Chapter XXXII

by Jane Austen

  Fanny had by no means forgotten Mr. Crawford when sheawoke the next morning; but she remembered the purportof her note, and was not less sanguine as to its effectthan she had been the night before. If Mr. Crawford wouldbut 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 spoken of their journey as what would takeplace ere long.Having so satisfactorily settled the conviction her notewould convey, she could not but be astonished to seeMr. Crawford, as she accidentally did, coming up to thehouse again, and at an hour as early as the day before.His coming might have nothing to do with her, but shemust avoid seeing him if possible; and being thenon her way upstairs, she resolved there to remain,during the whole of his visit, unless actually sent for;and as Mrs. Norris was still in the house, there seemedlittle danger of her being wanted.She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening,trembling, and fearing to be sent for every moment;but as no footsteps approached the East room, she grewgradually composed, could sit down, and be able toemploy herself, and able to hope that Mr. Crawford had comeand would go without her being obliged to know anything of thematter.Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growingvery comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a stepin regular approach was heard; a heavy step, an unusualstep in that part of the house: it was her uncle's;she knew it as well as his voice; she had trembled at itas often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of hiscoming up to speak to her, whatever might be the subject.It was indeed Sir Thomas who opened the door and askedif she were there, and if he might come in. The terrorof his former occasional visits to that room seemedall renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examineher 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 as he entered, said, with much surprise,"Why have you no fire to-day?"There was snow on the ground, and she was sitting in a shawl.She hesitated."I am not cold, sir: I never sit here long at this timeof year.""But you have a fire in general?""No, sir.""How comes this about? Here must be some mistake.I understood that you had the use of this room by wayof making you perfectly comfortable. In your bedchamberI know you _cannot_ have a fire. Here is some greatmisapprehension which must be rectified. It is highlyunfit 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 obligedto speak, she could not forbear, in justice to the auntshe loved best, from saying something in which the words"my aunt Norris" were distinguishable."I understand," cried her uncle, recollecting himself,and not wanting to hear more: "I understand. Your auntNorris has always been an advocate, and very judiciously,for young people's being brought up without unnecessaryindulgences; but there should be moderation in everything.She is also very hardy herself, which of course willinfluence 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 believe _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 understanding which will prevent you fromreceiving things only in part, and judging partiallyby the event. You will take in the whole of the past,you will consider times, persons, and probabilities,and you will feel that _they_ were not least yourfriends who were educating and preparing you for thatmediocrity of 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 littleprivations 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 Norriswith the respect and attention that are due to her.But enough of this. Sit down, my dear. I must speakto you for a few minutes, but I will not detainyou long."Fanny obeyed, with eyes cast down and colour rising.After a moment's pause, Sir Thomas, trying to suppressa smile, went on."You are not aware, perhaps, that I have had a visitorthis morning. I had not been long in my own room,after breakfast, when Mr. Crawford was shewn in.His errand you may probably conjecture."Fanny's colour grew deeper and deeper; and her uncle,perceiving that she was embarrassed to a degree thatmade either speaking or looking up quite impossible,turned away his own eyes, and without any farther pauseproceeded in his account of Mr. Crawford's visit.Mr. Crawford's business had been to declare himselfthe lover of Fanny, make decided proposals for her,and entreat the sanction of the uncle, who seemed to standin 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 remarksto have been very much to the purpose, was exceedinglyhappy 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 herfar more than himself. He talked, therefore, for severalminutes without Fanny's daring to interrupt him.She had hardly even attained the wish to do it. Her mindwas 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 perturbationand dismay. For a moment he ceased, but she had barelybecome conscious of it, when, rising from his chair, he said,"And now, Fanny, having performed one part of my commission,and shewn you everything placed on a basis the most assuredand satisfactory, I may execute the remainder by prevailingon you to accompany me downstairs, where, though I cannotbut presume on having been no unacceptable companion myself,I must submit to your finding one still better worthlistening to. Mr. Crawford, as you have perhaps foreseen,is yet in the house. He is in my room, and hoping to seeyou there."There was a look, a start, an exclamation