Chapter XXII

by Jane Austen

　　Fanny's consequence increased on the departure ofher cousins. Becoming, as she then did, the only youngwoman in the drawing-room, the only occupier of thatinteresting division of a family in which she had hithertoheld so humble a third, it was impossible for her notto be more looked at, more thought of and attended to,than she had ever been before; and "Where is Fanny?"became no uncommon question, even without her beingwanted for any one's convenience.Not only at home did her value increase, but at theParsonage too. In that house, which she had hardlyentered twice a year since Mr. Norris's death, she becamea welcome, an invited guest, and in the gloom and dirtof a November day, most acceptable to Mary Crawford.Her visits there, beginning by chance, were continuedby solicitation. Mrs. Grant, really eager to get anychange for her sister, could, by the easiest self-deceit,persuade herself that she was doing the kindest thingby Fanny, and giving her the most important opportunitiesof improvement in pressing her frequent calls.Fanny, having been sent into the village on some errandby her aunt Norris, was overtaken by a heavy shower closeto the Parsonage; and being descried from one of thewindows endeavouring to find shelter under the branchesand lingering leaves of an oak just beyond their premises,was forced, though not without some modest reluctance onher 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 poorMiss Crawford, who had just been contemplating the dismalrain in a very desponding state of mind, sighing overthe ruin of all her plan of exercise for that morning,and of every chance of seeing a single creature beyondthemselves for the next twenty-four hours, the sound ofa little bustle at the front door, and the sight of MissPrice dripping with wet in the vestibule, was delightful.The value of an event on a wet day in the country wasmost forcibly brought before her. She was all aliveagain directly, and among the most active in being usefulto Fanny, in detecting her to be wetter than she would atfirst 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 mistressesand maids, being also obliged, on returning downstairs,to be fixed in their drawing-room for an hour whilethe rain continued, the blessing of something freshto see and think of was thus extended to Miss Crawford,and might carry on her spirits to the period of dressingand dinner.The two sisters were so kind to her, and so pleasant,that Fanny might have enjoyed her visit could she havebelieved herself not in the way, and could she haveforeseen that the weather would certainly clear at theend of the hour, and save her from the shame of havingDr. Grant's carriage and horses out to take her home,with which she was threatened. As to anxiety for any alarmthat her absence in such weather might occasion at home,she had nothing to suffer on that score; for as her beingout was known only to her two aunts, she was perfectlyaware that none would be felt, and that in whatever cottageaunt Norris might chuse 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 verymuch to hear it, and a confession, which could hardlybe believed, of her having never yet heard it since itsbeing in Mansfield. To Fanny herself it appeared a verysimple and natural circumstance. She had scarcely everbeen 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 concerned at her own neglect; and "Shall I playto you now?" and "What will you have?" were questionsimmediately following with the readiest good-humour.She played accordingly; happy to have a new listener,and a listener who seemed so much obliged, so fullof wonder at the performance, and who shewed herselfnot 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 weshall see how it will be. Do not run away the firstmoment of its holding up. Those clouds look alarming.""But they are passed over," said Fanny. "I have beenwatching them. This weather is all from the south.""South or north, I know a black cloud when I see it;and you must not set forward while it is so threatening.And besides, I want to play something more to you--a verypretty piece--and your cousin Edmund's prime favourite.You must stay and hear your cousin's favourite."Fanny felt that she must; and though she had notwaited for that sentence to be thinking of Edmund,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 withconstant delight to the favourite air, played, as itappeared to her, with superior tone and expression;and though pleased with it herself, and glad to like whateverwas liked by him, she was more sincerely impatient to goaway at the conclusion of it than she had been before;and on this being evident, she was so kindly asked tocall again, to take them in her walk whenever she could,to come and hear more of the harp, that she felt itnecessary to be done, if no objection arose at home.Such was the origin of the sort of intimacy which tookplace between them within the first fortnight afterthe Miss Bertrams' going away--an intimacy resultingprincipally from Miss Crawford's desire of something new,and which had little reality in Fanny's feelings.Fanny went to her every two or three days: it seemed a kindof fascination: she could not be easy without going,and yet it was without loving her, without ever thinkinglike her, without any sense of obligation for beingsought after now when nobody else was to be had;and deriving no higher pleasure from her conversationthan occasional amusement, and _that_ often at the expenseof her judgment, when it was raised by pleasantry onpeople or subjects which she wished to be respected.She went, however, and they sauntered about togethermany an half-hour in Mrs. Grant's shrubbery, the weatherbeing unusually mild for the time of year, and venturingsometimes even to sit down on one of the benches nowcomparatively unsheltered, remaining there perhaps till,in the midst of some tender ejaculation of Fanny's onthe sweets of so protracted an autumn, they were forced,by the sudden swell of a cold gust shaking down the last fewyellow leaves about them, to jump up and walk for warmth."This is pretty, very pretty," said Fanny, looking aroundher as they were thus sitting together one day; "every timeI come into this