Worse still, because more vital in the book, is her constant deliberate weighting of the balance against Crawford and Mary, who obviously have her artists affection as well as her moralist’s disapproval (as is proved by the very violence of her outbreaks of injustice against them). […] the elopement of Crawford and Mary is an especially flagrant fraud on the reader, a dishonest bit of sheer bad art, meant to clear the field for Fanny, and wrench away the story from its obvious proper end, in the marriages of Edmund and Mary, Crawford and Fanny. However much an author may dislike letting his ‘pen dwell on guilt and misery’, this is no excuse for making Henry forfeit the woman he loves (and is winning), for the sake of another about whom he doesn’t care two straws. Crawford was no mere boy, to be rushed by any married woman into a scandal so fatal to his plans; and without some sufficient explanation one utterly declines to believe he ever did so. Yet Jane Austen inartistically shirks giving any reason for a perversity otherwise incredible. It was not that she would not; her fundamental honesty told her that she could not.
Nothing could be further from the truth, and this needs to be understood if there is to be any prospect of approaching the novel’s meaning (and I say that advisedly). Witty, suave, clever, educated and wealthy Henry may be, but it does not follow that he would be able to avoid his fatal entanglement with Maria. We know there is a powerful sexual chemistry between the two and ‘in all the riot of his gratifications it was yet an untasted pleasure’ (I.XIII). ‘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’ (III.XVII). Henry was trapped, Mrs Rushworth senior’s maidservant andMaria closing off his retreat.
It is interesting that Farrer reasons entirely unethically about Henry’s escapade, just as Mary does to Edmund’s incomprehension. We have been prepared for this the length of the action, both in Maria’s reckless passion for Henry (‘being prepared for matrimony by an hatred of home, restraint, and tranquillity […] and contempt of the man she was to marry’ [II.III]), and, from the first, by Henry’s nihilistic carelessness (‘All is safe with a lady engaged: no harm can be done.’ [I.VI]). We find out later that Henry has a career in breaking hearts, probably leading Flora Ross, like Maria after her, to seek refuge in a mercenary, desperately unhappy marriage to the ‘blackguard’ Lord Stornaway (III.V). We are prepared for the dénouement in the ‘fault finding’ outing to Sotherton, and in the rehearsing of Lover’s Vows—evidently the author has given the matter some thought and, beyond the formal structure, between the introduction of the Crawfords and the catastrophe, the character of Henry Crawford is thoroughly prepared.
Not being ‘satisfied with her two cousins’ Crawford sets out to make ‘a small hole in Fanny Price’s heart’ (II.VIII), and indeed Mary ‘complaisant as a sister’ proves herself to be ‘careless as a woman and a friend’ (II.VIII). The corruption and cynicism is breathtaking, and in a different novel it would perhaps have been wonderful to see the Crawfords ‘cured’ by Mansfield Park as their sister hopes (I.V) and the narrator admits as a counterfactual possibility (III.XVIII). However to claim that the outcome is a ‘dishonest bit of sheer bad art’, as Farrer does, suggests perversity, but not in the text so much as triggered by it.
Henry’s courtship of Fanny reveals the consummate actor, the one who not only puts his heart into his acting but ‘puts acting into his heart’, trying ‘for the most difficult role of all—the role of sincerity’ (Tanner). From his initial bluster (“what do [Edmund and Sir Thomas] do for her happiness, […] to what I shall do?” [II.XII]), through to his complete self-absorption inability to understand Fanny and her needs.
Now she was angry. Some resentment did arise at a perseverance so selfish and ungenerous. Here was again a want of delicacy and regard for others which had formerly so struck and disgusted her. Here was again a something of the same Mr. Crawford whom she had so reprobated before. How evidently was there a gross want of feeling and humanity where his own pleasure was concerned; and alas! how always known no principle to supply as a duty what the heart was deficient in! Had her own affections been as free as perhaps they ought to have been, he never could have engaged them. (III.II)
‘Everything about Henry Crawford, that mobile and consummate actor, calls his sincerity into question. He stages his love scenes before select audiences, all carefully chosen to put the greatest possible pressure on Fanny, only to humiliate her with his flamboyantly by his elopement with Maria once she had begun to respond.’ (Auerbach) Even his discussion of Edmund’s chosen profession reveals, despite having ‘more than half a mind to take orders and preach’, reveals his inability to see it as anything other than as performance art and means to self-gratification (III.III).
The Crawfords
This post is part of an essay on Mansfield Park, being posted in instalments.
Mansfield Park
Epilogue: Diminutive Greatness & Fanny Price
3.3 The Crawfords
Nothing could be further from the truth, and this needs to be understood if there is to be any prospect of approaching the novel’s meaning (and I say that advisedly). Witty, suave, clever, educated and wealthy Henry may be, but it does not follow that he would be able to avoid his fatal entanglement with Maria. We know there is a powerful sexual chemistry between the two and ‘in all the riot of his gratifications it was yet an untasted pleasure’ (I.XIII). ‘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’ (III.XVII). Henry was trapped, Mrs Rushworth senior’s maidservant and Maria closing off his retreat.
It is interesting that Farrer reasons entirely unethically about Henry’s escapade, just as Mary does to Edmund’s incomprehension. We have been prepared for this the length of the action, both in Maria’s reckless passion for Henry (‘being prepared for matrimony by an hatred of home, restraint, and tranquillity […] and contempt of the man she was to marry’ [II.III]), and, from the first, by Henry’s nihilistic carelessness (‘All is safe with a lady engaged: no harm can be done.’ [I.VI]). We find out later that Henry has a career in breaking hearts, probably leading Flora Ross, like Maria after her, to seek refuge in a mercenary, desperately unhappy marriage to the ‘blackguard’ Lord Stornaway (III.V). We are prepared for the dénouement in the ‘fault finding’ outing to Sotherton, and in the rehearsing of Lover’s Vows—evidently the author has given the matter some thought and, beyond the formal structure, between the introduction of the Crawfords and the catastrophe, the character of Henry Crawford is thoroughly prepared.
Not being ‘satisfied with her two cousins’ Crawford sets out to make ‘a small hole in Fanny Price’s heart’ (II.VIII), and indeed Mary ‘complaisant as a sister’ proves herself to be ‘careless as a woman and a friend’ (II.VIII). The corruption and cynicism is breathtaking, and in a different novel it would perhaps have been wonderful to see the Crawfords ‘cured’ by Mansfield Park as their sister hopes (I.V) and the narrator admits as a counterfactual possibility (III.XVIII). However to claim that the outcome is a ‘dishonest bit of sheer bad art’, as Farrer does, suggests perversity, but not in the text so much as triggered by it.
Henry’s courtship of Fanny reveals the consummate actor, the one who not only puts his heart into his acting but ‘puts acting into his heart’, trying ‘for the most difficult role of all—the role of sincerity’ (Tanner). From his initial bluster (“what do [Edmund and Sir Thomas] do for her happiness, […] to what I shall do?” [II.XII]), through to his complete self-absorption inability to understand Fanny and her needs.
‘Everything about Henry Crawford, that mobile and consummate actor, calls his sincerity into question. He stages his love scenes before select audiences, all carefully chosen to put the greatest possible pressure on Fanny, only to humiliate her with his flamboyantly by his elopement with Maria once she had begun to respond.’ (Auerbach) Even his discussion of Edmund’s chosen profession reveals, despite having ‘more than half a mind to take orders and preach’, reveals his inability to see it as anything other than as performance art and means to self-gratification (III.III).
Next: Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram