Mansfield Park E-Book

Jane Austen.

• Herausgeber: Madeley publishing
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Mansfield Park is the third published novel by the English author Jane Austen, first published in 1814 by Thomas Egerton. A second edition was published in 1816 by John Murray, still within Austen's lifetime. The novel did not receive any public reviews until 1821.
The novel tells the story of Fanny Price, starting when her overburdened family sends her at the age of ten to live in the household of her wealthy aunt and uncle and following her development into early adulthood. From early on critical interpretation has been diverse, differing particularly over the character of the heroine, Austen's views about theatrical performance and the centrality or otherwise of ordination and religion, and on the question of slavery. Some of these problems have been highlighted in the several later adaptations of the story for stage and screen.

Leseprobe

Mansfield Park

––––––––

by Jane Austen

Madeley publishing

Contents

Jane Austen Biography

Jane Austen Novel Discussion

Jane Austen Interesting Facts

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXX

CHAPTER XXXI

CHAPTER XXXII

CHAPTER XXXIII

CHAPTER XXXIV

CHAPTER XXXV

CHAPTER XXXVI

CHAPTER XXXVII

CHAPTER XXXVIII

CHAPTER XXXIX

CHAPTER XL

CHAPTER XLI

CHAPTER XLII

CHAPTER XLIII

CHAPTER XLIV

CHAPTER XLV

CHAPTER XLVI

CHAPTER XLVII

CHAPTER XLVIII

Jane Austen Biography

Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775, in Steventon, Hampshire, England. While not widely known in her own time, Austen's comic novels of love among the landed gentry gained popularity after 1869, and her reputation skyrocketed in the 20th century. Her novels, including Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility, are considered literary classics, bridging the gap between romance and realism.

The seventh child and second daughter of Cassandra and George Austen, Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775, in Steventon, Hampshire, England. Jane's parents were well-respected community members. Her father served as the Oxford-educated rector for a nearby Anglican parish. The family was close and the children grew up in an environment that stressed learning and creative thinking. When Jane was young, she and her siblings were encouraged to read from their father's extensive library. The children also authored and put on plays and charades.

Over the span of her life, Jane would become especially close to her father and older sister, Cassandra. Indeed, she and Cassandra would one day collaborate on a published work.

In order to acquire a more formal education, Jane and Cassandra were sent to boarding schools during Jane's pre-adolescence. During this time, Jane and her sister caught typhus, with Jane nearly succumbing to the illness. After a short period of formal education cut short by financial constraints, they returned home and lived with the family from that time forward.

Ever fascinated by the world of stories, Jane began to write in bound notebooks. In the 1790s, during her adolescence, she started to craft her own novels and wrote Love and Freindship [sic], a parody of romantic fiction organized as a series of love letters. Using that framework, she unveiled her wit and dislike of sensibility, or romantic hysteria, a distinct perspective that would eventually characterize much of her later writing. The next year she wrote The History of England..., a 34-page parody of historical writing that included illustrations drawn by Cassandra. These notebooks, encompassing the novels as well as short stories, poems and plays, are now referred to as Jane's Juvenilia.

Jane spent much of her early adulthood helping run the family home, playing piano, attending church, and socializing with neighbours.

Steventon Church, as depicted in A Memoir of Jane Austen.

Her nights and weekends often involved cotillions, and as a result, she became an accomplished dancer. On other evenings, she would choose a novel from the shelf and read it aloud to her family, occasionally one she had written herself. She continued to write, developing her style in more ambitious works such as Lady Susan, another epistolary story about a manipulative woman who uses her sexuality, intelligence and charm to have her way with others. Jane also started to write some of her future major works, the first called Elinor and Marianne, another story told as a series of letters, which would eventually be published as Sense and Sensibility. She began drafts of First Impressions, which would later be published as Pride and Prejudice, and Susan, later published as Northanger Abbey by Jane's brother, Henry, following Jane's death.

In 1801, Jane moved to Bath with her father, mother and Cassandra. Then, in 1805, her father died after a short illness. As a result, the family was thrust into financial straits; the three women moved from place to place, skipping between the homes of various family members to rented flats. It was not until 1809 that they were able to settle into a stable living situation at Jane's brother Edward's cottage in Chawton.

Now in her 30s, Jane started to anonymously publish her works. In the period spanning 1811-16, she pseudonymously published Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice (a work she referred to as her "darling child," which also received critical acclaim), Mansfield Park and Emma.

In 1816, at the age of 41, Jane started to become ill with what some say might have been Addison's disease. She made impressive efforts to continue working at a normal pace, editing older works as well as starting a new novel called The Brothers, which would be published after her death as Sanditon. Another novel, Persuasion, would also be published posthumously. At some point, Jane's condition deteriorated to such a degree that she ceased writing. She died on July 18, 1817, in Winchester, Hampshire, England.

Jane Austen Novel Discussion

Sense and Sensibility tells the story of the impoverished Dashwood sisters. Marianne is the heroine of “sensibility”—i.e., of openness and enthusiasm. She becomes infatuated with the attractive John Willoughby, who seems to be a romantic lover but is in reality an unscrupulous fortune hunter. He deserts her for an heiress, leaving her to learn a dose of “sense” in a wholly unromantic marriage with a staid and settled bachelor, Colonel Brandon, who is 20 years her senior. By contrast, Marianne’s older sister, Elinor, is the guiding light of “sense,” or prudence and discretion, whose constancy toward her lover, Edward Ferrars, is rewarded by her marriage to him after some distressing vicissitudes.

