Shall I shock you all and confess that there was a point in my first perusal of Mansfield Park in which I was really hoping Fanny would end up with Henry Crawford?
While Jane Austen has plenty of interesting villains, I think the Crawfords are the set I find the most intriguing…and the least unlikable. Brother and sister have a lot in common, but they have some interesting differences as well.
(Just as a disclaimer, I wish to make clear that I am in no way saying that the Crawfords were good people – because they weren’t – or that Fanny should actually have married Henry Crawford – and CERTAINLY not that Mary Crawford was better than Fanny. (I think Fanny is grossly underrated. But another day for that post.) All I am trying to say in this post is that the Crawfords are more sympathetic, and more interesting, than might appear on first glance.)
(Oh, and also, this post will be rife with spoilers, just so you know.)
Before I start on the Crawfords, I should give a quick thumbnail sketch of the setup of Mansfield Park, in case you’re not familiar with the story: Fanny Price, our heroine, is living with her aunt and uncle and cousins, the Bertrams, who are much better-off than her own family. Almost everyone has a tendency to be horrible to her. Her two female cousins, Maria and Julia, are completely vain and selfish, and her cousin Tom is rather self-centered as well. Edmund, his younger brother, is quite different from his siblings, and is kind to Fanny. She falls in love with him, naturally, but he can be a little dense sometimes and hasn’t the faintest idea. The Crawfords appear in the story as visitors at the Mansfield parsonage next door. Now, onto Mary and Henry themselves.
Both Henry and Mary Crawford are, first and foremost, worldly, selfish, and immoral. In their defense, however, they did not have any good guide in their upbringing to instill any better qualities in them.
Henry and Mary were brought up by their uncle, Admiral Crawford, and his wife. We are not told a great deal about these two, but Jane Austen hints at the division and unhappiness in their marriage in these lines: “In their uncle’s house they had found a kind home. Admiral and Mrs. Crawford, though agreeing in nothing else, were united in affection for these children, or, at least, were no farther adverse in their feelings than that each had their favourite, to whom they showed the greatest fondness of the two. The Admiral delighted in the boy, Mrs. Crawford doted on the girl; and it was the lady’s death which now obliged her protegée, after some months’ further trial at her uncle’s house, to find another home.” We also know that the Admiral was a rather coarse and rather immoral man himself. We do not (as far as I can remember, at any rate) hear anything more of Mrs. Crawford.
In any case, these are hardly promising circumstances in which to instill virtuous characteristics, and if Henry and Mary came out of this upbringing worldly, shallow, and a little coarsened themselves, the blame should not necessarily be put completely on their doorsteps. (If they are wild Beasts, they cannot help it. It is not their own fault.)
Both Crawfords are witty, intelligent, charming, and attractive (at least, Mary is described as being a pretty girl, and Henry is charismatic, if not particularly good-looking (because really, how could one call such an undersized man handsome? He is not five foot nine. I should not wonder if he is not more than five eight)). Mary is looking to make a materially advantageous match. Henry is nothing more nor less than a flirt, with no present plans of marriage.
So, nothing particularly interesting as Austen villains go yet. But then the first intriguing thing happens. Mary had her sights set on Tom Bertram – he was the older son, and set to inherit and all that. Then, however, she falls for his brother Edmund, against her own better judgment:
…to the credit of the lady [Mary] it may be added that, without his [Edmund’s] being a man of the world or an elder brother, without any of the arts of flattery or the gaiety of small talk, he began to be agreeable to her. She felt it to be so, though she had not foreseen, and could hardly understand it; for he was not pleasant by any common rule: he talked no nonsense; he paid no compliments; his opinions were unbending, his attentions tranquil and simple. There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness, his integrity, which Miss Crawford might be equal to feel, though not equal to discuss with herself.
(By-the-by, since I have found that Jane Austen is a much better explainer than I am, I quote copiously from the book in this post. Sorry.)
This does not please we readers, since we feel for Fanny’s unhappiness at this development and want to tell Miss Crawford in no uncertain terms to keep off (especially as Edmund, a very nice fellow but extremely stupid at times, falls in love with Miss Crawford himself). But I find the fact that Mary falls in love with Edmund very interesting and not at all what you would expect. You would expect that he would hold no attractions for her. His social status is much less than that of his brother. He doesn’t flatter her, he isn’t funny, he isn’t a terribly exciting person in any way. But he is, quite simply, a good man, and shallow and worldly as she is, Mary on some level finds that attractive. Deeper moral worth speaks to her in some way that even she cannot understand.
