الفصل الفصل 4 · Chapter IV

Tom Bertram had of late spent so little of his time at home that he

could be only nominally missed; and Lady Bertram was soon astonished to

find how very well they did even without his father, how well Edmund

could supply his place in carving, talking to the steward, writing to

the attorney, settling with the servants, and equally saving her from

all possible fatigue or exertion in every particular but that of

directing her letters.

The earliest intelligence of the travellers’ safe arrival at Antigua,

after a favourable voyage, was received; though not before Mrs. Norris

had been indulging in very dreadful fears, and trying to make Edmund

participate them whenever she could get him alone; and as she depended

on being the first person made acquainted with any fatal catastrophe,

she had already arranged the manner of breaking it to all the others,

when Sir Thomas’s assurances of their both being alive and well made it

necessary to lay by her agitation and affectionate preparatory speeches

for a while.

The winter came and passed without their being called for; the accounts

continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, in promoting gaieties for

her nieces, assisting their toilets, displaying their accomplishments,

and looking about for their future husbands, had so much to do as, in

addition to all her own household cares, some interference in those of

her sister, and Mrs. Grant’s wasteful doings to overlook, left her very

little occasion to be occupied in fears for the absent.

The Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the belles of the

neighbourhood; and as they joined to beauty and brilliant acquirements

a manner naturally easy, and carefully formed to general civility and

obligingness, they possessed its favour as well as its admiration.

Their vanity was in such good order that they seemed to be quite free

from it, and gave themselves no airs; while the praises attending such

behaviour, secured and brought round by their aunt, served to

strengthen them in believing they had no faults.

Lady Bertram did not go into public with her daughters. She was too

indolent even to accept a mother’s gratification in witnessing their

success and enjoyment at the expense of any personal trouble, and the

charge was made over to her sister, who desired nothing better than a

post of such honourable representation, and very thoroughly relished

the means it afforded her of mixing in society without having horses to

hire.

Fanny had no share in the festivities of the season; but she enjoyed

being avowedly useful as her aunt’s companion when they called away the

rest of the family; and, as Miss Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally

became everything to Lady Bertram during the night of a ball or a

party. She talked to her, listened to her, read to her; and the

tranquillity of such evenings, her perfect security in such a

_tête-à-tête_ from any sound of unkindness, was unspeakably welcome to

a mind which had seldom known a pause in its alarms or embarrassments.

As to her cousins’ gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them,

especially of the balls, and whom Edmund had danced with; but thought

too lowly of her own situation to imagine she should ever be admitted

to the same, and listened, therefore, without an idea of any nearer

concern in them. Upon the whole, it was a comfortable winter to her;

for though it brought no William to England, the never-failing hope of

his arrival was worth much.

The ensuing spring deprived her of her valued friend, the old grey

pony; and for some time she was in danger of feeling the loss in her

health as well as in her affections; for in spite of the acknowledged

importance of her riding on horse-back, no measures were taken for

mounting her again, “because,” as it was observed by her aunts, “she

might ride one of her cousin’s horses at any time when they did not

want them,” and as the Miss Bertrams regularly wanted their horses

every fine day, and had no idea of carrying their obliging manners to

the sacrifice of any real pleasure, that time, of course, never came.

They took their cheerful rides in the fine mornings of April and May;