Pride and Prejudice describes the clash between Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of a country gentleman, and Fitzwilliam Darcy, a rich and aristocratic landowner. Although Austen shows them intrigued by each other, she reverses the convention of “first impressions”: “pride” of rank and fortune and “prejudice” against the inferiority of the Bennet family hold Darcy aloof, while Elizabeth is equally fired both by the “pride” of self-respect and by “prejudice” against Darcy’s snobbery. Ultimately, they come together in love and self-understanding. The intelligent and high-spirited Elizabeth was Jane Austen’s own favourite among all her heroines and is one of the most engaging in English literature.

Northanger Abbey combines a satire on conventional novels of polite society with one on Gothic tales of terror. Catherine Morland, the unspoiled daughter of a country parson, is the innocent abroad who gains worldly wisdom, first in the fashionable society of Bath and then at Northanger Abbey itself, where she learns not to interpret the world through her reading of Gothic thrillers. Her mentor and guide is the self-assured and gently ironic Henry Tilney, her husband-to-be.

In its tone and discussion of religion and religious duty, Mansfield Park is the most serious of Austen’s novels. The heroine, Fanny Price, is a self-effacing and unregarded cousin cared for by the Bertram family in their country house. Fanny emerges as a true heroine whose moral strength eventually wins her complete acceptance in the Bertram family and marriage to Edmund Bertram himself, after that family’s disastrous involvement with the meretricious and loose-living Crawfords.

Of all Austen’s novels, Emma is the most consistently comic in tone. It centres on Emma Woodhouse, a wealthy, pretty, self-satisfied young woman who indulges herself with meddlesome and unsuccessful attempts at matchmaking among her friends and neighbours. After a series of humiliating errors, a chastened Emma finds her destiny in marriage to the mature and protective George Knightley, a neighbouring squire who had been her mentor and friend.

Persuasion tells the story of a second chance, the reawakening of love between Anne Elliot and Captain Frederick Wentworth, whom seven years earlier she had been persuaded not to marry. Now Wentworth returns from the Napoleonic Wars with prize money and the social acceptability of naval rank. He is an eligible suitor acceptable to Anne’s snobbish father and his circle, and Anne discovers the continuing strength of her love for him.

Jane Austen Interesting Facts

Help from the family

When Austen penned First Impressions, the book that would become Pride and Prejudice, in 1797, her proud farther George took it to a London publisher named Thomas Cadell for review. Cadell rejected it unread. It's not clear if Jane was even aware that George approached Cadell on her behalf.

Much later, in 1810, her brother Henry would act as her literary agent, selling Sense and Sensibility to London publisher Thomas Egerton.

Anonymous publications

From Sense and Sensibility through Emma, Austen's published works never bore her name. Sense and Sensibility carried the byline of "A Lady," while later works like Pride and Prejudice featured credits like, "By the Author of Sense and Sensibility."

Backing out of marriage

The year after her family's move to the city of Bath in 1801, Austen received a proposal of marriage from Harris Bigg-Wither, a financially prosperous childhood friend.

A 10 year break

When her family moved to Bath and subsequently kept relocating following her father's death in 1805, Austen's writing habits were severely disrupted. Once prolific—she completed three of her novels by 1801—a lack of a routine kept her from producing work for roughly 10 years. It wasn't until she felt her home life was stable after moving into property owned by her brother, Edward, that Austen resumed her career.

Straight pins

For an unfinished novel titled The Watsons, Austen took the pins and used them to fasten revisions to the pages of areas that were in need of correction or rewrites. The practice dates back to the 17th century.

Home brewing

In Austen's time, beer was the drink of choice, and like the rest of her family, Austen could brew her own beer. Her specialty was spruce beer, which was made with molasses for a slightly sweeter taste.

Poison

Austen lived to see only four of her six novels published. She died on July 18, 1817 at the age of 41 following complaints of symptoms that medical historians have long felt pointed to Addison's disease or Hodgkin's lymphoma. In 2017, the British Library floated a different theory—that Austen was poisoned by arsenic in her drinking water due to a polluted supply or possibly accidental ingestion due to mismanaged medication.

Court decisions

Jurists often use Austen as a kind of shorthand to explain matters involving relationships or class distinctions. Half of the decisions used the opening line from Pride and Prejudice: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

CHAPTER I

About thirty years ago Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon,

with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck

to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park,

in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised

to the rank of a baronet's lady, with all the comforts

and consequences of an handsome house and large income.

All Huntingdon exclaimed on the greatness of the match,

and her uncle, the lawyer, himself, allowed her to be at least

three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it.

She had two sisters to be benefited by her elevation;

and such of their acquaintance as thought Miss Ward and Miss

Frances quite as handsome as Miss Maria, did not scruple

to predict their marrying with almost equal advantage.

But there certainly are not so many men of large fortune

in the world as there are pretty women to deserve them.

Miss Ward, at the end of half a dozen years, found

herself obliged to be attached to the Rev. Mr. Norris,

a friend of her brother-in-law, with scarcely any

private fortune, and Miss Frances fared yet worse.

Miss Ward's match, indeed, when it came to the point,

was not contemptible: Sir Thomas being happily able

to give his friend an income in the living of Mansfield;

and Mr. and Mrs. Norris began their career of conjugal

felicity with very little less than a thousand a year.

But Miss Frances married, in the common phrase,

to disoblige her family, and by fixing on a lieutenant

of marines, without education, fortune, or connexions,

did it very thoroughly. She could hardly have made

a more untoward choice. Sir Thomas Bertram had interest,

which, from principle as well as pride—from a general

wish of doing right, and a desire of seeing all that were

connected with him in situations of respectability,

he would have been glad to exert for the advantage

of Lady Bertram's sister; but her husband's profession

was such as no interest could reach; and before he

had time to devise any other method of assisting them,

an absolute breach between the sisters had taken place.

It was the natural result of the conduct of each party,

and such as a very imprudent marriage almost always produces.

To save herself from useless remonstrance, Mrs. Price never

wrote to her family on the subject till actually married.