However, we are reminded again of Mary’s shallowness at her revulsion when she finds out that Edmund plans on being a clergyman. She feels that there is no room for him to distinguish himself in the church and that he’s wasting his talents. (Edmund hints that thinking of being a clergyman as a waste of talent is not quite the right way to look at it, but it has no effect on Mary.) Despite this, however, after trying in vain to persuade him out of it, and then making clear that she intends to drop him, she does not do so. She seems, herself, to be unsure whether or not she wants to marry him if he does become a clergyman, but she does not go seek for a more advantageous connection elsewhere. This seems to show that Mary does possess some constancy, some better feeling besides her wish for wealth and position.
We also see a hint that Mary has some true kindness and unselfishness in her, as well. There is an incident in which Fanny’s cousins are trying to persuade her to act a small part in a dreadful play they are putting on. Fanny very much does not want to act, and says so. Edmund tells them to stop bothering her, and Mrs. Norris, Fanny’s aunt (and one of the most annoying people I have ever encountered, between the pages of a book or otherwise) insults her in front of everybody:
“I am not going to urge her,” replied Mrs. Norris sharply, “but I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl, if she does not do what her aunt and cousins wish her – very ungrateful indeed, considering who and what she is.”
Edmund was too angry to speak; but Miss Crawford, looking for a moment with astonished eyes at Mrs. Norris, and then at Fanny, whose tears were beginning to shew themselves, immediately said, with some keenness, “I do not like my situation: this place is too hot for me,” and moved away her chair to the opposite side of the table, close to Fanny, saying to her, in a kind, low whisper, as she placed herself, “Never mind, my dear Miss Price, this is a cross evening: every body is cross and teasing, but do not let us mind them”; and with pointed attention continued to talk to her and endeavour to raise her spirits, in spite of being out of spirits herself. By a look at her brother she prevented any farther entreaty from the theatrical board, and the really good feelings by which she was almost purely governed were rapidly restoring her to all the little she had lost in Edmund’s favour.
So not only can Mary appreciate true worth, she can also be unselfish. She doesn’t do it a whole lot, perhaps, but she does have it in her.
The sad thing about Mary is that her potential for virtue really never expands. You can see glimmerings of virtue in her, but they never develop much.
Henry is similar to his sister, but his character and character arc have some significant differences. He starts out as much more unlikable than Mary. While Mary is simply looking for a good match, Henry spends his time leading girls on solely for his own enjoyment, without the slightest intention of marriage. He flirts with both Bertram sisters at once, one of whom (Maria) is engaged…and, liking Maria better, he focuses his attentions on her and makes her think that he has serious intentions.
Since Maria despises her fianc̩ Рwhom she accepted for his money and estate Рshe much prefers the idea of marrying Henry, whom she has fallen in love with. But Henry has no serious intentions, of course. Maria, hurt and furious, goes ahead and marries her fianc̩ Mr. Rushworth, whom everyone considers an idiot.
However, then something interesting happens to Henry. He decides to try to make Fanny fall in love with him, to amuse him and satisfy his vanity, and then, in a totally unforeseen and contradictory turn, he actually falls in love with Fanny himself. Not only because she’s a pretty girl (though she is pretty, just overshadowed by her cousins), but because he actually recognizes her real worth, and – like Mary with Edmund – he finds that immensely attractive in some way. Here, let me quote from the book for you, when he’s excitedly telling Mary about his plans to marry Fanny:
Fanny’s beauty of face and figure, Fanny’s graces of manner and goodness of heart, were the exhaustless theme. The gentleness, modesty, and sweetness of her character were warmly expatiated on; that sweetness which makes so essential a part of every woman’s worth in the judgment of man, that though he sometimes loves where it is not, he can never believe it absent. Her temper he had good reason to depend on and to praise. He had often seen it tried. Was there one of the family, excepting Edmund, who had not in some way or other continually exercised her patience and forbearance? Her affections were evidently strong. To see her with her brother! What could more delightfully prove that the warmth of her heart was equal to its gentleness? What could be more encouraging to a man who had her love in view? Then, her understanding was beyond every suspicion, quick and clear; and her manners were the mirror of her own modest and elegant mind. Nor was this all. Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he was too little accustomed to serious reflection to know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having such a steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honour, and such an observance of decorum as might warrant any man in the fullest dependence on her faith and integrity, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious.
“I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her,” said he; “and that is what I want.”
Fanny is so moral and principled that some people nowadays – people much nicer than Henry Crawford – consider her a prude (I am not one of them; I have always had a special fondness for Fanny), but Henry really values those traits in her, despite his own shortcomings.
