Chapter XXXVI

by Jane Austen

　　Edmund now believed himself perfectly acquainted with allthat Fanny could tell, or could leave to be conjecturedof her sentiments, and he was satisfied. It had been,as he before presumed, too hasty a measure on Crawford's side,and time must be given to make the idea first familiar,and then agreeable to her. She must be used to theconsideration of his being in love with her, and thena return of affection might not be very distant.He gave this opinion as the result of the conversationto his father; and recommended there being nothing more saidto her: no farther attempts to influence or persuade;but that everything should be left to Crawford's assiduities,and the natural workings of her own mind.Sir Thomas promised that it should be so. Edmund's accountof Fanny's disposition he could believe to be just;he supposed she had all those feelings, but he must considerit as very unfortunate that she _had_; for, less willingthan his son to trust to the future, he could not helpfearing that if such very long allowances of time and habitwere necessary for her, she might not have persuadedherself into receiving his addresses properly beforethe young man's inclination for paying them were over.There was nothing to be done, however, but to submitquietly and hope the best.The promised visit from "her friend," as Edmund calledMiss Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny,and she lived in continual terror of it. As a sister,so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of whatshe said, and in another light so triumphant and secure,she was in every way an object of painful alarm.Her displeasure, her penetration, and her happiness wereall fearful to encounter; and the dependence of havingothers present when they met was Fanny's only supportin looking forward to it. She absented herself as littleas possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the East room,and took no solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her cautionto avoid any sudden attack.She succeeded. She was safe in the breakfast-room, with her aunt,when Miss Crawford did come; and the first misery over,and Miss Crawford looking and speaking with much lessparticularity of expression than she had anticipated,Fanny began to hope there would be nothing worseto be endured than a half-hour of moderate agitation.But here she hoped too much; Miss Crawford was not the slaveof opportunity. She was determined to see Fanny alone,and therefore said to her tolerably soon, in a low voice,"I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere";words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her pulsesand all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habitsof ready submission, on the contrary, made her almostinstantly rise and lead the way out of the room.She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable.They were no sooner in the hall than all restraintof countenance was over on Miss Crawford's side.She immediately shook her head at Fanny with arch,yet affectionate reproach, and taking her hand,seemed hardly able to help beginning directly.She said nothing, however, but, "Sad, sad girl!I do not know when I shall have done scolding you,"and had discretion enough to reserve the rest till theymight be secure of having four walls to themselves.Fanny naturally turned upstairs, and took her guest to theapartment which was now always fit for comfortable use;opening the door, however, with a most aching heart,and feeling that she had a more distressing scene beforeher than ever that spot had yet witnessed. But the evilready to burst on her was at least delayed by the suddenchange in Miss Crawford's ideas; by the strong effecton her mind which the finding herself in the East roomagain produced."Ha!" she cried, with instant animation, "am I here again?The East room! Once only was I in this room before";and after stopping to look about her, and seeminglyto retrace all that had then passed, she added, "Onceonly before. Do you remember it? I came to rehearse.Your cousin came too; and we had a rehearsal. You wereour audience and prompter. A delightful rehearsal.I shall never forget it. Here we were, just in thispart of the room: here was your cousin, here was I,here were the chairs. Oh! why will such things everpass away?"Happily for her companion, she wanted no answer.Her mind was entirely self-engrossed. She was in a reverieof sweet remembrances."The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable!The subject of it so very--very--what shall I say?He was to be describing and recommending matrimony to me.I think I see him now, trying to be as demure and composedas Anhalt ought, through the two long speeches.'When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state,matrimony may be called a happy life.' I suppose no timecan ever wear out the impression I have of his looksand voice as he said those words. It was curious,very curious, that we should have such a scene to play!If I had the power of recalling any one week of my existence,it should be that week--that acting week. Say whatyou would, Fanny, it should be _that_; for I never knewsuch exquisite happiness in any other. His sturdy spiritto bend as it did! Oh! it was sweet beyond expression.But alas, that very evening destroyed it all. That veryevening brought your most unwelcome uncle. Poor Sir Thomas,who was glad to see you? Yet, Fanny, do not imagine I wouldnow speak disrespectfully of Sir Thomas, though I certainlydid hate him for many a week. No, I do him justice now.He is just what the head of such a family should be.Nay, in sober sadness, I believe I now love you all."And having said so, with a degree of tenderness andconsciousness which Fanny had never seen in her before,and now thought only too becoming, she turned awayfor a moment to recover herself. "I have had a littlefit since I came into this room, as you may perceive,"said she presently, with a playful smile, "but it isover now; so let us sit down and be comfortable; for as toscolding you, Fanny, which I came fully intending to do,I have not the heart for it when it comes to the point."And embracing her very affectionately, "Good, gentle Fanny!when I think of this being the last time of seeing you for Ido not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anythingbut love you."Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this,and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholyinfluence of the word "last." She cried as if shehad loved Miss Crawford more than she possibly could;and Miss Crawford, yet farther softened by the sightof such emotion, hung about her with fondness, and said,"I hate to leave you. I shall see no one half so amiablewhere I am going. Who says we shall not be sisters?I know we shall. I feel that we are born to be connected;and those tears convince me that you feel it too,dear Fanny."Fanny roused herself, and replying only in part, said,"But you are only going from one set of friends to another.You are going to a very particular friend.""Yes, very true. Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friendfor years. But I have not the least inclination to gonear her. I can think only of the friends I am leaving:my excellent sister, yourself, and the Bertrams in general.You have all so much more _heart_ among you than onefinds in the world at large. You all give me a feelingof being able to trust and confide in you, which in commonintercourse one knows nothing of. I wish I had settledwith Mrs. Fraser not to go to her till after Easter, a muchbetter time for the visit, but now I cannot put her off.And when I have done with her I must go to her sister,Lady Stornaway, because _she_ was rather my most particularfriend of the two, but I have not cared much for _her_these three years."After this speech the two girls sat many minutes silent,each thoughtful: Fanny meditating on the different sortsof friendship in the world, Mary on something of lessphilosophic tendency. _She_ first spoke again."How perfectly I remember my resolving to look foryou upstairs, and setting off to find my way to theEast room, without having an idea whereabouts it was!How well I remember what I was thinking of as I came along,and my looking in and seeing you here sitting at thistable at work; and then your cousin's astonishment,when he opened the door, at seeing me here! To be sure,your uncle's returning that very evening! There neverwas anything quite like it."Another short fit of abstraction followed, when,shaking it off, she thus attacked her companion."Why, Fanny, you are absolutely in a reverie.Thinking, I hope, of one who is always thinking of you.Oh! that I could transport you for a short time intoour circle in town, that you might understand how yourpower over Henry is thought of there! Oh! the envyingsand heartburnings of dozens and dozens; the wonder,the incredulity that will be felt at hearing what youhave done! For as to secrecy, Henry is quite the heroof an old romance, and glories in his chains. You shouldcome to London to know how to estimate your conquest.If you were to see how he is courted, and how I am courtedfor his sake! Now, I am well aware that I shall not behalf so welcome to Mrs. Fraser in consequence of hissituation with you. When she comes to know the truthshe will, very likely, wish me in Northamptonshire again;for there is a daughter of Mr. Fraser, by a first wife,whom she is wild to get married, and wants Henry to take.Oh! she has been trying for him to such a degree.Innocent and quiet as you sit here, you cannot have anidea of the _sensation_ that you will be occasioning,of the curiosity there will be to see you, of the endlessquestions I shall have to answer! Poor Margaret Fraserwill be at me for ever about your eyes and your teeth,and how you do your hair, and who makes your shoes.I wish Margaret were married, for my poor friend's sake,for I look upon the Frasers to be about as unhappy as mostother married people. And yet it was a most desirablematch for Janet at the time. We were all delighted.She could not do otherwise than accept him, for he was rich,and she had nothing; but he turns out ill-temperedand _exigeant_, and wants a young woman, a beautiful youngwoman of five-and-twenty, to be as steady as himself.And my friend does not manage him well; she does not seemto know how to make the best of it. There is a spiritof irritation which, to say nothing worse, is certainlyvery ill-bred. In their house I shall call to mind theconjugal manners of Mansfield Parsonage with respect.Even Dr. Grant does shew a thorough confidence in my sister,and a certain consideration for her judgment, which makesone feel there _is_ attachment; but of that I shallsee nothing with the Frasers. I shall be at Mansfieldfor ever, Fanny. My own sister as a wife, Sir ThomasBertram as a husband, are my standards of perfection.Poor Janet has been sadly taken in, and yet there wasnothing improper on her side: she did not run into thematch inconsiderately; there was no want of foresight.She took three days to consider of his proposals,and during those three days asked the advice of everybodyconnected with her whose opinion was worth having,and especially applied to my late dear aunt, whoseknowledge of the world made her judgment very generallyand deservedly looked up to by all the young peopleof her acquaintance, and she was decidedly in favourof Mr. Fraser. This seems as if nothing were a securityfor matrimonial comfort. I have not so much to sayfor my friend Flora, who jilted a very nice young manin the Blues for the sake of that horrid Lord Stornaway,who has about as much sense, Fanny, as Mr. Rushworth,but much worse-looking, and with a blackguard character.I _had_ my doubts at the time about her being right,for he has not even the air of a gentleman, and now I amsure she was wrong. By the bye, Flora Ross was dyingfor Henry the first winter she came out. But were Ito attempt to tell you of all the women whom I haveknown to be in love with him, I should never have done.It is you, only you, insensible Fanny, who can thinkof him with anything like indifference. But are youso insensible as you profess yourself? No, no, I see youare not."There was, indeed, so deep a blush over Fanny's faceat that moment as might warrant strong suspicionin a predisposed mind."Excellent creature! I will not tease you. Everything shalltake its course. But, dear Fanny, you must allow that youwere not so absolutely unprepared to have the question askedas your cousin fancies. It is not