Chapter XXXV

by Jane Austen

　　Edmund had determined that it belonged entirely to Fannyto chuse whether her situation with regard to Crawfordshould be mentioned between them or not; and that if shedid not lead the way, it should never be touched on by him;but after a day or two of mutual reserve, he was inducedby his father to change his mind, and try what his influencemight do for his friend.A day, and a very early day, was actually fixed forthe Crawfords' departure; and Sir Thomas thought itmight be as well to make one more effort for the youngman before he left Mansfield, that all his professionsand vows of unshaken attachment might have as muchhope to sustain them as possible.Sir Thomas was most cordially anxious for the perfectionof Mr. Crawford's character in that point. He wished himto be a model of constancy; and fancied the best meansof effecting it would be by not trying him too long.Edmund was not unwilling to be persuaded to engagein the business; he wanted to know Fanny's feelings.She had been used to consult him in every difficulty,and he loved her too well to bear to be denied herconfidence now; he hoped to be of service to her, he thoughthe must be of service to her; whom else had she to openher heart to? If she did not need counsel, she must needthe comfort of communication. Fanny estranged from him,silent and reserved, was an unnatural state of things;a state which he must break through, and which he couldeasily learn to think she was wanting him to break through."I will speak to her, sir: I will take the first opportunityof speaking to her alone," was the result of such thoughtsas these; and upon Sir Thomas's information of herbeing at that very time walking alone in the shrubbery,he instantly joined her."I am come to walk with you, Fanny," said he. "Shall I?"Drawing her arm within his. "It is a long while since wehave had a comfortable walk together."She assented to it all rather by look than word.Her spirits were low."But, Fanny," he presently added, "in order to have acomfortable walk, something more is necessary than merelypacing this gravel together. You must talk to me.I know you have something on your mind. I know what youare thinking of. You cannot suppose me uninformed.Am I to hear of it from everybody but Fanny herself?"Fanny, at once agitated and dejected, replied, "If youhear of it from everybody, cousin, there can be nothingfor me to tell.""Not of facts, perhaps; but of feelings, Fanny.No one but you can tell me them. I do not mean topress you, however. If it is not what you wish yourself,I have done. I had thought it might be a relief.""I am afraid we think too differently for me to findany relief in talking of what I feel.""Do you suppose that we think differently? I have no ideaof it. I dare say that, on a comparison of our opinions,they would be found as much alike as they have been used to be:to the point--I consider Crawford's proposals as mostadvantageous and desirable, if you could return his affection.I consider it as most natural that all your familyshould wish you could return it; but that, as you cannot,you have done exactly as you ought in refusing him.Can there be any disagreement between us here?""Oh no! But I thought you blamed me. I thought youwere against me. This is such a comfort!""This comfort you might have had sooner, Fanny, had yousought it. But how could you possibly suppose me against you?How could you imagine me an advocate for marriage without love?Were I even careless in general on such matters, how couldyou imagine me so where your happiness was at stake?""My uncle thought me wrong, and I knew he had been talkingto you.""As far as you have gone, Fanny, I think you perfectly right.I may be sorry, I may be surprised--though hardly _that_,for you had not had time to attach yourself--but I thinkyou perfectly right. Can it admit of a question?It is disgraceful to us if it does. You did not love him;nothing could have justified your accepting him."Fanny had not felt so comfortable for days and days."So far your conduct has been faultless, and they were quitemistaken who wished you to do otherwise. But the matterdoes not end here. Crawford's is no common attachment;he perseveres, with the hope of creating that regardwhich had not been created before. This, we know,must be a work of time. But" (with an affectionate smile)"let him succeed at last, Fanny, let him succeed at last.You have proved yourself upright and disinterested,prove yourself grateful and tender-hearted; and then youwill be the perfect model of a woman which I have alwaysbelieved you born for.""Oh! never, never, never! he never will succeed with me."And she spoke with a warmth which quite astonished Edmund,and which she blushed at the recollection of herself,when she saw his look, and heard him reply, "Never! Fanny!