Chapter XXI

by Jane Austen

　　Sir Thomas's return made a striking change in the ways ofthe family, independent of Lovers' Vows. Under his government,Mansfield was an altered place. Some members of theirsociety sent away, and the spirits of many others saddened--it was all sameness and gloom compared with the past--a sombre family party rarely enlivened. There was littleintercourse with the Parsonage. Sir Thomas, drawing backfrom intimacies in general, was particularly disinclined,at this time, for any engagements but in one quarter.The Rushworths were the only addition to his own domesticcircle 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 seemto belong to us; they seem to be part of ourselves.I could wish my father were more sensible of their verygreat 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 societyas it deserves; for they are in fact exactly the sortof people he would like. We are sometimes a littlein want of animation among ourselves: my sisters seemout of spirits, and Tom is certainly not at his ease.Dr. and Mrs. Grant would enliven us, and make our eveningspass away with more enjoyment even to my father.""Do you think so?" said Fanny: "in my opinion,my uncle would not like _any_ addition. I think hevalues the very quietness you speak of, and that therepose of his own family circle is all he wants.And it does not appear to me that we are more seriousthan 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 recollectthat our evenings formerly were ever merry, except whenmy 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 ashort consideration. "I believe our evenings are ratherreturned to what they were, than assuming a new character.The novelty was in their being lively. Yet, how strongthe 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 hearmy uncle talk of the West Indies. I could listen to himfor an hour together. It entertains _me_ more than manyother things have done; but then I am unlike other people,I dare say.""Why should you dare say _that_?" (smiling). "Do youwant to be told that you are only unlike other peoplein being more wise and discreet? But when did you,or anybody, ever get a compliment from me, Fanny?Go to my father if you want to be complimented.He will satisfy you. Ask your uncle what he thinks,and you will hear compliments enough: and though theymay 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 you 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 beenthought very pretty before; but the truth is, that youruncle never did admire you till now--and now he does.Your complexion is so improved!--and you have gainedso much countenancenay, Fanny, do notturn away about it--it is but an uncle. If you cannotbear an uncle's admiration, what is to become of you?You must really begin to harden yourself to the idea ofbeing worth looking at. You must try not to mind growingup 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 seeingthat she was distressed, he had done with the subject,and only added more seriously--"Your uncle is disposed to be pleased with you inevery 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-tradelast night?""I did--and was in hopes the question would be followedup by others. It would have pleased your uncle to beinquired 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 myselfoff at their expense, by shewing a curiosity and pleasurein his information which he must wish his own daughtersto feel.""Miss Crawford was very right in what she said of youthe other day: that you seemed almost as fearful of noticeand praise as other women were of neglect. We were talkingof you at the Parsonage, and those were her words.She has great discernment. I know nobody who distinguishescharacters better. For so young a woman it is remarkable!She certainly understands _you_ better than you areunderstood by the greater part of those who have known youso long; and with regard to some others, I can perceive,from occasional lively hints, the unguarded expressionsof the moment, that she could define _many_ as accurately,did not delicacy forbid it. I wonder what she thinksof 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 reservemay be a little repulsive. Could they be much together,I feel sure of their liking each other. He would enjoyher liveliness and she has talents to value his powers.I wish they met more frequently! I hope she does not supposethere is any dislike on his side.""She must know herself too secure of the regard of allthe rest of you," said Fanny, with half a sigh, "to haveany such apprehension. And Sir Thomas's wishing just atfirst to be only with his family, is so very natural,that she can argue nothing from that. After a little while,I dare say, we shall be meeting again in the same sortof way, allowing for the difference of the time of year.""This is the first October that she has passed in the countrysince her infancy. I do not call Tunbridge or Cheltenhamthe country; and November is a still more serious month,and I can see that Mrs. Grant is very anxious for hernot finding Mansfield dull as winter comes on."Fanny could have said a great deal, but it was safer tosay nothing, and leave untouched all Miss Crawford's resources--her accomplishments, her spirits, her importance,her friends, lest it should betray her into any observationsseemingly unhandsome. Miss Crawford's kind opinionof herself deserved at least a grateful forbearance,and she began to talk of something else."To-morrow, I think, my uncle dines at Sotherton, and youand Mr. Bertram too. We shall be quite a small party at home.I hope my uncle may continue to like Mr. Rushworth.""That is impossible, Fanny. He must like him lessafter to-morrow's visit, for we shall be five hoursin 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 muchlonger deceive himself. I am sorry for them all, and wouldgive something that Rushworth and Maria had never met."In this quarter, indeed, disappointment was impendingover Sir Thomas. Not all his good-will for Mr. Rushworth,not all Mr. Rushworth's deference for him, could preventhim from soon discerning some part of the truth--that Mr. Rushworth was an inferior young man, as ignorantin business as in books, with opinions in general unfixed,and without seeming much aware of it himself.He had expected a very different son-in-law; and beginningto feel grave on Maria's account, tried to understand_her_ feelings. Little observation there was necessaryto tell him that indifference was the most favourablestate they could be in. Her behaviour to Mr. Rushworthwas 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 standingand public as was the