Lady Bertram, who was a woman of very tranquil feelings,

and a temper remarkably easy and indolent, would have

contented herself with merely giving up her sister,

and thinking no more of the matter; but Mrs. Norris

had a spirit of activity, which could not be satisfied

till she had written a long and angry letter to Fanny,

to point out the folly of her conduct, and threaten

her with all its possible ill consequences. Mrs. Price,

in her turn, was injured and angry; and an answer,

which comprehended each sister in its bitterness, and bestowed

such very disrespectful reflections on the pride of Sir

Thomas as Mrs. Norris could not possibly keep to herself,

put an end to all intercourse between them for a considerable

period.

Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they

moved so distinct, as almost to preclude the means of ever

hearing of each other's existence during the eleven

following years, or, at least, to make it very wonderful

to Sir Thomas that Mrs. Norris should ever have it

in her power to tell them, as she now and then did,

in an angry voice, that Fanny had got another child.

By the end of eleven years, however, Mrs. Price could no

longer afford to cherish pride or resentment, or to lose one

connexion that might possibly assist her. A large and still

increasing family, an husband disabled for active service,

but not the less equal to company and good liquor, and a

very small income to supply their wants, made her eager

to regain the friends she had so carelessly sacrificed;

and she addressed Lady Bertram in a letter which spoke

so much contrition and despondence, such a superfluity

of children, and such a want of almost everything else,

as could not but dispose them all to a reconciliation.

She was preparing for her ninth lying-in; and after

bewailing the circumstance, and imploring their countenance

as sponsors to the expected child, she could not conceal

how important she felt they might be to the future

maintenance of the eight already in being. Her eldest

was a boy of ten years old, a fine spirited fellow,

who longed to be out in the world; but what could she do?

Was there any chance of his being hereafter useful to Sir

Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property?

No situation would be beneath him; or what did Sir Thomas

think of Woolwich? or how could a boy be sent out to

the East?

The letter was not unproductive. It re-established

peace and kindness. Sir Thomas sent friendly

advice and professions, Lady Bertram dispatched

money and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norris wrote the letters.

Such were its immediate effects, and within a twelvemonth

a more important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it.

Mrs. Norris was often observing to the others that she

could not get her poor sister and her family out of

her head, and that, much as they had all done for her,

she seemed to be wanting to do more; and at length she

could not but own it to be her wish that poor Mrs. Price

should be relieved from the charge and expense of one child

entirely out of her great number. "What if they were

among them to undertake the care of her eldest daughter,

a girl now nine years old, of an age to require more

attention than her poor mother could possibly give?

The trouble and expense of it to them would be nothing,

compared with the benevolence of the action." Lady Bertram

agreed with her instantly. "I think we cannot do better,"

said she; "let us send for the child."

Sir Thomas could not give so instantaneous and unqualified

a consent. He debated and hesitated;—it was a serious charge;—

a girl so brought up must be adequately provided for,

or there would be cruelty instead of kindness in taking

her from her family. He thought of his own four children,

of his two sons, of cousins in love, etc.;—but no sooner

had he deliberately begun to state his objections,

than Mrs. Norris interrupted him with a reply to them all,

whether stated or not.

"My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you, and do

justice to the generosity and delicacy of your notions,

which indeed are quite of a piece with your general conduct;

and I entirely agree with you in the main as to the propriety

of doing everything one could by way of providing for a

child one had in a manner taken into one's own hands;

and I am sure I should be the last person in the world to

withhold my mite upon such an occasion. Having no children

of my own, who should I look to in any little matter I

may ever have to bestow, but the children of my sisters?—

and I am sure Mr. Norris is too just—but you know I am

a woman of few words and professions. Do not let us

be frightened from a good deed by a trifle. Give a girl

an education, and introduce her properly into the world,

and ten to one but she has the means of settling well,

without farther expense to anybody. A niece of ours,

Sir Thomas, I may say, or at least of _yours_, would not

grow up in this neighbourhood without many advantages.

I don't say she would be so handsome as her cousins.

I dare say she would not; but she would be introduced into

the society of this country under such very favourable

circumstances as, in all human probability, would get her

a creditable establishment. You are thinking of your sons—

but do not you know that, of all things upon earth,

_that_ is the least likely to happen, brought up as they

would be, always together like brothers and sisters?

It is morally impossible. I never knew an instance of it.

It is, in fact, the only sure way of providing against

the connexion. Suppose her a pretty girl, and seen by Tom

or Edmund for the first time seven years hence, and I dare

say there would be mischief. The very idea of her having

been suffered to grow up at a distance from us all in poverty

and neglect, would be enough to make either of the dear,

sweet-tempered boys in love with her. But breed her up

with them from this time, and suppose her even to have the

beauty of an angel, and she will never be more to either than

a sister."

"There is a great deal of truth in what you say,"

replied Sir Thomas, "and far be it from me to throw any

fanciful impediment in the way of a plan which would be

so consistent with the relative situations of each. I only

meant to observe that it ought not to be lightly engaged in,

and that to make it really serviceable to Mrs. Price,

and creditable to ourselves, we must secure to the child,

or consider ourselves engaged to secure to her hereafter,

as circumstances may arise, the provision of a gentlewoman,

if no such establishment should offer as you are so sanguine

in expecting."

"I thoroughly understand you," cried Mrs. Norris,

"you are everything that is generous and considerate,

and I am sure we shall never disagree on this point.

Whatever I can do, as you well know, I am always ready

enough to do for the good of those I love; and, though I

could never feel for this little girl the hundredth

part of the regard I bear your own dear children,

nor consider her, in any respect, so much my own,

I should hate myself if I were capable of neglecting her.

Is not she a sister's child? and could I bear to see

her want while I had a bit of bread to give her?