and Fanny either sat at home the whole day with one aunt, or walked

beyond her strength at the instigation of the other: Lady Bertram

holding exercise to be as unnecessary for everybody as it was

unpleasant to herself; and Mrs. Norris, who was walking all day,

thinking everybody ought to walk as much. Edmund was absent at this

time, or the evil would have been earlier remedied. When he returned,

to understand how Fanny was situated, and perceived its ill effects,

there seemed with him but one thing to be done; and that “Fanny must

have a horse” was the resolute declaration with which he opposed

whatever could be urged by the supineness of his mother, or the economy

of his aunt, to make it appear unimportant. Mrs. Norris could not help

thinking that some steady old thing might be found among the numbers

belonging to the Park that would do vastly well; or that one might be

borrowed of the steward; or that perhaps Dr. Grant might now and then

lend them the pony he sent to the post. She could not but consider it

as absolutely unnecessary, and even improper, that Fanny should have a

regular lady’s horse of her own, in the style of her cousins. She was

sure Sir Thomas had never intended it: and she must say that, to be

making such a purchase in his absence, and adding to the great expenses

of his stable, at a time when a large part of his income was unsettled,

seemed to her very unjustifiable. “Fanny must have a horse,” was

Edmund’s only reply. Mrs. Norris could not see it in the same light.

Lady Bertram did: she entirely agreed with her son as to the necessity

of it, and as to its being considered necessary by his father; she only

pleaded against there being any hurry; she only wanted him to wait till

Sir Thomas’s return, and then Sir Thomas might settle it all himself.

He would be at home in September, and where would be the harm of only

waiting till September?

Though Edmund was much more displeased with his aunt than with his

mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he could not help

paying more attention to what she said; and at length determined on a

method of proceeding which would obviate the risk of his father’s

thinking he had done too much, and at the same time procure for Fanny

the immediate means of exercise, which he could not bear she should be

without. He had three horses of his own, but not one that would carry a

woman. Two of them were hunters; the third, a useful road-horse: this

third he resolved to exchange for one that his cousin might ride; he

knew where such a one was to be met with; and having once made up his

mind, the whole business was soon completed. The new mare proved a

treasure; with a very little trouble she became exactly calculated for

the purpose, and Fanny was then put in almost full possession of her.

She had not supposed before that anything could ever suit her like the

old grey pony; but her delight in Edmund’s mare was far beyond any

former pleasure of the sort; and the addition it was ever receiving in

the consideration of that kindness from which her pleasure sprung, was

beyond all her words to express. She regarded her cousin as an example

of everything good and great, as possessing worth which no one but

herself could ever appreciate, and as entitled to such gratitude from

her as no feelings could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments

towards him were compounded of all that was respectful, grateful,

confiding, and tender.

As the horse continued in name, as well as fact, the property of

Edmund, Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny’s use; and had

Lady Bertram ever thought about her own objection again, he might have

been excused in her eyes for not waiting till Sir Thomas’s return in

September, for when September came Sir Thomas was still abroad, and

without any near prospect of finishing his business. Unfavourable

circumstances had suddenly arisen at a moment when he was beginning to

turn all his thoughts towards England; and the very great uncertainty

in which everything was then involved determined him on sending home

his son, and waiting the final arrangement by himself. Tom arrived

safely, bringing an excellent account of his father’s health; but to

very little purpose, as far as Mrs. Norris was concerned. Sir Thomas’s

sending away his son seemed to her so like a parent’s care, under the

influence of a foreboding of evil to himself, that she could not help

feeling dreadful presentiments; and as the long evenings of autumn came

on, was so terribly haunted by these ideas, in the sad solitariness of

her cottage, as to be obliged to take daily refuge in the dining-room

of the Park. The return of winter engagements, however, was not without

its effect; and in the course of their progress, her mind became so

pleasantly occupied in superintending the fortunes of her eldest niece,

as tolerably to quiet her nerves. “If poor Sir Thomas were fated never

to return, it would be peculiarly consoling to see their dear Maria

well married,” she very often thought; always when they were in the

company of men of fortune, and particularly on the introduction of a

young man who had recently succeeded to one of the largest estates and

finest places in the country.

Mr. Rushworth was from the first struck with the beauty of Miss

Bertram, and, being inclined to marry, soon fancied himself in love. He

was a heavy young man, with not more than common sense; but as there

was nothing disagreeable in his figure or address, the young lady was

well pleased with her conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year,

Maria Bertram was beginning to think matrimony a duty; and as a

marriage with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger

income than her father’s, as well as ensure her the house in town,

which was now a prime object, it became, by the same rule of moral

obligation, her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if she could. Mrs.

