Mansfield Park, ch. 26: The Affair of the Necklace

Credit to Nicola Kinnear. The pattern on this dress
is so wonderfully Austen-esque.

Heh-heh—three paragraphs into this chapter and already we get Sir Thomas interrupting Mrs. Norris! As you know, I live for these little moments. Mrs. Norris’s assertion that at least one of the Bertram daughters must be home in order to have a party is based on her narrow view of the world rather than on any rules of propriety. Sir Thomas affirms his plan to throw a ball in honor of Fanny and brother William. Ed in particular approves of this: “His father had never conferred a favour or shewn a kindness more to his satisfaction.” Aw.

It turns out that Sir Thomas has “been amusing himself with shaping a very complete outline of the business,” which here means setting the date, preparing a guest list, and counting the number of dance partners the ball room can fit. Hm … does any of this attention to detail and enthusiasm remind anyone of a certain eldest son during a certain theater kid phase? It’s not a perfect 1-to-1 comparison: Sir Thomas is more deliberate, whereas Tom makes decisions on the fly. But that difference speaks to their respective maturity levels. I don’t know if Austen meant for us to make a connection between the estranged father and son. It was just something I noticed.

We check in with Ed, who has mixed feelings about how the next few weeks are going to play out. He wants to be ordained and he wants to pop the question to Mary Crawford. But he has his doubts on the latter, reflecting that “[t]here were points on which they did not quite agree; there were moments in which she did not seem propitious.” Really, Ed? You mean like, when she mocks the very idea of religion, or says clergymen are poor and lazy, or gives definite signs that she isn’t looking forward to living in the country year-round? You mean like that?

He can’t accurately gauge how strong the pull of London is for Mary. He’s “heard her tell Mrs. Grant … that though she felt she must go, and knew she should enjoy herself when once away, she was already looking forward to being at Mansfield again.” Now we’re getting into Mary’s ambiguity: Is she still a city girl at heart, or has she been won over by the subtle charms of Mansfield Park? Can her values system change when she’s exposed to the steady values of the Bertram household? Ed doesn’t know the answer, and given the ebb and flow of Mary’s own feelings within the last few chapters, I doubt that Mary herself knows, either.

Having said that, Mary still projects extreme confidence in her daily doings, and nothing is a better example of this than the Giving of the Necklace. Fanny, concerned with how to wear an amber cross that William found on one of his travels, seeks out “the counsel of the more enlightened” and meets Mary (carrying a “small parcel”) in the driveway of the Parsonage. After a weird pause, Mary invites Fanny up to her room. After giving the younger woman some fashion tips, Mary hits on the point of the cross and coincidentally has an array of necklaces for Fanny’s choosing. Our reluctant Fanny realizes that Mary appears to be singling one out in particular, and takes that as a sign that she can go ahead and take it. Then Mary happily informs her that, coincidentally, Henry actually gifted her that necklace some time ago.

Credit to Darya Shnykina again.
This might be my favorite Mary Crawford.

Yes. What a coincidence.

And then, in the face of Fanny’s insisting to return it, Mary gaslights her. “[P]erhaps,” Mary suggests impishly, “you suspect a confederacy between us, and that what I am now doing is with [Henry’s] knowledge and at his desire?” Of course, Fanny doesn’t want to insult Mary or ruffle any feathers, so she accepts the necklace because the optics look good.

Minor spoiler: This necklace thing is absolutely a “confederacy” between the Crawford siblings. What they’re doing here is high on the list of courtship no-no’s. I’m not sure what Henry’s motivation is here beyond basic disregard for the rules. If his goal is to gauge whether Fanny has a crush on him, then why not stick around to see her reaction on getting the necklace? Or maybe he just wants to see if he can get the prude to break a rule so he can laugh at her? That was his justification for hanging around the Bertram sisters—their cat-fighting made for good entertainment.

Fanny might have taken the necklace, but she’s got their number:

It was impossible for her to be insensible of Mr. Crawford’s change of manners. She had long seen it. He evidently tried to please her: he was gallant, he was attentive, he was something like what he had been to her cousins: he wanted, she supposed, to cheat her of her tranquility as he had cheated them; and whether he might not have some concern in this necklace—she could not be convinced that he had not, for Miss Crawford, complaisant as a sister, was careless as a woman and a friend.

You can almost feel Fanny’s anxiety vibrating off the page. Notice that Fanny doesn’t resolve to do anything about this. That’s because she’s stuck. Fanny is giving out “no” signals as best she can with what little agency she is allowed to have, both as a woman and as the poorer relation of a wealthy land owner. And with no concrete proof nor a desire to upset Ed, she wouldn’t dream of confronting Mary. All she has is the conviction of her observations.

Here’s an interesting parallel to the ending of the chapter before: now both of the Crawford siblings have forced something on Fanny (a shawl, a necklace) by masking their actions in generosity. And I wonder if Mary’s frustration with Ed isn’t part of her motivation for helping Henry in his pursuit of Fanny. If Mary can’t seduce Ed, at least she can watch Henry seduce Ed’s female counterpart. Maybe that’s a wild theory, but remember: Mary was once indifferent to this scheme. Now she’s a willing participant in it. Something changed.

Next time: Okay, this is the chapter where Edmund gives Fanny an unexpected gift. I was a little sloppy in my write-up last week. Also, we get an intense look at Fanny the unabashed romantic.