My dear Sir Thomas, with all my faults I have a warm heart;

and, poor as I am, would rather deny myself the necessaries

of life than do an ungenerous thing. So, if you are not

against it, I will write to my poor sister tomorrow,

and make the proposal; and, as soon as matters are settled,

_I_ will engage to get the child to Mansfield; _you_ shall

have no trouble about it. My own trouble, you know,

I never regard. I will send Nanny to London on purpose,

and she may have a bed at her cousin the saddler's, and the

child be appointed to meet her there. They may easily get

her from Portsmouth to town by the coach, under the care

of any creditable person that may chance to be going.

I dare say there is always some reputable tradesman's wife

or other going up."

Except to the attack on Nanny's cousin, Sir Thomas no longer

made any objection, and a more respectable, though less

economical rendezvous being accordingly substituted,

everything was considered as settled, and the pleasures

of so benevolent a scheme were already enjoyed.

The division of gratifying sensations ought not,

in strict justice, to have been equal; for Sir Thomas was

fully resolved to be the real and consistent patron of the

selected child, and Mrs. Norris had not the least intention

of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance.

As far as walking, talking, and contriving reached,

she was thoroughly benevolent, and nobody knew better

how to dictate liberality to others; but her love of money

was equal to her love of directing, and she knew quite as

well how to save her own as to spend that of her friends.

Having married on a narrower income than she had been

used to look forward to, she had, from the first,

fancied a very strict line of economy necessary;

and what was begun as a matter of prudence, soon grew

into a matter of choice, as an object of that needful

solicitude which there were no children to supply.

Had there been a family to provide for, Mrs. Norris might

never have saved her money; but having no care of that kind,

there was nothing to impede her frugality, or lessen the

comfort of making a yearly addition to an income which they

had never lived up to. Under this infatuating principle,

counteracted by no real affection for her sister,

it was impossible for her to aim at more than the credit

of projecting and arranging so expensive a charity;

though perhaps she might so little know herself as to

walk home to the Parsonage, after this conversation,

in the happy belief of being the most liberal-minded

sister and aunt in the world.

When the subject was brought forward again, her views

were more fully explained; and, in reply to Lady Bertram's

calm inquiry of "Where shall the child come to first,

sister, to you or to us?" Sir Thomas heard with some

surprise that it would be totally out of Mrs. Norris's

power to take any share in the personal charge of her.

He had been considering her as a particularly welcome

addition at the Parsonage, as a desirable companion

to an aunt who had no children of her own; but he found

himself wholly mistaken. Mrs. Norris was sorry to say

that the little girl's staying with them, at least

as things then were, was quite out of the question.

Poor Mr. Norris's indifferent state of health made it

an impossibility: he could no more bear the noise of a child

than he could fly; if, indeed, he should ever get well

of his gouty complaints, it would be a different matter:

she should then be glad to take her turn, and think nothing

of the inconvenience; but just now, poor Mr. Norris

took up every moment of her time, and the very mention

of such a thing she was sure would distract him.

"Then she had better come to us," said Lady Bertram,

with the utmost composure. After a short pause Sir Thomas

added with dignity, "Yes, let her home be in this house.

We will endeavour to do our duty by her, and she will,

at least, have the advantage of companions of her own age,

and of a regular instructress."

"Very true," cried Mrs. Norris, "which are both very

important considerations; and it will be just the same

to Miss Lee whether she has three girls to teach,

or only two—there can be no difference. I only wish I

could be more useful; but you see I do all in my power.

I am not one of those that spare their own trouble;

and Nanny shall fetch her, however it may put me

to inconvenience to have my chief counsellor away for

three days. I suppose, sister, you will put the child

in the little white attic, near the old nurseries.

It will be much the best place for her, so near Miss Lee,

and not far from the girls, and close by the housemaids,

who could either of them help to dress her, you know,

and take care of her clothes, for I suppose you would not

think it fair to expect Ellis to wait on her as well as

the others. Indeed, I do not see that you could possibly

place her anywhere else."

Lady Bertram made no opposition.

"I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl,"

continued Mrs. Norris, "and be sensible of her uncommon

good fortune in having such friends."

"Should her disposition be really bad," said Sir Thomas,

"we must not, for our own children's sake, continue her

in the family; but there is no reason to expect so great

an evil. We shall probably see much to wish altered

in her, and must prepare ourselves for gross ignorance,

some meanness of opinions, and very distressing vulgarity

of manner; but these are not incurable faults; nor, I trust,

can they be dangerous for her associates. Had my daughters

been _younger_ than herself, I should have considered

the introduction of such a companion as a matter of very

serious moment; but, as it is, I hope there can be nothing

to fear for _them_, and everything to hope for _her_,

from the association."

"That is exactly what I think," cried Mrs. Norris,

"and what I was saying to my husband this morning.

It will be an education for the child, said I, only being

with her cousins; if Miss Lee taught her nothing, she would

learn to be good and clever from _them_."

"I hope she will not tease my poor pug," said Lady Bertram;

"I have but just got Julia to leave it alone."

"There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris,"

observed Sir Thomas, "as to the distinction proper to be made

between the girls as they grow up: how to preserve in the

minds of my _daughters_ the consciousness of what they are,

without making them think too lowly of their cousin;

and how, without depressing her spirits too far,

to make her remember that she is not a _Miss Bertram_.

I should wish to see them very good friends, and would,

on no account, authorise in my girls the smallest degree

of arrogance towards their relation; but still they cannot

be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, and expectations

will always be different. It is a point of great delicacy,

and you must assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly

the right line of conduct."

Mrs. Norris was quite at his service; and though she

perfectly agreed with him as to its being a most

difficult thing, encouraged him to hope that between

them it would be easily managed.

