《曼斯菲尔德庄园-Mansfield Park》中英文对照 完结_派派后花园

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[Novel] 《曼斯菲尔德庄园-Mansfield Park》中英文对照 完结

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narcis

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一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看楼主 使用道具 楼主   发表于: 2013-10-26 0

Mansfield Park
曼斯菲尔德庄园


Jane Austen   简·奥斯汀
                        

内容推荐
　　本书19世纪最有影响的小说之一，由英国著名作家简·奥斯汀编著。女主人公芬妮是个美丽、善良、知书达理的姑娘，她出身贫寒，10岁时被姨父母伯特伦爵士夫妇收养。姨父母家的两个表姐虽然聪明美丽，但都高傲、任性且自私，芬妮常常受到她们的冷落；表哥埃德蒙是个心地善良、性格温和的人，芬妮处处受到他的呵护。成年后的芬妮常随表姐表哥们参加社交聚会，他们在牧师家里结识了英俊潇洒的青年克劳福德和他漂亮的妹妹玛丽。芬妮的两个表姐同时钟情于克劳福德，而克劳福德却在与她们逢场作戏后开始追求芬妮。埃德蒙对玛丽一见倾心，但不知她是个自私、轻浮的姑娘，当然他更不知道表妹芬妮一直深爱着他。几经风波，芬妮凭借高尚的人品终于赢得了埃德蒙的爱。

作者简介
　　简·奥斯汀（Jane Austen，1775年12月16日－1817年7月18日），19世纪英国小说家，世界文学史上最具影响力的女性文学家之一，她的作品主要关注乡绅家庭女性的婚姻和生活，以女性特有的细致入微的观察力和活泼风趣的文字真实地描绘了她周围世界的小天地。她在英国文学中的地位也随时间的过去而日益显得重要，以致有批评家认为她可以和莎士比亚相媲美。
　　奥斯汀生于乡村小镇斯蒂文顿，有6个兄弟和一个姐姐，家境尚可。父亲乔治·奥斯汀（George Austen，1731年—1805年）是当地一名牧师。母亲卡桑德拉（1739年—1827年）。奥斯汀没有上过正规学校，但受到较好的家庭教育，主要教材就是父亲的文学藏书。奥斯汀一家爱读流行小说，多半是庸俗的消遣品。她少女时期的习作就是对这类流行小说的滑稽模仿，这样就形成了她作品中嘲讽的基调。她20岁左右开始写作，共发表了6部长篇小说。1811年出版的《理智与情感》是她的处女作，随后又接连发表了《傲慢与偏见》（1813）、《曼斯菲尔德花园》（1814）和《爱玛》（1815）。《诺桑觉寺》（又名《诺桑觉修道院》）和《劝导》（1818）是在她去世后第二年发表的，并署上了作者真名。
　　简·奥斯汀一生未嫁。1796年，她与后来成为爱尔兰最高法官的汤姆·勒弗罗伊（Tom Lefroy）有过短暂的罗曼史，据传他就是《傲慢与偏见》中达西先生的原型。1802年，一名比奥斯汀小六岁的富有男子哈里斯·彼格威瑟（Harris Bigg-Wither）向她求婚。奥斯汀最初接受了，次日又改变主意拒绝了他。
　　1801年，奥斯汀的父亲退休后，全家迁居到疗养胜地巴斯。就像笔下的女主人公安妮·艾略特一样，奥斯汀并不喜欢巴斯，这也许与她家庭经济状况日趋拮据有关。
　　1805年父亲去世后，奥斯汀跟随母亲和姐姐到南安普敦与兄长弗兰克住了几年。1809年又移居查顿（Chawton）投奔兄长爱德华。那里的小屋现在是奥斯汀纪念馆，成为了著名的旅游景点。奥斯汀后期的作品就是在那里写作的。
　　1816年，奥斯汀的健康状况恶化，她于1817年搬到温彻斯特疗养，并于同年7月病逝。葬在温彻斯特大教堂。
　　奥斯汀兄弟中詹姆斯和亨利后来也从事神职，弗朗西斯和查尔斯则成供职英国海军。珍与她的姐姐卡桑德拉关系密切，她们之间的信件为后世奥斯汀研究提供了很多素材。卡桑德拉为简·奥斯汀所作的画像目前保存在伦敦的国家肖像馆内。
      2000年，BBC做过一个“千年作家评选”活动，结果奥斯丁紧随莎士比亚之后，排名第二，而且，她是前十位里唯一的女性作家。这位女性堪称英国之骄傲。她创造出了一大批的人物，开启了19世纪30年代的现实主义小说高潮。
  


碎碎念=。=
      这个版本也不知道谁翻译的，等下给你们看个毛尖的序，话说男主是个好汉子，但所爱非人这点真心无语=。=不过最后还是表哥表妹一家亲了，大家愉快地在一起了。
  
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narcis

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Chapter forty-eight

  Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody, not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest.

  My Fanny, indeed, at this very time, I have the satisfaction of knowing, must have been happy in spite of everything. She must have been a happy creature in spite of all that she felt, or thought she felt, for the distress of those around her. She had sources of delight that must force their way. She was returned to Mansfield Park, she was useful, she was beloved; she was safe from Mr. Crawford; and when Sir Thomas came back she had every proof that could be given in his then melancholy state of spirits, of his perfect approbation and increased regard; and happy as all this must make her, she would still have been happy without any of it, for Edmund was no longer the dupe of Miss Crawford.

  It is true that Edmund was very far from happy himself. He was suffering from disappointment and regret, grieving over what was, and wishing for what could never be. She knew it was so, and was sorry; but it was with a sorrow so founded on satisfaction, so tending to ease, and so much in harmony with every dearest sensation, that there are few who might not have been glad to exchange their greatest gaiety for it.

  Sir Thomas, poor Sir Thomas, a parent, and conscious of errors in his own conduct as a parent, was the longest to suffer. He felt that he ought not to have allowed the marriage; that his daughter's sentiments had been sufficiently known to him to render him culpable in authorising it; that in so doing he had sacrificed the right to the expedient, and been governed by motives of selfishness and worldly wisdom. These were reflections that required some time to soften; but time will do almost everything; and though little comfort arose on Mrs. Rushworth's side for the misery she had occasioned, comfort was to be found greater than he had supposed in his other children. Julia's match became a less desperate business than he had considered it at first. She was humble, and wishing to be forgiven; and Mr. Yates, desirous of being really received into the family, was disposed to look up to him and be guided. He was not very solid; but there was a hope of his becoming less trifling, of his being at least tolerably domestic and quiet; and at any rate, there was comfort in finding his estate rather more, and his debts much less, than he had feared, and in being consulted and treated as the friend best worth attending to. There was comfort also in Tom, who gradually regained his health, without regaining the thoughtlessness and selfishness of his previous habits. He was the better for ever for his illness. He had suffered, and he had learned to think: two advantages that he had never known before; and the self-reproach arising from the deplorable event in Wimpole Street, to which he felt himself accessory by all the dangerous intimacy of his unjustifiable theatre, made an impression on his mind which, at the age of six-and-twenty, with no want of sense or good companions, was durable in its happy effects. He became what he ought to be: useful to his father, steady and quiet, and not living merely for himself.

  Here was comfort indeed! and quite as soon as Sir Thomas could place dependence on such sources of good, Edmund was contributing to his father's ease by improvement in the only point in which he had given him pain before-- improvement in his spirits. After wandering about and sitting under trees with Fanny all the summer evenings, he had so well talked his mind into submission as to be very tolerably cheerful again.

  These were the circumstances and the hopes which gradually brought their alleviation to Sir Thomas, deadening his sense of what was lost, and in part reconciling him to himself; though the anguish arising from the conviction of his own errors in the education of his daughters was never to be entirely done away.

  Too late he became aware how unfavourable to the character of any young people must be the totally opposite treatment which Maria and Julia had been always experiencing at home, where the excessive indulgence and flattery of their aunt had been continually contrasted with his own severity. He saw how ill he had judged, in expecting to counteract what was wrong in Mrs. Norris by its reverse in himself; clearly saw that he had but increased the evil by teaching them to repress their spirits in his presence so as to make their real disposition unknown to him, and sending them for all their indulgences to a person who had been able to attach them only by the blindness of her affection, and the excess of her praise.

  Here had been grievous mismanagement; but, bad as it was, he gradually grew to feel that it had not been the most direful mistake in his plan of education. Something must have been wanting _within_, or time would have worn away much of its ill effect. He feared that principle, active principle, had been wanting; that they had never been properly taught to govern their inclinations and tempers by that sense of duty which can alone suffice. They had been instructed theoretically in their religion, but never required to bring it into daily practice. To be distinguished for elegance and accomplishments, the authorised object of their youth, could have had no useful influence that way, no moral effect on the mind. He had meant them to be good, but his cares had been directed to the understanding and manners, not the disposition; and of the necessity of self-denial and humility, he feared they had never heard from any lips that could profit them.

  Bitterly did he deplore a deficiency which now he could scarcely comprehend to have been possible. Wretchedly did he feel, that with all the cost and care of an anxious and expensive education, he had brought up his daughters without their understanding their first duties, or his being acquainted with their character and temper.

  The high spirit and strong passions of Mrs. Rushworth, especially, were made known to him only in their sad result. She was not to be prevailed on to leave Mr. Crawford. She hoped to marry him, and they continued together till she was obliged to be convinced that such hope was vain, and till the disappointment and wretchedness arising from the conviction rendered her temper so bad, and her feelings for him so like hatred, as to make them for a while each other's punishment, and then induce a voluntary separation.

  She had lived with him to be reproached as the ruin of all his happiness in Fanny, and carried away no better consolation in leaving him than that she _had_ divided them. What can exceed the misery of such a mind in such a situation?

  Mr. Rushworth had no difficulty in procuring a divorce; and so ended a marriage contracted under such circumstances as to make any better end the effect of good luck not to be reckoned on. She had despised him, and loved another; and he had been very much aware that it was so. The indignities of stupidity, and the disappointments of selfish passion, can excite little pity. His punishment followed his conduct, as did a deeper punishment the deeper guilt of his wife. _He_ was released from the engagement to be mortified and unhappy, till some other pretty girl could attract him into matrimony again, and he might set forward on a second, and, it is to be hoped, more prosperous trial of the state: if duped, to be duped at least with good humour and good luck; while she must withdraw with infinitely stronger feelings to a retirement and reproach which could allow no second spring of hope or character.

  Where she could be placed became a subject of most melancholy and momentous consultation. Mrs. Norris, whose attachment seemed to augment with the demerits of her niece, would have had her received at home and countenanced by them all. Sir Thomas would not hear of it; and Mrs. Norris's anger against Fanny was so much the greater, from considering _her_ residence there as the motive. She persisted in placing his scruples to _her_ account, though Sir Thomas very solemnly assured her that, had there been no young woman in question, had there been no young person of either sex belonging to him, to be endangered by the society or hurt by the character of Mrs. Rushworth, he would never have offered so great an insult to the neighbourhood as to expect it to notice her. As a daughter, he hoped a penitent one, she should be protected by him, and secured in every comfort, and supported by every encouragement to do right, which their relative situations admitted; but farther than _that_ he could not go. Maria had destroyed her own character, and he would not, by a vain attempt to restore what never could be restored, by affording his sanction to vice, or in seeking to lessen its disgrace, be anywise accessory to introducing such misery in another man's family as he had known himself.

  It ended in Mrs. Norris's resolving to quit Mansfield and devote herself to her unfortunate Maria, and in an establishment being formed for them in another country, remote and private, where, shut up together with little society, on one side no affection, on the other no judgment, it may be reasonably supposed that their tempers became their mutual punishment.

  Mrs. Norris's removal from Mansfield was the great supplementary comfort of Sir Thomas's life. His opinion of her had been sinking from the day of his return from Antigua: in every transaction together from that period, in their daily intercourse, in business, or in chat, she had been regularly losing ground in his esteem, and convincing him that either time had done her much disservice, or that he had considerably over-rated her sense, and wonderfully borne with her manners before. He had felt her as an hourly evil, which was so much the worse, as there seemed no chance of its ceasing but with life; she seemed a part of himself that must be borne for ever. To be relieved from her, therefore, was so great a felicity that, had she not left bitter remembrances behind her, there might have been danger of his learning almost to approve the evil which produced such a good.

  She was regretted by no one at Mansfield. She had never been able to attach even those she loved best; and since Mrs. Rushworth's elopement, her temper had been in a state of such irritation as to make her everywhere tormenting. Not even Fanny had tears for aunt Norris, not even when she was gone for ever.

  That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some measure, to a favourable difference of disposition and circumstance, but in a greater to her having been less the darling of that very aunt, less flattered and less spoilt. Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second place. She had been always used to think herself a little inferior to Maria. Her temper was naturally the easiest of the two; her feelings, though quick, were more controllable, and education had not given her so very hurtful a degree of self-consequence.

  She had submitted the best to the disappointment in Henry Crawford. After the first bitterness of the conviction of being slighted was over, she had been tolerably soon in a fair way of not thinking of him again; and when the acquaintance was renewed in town, and Mr. Rushworth's house became Crawford's object, she had had the merit of withdrawing herself from it, and of chusing that time to pay a visit to her other friends, in order to secure herself from being again too much attracted. This had been her motive in going to her cousin's. Mr. Yates's convenience had had nothing to do with it. She had been allowing his attentions some time, but with very little idea of ever accepting him; and had not her sister's conduct burst forth as it did, and her increased dread of her father and of home, on that event, imagining its certain consequence to herself would be greater severity and restraint, made her hastily resolve on avoiding such immediate horrors at all risks, it is probable that Mr. Yates would never have succeeded. She had not eloped with any worse feelings than those of selfish alarm. It had appeared to her the only thing to be done. Maria's guilt had induced Julia's folly.

  Henry Crawford, ruined by early independence and bad domestic example, indulged in the freaks of a cold-blooded vanity a little too long. Once it had, by an opening undesigned and unmerited, led him into the way of happiness. Could he have been satisfied with the conquest of one amiable woman's affections, could he have found sufficient exultation in overcoming the reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and tenderness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability of success and felicity for him. His affection had already done something. Her influence over him had already given him some influence over her. Would he have deserved more, there can be no doubt that more would have been obtained, especially when that marriage had taken place, which would have given him the assistance of her conscience in subduing her first inclination, and brought them very often together. Would he have persevered, and uprightly, Fanny must have been his reward, and a reward very voluntarily bestowed, within a reasonable period from Edmund's marrying Mary.

  Had he done as he intended, and as he knew he ought, by going down to Everingham after his return from Portsmouth, he might have been deciding his own happy destiny. But he was pressed to stay for Mrs. Fraser's party; his staying was made of flattering consequence, and he was to meet Mrs. Rushworth there. Curiosity and vanity were both engaged, and the temptation of immediate pleasure was too strong for a mind unused to make any sacrifice to right: he resolved to defer his Norfolk journey, resolved that writing should answer the purpose of it, or that its purpose was unimportant, and staid. He saw Mrs. Rushworth, was received by her with a coldness which ought to have been repulsive, and have established apparent indifference between them for ever; but he was mortified, he could not bear to be thrown off by the woman whose smiles had been so wholly at his command: he must exert himself to subdue so proud a display of resentment; it was anger on Fanny's account; he must get the better of it, and make Mrs. Rushworth Maria Bertram again in her treatment of himself.

  In this spirit he began the attack, and by animated perseverance had soon re-established the sort of familiar intercourse, of gallantry, of flirtation, which bounded his views; but in triumphing over the discretion which, though beginning in anger, might have saved them both, he had put himself in the power of feelings on her side more strong than he had supposed. She loved him; there was no withdrawing attentions avowedly dear to her. He was entangled by his own vanity, with as little excuse of love as possible, and without the smallest inconstancy of mind towards her cousin. To keep Fanny and the Bertrams from a knowledge of what was passing became his first object. Secrecy could not have been more desirable for Mrs. Rushworth's credit than he felt it for his own. When he returned from Richmond, he would have been glad to see Mrs. Rushworth no more. All that followed was the result of her imprudence; and he went off with her at last, because he could not help it, regretting Fanny even at the moment, but regretting her infinitely more when all the bustle of the intrigue was over, and a very few months had taught him, by the force of contrast, to place a yet higher value on the sweetness of her temper, the purity of her mind, and the excellence of her principles.

  That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should in a just measure attend _his_ share of the offence is, we know, not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. In this world the penalty is less equal than could be wished; but without presuming to look forward to a juster appointment hereafter, we may fairly consider a man of sense, like Henry Crawford, to be providing for himself no small portion of vexation and regret: vexation that must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and regret to wretchedness, in having so requited hospitality, so injured family peace, so forfeited his best, most estimable, and endeared acquaintance, and so lost the woman whom he had rationally as well as passionately loved.

  After what had passed to wound and alienate the two families, the continuance of the Bertrams and Grants in such close neighbourhood would have been most distressing; but the absence of the latter, for some months purposely lengthened, ended very fortunately in the necessity, or at least the practicability, of a permanent removal. Dr. Grant, through an interest on which he had almost ceased to form hopes, succeeded to a stall in Westminster, which, as affording an occasion for leaving Mansfield, an excuse for residence in London, and an increase of income to answer the expenses of the change, was highly acceptable to those who went and those who staid.

  Mrs. Grant, with a temper to love and be loved, must have gone with some regret from the scenes and people she had been used to; but the same happiness of disposition must in any place, and any society, secure her a great deal to enjoy, and she had again a home to offer Mary; and Mary had had enough of her own friends, enough of vanity, ambition, love, and disappointment in the course of the last half-year, to be in need of the true kindness of her sister's heart, and the rational tranquillity of her ways. They lived together; and when Dr. Grant had brought on apoplexy and death, by three great institutionary dinners in one week, they still lived together; for Mary, though perfectly resolved against ever attaching herself to a younger brother again, was long in finding among the dashing representatives, or idle heir-apparents, who were at the command of her beauty, and her 20,000, any one who could satisfy the better taste she had acquired at Mansfield, whose character and manners could authorise a hope of the domestic happiness she had there learned to estimate, or put Edmund Bertram sufficiently out of her head.

  Edmund had greatly the advantage of her in this respect. He had not to wait and wish with vacant affections for an object worthy to succeed her in them. Scarcely had he done regretting Mary Crawford, and observing to Fanny how impossible it was that he should ever meet with such another woman, before it began to strike him whether a very different kind of woman might not do just as well, or a great deal better: whether Fanny herself were not growing as dear, as important to him in all her smiles and all her ways, as Mary Crawford had ever been; and whether it might not be a possible, an hopeful undertaking to persuade her that her warm and sisterly regard for him would be foundation enough for wedded love.

  I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that every one may be at liberty to fix their own, aware that the cure of unconquerable passions, and the transfer of unchanging attachments, must vary much as to time in different people. I only entreat everybody to believe that exactly at the time when it was quite natural that it should be so, and not a week earlier, Edmund did cease to care about Miss Crawford, and became as anxious to marry Fanny as Fanny herself could desire.

  With such a regard for her, indeed, as his had long been, a regard founded on the most endearing claims of innocence and helplessness, and completed by every recommendation of growing worth, what could be more natural than the change? Loving, guiding, protecting her, as he had been doing ever since her being ten years old, her mind in so great a degree formed by his care, and her comfort depending on his kindness, an object to him of such close and peculiar interest, dearer by all his own importance with her than any one else at Mansfield, what was there now to add, but that he should learn to prefer soft light eyes to sparkling dark ones. And being always with her, and always talking confidentially, and his feelings exactly in that favourable state which a recent disappointment gives, those soft light eyes could not be very long in obtaining the pre-eminence.

  Having once set out, and felt that he had done so on this road to happiness, there was nothing on the side of prudence to stop him or make his progress slow; no doubts of her deserving, no fears of opposition of taste, no need of drawing new hopes of happiness from dissimilarity of temper. Her mind, disposition, opinions, and habits wanted no half-concealment, no self-deception on the present, no reliance on future improvement. Even in the midst of his late infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny's mental superiority. What must be his sense of it now, therefore? She was of course only too good for him; but as nobody minds having what is too good for them, he was very steadily earnest in the pursuit of the blessing, and it was not possible that encouragement from her should be long wanting. Timid, anxious, doubting as she was, it was still impossible that such tenderness as hers should not, at times, hold out the strongest hope of success, though it remained for a later period to tell him the whole delightful and astonishing truth. His happiness in knowing himself to have been so long the beloved of such a heart, must have been great enough to warrant any strength of language in which he could clothe it to her or to himself; it must have been a delightful happiness. But there was happiness elsewhere which no description can reach. Let no one presume to give the feelings of a young woman on receiving the assurance of that affection of which she has scarcely allowed herself to entertain a hope.

  Their own inclinations ascertained, there were no difficulties behind, no drawback of poverty or parent. It was a match which Sir Thomas's wishes had even forestalled. Sick of ambitious and mercenary connexions, prizing more and more the sterling good of principle and temper, and chiefly anxious to bind by the strongest securities all that remained to him of domestic felicity, he had pondered with genuine satisfaction on the more than possibility of the two young friends finding their natural consolation in each other for all that had occurred of disappointment to either; and the joyful consent which met Edmund's application, the high sense of having realised a great acquisition in the promise of Fanny for a daughter, formed just such a contrast with his early opinion on the subject when the poor little girl's coming had been first agitated, as time is for ever producing between the plans and decisions of mortals, for their own instruction, and their neighbours' entertainment.

  Fanny was indeed the daughter that he wanted. His charitable kindness had been rearing a prime comfort for himself. His liberality had a rich repayment, and the general goodness of his intentions by her deserved it. He might have made her childhood happier; but it had been an error of judgment only which had given him the appearance of harshness, and deprived him of her early love; and now, on really knowing each other, their mutual attachment became very strong. After settling her at Thornton Lacey with every kind attention to her comfort, the object of almost every day was to see her there, or to get her away from it.

  Selfishly dear as she had long been to Lady Bertram, she could not be parted with willingly by _her_. No happiness of son or niece could make her wish the marriage. But it was possible to part with her, because Susan remained to supply her place. Susan became the stationary niece, delighted to be so; and equally well adapted for it by a readiness of mind, and an inclination for usefulness, as Fanny had been by sweetness of temper, and strong feelings of gratitude. Susan could never be spared. First as a comfort to Fanny, then as an auxiliary, and last as her substitute, she was established at Mansfield, with every appearance of equal permanency. Her more fearless disposition and happier nerves made everything easy to her there. With quickness in understanding the tempers of those she had to deal with, and no natural timidity to restrain any consequent wishes, she was soon welcome and useful to all; and after Fanny's removal succeeded so naturally to her influence over the hourly comfort of her aunt, as gradually to become, perhaps, the most beloved of the two. In _her_ usefulness, in Fanny's excellence, in William's continued good conduct and rising fame, and in the general well-doing and success of the other members of the family, all assisting to advance each other, and doing credit to his countenance and aid, Sir Thomas saw repeated, and for ever repeated, reason to rejoice in what he had done for them all, and acknowledge the advantages of early hardship and discipline, and the consciousness of being born to struggle and endure.

  With so much true merit and true love, and no want of fortune and friends, the happiness of the married cousins must appear as secure as earthly happiness can be. Equally formed for domestic life, and attached to country pleasures, their home was the home of affection and comfort; and to complete the picture of good, the acquisition of Mansfield living, by the death of Dr. Grant, occurred just after they had been married long enough to begin to want an increase of income, and feel their distance from the paternal abode an inconvenience.

  On that event they removed to Mansfield; and the Parsonage there, which, under each of its two former owners, Fanny had never been able to approach but with some painful sensation of restraint or alarm, soon grew as dear to her heart, and as thoroughly perfect in her eyes, as everything else within the view and patronage of Mansfield Park had long been.



　　让别的文人墨客去描写罪恶与不幸吧。我要尽快抛开这样一些令人厌恶的话题，急欲使没有重大过失的每一个人重新过上安生日子，其余的话也就不往下说了。
　　这时候，不管怎么说，我的范妮还真是过得很快活，这一点我知道，也为此感到高兴。尽管她为周围人的痛苦而难过，或者她觉得她为他们而难过，但她肯定是个快活的人。她有遏制不住的幸福源泉。她被接回了曼斯菲尔德庄园，是个有用的人，受人喜爱的人，再不会受到克劳福德先生的搅扰。托马斯爵士回来后，尽管忧心忡忡，但种种迹象表明，他对外甥女十分满意，更加喜爱。虽然这一切必然会使范妮为之高兴，但没有这一切，她仍然会感到高兴，因为埃德蒙已经不再上克劳福德小姐的当了。
　　不错，埃德蒙本人还远远谈不上高兴。他感到失望和懊恼，一边为过去的事伤心，一边又盼望那永远不可能的事。范妮知道这个情况，并为此而难过。不过，这种难过是建立在满意的基础上，是与心情舒畅相通的，与种种最美妙的情愫相协调的，谁都愿以最大的快乐来换这种难过。
　　托马斯爵士，可怜的托马斯爵士是做父亲的，意识到自己身为做父亲的过失，因而痛苦的时间最久。他觉得自己当初不该答应这门亲事，他本来十分清楚女儿的心思，却又同意这门亲事，岂不是明知故犯。他觉得自己那样做是为了一时的利益而牺牲了原则，是受到了自私和世俗动机的支配。要抚慰这样的内疚之情，是需要一定时间的。但时间几乎是无所不能的。拉什沃思太太给家中造成不幸之后，虽然没有传来什么令人欣慰的好消息，但是别的子女却给他带来了意想不到的安慰。朱莉娅的婚事没有他当初想象的那么糟糕。她自知理亏，希望家里原谅。耶茨一心巴望他能给接纳进这个家庭，便甘愿仰仗他，接受他的指导。他不是很正经，但是他有可能变得不那么轻浮，至少有可能变得多少顾家一些，多少安分一些。不管怎样，现已弄清他的地产不是那么少，债务不是那么多，他还把爵士当做最值得器重的朋友来对待、来求教，这总会给他带来一点安慰。汤姆也给他带来了安慰，因为他渐渐恢复了健康，却没有恢复他那不顾别人、自私自利的习性。他这一病反而从此变好了。他吃了苦头，学会了思考，这是他以前不曾有过的好事。他对温普尔街发生的痛心事件感到内疚，觉得都是演戏时男女过分亲昵造成的后果，他是负有责任的。他已经二十六岁了，头脑不笨，也不乏良师益友，因此这种内疚深深地印在他的心里，长久地起着良好的作用。他成了个安分守己的人，能为父亲分忧解难，稳重安详，不再光为自己活着。
　　这真令人欣慰啊！就在托马斯爵士看出这些好现象的同时，埃德蒙也在自己以前让父亲担忧的唯一一点上有了改善——他的精神状态有了改善，因此父亲心情更舒畅了。整个夏天，他天天晚上都和范妮一起漫步，或者坐在树下休息，通过一次次交谈，心里渐渐想开了，恢复了以往的愉快心情。
　　正是这些情况，这些给人以希望的现象，渐渐缓解了托马斯爵士的痛苦，使他不再为失去的一切而忧伤，不再跟自己过不去。不过，由于想到自己教育女儿不当而感到的痛心，则是永远不会彻底消失的。
　　玛丽亚和朱莉娅在家中总是受到两种截然不同的对待，父亲对她们非常严厉，而姨妈却极度放纵她们，迎合她们，这对年轻人的品格形成是多么不利，托马斯爵士对此认识得太迟了。当初他见诺里斯太太做法不对，自己便反其道而行之，后来清楚地发现，他这样做结果反而更糟，只能教她们当着他的面压抑自己的情绪，使他无法了解她们的真实思想，与此同时，把她们交给一个只知道盲目宠爱、过度夸奖她们的人，到她那里恣意放纵。
　　这样的做法实在糟糕透顶。但尽管糟糕，他还是逐渐感到，在他的教育计划中，这还不算是最可怕的错误。两个女儿本身必然缺点什么东西，不然的话，时间早该把那不良的影响消磨掉了许多。他猜想是缺少了原则，缺少了有效的原则，觉得从来没有好好教育她们用责任感去控制自己的爱好和脾性，只要有了责任感，一切都可迎刃而解。她们只学了一些宗教理论，却从来没有要求她们每天实践这些理论。在文雅和才华方面出众，这是她们年轻时的既定目标，但是这对她们并不能起到这样的有益影响，对她们的思想产生不了道德教育的效果。他本想让她们好好做人，但却把心思用到了提高她们的心智和礼仪上，而不是她们的性情上。他感到遗憾的是，她们从来没有听到可以帮助她们的人说过，必须克己，必须谦让。
　　他感到多么痛心，女儿教育上存在这样的缺陷，他到现在还觉得难以理解。他又感到多么伤心，他花了那么多心血、那么多钱来教育女儿，她们长大成人以后，却不知道自己的首要义务是什么，而他自己也不了解她们的品格和性情。
　　尤其是拉什沃思太太，她心比天高，欲望强烈，只是造成了恶果之后，做父亲的才有所省悟。无论怎么劝说，她都不肯离开克劳福德先生。她希望嫁给他，两人一直在一起，后来才意识到她是白希望一场，并因此感到失望，感到不幸，脾气变得极坏，心里憎恨克劳福德先生，两人势不两立，最后自愿分手。
　　她和克劳福德住在一起，克劳福德怪她毁了他和范妮的美满姻缘。她离开他时，唯一的安慰是她已把他们拆散了。这样一颗心，处在这样的情况下，还有什么比它更凄怆的呢？
　　拉什沃思先生没费多大周折就离婚了。一场婚姻就此结束了。这桩婚事从订婚时的情况来看，除非碰上意想不到的好运，否则决不会有什么好下场。做妻子的当时就瞧不起他，爱上了另一个人，这个情况他也十分清楚。愚蠢蒙受了耻辱，自私的欲望落了空，这都激不起同情。他的行为使他受到了惩罚，他妻子罪孽深重，受到了更重的惩罚。他离婚之后，只觉得没有脸面，心里郁郁不乐，非得另有一个漂亮姑娘能打动他的心，引得他再次结婚，这种状况才会结束。他可以再做一次婚姻尝试，但愿这一次比上一次来得成功。即便受骗，骗他的人至少脾气好些，运气好些。而她呢，则必须怀着更加不胜悲伤的心情，忍辱含垢地远离尘世，再也没有希望，再也恢复不了名誉。
　　把她安置到什么地方，这是一个极其重要、极伤脑筋的问题，需要好好商量。诺里斯太太自从外甥女做了错事以未，似乎对她更疼爱了，她主张把她接回家，得到大家的原谅。托马斯爵士不同意她的意见，诺里斯太太认为他所以反对是因为范妮住在家里，因而她就越发记恨范妮。她一口咬定他顾虑的都是她，但托马斯爵士非常庄严地向她保证，即使这里面没有年轻姑娘，即使他家里没有年轻的男女，不怕和拉什沃思太太相处有什么危险，不怕接受她的人品的不良影响，那他也决不会给临近一带招来这么大的一个祸害，期待人们对她会客气。她作为女儿，只要肯忏悔，他就保护她，给她安排舒适的生活，竭力鼓励她正经做人，根据他们的家境，这都是做得到的。但是，他决不会越过这个限度。玛丽亚毁了自己的名声，他不会采取姑息罪恶的办法，试图为她恢复无法恢复的东西，那样做是徒劳的。他也不会明知故犯，还要把这样的不幸再引到另一个男人家里，来替她遮羞。
　　讨论的结果，诺里斯太太决定离开曼斯菲尔德，悉心照顾她那不幸的玛丽亚。她要跟她住到偏远的异乡，关起门来与世隔绝过日子，一个心灰意冷，一个头脑不清，可以想象，两人的脾气会成为彼此之间的惩罚。
　　诺里斯太太搬出曼斯菲尔德，托马斯爵士的生活就轻快多了。他从安提瓜回来的那天起，对她的印象就越来越差了。自那时起，在每次交往中，不论是日常谈话，还是办事，还是闲聊，他对她的看法每况愈下，觉得不是岁月不饶人，就是他当初对她的才智估计过高，对她的所作所为又过于包涵。他感到她无时无刻不在起不良的作用，尤其糟糕的是，除非她老死，否则似乎没完没了。她好像是他的一个包袱，他要永远背在身上。因此，能摆脱她是件极大的幸事，若不是她走后留下了痛苦的记忆，他几乎要为这件坏事叫好了，因为坏事带来了这么大的好处。
　　诺里斯太太这一走，曼斯菲尔德没有任何人为之遗憾。就连她最喜欢的人，也没有一个真正爱过她的。拉什沃思太太私奔以后，她的脾气变得非常暴躁，到哪里都让入受不了。连范妮也不再为诺里斯姨妈流泪——即使她要永远离开的时候，也没有为她掉一滴眼泪。
　　朱莉娅私奔的结果没有玛丽亚的那么糟，这在一定程度上是由于两人性情不同，处境也不一样，但在更大程度上是由于这位姨妈没有那样把她当宝贝，没有那样捧她，那样惯她。她的美貌和才学只居第二位。她总是自认比玛丽亚差一点。两人比起来，她的性情自然随和一些；她尽管有些急躁，但还比较容易控制。她受的教育没有使她产生一种非常有害的妄自尊大。
　　她在亨利·克劳福德那里碰了钉子之后，能很好地把握自己。她受到他的冷落，起初心里很不好受，但是没过多久，就不再去多想他了。在伦敦重新相遇的时候，拉什沃思先生的家成了克劳福德的目标，她倒能知趣地撤离出来，专挑这段时间去看望别的朋友，以免再度坠人情网。这就是她到亲戚家去的原因，与耶茨先生是否住在附近毫无关系。她听任耶茨先生对她献殷勤已有一段时间了，但是从未想过要嫁给他。她姐姐出了事情之后，她越发怕见父亲怕回家，心想回家后家里定会对她管教得更加严厉，因此她急忙决定要不顾一切地避免眼前的可怕命运，不然的话，耶茨先生可能永远不会得逞的。朱莉娅所以要私奔，就是由于心里害怕，有些自私的念头，并没有什么更糟糕的想法。她觉得她只有那一条路。玛丽亚的罪恶引来了朱莉娅的愚蠢。
　　亨利·克劳福德坏就坏在早年继承了一笔丰厚的家业，家里还有一个不好的榜样，因此很久以来，就醉心于挑逗妇女的感情，并以此为荣，做些薄情负心的怪事。他这次对范妮，一开始并没有诚心，也用心不良，后来却走上了通往幸福的道路。假若他能满足于赢得一个可爱女性的欢心，假若他能克服范妮·普莱斯的抵触情绪，逐步赢得她的尊重和好感，并能从中得到充分的快乐的话．那他是有可能取得成功、获得幸福的。他的苦苦追求已经取得了一定的效果，范妮对他的影响反过来使他对她也产生了一定的影响。他若是表现得再好一些，无疑将会有更大的收获。尤其是，假如他妹妹和埃德蒙结了婚，范妮就会有意克服她的初恋，他们就会经常在一起。假如他坚持下去，而且堂堂正正，那在埃德蒙和玛丽结婚后不要多久，范妮就会以身相许来报答他，而且是心甘情愿地报答他。
　　假若他按照原来的打算，按照当时的想法，从朴次茅斯一同来就去埃弗灵厄姆，他也许已决定了自己的幸福命运。但是，别人劝他留下来参加弗雷泽太太的舞会，说他能给舞会增添光彩，再说在舞会上还可以见到拉什沃思太太。这里面既有好奇心，也有虚荣心。他那颗心不习惯于为正经事做出任何牺牲，因此他抵御不住眼前快乐的诱惑。他决定推迟他的诺福克之行，心想写封信就能解决问题，再说事情也不重要，于是他就留了下来。他见到了拉什沃思太太，对方对他很冷漠，这本是大煞风景的事，两人之间从此井水不犯河水。但是，他觉得自己太没有脸面，居然让一个喜怒哀乐完全掌握在他手中的女人所抛弃，他实在受不了。他必须施展本事，把她那自不量力的怨恨压下去。拉什沃思太太所以气愤，是为了范妮的缘故。他必须刹住这气焰，让拉什沃思太太还像当姑娘时一样待他。
　　他怀着这种心态开始进攻了。他振奋精神，坚持不懈，不久便恢复了原来那种亲密交往，那种献殷勤，那种调情卖俏，他的目标原定到此为止。起初，拉什沃思太太余恨未消，火烛小心，若能照此下去，两人都可望得救，但这种谨慎还是被摧垮了，克劳福德成了她感情的俘虏，她的感情热烈到他未曾料到的地步。她爱上他了，公然表示珍惜他的一片情意，他想退却已是不可能了。他陷入了虚荣的圈套，既没有什么爱情作为托辞，又对她的表妹忠贞不贰。他的首要任务是不让范妮和伯特伦家里的人知道这件事。他觉得，为拉什沃思先生的名誉考虑，固然需要保密，为他的名誉考虑，同样需要保密。他从里士满回来以后，本来并不希望再见到拉什沃思太太。后来的事情都是这位太太唐突行事的结果，克劳福德出于无奈，最后跟她一起私奔了。他甚至在当时就为范妮感到懊悔，而私奔的事折腾完之后，他更是感到无比懊悔。几个月过去了，他通过对比受到了教育，越发珍惜范妮那温柔的性格，纯洁的心灵，高尚的情操。
　　根据他在这一罪过中应负的责任，给以适当的惩罚，把他的丑事公诸于众，我们知道，并不是社会上保护美德的屏障。在当今这个世界上，对罪行的惩罚并不像人们希望的那样严厉。不过，像亨利·克劳福德这样一个有头脑的人，虽然我们不敢冒昧地期望他今后前途如何，但是公正而论，他这样报答人家对他的热情接待，这样破坏人家的家庭安宁，这样失去了他最好的、最可敬的、最珍贵的朋友，失去了他从理智到情感都深爱着的姑娘，这自然给自己招来了不少的烦恼和悔恨，有时候，这烦恼会变成内疚，悔恨会变成痛苦。
　　出事之后，伯特伦家和格兰特家深受其害，彼此也疏远了。在这种情况下，两家人若是继续做近邻，那将是极其别扭的。不过，格兰特家故意把归期推迟了几个月，最后出于需要，至少由于切实可行，幸好永久搬走了。格兰特博士通过一个几乎不抱什么希望的私人关系，在威斯敏斯特教堂继承了一个牧师职位。这既为离开曼斯菲尔德提供了理由，为住到伦敦提供了借口，又增加了收入来支付这次变迁的费用，因而不管是要走的人，还是留下不走的人，都求之不得。
　　格兰特太太生来容易爱上别人，也容易让别人爱上自己，离开久已习惯的景物和人，自然会有几分惆怅。不过，像她这样的欢快性格，无论走到哪里，来到什么人中间，都会感到非常快乐。她又可以给玛丽提供一个家了。玛丽对自己的朋友感到厌倦了，对半年来的虚荣．野心、恋爱和失恋感到腻烦了，她需要姐姐的真正友爱，需要跟她一起过理智而平静的生活。她们住在一起。等格兰特博士由于一星期内参加了三次慈善机关的盛大宴会，导致中风而死之后，她们姐妹俩仍然住在一起。玛丽决定不再爱上一个次子，而在那些贪图她的美貌和两万英镑财产的风流倜傥的国会议员或闲散成性的法定继承人中间，她久久找不到一个合适的人。他们没有一个人能满足她在曼斯菲尔德养就的高雅情趣，没有一个人的品格和教养符合她在曼斯菲尔德形成的对家庭幸福的憧憬，也无法让她彻底忘掉埃德蒙·伯特伦。
　　在这方面，埃德蒙的情况比她有利得多。他不必等待，不必期盼，玛丽·克劳福德给他留下的感情空缺，自会有合适的人来填补。他对失去玛丽而感到的懊恼刚刚过去，他对范妮刚说过他再也不会碰到这样的姑娘，心里突然想到：一个不同类型的姑娘是否同样可以，甚至还要好得多；范妮凭着她的微笑、她的表现，是否像玛丽·克劳福德以前一样，使他觉得越来越亲切，越来越重要；他是否可以告诉她，她对他那热烈的、亲密无间的情意足以构成婚爱的基础。
　　这一次我有意不表明具体日期，由诸位随意去裁夺吧，因为大家都知道，要医治难以克服的激情，转移矢志不渝的痴情，不同的人需要的时间是大不相同的。我只请求各位相信：就在那最恰当的时候，一个星期也不早，埃德蒙不再眷恋克劳福德小姐，而是急切地想和范妮结婚，这也正是范妮所期望的。
　　他长期以来一直很关心范妮，这种关心是建立在她那天真无邪、孤苦无靠的基础上，后来随着她越来越可爱，他对她也就越来越关心。因此，现在出现这种变化不是再自然不过了吗？从她十岁那年起，他就爱她，指导她，保护她，她的思想在很大程度上是在他的关心下形成的，她的安适取决于他的关爱。他对她特别关心，她觉得在曼斯菲尔德，他比任何人都更重要，比任何人都更亲。现在只需要说明一点：他必须放弃那闪闪发光的黑色眼睛，来喜欢这柔和的淡色眼睛。由于总是和她在一起，总是和她一起谈心，加上由于最近的失意心态出现了有利的转机，没过多久，这双柔和的浅色眼睛便在他心中赢得了突出的地位。
　　一旦迈出了第一步，一旦觉得自己走上了幸福的道路，再也不用谨小慎微地半途而废，或者放慢前进的步伐。他无须怀疑她的人品，无须担心情趣对立，无须操心如何克服不同的性情来获得幸福。她的思想、气质、见解和习惯，他看得一目了然，现在不会受到蒙蔽，将来也不需他来费心改进。即使在他不久前神魂颠倒地热恋着克劳福德小姐的时候，他也承认范妮在心智上更胜一筹。那他现在该怎么想呢？她当然是好得他配不上。不过，谁也不反对要得到自己配不上的东西，因此他便坚定不移地追求这份幸福，而对方也不会长久地不给以鼓励。范妮虽说羞怯，多虑，易起疑心，但是她的柔弱性格有时也会抱着坚定不移的成功希望，只不过她要在稍后一个时候，再把那整个令人惊喜的真情告诉他。埃德蒙得知自己被这样一颗心爱了这么久之后，他那幸福的心情用什么语言形容都不会过分。那该是多么令人欣喜若狂的幸福啊！不过，在另一颗心里也有一种无法形容的幸福。一个年轻女人，在听到一个她求之不得的男人向她表白衷情的时候，她的那种心情，我们谁也不要自不量力地想去形容。
　　说明了他们的心意之后，余下的就没有什么难办的事情了，既无贫困之忧，也无父母从中作梗。托马斯爵士甚至早就有了这个意愿。他已经厌倦了贪图权势和钱财的婚姻，越来越看重道德和性情，尤其渴望用最坚固的纽带来缔结家庭的幸福。他早就在得意地盘算，这两个新近失意的年轻人完全可能相互从对方那里得到安慰。埃德蒙一提出来，他便欢欢喜喜地答应了。他同意范妮做自己的儿媳妇，那个兴奋劲儿犹如获得了无价之宝似的，和当初接受那可怜的小姑娘时相比．形成了多么鲜明的对照。时间总要在人们的打算与结果之间创造出一些花样，既可教育当事人自己，也好让邻居为之开心。
　　范妮真是他所需要的那种儿媳。他当年所发的善心为他孕育了最大的安慰。他的慷慨行为得到了丰厚的回报，他好心好意地对待她，也应该受到这样的报答。他本来可以使她的童年过得更快活一些，不过，那只是由于她判断错误，觉得他看上去很严厉，因此早年未能爱他。现在，彼此之间真正了解了，相互之间的感情也变得很深了。他把她安置在桑顿莱西，无微不至地关怀她的安适，几乎每天都来看望她，或者来把她接走。
　　长久以来，伯特伦夫人从自身的利益考虑，一直待范妮很亲，因此她可不愿意放她走。不管是为了儿子的幸福，还是为了外甥女的幸福，她都不希望他们结婚。不过，她现在离得开她了，因为苏珊还在，可以顶替她的位置。苏珊成了家中的常驻外甥女——她还就乐意这样做呢！而且她和范妮一样适合，范妮是因为性情温柔，有强烈的知恩图报之心，她则因为思想敏捷，乐意多做事情。家里是绝对缺不了苏珊的。她给安置在曼斯菲尔德，第一能让范妮快乐，第二能辅助范妮，第三能做范妮的替身，种种迹象表明，她会同样长久地住在这里。她胆子比较大，性情比较开朗，因而觉得这里一切都很适意。对于需要与之打交道的人，她很快便摸透了他们的脾气，加上她生来不会羞羞答答，有什么要求从不压在心里，于是大家个个都喜欢她，她对人人也都有用处。范妮走后，她自然而然地承担了时刻照顾姨妈的任务，渐渐变得也许比范妮更招姨妈喜爱。她的勤快，范妮的贤良，威廉继续表现突出，名誉蒸蒸日上，家里其他人个个身体健康，事事顺利，这一切相互促进，对托马斯爵士起着支持作用，因此他觉得他为大家做了这一切之后，就有充分的理由，而且永远有充分的理由，为之感到高兴，并且要认识到：小时候吃点苦，管敦严一些，知道生下来就是要奋斗，要吃苦，乃是大有好处的。
　　有这么多真实的好品质，有这么多真实的爱，既不缺钱花，也不缺朋友，这一对表兄妹看来婚后过得十分幸福，真是世上少有。他们生来都同样喜欢家庭生活，同样陶醉于田园乐趣，他们的家是一个恩爱的家，安乐的家。他们婚后到了一定的时候，刚开始觉得需要增加一点收入，觉得离父母家过远不便的时候，格兰特博士去世了，埃德蒙便继承了曼斯菲尔德的牧师俸禄。这可谓是锦上添花了。
　　因此，他们搬到了曼斯菲尔德。那座牧师住宅，当初还在前两位牧师名下时，范妮每次走近都有一种畏缩、惊惧的痛苦心理，但是没过多久，她就觉得它变得亲切了，完美无缺了，就像曼斯菲尔德庄园视野内、掌管下的其他景物一样亲切，一样完美无缺。


The End
　
  
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Chapter forty-seven

  It had been a miserable party, each of the three believing themselves most miserable. Mrs. Norris, however, as most attached to Maria, was really the greatest sufferer. Maria was her first favourite, the dearest of all; the match had been her own contriving, as she had been wont with such pride of heart to feel and say, and this conclusion of it almost overpowered her.

  She was an altered creature, quieted, stupefied, indifferent to everything that passed. The being left with her sister and nephew, and all the house under her care, had been an advantage entirely thrown away; she had been unable to direct or dictate, or even fancy herself useful. When really touched by affliction, her active powers had been all benumbed; and neither Lady Bertram nor Tom had received from her the smallest support or attempt at support. She had done no more for them than they had done for each other. They had been all solitary, helpless, and forlorn alike; and now the arrival of the others only established her superiority in wretchedness. Her companions were relieved, but there was no good for _her_. Edmund was almost as welcome to his brother as Fanny to her aunt; but Mrs. Norris, instead of having comfort from either, was but the more irritated by the sight of the person whom, in the blindness of her anger, she could have charged as the daemon of the piece. Had Fanny accepted Mr. Crawford this could not have happened.

  Susan too was a grievance. She had not spirits to notice her in more than a few repulsive looks, but she felt her as a spy, and an intruder, and an indigent niece, and everything most odious. By her other aunt, Susan was received with quiet kindness. Lady Bertram could not give her much time, or many words, but she felt her, as Fanny's sister, to have a claim at Mansfield, and was ready to kiss and like her; and Susan was more than satisfied, for she came perfectly aware that nothing but ill-humour was to be expected from aunt Norris; and was so provided with happiness, so strong in that best of blessings, an escape from many certain evils, that she could have stood against a great deal more indifference than she met with from the others.

  She was now left a good deal to herself, to get acquainted with the house and grounds as she could, and spent her days very happily in so doing, while those who might otherwise have attended to her were shut up, or wholly occupied each with the person quite dependent on them, at this time, for everything like comfort; Edmund trying to bury his own feelings in exertions for the relief of his brother's, and Fanny devoted to her aunt Bertram, returning to every former office with more than former zeal, and thinking she could never do enough for one who seemed so much to want her.

  To talk over the dreadful business with Fanny, talk and lament, was all Lady Bertram's consolation. To be listened to and borne with, and hear the voice of kindness and sympathy in return, was everything that could be done for her. To be otherwise comforted was out of the question. The case admitted of no comfort. Lady Bertram did not think deeply, but, guided by Sir Thomas, she thought justly on all important points; and she saw, therefore, in all its enormity, what had happened, and neither endeavoured herself, nor required Fanny to advise her, to think little of guilt and infamy.

  Her affections were not acute, nor was her mind tenacious. After a time, Fanny found it not impossible to direct her thoughts to other subjects, and revive some interest in the usual occupations; but whenever Lady Bertram _was_ fixed on the event, she could see it only in one light, as comprehending the loss of a daughter, and a disgrace never to be wiped off.

  Fanny learnt from her all the particulars which had yet transpired. Her aunt was no very methodical narrator, but with the help of some letters to and from Sir Thomas, and what she already knew herself, and could reasonably combine, she was soon able to understand quite as much as she wished of the circumstances attending the story.

  Mrs. Rushworth had gone, for the Easter holidays, to Twickenham, with a family whom she had just grown intimate with: a family of lively, agreeable manners, and probably of morals and discretion to suit, for to _their_ house Mr. Crawford had constant access at all times. His having been in the same neighbourhood Fanny already knew. Mr. Rushworth had been gone at this time to Bath, to pass a few days with his mother, and bring her back to town, and Maria was with these friends without any restraint, without even Julia; for Julia had removed from Wimpole Street two or three weeks before, on a visit to some relations of Sir Thomas; a removal which her father and mother were now disposed to attribute to some view of convenience on Mr. Yates's account. Very soon after the Rushworths' return to Wimpole Street, Sir Thomas had received a letter from an old and most particular friend in London, who hearing and witnessing a good deal to alarm him in that quarter, wrote to recommend Sir Thomas's coming to London himself, and using his influence with his daughter to put an end to the intimacy which was already exposing her to unpleasant remarks, and evidently making Mr. Rushworth uneasy.

  Sir Thomas was preparing to act upon this letter, without communicating its contents to any creature at Mansfield, when it was followed by another, sent express from the same friend, to break to him the almost desperate situation in which affairs then stood with the young people. Mrs. Rushworth had left her husband's house: Mr. Rushworth had been in great anger and distress to _him_ (Mr. Harding) for his advice; Mr. Harding feared there had been _at_ _least_ very flagrant indiscretion. The maidservant of Mrs. Rushworth, senior, threatened alarmingly. He was doing all in his power to quiet everything, with the hope of Mrs. Rushworth's return, but was so much counteracted in Wimpole Street by the influence of Mr. Rushworth's mother, that the worst consequences might be apprehended.

  This dreadful communication could not be kept from the rest of the family. Sir Thomas set off, Edmund would go with him, and the others had been left in a state of wretchedness, inferior only to what followed the receipt of the next letters from London. Everything was by that time public beyond a hope. The servant of Mrs. Rushworth, the mother, had exposure in her power, and supported by her mistress, was not to be silenced. The two ladies, even in the short time they had been together, had disagreed; and the bitterness of the elder against her daughter-in-law might perhaps arise almost as much from the personal disrespect with which she had herself been treated as from sensibility for her son.

  However that might be, she was unmanageable. But had she been less obstinate, or of less weight with her son, who was always guided by the last speaker, by the person who could get hold of and shut him up, the case would still have been hopeless, for Mrs. Rushworth did not appear again, and there was every reason to conclude her to be concealed somewhere with Mr. Crawford, who had quitted his uncle's house, as for a journey, on the very day of her absenting herself.

  Sir Thomas, however, remained yet a little longer in town, in the hope of discovering and snatching her from farther vice, though all was lost on the side of character.

  _His_ present state Fanny could hardly bear to think of. There was but one of his children who was not at this time a source of misery to him. Tom's complaints had been greatly heightened by the shock of his sister's conduct, and his recovery so much thrown back by it, that even Lady Bertram had been struck by the difference, and all her alarms were regularly sent off to her husband; and Julia's elopement, the additional blow which had met him on his arrival in London, though its force had been deadened at the moment, must, she knew, be sorely felt. She saw that it was. His letters expressed how much he deplored it. Under any circumstances it would have been an unwelcome alliance; but to have it so clandestinely formed, and such a period chosen for its completion, placed Julia's feelings in a most unfavourable light, and severely aggravated the folly of her choice. He called it a bad thing, done in the worst manner, and at the worst time; and though Julia was yet as more pardonable than Maria as folly than vice, he could not but regard the step she had taken as opening the worst probabilities of a conclusion hereafter like her sister's. Such was his opinion of the set into which she had thrown herself.

  Fanny felt for him most acutely. He could have no comfort but in Edmund. Every other child must be racking his heart. His displeasure against herself she trusted, reasoning differently from Mrs. Norris, would now be done away. _She_ should be justified. Mr. Crawford would have fully acquitted her conduct in refusing him; but this, though most material to herself, would be poor consolation to Sir Thomas. Her uncle's displeasure was terrible to her; but what could her justification or her gratitude and attachment do for him? His stay must be on Edmund alone.

  She was mistaken, however, in supposing that Edmund gave his father no present pain. It was of a much less poignant nature than what the others excited; but Sir Thomas was considering his happiness as very deeply involved in the offence of his sister and friend; cut off by it, as he must be, from the woman whom he had been pursuing with undoubted attachment and strong probability of success; and who, in everything but this despicable brother, would have been so eligible a connexion. He was aware of what Edmund must be suffering on his own behalf, in addition to all the rest, when they were in town: he had seen or conjectured his feelings; and, having reason to think that one interview with Miss Crawford had taken place, from which Edmund derived only increased distress, had been as anxious on that account as on others to get him out of town, and had engaged him in taking Fanny home to her aunt, with a view to his relief and benefit, no less than theirs. Fanny was not in the secret of her uncle's feelings, Sir Thomas not in the secret of Miss Crawford's character. Had he been privy to her conversation with his son, he would not have wished her to belong to him, though her twenty thousand pounds had been forty.

  That Edmund must be for ever divided from Miss Crawford did not admit of a doubt with Fanny; and yet, till she knew that he felt the same, her own conviction was insufficient. She thought he did, but she wanted to be assured of it. If he would now speak to her with the unreserve which had sometimes been too much for her before, it would be most consoling; but _that_ she found was not to be. She seldom saw him: never alone. He probably avoided being alone with her. What was to be inferred? That his judgment submitted to all his own peculiar and bitter share of this family affliction, but that it was too keenly felt to be a subject of the slightest communication. This must be his state. He yielded, but it was with agonies which did not admit of speech. Long, long would it be ere Miss Crawford's name passed his lips again, or she could hope for a renewal of such confidential intercourse as had been.

  It _was_ long. They reached Mansfield on Thursday, and it was not till Sunday evening that Edmund began to talk to her on the subject. Sitting with her on Sunday evening--a wet Sunday evening--the very time of all others when, if a friend is at hand, the heart must be opened, and everything told; no one else in the room, except his mother, who, after hearing an affecting sermon, had cried herself to sleep, it was impossible not to speak; and so, with the usual beginnings, hardly to be traced as to what came first, and the usual declaration that if she would listen to him for a few minutes, he should be very brief, and certainly never tax her kindness in the same way again; she need not fear a repetition; it would be a subject prohibited entirely: he entered upon the luxury of relating circumstances and sensations of the first interest to himself, to one of whose affectionate sympathy he was quite convinced

  How Fanny listened, with what curiosity and concern, what pain and what delight, how the agitation of his voice was watched, and how carefully her own eyes were fixed on any object but himself, may be imagined. The opening was alarming. He had seen Miss Crawford. He had been invited to see her. He had received a note from Lady Stornaway to beg him to call; and regarding it as what was meant to be the last, last interview of friendship, and investing her with all the feelings of shame and wretchedness which Crawford's sister ought to have known, he had gone to her in such a state of mind, so softened, so devoted, as made it for a few moments impossible to Fanny's fears that it should be the last. But as he proceeded in his story, these fears were over. She had met him, he said, with a serious--certainly a serious-- even an agitated air; but before he had been able to speak one intelligible sentence, she had introduced the subject in a manner which he owned had shocked him. "'I heard you were in town,' said she; 'I wanted to see you. Let us talk over this sad business. What can equal the folly of our two relations?' I could not answer, but I believe my looks spoke. She felt reproved. Sometimes how quick to feel! With a graver look and voice she then added, 'I do not mean to defend Henry at your sister's expense.' So she began, but how she went on, Fanny, is not fit, is hardly fit to be repeated to you. I cannot recall all her words. I would not dwell upon them if I could. Their substance was great anger at the _folly_ of each. She reprobated her brother's folly in being drawn on by a woman whom he had never cared for, to do what must lose him the woman he adored; but still more the folly of poor Maria, in sacrificing such a situation, plunging into such difficulties, under the idea of being really loved by a man who had long ago made his indifference clear. Guess what I must have felt. To hear the woman whom-- no harsher name than folly given! So voluntarily, so freely, so coolly to canvass it! No reluctance, no horror, no feminine, shall I say, no modest loathings? This is what the world does. For where, Fanny, shall we find a woman whom nature had so richly endowed? Spoilt, spoilt!"

  After a little reflection, he went on with a sort of desperate calmness. "I will tell you everything, and then have done for ever. She saw it only as folly, and that folly stamped only by exposure. The want of common discretion, of caution: his going down to Richmond for the whole time of her being at Twickenham; her putting herself in the power of a servant; it was the detection, in short--oh, Fanny! it was the detection, not the offence, which she reprobated. It was the imprudence which had brought things to extremity, and obliged her brother to give up every dearer plan in order to fly with her."

  He stopt. "And what," said Fanny (believing herself required to speak), "what could you say?"

  "Nothing, nothing to be understood. I was like a man stunned. She went on, began to talk of you; yes, then she began to talk of you, regretting, as well she might, the loss of such a--. There she spoke very rationally. But she has always done justice to you. 'He has thrown away,' said she, 'such a woman as he will never see again. She would have fixed him; she would have made him happy for ever.' My dearest Fanny, I am giving you, I hope, more pleasure than pain by this retrospect of what might have been--but what never can be now. You do not wish me to be silent? If you do, give me but a look, a word, and I have done."

  No look or word was given.

  "Thank God," said he. "We were all disposed to wonder, but it seems to have been the merciful appointment of Providence that the heart which knew no guile should not suffer. She spoke of you with high praise and warm affection; yet, even here, there was alloy, a dash of evil; for in the midst of it she could exclaim, 'Why would not she have him? It is all her fault. Simple girl! I shall never forgive her. Had she accepted him as she ought, they might now have been on the point of marriage, and Henry would have been too happy and too busy to want any other object. He would have taken no pains to be on terms with Mrs. Rushworth again. It would have all ended in a regular standing flirtation, in yearly meetings at Sotherton and Everingham.' Could you have believed it possible? But the charm is broken. My eyes are opened."

  "Cruel!" said Fanny, "quite cruel. At such a moment to give way to gaiety, to speak with lightness, and to you! Absolute cruelty."

  "Cruelty, do you call it? We differ there. No, hers is not a cruel nature. I do not consider her as meaning to wound my feelings. The evil lies yet deeper: in her total ignorance, unsuspiciousness of there being such feelings; in a perversion of mind which made it natural to her to treat the subject as she did. She was speaking only as she had been used to hear others speak, as she imagined everybody else would speak. Hers are not faults of temper. She would not voluntarily give unnecessary pain to any one, and though I may deceive myself, I cannot but think that for me, for my feelings, she would-- Hers are faults of principle, Fanny; of blunted delicacy and a corrupted, vitiated mind. Perhaps it is best for me, since it leaves me so little to regret. Not so, however. Gladly would I submit to all the increased pain of losing her, rather than have to think of her as I do. I told her so."

  "Did you?"

  "Yes; when I left her I told her so."

  "How long were you together?"

  "Five-and-twenty minutes. Well, she went on to say that what remained now to be done was to bring about a marriage between them. She spoke of it, Fanny, with a steadier voice than I can." He was obliged to pause more than once as he continued. "'We must persuade Henry to marry her,' said she; 'and what with honour, and the certainty of having shut himself out for ever from Fanny, I do not despair of it. Fanny he must give up. I do not think that even _he_ could now hope to succeed with one of her stamp, and therefore I hope we may find no insuperable difficulty. My influence, which is not small shall all go that way; and when once married, and properly supported by her own family, people of respectability as they are, she may recover her footing in society to a certain degree. In some circles, we know, she would never be admitted, but with good dinners, and large parties, there will always be those who will be glad of her acquaintance; and there is, undoubtedly, more liberality and candour on those points than formerly. What I advise is, that your father be quiet. Do not let him injure his own cause by interference. Persuade him to let things take their course. If by any officious exertions of his, she is induced to leave Henry's protection, there will be much less chance of his marrying her than if she remain with him. I know how he is likely to be influenced. Let Sir Thomas trust to his honour and compassion, and it may all end well; but if he get his daughter away, it will be destroying the chief hold.'"

  After repeating this, Edmund was so much affected that Fanny, watching him with silent, but most tender concern, was almost sorry that the subject had been entered on at all. It was long before he could speak again. At last, "Now, Fanny," said he, "I shall soon have done. I have told you the substance of all that she said. As soon as I could speak, I replied that I had not supposed it possible, coming in such a state of mind into that house as I had done, that anything could occur to make me suffer more, but that she had been inflicting deeper wounds in almost every sentence. That though I had, in the course of our acquaintance, been often sensible of some difference in our opinions, on points, too, of some moment, it had not entered my imagination to conceive the difference could be such as she had now proved it. That the manner in which she treated the dreadful crime committed by her brother and my sister (with whom lay the greater seduction I pretended not to say), but the manner in which she spoke of the crime itself, giving it every reproach but the right; considering its ill consequences only as they were to be braved or overborne by a defiance of decency and impudence in wrong; and last of all, and above all, recommending to us a compliance, a compromise, an acquiescence in the continuance of the sin, on the chance of a marriage which, thinking as I now thought of her brother, should rather be prevented than sought; all this together most grievously convinced me that I had never understood her before, and that, as far as related to mind, it had been the creature of my own imagination, not Miss Crawford, that I had been too apt to dwell on for many months past. That, perhaps, it was best for me; I had less to regret in sacrificing a friendship, feelings, hopes which must, at any rate, have been torn from me now. And yet, that I must and would confess that, could I have restored her to what she had appeared to me before, I would infinitely prefer any increase of the pain of parting, for the sake of carrying with me the right of tenderness and esteem. This is what I said, the purport of it; but, as you may imagine, not spoken so collectedly or methodically as I have repeated it to you. She was astonished, exceedingly astonished--more than astonished. I saw her change countenance. She turned extremely red. I imagined I saw a mixture of many feelings: a great, though short struggle; half a wish of yielding to truths, half a sense of shame, but habit, habit carried it. She would have laughed if she could. It was a sort of laugh, as she answered, 'A pretty good lecture, upon my word. Was it part of your last sermon? At this rate you will soon reform everybody at Mansfield and Thornton Lacey; and when I hear of you next, it may be as a celebrated preacher in some great society of Methodists, or as a missionary into foreign parts.' She tried to speak carelessly, but she was not so careless as she wanted to appear. I only said in reply, that from my heart I wished her well, and earnestly hoped that she might soon learn to think more justly, and not owe the most valuable knowledge we could any of us acquire, the knowledge of ourselves and of our duty, to the lessons of affliction, and immediately left the room. I had gone a few steps, Fanny, when I heard the door open behind me. 'Mr. Bertram,' said she. I looked back. 'Mr. Bertram,' said she, with a smile; but it was a smile ill-suited to the conversation that had passed, a saucy playful smile, seeming to invite in order to subdue me; at least it appeared so to me. I resisted; it was the impulse of the moment to resist, and still walked on. I have since, sometimes, for a moment, regretted that I did not go back, but I know I was right, and such has been the end of our acquaintance. And what an acquaintance has it been! How have I been deceived! Equally in brother and sister deceived! I thank you for your patience, Fanny. This has been the greatest relief, and now we will have done."

  And such was Fanny's dependence on his words, that for five minutes she thought they _had_ done. Then, however, it all came on again, or something very like it, and nothing less than Lady Bertram's rousing thoroughly up could really close such a conversation. Till that happened, they continued to talk of Miss Crawford alone, and how she had attached him, and how delightful nature had made her, and how excellent she would have been, had she fallen into good hands earlier. Fanny, now at liberty to speak openly, felt more than justified in adding to his knowledge of her real character, by some hint of what share his brother's state of health might be supposed to have in her wish for a complete reconciliation. This was not an agreeable intimation. Nature resisted it for a while. It would have been a vast deal pleasanter to have had her more disinterested in her attachment; but his vanity was not of a strength to fight long against reason. He submitted to believe that Tom's illness had influenced her, only reserving for himself this consoling thought, that considering the many counteractions of opposing habits, she had certainly been _more_ attached to him than could have been expected, and for his sake been more near doing right. Fanny thought exactly the same; and they were also quite agreed in their opinion of the lasting effect, the indelible impression, which such a disappointment must make on his mind. Time would undoubtedly abate somewhat of his sufferings, but still it was a sort of thing which he never could get entirely the better of; and as to his ever meeting with any other woman who could-- it was too impossible to be named but with indignation. Fanny's friendship was all that he had to cling to.