possible but that youmust have had some thoughts on the subject, some surmisesas to what might be. You must have seen that he wastrying to please you by every attention in his power.Was not he devoted to you at the ball? And then beforethe ball, the necklace! Oh! you received it just as itwas meant. You were as conscious as heart could desire.I remember it perfectly.""Do you mean, then, that your brother knew of thenecklace beforehand? Oh! Miss Crawford, _that_ was not fair.""Knew of it! It was his own doing entirely, his own thought.I am ashamed to say that it had never entered my head,but I was delighted to act on his proposal for bothyour sakes.""I will not say," replied Fanny, "that I was not halfafraid at the time of its being so, for there was somethingin your look that frightened me, but not at first;I was as unsuspicious of it at first--indeed, indeed I was.It is as true as that I sit here. And had I had an idea of it,nothing should have induced me to accept the necklace.As to your brother's behaviour, certainly I was sensible ofa particularity: I had been sensible of it some little time,perhaps two or three weeks; but then I considered it asmeaning nothing: I put it down as simply being his way,and was as far from supposing as from wishing him to haveany serious thoughts of me. I had not, Miss Crawford,been an inattentive observer of what was passing between himand some part of this family in the summer and autumn.I was quiet, but I was not blind. I could not but seethat Mr. Crawford allowed himself in gallantries which didmean nothing.""Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad flirt,and cared very little for the havoc he might be making inyoung ladies' affections. I have often scolded him for it,but it is his only fault; and there is this to be said,that very few young ladies have any affections worthcaring for. And then, Fanny, the glory of fixing onewho has been shot at by so many; of having it in one'spower to pay off the debts of one's sex! Oh! I am sureit is not in woman's nature to refuse such a triumph."Fanny shook her head. "I cannot think well of a manwho sports with any woman's feelings; and there may oftenbe a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of.""I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy,and when he has got you at Everingham, I do not care how muchyou lecture him. But this I will say, that his fault,the liking to make girls a little in love with him, is nothalf so dangerous to a wife's happiness as a tendency to fallin love himself, which he has never been addicted to.And I do seriously and truly believe that he is attachedto you in a way that he never was to any woman before;that he loves you with all his heart, and will love youas nearly for ever as possible. If any man ever loveda woman for ever, I think Henry will do as much for you."Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothingto say."I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier,"continued Mary presently, "than when he had succeededin getting your brother's commission."She had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here."Oh! yes. How very, very kind of him.""I know he must have exerted himself very much, for I knowthe parties he had to move. The Admiral hates trouble,and scorns asking favours; and there are so manyyoung men's claims to be attended to in the same way,that a friendship and energy, not very determined,is easily put by. What a happy creature William must be!I wish we could see him."Poor Fanny's mind was thrown into the most distressingof all its varieties. The recollection of what hadbeen done for William was always the most powerfuldisturber of every decision against Mr. Crawford;and she sat thinking deeply of it till Mary, who had beenfirst watching her complacently, and then musing onsomething else, suddenly called her attention by saying:"I should like to sit talking with you here all day,but we must not forget the ladies below, and so good-bye,my dear, my amiable, my excellent Fanny, for though weshall nominally part in the breakfast-parlour, I musttake leave of you here. And I do take leave, longing fora happy reunion, and trusting that when we meet again,it will be under circumstances which may open our heartsto each other without any remnant or shadow of reserve."A very, very kind embrace, and some agitation of manner,accompanied these words."I shall see your cousin in town soon: he talks ofbeing there tolerably soon; and Sir Thomas, I dare say,in the course of the spring; and your eldest cousin,and the Rushworths, and Julia, I am sure of meeting againand again, and all but you. I have two favours to ask,Fanny: one is your correspondence. You must write to me.And the other, that you will often call on Mrs. Grant,and make her amends for my being gone."The first, at least, of these favours Fanny would rathernot have been asked; but it was impossible for her to refusethe correspondence; it was impossible for her even not toaccede to it more readily than her own judgment authorised.There was no resisting so much apparent affection.Her disposition was peculiarly calculated to value a fondtreatment, and from having hitherto known so little of it,she was the more overcome by Miss Crawford's. Besides,there was gratitude towards her, for having made their_tete-a-tete_ so much less painful than her fears had predicted.It was over, and she had escaped without reproachesand without detection. Her secret was still her own;and while that was the case, she thought she could resignherself to almost everything.In the evening there was another parting. Henry Crawfordcame and sat some time with them; and her spirits not beingpreviously in the strongest state, her heart was softenedfor a while towards him, because he really seemed to feel.Quite unlike his usual self, he scarcely said anything.He was evidently oppressed, and Fanny must grieve for him,though hoping she might never see him again till he were thehusband of some other woman.When it came to the moment of parting, he would take her hand,he would not be denied it; he said nothing, however,or nothing that she heard, and when he had left the room,she was better pleased that such a token of friendshiphad passed.On the morrow the Crawfords were gone.