الفصل الفصل 17 · Chapter XVII

It was, indeed, a triumphant day to Mr. Bertram and Maria. Such a

victory over Edmund’s discretion had been beyond their hopes, and was

most delightful. There was no longer anything to disturb them in their

darling project, and they congratulated each other in private on the

jealous weakness to which they attributed the change, with all the glee

of feelings gratified in every way. Edmund might still look grave, and

say he did not like the scheme in general, and must disapprove the play

in particular; their point was gained: he was to act, and he was driven

to it by the force of selfish inclinations only. Edmund had descended

from that moral elevation which he had maintained before, and they were

both as much the better as the happier for the descent.

They behaved very well, however, to _him_ on the occasion, betraying no

exultation beyond the lines about the corners of the mouth, and seemed

to think it as great an escape to be quit of the intrusion of Charles

Maddox, as if they had been forced into admitting him against their

inclination. “To have it quite in their own family circle was what they

had particularly wished. A stranger among them would have been the

destruction of all their comfort”; and when Edmund, pursuing that idea,

gave a hint of his hope as to the limitation of the audience, they were

ready, in the complaisance of the moment, to promise anything. It was

all good-humour and encouragement. Mrs. Norris offered to contrive his

dress, Mr. Yates assured him that Anhalt’s last scene with the Baron

admitted a good deal of action and emphasis, and Mr. Rushworth

undertook to count his speeches.

“Perhaps,” said Tom, “Fanny may be more disposed to oblige us now.

Perhaps you may persuade _her_.”

“No, she is quite determined. She certainly will not act.”

“Oh! very well.” And not another word was said; but Fanny felt herself

again in danger, and her indifference to the danger was beginning to

fail her already.

There were not fewer smiles at the Parsonage than at the Park on this

change in Edmund; Miss Crawford looked very lovely in hers, and entered

with such an instantaneous renewal of cheerfulness into the whole

affair as could have but one effect on him. “He was certainly right in

respecting such feelings; he was glad he had determined on it.” And the

morning wore away in satisfactions very sweet, if not very sound. One

advantage resulted from it to Fanny: at the earnest request of Miss

Crawford, Mrs. Grant had, with her usual good-humour, agreed to

undertake the part for which Fanny had been wanted; and this was all

that occurred to gladden _her_ heart during the day; and even this,

when imparted by Edmund, brought a pang with it, for it was Miss

Crawford to whom she was obliged—it was Miss Crawford whose kind

exertions were to excite her gratitude, and whose merit in making them

was spoken of with a glow of admiration. She was safe; but peace and

safety were unconnected here. Her mind had been never farther from

peace. She could not feel that she had done wrong herself, but she was

disquieted in every other way. Her heart and her judgment were equally

against Edmund’s decision: she could not acquit his unsteadiness, and

his happiness under it made her wretched. She was full of jealousy and

agitation. Miss Crawford came with looks of gaiety which seemed an

insult, with friendly expressions towards herself which she could

hardly answer calmly. Everybody around her was gay and busy, prosperous

and important; each had their object of interest, their part, their

dress, their favourite scene, their friends and confederates: all were

finding employment in consultations and comparisons, or diversion in

the playful conceits they suggested. She alone was sad and

insignificant: she had no share in anything; she might go or stay; she

might be in the midst of their noise, or retreat from it to the

solitude of the East room, without being seen or missed. She could

almost think anything would have been preferable to this. Mrs. Grant

was of consequence: _her_ good-nature had honourable mention; her taste

and her time were considered; her presence was wanted; she was sought

for, and attended, and praised; and Fanny was at first in some danger

of envying her the character she had accepted. But reflection brought

better feelings, and shewed her that Mrs. Grant was entitled to

respect, which could never have belonged to _her_; and that, had she

received even the greatest, she could never have been easy in joining a

scheme which, considering only her uncle, she must condemn altogether.

Fanny’s heart was not absolutely the only saddened one amongst them, as

she soon began to acknowledge to herself. Julia was a sufferer too,

though not quite so blamelessly.

Henry Crawford had trifled with her feelings; but she had very long

allowed and even sought his attentions, with a jealousy of her sister

so reasonable as ought to have been their cure; and now that the

conviction of his preference for Maria had been forced on her, she

submitted to it without any alarm for Maria’s situation, or any

endeavour at rational tranquillity for herself. She either sat in

gloomy silence, wrapt in such gravity as nothing could subdue, no

curiosity touch, no wit amuse; or allowing the attentions of Mr. Yates,

was talking with forced gaiety to him alone, and ridiculing the acting

of the others.

