Chapter XXXI

by Jane Austen

　　Henry 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 Bertram was on the very pointof quitting it as he entered. She was almost at the door,and not chusing by any means to take so much trouble in vain,she still went on, after a civil reception, a short sentenceabout being waited for, and a "Let Sir Thomas know"to the servant.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 creaturewho 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 couldhardly have borne that any one in the house should sharewith you in the first knowledge of the news I now bring.He is made. Your brother is a lieutenant. I havethe infinite satisfaction of congratulating you on yourbrother'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 changeof her complexion, the progress of her feelings,their doubt, confusion, and felicity, was enough.She took the letters as he gave them. The first wasfrom the Admiral to inform his nephew, in a few words,of his having succeeded in the object he had undertaken,the promotion of young Price, and enclosing two more,one from the Secretary of the First Lord to a friend,whom the Admiral had set to work in the business,the other from that friend to himself, by which itappeared that his lordship had the very great happinessof attending to the recommendation of Sir Charles;that Sir Charles was much delighted in having such anopportunity of proving his regard for Admiral Crawford,and that the circumstance of Mr. William Price's commissionas Second Lieutenant of H.M. Sloop Thrush being madeout was spreading general joy through a wide circleof great people.While her hand was trembling under these letters,her eye running from one to the other, and her heartswelling with emotion, Crawford thus continued,with unfeigned eagerness, to express his interest in the event--"I will not talk of my own happiness," said he, "great asit is, for I think only of yours. Compared with you,who has a right to be happy? I have almost grudged myselfmy own prior knowledge of what you ought to have knownbefore all the world. I have not lost a moment, however.The post was late this morning, but there has not beensince a moment's delay. How impatient, how anxious,how wild I have been on the subject, I will not attemptto 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 wouldhave detained me half the time from Mansfield.But though my uncle entered into my wishes with all thewarmth 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 longerbear to stay the end of, and knowing in what good hands Ileft the cause, I came away on Monday, trusting that manyposts would not pass before I should be followed by suchvery letters as these. My uncle, who is the very best manin 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 provedthe praise of a friend, as this day _does_ prove it._Now_ I may say that even I could not require WilliamPrice to excite a greater interest, or be followedby warmer wishes and higher commendation, than were mostvoluntarily bestowed by my uncle after the evening they hadpassed 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 Iam bewildered. Did Admiral Crawford apply? How was it?I am stupefied."Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible,by beginning at an earlier stage, and explaining veryparticularly what he had done. His last journey to Londonhad been undertaken with no other view than that ofintroducing her brother in Hill Street, and prevailingon the Admiral to exert whatever interest he mighthave for getting him on. This had been his business.He had communicated it to no creature: he had notbreathed a syllable of it even to Mary; while uncertainof the issue, he could not have borne any participationof his feelings, but this had been his business; and hespoke with such a glow of what his solicitude had been,and used such strong expressions, was so aboundingin 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 fulland her senses still so astonished, that she could listenbut imperfectly even to what he told her of William,and saying only when he paused, "How kind! how very kind!Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you!Dearest, dearest William!" She jumped up and moved in hastetowards the door, crying out, "I will go to my uncle.My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible." But thiscould 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 farther explanation,before she had suspected for what she was detained.When she did understand it, however, and found herselfexpected to believe that she had created sensations whichhis heart had never known before, and that everythinghe had done for William was to be placed to the accountof his excessive and unequalled attachment to her,she was exceedingly distressed, and for some momentsunable to speak. She considered it all as nonsense,as mere trifling and gallantry, which meant only to deceivefor the hour; she could not but feel that it was treatingher improperly and unworthily, and in such a way as shehad not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirelyof a piece with what she had seen before; and she wouldnot allow herself to shew half the displeasure she felt,because he had been conferring an obligation, which nowant of delicacy on his part could make a trifle to her.While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitudeon William's behalf, she could not be severely resentfulof anything that injured only herself; and after havingtwice drawn back her hand, and twice attempted in vainto turn away from him, she got up, and said only,with much agitation, "Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray don't! Ibeg you would