It was not in Miss Crawford's power to talk Fanny into any real forgetfulness of what had passed. When the evening was over, she went to bed full of it, her nerves still agitated by the shock of such an attack from her cousin Tom, so public and so persevered in, and her spirits sinking under her aunt's unkind reflection and reproach. To be called into notice in such a manner, to hear that it was but the prelude to something so infinitely worse, to be told that she must do what was so impossible as to act; and then to have the charge of obstinacy and ingratitude follow it, enforced with such a hint at the dependence of her situation, had been too distressing at the time to make the remembrance when she was alone much less so—especially with the superadded dread of what the morrow might produce in continuation of the subject. Miss Crawford had protected her only for the time; and if she were applied to again among themselves with all the authoritative urgency that Tom and Maria were capable of, and Edmund perhaps away, what should she do? She fell asleep before she could answer the question, and found it quite as puzzling when she awoke the next morning. The little white attic, which had continued her sleeping room ever since her first entering the family, proving incompetent to suggest any reply, she had recourse, as soon as she was dressed, to another apartment more spacious and more meet for walking about in and thinking, and of which she had now for some time been almost equally mistress. It had been their schoolroom; so called till the Miss Bertrams would not allow it to be called so any longer, and inhabited as such to a later period. There Miss Lee had lived, and there they had read and written, and talked and laughed, till within the last three years, when she had quitted them. The room had then become useless, and for some time was quite deserted, except by Fanny, when she visited her plants, or wanted one of the books, which she was still glad to keep there, from the deficiency of space and accommodation in her little chamber above: but gradually, as her value for the comforts of it increased, she had added to her possessions, and spent more of her time there; and having nothing to oppose her, had so naturally and so artlessly worked herself into it, that it was now generally admitted to be hers. The East room, as it had been called ever since Maria Bertram was sixteen, was now considered Fanny's, almost as decidedly as the white attic; the smallness of the one making the use of the other so evidently reasonable that the Miss Bertrams, with every superiority in their own apartments which their own sense of superiority could demand, were entirely approving it; and Mrs. Norris, having stipulated for there never being a fire in it on Fanny's account, was tolerably resigned to her having the use of what nobody else wanted, though the terms in which she sometimes spoke of the indulgence seemed to imply that it was the best room in the house.

The aspect was so favourable that even without a fire it was habitable in many an early spring and late autumn morning to such a willing mind as Fanny's; and while there was a gleam of sunshine she hoped not to be driven from it entirely, even when winter came. The comfort of it in her hours of leisure was extreme. She could go there after anything unpleasant below, and find immediate consolation in some pursuit, or some train of thought at hand. Her plants, her books—of which she had been a collector from the first hour of her commanding a shilling—her writing desk, and her works of charity and ingenuity, were all within her reach; or if indisposed for employment, if nothing but musing would do, she could scarcely see an object in that room which had not an interesting remembrance connected with it. Everything was a friend, or bore her thoughts to a friend; and though there had been sometimes much of suffering to her—though her motives had been often misunderstood, her feelings disregarded, and her comprehension undervalued; though she had known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet almost every recurrence of either had led to something consolatory; her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had been encouraging, or, what was yet more frequent or more dear, Edmund had been her champion and her friend: he had supported her cause or explained her meaning, he had told her not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which made her tears delightful—and the whole was now so blended together, so harmonised by distance, that every former affliction had its charm. The room was most dear to her, and she would not have changed its furniture for the handsomest in the house, though what had been originally plain had suffered all the ill-usage of children—and its greatest elegancies and ornaments were a faded footstool of Julia's work, too ill done for the drawing-room, three transparencies, made in a rage for transparencies, for the three lower panes of one window, where Tintern Abbey held its station between a cave in Italy and a moonlight lake in Cumberland, a collection of family profiles, thought unworthy of being anywhere else, over the mantelpiece, and by their side, and pinned against the wall, a small sketch of a ship sent four years ago from the Mediterranean by William, with H. M. S.Antwerp at the bottom, in letters as tall as the mainmast.

