist between us, we are united in our love
of you. It will be a comfort to me to tell you how things
now are, and what are my present plans, if plans I can be said
to have. I have been returned since Saturday. I was three
weeks in London, and saw her (for London) very often. I had
every attention from the Frasers that could be reasonably ex-
pected. ' I dare say I was not reasonable in carrying with me
Impcs of an intercourse at all like that of Mansfield. It was her
manner, however, rather than any unfrequency of meeting.
Had she been different when I did see her, I should have made
Ho complaint, but from the very first she was altered; my first
reception was so unlike what I had hoped, that I had almost
resolved on leaving London again directly. I need not particu-
larize. You know the weak side of her character, and may
imagine the sentiments and expressions which were torturing
me. She was in high spirits, and surrounded by those who
were giving all the support of their own bad sense to her too
lively mind. I do not like Mrs. Eraser. She is a cold-hearted,
vain woman, who has married entirely from convenience, and
though evidently unhappy in her marriage, places her disap-
pointment not to faults of judgment or temper, or disproportion
of age, but to her being, after all, less affluent than many of
her acquaintance, especially than her sister, Lady Stornaway,
and is the determined supporter of everything mercenary and
ambitious, provided it be only mercenary and ambitious enough.
1 look upon her intimacy with those two sisters as the greatest
misfortune of her life and mine. They have been leading her
astray for years. Could she be detached" from them! and some-
times I do not despair of it, for the affection appears to me prin-
cipally on their side. They are very fond of her; but I am
sure she does not love them a3 she loves you. When I think of
her great attachment to you, indeed, and the whole of her judi-
cious, upright conduct as a sister, she appears a very different
creature, capable of everything noble, and I am ready to blame
myself for a' too harsh construction of a playful mariner. I
cannot give her up, Fanny. She is the only woman in the
world whom I could e\ r er think of as a wife. If I did not be-
lieve that she had some regard for me, of course I should not say
this but I do believe it. I am convinced, that she is not with-
out a decided preference. I have no jealousy of any individual.
MANSFIELD PARK.
It is the influence of the fashionable world altogether that I am
jealous of. It is the habits of wealth that I fear. Her ideas
are not higher than her own fortune may warrant, but they are
beyond what our incomes united could authorise. There is comfort,
however, even here. I could better bear to lose her, because not
rich enough, than because . of my profession. That would
only prove her affection not equal to sacrifices, which, in fact, I
am scarcely justified in asking; and, if I am refused, that, I
think, will be the honest motive. Her prejudices, I trust, are
not so strong as they were. You have my thoughts exactly as
they arise, my dear Fanny; perhaps they are sometimes contra-
dictory, but it will not be a less faithful picture of my mind.
Having once begun, it is a pleasvire to me to tell you all I feel.
I cannot give her up. Connected, as we already are, and, I
hope, are to be, to give up Mary Crawford would be to give up
the society of some of those most dear to me to banish myself
from the very houses and friends whom, under any other distress,
I should turn to for consolation. The loss of Mary' I must con-
sider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and of Fanny.
Were it a decided thing, an actual refusal, I hope I should know
how to bear it, and how to endeavour to weake i her hold on my
heart and, in the course of a few years but I am writing
nonsense were I refused, I must bear it; and till I am, I can
never cease to try for her. This is the truth. The only question
is how? What may be the likeliest means? I have sometimes
thought of going to London again after Easter, and sometimes
resolved on doing nothing till she returns to Mansfield. Even
now, she speaks with pleasure of being in Mansfield in June;
but June is at a great distance, and I believe I shall write to her.
I have nearly determined on explaining myself by letter. To be
at an early certainty is a material object. My present state is
miserably irksome. Considering everything, I think a letter will
be decidedly the best method of explanation. I shall be able to
write much that I could not say, and shall be giving her time for
reflection before she resolves on her answer, and I am less afraid
of the result of reflection than of an immediate hasty impulse; I
think I am. My greatest danger would lie in her consulting
Mrs. Fraser, and I at a distance, unable to help my own cause.
A letter exposes to all the evil of consultation, and where the
mind is anything short of perfect decision, an adviser may, in an
unlucky moment, lead it to do what it may afterwards regret.
I must think this matter over a little. This long letter, full of
my own concerns .alone, will be enough to tire even the friend-
ship of a Fanny. The last time I saw Crawford was at Mrs.
Fraser's party. I am more and more satisfied with all that I see
and hear of him. There is not a shadow of wavering. -He
thoroughly knows his own mind, and acts up to his resolution? .
MANSFIELD PARK. 297
au inestimable quality. I could not see him and my eldest sister
in the same room, without recollecting what you once told me,
and I acknowledge that they did not meet as friends. There was
marked coolness on her side. They scarcely spoke. I saw him
draw back surprised, and I was sorry that Mrs. Rushworth
should resent any former supposed slight to Miss Bertram. You
will wish to hear my opinion of Maria's degree of comfort as a
wife. There is no appearance of unhappiness. I hope they get
on pretty well together. I dined twice in Wimpole Street, and
might have been there oftener, but it is mortifying to be witli
Rushworth as a brother. Julia seems to enjoy London exceed-
ingly. I had little enjoyment there but have less here. We
are not a lively party. You are very much wanted. I miss
you more than I can express. My mother desires her best love,
and hopes to hear from you soon. She talks of you almost
every hour, and I am sorry to find how many weeks more she
is likely to be without you. My father means to fetch you
himself, but it will not be till after Easter, when he has business
in town. You are happy at Portsmouth, I hope, but this must
not be a yearly visit. I want you at home, that I may have
your opinion about Thornton Lacey. I have little heart for
extensive improvements till I know that it will ever have a
mistress. I think I shall certainly write. It is quite settled
that the Grants go to Bath; they leave Mansfield on Monday.
I am glad of it. I am not comfortable enough to be fit for any-
body; but your aunt seems to feel out of luck that such an
article of Mansfield news should fall to my pen instead of hers.
" Yours ever, my dearest Fanny."
" I never will no, I certainly never will wish for a letter
again," was Fanny's secret declaration, as she finished this.
" What do they bring but disappointment and sorrow? Not till
after Easter ! How shall I bear it? And my poor aunt talking
of me every hour !"
Fanny checked the tendency of these thoughts as well as she
could, but she was within half a minute of starting the idea,
that Sir Thomas was quite unkind, both to her aunt and to her-
self. As for the main subject of the letter there was nothing
in that to soothe irritation. She was almost vexed into dis-
pleasure and anger against Edmund. " There is no good in this
delay," said she. "Why is not it settled? He is blinded, and
nothing will open his eyes nothing can, after having had truths
before him so long in vain He will marry her, and be poor and
miserable. God grant that her influence do not make him cease
to be respectable !" She looked over the letter again. "'So
very fond of me !' 'tis nonsense all. She loves nobody but her-
self and her brother. ' Her friends leading her astray for years ! '
She is quite as likely to have led them astray. They have all,
(1) V
298 MANSFIELD PARK.
perhaps, besn coirupting one another; but if they are so much
fonder of her than she is of them, she is the less likely to have
been hurt, except by their flattery. ' The only woman in the
world whom he could ever think of as a wife.' I firmly believe
it. It is an attachment to govern his whole life. Accepted or
refused, his heart is wedded to her for ever. ' The loss of Mary
I must consider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and
Fanny.' Edmund, you do not know me. The families would
never be connected, if you did not connect them ! Oh ! write,
write. Finish it at once. Let there be an end of this suspense.
Fix, commit, condemn yourself."
Such sensations, however, were too near akin to resentment to
be long guiding Fanny's soliloquies. She was soon more softened
and sorrowful His warm regard, his kind expressions, his con-
fidential treatment, touched her strongly. He was only too good
to everybody It was a letter, in short, which she would not but
have had for the world, and which could never be valued enough.
This was the end of it.
Everybody at all addicted to letter-writing, without having
much to say which will include a large proportion of the female
world at least must feel with Lady Bertram, that she was out
of luck in having such a capital piece of Mansfield news, as the
certainty of the Grants going to Bath, occur at a time when she
could make no advantage of it, and will admit that it must hive
been very mortifying to her to see it fall to the share of her
thankless son, and treated as concisely as possible at the end of a
long letter, instead of having it to spread over the largest part of a
page of her own. For though Lady Bertram rather shone in the
epistolary line, having early in her marriage, from the want of
other employment, and the circumstance of Sir Thomas's being
in Parliament, got into the way of making and keeping corres-
pondents, and formed for herself a very creditable, commonplace,
amplifying style, so that a very little matter was enough for her,
she could not do entirely without any ; she must have something
to write about, even to her niece ; and being so soon to lose all the
benefit of Dr. Grant's gouty symptoms and Mrs. Grant's morning
calls, it was very hard upon her to be deprived of one of the last
epistolary uses she could put them to.
There was a rich amends, however, preparing for her. Lady
Bertram's hour of good luck came. Within a few days from the
receipt of Edmund's letter, Fanny had one from her aunt, begin-
ning thus :
" My dear Fanny,
" I take up my pen to communicate some very alarming intel-
ligence, which I make no doubt will give you much concern."
This was a great deal better than to have to take up the pen
to acquaint her with all the particulars of the Grants' intended
MANSFIELD PARK. 299
journey, for the present intelligence was of a nature to promise
occupation for the pen for many days to come, being no less than
the dangerous illness of her eldest son, of which they had received
notice by express, a few hours before.
Tom had gone from London with a party of young men to
Newmarket, where a neglected fall and a good deal of drinking
had brought on a fever: and when the party broke up, being
unable to move, had been left by himself at the house of one of
these young men, to the comforts of sickness and solitude, and
the attendance only of servants. Instead of being soon well
enough to follow his friends, as he had then hoped, his disorder
increased considerably, and it was not long before he thought so
ill of himself, as to be as ready as his physician to have a letter
despatched to Mansfield.
" This distressing intelligence, as you may suppose," observed
her Ladyship, after giving the substance of it, "has agitated us
exceedingly, and we cannot prevent ourselves from being greatly
alarmed and apprehensive for the poor invalid, whose state Sir
Thomas fears may be very critical ; and Edmund kindly pro-
poses attending his brother immediately, but I am happy to add,
that Sir Thomas will not leave me on this distressing occasion,
as it would be too trying for me. We shall greatly miss
Edmund in our small circle ; but I trust and hope he will find
the poor invalid in a less alarming state than might be appre-
hended, and that he will be able to bring him to Mansfield
shortly, which Sir Thomas proposes should be done, and thinks
best on every account, and I flatter myself the poor sufferer will
soon be able to bear the removal without material inconvenience
or injury. As I have little doubt of your feeling for us, my dear
Fanny, under these distressing circumstances, I will write again
very soon."