And I admit, I wanted to cheer him on when he said that he hoped that Fanny’s cousins “may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness” toward her when he married her (running ahead of himself a bit there, as he hadn’t even asked her yet).
(Mary, by-the-by, once she got over the shock of Henry’s falling in love, and with Fanny of all people, heartily supported him in the decision and “believ[ed]…that his opinion of Fanny Price was scarcely beyond her merits.” She also recognized Fanny’s worth…and keep in mind, this is a story where practically nobody does recognize Fanny’s worth. Besides the Crawfords, it’s just Edmund and to an extent Sir Thomas.)
Of course, Fanny has a rather low opinion of Henry from having seen the way he behaved with her cousins (besides which, she’s already in love with Edmund), and so she absolutely does not want to marry him. Everybody around her is very pleased with the idea of the match, however (for some reason no one else really picked up on how Henry had been behaving with Maria and has a very high opinion of Henry), and for a while poor Fanny feels rather wretched, with everyone pressing her to accept him and he himself not at all able to take a hint and go away. Even Edmund rather likes the idea…here is a snippet of a conversation between Fanny and him:
“I am persuaded that he does not think, as he ought, on serious subjects.”
“Say, rather, that he has not thought at all upon serious subjects, which I believe to be a good deal the case. How could it be otherwise, with such an education and advisor? Under the disadvantages, indeed, which both have had, is it not wonderful that they should be what they are? Crawford’s feelings, I am ready to acknowledge, have hitherto been much his guides. Happily, those feelings have generally been good. You will supply the rest; and a most fortunate man he is to attach himself to such a creature – to a woman who, firm as a rock in her own principles, has a gentleness of character so well adapted to recommend them. He has chosen his partner, indeed, with rare felicity. He will make you happy, Fanny; I know he will make you happy; but you will make him everything.”
“I would not engage in such a charge,” cried Fanny, in a shrinking accent, “in such an office of high responsibility!”
I actually agree with Edmund to an extent. I think that it is a little surprising that the Crawfords did not turn out even worse than they did, considering their upbringing, and I agree that Henry’s feelings have been his guides so far – but I do not think they have been such good guides as Edmund thinks. I also do agree that it’s possible that marrying a woman like Fanny would be the saving of Henry – it’s possible, just possible, that someone like Fanny would lift him up out of his self-absorption into better things. However, such an arrangement would be totally unfair to the female half of the picture…both husband and wife should be able to help each other in marriage. It should never be the case that one spouse is doing all the work and getting nothing in exchange. And I totally understand Fanny’s point of view – being responsible for your husband to that enormous degree is more than should be asked of anybody.
It does display that Henry still has quite a bit of selfishness to deal with that he persists in going after Fanny, when she continually repulses him and tries to make it clear that she wants nothing to do with him. He finally turns to a better method, however, and tells Fanny that he plans to prove his worth to her by his constancy; “My conduct shall speak for me; absence, distance, time shall speak for me. They shall prove that, as far as you can be deserved by any body, I do deserve you. You are infinitely my superior in merit; all that I know. … It is not by equality of merit that you can be won. That is out of the question. It is he who sees and worships your merit the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return. There I build my confidence.”
One could certainly argue that it would be truly kindest and most selfless for him to take Fanny at her word and stop trying to win her altogether, but this approach of attempting to win her by his true constancy is a lot better than just continuing to harangue her. (And I will point out that other fictional fellows have attempted this method, and it was considered sweet and touching when they did it…Mac Campbell, anyone?)
Later, Henry (quite intentionally, on his part) crosses paths with Fanny again while she is visiting her own family. Although she did not want his addresses, Fanny is nevertheless embarrassed at his seeing how poor and vulgar her family is…but Henry is scrupulously polite and sensitive and is not the slightest bit put off by her family. Fanny finds him much improved; he shows himself actually concerned about Fanny and her health, and has been apparently spending his time constructively since he last saw her in trying to justly and fairly sort out matters with his estate. And while it’s true that a very large factor in his making himself a productive member of society was wanting to impress Fanny, I don’t think that completely negates the merit of it. Would it be better if he were acting productively for its own sake? Absolutely. But doing good things in the effort to win a good woman is a far higher pursuit than doing nothing and chasing unworthy women, as he was doing before. (In fact, it was at this point in the story that I began hoping that Fanny would end up with Henry. I was sick of Edmund being so stupid, and Henry was really being very sweet.)
But then, we suddenly get the shocking news that Henry and Maria (now Mrs. Rushworth) have run away together. Mary’s calloused attitude to the immorality of it is what finally wakes Edmund up to the fact that she’s not the wonder woman he thought. And, of course, this event finally stops everyone from wanting Fanny to marry Henry.