To this nest of comforts Fanny now walked down to try its influence on an agitated, doubting spirit—to see if by looking at Edmund's profile she could catch any of his counsel, or by giving air to her geraniums she might inhale a breeze of mental strength herself. But she had more than fears of her own perseverance to remove; she had begun to feel undecided as to what she ought to do; and as she walked round the room her doubts were increasing. Was she right in refusing what was so warmly asked, so strongly wished for, what might be so essential to a scheme on which some of those to whom she owed the greatest complaisance had set their hearts? Was it not ill-nature—selfishness—and a fear of exposing herself? And would Edmund's judgment, would his persuasion of Sir Thomas's disapprobation of the whole, be enough to justify her in a determined denial in spite of all the rest? It would be so horrible to her to act that she was inclined to suspect the truth and purity of her own scruples; and as she looked around her, the claims of her cousins to being obliged were strengthened by the sight of present upon present that she had received from them. The table between the windows was covered with work boxes and netting boxes which had been given her at different times, principally by Tom; and she grew bewildered as to the amount of the debt which all these kind remembrances produced. A tap at the door roused her in the midst of this attempt to find her way to her duty, and her gentle “Come in” was answered by the appearance of one, before whom all her doubts were wont to be laid. Her eyes brightened at the sight of Edmund.

“Can I speak with you, Fanny, for a few minutes?” said he.

“Yes, certainly.”

“I want to consult. I want your opinion.”

“My opinion!” she cried, shrinking from such a compliment, highly as it gratified her.

“Yes, your advice and opinion. I do not know what to do. This acting scheme gets worse and worse, you see. They have chosen almost as bad a play as they could, and now, to complete the business, are going to ask the help of a young man very slightly known to any of us. This is the end of all the privacy and propriety which was talked about at first. I know no harm of Charles Maddox; but the excessive intimacy which must spring from his being admitted among us in this manner is highly objectionable, the more than intimacy—the familiarity. I cannot think of it with any patience—and it does appear to me an evil of such magnitude as must, if possible, be prevented. Do not you see it in the same light?”

“Yes; but what can be done? Your brother is so determined.”

“There is but one thing to be done, Fanny. I must take Anhalt myself. I am well aware that nothing else will quiet Tom.”

Fanny could not answer him.

“It is not at all what I like,” he continued. “No man can like being driven into the appearance of such inconsistency. After being known to oppose the scheme from the beginning, there is absurdity in the face of my joining them now, when they are exceeding their first plan in every respect; but I can think of no other alternative. Can you, Fanny?”

“No,” said Fanny slowly, “not immediately—but—”

“But what? I see your judgment is not with me. Think it a little over. Perhaps you are not so much aware as I am of the mischief that may, of the unpleasantness that must arise from a young man's being received in this manner—domesticated among us—authorised to come at all hours—and placed suddenly on a footing which must do away all restraints. To think only of the licence which every rehearsal must tend to create. It is all very bad! Put yourself in Miss Crawford's place, Fanny. Consider what it would be to act Amelia with a stranger. She has a right to be felt for, because she evidently feels for herself. I heard enough of what she said to you last night to understand her unwillingness to be acting with a stranger; and as she probably engaged in the part with different expectations—perhaps without considering the subject enough to know what was likely to be, it would be ungenerous, it would be really wrong to expose her to it. Her feelings ought to be respected. Does not it strike you so, Fanny? You hesitate.”

“I am sorry for Miss Crawford; but I am more sorry to see you drawn in to do what you had resolved against, and what you are known to think will be disagreeable to my uncle. It will be such a triumph to the others!”

“They will not have much cause of triumph when they see how infamously I act. But, however, triumph there certainly will be, and I must brave it. But if I can be the means of restraining the publicity of the business, of limiting the exhibition, of concentrating our folly, I shall be well repaid. As I am now, I have no influence, I can do nothing; I have offended them, and they will not hear me; but when I have put them in good humour by this concession, I am not without hopes of persuading them to confine the representation within a much smaller circle than they are now in the high road for. This will be a material gain. My object is to confine it to Mrs. Rushworth and the Grants. Will not this be worth gaining?”

