by Jane Austen
Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they moved so distinct, as almost to preclude the means of ever hearing of each other’s existence during the eleven following years, or at least to make it very wonderful33 to Sir Thomas, that Mrs. Norris should ever have it in her power to tell them, as she now and then did in an angry voice, that Fanny had got another child.34 By the end of eleven years, however, Mrs. Price could no longer afford to cherish pride or resentment, or to lose one connection that might possibly assist her. A large and still increasing family, an husband disabled for active service,35 but not the less equal to company and good liquor,36 and a very small income to supply their wants, made her eager to regain the friends37 she had so carelessly sacrificed; and she addressed Lady Bertram in a letter which spoke so much contrition and despondence, such a superfluity of children, and such a want of almost every thing else, as could not but dispose them all to a reconciliation. She was preparing for her ninth lying-in,38 and after bewailing the circumstance, and imploring their countenance39 as sponsors to the expected child, she could not conceal how important she felt they might be to the future maintenance of the eight already in being. Her eldest was a boy of ten years old, a fine spirited40 fellow who longed to be out in the world; but what could she do? Was there any chance of his being hereafter useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property?41 No situation42 would be beneath him—or what did Sir Thomas think of Woolwich?43 or how could a boy be sent out to the East?44
Steventon Rectory, where Jane Austen grew up.
[From Mary Augusta Austen-Leigh, Personal Aspects of Jane Austen (New York, 1920), p. 12]
The West India Docks, London, with ships and warehouses related to trade there.
[From Fiona St. Aubyn, Ackermann’s Illustrated London, illustrations by Augustus Pugin and Thomas Rowlandson (Ware, 1985), p. 7]
The letter was not unproductive. It re-established peace and kindness. Sir Thomas sent friendly advice and professions, Lady Bertram dispatched money and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norris wrote the letters.45
Such were its immediate effects, and within a twelvemonth a more important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it. Mrs. Norris was often observing to the others, that she could not get her poor sister and her family out of her head, and that much as they had all done for her, she seemed to be wanting to do more: and at length she could not but own46 it to be her wish, that poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from the charge and expense of one child entirely out of her great number. “What if they were among them to undertake the care of her eldest daughter, a girl now nine years old, of an age to require more attention than her poor mother could possibly give? The trouble and expense of it to them, would be nothing compared with the benevolence of the action.” Lady Bertram agreed with her instantly. “I think we cannot do better,” said she, “let us send for the child.”
Sir Thomas could not give so instantaneous and unqualified a consent. He debated and hesitated;—it was a serious charge;—a girl so brought up must be adequately provided for, or there would be cruelty instead of kindness in taking her from her family.47 He thought of his own four children—of his two sons—of cousins in love, &c.;48—but no sooner had he deliberately begun to state his objections, than Mrs. Norris interrupted him with a reply to them all whether stated or not.
“My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you, and do justice to the generosity and delicacy49 of your notions, which indeed are quite of a piece with your general conduct; and I entirely agree with you in the main as to the propriety50 of doing every thing one could by way of providing for a child one had in a manner taken into one’s own hands; and I am sure I should be the last person in the world to withhold my mite51 upon such an occasion. Having no children of my own,52 who should I look to in any little matter I may ever have to bestow, but the children of my sisters?—and I am sure Mr. Norris is too just—but you know I am a woman of few words and professions. Do not let us be frightened from a good deed by a trifle. Give a girl an education, and introduce her properly into the world,53 and ten to one but she has the means of settling54 well, without farther expense to any body.55 A niece of our’s, Sir Thomas, I may say, or, at least of your’s, would not grow up in this neighbourhood without many advantages. I don’t say she would be so handsome as her cousins. I dare say she would not; but she would be introduced into the society of this country56 under such very favourable circumstances as, in all human probability, would get her a creditable establishment.57 You are thinking of your sons—but do not you know that of all things upon earth that is the least likely to happen; brought up, as they would be, always together like brothers and sisters? It is morally impossible. I never knew an instance of it.58 It is, in fact, the only sure way of providing against the connection.59 Suppose her a pretty girl, and seen by Tom or Edmund for the first time seven years hence,60 and I dare say there would be mischief.61 The very idea of her having been suffered to grow up at a distance from us all in poverty and neglect, would be enough to make either of the dear sweet-tempered boys in love with her.62 But breed her up with them from this time, and suppose her even to have the beauty of an angel, and she will never be more to either than a sister.”63
“There is a great deal of truth in what you say,” replied Sir Thomas, “and far be it from me to throw any fanciful impediment in the way of a plan which would be so consistent with the relative situations of each.64 I only meant to observe, that it ought not to be lightly engaged in, and that to make it really serviceable to Mrs. Price, and creditable to ourselves,65 we must secure to the child, or consider ourselves engaged to secure to her hereafter,66 as circumstances may arise, the provision of a gentlewoman,67 if no such establishment should offer as you are so sanguine in expecting.”68
East India House, the London headquarters of the East India Company, which governed and controlled trade with British India.