shrubbery I am more struck with itsgrowth and beauty. Three years ago, this was nothingbut a rough hedgerow along the upper side of the field,never thought of as anything, or capable of becoming anything;and now it is converted into a walk, and it would bedifficult to say whether most valuable as a convenienceor an ornament; and perhaps, in another three years,we may be forgetting--almost forgetting what it was before.How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of time,and the changes of the human mind!" And followingthe latter train of thought, she soon afterwards added:"If any one faculty of our nature may be called _more_wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory.There seems something more speakingly incomprehensiblein the powers, the failures, the inequalitiesof 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 tyrannic, so beyond control!We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powersof recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly pastfinding out."Miss Crawford, untouched and inattentive, had nothingto say; and Fanny, perceiving it, brought back her ownmind to what she thought must interest."It may seem impertinent in _me_ to praise, but I mustadmire the taste Mrs. Grant has shewn 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 doesvery well for a place of this sort. One does not thinkof extent _here_; and between ourselves, till I cameto Mansfield, I had not imagined a country parsonever 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 hereis better than his own, and so it appears from the growthof 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 leafis the variety, but that does not make it less amazingthat the same soil and the same sun should nurture plantsdiffering in the first rule and law of their existence.You will think me rhapsodising; but when I am out of doors,especially when I am sitting out of doors, I am very aptto get into this sort of wondering strain. One cannot fixone's eyes on the commonest natural production withoutfinding food for a rambling fancy.""To say the truth," replied Miss Crawford, "I am somethinglike the famous Doge at the court of Lewis XIV.;and may declare that I see no wonder in this shrubberyequal to seeing myself in it. If anybody had toldme a year ago that this place would be my home,that I should be spending month after month here, as Ihave done, I certainly should not have believed them.I have now been here nearly five months; 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 alland all, I never spent so happy a summer. But then,"with a more thoughtful air and lowered voice, "there isno saying what it may lead to."Fanny's heart beat quick, and she felt quite unequalto surmising or soliciting anything more. Miss Crawford,however, with renewed animation, soon went on--"I am conscious of being far better reconciled to a countryresidence than I had ever expected to be. I can evensuppose it pleasant to spend _half_ the year in the country,under certain circumstances, very pleasant. An elegant,moderate-sized house in the centre of family connexions;continual engagements among them; commanding the first societyin the neighbourhood; looked up to, perhaps, as leadingit even more than those of larger fortune, and turningfrom the cheerful round of such amusements to nothingworse than a _tete-a-tete_ with the person one feelsmost agreeable in the world. There is nothing frightfulin such a picture, is there, Miss Price? One need notenvy the new Mrs. Rushworth with such a home as _that_.""Envy Mrs. Rushworth!" was all that Fanny attempted to say."Come, come, it would be very un-handsome in us to besevere on Mrs. Rushworth, for I look forward to our owingher a great many gay, brilliant, happy hours. I expectwe shall be all very much at Sotherton another year.Such a match as Miss Bertram has made is a public blessing;for the first pleasures of Mr. Rushworth's wife must be tofill her house, and give the best balls in the country."Fanny was silent, and Miss Crawford relapsed intothoughtfulness, till suddenly looking up at the endof a few minutes, she exclaimed, "Ah! here he is."It was not Mr. Rushworth, however, but Edmund,who then appeared walking towards them with Mrs. Grant."My sister and Mr. Bertram. I am so glad your eldestcousin is gone, that he may be Mr. Bertram again. There issomething 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 entirely without warmth or character! It just standsfor a gentleman, and that's all. But there is noblenessin the name of Edmund. It is a name of heroism and renown;of kings, princes, and knights; and seems to breathethe spirit of chivalry and warm affections.""I grant you the name is good in itself, and _Lord_ Edmundor _Sir_ Edmund sound delightfully; but sink it under the chill,the annihilation of a Mr., and Mr. Edmund is no more thanMr. John or Mr. Thomas. Well, shall we join and disappointthem of half their lecture upon sitting down out of doorsat this time of year, by being up before they can begin?"Edmund met them with particular pleasure. It was thefirst time of his seeing them together since the beginningof that better acquaintance which he had been hearingof with great satisfaction. A friendship between two sovery 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 you not scold us forour imprudence? What do you think we have been sittingdown for but to be talked to about it, and entreatedand supplicated never to do so again?""Perhaps I might have scolded," said Edmund, "if eitherof you had been sitting down alone; but while youdo wrong together, 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 thestaircase 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 hardlythought imprudent. Our weather must not always be judgedby the calendar. We may sometimes take greater libertiesin November than in May.""Upon my word," cried Miss Crawford, "you are two of the mostdisappointing and unfeeling kind friends I ever met with!There is no giving you a moment's uneasiness. You do notknow how much we have been suffering, nor what chillswe have felt! But I have long thought Mr. Bertram oneof the worst subjects to work on, in any little manoeuvreagainst common sense, that a