Chapter XLVIII

by Jane Austen

　　Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odioussubjects 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 satisfactionof 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 Mansfield Park, she was useful,she was beloved; she was safe from Mr. Crawford;and when Sir Thomas came back she had every proof thatcould 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 havebeen happy without any of it, for Edmund was no longerthe 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 asorrow 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 exchangetheir greatest gaiety for it.Sir Thomas, poor Sir Thomas, a parent, and conscious of errorsin 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 knownto him to render him culpable in authorising it; that in sodoing he had sacrificed the right to the expedient, and beengoverned by motives of selfishness and worldly wisdom.These were reflections that required some time to soften;but time will do almost everything; and though littlecomfort arose on Mrs. Rushworth's side for the misery shehad occasioned, comfort was to be found greater than he hadsupposed in his other children. Julia's match became a lessdesperate 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 disposedto 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 estaterather more, and his debts much less, than he had feared,and in being consulted and treated as the friend bestworth attending to. There was comfort also in Tom,who gradually regained his health, without regaining thethoughtlessness 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 hadnever known before; and the self-reproach arising fromthe deplorable event in Wimpole Street, to which he felthimself accessory by all the dangerous intimacy of hisunjustifiable theatre, made an impression on his mind which,at the age of six-and-twenty, with no want of senseor 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 SirThomas could place dependence on such sources of good,Edmund was contributing to his father's ease by improvementin the only point in which he had given him pain before--improvement in his spirits. After wandering about andsitting under trees with Fanny all the summer evenings,he had so well talked his mind into submission as to bevery tolerably cheerful again.These were the circumstances and the hopes which graduallybrought their alleviation to Sir Thomas, deadening his senseof what was lost, and in part reconciling him to himself;though the anguish arising from the conviction of hisown errors in the education of his daughters was neverto be entirely done away.Too late he became aware how unfavourable to the characterof any young people must be the totally opposite treatmentwhich Maria and Julia had been always experiencing at home,where the excessive indulgence and flattery of their aunthad been continually contrasted with his own severity.He saw how ill he had judged, in expecting to counteractwhat was wrong in Mrs. Norris by its reverse in himself;clearly saw that he had but increased the evil by teachingthem to repress their spirits in his presence so as to maketheir real disposition unknown to him, and sending themfor all their indulgences to a person who had been ableto attach them only by the blindness of her affection,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 mostdireful mistake in his plan of education. Something musthave been wanting _within_, or time would have wornaway much of its ill effect. He feared that principle,active principle, had been wanting; that they had neverbeen properly taught to govern their inclinations andtempers 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 nouseful influence that way, no moral effect on the mind.He had meant them to be good, but his cares had been directedto 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 couldprofit them.Bitterly did he deplore a deficiency which now hecould scarcely comprehend to have been possible.Wretchedly did he feel, that with all the cost and careof an anxious and expensive education, he had brought uphis 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 togethertill she was obliged to be convinced that such hopewas vain, and till the disappointment and wretchednessarising from the conviction rendered her temper so bad,and her feelings for him so like hatred, as to make themfor a while each other's punishment, and then inducea voluntary separation.She had lived with him to be reproached as the ruinof all his happiness in Fanny, and carried away no betterconsolation in leaving him than that she _had_ divided them.What can exceed 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 circumstancesas to make any better end the effect of good luck not tobe 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 disappointmentsof selfish passion, can excite little pity. His punishmentfollowed his conduct, as did a deeper punishment thedeeper guilt of his wife. _He_ was released from theengagement to be mortified and unhappy, till some otherpretty girl could attract him into matrimony again,and he might set forward on a second, and, it is tobe 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 feelingsto a retirement