For a day or two after the affront was given, Henry Crawford had

endeavoured to do it away by the usual attack of gallantry and

compliment, but he had not cared enough about it to persevere against a

few repulses; and becoming soon too busy with his play to have time for

more than one flirtation, he grew indifferent to the quarrel, or rather

thought it a lucky occurrence, as quietly putting an end to what might

ere long have raised expectations in more than Mrs. Grant. She was not

pleased to see Julia excluded from the play, and sitting by

disregarded; but as it was not a matter which really involved her

happiness, as Henry must be the best judge of his own, and as he did

assure her, with a most persuasive smile, that neither he nor Julia had

ever had a serious thought of each other, she could only renew her

former caution as to the elder sister, entreat him not to risk his

tranquillity by too much admiration there, and then gladly take her

share in anything that brought cheerfulness to the young people in

general, and that did so particularly promote the pleasure of the two

so dear to her.

“I rather wonder Julia is not in love with Henry,” was her observation

to Mary.

“I dare say she is,” replied Mary coldly. “I imagine both sisters are.”

“Both! no, no, that must not be. Do not give him a hint of it. Think of

Mr. Rushworth!”

“You had better tell Miss Bertram to think of Mr. Rushworth. It may do

_her_ some good. I often think of Mr. Rushworth’s property and

independence, and wish them in other hands; but I never think of him. A

man might represent the county with such an estate; a man might escape

a profession and represent the county.”

“I dare say he _will_ be in parliament soon. When Sir Thomas comes, I

dare say he will be in for some borough, but there has been nobody to

put him in the way of doing anything yet.”

“Sir Thomas is to achieve many mighty things when he comes home,” said

Mary, after a pause. “Do you remember Hawkins Browne’s ‘Address to

Tobacco,’ in imitation of Pope?—

Blest leaf! whose aromatic gales dispense

To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense.

I will parody them—

Blest Knight! whose dictatorial looks dispense

To Children affluence, to Rushworth sense.

Will not that do, Mrs. Grant? Everything seems to depend upon Sir

Thomas’s return.”

“You will find his consequence very just and reasonable when you see

him in his family, I assure you. I do not think we do so well without

him. He has a fine dignified manner, which suits the head of such a

house, and keeps everybody in their place. Lady Bertram seems more of a

cipher now than when he is at home; and nobody else can keep Mrs.

Norris in order. But, Mary, do not fancy that Maria Bertram cares for

Henry. I am sure _Julia_ does not, or she would not have flirted as she

did last night with Mr. Yates; and though he and Maria are very good

friends, I think she likes Sotherton too well to be inconstant.”

“I would not give much for Mr. Rushworth’s chance if Henry stept in

before the articles were signed.”

“If you have such a suspicion, something must be done; and as soon as

the play is all over, we will talk to him seriously and make him know

his own mind; and if he means nothing, we will send him off, though he

is Henry, for a time.”

Julia _did_ suffer, however, though Mrs. Grant discerned it not, and

though it escaped the notice of many of her own family likewise. She

had loved, she did love still, and she had all the suffering which a

warm temper and a high spirit were likely to endure under the

disappointment of a dear, though irrational hope, with a strong sense

of ill-usage. Her heart was sore and angry, and she was capable only of

angry consolations. The sister with whom she was used to be on easy

terms was now become her greatest enemy: they were alienated from each

other; and Julia was not superior to the hope of some distressing end

to the attentions which were still carrying on there, some punishment

to Maria for conduct so shameful towards herself as well as towards Mr.

Rushworth. With no material fault of temper, or difference of opinion,

to prevent their being very good friends while their interests were the

same, the sisters, under such a trial as this, had not affection or

principle enough to make them merciful or just, to give them honour or

compassion. Maria felt her triumph, and pursued her purpose, careless

of Julia; and Julia could never see Maria distinguished by Henry

Crawford without trusting that it would create jealousy, and bring a

public disturbance at last.

Fanny saw and pitied much of this in Julia; but there was no outward

fellowship between them. Julia made no communication, and Fanny took no

liberties. They were two solitary sufferers, or connected only by

Fanny’s consciousness.

The inattention of the two brothers and the aunt to Julia’s

discomposure, and their blindness to its true cause, must be imputed to

the fullness of their own minds. They were totally preoccupied. Tom was

engrossed by the concerns of his theatre, and saw nothing that did not

immediately relate to it. Edmund, between his theatrical and his real

part, between Miss Crawford’s claims and his own conduct, between love

and consistency, was equally unobservant; and Mrs. Norris was too busy

in contriving and directing the general little matters of the company,

superintending their various dresses with economical expedient, for

which nobody thanked her, and saving, with delighted integrity, half a

crown here and there to the absent Sir Thomas, to have leisure for

watching the behaviour, or guarding the happiness of his daughters.