--so very determined and positive! This is not like yourself,your rational self.""I mean," she cried, sorrowfully correcting herself,"that I _think_ I never shall, as far as the future canbe answered for; I think I never shall return his regard.""I must hope better things. I am aware, more awarethan Crawford can be, that the man who means to makeyou love him (you having due notice of his intentions)must have very uphill work, for there are all your earlyattachments and habits in battle array; and before hecan get your heart for his own use he has to unfasten itfrom all the holds upon things animate and inanimate,which so many years' growth have confirmed, and which areconsiderably tightened for the moment by the very ideaof separation. I know that the apprehension of beingforced to quit Mansfield will for a time be arming youagainst him. I wish he had not been obliged to tell youwhat he was trying for. I wish he had known you as well asI do, Fanny. Between us, I think we should have won you.My theoretical and his practical knowledge together couldnot have failed. He should have worked upon my plans.I must hope, however, that time, proving him (as I firmlybelieve it will) to deserve you by his steady affection,will give him his reward. I cannot suppose that you havenot the _wish_ to love him--the natural wish of gratitude.You must have some feeling of that sort. You must be sorryfor your own indifference.""We are so totally unlike," said Fanny, avoiding adirect answer, "we are so very, very different in allour inclinations and ways, that I consider it as quiteimpossible we should ever be tolerably happy together,even if I _could_ like him. There never were two peoplemore dissimilar. We have not one taste in common.We should be miserable."You are mistaken, Fanny. The dissimilarity is not so strong.You are quite enough alike. You _have_ tastes in common.You have moral and literary tastes in common. You haveboth warm hearts and benevolent feelings; and, Fanny,who that heard him read, and saw you listen to Shakespearethe other night, will think you unfitted as companions?You forget yourself: there is a decided differencein your tempers, I allow. He is lively, you are serious;but so much the better: his spirits will support yours.It is your disposition to be easily dejected and to fancydifficulties greater than they are. His cheerfulnesswill counteract this. He sees difficulties nowhere:and his pleasantness and gaiety will be a constant supportto you. Your being so far unlike, Fanny, does not inthe smallest degree make against the probability of yourhappiness together: do not imagine it. I am myselfconvinced that it is rather a favourable circumstance.I am perfectly persuaded that the tempers had better be unlike:I mean unlike in the flow of the spirits, in the manners,in the inclination for much or little company, in thepropensity to talk or to be silent, to be grave or to be gay.Some opposition here is, I am thoroughly convinced,friendly to matrimonial happiness. I exclude extremes,of course; and a very close resemblance in all thosepoints would be the likeliest way to produce an extreme.A counteraction, gentle and continual, is the best safeguardof manners and conduct."Full well could Fanny guess where his thoughts were now:Miss Crawford's power was all returning. He had beenspeaking of her cheerfully from the hour of his coming home.His avoiding her was quite at an end. He had dined at theParsonage only the preceding day.After leaving him to his happier thoughts for some minutes,Fanny, feeling it due to herself, returned to Mr. Crawford,and said, "It is not merely in _temper_ that I considerhim as totally unsuited to myself; though, in _that_respect, I think the difference between us too great,infinitely too great: his spirits often oppress me;but there is something in him which I object to still more.I must say, cousin, that I cannot approve his character.I have not thought well of him from the time of the play.I then saw him behaving, as it appeared to me, so veryimproperly and unfeelingly--I may speak of it now becauseit is all over--so improperly by poor Mr. Rushworth,not seeming to care how he exposed or hurt him,and paying attentions to my cousin Maria, which--in short,at the time of the play, I received an impression whichwill never be got over.""My dear Fanny," replied Edmund, scarcely hearing herto the end, "let us not, any of us, be judged by what weappeared at that period of general folly. The time of theplay is a time which I hate to recollect. Maria was wrong,Crawford was wrong, we were all wrong together; but noneso wrong as myself. Compared with me, all the restwere blameless. I was playing the fool with my eyes open.""As a bystander," said Fanny, "perhaps I saw more thanyou did; and I do think that Mr. Rushworth was sometimesvery jealous.""Very possibly. No wonder. Nothing could be more improperthan the whole business. I am shocked whenever I thinkthat Maria could be capable of it; but, if she couldundertake the part, we must not be surprised at the rest.""Before the play, I am much