曼斯菲尔德庄园(中文导读英文版)(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)

作者：(英)奥斯丁(Austen.J)

出版社：清华大学出版社

格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT

曼斯菲尔德庄园(中文导读英文版)试读：

前言

简·奥斯丁(Jane Austen，1775-1817)，英国著名女作家。奥斯丁1775年12月生于英国的一个乡村小镇斯蒂文顿，父亲是当地教区的牧师。奥斯丁虽然没有上过正规学校，但是家庭优越的读书环境给了她自学的条件。在父母的指导下，她阅读了大量文学作品，由此培养了她对写作的兴趣。她不到20岁的时候就开始写作，一生共发表了6部长篇小说，这些小说都是世界文学中的经典。正因为如此，文学评论家甚至把她与莎士比亚相提并论。奥斯丁终生未婚，1817年7月18日因病去世。

21岁时，奥斯丁写成了第一部小说，题名《最初的印象》(正式出版时改为《傲慢与偏见》)，但当时并没有出版。1811年，她以匿名的方式正式出版了第一部小说《理智与情感》，之后是《傲慢与偏见》(1813年)、《曼斯菲尔德庄园》(1814年)。l816年，奥斯丁出版了她在世时的最后一部小说《爱玛》。在她去世之后，《诺桑觉寺》和《劝导》也相继出版。她的作品格调轻松诙谐，富有喜剧性冲突，尤其擅长于描写绅士淑女间的婚姻和爱情风波，深受读者欢迎。《曼斯菲尔德庄园》是奥斯丁思想最成熟、最具时代感的作品，被誉为英国小说发展史上的一个里程碑。该书出版近两百年来，一直畅销至今，被译成世界上几十种语言，是公认的世界文学名著之一。

在中国，《曼斯菲尔德庄园》是最受广大读者欢迎的经典小说之一。目前，在国内数量众多的《曼斯菲尔德庄园》书籍中，主要的出版形式有两种：一种是中文翻译版，另一种是英文原版。其中的英文原版越来越受到读者的欢迎，这主要是得益于中国人热衷于学习英文的大环境。从英文学习的角度来看，直接使用纯英文素材更有利于英语学习。考虑到对英文内容背景的了解有助于英文阅读，使用中文导读应该是一种比较好的方式，也可以说是该类型书的第三种版本形式。采用中文导读而非中英文对照的方式进行编排，这样有利于国内读者摆脱对英文阅读依赖中文注释的习惯。基于以上原因，我们决定编译《曼斯菲尔德庄园》，并采用中文导读英文版的形式出版。在中文导读中，我们尽力使其贴近原作的精髓，也尽可能保留原作的故事主线。我们希望能够编出为当代中国读者所喜爱的经典读本。读者在阅读英文故事之前，可以先阅读中文导读内容，这样有利于了解故事背景，从而加快阅读速度。我们相信，该经典著作的引进对加强当代中国读者，特别是青少年读者的人文修养是非常有帮助的。

本书主要内容由王勋、纪飞编译。参加本书故事素材搜集整理及编译工作的还有郑佳、刘乃亚、赵雪、熊金玉、李丽秀、熊红华、王婷婷、孟宪行、胡国平、李晓红、贡东兴、陈楠、邵舒丽、冯洁、王业伟、徐鑫、王晓旭、周丽萍、熊建国、徐平国、肖洁、王小红等。限于我们的科学、人文素养和英语水平，书中难免会有不当之处，衷心希望读者朋友批评指正。

第一章 Chapter 1

导读

玛丽亚·沃德小姐三十年前仅凭七千英镑的嫁妆，就进了托马斯·伯特伦爵士在北安普敦郡的曼斯菲尔德庄园，成了男爵夫人。大家都说这门亲事攀得好，她的姐姐沃德小姐也沾了光，嫁给了妹夫的朋友牧师诺里斯，做了曼斯菲尔德的牧师夫人，每年有差不多一千英镑的进项，过上了甜蜜的生活；然而妹妹弗朗西丝小姐自作主张，嫁给了既没文化和家产、又没门第的海军中尉，成了普莱斯太太。

爵士很想帮助这位妹夫，但姐妹俩闹翻了，男爵夫人不再理睬普莱斯太太，可诺里斯太太心里不甘，便写信去责怪普莱斯太太。普莱斯太太回信对两位姐姐痛斥了一番。从此，普莱斯太太多年没与两位姐姐交往，只是诺里斯太太不时地告诉伯特伦夫人和爵士，普莱斯太太又生了孩子。

十一年后普莱斯太太的孩子已经一大帮，丈夫又落下了残疾，不能再工作，家里那微薄的收入已不能维持生计。于是，普莱斯太太便放下自尊，给伯特伦夫人写信求援，说明了家中的情况，并请他们给即将出生的第九个孩子当教夫、教母，其他八个孩子也将依靠他们。

其中，老大是个男孩，长得漂亮、活泼，一心想去海外。普莱斯太太希望爵士在西印度洋岛的产业将来能用得上他，或者让他去伍里奇陆军学校。爵士一家收到信后，大家重归于好。爵士表示愿意替她们想办法，伯特伦夫人开始给妹妹寄钱和婴儿衣服，诺里斯太太则经常给她写信。

随后，诺里斯太太和爵士夫妇商量着要想办法减轻普莱斯太太的负担。伯特伦夫人表示同意，可爵士心里犹豫不定，他考虑到如果让孩子离开父母有点儿残酷。诺里斯太太说自己没有小孩，会用自己的微薄之力来帮助妹妹的孩子，让爵士不要有顾虑，自己会让外甥女受到教育，并把她引进社交界，而她会建立自己的家庭。爵士表示要把事情办得问心无愧，他们有责任让外甥女过上有身份女人的生活。诺里斯太太表示，自己家里虽不富裕，但宁肯省吃俭用也会尽力帮忙，并说会写信给妹妹，如果她同意，便派自己的管家南妮去伦敦接孩子，妹妹只要把孩子在朴次茅斯送上去伦敦的驿车就行了。

爵士决定用一个虽不省钱但较为体面和安全的办法，并要诺里斯太太永久地抚养这个孩子。但诺里斯太太并不想为这个孩子破费。她没有儿女，所以她的钱年年都有富余，这使她从中得到了几分快感。她对妹妹弗朗西丝并没有感情，所以只是想为这一善举出出主意，如果要出钱她是不干的。当再次提起这件事时，伯特伦问诺里斯太太孩子来后住哪里，她表示自己没有能力照料孩子，并表示诺里斯先生身体不好需要照顾，把孩子接到家里不方便。

爵士夫妇便决定让孩子住到自己家里，家里的孩子还可以和这个孩子做伴，并且有正规的老师。普莱斯太太接到信后很惊讶，她想自己有那么多漂亮的男孩，不明白他们为什么选一个女孩，但她还是答应了。

About thirty years ago Miss Maria Ward, ofHuntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate SirThomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to bethereby raised to the rank of a baronet’s lady, withall the comforts and consequences of an handsome house and large income. AllHuntingdon exclaimed on the greatness of the match, and her uncle, the lawyer,himself, allowed her to be at least three thousand pounds short of anyequitable 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 ashandsome as Miss Maria, did not scruple to predict their marrying with almostequal advantage. But there certainly are not so many men of large fortune inthe world as there are pretty women to deserve them. Miss Ward, at the end ofhalf 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, andMiss Frances fared yet worse. Miss Ward’s match,indeed, when it came to the point, was not contemptible: Sir Thomas beinghappily 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 lessthan a thousand a year. But Miss Frances married, in the common phrase, todisoblige her family, and by fixing on a lieutenant of marines, withouteducation, fortune, or connexions, did it very thoroughly. She could hardlyhave made a more untoward choice. Sir Thomas Bertram had interest, which, fromprinciple as well as pride-from a general wish of doing right, and a desire ofseeing all that were connected with him in situations of respectability, hewould have been glad to exert for the advantage of Lady Bertram’s sister; but her husband’s profession wassuch as no interest could reach; and before he had time to devise any othermethod of assisting them, an absolute breach between the sisters had takenplace. It was the natural result of the conduct of each party, and such as avery imprudent marriage almost always produces. To save herself from uselessremonstrance, Mrs. Price never wrote to her family on the subject till actuallymarried. Lady Bertram, who was a woman of very tranquil feelings, and a temperremarkably easy and indolent, would have contented herself with merely givingup her sister, and thinking no more of the matter; but Mrs. Norris had a spiritof activity, which could not be satisfied till she had written a long and angryletter to Fanny, to point out the folly of her conduct, and threaten her withall its possible ill consequences. Mrs. Price, in her turn, was injured andangry; and an answer, which comprehended each sister in its bitterness, andbestowed such very disrespectful reflections on the pride of Sir Thomas as Mrs.Norris could not possibly keep to herself, put an end to all intercoursebetween them for a considerable period.

Their homes were so distant, and the circlesin which they moved so distinct, as almost to preclude the means of everhearing of each other’s existence during the elevenfollowing years, or, at least, to make it very wonderful to Sir Thomas thatMrs. Norris should ever have it in her power to tell them, as she now and thendid, in an angry voice, that Fanny had got another child. By the end of elevenyears, however, Mrs. Price could no longer afford to cherish pride orresentment, or to lose one connexion that might possibly assist her. A largeand still increasing family, an husband disabled for active service, but notthe less equal to company and good liquor, and a very small income to supplytheir wants, made her eager to regain the friends she had so carelesslysacrificed; and she addressed Lady Bertram in a letter which spoke so muchcontrition and despondence, such a superfluity of children, and such a want ofalmost 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 couldnot conceal how important she felt they might be to the future maintenance ofthe eight already in being. Her eldest was a boy of ten years old, a finespirited fellow, who longed to be out in the world; but what could she do? Wasthere any chance of his being hereafter useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns ofhis West Indian property? No situation would be beneath him; or what did Sir Thomasthink of Woolwich? or how could a boy be sent out to the East?

The letter was not unproductive. Itre-established peace and kindness. Sir Thomas sent friendly advice andprofessions, Lady Bertram dispatched money and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norriswrote the letters.

Such were its immediate effects, and within atwelvemonth 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 sisterand 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 tobe her wish that poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from the charge and expenseof one child entirely out of her great number. “What ifthey were among them to undertake the care of her eldest daughter, a girl nownine years old, of an age to require more attention than her poor mother couldpossibly give? The trouble and expense of it to them would be nothing, comparedwith the benevolence of the action.” Lady Bertramagreed with her instantly. “I think we cannot dobetter,” said she; “let us sendfor the child.”

Sir Thomas could not give so instantaneousand unqualified a consent. He debated and hesitated;-it was a serious charge;-agirl so brought up must be adequately provided for, or there would be crueltyinstead of kindness in taking her from her family. He thought of his own fourchildren, of his two sons, of cousins in love, etc.;-but no sooner had hedeliberately begun to state his objections, than Mrs. Norris interrupted himwith a reply to them all, whether stated or not.

“My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehendyou, and do justice to the generosity and delicacy of your notions, whichindeed are quite of a piece with your general conduct; and I entirely agreewith you in the main as to the propriety of doing everything one could by wayof 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 worldto withhold my mite upon such an occasion. Having no children of my own, whoshould I look to in any little matter I may ever have to bestow, but thechildren of my sisters?- and I am sure Mr. Norris is too just-but you know I ama woman of few words and professions. Do not let us be frightened from a gooddeed by a trifle. Give a girl an education, and introduce her properly into theworld, and ten to one but she has the means of settling well, without fartherexpense to anybody. A niece of ours, Sir Thomas, I may say, or at least ofyours, 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 wouldnot; but she would be introduced into the society of this country under suchvery favourable circumstances as, in all human probability, would get her acreditable establishment. You are thinking of your sons- but do not you knowthat, of all things upon earth, that is the least likely to happen, brought upas they would be, always together like brothers and sisters? It is morallyimpossible. I never knew an instance of it. It is, in fact, the only sure wayof providing against the connexion. Suppose her a pretty girl, and seen by Tomor Edmund for the first time seven years hence, and I dare say there would bemischief. The very idea of her having been suffered to grow up at a distancefrom 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 thistime, and suppose her even to have the beauty of an angel, and she will neverbe more to either than a sister.”

“There is a great deal of truth in what yousay,” replied Sir Thomas, “andfar be it from me to throw any fanciful impediment in the way of a plan whichwould be so consistent with the relative situations of each. I only meant toobserve that it ought not to be lightly engaged in, and that to make it reallyserviceable to Mrs. Price, and creditable to ourselves, we must secure to thechild, or consider ourselves engaged to secure to her hereafter, ascircumstances may arise, the provision of a gentlewoman, if no suchestablishment should offer as you are so sanguine in expecting.”

“I thoroughly understand you,” cried Mrs. Norris, “you are everything thatis generous and considerate, and I am sure we shall never disagree on thispoint. Whatever I can do, as you well know, I am always ready enough to do forthe good of those I love; and, though I could never feel for this little girlthe hundredth part of the regard I bear your own dear children, nor considerher, in any respect, so much my own, I should hate myself if I were capable ofneglecting her. Is not she a sister’s child? and couldI bear to see her want while I had a bit of bread to give her? My dear SirThomas, with all my faults I have a warm heart; and, poor as I am, would ratherdeny myself the necessaries of life than do an ungenerous thing. So, if you arenot 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 toMansfield; you shall have no trouble about it. My own trouble, you know, Inever regard. I will send Nanny to London on purpose, and she may have a bed ather cousin the saddler’s, and the child be appointed tomeet 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 saythere is always some reputable tradesman’s wife orother going up.”

Except to the attack on Nanny’s cousin, Sir Thomas no longer made any objection, and a morerespectable, though less economical rendezvous being accordingly substituted,everything was considered as settled, and the pleasures of so benevolent ascheme were already enjoyed. The division of gratifying sensations ought not,in strict justice, to have been equal; for Sir Thomas was fully resolved to bethe real and consistent patron of the selected child, and Mrs. Norris had notthe least intention of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance. As faras walking, talking, and contriving reached, she was thoroughly benevolent, andnobody knew better how to dictate liberality to others; but her love of moneywas equal to her love of directing, and she knew quite as well how to save herown as to spend that of her friends. Having married on a narrower income thanshe had been used to look forward to, she had, from the first, fancied a verystrict 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 solicitudewhich 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 ayearly addition to an income which they had never lived up to. Under thisinfatuating principle, counteracted by no real affection for her sister, it wasimpossible for her to aim at more than the credit of projecting and arrangingso expensive a charity; though perhaps she might so little know herself as towalk home to the Parsonage, after this conversation, in the happy belief ofbeing 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 childcome to first, sister, to you or to us?” Sir Thomasheard 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 beenconsidering her as a particularly welcome addition at the Parsonage, as adesirable companion to an aunt who had no children of her own; but he foundhimself 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 ofthe question. Poor Mr. Norris’s indifferent state ofhealth made it an impossibility: he could no more bear the noise of a childthan 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, andthink nothing of the inconvenience; but just now, poor Mr. Norris took up everymoment of her time, and the very mention of such a thing she was sure woulddistract him.

“Then she had better come to us,” said Lady Bertram, with the utmost composure. After a short pauseSir Thomas added with dignity, “Yes, let her home be inthis 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,” criedMrs. Norris, “which are both very importantconsiderations; and it will be just the same to Miss Lee whether she has threegirls to teach, or only two-there can be no difference. I only wish I could bemore useful; but you see I do all in my power. I am not one of those that sparetheir own trouble; and Nanny shall fetch her, however it may put me toinconvenience to have my chief counsellor away for three days. I suppose,sister, you will put the child in the little white attic, near the oldnurseries. It will be much the best place for her, so near Miss Lee, and notfar from the girls, and close by the housemaids, who could either of them help todress her, you know, and take care of her clothes, for I suppose you would notthink it fair to expect Ellis to wait on her as well as the others. Indeed, Ido 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 ofher uncommon good fortune in having such friends.”

“Should her disposition be really bad,” said Sir Thomas, “we must not, for our ownchildren’s sake, continue her in the family; but thereis no reason to expect so great an evil. We shall probably see much to wishaltered in her, and must prepare ourselves for gross ignorance, some meannessof opinions, and very distressing vulgarity of manner; but these are notincurable faults; nor, I trust, can they be dangerous for her associates. Hadmy daughters been younger than herself, I should have considered theintroduction of such a companion as a matter of very serious moment; but, as itis, I hope there can be nothing to fear for them, and everything to hope forher, from the association.”

“That is exactly what I think,” cried Mrs. Norris, “and what I was sayingto my husband this morning. It will be an education for the child, said I, onlybeing with her cousins; if Miss Lee taught her nothing, she would learn to begood and clever from them.”

“I hope she will not tease my poor pug,” said Lady Bertram; “I have but just gotJulia 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 theygrow up: how to preserve in the minds of my daughters the consciousness of whatthey are, without making them think too lowly of their cousin; and how, withoutdepressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a MissBertram. 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 expectationswill always be different. It is a point of great delicacy, and you must assistus in our endeavours to choose exactly the right line of conduct.”

Mrs. Norris was quite at his service; andthough 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. Norrisdid not write to her sister in vain. Mrs. Price seemed rather surprised that agirl should be fixed on, when she had so many fine boys, but accepted the offermost thankfully, assuring them of her daughter’s beinga very well-disposed, good-humoured girl, and trusting they would never havecause 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 herchildren.

第二章 Chapter 2

导读

十岁的芬妮·普莱斯在北安普敦郡见到了接她的大姨妈诺里斯太太，诺里斯太太觉得来迎接并领着芬妮去见众人是件风光的事，因此心里乐滋滋的。

芬妮看起来比实际年龄小些，虽不让亲戚们生厌，但她羞怯的脸上没有光彩。她的声音还算动听，容貌也算好看。爵士夫妇热情地接待了她，但生性不苟言笑的爵士看起来让人很难接近，而伯特伦夫人只是和颜一笑，便使芬妮觉得她没有爵士可畏。随后，芬妮又见到了十七岁的大表哥汤姆和十六岁的二表哥埃德蒙及十二岁的大表姐玛丽亚·伯特伦和十一岁的朱莉娅·伯特伦。

芬妮心里想家，一说话就流泪。诺里斯太太开导她，说她应该感激，但这使她更加悲伤了。爵士一家人都关心她也不起作用，最后只好让她上床睡觉。

次日，伯特伦家的两位小姐放假陪芬妮玩，但她们的兴趣不一样，只好让她自己玩。芬妮对爵士感到敬畏，见到太太感到恐慌，听到小姐对她的议论，感到羞愧，而女仆则讥笑她寒酸，家庭老师李小姐觉得她什么也不懂，这一切使芬妮感到十分沮丧。在这富丽堂皇的屋里她感到紧张，常常躲在自己的房间里哭泣。有天早上，她在阁楼的楼梯上哭泣，被二表哥发现。表哥明白她是因为离开妈妈而难过，使邀请她到庭园中散心，还知道了芬妮最想见的是大她一岁的哥哥威廉——威廉曾答应给她写信的，二表哥当即表示自己可以给提供信纸，并且盖上免费邮戳。芬妮虽然感到有些冒昧但也没反对，于是他们到了早餐室，芬妮给威廉写了信，埃德蒙也亲笔向表弟问了好，并在信中给他寄了半个几尼，这使芬妮十分激动。埃德蒙看出芬妮对自己的处境很敏感，便劝她跟两位表姐一起玩，要快乐地生活。从此，芬妮觉得自己有朋友了，心情也好起来了，慢慢地见人也不怕了，也愿意和两位表姐在一起玩了。

看到芬妮的情绪好转，爵士和诺里斯太太感到他们慈善计划执行得很好。芬妮虽不十分聪明但性情温和，她也能读书写字。两位表姐认为她对很多东西都一无所知，于是不断地向大姨妈报告这方面的情况。姨妈安慰说：不要期待谁都像她们这样聪明。当两位表姐向姨妈说芬妮不想学音乐和绘画时，姨妈表示：芬妮不学也好，没必要让她们都一样，应该有区别。诺里斯太太这样来教育两个外甥女，使她们在谦恭和宽宏大度等方面的教育有所欠缺。对于女儿的教育，爵士并不知道她们欠缺什么，伯特伦太太则不闻不问，只是在屋里做些没用的针线活，也只关心她的哈巴狗。这家的大事由托马斯爵士决定，小事则由姐姐管。她认为，芬妮除了笨之外，其余都好。芬妮在这种环境下慢慢安定下来，两位表姐对她也不坏，只是经常让她很没面子。由于没有过高的要求，所以芬妮也不怎么伤心。

往年，每到春天，伯特伦夫人都要到伦敦的官邸住一段时间。芬妮来后，伯特伦夫人由于身体不好，又加上懒惰便不去城里了，只让爵士一人去履行他的职责，小姐们则继续在乡下上学，练习唱歌。爵士看到她们都出落得美丽大方，感到很满意。他担心大儿子挥霍无度；觉得两个女儿会为伯特伦家增光，为家中赢得体面的姻缘；爱德蒙也能为家族带来荣誉和快乐，成为一名牧师。

托马斯爵士继续帮助普莱斯太太，资助她的男孩上学，长大后帮他们安排职业，这使芬妮感到很高兴。这些年她只和威廉见过一次面，那是威廉决定当水手，去海上之前应邀到北安普敦和芬妮聚了一个礼拜。那时正好是圣诞节假日期间，芬妮在哥哥那里得到了安慰。埃德蒙此时已到牛津大学读书，但并没有间断对她的关心，他给芬妮推荐有趣的课外读物，提高她的鉴赏能力，使她体会到了读书的益处。芬妮的心一半属于威廉，一半属于埃德蒙。

The little girl performed her long journey insafety; and at Northampton was met by Mrs. Norris, who thus regaled in thecredit of being foremost to welcome her, and in the importance of leading herin to the others, and recommending her to their kindness.