and reproach which could allow no secondspring of hope or character.Where she could be placed became a subject of mostmelancholy and momentous consultation. Mrs. Norris,whose attachment seemed to augment with the demeritsof her niece, would have had her received at home andcountenanced 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 therebeen no young person of either sex belonging to him,to be endangered by the society or hurt by the characterof Mrs. Rushworth, he would never have offered so great aninsult to the neighbourhood as to expect it to notice her.As a daughter, he hoped a penitent one, she should beprotected by him, and secured in every comfort, and supportedby every encouragement to do right, which their relativesituations 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,by affording his sanction to vice, or in seeking to lessenits disgrace, be anywise accessory to introducing suchmisery in another man's family as he had known himself.It ended in Mrs. Norris's resolving to quit Mansfieldand devote herself to her unfortunate Maria, and in anestablishment being formed for them in another country,remote and private, where, shut up together with little society,on one side no affection, on the other no judgment,it may be reasonably supposed that their tempers becametheir mutual punishment.Mrs. Norris's removal from Mansfield was the great supplementarycomfort of Sir Thomas's life. His opinion of her hadbeen sinking from the day of his return from Antigua:in every transaction together from that period, in theirdaily intercourse, in business, or in chat, she had beenregularly losing ground in his esteem, and convincinghim that either time had done her much disservice,or that he had considerably over-rated her sense,and wonderfully borne with her manners before. He hadfelt 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 himself that must be borne for ever.To be relieved from her, therefore, was so great afelicity that, had she not left bitter remembrancesbehind her, there might have been danger of his learningalmost to approve the evil which produced such a good.She was regretted by no one at Mansfield. She had neverbeen able to attach even those she loved best; and sinceMrs. Rushworth's elopement, her temper had been in a stateof such irritation as to make her everywhere tormenting.Not even Fanny had tears for aunt Norris, not even whenshe was gone for ever.That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some measure,to a favourable difference of disposition and circumstance,but in a greater to her having been less the darlingof that very aunt, less flattered and less spoilt.Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second place.She had been always used to think herself a little inferiorto 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 degreeof self-consequence.She had submitted the best to the disappointmentin Henry Crawford. After the first bitterness of theconviction of being slighted was over, she had beentolerably soon in a fair way of not thinking of him again;and when the acquaintance was renewed in town,and Mr. Rushworth's house became Crawford's object,she had had the merit of withdrawing herself from it,and of chusing 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 cousin's.Mr. Yates's convenience had had nothing to do with it.She had been allowing his attentions some time,but with very little idea of ever accepting 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 herselfwould be greater severity and restraint, made her hastilyresolve on avoiding such immediate horrors at all risks,it is probable that Mr. Yates would never have succeeded.She had not eloped with any worse feelings than thoseof selfish alarm. It had appeared to her the onlything to be done. Maria's guilt had induced Julia's folly.Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and baddomestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-bloodedvanity a little too long. Once it had, by an openingundesigned and unmerited, led him into the way of happiness.Could he have been satisfied with the conquest of oneamiable woman's affections, could he have found sufficientexultation in overcoming the reluctance, in working himselfinto the esteem and tenderness of Fanny Price, there wouldhave been every probability of success and felicity for him.His affection had already done something. Her influenceover him had already given him some influence over her.Would he have deserved more, there can be no doubtthat more would have been obtained, especially whenthat marriage had taken place, which would have givenhim the assistance of her conscience in subduing herfirst inclination, and brought them very often together.Would he have persevered, and uprightly, Fanny must havebeen his reward, and a reward very voluntarily bestowed,within a reasonable period from Edmund's marrying Mary.Had he done as he intended, and as he knew he ought,by going down to Everingham after his return from Portsmouth,he might have been deciding his own happy destiny.But he was pressed to stay for Mrs. Fraser's party;his staying was made of flattering consequence, and hewas to meet Mrs. Rushworth there. Curiosity and vanitywere both engaged, and the