mistaken if _Julia_ didnot think he was paying her attentions."Julia! I have heard before from some one of his beingin love with Julia; but I could never see anything of it.And, Fanny, though I hope I do justice to my sisters'good qualities, I think it very possible that they might,one or both, be more desirous of being admired by Crawford,and might shew that desire rather more unguardedly than wasperfectly prudent. I can remember that they were evidentlyfond of his society; and with such encouragement, a manlike Crawford, lively, and it may be, a little unthinking,might be led on to--there could be nothing very striking,because it is clear that he had no pretensions: his heartwas reserved for you. And I must say, that its beingfor you has raised him inconceivably in my opinion.It does him the highest honour; it shews his proper estimationof the blessing of domestic happiness and pure attachment.It proves him unspoilt by his uncle. It proves him, in short,everything that I had been used to wish to believe him,and feared he was not.""I am persuaded that he does not think, as he ought,on serious subjects.""Say, rather, that he has not thought at all upon serioussubjects, which I believe to be a good deal the case.How could it be otherwise, with such an education and adviser?Under the disadvantages, indeed, which both have had,is it not wonderful that they should be what they are?Crawford's _feelings_, I am ready to acknowledge, have hithertobeen too much his guides. Happily, those feelings havegenerally been good. You will supply the rest; and a mostfortunate man he is to attach himself to such a creature--to a woman who, firm as a rock in her own principles, has agentleness of character so well adapted to recommend them.He has chosen his partner, indeed, with rare felicity.He will make you happy, Fanny; I know he will make you happy;but you will make him everything.""I would not engage in such a charge," cried Fanny, in ashrinking accent; "in such an office of high responsibility!""As usual, believing yourself unequal to anything!fancying everything too much for you! Well, though Imay not be able to persuade you into different feelings,you will be persuaded into them, I trust.I confess myself sincerely anxious that you may.I have no common interest in Crawford's well-doing. Nextto your happiness, Fanny, his has the first claim on me.You are aware of my having no common interest in Crawford."Fanny was too well aware of it to have anything to say;and they walked on together some fifty yards in mutualsilence and abstraction. Edmund first began again--"I was very much pleased by her manner of speakingof it yesterday, particularly pleased, because I had notdepended upon her seeing everything in so just a light.I knew she was very fond of you; but yet I was afraidof her not estimating your worth to her brother quiteas it deserved, and of her regretting that he had notrather fixed on some woman of distinction or fortune.I was afraid of the bias of those worldly maxims, which shehas been too much used to hear. But it was very different.She spoke of you, Fanny, just as she ought. She desiresthe connexion as warmly as your uncle or myself.We had a long talk about it. I should not have mentionedthe subject, though very anxious to know her sentiments;but I had not been in the room five minutes before shebegan introducing it with all that openness of heart,and sweet peculiarity of manner, that spirit and ingenuousnesswhich are so much a part of herself. Mrs. Grant laughedat her for her rapidity.""Was Mrs. Grant in the room, then?""Yes, when I reached the house I found the two sisterstogether by themselves; and when once we had begun,we had not done with you, Fanny, till Crawford and Dr. Grantcame in.""It is above a week since I saw Miss Crawford.""Yes, she laments it; yet owns it may have been best.You will see her, however, before she goes. She is veryangry with you, Fanny; you must be prepared for that.She calls herself very angry, but you can imagine her anger.It is the regret and disappointment of a sister,who thinks her brother has a right to everything he maywish for, at the first moment. She is hurt, as you wouldbe for William; but she loves and esteems you with allher heart.""I knew she would be very angry with me.""My dearest Fanny," cried Edmund, pressing her arm closerto him, "do not let the idea of her anger distress you.It is anger to be talked of rather than felt. Her heartis made for love and kindness, not for resentment.I wish you could have overheard her tribute of praise;I wish you could have seen her countenance, when she saidthat you _should_ be Henry's wife. And I observed that shealways spoke of you as 'Fanny,' which she was never used to do;and it had a sound of most sisterly cordiality.""And Mrs. Grant, did she say--did she speak; was shethere all the time?""Yes, she was agreeing exactly with her sister. The surpriseof your refusal, Fanny, seems to have been