Fanny Price was at this time just ten yearsold, 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 herage, with no glow of complexion, nor any other striking beauty; exceedinglytimid and shy, and shrinking from notice; but her air, though awkward, was notvulgar, her voice was sweet, and when she spoke her countenance was pretty. SirThomas and Lady Bertram received her very kindly; and Sir Thomas, seeing how muchshe needed encouragement, tried to be all that was conciliating: but he had towork against a most untoward gravity of deportment; and Lady Bertram, withouttaking half so much trouble, or speaking one word where he spoke ten, by themere aid of a good-humoured smile, became immediately the less awful characterof the two.

The young people were all at home, andsustained their share in the introduction very well, with much good humour, andno embarrassment, at least on the part of the sons, who, at seventeen andsixteen, and tall of their age, had all the grandeur of men in the eyes oftheir little cousin. The two girls were more at a loss from being younger andin greater awe of their father, who addressed them on the occasion with ratheran injudicious particularity. But they were too much used to company and praiseto have anything like natural shyness; and their confidence increasing fromtheir cousin’s total want of it, they were soon able totake a full survey of her face and her frock in easy indifference.

They were a remarkably fine family, the sonsvery well-looking, the daughters decidedly handsome, and all of them well-grownand forward of their age, which produced as striking a difference between thecousins in person, as education had given to their address; and no one wouldhave supposed the girls so nearly of an age as they really were. There were infact but two years between the youngest and Fanny. Julia Bertram was onlytwelve, and Maria but a year older. The little visitor meanwhile was as unhappyas possible. Afraid of everybody, ashamed of herself, and longing for the homeshe had left, she knew not how to look up, and could scarcely speak to beheard, or without crying. Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the whole wayfrom Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the extraordinary degree ofgratitude and good behaviour which it ought to produce, and her consciousnessof misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing forher not to be happy. The fatigue, too, of so long a journey, became soon notrifling evil. In vain were the well-meant condescensions of Sir Thomas, andall the officious prognostications of Mrs. Norris that she would be a goodgirl; in vain did Lady Bertram smile and make her sit on the sofa with herselfand pug, and vain was even the sight of a gooseberry tart towards giving hercomfort; she could scarcely swallow two mouthfuls before tears interrupted her,and sleep seeming to be her likeliest friend, she was taken to finish hersorrows 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 wouldhave behaved better; I told her how much might depend upon her acquittingherself well at first. I wish there may not be a little sulkiness of temper-herpoor mother had a good deal; but we must make allowances for such a child-and Ido 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 muchshe 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 MansfieldPark, and the separation from everybody she had been used to. Her feelings werevery acute, and too little understood to be properly attended to. Nobody meantto be unkind, but nobody put themselves out of their way to secure her comfort.

The holiday allowed to the Miss Bertrams thenext day, on purpose to afford leisure for getting acquainted with, andentertaining their young cousin, produced little union. They could not but holdher 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 goodas to play, they could do no more than make her a generous present of some oftheir least valued toys, and leave her to herself, while they adjourned towhatever might be the favourite holiday sport of the moment, making artificialflowers or wasting gold paper.

Fanny, whether near or from her cousins,whether in the schoolroom, the drawing-room, or the shrubbery, was equallyforlorn, finding something to fear in every person and place. She wasdisheartened by Lady Bertram’s silence, awed by SirThomas’s grave looks, and quite overcome by Mrs. Norris’s admonitions. Her elder cousins mortified her by reflections on hersize, and abashed her by noticing her shyness: Miss Lee wondered at herignorance, and the maid-servants sneered at her clothes; and when to thesesorrows was added the idea of the brothers and sisters among whom she hadalways been important as playfellow, instructress, and nurse, the despondencethat sunk her little heart was severe.

The grandeur of the house astonished, butcould 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 constantterror 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 atnight as seeming so desirably sensible of her peculiar good fortune, endedevery day’s sorrows by sobbing herself to sleep. A weekhad passed in this way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passivemanner, when she was found one morning by her cousin Edmund, the youngest ofthe 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 byher, he was at great pains to overcome her shame in being so surprised, andpersuade her to speak openly. Was she ill? or was anybody angry with her? orhad she quarrelled with Maria and Julia? or was she puzzled about anything inher lesson that he could explain? Did she, in short, want anything he couldpossibly get her, or do for her? For a long while no answer could be obtainedbeyond a “no, no-not at all-no, thank you”; but he still persevered; and no sooner had he begun to revert toher 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 littleFanny,” said he, “which showsyou to be a very good girl; but you must remember that you are with relationsand friends, who all love you, and wish to make you happy. Let us walk out inthe park, and you shall tell me all about your brothers and sisters.”

On pursuing the subject, he found that, dearas all these brothers and sisters generally were, there was one among them whoran 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, herconstant companion and friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom he was thedarling) in every distress. “William did not like sheshould 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 hungher head and answered hesitatingly, “she did not know;she had not any paper.”

“If that be all your difficulty, I willfurnish you with paper and every other material, and you may write your letter wheneveryou choose. Would it make you happy to write to William?”

“Yes, very.”

“Then let it be done now. Come with me intothe breakfast-room, we shall find everything there, and be sure of having theroom to ourselves.”

“But, cousin, will it go to the post?”

“Yes, depend upon me it shall: it shall gowith the other letters; and, as your uncle will frank it, it will cost Williamnothing.”

“My uncle!” repeatedFanny, with a frightened look.

“Yes, when you have written the letter, Iwill take it to my father to frank.”

Fanny thought it a bold measure, but offeredno further resistance; and they went together into the breakfast-room, whereEdmund prepared her paper, and ruled her lines with all the goodwill that herbrother could himself have felt, and probably with somewhat more exactness. Hecontinued with her the whole time of her writing, to assist her with hispenknife or his orthography, as either were wanted; and added to theseattentions, which she felt very much, a kindness to her brother which delightedher beyond all the rest. He wrote with his own hand his love to his cousinWilliam, and sent him half a guinea under the seal. Fanny’s feelings on the occasion were such as she believed herselfincapable of expressing; but her countenance and a few artless words fullyconveyed all their gratitude and delight, and her cousin began to find her aninteresting object. He talked to her more, and, from all that she said, wasconvinced of her having an affectionate heart, and a strong desire of doingright; and he could perceive her to be farther entitled to attention by greatsensibility of her situation, and great timidity. He had never knowingly givenher pain, but he now felt that she required more positive kindness; and withthat view endeavoured, in the first place, to lessen her fears of them all, andgave her especially a great deal of good advice as to playing with Maria andJulia, 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 herbetter spirits with everybody else. The place became less strange, and thepeople less formidable; and if there were some amongst them whom she could notcease to fear, she began at least to know their ways, and to catch the bestmanner of conforming to them. The little rusticities and awkwardnesses whichhad at first made grievous inroads on the tranquillity of all, and not least ofherself, necessarily wore away, and she was no longer materially afraid toappear before her uncle, nor did her aunt Norris’svoice make her start very much. To her cousins she became occasionally anacceptable companion. Though unworthy, from inferiority of age and strength, tobe their constant associate, their pleasures and schemes were sometimes of anature to make a third very useful, especially when that third was of anobliging, yielding temper; and they could not but own, when their aunt inquiredinto her faults, or their brother Edmund urged her claims to their kindness,that “Fanny was good-natured enough.”

Edmund was uniformly kind himself; and shehad nothing worse to endure on the part of Tom than that sort of merrimentwhich a young man of seventeen will always think fair with a child of ten. Hewas just entering into life, full of spirits, and with all the liberaldispositions 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, SirThomas and Mrs. Norris thought with greater satisfaction of their benevolentplan; and it was pretty soon decided between them that, though far from clever,she showed a tractable disposition, and seemed likely to give them littletrouble. A mean opinion of her abilities was not confined to them. Fanny couldread, work, and write, but she had been taught nothing more; and as her cousinsfound her ignorant of many things with which they had been long familiar, theythought her prodigiously stupid, and for the first two or three weeks werecontinually bringing some fresh report of it into the drawing-room. “Dear mama, only think, my cousin cannot put the map of Europetogether- or my cousin cannot tell the principal rivers in Russia- or, shenever heard of Asia Minor-or she does not know the difference betweenwater-colours and crayons!- How strange!-Did you ever hear anything so stupid?”

“My dear,” theirconsiderate aunt would reply, “it is very bad, but youmust not expect everybody to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself.”

“But, aunt, she is really so veryignorant!-Do you know, we asked her last night which way she would go to get toIreland; and she said, she should cross to the Isle of Wight. She thinks ofnothing but the Isle of Wight, and she calls it the Island, as if there were noother island in the world. I am sure I should have been ashamed of myself, if Ihad not known better long before I was so old as she is. I cannot remember thetime 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 ofthe kings of England, with the dates of their accession, and most of theprincipal events of their reigns!”

“Yes,” added theother; “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 areblessed 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 shouldalways be modest; for, much as you know already, there is a great deal more foryou 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 stupidindeed, and shows a great want of genius and emulation. But, all thingsconsidered, 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 upwith you, it is not at all necessary that she should be as accomplished as youare;-on the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be adifference.”

Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norrisassisted to form her nieces’ minds; and it is not verywonderful that, with all their promising talents and early information, theyshould be entirely deficient in the less common acquirements of self-knowledge,generosity and humility. In everything but disposition they were admirablytaught. Sir Thomas did not know what was wanting, because, though a trulyanxious father, he was not outwardly affectionate, and the reserve of hismanner repressed all the flow of their spirits before him.

To the education of her daughters LadyBertram paid not the smallest attention. She had not time for such cares. Shewas a woman who spent her days in sitting, nicely dressed, on a sofa, doingsome long piece of needlework, of little use and no beauty, thinking more ofher pug than her children, but very indulgent to the latter when it did not putherself to inconvenience, guided in everything important by Sir Thomas, and insmaller concerns by her sister. Had she possessed greater leisure for theservice of her girls, she would probably have supposed it unnecessary, for theywere under the care of a governess, with proper masters, and could want nothingmore. 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 littlething, and always found her very handy and quick in carrying messages, andfetching, what she wanted.”

Fanny, with all her faults of ignorance andtimidity, was fixed at Mansfield Park, and learning to transfer in its favourmuch of her attachment to her former home, grew up there not unhappily amongher cousins. There was no positive ill-nature in Maria or Julia; and thoughFanny was often mortified by their treatment of her, she thought too lowly ofher own claims to feel injured by it.

From about the time of her entering thefamily, Lady Bertram, in consequence of a little ill-health, and a great dealof indolence, gave up the house in town, which she had been used to occupyevery spring, and remained wholly in the country, leaving Sir Thomas to attendhis duty in Parliament, with whatever increase or diminution of comfort mightarise from her absence. In the country, therefore, the Miss Bertrams continuedto 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 andextravagant, and had already given him much uneasiness; but his other childrenpromised him nothing but good. His daughters, he felt, while they retained thename 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 stronggood sense and uprightness of mind, bid most fairly for utility, honour, andhappiness to himself and all his connexions. He was to be a clergyman.

Amid the cares and the complacency which hisown children suggested, Sir Thomas did not forget to do what he could for thechildren of Mrs. Price: he assisted her liberally in the education and disposalof her sons as they became old enough for a determinate pursuit; and Fanny,though almost totally separated from her family, was sensible of the truestsatisfaction in hearing of any kindness towards them, or of anything at allpromising in their situation or conduct. Once, and once only, in the course ofmany years, had she the happiness of being with William. Of the rest she sawnothing: nobody seemed to think of her ever going amongst them again, even fora visit, nobody at home seemed to want her; but William determining, soon afterher removal, to be a sailor, was invited to spend a week with his sister inNorthamptonshire before he went to sea. Their eager affection in meeting, theirexquisite delight in being together, their hours of happy mirth, and moments ofserious conference, may be imagined; as well as the sanguine views and spiritsof 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 directlylook for comfort to her cousin Edmund; and he told her such charming things ofwhat William was to do, and be hereafter, in consequence of his profession, asmade her gradually admit that the separation might have some use. Edmund’s friendship never failed her: his leaving Eton for Oxford made nochange in his kind dispositions, and only afforded more frequent opportunitiesof proving them. Without any display of doing more than the rest, or any fearof doing too much, he was always true to her interests, and considerate of herfeelings, trying to make her good qualities understood, and to conquer thediffidence which prevented their being more apparent; giving her advice,consolation, and encouragement.

Kept back as she was by everybody else, hissingle support could not bring her forward; but his attentions were otherwiseof the highest importance in assisting the improvement of her mind, andextending its pleasures. He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehensionas 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 readthe daily portion of history; but he recommended the books which charmed herleisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgment: he madereading useful by talking to her of what she read, and heightened itsattraction by judicious praise. In return for such services she loved himbetter than anybody in the world except William: her heart was divided betweenthe two.

第三章 Chapter 3

导读

芬妮十五岁时，诺里斯先生去世了。诺里斯太太搬出牧师住所，到了曼斯菲尔德庄园，后来又搬到托马斯爵士在村中的一座小屋，以此来节省开支。

牧师的职位本应由埃德蒙接任的，但由于汤姆挥霍无度，这让做弟弟的为哥哥的作为付出了代价——职位由另外一人担任，但家中的另一个牧师职位仍给埃德蒙保留着，这使爵士的心中好受了一些。爵士对汤姆说：由于你的挥霍，使本该属于埃德蒙的收入拖后了十年甚至永远，而这是由于急于给哥哥补偿债务，埃德蒙自愿放弃的。这使汤姆感到很惭愧，但他心里还是想着自己欠的债还没有某些朋友欠的一半多，他嫌父亲唠叨，并且认为下一任牧师会很快死去的。但接替的牧师格兰特博士是个四十五岁的壮汉，但伯特伦先生看他长着短短的脖子，一副贪吃相，认为他的寿命是不长的。牧师的妻子小他十五岁左右，他们没有儿女，人们都说他们和蔼可亲。

这时，托马斯爵士感到诺里斯太太该履行对外甥女的义务了，现在让芬妮和她住在一起最妥当不过了。由于大儿子挥霍无度，而且西印度的种植场受到了些损失，爵士的境况也不如以前了，但他不会推脱掉抚养芬妮的负担及供养义务。当伯特伦夫人向芬妮说起这件事时，芬妮感到很惊讶，心情也很沉重，从屋里出去时碰到了埃德蒙，就将这事告诉了他。芬妮表示自己喜欢这里，觉得跟大姨妈在一起很不自在。埃德蒙表示：现在她成了大姨妈唯一的伙伴，所以一定会被看重的，而且她一点儿也不笨，人品又好。芬妮听到表哥的称赞脸都红了，表示离开这里后会永远记着他的好处。表哥安慰她说搬到白房子和姨妈一起住，可以促使她早点成熟，而且大姨妈对自己真正关心的人会照顾得十分周到的；这里的花园及图书室她可以照旧享用，骑原来的马；并且和诺里斯太太在一起对她的智力还有好处。

诺里斯太太并没有接纳芬妮的想法，那所白房子只容得下她和仆人，剩下的备用房她反复强调是为朋友准备的。当伯特伦夫人和她谈起让芬妮和她一起生活时，她几乎吓得跳了起来，并说自己从没有和托马斯爵士谈过此事，希望她好的人都不会提议这事的。托马斯爵士听太太说起这事时，才意识到他当时领会错了诺里斯太太的意思，而芬妮知道后便安下了心。新搬来的牧师格兰特夫妇对人和气，善于交往，但诺里斯太太对他们的大吃大喝及给厨子的工钱过高很不满意，她说格兰特太太的财产不会超过五千镑；而伯特伦夫人认为长得并不漂亮的格兰特太太过上这么好的日子，是对漂亮人的侮辱。

在随后不到一年的时间内，爵士有些在海外的事务需要处理，他只好把两个妙龄少女让别人指导，他带着大儿子去英国处理，并在那里待上一年。伯特伦夫人不愿让丈夫离开，而两位小姐从约束中解脱出来了，都十分高兴。芬妮也感到要解脱了，但她有些怀疑这样高兴是否算忘恩负义。临别时，爵士让芬妮邀请威廉到庄园来玩。

The first event of any importance in thefamily was the death of Mr. Norris, which happened when Fanny was aboutfifteen, and necessarily introduced alterations and novelties. Mrs. Norris, onquitting the Parsonage, removed first to the Park, and afterwards to a smallhouse of Sir Thomas’s in the village, and consoledherself for the loss of her husband by considering that she could do very wellwithout him; and for her reduction of income by the evident necessity ofstricter economy.

The living was hereafter for Edmund; and, hadhis uncle died a few years sooner, it would have been duly given to some friendto hold till he were old enough for orders. But Tom’sextravagance had, previous to that event, been so great as to render adifferent disposal of the next presentation necessary, and the younger brothermust help to pay for the pleasures of the elder. There was another familyliving actually held for Edmund; but though this circumstance had made thearrangement somewhat easier to Sir Thomas’s conscience,he could not but feel it to be an act of injustice, and he earnestly tried toimpress his eldest son with the same conviction, in the hope of its producing abetter effect than anything he had yet been able to say or do.

“I blush for you, Tom,” said he, in his most dignified manner; “Iblush for the expedient which I am driven on, and I trust I may pity yourfeelings 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 behis. It may hereafter be in my power, or in yours (I hope it will), to procurehim better preferment; but it must not be forgotten that no benefit of thatsort would have been beyond his natural claims on us, and that nothing can, infact, be an equivalent for the certain advantage which he is now obliged toforego 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 allprobability, die very soon.

On Mr. Norris’s deaththe presentation became the right of a Dr. Grant, who came consequently toreside at Mansfield; and on proving to be a hearty man of forty-five, seemedlikely to disappoint Mr. Bertram’s calculations. But “no, he was a short-necked, apoplectic sort of fellow, and, pliedwell 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 reportof being very respectable, agreeable people.

The time was now come when Sir Thomasexpected his sister-in-law to claim her share in their niece, the change inMrs. Norris’s situation, and the improvement in Fanny’s age, seeming not merely to do away any former objection to theirliving together, but even to give it the most decided eligibility; and as hisown circumstances were rendered less fair than heretofore, by some recentlosses on his West India estate, in addition to his eldest son’s extravagance, it became not undesirable to himself to be relievedfrom the expense of her support, and the obligation of her future provision. Inthe fullness of his belief that such a thing must be, he mentioned itsprobability to his wife; and the first time of the subject’s occurring to her again happening to be when Fanny was present, shecalmly observed to her, “So, Fanny, you are going toleave us, and live with my sister. How shall you like it?”

Fanny was too much surprised to do more thanrepeat her aunt’s words, “Goingto 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 whenMr. Norris died. But you must come up and tack on my patterns all the same.”

The news was as disagreeable to Fanny as ithad been unexpected. She had never received kindness from her aunt Norris, andcould 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 sinceyou 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 foundyou a very good girl.”

