Mansfield Park
speak for one directly; and as I cannot look out of my dressing-closet
without seeing one farmyard, nor walk in the shrubbery without passing
another, I thought it would be only ask and have, and was rather
grieved that I could not give the advantage to all. Guess my surprise,
when I found that I had been asking the most unreasonable, most
impossible thing in the world; had offended all the farmers, all the
labourers, all the hay in the parish! As for Dr. Grant’s bailiff, I
believe I had better keep out of _his_ way; and my brother-in-law
himself, who is all kindness in general, looked rather black upon me
when he found what I had been at.”
“You could not be expected to have thought on the subject before; but
when you _do_ think of it, you must see the importance of getting in
the grass. The hire of a cart at any time might not be so easy as you
suppose: our farmers are not in the habit of letting them out; but, in
harvest, it must be quite out of their power to spare a horse.”
“I shall understand all your ways in time; but, coming down with the
true London maxim, that everything is to be got with money, I was a
little embarrassed at first by the sturdy independence of your country
customs. However, I am to have my harp fetched to-morrow. Henry, who is
good-nature itself, has offered to fetch it in his barouche. Will it
not be honourably conveyed?”
Edmund spoke of the harp as his favourite instrument, and hoped to be
soon allowed to hear her. Fanny had never heard the harp at all, and
wished for it very much.
“I shall be most happy to play to you both,” said Miss Crawford; “at
least as long as you can like to listen: probably much longer, for I
dearly love music myself, and where the natural taste is equal the
player must always be best off, for she is gratified in more ways than
one. Now, Mr. Bertram, if you write to your brother, I entreat you to
tell him that my harp is come: he heard so much of my misery about it.
And you may say, if you please, that I shall prepare my most plaintive
airs against his return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know his
horse will lose.”
“If I write, I will say whatever you wish me; but I do not, at present,
foresee any occasion for writing.”
“No, I dare say, nor if he were to be gone a twelvemonth, would you
ever write to him, nor he to you, if it could be helped. The occasion
would never be foreseen. What strange creatures brothers are! You would
not write to each other but upon the most urgent necessity in the
world; and when obliged to take up the pen to say that such a horse is
ill, or such a relation dead, it is done in the fewest possible words.
You have but one style among you. I know it perfectly. Henry, who is in
every other respect exactly what a brother should be, who loves me,
consults me, confides in me, and will talk to me by the hour together,
has never yet turned the page in a letter; and very often it is nothing
more than—‘Dear Mary, I am just arrived. Bath seems full, and
everything as usual. Yours sincerely.’ That is the true manly style;
that is a complete brother’s letter.”
“When they are at a distance from all their family,” said Fanny,
colouring for William’s sake, “they can write long letters.”
“Miss Price has a brother at sea,” said Edmund, “whose excellence as a
correspondent makes her think you too severe upon us.”
“At sea, has she? In the king’s service, of course?”
Fanny would rather have had Edmund tell the story, but his determined
silence obliged her to relate her brother’s situation: her voice was
animated in speaking of his profession, and the foreign stations he had
been on; but she could not mention the number of years that he had been
absent without tears in her eyes. Miss Crawford civilly wished him an
early promotion.
“Do you know anything of my cousin’s captain?” said Edmund; “Captain
Marshall? You have a large acquaintance in the navy, I conclude?”
“Among admirals, large enough; but,” with an air of grandeur, “we know
very little of the inferior ranks. Post-captains may be very good sort
of men, but they do not belong to _us_. Of various admirals I could
tell you a great deal: of them and their flags, and the gradation of
their pay, and their bickerings and jealousies. But, in general, I can
assure you that they are all passed over, and all very ill used.
Certainly, my home at my uncle’s brought me acquainted with a circle of
admirals. Of _Rears_ and _Vices_ I saw enough. Now do not be suspecting
me of a pun, I entreat.”
Edmund again felt grave, and only replied, “It is a noble profession.”
“Yes, the profession is well enough under two circumstances: if it make
the fortune, and there be discretion in spending it; but, in short, it
is not a favourite profession of mine. It has never worn an amiable
form to _me_.”
Edmund reverted to the harp, and was again very happy in the prospect
of hearing her play.
The subject of improving grounds, meanwhile, was still under
consideration among the others; and Mrs. Grant could not help
addressing her brother, though it was calling his attention from Miss
Julia Bertram.
“My dear Henry, have _you_ nothing to say? You have been an improver
yourself, and from what I hear of Everingham, it may vie with any place
in England. Its natural beauties, I am sure, are great. Everingham, as
it _used_ to be, was perfect in my estimation: such a happy fall of
ground, and such timber! What would I not give to see it again!”
“Nothing could be so gratifying to me as to hear your opinion of it,”
was his answer; “but I fear there would be some disappointment: you
would not find it equal to your present ideas. In extent, it is a mere
nothing; you would be surprised at its insignificance; and, as for
improvement, there was very little for me to do—too little: I should
like to have been busy much longer.”
“You are fond of the sort of thing?” said Julia.