Fanny's feelings on the occasion were indeed considerably
more warm and genuine than her aunt's style, of writing. She
felt truly for them all. Tom dangerously ill, Edmund gone to
attend him, and the sadly small party remaining at Mansfield,
were cares to shut out every other care, or almost every other.
She could just find selfishness enough to wonder whether Edmund
had written to Miss Crawford before this summons came, but 710
sentiment dwelt long with her, that was not purely affectionate
and disinterestedly anxious. Her aunt did not neglect her ; she
wrote again and again ; they were receiving frequent accounts
from Edmund, and these accounts were as regularly transmitted
to Fanny, in the same diffuse style, and the same medley of trusts,
hopes, and fears, all following and producing each other at hap-
hazard. It was a sort of playing at being frightened. The suf-
ferings which Lady Bertram did not see had little power over her
fancy ; and she wrote very comfortably about agitation, and anxiety,
MANSFIELD PARK.
and poor invalids, till Tom was actually conveyed to Mansfield,
and her own eyes had beheld his altered appearance. Then, a
letter which she had been previously preparing for Fanny, was
finished in a different style, in the language of real feeling and
alarm ; then, she wrote as she might have spoken. " He is
just come, my dear Fanny, and is taken up stairs ; and I am
so shocked to see him, that I do not know what to do. I am
sure he has been very ill. Poor Tom; I am quite grieved for
him, and very much frightened, and so is Sir Thomas; and
how glad I should be, if you were here to comfort me. But
Sir Thomas hopes he will be better to-morrow, and says we must
consider his journey."
The real solicitude now awakened in the maternal bosom was
not soon over. Tom's extreme impatience to be removed to Mans-
field, and experience those comforts of home and family which
had been little thought of in uninterrupted health, had probably
induced his being conveyed thither too early, as a return of fever
came on, and for a week he was in a more alarming state than
ever. They were all very seriously frightened. Lady Bertram
wrote her daily terrors to her niece, who might now be said to live
upon letters, and pass all her time between suffering from that of
to-day, and looking forward to to-morrow's. Without any par-
ticular affection for her eldest cousin, her tenderness of heart
made her feel that she could not spare him ; and the purity of
her principles added yet a keener solicitude, and when she con-
sidered how little useful, how little self-denying his life had
(apparently) been.
Susan was her only companion and listener on this, as on more
common occasions. Susan was always ready to hear and to sym-
pathise. Nobody else could be interested in so remote an evil
as illness, in a family above a hundred miles off not even Mrs.
Price, beyond a brief question or two, if she saw her daughter
with a letter in her hand, and now and then the quiet observa-
tion of "My poor sister Bertram must be in a great deal of
trouble."
So long divided, and so differently situated, the ties of blood
were little more than nothing. An attachment, originally as
tranquil as their tempers, was now become a mere name. Mrs.
Price did quite as much for Lady Bertram, as Lady Bertram
would have done for Mrs. Price. Three or four Prices might
have been swept away, any or all, except Fanny and William,
and Lady Bertram would have thought little about it; or perhaps
might have caught from Mrs. Norris's lips the cant of its being a
very happy thing, and a great blessing to their poor dear sister
Price to have them so well provided for.
MANSFIELD PARK. 301
CHAPTER XIV.
T about the week's end from his return to
Mansfield, Tom's immediate danger was over,
and he was so far pronounced safe, as to make
his mother perfectly easy ; for being now used
to the sight of him in his suffering, helpless
state, and hearing only the best, and never
__ thinking beyond what she heard, -with no
*** disposition for alarm, and no aptitude at a
hint, Lady Bertram was the happiest subject in the world for
a little medical imposition. The fever was subdued ; the fever
had been his complaint, of course he would soon be well again ;
Lady Bertram could think nothing less, and Fanny shared her
aunt's security, till she received a few lines from Edmund, written
purposely to give her a clearer idea of his brother's situation,
and acquaint her with the apprehensions which he and Lis father
had imbibed from the physician, with respect to some strong
hectic symptoms, which seemed to seize the frame on the depar-
ture of the fever. They judged it best that Lady Bertram should
not be harassed by alarms which, it was to be hoped, would
prove unfounded; but there was no reason why Fanny should
not know the truth. They were apprehensive for his lungs.
A very few lines from Edmund showed her the patient and
the sick room in a juster and stronger light than all Lady
Bertram's sheets of paper could do. There was hardly any one
in the house who might not have described, from personal obser-
vation, better than her.-elf ; not one who was not more useful at
times to her son. She could do nothing but glide in quietly and
look at him ; but, when able to talk or to be talked to, or read to,
Edmund was the companion he preferred. His 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.
Edmund was all in all. Fanny would certainly believe hjm so
at least, and must find that her estimation of him was higher
than ever when he appeared as the attendant, supporter, cheerer
of a suffering brother. There was not only the debility of recent
illness to assist ; there was also, as she now learned, nerves much
affected, spirits much depressed to calm and raise; and her own
imagination added that there must be a mind to be properly
guided. . .
The family were not consumptive, and she was more inclined
to hope than fear for her cousin except when she thought of
Miss Crawford but Miss Crawford gave her the idea of being
the child of good luck, and to her selfishness and vanity it would
be good luck to have Edmund the only son.
302 MANSFIELD 1'AKK.
Even in the sick chamber the fortunate Mary was not forgot-
teii. Edmund's letter had this postscript. " On the subject of
my last, I had actually begun a letter when called away by
Tom's illness, but I have now changed my mind, and fear to
trust the influence of friends. When Tom is better, I shall go."
Such was the state of Mansfield, and so it continued, with
scarcely any change till Easter. A line occasionally added by
Edmund to his mother's letter was enough for Fanny's informa-
tion. Tom's amendment was alarmingly slow.
Easter came particularly late this year, as Fanny had most
sorrowfully considered, on first learning that she had no chance
of leaving Portsmouth till after it. It came, and she had yet
heard nothing of her return nothing even of the going to
London, which was to precede her return. Her aunt often
expressed a wish for her, but there was no notice, no message
from the uncle on whom all depended. She supposed he could
not yet leave his son, but it was a cruel, a terrible delay to her.
The end of April was coming on ; it would soon be almost three
months, instead of two, that she had been absent from them all,
and that her days had been passing in a state of penance, which
she loved them too well to hope they would thoroughly under-
stand; and who could yet say when there might be leisure to
think of, or fetch her?
Her eagerness, her impatience, her longings to be with them,
were such as to bring a line or two of Cowper's Tirocinium for
ever before her. "With what intense desire she wants her
home," was continually on her tongue, as the truest description
of a yearning which she could not suppose any school-boy's bosom
to feel more keenly.
When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she had loved to
call it her home, had been fond of saying that she was going
home; the word had been very dear to her; and so it still was,
but it must be applied to Mansfield. That was now the home.
Portsmouth was Portsmouth; Mansfield was home. They had
been long so arranged in the indulgence of her secret meditations ;
and nothing was more consolatory to her than to find her aunt
using the same language "I cannot but say, I much regret
your being from home at this distressing time, so very trying to
my spirits. I trust and hope, and sincerely wish you may never
be absent from home so long again," were most delightful
sentences to her. Still, however, it was her private regale
Delicacy to her parents made her careful not to betray such a
preference of her uncle's house : it was always, " when I go back
into Northamptonshire, or when I return to Mansfield, I shall do
so and so." For a great while it was so; but at last the longing
grew stronger, it overthrew caution, and she found herself talking
of what she should do when she went home, before she was aware.
She reproached herself, coloured, and looked fearfully towards
MANSFIELD PAHK. 303
her father and mother. She need not have been uneasy. There
was no sign of displeasure, or even of hearing her. They were
perfectly free from any jealousy of Mansfield. She was as
welcome to wish herself there, as to be there.
It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She
had not known before, what pleasures she had to lose in passing
March and April in a town. She had not known before, how
much the beginnings and progress of vegetation had delighted
her. What animation, both of body and mind, she had derived
from watching the advance of that season which cannot, in spite of
its capriciousness, be unlovely, and seeing its increasing beauties
from the earliest flowers, in the warmest divisions of her aunt's
garden, to the opening of leaves of her uncle's plantations and
the glory of his woods To be losing such pleasures was no
trille; to be losing them, because she was in the midst of close-
ness and noise, to have confinement, bad air, bad smells, substi-
tuted for liberty, freshness, fragrance, and verdure, was infinitely
worse; but even these incitements to regret were feeble, com-
pared with what arose from the conviction of being missed by
her best friends, and the longing to be useful to those who were
wanting her!
Could she have been at home, she might have been of service
to every creature in the house. She felt that she must have been
of use to all. To all she must have saved some trouble of head
or hand; and were it only in supporting the spirits of her aunt
Bertram, keeping her from the evil of solitude, or the still greater
evil of a restless, officious companion, too apt to be heightening
danger in order to enhance her own importance, her being there
would have been a general good. She loved to fancy how she
could have read to her aunt, how she could have talked to her,
and tried at once to make her feel the blessing of what was, and
prepare her mind for what might be; and how many walks up
and down stairs she might have saved her, and how many
messages she might have carried.
It astonished her 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.
They might return to Mansfield when they chose; travelling
could be no difficulty to them, and she could not comprehend how
both could still keep away. If Mrs. Rush worth could imagine any
interfering obligations, Julia was certainly able to quit London
whenever she chose. It appeared from one of her aunt's letters,
that Julia had offered to return if wanted but this was all. It
was evident that she would rather remain where she was.
Fanny was disposed to think the influence of London very
much at war with all respectable attachments. She saw the
proof of it in Miss Crawford, as well as in her cousins; her
304
MANSFIELD PARK.
attachment to Edmund had been respectable, the most respectable
part of her character, her friendship for herself, had at least been
blameless. Where was either sentiment now? It was so long
since Fanny had had any letter from her, that she had some
reason to think lightly of the friendship which had been so dwelt
on. It was weeks since she had heard anything of Miss Craw-
ford or of her other connexions in town, except through Mans-
field, and she was beginning to suppose that she might never
know whether Mr. Crawford had gone into Norfolk again or not
till they met, and might never hear from his sister any more this
spring, when the following letter was received to revive old, and
create some new sensations.
" Forgive me, iny dear Fanny, as soon as you can, for my
long silence, and behave as if you could forgive me directly.
This is my modest request and expectation, for you are so good,
that I depend upon being treated better than I deserve and I
write now to beg an immediate answer. I want to know the
state of things at Mansfield Park, and you, no doubt, are per-
fectly able to give it. One should be a brute not to feel for the
distress they are in and from what I hear, poor Mr. Bertram
has a bad chance of ultimate recovery. I thought little of his
illness at first. I looked upon him as the sort of person to
be made a fuss with, and to make a fuss himself in any trifling
disorder, and was chiefly concerned for those who had to nurse
him ; but now it is confidently asserted that he is really in a de-
cline, that the symptons are most alarming, and that part of the
family, at least, are aware of it. If it be so, I am sure you
must be included in that part, that discerning part, and therefore
entreat you to let me know how far I have been rightly informed.