It will be readily believed that Mrs. Norris did not write

to her sister in vain. Mrs. Price seemed rather surprised

that a girl should be fixed on, when she had so many fine boys,

but accepted the offer most thankfully, assuring them of her

daughter's being a very well-disposed, good-humoured girl,

and trusting they would never have cause to throw her off.

She spoke of her farther as somewhat delicate and puny,

but was sanguine in the hope of her being materially better

for change of air. Poor woman! she probably thought

change of air might agree with many of her children.

CHAPTER II

The little girl performed her long journey in safety;

and at Northampton was met by Mrs. Norris, who thus

regaled in the credit of being foremost to welcome her,

and in the importance of leading her in to the others,

and recommending her to their kindness.

Fanny Price was at this time just ten years old,

and though there might not be much in her first appearance

to captivate, there was, at least, nothing to disgust

her relations. She was small of her age, with no

glow of complexion, nor any other striking beauty;

exceedingly timid and shy, and shrinking from notice;

but her air, though awkward, was not vulgar, her voice

was sweet, and when she spoke her countenance was pretty.

Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram received her very kindly;

and Sir Thomas, seeing how much she needed encouragement,

tried to be all that was conciliating: but he had

to work against a most untoward gravity of deportment;

and Lady Bertram, without taking half so much trouble,

or speaking one word where he spoke ten, by the mere aid

of a good-humoured smile, became immediately the less awful

character of the two.

The young people were all at home, and sustained their

share in the introduction very well, with much good humour,

and no embarrassment, at least on the part of the sons, who,

at seventeen and sixteen, and tall of their age, had all

the grandeur of men in the eyes of their little cousin.

The two girls were more at a loss from being younger

and in greater awe of their father, who addressed them

on the occasion with rather an injudicious particularity.

But they were too much used to company and praise to have

anything like natural shyness; and their confidence

increasing from their cousin's total want of it,

they were soon able to take a full survey of her face

and her frock in easy indifference.

They were a remarkably fine family, the sons very well-looking,

the daughters decidedly handsome, and all of them well-grown

and forward of their age, which produced as striking

a difference between the cousins in person, as education

had given to their address; and no one would have supposed

the girls so nearly of an age as they really were. There were

in fact but two years between the youngest and Fanny.

Julia Bertram was only twelve, and Maria but a year older.

The little visitor meanwhile was as unhappy as possible.

Afraid of everybody, ashamed of herself, and longing

for the home she had left, she knew not how to look up,

and could scarcely speak to be heard, or without crying.

Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the whole way from

Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the

extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour

which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of

misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being

a wicked thing for her not to be happy. The fatigue,

too, of so long a journey, became soon no trifling evil.

In vain were the well-meant condescensions of Sir Thomas,

and all the officious prognostications of Mrs. Norris

that she would be a good girl; in vain did Lady Bertram

smile and make her sit on the sofa with herself and pug,

and vain was even the sight of a gooseberry tart towards

giving her comfort; she could scarcely swallow two mouthfuls

before tears interrupted her, and sleep seeming to be her

likeliest friend, she was taken to finish her sorrows in bed.

"This is not a very promising beginning," said Mrs. Norris,

when Fanny had left the room. "After all that I said to her

as we came along, I thought she would have behaved better;

I told her how much might depend upon her acquitting

herself well at first. I wish there may not be a little

sulkiness of temper—her poor mother had a good deal;

but we must make allowances for such a child—and I

do not know that her being sorry to leave her home is

really against her, for, with all its faults, it _was_

her home, and she cannot as yet understand how much she

has changed for the better; but then there is moderation

in all things."

It required a longer time, however, than Mrs. Norris

was inclined to allow, to reconcile Fanny to the novelty

of Mansfield Park, and the separation from everybody

she had been used to. Her feelings were very acute,

and too little understood to be properly attended to.

Nobody meant to be unkind, but nobody put themselves out

of their way to secure her comfort.

The holiday allowed to the Miss Bertrams the next day,

on purpose to afford leisure for getting acquainted with,

and entertaining their young cousin, produced little union.

They could not but hold her cheap on finding that she

had but two sashes, and had never learned French; and when

they perceived her to be little struck with the duet they

were so good as to play, they could do no more than make

her a generous present of some of their least valued toys,

and leave her to herself, while they adjourned to whatever

might be the favourite holiday sport of the moment,

making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper.

Fanny, whether near or from her cousins, whether in

the schoolroom, the drawing-room, or the shrubbery,

was equally forlorn, finding something to fear in

every person and place. She was disheartened by Lady

Bertram's silence, awed by Sir Thomas's grave looks,

and quite overcome by Mrs. Norris's admonitions.

Her elder cousins mortified her by reflections on her size,

and abashed her by noticing her shyness: Miss Lee

wondered at her ignorance, and the maid-servants sneered

at her clothes; and when to these sorrows was added the idea

of the brothers and sisters among whom she had always

been important as playfellow, instructress, and nurse,

the despondence that sunk her little heart was severe.

The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console her.

The rooms were too large for her to move in with ease:

whatever she touched she expected to injure, and she

crept about in constant terror of something or other;

often retreating towards her own chamber to cry;

and the little girl who was spoken of in the drawing-room

when she left it at night as seeming so desirably sensible

of her peculiar good fortune, ended every day's sorrows

by sobbing herself to sleep. A week had passed in this way,

and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive manner,

when she was found one morning by her cousin Edmund,

the youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs.

"My dear little cousin," said he, with all the gentleness

of an excellent nature, "what can be the matter?" And sitting

down by her, he was at great pains to overcome her shame

in being so surprised, and persuade her to speak openly.

Was she ill? or was anybody angry with her? or had she

quarrelled with Maria and Julia? or was she puzzled

about anything in her lesson that he could explain?