　　家里那三个人真够可怜的，他们人人都觉得自己最可怜。不过，诺里斯太太由于对玛丽亚感情最深，真正最伤心的还应该是她。她最喜欢玛丽亚，对她也最亲，她一手策划了她的那门亲事，而且总是以此为骄傲，沾沾自喜地向人夸耀。现在出现这样一个结局，简直让她无法承受。
　　她完全换了个人，少言寡语，稀里糊涂，对周围什么事都漠不关心。由她来照顾妹妹和外甥，掌管整个家务，这本是她难得的机会，现在却完全错失了。她已经不能指挥，不能支使别人，甚至认为自己没有用了。当灾难临头的时候，她就会失去原有的主动性，无论是伯特伦夫人还是汤姆，都丝毫得不到她的帮助，她也压根儿不想去帮助他们。她对他们的帮助，还没有他们之间的互相帮助来得多。他们三人都一样孤寂，一样无奈，一样可怜。现在别人来了，她越发成了最凄惨的人。她的两个同伴减轻了痛苦，而她却没有得到任何好处。伯特伦夫人欢迎范妮，汤姆几乎同样欢迎埃德蒙。可是诺里斯太太，不仅从他们两人身上得不到安慰，而且凭着心中的一团无名怒火，还把其中一人视为制造这起祸端的恶魔，见到她越发感到恼怒。假如范妮早答应了克劳福德先生，也就不会出这样的事。
　　苏珊也是她的眼中钉，一看见她就反感，觉得她是个密探，是个闯入者，是个穷外甥女，要怎么讨厌就怎么讨厌。但是，苏珊却受到另一个姨妈不声不响的友好接待。伯特伦夫人不能在她身上花很多时间，也不会跟她讲多少话，但她觉得她既是范妮的妹妹，就有权利住到曼斯菲尔德，她还真愿意亲吻她、喜欢她。苏珊感到非常满意，因为她来的时候就完全做好了思想准备，知道诺里斯姨妈不会给她好脸色看。她在这里真觉得快活，也特别幸运，可以避开许多令人不快的事，即使别人对她再冷淡，她也承受得住。
　　现在她有大量的时间可以自己支配，尽可能地去熟悉大宅和庭园，日子过得非常快活，而那些本可以关照她的人却关在屋内，各自围着那个这时需要他们安慰的人忙碌。埃德蒙在尽力宽慰哥哥，借以抛开自己的痛苦。范妮在悉心伺候伯特伦姨妈，以比以往更大的热情，做起了以往常做的事务，觉得姨妈这么需要她，自己做得再多也是应该的。
　　跟范妮讲讲那件可怕的事情，讲一讲，伤心一阵，这是伯特伦夫人仅有的一点安慰。她所能得到的全部安慰，就是有人听她说，受得了她，说过之后又能听到体贴同情的声音。并不存在其他的安慰方式。这件事没有安慰的余地。伯特伧夫人虽然考虑问题不往深处想，但是在托马斯爵士的指导下，她对所有的重大问题还是看得准的。因此，她完全明白这件事的严重性，既不想认为这不是什么大不了的罪行和丑事，也不想让范妮来开导她。
　　她对儿女的感情并不强烈，她的思想也不执拗。过了一段时间之后，范妮发现，把她的思绪往别的问题上引，使她重新唤起对日常事务的兴趣，并非是不可能的。但是，每次伯特伦夫人一把心思撂在这件事上，她只从一个角度看待这件事：觉得自己丢掉了一个女儿，家门的耻辱永远洗刷不掉。
　　范妮从她那里获悉了业已公诸于世的详情细节。姨妈讲起话来不是很有条理，但是借助她和托马斯爵士的几封来往信件，她自己已经了解的情况，以及合理的分析能力，她便很快如愿掌握了这件事的全部情况。
　　拉什沃思太太去了特威克纳姆，跟她刚刚熟悉的一家人一起过复活节。这家人性情活泼，风度讨人喜欢，大概在道德和规矩上也彼此相投，克劳福德先生一年四季常到这家来做客。克劳福德先生就在这附近，范妮早已知道。这时，拉什沃思先生去了巴斯，在那里陪他母亲几天，然后把母亲带回伦敦，玛丽亚便不拘形迹地跟那些朋友一起厮混，甚至连朱莉娅都不在场。朱莉娅早在两三个星期之前就离开了温普尔街，到托马斯爵士的一家亲戚那里去了。据她父母现在估计，她所以要去那里，可能为了便于接触耶茨先生。拉什沃思夫妇回到温普尔街之后不久，托马斯爵士便收到一位住在伦敦的特别要好的老朋友的来信。这位老朋友在那里耳闻目睹许多情况，感到大为震惊，便写信建议托马斯爵士亲自到伦敦来，运用他的影响制止女儿与克劳福德先生之间的亲密关系。这种关系已给玛丽亚招来了非议，显然也引起了拉什沃思先生的不安。
　　托马斯爵士准备接受信中的建议，但却没有向家里任何人透露信中的内容。正在准备动身的时候，他又收到了一封信。这封信是同一位朋友用快递发来的，向他透露说，这两个年轻人的关系已发展到几乎不可救药的地步。拉什沃思太太已经离开了她丈夫的家。拉什沃思先生极为气愤，极为痛苦，来找他（哈丁先生）出主意。哈丁先生担心，至少会有非常严重的不轨行为。拉什沃思老太太的女仆把话说得还要吓人。哈丁先生想尽力掩盖，希望拉什沃思太太还会回来。但是，拉什沃思先生的母亲在温普尔街不断施加影响，非把这事张扬出去，因此要有思想准备，可能会出现极坏的结果。
　　这一可怕的消息没法瞒住家里的其他人。托马斯爵士动身了。埃德蒙将要和他一起去。留在家里的人个个惶惶不安，后来又收到伦敦的几封来信，弄得他们更加愁苦不堪。这时，事情已经完全张扬开了，毫无挽回的余地了。拉什沃思老太太的女仆掌握了一些情况，而且有女主人为她撑腰，是不会保持沉默的。原来老太太和少奶奶到一起没过几天，便彼此不和。也许，老太太所以如此记恨儿媳妇，差不多一半是气她不尊重她个人，一半是气她瞧不起她儿子。
　　不管怎么说，谁都奈何不了她。不过，即使她不那么固执，即使她对她那个总是谁最后跟他讲话，谁抓住了他，不让他说话，他就听谁摆布的儿子没有那么大的影响，事情依然毫无希望，因为拉什沃思太太没再出现，而且有充分的理由断定，她和克劳福德先生一起躲到哪里去了。就在她出走的那一天，克劳福德先生借口去旅行，也离开了他叔叔家。
　　但托马斯爵士还是在伦敦多住了几天。尽管女儿已经名誉扫地，他还是希望找到她，不让她进一步堕落。
　　他目前的状况，范妮简直不忍去想。他的几个孩子中，眼下只有一个没有成为他痛苦的源泉。汤姆听到妹妹的行为后深受打击，病情大大加重，康复的希望更加渺茫，连伯特伦夫人都明显地看出了他的变化，她把她的惊恐定期写信告诉丈夫。朱莉娅的私奔是伯特伦爵士到了伦敦之后受到的又一打击，虽然打击的力量当时并不觉得那么沉重，但是范妮知道，势必给姨父造成剧烈的痛苦。她看得出来就是这样的。姨父的来信表明他多么为之痛心。在任何情况下，这都不是一桩令人称心的婚事，何况他们又是偷偷摸摸结合的，又选择了这么个时候来完成，这就把朱莉娅置于极为不利的地步，充分显示了她的愚不可及。托马斯爵士把她的行为称做在最糟糕的时刻，以最糟糕的方式，所做的一件糟糕的事情。尽管比起玛丽亚来，朱莉娅相对可以宽恕一些，正如愚蠢较之罪恶可以宽恕一些一样，但是他觉得朱莉娅既然走出了这一步，那她极有可能以后也得到姐姐那样的结局。这就是他对女儿落得这个下场的看法。
　　范妮极其同情姨父。除了埃德蒙，他没有别的安慰。其他几个孩子要把他的心撕裂。她相信，他和诺里斯太太考虑问题的方法不同，原来对她的不满，这下可要烟消云散了。事实证明她没有错。克劳福德先生的行为表明，她当初拒绝他是完全正确的。不过，这虽然对她来说是至关重要的，但对托马斯爵士来说未必是个安慰。姨父的不满使她深感害怕，可是她被证明是正确的，她对他的感激和情意，对他又有什么意义呢？他肯定是把埃德蒙视为他的唯一安慰。
　　然而，她认为埃德蒙现在不会给父亲带来痛苦，那是估计错了。他引起的痛苦，只不过没有其他孩子引起的那么激烈罢了。托马斯爵士在为埃德蒙的幸福着想，认为他的幸福深受他妹妹和朋友的行为的影响，他和他一直在追求的那位姑娘的关系势必会因此中断，尽管他无疑很爱那位姑娘，并且极有可能获得成功，如果这位姑娘不是有那么个卑鄙的哥哥，从各方面来看，这桩婚事还很合适。在伦敦的时候，做父亲的就知道埃德蒙除了家入的痛苦之外，还有自身的痛苦。他看出了，或者说猜到了他的心事，有理由断定他和克劳福德小姐见过一次面，这次见面只是进一步增加了埃德蒙的痛苦，做父亲的基于这个考虑，也基于其他考虑，急于想让儿子离开伦敦，叫他接范妮回家照顾姨妈，这不仅对大家有好处，对埃德蒙自己也有好处，能减轻他的痛苦。范妮不知道姨父内心的秘密，托马斯爵士不了解克劳福德小姐的为人。假若他了解她对他儿子都说了些什么，他就不会希望他儿子娶她，尽管她的两万英镑财产已经成了四万英镑。
　　埃德蒙与克劳福德小姐从此永远一刀两断，范妮觉得这是毋庸置疑的事。然而，在她没有弄清埃德蒙也有同感之前，她还有些信心不足。她认为他有同样看法，但是她需要弄个确切。他以前对她无话不谈，有时使她受不了，他现在若能像以前那样对她推心置腹，那对她将是极大的安慰。但是，她发现这是很难做到的。她很少见到他——一次也没有单独见到他——大概他是在回避和她单独见面。这意味着什么呢？这意味家中不幸，他忍受着一份独特的痛苦，而且创巨痛深，没有心思跟人说话。这还意味深感事情不光彩，不愿向人泄露丝毫。他一定处于这种状况。他接受了命运的安排，但他是怀着难言的痛苦接受的。要让他重提克劳福德小姐的名字，或者范妮想要重新和他推心置腹地交谈，那要等到遥远的将来。
　　这种状况果然持续了很长时间。他们是星期四到达曼斯菲尔德的，直到星期日晚上埃德蒙才和她谈起这个问题。星期天晚上——一个阴雨的星期天晚上，在这种时刻，谁和朋友在一起，都会敞开心扉，无话不讲——他们坐在屋里，除了母亲之外，再无别人在场，而母亲在听完一段令人感动的布道之后，已经哭着睡着了。在这种情况下，两人不可能一直不言不语。于是，他像平常一样，先来了段开场白，简直搞不清他要先说什么，然后又像平常一样，宣称他的话很短，只求她听儿分钟，以后决不会以同样的方式叨扰她——她不用担心他会旧话重提——那个话题决不能再谈。他欣然谈起了对他来说至关重要的情况与想法，他深信会得到她的真挚同情。
　　范妮听起来多么好奇，多么关切，带着什么样的痛苦，什么样的喜悦，如何关注他激动的声音，两眼如何小心翼翼地回避他，这一切都是可想而知的。他一开口就让她吃了一惊。他见到了克劳福德小姐。他是应邀去看她的。斯托诺韦夫人给他来信，求他去一趟。心想这是最后一次友好见面，同时想到身为克劳福德的妹妹，她会深感羞愧，不胜可怜，于是他怀着缠绵多情的心去了，范妮顿时觉得这不可能是最后一次。但是，随着他往下讲，她的顾虑打消了。他说她见到他的时候，神情很严肃——的确很严肃 ——甚至很激动。但是，还没等埃德蒙说完一句话，她就扯起了一个话题，埃德蒙承认为之一惊。“‘我听说你来到了伦敦，’她说，‘我想见到你。让我们谈谈这件令人伤心的事。我们的两个亲人蠢到什么地步啊？’我无以应对，但我相信我的眼神在说话。她感到我对她的话不满。有时候人有多么敏感啊！她以更加严肃的神情和语气说：‘我不想为亨利辩护，把责任推到你妹妹身上。’她是这样开始的，但是下面都说了些什么，范妮，可不便于——简直不便于学给你听。我想不起她的原话，就是想得起来，也不去细说了。她主要是憎恨那两个人愚蠢。她骂她哥哥傻，不该受一个他瞧不上的女人的勾引，去干那样的勾当，结果要失去他爱慕的那个女人。不过，可怜的玛丽亚还要傻，人家早已表明对她无意，她还以为人家真正爱她，放着这样的好光景不要，却陷入了这般的困境。你想想我心里是什么滋味吧。听听那个女人——只是不痛不痒地说了个‘傻’！这么随意，这么轻巧，这么轻描淡写！没有一点羞怯，没有一点惊恐，没有一点女人气——是否可以说？没有一点起码的憎恶感！这是这个世界造成的。范妮，我们到哪里还能找到一个女人有她这样天生的优越条件呀？给带坏了，带坏了啊！”
　　略加思索之后，他带着一种绝望的冷静继续说道：“我把一切都告诉你，以后就永远不再提了。她只是把那看做一件傻事，而且只是因为暴露了，才称其为傻事。缺乏应有的谨慎，缺乏警惕——她在特威克纳姆的时候，他不该一直住在里士满，她不该让一个佣人操纵自己。总之，是让人发现了。噢！范妮，她责骂的是让人发现了，而不是他们做的坏事。她说这是贸然行事，走上了极端，逼着她哥哥放弃更好的计划，跟她一起逃走。”
　　他停下来了。“那么，”范妮认为对方需要自己讲话，便问道，“你能怎么说呢？”
　　“什么也没说的，什么也不清楚。我当时像是被打晕了一样。她继续往下说，说起了你。是的，她接着说起了你，极其惋惜失去了这样一位——她说起你的时候，倒是很有理智。不过，她对你一直是公道的。‘他抛弃了这样一个女人，’她说，‘再也不会碰到第二个了。她会治得住他，会使他一辈子幸福。’最亲爱的范妮，事情都过去了，我还给你讲那本来有希望，可现在永远不可能的事情，是希望使你高兴，而不是使你痛苦。你不想让我闭口无言吧？如果你想让我住口，只需看我一眼，或者说一声，我就再不说了。”
　　范妮既没看他，也没做声。
　　“感谢上帝，”埃德蒙说，“我们当初都想不通，但现在看来，这是上帝仁慈的安排，使老实人不吃亏。她对你感情很深，讲起你来赞不绝口。不过，即使这里面也有不纯的成分，夹杂着一点恶毒，因为她讲着讲着就会惊叫道：‘她为什么不肯答应他？这完全是她的错。傻丫头！我永远不会原谅她。她要是理所应当地答应了他，他们现在或许就要结婚了，亨利就会多么幸福、多么忙，根本不会再找别人。他就不会再费劲去和拉什沃思太太恢复来往。以后每年在索瑟顿和埃弗灵厄姆举行舞会的时候，两人只不过调调情而已。’你能想到会有这种事吗？不过，魔力绐戳穿了。我的眼睁开了。”
　　“冷酷！”范妮说。“真是冷酷！在这种时刻还要寻开心，讲轻佻话，而且是说给你听！冷酷至极。”
　　“你说这是冷酷吗？在这一点上我跟你看法不同。不，她生性并不冷酷。我认为她并非有意要伤害我的感情。问题的症结隐藏得还要深。她不知道，也没想到我会这样想，出于一种反常的心态，觉得像她这样看待这个问题是理所当然。她所以这样说话，只是由于听惯了别人这样说，由于照她的想象别人都会这样说。她不是性情上有毛病。她不会故意给任何人造成不必要的痛苦。虽说我可能看不准，但我认为她不会故意来伤害我，伤害我的感情。范妮，她的过错是原则上的过错，是不知道体谅人，是思想上的腐蚀堕落。也许对我来说，能这样想最好，因为这样一来，我就不怎么遗憾了。然而，事实并非如此。我宁愿忍受失去她的更大痛苦，也不愿像现在这样把她往坏处想。我对她这样说了。”
　　“是吗？”
　　“是的，我离开她的时候对她这样说了。”
　　“你们在一起待了多长时间？”
　　“二十五分钟。她接着说，现在要做的是促成他们两个结婚。范妮，她说这话的时候，口气比我还坚定。”他不得不顿了几顿，才接着说下去。“‘我们必须说服亨利和她结婚，’她说，‘为了顾全体面，同时又知道范妮决不会再跟他，我想他是有可能同意的。他必须放弃范妮。我想就连他自己也明白，像这样的姑娘他现在也娶不上了，因此我看不会有什么大不了的困难。我的影响还是不小的，我要全力促成这件事。一旦结了婚，她自己那个体面的家庭再给她适当的支持，她在社会上就可以多少重新站得住脚了。我们知道，有些圈子是永远不会接受她的，但是只要备上好酒好菜，把人请得多一些，总会有人愿意和她结交的。毫无疑问，在这种问题上人们会比以前更能宽容，更加坦率。我的意见是，你父亲要保持沉默。不要让他去干预毁了自己的前程。劝他听其自然。如果他强行干预，引得女儿脱离了亨利的保护，亨利娶她的可能性就大大减少，还不如让她跟着亨利。我知道如何能让他接受劝告。让托马斯爵士相信他还顾惜体面，还有同情心，一切都会有个好的结局。但他若是把女儿拉走，那就把解决问题的主要依托给毁了。”’
　　埃德蒙说了这席话之后，情绪受到很大影响，范妮一声不响地非常关切地望着他，后悔不该谈起这个话题。埃德蒙很久没再讲话，最后才说：“范妮，我快说完了。我把她说的主要内容都告诉了你。我一得到说话的机会，便对她说我没想到，我以这样的心情走进这座房子，会遇到使我更加痛苦的事情，可是几乎她的每一句话都给我造成了更深的创伤。我还说，虽然在我们认识的过程中，我常常意识到我们有些意见分歧，对某些比较重大的问题也有意见分歧，但我从来没有想到我们的分歧会有这么大。她以那样的态度对待她哥哥和我妹妹所犯的可怕罪行（他们两个究竟谁应负主要责任，我也不妄加评论），可她是怎么谈论这一罪行的，骂来骂去没有一句骂得在理的，她认为对于这一罪行的恶劣后果，只能用不正当的、无耻的办法，或者坚决顶住，或者坚决平息下去。最后，尤其不应该的是，她建议我们委曲求全、妥协、默认，任罪恶继续下去，以求他们能结婚。根据我现在对她哥哥的看法，对这样的婚姻，我们不是要求，而是要制止。这一切使我痛心地意识到，我以前一直不了解她，而就心灵而言，我多少个月来总在眷恋的只是我想象中的一个人，而不是这个克劳福德小姐。这也许对我再好不过。我可以少感到一些遗憾，因为无论如何，我现在肯定失去了对她的友谊、情意和希望，然而，我必须承认，假如我能恢复她原来在我心目中的形象，以便继续保持住对她的爱和敬重，我绝对情愿增加失去她的痛苦。这就是我当时说的话，或者说是我说的话的大意。不过，你可以想象得到，我当时说这些话的时候，不像现在说给你听这样镇定，也没有现在这样有条理。她感到惊讶，万分震惊——还不仅仅是惊讶。我看见她脸色变了。她满脸通红。我想我看出她的心情极其复杂，她在竭力挣扎，不过时间很短，一边想向真理投降，一边又感到羞愧，不过习惯，习惯占了上风。她若是笑得出来，准会大笑一场。她勉强笑了笑，一边答道：‘真是一篇很好的讲演呀。这是你最近一次布道的部分内容吧？照这样发展下去，你很快就会把曼斯菲尔德和桑顿莱西的每个人改造过来。我下一次听你讲的时候，你可能已成为公理会哪个大教区的杰出传教士，要不就是一个派往海外的传教士。’她说这话时尽量装出一副满不在乎的样子，但她心里并不像她外表装的那样满不在乎。我只回答说我衷心地祝她走运，诚挚地希望她不久能学会公正地看问题，不要非得通过惨痛的教训才能学到我们人人都可以学到的最宝贵的知识——了解自己，也了解自己的责任，说完我就走了出去。我刚走了几步，范妮，就听到背后开门的声音。‘伯特伦先生，’她说。我回头望去。‘伯特伦先生，’她笑着说，但是她这笑与刚才的谈话很不协调，是一种轻浮的嬉皮笑脸的笑，似乎在逗引我，为的是制服我，至少我觉得是这样的。我加以抵制，那是一时冲动之下的抵制，只管继续往外走。从那以后——有时候——我会突然一阵子——后悔我当时没有回去。不过我知道，我那样做是对的。我们的交情就这样结束了！这算什么交情啊！我上了多么大的当啊！上了那个哥哥的当，也同样上了那个妹妹的当！我感谢你耐心听我讲，范妮。说出来心里痛快多了，以后再也不讲这件事了。
　　范妮对他这话深信不疑，以为他们真的再也不讲这件事了。可是刚过了五分钟，又谈起了这件事，或者说几乎又谈起了这件事，直到伯特伦夫人彻底醒来，谈话才终于结束。在此之前，他们一直在谈论克劳福德小姐：她多么让埃德蒙着迷，她生性多么招人喜欢，要是早一点落到好人手里，她该会有多么好。范妮现在可以畅所欲言了，觉得自己义不容辞地要让表哥多了解一下克劳福德小姐的真面目，便向他暗示说：她所以愿意彻底和解，与他哥哥的健康状况有很大关系。这可是个不大容易接受的暗示。感情上难免要抵制一番。若是把克劳福德小姐的感情看得无私一些，那心里会感到惬意多了。但是，埃德蒙的虚荣心并非很强，对理智的抵挡没有坚持多久。他接受了范妮的看法，认为汤姆的病情左右了她态度的转变。他只给自己保留了一个可以聊以自慰的想法：考虑到不同习惯造成的种种矛盾，克劳福德小姐对他的爱确实超出了可以指望的程度，就因为他的缘故，她才没怎么偏离正道。范妮完全同意他的看法。他们还一致认为，这样的打击必然给埃德蒙心里留下不可磨灭的印象，难以消除的影响。时间无疑会减轻他的一些痛苦，但是这种事情要彻底忘却是不可能的。至于说再和哪个别的女人要好，那是完全不可能的，一提就让他生气。他只需要范妮的友谊。　
  
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Chapter forty-six

  As Fanny could not doubt that her answer was conveying a real disappointment, she was rather in expectation, from her knowledge of Miss Crawford's temper, of being urged again; and though no second letter arrived for the space of a week, she had still the same feeling when it did come.

  On receiving it, she could instantly decide on its containing little writing, and was persuaded of its having the air of a letter of haste and business. Its object was unquestionable; and two moments were enough to start the probability of its being merely to give her notice that they should be in Portsmouth that very day, and to throw her into all the agitation of doubting what she ought to do in such a case. If two moments, however, can surround with difficulties, a third can disperse them; and before she had opened the letter, the possibility of Mr. and Miss Crawford's having applied to her uncle and obtained his permission was giving her ease. This was the letter--

"A most scandalous, ill-natured rumour has just reached me, and I write, dear Fanny, to warn you against giving the least credit to it, should it spread into the country. Depend upon it, there is some mistake, and that a day or two will clear it up; at any rate, that Henry is blameless, and in spite of a moment's _etourderie_, thinks of nobody but you. Say not a word of it; hear nothing, surmise nothing, whisper nothing till I write again. I am sure it will be all hushed up, and nothing proved but Rushworth's folly. If they are gone, I would lay my life they are only gone to Mansfield Park, and Julia with them. But why would not you let us come for you? I wish you may not repent it.
--Yours, etc."
      


  Fanny stood aghast. As no scandalous, ill-natured rumour had reached her, it was impossible for her to understand much of this strange letter. She could only perceive that it must relate to Wimpole Street and Mr. Crawford, and only conjecture that something very imprudent had just occurred in that quarter to draw the notice of the world, and to excite her jealousy, in Miss Crawford's apprehension, if she heard it. Miss Crawford need not be alarmed for her. She was only sorry for the parties concerned and for Mansfield, if the report should spread so far; but she hoped it might not. If the Rushworths were gone themselves to Mansfield, as was to be inferred from what Miss Crawford said, it was not likely that anything unpleasant should have preceded them, or at least should make any impression.

  As to Mr. Crawford, she hoped it might give him a knowledge of his own disposition, convince him that he was not capable of being steadily attached to any one woman in the world, and shame him from persisting any longer in addressing herself.

  It was very strange! She had begun to think he really loved her, and to fancy his affection for her something more than common; and his sister still said that he cared for nobody else. Yet there must have been some marked display of attentions to her cousin, there must have been some strong indiscretion, since her correspondent was not of a sort to regard a slight one.

  Very uncomfortable she was, and must continue, till she heard from Miss Crawford again. It was impossible to banish the letter from her thoughts, and she could not relieve herself by speaking of it to any human being. Miss Crawford need not have urged secrecy with so much warmth; she might have trusted to her sense of what was due to her cousin.

  The next day came and brought no second letter. Fanny was disappointed. She could still think of little else all the morning; but, when her father came back in the afternoon with the daily newspaper as usual, she was so far from expecting any elucidation through such a channel that the subject was for a moment out of her head.

  She was deep in other musing. The remembrance of her first evening in that room, of her father and his newspaper, came across her. No candle was now wanted. The sun was yet an hour and half above the horizon. She felt that she had, indeed, been three months there; and the sun's rays falling strongly into the parlour, instead of cheering, made her still more melancholy, for sunshine appeared to her a totally different thing in a town and in the country. Here, its power was only a glare: a stifling, sickly glare, serving but to bring forward stains and dirt that might otherwise have slept. There was neither health nor gaiety in sunshine in a town. She sat in a blaze of oppressive heat, in a cloud of moving dust, and her eyes could only wander from the walls, marked by her father's head, to the table cut and notched by her brothers, where stood the tea-board never thoroughly cleaned, the cups and saucers wiped in streaks, the milk a mixture of motes floating in thin blue, and the bread and butter growing every minute more greasy than even Rebecca's hands had first produced it. Her father read his newspaper, and her mother lamented over the ragged carpet as usual, while the tea was in preparation, and wished Rebecca would mend it; and Fanny was first roused by his calling out to her, after humphing and considering over a particular paragraph: "What's the name of your great cousins in town, Fan?"

  A moment's recollection enabled her to say, "Rushworth, sir."

  "And don't they live in Wimpole Street?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then, there's the devil to pay among them, that's all! There" (holding out the paper to her); "much good may such fine relations do you. I don't know what Sir Thomas may think of such matters; he may be too much of the courtier and fine gentleman to like his daughter the less. But, by G-- ! if she belonged to _me_, I'd give her the rope's end as long as I could stand over her. A little flogging for man and woman too would be the best way of preventing such things."

  Fanny read to herself that "it was with infinite concern the newspaper had to announce to the world a matrimonial _fracas_ in the family of Mr. R. of Wimpole Street; the beautiful Mrs. R., whose name had not long been enrolled in the lists of Hymen, and who had promised to become so brilliant a leader in the fashionable world, having quitted her husband's roof in company with the well-known and captivating Mr. C., the intimate friend and associate of Mr. R., and it was not known even to the editor of the newspaper whither they were gone."

  "It is a mistake, sir," said Fanny instantly; "it must be a mistake, it cannot be true; it must mean some other people."

  She spoke from the instinctive wish of delaying shame; she spoke with a resolution which sprung from despair, for she spoke what she did not, could not believe herself. It had been the shock of conviction as she read. The truth rushed on her; and how she could have spoken at all, how she could even have breathed, was afterwards matter of wonder to herself.

  Mr. Price cared too little about the report to make her much answer. "It might be all a lie," he acknowledged; "but so many fine ladies were going to the devil nowadays that way, that there was no answering for anybody."

  "Indeed, I hope it is not true," said Mrs. Price plaintively; "it would be so very shocking! If I have spoken once to Rebecca about that carpet, I am sure I have spoke at least a dozen times; have not I, Betsey? And it would not be ten minutes' work."

  The horror of a mind like Fanny's, as it received the conviction of such guilt, and began to take in some part of the misery that must ensue, can hardly be described. At first, it was a sort of stupefaction; but every moment was quickening her perception of the horrible evil. She could not doubt, she dared not indulge a hope, of the paragraph being false. Miss Crawford's letter, which she had read so often as to make every line her own, was in frightful conformity with it. Her eager defence of her brother, her hope of its being _hushed_ _up_, her evident agitation, were all of a piece with something very bad; and if there was a woman of character in existence, who could treat as a trifle this sin of the first magnitude, who would try to gloss it over, and desire to have it unpunished, she could believe Miss Crawford to be the woman! Now she could see her own mistake as to _who_ were gone, or _said_ to be gone. It was not Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth; it was Mrs. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford.

  Fanny seemed to herself never to have been shocked before. There was no possibility of rest. The evening passed without a pause of misery, the night was totally sleepless. She passed only from feelings of sickness to shudderings of horror; and from hot fits of fever to cold. The event was so shocking, that there were moments even when her heart revolted from it as impossible: when she thought it could not be. A woman married only six months ago; a man professing himself devoted, even _engaged_ to another; that other her near relation; the whole family, both families connected as they were by tie upon tie; all friends, all intimate together! It was too horrible a confusion of guilt, too gross a complication of evil, for human nature, not in a state of utter barbarism, to be capable of! yet her judgment told her it was so. _His_ unsettled affections, wavering with his vanity, _Maria's_ decided attachment, and no sufficient principle on either side, gave it possibility: Miss Crawford's letter stampt it a fact.

  What would be the consequence? Whom would it not injure? Whose views might it not affect? Whose peace would it not cut up for ever? Miss Crawford, herself, Edmund; but it was dangerous, perhaps, to tread such ground. She confined herself, or tried to confine herself, to the simple, indubitable family misery which must envelop all, if it were indeed a matter of certified guilt and public exposure. The mother's sufferings, the father's; there she paused. Julia's, Tom's, Edmund's; there a yet longer pause. They were the two on whom it would fall most horribly. Sir Thomas's parental solicitude and high sense of honour and decorum, Edmund's upright principles, unsuspicious temper, and genuine strength of feeling, made her think it scarcely possible for them to support life and reason under such disgrace; and it appeared to her that, as far as this world alone was concerned, the greatest blessing to every one of kindred with Mrs. Rushworth would be instant annihilation.

  Nothing happened the next day, or the next, to weaken her terrors. Two posts came in, and brought no refutation, public or private. There was no second letter to explain away the first from Miss Crawford; there was no intelligence from Mansfield, though it was now full time for her to hear again from her aunt. This was an evil omen. She had, indeed, scarcely the shadow of a hope to soothe her mind, and was reduced to so low and wan and trembling a condition, as no mother, not unkind, except Mrs. Price could have overlooked, when the third day did bring the sickening knock, and a letter was again put into her hands. It bore the London postmark, and came from Edmund.

"Dear Fanny,--
You know our present wretchedness. May God support you under your share! We have been here two days, but there is nothing to be done. They cannot be traced. You may not have heard of the last blow-- Julia's elopement; she is gone to Scotland with Yates. She left London a few hours before we entered it. At any other time this would have been felt dreadfully. Now it seems nothing; yet it is an heavy aggravation. My father is not overpowered. More cannot be hoped. He is still able to think and act; and I write, by his desire, to propose your returning home. He is anxious to get you there for my mother's sake. I shall be at Portsmouth the morning after you receive this, and hope to find you ready to set off for Mansfield. My father wishes you to invite Susan to go with you for a few months. Settle it as you like; say what is proper; I am sure you will feel such an instance of his kindness at such a moment! Do justice to his meaning, however I may confuse it. You may imagine something of my present state. There is no end of the evil let loose upon us. You will see me early by the mail.
-- Yours, etc."      


  Never had Fanny more wanted a cordial. Never had she felt such a one as this letter contained. To-morrow! to leave Portsmouth to-morrow! She was, she felt she was, in the greatest danger of being exquisitely happy, while so many were miserable. The evil which brought such good to her! She dreaded lest she should learn to be insensible of it. To be going so soon, sent for so kindly, sent for as a comfort, and with leave to take Susan, was altogether such a combination of blessings as set her heart in a glow, and for a time seemed to distance every pain, and make her incapable of suitably sharing the distress even of those whose distress she thought of most. Julia's elopement could affect her comparatively but little; she was amazed and shocked; but it could not occupy her, could not dwell on her mind. She was obliged to call herself to think of it, and acknowledge it to be terrible and grievous, or it was escaping her, in the midst of all the agitating pressing joyful cares attending this summons to herself.

  There is nothing like employment, active indispensable employment, for relieving sorrow. Employment, even melancholy, may dispel melancholy, and her occupations were hopeful. She had so much to do, that not even the horrible story of Mrs. Rushworth--now fixed to the last point of certainty could affect her as it had done before. She had not time to be miserable. Within twenty-four hours she was hoping to be gone; her father and mother must be spoken to, Susan prepared, everything got ready. Business followed business; the day was hardly long enough. The happiness she was imparting, too, happiness very little alloyed by the black communication which must briefly precede it--the joyful consent of her father and mother to Susan's going with her--the general satisfaction with which the going of both seemed regarded, and the ecstasy of Susan herself, was all serving to support her spirits.

  The affliction of the Bertrams was little felt in the family. Mrs. Price talked of her poor sister for a few minutes, but how to find anything to hold Susan's clothes, because Rebecca took away all the boxes and spoilt them, was much more in her thoughts: and as for Susan, now unexpectedly gratified in the first wish of her heart, and knowing nothing personally of those who had sinned, or of those who were sorrowing--if she could help rejoicing from beginning to end, it was as much as ought to be expected from human virtue at fourteen.

  As nothing was really left for the decision of Mrs. Price, or the good offices of Rebecca, everything was rationally and duly accomplished, and the girls were ready for the morrow. The advantage of much sleep to prepare them for their journey was impossible. The cousin who was travelling towards them could hardly have less than visited their agitated spirits--one all happiness, the other all varying and indescribable perturbation.

  By eight in the morning Edmund was in the house. The girls heard his entrance from above, and Fanny went down. The idea of immediately seeing him, with the knowledge of what he must be suffering, brought back all her own first feelings. He so near her, and in misery. She was ready to sink as she entered the parlour. He was alone, and met her instantly; and she found herself pressed to his heart with only these words, just articulate, "My Fanny, my only sister; my only comfort now!" She could say nothing; nor for some minutes could he say more.

  He turned away to recover himself, and when he spoke again, though his voice still faltered, his manner shewed the wish of self-command, and the resolution of avoiding any farther allusion. "Have you breakfasted? When shall you be ready? Does Susan go?" were questions following each other rapidly. His great object was to be off as soon as possible. When Mansfield was considered, time was precious; and the state of his own mind made him find relief only in motion. It was settled that he should order the carriage to the door in half an hour. Fanny answered for their having breakfasted and being quite ready in half an hour. He had already ate, and declined staying for their meal. He would walk round the ramparts, and join them with the carriage. He was gone again; glad to get away even from Fanny.

  He looked very ill; evidently suffering under violent emotions, which he was determined to suppress. She knew it must be so, but it was terrible to her.

  The carriage came; and he entered the house again at the same moment, just in time to spend a few minutes with the family, and be a witness--but that he saw nothing-- of the tranquil manner in which the daughters were parted with, and just in time to prevent their sitting down to the breakfast-table, which, by dint of much unusual activity, was quite and completely ready as the carriage drove from the door. Fanny's last meal in her father's house was in character with her first: she was dismissed from it as hospitably as she had been welcomed.

  How her heart swelled with joy and gratitude as she passed the barriers of Portsmouth, and how Susan's face wore its broadest smiles, may be easily conceived. Sitting forwards, however, and screened by her bonnet, those smiles were unseen.

  The journey was likely to be a silent one. Edmund's deep sighs often reached Fanny. Had he been alone with her, his heart must have opened in spite of every resolution; but Susan's presence drove him quite into himself, and his attempts to talk on indifferent subjects could never be long supported.

  Fanny watched him with never-failing solicitude, and sometimes catching his eye, revived an affectionate smile, which comforted her; but the first day's journey passed without her hearing a word from him on the subjects that were weighing him down. The next morning produced a little more. Just before their setting out from Oxford, while Susan was stationed at a window, in eager observation of the departure of a large family from the inn, the other two were standing by the fire; and Edmund, particularly struck by the alteration in Fanny's looks, and from his ignorance of the daily evils of her father's house, attributing an undue share of the change, attributing _all_ to the recent event, took her hand, and said in a low, but very expressive tone, "No wonder-- you must feel it--you must suffer. How a man who had once loved, could desert you! But _yours_--your regard was new compared with----Fanny, think of _me_!"

  The first division of their journey occupied a long day, and brought them, almost knocked up, to Oxford; but the second was over at a much earlier hour. They were in the environs of Mansfield long before the usual dinner-time, and as they approached the beloved place, the hearts of both sisters sank a little. Fanny began to dread the meeting with her aunts and Tom, under so dreadful a humiliation; and Susan to feel with some anxiety, that all her best manners, all her lately acquired knowledge of what was practised here, was on the point of being called into action. Visions of good and ill breeding, of old vulgarisms and new gentilities, were before her; and she was meditating much upon silver forks, napkins, and finger-glasses. Fanny had been everywhere awake to the difference of the country since February; but when they entered the Park her perceptions and her pleasures were of the keenest sort. It was three months, full three months, since her quitting it, and the change was from winter to summer. Her eye fell everywhere on lawns and plantations of the freshest green; and the trees, though not fully clothed, were in that delightful state when farther beauty is known to be at hand, and when, while much is actually given to the sight, more yet remains for the imagination. Her enjoyment, however, was for herself alone. Edmund could not share it. She looked at him, but he was leaning back, sunk in a deeper gloom than ever, and with eyes closed, as if the view of cheerfulness oppressed him, and the lovely scenes of home must be shut out.

  It made her melancholy again; and the knowledge of what must be enduring there, invested even the house, modern, airy, and well situated as it was, with a melancholy aspect.

  By one of the suffering party within they were expected with such impatience as she had never known before. Fanny had scarcely passed the solemn-looking servants, when Lady Bertram came from the drawing-room to meet her; came with no indolent step; and falling on her neck, said, "Dear Fanny! now I shall be comfortable.



　　范妮并不怀疑她的回信实在会让对方感到失望。她了解克劳福德小姐的脾气，估计她会再次催促她。虽然整整一个星期没再收到来信，但她仍然没有改变这个看法。恰在这时，信来了。
　　她一接到这封信，就能立即断定信写得不长，从外表上看，像是一封匆忙写就的事务信件。信的目的是毋庸置疑的。转眼间，她就料定是通知她他们当天就要来到朴次茅斯，不由得心中一阵慌乱，不知道该怎么办好。然而，如果说一转眼会带来什么难处的话，那再一转眼就会将难处驱散。她还没有打开信，就觉得克劳福德兄妹也许征得了她姨父的同意，于是又放下心来。信的内容如下：
　　我刚听到一个极其荒唐、极其恶毒的谣言，我写这封信，亲爱的范妮，就是为了告诫你，假如此言传到了乡下，请你丝毫不要相信。这里面肯定有误，过一两天就会水落石出。不管怎么说，亨利是一点错都没有。尽管一时不慎，他心里没有别人，只有你。请只字别提这件事——什么也不要听，什么也不要猜，什么也不要传，等我下次来信再说。我相信这件事不会张扬出去，只怪拉什沃思太蠢。如果他们已经走了，我敢担保他们只不过是去了曼斯菲尔德庄园，而且朱莉娅也和他们在一起。可你为什么不让我们来接你呢？但愿你不要为此而后悔。
　　
永远是你的      

　　范妮给吓得目瞪口呆。她没有听到什么荒唐、恶毒的谣言，因此也就看不大明白这封莫名其妙的信。她只能意识到，这件事必定与温普尔街和克劳福德先生有关。她只能猜测那个地方刚出了什么很不光彩的事，闹得沸沸扬扬，因而克劳福德小姐担心，她要是听说了，就会产生妒忌。其实，克劳福德小姐用不着替她担心。她只是替当事人和曼斯菲尔德感到难过，如果消息能传这么远的话，不过她希望不至于传这么远。从克劳福德小姐的话里推断，拉什沃思夫妇好像是自己到曼斯菲尔德去了，如果当真如此，在这之前就不该有什么不愉快的事情，至少不会引起人们的注意。
　　至于克劳福德先生，她希望这会使他了解自己的癖性，让他明白他对世上哪个女人都不会忠贞不渝，让他没有脸再来死乞白赖地纠缠她。
　　真是奇怪呀！她已开始觉得他真正在爱她，认为他对她的情意非同寻常——他妹妹还在说他心里没有别人。然而，他向她表姐献殷勤时肯定有些惹眼，肯定有很不检点的地方，不然的话，像克劳福德小姐这样的人还不会留意呢。
　　范妮坐卧不宁，而旦在她接到克劳福德小姐的下封信之前，这种状况还要继续下去。她无法把这封信从她脑际驱除出去，也不能找个人说一说，让心里轻松一些。克劳福德小姐用不着一个劲地叮嘱她保守秘密，她知道表姐的利害关系所在，克劳福德小姐完全可以相信她。
　　第二天来了，第二封信却没有来。范妮感到失望。整个上午，她都没有心思去想别的事情。但是，到了下午，等父亲像平常一样拿着报纸回到家里，她全然没有想到可以通过这个渠道了解一点情况，因而才一时把这件事忘却了。
　　她沉思起别的事情来，想起了她第一天晚上在这间屋里的情景，想起了父亲读报的情景。现在可不需要点蜡烛。太阳还要一个半小时才能沉落在地平线下。她觉得她在这里确实待了三个月了。强烈的阳光射进起居室里，不仅没给她带来喜悦，反而使她更加悲哀。她觉得城里的阳光与乡下的完全不同。在这里，太阳只是一种强光，一种令人窒息、令人生厌的强光，只会使原本沉睡的污秽和浊垢显现出来。城里的阳光既不能带来健康，也不能带来欢乐。她坐在灼人的刺目的阳光下，坐在飞舞的尘埃中，两眼看到的只是四堵墙壁和一张桌子，墙上有父亲的脑袋靠脏了的痕迹，桌上被弟弟们刻得坑坑洼洼，桌上的茶盘从来没有擦净过，杯子和碟子擦后留下条条污痕，牛奶上浮着一层薄薄的蓝色灰尘，涂有黄油的面包，丽贝卡刚做的时候，就沾上了她手上的油污，现在这油污时刻都在增加。茶还没沏好，父亲在读报，母亲像平时那样在唠叨那破地毯，抱怨丽贝卡也不补一补。这时候，父亲读到一段新闻，哼了一声，琢磨了一番，然后把范妮从出神中唤醒。“你城里的阔表姐家姓什么，范？”
　　范妮定了定神，答道：“拉什沃思，父亲。”
　　“他们是不是住在温普尔街？”
　　“是的，父亲。”
　　“那他们家可倒霉了，就是这么回事。瞧，（把报纸递给范妮）这些阔亲戚会给你带来许多好处。我不知道托马斯爵士怎样看待这样的事情。他也许做惯了侍臣和谦谦君子，不会不喜欢他女儿的。不过，凭上帝发誓，她要是我女儿的话，我要拿鞭子把她抽个够。不管是男是女，用鞭子抽一抽，是防这种事的最好办法。”
　　范妮念起报上的告示：“本报无比关切地向世人公布温普尔街拉先生家的一场婚姻闹剧。新婚不久、有望成为社交界女皇的美丽的拉太太，同拉先生的密友与同事、知名的风流人物克先生一起离开丈夫家出走。去向如何，连本报编辑也不得而知。”
　　“搞错了，父亲，”范妮马上说道。“肯定是搞错了——这不可能——肯定是说的别的什么人。”
　　她这样说是本能地想替当事人暂时遮遮丑，这是绝望中的挣扎，因为她说的话连她自己都不相信。她在读报时就已深信不会有错，因而感到大为震惊。事实像洪水一样向她袭来。她当时怎么能说出话来，甚至怎么能透过气来，她事后想起来都感到奇怪。
　　普莱斯先生并不怎么关心这条报道，因而没有多问女儿。“也可能全是谎言，”他说。“但是，如今有许许多多阔太太就这样毁了自己，对谁都不能打包票啊。”
　　“哦，我真希望没这回事儿，”普莱斯太太凄怆地说，“那该有多吓人啊！关于这条地毯的事儿，我对丽贝卡说了起码有十来次了。对吧，贝齐？她要是动手补一补，费不了她十分钟。”
　　范妮对这桩罪孽已深信不疑，并开始担心由此而来的不幸后果，这时候她心里惊恐到何种地步，那是无法用言语形容的。一开始，她处于一种目瞪口呆的状态。接着，她迅捷地认清了这桩丑事多么骇人听闻。她无法怀疑这段报道，不敢祈望这段报道是不实之词。克劳福德小姐的那封信她不知道看过多少遍，里边的每句话她都能记得滚瓜烂熟，那封信与这条消息内容相符到可怕的程度。她迫不及待地替她哥哥辩护，她希望这件事不要张扬，她显然为之忐忑不安，这一切都说明问题非常严重。如果世界上还有哪个良家女子能把这样的头等罪孽看做小事，试图轻描淡写地掩饰过去，想要使之免受惩罚，她相信克劳福德小姐就是这样一个人！范妮现在才明白她看信时理解错了，没有弄清楚谁走了，没有弄清信里说的是谁走了。不是拉什沃思夫妇俩一起走了，而是拉什沃思太太和克劳福德先生一起走了。
　　范妮觉得自己以前从未受过这么大的震惊。她完全不得安宁，晚上都沉浸在悲哀之中，夜里一时一刻也睡不着。她先是感觉难受，然后吓得颤抖；先是阵阵发烧，然后浑身发冷。这件事太骇人听闻了，她简直难以接受，有时甚至产生一种逆反心理，觉得绝不可能。女的才结婚六个月，男的自称倾心于甚至许诺要娶另一个女人——而这另一个女人还是那个女人的近亲——整个家族，两家人亲上加亲地联系在一起，彼此都是朋友，亲亲密密地在一起！这种猥杂不堪的罪孽，这种龌龊透顶的罪恶，实在令人作呕，人只要不是处于极端野蛮的状态，是绝对做不出来的！然而，她的理智告诉她，事实就是如此。男的感情漂浮不定，随着虚荣心摇摆，玛丽亚却对他一片痴情，加上双方都不十分讲究道德准则，于是就导致了事情的可能性——克劳福德小姐的来信印证了这一事实。
　　后果会怎么样呢？谁能不受到伤害呢？谁知道后能不为之震惊呢？谁能不为此而永远失去内心的平静呢？克劳福德小姐本人——埃德蒙。然而，照这个思路想下去也许是危险的。她限制自己，或者试图限制自己，去想那纯粹的、不容置疑的家庭不幸，如果这一罪孽得到证明，并且公诸于众，这种不幸必然把所有的人都席卷进去。姨妈的痛苦，姨父的痛苦——想到这里，她顿了顿。朱莉娅的痛苦，汤姆的痛苦，埃德蒙的痛苦——想到这里，她顿的时间更长。这件事对两个人的打击尤为惨重。托马斯爵士关心儿女，有着高度的荣誉感和道德观，埃德蒙为人正直，没有猜疑心，却有纯真强烈的感情，因而范妮觉得，在蒙受了这番耻辱之后，他们很难心安理得地生活下去。在她看来，仅就这个世界而言，对拉什沃思太太的亲人们来说，最大的福音就是立即毁灭。
　　第二天也好，第三天也好，都没发生任何事来缓解她的惊恐之情。来过两班邮车，都没带来辟谣性的消息，报上没有，私人信件上也没有。克劳福德小姐没有再来信解释清楚第一封信上的内容。曼斯菲尔德那里也杳无音信，虽说姨妈早该来信了。这是个不祥的征兆。她心里还真没有一丝可以感到欣慰的希望，整个人给折磨得情绪低落，面色苍白，浑身不住地发抖，这种状况，凡是做母亲的，除了普莱斯太太外，只要心肠不狠，是不会看不到的。就在这第三天，突然响起了令人揪心的敲门声，又一封信递到了她手里。信上盖着伦敦的邮戳，是埃德蒙写来的。
亲爱的范妮：
　　你知道我们目前的悲惨处境。愿上帝给你力量，使你能承受住你所分担的那份不幸。我们已经来了两天了，但却一筹莫展。无法查到他们的去向。你可能还没听说最后的一个打击——朱莉娅私奔了。她和耶茨跑到苏格兰去了。我们到伦敦的时候，她离开伦敦才几个小时。假如这件事发生在别的什么时候，我们会感到非常可怕。现在，这种事似乎算不了什么，然而却等于火上浇油。我父亲还没有被气倒。这就算不错了。他还能考虑问题，还能行动。他要我写信叫你回家。他急于让你回家照顾我母亲。我将在你收到这封信的第二天上午赶到朴次茅斯，望你做好准备，我一到即动身去曼斯菲尔德。我父亲希望你邀请苏珊一起去，住上几个月。事情由你决定，你认为该怎么办就怎么办。他在这样的时刻提出这样的建议，我想你一定会感到他是一番好意！虽然我还弄不明白他的意思，你要充分领会他的好意。我目前的状况你会想象到一二的。不幸的事情在源源不断地向我们袭来。我乘坐的邮车明天一早就会到达。
永远是你的      

　　范妮从来没像现在这样需要借助什么来提提精神。她从没感到有什么能像这封信这样令她兴奋。明天！明天就要离开朴次茅斯啦！就在众人一片悲伤的时候，她却担心自己极有可能喜不自禁。一场灾祸却给她带来了这么大的好处！她担心自己会对这场灾祸麻木不仁起来。这么快就要走了，这么亲切地来接她，接她回去安慰姨妈，还让她带上苏珊，这真是喜上加喜，令她心花怒放，一时间，种种痛苦似乎给抛到了脑后，连她最关心的那些人的痛苦，她也不能适当地加以分担了。朱莉娅的私奔相对来说，对她的影响不是很大。她为之惊愕，为之震撼，但并非总是萦绕心头，挥之不去。她不得不勉强自己去想，承认此事既可怕又可悲，不然，听说要她回去，光顾得激动、紧张、高兴，忙于做着动身的准备，也就会把它忘掉。
　　要想解除忧伤，最好的办法就是做事，主动地做些必需要做的事情。做事，甚至做不愉快的事，可以驱除忧郁，何况她要做的是令人高兴的事。她有许多事情要做，就连拉什沃思太太的私奔（现在已百分之百被证实了），也不像原先那样影响她的心情了。她没有时间悲伤。她希望在二十四小时之内离去。她得跟父母亲话别，得让苏珊有思想准备，样样都得准备好。事情一件接一件，一天的时间儿乎不够用。她也把这消息告诉了家人，他们个个兴高采烈，信中先前提到的不幸并没冲淡这份喜悦之情。对于苏珊跟她走，父母亲欣然同意，弟弟妹妹热烈拥护，苏珊自己欣喜若狂，这一切使她难以抑制愉快的心情。
　　伯特伦家发生的不幸，在普莱斯家并没引起多大的同情。普莱斯太太念叨了一阵她那可怜的姐姐，但她主要关心的是用什么东西来装苏珊的衣服，家里的箱子都给丽贝卡拿去弄坏了。至于苏珊，真没想到会遇到这样的大喜事，加上跟那些犯罪的人和伤心的人都素不相识，在这种情况下，她若是能有所克制，不是始终喜笑颜开的话，这对于一个十四岁姑娘来说，已是够难得的了。
　　由于没有什么事情需要普莱斯太太拿主意，也没有什么事情需要丽贝卡帮忙，一切都按要求准备得差不多了，两位姑娘就等着明天起程了。动身之前本该好好睡一夜，但两人却无法入睡。正在前来迎接她们的表哥，一直在撞击着她们激动不已的心怀，一个是满怀高兴，另一个是变化不定、不可名状的心绪不宁。
　　早晨八点，埃德蒙来到了普莱斯家。范妮听到后走下楼来。一想到相见在即，又知道他一定心里痛苦，她起初的悲伤又涌上了心头。埃德蒙近在眼前，满腹忧伤。她走进起居室时，眼看着要倒下去了。埃德蒙一个人在那里，立即迎上前来。范妮发觉他把她紧紧抱在怀里，只听他断断续续地说：“我的范妮——我唯一的妹妹—— 我现在唯一的安慰。”范妮一句话也说不出来，埃德蒙也久久说不出话来。
　　埃德蒙转过身去，想使自己平静下来。接着他又说话了，虽然声音仍在颤抖，他的神态表明他想克制自己，决心不再提发生的事情。“你们吃过早饭了吗？什么时候可以起程？苏珊去吗？”他一个紧接一个地问了几个问题。他的主要意图是尽快上路。一想到曼斯菲尔德，时间就宝贵起来了。他处于那样的心情，只有在动中求得宽慰。大家说定，他去叫车，半小时后赶到门口。范妮负责大家吃早饭，半小时内一切准备就绪。埃德蒙已经吃过饭了，不想待在屋里等他们吃饭。他要到大堤上去散散步，到时候跟着马车一块来接她们。他又走开了，甚至不惜离开范妮。
　　他气色很不好，显然忍受着剧烈的痛苦，而又决计加以抑制。范妮知道他必定如此，但这又使她感到可怕。
　　车来了。与此同时，埃德蒙又进到屋里，刚好可以和这一家人待一会，好看一看——不过什么也没看见——一家人送别两位姑娘时是多么无动于衷。由于今天情况特殊，有许多不寻常的活动，他进来时一家人刚要围着早餐桌就座。马车从门口驶走时，早餐才摆放齐全。范妮在父亲家最后一餐吃的东西，跟刚到时第一餐吃的完全一样。家里人送她走时像迎接她时那样，态度也完全相同。
　　马车驶出朴次茅斯的关卡时，范妮如何满怀喜悦和感激之情，苏珊如何笑逐颜开，这都不难想象。不过，苏珊坐在前面，而且有帽子遮着脸，她的笑容是看不见的。
　　这可能要成为一次沉闷的旅行。范妮常听到埃德蒙长吁短叹。假若只有他们两个人，他再怎么打定主意抑制自己，也会向她吐露苦衷的。但是，由于有苏珊在场，他不得不把自己的心事埋在心底，虽然也想讲点无关紧要的事情，可总也没有多少话好说。
　　范妮始终关切地注视着他，有时引起了他的注意，深情地朝她微微一笑，使她颇感欣慰。但是，第一天的旅途结束了，他却只字没有提起让他心情沮丧的事情。第二天早晨，他稍微说了一点。就在从牛津出发之前，苏珊待在窗口，聚精会神地观看一大家人离店上路，埃德蒙和范妮站在火炉附近。埃德蒙对范妮的面容变化深感不安。他不知道她父亲家里的日常生活多么艰苦，因此把她的变化主要归咎于、甚至完全归咎于最近发生的这件事。他抓住她的手，用很低的但意味深长的口气说道： “这也难怪——你一定会受到刺激——你一定会感到痛苦。一个曾经爱过你的人，怎么会抛弃你啊！不过，你的——你的感情投入比较起来时间还不算长——范妮，你想想我吧！”
　　他们的第一段路程走了整整一天，到达牛津的时候，几个人已经疲惫不堪。但是，第二天的行程结束得比头一天早得多。马车进入曼斯菲尔德郊野的时候，离平时吃正餐的时间还早着呢。随着渐渐临近那心爱的地方，姊妹俩的心情开始有点沉重。家里出了这样的奇耻大辱，范妮害怕跟姨妈和汤姆相见。苏珊心里有些紧张，觉得她的礼仪风度，她新近学来的这里的规矩，现在可要经受实践的考验了。她脑子里闪现出有教养和没教养的行为，闪现出以往的粗俗表现和新学来的文雅举止。她不断默默地想着银餐叉、餐巾和涮指杯。范妮一路上处处看到乡下的景色已与2月份离开时大不相同。但是，进入庄园之后，她的感受尤为深刻，她的喜悦之情也尤为强烈。她离开庄园已经三个月了，足足三个月了，时节由冬天变成了夏天，触目皆是翠绿的草地和种植园，林木虽然尚未浓叶蔽枝，但却秀色可餐，更加绮丽的姿容指日可待。景色纵然悦目，却也更加赏心。不过，她只是自得其乐，埃德蒙不能与她共赏。她望着他，可他靠在座位上，比先前更加郁郁不乐。他双眼紧闭，好像不堪这明媚的景色，他要把家乡的美景关在眼睑之外似的。
　　范妮心情又沉重起来。一想到家中的人们在忍受什么样的痛苦，就连这座时髦的、幽雅的、环境优美的大宅本身，也蒙上一层阴影。
　　家中愁苦的人们中间，有个人在望眼欲穿地等待他们，这是她未曾料到的。范妮刚从一本正经的仆人身边走过，伯特伦夫人就从客厅里走来迎接她。她一反平常懒洋洋的样子，赶上前来，搂住了她的脖子说：“亲爱的范妮呀！我这下可好受了。”　
  
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一二三四五六七~~~
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Chapter forty-five

  At about the week's end from his return to Mansfield, Tom's immediate danger was over, and he was so far pronounced safe as to make his mother perfectly easy; for being now used to the sight of him in his suffering, helpless state, and hearing only the best, and never thinking beyond what she heard, with no disposition for alarm and no aptitude at a hint, Lady Bertram was the happiest subject in the world for a little medical imposition. The fever was subdued; the fever had been his complaint; of course he would soon be well again. Lady Bertram could think nothing less, and Fanny shared her aunt's security, till she received a few lines from Edmund, written purposely to give her a clearer idea of his brother's situation, and acquaint her with the apprehensions which he and his father had imbibed from the physician with respect to some strong hectic symptoms, which seemed to seize the frame on the departure of the fever. They judged it best that Lady Bertram should not be harassed by alarms which, it was to be hoped, would prove unfounded; but there was no reason why Fanny should not know the truth. They were apprehensive for his lungs.

  A very few lines from Edmund shewed her the patient and the sickroom in a juster and stronger light than all Lady Bertram's sheets of paper could do. There was hardly any one in the house who might not have described, from personal observation, better than herself; not one who was not more useful at times to her son. She could do nothing but glide in quietly and look at him; but when able to talk or be talked to, or read to, Edmund was the companion he preferred. His aunt worried him by her cares, and Sir Thomas knew not how to bring down his conversation or his voice to the level of irritation and feebleness. Edmund was all in all. Fanny would certainly believe him so at least, and must find that her estimation of him was higher than ever when he appeared as the attendant, supporter, cheerer of a suffering brother. There was not only the debility of recent illness to assist: there was also, as she now learnt, nerves much affected, spirits much depressed to calm and raise, and her own imagination added that there must be a mind to be properly guided.

  The family were not consumptive, and she was more inclined to hope than fear for her cousin, except when she thought of Miss Crawford; but Miss Crawford gave her the idea of being the child of good luck, and to her selfishness and vanity it would be good luck to have Edmund the only son.

  Even in the sick chamber the fortunate Mary was not forgotten. Edmund's letter had this postscript. "On the subject of my last, I had actually begun a letter when called away by Tom's illness, but I have now changed my mind, and fear to trust the influence of friends. When Tom is better, I shall go."

  Such was the state of Mansfield, and so it continued, with scarcely any change, till Easter. A line occasionally added by Edmund to his mother's letter was enough for Fanny's information. Tom's amendment was alarmingly slow.

  Easter came particularly late this year, as Fanny had most sorrowfully considered, on first learning that she had no chance of leaving Portsmouth till after it. It came, and she had yet heard nothing of her return--nothing even of the going to London, which was to precede her return. Her aunt often expressed a wish for her, but there was no notice, no message from the uncle on whom all depended. She supposed he could not yet leave his son, but it was a cruel, a terrible delay to her. The end of April was coming on; it would soon be almost three months, instead of two, that she had been absent from them all, and that her days had been passing in a state of penance, which she loved them too well to hope they would thoroughly understand; and who could yet say when there might be leisure to think of or fetch her?

  Her eagerness, her impatience, her longings to be with them, were such as to bring a line or two of Cowper's Tirocinium for ever before her. "With what intense desire she wants her home," was continually on her tongue, as the truest description of a yearning which she could not suppose any schoolboy's bosom to feel more keenly.

  When she had been coming to Portsmouth, she had loved to call it her home, had been fond of saying that she was going home; the word had been very dear to her, and so it still was, but it must be applied to Mansfield. _That_ was now the home. Portsmouth was Portsmouth; Mansfield was home. They had been long so arranged in the indulgence of her secret meditations, and nothing was more consolatory to her than to find her aunt using the same language: "I cannot but say I much regret your being from home at this distressing time, so very trying to my spirits. I trust and hope, and sincerely wish you may never be absent from home so long again," were most delightful sentences to her. Still, however, it was her private regale. Delicacy to her parents made her careful not to betray such a preference of her uncle's house. It was always: "When I go back into Northamptonshire, or when I return to Mansfield, I shall do so and so." For a great while it was so, but at last the longing grew stronger, it overthrew caution, and she found herself talking of what she should do when she went home before she was aware. She reproached herself, coloured, and looked fearfully towards her father and mother. She need not have been uneasy. There was no sign of displeasure, or even of hearing her. They were perfectly free from any jealousy of Mansfield. She was as welcome to wish herself there as to be there.

  It was sad to Fanny to lose all the pleasures of spring. She had not known before what pleasures she _had_ to lose in passing March and April in a town. She had not known before how much the beginnings and progress of vegetation had delighted her. What animation, both of body and mind, she had derived from watching the advance of that season which cannot, in spite of its capriciousness, be unlovely, and seeing its increasing beauties from the earliest flowers in the warmest divisions of her aunt's garden, to the opening of leaves of her uncle's plantations, and the glory of his woods. To be losing such pleasures was no trifle; to be losing them, because she was in the midst of closeness and noise, to have confinement, bad air, bad smells, substituted for liberty, freshness, fragrance, and verdure, was infinitely worse: but even these incitements to regret were feeble, compared with what arose from the conviction of being missed by her best friends, and the longing to be useful to those who were wanting her!

  Could she have been at home, she might have been of service to every creature in the house. She felt that she must have been of use to all. To all she must have saved some trouble of head or hand; and were it only in supporting the spirits of her aunt Bertram, keeping her from the evil of solitude, or the still greater evil of a restless, officious companion, too apt to be heightening danger in order to enhance her own importance, her being there would have been a general good. She loved to fancy how she could have read to her aunt, how she could have talked to her, and tried at once to make her feel the blessing of what was, and prepare her mind for what might be; and how many walks up and down stairs she might have saved her, and how many messages she might have carried.

  It astonished her that Tom's sisters could be satisfied with remaining in London at such a time, through an illness which had now, under different degrees of danger, lasted several weeks. _They_ might return to Mansfield when they chose; travelling could be no difficulty to _them_, and she could not comprehend how both could still keep away. If Mrs. Rushworth could imagine any interfering obligations, Julia was certainly able to quit London whenever she chose. It appeared from one of her aunt's letters that Julia had offered to return if wanted, but this was all. It was evident that she would rather remain where she was.

  Fanny was disposed to think the influence of London very much at war with all respectable attachments. She saw the proof of it in Miss Crawford, as well as in her cousins; _her_ attachment to Edmund had been respectable, the most respectable part of her character; her friendship for herself had at least been blameless. Where was either sentiment now? It was so long since Fanny had had any letter from her, that she had some reason to think lightly of the friendship which had been so dwelt on. It was weeks since she had heard anything of Miss Crawford or of her other connexions in town, except through Mansfield, and she was beginning to suppose that she might never know whether Mr. Crawford had gone into Norfolk again or not till they met, and might never hear from his sister any more this spring, when the following letter was received to revive old and create some new sensations--

"Forgive me, my dear Fanny, as soon as you can, for my long silence, and behave as if you could forgive me directly. This is my modest request and expectation, for you are so good, that I depend upon being treated better than I deserve, and I write now to beg an immediate answer. I want to know the state of things at Mansfield Park, and you, no doubt, are perfectly able to give it. One should be a brute not to feel for the distress they are in; and from what I hear, poor Mr. Bertram has a bad chance of ultimate recovery. I thought little of his illness at first. I looked upon him as the sort of person to be made a fuss with, and to make a fuss himself in any trifling disorder, and was chiefly concerned for those who had to nurse him; but now it is confidently asserted that he is really in a decline, that the symptoms are most alarming, and that part of the family, at least, are aware of it. If it be so, I am sure you must be included in that part, that discerning part, and therefore entreat you to let me know how far I have been rightly informed. I need not say how rejoiced I shall be to hear there has been any mistake, but the report is so prevalent that I confess I cannot help trembling. To have such a fine young man cut off in the flower of his days is most melancholy. Poor Sir Thomas will feel it dreadfully. I really am quite agitated on the subject. Fanny, Fanny, I see you smile and look cunning, but, upon my honour, I never bribed a physician in my life. Poor young man! If he is to die, there will be _two_ poor young men less in the world; and with a fearless face and bold voice would I say to any one, that wealth and consequence could fall into no hands more deserving of them. It was a foolish precipitation last Christmas, but the evil of a few days may be blotted out in part. Varnish and gilding hide many stains. It will be but the loss of the Esquire after his name. With real affection, Fanny, like mine, more might be overlooked. Write to me by return of post, judge of my anxiety, and do not trifle with it. Tell me the real truth, as you have it from the fountainhead. And now, do not trouble yourself to be ashamed of either my feelings or your own. Believe me, they are not only natural, they are philanthropic and virtuous. I put it to your conscience, whether 'Sir Edmund' would not do more good with all the Bertram property than any other possible 'Sir.' Had the Grants been at home I would not have troubled you, but you are now the only one I can apply to for the truth, his sisters not being within my reach. Mrs. R. has been spending the Easter with the Aylmers at Twickenham (as to be sure you know), and is not yet returned; and Julia is with the cousins who live near Bedford Square, but I forget their name and street. Could I immediately apply to either, however, I should still prefer you, because it strikes me that they have all along been so unwilling to have their own amusements cut up, as to shut their eyes to the truth. I suppose Mrs. R.'s Easter holidays will not last much longer; no doubt they are thorough holidays to her. The Aylmers are pleasant people; and her husband away, she can have nothing but enjoyment. I give her credit for promoting his going dutifully down to Bath, to fetch his mother; but how will she and the dowager agree in one house? Henry is not at hand, so I have nothing to say from him. Do not you think Edmund would have been in town again long ago, but for this illness?--
Yours ever, Mary."    


  "I had actually begun folding my letter when Henry walked in, but he brings no intelligence to prevent my sending it. Mrs. R. knows a decline is apprehended; he saw her this morning: she returns to Wimpole Street to-day; the old lady is come. Now do not make yourself uneasy with any queer fancies because he has been spending a few days at Richmond. He does it every spring. Be assured he cares for nobody but you. At this very moment he is wild to see you, and occupied only in contriving the means for doing so, and for making his pleasure conduce to yours. In proof, he repeats, and more eagerly, what he said at Portsmouth about our conveying you home, and I join him in it with all my soul. Dear Fanny, write directly, and tell us to come. It will do us all good. He and I can go to the Parsonage, you know, and be no trouble to our friends at Mansfield Park. It would really be gratifying to see them all again, and a little addition of society might be of infinite use to them; and as to yourself, you must feel yourself to be so wanted there, that you cannot in conscience--conscientious as you are-- keep away, when you have the means of returning. I have not time or patience to give half Henry's messages; be satisfied that the spirit of each and every one is unalterable affection."

  Fanny's disgust at the greater part of this letter, with her extreme reluctance to bring the writer of it and her cousin Edmund together, would have made her (as she felt) incapable of judging impartially whether the concluding offer might be accepted or not. To herself, individually, it was most tempting. To be finding herself, perhaps within three days, transported to Mansfield, was an image of the greatest felicity, but it would have been a material drawback to be owing such felicity to persons in whose feelings and conduct, at the present moment, she saw so much to condemn: the sister's feelings, the brother's conduct, _her_ cold-hearted ambition, _his_ thoughtless vanity. To have him still the acquaintance, the flirt perhaps, of Mrs. Rushworth! She was mortified. She had thought better of him. Happily, however, she was not left to weigh and decide between opposite inclinations and doubtful notions of right; there was no occasion to determine whether she ought to keep Edmund and Mary asunder or not. She had a rule to apply to, which settled everything. Her awe of her uncle, and her dread of taking a liberty with him, made it instantly plain to her what she had to do. She must absolutely decline the proposal. If he wanted, he would send for her; and even to offer an early return was a presumption which hardly anything would have seemed to justify. She thanked Miss Crawford, but gave a decided negative. "Her uncle, she understood, meant to fetch her; and as her cousin's illness had continued so many weeks without her being thought at all necessary, she must suppose her return would be unwelcome at present, and that she should be felt an encumbrance."

  Her representation of her cousin's state at this time was exactly according to her own belief of it, and such as she supposed would convey to the sanguine mind of her correspondent the hope of everything she was wishing for. Edmund would be forgiven for being a clergyman, it seemed, under certain conditions of wealth; and this, she suspected, was all the conquest of prejudice which he was so ready to congratulate himself upon. She had only learnt to think nothing of consequence but money.