I need not say how rejoiced I shall be to hear there has been any
mistake, but the report is so prevalent, that I confess I cannot
help trembling. To have such a fine young man cut off in the
flower of his days, is most melancholy. Poor Sir Thomas will
feel it dreadfully. I really am quite agitated on the subject.
Fanny, Fanny, I see you smile and look cunning, but upon my
honour I never bribed a physician in my life. Poor young
man! If he is to die, there will be two poor young men less in
the world ; and with a fearless face and bold voice would I say
to any one, that wealth and consequence could fall into no hands
more deserving of them. It was a foolish precipitation last
Christmas, but the evil of a few days may be blotted out in part.
Varnish and gilding hide many stains. It will be but the loss
of the Esquire after his name. With real affection, Fanny, like
mine, more might be overlooked. Write to me by return of post,
judge of my anxiety, and do not trifle with it. Tell me the real
truth, as you have it from the fountain-head. And now do not
trouble yourself to be ashamed of either my feelings or your
MANSFIELD PARK. 305
owu. Believe me, they are not only natural, they are philan-
thropic and virtuous. I put it to your conscience, whether ' Sir
Edmund' would not do more good with all the Bertram property
than other possible 'Sir.' Had the Grants been at home, I
would not have troubled you, but yon are now the only one I
can apply to for the truth, his sisters not being within my reach.
Mrs. 11. has been spending the Easter with the Aylmers at
Twickenham (as to be sure you know), and is not yet returned ;
and Julia is with the cousins, who live near Bedford Square;
but I forget their name and street. Could I immediately apply
to either, however, I should still prefer you, because it strikes me
that they have all along been so unwilling to have their own
amusements cut up, as to shut their eyes to the truth. I sup-
pose, Mrs. R.'s Easter holidays will not last much longer ; no
doubt they are thorough holidays to her. The Aylmers are plea-
sant people; and her husband away, she can have nothing but
enjoyment. I give her credit for promoting his going dutifully
down to Bath, to fetch his mother; but how will she and the
dowager agree in one house? Henry is not at hand, so I have
nothing to say from him. Do not you think Edmund would
have been in town again long ago, but for this illness? Yours
ever, Mary."
' 1 had actually begun folding my letter, when Henry walked
in ; but he brings no intelligence to prevent my sending it. Mrs.
R. knows a decline is apprehended; he saw her this morning;
she returns to Wimpole Street to-day; the old lady is come.
Now do not make yourself uneasy with any queer fancies, be-
cause he has been spending a few days at Richmond. He does
it every spring. Be assured he cares for nobody but you. At
this very moment he is wild to see you, and occupied only in
contriving the means for doing so, and for making his pleasure
conduce to yours. In proof, he repeats, and more eagerly, what
he said at Portsmouth, about our conveying you home, and I
join him in it with all my soul. Dear Fanny, write directly, and
tell us to come. It will do jis all good. He and I can go to the
Parsonage, you know, and be no trouble to our friends at Mans-
field Park. It would really be gratifying to see them all again,
and a little addition of society might be of infinite use to them ;
and, as to yourself, you must feel yourself to be so wanted there,
that you cannot in conscience (conscientious as you are), keep
away, whea you have the means of returning. I have not time
or patience to give half Henry's messages ; be satisfied that the
spirit of each and every one is unalterable affection."
Fanny's disgust at the greater part of this letter, with her ex-
treme reluctance to bring the writer of it and her cousin Edmund
together, would have made her (as she felt) incapable of judging
impartially whether the concluding offer might be accepted or
306 MANSHEJLi> PARK.
not. To herself, individually, it was most tempting. To be
finding herself, perhaps, within three days, transported to Mans-
field, was an image of the greatest felicity but it would have
been a material drawback, to be owing such felicity to persons
in whose feelings and conduct, at the present moment, she saw
so much to condemn; the sister's feelings the brother's conduct
her cold-hearted ambition his thoughtless vanity. To have
him still the acquaintance, the flirt, perhaps, of Mrs. Rushworth!
She was mortified. She had thought better of him. Hap-
pily, however, she was not left to weigh and decide between op-
posite inclinations and doubtful notions of right; there was no
occasion to determine, whether she ought to keep Edmund and
Mary asunder or not. She had a rule to apply to, which set-
tled everything. Her awe of her uncle, and her dread of taking
a liberty with him, made it instantly plain to her, what she had
to do. She must absolutely decline the proposal. If he wanted,
lie would send for her ; and even to offer an early return was a
presumption which hardly anything would have seemed to jus-
tify. She thanked Miss Crawford, but gave a decided negative.
"Her uncle, she understood, meant to fetch her; and as her
cousin's illness had continued so many weeks without her being
thought at all necessary, she must suppose her return would be
unwelcome at present, and that she should be felt an incuin-
brance."
Her representation of her cousin's state at this time was ex-
actly according to her own belief of it, and such as she supposed
would convey to the sanguine mind of her correspondent the
hope of everything she was wishing for. Edmund would be
forgiven for being a clergyman, it seemed, under certain condi-
tions of wealth ; and this, she suspected, was all the conquest of
prejudice which he was so ready to congratulate himself upon.
She had only learned to think nothing of consequence but
money.
CHAPTER XV.
S Fanny could not doubt that her answer was
conveying a real disappointment, she was ra-
>ther in expectation, from her knowledge of
Miss Crawford's temper, of being urged again;
and though no second letter arrived for the
I space of a week, she had still the same feel-
ing when it did come.
On receiving it, she could instantly decide
on its containing little writing, and was persuaded of its having
the air of a letter of haste and business. Its object was uq
MANSFIELD PAIiK. 307
questionable ; and two moments were enough to start the pro-
bability of its being merely to give her notice that they should
be in Portsmouth that very day, and to throw her into all the
agitation of doubting what she ought to do in such a case. If
two moments, however, can surround with difficulties, a third
can disperse them ; and before she had opened the letter, the
possibility of Mr. and Miss Crawford's having applied to her
uncle and obtained his permission, was giving her ease. This
was the letter.
"A most scandalous, ill-natured rumour has just reached me,
and I write, dear Fanny, to warn you against giving the least
credit to it, should it spread into the country. Depend upon it
there is some mistake, and that a day or two will clear it up
at any rate, that Henry is blameless, and in spite of a moment's
etourderie thinks of nobody but you. Say not a word of it
hear nothing, surmise nothing, whisper nothing till I write again.
I am sure it will be all hushed up, and nothing proved butRush-
worth's folly. If they are gone, I would lay my life they are
only gone to Mansfield Park, and Julia with them. But why
would not you let us come for you? I wish you may not re-
pent it.
" Yours, &c."
Fanny stood aghast. As no scandalous, ill-natured rumoiu
had reached her, it was impossible for her to understand much
of tliis strange letter. She could only perceive that it must re-
late to Wimpole Street and Mr. Crawford, and only conjecture
that something very imprudent had just occurred in that quarter
to draw the notice of the world, and to excite her jealousy, in
Miss Crawford's apprehension, if she heard it. Miss Crawford
need not be alarmed for her. She was only sorry for the parties
concerned and for Mansfield, if the report should spread so far;
but she hoped it might not. If the Rushworths were gone them-
selves to Mansfield, as was to be inferred from what Miss Craw-
ford said, it was not likely that anything unpleasant should have
preceded them, or at least should make any impression.
As to Mr. Crawford, she hoped it might give him a know-
ledge of his own disposition, convince him that he was not
capable of being steadily attached to any one woman in the world,
and shame him from persisting any longer in addressing herself.
It was very strange ! She had begun to think he really loved
her, and to fancy his affection for her something more than com-
mon and his sister still said that he cared for nobody else.
Yet there must have been some marked display of attentions to
her cousin, there must have been some strong indiscretion, since
her correspondent was not of a sort to regard a slight one.
Very uncomfortable she was, and must continue, till she heard
from Miss Crawford again. It was impossible to banish the
308 MANSFIELD PARK.
letter from her thoughts, and she could not relieve herself by
speaking of it to any human being. Miss Crawford need not
have urged secrecy with so much warmth she might have
trusted to her sense of what was due to her cousin.
The next day came and brought no second letter. Fanny was
disappointed. She could still think of little else all the morn-
ing ; but, when her father came back in the afternoon with the
daily newspaper as usual, she Was so far from expecting any elu-
cidation through such a channel, that the subject was for a mo-
ment out of her head.
She was deep in other musing. The remembrance of her first
evening in that room, of her father and his newspaper, came
across her. No candle was now wanted. The sun was yet an
hour and a half above the horizon. She felt that she had, in-
deed, been three months there ; and the sun's rays falling strongly
into the parlour, instead of cheering, made her still more melan-
choly, for sunshine appeared to her a totally different thing in a
town and in the country. Here, its power was only a glare a
stifling, sickly glare, serving but to bring forward stains and dirt
that might otherwise have slept. There was neither health nor
gaiety in sunshine in a town. She sat in a blaze of oppressive
heat, in a cloud of moving dust ; and her eyes could only wander
from the walls, marked by her father's head, to the table cut and
notched by her brothers, where stood the tea-board never tho-
roughly cleaned, the cups and saucers wiped in streaks, the milk
a mixture of motes floating in thin blue, and the bread and butter
growing every minute more greasy than even Rebecca's hands
had first produced it. Her father read his newspaper, and her
mother lamented over the ragged carpet as usual, while the tea
was in preparation and wished Rebecca would mend it ; and
Fanny was first roused by his calling out to her, after humphing
and considering over a particular paragraph " What's the name
of your great cousins in town, Fan?"
A moment's recollection enabled her to say, " Rushworth,
sir."
"And don't they live in'Wimpole-street?"
" Yes, sir."
" Then, there's the devil to pay among them, that's all. There
(holding out the paper to her) much good may such fine rela-
tions do you. I don't know what Sir Thomas may think of such
matters ; he may be too much of the courtier and fine gentleman
to like his daughter the less. But by G if she belonged to
me, I'd give her the rope's end as long as I could stand over her.
A little flogging for man and woman, too, would be the best way
of preventing such things."
Fanny read to herself that " it was with infinite concern the
newspaper had to announce to the world a matrimonial fracas in
MANSFIELD PARK. 309
the family of Mr. R. of Wimpole-street ; the beautiful Mrs. II.
whose name had not long been enrolled in the lists of Hymen, and
who had promised to become so brilliant a leader in the fashiona-
ble world, having quitted her husband's roof in company with
the well-known and captivating Mr. C. the intimate friend and
uxociate of Mr. R. and it was not known, even to the editor of
the newspaper, whither they were gone."
" It is a mistake, sir," said Fanny, instantly ; " it must be a
mistake it cannot be true it must mean some other people.''