Norris was most zealous in promoting the match, by every suggestion and

contrivance likely to enhance its desirableness to either party; and,

among other means, by seeking an intimacy with the gentleman’s mother,

who at present lived with him, and to whom she even forced Lady Bertram

to go through ten miles of indifferent road to pay a morning visit. It

was not long before a good understanding took place between this lady

and herself. Mrs. Rushworth acknowledged herself very desirous that her

son should marry, and declared that of all the young ladies she had

ever seen, Miss Bertram seemed, by her amiable qualities and

accomplishments, the best adapted to make him happy. Mrs. Norris

accepted the compliment, and admired the nice discernment of character

which could so well distinguish merit. Maria was indeed the pride and

delight of them all—perfectly faultless—an angel; and, of course, so

surrounded by admirers, must be difficult in her choice: but yet, as

far as Mrs. Norris could allow herself to decide on so short an

acquaintance, Mr. Rushworth appeared precisely the young man to deserve

and attach her.

After dancing with each other at a proper number of balls, the young

people justified these opinions, and an engagement, with a due

reference to the absent Sir Thomas, was entered into, much to the

satisfaction of their respective families, and of the general

lookers-on of the neighbourhood, who had, for many weeks past, felt the

expediency of Mr. Rushworth’s marrying Miss Bertram.

It was some months before Sir Thomas’s consent could be received; but,

in the meanwhile, as no one felt a doubt of his most cordial pleasure

in the connexion, the intercourse of the two families was carried on

without restraint, and no other attempt made at secrecy than Mrs.

Norris’s talking of it everywhere as a matter not to be talked of at

present.

Edmund was the only one of the family who could see a fault in the

business; but no representation of his aunt’s could induce him to find

Mr. Rushworth a desirable companion. He could allow his sister to be

the best judge of her own happiness, but he was not pleased that her

happiness should centre in a large income; nor could he refrain from

often saying to himself, in Mr. Rushworth’s company—“If this man had

not twelve thousand a year, he would be a very stupid fellow.”

Sir Thomas, however, was truly happy in the prospect of an alliance so

unquestionably advantageous, and of which he heard nothing but the

perfectly good and agreeable. It was a connexion exactly of the right

sort—in the same county, and the same interest—and his most hearty

concurrence was conveyed as soon as possible. He only conditioned that

the marriage should not take place before his return, which he was

again looking eagerly forward to. He wrote in April, and had strong

hopes of settling everything to his entire satisfaction, and leaving

Antigua before the end of the summer.

Such was the state of affairs in the month of July; and Fanny had just

reached her eighteenth year, when the society of the village received

an addition in the brother and sister of Mrs. Grant, a Mr. and Miss

Crawford, the children of her mother by a second marriage. They were

young people of fortune. The son had a good estate in Norfolk, the

daughter twenty thousand pounds. As children, their sister had been

always very fond of them; but, as her own marriage had been soon

followed by the death of their common parent, which left them to the

care of a brother of their father, of whom Mrs. Grant knew nothing, she

had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle’s house they had found a

kind home. Admiral and Mrs. Crawford, though agreeing in nothing else,

were united in affection for these children, or, at least, were no

farther adverse in their feelings than that each had their favourite,

to whom they showed the greatest fondness of the two. The Admiral

delighted in the boy, Mrs. Crawford doted on the girl; and it was the

lady’s death which now obliged her _protegee_, after some months’

further trial at her uncle’s house, to find another home. Admiral

Crawford was a man of vicious conduct, who chose, instead of retaining

his niece, to bring his mistress under his own roof; and to this Mrs.

Grant was indebted for her sister’s proposal of coming to her, a

measure quite as welcome on one side as it could be expedient on the

other; for Mrs. Grant, having by this time run through the usual

resources of ladies residing in the country without a family of

children—having more than filled her favourite sitting-room with pretty

furniture, and made a choice collection of plants and poultry—was very

much in want of some variety at home. The arrival, therefore, of a

sister whom she had always loved, and now hoped to retain with her as

long as she remained single, was highly agreeable; and her chief

anxiety was lest Mansfield should not satisfy the habits of a young

woman who had been mostly used to London.

