All language subtitles for Mansfield.Park.1983.E01

- Good day to you, Mrs Norris.
- Sir Thomas.

Sister. I hope I find you well.

- The carriage will call in a quarter of an hour.
- You have a vast way to go to meet the child.

Northampton is full eight miles, so I am told.

Mrs Norris, pray take a cup of chocolate.

Sir Thomas, you are everything
that is considerate.

The trouble to myself, I never regard.

Did not I say, from start to finish,

I could never rest till we did something further
for my poor Sister Price?

To take upon us the charge and expense
of but one of her superfluity of children,

the burden will be nothing to our benevolence.

Such an unfortunate marriage.

A lieutenant of marines
with neither fortune nor education.

And then EIGHT children!

Seven, Mrs Norris,
now the eldest daughter comes to Mansfield.

Some small relief to your sister in Portsmouth,
but a vast change to little Fanny Price.

(MRS NORRIS) Indeed, Sir Thomas,
and with such opportunities.

Give her an education, an introduction into
society under such favourable circumstances,

and ten to one, she has the means of settling
well without further expense to any of us.

Though I should be the last to withhold my mite
on such an occasion.

A niece of yours will not grow up
in this neighbourhood without many advantages.

Not that she will be as handsome
as her cousins,

but in all probability,
she will make a creditable match.

And you need fear nothing
for your sons on this account.

Even suppose she has the beauty of an angel,
she will never be more to them than a sister.

I suppose, Sister, you will put the child
in the little white attic,

close by the governess and housemaids?

The white attic?

- Is Fanny to come to us?
- We thought, Sister, she would come to you.

For it was your idea, you know,
from start to finish.

What? To me?

- Why, sure, Sir Thomas, YOU did not think so?
- Indeed I did.

You and Mr Norris having no children, I took it
for certain she would go to the parsonage.

My dear Sir Thomas, I cannot conceive
how you were ever so mistook.

Why, poor Mr Norris and his state of health alone
make it impossible.

I do assure you he could no more
stand the noise of a child than fly.

If he should once get out of his gouty complaints
it might be a different matter.

Then I should be glad to take my turn at Fanny
and think nothing of the inconvenience.

But now poor Mr Norris
takes up every moment of my time.

The very mention of such a thing
I am sure would quite distract him.

Well, then, she had better come to us.

The carriage is here, Sir Thomas.

Well, Mrs Norris, we must do our duty by her.

- Let her home be in this house.
- At Mansfield Park.

Why, my dear child. How pale you are.

- You're not cold. Are you unwell?
- I thank you, ma'am.

You must try to be on your best looks
and mind all that I've said to you.

- Do you hear me, Fanny?
- Yes, ma'am.

We are almost come to Mansfield Park.

I'm sure your poor mother
told you how fortunate you are

to leave your family
and come to this, didn't she, child?

- Yes, ma'am.
- You have me to thank for it.

- With all my faults, I think I have a warm heart.
- I thank you, ma'am.

And we may both be judged
by your good behaviour,

which I trust your gratitude
will show to an extraordinary degree.

You must not be putting yourself forward
before your cousins,

who have advantages in life far beyond yours.

If you are respectful to the family
and keep an amiable countenance,

aye, and be wary of Lady Bertram's pug,

all may be well.

I hope you pay attention, Fanny.

- Yes. Yes, ma'am.
- Over there. You see now?

There is the house. Yes.

There is Mansfield Park.

Mrs Norris.

Sir Thomas, we have been a while on the road.
You know how I spare your horses.

Coachman would urge them, but I said no.
I would not let them suffer on my account.

Now, here is little Fanny Price,
my poor sister's child.

- Well, Fanny.
- Speak to your uncle.

Sir.

Come, you shall meet your aunt.

Mrs Norris, pray be seated.
Maria, Julia, look to your aunt.

- I'm sure she'll take some tea.
- Indeed, you are very kind.

- I am quite fatigued.
- Come, Fanny, you may sit by me.

These are your cousins, my two sons,

- Tom and Edmund.
- How do you do, Fanny?

And my daughters, Maria and Julia.

My dear Maria.

Be seated, child.
Didn't you hear what Lady Bertram said?

Yes, indeed, ma'am.