Did she, in short, want anything he could possibly get her,

or do for her? For a long while no answer could be

obtained beyond a "no, no—not at all—no, thank you";

but he still persevered; and no sooner had he begun to

revert to her own home, than her increased sobs explained

to him where the grievance lay. He tried to console her.

"You are sorry to leave Mama, my dear little Fanny,"

said he, "which shows you to be a very good girl; but you

must remember that you are with relations and friends,

who all love you, and wish to make you happy. Let us walk

out in the park, and you shall tell me all about your

brothers and sisters."

On pursuing the subject, he found that, dear as all

these brothers and sisters generally were, there was one

among them who ran more in her thoughts than the rest.

It was William whom she talked of most, and wanted most

to see. William, the eldest, a year older than herself,

her constant companion and friend; her advocate with her

mother (of whom he was the darling) in every distress.

"William did not like she should come away; he had told

her he should miss her very much indeed." "But William will

write to you, I dare say." "Yes, he had promised he would,

but he had told _her_ to write first." "And when shall

you do it?" She hung her head and answered hesitatingly,

"she did not know; she had not any paper."

"If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you

with paper and every other material, and you may write

your letter whenever you choose. Would it make you

happy to write to William?"

"Yes, very."

"Then let it be done now. Come with me into the

breakfast-room, we shall find everything there,

and be sure of having the room to ourselves."

"But, cousin, will it go to the post?"

"Yes, depend upon me it shall: it shall go with the

other letters; and, as your uncle will frank it,

it will cost William nothing."

"My uncle!" repeated Fanny, with a frightened look.

"Yes, when you have written the letter, I will take it

to my father to frank."

Fanny thought it a bold measure, but offered no further

resistance; and they went together into the breakfast-room,

where Edmund prepared her paper, and ruled her lines

with all the goodwill that her brother could himself

have felt, and probably with somewhat more exactness.

He continued with her the whole time of her writing,

to assist her with his penknife or his orthography,

as either were wanted; and added to these attentions,

which she felt very much, a kindness to her brother which

delighted her beyond all the rest. He wrote with his own

hand his love to his cousin William, and sent him half

a guinea under the seal. Fanny's feelings on the occasion

were such as she believed herself incapable of expressing;

but her countenance and a few artless words fully

conveyed all their gratitude and delight, and her cousin

began to find her an interesting object. He talked

to her more, and, from all that she said, was convinced

of her having an affectionate heart, and a strong desire

of doing right; and he could perceive her to be farther

entitled to attention by great sensibility of her situation,

and great timidity. He had never knowingly given her pain,

but he now felt that she required more positive kindness;

and with that view endeavoured, in the first place,

to lessen her fears of them all, and gave her especially

a great deal of good advice as to playing with Maria

and Julia, and being as merry as possible.

From this day Fanny grew more comfortable. She felt

that she had a friend, and the kindness of her cousin

Edmund gave her better spirits with everybody else.

The place became less strange, and the people less formidable;

and if there were some amongst them whom she could not

cease to fear, she began at least to know their ways,

and to catch the best manner of conforming to them.

The little rusticities and awkwardnesses which had at

first made grievous inroads on the tranquillity of all,

and not least of herself, necessarily wore away, and she

was no longer materially afraid to appear before her uncle,

nor did her aunt Norris's voice make her start very much.

To her cousins she became occasionally an acceptable companion.

Though unworthy, from inferiority of age and strength,

to be their constant associate, their pleasures and schemes

were sometimes of a nature to make a third very useful,

especially when that third was of an obliging,

yielding temper; and they could not but own, when their

aunt inquired into her faults, or their brother Edmund

urged her claims to their kindness, that "Fanny was

good-natured enough."

Edmund was uniformly kind himself; and she had nothing

worse to endure on the part of Tom than that sort

of merriment which a young man of seventeen will always

think fair with a child of ten. He was just entering

into life, full of spirits, and with all the liberal

dispositions of an eldest son, who feels born only

for expense and enjoyment. His kindness to his little

cousin was consistent with his situation and rights:

he made her some very pretty presents, and laughed at her.

As her appearance and spirits improved, Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris

thought with greater satisfaction of their benevolent plan;

and it was pretty soon decided between them that,

though far from clever, she showed a tractable disposition,

and seemed likely to give them little trouble. A mean

opinion of her abilities was not confined to _them_.

Fanny could read, work, and write, but she had been taught

nothing more; and as her cousins found her ignorant

of many things with which they had been long familiar,

they thought her prodigiously stupid, and for the first

two or three weeks were continually bringing some fresh

report of it into the drawing-room. "Dear mama, only think,

my cousin cannot put the map of Europe together—

or my cousin cannot tell the principal rivers in Russia—

or, she never heard of Asia Minor—or she does not know

the difference between water-colours and crayons!—

How strange!—Did you ever hear anything so stupid?"

"My dear," their considerate aunt would reply,

"it is very bad, but you must not expect everybody

to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself."

"But, aunt, she is really so very ignorant!—Do you know,

we asked her last night which way she would go to get

to Ireland; and she said, she should cross to the Isle

of Wight. She thinks of nothing but the Isle of Wight,

and she calls it _the_ _Island_, as if there were no

other island in the world. I am sure I should have been

ashamed of myself, if I had not known better long before I

was so old as she is. I cannot remember the time when I

did not know a great deal that she has not the least

notion of yet. How long ago it is, aunt, since we used

to repeat the chronological order of the kings of England,

with the dates of their accession, and most of the principal

events of their reigns!"

"Yes," added the other; "and of the Roman emperors

as low as Severus; besides a great deal of the heathen

mythology, and all the metals, semi-metals, planets,

and distinguished philosophers."

"Very true indeed, my dears, but you are blessed with

wonderful memories, and your poor cousin has probably none

at all. There is a vast deal of difference in memories,

as well as in everything else, and therefore you must

make allowance for your cousin, and pity her deficiency.