“Yes, it will be a great point.”

“But still it has not your approbation. Can you mention any other measure by which I have a chance of doing equal good?”

“No, I cannot think of anything else.”

“Give me your approbation, then, Fanny. I am not comfortable without it.”

“Oh! cousin.”

“If you are against me, I ought to distrust myself—and yet—but it is absolutely impossible to let Tom go on in this way, riding about the country in quest of anybody who can be persuaded to act—no matter whom; the look of a gentleman is to be enough. I thought you would have entered more into Miss Crawford's feelings.”

“No doubt she will be very glad. It must be a great relief to her,” said Fanny, trying for greater warmth of manner.

“She never appeared more amiable than in her behaviour to you last night. It gave her a very strong claim on my good will.”

“She was very kind, indeed, and I am glad to have her spared...”

She could not finish the generous effusion. Her conscience stopped her in the middle, but Edmund was satisfied.

“I shall walk down immediately after breakfast,” said he, “and am sure of giving pleasure there. And now, dear Fanny, I will not interrupt you any longer. You want to be reading. But I could not be easy till I had spoken to you, and come to a decision. Sleeping or waking, my head has been full of this matter all night. It is an evil—but I am certainly making it less than it might be. If Tom is up, I shall go to him directly and get it over, and when we meet at breakfast we shall be all in high good humour at the prospect of acting the fool together with such unanimity. You, in the meanwhile, will be taking a trip into China, I suppose. How does Lord Macartney go on?” —opening a volume on the table and then taking up some others.“And here are Crabbe's Tales, and the Idler, at hand to relieve you, if you tire of your great book. I admire your little establishment exceedingly; and as soon as I am gone, you will empty your head of all this nonsense of acting, and sit comfortably down to your table. But do not stay here to be cold.”

He went; but there was no reading, no China, no composure for Fanny. He had told her the most extraordinary, the most inconceivable, the most unwelcome news; and she could think of nothing else. To be acting! After all his objections—objections so just and so public! After all that she had heard him say, and seen him look, and known him to be feeling. Could it be possible? Edmund so inconsistent. Was he not deceiving himself? Was he not wrong? Alas! it was all Miss Crawford's doing. She had seen her influence in every speech, and was miserable. The doubts and alarms as to her own conduct, which had previously distressed her, and which had all slept while she listened to him, were become of little consequence now. This deeper anxiety swallowed them up. Things should take their course; she cared not how it ended. Her cousins might attack, but could hardly tease her. She was beyond their reach; and if at last obliged to yield—no matter—it was all misery now.