You must not stare at your little cousin.

- Will you take some tea, Fanny?
- No, sir. I thank you.

She will have some cake.

I know, Sir Thomas.

She will take some cake
if Maria will bring it to her.

Certainly, Mama.

They are gooseberry tarts.

Well, Fanny?

- This may be not to her taste.
- Oh, yes, indeed, sir.

- (DOG SNAPS)
- My poor Pug! Be careful!

- Sister, I warned her of this.
- My poor Fanny.

Take your cousin and show her the house.
Tom, Edmund, you too.

I want time for sober reflection
with your aunt and Lady Bertram.

- Then Fanny may return to us.
- Very well, sir.

This is not a very promising beginning.

After all I said to her,
I thought she would have behaved better.

- We must not judge too early.
- I hope she will not tease my poor Pug.

I have just but got Julia to leave her alone.

There may be some sulkiness of temper.

Her poor mother had a good deal.

I do not know that her being sorry
to leave home is against her.

With all its faults, it was her home.

Perhaps she will be in better spirits when
Maria and Julia have showed her the house.

There will be some difficulty, Mrs Norris,

in the proper distinction to be made
between the girls as they grow up.

How to preserve in my daughters
the consciousness of what they are

without making them think
too lowly of their cousin.

I should like to see them good friends,

but Fanny Price is not a Miss Bertram.

It is a point of great delicacy. You must
teach her exactly the right line of conduct.

I shall do my part, Sir Thomas, you may be sure.

To be here at Mansfield Park
shall constantly remind her

how much she owes to you and Lady Bertram.

Oh, Mama. Come and take me home.

Forgive me that I'm ungrateful,

but I'm so unhappy.

Maria and Julia, my dear children.
But where is Fanny?

- She was here, Aunt.
- We cannot tell where she's gone.

Miss Lee has set us to make the map of Europe
but Fanny does not understand the task.

Does Miss Lee find her very dull?

- I cannot tell that, but Julia and I do.
- Fanny has never heard of Asia Minor.

She does not know the difference
between watercolours and crayons.

- Did you ever hear anything so stupid?
- It is very bad.

But you must not expect everybody
to be as quick at learning as yourself.

But, Aunt, she is really very ignorant.

We asked her by what way
she should get to Ireland.

She said she'd cross to the Isle of Wight.

She calls it "the island",
as if it were the only island in the world.

When we told her our father's fortune
came from sugar in Antigua...

- She thought it was a shop!
- That is very stupid.

But all things considered,
I do not know that it is not as well.

For though, owing to me,
your papa and mama will bring her up with you,

it is not necessary that she should be
as accomplished as you.

But now, let me advise you, my dears.

And where has Italy gone? It should be here.

My dear little cousin!

What can be the matter?

Are you ill? Has someone scolded you?
Did you quarrel with Julia or Maria?

- Come, you must tell me.
- Pray, excuse me.

Fanny, think.

I shall suffer too unless you let me help you.

Who would comfort you at home?

Is that it? You are sorry to leave Mama,
which shows you are a very good girl.

No, Cousin. It's not Mama.

Then you shall tell me. We'll walk out in the park.

You are with friends, remember,
relations who all love you.

So, that's your family.

But, Fanny,
which of all these brothers and sisters?

William and Sam,

Susan and Mary...

Who comes after? Is it Tom?

And Betsey.

Which is the one you love the best?

I love them all.

- It's William.
- William. The eldest?

He comforts you and pleads for you
to your mother when she's vexed?

- And he will miss me too.
- Yet he'll write to you?

Yes. He promised.

- But I told him that I'd write first.
- And will you do it?

- I haven't any paper.
- Is that all your difficulty?

- Would it make you happy to write to William?
- Yes, very.

Then come with me to the breakfast room.

We shall find everything there
and have the room to ourselves.

- But, Cousin, will it go to the post?
- Depend upon it.

With the other letters. Your uncle will frank it.
It will cost William nothing.

- My uncle?
- Yes, indeed.

Once you've written it,
I'll give it to my father to frank.

Fanny, it's not such a bold step.
Don't be so alarmed.

There. It's done.

Fanny, you may begin.

(FANNY) My dearest William.

I write to you from Mansfield Park.