temptation of immediate pleasurewas too strong for a mind unused to make any sacrificeto right: he resolved to defer his Norfolk journey,resolved that writing should answer the purpose of it,or that its purpose was unimportant, and staid. He sawMrs. Rushworth, was received by her with a coldness whichought to have been repulsive, and have established apparentindifference between them for ever; but he was mortified,he could not bear to be thrown off by the woman whosesmiles had been so wholly at his command: he must exerthimself to subdue so proud a display of resentment; it wasanger on Fanny's account; he must get the better of it,and make Mrs. Rushworth Maria Bertram again in her treatmentof himself.In this spirit he began the attack, and by animatedperseverance had soon re-established the sort of familiarintercourse, of gallantry, of flirtation, which boundedhis views; but in triumphing over the discretion which,though beginning in anger, might have saved them both,he had put himself in the power of feelings on her sidemore 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 littleexcuse of love as possible, and without the smallestinconstancy of mind towards her cousin. To keep Fannyand the Bertrams from a knowledge of what was passingbecame his first object. Secrecy could not have beenmore desirable for Mrs. Rushworth's credit than hefelt it for his own. When he returned from Richmond,he would have been glad to see Mrs. Rushworth no more.All that followed was the result of her imprudence;and he went off with her at last, because he couldnot help it, regretting Fanny even at the moment,but regretting her infinitely more when all the bustle ofthe intrigue was over, and a very few months had taught him,by the force of contrast, to place a yet higher valueon 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, not one of the barriers which society givesto virtue. In this world the penalty is less equal thancould be wished; but without presuming to look forwardto a juster appointment hereafter, we may fairly considera man of sense, like Henry Crawford, to be providingfor himself no small portion of vexation and regret:vexation that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, andregret 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 whomhe 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 suchclose neighbourhood would have been most distressing;but the absence of the latter, for some months purposelylengthened, ended very fortunately in the necessity,or at least the practicability, of a permanent removal.Dr. Grant, through an interest on which he had almostceased to form hopes, succeeded to a stall in Westminster,which, as affording an occasion for leaving Mansfield,an excuse for residence in London, and an increase ofincome to answer the expenses of the change, was highlyacceptable to those who went and those who staid.Mrs. Grant, with a temper to love and be loved, must havegone with some regret from the scenes and people shehad been used to; but the same happiness of dispositionmust in any place, and any society, secure her a greatdeal 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 disappointment in the course of thelast half-year, to be in need of the true kindness of hersister's heart, and the rational tranquillity of her ways.They lived together; and when Dr. Grant had broughton apoplexy and death, by three great institutionarydinners in one week, they still lived together; for Mary,though perfectly resolved against ever attaching herselfto a younger brother again, was long in finding amongthe dashing representatives, or idle heir-apparents,who were at the command of her beauty, and her 20,000,any one who could satisfy the better taste she had acquiredat Mansfield, whose character and manners could authorisea hope of the domestic happiness she had there learnedto estimate, or put Edmund Bertram sufficiently out of her head.Edmund had greatly the advantage of her in this respect.He had not to wait and wish with vacant affections for anobject worthy to succeed her in them. Scarcely had hedone regretting Mary Crawford, and observing to Fannyhow impossible it was that he should ever meet with suchanother woman, before it began to strike him whethera very different kind of woman might not do just as well,or a great deal better: whether Fanny herself were notgrowing as dear, as important to him in all her smilesand all her ways, as Mary Crawford had ever been;and whether it might not be a possible, an hopefulundertaking to persuade her that her warm and sisterlyregard 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 unconquerable passions, and thetransfer of unchanging attachments, must vary much asto time in different people. I only entreat everybodyto believe that exactly at the time when it was quitenatural that it should be so, and not a week earlier,Edmund did cease to care about Miss Crawford, and becameas 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 innocenceand helplessness, and completed by every recommendationof growing worth, what could be more natural thanthe change? Loving, guiding, protecting her, as hehad 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 himof such close and peculiar