克劳福德小姐的劝慰并不能使范妮真正忘掉所发生的事。到了夜里就寝的时候，她满脑子还在想着晚上的情景：大表哥汤姆在众人面前一个劲地逼迫她，这场发难依然使她心有余悸；而大姨妈那顿无情的指责和辱骂依然使她情绪低沉。让人如此颐指气使，说是糟糕透顶的事情还在后头，非要逼着她去演戏，做她做不了的事，接着又骂她固执、忘恩负义，还要影射她寄人篱下，当时真让她感到痛苦不堪。现在独自一人想起这些事的时候，她心里不可能好受到哪儿去——她尤其还要担心明天又会重提这件事。克劳福德小姐只是当时保护了她。如果他们再次胁迫她，逼她接受角色（这是汤姆和玛丽亚完全做得出来的），而埃德蒙可能又不在场——她该怎么办呢？她还没找到答案就睡着了。第二天早晨醒来，她依然觉得这是个无法解决的难题。她来到姨妈家以后一直住在白色小阁楼里，这里无法使她想出答案。于是她一穿好衣服，便跑去另外一间屋子。这间屋子比较宽敞，更适合踱步与思考，许久以来差不多同样归她所有。这原来是孩子们的教室，后来两位伯特伦小姐不让再把它称作教室，不过做此用场还是又持续了一段时间。先是李小姐住在这里，小姐们在这里读书、写字、聊天、嬉笑，直至三年前李小姐离开她们。随后，这间屋子就没有了用场，有一段时间除了范妮谁也不去。她那个小阁楼地方狭小，没有书架，她把她的花草养在这里，书也放在这里，有时来这里看看花草，取本书。她越来越觉得这里的条件好些，便不断地增添花草和书籍，在里面度过了更多的时光。她就这么自然而然地占用了这间屋子，加上于谁也无碍，如今大家都公认这间屋子是属于她的。从玛丽亚十六岁那年起，这间屋子一直叫作东屋，现在，这间东屋几乎像那间白阁楼一样被明确地视为范妮的房间。鉴于一间屋子太小，再用一间分明是合理的，两位伯特伦小姐出于自身的优越感，住的屋子各方面条件都很优越，因而完全赞成范妮使用那间屋子。诺里斯太太早就发话，这间屋里决不能为范妮生火。有了这一规定，她倒能听任范妮使用这间谁也不需要的屋子。不过，她有时说起范妮受到的这种纵容，听那口气好像是说，这是大宅里最好的一间屋子。

这间屋子的朝向很有利，即使不生炉火，在早春和晚秋季节，对于范妮这样一个容易满足的女孩来说，仍然有许多个上午可以待在这里。但凡有一线阳光射入，即使到了冬天，她也完全不希望离开这间屋子。在她空闲的时候，这间屋子给她带来莫大的安慰。每逢她在楼下遇到不称心的事情，她就可以到这里找点事干，想想心事，当即便能感到慰藉。她养的花草，她买的书——自从她可以支配一个先令的那刻起，她就一直在买书——她的写字台，她为慈善事业做的活，她绣的花，全都伸手可及。如果没有心思做活，只想沉思默想一番，那她在屋中看到的一事一物，没有一样不给她带来愉快的回忆。每一样东西都是她的朋友，或者让她联想到某个朋友。虽然有时候她遭受巨大的痛苦——虽然她的动机常常遭人误解，她的情感别人不加理会，她的见解别人不予重视；虽然她饱尝了专横、嘲笑、冷落给她带来的痛苦，但是每次受到诸如此类的委屈，总有人给她带来安慰。伯特伦姨妈为她说过情；李小姐鼓励过她；而更加常见、更加可贵的是，埃德蒙总替她打抱不平，与她交好。他支持她做的事，解释她的用意，劝她不要哭，或者向她表明他疼爱她，使她破涕为笑——这一切由于时间久远而和谐地交融在一起，致使每一桩痛苦的往事都带上迷人的色彩。这间屋子对她来说无比珍贵。屋里的家具原本就平平常常，后来又受尽了孩子们的糟蹋，但即使用大宅里最精致的家具来换，她也不肯换。屋里主要有这样几件艺术品和装饰：朱莉娅画的一幅已经褪色的脚凳，由于画得不好，不适合挂在客厅；在时兴雕花玻璃的时候为窗子下方三个窗格制作的三块雕花玻璃，中间一块雕的是廷特恩寺，两边一块是意大利的一个洞穴，另一块是坎伯兰的湖上月色；一组家族人物的侧面像，由于挂到哪里都不合适，才挂在这间屋子的壁炉架上方；侧面像旁边的墙上，钉着一张素描，画的是一艘轮船，是四年前威廉从地中海寄来的，画的下方写着H. M. S. Antwerp[1]几个字，字母之大像主桅一样高。

