Chapter XXXIV

by Jane Austen

　　Edmund had great things to hear on his return. Many surpriseswere awaiting him. The first that occurred was not leastin interest: the appearance of Henry Crawford and his sisterwalking together through the village as he rode into it.He had concluded--he had meant them to be far distant.His absence had been extended beyond a fortnight purposelyto avoid Miss Crawford. He was returning to Mansfieldwith spirits ready to feed on melancholy remembrances,and tender associations, when her own fair self wasbefore him, leaning on her brother's arm, and he foundhimself receiving a welcome, unquestionably friendly,from the woman whom, two moments before, he had beenthinking of as seventy miles off, and as farther,much farther, from him in inclination than any distancecould express.Her reception of him was of a sort which he could nothave hoped for, had he expected to see her. Coming as hedid from such a purport fulfilled as had taken him away,he would have expected anything rather than a lookof satisfaction, and words of simple, pleasant meaning.It was enough to set his heart in a glow, and to bring himhome in the properest state for feeling the full valueof the other joyful surprises at hand.William's promotion, with all its particulars, he was soonmaster of; and with such a secret provision of comfortwithin his own breast to help the joy, he found in ita source of most gratifying sensation and unvaryingcheerfulness all dinner-time.After dinner, when he and his father were alone,he had Fanny's history; and then all the great eventsof the last fortnight, and the present situationof matters at Mansfield were known to him.Fanny suspected what was going on. They sat so muchlonger than usual in the dining-parlour, that she was surethey must be talking of her; and when tea at last broughtthem away, and she was to be seen by Edmund again, she feltdreadfully guilty. He came to her, sat down by her,took her hand, and pressed it kindly; and at that momentshe thought that, but for the occupation and the scenewhich the tea-things afforded, she must have betrayedher emotion in some unpardonable excess.He was not intending, however, by such action,to be conveying to her that unqualified approbationand encouragement which her hopes drew from it.It was designed only to express his participation in allthat interested her, and to tell her that he had beenhearing what quickened every feeling of affection. He was,in fact, entirely on his father's side of the question.His surprise was not so great as his father's at herrefusing Crawford, because, so far from supposingher to consider him with anything like a preference,he had always believed it to be rather the reverse,and could imagine her to be taken perfectly unprepared,but Sir Thomas could not regard the connexion as moredesirable than he did. It had every recommendation to him;and while honouring her for what she had done under theinfluence of her present indifference, honouring her inrather stronger terms than Sir Thomas could quite echo,he was most earnest in hoping, and sanguine in believing,that it would be a match at last, and that, united bymutual affection, it would appear that their dispositionswere as exactly fitted to make them blessed in each other,as he was now beginning seriously to consider them.Crawford had been too precipitate. He had not given hertime to attach herself. He had begun at the wrong end.With such powers as his, however, and such a dispositionas hers, Edmund trusted that everything would workout a happy conclusion. Meanwhile, he saw enoughof Fanny's embarrassment to make him scrupulously guardagainst exciting it a second time, by any word, or look,or movement.Crawford called the next day, and on the score of Edmund'sreturn, Sir Thomas felt himself more than licensed to askhim to stay dinner; it was really a necessary compliment.He staid of course, and Edmund had then ample opportunityfor observing how he sped with Fanny, and what degreeof immediate encouragement for him might be extracted fromher manners; and it was so little, so very, very little--every chance, every possibility of it, resting upon herembarrassment only; if there was not hope in her confusion,there was hope in nothing else--that he was almost readyto wonder at his friend's perseverance. Fanny was worthit all; he held her to be worth every effort of patience,every exertion of mind, but he did not think he could havegone on himself with any woman breathing, without somethingmore to warm his courage than his eyes could discern in hers.He was very willing to hope that Crawford saw clearer,and this was the most comfortable conclusion for hisfriend that he could come to from all that he observedto pass before, and at, and after dinner.In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thoughtmore promising. When he and Crawford walked into thedrawing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting as intentlyand silently at work as if there were nothing else to care for.Edmund could not help noticing their apparently deep tranquillity."We have not been so silent all the time," replied his mother."Fanny has been reading to me, and only put the bookdown upon hearing you coming." And sure enough therewas a book on the table which had the air of beingvery recently closed: a volume of Shakespeare."She often reads to me out of those books; and shewas in the middle of a very fine speech of that man's--what's his name, Fanny?