“And am I never to live here again?”

“Never, my dear; but you are sure of acomfortable home. It can make very little difference to you, whether you are inone house or the other.”

Fanny left the room with a very sorrowfulheart; she could not feel the difference to be so small, she could not think ofliving with her aunt with anything like satisfaction. As soon as she met withEdmund she told him her distress.

“Cousin,” said she, “something is going to happen which I do not like at all; and thoughyou have often persuaded me into being reconciled to things that I disliked atfirst, you will not be able to do it now. I am going to live entirely with myaunt Norris.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; my aunt Bertram has just told me so. Itis quite settled. I am to leave Mansfield Park, and go to the White House, Isuppose, as soon as she is removed there.”

“Well, Fanny, and if the plan were notunpleasant to you, I should call it an excellent one.”

“Oh, cousin!”

“It has everything else in its favour. Myaunt is acting like a sensible woman in wishing for you. She is choosing afriend and companion exactly where she ought, and I am glad her love of moneydoes not interfere. You will be what you ought to be to her. I hope it does notdistress you very much, Fanny?”

“Indeed it does: I cannot like it. I lovethis house and everything in it: I shall love nothing there. You know howuncomfortable I feel with her.”

“I can say nothing for her manner to you as achild; but it was the same with us all, or nearly so. She never knew how to bepleasant to children. But you are now of an age to be treated better; I thinkshe is behaving better already; and when you are her only companion, you mustbe important to her.”

“I can never be important to any one.”

“What is to prevent you?”

“Everything. My situation, my foolishness andawkwardness.”

“As to your foolishness and awkwardness, mydear Fanny, believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using thewords so improperly. There is no reason in the world why you should not beimportant where you are known. You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and Iam sure you have a grateful heart, that could never receive kindness withoutwishing to return it. I do not know any better qualifications for a friend andcompanion.”

“You are too kind,”said Fanny, colouring at such praise; “how shall I everthank you as I ought, for thinking so well of me. Oh! cousin, if I am to goaway, I shall remember your goodness to the last moment of my life.”

“Why, indeed, Fanny, I should hope to beremembered at such a distance as the White House. You speak as if you weregoing two hundred miles off instead of only across the park; but you willbelong to us almost as much as ever. The two families will be meeting every dayin the year. The only difference will be that, living with your aunt, you willnecessarily be brought forward as you ought to be. Here there are too many whomyou 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 younow. She is of a temper to do a great deal for anybody she really interestsherself about, and she will force you to do justice to your natural powers.”

Fanny sighed, and said, “I cannot see things as you do; but I ought to believe you to beright rather than myself, and I am very much obliged to you for trying toreconcile me to what must be. If I could suppose my aunt really to care for me,it would be delightful to feel myself of consequence to anybody. Here, I know,I am of none, and yet I love the place so well.”

“The place, Fanny, is what you will not quit,though you quit the house. You will have as free a command of the park andgardens as ever. Even your constant little heart need not take fright at such anominal change. You will have the same walks to frequent, the same library tochoose from, the same people to look at, the same horse to ride.”

“Very true. Yes, dear old grey pony! Ah!cousin, when I remember how much I used to dread riding, what terrors it gaveme to hear it talked of as likely to do me good (oh! how I have trembled at myuncle’s opening his lips if horses were talked of), andthen think of the kind pains you took to reason and persuade me out of myfears, and convince me that I should like it after a little while, and feel howright you proved to be, I am inclined to hope you may always prophesy as well.”

“And I am quite convinced that your beingwith Mrs. Norris will be as good for your mind as riding has been for yourhealth, and as much for your ultimate happiness too.”

So ended their discourse, which, for any veryappropriate service it could render Fanny, might as well have been spared, forMrs. Norris had not the smallest intention of taking her. It had never occurredto her, on the present occasion, but as a thing to be carefully avoided. Toprevent its being expected, she had fixed on the smallest habitation whichcould rank as genteel among the buildings of Mansfield parish, the White Housebeing only just large enough to receive herself and her servants, and allow aspare room for a friend, of which she made a very particular point. The sparerooms at the Parsonage had never been wanted, but the absolute necessity of aspare room for a friend was now never forgotten. Not all her precautions,however, could save her from being suspected of something better; or, perhaps,her very display of the importance of a spare room might have misled Sir Thomasto suppose it really intended for Fanny. Lady Bertram soon brought the matterto a certainty by carelessly observing to Mrs. Norris-

“I think, sister, we need not keep Miss Leeany longer, when Fanny goes to live with you.”

Mrs. Norris almost started. “Live with me, dear Lady Bertram! what do you mean?”

“Is she not to live with you? I thought youhad settled it with Sir Thomas.”

“Me! never. I never spoke a syllable about itto Sir Thomas, nor he to me. Fanny live with me! the last thing in the worldfor me to think of, or for anybody to wish that really knows us both. Goodheaven! what could I do with Fanny? Me! a poor, helpless, forlorn widow, unfitfor anything, my spirits quite broke down; what could I do with a girl at hertime of life? A girl of fifteen! the very age of all others to need mostattention and care, and put the cheerfullest spirits to the test! Sure SirThomas could not seriously expect such a thing! Sir Thomas is too much myfriend. Nobody that wishes me well, I am sure, would propose it. How came SirThomas to speak to you about it?”

“Indeed, I do not know. I suppose he thoughtit best.”

“But what did he say? He could not say he wishedme to take Fanny. I am sure in his heart he could not wish me to do it.”

“No; he only said he thought it very likely;and I thought so too. We both thought it would be a comfort to you. But if youdo not like it, there is no more to be said. She is no encumbrance here.”

“Dear sister, if you consider my unhappystate, how can she be any comfort to me? Here am I, a poor desolate widow,deprived of the best of husbands, my health gone in attending and nursing him,my spirits still worse, all my peace in this world destroyed, with hardlyenough to support me in the rank of a gentlewoman, and enable me to live so asnot to disgrace the memory of the dear departed-what possible comfort could Ihave in taking such a charge upon me as Fanny? If I could wish it for my ownsake, I would not do so unjust a thing by the poor girl. She is in good hands,and sure of doing well. I must struggle through my sorrows and difficulties asI can.”

“Then you will not mind living by yourselfquite alone?”

“Lady Bertram, I do not complain. I know Icannot live as I have done, but I must retrench where I can, and learn to be abetter manager. I have been a liberal housekeeper enough, but I shall not beashamed to practise economy now. My situation is as much altered as my income. Agreat many things were due from poor Mr. Norris, as clergyman of the parish,that cannot be expected from me. It is unknown how much was consumed in ourkitchen by odd comers and goers. At the White House, matters must be betterlooked after. I must live within my income, or I shall be miserable; and I ownit would give me great satisfaction to be able to do rather more, to lay by alittle at the end of the year.”

“I dare say you will. You always do, don’t you?”

“My object, Lady Bertram, is to be of use tothose that come after me. It is for your children’sgood that I wish to be richer. I have nobody else to care for, but I should bevery glad to think I could leave a little trifle among them worth their having.”

“You are very good, but do not trouble yourselfabout them. They are sure of being well provided for. Sir Thomas will take careof that.”

“Why, you know, Sir Thomas’s means will be rather straitened if the Antigua estate is to makesuch poor returns.”

“Oh! that will soon be settled. Sir Thomashas been writing about it, I know.”

“Well, Lady Bertram,”said Mrs. Norris, moving to go, “I can only say that mysole desire is to be of use to your family: and so, if Sir Thomas should everspeak again about my taking Fanny, you will be able to say that my health andspirits put it quite out of the question; besides that, I really should nothave a bed to give her, for I must keep a spare room for a friend.”

Lady Bertram repeated enough of thisconversation to her husband to convince him how much he had mistaken hissister-in-law’s views; and she was from that momentperfectly safe from all expectation, or the slightest allusion to it from him.He could not but wonder at her refusing to do anything for a niece whom she hadbeen so forward to adopt; but, as she took early care to make him, as well asLady Bertram, understand that whatever she possessed was designed for theirfamily, he soon grew reconciled to a distinction which, at the same time thatit was advantageous and complimentary to them, would enable him better toprovide for Fanny himself.

Fanny soon learnt how unnecessary had beenher fears of a removal; and her spontaneous, untaught felicity on thediscovery, conveyed some consolation to Edmund for his disappointment in whathe had expected to be so essentially serviceable to her. Mrs. Norris tookpossession of the White House, the Grants arrived at the Parsonage, and theseevents over, everything at Mansfield went on for some time as usual.

The Grants showing a disposition to befriendly and sociable, gave great satisfaction in the main among their newacquaintance. They had their faults, and Mrs. Norris soon found them out. TheDoctor was very fond of eating, and would have a good dinner every day; andMrs. Grant, instead of contriving to gratify him at little expense, gave hercook as high wages as they did at Mansfield Park, and was scarcely ever seen inher offices. Mrs. Norris could not speak with any temper of such grievances,nor of the quantity of butter and eggs that were regularly consumed in thehouse. “Nobody loved plenty and hospitality more thanherself; nobody more hated pitiful doings; the Parsonage, she believed, hadnever been wanting in comforts of any sort, had never borne a bad character inher time, but this was a way of going on that she could not understand. A finelady in a country parsonage was quite out of place. Her store-room, shethought, might have been good enough for Mrs. Grant to go into. Inquire whereshe would, she could not find out that Mrs. Grant had ever had more than fivethousand pounds.”

Lady Bertram listened without much interestto this sort of invective. She could not enter into the wrongs of an economist,but she felt all the injuries of beauty in Mrs. Grant’sbeing so well settled in life without being handsome, and expressed herastonishment on that point almost as often, though not so diffusely, as Mrs.Norris discussed the other.

These opinions had been hardly canvassed ayear before another event arose of such importance in the family, as mightfairly claim some place in the thoughts and conversation of the ladies. SirThomas found it expedient to go to Antigua himself, for the better arrangementof his affairs, and he took his eldest son with him, in the hope of detachinghim from some bad connexions at home. They left England with the probability ofbeing nearly a twelvemonth absent.

The necessity of the measure in a pecuniarylight, and the hope of its utility to his son, reconciled Sir Thomas to theeffort of quitting the rest of his family, and of leaving his daughters to thedirection of others at their present most interesting time of life. He couldnot think Lady Bertram quite equal to supply his place with them, or rather, toperform what should have been her own; but, in Mrs. Norris’s watchful attention, and in Edmund’sjudgment, he had sufficient confidence to make him go without fears for theirconduct.

Lady Bertram did not at all like to have herhusband leave her; but she was not disturbed by any alarm for his safety, orsolicitude for his comfort, being one of those persons who think nothing can bedangerous, or difficult, or fatiguing to anybody but themselves.

The Miss Bertrams were much to be pitied onthe occasion: not for their sorrow, but for their want of it. Their father wasno object of love to them; he had never seemed the friend of their pleasures,and his absence was unhappily most welcome. They were relieved by it from allrestraint; and without aiming at one gratification that would probably havebeen forbidden by Sir Thomas, they felt themselves immediately at their owndisposal, and to have every indulgence within their reach. Fanny’s relief, and her consciousness of it, were quite equal to hercousins’; but a more tender nature suggested that herfeelings were ungrateful, and she really grieved because she could not grieve. “Sir Thomas, who had done so much for her and her brothers, and whowas gone perhaps never to return! that she should see him go without a tear! itwas a shameful insensibility.” He had said to her,moreover, on the very last morning, that he hoped she might see William againin the course of the ensuing winter, and had charged her to write and invitehim to Mansfield as soon as the squadron to which he belonged should be knownto be in England. “This was so thoughtful and kind!” and would he only have smiled upon her, and called her “my dear Fanny,” while he said it, everyformer frown or cold address might have been forgotten. But he had ended hisspeech in a way to sink her in sad mortification, by adding, “If William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able toconvince him that the many years which have passed since you parted have notbeen spent on your side entirely without improvement; though, I fear, he mustfind his sister at sixteen in some respects too much like his sister at ten.” She cried bitterly over this reflection when her uncle was gone;and her cousins, on seeing her with red eyes, set her down as a hypocrite.

第四章 Chapter 4

导读

伯特伦爵士平安到达了安提瓜。诺里斯太太一直担心会发生什么事，她早就做好了向大家宣布噩耗的准备，但爵士父子顺利到达了安提瓜，这使她一直在激动地等待有事发生的心情有些失落。

冬去春来，两位小姐日益显露出她们的美丽、大方。伯特伦夫人不愿带女儿们去社交场，这事就落到了诺里斯太太的头上，当然这也是她求之不得的，但这一切都没芬妮的份儿。此时，李小姐已离开曼斯菲尔德，每逢小姐们参加舞会和宴会，芬妮便陪伴伯特伦夫人并为她读书。春天的时候芬妮失去了她的老灰马，心情很低落，身体也不太好。两位姨妈都认为骑马对她的身体有好处，表示两位表姐不骑马时芬妮便可以使用她们的马。然而，两位表姐在天气晴朗时总是骑马的。芬妮则不是陪着二姨妈，就是被大姨妈支使在外而筋疲力尽。这期间，埃德蒙不在家，等他回家看到这种情况时，便表示芬妮必须有一匹马。诺里斯太太认为没必要，况且托马斯爵士不在家，增加开支不合适。但埃德蒙坚持自己的观点，他用自己三匹马中拉车的那匹马换了一匹可以骑的雌马。芬妮觉得骑这匹马比骑那老灰马时还快活。此时，她对表哥的感激难以言表。

九月到了，托马斯爵士原准备回国，可突然遇到情况，便让儿子先回来了。汤姆回来后告诉大家，父亲很好。可诺里斯太太却预感：可能是托马斯爵士感到将有事情发生，于是出于父爱，先把儿子打发回来了。她这种可怕的预感使她在秋天黄昏的小屋中胆战心惊，便每天到庄园的餐厅打发时间。她常想，倘若托马斯爵士永远回不来，要是外甥女能嫁到一个富贵人家也是一种安慰。

拉什沃思先生是一位身体粗壮且智力平常的人。他是一个刚在乡下继承了一份地产和一个最佳职位的年轻人，现在正被玛丽亚·伯特伦小姐的美貌吸引。玛丽亚小姐感到他并不让人讨厌，而且自己也二十一岁了，若能嫁给拉什沃思先生，便可以享有一笔比父亲的财产还高的收入，并且在伦敦城里还有一处宅邸，是很不错的。诺里斯太太使出各种招数且逼着伯特伦夫人一早赶十英里的路去拜访拉什沃思夫人，又经过几次舞会，两位年轻人也觉得投缘，便将此事禀报了在国外的托马斯爵士。以后，双方的家人开始往来起来，大家都觉得满意，但埃德蒙觉得拉什沃思先生并不是理想的伴侣，而且妹妹的幸福不能寄托在丰厚的收入上。托马斯爵士对这门亲事感到很高兴，认为对他家是有利的，所以表示赞同，但婚礼要等他回来后举行。

七月份，芬妮满十八岁了，村里的交际场上又来了格兰特夫人同母异父的弟弟亨利·克劳福德先生和妹妹玛丽·克劳福德小姐。亨利拥有大量财产，玛丽也有两万英镑，母亲去世后他们俩原本跟着当将军的叔叔一起生活。将军喜爱男孩，婶婶喜爱女孩，可婶婶去世后叔叔想把情妇带到家里，便把他们赶了出来。他们便投奔了姐姐，这正合了因没有孩子而感到孤独的姐姐的意，只是担心他们来这里住不惯。

玛丽想住到乡下的府邸，亨利不答应，他们便住到了这里。哥哥讨厌始终住在一个地方，只要妹妹厌倦，他时刻准备把妹妹带走。这次来后他们看到姐姐的生活还算体面，而姐姐也看到妹妹长得很是俏丽，亨利虽不英俊却有风度。格兰特夫人早就想让妹妹嫁给汤姆·伯特伦，而且妹妹完全能配得上男爵的大公子。玛丽以前在伦敦见过伯特伦先生，感到很满意，但还是表示要考虑一下。格兰特夫人把这事告诉了亨利，并说要亨利娶伯特伦家的女儿，可玛丽说此事虽好，但很难说服调情高手亨利，并劝说伯特伦家的女儿躲开亨利，要不她们会肠断心碎的。而亨利则表示自己对婚姻是看重的，不喜欢轻率从事。

Tom Bertram had of late spent so little ofhis time at home that he could be only nominally missed; and Lady Bertram wassoon astonished to find how very well they did even without his father, howwell Edmund could supply his place in carving, talking to the steward, writingto the attorney, settling with the servants, and equally saving her from allpossible fatigue or exertion in every particular but that of directing herletters.

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, andtrying to make Edmund participate them whenever she could get him alone; and asshe depended on being the first person made acquainted with any fatalcatastrophe, she had already arranged the manner of breaking it to all theothers, when Sir Thomas’s assurances of their bothbeing alive and well made it necessary to lay by her agitation and affectionatepreparatory speeches for a while.

The winter came and passed without theirbeing called for; the accounts continued perfectly good; and Mrs. Norris, inpromoting gaieties for her nieces, assisting their toilets, displaying theiraccomplishments, and looking about for their future husbands, had so much to doas, in addition to all her own household cares, some interference in those ofher sister, and Mrs. Grant’s wasteful doings tooverlook, left her very little occasion to be occupied in fears for the absent.

The Miss Bertrams were now fully establishedamong the belles of the neighbourhood; and as they joined to beauty andbrilliant acquirements a manner naturally easy, and carefully formed to generalcivility 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 believingthey had no faults.

Lady Bertram did not go into public with herdaughters. She was too indolent even to accept a mother’s gratification in witnessing their success and enjoyment at theexpense of any personal trouble, and the charge was made over to her sister,who desired nothing better than a post of such honourable representation, andvery thoroughly relished the means it afforded her of mixing in society withouthaving horses to hire.

Fanny had no share in the festivities of theseason; but she enjoyed being avowedly useful as her aunt’s companion when they called away the rest of the family; and, asMiss Lee had left Mansfield, she naturally became everything to Lady Bertramduring the night of a ball or a party. She talked to her, listened to her, readto her; and the tranquillity of such evenings, her perfect security in such atete-a-tete from any sound of unkindness, was unspeakably welcome to a mind whichhad seldom known a pause in its alarms or embarrassments. As to her cousins’ gaieties, she loved to hear an account of them, especially of theballs, and whom Edmund had danced with; but thought too lowly of her ownsituation 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, itwas 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 valuedfriend, the old grey pony; and for some time she was in danger of feeling theloss in her health as well as in her affections; for in spite of theacknowledged importance of her riding on horse-back, no measures were taken formounting her again, “because,”as it was observed by her aunts, “she might ride one ofher cousin’s horses at any time when they did not wantthem,” and as the Miss Bertrams regularly wanted theirhorses every fine day, and had no idea of carrying their obliging manners tothe sacrifice of any real pleasure, that time, of course, never came. They tooktheir cheerful rides in the fine mornings of April and May; and Fanny eithersat at home the whole day with one aunt, or walked beyond her strength at theinstigation of the other: Lady Bertram holding exercise to be as unnecessaryfor everybody as it was unpleasant to herself; and Mrs. Norris, who was walkingall day, thinking everybody ought to walk as much. Edmund was absent at thistime, or the evil would have been earlier remedied. When he returned, tounderstand how Fanny was situated, and perceived its ill effects, there seemedwith him but one thing to be done; and that “Fanny musthave a horse” was the resolute declaration with whichhe opposed whatever could be urged by the supineness of his mother, or theeconomy of his aunt, to make it appear unimportant. Mrs. Norris could not helpthinking that some steady old thing might be found among the numbers belongingto the Park that would do vastly well; or that one might be borrowed of thesteward; or that perhaps Dr. Grant might now and then lend them the pony hesent to the post. She could not but consider it as absolutely unnecessary, andeven improper, that Fanny should have a regular lady’shorse of her own, in the style of her cousins. She was sure Sir Thomas hadnever intended it: and she must say that, to be making such a purchase in hisabsence, and adding to the great expenses of his stable, at a time when a largepart 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. LadyBertram did: she entirely agreed with her son as to the necessity of it, and asto its being considered necessary by his father; she only pleaded against therebeing any hurry; she only wanted him to wait till Sir Thomas’s return, and then Sir Thomas might settle it all himself. He wouldbe at home in September, and where would be the harm of only waiting till September?