　　汤姆被接回曼斯菲尔德后，大约过了一个星期，死亡的危险过去了，大夫说他平安无事了，他母亲也就完全放心了。伯特伦夫人已经看惯了儿子那痛苦不堪、卧床不起的样子，听到的完全是吉祥话，从不往人家的话外去想，加上生性不会惊慌，不会领会弦外之音，因而医生稍微一哄，她就成了世界上最快活的人。烧退了。他的病本来就是发烧引起的，自然要不了多久就会康复。伯特伦夫人觉得没事了，范妮也跟姨妈一样乐观。后来，她收到了埃德蒙的一封信，信里只有寥寥几行，是专门向她说明他哥哥的病情的，说汤姆烧退之后出现了一些明显的痨病症状，并把他和父亲从医生那里听来的看法告诉了她。他们认为医生的疑虑也许没有根据，最好不要让伯特伦夫人受此虚惊。但是，没有理由不让范妮知道真情。他们在担心他的肺。
　　埃德蒙只用寥寥几行，就向她说明了病人及病室的情况，比伯特伦夫人满满几页纸写得还要清楚，还要准确。在曼斯菲尔德大宅里，谁都能根据自己的观察把情况说得比她更清楚，谁都能比她对她的儿子更有用。她什么都干不了，只会悄悄地进去看看他。不过，当他能说话，能听人说话，或者能让人给他读书的时候，他都愿意让埃德蒙陪他。大姨妈问长问短使他心烦，托马斯爵士说起话来也不会低声细语的，让心情烦躁、身体虚弱的人好受一些。埃德蒙成了他最需要的人。范妮对此当然是置信不疑的，又见他那样关照、服侍、安慰病中的哥哥，肯定会对他更加敬重。他哥哥不仅身体虚弱需要照料，她现在才知道他的神经也受到很大刺激，情绪非常低沉，需要抚慰和鼓励。而且她还想象得到，他的思想需要正确的引导。
　　这一家人没有肺病的家史，范妮虽然也为表哥担心，但总觉得他会好的——只是想到克劳福德小姐的时候，心里就不那么踏实了。她觉得克劳福德小姐是个幸运的宠儿，上天为了满足她的自私和虚荣，会让埃德蒙成为独子。
　　即使待在病榻前，埃德蒙也没有忘掉幸运的玛丽，他在信的附言中写道：“对于我上封信里谈到的那个问题，我其实已动笔写信了，但是汤姆一生病，我就搁笔去看他了。不过，我现在又改变了主意。我担心朋友们的影响。等汤姆好转后，我还要去一趟。”
　　曼斯菲尔德就是处于这样一种状况，直到复活节，这种状况一直没有什么变化。母亲写信时埃德蒙附上一句，就足以让范妮了解那里的状况。汤姆的好转慢得惊人。
　　复活节来到了——范妮最初听说她要过了复活节才有可能离开朴次茅斯，因而极其可悲地感到，今年的夏活节来得特别迟。复活节总算到了，可她仍然没有听到要她回去的消息——甚至也没听到姨父要去伦敦的消息，而姨父的伦敦之行是接她回去的前提。姨妈常常表示盼她回去，但是起决定作用的是姨父，他可没有发话，也没有来信。范妮估计他离不开他的大儿子，可这样耽搁下去，对她来说却是残酷的、可怕的。4月就要结束了，她离开他们大家，到这里来过这清苦的生活，差不多快三个月了，而不是原来说的两个月。她只是因为爱他们，才不想让他们完全了解她的状况。谁能说得上他们什么时候才能顾得考虑她，顾得来接她呢？
　　她迫不及待地想要回到他们身边，心里无时无刻不在想着考珀《学童》里的诗句，嘴里总是念叨着“她多么渴望回到自己的家”。这句诗充分表达了她的思家之情，她觉得哪个小学生也不会像她这样归心似箭。
　　她动身前来朴次茅斯的时候，还乐意把这里称做她的家，喜欢说她是在回自己的家。当时，“家”这个字眼对她来说是非常亲切的。现在，这个字眼依然是亲切的，但它指的却是曼斯菲尔德。现在，那才是她的家。朴次茅斯就是朴次茅斯，曼斯菲尔德才是家。她在沉思默想中早就抱定了这样的观念。见姨妈在信里也采用了同样的说法，她心里感到莫大的欣慰。“我不能不告诉你，在这令人焦心的时刻你不在家，我感到非常遗憾，精神上很难忍受。我相信而且希望，真诚地希望你再也不要离家这么久了。”这是她最爱读的语句。不过，她对曼斯菲尔德的眷恋只能藏在心里。她出于对父母的体谅，总是小心翼翼，免得流露出对姨父家的偏爱。她总这样说：“等我回到北安普敦，或者回到曼斯菲尔德，我会如何如何。”她如此提防了很长时间，但是思归之心越来越强烈，终于失去了警惕，不知不觉地谈起了回到家里该怎么办。她感到内疚，满面羞愧，忐忑不安地看着父母。她用不着担心。父母丝毫没有不高兴的迹象，甚至像是压根儿没听见她的话。他们对曼斯菲尔德丝毫也不嫉妒。她想去那里也好，回到那里也好，一概由她。
　　对于范妮来说，不能领略春天的乐趣是颇为遗憾的。以前她不知道在城里度过3月和4月会失去什么样的乐趣。以前她还不知道草木吐绿生翠给她带来多大的喜悦。乡下的春季虽然也变幻莫测，但景色总是十分宜人，观察它行进的脚步，欣赏它与日俱增的美姿，从姨妈花园多阳地区早绽的花朵，到姨父种植场及树林里的枝繁叶茂，这一切曾使她身心为之振奋。失去这样的乐趣本来就是不小的损失，而她又生活在狭窄、喧闹的环境中，感受的不是自由自在的生活、新鲜的空气、百花的芬芳、草木的青翠，而是囚禁似的日子、污浊的空气、难闻的气息，这就越发糟糕透顶。但是，比起惦记最好的朋友对自己的思念，以及渴望为需要自己的人做些有益的事来，就连这些憾事也微不足道了！
　　她若是待在家里的话，就会对家里的每个人都有所帮助。她觉得人人都会用得着她。她肯定会给每个人分担一点忧愁，或者出上一份力气。单就给伯特伦姨妈带来精神鼓舞来说，有她在场也大有好处，她可以帮她消除寂寞，更重要的是，可以使她摆脱一个焦躁不安、好管闲事、为了突出自己而喜欢夸大危险的伙伴。她喜欢设想自己怎样给姨妈读书，怎样陪姨妈说话，既要使她感到现实生活的快乐，又要使她对可能的事情做好精神准备，她可以让她少上楼下楼多少次，可以上上下下送多少次信。
　　她感到惊奇的是，汤姆在程度不同的危险中病了几个星期，他的两个妹妹居然能心安理得地待在伦敦不回家。她们想什么时候回曼斯菲尔德都可以，旅行对她们来说没有什么难的，她无法理解她们两人为什么还不回家。如果拉什沃斯太太还可以设想有事脱不开身，朱莉娅肯定可以随对离开伦敦吧。姨妈在一封来信中说过，朱莉娅曾表示如果要她回去她可以回去，但也仅是说说而已。显然，她宁愿待在原地不动。
　　范妮觉得，伦敦对人的感染与美好的情愫是格格不入的。她发现，不仅两位表姐的情况证明了这一点，克劳福德小姐的情况也证明了这一点。她对埃德蒙的钟情原本是可贵的，那是她品格上最为可贵的一点，她对她自己的友情至少也无可指摘。现在她这两份感情都跑到哪里去了？范妮已经很长时间没有收到她的信了，她有理由怀疑她过去大谈特谈的友情。几个星期以来，除了从曼斯菲尔德的来信中得知一点情况外，她一直没有听到过克劳福德小姐及其亲友们的消息。她开始感到她跟克劳福德先生除非再相见，否则永远不会知道他是否又去了诺福克。她还认为今年春天她再也不会收到他妹妹的来信了。就在这时候，她收到了如下的一封信，不仅唤起了旧情，而且激起了几分新情：
　　亲爱的范妮，很久没有给你写信了，恳请见谅，并望表现大度一些，能立即原谅我。这是我并不过分的要求和期待，因为你心肠好，不管我配不配，你都会对我好的。我这次写信请求你马上给个回音。我想了解曼斯菲尔德庄园的情况，你肯定能告诉我。他们如此不幸，谁要是无动于衷，那就太冷酷无情了。我听说，可怜的伯特伦先生最终很难康复。起初我没把他的病放在心上。我觉得像他这样的人，随便生个什么小病，都会引起别人大惊小怪，他自己也会大惊小怪，所以我主要关心的是那些照料他的人。可现在人们一口断定，他的确是每况愈下，病情极为严重，家中至少有几个人意识到了这一点。如果真是如此，我想你一定是了解实情的几个人之一，因此恳请你让我知道，我得到的消息有几分是正确的。我无须说明倘若听说消息有误，我会多么的高兴，可是消息传得沸沸杨扬，我不禁为之战栗。这么仪表堂堂的一个年轻人，在风华正茂的时候撒手人世，真是万分不幸。可怜的托马斯爵士将会多么悲痛。我真为这件事深感不安。范妮，范妮，我看见你在笑，眼里闪烁着狡黠的目光，不过说实话，我这一辈子可从来没有收买过医生。可怜的年轻人啊！他要是死去的话，世界会少掉两个可怜的年轻人①（译注：①意指“可怜的汤姆”死去后，“可怜的埃德蒙”将成为家产和爵士称号继承人，变得不再可怜。），我就会面无惧色、理直气壮地对任何人说，财富和门第将会落到一个最配享有的人手里。去年圣诞节他一时鲁莽做了蠢事②（译注：②指埃德蒙做了牧师。），但只不过是几天的错误，在一定程度上是可以抹掉的。虚饰和假象可以掩盖许多污点。他只会失去他名字后边的“先生”③（译注：③意指换成“爵士”头衔。）。范妮，有了我这样的真情，再多的缺点我也不去计较。望你立即写信，赶原班邮车发出。请理解我焦急的心情，不要不当一回事。把你从曼斯菲尔德来信中得来的实情原原本本告诉我。现在，你用不着为我的想法或你的想法感到羞愧。请相信我，你我的想法不仅是合乎常情的，而且是仁慈的，合乎道德的。请你平心而论，“埃德蒙爵士”掌管了伯特伦家的全部财产，是否会比别人当上这个爵士做更多的好事。如果格兰特夫妇在家，我就不会麻烦你，可我现在只能向你打听实情，跟他两个妹妹又联系不上。拉什沃思太太到特威克纳姆和艾尔默一家人一起过复活节了（这你肯定知道），现在还没有回来。朱莉娅到贝德福德广场附近的亲戚家去了，可我不记得他们的姓名和他们住的街名。不过，即使我能马上向她们中的哪一个打听实情，我仍然情愿问你，因为我觉得，她们一直不愿中断她们的寻欢作乐，对实情也就闭目不见。我想，拉什沃思太太的复活节假要不了多久就会结束，这无疑是她彻底休息的假日。艾尔默夫妇都挺讨人喜欢，丈夫不在家，妻子便尽情玩乐。她敦促他尽孝道去巴斯把他母亲接来，这事值得赞扬。但是，她和那老寡妇住在一起能和睦相处吗？亨利不在跟前，因此我不知道他要说些什么。埃德蒙若不是因为哥哥生病，早该又来到了伦敦，难道你不这样认为吗？
　　
你永久的朋友玛丽      

　　我刚开始叠信，亨利就进来了。但是他没带来什么消息，并不妨碍我发这封信。据拉什沃思太太说，伯特伦先生的状况怕是越来越糟。亨利是今天上午见到她的，她今天回到了温普尔街，因为老夫人已经来了。你不要胡乱猜疑，感觉不安，因为他在里士满住了几天。他每年春天都要去那里住几天的。你放心，除了你以外，他把谁都不放在心上。在此时刻，他望眼欲穿地就想见到你，整天忙着筹划如何跟你见面，如何使他的快乐有助于促进你的快乐。有例为证，他把他在朴次茅斯讲过的话又重复了一遍，而且讲得更加情真意切，说是要把你接回家，我也竭诚地支持他。亲爱的范妮，马上写信，让我们去接你。这对我们大家都有好处。你知道亨利和我可以住在牧师府，不会给曼斯菲尔德庄园的朋友们带来麻烦。真想再见到他们一家人，多两个人和他们来往，这对他们也会大有好处。至于你自己，你要知道那里多么需要你，在你有办法回去的时候，凭良心也不能不回（当然你是讲良心的）。亨利要我转告的话很多，我没有时间也没有耐心一一转述。请你相信：他要说的每句话的中心意思，是坚定不移的爱。
　　范妮对这封信的大部分内容感到厌倦，她极不愿意把写信人和埃德蒙表哥扯到一起，因而也不能公正地判断信的末尾提出的建议是否可以接受。对她个人来说，这个建议很有诱惑力。她也许三天内就能回到曼斯菲尔德，这该是无比幸福的事。但是，一想这幸福要归功于这样两个人，这两个人目前在思想行为上有许多地方应该受到谴责，因而这幸福就要大打折扣。妹妹的思想，哥哥的行为——妹妹冷酷无情，野心勃勃；哥哥损人利己，图谋虚荣。他也许还在跟拉什沃思太太厮混调情，再和他好，那对她岂不是耻辱！她还以为他有所转变。然而，所幸的是，她并不需要在两种相反的意愿和两种拿不准的观念之间加以权衡，做出抉择。没有必要去断定她是否应该让埃德蒙和玛丽继续人分两地。她只要诉诸一条规则，就万事大吉了。她惧怕她姨父，不敢对他随便，就凭着这两点，她当即明白她应该怎么办。她必须断然拒绝这个建议。姨父若是想让她回去，是会派人来接她的。她自己即使提出早点回去，那也是没有正当理由的自行其是。她向克劳福德小姐表示感谢，但却坚决回绝了她。“据我所知，我姨父要来接我。我表哥病了这么多个星期家里都不需要我，我想我现在回去是不受欢迎的，大家反而会觉得是个累赘。”
　　她根据自己的见解报道了大表哥的病情，估计心性乐观的克劳福德小姐读过之后，会觉得自己所追求的东西样样有了希望。看来，在钱财有望的条件下，埃德蒙当牧师一事将会得到宽恕。她怀疑，对埃德蒙的偏见就是这样克服的，而他还要因此而谢天谢地。克劳福德小姐只知道金钱，别的一概无足轻重。　
  
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一二三四五六七~~~
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Chapter forty-four

  Seven weeks of the two months were very nearly gone, when the one letter, the letter from Edmund, so long expected, was put into Fanny's hands. As she opened, and saw its length, she prepared herself for a minute detail of happiness and a profusion of love and praise towards the fortunate creature who was now mistress of his fate. These were the contents--

"My Dear Fanny,
--Excuse me that I have not written before. Crawford told me that you were wishing to hear from me, but I found it impossible to write from London, and persuaded myself that you would understand my silence. Could I have sent a few happy lines, they should not have been wanting, but nothing of that nature was ever in my power. I am returned to Mansfield in a less assured state that when I left it. My hopes are much weaker. You are probably aware of this already. So very fond of you as Miss Crawford is, it is most natural that she should tell you enough of her own feelings to furnish a tolerable guess at mine. I will not be prevented, however, from making my own communication. Our confidences in you need not clash. I ask no questions. There is something soothing in the idea that we have the same friend, and that whatever unhappy differences of opinion may exist between us, we are united in our love of you. It will be a comfort to me to tell you how things now are, and what are my present plans, if plans I can be said to have. I have been returned since Saturday. I was three weeks in London, and saw her (for London) very often. I had every attention from the Frasers that could be reasonably expected. I dare say I was not reasonable in carrying with me hopes of an intercourse at all like that of Mansfield. It was her manner, however, rather than any unfrequency of meeting. Had she been different when I did see her, I should have made no complaint, but from the very first she was altered: my first reception was so unlike what I had hoped, that I had almost resolved on leaving London again directly. I need not particularise. You know the weak side of her character, and may imagine the sentiments and expressions which were torturing me. She was in high spirits, and surrounded by those who were giving all the support of their own bad sense to her too lively mind. I do not like Mrs. Fraser. She is a cold-hearted, vain woman, who has married entirely from convenience, and though evidently unhappy in her marriage, places her disappointment not to faults of judgment, or temper, or disproportion of age, but to her being, after all, less affluent than many of her acquaintance, especially than her sister, Lady Stornaway, and is the determined supporter of everything mercenary and ambitious, provided it be only mercenary and ambitious enough. I look upon her intimacy with those two sisters as the greatest misfortune of her life and mine. They have been leading her astray for years. Could she be detached from them!-- and sometimes I do not despair of it, for the affection appears to me principally on their side. They are very fond of her; but I am sure she does not love them as she loves you. When I think of her great attachment to you, indeed, and the whole of her judicious, upright conduct as a sister, she appears a very different creature, capable of everything noble, and I am ready to blame myself for a too harsh construction of a playful manner. I cannot give her up, Fanny. She is the only woman in the world whom I could ever think of as a wife. If I did not believe that she had some regard for me, of course I should not say this, but I do believe it. I am convinced that she is not without a decided preference. I have no jealousy of any individual. It is the influence of the fashionable world altogether that I am jealous of. It is the habits of wealth that I fear. Her ideas are not higher than her own fortune may warrant, but they are beyond what our incomes united could authorise. There is comfort, however, even here. I could better bear to lose her because not rich enough, than because of my profession. That would only prove her affection not equal to sacrifices, which, in fact, I am scarcely justified in asking; and, if I am refused, that, I think, will be the honest motive. Her prejudices, I trust, are not so strong as they were. You have my thoughts exactly as they arise, my dear Fanny; perhaps they are sometimes contradictory, but it will not be a less faithful picture of my mind. Having once begun, it is a pleasure to me to tell you all I feel. I cannot give her up. Connected as we already are, and, I hope, are to be, to give up Mary Crawford would be to give up the society of some of those most dear to me; to banish myself from the very houses and friends whom, under any other distress, I should turn to for consolation. The loss of Mary I must consider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and of Fanny. Were it a decided thing, an actual refusal, I hope I should know how to bear it, and how to endeavour to weaken her hold on my heart, and in the course of a few years-- but I am writing nonsense. Were I refused, I must bear it; and till I am, I can never cease to try for her. This is the truth. The only question is _how_? What may be the likeliest means? I have sometimes thought of going to London again after Easter, and sometimes resolved on doing nothing till she returns to Mansfield. Even now, she speaks with pleasure of being in Mansfield in June; but June is at a great distance, and I believe I shall write to her. I have nearly determined on explaining myself by letter. To be at an early certainty is a material object. My present state is miserably irksome. Considering everything, I think a letter will be decidedly the best method of explanation. I shall be able to write much that I could not say, and shall be giving her time for reflection before she resolves on her answer, and I am less afraid of the result of reflection than of an immediate hasty impulse; I think I am. My greatest danger would lie in her consulting Mrs. Fraser, and I at a distance unable to help my own cause. A letter exposes to all the evil of consultation, and where the mind is anything short of perfect decision, an adviser may, in an unlucky moment, lead it to do what it may afterwards regret. I must think this matter over a little. This long letter, full of my own concerns alone, will be enough to tire even the friendship of a Fanny. The last time I saw Crawford was at Mrs. Fraser's party. I am more and more satisfied with all that I see and hear of him. There is not a shadow of wavering. He thoroughly knows his own mind, and acts up to his resolutions: an inestimable quality. I could not see him and my eldest sister in the same room without recollecting what you once told me, and I acknowledge that they did not meet as friends. There was marked coolness on her side. They scarcely spoke. I saw him draw back surprised, and I was sorry that Mrs. Rushworth should resent any former supposed slight to Miss Bertram. You will wish to hear my opinion of Maria's degree of comfort as a wife. There is no appearance of unhappiness. I hope they get on pretty well together. I dined twice in Wimpole Street, and might have been there oftener, but it is mortifying to be with Rushworth as a brother. Julia seems to enjoy London exceedingly. I had little enjoyment there, but have less here. We are not a lively party. You are very much wanted. I miss you more than I can express. My mother desires her best love, and hopes to hear from you soon. She talks of you almost every hour, and I am sorry to find how many weeks more she is likely to be without you. My father means to fetch you himself, but it will not be till after Easter, when he has business in town. You are happy at Portsmouth, I hope, but this must not be a yearly visit. I want you at home, that I may have your opinion about Thornton Lacey. I have little heart for extensive improvements till I know that it will ever have a mistress. I think I shall certainly write. It is quite settled that the Grants go to Bath; they leave Mansfield on Monday. I am glad of it. I am not comfortable enough to be fit for anybody; but your aunt seems to feel out of luck that such an article of Mansfield news should fall to my pen instead of hers.--
Yours ever, my dearest Fanny."          


  "I never will, no, I certainly never will wish for a letter again," was Fanny's secret declaration as she finished this. "What do they bring but disappointment and sorrow? Not till after Easter! How shall I bear it? And my poor aunt talking of me every hour!"

  Fanny checked the tendency of these thoughts as well as she could, but she was within half a minute of starting the idea that Sir Thomas was quite unkind, both to her aunt and to herself. As for the main subject of the letter, there was nothing in that to soothe irritation. She was almost vexed into displeasure and anger against Edmund. "There is no good in this delay," said she. "Why is not it settled? He is blinded, and nothing will open his eyes; nothing can, after having had truths before him so long in vain. He will marry her, and be poor and miserable. God grant that her influence do not make him cease to be respectable!" She looked over the letter again. "'So very fond of me!' 'tis nonsense all. She loves nobody but herself and her brother. Her friends leading her astray for years! She is quite as likely to have led _them_ astray. They have all, perhaps, been corrupting one another; but if they are so much fonder of her than she is of them, she is the less likely to have been hurt, except by their flattery. 'The only woman in the world whom he could ever think of as a wife.' I firmly believe it. It is an attachment to govern his whole life. Accepted or refused, his heart is wedded to her for ever. 'The loss of Mary I must consider as comprehending the loss of Crawford and Fanny.' Edmund, you do not know me. The families would never be connected if you did not connect them! Oh! write, write. Finish it at once. Let there be an end of this suspense. Fix, commit, condemn yourself."

  Such sensations, however, were too near akin to resentment to be long guiding Fanny's soliloquies. She was soon more softened and sorrowful. His warm regard, his kind expressions, his confidential treatment, touched her strongly. He was only too good to everybody. It was a letter, in short, which she would not but have had for the world, and which could never be valued enough. This was the end of it.

  Everybody at all addicted to letter-writing, without having much to say, which will include a large proportion of the female world at least, must feel with Lady Bertram that she was out of luck in having such a capital piece of Mansfield news as the certainty of the Grants going to Bath, occur at a time when she could make no advantage of it, and will admit that it must have been very mortifying to her to see it fall to the share of her thankless son, and treated as concisely as possible at the end of a long letter, instead of having it to spread over the largest part of a page of her own. For though Lady Bertram rather shone in the epistolary line, having early in her marriage, from the want of other employment, and the circumstance of Sir Thomas's being in Parliament, got into the way of making and keeping correspondents, and formed for herself a very creditable, common-place, amplifying style, so that a very little matter was enough for her: she could not do entirely without any; she must have something to write about, even to her niece; and being so soon to lose all the benefit of Dr. Grant's gouty symptoms and Mrs. Grant's morning calls, it was very hard upon her to be deprived of one of the last epistolary uses she could put them to.

  There was a rich amends, however, preparing for her. Lady Bertram's hour of good luck came. Within a few days from the receipt of Edmund's letter, Fanny had one from her aunt, beginning thus--

"My Dear Fanny,
--I take up my pen to communicate some very alarming intelligence, which I make no doubt will give you much concern".


  This was a great deal better than to have to take up the pen to acquaint her with all the particulars of the Grants' intended journey, for the present intelligence was of a nature to promise occupation for the pen for many days to come, being no less than the dangerous illness of her eldest son, of which they had received notice by express a few hours before.

  Tom had gone from London with a party of young men to Newmarket, where a neglected fall and a good deal of drinking had brought on a fever; and when the party broke up, being unable to move, had been left by himself at the house of one of these young men to the comforts of sickness and solitude, and the attendance only of servants. Instead of being soon well enough to follow his friends, as he had then hoped, his disorder increased considerably, and it was not long before he thought so ill of himself as to be as ready as his physician to have a letter despatched to Mansfield.

  "This distressing intelligence, as you may suppose," observed her ladyship, after giving the substance of it, "has agitated us exceedingly, and we cannot prevent ourselves from being greatly alarmed and apprehensive for the poor invalid, whose state Sir Thomas fears may be very critical; and Edmund kindly proposes attending his brother immediately, but I am happy to add that Sir Thomas will not leave me on this distressing occasion, as it would be too trying for me. We shall greatly miss Edmund in our small circle, but I trust and hope he will find the poor invalid in a less alarming state than might be apprehended, and that he will be able to bring him to Mansfield shortly, which Sir Thomas proposes should be done, and thinks best on every account, and I flatter myself the poor sufferer will soon be able to bear the removal without material inconvenience or injury. As I have little doubt of your feeling for us, my dear Fanny, under these distressing circumstances, I will write again very soon."

  Fanny's feelings on the occasion were indeed considerably more warm and genuine than her aunt's style of writing. She felt truly for them all. Tom dangerously ill, Edmund gone to attend him, and the sadly small party remaining at Mansfield, were cares to shut out every other care, or almost every other. She could just find selfishness enough to wonder whether Edmund _had_ written to Miss Crawford before this summons came, but no sentiment dwelt long with her that was not purely affectionate and disinterestedly anxious. Her aunt did not neglect her: she wrote again and again; they were receiving frequent accounts from Edmund, and these accounts were as regularly transmitted to Fanny, in the same diffuse style, and the same medley of trusts, hopes, and fears, all following and producing each other at haphazard. It was a sort of playing at being frightened. The sufferings which Lady Bertram did not see had little power over her fancy; and she wrote very comfortably about agitation, and anxiety, and poor invalids, till Tom was actually conveyed to Mansfield, and her own eyes had beheld his altered appearance. Then a letter which she had been previously preparing for Fanny was finished in a different style, in the language of real feeling and alarm; then she wrote as she might have spoken. "He is just come, my dear Fanny, and is taken upstairs; and I am so shocked to see him, that I do not know what to do. I am sure he has been very ill. Poor Tom! I am quite grieved for him, and very much frightened, and so is Sir Thomas; and how glad I should be if you were here to comfort me. But Sir Thomas hopes he will be better to-morrow, and says we must consider his journey." The real solicitude now awakened in the maternal bosom was not soon over. Tom's extreme impatience to be removed to Mansfield, and experience those comforts of home and family which had been little thought of in uninterrupted health, had probably induced his being conveyed thither too early, as a return of fever came on, and for a week he was in a more alarming state than ever. They were all very seriously frightened. Lady Bertram wrote her daily terrors to her niece, who might now be said to live upon letters, and pass all her time between suffering from that of to-day and looking forward to to-morrow's. Without any particular affection for her eldest cousin, her tenderness of heart made her feel that she could not spare him, and the purity of her principles added yet a keener solicitude, when she considered how little useful, how little self-denying his life had (apparently) been.

  Susan was her only companion and listener on this, as on more common occasions. Susan was always ready to hear and to sympathise. Nobody else could be interested in so remote an evil as illness in a family above an hundred miles off; not even Mrs. Price, beyond a brief question or two, if she saw her daughter with a letter in her hand, and now and then the quiet observation of, "My poor sister Bertram must be in a great deal of trouble."

  So long divided and so differently situated, the ties of blood were little more than nothing. An attachment, originally as tranquil as their tempers, was now become a mere name. Mrs. Price did quite as much for Lady Bertram as Lady Bertram would have done for Mrs. Price. Three or four Prices might have been swept away, any or all except Fanny and William, and Lady Bertram would have thought little about it; or perhaps might have caught from Mrs. Norris's lips the cant of its being a very happy thing and a great blessing to their poor dear sister Price to have them so well provided for.



　　两个月的时间差不多已过去了七个星期，这时范妮才收到了那封信，她盼望已久的埃德蒙的来信。她打开了信，一见写得那么长，便料定信里会详细描写他如何幸福，尽情倾诉他对主宰他命运的那位幸运的人儿的千情万爱和溢美之词。内容如下：
曼斯菲尔德庄园亲爱的范妮：
　　原谅我现在才给你写信。克劳福德告诉我说，你在盼我来信，但我在伦敦时无法给你写，心想你能理解我为什么沉默。如果我有好消息报告，我是决不会不写的，可惜我没有什么好消息可以报告。我离开曼斯菲尔德的时候，心里还有把握的话，待回到曼斯菲尔德的时候，就不那么有把握了。我的希望大大减少了。这一点你大概已经感觉到了。克劳福德小姐那么喜欢你，自然会向你剖白心迹，因此，我的心境如何，你大体上也会猜到。不过，这并不妨碍我直接写信告诉你。我们两人对你的信任无需发生冲突。我什么也不问了。我和她有一个共同的朋友，我们之间无论存在多么不幸的意见分歧，我们却一致地爱着你，想到这里，就感到几分欣慰。我很乐意告诉你我现在的情况，以及我目前的计划，如果我可以说是还有计划的话。我是星期六回来的。我在伦敦住了三个星期，就伦敦的标准来说，经常见到她。弗雷泽夫妇对我非常关心，这也是意料之中的。我知道我有些不理智，居然希望能像在曼斯菲尔德时那样来往。不过，问题不在见面次数的多少，而是她的态度。我见到她时要是发现她和以前有所不同，我也不会抱怨。但她从一开始就变了，接待我的态度完全出乎我的意料，我几乎要马上离开伦敦。具体情况我不必细说了。你知道她性格上的弱点，能想象得到她那使我感到痛苦的心情和表情。她兴高采烈，周围都是些思想不健康的人，她的思想本来就过于活跃，他们还要拼命怂恿她。我不喜欢弗雷泽太太。她是个冷酷无情、爱慕虚荣的女人。她和她的丈夫结婚完全是图他的钱，婚姻显然是不幸的，但她认为这不幸不是由于她动机不纯、性情不好，以及双方年龄悬殊，而是由于她说到底不如她所认识的许多人有钱，特别是没有她妹妹斯托诺韦夫人有钱。因此，谁只要贪图钱财、爱慕虚荣，她就会矢志不渝地加以支持。克劳福德小姐和这姊妹俩关系亲密，我认为是她和我生活中的最大不幸。多年来她们一直在把她往邪路上引。要是能把她跟她们拆开就好啦！有时候我觉得这并非办不到，因为据我看来，她们之间主要还是那姊妹俩情意深一些。她们非常喜欢她，但是我相信，她并不像爱你那样爱她们。我一想到她对你的深情厚谊，想到她作为小姑子表现得那么明白事理，那么心地光明，像是变成了另一个人，一个行为高尚的人，我真想责备自己不该对她过于苛求，她只不过性情活跃一些。我不能舍弃她，范妮。她是世界上我想娶的唯一女人。如果我认为她对我无意，我当然不会这么说，可我的确认为她对我有意。我相信她肯定喜欢我。我不嫉妒任何人，我嫉妒的是时髦世界对她的影响。我担心的是财富给人带来的习性。她的想法并没有超出她的财产所允许的范围，但是把我们的收入加在一起也维持不了她的需要。不过，即便如此我也感到一种安慰。由于不够有钱而失去她，总比由于职业原因失去她，心里觉得好受些。这只能说明她还没有达到为了爱可以做出牺牲的地步，其实我也不该要求她为我做出牺牲。如果我遭到拒绝，我想这就是她的真实动机。我认为她的偏见没有以前那么深了。亲爱的范妮，我把我的想法如实地告诉了你，这些想法有时也许是互相矛盾的，但却忠实地代表着我的思想。既然说开了头，我倒情愿把我的心思向你和盘托出。我不能舍弃她。我们交往已久，我想还要继续交往下去，舍弃了玛丽·克劳福德，就等于失去了几个最亲爱的朋友，就等于自绝于不幸时会给我带来安慰的房屋和朋友。我应该明白，失去玛丽就意味着失去克劳福德和你。如果事情已定，我当真遭到了拒绝，我想我倒该知道如何忍受这个打击，知道如何削弱她对我心灵的控制——在几年的时间内——可我在胡说些什么呀——如果我遭到拒绝，我必须经受得住。在没有遭到拒绝之前，坚决不会放弃努力。这才是正理。唯一的问题是如何争取？什么是最切实可行的办法？我有时想复活节后再去一趟伦敦，有时又想等她回曼斯菲尔德再说。就是现在，她还在说6月份要回曼斯菲尔德。不过，6月份还很遥远，我想我要给她写信的。我差不多已经打定主意，通过书信来表明心迹。我的主要目标是早一点把事情弄个明白。我目前的处境实在让人烦恼。从各方面考虑，我觉得最好还是在信中解释。有好多话当面不便说，信里可以说。这样还可以让她从容考虑后再回答。我不怕她从容考虑后再答复，而怕她凭一时冲动匆匆答复。我想我就是这样的。我最大的危险是她征求弗雷泽太太的意见，而我离得太远，实在无能为力。她收到信后肯定会找人商量，在她没有下定决心之前，有人在这不幸的时刻出出主意，就会使她做出她日后可能后悔的事情。我要再考虑一下这件事。这么长的一封信，尽谈我个人的事，尽管你对我好，也会看得不耐烦的。我上次是在弗雷泽太太举办的舞会上见到克劳福德的。就我的耳闻目睹，我对他越来越满意。他丝毫没有动摇。他真是铁了心，坚定不移地履行他的决心——这种品质真是难能可贵。我看见他和我大妹妹待在一间屋里，就不免想起你以前对我说的那些话，我可以告诉你，他们见面时关系并不融洽。我妹妹显然很冷淡。他们几乎都不说话。我看到克劳福德畏缩不前，张皇失措。拉什沃思太太身为伯特伦小姐时受过冷落，至今还耿耿于怀，使我感到遗憾。你也许想听一听玛丽亚婚后是否快活。看上去她没有什么不快活的。我想他们相处得很好。我在温普尔街吃过两次饭，本来还可以多去几次，但是和拉什沃思这样一个妹夫在一起，我觉得不光彩。朱莉娅似乎在伦敦玩得特别开心。我在那里就不怎么开心了——但回到这里就越发郁郁寡欢了。一家人死气沉沉。家里非常需要你。我无法用言语表达如何思念你。我母亲极其惦念你，盼你早日来信。她无时无刻不在念叨你，一想到还要过那么多个星期她才能见到你，我不禁为她难过。我父亲打算亲自去接你，但要等到复活节以后他去伦敦料理事务的时候。希望你在朴次茅斯过得快活，但不可今后每年都去。我要你待在家里，好就桑顿莱西的事情征求你的意见。我只有确知它会有一位女主人之后，才有心思去进行全面的改建。我想我一定要给你写信。格兰特夫妇已经确定去巴斯，准备星期一离开曼斯菲尔德。我为此感到高兴。我心情不好，不愿和任何人来往。不过，你姨妈似乎有点不走运，曼斯菲尔德这么一条重大新闻居然由我而不是由她来写信告诉你。
　　
最亲爱的范妮，你永久的朋友      

　　“我永远不——我决不希望再收到一封信，”范妮看完这封信后暗自声称。“这些信除了失望和悲伤还能给我带来什么？复活节后才来接我！我怎么受得了啊？可怜的姨妈无时无刻不在念叨我呀！”
　　范妮竭力遏制这些思绪，可不到半分钟工夫，她又冒出了一个念头：托马斯爵士对姨妈和她太不厚道。至于信里谈的主要问题，那也没有什么地方可以平息她的愤怒。她几乎对埃德蒙感到气愤。“这样拖下去没有什么好处，”她说。“为什么定不下来呢？他是什么也看不清了，也没有什么东西能使他睁开眼睛。事实摆在他面前那么久他都看不见，那就没有什么东西能打开他的眼睛。他就是要娶她，去过那可怜巴巴的苦日子。愿上帝保佑，不要让他因为受她的影响而失去体面！”她把信又读了一遍。“‘那么喜欢我！’完全是瞎说。她除了爱她自己和她哥哥以外，对谁都不爱。‘她的朋友们多年来一直把她往邪路上引！’很可能是她把她们往邪路上引。也许她们几个人在互相腐蚀。不过，如果她们喜欢她远远胜过她喜欢她们，那她受到的危害就应该轻一些，只不过她们的恭维对她没起什么好作用。‘世界上我想娶的唯一女人！’这我完全相信。这番痴情将会左右他一辈子。不论对方接受他还是拒绝他，他的心已经永远交给她了。‘失去玛丽，我觉得就是失去克劳福德和范妮。’埃德蒙，你根本不了解我。如果不是你来做纽带，这两家人决不会联结在一起。噢！写吧，写吧。马上结束这种状况，别总这样悬在那里。定下来，承诺下来，让你自己受罪去吧。”
　　不过，这种情绪太接近于怨恨，不会长时间地支配范妮的自言自语。过了不久，她的怨气就消了，为他伤心起来。他的热情关怀，他的亲切话语，他的推诚相见，又深深触动了她的心弦。他对人人都太好了。总而言之，她太珍惜这封信了，简直是她的无价之宝。这便是最后的结果。
　　凡是喜欢写信而又没有多少话可说的人，至少包括众多妇女在内，必然都会同情伯特伦夫人，觉得曼斯菲尔德出现格兰特夫妇要走这样的特大新闻，她居然未能加以利用，还真有些不走运。他们会认为，这消息落到她那不知好歹的儿子手里，被他在信的结尾寥寥几笔带过，实在令人生气。若是由做母亲的来写，至少会洋洋洒洒地写上大半张。伯特伦夫人还就善于写信。原来，她在结婚初期，由于闲着无事可做，加上托马斯爵士常在国会，因此便养成了写信的习惯，练就了一种令人称道的、拉家常似的、挥挥洒洒的风格，一点点小事就够她写一封长信。当然，完全无事可写的时候，她也是写不出来的。她总得有点东西可写，即使对外甥女也是如此。她很快就要失去格兰特博士的痛风病和格兰特太太的上午拜访为她写信提供的便利了，因为要剥夺她一次报道他们情况的机会，对她来说是很冷酷的。
　　然而，她得到了很大的补偿。伯特伦夫人的幸运时刻来临了。范妮接到埃德蒙的信后没过几天，就收到了姨妈的一封来信，开头是这么写的：
亲爱的范妮：
　　我提笔告诉你一个非常惊人的消息，相信你一定非常关心。

　　这比提笔告诉她格兰特夫妇准备旅行的详情细节要强得多，因为这类消息真够她挥笔报道好多天的。原来，她从几小时前收到的快信中获悉，她的大儿子病情严重。
　　汤姆和一帮年轻人从伦敦到纽马基特，从马上摔下来后没有马上就医，接着又大肆酗酒，结果发烧了。等众人散去，他已经不能动弹了，独自待在其中一个人的家里，病痛孤寂之中，只有仆人相陪伴。他原希望马上病好去追赶他的朋友们，不想病情却大大加重了。没过多久，他觉得自己病情严重，便同意了医生的意见，给曼斯菲尔德发来了一封信。
　　“你可以想象得到，”伯特伦夫人讲完了主要内容之后又写道，“这不幸的消息使我们深为不安。我们不由得大为惊骇，为可怜的病人忧心如焚。托马斯爵士担心他的病情危急，埃德蒙怀着一片深情，提出马上前去看护哥哥。不过，我要欣慰地告诉你，在这令人心急火燎的时刻，托马斯爵士不打算离开我，怕我会受不了。埃德蒙一走，我们剩下的几个人未免太可怜了。不过，我相信而且也希望，他发现病人的病情没有我们想象的那么可怕，能很快把他带回曼斯菲尔德。托马斯爵士叫他尽快把他带回来，他认为从哪方面考虑，这都是个上策。我希望能很快把这可怜的病人接回来，而又不至于引起很大的不便，或造成很大的伤害。我深知你对我们的感情，亲爱的范妮，在这令人焦心的情况下，我会很快再给你写信。”
　　范妮此时的感情还真比她姨妈的文风要热烈得多、真挚得多。她真替他们个个焦急。汤姆病情严重，埃德蒙去看护他，曼斯菲尔德剩下了可怜巴巴的几个人，她一心惦念着他们，别的什么也顾不得了，或者说几乎什么也顾不得了。她只有一点自私的念头，那就是猜测埃德蒙在接到消息之前，是否已经给克劳福德小姐写过信了，但是能久久盘踞在她心头的，都是纯真的感情和无私的焦虑。姨妈总是惦记着她，一封又一封地给她来信。他们不断收到埃德蒙的报告，姨妈又不断用她那冗赘的文体把情况转告范妮，信里依然混杂着推测、希望和忧虑，这些因素在乱糟糟地互相伴随，互相滋生。这是故作惊恐。伯特伦夫人没有亲眼看到的痛苦，对她的想象没有多大的影响。在汤姆没有接回曼斯菲尔德，她没有亲眼看到他那变了样的容颜之前，她写起她的焦虑不安和可怜的病人来，心里总是觉得很轻松。后来，她给范妮写的一封信终于写好了，结尾的风格大不相同，用的是表达真实情感、真正惊恐的语言。这时，她写的正是她内心的话。“亲爱的范妮，他刚刚回来，已被抬到楼上。我见到他大吃一惊，不知道怎么办是好。我看得出他病得很厉害。可怜的汤姆，我真为他伤心，心里非常害怕，托马斯爵士也是如此。要是有你在这里安慰我，我该有多高兴。不过，托写斯爵士估计他明天会好一些，说我们应该把路途的因素考虑在内。”
　　这时候，做母亲的心中激起的真正忧虑，没能很快消失。大概是由于太急于回到曼斯菲尔德，享受一下没灾没病时从不看重的家庭舒适条件，汤姆给过早地接回了家里，结果又发起烧来，整整一个星期，病情比以前更加严重。家里人都大为惊恐。伯特伦夫人每天都把自己的恐惧写信告诉外甥女，而这位外甥女现在可以说是完全靠信来生活，一天到晚不是沉浸在今天来信的痛苦中，就是在期盼明天的来信。她对大表哥没有什么特殊感情，但是出于恻隐之心，她又怕他短命。她从纯道德的角度替他担忧，觉得他这一生（显然）太无用，太挥霍无度。
　　无论在这种时候，还是在平常的情况下，只有苏珊陪伴她，听她诉说衷肠。苏珊总是愿意听，总能善解人意。别人谁也不会去关心这么一件与己无关的事情——一个一百英里之外的人家有人生了病——就连普莱斯太太也不会把这件事放在心上，只不过在看到女儿手里拿着信的时候简短地问上一两个问题，或者偶尔平心静气地说上一声：“我那可怜的伯特伦姐姐一定很难过。”
　　这么多年互不相见，双方的处境又大不相同，血缘情谊早已荡然无存。双方的感情原来就像她们的脾气一样恬淡，现在只成了徒有虚名。普莱斯太太不会去管她伯特伦夫人怎么样，伯特伦夫人也不会去管她普莱斯太太怎么样。假如普莱斯家的孩子被大海吞掉了三四个，只要不是范妮和威廉，随便死了哪个，哪怕都死光，伯特伦夫人也不会放在心上，而诺里斯太太甚至还会貌似虔诚地说，这对她们可怜的普莱斯妹妹来说是件大好事，是莫大的幸运，因为这几个孩子今后再不缺吃少穿了。　
  
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一二三四五六七~~~
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Chapter forty-three

  It was presumed that Mr. Crawford was travelling back, to London, on the morrow, for nothing more was seen of him at Mr. Price's; and two days afterwards, it was a fact ascertained to Fanny by the following letter from his sister, opened and read by her, on another account, with the most anxious curiosity:--

  "I have to inform you, my dearest Fanny, that Henry has been down to Portsmouth to see you; that he had a delightful walk with you to the dockyard last Saturday, and one still more to be dwelt on the next day, on the ramparts; when the balmy air, the sparkling sea, and your sweet looks and conversation were altogether in the most delicious harmony, and afforded sensations which are to raise ecstasy even in retrospect. This, as well as I understand, is to be the substance of my information. He makes me write, but I do not know what else is to be communicated, except this said visit to Portsmouth, and these two said walks, and his introduction to your family, especially to a fair sister of yours, a fine girl of fifteen, who was of the party on the ramparts, taking her first lesson, I presume, in love. I have not time for writing much, but it would be out of place if I had, for this is to be a mere letter of business, penned for the purpose of conveying necessary information, which could not be delayed without risk of evil. My dear, dear Fanny, if I had you here, how I would talk to you! You should listen to me till you were tired, and advise me till you were still tired more; but it is impossible to put a hundredth part of my great mind on paper, so I will abstain altogether, and leave you to guess what you like. I have no news for you. You have politics, of course; and it would be too bad to plague you with the names of people and parties that fill up my time. I ought to have sent you an account of your cousin's first party, but I was lazy, and now it is too long ago; suffice it, that everything was just as it ought to be, in a style that any of her connexions must have been gratified to witness, and that her own dress and manners did her the greatest credit. My friend, Mrs. Fraser, is mad for such a house, and it would not make _me_ miserable. I go to Lady Stornaway after Easter; she seems in high spirits, and very happy. I fancy Lord S. is very good-humoured and pleasant in his own family, and I do not think him so very ill-looking as I did--at least, one sees many worse. He will not do by the side of your cousin Edmund. Of the last-mentioned hero, what shall I say? If I avoided his name entirely, it would look suspicious. I will say, then, that we have seen him two or three times, and that my friends here are very much struck with his gentlemanlike appearance. Mrs. Fraser (no bad judge) declares she knows but three men in town who have so good a person, height, and air; and I must confess, when he dined here the other day, there were none to compare with him, and we were a party of sixteen. Luckily there is no distinction of dress nowadays to tell tales, but--but-- but Yours affectionately."

  I had almost forgot (it was Edmund's fault: he gets into my head more than does me good) one very material thing I had to say from Henry and myself--I mean about our taking you back into Northamptonshire. My dear little creature, do not stay at Portsmouth to lose your pretty looks. Those vile sea-breezes are the ruin of beauty and health. My poor aunt always felt affected if within ten miles of the sea, which the Admiral of course never believed, but I know it was so. I am at your service and Henry's, at an hour's notice. I should like the scheme, and we would make a little circuit, and shew you Everingham in our way, and perhaps you would not mind passing through London, and seeing the inside of St. George's, Hanover Square. Only keep your cousin Edmund from me at such a time: I should not like to be tempted. What a long letter! one word more. Henry, I find, has some idea of going into Norfolk again upon some business that _you_ approve; but this cannot possibly be permitted before the middle of next week; that is, he cannot anyhow be spared till after the l4th, for _we_ have a party that evening. The value of a man like Henry, on such an occasion, is what you can have no conception of; so you must take it upon my word to be inestimable. He will see the Rushworths, which own I am not sorry for--having a little curiosity, and so I think has he--though he will not acknowledge it."

  This was a letter to be run through eagerly, to be read deliberately, to supply matter for much reflection, and to leave everything in greater suspense than ever. The only certainty to be drawn from it was, that nothing decisive had yet taken place. Edmund had not yet spoken. How Miss Crawford really felt, how she meant to act, or might act without or against her meaning; whether his importance to her were quite what it had been before the last separation; whether, if lessened, it were likely to lessen more, or to recover itself, were subjects for endless conjecture, and to be thought of on that day and many days to come, without producing any conclusion. The idea that returned the oftenest was that Miss Crawford, after proving herself cooled and staggered by a return to London habits, would yet prove herself in the end too much attached to him to give him up. She would try to be more ambitious than her heart would allow. She would hesitate, she would tease, she would condition, she would require a great deal, but she would finally accept.

  This was Fanny's most frequent expectation. A house in town--that, she thought, must be impossible. Yet there was no saying what Miss Crawford might not ask. The prospect for her cousin grew worse and worse. The woman who could speak of him, and speak only of his appearance! What an unworthy attachment! To be deriving support from the commendations of Mrs. Fraser! _She_ who had known him intimately half a year! Fanny was ashamed of her. Those parts of the letter which related only to Mr. Crawford and herself, touched her, in comparison, slightly. Whether Mr. Crawford went into Norfolk before or after the 14th was certainly no concern of hers, though, everything considered, she thought he _would_ go without delay. That Miss Crawford should endeavour to secure a meeting between him and Mrs. Rushworth, was all in her worst line of conduct, and grossly unkind and ill-judged; but she hoped _he_ would not be actuated by any such degrading curiosity. He acknowledged no such inducement, and his sister ought to have given him credit for better feelings than her own.

  She was yet more impatient for another letter from town after receiving this than she had been before; and for a few days was so unsettled by it altogether, by what had come, and what might come, that her usual readings and conversation with Susan were much suspended. She could not command her attention as she wished. If Mr. Crawford remembered her message to her cousin, she thought it very likely, most likely, that he would write to her at all events; it would be most consistent with his usual kindness; and till she got rid of this idea, till it gradually wore off, by no letters appearing in the course of three or four days more, she was in a most restless, anxious state

  At length, a something like composure succeeded. Suspense must be submitted to, and must not be allowed to wear her out, and make her useless. Time did something, her own exertions something more, and she resumed her attentions to Susan, and again awakened the same interest in them.

  Susan was growing very fond of her, and though without any of the early delight in books which had been so strong in Fanny, with a disposition much less inclined to sedentary pursuits, or to information for information's sake, she had so strong a desire of not _appearing_ ignorant, as, with a good clear understanding, made her a most attentive, profitable, thankful pupil. Fanny was her oracle. Fanny's explanations and remarks were a most important addition to every essay, or every chapter of history. What Fanny told her of former times dwelt more on her mind than the pages of Goldsmith; and she paid her sister the compliment of preferring her style to that of any printed author. The early habit of reading was wanting.

  Their conversations, however, were not always on subjects so high as history or morals. Others had their hour; and of lesser matters, none returned so often, or remained so long between them, as Mansfield Park, a description of the people, the manners, the amusements, the ways of Mansfield Park. Susan, who had an innate taste for the genteel and well-appointed, was eager to hear, and Fanny could not but indulge herself in dwelling on so beloved a theme. She hoped it was not wrong; though, after a time, Susan's very great admiration of everything said or done in her uncle's house, and earnest longing to go into Northamptonshire, seemed almost to blame her for exciting feelings which could not be gratified.

  Poor Susan was very little better fitted for home than her elder sister; and as Fanny grew thoroughly to understand this, she began to feel that when her own release from Portsmouth came, her happiness would have a material drawback in leaving Susan behind. That a girl so capable of being made everything good should be left in such hands, distressed her more and more. Were _she_ likely to have a home to invite her to, what a blessing it would be! And had it been possible for her to return Mr. Crawford's regard, the probability of his being very far from objecting to such a measure would have been the greatest increase of all her own comforts. She thought he was really good-tempered, and could fancy his entering into a plan of that sort most pleasantly.



　　克劳福德先生想必是第二天上午就动身去伦敦了，因为再也没见他来过普莱斯先生家。两天后，范妮收到了他妹妹的一封来信，证明他确实是第二天走的。范妮一收到这封信，因为急于想了解另外一桩事，便连忙打开了，怀着极大的兴趣，急匆匆地读了起来。
　　我最亲爱的范妮，我要告诉你，亨利到朴次茅斯看过你了，上星期六他和你一起去海军船坞快活地玩了一趟，第二天又和你一起在大堤上散步。你那可爱的面庞、甜蜜的话语，与清馨的空气、闪烁的大海交映相衬，极其迷人，搞得他心潮激荡，现在回忆起来还欣喜若狂。我所了解的，主要就是这些内容。亨利让我写信，可我不知道别的有什么可写的，只能提一提他这次朴次茅斯之行，他那两次散步，以及他被介绍给你家里的人，特别是介绍给你一位漂亮的妹妹，一位漂亮的十五岁姑娘。你这位妹妹跟你们一起在大堤上散步，我想你们给她上了爱情的第一课。我没有时间多写，不过即使有时间，也不宜多写，因为这只是一封谈正事的信，旨在传达一些必得传达、耽搁不得的消息。我亲爱的、亲爱的范妮，如果你在我跟前，我有多少话要对你说啊！我有让你听不完的话，你更会有给我出不完的主意。我有千言万语想讲给你听，可惜信里连百分之一也写不下，因此就索性作罢，由你随便去猜吧。我没有什么新闻告诉你。政治上的新闻你当然了解得到，我要是把我连日参加的舞会和应酬的人们一一向你罗列，那只会惹你厌烦。我本该向你描绘一下你大表姐第一次举办舞会的情景，可我当时懒得动笔，现在已成了陈谷子烂芝麻。可以一言以蔽之：一切都办得很得体，亲朋们都很满意，她的穿戴和风度使她极为风光。我的朋友弗雷泽太太真高兴能住上这样的房子，我要是能住这样的房子也会称心的。复活节过后，我去看过斯托诺韦夫人。她看上去情绪很好，也很快活。我想斯托诺韦勋爵在家里一定脾气很好，非常和蔼，现在我觉得他不像以前那么难看了，你至少会看到许多更难看的人。他跟你表哥埃德蒙比起来可就逊色多了。对于我刚提到的这位出众的人物，我该说些什么呢？如果我完全不提他的名字，你看了会起疑心。那么，我就说吧。我们见过他两三次，我这里的朋友们都对他印象很深，觉得他风度翩翩，一表人才。弗雷泽太太是个有眼力的人，她说像他这样的长相、高矮和风度的入，她在伦敦只看见过三个。我必须承认，几天前他在我们这里吃饭的时候，席间没有一个人能和他相比，而在座的有十六个人之多。幸运的是，如今服装上没有差别，看不出什么名堂。但是——但是——但是…
　　你亲爱的
　　我差一点忘记（这都怪埃德蒙，他搅得我心猿意马），我得替亨利和我本人讲一件非常重要的事，我是指我们要把你接回北安普敦。我亲爱的小宝贝，别再待在朴次茅斯了，免得失去你的关貌。恶劣的海风能毁掉美貌和健康。我那可怜的婶母只要离海在十英里以内，总是觉得不舒服。海军将军当然不信，可我知道就是那么回事。我听你和亨利的吩咐，接到通知一个小时后便可动身。我赞成这个计划，我们可以稍微绕个弯，顺路带你去看看埃弗灵厄姆。也许你不会反对我们穿过伦敦，到汉诺威广场的圣乔治教堂里面瞧瞧。只是在这期间不要让我见到你埃德蒙表哥，我不想让他搅乱我的心。信写得太长啦！再说一句吧。我发觉亨利想再去一趟诺福克，办一桩你赞成的事情。不过，这事在下周中之前还办不成，也就是说，他在十四号之前无论如何走不了，因为十四号晚上我们要举办舞会。像亨利这样一个男人在这种场合能有多么重要，你是想象不到的，那就让我告诉你吧，那是无法估量的。他要见见拉什沃思夫妇。我倒不反对他见见他们。他有点好奇——我认为他是有点好奇，尽管他自己不会承认。
　　这封信她迫不及待地匆匆看了一遍，又从容不迫地细读了一遍，信里的内容颇费思索，读后使她对每件事更是无法捉摸。从信中看来，唯一可以肯定的是，事情尚未定局。埃德蒙还没有开口。克劳福德小姐心里究竟是怎么想的，她想要怎么办，她会不会放弃她的意图，或者违背她的意图，埃德蒙对她是否还像分别前那么重要，如果不像以前那么重要，那么是会越来越不重要呢，还是会重新变得重要起来，这些问题让她猜来猜去，考虑了多少天也没得出个结论。她脑子里揣摩得最多的一个念头，是克劳福德小姐恢复了伦敦的生活习惯之后，原来的热情可能冷下来，决心可能有所动摇，但她最终可能因为太喜欢埃德蒙，而不会放弃他。她可能抑制自己的情感，去更多地考虑世俗的利益。她可能会犹豫，可能会戏弄他，可能会规定一些条件，可能会提出很多要求，但她最终会接受他的求婚。这是范妮心头最常出现的揣测。在伦敦给她弄一幢房子！她觉得这绝对是不可能的。不过，很难说克劳福德小姐会有什么不敢要的。看来她表哥的处境越来越糟。这个女人这么议论他，而且只议论他长相如何！这算什么爱呀！还要从弗雷泽太太对他的夸奖中汲取动力！而她自己还和他亲密无间地相处了半年呢！范妮替她害臊。信中有关克劳福德先生和她本人的那部分，相对来说对她触动不大。克劳福德先生是十四号前还是十四号后去诺福克与她毫不相干，不过，从各方面看来，她觉得他会很快就去的。克劳福德小姐居然想让他和拉什沃思太太相见，真是恶劣至极，纯属胡闹，存心不良。她希望他可不要受这堕落的愿望所驱使。他曾说过他对拉什沃思太太丝毫无意，做妹妹的应该承认，他的感情比她来得健康。
　　范妮收到这封信后，更加急切地盼望伦敦再来信。一连几天，她一门心思在盼信，什么来过的信，可能来的信，搅得她心神不宁，连她平时和苏珊一起的读书和聊天都中断了。她想控制自己的注意力，但却控制不住。如果克劳福德先生把她的话转告了她表哥，表哥无论如何都会给她写信的，她觉得这很有可能，极有可能。他平时一贯待她挺好，因此不会不给她来信的。她一直心神不宁，坐立不安，三四天仍未见到来信，她才渐渐断了这个念头。
　　最后，她终于平静了一点。这件事只能撂在脑后，不能为它过分劳神，什么也不干。时间起了点作用，她的自我克制也起了些作用，她又关心起苏珊来，而且像以前一样认真。
　　苏珊已经非常喜欢她了。她虽然不像范妮小时候那样酷爱读书，生性也不像范妮那样坐得住，也不像范妮那样渴求知识，但她又极不愿意在别人眼里显得自己一无所知。在这种情况下，再加上头脑机灵，她就成了一个非常用心、长进很快、知道感恩的学生。范妮成了她心目中的圣人。范妮的讲解和评论成了每篇文章和每章历史极为重要的补充。范妮讲起过去，比哥尔德斯密斯①（译注：①哥尔德斯密斯（Oliver Goldsmith．1730-1774），英国诗人、剧作家、小说家。）书里写的让她记得更牢。她赞赏姐姐的解释比哪个作家来得都好。她的不足之处是小时候没有养成读书的习惯。
　　不过，她们的谈话并非总是局限于历史、道德这样高雅的话题，其他问题她们也谈。在那些次要的问题中，她们最常谈的、谈得时间最久的，还是曼斯菲尔德庄园，那里的人，那里的规矩，那里的娱乐，那里的习俗。苏珊生来就羡慕温文尔雅、礼貌周全的人们，因此便如饥似渴地听着，范妮也就津津乐道起来。她觉得她这样做并没有错。可是过了一会，苏珊对姨父家的一切都艳羡不已，真巴不得自己能去一趟北安普敦郡。这似乎是在责怪范妮，她不该在妹妹心里激起这种无法满足的愿望。
　　可怜的苏珊几乎和姐姐一样不适应自己的家了。范妮完全能理解这一点。她开始在想，当她脱离朴次茅斯的时候，自己也不会十分愉快，因为她要把苏珊撂在这里。这样可以塑造的一个好姑娘，却要丢在这样的环境里，她心里越想越不是滋味。她要是有一个家，能把妹妹接去，那该有多好啊！她要是能回报克劳福德先生对她的爱，他决不会反对她把妹妹接去，那会给她自己增加多大的幸福。她觉得他的脾气的确很好，会非常乐意支持她这样做。　
  

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一二三四五六七~~~
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Chapter forty-two

  The Prices were just setting off for church the next day when Mr. Crawford appeared again. He came, not to stop, but to join them; he was asked to go with them to the Garrison chapel, which was exactly what he had intended, and they all walked thither together.

  The family were now seen to advantage. Nature had given them no inconsiderable share of beauty, and every Sunday dressed them in their cleanest skins and best attire. Sunday always brought this comfort to Fanny, and on this Sunday she felt it more than ever. Her poor mother now did not look so very unworthy of being Lady Bertram's sister as she was but too apt to look. It often grieved her to the heart to think of the contrast between them; to think that where nature had made so little difference, circumstances should have made so much, and that her mother, as handsome as Lady Bertram, and some years her junior, should have an appearance so much more worn and faded, so comfortless, so slatternly, so shabby. But Sunday made her a very creditable and tolerably cheerful-looking Mrs. Price, coming abroad with a fine family of children, feeling a little respite of her weekly cares, and only discomposed if she saw her boys run into danger, or Rebecca pass by with a flower in her hat.

  In chapel they were obliged to divide, but Mr. Crawford took care not to be divided from the female branch; and after chapel he still continued with them, and made one in the family party on the ramparts.

  Mrs. Price took her weekly walk on the ramparts every fine Sunday throughout the year, always going directly after morning service and staying till dinner-time. It was her public place: there she met her acquaintance, heard a little news, talked over the badness of the Portsmouth servants, and wound up her spirits for the six days ensuing.

  Thither they now went; Mr. Crawford most happy to consider the Miss Prices as his peculiar charge; and before they had been there long, somehow or other, there was no saying how, Fanny could not have believed it, but he was walking between them with an arm of each under his, and she did not know how to prevent or put an end to it. It made her uncomfortable for a time, but yet there were enjoyments in the day and in the view which would be felt.

  The day was uncommonly lovely. It was really March; but it was April in its mild air, brisk soft wind, and bright sun, occasionally clouded for a minute; and everything looked so beautiful under the influence of such a sky, the effects of the shadows pursuing each other on the ships at Spithead and the island beyond, with the ever-varying hues of the sea, now at high water, dancing in its glee and dashing against the ramparts with so fine a sound, produced altogether such a combination of charms for Fanny, as made her gradually almost careless of the circumstances under which she felt them. Nay, had she been without his arm, she would soon have known that she needed it, for she wanted strength for a two hours' saunter of this kind, coming, as it generally did, upon a week's previous inactivity. Fanny was beginning to feel the effect of being debarred from her usual regular exercise; she had lost ground as to health since her being in Portsmouth; and but for Mr. Crawford and the beauty of the weather would soon have been knocked up now.

  The loveliness of the day, and of the view, he felt like herself. They often stopt with the same sentiment and taste, leaning against the wall, some minutes, to look and admire; and considering he was not Edmund, Fanny could not but allow that he was sufficiently open to the charms of nature, and very well able to express his admiration. She had a few tender reveries now and then, which he could sometimes take advantage of to look in her face without detection; and the result of these looks was, that though as bewitching as ever, her face was less blooming than it ought to be. She _said_ she was very well, and did not like to be supposed otherwise; but take it all in all, he was convinced that her present residence could not be comfortable, and therefore could not be salutary for her, and he was growing anxious for her being again at Mansfield, where her own happiness, and his in seeing her, must be so much greater.

  "You have been here a month, I think?" said he.

  "No; not quite a month. It is only four weeks to-morrow since I left Mansfield."

  "You are a most accurate and honest reckoner. I should call that a month."

  "I did not arrive here till Tuesday evening."

  "And it is to be a two months' visit, is not?"

  "Yes. My uncle talked of two months. I suppose it will not be less."

  "And how are you to be conveyed back again? Who comes for you?"

  "I do not know. I have heard nothing about it yet from my aunt. Perhaps I may be to stay longer. It may not be convenient for me to be fetched exactly at the two months' end."

  After a moment's reflection, Mr. Crawford replied, "I know Mansfield, I know its way, I know its faults towards _you_. I know the danger of your being so far forgotten, as to have your comforts give way to the imaginary convenience of any single being in the family. I am aware that you may be left here week after week, if Sir Thomas cannot settle everything for coming himself, or sending your aunt's maid for you, without involving the slightest alteration of the arrangements which he may have laid down for the next quarter of a year. This will not do. Two months is an ample allowance; I should think six weeks quite enough. I am considering your sister's health," said he, addressing himself to Susan, "which I think the confinement of Portsmouth unfavourable to. She requires constant air and exercise. When you know her as well as I do, I am sure you will agree that she does, and that she ought never to be long banished from the free air and liberty of the country. If, therefore" (turning again to Fanny), "you find yourself growing unwell, and any difficulties arise about your returning to Mansfield, without waiting for the two months to be ended, _that_ must not be regarded as of any consequence, if you feel yourself at all less strong or comfortable than usual, and will only let my sister know it, give her only the slightest hint, she and I will immediately come down, and take you back to Mansfield. You know the ease and the pleasure with which this would be done. You know all that would be felt on the occasion."

  Fanny thanked him, but tried to laugh it off.

  "I am perfectly serious," he replied, "as you perfectly know. And I hope you will not be cruelly concealing any tendency to indisposition. Indeed, you shall _not_; it shall not be in your power; for so long only as you positively say, in every letter to Mary, 'I am well,' and I know you cannot speak or write a falsehood, so long only shall you be considered as well."

  Fanny thanked him again, but was affected and distressed to a degree that made it impossible for her to say much, or even to be certain of what she ought to say. This was towards the close of their walk. He attended them to the last, and left them only at the door of their own house, when he knew them to be going to dinner, and therefore pretended to be waited for elsewhere.

  "I wish you were not so tired," said he, still detaining Fanny after all the others were in the house--"I wish I left you in stronger health. Is there anything I can do for you in town? I have half an idea of going into Norfolk again soon. I am not satisfied about Maddison. I am sure he still means to impose on me if possible, and get a cousin of his own into a certain mill, which I design for somebody else. I must come to an understanding with him. I must make him know that I will not be tricked on the south side of Everingham, any more than on the north: that I will be master of my own property. I was not explicit enough with him before. The mischief such a man does on an estate, both as to the credit of his employer and the welfare of the poor, is inconceivable. I have a great mind to go back into Norfolk directly, and put everything at once on such a footing as cannot be afterwards swerved from. Maddison is a clever fellow; I do not wish to displace him, provided he does not try to displace _me_; but it would be simple to be duped by a man who has no right of creditor to dupe me, and worse than simple to let him give me a hard-hearted, griping fellow for a tenant, instead of an honest man, to whom I have given half a promise already. Would it not be worse than simple? Shall I go? Do you advise it?"

  "I advise! You know very well what is right."

  "Yes. When you give me your opinion, I always know what is right. Your judgment is my rule of right."

  "Oh, no! do not say so. We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be. Good-bye; I wish you a pleasant journey to-morrow."

  "Is there nothing I can do for you in town?"

  "Nothing; I am much obliged to you."

  "Have you no message for anybody?"

  "My love to your sister, if you please; and when you see my cousin, my cousin Edmund, I wish you would be so good as to say that I suppose I shall soon hear from him."

  "Certainly; and if he is lazy or negligent, I will write his excuses myself."

  He could say no more, for Fanny would be no longer detained. He pressed her hand, looked at her, and was gone. _He_ went to while away the next three hours as he could, with his other acquaintance, till the best dinner that a capital inn afforded was ready for their enjoyment, and _she_ turned in to her more simple one immediately.

  Their general fare bore a very different character; and could he have suspected how many privations, besides that of exercise, she endured in her father's house, he would have wondered that her looks were not much more affected than he found them. She was so little equal to Rebecca's puddings and Rebecca's hashes, brought to table, as they all were, with such accompaniments of half-cleaned plates, and not half-cleaned knives and forks, that she was very often constrained to defer her heartiest meal till she could send her brothers in the evening for biscuits and buns. After being nursed up at Mansfield, it was too late in the day to be hardened at Portsmouth; and though Sir Thomas, had he known all, might have thought his niece in the most promising way of being starved, both mind and body, into a much juster value for Mr. Crawford's good company and good fortune, he would probably have feared to push his experiment farther, lest she might die under the cure.

  Fanny was out of spirits all the rest of the day. Though tolerably secure of not seeing Mr. Crawford again, she could not help being low. It was parting with somebody of the nature of a friend; and though, in one light, glad to have him gone, it seemed as if she was now deserted by everybody; it was a sort of renewed separation from Mansfield; and she could not think of his returning to town, and being frequently with Mary and Edmund, without feelings so near akin to envy as made her hate herself for having them.

  Her dejection had no abatement from anything passing around her; a friend or two of her father's, as always happened if he was not with them, spent the long, long evening there; and from six o'clock till half-past nine, there was little intermission of noise or grog. She was very low. The wonderful improvement which she still fancied in Mr. Crawford was the nearest to administering comfort of anything within the current of her thoughts. Not considering in how different a circle she had been just seeing him, nor how much might be owing to contrast, she was quite persuaded of his being astonishingly more gentle and regardful of others than formerly. And, if in little things, must it not be so in great? So anxious for her health and comfort, so very feeling as he now expressed himself, and really seemed, might not it be fairly supposed that he would not much longer persevere in a suit so distressing to her?



　　第二天普莱斯一家人正要动身去做礼拜，克劳福德先生又来了。他不是来做客的，而是和他们一起去做礼拜。他们邀他一起去驻军教堂，这正中他的下怀，于是他们一道向驻军教堂走去。
　　这家人现在看上去还真不错。造物主给了他们不菲的美貌，每逢礼拜天他们就洗得干干净净，穿上最好的衣服。礼拜天常给范妮带来这种慰藉，这个礼拜天尤其如此。她那可怜的母亲往往看起来不配做伯特伦夫人的妹妹，今天就很像个样子。她想起来常常感到伤心，她母亲与伯特伦夫人差距太大，造物主给她们造成的差别那么小，环境给她们造成的差别却那么大。她母亲和伯特伦夫人一样漂亮，还比她年轻几岁，但比起她来形容这么枯槁憔悴，日子过得这么拮据，人这么邋遢，这么寒酸。不过，礼拜天却使她变成了一个非常体面、看上去乐滋滋的普莱斯太太，领着一群漂亮孩子，一时忘了平日的操心事，只是看到孩子们有什么危险，或者丽贝卡帽子上插着一朵花从她身边走过时，她才感到心烦。
　　进了小教堂，他们得分开就座，但克劳福德先生却尽量不跟几位女眷分开。做完礼拜之后，他仍然跟着她们，夹在她们中间走在大堤上。
　　一年四季，每逢星期天天朗气清，普莱斯太太都要在大堤上散散步，总是一做完礼拜便直接去那里，直到该吃正餐时才回去。这是她的交游场所，在这里见见熟人，听点新闻，谈谈朴次茅斯的仆人如何可恶，打起精神去应付接踵而来的六天生活。
　　现在他们就来到了这个地方。克劳福德先生极为高兴，认为两位普莱斯小姐是由他专门照顾的。到了大堤上不久，不知怎么地——说不清是怎么回事——范妮也完全没有想到，他居然走在她们姊妹俩中间，一边挽着一个人的胳膊，她不知道如何抵制，也不知道如何结束这种状况。这使她一时感到很不自在，然而由于风和日暖，景色绮丽，她还从中得到不少乐趣。
　　这一天天气特别宜人。其实只是3月，但天气温和，微风轻拂，阳光灿烂，偶尔掠过一抹乌云，完全像是4月光景。在这天气的感染下，万物显得绚丽多姿，在斯皮特黑德的舰船上，以及远处的海岛上，只见云影相逐，涨潮的海水色调变化莫测，大堤边的海浪澎湃激荡，发出悦耳的声响，种种魅力汇合在一起，逐渐地使范妮对眼下的处境几乎不在意了。而且，若不是克劳福德先生用手臂挽着她，她要不了多久就会意识到她需要这只手臂，因为她没有力气这样走两个钟头。一个星期不活动了，一般都会出现这种情况，范妮开始感到中断经常活动的影响，自到朴次茅斯以后，她的身体已经不如以前，如果不是克劳福德先生扶持，不是因为天公作美，她早该筋疲力尽了。
　　境劳福德先生像她一样感受到了天气宜人、景色迷人。他们常常情趣相投地停下脚步，依着墙欣赏一会。他虽然不是埃德蒙，范妮也不得不承认他能充分领略大自然的魅力，很能表达自己的赞叹之情。她有几次在凝神遐想，他趁机端详她的面孔，她却没有察觉。他发现她虽然还像过去一样迷人，但脸色却不像以前那样水灵了。她说她身体很好，不愿让别人另有看法。但是，从各方面看来，他认为她在这里的生活并不舒适，因而也不利于她的健康。他渴望她回到曼斯菲尔德，她在那里会快活得多，他自己在那里见到她也会快活得多。
　　“我想你来这里有一个月了吧？”他说。
　　“没有，还不满一个月。从离开曼斯菲尔德那天算起，到明天才四个星期。”
　　“你算计得真精确，真实在呀。让我说，这就是一个月。”
　　“我是星期二晚上才到这里的。”
　　“你打算在这里住两个月，是吧？”
　　“是的。我姨父说过住两个月。我想不会少于两个月。”
　　“你到时候怎么回去呢？谁来接你呢？”
　　“我也不知道。我姨妈来信还没提过这件事。也许我要多住些日子。一满两个月就来接我，恐怕没有那么方便。”
　　克劳福德先生思索了一会，说道：“我了解曼斯菲尔德，了解那里的情况，了解他们错待了你。我知道他们可能把你给忘了，是否关照你还得看家里人是否方便。我觉得，要是托马斯爵士亲自来接你或者派你姨妈的使女来接你会影响他下季度的计划，他们会让你一个礼拜一个礼拜地住下去。这样可不行。让你住两个月实在太长了，我看六个星期足够了。我担心你姐姐的身体，”他对苏珊说道，“朴次茅斯没有个活动的地方，这不利于她的身体。她需要经常透透气，活动活功。你要是像我一样了解她，我想你一定会认为她的确有这个需要，认为不应该让她长期脱离乡间的新鲜空气和自由自在的生活。因此（又转向范妮），你要是发现自己身体不好，不想住满两个月——这本来就没有什么大不了的，但是回曼斯菲尔德又有困难的话，你要是觉得身体不如从前，有什么不舒服的话，只需要告诉我妹妹，只需要向她稍微暗示一下，她和我就会马上赶来，把你送回曼斯菲尔德。你知道这对我是轻而易举的事，我也非常乐意这样做。你知道那时我们会是什么样的心情。”
　　范妮对他表示感谢，但是想要一笑了之。
　　“我绝对是认真的，”克劳福德先生答道，“这你绝对是清楚的。我希望你要是有身体不适的迹象，可不要狠心地瞒着我们。真的，你不该隐瞒，你也不能隐瞒。这么久以来，你给玛丽的每一封信里都写明‘我很好’。我知道你不会说假话，也不会在信里撒谎，这么久以来，我们只当你身体很好。”
　　范妮再次向他道谢，但她情绪受到了影响，心里有些烦，也就不想多说话，甚至也不知道说什么好。这时他们也快走到终点了。他把她们陪到底，到了她们家门口才向她们告别。他知道她们就要吃饭了，便托辞说别处有人在等他。
　　“真遗憾搞得你这么累，”别人都进到了房里，他仍然缠住范妮说。“真不忍心把你累成这样。要不要我在城里替你办什么事儿？我心里在琢磨是否最近再去一趟诺福克。我对麦迪逊很不满意。我敢说他还在设法骗我，想把他的一个亲戚弄到磨坊去，顶掉我想安排的人。我必须和他讲清楚。我要让他知道，他在埃弗灵厄姆的北边捉弄不了我，在埃弗灵厄姆的南边也蒙骗不了我，我的财产由我来当家。我以前对他还不够直言不讳。这样的人在庄园上做起坏事来，对主人的名誉和穷人的安康所造成的危害，简直令人难以置信。我真想立即回一趟诺福克，把什么事情都安排妥当，让他今后想捣鬼也捣不成。麦迪逊是个精明人，我不想撤换他——如果他不想取代我的话。不过，让一个我不欠他分毫的人捉弄我，那岂不是太傻了。而让他把一个硬心肠的、贪婪的家伙塞给我当佃户，顶掉一个我已基本答应要的正派人，那岂不是傻上加傻了。难道不是傻上加傻吗？我要不要去？你同意我去吗？”
　　“我同意！你很清楚该怎么办。”
　　“是的。听到你的意见，我就知道该怎么办了。你的意见就是我的是非准则。”
　　“噢，不！不要这么说。我们人人都有自己的判断力，只要我们能听从自己的意见，那比听任何人的意见都好。再见，祝你明天旅途愉快。”
　　“没有什么事要我在城里替你办吗？”
　　“没有，谢谢你。”
　　“不给谁捎个信吗？”
　　“请代我问候你妹妹。你要是见到我表哥——埃德蒙表哥，劳驾你告诉他说——我想我很快会收到他的信。”
　　“一定照办。要是他懒得动笔，或者不放在心上，我就写信告诉你他为什么不来信。”
　　克劳福德先生无法再说下去了，因为范妮不能再不进屋了。他紧紧地握了握她的手，看了看她，然后走掉了。他去和别的熟人一起消磨了三个小时，然后去一家头等饭店享受了一顿最佳的饭菜，而她却转身回家吃了一顿简单的晚餐。
　　她家的日常饮食与他的完全不同。他要是能想到她在父亲家里，除了没有户外活动外，还要吃多少苦的话，他会奇怪她的脸色怎么没受更大的影响，变得难看得多呢。丽贝卡做的布丁和肉末土豆泥，她简直没法吃，而且盛菜的盘子不干不净，吃饭用的刀叉更脏，她常常不得不拖延着不吃这丰盛的饭菜，到晚上打发弟弟给她买点饼干和面包。她是在曼斯菲尔德长大的，现在到朴次茅斯来磨练已经太晚了。托马斯爵士要是知道这一切，即便认为外甥女从身体到精神这样饥饿下去，倒有可能大为看重克劳福德先生的深情厚谊和丰裕资产，他大概也不敢把他的这种实验继续下去，不然，想纠正她的毛病却要了她的命。
　　范妮回来后，心情一直不好。虽然可以确保不再见到克劳福德先生，但她还是提不起精神。刚才跟她告别的这个人总还算是朋友，虽然从某种意义上说她很高兴摆脱了，但她现在像是被人人遗弃了似的，颇有几分再次离开曼斯菲尔德的滋味。她一想到他回城后会经常与玛丽和埃德蒙相聚，心里不免有点嫉妒，并因此而恨自己。
　　周围发生的事情丝毫没有减轻她的低落情绪。她父亲有一两个朋友，他要是不陪他们出去，他们总要在晚上来坐很长很长时间，从六点钟一直坐到九点半，不停地吵闹、喝酒。她心情十分沮丧。她唯一感到安慰的是，她觉得克劳福德先生取得了令人惊异的进步。她没有想到她过去是拿他和曼斯菲尔德的人相比，而现在是拿他和这里的人相比，两地的人大不相同，相比之下会有天壤之别。她深信他现在比过去文雅多了，对别人也关心多了。在小事情上如此，难道在大事情上就不会如此了吗？他这么关心她的身体和安适，这么体贴人，不仅表现在言语上，从神情上也看得出来，在这种情况下，难道不可以设想，要不了多久他就会不再令她这么讨厌地苦苦追求她吗？　
  

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一二三四五六七~~~
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Chapter forty-one

  A week was gone since Edmund might be supposed in town, and Fanny had heard nothing of him. There were three different conclusions to be drawn from his silence, between which her mind was in fluctuation; each of them at times being held the most probable. Either his going had been again delayed, or he had yet procured no opportunity of seeing Miss Crawford alone, or he was too happy for letter-writing!

  One morning, about this time, Fanny having now been nearly four weeks from Mansfield, a point which she never failed to think over and calculate every day, as she and Susan were preparing to remove, as usual, upstairs, they were stopped by the knock of a visitor, whom they felt they could not avoid, from Rebecca's alertness in going to the door, a duty which always interested her beyond any other.

  It was a gentleman's voice; it was a voice that Fanny was just turning pale about, when Mr. Crawford walked into the room.

  Good sense, like hers, will always act when really called upon; and she found that she had been able to name him to her mother, and recall her remembrance of the name, as that of "William's friend," though she could not previously have believed herself capable of uttering a syllable at such a moment. The consciousness of his being known there only as William's friend was some support. Having introduced him, however, and being all reseated, the terrors that occurred of what this visit might lead to were overpowering, and she fancied herself on the point of fainting away.

  While trying to keep herself alive, their visitor, who had at first approached her with as animated a countenance as ever, was wisely and kindly keeping his eyes away, and giving her time to recover, while he devoted himself entirely to her mother, addressing her, and attending to her with the utmost politeness and propriety, at the same time with a degree of friendliness, of interest at least, which was making his manner perfect.

  Mrs. Price's manners were also at their best. Warmed by the sight of such a friend to her son, and regulated by the wish of appearing to advantage before him, she was overflowing with gratitude--artless, maternal gratitude-- which could not be unpleasing. Mr. Price was out, which she regretted very much. Fanny was just recovered enough to feel that _she_ could not regret it; for to her many other sources of uneasiness was added the severe one of shame for the home in which he found her. She might scold herself for the weakness, but there was no scolding it away. She was ashamed, and she would have been yet more ashamed of her father than of all the rest.