not. This is a sort of talking which is veryunpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot bear it."But he was still talking on, describing his affection,soliciting a return, and, finally, in words so plainas to bear but one meaning even to her, offering himself,hand, fortune, everything, to her acceptance. It was so;he had said it. Her astonishment 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 face. "This is all nonsense.Do not distress me. I can hear no more of this.Your kindness to William makes me more obliged to youthan 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 Thomaswas heard speaking to a servant in his way towards the roomthey were in. It was no time for farther assurancesor entreaty, though to part with her at a moment when hermodesty alone seemed, to his sanguine and preassured mind,to stand in the way of the happiness he sought, was acruel necessity. She rushed out at an opposite doorfrom the one her uncle was approaching, and was walkingup and down the East room ill the utmost confusionof contrary feeling, before Sir Thomas's politenessor apologies were over, or he had reached the beginningof the joyful intelligence which his visitor came to communicate.She was feeling, thinking, trembling about everything;agitated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged,absolutely angry. It was all beyond belief!He was inexcusable, incomprehensible! But such werehis habits that he could do nothing without a mixtureof evil. He had previously made her the happiestof human beings, and now he had insulted--she knewnot what to say, how to class, or how to regard it.She would not have him be serious, and yet what couldexcuse the use of such words and offers, if they meant but totrifle?But William was a lieutenant. _That_ was a fact beyonda doubt, and without an alloy. She would think of itfor ever and forget all the rest. Mr. Crawford wouldcertainly never address her so again: he must haveseen how unwelcome it was to her; and in that case,how gratefully she could esteem him for his friendshipto William!She would not stir farther from the East room thanthe head of the great staircase, till she had satisfiedherself of Mr. Crawford's having left the house;but when convinced of his being gone, she was eager to godown and be with her uncle, and have all the happinessof his joy as well as her own, and all the benefitof his information or his conjectures as to what wouldnow be William's destination. Sir Thomas was as joyfulas she could desire, and very kind and communicative;and she had so comfortable a talk with him about Williamas to make her feel as if nothing had occurred to vex her,till she found, towards the close, that Mr. Crawfordwas engaged to return and dine there that very day.This was a most unwelcome hearing, for though he mightthink nothing of what had passed, it would be quitedistressing 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 usual;but it was quite impossible for her not to look most shyand uncomfortable when their visitor entered the room.She could not have supposed it in the power of any concurrenceof circumstances to give her so many painful sensations onthe first day of hearing of William's promotion.Mr. Crawford was not only in the room--he was soon closeto her. He had a note to deliver from his sister.Fanny could not look at him, but there was no consciousnessof 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 fidgetings of her aunt Norris, who wasalso to dine there, screened her a little from view."My dear Fanny,--for so I may now always call you,to the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumblingat _Miss_ _Price_ for at least the last six weeks--I cannot let my brother go without sending you a few linesof general congratulation, and giving my most joyful consentand approval. Go on, my dear Fanny, and without fear;there can be no difficulties worth naming. I chuse tosuppose that the assurance of my consent will be something;so you may smile upon him with your sweetest smilesthis afternoon, and send him back to me even happierthan he goes.--Yours affectionately, M. C."These were not expressions to do Fanny any good;for though she read in too much haste and confusionto form the clearest judgment of Miss Crawford's meaning,it was evident that she meant to compliment her on herbrother's attachment, and even to _appear_ to believeit serious. She did not know what to do, or what to think.There was wretchedness in the idea of its being serious;there was perplexity and agitation every way.She was distressed whenever Mr. Crawford spoke to her,and he spoke to her much too often; and she was afraidthere was a something in his voice and manner in addressingher very different from what they were when he talkedto the others. Her comfort in that day's dinnerwas quite destroyed: she could hardly eat anything;and when Sir Thomas good-humouredly observed that joy hadtaken 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 eyesto the right hand, where he sat, she felt that _his_were immediately directed towards her.She was more silent than ever. She would hardly joineven when William was the subject, for his commissioncame all from the right hand too, and there was painin the connexion.She thought Lady Bertram sat longer than ever, and beganto be in despair of ever getting away; but at last theywere in the drawing-room, and she was able to thinkas she would, while her aunts finished the subjectof William's appointment in their own style.Mrs. Norris seemed as much delighted with the savingit would be to Sir Thomas as with any part of it."