She spoke from the instinctive wish of delaying shame she
spoke with a resolution whicli sprung from despair, for she spoke
what she did not, could not believe herself. It had been the
shock of conviction as she read. The truth rushed on her ; and
how she could have spoken at all, how she could even have
breathed, was afterwards matter of wonder to herself.
Mr. Price cared too little about the report to make her much
answer. " It might be all a lie," he acknowledged ; " but so
many line ladies were going to the devil now-a-days that way,
that there was no answering for anybody."
" Indeed. I hope it is not true," said Mrs. Price, plaintively ;
" it would be so very shocking ! If I have spoken once to Re-
becca about that carpet, I am sure I have spoken at least a dozen
times ; have not I, Betsey? And it would not be ten minutes'
work."
The horror of a mind like Fanny's, as it received the convic-
tion of such guilt, and began to take in some part of the misery that
must ensue, can hardly be described. At first, it was a sort of
stupefaction ; but every moment was quickening her perception
of the horrible evil. She could not doubt she dared not indulge
a hope of the paragraph being false. Miss Crawford's letter,
which she had read so often as to make every line her own, was
in frightful conformity with it. Her eager defence of her brother,
her hope of its being hushed up, her evident agitation, were all
of a piece with something very bad ; and if there was a woman
of character in existence, who could treat as a trifle this sin of
tha first magnitude, who would try to gloss it over, and desire
to have it unpunished, she could believe Miss Crawford to be the
woman! Now she coulcl see her own mistake as to who were
gone or said to be gone. It was not Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth
it was Mrs. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford.
Fanny seemed to herself never to have been shocked before.
There was no possibility of rest. The evening passed without
a pause of misery, the night was totally sleepless. She passed
only from feelings of sickness to shudderings of horror ; and
from hot fits of fever to cold. The event was so shocking, that
there were moments even when her heart revolted from it as im-
possible when she thought it could not be. A woman married
310 MANSFIELD PARK.
only six months ago a man professing himself devoid, even
engaged to another that other her near relation the whole
family, both families connected as they were by tie upon tie all
friends, all intimate together ! it was too horrible a confusion
of guilt, too gross a complication of evil, for human nature, not
in a state of utter barbarism, to be capable of! yet her judg-
ment told her it was so. His unsettled affections, wavering with
his vanity, Marias decided attachment, and no sufficient prin-
ciple on either side, gave it possibility Miss Crawford's letter
stamped it a fact,
What would be the consequence? Whom would it not injure?
Whose views might it not effect? Whose peace would it not
cut up for ever? Miss Crawford herself Edmund ; but it was
dangerous, perhaps, to tread such ground. She confined herself,
or tried to confine herself, to the simple, indubitable family misery
which must envelop all, if it were indeed a matter of certified
guilt and public exposure. The mother's sufferings, the father's
there she paused. Julia's, Tom's, Edmund's there a yet
longer pause. They were the two on whom it would fall the
most horribly. Sir Thomas's parental solicitude and high sense
of honour and decorum, Edmund's upright principles, unsuspi-
cious temper, and genuine strength of feeling, noade her think it
scarcely possible for them to support life and reason under such
disgrace; and it appeared to her, that, as far as this world alone
was concerned, the greatest blessing to every one of kindred with
Mrs. Rushworth would be instant annihilation.
Nothing happened the next day, or the next, to weaken her
terrors. Two posts came in, and brought no refutation, public
or private. There was no second letter to explain away the first
from Miss Crawford ; there was no intelligence from Mansfield,
though it was now full time for her to hear again from her aunt.
This was an evil omen. She had, indeed, scarcely the shadow
of a hope to soothe her mind, and was reduced to so low and wan
and trembling condition as no mother not unkind, except Mrs.
Price, could have overlooked, when the third day did bring the
sickening knock, and a letter was again put into her hands. It
bore the London postmark, and came from Edmund.
" Dear Fanny, You know our present wretchedness. May
God support you under your share ! We have been here two
days, but there is nothing to be done. They cannot be traced.
Youmaynot have heard of thelast blow Julia's elopement; she is
gone to Scotland with Yates. She left London a few hours be-
fore we entered it. At any other time, this would have been
felt dreadfully. Now it seems nothing ; yet it is a heavy ag-
gravation. My father is not overpowered. More cannot be
hoped. He is still able to think and act ; and I write, by his
desire, to propose your returning home. He is anxious to get
MANSFIELD PARK. 3 1 1
you there for my mother's sake. I shall be at Portsmouth the
morning after you receive this, and hope to find you ready to set
oft' for Mansfield. My father wishes you to invite Susan to go
with you, for a feAV months. Settle it as you like ; say what is
proper ; I am sure you will foel such an instance of his kindness
at such a moment! Do justice to his meaning, however I may
confuse it. You may imagine something of my present state.
There is no end of the evil let loose upon us. You will see me
early by the mail. Yours, &e."
Never had Fanny more wanted a cordial. Never had she felt
such a one as this letter contained. To-morrow ! to leave Ports-
mouth to-morrow ! She was, she felt she was, in the greatest
danger of being exquisitely happy, while so many were miserable.
The evil which brought such good to her! She dreaded lest she
should learn to be insensible of it. To be going so soon, sent for
so kindly, sent for as a comfort, and with leave to take Susan,
was altogether such a combination of blessings as set her heart
in a glow, and for a time seemed to distance every pain, and
make her incapable of suitably sharing the distress even of those
whose distress she thought of most. Julia's elopement could
affect her comparatively but little ; she was amazed and shocked ;
but it could not occupy her, could not dwell on her mind. She
was obliged to call herself to think of it, and acknowledge it to
be terrible and grievous, or it was escaping her, in the midst of
all the agitating, pressing, joyful cares attending this summons
to herself.
There is nothing like employment, active indispensable em-
ployment, for relieving sorrow. Employment, even melancholy,
may dispel melancholy, and her occupations were hopeful. She
had so much to do, that not even the horrible story of Mrs.
Kushworth (now fixed to the last point of certainty) could affect
her as it had done before. She had not time to be miserable.
Within twenty-four hours she was hoping to be gone; her
father and mother must be spoken to, Susan prepared, everything
got ready. Business followed business; the day was hardly
long enough. The happiness she was imparting, too, happiness
very little alloyed by the black communication which must
briefly precede it the joyful consent of her father and mother to
Susan's going witli her the general satisfaction with which the
going of both seemed regarded and the ecstasy of Susan herself,
was all serving to support her spirits.
The affliction of the Bertrams was little felt in the family.
Mrs. Price talked of her poor sister for a few minutes but how
to find anything to hold Susan's clothes, because Rebecca took
awav all the boxes and spoiled them, was much more in her
thoughts; and as for Susan, now unexpectedly gratified in the
first wish of her heart, and knowing nothing personally of those
312 MANSFIELD PAKE.
who had sinned, or of those who were sorrowing if she could
help rejoicing from beginning to end, it was as much as ought
to be expected from human virtue at fourteen.
As nothing was really left for the decision of Mrs. Price, or
the good offices of Rebecca, everything was rationally and duly
accomplished, and the girls were ready for the morrow. The
advantage of much sleep to prepare them for their journey was
impossible. The cousin who was travelling towards them could
hardly have less than visited their agitated spirits, one all happi-
ness, the other all varying and indescribable perturbation.
By eight in the morning Edmund was in the house. The
girls heard his entrance from above, and Fanny went down. The
idea of immediately seeing him, with the knowledge of what he
must be suffering, brought back all her own first feelings. He
so near her, and in misery. She was ready to sink, as she
entered the parlour. He was alone, and met her instantly; and
she found herself pressed to his heart with only these words,
just articulate, " My Fanny my only sister my only comfort
now." She could say nothing; nor for some minutes could he
say more.
He turned away to recover himself, and when he spoke again,
though his voice still faltered, his manner showed the wish of
self-command, and the resolution of avoiding any farther allusion.
"Have you breakfasted? When shall you be ready? Does
Susan go?" were questions following each other rapidly. His
great object was to be off as soon as possible. When Mansfield
was considered, time was precious ; and the state of his own mind
made him find relief only in motion. It was settled that he
should order the carriage to the door in half an hour. Fanny
answered for their having breakfasted and being quite ready in
half an hour. He had already eaten, and declined staying for their
meal. He would walk round the ramparts, and join them with
the carriage. He was gone again, glad to get away even from
Fanny.
He looked very ill; evidently suffering under violent emotions,
which he was determined to suppress. She knew it must be so,
but it was terrible to her.
The carriage came; and he entered the house again at the
same moment, just in time to spend a few minutes with the
family, and be a witness but that he saw nothing of the tran-
quil manner in which the daughters were parted with, and just in
time to prevent their sitting down to the breakfast table, which
by dint of much unusual activity, was quite and completely
ready as the carriage drove from the door. Fanny's last meal
in her father's house was in character with her first; she was
dismissed from it as hospitably as she had been welcomed.
How her heart swelled with joy and gratitude as_she passed
MANSFIELD PARK. 313
the barriers of Portsmouth, and how Susan's face wore its
broadest smiles, may be easily conceived. Sitting forwards,
however, and screened by her bonnet, those smiles were unseen.
The journey was likely to be a silent one. Edmund's deep
sighs often reached Fanny. Had he been alone with her, his
heart must have opened in spite of every resolution ; but Susan's
presence drove him quite into himself, and his attempts to talk
on indifferent subjects could never be long supported.
Fanny watched him with never-failing solicitude, and some-
times catching his eye, revived an affectionate smile, which com-
forted her; but the first day's journey passed without her hearing
a word from him on the subjects that were weighing him down.
The next morning produced a little more. Just before their
setting out from Oxford, while Susan was stationed at a window,
in eager observation of the departure of a large family from the
inn, the other two were standing by the fire; and Edmund,
particularly struck by the alteration in Fanny's looks, and from
his ignorance of the daily evils of her father's house, attributing
an undue share of the change, attributing all, to the recent event,
took her hand, and said in a low, but very expressive tone, "No
wonder you must feel it you must suffer. How a man who
had once loved, could desert you ! But yours your regard was
new compared with Fanny, think of me!"
The first division of their journey occupied a long day, and
brought them, almost knocked up, to Oxford; but the second
was over at a much earlier hour. They were in the environs of
Mansfield long before the usual dinner-time, and as they
approached the beloved place, the hearts of both sisters sank a
little. Fanny began to dread the meeting with her aunts and
Tom, under so dreadful a humiliation ; and Susan to feel with
some anxiety, that all her best manners, all her lately acquired
knowledge of what was practised here, was on the point of being
called into action. Visions of good and ill breeding, of old
vulgarisms and new gentilities were before her; and she was
meditating much upon silver forks, napkins, and finger glasses.