  They talked of William, a subject on which Mrs. Price could never tire; and Mr. Crawford was as warm in his commendation as even her heart could wish. She felt that she had never seen so agreeable a man in her life; and was only astonished to find that, so great and so agreeable as he was, he should be come down to Portsmouth neither on a visit to the port-admiral, nor the commissioner, nor yet with the intention of going over to the island, nor of seeing the dockyard. Nothing of all that she had been used to think of as the proof of importance, or the employment of wealth, had brought him to Portsmouth. He had reached it late the night before, was come for a day or two, was staying at the Crown, had accidentally met with a navy officer or two of his acquaintance since his arrival, but had no object of that kind in coming.

  By the time he had given all this information, it was not unreasonable to suppose that Fanny might be looked at and spoken to; and she was tolerably able to bear his eye, and hear that he had spent half an hour with his sister the evening before his leaving London; that she had sent her best and kindest love, but had had no time for writing; that he thought himself lucky in seeing Mary for even half an hour, having spent scarcely twenty-four hours in London, after his return from Norfolk, before he set off again; that her cousin Edmund was in town, had been in town, he understood, a few days; that he had not seen him himself, but that he was well, had left them all well at Mansfield, and was to dine, as yesterday, with the Frasers.

  Fanny listened collectedly, even to the last-mentioned circumstance; nay, it seemed a relief to her worn mind to be at any certainty; and the words, "then by this time it is all settled," passed internally, without more evidence of emotion than a faint blush

  After talking a little more about Mansfield, a subject in which her interest was most apparent, Crawford began to hint at the expediency of an early walk. "It was a lovely morning, and at that season of the year a fine morning so often turned off, that it was wisest for everybody not to delay their exercise"; and such hints producing nothing, he soon proceeded to a positive recommendation to Mrs. Price and her daughters to take their walk without loss of time. Now they came to an understanding. Mrs. Price, it appeared, scarcely ever stirred out of doors, except of a Sunday; she owned she could seldom, with her large family, find time for a walk. "Would she not, then, persuade her daughters to take advantage of such weather, and allow him the pleasure of attending them?" Mrs. Price was greatly obliged and very complying. "Her daughters were very much confined; Portsmouth was a sad place; they did not often get out; and she knew they had some errands in the town, which they would be very glad to do." And the consequence was, that Fanny, strange as it was-- strange, awkward, and distressing--found herself and Susan, within ten minutes, walking towards the High Street with Mr. Crawford.

  It was soon pain upon pain, confusion upon confusion; for they were hardly in the High Street before they met her father, whose appearance was not the better from its being Saturday. He stopt; and, ungentlemanlike as he looked, Fanny was obliged to introduce him to Mr. Crawford. She could not have a doubt of the manner in which Mr. Crawford must be struck. He must be ashamed and disgusted altogether. He must soon give her up, and cease to have the smallest inclination for the match; and yet, though she had been so much wanting his affection to be cured, this was a sort of cure that would be almost as bad as the complaint; and I believe there is scarcely a young lady in the United Kingdoms who would not rather put up with the misfortune of being sought by a clever, agreeable man, than have him driven away by the vulgarity of her nearest relations.

  Mr. Crawford probably could not regard his future father-in-law with any idea of taking him for a model in dress; but (as Fanny instantly, and to her great relief, discerned) her father was a very different man, a very different Mr. Price in his behaviour to this most highly respected stranger, from what he was in his own family at home. His manners now, though not polished, were more than passable: they were grateful, animated, manly; his expressions were those of an attached father, and a sensible man; his loud tones did very well in the open air, and there was not a single oath to be heard. Such was his instinctive compliment to the good manners of Mr. Crawford; and, be the consequence what it might, Fanny's immediate feelings were infinitely soothed.

  The conclusion of the two gentlemen's civilities was an offer of Mr. Price's to take Mr. Crawford into the dockyard, which Mr. Crawford, desirous of accepting as a favour what was intended as such, though he had seen the dockyard again and again, and hoping to be so much the longer with Fanny, was very gratefully disposed to avail himself of, if the Miss Prices were not afraid of the fatigue; and as it was somehow or other ascertained, or inferred, or at least acted upon, that they were not at all afraid, to the dockyard they were all to go; and but for Mr. Crawford, Mr. Price would have turned thither directly, without the smallest consideration for his daughters' errands in the High Street. He took care, however, that they should be allowed to go to the shops they came out expressly to visit; and it did not delay them long, for Fanny could so little bear to excite impatience, or be waited for, that before the gentlemen, as they stood at the door, could do more than begin upon the last naval regulations, or settle the number of three-deckers now in commission, their companions were ready to proceed.

  They were then to set forward for the dockyard at once, and the walk would have been conducted--according to Mr. Crawford's opinion--in a singular manner, had Mr. Price been allowed the entire regulation of it, as the two girls, he found, would have been left to follow, and keep up with them or not, as they could, while they walked on together at their own hasty pace. He was able to introduce some improvement occasionally, though by no means to the extent he wished; he absolutely would not walk away from them; and at any crossing or any crowd, when Mr. Price was only calling out, "Come, girls; come, Fan; come, Sue, take care of yourselves; keep a sharp lookout!" he would give them his particular attendance.

  Once fairly in the dockyard, he began to reckon upon some happy intercourse with Fanny, as they were very soon joined by a brother lounger of Mr. Price's, who was come to take his daily survey of how things went on, and who must prove a far more worthy companion than himself; and after a time the two officers seemed very well satisfied going about together, and discussing matters of equal and never-failing interest, while the young people sat down upon some timbers in the yard, or found a seat on board a vessel in the stocks which they all went to look at. Fanny was most conveniently in want of rest. Crawford could not have wished her more fatigued or more ready to sit down; but he could have wished her sister away. A quick-looking girl of Susan's age was the very worst third in the world: totally different from Lady Bertram, all eyes and ears; and there was no introducing the main point before her. He must content himself with being only generally agreeable, and letting Susan have her share of entertainment, with the indulgence, now and then, of a look or hint for the better-informed and conscious Fanny. Norfolk was what he had mostly to talk of: there he had been some time, and everything there was rising in importance from his present schemes. Such a man could come from no place, no society, without importing something to amuse; his journeys and his acquaintance were all of use, and Susan was entertained in a way quite new to her. For Fanny, somewhat more was related than the accidental agreeableness of the parties he had been in. For her approbation, the particular reason of his going into Norfolk at all, at this unusual time of year, was given. It had been real business, relative to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large and--he believed-- industrious family was at stake. He had suspected his agent of some underhand dealing; of meaning to bias him against the deserving; and he had determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the merits of the case. He had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, had been useful to more than his first plan had comprehended, and was now able to congratulate himself upon it, and to feel that in performing a duty, he had secured agreeable recollections for his own mind. He had introduced himself to some tenants whom he had never seen before; he had begun making acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him. This was aimed, and well aimed, at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak so properly; here he had been acting as he ought to do. To be the friend of the poor and the oppressed! Nothing could be more grateful to her; and she was on the point of giving him an approving look, when it was all frightened off by his adding a something too pointed of his hoping soon to have an assistant, a friend, a guide in every plan of utility or charity for Everingham: a somebody that would make Everingham and all about it a dearer object than it had ever been yet.

  She turned away, and wished he would not say such things. She was willing to allow he might have more good qualities than she had been wont to suppose. She began to feel the possibility of his turning out well at last; but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her, and ought not to think of her.

  He perceived that enough had been said of Everingham, and that it would be as well to talk of something else, and turned to Mansfield. He could not have chosen better; that was a topic to bring back her attention and her looks almost instantly. It was a real indulgence to her to hear or to speak of Mansfield. Now so long divided from everybody who knew the place, she felt it quite the voice of a friend when he mentioned it, and led the way to her fond exclamations in praise of its beauties and comforts, and by his honourable tribute to its inhabitants allowed her to gratify her own heart in the warmest eulogium, in speaking of her uncle as all that was clever and good, and her aunt as having the sweetest of all sweet tempers.

  He had a great attachment to Mansfield himself; he said so; he looked forward with the hope of spending much, very much, of his time there; always there, or in the neighbourhood. He particularly built upon a very happy summer and autumn there this year; he felt that it would be so: he depended upon it; a summer and autumn infinitely superior to the last. As animated, as diversified, as social, but with circumstances of superiority undescribable.

  "Mansfield, Sotherton, Thornton Lacey," he continued; "what a society will be comprised in those houses! And at Michaelmas, perhaps, a fourth may be added: some small hunting-box in the vicinity of everything so dear; for as to any partnership in Thornton Lacey, as Edmund Bertram once good-humouredly proposed, I hope I foresee two objections: two fair, excellent, irresistible objections to that plan."

  Fanny was doubly silenced here; though when the moment was passed, could regret that she had not forced herself into the acknowledged comprehension of one half of his meaning, and encouraged him to say something more of his sister and Edmund. It was a subject which she must learn to speak of, and the weakness that shrunk from it would soon be quite unpardonable.

  When Mr. Price and his friend had seen all that they wished, or had time for, the others were ready to return; and in the course of their walk back, Mr. Crawford contrived a minute's privacy for telling Fanny that his only business in Portsmouth was to see her; that he was come down for a couple of days on her account, and hers only, and because he could not endure a longer total separation. She was sorry, really sorry; and yet in spite of this and the two or three other things which she wished he had not said, she thought him altogether improved since she had seen him; he was much more gentle, obliging, and attentive to other people's feelings than he had ever been at Mansfield; she had never seen him so agreeable--so _near_ being agreeable; his behaviour to her father could not offend, and there was something particularly kind and proper in the notice he took of Susan. He was decidedly improved. She wished the next day over, she wished he had come only for one day; but it was not so very bad as she would have expected: the pleasure of talking of Mansfield was so very great!

  Before they parted, she had to thank him for another pleasure, and one of no trivial kind. Her father asked him to do them the honour of taking his mutton with them, and Fanny had time for only one thrill of horror, before he declared himself prevented by a prior engagement. He was engaged to dinner already both for that day and the next; he had met with some acquaintance at the Crown who would not be denied; he should have the honour, however, of waiting on them again on the morrow, etc., and so they parted--Fanny in a state of actual felicity from escaping so horrible an evil!

  To have had him join their family dinner-party, and see all their deficiencies, would have been dreadful! Rebecca's cookery and Rebecca's waiting, and Betsey's eating at table without restraint, and pulling everything about as she chose, were what Fanny herself was not yet enough inured to for her often to make a tolerable meal. _She_ was nice only from natural delicacy, but _he_ had been brought up in a school of luxury and epicurism.



　　从估计埃德蒙已到伦敦的那天起，一个星期已经过去了，而范妮还没听到他的消息。他不来信可能有三个原因，她的心就在这三个原因之间犹疑不定，每个原因都曾被认为最有可能。不是他又推迟了起程的日期，就是他还没有找到与克劳福德小姐单独相会的机会——不然，就是他过于快乐，忘记了写信。
　　范妮离开曼斯菲尔德已经快四个星期了——她可是每天都在琢磨和算计来了多少天了。就在这时的一天早上，她和苏珊照例准备上楼的时候，听到了有人敲门。丽贝卡总是最喜欢给客人开门，闻声便向门口跑去，于是两位姐姐知道回避不了，只好停下来等着和客人见面。
　　是个男人的声音，范妮一听这声音便脸上失色。就在这时，克劳福德先生走进屋来。
　　像她这样有心眼的人，真到了节骨眼上，总会有办法应对的。她原以为在这样的关头她会一句话也说不出来，可她却发现自己居然能把他的名字说给妈妈听，并且为了让妈妈想起这个名字，还特意提醒说他是“威廉的朋友”。家里人只知道他是威廉的朋友，这一点对她是一种安慰。不过，等介绍过了他，大家重新坐定之后，她又对他这次来访的意图感到惊恐万分，觉得自己就要昏厥过去。
　　他们的这位客人向她走来时，起初像往常一样眉飞色舞，但是一见她惊恐万状地快撑不住了，便机灵而体贴地将目光移开，让她从容地恢复常态。这时，他只和她母亲寒喧，无论是对她讲话还是听她讲话，都极其斯文，极其得体，同时又有几分亲热——至少带有几分兴致——那风度达到了无可挑剔的地步。
　　普莱斯太太也表现甚佳。看到儿子有这样一位朋友非常激动，同时又希望在他面前行为得体，于是便说了不少感激的话，这是做母亲的感激之情，毫无矫揉造作之感，听了自然使人惬意。普莱斯先生出去了，她感到非常遗憾。范妮已有所恢复，她可不为父亲不在家感到遗憾。本来就有很多情况令她局促不安，再让对方看到她待在这样一个家里，她就越发感到羞耻。她尽可以责备自己的这个弱点，但再怎么责备这弱点也消失不了。她感到羞耻，父亲若在家里，她尤其会为他感到羞耻。
　　他们谈起了威廉，这个话题是普莱斯太太百谈不厌的。克劳福德先生热烈地夸奖威廉，普莱斯太太听得满心欢喜。她觉得自己还从没见过这么讨人喜欢的人。眼见这么高贵、这么可爱的一个人来到朴次茅斯，一不为拜访海港司令；二不为拜会地方长官；三不为去岛上观光；四不为参观海军船坞，她不禁感到万分惊奇。他来朴次茅斯跟她惯常想象的不一样，既不是为了显示高贵，也不是为了摆阔。他是头一天深夜到达的，打算待上一两天，眼下住在皇冠旅社。来了之后，只偶然碰到过一两位相熟的海军军官，不过他来此也不是为了看他们。
　　等他介绍完这些情况之后，可以设想，他会眼盯着范妮，把话说给她听。范妮倒可以勉强忍受他的目光，听他说他在离开伦敦的头一天晚上，跟他妹妹在一起待了半个小时。他妹妹托他向她致以最真挚、最亲切的问候，但却来不及写信。他从诺福克回到伦敦，在伦敦待了不到二十四小时便动身往这里来，能和玛丽相聚半个小时，觉得也挺幸运。她的埃德蒙表哥到了伦敦，据他了解已到了几天了。他本人没有见到他，不过听说他挺好，他离开曼斯菲尔德时家里人也都挺好。他还像前一天一样，要去弗雷泽家吃饭。
　　范妮镇定自若地听着，甚至听到最后提到的情况时也很镇定。不仅如此，对她那疲惫不堪的心灵来说，只要知道个结果，不管这结果如何，她似乎都可以松一口气。她心里在想：“那么，到这时事情全都定下来了。”这当儿，她只是脸上微微一红，并没有流露出明显的情绪。
　　他们又谈了谈曼斯菲尔德，范妮对这个话题的兴趣是极为明显的。克劳福德开始向她暗示，最好早点出去散散步。“今天早上天气真好。在这个季节，天气经常时好时坏，早上要抓紧时间活动。”这样的暗示没有引起反应，他接着便明言直语地向普莱斯太太及其女儿们建议：要不失时机地到外面散散步。现在，他们达成了谅解。看来，普莱斯太太除了星期天，平常几乎从不出门。她承认家里孩子太多，没有时间到外边散步。“那您是否可以劝说您的女儿们趁着这良辰美景出去走走，并允许我陪伴着她们？”普莱斯太太不胜感激，满口答应。。我的女儿们常常关在家里——朴次茅斯这地方太糟糕了——她们很少出门——我知道她们在城里有些事情，很想去办一办。”其结果，说来真奇怪——既奇怪，又尴尬，又令人烦恼，不到十分钟工夫，范妮不知怎么就和苏珊跟克劳福德先生一起向大街走去。
　　过了不久，她真是苦上加苦，窘上加窘。原来，他们刚走到大街上，便碰上了她父亲，他的外表并没有因为是星期六而有所改观。他停了下来，尽管样子很不体面，范妮不得不把他介绍给克劳福德先生。她无疑明白克劳福德先生会对他产生什么印象。他肯定会替他害臊，对他感到厌恶。他一定会很快放弃她，丝毫不再考虑这桩婚事。虽然她一直想治好他的相思病，但是这种治法几乎和不治一样糟糕。我相信，联合王国没有一位年轻小姐宁肯拒不忍受一个聪明、可爱的年轻人的不幸追求，而却情愿让自己粗俗的至亲把他吓跑。
　　克劳福德先生大概不会用时装模特儿的标准来看待他未来的老丈人。不过，范妮立即极为欣慰地发现，她父亲和他在家中的表现相比完全变成了另外一个人；从他对这位极其尊贵的陌生人的态度来看，他完全变成了另一个普莱斯先生。他现在的言谈举止虽然谈不上优雅，但也相当过得去。他和颜悦色，热情洋溢，颇有几分男子汉气概。他说起话来俨然像个疼爱儿女的父亲，像个通情达理的人。他那高门大嗓在户外听起来倒也挺悦耳的，而且他连一句赌咒骂人的话都没说。他见克劳福德先生文质彬彬，本能地肃然起敬。且不论结果如何，范妮当即感到无比欣慰。
　　两位先生寒暄过后，普莱斯先生提出带克劳福德先生参观海军船坞。克劳福德先生已经不止一次地去那里参观过，但他觉得对方是一番好意，再说他又很想和范妮多在一起走走，只要两位普莱斯小姐不怕辛苦，他就十分乐意接受这个建议。两位小姐以某种方式表明，或者说暗示，或者至少从行动上看出，她们不怕辛苦，于是大家都要去海军船坞。若不是克劳福德先生提出意见．普莱斯先生会直接领他们到船坞去，丝毫不考虑女儿们还要上大街办点事。克劳福德先生比较细心，建议让姑娘们到她们要去的商店去一趟。这并没有耽搁他们多少时间，因为范妮生怕惹得别人不耐烦，或是让别人等自己，两位先生站在门口刚开始谈到最近颁布的海军条例，以及共有多少现役的三层甲板军舰，他们的两个同伴已经买完了东西，可以走了。
　　于是，大家这就动身去海军船坞。照克劳福德先生的看法，若是完全由普莱斯先生做主，他是不可能把路带好的。克劳福德先生发现，普莱斯先生会领着他们急匆匆地往前走，让两个姑娘在后边跟，是否能跟上他一概不管。克劳福德先生想不时地改变一下这种状况，尽管改变不到他所希望的程度。他绝对不愿意远离她们，每逢到了十字路口或者人多的地方，普莱斯先生只是喊一喊：“来，姑娘们——来，范——来，苏——小心点——注意点。”而克劳福德先生却特地跑回去关照她们。
　　一进入海军船坞，他觉得他有希望和范妮好好谈谈了，因为他们进来不久，便遇到了一个常和普莱斯先生一起厮混的朋友。他是执行日常任务，来察看情况的，由他陪伴普莱斯先生，自然比克劳福德先生来得合适。过了不久，两位军官似乎便乐呵呵地走在一起，谈起了他们同样感兴趣并且永远感兴趣的事情，而几位年轻人或者坐在院里的木头上，或者在去参观造船台的时候在船上找个座位坐下。范妮需要休息，这给克劳福德先生提供了极大的方便。她觉得疲劳，想坐下来休息，这是克劳福德先生求之不得的。不过，他还希望她妹妹离得远一些。像苏珊这么大的目光敏锐的姑娘可是世界上最糟糕的第三者了——与伯特伦夫人完全不同——总是瞪着眼睛，竖着耳朵，在她面前就没法说要紧的话，他只能满足于一般地客客气气，让苏珊也分享一份快乐，不时地对心中有数的范妮递个眼色，给个暗示。他谈得最多的是诺福克，他在那里住了一殷时间，由于执行了他的改造计划，那里处处都越发了不得了。他这个人不论从什么地方来，从什么人那里来，总会带来点有趣的消息。他的旅途生活和他认识的人都是他的谈资，苏珊觉得极为新鲜有趣。除了他那些熟人的偶然趣事之外，他还讲了一些别的事情，那是讲给范妮听的。他讲了讲他在这个不寻常季节去诺福克的具体原因，以博得她的欢心。他是真的去办事的，重订一个租约，原来的租约危及了一大家子（他认为是）勤劳人的幸福。他怀疑他的代理人在耍弄诡秘伎俩，企图使他对好好干的人产生偏见，因此他决定亲自跑一趟，彻底调查一下这里面的是非曲直。他去了一趟，所做的好事超出了自己的预料，帮助的人比原来计划的还要多，现在真可以为此而自我庆贺，觉得由于履行了自己的义务，心里一想起来就感到欣慰。他会见了一些他过去从未见过的佃户，访问了一些农舍，这些农舍虽然就在他的庄园上，但他一直不了解。这话是说给范妮听的，而且收到良好效果。听他说得这么有分寸，真令人高兴。他在这件事上表现得颇为得体。跟受压迫的穷人做朋友啊！对范妮来说，再没有什么比这更可喜的了。她刚想向他投去赞赏的目光，却突然给吓回去了，因为克劳福德先生又赤裸裸地加了一句：希望不久能有一个助手，一个朋友，一个指导者，跟他共同实施埃弗灵厄姆的公益和慈善计划，能有一个人把埃弗灵厄姆及其周围的一切整治得更加宜人。
　　范妮把脸转向一边，希望他不要再说这样的话。她愿意承认，他的好品质也许比她过去想象的多。她开始感到，他最后有可能变好，但他对她一点不适合，而且永远不适合，他不应该再打她的主意。
　　克劳福德先生意识到，埃弗灵厄姆的事情谈得够多了，应该谈点别的事情了，于是把话题转到了曼斯菲尔德。这个话题选得再好不过了，几乎刚一开口就把她的注意力和目光吸引了回来。对她来说，不管是听别人讲起曼斯菲尔德，还是自己讲起曼斯菲尔德，还真让她着迷。她和熟悉这个地方的人分别了这么久，现在听到他提起这个地方，觉得像是听到了朋友的声音。他赞美起了曼斯菲尔德的美丽景色和舒适生活，引起她连连赞叹；他夸奖那里的人，说她姨父头脑机灵，心地善良，说她姨妈性情比谁都和蔼可亲，真让她满怀高兴，也跟着热烈称赞。
　　克劳福德先生自己也非常眷恋曼斯菲尔德，他是这么说的。他盼望将来把大部分时间都消磨在那里——始终住在那里，或者住在附近一带。他特别指望今年能在那里度过一个非常快乐的夏天和秋天，他觉得会办得到的，他相信会实现的，这个夏天和秋天会比去年夏天和秋天好得多。像去年一样兴致勃勃，一样丰富多彩，一样热闹——但是有些情况要比去年好到不可言传的地步。
　　“曼斯菲尔德，索瑟顿，桑顿莱西，”他接着说，“在这些大宅里会玩得多么开心啊！到了米迦勒节，也许还会加上第四个去处，在每个去处附近建一个狩猎小屋。埃德蒙·伯特伦曾热情地建议我和他一起住到桑顿莱西，我有先见之明，觉得有两个原因不能去：两个充分的、绝妙的、无法抗拒的原因。”
　　听他这么一说，范妮越发沉默不语了。可事过之后，她又后悔没有鼓起勇气表示自己明白其中的一个原因，鼓励他再多讲讲他妹妹和埃德蒙的情况。她应该把这个问题提出来，但她畏畏缩缩地不敢提，不久就再也没有机会提了。
　　普莱斯先生和他的朋友把他们要看或者有工夫看的地方都看过了，其他人也准备一起动身回去了。在回去的路上，他处心积虑地找了个机会，跟范妮说了几句悄悄话，说他来朴次茅斯唯一的目的就是看看她，他来住上一两天就是为了她，仅仅为了她，他再也受不了长久的分离了。范妮感到遗憾，非常遗憾。然而，尽管他说了这话，还说了两三件她认为不该说的事，她还是觉得自从分别以来他已有了很大长进。比起上次在曼斯菲尔德见到的时候，他变得文雅多了，对人恳切多了，也能体贴别人的心情。她从来没有见到他这么和蔼可亲——这么近乎和蔼可亲。他对她父亲的态度无可指摘，他对苏珊的关注更有一种特别亲切、特别得体的味道。他有了明显的长进。她希望第二天快一点过去，希望他在这里住一天就走。不过，事情并不像她原先预料的那么糟糕，谈起曼斯菲尔德来真是其乐融融啊！
　　临别之前，范妮还得为另一桩乐事感谢他，而且这还不是一桩区区小事。他父亲请他赏光来和他们一起吃羊肉，范妮心里刚感到一阵惊慌失措，他就声称他已有约在先，不能应邀前往了。他已约好当天和第二天要跟别人一起就餐。他在皇冠旅社遇到了几个熟人，定要请他吃饭，他无法推辞。不过，他可以在第二天上午再来拜访他们。他们就这样分手了，范妮由于避免了这么可怕的灾难，心里感到不胜欣慰！
　　让他来和她家里人一起吃饭，把家里的种种缺陷都暴露在他面前，这该有多么可怕呀！丽贝卡做的那种饭菜，侍候进餐的那种态度，贝齐在饭桌上毫无规矩的那副吃相，看见什么好吃的就往自己面前拉，这一切连范妮都看不惯，经常因此吃不好饭。她只不过因为天生知趣一点而看不惯，而他却是在荣华富贵、讲究吃喝中长大的。　
  

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Chapter forty

  Fanny was right enough in not expecting to hear from Miss Crawford now at the rapid rate in which their correspondence had begun; Mary's next letter was after a decidedly longer interval than the last, but she was not right in supposing that such an interval would be felt a great relief to herself. Here was another strange revolution of mind! She was really glad to receive the letter when it did come. In her present exile from good society, and distance from everything that had been wont to interest her, a letter from one belonging to the set where her heart lived, written with affection, and some degree of elegance, was thoroughly acceptable. The usual plea of increasing engagements was made in excuse for not having written to her earlier; "And now that I have begun," she continued, "my letter will not be worth your reading, for there will be no little offering of love at the end, no three or four lines _passionnees_ from the most devoted H. C. in the world, for Henry is in Norfolk; business called him to Everingham ten days ago, or perhaps he only pretended to call, for the sake of being travelling at the same time that you were. But there he is, and, by the bye, his absence may sufficiently account for any remissness of his sister's in writing, for there has been no 'Well, Mary, when do you write to Fanny? Is not it time for you to write to Fanny?' to spur me on. At last, after various attempts at meeting, I have seen your cousins, 'dear Julia and dearest Mrs. Rushworth'; they found me at home yesterday, and we were glad to see each other again. We _seemed_ _very_ glad to see each other, and I do really think we were a little. We had a vast deal to say. Shall I tell you how Mrs. Rushworth looked when your name was mentioned? I did not use to think her wanting in self-possession, but she had not quite enough for the demands of yesterday. Upon the whole, Julia was in the best looks of the two, at least after you were spoken of. There was no recovering the complexion from the moment that I spoke of 'Fanny,' and spoke of her as a sister should. But Mrs. Rushworth's day of good looks will come; we have cards for her first party on the 28th. Then she will be in beauty, for she will open one of the best houses in Wimpole Street. I was in it two years ago, when it was Lady Lascelle's, and prefer it to almost any I know in London, and certainly she will then feel, to use a vulgar phrase, that she has got her pennyworth for her penny. Henry could not have afforded her such a house. I hope she will recollect it, and be satisfied, as well as she may, with moving the queen of a palace, though the king may appear best in the background; and as I have no desire to tease her, I shall never _force_ your name upon her again. She will grow sober by degrees. From all that I hear and guess, Baron Wildenheim's attentions to Julia continue, but I do not know that he has any serious encouragement. She ought to do better. A poor honourable is no catch, and I cannot imagine any liking in the case, for take away his rants, and the poor baron has nothing. What a difference a vowel makes! If his rents were but equal to his rants! Your cousin Edmund moves slowly; detained, perchance, by parish duties. There may be some old woman at Thornton Lacey to be converted. I am unwilling to fancy myself neglected for a _young_ one. Adieu! my dear sweet Fanny, this is a long letter from London: write me a pretty one in reply to gladden Henry's eyes, when he comes back, and send me an account of all the dashing young captains whom you disdain for his sake."

  There was great food for meditation in this letter, and chiefly for unpleasant meditation; and yet, with all the uneasiness it supplied, it connected her with the absent, it told her of people and things about whom she had never felt so much curiosity as now, and she would have been glad to have been sure of such a letter every week. Her correspondence with her aunt Bertram was her only concern of higher interest.

  As for any society in Portsmouth, that could at all make amends for deficiencies at home, there were none within the circle of her father's and mother's acquaintance to afford her the smallest satisfaction: she saw nobody in whose favour she could wish to overcome her own shyness and reserve. The men appeared to her all coarse, the women all pert, everybody underbred; and she gave as little contentment as she received from introductions either to old or new acquaintance. The young ladies who approached her at first with some respect, in consideration of her coming from a baronet's family, were soon offended by what they termed "airs"; for, as she neither played on the pianoforte nor wore fine pelisses, they could, on farther observation, admit no right of superiority.

  The first solid consolation which Fanny received for the evils of home, the first which her judgment could entirely approve, and which gave any promise of durability, was in a better knowledge of Susan, and a hope of being of service to her. Susan had always behaved pleasantly to herself, but the determined character of her general manners had astonished and alarmed her, and it was at least a fortnight before she began to understand a disposition so totally different from her own. Susan saw that much was wrong at home, and wanted to set it right. That a girl of fourteen, acting only on her own unassisted reason, should err in the method of reform, was not wonderful; and Fanny soon became more disposed to admire the natural light of the mind which could so early distinguish justly, than to censure severely the faults of conduct to which it led. Susan was only acting on the same truths, and pursuing the same system, which her own judgment acknowledged, but which her more supine and yielding temper would have shrunk from asserting. Susan tried to be useful, where _she_ could only have gone away and cried; and that Susan was useful she could perceive; that things, bad as they were, would have been worse but for such interposition, and that both her mother and Betsey were restrained from some excesses of very offensive indulgence and vulgarity.

  In every argument with her mother, Susan had in point of reason the advantage, and never was there any maternal tenderness to buy her off. The blind fondness which was for ever producing evil around her she had never known. There was no gratitude for affection past or present to make her better bear with its excesses to the others.

  All this became gradually evident, and gradually placed Susan before her sister as an object of mingled compassion and respect. That her manner was wrong, however, at times very wrong, her measures often ill-chosen and ill-timed, and her looks and language very often indefensible, Fanny could not cease to feel; but she began to hope they might be rectified. Susan, she found, looked up to her and wished for her good opinion; and new as anything like an office of authority was to Fanny, new as it was to imagine herself capable of guiding or informing any one, she did resolve to give occasional hints to Susan, and endeavour to exercise for her advantage the juster notions of what was due to everybody, and what would be wisest for herself, which her own more favoured education had fixed in her.

  Her influence, or at least the consciousness and use of it, originated in an act of kindness by Susan, which, after many hesitations of delicacy, she at last worked herself up to. It had very early occurred to her that a small sum of money might, perhaps, restore peace for ever on the sore subject of the silver knife, canvassed as it now was continually, and the riches which she was in possession of herself, her uncle having given her 10 at parting, made her as able as she was willing to be generous. But she was so wholly unused to confer favours, except on the very poor, so unpractised in removing evils, or bestowing kindnesses among her equals, and so fearful of appearing to elevate herself as a great lady at home, that it took some time to determine that it would not be unbecoming in her to make such a present. It was made, however, at last: a silver knife was bought for Betsey, and accepted with great delight, its newness giving it every advantage over the other that could be desired; Susan was established in the full possession of her own, Betsey handsomely declaring that now she had got one so much prettier herself, she should never want _that_ again; and no reproach seemed conveyed to the equally satisfied mother, which Fanny had almost feared to be impossible. The deed thoroughly answered: a source of domestic altercation was entirely done away, and it was the means of opening Susan's heart to her, and giving her something more to love and be interested in. Susan shewed that she had delicacy: pleased as she was to be mistress of property which she had been struggling for at least two years, she yet feared that her sister's judgment had been against her, and that a reproof was designed her for having so struggled as to make the purchase necessary for the tranquillity of the house.

  Her temper was open. She acknowledged her fears, blamed herself for having contended so warmly; and from that hour Fanny, understanding the worth of her disposition and perceiving how fully she was inclined to seek her good opinion and refer to her judgment, began to feel again the blessing of affection, and to entertain the hope of being useful to a mind so much in need of help, and so much deserving it. She gave advice, advice too sound to be resisted by a good understanding, and given so mildly and considerately as not to irritate an imperfect temper, and she had the happiness of observing its good effects not unfrequently. More was not expected by one who, while seeing all the obligation and expediency of submission and forbearance, saw also with sympathetic acuteness of feeling all that must be hourly grating to a girl like Susan. Her greatest wonder on the subject soon became--not that Susan should have been provoked into disrespect and impatience against her better knowledge-- but that so much better knowledge, so many good notions should have been hers at all; and that, brought up in the midst of negligence and error, she should have formed such proper opinions of what ought to be; she, who had had no cousin Edmund to direct her thoughts or fix her principles.

  The intimacy thus begun between them was a material advantage to each. By sitting together upstairs, they avoided a great deal of the disturbance of the house; Fanny had peace, and Susan learned to think it no misfortune to be quietly employed. They sat without a fire; but that was a privation familiar even to Fanny, and she suffered the less because reminded by it of the East room. It was the only point of resemblance. In space, light, furniture, and prospect, there was nothing alike in the two apartments; and she often heaved a sigh at the remembrance of all her books and boxes, and various comforts there. By degrees the girls came to spend the chief of the morning upstairs, at first only in working and talking, but after a few days, the remembrance of the said books grew so potent and stimulative that Fanny found it impossible not to try for books again. There were none in her father's house; but wealth is luxurious and daring, and some of hers found its way to a circulating library. She became a subscriber; amazed at being anything _in_ _propria_ _persona_, amazed at her own doings in every way, to be a renter, a chuser of books! And to be having any one's improvement in view in her choice! But so it was. Susan had read nothing, and Fanny longed to give her a share in her own first pleasures, and inspire a taste for the biography and poetry which she delighted in herself.

  In this occupation she hoped, moreover, to bury some of the recollections of Mansfield, which were too apt to seize her mind if her fingers only were busy; and, especially at this time, hoped it might be useful in diverting her thoughts from pursuing Edmund to London, whither, on the authority of her aunt's last letter, she knew he was gone. She had no doubt of what would ensue. The promised notification was hanging over her head. The postman's knock within the neighbourhood was beginning to bring its daily terrors, and if reading could banish the idea for even half an hour, it was something gained.



　　克劳福德小姐现在的来信没有当初那么勤了，这一点没有出乎范妮的预料。显然，玛丽下次来信间隔的时间比上次长得多。但是，来信间隔长对她并不是个很大的安慰，这一点却是她未曾料到的。这是她心理发生的又一个奇怪的变化啊！她接到来信的时候，还真感到高兴。她眼下被逐出了上流社会，远离了她一向感兴趣的一切事物，在这种情况下，能收到她心仪的那个圈子里的某个人的一封来信，而且信又写得那么热情，还有几分文采，这自然是件十分称心的事。信里总是用应酬越来越多作托词，解释为什么没能早来信。“现在动起笔来，”玛丽继续写道，“就怕我的信不值得你一读，因为信的末尾没有了世上最痴情的H.C．①（译注：①Henry Crawford（亨利·克劳福德）的开头字母。）的爱的致意和三四行热情的话语，因为亨利到诺福克去了。十天前，他有事去了埃弗灵厄姆，也许是假装有事，其实是想趁你外出旅行的时机，也去旅行一趟。不过，他现在的确在埃弗灵厄姆。顺便提一句，做妹妹的信写得少完全是因为他不在身边的缘故，因而听不到这样的催促：‘喂，玛丽，你什么时候给范妮写信呀？你还不该给范妮写信吗？’经过多次的努力，我终于见到了你的两位表姐：‘亲爱的朱莉娅和最亲爱的拉什沃思太太。’她们昨天来的时候我正在家里，我们很高兴能够重逢。我们好像很高兴能彼此相见，我倒真觉得我们有点高兴。我们有许多话要说。要不要我告诉你当提到你的名字时拉什沃思太太脸上的表情？我一向认为她还比较沉稳，但是昨天她却有些沉不住气了。总的说来，朱莉娅的脸色好看一些，至少在说起你以后是这样。从我讲到‘范妮’，并且以小姑子的口气讲到你的时候，那副面孔就一直没有恢复正常。不过，拉什沃思太太满面春风的日子就要到来了，我们已经接到了请帖，她要在28日举行第一次舞会。到时候她会美不可言，因为她要展示的是温普尔街最气派的一幢大宅。两年前我去过那里，当时是拉塞尔斯夫人住在里面，我觉得这幢房子比我在伦敦见过的哪一幢都好。到时候她肯定会觉得——借用一句俗话说——她这是物有所值。亨利不可能给她提供这样一幢房子。我希望她能记住这一点，满足于做一个王后住着一座宫殿，虽说国王最好待在后台。我不愿意刺激她，决不会再当着她的面硬提你的名字。她会渐渐冷静下来。从我听到的情况看，再根据我的猜测，维尔登海姆男爵①（译注：①系《山盟海誓》中的人物，由耶茨先生扮演，见本书第一卷第十四章。）仍在追求朱莉娅，叮我拿不准他是否受过认真的鼓励。她应该挑一个更合适的人。一个可怜的贵族头衔顶不了什么用，我想象不出他有什么可爱的，除了夸夸其谈，这位可怜的男爵一无所有。一字之差会造成多大的差异啊！他要是不光讲起话来‘叫呱呱’，收起租来也‘顶呱呱’就好了！你埃德蒙表哥还迟迟没来，可能是让教区的事务绊住了。也许是桑顿莱西的哪个老太婆需要他劝说皈依。我不愿意设想他是因为某个年轻女人而不把我放在心上。再见，我亲爱的甜蜜的范妮，这是从伦敦写给你的一封长信，给我好好地回一封信，让亨利回来一睹为快——还要给我讲一讲你为了他鄙弃了多少漂亮的年轻舰长。”
　　这封信里有不少东西可供她回味，个中的滋味多半使她感到不快。然而，尽管读过之后感到诸多不安，但这封信却把她和远在他乡的人联系了起来，讲到了她近来特别想了解的人和事，她倒很愿意每星期都收到这样一封信。她和伯特伦姨妈之间的通信是她唯一更感兴趣的事情。
　　朴次茅斯的社交活动，并不能弥补她家庭生活的缺陷。不论是她父亲的圈里人还是她母亲的圈里人，没有一个能给她带来丝毫的快乐。她对她见到的人都没有好感，怕见他们，不愿和他们说话。她觉得这里的男人个个粗鲁，女人个个唐突，男男女女没有一个不缺乏教养。无论是和老相识还是和新相识应酬，她都不满意，人家也同样不满意。年轻姑娘们起初觉得她是从一位男爵家来的，便带着几分敬意来接近她，但是很快就对她们所谓的“气派”看不顺眼了——因为她既不肯弹钢琴，又没穿考究的皮外衣，经过进一步观察，认为她没有什么比她们优越的。
　　家里处处不称心，范妮得到的第一个实在的安慰，第一个她衷心欢迎而又可能持久的安慰，是她对苏珊有了进一步的了解，而且有可能对她有所帮助。苏珊对她倒是一直很好，但她为人处事的泼辣劲儿曾使她感到震惊，至少过了两个星期，她才开始对这个与自己性情完全不同的姑娘有所了解。苏珊对家里的很多事情看不惯，想要加以纠正。一个十四岁的姑娘，在无人帮助的情况下，仅仅凭着自己的理智，要改变家庭的这些状况，在方式方法上有些不当是不足为奇的。她这么小的年纪就能明辨是非，范妮很快就开始欣赏她的天赋和智慧，而不去苛求她做法上的不当。苏珊遵循的正是她自己认同的原则，追寻的正是她自己认可的秩序，只不过她自己性格比较软弱，有些畏缩不前，不敢坚持罢了。苏珊能站出来管事，而她只会躲在一边去哭。她看得出来，苏珊还是起到了作用；如果不是苏珊出面干预，本来已经很糟的事情恐怕会变得更糟；由于苏珊的干预，她妈妈和贝齐那种令人难以容忍的过分放纵、过于粗俗的行为才受到一些约束。
　　苏珊每次和妈妈辩论，都是苏珊有理，而做妈妈的从来没有用母爱的柔情来感化她。那种造成种种不良后果的盲目溺爱，她可从来没有领受过。她过去没被疼爱过，现在也不受人疼爱，因此就没有什么感恩之心，也不会容忍对别人的过分溺爱。
　　这一切逐渐明白了，苏珊也便逐渐成了姐姐同情和钦佩的对象。然而，她的态度不好，有时候还很不好——她的举措往往失当，不合时宜，她的神情和语言常常不可原谅，这一切范妮依然感觉得到，不过她开始希望会有所改变。她发现苏珊挺敬重她，希望得到她的指教。范妮虽然从未起过权威作用，从未设想自己能指导别人，但她决计偶尔给她些指点，并且利用自己受过的较好教育，让她更好地理解人应该怎样待人接物，她怎样做才最聪明。
　　她的影响，或者说，至少她意识到了自己的影响并在利用自己的影响，是从她对苏珊的一次友好行为开始的。对于这件事，她起初有所顾虑，经过多次犹豫，最后才鼓足了勇气。她早就想到，虽说为了那把银刀不断发生争吵，但是也许用不了多少钱，就能在这个敏感的问题上永远恢复安宁。她姨父临别时给了她十英镑，她手里有了这笔钱，就不光想要大方，而且也大方得起。但是，除了对很穷的人，她从来没有施恩于谁。对于与她同等的人，她从来没有纠正过谁的不良行为，也没有对谁施过恩惠。她就怕别人觉得她想摆出一副大家闺秀的架势，来提高自己在家里的地位，因此考虑了许久还不能决定，赠这么个礼品对她来说是否合适。不过，她最后还是送了礼品。她给贝齐买了一把银刀，贝齐喜不自禁地接受了。这是把新刀，怎么看都比那把旧的好。这样一来，苏珊就完全恢复了对她那把旧刀的所有权，贝齐也慷慨地宣称，她现在有了一把漂亮得多的刀子，也就决不会再要那一把了。范妮本来担心妈妈会为此感到羞愧，不过看来她丝毫没有这样的感觉，反倒同样为之高兴。这件事完全收到了应有的效果。家庭纠纷的一个根源给彻底消除了，苏珊从此向她敞开了心扉，她也就多了一个可以喜爱、可以关心的人。苏珊表明她心眼也很细。她争了至少两年，现在成了这把银刀的主人，心里自然十分高兴，然而她又怕姐姐对自己印象不好，怕姐姐怨她那样争来争去，不买上一把家里就不得安宁。
　　她是个襟怀坦荡的人，向姐姐承认了自己的顾虑，责怪自己不该那样去争。从这时起，范妮了解了她可爱的性情，意识到她多么想听她的意见，请她指点，于是做姐姐的又感到了亲情的幸福，希望能对一个如此需要帮助，而又应该得到帮助的人有所帮助。她给她提意见，意见提得合情合理，但凡头脑清楚，就无法反对。意见还提得又温和又体贴，即使脾气坏一点，听了也不会生气。她眼见着自己的意见屡屡产生良好的效果，心里感到很高兴。她看到她明白了做人的道理，明白了自身的利害关系，因而能接受她的意见，进行自我克制，但也深为体谅地看出，对于苏珊这样一个姑娘来说，这也是个难咽的苦果。因此，她对她没有更高的要求。过了不久，她发现这件事最让她感到惊奇的——不是苏珊对她的好的见解不尊重，听不进去——而是她本来就有那么多好的见解，好的观点。她是在无人管教、没有规矩的环境中长大的——也没有个埃德蒙表哥指导她的思想，灌输为人的准则，她居然形成了这么多正确的见解。
　　两人之间如此开始的亲密关系对两人都有很大的好处。她们一起坐在楼上，也就避开了许多家中的吵吵闹闹。范妮得到了安静，苏珊也懂得了不声不响地做活的乐趣。她们的房里没有生火。不过，就连范妮对这种艰苦也习以为常，由于联想到了东屋，她反倒觉得没有什么苦的。这间屋子与东屋只有在这一点上是相像的。两者之间在大小、光线、家具和窗外景色方面，没有任何相似之处。她每次想起她在东屋的书籍、箱子和各种各样舒适的用品，免不了唉声叹气。渐渐地，两个姑娘都在楼上度过上午的大部分时间，起初只是做活、聊天，可是几天后，范妮越来越想念刚才提到的那些书籍，在这种情绪的刺激下，忍不住又想找些书来看。她父亲的这个家里没有书，但是人有了钱就会大手大脚，无所顾忌——她的一些钱就流到了一家流通图书馆。她成了一个订阅者——为自己成为这样一个人感到惊讶，为自己的所作所为感到惊讶，她居然成了一个租书者，一个挑选图书的人！而且由她选书来提高别人！可事实就是如此。苏珊什么都没读过，范妮想让她分享一下她自己的首要乐趣，激励她喜欢她自己所喜欢的传记和诗歌。
　　另外，她还希望通过读书抛开她对曼斯菲尔德的一些回忆。如果她只是手指在忙，这些回忆势必会萦绕于心。尤其在这个时候，她觉得读书有助于转移她的思想，不要胡思乱想地跟着埃德蒙去伦敦，因为从姨妈的上封信来看，她知道他去了那里。她毫不怀疑会产生什么结果。埃德蒙曾说过到时候会将情况写信告诉她，现在这可怕的事情已经临头了。每天连邮差在左邻右舍的敲门声，都让她感到惊恐——要是读书能让她把这件事哪怕只忘掉半个小时，对她来说也是个不小的收获。　
  

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Chapter Thirty-nine

  Could Sir Thomas have seen all his niece's feelings, when she wrote her first letter to her aunt, he would not have despaired; for though a good night's rest, a pleasant morning, the hope of soon seeing William again, and the comparatively quiet state of the house, from Tom and Charles being gone to school, Sam on some project of his own, and her father on his usual lounges, enabled her to express herself cheerfully on the subject of home, there were still, to her own perfect consciousness, many drawbacks suppressed. Could he have seen only half that she felt before the end of a week, he would have thought Mr. Crawford sure of her, and been delighted with his own sagacity.

  Before the week ended, it was all disappointment. In the first place, William was gone. The Thrush had had her orders, the wind had changed, and he was sailed within four days from their reaching Portsmouth; and during those days she had seen him only twice, in a short and hurried way, when he had come ashore on duty. There had been no free conversation, no walk on the ramparts, no visit to the dockyard, no acquaintance with the Thrush, nothing of all that they had planned and depended on. Everything in that quarter failed her, except William's affection. His last thought on leaving home was for her. He stepped back again to the door to say, "Take care of Fanny, mother. She is tender, and not used to rough it like the rest of us. I charge you, take care of Fanny."

  William was gone: and the home he had left her in was, Fanny could not conceal it from herself, in almost every respect the very reverse of what she could have wished. It was the abode of noise, disorder, and impropriety. Nobody was in their right place, nothing was done as it ought to be. She could not respect her parents as she had hoped. On her father, her confidence had not been sanguine, but he was more negligent of his family, his habits were worse, and his manners coarser, than she had been prepared for. He did not want abilities but he had no curiosity, and no information beyond his profession; he read only the newspaper and the navy-list; he talked only of the dockyard, the harbour, Spithead, and the Motherbank; he swore and he drank, he was dirty and gross. She had never been able to recall anything approaching to tenderness in his former treatment of herself. There had remained only a general impression of roughness and loudness; and now he scarcely ever noticed her, but to make her the object of a coarse joke.

  Her disappointment in her mother was greater: _there_ she had hoped much, and found almost nothing. Every flattering scheme of being of consequence to her soon fell to the ground. Mrs. Price was not unkind; but, instead of gaining on her affection and confidence, and becoming more and more dear, her daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the first day of her arrival. The instinct of nature was soon satisfied, and Mrs. Price's attachment had no other source. Her heart and her time were already quite full; she had neither leisure nor affection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never had been much to her. She was fond of her sons, especially of William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had ever much regarded. To her she was most injudiciously indulgent. William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles occupied all the rest of her maternal solicitude, alternately her worries and her comforts. These shared her heart: her time was given chiefly to her house and her servants. Her days were spent in a kind of slow bustle; all was busy without getting on, always behindhand and lamenting it, without altering her ways; wishing to be an economist, without contrivance or regularity; dissatisfied with her servants, without skill to make them better, and whether helping, or reprimanding, or indulging them, without any power of engaging their respect.

  Of her two sisters, Mrs. Price very much more resembled Lady Bertram than Mrs. Norris. She was a manager by necessity, without any of Mrs. Norris's inclination for it, or any of her activity. Her disposition was naturally easy and indolent, like Lady Bertram's; and a situation of similar affluence and do-nothingness would have been much more suited to her capacity than the exertions and self-denials of the one which her imprudent marriage had placed her in. She might have made just as good a woman of consequence as Lady Bertram, but Mrs. Norris would have been a more respectable mother of nine children on a small income.

  Much of all this Fanny could not but be sensible of. She might scruple to make use of the words, but she must and did feel that her mother was a partial, ill-judging parent, a dawdle, a slattern, who neither taught nor restrained her children, whose house was the scene of mismanagement and discomfort from beginning to end, and who had no talent, no conversation, no affection towards herself; no curiosity to know her better, no desire of her friendship, and no inclination for her company that could lessen her sense of such feelings.

  Fanny was very anxious to be useful, and not to appear above her home, or in any way disqualified or disinclined, by her foreign education, from contributing her help to its comforts, and therefore set about working for Sam immediately; and by working early and late, with perseverance and great despatch, did so much that the boy was shipped off at last, with more than half his linen ready. She had great pleasure in feeling her usefulness, but could not conceive how they would have managed without her.

  Sam, loud and overbearing as he was, she rather regretted when he went, for he was clever and intelligent, and glad to be employed in any errand in the town; and though spurning the remonstrances of Susan, given as they were, though very reasonable in themselves, with ill-timed and powerless warmth, was beginning to be influenced by Fanny's services and gentle persuasions; and she found that the best of the three younger ones was gone in him: Tom and Charles being at least as many years as they were his juniors distant from that age of feeling and reason, which might suggest the expediency of making friends, and of endeavouring to be less disagreeable. Their sister soon despaired of making the smallest impression on _them_; they were quite untameable by any means of address which she had spirits or time to attempt. Every afternoon brought a return of their riotous games all over the house; and she very early learned to sigh at the approach of Saturday's constant half-holiday.

  Betsey, too, a spoiled child, trained up to think the alphabet her greatest enemy, left to be with the servants at her pleasure, and then encouraged to report any evil of them, she was almost as ready to despair of being able to love or assist; and of Susan's temper she had many doubts. Her continual disagreements with her mother, her rash squabbles with Tom and Charles, and petulance with Betsey, were at least so distressing to Fanny that, though admitting they were by no means without provocation, she feared the disposition that could push them to such length must be far from amiable, and from affording any repose to herself.

  Such was the home which was to put Mansfield out of her head, and teach her to think of her cousin Edmund with moderated feelings. On the contrary, she could think of nothing but Mansfield, its beloved inmates, its happy ways. Everything where she now was in full contrast to it. The elegance, propriety, regularity, harmony, and perhaps, above all, the peace and tranquillity of Mansfield, were brought to her remembrance every hour of the day, by the prevalence of everything opposite to them _here_.

  The living in incessant noise was, to a frame and temper delicate and nervous like Fanny's, an evil which no superadded elegance or harmony could have entirely atoned for. It was the greatest misery of all. At Mansfield, no sounds of contention, no raised voice, no abrupt bursts, no tread of violence, was ever heard; all proceeded in a regular course of cheerful orderliness; everybody had their due importance; everybody's feelings were consulted. If tenderness could be ever supposed wanting, good sense and good breeding supplied its place; and as to the little irritations sometimes introduced by aunt Norris, they were short, they were trifling, they were as a drop of water to the ocean, compared with the ceaseless tumult of her present abode. Here everybody was noisy, every voice was loud (excepting, perhaps, her mother's, which resembled the soft monotony of Lady Bertram's, only worn into fretfulness). Whatever was wanted was hallooed for, and the servants hallooed out their excuses from the kitchen. The doors were in constant banging, the stairs were never at rest, nothing was done without a clatter, nobody sat still, and nobody could command attention when they spoke.

  In a review of the two houses, as they appeared to her before the end of a week, Fanny was tempted to apply to them Dr. Johnson's celebrated judgment as to matrimony and celibacy, and say, that though Mansfield Park might have some pains, Portsmouth could have no pleasures.



　　托马斯爵士若能知道外甥女给姨妈写第一封信时的心情，也就不会感到绝望了。范妮好好睡了一夜，早晨觉得挺愉快的，还可望很快再见到威廉，加上汤姆和查尔斯都上学去了，萨姆在忙自己的什么事，父亲像往常那样到处闲逛，因而家里处于比较平静的状态，她也就能用明快的言词来描绘她的家庭，然而她心里十分清楚，还有许多令她不快的事情，她不想让他们知道。她回家住了不到一个星期便产生的想法，做姨父的若能知道一半，就会认为克劳福德先生定会把她弄到手，就会为自己的英明决策而沾沾自喜。
　　还不到一个星期，她就大为失望了。首先是威廉走了。“画眉”号接到了命令，风向也变了，来到朴次茅斯后的第四天，他便跟着出海了。在这几天里，她只见到哥哥两次，而且他上岸来公务在身，刚刚见面，便匆匆别去。他们没能畅快地谈谈心，没能到大堤上散散步，没能到海军船坞去参观，没能去看看“画眉”号——总之，原来所计划、所期盼的事一样都没实现。除了威廉对她的情意之外，其他的一切都让她失望。他离家的时候，临走想到的还是她。他又回到门口说：“照顾好范妮，妈妈。她比较脆弱，不像我们那样过惯了艰苦的生活。拜托你了，把范妮照顾好。”
　　威廉走了。他离开后的这个家——范妮不得不承认——几乎在各方面都与她希望的正相反。这是一个吵吵闹闹、乱七八糟、没有规矩的人家。没有一个人是安分守己的，没有一件事做得妥当的。她无法像她希望的那样敬重父母。她对父亲本来就没抱多大希望，但是他比她想象的还要对家庭不负责任，他的习性比她想象的还要坏，他的言谈举止比她想象的还要粗俗。他并不是没有才干，但是除了他那个行当以外，他对什么都不感兴趣，对什么都不知道。他只看报纸和海军军官花名册。他只爱谈论海军船坞、海港、斯皮特黑德和母亲滩①（译注：①母亲滩( Motherbank)：位于英格兰南部怀特岛东北沿岸的海滩，系英国当年与东印度群岛进行贸易的大货船的泊地。）。他爱骂人，好喝酒，又脏又粗野。她想不起来他过去曾对自己有过一点温情。她对他只有一个总的印象：粗里粗气，说话很野。现在他对她几乎不屑一顾，只是拿她开个粗俗的玩笑。
　　她对母亲更加失望。她原来对她寄予很大的希望，但却几乎完全失望了。她对母亲的种种美好的期望很快便彻底落空了。普莱斯太太并非心狠——但是，她对女儿不是越来越好，越来越知心，越来越亲切，范妮再没有遇到她对她像刚来的那天晚上那样客气。自然的本能已经得到了满足，普莱斯太太的情感再也没有其他来源。她的心、她的时间早已填满了，既没有闲暇又没有情感用到范妮身上。她从来就不怎么看重她的那些女儿。她喜爱的是她的儿子们，特别是威廉。不过，贝齐算是第一个受到她疼爱的女儿。她对她娇惯到极不理智的地步。威廉是她的骄傲，贝齐是她的心肝，约翰、理查德、萨姆、汤姆和查尔斯分享了她余下的母爱，时而为他们担忧，时而为他们高兴。这些事分摊了她的心，她的时间主要用到了她的家和仆人身上。她的日子都是在慢吞吞的忙乱中度过的，总是忙而不见成效，总是拖拖拉拉不断埋怨，却又不肯改弦更张；心里倒想做个会过日子的人，却又不会算计，没个条理；对仆人不满意，却又没有本事改变他们，对他们不管是帮助，还是责备，还是放任自流，都得不到他们的尊敬。
　　和两个姐姐相比，普莱斯太太并不怎么像诺里斯太太，而更像伯特伦夫人。她管理家务是出于不得已，既不像诺里斯太太那样喜欢管，也不像她那样勤快。她的性情倒像伯特伦夫人，天生懒懒散散。她那不慎的婚姻给她带来了这种终日操劳、自我克制的生活，她若是能像伯特伦夫人那样家境富足，那样无所事事，那对她的能力来说要合适得多。她可以做一个像伯特伦夫人一样体面的有身份的女人，而诺里斯太太却可以凭着微薄的收入做一个体面的九个孩子的母亲。
　　这一切范妮自然能意识得到。她可以出于慎重不说出来，但她必然而且的确觉得母亲是个偏心眼、不辨是非的母亲，是个懒散邋遢的女人，对孩子既不教育，又不约束，她的家里里外外都是一片管理不善的景象，令人望而生厌；她没有才干，笨嘴拙舌，对自己也没有感情；她不想更多地了解她，不稀罕她的友情，无心让她陪伴，不然的话，她的重重心事也许会减轻一些。
　　范妮很想做点事情，不愿意让人觉得自己比一家人优越，觉得自己由于在外边受过教育，就不适合或不乐意帮助做点家务事。因此，她立即动手给萨姆做起活来。她起早贪黑，坚持不懈，飞针走线地赶着，等萨姆最后登船远航的时候，他所需要的大部分内衣都做好了。她为自己能给家里帮点忙而感到异常高兴，同时又无法想象家里没有了她怎么能行。
　　萨姆尽管嗓门大，盛气凌人，但他走的时候，她还真有些舍不得，因为他聪明伶俐，有什么差事派他进城他都乐意去。苏珊给他提什么意见，虽然意见本身都很合理，但是由于提得不是时候，态度不够诚恳，他连听都不要听。然而，范妮对他的帮助和循循善诱，开始对他产生了影响。范妮发现，他这一走，走掉了三个小弟弟中最好的一个。汤姆和查尔斯比他小得多，因此在感情上和理智上还远远不能和她交朋友，而且也不会少惹人嫌。他们的姐姐不久便失去了信心，觉得她再怎么努力也触动不了他们。她情绪好或是有空的时候，曾劝导过他们，可是他们什么话都听不进。每天下午放学后，他们都要在家里玩起各种各样大吵大闹的游戏。过了不久，每逢星期六下午这个半天假来临的时候，她都不免要长吁短叹。
　　贝齐也是个惯坏了的孩子，把字母表视为不共戴天的敌人，父母由着她和仆人们一起厮混，一边又纵容她随意说他们的坏话。范妮几乎要绝望了，感到无法爱她，也无法帮她。对于苏珊的脾气，她也是满怀疑虑。她不断地和妈妈闹意见，动不动就和汤姆、查尔斯吵嘴，对贝齐发脾气。这些现象至少让范妮觉得心烦。虽然她承认苏珊并不是没有来由，但她又担心，喜欢如此争吵不休的人，决不会对人和蔼可亲，也决不会给她带来平静。
　　就是这样一个家，她原想用这个家把曼斯菲尔德从自己的头脑中挤走，并且学会克制住自己对埃德蒙表哥的感情。但恰恰相反，她现在念念不忘的正是曼斯菲尔德，是那里那些可爱的人们，是那里的欢快气氛。这里的一切与那里形成了鲜明的对照。这里样样与那里截然不同，使她无时无刻不想起曼斯菲尔德的风雅、礼貌、规范、和谐——尤其是那里的平静与安宁。
　　对于范妮这种单薄的躯体、怯懦的性情来说，生活在无休止的喧闹声中无疑是巨大的痛苦，即使给这里加上风雅与和谐，也弥补不了这种痛苦。这是世上最大的痛苦。在曼斯菲尔德，从来听不到争抢什么东西的声音，听不到大喊大叫，听不到有人突然发作，听不到什么人胡蹦乱跳。一切都秩序井然，喜气洋洋。每个人都有应有的地位，每个人的意见都受到尊重。如果在哪件事情上缺乏温柔体贴的话，那取而代之的便是健全的见识和良好的教养。至于诺里斯姨妈有时导致的小小的不快，与她现在这个家的不停吵闹相比，那真是又短暂又微不足道，犹如滴水与沧海之比。在这里，人人都在吵闹，个个都在大喊大叫。（也许她妈妈是个例外，她说起话来像伯特伦夫人一样轻柔单调，只不过由于倍受生活的磨难，听起来有几分烦躁不安。）要什么东西都是大声呼喊，仆人们从厨房里辩解起来也是大声呼喊。门都在不停地砰砰作响，楼梯上总有人上上下下，做什么事都要磕磕碰碰，没有一个人老老实实地坐着，没有一个人讲话会有人听。
　　根据一个星期的印象，范妮把两个家庭做了对比。她想借用约翰逊博士关于结婚和独身的著名论断①（译注：①约翰逊博士，即萨缪尔·约翰逊 (1709-1784)，英国作家、评论家、辞书编撰者。他在其中篇传奇《阿比西尼亚国拉塞斯王子传》第二十六章中有这样一句话：“结婚有许多痛苦，但独身却没有快乐。”），来评论这两个家庭说：虽然在曼斯菲尔德庄园会有一些痛苦，但在朴次茅斯却没有任何快乐。　
  
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一二三四五六七~~~
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Chapter Thirty-eight

  The novelty of travelling, and the happiness of being with William, soon produced their natural effect on Fanny's spirits, when Mansfield Park was fairly left behind; and by the time their first stage was ended, and they were to quit Sir Thomas's carriage, she was able to take leave of the old coachman, and send back proper messages, with cheerful looks.

  Of pleasant talk between the brother and sister there was no end. Everything supplied an amusement to the high glee of William's mind, and he was full of frolic and joke in the intervals of their higher-toned subjects, all of which ended, if they did not begin, in praise of the Thrush, conjectures how she would be employed, schemes for an action with some superior force, which (supposing the first lieutenant out of the way, and William was not very merciful to the first lieutenant) was to give himself the next step as soon as possible, or speculations upon prize-money, which was to be generously distributed at home, with only the reservation of enough to make the little cottage comfortable, in which he and Fanny were to pass all their middle and later life together.

  Fanny's immediate concerns, as far as they involved Mr. Crawford, made no part of their conversation. William knew what had passed, and from his heart lamented that his sister's feelings should be so cold towards a man whom he must consider as the first of human characters; but he was of an age to be all for love, and therefore unable to blame; and knowing her wish on the subject, he would not distress her by the slightest allusion.

  She had reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten by Mr. Crawford. She had heard repeatedly from his sister within the three weeks which had passed since their leaving Mansfield, and in each letter there had been a few lines from himself, warm and determined like his speeches. It was a correspondence which Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she had feared. Miss Crawford's style of writing, lively and affectionate, was itself an evil, independent of what she was thus forced into reading from the brother's pen, for Edmund would never rest till she had read the chief of the letter to him; and then she had to listen to his admiration of her language, and the warmth of her attachments. There had, in fact, been so much of message, of allusion, of recollection, so much of Mansfield in every letter, that Fanny could not but suppose it meant for him to hear; and to find herself forced into a purpose of that kind, compelled into a correspondence which was bringing her the addresses of the man she did not love, and obliging her to administer to the adverse passion of the man she did, was cruelly mortifying. Here, too, her present removal promised advantage. When no longer under the same roof with Edmund, she trusted that Miss Crawford would have no motive for writing strong enough to overcome the trouble, and that at Portsmouth their correspondence would dwindle into nothing.

  With such thoughts as these, among ten hundred others, Fanny proceeded in her journey safely and cheerfully, and as expeditiously as could rationally be hoped in the dirty month of February. They entered Oxford, but she could take only a hasty glimpse of Edmund's college as they passed along, and made no stop anywhere till they reached Newbury, where a comfortable meal, uniting dinner and supper, wound up the enjoyments and fatigues of the day.

  The next morning saw them off again at an early hour; and with no events, and no delays, they regularly advanced, and were in the environs of Portsmouth while there was yet daylight for Fanny to look around her, and wonder at the new buildings. They passed the drawbridge, and entered the town; and the light was only beginning to fail as, guided by William's powerful voice, they were rattled into a narrow street, leading from the High Street, and drawn up before the door of a small house now inhabited by Mr. Price.

  Fanny was all agitation and flutter; all hope and apprehension. The moment they stopped, a trollopy-looking maidservant, seemingly in waiting for them at the door, stepped forward, and more intent on telling the news than giving them any help, immediately began with, "The Thrush is gone out of harbour, please sir, and one of the officers has been here to-- " She was interrupted by a fine tall boy of eleven years old, who, rushing out of the house, pushed the maid aside, and while William was opening the chaise-door himself, called out, "You are just in time. We have been looking for you this half-hour. The Thrush went out of harbour this morning. I saw her. It was a beautiful sight. And they think she will have her orders in a day or two. And Mr. Campbell was here at four o'clock to ask for you: he has got one of the Thrush's boats, and is going off to her at six, and hoped you would be here in time to go with him."

  A stare or two at Fanny, as William helped her out of the carriage, was all the voluntary notice which this brother bestowed; but he made no objection to her kissing him, though still entirely engaged in detailing farther particulars of the Thrush's going out of harbour, in which he had a strong right of interest, being to commence his career of seamanship in her at this very time.

  Another moment and Fanny was in the narrow entrance-passage of the house, and in her mother's arms, who met her there with looks of true kindness, and with features which Fanny loved the more, because they brought her aunt Bertram's before her, and there were her two sisters: Susan, a well-grown fine girl of fourteen, and Betsey, the youngest of the family, about five--both glad to see her in their way, though with no advantage of manner in receiving her. But manner Fanny did not want. Would they but love her, she should be satisfied.

  She was then taken into a parlour, so small that her first conviction was of its being only a passage-room to something better, and she stood for a moment expecting to be invited on; but when she saw there was no other door, and that there were signs of habitation before her, she called back her thoughts, reproved herself, and grieved lest they should have been suspected. Her mother, however, could not stay long enough to suspect anything. She was gone again to the street-door, to welcome William. "Oh! my dear William, how glad I am to see you. But have you heard about the Thrush? She is gone out of harbour already; three days before we had any thought of it; and I do not know what I am to do about Sam's things, they will never be ready in time; for she may have her orders to-morrow, perhaps. It takes me quite unawares. And now you must be off for Spithead too. Campbell has been here, quite in a worry about you; and now what shall we do? I thought to have had such a comfortable evening with you, and here everything comes upon me at once."

  Her son answered cheerfully, telling her that everything was always for the best; and making light of his own inconvenience in being obliged to hurry away so soon.

  "To be sure, I had much rather she had stayed in harbour, that I might have sat a few hours with you in comfort; but as there is a boat ashore, I had better go off at once, and there is no help for it. Whereabouts does the Thrush lay at Spithead? Near the Canopus? But no matter; here's Fanny in the parlour, and why should we stay in the passage? Come, mother, you have hardly looked at your own dear Fanny yet."

  In they both came, and Mrs. Price having kindly kissed her daughter again, and commented a little on her growth, began with very natural solicitude to feel for their fatigues and wants as travellers. "Poor dears! how tired you must both be! and now, what will you have? I began to think you would never come. Betsey and I have been watching for you this half-hour. And when did you get anything to eat? And what would you like to have now? I could not tell whether you would be for some meat, or only a dish of tea, after your journey, or else I would have got something ready. And now I am afraid Campbell will be here before there is time to dress a steak, and we have no butcher at hand. It is very inconvenient to have no butcher in the street. We were better off in our last house. Perhaps you would like some tea as soon as it can be got."

  They both declared they should prefer it to anything. "Then, Betsey, my dear, run into the kitchen and see if Rebecca has put the water on; and tell her to bring in the tea-things as soon as she can. I wish we could get the bell mended; but Betsey is a very handy little messenger."

  Betsey went with alacrity, proud to shew her abilities before her fine new sister.

  "Dear me!" continued the anxious mother, "what a sad fire we have got, and I dare say you are both starved with cold. Draw your chair nearer, my dear. I cannot think what Rebecca has been about. I am sure I told her to bring some coals half an hour ago. Susan, you should have taken care of the fire."

  "I was upstairs, mama, moving my things," said Susan, in a fearless, self-defending tone, which startled Fanny. "You know you had but just settled that my sister Fanny and I should have the other room; and I could not get Rebecca to give me any help."

  Farther discussion was prevented by various bustles: first, the driver came to be paid; then there was a squabble between Sam and Rebecca about the manner of carrying up his sister's trunk, which he would manage all his own way; and lastly, in walked Mr. Price himself, his own loud voice preceding him, as with something of the oath kind he kicked away his son's port-manteau and his daughter's bandbox in the passage, and called out for a candle; no candle was brought, however, and he walked into the room.

  Fanny with doubting feelings had risen to meet him, but sank down again on finding herself undistinguished in the dusk, and unthought of. With a friendly shake of his son's hand, and an eager voice, he instantly began-- "Ha! welcome back, my boy. Glad to see you. Have you heard the news? The Thrush went out of harbour this morning. Sharp is the word, you see! By G--, you are just in time! The doctor has been here inquiring for you: he has got one of the boats, and is to be off for Spithead by six, so you had better go with him. I have been to Turner's about your mess; it is all in a way to be done. I should not wonder if you had your orders to-morrow: but you cannot sail with this wind, if you are to cruise to the westward; and Captain Walsh thinks you will certainly have a cruise to the westward, with the Elephant. By G--, I wish you may! But old Scholey was saying, just now, that he thought you would be sent first to the Texel. Well, well, we are ready, whatever happens. But by G--, you lost a fine sight by not being here in the morning to see the Thrush go out of harbour! I would not have been out of the way for a thousand pounds. Old Scholey ran in at breakfast-time, to say she had slipped her moorings and was coming out, I jumped up, and made but two steps to the platform. If ever there was a perfect beauty afloat, she is one; and there she lays at Spithead, and anybody in England would take her for an eight-and-twenty. I was upon the platform two hours this afternoon looking at her. She lays close to the Endymion, between her and the Cleopatra, just to the eastward of the sheer hulk."

  "Ha!" cried William, "_that's_ just where I should have put her myself. It's the best berth at Spithead. But here is my sister, sir; here is Fanny," turning and leading her forward; "it is so dark you do not see her."

  With an acknowledgment that he had quite forgot her, Mr. Price now received his daughter; and having given her a cordial hug, and observed that she was grown into a woman, and he supposed would be wanting a husband soon, seemed very much inclined to forget her again. Fanny shrunk back to her seat, with feelings sadly pained by his language and his smell of spirits; and he talked on only to his son, and only of the Thrush, though William, warmly interested as he was in that subject, more than once tried to make his father think of Fanny, and her long absence and long journey.

  After sitting some time longer, a candle was obtained; but as there was still no appearance of tea, nor, from Betsey's reports from the kitchen, much hope of any under a considerable period, William determined to go and change his dress, and make the necessary preparations for his removal on board directly, that he might have his tea in comfort afterwards.

  As he left the room, two rosy-faced boys, ragged and dirty, about eight and nine years old, rushed into it just released from school, and coming eagerly to see their sister, and tell that the Thrush was gone out of harbour; Tom and Charles. Charles had been born since Fanny's going away, but Tom she had often helped to nurse, and now felt a particular pleasure in seeing again. Both were kissed very tenderly, but Tom she wanted to keep by her, to try to trace the features of the baby she had loved, and talked to, of his infant preference of herself. Tom, however, had no mind for such treatment: he came home not to stand and be talked to, but to run about and make a noise; and both boys had soon burst from her, and slammed the parlour-door till her temples ached.

  She had now seen all that were at home; there remained only two brothers between herself and Susan, one of whom was a clerk in a public office in London, and the other midshipman on board an Indiaman. But though she had _seen_ all the members of the family, she had not yet _heard_ all the noise they could make. Another quarter of an hour brought her a great deal more. William was soon calling out from the landing-place of the second story for his mother and for Rebecca. He was in distress for something that he had left there, and did not find again. A key was mislaid, Betsey accused of having got at his new hat, and some slight, but essential alteration of his uniform waistcoat, which he had been promised to have done for him, entirely neglected.