unbounded.That you could refuse such a man as Henry Crawford seemsmore than they can understand. I said what I could for you;but in good truth, as they stated the case--you mustprove yourself to be in your senses as soon as you canby a different conduct; nothing else will satisfy them.But this is teasing you. I have done. Do not turn awayfrom me.""I _should_ have thought," said Fanny, after a pauseof recollection and exertion, "that every woman musthave felt the possibility of a man's not being approved,not being loved by some one of her sex at least, let himbe ever so generally agreeable. Let him have all theperfections in the world, I think it ought not to be setdown as certain that a man must be acceptable to everywoman he may happen to like himself. But, even supposingit is so, allowing Mr. Crawford to have all the claimswhich his sisters think he has, how was I to be preparedto meet him with any feeling answerable to his own?He took me wholly by surprise. I had not an idea thathis behaviour to me before had any meaning; and surely Iwas not to be teaching myself to like him only becausehe was taking what seemed very idle notice of me.In my situation, it would have been the extreme of vanityto be forming expectations on Mr. Crawford. I am surehis sisters, rating him as they do, must have thought it so,supposing he had meant nothing. How, then, was I to be--to be in love with him the moment he said he was with me?How was I to have an attachment at his service, as soonas it was asked for? His sisters should consider meas well as him. The higher his deserts, the more improperfor me ever to have thought of him. And, and--we thinkvery differently of the nature of women, if they can imaginea woman so very soon capable of returning an affectionas this seems to imply.""My dear, dear Fanny, now I have the truth. I know thisto be the truth; and most worthy of you are such feelings.I had attributed them to you before. I thought I couldunderstand you. You have now given exactly the explanationwhich I ventured to make for you to your friend and Mrs. Grant,and they were both better satisfied, though your warm-heartedfriend was still run away with a little by the enthusiasmof her fondness for Henry. I told them that you wereof all human creatures the one over whom habit had mostpower and novelty least; and that the very circumstanceof the novelty of Crawford's addresses was against him.Their being so new and so recent was all in their disfavour;that you could tolerate nothing that you were not used to;and a great deal more to the same purpose, to give thema knowledge of your character. Miss Crawford made uslaugh by her plans of encouragement for her brother.She meant to urge him to persevere in the hope of beingloved in time, and of having his addresses most kindlyreceived at the end of about ten years' happy marriage."Fanny could with difficulty give the smile that washere asked for. Her feelings were all in revolt.She feared she had been doing wrong: saying too much,overacting the caution which she had been fancying necessary;in guarding against one evil, laying herself opento another; and to have Miss Crawford's livelinessrepeated to her at such a moment, and on such a subject,was a bitter aggravation.Edmund saw weariness and distress in her face,and immediately resolved to forbear all farther discussion;and not even to mention the name of Crawford again,except as it might be connected with what _must_ be agreeableto her. On this principle, he soon afterwards observed--"They go on Monday. You are sure, therefore, of seeingyour friend either to-morrow or Sunday. They really goon Monday; and I was within a trifle of being persuadedto stay at Lessingby till that very day! I had almostpromised it. What a difference it might have made!Those five or six days more at Lessingby might have beenfelt all my life.""You were near staying there?""Very. I was most kindly pressed, and had nearly consented.Had I received any letter from Mansfield, to tell me how youwere all going on, I believe I should certainly have staid;but I knew nothing that had happened here for a fortnight,and felt that I had been away long enough.""You spent your time pleasantly there?""Yes; that is, it was the fault of my own mind if I did not.They were all very pleasant. I doubt their finding me so.I took uneasiness with me, and there was no getting ridof it till I was in Mansfield again.""The Miss Owens--you liked them, did not you?""Yes, very well. Pleasant, good-humoured, unaffected girls.But I am spoilt, Fanny, for common female society.Good-humoured, unaffected girls will not do for a manwho has been used to sensible women. They are two distinctorders of being. You and Miss Crawford have made metoo nice."Still, however, Fanny was oppressed and wearied;he saw it in her looks, it could not be talked away;and attempting it no more, he led her directly, with thekind authority of a privileged guardian, into the house.