_Now_ William would be able to keep himself, which wouldmake a vast difference to his uncle, for it was unknownhow much he had cost his uncle; and, indeed, it would makesome difference in _her_ presents too. She was very gladthat she had given William what she did at parting,very glad, indeed, that it had been in her power,without material inconvenience, just at that time to givehim something rather considerable; that is, for_her_,with _her_ limited means, for now it would all be usefulin helping to fit up his cabin. She knew he must be atsome expense, that he would have many things to buy,though to be sure his father and mother would be ableto put him in the way of getting everything very cheap;but she was very glad she had contributed her mitetowards it.""I am glad you gave him something considerable,"said Lady Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness,"for _I_ gave him only 10.""Indeed!" cried Mrs. Norris, reddening. "Upon my word,he must have gone off with his pockets 1 well lined,and at no expense for his journey to London either!""Sir Thomas told me 10 would be enough."Mrs. Norris, being not at all inclined to questionits sufficiency, began to take the matter in another point."It is amazing," said she, "how much young people costtheir friends, what with bringing them up and putting themout in the world! They little think how much it comes to,or what their parents, or their uncles and aunts, pay forthem in the course of the year. Now, here are my sisterPrice's children; take them all together, I dare say nobodywould believe what a sum they cost Sir Thomas every year,to say nothing of what _I_ do for them.""Very true, sister, as you say. But, poor things!they cannot help it; and you know it makes very littledifference to Sir Thomas. Fanny, William must not forgetmy shawl if he goes to the East Indies; and I shall givehim a commission for anything else that is worth having.I wish he may go to the East Indies, that I may have my shawl.I think I will have two shawls, Fanny."Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not help it,was very earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and MissCrawford 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 allher own demerits. How could _she_ have excitedserious 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 opento serious impressions, even where pains had been takento please him; who thought so slightly, so carelessly,so unfeelingly on all such points; who was everythingto everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him?And farther, 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 sucha quarter? Nothing could be more unnatural in either.Fanny was ashamed of her own doubts. Everything mightbe possible rather than serious attachment, or seriousapprobation of it toward her. She had quite convinced herselfof this before Sir Thomas and Mr. Crawford joined them.The difficulty was in maintaining the conviction quiteso absolutely after Mr. Crawford was in the room;for once or twice a look seemed forced on her which shedid not know how to class among the common meaning;in any other man, at least, she would have saidthat it meant something very earnest, very pointed.But she still tried to believe it no more than what hemight often have expressed towards her cousins and fiftyother women.She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheardby the rest. She fancied he was trying for it thewhole evening at intervals, whenever Sir Thomas wasout of the room, or at all engaged with Mrs. Norris,and she carefully refused him every opportunity.At last--it 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 turningto her the next moment, and saying, "Have you nothing to sendto Mary? No answer to her note? She will be disappointedif 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 thehabit of writing for her aunt, and prepared her materialswithout knowing what in the world to say. She had readMiss Crawford's note only once, and how to reply toanything so imperfectly understood was most distressing.Quite unpractised in such sort of note-writing, hadthere been time for scruples and fears as to style shewould have felt them in abundance: but something mustbe 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 mydearest William. The rest of your note I know means nothing;but I am so unequal to anything of the sort, that I hopeyou will excuse my begging you to take no farther notice.I have seen too much of Mr. Crawford not to understandhis manners; if he 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 mentionthe subject again. With thanks for the honour of your note,I remain, dear Miss Crawford, etc., etc."The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasingfright, for she found that Mr. Crawford, under pretenceof receiving the note, was coming towards her."You cannot think I mean to hurry you," said he,in an undervoice, perceiving the amazing trepidationwith which she made up the note, "you cannot thinkI have any such object. Do not hurry yourself, I entreat.""Oh! I thank you; I have quite done, just done; it willbe 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 sheinstantly and with averted eyes walked towards the fireplace,where sat the others, he had nothing to do but to goin good earnest.Fanny thought she had never known a day of greater agitation,both of pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasurewas not of a sort to die with the day; for every daywould 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 excessivelyill-written, that the language would disgrace a child,for her distress had allowed no arrangement; but at leastit would assure them both of her being neither imposedon nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.