Though Edmund was much more displeased withhis aunt than with his mother, as evincing least regard for her niece, he couldnot help paying more attention to what she said; and at length determined on amethod of proceeding which would obviate the risk of his father’s thinking he had done too much, and at the same time procure forFanny the immediate means of exercise, which he could not bear she should bewithout. 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 heresolved to exchange for one that his cousin might ride; he knew where such aone was to be met with; and having once made up his mind, the whole businesswas soon completed. The new mare proved a treasure; with a very little troubleshe became exactly calculated for the purpose, and Fanny was then put in almostfull possession of her. She had not supposed before that anything could eversuit her like the old grey pony; but her delight in Edmund’s mare was far beyond any former pleasure of the sort; and theaddition it was ever receiving in the consideration of that kindness from whichher pleasure sprung, was beyond all her words to express. She regarded hercousin as an example of everything good and great, as possessing worth which noone but herself could ever appreciate, and as entitled to such gratitude fromher as no feelings could be strong enough to pay. Her sentiments towards himwere compounded of all that was respectful, grateful, confiding, and tender.

As the horse continued in name, as well asfact, the property of Edmund, Mrs. Norris could tolerate its being for Fanny’s use; and had Lady Bertram ever thought about her own objectionagain, 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 stillabroad, and without any near prospect of finishing his business. Unfavourablecircumstances had suddenly arisen at a moment when he was beginning to turn allhis thoughts towards England; and the very great uncertainty in whicheverything was then involved determined him on sending home his son, andwaiting the final arrangement by himself Tom arrived safely, bringing anexcellent account of his father’s health; but to verylittle 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, thatshe could not help feeling dreadful presentiments; and as the long evenings ofautumn came on, was so terribly haunted by these ideas, in the sad solitarinessof her cottage, as to be obliged to take daily refuge in the dining-room of thePark. The return of winter engagements, however, was not without its effect; andin the course of their progress, her mind became so pleasantly occupied insuperintending the fortunes of her eldest niece, as tolerably to quiet hernerves. “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 menof fortune, and particularly on the introduction of a young man who hadrecently succeeded to one of the largest estates and finest places in thecountry.

Mr. Rushworth was from the first struck withthe beauty of Miss Bertram, and, being inclined to marry, soon fancied himselfin love. He was a heavy young man, with not more than common sense; but asthere was nothing disagreeable in his figure or address, the young lady waswell pleased with her conquest. Being now in her twenty-first year, MariaBertram 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 primeobject, it became, by the same rule of moral obligation, her evident duty tomarry Mr. Rushworth if she could. Mrs. Norris was most zealous in promoting thematch, by every suggestion and contrivance likely to enhance its desirablenessto either party; and, among other means, by seeking an intimacy with thegentleman’s mother, who at present lived with him, andto whom she even forced Lady Bertram to go through ten miles of indifferentroad to pay a morning visit. It was not long before a good understanding tookplace between this lady and herself. Mrs. Rushworth acknowledged herself verydesirous that her son should marry, and declared that of all the young ladiesshe had ever seen, Miss Bertram seemed, by her amiable qualities andaccomplishments, the best adapted to make him happy. Mrs. Norris accepted thecompliment, and admired the nice discernment of character which could so welldistinguish merit. Maria was indeed the pride and delight of them all-perfectlyfaultless-an angel; and, of course, so surrounded by admirers, must bedifficult in her choice: but yet, as far as Mrs. Norris could allow herself todecide on so short an acquaintance, Mr. Rushworth appeared precisely the youngman to deserve and attach her.

After dancing with each other at a propernumber 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 thesatisfaction of their respective families, and of the general lookers-on of theneighbourhood, 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 adoubt of his most cordial pleasure in the connexion, the intercourse of the twofamilies was carried on without restraint, and no other attempt made at secrecythan Mrs. Norris’s talking of it everywhere as a matternot to be talked of at present.

Edmund was the only one of the family whocould see a fault in the business; but no representation of his aunt’s could induce him to find Mr. Rushworth a desirable companion. Hecould allow his sister to be the best judge of her own happiness, but he wasnot pleased that her happiness should centre in a large income; nor could herefrain from often saying to himself, in Mr. Rushworth’scompany- “If this man had not twelve thousand a year,he would be a very stupid fellow.”

Sir Thomas, however, was truly happy in theprospect of an alliance so unquestionably advantageous, and of which he heardnothing but the perfectly good and agreeable. It was a connexion exactly of theright sort-in the same county, and the same interest-and his most heartyconcurrence was conveyed as soon as possible. He only conditioned that themarriage should not take place before his return, which he was again lookingeagerly forward to. He wrote in April, and had strong hopes of settlingeverything to his entire satisfaction, and leaving Antigua before the end ofthe summer.

Such was the state of affairs in the month ofJuly; and Fanny had just reached her eighteenth year, when the society of thevillage received an addition in the brother and sister of Mrs. Grant, a Mr. andMiss Crawford, the children of her mother by a second marriage. They were youngpeople of fortune. The son had a good estate in Norfolk, the daughter twentythousand 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 commonparent, 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 hadtheir favourite, to whom they showed the greatest fondness of the two. TheAdmiral delighted in the boy, Mrs. Crawford doted on the girl; and it was thelady’s death which now obliged her protegee, after somemonths’ further trial at her uncle’s house, to find another home. Admiral Crawford was a man of viciousconduct, who chose, instead of retaining his niece, to bring his mistress underhis 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 sideas it could be expedient on the other; for Mrs. Grant, having by this time runthrough the usual resources of ladies residing in the country without a familyof children-having more than filled her favourite sitting-room with prettyfurniture, and made a choice collection of plants and poultry-was very much inwant of some variety at home. The arrival, therefore, of a sister whom she hadalways 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 notsatisfy the habits of a young woman who had been mostly used to London.

Miss Crawford was not entirely free fromsimilar apprehensions, though they arose principally from doubts of her sister’s style of living and tone of society; and it was not till after shehad tried in vain to persuade her brother to settle with her at his own countryhouse, that she could resolve to hazard herself among her other relations. Toanything like a permanence of abode, or limitation of society, Henry Crawfordhad, unluckily, a great dislike: he could not accommodate his sister in anarticle of such importance; but he escorted her, with the utmost kindness, intoNorthamptonshire, and as readily engaged to fetch her away again, at half anhour’s notice, whenever she were weary of the place.

The meeting was very satisfactory on eachside. Miss Crawford found a sister without preciseness or rusticity, a sister’s husband who looked the gentleman, and a house commodious and wellfitted up; and Mrs. Grant received in those whom she hoped to love better thanever a young man and woman of very prepossessing appearance. Mary Crawford wasremarkably pretty; Henry, though not handsome, had air and countenance; themanners of both were lively and pleasant, and Mrs. Grant immediately gave themcredit for everything else. She was delighted with each, but Mary was her dearestobject; and having never been able to glory in beauty of her own, shethoroughly enjoyed the power of being proud of her sister’s. She had not waited her arrival to look out for a suitable matchfor her: she had fixed on Tom Bertram; the eldest son of a baronet was not toogood for a girl of twenty thousand pounds, with all the elegance andaccomplishments which Mrs. Grant foresaw in her; and being a warm-hearted,unreserved woman, Mary had not been three hours in the house before she toldher what she had planned.

Miss Crawford was glad to find a family ofsuch consequence so very near them, and not at all displeased either at hersister’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 personthan to his situation in life. While she treated it as a joke, therefore, shedid 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 itcomplete. I should dearly love to settle you both in this country; andtherefore, 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 ofthe sort, it will be a fresh matter of delight to me to find myself allied toanybody so clever, and I shall only regret that you have not half a dozendaughters to dispose of. If you can persuade Henry to marry, you must have theaddress of a Frenchwoman. All that English abilities can do has been triedalready. I have three very particular friends who have been all dying for himin their turn; and the pains which they, their mothers (very clever women), aswell as my dear aunt and myself, have taken to reason, coax, or trick him intomarrying, 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 avoidHenry.”

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

“No, I am sure you are too good. You will bekinder than Mary. You will allow for the doubts of youth and inexperience. I amof a cautious temper, and unwilling to risk my happiness in a hurry. Nobody canthink more highly of the matrimonial state than myself I consider the blessingof 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 onone word, and only look at his smile. I assure you he is very detestable; theAdmiral’s lessons have quite spoiled him.”

“I pay very little regard,” said Mrs. Grant, “to what any young personsays on the subject of marriage. If they profess a disinclination for it, Ionly set it down that they have not yet seen the right person.”

Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated MissCrawford on feeling no disinclination to the state herself.

“Oh yes! I am not at all ashamed of it. Iwould have everybody marry if they can do it properly: I do not like to havepeople throw themselves away; but everybody should marry as soon as they can doit to advantage.”

第五章 Chapter 5

导读

伯特伦家两位小姐刚看到玛丽时，觉得她很漂亮，但并不嫉妒她。因她们知道自己是当地的漂亮女子；她们刚开始见到亨利时，觉得他又黑又难看，但承认他是个谦谦君子。也讨人喜欢。见了几次面后便不觉他难看了，两个人都喜欢他。伯特伦小姐已订了婚，朱莉娅的心中也已经准备好了，而伯特伦小姐认为自己喜欢一个彬彬有礼的人是没有妨碍的。可亨利先生只是想让她们喜欢自己，并不想让她们陷入情网。他给自己留下了很大的回旋余地，在几次见面后他向姐姐表示他会听姐姐的吩咐，喜欢朱莉娅；可他更喜欢已订婚的伯特伦小姐。格兰特夫人认为，伯特伦小姐既然订了婚，是不会对人虚情假意的。于是她和玛丽商量着要管束一下亨利，而玛丽则主张不去管他。现在的婚姻是要使心计的，很多人婚前抱有很大期望，到头来却发现受了骗。格兰特夫人告诉玛丽，不要总把事情往坏的一面想，虽然到处都有摩擦，但婚姻也能带来欣慰。格兰特夫人决定要挽救他们。

克劳福德兄妹在格兰特家住了下来，他们各自有自己的所图，而对于懒散成性的格兰特博士来说，有年轻美貌的女子陪伴，感到很愉快。两个小姐喜欢亨利先生，而玛丽小姐也感到两位伯特伦先生很出色，但她更喜欢老大。汤姆以后将成为爵士，有方圆五英里的庄园和现代的房子及可爱的家庭，这一切都使她感到满意。

芬妮觉得亨利先生其貌不扬，而亨利先生认为芬妮只是个小孩，还没进入社交界。埃德蒙告诉他，表妹已不是小孩子了，只是自己不知道她是否愿意参加社交。亨利先生认为，一个姑娘只要一进入社交界，从衣着打扮上就能看出来；姑娘一进入社交界，就会来个大变样，这是不正的风气。埃德蒙说两年前在贝克街的安德森家的时候，他妹妹还没进入社交界。当时只有安德森小姐和另两个小姑娘在家。一年后，安德森小姐进入了社交界，他们遇到了，埃德蒙没认出她，被她盯着看得发窘，这是因为她们都没有受到良好教育。而玛丽小姐则认为这只是羞涩的表现，如果女孩在没进入社交界前就那样神气，那是十分糟糕的。

The young people were pleased with each otherfrom the first. On each side there was much to attract, and their acquaintancesoon promised as early an intimacy as good manners would warrant. Miss Crawford’s beauty did her no disservice with the Miss Bertrams. They were toohandsome themselves to dislike any woman for being so too, and were almost asmuch charmed as their brothers with her lively dark eye, clear browncomplexion, and general prettiness. Had she been tall, full formed, and fair,it might have been more of a trial: but as it was, there could be nocomparison; and she was most allowably a sweet, pretty girl, while they werethe finest young women in the country.

Her brother was not handsome: no, when theyfirst saw him he was absolutely plain, black and plain; but still he was thegentleman, with a pleasing address. The second meeting proved him not so veryplain: he was plain, to be sure, but then he had so much countenance, and histeeth were so good, and he was so well made, that one soon forgot he was plain;and after a third interview, after dining in company with him at the Parsonage,he was no longer allowed to be called so by anybody. He was, in fact, the mostagreeable young man the sisters had ever known, and they were equally delightedwith him. Miss Bertram’s engagement made him in equitythe property of Julia, of which Julia was fully aware; and before he had beenat Mansfield a week, she was quite ready to be fallen in love with.

Maria’s notions onthe subject were more confused and indistinct. She did not want to see orunderstand. “There could be no harm in her liking anagreeable man- everybody knew her situation-Mr. Crawford must take care ofhimself.” Mr. Crawford did not mean to be in anydanger! the Miss Bertrams were worth pleasing, and were ready to be pleased;and he began with no object but of making them like him. He did not want themto die of love; but with sense and temper which ought to have made him judgeand feel better, he allowed himself great latitude on such points.

“I like your Miss Bertrams exceedingly,sister,” said he, as he returned from attending them totheir carriage after the said dinner visit; “they arevery elegant, agreeable girls.”

“So they are indeed, and I am delighted tohear you say it. But you like Julia best.”

“Oh yes! I like Julia best.”

“But do you really? for Miss Bertram is ingeneral thought the handsomest.”

“So I should suppose. She has the advantagein every feature, and I prefer her countenance; but I like Julia best; MissBertram is certainly the handsomest, and I have found her the most agreeable,but I shall always like Julia best, because you order me.”

“I shall not talk to you, Henry, but I knowyou will like her best at last.”

“Do not I tell you that I like her best atfirst?”

“And besides, Miss Bertram is engaged.Remember that, my dear brother. Her choice is made.”

“Yes, and I like her the better for it. Anengaged woman is always more agreeable than a disengaged. She is satisfied withherself. Her cares are over, and she feels that she may exert all her powers ofpleasing without suspicion. All is safe with a lady engaged: no harm can bedone.”

“Why, as to that, Mr. Rushworth is a verygood sort of young man, and it is a great match for her.”

“But Miss Bertram does not care three strawsfor him; that is your opinion of your intimate friend. I do not subscribe toit. I am sure Miss Bertram is very much attached to Mr. Rushworth. I could seeit in her eyes, when he was mentioned. I think too well of Miss Bertram tosuppose she would ever give her hand without her heart.”

“Mary, how shall we manage him?”

“We must leave him to himself, I believe.Talking does no good. He will be taken in at last.”

“But I would not have him taken in; I wouldnot have him duped; I would have it all fair and honourable.”

“Oh dear! let him stand his chance and betaken in. It will do just as well. Everybody is taken in at some period orother.”

“Not always in marriage, dear Mary.”

“In marriage especially. With all due respectto such of the present company as chance to be married, my dear Mrs. Grant,there is not one in a hundred of either sex who is not taken in when theymarry. Look where I will, I see that it is so; and I feel that it must be so,when I consider that it is, of all transactions, the one in which people expectmost from others, and are least honest themselves.”

“Ah! You have been in a bad school formatrimony, in Hill Street.”

“My poor aunt had certainly little cause tolove the state; but, however, speaking from my own observation, it is amanoeuvring business. I know so many who have married in the full expectationand confidence of some one particular advantage in the connexion, oraccomplishment, or good quality in the person, who have found themselvesentirely deceived, and been obliged to put up with exactly the reverse. What isthis but a take in?”

“My dear child, there must be a littleimagination here. I beg your pardon, but I cannot quite believe you. Dependupon it, you see but half. You see the evil, but you do not see theconsolation. There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and weare all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails,human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make asecond better: we find comfort somewhere-and those evil-minded observers,dearest Mary, who make much of a little, are more taken in and deceived thanthe parties themselves.”

“Well done, sister! I honour your esprit ducorps. When I am a wife, I mean to be just as staunch myself; and I wish myfriends in general would be so too. It would save me many a heartache.”

“You are as bad as your brother, Mary; but wewill cure you both. Mansfield shall cure you both, and without any taking in.Stay with us, and we will cure you.”

The Crawfords, without wanting to be cured,were very willing to stay. Mary was satisfied with the Parsonage as a presenthome, and Henry equally ready to lengthen his visit. He had come, intending tospend only a few days with them; but Mansfield promised well, and there wasnothing to call him elsewhere. It delighted Mrs. Grant to keep them both withher, and Dr. Grant was exceedingly well contented to have it so: a talkingpretty young woman like Miss Crawford is always pleasant society to anindolent, stay-at-home man; and Mr. Crawford’s beinghis guest was an excuse for drinking claret every day.

The Miss Bertrams’admiration of Mr. Crawford was more rapturous than anything which Miss Crawford’s habits made her likely to feel. She acknowledged, however, thatthe Mr. Bertrams were very fine young men, that two such young men were notoften seen together even in London, and that their manners, particularly thoseof the eldest, were very good. He had been much in London, and had moreliveliness and gallantry than Edmund, and must, therefore, be preferred; and,indeed, his being the eldest was another strong claim. She had felt an earlypresentiment that she should like the eldest best. She knew it was her way.

Tom Bertram must have been thought pleasant,indeed, at any rate; he was the sort of young man to be generally liked, hisagreeableness was of the kind to be oftener found agreeable than someendowments of a higher stamp, for he had easy manners, excellent spirits, a largeacquaintance, and a great deal to say; and the reversion of Mansfield Park, anda baronetcy, did no harm to all this. Miss Crawford soon felt that he and hissituation might do. She looked about her with due consideration, and foundalmost everything in his favour: a park, a real park, five miles round, aspacious modern-built house, so well placed and well screened as to deserve tobe in any collection of engravings of gentlemen’s seatsin the kingdom, and wanting only to be completely new furnished-pleasantsisters, a quiet mother, and an agreeable man himself-with the advantage ofbeing tied up from much gaming at present by a promise to his father, and ofbeing Sir Thomas hereafter. It might do very well; she believed she shouldaccept him; and she began accordingly to interest herself a little about thehorse which he had to run at the Braces.

These races were to call him away not longafter their acquaintance began; and as it appeared that the family did not,from his usual goings on, expect him back again for many weeks, it would bringhis passion to an early proof. Much was said on his side to induce her toattend the races, and schemes were made for a large party to them, with all theeagerness of inclination, but it would only do to be talked of.

And Fanny, what was she doing and thinkingall this while? and what was her opinion of the newcomers? Few young ladies ofeighteen could be less called on to speak their opinion than Fanny. In a quietway, very little attended to, she paid her tribute of admiration to MissCrawford’s beauty; but as she still continued to thinkMr. Crawford very plain, in spite of her two cousins having repeatedly provedthe contrary, she never mentioned him. The notice, which she excited herself,was to this effect. “I begin now to understand you all,except Miss Price,” said Miss Crawford, as she waswalking with the Mr. Bertrams. “Pray, is she out, or isshe not? I am puzzled. She dined at the Parsonage, with the rest of you, whichseemed like being out; and yet she says so little, that I can hardly supposeshe is.”

Edmund, to whom this was chiefly addressed,replied, “I believe I know what you mean, but I willnot undertake to answer the question. My cousin is grown up. She has the ageand sense of a woman, but the outs and not outs are beyond me.”

“And yet, in general, nothing can be moreeasily ascertained. The distinction is so broad. Manners as well as appearanceare, generally speaking, so totally different. Till now, I could not havesupposed it possible to be mistaken as to a girl’sbeing out or not. A girl not out has always the same sort of dress: a closebonnet, for instance; looks very demure, and never says a word. You may smile,but it is so, I assure you; and except that it is sometimes carried a littletoo far, it is all very proper. Girls should be quiet and modest. The mostobjectionable part is, that the alteration of manners on being introduced intocompany is frequently too sudden. They sometimes pass in such very little timefrom reserve to quite the opposite-to confidence! That is the faulty part ofthe present system. One does not like to see a girl of eighteen or nineteen soimmediately up to every thing-and perhaps when one has seen her hardly able tospeak the year before. Mr. Bertram, I dare say you have sometimes met with suchchanges.”

“I believe I have, but this is hardly fair; Isee what you are at. You are quizzing me and Miss Anderson.”

“No, indeed. Miss Anderson! I do not know whoor what you mean. I am quite in the dark. But I will quiz you with a great dealof pleasure, if you will tell me what about.”