[From The Repository of arts, literature, fashions, manufactures, &c, Vol. III (1810), p. 184]
“I thoroughly understand you,” cried Mrs. Norris; “you are every thing that is generous and considerate, and I am sure we shall never disagree on this point. Whatever I can do, as you well know, I am always ready enough to do for the good of those I love; and, though I could never feel for this little girl the hundredth part of the regard I bear your own dear children, nor consider her, in any respect, so much my own,69 I should hate myself if I were capable of neglecting her. Is not she a sister’s child? and could I bear to see her want, while I had a bit of bread to give her? My dear Sir Thomas, with all my faults I have a warm heart: and, poor as I am, would rather deny myself the necessaries of life, than do an ungenerous thing. So, if you are not against it, I will write to my poor sister to-morrow, and make the proposal; and, as soon as matters are settled, I will engage to get the child to Mansfield; you shall have no trouble about it. My own trouble, you know, I never regard. I will send Nanny to London on purpose,70 and she may have a bed at her cousin, the sadler’s,71 and the child be appointed to meet her there. They may easily get her from Portsmouth to town72 by the coach,73 under the care of any creditable person that may chance to be going. I dare say there is always some reputable tradesman’s wife or other going up.”74
A panorama of London showing part of the city.
[From The Repository of arts, literature, fashions, manufactures, &c, Vol. III (1810), p. 184]
Except to the attack on Nanny’s cousin, Sir Thomas no longer made any objection, and a more respectable, though less economical rendezvous being accordingly substituted,75 every thing was considered as settled, and the pleasures of so benevolent a scheme were already enjoyed. The division of gratifying sensations ought not, in strict justice, to have been equal; for Sir Thomas was fully resolved to be the real and consistent patron of the selected child, and Mrs. Norris had not the least intention of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance. As far as walking, talking, and contriving reached, she was thoroughly benevolent, and nobody knew better how to d
ictate liberality76 to others: but her love of money was equal to her love of directing, and she knew quite as well how to save her own as to spend that of her friends. Having married on a narrower income than she had been used to look forward to,77 she had, from the first, fancied a very strict line of economy necessary; and what was begun as a matter of prudence, soon grew into a matter of choice, as an object of that needful solicitude, which there were no children to supply.78 Had there been a family to provide for, Mrs. Norris might never have saved her money; but having no care of that kind, there was nothing to impede her frugality, or lessen the comfort of making a yearly addition to an income which they had never lived up to. Under this infatuating79 principle, counteracted by no real affection for her sister, it was impossible for her to aim at more than the credit of projecting and arranging so expensive a charity; though perhaps she might so little know herself, as to walk home to the Parsonage80 after this conversation, in the happy belief of being the most liberal-minded sister and aunt in the world.
A public coach of the time.
[From Ralph Nevill, Old Sporting Prints (London, 1908)]
When the subject was brought forward again, her views were more fully explained; and, in reply to Lady Bertram’s calm inquiry of “Where shall the child come to first, sister, to you or to us?” Sir Thomas heard, with some surprise, that it would be totally out of Mrs. Norris’s power to take any share in the personal charge of her. He had been considering her as a particularly welcome addition at the Parsonage, as a desirable companion to an aunt who had no children of her own; but he found himself wholly mistaken. Mrs. Norris was sorry to say, that the little girl’s staying with them, at least as things then were, was quite out of the question. Poor Mr. Norris’s indifferent state of health made it an impossibility: he could no more bear the noise of a child than he could fly; if indeed he should ever get well of his gouty complaints,81 it would be a different matter: she should then be glad to take her turn, and think nothing of the inconvenience; but just now, poor Mr. Norris took up every moment of her time, and the very mention of such a thing she was sure would distract him.
“Then she had better come to us?” said Lady Bertram with the utmost composure. After a short pause, Sir Thomas added with dignity, “Yes, let her home be in this house. We will endeavour to do our duty by her, and she will at least have the advantage of companions of her own age, and of a regular instructress.”
“Very true,” cried Mrs. Norris, “which are both very important considerations: and it will be just the same to Miss Lee, whether she has three girls to teach, or only two82—there can be no difference. I only wish I could be more useful; but you see I do all in my power. I am not one of those that spare their own trouble; and Nanny shall fetch her, however it may put me to inconvenience to have my chief counsellor away for three days.83 I suppose, sister, you will put the child in the little white attic, near the old nurseries. It will be much the best place for her, so near Miss Lee, and not far from the girls, and close by the housemaids,84 who could either of them help to dress her you know, and take care of her clothes, for I suppose you would not think it fair to expect Ellis to wait on her as well as the others.85 Indeed, I do not see that you could possibly place her any where else.”
Lady Bertram made no opposition.
“I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl,” continued Mrs. Norris, “and be sensible of her uncommon good fortune in having such friends.”