现在范妮就来到了这个安乐窝，试一试它对她那激动不安的心情能否起到抚慰作用——看看埃德蒙的侧面像能否给她一点启示，或者给她的天竺葵透透气，看看自己是否也能吸取一点精神力量。但是，她不光为自己的执意不从担起心来，还对自己应该怎么办开始感到犹豫不决。她在屋里踱来踱去，越来越感到怀疑。这本是她该对之百依百顺的几个人，如此强烈地要求她、热切地盼望她做一件事，而这件事对他们热衷的计划又是那么至关重要，她居然不肯答应，这样做合适吗？这是不是说明自己心地不善——自私自利——怕自己出丑？埃德蒙不赞成演戏，并说托马斯爵士会反对演戏，这难道能证明她不顾别人的愿望而断然拒绝是正确的吗？她把参加演出看得这么可怕，她有点怀疑自己的顾虑是否正确，是否夹杂私心杂念。她看向四周，看到表哥表姐送给自己的一件又一件礼物，越发觉得自己应该感恩图报。两个窗子间的桌子上放满了针线盒和编织盒，主要是汤姆一次次送给她的。她心里在纳闷：收了人家这么多纪念品，该欠下了多少人情。就在她闷头思索该怎样偿还人情时，一阵敲门声把她惊醒了。她轻柔地说了声“请进”，应声走进来一个人，就是她遇到疑难问题总要向他请教的那个人。她一见是埃德蒙，眼睛顿时一亮。

“可以和你谈几分钟吗，范妮？”埃德蒙说。

“当然可以。”

“我想向人求教，想听听你的意见。”

“我的意见！”范妮受宠若惊，不由得往后一缩，叫道。

“是的，听听你的意见和建议。我不知道如何是好。你知道，这次的演出计划搞得越来越糟。他们选的剧本已经够糟的了，现在为了凑够角色，又要请一个我们谁都不怎么认识的年轻人来帮忙。这样一来，我们起初所说的家庭演出和合乎规矩全都落空了。我没听说查尔斯·马多克斯有什么不好的，但是让他和我们一起演戏势必产生过分亲密的关系，这是很不合适的。不仅仅是亲密，还会导致随便。我想到这一点就无法容忍——我觉得这件事危害极大，如有可能，必须加以制止。难道你不这样看吗？”

“我也这样看，但是有什么办法呢？你哥哥那么坚决。”

“只有一个办法，范妮。我必须自己来演安哈尔特。我很清楚，别的办法是安抚不了汤姆的。”

范妮无言以对。

“我并不喜欢这样做，”埃德蒙接着说，“谁也不喜欢被逼得做出这种反复无常的姿态。大家都知道我从一开始就反对这件事。现在他们在各方面都越出了最初的方案，我却要加入进去，看起来真是荒唐可笑。可是我想不出别的办法。你能想出办法吗，范妮？”

“想不出，”范妮慢吞吞地说，“一下子想不出——不过——”

“不过什么？我知道你的看法和我不一样。仔细想一想吧。以这种方式接受一个年轻人——像一家人一样和我们待在一起——随时有权走进我们的家门——突然间和我们建立了无拘无束的关系，对于这样的关系可能带来的危害以及必然带来的不快，你也许没有我了解得清楚。你只要想一想，每排演一次他就会放肆一次。这有多糟糕啊！你设身处地地替克劳福德小姐想一想，范妮。想一想跟着一个陌生人去演阿米丽亚会是个什么滋味。她有权得到别人的同情，因为她显然觉得大家应该同情她。我听见了她昨天晚上对你讲的话，能理解她不愿意和陌生人一起演戏。她答应演这个角色的时候，很可能另有期望——也许她没有认真考虑这个问题，不知道会出现什么情况。我们在这种情况下让她去活受罪，那也太不义，太不应该了。她的心情应该受到尊重。难道你不这样认为吗，范妮？你在犹豫。”

“我替克劳福德小姐难过。但是，我更替你难过，因为我眼见你给卷了进去，做你原来不肯做的事，而且大家都知道，那也是你认为姨父会反对的事。别人会如何扬扬得意啊！”