“Ah! you carry it off very well, but I cannotbe quite so far imposed on. You must have had Miss Anderson in your eye, indescribing an altered young lady. You paint too accurately for mistake. It wasexactly so. The Andersons of Baker Street. We were speaking of them the otherday, you know. Edmund, you have heard me mention Charles Anderson. Thecircumstance was precisely as this lady has represented it. When Anderson firstintroduced me to his family, about two years ago, his sister was not out, and Icould not get her to speak to me. I sat there an hour one morning waiting forAnderson, with only her and a little girl or two in the room, the governessbeing sick or run away, and the mother in and out every moment with letters ofbusiness, and I could hardly get a word or a look from the young lady-nothinglike a civil answer-she screwed up her mouth, and turned from me with such anair! I did not see her again for a twelvemonth. She was then out. I met her atMrs. Holford’s, and did not recollect her. She came upto me, claimed me as an acquaintance, stared me out of countenance; and talkedand laughed till I did not know which way to look. I felt that I must be thejest of the room at the time, and Miss Crawford, it is plain, has heard thestory.”

“And a very pretty story it is, and with moretruth in it, I dare say, than does credit to Miss Anderson. It is too common afault. Mothers certainly have not yet got quite the right way of managing theirdaughters. I do not know where the error lies. I do not pretend to set peopleright, but I do see that they are often wrong.”

“Those who are showing the world what femalemanners should be,” said Mr. Bertram gallantly, “are doing a great deal to set them right.”

“The error is plain enough,” said the less courteous Edmund; “such girlsare ill brought up. They are given wrong notions from the beginning. They arealways acting upon motives of vanity, and there is no more real modesty intheir behaviour before they appear in public than afterwards.”

“I do not know,”replied Miss Crawford hesitatingly. “Yes, I cannotagree with you there. It is certainly the modestest part of the business. It ismuch worse to have girls not out give themselves the same airs and take thesame liberties as if they were, which I have seen done. That is worse thananything-quite disgusting!”

“Yes, that is very inconvenient indeed,” said Mr. Bertram. “It leads one astray; onedoes not know what to do. The close bonnet and demure air you describe so well(and nothing was ever juster), tell one what is expected; but I got into adreadful scrape last year from the want of them. I went down to Ramsgate for aweek with a friend last September, just after my return from the West Indies. Myfriend Sneyd-you have heard me speak of Sneyd, Edmund-his father, and mother,and sisters, were there, all new to me. When we reached Albion Place they wereout; we went after them, and found them on the pier: Mrs. and the two MissSneyds, with others of their acquaintance. I made my bow in form; and as Mrs.Sneyd was surrounded by men, attached myself to one of her daughters, walked byher side all the way home, and made myself as agreeable as I could; the younglady perfectly easy in her manners, and as ready to talk as to listen. I hadnot a suspicion that I could be doing anything wrong. They looked just thesame: both well-dressed, with veils and parasols like other girls; but Iafterwards found that I had been giving all my attention to the youngest, whowas not out, and had most excessively offended the eldest. Miss Augusta oughtnot to have been noticed for the next six months; and Miss Sneyd, I believe,has never forgiven me.”

“That was bad indeed. Poor Miss Sneyd. ThoughI have no younger sister, I feel for her. To be neglected before one’s time must be very vexatious; but it was entirely the mother’s fault. Miss Augusta should have been with her governess. Suchhalf-and-half doings never prosper. But now I must be satisfied about MissPrice. Does she go to balls? Does she dine out every where, as well as at mysister’s?”

“No,” replied Edmund;“I do not think she has ever been to a ball. My motherseldom goes into company herself, and dines nowhere but with Mrs. Grant, andFanny stays at home with her.”

“Oh! then the point is clear. Miss Price isnot out.”

第六章 Chapter 6

导读

汤姆到B城去了，玛丽小姐在聚会中感到很无聊，便开始观察拉什沃思先生来寻找乐子。这是他们兄妹来后第一次在庄园见拉什沃思先生。拉什沃思最近去邻郡看望一个朋友，朋友刚请改建专家改造了庭园。他现在也一心想改造一下自己的庭园，他已在客厅说过这件事，现又在餐厅提出来，是想吸引伯特伦小姐的注意。他真希望大家都去看一下，昨天回到索瑟顿时，感到这座庄园已经破败得到了非改造不可的地步了，可不知道怎样改造，希望有朋友来帮助他。伯特伦小姐提到英国的园林设计师雷普顿先生，拉什沃思赞成她的提议，并说他的酬劳每天需要五几尼。诺里斯太太让他不要考虑花钱多少，当年她住牧师住宅时，就曾打算对它进行美化，只是由于诺里斯先生身体不好，几件事却没有继续干下去。这时，拉什沃思又提起了他的园林，并说将来要把园林林阴道旁的树砍去。坐在对面的芬妮低声对埃德蒙说太可惜了，想要趁树木没砍之前好好看看它。这时，埃德蒙才知道芬妮没去过索瑟顿，可那地方太远，芬妮表示以后去那里时，给她讲一下有哪些变化就行了。这时，玛丽小姐问那座古老的宅院属于哪种类型的建筑。埃德蒙告诉她，那是伊丽莎白时代建造的一座高大周正的砖结构建筑，又对它的地势及环境作了介绍，并说如果是自己的庄园，他是不会听任改建师的包办，要自己做主，逐步改造。玛丽小姐听着，认为埃德蒙很有教养。玛丽说起了三年前和婶婶、叔叔去买的乡舍，地方很美，但是到处是尘土，而且乱七八糟，在改造的时候自己不愿操心，倒是亨利喜欢亲自动手。

埃德蒙看她随便议论她叔叔，心中有些不高兴。这时，玛丽小姐又说她那把竖琴有消息了，明天就可收到；可姐夫听说要雇马车，就把脸板起来。埃德蒙告诉她，现在正是大忙的时候，雇马车没那么容易，而且农民没有把马车租出去的习惯。亨利提出驾他的旧马车去，这样还是很体面的。埃德蒙和芬妮都希望能听她弹琴，她说她很高兴为他们弹琴，而且她还将准备一首悲伤的曲子。她料定哥哥的马要输掉，这使芬妮想起了自己的哥哥，两眼充满了泪水。这时，玛丽小姐又说在叔叔家认识了不少将官，并用双关语“尾部”和“罪恶”来称呼“少将”和“中将”，还说自己对这个行业有好感。格兰特太太向弟弟提到他的埃弗灵厄姆庄园可以和英国的任何庄园媲美，弟弟亨利说那里的自然条件太好了，自己成年后改造它时，把这方面的乐趣都消耗掉了，现在看到拉什沃思先生还有那么多乐趣真羡慕。朱莉娅说他可以帮拉什沃思先生出主意，格兰特太太和伯特伦小姐表示支持，拉什沃思先生也非常乐意。这时，诺里斯太太看出两个外甥女不情愿亨利被人从身边拉走，便提议多去些人搞一个小型聚会，回来时再来一个月夜旅行。这个提议得到了大家的响应，伯特伦夫人也没反对，只有埃德蒙没有发言。

Mr. Bertram set off for-, and Miss Crawfordwas prepared to find a great chasm in their society, and to miss him decidedlyin the meetings which were now becoming almost daily between the families; andon their all dining together at the Park soon after his going, she retook herchosen place near the bottom of the table, fully expecting to feel a mostmelancholy difference in the change of masters. It would be a very flatbusiness, she was sure. In comparison with his brother, Edmund would havenothing to say. The soup would be sent round in a most spiritless manner, winedrank without any smiles or agreeable trifling, and the venison cut up withoutsupplying one pleasant anecdote of any former haunch, or a single entertainingstory, about “my friend such a one.” She must try to find amusement in what was passing at the upper endof the table, and in observing Mr. Rushworth, who was now making his appearanceat Mansfield for the first time since the Crawfords’arrival. He had been visiting a friend in the neighbouring county, and thatfriend having recently had his grounds laid out by an improver, Mr. Rushworthwas returned with his head full of the subject, and very eager to be improvinghis own place in the same way; and though not saying much to the purpose, couldtalk of nothing else. The subject had been already handled in the drawing-room;it was revived in the dining-parlour. Miss Bertram’sattention and opinion was evidently his chief aim; and though her deportmentshowed rather conscious superiority than any solicitude to oblige him, themention of Sotherton Court, and the ideas attached to it, gave her a feeling ofcomplacency, which prevented her from being very ungracious.

“I wish you could see Compton,” said he; “it is the most complete thing! Inever saw a place so altered in my life. I told Smith I did not know where Iwas. The approach now, is one of the finest things in the country: you see thehouse in the most surprising manner. I declare, when I got back to Sothertonyesterday, it looked like a prison- quite a dismal old prison.”

“Oh, for shame!” criedMrs. Norris. “A prison indeed? Sotherton Court is thenoblest old place in the world.”

“It wants improvement, ma’am, beyond anything. I never saw a place that wanted so muchimprovement in my life; and it is so forlorn that I do not know what can be donewith it.”

“No wonder that Mr. Rushworth should think soat present,” said Mrs. Grant to Mrs. Norris, with asmile; “but depend upon it, Sotherton will have everyimprovement in time which his heart can desire.”

“I must try to do something with it,” said Mr. Rushworth, “but I do not knowwhat. I hope I shall have some good friend to help me.”

“Your best friend upon such an occasion,” said Miss Bertram calmly, “would be Mr.Repton, I imagine.”

“That is what I was thinking of. As he hasdone so well by Smith, I think I had better have him at once. His terms arefive guineas a day.”

“Well, and if they were ten,” cried Mrs. Norris, “I am sure you need notregard it. The expense need not be any impediment. If I were you, I should notthink of the expense. I would have everything done in the best style, and madeas nice as possible. Such a place as Sotherton Court deserves everything thattaste and money can do. You have space to work upon there, and grounds thatwill well reward you. For my own part, if I had anything within the fiftiethpart of the size of Sotherton, I should be always planting and improving, fornaturally I am excessively fond of it. It would be too ridiculous for me toattempt anything where I am now, with my little half acre. It would be quite aburlesque. But if I had more room, I should take a prodigious delight inimproving and planting. We did a vast deal in that way at the Parsonage: wemade it quite a different place from what it was when we first had it. Youyoung ones do not remember much about it, perhaps; but if dear Sir Thomas werehere, he could tell you what improvements we made: and a great deal more wouldhave been done, but for poor Mr. Norris’s sad state ofhealth. He could hardly ever get out, poor man, to enjoy anything, and thatdisheartened me from doing several things that Sir Thomas and I used to talkof. If it had not been for that, we should have carried on the garden wall, andmade the plantation to shut out the churchyard, just as Dr. Grant has done. Wewere always doing something as it was. It was only the spring twelvemonthbefore Mr. Norris’s death that we put in the apricotagainst the stable wall, which is now grown such a noble tree, and getting tosuch perfection, sir,” addressing herself then to Dr.Grant.

“The tree thrives well, beyond a doubt,madam,” replied Dr. Grant. “Thesoil is good; and I never pass it without regretting that the fruit should beso little worth the trouble of gathering.”

“Sir, it is a Moor Park, we bought it as aMoor Park, and it cost us-that is, it was a present from Sir Thomas, but I sawthe bill-and I know it cost seven shillings, and was charged as a Moor Park.”

“You were imposed on, ma’am,” replied Dr. Grant: “these potatoes have as much the flavour of a Moor Park apricot asthe fruit from that tree. It is an insipid fruit at the best; but a goodapricot is eatable, which none from my garden are.”

“The truth is, ma’am,” said Mrs. Grant, pretending to whisper across the table to Mrs.Norris, “that Dr. Grant hardly knows what the naturaltaste of our apricot is: he is scarcely ever indulged with one, for it is sovaluable a fruit; with a little assistance, and ours is such a remarkablylarge, fair sort, that what with early tarts and preserves, my cook contrivesto get them all.”

Mrs. Norris, who had begun to redden, wasappeased; and, for a little while, other subjects took place of theimprovements of Sotherton. Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris were seldom good friends;their acquaintance had begun in dilapidations, and their habits were totallydissimilar.

After a short interruption Mr. Rushworthbegan again. “Smith’s place isthe admiration of all the country; and it was a mere nothing before Repton tookit in hand. I think I shall have Repton.”

“Mr. Rushworth,” saidLady Bertram, “if I were you, I would have a verypretty shrubbery. One likes to get out into a shrubbery in fine weather.”

Mr. Rushworth was eager to assure herladyship of his acquiescence, and tried to make out something complimentary;but, between his submission to her taste, and his having always intended thesame himself, with the superadded objects of professing attention to thecomfort of ladies in general, and of insinuating that there was one only whomhe was anxious to please, he grew puzzled, and Edmund was glad to put an end tohis speech by a proposal of wine. Mr. Rushworth, however, though not usually agreat talker, had still more to say on the subject next his heart. “Smith has not much above a hundred acres altogether in his grounds,which is little enough, and makes it more surprising that the place can havebeen so improved. Now, at Sotherton we have a good seven hundred, withoutreckoning the water meadows; so that I think, if so much could be done atCompton, we need not despair. There have been two or three fine old trees cutdown, that grew too near the house, and it opens the prospect amazingly, whichmakes me think that Repton, or anybody of that sort, would certainly have theavenue at Sotherton down: the avenue that leads from the west front to the top ofthe hill, you know,” turning to Miss Bertramparticularly as he spoke. But Miss Bertram thought it most becoming to reply-

“The avenue! Oh! I do not recollect it. Ireally know very little of Sotherton.”

Fanny, who was sitting on the other side ofEdmund, exactly opposite Miss Crawford, and who had been attentively listening,now looked at him, and said in a low voice-

“Cut down an avenue! What a pity! Does it notmake you think of Cowper? ‘Ye fallen avenues, once moreI mourn your fate unmerited.’”

He smiled as he answered, “I am afraid the avenue stands a bad chance, Fanny.”

“I should like to see Sotherton before it iscut down, to see the place as it is now, in its old state; but I do not supposeI shall.”

“Have you never been there? No, you nevercan; and, unluckily, it is out of distance for a ride. I wish we could contriveit.”

“Oh! it does not signify. Whenever I do seeit, you will tell me how it has been altered.”

“I collect,” saidMiss Crawford, “that Sotherton is an old place, and aplace of some grandeur. In any particular style of building?”

“The house was built in Elizabeth’s time, and is a large, regular, brick building; heavy, butrespectable looking, and has many good rooms. It is ill placed. It stands inone of the lowest spots of the park; in that respect, unfavourable forimprovement. But the woods are fine, and there is a stream, which, I dare say,might be made a good deal of. Mr. Rushworth is quite right, I think, in meaningto give it a modern dress, and I have no doubt that it will be all doneextremely well.”

Miss Crawford listened with submission, andsaid to herself, “He is a well-bred man; he makes thebest of it.”

“I do not wish to influence Mr. Rushworth,” he continued; “but, had I a place to newfashion, I should not put myself into the hands of an improver. I would ratherhave an inferior degree of beauty, of my own choice, and acquiredprogressively. I would rather abide by my own blunders than by his.”

“You would know what you were about, ofcourse; but that would not suit me. I have no eye or ingenuity for suchmatters, but as they are before me; and had I a place of my own in the country,I should be most thankful to any Mr. Repton who would undertake it, and give meas much beauty as he could for my money; and I should never look at it till itwas complete.”

“It would be delightful to me to see theprogress of it all,” said Fanny.

“Ay, you have been brought up to it. It wasno part of my education; and the only dose I ever had, being administered bynot the first favourite in the world, has made me consider improvements in handas the greatest of nuisances. Three years ago the Admiral, my honoured uncle,bought a cottage at Twickenham for us all to spend our summers in; and my auntand I went down to it quite in raptures; but it being excessively pretty, itwas soon found necessary to be improved, and for three months we were all dirtand confusion, without a gravel walk to step on, or a bench fit for use. Iwould have everything as complete as possible in the country, shrubberies andflower-gardens, and rustic seats innumerable: but it must all be done withoutmy care. Henry is different; he loves to be doing.”

Edmund was sorry to hear Miss Crawford, whomhe was much disposed to admire, speak so freely of her uncle. It did not suithis sense of propriety, and he was silenced, till induced by further smiles andliveliness to put the matter by for the present.

“Mr. Bertram,” saidshe, “I have tidings of my harp at last. I am assuredthat it is safe at Northampton; and there it has probably been these ten days,in spite of the solemn assurances we have so often received to the contrary.” Edmund expressed his pleasure and surprise. “The truth is, that our inquiries were too direct; we sent a servant,we went ourselves: this will not do seventy miles from London; but this morningwe heard of it in the right way. It was seen by some farmer, and he told themiller, and the miller told the butcher, and the butcher’s son-in-law left word at the shop.”

“I am very glad that you have heard of it, bywhatever means, and hope there will be no further delay.”

“I am to have it to-morrow; but how do youthink it is to be conveyed? Not by a wagon or cart: oh no! nothing of that kindcould be hired in the village. I might as well have asked for porters and ahandbarrow.”

“You would find it difficult, I dare say,just now, in the middle of a very late hay harvest, to hire a horse and cart?”

“I was astonished to find what a piece ofwork was made of it! To want a horse and cart in the country seemed impossible,so I told my maid to speak for one directly; and as I cannot look out of mydressing-closet without seeing one farmyard, nor walk in the shrubbery withoutpassing another, I thought it would be only ask and have, and was rathergrieved that I could not give the advantage to all. Guess my surprise, when Ifound that I had been asking the most unreasonable, most impossible thing inthe world; had offended all the farmers, all the labourers, all the hay in theparish! As for Dr. Grant’s bailiff, I believe I hadbetter keep out of his way; and my brother-in-law himself, who is all kindnessin general, looked rather black upon me when he found what I had been at.”

“You could not be expected to have thought onthe subject before; but when you do think of it, you must see the importance ofgetting in the grass. The hire of a cart at any time might not be so easy asyou suppose: our farmers are not in the habit of letting them out; but, inharvest, 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 withmoney, I was a little embarrassed at first by the sturdy independence of yourcountry customs. However, I am to have my harp fetched to-morrow. Henry, who isgood-nature itself, has offered to fetch it in his barouche. Will it not behonourably conveyed?”

Edmund spoke of the harp as his favouriteinstrument, and hoped to be soon allowed to hear her. Fanny had never heard theharp 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 asyou 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, forshe is gratified in more ways than one. Now, Mr. Bertram, if you write to yourbrother, I entreat you to tell him that my harp is come: he heard so much of mymisery about it. And you may say, if you please, that I shall prepare my mostplaintive airs against his return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know hishorse 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 atwelvemonth, 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! Youwould 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 arelation dead, it is done in the fewest possible words. You have but one styleamong you. I know it perfectly. Henry, who is in every other respect exactlywhat a brother should be, who loves me, consults me, confides in me, and willtalk to me by the hour together, has never yet turned the page in a letter; andvery often it is nothing more than-‘Dear Mary, I amjust 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 theirfamily,” said Fanny, colouring for William’s sake, “they can write long letters.”

“Miss Price has a brother at sea,” said Edmund, “whose excellence as acorrespondent 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 thestory, 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 numberof years that he had been absent without tears in her eyes. Miss Crawfordcivilly 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, Iconclude?”

“Among admirals, large enough; but,” with an air of grandeur, “we know verylittle of the inferior ranks. Post-captains may be very good sort of men, butthey do not belong to us. Of various admirals I could tell you a great deal: ofthem and their flags, and the gradation of their pay, and their bickerings andjealousies. But, in general, I can assure you that they are all passed over,and all very ill used. Certainly, my home at my uncle’sbrought me acquainted with a circle of admirals. Of Rears and Vices I sawenough. 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 twocircumstances: 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 anamiable form to me.”

Edmund reverted to the harp, and was againvery 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 helpaddressing her brother, though it was calling his attention from Miss JuliaBertram.

“My dear Henry, have you nothing to say? Youhave been an improver yourself, and from what I hear of Everingham, it may viewith 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 fallof ground, and such timber! What would I not give to see it again?”

“Nothing could be so gratifying to me as tohear your opinion of it,” was his answer; “but I fear there would be some disappointment: you would not find itequal to your present ideas. In extent, it is a mere nothing; you would besurprised at its insignificance; and, as for improvement, there was very littlefor 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 naturaladvantages of the ground, which pointed out, even to a very young eye, whatlittle remained to be done, and my own consequent resolutions, I had not beenof age three months before Everngham was all that it is now. My plan was laidat Westminster, a little altered, perhaps, at Cambridge, and at one-and-twentyexecuted. I am inclined to envy Mr. Rushworth for having so much happiness yetbefore him. I have been a devourer of my own.”