on hearing this,which astonished Sir Thomas; but what was his increase ofastonishment 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 himwithout 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, sittingdown again. "Out of your power to return his good opinion?What is all this? I know he spoke to you yesterday,and (as far as I understand) received as much encouragementto proceed as a well-judging young woman could permitherself to give. I was very much pleased with what Icollected to have been your behaviour on the occasion;it shewed a 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 anxietyof the moment even to tell her uncle that he was wrong;"you are quite mistaken. How could Mr. Crawford saysuch a 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 unpleasant to me in every respect, and thatI begged him never to talk to me in that manner again.I am sure I said as much as that and more; and I shouldhave said still more, if I had been quite certain of hismeaning 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 ofcalm displeasure. "There is something in this which mycomprehension does not reach. Here is a young man wishingto 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 addressand conversation pleasing to everybody. And he is not anacquaintance of to-day; you have now known him some time.His sister, moreover, is your intimate friend, and he hasbeen doing _that_ for your brother, which I should supposewould have been almost sufficient recommendation to you,had there been no other. It is very uncertain when myinterest might have got William on. He has done it already.""Yes," said Fanny, in a faint voice, and looking downwith fresh shame; and she did feel almost ashamedof herself, after such a picture as her uncle had drawn,for not liking Mr. Crawford."You must have been aware," continued Sir Thomas presently,"you must have been some time aware of a particularityin Mr. Crawford's manners to you. This cannot have takenyou by surprise. You must have observed his attentions;and though you always received them very properly (I haveno accusation to make on that head), I never perceived themto 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 lipsformed into a _no_, though the sound was inarticulate,but her face was like scarlet. That, however, in somodest a girl, might be very compatible with innocence;and chusing at least to appear satisfied, he quickly added,"No, no, I know _that_ is quite out of the question;quite impossible. Well, there is nothing more to be said."And for a few minutes he did say nothing. He was deepin thought. His niece was deep in thought likewise, trying toharden and prepare herself against farther questioning.She would rather die than own the truth; and she hoped,by a little reflection, to fortify herself beyondbetraying 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 soearly is recommendatory to me. I am an advocate forearly marriages, where there are means in proportion,and would have every young man, with a sufficient income,settle as soon after four-and-twenty as he can. This isso much my opinion, that I am sorry to think how littlelikely my own eldest son, your cousin, Mr. Bertram,is to marry early; but at present, as far as I can judge,matrimony makes no part of his plans or thoughts.I wish he were more likely to fix." Here was a glanceat Fanny. "Edmund, I consider, from his dispositionsand habits, as much more likely to marry early thanhis brother. _He_, indeed, I have lately thought,has seen the woman he could love, which, I am convinced,my eldest son has not. Am I right? Do you agree with me,my dear?""Yes, sir."It was gently, but it was calmly said, and Sir Thomas waseasy on the score of the cousins. But the removal of hisalarm did his niece no service: as her unaccountablenesswas confirmed his displeasure increased; and getting upand walking about the room with a frown, which Fanny couldpicture to herself, though she 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'stemper?""No, sir."She longed to add, "But of his principles I have"; but herheart sunk under the appalling prospect of discussion,explanation, and probably non-conviction. Her ill opinionof him was founded chiefly on observations, which,for her cousins' sake, she could scarcely dare mentionto their father. Maria and Julia, and especially Maria,were so closely implicated in Mr. Crawford's misconduct,that she could not give his character, such as shebelieved 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 infinitegrief she found it was not.Sir Thomas came towards the table where she satin trembling wretchedness, and with a good deal ofcold sternness, said, "It is of no use, I perceive,to talk to you. We had better put an end to thismost mortifying conference. Mr. Crawford must not bekept 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 reverseof what I had supposed. For I _had_, Fanny, as I thinkmy behaviour must have shewn, formed a very favourableopinion 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 independenceof spirit which prevails so much in modern days,even in young women, and which in young women is offensiveand disgusting beyond all common offence. But youhave now shewn me that you can be wilful and perverse;that you can and will decide for yourself, without anyconsideration or deference for those who have surely someright to guide you, without even asking their advice.You have shewn yourself very, very different from