  Mrs. Price, Rebecca, and Betsey all went up to defend themselves, all talking together, but Rebecca loudest, and the job was to be done as well as it could in a great hurry; William trying in vain to send Betsey down again, or keep her from being troublesome where she was; the whole of which, as almost every door in the house was open, could be plainly distinguished in the parlour, except when drowned at intervals by the superior noise of Sam, Tom, and Charles chasing each other up and down stairs, and tumbling about and hallooing.

  Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the house and thinness of the walls brought everything so close to her, that, added to the fatigue of her journey, and all her recent agitation, she hardly knew how to bear it. _Within_ the room all was tranquil enough, for Susan having disappeared with the others, there were soon only her father and herself remaining; and he, taking out a newspaper, the accustomary loan of a neighbour, applied himself to studying it, without seeming to recollect her existence. The solitary candle was held between himself and the paper, without any reference to her possible convenience; but she had nothing to do, and was glad to have the light screened from her aching head, as she sat in bewildered, broken, sorrowful contemplation.

  She was at home. But, alas! it was not such a home, she had not such a welcome, as--she checked herself; she was unreasonable. What right had she to be of importance to her family? She could have none, so long lost sight of! William's concerns must be dearest, they always had been, and he had every right. Yet to have so little said or asked about herself, to have scarcely an inquiry made after Mansfield! It did pain her to have Mansfield forgotten; the friends who had done so much--the dear, dear friends! But here, one subject swallowed up all the rest. Perhaps it must be so. The destination of the Thrush must be now preeminently interesting. A day or two might shew the difference. _She_ only was to blame. Yet she thought it would not have been so at Mansfield. No, in her uncle's house there would have been a consideration of times and seasons, a regulation of subject, a propriety, an attention towards everybody which there was not here.

  The only interruption which thoughts like these received for nearly half an hour was from a sudden burst of her father's, not at all calculated to compose them. At a more than ordinary pitch of thumping and hallooing in the passage, he exclaimed, "Devil take those young dogs! How they are singing out! Ay, Sam's voice louder than all the rest! That boy is fit for a boatswain. Holla, you there! Sam, stop your confounded pipe, or I shall be after you."

  This threat was so palpably disregarded, that though within five minutes afterwards the three boys all burst into the room together and sat down, Fanny could not consider it as a proof of anything more than their being for the time thoroughly fagged, which their hot faces and panting breaths seemed to prove, especially as they were still kicking each other's shins, and hallooing out at sudden starts immediately under their father's eye.

  The next opening of the door brought something more welcome: it was for the tea-things, which she had begun almost to despair of seeing that evening. Susan and an attendant girl, whose inferior appearance informed Fanny, to her great surprise, that she had previously seen the upper servant, brought in everything necessary for the meal; Susan looking, as she put the kettle on the fire and glanced at her sister, as if divided between the agreeable triumph of shewing her activity and usefulness, and the dread of being thought to demean herself by such an office. "She had been into the kitchen," she said, "to hurry Sally and help make the toast, and spread the bread and butter, or she did not know when they should have got tea, and she was sure her sister must want something after her journey."

  Fanny was very thankful. She could not but own that she should be very glad of a little tea, and Susan immediately set about making it, as if pleased to have the employment all to herself; and with only a little unnecessary bustle, and some few injudicious attempts at keeping her brothers in better order than she could, acquitted herself very well. Fanny's spirit was as much refreshed as her body; her head and heart were soon the better for such well-timed kindness. Susan had an open, sensible countenance; she was like William, and Fanny hoped to find her like him in disposition and goodwill towards herself.

  In this more placid state of things William reentered, followed not far behind by his mother and Betsey. He, complete in his lieutenant's uniform, looking and moving all the taller, firmer, and more graceful for it, and with the happiest smile over his face, walked up directly to Fanny, who, rising from her seat, looked at him for a moment in speechless admiration, and then threw her arms round his neck to sob out her various emotions of pain and pleasure.

  Anxious not to appear unhappy, she soon recovered herself; and wiping away her tears, was able to notice and admire all the striking parts of his dress; listening with reviving spirits to his cheerful hopes of being on shore some part of every day before they sailed, and even of getting her to Spithead to see the sloop.

  The next bustle brought in Mr. Campbell, the surgeon of the Thrush, a very well-behaved young man, who came to call for his friend, and for whom there was with some contrivance found a chair, and with some hasty washing of the young tea-maker's, a cup and saucer; and after another quarter of an hour of earnest talk between the gentlemen, noise rising upon noise, and bustle upon bustle, men and boys at last all in motion together, the moment came for setting off; everything was ready, William took leave, and all of them were gone; for the three boys, in spite of their mother's entreaty, determined to see their brother and Mr. Campbell to the sally-port; and Mr. Price walked off at the same time to carry back his neighbour's newspaper.

  Something like tranquillity might now be hoped for; and accordingly, when Rebecca had been prevailed on to carry away the tea-things, and Mrs. Price had walked about the room some time looking for a shirt-sleeve, which Betsey at last hunted out from a drawer in the kitchen, the small party of females were pretty well composed, and the mother having lamented again over the impossibility of getting Sam ready in time, was at leisure to think of her eldest daughter and the friends she had come from.

  A few inquiries began: but one of the earliest--"How did sister Bertram manage about her servants? "Was she as much plagued as herself to get tolerable servants?"-- soon led her mind away from Northamptonshire, and fixed it on her own domestic grievances, and the shocking character of all the Portsmouth servants, of whom she believed her own two were the very worst, engrossed her completely. The Bertrams were all forgotten in detailing the faults of Rebecca, against whom Susan had also much to depose, and little Betsey a great deal more, and who did seem so thoroughly without a single recommendation, that Fanny could not help modestly presuming that her mother meant to part with her when her year was up.

  "Her year!" cried Mrs. Price; "I am sure I hope I shall be rid of her before she has staid a year, for that will not be up till November. Servants are come to such a pass, my dear, in Portsmouth, that it is quite a miracle if one keeps them more than half a year. I have no hope of ever being settled; and if I was to part with Rebecca, I should only get something worse. And yet I do not think I am a very difficult mistress to please; and I am sure the place is easy enough, for there is always a girl under her, and I often do half the work myself."

  Fanny was silent; but not from being convinced that there might not be a remedy found for some of these evils. As she now sat looking at Betsey, she could not but think particularly of another sister, a very pretty little girl, whom she had left there not much younger when she went into Northamptonshire, who had died a few years afterwards. There had been something remarkably amiable about her. Fanny in those early days had preferred her to Susan; and when the news of her death had at last reached Mansfield, had for a short time been quite afflicted. The sight of Betsey brought the image of little Mary back again, but she would not have pained her mother by alluding to her for the world. While considering her with these ideas, Betsey, at a small distance, was holding out something to catch her eyes, meaning to screen it at the same time from Susan's.

  "What have you got there, my love?" said Fanny; "come and shew it to me."

  It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan, claiming it as her own, and trying to get it away; but the child ran to her mother's protection, and Susan could only reproach, which she did very warmly, and evidently hoping to interest Fanny on her side. "It was very hard that she was not to have her _own_ knife; it was her own knife; little sister Mary had left it to her upon her deathbed, and she ought to have had it to keep herself long ago. But mama kept it from her, and was always letting Betsey get hold of it; and the end of it would be that Betsey would spoil it, and get it for her own, though mama had _promised_ her that Betsey should not have it in her own hands."

  Fanny was quite shocked. Every feeling of duty, honour, and tenderness was wounded by her sister's speech and her mother's reply.

  "Now, Susan," cried Mrs. Price, in a complaining voice, "now, how can you be so cross? You are always quarrelling about that knife. I wish you would not be so quarrelsome. Poor little Betsey; how cross Susan is to you! But you should not have taken it out, my dear, when I sent you to the drawer. You know I told you not to touch it, because Susan is so cross about it. I must hide it another time, Betsey. Poor Mary little thought it would be such a bone of contention when she gave it me to keep, only two hours before she died. Poor little soul! she could but just speak to be heard, and she said so prettily, "Let sister Susan have my knife, mama, when I am dead and buried." Poor little dear! she was so fond of it, Fanny, that she would have it lay by her in bed, all through her illness. It was the gift of her good godmother, old Mrs. Admiral Maxwell, only six weeks before she was taken for death. Poor little sweet creature! Well, she was taken away from evil to come. My own Betsey" (fondling her), "_you_ have not the luck of such a good godmother. Aunt Norris lives too far off to think of such little people as you."

  Fanny had indeed nothing to convey from aunt Norris, but a message to say she hoped that her god-daughter was a good girl, and learnt her book. There had been at one moment a slight murmur in the drawing-room at Mansfield Park about sending her a prayer-book; but no second sound had been heard of such a purpose. Mrs. Norris, however, had gone home and taken down two old prayer-books of her husband with that idea; but, upon examination, the ardour of generosity went off. One was found to have too small a print for a child's eyes, and the other to be too cumbersome for her to carry about.

  Fanny, fatigued and fatigued again, was thankful to accept the first invitation of going to bed; and before Betsey had finished her cry at being allowed to sit up only one hour extraordinary in honour of sister, she was off, leaving all below in confusion and noise again; the boys begging for toasted cheese, her father calling out for his rum and water, and Rebecca never where she ought to be.

  There was nothing to raise her spirits in the confined and scantily furnished chamber that she was to share with Susan. The smallness of the rooms above and below, indeed, and the narrowness of the passage and staircase, struck her beyond her imagination. She soon learned to think with respect of her own little attic at Mansfield Park, in that house reckoned too small for anybody's comfort.



　　离开曼斯菲尔德庄园越来越远了，旅行的新奇，和威廉在一起的快乐，自然很快激起了范妮的兴致。当走完了第一站，跳下托马斯爵士的马车，向老车夫告别并托他回去代为问好的时候，她已经喜笑颜开了。
　　兄妹俩一路上谈笑风生。威廉兴高采烈，样样事情都让他开心。他们谈上一阵严肃的话题，他就说上一阵笑话。而他们所谈的严肃话题，不是以夸“画眉”号开始，就是以夸“画眉”号结束。他时而猜测“画眉”号将承担什么任务，时而计划怎样好好地大干一番，以便中尉出了什么事情的时候（威廉对中尉并不是很仁慈），他能尽快再次晋升，时而又琢磨在作战中立功受奖，所得的奖金将慷慨地分赠给父母弟妹们，只留一部分把那座小房子布置得舒舒服服的，他和范妮好在那里度过他们的中年和晚年。
　　与范妮密切相关的事情，凡是涉及到克劳福德先生的，他们在谈话中只字未提。威廉知道发生了什么事情，妹妹对一个他视为世界上最好的人这么冷漠，他从心里感到遗憾。但是，他现在正处于重视感情的年纪，因而不会责备妹妹。他知道妹妹在这个问题上的心思，便丝毫不提此事，免得惹她烦恼。
　　范妮有理由料想克劳福德先生没有忘记她。克劳福德兄妹俩离开曼斯菲尔德后的三个星期里，她不断收到他妹妹的来信，每封信里他都要附上几行，言词热烈，态度坚定，像他过去口头讲的一样。与克劳福德小姐通信，正像她原来担心的那样，给她带来极大的不快。除了不得不看克劳福德先生的附言之外，克劳福德小姐那活泼、热情的行文风格也给她带来痛苦，因为埃德蒙每次都坚持要听她念完信的主要内容，然后当着她的面赞叹克劳福德小姐语言优美，感情真挚。其实，每封信里都有许多消息、暗示和回忆，都大谈特谈曼斯菲尔德，范妮只能觉得这都是有意写给埃德蒙听的。她发觉自己被迫为这样的目的服务，不得不进行一场通信，让她不爱的男人没完没了地纠缠她，逼着她去忍受自己所爱的男人热恋别人，这是对她残酷的侮辱。就从这一点上看，她现在离开还是有好处的。一旦她不再和埃德蒙住在一起的时候，她相信克劳福德小姐就不会有那么大的动力不辞辛苦地给她写信。等她到了朴次茅斯，她们的通信会越来越少，直至停止。
　　范妮就这样思绪纷纭，平安而愉快地乘车行驶着，鉴于2月的道路比较泥泞，马车走得还算相当迅速。马车驶进了牛津，但是她对埃德蒙上过的学院，只在路过的时候匆匆瞥了一眼。他们一路往前赶，到了纽伯里才停下来，将正餐和晚饭并在一起，舒舒服服地吃了一顿，结束了一天愉快和疲劳的旅程。
　　第二天早晨他们又早早地动身了。一路无事，顺利前进，到达朴次茅斯近郊的时候，天还亮着，范妮环顾四周，赞叹那一幢幢的新建筑。他们过了吊桥，进入市区。暮色刚开始降临，在威廉的大声吆喝下，马车隆隆地从大街驶入一条狭窄的街道，在一座小屋的门前停下了。这就是普莱斯先生的住处。
　　范妮激动不已，心在突突直跳——她满怀希望，又满腹疑虑。马车一停下来，一个模样邋遢的女仆走上前来。她好像是等在门口迎候的，而且与其说是来帮忙的，不如说是来报信的，因而立即说道：“‘画眉’号已经出港了，先生，有一个军官来这儿——”她的话被一个漂亮的个子高高的十一岁男孩打断了，只见他从房子里跑出来，把女仆推开，就在威廉打开车门的时候，他嚷嚷道：“你们到得正是时候。我们已经等了你们半个小时了。今天上午‘画眉’号出港了。我看见了，好美呀。他们料想一两天内就会接到命令。坎贝尔先生是四点钟到的，来找你。他要了一艘‘画眉’号上的小艇，六点钟回舰上去，希望你能及时回来跟他一块走。”
　　威廉扶范妮下车的时候，这位小弟弟只看了她一两眼，算是自愿给她的关注。范妮吻他的时候，他并没表示反对，只是还在一心一意地详细述说“画眉”号出港的情景。他对“画眉”号感兴趣是理所当然的，因为他这就要到这艘舰上开始他的海员生涯。
　　又过了一会，范妮已经进入这座房子的狭窄的门廊里，投入了妈妈的怀抱。妈妈以真诚的母爱迎接她，妈妈的容貌让她倍加喜爱，因为看上去使她觉得伯特伦姨妈来到了面前。两个妹妹也来了，苏珊十四岁，已长成一个漂亮的大姑娘，贝齐是最小的孩子，大约五岁——两人都很高兴见到她，只不过还不大懂得迎接客人的礼仪。但是，范妮并不计较礼仪。只要她们爱她，她就心满意足了。
　　接着，她被引进了一间起居室。这间屋子非常小，她起初还以为只是个小过厅，因此便站了一会，等着把她往好一点的房间里领。可是，当她发现这间屋子没有别的门，而且有住人的迹象，她便打消了自己的想法，责怪起自己来，唯恐他们看出她的心迹。不过，她妈妈没有久留，什么也没有察觉。她又跑到街门口去迎接威廉了。“噢！我亲爱的威廉，见到你真高兴。你听说‘画眉’号的事了吗？它已经出港了，比我们料想的早了三天。我不知道萨姆要带的东西该怎么办，怎么也来不及准备了。说不定明天就会奉命出海。我给弄得措手不及。你还得马上去斯皮特黑德呢。坎贝尔来过了，好为你着急。现在我们该怎么办呢？我原想和你快快活活地聚一个晚上，可现在一下子什么事都叫我遇上了。
　　儿子兴高采烈地做了回答，跟她说一切总会有个圆满的结果，至于不得不走得这么急，这点不便没有什么大不了的。
　　“我当然希望它没有离港，那样我就可以和你们欢聚几个小时。不过，既然有一只小艇靠岸，我还是马上走的好，这也是没有办法的事儿。‘画眉’号停在斯皮特黑德什么地方！靠近‘老人星’号吗？不过，没关系——范妮在起居室呢，我们为什么还待在走廊里？来，妈妈，你还没有好好看看你亲爱的范妮呢。”
　　两人都进来了，普莱斯太太又一次慈爱地吻了吻女儿，说了说她个子长高了，随即便自然而然地关心起他们旅途的劳顿和饥饿。
　　“可怜的好孩子！你们两个一定累坏了！现在你们想吃什么吧？刚才我都怕你们来不了啦。贝齐和我都等了你们半个小时了。你们什么时候吃的饭？现在想吃什么？我拿不准你们旅途过后是想吃些肉还是想喝点茶，要不然早就给你们准备好了。我还担心坎贝尔就要到了，想给你们做牛排又来不及，再说这附近又没有卖肉的。街上没有卖肉的可真不方便；我们以前住的那栋房子就方便多了。也许等茶一好你们就想喝点茶吧？”
　　他们两人表示喝茶比什么都好。“那好，贝齐，亲爱的，快到厨房去，看看丽贝卡有没有把水烧上，叫她尽快把茶具拿来。可惜我们的铃还没修好——不过让贝齐传个话还是很方便的。”
　　贝齐欢快地走了，得意地想在这位新来的漂亮的姐姐面前显显本事。
　　“哎呀！”焦灼不安的妈妈接着说，“这炉火一点也不旺，你们俩一定给冻坏了。把椅子挪近一点，亲爱的。丽贝卡这半天不知道干什么去了。半个钟头前我就叫她弄点煤来。苏珊，你该把炉子照料好呀。”
　　“妈妈，我刚才在楼上搬东西，”苏珊以毫不惧怕、替自己辩护的口气说，让范妮吃了一惊。“你刚才决定的，让范妮姐和我住到另一间屋里，丽贝卡又一点忙也不肯帮。”
　　由于一片忙乱，她们俩没有争下去。先是赶车的来领钱，接着是萨姆与丽贝卡为往楼上搬姐姐的箱子争执起来，萨姆非要按他的方式搬，最后是普莱斯先生进来了，他人没到声音先到，而且嗓门很高，有点骂骂咧咧地踢着放在走廊里的儿子的旅行包和女儿的纸箱子，叫嚷着要蜡烛。不过，并没有拿来蜡烛，他还是走进了屋里。
　　范妮怀着犹疑不定的心情站起来去迎接父亲，但觉得在昏暗中父亲并未注意到自己，也没想到自己，便又坐了下来。普莱斯先生亲切地握了握儿子的手，口气热烈地急忙说道：“哈！欢迎你回来了，孩子。见到你很高兴。你听到了消息没有？‘画眉’号今天上午出港了。你看有多紧迫。他妈的，你回来得正是时候。你们的那位军医来找你。他要来了一艘小艇，六点钟离岸去斯皮特黑德，你最好和他一块儿走。我到特纳的铺子里去催你的装备，很快就可以做好。说不定你们明天就会接到命令，木过你们要是往西巡航，遇到这样的风还没法启航。沃尔什舰长认为，你们肯定要和‘大象’号一起去西面巡航。他妈的，我还就希望是这样的。可是肖利老汉刚才说，他认为你们会先被派到‘特克赛尔’号上。反正，不管怎么样，我们已经准备好了。不过，他妈的，你上午不在，没能看上‘画眉’号出港时那个气派劲儿。给我一千英镑我也不愿意失去这个机会。吃早饭的时候，肖利老汉跑进来说，‘画眉’号已经起锚了，就要出港了。我忽地跳起来，两步就跑到平台甲板上。如果说真有哪只船十全十美的话，那就是它了。它就停在斯皮特黑德，不管是哪个英国人，一看就知道，它每小时能航行二十八海里。今天下午我在平台甲板上看了它两个小时。它紧靠‘恩底弥翁’号停着，在‘恩底弥翁’号和‘克娄巴特拉’号之间，就在那大船坞的正东面。”
　　“哈！”威廉嚷道，“要是我，也会把它停在那里的。那是斯皮特黑德最好的锚位。不过，爸爸，我妹妹在这儿，范妮在这儿。”说着转过身，将范妮往前拉了拉。“光线太暗了，你没看见她。”
　　普莱斯先生说他都忘了范妮，然后对她表示欢迎。他热情地拥抱了她，说她已经长成大人了，看来很快就要出嫁了，接着似乎又把她忘掉了。
　　范妮退回到座位上，为父亲的粗鲁语言和满嘴酒味感到痛心。父亲只和儿子说话，只谈“画眉”号。威廉虽然对这个话题很感兴趣，但不止一次地想使父亲想到范妮，想到她多年离家，想到她旅途劳顿。
　　又坐了一会，才弄来了一支蜡烛。但是茶仍然没有端来，而且据贝齐从厨房得来的情况来看，一时半刻还烧不好，于是威廉决定去更换服装，做好说走就走的准备，然后再从从容容地喝茶。
　　他走出屋之后，两个脸蛋红润、衣着褴褛、身上肮脏的八九岁男孩跑了进来。他们两个刚刚放学，急匆匆地跑来看姐姐，报告“画眉”号出港的消息。两人一个叫汤姆，一个叫查东斯，查尔斯是范妮走后才生的，但她过去常帮妈妈照顾汤姆，因此这次再见面感到特别高兴。她非常亲切地吻了两个弟弟，不过总想把汤姆拉到自己身边，试图从他的容貌上追忆自己喜爱过的那个婴儿，跟他说他小时候多么喜欢她自己。然而，汤姆并不想让姐姐这样待他，他回家来不是为了站着不动，听别人对自己说话，而是要到处乱跑，吵吵闹闹。两个孩子很快挣脱了她，出门时砰的一声，震得她额头发痛。
　　现在，在家的人她都见到了，只剩下她和苏珊之间的两个弟弟，一个在伦敦的某个政府机关里当办事员，另一个在一艘来往于英国和印度之间的大商船上做见习船员。不过，她虽说见到了家里所有的人，但是还没有听到他们能喧闹到何种地步。又过了一刻钟，家里越发热闹起来了。威廉在二楼楼梯口大声呼喊他妈妈和丽贝卡。原来，他放在那里的什么东西找不到了，便着急起来。一把钥匙找不到了，贝齐动了他的新帽子，他的制服背心不合身，答应过要给他改的，完全给忘掉了。
　　普莱斯太太、丽贝卡和贝齐都跑到楼上为自己辩护，几个人一齐唧唧喳喳，就数丽贝卡叫得最响，都说这活要赶紧做出来，还要尽量做好。威廉想把贝齐赶到楼下，让她不要妨碍别人，但是徒劳无益。由于房里的每道门都敞开着，楼上的喧闹声在起居室里听得清清楚楚，只是不时地要被萨姆、汤姆和查尔斯的吵闹声盖过，他们楼上楼下地追逐着，跌跌撞撞，大喊大叫。
　　范妮给吵得头昏脑涨。由于房子小、墙壁薄，这一切都好像发生在身边，再加上旅途的劳顿，以及近来的种种烦恼，她简直不知道如何承受这一切。屋内倒是一片寂静，因为苏珊很快也跟他们去了，只剩下了父亲和她，父亲掏出了一张报纸——这报纸经常是从邻居家借来的，看了起来，似乎忘记了她还在屋里。他把那唯一的一支蜡烛擎在他和报纸之间，毫不顾及她是否需要光亮。不过，她也没有什么事要做，倒乐意他把烛光遮住，照不着她那疼痛的头。她茫然地坐在那里，陷入了断断续续的、黯然神伤的沉思之中。
　　她回到家了。可是，唉！这样一个家，她受到这样的接待，真让她——她不让自己再想下去。她这样想不合情理。她有什么权利要家里人对她另眼相看？她这么长久不见踪影，根本没有这个权利！家里人最关心的应该是威廉——一向都是如此——他完全有这个权利。然而，对她却没有什么好谈的，丝毫没人过问——也没有人问及曼斯菲尔德！他们忘记了曼斯菲尔德，忘记了给他们那么多帮助的朋友们——那些极其亲爱的朋友们，真让她痛心啊！但是现在，有一个话题盖过了其他所有话题。也许应该如此。“画眉”号的动向现在所引起的关注势必压倒一切。一两天后情况就会有所不同。事情只能怪她。然而她又觉得，若在曼斯菲尔德，情况就不会这样。不会的，在她姨父家里，就会审时度势，凡事都有定规，讲究分寸，关心每一个人，可这里却不是这样。
　　她就这样左思右想了将近半个小时之久，才让父亲突然给打断了，不过父亲倒不是为了安慰她。走廊里的脚步声和喊叫声实在太吵了，他便大声嚷道：“你们这些该死的小狗杂种！你们要闹翻天啊！嗨，萨姆的声音比谁的都大！这小子适合当水手长。喂——你听着——萨姆——别扯着你的尖嗓子乱叫了，不然看我不揍你。”
　　显然，这番威胁被置若罔闻。虽然五分钟内三个孩子都跑进房里坐了下来，但是范妮认为这并不能说明任何问题，只不过是因为他们一时累了，这从他们个个满头大汗、气喘吁吁就能看得出来——而且他们还在父亲的眼皮底下，你踢我的腿，我踩你的脚，并且又马上突然吆喝起来。
　　门又一次打开的时候，送来了较为受人欢迎的东西：茶具。她几乎开始绝望了，觉得那天晚上不会送茶具来了。苏珊和一个侍女送来了吃茶点需要的东西。范妮从这个侍女的外表可以看出，她先前见到的那位女仆原来是个管家。苏珊把茶壶放在炉火上，看了姐姐一眼，那神情似乎有两重意思：一是因为显示了自己的勤快能干而洋洋得意；二是担心干了这样的活在姐姐眼里降低了自己的身份。“我到厨房去催萨莉，”她说，“帮她烤面包片，涂黄油——不然的话，我真不知道什么时候才能吃上茶点——我敢断定，姐姐经过一路的奔波一定想吃点东西。”
　　范妮非常感激。她不得不承认自己很想喝点茶，苏珊立即动手沏茶，似乎很乐意独自来做这件事。她有点故作忙碌，不分青红皂白地说上弟弟们几句，尽量帮助维持秩序，让人觉得她表现出色。范妮从身体到精神都得到了恢复。由于受到这般及时的关照，她的头不那么痛了，心里也好受些了。苏珊面容坦率，通情达理。她长得像威廉。范妮希望她性情上也像威廉，并且像威廉一样对她好。
　　在这比较平静的气氛中，威廉又进来了，后面跟着妈妈和贝齐。他整整齐齐地穿上了他的少尉军服，看上去、走起路来都显得更魁梧，更笔挺，更风度翩翩。他满面春风地径直走向范妮。范妮站了起来，怀着赞赏的目光，默默地看了看他，然后张开双臂搂住他的脖子，悲喜交集地哭了起来。
　　她不愿意让人觉得自己有什么不高兴的，很快便镇静下来。她擦干了眼泪，威廉那身服装每一处光彩夺目的地方，她都看得出来，也能加以赞赏。她还精神振奋地听他兴高采烈地说起：在起航之前，他可望每天抽出一定时间上岸来，甚至把她带到斯皮特黑德去看看这艘轻巡洋舰。
　　门再次打开的时候，“画眉”号的医生坎贝尔先生进来了。他是个品行端正的年轻人，是专门来叫他的朋友的。由于座位拥挤，好不容易才给他摆了张椅子，年轻的沏茶姑娘赶忙给他洗了一只杯子和一只茶碟。两位青年情真意切地谈了一刻钟，这时家里闹上加闹，乱上加乱，大人小孩一齐动了起来，两人动身的时刻到了。一切准备就绪，威廉告辞了，男人们全走了——三个男孩不听妈妈劝告，非要把哥哥和坎贝尔先生送到军舰的出入口，普莱斯先生这时要去给邻居还报纸。
　　现在可以指望清静一点了。因此，丽贝卡遵命撤去茶具，普莱斯太太到处找一只衬衫袖子，忙活了半天，最后由贝齐从厨房的一个抽屉里给找了出来。接着，这伙女人就变得相当安静了。妈妈又为无法给萨姆赶做出行装叹惜了一阵之后，才有闲暇想起她的大女儿及其曼斯菲尔德的朋友们。
　　她向范妮问起了几个问题，最先问到的是：“我伯特伦姐姐是怎样管教仆人们的？她是不是像我一样苦于找不到像点样的仆人？”一提到仆人，她的思绪便离开了北安普敦郡，一心想着自己家里的苦楚，朴次茅斯的仆人们全都品质恶劣，她觉得自己的两个仆人尤为糟糕。她只顾数落丽贝卡的缺点，完全忘了伯特伦一家人。苏珊也列举了丽贝卡的大量不是，小贝齐举的例子更多，她们把丽贝卡说得一无是处，范妮猜想，她妈妈是想在丽贝卡干满一年后辞掉她。
　　“干满一年！”普莱斯太太嚷道。“我真想不等她干满一年就辞掉她，因为她要到11月才干满一年。亲爱的，朴次茅斯的仆人可真不好办，要是谁用仆人能用过半年，那就算出了奇迹。我不敢指望能找到合适的人，我要是辞掉丽贝卡，再找一个只可能更糟。不过，我想我不是个很难伺候的主人——再说她在这里也真够轻松的，因为总是有个丫头听她使唤，何况我自己常常把活干掉一半。”
　　范妮默默不语，这倒不是因为她认为这种弊端已经没有办法补救了。这时她坐在那里望着贝齐，情不自禁地想起了另一个妹姝。那个小妹妹长得很漂亮，当年她离家去北安普敦郡的时候，她比现在的贝齐小不了多少，她走了几年后她就死掉了。她特别招人喜爱。那时候，她喜爱她胜过喜爱苏珊。她死去的消息最后传到曼斯菲尔德的时候，她一度非常悲伤。看到贝齐不由得又想起了小玛丽，但她说什么也不愿提起她，免得惹妈妈伤心。就在她抱着这样的想法打量贝齐的当儿，贝齐在离她不远的地方拿着一个什么东西让她看，同时又挡着不让苏珊看见。
　　“你手里拿的什么，亲爱的？”范妮说。“来给我看看。”
　　原来是把银刀。苏珊忽地跳起来，扬言是她的，想要夺过去。贝齐跑到妈妈跟前寻求保护，苏珊在一旁责备她，言词还很激烈，显然是想博得范妮的同情。“这是我的刀子，不给我太不像话。是小玛丽姐姐临死的时候留给我的，早就应该归我所有了。可是妈妈不肯给我，总是让贝齐拿着玩。到头来，就让贝齐抢去了，变成她自己的，尽管妈妈曾向我保证不会交给贝齐。”
　　范妮感到大为震惊。妹妹的这番话和妈妈的回答，完全违背了她心目中对母女之间应有的情义、敬重和相亲相爱的概念。
　　“我说，苏珊哪，”普莱斯太太以抱怨的口吻嚷道，“你怎么脾气这么坏呀？你总是为这把刀争吵。你别这么吵来吵去就好了。可怜的小贝齐，苏珊对你多凶啊！不过，亲爱的，我叫你到抽屉里去取东西，你不该把刀拿出来。你要知道，我对你说过，叫你不要碰它，因为苏珊一见你拿就要冒火。贝齐，下一次我要把它藏起来。可怜的玛丽临死前两个钟头把它交给我保存，她万万没想到你们像狗抢骨头一样抢这把刀。可怜的小家伙！我只是勉勉强强能听见她说的话，那话真让人感动：‘妈妈，等我死了埋掉以后，把我的刀送给苏珊妹妹。’可怜的小宝贝啊！她好喜欢这把刀，范妮，她卧床不起的时候，一直把它放在身边。这是她的好教毋马克斯韦尔将军的太太送给她的，那时她离死只有六个礼拜了。可怜的小亲亲啊！也好，她死了，免得受我们遭的罪。我的贝齐（抚摸着她），你可没有她的好运气，没有这么个好教母。诺里斯姨妈离我们太远了，不会想到你这样的小人儿。”
　　范妮确实没有从诺里斯姨妈那里捎来任何礼物，只带来了她的口信，希望她的教女做个好孩子，好好念书。有一次，她曾在曼斯菲尔德庄园的客厅里听到窃窃私语，说是要送贝齐一本祈祷书，但是以后再也没听到说起这件事。不过，诺里斯太太还是抱着这个念头回到家里，取下了她丈夫用过的两本祈祷书，可是拿到手里一琢磨，那股慷慨的劲头也就烟消云散了。她觉得一本书的字太小，不利于孩子的眼睛，另一本太笨重，不便于孩子带来带去。
　　范妮又累得不行了，一听说请她就寝去，她便不胜感激地接受了。看在姐姐回来的分上，贝齐获许比平时晚睡一个小时，一个小时到了仍然不肯去睡，还要哭哭闹闹，没等她哭闹完，范妮就起身上楼了，只听楼下又吵吵闹闹，一片混乱：男孩子们要面包加奶酪，父亲吆喝着要加水朗姆酒，而丽贝卡总是不能让大家满意。
　　她要和苏珊共住的这间卧室又狭小，又没有什么装饰，根本提不起她的兴致。楼上楼下房间这么小，走廊楼梯这么窄，都超出了她的想象。她在曼斯菲尔德庄园住的那间阁楼，本是人人嫌小不愿住的地方，现在想起来倒觉得蛮阔气了。　
  
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Chapter Thirty-seven

  Mr. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas's next object was that he should be missed; and he entertained great hope that his niece would find a blank in the loss of those attentions which at the time she had felt, or fancied, an evil. She had tasted of consequence in its most flattering form; and he did hope that the loss of it, the sinking again into nothing, would awaken very wholesome regrets in her mind. He watched her with this idea; but he could hardly tell with what success. He hardly knew whether there were any difference in her spirits or not. She was always so gentle and retiring that her emotions were beyond his discrimination. He did not understand her: he felt that he did not; and therefore applied to Edmund to tell him how she stood affected on the present occasion, and whether she were more or less happy than she had been.

  Edmund did not discern any symptoms of regret, and thought his father a little unreasonable in supposing the first three or four days could produce any.

  What chiefly surprised Edmund was, that Crawford's sister, the friend and companion who had been so much to her, should not be more visibly regretted. He wondered that Fanny spoke so seldom of _her_, and had so little voluntarily to say of her concern at this separation.

  Alas! it was this sister, this friend and companion, who was now the chief bane of Fanny's comfort. If she could have believed Mary's future fate as unconnected with Mansfield as she was determined the brother's should be, if she could have hoped her return thither to be as distant as she was much inclined to think his, she would have been light of heart indeed; but the more she recollected and observed, the more deeply was she convinced that everything was now in a fairer train for Miss Crawford's marrying Edmund than it had ever been before. On his side the inclination was stronger, on hers less equivocal. His objections, the scruples of his integrity, seemed all done away, nobody could tell how; and the doubts and hesitations of her ambition were equally got over--and equally without apparent reason. It could only be imputed to increasing attachment. His good and her bad feelings yielded to love, and such love must unite them. He was to go to town as soon as some business relative to Thornton Lacey were completed-- perhaps within a fortnight; he talked of going, he loved to talk of it; and when once with her again, Fanny could not doubt the rest. Her acceptance must be as certain as his offer; and yet there were bad feelings still remaining which made the prospect of it most sorrowful to her, independently, she believed, independently of self.

  In their very last conversation, Miss Crawford, in spite of some amiable sensations, and much personal kindness, had still been Miss Crawford; still shewn a mind led astray and bewildered, and without any suspicion of being so; darkened, yet fancying itself light. She might love, but she did not deserve Edmund by any other sentiment. Fanny believed there was scarcely a second feeling in common between them; and she may be forgiven by older sages for looking on the chance of Miss Crawford's future improvement as nearly desperate, for thinking that if Edmund's influence in this season of love had already done so little in clearing her judgment, and regulating her notions, his worth would be finally wasted on her even in years of matrimony.

  Experience might have hoped more for any young people so circumstanced, and impartiality would not have denied to Miss Crawford's nature that participation of the general nature of women which would lead her to adopt the opinions of the man she loved and respected as her own. But as such were Fanny's persuasions, she suffered very much from them, and could never speak of Miss Crawford without pain.

  Sir Thomas, meanwhile, went on with his own hopes and his own observations, still feeling a right, by all his knowledge of human nature, to expect to see the effect of the loss of power and consequence on his niece's spirits, and the past attentions of the lover producing a craving for their return; and he was soon afterwards able to account for his not yet completely and indubitably seeing all this, by the prospect of another visitor, whose approach he could allow to be quite enough to support the spirits he was watching. William had obtained a ten days' leave of absence, to be given to Northamptonshire, and was coming, the happiest of lieutenants, because the latest made, to shew his happiness and describe his uniform.

  He came; and he would have been delighted to shew his uniform there too, had not cruel custom prohibited its appearance except on duty. So the uniform remained at Portsmouth, and Edmund conjectured that before Fanny had any chance of seeing it, all its own freshness and all the freshness of its wearer's feelings must be worn away. It would be sunk into a badge of disgrace; for what can be more unbecoming, or more worthless, than the uniform of a lieutenant, who has been a lieutenant a year or two, and sees others made commanders before him? So reasoned Edmund, till his father made him the confidant of a scheme which placed Fanny's chance of seeing the second lieutenant of H.M.S. Thrush in all his glory in another light.

  This scheme was that she should accompany her brother back to Portsmouth, and spend a little time with her own family. It had occurred to Sir Thomas, in one of his dignified musings, as a right and desirable measure; but before he absolutely made up his mind, he consulted his son. Edmund considered it every way, and saw nothing but what was right. The thing was good in itself, and could not be done at a better time; and he had no doubt of it being highly agreeable to Fanny. This was enough to determine Sir Thomas; and a decisive "then so it shall be" closed that stage of the business; Sir Thomas retiring from it with some feelings of satisfaction, and views of good over and above what he had communicated to his son; for his prime motive in sending her away had very little to do with the propriety of her seeing her parents again, and nothing at all with any idea of making her happy. He certainly wished her to go willingly, but he as certainly wished her to be heartily sick of home before her visit ended; and that a little abstinence from the elegancies and luxuries of Mansfield Park would bring her mind into a sober state, and incline her to a juster estimate of the value of that home of greater permanence, and equal comfort, of which she had the offer.

  It was a medicinal project upon his niece's understanding, which he must consider as at present diseased. A residence of eight or nine years in the abode of wealth and plenty had a little disordered her powers of comparing and judging. Her father's house would, in all probability, teach her the value of a good income; and he trusted that she would be the wiser and happier woman, all her life, for the experiment he had devised.

  Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must have had a strong attack of them when she first understood what was intended, when her uncle first made her the offer of visiting the parents, and brothers, and sisters, from whom she had been divided almost half her life; of returning for a couple of months to the scenes of her infancy, with William for the protector and companion of her journey, and the certainty of continuing to see William to the last hour of his remaining on land. Had she ever given way to bursts of delight, it must have been then, for she was delighted, but her happiness was of a quiet, deep, heart-swelling sort; and though never a great talker, she was always more inclined to silence when feeling most strongly. At the moment she could only thank and accept. Afterwards, when familiarised with the visions of enjoyment so suddenly opened, she could speak more largely to William and Edmund of what she felt; but still there were emotions of tenderness that could not be clothed in words. The remembrance of all her earliest pleasures, and of what she had suffered in being torn from them, came over her with renewed strength, and it seemed as if to be at home again would heal every pain that had since grown out of the separation. To be in the centre of such a circle, loved by so many, and more loved by all than she had ever been before; to feel affection without fear or restraint; to feel herself the equal of those who surrounded her; to be at peace from all mention of the Crawfords, safe from every look which could be fancied a reproach on their account. This was a prospect to be dwelt on with a fondness that could be but half acknowledged.

  Edmund, too--to be two months from _him_ (and perhaps she might be allowed to make her absence three) must do her good. At a distance, unassailed by his looks or his kindness, and safe from the perpetual irritation of knowing his heart, and striving to avoid his confidence, she should be able to reason herself into a properer state; she should be able to think of him as in London, and arranging everything there, without wretchedness. What might have been hard to bear at Mansfield was to become a slight evil at Portsmouth.

  The only drawback was the doubt of her aunt Bertram's being comfortable without her. She was of use to no one else; but _there_ she might be missed to a degree that she did not like to think of; and that part of the arrangement was, indeed, the hardest for Sir Thomas to accomplish, and what only _he_ could have accomplished at all.

  But he was master at Mansfield Park. When he had really resolved on any measure, he could always carry it through; and now by dint of long talking on the subject, explaining and dwelling on the duty of Fanny's sometimes seeing her family, he did induce his wife to let her go; obtaining it rather from submission, however, than conviction, for Lady Bertram was convinced of very little more than that Sir Thomas thought Fanny ought to go, and therefore that she must. In the calmness of her own dressing-room, in the impartial flow of her own meditations, unbiassed by his bewildering statements, she could not acknowledge any necessity for Fanny's ever going near a father and mother who had done without her so long, while she was so useful to herself And as to the not missing her, which under Mrs. Norris's discussion was the point attempted to be proved, she set herself very steadily against admitting any such thing.

  Sir Thomas had appealed to her reason, conscience, and dignity. He called it a sacrifice, and demanded it of her goodness and self-command as such. But Mrs. Norris wanted to persuade her that Fanny could be very well spared--_she_ being ready to give up all her own time to her as requested-- and, in short, could not really be wanted or missed.

  "That may be, sister," was all Lady Bertram's reply. "I dare say you are very right; but I am sure I shall miss her very much."

  The next step was to communicate with Portsmouth. Fanny wrote to offer herself; and her mother's answer, though short, was so kind--a few simple lines expressed so natural and motherly a joy in the prospect of seeing her child again, as to confirm all the daughter's views of happiness in being with her--convincing her that she should now find a warm and affectionate friend in the "mama" who had certainly shewn no remarkable fondness for her formerly; but this she could easily suppose to have been her own fault or her own fancy. She had probably alienated love by the helplessness and fretfulness of a fearful temper, or been unreasonable in wanting a larger share than any one among so many could deserve. Now, when she knew better how to be useful, and how to forbear, and when her mother could be no longer occupied by the incessant demands of a house full of little children, there would be leisure and inclination for every comfort, and they should soon be what mother and daughter ought to be to each other.

  William was almost as happy in the plan as his sister. It would be the greatest pleasure to him to have her there to the last moment before he sailed, and perhaps find her there still when he came in from his first cruise. And besides, he wanted her so very much to see the Thrush before she went out of harbour--the Thrush was certainly the finest sloop in the service--and there were several improvements in the dockyard, too, which he quite longed to shew her.

  He did not scruple to add that her being at home for a while would be a great advantage to everybody.

  "I do not know how it is," said he; "but we seem to want some of your nice ways and orderliness at my father's. The house is always in confusion. You will set things going in a better way, I am sure. You will tell my mother how it all ought to be, and you will be so useful to Susan, and you will teach Betsey, and make the boys love and mind you. How right and comfortable it will all be!"

  By the time Mrs. Price's answer arrived, there remained but a very few days more to be spent at Mansfield; and for part of one of those days the young travellers were in a good deal of alarm on the subject of their journey, for when the mode of it came to be talked of, and Mrs. Norris found that all her anxiety to save her brother-in-law's money was vain, and that in spite of her wishes and hints for a less expensive conveyance of Fanny, they were to travel post; when she saw Sir Thomas actually give William notes for the purpose, she was struck with the idea of there being room for a third in the carriage, and suddenly seized with a strong inclination to go with them, to go and see her poor dear sister Price. She proclaimed her thoughts. She must say that she had more than half a mind to go with the young people; it would be such an indulgence to her; she had not seen her poor dear sister Price for more than twenty years; and it would be a help to the young people in their journey to have her older head to manage for them; and she could not help thinking her poor dear sister Price would feel it very unkind of her not to come by such an opportunity.

  William and Fanny were horror-struck at the idea.

  All the comfort of their comfortable journey would be destroyed at once. With woeful countenances they looked at each other. Their suspense lasted an hour or two. No one interfered to encourage or dissuade. Mrs. Norris was left to settle the matter by herself; and it ended, to the infinite joy of her nephew and niece, in the recollection that she could not possibly be spared from Mansfield Park at present; that she was a great deal too necessary to Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram for her to be able to answer it to herself to leave them even for a week, and therefore must certainly sacrifice every other pleasure to that of being useful to them.

  It had, in fact, occurred to her, that though taken to Portsmouth for nothing, it would be hardly possible for her to avoid paying her own expenses back again. So her poor dear sister Price was left to all the disappointment of her missing such an opportunity, and another twenty years' absence, perhaps, begun.

  Edmund's plans were affected by this Portsmouth journey, this absence of Fanny's. He too had a sacrifice to make to Mansfield Park as well as his aunt. He had intended, about this time, to be going to London; but he could not leave his father and mother just when everybody else of most importance to their comfort was leaving them; and with an effort, felt but not boasted of, he delayed for a week or two longer a journey which he was looking forward to with the hope of its fixing his happiness for ever.

  He told Fanny of it. She knew so much already, that she must know everything. It made the substance of one other confidential discourse about Miss Crawford; and Fanny was the more affected from feeling it to be the last time in which Miss Crawford's name would ever be mentioned between them with any remains of liberty. Once afterwards she was alluded to by him. Lady Bertram had been telling her niece in the evening to write to her soon and often, and promising to be a good correspondent herself; and Edmund, at a convenient moment, then added in a whisper, "And _I_ shall write to you, Fanny, when I have anything worth writing about, anything to say that I think you will like to hear, and that you will not hear so soon from any other quarter." Had she doubted his meaning while she listened, the glow in his face, when she looked up at him, would have been decisive.

  For this letter she must try to arm herself. That a letter from Edmund should be a subject of terror! She began to feel that she had not yet gone through all the changes of opinion and sentiment which the progress of time and variation of circumstances occasion in this world of changes. The vicissitudes of the human mind had not yet been exhausted by her.

  Poor Fanny! though going as she did willingly and eagerly, the last evening at Mansfield Park must still be wretchedness. Her heart was completely sad at parting. She had tears for every room in the house, much more for every beloved inhabitant. She clung to her aunt, because she would miss her; she kissed the hand of her uncle with struggling sobs, because she had displeased him; and as for Edmund, she could neither speak, nor look, nor think, when the last moment came with _him_; and it was not till it was over that she knew he was giving her the affectionate farewell of a brother.

  All this passed overnight, for the journey was to begin very early in the morning; and when the small, diminished party met at breakfast, William and Fanny were talked of as already advanced one stage.



　　克劳福德先生走了，托马斯爵士的下一个目标是让范妮思念他。虽然对于克劳福德先生的百般殷勤，外甥女当时觉得，或者认为是她的不幸，但是现在失去了这样的殷勤之后，做姨父的满怀希望地认为，外甥女会为此感到惆怅。她已经尝到了受人抬举的滋味，而且那种抬举又是以最令人惬意的方式表现出来的。因此，托马斯爵士还真是希望，她会由于不再有人抬举，重又落入无足轻重的境地，心里产生一种非常有益的懊悔之情。他抱着这个想法观察她——但却说不上有多大效果。他几乎看不出她的情绪是否有任何变化。她总是那样文雅怯懦，他无法辨别她的心情如何。他无法了解她，感到自己无法了解她。因此，他请求埃德蒙告诉他，这件事情对范妮的影响如何，她比原来快乐还是不快乐。
　　埃德蒙没有看出任何懊悔的迹象。他觉得父亲有点不大切合实际，居然指望在三四天里就能看出她的后悔来。
　　最让埃德蒙感到意外的是，她的朋友和女伴，克劳福德的妹妹，在这里时对她那么好，走后也看不出她有什么懊悔的。他觉得奇怪，范妮很少提到她，也很少主动说起这次别离引起的愁绪。
　　唉！现在造成范妮不幸的主要祸根，正是克劳福德的这位妹妹，她的这位朋友和女伴。要是她能认为玛丽未来的命运像她哥哥的一样跟曼斯菲尔德没有关系的话，要是她能希望她回到曼斯菲尔德跟她哥哥一样遥远的话，她心里真会感到轻松的。但是，她越回顾往事，越注意观察，就越认为事情正朝着克劳福德小姐嫁给埃德蒙的方向发展。他们两人，男方的愿望更强了，女方的态度更明朗了。他的顾虑，他因为为人正直而产生的顾忌，似乎早已荡然无存——谁也说不准是怎么回事；而她那由于野心而引起的疑虑和犹豫，也同样不复存在了——而且同样看不出是什么原因。这只能归因于感情越来越深。他的美好情感和她的不高尚的情感都向爱情屈服了，这样的爱情必然把他们结合在一起。桑顿莱西的事务一处理完——也许要不了两个星期，他就要到伦敦去。他谈到了要去伦敦，他喜欢讲这件事。一旦和玛丽再度重逢，接下来会发生什么事情，范妮可想而知了。他肯定会向她求婚，她也肯定会接受。然而，这里面还是有些不高尚的情感，使她为未来的前景伤透了心。不过，这伤心与她自己无关——她认为与己无关。
　　在她们最后一次谈话中，克劳福德小姐虽然产生过一些亲切的感情，有过一些亲热的举动，但她依然是克劳福德小姐，从她的言行中可以看出，她的思想依然处于迷茫困惑之中，而她自己却浑然不觉。她心里是阴暗的，却自以为光明。她可能爱埃德蒙，但是除了爱之外，她没有别的方面配得上他。范妮认为，他们之间再也没有第二个情愫相通之处。她认为克劳福德小姐将来也不可能改，认为埃德蒙在恋爱中尚且改变不了她的看法，制约不了她的思想，那在婚后的岁月里，他那么好一个人最终报废在她身上了。范妮相信，古时的圣贤会原谅她的这些想法的。
　　经验告诉我们，对于这种境况中的年轻人不能过于悲观，公正而论，克劳福德小姐虽说性情如此，还不能因此认为她就没有女人的那种普遍的天性，有了这样的天性，她也会接受她所喜爱、所敬重的男人的意见，将之视为自己的意见。不过，范妮有她自己的想法，这些想法给她带来了很大的痛苦，她一提到克劳福德小姐就伤心。
　　与此同时，托马斯爵士依然抱着希望，依然在观察，并根据自己对人类天性的理解，依然觉得他会看到由于不再有人迷恋，不再有人青睐，外甥女的心情会受到影响，追求者以前的百般殷勤，使她渴望再遇到这种殷勤。过了不久，他得以把没有完全地、清楚地观察出上述迹象的原因，归之于另一个客人要来。他认为这位客人的即将到来，足以抚慰外甥女的心情。威廉请了十天假到北安普敦郡来，好显示一下他的快乐，描述一下他的制服。他是天下最快乐的海军少尉，因为他是刚刚晋升的。
　　威廉来了。他本来也很想来这里显示一下他的制服，可惜制度严格，除非是值勤，否则不准穿军服。因此，军服给撂在朴次茅斯了。埃德蒙心想，等范妮有机会看到的时候，不管是制服的鲜艳感，还是穿制服人的新鲜感，都早已不复存在了。这套制服会成为不光彩的标记。一个人要是当了少尉，一两年还没升官，眼看着别人一个个提成了校官，在这种情况下，还有什么比少尉的制服更难看、更寒伧呢？埃德蒙是这样考虑的，后来他父亲向他提出了一个方案，让范妮通过另外一种安排，看看皇家海军“画眉”号军舰上的少尉身穿光彩夺目的军装。
　　根据这个方案，范妮要随哥哥回到朴次茅斯，跟父母弟妹共度一段时间。托马斯爵士是在一次郑重思考时想出了这个主意，觉得这是一个恰当而又理想的举措。不过，他在下定决心之前，先征求了儿子的意见。埃德蒙从各方面做了考虑，觉得这样做完全妥当。这件事本身就很得当，选择这个时机也再好不过，他料想范妮一定非常高兴。这足以使托马斯爵士下定了决心，随着一声果断的“那就这么办”，这件事就算暂时告一段落了。托马斯爵士有点洋洋得意地回房去了，心想这样做的好处还远不止是他对儿子说的，因为他要把范妮打发走的主要动机，并不是为了叫她去看父母，更不是为了让她快活快活。他无疑希望她乐意回去，但同样无疑的是，他希望还没等她探亲结束，她就会深深厌恶自己的家。让她脱离一段曼斯菲尔德庄园优越奢侈的生活，会使她头脑清醒一些，能比较正确地估价人家给她提供的那个更加长久、同样舒适的家庭的价值。
　　托马斯爵士认为外甥女现在肯定是头脑出了毛病，这便是他给她制定的治疗方案。在丰裕富贵人家住了八九年，使她失去了比较和鉴别好坏的能力。她父亲住的房子完全可能使她明白有钱是多么重要。他深信，他想出这个试验，会让范妮这辈子变得更聪明，更幸福。
　　如果范妮有狂喜之习惯的话，她一听明白姨父的打算，定会感到欣喜若狂。姨父建议她去看看她离别几乎半生的父母弟妹，一路上有威廉保护和陪伴，回到她幼年生长的环境中，住上一两个月，而且一直可以看到威廉，直到他出海为止。如果她有什么时候能纵情高兴的话，那就应该是这个时候，因为她是很高兴，不过她那是属于一种不声不响的、深沉的、心潮澎湃的高兴。她向来话不多，在感受最强烈的时候，总是默默不语。在这种时候，她只会道谢，表示接受。后来，对这突如其来的想象中的快乐习以为常之后，她才能把自己的感受对威廉和埃德蒙大体说一说。但是，还有一些微妙的感情无法用言语表达——童年的欢乐，被迫离家的痛苦，这种种回忆涌上了她的心头，好像回家一趟能医治好由于分离而引起的种种痛苦似的。回到这样一伙人当中，受到那么多人的爱，大家对她的爱超过了她以往受到的爱，可以无忧无虑、无拘无束地感受人间的爱，觉得自己和周围的人是平等的，不用担心谁会提起克劳福德兄妹俩，不用担心谁会为了他们而向她投来责备的目光！这是她怀着柔情憧憬着的前景，不过这种柔情只能说出一半。
　　还有埃德蒙——离开他两个月（也许她会被允许去三个月），一定会对她有好处。离得远一些，不再感受他的目光或友爱，不再因为了解他的心，又想避而不听他的心事，而觉得烦恼不断，她也许能使自己的心境变得平静一些，可以想到他在伦敦做种种安排，而并不感到自己可怜。她在曼斯菲尔德忍受不了的事，到了朴次茅斯就会变成小事一桩。
　　唯一的问题是，她走后不知是否会给伯特伦姨妈带来不便。她对别人都没有什么用处。但是对于伯特伦姨妈，她不在会造成一定的不便，这是她不忍心去想的。她不在的时候如何安排伯特伦姨妈，这是让托马斯爵士最感棘手的，然而也只有他可以做安排。
　　不过，他毕竟是一家之主。他要是真打定主意要做什么事，总是要坚持到底的。现在，他就这个问题和妻子谈了很久，向她讲解范妮有义务时而去看看自己的家人，终于说服妻子同意放她去。不过，伯特伦夫人与其说是心服，不如说是屈服，因为她觉得，只不过是托马斯爵士认为范妮应该去，所以她就必须去。等她回到寂静的梳妆室，在不受丈夫那似是而非的理由的影响的情况下，不带偏见地好好琢磨一下这个问题。她认为，范妮离开父母这么久了，实在没有必要去看他们，而她自己却那么需要她。至于范妮走后不会带来什么不便，诺里斯太太发表了一通议论，倒是想证明这一点，但伯特伦夫人坚决不同意这种说法。
　　托马斯爵士诉诸她的理智、良心和尊严。他说这叫自我牺牲，要求她行行好，自我克制一下。而诺里斯太太则要让她相信，范妮完全离得开（只要需要，她愿意拿出自己的全部时间来陪她），总而言之，范妮的确不是不可缺少的。
　　“也许是这样的，姐姐，”伯特伦夫人答道。“我想你说得很对，不过我肯定会很想她的。”
　　下一步是和朴次茅斯联系。范妮写信表示要回去看看，母亲的回信虽短，但却非常亲切，短短的几行表达了母亲在即将见到自己久别的孩子时那种自然的、慈母的喜悦，证明女儿的看法不错，与母亲在一起会无比快乐，并且使女儿相信，以前不怎么疼爱她的“妈妈”，现在一定会是一位热烈而亲切的朋友。至于过去的问题，她很容易想到那都怪她自己，或者是自己过于敏感。她也许是由于胆小无助，焦虑不安，而没去博得她的爱，要不就是她不懂道理，在那么多需要母爱的孩子中间，想比别人多得到一点爱。现在，她已经知道了怎样有益于人，怎样克制忍让，她母亲也不再受满屋的孩子没完没了的牵累，既有闲暇又有心情来寻求各种乐趣，在这种情况下，她们母女之间很快就会恢复应有的母女情意。
　　威廉对这个计划几乎像妹妹一样高兴。范妮要在朴次茅斯住到他出海前的最后时刻，也许他初次巡航回来仍能见到她，他将为此而感到无比的快乐！另外，他也很想让她在“画眉”号出港之前看看它（“画眉”号无疑是正在服役的最漂亮的轻巡洋舰）。海军船坞也做了几处修缮，他也很想领她看看。
　　他还毫不犹豫地加了一句：她回家住上一阵对大家都大有好处。
　　“我不知道怎么会这样想，”他说，”不过，家里似乎需要你的一些良好习惯，需要你的有条不紊。家里总是乱七八糟。我相信，你会把样样东西都整理得好一些。你可以告诉妈妈应该怎样做，你可以帮助苏珊，你可以教教贝齐，让弟弟们爱你、关心你。这一切该有多好，多令人高兴啊！”
　　等收到普莱斯太太的回信时，可以在曼斯菲尔德逗留的时间已经没有几天了。其中有一天，两位年轻的旅客为他们旅行的事大吃一惊。原来，在谈论到路上怎么走的时候，诺里斯太太发现自己想给妹夫省钱完全是白操心，尽管她希望并暗示让范妮乘坐便宜些的交通工具，但他们两人却要乘驿车去。她甚至看见托马斯爵士把乘驿车的钱交给了威廉，这时她才意识到车里可以坐下第三个人，便突然心血来潮要和他们一起去，好去看看她那可怜的亲爱的普莱斯妹妹。她表明了自己的想法。她要说她很想和两个年轻人一起去。这对她来说是件难得的开心事，她已经有二十多年没见过她那可怜的亲爱的普莱斯妹妹了。她年纪大有经验，年轻人在路上也好有个照应。有这么好的机会她再不去，她认为她那可怜的亲爱的普莱斯妹妹定会觉得她太不讲情意了。
　　威廉和范妮被她这个念头吓坏了。
　　他们这次愉快旅行的全部乐趣将会一下子破坏殆尽。他们满面愁容，你看看我，我看看你。他们提心吊胆地过了一两个小时。谁也没有表示欢迎，谁也没有表示劝阻，事情由诺里斯太太自己去决定。后来，她又想起曼斯菲尔德庄园目前还离不开她，托马斯爵士和伯特伦夫人都十分需要她，她连一个星期都走不开，因此只能牺牲其他乐趣，一心为他们帮忙。外甥和外甥女一听，真是喜不自胜。
　　其实，她突然想起，尽管到朴次茅斯去不用花钱，但回来的时候却免不了要自出路费。于是，只能任她那位可怜的亲爱的普莱斯妹妹为她错过这次机会而失望吧。说不定要见面还要再等二十年。
　　埃德蒙的计划受到了范妮这次外出去朴次茅斯的影响。他像他姨妈一样得为曼斯菲尔德庄园做点牺牲。他本来打算这个时候去伦敦，但是最能给父母带来安慰的人就要走了，他不能在这个时候也离开他们。他觉得要克制一下，但却没有声张，就把他盼望中的可望确定他终身幸福的伦敦之行，又推迟了一两个星期。
　　他把这件事告诉了范妮。既然那么多事情都让她知道了，索性把什么都告诉她吧。他又向她推心置腹地谈了一次克劳福德小姐的事。范妮心里越发不是滋味，觉得这是他们两人之间最后一次比较随意地提到克劳福德小姐的名字了。后来有一次，他转弯抹角地提到了她。晚上，伯特伦夫人嘱咐外甥女一去就给她来信，而且要常来信，她自己也答应常给外甥女写信。这时，埃德蒙看准一个时机，悄声补充了一句：“范妮，等我有什么事情值得告诉你，有什么事情我觉得你会想要知道，而从别人那里不会很快听到的时候，我会给你写信的。”假若她还听不出他的弦外之音，等她抬起眼来看他的时候，从他那容光焕发的脸上就能看得清清楚楚了。
　　她必须做好思想准备，以承受这样一封信的打击。埃德蒙给她来信，竟然会成为一件可怕的事！她开始感觉到，在这多变的人世间，时间的推移和环境的变迁在人们身上引起的思想感情的变化，她还得继续去感受。她还没有饱尝人心的变化无常。
　　可怜的范妮呀！尽管她心甘情愿、迫不及待地要走，但在曼斯菲尔德庄园的最后一个夜晚，她还是忧心忡忡。她心里充满了离恨别愁。她为大宅里的每一个房间落泪，尤其为住在大宅里的每一个亲爱的人落泪。她紧紧抱住了姨妈，因为她走后会给她带来不便；她泣不成声地吻了吻姨父的手，因为她惹他生过气；至于埃德蒙，最后轮到向他道别时，她既没说话，也没看他，也没想什么。最后，她只知道他以兄长的身份向她满怀深情地道别。
　　这些都是头天晚上的事，两人第二天一早就要起程。当这家子所剩不多的几个人聚到一起吃早饭的时候，他们议论说，威廉和范妮已经走了一站路了。　
  
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Chapter Thirty-six

  Edmund now believed himself perfectly acquainted with all that Fanny could tell, or could leave to be conjectured of her sentiments, and he was satisfied. It had been, as he before presumed, too hasty a measure on Crawford's side, and time must be given to make the idea first familiar, and then agreeable to her. She must be used to the consideration of his being in love with her, and then a return of affection might not be very distant.

  He gave this opinion as the result of the conversation to his father; and recommended there being nothing more said to her: no farther attempts to influence or persuade; but that everything should be left to Crawford's assiduities, and the natural workings of her own mind.

  Sir Thomas promised that it should be so. Edmund's account of Fanny's disposition he could believe to be just; he supposed she had all those feelings, but he must consider it as very unfortunate that she _had_; for, less willing than his son to trust to the future, he could not help fearing that if such very long allowances of time and habit were necessary for her, she might not have persuaded herself into receiving his addresses properly before the young man's inclination for paying them were over. There was nothing to be done, however, but to submit quietly and hope the best.

  The promised visit from "her friend," as Edmund called Miss Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in continual terror of it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said, and in another light so triumphant and secure, she was in every way an object of painful alarm. Her displeasure, her penetration, and her happiness were all fearful to encounter; and the dependence of having others present when they met was Fanny's only support in looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the East room, and took no solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any sudden attack.

  She succeeded. She was safe in the breakfast-room, with her aunt, when Miss Crawford did come; and the first misery over, and Miss Crawford looking and speaking with much less particularity of expression than she had anticipated, Fanny began to hope there would be nothing worse to be endured than a half-hour of moderate agitation. But here she hoped too much; Miss Crawford was not the slave of opportunity. She was determined to see Fanny alone, and therefore said to her tolerably soon, in a low voice, "I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere"; words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her pulses and all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits of ready submission, on the contrary, made her almost instantly rise and lead the way out of the room. She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable.

  They were no sooner in the hall than all restraint of countenance was over on Miss Crawford's side. She immediately shook her head at Fanny with arch, yet affectionate reproach, and taking her hand, seemed hardly able to help beginning directly. She said nothing, however, but, "Sad, sad girl! I do not know when I shall have done scolding you," and had discretion enough to reserve the rest till they might be secure of having four walls to themselves. Fanny naturally turned upstairs, and took her guest to the apartment which was now always fit for comfortable use; opening the door, however, with a most aching heart, and feeling that she had a more distressing scene before her than ever that spot had yet witnessed. But the evil ready to burst on her was at least delayed by the sudden change in Miss Crawford's ideas; by the strong effect on her mind which the finding herself in the East room again produced.

  "Ha!" she cried, with instant animation, "am I here again? The East room! Once only was I in this room before"; and after stopping to look about her, and seemingly to retrace all that had then passed, she added, "Once only before. Do you remember it? I came to rehearse. Your cousin came too; and we had a rehearsal. You were our audience and prompter. A delightful rehearsal. I shall never forget it. Here we were, just in this part of the room: here was your cousin, here was I, here were the chairs. Oh! why will such things ever pass away?"

  Happily for her companion, she wanted no answer. Her mind was entirely self-engrossed. She was in a reverie of sweet remembrances.

  "The scene we were rehearsing was so very remarkable! The subject of it so very--very--what shall I say? He was to be describing and recommending matrimony to me. I think I see him now, trying to be as demure and composed as Anhalt ought, through the two long speeches. 'When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life.' I suppose no time can ever wear out the impression I have of his looks and voice as he said those words. It was curious, very curious, that we should have such a scene to play! If I had the power of recalling any one week of my existence, it should be that week--that acting week. Say what you would, Fanny, it should be _that_; for I never knew such exquisite happiness in any other. His sturdy spirit to bend as it did! Oh! it was sweet beyond expression. But alas, that very evening destroyed it all. That very evening brought your most unwelcome uncle. Poor Sir Thomas, who was glad to see you? Yet, Fanny, do not imagine I would now speak disrespectfully of Sir Thomas, though I certainly did hate him for many a week. No, I do him justice now. He is just what the head of such a family should be. Nay, in sober sadness, I believe I now love you all." And having said so, with a degree of tenderness and consciousness which Fanny had never seen in her before, and now thought only too becoming, she turned away for a moment to recover herself. "I have had a little fit since I came into this room, as you may perceive," said she presently, with a playful smile, "but it is over now; so let us sit down and be comfortable; for as to scolding you, Fanny, which I came fully intending to do, I have not the heart for it when it comes to the point." And embracing her very affectionately, "Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anything but love you."

  Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this, and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence of the word "last." She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford more than she possibly could; and Miss Crawford, yet farther softened by the sight of such emotion, hung about her with fondness, and said, "I hate to leave you. I shall see no one half so amiable where I am going. Who says we shall not be sisters? I know we shall. I feel that we are born to be connected; and those tears convince me that you feel it too, dear Fanny."

  Fanny roused herself, and replying only in part, said, "But you are only going from one set of friends to another. You are going to a very particular friend."

  "Yes, very true. Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend for years. But I have not the least inclination to go near her. I can think only of the friends I am leaving: my excellent sister, yourself, and the Bertrams in general. You have all so much more _heart_ among you than one finds in the world at large. You all give me a feeling of being able to trust and confide in you, which in common intercourse one knows nothing of. I wish I had settled with Mrs. Fraser not to go to her till after Easter, a much better time for the visit, but now I cannot put her off. And when I have done with her I must go to her sister, Lady Stornaway, because _she_ was rather my most particular friend of the two, but I have not cared much for _her_ these three years."

  After this speech the two girls sat many minutes silent, each thoughtful: Fanny meditating on the different sorts of friendship in the world, Mary on something of less philosophic tendency. _She_ first spoke again.

  "How perfectly I remember my resolving to look for you upstairs, and setting off to find my way to the East room, without having an idea whereabouts it was! How well I remember what I was thinking of as I came along, and my looking in and seeing you here sitting at this table at work; and then your cousin's astonishment, when he opened the door, at seeing me here! To be sure, your uncle's returning that very evening! There never was anything quite like it."

  Another short fit of abstraction followed, when, shaking it off, she thus attacked her companion.

  "Why, Fanny, you are absolutely in a reverie. Thinking, I hope, of one who is always thinking of you. Oh! that I could transport you for a short time into our circle in town, that you might understand how your power over Henry is thought of there! Oh! the envyings and heartburnings of dozens and dozens; the wonder, the incredulity that will be felt at hearing what you have done! For as to secrecy, Henry is quite the hero of an old romance, and glories in his chains. You should come to London to know how to estimate your conquest. If you were to see how he is courted, and how I am courted for his sake! Now, I am well aware that I shall not be half so welcome to Mrs. Fraser in consequence of his situation with you. When she comes to know the truth she will, very likely, wish me in Northamptonshire again; for there is a daughter of Mr. Fraser, by a first wife, whom she is wild to get married, and wants Henry to take. Oh! she has been trying for him to such a degree. Innocent and quiet as you sit here, you cannot have an idea of the _sensation_ that you will be occasioning, of the curiosity there will be to see you, of the endless questions I shall have to answer! Poor Margaret Fraser will be at me for ever about your eyes and your teeth, and how you do your hair, and who makes your shoes. I wish Margaret were married, for my poor friend's sake, for I look upon the Frasers to be about as unhappy as most other married people. And yet it was a most desirable match for Janet at the time. We were all delighted. She could not do otherwise than accept him, for he was rich, and she had nothing; but he turns out ill-tempered and _exigeant_, and wants a young woman, a beautiful young woman of five-and-twenty, to be as steady as himself. And my friend does not manage him well; she does not seem to know how to make the best of it. There is a spirit of irritation which, to say nothing worse, is certainly very ill-bred. In their house I shall call to mind the conjugal manners of Mansfield Parsonage with respect. Even Dr. Grant does shew a thorough confidence in my sister, and a certain consideration for her judgment, which makes one feel there _is_ attachment; but of that I shall see nothing with the Frasers. I shall be at Mansfield for ever, Fanny. My own sister as a wife, Sir Thomas Bertram as a husband, are my standards of perfection. Poor Janet has been sadly taken in, and yet there was nothing improper on her side: she did not run into the match inconsiderately; there was no want of foresight. She took three days to consider of his proposals, and during those three days asked the advice of everybody connected with her whose opinion was worth having, and especially applied to my late dear aunt, whose knowledge of the world made her judgment very generally and deservedly looked up to by all the young people of her acquaintance, and she was decidedly in favour of Mr. Fraser. This seems as if nothing were a security for matrimonial comfort. I have not so much to say for my friend Flora, who jilted a very nice young man in the Blues for the sake of that horrid Lord Stornaway, who has about as much sense, Fanny, as Mr. Rushworth, but much worse-looking, and with a blackguard character. I _had_ my doubts at the time about her being right, for he has not even the air of a gentleman, and now I am sure she was wrong. By the bye, Flora Ross was dying for Henry the first winter she came out. But were I to attempt to tell you of all the women whom I have known to be in love with him, I should never have done. It is you, only you, insensible Fanny, who can think of him with anything like indifference. But are you so insensible as you profess yourself? No, no, I see you are not."

  There was, indeed, so deep a blush over Fanny's face at that moment as might warrant strong suspicion in a predisposed mind.

  "Excellent creature! I will not tease you. Everything shall take its course. But, dear Fanny, you must allow that you were not so absolutely unprepared to have the question asked as your cousin fancies. It is not possible but that you must have had some thoughts on the subject, some surmises as to what might be. You must have seen that he was trying to please you by every attention in his power. Was not he devoted to you at the ball? And then before the ball, the necklace! Oh! you received it just as it was meant. You were as conscious as heart could desire. I remember it perfectly."

  "Do you mean, then, that your brother knew of the necklace beforehand? Oh! Miss Crawford, _that_ was not fair."

  "Knew of it! It was his own doing entirely, his own thought. I am ashamed to say that it had never entered my head, but I was delighted to act on his proposal for both your sakes."

  "I will not say," replied Fanny, "that I was not half afraid at the time of its being so, for there was something in your look that frightened me, but not at first; I was as unsuspicious of it at first--indeed, indeed I was. It is as true as that I sit here. And had I had an idea of it, nothing should have induced me to accept the necklace. As to your brother's behaviour, certainly I was sensible of a particularity: I had been sensible of it some little time, perhaps two or three weeks; but then I considered it as meaning nothing: I put it down as simply being his way, and was as far from supposing as from wishing him to have any serious thoughts of me. I had not, Miss Crawford, been an inattentive observer of what was passing between him and some part of this family in the summer and autumn. I was quiet, but I was not blind. I could not but see that Mr. Crawford allowed himself in gallantries which did mean nothing."

  "Ah! I cannot deny it. He has now and then been a sad flirt, and cared very little for the havoc he might be making in young ladies' affections. I have often scolded him for it, but it is his only fault; and there is this to be said, that very few young ladies have any affections worth caring for. And then, Fanny, the glory of fixing one who has been shot at by so many; of having it in one's power to pay off the debts of one's sex! Oh! I am sure it is not in woman's nature to refuse such a triumph."

  Fanny shook her head. "I cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman's feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of."