“Excessively; but what with the natural advantages of the ground, which
pointed out, even to a very young eye, what little remained to be done,
and my own consequent resolutions, I had not been of age three months
before Everingham was all that it is now. My plan was laid at
Westminster, a little altered, perhaps, at Cambridge, and at
one-and-twenty executed. I am inclined to envy Mr. Rushworth for having
so much happiness yet before him. I have been a devourer of my own.”
“Those who see quickly, will resolve quickly, and act quickly,” said
Julia. “_You_ can never want employment. Instead of envying Mr.
Rushworth, you should assist him with your opinion.”
Mrs. Grant, hearing the latter part of this speech, enforced it warmly,
persuaded that no judgment could be equal to her brother’s; and as Miss
Bertram caught at the idea likewise, and gave it her full support,
declaring that, in her opinion, it was infinitely better to consult
with friends and disinterested advisers, than immediately to throw the
business into the hands of a professional man, Mr. Rushworth was very
ready to request the favour of Mr. Crawford’s assistance; and Mr.
Crawford, after properly depreciating his own abilities, was quite at
his service in any way that could be useful. Mr. Rushworth then began
to propose Mr. Crawford’s doing him the honour of coming over to
Sotherton, and taking a bed there; when Mrs. Norris, as if reading in
her two nieces’ minds their little approbation of a plan which was to
take Mr. Crawford away, interposed with an amendment.
“There can be no doubt of Mr. Crawford’s willingness; but why should
not more of us go? Why should not we make a little party? Here are many
that would be interested in your improvements, my dear Mr. Rushworth,
and that would like to hear Mr. Crawford’s opinion on the spot, and
that might be of some small use to you with _their_ opinions; and, for
my own part, I have been long wishing to wait upon your good mother
again; nothing but having no horses of my own could have made me so
remiss; but now I could go and sit a few hours with Mrs. Rushworth,
while the rest of you walked about and settled things, and then we
could all return to a late dinner here, or dine at Sotherton, just as
might be most agreeable to your mother, and have a pleasant drive home
by moonlight. I dare say Mr. Crawford would take my two nieces and me
in his barouche, and Edmund can go on horseback, you know, sister, and
Fanny will stay at home with you.”
Lady Bertram made no objection; and every one concerned in the going
was forward in expressing their ready concurrence, excepting Edmund,
who heard it all and said nothing.
CHAPTER VII
“Well, Fanny, and how do you like Miss Crawford _now_?” said Edmund the
next day, after thinking some time on the subject himself. “How did you
like her yesterday?”
“Very well—very much. I like to hear her talk. She entertains me; and
she is so extremely pretty, that I have great pleasure in looking at
her.”
“It is her countenance that is so attractive. She has a wonderful play
of feature! But was there nothing in her conversation that struck you,
Fanny, as not quite right?”
“Oh yes! she ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she did. I was
quite astonished. An uncle with whom she has been living so many years,
and who, whatever his faults may be, is so very fond of her brother,
treating him, they say, quite like a son. I could not have believed
it!”
“I thought you would be struck. It was very wrong; very indecorous.”
“And very ungrateful, I think.”
“Ungrateful is a strong word. I do not know that her uncle has any
claim to her _gratitude_; his wife certainly had; and it is the warmth
of her respect for her aunt’s memory which misleads her here. She is
awkwardly circumstanced. With such warm feelings and lively spirits it
must be difficult to do justice to her affection for Mrs. Crawford,
without throwing a shade on the Admiral. I do not pretend to know which
was most to blame in their disagreements, though the Admiral’s present
conduct might incline one to the side of his wife; but it is natural
and amiable that Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt entirely. I do
not censure her _opinions_; but there certainly _is_ impropriety in
making them public.”
“Do not you think,” said Fanny, after a little consideration, “that
this impropriety is a reflection itself upon Mrs. Crawford, as her
niece has been entirely brought up by her? She cannot have given her
right notions of what was due to the Admiral.”
“That is a fair remark. Yes, we must suppose the faults of the niece to
have been those of the aunt; and it makes one more sensible of the
disadvantages she has been under. But I think her present home must do
her good. Mrs. Grant’s manners are just what they ought to be. She
speaks of her brother with a very pleasing affection.”
“Yes, except as to his writing her such short letters. She made me
almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very highly the love or good-nature
of a brother who will not give himself the trouble of writing anything
worth reading to his sisters, when they are separated. I am sure
William would never have used _me_ so, under any circumstances. And
what right had she to suppose that _you_ would not write long letters
when you were absent?”
“The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatever may contribute to
its own amusement or that of others; perfectly allowable, when
untinctured by ill-humour or roughness; and there is not a shadow of
either in the countenance or manner of Miss Crawford: nothing sharp, or
loud, or coarse. She is perfectly feminine, except in the instances we
have been speaking of. There she cannot be justified. I am glad you saw
it all as I did.”
Having formed her mind and gained her affections, he had a good chance
of her thinking like him; though at this period, and on this subject,