--when we heard your footsteps."Crawford took the volume. "Let me have the pleasureof finishing that speech to your ladyship," said he."I shall find it immediately." And by carefully givingway to the inclination of the leaves, he did find it,or within a page or two, quite near enough to satisfyLady Bertram, who assured him, as soon as he mentioned thename of Cardinal Wolsey, that he had got the very speech.Not a look or an offer of help had Fanny given; not a syllablefor or against. All her attention was for her work.She seemed determined to be interested by nothing else.But taste was too strong in her. She could not abstracther mind five minutes: she was forced to listen; his readingwas capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme.To _good_ reading, however, she had been long used:her uncle read well, her cousins all, Edmund very well,but in Mr. Crawford's reading there was a variety ofexcellence beyond what she had ever met with. The King,the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, Cromwell, all were givenin turn; for with the happiest knack, the happiestpower of jumping and guessing, he could always alightat will on the best scene, or the best speeches of each;and whether it were dignity, or pride, or tenderness,or remorse, or whatever were to be expressed, he coulddo it with equal beauty. It was truly dramatic.His acting had first taught Fanny what pleasure a playmight give, and his reading brought all his acting beforeher again; nay, perhaps with greater enjoyment, for itcame unexpectedly, and with no such drawback as she hadbeen used to suffer in seeing him on the stage with MissBertram.Edmund watched the progress of her attention, and wasamused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackenedin the needlework, which at the beginning seemed tooccupy her totally: how it fell from her hand whileshe sat motionless over it, and at last, how the eyeswhich had appeared so studiously to avoid him throughoutthe day were turned and fixed on Crawford--fixed on himfor minutes, fixed on him, in short, till the attractiondrew Crawford's upon her, and the book was closed,and the charm was broken. Then she was shrinking againinto herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever;but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragementfor his friend, and as he cordially thanked him,he hoped to be expressing Fanny's secret feelings too."That play must be a favourite with you," said he;"you read as if you knew it well.""It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour,"replied Crawford; "but I do not think I have had a volumeof Shakespeare in my hand before since I was fifteen.I once saw Henry the Eighth acted, or I have heardof it from somebody who did, I am not certain which.But Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how.It is a part of an Englishman's constitution. His thoughtsand beauties are so spread abroad that one touchesthem everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct.No man of any brain can open at a good part of oneof his plays without falling into the flow of hismeaning immediately.""No doubt one is familiar with Shakespeare in a degree,"said Edmund, "from one's earliest years. His celebratedpassages are quoted by everybody; they are in halfthe books we open, and we all talk Shakespeare,use his similes, and describe with his descriptions;but this is totally distinct from giving his sense as yougave it. To know him in bits and scraps is common enough;to know him pretty thoroughly is, perhaps, not uncommon;but to read him well aloud is no everyday talent.""Sir, you do me honour," was Crawford's answer, with a bowof mock gravity.Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a wordof accordant praise could be extorted from her; yet bothfeeling that it could not be. Her praise had been givenin her attention; _that_ must content them.Lady Bertram's admiration was expressed, and strongly too."It was really like being at a play," said she. "I wishSir Thomas had been here."Crawford was excessively pleased. If Lady Bertram,with all her incompetency and languor, could feel this,the inference of what her niece, alive and enlightenedas she was, must feel, was elevating."You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford,"said her ladyship soon afterwards; "and I will tell you what,I think you will have a theatre, some time or other,at your house in Norfolk. I mean when you are settled there.I do indeed. I think you will fit up a theatre at yourhouse in Norfolk.""Do you, ma'am?" cried he, with quickness. "No, no,that will never be. Your ladyship is quite mistaken.No theatre at Everingham! Oh no!" And he looked at Fannywith an expressive smile, which evidently meant, "That ladywill never allow a theatre at Everingham."Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined _not_ to see it,as to make it clear that the voice was enough to conveythe full meaning of the protestation; and such a quickconsciousness of compliment, such a ready comprehensionof a hint, he thought, was rather favourable than not.The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed.The two young men were the only talkers, but they,standing by the fire, talked over the too common neglectof the qualification, the total inattention to it, in theordinary school-system for boys, the consequently natural,yet in some instances almost unnatural, degree of ignoranceand uncouthness of men, of sensible and well-informed men,when suddenly called to the necessity of reading aloud,which had fallen within their notice, giving instancesof blunders, and failures with their secondary causes,the want of management of the voice, of proper modulationand emphasis, of foresight and judgment, all proceedingfrom the first cause: want of early attention and habit;and Fanny was listening again with great entertainment."Even in my profession," said Edmund, with a smile,"how little the art of reading has been studied! how littlea clear manner, and good delivery, have been attended to!I speak rather of the past, however, than the present.There is now a spirit of improvement abroad; but amongthose who were ordained twenty, thirty, forty years ago,the larger number, to judge by their performance,must have thought reading was reading, and preachingwas preaching. It is different now. The subject is morejustly considered. It is felt that distinctness and energymay have weight in recommending the most solid truths;and besides, there is more general observation and taste,a more critical knowledge diffused than formerly;in every congregation there is a larger proportionwho know a little of the matter, and who can judgeand criticise."Edmund had already gone through the service once sincehis ordination; and upon this being understood, he hada variety of questions from Crawford as to his feelingsand success; questions, which being made, though with thevivacity of friendly interest and quick taste, without anytouch of that spirit of banter or air of levity which Edmundknew to be most offensive to Fanny, he had true pleasurein satisfying; and when Crawford proceeded to ask hisopinion and give his own as to the properest manner in whichparticular passages in the service should be delivered,shewing it to be a subject on which he had thought before,and thought with judgment, Edmund was still more andmore pleased. This would be the way to Fanny's heart.She was not to be won by all that gallantry and wit andgood-nature together could do; or, at least, she wouldnot be won by them nearly so soon, without the assistanceof sentiment and feeling, and seriousness on serious subjects"Our liturgy," observed Crawford, "has beauties, which noteven a careless, slovenly style of reading can destroy;but it has also redundancies and repetitions which requiregood reading not to be felt. For myself, at least, I mustconfess being not always so attentive as I ought to be"(here was a glance at Fanny); "that nineteen times out oftwenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read,and longing to have it to read myself. Did you speak?"stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing her in asoftened voice; and upon her saying "No," he added,"Are you sure you did not speak? I saw your lips move.I fancied you might be going to tell me I ought to bemore attentive, and not _allow_ my thoughts to wander.Are not you going to tell me so?""No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to--even supposing--"She stopt, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and couldnot be prevailed on to add another word, not by dintof several minutes of supplication and waiting. He thenreturned to his former station, and went on as if therehad been no such tender interruption."A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than prayerswell read. A sermon, good in itself, is no rare thing.It is more difficult to speak well than to compose well;that is, the rules and trick of composition areoftener an object of study. A thoroughly good sermon,thoroughly well delivered, is a capital gratification.I can never hear such a one without the greatest admirationand respect, and more than half a mind to take ordersand preach myself. There is something in the eloquenceof the pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitledto the highest praise and honour. The preacher who cantouch and affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers,on subjects limited, and long worn threadbare in allcommon hands; who can say anything new or striking,anything that rouses the attention without offending the taste,or wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whomone could not, in his public capacity, honour enough.I should like to be such a man."Edmund laughed."I should indeed. I never listened to a distinguishedpreacher in my life without a sort of envy. But then,I must have a London audience. I could not preach butto the educated; to those who were capable of estimatingmy composition. And I do not know that I should be fondof preaching often; now and then, perhaps once or twicein the spring, after being anxiously expected for halfa dozen Sundays together; but not for a constancy;it would not do for a constancy."Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily shookher head, and Crawford was instantly by her side again,entreating to know her meaning; and as Edmund perceived,by his drawing in a chair, and sitting down close by her,that it was to be a very thorough attack, that looksand undertones were to be well tried, he sank as quietlyas possible into a corner, turned his back, and took upa newspaper, very sincerely wishing that dear littleFanny might be persuaded into explaining away that shakeof the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover;and as earnestly trying to bury every sound of the businessfrom himself in murmurs of his own, over the variousadvertisements of "A most desirable Estate in SouthWales"; "To Parents and Guardians"; and a "Capitalseason'd Hunter."Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself for not having beenas motionless as she was speechless, and grieved to the heartto see Edmund's arrangements, was trying by everythingin the power of her modest, gentle nature, to repulseMr. Crawford, and avoid both his looks and inquiries;and he, unrepulsable, was persisting in both."What did that shake of the head mean?" said he. "What wasit meant to express? Disapprobation, I fear. But of what?What had I been saying to displease you? Did you think mespeaking improperly, lightly, irreverently on the subject?Only tell me if I was. Only tell me if I was wrong.I want to be set right. Nay, nay, I entreat you;for one moment put down your work. What did that shakeof the head mean?"In vain was her "Pray, sir, don't; pray, Mr. Crawford,"repeated twice over; and in vain did she try to move away.In the same low, eager voice, and the same close neighbourhood,he went on, reurging the same questions as before.She grew more agitated and displeased."How can you, sir? You quite astonish me; I wonderhow you can--""Do I astonish you?" said he. "Do you wonder? Is thereanything in my present entreaty that you do not understand?I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urgeyou in this manner, all that gives me an interest inwhat you look and do, and excites my present curiosity.I will not leave you to wonder long."In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile,but she said nothing."You shook your head at my acknowledging that I shouldnot like to engage in the duties of a clergyman alwaysfor a constancy. Yes, that was the word. Constancy: I amnot afraid of the word. I would spell it, read it,write it with anybody. I see nothing alarming in the word.Did you think I ought?""Perhaps, sir," said Fanny, wearied at last into speaking--"perhaps, sir, I thought it was a pity you did not alwaysknow yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment."Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate,was determined to keep it up; and poor Fanny, who hadhoped to silence him by such an extremity of reproof,found herself sadly mistaken, and that it was only a changefrom one object of curiosity and one set of words to another.He had always something to entreat the explanation of.The opportunity was too fair. None such had occurredsince his seeing her in her uncle's room, none such mightoccur again before his leaving Mansfield. Lady Bertram'sbeing just on the other side of the table was a trifle,for she might always be considered as only half-awake, andEdmund's advertisements were still of the first utility."Well," said Crawford, after a course of rapid questionsand reluctant answers; "I am happier than I was, because Inow understand more clearly your opinion of me. You thinkme unsteady: easily swayed by the whim of the moment,easily tempted, easily put aside. With such an opinion,no wonder that. But we shall see. It is not by protestationsthat I shall endeavour to convince you I am wronged;it is not by telling you that my affections are steady.My conduct shall speak for me; absence, distance, time shallspeak for me. _They_ shall prove that, as far as youcan be deserved by anybody, I do deserve you. You areinfinitely my superior in merit; all _that_ I know.You have qualities which I had not before supposedto exist in such a degree in any human creature.You have some touches of the angel in you beyond what--not merely beyond what one sees, because one never seesanything like it--but beyond what one fancies might be.But still I am not frightened. It is not by equality ofmerit that you can be won. That is out of the question.It is he who sees and worships your merit the strongest,who loves you most devotedly, that has the bestright to a return. There I build my confidence.By that right I do and will deserve you; and when onceconvinced that my attachment is what I declare it,I know you too well not to entertain the warmest hopes.Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny. Nay" (seeing her draw backdispleased), "forgive me. Perhaps I have as yet no right;but by what other name can I call you? Do you supposeyou are ever present to my imagination under any other?No, it is 'Fanny' that I think of all day, and dreamof all night. You have given the name such realityof sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptiveof you."Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer,or have refrained from at least trying to get away inspite of all the too public opposition she foresaw to it,had it not been for the sound of approaching relief,the very sound which she had been long watching for,and long thinking strangely delayed.The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of tea-board, urn,and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and deliveredher from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind.Mr. Crawford was obliged to move. She was at liberty,she was busy, she was protected.Edmund was not sorry to be admitted again among thenumber of those who might speak and hear. But thoughthe conference had seemed full long to him, and thoughon looking at Fanny he saw rather a flush of vexation,he inclined to hope that so much could not have beensaid and listened to without some profit to the speaker.