But Henry’s circumstances and intentions, while by no means excusing his behavior, put him in a different category from, say, Wickham or William Elliot. He never intended to run away with Maria after leaving Fanny. Although he did deliberately revive his flirtation with Maria, it was due to his hurt pride and vanity at Maria’s cold treatment of him, and it was never his intention to carry it beyond a flirtation. Though finally feeling forced by Maria’s own strong passion for him, Henry never stopped loving Fanny or recognizing her worth. Jane Austen says that he thought of Fanny with regret even while leaving with Maria, and felt even more bitter regret – and not only regret, but self-reproach – afterwards.
Henry certainly behaved very badly, and I am not trying to say he didn’t, or that Fanny should have overlooked it and married him anyway. But isn’t he, in a certain way we may not like, very relatable? Haven’t we all struggled with a bad habit, thought we were free of it, exulted in our freedom, then, in one unwise moment, plunged back into it and then been furious with ourselves? That’s part of why I can’t hate Henry, when all is said and done. He was not a good person, but he wanted to be one. It was just that he wasn’t strong enough when the fatal moment arose. And Jane Austen states outright that if Henry had not unwisely placed himself in Maria’s society again, he would have continued on the better path he had begun, and that if Edmund had then married Mary (as he probably would have done, without the wake-up call he got), Fanny would have married Henry. Henry could have had happiness – he could have, in a certain way, made himself the hero.
And that, for all their similarities, is what I think the main difference is between Mary and Henry: Henry knew he was unworthy and wanted to change, but didn’t feel himself capable of it. Mary, on the other hand, had not the slightest idea that she wasn’t a good person already…Jane Austen explains Mary much better than I can: she is “a mind led astray and bewildered, and without any suspicion of being so; darkened, yet fancying itself light.”
That’s what makes them both such interesting villains – one of them desperately wants to not be a villain, and the other has no idea that she is a villain. I would love to see someone attempt a sequel about them – not a sequel which paints them as just being misunderstood by their prudish companions, but one which, while recognizing how broken they are, shows how they could realistically grow out of and heal from their brokenness.
This is an entry in We Love Sibling Stories Week at Hamlette’s Soliloquy.
What is your opinion of Henry and Mary Crawford? Do you think Fanny is an underrated heroine? Do you agree that Mansfield Park very much needs a good new adaptation?
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This was WILDLY interesting to read, and I really enjoyed it. I enjoyed Henry and Mary both, but it’s been so long since I read Mansfield Park that I don’t know how they’d strike me now. I am definitely struck by your description of Henry as somebody who wants to be a good person but isn’t, because I’ve met a lot of people like that and it’s really sad to watch them want to be better but not actually be willing to stick with it when it gets hard. I definitely pity Henry, even though he’s also…kind of terrible. Haha.
I’m so glad you enjoyed it! I can definitely see that being very sad and frustrating to watch…you just want to force some extra will-power into such people : P I think that’s one of the things that makes Jane Austen so great, though – she’s such a shrewd observer of human nature, so one does meet people like her characters (both good and bad!) in real life.
“Pitiable but kind of terrible” is a pretty apt description of Henry, though xD
I LOVED this! You are so right–Mary and Henry could have changed. Henry was so close to doing so. But he was too weak. Probably because he wasn’t in the habit of practicing virtue in his life. If he had been strengthening his habit muscles to choose NOT to be an incurable flirt, perhaps he could have resisted in the end. Honestly, I also wish there had been an alternate ending. (I shouldn’t maybe question Jane Austen, because she’s a greater writer than I’ll ever be!) But I would have liked to see Edmund and Mary together, and Fanny and Henry together and they could have all been good friends together because they all liked each other and got along well together. IF–and that’s a big if–the Crawfords could have grown in virtue and changed. Edmund and Fanny’s romance bothered me. I can understand how he didn’t even know that she was pining away for him all those years. She’s a reticent character and I’m sure didn’t show it. In addition, why would he think it because after all, she is his cousin! But the end is pretty much that he really wanted Mary, and couldn’t bring himself to marry her because he knew they’d be unhappy. Conveniently, here’s Fanny who will be the kind of wife he needs and is already in love with him. I wish we could have seen him actually fall in love with her. We had to endure all his lovesick moping about Mary–who we all know isn’t good for him. Even he knows it! But apparently he can’t help himself. I wish we could have seen his change of heart. Instead, Austen leaves it up to the reader’s imagination as to how long this takes. She literally says so. It felt lame, haha. All that being said, I do actually like Mansfield Park, even if I would have changed the ending. I have lots of thoughts on this book, haha! Thank you for writing this–I really enjoyed reading it! (And yes, I would like to see a better film adaptation!)