I hope that you and all the family
go on safe and well.

I was sorry at first to be away
and not to see you,

but now I am more comfortable
and everybody here is kind and good to me.

One above all, my cousin Edmund.

He helped me to write this letter

and says he will send you
half a guinea under the seal.

I think each day I grow a little bolder.

My dearest William,

I am glad I have your letter.
I go on well as before...

Tom!

It is near the end of the holidays.

Today my cousin Tom Bertram
made me a pretty present.

I have much to do at Mansfield Park,
carrying messages

and performing little tasks
for my Aunt Bertram and my Aunt Norris.

Think, William, Edmund has taught me to be
more cheerful with my cousins Maria and Julia.

Often now I am called on
to join them in their games.

Yet do not think that we have time
for nothing here but gaieties.

Today I helped my uncle,
the Reverend Mr Norris,

to decorate the church
for the harvest festival.

He is the parson here.

My cousin Edmund
is to be a clergyman himself,

but he is now at Eton College.

I miss him very much.

So, William, you are to go to sea
and be a sailor.

I have the finest news.

My uncle invites you to Mansfield Park
to spend the Christmas holiday before you sail.

Fanny, he's here!

My dearest William!

(JULIA) # I sing of a maiden that is matchless

# King of all kings to her son she chose

# He came all so still where his mother was

# As dew in April that falleth on the grass

# He came all so still where his mother lay

# As dew in April that falleth on the spray

# Mother and maiden was never such as she

# Well may such a lady God's mother be #

Well done, well done. Very good.

- Shall you be in time?
- Aye, I promise you.

There's half an hour before the stage
reaches the crossroads, and I walk fast.

Yet think, I may have sailed half around
the world before I see Portsmouth again.

Give my thanks to Aunt and Uncle. I'll be gone.

William.

- May God have care of you.
- Aye, to be sure. Farewell, Fanny.

(DOOR CLOSES)

Fanny, he'll return. Have faith.

Do you know the lines by William Cowper
of time's passing and the changing seasons?

"What prodigies can power divine perform
more grand than it produces year by year?

"And all in sight of inattentive man.

"Familiar with the effect, we slight the cause.

"And in the constancy of nature's course,
the regular return of genial months

"and renovation of a faded world,
see naught to wonder at.

"From dearth to plenty and from death to life
is nature's progress...

"When she lectures man in heavenly truth,

"evincing, as she makes the grand transition,
that there lives and works a soul in all things

"and that soul is God."

I thank you, Cousin.

- For what?
- All I've learned.

I shall remember your goodness
to the last moment of my life.

For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God
of his great mercy

to take unto himself
the soul of our dear brother here departed,

we therefore commit his body to the ground.

Earth to earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

(CHURCH BELL TOLLS)

I do not forget, Sir Thomas,
how much poor Mr Norris owed to you.

- Even this parish.
- I have lost one of my oldest friends.

Well, I must manage now without him.

And I shall, if I make even stricter economies.

Our melancholy duty's done.

Tom, I would see you in my room.

(CLOCK CHIMES)

Fanny?

Fanny? Fanny, you may come upstairs
and help me undress.

I do not like these clothes.

Mrs Norris always preferred black,
so I suppose it does not trouble her.

I asked her to come back,
but she says she has a vast deal to do

making ready the removal to her new home.

Yes, indeed.

So, my dear, you are to leave us now
and live with my sister.

How shall you like it?

- Going to leave you?
- Why, yes. Come.

You have been seven years with us.

My sister always meant to take you
when Mr Norris died.

I had always intended
that the living of Mansfield parish

should fall to Edmund on Mr Norris's decease,

an event which I had not expected to occur
before your brother's ordination.

Your profligacy, I fear, renders this impossible.
The benefice will have to be sold.

Since nothing I have ever said to you
has touched your conscience,

perhaps this injustice will serve some purpose.

The younger brother must now pay
for the elder brother's pleasures.

- Is nothing else to be done, sir?
- No, sir. This is a last resort, you may be sure.

You have robbed Edmund
for ten, twenty, thirty years, perhaps for life,

of over half the income which ought to be his.

It may be in my power hereafter, or in yours -
I hope it will - to procure him better preferment.