“Those who see quickly, will resolve quickly,and act quickly,” said Julia. “Youcan never want employment. Instead of envying Mr. Rushworth, you should assisthim with your opinion.”

Mrs. Grant, hearing the latter part of thisspeech, enforced it warmly, persuaded that no judgment could be equal to herbrother’s; and as Miss Bertram caught at the idealikewise, and gave it her full support, declaring that, in her opinion, it wasinfinitely better to consult with friends and disinterested advisers, thanimmediately 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 ownabilities, was quite at his service in any way that could be useful. Mr.Rushworth then began to propose Mr. Crawford’s doinghim the honour of coming over to Sotherton, and taking a bed there; when Mrs.Norris, as if reading in her two nieces’ minds theirlittle approbation of a plan which was to take Mr. Crawford away, interposedwith an amendment.

“There can be no doubt of Mr. Crawford’s willingness; but why should not more of us go? Why should not wemake a little party? Here are many that would be interested in yourimprovements, 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 youwith their opinions; and, for my own part, I have been long wishing to waitupon your good mother again; nothing but having no horses of my own could havemade 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 allreturn to a late dinner here, or dine at Sotherton, just as might be mostagreeable to your mother, and have a pleasant drive home by moonlight. I daresay Mr. Crawford would take my two nieces and me in his barouche, and Edmundcan go on horseback, you know, sister, and Fanny will stay at home with you.”

Lady Bertram made no objection; and every oneconcerned in the going was forward in expressing their ready concurrence,excepting Edmund, who heard it all and said nothing.

第七章 Chapter 7

导读

第二天，埃德蒙向芬妮询问她对玛丽小姐的看法。芬妮表示自己喜欢听她说话，但她不该说她叔叔，她叔叔待她哥哥就像亲生儿子一样。埃德蒙说玛丽小姐是由婶婶带大的，现在她有这种不妥当的言行，说明婶婶没有给她灌输正确的思想。芬妮接着说玛丽小姐的哥哥在分别后懒得给妹妹写信，说明他没有爱心和好性子。埃德蒙有些倾慕玛丽小姐，说她在言谈举止及脾气各方面还是好的。芬妮虽然一贯和他的看法一致，但这次和他的看法不同。

这天上午，玛丽小姐在窗前弹竖琴，格兰特太太在一旁做刺绣，埃德蒙在这一个礼拜中坠入了情网，虽然他语言不多，总是不讨人喜欢，但玛丽小姐还是喜欢上了他。芬妮发现，晚上散步后，埃德蒙总是陪格兰特太太和她妹妹回家，而亨利先生则送庄园的小姐们回家。芬妮看到了玛丽小姐的缺点，而埃德蒙先生却看不到。埃德蒙看玛丽想学骑马，便鼓励她，并让她在芬妮骑马之前骑半个小时。

玛丽小姐开始很守信用，在埃德蒙的指导下进步很快，后来骑在马上就不想下来了。那天芬妮装束好后，诺里斯太太催她去骑马，可马还没送回来，芬妮走出庄园，看到在半英里外的牧师住在路边的草地上，埃德蒙正抓着玛丽小姐的手教她怎样控制缰绳，芬妮想：这完全可以由她哥哥来教的。过了一会儿，两人骑马穿过小门来到小路，芬妮迎了上去，玛丽小姐表示了歉意，芬妮则客气地做了回答。这时，老车夫扶芬妮骑上马朝庭园的另一边走去，她的随从还在夸赞玛丽小姐骑马是那么机灵和稳当。

回到客厅，两位伯特伦小姐正在赞扬玛丽小姐，玛丽则说她们像哥哥那样兴致勃勃而且充满了活力。晚上分别时，埃德蒙问表妹第二天是否骑马，并说如果她想在家待着，玛丽小姐会骑一上午。芬妮表示自己第二天不骑，看到埃德蒙那样高兴，芬妮心里感到很安慰。第四天，格兰特太太邀请埃德蒙和朱莉娅到牧师府吃饭，因她估计这天拉什沃思先生要来，所以没邀请伯特伦小姐，这使她的自尊心受到了打击；并且那天拉什沃思先生并没有来，于是她的心中更不好受了。

晚上十点多，埃德蒙和朱莉娅满面春光地来到客厅，玛丽亚在看书没理她们，伯特伦夫人在打着盹，诺里斯太太问宴会的情况，他们只顾高兴也没有回答。埃德蒙问芬妮在哪里。原来，她在房间另一端的角落。诺里斯太太骂芬妮正在那里犯傻，芬妮便赶快回到座位上干活。朱莉娅替芬妮打抱不平，埃德蒙则责怪她大热天还跑出去。诺里斯太太说：“玫瑰花都盛开了，这是最后一茬不能等了，站在太阳底下剪花容易头痛”。伯特伦夫人说：“芬妮第二次从白房子回来后就让她喝了香醋”，埃德蒙这才知道这么热的天让芬妮跑了两趟，很气愤，便问母亲，难道别人不能去吗。诺里斯太太辩解说自己很忙。埃德蒙走到餐桌旁，给芬妮倒了一杯葡萄酒，芬妮心情激动地喝了下去。埃德蒙为自己没替芬妮考虑感到内疚，芬妮已经四天没骑马了，埃德蒙下决心这样的事以后再不能发生了。

“Well, Fanny, and how do you like MissCrawford now?” said Edmund the next day, after thinkingsome time on the subject himself. “How did you like heryesterday?”

“Very well-very much. I like to hear hertalk. She entertains me; and she is so extremely pretty, that I have greatpleasure 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 conversationthat struck you, Fanny, as not quite right?”

“Oh yes! she ought not to have spoken of heruncle as she did. I was quite astonished. An uncle with whom she has beenliving so many years, and who, whatever his faults may be, is so very fond ofher brother, treating him, they say, quite like a son. I could not havebelieved 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 knowthat her uncle has any claim to her gratitude; his wife certainly had; and itis the warmth of her respect for her aunt’s memorywhich misleads her here. She is awkwardly circumstanced. With such warmfeelings and lively spirits it must be difficult to do justice to her affectionfor Mrs. Crawford, without throwing a shade on the Admiral. I do not pretend toknow which was most to blame in their disagreements, though the Admiral’s present conduct might incline one to the side of his wife; but itis natural and amiable that Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt entirely. I donot censure her opinions; but there certainly is impropriety in making thempublic.”

“Do not you think,”said Fanny, after a little consideration, “that thisimpropriety is a reflection itself upon Mrs. Crawford, as her niece has beenentirely brought up by her? She cannot have given her right notions of what wasdue to the Admiral.”

“That is a fair remark. Yes, we must supposethe faults of the niece to have been those of the aunt; and it makes one moresensible of the disadvantages she has been under. But I think her present homemust do her good. Mrs. Grant’s manners are just whatthey ought to be. She speaks of her brother with a very pleasing affection.”

“Yes, except as to his writing her such shortletters. She made me almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very highly the love orgood-nature of a brother who will not give himself the trouble of writinganything worth reading to his sisters, when they are separated. I am sureWilliam would never have used me so, under any circumstances. And what righthad she to suppose that you would not write long letters when you were absent?”

“The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizingwhatever may contribute to its own amusement or that of others; perfectlyallowable, when untinctured by ill-humour or roughness; and there is not ashadow 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 havebeen speaking of. There she cannot be justified. I am glad you saw it all as Idid.”

Having formed her mind and gained heraffections, he had a good chance of her thinking like him; though at thisperiod, and on this subject, there began now to be some danger ofdissimilarity, for he was in a line of admiration of Miss Crawford, which mightlead him where Fanny could not follow. Miss Crawford’sattractions did not lessen. The harp arrived, and rather added to her beauty,wit, and good-humour; for she played with the greatest obligingness, with anexpression and taste which were peculiarly becoming, and there was somethingclever to be said at the close of every air. Edmund was at the Parsonage everyday, to be indulged with his favourite instrument: one morning secured aninvitation for the next; for the lady could not be unwilling to have alistener, and every thing was soon in a fair train.

A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp aselegant as herself, and both placed near a window, cut down to the ground, andopening on a little lawn, surrounded by shrubs in the rich foliage of summer,was enough to catch any man’s heart. The season, thescene, the air, were all favourable to tenderness and sentiment. Mrs. Grant andher tambour frame were not without their use: it was all in harmony; and aseverything will turn to account when love is once set going, even the sandwichtray, and Dr. Grant doing the honours of it, were worth looking at. Withoutstudying the business, however, or knowing what he was about, Edmund wasbeginning, at the end of a week of such intercourse, to be a good deal in love;and to the credit of the lady it may be added that, without his being a man ofthe world or an elder brother, without any of the arts of flattery or thegaieties of small talk, he began to be agreeable to her. She felt it to be so,though she had not foreseen, and could hardly understand it; for he was notpleasant by any common rule: he talked no nonsense; he paid no compliments; hisopinions were unbending, his attentions tranquil and simple. There was a charm,perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity, which Miss Crawfordmight be equal to feel, though not equal to discuss with herself. She did notthink very much about it, however: he pleased her for the present; she liked tohave him near her; it was enough.

Fanny could not wonder that Edmund was at theParsonage every morning; she would gladly have been there too, might she havegone in uninvited and unnoticed, to hear the harp; neither could she wonderthat, when the evening stroll was over, and the two families parted again, heshould think it right to attend Mrs. Grant and her sister to their home, whileMr. Crawford was devoted to the ladies of the Park; but she thought it a verybad exchange; and if Edmund were not there to mix the wine and water for her,would rather go without it than not. She was a little surprised that he couldspend so many hours with Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sort of faultwhich he had already observed, and of which she was almost always reminded by asomething of the same nature whenever she was in her company; but so it was.Edmund was fond of speaking to her of Miss Crawford, but he seemed to think itenough that the Admiral had since been spared; and she scrupled to point outher own remarks to him, lest it should appear like ill-nature. The first actualpain which Miss Crawford occasioned her was the consequence of an inclinationto learn to ride, which the former caught, soon after her being settled atMansfield, from the example of the young ladies at the Park, and which, whenEdmund’s acquaintance with her increased, led to hisencouraging the wish, and the offer of his own quiet mare for the purpose ofher first attempts, as the best fitted for a beginner that either stable couldfurnish. No pain, no injury, however, was designed by him to his cousin in thisoffer: she was not to lose a day’s exercise by it. Themare was only to be taken down to the Parsonage half an hour before her ridewere to begin; and Fanny, on its being first proposed, so far from feelingslighted, was almost over-powered with gratitude that he should be asking herleave for it.

Miss Crawford made her first essay with greatcredit to herself, and no inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund, who had taken downthe mare and presided at the whole, returned with it in excellent time, beforeeither Fanny or the steady old coachman, who always attended her when she rode withouther cousins, were ready to set forward. The second day’strial was not so guiltless. Miss Crawford’s enjoymentof riding was such that she did not know how to leave off. Active and fearless,and though rather small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a horsewoman; andto the pure genuine pleasure of the exercise, something was probably added inEdmund’s attendance and instructions, and somethingmore in the conviction of very much surpassing her sex in general by her earlyprogress, to make her unwilling to dismount. Fanny was ready and waiting, andMrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for not being gone, and still no horsewas announced, no Edmund appeared. To avoid her aunt, and look for him, shewent out.

The houses, though scarcely half a mileapart, were not within sight of each other; but, by walking fifty yards fromthe hall door, she could look down the park, and command a view of theParsonage and all its demesnes, gently rising beyond the village road; and inDr. Grant’s meadow she immediately saw the group-Edmundand Miss Crawford both on horse-back, riding side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant,and Mr. Crawford, with two or three grooms, standing about and looking on. Ahappy party it appeared to her, all interested in one object: cheerful beyond adoubt, for the sound of merriment ascended even to her. It was a sound whichdid not make her cheerful; she wondered that Edmund should forget her, and felta pang. She could not turn her eyes from the meadow; she could not helpwatching all that passed. At first Miss Crawford and her companion made thecircuit of the field, which was not small, at a foot’space; then, at her apparent suggestion, they rose into a canter; and to Fanny’s timid nature it was most astonishing to see how well she sat. Aftera few minutes they stopped entirely. Edmund was close to her; he was speakingto her; he was evidently directing her management of the bridle; he had hold ofher hand; she saw it, or the imagination supplied what the eye could not reach.She must not wonder at all this; what could be more natural than that Edmundshould be making himself useful, and proving his good-nature by any one? Shecould not but think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well have saved him thetrouble; that it would have been particularly proper and becoming in a brotherto have done it himself; but Mr. Crawford, with all his boasted good-nature,and all his coachmanship, probably knew nothing of the matter, and had noactive kindness in comparison of Edmund. She began to think it rather hard uponthe mare to have such double duty; if she were forgotten, the poor mare shouldbe remembered.

Her feelings for one and the other were soona little tranquillised by seeing the party in the meadow disperse, and MissCrawford still on horseback, but attended by Edmund on foot, pass through agate into the lane, and so into the park, and make towards the spot where shestood. She began then to be afraid of appearing rude and impatient; and walkedto meet them with a great anxiety to avoid the suspicion.

“My dear Miss Price,”said Miss Crawford, as soon as she was at all within hearing, “I am come to make my own apologies for keeping you waiting; but Ihave nothing in the world to say for myself-I knew it was very late, and that Iwas behaving extremely ill; and therefore, if you please, you must forgive me.Selfishness must always be forgiven, you know, because there is no hope of acure.”

Fanny’s answer wasextremely civil, and Edmund added his conviction that she could be in no hurry.“For there is more than time enough for my cousin toride twice as far as she ever goes,” said he, “and you have been promoting her comfort by preventing her fromsetting off half an hour sooner: clouds are now coming up, and she will notsuffer from the heat as she would have done then. I wish you may not befatigued by so much exercise. I wish you had saved yourself this walk home.”

“No part of it fatigues me but getting offthis horse, I assure you,” said she, as she sprang downwith his help; “I am very strong. Nothing ever fatiguesme but doing what I do not like. Miss Price, I give way to you with a very badgrace; but I sincerely hope you will have a pleasant ride, and that I may havenothing but good to hear of this dear, delightful, beautiful animal.”

The old coachman, who had been waiting aboutwith his own horse, now joining them, Fanny was lifted on hers, and they setoff across another part of the park; her feelings of discomfort not lightenedby seeing, as she looked back, that the others were walking down the hilltogether to the village; nor did her attendant do her much good by his commentson Miss Crawford’s great cleverness as a horse-woman,which he had been watching with an interest almost equal to her own.

“It is a pleasure to see a lady with such agood heart for riding!” said he. “I never see one sit a horse better. She did not seem to have athought of fear. Very different from you, miss, when you first began, six yearsago come next Easter. Lord bless you! how you did tremble when Sir Thomas firsthad you put on!”

In the drawing-room Miss Crawford was alsocelebrated. Her merit in being gifted by Nature with strength and courage wasfully appreciated by the Miss Bertrams; her delight in riding was like theirown; her early excellence in it was like their own, and they had great pleasurein praising it.

“I was sure she would ride well,” said Julia; “she has the make for it. Herfigure is as neat as her brother’s.”

“Yes,” added Maria, “and her spirits are as good, and she has the same energy of character.I cannot but think that good horsemanship has a great deal to do with the mind.”

When they parted at night Edmund asked Fannywhether she meant to ride the next day.

“No, I do not know-not if you want the mare,” was her answer.

“I do not want her at all for myself,” said he; “but whenever you are nextinclined to stay at home, I think Miss Crawford would be glad to have her alonger time-for a whole morning, in short. She has a great desire to get as faras Mansfield Common: Mrs. Grant has been telling her of its fine views, and Ihave no doubt of her being perfectly equal to it. But any morning will do forthis. She would be extremely sorry to interfere with you. It would be verywrong if she did. She rides only for pleasure; you for health.”

“I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly,” said Fanny; “I have been out very oftenlately, and would rather stay at home. You know I am strong enough now to walkvery well.”

Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny’s comfort, and the ride to Mansfield Common took place the nextmorning: the party included all the young people but herself, and was muchenjoyed at the time, and doubly enjoyed again in the evening discussion. Asuccessful scheme of this sort generally brings on another; and the having beento Mansfield Common disposed them all for going somewhere else the day after.There were many other views to be shewn; and though the weather was hot, therewere shady lanes wherever they wanted to go. A young party is always providedwith a shady lane. Four fine mornings successively were spent in this manner,in shewing the Crawfords the country, and doing the honours of its finestspots. Everything answered; it was all gaiety and good-humour, the heat onlysupplying inconvenience enough to be talked of with pleasure- till the fourthday, when the happiness of one of the party was exceedingly clouded. MissBertram was the one. Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage,and she was excluded. It was meant and done by Mrs. Grant, with perfectgood-humour, on Mr. Rushworth’s account, who was partlyexpected at the Park that day; but it was felt as a very grievous injury, andher good manners were severely taxed to conceal her vexation and anger till shereached home. As Mr. Rushworth did not come, the injury was increased, and shehad not even the relief of shewing her power over him; she could only be sullento her mother, aunt, and cousin, and throw as great a gloom as possible overtheir dinner and dessert.

Between ten and eleven Edmund and Juliawalked into the drawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful,the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting there, forMaria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book, and Lady Bertram washalf-asleep; and even Mrs. Norris, discomposed by her niece’s ill-humour, and having asked one or two questions about thedinner, which were not immediately attended to, seemed almost determined to sayno more. For a few minutes the brother and sister were too eager in theirpraise of the night and their remarks on the stars, to think beyond themselves;but when the first pause came, Edmund, looking around, said, “But where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?”

“No, not that I know of,” replied Mrs. Norris; “she was here a momentago.”

Her own gentle voice speaking from the otherend of the room, which was a very long one, told them that she was on the sofa.Mrs. Norris began scolding.

“That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to beidling away all the evening upon a sofa. Why cannot you come and sit here, andemploy yourself as we do? If you have no work of your own, I can supply youfrom the poor basket. There is all the new calico, that was bought last week,not touched yet. I am sure I almost broke my back by cutting it out. You shouldlearn to think of other people; and, take my word for it, it is a shockingtrick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa.”

Before half this was said, Fanny was returnedto her seat at the table, and had taken up her work again; and Julia, who wasin high good-humour, from the pleasures of the day, did her the justice ofexclaiming, “I must say, ma’am,that Fanny is as little upon the sofa as anybody in the house.”

“Fanny,” said Edmund,after looking at her attentively, “I am sure you havethe headache.”

She could not deny it, but said it was notvery bad.

“I can hardly believe you,” he replied; “I know your looks too well.How long have you had it?”

“Since a little before dinner. It is nothingbut the heat.”

“Did you go out in the heat?”

“Go out! to be sure she did,” said Mrs. Norris: “would you have her staywithin such a fine day as this? Were not we all out? Even your mother was outto-day for above an hour.”

“Yes, indeed, Edmund,” added her ladyship, who had been thoroughly awakened by Mrs. Norris’s sharp reprimand to Fanny; “I was out abovean hour. I sat three-quarters of an hour in the flower-garden, while Fanny cutthe roses; and very pleasant it was, I assure you, but very hot. It was shadyenough in the alcove, but I declare I quite dreaded the coming home again.”

“Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?”

“Yes, and I am afraid they will be the lastthis year. Poor thing! She found it hot enough; but they were so full-blownthat one could not wait.”

“There was no help for it, certainly,” rejoined Mrs. Norris, in a rather softened voice; “but I question whether her headache might not be caught then,sister. There is nothing so likely to give it as standing and stooping in a hotsun; but I dare say it will be well to-morrow. Suppose you let her have youraromatic vinegar; I always forget to have mine filled.”

“She has got it,”said Lady Bertram; “she has had it ever since she cameback from your house the second time.”

“What!” cried Edmund;“has she been walking as well as cutting roses; walkingacross the hot park to your house, and doing it twice, ma’am? No wonder her head aches.”

Mrs. Norris was talking to Julia, and did nothear.

“I was afraid it would be too much for her,” said Lady Bertram; “but when the roses weregathered, your aunt wished to have them, and then you know they must be takenhome.”

“But were there roses enough to oblige her togo twice?”

“No; but they were to be put into the spareroom to dry; and, unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the door of the room andbring away the key, so she was obliged to go again.”

Edmund got up and walked about the room,saying, “And could nobody be employed on such an errandbut Fanny? Upon my word, ma’am, it has been a veryill-managed business.”