  "I do not defend him. I leave him entirely to your mercy, and when he has got you at Everingham, I do not care how much you lecture him. But this I will say, that his fault, the liking to make girls a little in love with him, is not half so dangerous to a wife's happiness as a tendency to fall in love himself, which he has never been addicted to. And I do seriously and truly believe that he is attached to you in a way that he never was to any woman before; that he loves you with all his heart, and will love you as nearly for ever as possible. If any man ever loved a woman for ever, I think Henry will do as much for you."

  Fanny could not avoid a faint smile, but had nothing to say.

  "I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier," continued Mary presently, "than when he had succeeded in getting your brother's commission."

  She had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here.

  "Oh! yes. How very, very kind of him."

  "I know he must have exerted himself very much, for I know the parties he had to move. The Admiral hates trouble, and scorns asking favours; and there are so many young men's claims to be attended to in the same way, that a friendship and energy, not very determined, is easily put by. What a happy creature William must be! I wish we could see him."

  Poor Fanny's mind was thrown into the most distressing of all its varieties. The recollection of what had been done for William was always the most powerful disturber of every decision against Mr. Crawford; and she sat thinking deeply of it till Mary, who had been first watching her complacently, and then musing on something else, suddenly called her attention by saying: "I should like to sit talking with you here all day, but we must not forget the ladies below, and so good-bye, my dear, my amiable, my excellent Fanny, for though we shall nominally part in the breakfast-parlour, I must take leave of you here. And I do take leave, longing for a happy reunion, and trusting that when we meet again, it will be under circumstances which may open our hearts to each other without any remnant or shadow of reserve."

  A very, very kind embrace, and some agitation of manner, accompanied these words.

  "I shall see your cousin in town soon: he talks of being there tolerably soon; and Sir Thomas, I dare say, in the course of the spring; and your eldest cousin, and the Rushworths, and Julia, I am sure of meeting again and again, and all but you. I have two favours to ask, Fanny: one is your correspondence. You must write to me. And the other, that you will often call on Mrs. Grant, and make her amends for my being gone."

  The first, at least, of these favours Fanny would rather not have been asked; but it was impossible for her to refuse the correspondence; it was impossible for her even not to accede to it more readily than her own judgment authorised. There was no resisting so much apparent affection. Her disposition was peculiarly calculated to value a fond treatment, and from having hitherto known so little of it, she was the more overcome by Miss Crawford's. Besides, there was gratitude towards her, for having made their _tete-a-tete_ so much less painful than her fears had predicted.

  It was over, and she had escaped without reproaches and without detection. Her secret was still her own; and while that was the case, she thought she could resign herself to almost everything.

  In the evening there was another parting. Henry Crawford came and sat some time with them; and her spirits not being previously in the strongest state, her heart was softened for a while towards him, because he really seemed to feel. Quite unlike his usual self, he scarcely said anything. He was evidently oppressed, and Fanny must grieve for him, though hoping she might never see him again till he were the husband of some other woman.

  When it came to the moment of parting, he would take her hand, he would not be denied it; he said nothing, however, or nothing that she heard, and when he had left the room, she was better pleased that such a token of friendship had passed.

  On the morrow the Crawfords were gone.



　　埃德蒙现在认为，对于范妮的想法，他或是听她本人讲的，或是凭他自己猜的，已经掌握得一清二楚了，因而感到颇为满意。正像他先前判断的那样，克劳福德这样做有点操之过急，他应该给以充裕的时间，让范妮先熟悉他的想法，再进而觉得可取。必须让她习惯于想到他在爱她，这样一来，要不了多久她就会以情相报了。
　　他把这个意见作为这次谈话的结果告诉了父亲，建议再不要对她说什么了，再不要试图去影响她，劝说她，一切要靠克劳福德的不懈努力，靠她感情的自然发展。
　　托马斯爵士同意这么办。埃德蒙对范妮性情的描述，他可以信以为真，他认为她是会有这些想法的，不过他又觉得她有这样的想法很是不幸。他不像他儿子那样对未来充满信心，因而不能不担心，如果她需要那么长时间来习惯，也许还没等她愿意接受的时候，那年轻人可能已经不愿意再向她求爱了。不过，也没有什么办法，只能不声不响地由着她，并往最好里想。
　　她的“朋友”（埃德蒙把克劳福德小姐称做她的朋友）说是要来拜访，这对范妮来说可是个可怕的威胁，她一直生活在惊恐之中。她这位做妹妹的，那么偏爱哥哥，那么怒气冲冲，说起话来毫不顾忌。从另一角度看，她又那么盛气凌人，那么盲目自信，无论从哪方面来说，都是一个让范妮痛苦生畏的人。她的不悦，她的敏锐，她的快乐，样样都令人可怕。范妮料想起这次会面来，唯一的慰藉是可望届时有别人在场。为了提防她的突然袭击，她尽量不离开伯特伦夫人，不去东屋，不独自到灌木林里散步。
　　她这一招果然有效。克劳福德小姐到来的时候，她安然无恙地和姨妈待在早餐厅里。第一关过去了，克劳福德小姐无论在表情上还是在言语上，都远远没有料想的什么特别之处。范妮心想，只不过有点不安而已，最多再忍受半个小时。但她想得过于乐观了，克劳福德小姐可不是听任机会摆布的人。她是打定主意要和范妮单独谈一谈，因此，过了不久就悄悄对她说：“我要找个地方和你谈几分钟。”这句话让范妮大为震惊，她的每条血管、每根神经都为之震颤。她没法不答应。相反，由于温温顺顺地听人使唤惯了，她立刻站了起来，领着她走出了早餐厅。她这样做心里很不情愿，但又不能不这样做。
　　她们一来到门厅，克劳福德小姐顿时控制不住了。她立即对范妮摇了摇头，眼里露出狡黠而亲切的责怪目光，随即抓住她的手，似乎等不及要马上开口。然而．她只说了一句：“可悲呀，可悲的姑娘！我不知道什么时候才能不骂你。”她还比较谨慎，余下的话要等进到房里没人听见的时候再说。范妮自然转身上楼，把客人领进了如今总是温暖适用的那个房间。然而，她开门的时候，心里痛苦不堪，她觉得自己从没在这屋里遇到过这么令她痛苦的场面。不过，克劳福德小姐突然改变了主意，她发现自己又来到了东屋，这使她心里感慨万端，因此，要降临在范妮身上的灾难至少是推迟了。
　　“哈！”她立即兴奋起来，大声嚷道，“我又来到这里啦？东屋。以前我只进过这间屋子一次呀！”她停下来环顾四周，好像在追忆往事，然后接着说：“只进过一次。你还记得吗？我是来排练的。你表哥也来了。我们一起排练。你是我们的观众兼提词员。一次愉快的排练。我永远忘不了。我们在这儿，就在屋里的这个地方。你表哥在这儿，我在这儿，这儿是椅子。唉！这种事情为什么要一去不复返呢？”
　　算她的同伴幸运，她并不要求回答。她在全神贯注地自我回顾，陶醉于甜蜜的回忆之中。
　　“我们排练的那一场棒极啦！那一场的主题非常——非常——叫我怎么说呢？他要向我描绘结婚生活，并且向我建议结婚。他当时的情景我现在还觉得历历在目，他在背诵那两段长长的台词时，就想做到又庄重又沉静，像是安哈尔特的样子。‘当两颗情愫相通的心结合在一起的时候，婚姻就可以称为幸福生活。’他说这句话时的音容笑貌给我留下的印象，我想不论再过多久，也永远不会磨灭。奇怪，真是奇怪，我们居然会演这么一场戏！我这一生中，如果有哪一星期的经历我还能回忆起来，那就是那个星期，演戏的那个星期。不管你怎么说，范妮，就是那个星期，因为在任何其他星期里，我都不曾这样无比幸福过。那么刚强的人居然给那样折服了！噢！美妙得无以言表。可是，唉！就在那天晚上一切全完了。那天晚上，你那最不受欢迎的姨父回来了。可怜的托马斯酹士，谁愿意见到你呀？不过，范妮，不要认为我现在讲到你姨父时有失敬重，虽说我恨他恨了几个星期。不，我现在要公正地看待他。作为这样一个家庭的家长，他就该是这个样子。再说，在这伤心而冷静的时候，我相信我现在对你们人人都爱。”说完这话之后，她便带着温柔、娇羞的神情转过身去，想镇定一下。范妮以前未见过她有这般神情，现在觉得她格外妩媚了。“你可能看得出来，我一走进这间屋子就有点气冲冲的。”接着她便嬉笑着说： “不过，现在已经过去了。让我们坐下来轻松一下。范妮，我完全是为了骂你而来的，可事到临头又骂不出来了。”说着极其亲热地搂住了范妮，“好范妮，温文尔雅的范妮啊！我一想到这是最后一次和你见面，因为我不知道要走多久——我觉得除了爱你之外，其他的我什么也做不出来了。”
　　范妮被打动了。她根本没有料到这一招，她心里抵御不住“最后一次”这个字眼的悲感力量。她痛哭起来，好像她对克劳福德小姐爱得不得了。克劳福德小姐见此情景，心肠更软了，亲呢地纠缠她，说道：“我真不愿离开你。我要去的地方找不到有你一半可爱的人。谁说我们成不了姑嫂啊？我知道我们准会成为姑嫂。我觉得我们生来就要结为亲戚。你的眼泪使我相信，你也有同感，亲爱的范妮。”
　　范妮警觉起来，只做了部分回答：“不过，你是从一伙朋友这里到另一伙朋友那里去。你是到一个非常要好的朋友那里去的。”
　　“是的，一点不错。弗雷泽太太多年来一直是我的亲密朋友。可我丝毫不想到她那里去。我心里只有我就要离开的朋友们，我极好的姐姐，你，还有伯特伦一家人。你们比世界上任何人都重感情。你们都使我觉得可以信任，可以推心置腹，和别人交往就没有这种感觉。我后悔没和弗雷泽太太约定过了复活节再去看她，复活节以后再去好多了——不过，现在是没法往后拖了。我在她那里住上一段时间以后，还得到她妹妹斯托诺韦夫人那里去，因为她可是两人中跟我更要好的朋友。不过，这三年来我可没怎么把她放在心上。”
　　这番话之后，两位姑娘不言不语地坐了许久，各自想着自己的心事。范妮在琢磨世上不同类型的友谊，玛丽盘算的问题却没有那么深奥。还是她又先说话了。
　　“我多么清楚地记得，我打算上楼来找你。我压根儿不知道东屋在什么地方，硬是摸索着找来啦！我走来的时候心里在想些什么，现在还记得清清楚楚。我往里一看，看见你在这里，坐在这张桌前做活。你表哥一开门看见我在这里，他好惊讶呀！当然，也记得你姨父是那天晚上回来的！我从没见过这样的事情。”
　　接着又出了一阵神。等出完了神，她又向伙伴发起了攻击。
　　“嗨，范妮，你完全心不在焉呀！我看是在想一个总在想你的人吧。噢！我多么想把你带到我们在伦敦的社交圈里待一段时间，好让你知道，你能征服亨利在他们看来是多么了不起呀！噢！会有多少人嫉妒你、嫉恨你啊！人家一听说你有这本事，该会多么惊讶，多么不可思议呀！至于说保密，亨利就像是古老传奇中的主人公，甘愿受到枷锁的束缚。你应该到伦敦去，好知道如何评价你的情场得意。你要是看到有多少人追求他，看到有多少人为了他而来讨好我就好了！我现在心里很清楚，就因为他和你的事情，弗雷泽太太绝不会那么欢迎我了。等她知道了这件事，她很可能希望我再回到北安普敦郡，因为弗雷泽先生有一个女儿，是第一个妻子留下的，她急于把她嫁出去，想让亨利娶了她。噢！她追他追得好紧哪！你天真无邪、安安静静地坐在这里，你不会知道你会引起多大的轰动，你不会知道会有多少人急着看你一眼，你不会知道我得没完没了地回答多少问题！可怜的玛格丽特·弗雷泽会不停地问我你的眼睛怎么样，牙齿怎么样，头梳的什么式样，鞋是哪家做的。为我可怜的朋友着想，我真希望玛格丽特快嫁出去，因力我觉得弗雷泽夫妇像大多数夫妇一样过得不大幸福。不过，当时对珍妮特来说，能嫁给弗雷泽先生还真不错呢。我们全都很高兴。她只能嫁给他，因为他有的是钱，而她却什么都没有。但他后来脾气变坏了，要求苛刻了，想让一个年轻女人，一个二十五岁的漂亮的年轻女人，像他一样情绪上不能有什么波动。我的朋友驾驭不住他，她好像不知道怎么办是好。丈夫动不动就发火，就是不往坏处说，至少是很没有教养。待在他们家里，我会想起曼斯菲尔德牧师府上的夫妇关系，不由得肃然起敬。连格兰特博士都能充分信任我姐姐，还能适当考虑她的意见，让人觉得他们彼此确有感情。但是在弗雷泽夫妇身上，我丝毫看不到这样的迹象。我要永远住在曼斯菲尔德，范妮。按照我的标准，我姐姐是个十全十美的妻子，托马斯·伯特伦爵士是个十全十美的丈夫。可怜的珍妮特不幸上当了，不过她倒没有什么不得当的地方。她并不是不假思索地贸然嫁给了他，她也并不是没有一点远虑。她花了三天时间考虑他的求婚。在这三天中，她征求了每一个与她有来往的、有见识的人的意见，特别是征求了我那亲爱的婶母的意见，因为我婶母见多识广，和她相识的年轻人全都理所当然地尊重她的意见。她明确地偏袒弗雷泽先生。从这件事看来，似乎没什么能保证婚后的幸福！关于我的朋友弗洛拉，我就没有那么多要说的了。为了这位极其讨厌的斯托诺韦勋爵的缘故，她抛弃了皇家禁卫骑兵队里的一位非常可爱的青年。斯托诺韦勋爵和拉什沃思先生的头脑差不多，范妮，但比拉什沃思先生难看得多，而且像个无赖。我当时就怀疑她这一步走得不对，因为他连上等人的派头都没有，现在我敢肯定，她那一步是走错了。顺便告诉你，弗洛拉·罗斯进入社交界的第一个冬天，她想亨利都想疯了。不过，要是让我把我知道的爱他的女人都说出来，我永远也说不完。是你，只有你，麻木不仁的范妮，才会对他无动于衷。不过，你真像你说的那祥无动于衷吗？不，不，我看你不是这样。”
　　这时，范妮真是窘得满脸通红，这对一个早有猜疑的人来说，势必会越发大起疑心。
　　“你真是好极了！我不想强逼你。一切听其自然。不过，亲爱的范妮，你应该承认，你并不像你表哥说的那样对这个问题毫无思想准备。这不可能，你肯定考虑过这个问题，肯定有所猜测。你肯定看得出他在竭尽全力讨好你。他在那次舞会上不是忠心耿耿地跟着你吗？还有，舞会的前一天还送给你那条项链呢！噢！你把它作为他的礼物接受下来了。你心里很明白。我记得清清楚楚。”
　　“你是不是说你哥哥事先知道项链的事情？噢！克劳福德小姐，这可不公平呀。”
　　“事先知道！完全是他安排的，是他自己的主意。说起来真不好意思，我事先想都没想到要这样做。不过，为了他也为了你，我很高兴地按他的主意办了。”
　　“我不想说，”范妮答道，“我当时一点也不担心会是这么回事，因为你的神情有点让我害怕——但并不是一开始——一开始我还一点没往这方面想呢！真的，我真没往这方面想。千真万确。我要是想到了这一点，说什么也不会接受那条项链的。至于你哥哥的行为，我当然意识到有些不正常”。我意识到这一点已经有一段时间了，也许有两三个星期。不过，我当时认为他并非有什么意思，只权当他就是这么个人，既不希望他会认真考虑我，也没想到他会认真考虑我。克劳福德小姐，去年夏天和秋天他和这个家里有的人之间发生的一些事情，我并非没有注意到。我虽然嘴里不说，眼睛却看得清楚。我看到克劳福德先生向女人献殷勤，其实一点诚意也没有。”
　　“啊！这我不否认。他有时候是个没治的调情鬼，毫不顾忌会不会撩乱姑娘们的芳心。我经常为此骂他，不过他也只有这一个弱点。而且有一点需要说明：感情上值得让人珍惜的姑娘并不多。再说，范妮，能捞到一个被这么多姑娘追求的男人，有本事为女人家出口气，这有多么光彩啊！唉，我敢说，拒绝接受这样的荣耀，这不符合女人的天性。”
　　范妮摇了摇头。“我不会看得起一个玩弄女人感情的人。这种人给女人带来的痛苦往往比旁观者想象的要多得多。”
　　“我不替他辩护，任凭你爱怎么发落就怎么发落他吧。等他把你娶到埃弗灵厄姆之后，你怎么训他我都不管。不过，有一点我要说明，他喜欢让姑娘们爱他，这个弱点对于妻子的幸福来说，远没有他自己爱上别人来得危险，而他从来没有爱上哪个姑娘。我真心诚意地相信，他真是喜欢你，以前从没这样喜欢过任何女人。他一心一意地爱你，将会永远地爱你。如果真有哪个男人永远爱着一个女人的话，我想亨利对你是会做到这一步的。”
　　范妮禁不住淡然一笑，但没有什么可说。
　　“我觉得，”玛丽随即又说，“亨利把你哥哥晋升的事办成之后，那个高兴劲儿从来没有过。”
　　她这话自然是想触及范妮的痛处。
　　“噢！是的。我们非常、非常地感激他啊！”
　　“我知道他一定费了很大的劲儿，因为我了解他要活动的那些人。海军将军怕麻烦，不屑于求人。再说有那么多年轻人都要求他帮忙，如果不是铁了心的话，光凭着友情和能力，很容易给撂在一边。威廉该有多高兴啊！我们能见到他就好了。”
　　范妮好可怜，她的心被抛人极度的痛苦之中。一想到克劳福德为威廉办的事，她拒绝他的决心总要受到巨大的干扰。她一直坐在那里沉思默想，玛丽起初洋洋得意地看着她，接着又揣摩起了别的什么事，最后突然把她唤醒了，说道：“我本想和你坐在这里谈上一天，可是我们又不能忘了楼下的太太们，因此，就再见吧，我亲爱的、可爱的、再好不过的范妮。虽然我们名义上要在早餐厅里分手，但我要在这里向你告别。我就向你告别了，希望能幸福地再见。我相信，等我们再见面的时候，情况将会有所改变，我们彼此之间能推心置腹，毫无保留。”
　　这话说完之后，就是一番极其亲热的拥抱，神情显得有些激动。
　　“我不久就能在伦敦见到你表哥。他说他要不了多久就会去那里。我敢说，托马斯爵士春天会去的。你大表哥、拉什沃思夫妇和朱莉娅，我相信会经常见面的，除了你之外，都能见到。范妮，我求你两件事：一是和我通信，你一定要给我写信；另一件是，你常去看看格兰特太太，算是为她弥补一下我走后的损失。”
　　这两个要求，至少是第一个，范妮但愿她不曾提出。但是她又无法拒绝通信，甚至还不能不欣然答应，答应之痛快都超出了她自己的意愿。克劳福德小姐表现得这么亲热，真让她无法抵御。她的天性就特别珍惜别人善待自己，加上一向很少受到这种善待，所以，克劳福德小姐的青睐使她受宠若惊。此外，她还要感激她，因为她们交谈的过程中，她没有像她料想的那样让她痛苦。
　　事情过去了。她算逃脱了，既没有受到责备，也没有泄露天机。她的秘密仍然只有她自己知道。既然如此，她觉得自己什么都可以答应。
　　晚上还有一场道别。亨利·克劳福德来坐了一会。她事先精神不是很好，她的心对他软了些——因为他看上去真是难受。他跟平时大为不同，几乎什么话都没说。他显然感到很沮丧，范妮必然也替他难过，不过却希望在他成为别的女人的丈夫之前，她永远不要再见到他。
　　临别的时候，他要握她的手，并且不许她拒绝。不过，他什么也没说，或者说，他说了她也没听见。他走出房间之后，他们友谊的象征已经结束了，她感到越发高兴。
　　第二天，克劳福德兄妹走了。　
  
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一二三四五六七~~~
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Chapter Thirty-five

  Edmund had determined that it belonged entirely to Fanny to chuse whether her situation with regard to Crawford should be mentioned between them or not; and that if she did not lead the way, it should never be touched on by him; but after a day or two of mutual reserve, he was induced by his father to change his mind, and try what his influence might do for his friend.

  A day, and a very early day, was actually fixed for the Crawfords' departure; and Sir Thomas thought it might be as well to make one more effort for the young man before he left Mansfield, that all his professions and vows of unshaken attachment might have as much hope to sustain them as possible.

  Sir Thomas was most cordially anxious for the perfection of Mr. Crawford's character in that point. He wished him to be a model of constancy; and fancied the best means of effecting it would be by not trying him too long.

  Edmund was not unwilling to be persuaded to engage in the business; he wanted to know Fanny's feelings. She had been used to consult him in every difficulty, and he loved her too well to bear to be denied her confidence now; he hoped to be of service to her, he thought he must be of service to her; whom else had she to open her heart to? If she did not need counsel, she must need the comfort of communication. Fanny estranged from him, silent and reserved, was an unnatural state of things; a state which he must break through, and which he could easily learn to think she was wanting him to break through.

  "I will speak to her, sir: I will take the first opportunity of speaking to her alone," was the result of such thoughts as these; and upon Sir Thomas's information of her being at that very time walking alone in the shrubbery, he instantly joined her.

  "I am come to walk with you, Fanny," said he. "Shall I?" Drawing her arm within his. "It is a long while since we have had a comfortable walk together."

  She assented to it all rather by look than word. Her spirits were low.

  "But, Fanny," he presently added, "in order to have a comfortable walk, something more is necessary than merely pacing this gravel together. You must talk to me. I know you have something on your mind. I know what you are thinking of. You cannot suppose me uninformed. Am I to hear of it from everybody but Fanny herself?"

  Fanny, at once agitated and dejected, replied, "If you hear of it from everybody, cousin, there can be nothing for me to tell."

  "Not of facts, perhaps; but of feelings, Fanny. No one but you can tell me them. I do not mean to press you, however. If it is not what you wish yourself, I have done. I had thought it might be a relief."

  "I am afraid we think too differently for me to find any relief in talking of what I feel."

  "Do you suppose that we think differently? I have no idea of it. I dare say that, on a comparison of our opinions, they would be found as much alike as they have been used to be: to the point--I consider Crawford's proposals as most advantageous and desirable, if you could return his affection. I consider it as most natural that all your family should wish you could return it; but that, as you cannot, you have done exactly as you ought in refusing him. Can there be any disagreement between us here?"

  "Oh no! But I thought you blamed me. I thought you were against me. This is such a comfort!"

  "This comfort you might have had sooner, Fanny, had you sought it. But how could you possibly suppose me against you? How could you imagine me an advocate for marriage without love? Were I even careless in general on such matters, how could you imagine me so where your happiness was at stake?"

  "My uncle thought me wrong, and I knew he had been talking to you."

  "As far as you have gone, Fanny, I think you perfectly right. I may be sorry, I may be surprised--though hardly _that_, for you had not had time to attach yourself--but I think you perfectly right. Can it admit of a question? It is disgraceful to us if it does. You did not love him; nothing could have justified your accepting him."

  Fanny had not felt so comfortable for days and days.

  "So far your conduct has been faultless, and they were quite mistaken who wished you to do otherwise. But the matter does not end here. Crawford's is no common attachment; he perseveres, with the hope of creating that regard which had not been created before. This, we know, must be a work of time. But" (with an affectionate smile) "let him succeed at last, Fanny, let him succeed at last. You have proved yourself upright and disinterested, prove yourself grateful and tender-hearted; and then you will be the perfect model of a woman which I have always believed you born for."

  "Oh! never, never, never! he never will succeed with me." And she spoke with a warmth which quite astonished Edmund, and which she blushed at the recollection of herself, when she saw his look, and heard him reply, "Never! Fanny!-- so very determined and positive! This is not like yourself, your rational self."

  "I mean," she cried, sorrowfully correcting herself, "that I _think_ I never shall, as far as the future can be answered for; I think I never shall return his regard."

  "I must hope better things. I am aware, more aware than Crawford can be, that the man who means to make you love him (you having due notice of his intentions) must have very uphill work, for there are all your early attachments and habits in battle array; and before he can get your heart for his own use he has to unfasten it from all the holds upon things animate and inanimate, which so many years' growth have confirmed, and which are considerably tightened for the moment by the very idea of separation. I know that the apprehension of being forced to quit Mansfield will for a time be arming you against him. I wish he had not been obliged to tell you what he was trying for. I wish he had known you as well as I do, Fanny. Between us, I think we should have won you. My theoretical and his practical knowledge together could not have failed. He should have worked upon my plans. I must hope, however, that time, proving him (as I firmly believe it will) to deserve you by his steady affection, will give him his reward. I cannot suppose that you have not the _wish_ to love him--the natural wish of gratitude. You must have some feeling of that sort. You must be sorry for your own indifference."

  "We are so totally unlike," said Fanny, avoiding a direct answer, "we are so very, very different in all our inclinations and ways, that I consider it as quite impossible we should ever be tolerably happy together, even if I _could_ like him. There never were two people more dissimilar. We have not one taste in common. We should be miserable.

  "You are mistaken, Fanny. The dissimilarity is not so strong. You are quite enough alike. You _have_ tastes in common. You have moral and literary tastes in common. You have both warm hearts and benevolent feelings; and, Fanny, who that heard him read, and saw you listen to Shakespeare the other night, will think you unfitted as companions? You forget yourself: there is a decided difference in your tempers, I allow. He is lively, you are serious; but so much the better: his spirits will support yours. It is your disposition to be easily dejected and to fancy difficulties greater than they are. His cheerfulness will counteract this. He sees difficulties nowhere: and his pleasantness and gaiety will be a constant support to you. Your being so far unlike, Fanny, does not in the smallest degree make against the probability of your happiness together: do not imagine it. I am myself convinced that it is rather a favourable circumstance. I am perfectly persuaded that the tempers had better be unlike: I mean unlike in the flow of the spirits, in the manners, in the inclination for much or little company, in the propensity to talk or to be silent, to be grave or to be gay. Some opposition here is, I am thoroughly convinced, friendly to matrimonial happiness. I exclude extremes, of course; and a very close resemblance in all those points would be the likeliest way to produce an extreme. A counteraction, gentle and continual, is the best safeguard of manners and conduct."

  Full well could Fanny guess where his thoughts were now: Miss Crawford's power was all returning. He had been speaking of her cheerfully from the hour of his coming home. His avoiding her was quite at an end. He had dined at the Parsonage only the preceding day.

  After leaving him to his happier thoughts for some minutes, Fanny, feeling it due to herself, returned to Mr. Crawford, and said, "It is not merely in _temper_ that I consider him as totally unsuited to myself; though, in _that_ respect, I think the difference between us too great, infinitely too great: his spirits often oppress me; but there is something in him which I object to still more. I must say, cousin, that I cannot approve his character. I have not thought well of him from the time of the play. I then saw him behaving, as it appeared to me, so very improperly and unfeelingly--I may speak of it now because it is all over--so improperly by poor Mr. Rushworth, not seeming to care how he exposed or hurt him, and paying attentions to my cousin Maria, which--in short, at the time of the play, I received an impression which will never be got over."

  "My dear Fanny," replied Edmund, scarcely hearing her to the end, "let us not, any of us, be judged by what we appeared at that period of general folly. The time of the play is a time which I hate to recollect. Maria was wrong, Crawford was wrong, we were all wrong together; but none so wrong as myself. Compared with me, all the rest were blameless. I was playing the fool with my eyes open."

  "As a bystander," said Fanny, "perhaps I saw more than you did; and I do think that Mr. Rushworth was sometimes very jealous."

  "Very possibly. No wonder. Nothing could be more improper than the whole business. I am shocked whenever I think that Maria could be capable of it; but, if she could undertake the part, we must not be surprised at the rest."

  "Before the play, I am much mistaken if _Julia_ did not think he was paying her attentions.

  "Julia! I have heard before from some one of his being in love with Julia; but I could never see anything of it. And, Fanny, though I hope I do justice to my sisters' good qualities, I think it very possible that they might, one or both, be more desirous of being admired by Crawford, and might shew that desire rather more unguardedly than was perfectly prudent. I can remember that they were evidently fond of his society; and with such encouragement, a man like Crawford, lively, and it may be, a little unthinking, might be led on to--there could be nothing very striking, because it is clear that he had no pretensions: his heart was reserved for you. And I must say, that its being for you has raised him inconceivably in my opinion. It does him the highest honour; it shews his proper estimation of the blessing of domestic happiness and pure attachment. It proves him unspoilt by his uncle. It proves him, in short, everything that I had been used to wish to believe him, and feared he was not."

  "I am persuaded that he does not think, as he ought, on serious subjects."

  "Say, rather, that he has not thought at all upon serious subjects, which I believe to be a good deal the case. How could it be otherwise, with such an education and adviser? Under the disadvantages, indeed, which both have had, is it not wonderful that they should be what they are? Crawford's _feelings_, I am ready to acknowledge, have hitherto been too much his guides. Happily, those feelings have generally been good. You will supply the rest; and a most fortunate man he is to attach himself to such a creature-- to a woman who, firm as a rock in her own principles, has a gentleness of character so well adapted to recommend them. He has chosen his partner, indeed, with rare felicity. He will make you happy, Fanny; I know he will make you happy; but you will make him everything."

  "I would not engage in such a charge," cried Fanny, in a shrinking accent; "in such an office of high responsibility!"

  "As usual, believing yourself unequal to anything! fancying everything too much for you! Well, though I may not be able to persuade you into different feelings, you will be persuaded into them, I trust. I confess myself sincerely anxious that you may. I have no common interest in Crawford's well-doing. Next to your happiness, Fanny, his has the first claim on me. You are aware of my having no common interest in Crawford."

  Fanny was too well aware of it to have anything to say; and they walked on together some fifty yards in mutual silence and abstraction. Edmund first began again--

  "I was very much pleased by her manner of speaking of it yesterday, particularly pleased, because I had not depended upon her seeing everything in so just a light. I knew she was very fond of you; but yet I was afraid of her not estimating your worth to her brother quite as it deserved, and of her regretting that he had not rather fixed on some woman of distinction or fortune. I was afraid of the bias of those worldly maxims, which she has been too much used to hear. But it was very different. She spoke of you, Fanny, just as she ought. She desires the connexion as warmly as your uncle or myself. We had a long talk about it. I should not have mentioned the subject, though very anxious to know her sentiments; but I had not been in the room five minutes before she began introducing it with all that openness of heart, and sweet peculiarity of manner, that spirit and ingenuousness which are so much a part of herself. Mrs. Grant laughed at her for her rapidity." "Was Mrs. Grant in the room, then?"

  "Yes, when I reached the house I found the two sisters together by themselves; and when once we had begun, we had not done with you, Fanny, till Crawford and Dr. Grant came in."

  "It is above a week since I saw Miss Crawford."

  "Yes, she laments it; yet owns it may have been best. You will see her, however, before she goes. She is very angry with you, Fanny; you must be prepared for that. She calls herself very angry, but you can imagine her anger. It is the regret and disappointment of a sister, who thinks her brother has a right to everything he may wish for, at the first moment. She is hurt, as you would be for William; but she loves and esteems you with all her heart."

  "I knew she would be very angry with me."

  "My dearest Fanny," cried Edmund, pressing her arm closer to him, "do not let the idea of her anger distress you. It is anger to be talked of rather than felt. Her heart is made for love and kindness, not for resentment. I wish you could have overheard her tribute of praise; I wish you could have seen her countenance, when she said that you _should_ be Henry's wife. And I observed that she always spoke of you as 'Fanny,' which she was never used to do; and it had a sound of most sisterly cordiality."

  "And Mrs. Grant, did she say--did she speak; was she there all the time?"

  "Yes, she was agreeing exactly with her sister. The surprise of your refusal, Fanny, seems to have been unbounded. That you could refuse such a man as Henry Crawford seems more than they can understand. I said what I could for you; but in good truth, as they stated the case--you must prove yourself to be in your senses as soon as you can by a different conduct; nothing else will satisfy them. But this is teasing you. I have done. Do not turn away from me."

  "I _should_ have thought," said Fanny, after a pause of recollection and exertion, "that every woman must have felt the possibility of a man's not being approved, not being loved by some one of her sex at least, let him be ever so generally agreeable. Let him have all the perfections in the world, I think it ought not to be set down as certain that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may happen to like himself. But, even supposing it is so, allowing Mr. Crawford to have all the claims which his sisters think he has, how was I to be prepared to meet him with any feeling answerable to his own? He took me wholly by surprise. I had not an idea that his behaviour to me before had any meaning; and surely I was not to be teaching myself to like him only because he was taking what seemed very idle notice of me. In my situation, it would have been the extreme of vanity to be forming expectations on Mr. Crawford. I am sure his sisters, rating him as they do, must have thought it so, supposing he had meant nothing. How, then, was I to be-- to be in love with him the moment he said he was with me? How was I to have an attachment at his service, as soon as it was asked for? His sisters should consider me as well as him. The higher his deserts, the more improper for me ever to have thought of him. And, and--we think very differently of the nature of women, if they can imagine a woman so very soon capable of returning an affection as this seems to imply."

  "My dear, dear Fanny, now I have the truth. I know this to be the truth; and most worthy of you are such feelings. I had attributed them to you before. I thought I could understand you. You have now given exactly the explanation which I ventured to make for you to your friend and Mrs. Grant, and they were both better satisfied, though your warm-hearted friend was still run away with a little by the enthusiasm of her fondness for Henry. I told them that you were of all human creatures the one over whom habit had most power and novelty least; and that the very circumstance of the novelty of Crawford's addresses was against him. Their being so new and so recent was all in their disfavour; that you could tolerate nothing that you were not used to; and a great deal more to the same purpose, to give them a knowledge of your character. Miss Crawford made us laugh by her plans of encouragement for her brother. She meant to urge him to persevere in the hope of being loved in time, and of having his addresses most kindly received at the end of about ten years' happy marriage."

  Fanny could with difficulty give the smile that was here asked for. Her feelings were all in revolt. She feared she had been doing wrong: saying too much, overacting the caution which she had been fancying necessary; in guarding against one evil, laying herself open to another; and to have Miss Crawford's liveliness repeated to her at such a moment, and on such a subject, was a bitter aggravation.

  Edmund saw weariness and distress in her face, and immediately resolved to forbear all farther discussion; and not even to mention the name of Crawford again, except as it might be connected with what _must_ be agreeable to her. On this principle, he soon afterwards observed-- "They go on Monday. You are sure, therefore, of seeing your friend either to-morrow or Sunday. They really go on Monday; and I was within a trifle of being persuaded to stay at Lessingby till that very day! I had almost promised it. What a difference it might have made! Those five or six days more at Lessingby might have been felt all my life."

  "You were near staying there?"

  "Very. I was most kindly pressed, and had nearly consented. Had I received any letter from Mansfield, to tell me how you were all going on, I believe I should certainly have staid; but I knew nothing that had happened here for a fortnight, and felt that I had been away long enough."

  "You spent your time pleasantly there?" "Yes; that is, it was the fault of my own mind if I did not. They were all very pleasant. I doubt their finding me so. I took uneasiness with me, and there was no getting rid of it till I was in Mansfield again."

  "The Miss Owens--you liked them, did not you?"

  "Yes, very well. Pleasant, good-humoured, unaffected girls. But I am spoilt, Fanny, for common female society. Good-humoured, unaffected girls will not do for a man who has been used to sensible women. They are two distinct orders of being. You and Miss Crawford have made me too nice."

  Still, however, Fanny was oppressed and wearied; he saw it in her looks, it could not be talked away; and attempting it no more, he led her directly, with the kind authority of a privileged guardian, into the house.



　　埃德蒙已经打定主意，提不提范妮与克劳福德之间的事情，完全由范妮决定。范妮要是不主动说，他就绝对不提这件事。但是，双方缄默了一两天之后，在父亲的敦促下，他改变了主意，想利用自己的影响为朋友帮帮忙。
　　克劳福德兄妹动身的日期定下来了，而且就近在眼前。托马斯爵士觉得，在这位年轻人离开曼斯菲尔德之前，不妨再为他做一次努力，这样一来，他赌咒发誓要忠贞不渝，就有希望维持下去。
　　托马斯爵士热切地希望克劳福德先生在这方面的人品能尽善尽美。他希望他能成为对爱情忠贞不渝的典范。他觉得，要促其实现的最好办法，是不要过久地考验他。
　　埃德蒙倒也乐意接受父亲的意见，负责处理这件事。他想知道范妮心里到底是怎么想的。她以往有什么难处，总要找他商量。他那么喜爱她，现在要是不跟他讲心里话，他可受不了。他希望自己能帮帮她的忙，觉得自己一定能帮上她的忙，除他之外，她还能向谁倾诉衷情呢？即使她不需要他出主意，她也肯定需要对他说一说，从中得到宽慰。范妮跟他疏远了，不声不响，不言不语，很不正常。他必须打破这种状态，他心里自然明白，范妮也需要他来打破这种局面。
　　“我跟她谈谈，父亲。我一有机会就跟她单独谈谈。”这是他做了如上考虑的结果。托马斯爵士告诉他说，眼下她正一个人在灌木林里散步，他马上便找她去了。
　　“我是来陪你散步的，范妮，”他说。“可以吗？（挎起了她的胳膊）我们很久没在一起舒心地散散步了。”
　　范妮用神情表示同意，但没有说话。她情绪低落。
　　“不过，范妮，”埃德蒙马上又说，“要想舒心地散散步，光在这砾石路上踱步还不行，还必须做点别的什么事。你得和我谈谈。我知道你有心事。我知道你在想什么。你不要以为没有人告诉我。难道我只能听大家对我讲，唯独不能听范妮本人给我讲讲吗？”
　　范妮既激动又悲伤，回答说：“既然你听大家对你讲了，表哥，那我就没有什么可讲的了。”
　　“不是讲事情的经过，而是讲你的想法，范妮。你的想法只有你能告诉我。不过，我不想强迫你。如果你不想说，我就不再提了。我原以为，你讲出来心里能轻松一些。”
　　“我担心我们的想法完全不同，我就是把心里话说出来，也未必能感到轻松。”
　　“你认为我们的想法不同吗？我可不这样看。我敢说，如果把我们的想法拿来比较一下，我们会发现它们像过去一样是相似的。现在就谈正题——我认为只要你能接受克劳福德的求婚，这门亲事非常有利，也非常难得。我认为全家人都希望你能接受，这是很自然的事情。不过，我同样认为，既然你不能接受，你在拒绝他时所做的一切也完全是理所应该的。我这样看，我们之间会有什么不一致的看法吗？”
　　“噢，没有！我原以为你要责备我。我原以为你在反对我。这对我是莫大的安慰。”
　　“如果你寻求这一安慰的话，你早就得到了。你怎么会设想我在反对你呢？你怎么会认为我也主张没有爱情的婚姻呢？即使我通常不大关心这类事情，但是在你的幸福受到威胁的情况下，你怎么能想得出我会不闻不问呢？”
　　“姨父认为我不对，而且我知道他和你谈过了。”
　　“就你目前的情况而言，范妮，我认为你做得完全对。我可能感到遗憾，我可能感到惊奇——也许连这都不会，因为你还来不及对他产生感情。我觉得你做得完全对。难道这还有什么可争议的吗？争议对我们也没有什么光彩的。你并不爱他——那就没有什么理由非要让你接受他的爱。”
　　范妮多少天来从没这样心情舒畅过。
　　“迄今为止你的行为是无可指摘的，谁想反对你这样做，那就大错特错了。但是事情并没有到此结束。克劳福德的求爱与众不同，他锲而不舍，想树立过去未曾树立的好形象。我们知道，这不是一天两天能办得到的。不过（亲切地一笑），让他最后成功，范妮，让他最后成功。你已经证明你是正直无私的，现在再证明你知恩图报，心肠软。这样你就成了一个完美的妇女典型，我总认为你生来就要成为这种典型。”
　　“噢！绝对不会，绝对不会，绝对不会。他决不会在我这里得逞。”范妮说得非常激动，埃德蒙大吃一惊。她稍加镇静之后验也红了。这时她看到了他的神色，听见他在说：“绝对不会，范妮，话说得这么武断，这么绝！这不像你说的话，不像通情达理的你说的话。”
　　“我的意思是，”范妮伤心地自我纠正，嚷道，“只要我可以为未来担保，我认为我绝对不会——我认为我绝对不会回报他的情意。”
　　“我应该往好处想。我很清楚，比克劳福德还清楚，他想让你爱他（你已经充分看清了他的意图），这谈何容易，你以往的感情、以往的习惯都在严阵以待。他要想赢得你的心，就得把它从牢系着它的有生命、无生命的事物上解脱开来，而这些牵系物经过这么多年已变得非常牢固，眼下一听说要解开它们，反而拴得紧多了。我知道，你担心会被迫离开曼斯菲尔德，在一段时间里，这个顾虑会成为你拒绝他的理由。他要是还没对你说他有什么追求就好了。他要是像我一样了解你就好了，范妮。跟你私下里说一句，我心想我们可能会让你回心转意。我的理论知识和他的实践经验加在一起，不会不起作用。他应该按照我的计划行事。不过我想，他以坚定不移的感情向你表明他值得你爱，长此下去，总会有所收获。我料想，你不会没有爱他的愿望——那种由于感激而产生的自然愿望。你一定会有这种类似的心情。你一定为自己的冷漠态度感到内疚。”
　　“我和他完全不同，”范妮避免直接回答，“我们的爱好，我们的为人都大不相同，我想，即使我能喜欢他，我们在一起也不可能怎么幸福。绝没有哪两个人比我们俩更不相同了。我们的情趣没有一点是一致的。我们在一起会很痛苦的。”
　　“你说错了，范妮。你们的差异并没有那么大。你们十分相像。你们有共同的情趣。你们有共同的道德观念和文学修养。你们都有热烈的感情和仁慈的心肠。我说范妮，那天晚上，谁听了他朗诵莎士比亚的剧本，又看到你在一边听，会认为你们不适合做伴侣呢？你自己忘记了。我承认，你们在性情上有明显的差异。他活泼，你严肃。不过，这反倒更好，他可以提高你的兴致。你的心情容易沮丧，你容易把困难看得过大。他的开朗能对此起到点抵消作用。他从不把困难放在眼里，他的欢快和风趣将是你永远的支柱。范妮，你们两人有巨大差异并不意味你们俩在一起不会幸福。你不要那样想。我倒认为这是个有利因素。我极力主张，两人的性情最好不一样。我的意思是说，兴致高低不一样，风度上不一样，愿跟人多交往还是少交往上不一样，爱说话还是不爱说话上不一样，严肃还是欢快上不一样。我完全相信，在这些方面彼此有些不同，倒有利于婚后的幸福。当然，我不赞成走极端。在这些方面双方过分相像，就极有可能导致极端。彼此不断地来点温和的中和，这是对行为举止的最好保障。”
　　范妮完全能猜到他现在的心思。克劳福德小姐又恢复了她的魅力。从他走进家门的那一刻起，他就在兴致勃勃地谈论她。他对她的回避已告结束。头一天他刚在牧师府上吃过饭。
　　范妮任他沉湎于幸福的遐想，好一阵工夫没说话，后来觉得该把话题引回到克劳福德先生身上，便说道：“我认为他和我完全不合适，还不只是因为性情问题，虽说在这方面，我觉得我们两人的差别太大，大到不能再大的程度。他的精神劲经常让我受不了——不过他还有更让我反感的地方。表哥，跟你说吧，我看不惯他的人品。从演戏的那个时候起，我就一直对他印象不好。那时我就觉得他行为不端，不替别人着想——我现在可以说了，因为事情已经过去了——他太对不起可怜的拉什沃思先生了，似乎毫不留情地出他的丑，伤害他的自尊心，一味地向玛丽亚表姐献殷勤，这使我——总而言之，在演戏的时候给我的印象，我永远也忘不掉。”
　　“亲爱的范妮，”埃德蒙没听她说完就答道，“我们不要用大家都在胡闹的那个时候的表现来判断我们的为人，对谁都不能这样判断。我们演戏的时候，是我很不愿意回顾的一个时期。玛丽亚有错，克劳福德有错，我们大家都有错，但是错误最大的是我。比起我来，别人都不算错。我是睁大了眼睛干蠢事。”
　　“作为一个旁观者，”范妮说，“我也许比你看得更清楚。我觉得拉什沃思先生有时候很妒忌。”
　　“很可能。这也难怪。整个事情太不成体统了。一想到玛丽亚能做出这种事来，我就感到震惊。不过，既然她都担任了那样的角色，其余的也就不足为奇了。”
　　“在演戏之前，如果朱莉娅认为他不在追求她，那就算我大错特错。”
　　“朱莉娅！我曾听谁说过他爱上了朱莉娅，可我一点也看不出来。范妮，虽然我不愿意贬低我两个妹妹的品质，但我认为她们中的一个希望，或者两个都希望受到克劳福德的爱慕，可能是由于不够谨慎的缘故，流露出了这种愿望。我还记得，她们显然都喜欢和他来往。受到这样的鼓励，一个像克劳福德这样活泼的人，就可能有欠考虑，就可能被引上——这也没有什么了不起的，现在看得很清楚，他对她们根本无意，而是把心交给了你。跟你说吧，正因为他把心交给了你，他才大大提高了他在我心目中的地位。这使我对他无比敬重。这表明他非常看重家庭的幸福和纯洁的爱情。这表明他没有被他叔叔教坏。总而言之，这表明他正是我所希望的那种人，全然不是我所担心的那种人。”
　　“我认为，他对严肃的问题缺乏认真的思考。”
　　“不如说，他对严肃的问题就根本没有思考过。我觉得这才是他的真实情况。他受的是那种教育，又有那么个人给他出主意，他怎么能不这样呢？他们两人都受着不良环境的影响，在那种不利的条件下，他们能变成这个样子，有什么可惊奇的呢？我认为，迄今为止，克劳福德一直被他的情感所左右。历幸的是，他的情感总的说来是健康的，余下的要靠你来弥补。他非常幸运，爱上了这样一位姑娘——这位姑娘在行为准则上坚如磐石，性格上又那么温文尔雅，完全可以使他受到熏陶。他在选择对象的问题上真是太有福气了。他会使你幸福，范妮，我知道他会使你幸福。不过，你会使他要怎么好就怎么好。”
　　“我才不愿承担这样的任务呢，”范妮以畏缩的口气嚷道。“我才不愿承担这么大的责任呢！”
　　“你又像平常一样，认为自己什么都不行！认为自己什么都胜任不了！好吧，我改变不了你的看法，但我相信你是会改变的。说实话，我衷心地盼望你能改变。我非常关心克劳福德的幸福。范妮，除了你的幸福之外，我最关心的就是他的幸福。你也知道，我对克劳福德非常关心。”
　　范妮对此十分清楚，无话可说。两人向前走了五十来码，都在默默不语地想着各自的心思。又是埃德蒙先开的口：
　　“玛丽昨天说起这件事时的样子让我非常高兴，让我特别高兴，因为我没想到她对样样事情都看得那么妥当。我早就知道她喜欢你，可我又担心她会认为你配不上她哥哥，担心她会为她哥哥没有挑一个有身份、有财产的女人而遗憾。我担心她听惯了那些世俗的伦理，难免会产生偏见。不过，实际情况并非如此。她说起你的时候，范妮，话说得入情入理。她像你姨父或我一样希望这门亲事能成。我们对这个问题谈了好久。我本来并不想提起这件事，虽说我很想了解一下她的看法。我进屋不到五分钟，她就以她那特有的开朗性格，亲切可爱的神态，以及纯真的感情，向我说起了这件事。格兰特太太还笑她迫不及待呢。”
　　“那格兰特太太也在屋里啦？”
　　“是的，我到她家的时候，看到她们姐妹俩在一起。我们一谈起你来，范妮，就谈个没完，后来克劳福德和格兰特先生就进来了。”
　　“我已经有一个多星期没看到克劳福德小姐了。”
　　“是的，她也为此感到遗憾，可她又说，这样也许更好。不过，她走之前，你会见到她的。她很生你的气，范妮，你要有个精神准备。她自称很生气，不过你可以想象她是怎么生气法。那不过是做妹妹的替哥哥感到遗憾和失望。她认为她哥哥无论想要什么，都有权利马上弄到手。她的自尊心受到了伤害，假若事情发生在威廉身上，你也会这样的。不过，她全心全意地爱你，敬重你。”
　　“我早就知道她会很生我的气。”
　　“我最亲爱的范妮，”埃德蒙紧紧夹住她的胳膊，嚷道，“不要听说她生气就感到伤心。她只是嘴上说说，心里未必真生气。她那颗心生来只会爱别人，善待别人，不会记恨别人。你要是听到她是怎样夸奖你的，在她说到你应该做亨利的妻子的时候，再看到她脸上那副喜滋滋的样子，那就好了。我注意到，她说起你的时候，总是叫你‘范妮’，她以前可从没这样叫过。像是小姑子称呼嫂子，听起来极其亲热。”
　　“格兰特太太说什么——她说话没有——她不是一直在场吗？”
　　“是的，她完全同意她妹妹的意见。你的拒绝，范妮，似乎使她们感到万分惊奇。你居然会拒绝亨利·克劳福德这样一个人，她们似乎无法理解。我尽量替你解释，不过说实话，正像她们说的那样——你必须尽快改变态度，证明你十分理智，不然她们是不会满意的。不过，我这是跟你开玩笑。我说完了，你可不要不理我。”
　　“我倒认为，”范妮镇静了一下，强打精神说，“女人们个个都会觉得存在这种可能：一个男人即使人人都说好，至少会有某个女人不答应他，不爱他。即使他把世界上的可爱之处都集中在他一个人身上，我想他也不应该就此认为，他自己想爱谁谁就一定会答应他。即便如此，就算克劳福德先生真像他的两个姐妹想象的那么好，我怎么可能一下子跟他情愫相通呢？他使我大为骇然。我以前从没想到他对我的行为有什么用意。我当然不能因为他对我似理非理的，就自作多情地去喜欢他。我处于这样的地位，如果还要去打克劳福德先生的主意，那岂不是太没有自知之明了。我敢断定，他若是无意于我的话，他的两个姐妹把他看得那么好，她们肯定会认为我自不量力，没有自知之明。那我怎么能——怎么能他一说爱我，我就立即去爱他呢？我怎么能他一要我爱他，我就马上爱上他呢？他的姐妹为他考虑，也应该替我想一想。他的条件越是好，我就越不应该往他身上想。还有，还有——如果她们认为一个女人会这么快就接受别人的爱——看来她们就是这样认为的，那我和她们对于女性天性的看法就大不相同了。”
　　“我亲爱的，亲爱的范妮，现在我知道真情了。我知道这是真情。你有这样的想法真是极其难得。我以前就是这样看你的。我以为我能了解你。你刚才所做的解释，跟我替你向你的朋友和格兰特太太所做的解释完全一样，她们两人听了都比较想得通，只不过你那位热心的朋友由于喜欢亨利的缘故，还有点难以平静。我对她们说，你是一个最受习惯支配、最不求新奇的人，克劳福德用这么新奇的方式向你求婚，这对他没有好处。那么新奇，那么新鲜，完全于事无补。凡是你不习惯的，你一概受不了。我还做了许多其他的解释，让她们了解你的性格。克劳福德小姐述说了她鼓励哥哥的计划，逗得我们大笑起来。她要鼓励亨利不屈不挠地追求下去，怀着迟早会被接受的希望，希望他在度过大约十年的幸福婚姻生活之后，他的求爱才会被十分乐意地接受。”
　　范妮勉强地敷衍一笑。她心里非常反感。她担心自己做错了事，话说得过多，超过了自己认为必须警惕的范围，为了提防一个麻烦，却招来了另一个麻烦①（译注：① “提防一个麻烦”，系指小心不要泄露她对埃德蒙的感情；“招来另一个麻烦”，系指让埃德蒙觉得她有可能跟克劳福德好。），惹得埃德蒙在这样的时刻，借着这样的话题，硬把克劳福德小姐的玩笑话学给她听，真让她大为恼火。
　　埃德蒙从她脸上看出了倦怠和不快，立即决定不再谈这个问题，甚至不再提起克劳福德这个姓，除非与她肯定爱听的事情有关。本着这个原则，他过了不久说道：“他们星期一走。因此，你不是明天就是星期天定会见到你的朋友。他们真是星期一走啊！我差一点同意在莱辛比待到这一天才回来！我差一点答应了。那样一来问题就大了。要是在莱辛比多待五六天，我一辈子都会感到遗憾。”
　　“你差一点在那儿待下去吗？”
　　“差一点。人家非常热情地挽留我，我差一点就同意了。我要是能收到一封曼斯菲尔德的来信，告诉我你们的情况，我想我肯定会待下去。但是，我不知道两个星期来这里发生了什么，觉得我在外边住的时间够长了。”
　　“你在那里过得愉快吧。”
　　“是的。就是说，如果不愉快的话，那要怪我自己。他们都很讨人喜欢。我怀疑他们是否觉得我也讨人喜欢。我心里不大自在，而且怎么都摆脱不了，回到曼斯菲尔德才好起来。”
　　“欧文家的几位小姐——你喜欢她们吧？”
　　“是的，非常喜欢。可爱、和善、纯真的姑娘。不过，范妮，我已经给宠坏了，和一般的姑娘合不来了。对于一个和聪慧的女士们交往惯了的男人来说，和善、纯真的姑娘是远远不够的。她们属于两个不同的等级。你和克劳福德小姐使我变得过于挑剔了。”
　　然而，范妮依然情绪低沉，精神倦怠。埃德蒙从她的神情中看得出来，劝说是没有用的。他不打算再说了，便以一个监护人的权威，亲切地领着她径直进了大宅。　
  
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一二三四五六七~~~
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Chapter Thirty-four

  Edmund had great things to hear on his return. Many surprises were awaiting him. The first that occurred was not least in interest: the appearance of Henry Crawford and his sister walking together through the village as he rode into it. He had concluded--he had meant them to be far distant. His absence had been extended beyond a fortnight purposely to avoid Miss Crawford. He was returning to Mansfield with spirits ready to feed on melancholy remembrances, and tender associations, when her own fair self was before him, leaning on her brother's arm, and he found himself receiving a welcome, unquestionably friendly, from the woman whom, two moments before, he had been thinking of as seventy miles off, and as farther, much farther, from him in inclination than any distance could express.

  Her reception of him was of a sort which he could not have hoped for, had he expected to see her. Coming as he did from such a purport fulfilled as had taken him away, he would have expected anything rather than a look of satisfaction, and words of simple, pleasant meaning. It was enough to set his heart in a glow, and to bring him home in the properest state for feeling the full value of the other joyful surprises at hand.

  William's promotion, with all its particulars, he was soon master of; and with such a secret provision of comfort within his own breast to help the joy, he found in it a source of most gratifying sensation and unvarying cheerfulness all dinner-time.

  After dinner, when he and his father were alone, he had Fanny's history; and then all the great events of the last fortnight, and the present situation of matters at Mansfield were known to him.

  Fanny suspected what was going on. They sat so much longer than usual in the dining-parlour, that she was sure they must be talking of her; and when tea at last brought them away, and she was to be seen by Edmund again, she felt dreadfully guilty. He came to her, sat down by her, took her hand, and pressed it kindly; and at that moment she thought that, but for the occupation and the scene which the tea-things afforded, she must have betrayed her emotion in some unpardonable excess.

  He was not intending, however, by such action, to be conveying to her that unqualified approbation and encouragement which her hopes drew from it. It was designed only to express his participation in all that interested her, and to tell her that he had been hearing what quickened every feeling of affection. He was, in fact, entirely on his father's side of the question. His surprise was not so great as his father's at her refusing Crawford, because, so far from supposing her to consider him with anything like a preference, he had always believed it to be rather the reverse, and could imagine her to be taken perfectly unprepared, but Sir Thomas could not regard the connexion as more desirable than he did. It had every recommendation to him; and while honouring her for what she had done under the influence of her present indifference, honouring her in rather stronger terms than Sir Thomas could quite echo, he was most earnest in hoping, and sanguine in believing, that it would be a match at last, and that, united by mutual affection, it would appear that their dispositions were as exactly fitted to make them blessed in each other, as he was now beginning seriously to consider them. Crawford had been too precipitate. He had not given her time to attach herself. He had begun at the wrong end. With such powers as his, however, and such a disposition as hers, Edmund trusted that everything would work out a happy conclusion. Meanwhile, he saw enough of Fanny's embarrassment to make him scrupulously guard against exciting it a second time, by any word, or look, or movement.

  Crawford called the next day, and on the score of Edmund's return, Sir Thomas felt himself more than licensed to ask him to stay dinner; it was really a necessary compliment. He staid of course, and Edmund had then ample opportunity for observing how he sped with Fanny, and what degree of immediate encouragement for him might be extracted from her manners; and it was so little, so very, very little-- every chance, every possibility of it, resting upon her embarrassment only; if there was not hope in her confusion, there was hope in nothing else--that he was almost ready to wonder at his friend's perseverance. Fanny was worth it all; he held her to be worth every effort of patience, every exertion of mind, but he did not think he could have gone on himself with any woman breathing, without something more to warm his courage than his eyes could discern in hers. He was very willing to hope that Crawford saw clearer, and this was the most comfortable conclusion for his friend that he could come to from all that he observed to pass before, and at, and after dinner.

  In the evening a few circumstances occurred which he thought more promising. When he and Crawford walked into the drawing-room, his mother and Fanny were sitting as intently and silently at work as if there were nothing else to care for. Edmund could not help noticing their apparently deep tranquillity.

  "We have not been so silent all the time," replied his mother. "Fanny has been reading to me, and only put the book down upon hearing you coming." And sure enough there was a book on the table which had the air of being very recently closed: a volume of Shakespeare. "She often reads to me out of those books; and she was in the middle of a very fine speech of that man's-- what's his name, Fanny?--when we heard your footsteps."

  Crawford took the volume. "Let me have the pleasure of finishing that speech to your ladyship," said he. "I shall find it immediately." And by carefully giving way to the inclination of the leaves, he did find it, or within a page or two, quite near enough to satisfy Lady Bertram, who assured him, as soon as he mentioned the name of Cardinal Wolsey, that he had got the very speech. Not a look or an offer of help had Fanny given; not a syllable for or against. All her attention was for her work. She seemed determined to be interested by nothing else. But taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract her mind five minutes: she was forced to listen; his reading was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme. To _good_ reading, however, she had been long used: her uncle read well, her cousins all, Edmund very well, but in Mr. Crawford's reading there was a variety of excellence beyond what she had ever met with. The King, the Queen, Buckingham, Wolsey, Cromwell, all were given in turn; for with the happiest knack, the happiest power of jumping and guessing, he could always alight at will on the best scene, or the best speeches of each; and whether it were dignity, or pride, or tenderness, or remorse, or whatever were to be expressed, he could do it with equal beauty. It was truly dramatic. His acting had first taught Fanny what pleasure a play might give, and his reading brought all his acting before her again; nay, perhaps with greater enjoyment, for it came unexpectedly, and with no such drawback as she had been used to suffer in seeing him on the stage with Miss Bertram.

  Edmund watched the progress of her attention, and was amused and gratified by seeing how she gradually slackened in the needlework, which at the beginning seemed to occupy her totally: how it fell from her hand while she sat motionless over it, and at last, how the eyes which had appeared so studiously to avoid him throughout the day were turned and fixed on Crawford--fixed on him for minutes, fixed on him, in short, till the attraction drew Crawford's upon her, and the book was closed, and the charm was broken. Then she was shrinking again into herself, and blushing and working as hard as ever; but it had been enough to give Edmund encouragement for his friend, and as he cordially thanked him, he hoped to be expressing Fanny's secret feelings too.

  "That play must be a favourite with you," said he; "you read as if you knew it well."

  "It will be a favourite, I believe, from this hour," replied Crawford; "but I do not think I have had a volume of Shakespeare in my hand before since I was fifteen. I once saw Henry the Eighth acted, or I have heard of it from somebody who did, I am not certain which. But Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how. It is a part of an Englishman's constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct. No man of any brain can open at a good part of one of his plays without falling into the flow of his meaning immediately."

  "No doubt one is familiar with Shakespeare in a degree," said Edmund, "from one's earliest years. His celebrated passages are quoted by everybody; they are in half the books we open, and we all talk Shakespeare, use his similes, and describe with his descriptions; but this is totally distinct from giving his sense as you gave it. To know him in bits and scraps is common enough; to know him pretty thoroughly is, perhaps, not uncommon; but to read him well aloud is no everyday talent."

  "Sir, you do me honour," was Crawford's answer, with a bow of mock gravity.

  Both gentlemen had a glance at Fanny, to see if a word of accordant praise could be extorted from her; yet both feeling that it could not be. Her praise had been given in her attention; _that_ must content them.

  Lady Bertram's admiration was expressed, and strongly too. "It was really like being at a play," said she. "I wish Sir Thomas had been here."

  Crawford was excessively pleased. If Lady Bertram, with all her incompetency and languor, could feel this, the inference of what her niece, alive and enlightened as she was, must feel, was elevating.

  "You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford," said her ladyship soon afterwards; "and I will tell you what, I think you will have a theatre, some time or other, at your house in Norfolk. I mean when you are settled there. I do indeed. I think you will fit up a theatre at your house in Norfolk."

  "Do you, ma'am?" cried he, with quickness. "No, no, that will never be. Your ladyship is quite mistaken. No theatre at Everingham! Oh no!" And he looked at Fanny with an expressive smile, which evidently meant, "That lady will never allow a theatre at Everingham."

  Edmund saw it all, and saw Fanny so determined _not_ to see it, as to make it clear that the voice was enough to convey the full meaning of the protestation; and such a quick consciousness of compliment, such a ready comprehension of a hint, he thought, was rather favourable than not.

  The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed. The two young men were the only talkers, but they, standing by the fire, talked over the too common neglect of the qualification, the total inattention to it, in the ordinary school-system for boys, the consequently natural, yet in some instances almost unnatural, degree of ignorance and uncouthness of men, of sensible and well-informed men, when suddenly called to the necessity of reading aloud, which had fallen within their notice, giving instances of blunders, and failures with their secondary causes, the want of management of the voice, of proper modulation and emphasis, of foresight and judgment, all proceeding from the first cause: want of early attention and habit; and Fanny was listening again with great entertainment.

  "Even in my profession," said Edmund, with a smile, "how little the art of reading has been studied! how little a clear manner, and good delivery, have been attended to! I speak rather of the past, however, than the present. There is now a spirit of improvement abroad; but among those who were ordained twenty, thirty, forty years ago, the larger number, to judge by their performance, must have thought reading was reading, and preaching was preaching. It is different now. The subject is more justly considered. It is felt that distinctness and energy may have weight in recommending the most solid truths; and besides, there is more general observation and taste, a more critical knowledge diffused than formerly; in every congregation there is a larger proportion who know a little of the matter, and who can judge and criticise."

  Edmund had already gone through the service once since his ordination; and upon this being understood, he had a variety of questions from Crawford as to his feelings and success; questions, which being made, though with the vivacity of friendly interest and quick taste, without any touch of that spirit of banter or air of levity which Edmund knew to be most offensive to Fanny, he had true pleasure in satisfying; and when Crawford proceeded to ask his opinion and give his own as to the properest manner in which particular passages in the service should be delivered, shewing it to be a subject on which he had thought before, and thought with judgment, Edmund was still more and more pleased. This would be the way to Fanny's heart. She was not to be won by all that gallantry and wit and good-nature together could do; or, at least, she would not be won by them nearly so soon, without the assistance of sentiment and feeling, and seriousness on serious subjects

  "Our liturgy," observed Crawford, "has beauties, which not even a careless, slovenly style of reading can destroy; but it has also redundancies and repetitions which require good reading not to be felt. For myself, at least, I must confess being not always so attentive as I ought to be" (here was a glance at Fanny); "that nineteen times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read, and longing to have it to read myself. Did you speak?" stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing her in a softened voice; and upon her saying "No," he added, "Are you sure you did not speak? I saw your lips move. I fancied you might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive, and not _allow_ my thoughts to wander. Are not you going to tell me so?"

  "No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to-- even supposing--"

  She stopt, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be prevailed on to add another word, not by dint of several minutes of supplication and waiting. He then returned to his former station, and went on as if there had been no such tender interruption.

  "A sermon, well delivered, is more uncommon even than prayers well read. A sermon, good in itself, is no rare thing. It is more difficult to speak well than to compose well; that is, the rules and trick of composition are oftener an object of study. A thoroughly good sermon, thoroughly well delivered, is a capital gratification. I can never hear such a one without the greatest admiration and respect, and more than half a mind to take orders and preach myself. There is something in the eloquence of the pulpit, when it is really eloquence, which is entitled to the highest praise and honour. The preacher who can touch and affect such an heterogeneous mass of hearers, on subjects limited, and long worn threadbare in all common hands; who can say anything new or striking, anything that rouses the attention without offending the taste, or wearing out the feelings of his hearers, is a man whom one could not, in his public capacity, honour enough. I should like to be such a man."

  Edmund laughed.

  "I should indeed. I never listened to a distinguished preacher in my life without a sort of envy. But then, I must have a London audience. I could not preach but to the educated; to those who were capable of estimating my composition. And I do not know that I should be fond of preaching often; now and then, perhaps once or twice in the spring, after being anxiously expected for half a dozen Sundays together; but not for a constancy; it would not do for a constancy."

  Here Fanny, who could not but listen, involuntarily shook her head, and Crawford was instantly by her side again, entreating to know her meaning; and as Edmund perceived, by his drawing in a chair, and sitting down close by her, that it was to be a very thorough attack, that looks and undertones were to be well tried, he sank as quietly as possible into a corner, turned his back, and took up a newspaper, very sincerely wishing that dear little Fanny might be persuaded into explaining away that shake of the head to the satisfaction of her ardent lover; and as earnestly trying to bury every sound of the business from himself in murmurs of his own, over the various advertisements of "A most desirable Estate in South Wales"; "To Parents and Guardians"; and a "Capital season'd Hunter."

  Fanny, meanwhile, vexed with herself for not having been as motionless as she was speechless, and grieved to the heart to see Edmund's arrangements, was trying by everything in the power of her modest, gentle nature, to repulse Mr. Crawford, and avoid both his looks and inquiries; and he, unrepulsable, was persisting in both.

  "What did that shake of the head mean?" said he. "What was it meant to express? Disapprobation, I fear. But of what? What had I been saying to displease you? Did you think me speaking improperly, lightly, irreverently on the subject? Only tell me if I was. Only tell me if I was wrong. I want to be set right. Nay, nay, I entreat you; for one moment put down your work. What did that shake of the head mean?"

  In vain was her "Pray, sir, don't; pray, Mr. Crawford," repeated twice over; and in vain did she try to move away. In the same low, eager voice, and the same close neighbourhood, he went on, reurging the same questions as before. She grew more agitated and displeased.

  "How can you, sir? You quite astonish me; I wonder how you can--"

  "Do I astonish you?" said he. "Do you wonder? Is there anything in my present entreaty that you do not understand? I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in this manner, all that gives me an interest in what you look and do, and excites my present curiosity. I will not leave you to wonder long."

  In spite of herself, she could not help half a smile, but she said nothing.

  "You shook your head at my acknowledging that I should not like to engage in the duties of a clergyman always for a constancy. Yes, that was the word. Constancy: I am not afraid of the word. I would spell it, read it, write it with anybody. I see nothing alarming in the word. Did you think I ought?"

  "Perhaps, sir," said Fanny, wearied at last into speaking-- "perhaps, sir, I thought it was a pity you did not always know yourself as well as you seemed to do at that moment."

  Crawford, delighted to get her to speak at any rate, was determined to keep it up; and poor Fanny, who had hoped to silence him by such an extremity of reproof, found herself sadly mistaken, and that it was only a change from one object of curiosity and one set of words to another. He had always something to entreat the explanation of. The opportunity was too fair. None such had occurred since his seeing her in her uncle's room, none such might occur again before his leaving Mansfield. Lady Bertram's being just on the other side of the table was a trifle, for she might always be considered as only half-awake, and Edmund's advertisements were still of the first utility.

  "Well," said Crawford, after a course of rapid questions and reluctant answers; "I am happier than I was, because I now understand more clearly your opinion of me. You think me unsteady: easily swayed by the whim of the moment, easily tempted, easily put aside. With such an opinion, no wonder that. But we shall see. It is not by protestations that I shall endeavour to convince you I am wronged; it is not by telling you that my affections are steady. My conduct shall speak for me; absence, distance, time shall speak for me. _They_ shall prove that, as far as you can be deserved by anybody, I do deserve you. You are infinitely my superior in merit; all _that_ I know. You have qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature. You have some touches of the angel in you beyond what-- not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees anything like it--but beyond what one fancies might be. But still I am not frightened. It is not by equality of merit that you can be won. That is out of the question. It is he who sees and worships your merit the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return. There I build my confidence. By that right I do and will deserve you; and when once convinced that my attachment is what I declare it, I know you too well not to entertain the warmest hopes. Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny. Nay" (seeing her draw back displeased), "forgive me. Perhaps I have as yet no right; but by what other name can I call you? Do you suppose you are ever present to my imagination under any other? No, it is 'Fanny' that I think of all day, and dream of all night. You have given the name such reality of sweetness, that nothing else can now be descriptive of you."

  Fanny could hardly have kept her seat any longer, or have refrained from at least trying to get away in spite of all the too public opposition she foresaw to it, had it not been for the sound of approaching relief, the very sound which she had been long watching for, and long thinking strangely delayed.

  The solemn procession, headed by Baddeley, of tea-board, urn, and cake-bearers, made its appearance, and delivered her from a grievous imprisonment of body and mind. Mr. Crawford was obliged to move. She was at liberty, she was busy, she was protected.

  Edmund was not sorry to be admitted again among the number of those who might speak and hear. But though the conference had seemed full long to him, and though on looking at Fanny he saw rather a flush of vexation, he inclined to hope that so much could not have been said and listened to without some profit to the speaker.