The loss of Mansfield as his parish
will affect him deeply.

It pains me to remind you, Tom,
but the blame for this falls greatly to your charge.

Well, I hope, sir, that you...

Indeed, I...

- I own to some extravagance.
- You own to it? What would you deny?

Your debts at gaming and at racing

have placed a burden on my resources
which cannot be discharged.

I blush for you, Tom. I blush for the expedient
which I am now driven on.

Yes, sir.

I hope I shall in future...

...with some better fortune...

Edmund shall still have Thornton Lacey,
the curate's place?

That there is a smaller family living
held for Edmund

is the only circumstance which has reconciled
my conscience to this necessity,

but it should prove no balm to yours.

No, sir. I may not excuse myself, I know.

Then let us end an interview
which has been displeasing to us both.

Sir.

And, Tom...

I shall not disclose to Edmund
all I have said to you.

The loss of income from my West Indian estates
can share the blame in this affair.

Indeed, it is another source of present anxiety,

of which I may have cause to speak to you again.

Sir. You'll excuse me.

Lord.

A tedious piece of work he made of it.

I'm not half so much in debt
as some of my friends... Fanny.

- Mr Bertram.
- What? Tears for my Uncle Norris yet?

I'm on an errand for your mother.

There's another thing.
These parsons don't live long.

If well plied with food and drink,
the next one will soon pop off.

Edmund may have it then!

(FANNY) To the Antwerp at Gibraltar.

My dear William,
the new parson is come to Mansfield.

He is Dr Grant and he has a wife
about fifteen years his junior,

but no children.

My cousin Tom thinks Dr Grant
a short-necked, apoplectic sort of fellow,

but they both seem to me very agreeable.

Today I helped my Aunt Norris to carry some
things from the parsonage to her new home.

- Mrs Grant, I shall not trouble you again.
- It has been no trouble.

We shall be always glad to see you.

If there is to be an end
of Dr Grant's dilapidations,

I may beg a little of the fruit
from that apricot by the stable wall.

Indeed, ma'am. I had not thought
it worth the trouble of gathering.

Sir, that tree is a Moorpark.

It was a present from Sir Thomas,
but I saw the bill.

It cost seven shillings
and was charged as a Moorpark.

Then, ma'am, you were imposed on.

An apricot is an insipid fruit at the best,

but a good one is eatable,
which none of those from my garden are.

The truth is, ma'am, Dr Grant scarcely knows
the taste of a fresh apricot.

My cook contrives to get them all.

Those from your tree make
such excellent tarts and preserves.

Oh, but you are welcome
to all you choose to take.

- Good day, Mrs Norris.
- Good day to you, Mrs Grant, Dr Grant.

Wilcox, the White House.

It is as true a Moorpark as ever lived.

As for Mrs Grant's cook,
I am told she is never seen in her kitchen.

And such a quantity of eggs and butter
are consumed now.

When I managed affairs at the parsonage,
Fanny, things were very different.

To be sure.

Though nobody loves plenty
and hospitality more than myself.

The parsonage, I believe, was never wanting
in comforts and never bore a bad character.

But Mrs Grant's way of going on
is something I cannot understand,

even though the doctor is fond of eating
and must have a good dinner every day.

If she contrived to gratify his appetite
at small expense, I should not complain,

but a fine lady in a country parsonage
is quite out of place.

Yet, Lady Bertram, inquire as I may,

I cannot find that Mrs Grant
had ever a greater fortune than £5,000

and pays her cook as high wages
as you do at Mansfield Park.

I am astonished to see her so well settled in life,

and not the least handsome to account for it.

I am sure I must live with stricter economy.

Things will be managed differently
at the White House.

- And when does Fanny come to live with you?
- To live with me?

Well, I thought you had settled it so
with Sir Thomas.

In my little cottage? There is no room.

I never spoke a syllable about it to Sir Thomas,
nor he to me.

Why, I am sure he never wished me
to take Fanny.

A poor desolate widow!

What comfort could I have
in taking such a charge upon me?

Nor would she want it, would you?

No, she is in good hands here
and doing very well.

I must struggle through my sorrows
as best I can.

Then you do not mind living by yourself,
quite alone?

Lady Bertram, what else am I fit for?

