IMPROVE YOUR ENGLISH WITH OUR SONGS ARCHIVE OF 200,000 LYRICS
Jane Austen "Mansfield
Park"
Chapter 6
Mr. Bertram set off for—, and Miss Crawford was prepared to find a great
chasm in their society, and to miss him decidedly in the meetings which
were now becoming almost daily between the families; and on their all
dining together at the Park soon after his going, she retook her chosen
place near the bottom of the table, fully expecting to feel a most
melancholy difference in the change of masters. It would be a very flat
business, she was sure. In comparison with his brother, Edmund would
have nothing to say. The soup would be sent round in a most spiritless
manner, wine drank without any smiles or agreeable trifling, and the
venison cut up without supplying one pleasant anecdote of any former
haunch, or a single entertaining story, about “my friend such a one.”
She must try to find amusement in what was passing at the upper end of
the table, and in observing Mr. Rushworth, who was now making his
appearance at Mansfield for the first time since the Crawfords’ arrival.
He had been visiting a friend in the neighbouring county, and that
friend having recently had his grounds laid out by an improver, Mr.
Rushworth was returned with his head full of the subject, and very eager
to be improving his own place in the same way; and though not saying
much to the purpose, could talk of nothing else. The subject had been
already handled in the drawing-room; it was revived in the
dining-parlour. Miss Bertram’s attention and opinion was evidently his
chief aim; and though her deportment showed rather conscious superiority
than any solicitude to oblige him, the mention of Sotherton Court, and
the ideas attached to it, gave her a feeling of complacency, which
prevented her from being very ungracious.
“I wish you could see Compton,” said he; “it is the most complete thing!
I never saw a place so altered in my life. I told Smith I did not know
where I was. The approach now, is one of the finest things in the
country: you see the house in the most surprising manner. I declare,
when I got back to Sotherton yesterday, it looked like a prison— quite a
dismal old prison.”
“Oh, for shame!” cried Mrs. Norris. “A prison indeed? Sotherton Court is
the noblest old place in the world.”
“It wants improvement, ma’am, beyond anything. I never saw a place that
wanted so much improvement in my life; and it is so forlorn that I do
not know what can be done with it.”
“No wonder that Mr. Rushworth should think so at present,” said Mrs.
Grant to Mrs. Norris, with a smile; “but depend upon it, Sotherton will
have _every_ improvement in time which his heart can desire.”
“I must try to do something with it,” said Mr. Rushworth, “but I do not
know what. I hope I shall have some good friend to help me.”
“Your best friend upon such an occasion,” said Miss Bertram calmly,
“would be Mr. Repton, I imagine.”
“That is what I was thinking of. As he has done so well by Smith, I
think I had better have him at once. His terms are five guineas a day.”
“Well, and if they were ten,” cried Mrs. Norris, “I am sure you need not
regard it. The expense need not be any impediment. If I were you, I
should not think of the expense. I would have everything done in the
best style, and made as nice as possible. Such a place as Sotherton
Court deserves everything that taste and money can do. You have space to
work upon there, and grounds that will well reward you. For my own part,
if I had anything within the fiftieth part of the size of Sotherton, I
should be always planting and improving, for naturally I am excessively
fond of it. It would be too ridiculous for me to attempt anything where
I am now, with my little half acre. It would be quite a burlesque. But
if I had more room, I should take a prodigious delight in improving and
planting. We did a vast deal in that way at the Parsonage: we made it
quite a different place from what it was when we first had it. You young
ones do not remember much about it, perhaps; but if dear Sir Thomas were
here, he could tell you what improvements we made: and a great deal more
would have been done, but for poor Mr. Norris’s sad state of health. He
could hardly ever get out, poor man, to enjoy anything, and that
disheartened me from doing several things that Sir Thomas and I used to
talk of. If it had not been for that, we should have carried on the
garden wall, and made the plantation to shut out the churchyard, just as
Dr. Grant has done. We were always doing something as it was. It was
only the spring twelvemonth before Mr.Norris’s death that we put in the
apricot against the stable wall, which is now grown such a noble tree,
and getting to such perfection, sir,” addressing herself then to Dr.
Grant.
“The tree thrives well, beyond a doubt, madam,” replied Dr. Grant. “The
soil is good; and I never pass it without regretting that the fruit
should be so little worth the trouble of gathering.”
“Sir, it is a Moor Park, we bought it as a Moor Park, and it cost us—that
is, it was a present from Sir Thomas, but I saw the bill—and I know it
cost seven shillings, and was charged as a Moor Park.”