anythingthat I had imagined. The advantage or disadvantage ofyour family, of your parents, your brothers and sisters,never seems to have had a moment's share in your thoughtson this occasion. How _they_ might be benefited,how _they_ must rejoice in such an establishment for you,is nothing to _you_. You think only of yourself,and because you do not feel for Mr. Crawford exactly what ayoung heated fancy imagines to be necessary for happiness,you resolve to refuse him at once, without wishingeven for a little time to consider of it, a little moretime for cool consideration, and for really examiningyour own inclinations; and are, in a wild fit of folly,throwing away from you such an opportunity of beingsettled in life, eligibly, honourably, nobly settled,as will, probably, never occur to you again. Here is ayoung man of sense, of character, of temper, of manners,and of fortune, exceedingly attached to you, and seekingyour hand in the most handsome and disinterested way;and let me tell you, Fanny, that you may live eighteen yearslonger in the world without being addressed by a man of halfMr. Crawford's estate, or a tenth part of his merits.Gladly would I have bestowed either of my own daughterson him. Maria is nobly married; but had Mr. Crawfordsought Julia's hand, I should have given it to him withsuperior and more heartfelt satisfaction than I gaveMaria's to Mr. Rushworth." After half a moment's pause:"And I should have been very much surprised had eitherof my daughters, on receiving a proposal of marriage at anytime which might carry with it only _half_ the eligibilityof _this_, immediately and peremptorily, and without payingmy opinion or my regard the compliment of any consultation,put a decided negative on it. I should have been muchsurprised and much hurt by such a proceeding. I shouldhave thought it a gross violation of duty and respect._You_ are not to be judged by the same rule. You do notowe me the duty of a child. But, Fanny, if your heartcan 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 broke by such a picture of whatshe appeared to him; by such accusations, so heavy,so multiplied, so rising in dreadful gradation!Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful.He thought her all this. She had deceived his expectations;she had lost his good opinion. What was to becomeof 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 probablyhave 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 perfectlyconvinced that I could never make him happy, and that Ishould 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 thinka little relenting, a little change of inclination,might have something to do with it; and to augur favourablyfrom the personal entreaty of the young man himself.He knew her to be very timid, and exceedingly nervous;and thought it not improbable that her mind might bein such a state as a little time, a little pressing,a little patience, and a little impatience, a judiciousmixture of all on the lover's side, might work theirusual effect on. If the gentleman would but persevere,if he had but love enough to persevere, Sir Thomas beganto have hopes; and these reflections having passed acrosshis mind and cheered it, "Well," said he, in a toneof becoming gravity, but of less anger, "well, child,dry up your tears. There is no use in these tears;they can do no good. You must now come downstairs with me.Mr. Crawford has been kept waiting too long already.You must give him your own answer: we cannot expect himto be satisfied with less; and you only can explain to himthe grounds of that misconception of your sentiments, which,unfortunately for himself, he certainly has imbibed. I amtotally unequal to it."But Fanny shewed such reluctance, such misery, at theidea of going down to him, that Sir Thomas, after alittle consideration, judged it better to indulge her.His hopes from both gentleman and lady suffered a smalldepression in consequence; but when he looked at his niece,and saw the state of feature and complexion which hercrying had brought her into, he thought there mightbe as much lost as gained by an immediate interview.With a few words, therefore, of no particular meaning,he walked off by himself, leaving his poor niece to sitand cry over what had passed, with very wretched feelingsHer mind was all disorder. The past, present, future,everything was terrible. But her uncle's anger gaveher 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 speakfor her. Her only friend was absent. He might havesoftened his father; but all, perhaps all, would thinkher selfish and ungrateful. She might have to endurethe reproach again and again; she might hear it, or see it,or know it to exist for ever in every connexion 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 her 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 notrepeat what has passed. I do not want to add to anythingyou may now be feeling, by an account of what he has felt.Suffice it, that he has behaved in the most gentlemanlikeand generous manner, and has confirmed me in a mostfavourable opinion of his understanding, heart, and temper.Upon my representation 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 shouldrequest to speak with you alone, be it only for five minutes;a request too natural, a claim too just to be denied.But there is no time fixed; perhaps to-morrow, or wheneveryour spirits are composed enough. For the present youhave only to tranquillise yourself. Check these tears;they do but exhaust you. If, as I am willing to suppose,you wish to shew me any observance, you will not giveway to these emotions, but endeavour to reason yourselfinto 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 thebetter for air and exercise. And, Fanny" (turning backagain for a moment), "I shall make no mention below ofwhat 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 wasan act of kindness which Fanny felt at her heart.To be spared from her aunt Norris's interminablereproaches! he left her in a glow of gratitude.Anything might be bearable rather than such reproaches.Even to see Mr. Crawford would be less overpowering.She walked out directly, as her uncle recommended,and followed his advice throughout, as far as she could;did check her tears; did earnestly try to compose her spiritsand strengthen her mind. She wished to prove to him that shedid 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 nowan object worth attaining; and she felt equal to almostanything that might save her from her aunt Norris.She was struck, quite struck, when, on returning from herwalk and going into the East room again, the first thingwhich caught her eye was a fire lighted and burning.A fire! it seemed too much; just at that time to be givingher such an indulgence was exciting even painful gratitude.She wondered that Sir Thomas could have leisure to thinkof such a trifle again; but she soon found, from the voluntaryinformation of the housemaid, who came in to attend it,that so it was to be every day. Sir Thomas had givenorders for it."I must be a brute, indeed, if I can be really ungrateful!"said she, in soliloquy. "Heaven defend me frombeing ungrateful!"She saw nothing more of her uncle, nor of her aunt Norris,till they met at dinner. Her uncle's behaviour to herwas 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 shefound how much and how unpleasantly her having only walkedout without her aunt's knowledge could be dwelt on,she felt all the reason she had to bless the kindnesswhich saved her from the same spirit of reproach,exerted on a more momentous subject."If I had known you were going out, I should have got youjust 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 illspare the time, and you might have saved me the trouble,if you would only have been so good as to let us know youwere going out. It would have made no difference to you,I suppose, whether you had walked in the shrubbery or goneto 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 notknow how dry the path is to my house. Fanny would havehad quite as good a walk there, I assure you, with theadvantage of being of some use, and obliging her aunt:it is all her fault. If she would but have let us knowshe was going out but there is a something about Fanny,I have often observed it before--she likes to go herown way to work; she does 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 getthe better of."As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir Thomas thoughtnothing could be more unjust, though he had been so latelyexpressing the same sentiments himself, and he tried to turnthe conversation: 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 hethought well of his niece, or how very far he was fromwishing to have his own children's merits set off bythe 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 withmore composure to Fanny, and more cheerfulness of spiritsthan she could have hoped for after so stormy a morning;but she trusted, in the first place, that she had done right:that her judgment had not misled her. For the purityof her intentions she could answer; and she was willingto hope, secondly, that her uncle's displeasure was abating,and would abate farther as he considered the matter withmore 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 themorrow was past, she could not but flatter herself thatthe subject would be finally concluded, and Mr. Crawfordonce gone from Mansfield, that everything would soonbe as if no such subject had existed. She would not,could not believe, that Mr. Crawford's affection for hercould distress him long; his mind was not of that sort.London would soon bring its cure. In London he wouldsoon learn to wonder at his infatuation, and be thankfulfor the right reason in her which had saved him from itsevil consequences.While Fanny's mind was engaged in these sort of hopes,her uncle was, soon after tea, called out of the room;an occurrence too common to strike her, and she thought nothingof it till the butler reappeared ten minutes afterwards,and advancing decidedly towards herself, said, "Sir Thomaswishes to speak with you, ma'am, in his own room."Then it occurred to her what might be going on; a suspicionrushed over her mind which drove the colour from her cheeks;but instantly rising, she was preparing to obey, when Mrs. Norriscalled out, "Stay, stay, Fanny! what are you about? whereare you going? don't be in such a hurry. Depend upon it,it is not you who are wanted; depend upon it, it is me"(looking at the butler); "but you are so very eager to putyourself 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 wasa half-smile with the words, which meant, "I do not thinkyou would answer the purpose at all."Mrs. Norris, much discontented, was obliged to composeherself to work again; and Fanny, walking off inagitating consciousness, found herself, as she anticipated,in another minute alone with Mr. Crawford.


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