woman could be plagued with.I had very little hope of _him_ from the first; but you,Mrs. Grant, my sister, my own sister, I think I had a rightto alarm you a little.""Do not flatter yourself, my dearest Mary. You have notthe smallest chance of moving me. I have my alarms,but they are quite in a different quarter; and if I couldhave altered the weather, you would have had a good sharpeast wind blowing on you the whole time--for here aresome of my plants which Robert _will_ leave out becausethe nights are so mild, and I know the end of it will be,that we shall have a sudden change of weather, a hard frostsetting 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 Iparticularly wished not to be dressed till Sunday,because I know how much more Dr. Grant would enjoy iton Sunday after the fatigues of the day, will not keepbeyond to-morrow. These are something like grievances,and make me think the weather most unseasonably close.""The sweets of housekeeping in a country village!"said Miss Crawford archly. "Commend me to the nurserymanand the poulterer.""My dear child, commend Dr. Grant to the deaneryof Westminster or St. Paul's, and I should be as gladof your nurseryman and poulterer as you could be. But wehave 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 townand I come to see you, I dare say I shall find youwith yours, in spite of the nurseryman and the poulterer,perhaps on their very account. Their remotenessand unpunctuality, or their exorbitant charges and frauds,will be drawing forth bitter lamentations.""I mean to be too rich to lament or to feel anythingof the sort. A large income is the best recipe forhappiness I ever heard of. It certainly may secureall 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 which it must be so completelybeyond my power to command. Miss Crawford may chuse herdegree of wealth. She has only to fix on her number ofthousands 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 wantsto your income, and all that. I understand you--and avery proper plan it is for a person at your time of life,with such limited means and indifferent connexions.What can _you_ want but a decent maintenance? You havenot much time before you; and your relations are in nosituation to do anything for you, or to mortify youby the contrast of their own wealth and consequence.Be honest and poor, by all means--but I shall notenvy you; I do not much think I shall even respect you.I have a much greater respect for those that are honestand 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 havedetermined against. Honesty, in the something between,in the middle state of worldly circumstances, is all that Iam anxious for your not looking down on.""But I do look down upon it, if it might have been higher.I must look down upon anything contented with obscuritywhen it might rise to distinction.""But how may it rise? How may my honesty at least riseto any distinction?"This was not so very easy a question to answer,and occasioned an "Oh!" of some length from the fair ladybefore she could add, "You ought to be in parliament,or you should have gone into the army ten years ago.""_That_ is not much to the purpose now; and as to my beingin parliament, I believe I must wait till there is anespecial assembly for the representation of younger sonswho have little to live on. No, Miss Crawford," he added,in a more serious tone, "there _are_ distinctions which Ishould be miserable if I thought myself without any chance--absolutely without chance or possibility of obtaining--but they are of a different character."A look of consciousness as he spoke, and what seemeda consciousness of manner on Miss Crawford's sideas she made some laughing answer, was sorrowfull foodfor Fanny's observation; and finding herself quiteunable to attend as she ought to Mrs. Grant, by whoseside she was now following the others, she had nearlyresolved on going home immediately, and only waitedfor courage to say so, when the sound of the great clockat Mansfield Park, striking three, made her feel that shehad really been much longer absent than usual, and broughtthe previous self-inquiry of whether she should takeleave 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 thathis mother had been inquiring for her, and that hehad walked down to the Parsonage on purpose to bring her back.Fanny's hurry increased; and without in the least expectingEdmund's attendance, she would have hastened away alone;but the general pace was quickened, and they all accompaniedher into the house, through which it was necessary to pass.Dr. Grant was in the vestibule, and as they stopt tospeak to him she found, from Edmund's manner, that he_did_ mean to go with 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 muttonwith him the next day; and Fanny had barely time for anunpleasant feeling on the occasion, when Mrs. Grant,with sudden recollection, turned to her and asked for thepleasure of her company too. This was so new an attention,so perfectly new a circumstance in the events ofFanny's life, that she was all 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 an happiness offered,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 mother would make any difficultyof sparing her, and therefore gave his decided open advicethat the invitation should be accepted; and though Fannywould not venture, even on his encouragement, to sucha flight of audacious independence, it was soon settled,that if nothing were heard to the contrary, Mrs. Grantmight expect her."And you know what your dinner will be,"said Mrs. Grant, smiling--"the turkey, and I assure youa 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 taketheir chance. We none of us want to hear the bill of fare.A friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, is all wehave in view. A turkey, or a goose, or a leg of mutton,or whatever you and your cook chuse to give us."The two cousins walked home together; and, except in theimmediate discussion of this engagement, which Edmundspoke of with the warmest satisfaction, as so particularlydesirable for her in the intimacy which he saw withso much pleasure established, it was a silent walk;for having finished that subject, he grew thoughtfuland indisposed for any other.