“I am sure I do not know how it was to havebeen done better,” cried Mrs. Norris, unable to belonger deaf; “unless I had gone myself, indeed; but Icannot be in two places at once; and I was talking to Mr. Green at that verytime about your mother’s dairymaid, by her desire, andhad promised John Groom to write to Mrs. Jefferies about his son, and the poorfellow was waiting for me half an hour. I think nobody can justly accuse me ofsparing myself upon any occasion, but really I cannot do everything at once.And as for Fanny’s just stepping down to my house forme- it is not much above a quarter of a mile-I cannot think I was unreasonableto ask it. How often do I pace it three times a day, early and late, ay, and inall weathers too, and say nothing about it?”

“I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma’am.”

“If Fanny would be more regular in herexercise, she would not be knocked up so soon. She has not been out onhorseback now this long while, and I am persuaded that, when she does not ride,she ought to walk. If she had been riding before, I should not have asked it ofher. But I thought it would rather do her good after being stooping among theroses; for there is nothing so refreshing as a walk after a fatigue of thatkind; and though the sun was strong, it was not so very hot. Between ourselves,Edmund,” nodding significantly at his mother, “it was cutting the roses, and dawdling about in the flower-garden,that did the mischief.”

“I am afraid it was, indeed,” said the more candid Lady Bertram, who had overheard her; “I am very much afraid she caught the headache there, for the heatwas enough to kill anybody. It was as much as I could bear myself. Sitting andcalling to Pug, and trying to keep him from the flower-beds, was almost toomuch for me.”

Edmund said no more to either lady; but goingquietly to another table, on which the supper-tray yet remained, brought aglass of Madeira to Fanny, and obliged her to drink the greater part. Shewished to be able to decline it; but the tears, which a variety of feelingscreated, made it easier to swallow than to speak.

Vexed as Edmund was with his mother and aunt,he was still more angry with himself. His own forgetfulness of her was worsethan anything which they had done. Nothing of this would have happened had shebeen properly considered; but she had been left four days together without anychoice of companions or exercise, and without any excuse for avoiding whateverher unreasonable aunts might require. He was ashamed to think that for fourdays together she had not had the power of riding, and very seriously resolved,however unwilling he must be to check a pleasure of Miss Crawford’s, that it should never happen again.

Fanny went to bed with her heart as full ason the first evening of her arrival at the Park. The state of her spirits hadprobably had its share in her indisposition; for she had been feelingneglected, and been struggling against discontent and envy for some days past.As she leant on the sofa, to which she had retreated that she might not beseen, the pain of her mind had been much beyond that in her head; and thesudden change which Edmund’s kindness had thenoccasioned, made her hardly know how to support herself.

第八章 Chapter 8

导读

第二天清晨，芬妮又开始骑马，她走后拉什沃思先生和他母亲来了，她是来催促大家去索瑟顿游玩的计划的。确定日期后，拉什沃思先生便去牧师住室问亨利先生礼拜三去是否合适？他刚走，格兰特太太和妹妹来了，谈话时诺里斯太太显得兴致勃勃，完全不给别人说话的机会，还力邀伯特伦夫人一起去。但伯特伦夫人表示不想去，拉什沃思太太感到很遗憾，又表示如果普莱斯小姐能去的话，她将感到无比高兴。而诺里斯太太却说芬妮要在家陪伯特伦夫人，夫人也表示离不开她。格兰特太太也谢绝了邀请，但为妹妹应承下了这次聚会。玛丽亚接受了邀请，拉什沃思也从牧师那里满意而归，他把母亲送上了车。

埃德蒙回到餐厅，听到她们在议论要坐亨利的四轮马车，便提议用自己家的车。朱莉娅嫌坐自己家的驿车太热，诺里斯太太也说一辆车就够了，没必要多去一辆。当埃德蒙知道芬妮在家陪他母亲时，便表示让芬妮去，自己留在家陪母亲。众人都感到吃惊，诺里斯太太说已经告诉拉什沃思太太芬妮不去了，所以再让她去不合适。可埃德蒙说自己送拉什沃思太太时，已经向她提出普莱斯小姐可能跟着一起去，并替表妹接受了邀请，这使诺里斯太太很气恼。

芬妮心中对埃德蒙万分感激。后来格兰特太太主动提出由她来陪伯特伦夫人。星期三早饭后不久，格兰特太太等三人坐着四轮马车到了。她下了车，两位伯特伦小姐都想坐那个雅座，但还是谦让了一番。格兰特太太说朱莉娅小姐最近想学赶车，然后就让她和亨利坐在了一起，玛丽亚有些垂头丧气。芬妮坐在车上，野外的这些地方她都没来过，欣赏着野外的风光，芬妮很是高兴。玛丽亚小姐看到朱莉娅和亨利先生有说有笑感到很恼火，其间朱莉娅也曾假意地提议让她坐到前面去，但很快又扯起了别的话题。车子进入索瑟顿的地界，玛丽亚小姐的心情好了一些，路也好走了，这是拉什沃思先生继承庄园后修的；教堂离住宅有一定距离，这样才不会被钟声打扰。马车驶到正门前时，大家的心情都好起来了。

Fanny’s ridesrecommenced the very next day; and as it was a pleasant fresh-feeling morning,less hot than the weather had lately been, Edmund trusted that her losses, bothof health and pleasure, would be soon made good. While she was gone Mr.Rushworth arrived, escorting his mother, who came to be civil and to shew hercivility especially, in urging the execution of the plan for visitingSotherton, which had been started a fortnight before, and which, in consequenceof her subsequent absence from home, had since lain dormant. Mrs. Norris andher nieces were all well pleased with its revival, and an early day was namedand agreed to, provided Mr. Crawford should be disengaged: the young ladies didnot forget that stipulation, and though Mrs. Norris would willingly haveanswered for his being so, they would neither authorise the liberty nor run therisk; and at last, on a hint from Miss Bertram, Mr. Rushworth discovered thatthe properest thing to be done was for him to walk down to the Parsonagedirectly, and call on Mr. Crawford, and inquire whether Wednesday would suithim or not.

Before his return Mrs. Grant and MissCrawford came in. Having been out some time, and taken a different route to thehouse, they had not met him. Comfortable hopes, however, were given that hewould find Mr. Crawford at home. The Sotherton scheme was mentioned of course.It was hardly possible, indeed, that anything else should be talked of, forMrs. Norris was in high spirits about it; and Mrs. Rushworth, a well-meaning,civil, prosing, pompous woman, who thought nothing of consequence, but as itrelated to her own and her son’s concerns, had not yetgiven over pressing Lady Bertram to be of the party. Lady Bertram constantlydeclined it; but her placid manner of refusal made Mrs. Rushworth still thinkshe wished to come, till Mrs. Norris’s more numerouswords and louder tone convinced her of the truth.

“The fatigue would be too much for my sister,a great deal too much, I assure you, my dear Mrs. Rushworth. Ten miles there,and ten back, you know. You must excuse my sister on this occasion, and acceptof our two dear girls and myself without her. Sotherton is the only place thatcould give her a wish to go so far, but it cannot be, indeed. She will have acompanion in Fanny Price, you know, so it will all do very well; and as forEdmund, as he is not here to speak for himself, I will answer for his beingmost happy to join the party. He can go on horseback, you know.”

Mrs. Rushworth being obliged to yield to LadyBertram’s staying at home, could only be sorry. “The loss of her ladyship’s company would bea great drawback, and she should have been extremely happy to have seen theyoung lady too, Miss Price, who had never been at Sotherton yet, and it was apity she should not see the place.”

“You are very kind, you are all kindness, mydear madam,” cried Mrs. Norris; “but as to Fanny, she will have opportunities in plenty of seeingSotherton. She has time enough before her; and her going now is quite out ofthe question. Lady Bertram could not possibly spare her.”

“Oh no! I cannot do without Fanny.”

Mrs. Rushworth proceeded next, under theconviction that everybody must be wanting to see Sotherton, to include MissCrawford in the invitation; and though Mrs. Grant, who had not been at thetrouble of visiting Mrs. Rushworth, on her coming into the neighbourhood,civilly declined it on her own account, she was glad to secure any pleasure forher sister; and Mary, properly pressed and persuaded, was not long in acceptingher share of the civility. Mr. Rushworth came back from the Parsonagesuccessful; and Edmund made his appearance just in time to learn what had beensettled for Wednesday, to attend Mrs. Rushworth to her carriage, and walkhalf-way down the park with the two other ladies.

On his return to the breakfast-room, he foundMrs. Norris trying to make up her mind as to whether Miss Crawford’s being of the party were desirable or not, or whether her brother’s barouche would not be full without her. The Miss Bertrams laughedat the idea, assuring her that the barouche would hold four perfectly well,independent of the box, on which one might go with him.

“But why is it necessary,” said Edmund, “that Crawford’s carriage, or his only, should be employed? Why is no use to bemade of my mother’s chaise? I could not, when thescheme was first mentioned the other day, understand why a visit from thefamily were not to be made in the carriage of the family.”

“What!” cried Julia: “go boxed up three in a postchaise in this weather, when we may haveseats in a barouche! No, my dear Edmund, that will not quite do.”

“Besides,” saidMaria, “I know that Mr. Crawford depends upon takingus. After what passed at first, he would claim it as a promise.”

“And, my dear Edmund,” added Mrs. Norris, “taking out twocarriages when one will do, would be trouble for nothing; and, betweenourselves, coachman is not very fond of the roads between this and Sotherton:he always complains bitterly of the narrow lanes scratching his carriage, andyou know one should not like to have dear Sir Thomas, when he comes home, findall the varnish scratched off.”

“That would not be a very handsome reason forusing Mr. Crawford’s,” saidMaria; “but the truth is, that Wilcox is a stupid oldfellow, and does not know how to drive. I will answer for it that we shall findno inconvenience from narrow roads on Wednesday.”

“There is no hardship, I suppose, nothingunpleasant,” said Edmund, “ingoing on the barouche box.”

“Unpleasant!” criedMaria: “oh dear! I believe it would be generallythought the favourite seat. There can be no comparison as to one’s view of the country. Probably Miss Crawford will choose thebarouche-box herself.”

“There can be no objection, then, to Fanny’s going with you; there can be no doubt of your having room for her.”

“Fanny!” repeatedMrs. Norris; “my dear Edmund, there is no idea of hergoing with us. She stays with her aunt. I told Mrs. Rushworth so. She is notexpected.”

“You can have no reason, I imagine, madam,” said he, addressing his mother, “forwishing Fanny not to be of the party, but as it relates to yourself, to yourown comfort. If you could do without her, you would not wish to keep her athome?”

“To be sure not, but I cannot do without her.”

“You can, if I stay at home with you, as Imean to do.”

There was a general cry out at this. “Yes,” he continued, “there is no necessity for my going, and I mean to stay at home.Fanny has a great desire to see Sotherton. I know she wishes it very much. Shehas not often a gratification of the kind, and I am sure, ma’am, you would be glad to give her the pleasure now?”

“Oh yes! very glad, if your aunt sees noobjection.”

Mrs. Norris was very ready with the onlyobjection which could remain-their having positively assured Mrs. Rushworththat Fanny could not go, and the very strange appearance there wouldconsequently be in taking her, which seemed to her a difficulty quiteimpossible to be got over. It must have the strangest appearance! It would besomething so very unceremonious, so bordering on disrespect for Mrs. Rushworth,whose own manners were such a pattern of good-breeding and attention, that shereally did not feel equal to it. Mrs. Norris had no affection for Fanny, and nowish of procuring her pleasure at any time; but her opposition to Edmund now,arose more from partiality for her own scheme, because it was her own, thanfrom anything else. She felt that she had arranged everything extremely well,and that any alteration must be for the worse. When Edmund, therefore, told herin reply, as he did when she would give him the hearing, that she need notdistress herself on Mrs. Rushworth’s account, becausehe had taken the opportunity, as he walked with her through the hall, ofmentioning Miss Price as one who would probably be of the party, and haddirectly received a very sufficient invitation for his cousin, Mrs. Norris wastoo much vexed to submit with a very good grace, and would only say, “Very well, very well, just as you chuse, settle it your own way, Iam sure I do not care about it.”

“It seems very odd,”said Maria, “that you should be staying at home insteadof Fanny.”

“I am sure she ought to be very much obligedto you,” added Julia, hastily leaving the room as shespoke, from a consciousness that she ought to offer to stay at home herself.

“Fanny will feel quite as grateful as theoccasion requires,” was Edmund’sonly reply, and the subject dropt.

Fanny’s gratitude,when she heard the plan, was, in fact, much greater than her pleasure. She feltEdmund’s kindness with all, and more than all, thesensibility which he, unsuspicious of her fond attachment, could be aware of;but that he should forego any enjoyment on her account gave her pain, and herown satisfaction in seeing Sotherton would be nothing without him.

The next meeting of the two Mansfieldfamilies produced another alteration in the plan, and one that was admittedwith general approbation. Mrs. Grant offered herself as companion for the dayto Lady Bertram in lieu of her son, and Dr. Grant was to join them at dinner.Lady Bertram was very well pleased to have it so, and the young ladies were inspirits again. Even Edmund was very thankful for an arrangement which restoredhim to his share of the party; and Mrs. Norris thought it an excellent plan,and had it at her tongue’s end, and was on the point ofproposing it, when Mrs. Grant spoke.

Wednesday was fine, and soon after breakfastthe barouche arrived, Mr. Crawford driving his sisters; and as everybody wasready, there was nothing to be done but for Mrs. Grant to alight and the othersto take their places. The place of all places, the envied seat, the post ofhonour, was unappropriated. To whose happy lot was it to fall? While each ofthe Miss Bertrams were meditating how best, and with the most appearance ofobliging the others, to secure it, the matter was settled by Mrs. Grant’s saying, as she stepped from the carriage, “As there are five of you, it will be better that one should sit withHenry; and as you were saying lately that you wished you could drive, Julia, Ithink this will be a good opportunity for you to take a lesson.”

Happy Julia! Unhappy Maria! The former was onthe barouche-box in a moment, the latter took her seat within, in gloom andmortification; and the carriage drove off amid the good wishes of the tworemaining ladies, and the barking of Pug in his mistress’s arms.

Their road was through a pleasant country;and Fanny, whose rides had never been extensive, was soon beyond her knowledge,and was very happy in observing all that was new, and admiring all that waspretty. She was not often invited to join in the conversation of the others,nor did she desire it. Her own thoughts and reflections were habitually herbest companions; and, in observing the appearance of the country, the bearingsof the roads, the difference of soil, the state of the harvest, the cottages,the cattle, the children, she found entertainment that could only have beenheightened by having Edmund to speak to of what she felt. That was the onlypoint of resemblance between her and the lady who sat by her: in everything buta value for Edmund, Miss Crawford was very unlike her. She had none of Fanny’s delicacy of taste, of mind, of feeling; she saw Nature, inanimateNature, with little observation; her attention was all for men and women, hertalents for the light and lively. In looking back after Edmund, however, whenthere was any stretch of road behind them, or when he gained on them inascending a considerable hill, they were united, and a “there he is” broke at the same moment fromthem both, more than once.

For the first seven miles Miss Bertram hadvery little real comfort: her prospect always ended in Mr. Crawford and hersister sitting side by side, full of conversation and merriment; and to seeonly his expressive profile as he turned with a smile to Julia, or to catch thelaugh of the other, was a perpetual source of irritation, which her own senseof propriety could but just smooth over. When Julia looked back, it was with acountenance of delight, and whenever she spoke to them, it was in the highestspirits: “her view of the country was charming, shewished they could all see it,” etc.; but her only offerof exchange was addressed to Miss Crawford, as they gained the summit of a longhill, and was not more inviting than this: “Here is afine burst of country. I wish you had my seat, but I dare say you will not takeit, let me press you ever so much;” and Miss Crawfordcould hardly answer before they were moving again at a good pace.

When they came within the influence ofSotherton associations, it was better for Miss Bertram, who might be said tohave two strings to her bow. She had Rushworth feelings, and Crawford feelings,and in the vicinity of Sotherton the former had considerable effect. Mr.Rushworth’s consequence was hers. She could not tellMiss Crawford that “those woods belonged to Sotherton,” she could not carelessly observe that “shebelieved that it was now all Mr. Rushworth’s propertyon each side of the road,” without elation of heart;and it was a pleasure to increase with their approach to the capital freeholdmansion, and ancient manorial residence of the family, with all its rights ofcourt-leet and court-baron.

“Now we shall have no more rough road, MissCrawford; our difficulties are over. The rest of the way is such as it ought tobe. Mr. Rushworth has made it since he succeeded to the estate. Here begins thevillage. Those cottages are really a disgrace. The church spire is reckonedremarkably handsome. I am glad the church is not so close to the great house asoften happens in old places. The annoyance of the bells must be terrible. Thereis the parsonage: a tidy-looking house, and I understand the clergyman and hiswife are very decent people. Those are almshouses, built by some of the family.To the right is the steward’s house; he is a veryrespectable man. Now we are coming to the lodge-gates; but we have nearly amile through the park still. It is not ugly, you see, at this end; there issome fine timber, but the situation of the house is dreadful. We go down hillto it for half a mile, and it is a pity, for it would not be an ill-lookingplace if it had a better approach.”

Miss Crawford was not slow to admire; shepretty well guessed Miss Bertram’s feelings, and madeit a point of honour to promote her enjoyment to the utmost. Mrs. Norris wasall delight and volubility; and even Fanny had something to say in admiration,and might be heard with complacency. Her eye was eagerly taking in everythingwithin her reach; and after being at some pains to get a view of the house, andobserving that “it was a sort of building which shecould not look at but with respect,” she added, “Now, where is the avenue? The house fronts the east, I perceive. Theavenue, therefore, must be at the back of it. Mr. Rushworth talked of the westfront.”

“Yes, it is exactly behind the house; beginsat a little distance, and ascends for half a mile to the extremity of thegrounds. You may see something of it here- something of the more distant trees.It is oak entirely.”

Miss Bertram could now speak with decidedinformation of what she had known nothing about when Mr. Rushworth had askedher opinion; and her spirits were in as happy a flutter as vanity and pridecould furnish, when they drove up to the spacious stone steps before theprincipal entrance.