Now and then I hope to have a friend
in my cottage. I shall always have a bed for that.

If I can make both ends meet,
well, that's all I ask for.

Well, I hope, Sister, things are not
so bad with you neither, considering.

- Sir Thomas tells me you will have 600 a year.
- Lady Bertram, I do not complain.

We both thought
Fanny would be a great comfort to you,

but if you do not like it,
there is no more to be said.

I only know that I must live within my income
or be miserable.

- She is no encumbrance here.
- And to lay by a little at the end of the year.

I dare say you will. You always do, you know.

I can only say that my sole desire
is to be of use to you and Sir Thomas.

As for Sir Thomas,
he tells me he must sail to Antigua very soon.

His estate there makes such poor returns,
he must look to things himself.

And Tom goes with him.

Then you will certainly need Fanny here.
Sir Thomas must think of that.

I wonder he has not told me of this plan.

It is a vast way to go.

Oh, if he is gone from me a great while,

I should want Fanny here.

I have grown quite used to her.

And so has Pug.

Mrs Norris!

I trust you will assist in the domestic economy
and have special care of my girls.

Be assured, Sir Thomas. I hope I may say
to you you could not leave them in better hands.

Maria, Julia,
be dutiful to your aunt and to your mother.

- Indeed, sir.
- We shall.

If William's squadron returns to England while
I'm gone, you may invite him to Mansfield again.

I thank you, sir, for all your kindness.

You've been parted for many years,
I hope not without improvement on your side.

Edmund, I leave you to manage my affairs
as best you may.

Depend upon it, sir. I have your advice.

My dear, we must not stay.

Goodbye, my dear Sir Thomas.

- Come, Tom.
- Sir.

Fanny.

Ma'am.

Goodbye, my dear son.

Edmund.

- There is a filly next week at Newmarket...
- Tom!

I come, sir. And exercise my hunter.

Goodbye, Tom.

Goodbye, Papa.

- Julia, we may finish tacking on my pattern now.
- Yes. Then we'll do mine.

Maria, pin it as I showed you and you shall have
trimmings for the bonnet besides.

Sir Thomas' going has quite unsettled me.

There is a great deal to be done.
Who shall manage it?

I shall speak to the steward, ma'am.

But who will carve at table?

Why, I again, ma'am.

Why, yes, Edmund. So you may.

Fanny.

The China silk looks very fine.
Fine enough, I declare, for a ball at Sotherton.

- Does it not, Julia?
- Have care! I cannot turn, Aunt, or I am ruined.

- But the sash.
- Is it not well matched?

I do believe the green might suit you better.
Fanny, are you turned to stone?

- The emerald sash.
- Oh, here it is, ma'am.

But, Maria, Mr Rushworth
is the sort of amiable, modest young man

who requires a deal of encouragement.

I shall speak to Mrs Rushworth
and he will engage you for the first two dances.

- What if he does not choose to dance with me?
- Why, to be sure he will. And Julia after.

Think what I have done to bring it about.
Fanny, Miss Bertram's gloves.

- Over the chair.
- It is the most elegant gown I ever saw.

If Lady Bertram will but stir herself
to call on Mrs Rushworth before winter's over,

a few cotillions and that gown will be enough.

(FANNY) "Oh, for a lodge
in some vast wilderness,

"some boundless contiguity of shade,
where rumour of oppression

"and deceit of unsuccessful or successful war
might never reach me more.

"My ear is pained.

"My soul is sick with every day's report

- "of wrong and outrage with which Earth is filled.
- (SNORING)

- "There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart...
- (LAUGHTER)

- "...does not feel for man..."
- I think they have returned.

- I believe so, ma'am.
- Why, such an evening we have had!

My dear Lady Bertram, whilst you have been
here with Fanny taking her ease,

a vast deal has been accomplished.

And all of it through me.

If Sir Thomas never returns from Antigua
he may take some comfort at least from that.

If you could but see the ballroom at Sotherton.
It is so very splendid.

With such a handsome throng,
the finest ball of all the season.

And our two dear girls
the most sought after of anybody there.

As, to be sure, you would expect.

Yes, you must tell me all about it.

Though, I confess, I am a great deal fatigued.

