Mansfield Park, ch. 9: Career Advice
Moving on to this week's chapter!
After sharing a meal at chez Rushworth, everyone is eager to take a tour of the house and grounds. (Catch Henry Crawford being given special attention. Kind of makes my skin crawl.) Here’s where Mrs. Rushworth takes everyone around the house to show off its grandeur. This set-up might seem odd to modern readers. But back then, those in the gentry class were encouraged to show off their large houses and gardens—it was meant to promote an appreciation for English history (and English wealth). The only person listening in earnest to the matron of the household is Fanny (no surprise there).
Austen points out that Mrs. Rushworth, in her enthusiasm, makes them visit “many more rooms than could be supposed to be of any other use than to contribute to the window–tax, and find employment for housemaids.” (Btw, a window-tax is exactly what you think it is.) Whether this earnest tour indicates the possibility that the Rushworths don’t get a lot of visitors is left unexplored, but I’d bet the price of a cup of drip coffee that I’m right.
Fanny is disappointed in the house chapel—she thinks it ought to have a “grander” architecture, being inside a 300-year-old mansion for the super-rich. This is an interesting insight into Fanny’s character: the one room that she expects to be awe-inspiring is instead simple and plain. A lot of readers assume that this is the reverent, religious side of her showing, which isn’t a wrong assumption. This little moment is a prelude to a conversation that will take place between Edmund and Mary C. later in this chapter, in which Fanny shows deference to the clergy. But to add a little more context to this: Fanny is quoting Walter Scott in her description of what a true chapel should look like. I think Austen is treating us to Fanny’s flight of fancy for the same reason that she previously detailed Fanny’s fascination with the sights of the countryside: something has been awakened in Fanny. The sensibility she displays reminds me of another Austen heroine.*
Mary makes light of Fanny’s disappointment, but she does so in the exact way to be off-putting to Edmund: she brushes off the idea of attending church at all, painting it as a chore, and ends with heavily implying that parsons and clergymen are useless. Now, I’m not trying to come down hard on Mary here—I think a lot of modern readers would agree with at least one of her points—but she does a bad job of reading the room. Edmund tries to engage her seriously, but she continues to joke.
Then Julia announces to the world that, hey, how cool would it be if Edmund was ordained already so that he could marry Rushworth and Maria in this cute little chapel?
Fanny watches as Mary grows pale and makes a short non-apology devoid of her previous wit.
Meanwhile, Henry makes Maria uncomfortable with his flirtations: “I do not like to see Miss Bertram so near the altar,” he murmurs. That man sure knows how to pick his moments.
Finally, they all hop off in groups of three: Maria, Rushworth, and Henry begin their “fault-finding” quest; Edmund and his trusty sidekick Fanny stick with Mary; and Julia is stuck with the two olds, her aunt Norris and Mamma Rushworth. The narrator mourns Julia’s lack of “that higher species of self-command, that just consideration of others, that knowledge of her own heart, that principle of right,” which has resulted in a very bad attitude and self-pity. I want to point out that Austen groups all four of these ideas together to connect good, noble behavior with deep self-knowledge. As the novel progresses, each principle character will be put to the test to see how well they know themselves. Austen wants us to couple their self-exploration (or lack thereof) with their actions. Julia thinks she wants to be the center of attention and be courted by Henry, but if she knew herself better, she might have an inkling that those desires don’t exactly bring out the best in her.
Meanwhile, Edmund, Mary, and Fanny start walking down a path in the woods. Mary broaches the whole “so, you’re going to be one of those clergy-thingies for that religion I keep hearing about” thing (not an actual quote). One of the first things she points out in her argument (funny that she feels that she ought to even start a debate over this, huh?) is that “there is generally an uncle or a grandfather to leave a fortune to a second son,” thus rendering the need for a profession pointless. “A clergyman is nothing,” she continues, given that “[o]ne does not see much of [their] influence and importance in society.” Yikes! She’s had around ten minutes to think about her response to the news that Edmund is going into orders, and she decides to turn his career choice into a debate? This seems a little presumptuous, even if it’s all in jest. And if indeed she’s just LOL JK, it’s rather mean-spirited—not the kind of behavior that reflects good breeding.
Edmund demonstrates his two best qualities—common sense and humility—in his responses to Mary. In fact, part of what he says touches on the point I made in the above paragraph:
“... [W]ith regard to their influencing public manners, Miss Crawford must not misunderstand me, or suppose I mean to call them the arbiters of good–breeding, the regulators of refinement and courtesy, the masters of the ceremonies of life. The manners I speak of might rather be called conduct, perhaps, the result of good principles; the effect, in short, of those doctrines which it is their duty to teach and recommend; and it will, I believe, be everywhere found, that as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation.”A lot of this goes into the age-old style vs. substance dichotomy: Mary admires the presentation of the thing, but Edmund praises the good inner qualities that dictate behavior and breeding. His main point is that clergymen have the ability to lead, just not in the showy style that appeals to Mary. She is convinced that London is "a pretty fair sample" of England at large, to which Edmund is like, if that were true, city girl, we'd all be screwed (but he says it in a nice way).
Fanny is all, “yay, Edmund,” like that little turtle from Disney’s Robin Hood. But Mary seems unaffected by Edmund’s sincerity, urging him instead to go into law, and he and she sort-of-flirt until he shuts her down for a little while. But then it starts back up again, as they flirt again about the length of the path and how long they can keep walking. Since Edmund is “not yet so much in love as to measure distance, or reckon time, with feminine lawlessness” (ha!), it’s not 100% clear that he’s flirting in response to Mary’s playful vibe. It's worth noting that Austen isn't so explicit with how Mary feels toward Edmund just now. Whether she thinks she's in love or she just wants to troll him (or both) is up to the reader's inference.
By refusing to be reasonable, she succeeds in getting Edmund to walk with her a ways down the path. (She wants to convince him to change career paths, so maybe she's testing out her persuasive skills on him in a different way?) They leave Fanny, who’s been struggling to keep up with them in more ways than one, alone on a bench.
Next: Fanny waits, Henry teases, Maria risks, Julia fumes, and Rushworth dithers.
Comments
Post a Comment