　　埃德蒙一回来就要听到一些重大情况。许多意想不到的事情在等着他。最先发生的并不是最无关紧要的事情：他骑马进村时，看见亨利·克劳福德和他妹妹在一起散步。他原以为他们已经远去了。他所以要两个多星期不回来，为的就是不想见到克劳福德小姐。他在回曼斯菲尔德的路上，已做好准备要生活在心酸的回忆和触景伤情的联想之中，却不料一进村，就见她风姿娟秀地依着哥哥的臂膀出现在他面前。就在刚才，他还以为这个女人远在七十英里之外，而在思想上离他就更远了，现在她却在欢迎他，而且态度无疑非常友好。
　　他即便料到会遇见她，也想不到她会这样欢迎他。他是出去办事的，办完事回来的路上，万万没有料到会遇到如此欢快的笑脸，听到如此简明而动听的语言。这足以使他心花怒放，等回到家里，就能充分领会正等待他的其他惊喜之事的全部价值。
　　他很快就知道了威廉的晋升及其详情细节。他心中暗藏的那份欢乐，使他越发为这件事感到欣喜，因而在吃饭的时候，这件事一直是他得意洋洋、喜幸不已的源泉。
　　吃过饭后，趁旁边没人的时候，父亲把范妮的事情告诉了他。于是，曼斯菲尔德两个星期来的大事和目前的状况，他全都知道了。
　　范妮对他们的举动有所猜疑。他们在饭厅里坐的时间比平时长多了，她料定他们一定在谈论她。到了茶点时间，他们终于起身去喝茶的时候，她一想到即将再次见到埃德蒙，便感到自己犯了大罪似的。埃德蒙来到她跟前，坐在她旁边，抓住她的手，亲切地握着。这时她觉得，要不是大家忙着吃茶点，光顾得关注那些茶具，她肯定会把自己的情感泄露到不可宽恕的地步。
　　不过，埃德蒙这样做并不像她想的那样，在给她无条件的支持和鼓励。他只想表示她感兴趣的事他都关心，还想告诉她，他刚才听到的是催人心动的韵事。其实，在这个问题上，他完全站在父亲一边。范妮拒绝了克劳福德，他并不像父亲那样惊讶。他觉得表妹决不会看得上他，总认为情况恰恰相反，因而可以想象得出，对方提出求婚时，她丝毫没有思想准备。不过，托马斯爵士也不会像他这样认为这桩婚事这么理想。他觉得，这件事从各方面看都很可取。一方面，他赞赏范妮在目前没有情意的情况下的种种表现，甚至比托马斯爵士还要赞赏有加；另一方面，他又热切地希望，并且乐观地相信，他们最后会成为一对佳偶。一旦彼此相爱，那时就可以看出，他们的性情就会正相适宜，给彼此带来幸福。这是他经过认真考虑得出的看法。克劳福德有些过于冒失。他没有给她培养感情的时间。他一开始就失策了。不过，男的条件这么好，女的性情这么温柔，埃德蒙相信，事情肯定会有个圆满的结局。眼下，他见范妮神情窘迫，便小心翼翼，不再用言语、神情或举动刺激她。
　　第二天克劳福德来访。鉴于埃德蒙回来了，托马斯爵士自己做主，留他吃饭。这个面子还真是不能不给的。克劳福德当然留了下来。埃德蒙于是有了充分的机会，观察他和范妮之间的关系如何迅速发展，观察他从范妮那里能当即得到多大的鼓励。他得到的鼓励很少，少得可怜，每一次机会，每个可能的场合，引起的不是她的鼓励，而是给她带来了窘迫不安。如果在她窘迫的时候看不出希望的话，在别的状况下也不会有什么希望。因此，埃德蒙简直不明白，他的朋友为何还要紧迫不舍。范妮倒是值得他这么追求。他认为范妮值得一个人坚持不懈地做出各种努力，值得一个人费尽心机——但是换了他的话，不管是哪一个女人，如果他从其目光中看不出鼓舞勇气的眼神，他是不会死乞白赖地坚持下去的。他真希望克劳福德能看得清楚些，这是他根据他在饭前、饭后以及吃饭当中的观察，替朋友得出的最稳妥的结论。
　　到了晚上，出现了一些情况，他觉得事情又有了点希望。他和克劳福德走进客厅时，他母亲和范妮正聚精会神、不声不响地坐在那里做活计，好像心无旁骛似的。见她们如此沉静，埃德蒙不由得评说了两句。
　　“我们并非一直都这么不声不响，”他母亲答道。“范妮在念书给我听，听见你们来了，才刚把书放下。”桌子上的确有一本书，看样子刚刚合上，是一卷莎士比亚选集。“她常从这些书中挑些内容念给我听。听到你们的脚步声时，她正在念一个人物的一段非常漂亮的台词——那个人物叫什么名字，范妮？”
　　克劳福德拿起了书。“请允许我把这段话给夫人念完，”他说。“我马上就能找到。”他仔细地翻着书，找到了那个地方，或者说离那地方不到一两页，反正是很近，伯特伦夫人满意了。他一提到红衣主教沃尔西①（译注：①莎士比亚历史剧《亨利八世》中的人物。），夫人就说正是这段话。范妮一眼也没看他，也不说要帮他找，也不吭一声对不对。她一心一意只管做她的活，似乎打定主意概不过问别的事。不过，她这方面的兴趣太强烈了，注意力抑制了不到五分钟，便情不自禁地听了起来。克劳福德念得很棒，而她又极其喜欢优美的朗诵。不过，她早就听惯了优美的朗诵。她姨父念得美——表哥表姐全都念得美——埃德蒙念得非常美。但是，克劳福德先生的朗诵有一种她未曾听到过的独到韵味。国王、王后、伯金翰、沃尔西、克伦威尔①，他们的台词他都依次念过了。他有纯熟的技巧，有跳读、猜测的卓越能力，总能随意找到最精彩的场次，找到每个角色最精彩的台词。不管是威严还是骄傲，不管是柔情还是悔恨，不管要表达什么，他都表达得同样完美。这是真正的舞台艺术。他的表演曾第一次使她懂得戏剧能给人多大的享受，现在他的朗诵又使她想起了他以前的表演；不仅如此，也许使她更加愉悦，因为这朗诵完全是突如其来的，也没有她上次看他和伯特伦小姐同台演出时那种酸楚的感觉。
　　埃德蒙在观察范妮注意力的变化，感到又开心又得意。刚开始，她好像一心一意地在做活，后来手里的活渐渐慢下来，从手中脱落，她一动不动地坐在那里。最后，她那双一整天都在故意躲避对方的眼睛转了过来，盯在克劳福德身上，一盯就是好几分钟，直至把克劳福德的目光吸引到她自己身上，那书给合上了，那魔力也被打破了。这时，她又故态复萌，满脸通红，起劲地做起潘来。不过，这足以使埃德蒙替他的朋友产生了希望，他向他表示由衷的感谢时，还希望也能表达出范妮的心意。
　　“这一定是你特别喜爱的一出戏，”他说。“从你的朗诵来看，你好像对剧本很熟悉。”
　　“我相信，从此时此刻起，这将成为我特别喜爱的一出戏，”克劳福德回答说。“不过我想，我从十五岁起，手里还没有拿过一本莎士
　　①皆为《亨利八世》中的人物，国王即亨利八世，王后即亨利八世的妻子，伯金翰即伯金翰公爵，克伦威尔系红衣主教沃尔西的仆人。比亚的剧本。我曾经看过一次《亨利八世》的演出，或者是听到哪个看过演出的人说起过——我已经记不清楚了。不过，人们对莎士比亚也不知道怎么回事就熟悉起来了。这是英国人天生素质的一部分。他的思想，他的美，真是广为流传，处处都可以触摸得到，人们都会本能地熟悉他。一个人但凡有点头脑，只要随便打开他哪个剧本的哪个精彩部分，马上便会坠入他思想的洪流中。”
　　“我相信，人们从幼年时候起就多少知道了莎士比亚，”埃德蒙说。“他那些著名的段落人人都在引用。我们翻阅的书中，一半都有他的引文。我们人人都在谈论莎士比亚，使用他的比喻，使用他的形容语言来形容。但是，这都不像你那样能充分表达他的意义。对他有点零零星星的了解，这是很平常的。要彻底了解他，也许就不寻常了。但是要把他的戏朗诵好，可就不是一般的才华了。”
　　“先生，蒙你夸奖，”克劳福德故作正经地鞠了一躬说。
　　两位先生都瞥了范妮一眼，看她能否也说出一句半句类似的赞扬话。然而，两人都看出这是不可能的。她刚才能注意听也算是赞扬了，他们对此应该知足了。
　　伯特伦夫人表示了她的赞赏，而且措词热烈。“这真像演出一样，”她说。“只可惜托马斯爵士没有听到。”
　　克劳福德喜不自禁。智力平庸、精种萎靡的伯特伦夫人尚且如此欣赏，她那朝气蓬勃、富有见识的外甥女该怎样欣赏，就可想而知了。想到这里，他不禁自鸣得意起来。
　　“我认为你很有表演天赋，克劳福德先生，”过了不久，伯特伦夫人又说。“你听我说，我想你早晚会在你诺福克家里建一个剧场。我的意思是说，等你在那里定居之后。我真是这么想的。我想你会在你诺福克的家里布置一个剧场。”
　　“你真这么想吗，夫人？”克劳福德急忙嚷道。“不，不，决不会的。您老人家完全想错了。埃弗灵厄姆不会有剧场的！噢！不会的。”他带着意味深长的笑容望着范妮，那意思显然是说：“这位女士决不会允许在埃弗灵厄姆搞个剧场。”
　　埃德蒙看出了内中的蹊跷，还看出范妮决计不去理会他的用意，这恰好表明她已完全听明白了对方的意思。他心想，这么快就意识到对她的恭维，这么快就领会了对她的暗示，总比根本没听懂要好。
　　还在进一步讨论朗诵的问题，发言的只是两位年轻人，不过他们俩站在炉火边，谈论学校里普遍忽视对孩子们进行朗诵训练，谈论大人们——头脑聪明、见多识广的大人们在这方面的粗俗无知。这是学校不重视朗诵训练的自然结果，在有些人身上，这种粗俗无知几乎达到不可思议的地步。他们曾经见识过，当突然叫这些人朗诵的时候，他们由于控制不好自己的声音，不懂抑扬顿挫，缺乏预见和判断，念得磕磕巴巴，错误频频。这都属于次因引起的问题，都是由初因导致的，这就是早年不重视，没有养成习惯。范妮又一次听得津津有味。
　　“就是在我这一行里，”埃德蒙含笑说，“朗诵的艺术也很少研究啊！很少有人去注意训练自己念得又清晰又有技巧啊！不过，我说的主要是过去，而不是现在。现在到处都有改进。但是在二十年、三十年、四十年前接受圣职的入们当中，从他们的实际行动来看，多数人肯定认为，朗诵就是朗诵，布道就是布道。现在情况不同了。这个问题受到了应有的重视。现在人们认识到，在传播颠扑不破的真理时，清晰的朗诵和饱满的精神能起到很重要的作用。而且，跟以前相比，现在已有更多的人在这方面有了修养，有了鉴别力，掌握了批评的知识。不管在哪个教堂，台下的听众大多都有一定的见识，他们能辨别，会批评。”
　　埃德蒙接受圣职后，已主持过一次礼拜。克劳福德了解了这一点之后，向他提出了各种各样的问题，问他有什么感受，主持得是否成功。他问这些问题的时候，虽然出于友好关心和快嘴快舌问得随便一些，但却丝毫没有取笑之心，也没有轻薄之意，埃德蒙心里清楚，那会让范妮觉得太唐突。因此，埃德蒙很乐意回答他的问题。克劳福德进一步间到主持礼拜时某些具体段落应该怎样朗诵，并发表了自己的意见。这表明，他过去考虑过这个问题，并且很有见地。埃德蒙越来越高兴了。这才是通向范妮的心灵之路。光靠殷勤、机智、好脾气是赢不来她的心的。光靠这些特点，而没有情操、感情以及对严肃问题的严肃态度，至少不会很快赢得她的心。
　　“我们的礼拜仪式是很讲究的，”克劳福德说，“即使在朗诵这一环上随便一些，马虎一些，也破坏不了。不过有些累赘的、重复的地方，也需要朗诵好，让听众觉不出来。至少，就我来说，我必须承认，我就不是总听得那么专心（讲到这里瞥了范妮一眼），二十次中有十九次我在想这样一段祈祷文应该怎样念，希望自己能拿来念一念。你说什么了吗？”他急忙走向范妮，用轻柔的声音问她。听她说了声“没有”之后，他又问道：“你肯定没说什么吗？我刚才看到你的嘴唇在动。我以为你想告诉我应该专心一些，不要让自己思想开小差。你不打算对我这样说吗？”
　　“的确没有，你很了解你的职责，用不着我—～即使——”
　　她停下来了，觉得自己陷入了困窘，有好一阵工夫，尽管对方在追问、在等待，她却不愿再多说一句话。于是，克劳福德又回到刚才站的地方，继续说了下去，好像不曾有过这么一段温柔的插曲似的。
　　“布道布得好，比把祈祷文念好还难得。布道词本身好，也不算稀奇。写得好没有讲得好困难。就是说，人们对写作技巧和规则有更多的研究。一篇十分好的布道词，讲得又非常好，能给人以莫大的快乐。我每听到一次这样的布道，总感到无比羡慕，无比敬佩，真有点想接受圣职，自己也去布道。教堂讲坛上的口才，如果真的好，那就值得给予最高的赞扬和尊敬。一个传道者，如果能在有限的、普通牧师已经讲过千万遍的主题上，打动并影响形形色色的听众，能讲出一点新鲜的或令人振奋的东西，讲出一点令人关注的内容，而又不让人倒胃口或反感，那他在公众中所起的作用，你怎样敬佩都不过分。我就愿意做这样一个人。”
　　埃德蒙大笑起来。
　　“我真的愿意。我每遇到一个优秀的传教土布道，总是有点羡慕。不过，我得有一帮伦敦的听众。我只给有知识的入布道，讲给能够评价我的布道词的人们听。我不知道我会不会喜欢经常布道。也许，尽管大家盼着我一连五六个星期天都讲，我只是偶尔讲一讲，整个春天讲上一两次。但是不能经常讲，经常讲不行。”
　　范妮不得不听，这时不由自主地摇了摇头。克劳福德又马上来到她身边，求她说出她这是什么意思。他拉了一把椅子紧挨着她坐下。埃德蒙意识到，这可是一场不折不扣的进攻战，眉目传情和弦外之音都要一齐用上。他不声不响地退到一个角落，转过脸去，拿起一张报纸，衷心地希望亲爱的小范妮经过说服，能解释一下她为什么摇头，让她这位狂热的追求者感到心满意足。他同样热切地希望用自己喃喃的读报声，来盖住那两人之间传出的每一个声响。他读着各种各样的广告：“南威尔斯最令人向往的她产”，“致父母与监护人”，“极棒的老练狩猎者”。
　　这当儿，范妮恨自己只能管住自己没做声，却没管住自己不摇头，伤心地看着埃德蒙做出这样的反应。她试图在她那文雅稳重的天性所能允许的范围内，尽力挫败克劳福德先生，既避开他的目光，又不回答他的问题。而他却是挫不败的，既不断地做眉眼，又不停地追问。
　　“你摇头是什么意思？”他问。“你摇头是想表示什么？恐怕是不赞成吧。可不赞成什么呢？我说了什么话惹你不高兴了？你觉得我在这个问题上出言不当吗？轻率无礼吗？真是这样的话，你就告诉我。我有错你就告诉我。我想请你改正我的错误。确切点说，我恳求你。把你手里的活放一放。你摇头究竟是什么意思呀？”
　　范妮忙说：“求求你，先生，不要这样——求求你，克劳福德先生。”连说了两遍都没用。她想走也走不了。克劳福德还用低低的急切的声音，还是那样紧紧地挨着她，继续重复刚才问过的问题。范妮越发忐忑，越发不悦了。
　　“你怎么能，先生？你实在让我吃惊——我奇怪你怎么能——”
　　“我让你吃惊了吗？”克劳福德问。“你觉得奇怪吗？我对你的请求你有什么不理解的吗？我马上向你解释我为什么这样催问你，为什么对你的一笑一颦、一举一动这么感兴趣，为什么我会这么好奇。我不会让你老是觉得奇怪。”
　　范妮忍不住微微一笑，但是没有说话。
　　“你是在听我说我不愿意经常履行牧师职责的时候摇头的。是的，就是这个字眼。经常，我不怕这个字眼。我可以对任何人拼它，念它，写它。我看不出这个字眼有什么可怕的。你觉得我应该认为它有什么可怕的吗？”
　　“也许，先生，”范妮最后厌烦得不得不说话了，“也许，先生，我觉得很遗憾，你对自己并不总是像你那一刻那样了解。”
　　克劳福德总算逗得她开口说话了，心里好生高兴，便决意让她说下去。可怜的范妮，她原以为这样狠狠地责备一番会让他闭口无言，没料到自己却犯了个可悲的错误，对方只是从追问这件事转到追问那件事，由这套话换成那套话。他总会找个问题请求她解释。这个机会太好了。自从他在她姨父房里与她见面以来，他还从没遇到过这么好的机会，在他离开曼斯菲尔德以前，可能再也遇不到这么好的机会。伯特伦夫人就在桌子的那一头，这根本算不了什么，因为你总可以把她看做只是半睡半醒，而埃德蒙读广告依然大有益处。
　　“喔，”经过一阵迅即的提问和勉强的回答之后，克劳福德说道：“我比先前更觉得幸福，因为我现在更清楚了你对我的看法。你觉得我不稳重——容易受一时心血来潮的支配——容易受诱惑——容易放弃。你有这样的看法，难怪——不过，我们走着瞧。我不是光靠嘴巴向你证明你冤屈了我，不是靠向你保证说我的感情是可靠的。我的行为将为我担保 ——别离、距离、时间将为我作证。它们会证明，只要有人有权得到你，我就有权得到你。就人品而言，你比我强得多，这我完全清楚。你有些品质，我以前认为人身上不可能达到这个程度。你像个天使，身上有些东西超出了——不仅超出了人们所能看见的范围，因为人们永远看不到这样的东西——而且超出了人们的想象。不过，我仍不气馁。我不是靠和你一样好来赢得你。这是不可能的。应该是谁最能看出你的美德，谁最崇拜你的人品，谁对你最忠贞不贰，谁才最有权利得到你的爱。我的信心就建立在这个基础上。凭着这点权利，我就可以得到你，也会有资格得到你。我很了解你，你一旦意识到我对你的感情正像我对你表白的这样，我就大有希望了。是的，最亲爱、最甜蜜的范妮—— 不仅如此——（看到她不高兴地住后退）请原谅。也许我现在还没有权利——可我又能怎么称呼你呢？难道你认为你会以别的名字出现在我的心目中吗？不，我白天想的，夜里梦的，全是‘范妮’。这个名字已经成了实实在在的甜蜜的象征，根本找不到别的字眼来形容你。”
　　范妮简直是再也坐不住了，她几乎想冒人人反对的风险溜走了。恰在这时，一阵愈来愈近的脚步声给她解了围。她早就盼着这脚步声了，早就奇怪为什么还不来。
　　由巴德利带领的一伙人庄重地出现了，有端茶盘的，提茶水壶的，拿蛋糕的，把她从痛苦的身心围困中解救了出来。克劳福德先生不得不挪了个位置。范妮自由了，忙碌起来了，也得到了保护。
　　埃德蒙毫不遗憾地回到了可以说话又可以听别人说话的人们中间。他觉得两人谈的时间够长的了，并且看到范妮因为烦恼而涨红了脸。不过他心里在想，既然你说我听了那么长时间，说话的一方决不会没有收获。　
  
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Chapter Thirty-three

  The conference was neither so short nor so conclusive as the lady had designed. The gentleman was not so easily satisfied. He had all the disposition to persevere that Sir Thomas could wish him. He had vanity, which strongly inclined him in the first place to think she did love him, though she might not know it herself; and which, secondly, when constrained at last to admit that she did know her own present feelings, convinced him that he should be able in time to make those feelings what he wished.

  He was in love, very much in love; and it was a love which, operating on an active, sanguine spirit, of more warmth than delicacy, made her affection appear of greater consequence because it was withheld, and determined him to have the glory, as well as the felicity, of forcing her to love him.

  He would not despair: he would not desist. He had every well-grounded reason for solid attachment; he knew her to have all the worth that could justify the warmest hopes of lasting happiness with her; her conduct at this very time, by speaking the disinterestedness and delicacy of her character (qualities which he believed most rare indeed), was of a sort to heighten all his wishes, and confirm all his resolutions. He knew not that he had a pre-engaged heart to attack. Of _that_ he had no suspicion. He considered her rather as one who had never thought on the subject enough to be in danger; who had been guarded by youth, a youth of mind as lovely as of person; whose modesty had prevented her from understanding his attentions, and who was still overpowered by the suddenness of addresses so wholly unexpected, and the novelty of a situation which her fancy had never taken into account. Must it not follow of course, that, when he was understood, he should succeed? He believed it fully. Love such as his, in a man like himself, must with perseverance secure a return, and at no great distance; and he had so much delight in the idea of obliging her to love him in a very short time, that her not loving him now was scarcely regretted. A little difficulty to be overcome was no evil to Henry Crawford. He rather derived spirits from it. He had been apt to gain hearts too easily. His situation was new and animating.

  To Fanny, however, who had known too much opposition all her life to find any charm in it, all this was unintelligible. She found that he did mean to persevere; but how he could, after such language from her as she felt herself obliged to use, was not to be understood. She told him that she did not love him, could not love him, was sure she never should love him; that such a change was quite impossible; that the subject was most painful to her; that she must entreat him never to mention it again, to allow her to leave him at once, and let it be considered as concluded for ever. And when farther pressed, had added, that in her opinion their dispositions were so totally dissimilar as to make mutual affection incompatible; and that they were unfitted for each other by nature, education, and habit. All this she had said, and with the earnestness of sincerity; yet this was not enough, for he immediately denied there being anything uncongenial in their characters, or anything unfriendly in their situations; and positively declared, that he would still love, and still hope!

  Fanny knew her own meaning, but was no judge of her own manner. Her manner was incurably gentle; and she was not aware how much it concealed the sternness of her purpose. Her diffidence, gratitude, and softness made every expression of indifference seem almost an effort of self-denial; seem, at least, to be giving nearly as much pain to herself as to him. Mr. Crawford was no longer the Mr. Crawford who, as the clandestine, insidious, treacherous admirer of Maria Bertram, had been her abhorrence, whom she had hated to see or to speak to, in whom she could believe no good quality to exist, and whose power, even of being agreeable, she had barely acknowledged. He was now the Mr. Crawford who was addressing herself with ardent, disinterested love; whose feelings were apparently become all that was honourable and upright, whose views of happiness were all fixed on a marriage of attachment; who was pouring out his sense of her merits, describing and describing again his affection, proving as far as words could prove it, and in the language, tone, and spirit of a man of talent too, that he sought her for her gentleness and her goodness; and to complete the whole, he was now the Mr. Crawford who had procured William's promotion!

  Here was a change, and here were claims which could not but operate! She might have disdained him in all the dignity of angry virtue, in the grounds of Sotherton, or the theatre at Mansfield Park; but he approached her now with rights that demanded different treatment. She must be courteous, and she must be compassionate. She must have a sensation of being honoured, and whether thinking of herself or her brother, she must have a strong feeling of gratitude. The effect of the whole was a manner so pitying and agitated, and words intermingled with her refusal so expressive of obligation and concern, that to a temper of vanity and hope like Crawford's, the truth, or at least the strength of her indifference, might well be questionable; and he was not so irrational as Fanny considered him, in the professions of persevering, assiduous, and not desponding attachment which closed the interview.

  It was with reluctance that he suffered her to go; but there was no look of despair in parting to belie his words, or give her hopes of his being less unreasonable than he professed himself.

  Now she was angry. Some resentment did arise at a perseverance so selfish and ungenerous. Here was again a want of delicacy and regard for others which had formerly so struck and disgusted her. Here was again a something of the same Mr. Crawford whom she had so reprobated before. How evidently was there a gross want of feeling and humanity where his own pleasure was concerned; and alas! how always known no principle to supply as a duty what the heart was deficient in! Had her own affections been as free as perhaps they ought to have been, he never could have engaged them.

  So thought Fanny, in good truth and sober sadness, as she sat musing over that too great indulgence and luxury of a fire upstairs: wondering at the past and present; wondering at what was yet to come, and in a nervous agitation which made nothing clear to her but the persuasion of her being never under any circumstances able to love Mr. Crawford, and the felicity of having a fire to sit over and think of it.

  Sir Thomas was obliged, or obliged himself, to wait till the morrow for a knowledge of what had passed between the young people. He then saw Mr. Crawford, and received his account. The first feeling was disappointment: he had hoped better things; he had thought that an hour's entreaty from a young man like Crawford could not have worked so little change on a gentle-tempered girl like Fanny; but there was speedy comfort in the determined views and sanguine perseverance of the lover; and when seeing such confidence of success in the principal, Sir Thomas was soon able to depend on it himself.

  Nothing was omitted, on his side, of civility, compliment, or kindness, that might assist the plan. Mr. Crawford's steadiness was honoured, and Fanny was praised, and the connexion was still the most desirable in the world. At Mansfield Park Mr. Crawford would always be welcome; he had only to consult his own judgment and feelings as to the frequency of his visits, at present or in future. In all his niece's family and friends, there could be but one opinion, one wish on the subject; the influence of all who loved her must incline one way.

  Everything was said that could encourage, every encouragement received with grateful joy, and the gentlemen parted the best of friends.

  Satisfied that the cause was now on a footing the most proper and hopeful, Sir Thomas resolved to abstain from all farther importunity with his niece, and to shew no open interference. Upon her disposition he believed kindness might be the best way of working. Entreaty should be from one quarter only. The forbearance of her family on a point, respecting which she could be in no doubt of their wishes, might be their surest means of forwarding it. Accordingly, on this principle, Sir Thomas took the first opportunity of saying to her, with a mild gravity, intended to be overcoming, "Well, Fanny, I have seen Mr. Crawford again, and learn from him exactly how matters stand between you. He is a most extraordinary young man, and whatever be the event, you must feel that you have created an attachment of no common character; though, young as you are, and little acquainted with the transient, varying, unsteady nature of love, as it generally exists, you cannot be struck as I am with all that is wonderful in a perseverance of this sort against discouragement. With him it is entirely a matter of feeling: he claims no merit in it; perhaps is entitled to none. Yet, having chosen so well, his constancy has a respectable stamp. Had his choice been less unexceptionable, I should have condemned his persevering."

  "Indeed, sir," said Fanny, "I am very sorry that Mr. Crawford should continue to know that it is paying me a very great compliment, and I feel most undeservedly honoured; but I am so perfectly convinced, and I have told him so, that it never will be in my power--"

  "My dear," interrupted Sir Thomas, "there is no occasion for this. Your feelings are as well known to me as my wishes and regrets must be to you. There is nothing more to be said or done. From this hour the subject is never to be revived between us. You will have nothing to fear, or to be agitated about. You cannot suppose me capable of trying to persuade you to marry against your inclinations. Your happiness and advantage are all that I have in view, and nothing is required of you but to bear with Mr. Crawford's endeavours to convince you that they may not be incompatible with his. He proceeds at his own risk. You are on safe ground. I have engaged for your seeing him whenever he calls, as you might have done had nothing of this sort occurred. You will see him with the rest of us, in the same manner, and, as much as you can, dismissing the recollection of everything unpleasant. He leaves Northamptonshire so soon, that even this slight sacrifice cannot be often demanded. The future must be very uncertain. And now, my dear Fanny, this subject is closed between us."

  The promised departure was all that Fanny could think of with much satisfaction. Her uncle's kind expressions, however, and forbearing manner, were sensibly felt; and when she considered how much of the truth was unknown to him, she believed she had no right to wonder at the line of conduct he pursued. He, who had married a daughter to Mr. Rushworth: romantic delicacy was certainly not to be expected from him. She must do her duty, and trust that time might make her duty easier than it now was.

  She could not, though only eighteen, suppose Mr. Crawford's attachment would hold out for ever; she could not but imagine that steady, unceasing discouragement from herself would put an end to it in time. How much time she might, in her own fancy, allot for its dominion, is another concern. It would not be fair to inquire into a young lady's exact estimate of her own perfections.

  In spite of his intended silence, Sir Thomas found himself once more obliged to mention the subject to his niece, to prepare her briefly for its being imparted to her aunts; a measure which he would still have avoided, if possible, but which became necessary from the totally opposite feelings of Mr. Crawford as to any secrecy of proceeding. He had no idea of concealment. It was all known at the Parsonage, where he loved to talk over the future with both his sisters, and it would be rather gratifying to him to have enlightened witnesses of the progress of his success. When Sir Thomas understood this, he felt the necessity of making his own wife and sister-in-law acquainted with the business without delay; though, on Fanny's account, he almost dreaded the effect of the communication to Mrs. Norris as much as Fanny herself. He deprecated her mistaken but well-meaning zeal. Sir Thomas, indeed, was, by this time, not very far from classing Mrs. Norris as one of those well-meaning people who are always doing mistaken and very disagreeable things.

  Mrs. Norris, however, relieved him. He pressed for the strictest forbearance and silence towards their niece; she not only promised, but did observe it. She only looked her increased ill-will. Angry she was: bitterly angry; but she was more angry with Fanny for having received such an offer than for refusing it. It was an injury and affront to Julia, who ought to have been Mr. Crawford's choice; and, independently of that, she disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her; and she would have grudged such an elevation to one whom she had been always trying to depress.

  Sir Thomas gave her more credit for discretion on the occasion than she deserved; and Fanny could have blessed her for allowing her only to see her displeasure, and not to hear it.

  Lady Bertram took it differently. She had been a beauty, and a prosperous beauty, all her life; and beauty and wealth were all that excited her respect. To know Fanny to be sought in marriage by a man of fortune, raised her, therefore, very much in her opinion. By convincing her that Fanny _was_ very pretty, which she had been doubting about before, and that she would be advantageously married, it made her feel a sort of credit in calling her niece.

  "Well, Fanny," said she, as soon as they were alone together afterwards, and she really had known something like impatience to be alone with her, and her countenance, as she spoke, had extraordinary animation; "Well, Fanny, I have had a very agreeable surprise this morning. I must just speak of it _once_, I told Sir Thomas I must _once_, and then I shall have done. I give you joy, my dear niece." And looking at her complacently, she added, "Humph, we certainly are a handsome family!"

  Fanny coloured, and doubted at first what to say; when, hoping to assail her on her vulnerable side, she presently answered--

  "My dear aunt, _you_ cannot wish me to do differently from what I have done, I am sure. _You_ cannot wish me to marry; for you would miss me, should not you? Yes, I am sure you would miss me too much for that."

  "No, my dear, I should not think of missing you, when such an offer as this comes in your way. I could do very well without you, if you were married to a man of such good estate as Mr. Crawford. And you must be aware, Fanny, that it is every young woman's duty to accept such a very unexceptionable offer as this."

  This was almost the only rule of conduct, the only piece of advice, which Fanny had ever received from her aunt in the course of eight years and a half. It silenced her. She felt how unprofitable contention would be. If her aunt's feelings were against her, nothing could be hoped from attacking her understanding. Lady Bertram was quite talkative.

  "I will tell you what, Fanny," said she, "I am sure he fell in love with you at the ball; I am sure the mischief was done that evening. You did look remarkably well. Everybody said so. Sir Thomas said so. And you know you had Chapman to help you to dress. I am very glad I sent Chapman to you. I shall tell Sir Thomas that I am sure it was done that evening." And still pursuing the same cheerful thoughts, she soon afterwards added, "And will tell you what, Fanny, which is more than I did for Maria: the next time Pug has a litter you shall have a puppy."



　　这场交谈不像范妮计划的那样短，也不像她设想的那样解决问题。克劳福德先生不是那么容易打发得掉的。他正像托马斯爵士希望的那样百折不挠。他盲目自信，起初非要认为她的确爱他，尽管她本人可能没有意识到。后来，他不得不承认她对她目前的感情还真不含糊，于是便自负地认为，他早晚能让她的感情符合他的心愿。
　　他坠人了情网，深深地坠入了情网。这种爱，受一种积极、乐观的精神的驱动，表现得热烈有余，深沉不足。正是由于范妮拒绝了他，他把她的感情看得更加可贵，便决计要迫使她爱上自己，这就既荣耀又幸福。
　　他不肯绝望，不肯罢休。他有充分的理由不屈不挠地去爱她。他知道她人品好，能满足他对持久幸福的强烈愿望。她现在说她不愿意，说明她既不贪心，性情又那么娴淑（这是他认为最难得的品质），更加激发了他的愿望，坚定了他的决心。他不知道他要征服的这颗心早已另有所属。他丝毫没往这方面猜疑。他认为她很少想过这种事情，因而决不会有这样的危险。他觉得她还是个情窦未开的少女，清纯的心灵像妙丽的姿容一样招人喜爱。他还认定她只是因为生性腼腆，才没有领会他的百般殷勤，他的求婚来得太突然，太出乎她的意料，她一时不知所措，根本想象不到事情有多么奇妙。
　　一旦他被理解，他岂不是就会成功吗？他完全相信这一点。像他这样的人，不管爱上谁，只要坚持下去，必然会得到回报，而且为期不会远。一想到不久就会让她爱上他，他不禁满怀喜悦，她眼下不爱他也没有什么值得遗憾的。对于亨利·克劳福德来说，有点小小的困难要克服倒不是什么坏事。他会因此更来劲。他以前赢得别的姑娘的心都太容易了，现在第一次遇到这样的情况，越发激起了他的精神。
　　然而，范妮长了这么大还没遇到过什么顺心事，因而并不觉得这件事有什么令人愉快的地方，只觉得这一切不可思议。她发现他执意要坚持下去。但是，她被迫说出那番话之后，他怎么还那么死乞白赖，真叫她无法理解。她对他说过，她不爱他，不能爱他，肯定永远不会爱他：这是绝对不可能改变的，这件事使她感到极为痛苦，她求他永远不要再提这个问题，让她马上离开他，这件事就算彻底了结了。当对方进一步催逼的时候，她又补充说，她认为他们的性情完全不同，彼此不可能相爱，无论从性格、教养，还是从习惯来看，他们俩都不相配。这些话她都说过了，而且说得情真意切，然而还是无济于事，对方连忙否认两人的性情有什么不合的，两人的境况有什么不配的。他明确地宣布：他仍然要爱，仍然抱有希望！
　　范妮很清楚自己的意思，但是对自己的举止却拿不准。她的举止过于文雅，真是不可救药。她不知道她的文雅举止如何大大掩盖了她的矢志不移。她的羞怯、感恩、温柔使她每次表示回绝的时候，好像是在自我克制，至少让人觉得，她弄得自己几乎像他一样痛苦。克劳福德先生已经不是原来的那位克劳福德先生。原来的那位克劳福德先生是玛丽亚·伯特伦偷偷摸摸的、阴险狡诈的、用情不专的恋人，她厌恶他，不愿见到他，也不愿搭理他，认为他身上没有一点好品质，即使他能讨人喜欢，她也不承认他有任何讨人喜欢之处。他现在成了这样一位克劳福德先生：他怀着炽热无私的爱向她求起婚来；他的感情看来变得真挚赤诚，他的幸福观完全建立在为了爱情而结婚的基础上；他滔滔不绝地述说起他所意识到的她身上的种种优点，一而再、再而三地描述他对她的感情，搜肠刮肚地用言语，用他这么一个才华出众的人的语言、腔调和神情向她证明，他所以追求她是因为她温柔，因为她贤良，而尤为重要的是，他现在是帮助威廉晋升的克劳福德先生呀！
　　这就起了变化啦！这就欠下了人情，势必要影响她如何抉择。她本来可以像在索瑟顿庭园和曼斯菲尔德剧场里那样，以维护贞洁的尊严愤然地蔑视他，可他现在来找她就有权要求她另眼相待。她必须对他谦恭有礼，必须对他怜悯有加。她必须有一种受宠若惊的感觉，无论看在自己的分上还是看在哥哥的分上，她都必须有感恩戴德之心。这样一来，她的表现充满了怜悯和焦虑，她回绝他的话里夹杂着许多感激和关切之词，这对克劳福德这样盲目自信的人来说，她的拒绝的真实性，至少是坚定程度，就颇为值得怀疑。他在谈话结束时，所以会一再宣称要锲而不舍、再接再厉、不屈不挠地追求下去，并不像范妮认为的那样荒诞无稽。
　　克劳福德很不情愿她让她走了，但是临别时，从他的神情上看，他丝毫没有绝望，他说话并非心口不一，她也不要指望他会变得理智一些。
　　范妮现在恼火了。见他如此自私、狭隘地胡搅蛮缠，她不禁有点怨艾。这又是先前令她吃惊、令她厌恶的那种不体谅他人，不尊重他人。这又是先前令她不屑一顾的那个克劳福德先生的德行。只要自己快活，他可以全然没有人情，不讲人道——唉！一个没有情意的人，是不会有什么道义准则的，这岂不是历来如此吗？她的感情若不是另有所属——也许本不该另有所属——他也永远休想得到。
　　范妮坐在楼上，一边琢磨炉火给她带来的过于奢侈的享受，一边想着刚才的事情。她想的都是不折不扣的真情实事，心里觉得十分悲哀。她对过去和现在都感到惊诧，她在猜想下一步又该出什么事。在紧张不安之中，她什么都想不出个究竟，只知道她无论如何都不会爱克劳福德先生，加上有一炉火供她坐在那里取暖，让她左思右想，倒也觉得颇为快乐。
　　托马斯爵士只好或者说甘愿等到第二天，再了解两个年轻人交谈的结果。到了第二天，他见到了克劳福德先生，听了他的述说。他先是感到失望。他本来希望情况会好一些。他原以为，像克劳福德先生这样一个年轻人，对范妮这样一个性情温柔的姑娘恳求一个钟头。是不会徒劳无功的。但是，一看到这位求婚者态度那么坚决，满怀信心地定要坚持下去，他又很快得到了安慰。眼见当事人那副稳操胜券的样子，他也很快放下心来。
　　他从礼貌，到赞扬，到关照，凡是有助于促成这桩好事的，他是样样在所不辞。他赞赏了克劳福德先生的坚定不移，称赞了范妮，认为这两人的结合仍然是世上最美满的事情。曼斯菲尔德庄园随时欢迎克劳福德先生的到来。无论现在还是将来，他想多长时间来一次，完全由他决定，全看他兴之所在。对于他外甥女的家人和朋友来说，大家在这件事上只有一个想法，一个心愿，凡是爱她的人都得朝一个目标努力。
　　凡是能起鼓励作用的话全都说到了，每一句鼓励的话都给喜不自禁、感激不尽地接受了，两位先生分别时成了最好的朋友。
　　眼见着这件事已经有了个极其妥当、极有希望的基础，托马斯爵士感到颇为得意，便决定不再强求外甥女，不再去公开干涉。范妮有那样的性情，他觉得要影响她的最好办法，就是关心她。恳求只能来自一个方面。她很清楚一家人的心愿，一家人若是能宽容一些，就会最有效地促成这件事。因此，基于这个原则，托马斯爵士利用第一次和她说话的机会，为了能够打动她，以温和而严肃的口吻说：“范妮，我又见到了克劳福德先生，从他那里了解到你们之间的确切情况。他是一个很不一般的年轻人，不管这件事情怎么样，你应该意识到他的情意非同寻常。不过，你还年轻，不知道一般人的爱情短暂多变，不大牢靠，因此，对于他碰了钉子还锲而不舍，你就不像我那样觉得令人惊叹。对他来说，这完全是从感情出发，他这样做没有什么好称道的，或许也不值得称道。不过，由于他做出了这么如意的选择，他的坚定不移也就显得非常可贵了。如果他选择的对象不是这么无可指摘，我就会责怪他不该这么锲而不舍。”
　　“说实话，姨父，”范妮说，“我感到很遗憾，克劳福德先生居然还要继续——我知道这是给我很大的面子，我觉得自己完全不配受到这样的抬举。可我深知，也对他说过了，我永远不能——”
　　“亲爱的，”托马斯爵士打断了她的话，“没有必要说这些。我完全了解你的想法，你也必然了解我的愿望和遗憾。没有必要再说什么，再做什么。从此时此刻起，我们再不谈这件事了。你没有什么好担心的，也没有什么好心神不安的。你可不要以为我会劝你违背自己的意愿嫁人。我所考虑的只是你的幸福和利益，我对你没有别的要求，只求你在克劳福德先生来劝你，说你们的幸福和利益并不矛盾的时候，你能容忍他说下去。他这样做有什么后果，那是咎由自取，完全无损于你。我已经答应他，他无论什么时候来，你都见见他，就像以前没发生这件事时那样。你和我们大家一起见他，态度还和过去一样，尽量忘记一切不愉快的事情。他很快就要离开北安普敦郡，就连这点小小的委屈也不会常要你来承受。将来如何很难说。现在嘛，范妮，这件事在我们之间算是了结了。”
　　姨父说克劳福德先生即将离去，这是范妮唯一感到不胜高兴的事。不过，姨父的好言好语和克制包涵，虽然令她为之感动，但她头脑还很清醒。当她考虑有多少真相不为他所明了时，她觉得他会采取现有的方针是明摆着的事情。他把自己的一个女儿嫁给了拉什沃思先生，你就千万别指望他会异想天开地体贴什么儿女之情。她必须尽到自己的本分，希望随着时间的推移，她的尽本分会比现在容易一些。
　　她虽说只有十八岁，却料想克劳福德先生对她的爱不会持久不变。她设想，只要她坚持不懈地让他碰壁，这件事迟早总会结束的。至于她设想要为此花费多少时间，这是值得关心的另一个问题。我们不便去探究一个年轻姑娘如何确切地估价自己的种种丽质。
　　托马斯爵士本想绝口不谈这件事，但不得不又一次向外甥女提了出来，想在告知两位姨妈之前，让她略有个思想准备。但凡有可能，他还不想让她们知道，但是，既然克劳福德先生对保密完全不以为然，他现在必须告诉她们。克劳福德先生根本无意遮掩。这事在牧师府上已是尽人皆知，因为他就喜欢跟姐姐妹妹谈论他的未来，喜欢把他情场得意的消息随时报告两位有见识的见证人。托马斯爵士听说之后，感到必须马上把这件事告诉妻子和大姨子，虽说替范妮着想，他几乎像范妮一样害怕诺里斯太太知道这件事的后果。他不赞成她好心总要做错事的热情。这时，托马斯爵士的确把诺里斯太太划归为心肠好却总是做出错误的、令人讨厌的事情的人。
　　不过，诺里斯太太这次让他放心了。他要求她对外甥女一定要宽容，不要多嘴多舌。她不仅答应了，而且照办了，只是脸上显得越发恶狠狠的。她很气愤，简直有点怒不可遏。不过，她所以生范妮的气，主要是因为克劳福德先生这样一个人居然会向她求婚，而不是因为她拒绝了他的求婚。这是对朱莉娅的伤害和侮辱，按理说克劳福德先生应该追求她才是。此外，她也不喜欢范妮，因为范妮怠慢过她。她不想让一个她一直想压制的人受此抬举。
　　托马斯爵士以为她在这件事上变得谨慎起来了，还赞扬了她。范妮愿意感谢她，只因为她给了她脸色看，而没有责骂她。
　　伯特伦夫人的态度有所不同。她一直是个美人，而且是个有钱的美人。唯有美貌和有钱能激起她的敬重。因此，得知范妮被一个有钱人追求，大大提高了范妮在她心目中的地位。这件事使她意识到范妮是很漂亮（她以前对此一直有所怀疑），还要攀上一门很好的亲事。这时，她觉得能有这样一个外甥女，脸上也平添了几分光彩。
　　“喂，范妮，”一剩下她们两人时她便说，她这次还真有点迫不及待地想单独和她在一起，说话的时候，脸上的表情特有生气：“喂，范妮，今天上午我听说了一件让我大为惊喜的事情。我一定要说上一次。我对托马斯爵士说我一定要说一次，然后就再也不提了。我向你道喜，亲爱的外甥女。”一边洋洋得意地望着范妮，补充道：“哼——我们绝对是个漂亮的家族。”
　　范妮脸红了，起初不知道说什么好。后来想到可以攻击她的弱点，便马上答道：
　　“亲爱的姨妈，我相信，你是不会希望我不要这样做的。你是不会希望我结婚的。不然你会想我的，对吧？是的，你肯定会想我的，不会希望我结婚。”
　　“不，亲爱的，当你遇到这样一门好亲事的时候，我不该考虑想不想你。如果你能嫁给一个像克劳福德先生那样家道富足的人，我没有你完全可以。你要明白，范妮，像这样一个无可挑剔的对象来求婚，哪个年轻女人都应该接受。”
　　在八年半中，这几乎是范妮从二姨妈那里听到的唯一的一条行为准则，唯一的一条建议。她哑口无言了。她深知争论不会有什么好处。如果二姨妈不同意她的意见，她和她辩论也不会有什么结果。这时伯特伦夫人话还真多。
　　“你听我说，范妮，”二姨妈说，“我敢肯定他是在那次舞会上爱上你的，我敢肯定是那天晚上惹下的事。你那天晚上真好看。人人都这么说。托马斯爵士也这么说。你知道，你有查普曼太太帮你打扮。我很高兴我打发她去帮助你。我要告诉托马斯爵士，这件事肯定是那天晚上惹下的。”此后不久，她仍然顺着这愉快的思路，说道：“你听我说，范妮，下次哈巴狗下仔，我送你一条小狗——我连玛丽亚都没有送呢。”　
  
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Chapter Thirty-two

  Fanny had by no means forgotten Mr. Crawford when she awoke the next morning; but she remembered the purport of her note, and was not less sanguine as to its effect than she had been the night before. If Mr. Crawford would but go away! That was what she most earnestly desired: go and take his sister with him, as he was to do, and as he returned to Mansfield on purpose to do. And why it was not done already she could not devise, for Miss Crawford certainly wanted no delay. Fanny had hoped, in the course of his yesterday's visit, to hear the day named; but he had only spoken of their journey as what would take place ere long.

  Having so satisfactorily settled the conviction her note would convey, she could not but be astonished to see Mr. Crawford, as she accidentally did, coming up to the house again, and at an hour as early as the day before. His coming might have nothing to do with her, but she must avoid seeing him if possible; and being then on her way upstairs, she resolved there to remain, during the whole of his visit, unless actually sent for; and as Mrs. Norris was still in the house, there seemed little danger of her being wanted.

  She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, trembling, and fearing to be sent for every moment; but as no footsteps approached the East room, she grew gradually composed, could sit down, and be able to employ herself, and able to hope that Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.

  Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a step in regular approach was heard; a heavy step, an unusual step in that part of the house: it was her uncle's; she knew it as well as his voice; she had trembled at it as often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of his coming up to speak to her, whatever might be the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas who opened the door and asked if she were there, and if he might come in. The terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again in French and English.

  She was all attention, however, in placing a chair for him, and trying to appear honoured; and, in her agitation, had quite overlooked the deficiencies of her apartment, till he, stopping short as he entered, said, with much surprise, "Why have you no fire to-day?"

  There was snow on the ground, and she was sitting in a shawl. She hesitated.

  "I am not cold, sir: I never sit here long at this time of year."

  "But you have a fire in general?"

  "No, sir."

  "How comes this about? Here must be some mistake. I understood that you had the use of this room by way of making you perfectly comfortable. In your bedchamber I know you _cannot_ have a fire. Here is some great misapprehension which must be rectified. It is highly unfit for you to sit, be it only half an hour a day, without a fire. You are not strong. You are chilly. Your aunt cannot be aware of this."

  Fanny would rather have been silent; but being obliged to speak, she could not forbear, in justice to the aunt she loved best, from saying something in which the words "my aunt Norris" were distinguishable.

  "I understand," cried her uncle, recollecting himself, and not wanting to hear more: "I understand. Your aunt Norris has always been an advocate, and very judiciously, for young people's being brought up without unnecessary indulgences; but there should be moderation in everything. She is also very hardy herself, which of course will influence her in her opinion of the wants of others. And on another account, too, I can perfectly comprehend. I know what her sentiments have always been. The principle was good in itself, but it may have been, and I believe _has_ _been_, carried too far in your case. I am aware that there has been sometimes, in some points, a misplaced distinction; but I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose you will ever harbour resentment on that account. You have an understanding which will prevent you from receiving things only in part, and judging partially by the event. You will take in the whole of the past, you will consider times, persons, and probabilities, and you will feel that _they_ were not least your friends who were educating and preparing you for that mediocrity of condition which _seemed_ to be your lot. Though their caution may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant; and of this you may be assured, that every advantage of affluence will be doubled by the little privations and restrictions that may have been imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion of you, by failing at any time to treat your aunt Norris with the respect and attention that are due to her. But enough of this. Sit down, my dear. I must speak to you for a few minutes, but I will not detain you long."

  Fanny obeyed, with eyes cast down and colour rising. After a moment's pause, Sir Thomas, trying to suppress a smile, went on.

  "You are not aware, perhaps, that I have had a visitor this morning. I had not been long in my own room, after breakfast, when Mr. Crawford was shewn in. His errand you may probably conjecture."

  Fanny's colour grew deeper and deeper; and her uncle, perceiving that she was embarrassed to a degree that made either speaking or looking up quite impossible, turned away his own eyes, and without any farther pause proceeded in his account of Mr. Crawford's visit.

  Mr. Crawford's business had been to declare himself the lover of Fanny, make decided proposals for her, and entreat the sanction of the uncle, who seemed to stand in the place of her parents; and he had done it all so well, so openly, so liberally, so properly, that Sir Thomas, feeling, moreover, his own replies, and his own remarks to have been very much to the purpose, was exceedingly happy to give the particulars of their conversation; and little aware of what was passing in his niece's mind, conceived that by such details he must be gratifying her far more than himself. He talked, therefore, for several minutes without Fanny's daring to interrupt him. She had hardly even attained the wish to do it. Her mind was in too much confusion. She had changed her position; and, with her eyes fixed intently on one of the windows, was listening to her uncle in the utmost perturbation and dismay. For a moment he ceased, but she had barely become conscious of it, when, rising from his chair, he said, "And now, Fanny, having performed one part of my commission, and shewn you everything placed on a basis the most assured and satisfactory, I may execute the remainder by prevailing on you to accompany me downstairs, where, though I cannot but presume on having been no unacceptable companion myself, I must submit to your finding one still better worth listening to. Mr. Crawford, as you have perhaps foreseen, is yet in the house. He is in my room, and hoping to see you there."

  There was a look, a start, an exclamation on hearing this, which astonished Sir Thomas; but what was his increase of astonishment on hearing her exclaim--"Oh! no, sir, I cannot, indeed I cannot go down to him. Mr. Crawford ought to know-- he must know that: I told him enough yesterday to convince him; he spoke to me on this subject yesterday, and I told him without disguise that it was very disagreeable to me, and quite out of my power to return his good opinion."

  "I do not catch your meaning," said Sir Thomas, sitting down again. "Out of your power to return his good opinion? What is all this? I know he spoke to you yesterday, and (as far as I understand) received as much encouragement to proceed as a well-judging young woman could permit herself to give. I was very much pleased with what I collected to have been your behaviour on the occasion; it shewed a discretion highly to be commended. But now, when he has made his overtures so properly, and honourably-- what are your scruples _now_?"

  "You are mistaken, sir," cried Fanny, forced by the anxiety of the moment even to tell her uncle that he was wrong; "you are quite mistaken. How could Mr. Crawford say such a thing? I gave him no encouragement yesterday. On the contrary, I told him, I cannot recollect my exact words, but I am sure I told him that I would not listen to him, that it was very unpleasant to me in every respect, and that I begged him never to talk to me in that manner again. I am sure I said as much as that and more; and I should have said still more, if I had been quite certain of his meaning anything seriously; but I did not like to be, I could not bear to be, imputing more than might be intended. I thought it might all pass for nothing with _him_."

  She could say no more; her breath was almost gone.

  "Am I to understand," said Sir Thomas, after a few moments' silence, "that you mean to _refuse_ Mr. Crawford?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Refuse him?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Refuse Mr. Crawford! Upon what plea? For what reason?"

  "I--I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him."

  "This is very strange!" said Sir Thomas, in a voice of calm displeasure. "There is something in this which my comprehension does not reach. Here is a young man wishing to pay his addresses to you, with everything to recommend him: not merely situation in life, fortune, and character, but with more than common agreeableness, with address and conversation pleasing to everybody. And he is not an acquaintance of to-day; you have now known him some time. His sister, moreover, is your intimate friend, and he has been doing _that_ for your brother, which I should suppose would have been almost sufficient recommendation to you, had there been no other. It is very uncertain when my interest might have got William on. He has done it already."

  "Yes," said Fanny, in a faint voice, and looking down with fresh shame; and she did feel almost ashamed of herself, after such a picture as her uncle had drawn, for not liking Mr. Crawford.

  "You must have been aware," continued Sir Thomas presently, "you must have been some time aware of a particularity in Mr. Crawford's manners to you. This cannot have taken you by surprise. You must have observed his attentions; and though you always received them very properly (I have no accusation to make on that head), I never perceived them to be unpleasant to you. I am half inclined to think, Fanny, that you do not quite know your own feelings."

  "Oh yes, sir! indeed I do. His attentions were always-- what I did not like."

  Sir Thomas looked at her with deeper surprise. "This is beyond me," said he. "This requires explanation. Young as you are, and having seen scarcely any one, it is hardly possible that your affections--"

  He paused and eyed her fixedly. He saw her lips formed into a _no_, though the sound was inarticulate, but her face was like scarlet. That, however, in so modest a girl, might be very compatible with innocence; and chusing at least to appear satisfied, he quickly added, "No, no, I know _that_ is quite out of the question; quite impossible. Well, there is nothing more to be said."

  And for a few minutes he did say nothing. He was deep in thought. His niece was deep in thought likewise, trying to harden and prepare herself against farther questioning. She would rather die than own the truth; and she hoped, by a little reflection, to fortify herself beyond betraying it.

  "Independently of the interest which Mr. Crawford's _choice_ seemed to justify" said Sir Thomas, beginning again, and very composedly, "his wishing to marry at all so early is recommendatory to me. I am an advocate for early marriages, where there are means in proportion, and would have every young man, with a sufficient income, settle as soon after four-and-twenty as he can. This is so much my opinion, that I am sorry to think how little likely my own eldest son, your cousin, Mr. Bertram, is to marry early; but at present, as far as I can judge, matrimony makes no part of his plans or thoughts. I wish he were more likely to fix." Here was a glance at Fanny. "Edmund, I consider, from his dispositions and habits, as much more likely to marry early than his brother. _He_, indeed, I have lately thought, has seen the woman he could love, which, I am convinced, my eldest son has not. Am I right? Do you agree with me, my dear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  It was gently, but it was calmly said, and Sir Thomas was easy on the score of the cousins. But the removal of his alarm did his niece no service: as her unaccountableness was confirmed his displeasure increased; and getting up and walking about the room with a frown, which Fanny could picture to herself, though she dared not lift up her eyes, he shortly afterwards, and in a voice of authority, said, "Have you any reason, child, to think ill of Mr. Crawford's temper?"

  "No, sir."

  She longed to add, "But of his principles I have"; but her heart sunk under the appalling prospect of discussion, explanation, and probably non-conviction. Her ill opinion of him was founded chiefly on observations, which, for her cousins' sake, she could scarcely dare mention to their father. Maria and Julia, and especially Maria, were so closely implicated in Mr. Crawford's misconduct, that she could not give his character, such as she believed it, without betraying them. She had hoped that, to a man like her uncle, so discerning, so honourable, so good, the simple acknowledgment of settled _dislike_ on her side would have been sufficient. To her infinite grief she found it was not.

  Sir Thomas came towards the table where she sat in trembling wretchedness, and with a good deal of cold sternness, said, "It is of no use, I perceive, to talk to you. We had better put an end to this most mortifying conference. Mr. Crawford must not be kept longer waiting. I will, therefore, only add, as thinking it my duty to mark my opinion of your conduct, that you have disappointed every expectation I had formed, and proved yourself of a character the very reverse of what I had supposed. For I _had_, Fanny, as I think my behaviour must have shewn, formed a very favourable opinion of you from the period of my return to England. I had thought you peculiarly free from wilfulness of temper, self-conceit, and every tendency to that independence of spirit which prevails so much in modern days, even in young women, and which in young women is offensive and disgusting beyond all common offence. But you have now shewn me that you can be wilful and perverse; that you can and will decide for yourself, without any consideration or deference for those who have surely some right to guide you, without even asking their advice. You have shewn yourself very, very different from anything that I had imagined. The advantage or disadvantage of your family, of your parents, your brothers and sisters, never seems to have had a moment's share in your thoughts on this occasion. How _they_ might be benefited, how _they_ must rejoice in such an establishment for you, is nothing to _you_. You think only of yourself, and because you do not feel for Mr. Crawford exactly what a young heated fancy imagines to be necessary for happiness, you resolve to refuse him at once, without wishing even for a little time to consider of it, a little more time for cool consideration, and for really examining your own inclinations; and are, in a wild fit of folly, throwing away from you such an opportunity of being settled in life, eligibly, honourably, nobly settled, as will, probably, never occur to you again. Here is a young man of sense, of character, of temper, of manners, and of fortune, exceedingly attached to you, and seeking your hand in the most handsome and disinterested way; and let me tell you, Fanny, that you may live eighteen years longer in the world without being addressed by a man of half Mr. Crawford's estate, or a tenth part of his merits. Gladly would I have bestowed either of my own daughters on him. Maria is nobly married; but had Mr. Crawford sought Julia's hand, I should have given it to him with superior and more heartfelt satisfaction than I gave Maria's to Mr. Rushworth." After half a moment's pause: "And I should have been very much surprised had either of my daughters, on receiving a proposal of marriage at any time which might carry with it only _half_ the eligibility of _this_, immediately and peremptorily, and without paying my opinion or my regard the compliment of any consultation, put a decided negative on it. I should have been much surprised and much hurt by such a proceeding. I should have thought it a gross violation of duty and respect. _You_ are not to be judged by the same rule. You do not owe me the duty of a child. But, Fanny, if your heart can acquit you of _ingratitude_--"

  He ceased. Fanny was by this time crying so bitterly that, angry as he was, he would not press that article farther. Her heart was almost broke by such a picture of what she appeared to him; by such accusations, so heavy, so multiplied, so rising in dreadful gradation! Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful. He thought her all this. She had deceived his expectations; she had lost his good opinion. What was to become of her?

  "I am very sorry," said she inarticulately, through her tears, "I am very sorry indeed."

  "Sorry! yes, I hope you are sorry; and you will probably have reason to be long sorry for this day's transactions."

  "If it were possible for me to do otherwise" said she, with another strong effort; "but I am so perfectly convinced that I could never make him happy, and that I should be miserable myself."

  Another burst of tears; but in spite of that burst, and in spite of that great black word _miserable_, which served to introduce it, Sir Thomas began to think a little relenting, a little change of inclination, might have something to do with it; and to augur favourably from the personal entreaty of the young man himself. He knew her to be very timid, and exceedingly nervous; and thought it not improbable that her mind might be in such a state as a little time, a little pressing, a little patience, and a little impatience, a judicious mixture of all on the lover's side, might work their usual effect on. If the gentleman would but persevere, if he had but love enough to persevere, Sir Thomas began to have hopes; and these reflections having passed across his mind and cheered it, "Well," said he, in a tone of becoming gravity, but of less anger, "well, child, dry up your tears. There is no use in these tears; they can do no good. You must now come downstairs with me. Mr. Crawford has been kept waiting too long already. You must give him your own answer: we cannot expect him to be satisfied with less; and you only can explain to him the grounds of that misconception of your sentiments, which, unfortunately for himself, he certainly has imbibed. I am totally unequal to it."

  But Fanny shewed such reluctance, such misery, at the idea of going down to him, that Sir Thomas, after a little consideration, judged it better to indulge her. His hopes from both gentleman and lady suffered a small depression in consequence; but when he looked at his niece, and saw the state of feature and complexion which her crying had brought her into, he thought there might be as much lost as gained by an immediate interview. With a few words, therefore, of no particular meaning, he walked off by himself, leaving his poor niece to sit and cry over what had passed, with very wretched feelings

  Her mind was all disorder. The past, present, future, everything was terrible. But her uncle's anger gave her the severest pain of all. Selfish and ungrateful! to have appeared so to him! She was miserable for ever. She had no one to take her part, to counsel, or speak for her. Her only friend was absent. He might have softened his father; but all, perhaps all, would think her selfish and ungrateful. She might have to endure the reproach again and again; she might hear it, or see it, or know it to exist for ever in every connexion about her. She could not but feel some resentment against Mr. Crawford; yet, if he really loved her, and were unhappy too! It was all wretchedness together.

  In about a quarter of an hour her uncle returned; she was almost ready to faint at the sight of him. He spoke calmly, however, without austerity, without reproach, and she revived a little. There was comfort, too, in his words, as well as his manner, for he began with, "Mr. Crawford is gone: he has just left me. I need not repeat what has passed. I do not want to add to anything you may now be feeling, by an account of what he has felt. Suffice it, that he has behaved in the most gentlemanlike and generous manner, and has confirmed me in a most favourable opinion of his understanding, heart, and temper. Upon my representation of what you were suffering, he immediately, and with the greatest delicacy, ceased to urge to see you for the present."

  Here Fanny, who had looked up, looked down again. "Of course," continued her uncle, "it cannot be supposed but that he should request to speak with you alone, be it only for five minutes; a request too natural, a claim too just to be denied. But there is no time fixed; perhaps to-morrow, or whenever your spirits are composed enough. For the present you have only to tranquillise yourself. Check these tears; they do but exhaust you. If, as I am willing to suppose, you wish to shew me any observance, you will not give way to these emotions, but endeavour to reason yourself into a stronger frame of mind. I advise you to go out: the air will do you good; go out for an hour on the gravel; you will have the shrubbery to yourself, and will be the better for air and exercise. And, Fanny" (turning back again for a moment), "I shall make no mention below of what has passed; I shall not even tell your aunt Bertram. There is no occasion for spreading the disappointment; say nothing about it yourself."

  This was an order to be most joyfully obeyed; this was an act of kindness which Fanny felt at her heart. To be spared from her aunt Norris's interminable reproaches! he left her in a glow of gratitude. Anything might be bearable rather than such reproaches. Even to see Mr. Crawford would be less overpowering.

  She walked out directly, as her uncle recommended, and followed his advice throughout, as far as she could; did check her tears; did earnestly try to compose her spirits and strengthen her mind. She wished to prove to him that she did desire his comfort, and sought to regain his favour; and he had given her another strong motive for exertion, in keeping the whole affair from the knowledge of her aunts. Not to excite suspicion by her look or manner was now an object worth attaining; and she felt equal to almost anything that might save her from her aunt Norris.

  She was struck, quite struck, when, on returning from her walk and going into the East room again, the first thing which caught her eye was a fire lighted and burning. A fire! it seemed too much; just at that time to be giving her such an indulgence was exciting even painful gratitude. She wondered that Sir Thomas could have leisure to think of such a trifle again; but she soon found, from the voluntary information of the housemaid, who came in to attend it, that so it was to be every day. Sir Thomas had given orders for it.

  "I must be a brute, indeed, if I can be really ungrateful!" said she, in soliloquy. "Heaven defend me from being ungrateful!"

  She saw nothing more of her uncle, nor of her aunt Norris, till they met at dinner. Her uncle's behaviour to her was then as nearly as possible what it had been before; she was sure he did not mean there should be any change, and that it was only her own conscience that could fancy any; but her aunt was soon quarrelling with her; and when she found how much and how unpleasantly her having only walked out without her aunt's knowledge could be dwelt on, she felt all the reason she had to bless the kindness which saved her from the same spirit of reproach, exerted on a more momentous subject.

  "If I had known you were going out, I should have got you just to go as far as my house with some orders for Nanny," said she, "which I have since, to my very great inconvenience, been obliged to go and carry myself. I could very ill spare the time, and you might have saved me the trouble, if you would only have been so good as to let us know you were going out. It would have made no difference to you, I suppose, whether you had walked in the shrubbery or gone to my house."

  "I recommended the shrubbery to Fanny as the driest place," said Sir Thomas.

  "Oh!" said Mrs. Norris, with a moment's check, "that was very kind of you, Sir Thomas; but you do not know how dry the path is to my house. Fanny would have had quite as good a walk there, I assure you, with the advantage of being of some use, and obliging her aunt: it is all her fault. If she would but have let us know she was going out but there is a something about Fanny, I have often observed it before--she likes to go her own way to work; she does not like to be dictated to; she takes her own independent walk whenever she can; she certainly has a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, and nonsense, about her, which I would advise her to get the better of."

  As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir Thomas thought nothing could be more unjust, though he had been so lately expressing the same sentiments himself, and he tried to turn the conversation: tried repeatedly before he could succeed; for Mrs. Norris had not discernment enough to perceive, either now, or at any other time, to what degree he thought well of his niece, or how very far he was from wishing to have his own children's merits set off by the depreciation of hers. She was talking _at_ Fanny, and resenting this private walk half through the dinner.

  It was over, however, at last; and the evening set in with more composure to Fanny, and more cheerfulness of spirits than she could have hoped for after so stormy a morning; but she trusted, in the first place, that she had done right: that her judgment had not misled her. For the purity of her intentions she could answer; and she was willing to hope, secondly, that her uncle's displeasure was abating, and would abate farther as he considered the matter with more impartiality, and felt, as a good man must feel, how wretched, and how unpardonable, how hopeless, and how wicked it was to marry without affection.

  When the meeting with which she was threatened for the morrow was past, she could not but flatter herself that the subject would be finally concluded, and Mr. Crawford once gone from Mansfield, that everything would soon be as if no such subject had existed. She would not, could not believe, that Mr. Crawford's affection for her could distress him long; his mind was not of that sort. London would soon bring its cure. In London he would soon learn to wonder at his infatuation, and be thankful for the right reason in her which had saved him from its evil consequences.

  While Fanny's mind was engaged in these sort of hopes, her uncle was, soon after tea, called out of the room; an occurrence too common to strike her, and she thought nothing of it till the butler reappeared ten minutes afterwards, and advancing decidedly towards herself, said, "Sir Thomas wishes to speak with you, ma'am, in his own room." Then it occurred to her what might be going on; a suspicion rushed over her mind which drove the colour from her cheeks; but instantly rising, she was preparing to obey, when Mrs. Norris called out, "Stay, stay, Fanny! what are you about? where are you going? don't be in such a hurry. Depend upon it, it is not you who are wanted; depend upon it, it is me" (looking at the butler); "but you are so very eager to put yourself forward. What should Sir Thomas want you for? It is me, Baddeley, you mean; I am coming this moment. You mean me, Baddeley, I am sure; Sir Thomas wants me, not Miss Price."

  But Baddeley was stout. "No, ma'am, it is Miss Price; I am certain of its being Miss Price." And there was a half-smile with the words, which meant, "I do not think you would answer the purpose at all."

  Mrs. Norris, much discontented, was obliged to compose herself to work again; and Fanny, walking off in agitating consciousness, found herself, as she anticipated, in another minute alone with Mr. Crawford.