Miss Crawford was not entirely free from similar apprehensions, though

they arose principally from doubts of her sister’s style of living and

tone of society; and it was not till after she had tried in vain to

persuade her brother to settle with her at his own country house, that

she could resolve to hazard herself among her other relations. To

anything like a permanence of abode, or limitation of society, Henry

Crawford had, unluckily, a great dislike: he could not accommodate his

sister in an article of such importance; but he escorted her, with the

utmost kindness, into Northamptonshire, and as readily engaged to fetch

her away again, at half an hour’s notice, whenever she were weary of

the place.

The meeting was very satisfactory on each side. Miss Crawford found a

sister without preciseness or rusticity, a sister’s husband who looked

the gentleman, and a house commodious and well fitted up; and Mrs.

Grant received in those whom she hoped to love better than ever a young

man and woman of very prepossessing appearance. Mary Crawford was

remarkably pretty; Henry, though not handsome, had air and countenance;

the manners of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant

immediately gave them credit for everything else. She was delighted

with each, but Mary was her dearest object; and having never been able

to glory in beauty of her own, she thoroughly enjoyed the power of

being proud of her sister’s. She had not waited her arrival to look out

for a suitable match for her: she had fixed on Tom Bertram; the eldest

son of a baronet was not too good for a girl of twenty thousand pounds,

with all the elegance and accomplishments which Mrs. Grant foresaw in

her; and being a warm-hearted, unreserved woman, Mary had not been

three hours in the house before she told her what she had planned.

Miss Crawford was glad to find a family of such consequence so very

near them, and not at all displeased either at her sister’s early care,

or the choice it had fallen on. Matrimony was her object, provided she

could marry well: and having seen Mr. Bertram in town, she knew that

objection could no more be made to his person than to his situation in

life. While she treated it as a joke, therefore, she did not forget to

think of it seriously. The scheme was soon repeated to Henry.

“And now,” added Mrs. Grant, “I have thought of something to make it

complete. I should dearly love to settle you both in this country; and

therefore, Henry, you shall marry the youngest Miss Bertram, a nice,

handsome, good-humoured, accomplished girl, who will make you very

happy.”

Henry bowed and thanked her.

“My dear sister,” said Mary, “if you can persuade him into anything of

the sort, it will be a fresh matter of delight to me to find myself

allied to anybody so clever, and I shall only regret that you have not

half a dozen daughters to dispose of. If you can persuade Henry to

marry, you must have the address of a Frenchwoman. All that English

abilities can do has been tried already. I have three very particular

friends who have been all dying for him in their turn; and the pains

which they, their mothers (very clever women), as well as my dear aunt

and myself, have taken to reason, coax, or trick him into marrying, is

inconceivable! He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If

your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broke, let them

avoid Henry.”

“My dear brother, I will not believe this of you.”

“No, I am sure you are too good. You will be kinder than Mary. You will

allow for the doubts of youth and inexperience. I am of a cautious

temper, and unwilling to risk my happiness in a hurry. Nobody can think

more highly of the matrimonial state than myself. I consider the

blessing of a wife as most justly described in those discreet lines of

the poet—‘Heaven’s _last_ best gift.’”

“There, Mrs. Grant, you see how he dwells on one word, and only look at

his smile. I assure you he is very detestable; the Admiral’s lessons

have quite spoiled him.”

“I pay very little regard,” said Mrs. Grant, “to what any young person

says on the subject of marriage. If they profess a disinclination for

it, I only set it down that they have not yet seen the right person.”

Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford on feeling no

disinclination to the state herself.

“Oh yes! I am not at all ashamed of it. I would have everybody marry if

they can do it properly: I do not like to have people throw themselves

away; but everybody should marry as soon as they can do it to

advantage.”