“如果他们看到我演得多么糟糕，就不会有多少理由扬扬得意了。不过，肯定会有人扬扬得意，可我就不管谁得意不得意。如果我能使这件事不要张扬出去，只在有限的范围内丢人现眼，不要搞到放荡不羁的地步，我就觉得很值得了。像我现在这样，什么作用也起不了，什么事也办不成，因为我得罪了他们，他们不肯听我的。但是我这一让步，使他们高兴起来，就有希望说服他们缩小演出的范围，比他们眼下谋求的范围小得多。这个收获就大了。我的目标是把演出限制在拉什沃思太太和格兰特一家人。这样的目标不值得争取吗？”

“是的，这一点是很重要。”

“可你还没表示同意呢。你能不能提出个别的办法，也能让我同样起点作用？”

“提不出，我想不出别的办法。”

“那就赞同我吧，范妮。没有你的赞同，我心里不踏实。”

“噢！表哥。”

“你要是不同意我的意见，我就该怀疑自己的看法了——不过——不过，决不能让汤姆这样干：骑着马四处去拉人来演戏——不管是谁，只要样子像个绅士，只要愿意来就行。我原以为你会更能体谅克劳福德小姐的心情。”

“她无疑会很高兴。这肯定会让她大大舒一口气。”范妮说道，极力想表现得更热情一些。

“她昨天晚上对你那么亲切，这是以前从未有过的。因此，我就非得好好地待她。”

“她的确是很亲切。我很高兴能让她别和陌生人……”

范妮没有说完这句宽宏大度的话。她的良心阻止了她，但是埃德蒙已经满足了。

“早饭后我立即去找她，”他说，“这肯定会让她很高兴。好啦，亲爱的范妮，我不再打扰你了。你还要读书。可我不对你说说，不拿定主意，心里是不会踏实的。整整一夜，不管是睡着还是醒着，我脑子里尽想着这件事。这是件坏事——但是我这样做肯定能减少它的危害。汤姆要是起床了，我就直接去找他，把事情定下来。等到一起吃早饭的时候，我们大家会因为能共同做蠢事而兴高采烈。我想，一会儿你要启程去中国了吧？马嘎尔尼勋爵[2]旅途顺利吗？（说着打开桌上的一卷书，接着又拿起了几本。）要是你读大部头巨著读倦了，这里有克雷布的《故事集》[3]，还有《懒汉》[4]，可以供你消遣。我非常羡慕你这个小小的书库。等我一走，你就会忘掉演戏这件无聊的事，舒舒服服地坐在桌边看书。不过，不要在这里待得太久，免得着凉。”

埃德蒙走了。但是，范妮并没有看书，没有去中国，没有平静下来。埃德蒙给她带来了最离奇、最不可思议、最坏的消息，她毫无心思去想别的事情。要去演戏啦！先前还一个劲儿地反对——那样理直气壮，那样尽人皆知！她亲耳听过他是怎么说的，亲眼看过他当时的神情，知道他是出自真心。这可能吗？埃德蒙会这样反复无常。他是不是自欺欺人？是不是判断错了？唉！这都怪克劳福德小姐。她发觉克劳福德小姐的每句话对他都有影响，因而感到很苦恼。在埃德蒙来之前，她对自己的行为产生了疑虑和恐惧，刚才听他说话时，这些疑虑和恐惧全给抛到了脑后，现在它们已变得无足轻重了。更大的烦恼把它们淹没了。事情自会有它的结果，最后会怎样，她已经不在乎了。表哥表姐可以逼她，但总不能缠住她不放。他们拿她没办法。如果最后不得不屈服——没关系——现在已经是凄怆不堪了。

* * *

[1]H. M. S. Antwerp：（英国）皇家海军舰艇“安特卫普号”。

[2]马嘎尔尼勋爵（Sir George Macartney，1737—1806）系英国派往中国的一个使节，著有《使华旅行记》，对开本于1796年出版。此处想必是指范妮正在阅读这本书。

[3]乔治·克雷布（George Crabbe，1754—1832），英国诗人，他的《故事集》出版于1812年。

[4]《懒汉》系约翰逊博士（Samuel Johnson，1709—1784）所著的散文集。