第九章 Chapter 9

导读

他们在大门口受到了拉什沃思先生的迎接，在客厅，拉什沃思太太热情地接待了他们。饭后，拉什沃思太太带领大家参观了宅院中的房间及里面的陈设。在参观一个长方形的大礼拜堂时，芬妮告诉埃德蒙说这并不是自己想象中的礼拜堂。埃德蒙告诉她，这是近代建造的，是家族私人使用的，与城堡、寺院是不一样的。芬妮认为一座大宅中有一座礼拜堂和一位牧师很是气派，现在这一风俗中断了很可惜。亨利小姐则认为，将人们强行聚在一起，每天两次祈祷不如让人们自己选择各自的时间和方式比较好。芬妮听后红了脸。埃德蒙说：如果一个人在礼拜堂里还胡思乱想，那么到私人祈祷堂里思想也不会集中。

这时，人们都分散到了礼拜堂各处，朱莉娅看到她姐姐和拉什沃思先生站在一起，像要结婚的样子。亨利笑着走到玛丽亚跟前小声说，真不愿让伯特伦小姐离举行婚礼的圣坛这么近，如果让他把新娘交给新郎会很尴尬的。这时，朱莉娅过来说，要是现在有张结婚证举行婚礼就好了，埃德蒙如果是牧师就更好了，现在就可以主持婚礼了。听到此话时，芬妮对亨利小姐怜悯起来，稍等了一下，她的神色定了下来，当听到埃德蒙说爸爸回来后圣诞节他就要担当圣职时，说：“早知道这件事，刚才就会对牧师尊重些”。大家都从礼堂中出来了，伯特伦小姐因生妹妹的气，先走开了。这时，拉什沃思看待在这里的时间太长了，便提议去参观庭院。大家走到外面的草地上，亨利先生想在这里商量有什么地方需要改造，但大家被花木和野鸡吸引，各自向四处走去。

这块草地的四周用高墙圈着，花木区前面是滚木球场，再前边是铁栅栏，外面就是荒地上的树林。伯特伦小姐和拉什沃思先生在亨利先生的后面，埃德蒙、玛丽小姐及芬妮走在一起，拉什沃思太太、诺里斯太太走在最后，此时的朱莉娅出于礼貌只得跟在后面，心情和坐在驾驶室的情境完全不同，很是委屈。大家在滚木球场的小路上踱过了一个来回，当第二次走到通向荒地的中门时，亨利小姐说要是能到荒地上的小树林中转转就好了。到门前一看，门没锁，于是大家便来到小树林。这时，玛丽小姐对埃德蒙说没想到他真会当牧师，通常叔伯或爷爷会给第二个孩子留下一笔财产。埃德蒙认为自己是个例外，往往男人都喜欢出人头地，没人做无足轻重的牧师，但自己认为做一位维护宗教和道德的牧师是十分重要的。芬妮赞成他的说法，而玛丽小姐笑着让他改行搞法律，他们谁也说服不了谁。三个人沉默起来，还是芬妮打破沉默，说自己有点累了，埃德蒙挽起了她的胳膊然后转向克劳福德小姐。克劳福德小姐说自己不累，但也把胳膊伸给了他。走出了树林，他们在小道尽头的一个宽长凳上坐了下来，埃德蒙看芬妮很累的样子，就说她除了骑马干什么都觉得累；玛丽小姐为自己占用了芬妮一个星期的马感到歉意；芬妮表示自己稍微休息一下会缓过来的。

休息了一会儿后，玛丽小姐站起来说，自己越休息越累，便走到铁门旁看外面的景色，埃德蒙也过去和她争论起外面小路的长短。虽是争论，但他们谈得很愉快。后来，他们决定沿着林中的小道走一走，看它究竟有多长。埃德蒙让芬妮坐在原地休息，芬妮看着他们在林中的拐弯处消失了。

Mr. Rushworth was at the door to receive hisfair lady; and the whole party were welcomed by him with due attention. In thedrawing-room they were met with equal cordiality by the mother, and MissBertram had all the distinction with each that she could wish. After thebusiness of arriving was over, it was first necessary to eat, and the doorswere thrown open to admit them through one or two intermediate rooms into theappointed dining-parlour, where a collation was prepared with abundance andelegance. Much was said, and much was ate, and all went well. The particularobject of the day was then considered. How would Mr. Crawford like, in whatmanner would he chuse, to take a survey of the grounds? Mr. Rushworth mentionedhis curricle. Mr. Crawford suggested the greater desirableness of some carriagewhich might convey more than two. “To be deprivingthemselves of the advantage of other eyes and other judgments, might be an evileven beyond the loss of present pleasure.”

Mrs. Rushworth proposed that the chaiseshould be taken also; but this was scarcely received as an amendment: the youngladies neither smiled nor spoke. Her next proposition, of shewing the house tosuch of them as had not been there before, was more acceptable, for Miss Bertramwas pleased to have its size displayed, and all were glad to be doingsomething.

The whole party rose accordingly, and underMrs. Rushworth’s guidance were shewn through a numberof rooms, all lofty, and many large, and amply furnished in the taste of fiftyyears back, with shining floors, solid mahogany, rich damask, marble, gilding,and carving, each handsome in its way. Of pictures there were abundance, andsome few good, but the larger part were family portraits, no longer anything toanybody but Mrs. Rushworth, who had been at great pains to learn all that thehousekeeper could teach, and was now almost equally well qualified to shew thehouse. On the present occasion she addressed herself chiefly to Miss Crawfordand Fanny, but there was no comparison in the willingness of their attention;for Miss Crawford, who had seen scores of great houses, and cared for none ofthem, had only the appearance of civilly listening, while Fanny, to whomeverything was almost as interesting as it was new, attended with unaffectedearnestness to all that Mrs. Rushworth could relate of the family in formertimes, its rise and grandeur, regal visits and loyal efforts, delighted toconnect anything with history already known, or warm her imagination withscenes of the past.

The situation of the house excluded thepossibility of much prospect from any of the rooms; and while Fanny and some ofthe others were attending Mrs. Rushworth, Henry Crawford was looking grave andshaking his head at the windows. Every room on the west front looked across alawn to the beginning of the avenue immediately beyond tall iron palisades andgates.

Having visited many more rooms than could besupposed to be of any other use than to contribute to the window-tax, and findemployment for housemaids, “Now,” said Mrs. Rushworth, “we are coming to thechapel, which properly we ought to enter from above, and look down upon; but aswe are quite among friends, I will take you in this way, if you will excuse me.”

They entered. Fanny’simagination had prepared her for something grander than a mere spacious, oblongroom, fitted up for the purpose of devotion: with nothing more striking or moresolemn than the profusion of mahogany, and the crimson velvet cushionsappearing over the ledge of the family gallery above. “Iam disappointed,” said she, in a low voice, to Edmund. “This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing awful here,nothing melancholy, nothing grand. Here are no aisles, no arches, noinscriptions, no banners. No banners, cousin, to be ‘blownby the night wind of heaven.’ No signs that a ‘Scottish monarch sleeps below.’”

“You forget, Fanny, how lately all this hasbeen built, and for how confined a purpose, compared with the old chapels ofcastles and monasteries. It was only for the private use of the family. Theyhave been buried, I suppose, in the parish church. There you must look for thebanners and the achievements.”

“It was foolish of me not to think of allthat; but I am disappointed.”

Mrs. Rushworth began her relation. “This chapel was fitted up as you see it, in James the Second’s time. Before that period, as I understand, the pews were onlywainscot; and there is some reason to think that the linings and cushions ofthe pulpit and family seat were only purple cloth; but this is not quitecertain. It is a handsome chapel, and was formerly in constant use both morningand evening. Prayers were always read in it by the domestic chaplain, withinthe memory of many; but the late Mr. Rushworth left it off.”

“Every generation has its improvements,” said Miss Crawford, with a smile, to Edmund.

Mrs. Rushworth was gone to repeat her lessonto Mr. Crawford; and Edmund, Fanny, and Miss Crawford remained in a clustertogether.

“It is a pity,” criedFanny, “that the custom should have been discontinued.It was a valuable part of former times. There is something in a chapel andchaplain so much in character with a great house, with one’s ideas of what such a household should be! A whole familyassembling regularly for the purpose of prayer is fine!”

“Very fine indeed,”said Miss Crawford, laughing. “It must do the heads ofthe family a great deal of good to force all the poor housemaids and footmen toleave business and pleasure, and say their prayers here twice a day, while theyare inventing excuses themselves for staying away.”

“That is hardly Fanny’s idea of a family assembling,” said Edmund.“If the master and mistress do not attend themselves,there must be more harm than good in the custom.”

“At any rate, it is safer to leave people totheir own devices on such subjects. Everybody likes to go their own way-tochuse their own time and manner of devotion. The obligation of attendance, theformality, the restraint, the length of time-altogether it is a formidablething, and what nobody likes; and if the good people who used to kneel and gapein that gallery could have foreseen that the time would ever come when men andwomen might lie another ten minutes in bed, when they woke with a headache,without danger of reprobation, because chapel was missed, they would havejumped with joy and envy. Cannot you imagine with what unwilling feelings theformer belles of the house of Rushworth did many a time repair to this chapel?The young Mrs. Eleanors and Mrs. Bridgets-starched up into seeming piety, but withheads full of something very different-especially if the poor chaplain were notworth looking at-and, in those days, I fancy parsons were very inferior even towhat they are now.”

For a few moments she was unanswered. Fannycoloured and looked at Edmund, but felt too angry for speech; and he needed alittle recollection before he could say, “Your livelymind can hardly be serious even on serious subjects. You have given us anamusing sketch, and human nature cannot say it was not so. We must all feel attimes the difficulty of fixing our thoughts as we could wish; but if you aresupposing it a frequent thing, that is to say, a weakness grown into a habitfrom neglect, what could be expected from the private devotions of suchpersons? Do you think the minds which are suffered, which are indulged inwanderings in a chapel, would be more collected in a closet?”

“Yes, very likely. They would have twochances at least in their favour. There would be less to distract the attentionfrom without, and it would not be tried so long.”

“The mind which does not struggle againstitself under one circumstance, would find objects to distract it in the other,I believe; and the influence of the place and of example may often rouse betterfeelings than are begun with. The greater length of the service, however, Iadmit to be sometimes too hard a stretch upon the mind. One wishes it were notso; but I have not yet left Oxford long enough to forget what chapel prayersare.”

While this was passing, the rest of the partybeing scattered about the chapel, Julia called Mr. Crawford’s attention to her sister, by saying, “Dolook at Mr. Rushworth and Maria, standing side by side, exactly as if theceremony were going to be performed. Have not they completely the air of it?”

Mr. Crawford smiled his acquiescence, andstepping forward to Maria, said, in a voice which she only could hear, “I do not like to see Miss Bertram so near the altar.”

Starting, the lady instinctively moved a stepor two, but recovering herself in a moment, affected to laugh, and asked him,in a tone not much louder, “If he would give her away?”

“I am afraid I should do it very awkwardly,” was his reply, with a look of meaning.

Julia, joining them at the moment, carried onthe joke.

“Upon my word, it is really a pity that itshould not take place directly, if we had but a proper licence, for here we arealtogether, and nothing in the world could be more snug and pleasant.” And she talked and laughed about it with so little caution as tocatch the comprehension of Mr. Rushworth and his mother, and expose her sisterto the whispered gallantries of her lover, while Mrs. Rushworth spoke withproper smiles and dignity of its being a most happy event to her whenever ittook place.

“If Edmund were but in orders!” cried Julia, and running to where he stood with Miss Crawford andFanny: “My dear Edmund, if you were but in orders now,you might perform the ceremony directly. How unlucky that you are not ordained;Mr. Rushworth and Maria are quite ready.”

Miss Crawford’scountenance, as Julia spoke, might have amused a disinterested observer. Shelooked almost aghast under the new idea she was receiving. Fanny pitied her. “How distressed she will be at what she said just now,” passed across her mind.

“Ordained!” said MissCrawford; “what, are you to be a clergyman?”

“Yes; I shall take orders soon after myfather’s return-probably at Christmas.”

Miss Crawford, rallying her spirits, andrecovering her complexion, replied only, “If I hadknown this before, I would have spoken of the cloth with more respect,” and turned the subject.

The chapel was soon afterwards left to thesilence and stillness which reigned in it, with few interruptions, throughoutthe year. Miss Bertram, displeased with her sister, led the way, and all seemedto feel that they had been there long enough.

The lower part of the house had been nowentirely shewn, and Mrs. Rushworth, never weary in the cause, would haveproceeded towards the principal staircase, and taken them through all the roomsabove, if her son had not interposed with a doubt of there being time enough. “For if,” said he, with the sort ofself-evident proposition which many a clearer head does not always avoid, “we are too long going over the house, we shall not have time forwhat is to be done out of doors. It is past two, and we are to dine at five.”

Mrs. Rushworth submitted; and the question ofsurveying the grounds, with the who and the how, was likely to be more fullyagitated, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to arrange by what junction ofcarriages and horses most could be done, when the young people, meeting with anoutward door, temptingly open on a flight of steps which led immediately toturf and shrubs, and all the sweets of pleasure-grounds, as by one impulse, onewish for air and liberty, all walked out.

“Suppose we turn down here for the present,” said Mrs. Rushworth, civilly taking the hint and following them. “Here are the greatest number of our plants, and here are the curiouspheasants.”

“Query,” said Mr.Crawford, looking round him, “whether we may not findsomething to employ us here before we go farther? I see walls of great promise.Mr. Rushworth, shall we summon a council on this lawn?”

“James,” said Mrs.Rushworth to her son, “I believe the wilderness will benew to all the party. The Miss Bertrams have never seen the wilderness yet.”

No objection was made, but for some timethere seemed no inclination to move in any plan, or to any distance. All wereattracted at first by the plants or the pheasants, and all dispersed about inhappy independence. Mr. Crawford was the first to move forward to examine thecapabilities of that end of the house. The lawn, bounded on each side by a highwall, contained beyond the first planted area a bowling-green, and beyond thebowling-green a long terrace walk, backed by iron palisades, and commanding aview over them into the tops of the trees of the wilderness immediatelyadjoining. It was a good spot for fault-finding. Mr. Crawford was soon followedby Miss Bertram and Mr. Rushworth; and when, after a little time, the othersbegan to form into parties, these three were found in busy consultation on theterrace by Edmund, Miss Crawford, and Fanny, who seemed as naturally to unite,and who, after a short participation of their regrets and difficulties, leftthem and walked on. The remaining three, Mrs. Rushworth, Mrs. Norris, andJulia, were still far behind; for Julia, whose happy star no longer prevailed,was obliged to keep by the side of Mrs. Rushworth, and restrain her impatientfeet to that lady’s slow pace, while her aunt, havingfallen in with the housekeeper, who was come out to feed the pheasants, waslingering behind in gossip with her. Poor Julia, the only one out of the ninenot tolerably satisfied with their lot, was now in a state of complete penance,and as different from the Julia of the barouche-box as could well be imagined.The politeness which she had been brought up to practise as a duty made itimpossible for her to escape; while the want of that higher species ofself-command, that just consideration of others, that knowledge of her ownheart, that principle of right, which had not formed any essential part of hereducation, made her miserable under it.

“This is insufferably hot,” said Miss Crawford, when they had taken one turn on the terrace,and were drawing a second time to the door in the middle which opened to thewilderness. “Shall any of us object to beingcomfortable? Here is a nice little wood, if one can but get into it. Whathappiness if the door should not be locked! but of course it is; for in thesegreat places the gardeners are the only people who can go where they like.”

The door, however, proved not to be locked,and they were all agreed in turning joyfully through it, and leaving theunmitigated glare of day behind. A considerable flight of steps landed them inthe wilderness, which was a planted wood of about two acres, and though chieflyof larch and laurel, and beech cut down, and though laid out with too muchregularity, was darkness and shade, and natural beauty, compared with thebowling-green and the terrace. They all felt the refreshment of it, and forsome time could only walk and admire. At length, after a short pause, MissCrawford began with, “So you are to be a clergyman, Mr.Bertram. This is rather a surprise to me.”

“Why should it surprise you? You must supposeme designed for some profession, and might perceive that I am neither a lawyer,nor a soldier, nor a sailor.”

“Very true; but, in short, it had notoccurred to me. And you know there is generally an uncle or a grandfather toleave a fortune to the second son.”

“A very praiseworthy practice,” said Edmund, “but not quite universal. I amone of the exceptions, and being one, must do something for myself.”

“But why are you to be a clergyman? I thoughtthat was always the lot of the youngest, where there were many to chuse beforehim.”

“Do you think the church itself never chosen,then?”

“Never is a black word. But yes, in the neverof conversation, which means not very often, I do think it. For what is to bedone in the church? Men love to distinguish themselves, and in either of theother lines distinction may be gained, but not in the church. A clergyman isnothing.”

“The nothing of conversation has itsgradations, I hope, as well as the never. A clergyman cannot be high in stateor fashion. He must not head mobs, or set the ton in dress. But I cannot callthat situation nothing which has the charge of all that is of the firstimportance to mankind, individually or collectively considered, temporally andeternally, which has the guardianship of religion and morals, and consequentlyof the manners which result from their influence. No one here can call theoffice nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is by the neglect of hisduty, by foregoing its just importance, and stepping out of his place to appearwhat he ought not to appear.”

“You assign greater consequence to theclergyman than one has been used to hear given, or than I can quite comprehend.One does not see much of this influence and importance in society, and how canit be acquired where they are so seldom seen themselves? How can two sermons aweek, even supposing them worth hearing, supposing the preacher to have thesense to prefer Blair’s to his own, do all that youspeak of? govern the conduct and fashion the manners of a large congregationfor the rest of the week? One scarcely sees a clergyman out of his pulpit.”

“You are speaking of London, I am speaking ofthe nation at large.”

“The metropolis, I imagine, is a pretty fairsample of the rest.”

“Not, I should hope, of the proportion ofvirtue to vice throughout the kingdom. We do not look in great cities for ourbest morality. It is not there that respectable people of any denomination cando most good; and it certainly is not there that the influence of the clergycan be most felt. A fine preacher is followed and admired; but it is not infine preaching only that a good clergyman will be useful in his parish and hisneighbourhood, where the parish and neighbourhood are of a size capable of knowinghis private character, and observing his general conduct, which in London canrarely be the case. The clergy are lost there in the crowds of theirparishioners. They are known to the largest part only as preachers. And withregard to their influencing public manners, Miss Crawford must notmisunderstand me, or suppose I mean to call them the arbiters of good-breeding,the regulators of refinement and courtesy, the masters of the ceremonies oflife. The manners I speak of might rather be called conduct, perhaps, theresult of good principles; the effect, in short, of those doctrines which it istheir duty to teach and recommend; and it will, I believe, be everywhere found,that as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of thenation.”

“Certainly,” saidFanny, with gentle earnestness.

“There,” cried MissCrawford, “you have quite convinced Miss Price already.”

“I wish I could convince Miss Crawford too.”

“I do not think you ever will,” said she, with an arch smile; “I am just asmuch surprised now as I was at first that you should intend to take orders. Youreally are fit for something better. Come, do change your mind. It is not toolate. Go into the law.”

“Go into the law! With as much ease as I wastold to go into this wilderness.”

“Now you are going to say something about lawbeing the worst wilderness of the two, but I forestall you; remember, I haveforestalled you.”

“You need not hurry when the object is onlyto prevent my saying a bon mot, for there is not the least wit in my nature. Iam a very matter-of-fact, plain-spoken being, and may blunder on the borders ofa repartee for half an hour together without striking it out.”

A general silence succeeded. Each wasthoughtful. Fanny made the first interruption by saying, “I wonder that I should be tired with only walking in this sweetwood; but the next time we come to a seat, if it is not disagreeable to you, Ishould be glad to sit down for a little while.”

“My dear Fanny,”cried Edmund, immediately drawing her arm within his, “howthoughtless I have been! I hope you are not very tired. Perhaps,” turning to Miss Crawford, “my othercompanion may do me the honour of taking an arm.”

“Thank you, but I am not at all tired.” She took it, however, as she spoke, and the gratification of havingher do so, of feeling such a connexion for the first time, made him a littleforgetful of Fanny. “You scarcely touch me,” said he. “You do not make me of any use.What a difference in the weight of a woman’s arm fromthat of a man! At Oxford I have been a good deal used to have a man lean on mefor the length of a street, and you are only a fly in the comparison.”

“I am really not tired, which I almost wonderat; for we must have walked at least a mile in this wood. Do not you think wehave?”

“Not half a mile,”was his sturdy answer; for he was not yet so much in love as to measuredistance, or reckon time, with feminine lawlessness.

“Oh! you do not consider how much we havewound about. We have taken such a very serpentine course, and the wood itselfmust be half a mile long in a straight line, for we have never seen the end ofit yet since we left the first great path.”

“But if you remember, before we left thatfirst great path, we saw directly to the end of it. We looked down the wholevista, and saw it closed by iron gates, and it could not have been more than afurlong in length.”

“Oh! I know nothing of your furlongs, but Iam sure it is a very long wood, and that we have been winding in and out eversince we came into it; and therefore, when I say that we have walked a mile init, I must speak within compass.”

“We have been exactly a quarter of an hourhere,” said Edmund, taking out his watch. “Do you think we are walking four miles an hour?”

“Oh! do not attack me with your watch. Awatch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch.”

A few steps farther brought them out at thebottom of the very walk they had been talking of; and standing back, wellshaded and sheltered, and looking over a ha-ha into the park, was a comfortable-sizedbench, on which they all sat down.

“I am afraid you are very tired, Fanny,” said Edmund, observing her; “why would notyou speak sooner? This will be a bad day’s amusementfor you if you are to be knocked up. Every sort of exercise fatigues her sosoon, Miss Crawford, except riding.”

“How abominable in you, then, to let meengross her horse as I did all last week! I am ashamed of you and of myself,but it shall never happen again.”

“Your attentiveness and consideration makesme more sensible of my own neglect. Fanny’s interestseems in safer hands with you than with me.”

“That she should be tired now, however, givesme no surprise; for there is nothing in the course of one’s duties so fatiguing as what we have been doing this morning:seeing a great house, dawdling from one room to another, straining one’s eyes and one’s attention, hearing what onedoes not understand, admiring what one does not care for. It is generallyallowed to be the greatest bore in the world, and Miss Price has found it so,though she did not know it.”

“I shall soon be rested,” said Fanny; “to sit in the shade on a fineday, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment.”

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