And remember that, if you are ever so forward and clever

yourselves, you should always be modest; for, much as you

know already, there is a great deal more for you to learn."

"Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen. But I must

tell you another thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid.

Do you know, she says she does not want to learn either

music or drawing."

"To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed,

and shows a great want of genius and emulation.

But, all things considered, I do not know whether it is

not as well that it should be so, for, though you know

(owing to me) your papa and mama are so good as to bring

her up with you, it is not at all necessary that she

should be as accomplished as you are;—on the contrary,

it is much more desirable that there should be a difference."

Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form

her nieces' minds; and it is not very wonderful that,

with all their promising talents and early information,

they should be entirely deficient in the less common

acquirements of self-knowledge, generosity and humility.

In everything but disposition they were admirably taught.

Sir Thomas did not know what was wanting, because, though a

truly anxious father, he was not outwardly affectionate,

and the reserve of his manner repressed all the flow of their

spirits before him.

To the education of her daughters Lady Bertram paid not

the smallest attention. She had not time for such cares.

She was a woman who spent her days in sitting, nicely dressed,

on a sofa, doing some long piece of needlework, of little use

and no beauty, thinking more of her pug than her children,

but very indulgent to the latter when it did not put

herself to inconvenience, guided in everything important

by Sir Thomas, and in smaller concerns by her sister.

Had she possessed greater leisure for the service of her girls,

she would probably have supposed it unnecessary, for they

were under the care of a governess, with proper masters,

and could want nothing more. As for Fanny's being stupid

at learning, "she could only say it was very unlucky,

but some people _were_ stupid, and Fanny must take more pains:

she did not know what else was to be done; and, except her

being so dull, she must add she saw no harm in the poor

little thing, and always found her very handy and quick

in carrying messages, and fetching, what she wanted."

Fanny, with all her faults of ignorance and timidity,

was fixed at Mansfield Park, and learning to transfer

in its favour much of her attachment to her former home,

grew up there not unhappily among her cousins. There was

no positive ill-nature in Maria or Julia; and though

Fanny was often mortified by their treatment of her,

she thought too lowly of her own claims to feel injured

by it.

From about the time of her entering the family,

Lady Bertram, in consequence of a little ill-health,

and a great deal of indolence, gave up the house in town,

which she had been used to occupy every spring,

and remained wholly in the country, leaving Sir Thomas

to attend his duty in Parliament, with whatever increase

or diminution of comfort might arise from her absence.

In the country, therefore, the Miss Bertrams continued

to exercise their memories, practise their duets, and grow

tall and womanly: and their father saw them becoming

in person, manner, and accomplishments, everything that

could satisfy his anxiety. His eldest son was careless

and extravagant, and had already given him much uneasiness;

but his other children promised him nothing but good.

His daughters, he felt, while they retained the name

of Bertram, must be giving it new grace, and in quitting it,

he trusted, would extend its respectable alliances;

and the character of Edmund, his strong good sense

and uprightness of mind, bid most fairly for utility,

honour, and happiness to himself and all his connexions.

He was to be a clergyman.

Amid the cares and the complacency which his own

children suggested, Sir Thomas did not forget to do what

he could for the children of Mrs. Price: he assisted

her liberally in the education and disposal of her sons

as they became old enough for a determinate pursuit;

and Fanny, though almost totally separated from her family,

was sensible of the truest satisfaction in hearing of any

kindness towards them, or of anything at all promising

in their situation or conduct. Once, and once only,

in the course of many years, had she the happiness

of being with William. Of the rest she saw nothing:

nobody seemed to think of her ever going amongst them again,

even for a visit, nobody at home seemed to want her;

but William determining, soon after her removal,

to be a sailor, was invited to spend a week with his

sister in Northamptonshire before he went to sea.

Their eager affection in meeting, their exquisite

delight in being together, their hours of happy mirth,

and moments of serious conference, may be imagined;

as well as the sanguine views and spirits of the boy even

to the last, and the misery of the girl when he left her.

Luckily the visit happened in the Christmas holidays,

when she could directly look for comfort to her cousin Edmund;

and he told her such charming things of what William was

to do, and be hereafter, in consequence of his profession,

as made her gradually admit that the separation might

have some use. Edmund's friendship never failed her:

his leaving Eton for Oxford made no change in his kind

dispositions, and only afforded more frequent opportunities

of proving them. Without any display of doing more than

the rest, or any fear of doing too much, he was always

true to her interests, and considerate of her feelings,

trying to make her good qualities understood, and to conquer

the diffidence which prevented their being more apparent;

giving her advice, consolation, and encouragement.

Kept back as she was by everybody else, his single support

could not bring her forward; but his attentions were otherwise

of the highest importance in assisting the improvement

of her mind, and extending its pleasures. He knew her to

be clever, to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense,

and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed,

must be an education in itself. Miss Lee taught her French,

and heard her read the daily portion of history; but he

recommended the books which charmed her leisure hours,

he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgment:

he made reading useful by talking to her of what she read,

and heightened its attraction by judicious praise.

In return for such services she loved him better than

anybody in the world except William: her heart was divided

between the two.

CHAPTER III

The first event of any importance in the family was

the death of Mr. Norris, which happened when Fanny was

about fifteen, and necessarily introduced alterations

and novelties. Mrs. Norris, on quitting the Parsonage,

removed first to the Park, and afterwards to a small house

of Sir Thomas's in the village, and consoled herself

for the loss of her husband by considering that she

could do very well without him; and for her reduction

of income by the evident necessity of stricter economy.

The living was hereafter for Edmund; and, had his uncle

died a few years sooner, it would have been duly given

to some friend to hold till he were old enough for orders.

