Mansfield Park, ch. 24: Brothers and Sisters

Credit to MG Maris. I love how she chose to
portray Mary and Henry Crawford as the main
adversaries against Fanny and Mansfield itself.

So the opening conversation of this chapter makes me shudder. I mean, I think that’s the main purpose of it—to let the reader know that not only is Henry untrustworthy, but that Mary has no scruples in being complicit in this scheme. But let’s look at Henry first: his desire to “make a small hole in Fanny Price’s heart” comes apropos of “the wonderful improvement that has taken place in her looks within the last six weeks,” along with a healthy dose of egotism. Henry sells this as a mental exercise, something to keep him occupied for the next two weeks, but it’s obvious that he’s getting his rocks off at the idea of messing with this girl’s head. “[I n]ever met with a girl who looked so grave on me! I must try to get the better of this. Her looks say, ‘I will not like you, I am determined not to like you;’ and I say she shall.”

Also, he calls her “Miss Fanny” at one point, which is rather crass within the context. He should be referring to her as Miss Price.

Mary mocks him for this plan and puts up a halfhearted defense on behalf of Fanny, but it’s clear that she’s not invested in this one way or the other. I do think it’s hilarious that Mary denies Henry’s claim that Fanny is more attractive now, since our beautiful idiot Ed was making the exact same claim only one chapter ago. It’s also funny that though Mary correctly pegs Fanny as having “a great deal of feeling,” she doesn’t have any clue as to the nature of Fanny’s real feelings.

Our trusty narrator happily fills us in, however, when she notes that Fanny wouldn’t have been able to “[escape] heart–whole from the courtship (though the courtship only of a fortnight) of such a man as Crawford, in spite of there being some previous ill opinion of him to be overcome, had not her affection been engaged elsewhere.” (Another idea for a fanfic.) The implications are twofold: a) yes, Henry’s charm is that powerful and b) Fanny is in a very vulnerable position, despite having witnessed Henry’s mistreatment of Maria. What saves her from this fate? Her guileless love for Ed. So even though she eventually finds Henry to be “entertaining” and “seriously and blamelessly polite,” her huge crush helps tether her to reality. Or, to put it another way: she won’t let Henry Crawford distract her from her only fantasy. The fantasy itself may not be blameless. Again, here is Fanny at her most complex: her ability to love unconditionally is at once her biggest indulgence and her best guidance.

Anyway, Henry’s got a lot on his plate when, in the middle of his pseudo-courtship, William Price is expected to go on leave. Much is made of Henry’s efforts to research the ship and navy news so that he can be the one to deliver the good news to Fanny. And again there’s that Crawford selfishness! He wants to “be the exciter” of “[a]ll those fine first feelings” that he’s sure Fanny will express. And even then, the unsuspecting Fanny “quite thankfully and warmly” acknowledges his prompt attention. We can assume that this has given Henry the encouragement that he doesn’t really need.

There’s a cute little scene where Sir Thomas and Edmund hold Mrs. Norris off from intruding on Fanny and William when he first arrives. Both father and son realize what this reunion means to Fanny, if not as well to William. What’s interesting is that Sir Thomas felt that Fanny deserved to be the first to greet William. Put another check in the “Good Parent” column for this guy.

William, who is just one year older than Fanny, proves to be (among other things) perhaps the only person with whom she can be totally honest. He’s happy to “think of every member of [Mansfield Park] as she directed, or differing only by a less scrupulous opinion, and more noisy abuse of their aunt Norris[.]” You have to love this guy! Our narrator returns to assert that the sibling bond can be stronger than even that of the romantic variety, and goes on to say:

Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connexions can supply; and it must be by a long and unnatural estrangement, by a divorce which no subsequent connexion can justify, if such precious remains of the earliest attachments are ever entirely outlived. Too often, alas! it is so. Fraternal love, sometimes almost everything, is at others worse than nothing. But with William and Fanny Price it was still a sentiment in all its prime and freshness, wounded by no opposition of interest, cooled by no separate attachment, and feeling the influence of time and absence only in its increase.

Besides the genuinely lovely sentiment of family ties (which Austen held close to her heart), I can’t help but think there’s something else going on here. Fanny’s estrangement from William has resulted in a stronger bond between the two partly because they may be one another’s most qualified listener. As Fanny has taken her licks from Mrs. Norris and three-quarters of her cousins, William has been struggling in a similar way in trying to prove his worth to his superiors. On some level, Fanny and William get this. Which I think explains why they “[feel] the influence of time and absence only in its increase.”

Henry watches Fanny very closely as she and William enjoy their time together. William compliments Fanny’s hair style (“trim” refers to bangs, apparently. Previously I’ve assumed it meant the trim of her bonnet). “[T]he sensibility which beautified her complexion and illuminated her countenance was an attraction in itself” for Henry, who is struck with the idea of “excit[ing] the first ardours of her young unsophisticated mind!” Maria Bertram, therefore, must have been one of a line of young women who were in fact quite sophisticated and worldly (inasmuch as a young gentlewoman could have been said to be worldly). Fanny is not just a challenge, but an adventure, and a perversely sexual one at that. (I hate that he emphasizes her youth. He’s obsessed with being the first man to interest her romantically. Reminds me of a contemporary fictional male character.)

Also notable is Henry’s fleeting desire for a career in the navy as he listens to William’s stories of adventure on the high sea. “The glory of heroism, of usefulness, of exertion, of endurance, made his own habits of selfish indulgence appear in shameful contrast.” Ah-ha! Proof that Henry has some self-awareness after all! Austen fans tend to agree that Henry is one of the most complex villains she has written. This is why. In “distinguishing himself and working his way to fortune and consequence,” he could have achieved—no—he could have earned “self-respect.” He’d have earned his happy ending, as the trope goes. Recall his enthusiasm during the disaster that was Lovers’ Vows: “Let us be doing something.” Henry has always shown willingness to jump into a new venture. It’s only that, until now, a new venture seems to have meant entangling with another young woman’s heart.

Here, though, his fervor falls quickly by the wayside. Turns out he’d rather be in the position to grant the struggling young sailor an expensive favor (loaning William a horse for the next few hunts) than experience any struggle on his own account. And if he can impress the sailor’s sister at the same time, well, it’s a nice bonus. Farewell, dreams of naval pride.

Chapter upcoming: Sir Thomas’s observation skills need a little sharpening, Henry takes Fanny under his tutelage, and … landscaping. These people were obsessed with landscaping!