engagement, her happiness must not besacrificed to it. Mr. Rushworth had, perhaps, been acceptedon too short an acquaintance, and, on knowing him better,she was repenting.With solemn kindness Sir Thomas addressed her: told herhis fears, inquired into her wishes, entreated her to beopen and sincere, and assured her that every inconvenienceshould 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'sstruggle as she listened, and only a moment's: when herfather ceased, she was able to give her answer immediately,decidedly, and with no apparent agitation. She thankedhim for his great attention, his paternal kindness, but hewas quite mistaken in supposing she had the smallest desireof breaking through her engagement, or was sensible of anychange of opinion or inclination since her forming it.She had the highest esteem for Mr. Rushworth's characterand disposition, and could not have a doubt of her happiness withhim.Sir Thomas was satisfied; too glad to be satisfied,perhaps, to urge the matter quite so far as his judgmentmight have dictated to others. It was an alliance whichhe could not have relinquished without pain; and thushe 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 happinesswith him, speaking certainly without the prejudice,the blindness of love, she ought to be believed.Her feelings, probably, were not acute; he had neversupposed them to be so; but her comforts might notbe less on that account; and if she could dispensewith 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 holdout the greatest temptation, and would, in all probability,be a continual supply of the most amiable and innocent enjoyments.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 mustattend it; happy to secure a marriage which would bringhim such an addition of respectability and influence,and very happy to think anything of his daughter'sdisposition that was most favourable for the purpose.To her the conference closed as satisfactorily as to him.She was in a state of mind to be glad that she had securedher fate beyond recall: that she had pledged herselfanew to Sotherton; that she was safe from the possibilityof giving Crawford the triumph of governing her actions,and destroying her prospects; and retired in proud resolve,determined only to behave more cautiously to Mr. Rushworthin future, that her father might not be again suspecting her.Had Sir Thomas applied to his daughter within the firstthree or four days after Henry Crawford's leaving Mansfield,before her feelings were at all tranquillised, before shehad given up every hope of him, or absolutely resolved onenduring 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 becamecool enough to seek all the comfort that pride and selfrevenge could give.Henry Crawford had destroyed her happiness, but heshould not know that he had done it; he should notdestroy her credit, her appearance, her prosperity, too.He should not have to think of her as pining in theretirement of Mansfield for _him_, rejecting Sothertonand London, independence and splendour, for _his_ sake.Independence was more needful than ever; the want of itat Mansfield more sensibly felt. She was less and lessable to endure the restraint which her father imposed.The liberty which his absence had given was now becomeabsolutely necessary. She must escape from him and Mansfieldas soon as possible, and find consolation in fortuneand 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. Rushworth could hardlybe more impatient for the marriage than herself.In all the important preparations of the mind shewas complete: being prepared for matrimony by an hatredof home, restraint, and tranquillity; by the miseryof disappointed affection, and contempt of the man shewas to marry. The rest might wait. The preparationsof new carriages and furniture might wait for Londonand spring, when her own taste could have fairer play.The principals being all agreed in this respect, it soonappeared that a very few weeks would be sufficientfor such arrangements as must precede the wedding.Mrs. Rushworth was quite ready to retire, and make way forthe 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 of Sothertonin her evening parties; enjoying them as thoroughly,perhaps, in the animation of a card-table, as she hadever done on the spot; and before the middle of the samemonth the ceremony had taken place which gave Sothertonanother mistress.It was a very proper wedding. The bride was elegantly dressed;the two bridesmaids were duly inferior; her father gaveher away; her mother stood with salts in her hand,expecting to be agitated; her aunt tried to cry;and the service was impressively read by Dr. Grant.Nothing could be objected to when it came under thediscussion of the neighbourhood, except that the carriagewhich conveyed the bride and bridegroom and Juliafrom the church-door to Sotherton was the same chaisewhich Mr. Rushworth had used for a twelvemonth before.In everything else the etiquette of the day might standthe strictest investigation.It was done, and they were gone. Sir Thomas felt as ananxious father must feel, and was indeed experiencing muchof the agitation which his wife had been apprehensiveof for 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. Rushworth ina 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 dispositionof the niece who had been brought up under her eye.The plan of the young couple was to proceed,after a few days, to Brighton, and take a house therefor some weeks. Every public place was new to Maria,and Brighton is almost as gay in winter as in summer.When the novelty of amusement there was over, it wouldbe time for the wider range of London.Julia was to go with them to Brighton. Since rivalrybetween the sisters had ceased, they had been graduallyrecovering much of their former good understanding;and were at least sufficiently friends to make each of themexceedingly glad to be with the other at such a time.Some other companion than Mr. Rushworth was of the firstconsequence to his lady; and Julia was quite as eagerfor novelty and pleasure as Maria, though she might nothave struggled through so much to obtain them, and couldbetter bear a subordinate situation.Their departure made another material change at Mansfield,a chasm which required some time to fill up. The familycircle became greatly contracted; and though the MissBertrams had latterly added little to its gaiety,they could not but be missed. Even their mother missed them;and how much more their tenderhearted cousin, who wanderedabout the house, and thought of them, and felt for them,with a degree of affectionate regret which they had neverdone much to deserve!