Fanny had been everywhere awake to the difference of the
country since February; but, when they entered the Park, her
perceptions and her pleasures were of the keenest sort. It was
three months, full three months, since her quitting it; and the
change was from winter to summer. Her eye fell everywhere
on lawns and plantations of the freshest green; and the trees,
though not fully clothed, were in that delightful state, when
farther beauty is known to be at hand, and when, while much
is actually given to the sight, more yet remains for the imagina-
tion. Her enjoyment, however, was for herself alone. Edmund
ould not share it She looked at him, but he was leaning back,
sunk in a deeper gloom than ever, and with eyes closed as if the
(1) *
314 MANSFIELD PARK.
view of cheerfulness oppressed him, and the lovely scenes of home
must be shut out.
It made her melancholy again ; and the knowledge of what
must be enduring there, invested even the house, modem, airy,
and well situated as it was, with a melancholy aspect.
By one of the suffering party within, they were expected with
such impatience as she had never known before. Fanny had
scarcely passed the solemn-looking servants, when Lady Bertram
came from the drawing-room to meet her ; came with no indolent
step; and, falling on her neck, said, u Dear Fanny! now I shall
be comfortable."
CHAPTER XVI.
T had been a miserable party, each of the
three believing themselves most miserable.
.Mrs. Norris, however, as most attached to
l Maria, was really the greatest sufferer. Maria
was her first favourite, the dearest of all ; the
I match had been her own contriving, as she
\ had been wont with such pride of heart to
feel and say, and this conclusion of it almost
overpowered her.
She was an altered creature, quieted, stupified, indifferent U>
everything that passed. The being left with her sister and
nephew, and all the house under her care, had been an advan-
tage entirely thrown away; she had been unable to direct or
dictate, or even fancy herself useful. When really touched by
affliction, her active powers had been all benumbed ; and neither
Lady Bertram nor Tom had received from her the smallest sup-
port or attempt at support. She had done no more for them,
than they had done for each other. They had been all solitary,
helpless, and forlorn alike; and now the arrival of the others
only established her superiority in wretchedness. Her compa-
nions were relieved, but there was no good for her, Edmund
was almost as welcome to his brother as Fanny to her aunt ;
but Mrs. Norris, instead of having comfort from either, was but
the more irritated by the sight of the person whom, in tho
blindness of her anger, she could have charged as the demon of
the piece. Had Fanny accepted Mr. Crawford, this could not
have happened.
Susan, too, was a grievance. She had not spirits to notice her
in more than a few repulsive looks, but she felt her as a spy, and
an intruder, and an indigent niece, and everything most odious.
By her other aunt, Susan was received with quiet kindness.
MANSFIELD PARK. 315
Lady Bertram could not give her much time, or many words,
but she felt her, as Fanny's sister, to have a claim at Mansfield,
and was ready to kiss and like her; and Susan was more than
satisfied, for she came perfectly aware that nothing but ill-hu-
mour was to be expected from aunt Norris; and was so provided
with happiness, so strong in that best of blessings, an escape
from many certain evils, that she could have stood against a
great deal more indifference than she met with from the others.
She was now left a good deal to herself, to get acquainted with
the house and grounds as she could, and spent her days very
happily in so doing, while those who might otherwise have
attended to her were shut up, or wholly occupied each with the
person quite dependent on them, at this time, for everything like
comfort ; Edmund trying to bury his own feelings in exertions
for the relief of his brother's, and Fanny devoted to her aunt
Bertram, returning to every former office with more than former
zeal, and thinking she could never do enough for one who seemed
so much to want her.
To talk over the dreadful business with Fanny, talk and
lament, was all Lady Bertram's consolation. To be listened to
and borne with, and hear the voice of kindness and sympathy in
return, was everything that could be done for her. To be other-
wise comforted was out of the question. The case admitted of
no comfort. Lady Bertram did not think deeply, but, guided
by Sir Thomas, she thought justly on all important points; and
she saw, therefore, in all its enormity, what had happened, and
neither endeavoured herself, nor required Fanny to advise her, to
think little of guilt and infamy.
Her affections were not acute, nor was her mind tenacious.
After a time, Fanny found it not impossible to direct her thoughts
to other subjects, and revive some interest in the usual occupa-
tion ; but whenever Lady Bertram was fixed on the event, she
could see it only in one light, as comprehending the loss of a
daughter, and a disgrace never to be wiped off.
Fanny learned from her all the particulars which had yet
transpired. Her aunt was no very methodical narrator; but
with the help of some letters to and from Sir Thomas, and what
she already knew herself, and could reasonably combine, she was
soon able to understand quite as much as she wished of the cir-
cumstances attending the story.
Mrs. Rushworth had gone, for the Easter holidays, to Twicken-
ham, with a family whom she had just grown intimate with
a family of lively, agreeable manners, and probably of morals
and discretion to suit for to their house Mr. Crawford had con-
stant access at all times. His having been in the same neigh-
bourhood Fanny already knew. Mr. Rushworth 'had been
gone, at this time, to Bath, to pass a few days with his mother,
3 1 6 MAKSFIELD PARK.
and bring her back to town, and Maria was with these friends
without any restraint, without even Julia ; for Julia had re-
moved from Wimpole Street two or three weeks before, on a
visit to some relations of Sir Thomas; a removal which her
father and mother were now disposed to attribute to some view
of convenience on Mr. Yates's account. Very soon after the
Rushworths' return to Wimpole Street, Sir Thomas had re-
ceived a letter from an old and most particular friend in London,
who, hearing and witnessing a good deal to alarm him hi that
quarter, wrote to recommend Sir Thomas's coming to London
himself, and using his influence with his daughter to put an end
to the intimacy which was already exposing her to unpleasant
remarks, and evidently making Mr. Rushworth uneasy.
Sir Thomas was preparing to act upon this letter, without
communicating its contents to any creature at Mansfield, when
it was followed by another, sent express from the same friend, to
break to him the almost desperate situation in which affairs then
stood with the young people. Mrs. Rushworth had left her hus-
band's house ; Mr. Rushworth had been in great anger and dis-
tress to him (Mr. Harding) for his advice ; Mr. Harding feared
there had been at least very flagrant indiscretion. The maid-
servant of Mrs. Rushworth, senior, threatened alarmingly. He
was doing all in his power to quiet everything, with the hope of
Mrs. Rushworth' s return, but was so much counteracted in Wim-
pole Street by the influence of Mr. Rushworth's mother, that the
vorst consequences might be apprehended.
This dreadful communication could not be kept from the rest
of the family. Sir Thomas set off; Edmund would go with him ;
and the others had been left in a state of wretchedness, inferior
only to what followed the receipt of the next letters from Lon-
don. Everything was by that time public beyond a hope. The
servant of Mrs. Rushworth, the mother, had exposure in her
power ; and, supported by her mistress, was not to be silenced.
The two ladies, even in the short time they had been together,
bad disagreed ; and the bitterness of the, elder against her daugh-
ter-in-law might, perhaps, arise almost as much from the per-
sonal disrespect with which she had herself been treated, as from
sensibility for her son.
However that might be, she was unmanageable. But had she
been less obstinate, or of less weight with her son, who was
always guided by the last speaker, by the person who could get
hold of and shut him up, the case would still have been hopeless,
for Mrs. Rushworth did not appear again ; and there was every
reason to conclude her to be concealed somewhere with Mr. Craw-
ford, who had quitted his uncle's house, as for a journey, on the
very day of her absenting herself.
Sir Thomas, however, remained yet a little longer in town, in
MANSFIELD PARK. 3 1 7
the hope of discovering and snatching her from farther vi. ,
thougli all was lost on the side of character.
His present state Fanny could hardly bear to think of. There
was but one of his children who was not at this time a source
of misery to him. Tom's complaints had been greatly heighten-
ed by the shock of his sister's conduct, and his recovery so much
thrown back by it, that even Lady Bertram had been struck by
the difference, and all her alarms were regularly sent off to her
husband; and Julia's elopement, the additional blow which had
met him on his arrival in London, though its force had been
deadened at the moment, must, she knew, be sorely felt. She
saw that it was. His letters expressed how much he deplored
it. Under any circumstances, it would have been an unwelcome
alliance ; but to have it so clandestinely formed, and such a pe-
riod chosen for its completion, placed Julia's feelings in a most
unfavourable light, and severely aggravated the folly of her
choice. He called it a bad thing, done in the worst manner,
and at the worst time ; and, though Julia was yet as more par-
donable than Maria as folly than vice, he could not but regard
the step she had taken as opening the worst probabilities of a
conclusion hereafter like her sister's. Such was his opinion of
the set into which she had thrown herself.
Fanny felt for him most acutely. He could have no comfort
but in Edmund. Every other child must be racking his heart.
His displeasure against herself she trusted, reasoning differently
from Mrs. Norris, would now be done away. She should be jus-
tified. Mr. Crawford would have fully acquitted her conduct in.
refusing him; but this, though most material to herself, would
be poor consolation to Sir Thomas. Her uncle's displeasure was
terrible to her ; but what could her justification, or her gratitude
and attachment do for him? His stay must be on Edmund
alone.
She was mistaken, however, in supposing that Edmund gave
his father no present pain. It was of a much less poignant na-
ture than what the others excited; but Sir Thomas was con-
sidering his happiness as very deeply involved in the offence of
his sister and friend, cut off by it, as he must be, from the woman
whom he had been pursuing with undoubted attachment, and
strong probability of success ; and who in everything but this
despicable brother, would have been so eligible a connexion. He
was aware of what Edmund must be suffering on his own behalf,
in addition to all the rest, when they were in town : he had seen
or conjectured his feelings ; and, having reason to think that one
interview with Miss Crawford had taken place, from which Ed-
mund derived only increased distress, had been as anxious on
that account as on others to get him out of town, and had en-
gasjed him in taking Fanny home to her aunt, with a view to
318 MANSFIELD PARK.
his relief and benefit, no less than theirs. Fanny was not in the
secret of her uncle's feelings Sir Thomas not in the secret of
Miss Crawford's character. Had he been privy to her conver-
sation with his son, he would not have wished her to belong to
him, though her twenty thousand pounds had been forty.
That Edmund must be for ever divided from Miss Crawford did
not admit of a doubt with Fanny ; and yet, till she knew that he
felt the same, her own conviction was insufficient. She thought
he did, but she wanted to be assured of it. If he would now
speak to her with the unreserve which had sometimes been too
much for her before, it would be most consoling ; but that she
found was not to be. She seldom saw him never alone he
probably avoided being alone with her. What was to be in-
ferred ? That his judgment submitted to all his own peculiar
and bitter share of this family affliction, but that it was too keenly
felt to be a subject of the slightest communication. This must
be his state. He yielded, but it was with agonies which did
not admit of speech. Long, long would it be ere Miss Craw-
ford's name passed his lips again, or she could hope for a renewal
of such confidential intercourse as had been.