Oh, that would have made a really interesting ending! I agree with you on not being sold on Fanny and Edmund together – it really felt a bit like Jane was just tired of writing the book and couldn’t be bothered to show us the growth of their relationship : P (Although I think it’s possible that she was having a bit of fun at the expense of the melodramatic romances of the time…perhaps she deliberately opted for a very un-romantic ending because it was the opposite of the norm at the time?) I can actually see Fanny and Henry together more than I can see Edmund and Mary together…I think that while Fanny’s goodness had an improving effect on Henry, Mary was capable of dragging Edmund down morally more than he was capable of improving her. Even if Mary were to reform, it’s harder for me to picture them having a healthy relationship. Very interesting to think about, in any case! I actually like Mansfield Park a lot too, though I know it’s not one of Austen’s more popular books.
Thanks so much for the lovely long comment!
Ok, I had to come back to this and ask you: have you ever read Celia’s House by D.E Stevenson? I just finished it yesterday and I was so surprised to find that within the story is a re-telling of Mansfield Park! I haven’t heard anyone talk about this, or even if anyone knows! I like D.E. Steveson’s books, so I picked this one up partly because of the author, partly because I gravitate toward books where the house plays a big part in the story and the title seemed to promise this. 🙂 Anyway! The Mansfield Park-ishness of it totally came out of nowhere for me and I was like, what is happening here?? The whole book is not a retelling, but the re-telling is *within* the story. I so want to talk about this with someone, and so I had to come over here and ask you if you are aware of this on the chance that you’d be willing to discuss. I think I’m going to have to write a blog post about this because I’m so excited about it, haha.
I’ve never read Celia’s House, but I’m definitely intrigued now! Would you recommend it? And I’m curious…is it the sort of thing where you think the MP-ness was deliberate on the part of the author, or not necessarily?
I would recommend it!
It was totally deliberate of the author. It wasn’t exactly the same ( there wasn’t a Mrs. Norris character, and the birth order and amount of Bertram siblings was different, among other things). However, the main characters and their traits and their storyline were all there. It was couched within a larger story, so you couldn’t call it a “retelling” necessarily. But it was really close.
That sounds really interesting! Well, it’s on my TBR, so I’ll have to share thoughts and compare notes with you once I read it!
This is fascinating! Not least because I think I didn’t have any sympathy at all for Henry when I read Mansfield Park? Like. Clearly he’s a bad person, so why should I feel sorry for him or hope that his suit with Fanny goes forward at all? (I’m sometimes very black-and-white in my analysis when I’m reading, lol.) But seeing him as someone who wants to be good and just…can’t, or hasn’t gotten there yet, or doesn’t have the strength of will to resist temptation turns him into almost a tragic hero (replete with fatal flaw and sad ending), which I kind of love.
I find it so interesting that everyone has such different opinions on Austen’s villains! But it probably does have a lot to do with one’s personality/how one views characters in general – as you say, you tend more toward a black-and-white sort of view (so it makes sense that you would very much dislike Henry), while I’m probably over-prone to melt as soon as a bad character starts showing any signs of remorse, lol. But I definitely think that Henry could be viewed as a tragic almost-hero…and unlike most of Austen’s other villains, he actually did try to turn his life around and let his love for Fanny influence him for the good.
This was quite fascinating to read! It’s been a while since I read Mansfield Park, but I do remember simultaneously sympathising with the Crawfords and being reviled by them. This was an interesting dive into their true motives!
As for Fanny, I didn’t so much find her prudish as dislike her complacency and meekness. I did, however, appreciate her moral uprightness, and also enjoyed Edmund very much!
Thanks for posting!
I’m so glad you enjoyed the post!
You know, while it probably is true that Fanny is too complacent and meek (although you do also have to take into account her situation – it is true that she was living on her relatives’ charity, and therefore really did owe them respect and gratitude), I actually really appreciate that Jane Austen made a heroine with that set of faults…there are so many Elizabeth Bennett-type heroines out there, but I personally find the Fanny Price-type much more relatable. She’s the first Austen heroine I really clicked with. A conscientious introvert who hates conflict and finds it nigh impossible to seem mad at people, even when she wants to? YES. FINALLY A GIRL I CAN UNDERSTAND.
Heh, anyway, sorry for the tangent! I like Edmund too, though he does frustrate me rather at times.
Thanks so much for commenting!