“Should her disposition be really bad,” said Sir Thomas, “we must not, for our own children’s sake, continue her in the family; but there is no reason to expect so great an evil.86 We shall probably see much to wish altered in her, and must prepare ourselves for gross ignorance, some meanness of opinions, and very distressing vulgarity of manner;87 but these are not incurable faults—nor, I trust, can they be dangerous for her associates. Had my daughters been younger than herself, I should have considered the introduction of such a companion, as a matter of very serious moment; but as it is, I hope there can be nothing to fear for them, and every thing to hope for her, from the association.”
“That is exactly what I think,” cried Mrs. Norris, “and what I was saying to my husband this morning. It will be an education for the child said I, only being with her cousins; if Miss Lee taught her nothing, she would learn to be good and clever from them.”
“I hope she will not tease my poor pug,” said Lady Bertram; “I have but just got Julia to leave it alone.”88
“There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris,” observed Sir Thomas, “as to the distinction proper to be made between the girls as they grow up; how to preserve in the minds of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without making them think too lowly of their cousin; and how, without depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a Miss Bertram. I should wish to see them very good friends, and would, on no account, authorize in my girls the smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation; but still they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, and expectations, will always be different. It is a point of great delicacy, and you must assist us in our endeavours to choose exactly the right line of conduct.”89
Mrs. Norris was quite at his service; and though she perfectly agreed with him as to its being a most difficult thing, encouraged him to hope that between them it would be easily managed.
It will be readily believed that Mrs. Norris did not write to her sister in vain. Mrs. Price seemed rather surprised that a girl should be fixed on, when she had so many fine boys,90 but accepted the offer most thankfully, assuring them of her daughter’s being a very well-disposed, good-humoured girl, and trusting they would never have cause to throw her off.91 She spoke of her farther as somewhat delicate and puny, but was sanguine in the hope of her being materially better for change of air.92 Poor woman! she probably thought change of air might agree with many of her children.93
Chapter Two
The little girl performed her long journey in safety, and at Northampton was met by Mrs. Norris,1 who thus regaled2 in the credit of being foremost to welcome her, and in the importance of leading her in to the others, and recommending her to their kindness.
Fanny Price was at this time just ten years old, and though there might not be much in her first appearance to captivate, there was, at least, nothing to disgust her relations. She was small of3 her age, with no glow of complexion, nor any other striking beauty; exceedingly timid and shy, and shrinking from notice; but her air,4 though awkward, was not vulgar, her voice was sweet, and when she spoke, her countenance was pretty. Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram received her very kindly, and Sir Thomas seeing how much she needed encouragement, tried to be all that was conciliating; but he had to work against a most untoward gravity of deportment—and Lady Bertram, without taking half so much trouble, or speaking one word where he spoke ten, by the mere aid of a good-humoured smile, became immediately the less awful5 character of the two.
The young people were all at home,6 and sustained their share in the introduction very well, with much good humour, and no embarrassment, at least on the part of the sons, who at seventeen and sixteen, and tall of their age, had all the grandeur of men in the eyes of their little cousin. The two girls were more at a loss from being younger and in greater awe of their father, who addressed them on the occasion with rather an injudicious particularity.7 But they were too much used to company and praise, to have any thing like natural shyness, and their confidence increasing from their cousin’s total want8 of it, they were soon able to take a full survey of her face and her frock9 in easy indifference.
They were a remarkably fine family, the sons very well-looking,10 the daughters decidedly handsome, and all of them well-grown and forward11 of their age, which produced as striking a difference between the cousins in person,12 as education had given to their address;13 and no one would have supposed the girls so nearly of an age as they really were. There was in fact but two years between the youngest and Fanny. Julia Bertram was only twe
lve, and Maria but a year older.14 The little visitor meanwhile was as unhappy as possible. Afraid of every body, ashamed of herself, and longing for the home she had left, she knew not how to look up, and could scarcely speak to be heard, or without crying. Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the whole way from Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing for her not to be happy. The fatigue too, of so long a journey, became soon no trifling evil. In vain were the well-meant condescensions15 of Sir Thomas, and all the officious prognostications of Mrs. Norris that she would be a good girl; in vain did Lady Bertram smile and make her sit on the sofa16 with herself and pug,17 and vain was even the sight of a gooseberry tart towards giving her comfort;18 she could scarcely swallow two mouthfuls before tears interrupted her, and sleep seeming to be her likeliest friend, she was taken to finish her sorrows in bed.
“This is not a very promising beginning,” said Mrs. Norris when Fanny had left the room.—“After all that I said to her as we came along, I thought she would have behaved better; I told her how much might depend upon her acquitting herself well at first. I wish there may19 not be a little sulkiness of temper—her poor mother had a good deal; but we must make allowances for such a child—and I do not know that her being sorry to leave her home is really against her, for, with all its faults, it was her home, and she cannot as yet understand how much she has changed for the better; but then there is moderation in all things.”
It required a longer time, however, than Mrs. Norris was inclined to allow, to reconcile Fanny to the novelty of Mansfield Park, and the separation from every body she had been used to. Her feelings were very acute, and too little understood to be properly attended to.20 Nobody meant to be unkind, but nobody put themselves out of their way to secure her comfort.