“You were imposed on, ma’am,” replied Dr. Grant: “these potatoes have as
much the flavour of a Moor Park apricot as the fruit from that tree. It
is an insipid fruit at the best; but a good apricot is eatable, which
none from my garden are.”
“The truth is, ma’am,” said Mrs. Grant, pretending to whisper across the
table to Mrs. Norris, “that Dr. Grant hardly knows what the natural
taste of our apricot is: he is scarcely ever indulged with one, for it
is so valuable a fruit; with a little assistance, and ours is such a
remarkably large, fair sort, that what with early tarts and preserves,
my cook contrives to get them all.”
Mrs. Norris, who had begun to redden, was appeased; and, for a little
while, other subjects took place of the improvements of Sotherton. Dr.
Grant and Mrs. Norris were seldom good friends; their acquaintance had
begun in dilapidations, and their habits were totally dissimilar.
After a short interruption Mr. Rushworth began again. “Smith’s place is
the admiration of all the country; and it was a mere nothing before
Repton took it in hand. I think I shall have Repton.”
“Mr. Rushworth,” said Lady Bertram, “if I were you, I would have a very
pretty shrubbery. One likes to get out into a shrubbery in fine weather.”
Mr. Rushworth was eager to assure her ladyship of his acquiescence, and
tried to make out something complimentary; but, between his submission
to her taste, and his having always intended the same himself, with the
superadded objects of professing attention to the comfort of ladies in
general, and of insinuating that there was one only whom he was anxious
to please, he grew puzzled, and Edmund was glad to put an end to his
speech by a proposal of wine. Mr. Rushworth, however, though not usually
a great talker, had still more to say on the subject next his heart.
“Smith has not much above a hundred acres altogether in his grounds,
which is little enough, and makes it more surprising that the place can
have been so improved. Now, at Sotherton we have a good seven hundred,
without reckoning the water meadows; so that I think, if so much could
be done at Compton, we need not despair. There have been two or three
fine old trees cut down, that grew too near the house, and it opens the
prospect amazingly, which makes me think that Repton, or anybody of that
sort, would certainly have the avenue at Sotherton down: the avenue that
leads from the west front to the top of the hill, you know,” turning to
Miss Bertram particularly as he spoke. But Miss Bertram thought it most
becoming to reply—
“The avenue! Oh! I do not recollect it. I really know very little of
Sotherton.”
Fanny, who was sitting on the other side of Edmund, exactly opposite
Miss Crawford, and who had been attentively listening, now looked at him,
and said in a low voice—
“Cut down an avenue! What a pity! Does it not make you think of Cowper?
’Ye fallen avenues, once more I mourn your fate unmerited.’ “
He smiled as he answered, “I am afraid the avenue stands a bad chance,
Fanny.”
“I should like to see Sotherton before it is cut down, to see the place
as it is now, in its old state; but I do not suppose I shall.”
“Have you never been there? No, you never can; and, unluckily, it is out
of distance for a ride. I wish we could contrive it.”
“Oh! it does not signify. Whenever I do see it, you will tell me how it
has been altered.”
“I collect,” said Miss Crawford, “that Sotherton is an old place, and a
place of some grandeur. In any particular style of building?”
“The house was built in Elizabeth’s time, and is a large, regular, brick
building; heavy, but respectable looking, and has many good rooms. It is
ill placed. It stands in one of the lowest spots of the park; in that
respect, unfavourable for improvement. But the woods are fine, and there
is a stream, which, I dare say, might be made a good deal of. Mr.
Rushworth is quite right, I think, in meaning to give it a modern dress,
and I have no doubt that it will be all done extremely well.”
Miss Crawford listened with submission, and said to herself, “He is a
well-bred man; he makes the best of it.”
“I do not wish to influence Mr. Rushworth,” he continued; “but, had I a
place to new fashion, I should not put myself into the hands of an
improver. I would rather have an inferior degree of beauty, of my own
choice, and acquired progressively. I would rather abide by my own
blunders than by his.”
“You would know what you were about, of course; but that would not suit
me. I have no eye or ingenuity for such matters, but as they are before
me; and had I a place of my own in the country, I should be most
thankful to any Mr. Repton who would undertake it, and give me as much
beauty as he could for my money; and I should never look at it till it
was complete.”
“It would be delightful to me to see the progress of it all,” said
Fanny.