Fanny has been reading to me,

but it was such heavy stuff,

I fear I dozed a little.

- Who did you dance with?
- Why, Sister, I think that I may answer for that.

There were so many there.

Yet who do you suppose was asked
to open the ball by Mr Rushworth himself?

- Who, indeed?
- Why, our own dear Maria.

And after, he danced with her how many times?
A great many. I really cannot tell you.

And Julia danced with him as well.

- Aunt Norris.
- Thank you, my dear.

- Mama.
- Thank you, Maria. Edmund.

All that is needed is for you, Sister,
to call on Mrs Rushworth

and everything will be in train
for Maria to be married when Sir Thomas is home.

She will be mistress of Sotherton.

And £12,000 a year.

It seems a very great match indeed.

But Sotherton is at such a distance,

and the roads at this time of year so very dirty.

Oh, I shall speak to Coachman, you may be sure.

Well, Fanny, I have poured it to your taste.

Thank you, Cousin.

(CHATTERING AND GIGGLING)

- Had you a pleasant evening?
- Mm.

I had rather been here with you and Cowper
beside the fire.

(FANNY) My dear William,

I am sorry you cannot yet return to England.

Miss Bertram is now 21

and is engaged to marry
Mr Rushworth of Sotherton.

But my uncle has never seen him yet,
and must write his consent.

It is springtime.

The old grey pony is dead.

(SIGHS)

Fanny, don't you ride today?

No, Cousin. Not today.

Fanny has not ridden, I am sure,
since we lost the pony.

That does not signify. She may ride one
of her cousin's horses when they don't want them.

And when last was that?

I think, on Wednesday last week
my cousins stayed at home.

Yes, to be sure.
On Wednesday last, it rained all day.

I sent for Fanny to the White House.
She did not come till noon.

I do not think it can have rained all day.
The storm we had was on Tuesday night.

Then it appears
Fanny has had no exercise at all,

unless she is called out in inclement weather.

When it is fine, my sisters choose to ride
and she has no mount.

There seems to me but one thing to be done.
Fanny must have a horse.

A horse of her own?

You will allow she requires
some means of exercise?

Well, I dare say.
But Fanny? A proper lady's mount?

I am sure Sir Thomas never intended it.

And, Edmund,
to be making such a purchase in his absence,

to add to the expenses at a time
when such a large part of his income is unsettled,

well, I am quite astonished
you should consider it.

And you, ma'am?

Oh, why, to be sure, Edmund,

I think Sir Thomas would hold
Fanny must have something.

A horse might easily be borrowed
from the steward.

Or Dr Grant might, now and then,
lend us the pony he sends to the post.

You know, Edmund,
it need not be settled in any hurry.

Sir Thomas will be home in September,

and where would be the harm in waiting
until your father can settle it himself?

Very well, ma'am.

But I believe Fanny must have a horse.

It may be done without expense.

I have three horses of my own.

Two hunters and a road horse which may
be exchanged for a mare that Fanny can ride.

I am sure a good mare is to be found
that would serve her purpose.

And since my father will be put to no expense,
there can be no objection to it.

Well, that seems a very good plan.

- Don't you think so, Fanny?
- Yes, ma'am. It would please me very much.

But, Cousin, you must not sacrifice
a horse on my account.

It is one I have small use for.

And I am quite resolved.

(VOICES CHATTERING WITHIN)

- Fanny, who's there?
- Tom?

Mr Bertram! How are you come?

By the mail from London.
We docked at Gravesend.

- And my uncle?
- Sir Thomas stays in Antigua. He has business.

- (LAUGHTER)
- Is there company?

Dr and Mrs Grant... and young Mr Rushworth
is here. Mr Rushworth, who's engaged to...

I know. I bring my father's letters.
Shall I surprise them?

- I hope your mother won't be too alarmed.
- No, she won't mind it.

I am to light the candles.

Well, then, I'll go in.

Tom!

How lovely to see you!

How are you?

Only a trifle fagged. We left London at dawn.

- Dr and Mrs Grant, I trust I find you well.
- Tolerably well, sir, yes.

Very pleased to see you at home.

Tom, you should take some soup.

- Let me send Baddeley...
- No. I've dined already.

- There is one here whom you have never met.
- Yes, Mr Rushworth. Indeed.