It was long. They reached Mansfield on Thursday, and it was
not till Sunday evening that Edmund began to talk to her on the
subject. Sitting with her on Sunday evening a wet Sunday
evening the very time of all others when if a friend is at hand
the heart must be opened, and everything told no one else in
the room, except his mother, who, after hearing an affecting
sermon, had cried herself to sleep it was not impossible to speak ;
and so, with the usual beginnings, hardly to be traced as to what
came first, and the usual declaration that if she would listen to
him for a few minutes, he should be very brief, and certainly never
tax her kindness in the same way again she need not fear a
repetition it would be a subject prohibited entirely he entered
upon the luxury of relating circumstances and sensations of the
first interest to himself, to one of whose affectionate sympathy he
was quite convinced.
How Fanny listened, with what curiosity and concern, what
pain and what delight, how the agitation of his voice was watched,
and how carefully her own eyes were fixed on any object but
himself, may be imagined. The opening was alarming. He
had seen Miss Crawford. He had been invited to see her. He
had received a note from Lady Stomaway to beg him to call ;
and regarding it as what was meant to be the last, last interview
of friendship, and investing her with all the feelings of shame and
wretchedness which Crawford's sister ought to have known, he
had gone to her in such a state of mind, so softened, so devoted,
as made it for a few moments impossible to Fanny's fears that it
should be the last. But as he proceeded in his story, these feara
MANSFIELD PARK. 3 1 9
were over. She had met him, he said, with a serious certainly
A serious even an agitated air; but before he had been able to
speak one intelligible sentence, she had introduced the subject in
a manner which he owned had shocked him. "'I heard you
were in town,' said she 'I wanted to see you. Let us talk
over this sad business. What can equal the folly of our two re-
lations ?' I could not answer, but I believe my looks spoke.
She felt reproved. Sometimes how quick to feel ! With a graver
look and voice she then added ' I do not mean to defend Henry
at your sister's expense. 1 So she began but how she went on,
Fanny, is not fit is hardly fit to be repeated to you. I cannot
recall all her words. I would not dwell upon them if I could.
Their substance was great anger at the folly of each. She repro-
bated her brother's folly on being drawn on by a woman whom
he had never cared for, to do what must lose him the woman he
adored ; but still more the folly of poor Maria, in sacrificing such
a situation, plunging into such difficulties, under the idea of being
really loved by a man who had long ago made Ms indifference
clear. Guess what I must have felt. To hear the woman whom
no harsher name than folly given ! So voluntarily, so freely,
so coolly to canvass it ! No reluctance, no horror, no feminine
shall I say no modest loathings? This is what the world does.
For where, Fanny, shall we find a woman whom nature had so
richly endowed ? spoiled, spoiled !"
After a little reflection, he went on with a sort of desperate
calmness " I will tell you everything, and then have done for
ever. She saw it only as folly, and that folly stamped only by
exposure. The want of common discretion, of caution his going
down to Richmond for the whole time of her being at Twicken-
ham her putting herself in the power of a servant; it was the
detection, in short oh, Fanny, it was the detection, not tlie
offence, which she reprobated. It was the imprudence which had
brought things to extremity, and obliged her brother to give up
every dearer plan, in order to fly with her."
He stopped. "And what," said Fanny (believing herself re-
quired to speak), " what could you say ?"
" Nothing, nothing to be understood. I was like a man
stunned. She went on, began to talk of you ; yes, then she
began to talk of you, regretting, as well she might, the loss of
such a There she spoke very rationally. But she has
always done justice to you, ' He has thrown away,' said she,
' such a woman as he will never see again. She would have fixed
him, she would have made him happy for ever.' My dearest
Fanny, I am giving you, I hope, more pleasure than pain by this
retrospect of what might have been but what never can be now.
You do not wish me to be silent? if you do, give me but a look,
3 word, and I have done."
320 MANSFIELD PARK.
No look or word was given.
" Thank God," said he. " We were all disposed to wonder-
but it seems to have been the merciful appointment of Providence
that the heart which knew no guile should not suffer. She spoke
of you with high praise and warm affection ; yet, even here, there
was alloy, a dash of evil ; for in the midst of it she could ex-
claim, 'Why would not she have him? It is all her fault.
Simple girl ! I shall never forgive her. Had she accepted him
as she ought, they might now have been on the point of marriage,
and Henry would have been too happy and too busy to want any
other object. He would have taken no pains to be on terms with
Mrs. Rushworth again. It would have all ended in a regular
standing flirtation, in yearly meetings in Sotherton and Evering-
ham.' Could you have believed it possible ? But the charm is
broken. My eyes are opened."
"Cruel!" said Fanny "quite cruel! At such a moment to
give to gaiety, and to speak with lightness, and to you ! Abso-
lute cruelty."
" Cruelty, do you call it? We differ there. No, hers is not
a cruel nature. I do not consider her as meaning to wound my
feelings. The evil lies yet deeper; in her total ignorance, unsus-
piciousness of there being such feelings, in a perversion of mind
which made it natural to her to treat the subject as she did. She
was speaking only as she had been used to hear others speak, as
she imagined everybody else would speak. Hers are not faults
of temper. She would not voluntarily give unnecessary pain to
any one, and though I may deceive myself, I cannot but think
that for me, for my feelings, she would Hers are faults of prin-
ciple, Fanny, of blunted delicacy and a corrupted, vitiated mind.
Perhaps it is best for me since it leaves me so little to regret.
Not so, however. Gladly would I submit to all the increased
pain of losing her, rather than have to think of her as I do. I
told her so."
"Did you?"
" Yes, when I left her I told her so."
" How long were you together?"
" Five and twenty minutes. Well, she went on to say, that
what remained now to be done was to bring about a marriage
between them. She spoke of it, Fanny, with a steadier voice
than I can." He was obliged to pause more than once as he
continued. " 'We must persuade Henry to marry her,' " said she ;
' and what with honour, and the certainty of having shut himself
out for ever from Fanny, I do not despair of it. Fanny he must
give up. I do not think that even he could now hope to succeed
with one of her stamp, and therefore I hope we may find no in-
superable difficulty. My influence, which is not small, shall all
go that way; and, when once married, and properly supported
MANSFIELD PARK. 32 I
by her own family, people of respectability as they are, she may
recover her footing in society to a certain degree. In some circles,
we know, she would never be admitted, but with good dinners,
and large parties, there will always be those who will be glad of
her acquaintance ; and there is, undoubtedly, more liberality and
candour on those points than formerly. What I advise is, that
your father be quiet. Do not let him injure his own cause by
interference. Persuade him to let things take their course. If
by any officious exertions of his, she is induced to leave Henry's
protection, there will be much less chance of his marrying her,
than if she remain with him. I know how he is likely to be
influenced. Let Sir Thomas trust to his honour and compassion,
and it may all end well ; but if he get hia daughter away, it
will be destroying the chief hold.' "
After repeating this, Edmund was so much affected, that
Fanny, watching him with silent, but most tender concern, was
almost sorry that the subject had been entered on at all. It was
long before he could speak again. At last, " Now, Fanny," said
he, " I shall soon have done. I have told you the substance of
all that she said. As soon as I could speak, I replied that I had
not supposed it possible, coming in such a state of mind into that
house, as I had done, that anything could occur to make me
suffer more, but that she had been inflicting deeper wounds in
almost every sentence. That, though I had, in the course of our
acquaintance, been often sensible of some difference in our opinions,
on points, too, of some moment, it had not entered my imagi-
nation to conceive the difference could be such as she had now
proved it. That the manner in which she treated the dreadful
crime committed by her brother and my sister (with whom lay
the greater seduction I pretended not to say) but the manner
in which she spoke of the crime itself, giving it every reproach
but the right; considering its ill consequences only as they were
to be braved or overborne by a defiance of decency and impudence
in wrong; and, last of all, and above all, recommending to us a
compliance, a compromise, an acquiescence, in the continuance of
the sin, on the chance of a marriage which, thinking as I now
thought of her brother, should rather be prevented than sought
all this together most grievously convinced me that I had
never understood her before, and that, as far as related to mind,
it had been the creature of my own imagination, not Miss Craw-
ford, that I had been too apt to dwell on for many months past.
That, perhaps, it was best for me; I had less to regret in sacri-
ficing a friendship feelings hopes which must, at any rate,
have been torn from me now. And yet, that I must, and would
confess, that, could I have restored her to what she had appeared
to me before, I would infinitely prefer any increase of the pain of
parting, for the sake of carrying with me the right of tenderness
322 MANSFIELD PARK.
and esteem. This is what I said the purport of it but, as
you may imagine, not spoken so collectedly or methodically as I
have repeated it to you. She was astonished, exceedingly asto-
nished more than astonished. I saw her change countenance.
She turned extremely red. I imagined I saw a mixture of many
feelings a great, though short struggle half a wish of yielding
to truths, half a sense of shame but habit, habit carried it.
She would have laughed if she could. It was a sort of laugh, as
she answered, 'A pretty good lecture, upon my word. Was it
part of your last sermon? At this rate you will soon reform
everybody at Mansfield and Thornton Lacey; and when I hear
of you next, it may be as a celebrated preacher in some great
society of Methodists, or as a missionary into foreign parts.' She
tried to speak carelessly; but she was not so careless as she
wanted to appear. I only said in reply, that from my heart I
wished her well, and earnestly hoped that she might soon learn
to think more justly, and not owe the most valuable knowledge
we could any of us acquire the knowledge of ourselves and of
our duty to the lessons of affliction and immediately left the
room. I had gone a few steps, Fanny, when I heard the door
open behind me. 'Mr. Bertram,' said she. I looked back.
' Mr. Bertram,' said she, with a smile but it was a smile ill-
suited to the conversation that had passed, a saucy playful
smile, seeming to invite in order to subdue me; at least it ap-
peared so to me. I resisted ; it was the impulse of the moment
to resist, and still walked on. I have since sometimes for a
moment regretted that I did not go back; but I know I was
right; and such has been the end of our acquaintance! And
what an acquaintance has it been! How have I been deceived!
Equally in brother and sister deceived! I thank you for your
patience, Fanny. This has been the greatest relief, and now we
will have done."