“Ay, you have been brought up to it. It was no part of my education; and
the only dose I ever had, being administered by not the first favourite
in the world, has made me consider improvements in hand as the greatest
of nuisances. Three years ago the Admiral, my honoured uncle, bought a
cottage at Twickenham for us all to spend our summers in; and my aunt
and I went down to it quite in raptures; but it being excessively
pretty, it was soon found necessary to be improved, and for three months
we were all dirt and confusion, without a gravel walk to step on, or a
bench fit for use. I would have everything as complete as possible in
the country, shrubberies and flower-gardens, and rustic seats
innumerable: but it must all be done without my care. Henry is
different; he loves to be doing.”
Edmund was sorry to hear Miss Crawford, whom he was much disposed to
admire, speak so freely of her uncle. It did not suit his sense of
propriety, and he was silenced, till induced by further smiles and
liveliness to put the matter by for the present.
“Mr. Bertram,” said she, “I have tidings of my harp at last. I am
assured that it is safe at Northampton; and there it has probably been
these ten days, in spite of the solemn assurances we have so often
received to the contrary.” Edmund expressed his pleasure and surprise.
“The truth is, that our inquiries were too direct; we sent a servant, we
went ourselves: this will not do seventy miles from London; but this
morning we heard of it in the right way. It was seen by some farmer, and
he told the miller, and the miller told the butcher, and the butcher’s
son-in-law left word at the shop.”
“I am very glad that you have heard of it, by whatever means, and hope
there will be no further delay.”
“I am to have it to-morrow; but how do you think it is to be conveyed?
Not by a wagon or cart: oh no! nothing of that kind could be hired in
the village. I might as well have asked for porters and a handbarrow.”
“You would find it difficult, I dare say, just now, in the middle of a
very late hay harvest, to hire a horse and cart?”
“I was astonished to find what a piece of work was made of it! To want a
horse and cart in the country seemed impossible, so I told my maid to
speak for one directly; and as I cannot look out of my dressing- closet
without seeing one farmyard, nor walk in the shrubbery without passing
another, I thought it would be only ask and have, and was rather grieved
that I could not give the advantage to all. Guess my surprise, when I
found that I had been asking the most unreasonable, most impossible
thing in the world; had offended all the farmers, all the labourers, all
the hay in the parish! As for Dr. Grant’s bailiff, I believe I had
better keep out of his way; and my brother-in-law himself, who is all
kindness in general, looked rather black upon me when he found what I
had been at.”
“You could not be expected to have thought on the subject before; but
when you do think of it, you must see the importance of getting in the
grass. The hire of a cart at any time might not be so easy as you
suppose: our farmers are not in the habit of letting them out; but, in
harvest, it must be quite out of their power to spare a horse.”
“I shall understand all your ways in time; but, coming down with the
true London maxim, that everything is to be got with money, I was a
little embarrassed at first by the sturdy independence of your country
customs. However, I am to have my harp fetched to-morrow. Henry, who is
good-nature itself, has offered to fetch it in his barouche. Will it not
be honourably conveyed?”
Edmund spoke of the harp as his favourite instrument, and hoped to be
soon allowed to hear her. Fanny had never heard the harp at all, and
wished for it very much.
“I shall be most happy to play to you both,” said Miss Crawford; “at
least as long as you can like to listen: probably much longer, for I
dearly love music myself, and where the natural taste is equal the
player must always be best off, for she is gratified in more ways than
one. Now, Mr. Bertram, if you write to your brother, I entreat you to
tell him that my harp is come: he heard so much of my misery about it.
And you may say, if you please, that I shall prepare my most plaintive
airs against his return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know his
horse will lose.”
“If I write, I will say whatever you wish me; but I do not, at present,
foresee any occasion for writing.”
“No, I dare say, nor if he were to be gone a twelvemonth, would you ever
write to him, nor he to you, if it could be helped. The occasion would
never be foreseen. What strange creatures brothers are! You would not
write to each other but upon the most urgent necessity in the world; and
when obliged to take up the pen to say that such a horse is ill, or such
a relation dead, it is done in the fewest possible words. You have but
one style among you. I know it perfectly. Henry, who is in every other
respect exactly what a brother should be, who loves me, consults me,
confides in me, and will talk to me by the hour together, has never yet
turned the page in a letter; and very often it is nothing more
than—’Dear Mary, I am just arrived. Bath seems full, and everything as
usual. Yours sincerely.’ That is the true manly style; that is a
complete brother’s letter.”
“When they are at a distance from all their family,” said Fanny,
colouring for William’s sake, “they can write long letters.”
“Miss Price has a brother at sea,” said Edmund, “whose excellence as a
correspondent makes her think you too severe upon us.”
