《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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一二三四五六七~~~
举报 只看该作者 40楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
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~~~
举报 只看该作者 41楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0
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 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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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-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-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-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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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-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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一二三四五六七~~~
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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。


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