　　范妮第二天早晨醒来的时候，并没有忘掉克劳福德先生。不过，她也同样记得她那封信的大意，对这封信可能收到的效果，依然像昨天晚上一样乐观。克劳福德先生要是能远走高飞该有多好啊！这是她最巴不得的。带着他妹妹一起走，他原来就是这样安排的，他重返曼斯菲尔德就是为了接他妹妹。她不明白他们为什么到现在还没走成，克劳福德小姐肯定不想在这里多待。克劳福德先生昨天来做客的时候，范妮本来祈望能听到他究竟是哪一天走，但他只是说不久就要起程。
　　就在她满意地料定她的信会产生什么效果之后，她突然看到克劳福德先生又向大宅走来，并且像昨天一样早，不由得大吃一惊。他这次来可能与她无关，但她还是尽可能不见他为好。她当时正在上楼，便决定就待在楼上，等他走了再说，除非有人叫她。由于诺里斯太太还在这里，似乎没有可能会用得着她。
　　她忐忑不安地坐了一阵，一边听，一边颤抖，时刻都在担心有人叫她。不过，由于听不到脚步声向东屋走来，她也渐渐镇定下来，还能坐下做起活来，希望克劳福德先生来也好去也好，用不着她去理会。
　　将近半个小时过去了，她逐渐放下了心。恰在这时，突然听到一阵脚步声——脚步声很重，房内这一带不常听到这种脚步声。这是她姨父的脚步声。她像熟悉他的说话声一样熟悉他的脚步声。以前她往往一听到他的脚步声就发抖，现在一想到他来此肯定是有话对她说，便又开始颤抖起来。不论是要说什么，她都感到害怕。还真是托马斯爵士。他推开了门，问她是否在屋里，他可不可以进来。以前他偶尔来到东屋所引起的那种恐惧似乎又萌生了，范妮觉得他好像又来考她的法语和英语。
　　她恭恭敬敬地给他搬了把椅子，尽量显出受宠若惊的样子。由于心神不定，她没有注意屋内有什么欠缺。托马斯爵士进来之后突然停住脚，吃惊地问道：“你今天为什么没有生火呀？”
　　外边已是满地白雪，范妮披了条披巾坐在那里。她吞吞吐吐地说：
　　“我不冷，姨父——这个季节我从不在这里久坐。”
　　“那你平时生火吗？”
　　“不生，姨父。”
　　“怎么会这样，一定出了什么差错。我还以为你到这间屋里来是为了暖和。我知道，你的卧室里没法生火。这是个很大的错误，必须加以纠正。你这样坐着很不稳妥——也不生火，即使一天坐半个小时都不好。你身体单薄，看你冻的。你姨妈一定不了解。”
　　范妮本想保持沉默，但又不能不吭声，为了对地那位最亲爱的姨妈公允起见，她忍不住说了几句，提到了“诺里斯姨妈”。
　　“我明白了，”姨父知道是怎么回事了，也不想再听下去，便大声说道。“我明白了。你诺里斯姨妈很有见识，一向主张对孩子不能娇惯。不过，什么事情都要适度。她自己也很苦，这当然要影响她对别人的需求的看法。从另一个意义上说，我也能完全理解。我了解她一贯的看法。那原则本身是好的，但是对你可能做得太过分了，我认为的确做得太过分了。我知道，有时候在某些问题上没有一视同仁，这是不应该的。可我对你有很好的看法，范妮，觉得你不会因此而记恨。你是个聪明人，遇事不会只看一方面，只看局部。你会全面地看待过去，你会考虑到不同的时期，不同的人，不同的机遇，你会觉得那些教育你、为你准备了中等生活条件的人们都是你的朋友，因为这样的条件似乎是你命中注定的。尽管他们的谨慎可能最终证明没有必要，但他们的用心是好的。有一点你可以相信：被迫吃点小小的苦头，受点小小的约束，到了富足的时候就能倍感其乐。我想你不会辜负了我对你的器重，任何时候都会以应有的敬重和关心来对待诺里斯姨妈。不过，不说这些了。坐下，亲爱的。我要和你谈一会儿，不会占用你很多时间。”
　　范妮从命了，垂着眼皮，红着脸。托马斯爵士顿了顿，欲笑不笑，说了下去。
　　“你也许还不知道，我今天上午接待了一个客人。早饭后，我回到房里不久，克劳福德先生就给领进来了。你大概能猜到他是来干什么的。”
　　范妮脸上越来越红，姨父见她窘得既说不出话，也不敢抬头，便不再看她，紧接着讲起了克劳福德先生的这次来访。
　　克劳福德先生是来宣布他爱范妮的．并明确提出向她求婚，请求她姨父恩准，因为他老人家似乎在履行父母的职责。他表现得如此有礼，如此坦诚，如此大方，如此得体，而托马斯爵士的答复和意见又那样允当，因而他便欣喜不已地介绍了他们谈话的细枝末节，全然没有察觉外甥女心里怎么想，只以为这些详情细节不仅他乐意说，外甥女更乐意听。因此，他滔滔不绝地说了一番，范妮也不敢打断他，甚至也无意去打断他。她心乱如麻，人已换了个姿势，目不转睛地望着一扇窗户，惶恐不安地听姨父讲着。姨父停顿了一下，但是她还没有察觉，他就站起身来，说道：“范妮，我已经履行了我的部分使命，让你看到事情已经奠定了一个最牢靠、最令人称心如意的基础，我可以履行我余下的使命了，劝说你陪我一起下楼。虽然我自以为你不会讨厌刚才陪我说话，但是到了楼下我会甘拜下风，会有一个说话更为动听的人陪伴你。也许你已经料到，克劳福德先生还没有走。他在我房里，希望在那里见见你。”
　　范妮听到这话时的那副神色，那为之一惊，那一声惊叫，使托马斯爵士大为震惊。不过，更使他震惊的还是她的激烈言词：“噢！不，姨父，不行，我真的不能下楼见他。克劳福德先生应该明白——他肯定明白——我昨天已经跟他说明了，他应该清楚——他昨天就跟我说起了这件事——我毫不掩饰地告诉他我压根儿不同意，无法回报他的好意。”
　　“我不明白你的意思，”托马斯爵士说道，一边又坐下来。“无法回报他的好意！这是怎么回事？我知道他昨天对你讲过，而且据我所知，从你这里得到了一个知道分寸的年轻姑娘所能给的鼓励。从他的话中我了解到你当时的表现，我觉得非常高兴。你显得很谨慎，这很值得称道。可是现在，他已经郑重其事、真心诚意地提了出来——你现在还顾虑什么呢？”
　　“你弄错了，姨父，”范妮嚷道。她一时心急，甚至当面说姨父不对。“你完全弄错了。克劳福德先生怎么能这样说呢？我昨天并没有鼓励他——相反，我对他说 ——我记不得具体说了什么话——不过，我肯定对他说过，我不愿意听他讲，我实在是不愿意听，求他千万别再对我说那样的话。我敢肯定对他说过这些话，而且还不止这些。如果我当时确有把握他是当真的话，还会多说几句，可我不想相信他真有什么意思——我不愿意那样看待他——不愿给他安上更多的意思。我当时就觉得，对他来说，可能说过也就算完了。”
　　她说不下去了，几乎都透不过气了。
　　“这是不是说，”托马斯爵士沉默了一阵，然后问道，“你是要拒绝克劳福德先生？”
　　“是的，姨父。”
　　“拒绝他？”
　　“是的，姨父。”
　　“拒绝克劳福德先生！什么理由？什么原因？”
　　“我——我不喜欢他，姨父，不能嫁给他。”
　　“真奇怪呀！”托马斯爵士以平静而有点不悦的语气说。“这件事有点让我难以理解。向你求婚的是一个各方面都很优秀的年轻人，不仅有地位，有财产，人品好，而且十分和气，说起话来人人喜欢。你和他又不是初次见面，已经认识一段时间了。再说，他妹妹还是你的亲密朋友，他还为你哥哥帮了那样的忙，即使他没有别的好处，单凭这件事就足以打动你的心了。要是靠我的关系，很难说威廉什么时候能晋升。而他已经把这件事办成了。”
　　“是的。”范妮少气无力地说，又难为情地低下了头。经姨父这么一说，她真觉得自己不喜欢克劳福德先生简直是可耻。
　　“你一定察觉到了，”托马斯爵士接着又说，“你一定早就察觉到克劳福德先生对你的态度有所不同。因此，他向你求婚你不该感到意外。你一定注意到他向你献殷勤了，虽然你接受他的献殷勤时表现得很得体（在这方面我没有什么可说的），可载从没看出你为之讨厌过。我倒有点觉得，范妮，你并不完全了解你自己的情感。”
　　“噢！不，姨父，我完全了解。他的献殷勤总是——我总是不喜欢。”
　　托马斯爵士越发惊讶地瞅着她。“我不理解，”他说，“你要解释一下。你这么年轻，几乎没遇到过什么人，你心里不可能已经——”
　　他停了下来，两眼直盯着她。他见她的嘴唇像要说不，但却没有说出声来，只是满脸涨得通红。不过，一个腼腆的姑娘露出这副形态，倒也很可能是纯真无辜的缘故。他至少要显出满意的样子，很快补充了两句：“不，不，我知道这是不可能的——完全不可能。好了，这事不说了。”
　　他沉默了一阵。他在沉思。他的外甥女也在沉思，好鼓起勇气，做好思想准备，以防他进一步盘问。她宁死也不愿吐露真情。她希望经过一番思索，能顶住不要泄露自己的秘密。
　　“除了被克劳福德先生看中可能带来的好处之外，”托马斯爵士又以非常沉静的口吻说道，“他愿意这么早就结婚，这也是我表示赞成的一个原因。我主张结得起婚的人早一点结婚，每个有足够收入的年轻人，都要一过二十四岁就结婚。我是极力这样主张的，一想到我的大儿子，你的表哥伯特伦先生不能早点结婚，我就感到遗憾。目前就我看来，他还不打算结婚，连想都不想。他要是能定下来就好了。”说到这里瞥了范妮一眼。“至于埃德蒙，无论从气质来看，还是从习性来说，都比他哥哥更可能早点结婚。说真的，我近来觉得他遇上了他中意的女人，而我的大儿子，我相信还没有。我说得对吗？休同意我的看法吗，亲爱的？”
　　“同意，姨父。”
　　这话说得很温柔，却又很平静，托马斯爵士不再疑心她会对哪一位表哥有意了。不过，他解除了疑心并没给外甥女带来好处。他认定无法解释她为何拒绝之后，心里越发不高兴。他站了起来，在屋里走来走去，紧锁着眉头，范妮虽然不敢抬头看，但却想象得出。过了一会，他以威严的口吻说：“孩子，你有什么理由认为克劳福德先生脾气不好吗？”
　　“没有，姨父。”
　　范妮很想加一句：“可我有理由认为他品行不端。”但是，一想到说了之后会引起争辩和解释，可能还说服不了姨父，一想到这可怕的前景，她便丧失了勇气。她对克劳福德先生的不良看法主要是凭着自己的观察得来的，看在两位表姐的分上，她不敢把实情告诉她们的父亲。玛丽亚和朱莉娅——尤其是玛丽亚，跟克劳福德先生的不端行为有着密切的牵连，她若是说出她对他的品行的看法，就势必会把她们俩暴露出来。她原以为，对像姨父这样目光敏锐、这样诚实、这样公正的一个人，只要她老实承认她确实不愿意就行了。使她感到极为伤心的是，她发现事实并非如此。
　　她战战兢兢，可怜巴巴地坐在桌边，托马斯爵士向桌子走来，铁板着脸，冷冰冰地说：“我看出来了，跟你说也没用。这场令人难堪的谈话最好到此结束。不能让克劳福德先生再等下去。考虑到我有责任表明我对你的行为的看法，我只想再补充几句：你辜负了我对你所抱的全部希望，你的个性与我原来所想的完全相反。范妮，我想你从我对你的态度上肯定可以看出，我回到英国之后，早已对你产生了非常好的印象。我原以为你一点不任性，一点不自负，一点独立个性都没有，如今还就流行这种独立个性，甚至在年轻女人中也很流行，这格外令人讨厌，令人反感。可是，你今天让我看出来了，你也会任性，也会倔强，你会自行其是，毫不考虑、毫不尊重那些完全有权指导你的人们的意见——甚至都不征求他们的意见。你的行为表明，你和我想象中的你截然不同。在这件事情上，你的家人——你的父母——你的兄弟、妹妹——你好像一时一刻也没把他们的利害放在心上。他们会得到多大好处，他们会为你攀得这门亲事感到多么高兴——这对你都无所谓。你心里只有你自己。你觉得自己对克劳福德先生感受不到年轻人幻想中的美满姻缘应有的激情，便决定立即拒绝他，甚至都不愿用点时间稍加考虑——不愿用点时间冷静地稍微再考虑一下，仔细想想自己是怎样打算的——硬是凭着一阵愚蠢的冲动，抛弃了一个解决婚姻大事的机会。这门亲事这么如意，这么体面，这么高贵，你也许永远也碰不到第二次。这个年轻人有头脑，有人品，脾气好，有教养，又有钱，还特别喜欢你，向你求婚是最慷慨无私不过了。我告诉你吧，范妮，你在这个世上再活十八年，也不会碰到一个能有克劳福德先生一半财产、或能有他十分之一优点的人向你求婚。我真乐意把我两个女儿中的任何一个嫁给他。玛丽亚嫁给了一个高贵人家——不过，假如克劳福德先生向朱莉娅求婚的话，我定会把朱莉娅许给他，比把玛丽亚许给拉什沃思先生还越发感到由衷的高兴。”停顿了片刻之后又说：“要是我的哪个女儿遇到一门婚事有这门婚事一半这么合适，也不征求我的意见，就立即断然拒绝，我会惊讶不已的。这种做法会使我大为惊异，大为伤心。我会觉得这是大逆不道。我不用这个尺度来衡量你。你对我没有做子女的义务。不过，范妮，要是你心里觉得你并没忘恩负义的话——”
　　他停了下来。这时范妮已经哭得很伤心了，托马斯爵士虽然怒气冲冲，但也不便再责怪下去。范妮的心都快碎了，姨父居然把她看成这样一个人，给她加了这么多、这么重的罪名，而且步步升级，真令人震惊！任性，固执，自私，忘恩负义。他认为她样样俱全。她辜负了他的期望，失去了他的好感。她该怎么办呢？
　　“我感到很抱歉，”范妮泪水涟涟、口齿不清地说，“我真的感到很抱歉。”
　　“抱歉！是呀，我希望你知道抱歉。你也许会为今天的行为长期抱歉下去。”
　　“假如我可以不这样做的话，”范妮又强打精神说，“可我深信我决不会使他幸福，我自己也会很痛苦。”
　　又一阵泪水涌了出来。她尽管泪如泉涌，尽管用了耸人听闻的痛苦这个字眼，并由此导致了她的痛哭不止，但托马斯爵士开始在想，她这一次痛哭可能表明她不再那么执拗，可能态度有点改变。他还在想，若是让那位年轻人亲自当面来求婚，效果肯定会好些。他知道范妮非常羞怯，极其紧张，觉得在这种状况下，求婚人若是坚持一段时间，追得紧一些，表现出一点耐心，也显出一点迫不及待，把这些因素调节得当，是会对她产生效果的。只要这位年轻人坚持不懈，只要他真爱范妮，能锲而不舍地坚持下去，托马斯爵士就抱有希望。一想到这里，他心里不禁高兴起来。“好了，”他以适度严肃而不那么气愤的口吻说，“好了，孩子，把眼泪擦干。流泪没有用，也没有好处。现在你跟我一块下楼去。已经让克劳福德先生等了很久了。你得亲自答复他，不然他是不会满意的。你只要对他解释他误以为你有意的原因，肯定是他误会了，这对他很不幸。我是绝对解释不了的。”
　　可范妮一听说要她下楼去见克劳福德先生，就显得很不愿意，也很痛苦。托马斯爵士考虑了一下，觉得最好由着她。这样一来，他对这两个青年男女所抱的希望就不那么高了。但是，当他瞧瞧外甥女，见她都哭得不成样子了，就觉得马上见面有好处也有坏处。因此，他说了几句无关紧要的话之后，便一个人走开了，任外甥女可怜巴巴地坐在那里，为发生的事情哭泣。
　　范妮心里一片混乱。过去、现在、未来，一切都那么可怕。不过，让她感到最痛苦的还是姨父的发脾气。自私自利，忘恩负义啊！她在他眼里成了这样的人！她会永远为此伤心。没有人为她袒护，替她出主意，帮她说话。她仅有的一个朋友还不在家。他也许会劝说父亲消消气，但是所有的人，也许所有的人都会认为她自私自利。她恐怕要反复不断地忍受这样的责备，她听得见，也看得着，知道周围的人会永远这样责备她。她不由得对克劳福德先生感到几分憎恨。不过，如果他真的爱她，而且也感到不幸呢！真是没完没了的不幸啊。
　　大约过了一刻钟，姨父又回来了。范妮一看见他，差一点晕过去。不过，他说起话来心平气和，并不严厉，也没有责备她，她稍微振作了一点。姨父从态度到言语都给了她一丝宽慰，他一开始便说：“克劳福德先生已经走了，刚刚离开。我用不着重复我们刚才都说了些什么。我不想告诉你他是怎么想的，免得进一步影响你的情绪。我只需说一句，他表现得极有绅士风度，极为慷慨大度，越发坚定了我对他的理智、心地和性情的极好印象。我向他讲了你的心情之后，他马上体贴万分地不再坚持要见你了。”．
　　范妮本来已抬起了眼睛，一听这话，又把头垂了下去。“当然，”姨父继续说，“可以料想，他要求和你单独谈一谈，哪怕五分钟也好。这个要求合情合理，无法拒绝。不过，并没有说定时间，也许在明天，或者等你心情平静下来之后。眼下你所要做的，是使自己平静下来。不要再哭了，哭会损害身体的。你要是像我想象的那样，愿意接受我的意见的话，那就不要放纵这种情感，而要尽量理智一些，心里坚强一些。我劝你到外边走走，新鲜空气会对你有好处。到砾石路上走上一个钟头，灌木林里没有别人，新鲜空气和户外活动会使你好起来。范妮，（又转回头说）我到楼下不提刚才发生的事，连你伯特伦姨妈我都不打算告诉。没有必要去宣扬这种令人失望的事情，你自己也别讲。”
　　这条命令真让范妮求之不得，她深深领会这番好意。她可以免受诺里斯姨妈没完没了的责骂啦！她打心里感激姨父。诺里斯姨妈的责骂比什么都让人难以忍受。即使与克劳福德先生见面也没有这么可怕。
　　她听了姨父的话立即走到户外，而且尽量不折不扣地遵照姨父的意见，止住了眼泪，竭力使自己平静下来，坚强起来。她想向他证明，她的确想让他高兴，想重新赢得他的好感。他让她出来活动使她产生了另一个强烈的动机，就是向两位姨妈彻底瞒住这件事。不要让自己的外表和神态引起她们的疑心，这是现在应该争取的目标。只要能免受诺里斯姨妈的责骂，让她干什么都可以。
　　她散步回来，再走进东屋的时候，不禁吃了一惊，而且是大吃一惊。她一进屋，首先映入眼帘的是一炉熊熊烈火。生火啦！这似乎有点过分了。恰在这个时候如此纵容她，使她感激到甚至痛楚的地步。她心里纳闷，托马斯爵士怎么会有闲心想到这样一件小事。但是过了不久，来生火的女仆主动地告知她，今后天天都要如此。托马斯爵士已经吩咐过了。
　　“我要是真的忘恩负义的话，那可真是狼心狗肺呀！”她自言自语地说。“愿上帝保佑我，可别忘恩负义啊！”
　　直到聚在一起吃饭的时候，她才又见到姨父和诺里斯姨妈。姨父尽量像以往一样对待她。她相信姨父肯定不想出现任何变化，只是她的良心觉得有了什么变化。但大姨妈不久便对她嚷了起来。当她听出大姨妈骂只是因为她也不跟她说一声就跑出去散步的时候，她越发觉得她应该感激姨父的一片好心，让她没有因为那个更重大的问题，而遭到同样的责骂。
　　“我要是知道你要出去，就会叫你到我家里替我吩咐南妮几件事，”地说。“结果我只得不辞辛苦地亲自跑一趟。我简直抽不出空来，你要是跟我们说一声你要出去，也就免去了我这番辛苦。我想，是到灌木林散步还是到我家走一趟，对你来说都一样。”
　　“是我建议范妮去灌木林的，那里干燥些，”托马斯爵士说。
　　“噢！”诺里斯太太克制了一下，说道，“你真好，托马斯爵士。可你不知道去我家的那条路有多干。我向你保证，范妮往那里走一趟也挺不错，还能办点事，给姨妈帮帮忙。这都怪她。她要是对我们说一声她要出去——不过范妮就是有点怪，我以前常有觉察，她就喜欢独自行动，不愿听别人的吩咐，只要有可能，就独自去散步。她确实有一点神秘、独立、冒失的味道，我要劝她改一改。”
　　大姨妈对范妮抱有这样的看法，托马斯爵士尽管今天也表示过同样的看法，但却觉得她的这番指责极不公平，便想转变话题，一次次地努力都没成功，因为诺里斯太太反应迟钝，不论现在还是以往任何时候，都看不出他对外甥女多么器重，看不出他多么不想让别人通过贬低外甥女的优点，来突出他自己孩子的优点。她一直在冲着范妮絮叨，对她这次私自出去散步愤然数落了半顿饭工夫。
　　不过，她终于骂完了。随着夜幕的降临，范妮在经历了上午的风暴之后，心情比她料想的要平静一些，愉快一些。不过，首先，她相信自己做得对，她的眼力没有将她引入歧途，她可以担保她的动机是纯洁的。第二，她自以为姨父的不快在逐渐消失，他要是能公正一点考虑这件事，他的不快还会进一步消失，并且觉得没有感情就嫁人该是多么可悲，多么可鄙，多么无望，多么不可原谅。凡是好人都会这样想的。
　　等明天她所担心的会面过去后，她就可以认为这个问题终于了结了，等克劳福德先生离开曼斯菲尔德后，一切就会恢复正常，好像什么也没发生一样。她不愿相信，也无法相信克劳福德先生对她的情意会折磨他多久，他不是那种人。伦敦会很快打消他对她的情意。到了伦敦，他会很快对自己的痴情感到莫名其妙，并且会庆幸她头脑清醒，使他没有陷入不幸。
　　就在范妮沉湎于这类希冀的时候，姨父便在茶后不久被叫了出去。这本是常有的事，并没引起她的注意，她也没把这当成一回事，直至十分钟后，男管家又回来了，并径直朝她走来，说道：“小姐，托马斯爵士想在他屋里和你谈谈。”这时，她心想那里可能有什么事。她满腹狐疑，不禁面色苍白。不过，她还是立即站了起来，准备听从吩咐。恰在这时，诺里斯太太大声嚷道：“别走，别走，范妮！你要干什么呀？你想去哪儿？不要这么急急忙忙的。你放心吧，叫的不是你，肯定是叫我的。（看了看男管家）你也太爱抢风头了。托马斯爵士叫你干什么？巴德利，你是说叫我的吧？我这就去。我敢肯定你说的是我，巴德利。托马斯爵士叫的是我，不是普莱斯小姐。”
　　可是巴德利非常果断。“不，太太，叫的是普莱斯小姐，确实是普莱斯小姐。”随即微微一笑，仿佛在说：“我看你去了根本不顶用。”
　　诺里斯太太讨了个没趣，只好故作镇静，又做起活来。范妮忐忑不安地走了出去，正像她担心的那样，转眼间，她发现自己单独和克劳福德先生在一起了。　
  
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Chapter Thirty-one

  Henry Crawford was at Mansfield Park again the next morning, and at an earlier hour than common visiting warrants. The two ladies were together in the breakfast-room, and, fortunately for him, Lady Bertram was on the very point of quitting it as he entered. She was almost at the door, and not chusing by any means to take so much trouble in vain, she still went on, after a civil reception, a short sentence about being waited for, and a "Let Sir Thomas know" to the servant.

  Henry, overjoyed to have her go, bowed and watched her off, and without losing another moment, turned instantly to Fanny, and, taking out some letters, said, with a most animated look, "I must acknowledge myself infinitely obliged to any creature who gives me such an opportunity of seeing you alone: I have been wishing it more than you can have any idea. Knowing as I do what your feelings as a sister are, I could hardly have borne that any one in the house should share with you in the first knowledge of the news I now bring. He is made. Your brother is a lieutenant. I have the infinite satisfaction of congratulating you on your brother's promotion. Here are the letters which announce it, this moment come to hand. You will, perhaps, like to see them."

  Fanny could not speak, but he did not want her to speak. To see the expression of her eyes, the change of her complexion, the progress of her feelings, their doubt, confusion, and felicity, was enough. She took the letters as he gave them. The first was from the Admiral to inform his nephew, in a few words, of his having succeeded in the object he had undertaken, the promotion of young Price, and enclosing two more, one from the Secretary of the First Lord to a friend, whom the Admiral had set to work in the business, the other from that friend to himself, by which it appeared that his lordship had the very great happiness of attending to the recommendation of Sir Charles; that Sir Charles was much delighted in having such an opportunity of proving his regard for Admiral Crawford, and that the circumstance of Mr. William Price's commission as Second Lieutenant of H.M. Sloop Thrush being made out was spreading general joy through a wide circle of great people.

  While her hand was trembling under these letters, her eye running from one to the other, and her heart swelling with emotion, Crawford thus continued, with unfeigned eagerness, to express his interest in the event--

  "I will not talk of my own happiness," said he, "great as it is, for I think only of yours. Compared with you, who has a right to be happy? I have almost grudged myself my own prior knowledge of what you ought to have known before all the world. I have not lost a moment, however. The post was late this morning, but there has not been since a moment's delay. How impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been on the subject, I will not attempt to describe; how severely mortified, how cruelly disappointed, in not having it finished while I was in London! I was kept there from day to day in the hope of it, for nothing less dear to me than such an object would have detained me half the time from Mansfield. But though my uncle entered into my wishes with all the warmth I could desire, and exerted himself immediately, there were difficulties from the absence of one friend, and the engagements of another, which at last I could no longer bear to stay the end of, and knowing in what good hands I left the cause, I came away on Monday, trusting that many posts would not pass before I should be followed by such very letters as these. My uncle, who is the very best man in the world, has exerted himself, as I knew he would, after seeing your brother. He was delighted with him. I would not allow myself yesterday to say how delighted, or to repeat half that the Admiral said in his praise. I deferred it all till his praise should be proved the praise of a friend, as this day _does_ prove it. _Now_ I may say that even I could not require William Price to excite a greater interest, or be followed by warmer wishes and higher commendation, than were most voluntarily bestowed by my uncle after the evening they had passed together."

  "Has this been all _your_ doing, then?" cried Fanny. "Good heaven! how very, very kind! Have you really-- was it by _your_ desire? I beg your pardon, but I am bewildered. Did Admiral Crawford apply? How was it? I am stupefied."

  Henry was most happy to make it more intelligible, by beginning at an earlier stage, and explaining very particularly what he had done. His last journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother in Hill Street, and prevailing on the Admiral to exert whatever interest he might have for getting him on. This had been his business. He had communicated it to no creature: he had not breathed a syllable of it even to Mary; while uncertain of the issue, he could not have borne any participation of his feelings, but this had been his business; and he spoke with such a glow of what his solicitude had been, and used such strong expressions, was so abounding in the _deepest_ _interest_, in _twofold_ _motives_, in _views_ _and_ _wishes_ _more_ _than_ _could_ _be_ _told_, that Fanny could not have remained insensible of his drift, had she been able to attend; but her heart was so full and her senses still so astonished, that she could listen but imperfectly even to what he told her of William, and saying only when he paused, "How kind! how very kind! Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you! Dearest, dearest William!" She jumped up and moved in haste towards the door, crying out, "I will go to my uncle. My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible." But this could not be suffered. The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. He was after her immediately. "She must not go, she must allow him five minutes longer," and he took her hand and led her back to her seat, and was in the middle of his farther explanation, before she had suspected for what she was detained. When she did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe that she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for William was to be placed to the account of his excessive and unequalled attachment to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for some moments unable to speak. She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry, which meant only to deceive for the hour; she could not but feel that it was treating her improperly and unworthily, and in such a way as she had not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before; and she would not allow herself to shew half the displeasure she felt, because he had been conferring an obligation, which no want of delicacy on his part could make a trifle to her. While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf, she could not be severely resentful of anything that injured only herself; and after having twice drawn back her hand, and twice attempted in vain to turn away from him, she got up, and said only, with much agitation, "Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray don't! I beg you would not. This is a sort of talking which is very unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot bear it." But he was still talking on, describing his affection, soliciting a return, and, finally, in words so plain as to bear but one meaning even to her, offering himself, hand, fortune, everything, to her acceptance. It was so; he had said it. Her astonishment and confusion increased; and though still not knowing how to suppose him serious, she could hardly stand. He pressed for an answer.

  "No, no, no!" she cried, hiding her face. "This is all nonsense. Do not distress me. I can hear no more of this. Your kindness to William makes me more obliged to you than words can express; but I do not want, I cannot bear, I must not listen to such--No, no, don't think of me. But you are _not_ thinking of me. I know it is all nothing."

  She had burst away from him, and at that moment Sir Thomas was heard speaking to a servant in his way towards the room they were in. It was no time for farther assurances or entreaty, though to part with her at a moment when her modesty alone seemed, to his sanguine and preassured mind, to stand in the way of the happiness he sought, was a cruel necessity. She rushed out at an opposite door from the one her uncle was approaching, and was walking up and down the East room ill the utmost confusion of contrary feeling, before Sir Thomas's politeness or apologies were over, or he had reached the beginning of the joyful intelligence which his visitor came to communicate.

  She was feeling, thinking, trembling about everything; agitated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry. It was all beyond belief! He was inexcusable, incomprehensible! But such were his habits that he could do nothing without a mixture of evil. He had previously made her the happiest of human beings, and now he had insulted--she knew not what to say, how to class, or how to regard it. She would not have him be serious, and yet what could excuse the use of such words and offers, if they meant but to trifle?

  But William was a lieutenant. _That_ was a fact beyond a doubt, and without an alloy. She would think of it for ever and forget all the rest. Mr. Crawford would certainly never address her so again: he must have seen how unwelcome it was to her; and in that case, how gratefully she could esteem him for his friendship to William!

  She would not stir farther from the East room than the head of the great staircase, till she had satisfied herself of Mr. Crawford's having left the house; but when convinced of his being gone, she was eager to go down and be with her uncle, and have all the happiness of his joy as well as her own, and all the benefit of his information or his conjectures as to what would now be William's destination. Sir Thomas was as joyful as she could desire, and very kind and communicative; and she had so comfortable a talk with him about William as to make her feel as if nothing had occurred to vex her, till she found, towards the close, that Mr. Crawford was engaged to return and dine there that very day. This was a most unwelcome hearing, for though he might think nothing of what had passed, it would be quite distressing to her to see him again so soon.

  She tried to get the better of it; tried very hard, as the dinner hour approached, to feel and appear as usual; but it was quite impossible for her not to look most shy and uncomfortable when their visitor entered the room. She could not have supposed it in the power of any concurrence of circumstances to give her so many painful sensations on the first day of hearing of William's promotion.

  Mr. Crawford was not only in the room--he was soon close to her. He had a note to deliver from his sister. Fanny could not look at him, but there was no consciousness of past folly in his voice. She opened her note immediately, glad to have anything to do, and happy, as she read it, to feel that the fidgetings of her aunt Norris, who was also to dine there, screened her a little from view.

  
"My dear Fanny,
--for so I may now always call you, to the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at _Miss_ _Price_ for at least the last six weeks-- I cannot let my brother go without sending you a few lines of general congratulation, and giving my most joyful consent and approval. Go on, my dear Fanny, and without fear; there can be no difficulties worth naming. I chuse to suppose that the assurance of my consent will be something; so you may smile upon him with your sweetest smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even happier than he goes --
Yours affectionately, M. C.
"


  These were not expressions to do Fanny any good; for though she read in too much haste and confusion to form the clearest judgment of Miss Crawford's meaning, it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and even to _appear_ to believe it serious. She did not know what to do, or what to think. There was wretchedness in the idea of its being serious; there was perplexity and agitation every way. She was distressed whenever Mr. Crawford spoke to her, and he spoke to her much too often; and she was afraid there was a something in his voice and manner in addressing her very different from what they were when he talked to the others. Her comfort in that day's dinner was quite destroyed: she could hardly eat anything; and when Sir Thomas good-humouredly observed that joy had taken away her appetite, she was ready to sink with shame, from the dread of Mr. Crawford's interpretation; for though nothing could have tempted her to turn her eyes to the right hand, where he sat, she felt that _his_ were immediately directed towards her.

  She was more silent than ever. She would hardly join even when William was the subject, for his commission came all from the right hand too, and there was pain in the connexion.

  She thought Lady Bertram sat longer than ever, and began to be in despair of ever getting away; but at last they were in the drawing-room, and she was able to think as she would, while her aunts finished the subject of William's appointment in their own style.

  Mrs. Norris seemed as much delighted with the saving it would be to Sir Thomas as with any part of it. "_Now_ William would be able to keep himself, which would make a vast difference to his uncle, for it was unknown how much he had cost his uncle; and, indeed, it would make some difference in _her_ presents too. She was very glad that she had given William what she did at parting, very glad, indeed, that it had been in her power, without material inconvenience, just at that time to give him something rather considerable; that is, for_her_, with _her_ limited means, for now it would all be useful in helping to fit up his cabin. She knew he must be at some expense, that he would have many things to buy, though to be sure his father and mother would be able to put him in the way of getting everything very cheap; but she was very glad she had contributed her mite towards it."

  "I am glad you gave him something considerable," said Lady Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness, "for _I_ gave him only 10."

  "Indeed!" cried Mrs. Norris, reddening. "Upon my word, he must have gone off with his pockets 1 well lined, and at no expense for his journey to London either!"

  "Sir Thomas told me 10 would be enough."

  Mrs. Norris, being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency, began to take the matter in another point.

  "It is amazing," said she, "how much young people cost their friends, what with bringing them up and putting them out in the world! They little think how much it comes to, or what their parents, or their uncles and aunts, pay for them in the course of the year. Now, here are my sister Price's children; take them all together, I dare say nobody would believe what a sum they cost Sir Thomas every year, to say nothing of what _I_ do for them."

  "Very true, sister, as you say. But, poor things! they cannot help it; and you know it makes very little difference to Sir Thomas. Fanny, William must not forget my shawl if he goes to the East Indies; and I shall give him a commission for anything else that is worth having. I wish he may go to the East Indies, that I may have my shawl. I think I will have two shawls, Fanny."

  Fanny, meanwhile, speaking only when she could not help it, was very earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss Crawford were at. There was everything in the world _against_ their being serious but his words and manner. Everything natural, probable, reasonable, was against it; all their habits and ways of thinking, and all her own demerits. How could _she_ have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many, and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors; who seemed so little open to serious impressions, even where pains had been taken to please him; who thought so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points; who was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him? And farther, how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding anything of a serious nature in such a quarter? Nothing could be more unnatural in either. Fanny was ashamed of her own doubts. Everything might be possible rather than serious attachment, or serious approbation of it toward her. She had quite convinced herself of this before Sir Thomas and Mr. Crawford joined them. The difficulty was in maintaining the conviction quite so absolutely after Mr. Crawford was in the room; for once or twice a look seemed forced on her which she did not know how to class among the common meaning; in any other man, at least, she would have said that it meant something very earnest, very pointed. But she still tried to believe it no more than what he might often have expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women.

  She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by the rest. She fancied he was trying for it the whole evening at intervals, whenever Sir Thomas was out of the room, or at all engaged with Mrs. Norris, and she carefully refused him every opportunity.

  At last--it seemed an at last to Fanny's nervousness, though not remarkably late--he began to talk of going away; but the comfort of the sound was impaired by his turning to her the next moment, and saying, "Have you nothing to send to Mary? No answer to her note? She will be disappointed if she receives nothing from you. Pray write to her, if it be only a line."

  "Oh yes! certainly," cried Fanny, rising in haste, the haste of embarrassment and of wanting to get away-- "I will write directly."

  She went accordingly to the table, where she was in the habit of writing for her aunt, and prepared her materials without knowing what in the world to say. She had read Miss Crawford's note only once, and how to reply to anything so imperfectly understood was most distressing. Quite unpractised in such sort of note-writing, had there been time for scruples and fears as to style she would have felt them in abundance: but something must be instantly written; and with only one decided feeling, that of wishing not to appear to think anything really intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of spirits and hand--

  "I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss Crawford, for your kind congratulations, as far as they relate to my dearest William. The rest of your note I know means nothing; but I am so unequal to anything of the sort, that I hope you will excuse my begging you to take no farther notice. I have seen too much of Mr. Crawford not to understand his manners; if he understood me as well, he would, I dare say, behave differently. I do not know what I write, but it would be a great favour of you never to mention the subject again. With thanks for the honour of your note, I remain, dear Miss Crawford, etc., etc."

  The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing fright, for she found that Mr. Crawford, under pretence of receiving the note, was coming towards her.

  "You cannot think I mean to hurry you," said he, in an undervoice, perceiving the amazing trepidation with which she made up the note, "you cannot think I have any such object. Do not hurry yourself, I entreat."

  "Oh! I thank you; I have quite done, just done; it will be ready in a moment; I am very much obliged to you; if you will be so good as to give _that_ to Miss Crawford."

  The note was held out, and must be taken; and as she instantly and with averted eyes walked towards the fireplace, where sat the others, he had nothing to do but to go in good earnest.

  Fanny thought she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day; for every day would restore the knowledge of William's advancement, whereas the pain, she hoped, would return no more. She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no arrangement; but at least it would assure them both of her being neither imposed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.



　　第二天上午，亨利·克劳福德又来到了曼斯菲尔德庄园，而且到的比平常访亲拜友的时间要早。两位女士都在早餐厅里。幸运的是，他进来的时候，伯特伦夫人正要出去。她差不多走到门口了，也不想白走这么远再折回去，于是便客气地打了个招呼，说了声有人等她，吩咐仆人“禀报托马斯爵士”，然后继续往外走。
　　亨利见她要走喜不自禁，躬身行了个礼，目送她走去，然后便抓紧时机，立即转身走到范妮跟前，掏出了几封信，眉飞色舞地说：“我必须承认，无论谁给我个机会让我与你单独相见，我都感激不尽：你想不到我是怎样在盼望这样一个机会。我了解你做妹妹的心情，不希望这一家的任何人与你同时得到我现在给你带来的消息。他晋升了。你哥哥当上少尉了。我怀着无比高兴的心情，向你祝贺你哥哥晋升。这是这些信上说的，都是刚刚收到的。你也许想看看吧。”
　　范妮说不出话来，不过他也不需要她说话。看看她的眼神，脸色的变化，心情的演变，由怀疑，到慌张，到欣喜，也就足够了。范妮把信接了过去。第一封是海军将军写给侄子的，只有寥寥数语，告诉侄子说，他把提升小普莱斯的事办成了。里边还附了两封信，一封是海军大臣的秘书写给将军委托的朋友的，另一封是那位朋友写给将军本人的。从信里可以看出，海军大臣非常高兴地批阅了查尔斯爵士的推荐信，查尔斯爵士很高兴有这么个机会向克劳福德将军表示自己的敬意，威廉·普莱斯先生被任命为英国皇家轻巡洋舰“画眉”号的少尉这一消息传出后，不少要人都为之高兴。
　　范妮的手在信纸下边颤抖，眼睛从这封信看到那封，心里激动不已。克劳福德情急心切地继续表白他在这件事情上所起的作用。
　　“我不想谈我自己如何高兴，”他说，“尽管我欣喜万分。我只想到你的幸福。与你相比，谁还配得上幸福呢？这件事本该是让你最先知道的，我并不愿意比你先知道。不过，我是一刻也没耽搁呀。今天早上邮件来迟了，但我收到后一分钟也没耽搁。我在这件事上如何焦急，如何不安，如何发狂，我不打算描述。在伦敦期间还没有办成，我真是羞愧难当，失望至极啊！我一天又一天地待在那里，就是盼望办成这件事，如果不是为了这样一件对我来说至关重要的事情，我决不会离开曼斯菲尔德这么长时间。但是，尽管我叔父满腔热情地答应了我的要求，立即着手操办起来，可是依然有些困难，一个朋友不在家，另一个朋友有事脱不了身，我想等最后也等不下去了，心想事情已经托给可靠的入，便于星期一动身回来了，相信要不了几天就会收到这样的信。我叔叔是世上最好的人，他可是尽心尽力了，我就知道，他见到你哥哥之后是会尽力帮忙的。他喜欢你哥哥。昨天我没有告诉你将军是多么喜欢他，也没有怎么透露将军怎样夸奖他。我要拖一拖再说，等到他的夸奖被证明是来自朋友的夸奖。今天算是得到了证明。现在我可以告诉你，连我都没有料到，他们那天晚上相会之后，我叔父会对威廉·普莱斯那么感兴趣，对他的事情那么热心，又对他那样称赞。这一切完全是我叔父自愿表示出来的。”
　　“那么，这一切都是你努力的结果吧？”范妮嚷道。“天哪！太好了，真是太好啦！你真的——真的是你提出来的吧？请原谅，我给搞糊涂了。是克劳福德将军要求的吗？是怎么办成的？我给搞糊涂了。”
　　亨利兴致勃勃地做了说明，从早一些时候讲起，着重解释了他起的作用。他这次去伦敦没有别的事情，只想把她哥哥引荐到希尔街，劝说将军尽量运用他的关系帮他晋升。这就是他的使命。他对谁都没说起过，甚至对玛丽都只字未提。他当时还不能肯定结果如何，因而不想让别人知道他的心思。不过，这就是他的使命。他大为感慨地讲起他如何关心这件事，用了那么热烈的字眼，尽是什么“最深切的关心”，“双重的动机”，“不便说出的目的和愿望”，范妮要是注意听的话，是不会总也听不出他的意思的。然而，她由于惊喜交集、无暇他顾，就连他讲到威廉的时候，她都听不完全，等他停下来时，她只是说： “多好的心啊！多么好的心啊！噢！克劳福德先生，我们对你感激不尽。最亲爱的，最亲爱的威廉啊！”她霍地站起来，匆匆向门口走去，一边嚷道：“我要去见姨父。应该尽快让姨父知道。”但是，这可不成。这是个千载难逢的良机，亨利心里已经迫不及待了。他立即追了上去。“你不能走，你得再给我五分钟。”说着抓住了她的手，把她领回到座位上，又向她解释了一番．她还没有明白为什么不让她走。然而，等她明白过来，发现对方说什么她已引起了他从来不曾有过的感情，他为威廉所做的一切都是出于对她的无限的、无可比拟的爱，她感到万分痛苦，很久说不出活来。她认为这一切实在荒谬，只不过是骗人的逢场作戏、献殷勤。她感到这是用不正当、不体面的手法对待她，她不应该受到这样的对待。不过，这正符合他的为人，与她所见到的他以往的行径如出一辙。可她还是抑制住自己，尽量不把心里的不快流露出来，因为他毕竟有恩于她，不管他怎样粗俗放浪，她都不能轻慢小看这番恩情。这时，她一颗心还在扑扑直跳，光顾得为威廉高兴，为威廉感到庆幸，而对于仅仅伤害自己的事情，却不会怨恨不已。她两次把手缩回来，两次想摆脱他而没摆脱掉，便站了起来，非常激动地说：“不要这样，克劳福德先生，请你不要这样。我求你不要这样。我不喜欢这样的谈话。我得走了。我受不了。”可是对方还在说，倾诉他的钟情，求她给以回报，最后，话已说得十分露骨，连范妮也听出了个中意思：他把他的人，他的一生，他的财产，他的一切都献给她，要她接受。就是这个意思，他已经说出来了。范妮愈来愈感到惊讶，愈来愈心慌意乱。虽然还拿不准他的话是真是假，她几乎站不住了。对方催她答复。
　　“不，不，不，”范妮捂着脸叫道。“这完全是无稽之谈。不要惹我苦恼了。我不要再听这样的话了。你对威廉的好处使我说不出对你有多感激。但是，我不需要，受不了，也不想听你这些话——不，不，不要动我的心思。不过，你也不在动我的心思。我知道这是没有的事儿。”
　　她已经挣脱了他。这当儿，托马斯爵士正在向他们这间屋子走来，只听他在跟一个仆人说话。这就来不及再诉爱求情了，不过亨利过于乐观自信，觉得她只不过是由于故作娇羞，才没有让他立即得到他所追求的幸福，在这个节骨眼上跟她分手，未免有些太残酷了。她姨父朝这个门走来，她以对面那个门冲出去。托马斯爵士与客人还没寒暄完，或者说客人刚刚开始向他报告他带来的喜讯，她已经在东屋里走来走去了，心里极其矛盾，也极其混乱。
　　她在思索、在捉摸每一桩事，也为每一桩事担忧。她激动，快活，苦闷，感激不尽，恼火至极。这一切简直令人难以置信！克劳福德不可原谅，也不可理解！不过，这是他的一贯行径，做什么事都掺杂点邪念。他先使她成为世上最快活的人，后来又侮辱了她——她不知道怎样说为好——不知道怎样分析、怎样看待这件事。她想把他看做耍儿戏，但若真是耍儿戏，为什么要说这样一些话，做出这样的许愿呢？
　　不过，威廉当上了少尉。这可是毋庸置疑、毫不掺假的事实。她愿永远牢记这一点，忘掉其余的一切。克劳福德先生肯定再也不会向她求爱了，他肯定看出对方是多么不欢迎他这样做。若是如此，就凭他对威廉的帮助，她该如何感激他呀！
　　在没有肯定克劳福德先生已经离开这座房子之前，她的活动范围从不超过从东屋到中间楼梯口。可等她确信他走了之后，她便急忙下楼去找姨父，跟他分享彼此的喜悦之情，听他讲解或猜测威廉现在会去什么地方。托马斯爵士正如她期望的那样不胜高兴，他还非常慈爱，话也很多。她和他谈起了威廉，谈得非常投机，使她忘记了先前令她烦恼的事情。可是，等谈话快结束的时候，她发现克劳福德先生已约定当天还要回到这里吃饭。这可是个令她极其扫兴的消息。虽然他可能不会把已经过去的事放在心上，但是这么快又见到他使她感到十分别扭。
　　她试图让自己平静下来。快到吃晚饭的时候，她尽量使自己心里感觉像平常一样，外表看上去也像平常一样。但是，等客人进屋的时候，她又情不由己地显得极为羞怯，极不自在。她万万没有想到，在听到威廉晋升的第一天，居然会有什么事情搅得她如此痛苦。
　　克劳福德先生不只是进到屋里，而且很快来到了她跟前。他把她妹妹的一封信转交给她。范妮不敢看他，但从他的声音中听不出为上次说的蠢话感到羞愧。她立即把信拆开，很高兴能有点事情做做。还使她感到高兴的是，诺里斯姨妈也来吃饭，她不停地动来动去，范妮读信时觉得受到了一点遮掩。
亲爱的范妮：
　　从现在起我可能要永远这样称呼你，以使我的舌头得到彻底的解放，不要再像过去那样，笨拙地叫了你至少六个星期的普莱斯小姐——我要写上几句话叫我哥哥带给你，向你表示热烈的祝贺，并且万分高兴地表示我的赞成和支持。勇往直前吧，亲爱的范妮，不要畏惧。没有什么了不起的障碍。我自信我表示赞成会起一定作用。因此，今天下午你就拿出你最甜蜜的微笑对他笑脸相迎吧，让他回来的时候比去时更加幸福。
　　
你亲爱的
　　玛·克

　　这些话对范妮没有丝毫的帮助。她匆匆地读着信，心里乱糟糟的，猜不透克劳福德小姐信里的意思，但是看得出来，她是在祝贺她赢得了她哥哥的钟情，甚至看来好像信以为真似的。她不知所措，莫衷一是。一想到这是真的，便为之愁苦不堪，怎么都想不通，心里只觉得忐忑不安。克劳福德先生每次跟她说话，她都感到烦恼，而他又偏偏爱跟她说话。她觉得他跟她说话的时候，从口气到态度都有点特别，与他跟别人说话的时候大不相同。她这天吃饭的胃口给破坏殆尽，几乎什么都吃不下去。托马斯爵士开玩笑说，她是高兴得吃不下饭，她羞得快挺不住了，生怕克劳福德先生对她姨父的话有别的领会。他就坐在她的右手，虽然她一眼也不想看他，但她觉得他的眼睛却一直在盯着她。
　　她比什么时候都沉默寡言，就连谈到威廉的时候，也很少开口，因为他的晋升完全是坐在她右手的这个人周旋的结果，一联想到这一点，她就感到凄楚难言。
　　她觉得伯特伦夫人比哪次坐席都久，担心这次宴席永远散不了。不过，大家终于来到了客厅，两位姨妈以自己的方式谈起威廉的任命，这时范妮才有机会去想自己愿意想的事情。
　　诺里斯太太所以对这件事感到高兴，主要是因为这给托马斯爵士省了钱。“现在威廉可以自己养活自己了，这对他二姨父来说可就非同小可了，因为谁也说不准他二姨父为他破费了多少。说实在的，今后我也可以少送东西了。我很高兴，这次威廉走的时候给他送了点东西。我的确感到很高兴，当时在手头不太拮据的情况下，还能给他送了点像样的东西。对我来说是很像样，因为我家财力有限，现在要是用来布置他的房舱，那东西可就有了用场了。我知道他要花些钱，要买不少东西，虽然他父母会帮他把样样东西都买得很便宜，但我很高兴我也尽了点心。”
　　“我很高兴你给了他点像样的东西，”伯特伦夫人对她的话深信不疑，平平静静地说道。“我只给了他十英镑。”
　　“真的呀！”诺里斯太太脸红起来，嚷道。“我敢说，他走的时候口袋里肯定装满了钱！再说，去伦敦的路上也不要他花钱呀！”
　　“托马斯爵士对我说给他十英镑就够了。”
　　诺里斯太太无意探究十英镑够还是不够，却从另一个角度看待这个问题。
　　“真令人吃惊，”她说，“看看这些年轻人，从把他们抚养成人，到帮他们进入社会，朋友们要为他们花多少钱啊！他们很少去想这些钱加起来会有多少，也很少去想他们的父母、姨父姨妈一年要为他们花多少钱。就拿我普莱斯妹妹家的孩子来说吧，把他们加到一起，我敢说谁也不敢相信每年要花托马斯爵士多少钱，还不算我给他们的补贴。”
　　“你说得一点不错，姐姐。不过，孩子们真可怜呀！他们也是没办法。再说你也知道，这对托马斯爵士来说，也算不了什么。范妮，威廉要是到东印度群岛去的话，叫他别忘了给我带一条披巾。还有什么别的好东西，我也托他给我买。我希望他去东印度群岛，这样我就会有披巾了。我想要两条披巾，范妮。”
　　这当儿，范妮只有迫不得已时才说话。她一心急于弄明白克劳福德兄妹俩打的什么主意。除了那哥哥的话和态度之外，无论从哪方面来看，他们都不会是真心实意的。考虑到他们的习性和思想方法，以及她本人的不利条件，从哪方面来看，这件事都是不合常情的，说不过去，也不大可能。他见过多少女人，受过多少女人的爱慕，跟多少女人调过情，而这些女人都比她强得多。人家费尽心机地想取悦他，都没法打动他。他把这种事情看得这么淡，总是满不在乎，无动于衷。别人都觉得他了不起，他却似乎瞧不起任何人。她怎么会激起这样一个人真心爱她呢？而且，他妹妹在婚姻问题上讲究门第，看重利益，怎么能设想她会认真促成这样一件事呢？他们两个表现得太反常了。范妮越想越感到羞愧。什么事情都有可能，唯独他不可能真心爱她，他妹妹也不可能真心赞成他爱她。托马斯爵士和克劳福德先生没来客厅之前，她对此已经深信不疑了。克劳福德先生进来之后，她又难以对此坚信不移了，因为他有一两次投向她的目光，她无法将之归结为一般的意思。至少，若是别人这样看她，她会说那蕴涵着一种十分恳切、十分明显的情意。但她仍然尽力把这看做他对她的两位表姐和众多别的女人经常施展的手段。
　　她感到他就想背着别人跟她说话。她觉得，整个晚上每逢托马斯爵士出去的时候，或者每逢托马斯爵士跟诺里斯太太谈得起劲的时候，他就在寻找这样的机会，不过她总是谨慎地躲着他，不给他任何机会。
　　最后——似乎范妮的忐忑不安终于结束了，不过结束得不算太晚——他提出要走了。范妮一听这话如释重负，然而霎时间他又转过脸来，对她说道：“你没有什么东西捎给玛丽吗？不给她封回信吗？她要是什么都收不到的话，是会失望的。给她写个回信吧，哪怕只写一行也好。”
　　“噢！是的，当然，”范妮嚷道，一边匆忙站起来，急于摆脱这种窘迫，急于赶紧走开。“我这就去写。”
　　于是她走到她常替姨妈写信的桌边，提笔准备写信，可又压根儿不知道写什么是好！克劳福德小姐的信她只看过一遍，本来就没看明白，要答复实在令人伤脑筋。她从没写过这种信，如果还来得及对信的格调产生疑虑的话，那她真会疑虑重重。但是必须马上写出点东西来。她心里只有一个明确的念头，那就是希望对方读后不会觉得她真的有意。她动笔写了起来，身心都在激烈地颤抖：
　　亲爱的克劳福德小姐，非常感谢你对最亲爱的威廉的事表示衷心的祝贺。信的其余内容，在我看来毫无意义。对于这种事情，我深感不配，希望今后不要再提。我和克劳福德先生相识已久，深知他的为人。他若对我同样了解的话，想必不会有此举动。临笔惶然，不知所云，倘能不再提及此事，定会不胜感激。承蒙来信，谨致谢忱。
　　亲爱的克劳福德小姐，永远是你的……
　　结尾到底写了些什么，她在慌乱中也搞不清楚了，因为她发现，克劳福德先生借口取信向她走来。
　　“不要以为我是来催你的，”他看她惊慌失措地将信折叠装封，压低了声音说。“不要以为我有这个意思。我恳求你不要着急。”
　　“噢！谢谢你，我已经写完了，刚刚写完～—马上就好了——我将非常感激你——如果你能把这封信转交给克劳福德小姐。”
　　信递过来了，只好接下。范妮立即别过脸朝众人围坐的炉边走去，克劳福德先生无事可做，只好一本正经地走掉了。
　　范妮觉得她从来没有这样激动过，既为痛苦而激动，又为快乐而激动。不过，所幸的是，这种快乐不会随着这一天过去而消逝——因为她天天都不会忘怀威廉的晋升，而那痛苦，她希望会一去不复返。她毫不怀疑，她的信肯定写得糟糕透顶，语句还不如一个孩子组织得好，谁叫她心烦意乱的，根本无法斟酌推敲。不过，这封信会让他们两人都明白，克劳福德先生的百般殷勤既骗不了她，也不会让她为之得意。　
  
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一二三四五六七~~~
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Chapter Thirty

  Miss Crawford's uneasiness was much lightened by this conversation, and she walked home again in spirits which might have defied almost another week of the same small party in the same bad weather, had they been put to the proof; but as that very evening brought her brother down from London again in quite, or more than quite, his usual cheerfulness, she had nothing farther to try her own. His still refusing to tell her what he had gone for was but the promotion of gaiety; a day before it might have irritated, but now it was a pleasant joke-- suspected only of concealing something planned as a pleasant surprise to herself. And the next day _did_ bring a surprise to her. Henry had said he should just go and ask the Bertrams how they did, and be back in ten minutes, but he was gone above an hour; and when his sister, who had been waiting for him to walk with her in the garden, met him at last most impatiently in the sweep, and cried out, "My dear Henry, where can you have been all this time?" he had only to say that he had been sitting with Lady Bertram and Fanny.

  "Sitting with them an hour and a half!" exclaimed Mary.

  But this was only the beginning of her surprise.

  "Yes, Mary," said he, drawing her arm within his, and walking along the sweep as if not knowing where he was: "I could not get away sooner; Fanny looked so lovely! I am quite determined, Mary. My mind is entirely made up. Will it astonish you? No: you must be aware that I am quite determined to marry Fanny Price."

  The surprise was now complete; for, in spite of whatever his consciousness might suggest, a suspicion of his having any such views had never entered his sister's imagination; and she looked so truly the astonishment she felt, that he was obliged to repeat what he had said, and more fully and more solemnly. The conviction of his determination once admitted, it was not unwelcome. There was even pleasure with the surprise. Mary was in a state of mind to rejoice in a connexion with the Bertram family, and to be not displeased with her brother's marrying a little beneath him.

  "Yes, Mary," was Henry's concluding assurance. "I am fairly caught. You know with what idle designs I began; but this is the end of them. I have, I flatter myself, made no inconsiderable progress in her affections; but my own are entirely fixed."

  "Lucky, lucky girl!" cried Mary, as soon as she could speak; "what a match for her! My dearest Henry, this must be my _first_ feeling; but my _second_, which you shall have as sincerely, is, that I approve your choice from my soul, and foresee your happiness as heartily as I wish and desire it. You will have a sweet little wife; all gratitude and devotion. Exactly what you deserve. What an amazing match for her! Mrs. Norris often talks of her luck; what will she say now? The delight of all the family, indeed! And she has some _true_ friends in it! How _they_ will rejoice! But tell me all about it! Talk to me for ever. When did you begin to think seriously about her?"

  Nothing could be more impossible than to answer such a question, though nothing could be more agreeable than to have it asked. "How the pleasing plague had stolen on him" he could not say; and before he had expressed the same sentiment with a little variation of words three times over, his sister eagerly interrupted him with, "Ah, my dear Henry, and this is what took you to London! This was your business! You chose to consult the Admiral before you made up your mind."

  But this he stoutly denied. He knew his uncle too well to consult him on any matrimonial scheme. The Admiral hated marriage, and thought it never pardonable in a young man of independent fortune.

  "When Fanny is known to him," continued Henry, "he will doat on her. She is exactly the woman to do away every prejudice of such a man as the Admiral, for she he would describe, if indeed he has now delicacy of language enough to embody his own ideas. But till it is absolutely settled-- settled beyond all interference, he shall know nothing of the matter. No, Mary, you are quite mistaken. You have not discovered my business yet."

  "Well, well, I am satisfied. I know now to whom it must relate, and am in no hurry for the rest. Fanny Price! wonderful, quite wonderful! That Mansfield should have done so much for--that _you_ should have found your fate in Mansfield! But you are quite right; you could not have chosen better. There is not a better girl in the world, and you do not want for fortune; and as to her connexions, they are more than good. The Bertrams are undoubtedly some of the first people in this country. She is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram; that will be enough for the world. But go on, go on. Tell me more. What are your plans? Does she know her own happiness?"

  "No."

  "What are you waiting for?"

  "For--for very little more than opportunity. Mary, she is not like her cousins; but I think I shall not ask in vain."

  "Oh no! you cannot. Were you even less pleasing-- supposing her not to love you already (of which, however, I can have little doubt)--you would be safe. The gentleness and gratitude of her disposition would secure her all your own immediately. From my soul I do not think she would marry you _without_ love; that is, if there is a girl in the world capable of being uninfluenced by ambition, I can suppose it her; but ask her to love you, and she will never have the heart to refuse."

  As soon as her eagerness could rest in silence, he was as happy to tell as she could be to listen; and a conversation followed almost as deeply interesting to her as to himself, though he had in fact nothing to relate but his own sensations, nothing to dwell on but Fanny's charms. Fanny's beauty of face and figure, Fanny's graces of manner and goodness of heart, were the exhaustless theme. The gentleness, modesty, and sweetness of her character were warmly expatiated on; that sweetness which makes so essential a part of every woman's worth in the judgment of man, that though he sometimes loves where it is not, he can never believe it absent. Her temper he had good reason to depend on and to praise. He had often seen it tried. Was there one of the family, excepting Edmund, who had not in some way or other continually exercised her patience and forbearance? Her affections were evidently strong. To see her with her brother! What could more delightfully prove that the warmth of her heart was equal to its gentleness? What could be more encouraging to a man who had her love in view? Then, her understanding was beyond every suspicion, quick and clear; and her manners were the mirror of her own modest and elegant mind. Nor was this all. Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious.

  "I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her," said he; "and _that_ is what I want."

  Well might his sister, believing as she really did that his opinion of Fanny Price was scarcely beyond her merits, rejoice in her prospects.

  "The more I think of it," she cried, "the more am I convinced that you are doing quite right; and though I should never have selected Fanny Price as the girl most likely to attach you, I am now persuaded she is the very one to make you happy. Your wicked project upon her peace turns out a clever thought indeed. You will both find your good in it."

  "It was bad, very bad in me against such a creature; but I did not know her then; and she shall have no reason to lament the hour that first put it into my head. I will make her very happy, Mary; happier than she has ever yet been herself, or ever seen anybody else. I will not take her from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood; perhaps Stanwix Lodge. I shall let a seven years' lease of Everingham. I am sure of an excellent tenant at half a word. I could name three people now, who would give me my own terms and thank me."

  "Ha!" cried Mary; "settle in Northamptonshire! That is pleasant! Then we shall be all together."

  When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and wished it unsaid; but there was no need of confusion; for her brother saw her only as the supposed inmate of Mansfield parsonage, and replied but to invite her in the kindest manner to his own house, and to claim the best right in her.

  "You must give us more than half your time," said he. "I cannot admit Mrs. Grant to have an equal claim with Fanny and myself, for we shall both have a right in you. Fanny will be so truly your sister!"

  Mary had only to be grateful and give general assurances; but she was now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither brother nor sister many months longer.

  "You will divide your year between London and Northamptonshire?"

  "Yes."

  "That's right; and in London, of course, a house of your own: no longer with the Admiral. My dearest Henry, the advantage to you of getting away from the Admiral before your manners are hurt by the contagion of his, before you have contracted any of his foolish opinions, or learned to sit over your dinner as if it were the best blessing of life! _You_ are not sensible of the gain, for your regard for him has blinded you; but, in my estimation, your marrying early may be the saving of you. To have seen you grow like the Admiral in word or deed, look or gesture, would have broken my heart."

  "Well, well, we do not think quite alike here. The Admiral has his faults, but he is a very good man, and has been more than a father to me. Few fathers would have let me have my own way half so much. You must not prejudice Fanny against him. I must have them love one another."

  Mary refrained from saying what she felt, that there could not be two persons in existence whose characters and manners were less accordant: time would discover it to him; but she could not help _this_ reflection on the Admiral. "Henry, I think so highly of Fanny Price, that if I could suppose the next Mrs. Crawford would have half the reason which my poor ill-used aunt had to abhor the very name, I would prevent the marriage, if possible; but I know you: I know that a wife you _loved_ would be the happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, she would yet find in you the liberality and good-breeding of a gentleman."

  The impossibility of not doing everything in the world to make Fanny Price happy, or of ceasing to love Fanny Price, was of course the groundwork of his eloquent answer.

  "Had you seen her this morning, Mary," he continued, "attending with such ineffable sweetness and patience to all the demands of her aunt's stupidity, working with her, and for her, her colour beautifully heightened as she leant over the work, then returning to her seat to finish a note which she was previously engaged in writing for that stupid woman's service, and all this with such unpretending gentleness, so much as if it were a matter of course that she was not to have a moment at her own command, her hair arranged as neatly as it always is, and one little curl falling forward as she wrote, which she now and then shook back, and in the midst of all this, still speaking at intervals to _me_, or listening, and as if she liked to listen, to what I said. Had you seen her so, Mary, you would not have implied the possibility of her power over my heart ever ceasing."

  "My dearest Henry," cried Mary, stopping short, and smiling in his face, "how glad I am to see you so much in love! It quite delights me. But what will Mrs. Rushworth and Julia say?"

  "I care neither what they say nor what they feel. They will now see what sort of woman it is that can attach me, that can attach a man of sense. I wish the discovery may do them any good. And they will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness. They will be angry," he added, after a moment's silence, and in a cooler tone; "Mrs. Rushworth will be very angry. It will be a bitter pill to her; that is, like other bitter pills, it will have two moments' ill flavour, and then be swallowed and forgotten; for I am not such a coxcomb as to suppose her feelings more lasting than other women's, though _I_ was the object of them. Yes, Mary, my Fanny will feel a difference indeed: a daily, hourly difference, in the behaviour of every being who approaches her; and it will be the completion of my happiness to know that I am the doer of it, that I am the person to give the consequence so justly her due. Now she is dependent, helpless, friendless, neglected, forgotten."

  "Nay, Henry, not by all; not forgotten by all; not friendless or forgotten. Her cousin Edmund never forgets her."

  "Edmund! True, I believe he is, generally speaking, kind to her, and so is Sir Thomas in his way; but it is the way of a rich, superior, long-worded, arbitrary uncle. What can Sir Thomas and Edmund together do, what do they _do_ for her happiness, comfort, honour, and dignity in the world, to what I _shall_ do?"



　　这次谈话大大减轻了克劳福德小姐心头的不安，她又高高兴兴地往家里走去，即便再下一个星期的阴雨，即便仍然只有这么寥寥无几的人为伴，她都会经受得了。不过，就在当天晚上，她哥哥又从伦敦回来了，像平时一样兴高采烈，甚至比平时还要高兴，因此她也就无须再经受进一步的考验了。哥哥仍然不肯把他此行的目的告诉她，这倒让她越发高兴。若是在一天以前，这只会使她生气，可现在却成了有趣的玩笑——她猜想，所以不告诉她，一定是有什么事瞒着她，想给她来个惊喜。第二天还真出了一件出乎她意料的事。亨利原说去向伯特伦一家人问个好，十分钟后就回来——可他去了一个多小时。他妹妹一直在等他陪她在花园里散步，最后等得实在不耐烦，终于在拐弯处遇到了他，便大声嚷道：“亲爱的亨利，你这大半天跑到哪儿去了？”做哥哥的只好说，他是在陪伯特伦夫人和范妮。
　　“陪她们坐了一个半钟头啊！”玛丽嚷道。
　　不过，这还仅仅是她惊奇的开始。
　　“是的，玛丽。”亨利挽住了她的胳膊，顺着拐弯处走着，好像不知身在何处。“我没法早走——范妮那模样有多美呀！我已经打定了主意，玛丽。我已经下定了决心。你会吃惊吗？不会的——你应该意识到，我是打定主意要和范妮·普莱斯结婚的。”
　　这时，做妹妹的已经惊奇到了极点。玛丽虽说了解一点哥哥的心思，但做梦也没想到他会有这样的打算。亨利见妹妹大为惊诧，不得不把刚才讲过的话又讲了一遍，而且一本正经地讲得更加充分。做妹妹的明白了哥哥真的做出了这样的决定后，觉得他这个决定也并非不足取。她在惊奇的同时甚至感到高兴。她为他们家与伯特伦家结成亲戚而满心欢喜，哥哥的这桩婚事虽说有点低就，她也并不在意了。
　　“是的，玛丽，”亨利最后说道，“我完全坠人了情网。你知道，我一开始打的是些无聊的主意——但最后却是这样的结局。我自以为已经使她对我颇有好感，但我对她的感情却是坚定不移的。”
　　“好幸运，好幸运的姑娘啊！”玛丽心情一平静便嚷道。“这对她是多好的一门亲事呀！我最亲爱的亨利，这是我的第一个感觉。可我的第二个感觉是，我要同样真诚地告诉你，我由衷地赞成你的选择，预见你会像我衷心希望的那样幸福。你将有一个娇小可爱的妻子，对你感激不尽，忠心耿耿。你也完全配有这样一个人。这门亲事对她来说是多么意外啊！诺里斯太太常说她运气好，她现在又会怎么说呀？这真是他们全家人的喜事啊！在这一家人中，她倒有几个真正的朋友。他们该多么高兴啊！你给我从头到尾地讲一讲，滔滔不绝地讲下去。你是什么时候开始认真考虑她的？”
　　这种问题虽说最乐意让别人问，但是却又最难以回答。他说不出来“那令人陶醉的烦恼如何偷偷袭上我的心头”①（译注：①引自英国剧作家和桂冠诗人威廉·怀特海德( 1715 -1785)的诗句。）。他用略加改变的措辞反复表达这个意思，没等重复完第三遍，他妹妹便迫不及待地打断了他，说道：“啊！亲爱的亨利，你就是为这去伦敦的呀！这就是你去办的事呀！你是去找海军将军商量，然后再拿定主意的。”
　　亨利对此矢口否认。他很了解叔父，不会拿婚姻问题去征求他的意见。海军将军讨厌结婚，一个有独立财产的年轻人要结婚，他认为永远不能原谅。
　　“他要是认识了范妮，”亨利继续说，“一定会非常喜欢她。她正是一个可以打消海军将军这种人的种种成见的女子，因为她正是他认为世上不会有的那种女子。她是他所描绘的不可能存在的女人——如果他真有美妙的措辞来表达自己的思想的话。不过，没到事情彻底定下来之前——没到木已成舟，无法干涉之前，他是得不到一点风声的。玛丽，你刚才完全猜错了。你还没有猜出我去伦敦办什么事呢！”
　　“好了，好了，我明白了。现在我知道事情与谁有关了，其余的我也不急于想知道。范妮·普莱斯——妙啊——妙极啦！曼斯菲尔德居然为你起了这么大的作用—— 你居然在曼斯菲尔德找到了你命运的寄托！不过，你做得很对，你的选择再好不过了。世上没有比她更好的姑娘，何况你又不需要财产。至于她的亲戚们，他们都是些上好的人。伯特伦家无疑是这个国家的上等人家。她是托马斯爵士的外甥女，仅凭这一点，就会让世人另眼相待。不过，说下去，说下去。再给我多讲一讲。你是怎么计划的？她知不知道自已大喜临门了？”
　　“不知道。”
　　“你还在等什么？”
　　“在等——在等一个稍微稳妥一点的时机。玛丽，她可不像她的两个表姐。我想我提出来可不能碰钉子。”
　　“噢！不会的，你不会碰钉子。即使你不这么可爱——即使她还没有爱上你（可我毫不怀疑她已经爱上了你），你也会万无一失。她性情温柔，知恩图报，你只要一提出，她马上就会属于你。我打心眼里认为，她要是嫁给你是不会不爱你的。这就是说，如果世上还有一位姑娘不为虚荣所动的话，我想这个人就是她。不过，你尽管求她爱你好了，她是决不会狠心拒绝你的。”
　　玛丽那急切的心情一平静下来，亨利就乐滋滋地讲给她听，她也乐滋滋地听他讲。接着，两人便交谈起来，而且几乎同样兴致勃勃。不过，其实亨利除了自己的感情之外，并没有什么可讲的，除了范妮的妩媚之外，并没有什么可谈的。范妮那俏丽的面孔和袅娜的身段，她那文雅的举止和善良的心地，成了谈不完的话题。她那温柔、和悦、贤淑的性情，被热情洋溢地夸来夸去。在男人看来，这种温柔正是每一个女人最可贵的品质所在，虽然他有时爱上的女人并不温柔，但他从不认为对方有这样的缺欠。至于范妮的脾气，他有充足的理由去信赖，去赞扬。他经常看到她的脾气经受考验。这家人当中，除了埃德蒙以外，哪一个不在以这样那样的方式不断地考验她的耐心和包容？显然，她的感情是炽烈的。看她对她哥哥有多好啊！这岂不是最能证明她的心肠不仅是温柔的，而且也十分多情吗？对于一个眼看就要赢得她的爱情的男人来说，这不是莫大的鼓舞吗？此外，她的头脑也毋庸置疑，又聪慧又敏锐。她的言谈举止显示了她的稳重和涵养。还不止这些。事利·克劳福德虽然没有认真思考的习惯，说不出做妻子的应该具有哪些名目的美德，但他又很聪明，懂得妻子身上具有美德的价值。他谈到范妮为人稳重，行为得体，谈到她自尊自重，讲究礼仪，这就可以使人充分相信她会对丈夫忠贞不渝。他所以说这些话，是因为他知道她有高尚的道德准则，有虔诚的宗教信仰。
　　“我可以不折不扣地信任她，”他说。“这正是我所需要的。”
　　他妹妹认为他对范妮·普莱斯的夸奖并不过分，因而对他的前景满怀喜悦。
　　“我越琢磨这件事，”她嚷道，“越觉得你做得完全对。虽然我从来不曾认为范妮·普莱斯可能是最让你着迷的姑娘，但现在我相信她最能让你幸福。你原来搞恶作剧，想搅得她心神不宁，到头来还真成了神机妙算。这对你们两人都大有好处。”
　　“当初我对这样好的人存心不良，真是太拙劣了！不过，那时我还不了解她。我要让她没有理由为我当初心里冒出这个念头感到遗憾。我要使她非常幸福，玛丽，比她以往任何时候都幸福，比她看到过的任何人都幸福。我不把她从北安普敦郡带走，我要把埃弗灵厄姆租出去，在这附近一带租幢房子，也许租下斯坦威克斯宅第。我要把埃弗灵厄姆租出去七年。我只要一开口，准能找到一个非常好的房客。我现在就能说出三个人，既会满足我的条件，又会感谢我。”
　　“哈哈！”玛丽大声嚷道，“在北安普敦定居呀！这太好啦！那我们大家都在一起了。”
　　她话一出口，便省悟过来，后悔不该说这话。不过，她也不必慌张。她哥哥只当是她仍要住在曼斯菲尔德的牧师府上，因此作为回答，只是非常亲热地邀请她到他家做客，并且要她首先满足他的要求。
　　“你必须把你一半以上的时间给我们，”他说。“我不允许格兰特太太跟范妮和我权利均等，我们俩对你都拥有一份权利。范妮将是你真诚的嫂嫂呀！”
　　玛丽只有表示感激，并含糊其词地做了许诺。但她既不打算长期在姐姐家里客居下去，也不愿意在哥哥家里久住。
　　“你打算一年中在伦敦和北安普敦郡轮流住吗？”
　　“是的。”
　　“这就对了。你在伦敦自然要有自己的房子，不再住在将军家里。我最亲爱的亨利，离开将军对你有好处，趁你的教养还没有受到他的熏染伤害，趁他的那些愚蠢的见解还没有传染给你，趁你还没有学会一味地讲吃讲喝，好像吃喝是人生最大的幸福似的！你可不明白离开将军对你的好处，因为你对他的崇拜蒙蔽了你的眼睛。但是，在我看来，你早一点结婚可能会挽救你。眼见着你在言行、神情和姿态上越来越像将军，我会很伤心的。”
　　“好了，好了，我们在这个问题上看法不大一样。将军有他的缺点，但他为人很好，对我胜过生身父亲。就是做父亲的也很少会像他这样，我干什么他都支持。你不能让范妮对他产生偏见。我要让他们彼此相爱。”
　　玛丽觉得，世上没有哪两个人像他们这样，从品格到礼貌教养这么格格不入，但她没有说出口，到时候他会明白的。不过，她却禁不住要对将军讲出这样的想法：“亨利，我觉得范妮·普莱斯这么好的一个人，要是我认为下一个克劳福德太太会受到我那可怜的婶婶所受的一半虐待，会像我那可怜的婶婶那样憎恨这个称呼，但凡有可能，我就会阻止这桩婚事。不过，我了解你。我知道，你爱的妻子会是最幸福的女人，即使你不再爱她了，她也会从你身上看到一位绅士的宽怀大度和良好教养。”
　　亨利口若悬河地做了回答，说的自然是要竭尽全力促使范妮-普莱斯幸福，要永远爱范妮·普莱斯。
　　“玛丽，”亨利接着说，“你要是看到她今天上午如何关照她姨妈，那个温柔、耐心的劲头真是难以形容：满足她姨妈的种种愚蠢要求，跟她一起做活，替她做活，俯身做活时脸上飞起艳丽的红霞，随后又回到座位上，继续替那位蠢女人写信，她做这一切的时候显得十分柔顺，毫不做作，好像都是理所当然的事，她不需要一点时间归自己支配，她的头发总是梳得纹丝不乱，写信的时候一卷秀发耷拉到额前，不时地给甩回去。在这整个过程中，她还时不时地跟我说话，或者听我说话，好像我说什么她都爱听。你要是看到这种种情景，玛丽，你就不会认为有朝一日她对我的魅力会消失。”
　　“我最亲爱的亨利，”玛丽嚷道，又突然打住，笑吟吟地望着他，“看到你这样一片痴情，我有多高兴啊！真让我欣喜万分。可是，拉什沃思太太和朱莉娅会怎么说呢？”
　　“我不管她们怎么说，也不管她们怎么想。她们现在会意识到什么样的女人能讨我喜欢，能讨一个有头脑的人喜欢。我希望这一发现会给她们带来益处。她们现在会意识到她们的表妹受到了应得的待遇，我希望她们会真心诚意地为自己以往可恶的怠慢和冷酷感到羞愧。她们会恼火的，”亨利顿了顿，又以比较冷静的口吻补充说，“拉什沃思太太会大为恼火。这对她来说像是一粒苦药，也就是说，像别的苦药一样，先要苦上一阵，然后咽下去，再忘掉。我不是一个没有头脑的花花公子，尽管我是她钟情的对象，可我并不认为她的感情会比别的女人来得长久。是的，玛丽，我的范妮的确会感受到一种变化，感受到她身边的每个人在态度上，每天每时都在发生变化。一想到这都是我引起的，是我把她的身份抬高到她应得的高度，我真是乐不可支了。而现在，她寄人篱下，孤苦伶仃，没亲没友，受人冷落，被人遗忘。”
　　“不，亨利，不是被所有的人，不是被所有的人遗忘，不是没亲没友，不是被人遗忘。她表哥埃德蒙从来没有忘记她。”
　　“埃德蒙——不错，总的说来，我认为他对她挺好，托马斯爵士对她也不错，不过那是一个有钱有势、唠唠叨叨、独断独行的姨父的关心。托马斯爵士和埃德蒙加在一起能为她做什么？他们为她的幸福、安逸、体面和尊严所做的事，比起我将要为她做的事，又算得了什么？”　
  
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