“At sea, has she? In the king’s service, of course?”
Fanny would rather have had Edmund tell the story, but his determined
silence obliged her to relate her brother’s situation: her voice was
animated in speaking of his profession, and the foreign stations he had
been on; but she could not mention the number of years that he had been
absent without tears in her eyes. Miss Crawford civilly wished him an
early promotion.
“Do you know anything of my cousin’s captain?” said Edmund; “Captain
Marshall? You have a large acquaintance in the navy, I conclude?”
“Among admirals, large enough; but,” with an air of grandeur, “we know
very little of the inferior ranks. Post-captains may be very good sort
of men, but they do not belong to _us_. Of various admirals I could tell
you a great deal: of them and their flags, and the gradation of their
pay, and their bickerings and jealousies. But, in general, I can assure
you that they are all passed over, and all very ill used. Certainly, my
home at my uncle’s brought me acquainted with a circle of admirals. Of
Rears and Vices I saw enough. Now do not be suspecting me of a pun, I
entreat.”
Edmund again felt grave, and only replied, “It is a noble profession.”
“Yes, the profession is well enough under two circumstances: if it make
the fortune, and there be discretion in spending it; but, in short, it
is not a favourite profession of mine. It has never worn an amiable form
to me.”
Edmund reverted to the harp, and was again very happy in the prospect of
hearing her play.
The subject of improving grounds, meanwhile, was still under
consideration among the others; and Mrs. Grant could not help addressing
her brother, though it was calling his attention from Miss Julia
Bertram.
“My dear Henry, have you nothing to say? You have been an improver
yourself, and from what I hear of Everingham, it may vie with any place
in England. Its natural beauties, I am sure, are great. Everingham, as
it used to be, was perfect in my estimation: such a happy fall of
ground, and such timber! What would I not give to see it again?”
“Nothing could be so gratifying to me as to hear your opinion of it,”
was his answer; “but I fear there would be some disappointment: you
would not find it equal to your present ideas. In extent, it is a mere
nothing; you would be surprised at its insignificance; and, as for
improvement, there was very little for me to do— too little: I should
like to have been busy much longer.”
“You are fond of the sort of thing?” said Julia.
“Excessively; but what with the natural advantages of the ground, which
pointed out, even to a very young eye, what little remained to be done,
and my own consequent resolutions, I had not been of age three months
before Everingham was all that it is now. My plan was laid at
Westminster, a little altered, perhaps, at Cambridge, and at
one-and-twenty executed. I am inclined to envy Mr. Rushworth for having
so much happiness yet before him. I have been a devourer of my own.”
“Those who see quickly, will resolve quickly, and act quickly,” said
Julia. “You can never want employment. Instead of envying Mr. Rushworth,
you should assist him with your opinion.”
Mrs. Grant, hearing the latter part of this speech, enforced it warmly,
persuaded that no judgment could be equal to her brother’s; and as Miss
Bertram caught at the idea likewise, and gave it her full support,
declaring that, in her opinion, it was infinitely better to consult with
friends and disinterested advisers, than immediately to throw the
business into the hands of a professional man, Mr. Rushworth was very
ready to request the favour of Mr. Crawford’s assistance; and Mr.
Crawford, after properly depreciating his own abilities, was quite at
his service in any way that could be useful. Mr. Rushworth then began to
propose Mr. Crawford’s doing him the honour of coming over to Sotherton,
and taking a bed there; when Mrs. Norris, as if reading in her two
nieces’ minds their little approbation of a plan which was to take Mr.
Crawford away, interposed with an amendment.
“There can be no doubt of Mr. Crawford’s willingness; but why should not
more of us go? Why should not we make a little party? Here are many that
would be interested in your improvements, my dear Mr. Rushworth, and
that would like to hear Mr. Crawford’s opinion on the spot, and that
might be of
some small use to you with their opinions; and, for my own part, I have
been long wishing to wait upon your good mother again; nothing but
having no horses of my own could have made me so remiss; but now I could
go and sit a few hours with Mrs. Rushworth, while the rest of you walked
about and settled things, and then we could all return to a late dinner
here, or dine at Sotherton, just as might be most agreeable to your
mother, and have a pleasant drive home by moonlight. I dare say Mr.
Crawford would take my two nieces and me in his barouche, and Edmund can
go on horseback, you know, sister, and Fanny will stay at home with
you.”
Lady Bertram made no objection; and every one concerned in the going was
forward in expressing their ready concurrence, excepting Edmund, who
heard it all and said nothing