And such was Fanny's dependence on his words, that for five
minutes she thought they had done. Then, however, it all came
on again, or something very like it, and nothing less than Lady
Bertram's rousing thoroughly up, could really close such a con-
versation. Till that happened, they continued to talk of Miss
Crawford alone, and how she had attached him, and how delight-
ful nature had made her, and how excellent she would have been,
had she fallen into good hands earlier. Fanny, now at liberty
to speak openly, felt more than justified in adding to his know-
ledge of her real character, by some hint of what share his
brother's state of health might be supposed to have in her wish
for a complete reconciliation. This was not an agreeable inti-
mation. Nature resisted it for a while. It would have been a
vast deal pleasanter to have had her more disinterested in her
attachment; but bis vanity was not of a strength to fight lony
MANSFIELD PARK. 323
against reason. He submitted to believe that Tom's illness had
influenced her; only reserving for himself tliis consoling thought,
that considering the many counteractions of opposing habits, she
had certainly been more attached to him than could have been
expected, and for his sake been more near doing right Fanny
thought exactly the same ; and they were also quite agreed in
their opinion of the lasting effect, the indelible impression, which
such a disappointment must make on his mind. Tjme would
undoubtedly abate somewhat of his sufferings, but still it was a
sort of thing which he never could get entirely the better of; and
as to his ever meeting with any woman who could it was too
impossible to be named but with indignation. Fanny's friend-
ship was all that he had to cling to.
CHAPTER XVII.
ET other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I
I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can,
impatient to restore everybody, not greatly in
' fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to
have done with all the rest.
My Fanny, indeed, at this very time I have
the satisfaction of knowing, must have been
happy in spite of everything. She must have
been a happy creature in spite of all that she felt, or thought she
felt, for the distress of those around her. She had sources of
delight that must force their way. She was returned to Mans-
field Park, she was useful, she was beloved; she was safe from
Mr. Crawford ; and when Sir Thomas came back she had every
proof that could be given in his then melancholy state of spirits,
of his perfect approbation and increased regard; and happy as
all this must make her, she would still have been happy without
any of it, for Edmund was no longer the dupe of Miss Crawford.
It is true, that Edmund was very far from happy himself.
He was suffering from disappointment and regret, grieving over
what was, and wishing for what could never be. She knew it
was so, and was sorry; but it was with a sorrow so founded on
satisfaction, so tending to ease, and so much in harmony with
every dearest sensation, that there are few who might not have
been glad to exchange their greatest gaiety for it.
Sir Thomas, poor Sir Thomas, a parent, and conscious of
errors in his own conduct as a parent, was the longest to suffer.
He felt that he ought not to have allowed the marriage ; that
his daughter's sentiments had been sufficiently known to him to
render him culpable in authorising it; that in so doing he had
324 MANSFIELD PARK.
sacrificed the right to the expedient, and been governed by
motives of selfishness and worldly -wisdom. These were reflec-
tions that required some time to soften ; but time will do almost
everything; and though little comfort arose on Mrs. Rushworth's
side for the misery she had occasioned, comfort was to be found
greater than he had supposed, in his other children. Julia's
match became a less desperate business than he had considered it
at first. She was humble, and wishing to be forgiven ; and Mr.
Yates, desirous of being really received into the family, was
disposed to look up to him and be guided. He was not very
solid; but there was a hope of his becoming less trifling of his
being at least tolerably domestic and quiet; and, at any rate,
there was comfort in finding his estate rather more, and his debts
much less, than he had feared, and in being consulted and treated
as the friend best worth attending to. There was comfort also
in Tom, who gradually regained his health, without regaining
the thoughtlessness and selfishness of his previous habits. He
was the better for ever for his illness. He had suffered, and he
had learned to think two advantages that he had never known
before; and the self-reproach arising from the deplorable event
in Wimpole Street, to which he felt himself accessory by all the
dangerous intimacy of his unjustifiable theatre, made an impres-
sion on his mind which, at the age of six-and-twenty, with no
want of sense or good companions, was durable in its happy
effects. He became what he ought to be, useful to his father,
steady and quiet, and not living merely for himself.
Here was comfort indeed! and quite as soon as Sir Thomas
could place dependence on such sources of good, Edmund was
contributing to his father's ease by improvement in the only
point in which he had given him pain before improvement in
his spirits. After wandering about and sitting under trees with
Fanny all the summer evenings, he had so well talked his mind
into submission, as to be very tolerably cheerful again.
These were the circumstances and the hopes which gradually
brought their alleviation to Sir Thomas, deadening his sense of
what was lost, and in part reconciling him to himself; though
the anguish arising from the conviction of his own errors in the
education of his daughters was never to be entirely done away.
Too late he became aware how unfavourable to the character
of any young people must be the totally opposite treatment
which Maria and Julia had been always experiencing at home,
where the excessive indulgence and flattery of their aunt had
been continually contrasted with his own severity. He saw how
ill he had judged, in expecting to counteract what was wrong in
Mrs. Norris, by its reverse in himself; clearly saw that he had
but increased the evil, by teaching them to repress their spirits
in his presence, as to make their real disposition unknown to
MANSFIELD PARK. 325
him, and sending them for all their indulgences to a person who
had been able to attach them only by the blindness of her affec-
tion, and the excess of her praise.
Here had been grievous mismanagement; but, bad as it was,
he gradually grew to feel that it had not been the most direfnl
mistake in his plan of education. Something must have been
wanting within, or time would have worn away much of its ill
effect. He feared that principle, active principle had been
wanting; that they had never been properly taught to govern
their inclinations and tempers, by that sense of duty which can
alone suffice. They had been instructed theoretically in their
religion, but never required to bring it into daily practice. To
be distinguished for elegance and accomplishments the authorised
object of their youth could have had no useful influence that
way, no moral effect on the mind. He had meant them to be
good, but his cares had been directed to the understanding and
manners, not the disposition; and of the necessity of self-denial
and humility, he feared they had never heard from any lips that
could profit them.
Bitterly did he deplore a deficiency which now he could scarcely
comprehend to have been possible. Wretchedly did he feel, that
with all the cost and care of an anxious and expensive education,
he had brought up his daughters, without their understanding
their first duties, 'or his being acquainted with their character
and temper.
The high spirit and strong passions of Mrs. Rushworth,
especially, were made known to him only in their sad result. She
was not to be prevailed on to leave Mr. Crawford. She hoped to
marry him, and they continued together till she was obliged to
be convinced that such hope was vain, and till the disappoint-
ment and wretchedness arising from the conviction rendered her
temper so bad, and her feelings for him so like hatred, as to
make them for a while each other's punishment, and then induce
n voluntary separation.
She had lived with him to be reproached as the ruin of all his
happiness in Fanny, and carried away no better consolation in
leaving him, than that she had divided them. What can ex-
ceed the misery of such a mind in such a situation!
Mr. Rushworth had no difficulty in procuring a divorce; and
so ended a marriage contracted under such circumstances as to
make any better end the effect of good luck, not to be reckoned
on. She had despised him, and loved another and he had been
very much aware that it was so. The indignities of stupidity,
and" the disappointments of selfish passion, can excite little pity.
His punishment followed his conduct, as did a deeper punish-
ment the deeper guilt of his wife. He was released from the
engagement to be mortified and unhappy, till some other pretty
326 MANSFIELD PARK.
girl could attract him into matrimony again, and he might set
forward on a second, and, it is to be hoped, more prosperous trial
of the state if duped, to be duped at least with good humour
and good luck ; while she must withdraw with infinitely stronger
feelings to a retirement and reproach, which could allow no
second spring of hope or character.
Where she could be placed, became a subject of most melan-
choly and momentous consultation. Mrs. Norris, whose attach-
ment seemed to augment with the demerits of her niece, would
have had her received at home, and countenanced by them all.
Sir Thomas would not hear of it ; and Mrs. Norris's anger against
Fanny was so much the greater, from considering her residence
there as the motive. She persisted in placing his scruples to her
account, though Sir Thomas very solemnly assured her, that had
there been no young woman in question, had there been no
young person of either sex belonging to him, to be endangered
by the society or hurt by the character of Mrs. llushworth, he
would never have oifered so great an insult to the neighbour-
hood, as to expect it to notice her. As a daughter he hoped a
penitent one she should be protected by him, and secured in
every comfort, and supported by every encouragement to do
right, which their relative situations admitted; but farther than
that he could not go. Maria had destroyed her own character,
and he would not, by a vain attempt to restore what never could
be restored, be affording his sanction to vice, or, in seeking to
lessen its disgrace, be anywise accessory to introducing such
misery in another man's family as lie had known himself.
It ended in Mrs. Norris's resolving to quit Mansfield, and de-
vote herself to her unfortunate Maria, and in an establishment
being formed for them in another country remote and private,
where, shut up together with little society, on one side no affec-
tion, on the other, no judgment, it may be reasonably supposed
that their tempers became their mutual punishment. Mrs.
Norris's removal from Mansfield was the great supplementary
comfort of Sir Thomas's life. His opinion of her had been sink-
ing from the day of his return from Antigua : in every transac-
tion together from that period, in. their daily intercourse, in busi-
ness, or in chat, she had been regularly losing ground in his
esteem, and convincing him that either time had done her much
dis-service, or that he had considerably overrated her sense, and
wonderfully borne with her manners before. He had felt her as
an hourly evil, which was so much the worse, as there seemed
no chance of its ceasing but with life ; she seemed a part of him-
self, that must be borne for ever. To be relieved from her,
therefore, was so great a felicity, that had she not left bitter re-
membrances behind her, there might have been danger of
his learning almost to approve the evil which produced such a.
good.
MANSFIELD PARK. 327
She was regretted by no one at Mansfield. She had never
been able to attach even those she loved best; and since Mrs.
Rushworth's elopement, her temper had been in a state of such
irritation as to make her everywhere tormenting. Not even
Fanny had tears for aunt Norris not even when she was gone
for ever.
That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some
measure, to a favourable difference of disposition and circum-
stance, but in a greater degree to her having been less the darling
of that very aunt, less flattered, and less spoiled. Her beauty and
acquirements had held but a second place. She had been always
used to think herself a little inferior to Maria. Her temper was
naturally the easiest of the two; her feelings, though quick,
were more controllable ; and education had not given her so very
hurtful a degree of self-consequence.
She had submitted the best to the disappointment in Henry
Crawford. After the first bitterness of the conviction of being
slighted was over, she had been tolerably soon in a fair way of
not thinking of him again ; and when the acquaintance was re-
newed in town, and Mr. Rushworth's house became Crawford's
object, she had had the merit of withdrawing herself from it, and
of choosing that time to pay a visit to her other friends, in order
to secure herself from being again too much attracted. This
had been her motive in going to her cousins. Mr. Yates's con-
venience had had nothing to do with it. She had been allowing
his attentions some time, but with very little idea of ever accept-
ing him ; and had not her sister's conduct burst forth as it did,
and her increased dread of her father and of home, on that
event imagining its certain consequence to herself would be
greater severity and restraint made her hastily resolve on
avoiding such immediate horrors at all risks, it is probable that
Mr. Tates would never have succeeded. She had not eloped
with any worse feelings than those of selfish alarm. It had ap-
peared to her the only thing to be done. Maria's guilt had
induced Julia's folly.
Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad do-
mestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded vanity
a little too long. Once it had, by an opening undesigned and
unmerited, led him into the way of happiness. Could he have
been satisfied with the conquest of one amiable woman's affec-
tions, could he have found sufficient exultation in overcoming
the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and tender-
ness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability
of success and felicity for him. His affection had already done
something. Her influence over him had already given him some
influence over her. Would he have deserved more, there can be
no doubt that more would have been obtained ; especially when
328 HANSFIELD PARK.
that marriage had taken place, which would have given him the
assistance of her conscience in subduing her first inclination, and
brought them very often together. Would he have persevered,
and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward and a reward
very voluntarily bestowed within a reasonable period from Ed-
mund's marrying Mary. Had he done as he intended, and as
he knew he ought, by going down to Everingham after his re-
turn from Portsmouth, he might have been deciding his own
happy destiny. But he was pressed to stay for Mrs. Frazer's
party : his staying was made of flattering consequence, and he
was to meet Mrs. Rushworth there. Curiosity and vanity were
both engaged, and the temptation of immediate pleasure was too
strong for a mind unused to make any sacrifice to right : he re-
solved to defer his Norfolk journey, resolved that writing should
answer the purpose of it, or that its purpose was unimportant
and stayed. He saw Mrs. Rushworth, was received by her with
a coldness which ought to have been repulsive, and have esta-
blished apparent indifference between them for ever ; but he was
mortified, he could not bear to be thrown off by the woman
whose smiles had been so wholly at his command ; he must ex-
ert himself to subdue so proud a display of resentment ; it was
anger on Fanny's account ; he must get the better of it, and
make Mrs. Rushworth Maria Bertram again in her treatment of
himself.
In this spirit he began the attack ; and by animated persever-
ance had soon re-established the sort of familiar intercourse of
gallantry of flirtation which bounded his views ; but in tri-
umphing over the discretion, which, though beginning in anger,
might have saved them both, he had put himself in the power of
feelings on her side, more strong than he had supposed. She
loved him : there was no withdrawing attentions, avowedly dear
to her. He was entangled by his own vanity, with as little ex-
cuse of love as possible, and without the smallest inconstancy of
mind towards her cousin. To keep Fanny and the Bertrams
from a knowledge of what was passing became his first object.
Secrecy could not have been more desirable for Mrs. Rushworth's
crt'tJit than he felt it for his own. When he returned from Rich-
mond, he would have been glad to see Mrs. Rushworth no more.
All that followed was the result of her imprudence ; and he went
oft' with her at last, because he could not help it, regretting Fan-
ny even at the moment, but regretting her infinitely more when
all the bustle of the intrigue was over, and a very few months
had taught him, by the force of contrast, to place a yet higher
value on the sweetness of her temper, the purity of her mind,
and the excellence of her principles.
That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should
in a just measure attend his share of the offence, is, we know,
.MANSFIELD PAUK. 32'J
not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. Iii this
world, the penalty is less equal than could be wished ; but with-
out presuming to look forward to a juster appointment hereafter,
we may fairly consider a man of sense, like Henry Crawford, to be
providing for himself no small portion of vexation and regret
vexation that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and regret
to wretchedness in having so requited hospitality, so injured
family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable, and endeared
acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had rationally as
well as passionately loved.
After what had passed to wound and alienate the two families,
the continuance of the Bertrams and Grants in such close neigh-
bourhood would have been most distressing ; but the absence of
the latter, for some months purposely lengthened, ended very
fortunately in the necessity, or at least the practicability, of a,
permanent removal. Dr. Grant, through an interest on which
he had almost ceased to form hopes, succeeded to a stall in West-
minster, which, as affording an occasion for leaving Mansfield,
an excuse for residence in London, and an increase of income to
answer the expenses of the change, was highly acceptable to
those who went, and those who stayed.
Mrs. Grant, with a temper to love and be loved, must have
gone with some regret, from the scenes and people she had been
used to; but the same happiness of disposition must in any
place, and any society, secure her a great deal to enjoy, and
she had again a home to offer Mary; and Mary had had enough
of her own friends, enough of vanity, ambition, love, and dis-
appointment in the course of the last half year, to be in need
of the true kindness of her sister's heart, and the rational tran-
quillity of her ways. They lived together; and when Dr. Grant
had brought on apoplexy and death, by three great institution-
ary dinners in one week, they still lived together; for Mary,
though perfectly resolved against ever attaching herself to a
younger brother again, was long in finding among the dashing
representatives, or idle heir appareuts, who were at the com-
mand of her beauty, and her 20,000 anyone who could satisfy
the better taste she had acquired at Mansfield, whose character
and manners could authorise a hope of the domestic happiness
she had there learned to estimate, or put 'Edmund Bertram suf-
ficiently out of her head.
Edmund had greatly the advantage of her hi this respect. He
had not to wait and wish with vacant affections for an object
worthy to succeed her in them. Scarcely had he done regretting
Mary Crawford, and observing to Fanny how impossible it was
that he should ever meet with such another woman, before it
began to strike him whether a very different kind of woman
might not do just as well or a great deal better; whether Fanny
330 MANSFIELD PARK.
herself were not growing as dear, as important to him in all her
smiles and all her ways, as Mary Crawford had ever been ; and
whether it might not be a possible, a hopeful undertaking to
persuade her that her warm and sisterly regard for him would
be foundation enough for wedded love.
I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that every one
may be at liberty to fix their own, aware that the cure of uncon-
querable passions, and the transfer of unchanging attachments,
must vary much as to time in different people. I only entreat
everybody to believe that exactly at the time when it was quite
natural that it should be so, and not a week earlier, Edmund did
cease to care about Miss Crawford, and became as anxious to marry
Fanny, as Fanny herself could desire.
With such a regard for her, indeed, as his had long been, a
regard founded on the most endearing claims of innocence and
helplessness, and completed by every recommendation of growing
worth, what could be more natural than the change ? Loving,
guiding, protecting her, as he had been doing ever since her being
ten years old, her mind in so great a degree formed by his care,
and her comfort depending on his kindness, an object to him of
such close and peculiar interest, dearer by all his own importance
with her than any one else at Mansfield, what was there now to
add, but that he should learn to prefer soft light eyes to spark-
ling dark ones. And being always with her, and always talking
confidentially, and his feelings exactly in that favourable state
which a recent disappointment gives, those soft light eyes could
not be very long in obtaining the pre-eminence.
Having once set out, and felt that he had done so, on this road
to happiness, there was nothing on the side of prudence to stop
him or make his progress slow ; no doubts of her deserving, no
fears from opposition of taste, no need of drawing new hopes of
happiness from dissimilarity of temper. Her mind, disposition,
opinions, and habits wanted no half concealment, no self-decep-
tion on the present, no reliance on future improvement. Even
in the midst of his late infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny's
mental superiority. What must be his sense of it now, there-
fore? She was of course only too good for him; but as nobody
minds having what is too good for them, he was very steadily
earnest in the pursuit Of the blessing, and it was not possible that
encouragement from her should be long wanting. Timid,
anxious, doubting as she was, it was still impossible that such
tenderness as hers should not, at times, hold out the strongest
hope of success, though it remained for a later period to tell him
the whole delightful and astonishing truth. His happiness in
knowing himself to have been so long the beloved of such a heart
must have been great enough to warrant any strength of lan-
guage in which he could clothe it to her or to himself; it must
MANSFIELD PAltK. 331
have been a delightful happiness. But there was happiness else-
where which no description can reach. Let no one presume to
give the feelings of a young woman on receiving the assurance
of that aft'ection of which she has scarcely allowed herself to en-
tertain a hope.
Their own inclinations ascertained, there were no difficulties
behind, no drawback of poverty or parent. It was a match
which Sir Thomas's wishes had even forestalled. Sick of ambi-
tious and mercenary connections, prizing more and more the
sterling good of principle and temper, and chiefly anxious to bind
by the strongest securities all that remained to him of domestic
felicity, he had pondered with genuine satisfaction on the more
than possibility of the two young friends finding their mutual
consolation in each other for all that had occurred of disappoint-
ment to either ; and the joyful consent which met Edmund's
application, the high sense of having realised a great acquisition
in the promise of Fanny for a daughter, formed just such a con-
trast with his early opinion on the subject when the poor little
girl's cbming had been first agitated, as time is for ever produ-
cing between the plans and decisions of mortals, for their own
instruction, and their neighbours' entertainment.
Fanny was indeed the daughter that he wanted. His chari-
table kindness had been rearing a prime comfort for himself. His
liberality had a rich prepayment, and the general goodness of hi*
intentions by her deserved it. He might have made her childhood
happier ; but it had been an error of j udgment only which had
given him the appearance of harshness, and deprived him of her
early love; and now, on really knowing each other, their mutual
attachment became very strong. After settling her at Thornton
Lacey with every kind attention to her comfort, the object of
almost every day was to see her there, or to get her away from it.
Selfishly dear as she had long been to Lady Bertram, she
could not be parted with willingly by her. No happiness of son
or niece could make her wish the marriage. But it was possible
to part with her, because Susan remained to supply her place.
Susan became the stationary niece delighted to be so ! and
equally well adapted for it by a readiness of mind, and an incli-
nation for usefulness, as Fanny had been by sweetness of temper,
and strong feelings of gratitude. Susan could never be spared.
First as a comfort to Fanny, then as an auxiliary, and last as
her substitute, she was established at Mansfield, with every ap-
pearance of equal permanency. Her more fearless disposition and
happier nerves made everything easy to her there. With quick-
ness in understanding the tempers of those she had to deal with,
and no natural timidity to restrain any consequent wishes, she
was soon welcome and useful to all; and after Fanny's removal
succeeded so naturallv to her influence over the hourlv comfort
332 MANSFIELD PARK.
of her aunt, as gradually to become, perhaps, the most beloved of
the two. In her usefulness, in Fanny's excellence, in William's
continued good conduct and rising fame, and in the general
well-doing and success of the other members of the family, all
assisting to advance each other, and doing credit to his counte-
nance and aid, Sir Thomas saw repeated, and for ever repeated
reason to rejoice in what he had done for them all, and acknow-
ledge the advantages of early hardship and discipline, and the
consciousness of being born to struggle and endure.
With so much true merit and true love, and no want of fortune
or friends, the happiness of the married cousins must appear as
secure as earthly happiness can be. Equally formed for domestic
life, and attached to country pleasures, their home was the home
of affection and comfort ; and to complete the picture of good,
the acquisition of Mansfield living by the death of Dr. Grant
occurred just after they had been married long enough to begin
to want an increase of income, and feel their distance from the
paternal abode an inconvenience.
On that event they removed to Mansfield ; and the parsonage
there, which, under each of its two former owners, Fanny had
never been able to approach but with some painful sensation of
restraint or alarm, soon grew as dear to her heart, and as tho-
roughly perfect in her eyes, as everything else within the view
and patronage of Mansfield Park had long ^en.
EXD OF THE FOURTH VOLUME.
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