interest, dearer by all hisown importance with her than any one else at Mansfield,what was there now to add, but that he should learnto prefer soft light eyes to sparkling dark ones.And being always with her, and always talking confidentially,and his feelings exactly in that favourable statewhich a recent disappointment gives, those soft lighteyes could not be very long in obtaining the pre-eminence.Having once set out, and felt that he had done so onthis road to happiness, there was nothing on the sideof prudence to stop him or make his progress slow;no doubts of her deserving, no fears of opposition of taste,no need of drawing new hopes of happiness from dissimilarityof temper. Her mind, disposition, opinions, and habitswanted no half-concealment, no self-deception on the present,no reliance on future improvement. Even in the midstof his late infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny'smental superiority. What must be his sense of it now,therefore? 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 shouldbe long wanting. Timid, anxious, doubting as she was,it was still impossible that such tenderness as hersshould not, at times, hold out the strongest hope of success,though it remained for a later period to tell him the wholedelightful and astonishing truth. His happiness in knowinghimself to have been so long the beloved of such a heart,must have been great enough to warrant any strength oflanguage in which he could clothe it to her or to himself;it must have been a delightful happiness. But therewas happiness elsewhere which no description can reach.Let no one presume to give the feelings of a young womanon receiving the assurance of that affection of whichshe has scarcely allowed herself to entertain a hope.Their own inclinations ascertained, there were nodifficulties behind, no drawback of poverty or parent.It was a match which Sir Thomas's wishes had even forestalled.Sick of ambitious and mercenary connexions, prizing moreand more the sterling good of principle and temper,and chiefly anxious to bind by the strongest securitiesall that remained to him of domestic felicity, he hadpondered with genuine satisfaction on the more thanpossibility of the two young friends finding their naturalconsolation in each other for all that had occurredof disappointment to either; and the joyful consentwhich met Edmund's application, the high sense of havingrealised a great acquisition in the promise of Fannyfor a daughter, formed just such a contrast with hisearly opinion on the subject when the poor little girl'scoming had been first agitated, as time is for everproducing between the plans and decisions of mortals,for their own instruction, and their neighbours' entertainment.Fanny was indeed the daughter that he wanted. His charitablekindness had been rearing a prime comfort for himself.His liberality had a rich repayment, and the generalgoodness of his intentions by her deserved it. He mighthave made her childhood happier; but it had been an errorof judgment only which had given him the appearanceof harshness, and deprived him of her early love;and now, on really knowing each other, their mutualattachment became very strong. After settling her atThornton 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 wishthe 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 inclination for usefulness, as Fanny had beenby 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 appearanceof equal permanency. Her more fearless dispositionand happier nerves made everything easy to her there.With quickness in understanding the tempers of those shehad to deal with, and no natural timidity to restrainany consequent wishes, she was soon welcome and usefulto all; and after Fanny's removal succeeded so naturallyto her influence over the hourly comfort of her aunt,as gradually to become, perhaps, the most beloved of the two.In _her_ usefulness, in Fanny's excellence, in William'scontinued good conduct and rising fame, and in the generalwell-doing and success of the other members of the family,all assisting to advance each other, and doing creditto his countenance and aid, Sir Thomas saw repeated,and for ever repeated, reason to rejoice in what he haddone for them all, and acknowledge the advantages of earlyhardship and discipline, and the consciousness of being bornto struggle and endure.With so much true merit and true love, and no want offortune and friends, the happiness of the married cousinsmust appear as secure as earthly happiness can be.Equally formed for domestic life, and attached tocountry pleasures, their home was the home of affectionand comfort; and to complete the picture of good,the acquisition of Mansfield living, by the death ofDr. Grant, occurred just after they had been married longenough to begin to want an increase of income, and feeltheir distance from the paternal abode an inconvenience.On that event they removed to Mansfield; and the Parsonagethere, which, under each of its two former owners, Fanny hadnever been able to approach but with some painful sensationof restraint or alarm, soon grew as dear to her heart,and as thoroughly perfect in her eyes, as everything elsewithin the view and patronage of Mansfield Park had long been.[THE END]