But Tom's extravagance had, previous to that event,

been so great as to render a different disposal of the

next presentation necessary, and the younger brother

must help to pay for the pleasures of the elder.

There was another family living actually held for Edmund;

but though this circumstance had made the arrangement

somewhat easier to Sir Thomas's conscience, he could not

but feel it to be an act of injustice, and he earnestly

tried to impress his eldest son with the same conviction,

in the hope of its producing a better effect than anything he

had yet been able to say or do.

"I blush for you, Tom," said he, in his most dignified manner;

"I blush for the expedient which I am driven on, and I trust

I may pity your feelings as a brother on the occasion.

You have robbed Edmund for ten, twenty, thirty years,

perhaps for life, of more than half the income which ought

to be his. It may hereafter be in my power, or in yours

(I hope it will), to procure him better preferment;

but it must not be forgotten that no benefit of that

sort would have been beyond his natural claims on us,

and that nothing can, in fact, be an equivalent for the

certain advantage which he is now obliged to forego

through the urgency of your debts."

Tom listened with some shame and some sorrow;

but escaping as quickly as possible, could soon with

cheerful selfishness reflect, firstly, that he had

not been half so much in debt as some of his friends;

secondly, that his father had made a most tiresome piece

of work of it; and, thirdly, that the future incumbent,

whoever he might be, would, in all probability, die very soon.

On Mr. Norris's death the presentation became the right of

a Dr. Grant, who came consequently to reside at Mansfield;

and on proving to be a hearty man of forty-five, seemed

likely to disappoint Mr. Bertram's calculations.

But "no, he was a short-necked, apoplectic sort of fellow,

and, plied well with good things, would soon pop off."

He had a wife about fifteen years his junior, but no children;

and they entered the neighbourhood with the usual fair

report of being very respectable, agreeable people.

The time was now come when Sir Thomas expected his

sister-in-law to claim her share in their niece,

the change in Mrs. Norris's situation, and the improvement

in Fanny's age, seeming not merely to do away any former

objection to their living together, but even to give it

the most decided eligibility; and as his own circumstances

were rendered less fair than heretofore, by some recent

losses on his West India estate, in addition to his eldest

son's extravagance, it became not undesirable to himself to be

relieved from the expense of her support, and the obligation

of her future provision. In the fullness of his belief

that such a thing must be, he mentioned its probability

to his wife; and the first time of the subject's occurring

to her again happening to be when Fanny was present,

she calmly observed to her, "So, Fanny, you are going

to leave us, and live with my sister. How shall you like it?"

Fanny was too much surprised to do more than repeat

her aunt's words, "Going to leave you?"

"Yes, my dear; why should you be astonished?

You have been five years with us, and my sister

always meant to take you when Mr. Norris died.

But you must come up and tack on my patterns all the same."

The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as it had been unexpected.

She had never received kindness from her aunt Norris,

and could not love her.

"I shall be very sorry to go away," said she, with a

faltering voice.

"Yes, I dare say you will; _that's_ natural enough.

I suppose you have had as little to vex you since you came

into this house as any creature in the world."

"I hope I am not ungrateful, aunt," said Fanny modestly.

"No, my dear; I hope not. I have always found you

a very good girl."

"And am I never to live here again?"

"Never, my dear; but you are sure of a comfortable home.

It can make very little difference to you, whether you are

in one house or the other."

Fanny left the room with a very sorrowful heart; she could

not feel the difference to be so small, she could not think

of living with her aunt with anything like satisfaction.

As soon as she met with Edmund she told him her distress.

"Cousin," said she, "something is going to happen which I

do not like at all; and though you have often persuaded me

into being reconciled to things that I disliked at first,

you will not be able to do it now. I am going to live

entirely with my aunt Norris."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; my aunt Bertram has just told me so. It is quite settled.

I am to leave Mansfield Park, and go to the White House,

I suppose, as soon as she is removed there."

"Well, Fanny, and if the plan were not unpleasant to you,

I should call it an excellent one."

"Oh, cousin!"

"It has everything else in its favour. My aunt is

acting like a sensible woman in wishing for you. She is

choosing a friend and companion exactly where she ought,

and I am glad her love of money does not interfere.

You will be what you ought to be to her. I hope it does

not distress you very much, Fanny?"

"Indeed it does: I cannot like it. I love this house

and everything in it: I shall love nothing there.

You know how uncomfortable I feel with her."

"I can say nothing for her manner to you as a child;

but it was the same with us all, or nearly so. She never

knew how to be pleasant to children. But you are now

of an age to be treated better; I think she is behaving

better already; and when you are her only companion,

you _must_ be important to her."

"I can never be important to any one."

"What is to prevent you?"

"Everything. My situation, my foolishness and awkwardness."

"As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny,

believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using

the words so improperly. There is no reason in the world

why you should not be important where you are known.

You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you

have a grateful heart, that could never receive kindness

without wishing to return it. I do not know any better

qualifications for a friend and companion."

"You are too kind," said Fanny, colouring at such praise;

"how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for thinking

so well of me. Oh! cousin, if I am to go away, I shall

remember your goodness to the last moment of my life."

"Why, indeed, Fanny, I should hope to be remembered at

such a distance as the White House. You speak as if you

were going two hundred miles off instead of only across

the park; but you will belong to us almost as much as ever.

The two families will be meeting every day in the year.

The only difference will be that, living with your aunt,

you will necessarily be brought forward as you ought to be.

_Here_ there are too many whom you can hide behind; but with

_her_ you will be forced to speak for yourself."

"Oh! I do not say so."

"I must say it, and say it with pleasure. Mrs. Norris

is much better fitted than my mother for having the charge

of you now. She is of a temper to do a great deal

for anybody she really interests herself about, and she

will force you to do justice to your natural powers."