- Rushworth, my brother Tom.
- Mr Rushworth. How do you do?

Bertram. I am very glad that you are come.
We hope to see you at Sotherton.

My mother Mrs Rushworth and I
would like that very much.

I shall be pleased. I have some letters
that will please you, Maria, from my father.

Aye, and Rushworth too.

Sir Thomas sends you his fondest greetings,
ma'am, by his own hand.

For Maria's sake I should rejoice, I suppose,

that my father has approved the match.

I hope she finds more to Mr Rushworth
than his fortune.

Mr Rushworth seems very fond.

They must await Sir Thomas' return
before they marry,

which may not be till Christmas
by Tom's account.

Time enough for Maria to consult her heart.

Perhaps Mr Rushworth discloses more
on better acquaintance.

So I'd hoped, yet I don't see it.

Fanny, the longer I'm in Mr Rushworth's company,

the more I'm convinced if he hadn't
12,000 a year, he'd be a very stupid fellow.

- Now you'll reproach me. Am I unkind?
- How could I think so?

- I could not think so. Even this gentle mare...
- Fanny, I know your gentle heart.

So you'll forgive me.

- Do you glimpse the parsonage in the valley?
- Yes, I see it.

- They expect visitors.
- Why, who is to come?

A half-brother and sister
of Mrs Grant, from London.

He has an estate in Norfolk, but the young lady
has been forced to quit her uncle's house.

Some family difficulty. They are young people
of considerable fortune, it seems.

Their name is Crawford.

This is my favourite sitting room.

It is only a country parsonage,
but I have done what I can.

My dear.
Didn't I tell you my sister would be pretty?

- Miss Crawford.
- How do you do, sir?

And our brother has quite shamed me.

He is so elegant,
and we are not accustomed to it here.

- Dr Grant, I'm pleased to meet you.
- I am glad, sir, that you are come.

This is such a pretty room. You have done
with it so charmingly. Hasn't she, Henry?

Wouldn't you wish to live in such a parsonage?
Answer me truly.

Must I indeed? Then I would spend
half in town and half in rusticity.

Yet, all that half with Mrs Grant.

Ignore such simple flattery.

Though, I confess, I have a great desire
to hold you here, and I have formed a plan.

Oh?

The device is matrimony.

Oh, that might be pleasing, at least to me.

- Who shall I marry?
- I have fixed on Mr Bertram of Mansfield Park.

Mr Tom Bertram?

- We have met in London at my uncle's.
- Indeed?

- I am intrigued. Is not his father a baronet?
- Sir Thomas Bertram. Yes.

There must be some title to it
or it will never match my fortune.

And besides, I quite like young Mr Bertram.

But Henry, what shall be done for Henry?

Henry shall marry the youngest Miss Bertram -

a nice, handsome, good-humoured girl
who will make him very happy.

- I thank you, ma'am.
- But you will never persuade him.

If Henry is to marry, it must be a French woman.
All English abilities have been tried.

- My dear Miss Crawford!
- Oh, I assure you.

I have three particular friends
who have been dying for him.

They have all been at pains to reason,
coax or trick him into marrying.

But he is the most hateful flirt
that can be imagined.

If your Miss Bertrams do not like
to have their hearts broke, let them avoid Henry.

My dear brother. Must I believe this of you?

No. I'm sure you are too good.

Yet, I must tell you,
I value marriage too highly to be rushed into it.

I believe a wife should be, as the poet has it,
"heaven's last best gift".

Oh, you see how detestable he is
and how he smiles?

I fear my uncle's lessons have quite spoiled him.

Then you, Miss Crawford,
are the more to be congratulated.

I see your uncle's conduct has given you
no disinclination to the married state.

And I am not at all ashamed of it.

I would have everybody marry
as soon as they can do it to advantage.

And those who do not wish it
have not yet seen the right person, that is all.

Even YOU, Henry.

My dear William.

We have visitors to the parsonage,
a half-brother and sister to Mrs Grant.

Amiable and elegant.

Miss Crawford very beautiful, besides.

(EDMUND) What do you think of her, Fanny?
(FANNY) Miss Crawford?

(EDMUND) I find so much in her to admire,
and yet...